War of Gods, page 8
part #3 of Paternus Series
Flustered, Zeke lies. “I thought I did.”
“Are you planning to catch it for lunch?”
Zeke cringes at the thought of floundering around in this nasty water trying to grab hold of a slimy toothy eel. “Um… no.”
She nods to the crocodiles. “Their patience has its limits, and they are hungry. I’m sure they’d like to have it.”
“Coming,” he says, splashing faster through the water. As he steps to the bank, the feeling of oneness with the river fades, though it doesn’t disappear entirely. It’s like he can still hear it whispering. What the hell is going on with me? Whatever it is, it scares him.
Pratha inspects him, one eyebrow raised, like she’s searching for something inside him, her expression acutely curious, but perhaps a little excited as well.
“What?” he asks.
“The water. It calls to you.”
Zeke’s eyes go wide and he blurts out, “No it doesn’t.” He groans inwardly. Worst poker face ever.
“Like the stone, the fire, and the wind.”
Zeke swallows, feeling naked and exposed. And then, surprisingly relieved. He doesn’t have to hide or lie any more. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t, not for certain. But I do now.”
Zeke’s mind races but he doesn’t know what to say.
“Speaking of hungry, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten, or rested. I sometimes forget you humans have to do these things.”
She turns to lead the way, but Zeke says, “Am I? Human, I mean?”
She stops. “Of course.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “But also more.”
“Are you familiar with a belief system called ‘animism?’”
Sitting in the shade of a miombo tree, Zeke swallows a mouthful of a cream cheese and cucumber sandwich. “The idea that everything has a soul, or spirit? Even rocks and water and plants, and stuff?”
Pratha is leaning back on one elbow, legs out and crossed, spinning a piece of grass between her fingers. A corner of her mouth rises. “‘And stuff.’ There is more to it, but put simply, yes. And Fi has explained to you what she learned of consciousness? That all things are conscious, part of the great cosmic awareness and intelligence Father has taken to calling Élan?”
“Some, but she said consciousness is more concentrated in higher life forms. More in plants than dirt, but more in animals than plants, most in humans. And Firstborn, of course.”
“That we are the ‘higher’ life forms is debatable, but those are the basics of it. Consider also that not only consciousness is part and parcel to the one. All things, and all of us, share the same abundance of matter and energy of the universe, many universes across multiple dimensions, even soul and spirit, if you wish to call it that. Nothing is entirely discrete, separate, or apart from the whole, including us. We are all assemblages of that which is all around and within, coming and going in an infinite ebb and flow of creation and degeneration. Our bodies are composed of the elements and return to the elements. Our blood is the sea, our bones and flesh the earth. We burn the oxygen of the air to provide energy and heat.
“Most modern human beings believe themselves to be true individuals, different, unique, better, above all other lifeforms and the earth itself. They have lost connection with what they truly are, and can be. Each is but a more concentrated state of the soul of the earth, the atmosphere, which is merely part of the solar system, the galaxy, all the galaxies, and beyond. None of us are just us. There is no everything else. We are not and will never be alone, but exist in symbiosis with all that surrounds us.
“Your body is a community of trillions. A collection of particles, molecules, cells, and even lifeforms that are not human at all but essential to bodily function, such as bacteria. All working together to maintain a life. A constellation of parts to which we assign an identity known as Zeke. But Zeke is a tiny part of the world, which is itself a grain of sand on the endless beach of the infinite. Everything needs and contributes to everything else. And I mean everything.
“The soul of a human being is but a tiny locus of the spirit of species, the one human spirit, itself part of the Great Spirit, the Great Mystery of the cosmos. I can tell you this, yet each of us, even the likes of me, remain blind to our true potential. Human beings, in particular, here for an instant, in ignorance of their true nature, then gone. And yet, that ignorance may be the single most essential contributing factor to your survival through the current and previous phases of evolution.” Her gaze is far away. What she’s seeing, Zeke can’t imagine.
Pratha’s eyes clear and her focus returns. “I’m sure these are not new ideas to you, considering your studies and intellect.”
Zeke’s flattered she considers him to even have an intellect. “I’ve heard and read about them, more or less.”
“All I am telling you, then, is that this is the way of things.”
“Okay.”
“Now, what if I told you that, in their spirit and consciousness, all matter and energy, which are merely different forms of one another, desire life.”
“That’s new. To me, at least.”
“It was once common knowledge among watoto, but such wisdom was lost long ago to all but a few of the most enlightened. It goes against your stubborn and independent nature, I suppose.”
“I’ll accept that.”
“In particular combinations or organization,” Pratha continues, “matter and energy form what we call the four major elements. Earth, air, water, and fire. Their consciousness and spirit become more focused, and the desire for life increases. All it takes is a tiny spark to fuse them, bring them into communion with one another, and life is born. The Pater provided that spark on this world, long ago.
“In turn, however, life desires to return to the elements. The individual psyche may fight against it, but it is a losing battle. There is no escaping the cycles of enthalpy and entropy, to use modern scientific terms, of birth, death and rebirth.”
Zeke recites a quote from the book of Genesis. “‘For you were made from dust, and to dust you shall return.’”
“It is one of the great laws of nature. Only Father has stood above it. So far, that is.” Pratha studies the blade of grass between her fingers.
Zeke finally breaks the silence. “What does all of that have to do with me, though? I mean, other than that it applies to everyone, including me.”
Pratha sits up. “Considering your recent experiences, you may not be surprised to learn that all things have a voice as well. Even when all speak together it is weak, existing as a kind of unheard song that resonates though the cosmos. The voice of the elements, being combinations of many parts and particles, is stronger. To those who have the inclination, they have even been known to speak.”
Zeke’s eyes flit up from an ant he’s been watching. Now she has his undivided attention.
“There are some who carry an extremely recessive trait, inherited from The Father’s most unique physiology. A mutated piece of DNA, if you will; a remnant of The Pater’s spark. Very rarely, this trait is exhibited, or expressed. It gives the one who carries it the ability to hear the yearning call of the elements – and more than that, to answer, in the form of granting them what they most desire.”
“Life.”
“An Elemental can give them that, and they will give what they can in return.”
“Did you say ‘Elemental?’” says Zeke. He conjures images from his studies. All the time he’s spent learning about beings of legends and myth, and now Pratha’s telling him he is one? What the actual fuck? “That’s what I am?”
“They have been called that, but to simply say that you are an Elemental does not do it justice. It is not just a status or label, a race or kind. You are an anomaly of genetics, physics, and of spirit, who exhibits traits of elementalism. A different form of life. Like the Firstborn, in a way. Even like Father himself.”
He thinks about what the Firstborn can do. “Could I control the elements then? Like Kleron with fire and ice, or Mrs. Mirskaya with water and wind?”
“Not exactly. Their powers are about external manipulation, using ancient words to enhance their natural affinity. Like how a pump draws water from the well, pressurizes it, and sends it flowing through a hose. The water does not resist this manipulation, but it does not seek it either. An Elemental does not control the water, but shares their life with it, providing it with life, even purpose and meaning. An Elemental of water becomes the water, and the water becomes them. An Elemental is the elements brought to life.” She leans forward, her expression intense. “Most have only been able to commune with one element, Zeke. You can achieve unity, symbiosis if you will, with all four. When it manifests, you are the water, earth, wind, and fire, and they are you. They bind with the molecular makeup of your own physicality, providing your body with not only their substance, but their strength as well. And together, the sum is much greater than the parts.
“It’s not entirely dissimilar to the physiology of Firstborn. As you would draw on the elements, our physical bodies draw upon what scientists today speak of as dark matter and dark energy. They provide us with our preternatural strength and, I would assume, our long lives. Unlike an Elemental, though, for us it happens automatically, adapting our physiology as needed, such as when injury threatens and when we change forms. The particles or our bodies sense what we require, even what we will require in the very near future, at all times.”
Zeke should be freaking out with his head spinning, but he isn’t. It’s a lot to absorb, let alone comprehend. He recalls the experience with the stone in Scotland, feeling what it felt. He panicked at the time, but thinking back, it wasn’t at all unpleasant. Then when he was caught up in the flood in the canyons, the water carrying him, the sense it was protecting him, even comforting him.
But there was also the total helplessness when his arm was stuck in a wall after he slipped from Peter’s house. The horror of wiggling his giant fingers of gypsum and wood, and the pain. The memory of the Jinn from last night comes again. Smashed open, screaming and kicking while it burned. The stone broken on the floor, and the blankets singed. Then there’s what the other Zeke could do.
“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?”
Pratha searches his eyes with that X-ray vision of hers. As uncomfortable as it is, he doesn’t look away. “It can be,” she says. Then she smiles. “But I get the feeling you are a special case, Mr. Prisco. We’ll figure this out, you and I. Now finish your lunch. We have a mission to complete.”
While Zeke continues to eat, Pratha stares into the distance, lost in thoughts of unfathomable things. Zeke asks, “Why did you go away for so long after the Second Holocaust?”
“I was losing hope. The joy in life. Like Father has from time to time.”
Zeke’s surprised by her candid response. “Peter seems to have found it again, I think. Have you?
Her lips curve upward. “We’ll see. A girl has to have some secrets.”
For a moment, smiling there, Pratha does seem like a girl. A woman. Not an ancient lizard goddess, but a person with insecurities and flaws, like anyone else. And beautiful. Subconsciously, he wiggles his finger in his ear.
“Injured by the cry of Tengu-Andrealphus, yes? Does it still bother you?”
“Yeah. A little. I can’t hear all that well out of it.”
“I may be able to do something about that.” She scoots closer. Very close. The touch of her legs against his arouses him. He fidgets and swallows hard. She whispers, “Let’s see…”
Pratha takes his hand in hers, holding it gently against the inside of her thigh. The fingers of her other hand glide into his hair, causing his scalp to prickle with heat. Her breath brushes his neck. He flushes at her intoxicating scent. Lilacs, eucalyptus, frankincense resin and musk. Then her tongue is in his ear, probing sensually. He begins to swoon, but gulps and clears his throat. “Is that… really necessary?”
She pulls her tongue back, but doesn’t move away. “Not really,” she says, “but you never know. Would you like me to stop?”
He turns his head to face her. Her golden eyes, her lips, so close he can feel the heat, promising pleasure unlike any he has ever experienced...
There’s a silent tension between them as Zeke packs up. He’s been avoiding eye contact, but catches Pratha watching him as he pushes to his feet and swings his pack over his shoulder. Her expression is one of scrutiny, maybe a little sadness, and even wonder.
She dons her own pack as she approaches, a corner of her mouth raising in a smile. She places a hand on his cheek. “Hope is restored.”
Before Zeke can respond, gunshots pop in the distance. Pratha listens to something beyond his capacity for hearing – though, he realizes, his injured ear is healed completely. Her smile becomes a wicked grin. She strides away. Zeke shoves his arms through the straps of his pack and follows.
Zeke catches up to Pratha, who’s jogging now and picking up speed – straight toward where oncoming sounds of pounding footsteps and bestial grunts can be heard from the trees and bush ahead. Before Zeke can voice his concern, elephants crash through the foliage. Pratha stops directly in their path. Zeke has no idea what her plan is, but he’s seen her do some incredible things, and it’s too late to run, so he tucks up behind her and hopes for the best.
The ground shakes as the big beasts rumble past on either side. He hears their labored breath, and the wind of their passing flutters his hair. A dozen of them, including a couple of babies. Zeke watches them run off in a cloud of dust while Pratha keeps her eyes on the bush.
The roar of engines reaches them right before two trucks emerge in hot pursuit of the elephants.
Pratha says, “How convenient.” From the sound of her voice, she’s not joking.
The trucks veer and skid to a stop at the sight of Pratha. Zeke peers over her shoulder as the men disembark, shouting in a language he doesn’t know, aiming their rifles, indicating for them to get on the ground.
Pratha does no such thing, but Zeke steps out to her side, holding his hands in the air. There are tarps in the back of one of the trucks, but they don’t entirely cover bloodied antlers, horns and hides.
“Poachers,” Zeke says softly out of the side of his mouth.
Pratha smiles without looking at him. “I hadn’t noticed.”
The apparent leader of the group climbs out of the driver’s side of the first truck, sporting dark sunglasses and a beret. His expression of rage disappears when he gets a good look at Pratha. He removes his cap and gives her a leering grin that flashes gold from one of his front teeth. He says something to his men and they lower their weapons, though not much. The leader saunters toward her.
Pratha holds a finger up to Zeke. “Just one second.”
The next thing he knows, he hits the ground so hard the wind is knocked out of him, followed immediately by shouts, gunshots, the sounds of ripping clothing and flesh, bones snapping, and screams of terror.
Asgard 3
Ashes
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.”
Fi and Peter stand atop high cliffs overlooking the ocean of Asgard, and beyond to the blue horizon. Nearby, the river plunges to the rocks far below with a muffled roar, a dim rainbow shimmering in the mist. Even over the noise, Fi can still hear the waves crashing beneath them.
Peter points to an area of coast beyond the waterfall, where the base of the cliff curves out to meet a stretch of spiky grass and white sand. “Over there were shipyards, slips and piers, where the Aesir set off on watery adventures. To explore, and do battle with fierce creatures that would rise from the depths. Seldom did all return.”
Fi indicates down to a broken foundation on a broad ledge, long weathered by rain and wind. “What was that?”
“Aegir’s home. He was the first of my children with the ability to slip between worlds. He and his family came here from Midgard long before we brought the humans, before the Aesir. Other than me, he was the only one of the original Olympians still alive. In the true old days, he was called Poseidon, and also Neptune. It was he who named this world Asgard.”
“Why did he come here?”
“To escape Cetus, The Leviathan, who hunted him without mercy.” Peter gazes at the ruins. “Neither Aesir nor Vanir, Aegir did not fight in the Second Holocaust. When we returned from Ragnarok, Aegir and his family were gone. No one knows where.”
There’s sadness in Peter’s voice. So much sadness, about so many things. Fi doesn’t know how he can bear it all.
Speaking of sadness and loss, Fi says, “I think Edgar would have liked it here.”
Peter smiles at her, though there are tears in his eyes. “So do I.”
Fi removes the lid of the urn. Inside, only gray lumps and dust. She can’t believe this is all that’s left of her uncle. The man who raised her. “Should we say something?”
“I’m not good at eulogies, believe it or not. Or speeches, or rallies to battle, actually.”
“You can try.”
“Okay. Let’s see.” He presses his palm to his forehead then closes his eyes and says, “For all the lives we have lost, and all those we have taken, even righteously, let this be a moment of sorrow, but also of celebration. An exclamation of joy at their passing, to the end of their suffering in this life, and the opportunities that await in the next. Even now, a newborn child may be gasping its first breath, fresh out of the womb, within it the mighty soul of Galahad, brave, loving, and true.” He looks to Fi. “How was that?”
Fi smiles through tears. “It was okay, I guess.”
“Then how about we just tell him we love him?”
Fi’s chin quivers. “That sounds good.”
Together, they raise the urn. Peter says, “I love you, Galahad. Be at peace.
Tears to roll down Fi’s cheek and she tastes bitter salt at the corner of her mouth. “I love you Uncle. Be at peace.”
As they tip the urn allowing the ashes to flow, a warm breeze picks up from their backs to carry the dust away. It swirls out and away over the sea, glistening like crystals, until the urn is empty. A song rises on the wind. The Tree, humming gently.
