A Dyad in Time Read online

  The Hammer was also a particularly nasty piece of work and although he led The Nine against The Reapers, he wasn’t in charge. From what anyone could tell, he wasn’t fit to lead The Nine or The Protectorate because he was too brutal and violent. Too hot headed. Too self-centred and broken. Despite there being no information on where they came from, scholars had created mega-tomes covering each of The Nine’s deeds, that would take a Sojela historian their entire lifetime to read. Gerard was no historian, but he was well aware of The Hammer’s deeds. His famous battle with the Reaper Queen. The cleansing of Erathril. The Obliteration. Rumours of Reaper torture and experimentation also regularly surfaced to muddy the seconds reputation. I’ve got to be in a room with that murderer and explain my actions Gerard thought. Sweat appearing on his forehead.

  “Surelikai protect me.” He breathed, before knocking on the ornate door his feet had taken him to.

  “Gerard?” Parod said, bringing him back from his memories. “Look.” He complied, watching with eager eyes as the man walked towards, and into, the table. Almost in slow motion, he watched as the broken man reached down and grasped the paper that had been carefully placed on the furniture when it was upright. The man moved to the floor as Gerard’s mind whirred. Remembering the normal process for recruitment, he questioned why this subject was so difficult. Why was this man so special?

  “What the kai is that?” He whispered to himself as the broken, zombie shuffling man pulled something black and feral from his ear. They could see it wriggling and squirming in his hand, but it was unlike anything the Våpen or The Eye had ever seen.

  “Very old magik.” Parod replied. “It partially explains why the poison has not worked and what was shielding him from my gaze.”

  Gerard thought he sensed embarrassment but knew Parod was most likely incapable of feeling that. “Why is he putting it on his shoulder?” Gerard questioned, brow furrowing in thought.

  “That is odd.” Parod admitted.

  “We have seen magiks that extract poison from the body, but it has never resulted in something like this. It looks to be an independent being.”

  “What webs are being woven?” Gerard softly asked himself, finding he was standing very close to the screen. As the question finished, floating into the space between him and the moving picture of his prisoner, he saw the man continue shambling his way over to the door. When the man touched the door handle, time seemed to slow down for everyone, each blinking of an eye taking minutes, longer even. With just one, unending blink, Gerard saw nothing even though the man had experienced so much. One moment, the man’s hand was laid on the handle, the next, he was lying on the floor unconscious.

  “What happened?” Frustration obvious in his voice. He knew the rooms distorted time dramatically, yet this was wrong. Months or even years could pass in them, the outside only suffering hours, but he’d never seen it the other way around. Very old and special magiks linked the network and the Eye’s, scenes passing as if in normal speed but condensed into the right time frame for the viewer. Parod would be able to see and hear all that happened in the rooms over the subjects' incarceration, in a few short minutes or hours.

  “I do not know.” Parod replied with a frown Gerard had never seen before.

  “The Pilgrim Door didn’t want us to see.” Gerard straightened himself at hearing that and took a deep breath. Questions began spinning through his mind, tying him in knots, turning him around and disorienting him. He thought Sylvane would be more than enough to occupy him for a while, wanting to focus all his attention on getting the information he needed. Disappointment broke his calm thinking at having to send all of his attendees away on errands relating to a filthy Nahgwal recruit and some idiot practising magik when they shouldn’t be. He allowed the emotion to take a breath within him and then he squashed it as he had many times before. Patience is like water, revealing all. Sylvane would talk, Fortune would find out what was happening with the files and the sisters will be back soon. For now, he needed to deal with Tor.

  “I think it is time I had a word with our guest.” He said to himself, a mass of questions starting to form in his head.

  “Hältia.” Fortune said from the half open door behind Gerard. There was no reaction, his master lost in thought. He repeated the formal word again, which he always used in the presence of others. Nothing. “Master!” He said forcefully. Whatever had captured Gerard’s brain, now released him, allowing him to turn towards his faithful. Surprise marking his face.

  “Swift work, even for you Fortune. What did you find on our guest?” He gestured with his head towards the screens.

  “Nothing Hältia. I have not been able to start my investigation.” Fortune replied apologetically to a frowning Gerard.

  “It’s Enyo and Eris.” He delivered the words slowly, waiting for Gerard to calm down after hearing his failing... “They arrived at the scene of the breach and have reported in as you requested.” Gerard waited, an unasked question on his face. “There’s nothing there. The scene has been cleansed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - BREADCRUMBS

  The smallest flicker of a frown appeared on Anne’s face when Red Cloak revealed her name. She found herself staring into the other woman's eyes with fascination and wonder. What a beautiful name she thought. Then, Isabella turned and left the room in near silence, a flick of her long cloak marking her departure. Agape solemnly and respectfully reached in to close the door, giving Anne a very slight nod before the door clicked into place. The sound felt at odds with the quiet Anne was feeling but reminded her that she was a prisoner. Bound to a hospital bed and guarded by a stranger’s lap dogs. She remembered how the small teams of Våpen and Sløv operated, having worked with them in the past. Rough, blunt weapons and tools used by The Protectorate to execute the will of the Tarkkailija. Something was different about these four though and she felt safe.

  It was strange how parts of her were coming back, trickling titbits of information at the sound of a word, or the way in which someone moved. Most of her life from before was coming back to her as the minutes passed by now. Larger, more established parts of her world were easier to grasp. Doctrines, procedures and constructs that kept the worlds at peace flowed back with ease. Years of being part of them, seeing them, practising them lubricated the wheels of her memory, giving her access to the established norms of her old life. Then there were the rooms in her brain that she couldn’t access, or the ones that were completely empty, yet filled with emotions and fleeting desires. She knew something traumatic had happened and for now, her conscious was protecting her from remembering it. Protecting her from hurt and pain. I need to leave she thought.

  Looking down at her restraints again she was relieved to see they were normal Naïve leather straps that attached her to the bed. There were enough common magik incantations that would do the trick in releasing her, involving simple finger movements rather than entire hand, arm or body ones. Those spells, and a few others revealed themselves as she sat in her past. Closing her eyes, she let one of them bubble up through her multiple and divergent thoughts, her hands mechanically performing the right movements. When she was finished she kept her eyes closed, smiled and moved her arms to freedom.

  They didn’t move. Confused, she looked down and saw the same leather straps holding fast. If an inanimate object could have shown Anne an inappropriate hand symbol, they were doing it right now. She tried the incantation a few more times, thinking she was maybe a little rusty after having not performed magik for a couple of lifetimes. Nothing. Another sentence appeared in her head that was accompanied by some slightly more elaborate finger movements. Hoping the extra power of this magik would release her she executed it perfectly. Nothing. Closing her eyes one more time, a third, more potent spell presented itself. Sweat appearing on her furrowed brow, concentration invading her entire body and mind, she prepared herself for the more extravagant and destructive spell. Her arms could move enough for her to perform it and she was happy to accept the consequences
of the noise it would bring. When I’m free, you won’t be able to keep me here for long she thought menacingly. Confident in the spell, Anne pulled it off admirably. Fingers, hands and arms moving delicately and purposefully, words coming easily and carrying strength. Her teacher would be proud she thought as she pulled her arms to freedom. She heard some metal clinking against metal and then looked down to see the leather straps performing that hand gesture again.

  “That won’t work in here my dear.” An elderly voice caused Anne’s eyes to spring open, searching. “Not with that so close to you.” A matronly woman was standing just inside the door, back arched with years of life pushing her down, nodding towards the black box beside her. “It’s called a void. An ancient magik from before The Reapers.” The old woman continued, gently closing the blinds in the room and working her way towards Anne. “Among other things, it dampens magik, rendering spells completely useless. Very rare object indeed. I believe The Protectorate has all the remaining ones in their possession, mostly to keep their prisoners in check. It seems however, that one may have slipped out with that red cloaked bounty hunter. She must be one of their favoured slaves.” The ancient nurse was now at Anne’s side, looking forlorn and severe with recognition in her eyes. Anne felt comforted, flashes of heavy breathing and forest greenery cascading past her as the old woman spoke.

  “I’m glad your magiks are coming back to you, Weyaal.” She purred, softening with a smile. “You will need them to get out of here.”

  “Who are you?” Anne whispered, casting an eye towards the door.

  “The Balance sent me to help you.”

  Anne knew who they were at hearing the name. Pre-dating The Protectorate, they were the champions of light, protecting all peoples from dark and evil threats, but ever since The Nameless, their power, influence and numbers had dwindled. It seems The Lucidfolk favoured the shackles of bureaucracy, fooled into thinking it brought them more security and balance. Warmth spread through her at their mention too, bringing joyful thoughts and some glances at happier times. She felt a connection with them but couldn’t figure out why.

  The nurse bent down and methodically removed all the restraints, careful not to make too much noise and draw attention to the room. Old, wrinkled fingers worked methodically, Anne feeling lighter at the sound of each clasp being undone, each defiant leather strap falling away, seeing the hand gesture disappear and lose its venom. When the kindly woman was finished she laid an arthritic hand on Anne’s, smiling a wide and loving smile.

  “What you did. Back then.” The words seemed hard to say, getting caught before they could break the surface. “We will be eternally grateful for your sacrifice, Weyaal-”

  “What’s going on here?” Pragma angrily spat from the open door, hands already moving, an incantation forming on his lips.

  The old woman moved with uncanny speed, vaulting over the bed and whipping the black box with her foot towards the Sløv. Anne was paralysed by the sight, astonished by the movement and precision of her manoeuvre. Pragma echoed Anne’s sentiment, before cursing at his magik failing. The void sat innocently at his feet, using the leather strap’s hand gesture to aggravate him.

  “You’d better go, Weyaal.” The old woman said calmly before widening her stance, working her heels into the ground and holding out her hands in front of her. Her wrists were soft as beguiling, slow movements worked through her arms in practised discipline. “Out the window with you now, Weyaal. Quickly.”

  “I have no magik and we’re really high up!” Anne blurted out.

  “That nasty little box has a very small range. You’ll be fine.” The old woman said commandingly. Pragma looked at his feet before deftly kicking the void across the floor towards the window. I just need to buy some time for Agape to return from his sweep of the corridor he thought. If I can get it close to the window for now and stall the wytch, they’ll be no match for the both of us. The elderly ninja however, had seen what Pragma was trying to do and with a sweeping movement she traversed the distance between her and Pragma, casting the void back towards him. She flexed back into her stance again, setting herself against any attack. Anne watched what was happening from her bed, events unfolding in seconds, shrouding her with inaction.

  “Today, Weyaal.” The wrinkled warrior said without taking her eyes from Pragma. “Our friend here will have his hands full for a while, so I suggest you take advantage of the situation.” Smoothly, the grizzled Sojela moved her feet, shifting her body towards the man twice her size, striking out with furious speed and self-control, a small grin appearing on her face. Was she enjoying this? Anne thought before casting her bed linen aside and sliding barefoot onto the floor tiles. With practised grace, Anne padded towards the window, arms flowing and words purring. She sharply clapped her hands together without breaking stride and an invisible force blew a huge hole in the wall where the window was. Mortar, wood and glass flew outwards, a deafening noise ringing all around. Anne’s toes ground into the floor as if it were sand and she sprang forward in a blur. Catching up with the falling materials, she joined them mid-air, weaving her body into a series of elegant movements, uttering more words with confidence. She touched down on the ground softly, arms outstretched, letting the rest of the objects fall around her like rain. Bricks and large chunks of wall dented the ground, glass cut into the earth, wood dully thudded against the terrain, but she remained untouched. Then she was running.

  Invulnerable, she relentlessly pressed on towards her home. There were black spots in her memory, things that needed untangling, but one thing shone out in her mind like a beacon. An antique platinum ring with a jade stone set into it. She had left herself breadcrumbs to follow and she needed to get to that ring. Fast. Realising that time was against her she pressed on with renewed vigour. Windows shattered at her passing, cars bounced sideways as she ran, trees bent to her will, watching the wytch fly past them. There will be Protectorate agents at her home she knew, so she changed direction frequently, backtracking, zig-zagging, overshooting the fastest route to her house, leaving chaos and confusion in her wake. Each time she deviated from her path she cast random spells, imagining the tracking images created by her journey, wanting The Eye’s to see her. Protocol dictated that each misuse of magik required investigating and she needed to draw agents away from her home. Some of the locations she visited to cast a spell were random, some were places that she knew The Protectorate would have recorded as known hangouts. She deliberately passed close to her home too, spinning a web of mysterious appearances, damaged properties and confused Naïves. She wanted them to think she was looking for something, sending their drones to examine her inexplicable actions and clearing up her mess. The Lucid and Naïve worlds couldn’t cross, and she hoped that The Protectorate’s desire to control that balance outweighed their want to capture her.

  She was partially right. Not long had passed since she escaped the hospital when she finally appeared outside her home. The spider-like trail she had left drew Venatoré away, but there was still a Våpen waiting with his three attendees, when she stopped in her garden. The seeing spell she had manifested started to fade, revealing the four locations of her adversaries. She took a deep breath. Her time was running out. What had happened in the café had released an immense amount of power in her that was starting to thin. Ploughing so much energy into her deception was necessary and now she needed to be deliberate. Calculated. Efficient. Drawing their leader out first was key, so she crossed the garden as close to him as possible and threw a stone towards the alleyway that led down the side of her house. A crude deception, but practical. He bolted almost instantly in the direction of the sound. His eagerness betrayed how desperate they were, which was a good and bad sign. Working her way into the back door she planted her feet and pulled her hands in front of her as if she were praying. Slowly, she parted them, moving them in opposite directions, forming a circle and grabbing her elbows. Sharply, she pulled her hands apart, brushing her forearms as she went. “Bleeding heart, bles
sed hands. Endless sleep and quiet mind. Imbue.” As the final word was said, she snapped her arms into rigid right angles, fists glowing.

  “Surelikai bring peace.” She said, not fully understanding where all of this knowledge was coming from. Then it truly began. She opened her eyes, which now glowed white like her hands, and ran so fast down the corridor it looked as though she had teleported. Reaching the man’s back, she thrust two fingers into the side of his neck and two near his lower back simultaneously. He dropped to the floor like rocks sliding down a mountain, making almost as much noise. Before the rocks fell though, she was moving, knowing more work was to be done. Almost flying up the stairs she met the second man who had just turned to face her at the sound of his companion hitting the floor. Two fingers jabbed into his inner thigh, the second two finding a soft spot in the ribs. His eyes closed, and he fell into her arms, the dead weight of what felt like twelve men trying to crush her. Gently shrugging him off onto the landing she made her way to the final Sløv, who had adopted an attacking fighting stance. Thrusting his clenched fist towards Anne’s left jaw line she nimbly caught him in the fleshy part of his underarm with two fingers and reverse elbowed him in the stomach with the force of a charging bull. Doubling over, she stepped to the side and looked down on the man, coughing heavily and breathing hard. Ever so gently, she touched him on the top of the neck with two fingers and the coughing eased, before he fell unconscious at her feet.