68: Interlude with Atar

The first thing Alex noticed was the smell: fragrant and green with a hint of rose and maybe… orange? That didn’t seem right. He was in Alaska, wasn’t he?

Right around then he realized that he was lying on something soft and warm. So, not snow. Shouldn’t he be wet? He vaguely remembered falling into the tarn, but the memory was hard to pin down exactly; it kept floating away, along with the terror that he thought he should be feeling at having fallen into the tarn, the one place he’d been warned never to go. He did remember what happened the last time he fell into it.

He opened his eyes, expecting to find himself lying on a couch in a stone-walled room with the Lord of Mandos looking on. What he found was—

“What the hell?” Alex sat up abruptly, staring around in disbelief. He was in a garden and it looked vaguely familiar, but there was nothing distinctive about it to say that it was this garden or that. Still, he felt he’d been here before, a long time ago.

“Ahem.”

Alex jerked around to see someone sitting on a stone bench, a look of amusement on his face. He was a stranger, yet Alex felt immediately safe with him, as if they were old friends. There was nothing especially distinctive about him. His hair was a bright gold and his eyes a warm blue. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a pale blue, long-sleeve, button-down shirt and a pair of brown loafers. He could have passed unnoticed on any street in America, but there was something ineffable about him and Alex had the feeling that he was facing Someone even greater than the Valar. About then, he realized that he himself was no longer wearing winter clothes but a pair of jeans and a red polo shirt with what looked like an embroidered flame over his left breast. On his feet were his favorite pair of sneakers.

Before he could comment on his clothes, the Person spoke. “Hello, Artemus Gordon Meriwether, aka Alex Grant, Gary Martin, Mick Alford, Alejandro Martinez, otherwise known as Alejandro el Grande. You know, I liked that one. Very clever. Alejandro el Grande. Alexander the Great. The two of you have much in common, did you know that? Mind you, Alexander thought he was the son of a god and therefore deserved to be immortal and went off to conquer the world and your character simply wanted to immortalize himself by blowing people up. Psychopaths, the both of you.”

“There’s one difference between them, though,” Alex managed to say, wondering at his own temerity.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, is that?”

“Alejandro el Grande Martinez was made up. He doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that, child?” the Person said softly.

Alex felt himself blanching. “Not to be rude, but who are you again?”

“Ah, yes. Introductions,” the Person said, standing up, holding out a hand for Alex to take, helping him to stand. “I love introductions. I’ve gotten quite good at them over the ages. Use to be, I would be all thundery and booming and pretty much in your face, giving out cryptic descriptions like, you know, ‘Rock of Ages’, ‘the Alpha and the Omega’, ‘I Am Who Am’.” He stopped and put an arm around Alex’s shoulders in a confidential manner. “You know, the moment I said that, I knew it was a mistake.”

“Mistake?” was the only thing Alex could say.

The Person nodded. “Uh huh… As soon as I told old Moses that I said to Myself: some smartass way in the future is going to read that in a book somewhere and say to himself, ‘Dude sounds like Popeye’.” He gave Alex a significant look and Alex blushed, well remembering that particular moment in Sunday school and how shocked the teacher had been and how embarrassed his mother had been when she was told.

“I was ten,” Alex said, feeling he had to explain or apologize or something.

“Hmm…” The Person said, seemingly unconvinced. Then he stepped back and held out his hand. “So anyway, I prefer the more direct approach these days. Hello, Alex Whoever-you-are-today, I’m Atar.”

“Er…Atar, as in… Atar?” Alex said in confusion, automatically shaking the Person’s hand. He knew ‘atar’ meant ‘father’ in Quenya but….

“You can call me Dad if you want. Same difference.”

“My dad’s name is Howard Meriwether,” Alex said faintly.

“Howie to his friends, although he never cared for that nickname himself. Much preferred Howard.”

“You know my dad?” Alex asked, some deep hunger bubbling to the fore at the thought of actually meeting his father, someone who was just a name and an image in a photo for him.

“I know everyone, and no, you don’t get to meet him yet, not today. Sorry.”

And somehow Alex knew that… Atar was indeed sorry, very sorry.

“So you’re… Atar… Nate’s Atar?”

“And yours, too, child,” Atar said with a gentle smile, planting a kiss of benediction on Alex’s forehead. “You’re all my children, even Mark Farrell.”

“Farrell! Where is he? Felicity! She’s—”

“Safe, I assure you, and quite capable of taking care of herself. As for Farrell, well, he’s no longer your concern. Let’s talk about you, instead. So much more interesting, talking about oneself, don’t you think?”

Alex gazed into Atar’s eyes and he wasn’t sure what he saw in them, but suddenly the whole situation became very unreal, or more unreal than it already was, and he began to feel faint. “I… I think I need to sit down,” he mumbled and Atar took him by the elbow and steered him to the bench.

“Put your head between your knees and try to breathe normally. You’re fine, Artemus. Just relax. No harm can come to you here.”

Alex did as he was bid and the blackness that had threatened him seemed to recede after a few moments. “Here, have some water.” He looked up to see Atar holding a glass of water, his expression one of compassion and understanding. Alex reached for the glass, surprised at how shaky his hand was. He took a single sip and it was as if the world had righted itself again and he felt steadier than he’d ever felt before. “Drink it all,” Atar said and Alex eagerly complied, for this water was sweeter than any he had drunk before, almost like liquid light.

“Feeling better?” Atar asked solicitously.

“Yes, thank you,” Alex replied sincerely as he handed back the glass, meaning it perhaps for the first time in his life.

Atar nodded and sat down beside him, the glass somehow no longer there. For a long moment the two just sat in silence. Alex occupied himself with gazing at the garden. It was so familiar, and yet it wasn’t.

“Is this heaven?” he suddenly asked.

“Hmm? Ah, no, not exactly, well, maybe. Hard to say. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Atar gave him a piercing look. “It depends on you, child. It always depends on you, what you do, what you decide, how you live, how you love, or don’t. It all depends on you.”

“Ah, no pressure then,” Alex retorted, amazed that he could even offer a retort.

Atar threw back his head and laughed and the sound of it went through Alex’s soul like a brisk, cleansing wind. “Ah, Artemus, you are such a delight even when you are a screw-up,” Atar said once He’d calmed down. He reached over and placed another kiss of benediction on Alex’s forehead and then became all business-like. “Now, we’re here to talk about you. You know you were wrong to go to the tarn alone, don’t you?”

“You mean I should’ve wasted time and endanger Felicity’s life by running to your precious Elves first and ask them for their help?” Alex shot back, giving Atar a glare. “I’m not a baby needing mommy’s help, or daddy’s, for that matter.”

“A phone call was all that it would’ve taken,” Atar said.

“And then they would’ve wanted me to wait and we would argue as to tactics, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t have time or patience for that. I’m used to handling things on my own.”

“And there’s your problem right there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you are so used to going it alone, you don’t know how to play nicely with others. There is a reason Glorfindel and the others warned you never to go to the tarn alone.”

“Because of whatever sleeps in it.”

“No, Artemus, because of what sleeps in you.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Alex whispered, feeling suddenly afraid. “I’m possessed, aren’t I? That’s what it means? All those weird memories and all. I’m possessed.”

“No, child, you are not possessed,” Atar said kindly, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. “What you are is a descendant of Elros, which means that you have a strain of elven and Maiarin blood in you. Oh, it’s very thin and if someone were to do a genetic scan on you, it would probably not even show up, but it’s there, deep within your cells. Except when you died the first time, something got altered and you’ve been experiencing flashbacks of memory.”

“But all these flashbacks seem to center around Beren, not Elros.”

“Yes, that is puzzling.”

“Excuse me? Are you telling me you don’t know any more than the Elves why this is happening?”

“I didn’t say that, Artemus. I said it was puzzling, and it is. I love puzzles, don’t you? Sometimes I deliberately refuse to see how it all ends just so I can puzzle it all out based on present circumstances.” He leaned closer to Alex in a confidential manner. “I’ll even give myself amnesia just for the fun of it. Makes things so exciting.”

“I guess,” was the only thing Alex could think to say.

Atar nodded. “What is happening to you is a puzzle, one that you and the Elves will have to figure out for yourselves. Just remember this, child, nothing happens that I do not allow, and everything happens for a reason, even if you don’t understand what that reason might be.”

“You make it sound as if I’ll have the opportunity to find out, but I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Depends on your definition,” Atar said. “Now, had you stopped long enough to warn the Elves, things might, and I stress that, might have gone differently for you. For one thing, we might not be having this conversation at all, but crying over spilled milk gets you nowhere. The fact is, Artemus Gordon Meriwether, aka Alex Grant, you need to stop acting as if you are alone in this, because you’re not. You have people more than willing to help and you can’t get any better help than from the Firstborn.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Alex insisted. “They have no idea where I am or that Felicity has been kidnapped.”

“Lucky for you, Glorfindel had you tailed and even as you were racing to the tarn, so were they. They’re only about a half hour behind you.”

“Still too late. Even as I fell into the tarn with Farrell I saw the ice reforming almost immediately, trapping us. Our bodies are lying on the bottom of that tarn and there’s no way to save us.”

For a long moment, silence fell between them. Atar gazed upon Alex with a benign look, gently brushing Alex’s hair and Alex felt himself relax more and more. Then Atar stood up. “Come along, I want to show you something.” Atar reached down and took Alex by an elbow and pulled him along.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“So I’m dead for real this time?” Alex couldn’t help asking. “Still didn’t get to see the tunnel and all like they say you do when you die.”

“Decided to skip that part,” Atar said with a shrug. “Gets rather boring doing the same old same old all the time, don’t you think?”

“Wouldn’t know. This is only the second time for me, dying, I mean.”

Atar grinned as he came to a halt. “Recognize the place?”

Alex looked around and felt his blood freeze (though if he were dead, why would he have any blood to freeze?). “This is the Riad,” he whispered in shock. He pointed to one of the fountains, “and that’s the fountain where….”

“Where you did something you should never have done.” Atar’s tone was grave, yet there was a depth of warmth and sympathy to it. Alex could only stare at the fountain, wondering what was to come next. He remembered his nightmare. Atar wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “It’s alright, child. They forgave you a long time ago.”

Alex looked at Atar. “Forgave? Who?”

“The two men you murdered in cold blood when they were both defenseless. You’ve carried that burden of guilt ever since, haven’t you? You regretted it the moment you did it but you never forgave yourself.”

“Should I have?”

“Artemus. You were so young and scared. You’d never come across the situation before. You panicked. It happens. And you’re right. Had you gone with them, you would have died, but you could have simply walked away. There would’ve been plenty of time for you to escape, to make it back to Madrid safely.”

“I couldn’t know that, though, could I? I had to make sure.”

“Perhaps. I usually don’t tell people what might have happened if they had taken a different course of action, but occasionally I make exceptions, as in this case. Those two men would have come to and, discovering their companion dead, they would’ve fled the gardens, and would’ve reported back to Paul Jackson, who you so fondly called ‘Junior’, telling him of their failure. That would’ve taken time, the time you needed to affect your escape.”

“What would’ve happened to the men?”

“Ah, well, we’re telling your story, not theirs. What would’ve happened to them from that point is irrelevant. All I’m saying is that you could’ve taken another course of action that would have kept you from breaking the fifth commandment.”

“But I’ve killed any number of times over the years.”

“Killed, not murdered. You killed in self-defense or in the defense of others. That’s fine. Regrettable, but acceptable under the circumstances. What you did here was murder, plain and simple.”

“So what now?” Alex asked, feeling a bit confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do I go to hell or something?”

“Ah, yes. Well, let’s just say the jury’s still out on that one. The men you murdered forgave you, as did I. You have to start forgiving yourself, and you can begin by confessing it to someone.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. Amroth. Vorondur. Derek, even. You need to tell someone. They need to know.”

“But I’m dead. No way I can tell anyone anything at this point.”

Atar smiled. “The great thing about being Who I Am, is that I get to do the miracle stuff. Your time is not yet, child, but as they say, third time’s the charm. The next time we meet it will be for real.”

“But what miracle?” Alex insisted. “Unless you’re sending Maiar after me again. Man, that has to be getting old.”

Atar laughed. “Oh, they quite enjoy playing heroes-to-the-rescue. Now, don’t worry about it. Just remember this: you are not alone and never have been. Trust the Elves. That’s the key, Artemus. Trust.” He bent down and kissed Alex on the forehead and a great lethargy fell over him and before he could utter another word he sank back into darkness and knew nothing more.