The Awakening of the Gods (Forgotten Ones)

by M. H. Hawkins

Then, just as Nisha thought they were getting a handle on the situation, she saw four more of her wolves explode, and Malick’s ranks swelled by eighty. Dear god, Nisha thought, we’re killing them ten-to-one, and they still outnumber us.

  One of Nisha’s lieutenants, a gray-and-white werewolf, shred the side of one then ran his other claw through the belly of another, creating two more black clouds. Dodging the tail of a third, he tore into its head, then ran towards Nisha. Leaping high over her head, his claws ripped through the two about to pounce on her back.

  Seeing him fly overhead, Nisha gasped. They’re everywhere, Nisha realized. The ones that weren’t attacking her wolves were scurrying across the walls, like insects, waiting. Waiting for what, Nisha didn’t know.

  A few larger pebbles splashed down in front of her, and a bucket of smaller pebbles came raining down, splashing over her feet and bouncing off her armored shoulders.

  Where? Wha… Nisha looked up, towards the dark, shadow-covered ceiling. There. She slammed down the butt of one of her glaives on the stone steps. Stabbing one side of her glaive into the ground, a bright-blue light shot out of the blunt end of it, like a flare, and illuminated the cavern. The floor lit up like sapphires, and the light spread across the floor and crawled up the wall, painting them in light, like sunrise, and the flare of blue light finally reached the ceiling, filling the room with light. Well, it would have, but the ceiling was already covered by something, more creatures.

  “It’s over,” Nisha mumbled, aloud but barely a whisper. “Father, Fenrir, I failed you.” Nisha’s hands went limp, and she saw the future, death, failure. Her split-glaive dripped out of her hands, and she dropped to her knees. She watched as the creatures swarmed her wolves, her children, and as they tore through them. They’re stronger than I am. They still have some fight in them… I do not. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she muttered to herself. Everything blurred in streaks of gray, white, black, and hazel fur and other streaks of oily matted fur and harpoons shooting through the air like a volley of arrows.

  She saw darkness, only darkness, then through the wild melee, she gazed down one of the tunnels. It wall full, covered. Its walls, floor, and ceiling; all of them covered with charging beasts, their sharp teeth chattering and their eyes narrowed into golden slits.

  Then in a flurry of flashing light and puffs of black smoke, they were gone. Shooting down the corridor, a bright white light crept through the narrow gaps between the angry beasts, then through clouds of black smoke… then it swallowed the black smoke and the beasts, bypassed them, and then exploded out of tunnel, like an exploding star. Then starlight burst out of it in smaller rays of light, like a thousand silent shotgun blasts.

  The throne room was still filled with the rays of light, bursts of streaming starlight. The beams stretched across the throne room like a spider web of light, then they were gone, ending in a thousand puffs of black smoke. What the hell? Nisha thought, puzzled. The light dimmed, but the star remained. Darting up the wall, it too left puffs of black smoke in the wake of its passing.

  The glowing star streaked up the wall then shot down from the ceiling, landing in with a swooshing sound. Nisha finally saw the source of the exploding star. It was Mea. With white flames instead of eyes, Mea’s wings were flared out, and her swords extended from her wide-spread arm. Mea spun around, and her wings shot out sheets of snow-white feathers, crystal shards, that peppered through the room before exploding into something like a fireworks display.

  This time, Nisha didn’t see the light. The shadows were washing across the floor and splashed against her knees. Storm clouds blotted out the light from above and made the cavern dark as a hooded tarp, sucking away any of the glorious light that had arrived. Still on her knees and limp, Nisha looked up and saw what the storm clouds held; a mess of oily black fur, claws, and whipping tails raining down on her.

  A puff of smoke exploded in front of her face and made her flinch. Heard five popping sounds before she could blink away the smoke from her eyes, but she only saw more black smoke. Though a few feet away, the black clouds covered a dark figure like a fog. A hand extended out towards Nisha. The shadowy figure spoke. “Come now, Nisha.” Taking the extended hand Nisha stood, and he continued. “We did not come all this way to lose.” It was Daikon. “Nor to die.”

  “And I do believe,” he said, “that there’s a bit more fight in you.” he gave her a wink and a nod. “Now,” he said, pausing to slice through two beasts that were attacking, “off I go.”

  Disappearing in puff of smoke, he reappeared in another one, falling from the sky and slashing his katana as he fell. About to splatter against the floor, he disappeared into another puff of smoke and reappeared on the stone staircase, shooting out of a dark cloud and slashing again.

  Landing on a bent knee, as he finished up a slashing barrel roll, Daikon saw into the belly of the beast; a long jaw filled with shark teeth. A gray-and-white wolf, almost as big as the creature itself, launched into the air and snatched the creature’s neck in its jaw. Daikon nodded to the wolf then then darted behind it. With two hard slashes, his katana split through two more creatures ambushing the heroic wolf.

  More trouble was on Daikon’s left. He shoved a wolf out of the way of one of the charging creature. Feeling its breath on his neck, Daikon spun around the beast’s muzzle just as its jaw came snapping down and slamming shut. Then, still spinning, his katana came down with a hard two-handed chop, and he took off its head. The creature’s body bounced over Daikon and slid across the floor before it exploded into more black smoke. The teeth to its severed head were still chattered as it spun around on the ground… until a pouncing wolf-claw came crashing down on it.

  Raising to his feet, a stale burning smell filled Daikon’s nostrils. He spun around just in time to see a barbed spear shooting at him… through a clearing of thin white smoke. Then the flying harpoon froze, mid-air, inches away from Daikon’s face.

  A gloved hand was wrapped around it, Clyde’s gloved hand. He let the cigarette fall from his lips and yanked on the harpoon. The tail it was attached spun around and began reeling in the harpoon, the beast attached to it lurched around wildly as Clyde held onto the harpoon like a fishing pole. When the beast was done reeling in its tail, it was close enough for its jaws to snap Clyde in half.

  Clyde jabbed the harpooning tail into its owner’s mouth until its barbed tip shot out behind its beady golden eyes. Then it was gone.

  Through the resulting plume of black smoke and the stale stench of Clyde’s abandoned cigarette, Clyde and Daikon gave a nod of respect to each other. Daikon went back to the fight, and Clyde shifted into his large, black, wolf-skin and did the same.

  Nisha glanced out over the chaos. Through the fog of war, she saw Mea. Landing from a sidestep and a slashing uppercut, Mea yelled, “Nisha.” But Nisha didn’t respond.

  After a look of surprise, Mea hopped backwards to dodge the snapping jaws of an attacking creature, Mea shot forward and sliced through it. Mea did a backflip to return to her original position, she turned to Nisha again. Breathing heavy, she yelled, “Nisha, are you good?” Nisha’s face was blank.

  Mea huffed out of frustration and shook her head. Mea spun, and her wings spun with her until they became a spinning cloak with the sheen of white linen. She charged forward and into a thick swarm of the creatures. In flashes of light and puff of black smoke, her path was a jagged one filled with precise steps and slashes, and she looked like a professional dancer and seemed to be everywhere at once.

  Still frozen, Nisha looked right and saw one of her wolves falling onto the ground as one of the creature’s barbed, scorpion-like tails harpooned its belly, exploding the wolf into more of its kind.

  Turning left, Nisha saw more. Another beast’s jaws were opened wide and about to clamp down on the fluffy neck of another one of her wolves. It snarled and slobbered as its hind legs wildly kicked at the air and at the beast’s head while not getting caught in its snapping teeth. Still dazed, Nisha told he
rself to move, to help, but she wasn’t responding, and still frozen in the pain of a mother’s loss, she watched more of her children get torn apart.

  The wolf kicking at the creature whimpered as it prepared to meet the final death. The jaws of creature on top of it were already snapping shut, and the young wolf could feel its whiskers swaying from the creature’s breath. Death would have to wait. With a loud grunt, the creature’s head snapped sideways, and a sharp kick had sent it flailing through the air and into the jaws of a different, leaping wolf. It was Mea. Again she yelled, “Nisha!”

  Nisha finally shook off the fog. Her split-glaive jumped into her opened hands, and then, with her inner-fire stoked once again, she joined the fray and began carving her own path of death and black smoke.

  The fight continued for what could have been minutes or hours, no one knew for sure, but eventually they were able to thin the swarm, and the attacks slowed, and calmness returned. Whatever beasts that were still alive were now fleeing, retreating down the tunnels or up through the ceiling that they had gnawed a hole into.

  Whatever wolves left alive helped each other to their feet. A few shifted into their mortal forms and clenched their wounds as they limped towards Nisha and gathered around her. All the while, the wolves remained wary of Daikon and Mea, their visitors.

  The injured yet not infected wolves began to lick their wounds while others nuzzled against their injured brothers and sisters.

  The throne room was a mess, and the air had a burnt smell to it. The once-polished marble floor was now littered by claw-marks and stone pellets. The once-smoothed walls were marked the same.

  Sitting on the third-or-forth step of the stone staircase, Nisha sagged and looked absent of any and all strength. While uninjured, she was wounded all the same. The two halves of her double-bladed glaive were strewn about, and a sick werewolf’s head was resting upon her lap and occupied her hands. The size of a bear, the wolf could only whimper and twitch in her mother’s lap. Its fur-covered legs were marked by three deep, red slashes. Smaller, shallower ones cover the rest of her. There was a large, round wound—red and sizzling— stamped on her ribcage. Hairless around the wound, more of the wolf’s fur fell away, and the wounded bald spot grew, And as the wound sizzled, it seemed to be growing as well.

  Tressa, her name was Tressa. A Brazilian woman who died at sea. The commercial freighter was overloaded, and its bow was poorly built and poorly reinforced. Now, today, tomorrow; it didn’t matter; the ship’s days were numbered. And when its drunken captain carelessly ran over an underwater ridgeline of sharpened rocks, its number was up. The bow burst, and the ship filled with saltwater and fish—sucking it in like a man gasping for air.

  Like Rose in the movie Titanic, Tressa found herself racing against the rising water and time itself. Darting across the flooded lower decks, she went to the back of the boat and to the bottom deck… where the refugees were hidden. All alone, Tressa struggled to free them from their locked quarters as the waters swallowed her like an unseen python. Finally breaking off the locks, Tressa succeeded in freeing the refugees, and as a result, most of them lived. This was Tressa’s last and noblest achievement, and then she went down with the ship and died.

  Now a wolf, Tressa was dying again, dying in the arms of her mother. As Tressa’s leg had stopped twitching and was not awkwardly stretched out as far as it could, and all her muscles were tensed, seizing up as whatever venom Malick’s pet had injected into her took its toll. The skin beneath her fur, near her wounds, began pulsating; rising, falling, and squirming around like a nest of kittens beneath a bedsheet.

  Examining the wolf, Daikon thought, she’s infected, then went about to sheathing his katana. He noticed that his coat was catching his arms, and he could feel that his collar wasn’t lying properly, waffling and slapping against his neck every time he moved. So irritating. He grabbed his coat’s lapels and gave them a good shake, repositioning his coat and getting its collar to lay down.

  Daikon took in his surroundings and saw the wolves growling lowly and darting glances at him, and their animosity was obvious. And despite Daikon’s assistance, they still didn’t trust him. He still smelt like both Raven and Blackwell, neither one truly friends to the wolves, and they were rightfully wary of his presence. Pausing momentarily to respect their anxiety, he resumed walking towards Nisha with cautious steps and watchful eyes. “Nisha,” he said, “she was stung by—“

  “I know that!” Nisha snapped back, her voice cracking as she wailed. “Don’t you think I know that?” Her heart was broken, and the tears were already streaming from her eyes. She gently rocked with the wolf’s head in her lap, petting and comforting her with repeated shhh-ing and it’s okay’s, doing her best to comfort her. And though she had only been a god for a few days, she was, nonetheless, feeling a mother’s sorrow. “It’s okay,” she told the wolf. “It’s okay,” she repeated as the werewolf whimpered in pain and turned its massive head towards her, Nisha, her mother. But Nisha couldn’t return her gaze, and turning away from Tressa, biting her lip and squeezing her eyelids shut, doing her best to conceal her anguish. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but hey, Tressa, you saved me. You did good. You did so good, sweetie.”

  Some wolves stepped aside, and Nisha watched as Mea made her way through the opening. She was shoving her blades into the scabbards strapped to her thighs, as she cautiously stepped through the crowd of wolves, and as her white-satin cloak dangled behind her. Approaching Nisha, Mea pursed her lips empathetically, knowing that the wolf-god’s heart was heavy with morning.

  Finally settling in next to Daikon, she said, “Nisha…” You don’t have long; kill it; kill it now, was what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t… She just couldn’t, not yet. Holding back the words for as long as she could, Mea knew that each second was more dangerous than the previous one. Tressa was a ticking time bomb. And while Mea was trying her best to be patient, Tressa wasn’t making it easy, and her skin was making it even more difficult. The wound on Tressa’s side had grown larger, and the bald spot around it now nearly covered her entire side. And her skin was stirring even angrier than before, like a bag filled with angry raccoons, and the rattling was growing louder. She’s out of time, Mea thought. I can’t wait any longer; I have to say something. “Nisha, you know what you have to do.”

  “I know!” Nisha again snapped at her visitors. “I know wha… I know what I have to do. Don’t you think that I know what has to be done… what I have to do?” She wiped away her tears then again rubbed the werewolf’s head. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay—Hand me my blade.”

  Lighting a new cigarette, Clyde held his hand out to the side, and Nisha’s glaive tumbled into it. He took a hard drag of his cigarette and stepped forward.

  Watching him, both Mea’a and Daikon’s hands slid over the hilt of their swords, and they watched Clyde suspiciously. The arm of his leather jacket had been ripped to shreds, and both his cheeks painted red with three long slashes. More red stripes were peaking over the collar of his leather jacket.

  Clyde ignored then for the moment and handed Nisha her weapon. Then he finally turned back to Mea and Daikon. Taking another long drag of his cigarette, he exhaled the smoke and his exhaustion. Finally he said, “I fine. They’re just cuts.” He opened his jacket to show them the black t-shirt he had on underneath it. It was lying still against his skinny chest. “See.” Then he collapsed off to the side, on the stone stairs, and went back to enjoying his cigarette.

  Nisha had set her half-glaive behind her, hiding it from the wounded wolf, and went back to petting Tressa’s head as she cradled it in her arms. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  Nobody else seemed overly convinced. Daikon and Mea shared worried looks. The rest of the wolves had backed away and shared concerned looks between them—worried that Tressa would explode into more of the creatures and panicked that, if that happened, Nisha, their mother, would be the first to die.

  “Shh, it
’s okay.” Nisha’s hand slid behind her back, and she grabbed her half-glaive. “Shh, Shh, it’s going to… It’s going to be okay, my sweet child. Close your eyes. Go on now, close your…”

  Before she could finish, Mea’s sword, the one Daikon had given her, shot through the air and now stuck in Tressa where her sizzling wound had been.

  “It had to be done, Nisha,” Mea said, as she went to retrieve her sword. “But not by her mother. That part was not your burden.”

  Nisha glared at Mea hatefully as she sheathed her blade and returned to Daikon’s side.

  “No, no, no,” Nisha moaned, rubbing the side of Tressa’s muzzle. Her fur was silky soft, and she continued to caress the dying wolf as its wounded leg sizzled in orange and red kindle before turning into a charred wood and ash. The black char slowly spread over the rest of it. It could be worse, Mea thought, coldly. At least she isn’t turning into a nest of those… creatures.

  Reading the room, Daikon pulled his katana and pushed Mea behind him, unsure of how the wolves might react. The wolves, initially stunned—and then relieved that Tressa wouldn’t explode, quickly turned temperamental. Their growling grew louder, and the sides of their muzzles curled up to reveal their fangs, and it suddenly looked like they were ready for another fight.

  Nisha was still a mess and unable to pull herself together. Her glaive rolled out of her hand, and as it wobbled down the stone stairs, a crisp ringing sound filled the cavern and seemed to drown out the sound of the fifty or so growling wolves. Still sobbing, Nisha thought, there’s fifty left, at least less than a hundred, most certainly, now… there were hundreds of us, hundreds of MY children, just hours ago… and now they’re gone, dead. Glaring at Daikon and Mea then sadly at her wolves, there were a thousand things that Nisha wanted to say. Instead all she could muster was one, wimpering, repeated word. “No, no, no.”

  Nisha continued holding Tressa and caressing her muzzle until the wolf’s neck, muzzle, then eyes turned to kindle and then ash.