by Dyrk Ashton
PRAISE FOR PATERNUS
Best Mythology/Folklore Book of 2016
Reality Bites Magazine
Best Debut Novel Finalist
Reddit Fantasy Best of 2016
Top 10 Debut Novels of 2016
Fantasy Book Critic
Finalist
Mark Lawrence’s #SPFBO 2016
Amazon #1 Bestseller
U.S., U.K. & Canada
“Epic, innovative urban fantasy. A great read!” -Mark Lawrence, Gemmell Award winner and international bestselling author of Prince of Thorns and Red Sister.
“An imaginative...exhilarating ride - highly recommended.” -Anthony Ryan, New York Times bestselling author of Blood Song and The Legion of Flame.
“A crucible in which myths are melted and remade to thrilling effect.” -M. R. (Mike) Carey, author of The Girl with All the Gifts and the Felix Castor series.
“A really unique novel.” -Anna Stephens, author of Godblind.
“Intelligent, intricate, suspenseful, and epic.” -Nicholas Eames, author of Kings of the Wyld.
“Expansive, ambitious, and engrossing.” -Josiah Bancroft, author of Senlin Ascends.
“A mighty debut. American Gods meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the best possible way!” -Jonathan French, author of The Grey Bastards.
“Fast-paced, gloriously intricate” -Kirkus Reviews.
“Adrenaline fueled fantasy that will keep readers flipping pages well into the wee hours.” -The Qwillery
“Fascinating and stylish ... How the author is going to top it (if he needs to) is beyond me.” -Fantasy-Faction
“I have never read a book quite like this ... All the adventure and action one can hope for.” -Seraphim Book Reviews
“Utterly fantastic ... so epic and vivid, it played out like a movie in my head ... I absolutely loved it.” -Beck’s Books
“A completely original tale.” -The Blogin’ Hobgoblin
“An absolute gem of a story and Dyrk Ashton is a bloody, terrific genius ... The action sequences are truly mind boggling ... A classic in the making. Miss out on this one at your own risk.” -Fantasy Book Critic
“Fast paced, bloody, no holds barred ... Awesome!” -Book Frivolity
“Paternus stands out from the crowd ... In order to make the details that finely honed, and the atmosphere that intense, you have to be an incredible author, and Ashton certainly is. Paternus is its own beast, and it absolutely deserves a read.” -Bookworm Blues
“An adventure packed riot of action, fast paced and definitely furious. Sit down and enjoy the unbridled chaos that is Paternus.” -Lynn’s Books
RISE OF GODS
(The Paternus Trilogy, Book 1)
Paternus Books Media
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FURTHER READING
IN THE WORLD OF PATERNUS
PATERNUS: WRATH OF GODS
The Paternus Trilogy, Book Two
“BERSERKER”
A stand-alone short story framed as a “missing chapter” from Paternus: Rise of Gods. It tells of the time when Bödvar Bjarki finally met his father, many centuries ago. Kindle eBook available for 99 cents through the title link above, or free by subscribing to the Paternus Books Media Newsletter.
LOST LORE
This free fantasy anthology contains “Deluge,” a short backstory in the world of The Paternus Trilogy concerning the adventures of Myrddin Wyllt and Fintán mac Bóchra in ancient Ireland at the time of the Great Flood.
ART OF WAR: ANTHOLOGY FOR CHARITY
Includes “Valkyrie Rain,” a short backstory in the world of The Paternus Trilogy that takes place during the great battle of Ragnarok. Forty of your favorite fantasy authors contributed to this anthology. All proceeds go to Doctors without Borders.
Paternus is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is entirely coincidental.
2016 Paternus Books Media eBook Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Dyrk Ashton.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Paternus Books Media, DBA
P.O. Box 1027
Perrysburg, OH 43551
www.paternusbooks.com
Paternus/ Dyrk Ashton. -- 1st ed. 1A3c
ISBN 9780997173710
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Cover Illustration: John Anthony Di Giovanni
Cover Design: STK-Kreations
Author’s Photograph: Lee Fearnside
To:
Richard & Harriette Ashton
Nelson Sr. & Alice Campbell
Ralph & Maggie Ashton
And
Tom Oldham
“I seem to remember someone very close to me,
and wise, or so I thought, once telling me--”
“--anything is possible.”
CONTENTS
Prologue
PART ONE
Kabir
Flowers & Figs
Obsidian
Mendip Hills
Order of the Bull
Flowers & Figs 2
Order of the Bull 2
Flowers & Figs 3
Order of the Bull 3
Flowers & Figs 4
Order of the Bull 4
Flowers & Figs 5
Order of the Bull 5
Flowers & Figs 6
Order of the Bull 6
PART TWO
Il Capro
Flowers & Figs 7
Mendip Hills 2
Flowers & Figs 8
Mendip Hills 3
Flowers & Figs 9
Mendip Hills 4
Flowers & Figs 10
Mendip Hills 5
PART THREE
Flowers & Figs 11
Flowers & Figs 12
Flowers & Figs 13
Flowers & Figs 14
Flowers & Figs 15
Flowers & Figs 16
Flowers & Figs 17
Mendip Hills 6
Flowers & Figs 18
Epilogues
Acknowledgments
Latest News, More Info, Read & Post Reviews Share, Connect
About the Author
PATERNUS
RISE OF GODS
Prologue
“Humankind has had its groundbreaking discoveries, mighty wars, great nations and saviors’ births by which you mark your timelines of history. We Firstborn have also seen events that might seem resounding and important, and they were. Earthquakes that tore continents apart, volcanic eruptions and meteor strikes that shook the world and turned day into everlasting night. We have endured bitter glacial periods, mass extinctions and wars countable only by Father himself. Grand civilizations have risen, prospered for millennia then crumbled to dust. And yet, even th
e eldest among us gauge our lives in relation to four major occurrences: The Cataclysm, The First and Second Holocausts, as well as, of course, The Deluge.
“Now, if any of us survive, there will be this.”
* * *
The stories told here all begin today, at the same time on the same day in late September. Odd as it may seem, the eastern-to-middle portion of the United States and the Amazon jungle of western Brazil are in the same time zone. England is five hours ahead, and the eastern Anatolia region of Turkey is seven hours ahead.
* * *
Parvulus: n. human [negative; derogatory]. pl. parvuli.
Mtoto: n. human [neutral; affectionate]. pl. watoto.
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Kabir
From the roof of a sold out concert hall, tinted beams of searchlight wave at the full moon, a gray smudge in the murky Detroit sky. The heavy thump--thump of bass can be felt for a quarter mile around.
Inside the auditorium, Kabir stands with his arms crossed near the roped off hall that leads backstage. Six feet two inches tall with a thick mane of gray hair combed straight back and sideburns speckled black, Kabir is built like a linebacker in spite of his age, all shoulders, pecs, and biceps tucked into a finely tailored gray Armani suit, with a silk heliotrope tie.
Kabir is a bodyguard. It’s what he does. Always has. They call him a legend in the business of rock & roll security, despite his best efforts to keep a low profile. In the thirty-six years he’s been doing this, no one he’s been assigned to has ever been touched.
Thirty-six years, already? A blink, really, but in practical terms, plenty long enough. He’ll miss it when he moves on. The music, the noise, the crowds.
Over his shoulder, the half-naked teen pop diva under his care for the evening prances on stage in glitter and lights, belting out one of her latest chart-toppers. It’s her last song of the main set and people with backstage passes are already lining up along the wall. The crowd roars as she builds to the song’s climax, something about brushing your teeth with whiskey, threesomes, and other youthful naughtiness.
Kabir isn’t listening to the words. He’s busy doing what he does best. Being vigilant. Protecting. He surveys the mass of ecstatic fans with sharp copper eyes that seem to x-ray rather than simply see. Searching for signs of malice, seeking out bad intent, looking for trouble.
And here it comes.
“Hey, that’s Stag Larsen!” one of the bouncers from behind the rope near Kabir shouts above the pounding music.
Kabir’s seen him already. How could he not? 6’ 5” tall, 290 lbs., wearing a two-sizes-too-small t-shirt tugged over his thick sculpted chest and a satin jacket thrown over one shoulder, Stag is Detroit’s latest and greatest hope for a mixed martial arts heavyweight title. He high fives fans, winks at girls despite the gorgeous swimsuit model draped on one arm and grins back at his entourage. The crowd parts before him like a shoal of herring in the path of a shark.
“Did you see Stag fight Dinky Suarez last night?” Kabir hears the bouncer continue, speaking to another security guard next to him. “Stag’s better, but Dinky got fucked on that call...”
Kabir’s already moving. He smelled the other man before he saw him. Being able to pluck the stink of rage out of the air and pinpoint its source, even in a sweat-filled, beer-soaked, disinfectant layered auditorium full of people--well, for Kabir, it’s a gift. Dinky Suarez, who lost to Stag in the cage just last night, is stalking through the crowd. All 340 lbs. of him. Sweat glistens on his tattooed face and there’s murder in his eyes. Dinky’s an inch shorter than Stag but a big heavy bastard. A lot of it’s fat, but he can dish out some serious punishment, and take it too. They say he hits like a wrecking ball.
This isn’t Kabir’s purview. He’s personal security, not a bouncer, but innocent people, not to mention Kabir’s fellow security personnel, could get hurt. He’s acting on instinct. The instinct to shelter, shield, defend.
The singer finishes her song in high crescendo. Unaware of the impending brawl, she heads backstage, throwing kisses to an audience that screams for more.
Dinky reaches Stag well before Kabir does. “Hey Larsen, you faggot!” A couple members of Stag’s entourage, two smaller and less established fighters themselves, happen to be in the way. Dinky takes them out with a single punch each. Each one falling topples three of the crowd. People scream and jump back, pressing the surrounding mob into a tightly packed ring. Stag shoves his jacket at his girlfriend, pushes her out of the way and starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists raised, a twisted smile on his craggy face.
“Punk ass bitch!” Dinky taunts, “no ref to save you now!”
“Bring it, pussy!” Stag shouts, and Dinky brings it all right--long black hair, denim biker vest, skull tattoos on swinging fists, and wrath. They go at it hard, blow after blow sounding like baseball bats on sides of beef.
The crowd is thick in a circle around them, and Kabir won’t just toss people out of the way. “Excuse me folks,” he growls, “pardon me.”
Three good-sized bouncers break through before Kabir. Two leap on Dinky, the third grabs Stag from behind.
Bad idea, guys, Kabir thinks. And he’s right.
Dinky jerks away, throws a jab and a round house and the bouncers who jumped him are both out cold before they hit the floor. Stag ducks out of his man’s grasp, lifts him by arm and groin and sends him flying into a couple of Dinky’s biker buddies who’ve shown up at just the wrong time. They take down another half dozen bystanders.
Kabir’s going to have to hit these guys hard. Not so hard as to do permanent damage, but enough to get their attention. Show them they’re not really at the top of the food chain. Not quite.
Stag and Dinky square off again but Kabir breaks through and pushes them apart.
Stag bellows, “Outta the way old man!”
“Take it easy, fellas.” Kabir doesn’t shout, but his deep crunchy voice is easily heard over the racket of those in the crowd who haven’t noticed the fight and are chanting for an encore. “We don’t want anybody to get hurt.”
“Stupid fucker!” Dinky dips, rolls his shoulders and delivers a perfectly executed uppercut to Kabir’s heavy square jaw, giving him all he’s got. And what he’s got is a lot.
Onlookers wince and groan as they see and hear the punch land.
Kabir doesn’t budge.
Dinky’s eyes go wide. His hand goes numb.
Kabir turns his copper eyes upon him and aims a quick jab at his ribs. Dinky’s whole fatbody quivers. He drops to his knees like a slaughtered bull.
Stag grabs Kabir’s shoulder. “Hey, fucker!”
Nice vocabulary these guys have. Kabir spins and open-hand slaps Stag right across the face.
The crowd gasps. Stag’s ears ring. He sees stars. His legs noodle. He’s never been hit so hard, so fast. He takes a sharp blow to the solar plexus and his breath rushes out. He goes to his knees. Kabir turns his attention back to Dinky.
“No no!” Dinky shouts, clutching his injured hand to his chest and holding up the other in an attempt to fend off Kabir. Kabir snatches his outstretched hand, twists, and Dinky flops to his back.
The onlookers can’t believe what they’re seeing. Kabir, crouched between the two men, holding them close in a huddle as if the three of them are best friends having an intimate conversation.
What they aren’t close enough to discern is the agony in Stag’s eyes, the veins popping beneath the ’roid rash on his forehead, the chords of muscle standing out from his neck, the back of which Kabir has in a grip so tight Stag doesn’t dare move due to the icy pain and popping sounds of his vertebrae. The crowd can’t smell the full weight of Stag’s tangy cheesy B.O., or that Dinky reeks of a massive over-application of Axe cologne. They also can’t see Dinky’s hand turning purple, the tears in his eyes from Kabir wrenching his wrist to the brink of snapping, or hear Kabir’s softly spoken question, “We done?”
What the crowd can see is both
men frantically tapping out in surrender on Kabir’s broad back. And very soon, thanks to a multitude of smartphones, so will a lot of other people.
* * *
Kabir marches Stag and Dinky into the outer lobby. They’re surrounded by a boisterous mob snapping pictures and shooting video with their phones--and there are more in the lobby.
Who needs paparazzi these days?, Kabir groans to himself. He considers the aftermath of his actions appearing on social media everywhere. He can already visualize the tagline: “Stag Larsen Bitch-Slapped by Aging Bouncer.” What was I thinking?!
He hands Stag and Dinky over to a half dozen of Detroit’s finest then ducks into a “No Access” hallway that leads backstage. The cops can talk to him later if they need to. He’s got work to do. His earpiece chirps.
“Hey Kabir.” It’s Rosen, head of security.
“Yeah.”
“Nice job out there. Impressive, as usual. Thanks.”
Kabir doesn’t respond.
“Anyway,” Rosen continues, “the boys out back say some homeless guy made his way into the car port. They don’t know how he got there. Could’ve been sleeping in the trash all day, I guess. Will you check it out?”
“Why not just bounce him?”
“Well, they say he asked for you by name.”
Kabir scowls. Must be some mistake. “I’ll be right there.”
* * *
Kabir continues along the hall toward the back of the building. Through the walls he hears the cheering of the crowd and the music kick in as the encore begins.
