A Dyad in Time

by D. D. Prideaux

  Mastering her panic, she looked to where the medical tubes led, wondering what each one did, only to discover they went nowhere. They were uselessly tucked under her left arm and body to look like they connected to her. Why aren’t I plugged in? She thought as she saw the bindings that anchored her to the hospital bed. Staying calm and gently tugging at her leathery prison she was surprised to feel the top half of her body slowly begin to elevate, accompanied by the mechanical noises of the bed propping her up.

  When she was finally sat up properly a hooded figure entered the room. The thing glided in, with almost no fluttering of cloth as it came to the end of the bed. It was about her height, but she could get absolutely nothing else from the statue that now stood a few feet away from her. The floor length red cloak it was wearing was perfectly kept, with clean, modern lines that hid what was underneath. It scared her. Shortly after, three other figures paraded into the room, all wearing black Tangzhuangs or a kind of pseudo-traditional Chinese jacket with a straight collar and frog buttons down the front. They looked like they were related to each other, having very similar faces and body-types, but it was strange to see the three white skinned men wearing this type of clothing. The last of them closed the door behind him, slightly bending at the hips as he did so, treating the object with respect. Anne watched the simple show with confusion before looking back to the red thing that walked in first. When her eyes settled on the red hood, the creature moved its red gloved hands upwards to remove it.

  Anne gasped when the material was pulled all the way back. The womanly face that was revealed took her breath away. She was incalculably stunning, drawing Anne’s sight and desire into her eyes. Framed in jet-black, luscious, shining black hair Anne couldn’t help her mouth from drying out at seeing the lightly browned skin and green eyes, complemented by a warming smile. It wasn’t just how beautiful the woman was that stole the air from her chest though. It was the stark contrast of this beauty, mirrored with horrible burn marks. They coated her neck, working their way up over part of her jaw and towards one of her ears.

  Thinking of what could have done this damage, Anne felt nausea envelope her. Voices crept into her head, screaming untold agony and pleading prayers of the horror that had damaged the woman's skin. It was so angry and violent that she felt her stomach turn over and over, before sadness replaced the anger. So much emotion was tied up in those scars and Anne wondered why she was hearing those whispers and what they said. Wounds don’t talk, but then, it felt natural that they did. The woman noticed Anne’s eyes had leaked a few tears and she smiled even more deeply than before. One of her hands hovered after removing the hood and combed her hair back behind the burned ear. She turned her head a little to reveal the charred, scar-tissue ridden remains of it and kept smiling that beautiful smile.

  “It was a long time ago, Anne… and it doesn’t hurt anymore” The woman said silkily, turning her head back to face her. Somehow, Anne knew she was lying but didn’t press considering she didn’t know this stranger.

  “How are you feeling?” She continued with concern and a furrowed brow. Taken aback by the last few minutes, Anne had no response, her brain sticky with thoughts, questions and voices she didn’t recognise. In an effort to grasp the situation she allowed emptiness to flow through her body and mind, taking away all energy and thought, in order to be present.

  “You have recovered well from what the doctors tell me.” Red Cloak said. “They actually used the word, miracle.” That smile again, although it was laced with something a little different now. “Can you remember what happened to you?” The woman's eyes searched Anne’s face. She was looking deep into her soul, trying to find something, making her shift uncomfortably in her restraints.

  “No.” Anne lied through a dry mouth. She knew what had happened at the café and she knew about the life she’d been leading before that. Or more precisely, the fiction that she’d been living for longer than she cared to admit. What troubled her and ate away at her as she became more lucid though, were the holes in that existence. Partial memories and thoughts. Black holes in her knowledge. Why was she that person? Why couldn’t remember why she chose that path? Why was she so vacuous and empty for all those years?

  “Well, Anne.” Red Cloak ploughed on looking disappointed. “You were involved in quite a scene. Eye witness accounts say that you flew across a room and slammed into a brick wall after taking your coffee from the barista.” She paused, hoping to see recognition come back, but there wasn’t anything in the patient's eyes to demonstrate she knew anything about what she was hearing.

  “Shortly after, ambulance services arrived expecting to find something to clean up rather than rescue. However, after working past the rubble, body parts and… fluids. They reached a person very much alive.” Red Cloak stopped again and just watched Anne for a moment. Seeing that she would have to describe the whole event, she carried on. “Further adding to the paramedics’ surprise, when they finally managed to get you out of the wall and onto a stretcher, there wasn’t a scratch on you. Confused, they just followed procedure and brought you here, reporting what they’d seen. Now, a lot of what was said over the radio raised quite a few concerns here at the hospital, causing one of the senior staffers to call through to us. This is not uncommon to us you understand, as we have… methods… for being notified about this kind of thing when they happen.”

  Anne could sense the real reason red cloak was here. At least, she knew it was about to be revealed. The beautiful enigma talking to her had been getting more and more serious as the details of her accident were revealed, which usually indicated they were getting to the crux of the matter. Wondering what was about to be said to her, the man closest to the door started moving his hands and fingers in odd formations whilst saying something to himself. It was mesmerising to watch, and Anne felt like she recognised some of it. There was a familiarity to it that comforted and confused her. She knew she’d seen this kind of thing before, unable to recall where though. Watching with wide eyes, she saw the man finish off his mad mumblings with a flurry, ending in his whole body flexed towards the door, one of his arms stretched outwards towards the nurses in the hallway. An invisible wave emanated from the man's hand as he settled into what looked like an exaggerated groin stretch. His right leg was bent to a perfect ninety-degree angle, supporting almost all of his weight, with his left leg stretched out into a straight line. It looked like he drew energy from his left foot that he channelled to his right hand where it then exploded from his fingertips. Anne felt the wave hit her, as well as seeing it make contact with people in the corridor, worried something terrible was going to happen. After a second or two though, the man returned to standing at ease near the door and she could see that all of the hospital staff were fine. They were just moving extremely slowly, like they were suspended in a thick, treacle substance. Confused, she looked at her own body, satisfied to see fingers and toes wiggle at a normal speed.

  “The magik doesn’t affect Lucidfolk.” Red Cloak said as a matter-of-fact, “They’ll return to normal when we’re finished talking.” Acting up, Anne let her jaw drop a little bit to make sure her interrogator could see she was dumbfounded. Raising an eyebrow, the woman at the end of the bed sighed and laid out the reason she was there. “I’m what’s called a Våpen amongst the Lucidfolk. We, with our Sløv companions-” she gestured towards the three men behind her, “-work for The Protectorate, who keep the peace between the magik world and the Naïve world. We have many resources of the mystic, and technological, to ensure that the general population here, doesn’t know about us.” She paused, pulling at an example she could use. “A long time ago, one of us became quite celebrated, spawning a religion that has caused untold destruction and rifts between Naïves for thousands of years. We’d like to try and avoid that kind of thing nowadays, as you can imagine.” Anne felt like she knew all of this already, some of the facts tasting right when she heard them. She kept quiet though, widening her eyes at each perceived revelation and pret
ending they tasted wrong.

  “One of our tasks is to investigate the use of unsanctioned magic in the Naïve world, with the support of networked, specialised, Naïve law enforcement and individuals from all the Lucidfolk races.”

  “Races?” Anne knew what was coming, the word itself unlocking buried knowledge, but she wanted to keep up the act.

  “Yes. Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, Goblins, Trolls and more. Which leads me to why I’m here.” Red Cloak slowly took off her gloves and held them in front of her, revealing one unblemished, and one burned hand. “You - or someone else close to the scene - have used magik Anne. An extremely powerful and rare magik known only to a few. Additionally, you - or someone else - have used spells or magikal objects to heal your body at an accelerated rate.”

  “I’m just an office manager, Miss. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anne exclaimed, throwing as much fake confusion and helplessness into her voice as she could muster without coming across fake.

  “I wish I could believe that Miss Stewart.” Red Cloaks tone had turned sour at their exchange. “I’ve been doing this a very long time and can tell when someone is lying. You. Are lying.”

  “I want to be able to help. I just-” she faltered, thinking about how to get out of this room as quickly as possible, “-I’ve just woken up in hospital and you barge in here telling me all these strange things. You haven’t even shown me a badge!” She remembered a police drama where a character said this and thought playing this particular Naïve card would help her case. She needed to convince Red Cloak she was who she was claiming to be – poor little Anne, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “I’d just like to be left alone.” she let her head slump a little into her chest. Red Cloak sighed heavily before retorting.

  “I suggest you cooperate with us, Miss Stewart. We have other means for extracting information from you that we would rather not explore right now.”

  Anne knew that she was referring to The Reapers for some reason, parts of her old memories coming back to her as she talked with her. They were horrible, twisted things, some of which had been subjugated by The Protectorate to be used by enforcement teams. She needed to buy some time so decided to plead with Red Cloak, turning on a persuasive and innocent voice.

  “Please, maybe I just need a break. Can you come back later? This is a lot for me to take in and maybe I’ll remember something once I’ve had a little more rest?” Red Cloak softened a little after hearing this, turning the gloves in her hand whilst thinking. It was a very pensive look, betraying a slight look of recognition and friendship towards Anne.

  “That sounds reasonable. We’ll be back in a few hours but I’m leaving Pragma and Agape outside your room. For your protection.” More like prison guards Anne thought, although she was pleased they were leaving for now. As the four of them started to walk out of the room they all froze where they stood, their eyes filling with milky white liquid and swirling furiously. They looked like an odd collection of garden statues with Red Cloak paused halfway through putting her gloves on, her head turned slightly to listen for something that wasn’t there. Their eyes changed back to their normal colours very quickly and the three Sløv turned to look at Red Cloak.

  “This doesn’t change anything.” She said cautiously, grappling with some internal thoughts that Anne couldn’t read. “You two can still guard the girl. Ludus and I can carry out our other orders.”

  There was concern in Red Cloaks voice and Anne felt warmed by it. She cared for the three men in front of her. They were a family and she meant to protect them, as they’d protect her. Taking the briefest moment to share looks that conveyed everything and nothing, they started moving again. They were all comfortable with their assignments, trusting in Red Cloak as she began pulling on her second glove and flipping her hood back up. Anne was inexplicably drawn to the woman for some unknown reason and before she could stop herself, she called after her.

  “What’s your name?” Red Cloak paused mid-glide and turned her dark, blood red hood towards Anne.

  “Isabella Trøst.”

  CHAPTER NINE - THE MASTER

  At hearing her name spoken aloud, The Master cast an extremely severe look over Khar and K'Chool. The kind of look that would physically harm you, had it real form. He was calculating something, judging the worth of the two Sojela who stood in front of him and how he would punish them. It seemed they weren’t worthy and if it were possible, his intensity seemed to increase, exacerbated by cleric Mo coming around the corner to investigate the disturbance.

  “What is the meaning of this?” He said sternly, addressing his two subordinates.

  “We came to tell The Master-” Khar began to explain before being cut off.

  “They woke me to tell me about another one of Khar’s inconsequential dreams, Cleric.” The Master said with annoyance, struggling to contain himself. Veins began to bulge all over his head, the effort of not losing control seeming to take its toll on the man. The older cleric took in the scene before asking The Master for permission to reprimand them personally. He felt it may spare them some discomfort if he were the hand that dealt the punishment. Khar had always liked master Mo, favouring his balanced demeanour and dry wit over any of the other senior clerics.

  “Do not worry, Cleric.” The Master responded with some sinister tones creeping into his voice. “I have had enough of this, refuse, wasting my time, so I think I will teach this particular lesson myself.” The words smashed into the pair, pushing them towards the ground again. Such power.

  “Yes, Master.” Mo managed. Unusual for our leader to deal with us himself K’Chool thought, saddened it wasn’t Mo who would administer any punishments this night. A cassock billowed and the tall figure who loomed a few moments ago began to disappear into the shadows, walking away from his soon-to-be, fresh meat. Mo looked at Khar sympathetically and mentioned that he shouldn’t keep The Master waiting as it would only make what was to come more severe. K'Chool looked at the cleric, wanting him to save them from their fate, but there was no use in it. They were to face the consequences of their actions and so, with heavy hearts (and even heavier feet), they followed The Master into his chambers.

  They passed into the shadows, barely able to see the outline of their judge, jury and executioner, when they heard the earlier noise of the door opening, in reverse. There was no going back now, the doors were closing, marked with a dull thud and click, the sound of their death row march. Khar knew they weren’t going to their death, but there were punishments he feared just as much, going back to his old life being one of them. The Master had been known to exile others and if K'Chool was right, he’d been riding his luck too long and this was it for him, the final few lines of his story in The Balance.

  During his morose thinking and self-deprecating feelings of loss and idiocy, another noise sounded from behind, distracting them from their path. Khar let out a small, frightened squeal and turned back to see what made the sound, expecting to be faced by something terrible. As they both spun to meet their doom, lights leapt into life all around them, illuminating a scene they didn’t expect. Not much would surprise either of them anymore, but the sight they were met with was something quite special and mesmerising in its own way. On either side of them, there were glass cages stacked on top of each other, containing animals. Some of the structures were huge, to contain the larger species, with the smaller versions stacking up against them and forming a neat arrangement of different sized boxes. All of the casings were identical in style – six-sided cages of some sort, with crystal clear panes of glass and matte-black frames, bordering all the joints. A strange, eerie light came from each box even though there seemed to be no source. Khar looked around him and saw hundreds of different species. Only able to recognise a relatively small number of them, he gawped at the sight, unable to keep his mouth closed. Confusion took an even stronger hold of him, when on closer inspection, he saw that all of the animals were moving. Snakes slithered and curled around invisibl
e branches, monkeys hung from unseen structures, fishes swam through imaginary waters, creatures crawled or ran across surfaces that weren’t there. K'Chool looked over to find her companion staring at her, then watched as his eyes widened from seeing something over her shoulder. Not one to panic, she turned to follow his gaze and a smile drew itself on her face.

  “A T-Rex!” He exclaimed excitedly, pressing himself against the glass of his favourite dinosaur growing up. He knew it was a favourite of most boys his age, but he didn’t care, and he especially didn’t care, that as a grown man he was unashamedly pawing at glass with joy. His carefree attitude to most things was what K’Chool liked about him, wishing she was able to let go like he did. She knew it was one of the main reasons he was still at the monastery, his gift for detachment much coveted amongst the Sojela. So, in an effort to emulate his spirit she looked around for something just as rare, wishing to enjoy the moment before future troubles landed on them with a crash. To her delight, she wasn’t disappointed.

  “That is nothing, Weyaal. I am looking at a Faery!” Khar rushed over to the cage K’Chool was stood by and gasped at the being in there. He pawed at the glass again, nose pressed up against it and his breath marking the clean surface. She watched his childish embrace of the cage, wistful and wishing she had the same inner joy.

  “I’ve only ever seen pictures.” He said in awe.

  “Me too.” She said sadly.

  “What’s wrong?” He asked, sensing her mind had drifted to a serious place. Being in love with her for so long meant he could see the smallest things in how she acted. That, with how she spoke and what her face told him, betrayed her thoughts often. He sometimes felt like he knew her better than his own hand.