“Thank you for seeing us.” Mukasa drew back and laid a hand on Adroa's shoulder.
“I'm excited, to tell the truth,” Adroa spoke with a surprisingly normal voice despite having only half his vocal cords. “I don't get a lot of visitors.”
“I shall endeavor to visit more often,” Mukasa promised.
“Thank you. I'm lucky to have you.” Adroa looked from Mukasa to us. “And welcome to my home, all of you. I have never seen so many gods from so many different pantheons standing together before. This is a wondrous day!”
“I wish we brought good news with us,” Odin stepped forward. “But we must speak with you about your other half.”
“This is Odin. I've mentioned him before,” Mukasa made the introduction.
“Yes, Odin of the Norsemen!” Adroa nodded. “I've heard many great tales of your prowess. It's an honor to meet you in person.”
Odin shook Adroa's hand. “And you as well.”
Then, because it seemed rude to do otherwise, Odin went through the long process of introducing the rest of us. When that was over, Adroa invited us inside to discuss the Adro situation. He led us down a long, white corridor hung with photographs of landscapes from all over the world, his single foot floating above the floor so he didn't have to hop ignobly.
“I brought him these.” Mukasa waved a hand at the pictures.
“And I treasure them,” Adroa said over his shoulder—his left and only shoulder. “It's one of the few ways I get to see the world.”
“One of?” I asked.
“I bring him movies too,” Mukasa explained.
“I love American films!” Adroa declared exuberantly. “They show me the Earth and space and other worlds that don't exist. But it doesn't matter if they're real or not because they could be, as far as I know. I like to imagine that they do exist and that wondrous beings people them.”
There was a childlike innocence to this man, and I wondered if that came from being completely devoid of negativity. He didn't come across as simple but he was utterly guileless and that's what made him seem young to me. Part of me saw the beauty in this but the other part—must have been my badder half—saw the horror. We need the bad to temper the good. I don't mean evil, evil is different from bad in my opinion—another level of it. And the term bad is really just an opinion when it comes down to it so I suppose I mean that we need some darkness to temper our light—things like ambition and desire and even anger. Without those “bad” emotions, we're just, well, half a person. Strength can't shine without weakness, happiness isn't as bright without sorrow, and good is not impressive without bad. Everyone needs a little devil on their shoulder, tempting them to be naughty because, frankly, naughty can be really fun.
Adroa brought us to a room that was—thankfully—painted a neutral tan. All the white had been getting to me. Here, a plush carpet squished beneath my feet and puffy couches waited to be plopped down on. Golden light fell from reed chandeliers above and a large TV hung on one wall—the wall the couches faced.
“Hmm... I don't have enough chairs,” Adroa murmured. “Let's see what I can transform...”
“Zat's fine,” Kirill assured him. “Some of us can stand.”
“Are you sure?” Adroa's half-face twisted into concern. “That doesn't seem hospitable.”
“We don't mind,” Hades added his assurance.
“Okay then.” Adroa took a seat on the central couch, sort of floating back onto it.
I wondered if only the good half got to float while the bad half hopped. Hopped and crawled. Interesting. The good one floated around Heaven while the baddie slithered across the Earth. Sounds familiar.
“Now, what am I up to on Earth? Is it truly horrible?” Adroa asked.
“It is,” Odin said gravely. “And it may end up hurting all of the Gods.”
“Hurting all of the Gods?” Adroa leaned forward onto his knee. “How is that possible?”
“We believe that Adro is gathering magic he'll use to reconnect you,” Thor said.
“What?!” Adroa shrieked. “No, he wouldn't. I wouldn't.Wewouldn't! That could be disastrous. Every god knows that there are certain aspects of our myths that you cannot tinker with. Ours is this.” He waved a hand at himself. Then he relaxed back. “You must be mistaken. He knows better.”
“We could be,” Odin said diplomatically. “It is merely a theory at this point. But his Adroanzi have killed a lot of people and lately, those people have been children. Adro also told my wife that he was almost done—that implies a goal. What other goal could he have?”
Adroa considered this, then scowled. “I don't know. Honestly, I don't have the capacity to think like him. I simply don't have it in me to contemplate impure actions. He, however, can think of nothing else. I don't envy him, even though he has the freedom of the world. I can't imagine what his days are like or how horrible he feels every moment of them.”
“I don't think evil pities itself,” I said gently. “It's happy with how it is because it has no choice, that's its version of normal.”
