In his dream, he was in his Circle of Thorn robes, standing before a low rustic altar that was set up under a huge oak tree. Grim paged through a huge tome, muttering, “Brigit, Kwan Yin, Odin, Ra…”
“‘Seek, and you shall find.’ Isn’t that the proverb?”
He turned to see an old woman. This woman was bent over, with a cane, and had stringy, long white hair. Her eyes were gray like his own, but he didn’t know if she was blind. She hobbled up to him.
“What god are you?”
“No god,” she said, and sat down on the edge of the low altar. “Ah.” She said, and plucked the cup from his altar and drank the pure spring water that was in it.
Part of him wanted her to stop this sacrilege, but the other part, the disciplined part, let her do what she wanted. She probably was a goddess or a god, and he didn’t want to stop her. Maybe she could tell him something.
“What are you looking for, child?” she asked.
He could have lied. “Power.”
“You have lived your life for that and died for it. Did you not learn your lesson?”
“I’m nothing without–”
She held up a hand. “Must I repeat the lecture that Scott gave you?” She swept her bony arm across the altar. “Do not call the gods. Let them come to you.”
Before he could argue, the dream abruptly ended, and he found himself in the guest room with Mikael sleeping beside him. Mike hung his head down and snuggled into the blankets.
He had the kids. He had a husband and a fiance. Did he need power that badly?
“Who will bless me,” he whispered. “Who?”