by Grimm, Sonhaven and TheTimeTrust
As Tayden gripped Grimm's arm, he felt a sudden surge of memory pass through him.
He was back at the battle for Heaven. Impious war raged on, and brothers fell on both sides. There, in the middle, was the dark-cloaked form winging through the fields and touching the fallen on each side with its scythe.
And Tayden knew who and what Grimm was, everything about him, and the mantle he had taken on, something he had hoped never to see again.
"--can you do to help? Didn't we pull you out of the drink once today, already? Hey, I'm talking to you, pal."
"Uh... Wh-what?" Tayden suddenly snapped back to reality.
"Never mind." Grimm turned and strode back out into the storm.
Tayden fought the wind as he went out after Grimm and Blackwulf. The gnatlike bites of rain made it hard to open his eyes. Just when he was growing unsure that he would find them, SLAM. He had smacked right into the big Russian's backside.
"HA! You don't give up! Here, I help you." With no effort, Tayden was lifted off the ground and onto his feet.
Tayden raised his voice so he could be heard over the wind. "Listen, I have been doing this for a long time! I can help."
Grimm was more than pissed off now. "People are dying. I don't have time for..."
Just then, lighting flashed in the distance and lit up the street for a moment, and for that moment Grimm could have sworn he saw the silhouette of an army or a mob standing behind Tayden. Then it was gone. "My God," Grimm started.
"No, just a messenger," Tayden said loudly with a smile. "I can help."
Grimm looked over Tayden. "If you drop... you stay there." Grim was angry. Blackwulf had an expression of shock.
Tayden said, "Fair enough."
The three then started down the street. As Grimm's back turned, Tayden's smile left. His presence bears further investigation, Tayden thought and trudged forward.
The laptop was completely destroyed. What a pity, thought the phantom-like, invisible man who called himself Griffin after a character in a classic novel he once read as a child. His eldil stone gave him further abilities than the H.G. Wells character had, though. Currently, for example, he was in spirit form. Mere invisibility would do little to help him now. It wasn't only his laptop that had been destroyed due to this accursed hurricane; his hired flat had been struck by a freak accident as a car earlier picked up by the storm fell directly upon his apartment building.
Well, this storm had certainly taken an interesting turn as, in spirit-form, the Englishman saw new spirits pass through the ether every few minutes due to various little deaths. But Griffin hoped that this tedious hurricane would soon pass. He would have to replace his laptop, of course, and the appearance on the scene of his old youthful rival did not bode well for his paid mission. What were the chances of someone who knew him not only showing up on the island of La Perdita, of all the obscure little islands in the world, but that he would immediately go to work for the same obscure little organization that Griffin had been hired to spy upon? It was certainly more difficult now than ever to believe in coincidence.
Perhaps one of the many telepaths this island seemed to attract was behind this? Griffin had already done background checks, though, and from what he could tell, Grissom Montag had known none of them before.
Griffin put all these thoughts out of his mind and tried to keep concentrating on where he was and what he was doing. If he allowed any of his thoughts to drift for too long while in this ethereal state, he would end up forgetting not only where he was but who he was. And then, if he forgot everything and remained a spirit because of forgetfulness, how would he receive his payment? "Always keep your eyes on the money," a wise man had once told him. That wise man was dead now. Go figure.
If he were to describe the sensation of being a spirit in the midst of a storm, the closest description would be like being suspended in water underwater in complete serenity while up above the wind and the waves raged and battled each other for dominance, eager for destruction of any poor ship-bound fool who was stupid enough to brave the storm.
The physical world had little effect on the ether, the spirit world, but it did have some effect. If Griffin stopped concentrating on where he was, he would very easily start drifting in one direction or another, like an object in an antigravity environment.
Damn! Got to stop letting myself be pulled along by idle strains of thought, Griffin suddenly realized, attempting to jar himself back into consciousness. Pretty soon, he knew, he would have to return to physical form before he lost his sense of self altogether. By that time, it would be too late for him, and he might as well really be dead.