Consequences (17 page)

“Yes, I remember … I know them quite well.
Morons, every last one of them.” She sadly nods at the memory of
her acquaintances’ cruelty. “How many total would you say you’ve
seen in your travels?”

“Wait … about thirty years after I died, I
returned home to England, to my Uncle's farm in Tickhill … I
remember seeing fairies. I didn’t pay much attention, because I was
in such a fugue state, until I met Christopher. Now though, I do
remember thinking how amazing it was to see real fairies.” I lost
so much time, lost so many possibilities by submerging my mind in a
thick cloud of depression. Looking back at the memories of the
family farm, something begins tugging at my thoughts … something
important to do with my Uncle Edward.

Comparing how many more Ho Thanatos I've seen
since my awakening with Christopher, to before I died … my
non-existent understanding of the ethereal world is startling.
Since finding the man I love, I now know that creatures like me are
drawn to humans with abilities like him. My thoughts guide me
toward questioning my own ignorance and the reasons for my mental
unconsciousness from the time I left the human world, until I met
Christopher. Why didn't I glimpse this world before I became part
of it? Why were the fairies still going to the farm after I was
dead? Who else in my family had the power, the ability, to interact
with Ho Thanatos? Realizing, I am lost for a few moments in my
regrets, recollections, and revelations. I turn to Cass, “Are
fairies Ho Thanatos? They are, aren't they … creatures that once
lived as humans, still relating to humans … drawn, as we all are,
to those special individuals with abilities?”

“Yes, I believe so … Ho Thanatos seem to
project the images that make the most sense to them, from when they
were living as a human. To a Celt, fairies would be an appropriate
manifestation of what we are … not dead necessarily, but able to
interact with the living, attracted to those who are also magical.
So many cultures have different stories, throughout history, of
creatures like us … when we find ourselves passing through the
ethereal veil; we try to bend our minds around what we have become.
The result is turning into the things that make the most sense to
each individual, usually shaped by the society, and time period,
where we grew up. Inside that change comes fear, especially in the
young ones … they cannot let go of their lives, their connection to
Mortos, in particular their present families and future
descendants. I believe that is why so many Ho Thanatos search for
Mortos with talents … in hopes of being seen, acknowledged. At
least, that is what I think … but I’ve been wrong before.” I have
to roll my eyes at the last statement; not because I think Cass is
always right, but because of her unfounded modesty. She is right
this time, and she knows she is right … or at least she knows she
has a handful of sand, on a beach the size of the universe, while
the rest of us stupidly stand mesmerized by the glittering powder
under our feet.

Looking at Cass again, I am reminded how
powerful and confidant an entity she projects. I can’t help but
wonder how she sees herself fitting into her theory of Ho Thanatos,
creating her own image in the world.

Moving back to her original question, I say,
“I think, in total, I’ve only seen maybe thirty or forty Ho
Thanatos over the years. I see where you’re going, we’ve talked
about this in the past, and I meant to ask about it earlier … the
ratio is wrong between Mortos that should turn into ethereal
creatures and the actual population of Ho Thanatos. Not to mention
if we can live to be three thousand years old, as in your case, why
aren’t there millions of us?” Ever since I woke up over eighteen
months ago, I’ve been thinking about these exact questions. My
queries have become more pronounced, playing around in my head for
the past nine months … not only what are we, but what makes us turn
into Ho Thanatos, and why aren’t there more?

Cass’s breathing starts to become ragged
again, “I have wondered the same things. When I was new to the veil
there were so many more of us … as time has gone by, fewer and
fewer cross into our realm. The older ones begin to fade, and
eventually become nothing more than specters, roaming senselessly
before they vanish entirely. Then there are the young ones … I’ve
seen such terrible things happen to the young ones. I’m surprised
you survived as long as you have; especially when I think about the
state your mind was in for the first sixty years of your time in
the veil. You would have been an easy meal for the Daimonion To,
the evil ones.” Finally, I am starting to see where the fear is
coming from … there is something dangerous in the mist, and Cass,
with her perceptiveness, has watched it devour our kind.

“Daimonion To?” It rolls off my tongue
harshly with none of the elegance of Cass’s ancient Greek accent.
“These are the ones you’ve been warning me about?”

“Yes, Ellie … those are the ones. I haven’t
allowed myself to care for another in such a long time; when you
asked me, so innocently, to be your teacher … I almost said no. I
was afraid that I may start to fade soon, but finding you may have
saved me … by giving me a reason to exist. Now that I have you, a
true friend … I don’t want to see you hurt. I’ve seen such horrible
things in my mind; there have been times over the years I’ve
wondered if I was actually Daimonion To, just for entertaining the
images.”

Tonight again, in so many hours, Cass has
surprised me with her expression of concern. “Cass, you’ve referred
to one in particular … ‘She already knows about you’, who is
‘she’?”

“I’ve only seen her in my mind; she is
ancient, perhaps not as old as me … but still very old, and very
powerful. She understands the powers we take for granted, and can
present herself in any form she wants.”

“Cass, V could do that, too … so they’re
shape shifters. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t seem too dangerous.” I
can feel that shape shifting is just the tip of the iceberg when I
look at the expression of Cassandra’s face.

“You don’t understand, Elizabeth Tickle; she
can pass entirely through the veil just like you; but in any form
she chooses. She has an appetite for Mortos as well as Ho Thanatos
… and she has tasted you. She has shown up in folklore dating back
at least fourteen hundred years; she may even be as ancient as me.
You know the story of Beowulf? How about dark tales of the
ekmetalleftis, umm vampires ... or witches that love the flavor of
children?”

“That can’t be her … those stories aren’t
real.” I try to laugh off the idea, but I can hear, and feel, the
earnestness in Cass’s voice.

“She lies dormant now, obviously not wanting
to play with humanity very often over the past couple hundred
years. But every once and a while, I’ll hear a tale woven around a
familiar shape … and then I recognize, she is hungry. She’ll feed
and go back into hiding; she has only allowed me to receive two
premonitions, concerning her antics, over the centuries. We were in
Turkey during the same time; she sensed me and warned me off by
allowing me to witness her hunt. The Evil One not only knows what
and where the future will happen, but she knows how to force others
to experience the coming horror.”

Cass relives the vision with such vicious
clarity, it painfully plays across my corneas and sinks into my
brain before I can try and deflect the images. Woods, cold and dark
… I’m running; I can feel a fear as primitive as the earth itself.
The blind terror behind the dread is timeworn and I understand
immediately … this is what it means to be prey. I thought humans
had grown past these instinctual feelings of being hunted; I feel
small and defenseless … I need to run, to hide.

Within the vision, when I feel the entity
behind me, my stomach lurches and all my muscles tighten, “Time to
fight!” The words slide through my gritted teeth as I turn ready to
claw at whatever is unfortunate enough to be in my path.

Nothing; nothing is there, just the trees
lined up before me, and the soft eroding floor of the forest.
Looking around I realize that I am in a time before machines … I
can't hear the distinct continuous hum that my sensitive ears could
pick up in the Sahara Desert. The darkness is absolute; to a human
this place would be like encountering cave-darkness, disorienting
and merciless. What a wonderful place to hunt, especially with Ho
Thanatos senses, my mind whispers, in admiration and praise at the
prime conditions for a vile and gory hunt. “My god, Ellie, did you
just actually think about hunting a human?” The realization
embarrasses me.

“No; that wasn’t my thought at all!” The
sound of my own voice, in this vile place, echoed off of nothing,
only reminds me that I am alone here … with ‘her’.

Speaking to the nothingness that hold
mysterious and frightening ears, “I know you can hear me. How did
you work your way into my head … through Cass’s vision?” No answer;
I don’t expect one … not yet at least. The introductions will come,
probably about the same time she is tired of playing with me. I
think about my cat, Robin, and how when he was done playing with a
mouse … he’d simply break its neck and leave it on the porch to
rot.

Shuddering for a moment at the thought of
being left, broken on someone’s porch, I don’t realize that ‘she’
is communicating. No spoken words, just emotions … and they are
volatile and cruel. She is confirming we have an agreement; she is
going to kill me, and I am going to cease to exist.

“Lovely!” I scream into the trees. She
doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm, but in her irritation she lets the
emotion slip … confusion. I am not supposed to be here.

“Ellie … Come back here right now! Elizabeth
Tickle! So help me, if I have to …” I open my eyes to find Cass
standing over me on the cliff’s edge. She is pale and visibly
shaken; but a relieved expression lightens her face as she becomes
aware that I am looking up at her.

Smirking at her, I ask, “So help you what,
Cass? What were you planning on doing to me?”

“Look here, you little κουτσούβελο, little
brat … you just about got yourself rolled right off this cliff. I
thought maybe my story put you to sleep, until I noticed your
trademark green threads reaching out to only the gods know where.
Then you wouldn’t wake up …where in the name of Zeus were you?”

“You sent me to her, Cass … I was in her
mind.” My thoughts spread out in front of me like fishing net, so
many points are connected, one junction leading to the next, but I
can’t make any sense of what is in front of me. The longer I stare
at the idea, the harder it is to perceive … like only being able to
see the curved lines between puzzle pieces, but not being able to
make out the picture.

“Cass? If the stories about vampires and
monsters are actually true … then there has to be more than one who
can pass through the veil, becoming tangible enough to damage
humans.”

“Yes, Yes, I know … but they can make
themselves visible, while only parts of their bodies' become
semi-solid: a ghost hand appearing to smother you in your sleep,
only to disappear when you wake. That is why they are perceived as
untouchable and so hard to catch … they tend to feed off of fear of
the mind games. Beowulf’s foe, Grendel’s mother, feeds off not only
fear … but gore. She will go into a society, and search for their
deepest terrors, becoming their nightmares, whole and solid. She
isn’t happy until she has destroyed every last citizen, in the most
horrific ways possible.

The only saving grace for humanity’s sake is
that the Daimonion To seem to kill each other with surprising
regularity. Stupid territorial disputes distract them from their
favorite treats … killing the young Ho Thanatos and torturing
Mortos.” I can feel the anxiety pulling through her like an
undertow. Cass is fighting the current, trying to keep me out of
the visions that have been brought up by discussing the murders of
the young Ho Thanatos.

I ignore the compulsion to ask more about our
evil counterparts, and choose to try and sooth Cass by deflecting
the topic, “We need to change the subject … do you want to hear
more about Japan, or maybe Africa?”

With a touch of shame to her voice, and a
bashful expression that crosses her face, she confesses that she
doesn’t ever leave the countries around the Aegean Sea. We are
talking so freely now; when I pick up on the sensitive nature of
her statement, I don’t push any further.

“I think I would like to hear more about your
time in Africa.” I can feel the excitement flowing through her …
this is story time, for the lady in the bubble.

“I flew through Africa absorbing the
sensations of such a primitive land, the earth itself felt wild and
untamable. Many parts were at war … the hatred for fellow men was
so intense that the air, surrounding some areas, tasted of blood. I
came to rest on the banks of the river Chari in Central Africa. The
villagers had moored boats in the mud of the river's bank. Wading
into the water in between their boats, men were pulling spears and
fish from the long narrow crafts of solid wood that looked similar
to canoes. I heard laughing, and felt the sense of community that
was bubbling out of the village; giving me a much needed boost of
happiness after the cruelty of my flight.

“I decided to walk through the village,
following a sensation I couldn’t explain. About a mile from the
river was where I felt the source of the consciousness. I knew
someone was there, even though I could only see the barren earth
around me. So I stood calmly and absorbed the heat on my face,
admiring the beautiful contrast of colors from the bright, blue sky
and the sandy, tan terrain. After waiting for at least a couple of
hours, the presence must have decided that I wasn’t going away. He
formed, from the heat waves flowing upward off the earth, to stand
right in front of me.