War of Gods, page 10
part #3 of Paternus Series
Fintán releases the fierce cry of The Falcon as they crown the mountain ridge to the east, and they’re gone.
Kabir takes a deep breath and stoops to lift a crate he’d been carrying, but halts at the ululating hail of Ochosi that comes from across the valley.
In the infirmary, Mrs. Mirskaya hums a soothing Russian tune to Mol, who’s still unconscious, as she finishes changing his bandages. She strokes his head, then returns to a counter where she’s been packing cases with medical supplies. She stands there, gazing at the cases, but not quite seeing them. She has known many people and lost them, but each time the pain is just as sharp. And each time there’s the regret of things never said that should have been. The full realization of how much she cared for them, appreciated them, even loved them, only comes after they’re gone. She leans on the counter. “I miss you, Galahad, and always will.”
There’s a soft knock on the door. She wipes her eyes and nose. “Who is knocking?” she says in a surly tone. “This is not my bed chamber.”
Kabir enters. Seeing she is alone, he steps aside. Ochosi comes past him carrying a man who hangs limp with a grain sack over his head and shoulders down to his waist. His ankles are bound, his bare feet filthy, his pants torn and smeared in dung. Ochosi lowers the man from his shoulder and Kabir holds him up while Ochosi unties the rope around the man’s waist.
“I found him hiding in one of the barns,” Ochosi explains, “under the straw of a cattle pen.” He pulls the sack up and off, but another is over the man’s head and his hands are tied. He and Kabir lay the prisoner on the table on his back. The man’s chest rises and falls beneath his filthy tunic, the burlap bag puffing out and deflating over his face with each breath. “He was kicking and biting. I was forced to render him unconscious.”
She comes closer. “Who is it?”
Kabir and Ochosi exchange glances. “We’re not certain, exactly,” says Kabir.
“Perhaps you can tell us.”
Kabir places a hand on her arm. “Prepare yourself.” She scowls, nudges Ochosi out of the way, and yanks the bag off the man’s head.
She steps back. The bag falls to the floor. “Bozhe moi...”
Naga sets a crate the size of a shipping container on a trailer.
“My Lord Naga, may we have a word?”
Naga turns his enormous head to look down on Akhu and Ganesh. One side of his scaled lips rises. “I am yours to command, Lady Akhu.”
They lead him away from the group. Naga senses Ganesh and Akhu are uncertain about broaching the subject, whatever it may be. “Do not be timid. How can Naga be of service?”
Akhu’s voice sounds in Naga’s mind, projected so Ganesh can also hear. “It is about your children.”
“It is a great loss,” says Naga. “Part of my spirit has departed now that the great race of Snakes is gone, but I have made my peace with it. I thank you for your concern.”
Akhu’s eyes flit to Ganesh, who says, “Not all, My Lord.”
Naga’s reptilian face tenses. “I am listening.”
“My sifu would not defy Father, as you know,” says Akhu, “but, unknown to all, even The Pater, Lord Ganesh came to Nagalok after the great winter came, while you slept. He took pity upon your children. In his wisdom and kindness, he took any who wished to depart to another world. A primitive jungle planet. Not as rich as Nagalok once was, but sufficient, and remote. Some live there still. They did not desert you. They live in your honor. They remember their father.”
Naga’s head hangs in thought, then his features set in determination. “I must go to them,” he says with authority. “Perhaps I can recruit them to our cause.” His expression softens and he leans to Ganesh. “Will you take me, Brother?”
Colored light of red and green plays over the Deva and vehicles as Akhu approaches. Mac meets her, carrying a stack of bucklers higher than his head. “Where are they off to, lassie?”
“They should be back soon.”
“Fine then,” Mac huffs. “Keep yer secrets.” She smiles, taking some of the round shields from him.
They watch as Ganesh’s orb of light encircles him and the coiled Lord of Snakes, then rises and sinks into the sky.
10
Oslo 3
Sanctuary
Tall iron gates open in a stone wall and a stretch limousine passes through. The driver lowers his darkly tinted window in front of a guardhouse and nods to an armed guard who peers through the limo windows, then waves them on.
Sitting in the back, facing front, Tanuki presses the button to lower his window. A grand estate, manicured and pristine, sprawls before him. Ahead is a stone mansion affordable only by the uber rich. Being involved with the secret society and enterprise of Kleron and Baphomet have done well by Herr Hagen.
Another armed guard, one of several patrolling the grounds, inspects them as they drive slowly past. Baphomet strokes his beard. “The grounds are well guarded.”
Steiner Hagen sits in the seat facing them, hands held nervously in his lap. “As you requested, sir.”
Baphomet’s pink eyes focus on him. “As the hierophant of one of our most powerful and prolific chapters, Herr Hagen, you have earned the privilege of calling me by my name.”
Sweat beads on Hagen’s forehead. “Thank you, Herr Caprioli.”
Baphomet’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “I meant my real name.”
Hagen fidgets. “I...”
“You know what it is. Say it.”
Hagen swallows.
Baphomet leans forward. “Invoke me.”
Hagen’s voice quavers as he speaks. There is fear in the man’s eyes, but also tremendous respect. “Baphomet.”
Baphomet’s smile becomes more friendly. “That’s not so difficult, is it?” He leans back. “There are guards inside as well?”
“Yes... Baphomet.”
The limo pulls up in front of the mansion, a servant already descending the steps to greet them. In a language Hagen could not know, Tanuki says to The Goat, “If they come for us, men with guns will not stop them.”
Baphomet replies in the same tongue, “No, but they will make a lot of noise.”
They’re greeted in the grand foyer by two men. The first Hagen introduces as Bruno, the major domo of the estate. To Tanuki, he looks more like an old warrior stuffed into an expensive suit. Hair that was once blond but now mostly gray in a tight crew cut, with a scar on his neck, only partially hidden by his collar, and cold blue eyes. Baphomet and Tanuki are introduced by the names Caprioli and Tanaka. Tanuki purposefully doesn’t shake the man’s hand, but Baphomet is more than happy to. He grips Bruno’s hand tighter than the big man expected, but Bruno only tries to pull away briefly before Hagen clears his throat.
Still holding the man’s hand, Baphomet turns it over and says, “May I see?” Bruno’s eyes flit to Hagen, who nods without reservation. Bruno unbuttons his cuff and pulls it back to reveal a tattoo of a swastika over an inverted pentagram. Baphomet gives him an appreciative smile and nod, then releases Bruno to wave away the offer of a drink from the tray brought by the second man, a butler.
Hagen takes one of the cocktails and swallows a healthy portion. “Bruno will be taking care of your every need. My home is your home.” He takes another gulp, then waves further into the house. “Shall we?”
Tanuki grabs one of the tumblers and swallows all of its dark amber contents, then takes Baphomet’s.
They enter a study and library where Tanuki snorts at the triteness of a door hidden behind a bookshelf, then proceed down wooden steps to a small storage room and through another hidden door to a cellar of cut stone. The only thing it contains is a massive steel blast door.
Hagen says, “The guests will arrive by another entrance this evening, but I thought you might like the complete tour.”
Bruno enters the combination to the door and ushers them through. Several more flights of stairs down, this time of smooth concrete, and they come to another blast door. Through that is a long hallway of concrete painted white, with doors along either side. Men and women dressed in black uniforms who happen to be in the hall stand to attention or bow their heads. Signs on the wall are in German. From the tall ceiling hangs a faded Nazi banner.
Tanuki hates the place already. The monologue Baphomet has begun does little to improve his mood, though Hagen and Bruno listen with rapt attention.
“Long ago,” Baphomet tells them, “the land above was a ceremonial ground where Lucifer and I were worshipped beneath the open sky. We were later forced underground. Literally. Our followers carved a temple from an ancient cave system directly below.” He addresses Tanuki. “That is where we are headed now.
“During the German occupation of Norway in World War II,” Baphomet continues, “the Nazis discovered it while excavating to build bunkers beneath the manor, which they were using for a headquarters in the region. Under orders of the Führer himself, it was restored and put to use.
“I was in attendance for a number of their meetings. They were seeking divine power and guidance. I gave it to them. Hitler attended a few times, as did Rudolf Hess. Adolf had known me in human form, as an adviser, for some time before then. It was I who later told Adolph to invade Russia, against the advice of his generals, as well as to declare war on the United States.”
“But,” says Bruno, “that is what ultimately ensured Hitler’s defeat.”
Baphomet acknowledges the statement with a smile.
They descend more stairs and tour several floors, passing a kitchen and cafeteria, showers, sleeping quarters with bunks, and storerooms with stockpiles of weapons and supplies. There are more women and men on every floor.
Baphomet asks, “Are you always so well manned, Herr Hagen?”
“We maintain a minimal force of militarily trained followers at all times, in case of severe economic and government collapse, natural disaster, war, or attack. Recently, however, we received instructions from Mr. Nero to increase our on-hand personnel to maximum capacity, and to keep their families on alert to come here immediately from the city when summoned.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“He did not, and we do not question.”
Bruno asks, “Do you know?”
Baphomet and Tanuki share a glance. Khagan and Kleron are preparing for the coming of the yuga’s end. When they arrive, they won’t want all of humankind to be wiped out. They’ll need slavers as well as slaves, and a food supply for certain kinds of their minions.
“I am not at liberty to say,” Baphomet replies.
Behind another secret door, down more stairs and a hall carved into dark stone, and they enter a room much like a narthex in a Catholic church.
Baphomet says, “You have kept the place up very well, Herr Hagen.”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled you are pleased. We’ve updated the utilities, extended the central chamber and smoothed and polished the stone. I hope you approve.”
Bruno pushes through tall double doors and Tanuki takes in the size of the place. Carved all of black stone, with grand square columns and a raised altar at the far end, it’s like a cross between a cathedral and a temple. His nose wrinkles and the hair along his spine goes stiff. Terrible things have happened here. Ancient and foul. Black magic and sacrifice. The surface of the stone is lustrous, but the odors of sex and blood that have soaked into it over the centuries, perhaps millennia, nearly overwhelm him.
Tanuki wants nothing more than to leave this place, but they continue toward the altar. Monks in black cloaks scurry about, setting fresh candles of black, red, and white, and straightening tapestries depicting a variety of demons and scenes of ritual bloodshed. Vials of rich black dirt are being placed in niches on the north side of each column, candles shaped like people on the south. Clam shells are filled with water to the west, and spears are mounted to the east. Tanuki is aware enough of ritual practices to know they represent earth, fire, water, and air. Many of the columns also have plaques with symbols of secret sects, some long forgotten, others newer but no less threatening, such as the Thule and Vril societies.
Men and women like the ones from the bunkers above bring in trays, cups, and other sundries for the evening’s ceremony. Some stop and stare at the visitors, while others quickly look away. There are no pews or benches, just open floor with grooves that lead to a circular area of gold on which a pentagram is imprinted.
Baphomet stops at its center and takes a deep breath. He appears completely at ease, as if arriving home after a long time away. “Well done, Herr Hagen.”
Hagen is delighted. “This sanctuary is the source of all our spiritual and material wellbeing, our strength and bounty in this mortal life. It has been my greatest honor and privilege to care for it.”
“Ave Luciferi,” says Bruno.
Hagen repeats the phrase, which means ‘Hail Lucifer.”
“Ave Satanas,” says Baphomet as he spins slowly, taking in the space. He adds softly, “Yes, this will do.”
11
Asgard 4
Aesir
In the distance, near the foot of The Tree, Fi sees the ground moving. Roots slowly part, shoving dirt into piles. Freyja stands nearby, watching over the progress.
“The petit gods are coming,” says Peter.
“I know they’re the last of the Aesir, those Norse gods who fought in the Second Holocaust, but who are they, really, and why are they called the petit gods?”
Peter heaves a troubled sigh. “That’s a complicated story. Their history is short compared to most Firstborn, but full of deeds and misdeeds alike, and their names are many. I will try to keep it brief. If you want to know anything else, you can ask them yourself.”
“All right.”
“After the war and Asgard was laid to waste, they wished to be taken to our world. They chose to live in old Scatinavia with Freyja, who had lived there before coming here. It wasn’t long, however, before they wanted to set off and conquer, but Freyja wouldn’t allow it. The Aesir were great heroes, of course, and treated as royalty, but in the grander scheme of things, they were seen as lesser gods. As legends grew of those who had died, Thor, Heimdall, and Freyr, among others, the less the living gods were revered by the people, even though they still walked among them. The Aesir grew jealous and angry, but Freyja stepped in once more, quashing their dreams to subjugate the humans and rule over them.
“So they hatched a plan and snuck off to find a part of the world where they were unknown or had been forgotten and could reinvent themselves and rule as they wished. They settled on the sparkling isles off Hellas before it was Hellas, long before it was Greece. There they occupied the ruins of an ancient Firstborn fortress atop the tallest mountain in the region now known as Thessaly. They rebuilt the palace and took Truenames of Firstborn long dead, great Deva heroes, most who had died fighting in the First Holocaust. Their leader was even bold enough to assume one of my oldest names, Zeus, another took one of Arges’s, Hephaestus, and yet another Aegir’s early epithet, Poseidon. They claimed to be the ancient gods of the region returned, declaring themselves the rulers of all they surveyed. It was there they gained their greatest notoriety, much of which is known by humans today from myths of Greece, though most of the positive ones were fabricated by the petit gods themselves. There is little of the real Olympians left in those ancient writings. A few fragments remain, but most is lost to all but those of us who were there.
“The Aesir lorded it over those islands and the surrounding lands for thousands of years, telling tall tales, remaking history to their own benefit. They even claimed to have created humankind itself. They quarreled amongst themselves, manipulated the populations into wars for their own amusement. Like mules of today, Firstborn with different species of mother cannot procreate with one another. But Firstborn of Firstborn, sometimes, as well as with human women and men. They bred with each other, and those who were capable, with humans as well, spawning all manner of heroes and villains of legend. Their progeny, famed in their own right, are now all dead, caught up in the schemes of their parents, or their own. Others in my lineage joined them, young and foolish. Some also took names that did not belong to them.
“Since the Aesir kept mostly to their own region and had once been valuable allies, the elder Firstborn tolerated them, though barely. I’m sorry to say I had already become less involved in the affairs of the world at the time.
“During that time they were also known as the Annunaki and Igigi to the peoples who populated greater Mesopotamia and would later form the tribes of the Sumerians, Babylonians, Assyrians, and Akkadians.
“Eventually, as everyone knew they would, the petit gods went too far. I caught wind of their treachery and a pending war with some of the elder Firstborn in Europe.” Peter raises his hands, enjoying this part of the story. “And I, the true Zeus, descended upon Mount Olympus in a barrage of lightning and a terrible rage, the Lightning Bolt in my mighty fist.” He lowers his arms as if disappointed by what happened next. “To their credit, I suppose, the petit gods did not put up a fight. They cowered before me and repented, or pretended to, at least. Instead of allowing them to be killed by the Deva, I beat them, forbade them to use the old Olympian names ever again, flung them from the heights of the palace, and tore their mountain down.”
