The House of Grey- Volume 5 (25 page)

Marques started to laugh again. “Agree to it? Monson, this was your idea in the first place.”

Monson again felt emotions stir within him. My idea, he thought. How could any of this have been my idea? The notion was ludicrous. Then again, even while he was thinking of how ludicrous it seemed, memories of his own inner evil, his own weakness, surfaced.

He tried to sound confident. “Don’t try to play with me. I’m not an idiot. How could any of this be my idea?” Monson shook his head. “You’re lying, plain and simple. The question I’m struggling with is, why?”

“I am lying, am I?” said Marques suggestively. “What reason do I have to lie to you, Mr. Grey?”

“You don’t seem to need a reason, oh Grandfather dear. Regardless of your reasons, one thing I’ve learned in my time at Coren is that nothing is as it seems; so if you think I’m just going to up and believe anything you say, you’ve got another think coming.”

Marques Grey started to tut as if this was no longer a struggle for life but something as simple as scolding a small child. “How little you know, my grandson. The rumors are true then; you have forgotten everything.”

Marques Grey snapped his fingers, which sent many commandos moving at high speed out of the room. He returned his attention to Monson.

“You seem to feel you are more informed than you really are, Monson Grey. Let me ask you this, young one: Did you ever find it odd that you were the only survivor of the bridge and yet no one has ever come here to talk with you about it?”

Monson did not have to answer. The truth was, he had considered this.

“How do you think that happened, silly boy? Every law enforcement agency in the country should have been kicking down your door the moment you awoke in that hospital. Yet you have not heard a thing about the investigation. Billions were spent on that project and yet you were never disturbed. Would you like to know why?”

Monson’s eyes narrowed even further in response.

“You were never disturbed because I kept you from such. You have always been a strong child in both body and mind, but I could see that something was wrong with you, that the incident at the bridge had affected you in strange ways. I figured it was because of the power you expended; you were such an enigma I did not know ahead of time what the release would do to you. This place has always been strange. I figured if there was a way for you to get better, it would be here.”

Monson broke in spite of himself. “And why would you care if I got better?”

“Because of your importance to the future of all races! You once had a clear understanding of your birthright—your fated position. The Being of Seven Bloods, the one individual, the one person who stands outside the bounds of fate, the being that is simultaneously sinner and saint, demon and demigod. The focus of generations of people, races and governments, existing as both an object of hate and hope. At the bridge you took into your hands your birthright, the power that has the ability to change the direction of not only this world, but all others as well. I must confess that even I did not know of the true nature of your ailment. But I could not come to you without risking exposure to my enemies, so I allowed lesser beings to support you.”

“That’s where I came in.” Ignace slowly approached them from a side door leading from backstage. She stopped directly in front of Monson and took a knee, bowing low. “There were books written, songs sung, and legends told of you, the Being of Seven Bloods. It is an honor to kneel before you.”

Monson spat at the ground, ignoring Ignace. “OK
Baroty,
let me ask you this before we go any further. Tell me about the bridge. What exactly happened?”

Ignace answered the question. “The Magi and the Brotherhood is what happened. You and your grandfather were caught in the crossfire. It was a fight that they started and you finished.”

“I finished? What are you trying to say?”

Marques Grey’s voice fell to a penetrating whisper. “I think you know what she is trying to say.”

“You’re trying to tell me that I broke the bridge?” Monson was proud that his voice did not crack. “That I killed all those people?”

Marques Grey moved slowly to Monson’s side placing a hand on his shoulder. “You have a Pathway like no other, Monson Grey. Your potential is beyond the comprehension of most. No one so young should have so much power. It is unnatural. You tried to wield too much too fast and in doing so created the mess you see upon your skin and in the deaths at Baroty Bridge.”

Monson closed his eyes ever so briefly, trying to hold back tears, trying to remain strong. It was no use. The images of men, women and children floated before his eyes. Smiling faces forever lost, people whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He thought he was going to be sick.

There was a pause in the conversation, which continued as the group of commandos rolled in a sheet-covered mass. Monson watched with little interest.

“It is time for you to return to my side, young one. To regain what you lost.” Marques Grey clapped his hands and in response, the mass was unveiled.

It looked like a futuristic combination of a torture device and a dentist chair. Silver needle-like appendages jutted from large robotic arms that circled a padded sitting space, and wide leather straps dangled conspicuously from the arms and legs of the chair. Large casters clicked and clinked as the contraption skidded across the floor with a foreboding sound. Monson examined it and again felt sick. This was not a machine he wanted anything to do with.

“It appears much worse than it is.” Marques shrugged towards the device. “It will hurt a bit, but it is the only way for us to move forward to return what has been lost.”

Monson raised the eyebrow ever so slightly, asking the question but at the same time not.

Marques Grey’s face broke into a wide grin. “Your memory, Monson. This machine is the only way to reclaim your memory.”

“What did you say?” asked Monson in disbelief.

“This machine,” Marques pointed at the freaky dentist chair, “can bring back your memories. It can bring back your normal self.”

Monson reeled. His memories, his past, his identity, the real him…back...all of it.

He could not move, could not breathe, he could not think, finding the possibility too surreal to be true. The conflict began brewing within him. After living as this Monson Grey, could he really go back to the person he had been, especially if what Marques Grey said was true?

“The choice is yours, Monson Grey, but I need you if I am going to protect this world. Only you have the power to stand by my side.”

Involuntarily, Monson took a step towards the machine. He stared down at his legs as if they were something foreign and not part of his own body. Then he found himself walking towards the machine. The soldiers parted as he neared and Aaron Gibson sized him up.

Monson spoke over his shoulder to Marques Grey. “So how does this machine work? You say that you can bring back my memories; how do you know?”

“It is very simple actually.” Marques Grey neared Monson as he held up a glove-covered finger. “We believe that the scar wrapping your body is a special type of seal—one that is made to keep things in, not out.”

Monson cocked the eyebrow. “You’re going to have to explain that one.”

“This magic,” Baroty gestured to the whole of Monson’s body, “is an incredibly advanced spell truly like no other. It is a spell that disconnects a user from his Pathway. The Pathway is a manifestation of the very core of a person’s power potential. The body rune you are now encased in is able to separate the parts of a being without hurting the whole. If you understand that, then it is not difficult to understand the flaws in the rune and the spell and maybe how one can defeat it.”

“And how would we do that?”

“By going off a very basic assumption. As I said, I believe the rune is made to keep power in, not keep it out. If we apply enough power to the foundation, the rune should crumble in on itself, thus allowing you to again access your power, your memories, and your personality. In other words, you should become you again.”

Monson felt a droplet of desire against a torrent of mistrust and apprehension. The possibility was unreal. He would be scar-less with all his memories returned; he would know what happened at the bridge and why. He would know his reasons for going to Coren in the first place. He would be able to look in the mirror and see himself.

Something tugged against the flow of his imagination.

“What’s the catch?” asked Monson suspiciously. “What is it that you aren’t telling me?”

Marques Grey laughed. “No catch, Monson my boy. We just have to hook you up to the machine and affix the source in place.”

“The source? What source? The source of what?”

Marques laughed again. “So many questions, Monson. How do you plan to accomplish anything if you have to know every detail of an operation? Delegation, my boy—that is the way a hierarchy works.”

The tugging in Monson’s head became stronger. He glared at his grandfather. “How about you answer my question?”

“He’s talking about the source of power required for the operation in question.” Ignace was suddenly at his side. “He’s talking about the Kei source needed to implode the construct of the spell. Without the power the operation won’t work.”

Monson turned his attention to Ignace. “And where do we get the Kei necessary to power all this?”

“From the only other available source, since Baroty does not currently possess any Creation Stones. Namely, the people in this room.”

Monson and Marques Grey, Ignace Ikeco, and Aaron Gibson all turned in surprise to the source of the voice,
who
was none other than….

“Molly?”

***

“I guess I should have expected that.” Monson watched his guardian closely, all at once registering the sudden turn of events. “What do you mean ‘the people in this room’? And what are Creation Stones?”

Molly did not answer him, but rather glared at Marques. Marques, on the other hand, looked neither concerned nor surprised, though the curl of his lips told Monson that he was annoyed for some reason.

“Hey there, Monson honey.”

“Hi Molly, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t you ‘hi Molly’ me, young man. You had me so worried. You’ll be getting a severe scolding later for coming here at all. And don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. I’m here to save you from yourself.”

Molly strolled from the same side door through which Ignace had previously entered. She was composed but obviously irritated. Marques looked spitefully at her. “The lawyer finally makes her appearance. How charming.”

“Marques,” said Molly in a mocking tone, like the name was an insult. “It is certainly surprising to see you. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Me? Dead?” Marques Grey shot her a suave smile. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Besides the fact that I executed your will?” answered Molly contentiously. “How about the body I pulled out of the Pacific Ocean? The one that was identified as yours?”

Marques touched his face contemplatively. “That does seem odd. Well, I assure you that I am fine, still alive and kicking.”

“I’m sure you are. Monson, don’t be fooled by this imposter. This man is not your grandfather.”

The statement did not startle Monson. Somewhere inside his head, he had been expecting it from the moment Molly arrived. He knew that she had come for a specific purpose and seeing as he was having problems believing all this himself, it was not difficult to make the jump that the Marques Grey in front of him may not in fact be the real Marques Grey.

Marques, or whoever he was, remained unperturbed. He started to laugh. “Very funny Molly. You know very well that I am Monson’s grandfather.”

“You are not Marques Grey and I can prove it.”

Molly addressed Monson. “You were asking about Kei and the sources of Kei, were you not?”

“I was, but how is that going to prove—”

“Shh…don’t interrupt.” She stole a glance at Marques Grey before continuing. “Let me tell you about Kei. Kei is the true enigma of the worlds. It’s in everything, in one form or another, some being more pure than others. For mortals, it’s vital to our bodies as the very glue that holds the three attributes together. On a cosmic level, without Kei creation isn’t possible. There are only two natural sources of Kei in this world. The first is a special type of gem called a Creation Stone. They are mined from the four great worlds and are the only real source of pure power found in nature.

“And the second?”

Molly hesitated slightly. “The second source is the Seven Great Races themselves. They alone have Kei as a natural part of their body. So unless they have the stones, Baroty’s source of power is going to be….”

She let it hang.

Monson inadvertently stretched his gaze over the length of the Coliseum. His classmates and teachers, as well as staff, reporters and world leaders, were all watching from behind blue-hued force fields with a variety of
expressions.
Fear, pain, anticipation, anger, loss…the answer touched Monson in the most intimate of ways. He knew the answer and he did not like it. “You were going to use the people in this room so that I could get my memory back?”