MF1.0 - 33 - A Matter of Time

‘Hello Kane, come to check on me?’ came the words out of the darkness. He hated the speaker and his…t wasn’t exactly a real voice, and sometimes the sentence arrived in the wrong order, but the intent was always there. And the malice.

Kane shuddered as the room grew colder. ‘Midnight?’ he guessed. ‘It’s always cold at midnight.’

‘Not tonight, this is what ten years from now will feel like.’

He moved forward into the hell and hit the speaker across the face, only hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to draw blood. He hated having to hold back, but this prisoner was Important. Useful. The origin of their most powerful weapon.

Time.

The enemy was all powerful within the standard three dimensions that bounded the world, but the fourth appeared to be something outside of the knowing and control.

The prisoner in front of him was Time’s son – though there was nothing mythical or romantic about it – Time had simply seen a mortal woman he had desired and taken her.

Half-mortal and half-something-more-powerful-than-a-god, the young man hadn’t had an easy life. His power had manifested and he had been unable to control it. He had destroyed property, killed wildlife and plants…and two people.

He stared at the boy and wondered how he ever could have loved him. He’d raised him as a son, only ever vaguely curious why he didn’t look like him – he looked enough like his maternal grandmother to dissuade his fears, with the assumption that he took after his mother.

After his power had manifested, he’d had no doubts that “his son” was nothing but a bastard.

He’d found the Solstice, and they’d help capture him. They had explained how dangerous he was – even though he’d seen the destruction first had. They had told him that there were other dangers out there like his…like Oliver.

They had told him they could use Oliver to fight those dangers.

He had said yes, after all, it was kinder than execution, and he owed something to his late wife, even if the bitch had betrayed him.

‘Here to kill me, father?’

He hit him again. ‘Not today.’ He placed a container of water on the floor.

‘Past or future?’ Oliver asked after a long moment.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Future,’ he snapped.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Oliver lifted a foot and dipped a toe in the water – and it began to glow green. In the early months, they had allowed him to use his hands, but after a couple of fatal escape attempts and more than a few destroyed tables, they had resorted to this.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">The chains wouldn’t be so successful, was Oliver not rooted to his prison by guilt.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">The water hummed and boiled, then settled, a vibrant, almost glowing green. It was laughably like something a mad scientist would have in their laboratory.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He placed the cap on it, then lifted it – this would be enough for an encounter or two, it was enough for now – they would start production for mirrorfall in the morning. They would even offer him a treat by way as compromise, some extra rations, or a few moments free of his bonds.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Same time tomorrow?’ Oliver asked.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He slammed the cell shut without another word.