by Edward Teach
She walked alone then, and she walked alone now, marveling at how little had changed since those old bad days. As her awareness came into focus she found herself dressed in simple clothes, covered by a coarse robe and with sandals on her feet. From her waist hung a simple thong belt, and fastened to it was a large sheathed knife. She looked ahead and saw the mesa looming before her, and walked.
When she reached the top of the mesa the great bonfire had become only smoldering ashes. Inside the lodge she would find the first piece of her quest, this much she knew, and she pushed aside the door. Inside the kachina man hovered above the stool, blood seeping from the wounds in his head. Skulls from beasts adorned the walls, and she knew that she stood before the Dying God. His eyes opened and he looked down upon her, the slightest smile touching the edges of his mouth.
She heard him speak her name, though the voice seemed only to echo in her mind, as his face remained still. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, as she rolled the name back and forth in her mind, slowly recognizing it as her own, Mary. The memories came flooding into her, the weight of them driving her to the floor as she wept. A still small voice spoke in the lodge, speaking names and whispering of deeds to be done, and she got to her feet. She stood before the kachina man, her posture full of defiance even as her eyes glittered with reverence.
The kachina man lifted his arms and pulled himself off of the arrows, allowing his feet to land firmly upon the stool. He then calmly sat down upon the stool, crossing his legs in front of him as he closed his eyes. The man breathed in and out deeply several times, and then opened his eyes. When he did the Mary stepped forward and unsheathed her knife. She placed the tip of the obsidian blade upon the man’s breast, the keen edge of the knife drawing a small amount of blood as the flesh beneath parted easily. Mary and the kachina man remained like this for a moment, and then Mary pushed the blade deep into his chest.
The man did not move despite the grievous wound, and Mary worked the knife through his flesh towards his heart. Once she had opened a large enough wound she removed the knife and reached in with her other hand to grasp the man’s bloody heart. As she pulled the organ free the life finally left the man’s frame, and his painted body fell backwards off of the stool. Mary stood for a moment, looking down on the kachina man’s prone corpse, and then turned to walk outside.
Mary emerged from the lodge and squinted at the high sun. She walked towards the edge of the mesa, following the motorcycle tracks to a small trailhead. She felt the heart in her hand as it continued beating, and closed her eyes while bowing her head as she gathered her strength. She whipped her head up and stared directly into the sun while she screamed and thrust the heart aloft. The heart pulsed wildly and burst into flames, and yet she held on despite the blinding pain. She continued to scream, her bloodstained face dripping red as fresh tears welled up from her eyes.
Just when she though she could bear no more she cried out a name and somewhere above a hawk screamed in answer. Out of the blinding glare of the sun a hawk streaked down towards Mary. She stood her ground, the heart burning down to simple ashes in her hand. The hawk swooped across her open hand, throwing the ashes into a swirling cloud as it arced over her. The hawk spread its wings wide and turned upwards, silhouetted for the briefest of moments in the glare of the sun, then tucked its wings and dove down into the canyon below.
Mary lowered her burned hand and cradled it in her robe as she watched the hawk fade into the long shadows of the distant canyon. He was out there somewhere, lost in the blue world, and Horus had gone to find him. Her part was played out until the Son of Man faced the Grasping Darkness. Until then she had to be patient, a feat made all the more difficult by the knowledge of what awaited them at the end of all things. She prayed that she had the strength, and began walking once more.
VALLEY OF THE GODS
Something in his awareness began to stir, and he slowly understood that he existed, and remembered the meaning of life and death. Whether he was alive or dead he could not tell, though in this place neither seemed to matter. All was spirit and all that was crackled with lightning. The blue world, he thought to himself, then began to wonder who or what he might be. Whatever the answers to his questions might be, he knew that he did not belong here, wondrous though it was. His purpose laid beyond his perception, faraway in a world of blood and flowers, a world of fire. A world of the Sun.
In that very instant his blue reality was shattered as talons sunk into his chest, and his eyes opened. Memories flooded his spirit, and he knew he was a man, or at least some sort of man. A hawk gripped him in its talons, its wingspan making it larger than himself, and the fact that they were underwater seemed not to impede its flight. We must leave this blue world, the hawk screeched into his spirit as the black trails of ash washed away from its feathers, we are children of the Sun, and to its world we must return.
As the hawk flapped its wings in the lightning water the man heard it speak his name. His name was Jesus, and the hawk was Horus, and together they must rise. Below them in the blue darkness giants stirred, and Jesus could see their glowing eyes gazing upwards. Horus worked his wings powerfully, pulling them towards a tiny speck of light that shone in the distance above them. Horus opened his beak and screeched in high notes that were garbled by the swirling waters as he strained to outrun the giants that were rising towards them.
Jesus turned his eyes from the speck of light and looked at the ragged wounds the talons were leaving in his chest, then back up at the hawk as it struggled to pull him. He looked down and saw that the giants were rising much more swiftly than he and Horus, and then it struck him. Spirit. Lightning. The blue world. He turned his gaze to Horus and spoke with his spirit, his words flowing through the lightning waters into the soul of the mighty beast. I must let go my friend, he spoke, flesh has no meaning here, only spirit. Horus screamed in answer and kept beating his wings.
Jesus closed his eyes and let the pain of the talons fade from his mind, all his thought bent towards rising to meet the sun. As his awareness streaked upwards his body went slack, his arms falling back and his head lolling while Horus bore his weight with much greater ease. In moments Horus reached the source of the light and broke through into the world of the Sun.
Jesus suddenly felt the weight of water upon him, and the stinging of the wound in his chest was painful and immediate. He opened his eyes to find himself submerged in a shallow pool, clothed in a simple robe. He rose and broke the surface of the pool, gasping for air as he came up. Horus had shrunk significantly in size and was perched on the handlebars of a motorcycle parked nearby.
In a flash the memories of his undead rampage across the world flooded his mind, and he screamed, falling back into the pool. Every terrible moment was played out before him, and he wept. He was pulled from his dark reverie by the moaning of several zombies that still lingered in the canyon near the pool. He stood up and looked down upon the bodies of Cisco and Romeo, sucking in his breath as he looked upon the wounds of the two men he had slain. His hand went to his throat and he felt the scar tissue there, dimly recalling the bite of Romeo’s machete as it sank into his flesh.
Jesus looked down into the pool and saw the mechanic’s logbook, and fished it from the waters. Two of the zombies had closed distance with the pool and were gnashing their teeth at Jesus. He leapt from the pool and snatched up the tire iron that lay discarded nearby. He turned just in time to slam the lugged end of the iron into the temple of the first zombie, and it collapsed in a heap. Jesus strode forward and buried the pointed end of the iron into the eye socket of the second zombie, and shuddered for a moment as he remembered what that particular wound felt like.
There is little time Son of Man, spoke the hawk in even tones within the messiah’s mind, the spirits of the blue world rise to feed. Jesus looked at the pool and could see the clear waters crackling with energy, and knew that the giants he’d seen were catching up to them. He silently thanked the two dead prophets for binding his neck
wound and sending him to the blue world to be healed. He thanked them again for their clothes and weapons. They had triumphed against the Riders, the psychopaths, and the zombies, all to bring him up from the darkness of undeath.
Jesus could not fathom what plans had been set in motion by the divine power, the full nature of them he could only guess. Long ago he had accepted that the divine power spoke to him in a still small voice, and he did his best to live by what it told him. He was a prophet, like the men and women before him who had spoken the Word, and like many of them he had died for the wisdom he espoused. He had lost everything, and gladly so to serve the divine power, even his greatest love. Mary, her name felt good on his lips, so long had it been since he’d been able to speak. He gathered that he’d been returned to unlife as a zombie to deliver apocalypse upon the world, that much seemed evident, though his continued part to play he could not see clearly. For him that was troubling, and the voice was silent within him.
By the time he had dressed and armed himself, several more of the zombies had drawn close. He could see the bow and flaming arrows resting on the motorcycle, and made a dash to get at them. His path was blocked by one of the zombies, and by the time he was able to bring his tire iron down to crush its skull it had sunk its teeth into his forearm. He snatched up the bow and sent a flight of arrows into the three other zombies who had approached, and each of them fell to the ground as they burned.
Jesus marveled aloud that the wound on his arm did not cause him pain, though the talon punctures in his chest did. Horus said only that the wounds in his chest were the mark of the Sun, his rite of passage to return to this world. As for the rest, the hawk spoke into his mind at it squawked, you are still yet fully returned to life, and an undead messiah you yet remain. Perhaps the book will yield the answers you seek, said Horus, the prophets died to bring it to you and it holds the power of their sacrifice.
In moments the water of the pool crackled with blue lightning, and a shape was beginning to emerge from within. Jesus looked once more at the two Calaveras, then cranked the motorcycle’s engine and kicked it to life. The giant burst forth from the pool, and for the first time Jesus could see what it actually was. The giant was a massively sized kachina, and as it stood it reached nearly fifty feet tall. Its eye burned with a blue light as lighting arched all around it, as it the being generated a static electricity field.
Horus took flight from the handlebars and flew into the canyon, quickly followed by Jesus astride Death’s motorcycle. The kachina giant emitted an otherworldly roar as it stepped from the pool in pursuit. Jesus risked a glance backwards and saw that a second kachina giant had joined the first, and a third was in the process of pushing itself upwards from the pool.
The hawk that was Horus flew much faster than Jesus thought possible, and even with his motorcycle he was hard pressed to keep up. He had to jink sideways to avoid running over a zombie that had attempted to grab him as he sped past, and Jesus drew the 9mm pistol that he’d taken from Cisco. He had never fired a gun before, though somehow it came naturally to him, and every time he squeezed the trigger a zombie went down with a bullet through its skull. Horus screamed a warning and Jesus laid the bike on it side just in time to avoid being smashed by the massive arm of a kachina giant that seemed to have passed right through the stone wall of the canyon.
They are not bound to flesh the way you are Son of Man, cried Horus as he flew ahead of the speeding motorcycle, the blue world has awakened and fallen gods walk the earth once more. Jesus stood the bike up as quickly as he could and hit the gas pedal a sliver of a moment before the kachina giant slammed a wooden club into the ground where he’d just been standing. As Jesus sped down the canyon he could see several other kachina giants emerging from stones and small pools. The ancient power within the land was rising.
Jesus saw a kachina giant sweep a massive claw through a small cluster of zombies, the claw passing through their bodies as if it was immaterial. Jesus saw more lighting flash as a static discharge arched upwards from each zombie and connect with the kachina giant. As he threaded his way through the valley he saw that with each lightning exchange between kachina giant and zombie victim the giants seemed to grow more vibrant, glowing blue and crackling with power.
His attention snapped into focus as a kachina giant lunged at him through a stone outcropping. Horus screeched and flew straight into the beast’s path, buying Jesus a brief moment to react. The giant was covered in fringed leather and had a blue and red painted beast face, replete with burning eyes and a wickedly toothed maw from which it bellowed loudly. He holstered the pistol and swerved to avoid its snapping jaws as it bent to devour him. Horus was caught in its jaws and a static discharge shook the walls of the canyon as the body of the hawk fell lifeless to the ground.
Jesus pulled the motorcycle around in a wide turn and brought it to a halt. He drew forth the bow and knocked a flaming arrow. Horus had nearly died to pull him from the blue world, the hawk at least seeming to have some clue as to the messiah’s purpose, only to die saving him a second time. First the prophets, and now the hawk, it seemed to Jesus that his path was laid out in blood, and it angered him that he could not see a clear purpose. So much death and suffering, and now these soul-eating giants, this death, at least, was one he could avenge. The kachina giant crouched and roared as it pounded across the canyon floor towards him. Jesus steadied his breath and aimed the weapon, then let the arrow fly.
The flaming arrow struck the giant high in the shoulder and it screamed as brilliant blue light shone from the wound. Jesus set his jaw and drew another arrow from the quiver, knocking it and firing in rapid succession. The second arrow found its mark in the giant’s chest, and it staggered in apparent pain. Zombies converged on his position, as did other kachina giants, though the messiah remained intent upon his target. He drew and fired another arrow that pierced the giant’s thigh as it lurched towards him. It drew near and opened its vast maw as it leaned down to consume him. Jesus stood his ground and fired an arrow directly into the beast’s mouth. There was an inhuman howl and the kachina giant exploded in light, leaving Jesus unscathed.
He turned quickly and felled two zombies and then slung the bow. He twisted the handlebars and hit the gas as his back tire kicked up a cloud of dust while propelling him further down the canyon. He’d felt the touch of rage when facing the giant, and he’d fought for revenge as much as he’d fought for survival. His mind buzzed with questions, and still no voice answered him. North then, he thought to himself, what more could he do? Like the father of his flesh he would ride north, and follow the star.
He rode for hours before stopping, and made camp at the top of a small rock outcropping. With little else to occupy him he began reading the logbook that Cisco had left him. They were his own words, spoken back to him as the Gospel of Thomas, though perhaps also the Gospel of Cisco. In those few pages he found much that troubled him, and yet, he felt a certain sort of peace wash over him. There was hope in those pages, even as there was destruction and warning. His prophets had served him well to bring him this, for it rekindled a fire that had long fallen from flame to ember.
The crack of lighting drew his attention away from the book, and he realized that dusk was looming, and the shadows had grown long. He looked out across the landscape and noticed that several small lighting storms seemed to have cropped up across the open desert. Then, as he looked closer, he could make out the shapes of the kachina giants striding towards him. Foolish, he thought to himself, to think that they would not pursue him. He was in their world, and even as it had healed him it had left a piece of itself in him, a beacon perhaps that the giants could follow. He revved the engines and hit the road.
THE RAINBOW WARRIORS
The wolf surged within her, the spirit of Fenris barely contained by her frail human form. It roared in its frustration, like a butterfly struggling to emerge from its cocoon. She could feel the electricity of its power coursing through her, threatening to tear her apart the
moment she lost control of it. Gretchen relished that feeling, knowing that the wolf lay just beneath her flesh.
It had been this way for nearly six months, since the day the zombies had first begun to rise. She had been asleep when it first came upon her, the psychosis washing across her being in sleep and coming to its fullness upon waking. In the dream she saw herself standing on the edge of a jagged cliff, the mists thick and the surf crashing against the ancient stones echoing in her ears. As she watched the cloudy horizon a light rain began to fall at the same time the blazing sun burst through the clouds to create the most wondrous of rainbows.
She had wept at the sight of it, and through her tears she began to percieve the winged creatures that swam through the multi-colored light. They spoke to her, their voices at once a sing-song whisper and others a deafening battle cry. They told her that the rainbow was called Bifrost, and that it was both a particle and a wave, more than a gateway, but a membrane between the world of spirit and the world of flesh. Her mind shattered under the weight of it, and yet her soul screamed with joy as she understood. She was now one with the Aesir. She soared with the Valkyrie and fought against beautiful angels and tentacular horrors alike. Blood was on her tongue and she felt as if all that she wanted in this life was to die a glorious death while she swallowed the Sun itself.
When she awakened the wolf was in her flesh, and she knew its name to be Fenris Ulf. The Aesir had seared knowledge upon her very soul, and she remembered the secret powers of rainbows, even as her lust for battle and death overcame what shred of sanity she had left from the dreams. Gretchen, only nineteen at the time, had still been living with her family, and it was they who first fell to her psychosis. She had stood in front of her vanity mirror and painted one side of her face in a multi-colored rainbow, then had adorned herself in a random assortment of clothes, ending up with bright green fishnets from an old Halloween costume, black combat boots she’d stolen from her brother, jean cutoffs and a pink tank top.
