by Steve Curry
I heard Gere rumble a question out behind me. I had to turn around to clarify. “What was that, Wolf?”
“I asked what the plan was. I don’t care what the scientists said. I can smell enough bad air down there to knock even one of you guys out in just a minute or two. Give it ten minutes and you’re blue-skinned, cool to the touch, and then your meat starts to rot.”
I had an uncomfortable mental image of how exactly Gere knew when a human being started to rot. Somehow I imagine a taste test was involved.
“So you take the end of the safety rope.” I wanted to say please, and sir, to show some respect. Somehow being deferential to a supernatural wolf on two legs didn’t seem smart. I couldn’t help remembering teeth and blood spraying all over the sand when one of Gere’s own packmates came over all blubbering and beseeching.
“Got it. Three tugs and I reel you in like a fish.” He took a few turns around his formidable wrist with the rope attached to a safety harness we’d found to fit my chest. It was a little long in the torso but we’d tightened it down by knotting a strap here and there. The best part was, it fit down over the RAV armor we’d found with the rest of my gear.
I might not need flechettes or flashbangs but that armor with my own runic enhancements went a long way to helping me stay calm. I idly wondered if a few of the HE grenades might help me out, the problem would have been with firing them inside a tight tunnel without blowing myself into potted meat.
“Three tugs, right, just don’t clean and gut the fish once you get it out chief.” I turned away on my last statement, but not before he flashed me a grin with those uncommonly large and sharp-looking teeth.
Heather and Luis were off to one side talking with Franco while he “secured” a number of weapons and gear into a hummer he’d claimed for his part in the great Jaguar hunt. They all turned for the briefest of instances to give me various versions of thumbs up or good luck type gestures. I waved back and started into the hole.
The stench was several times worse in the confined hole. I found myself taking in a deep breath anyway. If this was as good as the air got, then I wanted enough of it to last a little while once the deeper air became too bad to inhale.
We’d measured about forty-five yards on the survey map before the tunnel approached that previously unknown volcanic tube. It was the closest point we could find to the lava field somewhere below us. Which meant that it was the thinnest section of rock between me and a painfully intimate demonstration of flash cooking.
The tunnel had several smaller side tunnels. A very small miner might have gone down them, but even then he probably had to crouch or crawl. The only reason they were important to me was, Achilles had used them as ventilation tunnels to circulate air out of the main cavern in front of the ancient portals. If we were right and there was a tube full of hot magma coursing near this tunnel, then letting it in here, should also drain it through the ventilation holes and into the cave around the weird gear in its ancient storehouse.
That was my goal. I got close enough that the air was steaming as well as stinking. The heat coming off the tunnel wall was horrendous. I had to think that it had increased since the excavators gave up. I doubt anyone could have worked for more than a minute or two, tunneling in this kind of heat.
When I braced myself on the stone wall I had to snatch my hand right back off. That rock was frying pan hot. I’d found my spot. Now all I had to do was magically detonate the wall, with just a fraction of my own energy and willpower left, while timing it so that my whimsical immortal ally could get me out of danger if he was so inclined. I had to recall that Gere’s usual place was at Odin’s hand or feet. If he was so moved, then all it would take was inaction to make sure I found myself back at the not so tender mercies of old Ygg and Kara.
What the Hel? I was living on gravy time as it was. With one hand I gripped the tether that stretched behind me. The other hand held my runed tomahawk as high as the rough tunnel would allow. It took what seemed an eternity to focus in that steaming, foul tunnel. But I dug into everything I could think of.
Memories from the shamanic world, my first wife, the hatred I felt for Lorcan all added fuel to make the runes of destruction and power glow. Kenaz for fire and understanding. I jerked the tether for the first time.
I tossed into the runes my fears and longing for Maureen, my pride and love for Grimmr and even Rafe. And then I jerked the tether again.
Finally, I touched recent feelings. Wonder, sadness, admiration for the trickster god and his sacrifice. Thurisaz took on a muddy swirl of random colors while another barely visible rune just weakly flickered.
It was that last part that did the trick I think. I felt the tomahawk shift again. When I looked closer, it was flickering with the spectral image of feathers and bone fetishes. On a whim, I shouted as I threw the weapon. “ANSUZ!”
As the tomahawk flew I began running and jerked the tether the third time. This time there was no resistance. About fifteen feet of rope whipped towards me with an end that was visibly frayed after being jerked around a rough rock corner twice already.
I heard the detonation behind me, as well as the scream of some giant bird and the baying of a coyote in the thunder. The explosion was enough to throw me off my feet. I was still lying there when the heat began to build and a rush of even hotter air began to billow.
This was not a good place to be. I saw the air do that blurry invisible effect you get off of superheated air. Behind it, ropes of painfully bright scarlet and gold snaked out of a man-sized hole in the rock. They came rushing into the tunnel not like a river but like a flood of something thinner than syrup but thicker than coffee. If syrup and coffee were liquid fire that is.
Already it was hot enough to make my lungs ache when I drew a breath. It didn’t seem likely that I could escape the rise of that broiling superheated air. But odds rarely figured into my calculations. I rose to a crouch and started thundering down the tunnel in an awkward stumbling jog as jagged corners and uneven walls snatched at my clothes and tore my skin.
Heat hammered into my shirt and I thought I felt sparks where the cloth began to ignite. The next thing that hammered into me though was teeth, or a beak, or maybe teeth inside a beak. Whatever it was grabbed my smouldering shirt between the shoulders and lifted me off my feet again.
I was carried forward as another blast echoed behind me. Maybe the earth was responding to the weakness or maybe the increased pressure of hot air had done something deep within the rock. This detonation was several times stronger than my own puny strike. Gases and heat rushed down the tunnel with me as I was carried like a cannonball to bounce off the rough-hewn walls.
I saw the weak light at the end of the tunnel. Then I saw Gere’s expression of surprise. Finally, I saw his chest from just past the end of my nose. An instant later, I hit him hard enough to carry us both flying into the air behind him. That was the last thing I saw.
19
The bed was moving when I woke up. That seemed like a good sign. It might mean there was someone in said bed with me. Without opening my eyes I reached a hand gingerly to either side in search of a shapely redhead. All my hands encountered were fine down comforters and expensive cotton sheets.
Cracking open a single eye showed a small bedroom I’d never seen before. A tiny table and chair sat facing a small round window. Above the window in flowing letters were the words. Arr Guile below a framed painting of a crafty looking pirate cutting a coin purse from someone’s belt.
A porthole meant I was on a boat. In the far distance, I could almost see the waves cresting. So a boat at sea. That would account for the motion of a bed bereft of a sleeping companion. I sighed and started to sit up.
That proved to be a mistake. If I had to guess, there were probably a few dozen broken bones underneath the spectacular full body bruise that slid into view as the sheets fell off my torso. Even if there weren’t any broken bones, there was plenty of pain to go around. I stumbled out of bed and made it to the head,
or what landlubbers call the toilet or facilities.
When I returned from the tiny cubicle that held the necessities, there was a fresh tray on the small writing desk. I found coffee, juice, a whole ewer of cold water, and a double meat club sandwich on thick rye bread. Bacon is, as far as I can tell, one of the greatest culinary advancements in the last thousand years. I ate the sandwich, drank the coffee, juice and about half the water.
By then I was well enough to limp out into the passageway. I walked down impeccably polished maple decks to find a huddle of crew-folk all dressed casually. There was no distinct uniform except for rubber-soled canvas shoes. Most of them had on knee-length beige or khaki shorts and a polo style shirt. I counted five men and two women who all seemed very unprofessor-like.
I know Eachan. He might not be a lecher or world-class pervert, but the old man did enjoy watching beautiful women. I’d never seen a male chauffeur or butler working for him. Instead, he tended to hire students and young people looking for temporary work. The only rule he ever admitted to was that they couldn’t be in his classes. I suspect there was an unwritten rule or guideline involving lovely women though.
“I’d ask permission to come aboard but someone already put me here.” My voice seemed to catch them by surprise. All seven crewmates turned to face me as one.
“Welcome aboard Mr. Gustaveson. The professor told us to take care of your every need. He had to make an emergency flight back home but thought you would appreciate the voyage to, “heal and unwind” I believe were his words. “ The fellow who stepped forward to shake my hand wore a plastic name tag that said “Sanders” on his shirt.
He was a decade too old to be in one of the prof’s classes. But his physical condition was almost as good as some of my bouncers back in Austin. The rest of the crew seemed cut from a similar mold. Not all were as fit and muscular as Sanders, but all were in what some of our old trainers called fighting trim.
Before I could respond with any questions, Sanders was leading me into a salon with a good selection of liquor visible on the teak bar. The others all dispersed to whatever duties they were required to perform.
I sat and pondered while enjoying some of Eachan’s excellent taste in whiskeys.
That’s how it went for almost a full week. The crew was professionally absent. Whenever I needed a meal or a drink it was conveniently at hand. The food was a major shift from the simple beans and tortillas I’d gotten used to. The small library of books and videos was perfectly entertaining, and the scenery was enough to help even a numerously blown up mercenary grow fat and lazy.
But there was nobody to talk to or defuse with. The crew was only available when I needed something. None of them sat down to share a glass or discuss their day. As far as I could tell, the boat was on some kind of auto-pilot. I couldn't figure out where the radio was, much less make it function. The people were of no help. They just maintained the boat while it made it’s merry single-minded way wherever we were headed. Whenever I asked any questions I got no real answers. They’d just shrug, smile and excuse themselves on one pretext or another.
On the sixth day, as I was sprawled in a deck chair with some fruity alcohol enhanced concoction, one of the crew members sat down beside me. This was the first time any of them had initiated any contact so I was surprised.
When he spoke I was even more surprised. “Not bad Moose. Not bad at all. Your sugar daddy sure travels in style.”
I tried not to jump too much when I turned to find Pedro sitting beside me in the shorts and polo of a crewman. There wasn’t even a scar or thinning of hair where he’d been missing part of his skull a few days past. It made my own healing power seem a little shoddy.
“My friend, not my sugar daddy.” I stopped and poured a drink to hand my new companion. “So why aren’t you languishing away or cooked to a crisp in some ancient barrow?”
I settled back facing the sea but kept him focused in the corner of my eye. Pedro, or Coyote rather, grinned that mischievous smirk of his and replied. “It might be indestructible, and foolproof protection from everything but a nuclear strike. Damn man, they even made it impassable to demons and angels and ghosts for all I know. Nobody knew how to make it immune to a god though.”
He tossed back his drink while I digested that before asking. “What about Achilles?”
While I refilled his glass the trickster explained. “He lasted a couple of days. The heat didn’t get him or even when the oxygen got low. He was telling the truth about keeping a body alive. I don’t think he would have died at all, except he got tired of my singing and stories. Hell, he ain’t a god. Just some semi-angel or demon creature. Never did figure out who he answers to.”
He took another appreciative sip of Tequila sunrise before continuing. “Anyway, along about the third morning he just let the body fall dead. Tried to take my body.”
I heard a new voice from over near the deck railing. “Dumbass”
“Dumbass indeed.” Coyote nodded an agreement at my pet Rafe. “Anyway, “Achilles” went a little nuts when he figured out he couldn’t push me out of the meat. Went even crazier when he figured out the walls were impervious to spiritual energy. Almost made me feel sorry for him, knowing that he’d be in there until the next time it’s opened. Could be another twenty or thirty thousand years before anyone gets through all that volcanic rock and rubble.”
We both sat back and digested that for a while. The self-satisfied sighs were almost simultaneous when we let them out.
“Oh by the way. I found your old cell phone when I went back for one of the cars.” He never explained how he got out of a box that kept in demonic or angelic beings. I was just glad to know that I wouldn’t have to watch for Achilles or whatever that was in addition to the various other supernatural heavyweights that might be looking for me.
He handed over the cell phone and looked around the deck for a minute with a content smile. “Yea your guy really knows how to live. I wonder where the old man is and why they won’t let you call on the ship to shore. Anyway, enjoy the phone and the sarcastic bird. I saw him circling around when I got out of the mountains, thought I’d deliver him to you. And I had your loyal blonde buddy shipped back home for you. Those Austin people are weird. You know they got kennels that cost more to stay in than some hotels? He was good an’ loyal though. I thought he deserved a little vacation so put it on a card. I mean c’mon. A jaguar? That damned dog fought a jaguar and walked away.”
That was just the first part. I forgot he’d missed some of the middle after having his head blown half off. He missed the whole fight with the Aztec-wannabes I guess. I looked up to brag about Grimmr’s part in that mayhem. The only one to tell was Rafe though, and I didn’t feel like being called a dumbass again just yet. At least I had the phone. I flipped it open and picked out a number from speed dial.
20
“Wait, that’s why I could get nowhere with you?” Franco’s voice was all but swallowed by the guffaws that erupted. His acceptance of such inconvenient concepts as wolf demi-gods and immortal warriors with beautiful handlers had been extraordinary to Heather and Luis. He’d absorbed the information with a large amount of calm or sangfroid and a few keen questions.
Which is possibly why they were surprised by his outburst at what seemed a fairly minor admission on their part. He barely got the next question out around another deep belly laugh. “You’re a virgin. Heather the heathen and virgin valley-girl valkyrie?”
One of the youngest of the Choosers of the slain glared at him but nodded. The mortal gunman had earned some leniency by saving her the trouble of killing everyone at the ulama arena. Her glare indicated that he was using that leniency up rapidly.
“And you? You are a chosen warrior of Viking gods but you just happen to be gay?” He had to lean forward to look around the Valkyrie at her wiry gunman einherjar.
Luis nodded with a self-confident smile of his own.
“And Mouse, aka Strombjorn, Magnus or Eric back when we fought toge
ther before, he is probably back in Valhalla right now having a big party and orgy starring his own Valkyrie this Kara?”
Even the name of the tempestuous one was enough to make Heather and Luis look uncomfortable. Luis was the first to recover and answer. “Yea, all of the older warriors talk about it. The stories, man, the stories about Kara are brutal.”
Heather nodded an enthusiastic agreement which popped the gum bubble she’d blown. “She’s like, Oh my god, she’s just so not cool. Everybody knows better than to like, get on her crusty side. The betch is crazy fer shur. Even the other Valkyrie, like, walk around. But she totally screws all of her guys. Like when she’s not flippin’ out on them. I wonder where she hid him. You know, for like years? We never, like even saw him before. Just, you know, like stories? They were sooo intense.”
Everyone stopped and pondered that for a while. Finally, Franco grinned and looked at her again for a little clarification.“So...how does that afterparty thing work with a virgin and her gay warrior? How do you guys celebrate?”
Heather’s expression went from dark and serious to something more like a cheerful valley girl talking about her favorite rockstar. “Oh, that’s awesome! We do, like, mani-pedis, shoe shopping, totally munch out on Ben and Jerry’s, and stream old John Hughes movies!”
The End
Look for Freke Wyrd Voodoo to be released November, 2019
Appendix of Wyrdness
(More or less in order of appearance)
Freke and Gere are the wolves who sit at Odin’s feet at times. Otherwise they are out and about in the world. They are curious, wild animals, duh. But their main purpose is to teach mankind about teamwork, family, packhunting, that kind of thing.
