Prologue ~ Legends of Arboria

Ch. 1 ~ Legends of Arboria

Another dream. That same dream again, the one Lief Woods had been having almost every night for as long as he could remember. It was always the same. Darkness. Pitch black night but it wasn't just a soundless void like so many other nightmarish dreamscapes. He could feel the ground soft beneath his feet and on the light breeze was a mixture of soil and plant odors swirled with a hint of smoke. He couldn't move and couldn't hear anything. It always seemed like it would last forever and then it would be over. That's all it was, all it ever was. Until now that is. This time it was different. Something had changed.

It started out the same as it always had only this time he thought he could actually hear something. It was faint and far away and sounded sort of like white noise. As usual, he couldn't move but now he was aware of a tightness around his wrists, ankles and even his chest. Was he tied down? He could tell he was upright and not lying down, possibly affixed to a tree or pole, but that was it. Suddenly, a blaring alarm dissolved everything and his eyes opened back in his own bedroom. He slapped the snooze button and rolled over. Morning was not welcome yet.

"Stupid dream..." he muttered as he drifted back to listless sleep.

The morning sun glistened brilliantly on the fresh dew-laden lawns in the upper crust neighborhood Lief's beat-up green Chevy work truck rumbled through. It was another annoyingly bright day in the New Orleans suburbs where Lief got most of his landscaping appointments. The place was posh and evenly spaced with large, overly-stylized houses. Their sculpted yards were full of manicured bushes and gardens. They required constant maintenance or it was just unacceptable according to the well-to-do owners.

He made a decent living with his business. Though it wasn't royalty and was most often tedious and dirty back-breaking labor, he liked what he had chosen to do with his life and was content where he was at. He had never been out of Louisiana but he didn't really feel the need to. Everything he knew was there plus all the greenery and the usually nice weather to boot.

Everyone knew him and his business for his quality of work and his green thumb of sorts. Plants and the like came naturally to him and he had always loved the outdoors ever since he was a child back in the orphanage he had grown up in there in town. He had always enjoyed playing in the gardens out back and would tend them with the gardener they employed. He still did, as a matter of fact, every Tuesday – at no cost, of course. That old gardener died a few months back he heard but, with all his appointments, he hadn't had time to go by and pay his respects yet. The price of popularity, one would suppose.

"Another day," he quipped to himself. "At least it's the end of the week." He stabbed at the worn off buttons on his decade old stereo that only worked it seemed when it wanted to.

This was the only appointment he had scheduled today, which was good as he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He kept waking up after that strange dream that he usually couldn't quite remember. It was clear as day this time, though. He could remember every detail and how it had changed. It was a troubling dream as it was to say the least. He had never been interested in all that dream interpreting junk he always read about but it wasn't like it was vague or anything. It seemed very real, almost like he was actually there - wherever there was. He couldn't get it out of his mind but he had more important things to do than obsess over dreams. It was time for work. A yawn forced its way out and he rubbed his eyes. Friday could never have been more welcome.

He turned down an obscure dead end street he hadn't ever seen before and followed it all the way to the end. He parked in front of a very old stone house that looked as if it hadn't been inhabited in many years. The dark, tangled wisteria had claimed the entire front veranda, almost completely hiding the old English front door. Water stains writhed down through the stone casing out of rough-cut gutter drains close to the edge of the tattered shingle roof. The four front windows were covered by thick old curtains inside and a visible layer of dust could be seen undisturbed on the glass. Those creepy old stone gargoyles stood watch at the corners of the roof and beside the ancient stone steps in front of the house.