War of Gods, page 41
part #3 of Paternus Series
More boats arrive from the ship and are sent back for additional passengers. Among the monks are more of Myrddin Wyllt’s habilis, having been beckoned by their kin on the island via ravens and the last surviving messenger pigeons in the world, then met up with the followers of The Bull. Myrddin meets them with great glee, but also sadness at what he knows they will face. They’ve brought bows, slings and short javelins. Some carry blowguns as well. Like the habilis of Kumari Kandam, they are beings of fable and myth, of different shapes and sizes, all evolved from the species of Myrddin’s mother and intermarriage with other families of humankind, some now long extinct. The smallest of them came from Ireland, dressed in green and wielding twisted clubs.
In the last boats are two men who couldn’t look more different. The first is tall and broad shouldered, with a thick neck, handsome face, broad forehead and long shining black hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in high-end designer black nylon sweats and expensive tennis shoes. He wears no shirt beneath his top, and the low zipper reveals elaborate tattooing of geometric design in black ink that ranges up his neck to his chin and jaw.
He spreads his arms wide and turns around slowly, chin tilted up in an exhibition of his beauty and physique. Then the corners of his wide mouth curve up and lips part over perfect teeth as he grins at Peter and the gathered Firstborn. Beside him is a white dog nearly as big as Mol, and a magnificent rooster the size of a turkey perches at the prow. Cain, Abel, Léon, Ochosi and Mac Gallus shout in greeting and are the first to meet him as he arrives on shore.
Kabir says to Zeke and Fi, “That’s Lam-ang, Firstborn son of a human woman, best known today in folk tales from the Philippines. I don’t know if anyone knew he was still alive, but I haven’t seen him in five hundred years or more. The animals, if you can call them that, have been his companions for over a millennium. The rooster is a descendant of Mac Gallus. He has no name, though most call him Tandang. The dog, named only Dog, is the last of Mol’s grandchildren.”
Mol looks back and forth between the white dog and Edgar, who stands next to Fi. Edgar says, “Go ahead.” Mol trots out and the two big hounds meet with sniffing of noses and butts, then happy wagging of tails.
Mac reaches to pet the rooster, but it arches its neck, puffs out its feathers, and whacks him with a swift strike of a wing.
“Aye, that’s one ‘o mine, all right!” Mac shouts with approval. Lam-ang and the others roar with laughter.
The second man is a solemn elderly gentleman with shallow cheeks, piercing eyes, gray hair tied back in a ponytail, and a well-groomed beard. He has a regal bearing but is dressed in a threadbare monastic cassock.
“Bless my soul,” says Edgar.
“Who is it?” Zeke asks.
“He is Thirdborn, like myself. Raised by the name of Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, he later came to be known as El Cid Campeador.” Edgar’s voice grows softer. “He disappeared nearly nine hundred years ago, no one knew where…” With that, Edgar strides to meet the man. El Cid straightens, the corners of his eyes creasing in glad greeting. They nod formally to each other and the old monk lifts a sack that clanks like it’s full of armor, which it is. Edgar waves a hand toward the city and the two walk together.
The new arrivals report they were not harassed on their trip, and as far as they can tell, weren’t followed or watched. Peter says he believes Iblis-Thevetat no longer cares. Khagan knows Peter and the Deva are coming. All he has to do is wait.
“We’ve been over this,” says Pratha. “You do not command, you commune. Typhon, for example, came to command the elements in anger, to force them to his will. It made him tremendously powerful, but also contributed to his further break with sanity and his aggressive madness.”
“I know, I know,” Zeke replies. “It’s not that easy, though.”
They’re once again in the high mountain pass, quite wide, with a deep gorge running along one side through which flows a river. Zeke stands before a small bonfire, reaching to the flames, trying to draw them to him. It isn’t working. Again.
“Of course it isn’t easy,” says Pratha. “Otherwise everyone would do it. I wish I could.”
Zeke groans and slouches. “I’m beginning to wish I couldn’t.” Pratha harrumphs. “I just can’t remember how I did it before. There was fear and rage, which came mostly from Bad Zeke. It’s hard enough controlling him, let alone dirt and fire.”
“I’m beginning to believe it’s not that you don’t have enough control,” says Pratha, looking thoughtful, “but that you have too much. Your grasp on this reality, and your ability to block the other Zeke, are too strong.” Her golden eyes fall upon him. “You need to release him. You need to let go.”
“No way.”
“Your mind is sharp. You’ve been shown techniques of mental command even the most enlightened of humans do not know, and proven that you have extremely rare psychological fortitude.” She points to his forehead. “And you have the most potent of all symbols to aid you in manipulating your ajna chakra.”
“So?”
“You need to feel his wrath, and his terror. Use his power to your own ends.”
“I can’t do that. You don’t know what he’d do.”
She steps closer. “No. But I know what you would do.”
Zeke steps back. “No you don’t. No way. Not now. Not ever.”
Pratha’s expression shifts to sadness, but then grows taut – which makes Zeke nervous. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Zeke doesn’t have a chance to blink before Pratha strikes.
Zeke’s ears ring, the skin of his cheek feels as if it’s on fire, and he sees nothing but blinding light. His sight clears and he realizes he’s been knocked flat on his back and his nose is bleeding. “What the hell—”
“The power of the elements is inexhaustible. You could have had the strength and endurance of a Firstborn. Perhaps the longevity as well. All you had to do was embrace it. You could have helped us, Zeke. Helped Father, and Galahad, and Fi.”
“What are you saying?”
“They may die in this war, but you will do nothing. You’re making no progress. Our time has come to an end, Zeke Prisco. And after all I have done for you. You knew it could come to this.” Her eyes glow red.
With a chill that runs through his whole being, Zeke recalls Edgar telling him that when the blood rage comes upon The Prathamaja Nandana, everybody runs. The Twins cautioned him as well. Even Kleron warned him, of all people. Deep within his mind, Bad Zeke wails.
Zeke scrambles to his feet, backing away.
Pratha stalks toward him, her face still beautiful but her expression terrifying. Her comportment is entirely predatory, exuding killing intent.
“You’re just trying to scare me,” Zeke says. And it’s working. “To make me turn.” He backs further away and almost steps off the edge of the gorge.
“No, I am not.”
Bad Zeke howls. Zeke does all he can to keep his other’s rage at bay. He draws on the memory of the two of them before the first time they melded, when they seemed to repel each other like opposite poles of two magnets, and uses it to force the other back into his cell. Just like Pratha taught him to. “You won’t kill me, I know it!”
She pauses and her face softens. “You’re right.” Then her expression becomes even harder and the red of her eyes burns brighter. “But Kali will.” She shifts in a flash and pounces. Two hands grab his shoulders while a third drives dagger claws through his ribs. Bad Zeke howls. “She’s going to kill us! We have to do something!”
Zeke gasps in shock and agony. His breathing labors as his lungs fill with blood. He coughs up sticky red phlegm, but all he can think of to say is, “You said you liked me.”
With a mouth full of wicked Kali teeth, she replies, “What is fondness to the likes of me?” She leans closer. “I have murdered those whom I love.”
Zeke sobs. Bad Zeke screams. Pratha twists her claws, lifts him, and flings him into the gorge.
Astonishment and disbelief as he falls. Bad Zeke shrieks, “What about Fi?!”
Zeke splashes into rushing water, and a sudden calm clenches hold. The ajna symbol flashes to life in his mind’s eye. With a thought, he reverses the magnetic poles of his own personalities, and lets go.
Snap.
Pratha peers over the ledge. A thick mist, thrown up by water splashing fast over stone, obscures the river and rocks below. She snarls, then shifts back to her true form and turns away.
She pauses as the ground trembles. The gorge erupts with a crack and boom, jolting the ground with such force she’s knocked off her feet. She rolls to see a steaming visage of stone glaring down at her with eyes of searing flame, and Zeke roars.
Everyone in the city of Kumari Kandam hears that roar.
Fi spins to face the mountains at the far side of the city across the plaza. The earth quakes, and up along the pass, above the jungle, the mountains are tumbling down. “Zeke…” The roar comes again. And it’s getting closer. She bolts from the arena. Pruor doesn’t protest, but snatches up her sword and shield and she and the other Aesir follow.
Sprinting along the plaza, Fi sees the Deva springing to action, all grabbing weapons and heading for the path at the end of the city that leads into the mountains. As she arrives, Peter springs Gungnir to life and Kabir lights the flames of his swords. Edgar and Mrs. Mirskaya come skidding up, grave concern on their features, and Mol is with them.
Before Fi can say a word the roar is repeated, causing the air to shudder, the earth to shake and setting the trees ashiver with its fury. Monkeys screech and flee. Birds take to the air. Then another voice comes ringing through the jungle. The Prathamaja Nandana, shouting. “Fiona Patterson!”
Freyja runs up with many of the others from the back valley. “What in the name of Élan…”
Pounding footsteps, spouting fire and smoke, and cracking stone. Rock walls of the pass shatter and crumble. A great cloud of dust blasts from where the path enters the city.
Pratha’s voice comes again. “Someone get Fi!” She comes sprinting in Trueface out of the dust, and right behind her in hot pursuit is an enormous monster of stone, fire and steam. It lunges and grabs at her but she bounds away, high and far. The creature stumbles to hands and knees from the effort, then looses another ear-splitting roar and punches its fist into the ground. As Pratha comes arcing down from her leap, twenty yards down the sloping path, a monstrous rocky hand erupts from the dirt, catches her, and tugs her under.
Fi and the others are dumbfounded. By the time the monster retracts its arm, yanks Pratha from the ground and roars in her face, the Deva are already running up to it, Fi and Peter in the lead. Fi has already determined exactly who this thing is. There’s only one Elemental around, and in spite of it being rather deformed and terrifying, there are features that undeniably belong to—
“Zeke!” she shouts with volume only a Firstborn can produce.
The beast jerks as if it’s been slapped. The flames of its eyes recede to hot coals, and the steam that pours off its body reduces to wisps. The rage vanishes from his stony expression and he appears confused. “Oh, hi Fi.” The voice is Zeke’s, but gruffer and deeper.
Fi strides closer to glare straight up at his face, which is over twenty feet above her. “What the fuck?”
“Um…” He sees the others, all bearing weapons. Some look angry, others fearful. Only Peter exhibits neither emotion, seeming more fascinated and amazed than anything.
Abel and Cain approach cautiously, setting their weapons down and holding hands up before them to show him they aren’t a threat. Cain says, “It’s all right, Zeke. Put the nice blue lady down.”
“But she tried to kill me.”
Fi’s glare falls on Pratha, becoming even more venomous. “I’ll say it again. What the fuck?” Mol emits an angry bark, emphasizing her statement.
“I did no such thing,” says Pratha, then spits dirt and wipes it from her teeth with her arm.
Zeke holds her closer to his giant granite face. “You turned into Kali and stabbed me and threw me into the gorge.”
“I was motivating you.”
“Your eyes were red!”
“You mean like this?” Her eyes flash crimson.
Zeke flinches with a grunt and flings her to the ground.
She tumbles in an undignified manner, then pushes up and brushes dirt away with her hands. “It’s called acting, Zeke. We are running out of time, and I have more things to worry about than a baby Elemental. As Baphomet has been known to say, ‘Sometimes the ends indeed justify the means.’” She walks closer to him. “And it worked. Just look at yourself.”
Zeke does. In his blinding rage, he barely knew what he was doing or what he had become. Now the reality of it sinks in. Peter comes closer, joining Fi and Pratha. Others follow.
Mac Gallus says, “That’s more like it, laddie.” Peter nods with an approving smile, and Ganesh grins from elephant ear to elephant ear.
Fi says, “You okay?”
Zeke examines his giant rock hands. “Yeah. I think so.” He looks around at the ground, confused. “If I can just figure out how to get small again. And not be made of stone…”
With help from Ganesh and Pratha, Zeke does figure out how to get small again and not be made of stone. Not all the time, anyway. Kabir still sticks close, which Zeke doesn’t mind, though Zeke is considered less of a threat since Peter reported he’s never seen an Elemental control himself like Zeke, let alone hold a rational conversation.
Just in time, too, because today marks the seventh day since Peter and Fi met with Colonel Jacqueline Bryant-Hughes and her military leader friends in England. That afternoon they receive word from the colonel that the troops Peter requested are mustered and waiting on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. They receive the coordinates, preparations for their arrival begin, and Peter and Munin slip away to retrieve them.
With a whoosh of air and grinding of many boots on sand, Peter appears with Munin on his shoulder on a stretch of beach. He’s holding the colonel’s hand, and behind them are nearly a thousand highly trained and seasoned fighting men and women from around the world. Many more than Peter had expected. The force is comprised of squads and teams from over fifty countries and includes a battalion of Templars, all fully armed and with complete kits on their waists and backs.
Some come from nations that have been at odds for decades, even centuries, but all that is forgotten as they find themselves having been literally teleported in an instant. Hardened and conditioned as they are, they gaze around in amazement, unaware for the moment that they’d been irritated at having to hold hands and hang onto each other for the slip. In fact, some of them cling tighter.
Among the troops are videography crews, members of military news services from many nations recruited per Peter’s instructions. The soldiers were told they could not bring telephones, but they were welcome to pack handheld video cameras. Most of the teams also have helmet cams, which they’ve been given permission to use any time as well.
Peter and Munin will return to bring more weapons, munitions and supplies, but for now Peter leads the soldiers up the beach toward the city.
As they come to the top of a bank, Peter stops and turns to face the troops. Orders to halt ripple back through the ranks. Checking to see the cameras are running, Peter raises his voice so all can hear. “From what I’m told, I now stand before the very best of the most elite armed forces the great nations of this world have to offer.”
A squad of United States Navy SEALs at the front break out with an enthusiastic, “Hooyah!” Teams from other countries take up their own calls in a grand display of martial bravado.
Peter grins and shouts, “I’d like to introduce you to mine!”
When they reach the top of the hill, Peter and the colonel have to order those at the front to keep moving. Though they’ve been told what to expect, none of them are prepared for the sight before them.
At Peter’s request, The Deva have gathered to meet the human force. They move into position as if getting ready for a photo shoot. Which, in a way, they are. Freyja, Pratha, Ganesh, Mrs. Mirskaya, Akhu, Ptesan-Wi, Sekhmet, Anubis, Thoth and the rest of their Egyptian contingent are there, as are Léon, Ochosi, Kabir, Mac, Cain, Abel, Brygun, Trejgun, Myrddin Wyllt, the new arrivals Lam-ang and El Cid, and the Aesir. Most of those not born of human mothers are cloaked in their human forms.
Asterion stands between Chiron and Azh. Sleipnir, late to the party, soars down on his bat-wings and trots to join the group. Towering at the back are Leshy and Quon Kiang.
Peter whispers to Munin and they slip to the front of the gathered Deva. With a signal from Freyja, he glows with golden light and springs Gungnir to life in his hand. Those who are cloaked reveal their Truefaces. Naga rises to his full height of thirty feet at the back, spreading his hood and brandishing his scimitars, and Pratha shifts into the monstrous form of Kali. Others strike godly poses, or whatever they think might be a godly pose, with Cain and Abel flexing their muscles and looking particularly silly, which of course is their intention.
Fi stands off to the side in her training armor with Zeke. She lets go of his hand and steps closer to the others. He lifts a hand toward a lit brazier and the wind brings him fire. He grows as the flames engulf him, turning him into a human torch with white-hot eyes. The Deva let loose with a strident clamor of shouts, howls, crows, screeches and roars, the Aesir contributing with their trademark, “To Odin!”
Fi delivers her own war cry, really just a loud yell, then grins. The theatrics are ridiculous, she knows, but it’s worth the looks on the faces of the soldiers. She knows exactly how they feel. It wasn’t long ago she reacted the same way.
