The Chosen One

Prologue

Prologue

Though his body slept, the Dream Master’s mind held no rest. Visions formed, dim at first, but the scene quickly came into focus as he stood within the dreamscape of his mind.

He flinched as a flash of lightning lit the area around him, showing he was just outside his home standing in the Xilitlan village clearing. While his physical form lay warm in his bed, his soul ventured out into the dark world—just as it did every night, yet this evening something felt different.

A tremendous clap of thunder shook the earth, shattering the quiet of the secluded Indian village. Rain poured down from the black sky above.

This is a sign, the beginning of a sacred vision!

Thunder rumbled through the ground beneath his bare feet, echoing within his soul. What would be revealed to him this night? Would the knowledge blessed, or would it be cursed?

As he waited for the vision to come, a green light sprouted from soil, humming with energy, growing in intensity. The Dream Master shielded his eyes against the glare, holding his breath in anticipation. The Ancient One then appeared no less than two feet away, dressed in his ceremonial garb. He looked so strong now, so full of life and youthful vigor. It was hard to believe their healer had died looking so feeble, so very old and weak.

The Dream Master dropped to his knees. Yes! After so many years he was at last experiencing the vision he and the villagers had been waiting for, praying for.

Without uttering a word, the Ancient One motioned for the Dream Master to rise to his feet. He did so, eagerly awaiting the message he had been hoping to dream of for the past five years. The Ancient One nodded his snowy head, a benevolent smile pulling at the corners of his thin lips. Without sound or song being breathed from his lungs, he communicated with the Dream Master, transferring thoughts through the so-still air and into one another’s minds.

At last we meet again, my friend.

It is wonderful to see you, Ancient One. We have waited so very long for you to appear. Many have died without you in the village to heal them. Some have left behind their life in the jungle to move to the city below.

Yes. I have seen this from the other side. I have been waiting until the time was right to appear again—as I promised I would.

The Dream Master felt joy coursing through him. The Ancient One would be returning to them; their Supreme Healer.

The village will once again have a healer. My weary soul has at last found a place to rest with a long life ahead.

Where?

A child with hair the color of a golden sunrise and eyes like jungle fern. Search him out. Bring him here to Xilitla. He will be your new healer.

A picture flashed through the Dream Master’s mind: the image of an Anglo boy, approximately five-years-old. But where did this child live? He could be anywhere on the face of this big, wide Earth. How would he find him? How long would the search take? Frustration filled him. The village had been too long without a healer. They could not wait much longer.

Where is this child? The words were urgent as the dream started to fade. No! He could not wait for another vision to appear to him—if it ever did again. Where is this child? The question was more insistent this time.

Another scene flashed before him: a woman, the mother of the child, he supposed. Long auburn hair and green catlike eyes rimmed with silken lashes filled his vision. Lush pink lips that grew wide when she laughed warmed his brain. Her figure was full and curved in places made for a man to hold on to. His body stirred with the image, but he quickly lectured himself over becoming aroused at a vision when he should concentrate on finding the boy: their next Supreme Healer.

Before the dream faded completely, he heard a name echo in the air, spoken by a voice so sweet and so soft it nearly stole his breath away: Matthew Colby.

Noel woke with a start, his breathing fast and perspiration covering his body. He threw back the covers, exposing his nakedness to the cool air around him. His heart beat wildly in his chest and he gave a soft curse, taking note of the erection the woman in his dream had caused. How would she affect him in reality? He inhaled a sharp breath at the very thought.

“I must stay focused!”

Shoving the image away, he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom in search of a mind-clearing shower. One thought now coursed throughout him: he had to find Matthew Colby, no matter the obstacles, consequences, or cost. This Anglo child was destined to be his people’s healer.

The fates had planted their seed. It was Noel’s job to sow and tend to the ancient offspring, Matthew Colby, for he was ...The Chosen One.