“A hundred?” Bartholomew balked, startled.
Kal chuckled. “Or more.”
The news took time to sink in. Bartholomew lifted a hand to rest on one of those Kal set atop his shoulders. His stare fell from his lover’s face and hit the floor as he swept his other hand over his head. “My gods ...” When Kal’s admission burrowed into his senses, Bartholomew raised his gaze and found the man’s focus once more. He pointed, his index finger gently nestling into the center of Kal’s sternum. “It’s that charming charisma of yours, I just know it.”
Kal shrugged, playing the part of innocence as he stood in his impeccable suit. “What can I say? It’s the first thing they teach us when embarking on becoming an ambassador.”
The amusement Bartholomew found in Kal’s joke showed on his face. All anecdotes aside, Mr. Rovanas showed an incredible competence in his people skills. His ability to ease a person’s burdens came second only to Umbriel, and Bartholomew was certain her capability stemmed from a supernatural force. Kal’s talent blossomed out of his raw magnetism. The very magnetism that drew Bartholomew to him when they met. “I suppose, since you have plans this evening, I can sit down and plot which town to carry the message to next.”
“Already taken care of,” Kal said, releasing Bartholomew from his grip as he traipsed over to the coat rack and unwound a scarf from a hook. “I commissioned the newspaper printers to make some pamphlets. Volunteers from the assemblies will be carrying the message across Southern in a ... a tour of sorts.”
“I could have continued to do that myself,” Bartholomew suggested, resting his chin in his hand. “It seems unfair to ask the people to cater to my bidding like that.”
Kal wrapped the scarf around his neck and turned to face Bartholomew, his expression filled with love and playful wit. “While I love any words that spill from those lips of yours, you know the message sounds more convincing coming from them, Bartholomew. Whether you believe it or not, they are truly passionate about the cause ... and, it puts you in less danger, given the public divide on the subject matter.”
Bartholomew laughed. It was an incredulous sound. He stared at Kal, who stood in the doorway with the last bits of light touching his shoulders. He shook his head. “You’ve truly thought of everything.”
Kal’s lips tugged up at the corners. “Not everything. There’s a stack of paperwork for you on your desk.” His eyes came to life as he winked, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Boring Time Father stuff, I’m afraid.”
Another chuckle from Bartholomew followed. “Thank you,” he said, “for saving me something.” He would surely go mad without anything to do. Downtime only afforded him doubts that his efforts were ridiculous. After all, it went against almost everything the scholar believed in.
“After everything you’ve done for me, my love, and for Southern,” Kal bowed, peering up at the scholar from beneath his dark, curled hair, “I only wish that I did not need sleep ... that I could have done it all.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Get your shit together, E.P.”
Donned in the armor that protected her identity since day one, Elowyn found herself grinning. The weight of the helm felt suffocating some days. It bordered on the edge of inhumanity to chain herself to it for as long as she had. Secret trips out to the embankments to bathe ... having to find privacy whenever she needed to use the bathroom ... the mental fatigue that accompanied straying away from one’s true self for so long ...
Yet, Wulfgang’s cocky attitude made it all the more tolerable. Elowyn stuffed more pills into the pack at her side and exited her tent, following the sound of his voice.
“There he is, the man of the hour,” Wulfgang smirked, clapping his hands as the armored soldier exited the tent. “I’m sure the surface world is already clamoring for your medicines. Let’s not disappoint them, shall we?”
“You know damn well they can’t feel disappointed after they take them,” Elowyn muttered, coming up to Wulfgang’s side. “They can’t feel anything.”
“Including, but not limited, to the blunt objects they’d almost certainly stab themselves with if the gods were able to exacerbate their thoughts.” Wulfgang clapped Elowyn on the shoulder and started for the pipe that would lead them to the sun-kissed terrain above.
She tried to smile once more. Elowyn grew weary of her negativity; that Wulfgang was able to take it in strides, and mold it into something resembling amusement, was nothing short of miraculous. The Time Mother suspected he witnessed mental deterioration in his field often; footmen saw a lot of terrible things. Did a lot of terrible things, under the command of their superiors.
Her negativity played an important role, however. When Elowyn found herself crossing the line of actually enjoying her time amongst those in the Underground, or if she experienced too much pride in what she managed to accomplish as far as keeping the gods at bay, her negativity deflated those sentiments.
Enjoyment would have kept her here. She couldn’t stay.
Pride would have limited her ability to perfect the pills. They were far from perfect.
“Breathe deep and hold it, E.” Wulfgang peered up the pipe and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Smells like feckin’ diarrhea up there today. You sure that’s not another side-effect of your pills?”
Elowyn gave him a push from behind, sending him up the giant pipe. She followed, snorting. “Watch yourself,” she warned, poking him in the back of his calf as she stooped behind him. “One hard push and you’ll be up to your nose in it.”
Wulfgang huffed, amused. “You don’t have the guts.”
“No?” She arched a brow, grinning. “Then why are you crawling faster?”
The leader crawled from the mouth of the pipe, landing on solid ground. He inhaled deep at the first scent of fresh oxygen, turning to face Elowyn as she followed him out. “Because,” he said, “I didn’t want you checking out my ass.”
“I’ve seen better.” Elowyn scraped her greaves against the cobblestones below her, getting as much of the filth off from her metal boots as she could. “Where are we headed today?”
“Near the square,” Wulfgang answered, laughter hiding in his voice. “That’s where the boys told them we’d meet when they handed out the last batch last month.”
Elowyn followed, a strange sight walking alongside Wulfgang. The citizens of Brendale once drew away from the armored soldier in fear. It was an unsightly thing, watching a metal monster clamor down the streets. Particularly when people were already uneasy, coming fresh off the uncertainty that the gods’ invasion brought.
They did not shy away from the sight of her now. Elowyn surmised it was a combination of two things. Familiarity—they had seen her for nearly a year now, coming in and out of the shadows to bring her medicines to them. And disregard—the very medicine she brought numbed them to many emotions, surprise included.
The failure centered around her remedy vexed her. Elowyn tried for months to perfect it. Precision seemed within her grasp, but no matter how many adjustments she made, the results remained the same: total annihilation of feelings. The woman struggled with the realization for too long. Elowyn wanted to be Eastern’s salvation. When she finally returned to her rightful place as Time Mother, her previous naysayers would gaze upon her successes and weep with joy. No longer would she be the ‘weaker sex’. She could show them that their archaic views on women were flawed. And yet ...
She couldn’t do it all. There was too much she didn’t know. Elowyn came up to the square, Wulfgang at her side. A sedated crowd had already gathered, their eyes searching for the metal monster who would bring them their security from the gods.
Wulfgang made eye contact with some of the people, not wishing to draw any attention from the new Eastern footmen who invaded the surface world. The fresh hired hands from the collection of personalities who took up ruling Eastern, in the Time Mother’s absence, were questionable at best. The ‘kill now, ask questions later’ type. Not true soldiers, he thought. Not
like the boys of the Underground.
Luckily for most of them, those who wished to take up the task of securing Eastern were few and far between. At least, they had been in the beginning, when gods and goddesses manipulated people in droves. Few clamored at the opportunity to put themselves in harm’s way.
The more Elowyn’s medicine spread, though ... the less power the gods had over the people. In Brendale, their presence had dropped to nearly nothing. Surrounding cities, they were sparse. With the threat of danger subsiding, Wulfgang noted more and more footmen willing to run the risk of death for good pay.
In turn, it meant a slow growth of more and more footmen for them to avoid. As it turned out, Eastern’s new rulers were not particularly keen on vigilantes distributing untested, untaxed pharmaceuticals to the people.
People surrounded them with outstretched hands, and in moments, the pills went fast. They always did. Efficiency was learned over time, to make the risk of distribution lower. Regardless of how fast they went, Elowyn still found herself tapping the tip of her iron greave into the ground. She released her frustrated energy into it. A headache threatened to dislodge her brain as she stood in the streets of Brendale, and after less than twenty minutes, she placed the last collection of pills into the waiting palm of a Brendale citizen.
Another batch. Elowyn should have felt victorious. Wulfgang reassured her that they performed well enough. That they met their most basic expectations. But as she handed them out from beneath the safety of her armored shell, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar, bitter sting of failure creep up again.
The boys of the Underground had started transporting some of her hard work beyond the towns bordering Brendale. Another way to spread the medicine farther, to keep unsuspecting civilians out of the gods’ reach. She knew they’d do what they were meant to. The small dose of chemicals would shut down any violent thoughts that the vengeful gods could aggrandize. As word of their efforts spread, people from all over Eastern would certainly clamor for them with the same enthusiasm the people of Brendale used to ... before the pills destroyed their ability to feel enthusiasm.
They knew the cost. The people knew the pills not only eliminated the anger the gods preyed on but every other emotion a human being experienced as well. They knew it, and they didn’t care. Safety outweighed the side-effects.
Elowyn stared out at the horde of husks. They dispersed quickly after they received what they wanted. Machines, off to attend their jobs. A functioning version of an automatic pilot sequence guided them through every task filling their day. They were safe.
But they weren’t themselves.
Elowyn remembered how thrilling it used to be. In the beginning, before all the consequences surfaced. Elowyn leaped for joy when the few gods and goddesses who occupied Brendale came to the slow realization that they could infect fewer and fewer people. The denizens of the Underground cheered her success alongside her, though they did not cheer for Elowyn Saveign: they cheered for E.P. the Eastern soldier.
The citizens of Brendale rejoiced, too, when they saw the lesser gods depart, unwilling to linger in a town that did not cater to their every want and desire. It was a large breakthrough. There was much to celebrate. But as the medicine flowed deeper into their bodies, the celebration ceased. There was no joy left to fuel it.
Elowyn glanced over at Wulfgang, watching as he tousled the hair of a child being tugged away by its father. The soldier beamed. He saw only the good: that soon, the people he loved would be freed from the Underground. Elowyn smiled. That rat bastard’s pride was infectious.
Her smile faded away when she returned her thoughts to the present. Elowyn allowed Wulfgang’s feelings of success to delay the fulfillment of her true objective: tie up the loose ends after helping the people and return to Eastern as its Time Mother. She needed to make her reemergence swiftly.
Those who took up rule over her executive decisions failed the division and its people. The treasurer, the diplomats, the ambassadors, the head of Eastern’s militia ... they each vied for the power of crafting judgments over the entire division, combating one another every step of the way. They could not see beyond the allure of supremacy, and for that, Eastern suffered.
But the people still suffered too. Seeing the long-term consequences of her actions allowed Elowyn to realize that she did not help them at all. She cured the disease, yes, but created a slew of side effects as a result.
“Another day is done,” Wulfgang said, tearing her from her crippling thoughts as he stepped up beside her. “What now, E? Should we head back to the Underground for a rousing joust? Sparring match? Booze?”
Again, her undesirable thoughts drained into the back of her head. Wulfgang had that effect. The corners of Elowyn’s lips crept up into her cheeks as she shifted her consideration toward the man. “You’d almost need the booze, wouldn’t you? It would certainly sooth the damage to your ego after I embarrassed the ever-living shit out of you.”
“Bold words from a man who never took up the challenge before.” Wulfgang laughed and walked past his friend, back in the direction of the Underground’s entrance. “Come on, then.”
Elowyn started to follow. For a moment, she allowed Wulfgang’s charming antics to invite her into his world of entertainment. But something stopped her short: movement seen through the slits in her helm. Elowyn’s pace slowed to a standstill as she turned, observing.
A man walking his presumed wife down the street. The pair stopped outside a clothing manufacturer. Her ears pulsed, unable to avoid eavesdropping on the conversation they shared.
“Have a good day,” the man instructed, absent of honest sentiment.
The woman peered into the door to her place of employment. “I will,” she said. A lie. That woman did not understand what it meant to feel ‘good’ anymore. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel anything; Elowyn knew it. She heard it in her voice. Her actions, her words—they were spoken with the same eerie detachment that Bermuda breathed for several years following her contract with Mimir. “I’ll see you at home.”
The woman entered the factory. The man headed down the street. No goodbye kiss. No lingering eye contact. No physical touch to speak of. Nothing that would make them human.
Elowyn frowned. She had barely touched the thrill of mutual companionship with lovers over the years, but the exchange witnessed between the two strangers made the hairs on her arms rigid. It was one of many detached exchanges she beheld in the last several months. The utter lack of humanity made her stomach sour.
A playful punch in her shoulder startled her, though she barely felt it through her pauldron. Elowyn spun, spying Wulfgang beside her. He doubled back from the lead he had, still wearing a broad grin on his face. “Just now realized you’re destined for an ass-kicking? No backing out of the sparring match now, E. I believe you entered a verbal contract.”
“No, I’m ...” Elowyn paused. “I could still destroy you, no doubt about that. Just ...” She turned back toward the doors the woman had disappeared into, her words falling away.
Wulfgang arched a brow. He flicked his eyes in the direction of his comrade’s scattered focus. He knew E put far too much on his shoulders. It was a good thing Wulfgang knew how to bring wayward soldiers back from the brink of psychological deterioration. “It’s a bit egotistical to stare at your own successes, E, but I’ll allow you a moment. Yes, yes,” he uttered, feigned sarcasm lining his statement, as he spread his arms out. “Look at what you’ve done, soak it in, and let’s get back to the task at hand: me, making a mockery of you, in front of the Underground’s finest soldiers.”
His confidence appealed to her. She wanted to buy into his optimism. The men of the Underground embraced E.P., the soldier, fully. It reminded her of the time she had spent in Northern’s military. Footmen made sense to her. They always had. Dutiful, hard-working, and filled with edgy humor that put her in mind of the Platts brothers, Elowyn thrived in her environment. Though her comrades praised her alias as opposed
to her true self, she felt as though she belonged.
Yet another reason why it was so hard to tear herself away from the place she found herself. Elowyn’s time spent as Eastern’s division leader brought resistance from most. But the soldiers of the Underground ... she was a hero to them. It felt good. Hard to let go.
She dared to smile at the thought, until the sound of a crying child behind her, redirected her concentration.
A boy, perhaps four years of age, sat on the ground, holding his knee. Elowyn spied the specks of blood rising to the surface of his broken skin. A scrape from the rough cobblestone tore a little hole—enough to summon tears, but nothing life threatening. “Momma!” he sobbed, sniffling, little fingers tight around his injury.
His mother stopped. She turned. Her eyes were on the wound. She said nothing.
“Momma!” the boy whimpered, his cheeks streaked with liquid that caught the light of day, “it hurts!”
The woman bent down, her hands on his armpits. She picked him up and placed him back on his feet.
The boy cried louder, uneager to apply weight to the freshly injured leg.
“You’ll be all right,” his mother said, monotone in her announcement. “It’s only a scrape.”
Elowyn saw the heavy presence of confusion reflected in that child’s eyes. It lingered there, with the pain of not only his knee but his mother’s lack of compassion. Her absence of empathy. The child’s tears fell into the corners of his mouth, where his lips tightened and trembled. He said nothing. Only stood, with his discomfort and an inability to understand.
It was his look that spoke the loudest. Elowyn needed no exchange of words to know that the child was deprived of his security. His confusion said that his mother was once a loving figure. He did not understand why her empathy had drained away. Elowyn felt her stomach harden.
She took that child’s mother from him.
The Panagea Tales Box Set Page 102