Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)

His head swam with the speed of everything that had happened but without any context to put it in. Ben instinctively found himself trusting the people around him, as eclectic and bizarre as they were and despite the dangerous situations in which he’d found himself. During the attack on the building, he’d found himself instinctively fighting alongside them, learning quickly that his control over these ‘powers’ they’d told him about was as easy to pick up as speaking had been. It was innate, inside him somehow.

He didn’t stop to think because there was no need to. What would he think about? He knew things without knowing how he knew them and to question would drive him insane – because how could he know what he didn’t know? Even thinking sentences like that hurt his head and so he simply went with the flow.

Malta was a beautiful landscape and so similar to his own – or at the very least the few places he remembered being. The land was flat, open, dotted by farmer’s fields and scrub-brush ranging from deep greens to blasted browns. Trees that twisted in the hunt for water and sun in equal measure lined roads. Their car, the driver in the front not even querying the unusual guests, whizzed through the hot land moving with practised ease through the often wide lanes. They passed with almost lightning speed from open land of empty fields to narrow built-up streets of small towns that bustled with the usual metropolitan life.

The wind that seemed almost constant but low level had been hot and dry, sometimes tinged with the tang of salt air, sometimes just with the faint grains of sand and earth that coated cars some locals had stopped washing long ago. Bustling, serene, flat, craggy, metropolitan, farmland – for a place which was a melting pot of lots of different cultures it certainly played the part – somehow finding a harmonious whole in between.

He didn’t even know why he was mildly surprised that Ruth had a villa, somewhat north of Mosta, one of the main towns. Here was one of the flatter, drier parts of the main island; the villa itself a sprawling complex of sand-blasted brick on the outskirts of an even smaller hamlet which appeared to be a tavern, a tiny convenience store which would likely only open at odd times – and for some reason a pottery shop.

They arrived at the gates, getting out of the car which sped quickly off in pursuit of whatever direction he’d been ordered to next. Up the short driveway, there was the entrance, passing through they saw the others collected around the pool through the large open plan living area and glass doors.

For a bunch of people who were about to be joined by an amnesiac Lazarus and a walking angel, they looked remarkably calm and collected. Andrew and Louise sat on a lounger together, having ditched the BioSuit in favour of a pair of tan chinos and a short-sleeved shirt. Rick reclined on his lounger, looking more like a holidaymaker than the rest with his sunglasses, loud Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. Despite everything he looked relaxed, almost carefree – for the first time since Ben had met him, which he reminded himself was two days ago in a hospital room.

“Hey,” he greeted them, “You’ll probably find Ruth had a whole wardrobe shipped over in each of your rooms, but please be aware she either has no taste or a great sense of humour.”

“You would totally wear that though,” Louise piped up.

“Okay maybe I have little taste, but she’s definitely off her game if she thinks these budgie smugglers are my size,” he answered, before peering under his waistband, “Although from some angles it’s a real self-esteem booster.”

“I suggest we have more pressing matters,” Angel surmised, a fact which Sandy seconded as she joined them.

“No, actually, we don’t,” Rick responded, sitting up properly and looking at all them, “Look at where we are – I know this is the island but other than that, I don’t know where to start looking. The orb, or the key, whatever you want to call it – that’s gone quiet. Still glowing like a radioactive testicle, but it’s quiet. Clearly, if the New Order knew where the Second Temple was they wouldn’t need the map, so ergo they’re more than likely to simply surveil us. So tell me, what’s our next actual step?”

He looked around at them all to see, as he fully expected, they would have no answer. Eventually, Andrew piped up,

“Continue to work on finding a location unless something changes with the orb? And make sure the New Order doesn’t get their hands on it?”

“How are we going to do that?” Ben asked, “Won’t they come after us? Tear this place apart?”

“They won’t find it,” Rick shrugged, “Only I know where it is and it’s in a lead-lined box so can’t be ‘geigered’. So unless they plan to torture me…”

“I think your torturer would give up after the fifth rendition of Can You Feel the Love Tonight,” Sandy quipped, “Your stalker did.”

“So, the question is, what do we do?” Louise offered, to which Rick started with a grin,

“We do what Grumpy Cat over there suggested and continue to work on finding a location. Of course, what helps me to think is a beer. Five or six may slow the process, but I am willing to make sacrifices.”

Which was how, despite several more minutes arguing about the pointlessness of doing nothing versus the pointlessness of doing something else, they ended up at the tavern down the road. A place cool and away from the heat of the slow lazy descent of the evening sun. Dimly lit, mainly illuminated by the faint traces of orange light from the outside world, a mahogany bar that stretched the deep length as though into a cave.

The ancient Maltese gentleman behind the bar raised only one eyebrow when a man with wings walked in to join them, but fell silent and poured beers for the lot of them. They were joined by a good-looking Hispanic gent who turned out to be their boat driver, asked to stay on a few days in case they needed him. Apparently where he’d been put up nearby was even nicer. He too did not start when he saw their Angel and Ben had to wonder what the world was coming to if people weren’t astounded anymore. Then realised the fallacy of that statement considering his entire experience of the world was two days.

He had to give it to Rick, he’d chosen wisely. The collective tensions of the cobbled-together team needed a pressure release – a vent. They collectively unwound, feeling as though by falling into that cavernous tavern they were somehow cut off from the troubles and challenges of the outside world. They were simply a collection of people, a group who Ben came to realise were more like a family – even with a few new members.

As the evening continued to slide by they fell into a comfortable rhythm. They talked, they drank, they swore a hell of a lot. They told stories, they shared thoughts, Ben learned so much about the people around him and realised he wished he could remember them and the easy way in which they gelled. Even Andrew, who seemed the most uptight of all of them, began to relax – an arm casually slung around the back of Louise’s chair. Tomas, the boatman, flirted heavily with Sandy who responded with a sarcastic coolness that might not have been one hundred per cent genuine. Eventually, he professed talent with the tavern owner’s guitar and deigned to adorn them all with songs of his Spanish heritage.

He crooned a surprisingly good acoustic ‘Despacito’ which having heard on the radio in the airport didn’t seem particularly authentic Spanish heritage; but which got a drunken Louise to get them up and dancing.

He felt the mild buzz from the alcohol, the seductive sounds of good music, the heady scent of beer and whatever spices stewed in the tavern’s kitchens. He saw Rick standing by the edge of the room, smiling at the scene before him – but it was a smile tinged with sadness. Ben felt a draw and went over, pulling him gently onto the makeshift dance floor to sway in their collective rhythm. Instinct, as always, took over and in the flow of the moment, lost he found himself drawn upwards and kissed him.

The kiss was returned, filled with longing and intensity that Ben didn’t expect. He felt a soft drip of moisture onto his cheek and then Rick withdrew, heading for the door. Ben followed after him, their absence not missed in the generally good-natured din inside.

The night air was already chilly especially after the warmth of the tavern, the sky naturally bright above them. Rick had stopped, his back to him looking up at the spread of the Milky Way an infinite distance away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, though he thought he finally understood. Rick turned to him, no tears but his eyes red enough to be seen, brimming with pain. He vocalised what he’d suspected, “We were together, weren’t we? When I died?”

“Yes,” Rick answered simply but confusion stole over him, “No, it was...fucking Facebook complicated. We were never really together, not for anything other than the few brief minutes before you died. But I loved you, no matter what else I can promise you that – I loved you. And in those final minutes, you told me you loved me back. And then you went away.”

“And now, here you are standing in front of me, like a walking dream and I don’t know what to feel. I see the eyes of the guy I loved looking at me as though I’m a stranger, but I see the heart that beats in that chest and hope he’s still there. But I don’t know what’s right.”

“I’m not him,” he admitted, “Not in any way that matters right now, I suppose. But I don’t know, maybe some part of the soul survives this process but I know one thing – I am drawn to you. When I kissed you then, I felt it – some instinct inside me saying that that was right. That it was good. Without my memories to go on, all I can rely on is instinct.”

“Love is instinct?” Rick asked him.

“Doesn’t have to be love,” he answered, “Not yet. Can’t it just…be?”

His question was answered with a kiss, tentative at first but growing stronger. Somehow familiar without ever having happened before, a Deja without the Vu. A split moment where truth and fake were the same damn thing. It crumbled Rick’s resolve and allowed the night to simply be.

They made their way quietly through the starry night to the shared villa, well before anyone else had even contemplated coming back. The room which had been designated for him stayed empty, they lay together in Rick’s room. Relying only on instinct and being they made love for the first time without any awkwardness, both of them just allowing it to be.

As the night began to grow into the smaller hours and as the others returned to their beds, they slept side by side – neither one of them dreaming about the morning.

A solitary figure entered into Ben’s dream, the one which shook him awake. It whispered to him quietly, so only he could hear. For the second time that night he was drawn, guided, still half in hypnotic-dream. He didn’t feel how cold the night air was against his skin at that ungodly hour, he didn’t because he was warm – his dream told him so. He was drawn to a spot in the field.

Underneath, something glowed.