Of The Dark and The Deep

by Rink Wester

  Grynn looked over operational reports, signing off on team deployments and turned, walking toward her office hating the nature of secrets and the lunacy of truth. In the other room Vickie grabbed her cup of coffee and sipped, visions dream dancing in the back of her mind of crystal balls, oracles and eggs slowly putrefying in the sun.

  She smiled and her lunacy found its own secret home.

  33

  Sire, what’s our play here?

  As the earth shook and farm animals scattered, wave after wave of Myrmidon warriors crashed against Nänå’s mågÿckal onslaught as she moved like liquid malevolence through their numbers. The high-peaked barn roof of moss-grown shingles reared above like the backs of the 4 green, scaly dragons missiling towards her, their fire and elemental mågÿck pelting her with every wing beat. They circled her, as if in that primitive old world dance when people were cured of some bitter insanity by being forced to go three times deasil round a certain pool and then being plunged headlong into it. Their grace and dexterity had an artistry Nänå woud have appreciated on any other day. All children of mågÿck were symmetrically divine to her. Born from both sides of the beauteous. But today these polished windborne children of scale and storm had come to her buffet and would meet her larrup head on.

  -Gærüt! Örên! 快说吧！One of you speak to her! She will obey your wisdom! Say something you motherfuckers before she kills us all! If you die Örên…meh…but I want to live!

  -Vete pa’la chingada! Puta que pariu, vai tomar no cu!! Get the fuck outta here and go fuck yourself, Xiao Yu!

  He cursed in Spanish and Portuguese seamlessly, mixing anger and fear in a cocktail of kenned exasperation. He hated that Xiao Yu was right. They needed to talk their sister down from the ledge and sensing something unspoken but feral between she and Gærüt, once again the plate called him to duty.

  Örên parted the sea of ant lions before him with a whisper. His orange eyes glowed as they grew, anointing that glen of death in a wash of citrine vapor. He was the göd Òrúnmìlà in whose wisdom, divination and foresight the universe was cast. His sister would heed him in this and halt her rampage. Örên spread his arms wide as his human features melted away, sinew and bone disconnecting from mortal parts as he became the göd beast of cryptid legend, the Pabilsag. Like living smog, his form expanded into a great two legged demon bull, it’s body grown over and matted in platinum and green fur. He reared as he spoke telepathically to his sister, his legs changing colors like an organic prism grafting itself to his hide. His crimson scorpion tail swung behind him, cutting a swath through Myrmidons, Ájøgün and Bödhisåttvås scattering underfoot. Before them all he bellowed regally, Òrúnmìlà, the wild bull scorpion göd of The Dark and The Deep.

  With one subtle swipe of mågÿck Nänå hit him in the chest with a crippling blast of sorcery that knocked him into the dirt and cracked his right horn. She charged him as she lifted her foot and stomped him, gathering wind and mågÿck into something blunt and ballistic, until ichor and more syrupy things covered his beautiful hide.

  His eyes, like golden globes of pain and derision, looked up at his sister, the hurt there more primal than any pröløgüê. She looked down at her brother, mutilated in quiet triumph, his eyes remembering her remorse, and she relented.

  ENOUGH! I did not come here to fight you and your swarm brother! Cease this senselessness or continue your attack if you wish. I am content to rip through you all until nothing save clouds and anguish are left. Give me what I ask and put an end to this brother!

  Black buzzards and other carrion birds chirruped lazily overhead as Gærüt surveyed the menu of bodies strewn about. Tossed carelessly aside, arms, torsos and pieces no longer nameable, like toys broken, sullied and forgotten. He looked at his beloved brother Örên lying humiliated and mangled and decided to do what he thought time and circumstance would never again ask of him. His eyes met the menace of his sisters’, both reliving an eon shared by them and none other, and he too relented.

  -You win Ÿêmøjá. Come let us talk of things consigned to oblivion. And may new mortar to ancient cracks find us before death.

  -Yours or mine brother. Yours or mine.

  34

  The boy was drawn to this place and now stood ready. Both The One and The Other had been here. Recently. He sensed them. He felt remnants of their unity. The draw of Sihiosian “home” within them. The time was now to follow Alice and the walrus and the carpenter down the hole and let what oysters he finds sing their own lament. That story played In his head, informing him and what was to come next as he and Lewis Carroll, in a caterpillar high, walked onto that ranch and toward the heat and opine of destiny.

  *****************************************************

  The sun was shining on the sea,

  Shining with all his might:

  He did his very best to make

  The billows smooth and bright--

  And this was odd, because it was

  The middle of the night.

  The moon was shining sulkily,

  Because she thought the sun

  Had got no business to be there

  After the day was done--

  "It's very rude of him," she said,

  "To come and spoil the fun!"

  The sea was wet as wet could be,

  The sands were dry as dry.

  You could not see a cloud, because

  No cloud was in the sky:

  No birds were flying overhead--

  There were no birds to fly.

  The Walrus and the Carpenter

  Were walking close at hand;

  They wept like anything to see

  Such quantities of sand:

  "If this were only cleared away,"

  They said, "it would be grand!"

  "If seven maids with seven mops

  Swept it for half a year.

  Do you suppose," the Walrus said,

  "That they could get it clear?"

  "I doubt it," said the Carpenter,

  And shed a bitter tear.

  "O Oysters, come and walk with us!"

  The Walrus did beseech.

  "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,

  Along the briny beach:

  We cannot do with more than four,

  To give a hand to each."

  The eldest Oyster looked at him,

  But never a word he said:

  The eldest Oyster winked his eye,

  And shook his heavy head--

  Meaning to say he did not choose

  To leave the oyster-bed.

  But four young Oysters hurried up,

  All eager for the treat:

  Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,

  Their shoes were clean and neat--

  And this was odd, because, you know,

  They hadn't any feet.

  Four other Oysters followed them,

  And yet another four;

  And thick and fast they came at last,

  And more, and more, and more--

  All hopping through the frothy waves,

  And scrambling to the shore.

  The Walrus and the Carpenter

  Walked on a mile or so,

  And then they rested on a rock

  Conveniently low:

  And all the little Oysters stood

  And waited in a row.

  "The time has come," the Walrus said,

  "To talk of many things:

  Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

  Of cabbages--and kings--

  And why the sea is boiling hot--

  And whether pigs have wings."

  "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,

  "Before we have our chat;

  For some of us are out of breath,

  And all of us are fat!"

  "No hurry!" said the Carpenter.

  They thanked him much for that.

  "A Łöåf of bread," the Walrus said,

  "Is what we chiefly need:

  Pepper an
d vinegar besides

  Are very good indeed--

  Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,

  We can begin to feed."

  "But not on us!" the Oysters cried,

  Turning a little blue.

  "After such kindness, that would be

  A dismal thing to do!"

  "The night is fine," the Walrus said.

  "Do you admire the view?

  "It was so kind of you to come!

  And you are very nice!"

  The Carpenter said nothing but

  "Cut us another slice:

  I wish you were not quite so deaf--

  I've had to ask you twice!"

  "It seems a shame," the Walrus said,

  "To play them such a trick,

  After we've brought them out so far,

  And made them trot so quick!"

  The Carpenter said nothing but

  "The butter's spread too thick!"

  "I weep for you," the Walrus said:

  "I deeply sympathize."

  With sobs and tears he sorted out

  Those of the largest size,

  Holding his pocket-handkerchief

  Before his streaming eyes.

  "O Oysters," said the Carpenter,

  "You've had a pleasant run!

  Shall we be trotting home again?'

  But answer came there none--

  And this was scarcely odd, because

  They'd eaten every one.

  The Walrus and The Carpenter

  Lewis Carroll

  (from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

  35

  Truth is never a great place to start. It is however a remarkable hitching post.

  Gærüt tossed to the floor the last of the scrolls and crumbling papyri laying dusty and disremembered on his shelves, too long untouched and treated. They chronicled the lives of all the göds. Their lives written on stalk and reed and trapped in bark and ink for all time. This Christmas by The Force MDs blaring through surround sound speakers, his resolve faltered, fading away with the last of the late afternoon sunlight. Dusk came and still Nänå stood waiting. Watching him with flawless unwavering scorn.

  I’m trapped in here, he realized. I’ve trapped her in here with me.

  Through the large bay windows on the eastern and leeward walls in the great room of his 18,700 square foot condo he saw the downtown Atlanta cityscape spread out and come to life. A labyrinth of congested human living laid bare before him in concrete confession. Sirens blaring, their noise greeting stuffed city buses all cutting through the city like scalpels, it was more of a yawning approximation of life than actual living.

  The time for aphorisms was over, Gærüt reasoned. The soft chuk-chuk-chuk of CNN helicopter rotors chopping the sluice of air and cloud somewhere off in the distance, metaphors failed him. He stood laying the present over the past and he mourned. The sister he had known so long ago and the love, now bereft and insoluble, that he would never taste again. 5000 years ago she had betrayed him. His spell had stripped her of all memory but he stood, bathing in dying sunset, mind traveling the highway of thought and regret to that day when it had all changed.

  He had bellowed and routed, destroying the grotto where they slept when she had laid bare her plan to him. She was his nursling queen of the sky. The undying daughter of Sihiosia. He was the original Göd and she was his Word. She had since time immemorial soothed his harassed heart. Together they had fashioned the heavens and given birth to starlight and humankynd. But on that day so long buried in the past, the steppe, hills once green and ferocious, had burned dim in her twilight madness.

  She wanted to unmake it all. To overthrow life itself and sit on a throne of destruction and doom. She spoke of a curse and of the Mother and Father and a new oblivion. She spoke of using the Amulet of Sihiosia to erase their brothers and begin anew.

  You need only agree Ôlörûn and it shall be done! One life for a life!

  It was gruesome and unthinkable to Gærüt. One life. Her plan had frightened and angered him. A plan he had assumed he’d put to rest when he plunged that blade in the only being he’d ever loved.

  Merry Christmas Baby by Otis Redding played as he opened a window and inhaled, crisp new urban air filling his lungs. Nänå slammed the window shut, cracking the double pane, her mågÿck yanking Gærüt headlong back into the here and now.

  Speak brother. I tire of your hesitation. The hour is late and I grow weary. You will swim deep into the past and deliver to me what was taken. Stolen! Tell me now!

  Swim indeed, Gærüt thought angrily. Her demand forcing his inner gröötslâng to stir.

  It would be far too easy a swim. The better, he thought, to butterfly and backstroke in the pool of her blood.

  36

  The boy shut his eyes and let his mågÿck spill forth, spreading out of him, its portent invading the spaces of that ranch like cuttlefish tentacles, slow and methodical. He unfastened his power and pushed, nudging the seven enormous founts of energy he felt pushing back. Old rooted mågÿcks. They felt like The One but somehow thinner. Smaller. Wellsprings deep and fathomed but not as wide.

  Even small dogs bite though.

  Beneath millennia of neglect and well earned caution, he pushed harder, every step now becoming a Fabian policy of challenge and mischief. There were other beings here as well the boy sensed. Insignificant beings. Struck, smoldering and discarded match heads compared to the sweltry inferno of the other seven. Their searing, fever hot agency intrigued him. He poked them psychically, tapping on the walls of their febrile authority to take their measure and draw them out.

  Suddenly the air shimmied like cold oil hitting a hot wok and before him stood seven beings of immense rank and nobility. Their eminence was unmistakable, oozing like steam around their edges, coloring outside the lines of decorum and stating far and wide that they were the lusus naturae, the monster under every bed. Zero shits given. Zero excuses brooked. His challenge now met, the boy bowed and smiled casting a single directed mind-message to them all at once,

  Where are The One and The Other? Bring them forth and together kneel before me!

  Sphelix Thorne, Bæbäl Richmand, Hlünin Såtûri, Aren White, Xiao Yu Shizi, Åpsät Õsòòsi and Örên Marcuse, hobbled but still proud and Hale, all stood before the boy shaking their heads in consternation.

  Who is this little barefoot Huck Finn motherfucker?, Xiao Yu laughed, his brothers ignoring him out of confusion and premonition more than exasperation, Eh, little farm boy, are you lost?

  Lost? No. I am now found, the little boy responded, seconds before opening his mouth and releasing a göd bolt so powerful it made every electron in Xiao Yu’s body shake and explode, bypassing the resistance of bone and göd flesh, his epidermis burning and peeling away in great continental shards of soot and dried bark. As his dermis shrank and split open, shrieks of pain stripping his throat raw, he landed 50 feet away like a naked fallen star, his clothes burned away, his body sizzling and cooked.

  The boy bowed and smiled again as the six beings left standing before him all changed into their warrior beast forms. Physical shrouds now cast aside, before him rose The AndroSphinx, the Leviathan, The Black Sabre toothed Panther of Ëgbë, the Pabilsag, his horn now broken off and crackling with unresolved mågÿck, the Onikuma demon bear, the gold and copper horned Peryton, its antlers weaving hex mågÿck out of the very mist itself, and bringing up the rear, hide still smoking and twitching, Xiao Yu had transformed into the Phoenix Dragon, his azure and vermillion scaled and feathered body five times larger than his Bödhisåttvå grandchildren. He roared and shot a blast of acid blue and white göd fire at the boy who stood stock still making no effort whatsoever to bob or weave. Absorbing that cobalt blast head on, tempering his own moment of power and release, he too shifted. Out of that beryl light explosion of sapphire heat and antagonism stepped a creature that made them all take a collective step back.

  It was impossible. Their minds reeled at
the beast standing before them. Senses and faith confused and punished, their göd minds simply could not reason past the broken logic of sight and synapse. The one creature whose beast form they thought it impossible to see emerge from any but the one göd and göddess they all knew in terrible intimacy.

  Standing there, no longer answerable to his human boy form, his six tusks striking tree limbs overhead, gold and diamond claws bleeding Sihiosian menace to meet their threat, was a fully formed juvenile Gröötslâng.

  A third Gröötslâng.

  Suffer great monsters to come unto me and I will give you rest. Eternal rest. To answer your question great dragon, my name is Victor. Victor Basse. I am the Mantis King. Nice to meet you all.

  The day turned lazily on its axis as fear filled the Øgdöåd and a young gröötslâng took his first step forward.

  37

  He killed our brother! We will have our vengeance weighed!

  The remaining Bödhisåttvås allowed their imaginations to grow and solidify. Grim hallucinations replacing the rancor, they, all four of them, wailed in savage indignation.

  Seishi, our brother, is dead!, Kuan Yin screamed. Born a full three minutes before her brother, she had always tried to protect him. From the truths that could and would eat him in the shadows if she let them. But the Cryptid Council was supreme. Truth. Its ruler penultimate. More truth. Kuan Yin, however, kept her own council and believed in other truths older than history and spoken privately in those same dangerous shadows. She had always reasoned that only a fool did not believe all truths debatable. She had always known true virtue resides not in the göds themselves but in the apopemptic. The valedictory nature of animal survival. She who laughs last and all that jazz.