The Wayward Godking

by Brendan Carroll

  Anu’s face darkened and the Djinni cringed slightly. The Skyfather gazed into each of their faces for several seconds and then the frown broke into a smile.

  “Such loyalty! Such love!” he laughed. “I must say that I am both surprised and pleased. I had not expected him to garner such devotion. He strikes me as quite selfish. Where then has he gotten off to?”

  “That… we cannot say,” John Paul spoke up quietly. “He goes where he pleases. He has always done so, much as have we all until now.”

  “Hmmmm,” Anu commented wisely. “I see that you speak the truth, Nanna. You were always quite the witness to honesty.”

  “Thank you, sir,” John bowed his head slightly and then smiled. “Since we are being honest, might I inquire as to what you intend to do with Meredith?”

  “I intend to keep her,” Anu told him shortly.

  “Why?” John pushed his luck.

  “Someday, when you have lived a few thousand more eons, you will understand,” Anu told him smugly. “For now, you must learn some semblance of humility. I see that you have none.”

  “I am most grateful for the opportunity to gain it, Grandfather,” John Paul nodded slightly. “Is it something that you admire in others because you lack it within yourself? I have noted that people usually wish for that which they cannot have rather than being content with what they can have.”

  Lavon coughed loudly in his ear and Jozsef Daniel almost choked at his words. The Djinni was up immediately, swaying through the seated group toward the confounded Anu.

  “Grandfather.” Lemarik took his arm. “The books that your angel has read to us have everything one would need to live a good and upright life. Is it your desire that we should teach these things to the world as they are, or do you wish us to modify them in order to fit with modern thinking?”

  “Modern thinking?” Anu asked and frowned as the Djinni took his arm and turned him away from John Paul. “Why should modern thinking change what is good?”

  “I didn’t say that modern thinking would change what is good. You misunderstand me, sir,” the Djinni continued as he led the Skyfather back through the crowd, which was again beginning to break up into smaller groups. “I was held captive for many, many ages by your grandson, Marduk, and then again by your daughter, Ereshkigal, my beloved aunt. In that time, the world changed beyond belief. I have come to enjoy many things that exist today which did not exist in the time before my captivity. I am simply wondering if there will be any of the modern world left that we may bring these teachings to or must we begin again?”

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  Mark Andrew shook off another long bramble wrapped around his boots as he walked through the ruins of the once beautiful plain in front of Armand’s castle. The place horrified him. Briars, brambles and weeds had sprung up everywhere, replacing the soft meadow grasses and wildflowers almost completely. Biting flies and mosquitoes attacked the exposed skin of his neck, face and hands as he followed the overgrown lane that led to the forest and below to the realm of Il Dolce Mio’s people. He bent occasionally and checked some of the stiff weeds and grasses. Someone had passed here very recently and in a hurry. He found traces where the traveler had tangled himself in the briars and fallen, crushing the weeds beneath him. The trail indicated a lightweight individual with small feet. No doubt, Selwig had passed through here in a panic after he’d found himself abandoned by his adopted family.

  Mark’s heart went out to the frightened Tuathan healer and again, he felt responsible for the little fellow’s sufferings. The Knight threw his mantel over his shoulders as a chill wind, kicked up by the stormy sea, sent a shiver up his spine. He had to keep moving or else his father would find him. He’d not felt hunted in ages and ages and the feeling was not a good memory. His powers had grown to such an extent after he’d finally regained his faculties, that even he was appalled by what he could do and he had no idea what his upper limit might be, but he did know that no matter how advanced he’d become over the centuries, his father was still far beyond him and there was little hope of ever besting him in a face-to-face confrontation. The pursuit of the Tuathan gave him a new direction and he doubted that Anu would be inclined to think of visiting the Tuatha de Danann any time soon. He’d come here seeking Semiramis and Diana or perhaps even Marduk, but he knew that they were gone now. He didn’t know how he knew, but the Djinn’s servants’ stories about Anu’s visit to the Queen and the arrival of her sister had all but confirmed his growing feeling that he would never see them again on earth. He’d wandered about the vacant room where Semiramis had met with her grandfather and her brother and there, he had sensed internally what had taken place. Anu had undone his work. Untied another knot and changed the world again. Mark did not like change. Things had been as they had been for far too long to have everything undone now.

  He’d left the Djinni’s palace and gone to his old castle atop the cliff, finding it in a state of deterioration that was both shocking and depressing. The castle had been one of his finest works in the underworld, and Armand had taken it even farther, but now it was crumbling and covered with dead vines, brambles and weeds. Owls and ravens had made nests in the upper floor and rats, something he’d never seen in the underworld, infested the kitchen house and lower reaches of the building. He’d left it almost thankfully and started across the plain on foot after trying unsuccessfully to summon one of Bart’s horses. Even the mystic horses were gone. Everything was ruined and Mark Andrew was stewing in a slow burning rage. His consternation increased when he was suddenly confronted by a troop of what appeared to be a small contingent of Queen Ereshkigal’s Boggans. They sprang up from the dead grass all around him, brandishing wooden spears and clubs, grunting, screeching, waving their muscular arms over their heads and beating their chests. Mark drew his sword and turned slowly in a circle as he estimated the strength of his adversaries. One of them, completely naked and covered with dark hair, sidled forward, crouched on all fours and showed him an impressive set of teeth before rising up and beating his chest while the others hooted their approval. Mark frowned. These were not Boggans. Their language and gestures were much too primitive. And he understood not a word of their grumbling and mumbling.

  Mark waved the sparkling sword and they moved back a few steps in unison. He didn’t want to hurt them, he wanted to move on. He crouched suddenly and picked up a fist-sized rock. This action caused them to jump up and down, screeching and hooting menacingly. Their apparent leader crept forward again and picked up a rock of his own taking Mark’s action as some form of challenge.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he muttered and tossed the rock into the air in front of him. As it began to descend he sliced it neatly in half with the sword, trying to demonstrate the superiority of his weapon. The lead creature frowned and then beat his chest again before tossing his own rock high above his head. He raised his club and smashed the rock to bits as it fell to earth in front of him. Mark had to duck the flying debris as the troop howled and leapt into the air, fairly excited by their own show of superiority. Before he recovered his stance, one of the smaller creatures dashed in, running by use of his hands and feet. He swiped at Mark Andrew’s feet taking him down painfully in the weeds before backing off to enjoy his own round of applause and appreciation from his fellows. Mark got up quickly in time to see the smaller beast take a vicious cuff from the leader for his arrogance. Another of them appeared to laugh, and the smaller fellow leapt on him in rage. Mark saw his chance and bolted for the woods, sprinting through the tangle as fast as he could go. He was halfway to the trees before they realized that he was gone. By the time they ambled after him, he was well into the forest and out of sight. Their lumbering, ape-like gaits, no match for his long legs.

  When he was far enough away to take a breather, he stopped and considered what he had just witnessed. The creatures looked and acted just like the prehistoric men he remembered from the dawn of his ages when he’d left Atlantis and traveled to Khem. Hairy barb
arians. The so-called Neolithics and Neanderthals in Christopher and de Bleu’s video games. His father had really outdone himself... again.

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  Selwig drew up short at the sight of the deserted outpost. Here is where he expected to find at least three or four armed Tuathan guards and a sergeant or a lieutenant. The small cottage looked more like a gingerbread house than a military establishment alongside the road leading into the depths of Corrigan’s kingdom. It, too, was abandoned and overrun with briars and ugly vines. He poked about in the bothersome leaves for several seconds before recognizing them as poison ivy, a growth not indigenous to the underworld. He backed off the porch and sat down on a wobbly three legged stool in the yard to look for the appropriate ointment in his bag to counteract the poison. All of this was highly puzzling and very disturbing. Even the plants and animals seemed changed somehow. He’d hardly seen any friendly beasts in the forest that once teamed with deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds, porcupines, skunks and all sorts of things. He’d never been much of a nature lover, preferring to stay in the Dagda’s city, but his association with the Templars had taught him much about life in the wild, though it had not made him anymore fond of it. There were creatures lurking in the dim recesses of the forest that watched him with hungry eyes. Wolves? He’d read of them, but never seen one. Bears? Surely not. He pushed these unwelcome thoughts from his mind. The darkness had lifted little by little and for that he was glad. Whatever it had been, it was good to be rid of it.

  He rubbed an aromatic herbal jelly on his hands and his forearms as he looked about the bright summer’s day. Where were his people? What had happened to them? A shadow passed over the yard and a high shrill screech brought him to his feet. A hawk dipped on something in the brush beside the road and flew away again while he watched, and then he became aware of feet pounding the earth. Someone was running down the road that passed in front of the house. Several someones, it seemed. Selwig grabbed his bag and ducked behind the small gatehouse situated near the road.

  Presently three Tuathans came into sight, their heads bobbing just above the tall weeds lining the lane. They rounded the bend and headed toward him, running as fast as their short legs could carry them. As they approached and then passed him, he counted five armed soldiers carrying spears, bows and swords. They didn’t even slow as they approached the guard shack. He waited until they were almost out of sight and then started running after them. He was not exactly used to running at military pace, but he could keep up with them for a while and bit without falling too far behind. They ran on and on, passing two more deserted outposts, and then they were home. Selwig stopped short of following them into the cavern leading to the underground city where the Dagda lived.

  He could not simply burst into Lugh’s territory without being invited, and he’d been banned from the city years and years ago. Nothing had changed in that regard. He would have to wait outside until someone deigned to carry a message that he awaited the Dagda’s pleasure.

  As he sat on a flat boulder near the well-concealed entrance to the caverns, he thought over what he might say, but nothing made sense. He wasn’t sure what he should say. The darkness was gone, but the forest! It was awful and Corrigan’s castle was in ruins. He worried over his dilemma until he could worry no more, and then he let his mind go blank as Vanni had taught him. Meditation, that’s what he needed. Collect his thoughts. Wait. Calm himself. Wait. Someone would come. Everything would work itself out. Vanni had taught him this. He sat cross-legged on the rock with his hands resting on his knees, eyes closed, breathing deep breaths through his nose.

  “Hey!” a voice startled him out of his wits.

  He opened his eyes and found a lovely Tuathan lass standing in front of him, arms akimbo.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?” she asked and frowned furiously at him. Her golden curls were tangled and dirty. Leaves stuck to her face and her arms and her dress was ragged and torn. Bits of moss and fern clung to her legs and her feet were bare.

  “What happened?” he answered her question with another question as he surveyed her condition.

  “What happened?” She rolled her eyes. “What happened? What do you think happened? The world ended. That’s what happened! Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been… I was… There was…” he stammered and then stood up, clutching his bag to his chest. “Listen, lassie, I need your help. I must send a message to the Dagda requesting an audience with him. I have to speak with him. It is very important. Life and death, you see?”

  “The Dagda? Ha!” She smiled at him and then resumed her frown. “No one has seen the Dagda in ages! And furthermore, no one has seen the King. No one knows what to do, and so, no one does anything. Look at me! No one washes the clothes. No one tends the sheep. No one cooks the food. No one paints the houses. No one mends the sheets. No one sings the songs. No one milks the cows. No one gathers the eggs. No one…”

  “Hold, little one!” Selwig held up one hand to stop her. “The Dagda is gone?” He looked around as if expecting to see Lugh peeking out from behind a rock.

  “That is what I said.” She moved around, trying to stay in his view. “Are you deaf? Look at me! I am a mess. No one comes to dress me. No one combs my hair. No makes my bed. No one sweeps my floor. No one…”

  “Hold!” Selwig stopped her again. “Take me to your captain.”

  “My captain? I have no captain. There is no captain,” she said sadly.

  “How about a lieutenant? Is there a lieutenant?”

  “No lieutenant.”

  “A sergeant then?”

  “Maybe, but why should I tell you? You are a stranger. You might have come to kill us.”

  Selwig let out a short sigh and shook his own head sadly.

  “If I had come to kill you, I would have killed you already, and the more I stand here talking to you, the more appealing the proposition sounds. Who are you?”

  “I am Barthig Molwoddy, of course. Molwoddy is the Mayor, and I am his daughter… his only daughter and very eligible for marriage, I’ll have you know. I am not to be toyed with,” she said and crossed her arms stubbornly.

  “I’m sure,” Selwig muttered and then executed a sweeping bow to her. “I am Selwig, and I would request an audience with Mayor Molwoddy.”

  “Oh, so now you wish to use me?” She narrowed her bright blue eyes at him. “I’ll not be used, Selwig. I am the mayor’s daughter and my company is sought after daily and nightly.”

  “I’m sure,” Selwig muttered again. He remembered Molwoddy. This Barthig had to be one of his granddaughters perhaps. “I do not wish to use you at all. I have come from far away with great tidings.”

  “Hmmmm.” She pressed one dirty finger against her lips, and he realized that she was barely grown. Still very childish and spoiled terribly. “Are they tidings of joy?”

  “Yes, of course…” he smiled and then sputtered. “No! They are tidings of great usefulness.”

  “Ahhh. Usefulness,” she nodded. “I suppose my father would have to be the judge of that, sir. Follow me…” She started off at once and he had to hurry to keep up with her. They passed through the dark and winding passages that kept most intruders from finding the Dagda’s city and finally emerged into the fanciful world that Lugh had built for himself.

  At first, everything looked just as he remembered. The colorful buildings. The fanciful paintings on fences and walls. Beautifully cobbled streets. All sorts of plants and flowers planted in jugs, jars and raised beds. But on closer inspection, he discovered that the plants were dying, the paint was fading and the buildings were falling into disrepair. Boards and trimmings hung crookedly on porches. Leaves and debris piled up in the corners and the air was much too chilly. His unlikely escort pulled her tattered feather cape closer and motioned for him to hurry when he slowed to take in the ruin of his beloved city. It took every ounce of resolve he could muster not to run down the winding streets to his own house and see what had become
of it.

  Barthig led him straight to the Molwoddy house, passing by the portico of Lugh’s ostentatious dwelling in the center of town. Dead leaves fluttered on the wide steps and a cat lay curled in the Dagda’s throne. The mayor’s house was just across the street from Lugh’s palace. Old Molwoddy was on the porch, idly sitting in a rocking chair, tapping his toe with an ornately carved and painted walking stick.

  “Father!” Barthig stopped in front of him and he looked at her in consternation. “We have a visitor, and there is no tea to offer. What shall I do with him?”

  “A visitor?” The Mayor leaned around his plucky daughter to look at Selwig.

  “Yes, Your Honor, sir…” Selwig nodded and smiled at him. “I am called Selwig. I once lived here and worked for the Dagda.”

  “Selwig? Selwig, hmmmm.” The Mayor scratched his head thoughtfully. He had long red curls and large brown eyes. “I have heard of a Selwig. Once a great and eligible healer in the Dagda’s service and later declared a traitor and a leper and then hailed as a great hero by the Tuathan gentry, exiled forever to wander the lands of men, saving the Tuathans from disasters and contamination. I should think that one should make up one’s mind what one wants to be.” The old man waved his hand in dismissal and raised one doubtful eyebrow at the healer. “What can I do for you, Selwig?”

  “Your city is dying, sir,” Selwig sat down on a footstool near the Mayor’s feet. His shoes had holes in the bottom. “Where is everyone? What happened? There was a great darkness… an evil darkness… in the forest. What was it? Where is the Dagda? Where is King Corrigan?”

  “The King has not been on his throne in ages and ages past. They say he has turned against us and lives now with his mother in the world of men. The Dagda was taken away by an angel.”

  “An angel?” Selwig’s face lit up. He knew all about angels. Vanni had taught him, and Sophia had also told him of angels. And he had learned much from Armand de Bleu and his nephew and everyone else. The mighty Djinni had told wondrous tales of angels, and he had seen them warring with the evil ones. Flying on great winged horses and riding magnificent beasts to war. Lord Lucifer. Lord Nanna. And others.