Fists of Iron_An Urban Fantasy Novel

by J. A. Cipriano

  That would have been nice, to have the answer to the big existential crisis be sitting there all personable and eager to please in the car next to us. Without intending it, all four of us mere mortals were staring at Krishan expectantly.

  Needless to say, none of us were happy to see his smile fall and his perfect eyes lower as he turned back to Garuda’s steering wheel. “No, we don’t and neither does the One.”

  14

  “Say that again now,” I pressed, hoping I’d heard Krishna wrong because if what he’d said about everyone, including God, being too weak to stop the Old ones was true, I might just lose my mind. “Please.” Even though I felt like we were being let down, it was no reason not to be polite to who had seemed to be a stand-up guy so far.

  Blue skies continued to streak by as Krishna looked up from the wheel, but still kept his gaze locked into the wild blue yonder. “None of us, no divine pantheon or metaphysical being, have the power to keep the Great Old Ones in proper balance.” He turned his head back toward us, eyes bouncing from person to person. “As I said, the divine draws power from faith, from belief. The more faith, the greater the power, with no limit that any mind, mortal or immortal can understand.”

  “Faith. Now, that doesn’t answer a damned thing,” Molly grumbled from the back, turning to lean her back into Tyrone’s gut.

  Before Big Blue could explain himself, Gabriela gasped with realization. “Spirits above and below, I understand now.” When no one else jumped in with a hearty “me too,” she let out a short sigh and dropped into her academic tone. “If faith is the life and power of gods, then no god gathers power until it is believed in. Hence you can mark the ‘birth’ of various deities and pantheons, and perhaps even mark their ‘deaths.’”

  “And that means exactly…?” I didn’t see where she was going yet, but I was getting a nervous worry in the pit of my stomach anyway.

  “The Great Old Ones are primal, alien beings, thought to have been ‘created’ in the distant mists of time by species far older than man,” Gabby continued. “Born of eternal fears and the mystery of the unknown, they have existed for far longer than any other extradimensional we know of. They may very well predate sentient life on planet Earth. Add to that the reality that belief does not have to include worship to provide that power of faith and it only complicates matters.”

  Well, that did it. The worry was turning into a full blown, theological headache now.

  “So pretty much these things are like super mega gods. They’ve soaked up so much power that our own gods, no matter how long they’ve been around or how widely worshipped by man they are would get their dicks kicked in if they tried to fight them.” I took a deep breath as I realized how truly fucked we all were. “No offense, man.”

  “I never take offense from the truth.” Despite the seemingly grim situation, the god cracked a fresh smile. “But that doesn’t mean we face an unwinnable battle. Obviously, as you must know, the Old Ones were kept in balance for countless millions of years by other gods, many of which are long dead and many that still flourish. They were even wrangled for a brief time by man. There is hope.”

  Tyrone shifted uncomfortably, I think more from the news than the waifish girl using him as a recliner. “Maybe, Kris, but I ain’t seeing it from here. There ain’t but one Peacekeeper left and you god types are saying you can’t do shit about it either.”

  “Unfortunately, we gods are bound by rules and edicts.” Krishna’s expression soured. “As much as I wish to tell you exactly what you must do, I can’t. Especially as you’ve already received a prophecy. That’s your guide and figuring that out is your burden.” His smile returned. “However, I am well within my power to help you on the way. As we’re about to gatecrash into the One’s domain, you’ll need that help.”

  Gabriela’s eyes hardened as she leaned back into the back seat. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

  I nodded to her, trying my damnedest to believe it myself. It was pretty naïve to do that, to have that kind of faith after everything had happened, after all the back-and-forth and all the truth had been laid bare like this. We were looking at the kind of no-win situation that only gets won in movies or comic books or pulp novels. It was the height of stupid to believe we could pull it off.

  Despite all that, I was all in. I was willing to believe this one time the one-in-a-million chance would roll through. Not for my sake, well, not just for my sake, but for Mom’s sake and Gabriela’s sake and Max’s sake and Molly and Tyrone and, hell, for Krishna’s sake.

  Just this one time, I was going to put all my chips on the good guys to win, no horseshit, even though every part of me was calling me an idiot. I’ve never been a whole go out in a blaze of glory kind of guy, but looking at things as they were, I supposed there had to be worse ways to go.

  “Yeah, we are going to figure this out,” I smirked, the old cocky smirk of mine.

  The fact that it put a smile on Gabby’s face was proof enough that I was doing the right thing.

  After that, we rested as best we could. I found it surprisingly easy to sleep despite everything weighing down on us. Chalk it up to all that Army training or the level of absolute exhaustion I had reached, take your pick.

  “Frank, wake up.” Gabby’s rich voice sounded like it was accompanied by an angelic choir. “We’re almost there.”

  I rubbed my face and sat up, blinking my eyes. Though awake, the imagined choir didn’t disappear. In fact, the song of angels only seemed to grow louder. It took me a good minute to adjust to the brilliant light even brighter than the noon day sun. When I finally managed it, I found myself looking at paradise.

  Well, it was at least a possible vision of paradise. It was fucking impressive, that much was certain. We were still hurtling through the air seated inside Garuda, but the sky had turned from the clear blue that somewhat imitated Earth’s skies to a blue-black gradient, as if the colors of the sky had started to run thin at the edge of space. A great field of cottony clouds spread out before us. To call it a cloud island would be an understatement, for it stretched out further than I could ever hope to see.

  Atop this expanse was a city, a vast, sprawling thing more impressive and ordered than the wet dreams of the most anal city planner that had ever lived. Soaring, geometric structures built from perfectly fitted alabaster and adorned with precisely cut diamonds formed the bulk of what I could see, the buildings themselves glowed with an inner light that somehow spilled out of the solid stone. Where the white light from one building shone on other structures, it was reflected by the polished rock and refracted through the prismatic crystals. The whole process created a dazzling show of light and color, infusing the simple-if-precise designs with an artistry that would be impossible to replicate with human hands.

  Surrounding this orderly domain was a vast wall, an interlocking affair of stone pillars and a burnished bronze mesh fence. There was nothing yet to really judge the scale of the thing, but it had to at least be thirty feet tall, if not more. The only break in the wall was an immense set of gates, pragmatic in design instead of the works of art I expected to see. The color and luster matched the common thought, at least, for these Pearly Gates looked to be made of a pearlescent metal or stone or … something.

  As with many things I’ve seen, I don’t think my attempts to describe Heaven do it justice. Let’s just say that as the wall grew ever closer, we mere mortals were stunned to silence. As for Krishna, he had a vague smirk cross his face as he began to whistle along with the ever-present song that echoed across the cloudscape.

  After a few minutes, someone finally found their voice. With surprising softness, Molly mumbled, “I’ve seen better.”

  For some reason, that was the crack that broke the dam. In what was probably ten different kinds of blasphemy, I broke down into hysterical laughter. Either I was going mad or I really, really needed that laugh to keep my sanity.

  After another moment, Gabriela started giggling, just a little bit, a
nd then Tyrone let out a chortle. In a cycle of sanity/insanity (you take your pick), we broke down into a fit of giggles, chuckles, laughs, and snorts. Blue God Group’s smirk widened a bit, but he never quite joined in.

  I don’t know how long we were like that, but it had to be at least a good ten minutes. Eventually, Krishna cleared his throat, a sound that we all would’ve ignored if it hadn’t come from his throat.

  “I’m glad you all got that out of your system,” he said, the smirk turning into a more honest smile. “Never forget that laughter and joy are always important in life, even when things look their darkest or when you are at the cusp of war.” Krishna left one hand on the wheel and settled the other on the grip of his mace. “Now, though, you must all pay attention.”

  “Aye aye, captain,” I nodded with a final chuckle, snapping off a salute as I focused back on our destination. Shit, we were coming in fast now, and I could finally make out the finer details of the gates and the vast swarms of people and things amassed around it.

  That whole vision of perfection was kicked right in the crotch in that one moment, as the angelic choir started to mix with a droning, burbling, gibbering song that could only be described as madness made sound. Heaven was under siege, that much was instantly apparent, and it was hard to tell who was winning and who was losing.

  In the shadow of the Pearly Gates was a vast space, dotted with remnants of what looked to be silk pavilions, a sort of tent city I guessed. It kind of reminded me of pictures I had seen of ancient caravans and pilgrim settlements on their way to the Holy Land. What structures there had been, however, were most destroyed, glittering fabric and shattered wood strewn about among what I could only process as the tattered forms of human souls, translucent figures torn and rent by the monstrosities that trampled over them.

  Already, prayers (or what I assumed to be prayers) in three different languages were sounding off behind me, Gabby in Latin, Molly in Gaelic, and Tyrone in good old fashioned English. I didn’t have any words for the moment, instead turning my eyes up to the beasts themselves and what was holding them back.

  The seemingly endless hordes of attackers were, perhaps not too surprisingly, familiar, if not in exact form than substance. Much of the bulk of them were the same boundless, shifting masses of primordial ooze I had encountered before, but in a gigantic mass, as if the entire contents of the Cube had been cracked open like the nastiest, most rotten egg you can imagine.

  Mixed among that festering, blubbering pile of protoplasm was an endless variety of twisted things. I could pick out more ghouls like we had seen back home and I had seen enough Lovecraft movie adaptations to guess the scaly demonic fish-frog-beasts to be the real visages of Deep Ones, but there was a lot more I couldn’t even attempt to recognize.

  Winged, faceless creatures made of inky blackness, shimmering alien colors, warty and bulbous amphibian beasts with a thousand eyes and a crown of lashing tentacles, just keep thinking of every nightmare you have ever dreamed, every half-remembered glimpse of terror, and you would be just starting to describe what tore at the walls of Heaven and the souls of the dead who arrived to gain rightful passage inside.

  As for the defenders, the walls and skies were abuzz with winged angels, fitting the classic idea of what we think of as, well, “angels,” dressed in white robes and wielding white flames. They were only the most mundane of the defensive forces. Every weird thing I could recall from the Bible seemed to be in attendance, from entire flocks of the Ophanim to mighty figures with heads composed of the faces of four different animals, each angel with a different combination of figures. Living pillars of sacred flame danced alongside sword-wielding cherubs, led by four-winged leonine faced champions in armor of ancient bronze.

  There were few sounds more heartbreaking than the screams of angels or the pitiful moans of a broken soul.

  This was Heaven? It seemed surreal and strangely final. If God couldn’t hold the army back, what the fuck were we gonna do? No… there had to be a way.

  I finally found my voice. “How the fuck can we stop this?”

  “This can’t be stopped,” Krishna said through a clenched jaw. The jovial road trip buddy was gone and a hardened soldier had replaced him. “Not directly anyway. But we can stop it, well, you can stop it.”

  As the carnage grew ever closer, my mind raced, trying to put two and two together to get a million. What was in the Pythia’s words that could possibly get us to fix this? How did anyone ever get this shit under control in the first place? Hell, maybe we were in the wrong this whole time, maybe we should have just did exactly what John said, no matter if Max were in danger or not.

  Wait. Maybe that was it, or at least part of it. That niggling thought, that Max was a big part of the solution, came back to me. Sure, Rabbi Joe seemed to not think so, but he could be blinded by his own absolute faith in Yahweh/God/Whatever You Call Him. But why wouldn’t John want him back double-bad then? The way he acted in Olympus made me wonder if he somehow thought that Max was actually part of the problem.

  Lost in my swirling shitstorm of doublethink and mental dead ends, I only just then noticed, as we were closing in on it rapidly, that there was a faint shimmer of golden light in the blue-black void, extending above the massive wall and extending upwards infinitely into the air.

  “Shit, Kris, I think the wall doesn’t stop!” I cried in alarm as Garuda kept shooting right for it.

  Krishna’s blue hands flexed around the wheel, the knuckles turning bluish-white. “I know, Frank.” Unbreakable determination carried with every word and, as it was with Krishna’s joy, it was infectious. “If you hadn’t buckled in before, you’d better do so now and grab anything you can.” Garuda’s engines let out an eagle’s shriek as the god floored the accelerator. “This is going to be rough.”

  There was a mad scramble as what few belts hadn’t been put on clicked into place. I cinched my own, bracing one arm against the dashboard. With my other arm, I reached back, toward Gabriela.

  I didn’t have to search for her hand. Hers was already reaching toward mine. Our hands grabbed hold tight, and at that moment, I suddenly wasn’t worried anymore.

  The bird-car made one last mighty flap of his steely wings, the roar of his engine cutting through the cacophony of battle below us as we flew at the glowing space right above the Gates. The only sound that managed to top all of that was Molly’s shrill cry, born of either madness or the thrill of the moment.

  I think both would be right.

  15

  The glowing wall rushed at us as Garuda’s beak-hood narrowing and sharpening. With a final beat, he launched us into the glow, tucking his wings back into as narrow a profile as a 1958 Thunderbird could make. That’s when I wisely closed my eyes. After all, who wants to watch themselves splatter into an invincible wall of heavenly power?

  The impact was much less a thunderous collision of two gods’ power than the thunk of a lawn dart punching into hard-packed earth. A shockwave rippled through the car, chattering my teeth and yanking me against the lap belt, but Garuda held together in one piece. The only problem was, unless I was knocked silly by the crash, we didn’t seem to be moving anymore.

  “Well, that’s new,” Krishna said wryly, prompted me to open my eyes.

  We hadn’t penetrated the field, but we hadn’t exactly crashed either. Instead, Garuda’s beak was plunged deep into the wall, leaving the whole car-bird suspended ungainly in the pulsing energy. At least we hadn’t managed to flip over somehow during the impact, though we were skewed at a downward angle.

  Gabby groaned as she slipped her hand out of mine. “Some kind of cushion instead of a hard ward?” she asked herself out loud. “Or maybe a lattice of threads like a web?”

  “I dinnae know, Doctor dear,” Molly growled as she recklessly popped out of her seatbelt, “but here comes the spiders.”

  To save my gut from the lap belt bruising my waist by the second, I kept my arm braced on the dash and reached for my Beretta. It was more for
a feeling of reassurance than because I thought it would do me a lick of good against anything on this particular battlefield.

  Speaking of which, it wasn’t hard to see what Molly was referring to. They weren’t spiders precisely, though I could see why she used that word. Nimbly scuttling across the light as if it were solid (which I suppose it was), the dozen or so angel-things had bronze helmets at their core of a pseudo-Roman design with flowing plumes of white hairs and filled with a brilliant golden light. Attached at even points along both sides of the helmet were thin, perfectly symmetrical segmented legs of clear diamond. For a half-second, I wondered if they were related to the diammals of Structured. It was certainly possible. The whole mass of them moved with frightening speed and precision, laid out in a circular pattern that spun and whirled like the hands of an overwound clock.

  “Kris, what the fuck do we do and what the fuck are those?” I was tempted to draw on the heart, to get a good, close look at the tapestry here and those things in particular, but there was a voice in the back of my head worrying that seeing the true glory of Heaven would blow my mind out through the back of my skull.

  The god gritted his teeth as he spun the wheel and slammed the shifter into various gears, all to no obvious effect. “I told you, things have changed since the last time I’ve visited the One. Garuda and I would have been able to slice right through the old barrier. I can’t even seem to get him free from this one!”

  A horrible sinking feeling crept up from my gut. God was more powerful than Kris had thought, and worse, he still was getting his ass handed to him by the Old ones.

  Tyrone twisted in his seat and clambered precariously onto Garuda’s backend, toward the trunk. “I ain’t going to be a sitting duck then. Garuda, can you open your trunk for me?”