I wasn't sure if I was dead or dreaming. I was completely aware of what was going on but I had no control over myself or the scene unfolding before my eyes. I wanted to turn my head to look around at my unfamiliar surroundings. It worried me that I was unable to.

  Everything in the room had too much detail to be just a dream. I felt the cold, damp air on my skin. I wasn't able to, but I bet the stone wall would feel exactly as I imagined it would feel under my fingers. It all seemed so real.

  It didn't take me long to realize that I was in some sort of prison cell. The walls had no windows which I could see in my limited field of vision. But the lack of light other than the dim torchlight suggested a windowless room.

  My stomach dropped as I heard the subtle click of a lock being opened followed by the harsh scraping of iron across stone. I couldn't look behind me to see who was being thrown into the cell. But, I didn't need to wait long before seeing a small bundle of fine, light blue linens being tossed onto the floor of the cell a few paces in front of me.

  The ball of linens slowly opened up to reveal a sleeve with a petite hand. The light blue fabric accentuated her tanned skin from long days of sitting in the sun. The figure shakily pushed herself to her knees. From my vantage point I couldn't see her face. Her hair hung half in a bun and the rest roughed up by the poor treatment of those who imprisoned her. It was a sun bleached golden brown.

  Suddenly she fell back on her side from a sturdy kick from a leather boot.

  "Where is he?!" He growled at the woman while bending down to grab a handful of her hair. The jailer pulled the noblewoman to her feet but his wide shoulders blocked my view of her face.

  As if to demonstrate that the flame in her soul couldn't be extinguished by a simple kick, she sucked in a short breath and spat on the man's boot. The red of her blood stained the brown material. "Who is he?" She snarled defiantly.

  I noticed that the jailer's elaborate tunic wasn't something I'd imagine a jail keeper would typically wear. It was well fitted and made of the finest black fabric I'd ever seen. The sleeves and collar were embroidered with intricate, dainty floral patterns, not with gold like you typically see with nobles, but with a brilliant aqua colored thread. His broad sleeve blocked my view of the man striking the woman but the sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh is difficult to ignore.

  "You know damn well who he is, bitch! Otherwise you wouldn't be here." I was startled by the hatred in his tone but he didn't react.

  "Give up his location or better yet, his name, so we can track him ourselves."

  The woman lay with her cheek on the stone floor covering her face with the fabric of her sleeve. The red of her blood slowly replaced its light blue color, her fighting spirit left her with it. Impatiently the jailer grabbed the woman's hair and lifted her off the floor again. This time with a grunt. She cried out in pain being forced to her knees in such a way.

  "The bastard, Armagina, Where's the bastard hiding?" It was my mother's eyes that met the gaze of the jailer.

  ──── ? ────

  "NO! NO! NO! NO!" I screamed as I woke from the nightmare. I felt hands holding down my shoulders so I didn't hurt myself from the wild flailing of my arms fighting off an attacker that didn't exist. Or the blanket I was getting tangled up in.

  "Breathe, my child. In and out. It'll pass. Listen to my voice. Come back to me, dear." It was my mother softly calling out to me. She was safe. It was okay.

  I stopped flailing and rolled onto my side. But my body still shook, each breath I took was shallow. The blankets suffocated me but I was so tired, I didn't have the energy to even open my eyes.

  "That's it, my child. Let it go. Don't hold on to the image. Let it go. Sleep, my boy." She rubbed the bridge of my nose with her finger like she used to when I was violently ill as a young boy. The light touch of her finger that made me drowsy. But, it was the unknown lullaby she softly sung that lulled me into the clutches of peaceful sleep.

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  When I awoke again I cautiously opened my eyes and looked around without moving my head. I was inside my mother's market tent. On the dark canvas of the roof, shadows danced as the single lantern steadily burned somewhere in the tent. I could tell it was just after sunset.

  My head throbbed but not to the extent that it did when Hera brought me to my mother hours earlier.

  Hera! I turned my head searching for any sign of her but I was quickly rewarded with a sharp stabbing pain behind my eye. I grunted, ignoring the headache that still plagued me as I stuggled to sit up. Hera was nowhere to be seen. My mother was also away leaving me completely alone in the tent.

  "Mum." I tried calling for her but I couldn't get the sound to come out. "Mum," I mumbled again, still nothing. My throat felt so dry. It burned when I spoke.

  Weakly, I raised my arm and smacked the side of the tent but I doubt my mother would have heard it. The wetness of tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. I was alone, weak, in pain, but mostly, scared.

  The last thing I remember with Hera was me telling her to leave me to die on the hill. I started sobbing uncontrollably. Each deep breath sent a jot of pain through my head. My arms felt so heavy. I didn't bother trying to move them again. They hung limply at my side.

  "Mummy," I snickered between the deep breaths of my sobbing. Like a child, I deeply wished for her to come back. I tried calling her again as I've done so often when I was little. "Mummy!" I heard the flap of the tent as it gently fell back into place. I didn't look over to the door. I didn't have the extra energy to spare.

  I felt my mother's warm touch as she sat down beside me on the pile of blankets that made up my bed in her tent. She helped my hands around a warm mug filled with the floral smelling tea that she always drank.

  "Drink this my boy. It's yellow flower tea. It won't cure the headache but it will help take the edge off." She held my shaking hands to keep the mug stable while I sipped the tea. Its warmth bought a sense of relief. I felt my strength trying to return.

  "Eat this. It'll make you feel better." I watched my mother unwrap my half of the blueberry spice cake and put it in my hands. "It's from Hera." She said. That I already knew.

  I slowly nibbled on the ripped edge of the cake. It was the greatest thing I had ever tasted, sweet with the fine prick of spices dancing over my tongue. The smell reminded me of the afternoon with Hera on the hill. My stomach clenched up and I began to cough and dry heave. I smelt this cake before violently falling ill in front of Hera. My body remembered it.

  "Easy, my boy, easy." She carefully took the cake away and handed me a plain cracker. "Try this instead." My body eagerly accepted the scentless, tasteless cracker. It was gone in two bites.

  "Can I have another mum?" I asked not looking up from my lap. I just couldn't bear the idea of looking into her eyes. She pushed a small stack of the tasteless crackers in my hand. I slowly munched on the crackers while my mother rubbed my back and shoulders. Her soft touch helped to distract my thoughts from my hunger and fatigue.

  "The first vision is always the worst," she said softly massaging my back. "You'll always get headaches when you see something. The magic stains your physical body but it gets easier to deal with as you improve."

  She explained like it was just something natural. My heart sunk in my chest. I don't want to think about it. I leaned away from her, weakly pushing her arm away.

  "What's wrong, my child?"

  I shook my head at everything she had just told me. The motion encouraged the throbbing headache to come back but I didn't care. Now I had confirmation that my dream was in fact not a dream at all. Sometime in the future, a mother I barely recognized will be senselessly beaten in a jail cell.

  "No. No. No. It was just a bad nightmare," I denied. "It was just a nightmare." If I denied it enough it would become the truth. At least that's the lie I was going to force myself to believe. No. Not a lie. My truth.

  "Drink my child." She pushed the mug into my hands. She looked sorrowfully toward the door of the tent but she did have that sparkle in her eye that I've seen often. Whatever she was secretly happy about she didn't put into words.

  "The master of the market has agreed to let us stay the night here in the tent. He wishes you a speedy recovery," she said, breaking the silence between us. She sighed before continuing, tenderly grabbing my hand.

  "Fern also agreed to help us get home tomorrow. His brother Vine has a horse and cart that he can borrow." She paused and looked at me with a stern expression. "And from now on he will live with us."

  I summoned the strength to slap the blankets I sat on. Anger renewed my spirit more than the food, drink or rest. When my life couldn't get any worse, my mother invited Fern into it when I'm at my weakest.

  "How could you? Why? Mum. Why?" I sobbed.

  My mother turned to face me. I looked into the eyes that I'd seen in the dream. It was really her despite the weird clothes and name. "Because I need him, my child. Events are progressing faster than I could've imagined." She shook her head and looked away. "I need the protection that Fern can offer us. I can no longer do it on my own. You will need to accept it eventually."

  I opened my mouth to give her a rebuttal but she quickly cut me off. I sulked like a child that wasn't allowed to leave his room. "And from now on there will be more changes you will be forced to accept. It's best you accept that fact now. It will make life easier. Now. Sleep." I pursed my lips. I wanted to argue but I was just too exhausted.

  Like the timid child my experiences of the day had turned me into, I obediently curled up under the blanket and went back to sleep. The strange lullaby being hummed by my mother filling the tent with her soft voice.