The Wayward Godking

by Brendan Carroll

  “Yes, yes,” the Mayor sighed heavily and turned to his daughter, who still stood waiting near the bright red doorframe. “Go and fetch us a bit of wine, Daughter. Yes, an angel. He was tall and strong and his robes shone with the light of the sun at midday. He came one morning and spoke with Lord Lugh. That evening Lugh told us that he would be leaving us. He recommended that we seek out King Corrigan’s kingdom and go to live there with the others, but when we sought the King’s company, he was not at home and, in fact, his people were seeking us for advice. Alas, we could give them none and sent them away. We have come to ruin at last.”

  “Nonsense,” Selwig frowned. “You are the Mayor. You are the leader. You must lead. You must tell the people what to do.”

  “I am too old.” Molwoddy shook his head sadly. “It is too late.”

  “It is never too late!” Selwig stood up and then sat back down quickly as Barthig brought him a bottle of wine. She handed another to her father.

  “Sorry,” she said. “All the cups are dirty and the maid’s run off with the gardener.”

  “Thank you,” Selwig nodded and pulled the cork with his perfect teeth. He turned up the wine and offered her the bottle. To his surprise, she took the bottle and drank deeply from it before handing it back. “We must call a town meeting. Gather the people. Form a plan. We cannot simply give up and… and… and… well, you must tell your people to go back to work. Tell the farmers to farm their fields and harvest their crops, the shepherds to shepherd their flocks and shear the wool. You must tell the spinners to spin and the cheese makers to… to cheese and the cooks to cook and so on and so forth.”

  “A town meeting!” The Mayor spit his cork on the porch and took a long swallow. “Now that is a good idea. I wonder why I didn’t think of it.”

  “We need to announce a meeting as soon as possible,” Selwig encouraged him. “We can make a list of all the people and their jobs and make sure that they understand that they have to go back to work.”

  “But the Boggans… they are awful,” Barthig told him. “They come and steal our vegetables and our sheep.”

  “Then we must rally our soldiers, appoint some new captains.” Selwig looked from father to daughter. “Are there many soldiers left in the city?”

  “Yes, yes. Soldiers. Soldiers make good police. You know I just spoke to five of them earlier. They say the plague of darkness has lifted just as you say. But they say that the Boggans are prowling the forest with sticks and clubs. We need to police the forest and drive these beasts out of our kingdom. You are very wise, Selwig,” Molwoddy stood up. “Barthig, go down to the square and announce the meeting. We will meet on the palace steps after supper. Then get back here and cook supper for us.”

  “Father, father,” Barthig shook her head sadly. “You know that I don’t cook. I don’t know how to cook. I shall take some gold and buy our supper as usual from the fisherman’s wife. Soon she will be rich, and we will be fishing for a living. Shall I bring supper for Selwig?” She cast a shy look at the healer and he looked down at his hands.

  “Of course,” Molwoddy answered. “He is our guest.”

  Selwig reached into his bag and drew out two gold coins imprinted with eagles and other symbols of the overworld.

  “Please,” he handed the money to her. “Buy enough bread and fish for a feast and if you can find some honey mead, I would love to have some.”

  “Honey mead,” she repeated and then smiled. “Honey mead, fish, bread and perhaps some capers and a few carrots? We can eat carrots without cooking them.”

  “I can cook, Barthig,” he told her. “Buy whatever you can with that and the treats on me. I’ll cook anything you bring. Guaranteed.”

  “Guaranteed? What is that, young fellow?” Molwoddy asked him, but seemed immensely pleased by Selwig’s generosity.

  “You’ll see,” Selwig told him and then watched Barthig trip down the steps. Small bits of leaves and moss flew from her skirts and hair as she walked. “Now tell me, Lord Mayor, all that has transpired here since the Dagda left you. And please, pray tell me more about this angel.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Mark Andrew crouched on the lowest limb of the oak and waited for the ravenous dog to leap at him again. When the wild dog lunged at him, he popped its nose soundly with the hilt of his sword. The dog fell back to the ground on its side, knocking the wind from it. A few seconds passed while it thrashed in the leaves and then it bolted through the forest howling and yelping. Mark held his sword above his head and dropped to the earth below the oak’s spreading limbs. He felt of the trunk of the ancient tree and listened for its voice within his mind. This was indeed one of the old trees of the forest, but this was not the old forest as he remembered. Everything had changed. The tree whispered its thoughts to him as he listened and then became silent when a distant howl sent chills up his own spine. The first howl was answered by a second and then a third. Whatever these creatures which resembled the Cu Sith were, they were pack animals, and it was time to move on. He sheathed the sword and jogged on up the path, worried that he might find the remains of the Tuathan at any time. Selwig was no coward, but neither was he a hero. The animal that had ambushed him could have torn the healer to shreds in a matter of seconds.

  He broke from the forest into the open meadow where the Stele of Ahasuerus that marked the exact center of the underworld should have been. The stele was missing as were the two guardians and the odd rolling ball. He walked cautiously across the dead grass and stopped in the center of the small meadow, kneeling in the thick grass mat. Not even an indentation in the ground showed where the stone marker might have been. Another howl, more distant now, sent him on his way again. It would not do to get caught in the open by a pack of wild dogs. The realm of the Tuathans lay just beyond the next belt of trees. He turned south when he reached the trees and took a well worn path under the elms and willows that led toward Corrigan’s castle. If anyone were still there, he intended to round them up and persuade them to join the Dagda’s people in his more secure realm under the foothills of the mountains. Several times along the way he found bizarre scenes of carnage. Bones and half-eaten carcasses of deer, rabbit and squirrel scattered about primitive fire pits dug in the earth. The Boggans never built fires in the forest for fear of attracting the attention of the elves, who would come and drive them out. Whoever had made these camps were not Boggans.

  He reached Corrigan’s castle at nightfall and found it in a complete state of decay. The walls were covered with moss and tangled vines full of thorns and burs. He reluctantly used his sword to cut his way through the mess and made his way inside. The interior had fared no better than the outside and here again, he found signs of the same sort as had been in the forest. Picked bones lay in small heaps around the main hall, and there were piles of leaves and dead branches torn from trees that might have served as primitive bowers for sleeping. But the signs were old and dried. No one had been here in some time.

  Mark climbed the stairs to the upper reaches finding the same ruin in every room. The furnishings were in tatters or completely smashed. Some of the rooms were altogether empty. He came out on Corrigan’s walkway that was level with the trees. From the arched windows he could look down on the forest below, but the flowers, birds and butterflies, which had once populated this place with sweet songs and flashes of brilliant color, were gone. Below him, the forest floor was quiet. Not even a breeze stirred the dried leaves. He followed the airborne corridor to its end and found himself in Corrigan’s grand tree house where he’d taken drumming lessons from his soldiers. Apparently, the creatures who roamed these woods now were afraid of heights. The tree house was in good condition. The furnishings were intact though a bit out of place and dusty. Best of all there were crockery jars stored in a beautifully carved cabinet. Corrigan had built himself a bar in his tree house, complete with a primitive sort of wet sink. Mark rinsed out a wooden cup and poured himself a generous helping of the elven honey mead as the sun s
ank below the trees, plunging the place into almost complete darkness. He drank down the mead and poured another cup full before opening one of the latticed windows. As soon as he looked out, he knew he was in trouble. He could see two fires burning under the trees not more than a hundred yards distance. He circled the structure looking in all directions and found a dozen more fires. He made his way in the dark back to the bar and found a crock of water in which he could wash his face. A series of hoots and howls broke the silence and then subsided into a slow, rhythmic pounding. Drums? There would be no sleeping tonight.

  He would use the cover of darkness to take care of business. The underworld was changing almost before his eyes. In fact, he did not believe he was in the actual dimension he had come to know as the Center. He sat down in the middle of the tree house on one of the abandoned pillows and closed his eyes. When he connected with the Universal Memory, he saw thousands of images flashing through his mind. He quickly got his bearings and the information he needed.

  A few minutes later found him jogging through the forest toward the caves that would lead him to another place and another time. His path twisted and turned through several harrowing miles of pitch black caverns, where his small crystal light failed to reach more than a dozen feet in front or behind him. When he emerged into the cool night air near the edge of a thick forest, he had to sit down and rest. His heart raced and his breath was ragged. The caves were unnerving, and the idea of running into his father in one of the caverns made his blood run cold. Going back to the Seventh Gate was unacceptable. He already knew his father planned to send the Watchers and several more personages to the Gates. This knowledge was literally written on the wind, but losing Meredith to Anu was almost more than he could bear.

  In his estimation, he had done enough suffering for the world of men to have built up quite a credit balance in his favor. If he could not have Meredith, then he would have the next best thing. He planned his every move as he ran along the familiar paths under the old oaks. The forest seemed strangely quiet without the usual noises and lights associated with the dryads. No acorns and twigs pelted his head, and no chattering admonitions followed his progress.

  The cottage in the meadow was dark, cold and forbidding. He jumped the white picket fence and headed for the backyard. It was here he had used the damnable golden sword to take Meredith’s head when she had called him to her. At the time, he’d thought it only a frustrated dream, but her magick had thankfully been crude, and he had only temporarily separated her physical body from her astral body. If things were as he surmised, he might get lucky, and find another of those enigmatic crystal skulls buried in the cottage yard. If he could give Lily just a little more sophistication and modernization, she would be everything a man could ask for: a beautiful combination of the two women he truly loved beyond even life itself: Morna Lily Ramsay and Meredith Sinclair.

  He sat down in the cool grass and pressed his palms together, concentrating on a small patch of bare ground in the corner of the backyard.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Mark and his beloved Sophia stood alongside Lucio and Catherine, while the elves tied up the long boats on shore. The baby, Michael Emmanuel, was wrapped in soft purple blankets against the morning mist. Further along, Simon, Lydia, Barry, Rachel, Menaka and Levi stood in a tight huddle, repeatedly hugging each other and crying. Lavon came galloping down the beach toward them on one of Bart’s stallions and drew up short a few yards from them. He was accompanied by Christopher Stewart, Louis Champlain, Luke Matthew and a host of others from the Djinni’s palace, riding on more of Bart’s horses and Tuathan ponies. Oriel rode past them and stopped beside her father. He caught her as she fell from the horse and hugged him tightly. Vanni and his new bride joined Lucio and Catharine. Galen and Michael got down from their horses more slowly and looked back up the beach to where a colorful group had gathered on one of the Djinni’s upper balconies. They were waving flags and streamers at the people on the beach.

  Galen raised one hand and waved to them before embracing his father.

  “Have the lines been drawn?” he asked in a low voice.

  “The decisions are made,” his father answered and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. There were numerous scratches in heavy blue ink all over the page. Galen could not recognize the language.

  “You, Luke Matthew and the rest of his family, Mark and Sophia and the baby, of course. Vanni and his wife. Louis and Oriel, Thaddeus and Lavon de Bleu. Apolonio and Michey. Four of Simon’s sons and their families will all be together.”

  “That’s quite a group,” Galen nodded. “Michael is included in that group no doubt? You said Luke Matthew and his family.”

  “Of course,” Lucio affirmed and then looked away from his son’s sad face. Galen did not want to leave. He had grown attached to Lucifer, and he wanted to stay with Marco and Lucia, but it was not possible. They would be accompanying John Paul back to the First Gate. The judge had decided. They would be separated and sent out into the new world to start a new era in the history human evolution.

  Only Vanni was excited about going. He had always wanted to take a cruise with his father. His only sadness lay in leaving King Il Dolce Mio, Selwig and the elves, perhaps for the last time seeing this wonderful and dangerous place. Lucio was far from happy. The ships would have no steering mechanisms. They would be under the sole control of Lord Kinmalla. He would guide the ships safely to shore at a place of his choosing, and there they would start new lives. There were many other names listed on Lucio’s paper. Several families from the Isle of Ramsay had somehow made it into the Abyss before the Queen’s reunion had been interrupted by Lord Anu. He would be taking some of them, and Simon would take others. He was glad he had drawn Lavon de Bleu and Christopher Stewart, but lamented the loss of Barry of Sussex and the rest of Simon’s gregarious sons. He knew in his heart he would never see them again. He also felt a great sadness at losing touch with Lemarik, Jasmine, Meredith, Paddy Puffingtowne and his folk.

  Never had he thought to lose so much at once.

  The old masters of the east had been sadly on the mark when they’d urged men to love no one selfishly or else suffer much pain. But the most severe pain came when he thought of Mark Andrew and all that would go with him into oblivion. They would never see Luke Andrew again. He had already reconciled himself to never seeing Nicole again… at least, not as he remembered her. They would never see Gregory or Nicholas, Aurora, John Paul or Konrad von Hetz and his son, William. Nor would they ever see Omar, the Prophet or his sister, Dunya, again in this life.

  All those in whom the blood of the Elder Gods ran most purely would be consigned to the so-called nether regions once more. The underworld, though moved from its original plane, would be established once more and the Watchers were resigned to their respective gates. Here and there would be the abodes of Lord Nanna, Nergal, Marduk and Nebo and all who belonged to them by right or by blood. Many of them had already gone their various ways, retiring to the gates voluntarily or taking up residency in the vast, unknown reaches of the underworld, and Lucio still yet had no real idea of exactly where the underworld might fit into the scheme of the cosmos.

  As pristine as the day it was formed, the underworld would remain, and their passing would leave very few traces. The great old castle on the sea cliff and an unusual white dollop on the side of the cliff where the Djinni had lived with his family would eventually fall into the sea and become part of the beach when the surf had pounded it all to sand and pebbles.

  Lucio looked up at the group standing on the Djinni’s balcony. Would he really never hear the familiar ‘Ho, Lucius of Venetia!’ again? Would he never see the tall, slender figure of the purple clad Djinni swaying through the grass, smiling at him with the impish smile that had always meant trouble? It was impossible to believe it could be so.

  And Paddy! Paddy Puffingtowne! The rowdy little clurichaun in his all his colorful finery! How could all these beloved creatures simply va
nish from his life? Tears welled up in the Italian’s eyes and he wiped them away quickly. He would not cry again. He forced himself to think of the future and how difficult their life would be in the new land, but no thought could chase away his immense sense of loss. His friends… nay, his family. All these people had become his world, and he loved all of them. One thing he knew for sure was the next time he saw Anu in the Halls of Amenti and the choice was his to remain or return to the world, he would remain with the Lords of Amenti and journey on in the realms of the superior worlds.

  Jozsef Daniel and Anna had been the first to take their leave, followed by Edgard, Galindwynne and Carlisle Corrigan. Soon after their departure, the Tuathans had received a dispensation of land in the overworld and they had taken Selwig, the now-revered healer and teller of tales with them. Lucio imagined that little Selwig might even find himself with a royal title before long, but they would never know the fate of Lugh’s colorful followers. Or would they? Would Selwig and Mrs. Selwig someday show up at his door for a surprise visit? Would it ever be possible? He knew the Tuathans were not staying in the underworld. That much had been made clear at the last meeting.

  Twelve more longboats had arrived on the shore manned by a strange breed of elf folk dressed in long mantels with deep hoods over their heads. They worked together, quickly and quietly helping the people waiting on the beach load up their small bundles and personal effects. They would receive everything they needed from these elves. The two, moss green ships awaiting them were anchored farther out, almost invisible against the gray sky and greenish sea that seem to meld into one vast mist in the distance.