“Now if you'll …”
“Some favors are too big to ask, too big to agree to. I will find my brood-mate and help him, or I will join him beyond Davdiad's veils. There is no other choice that draws me to it.” She withdrew her hand. “Now, unless you wish to risk being my accidental traveling companion, I suggest you step back.” She turned and focused on the patch of sand containing the invisible anti-iridium atoms.
“How far back will be safe?” Toño asked acerbically.
Without turning back to him, she shrugged. “I don't know.”
“Hmm. So you're vaulting into the unknown with uninformed urgency. That's going to end well.”
Her head swung on him. “Enough. I am no child and I do not need a heckling crowd. Either shut up or leave.” Sapale's eyes all but flared red like an enraged demon's.
“So be it,” Toño replied with finality. “As I do not wish the last vision I have of you to be that of you vanishing into the same death as Jon's, I shall leave. Know that I love you. Know that I will continue to do so forever. And know that I acted as I have only because of that eternal love. Farewell, Sapale.”
With that, he turned and quietly exited the chamber.
As a tear streaked down her cheek, Sapale said in a voice so faint only she could hear it, “I love you too, great friend. That's forever.”
She extended her probes to locate the antimatter particles. She placed one atom next to another. She repeated the act, setting another fleck of anti-iridium next to those two. Before she could complete the cycle for the fifth time, she was gone.
TWENTY-EIGHT
We hadn't gone far when Wul saw a shuttle and flagged it down. The vehicle didn't—knock me over with a feather—even vaguely resemble a taxicab. No, in the land of the ancient gods, everything had to be out of proportion, inescapably odd, and without any apparent relationship to the utility asked of it. So naturally our ride was personal reflection. You know, when you wax philosophical and recall the good old days, maybe high school and some pretty cheerleader who basically worshiped you? That kind of personal reflection. That's what we opened the door of, sat in back of the driver in, and to whom Wul said void of emotion, “Blind Faith No More.”
What, you rightfully ask, does a personal reflection look like? Damn thing looked like any other thought, only more real in this case, more substantial. And who drives a personal reflection? Thank you for asking because I was dying to say it. A long-lost desire. Sure. What else would, I ask you as I contemplate clawing my eyes out so I no longer had to look at it?
“Are you all right, Ryanmax?” Wul asked with some concern in his tone. “Now you appear to be the one ready to hurel.”
“No, it's hurl, as in throw, not hurel, as in mumbo jumbo. And I'm fine. I was just struck by the unsettling image of that Lorpamoor fellow as he dragged your limp body into that empty room.” I stuck my finger down my throat after saying, “Kind of gets me right here.”
“Why I put up with you is beyond me.”
“It's because I'm fresh.”
He raised a doubting eyebrow.
“Come on, admit it. I'm fun in a different, novel, and surprisingly refreshing manner.”
“I will go so far as to say you are unique.”
“'Ere you go. You now know why I'm so undeniable.”
He shook his head and looked forward, in the direction the personal reflection was leading us.
Could I ever be annoying in a welcome manner or what?
We glided up to Blind Faith No More's entrance and the long-lost desire left the personal reflection to open our doors. But Wul was out like a flash and halfway to the club before the desire arrived. I guessed a long-lost desire wasn't a god or anything by the way Wul ignored it. Maybe it was best if they weren't. I kind of gave the driving emotion a nodding bow, looking like a moron in the process, but I didn't want to seem rude. I caught up with Wul as he stepped inside.
Talk about a different kind of ambience. Blind Faith No More was no clone of Altruism's Failure. Where the latter was garish and ornate, the former was threadbare and impoverished. I was immediately hit with a Wild West saloon vibe. Splintering floors covered with sawdust, smoke so thick the working girls appeared pretty, and employees who exuded an I-don't-give-a-shit-what-you-want commitment to hospitality. Why had Wul dragged me to such a … such a dive? Wul was my brother from another type of mother. He lived for dive bars just like I did. Oh, I almost bear-hugged the son of a gun.
“Didn't I tell you to never come back here?” a remarkably burly, toothless, and hairy bartender howled at Wul before he was three steps in the door.
Wul smiled as if he was watching his missing puppy trot home. “No you did not,” he challenged.
The barkeep swung a massive arm in the air and shouted, “Then come on over and have a stiff one with me.”
Wul leaned over to me. “He's really nicer on the inside than he is on the outside.”
“Then I can't wait to make his acquaintance,” I replied. “Or break his jaw.”
We bellied up and were served two formidable portions of a thick blue liquid. I could smell that it had lots of alcohol along with an astringent quality. It promised to be horrific. It was. Burned like the section of hell reserved for politicians.
“Queeheg,” Wul said, slapping me on the shoulder, “this is my excellent friend Ryanmax. Ryanmax, this is the least appreciative, most surly, and worst-smelling purveyor of rotgut the world is yet to suffer, Queeheg.”
“Proud to say I know you,” I said, toasting Queeheg's raised glass. I threw back the blue toxin.
Queeheg emptied his glass and slammed it to the bar. As I watched the damn glass filled itself with the blue swill. He nodded to the glass after noting my amazement. “I put a small spell on me glass, you know, to saves time and all. Otherwise I'm likes to get so busy I forgets to provide for me own refreshment.”
“Very understandable,” I said with a nod. “Can I get one like that too?” I gestured to his glass with mine.
“Ah, sadly that'd be a no. You has to pay as you go, so that wouldn't be accommodating to my overall businesslike intentions.”
I turned to Wul. “Hey, I thought you said it was all for free?”
Wul, the SOB, smiled like he won the lottery the day he retired.
“Ah, I sees you're new to these particular parts and location. The pale offerings at those stuff-up-your-butt bars are free. That's on account of it being worthy of exactly that. On the other contention,” he passed a proud arm over his dismal establishment, “a place like this being priceless, a price must be paid to avail your holinesses of its pleasuralities.”
“Don't worry, Ryanmax,” Wul said near my ear. “It's not money he wants. His price here is easy to pay.”
“That's an oxymoron if ever I've heard one,” I rebuffed.
“Your friend is, for once in as long as I've been cursed to know him, correct, Ryanmax. I ask little of what you have in abundance and'll ne'er miss the levy.”
“I tried that line on a gorgeous hunk of woman once,” I chided as I pointed my pinky at Queeheg.
“And how'd it go?” he responded.
“I'd show you the scar, but we're in a public place,” I replied with a wink.
“Bahha,” he spat-laughed back. “I likes you already. But know that alls I eer asks in return for my exemplary 'ospitality is a lending of yer magic, if'n when I come to a juncture's looking like it'd be comprehensive to have such aid.”
“We barter magic for booze?” I said, gasping. “If that's all you ask, leave the bottle and leave me alone with it.” I batted at him with the back of my hand.
“My kind of scum,” marveled Queeheg as he looked to Wul and pointed at me.
“I can still see your ugly face,” I said as I filled my glass. “If I'm paying, we do it my way.”
Queeheg gruntled a laugh as he wondered off to attend to another patron.
“So that idiot lets you drink for free because someday he may need you to, what, nego
tiate for him?” I addressed Wul.
“You don't have to be smart to own a bar, my friend. He never even clarified what my powers were.”
“A trusting man of faith in a business connected to cheap booze and cheaper patrons? What could go wrong in that fantasyland?”
“So many good people suffer in business. You may quote me on that, by the way. I'm sort of an expert.”
“I'm sorry, did you just say something I'd care to hear? I was focusing on this fine beverage.” I extended my glass toward him.
“You're impossible.”
“I know. It's one of my …”
Jon, are you there, Jon, can you hear me? flashed in my head. It's Sapale, Jon, are you still alive?
Color me surprised. Sapale, please tell me you're not here in Godland? I flashed back.
You're alive. Oh thank all the gods and powers, Jon, you're alive.
I knew that. Where are you?
Suspended in a space filled with multicolored clouds. Where are you?
Not in the detention area waiting to meet Tefnuf on my way to Triple D.
What the hell's Triple D and who's Tefnuf?
You don't what to know, and you're about to meet the bitch.
Can you get here like immediately?
I … I don't … yes. Absolutely. I'll …
“First you blow off the bartender and now you ignore me? Some friend,” protested Wul.
“Huh? What?”
“I asked if you fancied either of those representatives of the female persuasion over there. The knockouts waving to us, there.” He pointed at two, well, knockouts sitting at the end of the bar waving to us like we were taxicabs in commute traffic in NYC.
“Huh? I'm kind of busy. No time for babes.”
What about you and time for babes while I'm about to meet a bad god? Sapale asked rather harshly.
No, not you, I wasn't speaking to you, I babbled.
Obviously not.
The damn mental links Toño installed had a tendency to bleed the verbal into the electronic signal. I guess it had to do with needing to think a thought before one could speak it. Very not helpful on some occasions.
“Ryanmax, I've lost you again. Do you require medical attention?”
“No … no, I'm fine.”
“You are not. If you were fine we'd be walking quickly over to the women.”
“I'm not walking over to the hookers,” I snapped.
Hookers? I'm about to die and you want the hookers to come to you? If I survive this I'll kill you.
No, the guy I'm with is horny. The bar is swarming with accommodating ladies. Maybe they're ladies. Maybe they’re clay. I … “I don't know.”
“You don't know what?” asked a confused Wul.
You're gone a year and now you're with guys? she wheezed.
“I can explain,” I whined.
“What? About the girls or that you don't know what, whatever that is?” stammered Wul.
I haven't been gone a year. “I've been here two months—tops.”
“Two months? Try not even two hours,” snarled Wul.
You've been gone so long everyone assumed you were dead. Four hundred fifty-seven days to be specific.
“I'm not dead.”
“You will be if you don't welcome the two goddesses who are debasing themselves to come to us.”
“I'm not screwing with the babes. I'm a married man.”
You're not married, you’re dead. Death dissolves a marriage, and I'm killing you on sight.
“We never discussed the subject, but you do sleep with women, don't you, Ryanmax?” He patted his chest. “To each his own, mind you. But it would've been, er, helpful if you’d told me sooner.”
“No, I do sleep with women. I've slept with zillions of them. But just not these.”
“Why?”
I won't kill you all at once. No, it will be slow, so slow you'll never actually know … hey, the colored clouds just vanished. Would you believe I'm in a metal cell?
“Tefnuf's coming. Stay calm.”
“You won't vanquish those lovely visions because Tefnuf's coming to this bar? Ryanmax, you can't be serious? You prefer that abomination to those … those not abominations?”
“I do not want to sleep with Tefnuf. Gross.”
That's very reassuring because some abomination just walked in. If you wanted to sleep with her I wouldn't be killing you, it would be euthanasia.
Tefnuf's there?
Something that got beat with the ugly stick is. Looks like three pieces of toast with …
“That's Tefnuf.”
Wul spun. “Where? If she's here I'm gone.”
“Hi, boys,” one of the beauties said, “you two are kind of cute.”
The other girl giggled.
I developed such a knot in my gut.
“Kind of cute?” challenged Wul. “Ryanmax, could you set them straight?”
“We're not cute. We're married.”
“No we're not. I'm not,” he bellowed.
You're not. Remember death doing us part?
“I'm not dying. You are not going to kill me.”
“Is he speaking to you or to me?” the second girl asked the first.
“Are you speaking to me?” asked a stunned Wul.
“I will if you upsets me business regulars,” hissed Queeheg. He was slapping a palm with a lumpy bludgeon.
I threw my arms up. “No, I wasn't talking to,” and I pointed in succession to everyone present, “talking to you or you or you or you.”
A fellow at a nearby table looked up at the source of all the commotion, me.
“Or you,” I howled.
He looked away quickly, lucky for him.
She says she's going to kill me then ask me three questions. She said she used to do it the other way around until some scrawny-assed maniac escaped and she got in big trouble for just trying to kill him. Jon, she has to mean you. You're the only being in creation who can make such a negative first impression.
“Say you're a god,” I apparently both spoke and thought to Sapale.
All four of my companions pointed to their own chests. As a practiced chorus they said simultaneously, “Me?” They then looked among themselves for possible clarification. None was forthcoming, of course.
I told those present, “No, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to my wife.”
That not only brought further confusion to my companions, it brought a thorough visual scan of the room by each one independently.
One of the girls was able to say, “I'm a nymph, not a god. Is that okay?”
To which the other girl snapped, “There you go putting yourself down again. Of course it's okay. It's what you are and I love you.”
“I love you too,” the first woman replied with unbounded glee.
They joined hands, both gave Wul a particularly nasty look, and left literally skipping out the door.
“I'm very confused,” said a defeated-sounding Queeheg. Poor guy was stooped over and everything.
“Did you say you were a god?” I asked Sapale.
“I thought you didn't want me to,” protested Wul. Queeheg was too gobsmacked to parry back.
Yes. The bitch says if I were a god I'd not have set off a trap. She says nice try, but since dealing with that bony-assed loser she's not buying anything from anybody. Thanks again, love of my life.
I turned to Wul with the least credible grin in the history of smiles. “Hey, I want to go visit Tefnuf. Why don't you come along. It'll be … swell.”
He looked at me not like I farted, but like I was a fart. “Why would I visit that horrible woman?”
“So … we … so we can visit her together.”
He scowled. “I fail to see any additional motivation on my part based on that prospect.”
“It'll be …”
“Swell. I know. You said that already.”
Because nothing in the life history of Jonathan Alan Ryan could possibly go the easy way, Queeheg's eyes br
ightened and he spoke proudly. “Hey, Tefnuf's my sister. Did you know that?”
Wul and I stared dumbfounded at one another.
She's pointing some device at me. I think she's about to vaporize me or something. If you got anything, no pressure, but now'd be a good time.
Tell her Queeheg says “hi.”
Wul squinted. “Tell who?”
“Yeah. Who'd I just greet?” said an angering barkeep.
“Tefnuf,” I said quickly.
She says what's that supposed to mean? She's still fiddling with the whatever.
Tell her your husband is with Queeheg as we speak and that I simaged you the greeting.
What the hell's …
Say it!
“Please have mercy, Ryanmax,” pleaded Wul. “What is it you want? You're frightening me. I don't want a poly to be angry with me.”
“He's a poly?” Queeheg said with wonder.
“Yes, but it's a secret,” responded Wul.
Queeheg's massive palms covered his chest. “A secret couldn't be safer than with me.”
Both Wul and I gave him the once-over for such a preposterous statement.
She seems to have stopped. But she said if that's true she simaged me a message for her brother, and I better have the right answer or she'll kill me twice. Jon, what the hell …
I silenced the rest of her message. In a panic I asked Queeheg, “Your sister just simaged my wife a message for you. If she doesn't have the right answer Tefnuf'll kill her twice. What's the answer?”
“Er, uh … No one's a simaged me, so how'm I suspozed to know?”
“My wife's … my wife's …”
“Yes, what about your wife, Ryanmax?” asked Wul.
“She's … her simager's broken. Yes. That's it. She broke her simager. Until it's fixed she's … simageless.” Man they were looking at me strangely.
“Simageless? In my epoch lifetime I've never heard that word spoken,” said a stunned Wul.
Queeheg rubbed his knuckles on the side of his head. “How'd a thin’ like that even bes possible? I mean … it ain't like it was a moving part.”
“Trauma,” I blurted out. “Yes, head trauma.”
Head trauma? asked a strained-sounding Sapale. Is that the answer? Head trauma?
Return of the Ancient Gods Page 16
