New and Old Nightmares
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Miriah
Date Posted: 26th July 2016
Characters: J'ackt
Description: J'ackt's nightmares get worse.
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 7, day 12 of Turn 8
The dream was a familiar one. It had haunted J'ackt for Turns;
sometimes it changed and sometimes it didn't. When it did change, it
was usually for the worst...
~~
He didn't understand. Why was his mother crying? Why was she putting
his clothes into a bag? He hugged at her legs, her tears making his
own well up. Tugging at her skirts, he didn't understand. Could he
take Kitty? Why not? He loved Kitty! Mama? Stop crying…
Why was his Papa mad? Who were the angry men? He wanted his bed! He
wanted his Kitty! No! Don't put Kitty outside! She'll run away!
Mama? I'm scared! I want to go home!
A blow, a hard one to his cheek that made him stumble. He looked up
and his father seemed to tower over the trees as he loomed over him. A
gigantic hand reached from the sky to clasp at him and caught his
collar. He was lifted, then shaken, but the booming, angry voice of
his father was hard to understand. He didn't know what he was saying.
But behind it, the boy that he was in his dreams heard the soft cries
of his mother, and and saw the slim hands acting like his savior to
pull the giant hands away. They were tiny, but seemed so strong. They
rescued him.
Then, he was a little older. New images that were scarcely recalled
assaulted him. His mother shrieking, he trying to get his father to
stop pulling his mother's hair while she was dragged. He was small,
but he latched on to the bigger man's leg and bit as hard as he could.
He was kicked away and as he rolled, he saw the giant hand again,
coming down not to strike at him, but at the sobbing woman at his
feet. Words were now heard. "Whore! Nothing but a whore!" The blows
came raining down on his mother as the young Jenackt tried to reach
her, tried to save her as she always saved him.
The image twisted and suddenly he was the one raining blows on the
frightened woman. He looked up and saw his own face, smudged with
dirt, white blonde hair ragged and filled with dry leaves. He saw the
look on own face, the terror and determination of a young child that
was foolishly brave. He saw his own hand raising to strike, but cried
out and turned away, clutching at his own bloodied knuckles.
Then he saw himself striking at his own mother again. She was heavy
with child and protecting the smaller younger him. He had struck her
across the face for getting between him and himself and he was angry.
In a way that only a dream could manage, he saw out of both pairs of
eyes. In one image, he saw his mother's lifted hand, stretched out in
a defensive gesture over him. In another distorted version, he saw his
hand, once more gigantic come down...
As though his mind jerked away from wanting to see that blow, the
dream distorted once again.
The funeral pyre still smoldered, the remains of his mother and his
stillborn baby sister were a mixture of char and ashes. The stench
seemed to permeate everything, from the slight breeze to his clothes
and his hair. But still Jenackt stood guard, refusing in his stubborn
youth to leave his mother alone. He felt the fresh tears blooming in
his eyes, but hurriedly wiped them away; he winced as his hand touched
his swollen and bruised cheek and then glanced over towards his father
to make sure he hadn't noticed.
Crying was pointless, he had been told. Stop wailing. You're a man
now. Act like it. When he had not been able to silence the wails of
grief, his father, Jenasom, had struck him into silence. Now Jenackt
stood, refusing to become a victim of his father's hard hand again,
but wanting desperately to weep for the loss of his mother.
His beautiful red haired mother… Gentle. Soft. Loving. A warm bosom
that enfolded him. She was gone. Jenackt, struggled with the
realization that she would no longer be there to comfort when his
father raged.. Jenasom had refused to try to
find a Healer. He refused to go near the Hold. Jenackt didn't know why
and in that moment, he hated him. If he had gone, maybe his wonderful
mother would still live.
He couldn't help it. He turned to glare up at the figure beside him.
Jenasom, noticed and returned the childish glare with an arched brow.
"At least you've stopped your bawling." Jenackt's face flushed red
with embarrassment and anger as Jenasom continued coldly. "Well, boy?
Something to say? Or are you just going to start sobbing like a woman
again? Come on, you little bastard. Cry again, see what happens."
In his sleep, J'ackt snarled and kicked out, muscles tight. Zith,
wakened by the torment in his rider's mind, thrust his head through
the curtain that separated his wallow from J'ackt's sleeping area. His
low croon attempted to soothe J'ackt into some semblance of restful
sleep. He had learned early what these dreams meant and how he could
help them, but sometimes his rider's stubborn mind refused to let the
disturbing images go. He sent a tendril of comfort towards the dream.
He was being cuddled by warm, loving arms and a soft song was being
sung into his ear. A gentle hand stroked his hair and he was rocked
back and forth. The warmth and comfort of the embrace eased the
tension in his muscles, but it was the lullaby that finally brought
him some measure of an easy rest. His mother held him. His mother
would protect him. His mother was there.
Last updated on the August 16th 2016