Code of the Chrono-mancer Part One

His fingers tapped lightly the ivory keys of Amarkus’ grand piano. The music, so softly, rises and falls like the waves of a wide, black ocean. Lost in the fever of the belladonna leaf, Caine plays the tunes of men who died in pain. A breeze enters a window to his right and drapes white lace curtains atop the instrument, the tendrils dance upon the glass top; their reflections create the illusion of little white hands clasping and letting go. The night's musicians silently watch and listen to the haunting music he creates.

Lok leans forward against the window’s sill. He watches his herbal cigarette’s smoke curl and flow past him. In it he sees a thousand battles occur and, in each, a thousand mortals die. He sees heroism and betrayal, love’s beginnings and love’s endings, both sweet and tragic. Licking his lips, he delves deep into the mind of a low-ranking officer. He revels in the fear of the first enemy encountered and in the sorrow of the first enemy killed. It is shortly lived, as another enemy approaches, and then another, and another, until there is nothing left but primal instinct.

Lok left the young woman’s mind with images of her children and returned to his own with fresh experiences to share with the merridian. With his cigarette done, he turns and opens his mouth to speak, but stops.

Caine’s eyes glaze over as his nimble hands sped an incomprehensible melody. He had broken two keys and a third weakens with each touch.

The necromancer wanders over and sits backward on the bench beside Caine. Lok leans back, blocking half the keys from Caine’s reach.

Caine’s hands drop to his lap as he frowns, “If the cat was aware of its own existence, than how can Schrödinger's paradox be plausible beyond the minds of those scientists committing the experiment?”

“What?” The daemon raises an eyebrow.

Caine wipes his sleeve across his damp brow, “I don’t know. Things aren’t making sense right now.”

“Yup, I can agree with that one.”

In a sudden movement, Caine leans to one side and looks under the piano. His daughter, Jane, sits beneath it, playing with her dolls, with bodies made of woven wheat and clothes from a variety of rags. She held them jumping from her lap onto the wooden floor as if they were making great leaps across bottom-less chasms. She sees him watching her and giggles sweetly. Her little red curls bounce across her shoulders. Caine sits upright and misses seeing her let go of the little dolls; to let them dance on their own.

Sensing the magic, Lok smiles.

“Maybe, I should kill him,” Caine shrugs, “Having another chrono-mancer around could create confusing futures.”

“Ezra likes the kid. It wouldn’t be good politics if you did.”

“I meant to go backwards, and stop the conception. Ezra won’t miss what he never knew.”

Lok nods and toys with his silver moon pendent, “And if you cease this man’s existence, for your own protection, than all those people he had killed would be living.”

“And all those he’d saved would be dead. I know this.”

“And how, do you think, killing off an ally would benefit you?”

Caine folds his arms across his chest, “We don’t know if he is an ally or not. We know that he could be the one thing that would derail our plan.”

“I didn’t mean Jason. I was talking about Ezra. We need him if we are to gain any control over the finicky vamps.”

“Ezra won’t die if I stop Jason’s existence.”

“Yes. He will.” Lok’s face held stern with absolute clarity.

Caine, unsure of how to take these rare moments of a sane and serious Lok, felt the experience cold and unnatural, as if the mad god within the young daemon had a plan all of its own making. His stomach twists in on itself.

“Belladonna is wearing off,” the daemon whispers distantly, darkly; a sign of his returning insanity, “want some moooooore?”

Shaking his head, Caine stands and walks towards the door. He pauses, glances over his shoulder, and says, “I’m going to go lie down. Leave me alone for an hour.” He hears Lok growl as the daemon leaps out the window.