by Rink Wester
Åpsät stepped back, visibly relenting before his eldest brother and making his way to the door. Before turning the knob he looked back, and casting a look so heavy with fear, love and disappointment he didn’t think he could lift it, he whispered,
-Humans talk of cause and effect. Pebbles and streams and Butterfly wings. But you know what Ôlörûn, göd of everything and nothing, whether the butterfly flaps its wings or not, the devastation always comes. And you wanna know why? Because you ARE the hurricane. We all kiss your ass and bow and tremble and dance, because you are the big bad! Our hell and high water. I get it. We all get it. But you know what? I’m over it. Destroy me or not. With great affection... and gratitude dear brother...I’m gonna have to ask you...to piss off!
With that he opened the door and left with every other occupant in Gærüt’s office beating a well earned hasty retreat behind him, leaving Gærüt standing alone in his kings garb, made all the poorer, value slightly less barren, in a lonely empty kingdom.
*****************************************************
So often he just wanted to blink, exhale and destroy them all. To wipe the fåîrÿ tale clean and start over. Gærüt teleported away to the pocket dimension he had created.that day 4000 years ago that only wielders of Sihiosian mågÿck could unlock and enter.
He said three words line of mågÿck ripped open a tear in the fabric of that realm and there before him materialized an ornately carved box, the size of a small coffin. A box bound with the very star of Sihiosia itself, inside which the being growing had been mågÿckally frozen in time.
If Nänå ever found him and drank down his power she would become even more powerful than Gærüt. She would become the living nightmare göddess of legend.
He would get no sleep tonight.
But there was no shame in bad dreams.
Was there?
7
Contrary to the belief of göds and madmen, it takes years to get over creation.
How ironic the massive ring shape birth gave to such things. The long bleat of life in an instant becoming a stuck and unmoving thing in the sap and amber of destiny. His world was something locked and desolate to him. Desolate in the way 4000 years of fetal isolation has of burdening and unburdening the mind. He was alone. Placeless. Timeless. Shrunken and long-simmering. His was an inhospitable dimension created in private unkind whimsy where neither weed nor wildflower nor any physical thing grew green and long. The One had put him here, in wild and mortal humility, and set him against the portent of The Other. And there in that irreal lower he swam in his quiet liquid patch of insidious cosmic. Both his heart and his mind breaking, he grew and studied the wisdom of that nebulous vastness.
Suddenly absent all preamble, amnion burst and he found he had shape and form. A labyrinth of orange white light playing on his skin. Stretch marks of lava and porcine mercury becoming flesh and tooth. He was gorgeous in a monstrously embryonic fashion. The swan song of unformed hostility and a curse coming to ground. Born to rue and to ruin, immaculate and clean in his destructive purpose. Unmoored emptiness sucked and pulled and called him names that were not his own and made him see awful things. He didn’t know his own name but in taking its own soundings the world would come to know its syntax. He would know it when it echoed in the wind and he would answer to it.
The sheep and the goats indeed.
The world would burn and melt the amber holding together that metaphor.
8
They had all dwelt in the time of Pangaea. 335 million years ago they joined together to give the green and the blue to the void. In the deep cold waters of Panthalassa, the great ocean, they bathed and brought forth the beating flowing design of this new planet Earth. Now as new life coaxed forth rule and order, they decided to become myth and ethos to coach and master their creation.
The Divine Council of Cryptids was power incarnate. A synod of the göds. They were the central power of the universe. Divine Øgdöåd brothers. Existing as both göd and beast, they were the literal “göd-fathers” of every preternatural creature to walk or stalk this planet. Every cryptidor creature of the imagined unproven depths were bound in blood and design to the original nine. Vampires, dragons, Tåôtié, Goblins, were-animals, angels, demons, you name the being. All born of Øgdöåd blood. All born to bridge the world of göd and man.
The eternal leader of the Cryptid Council was Gærüt S. Lång. The göd Ôlörûn. First Supreme entity and devourer of Hiklorim. The Gröötslâng. Elephant serpent of Heaven. Gærüt was the one true Sihiosian Lord and Sky Father. He and his gröötslâng venom were Death to all cryptid göds should he will it. Every mågÿckal creature on the planet feared him. Including every member of the council, his Øgdöåd brothers. And rightly so.
Second born to the dark whim of Hiklorim was Sphelix Thorne. The göd Ågänjû. Mythic göd of volcanoes, deserts and the sands of time and truth. His breath helped form the planets and give physical form to the cosmic realm of men. He was the mighty AndroSphinx. Ancient Sanskrit tablets called him nara-simha and thep-norasingh, man-cat deity who sees how tomorrow purrs.
Third to spring forth from the madness of the Mother and Father was Bæbäl Richmand. The göd Bæbälúayé. Their healing salve. The göd of ill and sick and plague. He was living breathing pestilence. And because all that ails and brings to lament all living things was his to control so too was he granted mastery over all that heals. When he shed the skin of his göd self he became the Leviathan. A beast so frightening it inspired, among many others, the myth of the Kraken and would forever give man’s nightmares a name.
In the shadow of his brother’s seething vapor came Hlünin Såtûri. The göd Osänyìn. Göd of the forest and keeper of the silk threads of time and destiny. His voice changed the very molecules of fate and purpose. He appeared to all those whose river’s course he would alter as a haloed large black Sabre tooth panther. In his midnight hide stars would swirl and burn, the sinew and bone of the night sky flexing and hunting the plains of man.
Fifth to answer Aeyitria and Łöståghår’s ebb was Dr. Örên Marcuse. The göd Òrúnmìlà. Göd of wisdom, divination and foresight. He had radiantly mercurial orange eyes filled it seemed with a blistering delight of sun fire and screaming fluorescent gold. He rarely became his cryptid beast preferring his human flesh and walking the world imparting wisdom among men, but on the rare occasion he was angered to distraction he would become the Pabilsag The wild bull scorpion with multicolored legs and immortalized in texts and poetry as the constellation Sagittarius.
The sixth göd of their qahal was Aren White. The göd Obàtálá. Göd of all humankind, spirituality and moral uprightness. He was the kwasa kwasa king of the white cloth. In göd form his entire body, down to the snowy iris of his eyes, was the color of pure cloud matter as if the sky had been dipped in cream and covered in layer upon layer of ivory paint. It was his nexal fount Nänå had fused with her own to create the first men. He was the onikuma demon bear. The child-eating white hobgoblin of ancient Mesopotamia.
Seventh to become Øgdöåd elder göd and born master was Xiao Yu Shizi. The trickster göd Yuhuang Dadi. The Jade Emperor. Pale Loki. He was the nefarious chaos göd of malevolent and violent felicity. He could psychically siphon and feed on the collected misfortune and schadenfreude of others. He had a ravenous appetite for duplicity and feared only 2 beings in the universe. His brother Gærüt and bitch sister Nänå. He was the jade colored flying serpentine Phoenix Dragon of ancient Asian lore. He was the azure dragon and vermilion bird göd to many in China, Korea and Japan. Father to the fiendish Tåôtié, Hündûn, Qiôngqi and Tæöwû cryptids.
Last to complete their Øgdöåd octet was the youngest and weakest brother among them, Åpsät Õsòòsi. The göd Õsòòsi. Feathered Göd of the Fields and hunting. The avenging göd of the accused and those seeking revenge and justice. He was the Golden horned Peryton. The White stag with golden horns and wings of feathers made of crystalline star matter. The göd who was currently
being tortured by the last of the Øgdöåd, but non council member, their sister Nänå Båkløü, the göddess Ÿêmøjá.
Power incarnate breaks like the rest of us.
Göds gave at both ends.
9
7:26 a.m. Thanksgiving morning. 2017.
Åpsät always loved flying high over downtown Atlanta. He loved being wind-borne, where the air blew long and uninterrupted by the land. It was, he had always felt, one of the rare birdseye exploits of his gödhood. This morning however he flew with tears of consternation stinging his cheeks. He was such a fool. A blooming roaring idiot. This he had come to accept. He had insulted and called his brother Gærüt “the hurricane”. But what he knew, what they all were resolved in knowing, was that when and if his brother came for him, came for all of them, none of them would see the wind or the rain. They would simply burn and flicker no more. He was such a fool. He would apologize after...
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
His mind exploded in sound and pain. He went blind with the screaming voice in his brain. His wings seized and his eyes blurred as he fell several meters before he mentally pushed back against the onslaught and righted himself midair. He hovered there 22,000 feet north of the Bank of America building steeling his nerves against that voice that coached his nerves and froze him in his moment.
Come to me Åpsät. Now! Disobey me and I will crack open your skull and feast.
As the clouds sped by, sunlight, not for the first time, chilling him to his ancient bones, Åpsät called down elemental sorcery and power and transmigrated to the African Serengheti.
Gazelles and confused wildebeest looking on, he landed in a heap, in a golden leathery hot swirl of Sihiosian fire and bleeding maasai red dust. Nänå materialized before him like a sleeping storm gathering together the last strands of its static lightning and fury. She pinned him with an invisible fist of power, slowly crushing him and scattering his feathers.
“You will help me sama rakk, little featherling, or death shall separate you from I. Deny me in this and perish.”
Åpsät looked up and thought of the sky and of free flying things. Things uninterrupted and bloodless.
Some days, his waning mind held, it was better to blow the world a rose, roll back over and just go the fuck back to sleep.
10
Detective Tony Mozee adjusted his earpiece and watched , re-watched and then watched for a third time the parade of 10 second iPhone X Animojis he had just received from his fiancé.
WTF! Purple lightning above the Sallie Douglas Building chile. This shit is some Armageddon type shit boo boo! I’m at the 4400 block of Peachtree. Earthquakes are popping off and shit! Unh unh...she-her-me does not do purple lightning and ab-natural disasters! Get the hell over here NOW! I’m outta this bitch!
Tony swore under his breath, Fucking Atlanta!.
Tony Mozee was one of the rare true natives of Atlanta in the 37th precinct. Not one of those Gwinnett “good ol’ boys” , OTP stunters or out of state transplants. Atlanta was home and ‘hood to him. He was always schooling friends and family from “up north” who simply didn’t get it. True natives knew what “out of towners” took years to learn.
1. The absolute only drink in Atlanta was Coke. Hands down. No questions asked. 2. No one is actually exaggerating when they complain about the traffic. 3. If you’re a bit of a beer snob, you’ll fit right in. 4. If you’re bored in the middle of a Saturday, it’s Waffle House time! Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked and diced. 5. If you think Chipotle is better than Willy’s Mexicans Grill, they will fight you. 6. A chance of snow is treated like the apocalypse. 7. Real Atlantans will tell you their hospital. That’s right. Their hospital. If they say they are a Grady baby or a Northside baby that’s their way of letting u know they weren’t born OTP. Outside the Perimeter. 8. Everyone hates MARTA. EVERYONE. 9. Only out of towners call it “Hotlanta”. If you want to sound native say it like the natives say it, “Atlanna”. 10. Going to Little Five Points WILL make you feel old and uncool. 11. If someone tells you to get off at “spaghetti junction”, it will sound like a song by The Wiggles but it’s actually the intersection of I-85 and I-285. 12. If you order an unsweetened iced tea, you will be shamed. 13. Eating at The Varsity and Dave’s Cosmic Subs will clog your arteries and you will love every minute of it. Try the onion rings. Be warned. 14. Atlantans don’t know how to insult you without blessing your heart. You’re such an idiot! Bless your heart!.....Umm...thank you? 15. No one will judge you if you lick your plate at Fox Bros Bar-B-Q. They understand. 16. It’s the home of dragon-con, the biggest science fiction, fantasy, gaming and comics convention in the whole of America... so don’t worry, you can not out-geek Atlanta. Let your nerd flag fly. 17. Lastly and most importantly, it’s best to just embrace the heat. You’ll want to complain. Don’t. It’s there to stay. Just pretend the weather is awesome and keep it moving.
As he turned on his siren he didn’t know what in the hell was going on or if that text was meant to seriously fuck with his zen. Purple lightning? Earthquakes?
Just what in the sam hell was going on in midtown. Wait? Sallie Douglas building? That name rings a...Isn’t that the Küqålä Corp building and the richest man on the whole bleeding planet, Gærüt S. Lång? Wonder what the S stands for? I’ll have to remember to ask him.
As he reached the spaghetti junction turnabout, he turned to Sirius XM 46 THE HEAT and sped up.
First things first, his growling stomach informed, A hot oily pile of Big Dave’s onion rings. On a bogus ass night like tonight it was Just what the doctor and his nurse ordered.
11
November 22, 2017. 6:47 p.m.
Female transgender film editor and at-risk Atlanta gay youth counselor extraordinaire, Vickie Basse, walked down the 4400 block of Peachtree Boulevard, linen hoop dress flowing, arm in arm with her cisgender gay bestie, Kenji. They worked in the same federal building block and walked to the MARTA station together each evening. They sidestepped pushy housewives and the general crush of overpaid over-worked Buckhead snobs, chatting and laughing in that informal colloquial cadence reserved for only the closest of gay friends. Theirs, like so many others in the LGBTQ family, was a private language of trust and sameness that would, coming from anyone else, result in prejudice and acute violence. She was rushing to meet Detective Tony Mozee for their long awaited post-proposal pre-Thanksgiving dinner date. They had met 2 years ago after he had given her a passing slap on her “petite” wrist for that “stabbing her boss in the hand with a sushi fork for being a racist homophobic prick thing” at CNN last year. After which he had asked her out and 2 years hence on last Saturday he had done what no other cop on the Atlanta police force in the long history of the law had ever done.
He had asked her to marry him.
“A pox! A pox I say, on all your morherfucking houses! Move the hell out of my way, lady!”
“Girl why are you so salty tonight? No ma’am no sir no ma’am, we are having none of that! No T no shade!”
“Umm...Ho’...how ‘bout you and that dry ass weave mind yours, and let me mind mines! OK? “
“No she ain’t, a bitch is coming for me now? You trying to read a bitch? Is the library open?”
“Always hunti! And as you know, reading is what? Fundamental!”
“Well excuse me bitch for having inquisitive impulses. Where you going in such hurries anyway?”
“Ho, if you ask me that shit one mo’ ‘gain, I’ma smack the shit outta you. I done told you twice already I’m going to meet Tony for dinner!”
“You mean your tall dark muscular drink of police water? Yes Gawd! Girl your boo-thang bun-bun is fine and dandy like what? Chocolate candy! He makes me moist like Tasters Choice! Lies!”
“Yaaaaaaaas, me too girl! But slow your roll bitch! He is all mine! You know real eyes realize real lies and only my pussy gets to stay on fire around him! It’s Thanksgiving too! I’m gonna give him some gobble gobble. I am determined to suck his turkey bone tonight. IDC!”
“What? He likes to watch? He sounds freaky. I’ll suck his too!”
“Lord have mercy! Get behind me Satan!”
“Yep. And push!”
*****************************************************
By the time Kenji had boarded the southbound MARTA subway and Vickie had run under the awning to hide and send Detective Tony Mozee that text weighted in cryptic hysteria, she could have sworn the world shifted and for a split second she was lying in a dank dark musty cave overlooking the African delta, staring up at an impossibly large elephant serpent beast repeating a phrase over and over in a tongue she should never have been able to decipher. She had felt such love for this beast that she knew but shouldn’t have known. His mouth was crowded with fangs and 6 beautiful tusks moving in tandem as he whispered to her in the softest growl over and over,
Umuntu okholwayo akufanele enze amanyala...lokho kuzoba ukukhawuka Sihiosia...He is our abomination...he is the end of Sihiosia.
