Chapter 9

Chapter nine

This, Matt could tell, had once been a happy place. A beautiful place. A place full of potential. A fountain lay to the right, empty and cracked. A skeleton hung over the fountain’s edge- whoever the unfortunate owner of those bones was had obviously put up a struggle- one hand held a golden chalice, but the skeleton was positioned as though whoever he or she was appeared to be pushing away from the fountain. Matt turned away from the fountain and saw that he was in some kind of forest, only this forest appeared to be under a tree. Actually, Matt realised, there were no trees at all- the entire area was surrounded by the roots of the tree he was under! His chest tightening, Matt began to panic. He tried to calm himself as he walked towards the nearest root and found that it reached down, past the cliff he was standing on, deep down into darkness. He stepped away from the edge and looked around some more. This place had once been a garden- the barren skeletons of trees stood like toothpicks in mud, dead grass crunched beneath Matt’s footfalls, rotting apples were scattered across the ground, and the withered remains of flowers and bushes hung pitifully from a once-white fence.  If he looked close enough, Matt was sure that those apples were gold... nevertheless, this place was barren, but Matt had a thought that he might be able to regenerate this garden if he had the proper seeds. He decided to go over to the fountain and investigate, making sure to stay away from the skeleton. Looking down in the deep, dry basin, Matt felt comfortable. A sense of ownership began to creep through him, as though this was his garden. No, it wasn’t as though this garden was his- this garden was his! He could do as he liked, and he would regenerate it. He would start with the apples- he looked at the nearest one and willed it to grow. It grew into a large, thin-trunked tree. The entire tree was gold, from the dark-gold bark on its roots to the spines on its fine, light-gold leaves. From its branches hung beautiful, mouth-watering golden apples. Matt could smell them, and he instantly knew that if he took one bite of one of those apples, he would gain eternal youth. He licked his lips and forced himself to snap his gaze away from the tree. He forced himself to work on the garden. From the rotting apples sprung more olden apple trees, surrounding Matt with the intoxicating aroma of eternity, which smelled bizarrely like strawberries and cream. Next, he regenerated the grass- thick, green and luscious. He regenerated the bushes and flowers- thick, prickly, large. So many colourful flowers- roses, tulips, daisies, pansies, baby’s breath, bluebells, forget-me-nots, chrysanthemums... the garden was bursting with life in no time. Finally, Matt turned his attention to the fountain. He laid a hand on the rim and took a seat. He leant into the basin and touched the bottom, pulled himself out as water began to appear. He watched a thin layer of indigo liquid manifest across the base of the fountain. It thickened and darkened as the basin filled up, began to make waves until a jet of water gushed from the top of the fountain and splayed like a liquid flower. Matt stared at the indigo display with a sense of pride. He had created that jet of water… and then he had a thought, and waved a hand over the swirling water in the basin. After a few seconds, the smell of violets and lavender radiated from the water. He smiled, and saw that this fountain was good. Turning his attention to the apples trees- whose aroma was starting to agitate him to the point of desire for the fruit he knew would taste unreal- he waved a hand and the barks turned from gold to sapphire, then back to gold, then to jade, then back to gold, and then to ruby until they became a hypnotic rainbow. The apples remained gold. Failing to fight his desire, the next few moments were a blur for Matt as he lunged at the nearest tree and grabbed an apple. He became conscious when he finished eating the apple core. A sense of relief flooded him, but this relief stimulated more desire for the apples. And so he feasted on the apples, not bothering to count how many. Their taste was so delicate, yet distinctly indescribable. Their heavy juice trickled down his chin, a powerful and potent elixir.

Drop the apple. Said a voice inside his head.

            “NO!” Matt cried with a mouthful of apple.

You must! It is vital!

            “NO!”

Very well…

Against his will, Matt dropped the apple he was eating and was forced over to the fountain. The smell of violets and lavender seemed to clear his mind, and he began to feel humiliated. What had he done? He turned to look at the garden. Although the grass, the bushes and the flowers were in much the same shape as before he began his frenzy of apple-eating, the trees were wrecks. The bark still flickered between gold and sapphire and jade and ruby, but the golden leaves lay in heaps around the roots. Golden apple cores were strewn everywhere. The thing that shocked Matt most of all was that there were no more apples on the branches, with the exception of the tree he had last been eating from. He felt sick in his stomach and held a hand over his mouth.

Look into the water. The voice said.

Matt obeyed, and jumped back at the sight he saw: somebody was looking right at him! A familiar somebody. A small face with a child-like mouth and big green eyes. Floppy black hair…

Matt leant further, and the somebody in the water leant closer to the brim of the water, and that was when Matt realised that he was looking directly at himself! In fact, that was when he noticed that his clothes were too big for him…

The apples grant eternal youth, said the voice, and the Aesir were wise to know that too many apples would reverse their aging.

            “I’m a kid again!” Matt cried. He whimpered and felt a lump form in his throat.

It is not greed that brought about this fate, the voice said, but ignorance. In coming time, you will learn to tolerate the aroma of the golden, life-giving apples.

            “Help me!”

Matt’s clothes were getting bigger by the second, and he was sure he was losing his ability to form complex sentences.

The fountain you filled is the fountain of wisdom, the voice said, take a drink and you shall be restored to your rightful age.

Matt- now completely naked and barely able to walk- struggled onto the edge of the fountain and leaned forward to try to drink. He felt a presence behind him. A presence which pushed him into the water and held him there. He only opened his mouth to take in a drink of water- which, as the voice had rightly said, began to restore him to his rightful age- but a hand clasped around his neck and squeezed tightly, until Matt was sure he heard a sharp ‘snap’.

He sat bolt upright in bed, in total shock. He was cold, felt grimy and was shivering.

            “Matthew?” he heard someone say. With a startled jump, Matt turned in the direction of the voice and saw Richard kneeling by his bed.

            “Wha- Richard?” Matt asked, disillusionment taking hold. He slapped the bed a few times and pinched himself, brought his knees up and curled into an upright foetal position.

            “Were you having a bad dream?” Richard asked, sounding concerned.

Matt lifted his head slightly and nodded. He saw that the knees of his pyjamas were wet. He touched his face. His fingers came away wet. He was crying, but he didn’t feel a lump in his throat.

            “Shock reaction,” Richard said, “Your mind is freaking out right now, and as a result your body is trying to relieve the stress caused by the nightmare. It must have been a very bad dream if you’re reacting to shock. Would you like to tell me what it was about?”

Matt shook his head.

            “Understood.”

They stayed in silence for a few minutes.

            “Please leave,” Matt mumbled. “Please leave.”

***

            “Who said ‘when life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life you have a thousand reasons to smile’?” Thom asked, awkwardly trying to keep the phone in position between his shoulder and his ear.

            “Why would you want to know that?” asked the man on the other end of the line.

            “Just curiosity, I guess.” Thom said, grabbing a sponge and soaking it under the running tap. He scrubbed the plate clean and placed it in the rack.

            “Didn’t curiosity kill the cat?”

            “Poor Tiddles,” Thom sighed. “He thought wires were treats.”

            “Stupid thing.”

            “Aren’t cats supposed to be smart?” Thom asked.

            “Depends on who owns them, I guess.” His friend replied.

They both laughed.

            “So anyway, how’s the teaching going?” Thom asked.

            “No news yet,” he replied. “I have my suspicions, though. Some crazy student left a note on my desk!”

            “No,” Thom said, turning off the tap and tossing the sponge into the sink. He wiped his hands on his jeans and rearranged his position so that he was holding the phone in one hand and washing the dishes with the other. “So old Demitri has a little stalker, does he? Do you still have it? What does it say?”

            “I doubt this person is a stalker,” Demitri said with a slight laugh, “and yes I have it with me right here. It says...”

Demitri began to speak, but Thom could barely understand a word he was saying. The words were melting together, and he found himself struggling to focus on what Demitri was saying. It was only when he had finished reading the note that Thom’s concentration returned.

“Pretty odd stuff, eh?” Demitri asked, sounding more than a little bit bemused.

“Uh... yeah, pretty odd,” Thom said, more to himself than Demitri, “Pretty odd.”

“It mentions ... quite a lot, but the concept of... really worries me because it reminds me of the... but I suppose that the-”

“Demitri, what the hel are you talking about?” Thom interrupted. He was feeling annoyed and toyed with.

“I’m telling you what I thought about the note.”

“You’re speaking gibberish,” Thom said. “You’re not making any sense!”

“You just concurred that it was pretty odd!”

“Because I had no idea what the hel you were saying!” Thom argued. “I thought you were pissing around, for Asgard’s sake!”

“Why would I be pissing around? This is serious!”

            “It’s difficult to believe that you’re being serious,” Thom said, “since your words started meshing together when you were talking about it! How am I supposed to take that seriously?”

            “What if I come over and show you the note?” Demitri offered. “Will you believe me then?”

Before Thom could reply, there was a ‘click’ as the other end of the line. He turned his phone off and looked in the direction of the kitchen door.

            “Have you got the note?” he asked sceptically, walking up to his friend.

            “Of course I have,” Demitri said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded-up piece of light blue paper. His grey eyes twinkled strangely. He handed the paper to Thom, who unfolded it and tried to read whatever was written. He knew that Demitri was watching him expectantly, waiting for any confirmation that Thom could read what was written on the light blue paper. He couldn’t. For Thom, whatever was on the paper just proved more and more that Demitri was joking, but whenever he looked at his friend, he began to doubt his judgement. Demitri’s eyes were so full of honesty and genuine worry. Then again, whatever was written on the letter looked like a mangled holographic image.

            “What does it say?” Demitri asked.

Thom struggled to read the note, and he hated to admit this to his friend.

            “You’re joking, right?” he asked.

            “No,” Thom said truthfully, “I can’t read a damned thing.”

Demitri grabbed the note and held it close to his face, his grey eyes frantically searching the paper. His arms dropped to his sides, the paper still in the right hand.

            “What did you see?” he asked blankly.

            “Excuse me?”

            “You heard me!” Demitri shouted, his grey eyes beginning to glow red. “WHAT DID YOU SEE? WHY CAN’T YOU READ IT?”

Thom was taken aback. He stepped backwards until he backed into the kitchen table. Demitri stood beneath the threshold, clutching the paper in his right hand and glaring at Thom with glowing red eyes.

            “I don’t know!” Thom said. His fear reflexes began to kick in: his knees began to quiver; his stomach felt non-existent; his arms began to shake. What was happening to him? The air seemed to heat up, strangling Thom. He snuck a glance at his friend- he was still standing with glowing red eyes, looking contented in creating discomfort.

            “Of course you know!” Demitri shouted in an accusatory voice.

Thom’s knees buckled, and he was brought to the floor.

            “Demitri!” Thom pleaded with a strangulated voice. The air was getting hotter, the oxygen rapidly depleting.

Without warning, the air cooled again. Thom could breath- he took in a deep breath and groaned in pain as his lungs opened and stung with fresh, cold air. After a few breaths with closed eyes, Thom opened them and looked directly at Demitri. His friend was pale, shaking, and normal-eyed. His auburn hair was damp with sweat and he was crying.

            “Demitri?” Thom asked cautiously, standing up and slowly advancing towards his friend. When he was an inch or so away, he carefully took a hold of his friend’s hand and guided him to the table where they each took a seat.

            “Demitri,” Thom said, “it’s not like we’re back in the Brigades, back when you were Francis and I was Antonio. We’ve changed, Demitri. They haven’t found us!”

Demitri shuddered.

            “What is it?” Thom asked.

            “They’ve found me...” Demitri replied.

            “Don’t say that.” Thom said sternly. “Don’t say that.”

            “It’s the Brigades all over again...”

            “No, it’s not!” Thom said, this time feeling desperate. He held Demitri’s arm and gripped tightly. Demitri barely flinched.

            “I can feel them, Thomas!”

            “No! You are Demitrius Henshaw, now! And I am Thomas Llewellyn! I was born and raised Newport, and you were born and raised in Kent. We met at university, and since then we’ve been inseparable friends!”

            “What did I do at university?” Demitri asked desperately, clenching his fists. His face was turning red, and Thom was sure he could see a few tears forming around his closed eyelids.

            “You studied English Literature with Theatre Studies,” Thom explained slowly, “and I took a joint degree in Geography and Geological Sciences. We both joined the Classical Heritage society at our university, and that’s where we met. We’ve been inseparable ever since, even though you’re a teacher at a private school and I’m a geological consultant. This is our history now- you have to believe it if our charm is going to fool anyone!”

            “I try to believe,” said Demitri, “but it gets harder every day! The note came, and out of the two of us I’m the only one who can read it! It says...” again, Demitri’s words were lost on Thom.

            “Demitri,” he said, “I can’t understand what you’re saying. Try to put it out of your mind, or I will have to do it for you.”

Demitri rested his head on the kitchen table and wrapped his arms around his head. Thom sighed and performed a mind-scan, only to retreat when he saw the images in Demitri’s mind... The two of them shared a multitude of memories, but not once had Thom remembered anything in such graphic detail. He blinked a few times and tried again, this time wading through the graphic images and, one by one, dismantling the memory and storing it somewhere he knew Demitri would only see in the deepest of sleeps. Removing himself, he looked at Demitri, who was now sitting up in his chair, looking remarkably confused and blurry-eyed.

            “I just had a crazy dream,” he said. Turning to Thom, he asked; “How long have I been asleep?”

            “Half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes,” Thom lied.

            “That’s not long,” Demitri said thoughtfully.

            “Must be the winter blues,” Thom said, “It gets dark quickly, so your body responds by becoming tired.”   

            “I suppose...” Demitri seemed unfocused, which worried Thom slightly. Dismantling memories rarely ended well, often ended with mental collapse, or something else altogether. Thom was worrying because he had stored that particular memory as a dream, and if his youth had taught him anything, it was that memories were better to remain as memories.

            “Do you remember when we were young?” Demitri asked suddenly.

            “Yes,” Thom said with caution.

            “Do you remember Elder Damascus?”

            “Of the Cravat?”

            “Of course.”

            “Sure, I remember him,” Thom said, slightly relieved.

Demitri laughed. Smiling, he shook his head.

            “What’s so funny?” Thom asked.

            “When he was training us in the elementals,” Demitri reminisced, “he asked us to grow an oak tree. Instead we grew an ash in the shape of a man.”

Thom laughed. That had been an enjoyable evening.

            “And the morning after,” Thom added, “we were made to burn it while reciting the epics. Good times, good times.”

            “Then came alchemy,” Demitri said nostalgically. “The most difficult subject I have ever had to undertake.”

            “It wasn’t particularly bad,” Thom said, “It was a lot like modern Chemistry, only magic-based.”

            “Not to mention that it is considered a form of art,” Demitri added, “to transform from one appearance to another.”

            “Modern artists are in it for the money, the fame,” Thom said with bitterness, “not for the pain and pleasure of completing and competing.”

Demitri laughed, then looked at his watch. His eyes widened.

            “Is that the time?” he asked with shock. “I’d better get back to work- see you soon!”

He stood up and ran towards the kitchen door. Within moment, he was gone. Thom sighed with relief and looked at his kitchen clock. It was three in the afternoon. He was quite glad, as he had exceeded the required four hours before he was due to begin a new mission. Using shadow travel, he made his way into the HQ and appeared in a long corridor with a wooden floor and walls. He turned left and sprinted directly to the end where he stopped outside a wooden door. He knocked three times.

            “Enter,” ordered a booming voice.

Thom opened the door and entered the red-carpeted, white-walled room. Odin sat at the desk at the back of the room. Two bookcases- one on either side- were stacked with books. A picture hung on the left wall facing the desk. Thom didn’t have to look to know who was in the frame.

            “Ciao, Odin,” Thom said.

            “Che cosa hai?” Odin sighed.

            “Nothing’s wrong,” Thom said. “I wanted to check the progress of the...” his speech trailed off, but he finished telepathically: Ancient Fable.

This is Loki’s concern. Odin replied. Check with him.

We have to begin the research within the next week if we’re going to make any progress.

I already know this, Odin told him, we are going to bring in the results we know of to take samples. Their genomes will be compared with ours and as such we shall deduce the origin of our magical abilities.

How can you be so sure? Thom asked.

We are only uncovering the first part of the Fable this quarter, Odin explained, so do not get your hopes up. We may not find anything- the biological basis of our kind is merely Loki’s theory.

We could look into history, Thom offered.

Unfortunately for you, I disagree. Unfortunately for everyone else, Loki disagrees. Odin told him.

What if I looked into the history?

The history of what?

Just our kind’s history, Thom started, his idea growing the more he thought about it. In addition to the teamwork Loki has prescribed us, I might be able to form my own group to look over the ancestral records. I could pinpoint the first recorded ability.

And then what? Odin challenged.

Pardon?

What would you do if you did pinpoint the first recorded ability?

Well... Thom’s thought trailed off. As his idea had developed as he told Odin, he hadn’t thought much about the future- where it might lead, what information it could generate, what the consequences could be if Loki decided to incorporate the historical with the biological.

Let me know when you’ve thought about it, Odin told him, looking down at his desk and playing with a pen. It’s a nice idea- practice it in your own time.

            “Okay, sir.” Thom said. He turned to leave, but Odin stopped him.

            “Thomas,” he said.

Thom turned around and looked at him. “Yes?” he asked casually.

            “What you plan is dangerous,” Odin told him, “if you do decide to go ahead and look into the history, be careful.”

            “I will.” Thom said quietly.

He left the office and took a stroll down the corridor, trying to find an appropriate shadow which he could take to the archives. He found one under a potted plant, and soon he was in a room with filing cabinets lined at either side. This part of the HQ was built entirely from grey bricks. A thin layer of grime coated the bricks and disused cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The filing cabinets were relatively new- they had been in the archival basement for about twenty years, and were updated annually. To the left, the archival basement became more of a library. To the right, the archival basement become darker and emptier, because in addition to file updates, more cabinets were added as they were needed. Usually, seven or eight were added to either side of the basement. The basement itself was formed from a large, wide corridor that branched off into annexes in both directions and was lit by electronic torches placed at regular intervals. Each annex was allocated a runic symbol. Thom could see that he was in the ‘Torch’ annex. This was the wrong annex, but it was close enough to where he needed to be: ‘Elk-Sedge’. It was about three annexes to the left, so he headed in that direction and found the annex. There were three fairly small bookcases, although none were filled with books. They were arranged in a line: the one at the head of the line held seven books in runic history; the middle bookcase held a small collection on genealogy; the bookcase at the end held twelve books about alchemy, five books about the origin of myths, and one diary. Thom collected the diary and sat on one of the wooden benches in the annex. He opened it to the first page and scanned the text. To anyone else, it would be written in an ancient alphabet. To Thom, this was his mother tongue. He read the diary and laughed at several of the small stories he had written. He stopped when he reached a particular passage. Closing the diary, a small tear formed in the corner of his left eye. He worried about Demitri. After all they had been through together- from their apprenticeships to their masteries- not once had one failed the other. Thom had been there when Demitri’s first wife had died in childbirth. Demitri had been there when Thom’s first child had been taken away. They had survived the Crusades together, under the pretence that they were Christian warriors looking for forgiveness and not neo-Pagan runaways looking for a way to hide themselves from the perseverant authorities. They had, however, been found and almost caught during the Eighth Crusade, and so had to flee again. Their only chance at survival became a form of magic which would, ironically, mask their trail and slow down their pursuers, but would make their scent even stronger. With the arrival of the light blue note, Thom worried even more. If only Demitri could read it, then what did that mean? Thom maintained that it had to be some kind of joke, but the way Demitri had acted earlier worried him, hence his sudden desire to look into the historical while helping Loki with the biological...

Llewellyn, a voice said inside Thom’s head.

Yes, Loki?

The others are here. We are awaiting you.

I’ll be there in a minute.

Thom stood up and concentrated on a shadow formed by the light from the nearest torch hitting the bookcase and leapt into it. He landed in the conference room, and immediately he knew that Loki had lied, for only he, Richard and Delores were in the room.

            “It’s Matthew,” said Richard. “He’s in trouble.”