Torment of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  They chuckled lightly.

  “How are you doing?”

  “About as poorly as you might suspect.”

  “If we can help you must say the words.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “And Toño?”

  “Good as always. Daleria too. She's a trooper.”

  “That's good to hear. I'd like to meet her … someday.”

  “I'm sure she'll be happy to oblige.”

  “Thank you for coming all this way to let us know.”

  “No problem,” she responded. “But business also brought me.”

  “Anything we can do to help is already done.”

  “While we were gone the joint council found a live ancient god here in our universe.”

  “I understand there are many.”

  “Not like this one. She was bound and gagged with some form of energy.”

  “And still alive?” She furrowed her scaly brow. “That's odd.”

  “Ya think? As soon as I heard unknown energy, I thought about you.”

  “I'll take that as a compliment.”

  “It wasn't. Just a fact. Can you come take a look? Maybe you'll know what the force is. That will help us figure out who might have done it.”

  “So you can enlist their help defeating the incursion of the ancient gods?”

  She shrugged. “Something along those lines.”

  “And you fancy it never occurred to him or her to volunteer their services? They didn't realize how useful they might be?”

  “I know. Been there, done that. Some do-gooders want to remain anonymous. I get that. But if there's a way to fight them, this mysterious SOB's going to help us.”

  “Or?”

  “Or … or we're screwed.”

  “In that case we'll be glad to help. May we go now?”

  “Sure. Ah, no kids to pawn off on a sitter?”

  “We stopped breeding a while ago. We're old now. Old like you.”

  “Yeah, but at least you can look forward to dying, unlike me.”

  “If you say so. I'll get my bag.”

  “You carry a purse?”

  “No, silly alien. My potions and runes. A proper witch never leaves home without them.”

  “If you say so. I'll be out front.”

  The trip to where Walpracta lay defenseless was instant. Mirraya-Slapgren walked around the motionless figure several times before speaking. “I'll be damned,” was her first remark.

  “I suppose there's a reason you say that,” observed Toño, who was already on site.

  “Yes. I cannot believe what I'm seeing.”

  “And what are you seeing?” pressed Sapale.

  “This creature, this Walpracta, is bound with the unbreakable truth.”

  “Come again,” Sapale shot back.

  “These ribbons of force,” she gestured at them, “are the unbreakable truth.”

  “What does that even mean?” whined Sapale.

  “I don't want to get too metaphysical on you, but there are truths that are so pure they cannot be altered. They are unbreakable.”

  “Thank you,” responded Toño. “That's nice to know. But we are looking not at conceptual opinions but tangible energy bands.”

  “Yes,” agreed Mirraya. “I'm glad you understand.”

  “No, we don't. Toño was being polite. I don't suffer from the same compulsion. What the hell is that physically?” Sapale almost touched one band.

  “Oh, you can't hurt it with contact. It won't harm you either. The power you see manifest is what it is. It is the living presence of unbreakable energy, let's call it, not truth.”

  “All right, fine,” replied Toño. “You are familiar with the substance. Can you speculate who created it?”

  “Yes. I could have. Any competent brindas could. But none of us did.”

  “Okay, we're getting somewhere,” responded Sapale. “How can you be so certain?”

  “For one thing they'd have told me they did. Also I'd have sensed it.”

  “But you didn't sense this?” asked Toño, pointing to the band.

  “No. Odd.”

  “So we're down to this,” summarized Sapale. “Who could do this without you knowing?”

  “The list consists of one name.”

  “I'm dying of suspense here, honey,” groaned Sapale.

  “Evil Jon. I mean the once evil Jon Ryan.”

  “Did not see that one coming,” mumbled Sapale.

  “Nor I,” agreed Toño.

  “Think about it. He lived with my master for a very long time. We know she taught him magic. Since he's not Deft, I don't have a connection with him. There is but one logical choice.”

  “But why would EJ bind this monster and leave it? I sure as hell'd have dismembered it and burned the component parts if I could,” responded Sapale.

  “As punishment,” replied Mirraya. “Think about it. Unless a brindas came along and released the bonds, Walpracta would suffer here for all eternity. She'd be alone and aware of her defeat forever. She, the god of consumption, would develop a powerful hunger she could never satisfy. No, EJ meant to punish her in a unique and effective manner.”

  “So where is he?” asked Sapale. “We need him.”

  “He's where he wants to be,” Mirraya replied obtusely.

  “Which is?” pressed Sapale.

  “Only he knows. When he's ready to join you, he will. If he wishes to join you, that is.”

  “Why wouldn't he? We need him,” fired back Sapale.

  “I'm certain he knows that. His motivations are his own. I cannot speak to them.”

  “Well that's just taupod up,” Sapale responded under her breath.

  “There's no need for vulgarity, my friend,” chided Toño.

  “Yes there is,” responded Sapale. “We're talking EJ here. No one knows him better or wants to see him less than I do. But now I gotta go find the useless taupod.”

  “You'll be going alone unless you clean up the language,” replied Mirraya. “I don't need to hear that.”

  “You're coming along on the hunt?” Sapale said, perking up.

  “We're part of Team Ryan. Always count us in,” she responded proudly. “Even with Uncle gone, he still binds us together.”

  “Amen to that,” exclaimed Toño. “Amen to that.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Zisoritom slipped one of his heads into Vorc's office. This latest in the series of suboptimal office assistants the center seat suffered under had four heads, but risked only one for the task at hand. “Someone to see you, boss. Shall I show them in?”

  Vorc fumbled with Fire of Justice in one hand. He had become used to having it in his immediate possession of late. It afforded him some tiny sense of control. His other hand rubbed the side of his pounding head.

  “I've told you never to call me boss. I hate the term. It affixes meaning I do not welcome, plus I hate the word. Never call me that again.”

  “I'll try my best. That's really all I can do. My mama raised me to know who the boss was. That's you. No way around it, b … buddy.”

  “As to a visitor, whether they may enter depends very much on who they are.”

  “Ah,” Zisoritom said, reflecting, “should I go back and ask their name? Would that help?”

  Vorc reluctantly set his weapon down so both hands could massage his head. As he set it down he briefly flirted with the thought of turning it on himself, such was the large black cloud he found himself under.

  “Gosh that would be swell,” Vorc responded sarcastically. “Maybe simage me a visual.”

  “Really, both? Okay, b … b … you got it.”

  “Stop,” commanded Vorc. “I just need a name.”

  “Are you sure. You just …”

  “Name.” Vorc shouted, but immediately regretted it as his head advanced from pounding to pulsating.

  “No problem,” was Zisoritom's cheery response. Needless to say, the new assistant was a glass-half-full kind of guy. That really annoyed Vorc,
as it did most other Cleinoids. They were a sullen group as a whole.

  A few seconds later Zisoritom slipped a different head through the crack in the door. “He says his name is Ganwar. Shall I show him …”

  “Ganwar? I know no Ganwar. Are you certain that's the name he gave you?”

  The head speaking popped out and another replaced it. “Fairly certain, boss.”

  Vorc spoke loudly and enunciated each word emphatically. “I-told-you-never-to-call-me-boss-again.”

  A hand appeared below the head. It thumbed toward the outer office. “No ya didn't, boss. You told the blond, not me.”

  “I told you generically, all of you.”

  “No, no ya didn't. Ya told the blonde.”

  “Could you not hear my instructions? Were you not close enough?”

  “Of course I could. All four of us did. What, ya think some of us're deaf?” He chuckled unwisely at his mirth.

  “But still you defy me?”

  “No, no way. You told blondie not to call you boss. I would too. He's annoying as shit. But me, I'm my own person. You and I, we share a special bond, right, compadre?”

  The head—a redhead to be specific—barely withdrew in time to avoid the decorative vase Vorc hurled at it. The ceramic shattered and a large shard cut the hand that clumsily did not pull out. All four heads were heard to yelp in pain. Funny thing, the having of four heads.

  Another head, bald, peered in cautiously. “Do you want me to show Ganwar in?”

  “No. I do not know any Ganwar. Take a message.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  The head disappeared quickly.

  Five seconds later the message was delivered. Zisoritom, all four heads and six arms flailing, slammed through the wall to the left of the closed door. The wall, to be fully illustrative, was composed of solid metal. It was amazing, in fact, that Zisoritom could both penetrate it and remain intact. What he did not remain, however, was alive. No, he was dead before he came to rest at the foot of the desk.

  Gáwar lumbered into the room via the door, which he smashed flat with his forehead. “Really, Vorc, where do you get these helpers? The next one's worse than the last. Ganwar? How do I say Gáwar and eight independent ears hear Ganwar? It's unbelievable.” He stopped in front of Vorc's desk with one foot crushing down on the recently departed's head.

  “I'm in the unusual position of thanking you, Gáwar. That assistant needed to die.”

  “Great minds think alike.” He harrumphed wickedly. “Yours and mine do too.” He grumbled a wheezy laugh.

  “To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit, Gáwar?”

  “Sticks and stones, Vorc the Dork. Sticks and stones.”

  “Where did you hear that abomination of a nickname? I hate it.”

  “Wul. I overheard you two not communicating the other day. Vorc the Dork. That's a good one.”

  “I hate it.”

  “I know, you said that. Maybe I should call you Vorc the Boss Dork. I heard you hate that moniker too.”

  Vorc slipped lower in his chair by way of resignation. The idea of nuking himself with his staff of office flitted though his awareness again, lingering just a bit longer than it had before. With his hands covering his face he spoke in a low, defeated tone. “Why are you here?”

  “I need to firm up our arrangement.”

  Vorc peeped out with one eye. “Firm up? What is unfirm? You failed to kill the entire band of saboteurs. I granted you the souls of several thousand unsuspecting supporters to do the job. You failed. No bodies, no souls. End of discussion.”

  The walls began vibrating as Gáwar's rage boiled over. “You used the word fail twice while referencing me. I never fail. I have not failed. I never will fail. Say it again and I'll …”

  “What? Shut up? Unlikely. Take my soul? Duh, that's a done deal. Get mad and destroy something? Yeah, to the man who traded loyal followers’ souls to satisfy a personal vendetta, that's got to work—not.”

  Vorc braced for unpleasantness. He welcomed it, in fact.

  “Now let's not let angry words dictate an unfortunate turn in our relationship. I think it best if cooler heads prevailed.” Yeah, that was Gáwar speaking.

  “Huh? Is this a new form of torture? Agreeing? Making nice?”

  “No, and I'm stunned you would suggest it was. We are a team, you and I. We need to work together to accomplish our common goals.”

  “Excuse me. I'm going to the bathroom to rinse out my ears. I'm hearing surreal words coming from your … mouth or whatever.”

  Gáwar chuckled collegially. “Nice one, friend.”

  “Okay, now I am scared. You calling me friend? Surely the world's about to end.”

  “No, center seat. But it is a perfect segue into the topic of our little get-together.”

  “Correction to my earlier remark. I need to rinse out my brain. What I'm hearing is less than impossible.”

  “Nonsense, balderdash, and piffle. I'm serious. My point is this. While I have secured payment for services rendered,” Gáwar raised a claw to emphasize the word, “I am passionately interested in locking down the remainder of the souls involved in our gentlemen's agreement.”

  “Gentlemen's agreement? You mean your extortion? Your knowingly duping me into a bargain you knew full well I wasn't aware of? You call that … oooh.” He slumped back to hands covering face. “Go on.”

  “Here's what I'm noodling through. If I complete the murders of the three suspects at large, I would then be entitled to the souls we agreed upon. N'est-ce pas?”

  Vorc depressed the switch on his office intercom. “Zisoritom. Bring alcohol. Lots of alcohol. I have insufficient alcohol in this room.”

  Gáwar cleared his capacious throat. “Isn't this Zisoritom?” He toed the corpse he had been standing on.

  Vorc craned over the edge of his desk to be certain. “Oh bother. It is. I'll be right back.” He vaulted from his chair and headed toward the door.

  “Is there …” Gáwar began to say, but Vorc was gone.

  The center seat returned promptly carrying a moderately large cask of nectar of the gods. He set it on his desk, placed his mouth under the spigot, and let fly a copious stream of liquid courage. He wiped his dripping face with a sleeve and returned his attention to Gáwar. “You were saying?”

  “If I was allowed to complete my assassinations, I would win the modest price you so wisely granted me.”

  “Uh, okay. Go ahead and slay the vermin.” Vorc made a go-away motion toward Gáwar with the back of his hand.

  “Would that it were that easy.”

  “What?”

  “The trio of desperados have left our universe. I do not, um, currently have access to them.”

  “Th … then why are we having this little get-together?”

  “I was hoping you might be in a position to help me?”

  “Me help you? Me help you what? Gain access to the three fugitive terrorists?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  Without comment Vorc stood, silently left the room, then just as silently returned to his seat. “There. Now what did you want to ask me?”

  “I just did.”

  “No, n … no. I was out of the room just now. I'm a reasonable man, so ask me almost-anything-that-is-in-my-power-are-you-insane?”

  “In what frame of reference?”

  “Any frame of freaking reference. If you want to kill them so you can get paid, then kill them. How in your twisted, delusional, warped mind do you hallucinate that I might be able to help the all-powerful Gáwar?”

  “Do you need a personal time-out break?”

  “No I do not need a personal time-out. I need comprehension. What do you fancy I can do to help you?”

  “Thanks for your concern and for asking. I really appreciate your team spirit.” If Gáwar could have, he'd have smiled to generate the impression of camaraderie. “How do you envision you might help me?”

  “I do not. That's how. May I return to my question as
to your sanity or lack of therein?”

  “I'd prefer it if you didn't, but I'm here to serve you, so I'll leave that decision to you.”

  “Gáwar, god of demons, what are you beating around the bush to ask?”

  “I was curious, as you brought the subject up, as to the health and prospects of his return to utility of Dominion Splitter.”

  “You are asking me?” wheezed Vorc. “You are the expert regarding the stupid vortex.”

  “Some have kindly said.”

  “What do you think DS's chances of recovery are?”

  “Oh, poor, to say the least. He's dead after all.”

  Vorc started some form of voluntary seizure/conniption fit. Whatever he did was not pretty. “If it's dead, why are you asking me what its chances of providing you useful transportation options might be?”

  “I was hoping I might be, you know, wrong. Perhaps a man of authority with his finger on the pulse of society might have differing information than that available to me, a humble citizen.”

  “I … I d-d … do no … not.” Vorc gasped a few times. “Are we done here?”

  Gáwar sat politely and immovably.

  “What's it going to take?” screamed Vorc.

  “Why thank you, Center Seat Vorc, for taking the time to extend to me another allotment of your oh so valuable time. I am reassured that your inherent wisdom has gleaned that I have one … one tiny lingering question.”

  Vorc was trying to pick up his staff of office, either to use on Gáwar or himself or both. Either way he had lost the motor coordination possible to lift the weapon. So, instead, he listened to Gáwar's tiny question.

  “I was wondering. The trio of evildoers left our universe without the aid of Dominion Splitter. So, an alternative method of egress is clearly possible. Would you, honored soul Vorc, know of or even better have access to a different method of transferring individuals from our universe to others?”

  Vorc's thoughts suddenly became clear. Brilliant-crystal clear. “Why yes, I just might. With your permission?”

  “Oh, certainly. You have my permission if it can help us attain our common business goals.”

  Almost giddy, Vorc lifted Fire of Justice. “Now if you'll remain perfectly still, I will use this to transport you possibly to another universe.”

  “That's an energy weapon,” Gáwar stated flatly. “How might it accomplish directed transport?” His tone was growing angry and dubious.