Innocence is subjective, and power always has its price--so his elders told him. Silas Blane is destined for greatness. Born into an elite family with many skeletons in the closet, he learns to harness his inherent shamanic powers and finds purpose...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I've never seen such a sudden reversal of Crimson Fever," said the doctor. "You've got a lot of pluck to pull out of it so well, young man."
Castor grinned. "I want to go outside, but my parents won't let me yet."
Two days after he was stricken, my brother was home, though still on bed rest. The physician stopped on a house call to check on him.
"Well, they're right to do so. We don't want a relapse. Get plenty of rest."
"I will. Thank you, sir," Castor said.
I leaned against the door, waiting. When the doctor left, I entered the room.
"Silas!" Castor reached for me, and I indulged him with a hug. His close call with death had tempered my disdain.
"I've brought you some books to read," I said, and set the stack beside him on the nightstand. "Some of my old favorites."
He grabbed the top one, and his eyes brightened. "'Rangers Of Mars'? Wow! You know just what I like. Thank you so much."
"Here's the entire series for you. The Net is boring after a while."
He laughed. "And how. I much prefer a great read."
I sat beside him on the bed. "Castor, do you remember anything during your illness? Anything before you woke in the hospital?"
He tilted his head. "What kind of things?"
"Dreams, or unusual feelings."
"I did have a weird dream, but I don't remember much. There was a bird, and a boy wearing lots of bones. The doctor said it sometimes happens when you get the fever. You see things that aren't real. Funny, isn't it?"
I'd wondered how cognizant those without the Sight were within the spirit realms. Castor had a fragmented memory of his experience. If only I could determine how much Tamsin was aware, as she haunted me almost every night.
Mother and I met each evening after dinner. Her instruction took a more practical approach as the week wore on, with light doses of Asulma and ventures into the Otherworld.
I continued working each day as well, and soon fell back into the comfortable routine of data analysis and staff management with Mr. Tremaine.
Father questioned me one morning, during our commute to company headquarters.
"I hadn't realized you shared your mother's religious beliefs," he said. "How long have you followed them?"
"For several months now. Coming upon a year."
He looked away, and took a long draw from his cigar. "I find it interesting, though primitive. Much to do with bones and animals, correct?"
"Yes. Though much more occurs within a state of lucid trance. It's difficult to explain."
