The Man With A Thousand Faces: Thirty
by redmoon
Thirty

16 October, 2001, 60 miles West of Chamdo, Tibet

Oz kept his smile steady, though he was anything but prepared to see his old meditation instructor again. Loki, he saw, was quite different from the last time Oz had seen him. He was far older in the eyes and his shoulders hunched noticeably. His normally short, wavy blond hair was long and uncombed, hanging about his shoulders. He wore a shirt that would make Renaissance maestros nervous and even Oz could tell his three kaya were not centered.

“Hi,” he said tentatively, unsure of the proper way to address someone of Loki’s status— whatever that status might be, “Master Loki,” he added. There was an awkward pause while Oz guessed Loki was trying to remember him. “I studied with you a few years ago,” he said casually, trying not to make it sound as though he knew Loki didn’t recognize him. “I’ve managed to master my kaya of transfor-”

“Of course!” Loki broke into a broad smile. “The curse of the werewolf is lifted, is it?” He reached out jovially and gave the young man a rough but friendly pat on the shoulder. “Fantastic. I knew you could do it.”

Oz’s smile faltered. He had not expected this much enthusiasm. Certainly, this man had not been so... extroverted a year and a half ago. That and the fact that Loki was still standing inside the study, effectively blocking the doorway, kept Oz from being entirely surprised by what happened next.

“Well, I’m glad you patched things together, and you’re absolutely welcome to stay here in the lamasery as long as you like. One of the monks will see that you are provided for. Meals are at sunrise and sunset. Well, you must be tired— looks as though you are. See you tomorrow!” And the door slammed solidly in Oz’s face.

Oz blinked away the surprise of the door in his face. He made a small smile, then off to the side of the doorway, a hand squeezed his. The smile was replaced with a look of resolve and he took his fist and pounded on the door.

There was a long pause, during which Oz expected Loki was hoping he would go away, then Oz pounded again, calling, “Master Loki, I have traveled very far for your help. Please open the door.” He was answered by silence. He banged again, more urgently. “Please, Master Loki, we really need your help. We can pay you–”

The door opened as suddenly as it had closed. “We?” The specter stuck his head and shoulders out into the hall to see a young brunette standing beside Oz, their hands linked. “You didn’t say there was a we,” his eyes were fixed with the young woman’s. She had short brown hair held back with two hair clips. She was slightly shorter than Oz and looked to be in her early twenties. She was also quite attractively nervous. Her eyes kept darting between Oz and Loki as the latter smiled enchantingly at her.

Oz wasn’t sure if there was anything else ‘enchanting’ about Loki at that moment, but he was sure he didn’t like the way the conjurer was looking at her. “This is Jade,” he said, squeezing her hand.

Jade made a small smile and tried to make an uncertain bow, but Loki took her hand firmly from Oz’s grip and shook it warmly. “Welcome to my lamasery.”

“Your lamasery?” Oz frowned. “Where is Master Haargan?”

Loki’s grin never faltered, his eyes fixed on Jade. “Oh... here and there.”

Loki led the pair into his study. There was not much to see: a simple cot, like the ones found in every room – but this one was not used for sleep. This was his study and the cot was piled with books. A table and chair rested against the wall by the single slitted window, the table covered in papers and open books, a single telephone and a glowing red sphere.

“This is Wilson,” Loki indicated the Dagon Sphere. “He can tell the future.”

Jade slowly turned to Oz, to see him looking back. “I see...” Oz said at last.

Loki began transferring stacks of books from the cot to the floor beside it. When he was finished, he offered it to them to sit on. He himself turned the chair around and straddled it. “So, what exactly do you need my help with?” He pointed at Jade – interrupting any response. “Is she all...” he put hooked fingers to his temples and scowled. “Grrrr,” like a werewolf.

Oz shook his head. “No,” he looked at her, their eyes meeting and the connection forming. “Her father was a demon – a specter, so she was born without a soul.” Oz swallowed, as if the injustice of it were difficult to bear. “She just found out.”

Loki found his smile had disappeared as Oz and Jade looked at each other. “A rather nasty surprise, I imagine.” The conjurer sighed, as if to clear away the memory of his own discovery that nothing born of a specter can be more than a specter itself.

“I was wondering,” Jade spoke for the first time, “if you could explain to me how... er – why I wasn’t born with a soul.”

“You want the birds and the bees, do you?” Loki’s grin reappeared. “Well, when a demon loves a woman, or a man for that matter, and assuming the demon has abandoned all his or her evil, demonic ways, they can settle down and have a relatively normal human life together, at least on the surface.” Jade was watching the conjurer intently, while Oz retained a bit more suspicion.

“You see,” Loki continued happily, “a soul is a distinctly human thing, demons don’t have them — don’t need them — not even good demons.” A sudden epiphany sparked in Loki’s mind and he stopped. Quickly he buried the thought and continued. “Many people think of the soul as some sort of thing; that if they can just get their hands on it, everything will be fine. But a soul isn’t a thing, any more than consciousness is a thing. But nobody ever finds it strange that you can lose consciousness and then get it back again without ever looking for it.” He turned and began lifting corners of books on the table. “The soul is kind of like consciousness, except while consciousness is being aware of your surroundings, the soul is an unconscious awareness of yourself. One that you might not know you have—” he looked up from the table, his hand on a book “—or don’t have.” He pulled the book free from the mess of papers and balanced it on the back of the chair before him.

“But where consciousness is given to just about every life form, good or evil, the soul–” the conjurer continued, “-is a bit more elusive. Certain great acts of evil are simply not possible with the presence of a full, hearty soul. Things of evil, therefore, or just questionable nature,” he made a small smile, “don’t need one — can’t use one. And unfortunately for you,” he eyed Jade again, “that would include your father.”

“But your daughter had a soul,” Oz protested, shifting on the cot to sit closer to Jade, whose hand was clasping his.

Loki was at first caught off guard. “Yes—” his matter-of-fact tone had disappeared, but then just as quickly reappeared. “Yes, she had a soul. I didn’t become a specter until after she was born– after she died, in fact.” His voice took on a distant, sad air as he said the last, but then his eyes refocused and he looked to Jade.

“You see, the soul-” his tone was as chipper as before, “-in life- is sort of a function of the body.” His eyes glanced down at the book, then quickly up, “but not in the same way that, say, flatulence is a function of the body.”

Oz and Jade gave each other another look, as if to say is this quack for real?

“And while I expect consciousness is passed, like male pattern baldness, from parent to child —usually with no exceptions— a soul is only formed in an unborn child if there are two souls to parent it, that is — if the DNA from both parents allows for the creation of an organism that can have a soul.” He looked with some trace of sympathy at Jade. “And you being part demon means a soul was not in your genes, so to speak.” He held up a finger before quickly adding, “Not that you can’t have one — it just wasn’t in the original blueprints.” He let that settle in. “And of course,” he said, as if it were an afterthought, “things conjured using magic tend to have much simpler blueprints –more like demons– which allows them to be useful in all sorts of ways, as specters.”

“What about clones?” Oz asked, his classic worry-face creasing his brow.

“Clones?” Loki asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Oz went on, “people created in a lab –without magic– but with only one parent. Are they specters?”

Loki took a deep breath. “Clones, eh? Interesting concept. As I think about it, it seems to me that even if you only had one parent – donor, whatever you want to call it – as long as that person had a soul, you’d be good to go.” He paused. “Except,” he seemed to think hard, “except that your soul would have the potential to be identical to your donor’s, just like your DNA. So you’d really just be sharing a soul.” He sighed. “Worth further study, anyway.”

There was a long pause, during which everyone seemed puzzled equally. Finally, Loki stood, with a slap of his knees. “Well, I suppose you’ve come to me to get your soul back– er, get a soul in the first place, then eh?” He sighed, making a small shake of his head. “Well, I have to warn you; the last girl who came to me for help... well, it didn’t end pretty.”

“Did she get her soul?” Jade asked, almost defiantly.

“She did,” Loki cocked his head, “though I doubt it did her much good.”

“Will you help her?” Oz demanded, his tone wavering with desperation and concern.

“Of course,” Loki said with an odd smile. “It’s what I do.” His eyes moved over to Jade who shifted uncomfortably under his moving gaze.

This story archived at: The Slayer\'s Fanfic Archive
The Slayer\\\\\\\\'s FanFic Archive - http://www.slayerfanfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=10653