Fallen Gods: Lotus Blooming

by Lorie O'Clare

  Tension built in the room. The candles danced, their flames casting shadows up the walls and throughout the room. Thena didn’t dare take her gaze away from Randy, the thought that the evil inside him might leap out and into another one of the women bothering her. Somehow she would have to destroy it once it left Randy’s body.

  Thena licked her suddenly too dry lips, the room and its contents seeming to fade around her, as did all the women. All of her concentration was on Randy.

  The urge to cite some incantation wouldn’t leave her. If she could think of some fancy words, some prose that would rattle even the dead, terrify the shit out of the evil inside the man on the floor in front of her, it would at least give her something to do. She didn’t make a habit of fighting evil though, and for the life of her she couldn’t think of a damn word at the moment that even remotely sounded strong and unyielding. Not to mention her mouth was dryer than sandpaper.

  Always her magic had been conjured up as the result of actions. Now she would have to rely simply on her will, on thinking it would happen, and believing that it would.

  Randy’s eyes looked like they would bulge out of his head as he struggled to look up at her. She took another step forward until she was less than a foot away from his body writhing on the floor. His body contorted, making the chair scrape against the hard wood floor.

  His knee hit her foot and an icy cold rushed through her. She narrowed her gaze on him, remaining focused on his eyes—the windows to his soul. All of the evil inside him seemed to rush through her, like an electrical jolt, filling every inch of her body.

  She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like at least one of the women behind her screamed, although she didn’t know why. Something inside her seemed to explode, filling her until she was sure she couldn’t take anymore.

  The evil was there, yet there was something else. It was part of her, as if something inside her had awoken for the first time. Strength—power—a rush that made her feel high and dizzy all at the same time.

  “You are no match for me,” she heard herself say. “Evil, you are dead.”

  Randy stood up so quickly that for a moment she thought he was no longer bound to the chair. Whatever possessed him was so strong that it enabled him to jump up, still confined to the chair, and stand awkwardly on his feet. He reminded her of a turtle, trying to stand with its house on its back. His body stiffened, his eyes large and filled with fear.

  “You heard me,” she whispered, her voice sounding strange even to her. It was too deep, off-pitch. “The evil is dead within you, Randy. You will be fine now.”

  She no more got the words out of him than he collapsed, his body and chair making a loud thump against the floor. Something seemed to fly out of him, something dark and gruesome.

  It was the evil, and it wasn’t dead. It was trying to escape.

  Now what the fuck was she supposed to do!

  The twisted entity seemed to hover above all of them, its misshapen mouth opening in a sneering grin, if that is what it could be called. Thena saw no lips, just a hollow opening in a face so gaunt and distorted she could barely stand to look at it.

  “You are no match for me, witch,” it howled with a voice so shrill it gave her chills.

  “I am no witch,” she cried out, speaking before she could give her words thought.

  At the same time she jumped into the air, leaving the ground as she lunged at the gruesome creature. “I cast you to hell, you shall harm no more. I cast you to hell, you shall harm no more. I cast you to hell, you shall harm no more!”

  She spoke so quickly, the words flowing out of her with a mind of their own. The creature screamed, dissipating into thin air leaving nothing but dust to filter slowly to the ground.

  Thena didn’t fall slowly. More like she crashed, suddenly feeling so weak she couldn’t stop herself. The strength of Priapus seemed to wrap around her as she faded into blackness.

  “Did you hear what she said?” Maxine Poller was the first to break into the circle.

  “Her words didn’t mean a thing.” Margaret rushed into the circle also, hurrying to her daughter’s side.

  “She said she wasn’t a witch.” One of the ladies who’d been invited over to help build the strength of a coven stood planted to the ground.

  None of the other women dared enter the area marked off by the brooms. Most of them trembled in their shoes, although none of them would admit it.

  Priapus remained standing over Thena, knowing her newfound strength had drained her human body. She lay asleep at his feet, and it was all he could do to let her mother approach and kneel next to her daughter. He watched Triton walk through the wall, his attention riveted on the two women at his feet.

  None of the women saw the two gods. Not even Margaret had the strength to sense their presence. But Priapus couldn’t stay away from Thena any longer. He glared at the man who was her birth father, who’d given Thena half of who she was. No matter—he wasn’t going to budge from where he stood protecting her.

  “Not yet, my friend,” Priapus warned him.

  Triton looked up at him, his powers an equal match to Priapus’, although his hesitation giving Priapus the advantage.

  “You have no right to her.” Priapus would be damned if this man would console Thena without her knowing about it.

  Triton crossed his arms over his thick-barreled chest. “You heard her admit to her heritage. All the humans here heard her.”

  Margaret looked around at the group of ladies, oblivious to the arguing gods right next to her. “What happened in this room stays in this room, you all agreed to it.”

  Maxine worked to untie her son from the chair. He was limp and drenched in sweat, but didn’t fight her. The demon was gone.

  “She saved my boy,” Maxine said to Margaret. “I owe her our lives for that.”

  “Then you keep your mouth shut about what happened here,” Margaret hissed at her. “My daughter don’t need no trouble. And you know as well as me if word gets out, there will be no peace for her.”

  The two women exchanged silent stares, an unspoken communication as the two mothers hovered over their beloved children.

  “I want to know what she is, if she isn’t a witch.” A thin white woman pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her flat chest. “Margaret Cooke, I’ve known you all my life. You have never done anything like what that child of yours just did. How did she do that?”

  “Yes. How did she fly up in the air like that?” Several other of the women questioned what they had just seen.

  “And you saw her. Every bit of her glowed when she leapt into the air. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Priapus didn’t like this one bit. Thena’s mother was right. There would be no rest among these humans once word got out about what Thena had done. He’d seen this same scene escalate out of control too many times over the centuries.

  “Allow me,” Triton said before Priapus could act. He waved his hand through the air, and then pointed to the front door. “As you each walk out that door, you shall forget what happened here today.”

  He nodded to Priapus. “It’s the least I can offer my daughter.”

  With that he disappeared. And Priapus had to agree. After years of keeping his paternity a secret, it was the very least he could give her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  All order had left Thena’s life. And she hated clutter—hated untidy situations. She always had.

  She sat slumped on her couch, watching her mother and Gramma arrange the items on the coffee table.

  “What is that?” Thena asked, staring at the towel that covered some object in her grandmother’s arms.

  “I haven’t seen your looking-glass since I was a child.” Margaret slid a chair so that it faced Thena on the other side of the coffee table.

  “No reason to use it unless it’s important.” Gramma accepted the chair, placing the towel-covered object on to the table in front of her. “Thena, the glass ball will tell us what we need to know.”
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br />   Margaret hurried out of the room, clamoring in the kitchen briefly before returning. “I’ve started water to boil. Tea will be ready when you are done.”

  Her Gramma nodded, her expression solemn while she fixed her gaze on Thena.

  That glass ball probably wouldn’t tell her where Priapus was right now. He’d been at Maxine Poller’s house, she’d been sure of it. Somehow he managed to keep her from seeing him, or any of the women from seeing him. His smell had been wrapped around her, his fingers had brushed over her skin. But then when her mother had hurried her out of there, telling the women they had much work to do, she’d lost him. It drove her nuts that he appeared and then disappeared out of her life so easily. And it made her even crazier that where he might be right now distracted her thoughts so much.

  “It’s time.” Gramma stared at Thena, wrinkles accentuated around her mouth when she pursed her lips. “There is a lot of work to do here. We need to focus and create a plan.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.” Margaret pulled up another chair, so that the three of them formed a triangle around the object on the coffee table.

  Gramma pulled the towel away, and then unwrapped a convex-shaped glass from silky material that had been underneath the towel. She caressed the glass with her old hands, closing her eyes. Thena had never seen her grandmother do anything like this, and for a moment her actions reminded Thena of the fortune-tellers seen on TV.

  The rounded glass had its underside painted black, and rested in a triangular-shaped frame. Gramma moved it so that each corner of the frame pointed at the three women. She continued caressing the glass.

  “Prepare the water,” she said, and Margaret stood, hurrying out of the room.

  “What should I do?” Thena didn’t like feeling awkward during an incantation. Somehow the spells didn’t always work right unless everyone was comfortable with their task.

  Her mother and Gramma weren’t enlightening her, although it wasn’t the first time. Many of her spells had been learned simply by watching. Her Gramma didn’t answer. Thena pressed her lips together, knowing more questions would be futile.

  “Grab the pouch of dragon’s blood,” her mother told her, returning to the room holding a steaming bowl of water.

  The gentle smell of chamomile filled the air around her. “It doesn’t need too much,” Gramma said from her chair.

  Thena sifted her fingers through the small rocks, which were actually dried sap commonly called dragon’s blood. She dropped a palmful into the steaming water.

  “Let Thena bless the glass.” Gramma took her hands from the glass and leaned over for her bag. She pulled out a folded white cloth. Giving it a shake, Thena realized it was actually a small dress. “Your baptism gown,” Gramma explained. “I still remember the day we took you down to the pond so the Goddess could make you part of the community. Soak it in the hot water and then rub it over the glass. You will clear the way so that we can see what we need to see.”

  The water was almost too hot to put her hand into but Thena did as she was instructed, wringing the small dress out carefully before kneeling next to the glass and wiping it clean. She stared into the convex shape, the dark glass gleaming once it was wet. The evil that had filled the Poller home, and her triumphant realization that she was stronger, took over her thoughts while she held the small dress. Wiping it slowly around the glass, she wondered at the evil’s source.

  Tell me where the evil comes from. Her thoughts jumped to Priapus. He never seemed to be too far out of her mind since she’d met him. And then, unwillingly, she thought about Triton, the sea god. Wouldn’t both of them have the strength to clean these creatures out of Barren?

  “We call to the spirits to show us the truth,” Gramma began.

  Thena leaned back, sitting on the couch and watching her grandmother and mother.

  She repeated herself and then Margaret joined in.

  “We call to the spirits to show us the truth.”

  The two women continued to repeat themselves and Thena felt their strength grow around her. She joined in the chant.

  “We call to the spirits to show us the truth.”

  The three of them sat around the glass orb, their chant fading to whispers while Gramma caressed the smooth damp surface of the glass.

  “By the power of three, we were meant to be. Maiden, witch and old crow are we.” Gramma’s words would have been funny. The solemn expression on her face eliminated the humor though. And her old magic swarmed around her, warming the room. “Committed to help. Burdened with strength, we follow your guidance. So mote it be.”

  Gramma’s hands rose from the glass, her arms still extended as she stared into the glass orb. Her words faded and her body straightened. Thena watched her, fascinated. Gramma appeared to have gone into some kind of trancelike state, her expression changing as if she saw something in her mind.

  “You must share the truth,” Margaret encouraged. “Tell us what you see.”

  Thena looked at her when her mother reached under the coffee table, pulling out the old handheld tape recorder that Thena had used as a child to record her favorite songs from the radio. Her mother placed it on the coffee table, pushing two buttons to make it start recording. Thena looked from the recorder to her Gramma who had started mumbling gibberish.

  Gramma finally said something that grabbed Thena’s attention. “No one can tell what happened.”

  Thena opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but her mother raised her hand to silence her. Her gaze was intent on Gramma.

  “She was nothing but a tramp anyway. You know she enjoyed it. Things just got out of hand. No use anyone getting in trouble over a no-good like her anyway.” Gramma didn’t sound like herself, her expression changing as she spoke.

  Thena watched her, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. Her grandmother’s expression had hardened. She looked defiant. Her eyes opened suddenly looking straight at Thena. Her gaze was glassy though, as if she saw something else that wasn’t in the room.

  “She was a damn good fuck though.” Gramma started laughing.

  Margaret’s hand went to her mouth, but Thena kept her attention on Gramma. Never had she ever heard the old woman use profanity of any kind.

  “No matter that she’s dead. We just ain’t gonna let no one know the truth. The likes of her would end up with kid, and her kind ain’t meant to be mothering.”

  Gramma almost sounded like a man. Chills rushed over Thena. Her Gramma was repeating a conversation that had taken place at another time. Something terrible and disgusting had happened. More than anything she wanted to encourage her Gramma to share what she saw, who she was repeating. Her heart raced as she watched the sneer fade from her Gramma’s face. A tear started down her wrinkled cheek. Sadness filled the air around them. Thena watched in amazement.

  “It hurts. I hate you all. You’re gonna pay for this.” Gramma’s voice cracked, and her body sagged in the chair.

  She looked down at her lap, and for a moment, it looked like she’d left her trance. But then she murmured, her voice so quiet that Margaret lifted the recorder and held it close to Gramma, so it could pick up what she said.

  “I never said you all could do this. You raped me. I told you no. All of you will rot for this. I hate you. Everyone of you. And none of you care squat for me, you never did. It hurts. I can’t make it quit hurting. It hurts so damned bad.”

  Thena stared into the dark glass. It glowed on the coffee table, letting off an eerie light that captivated her attention. Images moved. She saw them and held her breath, desperately trying to bring things into focus. The fabric of the couch prickled against the back of her legs and she scooted forward, intent on what she saw.

  There were people, and they moved quickly, jumping in and out of focus as if they pounced on something and ran into each other. And then she heard the cries, painful, gut-wrenching cries. The more the images moved, the louder the wailing sounded.

  Thena wanted to cover her ears,
close her eyes, jump up and run from the grotesque sight that barely focused in front of her. She saw men, a handful of men, and a naked woman, crying, screaming, begging them to stop raping her. The more she screamed, the faster the men moved. Nothing would stop them. The urge to do something made her gut twist in hard knots. Jump into the scene, grab the images that blurred in front of her, anything to stop this horrendous crime from happening.

  But it had already happened. That much she seemed to know. Thena wasn’t seeing the future, but the past. A nasty crime had embedded their community with hatred and evil.

  Gramma started crying like a baby, rocking back and forth until she slumped forward. Margaret set down the recorder quickly and jumped up to grab her mother before she fell out of the chair.

  “Someone brought this evil to Barren,” she said to Thena.

  Thena stared wide-eyed at her mother who held her grandmother in her arms. Sadness and pain surrounded her with so much intensity that she couldn’t shake it. She had no idea who the woman was, or who the men were, but a terrible crime had been committed. What terrified her was that she somehow knew they had gotten away with it.

  Slowly she stood, realizing her Gramma was done, and very drained from the experience. “Let’s put her on the couch,” she suggested, coming around to help lift the old woman and make her comfortable.

  “I’ve only seen her enter a trance once before and it drained her then.” Margaret covered the glass with the silk cloth that had been around it originally and then hurried into the kitchen, returning with a damp washcloth. “I worried she was too old to do this again.”

  Gramma’s eyes fluttered open, the brightness in them having returned. “Who are you calling old, child?” she reprimanded, soothing the mood of the room instantly.

  Thena reached out to pause the recorder, letting her mother and Gramma scold each other while she went into the kitchen to make fresh tea.

  A terrible crime had taken place here. She didn’t know when, or by whom, but something told her that finding out was imperative if she were to set things right.