A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER FIVE

Thor studied with Dov for the exam late into the night. When he retired to bed, he couldn’t sleep. Kindled by his bizarre episodes, his fidgety mind struck up a debate with his fervent heart. Thor moderated, listening to both sides with equanimity. His heart argued his experiences were real, the snowy Grand Canyon, mutant blue roses, nocturnal parents’ visit, time travel to San Francisco, and miraculous escape from the belly of the bullies. His mind clashed, claiming hallucinations. Was his heart ambitiously kind to placate the danger of losing his mind? He needed to find an equilibrium. By morning, the results were posted in his core. His inner eye raced to read them. His heart had won the debate. He believed in himself; he always had. Doubt had upstaged his belief, because truth defied the social code of conduct in the current culture of caution, propelling him toward an odyssey outside the orderly box of convention. 

Though he had wandered off the tidy path of logic, his unique compass was not mad in charting a course of its ingrained volition. On the contrary, he had stepped into the budding garden of his humanity; not a bloom whiffed insanity. Seeds planted from his birth were sprouting, nourished by his heart, irrigated by his mind, overseen by his soul. His arable soil was being tilled by unknown hands of destiny, but maintaining a low key profile was mandatory. The eye of the State was watching him, his parents had warned. In what form was this saber-toothed tiger, he knew not, but clues would he pursue in his quest for the truth.  

During morning classes, Thor half-listened to his teachers, half-surmised how to hop on the train to his enterprise. At lunch, he lounged under a magnificent tree bursting with red blossoms. In a matter of minutes, Dov found him.

“Hey, Thor. Mind if I sit here?”

“Join me, Dov. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m ready for the test. Thanks for your aid.”

“It’s reciprocal.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” There were no classes the subsequent day.

“I volunteered to garden in the morning. I’m at the Museum in the afternoon. How about you?”

“I have laundry duty.” Dov rolled his eyes at the onerous chore.

Thor commiserated. “My turn next week.”

“I’ve been wondering. What happened to you in the garden last night?”

“What do you mean?”

Dov sensed Thor’s unease. “Please don’t get angry with me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“What I saw.” 

“What did you see?”

“I went to find you. You weren’t inside. You weren’t here in the garden. I was leaving, when lightning struck. You were knelt on that spot.” He gaped at Thor in awe. “How did you do it?” 

Thor shook his head, dismissive. “It was dark, Dov. You have a good imagination, but I’m no magician.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, I understand.”

“You think I appeared out of nowhere?”   

“I think you appeared on a thunderbolt.”

Thor laughed. “You do have an imagination. That’s impossible.”

“I know it’s impossible. That’s why I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re nuts.” 

“Then why the jitters?”

“I’m tired, not jittery. We studied late last night. I hardly slept.”

Dov knew when to quit. “You’re right. Trust must be earned. Maybe one day.  See you in class.”

The two clams retreated into their respective shells. Thor nodded as Dov left. Provident was Dov’s unforetold validation, though Thor bemoaned he could not confide in a pal who did not press him further plus vowed to remain mum. The sad abalone felt bitterly alone.

Preceding dawn was the hour of the swan, the most potent time on the planet, when Thor awoke replenished at four in the morning. While the orphanage slumbered, he cantered to the garden to witness its invigoration. A mild breeze rustled through the evergreen trees and dense underbrush. Birds began to chirp. Bees began to buzz. The yawning pink spider, saved by Dov, greeted him. Harmony flooded the fertile fibers of his fair frame feverish at work, savoring his communion with nature. The pungent fragrances effused from flowers were an opium enchanting his pores to flux through his bloodstream, tingling the tiniest of capillaries. Breathing the heady aromas quenched the needs of his body. He felt no hunger, no thirst. He trimmed; he mowed; he pruned; he raked. He didn’t think; he didn’t halt. At noon, he flopped near the fountain, eyes closed, listening to the water cascade from tier to tier, the droplets marching in a melody of musical magic. The diligent drip, drip, drip was hypnotic. 

Thor awoke with a start. He had not intended to doze. The day was zooming to a close. He sprinted to the Museum, arriving breathless. When he entered the sylvan exhibit, Hisstory seemed restless, slithering to and fro in rapid succession. Her eerie eyes lit at Thor’s presence. Rising high, she towered over him, emitting a scolding hiss at her tardy master, then circuited Thor’s willowy torso, much to the terror of bystanders viewing the strange spectacle. Thor stroked his pet fondly, reassuring the onlookers.

*     *     *  

Dov worked at a clip to reduce the drudgery of laundry duty. His partner that day was Ruslan Arelius, a tall, gangly boy who surpassed Dov’s compact frame, although both sported thirteen years. They were in the sorting stage – separating whites from colors, cold wash items from warm, searching pockets to ensure nothingt left by accident would jam the machines. 

Ruslan beamed, “We missed you the other night. Lander lost in cards. You should have seen his face. Guess who beat him?”

Dov grinned, “Wow! Sorry I wasn’t there. I was studying with Thor.”

“So you’re hanging out with Thor?”

“He’s helping me with biology.”

“No doubt you’ll have his serpent garnishing you soon enough.”

“I like Thor. He’s nice, once you get to know him.”

“Is that so? How long have you known him?”

“What’s it to you?”

“We’re watching out for you. Thor changed when he got that snake. We don’t want to see you veer weird on us.”   

Dov was timid, but tough. His past had been rattled by a road of rough. He gritted his teeth. “Who’s we?”

“Your mates –”    

Ruslan stopped abruptly, staring at an object he had retrieved from a pants pocket. He aimed a sardonic smirk at Dov. 

“Guess your buddy is a thief.”

 Dov was baffled. “What do you mean?”

“I just found this in his pocket.” Ruslan held up the blood-red coral necklace sneaked into Thor’s pocket by Sunburst. Through the window, slants of the sun licked the brilliant medallion. Thor’s pants evinced his inconspicuous, but denoted initials on the inside label.  

“What makes you think it’s not his?”

“Are you bonkers?” Ruslan dangled the pendant in front of Dov. “Do you see orphans wearing ornaments like this? It’s expensive, Dov. Look.”

Dov examined the jewelry. Nothing remotely similar was worn by any resident of the orphanage. Though reluctant to believe Thor’s crime, he had to acknowledge Ruslan’s veracity.   

“What are you going to do?”

“Turn it over to Theogen. You know the rules dictate if I don’t, we’re guilty as accomplices.” 

“We should ask him first. If the tables were turned, you’d want a chance to explain before the authorities got involved. Besides, it doesn’t make sense. If he filched it, why was he foolhardy to leave it in his pocket? Have you forgotten he’s innocent until proven guilty? We have to grant him that.”

“Fair enough. We’ll ask him. Then we’ll go to Theogen.”

“If he stole it.”

“We’ll see.”

*     *     *

Twilight was creeping onto the canvas of the sky, when Thor approached the Institute. He could see the darkened figures silhouetted against the entrance. The ominous sight faded when he recognized his classmates, rising from the steps to face him with questioning countenance. 

“Hey, Thor,” Dov ventured tentatively.

“Hey, Dov, Ruslan. What gives?”  

Ruslan responded, “We need to talk.”

Thor beheld them, wary. Had Dov revealed his mysterious appearance in the garden? Their features conveyed nothing. “About what?”

“About this.”

Ruslan produced the pendant, which twinkled in the twilight.

Thor’s verdant eyes went wide. “Where do you get that?”

Dov answered, “Laundry duty.”

Ruslan was blunt. “I emptied your pockets. Where did you get it?”

“It was given to me.”

“By whom?” Ruslan snapped. 

“A Museum guest.” Technically true, though pushing it, Thor didn’t lie.

Ruslan pounced in sarcasm. “A Museum guest? How handy. We’ll confirm with the guest.”

“Impossible. I’ll never see her again. She doesn’t live here.”

Dov gave Thor a doleful glance. “What about witnesses?”

“None.” 

Ruslan glared, splenetic. “Enough with your drivel. I promised Dov we’d let you explain. You take us for fools; we take it to Theogen. We won’t enable your theft.” 

A detective dread garroted Thor’s head. Heeding the foreboding, Thor entreated, “Please don’t. I didn’t steal it, honestly.” 

Ruslan whipped back in agitation. “Then stop with the hogwash gift from a stranger. Come clean.”

“It’s not hogwash. I declined it. I didn’t know it was in my pocket.”

Cynical Ruslan barked, “Prove it.”

Thor assessed their surroundings on the steps of the entry. Snatches of uncertainty grew, as dimness drew to darkness.     

“Not here. The garden.” 

Dov and Ruslan were dubious, but assented. Thor led the way into the orphanage, out the back portal, past the trotting track to the garden beyond, arriving at the furthest spot he could find shrouded from Institute view. Convinced no prying eyes or ears were tuned to their location, he crouched under a copse for fortification.

Dov became impatient. “Thor, what’s with you?”

Ruslan was restive. “You want to spend the night here?”

Thor’s clear eyes naked of veneer, beaming a carving set in solid mahogany with no grain of guilt or guile, beckoned to them. Dov and Ruslan huddled opposite him, the triad barely visible under the looming cloak of nightfall. Thor scanned their faces. He merely glimpsed Dov; Ruslan, he studied shrewdly. Not cannibals come to consume him, neither classmate designed to wound him. He knew the rules; they should have turned him in immediately. Though grateful for their deference, inconsequential was not this circumstance. 

Trepidation tore through the thicket of Thor, a haven he’d hermetically sealed, where inflicted wounds were nursed to heal. He stood at the summit of his sanctum, debating his deliverance to their demand; at stake he perceived a superior command, sighting two doors. He recognized the safe door on the left, a yawning mouth of suction into the abode of stagnation, were he to sustain his status quo of secure isolation. The perilous door on the right, by comparison, seemed transient and slim. Opening it daunted him; yet there was promise, though premise thin, of a percolating prairie poking up its rim. He pondered the possibility, so hard for him to see, a transfusion of fraternity into this trinity. He had outgrown his cloister in a solitary attic. No longer could he continue to thrive under a ceiling of static. He sighed with a profound humility to give himself up and let it be. Shrugging his shoulders of solitude, displaying no fears, the clam shed his shell of thirteen years. In a giant gesture streaked with abandon, he tossed caution aside, exposing his vulnerable underbelly in earnest to those who could pitch him into a furnace. He did not shirk their questions nor shun their gaze, but met them head on in eyes ablaze. Which would win in the present tense, malevolence or benevolence? Hoping for allies, he knew in the end his existence would depend on either an enemy or a friend.  

In a whisper setting the tone, Thor began, “We have to speak softly, not just now, but whenever we discuss these matters, whether in this garden or wherever we meet in the future. Is that understood? I won’t talk unless you both agree.”

Unforeseen was the mystifying demeanor of Thor. How could his classmates refuse? Even if the unconventional play was a ploy to sway them, they wanted to hear what he had to say.

“I agree,” affirmed Dov readily.

“So do I,” enunciated the reluctant Ruslan.

Intent on Dov, Thor asked, “Remember your query yesterday?”

Dov’s eyes magnified. “Yes.”   

“You’re not crazy,” Thor admitted, “but I don’t know how I did it.”

Manifesting shock at the unexpected admission, Dov’s eyes spread into saucers.

Ruslan was irked. “What are you saying? We’re supposed to be sharing.”

Dov said apace to Thor, “You don’t have to talk about that. I kept my word.”

Thor asserted, “I know, but the pendant is part of it.”

Ruslan blurted out in a husky voice on edge, “What’s going on? Stop the stealth.”

Thor whirled round. The garden remained still. His consummate behavior of palpable paranoia permeated them, though Ruslan was determined to stonewall it. Thor’s chiding eyes glittered, limelighting Ruslan with aggregate attention.  

“Keep quiet, Ruslan. You promised not to bluster. If I tell you the truth, will you pledge never to reveal it? Regardless if you think I’m loony, will you swear to maintain a vigil of silence? I can’t risk telling you otherwise. You have no malice toward me, I can attest to that, but if I can’t trust you with the truth, I can’t tell you the truth. Turn me in or pledge your fidelity. You choose.”

Exasperated, Ruslan swiveled from Thor to Dov. 

Dov boasted, “I already swore.”    

Ruslan anticipated straightforward simplicity. Was that asking too much? Ostensibly so. Positive the pendant had been pilfered, an alternative explanation he never considered. Yet Thor wasn’t wearing the predicted cloth of the guilty, but instead was attired in a subtext of secrecy. Clever, Ruslan thought of the thief, to dupe him by means of his weakness for intrigue. Nevertheless, the dangling bait of Thor’s enigma was too tempting not to take. 

“I pledge,” he declared.

Dov and Ruslan had committed to the vow that Thor submitted; his part of the bargain to fulfill, he stepped up to the plate and swung the bat with skill at the curve ball of destiny speeding toward him, an earmarked pitch he wished would ditch ill will. His lustrous eyes darted to field them both. In a plea for understanding, he relied on their oath. 

“Dreams, that’s how it started – they were the genesis – dreams too vivid to be dreams, testing my sanity. They were real, but how could they be? My heart fought my mind, logic lost to me. The initial one was in the snow.”

Dov stopped him, inquisitive. “Snow?  What’s snow?”

“A white, slippery substance formed by frozen rain is called snow. The Museum has exhibits.”

Ruslan’s features furrowed in curiosity. “Frozen rain?”

Thor expounded, “When rain gets too cold, it freezes before it hits the ground and becomes soft like powder or hard like pellets, depending on the atmosphere.”

Ruslan was unimpressed. “Big deal. You had a dream about something you saw at the Museum.”  

“When I woke, my body was icy and my pj’s were wet.” 

Ruslan snickered, “You had a wet dream, that’s all.”

Thor uncharacteristically laughed. “I’m thirteen, Ruslan. I know what a wet dream is, and what it isn’t. My raw feet were frozen; my slashed palm bled. A wet dream, this was not in my bed.”

An owl hoot startled the boys.      

“Go on,” prodded Dov.

“During the second tangible episode, I saw my parents aside my bed. When I woke, I could smell my mom’s lingering perfume.”

Incredulity smacked Ruslan’s composure. He opened his mouth to speak. Thor paused in acknowledgment, but Ruslan clamped his voice and motioned his classmate to continue. 

Thor regarded Dov. “The third incident was night before last in the garden. While working at the Museum, I met a girl. We kissed. She offered me the necklace. I refused. She must have slipped it in my pocket. I wasn’t aware. I walked home late –”

Thor shuddered involuntarily. His dramatic demur tensed the boys. 

He resumed his petition, his hoarse voice quavering. “The streets were deserted… except for the cannibals.”   

Dov and Ruslan exclaimed simultaneously, “Cannibals!”

Thor stumbled on the words. “Cannibals chased me. I screwed up, made a wrong turn into an alley. They cornered me with knives. I knelt and closed my eyes, pretending I was in this garden, expecting them to eat me alive.”

Inescapable was the canopy of fear dropping its dew on the trio. Dov arrested his refutals, while Ruslan wrestled with his rebuttals. Thor’s frame, a composition of pain, was impossible to feign. His voice faded; his eyes glazed. Recalling that moment, he was lost in that moment. 

Dov’s low but shrill voice yanked him from his daze, “Thor!”

Recovering, Thor’s focus shifted to Dov, “The rain commenced; the lightning struck. I heard your voice, then saw your face staring at me in the garden.”

Catching Ruslan glimpse Dov, Thor gestured for support, “Tell him what you told me.”

Dov confirmed for Thor’s sake, “I saw him appear with a thunderbolt.”

“You jest,” Ruslan scoffed.    

“I don’t,” Dov retorted, grave.   

Thor interjected, “It’s the truth.” 

“I believe you,” declared Dov.

Ruslan said nothing, his posture bowed with skepticism. In patient silence, Dov flitted between faces for signals. Awaiting his sentence, Thor’s comportment lacked neither signage of anxiety nor expectation of charity.   

Raising his head, Ruslan’s rugged voice was atypically propitious.  

“I believe you, too.”

Hoots of owls hit the air as if in applause. 

“Why?” asked Thor with a glimmer of hope.

“I saw your parents that night.”

The owl clapping ceased. Thor and Dov were stunned by the revelation.

Thor remarked, more to himself than to Ruslan, “You never mentioned it.”

“Calvin’s snoring woke me. I heard voices and saw them leaning over you.”

Thor murmured, “You didn’t broadcast it.”

“It was none of my business. Strange people speaking to you in the middle of the night? I figured they were the authorities. I thought you were in trouble.”

“You didn’t betray me. You didn’t report it.”

“You bawled like a baby when they left. Guess I felt sorry for you.”

“Thanks for keeping it to yourself.”

“I’m not a snitch, Thor. I just won’t cover for what I believe is wrong.”

He clasped the medallion in his pocket and gave it a twirl before handing it over to Thor. Glints of bright bronze slapped the spokes of the front side zodiac wheel, the sectioned dozen symbols exquisitely crafted. Blank was the dull backside. Mesmerized by the spin, Thor reached out to grasp it.

“Must have been quite a kiss,” Ruslan quipped, but stopped short, showered in amazement.

Once possessed by Thor, the pendant was transformed by his Midas touch. Light sparked from his index finger across the metal, its radiance to linger. When his glide came to rest on his favorite symbol, Aries, he felt a warmth become so hot, he withdrew his finger from the evident spot. The opalescent pendant spun on its own accord; on the backside an ornate inscription began to form. The astounded trio gasped at the meticulous letters, too small to decipher from Dov and Ruslan’s point of view.

“Can you read it?” asked Dov.

Thor held the surface closer, but before he could answer, the melodic voice of the medallion awoke.  

“You have the key.

It’s not by chance that you behold the cosmic dance. 

You are the light. Within you gleam.

I can help fulfill your dream.

Guard me well. I may reveal secrets that will let you heal,

Clues that lead you to unearth

The path you chose before your birth.”

As the last word was pronounced, the inscription, the glow, and the heat faded.  

“Well?” asked Ruslan.

“Well what?” amplified Thor.

“What did it say?” Dov was polite.

“What it said.” Thor was matter-of-fact. 

“What what said?” persisted Ruslan. 

“What the voice said,” clarified Thor. 

“The voice?” exclaimed Dov.   

“What voice?” snapped Ruslan. 

“Didn’t you hear it?” Thor was bewildered.

Dov and Ruslan uttered in unison, “No!”

The perplexed pals peered at the pendant. Thor broke the barrier of bafflement, offering, “I’ll recite what it said.”

Ruslan jolted to upright attention. “For sure, this proves the pendant’s yours, but don’t tell us.”

Thor deduced their integrity for not peeping, but his current code of comradeship caught isolation creeping. “Why not?”

Ruslan speculated, “The voice spoke only to you; we’re not included for a reason.”

Dov added with ardor, “I agree with Ruslan. We weren’t meant to hear. I daresay magic to revere.”

Ruslan conjectured, “Danger could be coming, or maybe there’s nothing to fear. What say you, Thor?”

Thor’s erect figure slumped slightly, hunched over the pendant positioned lightly in his palm that he puzzled. In a stance struck pensive with postulation, his puzzling wound up as a proclamation.

“An omen to honor, not beware nor cast aside.” He raised his head to their pause of wonder. “This medallion wasn’t some blunder, but a harbinger of what’s ahead.”

“What’s ahead?” queried Dov.

Not pride did Thor expel; he only searched to tell the truth. “Beats me, but whatever’s ahead, I won’t dwell on a prognosis of dread.”

Thor wouldn’t elaborate on what he couldn’t foresee, but he wasn’t surprised at this fresh forecast. He predicted the Calamity Cannibals weren’t the last to whom he’d been tasked. He felt assailed by a tremendous weight; time would bring trials to fly in the face of his fate.  He stood up perturbed, his equilibrium unstable. Dov and Ruslan rose, discerning his angst.

“What’s wrong?” Dov questioned. 

Thor tried to shake his dizziness, straightening his bent body. “I’m fine...”

Disbelief peppered his pals.  

“…Except for being exhausted and famished.” He dropped the pendant acutely affecting him into the pocket of his pants. “We’ll talk later.”

Dov commented, “That’s not going to work.”

“What?” asked Thor.

Dov expressed, “You can’t stick it in your pocket like that.”

Ruslan concurred, “You have to protect it.”    

Dov suggested, “Secure it round your neck, hidden underneath your shirt.”

Ruslan spouted, “Risky, but better than your pocket. If you forget about it, someone might find it like we did and turn you in or retain it.”

“Salient point. I’ll wear it until we think of something else,” Thor remarked.

Lifted over his head, the coral beads nestled next to his skin under his shirt, the pendant falling close to his heart, emanating warmth.

“How’s that?”  

His comrades nodded in accord, observing the necklace was unnoticed.

“Good,” Thor stated. “Let’s go eat.”

They walked out of the shadows toward the lights of the Institute. Comfortable and content under the starry sky, Thor tried to get the feel of what friendship meant. Interposed between his mates, swathed in solidarity, relief saturated him. The vertigo subsided, superseded by myriad thoughts. He wasn’t going to be interrogated by detectives. Not only vindicated, his convictions had been validated with proof he’d been desperately seeking. Dov had seen him appear with lightning; Ruslan had seen his parents by his bedside. To ponder was the premise of the pendant, the mysterious object with a tale to unravel of its own. Above all, for the premier time, he did not feel alone. At the foot of the dining hall, he floundered, rubbing his eyes in reflex, unable to focus properly. Flummoxed were his flanking friends. Beside him concerned, they clustered.  

“Are you okay?” asked Ruslan.

His face flustered, in guarded tones Thor mustered. “Everyone’s blurred…” He drifted from Ruslan to Dov. “…Including you.”

Dov frowned. “Your vision is blurred?”

Thor elucidated through his noticeable torpor. “I can see your features, but your outline is hazy.  Especially here.” He rotated his hand in an arc above Dov’s head.

Ruslan probed, “Describe what’s hazy. Be specific.”

Thor skimmed the area in astute determination, then whispered, “People radiate glowing mists of pulsating energy. That’s why I can’t see distinct edges.”

While Thor reviewed the room with his eagle eyes, his mates exchanged glances, descrying a red flag warning. Although something was amiss, reflection in a public dining hall would be foolish. Before they could speak, Thor abruptly announced, “Agreed. We’ll figure it out after dinner.”

Uh oh, his burgeoning buddies shot an encore confounding glance. Had Thor replied to their thoughts? Oblivious, Thor picked up a tray; the boys followed suit. As he swept the line selecting food, Thor stabilized himself. By the time they landed an unoccupied table sheltered from other diners and commenced gobbling their grub, his friends noted he seemed better. He was not bothered by their attention. Rather, he was blithe, enabled by brethren to articulate his life. Sharing was a joy he seldom experienced in his shell of self-imposed solitude. He reveled with increased fortitude, luxuriating in their presence, while his eyes roamed the room, analyzing the emanations obscuring the edges of every scanned head. He felt attracted to some, repelled by others. Bursting to share, he ignored their pact of secrecy and dared to speak.

In a muted voice scaled to their ears, the chipper lad ruminated, “It’s cool.”

“What’s cool?” asked Ruslan, unable to resist the bait. 

“Your auras.”

“No way,” Ruslan contested. “We’re not angels.”

“Auras, not halos, gird you,” Thor corrected. His jolly eyes roved in abandon from one to the other, comparing them, concluding casually, “You both manifest loads of green.”

Dov was dumbfounded. Equating auras hemmed with fable tested his beliefs. Was Thor bluffing or was he truly able?

 “We have auras? You see them?”

Thor didn’t fluctuate; his voice was soft, his words simple. “I do.” 

Dov winced in discomfort at the blasé statement. Unflinching Ruslan furnished his steady stare. If he was disturbed, there was no sign of care.

“Don’t worry. Your green vibrations are swell. They make me feel…” Thor hunted for the apposite word.  “…Safe.”   

Dov was unconvinced this finding was apt. “Seeing auras is not normal, Thor.”

Thor rebuffed resoundly, “It is for me.” His tenor exuded confidence in warning they could tell; reject the tortoise who’d shuffle into his shell.

Even so, Ruslan forged ahead unfurled. “How can something brand new be normal?”

“It’s not brand new.”

“What?” Dov and Ruslan chorused. They were floored.

“After dinner,” responded Thor. With that said, they sped through their food.

In the sweet-scented garden met the scintillating souls. The night promised to uphold inferred secrets set to unfold. The fellowship diligently checked to ensure the vicinity was vacant.

With security verified, Ruslan commenced, “Take off the medallion. See what happens.”

Thor hung the necklace on the hedge behind and viewed his friends. 

“Well?” asked Dov.

“There’s a difference, but not what you think.” He handed the medallion to Dov. “Try it on. See what it does.” 

Wearing the jewelry, Dov gazed from Thor to Ruslan. He gave it to Ruslan with a disappointed shrug. “Nothing.”

Ruslan repeated Dov’s actions, then returned the pendant to Thor theorizing, “Goes hand in hand. Designated for, speaks to, and affects solely you.”

“What I said in the dining room was true. Auras are not brand new.”

“You didn’t see them before you put on the pendant,” Dov pointed out.

“I did.”

“You did?” chimed the chorus, floored again. Dov twitched; controlled Ruslan kept cool.   

“The pendant augments them, but they’re still visible without it. They might be ascribed a curse, the auras I see. I might be branded aberrant, but it’s normal for me. Besides, who determines normality? Judgments teem with hypocrisy.”

He stooped in stature, embarrassed by the affliction he had confessed. He shunned the State standards that would nail him an anomaly. He would fight for his normalcy, the right to live his legacy. What about his friends first? Would they stake him abnormal and classify him cursed? He straightened up with eyes ablaze, perspicuous in his naked attire. Then he perceived his trust had been right with their auras lined up in his view. They projected no tinge of fear. He needn’t take flight; he needn’t fight. No judgment was there to mar their bonded pristine air.

Ruslan and Dov were astonished by the disclosure, but paramount was Thor’s inference of trust.

Duly respectful was Dov. “If it’s normal for you, then it’s normal for me.”

“Ditto,” underlined Ruslan.      

Dov’s curiosity was prevalent. “How does the pendant augment the auras?”

“The colors become vivid.”

Dov continued, “And minus the pendant?”

“The shades lose intensity. Next to transparent, they’re negligible, but still visible.”

Ruslan was piqued. “How long have you been seeing them?”

“I don’t know when they started, no dramatic appearance one day out of the blue. I’d describe them as a gradual permutation that became habitual over time.”

Ruslan’s eyes flickered. “Why didn’t you do something about it?”

“Like what? Go to a doctor and wind up locked up? My vision isn’t affected. So why risk arrest? Absent the pendant, auras are subtle. I don’t mind seeing them. I mind being conspicuous. You know how that is.” 

Or do they? wondered Thor, trifling with the pendant. Pals may empathize, but standing in his shoes, could anyone surmise?  

Ruslan cogitated. “Don’t wear it.”       

 “Why not? We concurred I should.”                                                                            

“Changed my mind, considering its effect on you.”

“Ruslan’s right. We need to find a decent hiding place. Until then, stash it in your pocket, not blaring in your face. Just don’t forget about it.”

“You’re overreacting.”

Ruslan was resolute. “We’re shielding you. Indulge us.”

In deference to them, Thor slipped the beads from neck to pocket. “I’m beat. Let’s go to bed.”

He started to rise, but Ruslan halted him. “Wait.”

“What?”

“There’s an issue we haven’t tackled.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Now.”

Not inferred in the word, but a behest in Ruslan’s dominant drift plopped Thor to the ground.   

Ruslan eyed Dov, who knew what the issue was.

“Can you read minds?”

A laugh met Dov’s words. “Of course not.”

Ruslan rebutted, “You did in the dining hall.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

Dov challenged, “You said you agreed with us before we sat to eat, remember?”

“So what? You said it was no spot to talk. You were correct. I agreed. Remember?”

Ruslan maintained, “We didn’t say it. We thought it.”

“I heard you.”

Ruslan’s stand was strong. He had a gut feeling he wasn’t wrong. “You heard our thoughts.”

“Stop joking.”

Ruslan was riled. “We’re not joking.” 

Dov persevered, “What am I thinking?”

“Drivel. That’s what you’re thinking.”

Dov contended, “So you can read minds.”

“No, I can’t. I don’t need to mind read to realize that whatever you’re thinking about me reading minds is drivel, Dov. Enough. End this nonsense. You accuse me of mind reading and deem it a game. I’m not playing. I have nothing to explain.”

Ruslan accentuated, “We’re not judging you, but you’re not fooling us. If you want to hoard it, fine. Nonetheless, don’t dodge us as dunces. We know you read our mind.”   

A gust of wind whipped through the garden. Trees rustled. A tremor ran through Thor. His face flushed. His lashes fluttered. His eyes of welded steel plowed into them.

“A day may come when I’m put to task to reveal such secrets that I hold fast. Will I have the stamina to last? No decree’s official. No die’s been cast, yet there’s a forecast in what you ask. Is that day today, my mates?” 

The air took on a chill. Thor’s blossoming buddies sat solemn. Thor softened, wrestling with his words, frustrated at his failure to connote what may have emerged.

“I’m not dodging you. To my knowledge, I’m not a mind reader. What you believe I did, I can’t explain. If I did it, I had no idea I did it. What do you want me to say? Admit to something I was unaware of doing? Is that what you want?”   

Ruslan backed off. “No, it’s not. We didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s drop it.”

Thor didn’t fumble, but instead took possession of his plight. His demeanor exuded no sign of fear at which might appear to have come to light. For their sake and his, he espoused, “Whatever’s brewing to befall me in this portentous air, it’s my cross alone to bear, an onus I accept that’s not to share. You’re not to blame for what’s mine to claim.”

Dov assured, his good nature prominent, “We’re friends, Thor. We do share, particularly onuses that seem insurmountable.” 

Ruslan chimed in, strapped with steadiness evident. “Ditto. You can rely on us.”

Thor rose in gawky surprise to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. His friends were upholding his enterprise. Comfort of comradeship had never been a norm for him. Conceived in the dark, this freshly-formed fraternity linked deep feelings within. Summoning tendrils of the orphanage herded the pals in retreat to their beds. Day had wiggled with fingers long; into evening it had chosen to tread. Through that span weaving dare with declare, much had been staked; much had been said. Thor had cast off tinctures of dread. With pleas he had pled, brethren had been fed, and instead of a wedge, stretched in place was a pledge.