Consequences

  “I wasn't sure what I could do offensively. Existing as a reader; I could pick up on emotions but I can’t invoke emotions … or can I? Before what had happened with Christopher, I was sure my gifts were purely passive; and I liked to think of them that way. I am not comfortable with the idea of forcing anyone to do anything, it feels too much like interfering with free will, and I’d rather die than do that … even to my enemies.”

  Cass just continues chatting, ignoring my objections, “You said that you could influence people’s mood by touching their painful thoughts and reinforcing the positive, right? You’ve already told me that while you were inside Christopher’s waking mind, you were able to absorb his anger and stress. You physically removed the anxiety from his thoughts and body, and then released it. I think that your potential for offensive could be very dangerous, given the right circumstances.” Her excitement continues to grow the more she speculates.

  “Yes, I did tell you I could do that … but Cass, you have to remember, pulling emotions from a human, leaves me incapacitated for hours. Please, tell me how am I supposed to defend myself, if I am unconscious?”

  I want to understand more about my light demonstration with Christopher, before I tell Cassandra about it. I have the sneaking suspicion that she will see that as a weapon. Given my issues with controlling others, I am not prepared to accept that aspect of my gifts just yet.

  “You’re right; of course ... you’ll be struck down before they even formulate an attack.”

  She looks momentarily defeated, and then a new glow comes to her face, “If we can find a way to take away your suffering … maybe you would be able to withstand entering a mind without side effects. Have you tried to do that with a Ho Thanatos before?”

  I shake my head. Why haven’t I thought of that … I can absorb negative feelings with humans, why haven’t I tried with Ho Thanatos? I wish I had thought of that when Zuvan was showing me how to read ethereal creatures. The ease of interaction with my own kind may be the answer we are looking for … a way to save me from the suffering.

  “First though, Cass, I want to learn how to deflect, and protect, my mind from intruders.”

  “All right; that will have to be our first lesson. I think that you probably already know how to protect your thoughts and feelings. You need to recognize that ability, and put it into action.”

  “What do you think I should do, to discover this ability?” My mind is filled with questions, and searching desperately for answers; the simple act of following Cass’s ideas is eluding me. Focus, Ellie; damn it, focus!

  As I listen to Cassandra running through different ideas, from trying to force my way through her defenses, so that I might see for myself how to deflect a reader … to finding a reader that will be willing to test me until I am able to block the intrusion. She continues to vocalize her thoughts, and her voice takes on a rhythmic droning quality as she starts listing the Ho Thanatos that might be able to help us. The more I try to focus, the more I hear the cadence of speech rather than the words, and my mind drifts back to my time in the fog.

  My defenses sent me to a place to meditate -- a place to concentrate on delicately acknowledging Cassandra’s pain, as it became my own. The emotional torment invading my thoughts was nothing new; I had tasted the bitterness of losing children before, especially during World War Two. Cass’s agony wasn’t as incapacitating as the human mothers’ minds that I’d touched when I was human.

  The difference must lay in the fact that she is Ho Thanatos, and my ease at forming a connection. I am hoping it doesn’t have anything to do with me forming an emotional detachment; as much as I hate the suffering, the idea of not feeling the weight of emotions, would steal away my appreciation for the experiences. No, I am not going to allow myself to become callous. I don’t know if I can grow to escape the physical response to suffering; but in my coming lessons, I cannot allow my mind to ignore my instinctual need to understand and provide comfort. I think my intimate understanding of feelings is the essence of my existence … and losing sympathy and compassion would wipe me from the mist entirely.

  Before my lessons are to begin with Cassandra, I need to test my detachment; I need to find out if I still feel humans with the same intensity. Recognizing the restrictions that Cass has put on my reaching out with my mind over long distances, I decide that I need to actually travel to a highly populated area and interact personally with humans.

  Interrupting Cass’s musing, I tell her, “I think I need to fly … I mean, I think I need to stretch and wake up. I have some thinking to do, and it might do me some good to get away from this place for a little while.”

  Stuttering a bit as she stops her present train of thought, Cass responds, “Ah, all right … would you like for me to join you?” I can feel her concern and curiosity, but she doesn’t press because she still feels bad for allowing me to experience her misery.

  “No … I think I need some time alone.” I try to smile to alleviate her guilt, but she nods with her eyes lowered in shame.

  “Cassandra, this isn’t because of anything you have done … as I told you before, you gave me a gift in sharing your life. I just need to get away for a bit … that’s all.” I don’t want to tell her about what I really need to do, knowing how much she disapproves of my touching the minds of Mortos.

  With a touch more of her old confidence, she says, “We shall meet back here the day after tomorrow then, shall we?”

  “Yes, I think that would be perfect. In the meantime, maybe you could try and find those readers you have mentioned, and see if one of them might be interested in helping us.”

  She rises to leave as she speaks, “That sounds like a good plan … I will see you back here in two days.” With that she flies to the south, and leaves me to search for minds to touch, and emotions to experience.

  Turning to the north, I decide to fly in the opposite direction of Cass. I am not sure where I am heading; at that point, I am more interested in just flying. Letting land pass smoothly below, I start mentally developing a checklist of what I have learned about myself.

  During my time with Zuvan, I realized that I could sense, and use my gifts on other Ho Thanatos. I don’t see my tendency to unintentionally manifest parts of my body, as solid in the Mortos realm, as a problem anymore … and learning how to shift from specter to solid will definitely help with Christopher at least. I can pass into Cassandra’s visions, and touch the minds of the creatures that exist inside the apparition, no matter what time period the mental picture represents. I suppose that could be very useful as a source for reconnaissance. I seem to be able to do something similar to that within memories … actually sensing the emotions of those around the individual whose mind I have entered. It seems that not only do I feel their emotions as my own, but I inhabit their body physically, and retain my ability to be empathically aware. Most surprising, and somewhat alarming, is the fact that I seem to be able to share my own emotions with another person, whether they want the feelings or not. I still don’t want to acknowledge that talent; I have developed a knee-jerk reaction towards the idea of forcefully sharing anything with anyone.

  "Whatever I am … I am not a monster, and manipulation is just not an option." I mutter, absentmindedly speaking to myself.

  I have to consciously compel my mind back to the task at hand. Finally noticing that I am unintentionally following the pull of Mortos, I look down and realize I have entered a major city.

  Chapter 14

  Mortos

  Athens! Oh, it is so beautiful, and captivating. The majority of the emotions drifting up to me are full of love for the ancient city -- laidback with respectful admiration. In my growing understanding of who I am, I can’t tell if my own wide-eyed appreciation for this place is in response to the emotions of Athenians, or my own impression … either way, Athens is magnificent. Congested with buildings, it reminds me of a phrase I’d heard once … concrete jungle. But the joy flowing through its busy streets tells me that aroun
d every corner, there is something new and entertaining to see or do. I think I’m going to really enjoy experiencing the nightlife here; maybe I needed a break more than I realized.

  Even without my sensitive hearing, I would be bombarded by all the music. In one direction, I can hear something unfamiliar … a clarinet and a lute, perhaps. The sound is infectious; people are laughing loudly and whistling. Then a beat cuts in from a different direction … fast, with a synthesized feel. I am drawn to the lights and thumping that drift around the corner.

  Walking through the crowd that throbs in and out of the club, I am hit by a wave of euphoria. A beautiful woman with dark hair, yellow eyes, and a hypnotic, deep voice is standing on top of the stage, spinning with the music. She comes to the point of the chorus, and the entire club starts jumping up and down with the beat. I can feel their energy vibrate through my feet and rise up to my shoulders. Letting my feet move, I allow the beat to take me over. With my hair brushing back and forth across my back, and then around my arms, I raise my hands into the air, and arch my back just a little more to allow the pulsing music and crowd soak even deeper into my chest.

  I can sense the floor is solid under my feet, and as people brush by their emotions only add to my exhilaration. I start spinning with the mesmerizing singer, listening to the rhythm of the clapping and the pounding of feet … then I feel hands gently caress my waist.

  I turn to find a young man wearing a crisp, white shirt and dark slacks, looking at me with the strangest expression. His eyes are a dark chocolate brown … large, full of mysteries, and questions. He runs his fingers up my arms as I continue to dance, but the emotions and thoughts that come from his contact are innocent and quizzical. He is trying to decide if I am real. He bites his bottom lip and looks at me with something that might have been mistaken for lust, if I hadn’t already read his intentions. He just wants to dance … with an angel? Oh no, I materialized in front of him … how could I be so bloody idiotic. And, I was doing so well controlling my hold on the veil!

  As the song finishes and a new one starts, he reaches up and gently pulls a strand of my hair away from my face. I am sweaty … oh lord! I hate this part of being human. This song is slower and starts with the lute and a piano. The singer takes on a smooth, sweet tone, and the people around us start holding each other close and swaying back and forth. I look back at my new friend, to find that he has put out his hands for me to take. I tentatively rest my fingers in his palms, and he gently pulls me close … still there is nothing, but innocent curiosity flavored with astonishment. Plunging deeper into his feelings, past the surface astonishment, I can feel … fear. Well, of course he would be afraid; I just materialized out of thin air. I can’t help but to be inquisitive about this boy, who sees someone appear in front of him, and ignores his fear in order to respond with curiosity.

  When he starts whispering softly in my ear, it is a broken mixture of Greek and English. His voice is very rich for someone so young; and I like to listen to it, even though, to my ears his words are muddled. Oddly, though, the thoughts that are forming with the words he speaks are not only Greek, but clear English with a British accent. He must have picked up on my confusion because he pauses to think before he speaks again.

  “Do all angels not wear shoes?”

  I look down at my feet and nod … “I never seem to have shoes when I need them.” I try to smile, but it forms crookedly on my face.

  He laughs at my awkwardness, then holds me a little closer letting me place my feet on top of his shoes. “I do not want you to be stepped on.”

  “Thank you … but, I really should be leaving.” I focus on the gentle sway of the music, and knowing I can’t do any more damage, I let myself drift back into the mist. As a parting gift I gently stroke his cheek, and then stand back and watch his expression.

  At first he wears a mask of shock, and then to my surprise he starts to laugh. I scrutinize him, uneasy with my own wonder over this man.

  He speaks to the air around him “If you are still here … will you walk with me?”

  Concentrating on the solidity of my fingertips, I touch his hand to say, I will indeed follow him. He nods, turns, and walks confidently through the crowd and out onto the street.

  We are in the heart of Athens; the city is nestled in a valley, the east and west are noticeably higher and the coast lies to the south. I noticed all the diversity of the terrain and immensity of the city as I flew in from the southwest. While I follow the mysterious young man through the streets, I realize we are heading north; although, I have no idea where he is taking me in particular. If I am as clever as I pretend to be … at that moment, I should have remembered Cass's warning about dangerous humans, but I follow the intriguing man nonetheless.

  Weaving through the streets, we pass cafes and patio restaurants. The smell of the food makes my mouth water, and I think about becoming solid just long enough to taste one of the delicious items sitting on the patrons’ plates. The music never fades, it just moves smoothly from one business to another: local classic, to dance, to blues, and then back to classic. The richness of the atmosphere, the sound of laughter, whistling, singing, talking … the aroma of food and bodies, give the air a spicy, bitter flavor that I can taste. When I bring my attention back to my guide, who is expertly moving through the crowd of people, he nonchalantly greets friends on the patios as we pass, and my head starts to feel woozy. I am thoroughly intoxicated by the intensity of the contentment and friendly emotions around me.

  He turns toward a café that is set on a busy corner; quite a few of the people sitting at the small, round tables look up, wave, and holler something at him. He moves quickly past them, smiling and waving in return as he strides into the storage area toward the back. I cautiously follow him into the confined space. He turns to face me; with a sly grin, he reaches out precisely to where I am standing, almost viciously, swiping his hand through my body.

  “You … you can see me?” I am stunned, talking to myself as much as to him.

  “Yes, I can see you … and hear you. I’ve never met one of you who could return to this world with such ease. You don’t seem to be as conceited as the others I have met either … so I will offer you one warning: get out of my city, or I will be forced to tell the Symboulio about you.” His demeanor isn’t hostile and his emotions are still primarily inquisitive, but I can tell he has no problem following through on the threat.

  However, what kind of threat is it? “I will leave, yes; but please, first tell me who the Symboulio are?”

  His eyes harden and he studies me very closely for a moment, and then shrugs. “You are very unusual … you know that. I realize your kind doesn’t think that the human portion of Symboulio is much of a threat, but I would think the Timoro would scare you into compliance.”

  “I’m sorry; I still don’t understand who you are talking about.” I study his eyes as closely as he has studied mine.

  “You don’t, do you? You’re English, or were English, right? I can hear it a little in your accent. We have sects there, how could you not know who we are?” A new emotion creeps into his voice as he speaks … uncertainty. He has been curious, but always confident, up until now. Distracted for a moment, I think about how that really is a very good question … why don't I know about them. Again, my blotchy memory takes me back to my Uncle's farm, and my reason adds this new question to the list of peculiarities about my family's past.

  His questions are rhetorical as he ignores my thoughtful expression, and continues as though he is reading an instruction manual. “I am a seer; there are others with different abilities, too … but mostly the Symboulio recruits Seers. Usually the talent runs in a family line, so they keep a close eye on members or particular relatives." If my Uncle Edward did in fact possess an ethereal talent … then he must have known about this group of people. Why, was I never told? Why was I allowed to believe I was alone … a freak?

  Wrenched away from my irritation, I feel something strong flow out of t
he Symboulio agent, as he begins to discuss his own family. "My father, aunt, and both of my cousins were members. The council, the Symboulio, took me away when I was very young. We are to watch your kind, and keep you from endangering humans. When one of you comes into a city with so many people, such as Athens … we call in the Symboulio hunters, and the Timoro, to remove the problem. The Timoro are like you; and they are very efficient at dispatching troublemakers.”

  The more he speaks, the more apparent his accent becomes … also English. I would have pointed that out, but I was concentrating on his emotions and thoughts. When he mentioned his family, I sensed … grief. And when he said “Symboulio hunters”, another acute spasm overwhelmed his words … anger, intense anger. I look into his eyes, slowly and gently lifting my fingers to his cheek. The pain strikes me almost immediately, and then the words flow through our contact.

  “They killed them … they killed them all.” I can feel his emotions trying to overtake my mind. His fear, pain, and sadness, threaten to become my own, but then a remembrance of Zuvan’s calm comes to my mind and I simply don’t let what I am sensing assault me. I feel sympathetic, and understand his pain, as if it was my own; but I don’t let it weaken my reasoning. I am relieved to confirm that I can control my reaction, without taking away anything from my grasp of the brutality in his feelings.

  I focus and press further into his fear and sorrow. I can’t bring up any mental images, and have to fight the intensity the entire time ... I am definitely better suited to read Ho Thanatos.

  I know this rage; I felt it while England was at war. The same sensation was there inside unnecessary deaths of those that I cared about. It was inside the battered minds of strangers, drawn together by tragedy. The irrational surrendering of life, to an enemy that tries to take away everything … I lost my human life to a time of fear. But is his anger and fear towards Ho Thanatos, or the Symboulio? I gently ask the question, and boldly hold eye contact until his gaze shifts to the floor.