by Joey Ruff
Lara was raised in luxury, and I was not. I was the son of a fisherman. I was too low-class for her. That’s why her parents hated me. They had money for the best schools, high-society friends and connections in the right places. In their eyes, she would marry Prince Harry, despite him being two years old at the time. She was to become a Duchess. Lara didn’t care about that shit. She was stubborn, wanted to blaze her own paths, choose her own life. She didn’t listen to Daddy, which made him angrier. He thought she only dated me to spite him.
Her pregnancy should have been an exciting time. But her parents didn’t care about grandkids. They cared about status. So when she told me she was expecting, it felt like our backs were against the ocean and the worst storm of our lives was coming for us.
“All or nothing,” she said quietly, thoughtfully.
All or nothing. It became a sort of mantra. From a posh life to one of destitute. I was all she had, but for some reason, that was good enough for her.
A flood of emotions hit me. I couldn’t help it, staring at her. I knew the creature before me wasn’t Lara, but she looked so damn much like her that I let myself be fooled. She looked so beautiful, that for a moment, just a moment, I let myself forget what she really was, forget about the shit-storm that was raging all around me. “Baby, it’s you and me,” I said. “Us against the world.” I nodded. “All or nothing. I remember.”
“I love you, John.” She laughed again, that same quiet, fairy-like laugh. “Lara loves you. She always did.”
I ran my hand through my hair and stared in her general direction, not quite seeing her anymore, not able to meet her gaze. “I spent a lot of time thinking I hated her. Fuck, I wanted to hate her so bad. But the truth is that I never stopped loving her.”
“Don’t take it out on them, John.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My leaving.”
My vision started to blur.
“I know you use that to keep people at arm’s length. Death, that is. Between me and Anna. Then Huxley. All of the people you fought beside over the years.”
Maybe Nadia now. I didn’t say it, but I thought it, and when I did, my body tensed in anger. “Can you fucking blame me?” I said. “It’s kind of a pattern, Love.”
“Everyone you love is in danger. That’s just your life. Everyone around you. They hitch themselves to your cart because they believe in your mission. Don’t make it a lonely one.”
“What does that even fucking mean?”
“It means open yourself up.”
“The last person I let in, thought was a mate, died at the hands of a sodding Troll.”
“Chuck…”
“I can’t keep… I just can’t do that again.”
“You live a life of war, John. And I’m sorry you do. I am. But to go through it all alone makes you forget why you’re even fighting it.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Then why are the only meaningful conversations you have with a dead woman?”
“I’ve had a couple lately with Huxley,” I corrected.
A wounded look fell over her face. “He’s dead, too.”
I didn’t say anything for what seemed a long time, just stared at the ground, at the small ring of light at my feet from where I let the FN drop in my hand.
“Why do you even…” I looked up, but didn’t see her. I brought the light up, sweeping the beam around in all directions, but she was gone.
With a deep sigh, I began trudging back towards the house. I didn’t make it far before I heard something. Turning, I expected to see Lara following me, taunting me. I wasn’t prepared for what I found.
The man was an easy seven feet tall. I say man, but his facial features were so smooth and androgynous. He was beautiful in a way that no man should be or no woman had been since Helen of Troy. His eyes were dark and piercing, his ears were long and pointed, maybe two inches longer than normal, threading through the loose curls of his white hair that fell around his shoulders. His skin was like ivory, and his physique sculpted like the statue of David. While he was mostly naked, he wore a very regal-looking loin cloth that was held in place by a thick, leather belt. Attached to the belt was a curved sword in a jeweled scabbard.
Perhaps the most peculiar thing about him was how luminous he was. Light literally radiated from his skin. It was just a soft glow, not casting any light on his path, but making him completely visible in the near-perfect dark.
He was an Alfar, one of the races counted amongst the Sidhe, and, thankfully for me, typically regarded as one of the good guys.
He didn’t seem to notice me, or if he did, he didn’t care. He would’ve stepped on me or tripped over me if I hadn’t moved to the side. With my back to a tree, I watched as he marched away to the north, keeping an even pace that was too quick for a normal man to walk.
Before he had completely disappeared from view, I became aware of the others. I felt them before I saw them, but within seconds, they were marching through the trees, trudging through the muck, appearing as if out of a fog.
There was a hundred, maybe more. They walked together in groups of six to eight. The way they all glowed, as they surrounded me, it reminded me of those jellyfish in the dark of the ocean. If they knew I was standing there, not one of them appeared to care. For a minute, I was spellbound by the majesty of what was happening.
Then I was terrified. While some were dressed a little differently, wearing helmets or breastplates of some shiny, silvery metal, each carried a sword on his belt. Each wore little more clothing than a loin cloth, and each walked with the same intent and purpose as the first.
They were marching to war, and while I wasn’t sure what they were after, they were heading directly for the town.
30
Ape
The bush accepted me as I hit the top of the leaves, welcoming me into its embrace, ushering me down to the lower limbs before ultimately depositing me on the ground. I’d managed, somehow, to tuck the sword close to my body so I didn’t stab myself in the tumble.
I lay there for a minute, slightly dizzy, trying to catch my breath, staring up at the window to the study, the plumes of smoke billowing out, the tongues of flame licking up along curtains. Then with a huff, London appeared in the window, threw one foot out, then the other, and he was falling, not entirely gracefully. I had a half second to realize that he’d be crashing down on top of me and scrambled to the side just in time.
London hit with a thud and turned his head to catch me in a wide-eyed stare. “Balls, brother. You know how to throw a party.”
Above us, there was a cry, and one of the Edomite foot soldiers was leaning out the window.
“Time to go,” I said. Struggling to my feet, I sheathed the sword back in to the cane and hobbled along. London followed. We hadn’t made it but a few steps when we heard the knocking.
The sound seemed to be coming from the left, somewhere in the distance. In the moonlight, I could just make out the halo of Arthur’s tree against the skyline. At its base, little balls of light flashed like giant fireflies. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it appeared that the tree shook with each knock. It was a steady, rhythmic sound. London saw me looking and said, “Axes. They’re chopping the fucking thing down.”
I didn’t say anything, just nodded, and kept moving. He fell into step behind me. “Should we go over there?”
“No point,” I said. “That tree doesn’t mean what I thought it did. I don’t want it. Besides, you’re out of ammo.”
He considered that a moment. “Fucking right.”
“We need to get to your truck before the others make it outside.”
The axes continued to knock and chop as we rounded the corner of the house, but suddenly, they stopped. There wasn’t time for silence, however, as the knocking was quickly replaced by a feral growl. We stopped, turning to look, but couldn’t see anything in the distant dark. One of the Edomites screamed, his light flailing sporadically. There was a menacing roa
r, and then the growling became the trilling of a motorboat engine.
“What the fuck is that?” London said.
I had an idea. “Chess activated the defenses. It should buy us time.”
“Good,” London said. “Then it isn’t coming for us.”
London continued past me, but my gaze lingered toward the tree. If I was right, which I was pretty sure I was, the thing attacking the Edomites was both terrifying and exciting. I shrugged it off and followed after London.
He made it to the truck before I did, walking around to the far side, the one furthest from the house, and climbed into the bed of the truck. He lifted a black duffel bag, the kind that was long enough to hold a body. It sagged under its own weight. He tossed it to me, and I caught it nimbly, dropping my cane in the process. I set the bag down and unzipped the edge enough to catch the shine of the back porch light on the gunmetal interior. There were rifles, shotguns, handguns and magazines. It was a small arsenal that looked like half the inventory of his gun shop. “You just carry all this around now?”
“When I was five, my grandpappy sat me down and said, Boy, lightning doesn’t strike twice, but given the chance, a tiger will. If you survive the first attack, prepare for the next. Take a stick, and fuck that pussy up.” He laughed. “I’ve been stockpiling since those squiddly bitches and gargoyles.”
I picked a couple of .45 handguns from the bag, sticking one in my belt, and keeping the other in my free hand. I pocketed a couple extra magazines, zipped the bag, and grabbed my sword. I looked up at London, who was kneeling in the truck bed, still dealing with something, but before I could say anything, the back door opened.
The aluf and his two minions descended the stairs from the kitchen and stood on the lawn maybe thirty feet from us. The truck was between us and the house. I wasn’t sure if they had seen us. I moved the gun bag behind one of the tires, and positioned myself behind the other. Looking around the bumper, I could just see the doorway.
Omri was scanning the yard, trying to spot us, when he heard the screams that were coming from the tree. Like a startled deer, he looked suddenly up and to the left, not looking at anything in particular, but more listening. As the other two moved, the aluf said something. They stopped. Omri turned his head back to the house and said something else. Between his hushed tone and the fact he was beyond the reach of the Babel stone, I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Omri repeated himself, louder this time, and a third Edomite soldier appeared in the door behind him, descended the stairs quickly, and stood at attention. They exchanged a few words, and then the fourth pulled something from a pouch at his side and disappeared around the corner of the house.
When he’d disappeared, the aluf addressed the other two and then disappeared back into the house. The remaining soldiers drew their blades. The one on the right, I could tell from the stiff way he moved his arm, was the one I had stabbed in the shoulder. As I looked at the one on the left, I saw a bulge on the side of his leg. When he shifted his stance, I noticed they had broken one of my tables and used the leg as a splint for where London had shot him.
In the truck, I heard London shuffling around. “Be quiet,” I said in a whisper. “They’ll hear you.”
“Fuck that,” he said. He was slightly louder than me. “It’s just the two of them. We rush them now, take them out, then it’s just the two of us against the guy in the fucking hoodie. On my three, brother. Back me up.”
“London, no!” I said in a harried whisper. “Be smart about this.”
London leaned a little taller. “One…”
I took a deep breath, realizing he wasn’t going to listen when he said, “Two…”
I was still waiting for the count of three when London vaulted from the bed of the truck. He yelled, “Three!” as his feet hit the ground and immediately rushed the two Edomites. In a fair fight, I’m not sure how London would have fared, but what I was learning about London is that he didn’t know the meaning of big words like “fair.” It’s one of the qualities that made him endearing. He was like a child that way.
He was about twenty feet from the invaders when he pulled the trigger. I had expected the roar of gunfire. Instead, I heard the mechanical hiss of gas and then the night lit up as the column of dripping flames poured from the mouth of his flamethrower. He was screaming, “You bitches like fire?! I’ll fucking burn you to fucking ashes motherfuckers!!”
The Edomites, that were seen only as black silhouettes in the wash of red-orange flame, merely shrank in on themselves as the heat built around them. I’d never seen anyone roasted before, dead or alive, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it. There was no screaming, no gnashing of teeth, no melting, dripping flesh as in the ending of an Indiana Jones movie. They simply shrank, deflating from the highest parts of the flames, and curling up into fetal balls.
London held the trigger down for a solid thirty seconds. The Edomites didn’t see it coming, weren’t prepared for it, but when he let off the trigger and the spraying fire subsided, the invaders were left intact. Their black suits were not charred, just smoking. Slowly, they stood, unfolding their limbs from their cape-like folds that had previously been secured at their sides, unnoticed. They both looked directly at London and each raised their blade to strike.
I moved without thinking, leaving my cane against the bag of guns and breaking from around the edge of the truck, and aimed the handgun. I managed three shots and wasn’t sure what I was expecting to happen, but nothing did. I had missed all three, going high or wide. Before I could squeeze the trigger again, the third soldier came around the corner of the house. I didn’t see him, but when he struck me at the base of my skull with something hard, I collapsed, my head spinning.
I was conscious of what happened next, but a little too dazed and dizzy to do anything about it. On top of that, there was a loud ringing in my ears. The third Edomite said something to the other two, and they sheathed their weapons. Then they took turns pummeling London’s face. The first hit broke his nose. The other hits that followed maybe fractured his cheek and just smeared the blood around.
When London fell, they removed the flamethrower pack from his back and shoulders and lifted him, one on each side, carrying him into the house. The third lifted me from behind and followed the first two inside. We were sat at the small table in the breakfast nook. We were told not to move, but I think we were too dizzy to move if we wanted to. At least, I was.
The three Edomites stood against the counters, lifting their masks and staring at us with cold, dead eyes. The first, with the shoulder wound, looked to be about my age. He had a deep, ugly scar over his right brow. The second, who previously had a leg splint (before the flamethrower burned it off) and now just had a severe limp, looked a few years younger. His lips were full and luscious, like he’d gotten botox before the invasion began. The third was certainly older. He had crow’s feet wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and pronounced frown lines. Streaks of white hair accented his otherwise dark red hair. His fingers played absently at an object that hung around his neck. It looked like a locket, which I thought was a curious decoration for a mercenary to wear into battle.
For a moment, nobody said anything, just continued to stare us down as if they were daring us to move.
Omri entered from the living room. His hood was down and his mask was off completely. He looked to be a good ten years or so younger than me. He had a busted lip and a defiant twinkle in his eye. His red hair was a little browner and muted in color than the others. “Nice house,” he said.
I didn’t answer.
“I’ll make this really easy on you,” he continued. “You’re an abomination to our kind. You are not a tribesman. Not an Edomite. You’re not even of Jewish decent. Yet, here you are. Somehow, the Mighty One found you worthy. Not one among us will stand for that.” He walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, fishing around in it for a minute before pulling out an apple fritter. He took a bite and smiled. “Now, w
ork with me. Tell me what I need to know and don’t try anything cute, and I’ll end your life quickly. Refuse and…” His smile grew devilish. “Please refuse.”
The other three laughed nervously.
“This pastry is delicious, by the way. Which brings me to my first request.” He walked over and stood directly in front of me, staring down at me. For the past few minutes, the room had been spinning. Now, the spinning was beginning to slow. It allowed me to focus on him a little more as he said, “Where is the house elf?”
I didn’t say anything, wasn’t even sure if my tongue would work if I tried to use it.
He smacked me on the right cheek, leaving a brief burning sensation and spinning my head to the left to stare at London. I studied his face for a minute. He was bleeding freely from his nose, the corners of his mouth, and a couple of cuts, one on his cheek, the other on his forehead.
I looked back at Omri who was smirking slightly.
“House elf,” he said slowly. “Tell me where to find him or summon him yourself to appear here.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I managed to say. “He doesn’t appear if anyone is with me.”
“Well, at least we skipped the part where you try to convince me that you don’t know what I’m talking about. I respect you just slightly more for that. See, I am not a stupid man. One does not get to be aluf by being a stupid man. He gets it by being strong. Smart. Stronger and smarter than any other in the tribe.”
And by being a ruthless bastard, I thought.
“Now, I ask again. Call the elf.” He got right down into my face, his eyes level against mine. “I won’t ask another time.”
“I…”
There was a whistle, loud and shrill. At first, I didn’t understand where it was coming from, and then I realized it had come from the basement. Omri stood, looked at the older one and said, “Go.”
Without questioning, the white-streaked Edomite stopped stroking his locket and pulled his mask down over his face, stalking down the back stairs. He was gone for only a few minutes before he entered again, this time with Levi. He’d been unchained and was rubbing his wrists. He didn’t look happy when he saw me, but he smiled just the same. Maybe he was looking forward to seeing me get what he thought I deserved. Levi took his place next to the others, arms folded across his chest.
