Chapter 6

There was no dust on it, but that chessboard had sat alone in the half-played state in which it had been left for centuries now. He could not remember exactly how much time had passed since Odin stood and limped away from it, drawing on what remained of his strength to go home. He could almost see the old, one-eyed raven flying away with more gray in his wings than he’d ever seen, and now, as the world around him seemed to tremble, he thought of something he’d always kept from the old man. That all his blather about Ragnarok had just a hint of truth in it.

An elevator, a long hallway, and gigantic wooden doors sped past Anna as Scott led the family along at a leisurely pace. The room he finally guided them into was beautiful, a grand dining room lit by an ornate skylight running along its length, marble columns supporting gleaming black stone arches running in ribbons along its sides, and at the center, four people sat around a table more than worthy of its position. Scott led them over and made sure they were comfortably seated before a rather tired-looking old man sitting opposite of them stood and began to speak.

“Good afternoon,” his deep voice crowned with a British accent echoed throughout the room “My name is George Thompson. In front of you, from the left, are Jason Holub, Jesse Treiv, Marcus Fields, and-” Scott appeared in the final chair in a flash of light, feet already resting on the table, a satisfied grin on his face, Tim giggled, “And I believe you have already met Mr. Scott Turner.” George sat for a moment in silence, Anna watched as his eyes danced about the room before he closed them, took a deep breath, and returned his attention to the family. “Everyone in this room, except for you Mr. and Mrs. Pallas, is what is known as a “Soul-Seer.” The old man studied them before he continued, “Eight otherwise normal people, grifted with power in order to, well, to keep this brief, save the world.”

Will’s fingers rapped against the table in sequence as he glared at George over the hand he had over his mouth. “I…” Will paused and glanced down at the table before returning to meet George’s eyes, “If I hadn’t died already today, I’d be laughing my way to the door.” Anna looked at him, but she didn’t say anything, she just squeezed Tim’s tiny hand. George nodded, “I understand your apprehension Mr. Pallas, I appreciate your understanding, and your willingness to work with our young messenger so we could meet you.”

“Your messenger?” George indicated to Scott, “Mr. Turner is the Seer of the Messenger.”

“He pick that one himself?”

“No, our predecessors did. You see, souls, yours, ours, every soul on Earth was handcrafted by the Soul Maker, God, as it were. There are eight… themes from which each unique personality is built and each was named long ago.”

“And you are?”

“The leader.”

“Where are the other three? What is Tim?”

“Of our missing number, the hero and thinker would be too young. Our serpent is… shall we say, out of the office. Young Timothy is a special case.” Anna sat up, George met her eyes, and she saw it, the truth she knew reflected in his weary eyes. Will looked at her, and the room waited. “There are nine souls. No, you can’t be, Tim is.” She looked to Will, and he reached over Tim to take the hand she still had free, but she could see she'd only confused him. She looked back at George but he’d closed his eyes, his knuckles white against the top of the cane he was leaning on. The man who’d been introduced as Jason spoke first. “Yes ma’am. He’s the Dragon. We’ve no doubt.” Anna looked at the man, the bags under his eyes nearly dragging the table. “Which one?”

Jason leaned away from the table and began to slowly fish through a number of coat and vest pockets. “We don’t know, no way to know. I am impressed though, you must have spent a fair amount of time in your local library’s fiction section.” Jason removed a cigarette pouch from his coat and shook it by his ear then huffed and threw it onto the table before returning to his pockets. Will looked at him and spoke up again. “Dragon? Which one? I don’t understand.” Jason looked at Will, still digging in his pockets. Anna could see his eyes were narrow, almost rimmed in skin darkened by exhaustion. The girl at the table shot a glare at Jason, who turned absentmindedly to meet it, his search paused for a moment. “What’s wrong?” The girl, Jesse if Anna remembered correctly, relented and sighed before looking at Will. “Put simply Mr. Pallas, the Dragons are stronger than us. There are supposed to be two of them, one to destroy, and one to save.”

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“Then Tim is the good one right? You’re the heroes, and you found us so…”

“Ideally,” George reentered the conversation, “both dragons could work for the good of the world.”

“But you’re working against a prophecy here.”

“Yes.”

“I met God earlier today when I died. Could we learn anything from that?” The Seers exchanged glances for a moment before Jason spoke. “Well,” he stopped digging as he withdrew a mangled-looking cigarette from a breast pocket, and lit it in one motion with a worn-looking lighter he pulled from his pants. “Did he say anything? Or just stare at you?”

“Both?”

The larger man, Marcus, chuckled from his seat, “Yeah, that sounds about right. What did he say?”

“That he would help. “Fairly,” he said, that he’d do his best because the world may need Tim.” Now Scott chimed in, “Yeah, see that would be real reassuring, but there are a couple of key words in there I ain’t so sure about. “Fairly” and “may need.” Those don’t ring as especially specific to me.” George’s cane tapped as he slowly began to make his way around the table. “Thank you, Scott, I’m inclined to agree. Mr. Pallas, we may find a clue within the events at your home; you tell us you died today, spoke with God. Scott tells us that young Tim brought you back. Each of us has learned abilities to affect ourselves or the world around us, but the great gate to the afterlife remains beyond our reach.”

“So how can Tim control it?”

“Well, the dragons are two of a kind, said to be pieces of the Soul-maker’s soul cast upon the Earth. I suppose that power would… come with the territory?” George had come to a stop behind the family.

“Young man, can I ask you to stand here in front of me, please?” Anna felt Tim's hand pull, and she let go, fighting the urge to snatch him back. George reached out and gently placed his wrinkled hand on the boy’s head. Tim suddenly found himself in a playroom, surrounded by his favorite toys, pictures of his parents, a TV in the corner silently playing his favorite show. The air in the room began to shift as the old man came into view.

George looked about, his eyes wide. This was the mind of a child? Just this room? Children’s minds were normally huge, and even then, filled to burst with imagination as yet untamed by the world. George wandered over to a window in the room and saw the boy’s parents sitting in the grass below a blue sky. He turned around, and again, he found himself in shock. There, opposite him, was a closed door.

He walked to the door and stared at it, the large, cartoonish brass handle and key slot belying a nearly universal truth, he muttered, “Children don’t close doors.” He touched it and recoiled. The door was beyond cold, despite its appearance. He felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to find Tim holding a key that seemed to match the locks made.

“You can go out if you want, sorry, we don’t really get along.” George took the key and thanked Tim but found his hand shaking as he stuck it into the slot. The key rotated seemingly without effort, and deafeningly sharp banging and grinding sounds ensued from beyond the utterly still door; when they stopped, George pushed it open. As he stepped through the threshold, George found himself in a dark, barren place. Sun and blue sky replaced with a freezing starless night and black fog that would hide a ground stripped of life, if not for the massive fire stretched across the horizon.

A hollow thud echoed out from behind him, and he turned to find that on this side of the soft, white-painted wooden door, was a small portal in an iron wall that stretched into the sky and out as far as he could see, marred along its length by dents and gashes. George backed away slowly, hoping to see an end to it, until his foot bumped against something on the ground. He turned to find the Pallas family’s attacker, a man he recognized from Scott’s memory, lying in a pool of blood, spreading from holes in his stomach.

“Such is his fate.” A dark, hollow voice said from behind him. George whirled around to find a man sitting on a small boulder, eyes glowing red through the fog, the distant fire illuminating a black, white pin-striped suit. “These gang members rarely die in their beds.” George took a step back and hardened his mind against the unknown before the stranger spoke again. “Calm yourself, old seer, I am not the monster the boy fears me to be.” George briefly looked over his shoulder at the scared wall behind him.

“Well then, what are you?”

“I,” the stranger’s eyes bore right through George’s, his voice chilled the air around them, or was that a chill running up his spine? “am the spirit bound to this Dragon. To you, I suppose I would be, oh how should I put this… the Grim Reaper.”