Chapter Seven
Jane's POV
Hesitantly, I turn the door-handle to Odin's room and step inside, present in hand. As I close the door behind me, he looks up from his desk and his single eye blinks in surprise. "Miss Foster?"
"Hi. Um, Happy Naming Day. The feast was amazing."
He gives me a shrewd look. "I highly doubt you have come here merely to tell me that you enjoyed your meal."
Clearly this guy doesn't appreciate the use of ice-breakers in a conversation. I'd better just skip to the point. "We celebrate naming days on Earth…sorry, on Midgard too. Except we call them 'birthdays'. And part of our tradition surrounding birthdays involves us giving presents to the person who was born on that day. So I wanted to give you this." I raise my hand, providing him with a better view of the little box nestled in my palm.
"What is it?" He asks in a wary tone of voice, as if he's convinced that the box contains some sort of intergalactic weapon of mass destruction.
I stride over and set it down on the desk in front of him. "Open it up and you'll see."
He reaches out and picks it up, gazing at it with a slightly baffled expression. After a moment's pause he begins to unwrap it, ripping off little strips of wrapping paper one at a time, until he eventually reaches the cardboard box underneath. He pops open the lid, revealing the box's contents: a silver-plated watch, propped up against the velvet lining. I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction.
"And what…" he asks, his voice dripping with disdain, "…is this supposed to be?"
My breath is released in the form of a shocked gasp. Surely my choice of gift wasn't that bad?! I hurry to explain: "It's a watch! We use it on Midgard to keep track of time…"
"A Midgardian contraption? Are you really so arrogant to presume that I would have any desire, or any need, to use your primitive technology? Is this a deliberate attempt to patronise me?!"
"No, of course not!" I exclaim, horrified. "I was just…"
"I cannot decide what is the greater insult…" He cuts me off, completely uninterested in my response, "…this pathetic excuse for a gift or your misguided impression that presenting with these trivial objects would somehow help you to win my affection."
My jaw drops open and I stand there with my mouth agape, as if I were a gargoyle on the side of a cathedral. I'm so shocked by the harshness of his words that my expression remains frozen for several seconds. However, all of a sudden, my lower jaw reconnects with the rest of my face and it jumps back into action, leaping up to brush against my upper jaw as I finally manage to stammer out a coherent sentence: "N-no, you don't understand! All I was trying to do…"
"I have no interest in your excuses!" He barks, "Take your leave! And take this wretched thing with you!" Snapping the lid shut, he tosses the box in my direction. My hands shoot up to catch it and, to my relief, it lands safely in between my palms. I gaze down at it and then, inevitably, my eyes are drawn upwards, until once again I am staring at Odin's face.
"GO!" He bellows. "What are you waiting for?!"
My mouth opens as I prepare to hurl an insult at him. A thousand offensive names are hanging on the tip of my tongue – and 'ungrateful bastard' is by far the most appealing of them all – but, to my frustration, I find I can't say any of them aloud. As much as I want to yell abuse at him, I can't, because he's Thor's father. Thor loves him and I can't bear to be rude to someone he cares about, even if the person in question undoubtedly deserves it. Instead, I just give an irritated sigh and turn my back on him, striding off towards the door as I mentally congratulate myself for having the foresight to keep this watch's receipt.
However, as I approach the door, my pace starts to slow as I become aware of a bizarre, niggling feeling that something isn't right. It sounds insane, but something tells me that my encounter with Odin should have gone differently. Obviously I'm not suggesting that he should have thrown his arms around me in a massive bear-hug, declared his undying love for the watch and insisted that from now on I call him "Dad", but I can't shake this feeling that his reaction should have been different. I would have thought that if he didn't like the gift, he would have just behaved in a bored or apathetic fashion, rather than completely flying off the handle like that...
At that moment, the truth suddenly dawns on me and I stop in my tracks as I realise: that wasn't what should have happened, that was what actually happened.
"None of this is right," I murmur, turning back to face Odin. "I remember now! You didn't lose your temper, you asked me to put the watch away. And then I broke Frigga's necklace. In fact, you're not Odin at all, you're…you're Loki!"
As my memories come flooding back to me and everything falls back into place, I know I should feel relieved, but instead all I experience is a sense of extreme confusion. Am I dreaming? This doesn't feel like any dream I've ever had before – it's so incredibly realistic, so similar to reality. But I must be dreaming, because that's the only plausible way that I could be back in this situation. It's the most logical explanation.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I will myself to wake up. However, when I re-open them, I find I'm still standing in Odin's room. I close my eyes again, mentally chanting the words 'this is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream,' over and over, but when I open my eyes I'm still trapped in the exact same place. My heart skips a beat. Why isn't this working?! Why can't I wake up?!
My eyes dart over to Odin. "How do I wake myself up?!" I ask desperately. He doesn't reply, nor does his facial expression change. At that point I suddenly notice that, since my outburst, he's been sat there in the exact same posture, staring at me in the same vacant way. He's completely frozen to the spot, like a statue – it's almost as if, now that I've realised I'm asleep, he can no longer participate in the dream.
"Okay, clearly you're not going to be of any help at all…" I grumble as I turn away from him and run a hand across my brow, racking my brains for a solution. Maybe I've been approaching this the wrong way – maybe, instead of trying to reason with my mind, I need to give it a shock. Hopefully, if my brain thinks I'm in danger, my survival reflexes will kick in and jolt me back into consciousness. But that's still easier said than done. If I'm as deeply unconscious as I think I am, then I'm going to have to do something astonishingly stupid if I want to shock myself awake.
No sooner has this thought crossed my mind than my gaze falls upon a penknife lying in the centre of Odin's desk. Well, if that doesn't count as 'astonishingly stupid', then I don't know what does...
Crossing over to the desk, I lean over Odin's petrified body and take hold of the penknife. Its ornate, ivory handle feels smooth and cool against the inside of my palm. My brow furrows. If this is all a dream, how could I possibly be able to feel something like that, something so true to life? What if I'm mistaken? What if I'm not dreaming after all? The penknife trembles in my hand as if it were trying to escape my grip and return to its place on the desk, all in an effort to warn me not to do as I had originally planned. But rather than letting it slip from my grasp, I tighten my hold, my knuckles bulging up into thick, white bumps on the back of my hand. This is a dream, it has to be. The Asgardians, SHIELD and all the other weird and wonderful people I've come across since New Mexico have never once mentioned that time-travel is possible. So, logically, if I haven't gone back in time, the only other explanation for me being here is that I'm dreaming. It's just a disturbingly realistic dream, nothing more. And it's about time I woke up.
Raising the penknife up in one hand, I lay my other hand on the surface of the desk, palm outstretched. As I position the knife directly above it, a feel a wave of nausea wash over me. I gulp and try my best to ignore it. I've got to go through with this – it's the only way. Out of the blue, I remember something my dad taught me when I was a teenager suffering from exam stress. It was a strategy to calm myself down before I went into the exam hall: inhale, count to three, exhale. It was simple but effective. I haven't done this in years - not since he died, in fact - but now seems as good a time as any to start again.
Lifting the knife up a little higher, I take a deep breath. One, two, three. I breathe out. In. One, two three. Out. Okay, last time. In. One, two. My hand tenses around the knife. Three! As I call out the number in my head, I plunge down, driving the knife into the palm of my other hand. My heart pounds against my chest and my body trembles as I wait for the unbearable pain…
And then, abruptly, I open my eyes. My vision's slightly blurry, so I blink a couple of times in order to clear it. Gradually, the fuzziness begins to fade and my gaze becomes more focused, allowing me to make sense of my surroundings. A grey stone ceiling materialises before my eyes – I'm staring straight up at it, so I must be lying on my back. My whole body feels exceptionally light – weightless, almost, as if I were an astronaut floating around a shuttle in zero-gravity conditions. Even my head feels light; so much so that it's actually difficult to move it. Right now I can't summon up the strength to turn my head and look around the rest of the room, or to turn it downwards to see what I'm actually lying on, but it's not really necessary. I can tell from the ceiling alone that I'm no longer in Odin's room. The stonework is plain and covered in mould – no self-respecting royal would ever allow their bedroom ceiling to get into such a state! Although I didn't pay much attention to it when I went there a few days ago, I'm certain that the ceiling to Odin's room would be just as elaborately decorated – if not more so – as the ceiling to the room I'm sharing with Thor. Which all means that my plan worked! In the end, it was all just a dream and now, thankfully, it's over.
A wide grin spreads across my face. I'm literally giddy with relief! Nonchalantly, I turn my head to the side – at which point my smile vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. Loki is kneeling over me, his eyes closed, muttering a constant stream of words under his breath. In my delight at waking up, I'd briefly forgotten about the events of the past few days – I'd even forgotten about him! As I stare at his bent figure, I notice that his arm is outstretched. However, I can't see his hand; where is it, exactly? And then I realise, with a sinking feeling, that his hand is pressed against my forehead, his fingers dancing over my temples.
Hastily, I try to raise myself up and break away from his touch, but as I attempt to rest my weight on my elbow, my arm gives way, sliding underneath the surface of whatever I'm lying on. Glancing down, I discover that I'm not actually lying on anything at all – I'm floating in a huge pool of water. It stretches out in front of me, covering half the length of the room. The chamber beyond it is dimly lit by a few hanging lanterns, the rays of which are shining over the far end of the pool, casting sparkling white bars over the otherwise pitch-black surface of the water. Meanwhile, my body bobs along listlessly at this end of the pool, Loki's grip on my head preventing me from drifting away from the side.
My gaze returns to Loki's face, which has become contorted in his deep concentration. A shiver runs down my spine. What is he doing to me?! Judging from those unintelligible words that he's been muttering incessantly since I woke up, he must be casting some sort of spell. And although I don't understand why he would need to place me in this pool to cast his spell, I'm certainly not going to stick around to find out!
Reaching behind me, I lay the palms of my hands flat against the wall of the pool and, summoning all my strength, I then thrust myself upwards, launching my body away from the wall. As I do so, I pull my legs underneath me and kick out, turning myself over in the water until I'm lying on my front. Above me, Loki makes a startled noise as I break free from his grasp. Keeping my eyes fixed on the other end of the pool, I propel myself forwards, tearing through the water with as much speed as I can muster. It would be pointless trying to climb out at this end, because Loki would be blocking my escape route. However, if I can reach the far end in time, I should be able to get out of the pool and, if I manage to catch Loki off guard, I may even be able to push him in here, which would buy me some time to escape from this room.
But as I continue to swim towards my target, I notice my pace starts to decrease. My limbs feel heavy and difficult to co-ordinate - it reminds me of the clumsiness of being drunk. And I'm so, so tired. I wasn't aware of it when I was lying still, but now that I'm moving around I'm overcome with this exhaustion. It must be due to the lack of food - my blood sugar levels must be painfully low by now. Every movement takes tremendous effort; I'm only half-way across the pool, yet it feels like I've swum the distance of an entire ocean.
My head slumps forward and the end of the pool briefly disappears from view as a swell in the water, created by the movement of my hands underneath the surface, rises up and obscures it. A moment later the swell dissipates and the wall of the pool reappears, but it seems higher up and further away than it did before. I continue to push forwards – and by this stage my firm, confident breast-stroke has morphed into a sluggish doggy-paddle – and once again the water's surface is disturbed by a tiny wave. This time, however, the wave curls backwards, splashing me across the face. I gasp as the cold water lands against my eyeballs, blurring my vision in the process. My paddling comes to a halt as I pull both my hands out of the water and rub them over my closed eyelids, attempting to clear my vision. Beneath me, my feet kick to and fro, keeping me afloat. However, now that I'm stationary, I suddenly become aware of a heavy weight tugging at my lower body, dragging me down. I open my eyes, trying to determine my exact position in the water, but all I can see is a mass of blotchy shapes. My eyelids flutter closed again and I resume my rubbing of them, my movements more frantic this time than they were before. I can feel my legs struggling to support my weight; my kicks are growing weaker and more infrequent.
I hear Loki's sharp voice calling out to me: "Foster, pay attention! You need to…" But I never learn what it is that I so urgently need to do, because at that moment everything falls silent. I can't hear anything at all – not the sound of the water splashing against the side of the pool, not the sound of Loki's footsteps echoing throughout the room as he chases after me, not even the sound of my own heavy breathing as I struggle to stay afloat. But then, a new noise breaks through the soundless void, shattering the silence and filling my ears; a dull, repetitive gurgling noise. It drones on and on, endlessly. As well as hearing it, I can also feel it – it's actually inside my ears, reverberating through my flesh, bouncing against my eardrums. It's almost hypnotic.
Slowly, I shift my weight to the side, my legs kicking clumsily underneath me, until I eventually manage to turn myself over on to my back. I open my eyes and look upwards. My vision is still a little hazy, causing me to blink a couple of times, but after a few moments it finally clears. I had expected to see the room's damp, decaying ceiling, or perhaps Loki's face peering down at me with a furious expression, but instead I find myself gazing up at a layer of water. In the centre of it, a light glimmers dimly, the tiny rays dancing across the surface of the dark waves like fireflies darting along the night sky. The light seems to be fading into the distance, as if the water is consuming it. It only takes me a moment to realise my mistake. The light is actually totally motionless – it isn't moving, but I am. The water isn't absorbing the light at all, it's absorbing me. I've slipped under the surface of the pool. I'm drowning.
I wait for that rush of terror, that surge of adrenalin which will spur me into action and send me swimming frantically back up to the surface, but it never comes. Instead, all I experience is a strange sense of closure as I finally realise where that incessant gurgling is coming from – it's the water in my ears. I don't even feel the need to gasp for air – it's almost as if I've stopped breathing altogether. It's like being in a trance.
I know I should be terrified right now but, for some reason, I don't feel the least bit afraid. This sensation of sinking down to the depths of the pool is so indescribably peaceful. I can still feel that weight around my abdomen, gradually pulling me down and, now that I'm no longer panicking, I can finally identify what it is. It's the skirt of my dress, absorbing all the water around me.
Everything seems to be slowing down, as if time itself were coming to a complete halt. The only thing which doesn't slow is that repetitive babbling noise, but even that has ceased to annoy me. Rather than getting on my nerves, it's actually becoming quite soothing. It's like an underwater lullaby, luring me into a state of sleep.
I can't afford to fall asleep, I can't! If I lose consciousness now, I'm done for. But I'm unable to find the strength to fight this overwhelming drowsiness. It feels as if the exhaustion I experienced while I was swimming on the surface has now been increased tenfold and this, combined with the steady gurgling sound in my ears and the feeling of tremendous heaviness as the water drags me down, is too much to resist. My limbs feel like they're made of concrete – I don't think I could move them even if my life depended on it (which, right now, it does). It's becoming increasingly difficult to think straight. Everything – moving, thinking, staying awake, etc. – seems to require so much effort. My gaze returns to that distant light, glimmering far away on the surface of the water, before my eyelids finally drift shut and I allow the darkness to swallow me up…
...Something wraps around my body, tugging me to the side. In my dreamy state of mind, I imagine that it's the tentacles of some hideous sea-monster and I kick out feebly, attempting to free myself. But then I dimly become aware of something sliding up my back, heading towards the top of my spine. I can feel that it has four fingers and a thumb and then it dawns on me – it's not a tentacle at all, it's a human hand. And those things that are enveloping me and pulling me up against the body of the mystery being are a pair of arms.
Thor! My heart soars with relief and joy, my lips curling upwards into a small smile as I relax into his embrace. I can't find the energy to open my eyes, but I don't need to see his face to know that it's him. I can feel it in my bones – as sappy as it sounds, no-one else makes me feel this secure. I've never been able to determine exactly why he has such a calming influence on me. Perhaps it's the way he holds me: firmly, but also surprisingly gently, as if he worries that I might break in half if he squeezes too hard. That's how he's holding me right now.
The terrible exhaustion is taking its toll on me again and I lean into Thor's body, resting my head against his shoulder. This time, I know it's safe to fall asleep, because I can feel his muscles rippling underneath me as he tears through the water, pulling us back up to the surface. I can drift off, taking comfort in the knowledge that Thor won't allow anything to happen to me.
I knew he'd find me. I knew he'd keep his word and stay true to that promise he made me all those months ago when he appeared on the balcony of my flat in London. Using the last amount of my mental energy, I cast my mind back to that day when he returned from Asgard and told me that he was staying for good this time. And then, holding the image of his smiling face in my mind's eye, I let myself slip back into unconsciousness...
Loki's POV
Oh, wonderful. Now she's fallen asleep against me. As if she wasn't causing enough hassle already! As I swim towards the surface, using one arm to support to her body and the other to steer myself through the water, I'm becoming increasingly convinced that this woman could well be the human embodiment of disaster. Ever since this whole fiasco began, she has done everything within her power to lay my plans to waste. Her refusal to drink the potion until I had tasted it for her was infuriating, but that was a minor inconvenience, a trivial fly in the ointment, compared to this. She was supposed to remain unconscious throughout the whole procedure. Clearly I didn't strike her over the head with sufficient force – her skull must be much harder than I originally thought.
The surface of the pool is now tantalisingly close – one more push and I will reach it. With a firm kick of my legs and a sweep of my arm, I surge upwards and finally emerge from the water, gasping loudly as I release the breath that I have been holding in for the past few minutes. I inhale slowly and deeply, savouring the sensation of the fresh air flooding into my lungs. Jane's head is still lying upon my shoulder, but even though she is no longer submerged I cannot allow myself any more than a moment's rest. I still need to purge her lungs of the water she has swallowed; if I do not, my struggle to drag her back to the surface will have been in vain.
Hastily, I push her off my shoulder and lower the arm that I currently have wrapped around her, dipping her body so that she is now lying just above the surface of the pool – my hand, splayed out against the top of her back, is the only thing preventing her from falling back in. I reach forward, about to place my other hand on her, when, without any warning and through no action of my own mind, an image materialises in my head, freezing me to the spot. The image is of Thor, of all people! It begins to move and my eyes fall shut involuntarily as I watch a scene unfold in my mind's eye. I observe, astounded, as Thor emerges from the light cast by the BiFrost, striding forwards across a balcony. The skyline is unfamiliar to me – it is certainly not Asgardian, of that I am sure. The architecture of the buildings is reminiscent of New York, so perhaps he is on Midgard? I can tell from the vividness of the image that this is no figment of my imagination. There is something else, too, something which confirms that I have not merely dreamt this scene up. It is virtually impossible to describe it, but if I were to try, I would say that it is a form of knowledge; somehow I know that this event is real, that it has actually happened. It is not a fantasy, but a memory. But that does not make any sense at all, because I have no recollection of this event. How can I possibly remember something that never happened to me?!
However, I do not have the opportunity to ponder this, because suddenly my perspective begins to change. Previously, I had been stationary, watching as Thor approached me, but now I have started to run towards him and, as I do so, I become aware of a feeling of intense, immeasurable joy. I say "become aware", because that is the only suitable term to describe it. I am not experiencing this joy myself – indeed, the only emotion I feel right now is one of extreme confusion – but I can sense that this memory, whomever it belongs to, contains a lot of happiness for that person. It is a truly bizarre thing to be able to sense another being's emotions without actually experiencing them yourself. Thor opens his arms, preparing to embrace this mystery individual and, as he or she reaches his side, he bends his head and leans forwa- OH NO!
My stomach churns in disgust as Thor presses his lips against this person, pulling them into a kiss. And I can feel everything – every minute, sickening detail. His arms around me, his tongue, his teeth, oh this is truly unbearable! These grotesque sensations, combined with the rush of love the person is feeling, is too much for me to endure. The only positive outcome of this ordeal is that, at the very least, I can now identify who this memory belongs to. It is without a doubt Jane Foster's – no-one else would tolerate my estranged brother groping them in such a way! Well, I suppose it is possible that Sif would allow him such a privilege, but this memory is clearly not hers, because I know for a fact that Thor has never been romantically involved with her.
To my immense relief, Thor eventually manages to withdraw his tongue from Jane's mouth. As soon as the kiss is broken, she begins to speak:
"So, I guess it's safe to assume you haven't been charged with treason, then?"
He chuckles before replying: "No, fortunately I managed to make my father see sense. I have been pardoned, as have the other warriors."
"Good, I was starting to worry that you'd be gone for another two years, if not longer! Well, since you're technically a free man, I hope that means you'll be visiting regularly?"
"I will be doing much more than that, Jane," He replies, taking hold of her hand, "Why restrict myself to a short visit when I could be spending every moment by your side?"
Urgh, how saccharine! To think Thor once used to tease me for being the softer-hearted of the two of us! It is truly astounding to see how sentimental he has become since meeting this woman.
"You mean…?" Jane trails off, her voice lifting with hope.
"I am staying here. I wish to settle on Midgard with you."
"Thor, nothing would make me happier, but are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you have to do this in order to make up for what happened after New Mexico. What I said earlier was a joke…"
"I know, Jane, I know. But I can assure you that I am not doing this because I feel I am under any obligation. Defeating Malekith has made me realise that the universe needs a guardian to protect it and I cannot perform that role properly if I remain on Asgard living the life of a prince. What's more, if those many months of separation have taught me one thing, it is that Asgard is no longer my home; my home is with you. I was forced to leave you once and now I never intend to do so again."
"Really? Is that a solemn oath?" She asks playfully.
"Well, I could make it an official oath according to the laws and traditions of Asgard if you wish, but that would require me to kneel down and recite an incredibly lengthy list of vows…"
"Never mind, then. I'll take your word for it."
She starts to lean in towards him and I watch, mortified, as Thor's lips begin to part. Oh please, not again! Don't make me suffer this a second time! However, at that moment my wish is seemingly granted and, just as suddenly as the scene appeared in my mind's eye, it vanishes, leaving nothing but a dark void in its place.
I open my eyes again, stunned by what I have just witnessed. Jane's memories are within my mind! How could this be possible? If my spell books are to be believed (which, bearing in mind that they have served me faithfully for well over a thousand years, I think they probably can be), such a thing can only be achieved through the use of telepathy. But that is rare magic and I have not cast any of the charms or enchantments that are needed in order to create a link between two minds! The only plausible explanation I can think of is that, when I entered the pool, a connection must have formed between Jane's consciousness and my own. My book of enchantments warned that, during a procedure as delicate as this, the sorcerer must remain separate from the subject at all costs; if the two of them were to come into contact, this could have a number of harmful consequences. The subject's memories could be erased completely, leaving them with no recollection of their life at all; another possible and equally undesirable scenario would be that their memories were unaffected but their personality would have undergone a dramatic change, creating a radically different person to the one who had existed beforehand. However, in its list of potential side-effects, my book made no mention of the formation of a telepathic link. Most curious…but I can dwell on all of this at some later stage. Jane's unconscious body still sags heavily in my arms and I cannot delay her resuscitation any longer.
My hand, which had been left dangling in mid-air as I watched Jane's memory, now travels downwards and comes to rest atop her chest. Her water-logged dress is clinging tightly to her body, accentuating every dip and curve – it is a sight which, in any other situation, I would have found incredibly alluring. However, in my current state of being soaked to the skin and having only minutes to revive her, I could not feel lecherous even if I tried. Indeed, all I experience is a sense of great urgency – and not desire – as I press my hand downwards, pumping her ribcage up and down as I chant the resuscitation spell.
After several tense moments, I breathe a sigh of relief as her eyes fly open and she rolls onto her side, coughing violently as she expels the water from her lungs. Gradually, her coughs start to lessen in intensity, until eventually they cease completely and I hear her gasp shakily as she gulps in air to steady her breathing. She then turns her head, looking back at me over her shoulder. Our eyes meet and she cries out in alarm, her arms and legs lashing out as she tries to pull away from me. She half-jumps, half-slides out of my grasp, but when she enters the water she only drifts back a couple of feet before she pauses in her flight and looks around her, as if searching for some mystery person. Her gaze then returns to my face, her eyes glaring daggers at me across the short space that separates us.
"What have you done with him?" She demands.
What is she prattling on about now?! Well, whatever crime she believes that I have committed, it must have been a particularly heinous one, for I have never seen her look so angry. "Done with whom, exactly?"
"Thor, of course!" She replies as if it were blatantly obvious, "Where is he?"
Thor? Why would she assume he was here? "I imagine he is precisely where I left him, Foster: roaming around the palace grounds with your doppelganger in tow."
"There's no point in lying to me, I know he's here! He saved me! He pulled me out of the water!"
"That was me, you witless wench!"
In an instant, her anger dissipates, her eyes widening in profound surprise. She stares at me, completely taken aback. "You?!"
"Yes, me. I would have thought the fact that you were lying in my arms when you awoke may have offered you a subtle clue as to who rescued you. Clearly, in your haste to separate yourself from me, that crucial detail must have escaped your attention!"
"But that can't be right! I felt…" She trails off, apparently mulling over something. It couldn't have been of great importance, because a few seconds later she shakes her head – as if to clear the thought from her mind - and finally concedes: "Okay, fine. Let's say it was you. Why would you want to save me? Why not let me drown?"
I give an irritated sigh. "Because, as I explained quite clearly in your cell, at some stage I will need to return you to Thor and, when I do so, you must be alive. Say, for example, that I decided to leave your dead body in his bedchamber. When he discovers it, he's hardly going to shrug nonchalantly, arrange your funeral and then forget about you entirely! So, to state the matter as simply as possible, since you seem to be having such difficulty grasping it: I have no desire for you to die, because if you did I would struggle to conceal the true circumstances of your demise. If you were to drown, that would be a tremendous setback in my plans, ergo, it was in my best interests to save you."
"You saved me because it would benefit you," She says, more as a statement than as a question.
"That is what motivates all my actions, Foster."
"I might've guessed…" she mutters as she turns to the side and begins to swim away from me.
"And where do you think you're going now?" I ask sharply.
"Calm down, I'm just swimming over to the side of the pool!" She answers in an exasperated voice, as if these past few days have been more of a trial for her than they have been for me – I would beg to differ! "I'm tired and I want to rest against it. We can continue this discussion over there, can't we? Or is that also forbidden?"
"Don't be facetious, you are perfectly entitled to go over there as long as you don't try to escape again," I respond, swimming after her.
"Right now I don't think I have the energy for escaping," she sighs, "It's hard enough trying to float!"
We reach the wall of the pool in the space of roughly a minute, at which point Jane turns back to face me, folding her arms against the side in order to support her weight. "So, to pick up where we left off, if you're not going to kill me, then what are you going to do, exactly? What were you trying to do to me before I woke up? It must've been something I wouldn't approve of, since you took the trouble of knocking me out beforehand!"
I roll my eyes at her resentful tone of voice. "You needn't make a fuss over such a minor injury! I lightly struck you over the head…"
"Lightly?!" She protests, rubbing her hand over the area of her skull where the tray made contact, "I feel like I've just been hit by Thor's hammer!"
"It was light by my standards in that it was not enough to cause permanent damage to your brain. I only used the minimum amount of force that I believed was necessary in order to render you unconscious for several hours. Any attempt to rewrite your memory while you were wide awake would be utterly futile."
Jane gawps at me, her face the picture of pure horror. "You were trying to rewrite my memory?!" She splutters, her voice edging on the hysterical, "How could you…Wait, no. No, I'm not falling for this. You're joking, you must be! You can't rewrite someone's memory, it's…it's just impossible." As she utters the last sentence, I can detect a slight tremor in her voice, a subtle tremble which belies her confident words, revealing how unsettled she truly is.
"It is rare magic, but I can assure you that it is far from impossible. It can indeed be done. It certainly seemed like the most suitable way to deal with you: I could simply erase your memories of the past few days and then create false recollections in their place, thereby protecting my identity. You would be left with the impression that you had a brief and typically unpleasant encounter with Odin before leaving his chamber and returning to Thor."
Her eyes brighten with hope. "But that hasn't happened!" She exclaims, "I can still remember everything exactly as it occurred! So clearly your plan didn't work!"
"Of course it didn't work!" I snap irritably – seeing Jane's relieved expression has further added to my temper, "Your untimely awakening and disastrous attempt to escape disrupted the procedure long before its completion!"
Jane's face, which was formerly lit up with relief, now darkens into a look of righteous anger. "Really? You're going to take that attitude with me? Because if that's not ironic then I don't know what is! I mean, how dare you?! How dare you mess around with my mind like that?! You have absolutely no right!"
I frown at her, taken aback by her sudden tirade. I am perplexed, annoyed and – for some reason which I cannot entirely place – slightly disappointed in her. She has retained her composure surprisingly well over the last few days; contrary to my expectations, she has not at any point broken down into a sobbing wreck or launched into an angry rant at me. Why, then, should the idea of a harmless memory-altering spell be the factor that finally pushes her to breaking point?
"Calm yourself, Foster," I reply patronisingly. It seemed like an appropriate tone of voice to take, because right now it feels like I may as well be addressing a child. "There is no need to over-react…"
"Don't speak to me as if I'm stupid! My reactions are completely justified! You've tried to interfere with something that is so, so important to me…"
"Why?" I cut in, my curiosity piqued.
"Why what?"
"Why is your memory of such special importance to you?"
"Forget it," she responds dismissively, "You wouldn't understand."
"Bearing in mind that I was able to comprehend complex theories of inter-dimensional teleportation long before you were a glint in your great-great grandmother's eye, I am quite certain I'll be able to make sense of whatever explanation you are likely to give. So kindly refrain from insulting my intelligence and answer my question."
She studies my face for a moment, seemingly trying to determine whether or not I can be trusted with whatever piece of information she is withholding from me. Then she sighs and, in a manner reminiscent of a petulant child obeying an order from a parent, she begins to clarify: "My memory is vital to me because I rely on it in order to do what I love. If I want to be an astrophysicist I need to be able to remember everything I've learned over the years, not just from other scientists, but also in my own work. If any of that got erased, or if any of it was changed, I'd be back to square one. I need my memory like…well, like you need your magic, I suppose! My memory and my mind in general are what I need to get by."
Well, that's…interesting, actually. I was anticipating some sort of mundane explanation, something along the lines of her memory being important because it acted as a repository for all her fond recollections of her loved ones, her home, and so on. All utterly predictable and exactly what I would expect from a Midgardian. But no, that's not the case at all! She doesn't see her memory as some sort of sentimental storage area; she sees it as a tool. The comparison she made between her memory and my magic is particularly intriguing – it suggests that she views her memory, along with the rest of her mind, as her weapon of choice. She seems to value her cognitive abilities nearly as much as I value my own.
She starts to speak again, interrupting my mental analysis of her earlier words: "But I don't understand: how can you rewrite someone's memory? How can you just reach into someone's brain without cutting their skull open, then remove what you don't want and put new memories in that empty space?"
"As I have already mentioned, this magic is extremely uncommon; so uncommon, in fact, that it is not recorded in the vast majority of spell books in the Nine Realms. However, if you are in possession of a particularly ancient and long-forgotten volume of one of these books, as I happen to be, then not only can you find the enchantment, but you are also provided with a clear list of instructions regarding how to cast it. The overall process consists of three steps. Firstly, the sorcerer must cleanse the subject's mind – this cleansing can be thought of as a method of 'opening' the subject's mind, in that it alters the state of his or her consciousness, allowing it to be permeated by the outside world. Secondly, the subject is placed in a pool of enchanted fluid. Before I put you in here, I added several magical salts to the water in order to give it the mystical properties I desired. This liquid is used to establish a more tangible link between the subject's mind and the external world. It connects with his or her consciousness and helps to draw it out of their mind without actually extracting it. The sorcerer uses this connection to gain access to the subject's memories, which brings us to the third and final step, in which he delves into the subject's mind, erases whatever recollections he pleases and then replaces them with scenarios of his own invention. When the subject awakens, they will be none the wiser – they will be under the impression that their memories still hold an accurate representation of everything that has happened to them."
Jane frowns, apparently confused. "So, when I woke up, you'd completed the second step and were in the middle of the third step?"
"Correct."
"But in that case, when did you do the first step? When did you cleanse my mind?"
"You haven't guessed?!"
"Would I be asking you if I had?"
I sigh as some of my earlier exasperation begins to resurface. She may differ from other Midgardians in terms of the value she places on her mind, but she is still as depressingly slow on the uptake as they are. "Cast your mind back to the prison cell. Remember our last encounter there."
Her brow furrows as she attempts to decipher my clue. A few moments later her eyes light up in realisation. "The goblet!"
"Well deduced. Yes, the goblet you drank from contained a potion, not water."
"Idiot!" She exclaims. "Not you..." she adds quickly, seeing my surprised expression, "...I was referring to myself. I should've known better than to trust you. Even if you did drink from the goblet before me, I should've guessed you were still lying."
"On the contrary, I didn't lie at all. I reassured you that the goblet did not contain poison, which was perfectly true. I simply failed to mention that what it actually contained was a potion. There is a significant difference between lying to someone and not telling them the complete truth."
"Well, whatever you were doing, you were still manipulating me! Didn't it occur to you that maybe, just maybe if you'd been honest with me about your plans, we could've avoided all of this?"
I scoff. "Don't be ridiculous! Your earlier rant indicated your feelings quite clearly! You would have stubbornly refused to be a part of this procedure!"
"Yes, of course I would have, but that doesn't mean we couldn't have come to some sort of compromise! There must be an alternative course of action which doesn't involve you tinkering around with my mind! And now that this 'procedure' of yours hasn't succeeded, I strongly suggest we pursue that alternative, rather than going through all this memory re-writing stuff all over again!"
"Actually, that may not be necessary," I utter pensively as I am reminded of the existence of the telepathic link, "It seems the situation may not be a complete loss after all."
"How do you mean?"
The only way to test my theory is to conduct an experiment and now seems as good an opportunity as any. "Picture something in your mind's eye," I instruct her, "Anything at all – an object, a person, an entire realm if you so wish! Do not tell me what it is, but keep the image of it in your mind."
She stares at me, her eyes swimming with confusion and concern. It is the sort of look one bestows upon someone who they think has lost their sanity. "Why do you want me to do that?"
"For once, just do as I ask!" I bark in reply.
She draws back slightly, raising her hands in a gesture of mock-surrender. "Okay, okay!" Turning her head to the side, she lowers her gaze and drums her fingertips reflectively against the stone wall of the pool as she tries to decide on an appropriate image. A few moments later her tapping against the stone ceases and she turns back to face me, announcing: "Right, I'm picturing something."
"Good. Now, I am going to take my eyes off you for a minute or two and when I do so I expect you to stay put. Is that clear?"
She nods reluctantly and grumbles: "Yes, fine."
I close my eyes, focusing my attention entirely on Jane's mind, banishing all other thoughts from my head. I imagine the intricate web of her consciousness, spread across her brain and filling her skull, in much the same way that a beautifully weaved tapestry covers the walls to a chamber and fills it with colour. I imagine that her consciousness is no longer separate to my own; I imagine that it is now an open door, completely accessible to me. For a while all I can see is the same dark void that appears every time I close my eyes, but then, out of the gloom, an image begins to materialise, in much the same manner as how Jane's memory appeared in my head. It is blurry and indistinct, but I can tell from the shape of the figure that it is supposed to be a person. Gradually, the blurriness begins to fade and the physical features of the unknown figure become clearer. I can see that it is a man – small in stature for a male (well, small by Asgardian standards, in that he is under six foot), olive-skinned, with light brown hair. He bears an uncanny resemblance to Jane; he must be a relative of hers. And then, quite abruptly, I become aware of the feelings that Jane associates with this image, just as I became aware of the emotions she experienced during that memory of hers. I can sense – and I am not sure how exactly I am able to do this (obviously telepathy works in very mysterious ways) – I can sense that I was correct in my judgment and that it is indeed a relative of hers. A close relative, judging from the intense feeling of love that surrounds this image. But there is also something else; a deep, terrible sadness, a feeling of having lost something of tremendous importance. I know that feeling all too well – it is exactly what I experienced when my mother was murdered by that Elvin monster. Without a shadow of a doubt, this relative of hers must also be dead. And then, suddenly, the knowledge of who this man is hits me with the force of a lightning bolt – it is almost as if the truth about him had been partially concealed behind a curtain, which I have now managed to draw back. It is Jane's father.
"You are picturing your father," I inform her, my eyes remaining firmly shut, "He passed away…" What was it, three years ago? No, five! It was five! "…five years ago."
The image of her father promptly dissolves back into darkness, indicating that she is no longer picturing him – presumably my last remark shocked her so much that it has rendered her unable to keep the image in her mind. Opening my eyes to observe her reaction, I find that she appears just as stunned as I'd imagined her to be. Her body has gone deathly still; the only motion that remains is the blinking of her eyes and the steady rising and falling of her chest as she breathes. Were it not for that she could easily be mistaken for one of the statues that adorn the palace grounds. Finally, her lips part and, in a tremulous voice, she attempts to speak: "How…how do you know…?"
"To put it simply, I read your mind. It would appear that, when I dived into this pool to save your life, a telepathic link became established between us. My book of enchantments contained a strict warning which stated that nothing should be allowed to enter the pool during the procedure because, in the words of the ancient scholars, 'we do not dare to imagine what the consequences of such a blunder would be, but they could potentially be catastrophic'. Fortunately, though, it seems we have managed to evade catastrophe and arrive at a situation which works in our favour."
"Oh, really?" She responds hotly as some of her earlier belligerence begins to resurface (I did not think it would remain at bay for long!). "And how exactly does your being able to read my mind twenty-four-seven work in my favour?"
"Do not jump to conclusions, I cannot read your mind 'twenty-four-seven', as you so eloquently put it. This ability is not with me all the time; it requires a great deal of effort and concentration in order to activate it. I cannot tell what you are thinking right now, for example."
"Oh. So in a sense, you can switch it on and off?"
"I suppose you could describe it in that way, yes. But even though this connection between my mind and yours is not a constant one, I am still able to gain access to your consciousness and gaze into your thoughts whenever I please, both of which I can do without you realising. Therefore, if I were to release you now, I would be able to monitor your thoughts to check whether or not you had told anyone about my true identity. You would not be able to conceal your thoughts from me, so I would know the truth instantly. Needless to say, if you had told anyone about my little secret, things would become extremely unpleasant for you. The situation works in my favour because I can ensure that you keep silent about what you have discovered and, in answer to your earlier question, the situation works in your favour because it means we can return you to Thor."
Jane's eyes brighten with hope. "You're really going to let me go?"
"Yes, I have no desire for you to stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary. To tell the truth, I would greatly appreciate some peace and quiet for a change."
"Okay, but you've got to promise me one thing."
The nerve of this woman! Here I am, offering her the chance of freedom, yet she still wants more! "You're hardly in a position to be making demands…"
"Look, will you please just hear me out?" She asks, softening her tone slightly so her remark sounds more like a plea than a command.
I suppose there is no harm in letting her voice her desires; if they are unreasonable I am under no obligation to fulfil them. "Very well, go ahead."
"Since you're now able to read my mind anytime you like, day or night, obviously I'm going to have less privacy, but there's this one time – well, actually, some days it's a few times…" She stops to sigh deeply. To my intrigue, I notice that her cheeks have started to redden – she is actually blushing! "Oh never mind, I'm just going to say it completely bluntly: Please don't read my mind while I'm in bed with Thor!"
My whole body recoils in disgust at what she has just said. What kind of perverted degenerate does she take me for?! Having been forced to experience what it feels like to be kissed by Thor, the very idea of also having to suffer through what it feels like to lay with him…oh, it doesn't bear thinking about! Why would she think I would have any wish to do such a thing?! "Of course I won't! I'll monitor your thoughts on a daily basis, but I'll do it at some more appropriate time, while you're not busy satisfying your carnal urges!"
"Okay, thank you," she mutters quickly. The redness of her cheeks has now spread across the entirety of her face, with the result that she now looks very much like a ripe apple.
Eager to put an end to this rather disturbing exchange, I hastily change the subject: "Now, if you're quite finished, perhaps we can get out of this infernal pool and begin organising your release. Obviously I cannot allow you to leave while you are still dripping head to toe in water; you will have to wait in Odin's bedchamber – or my bedchamber as it is now – until your garments have dried."
"So you're going to teleport us back to Asgard?"
"No, on the contrary, all we need to do in order to arrive at my bedchamber is leave this room, navigate a corridor and then ascend a few flights of stairs," I reply, relishing the look of surprise on her face.
"You mean I've been on Asgard this whole time?!"
"Yes. This is not a prison on a distant planet, as I had led you to believe. It is in fact an abandoned dungeon located beneath the palace," I explain as I climb out of the pool, "Convicts and traitors used to be incarcerated down here thousands of years ago, but after we developed the technology that is now used in our current prison, this jail seemed rather outdated in comparison. It fell into disuse and was eventually walled up, but the cells, corridors and so on were never actually demolished. It's all incredibly useful if you want to place someone in a location where they stand no chance of being found."
"But why did you tell me I was on the other side of the universe?!"
"Because I knew that if you were convinced you were a great distance away from Asgard, you would be less likely to attempt to escape." Standing on the edge of the pool and towering over her, I smile smugly as she glares up at me. Leaning forward, I extend my hand towards her, giving her the option of being pulled out.
"I can get out of here on my own!" She replies heatedly, batting my hand away and hauling herself up onto the side of the pool. I step back to make way for her, chuckling to myself as she clambers to her feet, swaying unsteadily under the heavy, sodden material of her dress. I knew she would refuse my offer of help – I only made the gesture because I knew it would irritate her. And after the trying events of the past few days, surely I deserve to have a bit of fun, do I not?