Rumors of War

by Cynus 

War on Earth

Chapter 11

        “More pancakes Damien?” My mother asked with her typical warm smile. I nodded eagerly as she stacked a few more onto my plate. She set it down in front of me and then walked back to the stove to whip up another batch for my father. He was reading the news on his iPad as he always did. I smiled, as I looked between them and wondered how life could really be this perfect.

        Being fifteen was great. I had plenty of friends at Hamilton High, even a potential girlfriend, and I don’t think I could have asked for much more. My mother was involved in a new research project, and my dad’s restaurant consulting business was booming. We were all happy, and nothing seemed to be able to take it away from us.

        “How is that new project going, Mom?” I asked once I had swallowed most of the food in my mouth. I had a bad habit of speaking with my mouth full. She chided me most of the time, but with her back to me she didn’t notice.

        “Oh it’s great. Have I told you about it yet? The university is doing a cross-cultural analysis of different tribes in Nigeria. I’ve been assigned to do research on the Yoruba tribe. I’ve already learned a great deal, but I think my favorite part is their music. Did you know that they play a drum called the Dundun, or Gangan that can mimic human speech? It’s used by other tribes too, and scientists normally call it the Talking Drum. They have some great dances that they perform while the drum is being played,” she replied with excitement. She was always excited whenever I showed interest in her work. I was into anthropology myself, so we had these sorts of conversations often.

        “That’s pretty neat. Are you going to go to Africa again? Can I come this time?” I replied with enthusiasm. My dad chuckled as he heard me, and shook his head helplessly. He always did that when I asked her if I could go wherever she was going. Normally she just carefully explained that there wasn’t budget for that, though we had gone with her a couple of times over the years.

        I was pleasantly surprised, and could tell that my dad was too, when she turned around with a big grin on her face and said, “Yes you can. I’m so glad you asked.”

        “What!? Really?” I asked, stunned by her revelation. The news was too good to be true, but I quickly learned that it was going to be even better.

        My mother nodded and explained, “I was talking with my department head and asked if there was any room for an intern. He said yes, but they would have to be sixteen or older. He then asked me if I had anyone in mind. I mentioned that you were fifteen but had an interest in Anthropology, and that you would be sixteen by the time of the Africa trip. He said he would have to think about it, but that he didn’t see anything inherently wrong with the idea. He called me last night to say that you could start as soon as you turn sixteen.”

        “Woohoo!” I said excitedly, and then got up as quick as I could. I rushed to her side and embraced her more fully than I could ever remember doing. “You’re the best mom ever!”

        “Wow, what a great deal. Can I be an intern too?” My father asked with a smile, showing that he too was pleased with the news. He winked at me when I turned to regard his quip, and I stuck my tongue out playfully.

        “Oh Jason, you can come too; if you pay your own way of course. The school is only going to pay for me and one intern. Why don’t you bring up some travel information on your iPad and we’ll see what it’s going to cost.” My mother replied as she released me from the hug. I sat back down and devoured my pancakes, then listened to the ensuing conversation with a smile. I loved watching my parents banter. Even as they argued, I knew it was all fun for them, so I didn’t worry when they had their little debates. I knew that they loved each other completely.

        I didn’t throw in any comments; I was content enough to just watch them talk. They had moved past talking about the specific trip and instead were arguing about which airline treated their passengers better. Watching them gave me a chance to think, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that kept nagging at me. It felt like I had done all of it before, though I knew that my mother had never mentioned anything about an internship to me. Forgetting something like that would have been impossible.

        When my plate was cleaned I went to the sink and gave it a quick scrub before putting it in the dishwasher. I had been taught to be self-sufficient, and I was very aware that if I didn’t take care of my dishes then, I would just have to do them later when they piled up. Because my Mother was distracted, I decided to help out and do some of the pans as well while I was in the process. I was happy to do it, especially considering what she had done for me that day. I really did have the best mother in the world.

        With a bow and a wave I left the room, saying that I was going to do research in the library about Nigeria, and they nodded and smiled before returning to their banter. I shook my head helplessly, knowing that they were never going to give up how they were.

        My mother and father were both avid readers, and their book collection proved the fact. The largest room in the house, which was supposed to be the master bedroom, was instead a library dedicated to their mutual hobby. Growing up with their care had taught me to love reading just as much, if not more than they did, and I was always happy to sit down with a novel or even something non-fiction. Reading was in my genes.

        When I entered the room and saw the shelf after shelf filled with books, I was excited to begin my research. I knew exactly where to begin my study. My mother had an entire bookcase dedicated to Africa. She had specialized in African studies over her entire career, and had acquired a large number of books for her research, even during the years that she had taken off just to focus on raising me. The university had been shocked to learn that she had kept up so well on her field of study, and had welcomed her back with open arms when she decided to return. Anyone who visited our personal library would know that she had never really left, just stopped getting paid for it.

        Walking straight to the shelf I started scanning the titles, looking for something about Nigeria, or at least the western region of Africa. I was almost halfway down the bookcase when my mind told me that something was wrong. None of the titles on the shelves were about Africa at all. Instead they had titles I had never seen before, like “Advanced Telepathy”, or “Moving Objects With Your Mind, For Imbeciles”. The feeling of déjà vu came back forcefully for a second, and I felt like I could almost see the truth of what was going on. I reached out and tried to grasp at reality, but it slipped away from me as if it had just been carried away on some wind.

        I shook my head and put myself back in the moment. I knew the African books had to be around somewhere, and my mother had to have simply moved them. Checking another shelf, I ran into a different set of books that I had never seen before. These were about Druids, and Celtic knots, and even a collection of tales about King Arthur. Once again, I reached for the source of the confusion, but it managed to evade me, again. I was getting frustrated, but I wasn’t sure if my frustration was the result of not being able to catch the truth, or in my inability to find the books on Africa. I rooted myself in the only reality I could find, and turned for another shelf.

        The next book shelf contained books on Angels and Demons. I had never considered my parents to be New Age fans, and the thought that this was among their collection was almost laughable. The only thing I knew that my mother collected that was even remotely connected to the subject was her collection of dragon figurines, some of which had a demonic feel to them. As I laughed in my confusion, I continued to scan the titles on the shelf, until my eyes came to rest on a title that stood out to me. The book was titled, “Dae’Marca”. With a hand suddenly trembling for no reason I could discern, I reached out for the book. When I pulled the book from the shelf, it felt as if I had finally managed to grab onto the fleeting reality I had missed so far. I regarded the cover with interest and trepidation, for aside from the title there was nothing but a picture of a young, handsome teenager who seemed so familiar, but that I couldn’t seem to place where I knew him from. My day was getting stranger by the minute.

        I was about to open the book when I heard a knock on the front door of the house. Assuming that my parents would get it, I went to open the book again when the knock sounded a second time. Grumbling, I hurried down the stairs to the accompanying rhythm of further knocking. I looked into the kitchen as I passed by, but I didn’t see my parents anywhere. Shrugging, I walked to the front door to find out who my urgent visitor was.

        Looking through the peephole I saw a young man in a dark gray hoodie, standing with his arm poised to knock again. He looked straight at the hole as I looked out at him, and I took an involuntary step back from the door in my fear that he had somehow seen me. He knocked again, which brought me back to my senses, but before I could act again he shouted through the door, “Come on, Damien, let me in already.”

        His voice was familiar, though like the boy on the book I still held in my hands, I couldn’t place where I had heard it before. I somehow knew that the man on the other side of the door was not there to harm me. However, it didn’t stop my nervousness as I reached for the door knob and opened the door. He stared at me like I was crazy as he pushed past me into the house, not waiting for an invitation.

        “What took you so long? I’ve been trying to get to you for months! Marc’s been going insane with worry. He and your dad have practically been living at the hospital. Marc more than your dad, but that’s because the latter has to work. Even that little angel bitch has visited you a few times.  What was her name...? Verina. Yeah, that’s it. Oh, and some kid Marc met at your school seems attached to you too, name’s Alan or something. So, let’s bust you out of here and get you back so we can kick some angel ass.”

        I stared at him with confusion and a bit of horror. Everything he said flew right over my head, and I couldn’t process it at all. The only thing that seemed to stand out were the names he used and I still couldn’t figure out why.

        “Wouldn’t you think the logical thing to start with is who you are? And what are you even talking about?” I replied with quickly growing anger. I had been having the best morning of my life until I went looking for books, and I was getting quite sick of the confusion.

        “You have got to be kidding me,” He replied with a roll of his eyes, then he extended his left hand for me to shake, “Hello, I am Keith Morgan. It’s a pleasure to meet you Damien. I’m a psychic, you are too, and we’re both inside your head because you’re in a coma from getting your head smashed in by an ignorant teenager. Now can we go?”

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        A big thanks goes to Paul for his wonderful and generous editing. I couldn’t have done this without him.

I am also grateful to Mike for letting us post here at AwesomeDude. Please show your appreciation for his time and effort spent on this site by clicking the donate button.

        And last but certainly not least, thanks to my readers who make writing more worthwhile. I do this almost as much for you as I do it for myself.