Untitled Piece III. 11.10.2004 -

Chapter 1.

11.10.2003 - 02.26.2004

Thud! "Ouch." The dust from the wooden floorboards filled Byron's lungs as he took a deep breath, heaving himself up and into a kneeling position. He ruffled a long-fingered hand through his shoulder length caramel locks as a small, heart-shaped face peeked around the doorframe at him. Fluttering lashes framed a pair of glittering indigo eyes and the girl blinked him a small smile.

"Fell out of bed again, didn't you?" She did not wait for a reply before she began dancing around the hallway, giggling feverishly at him. "Byron fell out of bed again, Byron fell out of bed again, Byron fell out of bed again!" She paused mid-dance and thrust out her tongue at her older brother, promptly receiving a face-full of pillow and goose down feathers. "Ouf." She muttered softly, collapsing in a heap against the wall, pillow clutched tightly to her chest.

"Oh do stop it, Ebba!" Byron grumbled under his breath and began to stand; fixing the fur blankets that covered his bed's wooden frame. The girl's features became somber as she stood, still clutching the pillow, and approached her brother. Byron stood tall compared to the girl; where she was small, delicate, and petite, Byron was tall, with chiseled muscles and long limbs. Side by side, their age difference was much more apparent. Byron was all of nearly eighteen years while Ebba had barely surpassed nine; and yet at the same time, they were intellectually almost equals. It was times like this that Ebba's uncanny maturity was most evident. She slipped around in front of Byron, her long redwood-colored hair swinging into her face as she stared up at him, very serious.

"It's happened again, hasn't it?" She dropped the pillow on to the bed, tugging at his damp night shirt. She blinked at the feeling and continued in a hushed manner. "Your dreams have been haunted this night, haven't they? Brother, you should tell someone. mayhaps someone could help."

"Mayhaps you should keep your mouth shut!" Byron barked; his striking cobalt eyes were a wave of fury overshadowed with a twinge of fear. Ebba fell silent, looking up at him regretfully. "My thousand apologies, Small One, but you know they would not understand. I do not even understand."

The child nodded curtly and walked to his oak trunk, pulling out a fresh shirt and breeches. She handed them to him and blinked expectantly before speaking. "Father is out in the fields and Mother has gone into town. She's stopping by Mistress Garret's Dress Shop for some fabrics with which to make us new Sunday clothes," Ebba explained while crossing the hall to her own room. She took out a white apron tying it around her waist before peeking back into her brother's room. "Good, you're dressed." She hopped up onto his bed to button his waist coat for him. After another look over him, Ebba seemed satisfied with her work and sighed softly. "Byron. I'm worried about you. How is it that you went nine whole years without a soul knowing about these dreams of yours?"

Byron chuckled softly to himself and hugged his sister tightly, tousling her hair, for which he received a distinct glare and a pinch to the bicep. "Oh ho, so now you're smart enough to know about these dreams flush after your birth?" He rolled his eyes at her as-a-matter-of-fact glare. He taunted softly, "Oh now I'm in for it, eh.?"

"Actually," Ebba explained with an air as she rebraided her disheveled locks, "You know exactly what I meant so you may stop taunting me right now, Byron Crebs. And do not mock me in such a manner!" She turned to stare pointly down her tiny, button nose at him as his mouth snapped shut in a failed attempt to stifle a chuckle. "If Mother and Father were to ever get word of these dreams."

Byron cut her off mid-sentence; he knew perfectly well the number of things that could, and quite possibly would, happen if ever anyone were to find out about his . unusual dreams. "But Mother and Father are not going to get word of them." he paused briefly, "and if they ever did get word."

Byron let his voice trail off, knowing that he didn't really need to say such things to Ebba. She was, oddly enough, his closest companion and confidant. She was, in fact, the only person he'd ever told about the dreams and although it wasn't by choice, he'd quickly found that at times like these he was very grateful Ebba was his sister, that she knew about the dreams, and that she was the person she was. He also knew that Ebba would only tell if she thought his life was in danger and at the moment, luckily, it was not. With that said, he pulled Ebba into a semi-bear hug and squeezed her tightly, muttering a very soft 'thank you' as he lifted her off his bed and plopped her down on the floor. She nodded obediently and remained perfectly still like one of the little key-wound soldiers that were so popular with boys her age as her brother marched out of the room, out of the hall, out of the house, and down to the fields to greet his father for the morning. It was only after he'd disappeared into the fields that Ebba moved, dropping her gaze to the floor. She glowered at it for a few moments before kicking the floorboards and scattering a puff of dust towards the doorway. "Why I ought to." she howled at the dust, as if it could hear her, before stomping down the hall and to the back door of their family's home. Ebba blinked out at the rising sun and chewed nervously on the inside of her left cheek then turned from the mid-spring landscape and trudged back down the hall, a broom clasped firmly in one hand, to her Byron's bedroom where she promptly set to work sweeping, all the while jabbering away furiously to the empty walls which surrounded her.

The sun was barely breaking over the hill's crest when Byron began picking his way down towards his father and their family's fields. His father, Rian, was already waiting, leaning against a hoe and nodding as their neighbor, Madam Wice, as she chatted away amiably. Madam Wice was aged but when it came to beauty, she could stand her ground with the best of them; she was a widow of near fourteen years and had successfully raised two children already with three more still living at home. Her eldest, Chloe and Shaine had already moved one; Chloe'd married recently and Shaine. well he'd followed in his father's footsteps, deciding a life of adventure was for him. Meanwhile, Madam Wice strove to find a suitable wife for her son Edgar and to convince Abigail to settle down long enough to find a good man. Jane, the youngest, was somewhat of a puzzle, often choosing to stay inside and read from her late-father's personal library collection instead of interacting with other children her age; Jane was nine. Abigail was sixteen and ferociously athletic; her favorite memories can from spending time racing with the town's young men - nearly all of whom had lost to her at one time or another - but her dearest friend was likely Byron, granted, he did not know that.

"Madam Wice," Rian Crebs was saying, "it is indeed another fine day. How are your kin?" He paused as she answered, idly lifting a hand to wave Byron over. "Really? Jane's read that. I don't think I read that book until I was at least twelve years of age. Morning Byron," he commented quietly. "Any word from Shaine as of late? No? Well that's really too bad." He let the elderly woman ramble on for a few more moments before interrupting again. "I'm so sorry to have to cut our conversation short, Madam Wice. But the sun has risen full now and Byron and I must begin our work on the fields if we wish to be able to attend the picnic come Friday afternoon." Rian nodded politely and waved as Madam Wice disappeared in the direction of town.

"Nice of you to join me, Byron." Rian chuckled softly and began to work, Byron following his lead. "So, son, how did you sleep last night?"

Byron gulped visibly and held his breath. He hadn't slept much last night and when his had, his dreams had been of the haunted sort. It wasn't like Byron enjoyed keeping his secret from his parents, but it was not as if his parents would readily accept his . visions. He blinked back to reality and offered what he hoped was a winning smile. "I slept well, Father. I pray your night was calm as well?"

There was no true reason to worry; Rian had turned his attention back to the fields and nodded politely in an automatic response. It is not to be thought that Rian Crebs was not truly interested in the lives of his children. He simply lived his life to provide for them - and that required work, hard labor in the fields. Rian paused after a moment and smiled slightly, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow with a soft woolen handkerchief. "Aye. Your mother hand I had an uninterrupted sleep," he raised an graying eyebrow in his son's direction. "What's the matter, boy? You seem restless this morn."

He leaned forward a bit in an attempt to get a better view of the young man, blinking a bit in surprise at the almost to prompt response. "Nothing, sir. I'm fine. just a bit light headed." Byron shifted uneasily during the awkward pause, "We'd best get moving. We've got long day's work ahead of us and never enough time to do it in." He shook out his caramel waves with a slender-fingered hand, letting out a soft sigh of relief, when his father nodded, muttering "too true, my lad, too true". The older man shrugged and leaned back on his heels for the briefest moment before snapping to and getting on with the work lay before the pair. As for Byron, he was glad that he was no longer under his father's scrutinizing black eyes and was all too glad to be working once more. Anything was enjoyable if it kept his mind off the nightmares; unfortunately, nightmares are dark and haunting and once they have their claws in a poor soul, they do not enjoy being forced to let go. Byron's dreams where no different.

Author's Notes. Okay. There. I'm done with Chapter One. I have no desire to go back and change anything or add more to it at the moment. If anybody out there happens to be reading this particular story, I'm sorry I don't add to it on a regular basis or anything. Hopefully more is on the way. - Briah Keegan.