Taking a deep breath he reached for the hood and carefully pulled it back, hoping that Elise would only feel the slightest of readjustments to her clothing.
She had shaved her head. Her long, wavy hair had disappeared. Her mask was held by a strap from the top that joined another that ran above her ears. Pockmarks covered every inch of her neck and ears. He paused for a second, afraid of his own reaction when he took off the mask.
Very carefully, he pulled the mask away from Elise's face.
He had promised not to look away, but he turned his eyes as his blood ran cold.
This wasn't Elise. The only feature he recognized of the beautiful, half-elf was her right eye. Still luminous and betraying her keen intelligence among the ravaged skin.
Tears swelled in his eyes of pity, of anger. Now he understood the hatred Tony felt toward the Namtarii and how powerful, dangerous, and terrible their powers were.
“You should put the mask back on, Thomas,” Bolswaithe said softly. “Any longer and she might sense the movement and realize it was you.”
Thomas took in a long breath and very carefully replaced the mask and the hood.
“We tried skin grafts,” Bolswaithe said. “New therapies and even experimental nanotechnology, but the damage is too extensive. Her left eye—”
“I saw,” Thomas stopped him and caressed the mask slowly. “Is there nothing to do?”
“She tried to kill herself during the first three weeks. Then her parents took her to Eidameran. Living in the Elven Kingdom helped her for a while, but then the Doctor's health faltered and she insisted on coming back. She donned this attire and became a recluse in the Mansion. She won't even see me or Tony…only Mrs. Pianova and Doyenne Kiran can talk with her.”
Thomas wiped the tears from his eyes. “It is my fault, Bolswaithe,” he said. “I took her to the Keep. I exposed her to the Namtarii.”
“Nonsense,” Bolswaithe said. “It could have been anyone; it could have been you who was infected.”
“It should have been me!” Thomas slammed his fist on the desk. “She pulled me back, Bolswaithe! She stepped between the Namtarii and me. It should have been me wearing this mask!” Thomas felt like his world was spinning out of control, even though time was stopped where he stood. Since he’d joined the Guardians, it had been nothing but heartbreak and death. And now, one of his best friends was scarred for life all because of him. Now, more than ever, he felt the weight of guilt pressing down on his shoulders.
Bolswaithe remained quiet for a long time. “We all knew the risks,” he finally said. “And she did her duty.”
“And paid the price for protecting me,” Thomas said. “Elise, the Doctor, Charles, and Vincent…” he said, referring to the two Grotesques who had been killed in the battle. “They all paid the price...even you.”
“What do you mean?” Bolswaithe asked.
“Why did you kill the Namtarii you had already subdued?” Thomas asked. “I won't accept an excuse; I want to know right now.” The battle of the Keep was fresh in Thomas's memory, and Bolswaithe had killed the female Namtarii in cold blood.
That act had been against everything Bolswaithe had stood for in Thomas's mind; the robot even shunned using swords and guns, instead relying on non-lethal methods of subdual and weapons.
Something had changed in Bolswaithe, and Thomas needed to know what.
Bolswaithe remained silent.
“You have to tell me, Bolswaithe,” Thomas said, pleading. “I won’t stop asking until you do.”
“I...” Bolswaithe said. “I think you might know better than I do, Thomas. Please, help me understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“The capabilities of my body are thousands of times greater than the ones in this wristpadd. I was able to perform billions of calculations, take into account millions of variables, and foresee possible outcomes based on statistics. In this wristpadd I don't have those capabilities; I can synthesize the facts and make an assessment without looking at all variables. Do you understand what I mean?”
“You can focus. Be more direct?” Thomas thought he understood what the robot meant.
“Something like that,” Bolswaithe said. “Let me begin with the most important variables for my decision. The first was the Namtarii's identity. She was Lejka of Assur, wife of Jushur, King of Sumeria. A powerful Magic user, she was never a Guardian, but she joined forces with the others in order to destroy Namtar. It takes a special kind of woman to forge one of the first empires in the world; she was shrewd, manipulative, and dangerous, even before becoming a Namtarii. The second variable came during the battle when I recognized Smallpox as the sickness Elise had been infected with. The third and final was Elise herself.”
“Three variables?” Thomas asked. “You just said you took into account millions of variables.”
“I did,” Bolswaithe said. “I took into account Lejka's historical record, the good things she did as a queen, her fight with Namtar, her relationship with the Guardians, and what was known about her relationship with the other Namtarii, from the economics of keeping her prisoner, to the chances of her being freed in the future, and the damage we had known she had caused in the past. Millions of statistics and prognostics went through my head every second, but in this diminished state I can pinpoint those three as the main reason as to why I’d killed her.”
“Tell me.” Thomas didn't like where this was going.
“Lejka was utterly evil. She relished the power, and if she was ever freed she would have killed as many as she could.”
“I know that wasn't the reason, Bolswaithe,” Thomas said. “I know you, and I know you wouldn't have killed her based on that.”
“The second and third variables go hand in hand, Thomas,” Bolswaithe continued. “Through my body I had access to all the archives documenting the outcome of a case of Smallpox as severe as the one inflicted on Elise. Lejka was also capable or causing such a sickness. Hundreds of thousands of possibilities, which I cross-related with all I knew about her. I had statistically foreseen that Elise would be affected greatly if she survived. When that happened, an anomalous function entered my system, and I crushed Lejka's neck before I even had a chance to analyze it.”
“What function?”
“I believe it was a feeling.”
“A feeling?” Thomas asked. “Are you in love with Elise?” It was the only feeling Thomas imagined would push anyone to murder.
The wristpadd screen went dark as Bolswaithe took time to respond “I know the definition of love, Thomas. Even if I had never had feelings before I would have known it was love. I guess I do love Elise, but not romantically. This was something else, but just as powerful.”
“What was it?” Thomas asked.
“Can't you guess?” Bolswaithe asked. “In this diminished state I can't elude the conclusion I came to, but now you know all those variables that made me act and I want you to help me confirm my conclusion.”
Thomas thought for a second. In his mind, only another feeling would be strong enough to kill somebody. But it was a feeling that could transform Bolswaithe's core.
“Hatred?”
Bolswaithe paused, even longer this time. “Yes,” he said finally. “I believe it was hatred toward Lejka for what had been done to Elise, and although I can't feel it know, that sparked other powerful feelings that have been consuming me these past months. I...” Bolswaithe paused. Even with this toneless voice he almost seemed nervous. “I’m angry at what I did and afraid that I will do it again,” Bolswaithe said, “but beyond that there was another thing—it lasted only a millisecond, but it was my strongest sensation yet, one I'm afraid to experience again.”
“What was it?” Thomas asked, afraid of the answer.
“When I killed Lejka…” Bolswaithe said, “I believe I experienced...pleasure.”
Dreams
Thomas had to sleep.
Seven months might have passed for the world, but he had gone directly from the N
amtarii to the Aesir and back without resting at all. After leaving the wristpadd containing Bolswaithe on a special dock to re-charge, Thomas went straight to his room and tried unsuccessfully to take a shower. He turned the knobs, but no water came out.
He got into bed and tried to sleep.
He tossed and turned, but it took him a long time to fall asleep. Too many thoughts occupied his mind, too many things to be worried about. Elise and the Doctor at the forefront, with the girl in the Aesir’s Hall close behind.
Who was she? Why had she sent the wasp to sting him? She seemed to know him, and he believed that Odin and Frigg knew him too, or Lord Odin wouldn’t have asked them to keep quiet, as if trying to protect, or better yet, not to reveal anything to him that might alter his decisions.
The Norns were at the center of those questions. According to Ratatosk, the Norns were more powerful than the Aesir, and they could weave or see destiny. But in his case, they hadn’t been sure what to do because he was connected to the Oracle, an even more powerful force.
Still, the Norns did see something. He knew they had screwed with him, but why?
Their powers altered time, but they hadn’t sent him back in time. Just slowed him to allow seven months to pass and then gave him all this time to catch up and do what he was supposed to do.
But catch up to what? And do what?
At some point his mind became too tired of trying to make sense, so he drifted into sleep, and the nightmare came.
It began with a sense of tranquility.
The memories Mneme had expanded in his mind filled his dreams, but he wasn’t seeing them as he had in the Halls of Remembrance.
He was living them in utter darkness.
His body swayed from side to side as a gentle warmth enveloped him. Then a sharp move and a muffled hit on his head, pain mixed with alarm, he opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn’t. He became disoriented as he fell.
The sound of something big breaking up—the cracking of wood, the rush of water, the sound of bodies splashing in the sea.
He was underwater.
Screams and yells muffled by the water, voices in fear and pain. The warmth slowly draining from him as it was replaced by coldness.
Hunger.
A rhythmic sound filled his mind, a heartbeat. First strong and fast, the slowing down, the seconds passed like hours as the beating slowed and the heartbeats grew ever apart until it stopped completely. Fear became anguish as the rhythm slowed down, then the anguish was slowly replaced with loss of feeling, of awareness as it stopped completely.
He was alone, but he wasn’t scared anymore.
It was a peaceful numbness as he drifted away into death.
He felt a jolt, and he was pulled back from numbness. A faint heartbeat resumed, faster and faster.
Bright piercing light replaced the darkness. Sharp cold burned his skin, water spouted from his lungs as he tried to scream. He opened his eyes and saw two silhouettes standing over him, reaching for him.
A squat, horned head above broad shoulders and a flash of dark armor.
A thin body, with an unnatural mouth clicking away, reached for him. A four-fingered hand that he had thought belonged to a faun, but now realized it was also covered in armor.
Instead of fingers it had talons. Sharp, hard, and cruel.
He felt the cold hand touch him, and immediately his fear became replaced by a strong sense of happiness as the creature with the squat head leaned closer.
He couldn’t see very well, but what he had seen in the dream woke him with a scream.
A dark, unfathomable eye peering down at him.
The eye of a Wraith.
“What’s going on?” Ratatosk slapped him gently with a paw; the squirrel was sitting on top of his chest.
“I’m okay,” Thomas said, sitting up in the bed. “Just a nightmare.”
“I’ll get you water.” Ratatosk took off toward the stash of supplies the Mansion staff had set up for Thomas.
Thomas stood and walked to the mirror. He was covered in sweat. He tried again to turn the sink knob, but slammed his fist in frustration when he remembered that the water wouldn’t come out.
Each time he had recalled the memory Mneme had unlocked he had gained a little more knowledge about what had happened and relived it a little bit. But in the dream time he had gone beyond—he had lived it and seen who held his parents. And it wasn’t the Fauns.
It was the Wraith.
He was sure of it.
He needed to save them.
Resolutions
“What am I supposed to do now, Doctor?” Thomas sat by the Doctor's bed in the Medical Ward. The Doctor had been assigned a bed in the ultra-sophisticated hospital ward of Pervagus Mansion while he recovered from his current health crisis.
“The Doctor says he has bad days and worse weeks, and he’s currently in one of his worse weeks,” Bolswaithe had told Thomas before he went to sleep. Thomas had left Bolswaithe in the dock recharging while he visited the Doctor; he didn't want Bolswaithe to hear what he was going to say about him. He had a great excuse for leaving him though. Working at such a high speed drained the batteries very quickly, and Bolswaithe didn't want to risk a reboot of the wristpadd.
Thomas wasn't a doctor, but he had been in a hospital enough times to know that Doctor Franco was very ill. Tubes snaked under the bed covers, and more than one I.V. line ran up his arms. The Doctor had a breathing mask over his mouth and nose, but Thomas saw the bump of a tube that must be connected to his trachea. The ever-present cravat at the Doctor's neck had been replaced with heavy bandages.
Mrs. Pianova and Killjoy were sitting in a corner of the room, and an attendant was replacing the I.V. bags. The scene was surreal, like taken from a movie. A great man on his deathbed, his family and friends surrounding him while they waited for him to breathe his last. Frozen, like a picture in a magazine.
Thomas knew better than to check the Doctor's arms under the covers. He remembered how they had curled up after Isaurus’s attack, and he didn't feel capable of taking another jolt like the one he had with Elise. Bolswaithe had told him that the Doctor had just come out from an extensive surgery and his life was on the line. He had read the Doctor’s chart by the bed, but even as he understood everything he had read, he had no point of reference or knowledge of what he was reading, so he didn’t know if the Doctor’s condition was stable or not.
“Bolswaithe thinks he might be...” Thomas said while pulling out a little paper where he had written Bolswaithe's exact words. “...um, 'Showing deviant behavior that could develop into a psychopathy for displaying sadistic tendencies whose motivation for killing are largely based on psychological gratification.'” He took in a long breath and waved the little paper. “I asked him to repeat that five times, Doctor. It's actually Bolswaithe's talk for: ‘I might become a serial killer.’ He actually thinks that he might grow to enjoy killing people.”
The number on one of the screens suddenly changed. Thomas was still moving incredibly fast in comparison to the world and, according to Bolswaithe's calculations, he still had the equivalent of five days to go before slowing down to normal time. Thomas sighed. How he wished he could actually talk with any of them. “So, you're dying, Elise is well...you know,” Thomas continued. “The Guardians are in shambles, and to top it off, I might have driven Bolswaithe crazy.” Thomas paused, clenching his hands into fists. “I should have listened to what all of you tried to tell me and taken the easy road instead of doing what I wanted,” Thomas said on the verge of crying. “Maybe none of this would have happened.”
“Bullcrap!” Ratatosk yelled from behind, startling him out of his self-beating.
Thomas looked toward the door. The squirrel was standing there with his tiny arms across his chest. “What the hell do you know?” Thomas said. “How long have you been there?”
“I've been here long enough to hear most of your boo-hoo...” Ratatosk mocked by wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Since when i
s killing your grandfather the easy road? The easy road is what you did, and it's a load of bullcrap for you to try and convince yourself otherwise. You'd do exactly what you did if it happened again.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about.” Thomas turned his back to the squirrel.
“I've been talking to whatever's left of your metal golem when you leave him to recharge.” Ratatosk approached Thomas’s chair. “You don't want me to die of boredom, do you? He's told me everything you've done up until now. You've been wrong in many things, but not in trying to keep your grandfather safe.”
Thomas bit his lip and tried to ignore the squirrel, but Ratatosk jumped over the bed and pointed his finger at him. “I know that it is very hard not knowing what you're supposed to do with your life, but you should know already!”
“And what the hell am I supposed to do, huh?” Thomas stood up from the chair and yelled back at the squirrel. “Come on! You tell me!”
“You go out there...” Ratatosk gaze hardened, “and find the book.”
“What?” Thomas threw his arms in the air. “That's exactly why we are all screwed up! Because of that stupid book! That's why the Doctor is dying and Elise is...deformed!”
“Exactly!” Ratatosk yelled and patted Doctor Franco's bed. “This guy's here because he gave you the chance to find that book. The same with the girl! They sacrificed everything for you to find that stupid book. Your metal golem jumped out of a flying thing for the same reason! And you're here...loitering. You should be out there looking for the book now that you have time. It’s an advantage the Norns gave you and you're squandering it!”
Thomas lowered his arms; Ratatosk was right in many ways.
“I actually opened the gate for you to meet the Norns so they could take you to Aesir to get that rod. Then I took you back, so you could have all this time to find the book without any interference from your grandfather!” Ratatosk wheezed.
“Did you really?” Thomas asked.
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