Dawn of the Guardian

By Réka Kaponay

Deep in the heart of Andalusia on the outskirts of the ancient towering walls of Arcos de la Frontera is a seemingly quiet town, which holds a chillingly malevolent secret. Once revealed it will challenge the very fabrics of what we consider reality to be.

Born of the Dream, Fūko (short for Fukushima), a two-and-half-year-old Patterdale

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hoot Owl Books
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9780994537058

Réka Kaponay

Réka Kaponay is a young passionate writer and blogger, turning her dream of becoming a professional writer and published author into reality at the age of 14. At 12 years of age, Réka was inspired by a trip to Andalusia, Spain, to write her first full-length fantasy-adventure novel... Dawn of The Guardian. Réka began writing at a very early age creating short stories and entering local writing competitions. Her love for relating stories intensified when her family started out on a continuous world-traveling journey of learning and exploration in 2012. She has since traveled to over 50 countries on six continents and now has a readership of over 15,000 to her blog Dreamtime Traveler - www.dreamtimetraveler.com Réka's journey has been one of learning and listening to people's stories, immersing herself in their mindset, viewpoint and understanding of the world. This is translated in her book, through the telling of the fantasy-adventure tale of Fūko, the unlikely Patterdale Terrier, who has been chosen as 'The Guardian', all of which is told through entertaining rich allegory, intended to engage and inspire young people to get out there and realise their dreams. Réka and her family are continuing their world journey of learning, and a global promotional tour of her book, as well as a nationwide tour in Hungary, with the book having been published in Hungarian ("Az Őrző Hajnala") by Kolibri Publishing in September 2017. Réka is also in the process of writing the sequel to Dawn of The Guardian. For Events and Tour information visit https://dawnoftheguardian.com

Book preview

Prologue

Chapter 1: Chosen

Chapter 2: The Young Man

Chapter 3: A Tail of Time

Chapter 4: When Old Becomes New Again

Chapter 5: Family

Chapter 6: The Mansion on the Cliff

Chapter 7: Terrors of the Night

Chapter 8: The Companionship

Chapter 9: No Escape

Chapter 10: Rain, Risk, and Rage

Chapter 11: For the Love of Lulu

Chapter 12: Two Questions

Chapter 13: A Promise

Chapter 14: The Pomegranate Festival

Chapter 15: An Alliance

Chapter 16: The Graves of Rome

Chapter 17: Proof

Chapter 18: You’ve Got Mail

Chapter 19: The Museum of the Dream

Chapter 20: The Undiscovered Tomb

Chapter 21: Dark is the New Light

Chapter 22: The Lord of Nightmares

Chapter 23: An Untold Story

Chapter 24: To Die or to Dream

Chapter 25: Belle

Chapter 26: Allegiance

Chapter 27: Emotion

Chapter 28: Facing Fears

Chapter 29: Old Ghosts

Chapter 30: Death on the Battlefield

Chapter 31: Another Lifetime

Chapter 32: Creator and Creation

Chapter 33: Remember

Chapter 34: Burning Worlds

Chapter 35: Dawn of the Guardian

Chapter 36: A New Dawn

Acknowledgments

Prologue

MIDNIGHT FELL OVER the entire Earth. Everyone slept, dreaming of new life on different planets, of the stars and galaxies, completely unaware of the Dream. One young girl was more than aware, however, as she consciously chose to dream something else. It was of the mystical being, who resided on the outskirts of a town called Arcos de la Frontera, deep in the heart of Andalusia, Spain. This being would become the Guardian—the bringer of awareness—the one to trigger that inner gnosis that something deeper lay within. He would be key to awakening a sleeping people, illuminating the path away from the tormented Soul. From her Dream was born life, for on that night, at 12:03 a.m., the Guardian was born.

1

Chosen

THE MIDNIGHT-BLACK Rottweiler fell to the ground, his body convulsing in uncontrollably violent fits, his mouth foaming, and every convulsion was seemingly breaking his body apart. Molecule by molecule, he was disintegrating.

‘Fūko! NOOOOOOO!’ screamed Lulu.

The Guardian gasped and staggered when he saw what he had done, Lulu’s words snapping him back into himself and he stumbled onto his hindquarters in shock.

Just then, the heavy marble doors of La Mansion swung open and there stood a silhouette in the shadows. The clawed figure started to clap his white-gloved hands together slowly, as if it were a taunting cheer, each impact causing Fūko to tremble. ‘Just … as … I … expected,’ he slowly rasped, savoring every syllable. ‘So pre … dictable. Take a look at him, Lulu. There’s your real Guardian. A natural-born killer! You’re so filled with rage, you can’t control yourself, can you?’ he said, turning his gaze to the Guardian with menacing delight.

‘NO!’ the Guardian roared, but as he spoke the word, the Earth shook and cracked underneath them in a rage of violence, knocking Lulu off her feet and making the clawed figure stumble. The Guardian stopped immediately, realizing what he had done, but it was all too late.

‘See, my dear,’ the clawed figure said in a neutral tone, slightly nodding his head. ‘There is your real darkness.’

‘No, Lulu, he’s the one … I swear!’ the Guardian stuttered.

‘I don’t know who you are. I’m scared of you. Please let me go home. I want to go home!’ Lulu cried out as if she were a little child, whimpering in an unchecked torrential flow.

‘Lulu! NO! You don’t understand!’ the Guardian pleaded. ‘It is this fiend here who is twisting everything out of shape. I swear it is!’

Lulu whimpered uncontrollably as she surveyed the scene in frozen fear. ‘Please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone!’

‘Please, Lulu. No. You can’t think of me like this ...’ The Guardian’s heart started to break. But Lulu had turned away stumbling and began to run as fast as her legs could carry her. Fūko was torn in two. He didn’t know which way to go.

A grin appeared from the edge of Erasmus’ mouth. It beamed into a cold, calculated smile of triumph. ‘They will be mine, you know, your little family, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. I will enjoy feasting on every morsel of their tender little flesh.’

In an instant, the Guardian felt a surge of powerful emotion—a wave of rage so intense that the shockwave of a nuclear explosion was nothing compared to its energy. He pulled it back before it was released—before it was too late.

‘Yes! Let your rage flow, you impertinent, impetuous beast … I can feel it!’

These words cut the Guardian like a samurai’s katana, slicing through bone like butter. Was he right? Yes … he was a beast. He looked at the motionless body of the Rottweiler lying there in front of him and he knew the clawed figure was right. He turned and ran, as fast as he could, trying to block out Erasmus’ final words with the velocity of the wind in his ears.

‘You can’t hide from me, Guardian! You will be back! You will be mine!’

SIX MOONS EARLIER …

The sun glazed over the horizon, lighting up the whitewashed city of Arcos de la Frontera, rousing the people from their beds and beckoning them to get up and start another day. Among them were the domestic animals in the surrounding fields: the horses, cows, cats, goats, sheep, and dogs.

Fūko woke to the sound of a horse greeting a stable cat. ‘Buenos días, Alexis. And how are you on this fine day?’ asked the good-natured horse.

In a monotonic tone, the cat replied, ‘I’m annoyed, tired, cranky, hungry, and that dim-witted pigeon took my sunning spot.’

‘Ah, the usual.’

Fūko yawned and opened his eyes to the picturesque view of a spotless blue sky and the rolling sandy green hills that extended underneath it. He stretched, yawned again, and got up. He pattered over to the large chestnut horse and called out a greeting. ‘Buenos días, Julian. Did you sleep well?’

‘Fūko! Gracias, I slept well … though I will sleep better once my retirement plan goes through! Do you realize what that means, Fūko?! Premium hay, that’s what! Oh! My apologies, look at me rambling along here and I haven’t even asked how your master is today?’

‘I haven’t seen him yet but I’m going right now.’ Fūko nudged a goodbye to Julian and then turned away from the paddock, bounding over the fence and sprinting down the lane, around the corner through a hayfield where more horses sauntered in the morning sun, and finally up a rocky driveway. He skidded to a halt in front of a white cottage with a sky-blue door. Fūko pushed his head through the small opening at the bottom of the door, cut open just for him to be able to conveniently enter whenever he pleased. As he moved into the kitchen with its earthen slate-tiled floor, he noticed the change in temperature in the house and its welcoming warmth. He passed through the dining area and walked into the cozy living room with its upholstered mahogany furniture, intricate with its relief-carved Moorish patterns, and there, sitting in a rocking chair, was his master, friend and companion.

The Old Man snapped himself out of his thoughts as he saw Fūko from the periphery. ‘Fūko, where have you been on this sunny morning?’

Fūko jumped up onto the chair and settled into the lap of his master. To his surprise, he noticed that the Old Man’s hands had a slight tremor to them as they stroked his jet-black fur, quivering like a storm-tossed leaf. Fūko looked up into the eyes of his master, as if asking him a question.

The Old Man saw his mirrored anxiety and laughed. ‘You know me too well, Fūko.’ His hands dropped to his sides and his usually jovial state was carved into one of seriousness. ‘I have been thinking, Fūko … I will not be here much longer. The moment draws near that I should return to the Dream and I do not want to leave you here alone. So, I have decided to secure for you another friend, who will be in need of your companionship. I have already called to him in his dreams. One day soon, he’ll be wondering along the mountain path, seemingly in the effort of a nice day’s walk to acquire some Benamahoma honey. There we will meet, and I will be able to offer him all that he will need for him to be a worthy companion.’

Deep inside the Old Man’s head a single voice alighted and spoke back to him: Fūko’s voice. This was not a surprise; the two had been talking through each other’s minds from the moment Fūko had arrived. They had a sentient living connection with each other that stretched into the very depths of each other’s hearts and minds.

‘Master, I understand your desire to see the world beyond this one, but I sincerely want you to know that I do not want you to leave yet. I can’t imagine a world without you in it,’ replied Fūko solemnly.

‘I understand, Fūko,’ replied the Old Man in his thoughts. ‘But you are young, you have your whole life ahead of you, and we will always be together in your heart and mine.’

Fūko knew there was no point in arguing. A thousand reasons to stay crossed his mind but he knew that once his friend and master had made his decision, there would be no going back. Fūko put his head down in the Old Man’s lap and lay there, trying not to think about the future, twitching from side to side in an unspoken anxiety.

‘Be at peace, Fūko, I will still be here for a while,’ spoke the Old Man aloud. The few words, however short, contented him and, with that, Fūko’s mind fell to rest and he allowed himself to doze into a peaceful slumber. Fūko began to dream. Since his birth, his dreams lived so vividly within him, as if he were right there, feeling and experiencing everything lucidly. He had never received an explanation of why from his master; the unspoken subject had always lain before them like cracked pavements.

Fūko dreamed of a stunning range of Alpine mountains, looming over the sun as it was pulled from the core of the Earth’s heart. Atop the tallest, towering mountain, in a firm stance, a regal Golden Shepherd stood guard. The wind from the snowy altitudes blew strongly through his fur coat, but Fūko did not feel the chill; rather a rush of warmth started to swell in his heart.

The Golden Shepherd stared down at Fūko with colorless voids for eyes and spoke to him in a sober timbre. ‘You have been chosen. The moment is coming to awaken the sleepers once again. The opportunity awaits for them to be masters of their own destiny. You have been chosen,’ repeated the voice. ‘Be ready, your time is coming,’ and then the guard vanished.

And Fūko had been chosen.

IT WAS SUNSET, a beautiful golden sunset, with lightning rods of light streaking across the sky. The stars took their places in the night as the muse of the dark began to paint the horizon violet purple and maroon pink as twilight settled. A majestic creature of pure, crystal white strolled through the bluegrass before descending down into the watery lagoon. It bent its neck to drink, and the glint of its horn shimmered in the light of the water stars. The creature spread its wings to take flight: this was the last Winged Horse in the Universe; it was fabled only to appear in times of trouble when despair was about to descend. It came as a sign of hope and faith to the souls in need. It came as a reminder of the dawn that only love could awaken. It was one of the immortal creatures of the Dream. It came to assist and to mark its guidance.

A coronet of stars and swirling crystals protecting it surrounded the Winged Horse. Cautiously, souls gathered around it, waiting to hear the story of life and eternity, the story it usually sang. But to the souls’ shock, the majestic beauty turned its head, arched its neck, and bowed down to the sky and the Earth—a signal of assent to whatever may be coming: a signal that showed the souls that they must be strong, they must be ready, they must remember the energy of faith. Then the Winged Horse lay down, rested its head, and fell asleep to dream. Its dreaming aided the sleep of others, as slowly, very slowly, everyone on Earth fell into a deep dream.

Although unaware that they were sleeping, they all dreamed deep inside their consciousness of the day when the Winged Horse would lift its head once more, spread its wings, and fly …

2

The Young Man

FūKO WOKE WITH a start, paws shaking, his heart clamoring upon his rib cage with an uncontrollable ferocity. He was caught inside the distressing sensation of falling backwards and even the firm grip of the warm red ottoman wasn’t enough to bring him back. The birds were chirping sweet songs outside, lilting inside through the open windows, but all Fūko could hear was the painful throbbing of his mind and the resonant voice booming: ‘You have been chosen.’

Chosen?! Chosen for what?! Fūko had been contemplating this for over a week now, since the fateful vision. The mystery of the dream kept him awake at all hours as his mind struggled overtime to try and find an understanding to come to. This very unknown was always the first thought that woke him and the last thought that left him when he fell into the uneasy nips of sleep he managed to latch onto.

The constant shaky fear had taken its toll and now Fūko was certain he had had enough. He had to find his master and ask him now, right at this very second, as it was no clearer to him since he had experienced it. Fūko glanced around the room hastily and realized that he was alone in the lounge. The voice of the Old Man sounded through from the precincts of the kitchen, so Fūko cautiously made his way towards the swinging wooden door that separated the two rooms. To his utmost surprise, he began to hear not one but two voices engaged in conversation. Peeking through the side chink in the door, Fūko made out the shadow of a younger man of around thirty, comfortably sitting in his dining-room chair, drinking tea with his master. Fūko stumbled back in a jolt. His master never had visitors! In all the time they had been together, Fūko had never seen another enter the house, which begged the question: who was this strange new man? And, more importantly, what did he want?!

Just then, Fūko’s paws slipped forwards on the newly washed floors and he was thrust out into the open, skidding straight towards the table where the two men were seated. The Young Man’s eyes darted downwards, then broke into a merry smile when he noticed Fūko lying comically in a heap on the floor. ‘Oh, what a beautiful black dog you are.’

Fūko lifted his head as the cogs in his mind began to turn. He could tell from the Young Man’s accent and the cultured way he spoke that he must be an English gentleman.

‘Yes,’ said his master, standing up from his own chair and nodding kindly at Fūko. ‘He’s a very good dog. He is definitely the definition of a man’s best friend.’

‘Indeed … I’ve always loved dogs,’ affirmed the Young Man. ‘I always wanted to have one; I just never seemed to find the time or stability to provide a dog with the environment it needs. What’s his name?’ 

‘Fūko (Fooh-ko).’ 

‘A very nice name. Where does that come from?’ he asked, head cocked to the side.

‘Well … where do you think?’

‘I’m really not sure; it sounds rather exotic. If I were to have a guess, I would say it has hints of the ancient east,’ he said, almost as if he were in a trance.

‘Ah … very perceptive. In fact, it is short for Fukushima. He came into the world just as many were leaving it, as a ray of light, to mark their path through the stars and to set balance to what is now in imbalance. That’s the Dream, you know,’ replied Fūko’s master lifting his right eyebrow as he said this very deliberately to the Young Man, leaning ever-so-slightly closer. 

‘Yes, the Dream …’ The Young Man contemplated the words for a mere second, not being able to hold onto them, only to have them roll out of his mind in an instant as if they were never there. ‘Hmm, Fukushima,’ wavered the Young Man.

Fūko walked cautiously over. The man seemed nice, but, then again, appearances could be deceiving. The apprehensive voice in the back of his mind played over again. His master never had visitors—why suddenly this one? Fūko glanced over at his master, cocking his head to one side in a silent question. The Old Man nodded again and smiled. If his master liked this man, he would too, for his master’s sake. Fūko allowed the man to stroke his glossy fur and, afterwards, he sat down, his feet in a sign of mutual agreement.

The two men continued talking. They were very much into a conversation about organic food (that was making his mouth water), when suddenly the warm feeling in the pit of his belly turned sour. The fur stood up on the nape of his neck and a cool chill entered his bones. He felt an unstoppable foreboding feeling, as if something terrible was about to happen. An overpowering urge called him to go outside. He felt it stronger than a clarion call. Fūko raced out the door, down the lane, and through the hayfield. There, racing toward him, was Julian the horse. Due to the high speed they were both racing at, they passed each other in a flurry, their legs, barely brushing each other, before they doubled back around.

‘Fūko!’ Julian neighed frenetically, his wide black eyes bulging wider. ‘One of Madeline’s kittens climbed up a tree branch next to the river and the branch is about to break! You’re the only one who can swim fast enough to save it! If the little kitten falls in …’ Julian trailed off. ‘We have to hurry.’ 

‘Let’s go!’ 

Fūko and Julian raced downhill through the muddy forestland to the riverside. They kept at each other’s pace, the large horse beating his hooves upon the ground in time with the blurred, sprinting paws of his companion. Fūko could hear the desperate meowing of a kitten and its anxious mother and it spurred him on faster. He sprinted down to the water’s bank and saw that the youngest of Madeline’s kittens was trapped up on a damp and rotting branch that was dangerously swaying from side to side, dancing venomously with the vicious wind. The kitten mewled inconsolably while its mother tried desperately to calm it.

It was just then that the branch cracked, a long and lethal scar marring it as it fell towards the deathly churning of the water. Everything fell into a slow-motion montage, leaving Fūko only a split second to think. He launched himself in an instant, hurtling towards the treacherous currents of the river below, synchronous with the kitten’s trajectory. In mid-air, not a meter above the water, Fūko’s muzzle intercepted the kitten’s scruff and with his momentum, they turned a full 180 degrees, avoiding the crashing tree branch by the narrowest of margins. They plunged heavily together into the frosty rapids of the seasonally swollen river. The temperature of the water sobered him in an instant. The river began pulling them downstream at an unassailable pace. 

‘Fūko!’ cried Julian and Madeline in unison.

Fūko gathered all his senses and every last ounce of the energies that were available to him to fight against the current’s will. He felt a fire ignite in him, and a reserve of energy come to life that he had never before experienced. His paws caught the water as he cut through the rapids like a sleek otter, finding the riverbank and climbing onto dry land, with the kitten in-between his teeth. Julian and Madeline raced ahead to reach Fūko, accidentally tripping each other up along the way. Fūko stood with his limbs vibrating from the adrenaline that coursed through them. He placed the kitten gently down at its mother’s paws, as she instinctively started lapping at its water-soaked and matted fur.

After a time, she turned to the wet dog. ‘Fūko, Fūko, thank you so much! You have no idea how grateful I am! Whatever can I do to repay you!’ But just as Madeline was thanking him, Fūko’s vision blurred and he suddenly lost the strength in his legs. Madeline’s voice changed harmony, plunging deep before skyrocketing into a squeaky tone. ‘Fūko?!’

The vision enveloped him, and all he could see was the gold-and-black-infused fur of the Golden Shepherd, followed by its certain tolling voice. ‘You are the Guardian. You have the gift. You are of the Dream. Hear this, young one, and remember me.’ Then a sudden misty cloud covered Fūko’s vision, and all went black.

A SMALL BAND of people raced across the indigo desert. They had made their choice. Summoned in their dreams, by the calling of their lord, they took flight to enter the heart of the black sky and to leave behind what came before and find their place. Tearing themselves away from the land of their homes, the heavens, they chose to answer the bidding of their new lord and master. Each and every one of the souls had heard the whisper of calling in their dreams. This whisper became a voice, then a roar—no longer a pure sweet song of harmony. These troubled souls found comfort now only in the song of their ego. The song that sung one word: me … me … me … over and over again in a droning rhythm, until the souls drowned in their madness and beliefs of the self. They had cast aside the collective dream of unity and flown to a place where their master called—the place where the song had first begun to be sung. They raced through the sandy dunes and looked up at the dawn of the blood-red sky. They believed they were heading to a better world where they would fulfill their destiny … to have a kingdom of their own.

What they didn’t know was that they were running towards an eternal abyss of darkness and the relentless hatred of a hell.

3

A Tail of Time

WHEN FūKO WOKE, he found himself back inside his home on his favorite couch with a fire in the hearth warming him. Despite the fact that it was early summer, the Spanish nights cooled down drastically and Fūko could still feel the cold river water sloshing about inside his bones. He didn’t know how he had returned home but it was already dark outside; the stars slowly pinpointing themselves against the midnight satin of the sky. It was peacefully quiet, but Fūko was anything but at peace. He needed to talk to his master at once. No more distractions could be afforded.

Just at that moment the Old Man walked in, drawn by the calling of their telepathic bond. ‘I sensed you needed to talk with me.’ 

‘I do, Master, I haven’t said anything but I have been troubled of late. It has been eating away at me … I am quite confused.’ 

‘You can tell me anything, Fūko.’ 

‘I know, Master.’ Fūko took a deep breath and recounted his visions of the Golden Shepherd and the strength and clarity with which he had experienced it earlier in the day.

The Old Man listened quietly until Fūko finished—time ticking unchecked. He stayed silent for a little while longer, thinking deeply before speaking again, betraying no thoughts with his sparkling blue eyes. ‘Fūko, the time has come for me to tell you the truth … Everything you have experienced is a deeper vision of reality and this certain reality is, well, very relative.’

Fūko looked back at him, his ears cocked sideways in disbelief.

‘You are indeed the next Guardian. With this responsibility, as you are already starting to experience, you will have many visions that will blur what you have understood to be real. These experiences will challenge you to your very limits, but they are all designed to provide you with the inspiration you need to reach your fullest potential as the Guardian. You do have the gifts of a seer, and … you have been chosen.’ 

Fūko spluttered in shock. ‘I … I don’t know how to be the next Guardian! I’m not even sure I want to be the next Guardian. I don’t even know what a Guardian is!’ he exclaimed.

‘Calm yourself, Fūko, you are not expected to know quite everything yet, or ever, for that matter. You will, however, have ample opportunity to develop, and you can take comfort in the fact that you already have all you will ever need. You must believe me when I say that the journey you will take has no room for despair or fear. You will know when you must step up and fulfill your destiny. I will be here for long enough to help you prepare so that you are ready …’

Fūko’s eyes looked up at his master’s questioningly, not knowing how to react to this prophecy.

The Old Man sighed. ‘Rest now, Fūko, as tomorrow we set off on a new path.’

Fūko knew there would be no more discussion for the night and so he loped over to his bed and lay down, slowly trusting in his master’s words, as he fell into the first restful slumber he had had in a week.

Fūko woke with the dawning of the next morning, excitement coursing through his veins to set forth on his new path of self-discovery and to find out the reasons behind him being chosen as this so-called Guardian. But he found his animated jaunt interrupted when he wandered into the kitchen to find the Young Man from the day before enjoying a breakfast of basil-encrusted omelet and a cubed onion and tomato salad with his master.

‘Ah, Fūko. Good morning!’ said the Young Man playfully. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Fūko padded over to allow another pat from him. The moment the Young Man touched his soft fur, he felt a strange warmth and a calming feeling wash over him. He looked up curiously into his eyes and jumped back in astonishment, for inside the crystal-clear blue eyes of the Young Man he saw the spirit of his master staring back lovingly. When he realized this, the anxiousness of the day before washed away from him instantly and his heart began to unlock, letting a new human inside. Fūko felt it before he knew it … their paths were intertwined. What Fūko didn’t consciously realize was that his master had orchestrated their meeting. The journey had been underway all along.

‘He likes you.’ The Old Man’s voice broke the trance that Fūko and the Young Man were in. ‘Why don’t we go for a walk? Fūko can come with us. I feel like some good, fresh morning air,’ he declared.

‘Yes, let’s,’ the Young Man replied, looking out over the dissolving dawn clouds. ‘It has all the makings of a beautiful day.’

The two men slipped into their shoes and together, with Fūko in the lead, set off on a walk. They followed a small trail past the horse fields, crossing through a meadow blooming with late daisies and eventually coming to the banks of Arcos de la Frontera’s natural, earthen lake. The citadel’s whitewashed walls glinted, visible in the distance. Fūko lay down to sun himself while the two men occupied a wooden park bench and continued to talk.

This is … nice, thought Fūko and surprised himself by wishing that he could freeze time and stay in this perfect moment forever. The Old Man heard Fūko’s thoughts and smiled, silently acknowledging them. He had a deeper reason to see this Young Man again and what Fūko didn’t realize was that his training had already begun.

ALMOST EVERY DAY for the rest of the month the Young Man would journey from his home to Fūko’s, arriving just before breakfast, knocking on the sky-blue door, standing on the cold patio porch. They would share the morning meal together before embarking on a walk; the pleasant stroll becoming a daily part of their lives. As they walked, the Old Man shared his thoughts with the Young Man, and Fūko slowly grew closer to him, coming to understand his energies and nuances. They played together, but mostly just sat together on the slowly fading grass, enjoying the spring weather. Neither the Young Man nor Fūko had fully suspected that they were both completing a deeper preparation—one that would come to serve them powerfully in the challenges that would lie ahead.

The two men also had long conversations, some of which stretched over the course of days. They talked about health and wellbeing, the plants, the sun, and astronomy, and quite often they spoke about Fūko and his favorite things, especially what he liked to do the most. But once or twice they had the opportunity to share a special story that was very dear to them. A week before the eve of the full moon, exactly one month after that afternoon when Fūko experienced his vision, the Old Man looked upon his young companion and knew that the Young Man was ready to hear and understand Fūko’s story …

‘There was a moment in existence when the planets aligned, and the sun and the moon were brilliantly visible in the sky at the same time. It so happened that at this moment, the souls fell into endless dreaming. They dreamed of galaxies far away and planets with new life upon them, but they were unaware that they could create life. One young girl, however, was aware, and she consciously chose to dream something else; something that would one day be needed by all humanity. She dreamed of a little black dog that would be chosen to become the next Guardian. His journey would bring awareness to humans so that they too could realize the energies of the Dream and the spell that they were under. A spell, which, once broken, would allow them to awaken to their full power as Creators. This awakening would enable them to understand the Dream, their place and purpose within it, and how the dreaming works in our entire existence in this Universe. That little dog’s name was Fūko.’

The Young Man was sitting slightly astounded, eyebrows crossed incredulously with his jaw wide open, trying to make sense of what his dear friend had just said. ‘You mean that Fūko, your Fūko, that little dog right there, is this Guardian you speak of?’ 

‘Not quite yet, but very soon he is going to fulfill his calling as the Guardian.’ 

‘I … I don’t believe you,’ the Young Man said, his voice breaking off in a bewildered choke.

‘You don’t believe me?’ asked the Old Man, a smile playing upon his lips. ‘Allow yourself a moment to digest the thought you are having right now. Don’t analyze, but, rather, just let it sit. It is not a question of belief, is it?’

The Young Man’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘But all you said? I don’t understand …’

‘Indeed,’ affirmed the Old Man. ‘Everything I’ve told you this past month is starting to make sense now, yet a part of you is resisting it. It simply fits into place. You know it. Your mind is just not allowing you to come to terms with it. You are a professor of anthropology. You try to find some sort of logic in everything. There is no concrete logic in this. It is a calling, and it is a tremendous power; you might choose to call it magic. This is what we did in the Middle Ages when we didn’t fully know how to accept the nature of things. I know you understand, so let me say it again: Fūko has been chosen to become the Guardian,’ the Old Man said. ‘And now you know.’

‘This is … well … I am lost for words.’ The Young Man’s eyes darted towards Fūko, who was curled up comfortably in the corner. He moved his paws upwards slightly, almost as if he were shrugging his shoulders. The Old Man couldn’t help but smile.

‘So … you are the caregiver of this being?’

‘Yes, I am,’ the Old Man said simply.

The Young Man sat there, shocked into silence, hands ruffling through the hair atop his head as he contemplated what he had just heard.

The Old Man broke the silence first; the only time he had ever done so since their meeting. ‘I may look younger than I am, but I am old and I wish to see the Dream again. I cannot leave the next Guardian without a companion to care for him. Which is why you, my young friend, found your way to us exactly one month ago. I called to you so that you could bond with Fūko. Because you, my friend, will be the companion of the next Guardian.’

The Young Man’s eyes widened. He was speechless. ‘Me? But …’ 

‘There is nothing to be apprehensive about. I made sure you and Fūko bonded on many levels, including the energetic. I wanted to be sure he accepted you, too. I heard Fūko in his thoughts … He wishes for you to be near him, for he already knows I intend to leave.’ 

The Young Man struggled to his feet, panic overtaking him. ‘I don’t know what to do! How will I care for him?!’

‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed the Old Man.

‘I have prepared you for your task in your dreams and your waking state. I told you everything about Fūko, from what he likes to eat to his exceptional gift of telepathy. In time, you will develop an even stronger bond with Fūko and then you will be able to hear him, too, in your heart and your mind.’ The Old Man paused, glancing over at his companion.

The Young Man sighed, relaxing his shoulders, as his heart finally began to slow to its normal rate.

‘It is nearly time for me to leave; the full moon draws close. That is when the stars are the brightest, and that is when the gateway to the Dream opens.’

THE ELDERS OF the Dream met and entered the hall of the shimmering waterfall as one. They turned to face the reason they were called here. A soul hovered before them, but from the murky color of its heart, the Elders knew that this was a soul in torment.

‘My son,’ called the eldest of the council. ‘We have received the summons. We know why we are here, but we ask to know why you wish to leave the Dream, your beloved home? You are a powerful dreamer, and if you put your gift to full use, just like we have taught you, the height of magnificence that your dreams would touch are unlimited in power and every soul in existence would be inspired by its waves of harmony.’

The tormented Soul hovered a little closer to the ring of Elders before speaking in a dangerously low voice. ‘You are right. I am destined for greatness,’ the Soul seethed, drawing out his words menacingly. ‘I have a calling … a higher calling than the Dream. I will be ruler of all living things as my destiny should be. I will sit higher than the heavens, and you shall all bow down to me.’

The Elders exchanged a worrisome glance. This was worse than they had anticipated. The emotions that tormented the Soul—anger and hatred—these feelings were chosen to be no longer expressed by the Elders and the beings of the Dream. ‘My son you have been mis—’

‘—NO!’ interrupted the Soul in rage. ‘My vision is clear!!’ His voice was growing louder and louder as he rose higher and higher above the Elders. ‘You will see! I AM THE ENMITY OF THE UNIVERSE!’ the Soul screeched in a synthetic drone. ‘I am not misguided or mislead,’ it screamed, its faint heart blackening entirely with every word. ‘I have seen the future and I see my descendants. They will forge a world through war and I will sit atop it all!’ bawled the Soul at a full-fledged scream.

The Elders reached out their hands, trying to calm the Soul, to understand its torment.

The Soul kicked away their pleas, enraged by their compassion. Full of the poisonous anger inside of him, the Soul released a shrieking death note so high that its reverberation disintegrated him into a black dust that slowly drifted down upon the pristine white tiles. The Elders drew themselves up to their full element: they had known this was coming; they had dreamed the cycle of the forgotten world, and understood the cycle was upon them now. They sank into a deep sleep that would only be broken by a dream.

4

When Old Becomes New Again

AS THE FULL moon drew close, Fūko felt sharp pangs of sadness overtake his body. His master, whom he had known for his entire life, was preparing to leave. The Old Man had made arrangements to give away everything that was in the comfortable house Fūko had grown up in, including all the beautiful engraved mahogany furniture. Fūko had only now realized why his master had not planted any seeds in the once-flourishing garden out back at the beginning of spring. He knew that his master had to leave, but every fiber of his being fought against the knowledge. He just couldn’t let go. The Young Man came over every day, helping the Old Man with the few final decisions that had any real significance. He would divert Fūko with entertainments, drawing his attention away, engaging him in the moment with mirth. Sometimes he simply sat with Fūko, slowly stroking him as if to soothe him.

The summer had arrived in an unsuspecting heat wave and every day Fūko loped down to a calmer part of the river and splashed in the water, trying to cool off. Some days, Julian or Madeline would come with him to keep him company and to help him take his mind off the sorrow of the coming days. Even with Julian’s blind—though well-meant—humor, and Madeline’s constant cheerfulness, the unrelenting heartache pulled Fūko down into murky depths, like a doomed anvil in water.

While Fūko was the only animal the Old Man had ever cared for, he had always been kind to all the other animals. They, too, had thought of him as a kindly, caring, gentle man who knew the delicate balance between humans, the animal world, and nature. Of course, many of the people of Arcos de la Frontera whose lives he had touched in the short time he was there were sure to miss him too. No one had known where the mysterious and eccentric Old Man had come from, only that one day, not too long ago, no one was sure exactly when, he was just living there. He would often just turn up in people’s lives, right at the point of their need and somehow, in some way, his presence alone was enough to ease their heavy thoughts.

On the eve of the full moon’s arrival, the stars shone brighter than ever, like diamonds blinding the sky with prism light. Fūko shared his final evening with his master. Tall, thin candles burned in the house, the searing wax releasing a calming aroma. Fūko stepped through the door into the warmth of the house. He padded softly past the bare, lifeless kitchen to the living room where the only piece of furniture left was the Old