Ignacio's Dreams

Ignacio was trapped. Wrapped in cold darkness, he wandered in dreams. Where was his princess? Absolutely no one was nearby. He was searching for something. He had lost something, but he couldn't remember what he had lost. Would he know when he found it? He had no idea.

Voices echoed in the darkness. Soft worried voices, but he couldn't catch what they were saying. He stumbled, trying to get closer to the sound, trying to decipher the words, but they seemed to fade away just as quickly as they had arrived.

There was a deep dark cave, he saw – up ahead. He stumbled towards it. Maybe someone was in there. He shivered. Don Diego stood there, and looked at him, staring deeply into his soul. Could he see his heart? Could he see his soul?

"Diego," he murmured. The man turned to him, and held a bowl of cactus tea in his hands.

"Drink it, Ignacio," he said softly. Ignacio tried to run, he hated that tea. Somehow he was drinking a little, though. "More, please, Alcalde. Try a bit more," the caballero insisted, and he pushed at the man. The dream man disappeared at his touch, and he fell further into darkness, tripping over and into the cave.

The cave was hot, very hot. He had gone straight from icy cold, to fiery heat in seconds, or so it seemed. Images of his past, both good and bad, flashed past him as he insisted on moving forward. He couldn't just sit there; maybe what he had lost would soon be evident to him.

Marco's death flashed at him, and he was back in the scene, experiencing it all again. He was outside his younger self, and tried to scream at him to stop – that Marco was stupid enough to trust him. That Isabella was so frightened that she hated him. Stop, he cried out, but no sound came. He cried out as the buggies collided, wood splintering and time seemed to slow down.

Ignacio had shielded his own face, and forgotten all about the terrified woman next to him. A gentleman was meant to protect the closest lady in such accidents. He saw her eyes widen in horror, and her arm went up to help protect herself, but pieces of the other buggy entered her soft body, killing her instantly. He could see the light fade in her eyes, as the breath left her body. He shuddered and was glad that she had known no pain.

The cry of an anguished father interrupted his horror. He glanced down at himself, knocking breathless on the ground. He stared at his father, and felt flung towards him. He was next to him.

"I'm sorry." He managed to say the words. It didn't matter that the man could not hear him, not any more. "I'm so sorry." He gazed down at his brother. He scanned him for injuries and it had been a blow to the head that had killed him.

Marco seemed to stir in his father's arms. Eyes flickered open, and stared at his father.

"He didn't mean this to happen, father. Forgive him…" Marco whispered through obvious pain, and as the light died in his eyes, he moved his eyes to stare at Ignacio. Ignacio froze as his brother seemed to recognise him, and Marco smiled slowly, just as his heart stopped beating. Ignacio stared down at his father, who started the insane wail that had haunted his nightmares ever since that day. He tried to lay a hand on the man's shoulder, as a gesture of support, but his hand passed through, ghostlike.

His life was flashing before his eyes, he realised. Just as they said it did. He was dying, and he had to watch his life pass before him. That was a curse he could hardly bear. He was so alone and so tired. So overwhelmed by his father's grief.

He closed his eyes as the world started to spin.

He opened them again, and glanced around. The scene had changed again. Zorro stood before him, with a bowl of cactus tea.

"Drink some, Alcalde," the masked man said firmly. He raised a sabre with his other hand, and rested it on his chest in a threatening move. "Drink some, now."

Ignacio found himself gulping down some more, and then the man faded once more. In his place stood Marco. Ignacio stumbled back.

"Marco," he whispered. The sound of his voice echoed around him in the darkness that surrounded them both. "It is you."

"Yes."

He watched as the young man paced back and forth, glancing at the ground beneath his feet and then up at him again.

"You are an old man, Iggy. All grey and old."

"It's not grey. It's blond, it just deepened."

The boy laughed. "I like your beard…"

Ignacio waited.

Marco stared into his eyes, and saw the grief lying there in his blue depths. He must have because his face softened, from childish mischief to brotherly concern.

"I never blamed you for the accident. It was a stupid thing to do, but you didn't want to kill me. Of course you didn't."

Ignacio said nothing. It was a dream, Marco wasn't really there.

"I don't like the man you've become. So bossy and mean, Iggy. So pigheaded and rude."

"I was always like that," Ignacio murmured. Hadn't he always been like that?

Marco was shaking his head. "You need to forgive yourself, but you also need to see your faults for what they were, and what they still are. Let go of that lady, Ignacio. Give her space. If she loves you, you will always be friends. Don't let such an accident happen again."

Ignacio felt the possibility in the young man's words. Could he end up reliving the moment in his older, more mature years? Could he run with a terrified woman and cause another person to die because of it? He could see Marcela doing what their brother did. She would trust him to stop. Gushing Stream had said no. He couldn't force the issue, no matter how hard it was to accept. That way lay death and destruction. He had to abide by her decision.

"Marco," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I am. I have lost so much… I will try to listen to you. Marco," he added. "I need her. You don't understand. You never had the chance to fall in love, to know what it does to your heart and soul. I don't know what I will do. I don't know what will happen."

Marco put a hand on his shoulder. It felt warm and real, and solid.

"Am I dying, Marco?"

The boy shook his head, and sighed. "Not yet. It is not your time. Much more suffering to come, Iggy."

"What do you mean?"

"You will gain things, you will lose things. You will see children born, you will see some die. You will outlive your wife. You will outlive the Spanish territories. Hardships are coming, Iggy. You are strong and will survive – but sometimes it will tear your very soul, and rip out your heart, just to shove it back into your body for you to live some more."

"That is my punishment?"

"That is just how it is, Iggy. No punishment could be worse than you have given yourself."

"I am trying, Marco. Truly trying. I want to reform myself and my pueblo. I am trying."

"Yes, I am pleased with you. Keep up the good work."

The darkness claimed his brother slowly, and he reached for him, grasping something solid in his hands.

"Ignacio, I am here," the soft voice of a princess entered his consciousness. "Please, drink some of the tea."

He felt the edge of a cup against his lips, but he couldn't open his eyes.

"It's no use. He won't take much more than half a mouthful. Gushing Stream," a deep voice said. Diego de la Vega was still trying to help him – as always. "It's not working this time. He may be dead before morning. I'm sorry."

The cup was more insistent, and a soft hand was propping his head up to take the liquid. "Ignacio. Please. Do it for me," Gushing Stream said again. It was as if Diego had never spoken. She wasn't giving up on him, and something in that gave him hope.

He managed to open his mouth slightly, and he managed another mouthful of the gunky liquid. She paused and waited for him to catch up, and offered some more. He managed another mouthful before he slipped slowly back into darkness. He reached out with a seeking hand, and she caught it in hers. He felt something like a soft kiss on the back of his hand, and then a soft hand brushed hair back from his forehead, before wiping sweat away from his face.

He slept peacefully now, and slowly regained consciousness in a strange cycle of waking and sleeping, taking mouthfuls of the cactus tea whenever she noticed him stir. It made him sleep deeper, and more peacefully. He was aware of her nearness even in his sleep, and if she let go of his hand, he would stir and fuss, until the comforting presence was back where it belonged.