CHAPTER SEVEN: THE OATH OF THE OAK TREE
Gabe
There was a room, dark as pitch, or perhaps it was full of light, and it was Gabe that was blind. He couldn’t say how long he’d been there. The creeping dark was immense and claustrophobic all at once, and he lost all sense of memory and time as he sat upon the cold floor. He couldn’t see, yet somehow a sense for which he had no name told him there were things outside the walls, moving in the depths of the churning nothing. Things with empty, hungry eyes that swept a trackless darkness, whose steps left everything cold in their passing. Patient and restless. Don’t see me, he thought, frigid with terror. Don’t see me, please.
Slowly, he became aware of light. A fuzzy orange glow coalesced into something recognizable: a single flame, burning bright in the darkness. Another appeared, and then another. It was a ring of candles, arranged in a semi-circle around the far corner of a dark room, opposite Gabe.
“There’s no point in hiding,” said the voice from the clearing, only now it was present and clear and ragged and hoarse, and not distant at all. “They know we’re here.”
In that corner, gaunt and slumped against the crux of two walls, was a man. His hair was long, his body worn and pale. He suddenly raised his face. The eyes were hidden beneath the shadows of a brow and the dark hair that draped upon it, but in the depths of the visage, Gabe glimpsed the reflection of candlelight. The figure watched him, and then he smiled.
“There you are,” he said. “We meet at last.”
Gabe felt his throat drying up as the figure straightened and raised a hand. The candles burned brighter, and it seemed to pain him. He recoiled. “Not yet, then,” the man said. “Not yet.” His head tilted to the side. “Soon, though.”
Their eyes met, and every ounce of migraine pain from which Gabe had been free since the age of six came crashing back. Fight this, his uncle’s remembered voice echoed in his mind. Fight it, Gabe.
His hands flashed up as if they could drive away the eye contact by flailing helplessly in the dark. Then his fingers grew warm. Suddenly so hot they hurt, as if his skin ignited and there was a flash of purple light. It was like he’d grabbed a live wire. Pain. Static shock surged through him. The darkness became day, and with a deafening crack, the room was gone.
“Gabe,” Lina’s voice reached him, as if from across a chasm. He couldn’t answer. His mouth was full of water. It was dark and wet. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning and choking. He sputtered and coughed.
“Cody! Cody that’s too much!” The voice was Lina’s.
Gabe’s eyes snapped open. Ceiling. Cody’s face, startled and frightened, filled his view. Water filled his mouth.
He sat up violently. Cody staggered back and the cup of water splattered on the floor. Gabe was in his own bed, the framed photo of himself and Uncle Michael sitting on the side table beside the headboard. His blankets were tangled around his legs, and his breath came in frantic gasps. Lina stood just behind Cody, whose look of shock shifted to one of relief. Merlin was lying on his legs. The dog barked enthusiastically.
“You’re awake,” Cody breathed. “You’re awake—”
Gabe’s hand shot out and grabbed his best friend by the shoulder. The dreams, the headache that crept back, how long he’d been out, the man behind the candles—none of that mattered. As he became aware of his surroundings and the memories rushed back, only one thing burned in the forefront of his mind.
“Aaron,” Gabe managed. His own voice sounded like a croak. “Aaron. Tell me he’s okay. Tell me he’s alright.”
“He’s alive,” Cody said. “But not awake since—" he didn’t finish the sentence, and looked away.
“Since I hurt him,” Gabe finished, falling back onto his pillow. Everyone he’d ever trusted had lied to him, and as a result, he’d done this to his brother.
Exhaustion settled on him, dragging him back to the mattress and beyond his capacity to resist. Lina’s words came from somewhere far away. “We’ll get you something to eat. You haven’t had anything in days.”
Gabe’s eyes closed against his protests.
When he opened them again, the angle of the sunlight pouring through the window was different. His heartbeat was normal. Gabe pushed himself up from bed and winced as his stomach growled. Merlin was still on his legs, and the dog shifted to the floor with him, watching him with thoughtful blue eyes.
His feet barely touched the floorboards, and he suddenly knew that two people were outside the door. He couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them, but somehow felt them—a pair of burning lamps just outside his room. Lina and Agnes. “Lina?” he said.
“I—yes, it’s me,” Lina’s voice—off-balance—started in reply. The door opened a second later and she stepped through holding a tray of food that it looked like she’d almost dropped. Agnes was just behind her. The old woman’s eyes were unsettled.
“How did you do that?” Lina asked.
“Do what?” Gabe answered. The headache was back, and a chorus of hammers pounded merrily away at his skull. Maybe he wasn’t ready to get up yet.
“Girl,” Agnes put her hand on Lina’s shoulder. “Go help Roberta in the garden, then bring John his tea, will you? After that, you all have lessons to see to.”
Lina, still shaken, put the tray down on the scratched dresser. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said with a warm smile. “We were all really worried.”
“The garden, girl,” Agnes said.
“Yes, Baba,” Lina said. She closed the door, and Gabe and Agnes were alone. Gabe reached for the water cup and drained it. “How long?” he managed. Merlin sat on his haunches beside him.
“Three days,” Agnes replied. “We worried you wouldn’t wake.”
Three days. No. That wasn’t possible. Gabe surged to his feet with a strength he didn’t know he had. “What?”
“Stay,” Agnes commanded. The words carried a tangible force that struck and washed over him, directed straight at his muscles. He almost obeyed, then his senses sharpened, and, with some effort, he straightened against her word and stood. Her eyes widened, surprised.
Then his knees buckled, and he pitched forward onto the floor, and Merlin was immediately with him, nuzzling his shoulder. Above him, Agnes sighed. “Foolish Domovoi,” she grunted. One of her hands looped under his arm and she helped him up. “You never listen.”
He didn’t fight her, this time. She guided him to the bed, pulled up the old wooden chair, and sat. “Always with the sneaking off and the thinking that rules are suggestions. Always getting into trouble and thinking a flashing smile will get you out of it again. You’re just like your mother, and you will be the death of me.”
“Why wasn’t I in the hospital?” Gabe groaned.
Her harsh, dry laugh cracked between them. “Hospitals can’t do anything for what ailed you. And you would not have been safe there. Too many eyes. Too many things written down.”
Gabe raised his eyes. The face of the woman who’d raised him looked back. Knowing, harsh, but compassionate. The mention of his mother was a brush against a void that it hurt to think about. “Baba,” he managed, fighting the tears at the corners of his eyes. “What’s happening to me?”
“You need to eat,” came her unflinching answer. This time she physically put the tray in his lap. The old woman’s face flashed with a deep frustration. “I wished nothing but peace for you, Domovoi, peace and quiet days. But all peace ends. I will tell you what I can, but first you must eat. When you’re done, wash up and come downstairs. You’ve not bathed in a week.”
By the time Gabe went downstairs he felt almost human again. It was nearly enough to dampen the surreal quality his home had gained since he’d awoken. That strange sense he’d acquired, that had made him aware of the people outside his door, felt like a continuous humming tingle overlaying everything from sight to sound to touch. Yet at the same time everything felt foggy, as if a heavy cloud lay over his mind, pushing gently down and cutting him off from the sun.
He found Agnes in the sitting room. Merlin walked past him and padded over to her left side, sitting down. When Gabe was a little kid, he’d spent hours before the crackling fireplace, listening to the stories she and John told. Even Uncle Michael had sometimes come to listen, even though he didn’t care much for fairytales.
Except for that one Arthurian one—Percival and the Holy Grail, and sometimes his son Lohengrin, the Knight of the Swan. Michael loved those… though they always seemed to make him sad.
Agnes sat in her chair, Merlin beside her. For just a moment, she looked so tired that he thought she might be asleep.
Gabe broke the silence as he stepped into the room. “I did what you asked.”
Her eyes flicked open. Outside it was late afternoon, and he saw Roberta and Cody hauling water to the barn.
“Where’s John?” Gabe tried again.
“In bed,” Agnes expression spasmed briefly with a deeper pain. Merlin licked her hand, and she scratched the back of his head. “He’s not been feeling well, the past few days.”
“You said he was just sick!” Michael’s voice echoed in Gabe’s memory. “It’s worse than that, isn’t it? The whole thing’s coming down.”
What was coming down?
She’s not telling the full truth about John, Gabe thought. “You said you’d tell me what you could,” Gabe pressed. Not the nicest way to say it, but he was tired. Guilt over Aaron gnawed at his mind and he never wanted to see any of his friends look that scared again. “Please,” He finished.
The old woman watched him. “You’re waking up,” she said at last and with great reluctance. “And that was not supposed to happen for two more years.”
A chill crept down Gabe’s neck. “What do you mean?”
The look she gave him was knowing and sad. “You’re a smart boy. You know that your brothers and sisters are not ordinary.”
This was a dramatic change from her refusal to engage with him in the kitchen, before everything that had happened in the clearing. A small spark of hope lit in his chest. Maybe he was getting somewhere. Gabe paused. “Roberta set things on fire without meaning to when we were little, sometimes. And sometimes Lina’s dreams come true. Cody could heal himself, once. Aaron made himself stronger.”
Agnes stared at him, clearly waiting for him to finish the thought.
“And then there’s me,” he said. Hearing it aloud was frightening.
“Yes,” Agnes confirmed. Her eyes glinted in the firelight. “You are not like the others.”
Gabe shivered despite the warmth of the room. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“That depends on where you are standing,” she answered. “Best to say it is a hard thing and accept that you will have to deal with it.”
“Are you going to tell me what ‘it’ is?” he tried to keep his voice even. Anger never helped with Agnes. Still, someone should’ve told him. Told them all. And clearly the adults felt they didn’t deserve to know.
“You have a gift,” Agnes finally answered. “It is… dangerous to you. You weren’t supposed to learn of it until you were older.” She looked regretfully at the fireplace. “Until you were ready.”
“You’re not going to tell me,” Gabe thrust the words out between them. “Are you?”
“I want to,” Agnes said with a sigh, “but your uncle forbade me. It is his duty and place to tell you the truth himself.”
Immediately Gabe’s memory flashed back to the last time he’d seen his uncle and Agnes interact. The tension, and the strange sense that despite the age difference and her ability to talk roughly to Michael in a way that nobody else could, his uncle held some sort of power over the old woman that made her relent when push came to shove.
Gabe somehow doubted that his uncle’s repeatedly demonstrated pride would yield even in the face of his own begging for information. Bitterness twisted around his heart. “So much for that, then,” he snapped. His fists balled at his side and wet tears stained his cheeks. “Uncle Michael never tells me anything.”
“And you never once imagined it might be for your own good,” Agnes fired back. Something flashed in the depths of her eyes. “Never once did you imagine that prices have been paid for your freedom to grow up without knowing.”
“Thanks,” Gabe snapped. “Really helped me when I almost killed someone and spent days in a coma.”
“Domovoi!” she barked the nickname. Gabe fell silent.
“I have told you what I am allowed,” Agnes said after a steadying breath. “Now I must ask you to be patient. To relax as much as you can. Tension will only make this worse. Don’t do anything rash. You must promise me.”
Gabe stayed quiet. The requests weren’t unreasonable. Agnes knew more about this than he did, and she probably had his best interests at heart… but that was just it. She knew more about it than he did, and it was about him.
Gabe took a deep breath, rolled the words over in his head, then made his decision. “Alright, Baba,” he finally said. “I promise.” Fuck you.
She seemed to weigh what he’d said. The waning afternoon light played off the old woman’s intent eyes. The spark of danger was still there, but Gabe met it and didn’t look away. “Good,” she said. “All will be revealed when your uncle returns. I will see to it. Now, go find Lina and Cody. They’ve been worried sick about you.”
Again, Gabe obeyed. At least this time, he could keep the letter of the promise.
Oh, I won’t be rash, he thought. I promise. When I do this, I’ll have thought it through.
“One more thing,” Agnes said.
“Yes?”
“I have told the others that you and Aaron tripped while fighting in the forest. Do not disabuse them of that story, do you understand?”
Gabe looked at Agnes, feeling the rage rising as he realized that she was asking him to lie to his oldest, closest friends. He took a breath and kept it from reaching his face as best he could.
Are you serious?
“Perfectly.”
Hours later, Gabe stepped out into the light of golden hour with Merlin on his heels, about a half-hour after dinner. Lina, Cody, and Roberta followed, trying to keep up with his furious steps. Agnes was upstairs, taking care of John, who was apparently sick again, and there were no chores left to do. He had to get away from the house, from the ears of his caretakers and to a place where he felt solid and safe. Only one spot fit the bill, truly: the old oak tree.
“Slow down dude,” Cody said. “You’re walking like you’ve got a bunch of dogs on your heels.”
“I just wanna get where I’m going,” Gabe said. “I need to be away from the house right now.”
It was hard to keep the sharpness out of his voice, and he felt the smallest pang of guilt. His friends didn’t deserve to be yelled at, but dammit, he didn’t want to wait to talk about this any longer than he had to. That meant getting where prying ears wouldn’t hear. The four teenagers and their dog arrived at the small plot of beaten flat grass around the base of the tree, the huge branches Gabe had climbed so many times stretching into the sky high above. The rare autumn sunlight threaded through the branches, cutting the ground up with gold and shadows.
“What’s this about?” Roberta asked, crossing her arms.
“Okay,” Gabe said, turning to look at the three of them. “What I’m about to say is gonna sound crazy, but I need you all to believe me, okay?”
The three looked between each other. Then Lina said, “I’m going to vouch for what he’s going to say.” The pause that followed was awkward.
“Dreams?” Roberta asked.
Lina hugged her arms against the chill, her secondhand hoodie not seeming to do much in the wind. Merlin stepped up beside her and leaned against her. She put her hand on his back. “Yeah.” Her tone suggested she didn’t want to elaborate much. “You all know they come true sometimes, so take that as proof that things in this house are more than a little weird.”
“Aaron and I didn’t trip and fall in the woods,” Gabe said. “I don’t understand exactly what happened, but it wasn’t that. We found some sort of circle way back in the forest, and he picked a fight, and somehow my blood ended up on it and—”
He told them about the flash of purple light. The dying trees. The moment Aaron had fallen and what he’d done to try and save him, even as he wasn’t sure if it would work.
“Why were you fighting?” Roberta asked quietly.
“Seriously?” Gabe asked. “That’s not important right now.”
“It’s important to me.”
She stared at him. The others did, too. Cody looked uneasy. Lina had that faraway look in her eyes that she sometimes got when things were tense and painful between all of them.
“I skipped out on my chores,” Gabe said. “I got… distracted.” He sighed. He didn’t mention that it was because he’d heard voices. That was too much to reveal right now. Too disquieting. Merlin watched him as he omitted things, and Gabe couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged. “Aaron told me that Agnes made you do them,” he looked Roberta in the eyes. “He said that she cares more about me than anyone else here, and…” he sighed. Looked down. “I dunno,” he said. “Look I’m sorry. I know there’s something weird with me and I know I get treated differently than the rest of you, but also, nobody’s telling me the truth, and I did something horrible to someone that I don’t want to do again.”
He paused. Awkward. The corners of his eyes stung. “I promise. I just want to know what’s going on, because I deserve to know… and so do the rest of you.” Silence. The wind blew through the grass between them. “Roberta could make fire when we were little,” he said. “Lina dreams. Cody once healed himself. None of it was fake. We didn’t imagine any of it. Something is up with us, and if it takes spying on Baba to figure out what, I’m going to do it. With all of you. Maybe if we figure out enough, we can—” his voice caught with guilt “—we can wake Aaron up.”
“What happened?” Cody asked. “The night of that storm, before Michael left?”
Gabe took a breath. “Do not tell anyone what you saw.”
“Just because they’re not your family doesn’t mean they’re not mine.”
“There was a voice in the storm,” Gabe finally said. “It didn’t say anything that made any sense to me. Something about a tree and a cut thread. I can’t make any sense of it.” He hesitated, then said “Uncle Michael didn’t want me to tell you that. I think you deserve to know, even if I don’t understand what it means.”
You’re lying about the other voices, his conscience whispered. Or at least omitting them.
Roberta watched him with stern eyes, then Gabe thought he saw her expression soften just a little. He looked at Cody, hoping for backup. The sandy-haired boy nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’m in.”
“Okay,” Roberta said finally. “I’ll admit that I don’t… I don’t really want to like you right now, but also,” she sighed. “Also, you’ve been through a lot and at the end of the day you are my obnoxious, egotistical brother. I’m in.”
Lina watched all of them, and she had a look on her face that was all conflict and unease. Then, slowly, her hands unwound from their hug around her upper arms, and she extended her hand into the center. “Let’s swear like we used to, when we were kids playing castles in the woods.”
Gabe held out his hand, laying it over Lina’s smaller one. Cody went next, and finally Roberta. The wind blew through the branches above them, rustling leaves in the fading, golden light. Merlin sat by, watching them all.
“Bold and Brave,” Roberta repeated the line they hadn’t said since they were kids, something from one of John’s old books.
“Honest and True,” Cody continued.
“Until the end of all days,” Lina followed up.
“I swear friendship to you,” Gabe finished.
He could swear he felt a warmth pass between them. There, then gone with the breeze.