“Not a concern. I’ll carry you.”
He hesitated.
“Let go of the flight,” she said. “I’ll catch you.”
He glanced down, and he couldn’t make out the individual waves. That wasn’t because of the fog that still lingered after Scion’s disintegrating glow, but because of distance. The occupants of the platform weren’t visible either. A drop from this height would be fatal.
He could survive it if he manifested the right ability. He might not have given it a second thought if it was only a question of his power’s reliability or only a question of Glaistig Uaine’s allegiance, but the two together gave him doubts.
He looked at her. Her clothing was dry now, animated by the wind around her, like the limbs of an octopus, green where the light caught it and black otherwise. Thin streams of moisture surrounded the garment, complementing her form, enhancing the unnatural appearance. A human face in the midst of an alien, abstract form, her eyes far older than the flawless, childlike face.
Her stare transfixed him. He couldn’t even guess at her motivations.
Scion, the Endbringers, they were the others who typically came up in the same breath as Eidolon. He was the only one of them that was human. He had less power than they did, but more power than most.
Glaistig Uaine was one of the others, a contender for the title, though not necessarily in the public’s perception. The PRT had controlled how much information the public had about her, to keep people from getting too scared. She was a nonfactor, a captive in the Birdcage. She’d taken down Gray Boy, had attacked the King’s Men and slain Athrwys, and then she’d turned herself in.
Easy enough for the average Joe to dismiss her as a lunatic.
Except Glaistig Uaine had been amassing power during her time in the Birdcage, and he had been losing it.
Had he been supplanted in his role as the most powerful person in the world?
“A leap of faith,” Glaistig Uaine spoke. “Give up your power and I will be able to lift you.”
He glanced at her. She was smiling a little, as though she’d said something amusing.
“Can you tell me why you call me the High Priest, before I put my life in your hands?”
“I could say it’s because you rely on a higher power for your strength,” she said.
“You could. But will you say so? Because when you talked about the others, you were speaking about their faerie, their passengers, their agents, not the individual.”
“Yes,” she said.
He remained still, inviting her to elaborate.
“Some lead by logic, by law, by order and organization. Others lead by the abstract. By faith and the imagination of the public. Yes?”
“You’re talking about leading… the passengers, the agents?”
“Naturally so. Plotting, raising the faerie up as objects for worship. They are chosen, cultivated, as the situation demands, to suit the world outside, to best manipulate it. The pantheon in the temple.”
“Me. I’m this temple?”
She nodded. “Mmm.”
He frowned behind his mask. His voice was just a touch harder than it had been. “This ‘High Priest’ you speak of doesn’t sound like any priest I know.”
“I have little love for gods or the godly, High Priest. I may have to apologize for choosing such an unflattering title to describe you, but it fit as described, fit on other levels.”
“Other levels?”
“I would continue, but then we’d run out of time. A minute, perhaps less.“
“You seem to know a dangerous amount, Glaistig Uaine.”
“And you know dangerously little,” she responded. “We’re out of time.”
The statement was ominous.
New powers took time to take hold and build up to full strength. As of late, it was taking longer, one of the areas where he was growing weaker. Could he trust her to catch him? Or would she let him fall to his death, attacking him if his powers saved him, just to collect his abilities and add them to her own?
Was it maybe better to die? Perhaps she could make better use of his remaining power. Or perhaps passing his power on to another individual would fix things, reset the gradual losses. The Eidolon-clone that had been created in the Echidna attack in Brockton Bay hadn’t seemed as restricted.
He released his hold on the flight power, thinking of the broad-target attack that had eliminated Granka’s spirit, scalding everything in sight, disintegrating the spirit’s branches as they reached across the sky. He could only hope he got something suitable.
Eidolon fell, tumbling head over heels.
Perhaps High Priest is fitting.
My life, always in the hands of greater powers.
■
December 5th, 2012, six months ago
He stood from his seat, fists clenched.
His powers were adapting. He’d been holding on to them, but the anger and circumstances were apparently enough to force a shift. A perception ability, an offensive ability that would let him move objects violently along strict paths that were dancing across his field of vision, and a future-sight ability that was making the world change colors, identifying points of high future stress and danger with colored blotches.
Doctor Mother was so unthreatening that she might as well have been absent. A shadow in the midst of the lines that continued spiraling out in every direction from every inorganic object in the room, each flaring with color.
Contessa remained still, but she was highlighted in danger. Her breath fogged in the air as though it were winter, but it was merely the abstract representation of danger. Her lips, her eyes, her hands.
The Custodian, as well, loomed. There but not there, filling every space in the complex, moving not her physical body, because she had none, but her focus, as if that were a concrete object.
The telekinetic smash would let him move her aside. Contessa… he couldn’t beat Contessa. The precognitive power he’d gained wasn’t one he’d used before, but he knew.
The precognitive power, apparently useless in this circumstance, disappeared. Another began manifesting. Something abstract, offensive enough to level the entire complex if he needed to.
Equally useless. She had an answer to that as well. The ability to see danger as colors still lingered, disappearing as the other power grew. Any fading in the color around her was solely because he was losing the ability, not because she was any less dangerous.
Idle thoughts. He was angry, the desire to harm them in retaliation was one his agent responded to, but not one he would act on. Frustrating, that the distinction was lost on the agent.
“Say it again,” he spoke. He let his voice tremor with the power that surged through his body.
“I can’t, in good conscience, give you another booster shot. They’re getting less and less effective in terms of how long they last and how robust the effects are.”
“It’s still having an effect,” he answered. “Small or otherwise. The Endbringers are attacking every two months. Paris was just two weeks ago. You can’t deny I helped.”
“Scion won that fight, Eidolon,” the Doctor responded. Her voice was gentle, patronizing.
He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You can’t do this. The number of lives I save…”
“It’s substantial.”
“You’re asking me to leave them to die, Doctor,” he said, and the words had a bite to them. “You don’t want to look me in the eye and tell me that. Don’t betray me by telling me you’re now going against everything we’ve been working towards.”
“I’m asking you to leave it to others. Each dose we give you is a formula we’re not giving another person.”
“Nothing you ever said suggested that quantity was limited,” he said. I know it isn’t. I used a power to put the numbers together.
“It isn’t limited. Not to the point that we’d run out in the foreseeable future.”
“Then I don’t see the problem,” he said. He leaned forward, grip
ping the table’s edge.
“The formulas take some time to create. Gathering the raw materials, getting the balance right, twelve minutes on a good day, thirty on a bad, only to provide a booster shot that doesn’t last two days? That gives you a ten percent boost to your abilities and manifestation times? At best?”
“It’s meaningful,” he growled the last word.
“It has to stop at some point, Eidolon. I have to draw a line in the sand and say that, at some point, you’re going to have to adjust. That giving a formula to someone else for that one-in-a-thousand chance we get something we can use is better than having you be marginally stronger.”
“You can’t-” Eidolon shook his head, changed tacks. “Doctor. I’ve always been on board. You told me about the true goals, about the experimentation, I was loyal, I understood. I know what we’re up against. The rate of parahuman growth, the number of villains, the Endbringers, the end of the world…”
“I’m not debating that,” the Doctor said. “I’m saying it’s more efficient, and we have to be efficient now.”
“More efficient. Says who?”
“Contessa.”
“Fuck Contessa!” He leveraged the telekinetic power, slashing his hand out to one side. The desk moved like a bullet-
-And stopped, no more than a hair from the wall.
The Custodian, invisible but to his other senses, gently set it down.
Eidolon hung his head.
Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have been able to stop him. If it came down to it, he could attack her, drive the Custodian away. He could see the lines. But that wasn’t the important thing here. It was another reminder of how he was getting weaker.
The Doctor spoke, “I should have listened to her sooner, but there are too many blind spots around this situation. The Endbringers, the End of the World, the formulas. Things she can’t see. I held on, told myself I wouldn’t cut you off until we had another Simurgh attack, to ensure you could minimize the damage, that you’d be able to recuperate and adjust for at least a few months before she showed up again.”
He shook his head slowly.
“The Guild found the mass-production tinker. All signs point to them becoming a force in their own right. We won’t be helpless.”
“No,” he said.
“This is for the best, Eidolon.”
“If it’s a question of labor, can we divide the task? Get more hands on the job, for making the formula?”
“It’s not worth the risk. We’d be risking another Manton situation.”
“With Contessa’s ability, though?”
“It didn’t allow us to know about or prevent the Siberian from coming into existence. It’s a blind spot. If we must take risks, then we need to be smart about it, ensure we limit it to the risks we need to take. Gambling on creating deviances, outside cases or others.”
“You asked me for my trust, I gave it. You asked me for loyalty, I gave that to you as well. You asked me for sacrifice, and I gave that. I was content to be second place in the Protectorate, because it’s what you needed.”
“What Alexandria needed.”
Eidolon shook his head. “Let’s not pretend.”
The Doctor paused, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”
“When the shit hit the fan, when my clone divulged the ugly details to the public, I made sacrifices there too. I walked away, so the Protectorate could stand. Gave up everything.”
“And I’m afraid I must ask you to give up this as well.”
“This is all I have,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s my career, my life. It’s my legacy. Some have children, flesh and blood to carry on their name and their memories. I went without, for your sake, for the world‘s sake. I didn’t have children because I wanted to save lives more than anything else, and if I made peace with that, it was because I told myself this would be my legacy.”
He realized he was staring at the floor, raised his head to meet the Doctor’s eyes. She was managing to look sympathetic. It pained him.
“I’m not- being famous was never a focus. I never begrudged Legend his status in the Protectorate, never put my status or any of that above saving lives. Understand that.”
“Oh, I understand,” the Doctor said. “It hasn’t always been pretty, but you’ve never wavered.”
He pulled off his mask, letting his hood fall down around his shoulders. His face was briefly reflected in the reinforced mask. Homely, balding, with heavy cheeks, lines in his face from stress. A nose and ears that were too large.
“Maybe I’m not a good man, but I hope the people I’ve saved can do enough good to make up for that. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” the Doctor said.
“So I hope you don’t mistake me. I hope others don’t mistake me, when I say that it does matter, still. The legacy. That I want people to remember me at my best, not as someone withered.”
“Do you need to sit, Eidolon?” The Doctor asked. “David?”
He shook his head slowly, but he took the seat, using his telekinesis to move it left, then forward, until it was right behind him. He collapsed into the chair.
The Doctor took her seat at the chair that had been behind her desk. Confident, prim, proper. The one with the answers, even if he didn’t like those answers.
Priest and confessor.
A silence lingered.
“With the table gone, all this empty space between us, I’m put in mind of a psychiatrist and her patient,” the Doctor said, echoing his thoughts. “I’m not that kind of doctor, though. I’m not equipped to give you that sort of answer, David.”
“No. No, I know that.”
“When all of this started, we made an agreement. I made only one promise. I can’t betray that promise for the sake of your legacy, for anything. Not even if it means saving you, saving any of us.”
“I know.”
“I can hear you out if you need to talk. As a friend, as an impromptu therapist, whatever you need.”
He met her eyes. There weren’t tears in his eyes, but that fact was more surprising than not. He felt like he wanted to cry. When he spoke, he almost wished the words would bring the tears. His voice was tight as he said, “I’d rather die in a blaze of glory than go out ingloriously. I just- It feels like it’s something I need to do. I can’t put my finger on why.”
“We need you, David. We can’t lose you, gloriously or otherwise.”
“I know.”
“You’re still among the strongest. Only those who’ve watched from the beginning would know you’re not at full strength. There’s some time before the changes become so pronounced the public notices.”
“They’ve already noticed. The problem of being in the public eye. Everyone’s watching as I fail.”
She had no response to that, and he didn’t volunteer anything further. Staring down at the floor, he could see Contessa’s legs in his peripheral vision. She was leaning against the wall, watching.
He’d come to see her as a fixture. Harder, now. She couldn’t give him the answer he wanted. For better or worse, he was another of her blind spots.
The desk slowly slid back into place. The Custodian was nowhere nearby, but she could move the furniture.
It made faint scraping sounds as it crossed the room, before it stopped in front of the Doctor. The dust on the surface was whisked away in a swirl.
“You understand that this is necessary?” the Doctor asked, the instant the dust was gone.
David nodded slowly.
“I’m going to go check on the latest recruits. Let me know if you need to talk, or if you have any questions.”
He nodded again.
She stood from her chair, pushed it in beneath her desk, and then stepped out of the room.
His eyes followed Contessa as she stepped away from the wall and followed the Doctor out.
She hadn’t said a word, but she usually didn’t. It had taken him some time to understand why.
Had the Doctor chosen, Co
ntessa could have handled the entire discussion. She would have won the argument. Had she so chosen, she could well have framed it so that he walked away happy, content with the situation.
Yes, he was a blind spot for her, but she knew him well enough to construct a sufficiently ‘David-like’ model in her head, to come up with the right answers for every question and statement. But he would have known. He knew what she did and how she operated, and it would have colored everything.
With the blind spot surrounding him, she couldn’t refine her path to victory enough that she could make him walk away happy and content with the situation, to the point that he stayed happy, stayed oblivious to what she’d done.
So he would come to resent her.
Doctor Mother handled the talking, instead, whenever she talked to anyone who she thought she might work with. She took no overt cues from Contessa.
Every time Contessa was silent, she was holding back. A weapon, held in reserve, an answer to every dilemma, from the most trivial to the most major.
She brimmed with potential power.
It was uncharitable, Eidolon knew, but he resented her a little for it.
For all of his loyalty, his devotion to the mission, he found it ominous, in a way he couldn’t place.
Staggering a little, as if he were wounded, he made his way to a standing position.
Obeying, being a good soldier. Acknowledging the greater good.
■
June 24th, 2013, now
Glaistig Uaine caught him. He had the ability to fly.
His other power was manifesting. His skin prickled, and that prickling soon extended to his costume. In moments, he could feel it as an extension of himself.
His vision changed, shifting to an aquamarine color as the pane of his helmet took on another texture. Crystalline.
The crystal continued to grow, forming more layers of crystalline cloth, ornamentation and more.
Something that would withstand a broad attack that his other defensive ability couldn’t dodge.
He exhaled slowly.
“Thank you,”
“I am glad to be of assistance, High Priest.”
He stared out at the horizon. There was a golden light at the edge, and it wasn’t the sun. Scion, approaching with a surprising deliberateness.
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