The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  Amanda touched his jacket, “Do any of those super-spy abilities come with a plan on how to get out of here alive?”

  Roger opened the front door saying, “Yeah, they do. Follow me and act like you’re having a bad day. Ian, you stay right beside me. Amanda, get that hood down. You look like Red Riding Hood for God’s sake.”

  The four of them filed out of the castle house and walked slow enough to give Ian a chance to keep up. As they went, she peered upwards and was dazzled by the multicolored tendrils coming from the top floors of the surrounding buildings. The beams of energy flung in the air wildly, as the rest of her company look on, oblivious to the magical wonders.

  As they traveled to the front gate, she passed a large pavilion tent that was set up along the edge of the courtyard. Dozens of Brotherhood goons were moving in and out, carrying supplies. She stopped in place, as the light from a large screen TV caught her eye from within the shelter. She looked up, and the Raven was perched on top of the tent. It let out a caw and danced on top of the canvas roof.

  Amanda changed course for the opening, as Josh grabbed her arm, “Mandie, what do you think you’re doing? We need to leave now!”

  Amanda looked down at his hand, then removed it, “I need to check this out.”

  She stood up straight and marched into the tent as if she owned the place. Inside she found herself surrounded by twenty worshippers of Cthulhu, and suddenly felt thankful that the ski mask was still covering half her face. Her eyes went wide at the Governor-Elect of Oklahoma on their screen.

  She covered her mouth. Richard Enfield!

  She matched his voice to Mr. Purple from the Preserve, as he admonished the masses. “These timelines are unacceptable! I want each station fully operational and the explosives set by the end of the month.”

  A man who was sitting on a throne, replied, “Grand Master, it wull be dane!”

  The surrounding members yelled out, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu! Llll h’ nafl’fhtagn!”

  She staggered back, Richard Enfield is the leader of Crimson Brotherhood! He has been playing the Crusaders against the cult from the beginning! He must know where my children are!

  One of the larger cultists turned her around, “Whit urr ye daein’ ‘ere? This meetin is fur Elder.”

  Roger walked in and greeted the soldier, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu! Sister, I think it’s time for us to return to our work.”

  As he guided her outside, Amanda felt like she was moving in a daydream, and everything was upside down. She barely noticed that they had moved past the front gate and down the gravel path toward the city of Stirling. Her thoughts swirled with the implications of what she just learned. Anger built up in her gut as lightning streaked across the night sky, and thunderclouds rolled in.

  She pulled her face covering down, once they were clear, “Richard Enfield is the Grand Master of the Brotherhood!”

  Josh spun his head around. “What? That’s ridiculous, Mandie. Richard has been leading the opposition.”

  She pointed back towards the castle, “I just saw him giving orders to them via a video chat.”

  Roger joined the conversation, while still scanning their area, “It’s true. I saw him myself. Looks like our Bible thumper is playing double agent.”

  Suddenly, one of the massive magical tendrils whipped downwards and attached to a clueless Josh Dyer. Amanda froze, as the pulse of energy wrapped around the man. Within seconds several of the multicolored threads circled around him like coils of rope.

  The team stopped, and Josh asked, “What’s wrong?”

  She shouted out, “We’re in trouble! Run!”

  Roger pulled out his 9 mm, “In trouble from what? No one is following us.”

  Amanda put an arm around Ian and helped the big Scot to run, “We’ve got to move! I don’t have time to explain, but the Seers are tracking Josh!”

  Ian huffed and puffed as he bellowed, “Whin ah catch up wi` a Seer, a’m aff tae kick thaim in th’ mommy ‘n’ daddy button!

  They made haste for the edge of the castle’s parking area and made a break for the trees. Josh was ahead of her and Ian. The glowing arcane threads were knotted around him, and slivers of pulsing energy flowed along the cord.

  A black Humvee roared out of the front gate, bristling with armed cultists and squealed to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. Her group took cover behind the trees, and she pulled out her gun. In the distance, she could hear someone talking to the cultists on a walkie-talkie. A spotlight snapped on from the driver’s side of the vehicle and panned around the woods.

  The rainbow-colored energy ropes clung onto Josh, as someone on the radio announced, “The Seer’s say Dyer is twenty yards North, Northwest. They say he is in some trees.”

  The spotlight found Josh’s face within seconds, and the driver announced, “We’ve git thaim. Okay, wee jimmies! Let’s mak’ some corpses!”

  A barrage of silenced gunfire peppered the woods, and tree branches rained down around her. She put her back to the large Scots Pine that was providing her some safety from the bullets. Ian’s shoulders were too broad for the tree he was using to hide, and a round lanced through his deltoid. The Scot pitched forward in pain, exposing him to more gunfire. Roger dashed out from his spot, and latched onto the injured man’s collar. The earth exploded around the agent, as he pulled Ian flat and tucked him behind a tree. Amanda let loose with few rounds at the vehicle’s spotlight and fired blindly to give Roger cover. The highly trained spy rolled over to her hiding spot and let off three shots from his 9-mm. The spotlight bulb shattered, and one of the cultists fell down with two bullet holes in his head.

  Roger’s hands were shaking as Amanda grabbed him by the jacket, “What do we do?”

  The man’s face froze as bullets chipped away at their cover, and she repeated, “Agent Roger Quinlynn! What do we do?”

  She pulled his face closer to his and realized, PTSD. He’s freezing up.

  Amanda looked over at Josh, who was cowering behind a thick tree and sobbing. Drips of rainwater fell from the sky onto her face, as the tiny popping sounds of the suppressed gunfire faded into the background. She looked at Ian’s red blood as it poured out of the opening in his shoulder.

  Things started to move in slow motion, This is where we all die. My husband, Nancy and April, and now Ian, Josh and Roger are all going to be taken by this great evil.

  She thought about Richard’s smug face on that monitor and all the harm he had brought, No! This stops!

  She slapped Roger hard, knocking him free from the episode, and stepped out from cover, “No! This stops!”

  The rain poured down, as Amanda’s red cloak flashed crimson against the lightning overhead. She emptied her gun at the Humvee while rain poured down in sheets on her face. Sparks shot off the steel frame from her barrage, and a few cultists dived for cover around the armored vehicle.

  The transport vehicle started up, and the headlights snapped on. The Humvee’s engine sprang to life, and the operator pointed the tires at her. Before his foot hit the pedal, Roger appeared beside her and took three measured shots at the armored windshield. The bullets stacked on top of one another, the last one making it through the plexiglass and into the driver’s head.

  A younger man raised up from the back end to reveal a mounted .50 caliber machine gun. Thunder rolled overhead as the rest of the Brotherhood members circled around behind the vehicle for cover. Roger cursed, as the cultist cocked the heavy weapon, and whirled it in their direction.

  A bolt of lightning slammed down from the clouds and sliced into the Humvee, igniting the gas tank and munitions. The explosion tossed her and the agent onto their backs and sent a shockwave through their bodies. Laying sprawled out on the concrete, she and Roger shared a look of disbelief. They made their way to their feet, and the scattered pieces of the charred cultists burned in little piles of flesh all around her.

  Josh had his head under Ian’s arm, and the pair inched their way out from behind the trees. The four of the
m stood in front of the burning vehicle, as the glowing pieces of steel sizzled from the rain. A massive gust of wind blew overhead, making her cloak flap outwards so it produced sharp snapping sounds. Her mouth sprang open in astonishment, as the fire illuminate a pair of salt-and-pepper wings that were attached to a gothic-dressed figure with hawk-like features.

  The angelic stranger waved his hands, and within seconds, all the rain within twenty feet of the flying man stopped. The storm raged on outside of the ring the angel presided over. He glided down and softly sat his feet down on the wet concrete. He straightened his knotted black Windsor tie and shook his massive wings free of the excess rain. As he approached her, his wings went into his back and disappeared within the folds of his black flower-patterned coat.

  Her company stayed still, as the impossible walked towards them. Those piercing blue eyes beamed at her, and the surrounding lightning reflected off a twin row of silver buttons that decorated the front of his jacket. Running up from behind him on the paved road was a pudgy man. She instantly recognized him as the reporter that had ambushed her at the hotel.

  Quincy patted the dark-clad angel on the back. “Good work partner. We did it!”

  Through the Mantle of Arthur she saw a faint image of two figures standing within the angel. One was monstrous, demonic in image and size. The other was more faded, but she could make out Henry Jekyll.

  She dropped the gun on the ground in shock, “You...”

  The Raven flew in from the storm and landed on her shoulder and let out a “Caw.”

  Lightning flashed in the night as he gave a slight bow, “Hello, Professor Lanyon. I’m Edward Tallman.”

  Epilogue

  Cairo, Egypt - Friday, November 23rd, 2018 – 9:45 p.m. EEST

  Professor Terrance Pearson’s red fez was sliding off his bald head with each hard turn down the paved road. He was cursing liberally, as he tried to get more speed from his tiny car. It had been two months of solid work getting the new finds analyzed and translated.

  He pulled out ahead of a taxi. The Supreme Council of Culture isn’t happy with my team’s progress, as it is. An incident like this will only strengthen their beliefs that my project should be abandoned.

  He honked at a passing contingent of camels and screamed, “Aibtaead ean tariqa!”

  He swooped into the parking lot on his balding tires and ran towards the entrance. The stars overhead shined down over the city, and he sprinted. The Nile River was less than one hundred yards away, and he could smell the waters as they flowed towards the Mediterranean Sea. He pulled out his security badge and slammed it against the magnetic panel. The front door popped open for the fifty-year-old man, and lights along the hallways snapped on. His sandals flopped against the marble floor, as he flew towards his department.

  Turning the corner, he saw his assistant Ahn Mensah, “How bad is it!?”

  Ahn replied in an Arabic accent, “It’s bad enough.”

  He shoved past Ahn and ran into the room where the newly discovered statue of the goddess Seshat was being studied. The magnificent golden effigy had been unearthed a month ago in a chamber found at the foot of the Sphinx. The five-foot idol was an homage to the ancient goddess of knowledge, wisdom, and writing. The beautiful black hair, eyes, and dots on her cheetah hide dress were made of onyx. In her left hand was a six-foot-tall palm stem made out of blackened bronze. In her right hand was a thin knotted rope that was crafted out of intricately carved gold. The statue’s wrists and ankles had blue bands painted on them. The detail, history, and sheer weight in gold gave the idol an estimated worth of over fifty-three million Egyptian pounds or three million American dollars.

  Professor Pearson gasped as he looked at the goddess’s right arm. It was cracked and hanging down at an odd angle. He felt like weeping and put his hand over his mouth.

  He examined the single severed line around the golden forearm and asked, “Ahn! Did it fall? Was there an accident? Tell me the truth!”

  The skinny assistant pleaded, “Professor, it wasn’t me! I was putting my logbooks in the next room, and I heard a loud noise. It sounded like hammering. Of course, I rushed in, and there it was, just like that.”

  The Professor pulled out his reading glasses and took a closer look at the space between the crack. Something shiny was hidden in the center of the broken piece. Carefully, he withdrew the statue’s arm away from the body. Sticking out from the amputated limb was a cylinder made of bronze.

  The older man turned and handed the broken piece of the statue to Anh. He took several minutes looking around the cylinder until he was sure that further damage wouldn’t be sustained by extracting it. Putting on a pair of gloves, he gently pulled until it snapped free. He marveled at the intricately decorated cylinder that was covered in dust.

  He walked to one of the work desks and put it under a giant magnifying glass. Ahu flipped on the desk light, and the pair examined the artifact. It was an ivory scroll case covered in hieroglyphics and precious geMs. On each end, facing one another, were the images of Thoth and Seshat set in black onyx.

  Anh used a small brush and wiped away some of the dirt, “What is it, Professor?”

  Terrance rolled the cylinder around in a circle as he translated the hieroglyphics aloud, “Inside is the sacred knowledge of my love Thoth. This scroll gives the power of…. What’s that word?”

  Anh looked closer, “Resurrection.”

  The Professor nodded excitedly, “Yes! Resurrection. This scroll gives the power of resurrection. ‘I, Seshat, guard his secrets and curse anyone unworthy to unseal this case. To reveal the wisdom within, travel to the House of Books beneath the Nile River, and lay it in the hands of Sobek.’”

  His assistant looked up at him, “Professor, can this be true? This is the famed Scroll of Thoth. To bring back the dead. That’s a myth. Isn’t it?”

  Terrance met his gaze, “It means the Mistress has given us the location of the House of Books. That library contains the lost knowledge and spells of Egypt. Who cares about superstitious legends of resurrection. The tombs we would find in there would make my career, and yours!”

  Anh had a nervous grin, “But the curse Seshat spoke of?”

  The Professor waved him off, “Anh, you surprise me. You’re a man of science, and we have made the discovery of a lifetime!”

  He grabbed the slight man by the shoulder and mused, “At the bottom of the Nile! Of course, that would make a perfect place to put the library. Regardless if Egypt fell or not, no one marches an army to the bottom of the river. If the chamber is sealed, this would be a time capsule to ancient Egypt. It could rewrite history as we know it! We have to tell the Director right away!”

  A figure dressed in a ski mask and wearing an armband that sported an octopus looking head stepped out from behind a set of crates. Terrance and Ahn turned to face him, shocked by the suppressed 9 mm in the stranger’s hand. As the Professor opened his mouth to protest, the assailant let loose a muffled shot into the chest of his assistant. Ahn slumped to the floor, clutching his chest, and fell dead on the floor. Shuddering with fear, the older man turned to his friend’s killer, too petrified to do or say anything.

  The pistol’s barrel smoked as the assassin told him, “Good evening, Professor. Please gather your tools and come with me. The Grand Master would very much like to meet you… and that scroll.”

  Continued In …

  Magicae: Book Three,

  The Dawn of Anubis

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  www.boluellen.com

 

 

 
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