Rowan's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

The same dream woke Rowan every night, and every night it lied to him. He sat up in the dark, copper hair stuck to his forehead, and pressed his palms to his golden eyes. Since childhood the vision had come: his own face, staring back. But the face in the dream had silver hair and green eyes. Another had black hair and eyes like polished coins. They wore his features and none of his colors. Rowan needed to find them. He could not, because the vision came in broken pieces he had never been able to read. He lit a candle and spread paper across his floor. He drew what the dream gave him. A gray hood with cut-off sleeves. A living bracelet of vines that curled and bloomed on its own. A tiny sea creature made of light, its skin marked with strange symbols. He drew until his hand cramped. The images stayed scattered, meaning nothing, pointing nowhere. Then the vision pulled at him differently. Not pictures this time. A feeling. Warmth threaded through his chest, the way a hand finds another hand in the dark. Two separate pulls, one gentle, one bold. His magic reached back on its own. He gasped and gripped the floorboards. In his mind, the silver-haired one turned toward him. The boy said nothing, but his vine bracelet unwound and pointed like a needle. The black-haired one grinned, sly and certain, and let his glowing sea creature swim a slow circle. The circle became a direction. Both pulls aimed the same way. West. Toward water. Rowan understood then. The pieces were not one riddle. They were three people, each sending part of the map. His brothers, though he had never met them. The dream had been trying to introduce them all along. He grabbed his coat before the feeling could fade. He fixed the direction in his memory: west, past the town's edge, where the land dropped toward the river. His legs shook as he crossed his room. He had spent his whole life not knowing where to look. Now he knew. Outside, cold air hit his face. He walked fast, following the warmth in his chest like a compass. It grew stronger with every step, then weaker, then stronger again as he corrected his path. Near the river, something rustled in a low tree. A small green shape dropped from the branches and landed in front of him. It was a pterodactyl, no bigger than a cat, with broad wings and huge bright eyes. It tilted its head at Rowan and did not run. His magic flared, and the creature answered it, humming against his ribs. "You feel it too," Rowan whispered. The pterodactyl climbed onto his shoulder like it had always belonged there. It faced west, the same direction the vision pulled. Rowan's hand steadied. He was no longer alone, and he finally had a road to follow.