Of The Dark and The Deep_The Cryptid Council Series Book 1

by Rink Wester

  He had started the evening looking at that days Yahoo trending video news clips. Ruckus at UN building. President calls Africa and Haiti Shitholes. Trump the Chump. Maxine Waters the Champ. He was hoping to see himself somewhere in their black and white articles, amid popups for cable providers and viagra, but he saw nothing about a missing detective who had now been “missing” for nearly two weeks.

  One of the Ogdoad brothers had had the presence of mind to summon a tall spicy plate of lemon pepper wings and fried corn on the cob from Wing Ding Doodle and that hairy Ethiopian vendor on the corner of East Ponce de Leon and Brockett in Clarkston. Tony had stewed and ate in silence feeling sorrier for himself than his current company could ever understand. To them he was a lowly human blessed by their Mother to transcend the confines of human mortal mediocrity. He served her now. He served them all. He had become Razaroc the Slave.

  Fuck all of you. With Trump’s dick.

  Grappling with his current state of mågÿckal indentured servitude, he thought of Vickie and the last time they had been together. Carniglio’s Italian restaurant across from Emory University. He thought of the love he felt for her then and now and how that love had been manipulated by the göds to create the balls out absurdity of his current predicament. He had become tooth to this new nail all to save her but something had gone horribly, viciously awry. Staring across the table of battle at his Vickie the other day, he was immediately at sixes and sevens, horrified at his actions but unable to prevent the patent of his body. The pulsing rush of the Mothers dark ocean of malevolence had seeded Åpsät and coopted him in a flurry of power and punishing delirium.

  I’m so so so sorry Vickie. It wasn’t me baby. I swear.

  Drifting moments ago there in that hotel room in fiery red and black horned horror, wielding his molecule axe, surrounded by seven göds of the Øgdöåd, he wondered what respect his canvas deserved. He had become the evil he had spent the better part of his adult life confronting. The Dark Mother was sutured deep in what was left of his human soul, having now reclaimed the resting horror of her cursed mågÿcks from the calcium prison of her seven sons. Tony felt more and more hollowed out and diminished the wider Aeyitria grew. As that message connected its final seven dots and put spoke to wheel, he wondered in the fullness of paint and brushstroke how much was actually left of TONY MOZEE and whether the Mother would leave enough of that native self intact to fill in the question mark,

  <ම්‍ය් සෙබෙම් සින්ෆුල් බ්‍රෙයන්ස් ඉ කොන්කෙඅල් ඉන් ර්හේ ත්‍ර් ලස්ට් විසො ඔෆ්ය් ලින්හෙරින්ග් විල්ල්…

  ටො ඩොඋසෙ ර්හෙ ක්ජ්ස්‍ර්‍රින්ග් ර්ක්න්ඩෙර් ඔෆ් ග්‍රෝට්ඩ්ල්ස්න්ග් බොර්න් ඔෆ් ර්ස්පෙ අන්ඩ් ඩේප් ට්‍රෙස්ව්ජෙර්‍ය්…

  ර්හ්‍ර්ඩ්ශ් විල්ල්කොමෙ ව්හෙන් ඔෆ්ෆ්ස්ප්‍රින්හ් බ්ලෝඩ් ස්න්ඩ් බිනෙ විල්ල් කොබෙර් ත්‍ර් ලම්ඩ්…

  ඹ්ලෝඩ් ඉන් ඹ්ලෝඩ් ඖට් වකෙ තෙ වෙනිඅල් සින් ඔෆ් ෆමිල්‍ය් ර්ජට් සින්ගුලර් නොඉන් ඔෆ් ප්ලිරරල් වොඑ…

  අන්ඩ් ව්හට් රෙම්සින්ස් ඔෆ් ම්‍ය් පොවෙර් ඉන් මෙස්සහෙ රෙවොබෙරෙඩ් ෆින්ඩ්ස් අ හන්ඩ් ඉන්ක්‍රෙඅටිරෙ ම්ස්ඩෙ…

  ට්ජෙන් බනිශෙඩ් 19ශල්ල් ග්‍රේට්7ඔෆ් න්ලෝඩ් ටො ට්ස්මෙ4ඔෆ් බිර්ත් අන්ඩ් රිගෙයෙහ්‍ර් වෙඅපොන් ෆොර්ගෙඩ් ශ්ස්ල්ල් හික්ලොරිම් රෙරිර්න්…

  තෙ ම්ස්‍ර්හ් ඔෆ් මොතෙර් චිල්ඩ් අන්ඩ් ෆොඑ ස්ටන්ඩ් ට්ස්ල්ල් විත් ඩග්ගෙර් රෙනෙවෙඩ්ස්ජල්ල් ස්ක්‍ය් ෆ්ස්තෙර් ෆ්ස්ල්ල්!>

 
  To douse the charring tinder of Gröötslâng born of rape and Deep treachery…

  The day will come when offspring blood and bone will cover the land…

  Blood in, blood out, wake the venial sin of Family, that singular noun of plural woe…

  And what remains of my power in message uncovered finds a hand in creature made…

  Then banished 19 shall greet 7 of blood to tame 4 of birth and together weapon forged shall Hiklorim return…

  The math of Brother, Mother, Son and Foe stand tall, the dagger renewed shall Sky Father fall!>

  By the time Gærüt’s Myrmidon chimera had arrived and ushered them through that ominous portal to stand before the Gröötslâng King, Gærüt S. Lang, and not a single one of the all powerful Øgdöåd göds put up any sort of sliding fight, Tony knew he was now chained to their destiny. He knew then sinister bells were tolling that he had yet to hear but that they were tolling for him.

  72

  Gærüt pushed and strained and braced himself. Rarely are enemies this implacable, he thought. He planted his feet differently and arched his back and still the enemy held firm. His breathing labored, he thought about his brothers and the events that unfolded moments ago in his secret lair. His muscles flexed as his enemy retreated yet again disappointing Gærüt mocking his anticipation..

  It was rarely a fulfilling experience meeting the voices in your head, Gærüt strained and grunted. But there they all were.

  Örên. I see you are a part of this motley monkey crew as well brother.

  Gærüt. My hands are up. Don’t shoot. I’m just along for the gut wrenching ride brother.

  There are no longer any neutral quarters Örên. The battle is underfoot and the villains engaged.

  Another big push and parry and the enemy charged out briefly only to slide back and hunker down once more in the dark. How infuriating, Gærüt breathed.

  Înköngönzélô, true to obedience, unlike his current enemy, had delivered to him the whole kit and caboodle, hooped stave and all. Åpsät rested his hand on Detective Mozee’s shoulder, a low thrum of energy trailing from one to the other like jumper cables in a winter storm. As Gærüt struck a decisive blow in the moment, chopping off a piece of this current enemy in elation, he remembered the rage translating Åpsät’s body language as his tirade filled the halls of his lair.

  Gærüt you can no longer bully us! No longer bully me. All is not well brother. What I’m doing is for the good of the world. I’ve brought our brothers to heel with the help of The Mother and my Despoiler. Now there’s only you and Nänå. You two must be stopped.

  Little brother, what if I told you this good you’re trying to do was pointless?

  Then I’d agree with you wholeheartedly. Good is pointless. Diffuse and pointless. But isn’t that the point? Redesigning your system with nothing more than a finger pointed. Success pails in the face of simply resisting you brother. It may not stop you alone, but its friction and a million others thrown in your path will.

  You are better than I am little feather. In will and in grace. But my power is still supreme. And I will see you broken and blasted into the dirt before I allow it to be questioned.

  Then in that dirt our lines have been marked and measured dear brother. As in all things the game crawls from your rules.

  As it shall and forever be. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.

  Gærüt’s bowels clenched and cramped, as he thought of the angry göd and their brothers waiting in his anteroom, as he made one last ditch all out assault to vanquish and evacuate t
his enemy from inside his ranks. Gærüt leveled his breathing and bore down with the full might of determined release and the enemy slipped, momentum finally and firmly tipped in Gærüt’s favor. The enemy now evacuated, Gærüt leaned back and allowed himself a momentary relaxed smile of pleasure, his mind now shifting to the other shitty battle waiting in his living room.

  He looked down at his enemy, flushed the toilet, wiped, washed his hands and left the bathroom.

  There’s nothing worse than being constipated.

  73

  Planes flew overhead, the music of indiscriminate travel peppering the air. Victor stood behind Vickie as she looked sternly at the blond Pörø wizard drawing a tracking rune on her forearm. In this particular shitstorm good ends may not be enough to justify terrible means, Vickie gritted her teeth between needle pricks.

  Do not start having catastrophic thoughts bitch, Vickie admonished the quiet part of her psyche. The good cop bad cop in her emotional storehouse was working overtime to sanction her state of mind.

  A few straggling wizards had just returned from a raid on a chupacabra nest in the Panamanian Delta and their emotions were still in the red, complementing the overall lopsided emotional state of that Pörø gathering. They high fived the sadist tattooing Vickie as she sucked her teeth and cursed under her breath.

  Her mind shrank, waking that lost little girl tucked in the recess of her psyche as her nerves slowly frayed past the flag of sanity. She looked at Victor and smiled, her rational self trying to center itself and think on the happier colors of more salient things. She flashed painfully on the image of Tony. Her Tony. Confusion and anguish gut-punched her. He was no longer Her Tony. Overwhelming the two-finger grip she held on the moment, she had just stared blankly at him. Tony had somehow in the past few days managed to cover himself in living lava, goat horns and Øgdöåd sorcery. He and that feathered göd had just soundly kicked all of their asses and sent she, Victor and the mother of all bad ass göddesses packing. Hey Siri, how did that shit happen?

  What have they done to my Tony? He was no longer...there. His body. Sort of. But that infernal hawklike evil in his eyes and those freaky new powers...that is not my man. No sir. No ma’am. No sir. There was someone else driving that bus. Someone whose perversity was large enough to push back the mirror of pupil and iris and claim her lover’s glare.

  Her tattoo burning, she made up her mind. Another log to add to her mental fire. She needed to rescue Tony from this confusing game of the göds. Wonder twin powers, activate! I’m coming baby!

  She retrieved her carry-on bags from the trunk of her chauffeured company Bugatti and boarded the private jet the Pörø Society provided its non-teleporting members and lesser Cryptid clients and employees. Rubbing the still stinging rune on her inner forearm, she boarded the plane, loading her plush seat with snacks and Essence magazines on loan from one of the Baltimore werewolves. She Bewitched-Elizabeth Montgomery wiggled her nose jokingly as the seatbelt mågÿckally extended and wrapped her in aviation safe comfort. She laughed uncontrollably and something tight high up in her chest relaxed and told the storms in her mind to wait.

  As the latch snapped into place, she stopped and looked down at her left hand where a tiny mosquito Cryptid had decided to land. The Avérasbörô Gællinipper were mosquito like Cryptids the size of golf balls and worked as accounting and bookkeeping intermediaries in most midsize preternatural corporations.

  The Avérasbörô Gællinipper alighted there twitching its wings, walking around in circles, contemplating matters much too subtle for flight, it seemed to Vickie. She looked at it looking at her, that pirate of life, both of them waiting for that invisible light to change, for the inevitable to become less obvious. She watched it settle and just as it sank its thirsting palpus into that piece of flesh it had thought to make its own, taking with it to its next conquest a liquid history of all that she was, she sent out a telekinetic tether and softly crushed it. In that final moment, Vickie could have sworn its stricken expression relaxed into one of resigned, grinning bliss. It melted mågÿckally into fine crystalline dust and blew away on the pressure controlled recycled air of that cockpit. Death would lose far more harbingers before her mission was complete, she reclined into her seat.

  As she lowered her hand and pulled back her Egyptian cotton airplane cover, Vickie thought once again about all that had happened to her these last few weeks with Victor and Nänå and this whole göd to göddess thing. But mostly, her mind wandered back in niggling bits and spurts to Tony. My Beloved. Her heart stuttered, the measure and memory of him cocooning itself, falling off that tarmac and fading into the light of that rainy morning. She sat there in private first class comfort, feeling all at once old and promise broken, chuckling, her eyes finally forced shut, having finally arrived at that checkpoint. She put her hands over her eyes, cupping and hiding her tears. Hands tightly hollowed like the humps of camels, their overwhelming purpose now cracked and stretched in drenched disregard.

  I will save you and return to us our Happily Ever After dear heart. This I promise.

  Outside the rain continued to fall, pouring itself out in emergency, as she sat, finally broken in the defeat of her own teary bliss. That defeat becoming straw and straw slowly becoming conqueror.

  She relaxed, the eternal suddenness of mågÿck and cold and Pörø rune and rain promising to eulogize her.

  The Avérasbörô Gællinipper had the right idea, she realized, pulling down the window blind and imagining the end of all mågÿckal stratagem somewhere beyond the tarmac.

  Who knew harbingers of death had such pretty teeth when they smiled?

  74

  Queen Çåthÿ Liin rallied her elven forces. Ëvèr was no more. Her power over the Väläråücø was no more. The Ëndæråücø had shaken their Ëvèrien coils and blown far afield of her control. The all seeing vantage of the Łöå had ended and it had undermined them all. Her enemies could once again hide in elven shadow glåmöûr and subterfuge which confounded her and muddied her plans.

  Her grand council court spies had brought back reports that infuriated and made the walls of Mînåthrörn shake with her bitterness. Chÿnåriön had not perished as she had hoped. The still corpulent Prifddinås had regurgited and restored the length of his kingdom and had sent his son, Prince Görûd Fist and two of his previously devoured royal Gentrymen out to scour the kingdom of Mênègröth. She surmised he would sooner rather than not come to wrest control from his son Khæ’dîm Çåril’s fingers and bend Mênègröth once more to his depravity.

  Mînåthrörn, the kingdom of the Seven Gâtes was once again whole and strong. Theirs was the land of Sindarii mågÿck that had existed long before the light of the two trees, Télpérîön and Łæürélin and most of the First Age of the Sun. For thousands of years it was separate from the outside world under the rule of King Éšú Tÿ’r, Çåthÿ Liin’s father, and the protection of his wife Mÿriån the Måiåd. Seperate until the day it was drawn into the war against Målèkith and his son Chÿnåriön and the doom that lay on the Ñoldor realm of the ten kingdoms because of the Oath of Fëanor, the broken King of Trååëhærn. That doom had put crown to she and her sisters’ heads and extinguished her parents’ joint light.

  The seven Gâtes were once again manned and all who approached Mînåthrörn did so at considerable peril. The promise of Mînåthrian malice greeted all who entered. Burned in elven rune and nature hex above each Gâte were the words:

  အဆိုပါကြောလမ်းညွှန်နှင့်ကြေအဆုံးရှိရာလမ်းကြောင်းကိုရိုက်ထည့်ပါ

  Atish'all Vir Abelasan Fen'Harel ma ghilana Fen'Harel ma halam.

  Enter the Queen’s path where the Dread Wölf guides and the Dread Wölf ends.

  The Gâte of Wood was the first of the Seven Gâtes of Mînåthrörn. It was made of two pillars and a wide arch. In between the two pillars, there was an intricately carved portcullis made of crossed wooden bars a
nd studded with runic iron nails. It’s cavern was manned at all times by the Regent Elves of Mînåthrorn and the Queens’ Outer Guard.

  The Gâte of Stone was the second of the Seven Gâtes. Consisting of a wall with two stone towers spanning a ravine, In its arch the Gâte had a large seemingly immovable slab of moonstone that was used to summon The Dread Wölf itself.

  The Gâte of Bronze was the Third and most elaborate Gâte of the Seven. It was a larger Gâte than the Gate of Stone, and had a twofold door in the wall that supported the Gâte, on which shields and plates of bronze were hung. The plates and shields had intricate designs of wars past and the kings of old wrought into them. Upon their walls there were three towers coated in shining copper, one for each of the shining Queen Sisters of the line of Ëzrå Mãiz.

  The Gâte of Writhen Iron was the Fourth of the Seven Gâtes of Mînåthrörn. It had a high black wall with no lamps. On the wall there were four towers of iron. Between the two middle towers there was welded a great iron eagle. The Elven Eagle Göddess of Aêthøn, Påndöræ Tan-Pareit, protectrice of Mînåthrorn, who legend held was now a chef of some renown out in the mortal realm of the land called America. The Gâte itself was the most beautiful part of the structure. There were three layers to the Gâte, each wrought with the likeness of trees and flowers and eagle sight.