“Good evening, young Master McKee.”
Startled, Jeremy took out all his rage on this mysterious elderly gentleman. “Alright, who the hell are you? Are you stalking me or something? You want me to call a cop ‘cause I will.”
“All I want is for you to ask yourself a question; do you know what it is that draws you to her, to Ariella? It's not just her beauty which is considerable, or that she's unlike any woman you've ever known or will know.”
“Sounds like you got the hots for her yourself. Are you some kinda perv, ‘cause...”
“Somewhere inside, you sense her peril and that you are her only hope.”
“Peril? Who talks like that? I’m giving you one chance to explain and then I’m calling 911.”
“One chance is all I ask.”
Armand withdrew the crystal from his pocket and gently placed it on Jeremy's forehead
in the same manner he attempted earlier that day. Jeremy was immediately transported out of his present reality. The street, the noise, everything faded away. A rush of wind hit his face so fiercely that he had to close his eyes. Next, he was overcome by the sensation of travelling at great speed. When the wind abated he found himself in a time and place that existed over 600 years ago - the Callenish Standing Stones. There he hovered like a ghost as he witnessed a burial scene in flashes; the body of the young woman being lifted onto the pyre. D'Arcy, the girl’s betrothed, reciting his last words. Looking closer, he noticed the McKee family crest displayed on his kilt. The girl moaned. D'Arcy charged the pyre, lifted her down and she awoke, reborn! Whereupon her father cried out, "She lives!" The death veil was pulled aside and Jeremy saw her face, the face of Ariella!
“This is not a curse, Jeremy,” spoke Armand. “This is your destiny.”
Armand’s words pulled Jeremy out of his vision and he found himself back on his own city streets. But the sorcerer was gone before the boy could ask any more questions. “Armand? Armand?”
Passersby side-stepped Jeremy who looked like he was stoned. For a second, the boy even considered that he might be. What if Armand slipped him a drug that sent him on some kind of psychedelic trip? But for what reason? As the sounds and the sights of the city brought him back to his senses, he knew this was no hallucination. It was a vision.
Startled, Jeremy took out all his rage on this mysterious elderly gentleman. “Alright, who the hell are you? Are you stalking me or something? You want me to call a cop ‘cause I will.”
“All I want is for you to ask yourself a question; do you know what it is that draws you to her, to Ariella? It's not just her beauty which is considerable, or that she's unlike any woman you've ever known or will know.”
“Sounds like you got the hots for her yourself. Are you some kinda perv, ‘cause...”
“Somewhere inside, you sense her peril and that you are her only hope.”
“Peril? Who talks like that? I’m giving you one chance to explain and then I’m calling 911.”
“One chance is all I ask.”
Armand withdrew the crystal from his pocket and gently placed it on Jeremy's forehead
in the same manner he attempted earlier that day. Jeremy was immediately transported out of his present reality. The street, the noise, everything faded away. A rush of wind hit his face so fiercely that he had to close his eyes. Next, he was overcome by the sensation of travelling at great speed. When the wind abated he found himself in a time and place that existed over 600 years ago - the Callenish Standing Stones. There he hovered like a ghost as he witnessed a burial scene in flashes; the body of the young woman being lifted onto the pyre. D'Arcy, the girl’s betrothed, reciting his last words. Looking closer, he noticed the McKee family crest displayed on his kilt. The girl moaned. D'Arcy charged the pyre, lifted her down and she awoke, reborn! Whereupon her father cried out, "She lives!" The death veil was pulled aside and Jeremy saw her face, the face of Ariella!
“This is not a curse, Jeremy,” spoke Armand. “This is your destiny.”
Armand’s words pulled Jeremy out of his vision and he found himself back on his own city streets. But the sorcerer was gone before the boy could ask any more questions. “Armand? Armand?”
Passersby side-stepped Jeremy who looked like he was stoned. For a second, the boy even considered that he might be. What if Armand slipped him a drug that sent him on some kind of psychedelic trip? But for what reason? As the sounds and the sights of the city brought him back to his senses, he knew this was no hallucination. It was a vision.
