Keeper of the Dawn

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Mark Valiente slowly became aware of himself, as if he were emerging from a trance where he had forgotten all movement and sense of place. He heard music, the volume slowly rising in his head. It was beautiful music—harps and violins, guitars and an organ playing while a drum kept the beat. He recognized songs, popular and classical, being performed as if for an audience.

Mist seemed to clear around him, and he realized he was in a church. It was beautiful, old, designed in the Gothic style, with elegant stained-glass windows. As he walked in, he saw that it was crowded with people. The men were dressed in suits, and the women were beautiful in dresses of what he thought of as spring colors, white and pastels, as well as hats and heels. Their heads turned, and they all smiled and looked benignly at him.

He walked down the aisle. Dead ahead, he saw that Brodie McKay was there, near the altar, grinning sheepishly and watching him as if Mark were about to do something that would change the world. The place, the people, the music, the very vibe...everything was absolutely beautiful, filled with light and promise. Colors seemed to spill through the stained-glass windows and paint the church, the red velvet runner, and everything and everyone around him, in a flow of bright and gentle tones. He glanced to his side, and he didn’t see the people in the pews. Instead he saw a rather pale reflection of himself in one of the windows—which, of course, with the light streaming through, wasn’t really possible. But there he was. Dressed in a charcoal-gray, somewhat-old-fashioned tux, red vest with a white shirt beneath. His tawny hair was neatly clipped and his face shaved. He almost smiled, thankful that he had cleaned up well for the event.

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