Chapter 6

Chapter six

When one faces death every day, one must learn to disconnect oneself from the emotional impact that comes with the job. When one is an Assassin, this becomes the ultimate tool for survival. Morgan Kinstol- known in circles as ‘Morgue’- learned this the easy way. For him, emotional detachment was just another tool of the trade. His first assignment as an Assassin was listed as a ‘church leader’, when in fact he led a suicide cult and used religion to scam millions from the victims of his misdeeds. Morgan remembered the case well. Remembered the look of total oblivion on the face of the conman as it diluted the madness that had controlled his life. Sometimes, the murder of one person can justify the salvation of the world.

The pictures on his cork pin-board in his office held memories. Men, women, children. The very first picture, up in the top right-hand corner, held the image of a young man. He had blue eyes and tawny brown hair, a thin face with an oval chin. On the back on the photograph, scrawled roughly in pencil, his name: Grant Z-C. His date of death: 13/3. Then, Morgan’s signature.

Sometimes, he reasoned with himself, the murder of one person can justify the salvation of the world.

This had been his ethos since he accepted this position. There was always a strange pride that came with being paid to murder, paid to destroy. It was a feeling of power. It felt like, finally, Morgan Kinstol was the one talking, and the world was paying attention for fear of his wrath. And yet, there were always bad apples. Bad apples that needed to be pressed, taken out of the basket before they could make the other apples bad. Bad apples were bad.

As the group of people gradually left the meeting room, Morgan remained seated until Loki- on failing to persuade Morgan to leave- had finally left. Still seated, he surveyed the small room. He looked up and searched the ceiling, saw nothing. He swept his eyes across the table, saw nothing. He stood up, turned and ran at the wall behind him, concentrated his energy on the one place he most desired to be... and crashed head-first. He stumbled back, his hands instinctively covering the top part of his head which had struck the wall. He blinked a number of times and saw blotches of colour obscure his vision. He took his hands away from his head and covered his eyes, sighed dejectedly. He uncovered his eyes and left the room, taking long, quick strides. He narrowed his eyes as he left the room, walked through the maze of corridors and came to his exit. He focused the energy surrounding him, and the wall shimmered away, revealing a small alleyway behind a nightclub back-entrance. Piles of rubbish, empty crates and the doorframe were covered in a thin layer of snow. Fat flakes were drifting in front of him as he stepped out into the cold winter. He felt the exit close behind him, and turned around to make sure. As he suspected, he was standing in the alleyway between the nightclub and the restaurant. No strange ripples between them. He smiled to himself as he turned back around and entered the nightclub through the back entrance, and ran into a security guard dressed in a black polo shirt with ‘Gemini Security’ written boldly on the front, black combat trousers and heavy boots. The guard wore silver-reflecting sunglasses and had his hair slicked back.

            “Little cold to try the back, ain’t it?” the guard asked.

             “I like a challenge,” Morgan replied, smiling knowingly.

The guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing Morgan access to the rest of the club. He walked through the backrooms and came to a door, which he opened and stepped through, to be welcomed by a barrage of flashing rainbow-like lights and a sudden explosion of dance music. Closing the door behind him, Morgan made his way through the crowds towards the bar. He felt people staring at him, but he shrugged it off, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. Perhaps it was because, while others were dressed in outrageously flamboyant night-life fashions, he had donned an olive turtleneck and dungarees with a pair of well-worn mountain-suited boots.

Morgan eased his way through the crowds of people and took a seat at the bar, where the bartender eyed him up. She was a middle-aged woman with laugh lines around her brown eyes, pink lips and cherry-red hair styled into a modern style Morgan would expect of a twenty-something-year-old.

            “What’ll it be?” she asked, smiling professionally.

            “Whiskey on the rocks,” Morgan said, “but can you put a couple of olives in? I like things watching me when I drink.” He smiled and she chuckled, preparing the drink.

Morgan’s eyes wandered around the bar and casually observed the night-clubbers. There were a group of young women talking loudly against the music to a group of young men who appeared more interested in the cleavage the women’s low-cut shirts revealed than the conversation they feigned interest in. Morgan toyed with the idea of reading one or two of the young men’s thoughts, but decided against it. He received his whiskey on the rocks with olives and turned in his seat to observe the rest of the clubbers. He saw a young couple- barely out of their teens, he wagered- with chalky noses and a crazed look in their eyes. They were dancing erratically among the equally-crazed clubbers. Without warning, an explosion of colour crashed next to Morgan, landing with its top half over the bar and its bottom half kicking out from a short nylon skirt. The exploding colour was giggling uncontrollably as it righted itself and turned into a young woman dressed in an eye-aching combination of fluorescent colours. She shouted at the bartender who had served Morgan for a Manhattan. The bartender fixed the drink and, just as the young woman was about to pay, Morgan slid the money for the drink across and smiled at the young woman, then the bartender.

            “This one’s on me,” he said coolly, turning to the young woman.

The woman smiled and grabbed the drink. She downed it in one go, thanked Morgan, and then ran back into the crowds. Morgan should have felt rejected and used, but instead he shrugged it off and returned to his whiskey, which he had cupped in his hands and took occasional sips of. He inhaled the smell of the nightclub- sweat, booze, vomit, and clandestine sex.

            The smell that built the world, Morgan mused, the smell that built the world.

And the smell Morgan was all too familiar with, even more so as he recognised his target from the photograph Thom had given him. Fluorescent red hair, a thin beard that ran down the chin, a nose ring and a tattoo of Sagittarius on his neck. Morgan motioned to the bartender and ordered a drink- a Daiquiri Rebel- for the red-haired man. Morgan reached into his pocket, pulled out and handed the money for the drink to the bartender, asking if he could see it before the young man received it. Morgan was handed the drink while the bartender tended to another customer. Morgan pretended to grab a cube from the closest dish- this particular nightclub had decided to place cubes of a sugar-substance mix in dishes on the bar- and held his hand over the drink, rubbing his thumb, forefinger and middle finger together. A fine red powder settled on the top of the drink. Morgan grabbed the red plastic stirrer and mixed the powder in, called for the bartender and the drink was being carried towards the young man. Morgan turned, watched as the young man’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise as he received the drink, laughed as he and his friends joked about who had sent it to him before the bartender indicated Morgan. The young man looked over and Morgan smiled charmingly, and the young man smiled back, turned to the bartender and soon Morgan had received a ‘thank you’ drink- a Man-Bear-Pig, apparently- from the young man. Morgan held up the glass and smiled a grateful smile. The young man turned back to his friends, taking large gulps of the Daiquiri, and Morgan set the Man-Bear-Pig down, finished his whiskey, ate the olives and gave the bartender a generous tip for her services. Morgan stood up, took a last look at the young man, and left the nightclub, stepping back into the winter. The fat flakes drifted down from a blackened sky. As he walked, Morgan tried to catch one on his tongue.

***

Matt sat facing Richard and Loki across a large, round table in a fairly spacious room. The room was decorated without pictures in frames, but the wallpaper was decorated with scenes of battle, pictures of men and women performing supernatural feats. Matt found one such feat- a woman breaking open strawberries and children coming from the fruit- particularly endearing. He found others- such as a Cyclops tearing the head from an eight-legged horse- less endearing. In fact, he felt watched by the wallpaper as he, his father and his father’s boss stared at each other from across the table.

            “Why are we here?” Matt asked, breaking the silence.

To his surprised, Loki chuckled.

            “Why are you laughing?” Matt asked.

            “Oh, I’m not entirely sure Matthew,” Loki said with warm eyes. “Wouldn’t we all like to know why we are here? Why do we live a life that so, apparently, disdains itself for ever giving itself to us? Is there a point to being a tsunami survivor if all you know and loved has been taken from you?”

            “Get to the point.” Matt said irritably.

            “Matthew!”

            “Calm, Richard,” Loki said, looking crossly at Richard. “He is here because of you, at any rate.” Loki looked over at Matt, who wore a confused expression.

            “Come again?” Matt asked hesitantly.

            “You are here because of your father.” Loki repeated.

            “Why? What did he do?” Matt looked at Richard, worry knotting in his stomach.

Richard sat silently across the table, his eyes down and his fringe covering his forehead. He bit his lower lip and inhaled. He looked at Loki with pleading eyes.

            “I can’t tell him,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m having trouble with it myself- and I’ve lived it. You tell him. Please.”

Loki regarded Richard, then looked sympathetically at Matthew.

            “Decades ago, Matthew,” he said stoically, “research was conducted into the make-up of our genome.”

            “I’m not here for a science lesson, am I?” Matt asked cautiously. “I already know about the HGP and everything, but-”

            “No, this is not a science lesson,” Loki said, “the fact is, we have reason to believe that you are not human.”

Matt felt like he had been slapped in the face, punched in the gut, and kicked in the groin all at one time, but he did something that he probably should not have: he laughed.

            “Matthew,” Richard said sternly, “this is no laughing matter.”

This just made Matt laugh even more.

            “It’s a shock reflex,” he heard Loki say to Richard, “his mind cannot comprehend the information it has just received, hence it must create distraction- laughter- in order to relieve some of that shock. Like tickling.”

            “Ah,” Richard said uncertainly.

When Matt’s laughter had subsided, he said: “Sorry, sorry. I interrupted your story. What did you want to tell me?”

            “As I was saying,” Loki said evenly, “due to the nature of this research, there is reason to believe that you are not human. The initial investigation was into the make-up of my kind’s genome, and, subsequently, the research took such a turn that we began to mix our genetics with human- or ‘mortal’- genetics. Your father was a result of this research.”

Matt regarded the looks on Loki and Richard’s faces. Despite his disbelief that he might not be human- and that Richard was the result of interspecies cross-breeding research- the looks he saw were of complete honesty, and regret.

            “Why are you telling me this?” Matt asked, looking Loki directly in the eye.

            “Perhaps you could tell us,” he replied softly. “You’re the one having nightmares, are you not?” Loki gave him a questioning look.

            “How do you...” Matt trailed off. He was about to ask how Loki knew about his nightmares, but then he realised: Richard. He looked at his father with anger.

            “I didn’t tell Loki anything.” Richard said defensively. “When Odin came over to... check you, he found some anomalies in your dreams which he thinks mean that you are being affected by my being your father.”

            “No,” said an irritable voice from behind Matt, “that is not the case. At all!”

Matt turned around, and Richard and Loki craned their necks to get a better look as a bulky man with salt-and-pepper hair appeared by the door, next to a picture of a wolf being chained to a rock.

            “Professor Mafuro.” Matt whispered.

            “Mattia,” Odin sighed, “my name is Odin, and I expect you to call me this.”

            “Brother,” Loki said with a slight annoyance, “how splendid of you to finally arrive.”

            “As I recall,” Odin said coolly, “I was not invited to the first meeting, so you will forgive my being tardy.”

            “Duly noted,” Loki grumbled.

            “Please continue fratello.” Odin said.

Loki’s lips formed a snide grin.

            “I’ll finish,” Richard sighed, “just, Matt, you had a dream that confirmed Loki and Odin’s suspicions- they’ve spent their lives looking for an ancient story which prophesises the coming of-”

            “Jesus?” Matt joked.

Richard gave him a stern look. “No,” he said, “not Jesus- there are enough crackheads thinking he’s more likely to come tomorrow than the electrician as it is. The story Loki and Odin looking for is called the Ancient Fable, and from what they suspect, it contains information on the end of the world and, more importantly, angel-like creatures who will- or have been- born in the years before the end. Odin suspects that you are one of them.”

            “Oh.” Matt said, unsure of how he should be feeling. On one hand, there was the possibility that his nightmares would be explained. He didn’t want to think about the other hand, or any other hands that might crop up.

            “I understand how you’re feeling, Matt,” Richard said reassuringly, “I felt the same way when your grandmother...” he trailed off, his eyes drifting to the table.

Matt’s brow furrowed, and he felt sympathy for Richard.

            “Grandma?” Matt asked, taken slightly aback that his voice sounded hoarse.

            “Anora,” Richard said. “My... mother. She told me everything about my conception, my birth-”

            “Stop!” Matt screamed, pressing his hands to his ears. “Stop it! I don’t want to hear it!”

            “But you have to!” Richard reasoned.

            “No I don’t!”

Matt stood up and fled towards the door, only to be stopped in his path by Odin’s bulky frame. He looked up at the Sicilian, feeling as though he had just made an enemy as he stared, frightened, into the grey-hazel eyes of Odin Mafuro.

            “Mattia,” he said soothingly, “perché sei arrabbiato?”

            “Non arrabbia sono!” Matt flared, tearing his eyes away from Odin. He felt ill as his stomach knotted itself. His throat felt warm and his stomach began to hurt. He feared that he might vomit if he didn’t leave soon. His head began to pound, he became dizzy, and a thin layer of sweat coated his palms and forehead.

            “Seduta, Mattia.” Odin instructed.

Matt felt his feet lift from the ground as a chair seemed to materialise beneath him. He rested a hand on his stomach and tried to breathe.

            “Odin, stop!” he heard somebody say- probably Loki, or Richard- with concern and authority. “You’re hurting the boy!”

The pounding in Matt’s head stopped, the dizziness faded and the hurt in his stomach dulled until he felt moderately normal. He blinked a few times and saw Richard, Loki and Odin circled around him, with a man he did not know. This man was tall, had matted brown hair, a thick layer of stubble, dark brown eyes and wore dungarees over a long-sleeved flannel shirt. This man appeared to be swaying as he stood. Matt looked down at the man’s feet and saw nothing unusual, but the man’s eyes appeared unfocused and he was blinking a lot.

            “So kind of you to finally join us,” said Loki, looking at the man.

The man looked at him, blinked hard a few times, and answered: “Have you eve’ tried ta travel on an empty stomach?” The man had a throaty Scottish accent, which shocked Matthew. He had expected this man to have a Southern accent, like a Confederate.

            “Perhaps unshowered, too?” Richard grumbled.

            “Watchit, Amsterdam!” the man threatened.

            “Oh, what’re you going to do?” Richard challenged, narrowing his eyes at the man.

            “You forget who I am too of’en!”

            “Ragazzini!” Odin barked. “Non ti combattere! Non! Ti! Combattere!”

Richard and the man looked at the floor. Richard had his arms crossed and the man had his hand shoved into the pocket on the front of his dungarees.

            “That’s better!” Odin said, sounding annoyed but pleased all the same.

            “Good to have you here,” Richard mumbled.

            “Good ta be here,” the man grumbled.

            “If the children are tamed,” Loki said, “then we can continue.” He turned to the man and motioned towards Matt. “This is Matthew Percival Amsterdam.”

The man nodded at Matt. “Nice ta meet ya,” he said.

            “Matthew,” Loki looked at Matt and motioned towards the man, “this is Terrance Connell.”

Connell.

There was something about that name that felt familiar to Matt.

Connell…

            “Nice to meet you,” Matt said cautiously.

            “Better for me ta meet you, really,” Terrance said kindly to Matt, but glared towards Richard before looking at Matt, “You look so much like yer dear mam.”

            “Thanks,” Matt said, trying to keep the solemnity out of his voice.

            “I know how hard it is ta lose yer mam,” Terrance said softly. “Lost mine when I were, what? Nine? Ten? Gah! Well, around them ages anyway. Loved her ta bits. Had two sisters, too. Lost them both, an’all. Point is, I know what yer goin’ through, so don’t hesitate if ya want ta talk.”

            “Thanks,” Matt murmured.

            “You’ve upset him now!” Richard huffed.

            “An’ you, by the looks o’ it!” Terrance said with a strange smile.

            “Ragazzini…” Odin said, something in his voice sounded threatening.

Richard and Terrance immediately dropped whatever vernacular arsenals they had and each took a step back from the circle.

            “That’s better,” Loki said under his breath.

Odin looked at Matthew with sympathetic eyes. “Mattia,” he said, “do not be afraid. Soon, you will understand everything. I just wanted to protect you. Originally, we thought you should not know, but then we realise how dangerous that would be. If you understand what happened in you father’s past, you may be able to cope with your future. You understand?”

Matt nodded, a lump forming in his throat.

             “Bene,” Odin said softly. “Any questions?”

            “Just one,” Matt said, his voice cracking slightly, “Do you really think I’m an angel?”

Odin smiled. “You look like an angel,” he said, “but we are not sure if you are. We must let some time pass before we know for certain.”

            “How will you know for certain?”

Odin’s smile faded. He turned and walked out of the room. Leaving Matthew sitting in the chair, encircled by his father, his father’s boss and a man Matt reasoned to be one of Richard’s enemies. The door was behind them, and it opened. A young man around Matt’s age stepped in. he had grey-hazel eyes, brown hair and had a thin nose. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt over black jeans. Matt’s heart fluttered and butterflies danced in his stomach as Ryan approached him.

***

Ron was sitting up in bed, studying the purple letter that Hermod had given him.

“The great giants fell, the battle was won,

The war is not over, for we have only begun.

            It is an eternal journey, a significant quest,

The warriors earn more when they expect less.

            You will succeed where I have failed,

There is nothing more on a grander scale.

            The war is ongoing, but you will fight,

Because, lying in you, is the evergreen light.

            When the night is young, you will proceed,

With your damned army to fight the Jötunn greed.

            The silver ribbons lie in shreds, destroyed,

The ultimate monster, the fen dweller, is deployed.

            The eternal journey, and ethereal cascade,

Begins here, now, at the coming of the Second Age.

            Make no mistake, this is no inconvenience,

For their warriors fight for our cause with deviance.

            Commence and succeed, young warrior.”

Matt does Literature Studies, Ron thought, could I get him to have his teacher analyse this?

It was a good idea, but Ron knew immediately that it would not work. His previous attempts with his father and his friend had failed. He didn’t know what happened with Richard, but Ron suspected that he wasn’t one of the ones who could read it, but he knew the letter existed. That gave Ron a little hope- perhaps there was a delay before the person was ready to read it, and Ron’s time had come earlier than Richard’s. Lincoln couldn’t understand the note, either. Actually, he couldn’t even see the note. It had just disappeared into thin air. That surely meant that Lincoln was not one of the chosen few who were able to read it. On the other hand, Ron hadn’t seen the note when it disappeared, either. Did that mean that there was something top-secret that Lincoln wasn’t meant to know? Or did Ron have to figure it out before he could show people who might- or might not- be the ones who could read the message? Did that mean he would have to lead some kind of army? Ron’s head hurt. He felt a tear run down his cheek. He blinked, realised he wasn’t crying. He figured that the tear must have been due to stress, or tension.

He kept staring at the message, his eyes hurting. Whenever the words began to blur, he worried that he might be losing focus of the words, until he realised that he just needed to blink or massage his eyes and the words would be focussed again. He looked at the clock- it was barely midnight, but it felt like four in the morning. Ron relented that he would have to put the message away until the morning, so he slid it under his pillow and lay down. He closed his eyes, sighed and, keeping one hand on the letter, concentrated on falling asleep.

When he opened his eyes, he felt like he hadn’t slept at all. His muscles ached, his eyes were heavy and his could feel his bones. He looked at his clock and read the time: 05:00. How was it five o’clock? He heaved himself into a sitting position on his bed, pondered trying to get at least an hour of decent sleep before he got ready for school. Instead, he decided to get up. He looked over at Matt’s bed and saw the rumpled covers. That was good- he would have some company while he was awake.

Ron decided that he would go for a run, since it was likely that the only people about would be people walking their dogs and people doing early shifts at their jobs. Ron took of his pyjamas and threw on some jogging pants, a t-shirt, his watch and trainers before grabbing his keys and leaving the flat. He descended the stairs and did some stretches. He set off at a steady pace, his breath fogging in front of him. He felt silly, having to restrict his strides for fear of slipping on the frozen snow. Nonetheless, in fifteen minutes he managed to get to the park, which was still closed. His initial plan had been to run through the park and return home, but he decided that running around the park’s perimeter would be just as good as running through the park altogether, so that was what he did. Within five minutes, his legs were burning and his chest was hurting from the cold air. His arms were numb, his face was turning red with cold and exertion. He stopped, bent over and took a few breaths to recoup his strength. When he had caught his breath, he stood up straight and looked at the sky.

It was black with a couple of weak stars. Ron remembered the first time he had come jogging here- he had nearly killed himself because he hadn’t stretched or warmed up beforehand- when he had seen the stars. He had seen Orion’s belt, the Big Dipper, the North Star and Castor and Pollux. That had been on a warm June evening on one of his first nights in London, when he was unable to sleep. He had gone running that night to burn of some of the restless energy that had been building up. Ron wondered if the Earth’s turning had anything to do with the stars, but decided against it. London was a big city- light pollution was bound to catch up during winter, for reasons better left unsaid.

At any rate, Ron was sorry to see so few stars today than he had seen on his first jog that warm June evening. He hated to admit it, given everything that had happened, but he missed California. He missed the United States. He knew that Matt had had a hard time at school there, and Kevin had had countless difficulties socialising with the neighbourhood children, but Ron had done quite well while there, not to say that living in London was holding him back, but he had felt at home in California. He had come to the conclusion that he preferred the warmth that California offered in contrast with the late-blooming summers of the United Kingdom.

Ron turned to run back home, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the raven sitting on the wall, challenging him. He stared back at it, fixated by its beady gaze. After a few moments, the raven broke eye contact and flew away.

Chapter 5

Chapter five

Ron found Lincoln at around noon on the school’s football pitch. The boy was a tall, beige-skinned athlete with hair he usually had cropped. Due to the winter, Lincoln had grown his hair out so that it was an inch long and covered his head like a small bush. He was dressed in grey shorts, a white t-shirt and trainers with no socks despite the cold conditions and was running from one end of the pitch to the other, his breath fogging with every stride. The front of his shirt read “For Stephen”, and on the back of it there was a number and the logo of a local sports club for young people.

            “Hey!” Ron called, smiling. “Hey! Lincoln!”

Lincoln kept doing his laps from one end of the pitch to the other, so Ron jogged over and intercepted his friend’s latest lap.

            “What ya doin’, mate?” Lincoln cried, stopping, out of breath and clearly agitated. “You’re wreckin’ my mojo, man!” He reached up and pulled out a pair of black buds. Earphones. That explained why Lincoln had continued to run while Ron was calling to him.

            “Sorry, Lynx,” Ron said apologetically. “Any luck with your training?”

            “You just stopped it, dude!” Lincoln said, bending over to catch his breath. “Need a break, though, I can tell ya that, man. Jeez! This is wearing me out!”  He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

As Ron waited for his friend to regain normal breathing, his hand went to his pocket, where the light purple paper rested, folded up to fit. After reading it out to Richard, Ron’s confidence was wavering. Could he read it out to Lincoln? If so, would Lincoln understand what the paper said? Hermod had said that Ron and three others would be able to understand the content of the message- could Lincoln be one of the other three? Ron had to find out- Richard clearly wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t sure about Matt, and Kevin... well, Kevin needed more experience.

Lincoln looked up, his cheeks turning pink.

            “What ya want, mate?” he asked.

Ron’s hand clasped the paper and he slowly pulled it out, saying; “I need you to look at something,” he pulled the letter out and held it in front of him, closing his eyes, “and I’m asking you because my dad couldn’t make sense of it, and next to him you’re the only guy who’s been cool to me since I first came here.”

When Ron opened his eyes, Lincoln was staring at him.

            “What do ya want me to look at?” he asked.

            “This,” Ron passed him the paper. “Just open it and tell me what it says... or what you see.”

Lincoln kept staring at him.

            “What? Just take it,” Ron said.

            “Take what?” Lincoln asked impatiently.

            “The paper!”

            “What paper?”

            “The paper I’m holding!”

            “You ain’t holding anythin’!”

Ron looked at his hand and saw, with shock, that it was empty. He searched his pockets and found nothing. His eyes widened and he filled with panic. He felt nauseous and started breathing heavily.

            “Dude, you okay?” Lincoln looked worried and stepped forward. He put a hand on Ron’s shoulder, but Ron stepped back. “Want me to get the nurse or somethin’?” Lincoln asked.

Ron fell to his knees. Lincoln turned and ran towards the school building. Ron grabbed his stomach and began to hyperventilate. He looked up at the school- a collection of red-brick cuboid-shaped buildings, each of which rose one or two storeys from the ground- and the world went blurry. He felt thirsty, and he could swear that somebody had their hands around his neck. Instinctively, he clawed at his neck, trying to rid the sensation of strangulation. He fell to the floor, landing on his right side, choking and gasping. His vision was blurring severely, and he could hear hooves coming up behind him. Amidst the blur of the school, he thought he saw a man. This man was not like the school- where the school looked like a wet painting, this man was clear. He stood in the swirling colours, tall and dark. He had long white-blonde hair, a straight face and a small beard. He was young, lean and wore armour of some sort. At his side, a scabbard hung. Ron could make out the hilt of a sword, and a type of instrument slung across the man’s shoulder.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly Ron could see their colour- ice blue. Ron’s eyes widened and began to water. He let out a small, strangled yelp as the sound of hooves got closer.

Without warning, the man was gone. He had just disappeared, along with the hooves and Ron’s blurred vision. He took a deep, grateful breath as the imaginary hands lifted. Ron saw a woman kneeling over him, a hand on his head. He heard someone calling his name, asking if he was alright, if he needed anything. He knew that voice. Strong, regional and innocent.

            “Lincoln?” Ron asked in a raspy voice. “Lincoln!”

***

Richard buttoned up his sky-blue shirt and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. He padded across his violet carpet and out of his bedroom, across the bare wood of the corridor. The sound of his bare feet against the floor sent strange shivers up his spine. The wood was cold. He felt like he was walking on ice. The end of the corridor opened up three ways: to the bathroom, which still radiated some of the heat it had absorbed from his shower earlier; the front door; and the kitchen. He turned into the kitchen and stared disappointedly at the sink. A yoghurt pot and a licked spoon sat sadly in a shallow pool of water. A purple tea mug rested on the counter by the sink with a half-eaten bowl of cornflakes. Richard sighed. Kevin had yet to eat anything. He felt worry for his youngest son as he stared at the cupboard where he knew, without even looking, the small orange spoon would be.

A warm, humid day in California. The party was in full swing. The children were happily playing duck-duck-goose outside in the backyard, and Marissa was helping Richard decorate the cake with orange polka-dots and, in cursive lettering, the words ‘Happy 6^th Birthday, Kevin!’ were displayed proudly. Richard flicked some of the icing onto Marissa. It landed on her nose like an orange fly. She smiled and giggled like a schoolgirl, flicking some chocolate syrup at him in response. Richard licked the icing off of Marissa’s nose and she licked the syrup off of his cheek.

They giggled. Richard hugged his wife tightly and she hugged him back, nestling her head in his chest. He kissed her on the top of her head and sighed contentedly.

She looked up at him. “Have I told you ‘I love you’ today?” she asked.

            “Hm...” Richard hummed, tilting his head backwards with a smile on his lips. He looked back down at Marissa and his smile grew. “No, I don’t think so.”

            “I love you.” Marissa giggled.

            “I love you, too.” Richard said softly. He looped his arms around her waist and she looped her arms around his shoulders.

Richard shook his head. He didn’t want to think about anything right now, so he went to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out a can of grape soda. He popped it and downed it in one long gulp. He threw the can into the sink. It made a hollow, metallic crash as it collided with the yoghurt pot and spoon. He kicked the fridge shut, turned and left the kitchen, making his way back to his room where he finished dressing and made his bed. He sat on the foot of the bed and rested his arms loosely on his lap. The grape soda taste was still on his tongue, sweet and sickly. He licked his lips and blinked a few times, feeling his stomach turn and clench as sugar and preservatives fought with acid.

            “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked. “Why does it have to be me?”

No answer. Richard wasn’t surprised- the windows were closed, the door was ajar, the kids were at school- except for Kevin, who had been collected by his private tutor earlier and was taken to the British Museum for the day- and the television wasn’t on. Richard was completely alone.

            “I know I’m not a perfect human,” he continued, “I’d just appreciate a little luck every now and again. You took my father, you took my mother, you took my childhood!” he choked back a sob. “But worst of all you took my wife! What have I done? Why the fuck do I have to wake up, cold and alone, every morning?” he looked up at the ceiling and felt the feeling stir- a mixture of anger, passion and poison. A cocktail so potent, so lethal, it may consume the soul if untamed. “Norns,” he hissed, “why? It seems my path is littered with bad Norns. Pandora’s box- or pythos, whatever it was- held Hope. When will a good Norn finally bless me?”

He let his tears go, let them run down his cheeks and drip off his chin. His sobs came in heaving gasps and choked coughs. The feel evaporated and became a mixture of guilt, regret and grief. He bowed his head and continued crying until he felt arms around his shoulders. Comforting arms, like a mother’s. He looked over his shoulder, saw nobody. He shrugged and the ‘arms’ left him. Next, he felt something touch his chest, and his tears dried up. He jumped and fell back on the bed. The touch on his chest left him, and his heart felt a little bit warm. He sat up and looked around his room. The white walls appeared softer and his stomach had stopped turning.

            “That was...” Richard murmured, trailing off.

He looked around and saw that the door was wide open. Moments ago, it was almost closed. Something tugged at his gut, and he left his bedroom, following the tug outside into the corridor, out of the front door, down the stairs, across the in-ground football pitch, into the streets, across the road and into the park. When the ‘tug’ faded, Richard found himself standing a few feet away from the bandstand. He took a few steps toward it, his footfalls crunching as he trod over gravel. He stopped at the stairs leading up to the stage and looked up at the dome. He found it strange that the engineers would fuse the modern age with a Greco-Roman design. He sighed.

            It works in literature, he thought, and it works in movies. Why is it hard to fuse the past with the future?

            There is a name for the merger of the past and the future. Richard heard.

He stiffened and stood still for a moment before looking over his shoulder. He saw nothing but the two children running around while their father sat on the bench behind them, reading a newspaper. Richard looked at the stage of the bandstand- nobody.

            You will not find me, the voice said to Richard. Remain still.

Richard did as commanded.

            What is this? He asked the voice.

            It is a connection, the voice explained, you may call me Cassio. I make this connection with you for a single reason: we need each other. Our paths are on a parallel and, unlike others, this parallel cannot be altered. Like it or not, we are bound together.

            Thanks,’ Cassio’, Richard thought to ‘Cassio’. He felt a sense of unease grip him as he circled the bandstand, hoping to find ‘Cassio’. He had deduced from the voice that Cassio had to be a male. The voice sounded young and wise, which confused him.

            You will not find me here today, Cassio said. It is too open. Neither mist nor fog can shield me. We shall meet officially, one day.

The voice was gone. Richard took a step back and crashed backwards onto his back. The sky span. He kicked his legs a couple of times and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the kids he had seen playing- and their father- were kneeling over him. One of the kids- a girl- was on his right while her brother was on his left. The father was knelt next to his daughter. Richard tried to sit up, but the father held him down.

            “Easy, Richard,” he said softly.

Richard’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes widened and his fists clenched.

            “How do you know my name?” he tried to ask. Instead, a strangled, choking sound exploded from his mouth.

            “Removal Syndrome,” the girl whispered. She looked at her father, “He will need some mead, perhaps some strawberries and an apple, depending on the next hour. Harvey,” she directed her attention to her brother, “phone Mum and let him know what’s happened. Grandpa,” she looked up at the man- her grandfather, apparently- and spoke to him so softly Richard couldn’t make out what was being said. The grandfather nodded and pressed a hand to Richard’s forehead.

            “Relax, young man,” he said to Richard, “you’re not going anywhere just-”

            “Is everything okay?” asked a breathless female voice. Richard tried to look, but the man held him down and replied for him, saying something about being a doctor and Richard being fine given some rest. Richard wasn’t so sure about being fine: his blood felt hot and he was dipping in and out of reality. One moment, he saw the man for what he appeared to be: in his fifties with blond hair and slate grey eyes. The next moment, he saw a pale imitation of a nightmarish monster he dreamed about as a child. He had to keep breathing, but his breaths came out in short, heavy gasps which dried his throat, made his guts boil and his eyes ache.

            “It will all be over soon,” the man said, sounding a thousand miles away. Richard hoped it would be as his felt bile creep into his throat. He closed his eyes and coughed. Something hot and unpleasant came out of his mouth and covered the lower half of his face. He groaned.

The next hours were a blur between reality and illusion. Time and movement slipped by like the persistence of memory. It took Richard some time to gather that he was no longer lying on a bed of gravel, but had been transported somehow to a proper bed in a room with a fluorescent light bulb placed above the threshold of the door. Several women and men passed that threshold to take blood samples, hook up IVs or administer a spoonful of a medicine which reminded Richard of honey. He couldn’t understand much of what was going on, and although the bed faced away from the light bulb, Richard remembered asking for it to be shut off because the light felt like pinpricks in his eyes. His blood felt like fire and his throat hurt, but eventually, he was declared stable.

Richard half-opened his eyes and tentatively turned his head to the right. He saw a grey wall and an end table. The table held a blue glass filled with water, a watch and glasses case. Richard turned his head tentatively to the left and found a man in his fifties with blond hair sitting in an armchair smiling down at him.

            “Good evening, young man,” he said cheerily. “Good to see that you are finally awake! It’s been hours, my boy! Not so many young survivors of Removal Syndrome as there should be- it’s a very common condition that can be treated with an hour’s bed rest. Such a shame the young ones tend to die.” The smile disappeared and he shook his head morosely.

            “Scuse... me?” Richard asked, his voice merging with a cough.

            “My boy, you don’t recognise me?” the man looked slightly hurt. “Of course you don’t- you’ve never met me before today! But I’ve always been there with you, and you mother come to think of it.” He bit his lower lip and looked upwards for a moment. “Yes!” he said suddenly, looking back at Richard. “Of course I knew your mother- a wonderful woman. Truly wonderful. I am Doctor Herbert Fenris, but you may call me Herb. I saw you this morning in the park while I was out with my grandchildren- such darlings, aren’t they? Harvey is seven and Lana is ten. Such magical ages...” he gazed off into the distance for a few minutes, as if recalling his own childhood, then he said: “You appeared to be in some kind of trance, then you stepped back and collapsed. A typical symptom of Removal Syndrome, I’m afraid. Some mortals do suffer from it, but then it reverts to something like a migraine. Mortals are deathly boring!”

Herb stopped talking and smiled at Richard.

            “O... kay,” Richard said, taking care not to strain his voice. “Where... I?” he asked.

            “You are in the HQ, son,” Herb answered. “Loki came down to check on you an hour ago- you were deeply asleep. We couldn’t wake you up! Loki being Loki, he worried, but he’s pushed back the meeting another ninety minutes until you’re recovered enough to take part.”

            “Covered... nuff?” Richard mumbled.

Herb bent over and disappeared from sight as he seemed to reach for something on the floor. Richard tried to see what it was, but Herb was sitting up in a second, holding a small glass bottle filled with something that looked like honey. The bottle had a cork top, which Herb pulled out. He held the bottle to Richard’s lips and tilted so that Richard’s mouth filled with… what was it, anyway? It had a sweet taste which reminded him of honey, but there was a dryness to it which made him think that this was white wine. Perhaps it was a dessert wine?

Nonetheless, his mouth was filling quickly, and by habit he swallowed. Whatever he was drinking, it immediately made him feel calmer and he was left feeling a little guilty when the bottle was emptied and pulled away from his mouth. He looked at Herb with pleading eyes, silently asking for more. Herb picked up on this and laughed.

            “My boy,” he said cheerily, “if you knew what this was, any more would have your soul for plumes! My dear boy, I’ve never seen one take such a liking to this-” he waggled the bottle- “in all my years of association with the Organisation.”

Richard found himself laughing along with this strange man, although he had no idea what he found funny. All he knew was that there was a large smile plastered on his face and a strong, warm feeling in his heart and gut. He felt strength returning to his limbs, which previously felt weighed down and wooden, and his mind felt clearer. He sat up in the bed and looked at Herb.

            “I’d say I’m ready for that meeting,” Richard said, smiling, “wouldn’t you?”

Herb chuckled. “Not quite yet, son,” he said, “just to make sure that you’re ready, have an apple and some strawberries.”

Richard, still sitting in bed, looked around the room.

Herb chuckled again.

            “I feel fine, Herb,” Richard said impatiently, looking at Herb, “can’t I just go? There are n-”

Herb produced a punnet of strawberries from thin air. Richard’s mouth dropped open.

            “No strawberries?” Herb said, handing the strawberries to Richard. Richard took them, still looking at Herb.

Richard examined Herb, this ‘doctor’ who had found him in the park. He looked disturbingly familiar- perhaps he had been on the news? It was possible- elderly blond people tended to be on the news, on television and other forms of media nowadays. On the other hand, there was something about the name ‘Doctor Herbert Fenris’ that struck a chord in the back of Richard’s mind.

            “Right,” Richard said slowly, “no strawberries.”

He opened the punnet and pulled out a strawberry. He had a thought, and suddenly the punnet felt heavier. He looked at it and his eyes widened. There, resting on the strawberries was a bright green apple. Richard licked his lips.

            “I take it you like your fruit.” Herb chuckled.

            “Yes,” Richard whispered. “Yes I do.”

After eating the fruit and feeling rejuvenated, Richard hopped out of bed and was just about to leave the room when Herb mentioned that Richard was in his underpants. He looked down and, with embarrassment, asked where his clothes were.

They were under the bed.

Herb was respectful enough to leave the room and let him dress, but he insisted on escorting him to the meeting room in case of any ‘repercussions’. Richard didn’t feel too bad on the way. In fact, he practically skipped to the meeting room where he found Loki and a group of people sitting at the table.

            “Ah,” Loki said, sounding pleased, “it is good to see that you are feeling well, Richard.” Loki managed a smile.

            “It feels good to feel well.” Richard said.

            “Have you brought Matthew?” Loki asked.

Richard’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes widened and his gut clenched.

Loki smiled.

            “That’s fine,” Loki said, “I thought you might forget, given your ‘accident’ this morning, so I contacted Ryan. They should be here before the meeting is out. Take a seat, Richard.”

Richard obeyed and did a quick survey of the people in the group. He counted seven, including himself and Loki. The only other people he knew were Thom and Morgue. Thom was a tall, fresh-faced man with deep blue eyes and cropped brown hair. He smiled at Richard. Next to him was Morgue- a thin, pasty-skinned man with sorrowful hazel eyes and dirty blond hair. He kept his eyes on the table. The other three were people Richard didn’t recognise. Two of them were women and the other was a man.

            “Perhaps we should commence?” Loki suggested, making eye contact with everyone.

Thom shrugged, Morgue kept staring at the table, the women nodded and the man mumbled something that sounded like “sure”. Loki looked at Richard. Richard nodded, although he was sure that more people were meant to be here.

            “Attention!” Loki snapped. Everyone sat up straight in their chairs and turned their focus to Loki. Loki turned to Thom. “Llewellyn, what is the current status of your business?”

Thom reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, touch-screen device. He tapped a few on-screen buttons and read from the screen:

            “The stars are 3-5; the technology has been recovered; the books are being located as we speak.” Thom looked up at Loki with a straight face. “With the exception of the stars, I’d say business is going pretty well with the Trackers.”

            “Right, of course,” Loki mumbled before turning to the two women, “and how is business progressing with the Guardians and Watchers?”

            “The Guardians are progressing well enough, Mafuro,” the first woman said. She was short and wore glasses. She was dressed in a pinstripe pants-suit and sat with her hands clasped on the table. “We are tracking the course of the stars. So far, the case is that minor constellations and stars are disappearing while the major entities become brighter.”

            “Is this positive or negative, Trish?” Loki asked suspiciously.

            “So far,” the woman said carefully, “the Guardians consider this positive as no mortals have noticed yet. It will be considered negative when this development breaks into the mortal circles.”

            “The Watchers agree,” the second woman said, “although there is some evidence in the form of blogs suggesting that the news is leaking.”

Richard could see Loki’s ears pricking.

            “Leaking?” Loki repeated quietly, then loudly: “LEAKING?”

The woman’s face paled. She gripped the table and shrunk back. Next to her, Trish’s clasped hands were turning white. Richard looked at Morgue and Thom, whose eyes were locked on each other. He thought he knew what they were doing.

            “HOW CAN THIS POSSIBLY BE LEAKING?” Loki shouted.

What’s this about a blog? Richard asked Thom.

Hey! Who invited you? Thom snapped.

Sorry, I-

That’s okay, man. Haha! I get you every time!

Thomas! Morgue snapped. Richard, a blog has been found on the internet which contains some information that appears to have been leaked from our database! Delores should have kept her mouth shut about it!

Typical, Thom huffed, Watchers never learn.

I used to be a Watcher. Morgue sounded annoyed.

You’re an exceptional case. Thom thought casually.

Guys, seriously! Richard thought with a mental sigh. You should really get married.

What?! Morgue thought incredulously.

Not a bad idea! Thom smiled at Richard, then turned his eyes to Morgue. Morgan Kinstol, will you be my wife?

Thom’s first mistake was chuckling.

Loki had been in the middle of a tirade about the HQ’s security when Thom failed to hold back his childish chuckling. Richard saw that Loki’s eyes were beginning to glow a dangerous red, and he crouched in his chair. Morgue, Trish, the man and Delores followed suit.

Thom’s second mistake was meeting Loki’s eye.

Thom’s third mistake was asking “What did I do?”

Loki roared like a bear, scowled at Thom.

The air turned chill.

It was as if some medusian spell had been cast over the small collection of people. Nobody spoke. Richard didn’t even dare to breathe. He kept his eyes focused on Thom, not even chancing a glance in Loki’s direction.

Thom seemed to show some common sense by remaining silent. Although he hadn’t moved, Richard thought that Thom looked smaller in his seat.

All of a sudden, Loki’s eyes regained their usual grey-hazel hue; his scowl faded; he took his seat at the head of the table. Everyone sat still, gawking at Loki.

            “And now,” Loki said, “the reason I have brought you here tonight: my work. As you may know, when I took on the role of Maestro I also took on an ancient task. I have recently been given permission to assemble a team to help me with this task...” Loki trailed off.

            “Glad to help,” said the other man, “what is it you need us for?”

Loki made eye contact with each of the people seated around the table.

            “I have to confess,” he said carefully, “I had hoped to have had a fuller table here tonight. Nonetheless, the task is too valuable to speak of openly. I knew that we would have some trouble in maintaining the numbers, so I took great care in selecting my team.”

            “You mean,” the man said, “the telepaths?”

            “Exactly.” Loki said, smiling strangely. “The telepaths. This way I can contact any of you, morning or night. Within or outside of the HQ, I can get to you anytime I need you. Not to mention, your skills are invaluable. Tobias,” he said, turning to the man Richard didn’t know, “your telepathy skills are still infantile- you will need to work on forming connections. Richard,” Loki turned to Richard, “you will be in charge of helping Tobias hone in on his telepathy.”      

            “Loki?” Morgue asked carefully. “Can you please get to the point?”

The room tensed, and Richard thought he saw Loki’s eyes flash a slight red.

Very well, Morgan, said a voice inside Richard’s head. The task I have been set is to uncover ancient lore which may hold the key to the future of our kind. This lore is referred to as the Ancient Fable. For entirety of my reign as Maestro, I have been scouring our sacred texts, hoping to find some clue to unlocking the Fable, but so far I have had no luck. I have made one breakthrough- it is my theory that the results of Inheritance Project may hold the key to unlocking the Fable.

Richard cringed on the inside.

The Inheritance Project? Morgue contributed. That can of worms has been closed for a long time. And for good reason!

Yes, yes, Kinstol, Loki sighed mentally, I am aware of the controversies surrounding the Inheritance Project, but the fact of the matter is that our kind is now peculiar in a biological interest more than mythological.

So, Thom thought, we’re going with the eugenics?

It was not eugenics! Loki flared. A series of genetic experiment were conducted in order to develop an understanding of our genome! Mortal DNA and our DNA were combined in order to demonstrate and understand the effects of mixed breeding.

So, Thom thought, eugenics.

IT WAS NOT EUGENICS!

Thom, Morgue thought, lay off the eugenics.

That would be wise, Tobias thought. His ‘voice’ came through weakly, and it took Richard a few seconds to understand what he had said.

But that’s what it basically-

ENOUGH! Loki roared, glaring at Thom.

Thom shrank back with wide eyes. Richard felt the compulsion to follow suit, but he thought that that would make Loki even angrier.

Just to clarify, Richard thought carefully, the eugenicists sought a master race. We, on the other hand, want to know if there’s anything we can prevent or try to replicate if we can understand mixed breeding, and, therefore, our genetic composition. It could be eugenics if and only if we wanted to enhance our abilities and were willing to put innumerable lives at risk. A small group was used in the experiment Loki is talking about, so it wouldn’t be totalitarian if one or two died as a result- it would help us learn. Besides, there might be some abilities we don’t know about that mortal DNA might reveal.

Well said, Richard, Delores smiled at him. I mean, well thought.

Yes, quite. Loki sounded bemused.

I’d just like to say, came a distant-sounding female voice, that I find it highly offensive to be referred to as a ‘eugenicist’. Really! You analyse the most recent samples of data from one experiment done before you were born, and you pay for it the rest of your career!

Marcella, Loki sighed mentally.

What? The woman- Marcella- asked, sounding annoyed. It’s true, Uncle!

Ooh, Loki has a niece? Thom thought, feigning malice. This just got interesting!

THOMAS! Loki flared.

Sorry.

Marcella, Loki thought, although you cannot see them, I will tell you the names of those you will be working with: Richard, Thomas, Morgan, Tobias, Delores, Trish, Gabriel, Lucas, Dianna, Isabel and Hendric.

I can see them, Uncle. Marcella sighed. Well, the ones who turned up. Nice to see you guys- I don’t have long, but I can catch up at the next meeting, right? Well, Uncle Loki will fill me in. Or Dad.

Your father ‘will fill you in’? Loki sounded unpleasantly surprised. How? WHAT DOES HE KNOW OF THIS BUSINESS?

Relax, Uncle, Marcella sounded breezy, he only told me what he knows when I told him I’d be working late- there’s nothing to worry about! Besides, it’s a family matter.

Loki, Morgue ventured, I hate to ask this, but what are we going to do?

Loki sighed. I have no idea.