My childhood home comes alive to me in my dreams.
The village was called cnoic sa chist – the name meant hills in the mist. Even in the daytime, I can still close my eyes and see the tops of those green woods poking through the white clouds wrapped around them. When I sleep, I swear I can smell the green.
Sometimes, I can catch a whiff of that smell while awake, tramping through the hills in the early morning. I feel the cool ferns brushing against my bare ankles as I move quietly through the forest. I spot my namesake, the Raven, savagely tearing apart its meal on the log.
I begin having that strange, floating-above-the-ground feeling. I can no longer feel my sore feet. It’s as though I’m walking on clouds.
Sounds soften, and the land around me shimmers and fades. I remember my father talking about his mother, who left her home and family to marry his sea-faring father. She had that ability to see pictures of events, past and future. Her people called it an dara sealladh, but he just said the sight”, and crossed himself every time he referred to it. It was clear that Da was uneasy about the visions, and he became very quiet when I told him of the strange dreams I’d been having.
“Don’t you be telling others of this, you hear, boy?” He stared sharply at me, willing me to promise. His face softened when I gave my assent. “Sure, Brannon, it’s not a sin, but…” He frowned, saying, “It’s mostly that others will expect the visions to always come true. Which they do, but not always the way you think they will.”
I nodded, although, at the time, I didn’t understand.
Because of his caution, I didn’t tell him of my dream of the sun-haired monsters, who came in with swords and fire to destroy everything in their path.
I have never been able to forgive myself for that omission.