A Dyad in Time

by D. D. Prideaux

  “You’re not Christophe.” The sassy blood spurted out. Dumbfounded, Dreeoth continued to stare, not knowing what to do. The un-face in the floor looked exasperated, huffing loudly and showing the whites of its eyes in irritation. If blood could have white eyes that is. Turning itself slightly to either side and looking out of the corners of its un-eyes, it took in the room and the war zone Dreeoth stood in.

  “Well, it’s Christophe’s place.” It muttered, looking down its un-nose towards the steel room. “Ah, there he is.” Satisfied, it looked directly at Dreeoth.

  “Gurl.” Rolling the r in gurl to make it last longer than it should, drenching it in drama. “You in trouble. Tell Christophe I’ll be there yesterday and gurlfriend.” The r rolling on for what seemed like weeks again. “Tell yourself to get cleaned up. I can handle this mess faster on my own.” With a slopping sound, the un-face disappeared. Un-cheeks blending into the rest of the blood. The un-brows drowning away. The un-hair sinking to bloody depths. He rested the vase on the nearest surface, gently nudging some brain matter out of the way and passing on the un-face’s message. Christophe cradled the woman in his arms, all teeth and violence not long ago, reduced to a quivering, scared girl. He saw the strength and the weakness in his Hältia then. The strength to help someone he loves without question. The weakness to help someone he loves without question.

  He had seen that conflict in people before. He’d felt that conflict and knew it was why he was here. Looking at his master’s charge more closely he realised that she was in trouble too. She was resolute and tired, tugged in every direction by the personalities within her. Rightly or wrongly, her past and present deeds included, everyone deserves another chance. He needed to believe this because it’s what he would want for himself. In that instant he decided he’d help his master. When he made contact with his handler, he’d do whatever it took to protect him. He’d be able to sleep better at night, knowing he tried to help the confused man, torn by conflicted emotions. Selfishly he also knew that if he had a chance to plead his case to the tribal leaders, they may be more lenient, even if they’d shown him no favour before.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - UNDERSTANDING

  Opening my eyes is hard. I feel like I’m waking up from a very deep sleep but when I do, I’m newer. Younger. The dreadful and paralysing tiredness that had been chipping away at my soul for years seems less now. Further away than right on my back or inside my bones. The lead was lighter and there are less planets attached to me. The dragging towards my sun - the ground - has lessened. I can’t feel any pain either. My ribs, my thigh, my arm. They’re all normal. I sniff at the air, thinking I’d smell the dreadful waking nightmares of the room I passed out in. I expect the aromas of urine, faeces and fear to float to the front of my mind, expecting the murkiness of my brain to wake with the memories they bring. I await the musty, dank undercurrent in the air to hit me. Nothing. So, I listen. I listen for the breeze. I listen for the occasional scuttling of cockroaches. Nothing. Just my slow breathing and a growling from behind my head.

  I’m lying on my side again. Worried that I’d be stuck to the floor like last time I open my eyes. Fearing I’ll see the remains of another person I do it slowly. Focus comes in waves and I notice I’m staring at a wall, my head nestled into a soft pillow. My relief is marred by the growling behind me that’s gathering more emotion, getting louder. Soft fur borders the bottom of my vision and then I smell the familiar notes of my Bjørneskinn. The growling is very loud now, the added sensation of something moving behind my head causing concern. I slowly, deliberately and calmly peel the Bjørneskinn back turning to see the black thing I took from my ear sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking at it I’m not sure if sitting is the right word, but it feels like it is, even though the thing was a moving, flowing gelatinous being with no form. I realise that the growling and moving I felt a moment ago is coming from him, his surface rippling with annoyance. Is he protecting me, or warning me? Has he gotten bigger? Is he even a, he? About the size of a watermelon now, part of him was angled towards the other side of the room, like a head, reaching out on a long neck. It’s looking at a man I’ve never seen before, but I know the type. He’s just patiently sitting in a chair, cross-legged, with his wrists casually laid across his knee in a similar crossed fashion. He absently, very fractionally moves his head towards me, and the black thing launches off the bed at him with a deadly ferocity, all angles, points and cutting.

  The man doesn’t move. He patiently watches the black mass fly across the room towards his face. Seeing the shapes jutting from him and hearing the war cry he made, I imagine what he’d do to the man’s face. I can’t help it as I remember what I saw in the last room and how he might leave remains of what used to be a head on the man’s shoulders. Wincing at the imminent impact I’m surprised to see my black protector phase right through the face and hit the wall behind the man with a comical splat. Not fully understanding what had happened to my knight-in-shining-black-goo’s attack, he jumped back towards the head with even more ferocity, even more deadly shapes and angles wanting to cut and maim. The same thing happened. The heroic attack landed no blows. It made no cuts. It did no maiming. It just lands back by the side of the bed, with the same comical splat. The growl simmers to a quizzical grumbling, his surface rippling with concern this time. Part of him is angled towards me this time, like a head, reaching out on a long neck, waiting to see what I would do. Asking me what he should do. What should I do?

  “Little dramatic don’t you think?” The man in the chair said, removing an imaginary bit of lint from his knee. He’s dressed in a modern kimono style outfit, poised, but not too formal. I think I like him, although my friend is disagreeing.

  “Who are you?” I said, the creakiness and grating gone from my voice.

  “Apologies for not being here in person but being in a small room with you carries consequences.” He doesn’t need to say it, but he goes on, making sure I know exactly what he’s talking about, pausing just long enough to let me think about the remains of the people from before Djoonga.

  “I saw what you did to my colleagues.” The man continued, appearing to have not heard my question, or ignoring it at least. I can’t tell.

  “Who are you?” I said more forcefully. The black shape at my feet angled towards the man, rippling with annoyance like I was, the growl boiling over with the same emotion.

  “Your friend here also appears to have some tricks. Some very sharp tricks I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of.” The man was addressing the black goo directly this time, telling it off with his eyes to match his tone. This man was clever. Cautious and patient too.

  “He’s called Tchook.” Where did that come from? The man nodded towards Tchook appreciatively.

  “Well met, Tchook.” This seems to calm my companion slightly, some of edge taken out of the way he moves and sounds. The man’s head moved back towards me, his intelligent and patient eyes looking past me, into me, around me. Seeing my past and my now.

  “Well met, Torbjorn.” A nod of respect marking the greeting.

  “What should I call you?” I’m not surprised he knows my name.

  “My name is Elias Gerard.” He parted his arms and bowed his head slightly, like a sat down curtsey, but well-practised and surprisingly un-awkward.

  “Well met, Elias.” I offered, with my own nod of respect. Some kind of ceremony is the right way to handle this man right now. The way he’s sat and the way he speaks shows he’s at ease. He doesn’t need anything and there’s no rushing him. He looks a patient man and patient men liked respect and courtesy. I’d have to hold my anger back for now, although Tchook seems angry enough for both of us, his surface protruding into odd spiky weapon-like things every now and then, before melting back into his surface.

  “Please. It’s Gerard. I never liked my first name.”

  “Then. Well met, Gerard.” A second nod of respect. My captor seemed to take me in then, measuring me, sizing me up and giving Tchook the
same treatment. He was polite and respectful. I think I can reason with him, once I find out why he’s here.

  “Why did you kill my men.” Gerard said suddenly, the politeness from earlier disappearing in a flash. I sigh, reliving the scenes of carnage, a still frame of horror trapped in my mind. Some small part of me was holding onto the idea that I had nothing to do with that carnage even though everything pointed directly at me.

  “So that, was me.” I let out, shoulders dropping in unison with my eyes.

  “You don’t remember what happened?”

  I respond with a shake of the head, Tchook mimicking my drooping shoulders and head movement, the growl gone from him to be replaced by a mournful sigh of some kind.

  “What family are you from?”

  I shake my head again, shoulders still low, Tchook looking sadder and sadder by the second. A little confusion seemed to flicker across Gerard’s face as he thought about his next question, weighing up what he saw in front of him and what he saw from elsewhere. I knew the drill with these types of chats, having been in his chair before. He knows more than he’s letting on and I doubt he’s willing to let me in on the secrets just yet.

  “How long have you been like this?”

  Two heads shake, and two sets of shoulders shrug. I genuinely don’t know, and Gerard sees that in me. “I just remember waking up one day, battered and bruised and being dragged into a shed of sorts. Part of me knows that there is more to my story it than starting there, but I don’t know what it is.” Honesty is my only weapon right now and maybe it was working.

  “You are a Feral, who does not remember his past?” He asked me rhetorically. Careful with the patronising tone Mr. Scared-to-be-in-a-room-with-me, Tchook fires off a warning sound and spikes with the same intent.

  “That’s a new one.” He frowned, rubbing his chin and looking to the side for a moment.

  “A feral?” I don’t like the term. The angry tone to my question coming from some unknown place within me. It sounded dirty and like a put down of some kind. A swear word almost.

  “Yes. A Nahgwal who has not mastered themselves.” He says, emotionless.

  “A Nahgwal?” Tchook perked up at this, silent and still, but leaning in to Gerard and betraying my interest in the name as well.

  “You really do not know what you are?” A fourth shake of my head, matched by Tchook. I need him to explain things. All these years in the dark and a man is sat a few feet in front of me with more answers than I knew there were questions. Gerard looked deep in thought and I knew that face. I’d had that face when I was in that chair. He was calculating his next move. His eyes refocused on me, as if he was returning back to the room and realising I was still waiting. It seems his decision had been made after a long boardroom meeting.

  “A Nahgwal is a shapeshifter. They can transform into animal forms at will. When in animal form they can also increase and decrease in mass depending on the situation. A Feral is a Nahgwal who cannot transform at will, yielding to emotions that dictate when they morph. Very dangerous, as you can imagine.” He paused. “As you demonstrated.” He’s waiting for me to respond, but Tchook and I are listening hard. I knew something odd happened in my episodes, but I never imagined it was something like this. I’m scared, worried about what would come next and worried by all my past deeds.

  “You... take the form of a bear.”

  I feel dizzy hearing this, steadying myself on the bed with shaking arms. Tchook slid up off the floor and worked his way up my arm to sit on my shoulder. He’s purring softly to try and calm me which I’m thankful for. I wait for a second, trapped in a soup of questions, swimming pointlessly towards a horizon that doesn’t exist. “Why am I here?” I finally manage.

  “I work for an organisation that recruits people like you. We have known about you for a while and felt it was the right time to bring you in.”

  The soup was getting thicker, large chunks of questions slowing me down.

  “We protect people and we think you can help us.” Gerard’s tone was genuine, he believes what he’s saying. To a point. I need to get out of this place. It’s sick and I can feel the suffocating feelings of panic coming. Tchook shuddered on my shoulder, feeling the same way. I look at him and nod towards where I think the eyes would be. Let’s go along with this for now. Let’s be the good soldier and follow orders. I could sense that Tchook knew what I was thinking, and he responded with a nod of his own.

  “Okay.” I say to a surprised Gerard, eyebrows raising then falling into a frown.

  “Okay, what?”

  “Let’s do this. You can help me get control of this thing inside me?”

  He’s nodding, albeit slowly.

  “You can give me purpose?” I said this with more sincerity than intended but hopefully it will do the job.

  Another nod.

  “I can help protect people?” A final nod, feeling that I’m done with my questions for now, before one more. “Then where do we start?”

  Gerard unfolded himself and leaned forward, scanning me hard. He’s calculating again. He’s back in that boardroom, discussing the pros and cons of our conversation. The feelings of panic start up again, obviously knowing nothing about him, I was now about to trust he had my best interests at heart? I felt Tchook ruffle and squeak with the same question. What’s taking him so long? The boardroom meeting finally over, his eyes meet mine, determination in his soul.

  “In the old days, it could take years to learn how to control your powers and transform at will, let alone mastering yourself when you were in animal form.” His eyes moved side to side ever so slightly as he spoke, calculating, assessing, but never taking them away from me. “Hippy-voodoo type things involving spirit quests, ceremonies and narcotics.” He sat back again, waving a hand dismissively at the natural order and traditional ways of gaining control. “We have developed something more efficient however and with the aid of your Bjørneskinn, we should be done in a few hours. At least, that is how it will feel to me.” Those eyes kept moving, his mouth bordering on a slight smile. A warm smile. “With our method, all you have to do is get through two rooms.”

  I feel my forehead crease deeply, sensing the sickness in this place and feeling like I’m being tricked. Tchook shuddered at my side but kept quiet, his non-head sniffing at the air.

  “Each room translates to the processes of the old. In the first, you must explore yourself. Your memories, feelings, emotions etc. Digging into the deepest recesses and extremes of your mind. In the second, you must understand yourself. So, with new found mastery of your mind from the first room, you test the limits of your body in the second and when you are done in both rooms, you are free of your feral instincts.” He looked like he was about to say more but stopped, checking himself.

  “You have already been through one room, now, you must test your body.” He motioned towards another door, an almost exact replica of Djoonga. The feeling of sickness disappears as I look at the door. Tchook curled around the sides of my neck warmly and hugged it gently, feeling comforted by the door as well. It’s at odds with the sterile room I’s in. All tiles, steel and hygiene. The only thing that softens the room is by Bjørneskinn, Tchook and me. Even the image of Gerard seemed to take on a sterile air as I look at it properly. Sensing I’m drawn to the door, Gerard explained that they were also used in the old ways, part of the hippy-voodoo rituals. I asked why it was here, if they’ve mastered the process, and he said The Protectorate salvaged it from a terrible atrocity committed by some evil creature of the past. For the first time in our conversation I could see he was lying. I knew it, Tchook knew it, and he knew we knew it.

  “Good luck. We shall see each other again soon.” He said warmly before he and the chair vanished with a soft pop. Tension drops from my body and I slump, my elbows finding my knees and my hands wringing themselves gently as I think. Things are clearer for some reason. Maybe it’s down to Djoonga and the last room. Maybe it’s down to knowing what I had to do to get out. Maybe it�
�s down to having a few answers, even though a lot more were due. Tchook elegantly slid down my arm and then sat in my now, open hands so we could see each other, face to non-face.

  “What do you think?” He globbed in the direction of where Gerard had been, an odd scoffing sound coming from him and bristles forming across his surface.

  “I don’t trust him either.” I say in my head, knowing they must have surveillance in here. If they could get me into a room filled with people in tactical gear, then they’d definitely be watching us now. Gotta keep up the rouse.

  “He’s all we’ve got at the moment and he’s shown us the way out.” I raise my eyebrows towards Tchook, willing him to understand that we need to play pretend. A cheerful pip comes out of him that I took to mean he was on board. I put him on my shoulder and stand up. Flexing my head side to side, trying to shake some nerves, I walk over to the gnarled handle of the door and grasp it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - THE HAMMER

  Gerard snapped back into the grey room, his image having left Tor behind to process their conversation. The Orc behind him returned his hands to where they had been before projecting Gerard into the interrogation room, resuming his surveillance duties without pause. Standing next to Parod a deep, contorted frown spread across Gerard’s face at the strange interaction he’d just had. He chewed over what Tor’s companion was like first, amused by the creature’s actions and the sounds it made. From what he could tell, it was connected to Tor somehow, mimicking his emotions and manifesting them as bizarre shapes or noises that were simultaneously, recognisable, and alien. Parod was right too, it was the Werebear’s protection when it was inside him, keeping the poison at bay and shielding him from prying eyes. Now it looked like it may act in the same way on the outside, jumping to Tor’s aid whenever it could. Gerard logged it as another mystery that needed solving at some point, but it was trivial in comparison to their potential new recruit.