~oOo~

Robert Wilder scratched again at his irritated forearm. The volume of whiskey he'd consumed last night had played a serious number on his head and, if it weren't for the evidence right in front of his eyes, he would have sworn that he'd been attacked by a fuckin' big, pitch black, panther.

Still jittery and unsettled by the weird hallucination, he rolled down his sleeve and wondered why the hell he was even traipsing up and down the riverbank looking for the body of the dead cop anyway. He coulda' been miles downstream by now, if he'd even been washed up at all, and he had more important matters to deal with back at the cabin rather than out looking for bloated river kill. His nephew was finally beginning to see the light, if last night's activities were anything to go by, but the curly-headed kid unnerved him in a way that affected him to his very core. He couldn't put a finger on exactly what it was, but the way child looked at him, it almost felt as if the kid was opposing him, challenging him for the right to control.

Giving up his search, Robert made his way back through the bush. He had never been a man to be held hostage to his feelings; people around him either played his game or they suffered the consequences. The child was no exception and, while initially he'd thought he'd take things easy, gain the boy's trust and ease him into the family fold, he wasn't sure whether it was worth the effort. Lucas's obstinate and mulish personality had obviously rubbed off on the kid. If past experiences with his nephew were anything to go by, this thing needed to be nipped in the bud and the boy shown exactly who was boss.

With the moon now dipping low in the sky, Robert estimated daybreak to be less than an hour away. Ah, dawn, he thought. What a perfect time for an early morning dip. Water and young children had always formed a very cohesive partnership and one he'd found had a great deal of success when a matter of persuasion was at hand. If the kid did take after Lucas, it'd be a struggle, but one he'd eventually win.

~oOo~

He dipped his feet into the river, upsetting the natural flow. The water swirled around his legs before continuing its journey downstream. The river was cold, so cold that he could no longer feel his toes, but it did nothing to cool him down. He was hot, too hot. His chest felt heavy, the air around him stifling, and he had trouble drawing air into his lungs. The surface of the water broke, erupting like a geyser, and long fingers curled around his ankle. He fought, but the grip was too strong. His body slid on the wet grass, his fingers clawed at the earth. The ground offered nothing to save him. He was dragged down into the frigid depths. His lungs no longer drew in air. He struggled hard, but he was losing the fight. He was dying.

No sooner had his ordeal begun, than it ended. The iron-like hold on his ankle was released and he was propelled upwards. Up towards the air, up towards life. He broke the surface, gasping for air. He was no longer in the river. He was standing in the middle of a long, tiled room. The glare of the light as it bounced off the stark white floor made him squint. An angry voice behind him caused him to swing around. "I told you not to get any fucking water on the floor, didn't I?" A child whimpered. "Don't start snivelling, you little bastard." A hand came down and latched onto the child's thin arm. It shook the small frame violently. "Who's gonna clean this up?" The hand released its grip and the child fell backward, hitting his head on the side of the tub. "Me, that's who. I'm the only one who does anything around here. You and your mother ain't worth a pile of shit." The child let out a strangled sob. "I'm warning you, Blairboy. You start crying on me and I'll give you a beating you won't forget."

"Blair," he mouthed. "Oh god, Blair." He tried to move forward, but his feet wouldn't cooperate. "Get away from him!" he tried to shout. His mouth formed the words, but no sound came out. "Get away! You touch him and I'll kill you. I swear I'll kill you." His feet found their grip on the tiles and he rushed forward, but the faster he moved, the further away the child shifted. He broke into a run, but he couldn't close the distance. Blair was moving further and further out of his reach. The faceless figure standing over the tub turned to look at him. "You're too late, boy," it snarled. "He's mine. Blairboy has always belonged to Robert." The figure grabbed the child by the hair, and shoved him down into the cold water. A scream filled the room, losing its intensity as the water filled the child's mouth, flooding his tiny lungs.

He fell to the ground, his knees smashing against the hard tiles, "No," he screamed. "No... please, no."

The splashing stopped, the struggling had ceased. The figure looked up, but this time it was no longer faceless. It was the face of a man he would never forget. "Robert?" he choked out.

Dark eyes smiled at him. "You're mine, Lucas. You'll always belong to me." He reached into the tub and lifted up the cold, lifeless body of the small child. "And so will he."

The figure approached, laying the cold, naked body of the child in his arms. He hugged the tiny body fiercely to his chest. "Please breathe... please breathe," he pleaded.

Robert knelt in front of him. "You're too late, Lucas." He ran cold, clammy fingers through Lucas's hair. "Just like you were too late to save your brother." Robert pulled his head forward and pressed his lips to the teen's. "And just like you're too late for Blair." Robert plunged his tongue into Lucas's mouth, kissing him deeply. He choked on the kiss as it cut off his airway. His heart pounded and his chest burned. He couldn't breathe. He was dying.

Lucas jolted awake with a start. Dazed and confused and still feeling the effects of the drugs, it took a moment for him to get his bearings. Unconsciously he moved his arm, the scraping of metal against the bed frame bringing reality home in one foul swoop. "Shit," he swore, pulling harder on the handcuff, but to no avail. He was trapped, and the light of day had done nothing to change his situation. Scanning the room, and relieved to find it empty, he listened intently, in an effort to ascertain the whereabouts of his father and uncle. No sound came from in or outside the cabin, and his concern immediately switched to Blair.

Palming his hand hard against his temple, Lucas tried to focus his energy on figuring a way out of his predicament, but the remnants of a dream that had become all too familiar of late wouldn't seem to shift from the front of his mind. Like a video clip stuck in a loop, it kept playing over and over again, giving him a vivid recount of details he knew all too well. But unlike the reoccurring scenes in his dream, his waking vision heralded something more. Incacha. The spirit guide had never appeared in his nightmare before, and neither had Blair in the context he'd just dreamt. "Blair," he whispered. Maybe it wasn't a part of his dream? Maybe the events he was struggling to remember had been real. Forcing himself to concentrate, Lucas vaguely recalled talking to Blair and the youngster slipping something under the mattress. "No ... no way. He couldn't have, I would have known."

Gingerly rolling onto his side, Lucas reached over the edge of the bed and squeezed his hand under the mattress. "My god, he did." The key touching the very tip of his fingers was, to him, a double-edged sword. While it may have offered him a means of escape, it could also be the very reason why there was not a sound to be heard from the main room. If Blair had been caught in the room, there was no telling what his uncle's punishment would entail. Lucas's heart plummeted at the thought. While he'd loved Scotty with all his heart and soul, his feelings for Blair somehow ran far deeper. The need to keep the child safe was so overwhelming at times, it almost felt like he was acting on an instinct that had been there since the day he'd been born. Seven years ago he hadn't fought for his brother's life, but seven years afterward, he would not be making the same mistake.

With a tight grip, Lucas slipped the key from its hiding place and slotted it into the lock. The handcuff sprang open and he pushed himself off the bed and onto his feet, but that was as far he got before his abused body sent him crashing to the floor.

Landing hard on his butt, and sending an all too familiar pain shooting up the base of his spine, the power behind Lucas's determination and will was offset by a body that didn't want to cooperate. "Some last fight," he breathed, in short, ragged breaths. He couldn't even plant two feet on the ground, let alone find the strength to stand, so how the hell was he meant to go up against Robert? He punched at the floor. He'd come so far, Blair had come so far and now because he didn't have fortitude it took to keep on going, Blair was going to pay the ultimate price, and he was on the verge of failing another brother.

Dragging the sheet that had tumbled to the ground across his lap, Lucas could literally feel himself falling apart. While his memories of the night before were blurred and distorted and devoid of intimate detail, he'd long passed the stage where he was naive enough to think that sleeping was all that had taken place. But what shattered him more, even worse than the obvious violation upon his body, was that, at the age of three, Blair shared the same degree of naiveté or lack thereof.

As a feeling of failure settled over him, Lucas buried his face in his hands. Another brother was about to be lost and he didn't know how to stop it.

"You do have the strength, young one, and while I know you feel that all is lost to you, you have to look deep within yourself to find it."

Lucas's head shot up in instant. His eyes widened, not truly believing what was there, right in front of them. While the animal spirits were part of his life and he was no stranger to their comings and goings, Incacha very rarely made his presence known. The unexpected appearance of the Chopec warrior set of a spark of renewed hope racing over him, because it stood to follow that if Incacha were here, then Blair would be safe. "Blair, where is he?" he blurted at at breakneck speed.

"He is with the one they call Wilder." Incacha's answer was short and succinct and devoid of all emotion.

"What?" Lucas knew what he'd heard must have been a mistake. "You're shitting me, right? You know what's happened, don't you?"

"I do, young one."

"Then why isn't he with you?"

"Because that is not my duty at this time."

"How can it not be your duty?" Lucas asked with disbelief. "You're his spirit guide for Christ sakes, you're meant to be protecting him."

"I believe I have already had this conversation," Incacha replied, calmly. "Your sentinel also appeared to be under the same misguidance."

"Jim!" Spotting his jeans, less than an arm's length away, Lucas hastily reached for them. "Is he alive?"

"At this point of time, he is."

"Incacha, what the hell is going on?" Lucas implored. He frantically worked to get feet through his jeans and up the length of his uncooperative legs. "I don't understand! Why haven't you got Blair ... why aren't you helping?"

"Because if I interfere too early and you do not follow the path you need to take, the danger to your brother is not one that I'm sure I'll be able to challenge."

"What?" Lucas asked, still confused. Using the bed frame for support he clambered to his feet and hoisted his jeans up, over his hips. "What danger?" he asked again. At this point Lucas was almost certain that the conversation no longer focused around the danger that Robert presented to Blair.

"Sit," Incacha ordered, reaching out to push Lucas down onto the mattress. "You need to rally your strength and you also need to learn."

Lucas didn't resist the downward movement. "Learn what?"

"That knowledge is power, and when one possesses such knowledge, there is always a danger that the power will in turn possess them."

"Power?" It appeared to Lucas that the balance between questions and answers was seriously out of whack and, with Blair's life in the firing line, he wasn't prepared to play twenty questions.

"There are dark forces at play, young one; forces that have wielded their way into the hearts and minds of even the wisest among us. These forces need to be stopped, but doing so is an intricate and complicated task, and as you have discovered, it is one also fraught with many perils."

"I don't understand. What are these forces and what have they got to do with any of this?"

"These forces," Incacha continued, "have put their faith in your inability to complete the task that has been set out before you. If indeed you do fail this task, your failure will give them their ultimate goal."

Lucas paled. "Which is?"

"The Guide."

"No! No fucking way!" Lucas surged to his feet, sheer determination now winning the battle against the restrictions placed upon him by his body. "What task, where is it, and how do I pass?"

The passage of time in which the boy had left to prove himself had not yet come full circle; Incacha knew that if he intervened too early, the ultimate fight for the guide would result in bloodshed for many. "Do you believe in the power of the dream?" he asked.

"Am I supposed to?" Lucas questioned.

"Heed your dream, young guardian and you will find the answer to your question."

While Lucas didn't have a great many years of schooling under his belt, his street smarts often served him better than any formal education he'd received. "The river," he breathed, his intense blue eyes boring straight into the warrior. "It's going to happen at the river." Without a second to waste and oblivious to his teetering balance, Lucas turned tail and headed out the door.

"Lucas!"

The use of his name brought the teenager to a sudden halt.

"There was a man in your culture, a philosopher I believe he is so called, who spoke the words, 'what does not kill you will inevitably make you stronger'. When this is over, I believe it would be a wise decision for you to consider these words.

"When this is over," Lucas responded, with a depth of understanding that belied his years, "it may not be a consideration I'll need to worry about."

As the boy left the room and the essence of his being left Incacha's immediate realm, the spirit guide knew that the decision to stand by the side of his tribe was near. If the guardian were unable to conquer the near-impossible odds the council had stacked upon his young shoulders, then he would act. The power of the triangle lay within the points that gave its strength. The sentinel's point had already been weakened by his inability to embrace fully the gift he'd been given. The strain on guardian was great and, if he were not able to support the load, then the guide at the top would indubitably fall. When he did, his power would be in the possession of those who'd been waiting for this day to pass.

Entrusted as the keeper of the triangle, Incacha could not let this happen – even if it meant challenging the very foundation of the council itself.

Rallying himself for the battle ahead, Incacha joined the guardian at the river's edge. Standing unseen, he continued to put his faith in the strength of a boy who had yet to realise just how very strong he was.

~oOo~