Dissident

by Lisa Beeson

  Markus chuckled at the look of horror on Soren’s face. “Calm yourself. It’s not all that bad. I cut a pretty handsome figure in my younger days. It made suasion much easier, I can tell you that.”

  At Soren’s puzzled scowl, Markus explained, “Suasion is the ability I inherited from my mother. Instead of using forceful compulsion like Samara, suasion is more of an enticing persuasion – the ability to make people want to do what you tell them, as if it was their own idea. I’m sure you’ve felt it, that sense of rightness…”

  Soren thought back to that moment when Markus had told him to go up the spiral steps. The decision to obey had felt easy and right; just like when he had first met Markus and he’d felt the desire to give in to the Cause. But it hadn’t worked that time, he’d fought it.

  “But that first time…,” Soren lisped. “That first time I didn’t do what you wanted. It didn’t work.”

  “It rarely does on people with strong wills. Even your grandmother’s ability has the same limitations. That’s where charm, attractiveness, and genuine affability come into play. Helena’s ability plays on the same principles. Even Gordon has a bit of that unnatural charm that makes people want to trust him.”

  Soren brought up his legs and folded his arms tightly around them, closing in on himself. He didn’t like thinking about how he felt and what he’d done because of Helena. “It’s all a nasty trick.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, boy. You’re not the first to be entranced by Helena’s thrall. It’s the reason I enlisted her to the Cause in the first place. You can thank, Ari, for that find.”

  Soren’s scowl deepened. “Don’t talk about her,” he grumbled. “She’s going to come and save me. She promised. Then you’ll all be sorry.” He absolutely hated how his missing teeth made him sound so ridiculous and pathetic. This was serious and he wanted to be taken seriously.

  Instead of the anger or ridicule he expected from the old man, Soren only felt his acceptance as he slowly nodded.

  “I’m sure that you are right, boy,” he said with a resigned sigh. “Which is why I must tell you about your destiny before that happens.”

  “I don’t want your stupid destiny!” Soren shouted, while banging his fists against the soft leather, his anger giving him courage. “I don’t want to be anything like you! I hate you!”

  There was a flash of frustrated anger before Markus gained control again with a prolonged deep breath. “Be that as it may, right now all I ask is for you to listen to my story so you can do better than I did.” He took out another photo from the box and placed it on the table. It wasn’t as old as the last one, but still old. It was a picture of two men and a boy a little bit older than Taika standing on the deck of an old steamer ship with the statue of liberty standing on her island in the background. There was something familiar about all three of them, but Soren couldn’t quite place it until he recognized that the oldest of the three was Markus, and that the younger man looked like a grown-up Paul. And even though the photo was black and white, Soren could tell that one of the boy’s eyes was decidedly lighter than the other one. They were two different colors. Like Old Enzo… That’s Old Enzo as a boy…with Markus…

  “After I finish,” Markus continued, “you can do with the information as you wish. But first, please, just listen.” There was a strange genuineness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It was as if he had taken the mask of the scary, intimidating old man off, to reveal the tired, gentle old man behind it.

  Soren folded his arms with a disgruntled huff, but did not argue any further. As long as the old man knew that he would not be anything like him, Soren didn’t feel as guilty about wanting to hear the story.

  Markus took Soren’s silence as a sign to go on. “Now, in order to prepare for the future of the Cause, you must know its origins.

  “I will begin with my mother: She was born, Grażyna Lewandowski, to Polish immigrants in Danzig, Prussia. Her father died when she was a toddler, so her mother worked as a seamstress and costumer for a small, but moderately prosperous theater company to provide for them.

  “My mother grew up in the backstage of the theater, watching, listening, and learning the different crafts of creating beautiful illusions, weaving myths, and embodying different characters. With her ability of suasion and serendipitous inclinations, paired with her natural charm and beauty, Grażyna became the darling of the theater and of everyone who knew her. Once she was taught to read so she could help the actors rehearse lines, she read everything she could get her hands on, from plays, to the classics, to penny novels. Creating a web of knowledge of how the world worked and what a woman could accomplish by pulling just the right strings. When she proved herself quite talented in the art of pretending, she was inducted into the company and was cast in the plays and operettas the theater put on. And as her star rose, Grażyna caught the eyes of the somewhat influential people who patronized their small theater, who plied her with gifts and favors. She had a gift for seeking out advantageous friendships from every class, as comfortable in the salons of barons and duchesses as she was in the working class biergartens. Always watching, listening, and waiting for the familiar kiss of serendipity to guide her.

  “One such advantageous encounter was with a young Prussian aristocrat named Johan Littman. He had become absolutely smitten with her, and he insisted on parading her around on his arm as if he had found the best and most interesting new toy and wanted everyone to see it. Although far from in love, she enjoyed his company, took advantage of his connections, and made some of her own.

  “In the fall of 1900 Johan took her and a group of their friends to a country festival. He had heard that there was a camp of Romani nearby selling horses, and he was looking to buy a new mare for breeding.

  “As the men went to talk business, the girls admired the wares and trinkets the Romani women were selling. As they were looking, a little Romani boy wearing a bright blue and red-checkered scarf around his neck grabbed Grażyna’s hand and began pulling her towards a caravan. Her friends tried to shoo the child away, but Grażyna felt the pull of serendipity, and told them that it was all right and that she would only be a moment.

  “The little boy, who was no more than five, led her to the back of the caravan and told her to go in, and that she was expected. Nervous, but sure of her inclinations, Grażyna stepped into the caravan to see a pregnant woman with two different-colored eyes, sitting on a cushioned bench and smoking a pipe. The woman motioned for Grażyna to sit down next to her. Once she did, the woman took her hand and rubbed the lines of her palm with her calloused finger. She told Grażyna that her unique gifts were blessings passed down from the gods of old. And that she would use these gifts to unlock the mysteries of her true arcane inheritance. But there would come a time when her gifts would not be enough to save her one true love from grave peril. At that time, when all hope was lost, she should go to the steps of the Karlskirche in Vienna bearing a special token, and help would be given.

  “The woman placed a tarnished silver coin into Grażyna’s hand. It bore the two-faced head of the Roman god Janus. Grażyna had never seen a coin like it before, but she felt its importance thrum through her and she nodded that she would keep it for whenever that time came.”

  The coin in Soren’s pocket felt as heavy as a boulder again. His hand itched to take it out, but he dared not to, afraid of what he’d see.

  “Nine months later I was born,” Markus said with an arch of his brow and a small crooked smile. “Johan was never really part of our lives, but I looked just like him and my mother made sure he took care of her and their bastard child. By her request, he set us up in a town house in Vienna, with its own cache of servants and a succession of the best nannies and tutors he could find.

  “My mother, knowing full well the stigma around unwed mothers, and taking advantage of the location change, adopted the name Kasia Feliks and reinvented herself as a young widow. Along with Johan’s monthly allowance, my mother gained her ow
n small fortune by pawning the many extravagant gifts and baubles admirers had plied her with over the years, and wisely invested in profitable ventures. As I grew, my cherubic looks and ability of suasion developed. Everyone spoiled and fawned over me, except for my mother. Though she loved me above all else, she recognized my ability for what it was. She also saw that I did not inherit her sense of serendipity to guide me, so she made sure I was grounded in wisdom and moral decency, so I wouldn’t be swept away to ruin by my whims and sense of entitlement.

  “Once she was established as a respectable, if mysterious, figure on the fringe of society, and curious about what the Romani woman had told her about her gifts and arcane inheritance, Kasia used her money and connections to start her own exclusive salon. She gathered various historians, academics, explorers, and practitioners of the occult from all over the world to share their knowledge and theories. She soon learned of people with special knacks and abilities that were seen as witches, demons, demi-gods, or holy men, depending on the climate of the culture. She learned that these people were said to be decedents of the god-like ancient races. She learned of aperion and Anaximander with his multiple worlds theory. And she learned of certain places all over the world thrumming with ancient power, just waiting for someone to utilize it. As she collected these people, stories, and knowledge, Kasia amassed the stirrings of a coherent narrative. We spent my childhood traveling the continent in search of these people and places of power. Taking on different roles to gain access others could only dream of. She taught me how to embody different characters and how to make them convincing by rooting them in truth. However, in order to accomplish the greater goal, I must never lose myself to the myth.

  “I was an abnormally healthy child for the time, but in the autumn of my twelfth year I contracted an insidious case of scarlet fever. Everything the doctors tried either did nothing or made it worse. When all resources were exhausted and I was on the brink of death, my mother remembered the coin the Romani woman had given her. Without another moments delay, she took the coin and left for the steps of Karlskirche. When she arrived, desperate and heartsick for her dying child, she asked anyone who would listen if they knew anything about the coin. No one did, but then a teenage Romani boy wearing a faded blue and red checkered scarf around his neck, came up to her and asked if she had anything to give him. Kasia recognized him as the little boy that had led her to the caravan those many years ago. Feeling the influence of serendipity, Kasia gave him the coin. He told her to follow him and he quickly led her to the residence of a rabbi said to have healing hands.

  “As this was happening, the spark of my young life was petering out. But just as my spirit prepared to leave this mortal plane, I heard a voice calling me back and giving me a choice: I could either end my suffering and leave this life behind or live to change the world. A vision flashed behind my eyes. I saw people and places that were to become the keystones to my future and the bedrock of the Cause, laid out as if on a map before me. I saw, if I chose it, the role I must play, the sacrifices and suffering it would cause. But if I did it right, in the end, it would all be worth it. I felt the healing hands of the rabbi lay upon me and I chose life. And my purpose was seared into my soul. I was to dedicate my life to bring what I saw in my vision to pass no matter the cost. The role I was set to play came in two parts: first, as the collector, then second… as the villain to provoke the heroes into action. The metal must first be tempered in order to become a sword…”

  The old man’s eyes went to the corner of the room, as if he saw something Soren did not. But then he carried on as if it was of no consequence. “I played my part as well as I was able, but as the years went by I found I had played it too well, and I did the one thing my mother told me never to do… I lost myself in the myth. I believed my own propaganda. Power and influence affected me like an insidious drug making me believe I was invincible, that I could do no wrong. We had the means and resources, and we were on our way to creating a New Babylon, a New Rome, our own empire. We were on the brink of creating a world the likes of which no one has ever seen. And in the process, I allowed things to happen that I shouldn’t have. I got caught up in the dream and I forgot who I truly was. I became the person I was only supposed to be pretending to be – to my children’s, grandchildren’s, and many others detriment. I let the dream become corrupted.” Tears welled in his eyes, and his gaze went back to the empty corner. “But it was all for you… And my progeny yet to come. I saw your coming. I saw what you could bring to this world. And now you know that the people you’ve gathered around you are loyal and truly want the world to be a better place, not for selfish reasons, not for glory or prestige, but because it’s right.”

  Soren scowled and turned to look back into the empty corner, thinking the old man had gone crazy, except this time it wasn’t empty. Ari was there, glaring back at Markus. She was different from before. There was a strange radiance about her that he didn’t understand. She looked like a queen – regal, remote, and powerful. But when her gaze fell on him, her eyes softened with love as she smiled. There she is…there’s my… “Ari!”

  Soren vaulted over the back of the couch to leap into her awaiting arms. Her embrace felt like home. He squeezed her tight, just to be sure she was real, then buried his face in her shoulder. His throat swelled with the emotions he had boxed up and stuffed away, now released and brimming up to the surface. It was the first time he felt safe enough to breakdown and acknowledge the horrors he had witnessed, because he knew Ari would protect him. “I was… so… scared,” he lisped and hiccupped through tears.

  Ari held him close, her love wrapping around him like a warm blanket. “I’m here. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Soren wiped his face on the soft fabric of her shirt, then drew back to ask her, “Can we go home now?”

  She smiled and then kissed his forehead with warm lips. “Yes we can, lil’ man.” She gave him another squeeze before letting him slide down to stand by her side.

  Soren was about to grab Ari’s hand, but saw that there was dried blood streaked all the way up to her wrist.

  “Is that your blood?” he asked in a shaky whisper. “Are you hurt?”

  Ari looked down, and tried to wipe off the dried blood on her pants. “It’s not mine,” she assured him, and he felt her sadness and regret. “It’s Anita’s.” Her gaze returned to Markus. “She died trying to protect Brenna from Mara’s bullet.”

  Markus closed his eyes and bowed his head as he sighed in remorse.

  “I’m guessing she doesn’t know that you were only playing a part,” Ari said in disgust.

  “I tried to explain it to her just a moment ago. That everything we did was for a purpose, just not exactly the one she thought she knew. I thought she understood, but I guess…” he trailed off with a sad shake of his head.

  “I guess letting go of an ingrained sense of entitled superiority was too hard for her,” Ari finished for him. “I guess a lifetime of lies made it hard for her to recognize the truth. And now she’s so angry and confused at her lost sense of identity that she feels a bit murder-y about it.”

  Markus seemed to age and shrink even further into himself. “As you say…,” he conceded. “I made mistakes… and she has the agency to make her own. People are fallible…flawed.” His rheumy eyes moved to Soren. “But now you know, and you must do better. You must be better. My reign of this family is over, the future is yours.”

  Soren’s hand gravitated to the coin in his pocket. With Ari by his side, he felt brave enough to look at it. Grasping it in his fist, he pulled it out and opened his fingers. The coin lying in his palm had the head of a man with two faces. Janus.

  Soren looked up at Markus and the old man gave him an amused half smile, as if he had just proven his point. “I had taken it from Hugo’s nephew, but it seems to have found its way to you.”

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Soren. You have the right to choose your own path,” Ari said to him. />
  Soren looked down at the coin, then back up Markus and then over to Ari. He and Skylar had vowed to be good. They knew what was right and what was wrong. They could help people the right way, not with death and violence, but with love and generosity like Ari.

  He clasped the coin and put it back in his pocket. “We will be better.”

  Ari nodded. He could see that she was actually taking him seriously, instead of just humoring him like adults normally do. She believed him and respected his decision. She believed in him, and it made his vow that much stronger.

  “Come,” she said, holding her hand out to him. “It’s time to go.”

  Soren took her hand then motioned his head towards Markus. “What about him?”

  “Go on,” Markus told them with a flick of his wrist. “I’ve done my part. It’s time for me to let go.”

  Ari gave him an intense look, her eyes narrowed, and after a moment of tense silence, they nodded to each other.

  Ari led Soren toward the steps, but he stopped when they reached the door. “Wait,” he looked back towards Markus. “If Markus Reinhold isn’t real, then what’s your real name? Who are you really?”

  “Otto,” Markus answered with a thin-lipped smile and wistful, tired look in his eyes. “Otto Feliks is who I started this life as. I wish you could have known him.”

  Before Soren could say anything more to the sad old man who had done so much harm, Ari urged him to go down the stairs. She paused at the top, then closed the door behind her and followed him down to stand in front of the glass-encased map. Raising her hand, she unlocked the glass case and took the map down from the wall. After carefully rolling it up, she raised her other hand and created a portal in front of them, leading into some kind of garage full of helicopters and some Jeeps.

  Soren gasped and looked up at Ari aghast. “You can do that without me now?”

  She could be invisible like Skylar, unlock things, and make portals like him now. What else could she do?