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(A little lost? Read the Intro, the Prelude, and if you’re game, Chapter One)

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Arc II, Chapter Five

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Conversations of all natures began to pick up steam until the room was once again at a full boil.

Maedoc gulped and cleared his throat, happy for the heavy silence to have lifted — but distraught at the situation he found himself in. His heart had begun to sting, and he knew full well it wasn’t heartburn.

How many of these people are . . . ?

Before he could give it much thought, a cheery looking elderly woman waved him over to her table. Happy to see a face without a scowl, he walked over and gave her a small bow. He wasn’t sure why, for he had never bowed at the Glen before.

Must be the nerves.

“Oh, hi!” the woman said, all smiles. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question?”

Her eyes, crinkled at the start, opened wide as her sentence concluded. It was as though the weight of her impending question could very well leave the boy warped forevermore. The bright, icy blue of her irises caught the light with notable tenacity. Just a little too bright for the boy’s liking.

He felt tempted to inform her that she had already asked one, but, as was typical, he kept it to himself.

“Please, feel free.”

The woman looked at Maedoc in earnest, her face scrunching up into evident confusion and, curiously enough, a subtle sense of tragedy.

“Yes, well, I was wondering if I could trouble you for some silverware?”

She raised her eyebrows to their maximum, eyes unblinking, as Maedoc’s brain did a hiccup. What was going on?

Not only were the facial gymnastics and drama mystifying to the boy — the question made zero sense to him.

Doing his best to keep his voice steady and polite, he responded.

“Silverware . . .  can be found on the table.”

Indeed, wrapped in dark green cloth was not one, but two sets of silverware, both nestled against the candle resting in the middle of the table. He stared at it intently, then poked a finger at it to make doubly sure it could be found.

Her eyes somehow becoming even wider, she brought her hands to her heart and clasped them together.

“Oh! Dear me, don’t know how I missed it. Thank you!”

A face crammed full of joy greeted him. It was as though she had been reunited with a long lost brother. Maedoc returned a faint grin, however he was unable to stop his brow from furrowing.

Could she really not see them? She was an older woman, so . . .

Perhaps her eyesight was bad.

Either that or she was messing with him in the most juvenile of manners.

What irked Maedoc most was that he couldn’t decide which was true. He was utterly mystified.

“Meedick! Hey, over here!”

A nasal whine sliced through his introspection. Smoothing out his brow as best he could, he turned to find a skinny, sallow faced man with shortly cropped hair and zero chin. His face appeared to pucker in on itself, as though he was nursing a wedge of lemon behind his teeth.

“It’s Maedoc . . . ”

“I have a friend arriving momentarily. Where are your other chairs?”

The boy scanned the room. Everything that could be sat on was occupied.

“Well it looks like all the — ”

“I’m aware how it looks. Don’t you have any in the back? You can’t expect us to stand up and eat our food.”

The youth’s tone slowly became more and more bratty. The last thing Maedoc wanted to do was be of assistance to him.

“I’ll go take a look . . . ” he muttered, walking away before another word could be wedged in. The voice of the man was making him feel like a slowly grated zucchini, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. If he did find a chair, he had half a mind to hide it in the bathroom.

An uncanny ringing began to sound off in his left ear, just as the faintest of headaches began to set in. The boy instinctively made a small yawn, hoping to clear it up like one would when an ear filled with water. It was mildly effective.

“Excuse me! Sir!”

Before he could blink, a squat, toad-like woman marched in front of him with her hands on her hips. The hair upon her head was immaculately curled and shiny, almost as if it were a wig. A mouth too wide for her face pressed itself into a thin, dry line. The jacket was a bright lime green, and the woman’s scent was an overpowering blend which reminded him more of an old, damp library than a person. Maedoc could already tell that she was going to be a problem.

“I’ve been waiting for service for ten minutes!”

Forcing himself to make eye contact with her, he was palpably shocked upon doing so. Within their cold and gleaming blue, he found something he couldn’t describe. Some sort of toxic fury — a detriment to all life forms — deeper still than the evident annoyance plastered across her face.

It rattled him to his core.

“I’ve only just . . .  gotten here . . . ”

He found himself choking on his words, barely able to string together his sentence. His voice became quiet and stilted, as though he were attempting to talk through mud.

Unconcerned with the logistics of space-time, the woman rolled her eyes.

“I saw you help those other people before me. I was here first!”

The ringing returned slowly to his ear. She was aware he would have no way of knowing the order of arrival — Maedoc knew this to be true — but he had no interest in being correct at this point. He wished only to exit the conversation.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself before he spoke.

“I’m truly sorry, miss. Now that I’m here, is there anything I can do for you?”

The woman eyed him as if he had spat on her shoes. With no small amount of ire, she replied.

“I’ll take a salad, if you feel you can handle it.”

Maedoc bowed once again, only this time it was to hide his anger.

“Right away. Again, I’m sorry.”

He turned around as quick as lightning, and barreled straight for the kitchen. The boy wasn’t about to risk being intercepted again. Something about being caught off guard was extra jarring to him.

Walking behind the bar, he slumped his way past the kitchen door. A cloud of steam billowed into his face, catching him by surprise. Squinting his eyes, he found Stollin moving quicker than he’d ever seen him, busily stirring two pots at once. A large stew pot was bubbling furiously on the back burner.

“You, uh . . .  need that pot stirred, Stollin?”

The man looked up quickly, his face dewy with sweat.

“Oh, Maedoc! No, don’t worry about it. Just keep the crowd happy, and I’ll manage fine back here.”

It was evident that Stollin would rather juggle the entire kitchen than deal with their guests. Maedoc felt the same way.

“Well, sorry to add to your load, but there’s a delightful woman who would . . .  who would like . . . ”

He stared at the empty wooden crate on the back counter. Blinking his eyes in disbelief, Maedoc broke into a cold sweat.

“Well, what does she want?”

” . . .  we’re out of greens, aren’t we?”

Stollin nodded as he oiled up a skillet. “Yeah. First round of orders took ’em all. Hey, make sure you tell the room we’re out, ‘kay?” He dropped the pan onto the stove as he dropped an entire trout on it.

The boy swallowed hard. This was not going to be fun.

His heart rate climbing slowly, he suddenly remembered his Ray. Reaching into his pocket, he found himself feeling relief the instant his fingers slid past it.

Alright buddy. You’re being put to the test today.

He took a moment to relax and let the Aether do its thing. Realizing that it was having trouble spreading past his hand, he pulled his arm past his opposite shoulder as he straightened it. Given a moment, this maneuver gave his shoulder a much needed stretch. He did the one arm, then the other. Next he rolled his head in a circle, as to stretch the neck. He was about to lean down and give his legs a stretch until Stollin turned around.

“What are you still doing here?! Get going!”

Eyes wide, Maedoc stiffly reoriented himself and bumbled his way out of the kitchen. Fortunately his stretching stint was of some aid. He could feel the energy now readily wrapping its way up his arm and across his body. His heart was still a little shaky, but he was beginning to feel better.

While the going was good, the boy summoned all his bravery and put it in his vocal cords.

“Attention everyone! I regret to say that we are currently out of greens! All meals from here on will come with stew or bread. Sorry for the . . .  inconvenience . . . ”

He started off strong, but the abhorrent tone of the room came to be too much for him. With the Ray in hand, shining bright amongst the muck, he became acutely aware of how utterly depraved the energy of the scene was.

While his trinket did help him feel safer and more secure, it simply wasn’t enough to turn the tide. Maedoc had never been in a house set aflame, but it made him imagine walking through one with a damp rag held across his mouth:

Breathing is possible. The moisture provides solace. Be that as it may, the room is still engulfed in fire. And the air is saturated in smoke.

Each a flame unto itself, the eyes that lined the room burned a hole through him.

While there were myriad sour faces, there were plenty who wore no expression at all. There was little need to. Their eyes shined with an alien sheen, catching the light in the oddest of manners and proving themselves equally as unnerving as the most dour countenance.

He didn’t understand it. Beyond giving him the chills, it somehow provoked him.

The feeling couldn’t be explained, but something within him felt like it was coiling up for a strike.

“Young man!”

Maedoc knew instantly who was approaching him. His stomach began to churn.

Emerging from the sea of tables, the Toad made her return.

Better prepared this time around, Maedoc flipped the Ray within his hand so that it faced his upcoming source of misery. Almost instantly he felt it “connect.”

He could hardly hide his smile.

“Hello! Yes, I know, you wanted a —”

“I asked you for one thing. Maedoc.”

She said his name with a tone that made him feel like a puppy and taunted schoolboy both. Equal parts saccharine and belittling.

It wasn’t the same as name-calling. Not at all. But it felt like it. And it angered him.

“I’m —”

“No. Don’t bother. Let me tell you something about customer service, Maedoc.”

The boy felt his face getting red. He lowered his gaze as he grit his teeth. He grasped the Ray tightly in his hand, taking great care to aim it straight at her heart.

“Eyes on me, young man. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Maedoc felt his heart beating faster as he struggled to control his emotions. Logically, he knew she wasn’t truly being cruel. Why did he feel this way?

It must be her energy.

He feared that making eye contact would reveal the storm brewing within him. Easing the furrowing of his brow as best he could, he looked up at her.

What he saw shocked him.

Her eyes had initially shared the same subtle and eerie gleam as most eyes in the establishment. What he saw now transformed his building irritation to an icy fright.

To be frank, they hardly looked like eyes at all.

Two blue spheres of glassy stone bulged from her face, unblinking and dead to the world. They didn’t look like they belonged to a human at all, but rather a doll. Something dead and artificial.

Maedoc felt the oddest drive to reach out and pluck them from her face. Stuff them deep into the dirt, so the world could be rid of them.

So transfixed was he by this transformation, the entirety of her speech went completely unheard. Once he remembered that he was being talked to, his hearing returned to him. As did the ringing in his ear.

” . . .  place should be shut down. Isn’t that right?”

The lad blinked and, upon perceiving a question, decided to nod.

The woman smiled a wooden smile, teeth extending to the far ends of her visage. She appeared to have gleaned some manner of satisfaction.

“So you do have some sense about you. No matter, I’ll be leaving. And I won’t be back.”

With her final retort uttered aloud, she reverted to her roughly hewn scowl and turned to the door.

While Maedoc was finally free of her, he was left with some palpable side effects. His heart weighed heavy in his chest, as though it had been hollowed of its muscle and replaced with a pouring of cold steel. In addition, the muscles in his eye were twitching ever so slightly — two or three times every few seconds — with no sign of stopping.

This was a new phenomenon. It wasn’t painful, nor debilitating, but it was certainly annoying.

Throwing a quick glance to his left and right, it become evident that no one else was currently pining for his attention. Seizing the opportunity, he stumbled into an adjacent hallway. It was dimly lit and unpopulated, which felt like a true paradise at this point in time. He needed a place to hide, and to recover.

Nearing the end of the hall, he spotted, against all odds, an unclaimed chair.

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With the door locked, Maedoc sat upon the chair as he faced the sink in a slump.

At least the weasel man won’t get his extra seat, the boy smiled halfheartedly to himself.

Looking in the mirror, he found himself at a loss.

The Ray hadn’t done a single thing to deter the woman. If anything, it made her even scarier.

Those eyes . . .

What in the world was that? Why would someone’s eyes change in such a way?

He imagined Cynwrig would have a long-winded answer for it. Something something energy, a numbered list of some sort, something something Aether.

The boy shook his head slowly. In the end, it didn’t matter. All he wanted was a way out.

A life of this, day after day. He wasn’t sure if he could bear it.

The noise of the animals occupying the tavern could still easily be heard. Maedoc leaned forward to turn the faucet on. A trickle of water splashed onto the sink, its sound reverberating through the dimly lit room.

This was the only running sink in the entire village, and it was a real pain in the neck to maintain. The water came from an oversized barrel on the second floor. Once it ran out, it was up to Maedoc to refill it. This process usually required multiple trips to the stream. Not an easy task.

But today he was perfectly okay with letting it run dry. For his sanity’s sake, it was a small price to pay.

He found the twinkling of the water upon the rough stone sink soothing. His mind and heart were exhausted, and he found himself drifting upon the mental plane as his eyes slowly closed.

Murky images from the past 24 hours floated into his vision.

The first time he held Aether — and swiftly lost contact with his chair.

Maybe I should have just stayed on the floor.

Cynwrig breaking bricks with nothing but his palm.

Wouldn’t mind doing that to a few tables tonight . . .

The wrestling match with Bearnard, ending in the strangest of manners.

At least I got him spooked. No one here bats an eye at me. Hell, they don’t even blink.

Maedoc stirred from his stupor, his eyes bolting open. An inkling of an idea was beginning to form.

Whatever he had done that night, it had convinced Bearnard to leave the Glen. What was it?

The boy pulled his Ray from his pocket, studying it closely. He remembered pointing it at the dullard. And he remembered getting a perceptible response. The man seemed more annoyed by it than anything else, but at least there was a visual shift in behavior.

Everything changed when they finally begun their match.

Ah! Physical contact!

Was that the key to it all? Maedoc’s hopes, which had jolted him wide awake, fell away as quickly as they had appeared.

There was no way he could touch these people — strike that, there was no way he would even want to. The last time he did that was horrific enough.

He remembered it vividly enough. He remembered feeling as though his heart was vanishing, bit by bit, into some acrid abyss. He wouldn’t dare do that a second time.

Closing his eyes once more, he slumped forward upon the sink. Maedoc rested his arms upon it as he listened to the water undulate and flow.

If only they could be touched — just, without touching them. Then, maybe . . .

A minute floated by as this thought took its course. It began as a trickle, aimlessly pooling at his feet. The thought meandered and branched, slowly making its way through all manners of possibility. What started as personal jests and burnt out cognition made its way to something more defined. Something that might actually work.

This process spiraled on until a final image popped into his head — a daring new concept — dazzling his brain with such abrupt and brilliant force that the boy was involuntarily rocketed to his feet. His chair bounced behind him and skid across the floor, creating quite the clatter across those four diminutive walls.

The person he saw in the mirror shocked him. He saw in himself the quintessence of determination. An ironclad will.

He knew what he had to do.

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Exiting the restroom with an exalted air, Maedoc took a deep, slow breath. Then another.

He shifted the Ray from his right hand to his left. Just like the wrestling match the night before, he did not need the Ray in his dominant hand.

This hand would serve a different purpose.

As he neared the end of the hallway, he did his best to relax his left hand and arm to their utmost. Not so much that they were flopping aimlessly at his side — they were ever so slightly flexed and extended, as he held the Ray up just an inch or two from resting position.

Maedoc knew that an arm that was “engaged” — even if it was the smallest amount — would channel energy better. And for his upcoming task, he needed as optimal a flow as he could get.

He couldn’t say why he felt this notion of engagement to be true. None of this originated from his brain whatsoever. It was, in fact, his body which pulled him to this truth. The muscles and bones in his arm sang in unison: “utilize us.”

It simply felt . . .  right.

As the seconds ticked by, he felt the output of the Ray slowly build within his arm, joyfully swirling through every active muscle fiber and tendon as it pulsed its way up to his shoulder and through his chest. Every beat of his heart shined the brilliance of the energy deeper and deeper into him.

Will this really work?

Peeking his head around the corner, Maedoc scanned the room for a target. Who would end up the lucky winner?

The output of the Ray had spread to his head and down his torso, emboldening him further still. Before he could see his plan to fruition, he needed that energy to dip down into his right hand. It had to make a full trip. From left to right.

He looked down at his hand, wondering what he could do to speed up the process.

“Energy can also accumulate in spots where we place our intention.”

Maedoc gasped audibly. He remembered now. Cynwrig had spoken upon this very subject. A small snippet of the night before poured itself into the boy’s skull.

“If we focus on a particular body part, that is where our energy will begin to gather.”

Just use intention. Wasn’t that what he was doing now?

He closed his eyes.

In his mind, he pictured his hand. Maedoc could feel that “telling” the energy to do something wouldn’t work.

It had to be led. Attracted. Pulled. How he knew this, he hadn’t the faintest clue. Where did this knowledge come from?

Like a bolt of lightning, he suddenly remembered something else from the mill. It was incredible, how quickly his brain worked when he felt emboldened and inspired. If he had the time to appreciate the moment, he would have felt a semblance of pride. Redoubling his efforts, he focused on the obfuscated train of thought that would lead him to the truth.

Attracted. Pulled. Led. Where was this idea coming from.

Was it something Cynwrig had said?

No. Not something he said. A vision entered his mind of a gadget the man had laid out on a table. The one the boy had essentially trashed with a single touch. That odd arrangement of magnets.

Suddenly, and with no warning, it clicked.

My hand is a magnet.

In an instant, he felt it become heavy and warm. All the energy he had amassed throughout his body, every filament, felt intimately tied to his fingers and palm. Drawn to it, without a single hesitation or delay.

What a difference a single thought can make!

At least, the correct single thought.

His right hand now buzzing, he was ready to begin the final — and most impossible — step.

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Leaning against the sink, Maedoc found himself at a loss.

To touch without touching. What sense did that make?

He began to wonder if he could prod them with a metal pole. Perhaps it would conduct?

The boy shook his head. Even with a pole, he couldn’t very well go poking the customers.

He opened his eyes a little, peering into the singular, unbroken stream of water that fell before him.

That would be nice right now. Ice cold water, straight from the stream.

No matter how frazzled the boy felt, it never failed to revitalize.

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Bringing his right hand to the level of his navel, he scanned the room with his eyes.

Why the navel?

Maedoc looked down at his hand, which hovered a foot in front of him in an alert, upright position.

Why does my hand rest here, and not higher? Why not lower?

The boy gave himself a split second to ponder the reasoning.

Meandering his hand an inch or two in either direction, he could feel an easy “click” into place. Though, like many things that had only recently transpired, he chalked it up to an unknowable knowing.

Shifting his focus, he completed his look around the Glen.

With little surprise, Maedoc found himself witness to a cacophony of chaos.

The children who had been running wild just moments before were now pulling on their parents coats, eager for something or other.

Attention? A treat? He couldn’t tell.

Myriad adults gesticulated wildly as they discussed inane topics in quick succession. Maedoc couldn’t help but notice a similarity between a number of faces in the room. It wasn’t their structure, or anything physical.

It was the way they moved. The manner in which their heads scrunched and stretched to maximum capacity. As though they were trying to fit a little “too much” into a word, and the excess spilled into the fronts of their skulls. With nowhere else to go, it wriggles its way out of the face, contorting the skin into strange and overly dramatic expressions.

Shaking his head, Maedoc felt himself getting a little carried away. Though he wasn’t exaggerating by much.

Every smile was a little too wide. Every set of eyes, a little too animated.

It hazily reminded Maedoc of the puppetry shows he had seen when he was younger. They were rare, but on occasion a traveling showman would pass through the village of Donnegal and put on a play. The dolls, without fail, possessed faces painted in the most expressive of ways.

However, those were wooden props. Funny looking toys. It had seemed humorous at the time, and he remembered laughing and clapping along with the other children as the puppets danced and played pranks upon each other. However, upon viewing the same exaggerated expressions on a person, Maedoc found himself without words to describe it.

Surreal? Cartoonish? Haunting?

Shaking his head, Maedoc cleared his mind and refocused his efforts.

To best judge efficacy, he felt he should try it on someone he had already spoken to. This way he could tell if there was a change in demeanor.

The boy found himself — against all odds — missing the presence of the Toad. Who’d of thought such a situation could occur? Harboring no small amount of ill will towards the woman who had rattled him so, she would have made for an excellent test subject.

A taste of her own medicine was certainly in order.

Oh well.

Rinsing his thoughts of her, his gaze fell upon a suitable second choice.

Mister Chair.

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The boy slid his arms forward, pressing his hands into the falling water. It was cool and calming.

He knew his time was running short. Stollin would finish preparing his dishes soon.

Just like before, this was a battle he was unable to run from.

He couldn’t well abandon the man. Not like this.

Then, in an instant, it came to him.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to run at all.

To touch without touching. . . he had already done that, and just a few hours prior!

With the help of his Ray, he had felt the running of Donnegal’s stream in his hand.

Could it be possible . . . ?

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Maedoc applied a few final tweaks to the positioning of his right hand. A straighter, more open palm. Fingers, further extended.

Why he felt this was required, he couldn’t say. Something about it felt reminiscent of catching wind with a sail. Or pruning a tree to ensure all the leaves could receive maximum light.

Thinking on it, there were a couple things about this approach he couldn’t explain. He thought back to that moment. When he had felt the stream from a distance, the Ray was in his right hand. Clear as day, he remembered that it was the Ray that had reacted to the water.

And yet, for this endeavor, he felt compelled to hold it in his left. Why the change?

All he knew in this moment was that his right hand was needed for something else.

Now that he was here, peering around a corner at his chosen target, it was slowly beginning to make sense.

Its purpose was to catch the stream.

Once he could feel it, he would be connected to the energy. To his target’s core.

And if he could reach the core, he could do precisely what he did to Bearnard the night before.

Reach into the heart. Extinguish the scourge.

It was a dark thought to think, and it prompted the smallest of shudders throughout his body.

To extinguish any part, of anyone . . .

Despite that part being good or bad, was it right?

Whatever that answer proved to be, it was the only way that would yield a result. The only surefire tactic to end this oddest of nightmares.

The boy knew full well how dangerous this sort of maneuver could be. Maedoc swallowed hard, wondering if he was truly ready to go through with this. And yet . . .

The only way out is through.

Steeling his resolve, he nodded to himself. As of yet, these six little words had yet to fail him.

His body ripe with energy — his hands placed as optimally as he could conceive — he locked his eyes on the target and exhaled slowly.

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End of Arc II, Chapter Five

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[sf_button colour=”black” type=”standard” size=”standard” link=”https://aetheric.org/the-aethretics-saga-arc-2-chapter-six/” target=”_self” icon=”” dropshadow=”no” extraclass=””]Arc II, Chapter Six[/sf_button]

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