25: Children of War
Phantasia’s head was filled with questions but, for once, none of them were about her. Yokai’s revelations were at the forefront of her thoughts: who was she working with? What were the leansídhe for? How much had Godhand been manipulated? Would they strike again? And, the most pressing question, who was the one who ‘warned’ them about her?
Wotan’s sacrifice also played on her thoughts. The crater of rubble around her was proof his final act was totally out of proportion – couldn’t he have focused all that power into something more direct? Something that wouldn’t have cost his life? She was glad that, unlike Yokai, Wotan hadn’t fled the scene – his spirit still lingered, waiting for the inevitable arrival of a Reaper.
“You did well,” he said, his incorporeal form ‘sitting’ on a lump of stone. Phantasia shrugged off the compliment.
She looked around at the destruction. “Don’t you think you went a bit over the top?”
“There was little choice. I had no idea how strong the Patriarch was, so I had to throw everything at him – including my life! And even that wasn’t enough…” Wotan scowled for a second, but then chuckled to himself, “Besides, I had to show Rembrandt Payne just how far I’ve pushed myself,”
Phantasia was dumbfounded. Of all the things to die for!
“How could you be so selfish? What about Astrid?”
Wotan frowned, his eyes focused on the rubble beneath his feet. “I was never much of a father,” he said, “There was nothing else I could do for her. She is a shining example of my failures. I can only hope she finds the light within that she lost all those years ago.”
Human logic was frustrating. Where was Queen Thetis of Faye when she needed them?
“Because your death is going to help her so much, isn’t it?”
Wotan’s forlorn expression didn’t change, as if he’d resigned himself to failure. “Death changes everything. Her mother’s death changed us both, perhaps mine will remedy that. It’s not like I helped her in life!”
Phantasia clenched her teeth, contemplating whether or not to go over and strike the spirit for his selfishness, but decided to stay her hand. Wotan would carry his guilt, and all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’, in his heart until he found his peace with them – that would be punishment enough.
Then she felt the cold tingling sensation, the lonely chill that heralded the arrival of a Death faerie. The aura was as potent as the one she’d felt back when Dionysus died, surprising her – she’d not expected Wotan to be worthy enough of a Grim’s attention.
“Thank you,” said Wotan, “For not simply dissolving my spirit into the streams of life as you did the Patriarch’s. I have no desire to become one with the Great Spirit just yet.”
Phantasia turned and prepared to leave, but looked back one last time. “Don’t think that means I forgive you. I won’t forget the way you’ve treated people – and my friends – like pieces of your game.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. I am – as is Rembrandt Payne – a child of war. By the age of your friends, we were fighting horrors. Suffering was part of our lives. If you’re not careful, that same cycle will come around and claim your friends too,”
Phantasia jumped up the edge of the crater. “Then I’ll be there to stop it,” she said, walking away.
***
