Firetale (34 page)

“
Yes, looks can be deceptive,”
mused Pietro, as if reading Greg’s thoughts.

Grim silence reigned in the
building,
except for broken tiles and shards of glass crunching
underfoot. Greg and the others inspected several single wards that
resembled rooms in a hotel, with a separate shower, bed, and table
and even a mirror. The also checked the rows of general wards,
decorated with tiles and looking more like a morgue than a living
space for people. Some of the beds in those wards had wide leather
straps for restraining particularly violent patients. Some had been
cut off, and Ino mused that local teenagers had taken them as
souvenirs.

“
I thought these kinds of beds
only existed in horror films,” muttered Greg. His condition was
deteriorating faster than anyone expected.

“
Okay, enough enjoying the
sights, let’s find this Indian,” Ino said, her voice full of
determination.

They
had examined more than half of the
asylum when Petro stepped on a pile of newspapers and was not able
to pull his leg back.

“
Seems someone’s holding me,” the
archivist whispered to Greg and Ino.

“
She has come,” a voice croaked
in a hoarse whisper. “She has come.”

“
Did you hear that?” Pietro
asked, looking as if he was on the verge of death. “That
otherworldly voice!”

“
Drunk voice,” Greg said,
exchanging glances with Ino.

The witch
went to where the archivist
stood and kicked the pile of newspapers. The voice uttered a groan,
and the one to whom it belonged was forced to release Pietro’s leg.
The archivist hurried away.

Ino
scattered the newspapers, revealing a
ragged old man in tattered denim jacket lined with artificial fur.
He had long matted gray hair and a scruffy beard of the same color,
and the parts of his face that were visible bore a network of deep
wrinkles. He stared at them from dark, deep-set, crazy eyes. “Looks
like we found him,” the witch said. She and Pietro looked at
Greg.

“
She has come,” the graybeard
said in a gravelly voice.

“
Exactly what we need,” Pietro
said. His fear seemed to have evaporated, and the archivist was as
jolly as usual.

“
Whatever gave you that idea?”
said Ino, disgustedly looking at the man under the
newspapers.

“
He’s not just crazy. Look! What
is inside this man reaches for Greg, I mean Demeter. He can feel
it!”

“
Are you suggesting that Demeter
has to take this body?” Greg said, clearly at a loss.

“
Is there a choice? In any case,
we will save you, and Demeter will have a new avatar,” said Pietro.
“Then we will find a more suitable option.”

“
Are you sure that his mind
…”

“
I’m sure,” the archivist said,
interrupting Greg. “Look at him. This is just a shell, in which
lives some vicarious spirit.”

“
Well, OK,” Greg said. “Let’s
bring him into a room.”

“
Why?” wondered
Pietro.

“
I think the change of bodies is
a rather intimate process, is it not? Could you leave us alone at
this time?” Greg almost hissed the words in the face of the stunned
archivist.

“
Yes, perhaps you’re right,” said
Pietro. “Let’s find a cleaner ward.”

A cleaner chamber was not easy
to find,
but
they finally found one that was less messy than the others. The
room had probably been something like a suite in a hotel. The walls
still had wood paneling in some places, and the floor was decorated
with carpet worn to tatters. In the center was a large bed with a
greasy mattress too small for the frame and box spring.

“
I think I know why the local
teens did not break this bed,” said Pietro with a chuckle as he led
the madman to the bed. Ino nudged him in the ribs, and Greg shot
him an angry glance.

“
Wait outside,” Greg said,
sitting down on a chair next to the bed.

“
Are you ready?”

You know I am.

“
This body…”

This is
temporary.

Standing outside the ward, Ino
and Pietro were waiting to hear the
sound of screaming, expecting to see some
kind of magnificent radiance (the archivist argued that it should
be blue, the witch thought gold). But in the end everything was far
less spectacular than both had imagined. There was a clap, a sound
like a gust of wind, another clap, and then they heard two male
voices behind the door. One belonged to Greg, and it was sad. The
second was the hoarse voice of the Indian, trying to console him.
The archivist could not wait to see how it had gone, but Ino did
not let him inside, catching his hand as he reached for the door
handle. They waited for half an hour, hearing two quiet voices, sad
and consoling.

And then the door opened.

Greg left the room with the
Indian
. The
Indian stood straight, without slouching, and they saw that he was
almost as tall as Bernardius, but much broader in the shoulders.
His eyes were no longer crazy, but reflected a clear mind. Standing
near the Indian, Ino and Pietro felt the same way they had when
they stood close to Martha. They felt peace, forgiveness, hope. He
spoke, and although his voice was hoarse, it had confidence and
strength. And relief.

“
I swallowed the memories of that
man,” said Demeter. “He knew where I could find a proper
avatar.”

To be continued
…

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