by Tim Waggoner
Tera grimaced in pain the entire time her tattoo was changing, but when it had finished, she breathed a sigh of relief, as if the pain had eased. She then stared in wonder at the new image depicted on her skin.
“Who is that?” she asked. Then she looked at Paeon. “She’s painting you, isn’t she?”
Paeon smiled as he leaned close to examine the image. “Yes, she is. How interesting.”
After a moment, he leaned back and turned to face Tera. “Please accept my apologies. This is—” He looked at Lena. “What do you call an unintended consequence of medical treatment in your nomenclature?”
“A side effect,” she said.
He nodded then turned back to Tera. “Yes. I shall be happy to restore the original image.”
He extended the caduceus toward the woman’s arm once more, but she held out a hand to stop him.
“Please don’t! I’d like to keep it. It’s… special.” She gazed at the new image with an almost dreamy smile. “It means I belong to you now.”
Paeon didn’t disabuse her of this notion, and she donned her shirt and coat. Before she left, she promised to tell everyone she knew about Paeon, and then she walked out of the examining room, rubbing her upper arm through her coat as she went.
When she was gone, Paeon closed the door behind her and turned to Lena. He looked invigorated.
“What was that all about?” Lena asked.
“As I defeat others of my kind, I grow in power. The caduceus is an extension of that power, and it used that woman’s tattoo to send me a message: an image of my creation.”
Lena should’ve been surprised to learn that Paeon had a creator—and a human one, from the look of it—but she was too overwhelmed with jealousy to care about that now. She was his assistant, his second-in-command, his… priest. Yes, that’s what she was. Paeon’s priest. No one else could replace her. She wouldn’t allow it!
As if sensing her feelings, Paeon tightened his grip on her shoulders and leaned his face closer to hers. “Calm yourself. I do not fully understand what this woman…” He paused and cocked his head, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. “This Mythmaker is. But I sense that she is the key to my defeating the other gods. Before we entered this room, you asked me how one heals aggressively. The answer is simple: with preventative treatment. Instead of waiting for patients to come to me, I shall go out into the streets and find them myself. And rather than simply healing what’s wrong with them, I shall make them permanently strong and healthy—resistant to all disease and injury. Then, when the final battle occurs, I shall have an army of unbeatable soldiers!”
Lena understood. Up to this point, Paeon had been treating symptoms of a disease called human frailty. But by transforming people into ultimate humans—strong and super-healthy—they would no longer be weak and vulnerable. That sounded marvelous to her. What didn’t sound so great was this “final battle.” She intended to ask him about it, but before she could, he leaned forward slightly, his unearthly blue eyes boring into hers.
“But those soldiers won’t be enough. I shall need my creator as well. I need you to find her and bring her to me, Lena. You are the only one I can trust to accomplish this.”
She felt his will reaching out to her, urging her to comply, and she knew that even if she wanted to say no—and she did—she couldn’t. Not anymore. He’d become too powerful.
He went on, “This is a necessary duty, Lena. I am not sure why, but I sense that if I do not have my creator with me when the final battle is finished, even if I have defeated every other god in this town, I shall fail. Is that what you want?”
“No,” she whispered. She didn’t care about his achieving Apotheosis and becoming a true, immortal god as much as she cared about his ability to heal people. If he continued to grow in strength, who knew what the extent of his powers might eventually be? He could conceivably make the entire human race into a stronger, healthier, long-lived species. He could fulfill the ultimate wish of every doctor—to make the practice of medicine unnecessary and obsolete. To make that happen, she’d do almost anything.
“Then you must bring the Mythmaker to me.”
He released her shoulders and removed the caduceus from his pocket. He extended it toward her and gently touched the tip of one wing to her forehead. Golden light flared briefly, and then died as he pulled the object away.
“I… don’t feel any different. What did you do?”
“I believe the gods who have come to life in your town—myself included—have a special link to our creator. This is why the caduceus was able to show me her image once I became strong enough. The caduceus is able to extend this link to you, enough so that you should be able to sense her location and find her.”
At first she didn’t believe Paeon, but then an image of a house she had never seen came to her. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she’d be able to find it, as long as she concentrated on this image.
“Why send me?” she asked. But before he could answer, she said, “Wait. Let me guess. You may have become stronger, but you’re not confident that you’re strong enough to face the Mythmaker yet.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
“Now go, and go swiftly,” he said. “It’s possible that other gods will soon become aware of the Mythmaker’s existence too—if they haven’t already—and they will dispatch their servants to retrieve her. You must get there first.”
Without another word, Lena turned and ran down the hallway.
* * *
Renee stood in front of a blank canvas—the same one she’d been painting on for the last couple weeks. The paint on her palette was almost dry, and the brush she held badly needed to be cleaned, its bristles clumped and matted. She stared at the white surface before her, body trembling and weak, eyes tired and burning. Her head throbbed and her pulse pounded in her ears. She desperately wanted to get some sleep, couldn’t remember the last time she’d laid down in her bed and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t make herself step away from the canvas. When the—she supposed the only word for it was compulsion—to paint strange beings had begun, it had been manageable at first. She’d felt compelled to paint two, maybe three a day, and she’d been able to work her painting around classes, eating, and sleeping. But as the days went by, the compulsion had worsened, and she’d begun skipping classes and meals, and sleeping less. It had gotten so bad the last couple days that she hadn’t done anything else but paint; one character after another, as fast as her hand could move. But she’d started slowing down in the last few hours, and now that her latest creation—a woman wreathed in flame whom she’d dubbed Flare—had vanished from the canvas, she waited for the next image to gel in her mind so she could begin getting it down in paint but, for the first time in weeks, nothing came to her.
She was afraid at first. Was something wrong with her? But as the moments stretched on without her hand lifting the brush to the canvas, she felt herself beginning to hope. Maybe, just maybe, it was over. She let out a shaky laugh. She could put the brush down, go into the house, fix herself something to eat. She could take a shower. God, how long had it been since she’d cleaned herself up? Or better yet, she could stagger up the stairs, go into her bedroom, flop face-down onto her mattress, and sleep for a week. Better yet, a whole month.
With a trembling hand she dropped the paint brush onto the palette, not caring that it would be ruined if she didn’t clean it. She had other brushes. Right now what she needed—desperately so—was sleep. When she finally woke, she hoped her mind would be clearer, and she would be able to make some sense out of all this. Why had she felt such an overwhelming need to paint all these weird people, and—strangest of all—why had their images disappeared the moment she’d finished them? A terrible thought drifted through her mind then. Maybe she hadn’t painted anything. Maybe there never had been any fantasy characters, and if that was the case, then none of them had ever disappeared. Maybe she’d imagined it all. Or worse, maybe it was some kind of ha
llucination. If so, did that mean she was mentally ill?
She didn’t know what time it was, but it felt late. She considered rushing inside, waking her parents, and telling them she was afraid she might be crazy. But as much as she longed for her parents’ reassurance, she didn’t want to frighten them. One thing was certain: She was so exhausted she wasn’t thinking straight. Sleep first, worry about mental health later, she decided. Now that she had a plan, she felt better, and she started toward the door that led into the kitchen.
She stopped when she heard the garage door begin to rise.
* * *
Geoffrey hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car for some time, but he was pleased to discover that his driving skills hadn’t atrophied. The TechEdge Geek Fleet car was a tiny cracker box of a vehicle, with an engine that made a zeeeeeem sound as the car moved through the streets of Corinth. But even though the engine didn’t sound powerful, the car was a peppy little thing, and it didn’t take him long to reach the Mythmaker’s house. At least, he assumed it was the right house. The magic of the gauntlet finger Adamantine had given him had led him here, guiding him as if he were in some sort of trance, and while he had no reason to doubt its power, there was nothing about this house and its neighborhood to indicate that a being who possessed the ability to bring new gods into existence lived here. The house lay at the end of a suburban cul-de-sac: two-story dwellings with small yards, a tree or two in the front, privacy fences in back. Several inches of snow blanketed lawns and covered roofs, and most of the houses were decorated for the holiday season, although some of the decorations were more atypical than others. One home had an image of a large black bird painted on the white garage door, while another had dozens of knives hanging from a small tree in the front yard. There were no streetlights in this neighborhood—the residents probably didn’t want to have to deal with the glare of fluorescent lights when they were trying to sleep, Geoffrey figured. But most of the houses had their front porch lights on, and that provided Geoffrey enough illumination to work.
He parked the Geek Fleet car in front of the Mythmaker’s house, turned off the headlights and the ignition, but instead of getting out right away, he sat there for a moment and looked at the house. He’d had a home like this once. His had been a one-story ranch in a different neighborhood, but being here now and seeing these houses brought back memories: of a time when he hadn’t been homeless, when he’d had a job and a wife. Good memories, but sad ones, too. God, how he missed Ellen.
You’re not homeless any longer, he thought, and you’re not alone, either. He was Adamantine’s priest, and she had sent him on a vital mission, one that she trusted only him to accomplish. For the first time since he’d been laid off from the machine shop, he had a job, and he was determined to do it to the best of his ability. No matter what, he would not let down his god.
He got out of the car and started toward the Mythmaker’s house.
The piece of Adamantine’s gauntlet that he wore on his index finger had caused him to see the Mythmaker’s location as a pinpoint of light in his mind. But now that he was close to the Mythmaker, the light shone so bright that he had difficulty seeing. He squinted in reflex, but it didn’t do any good. The light was within his mind, and it would remain visible to him even if he shut his eyes tight. He wasn’t certain whether he should attempt to enter through the front door or the back, but the blazing light in his mind pulled him toward the garage door instead. He walked up the driveway and stood before the garage door, wondering how he was going to get in. There was no outside keypad to operate the opener, and even if there had been, he had no idea what code to input. Should he try to lift it on his own? Would it even open that way? He didn’t think so, but the light was so intense now that he was blinded. The Mythmaker was on the other side of this door—he could feel it! If only he could… His right hand reached out of its own accord and touched the gauntlet’s fingertip to the door’s surface. A tiny spark flared, and then the door began to retract.
He remembered what Adamantine had told him about the finger. It wouldn’t grant him any of her electrical powers, but it would lead him to the Mythmaker. Evidently, leading meant it would deal with any barriers that might stand between him and his goal. Good to know.
The instant the door began to rise, the light in his mind winked out, and he could see normally again. When the door rose high enough, he crouched down, passed beneath it, and entered the garage. Once inside, he straightened and looked around. There were two cars parked inside, along with some lawn equipment and other junk stored there. But what drew his attention was the corner where a small painting space had been set up—easel, canvas, worktable with tubes of paints and jars of brushes on the surface. Even though the gauntlet’s light no longer blazed within his mind, he could sense the power emanating from the area, and he knew at once that he’d found the place where the Mythmaker worked the magic that brought gods to life. The Mythmaker herself—he was surprised to see it was a young woman who looked like she was barely out of high school—stood near the inside door, staring at him with tired, bleary eyes, as if she wasn’t certain he was really there. He knew he had to grab her fast before she could make noise and wake whoever she lived with, but now that he was here, he wasn’t sure how to go about it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever abducted anyone before.
“Who are you?” the woman said, her voice sleepy. It sounded as if she could barely keep herself awake.
Geoffrey was surprised by her question. He’d expected her to scream for him to get out of her garage, not to ask his name.
“I’m Geoffrey,” he said.
“Hi, Geoffrey. I’m Renee Mendez.” She gave him a faint smile, but it fell away quickly, as if holding the expression took too much effort. “Are you real or am I dreaming?”
Geoffrey wasn’t sure how to answer. “Uh, as far as I know, I’m real.” This was not going at all how he’d anticipated. He’d thought he would have to run in, grab hold of her, and carry her to the car, all the while trying to keep a hand over her mouth to prevent her from alerting anyone to what was happening. But she was so tired, she seemed only partially aware of his presence, and she certainly wasn’t disturbed by it. Since she appeared to be in a talking mood, he decided to go that route. “I’ve been sent by one of your… creations. She’s a silver-skinned woman who calls herself Adamantine.”
Renee thought for a moment, her eyelids almost closing and then opening again several times. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d laid down on the garage floor, curled up, and went straight to sleep.
“I remember her now. It seems like a long time since I painted her.” She frowned. “Wait a minute. She sent you? You mean she’s real?” The thought seemed to wake her up a bit, although she still sounded groggy.
Geoffrey nodded. “Yes, and she would very much like to meet you. She sent me to bring you to her.”
Renee stared at him for a moment, as if she were struggling to process what he’d told her. “Real,” she said again, and Geoffrey nodded once more. Her brow crinkled in thought. “But if she’s real—”
Geoffrey could guess what her next thought would be. If Adamantine was real, then her other creations might be, too. He didn’t want her thinking about any of the other gods she’d made, though. Adamantine had said that some of them would become aware of the Mythmaker just as she had, and they would also send servants to get the girl. He needed to take Renee away from here as fast as he could, before any of the other servants arrived.
“Adamantine is grateful that you gave her life, and she wants to thank you in person. She’s so excited to meet you.”
Geoffrey hated lying to Renee. As near as he could tell, she had no idea that she possessed the power to bring gods to life and wasn’t aware that she had done so through her paintings. She knew nothing about the Apotheosis and her part in it, and while Adamantine had said she only wanted the woman for whatever insight she could provide, Geoffrey feared it was more than that. Could any of the gods become the O
ne while their creator still lived? He was tempted to turn around and leave right now, get in the Geek Fleet car, head out of town, and keep on driving. But he knew that even if he could bring himself to disobey Adamantine’s commands—something he wasn’t sure he could do anymore—some other god would get hold of Renee. Regardless of what he did, the young woman was doomed. And if that was the case, then she might as well die for Adamantine as for any other god.
He stepped between the two cars until he reached her, and when he did, he took hold of her hand.
“Come with me,” he said. “It’s not every day that an artist gets a chance to meet one of her creations in the flesh.”
She looked at him with a trancelike expression for a moment, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. At last she gave him another faint smile. “Very true,” she said. “Okay, let’s go.”
She didn’t make a move so Geoffrey continued holding onto her hand and led her out of the garage without bothering to close the door behind them. Renee wasn’t wearing a coat, but the cold night air didn’t seem to bother her as they stepped onto the sidewalk and continued toward the Geek Fleet car. When she saw the car, she said, “Do you work on computers, Geoffrey?”
He ignored her question and helped her into the passenger’s seat. He buckled her in tight, and before he could close the car door, her eyes were shut and she was snoring lightly. He closed the door as gently as he could, then walked around the front of the car, got behind the driver’s seat, closed the door, and started the vehicle. She stirred a little when the engine started making its zeeeeming sound, but she didn’t waken. Geoffrey put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, a huge smile on his face.
He’d done it! And best of all, he’d managed to do it without having to get rough with the girl or hurt her. He knew he was being a hypocrite since Adamantine—assuming she managed to be the last god standing in the end—would most likely kill Renee anyway. Considering the girl’s probable fate, not to mention his part in it, his relief that he’d been able to treat her kindly was laughable. In a very real sense, he would be just as much her killer as Adamantine would. Still, he’d been able to spare her some pain, and that had to count for something.
