Of The Dark and The Deep_The Cryptid Council Series Book 1

by Rink Wester

  From homo-ethno-respect to weaponry. Of what nonsense do you speak now little goat, chimed Bæbäl Richmand, ever the silent logical accuser. Make clear your words!

  -Xiao Yu knows, Bæbäluaye. Don’t you pale liar? The same whispers from the faint of Ëvèr have found your pillow at night. The Bôkör have tipped scheme in your ear to poison purpose and still nerves, have they not, Scaled Thorn of Deception?

  -But how...? Who told you? How did you learn of the Mother’s....? Tell me now you little fuck-wit!

  -It’s far easier to show than to tell damnable dragon. Now Detective. Let’s show them.

  The human that no one thought to acknowledge stood and the gravity of that room leadened. His skin blistered and crusted over in patches and streaks of lava hot bricks as volcanic spikes erupted and that darkling bit of the Mother within made telepathic contact with every being in that room. The ancient göds of the Øgdöåd screamed in real time, that familiar feral communication of a Mother dead and vanquished raking the surface of wit, tumbling past the mind’s long ladder. Tony’s Yin attaching itself with obsidian fire and magma to bone and mågÿckal Yang, he reached out in plundered sorcery trapping Åpsät’s brothers and cracking them open like coconut shells. The Mother within latched onto the Mother without and there in that exchange of dark curse and fatidic energy it scrubbed clean göd bone and fed.

  හේඩ් ම්‍ය් ලිඝ්තොඋසෙ අන්ඩ් ක්‍රශ් අගෛන්ස්ට් ම්‍ය් ශිරෙස් ඩ්ස්‍ර්ක්ල්‍ය්හේඩ් අන්ඩ් මකෙ ව්ජොලෙ ර්හෙ මෙස්සගෙ ඔෆ් ර්හ්‍ර් මොතෙර්

 

  66

  Åpsät’s psychic invocation had inadvertently chummed the waters of the ether, blood calling every marine predator to their frenzy. The walls of that temple forum shook, tapestries and balustrades snapping and falling as death dealing beings from a canned soup of pantheons suddenly appeared. Their pursuits at cross purposes, they watched the göds of the Øgdöåd writhe and fret, frozen in confusion, failure of their missions never more plaintive in deadly command.

  Vickie, Victor and Nänå appeared hovering in the air as whatever force had incapacitated them continued to ravage her brothers. She watched Åpsät, his elven husband and some creature Nänå had never met harass her brothers, drawing chains of spell words and blackest mågÿck from them. That mågÿck smelled familiar to Nänå as she drew ever nearer their commotion. She knew that smell intimately as her thought chain broke, the link being too weak to hold her in balance. Suddenly the Ëndæråücø blew across that temple chamber, howling and bickering with sight and sound, challenged in elven rank and position by the still living Väläråücø henchmen who had until then been waiting outside for a signal from their liege, Khæ’dîm Çåril. They crashed through the door as soon as the hubbub dial decibeled beyond their master’s telepathic comfort. The Ëndæråücø raged in hurricane madness seeing now their quarry face to face but having lost the element of surprise, they steamed in stunned paralysis.

  Grynn Xanthopoulos , Brüücê Phillip Väntös and the redhead Irish shepherd sorcerer, Sétanta Hvitsërk, the famed hound of Culann, arrived in a churning ball of smoke and Ëgbë mist staring around the room at a cast of characters unlikely to grace any stage of the rational world.

  Well well, Brüücê Phillip. It looks like we’ve come not so fashionably late to the party my dear.

  Grynn noticed the Ëndæråücø staring menacingly at Vickie and her companion. Suddenly, their maws agape, they dove while Vickie’s attentions were trained on any number of other brouhahas on that chamber’s a la carte.

  Grynn yelled to Brüücê Phillip and together with Sétanta they locked powers and released the Rêh Moërté. The blood jinx of field necromancy. All beings of Ëvèr were beyond the veil of actual living and slaves to all forms of death mågÿck. The Ëndæråücø were no exception. The three Pörø veterans’ white lightning conjured attack slammed into them like a train of living freight and organic glue. Ëvèrien threads caught on the spindle of that mågÿckal enchantment, their winds folded in on themselves, a cigarette puffing in reverse, slowly spooling back down the long drain of the The Vœrtëx.

  Tony and Åpsät’s mågÿck now spent, they looked up at Nänå descending in snake tease, tasting the air as her decision to strike or vex was made. Tony and Mother message now one, he sunburst in Nänå’s mind speaking a directive triggering the gröötslâng queen’s primal software.

  <යෞවන දියණියව නැවත වරක් කියයි රුධිරයේ දිවුරුම හා උපත ලබා ගැනීම සඳහා තරු මිලෙන් අඩු කර ගැනීමටත්,අහස නංවාලීමටත් සිදු වේ!හිකෝරෝලිම්හිදී අපේ ගීතයේ ස්ත්රී අන්ධකාරය අහස හරහා ගෙන එන්න!

  දැන් අපි මැජික් සහ මිනිසා නැවත වරක් සකස් කරමු>

 
  Let us now in this time of göds and man be remade!>

  Nänå transformed into the baneful glory of her gröötslâng self as Victor and Vickie joined her. Mother and son Gröötslâng and mantis göddess all flexed as every flavor of mågÿck in that mercuric chamber coughed and shrank in knowing dismay. For all her bespoke madness, Nänå was their mother reclaimed and they would now tear down Nirvana and demolish the zen of Zion to defend her.

  The four armed Väläråücø rallied around Khæ’dîm Çåril and Åpsät casting lightning as Nänå and her offspring battled every moving target in that space. They hurled stifling bolts of power at the Väläråücø and seizing their elf Lord in a vice grip of choking malevolence, Nänå smiled an awful smile of fang and tusk as she bit down and ripped off his entire left arm, torso and clavicle, bones snapping in feigned allegiance to elf body. As his husband lay dying of gröötslâng venom Åpsät roared and in a grip of insane impetus he touched Tony’s volcanic hand and the power of the Mother raced through his root system drowning him in a wave of undulating darkness as ancient as Hiklorim itself. Head haloed in fire and awash in the Mother’s gloomy sorcery, he glared at Nänå, the serpent elephant göddess of heaven, eyes wide, mågÿcks bursting his seams. Smiling his own maniacal smile, he released a concentrated bolt of punishment and riled mågÿck so powerful it raped through Nänå, Vickie and Victor, peeling back the fibers of their nerve centers and boiling them in a cylindrical chimney of organ crushing twilight and electrifying retribution. They tried to stall the gross ferocity of Åpsät’s onslaught but in the face of that savage combo of concentrated hate, pain and brutal alchemy they could only bow, burn and in raging defeat, relent.

  Åpsät opened a rift in the air, his own blackhole of Gehenna, and force slung the three of them still screaming and feinting in horror into it, locking it with a satisfied twist of mågÿckal wards. He turned around and ran to Khæ’dîm Çåril’s side now surrounded by chanting Väläråücø busy strumming an elven death dirge for their slowly dying lord. Åpsät looked down at the only being who had ever brought joy in any shade but the purest to him and refused to allow this day or any other to have him. With the remnants of the Mother’s gödcraft slowly receding and leaving his body bereft, he kissed Khæ’dîm Çåril. He poured every remaining inky molecule of that niggling trail of residual Mother force into Khæ’dîm Çåril’s body and commanded him to come back. That power stretched and yawned through his unsealed body, finding the tattered bits of his complete and perfect cellular defiance and there it rewrote the code of him. Elf DNA and hastening
cruor reknit itself in the Mother’s somber Petrie dish. His chest remuscled over as his arm and every inch of his olive sunkissed beauty returned and cast back that gröötslâng poisoned shroud of death. He opened his eyes and looked into those of his truest love and whispered weakly,

  Hey dear heart. Can I just say? Your family is a bunch of fucking assholes. And not the good douched kind either.

  Åpsät laughed and kissed him so hard Khæ’dîm Çåril winced. Tears danced down their cheeks as they both rose and the Väläråücø kneeled, arms clasped, welcoming their liege back from the hungry Gâtes of Ëvèr.

  *****************************************************

  Çåthÿ Liin hovered in full Bôkör form at the mouth of a cave high up in the Mafadi mountains of the human realm of South Africa and Kwazulu Natal. She looked at the brooding form of a battered and livid Gröötslâng Queen and to the room she pronounced in lingering concert,

  Queen of the Sky. Hear us. We know how to answer your insult and bend that weapon to your will. The Bôkör are here and we are ever present. The Eye sees all.

  67

  The secret temple chamber of the Küqålä Corporation lay in rocky shambles, the aftermath of yesterday’s mågÿckal grudge match painting the rubble in large brushstrokes of terror and damage. Gærüt shook his head and groaned at the room, registering the magnitude of what earthquake of power had destroyed his chamber like an angry animal shaking a smaller one in its teeth. A river of thoughts merged as he begins to digest what he could only imagine had taken place here. That unknown force thwarting him of late had blocked him telepathically from reading the psychic flare that had to have gone up from this place. The pyschology of this disaster challenged his resilience and angered him as Sky Father. The world of the Cryptids had begun to slip away from him. Fear no longer salient in the hearts of his enemies and those who knew the law and kept the law. It was time for an awakening. A very rude one.

  His head began to ache as his thoughts jumbled. He grabbed the railing to catch his stumble and cursed his weakening state. Head again clear he thought once more on his mounting crisis and wondered what the opposite of post-trauma would look like if he cut a bloody swathe through the ranks of Cryptid göds and göddesses and the lesser beings on the mågÿckal spectrum. Would that soothe his oncoming headache and kill what he currently felt?

  I am Gærüt fucking Lång. Richest being on the planet. Baddest göd to walk the universe. I am the göd Ôlörûn. Ceaseless and horrific in power. I was never callous or naive enough to think horses needed to be trojan to disguise and bear truth hence. Fear smuggles in what respect dare not. I will bring them all to heel. Their drumhead trial begins now.

  Gærüt’s headache tingled again in his prefrontal lobe promising far more pain than the tickle of terminal things. Just then,Victor appeared before him and immediately prostrated himself, tears staining his face as he crawled on all fours to rest at Gærüt’s feet. He slowly dragged his lips from toe to toe kissing his fathers sandaled feet, bathing them with his tears in anointing fervor. Gærüt tamped down the urge to smite him, choosing instead restraint in the face of that two second confusion that strange confounding actions often inspire.

  Forgive me Father. Let us together find this fiendish tool of Åpsät’s and together wreak a new havoc. How foolish I’ve been. I understand now the prison in which you planted my nature. Mother is...insane. I see that now. I want to serve you father. I want to help you. You see, fresh from the void I dreamt in colors of the beautiful and hateful. After a thousand years of puberty I believed I was Jesus reborn. I thought I was the walrus and the carpenter. But now I see the long sickness of the world. Alice is awake and I will force her to walk the long mile of wonderland. Past dirty corrupt rabbits in hats mad with knave’s heart she shall bear your message hence. Cats cherished and Cheshire shall burn on the mushroom and all will be done anew. They will slip the caldera of the red queen’s volcano of cards and one message will echo across that cocaine landscape.

  “Deny Him little caterpillars and you will break like pottery and perish forever.

  If you see our black ship on your horizon fret long and turn your tongue no longer to prayer for all is already lost. The Sky Father has come!”

  Gærüt’s headache returned with its own three and eight of swords tarot of pain as Victor bowed and teleported away leaving Gærüt alone to revel in his resolve, fulsome in the paper and pencil pride of son and bold purpose.

  *****************************************************

  Victor appeared in that cavernous cave dwelling where Nänå and Vickie sat waiting on tenterhooks. He kissed them on both cheeks as he laughed and said through clipped bits of conspiratorial mirth,

  The stage is set Mother. He suspects nothing. The fool actually thinks me the loyal son returned. Once we have tricked him into helping destroy that dark repository of The Mother, we shall draw all vindications near. When I hold his heart in my hand avenging my imprisonment and all of our brothers fallen to oblivion before us, Vickie,, I shall rejoice and rejoice indeed.

  He grabbed his ice crystal and carved skull goblet of Zulu mead and drank down his self-satisfaction in large velocious gulps.

  *****************************************************

  Foolish twits. Did you all think I bought that repentant son bullshit? Idiots all. I am Gærüt. Fucking. Lång. Richest being on the planet. Quadruple comma club bitches. I am the baddest motherfucking göd to walk this universe. My name is Ôlörûn. Remember me! I am Ceaseless and Horrific in power. Big C. Big H. I will NEVER be callous or naive enough to think horses, even those dressed as lying sons, need ever be trojan to disguise and bear my truth hence. Fear smuggles in what respect dare not. And when ice melts down to water, you will all fear me anew! Of this only the finest promises are made. I will once again bring all of you to heel. There will be slow singing and flower bringing.

  Your drumhead trial begins now.

  Until then.

  68

  What a mess they have all made of things! My poor Ëndæråücø. Flouted and tossed aside like so much flotsam. The time has come for a firmer hand in things I see. But first...

  Çåthÿ Liin had always loved great big portly elf-men. And certain stout elf maidens as well. Her passions were an opportunity equal to all. The rounder and sturdier the better. Any intimate visitor needed fortitude to last in her bed. In every respect. In elvish circles she was what the younglings called a superchub chasing dominant sub. She had always loved that title and the elf men who helped her keep its rumor polished. There was exquisite charm in rolling over the girth of a husky elf bull of a man to escape the pleasure of him but still finding the gift of yet more flesh. Rolls and rolls of him to greet her sexual hungers. How deliciously replete the corpulent man. My kingdom for a kingdom of them, she opined. Even now, in the crepuscular bowels of Ëvèr, she had managed to find an object of lust and domain fetish to sate her appetites.

  She wasted no time undressing, forecasting her arousal and punctuating in long drippingly wet strokes her current erotic session with the rotund cannibal king of the Cådærn elf clan, Prifddinås the Insatiable. The Cådærn were the military clan of the first age of elves tasked with the protection of the other nine clans before and during the Great War. When it was clear the Sky Father’s Curse would swallow his entire army in its sweep along with all the others, King Prifddinås reached out through the land itself and bespelled every member of his clanline in an act of mågÿckal brutality, liquifying them and cannibalizing the entire body and power of the great Cådærn lineage. He ingested every man woman and child of Cådærn blood and mågÿck. Their every ounce of elemental power now swam eternally in his distended gut that he could conjure at will ensuring the portly king a place of fear and prestige on the elven council of Bôkör elders.

  Prifddinås nuzzled Çåthÿ’s neck, tongue licking gently that hollow above her suprasternal notch. She winnied like a foal in fresh heat as his meaty fingers palmed half her as
s, pressing her pelvic sternum roughly against his thigh. There would be no safe words. Not for her. For him. She bit his elephantine neck and nibbled at the hanging beef of his earlobe. She tasted legions on his tongue when she kissed him. She knew the flavor of those whose very bodies he had pillaged and eaten and it made her salivate. If her Mînåthrian mågÿcks would have provisioned, she would have eaten back all of elfdom and become the impious queen of one. Alas, the stack of melted elven loaves piled vaguely like pancakes in his plump breadbasket worked just fine in teasing her orgasm. Her lips swole in ripe liquid anticipation. All four of them. Her backbone slipped off its track as King Prifddinås bent and spread her knees wide as he and kissed her on those lips. Eager and aware, she came, washing his jowls in her musk and planting her feminine stamp of approval somewhere on his thick flabby tag.

  Her sisters Çhêrÿl and Jøłëtâ screamed in her head, their alarm startling her. Her knee accidentally jammed Prifddinås’ swollen shaft sending his roly-poly highness to the mat, fat and fætal in pain, he lay there contorted and struggling not to four letter sprinkle Queen Çåthÿ.

  She dressed and flew from her citadel in a fuming stupor, golden eyes bleeding black rage. She stormed into the meeting hall of Ëvèr, crushing the helmeted heads of door guards as she blew the doors off their hinges, coopting the attention of every elf in that entire hall. There before his throne lay the chained and bruised bodies of her two sisters, beaten and punished in some conspiracy of lunacy that had surely befallen their Viscount. A lunacy that had just that very moment sealed his pact with oblivion, Çåthÿ concluded, her powers swelling past the carefully coupled tuck of her resolve.