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Description
These nightmares were getting serious.
At least, more vivid. Nathaniel didn't think they could possibly get any worse, but they seemed to be increasing in frequency and intensity. The colors, the sounds, the blood. . .  above all, the blood.
He wiped his forehead, knowing he had probably been screaming in his sleep again. His lovely cell, or room, however one would put it, was incredibly dark, and cold. And what was that incessant banging sound?
Nathaniel decided to sit in the dark a bit longer, as he attempted to regulate his breathing and let the sweat dry. He had taken to sleeping naked recently. It was better than waking up in drenched clothes, but it didn't keep him very warm.
Bang, bang. . .
Nathaniel got out of bed and quickly pulled a robe on. Stumbling to his desk, he was reminded of images from the dreams. People fumbling in the dark, blind, unseeing, and mercilessly slaughtered by something in the darkness. Something with eyes, and a vicious grin, but otherwise without form.
Was he shivering from cold or fear? Not so certain now, he figured lighting some candles would narrow the possibilities down to fear. Striking the match, a warm glow illuminated the room, barely, and revealed the source of the banging. One of his windows had blown open in the night, and the fierce air slammed the wooden shutter against the granite walls, methodically.
"Rather methodically," Nathaniel voiced his opinion to the mountain view. Grey light silhouetted the range that he had been graced with here at the Focus Tower. The snow seemed premature this year, and the bite in the air, rather unwelcome, pierced Nathaniel's senses every morning in the late season. It was much better at waking one up than a warm cup of coffee. Nathaniel couldn't help but stare at the mountains, though he felt his skeleton might shiver through his skin. His windows faced east, and over those cold mountains, across the vast sea, lay Nathaniel'shome. A kingdom he wondered if he'd ever see again.
Granted, he had every opportunity available to visit his homeland. His job granted him certain, one could say, "privileges". Many years of faithful servitude to the monastery allowed him to find a ministry that allowed him to travel, that being an "Ambassador of  the Morning."
Nathaniel nearly chuckled, thinking titles of any sort to be ridiculous. He remembered countless times he had been introduced as such, and every time he wanted to cringe within himself. Glory was never his thing.
Yet, he wouldn't change anything, as he truly enjoyed traveling, and seeing new places, and so when the opportunity presented itself, he gladly accepted the ambassador's job, ridiculous title aside.
Looking up into the crisp sky, Nathaniel thought once again of the beautiful kingdom he traded for this desolate place. He sighed. Nostalgia always seemed to set in during the sunrise, after the dreams. How many years had he been here now? He had given up counting when after realizing he'd been on year twenty-five for three years straight. He had left a life of conflict and strife for the monastery, hoping to find some semblance of peace in a war torn land. Beautiful as his home was, there was always a battle of some sort engaging, resulting in countless lives lost.
"Typical Novus," he said aloud, in discontent. The whole planet of Novus never seemed far from conflict, regardless of where Nathaniel looked. Peace, Nathaniel decided, had become a relative term, as he had given up finding "peace" for nations and determined that true peace could only come from within, on a person by person basis.
"We make our own peace," he recalled telling someone once, from some remote kingdom, somewhere. Actually, he had told quite a few people that recently. Indeed, he had helped others find peace, but he never seemed to find any for himself.
Still, it was better, being here at the Focus Tower than at home where he lived in fear of losing loved ones to the sword. Not once had he ever regretted leaving the violence, he just regretted how much he missed his family.
His stomach grumbled. He regretted how much he missed the food, the fun. Nathaniel looked at his lumpy mattress in the corner which subjected him to torture every night. He definitely missed the beds...
Nathaniel shook the thoughts from his head. "It was your idea to come here, stop acting like you hate it." Nathaniel closed the shutter and rigged the broken latch. He'd have to get that fixed before it woke him up again.
"Though it might not be such a bad thing," he mumbled, while sitting down at his desk. "Especially since these dreams keep getting darker." Nathaniel had taken up talking to himself ever since the nightmares started. He felt like it helped him to cope. He tried to reason that perhaps he wasn't really talking to himself, maybe he was talking to god, but since the only person he had to convince was himself, he wasn't doing such a good job.
"So what were we reading today?" Nathaniel had checked out a series of older books from the library, mostly boring things, like the Herbology of Healing or The Weapons of War, you know, books  someone would read once they've already read everything else. Nathaniel was quite a reader, after all. Most of the other brothers in the Tower called him a curious fellow. He'd become know as the only monk to read everything in the library before he'd lived there 100 years. Nathaniel found he was checking the same books out after only seven years.
"Perhaps that's where I lost count," Nathaniel surmised, looking at sketch of a excruciatingly painful sword in The Weapons of War.
"Yeesh. No wonder I have nightmares," Nathaniel attempted joking with himself. It didn't work, as he didn't laugh.
In actuality, the only reason Nathaniel had taken up reading so vivaciously is because of his dreams. They started well into his second year at the monastery. He could remember the first time he had dreamt quite clearly, though the dream itself wasn't all that memorable. He had woken that night in fear for his life, disoriented and terrified. The dream had been intense enough to make him seriously reconsider his commitment to the Morning Star Monastery. Nathaniel had come to The Focus Tower to learn about god, thinking a god could possibly bring him some peace. Yet somehow, he felt like these dreams were trying to scare him away. He supposed, in a way they had. He never really spent much time at The Tower anymore, as most of his servitude took place in the fields of Novus. The nightmares never bothered Nathaniel while he was in the field. Traveling, though fun, proved exhausting, and he welcomed fatigue, for it led to dreamless sleep as well as a sense of fulfillment. Nathaniel served faithfully, as it made him feel better about himself, and allowed him to temporarily forget the terrors that lurked in his mind.
Still, whenever he returned to The Focus Tower, the dreams would quickly ensue. For awhile he surmised his mind had finally caught up to the rest of his body, and that's why he had such horrific dreams, but it had become all too coincidental that he only had nightmares while he was here, back at The Tower. He thought once about asking some of the Elders about his dreams, but decided against it. He valued his job as an Ambassador too much to let on he might be emotionally unstable. So he decided to research dreams on his own, in the vast library of knowledge of The Focus Tower. It became a silent compulsion, and though he was careful not to seem too obsessive, the library would be the first place he'd visit on furlough to see if any new books had been returned by his brethren. He quickly became known as "Book-aniel", and there was quite a few times some of the brothers had angrily knocked on his door to wrestle that last copy of El'oheem in Different Cultures from his grasp.
Nathaniel sighed, closing The Weapons of War, knowing he'd have to go to morning chapel soon. All his research notwithstanding, he was no closer to an answer than the first restless night. He had become very successful in deciphering others dreams, but still couldn't interpret his own.

He sat back in his chair, and crossed his fingers on his chin, deep in thought. The dreams, inconsistent in occurrence, were perpetually unvarying in content. Though the faces were different and unnameable, and the violence aberrant, there was always, always, a feeling of a presence. A presence of something unseen. Something dark, deadly, and very malevolent. Nathaniel wasn't sure there was a word to describe the evil presence he sensed in the dreams. Always there, always unseen.
Nathaniel shuddered as a cold chill rushed over him. (At least, that's what he told himself.) He leaned forward to warm his hands over his candle, wondering if the broken latch was letting in a draft, when he saw it.
It was a small book, at least, smaller than the others, and rather worn at the edges. Its pages looked a little ruffled, and it's leather bound cover cracked and creased with age. Nathaniel's heart leaped, as he'd forgotten which visit to the library he found this novelty, remembering he had never seen it before. He grasped for it, the dust on the cover thick enough for the tips of his fingers to leave marks. How long did he have this book? He couldn't remember.
Wiping the cover free of the dust revealed a language Nathaniel never read before. At least, he assumed it was language. The markings looked enough like letters, but he was unable to link them together. Opening the book, he quickly became disappointed. It wasn't truly a book like the others, it seemed to be more of a journal, teeming with drawings and words and stories he couldn't comprehend, encompassed with field notes and commentary. A couple of pages of common dialect were scattered throughout the nonsense, but not enough to decipher a decent explanation.
"The world shall never know peace this side of the star."the book read, in a handwritten script. "War shall be known to men all the days of their lives."
"Well that's no surprise," Nathaniel muttered, thinking about the fragile treaties and trade agreements between countries that never seemed to last, and the majority of the uninhabited land which had been overrun by warlords, scavengers and pirates. He'd has his run in with more than his fair share of ruffians during his expeditions abroad. If anything, the script in the book re-affirmed his commitment. Within the walls of the Focus Tower, he could seek out inner peace.
"While the rest of the world goes to rot," he argued with himself. He looked at his bed, the tiredness already creeping behind his eyes. "Like I have any peace."
Nathaniel closed the book, knowing he'd never find his answers here, but as he did, something caught his eye, and he flung the tome back open. He leafed through the pages so quickly some of the brittle edges broke, but he didn't care, he had to find it.
There! He stopped, and quickly skimmed the page for the words he had seen, words that pierced him through his very soul.
The Unseen.
He couldn't believe what he was looking at. It appeared to be a sketch, an artist conception of the very thing he had been dreaming of. The eyes, the grin, enveloped in a blackness, inky as a sketch could make it, almost a fog of sorts. The words "The Unseen" had been scrawled across the top in a shaky hand, but there was no mistaking the feeling Nathaniel was experiencing. This was it!
This was exactly the way he felt in his nightmares! Sweat burst through his pores again, his mouth beginning to water at the threat of nausea, and he struggled to turn the page. This proved so very hard to do, because the eyes drawn on that page had him under their control.
"That's just silly!" Nathaniel said to himself as his own shaking hand fought to turn the page. "This is just a book!"
The next page didn't avail him of his jitters. There was another picture sketched out, this one made up of symbols, a kind of hieroglyphics, kind of the same writing on the cover. There was the two moons, one full and the other a crescent, and a silhouette of a dragon-like creature, its tail enveloping a planet. Then the sun and four stars. Next to the picture was the same crooked handwriting. The words "A prophecy?" and more, smaller writing that Nathaniel had to squint to read.
"God is One, His Light is Four. The Evil is One, His Darkness is Unseen. The Traveler has come."
Nathaniel’s eyes squinted harder, as sweat seeped into his eyes. He struggled to read the tiniest writing, which scrawled off the edge of the page.
“Death has come with him.”
Nathaniel’s heart turned to stone in his chest.
“A prophecy? This sounds like a curse!”
“What’s a curse?”
Nathaniel nearly jumped out of his skin as he slammed his book shut. “My god, Kyvott! Don’t you ever knock?”
Kyvott, one of Nathaniel’s only friendly acquaintances, stood nonchalantly in the doorway. “Well I did, but you didn’t answer. I came to see if you were going to the morning prayer.”
Nathaniel attempted to regulate his breathing. “Of course. I was just. . .uh. .”
Kyvott sauntered in and sat down in an empty chair, thankfully ignoring Nathaniel’s new speech impediment. “You might want to put some more clothes on, though. I don’t think the Elders would appreciate your vow of poverty, regardless how serious you might be.”
Nathaniel felt embarrassed, but grateful someone had a sense of humor. He quickly hurried to his wardrobe while Kyvott busied himself with a quill and parchment.
“So how long are you staying this time?” Kyvott asked, though not really looking in Nathaniel’s direction.
“Only a few days. I’ve heard there’s some social unrest in the northern province of Tol’klor that needs attending to. At least, that’s where they’re sending me...” Nathaniel trailed off, thinking to himself. There’s no way he’d be sleeping peacefully now. He had to read the rest of that book.
“You were screaming again last night,” Kyvott’s voice sounded serious, but he continued writing. Nathaniel listened to the quill scratching on the paper.
“Was I?” He asked, not really wanting an answer.
“You know, I’m sure one of the Healers could give you something to help you sleep. They make a wonderful tea that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. I’m sure they could concoct something to give you a dreamless sleep.”
“Is it that obvious?” Nathaniel asked, tying his belt.
“Well, I can hear you, and I live down the hall. I know your neighbors have visited The Healers recently for their own tea.”
“That’s lovely.”
Kyvott put the quill down and looked at him. “You know, you really should ask for help sometimes instead of trying to hide your problems.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” Nathaniel lied, glancing at the old book. He was beginning to think his friend Kyvott could read him too easily.
“Really? Then I think you might want to re-evaluate the way you’re acting when you come home from the field. Trent’s not going to keep sending you out if he thinks it’s wearing on you.”
Nathaniel shifted a little at the mention of Trent’s name. High Priest Trent was one of the Elder monks who had a spot on the high council known as the Circle of Seven. Trent, a glorious man, committed to humility and excellence the way a monk should be, was the very one who had commissioned Nathaniel as an Ambassador. The thought that Trent might decommission him proved to be a very humiliating thought to Nathaniel. What was worse, was the idea he’d be stuck here, tormented in his dreams every night by The Unseen.
“You really think they’d remove my title?” Nathaniel asked, never feeling so protective of a label before.
“Certainly. Especially if you continue to hide in your room reading odd books,” Kyvott’s eyes had followed Nathaniel’s to the books on the desk. “Maybe you should speak with Trent. Or even Lord Kirjath.”
Nathaniel scoffed. “High Lord Kirjath would never see me. He’s too busy saving the world.” That really came out more biting than it should have. Luckily Kyvott chose to ignore the tone.
“Still, it’s worth the trouble. Besides, Lord Kirjath keeps a closer eye on you than you realize, with Trent singing your praises and all.” Kyvott smirked a little. “You never know, this might be just the opportunity you need to get your other foot in the door of The Seven.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Nathaniel agreed, ignoring the double meaning of Kyvott’s words. Maybe all this stuff was in his head. His nightmares could very well be a by-product of all his extra-curricular imagination. Then again, if it wasn’t. . .
“Of course I’m right.” Kyvott stood, rolling up his note and tucking it away in his sleeve. “I may never amount to anything higher than an Elder, but you, Nathaniel, you have been blessed by El’oheem. You’ve been born with talents the rest Circle of Seven could only dream about. You could easily hold any of their positions.” Kyvott rubbed his chin, and smiled. “Maybe you could even gain the papacy.”
“Kyvott, it would be against our creed for me to entertain such arrogant thoughts.”
Kyvott smiled. “Maybe for you. I think it’d be nice to be chummy with the High Lord.”
“I think you should pray for forgiveness.”
“Everyday. So are we going to prayer?”
Nathaniel held his stomach. “You go on ahead. I’m going to run by the Mess to grab a biscuit.”
Kyvott raised an eyebrow. “Late again? That’ll never do.”
“I’ll turn over a new leaf tomorrow. Save me a seat will you?”
“Bring me a biscuit?”
“Done.”
Kyvott waved and was off.
Nathaniel’s eyes hesitated for a moment on the book. He had an odd urge to take it with him, but decided against it. He latched his door instead.
Nathaniel hurried down to the kitchen, not really interested in food. He just needed some time to clear his head before he showed his face among the Circle. Kyvott’s words echoed in his mind.
Could he possibly have a chance to become one of the High Priests?
Images of his dreams flashed behind his eyes, and he shook his head violently. Not if he couldn’t get a hold of himself. Reaching the Mess hall, he found remnants of morning’s breakfast. There were a few muffins left, and he quickly snatched two up and hurried back in the direction he’d come. Munching softly on his muffin, (which tasted like figs and dates), he looked longingly at the smooth walls. The shades of granite reminded him of his home. It reminded him of the castle, ancient as it was, nonetheless glorious, as it rose above the plains.
Nathaniel sighed. Someday, he’d see his home again.
As Nathaniel carelessly sauntered down the spiral staircases towards the Grand Assembly, he heard voices, a conversation, going on down the hall. It didn’t phase him, really. Most of the monks spoke frequently with one another while passing. They were a family, after all, united under a common banner. Wondering if it was anyone he knew, he quickened his pace, a little ashamed for being late.

Description
These nightmares were getting serious.
At least, more vivid. Nathaniel didn't think they could possibly get any worse, but they seemed to be increasing in frequency and intensity. The colors, the sounds, the blood. . .  above all, the blood.
He wiped his forehead, knowing he had probably been screaming in his sleep again. His lovely cell, or room, however one would put it, was incredibly dark, and cold. And what was that incessant banging sound?
Nathaniel decided to sit in the dark a bit longer, as he attempted to regulate his breathing and let the sweat dry. He had taken to sleeping naked recently. It was better than waking up in drenched clothes, but it didn't keep him very warm.
Bang, bang. . .
Nathaniel got out of bed and quickly pulled a robe on. Stumbling to his desk, he was reminded of images from the dreams. People fumbling in the dark, blind, unseeing, and mercilessly slaughtered by something in the darkness. Something with eyes, and a vicious grin, but otherwise without form.
Was he shivering from cold or fear? Not so certain now, he figured lighting some candles would narrow the possibilities down to fear. Striking the match, a warm glow illuminated the room, barely, and revealed the source of the banging. One of his windows had blown open in the night, and the fierce air slammed the wooden shutter against the granite walls, methodically.
"Rather methodically," Nathaniel voiced his opinion to the mountain view. Grey light silhouetted the range that he had been graced with here at the Focus Tower. The snow seemed premature this year, and the bite in the air, rather unwelcome, pierced Nathaniel's senses every morning in the late season. It was much better at waking one up than a warm cup of coffee. Nathaniel couldn't help but stare at the mountains, though he felt his skeleton might shiver through his skin. His windows faced east, and over those cold mountains, across the vast sea, lay Nathaniel'shome. A kingdom he wondered if he'd ever see again.
Granted, he had every opportunity available to visit his homeland. His job granted him certain, one could say, "privileges". Many years of faithful servitude to the monastery allowed him to find a ministry that allowed him to travel, that being an "Ambassador of  the Morning."
Nathaniel nearly chuckled, thinking titles of any sort to be ridiculous. He remembered countless times he had been introduced as such, and every time he wanted to cringe within himself. Glory was never his thing.
Yet, he wouldn't change anything, as he truly enjoyed traveling, and seeing new places, and so when the opportunity presented itself, he gladly accepted the ambassador's job, ridiculous title aside.
Looking up into the crisp sky, Nathaniel thought once again of the beautiful kingdom he traded for this desolate place. He sighed. Nostalgia always seemed to set in during the sunrise, after the dreams. How many years had he been here now? He had given up counting when after realizing he'd been on year twenty-five for three years straight. He had left a life of conflict and strife for the monastery, hoping to find some semblance of peace in a war torn land. Beautiful as his home was, there was always a battle of some sort engaging, resulting in countless lives lost.
"Typical Novus," he said aloud, in discontent. The whole planet of Novus never seemed far from conflict, regardless of where Nathaniel looked. Peace, Nathaniel decided, had become a relative term, as he had given up finding "peace" for nations and determined that true peace could only come from within, on a person by person basis.
"We make our own peace," he recalled telling someone once, from some remote kingdom, somewhere. Actually, he had told quite a few people that recently. Indeed, he had helped others find peace, but he never seemed to find any for himself.
Still, it was better, being here at the Focus Tower than at home where he lived in fear of losing loved ones to the sword. Not once had he ever regretted leaving the violence, he just regretted how much he missed his family.
His stomach grumbled. He regretted how much he missed the food, the fun. Nathaniel looked at his lumpy mattress in the corner which subjected him to torture every night. He definitely missed the beds...
Nathaniel shook the thoughts from his head. "It was your idea to come here, stop acting like you hate it." Nathaniel closed the shutter and rigged the broken latch. He'd have to get that fixed before it woke him up again.
"Though it might not be such a bad thing," he mumbled, while sitting down at his desk. "Especially since these dreams keep getting darker." Nathaniel had taken up talking to himself ever since the nightmares started. He felt like it helped him to cope. He tried to reason that perhaps he wasn't really talking to himself, maybe he was talking to god, but since the only person he had to convince was himself, he wasn't doing such a good job.
"So what were we reading today?" Nathaniel had checked out a series of older books from the library, mostly boring things, like the Herbology of Healing or The Weapons of War, you know, books  someone would read once they've already read everything else. Nathaniel was quite a reader, after all. Most of the other brothers in the Tower called him a curious fellow. He'd become know as the only monk to read everything in the library before he'd lived there 100 years. Nathaniel found he was checking the same books out after only seven years.
"Perhaps that's where I lost count," Nathaniel surmised, looking at sketch of a excruciatingly painful sword in The Weapons of War.
"Yeesh. No wonder I have nightmares," Nathaniel attempted joking with himself. It didn't work, as he didn't laugh.
In actuality, the only reason Nathaniel had taken up reading so vivaciously is because of his dreams. They started well into his second year at the monastery. He could remember the first time he had dreamt quite clearly, though the dream itself wasn't all that memorable. He had woken that night in fear for his life, disoriented and terrified. The dream had been intense enough to make him seriously reconsider his commitment to the Morning Star Monastery. Nathaniel had come to The Focus Tower to learn about god, thinking a god could possibly bring him some peace. Yet somehow, he felt like these dreams were trying to scare him away. He supposed, in a way they had. He never really spent much time at The Tower anymore, as most of his servitude took place in the fields of Novus. The nightmares never bothered Nathaniel while he was in the field. Traveling, though fun, proved exhausting, and he welcomed fatigue, for it led to dreamless sleep as well as a sense of fulfillment. Nathaniel served faithfully, as it made him feel better about himself, and allowed him to temporarily forget the terrors that lurked in his mind.
Still, whenever he returned to The Focus Tower, the dreams would quickly ensue. For awhile he surmised his mind had finally caught up to the rest of his body, and that's why he had such horrific dreams, but it had become all too coincidental that he only had nightmares while he was here, back at The Tower. He thought once about asking some of the Elders about his dreams, but decided against it. He valued his job as an Ambassador too much to let on he might be emotionally unstable. So he decided to research dreams on his own, in the vast library of knowledge of The Focus Tower. It became a silent compulsion, and though he was careful not to seem too obsessive, the library would be the first place he'd visit on furlough to see if any new books had been returned by his brethren. He quickly became known as "Book-aniel", and there was quite a few times some of the brothers had angrily knocked on his door to wrestle that last copy of El'oheem in Different Cultures from his grasp.
Nathaniel sighed, closing The Weapons of War, knowing he'd have to go to morning chapel soon. All his research notwithstanding, he was no closer to an answer than the first restless night. He had become very successful in deciphering others dreams, but still couldn't interpret his own.

He sat back in his chair, and crossed his fingers on his chin, deep in thought. The dreams, inconsistent in occurrence, were perpetually unvarying in content. Though the faces were different and unnameable, and the violence aberrant, there was always, always, a feeling of a presence. A presence of something unseen. Something dark, deadly, and very malevolent. Nathaniel wasn't sure there was a word to describe the evil presence he sensed in the dreams. Always there, always unseen.
Nathaniel shuddered as a cold chill rushed over him. (At least, that's what he told himself.) He leaned forward to warm his hands over his candle, wondering if the broken latch was letting in a draft, when he saw it.
It was a small book, at least, smaller than the others, and rather worn at the edges. Its pages looked a little ruffled, and it's leather bound cover cracked and creased with age. Nathaniel's heart leaped, as he'd forgotten which visit to the library he found this novelty, remembering he had never seen it before. He grasped for it, the dust on the cover thick enough for the tips of his fingers to leave marks. How long did he have this book? He couldn't remember.
Wiping the cover free of the dust revealed a language Nathaniel never read before. At least, he assumed it was language. The markings looked enough like letters, but he was unable to link them together. Opening the book, he quickly became disappointed. It wasn't truly a book like the others, it seemed to be more of a journal, teeming with drawings and words and stories he couldn't comprehend, encompassed with field notes and commentary. A couple of pages of common dialect were scattered throughout the nonsense, but not enough to decipher a decent explanation.
"The world shall never know peace this side of the star."the book read, in a handwritten script. "War shall be known to men all the days of their lives."
"Well that's no surprise," Nathaniel muttered, thinking about the fragile treaties and trade agreements between countries that never seemed to last, and the majority of the uninhabited land which had been overrun by warlords, scavengers and pirates. He'd has his run in with more than his fair share of ruffians during his expeditions abroad. If anything, the script in the book re-affirmed his commitment. Within the walls of the Focus Tower, he could seek out inner peace.
"While the rest of the world goes to rot," he argued with himself. He looked at his bed, the tiredness already creeping behind his eyes. "Like I have any peace."
Nathaniel closed the book, knowing he'd never find his answers here, but as he did, something caught his eye, and he flung the tome back open. He leafed through the pages so quickly some of the brittle edges broke, but he didn't care, he had to find it.
There! He stopped, and quickly skimmed the page for the words he had seen, words that pierced him through his very soul.
The Unseen.
He couldn't believe what he was looking at. It appeared to be a sketch, an artist conception of the very thing he had been dreaming of. The eyes, the grin, enveloped in a blackness, inky as a sketch could make it, almost a fog of sorts. The words "The Unseen" had been scrawled across the top in a shaky hand, but there was no mistaking the feeling Nathaniel was experiencing. This was it!
This was exactly the way he felt in his nightmares! Sweat burst through his pores again, his mouth beginning to water at the threat of nausea, and he struggled to turn the page. This proved so very hard to do, because the eyes drawn on that page had him under their control.
"That's just silly!" Nathaniel said to himself as his own shaking hand fought to turn the page. "This is just a book!"
The next page didn't avail him of his jitters. There was another picture sketched out, this one made up of symbols, a kind of hieroglyphics, kind of the same writing on the cover. There was the two moons, one full and the other a crescent, and a silhouette of a dragon-like creature, its tail enveloping a planet. Then the sun and four stars. Next to the picture was the same crooked handwriting. The words "A prophecy?" and more, smaller writing that Nathaniel had to squint to read.
"God is One, His Light is Four. The Evil is One, His Darkness is Unseen. The Traveler has come."
Nathaniel’s eyes squinted harder, as sweat seeped into his eyes. He struggled to read the tiniest writing, which scrawled off the edge of the page.
“Death has come with him.”
Nathaniel’s heart turned to stone in his chest.
“A prophecy? This sounds like a curse!”
“What’s a curse?”
Nathaniel nearly jumped out of his skin as he slammed his book shut. “My god, Kyvott! Don’t you ever knock?”
Kyvott, one of Nathaniel’s only friendly acquaintances, stood nonchalantly in the doorway. “Well I did, but you didn’t answer. I came to see if you were going to the morning prayer.”
Nathaniel attempted to regulate his breathing. “Of course. I was just. . .uh. .”
Kyvott sauntered in and sat down in an empty chair, thankfully ignoring Nathaniel’s new speech impediment. “You might want to put some more clothes on, though. I don’t think the Elders would appreciate your vow of poverty, regardless how serious you might be.”
Nathaniel felt embarrassed, but grateful someone had a sense of humor. He quickly hurried to his wardrobe while Kyvott busied himself with a quill and parchment.
“So how long are you staying this time?” Kyvott asked, though not really looking in Nathaniel’s direction.
“Only a few days. I’ve heard there’s some social unrest in the northern province of Tol’klor that needs attending to. At least, that’s where they’re sending me...” Nathaniel trailed off, thinking to himself. There’s no way he’d be sleeping peacefully now. He had to read the rest of that book.
“You were screaming again last night,” Kyvott’s voice sounded serious, but he continued writing. Nathaniel listened to the quill scratching on the paper.
“Was I?” He asked, not really wanting an answer.
“You know, I’m sure one of the Healers could give you something to help you sleep. They make a wonderful tea that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. I’m sure they could concoct something to give you a dreamless sleep.”
“Is it that obvious?” Nathaniel asked, tying his belt.
“Well, I can hear you, and I live down the hall. I know your neighbors have visited The Healers recently for their own tea.”
“That’s lovely.”
Kyvott put the quill down and looked at him. “You know, you really should ask for help sometimes instead of trying to hide your problems.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” Nathaniel lied, glancing at the old book. He was beginning to think his friend Kyvott could read him too easily.
“Really? Then I think you might want to re-evaluate the way you’re acting when you come home from the field. Trent’s not going to keep sending you out if he thinks it’s wearing on you.”
Nathaniel shifted a little at the mention of Trent’s name. High Priest Trent was one of the Elder monks who had a spot on the high council known as the Circle of Seven. Trent, a glorious man, committed to humility and excellence the way a monk should be, was the very one who had commissioned Nathaniel as an Ambassador. The thought that Trent might decommission him proved to be a very humiliating thought to Nathaniel. What was worse, was the idea he’d be stuck here, tormented in his dreams every night by The Unseen.
“You really think they’d remove my title?” Nathaniel asked, never feeling so protective of a label before.
“Certainly. Especially if you continue to hide in your room reading odd books,” Kyvott’s eyes had followed Nathaniel’s to the books on the desk. “Maybe you should speak with Trent. Or even Lord Kirjath.”
Nathaniel scoffed. “High Lord Kirjath would never see me. He’s too busy saving the world.” That really came out more biting than it should have. Luckily Kyvott chose to ignore the tone.
“Still, it’s worth the trouble. Besides, Lord Kirjath keeps a closer eye on you than you realize, with Trent singing your praises and all.” Kyvott smirked a little. “You never know, this might be just the opportunity you need to get your other foot in the door of The Seven.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Nathaniel agreed, ignoring the double meaning of Kyvott’s words. Maybe all this stuff was in his head. His nightmares could very well be a by-product of all his extra-curricular imagination. Then again, if it wasn’t. . .
“Of course I’m right.” Kyvott stood, rolling up his note and tucking it away in his sleeve. “I may never amount to anything higher than an Elder, but you, Nathaniel, you have been blessed by El’oheem. You’ve been born with talents the rest Circle of Seven could only dream about. You could easily hold any of their positions.” Kyvott rubbed his chin, and smiled. “Maybe you could even gain the papacy.”
“Kyvott, it would be against our creed for me to entertain such arrogant thoughts.”
Kyvott smiled. “Maybe for you. I think it’d be nice to be chummy with the High Lord.”
“I think you should pray for forgiveness.”
“Everyday. So are we going to prayer?”
Nathaniel held his stomach. “You go on ahead. I’m going to run by the Mess to grab a biscuit.”
Kyvott raised an eyebrow. “Late again? That’ll never do.”
“I’ll turn over a new leaf tomorrow. Save me a seat will you?”
“Bring me a biscuit?”
“Done.”
Kyvott waved and was off.
Nathaniel’s eyes hesitated for a moment on the book. He had an odd urge to take it with him, but decided against it. He latched his door instead.
Nathaniel hurried down to the kitchen, not really interested in food. He just needed some time to clear his head before he showed his face among the Circle. Kyvott’s words echoed in his mind.
Could he possibly have a chance to become one of the High Priests?
Images of his dreams flashed behind his eyes, and he shook his head violently. Not if he couldn’t get a hold of himself. Reaching the Mess hall, he found remnants of morning’s breakfast. There were a few muffins left, and he quickly snatched two up and hurried back in the direction he’d come. Munching softly on his muffin, (which tasted like figs and dates), he looked longingly at the smooth walls. The shades of granite reminded him of his home. It reminded him of the castle, ancient as it was, nonetheless glorious, as it rose above the plains.
Nathaniel sighed. Someday, he’d see his home again.
As Nathaniel carelessly sauntered down the spiral staircases towards the Grand Assembly, he heard voices, a conversation, going on down the hall. It didn’t phase him, really. Most of the monks spoke frequently with one another while passing. They were a family, after all, united under a common banner. Wondering if it was anyone he knew, he quickened his pace, a little ashamed for being late.