Wasn't feeling well this week so I completely forgot that Monday came and went without me putting this up. Sorry! Here's the chapter a little late so I can get back on track next week.
Enjoy!
Chapter 3: What We've Done
Looking back, Norman should have known something was wrong far sooner.
It wasn't that he wasn't an attentive Guardian — if anything, his tendency towards protectiveness was only increasing the more times the Mighty One was in horrible danger. The level of peril in their adventures didn't appear to be much greater than it had been at the start, but the trauma to the Mighty One himself seemed to be growing, and Norman hated it with every fiber of his being. He hated that his boy had faced such suffering and doubt and pain and loss. He hated that he had let it happen.
So Norman was not at all shirking on his duties to watch over the Mighty One.
However, no matter how much he wanted to simply hover at his boy's shoulder and guard him every waking moment of the day (and he wanted it so much), he knew he couldn't. The Mighty One had to develop his own courage, his own strength, so that he could always find it in himself to protect himself if Norman wasn't there. He had to become the true Hero called for by his destiny, and that meant learning some lessons without oversight.
Also, it definitely looked weird to have him following Max around at school, and the teachers had all refused to let him in their classrooms, and Virgil was sick of telling Norman to quit trying to look through the windows before he was arrested.
So, while Norman couldn't literally follow his boy everywhere every minute, he kept an eye out whenever possible. He knew Max almost as well as he knew Virgil even after such a comparatively shorter time together, and he knew how to read the boy's moods like an opponent in a fight. He knew the Mighty One's tells when he was thinking, or when he was bothered, or when the grief of his experiences was rearing its head. He also knew the Mighty One's energy, his enjoyment of life, his cleverness, his humor.
After the sleepwalking ended as abruptly as it had begun, Norman began to relax a bit. Perhaps, rather than some insidious connection to Skullmaster or Bran, it was just a 'phase' as the Mighty One's mother suggested, or something to do with an oncoming growth spurt. That would at least explain the slight difference in his boy after that time — nothing even that he could have given a name, but tiny aberrations in the Mighty One's choices. On the other hand, those tiny aberrations mainly seemed to be concerned with having fun, goofing off, and generally enjoying life. And that was very much within the usual behavior of the Mighty One.
Norman wondered if perhaps the stress of the last few months and years was finally building up, and the Mighty One was responding not by acting out, but by attempting to live as happy a life as possible in compensation. He had certainly earned as much, and Norman was content to assist him whenever possible — especially when it came to ice cream for breakfast. So he did, glad to reinforce anything that made Mighty Max smile so brightly.
But for all that, Norman didn't see the change in his Mighty One until a fateful weekend in late September.
-==OOO==-
Max was biking home and chatting with Morgan about his literature homework at the same time. He'd always been good at multitasking, and with the first month of school nearly past, he was definitely honing those skills. For the most part, Morgan was a quiet presence in his mind — she rarely intruded into his thoughts unless he initiated a conversation, and she kept her emotions locked down so they wouldn't flood over to him. But he felt weird ignoring her for hours at a time when she was basically just a passenger in his head, so he kept up a running conversation with her any chance he could.
Poetry's boring, he told her as he swerved around a person walking a dog on the sidewalk. I don't mind lit class in general, but sonnets? Yuck.
I very much comprehend your feelings, Chosen One. While I reverence the opportunity for the expression of self and one's inmost soul, to be so confined into a structure not of one's choosing seems to arbitrarily and cruelly recast any such expression. A sacrifice of meaning for the sake of order is a sacrifice of the value of the meaning in itself.
Max snorted. Can't help that you're all confined in my head.
That is not at all what I mean, Chosen One, and you well know it.
Of course I do. He let his laugh bubble inside while he paused at a stoplight — he wasn't fond of the looks he got from people when he got caught talking to himself. But you've got a point. It's that thing Virgil talks about with fate and free will. You have to have both.
He was met with something that had an air of ugliness to it. It was quashed an instant after he discerned it.
My apologies, Chosen One.
You really, really don't like Virgil, do you?
Your teacher means well, but let us just say that, were I to be faced with him in the flesh, I should not be certain I would refrain from, as you say, kicking his butt.
Ouch. Max eased into the crosswalk, glad there were no other pedestrians to trip him up as he got back up to speed. Are you ever going to tell me why, or — ?
A rip of terror tore through his mind. Look out!
Max flinched even as he realized there was a truck not stopping for the light and he had less than a second to react.
Max threw himself away from his bike, desperately hoping his feet would get clear of its frame enough to save him. But his backpack was weighed down with schoolbooks and it overbalanced him.
He hit the ground, bike and legs tangled, with enough time to cover his head with his arms and duck before the truck slammed into him.
No!
There was a burst of grey inside his eyes and a keen pain bloomed in his chest.
Then tires squealed and there was shouting all around him.
Max opened his eyes.
The truck was stopped just inches from his prone body, so close he could feel the heat of its engine on his skin. So close that he should have been halfway underneath it, his shoulders and head a splatter on the fender.
But instead the truck's fender was totaled. The whole front of the truck looked like it had run into a barrel or a giant tree, folding around a roughly circular void, frame and hood crumpling like paper against an invisible barrier.
Chosen One? Morgan's voice in his mind was oddly far away and faint.
He wasn't quite up to words yet, but he managed a questioning sound in his chest.
You must move. Quickly. Before —
But he never found out "before" what.
Suddenly he felt his energy drain away as if a cork had been pulled, and he crashed into unconsciousness.
-==OOO==-
"That's it!" Norman fumed. "I'm following him everywhere from now on. School, gymnastics, out with his friends, whatever! Either I'm there, or he isn't!"
"Calm yourself, please," Virgil asked. "They said he is mostly unharmed, but he may have a concussion. You will not help him by raging at him."
Norman brought himself back under control just as the pair of them pushed into the hospital lobby. With the mother of the Mighty One away, they were his legal guardians and their phone numbers were in the emergency contact card the Mighty One always carried. It had not been easy to get them appointed as legal surrogate parents, but the Mighty One's mother had persevered with the help of the school's counselor and the Ghostbusters. After all, as much as the bureaucracy might struggle with the unusual dynamic of the Mighty One and his protectors, that did not in any way lessen their need to be there.
Also, Max was something of a local celebrity — he'd been seen on the news a time or two thwarting evil monsters and giant golems and such — so there were those in the community who were not surprised to see a Viking and a chicken asking after the boy with the weird glowing hat.
"We are here for the Mighty One," Virgil said calmly to the nurse at the intake station.
She blinked at him, then nodded. "Room 413. Go on up."
Norman pounded up the stairs far quicker than any elevator and only barely kept from bursting into the room, Virgil at his heels.
There were several beds and several patients in them, but Norman only cared about one. He made his way to the white-sheeted bed holding the familiar boy, Cosmic Cap slightly askew on the blond hair. A nurse was just shining a light into Max's eyes.
"He's starting to wake up," she reported. "As soon as we're sure he's with us, we'll need to run him through some basic tests to ensure he has no significant neurological damage. We couldn't find any sign of impact, though, so we're not entirely sure how he took the injury in the first place."
There was a wariness in her eyes that Virgil noticed at once. "But we were told he was hit by a car."
The nurse shook her head and pulled out her phone. "A truck almost hit him, but it doesn't seem to have made much contact. One of the paramedics on the scene is my girlfriend and she sent me a picture."
Virgil took in the image of a truck folded around a bicycle lying on the street, and swallowed. "I see."
She glanced back at Max. "Is that...normal for him?"
"Honestly, even I do not know," Virgil said. "But thank you for your care."
"I'll give you a minute before I get the doctor. We'll still want to make sure he's okay." And she slipped away.
Virgil turned back to the Mighty One, who was blinking his eyes slowly. Norman had taken up a position at the foot of his bed, not dissimilar from where he watched over the boy in sleep.
"Mighty One?" Virgil rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"
Max blinked more normally this time and his eyes focused on Virgil. "Oh. Hi. Uh...yeah? I guess." He flinched. "Gimme a minute." And he shut his eyes again.
Morg? What exactly was that?
Apparently I have some ability to utilize my power through you, but it is draining to your mortal body. I see in your mind that you have swooned before when your strength was taxed by such energies.
You mean when I passed out because of a magic car? Yeah. But this…
Speak to the others, Chosen One, or they will fear for your safety. We shall discuss this when they are not hovering over you so.
Oh. Right.
Max pushed his eyes open again and drew in a deep breath. "I'm okay," he said. "Sorry for scaring you."
"Mighty One, something has happened," Virgil said. "When you were in danger…"
"Yeah, I know," he cut him off quickly. "Not a clue how, though. Maybe it was just a one time thing?"
"I doubt it," Norman said.
Max focused on his Guardian, noting that there was a tremor of worry in the Viking's shoulders. "I'm okay, Normie. Really. Just tired."
"Well." Virgil appeared to be thinking. "Rest is the recommended method for recovering from a concussion, now that your doctors have finally learned more about how your brains work."
"Do I even have a concussion, though? Or was it just kind of a Cap-Bearer thing?"
"We will know more after the medical evaluation," Virgil said. "But, either way, we shall take you home directly after to rest. Then we can speak about all this."
Max was grateful that the doctor came in just then. Even having her poke him and ask weird questions and test his balance was better than trying to come up with an explanation Virgil would believe.
It took him until he was declared fit to go home and all the way tucked into his own bed before Max wondered for the first time why he was so unwilling to tell Virgil and Norman about Morgan.
He fell asleep to her sense of foreboding.
-==OOO==-
When Max woke, the first thing he thought about was Morgan.
You there?
I could hardly go elsewhere, Chosen One.
Ha ha. He smiled and sat up gingerly, his body a little stiff and sore from falling off the bike. So, I think maybe we should figure out what just happened.
What do you mean?
Well, we knew you could feel through my brain. But we didn't know you could work some magic through me. I think we should figure out how to do it without wiping me out. It could be a huge advantage.
I see. It may be quite difficult, though. Your body is young and untried, your experience with such energies somewhat limited. I would not wish to cause you harm.
I'm not worried about harm. I see it like the language thing. Yeah, it's an adjustment, but I need every edge I can get and this is a huge one. So we'll take it slow and figure it out a little bit every day.
Very well.
Max pushed himself out of bed and got as far as opening his door before he ran straight into Norman.
"Mighty One! You're awake!"
"Yeah. Sorry for scaring you, big guy," he said, smiling.
Norman's face relaxed. "I am glad to see you're all right."
"Yep. But I'm super hungry. Did Virgil make dinner?"
"No. He went back to his scrolls as soon as you fell asleep."
Max sighed, feeling a wave of irritation. "Fine. How do you feel about Burgers-2-Go?"
"I like burgers." Norman smirked.
"Okay. Burgers it is!" And Max led the way downstairs, feeling rather pleased with the world.
-==OOO==-
But there was something off about the Mighty One from that moment forward, and Norman hated that he hadn't seen it sooner.
The Mighty One had often been forced to sleep at odd hours, or go without sleep altogether, due to the adventures that drew them all over the world. He could drop off with the skill of an exhausted soldier and sleep through a herd of elephants (though Norman knew many young warriors who had been similar in that regard with less excuse than the globe-trotting Cap-Bearer). However, he rarely slept during the day without the provocation of international travel.
After that Friday near-miss, however, the Mighty One took to taking many naps — after school, after dinner, even right before bed. The Mighty One's mother assured Norman over the phone that tiredness was a common side effect of a concussion, and Virgil pointed out that there was no telling what a growth of his inborn powers might mean as well. Both advised that they let the Mighty One rest.
But Norman wasn't mollified.
He had noticed that something was off when the boy began sleepwalking, though he let himself be talked out of it. He should have noticed that far more was amiss long before the car crash that wasn't.
Now that he was aware of it, however, he couldn't not see the changes. Changes that couldn't be puberty. Changes that didn't have an explanation. Changes that didn't look like Bran or Skullmaster, but the former was largely an unknown and the latter was the definition of devious. And Virgil still said that neither Bran nor Skullmaster should be able to influence the Mighty One, but something was influencing him. And with every day that passed, it was more obvious.
Norman resolved to get answers — no matter what.
-==OOO==-
Max fought the urge to yawn. "Sorry," he said aloud. "It's just been a long week."
Indeed, Morgan answered in his mind. We can stop for today if you wish.
"No." He'd discovered that speaking out loud took less energy, and since energy was precious now, he was all for conserving it. "I've got a little more left in me. Let's try it again."
Very well.
Max widened his stance, shuffling some detritus from the forest floor out of his way with a foot. The concealed spot deep in the nearest park had the advantage of being positioned between the back side of the restrooms and where a nearby housing development had an eight-foot stone wall around their borders. With stone and trees surrounding him, he could act pretty much in secret. And the forest bore the results of this week's work.
Remember. Concussive power and destruction are always easier, because they take little control. To touch the powers more gently, you must be aligned, mind and spirit, and your focus must be great. This is not swinging a sword or lighting a bonfire. This is the most delicate needlepoint, precise and perfect.
"Yeah, I know." He shut his eyes and held out a hand, palm down.
The grey light flashed inside and his chest felt the ache that was now as familiar as having a strange voice in his head. He could feel the power running like a rivulet of warm water from somewhere in his chest down the arm, trickling to his fingers.
Morgan was silent in his mind, allowing him to focus uninterrupted.
Max visualized his aim and let out his breath in a short, sharp burst.
Better, I think.
Max opened his eyes so they could both see the results.
Where there had been a barren spot of soil, a flower now bloomed.
"What is it?" He crouched down to examine it more closely.
A common flower known even in my time. The Ancient Greeks used it for medicinal purposes, and every garden I ever saw grew it. I know not what you call it now, however.
"Looks like some yellow candies. Or buttons." Max frowned. "Is that what I was supposed to make?"
Since you do not recognize it, I should say not. But it is certainly better than producing nothing at all or a mass of indistinguishable plant material. And the plant appears to be living. So I say this is a success, if an imperfect one.
"Sweet!" Max grinned, poking the flower. But his knees wobbled beneath him and he had to catch himself on a nearby tree trunk to keep from tipping over. "Annnnnnd, I think we've hit my limit, Morg." His eyes were feeling heavy and his vision blurred.
I should agree. Return to your home quickly, if you can.
"I...yeah." But even as he pushed himself off the tree to get back to a fully standing position, he hesitated.
Something amiss, Chosen One?
"Yeah. I don't really know, but…" He blinked his eyes and looked around, his balance following his head so much that he had to wrap a hand around a branch to keep from pitching sideways. "Something's off."
His instincts blared and he spun to face the incoming threat — but lost his battle against vertigo and tipped forward.
A large, strong, familiar hand caught him. Max looked up into Norman's face.
"Mighty One." He was scowling, and the scowl deepened as he took more of Max's weight while Max tried to suppress a yawn. "Whatever you're doing out here, you need to stop."
"Hey, Norman." Max cast about for an explanation, his brain numbing more and more by the second. "I just, uh…"
"You were using magic, Mighty One. And talking to someone." Norman's eyes narrowed. "Someone only you can perceive."
"It's not Bran," Max said, reflexively.
"Why would you say that?" Norman returned.
"Uh...because he has some kind of weird tie to me and it would make sense?"
If anything, Norman looked more annoyed. "I hate to admit it, but that would almost be preferable. At least then we would know what is happening."
Max tried to keep his face neutral, but he flinched anyway.
"You know already, don't you, Mighty One?"
Max sighed. "Can we just go home and talk about this after I get some sleep? I'm exhausted."
Norman gripped both his shoulders tightly, effectively holding him up. "This is not normal, Mighty One. It may not be safe. We need to talk to Virgil immediately."
"No." The answer shot out of Max like an arrow, laced with venom he felt too tired to understand. "Not him. Never him."
"Mighty One, what do you mean?"
"I will not submit to him again!" Max blinked. There was something wrong with that statement somehow.
But his legs went limp and he slumped into Norman's arms. He wanted to tell his Guardian that he just needed to rest — he intended to — but just as quickly he dropped into sleep.
-==OOO==-
Norman raced home with the Mighty One in his arms. Cognizant of people and their opinions, he ran through backyards and over rooftops rather than down the street. He banged into the house shouting for Virgil.
"The Mighty One is in trouble!"
Virgil upended all of his scrolls racing from the study to the door. "Norman! What is it?"
"I followed him to the park. He was working magic somehow, and talking to someone who wasn't there." Norman strode into the living room and set the boy on the couch. "When he was done, it made him so tired he collapsed."
Virgil caught the boy's wrist and began taking his pulse, watching his chest rise and fall with a sharp eye. "Did you approach him? What did he say?"
"He said it wasn't Bran when I asked him. But he also said...it sounded like he didn't trust you."
Virgil blinked. "That's not very specific, Norman. What, precisely, did he say to you about me?"
"I told him we needed to tell you about all this, and he said 'never him' and that he 'wouldn't submit to him again.' That was the last thing before he was out." Norman's expression was dark and still. "Virgil, when has the Mighty One ever submitted to you?"
Virgil shook his head, throat dry. "Never. We have disagreed many times, and he has followed my instructions as much as he ever does, but I would not say he has ever…" He trailed off.
"Virgil?"
Virgil's mind was whirring at speed, taking disjointed facts and speculations and calculating their likely outcomes. He circled around several possibilities, but only one probability.
"Someone is in the Mighty One's mind, Norman. Someone who can work magic, who is influencing his behavior, and who has some form of history with me. I should have seen it." He dropped the Mighty One's wrist and laid a feathered hand on his brow. "The sleepwalking, the strange eyes, the odd requests. It was right there and I never saw it."
"How could we?" Norman asked, trying to calm himself down; if Virgil was going to panic and get lost in recriminations, Norman couldn't let himself do the same. "It was all happening inside his head." Then, with much greater fear, "Could it be Skullmaster after all?"
"I don't think so," and it was Virgil's only comfort. "The Mighty One knows Skullmaster's mind and his powers. He would not be easily tricked."
"And Bran?"
"I don't believe the behavior fits. If Bran were the one with such control over and through the Mighty One, his antagonism would be towards you, not me."
"So, it's not Bran, and it's not Skullmaster. But it could be anybody else."
"Or anything else, yes. And I assume that whatever entity this is has steered his mind to prevent him from considering sharing its presence with us in any way. There is no telling how deep its influence may run. We must do something, Norman, and quickly."
"What can we do?"
Virgil looked at the face of his Mighty One and felt real fear.
"I'm not sure."
-==OOO==-
Max woke feeling refreshed. He stretched, yawning.
"Mighty One!"
The simultaneous voices instantly made Max aware of the fact that he was not in his bed; instead, he was lying on the couch with Norman and Virgil hovering over him looking worried.
"Oh. Hi guys."
Virgil planted himself directly in front of Max, arms crossed. "Mighty One, I have grave news for you. Your mind has been invaded by another being."
Max gulped, feeling his face get warm. He ducked from Virgil's eyes. "I know."
"And yet you chose not to inform us."
"It's not that simple…"
"When our only duty is to your safety and well-being."
"She asked me not to!" Max pushed himself upright. "She just wanted a friend, and she wasn't hurting anything!" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I was just waiting for her to be ready so I could tell you. I think she's scared of you."
"Scared, Mighty One?" Virgil's eyebrow went up.
"Yeah, I dunno. She had a bad experience with someone who was her teacher or something, and I think she needs time to get used to the idea that you're not a bad person." Max shrugged. "I know I should have told you, but I didn't want to be one more person to betray her. That's all."
"That's not all, Mighty One. Not remotely." Virgil seized one of Max's hands. "You don't have any way of knowing who or what has forged this connection. You say it is not Bran — "
"Yeah, and it's not."
" — and I concur, but it could be Locknarr himself."
Max scoffed. "No way. Trust me, Locknarr could not pretend to be Morg if he tried."
Virgil and Norman both rocked backwards in surprise. Norman recovered first.
"Morg? As in Morgan le Fay?"
Max gulped. "Yeah? You know her?"
"Long ago," Virgil said. "But we know that she was banished from this realm for threatening to overturn the world to chaos by using her powers for selfish purposes."
"Selfish!" Max jumped off the couch and faced them, expression twisted with rage. "Never! My only aim was to protect the innocent from slaughter, to preserve those peoples who were free! I thought from the Chosen One's memories perhaps you were not as I remembered you, but still you prove false! You are far worse than Merlin ever was!"
Norman itched to draw his sword, but he could never draw it against his boy, so he stood, almost shaking with anger and an old kind of fury.
Virgil stared at the Mighty One and his now-grey eyes. "Morgan, you cannot be allowed to take him. We will not permit you to corrupt the Mighty One."
"You cannot stop me." And the sneer was foreign and heartbreakingly strange on their Mighty One's face. "You have no power here. The Chosen One is my ally, and I will not relinquish him or his powers. I will not allow you to destroy him in the name of your precious destiny."
Virgil shook his head. "I would never destroy him. Never. I serve him, now and always."
"You serve yourself," she spat. "And should he defy you, you would do to him what you allowed Merlin to do to me. But I will fight you if I must, to save him."
The Mighty One's hand lifted and closed into a fist that glowed with grey light.
"Mighty One!" Norman yelled. "Don't! It's us!"
"Max, please!" Virgil actually stepped nearer. "You must not let her do this."
There was a flicker in the boy's face, but the light grew brighter and brighter. Soon the burning light was too strong for even Virgil and Norman to keep from covering their eyes, as much as they hated looking away from their boy.
"Morg," came a low voice. "What are you doing?"
The light pulsed.
"Don't...hurt them. Please."
The very air was heating rapidly now, like the vents of a volcano.
"It's too much. I...I can't…"
Every light bulb in the room exploded, popping sounds echoing while shards of glass rained down.
"Mighty One!" Norman yelled.
"Morgan!" Virgil blindly pushed forward, finding his boy in the burning light and placing himself directly in his path. "If you must kill me, do so, but do it quickly! Or it will be the Mighty One who suffers! He cannot stand the expenditure of your power for much longer!"
"No!" And that was pure Mighty One. The light died instantly, and even through the spots Virgil blinked from his vision, he could see blue eyes once more. "Morg...why?"
Virgil was prepared for his boy's knees to buckle and was swift to catch him, Norman at his side.
Whatever was happening in his mind, the Mighty One looked up at his guardians and his face crumpled with fear.
"She's...something's wrong. I...I think we're in trouble…"
And his eyes rolled up into his head as the remaining tension in his body snapped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.