Return of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “You say I hate you?”

  “Ya did.”

  “Then I will not tell you what is coming.”

  “There's the Ralph I know and dislike. But, seriously, why not tell me? You'll be ended soon so it won't matter.”

  “No it won't.” He patted my arm. “You will know soon enough, and you will then wish you did not.”

  “Come on. Tell. Pretty please.”

  “Now I recall hating you.” He smiled wickedly. “Have I shown you my altar, my shrine, and my bathing pool?”

  “Yeah. Not a big fan. At least the horrible stench is gone.”

  “I rather liked the smell. It reminded me of better times, when I was young. It reminded me of home.”

  “Home? Ultimate evil incarnate had a home? What, did you have a mom who made you bat-shaped cookies?”

  He got the strangest look on his worn face. “What if I did? What if she did?”

  “Then good for you I say. Hey, why not make your mom proud. Tell me what's coming.”

  “You mustn't have met her. Being kind to you would not make her proud.”

  “Can't say I didn't try.”

  “No, but I can say I wish you hadn't. You are supremely annoying.”

  “So I've been told.”

  “Leave me now.”

  “Am I getting on your last nerve?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you pay any price to be rid of me for good?”

  “I …” He wagged a finger at me. “You are good, Jon Ryan. The best I've ever encountered in fact.”

  “Thanks. You're pretty awful too, in the best sense.”

  “Thank you. I tried. You know what the hardest part was?”

  “I don't have even a lousy guess.”

  He pointed at me with more strength than I'd have thought he had left. “Consistency. It's hard to be evil, then just as evil, and still just as evil.” He shook his mangy, greasy hair. “There's always the temptation to ruin something tomorrow, to leave slaughter until later, or to delay the Four Horsemen's departure because you're all having such a pleasant conversation sitting there in a shaded glen.”

  “If you put it that way, I can see that'd be tough. I feel your pain.” I set a clenched fist to my chest.

  “No you don't, you half-baked toaster oven. You're placating me, hoping I'll tell you what I know.” He looked down. “That's not very nice.”

  “Nice? Dude, you can't be serious.” I gestured to the surroundings. “This is not the kind of place where nice is appropriate. Churl is the common courtesy.”

  “Did I mention you and leaving?”

  “Yes, I believe you did.”

  “Yet still I see you. I am tortured by my visions.”

  “You're welcome.”

  “Ancient gods. There, I said it. Now you go.”

  “Ancient gods? What's that supposed to mean?”

  “You asked what is coming, what is ending me. You said you would leave if I told you. Ancient gods are coming. They are coming soon and they are not nice gods.” He raised his arms and throated listless thunder sounds. “Biblically not nice.”

  “Where are they coming from and why are they coming?”

  Ralph crossed his arms.

  “I did say I'd leave, didn't I?”

  He nodded tersely.

  “But I have one serious question.”

  “That'll be a first,” he replied with a fatigued grunt.

  “Something's trying to end you. I happen to know from personal experience you're pretty tough. Pretty powerful. Did you, I don't know, fight back? Maybe smite the bad guys?”

  That brought a look. “Land sakes, no.” He placed a palm on one cheek. “I overlooked self-defense. Let me summon the commander of my fastest vessel, Captain Obvious, and we shall speed to victory in battle.”

  “You tried?”

  “For nearly ten minutes.”

  “That's it, ten minutes and you lose, you're ended, close the book?”

  “You don't really get the god thing yet, do you?”

  I shrugged. I mean, there was really no adequate response to that question.

  “Okay then. See you around, maybe,” I said, standing to leave.

  “Not if I see you first.”

  “Ah, Ralph, that's a joke from like grade school.”

  “But it's a good one. Real staying power, that one.”

  SIX

  Caprahammer rested lazily on a bank of cushions. She stroked the heads of a massive viper that curled around one of her legs and rested its heads on her plump belly. Times were not good, but times were changing. For the first time in unmeasurable ages she felt alive again. She felt warmth and strength, but most of all she felt anger. It was good to be furious again. Where, she wondered in passing, had that emotion gone? She could not recall. But that didn't matter. It was back.

  “When Mommy's back on top, will my little Erlo be happy?” she asked her pet.

  Erlo, who possessed the intelligence of a grapefruit, did not answer.

  “Yes, he will be. I shall feed you only the best defilers and unbelievers.” She pinched his tongue and held it when he instinctively stuck it out. “Yes, juicy squirming screaming mortals will make you as fat as me.” She released his tongue and slapped her exposed paunch. Dainty and feminine of nature she was not.

  Thunder rolled into her chamber. Then louder thunder with viciously harsh winds.

  “Knock it off, Boulzeron,” she yelled above the considerable din. “I'm not'n the mood.”

  Boulzeron, a god of revenge and spite, walked in meekly with his head lowered. “Sorry, Cappy. I'm still trying out my growing strength. I didn't mean anything by it.”

  “You're sniveling again. How many times have I told you to stop whining and be a god?”

  “Many. I … I thank you as always for your input and support.” He bowed.

  She eyed him with spite and anger. Perhaps she should just extinguish the pathetic boob and be done with him. It would be fun. She liked fun. But he was a solid supporter in the conclaves. She wished that type of politicking wasn't essential, but time had taught her there was no way around it. Every god or demigod who'd tried to wrestle power from the others and rule supremely had failed. And their failure was always painful. Few survived the initial torture, let alone the Extended-Consequences Plan.

  “I think I shall create a physician qualified in spinal transplantation and have her insert one in you some day.” Caprahammer returned her full attention to Erlo.

  He bowed again. “If you think that's necessary, I should be honored.”

  “I shall create her capable of transplanting a sense of humor into your thick head too.”

  Boulzeron got the most confused look on his face. He had a sense of humor, didn't he?

  “Is there a purpose to your interruption of my otherwise suitable day? You're not here for sex, are you? I told you I had limits in that regard where you were concerned.”

  Boulzeron sort of melted, or at least wished he could melt. He never wanted sex with that … that unappealing female. She forced herself on him with nauseating frequency, but he never … Oh, if he could only melt.

  “Yes,” he replied in a queasy tone. “The conclave has been moved up to the day after tomorrow. Our incursions have gone so well and our power grown so quickly that the schedule of D&D might be advanced.”

  She formed a small but intensely hot ball of fire in her palm and hurled it at his head.

  He ducked just in time to avoid potential incineration.

  “What the blazes is D&D? You know I hate it when you go nerdy on me.”

  “Domination and destruction. Sorry. That's what everybody's calling it, not just me,” he defended weakly.

  “Everybody isn't. I'm not. Say it again and I shall feed you to Erlo. You've said your piece, which you could have just simaged me, by the way. Now go. I'm in no mood.”

  He pointed behind himself. “Yes, you said that already.”

  “Which should speak volumes as to how cl
ose you are to peril.”

  “I'll see you at the conclave then. I'm planning on sitting near the front off to the left. You can find me there.”

  “If I wanted to find you.”

  Boulzeron, an impoverished god but not a stupid one, backed out the door without responding.

  Caprahammer returned to stroking Erlo and stewing. She did that well, the stewing part. She loved to hold her anger, her wrath, in a ball and consider it and ruminate over it time and again. Proper planning made the final product all that much better, she felt. Her ability to command was tethered by her nitwit brother and sister gods. They lacked vision and imagination when it came to D&D. But how could she set them straight, straight in this case meaning as her servants and slaves? When they were created they were all given nearly equal strength. It was as if the imbecile who formed them wanted the gods to need balance and consensus. What was the point of godship if it only meant one was a member of an immortal ad hoc committee? Unacceptable.

  Again, if two gods joined forces to try and rule, only the pair could, not either individual. What god wanted to be part of a ruling commission? And if three gods opposed the pair, they were too vulnerable in the first place. Unacceptable.

  She pondered creating a new, hidden universe where she could rule supreme. But what fun would that be? She'd always know she'd settled when it came to D&D. The other gods might even throw a party to celebrate her departure. Unacceptable.

  As it stood, Vorc was the closest thing there was to a head god. He was less than a prime minister but more than a spokesman. And he despised Caprahammer. The twit would never allow her to even approach a leadership role among her useless peers. Not that she wanted to be one of the moronic insider-groupies. Still, it would be nice to be closer to power, real, unadulterated power. She knew her time would come. Yes, someday those so-called gods would grovel at her feet, not mock her behind her back.

  Someday.

  SEVEN

  “You know, Jon, every time you come back to Oowaoa I die a little inside,” remarked Cragforel. “I mean, you're always the bearer of worse, more bizarre, less comprehensible news. Life's too short for Jon Ryan.”

  “I'm supposed to be able to prevent that? I'm not in charge of reality.” Sheesh, what a drama-mama.

  “I'm beginning to wonder myself,” added Toño, who also turned out to be a hater. “Are you certain that's what this Ralph whose name's not really Ralph told you? Ancient gods are coming to ruin our lives?”

  “More or less. I think he referred to them destroying us more than just inconveniencing us.”

  “Did he mention any specific names? Our data archive contains nearly infinite information on past civilizations dating back a very long time. It'd be nice to know which ancient gods he referred to.”

  “Are some worse than others?” I asked.

  He bobbed his head side to side. “I think so. Some have legends involving more strength or poorer people skills.”

  “Sorry, he didn't say. Just that it only took them ten minutes to extinguish him.”

  “That doesn't narrow it down at all,” snapped Toño.

  “He did say that we'd find out soon enough and that we'd regret knowing when we did. I guess we just wait for them to come and deal with them then.”

  “Deal with them? Are you listening to yourself, Jon?” said an incredulous Cragforel. “Malevolent gods capable of killing Ralph, and we're going to deal with them? You're quite the optimist.”

  “We'll resist, yes. But our chances seem somewhere between remote and zero in terms of survival,” agreed Toño.

  “You guys are so negative. We've been in tight quarters before. We'll get through this. You'll see.” I needed better friends. Dealing with Eeyore and his BFF Charlie Brown was getting old.

  “We don't actually have to wait for them to come,” Cragforel said quietly.

  “How so?”

  “They're already here. They disappeared that Azsuram woman and left definitive proof. They've come and gone. Soon they'll come and stay.”

  “Well I say take the fight to them. Let's amass everything we can above Azsuram and set off their trap. When they poke their noses though—pow. We lower the boom on 'em.”

  “Your plans are always so fanciful yet childishly incomplete,” responded Cragforel. “What if they enter our universe, snap their fingers, and we vanish. Jon, gods can do that.”

  I pointed to him. “We don't know they have fingers.”

  “Really? They might not have fingers so they can't disperse us?”

  Grumpy Cragforel was right, of course, but I wasn't conceding that to Debbie Downer.

  “Or we just wait. We can move a lot of war material quickly. But they would have had the advantage of demolishing a lot of stuff before we arrived,” added Cragforel.

  He looked at me like he’d prefer it if I wasn't present. “Toño, any news of any other incursions?”

  “Nothing reliable. A few contacts mentioned that reports of missing persons have increased in some locations. But that information is nonspecific enough to question its value.”

  “Any other odd occurrences beside missing persons?”

  He leaned his head to the right. “A few spontaneous combustions.”

  “People or things?” I asked.

  “Why would that matter?” asked Cragforel.

  “Come on. People don't spontaneously combust but trees might, you know, if they're dry and there's a lot of static in the air.”

  “That wouldn't be spontaneous then, now would it? It was caused by environmental conditions,” he responded.

  “Gentlemen, are we actually having this conversation?” asked a very parental-sounding Toño.

  “Where were people fried?” I asked.

  “One on Calvarda and one, possibly two on Friguron 4.”

  “Well I'm going to Friguron 4 then,” I said, hopping to my feet. “I prefer to be proactive, not passive like some people.” I wasn't certain Cragforel considered himself a person, since he was Deavoriath. But if he did, he'd definitely feel that barb.

  “I better go along to make sure he doesn't start an annihilation event,” said Toño as he stood.

  “I'll await your report from home,” said Cragforel. “That way we don't all burst into flame and end the resistance in one fell swoop.”

  What a stick in the mud. No biggy. We’d have more fun without him. Then it kind of hit me. We were unlikely to have fun investigating incinerated remains.

  Toño knew a local scientist on Friguron 4. Yeah, surprise surprise. Its name sounded like crumpling cellophane paper. Toño had provided me a translation algorithm so I could understand what it said. I'd seen my share of mutant aliens in my time, so the Friguron didn't freak me out. Not much. It looked an awful lot like a spider standing a meter and a half high at the arch of its back. Naturally it was black and had spiky hair on its legs. What creepy spider wannabe wouldn't? Damn thing moved in fast spurts too. I felt like a juicy fly when it did.

  “Toño, it's so good to finally meet you,” crumpling cellophane said.

  Toño was a greater fool than I. He held out a hand to greet it. “Yes it is, crumpling cellophane. The vid-link is never the same as pressing the flesh.” He shook the tip of its spooky leg. I nearly lost my breakfast.

  “The remains we spoke of are in the next room. Come.”

  I let Doc go way first. I wanted to be able to cut him out of the ginormous web if and when it snagged him.

  “Where were they found?” he asked ever so calmly as they walked.

  “One in its home not far from here. We can go there after if you'd like. The other was found in an open field quite some distance away. We are uncertain of its identity.”

  “Is it a Mexilpus?” he asked.

  “Woah. Time out. What's a Mexiplus?” I barked out.

  “Mexilpus,” cellophane corrected. “My species.” I think it then laughed, but maybe the sound was its stomach grumbling. “I suspect it was, but can't say for certain at this point.”r />
  “It would be helpful to know if it was a sentient or not, to see if there's a pattern,” Toño responded thoughtfully.

  Mexil - pus. Pus. How very fitting. You step on a bug and squish out pus. Shake it off, Ryan.

  Cellophane opened a drawer and pulled back a sheet, like in a proper morgue. “Its name was gargling oatmeal,” it said. Its name wasn't literally gargling oatmeal. It only sounded like someone doing that. “It was found by its hatchlings.”

  “Are they okay?” asked Toño.

  “Yes. They were nearly ready to leave the nest, so they'll be fine.”

  Toño extended his probe fibers into the center of the ash. He then felt it between two fingers. Thank goodness he didn't taste it. Scientists—they're so out of touch with normality it wouldn't have surprised me. Finally he spoke. “Pretty charred.”

  “Almost to pure carbon and trace minerals,” it concurred.

  “Is there anti-gold?” I asked.

  Cellophane looked at me like I was a lunatic then asked Toño, all the while eyeing me, “Is your mate mentally impaired?”

  Toño knew me well. The first thing he did was to hold up a hang-on-a-second hand in my direction. “Jon is not my mate. He's my associate. We found anti-gold in a location where something equally perverse happened.”

  “Anti-gold? You understand my incredulity?”

  “Naturally. But that's what we found, inexplicably stable.”

  I'm guessing cellophane had a puzzled look on its face. Its expression certainly shifted upon hearing those words. “What significance do you place in this impossibility?”

  “We're still trying to understand it. We speculate some advanced race put them there for us to find.”

  I knew Doc didn't want to reveal too much. Not yet at least. He didn't want unfounded rumors and panic to spread like wildfire.

  “Is there any present in these remains?”

  “No.”

  “That is reassuring?” it asked evenly.

  “No, not really. The ash contains anti-platinum.”

  “Equally impossible. I will assay it myself to confirm this.”

  “I would advise against that, crumpling cellophane. I am far from certain, but to actively locate and isolate it might trigger a response from the advanced race who left it behind.”