Atharia

Atharia

By

Ronnie & Bonnie Eury

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks

To the many amazing games, movies, and books that have

inspired us to write our first story.

To all that have encouraged us to write believing

that we had it in us to do it.

To all readers that happen upon our story and enjoy it.

Last, but not least, in memory of my

Great Grandmother, whom I never had the privilege of meeting

Francesca Marabella

PRELUDE

Let us start by asking ourselves a question, shall we? Think back to when you were a child, and if you have kids, take a good, hard look at them. Do you remember being like them? Do you remember the level of imagination you had? It's sad to think that most of us as adults have lost that imagination, at least for the most part. Why is that? To have been able to take a cardboard wrapping tube, or sticks and a piece of tin foil and totally immerse ourselves into a world unlike any other. Where dragons, goblins, and fairies lived. Where the bad was devastating, and the good always prevailed. For most adults, it is words written by another adult (who hasn't lost sight of that window of imagination) to take them back as though they had never lost that ability. When you open to that first page, you unwittingly agree to unleash the child within and share the magical ride to another world. Accept the fate and embark on a journey that will take you to the depths of another world, kingdom, or village. Survive the wars, battles, and fury. Feel the heartbreak, joy, and victory! It's all up to you. All you have to do is open the book.....................

CHAPTER I

The Beckoning

My name is Kedehern, I know, weird name, right? My Mom always said it meant Fierce Warrior. Everyone calls me Ked. I never considered myself a boring individual. I had always been the kid that made everyone's day fun. The jokester you might say. Since I have been an adult, my life has become, somewhat, a routine. Get up, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, watch some TV, and go to bed. My wife and kids are the reason why I live the life I do. Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad thing. I am doing what I have to do to support my family. The truth is, I am doing this so that they (my kids) can live the same uneventful existence as I do now. Traditional, but none the same, boring. Hardly what I would have wanted for myself, or my children.

Although my life is uneventful, other than the occasional holiday party and a soccer game with the kids, I have had one escape. I have very vivid dreams. I have always had these same type of dreams, but they seem to be almost a nightly occurrence, as of late. When I wake up, I find myself thinking about these dreams periodically during my day. It makes me smile because the dreams are so far from my everyday life. Now the dreams are not full blown scenes like out of a movie, but snippets where I feel the need to fill in the blank spots. I spend a lot of time doing just that. I have been distracted because of it. My wife finds me staring off into space asking what's on my mind. At work, co-workers accuse me of daydreaming. I find myself making excuses for my lack of concentration. I am thinking of what could possibly fill those gaps.

Last night I executed my usual. Came home from work, had dinner with the family. I listened to everyone's happenings throughout their day. I showered and went to bed, drifted off to sleep, and then it happened. But this time, it was very different. I woke up in a world that wasn't like the one I live in every day. Oh no, this was very different. The trees were green, not like the green we know, but overly vivid. The bark and roots were embellished with detail. Flowers burst with color. Then I saw my wife, and Henry, my best friend growing up. The only words I heard from him: The truth is not a dream. Then I woke up. Dammit! That was the first time my dreams had any verbal communication. I tried to go back to sleep to capture the next scene, but I couldn't. I lay awake for hours thinking about it: how this dream didn't seem like a dream at all, but almost like a memory. Before I knew it, my 3-year-old daughter, Jesse, jumped on my chest wanting me to tickle her. I did of course, and we got up and ate breakfast. My wife, Susan, and 8-year-old son, Kerner, both joined us. All the while my mind was 99.999 percent on that dream. Ordinarily, a person would think that was weird, but just a dream. I, somehow, knew different. Well, it was Saturday. I had a honey-do list that was longer than my arm, so I started with mowing the yard. As I looked out onto the property, I cussed myself for purchasing more than a city lot. Then I looked harder. The colors, they were almost dull next to what I saw in my dream. Well, off and running. I was half-done with the task when my wife came across the yard hollering and waving her arms trying to get my attention. I turned off the mower and she handed me the phone. Hello? It was Henry! What a freaky coincidence! Henry and I fell out of touch and I hadn't talked to him in years. I thought about him often, but every time I wanted to pick up the phone, it seemed that life just got in the way. Odd that he popped into my dream and called within a 12 hour period. Since neither of us wandered too far from where we grew up, we decided to reunite that very evening.

Here I was in a local pub sitting across from the guy I defended when we were kids. He was a nerd and bullied constantly. I defended him one day against the grade school’s notorious bully, Justin. He was big, but I was mighty. I laid him out like a piece of road kill. I was suspended of course, but that spurred off a long-term friendship between Henry and I. It had been so long since I had last spoken to him. When I saw Henry I had forgotten how much he meant to me as a good friend. We chatted awhile and reminisced about all the good times. In my mind I was debating whether I should reveal the contents of my dreams; would he think I was nuts? On the other hand, our visit went as though we had never lost contact; who would listen and understand better than Henry?

I opened the subject and asked, What do you think dreams mean? Henry looked at me with a raised brow as if to ask for more detail. I said, I mean, do you think dreams try to tell us something? He thought about it a few seconds and blurted, I think dreams can be so bizarre that it's almost impossible to think that they aren't trying to convey a message from another place or time. I smirked and leaned in across the table. I began to tell Henry about my strange dreams and how I felt as though they were something a great deal more than ‘just’ dreams. He was intrigued with the thickening plot of the dream and craved to hear more, but I disappointed him. That was where it ended, at least for the time being. Our conversation went to family and he had asked how Mom was doing. He was like my mom's second child. I had no other siblings and Henry's mom passed when he was very young, and his dad became a hopeless alcoholic after her death. I heard he had passed some years ago. He had no family really. Henry even had his own bed at my house. Mom loved him as her own. I asked Henry if he wanted to go see her. He jumped at the opportunity to reunite with the only mother he really ever knew. Since Mom lived fairly close, we decided to jump in the car and make a night of it. On our way, we passed a clearing. It had always been there. Without fail, I got an uneasy feeling every time we passed it. This time was more so, to the point where I asked Henry to stop. Henry asked, What is the matter? I answered him, Nothing, just this same place. Every time I pass here I get a sick feeling. It’s just really bad this time. The feeling passed and we got back on the road.

As we pulled up to Mom's house, you could see she had been busy. Her yard was impeccable as always. I had admired her landscaping on our way to the front door. Her flowers were always prettier than everybody else’s, and her grass always greener. As we approached the front door, it opened, and there was Mom, My boys! she hollered with joy. We smiled, laughed, and hugged. She was so happy to see Henry! We went in and spent some time catching up. Then Mom got kind of weird on us. She fidgeted in her seat as though she were very uncomfortable. I asked, Mom, what's going on? She hemmed and hawed a bit and finally told me, Something came for you. Now I was very curious. I hadn't lived with mom in 10 years, so why would something come for me to her address. What is it? I asked. She hesitantly got up from her chair and disappeared into the other room. Henry and I looked at each other, puzzled. She reappeared with a package. It was wrapped in brown paper and it was about 12 inches long and 4 inches square. It was addressed to my