Anton was on his way to the bridge, to meet with the mysterious stranger, under a street lamp. This was how it all happened in the dream. He knew where, he was familiar with the bridge after all, and he could feel the time was near. What he didn’t quite understand was how he’d managed to get here all of a sudden. It had been like he tapped into some kind of hidden instinct, and suddenly he was where he wanted to be. It didn’t really mater, because soon he would know it all… at least that was his sense of it, of what was happening. He saw the man approaching, it was dusk, and the lamps had just begun to flicker on. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if the man had suddenly appeared as well. Though he had done so several yards away. The man was in a long coat as well, though his seemed a little light for the season, more of a rain coat. He was also wearing a classic style fedora, tan like the coat. Within a couple yards, the man looked up to meet his gaze, but Anton only saw his own face looking back at him. Anton had not expected this to be a normal encounter with a normal man, but this was startling none the less. The man only said one thing, “Wuja…” Then he reached his hand out, palm up.

“Wuja?” Anton repeated, confused as to what language the man might be speaking. He stretched his hand out in kind. This was where the dream had ended. The man grabbed his wrist, and with his other hand, he extended a long pointy finger which seemed to be tipped in some form of jewelry. It was like an ornate finger extension. With it he began to scratch a symbol upon Anton’s palm, which glowed with a white orange light, like lava. Only it didn’t seem to burn despite its appearance. When he was done Anton had a moment to view the symbol before it vanished, as if sinking beneath the surface of his flesh. So too had the man seemingly disappeared, when Anton looked up to meet his gaze again. But Anton suddenly seemed to know what it meant, Wuja was the name for what Anton was. Wuja were the first mystics to ever walk the earth, it was they who discovered and mastered fire, they who could see the creatures of the near worlds, like the one Anton had just encountered, and they who could commune with these spirits… both in the waking world and the world of dreams. But he now knew that the power of the Wuja was a dangerous one, it was at once a blessing and a curse. Because the Wuja could manipulate Fate, they could alter the very future of the world around them, or rather their very presence created a different future. To put it simply, the Wuja’s will had more influence than the will of an entire community, they were a force in and of themselves, rival to the strength of hundred perhaps thousands of individuals. If uncontrolled, this power would ensure the survival and prosperity of the Wuja at any cost. In the past, many Wuja had isolated themselves from their communities, to protect their people from selfish thoughts. Choosing to live in nearby hard to reach or undesirable places, like a cave at the mountains top, or a hut in the bog. Anton now knew… it had been he who had brought his father back from the grave, for some reason in the back of his mind, something unresolved. But at what cost to others, he had yet to learn.

It would turn out that someone had died, on a particularly cold night preceding his fathers return. The body wouldn’t be found for a couple weeks, since she didn’t have any family left to check in on her, and she’d lived off the beat and path. Meaning neighbors seldom stopped by unless they were already out and about. But Anton wouldn’t hear about it for a while yet, since he’d decided to stay away from people for awhile. Instead, he would try to figure out why he’d brought his father back and what he should do about him being here now. To have a power that could bring back the dead, was both terrifying and alluring. But even if he could bring back his mother, he had no idea what such a thing would cost. Moreover, if it were even possible, why had it not been her that came back to life rather than his father? No, he had to put the thought of it out of his mind, and never do such a thing again. Regardless, he still had to deal with what had already been done. He had to confront his father. He’d made his way back home and had been standing just outside the door for what seemed like an hour now. He couldn’t put it off any longer, though he still had no ideal what he was going to say or why he’d brought him back.

“Papa!” he called out, as he entered his family home. The only thing his father had truly left to him. The house had been paid off for years, his father had grown up here, and made it a point to finally pay off the home his parents had worked so hard to get. Legally, the house belonged to Anton now, and he was determined to keep it since, every penny his father earned had gone into it… rather than Anton. Anton had worn hand me downs from his cousins, for most of his life. His father had basically refused to set aside money for Anton’s education, insisting that Anton needed to earn a scholarship if he wanted to go to college. But in the end his Father’s will indicated Anton as the inheritor of the family home. “Papa, where you at? We should talk now.”

“Over here…” his father said with the words in a hushed tone, with little effort. “I can’t remember Anton… I can’t remember how I got here, or where I was before. But I was somewhere, wasn’t I? Somewhere else… Where was I at, Anton? Where was I at?”

“You know where you was Papa… you just ain’t wanting to remember? You know better than I do Papa. You was dead, and whatever that means… wherever that is,” Anton replied in a quiet voice. “But I brought you back… Papa, it was me. I thinks there was a terrible price for it too, I just ain’t knowing what that is.” Anton’s father’s stare was now fixed on him, and it began to turn towards something unkind. It began to look like horror. “No Papa, you don’t understand. I ain’t do it on purpose. It just happened. I ain’t even know why.”

“Is… that… suppose to… make it better?” He stuttered out.

“No, Papa… I ain’t saying that. Just that it wasn’t my fault. Just that their was a reason, and it wasn’t my fault.” Anton said all this without giving it much thought. The words, the feelings, were just coming out. The conversation had taken on a life of its own, and he had to let it play out.

“You trying to say this be my fault, or something?” His father voice starting to turn towards anger.

“I’m trying to say I’m sorry Papa, and I wish… I wish you didn’t hate me.” Anton said this in almost a pleading tone.

“You think I hate you boy? I never hated you. I hated myself for not being able to look at you without see your dead mother. I hated myself for ever thinking you might be a curse. I hated myself for not being able to give you the love I know your Mama would of gave you. What she must think of me now. I tried to make you strong instead, that’s all i could do for you. But I don’t think i was even able to do that right.” Anton’s father took his son into his arms, and said, “I’m sorry son… I’m sorry too.”

Anton embraced his father, unsure if this was the first time they had ever really embraced each other. It certainly felt like the first time, at least the first time he could remember. Then when it was all over, his father returned to ash, as he had been before his return. Anton had had him cremated, so that he could take him home, to the house he’d worked his whole life to maintain. He’d put him back now, were he belonged.