Return of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “Which they didn't do. The other way they can be here is that they're not.” I raised my hands expecting instant congratulations. Nothing. “They are not in our universe.”

  “They certainly seem to be,” replied Toño.

  “But they're not. They're in tiny shells of whatever universe they were formed in. They are worms dangling on hooks.”

  Toño, having fished, got it first. “Of course. They don't have to account for each individual baited hook.”

  “They just wait to feel a tug.”

  “I believe I take your meaning,” responded Cragforel, “but there's a weakness. This super-powerful being would have to know that sooner or later someone's going to make the bed. All the hooks will be moved significantly.”

  “Yes, but think about the pattern,” I said excitedly. “Throwing the sheets in the wash produces a random, global pattern. That pattern can be ignored. But if the particles are removed one at a time in a series …”

  “They were detected and were removed non-randomly,” concluded Toño.

  “Oh no,” mumbled Cragforel.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That's very bad.” He looked up to us. “Think about the power and the intent of a being capable of doing such a thing.”

  I did. Ouch. He was right. “If whoever did this wanted to meet us and go out for drinks, they could do just that. Going to this elaborate extreme implies whoever it is wants to know if we were clever enough to find the bait. Then, what, they would come reckon with us? They clearly don't want to make direct contact with lesser sentients. Otherwise they'd do so with us straight away. They only wanted to make contact with sentients clever enough to detect their incursion.”

  “No, Jon, not their incursion,” said Toño, “their presence. We have invaders who would eliminate the smartest souls present right off the bat.”

  “Less potential interference with their plans,” agreed Cragforel.

  “Which have to be pretty bad for us if they want to dispense with any meaningful resistance,” remarked Toño.

  “Which, bottom line, means we're so screwed,” I responded. “Screwed, tattooed, and barbecued. I got same-old-same-old déjà vu all over again.”

  “This pending doom shit is getting old,” replied Toño as he scrubbed his forehead with his hands.

  FOUR

  Al-darem and his younger brother Al-fadol walked the cliff face as the wind raged against them. They hadn't spoken in over an hour. They'd barely clicked to each other to warn of cracks, wet spots, or lichen. The last three years had been hard, and the current one was shaping up to be much worse. Their main game, fordill, were hardly ever seen. Lesser prey was equally scarce. It was the fault of the dry wind. Harcon nocht, the curse from above. It brought no rain and sponged up what little moisture there was and spirited it selfishly away.

  If the weather didn't improve soon, they'd have to gather what was left of the clan and try to find better hunting grounds, the ever-elusive richer mountain. But climbers had been sent out in search of hope. None had returned. The entire clan had prayed to the gods, all of them. But no blessing came as a response. Nothing came but harcon nocht and the wails of starving children.

  In the long history of the Ganboodim clans it was unheard of that the gods did not answer prayers. The Ganboodim were one with their gods, and their gods were one with the people. It was not common, but their gods would visit them maybe once per generation. One or two, usually Hartha, the goddess of fertility, or Keldropx, the god of the hunt, would come to a village and know the clan's hearts. That completed the balance of life and sealed the unbreakable bond. But no Ganboodimian alive had met a god. Al-darem was beyond despair. If he were not the new clan leader since the last two died of hunger, he'd release his claspers and fall to meet the rocks-below-cliffs. Maybe in the after-fold he'd be able to beg a god to help his clan.

  Al-fadol slapped at his brother's shoulder. He was pointing to the top of the cliff. “There are too many sharf up there,” he yelled above the howling wind.

  Al-darem shielded his eyes and looked up. There were many sharf landing on the upper ledge, then just as quickly leaping back into the air. Odd. He clicked to his brother to follow. They were going up.

  The ascent took a few minutes as the rock face grew icy. As they advanced each brother broke off ice clips and devoured them. Water was a rare gift and never ignored. First the older, then the younger pulled himself onto the flat. The sharf were swarming some large ice blocks, ripping and pecking at them furiously. They were thirsty too. The brothers swung spears and cleared the sharf away. A few were killed in the process. Before the brothers could retrieve them, their fellow sharf snatched the bodies and soared away, tearing their kin to shreds. They too were starving.

  There were ten ice blocks, each taller than the brothers. Deep in the cores were dark forms, one per ice block it seemed. Al-darem swirled a clasp in a small patch to melt the ice, then he blotted the water away. He repeated the action for five more blocks. Then he turned to look at his brother. Next Al-darem ran across the ledge and hurled himself off, well clear of the cliff. He was going to meet the rocks below the cliffs.

  Al-fadol was caught so unaware he didn't have time to try and stop his brother. He thought of peering over the edge to see what happened, but he knew without the effort. The now eldest brother stepped up to the first window in the ice. There, buried deep in the ice, was the mangled face he knew so well. All the clan had studied them. Their images were everywhere. Al-fadol stared at the battered face of Gofilp, king of the gods. Mightiest of the mighty. The next block held forever in a frozen death the dismembered head above the body of Hartha, the kindest and most loving of the gods. Her teeth were missing. The third and final face he saw was what was left of Keldropx's. His solid-gold arrow pierced one side of his head and exited the other. All four hands were fixed in an eternal icy grasp of the shaft where it was exposed on either side.

  Al-fadol turned and walked slowly toward the edge. He was going to join his brother and his gods. There was nothing left for the living in this reality.

  FIVE

  “So I vote we go back to Azsuram and pluck the anti-gold off the sheets one by one.” I tried to sound confident as well as sane.

  “Our great moral philosopher Betherialnad once proclaimed there was no wrong, only rights that were not fully perceived as such by others.” Cragforel sounded, I don't know, exasperated?

  “Never been much a fan of moral philosophy myself,” I responded with a silly grin. “Unless you count the Three Stooges and Bullwinkle.”

  “My point here is you are the exception Betherialnad did not foresee. You are actually wrong. That's a stupid idea,” replied Cragforel. “Possibly the stupidest idea of all time.”

  “At least I'm original then.”

  “Jon,” began Toño, sounding as he often did like my old man, “if we do as you suggest we will summon a force we surely cannot handle. It or they will, if we are lucky, only destroy every living thing on the planet.”

  “You don't know that. Maybe they'll bring an ice cream cake and silly hats.”

  “Ah. So these master creatures only want to party with beings smart enough to realize they are there.”

  “Of course. Who'd want to celebrate with dumb-asses?”

  “Does your species believe in euthanasia for fellow humans?” Cragforel asked of Toño.

  “Okay, geniuses, what do you suggest?”

  “My first suggestion is to place you in chains so you can't summon our destroyers,” responded Toño.

  “Hang on, I'll start a list,” I snarked.

  “It would be nice to know the extent to which these super beings have penetrated our universe,” said Cragforel. “If we knew that, perhaps we could piece together their motives and capabilities.”

  “I agree that would be desirable, but I doubt that's an option. If the greatest clue they've left so far is a handful of anti-gold atoms, I can't believe we'll find much other certain evidence.”
r />   “There I disagree with you,” I said confidently. “If they dropped a few bread crumbs they dropped a lot.”

  “What about bread?” puzzled Cragforel.

  “An idiom. It means clues,” said a haughty Toño. “In all these years he's never learned how to talk to aliens.”

  “Have you seen traces of other of these crumbs of bread, Jon?”

  “No, but I haven't looked yet. I'll start with an APB … I'll start by putting out word to everyone I know. I'll ask if anyone else is seeing the impossible.”

  “Or just the unusual,” added Toño. “They may leave clues for one reason and be working on their main agenda, whatever that is, in the meantime.”

  “Okay, I'll put out a call. I suggest you gents do the same. We can touch bases in a few days.”

  I returned Toño to his home on Vorpace and returned to mine on Kalvarg.

  “So, how'd the Boy's Club meeting go?” asked Sapale before I was fully through the door.

  “It was a total snoozefest. Cragforel watered down the booze something awful and the strippers danced to elevator music. I left early.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “The other two were surprised about the anti-gold for sure. We came to the conclusion some super race left it there like baited fishhooks to see if anyone was smart enough to figure out they were there.”

  “It doesn't sound like the booze was too watered down to me. That strikes me as drunk talk, maybe slurred drunk talk.”

  “Haha. No, it makes sense.”

  “Any actual sign of trouble?”

  “No.”

  “So what's next?”

  “We go looking for trouble.” I wagged my eyebrows.

  “Same old same old.”

  “Once again. I'm heading to Nocturnat. When strange rears its ugly head I think Deft magic. You want to come?”

  “Sure. I haven't seen the kids in … well, obviously in too long.”

  “I had the Als call everyone we know, asking if anything unusually unusual was going on.”

  “Let me grab my coat and we can go.”

  “Honey, I know I've asked a million times, but seriously, why does an android need a coat?”

  “I may be inert, but that doesn't mean fashion is still not a necessity.”

  We arrived at Mirraya/Slapgren's in the late evening. I referred to them thusly because by that time they were continually joined as a visant pair. Just like Cala had predicted, mated pairs stayed together as one big dragon more and more as they aged. They gradually became one. I thought it was gross but Sapale said it was romantic. The pair was nearing their mid-years and were leaders among their community. Naturally they had a ton of grandkids by then.

  “Uncle Jon,” Miraya said as she answered the door, “please come in.”

  “You sure it's not too late? We can come back.”

  “Nonsense. It's never too late for my favorite humans.” She waved us in. “I told Slapgren you were here.”

  “What do … how can you tell him? You're fused at the brain, right?”

  “It's complicated. Have a seat. I'll make tea.”

  She was back quickly with a large tray.

  “You two good?” I asked as I blew on my cup.

  “Couldn't be better,” she said, beaming as always. “And you two?”

  “Sapale's fine but I need an oil change. My knees keep locking up.”

  She shook her head. “Slapgren says good one, UJ.”

  “I knew he was the smarter of the pair,” I replied with a wink.

  “So what brings you so late?'

  I filled her in on what I knew and what we speculated.

  “Hmm, another Jon Mystery.”

  “It would seem so. Any idea what could be happening?”

  She shook her big scaly head. “No. I'm familiar with just about everything magical. I know I couldn't stabilize anti-gold.”

  “Could you make it?” asked Sapale.

  “Probably. But it would go poof pretty quickly.”

  “I suspected as much,” I responded.

  “Really? Why?”

  “I get a bad feeling off all this. I think we're looking at some significantly ill-intentioned dudes here. The Deft magic doesn't lend itself to their kind of evil.”

  “Not generally. If I'm training someone who starts to become mean or spiteful, they're down the drain in one flush. No one else'll work with them either.” She tapped the rim of her cup nervously.

  “Something’s bothering you. I can tell,” I said.

  “What, me? I don't know. It's just a feeling I've had lately. I ignored it until now because it's so vague. Oh, and silly, Slapgren adds unhelpfully.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “The feeling you get when you think someone’s looking at you.”

  “But they're not?” asked Sapale.

  “Exactly. We have a saying. Future evil is like the wind. You can't see it but you can feel it. That's what I've felt. The coming of a future evil.”

  “At least it's a future one,” said Sapale with a halfhearted giggle.

  “That's just the thing. No. It's a past evil at the same time.”

  “Honey,” I said, resting my cup, “how can it be a past evil and a future evil? That's contradictory.”

  She shuddered. “I don't know, but that's what I've been feeling.”

  “How long now?” asked Sapale.

  “A few months.”

  “A lot could happen in a few months, couldn't it?” asked Sapale.

  “Yes, it could.”

  “Where do you feel the threat?” I queried.

  She gently closed her eyes. After a couple seconds she said, “Everywhere.”

  “Anywhere you could direct us?” I asked.

  “I'm afraid there is.”

  “Why does that not sound so good?” Sapale stated rhetorically

  “The most powerful impression I get comes from a globular cluster, Uncle Jon. One you know all too well.”

  “You've got to be shittin' me. Ralph's?”

  She just nodded softly.

  “You're not marching back into Ralph's domain again, are you? Tell me you're not,” said Sapale.

  “I'm not.”

  “You're lying,” she snapped.

  “Yes I am.” I smiled unconvincingly. “You up for an adventure?” I asked my brood's-mate. “Hey, how about you two too?”

  “Not on your life,” Mirraya/Slapgren replied flatly.

  “I think that's what we're talking about here,” responded my mate soberly.

  “Such a negative Nellie,” I charged. But I knew she was probably right.

  I’d first met Ralph years before. I was pretty sure that wasn't his actual name, but he said to call him that and I had ever since. It really bothered him now, so I loved to all that much more. Ralph was, well, he was evil incarnate as far as I could tell. We always danced around exactly what he was, but two things were abundantly clear. First he was more evil than even my first wife Gloria. Second, he hated me more than it was actually possible to hate any person, place, or thing. After I pulled a fast one on him many years ago, his complete hatred like tripled. I know, not possible, but there you have it. The long and short of it. Going anywhere near Ralph was stupidly, suicidally insane.

  Sapale elected to stay home for the next leg of my adventure. Mirraya/Slapgren too. Scaredy cats. Actually, the way it turned out, I bet they'd have preferred to come. Yeah, it was that weird. I landed where I usually did, near some sort of shrine Ralph had erected. It struck me immediately as I stepped out. There was no horrible smell. Ralph had—and sorry, being graphic here—a pit of boiling acid he liked to stew things in, the things being previously living beings. It was always there and it was always unbearable. But this time, that stench was absent.

  As I approached the pit area, I saw there was liquid in the pond, but it was just sitting there, no bubbles or melting hands emerging. And there sat Ralph. I knew it was him even though he’d previously only been a disemb
odied scary voice.

  “Ralph,” I called out so as not to frighten him. I didn't want to piss him off any more than I already would be. “Yo, dude. Hey, you don't look so good.”

  Slowly his face rose to view me. He strained, studying the image he seemed not to recognize. Finally he smiled faintly and said, “Jon. Jon Ryan. It's been a long time.”

  “Ralph, there's, like, a smile on your ugly mug. And you look like you lost both your kitten and your puppy on the same day.”

  “What day?”

  “Huh? No, I was making an attempt to say you look like shit. I mean, I had no real concept of what you looked like for real, but this cannot have been it. You look a hell of a lot like Mr. Magoo with a severe case of constipation. What's up?”

  “Jon, my friend …” He faded into a zoned-out, stupefied, lobotomized look.

  His friend? Now I knew there was big doo-doo afoot.

  “When did we become friends? Ralph, you hate me.”

  He waved a hand weakly in my direction. “Yes, I did. Now as my days end, I have no strength to hate. So, we become friends by way of default.”

  “End of your days? Are you ill?”

  “No. I am ending.”

  “You mean dying?”

  He shook his head feebly. “I cannot die. But it seems I can end. One heck of a surprise to me by the way.”

  “You lost me there, champ.”

  He looked at me with tired eyes. “So be it.”

  “Is it natural for you, you know, to end? I got the impression you were more immortal than me.”

  He harrumphed sadly. “Time changes. Reality changes. There are forces coming I can't resist. They are ending me.”

  “Say what?”

  “Never mind. By this time tomorrow I will begin to fade. In one, possibly two days I will be gone. Fire may not mix with water. Dark may not be combined together with light. That which comes and I are …”

  Dude just trailed off and stopped again. Man was he pitiful.

  “Are what? Don't leave me hanging.”

  “They are ending me.”

  “Who is? Who's they?”

  “It does not matter.”

  “Ah, yes it does. It matters to me, the not-ending part. Tell me, who is ending you?”