Wrath of the Ancient Gods (Rise of the Ancient Gods Book 4), page 1
ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON
BOOKS IN THE RYANVERSE:
THE FOREVER SERIES (2016)
THE FOREVER LIFE, BOOK 1
THE FOREVER ENEMY, BOOK 2
THE FOREVER FIGHT, BOOK 3
THE FOREVER QUEST, BOOK 4
THE FOREVER ALLIANCE, BOOK 5
THE FOREVER PEACE, BOOK 6
THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES (2017)
EMBERS, BOOK 1
FLAMES, BOOK 2
FIRESTORM, BOOK 3
FIRES OF HELL, BOOK 4
DRAGON FIRE, BOOK 5
ASHES, BOOK 6
RISE OF ANCIENT GODS SERIES (2018)
RETURN OF THE ANCIENT GODS,Book 1
RAGE OF THE ANCIENT GODS, Book 2
TORMENT OF THE ANCIENT GODS, Book 3
WRATH OF THE ANCIENT GODS, Book 4
FURY OF THE ANCIENT GODS, Book 5 (due out mid 2019)
STAND-ALONE NOVELS:
THE CORPORATE VIRUS (2016)
TIME DIVING (2013)
THE INNERgLOW EFFECT (2010)
WRITE NOW! The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo (2009)
ANON TIME (2009)
WRATH OF THE ANCIENT GODS
BOOK 4, RISE OF THE ANCIENT GODS SERIES
by Craig Robertson
Only Jon Ryan could make such a mess out of the afterlife.
Imagine-It Publishing
El Dorado Hills, CA
Copyright 2019 Craig Robertson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 978-1-7328724-6-2 (Print)
978-1-7328724-5-5 (E-Book)
Cover design by Jessica Bell
https://www.jessicabelldesign.com/
Editing by Michael R. Blanche
Formatting services by Polgarus Studio
http://www.polgarusstudio.com
Beta reading help by Charlie "The Bagpiper” Pitts
First Edition 2019
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated with admiration to all the past women of science who were minimized and relegated to obscurity because of their gender. I truly appreciate all you stalwart souls.
This is but a partial list:
Nancy Grace Roman (1970s) - Of Hubble Telescope Notoriety
Barbara “Barby” Canright, Melba Nea, Virginia Prettyman, Macie Roberts, Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson (1940s) - Of NASA and Human Computing Fame
Rosalind Elsie Franklin (1950s) - Of DNA X-ray Crystallographer Distinction
Nettie Stevens (1860s) - Genetic Research Pioneer
Jocelyn Bell Burnell (1967) - Discovered Pulsars
Chien-Shiung Wu (1940s) - Brilliant Theoretical Physicist and Participant in the Manhattan Project.
Grace M. Hopper, Rear Admiral (1944) - Pioneer Computer Scientist
Table of Contents
PRELUDE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWNTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
Glossary
And Now A Word from Your Author
A glossary of terms is provided at the end of the book.
PRELUDE
Shelot was hungry. Shelot was ravenous. Shelot pounded and slammed his way through his section of damnation, across all time, but he was never sated. Once in a great while, a tiny banshee spirit would stray too close to his realm. He would consume it in the blink of an eye. But Shelot had not feasted in millions upon millions of years. Being a dull-witted, task-oriented creature of horror, he never wondered who or what caused him to live in such abysmal agony. If he were capable of such introspection, he would have burst forth from his confinement in search of revenge. He would inflict upon whatever power was responsible for his sorry state immense suffering, and in a manner that was properly due it.
But, what was a demon spawn to do? He resided far too close to Clein to ever die. So, he was cursed to protect Clein, to guard it with a fervor and a fiery passion that could never ebb, could never lessen, until the end of time. His brethren and he were forced to exist in torment, and to wait with an unquenchable devotion to defend their precious for reasons they were incapable of understanding. And the gnawing pain of hunger was a steady, unwelcome reminder of their lot. Ah, to eat until it was no longer possible to swallow — that was the stuff of dreams to the nightmares that were the denizens.
ONE
You know, sometimes I had to laugh to keep from crying. There I was, a two billion year old android on a mission more impossible than any I'd ever undertaken, any I'd even conceived of. I was accompanied by, in no particular order of rank or importance, my forever mate, my best friend and creator, my two adopted alien kids who were a dragon, my doppelganger, a sympathetic demigod, a ghost, and the most evil abomination ever to defile existence. Literature was laced with adventurous tales concerning bands of misfits and malcontents bound together by fate, destined to win despite the apparent certainty of defeat. Yeah, not so much here. Team Ryan — yea team — defined ragtag, ill-configured, and ill-prepared. Our group photo had to be posted beside the entry in Neo-Merrian-Webster's for pathetic. Maybe in the Idiom Section, too, under you're kidding me, right? We were, in a very real sense, sad but true.
What complicated matters was that we were not the best hope for the eradication of the Cleinoid threat and the salvation of our universe. No such luck. We were the only hope. The one significant asset in favor of Team Ryan was — and I'm sorry to toot my own horn — me. The hopeless optimist, fighter pilot, and luckiest man ever, Jon Ryan. Lucky for all concerned, I fervently disregarded the odds, scoffed at the bleak outlooks, and giggled at the near-certainty of deadly failures. Nope, I as a practice invited all the negative forces of existence to hit me with their best shot. Somehow, I'd find a way to win, or at least not to lose. Always had, probably always would. And if I didn't, well, then I'd be dead, so it really wouldn't matter to me, now would it? Yup, I've been dead. It was no deal. The worst case scenario? Pshaw. Been there, done that, got tee shirts for the kids back home.
Still, what I wouldn't have given to have the the 1st Marine Division marching right behind us. Even more, I wished we could have simply folded space with Stingray and popped into wherever Clein lay hidden. But no. That would be too easy. Gáwar explained, in a tortured and stupifying manner, I might add, that time-space itself was crimped in the cave surrounding Clein. Direct flight there was impossible, so there was no way to avoid the nasties that guarded Clein. The ancient gods had thought about that potential and removed it from the table, so to speak. To access Clein, you had to physically, linearly, tromp through the cave to where it stood. Have I mentioned how much I hated the Cleinoids' confounded godly magic? Yeah.
Gáwar indicated that Clein was to be found quite a distance from where we were. I conveyed the general location of the entrance to the warren where Clein was housed to the Als. The journey there was depressingly brief. Weeks at sea, followed by a protracted march, would have been more to my liking. More time to live, maybe to come to my senses. But, before I could say somebody stop me, we were there. The Galavardan Mountains. That's what Gáwar called the towering, stormy, and downright spooky-looking series of saw-toothed peaks that hid the entrance to Clein. Talk about bad omens. The Galavardans appeared to me to be the actual barrier between the living and the dead. And on the other side, hell looked like it was having a particularly bad season. Nice. Fitting, in fact.
“You sure it's up there?” I asked the god of demons, recently stealth-purified in baptism by yours truly.
“Of course, my friend … ah, now look what you've got me saying. Darn you to heck fire. Ah … ah this can't be. You've corrupted me, Jonathan Ryan. That … oh. I'm cross with you.” Not certain what he was attempting then. He was bound up six ways to Sunday, so he couldn't really do anything. He appeared to be trying to bash his head on the ground. It occurred to me that he might have issues. I elected not to inquire. I kind of wished him misery. Maybe that was uncivil of me, but there you have it.
Sapale look over to me. “Welcome to the Club I Hates Me Some Ryan, cupcake. But take a number in terms of exacting your revenge on him. Long line ahead of you, and there're No Cuts Allowed. You can forget about getting at him anytime soon.”
Gáwar stopped flailing. “I thought she was your mate?” he puzzled, quizzically studying me.
> “Spoken by one who's clearly never been in a long-term committed relationship,” I responded in a hushed tone.
“I heard that,” Sapale shouted over her shoulder. She'd taken up the point on our ascent of the Galavardans.
“I feel your pain, bro … ah, There, you've forced me to be cordial and empathetic again. How I like you less than all others I know.” He convulsed again. “Ah … ero, ahhhh!”
Dude seemed hot and bothered.
“You'll be okay, Gáwdy Doody,” I reassured him with a chuckle. “You'll be president of my fan club before you know it.”
“I'd ask you to kill me, but lately I've had second thoughts as to the morality of… ah. Kill me now.”
“You're never going to be that lucky, chumpomatic,” responded EJ. “Mind you, I'd gladly grant your wish. But Little Goodie Two-Shoes over there'd have a cow.”
“Can we cut the useless banter?” asked Toño. “The stunted-juvenile level of your discourse is nauseating. If I wanted to hear such drivel I'd watch reality television programming. They're much better at stupid than any of you.”
“Better at stupid? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked, because what Doc'd said struck me as odd. “I mean, if they're better, wouldn't they be worse than me? Or would it be the other way around?'”
Sapale powered up her plasma rifle. That was her way of asking me nicely to refrain from speaking for a while. Me? Happy to oblige. I enjoyed having my head attached to my shoulders.
We walked in silence a while. Halfway up the first real slope I set Gáwar down from his suspension in a membrane. I angled his head so he could see ahead of us. “Are we on course, boss?” I asked.
“Yes. But please, don't … ah, I'm doing it again. I'm being deferential and polite. Jon Ryan, I officially declare you are a greater demon than I. A darker force than your black beating heart does not exist in this universe. Strong work … ahhhhh.”
Dude appeared to be experiencing a surge of teenage angst, or not far from it. Nice.
“Which way?” Sapale asked tersely.
“Straight ahead, then right at that grouping of boulders.”
“I see two. Which one,” she queried.
“The pretty one closer to the treeeeee … ahhh. Curse Ryan. Curse him to … to … to no dessert. Killlll meeee.”
Toño glanced at her and pointed to one set of rocks. “That one.”
“I think so. It's sublime,” she mumbled.
Near the crest, Gáwar grunted that we should stop. He'd spent the entire time since our last stop whining and whimpering. Oh, and complimenting us on our outfits and the pace we were able to maintain in spite of the steep ascent. Hee-hee. Poor baby.
“Stop,” Gáwar requested.
“Yes, friend Gáwar,” I asked cordially.
“I see the opening to the path down toward Clein. Over there, below the corpus tree.”
“I see the tree,” responded Daleria. She pointed to the most revolting tree — and I used the word generously in calling it that — I'd ever seen. No leaves, thin twisted branches, and no outward signs of life. Oh, that and humanoid bodies in various states of formation budding from a few gnarled knots. Not traditional English cottage garden flora, to say the least. I was sure glad the breeze was at our backs.
I switched to point and advanced Gáwar-first. He did stop moaning and squirming, which was somewhat reassuring. As we passed the cave entrance, I freed his jaws so he could speak plainly. I'd sealed them up when I gat tired of his whining. In other words, I did so right from the get-go.
“You're going in first, pal,” I announced. “That's to help motivate you to alert us as to any booby traps, et cetera, before they might surprise us.”
“I gave you my word I'd help,” Gáwar protested.
“That and otherwise sufficient funds'll buy a cup a coffee.”
“Ye of little faith,” he responded piously.
“Do you hear yourself, you goon?”
“Yes. And with each word I ha … ha … ha … I hold you more accountable.”
We grouped up about twenty meters in. “Okay, here's the drill,” I detailed. “We proceed slowly. I'm point. Gáwar is our bait, dangled out front. Slapgren, you're bringing up the rear. Mirraya, Sapale, you're behind me. Everyone else sort it out yourselves. Stay tight. If anyone see trouble, signal that you do with a raised fist to call a halt. You make a noise, and someone or something'll hear it, so don't. Any questions?”
There were none. Most of us had done this way too many times already.
“Okay,” I said, “let's do this.” I signaled forward, and we were off.
For the record, I have no idea how many times I'd done this, lead a patrol into battle. Tens of thousands of times, maybe. I hated it each and every time. Rare were the occasions when everyone returned home in one piece. I was the one in command. Whatever bad happened was on me. All the souls I'd blithely lead to their deaths could form a ghost battalion that would haunt my dreams — if I could sleep. Yet here I was, again, leading people who depended on me into harm's way. No words could describe how low, how empty I felt. Did the mission need doing? Absolutely. Were we the best team for the job? You bet your sweet auntie's ass we were. Did that lessen my pain, my remorse, my fear of the inevitable tragedies that awaited me? Not one little bit. There's a special place in hell for commanders. Someday I'd be there, front-row and center. Probably have my own parking space.
Pretty quickly, I saw the lighting pattern of the tunnel. Our column was about four meters long. As we progressed, light magically appeared five meters ahead of us. It likewise disappeared five meters behind Slapgren. Everything else was the pitchest black. It was as if there was no existence beyond the light-pool we generated. That added miserably to my already peaked sense of dread. I couldn't fight a deep churning inside that if the lights went out, I would cease to exist. It creeped me out and made a bad time all that much worse.
As the path gradually descended, it slowly spiraled clockwise. I figured we were heading down the inside of the mountain we'd just scaled. As it was a very tall peak, I guessed we were in for a long hike. I had to remember that, at any moment, we could encounter any manner of toys and distractions designed to discourage unwelcome guests like us. Not a walk in the park.
Before we hit klick three, Gáwar called out emphatically, “Stop, stop.”
We did.
I signaled for everyone to crouch down. “Speak,” I hissed to him.
“The first curse, it's right there.”
My eyes strained, but I saw nothing except the smooth five meters of lighted path ahead.
“Mirri, you're on,” I said over my shoulder. “We gotta get past these curses fast. Understood?”
“Roger that,” she replied as she slipped around me and scooted past Gáwar.
Mirraya inched forward and stopped at a location I couldn't distinguish from any other. She bent down, craned her neck, and shot glances side to side. Finally she gave her verdict. “I don't see a thing.”
“Gáwar, you sure or you shittin' us?” I was hot. If he planned on wasting our time and slowing us down, he was in for one prejudicial Alpha Mike Foxtrot.
“It's there. Maybe your partner just isn't as good—”
“Hot damn,” Mirri squealed. “There it is. My goodness that's clever.”
“You see, Jonathan, I'm being a straight shooter … rrrr, ah.” I think he was upset at his unaccustomed honesty again. I patted my pockets for a Valium. Nope. He was on his own.
“What's there?” asked EJ.
“Come look,” she replied. “This is brilliant.
EJ trotted to her side. I heard murmurings and Mirri pointed here and there. He nodded with approval. They both came back to where I stood.
