Replaying what they talked about, Gerard thought Tor was mostly being honest with him. He believed the parts about his unknown past, yet, he knew he was hiding something too. The frown dug a little deeper into his forehead as he wondered why Tor was so easily swayed into completing the second room. So compliant considering he’d murdered a team of people not long before. Was he trying to deceive me? Or just playing nice to appease me whilst he figures out his exit strategy? The frown receded as he let some of his reservations go. Neither motivation really mattered right now, what mattered was that Tor was contained and that he could concentrate on other things. He felt a niggle in the back of his mind as some of the pressure from the last few hours events released. Something about the man intrigued him. He was complicated and interesting, exuding something intangible that Gerard was drawn to. He liked Tor, he realised, the niggle comforted by this, and the fact he would get his answers in due course. Patience is like water he thought, smiling with the old adage that was burned into his brain. He let his thoughts drift away from Tor, wanting to turn his attention to the other complication brought to his feet. He had made Fortune wait whilst he was with Tor, but now his Sløv moved up to stand next to him, wanting for instruction.
“The scene was cleansed.” Even though it wasn’t a question, his devoted attendant nodded anyway, hands resting in front of him.
“Is Trøst there yet?” A shake of the head this time.
“Good. See what else Enyo and Eris can dig up. Find out who was first on the scene and what magiks were used in the clean-up. I still need you to find out what you can about our friend here too.” He gestured towards Tor, Fortune nodding again and leaving the room for the second time.
Haverforth’s mind was racing after what he’d seen on the screens. He was glad to have been given such a menial task after seeing what that kind of raw power and savagery could do. Flashes of the carnage came and went as got lost in the events and conversations of today, over-processing them and daydreaming to the point of inaction. He often found that doing something mundane helped him move on, so he gently moved aside with two drinks in his hands as he saw Fortune make his way down the corridor, purpose and focused precision in his movements. He watched him walk down the corridor, thinking about where he was going and what he’d be doing. He liked the large Sløv, having worked with him in the past and he smiled before remembering what he was doing. The smile went and he carefully, with the two grey mugs of steaming grey liquid in his hands, nudged the grey door handle with a grey elbow, trying not to disturb the men on the other side of the door and trying not to spill anything onto the grey floor. With surprising deftness, he managed the task, the smile returning more broadly at his success. Walking confidently up to Gerard he handed him the grey and looked at the grey screens.
Nodding appreciatively, Gerard took on a serious tone. “Did you see Fortune?”
“Y-yes.” He stammered back.
“Good.” Gerard was reminded of Haverforth’s skill with reports as the diminutive man delivered the refreshment. He needed peace to think. He needed to carry out a few things without escort or distraction. He needed the man to leave. “I have asked Fortune to look into the file on this man.” He gestured towards the screens with the mug of hot grey. “Can you support him please?”
“Of course.” Hastily adding sir and saluting way too formally.
“Say that I sent you to help and remind him of the Delrentia mission.” He smiled to himself, knowing how mentioning that mission would aggravate Fortune, but he couldn’t help himself. He also knew that using that mission would remove any suspicion Fortune may have had about Haverforth, and he knew he would be glad of the assistance. Besides, the small man was talented in his own ways, and may actually be able to help speed things along. Turning back to the screen, he ignored his most recent recruit leaving the room and raised the grey to his mouth. Watching an odd conversation between the Nahgwal and the black sludge, hot steam snaked up and around him as he thought, visions of his meeting with The Hammer returning to him as Tor reached for the door handle.
He remembered looking at his feet as he waited for his knock to be answered. It felt like the safest place for his gaze to be directed as he’d heard that looking into the black hoods of The Nameless was a fool's errand and he didn’t fancy losing his mind just yet. The ornate door eventually swung open to reveal a simple room, not unlike the one Sylvane was sitting in, and he was met with a huge form. Shadows engulfed it, large and ominous. Black on top of black on top of black swallowed any distinguishing shape of the thing, its surface continuously moving. Gerard couldn’t tell if it was clothing or magik that surrounded The Hammer, smoky blackness forming and dissipating in and around him. The shape walked away from Gerard towards the centre of the room and then turned around. At least, Gerard thought it did, not knowing if it walked, glided, flew, crawled or slithered. Closing the door behind him he calmed his senses, slowed his panic and made his own way towards the oppressive being. The Nine’s enforcer.
Gerard began after waiting in silence for a few moments. “It was a routine recon mission sir-”
“We do not care about that.” The voice was like liquid gold. Warming, soft, encouraging and rich. Gerard wasn’t expecting this having heard The Nameless speak before. The sounds they made were from somewhere else, another plane. Words mixed with clicks, scrapes, shuddering noises and nausea inducing frequencies that reduced men to their knees. The Hammer himself, was renowned for having a particularly severe and terrifying voice, just another reason for the bile and panic to have risen up in him earlier. Confused for words, Gerard just stood, looking into the middle of the blackness and ignoring the hood.
“You appear in whispers that reach us, Elias.” Gentleness oozed from the dark, Gerard not wanting to correct the thing on how he liked to be addressed. “We approve of you and your methods.”
“Thank you.” Gerard spoke softly, not wanting the velvety tones to stop and feeling himself fall under some kind of spell.
“They are…” Gerard was mesmerised by the sounds now, cast into a dreamlike state, yearning for more of the creature’s approval. “... Unconventional. We need this.”
“For what?” His voice was distant, like someone else was using it as he watched from afar.
“Unsettling informations have reached us, Elias. One’s of discord and betrayal within The Protectorate. My sister and we are concerned that we are walking towards the end. You must tell us of what you see.”
“I see many things.” Gerard’s dreamlike voice was almost comical, his lazy mouth thinking about dribbling.
“You will know of what we mean when they happen.”
Even though Gerard’s voice provided evidence for a slow brain, he managed to wrestle some sharpness back into his mind. He didn’t like feeling this unsettled. Unsettled by the strange meeting. Unsettled by what he was hearing. Unsettled by the abnormal being in front of him and how it wasn’t what he expected.
Seeming to read his thoughts, The Hammer continued. “We know what is said of us. What our kin want you to think of us. What they say we did, but we are not of what they speak.”
A sudden, unwise amount of confidence rushed through Gerard, his mind sharpening and his voice finding strength again. “You are The Hammer. Reaper Queen Slayer. The cleanser of Erathril. The Obliterator. Torturer of Reapers. That is what you are.” An outstretched arm pushed an accusing finger at the swirling shadows.
“That is not our name. Those are not our deeds.” The blackness replied in that same, disarming voice. “My sister and we are supposed to be the balance. The peaceful hand to the destructive, but we are too few to stand alone against what is coming.”
Misgivings were infecting Gerard now, a disease, working its way into every fibre of him, years of stories and belief of what The Nine were, being challenged. Some small vestige of him was proud that this all-powerful creature had come to him and revealed secrets, but he refused to believe the organisation he worked for was broken.
“If there is something wrong in The Protectorate, why should I trust you? This might be a trap, to test who is faithful to the system or not.”
“My sister was right about you. She will be pleased.” The Hammer said absently. “We must tell you something.”
“Well?” Parod’s voice penetrated Gerard’s memories, the Orc’s calm voice drawing him back to the grey room of screens.
“What is going on?” For the first time in the countless times they’d spoken, Parod turned to face Gerard, who raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the green stream of light coming from the back of the Orc’s head. Parod blinked very slowly and when he opened his eyes, the green light behind him shimmered ever so slightly, un-noticeable unless you were looking for the change. One eye remained cloudy and pointed towards the screens, if a cloudy eye could point. The other eye looked like a human’s eye in reverse. The pupil was bright white, the sclera jet-black, and the iris a stunning gold. “What is going on?”
Safe, knowing that Parod had blocked their conversation from being recorded, Gerard tried to summarise what was going on but struggled. Thoughts of The Hammer and the effect it had on him seemed to follow him to the present. “Where shall I start?”
“Him.” Parod pointed at Sylvane.
“The Protectorate has been compromised. The organisation that Sylvane belongs to has a mole in our midst and the uppers believe he will give away their identity.”
One golden eye rolled upwards in disbelief.
“I know, he will die before telling us that.”
“Then why do you bother?” Emotions had begun to creep into the Orc’s voice. A day of firsts in so many ways Gerard thought, feeling the events around them start to gather in the shadows and threaten to strangle him.
“We will be able to get something from him. At the least, he’s royalty and the son of an ancient, so can be used as a bargaining chip if need be. He may also know something about him.” He pointed at Tor.
“Are you really going to let him go through the trials?” Parod’s face betrayed that he wanted to continue. This was the most that Gerard had seen of the Orc’s face since meeting him all those years ago and it had concern written all over it.
“There’s something about him, Parod.” Gerard remarked, pausing to look at the screen, pensive. “He made short work of our team, he pulled a creature from his ear who, by the way, is made of old magik even you have not seen, and The Pilgrim door hid him from you. Let us also not forget, that his file has been doctored to keep his identity hidden.” The Hammer’s words drifted into his mind again, talk of corruption and actions of The Nine leading them to an end. He’d told Parod about the meeting after having worked with him for a long time, building the trust he needed in order to share such sensitive information. Initially, Gerard had only thought of recruiting the Orc as a tool he could use in case of an emergency, however, after getting to know him, he knew there was a friendship there he’d mourn were it to be lost.
“We may need allies soon and can you think of any Nahgwal stronger than him that you would want by our side?” His cynical mind had calculated that Tor could also be used as a tool but the more emotional part of him was disgusted by his thought process. Old mentors had taught him politicking well, showing him strategies and methods of manipulation but he’d walked away from that path a long time ago.
“You think what The Hammer told you is true?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
Gerard’s response started as a, ‘you really can’t see it?’, face before he went on to explain to his old friend. “I get a visit from one of The Nameless who claims that he is worried about the future of The Protectorate and the two worlds. Not long after, new legislature comes through, with red tape and paperwork to drown in, making our jobs harder. Then they task me with hunting down Sylvane under the pretence of uncovering a mole, when all they want are vanity results to gain favour with the Lucidfolk for when they make their play.” Parod wasn’t used to thinking as Gerard did, the brow over his golden eye frowning.
“The Protectorate wants to show that they are cleaning up the worlds, whilst passing laws that restrict the freedoms we enjoy. One hand showeth, the other carries a knife.”
Parod looked like he was following now, understanding the rouse that was being manufactured by The Protectorate.
“As all this is going on, I am also fed intel on Tor, suggesting that I should detain and recruit him-”
“From who?”
“The Shrike.”
Parod gave a disbelieving look at that.
“The person she asked me to find has a very shady past. At the same time as we capture him, one of The Protectorate’s most wanted turns up, killing a Naïve and using forbidden magiks. Which, is then covered up before the requested response team gets to the scene.”
Parod seemed a little more appeased by these extra details.
“You have to admit that things have not felt right these last few years, Parod.
The Orc considered this deeply before nodding in agreement.
“We have been seeing many unusual occurrences ourselves. Sharn has witnessed some very disturbing things in the rooms she watches.”
“How?”
Sharn answered without looking away from her screens. “They think I can’t see the disturbances. They think they’ve hidden their secret interrogations well.”
Gerard thought she was smiling, but couldn’t tell from where he was standing, the eerie light casting shadows across her face.
“They’re wrong.” She finished with confidently.
“We have also seen questionable incidents involving Våpen deaths and disappearances too.” Parod’s one Golden eye searched Gerard’s face, reaching for secrets and understanding. “What should we do?”
Gerard paused at the question, unphased by hearing about Våpen disappearances. Although they rarely interacted with each other, rumours always reached Gerard’s ears about goings on with his peers. “Firstly, and it goes without saying, but keep all this between us.” Gerard prioritised actions in his head, deciding what information would benefit him the most. “Secondly, let us get to the bottom of what happened at the cleansed scene.”
“You know that goes against protocol.” Parod thought out loud.
“Can you find anything out through the light?” Gerard nodded towards the thread of mesmerising green that snaked its way up to the ceiling.
“Perhaps.”
“Thirdly.” Gerard returned to his list of actions. “We need to keep an eye on our unique friend here.”
Parod’s free eye began to cloud over, apparently returning to his designated duties.
“Wait.” Gerard hissed, Parod’s eye returning to that clear gold again and focusing on the Våpen.
“I also need to have an off the record discussion with our royal highness.” His words had mischief and deception woven tightly into them, matched by his facial expression. Parod nodded knowingly and signalled that he was ready to begin.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - MOVE
Eve didn’t know how long she was unconscious for. Too long, her own voice croaked out. She was slumped in a chair by a jewellery box, arms lazily flopping at her sides. As much energy as she’d used getting here, she now felt normal. All the reserves and extreme power from the café had dissipated and she was glad of it. She hadn’t practised that kind of magik in longer than she could remember, the full immersion in unbridled energy being too much for her right now. Breathing slowly, she looked down at the ring on her finger, which had stopped glowing. She held it, moving it around with her other hand as the feeling came back into her limbs and the anxiety of losing time returned. Still, she paused on it for a while, wanting to fully lose herself in the memory of when Tor gave her that ring. One of the beautiful memories she just regained from touching the cool metal as it shone. I need to move she cursed, and got to her feet fluidly, revelling in the feeling of her own body, no longer shared with something else. The ring had
only gifted her a portion of her memories and a voice told her that this was to be expected, her own voice. A version which was talking to her from the past and reassuring her that all will make sense soon enough. For now, she knew that The Last Word had escaped, fresh recollections of their past ominously swamping forward. For now, she knew that she needed to find Tor. For now, she knew she needed to get back to her real home. The voice had told her that something was hidden there for her. Something was hidden there for Rosalind, The Thousand Curses. Move.
Drifting into her old bedroom she wanted to change into something more comfortable, the hospital gown too drafty and gaudy for her to sneak away unnoticed. Swimming through the bland collection of branded leggings and boring work clothes she laughed at how much of a sheep she had become as Anne. As if watching herself from far away she saw how she’d subscribed to what society said she should subscribe to. Media publications, nine-to-five, dreams of a house, a wedding and a family, desires to look like everyone else and fit in. She didn’t fit in. Take away her magik and she still wouldn’t have fit in. She needed to move. She needed to break the rules. She needed to be her own self. In a rare act of gratitude towards Anne, she found a box of clothes marked, ‘fancy dress/throw out’, with a practical and appealing biker outfit inside that she put on. Sturdy boots with too many straps and buckles, tight and flexible black jeans, a loose vest top with some heavy metal bands album cover on it and a leather jacket. Move.
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