He stood alone in the midst of midnight's embrace. Sighing; taking in the full glory of nature's autumnal masterpiece. He marvelled as moonlight's soft beams illuminated the evergreens everywhere ascendant. He stared transfixed, viewing the mists shrouding the mountains beyond; wisps of white ebbing and flowing like the tides of a faraway sea. This was one of the few pleasures still available to him, and certainly one that he would not fail to appreciate. This was probably the last he would see of his beloved Eden before his journey. Hopefully, the task he would undertake would not bring them apart for too long.
Only the whispering of the wind reached his ears. This night was a silent night indeed. The familiar cawing and cooing commonly complementing the majestic view was unusually muted. The virtuoso performers had long since gone south.
He liked it better this way. It calmed his thoughts and pacified the chaotic menagerie of nightmares that so often plagued him. For he was a man of many secrets, many fears and many enemies…
A rustling of leaves nearby shattered the silence. His eyes darted quickly, bearing towards a nearby bush. He approached with almost serpentine stealth, and his countenance expressed relief as a startled jackrabbit scurried out and melted away into the darkness.
He could not afford to be complacent. This was a freedom denied him long ago. Constant vigilance was now a necessity even in a hideaway so secluded. He could never tell when they would find out, when they would be back, when they would be after him once more.
As the north wind whistled once again through the black forest, relief turned into agony. No, there was no threat; at least, none externally. The demon within however emerged once more uninvited, unstoppable, unrelenting.
Years of careful training had failed him yet again. Torrents of painful memories came flowing unbidden into his mind. Try as he might, he could not tune them out as he long ago could. He stumbled and clutched the earth despairingly as a powerful sensation surged through his soul. Was it guilt? Was he capable of guilt? Sometimes he wondered himself.
***
Artemis awoke. Raven-black hair drenched in cold sweat, arms aquiver, eyes bloodshot. Tonight wasn't the best of nights. As Artemis staggered out of his bed, he desperately tried to make sense of it all. A recurring dream, flashes of unfamiliar memories, premonitions of disaster- what could this all mean? Was it an admonition from the primal reaches of his subconscious, manifest in the nightly horrors he had to overcome? If so, what was it a warning of?
Artemis had never recalled dreams so vivid, so entrenched in his memory. Well, maybe once, many months before. But then it was just childish fantasy, adventures with pixies, elves, goblins and centaurs- nothing really out of the ordinary. Artemis was, of course a believer- he always had been a connoisseur of the mystical, superstitious to the point of lunacy. But never, even in his childhood years did he experience such lucidity, such detail characterized in his nighttime odysseys.
The nightmares of these few weeks had very little to do with those idle imaginings. Many a time had he got out of bed screaming only to see a bewildered Butler charge in, preparing to take down an imaginary assailant. Artemis did not wish to perturb him. He was of course his trusted friend and guardian- in the most literal sense. But even the most professional of bodyguards need their rest and as far as he could tell, Butler wasn't getting much at all. This was a problem doubtless compounded by Artemis' midnight hysterics. Butler himself seemed to be developing irrational paranoia, sometimes barging into Artemis' room on account of a rustle of leaves in the garden, the hoot of an owl, or a light bulb burning out. Butler had even insisted that he and Juliet sleep in Artemis' room at night, as to provide further assurance of his safety. Artemis politely refused, and as a compromise, allowed him to shelter in a nearby storeroom.
Things had become very strange indeed in the Fowl household, and Artemis could not fail to notice. In little ways, Artemis found the people around him acting unusually, Butler and his sister Juliet in particular both seemed a little out of character. Artemis knew that he too had become unexplainably moody, certainly not unaffected by the vile miasma plaguing those around him.
If anything good had come out from this strange turn of events, it was Artemis' repressed propensity to repeating his usual high-profile criminal feats. The modern-day Macavity had developed an almost feline lethargy. He certainly seemed catlike in his new habits: lazing around in the sun almost until mid-morning, sitting incapacitated in front of the television the entire afternoon, nocturnal baths four or five times a night. Any responsible parent would be understandably worried, but thankfully Artemis' would be away for months owing to some business obligation. Artemis himself realised that he was behaving oddly and while others around him placed the blame on the effects of puberty, he preferred a more exotic explanation- nascent insanity. Not that this bothered him too much- most prodigies were at least mildly eccentric.
It was another four hours until sunrise, and he might as well make use of the time. Artemis dilly-dallied for a little while then got up and retrieved his bath towel, still damp from his last wash three hours prior. He then reached for the door, right before it slammed painfully into his face.
"Ah, Butler," said Artemis, nursing his aching nose, "I've always admired your sense of urgency. Pray tell, what be the matter this time? Is it a rogue squirrel, scurrying threateningly in front of my window? Or maybe a cockroach making its way menacingly around the corridors? I tell you, Butler, if it weren't for your vigilance it's a wonder how I'd sleep at night. Oh, wait; I don't."
Butler didn't seem to be in the mood for Artemis' midnight wit.
"Juliet is not feeling well."
"Really," Artemis retorted, callously. "Don't say I didn't warn her about that second serving of chilli tacos; she should've known-"
Artemis stopped mid-sentence. Somehow the imposing glare from the already imposing form of Butler was a hint that the matter did not at all involve tacos.
Butler regained his composure, gripped the waif-like frame of Artemis and looked him straight in the eye.
"Artemis, she isn't breathing."