Jacob rolled out of bed. It was well past midnight, and he was thirsty. He slowly pulled his door open, hoping the squeak wouldn’t wake anyone, then crept downstairs to the kitchen. He filled a glass with water and leaned against the bay window near the table, looking outside as he drank.
The moon was bright enough to see nearly anything, and Jacob studied the trees, thinking over the past two days since he’d returned from getting Aloren out of Maivoryl City. It was so awesome to have her back. She was smiling a lot more now, and even laughed at Matt’s jokes.
Speaking of Matt—he’d been careful not to tread on Jacob’s toes where Aloren was concerned, assuring Jacob that Sammy, his girlfriend, was the only girl for him. Jacob really appreciated that. He frowned—he still hadn’t had the opportunity to ask his parents how Matt had come to be in the family.
He brought the cup to his lips one last time, staring out the window, then nearly dropped it when several shadows passed near the brush about twenty feet away.
He set the glass on the counter and peered out the window. Was it Kevin and his friends? Probably not—they hadn’t played pranks on the Clarks for a while now.
Was it the Lorkon? Jacob felt his pulse quicken.
Only one way to find out.
He got on his knees and crawled past the window to the mud room. Grabbing his darkest hoodie, he put it on as he scrambled to the back door, then slipped outside.
Jacob squinted through the darkness, trying to see where the shadows had gone. There! Men—not boys. It wasn’t Kevin after all. The last of them looked back in his direction, then entered the forest. Jacob crept forward, following. He had to know who they were, and if they were from Eklaron.
He straightened behind a tree when he entered the woods, looking around. He’d lost the group. Where did they go?
Jacob shaded his eyes from the bright moon, trying to see through the branches. A ping sounded in the air, and wind brushed his cheek. He put his hand there and looked to the side to see what had passed him. He saw nothing.
Another ping, and this time he instinctively dropped to the ground. There was a loud thwack right next to his head and he shied away, then stared.
An arrow was embedded in the tree right where his head had just been.
A third ping, then the loudest human howl Jacob had ever heard sounded through the air—made even louder by the cool of the night.
Jacob’s heart nearly leaped from his chest, and he scrambled away from the arrow and the source of the scream, burrowing deep into a large bush.
Everything went still.
Then the forest erupted into a frenzy—several pings from either side of Jacob—and arrows flew everywhere. A set of legs appeared near him, and he looked up in shock at a man dressed like a Native American. Dark-colored war paint was smeared across his face, and he held a dagger in one hand and a bow in the other. Bright red colors swirled in the air around him—anger. He put the dagger into a strap on his leather leggings, then pulled an arrow from his quiver, peering through the night.
What was going on? As far as Jacob knew, there weren’t any Indians on Eklaron, and this definitely was still earth. He held his breath, trying to be as quiet as he could.
The man got on one knee near the bush, but somehow didn’t see Jacob. He raised his bow, the arrow already nocked in place. He glared through the trees, ignoring the arrows flying around him.
He let his arrow go, and raised his chin when someone nearby screamed, then fell to the ground with a thud. Jacob gasped—that person hadn’t been far away at all. Had Jacob somehow jumped into the middle of a war reenactment? And what would the Indian do if he saw Jacob? What was going on? And if it was a reenactment, why did he see anger earlier?
Another Native American strode up to the one near Jacob and spoke a language that seemed to be only garbled words, helping the first to his feet. They laughed like the funniest thing ever had just happened, then the first turned and called in the strange language, and there were hoots and hollers. The forest around Jacob was swarming with more Natives.
Jacob had to get away. But how? They’d most definitely see him. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes on the Native American who’d been closest to him. The man strode to a crumpled form, grabbed the figure by the hair, pulled his knife out, and before Jacob could look away, scalped him.
Jacob nearly retched into the bush, fighting to keep the bile down. He’d seen a lot of things, but none of them were as sickening as what he just witnessed. Barbaric!
Soon, the group of men, still hollering and shouting happily, moved far enough away to give Jacob an opening to escape through.
He scrambled to his knees and slipped out of his bush, then, without looking backward, crawled as fast as he could through the forest toward his house. He held his breath, waiting for the Native Americans to see him.
They didn’t.
Jacob blew out a small breath in relief that no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. But he couldn’t figure out what was going on. They’d spoken a different language—were there enough people nearby to put together a reenactment that thorough? Or was there an Indian reservation close to Mendon that Jacob didn’t know about?
His pulse sped when he heard feet rushing toward him. He was being chased—they must’ve seen him after all. Would they kill him? Kidnap him? What about his family?
He curled up in a ball, protecting his head, when the runners reached him.
And passed by.
Peeking through his arms, he watched as several pairs of brown legs zoomed through the trees on either side of him. They were racing toward his house—his family was in danger!
Jacob lurched to his feet, tuning out the tingling sensation in his legs as blood rushed back into them. He stumbled forward and pushed himself into a fast jog, then a run. He rounded the last tree in the forest, then stumbled again, falling to the ground.
His home was gone. Completely. Nothing was there except . . . except for an Indian camp. Devastation and panic flowed through him—he was too late. The Native Americans had already destroyed his home!
But . . . logically, they couldn’t have done so in such a short amount of time. And he would’ve heard it. This had to be a nightmare. There was no way any of this could be happening. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as possible and pinched himself. The house was going to be there when he opened his eyes. This was all just a dream! It wasn’t real.
Except, he couldn’t shake the feeling that said it was real.
Jacob jumped when feet rushed toward him, then jerked away when a strong hand grabbed his arm, trying to pull him to his feet.
“Son!”
Jacob squinted, opening his eyes. Dad! How did he get here?
“Did you see the Indians?”
“Jacob. Jacob!” Dad said, fear in his voice. “Come on, you’ve got to shake yourself out of this.”
Jacob tried to get out of his dad’s grip. “No, Dad, no! We’re not safe. Indians are attacking—they scalped a man, Dad. We’ve got to go!”
Matt stepped into view, rubbing his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Mom joined them and Jacob’s body tensed up. Then he looked at the house behind her. It was there! But where did the Indian camp go?
“Jacob honey, what’s wrong?”
“He’s hallucinating again,” Dad said.
“Not a hallucination. There’s no way—they were real, Mom!” What he’d witnessed couldn’t possibly be fake. Not at all.
She put her arms around him. “Who was real?”
He didn’t realize tears were streaming down his face until just then, and he quickly wiped them away. “The Indians—attacking. Their camp is right here—was—where the house is now!”
“That’s not possible, son,” Dad said. “Let’s get back inside. We’ll figure this out together.”
Jacob ignored the expressions of concern his parents shared. He couldn’t shake the fear from his system—the sense of danger and urgency. What had happened? If none of it was real, was it a sign? A warning that something was coming? Or was he going completely crazy?
His legs shook really badly, and his mom helped him sit on the couch when they got in the living room. “Start at the top. What did you see?”
Jacob swallowed a few times, trying to collect his thoughts. “I couldn’t sleep. Got a drink. A bunch of people were outside, and I went out to see who—in case they were the Lorkon or something.”
“You should’ve woken me up,” Matt said. “I’d have gone with you.”
“I followed them into the forest. They were crouching—trying to be quiet. Then arrows started flying through the air, and I saw Indians! All over the place—and—and they scalped someone! Then they raced toward the house and I thought they were going to attack all of you.”
Jacob’s parents exchanged a glance. Mom looked panicked.
“It couldn’t have been real, Janna,” Dad said. He turned to Jacob. “You’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”
“I’m positive it wasn’t.” Then he hesitated. “But . . . something weird—they didn’t see or hear me or anything.”
Dad frowned. “It had to have been a night terror.”
“Isn’t sixteen a bit old for night terrors?” Mom asked.
Dad paced the carpet in front of Jacob. “Don’t know.”
“But it felt so real,” Jacob said. “Not like a dream at all. And I actually felt wind from one of the arrows passing by.”
“Night terrors can be like that.”
Matt grunted, leaning up against the doorway to the kitchen. “I still think you should’ve come and got me.”
Mom glanced at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Get in bed, Matt. You have school in the morning.”
“So does he.”
“He’s not going.”
Matt grumbled, practically dragging his feet on the way out of the room.
Jacob accepted a blanket from his mom, putting it around his shoulders. He sank back into the couch, still trying to calm down. What was he going to do? He couldn’t keep doing these sorts of things.