As if sensing the human essence within Malick, the creature’s scaly muzzle curled upwards in disdain and further revealed the rows of serrated teeth that sat along its jawline. It let out a low, hateful growl.
Malick laughed. “Oh, he certainly doesn’t like you. Come.” The creature obeyed and rose immediately. “Good boy,” said Malick as he patted its head. “Grotesque or not, they are effective. And as I told you, we have a mission.”
He looked the creature in its eyes. “Take half and go after the Wolf, the Wolf and her pack.” Why go after the Wolf? “Well, that’s simple. From the sound of it, the Wolf, the new wolf-god, has become quite sad and weak, and her wolves most likely are, as well. We’re going to help it—her.” How? “By putting them out of their misery. Plus, I need more.” More what? Malick growled, growing tired of his vessel’s attitude and endless questions. “Mortal, a word of advice. Do not pester the gods with endless questions nor snide commentary. Our patience is thin, and our mercy is thinner still. Do not test us. Do not test me. Come.”
The beast at his feet leapt onto it feet and stood before Malick. As he patted its head, he said, “Go now.” The creature turned away from Malick then spun around and looked over the cliff, its tail slapping again Malick’s feet as it turned. It let out a loud rattling sound, and four thin slivers slinked out of its back. Its wings. Long and clear, they looked like sheets of thin, sheer linen. They became over-sized insect wings, two on each side. Then it took to the air, and half of its swarm followed.
“And now…” Malick said as he ripped off whatever was left of his old dusty robe. Beneath it was an old, brown, collared-shirt that had accumulated its own layer of dust. Examining it, Malick brushed off his shoulders then shook out his shirt. “Now the rest of us have a boy to kill.”
CH 26: Through the Woods
Mea and Daikon stepped through the dense forest. In this part of the world, the night was still strong. While the moon was bright, it was barely visible over the nearby mountain range or through the heavy cover of the forest’s tall, well-fed trees.
Mea had her new sword strapped down her back, and its hilt peaked out from the top of her snow-white cloak. In her silver armor, her personal blades were right where they belonged, right where they needed to be, strapped to her thighs.
Rising from a bent knee, Daikon let the dirt sift through his fingers then dusted off his hands. He looked over his shoulder at Mea and smiled. “You look ridiculous.” Glancing back again, he clarified. “Not ridiculous but… You just stick out. That’s all”
Mea smiled and stopped moving. “Here.” Her armor blackened to midnight and her cloak did as well. A lion’s head emerged across her chestplate, like it had always been there. An engraved lion head; black, polished, and shimmering like an onyx sculptured trimmed in golden ascents. Admiring her new gauntlet, she watched as the gold trim emerged and trace over her the rest of her armor. “Better?”
“Yes, less of a sore thumb. The Black Lion, it has a nice ring to it.”
“Or Night Stalker? Oh, ah… the Shadow Lion.”
“Yeah,” Daikon agreed, emptily. He was now tracing his fingers over the scarred bark of a tree, three carved slashes, deep ones. They’re here, he thought, here or near enough. Looking around and listening, he thought, not here and definitively not near enough. “Come one.”
Mea’s smile faded as well. “Are we too late? You think we’re too late?”
“No.” Daikon continued walking. “If we were too late, we’d know it.” He saw another scarred tree, this one with too many slashes to count. Bending down, he looked at its thick, protruding root that was the size of a park bench. Three slashes marked it. Deeper and longer than the rest, they looked like they were made from the axe of a lumberjack.
Studying the man’s face, she held onto a jumble of conflicting emotion. Missing both Raven and Blackwell, she was still strangely comfortable with Daikon. Following his path, she kept looking around the forest, looking for… anything. “Hey, I don’t blame you. You know that, right? for Raven, for Vincent. I’m sure you had your reasons. I’m sure that…”
“Did I?” Daikon stopped and hastily turned back towards her. “What if… What if I made the wrong choice? What if… What if I’m wrong now? Since I came back, my head… my head is swimming with, with doubt, with fear, with-with… everything. And I don’t…”
“Maybe.” Mea touched his face and ran her thumb along the scar on his cheek. “Maybe you’re just trying to navigate a difficult situation, the end of the world.”
Daikon smiled. “Maybe.” The sound of rustling leaves gave him pause. Leaves? No, not leaves, not rustling… rattling. “Let’s go. There close.”
Mea watched Daikon walk away and a sick, true feeling was bubbling inside her. If he’s lying, she thought, I can kill him later.
Following Daikon, Mea reflected on her own guilt, her own evil deeds. The gods are killers, and I’m no different. Who am I to judge? As much as I try to convince myself otherwise, as much as I try to lie to myself, I know what I am. I’m… different.
She was. She had been to heaven and hell and… grown up. Somewhere between all of it, she had decided to fight, fight to live, fight for her family, fight for the world… and to die for it if necessary. And she’d become a killer out of necessity, or so she told herself.
They passed through more scarred trees, with more marks that were deeper and more plentiful. Finding it strange that they were walking through a forest, Mea asked, “Hey, why didn’t we just… move through the shadows, like we normally do?” Like we used to.
“Because if we did that, and they were already there, we’d be too late.” Daikon squatted down and touched the thick, rich soil. The dirt was imprinted with small, deep paw prints that were surrounded by small deep holes, puncture wounds, made by something other than a wolf. A few feet away, he saw a scramble of broken branches, chunks of fur, and a black puddles of goo. Someone, something was attacked. “This way.”
“Hey, and what about your reapers? If Blackwell is part of you, why didn’t you just call them to take them out?”
Daikon pretended not to hear her and continued tracking through the forest. I did, he thought, but they didn’t come. I’m not Vincent Blackwell anymore, and they have a new master, apparently. He grabbed something off the ground.
Mea asked, “What’s that?”
Holding it up, he showed her. Small, sharp, and white; it looked like an oversized shark tooth. A plethora of rattling echoing somewhere ahead, inside the tunnel leading to Fenrir’s, and now Nisha’s, den. Normally concealed with a congestion of weeds and purple and green vines, it was now wide open. Daikon unsheathed his katana and nodded at Mea. Then they charged forward, into the dark, dangerous unknown.
CH 27: Inside the Cave
Day and night came and went, and Nisha hadn’t moved. Since returning from Mea’s house, Nisha had done nothing but sit upon her newly acquired throne, the same one her father once sat upon. The giant werewolves that led her seven squads lied at her feet in giant puddles of fur, no longer below the stone staircase, they now surrounding her throne and covered the rest of the raised platform. The rest of them lied through the great hall, and while there was more room below the stone staircase, the floor still remained almost completely covered.
Deep in thought, Nisha’s face was stone, but on the inside, she was bursting with fear. My pack, my family; how am I supposed to protect them? I’m so stupid, she thought, I gave that girl her two days—the two days Fenrir had promised her, not me. Still I gave them to her, out of respect for him, but... what if Darius was right? What if…
A giant black paw slapped against her armored thigh, and then it did it again. A welcomed distraction. It was Clyde. He laid his giant wolf head on her leg and let out a whimper, his sapphire eyes peering up at her. What’s wrong?
“It’s nothing, Clyde.” Nisha forced a smile and scrubbed his head until his ears flopped around. “I’m okay, really. Now, go. Go on, smoke. I know you
want to.”
Clyde grunted then nuzzled Nisha’s thigh, but after Nisha urged him again, his giant wolf head popped up and turned to the side. Really? Can I? Nisha laughed and said, “Yes. Go.”
Tail wagging, Clyde gave a little hop then made his way through the forest of sleeping wolves and down the stone staircase. Nisha watched as Clyde turned and looked back at her with his azure eyes before descended the stone staircase. God don’t sleep, she thought, but as she gazed over her pack, she reconsidered. They have gods’ blood as well, but apparently not enough to disrupt their sleep, if only…
Making it past the stone staircase, Clyde padded through the sea of sleeping wolves and past the few ones still awake. Seven, Nisha thought, seven more. The seven restless wolves had been carefully pawing around the throne room and shaking their heads, as if they had ear mites. But as Clyde made his way through the throne room, he seemed to have piqued their interest, and they eased closer to him. Still shaking their heads every so often, their eyes shined violet as they growled at Clyde. Seven more children that I’ll have to put down, seven more tainted wolves. The gods’ blood is poison, Fenrir had told her, but… how much of it was tainted? Just Darius? All of it? Where all of them tainted? she wondered while her heart bled.
Nisha’s insides screamed as a flurry of worst-case scenarios ran through her mind. She ran her thumb over the tip of her razor sharp glaive until it broke the skin. She wanted it to; she wanted to feel the pain, to feel anything other than what she was feeling. Watching the blood seep out of her wound, she squeezed it, pushing out more blood, more pain. Bright red, it painted her thumbprint then trickled over her knuckles; it didn’t last long. Before she could smear it or suck away the blood, her wound was already closing and her blood was already soaking into her armored forearm like a sponge.
Fenrir, she thought. Some of his thoughts transferred over to her. In some way, they always had. While Fenrir slept, in some strange meta-physical way, she was still able to speak to him, to learn from him. Father, I wish you were still here, she wished. What do I do? Before the ceremony, she was no more than a ghost, a spirit that was chosen and had attached itself to Fenrir. But now she was so much more. Now she was their leader, the pack leader, their mother, and Fenrir was the ghost. Rubbing her forehead, she thought of what Daikon had called her, the Mother of Wolves. It brought a smile to her face before reality snatched it away just as quickly. A mother that has to kill her children, she thought, her rabid children.
Was this what it was like when Fenrir’s father went crazy? she wondered, watching the violet-eyed wolves wander about deliriously. Now they were pawing at the ground, just like the others had. Two days… two days max, before they change, before it had to be done… just like the other twenty-five.
Fenrir’s father. What was his name? Asurel? Achelli? Asdari… Nisha couldn’t remember. Another dead, forgotten god, she thought.
A low whimper brought her eyes to the floor below the stone staircase. “Hey, little one.” Nisha smiled. “What’s wrong? can’t sleep?” She hadn’t even noticed him, the pup, until he was almost in the center of the throne room. He’s just a pup, she thought, a baby… ‘least he’s not tainted.
He continued whimpering and limped forward. He was a small one—a runt, one of the smallest, his coat was brindle with a mix of auburn, black, and grizzly-brown.
He had been hand-picked from Nisha, a dying orphan boy from India—two-three decades ago. Having every reason in the world to hate, to fight, to lash out, he never did. Born with a deformed leg, in his mortal life, he had forced himself to smile—each and every day—and was quite hopeful for someone in his unfortunate position. He remained that way, hopeful and smiling… up until the day that a mudslide swallowed his village and him along with it. And three days later, Nisha had come to his innocent soul and offered him the gift of the second life.
“What is it…” What’s his name? Sadly, she couldn’t remember. He was whimpering, and his head was droopy. Still limping forward, oddly enough on an injured front leg, his tail had a sad limpness to it, and it was obvious that something was wrong. What was his name?
The runt limped through the sea of his brothers and sisters, and agitated by the movement; they scooted out of the way with the least amount of effort possible. Bumping into each other as they scooted around on their sides, the wolves growled at each other and at the wandering runt—some briefly nipping or kicking at the commotion—before they settled and went back to sleep.
The runt stopped at the bottom of the stone staircase that led up to Nisha’s throne. “What’s wrong?” Rikin! Rikin was his name.
Swaying limply, Rikin let out another moan that sounded more like a rattle. How odd. The rattling sound grew louder, and the other wolves sensed that something was off. They leapt to their feet and started growling while looking around. Something was off. Nisha felt it too, and she rose to her feet, glaive in hand. “Rikin, what’s wrong?” Smelling something foul, she started down the stone stairs.
Rikin looked drunk. His head was swaying and his pupils were large, inky pools, no longer sapphires. “Rikin,” Nisha said, ever more suspiciously, “what’s wrong? Why don’t you…” Rikin huffed twice, as if trying to cough something up, then he tipped over. His brindle coat of fur exploded into ash as he hit the polished marble floor, and like a disturbed beehive, a swarm of Malick’s pets exploded out of Rikin. Buzzing around momentarily, they grew larger, inflating like oversized balloons.
Nisha readied her glaive and yelled, “What is the meaning of this?” But it was already too late. Her wolves were already tearing into the creatures, ripping them apart until they exploded in puffs of black smoke. Two more wolves latched on to another one, pulling it apart until their jaws were left empty and another plume of black smoke exploded into the air.
Nisha noticed some pebbles rattling around on the floor, but she had more pressing issues. Throwing one of the smaller wolves out of the way, Nisha sliced through two herself then kicked away another one that had pounced on one her wolves, its teeth chattering an inch away from the wolf’s throat.
A different one of Malick’s pets fared better. Its tail shot out over its head, and its barb plunged into the side of a wolf facing off against a different creature. Flinging the wolf aside with its tail, the creature’s victory was short lived, and two other wolves tore it apart.
Fighting but still trying to figure out what was going on, Nisha noticed some more pebbles sprinkling over the floor and were being kicked around.
This is impossible, she thought. Even when Blackwell brought Leviathan to their throne room, it was more of a trick than a real attack. But these creatures, whatever they were, were… something else. No time to think.
Chaos was breaking out, and Nisha saw more trouble. A group of small, cowering wolves were surrounded by Malick’s creatures. The beast towered over the pups, and they were seconds away from rolling over and showing their bellies. Nisha slid in front of the pups and took their place, and she found herself surrounded, staring down five chattering creatures while their tales dangled above them like angry cobras. Slicing through the two in front, the third one’s tail shot out at her, missing just over her shoulder as she ducked, spun around, and swung her glaive behind her, ending it. There were two more, Nisha remembered, too late.
Their tales shot out, and Nisha knew she was done. Accepting her death, the moment was strangely peaceful… calm, even. Then she heard a whimper—then another one, and they snapped her back into the moment.
The last two. Their tales were latched on to two wolves that were now twitching on the ground. Nisha’s face sagged, and her hands went limp. My children, they saved me… and now they’re dead. Then a group of wolves pounced on the creatures and avenged their brothers.
The throne room was filled with chaos, and she noticed that more pebbles were littered across the polished marble floor. The sound of snarls, growls, and rattles filled the cavern.
Nisha sliced through four more before sna
pping her glaive into two smaller ones. Her eyes were fixated on the two wolves that saved her, that were now twitching on the ground. Walking over, she shifted her head to the side, effortlessly, and dodged one of the harpoon-like attacks while she sliced through its owner. Then she slashed through two more.
Nisha stopped, her ears picking up a queer sound, growing louder. Buzzing? A swarm of insects? Then the buzzing grew louder and sounded more like a pit of rattlesnakes, and it was coming from everywhere. Where was it coming from? she wondered, the noise. If we can block out the noise, she thought, we can stifle their attack. Watching and listening with an alert ear, Nisha spun around as she tried to discover the source of their attack. Everywhere. No, the tunnels. It’s coming from the tunnels, the corridors leading into the throne room… all of them.
Clyde and a flurry of wolves came barreling in, being chased by even more of the creatures. Leaping and bounding off the walls, the creature’s sucked in the slower wolves. Nisha looked towards another corridor and saw the same thing. Then she saw the same thing down the other four corridors. We’re surrounded, we’re doomed.
As Nisha looked down, more pebbles splashed down and bounced off her boots. Then she heard whimpering, and another one of her wolves was standing in front of her, limping and swaying, just as Rikin had. One of Malick’s pets was right behind it. As it pounced on and through it, the wolf burst into more miniature ones, just like Rikin had
For a fraction of a second, Nisha gasped and her heart grew heavy. Selina, the dead wolf’s name was Selina, from Brazil. That was all the mourning that Selina would get, all that Nisha could give, at least for now. More creatures arrived and attacked Nisha and her pack from everywhere and every angle.
The Awakening of the Gods (Forgotten Ones) Page 38
