The River

Garmadon sat in his garden patio, forehead resting in his palm. The sky was cloudy, but not dark. It seemed like a promise: that things would get better, and that the sun would shine again before evening.

Ha. If only. His head felt like a sledgehammer was beating against it. Repeatedly. Mercilessly. He was beginning to wonder if he was dealing with something worse than a migraine. A tumor, perhaps?

He would have dismissed the illness as a flu or tainted food if it had only been around for a few days. But it had been a week. One long, horrendous week of painkillers that didn't put a dent in it.

"Would it be annoying if I asked you if you feel any better?" Misako asked as she stepped onto the patio and stood behind him.

Garmadon did not lift his head. "Yes," he snapped. "Why do I even keep you around, woman?" He cringed. That comment wasn't supposed to come out.

This illness was affecting his mind even more than it affected his body. He was a lot more temperamental, and his thoughts were a lot more...evil. That was the only way that he could explain it.

Misako slid into the seat next to his and rubbed his shoulder. "Julien has the results from your blood test," she said it gently, as if her husband had never spoken in the first place.

"You don't say."

The queen, once again, ignored the rude remark. "He says that something is definitely wrong."

"Very helpful."

"I wasn't finished," Misako sighed. "He doesn't know exactly what you have in your body. Only that it's making your blood darker."

"But my skin..."

"I know," Misako said. "It makes no sense. Dark blood, pale skin. Julien can't understand why it's doing that."

Reluctantly, Garmadon lifted his head and looked at his wife mournfully. His irises were a deep, unholy red color. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I'm snapping at you like this... I don't want to, but it's almost like...there's something else in my mind, controlling everything I say and do. I feel...perverted."

Misako leaned in and kissed his pale, wrinkled cheek. "I forgive you," she said. "I know that you would never use those words if you weren't sick." She closed her eyes, holding back a dam full of tears.

"I love you," Garmadon said. "No matter what I say to you in my fits, just remember that, okay?"

Misako nodded. "Yeah," she whispered shakily. "I love you too."

Zane did not let go of Cole's hand. Not while they ran, and not when the sound of gushing water could finally be heard in the distance, making Cole's knees go weak. He pushed his incompetent leader onward, not stopping until they reached the bank of the river.

Until then, Cole had been halfway complacent. But when he saw the water was mere feet from his boots, he backpedaled so quickly that he almost ripped Zane's arm from its socket. "No," he whimpered. "Zane, don't make me do this."

Zane scrutinized Cole carefully. Dilated pupils, sweaty palms, heaving chest. Those were the the most obvious physical changes that had occurred within the past ten minutes. But when Zane observed him a moment longer, he noticed the way that his feet shuffled and, along with his body's sporadic jerking, there was an unsteady sway that made his center of gravity shift every couple of seconds. Vertigo.

Cole had not been kidding when he admitted that he was afraid of water. This aquaphobia was fueling a much more dangerous and intense problem. If only Zane knew what that problem was, then he might have been able to properly diagnose it, then treat it.

How do I calm him down? He wondered. We're both stuck until I can get him to realize that this water isn't going to hurt him.

"I told you," Cole tried half-heartedly to free himself again. "We're trapped. We can't cross the water. We'll get caught."

A hug? Zane thought. Hugs always work for other people. But for some reason, I have a feeling that such an act would not end so well in this circumstance. "We can cross this water," he said calmly. "It's less than a foot deep. We will be fine, okay? We need to continue following the eagle north."

"Oh, what is it with you and that eagle?" Cole shouted. His entire body was jerking uncontrollably. "It's a robotic pet that belonged to a dead robot. I'm not following it anywhere."

Zane shushed him. "Don't talk of my sister that way," he said. "Listen, I know it's hard to believe me. But this eagle is behaving strangely. Instead of returning home because the one person it could take orders from is gone, it's flying around here, protecting you, of all people. There's a reason for it, and the answers might lie on the other side of this river."

Cole couldn't bring himself to look at the water. His eyes darted to the ground. The sky. The trees behind him. Not the water. Never the water. "I can't," he said. "I'm sorry, Zane. But it's impossible for me."

Zane saw the tears in Cole's eyes and realized that his companion was not making shallow excuses. He really and truly could not touch that water. Zane might as well ask him to swim the green waters of the Toxic Bogs. "So what do you want us to do?" He asked finally.

Cole shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "That figure is behind us. The water is in front of us. We could run east, toward the ocean, or west, toward the lake." He paused. "That figure," he said again. "Have you seen it since we first fled from the rocks?"

Zane thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't know who he was, but I think he's gone now. What we need to worry about are the stone warriors that we attracted during our foolish, panicked, and completely unnecessary run." He squeezed Cole's hand gently. "Do you trust me?"

Cole paused, staring at their interlocked hands doubtfully. "I..."

"Do you trust me, Cole?"

"...Yes."

"Good." Zane took a single step toward the water. "I won't let the water hurt you. I promise."

For the first time, Cole ventured to look across the water. It was not that wide; thirty feet at the most. Rocks of uneven sizes- some small grains of sand, others poking above the current- made it look all the more daunting to him. "I...I don't trust you that much," he admitted. "My mother drowned in water hardly any deeper than this."

Zane took another step. Cole's feet were still rooted to the earth, now several steps behind him. "Do you think that I would let you fall?" He asked. He was becoming impatient. "Do you think that I would let go of your hand? Even if I did, the current is not strong enough to carry you away."

Hopefully, this logic would make its way through Cole's thick skull. And soon, because his sense of danger was steadily growing stronger. They were almost out of time, and they still had to find a place to hide after they crossed.

Cole placed a single, tentative foot forward, toe dragging through the gravel and sand. "I'm going the long way around when we come back," he growled. "Hiking the extra day around the lake."

"So there are no bridges?" Zane asked. He did not pull Cole along. His hand was simply there, acting as more of an anchor than the windlass itself.

"No. The river is the boundary for everyone who lives in the villages. No one's allowed to cross." He slowly dragged his other foot forward.

Zane bent over and plunged his free hand into the current. He drew it back out cupped and full of sparkling, cold water. He stood and presented his hand to Cole. "Look at it," he said gently. "What do you see?"

Cole looked. "I see...your hand. It's drowning." His own hand twitched.

"Okay." Zane lifted the water to his lips and sipped it. The water was sweet, just like the little current in Cole's cave.

After he had swallowed it, he spoke again. "Did it hurt me?" He held up his now empty hand, making Cole flinch. "Does my hand look like it drowned?"

Cole looked at his hand, then shuddered. "Yes," he said. "Your hand is all wet. It did hurt you. You're just hiding it. Lies."

Lies? Where did that come from? Zane bent down again and scooped up another handful of water.

Cole gasped. "Okay, I get it!" He exclaimed. "You're an idiot. Great lesson. Now get your hand out of that water!"

Zane stood again and sighed. It could take Cole weeks to gain the courage to walk through the current, he told himself. What am I trying to do? This is ridiculous.

"If I go across with you, will you stop touching the water?" Cole asked. His grip on Zane's hand was tight and painful. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Zane was having a considerable amount of trouble sorting out Cole's broken logic, but he wasn't about to say no. "Yes," he said. "Of course. I won't touch it anymore if you cross with me."

Cole breathed deeply and nodded. "Underhanded bribery," he mumbled quietly. "Let's go, before logic takes over again." He carefully touched one boot to the water, then jerked it out.

He is trying very hard, Zane told himself. He wants to cross, if only to prove- to himself, more than me- that he is not a coward.

"I'm going to get my all feet wet," Cole said shakily. His eyes were dilating again. "I-I...we..." He stuttered uncontrollably as his breathing quickened.

"Are you feeling okay?" Zane asked.

"Fine," Cole snapped, "yourself?

"Not good at all," Zane said. "I'm frightened and completely out of my comfort zone. It's nice to know that one of us is keeping his cool."

Cole grunted in response.

"Now tell me how you really feel," Zane said. "You said that you trusted me."

Cole visibly puckered his face. "Do...you trust me?" He asked slowly, as if testing the air with to see if it would hold his weight.

"Of course I do, Cole."

"Then...trust me when I say that I'm fine. Just a...a little chest pain. That's all."

Zane grunted. "How bad?" He asked as he stepped into the water.

Cole stepped into the water behind him. "Like my heart is dying," he whispered in a strained voice. Sweat droplets dripped from his chin. "I always thought then...that..." He was mixing up his words. "That the Overlord made my body do this. They...he...I...it's awful."

"So this happens frequently?" Zane asked as he traveled further into the current.

Cole's feet shuffled forward. "Yes," he said. "Mostly in the water chamber, where...where..." He looked down at the water and paused, throat constricting.

"Where...what?" Zane looked behind him and saw what was happening. Cole was retching loudly. "Can you breathe?" He asked, alarmed. "Cole, speak to me!"

Cole forced in a heaving breath. "My...chest..." He choked out.

Cardiac arrest? Zane felt for a pulse in Cole's wrist.

"I'm dying." Cole whimpered. "You're...we're...I'm..."

Zane ran his wet hand through his hair and groaned inwardly. Cole's heart was palpitating wildly. "You...you're not dying," Zane forced out. Was he lying? It was too soon to tell. He looked behind him and clutched his hair tighter, pain sprouting at his roots. They were less than four feet from the bank. Cole was not going to make it across the entire length of this river.

And so, with a mind that was more than hesitant, Zane gave up. "All right," he said slowly. "We'll go back. I'm sorry." He pulled Cole back onto the bank and helped him lay down in the sand.

Cole's condition was getting worse by the second. He lay there, writhing on the ground, unable to do anything more than focus on his breathing. Within a minute, his dry retches turned to real vomit, which only made things worse because his throat was dangerously tight. With the solids forcing their way up through his throat while he was just barely able to breathe, survival just seemed like that much more of a fantasy.

Zane dropped to his knees next to Cole, eyes taking in the mess before him with growing horror. What was he supposed to do? He had no idea how to treat this...whatever was happening. Some of the symptoms looked like cardiac arrest, and others looked like a panic attack.

"Zane!" A voice called out in the trees in front of him.

The Nindroid jumped. He had been so focused on Cole that he had been unaware of his surroundings. "Jay!" He shouted, relieved. "Over here!"

Jay ran through the shadows and skidded to a stop next to Zane and Cole, breathless. "What happened?" He asked. "Is Cole hurt?"

Zane shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with him," he said. "He's afraid of water, and we tried to cross."

Jay dropped to one knee and began to prod Cole, checking his heartbeat, temperature, and a hundred other things that Zane did not understand.

"DMT," Jay said finally.

"What?"

"Dimethyltryptamine," Jay elaborated. "A chemical that the pineal gland excretes during moments of intense trauma. In other words, he's having a panic attack. A really, really bad one. His mind thinks that he's about to die."

Zane stared at Jay, shocked. How does he know all of this?

Jay, oblivious to Zane's expression, leaned over Cole and frowned. "How long has he been like this?"

"A...about five minutes," Zane answered.

Jay nodded. "All right. The good news is, he will start calming down after about ten minutes have passed. In the meantime..." He grimaced. "I wish I had some gloves." He turned Cole onto his side, explaining to Zane that it was important for Cole to be in a position that made it easier for the bile to drip out of his mouth. They didn't want him to choke.

The next few minutes were a frenzy of activity. Cole, through many coughs and shudders, was trying to make them get back; he claimed he did not need their help.

But Jay firmly stayed by Cole's side, doing his best to keep his leader's mouth free of the yellowish vomit. "You'll be okay," he repeated it over and over again, as if saying so would make Cole believe it. "It will be over soon."

About five minutes after Jay had arrived, Cole's condition peaked. He had long since emptied his stomach and he now dry heaved, stuck in a delirium where he mumbled and stared into space, lost in his own world.

"It's the DMT," Jay explained. "The chemical is making him hallucinate. Mostly flashbacks of his own life, I'm sure. It'll wear off soon."

Zane sat on the sidelines, watching with a mixture of concern and interest as Jay worked like a professional. "Have you done this before?" He asked after about fifteen minutes had passed.

Jay gave him a sidelong glance before returning to Cole, who was finally starting to calm down. "Yeah," he said. "Lots of times."

"When?"

"With Borg," Jay answered. "That's my main job in the North."

"I thought you were a thief," Zane said.

"I am," Jay sounded annoyed. "But I also work with Borg, rehabilitating refugees from the Overlord's camps. This panic disorder. A lot of the people I work with have it."

"Doesn't Overlord work with Borg, though? Why would Cyrus be helping refugees?"

Jay growled. "Can we not talk about this right now?" He snapped. "I'm sort of busy."

Zane nodded. "Of course," he said, feeling foolish. This was not the time to be asking questions.

He looked into the woods, then stopped. "Jay..."

"I said we're done," Jay warned him.

"No," Zane said. "It's not that. Did you see any stone warriors on your way here?"

"No. Why?"

"Because I know that there were at least ten," Zane said. "But I haven't seen any."

"How would you know that they were there if you never saw them?"

"It's hard to explain. I just knew."

"Then where are they? Did they chase you?"

"For a little while, yes. I was so distracted that I didn't realize until now that they were gone."

"It was that shadowy figure," Cole spoke up unexpectedly. His eyes were glazed over, and his voice sounded horrible, no louder than a breath of wind. But he was talking coherently, and that was definitely an improvement over five minutes ago. "It chased them off."

"Cole," Zane smiled delicately. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Cole said in his breathy voice. "Don't pamper me, I'm fine." The fact that he was repeating himself betrayed the ugly truth behind his facade. He wasn't fine, and all three of them knew it.

Zane and Jay exchanged glances. "I saw a shadowy figure," Jay admitted finally, changing the subject. "Right after that eagle woke me up. It led me to you."

"You see?" Cole sat up slowly, shakily, using Jay's arm for support. "I'll bet that you two saw Pixal."

"Pixal?" Both noblemen said simultaneously.

"Yes." Cole looked terrible. Bile dripped from his chin onto his unbuttoned shirt and chest. "Zane. You survived the fall, why couldn't she?"

"Because you threw a knife in her chest," Zane said bitterly. "Pixal is dead, Cole. I can't believe that you are the one going through denial. Isn't that a little backwards?"

Cole slumped back into the sand and closed his eyes, fighting vertigo and nausea. "You're right," he said hoarsely. "It was probably Wu or something. I'm still kinda out of it. Sorry."

"No," Jay said. "You're fine. I'm glad that you're talking again." He sighed. "I had no idea that you suffered from panic disorder. Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Because I didn't know that I had it," Cole explained. "I always assumed that it was a heart problem, and I didn't want to make you guys pity me."

"How often does this happen?" Zane asked.

Cole closed his eyes and shrugged. He was still trembling all over, but it wasn't as bad as it had been. He was probably forcing himself to look stronger than he really felt. "Depends." He moaned softly. "I usually drink enough wine that the effects are dulled, anyway. So I never keep track."

It all made sense to Zane now. The reason why Cole hardly ever showed his face while on the boat. And the reason why when he did, he always had a glass in one hand and enough brutality in the other to keep the questions at bay.

The reason why Cole disappeared to his room after being denied drink when Kai bested him at fencing. He had been fighting off these DMT-induced panic attacks, and did not want anyone to see him in his weakened state. It wasn't that he was dark and brooding, it was that he was afraid. His strong words and firm jaw hid a secret deeper- and wider- than the ocean between Ninjago and Keitorin.

Jay's eyes widened. "Lloyd!" He exclaimed in a whisper-shout. "We left him at the cave!"

Zane gasped. "I'll bet that's why the stone warriors never chased us," he said. "They're after Lloyd!"