The Gods Beneath

by C. M. Raymond

  Karl felt his temperature rise. The rearick had gone toe-to-toe with tyrants, magicians, remnant, and alien hell-demons, but none of them made him less comfortable than this doting group of Heemite women committed to making a proper groom out of him.

  “Now, where was I?” Clarisse asked herself, her fingers still playing on the smooth, flat surface of the straight razor.

  “You were just about to shave his balls,” a voice said from across the room.

  “Scheisse, who the hell let Long Arms in here?” he asked, nodding across the room at Aysa. His voice was gruff, but his smile let everyone know that he was happy to have an ally present.

  “I let myself in.” Aysa moved across the room toward Karl. “And that’s no way to speak to your cousin, is it? My mother always said you had no charm. Ladies, you're going to be a little disappointed, but I need to take my cousin away for a while," Aysa said. "I guess you would call it a little bachelor party we have planned for him over at the tavern."

  Clarisse planted her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes at Aysa. "This one isn't going to be an easy job, my dear." She pointed her shears at Karl and motioned at his beard and ragged hair. "I should really get started today."

  The other women nodded and grumbled in agreement. "I know you're right about that," Aysa said. "He is from the, well…the ugly side of the family, but tradition is tradition. And where we come from, a man doesn't marry the love of his life without first getting piss-drunk with his friends. Since we're away from the Heights, I'm going to have to take care of this. Me and Hadley and Gregory."

  All the women stepped away from Karl. Apparently tradition was held in high regard in their community, both for insiders and for outsiders. They smoothed their aprons and stowed their tools. Giving a little bow to the groom-to-be, they bid the cousins farewell. "You behave tonight, rearick. The princess deserves a good man," Esder said. "And if you hurt that sweet girl, I'll make sure Clarisse here takes off more than just the front hedges, if you know what I mean." She gave Karl a wink and slapped him on the shoulder.

  Blushing, Karl stammered, "I.. I… Um… Ma'am, ye keep them shears away from me twig and berries, an’ I'll behave meself." Karl spun before the women could respond and took off at a sprint for the door with Aysa on his heels. Once they were outside the king's residence, he turned toward Aysa and thanked her. "A bachelor party was one of the only reasons I ever considered gettin’ married."

  Aysa laughed. "Well, anytime I'm involved it’s a party. And you are surely a bachelor. But to tell the truth, we don't have anything planned. I just thought I would get you the hell out of there and save those ladies some time. If you lose at the festival and ruin our plans, I'll kill you myself before you get a chance to wed." She jabbed Karl in the ribs with her elbow, causing him to wince.

  "Aye, lassie. Don't ye worry about me winnin’. I can take every one o’ these Heemite bastards with an arm tied behind me back."

  As they wound their way through the streets toward the tavern Aysa said, "It's not these men you have to worry about. It's the one-armed girl from Baseek."

  ****

  They walked in silence the rest of the way, enjoying the peaceful afternoon. When they were still a few hundred yards off, Karl could hear music and revelry coming out of the pub. They didn't need to open the door, as it was already wide open, along with the windows.

  The Heemites were a people of tradition, and every year they kicked off the festival the night before its official beginning with the fighters throwing a huge shindig at the pub and getting totally bombed.

  Karl stepped to the side and waved toward the open door. "After you, dear cousin."

  Aysa curtsied and stepped across the threshold into the pub. Its interior was rough hewn wood that looked like it was older than the mountains themselves. The place was packed shoulder to shoulder, weed smoke filling the spaces between the loud sweaty bodies.

  On the far side of the room, off to the left, a three-piece band played their hearts out as if the gods themselves were listening from deep within the mines. Aysa tugged on Karl's sleeve and they wove through the packed room toward the bar, where each ordered a pint. A party was just getting up to leave or piss or dance—it didn't matter which. Aysa and Karl smiled at their good fortune and grabbed the table before anyone else could get there.

  "The others comin’ ta me bachelor party?" Karl asked. He looked around the room, searching for Hadley and Gregory.

  "I don’t know where they’re at, but it seems the whole town is here to see off your virginity." Aysa laughed. "Though I can’t imagine you’ll be blushing on your wedding night," she yelled over the music.

  Karl looked down at his hands, which were clasped on the table. He forced a laugh. "Of course not."

  Aysa slammed her hand again. "Holy shit, Karl! Are you? You are... You are a virgin!"

  Karl held up both hands. "Keep it down, freak."

  Aysa leaned back in her chair and ran her hand through her hair, as if to smooth it for the men looking on. "I just can't imagine that the big strong rearick has never bumped uglies."

  Karl shook his head. "There was this one time, but… Well, I was really drunk."

  "Was your sister drunk too?" Aysa said with a sly smile.

  "Screw ye."

  Aysa laughed again, this time a bit more softly. "But seriously, Karl, why not?"

  "You mean you have?” Karl asked, his eyes narrowed.

  Aysa smoothed her hair again and glanced around the room. "Well, no, but I’m a freaking kid. You’re like a thousand years old.” She paused, and her face got more serious. “There was this one kid, a year ago. He paid me a lot of attention for months, and one night down by the water things got pretty hot and heavy. Let’s just say he was pretty excited that a darbe was involved that evening.”

  “The hell’s a darbe?"

  It was Aysa’s turn to blush. “You don’t use that word?” She sipped her ale, wondering what other sexual parlances of Baseek the rearick didn’t know. “Well, never mind then. Anyway, that guy was a total douche. For the next month he didn’t look at me, so screw him.”

  “Aye, sounds like a grade-A arsehole.” Karl pulled out his pipe and started packing weed into the bowl. He paid so much attention to it that you would've thought Aysa was invisible, and at that moment Karl wished she were. "It's just that I've always been a bit of a gentleman—unlike your darbe friend.”

  “Yeah, definitely not how you use that word,” Aysa said with a laugh.

  Karl waved his hand at her. “And, I never met me the right lady. Like ta think there might be somethin’ more to it. Ye know, love and shite.”

  “Well, with words like that,” Aysa said, “I am clueless how you haven’t found the right woman to stoke the fire on a cold night. I mean, damn! Living in the Heights, you must strike your own tinderbox pretty often then.”

  Karl laughed, cupping his hand over his mouth to hold in the ale. “Ye got one helluva a mouth on ye, kid.”

  “Why, thank you, rearick. But don’t you worry a bit. Tomorrow’s your lucky day.”

  Karl nodded. “Won’t take much fer me ta kick the arses of the likes o’ these.” He motioned toward the debauched men in the crowd. “I’ll make short work of ‘em with me hammer.”

  “Nah,” Aysa said, shifting her mug on the table. “I mean, once I kick your ass at the festival, you’ll be a married man and get your own shot at a little darbe—and a whole lot more.”

  “Keep talkin’, Long Arms. It’ll make it a right sweet victory when I drop ye.” He held his empty mug up. “Times like these, I wish the damned wizards were with us. Need ta go find some fire at the bar.” He glanced at the crowd and back at Aysa. “Stay here, and don’t get yer damned self inta any trouble.”

  Karl stood and crossed the room, trying his best to dodge random dancers and splashes of ale. The room was alive with anticipation for the festival, and he took it all in. He’d already come to appreciate the Heemites. They knew who they were and what they were
meant to do—not to mention that they threw one hell of a party.

  Making it to the bar, he squeezed between a woman twice his age with eyes already glazed from the powerful ale and a stout Heemite with his back turned. Karl watched the barkeep spin from tap to tap to keep her patrons well-lubricated.

  “Oh, come on, Mariah. You’ve wanted a piece of me for years. Don’t act like I don’t know it. Let’s get the hell out of here and go back to my place. I’ll love you like a woman and make you scream like an animal.”

  Karl’s stomach churned, and he thought about landing a solid elbow into the back of the mongrel to his left. There was nothing he hated more than a drunk asshole intent on taking advantage of what was likely an equally drunk woman.

  “Hendrix, the only one who’s going to scream tonight is you, when I kick you between the legs once for what you said and again for what you didn’t,” the woman’s voice said.

  Karl couldn’t see her, but he smiled to himself nonetheless. As far as he could tell, she didn’t need to be saved. She was doing just fine on her on. Nevertheless, Karl waved off the barkeep when she nodded for his order. He wanted to take a minute and make sure the man didn’t do something he’d regret.

  “Ah, come on. We both know you want to do a thing or two with what’s between my legs, and it ain’t kickin’ it.” He laughed foully and pushed more. “Besides, this time tomorrow you’ll be married to that old bag-of-shit foreigner, and I’ll be holding a one-way ticket to paradise. This is your chance to spread those pretty legs for a champion. Hell, you’ll be able to talk about our one night of passion for the rest of your life.”

  It was then that Karl realized who she was, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the king’s daughter was doing among this group of miscreants. He pivoted to say something, but she beat him to the punch.

  “I’d rather throw myself off the mountain than spread my legs for your pin dick.”

  Hendrix grabbed her by the arm and squeezed, drawing a shriek from the woman.

  Unwilling to stand by, Karl grabbed him with his right hand. He jerked Hendrix’ hand away from her and spun the man’s body so he faced the bar. With his left, he grabbed a handful of greasy hair and in a quick move slammed the perpetrator’s face onto the bar. Hendrix shot back up and his hands flashed over his face to cover his bleeding nose.

  “The hell,” he said as blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers. His eyes got wide when he realized who had bested him. He pulled his hands away from his face and raised them like a boxer in the ring. A smile spread across his face, blood dripping into his mouth and across his teeth. “And I thought I was going to have to wait until tomorrow,” he said through a tight smile.

  Karl held his ground, arms at his side, just waiting for the arsehole to make his move. He’d be happy to take one of his competitors out before the actual festival, and he was angry enough to rip this guy a new one.

  Mariah pushed between them and put a hand on each of their chests, pressing them in opposite directions. “You two get your heads out of your asses. No fighting before the festival. That rule should never be broken, and if it is you’re both out and neither of you has a damned chance.” She turned to Hendrix. “Now get the hell out of here before I call in my father’s guard. You can’t fight in the festival from behind bars.”

  He pointed at Karl. “What about this jackass?”

  Mariah smiled. “This jackass is going to buy me a drink.”

  His eyes cut to Karl and then back to the princess, who was already eyeing her bodyguards at the door. Realizing she was serious, Hendrix gave Karl one last nasty look and pushed his way through the drunken crowd.

  “Nice guy,” Karl grunted, nodding in the direction the douche had left in.

  “Always has been,” Mariah said. “Now, about that drink…”

  Karl waved at the barkeep and ordered himself another ale, and a glass of whatever the princess had been drinking. When he looked up at her, he found her bright, kind eyes staring back at him. There in the bar, away from her friends, she looked altogether different. Before he had assumed she was a ditzy kid, giggling and fawning over Hadley, but now she looked strong and confident.

  “Guess ye could’ve handled that ‘un,” he said, sipping the fresh cold ale.

  “Yeah. I’ve been handling that asshat for years. He isn’t much of a man, but he’s a decent fighter.”

  Karl shrugged. “Might get a chance to find out. Might not. We’ll see if he gets a taste of me hammer.”

  “All these men look forward to is the festival. Twice a year, they get to hand out pain and take a little. All in the hope of going into that damned hole,” she snarled.

  “Damned hole? Ye don’t make it sound like paradise, like all them others.”

  She shrugged. “Hell if I know what’s down there. I mean, those champions might be walking right into the devil’s asshole, for all I know.”

  Karl laughed, and he tilted the lip of his glass toward her. “Ye seem ta have yer head on straight. Nothin’ like—”

  “Nothing like you thought I was?” she asked with a raised brow. “Funny thing to say, since you’ve never even met me before. But I get it. You see my show. The way I laugh and carry on with those boring girls. A princess has to do what a princess has to do.”

  She smiled and her eyes glimmered, and for a second Karl thought he might just be in love.

  “Sorry, I—”

  Mariah put a single finger on Karl’s lips. “Stop. Not tonight. You can apologize for anything you want tomorrow. Let’s just enjoy this.” She sipped her own drink and looked at Karl. “I can see by your face that you’re a good one. A good man. Maybe things won’t be so bad after all if this marriage actually does take place. Maybe we could make something of it.”

  “Ma’am, I must tell ye... We ain’t gonna marry.”

  She smiled. “After watching what you just did to Hendrix, I believe you. But you sure you want to descend to see the ‘gods?’” She made air quotes over her head. “Might never come back.”

  “Aye, I’ll win. I’ll go down there, and ye can bet yer sweet ass I’ll be back.”

  Mariah nodded. “Consider my sweet ass bet. Now,” she turned and leaned on the bar, “tell me a story—a good one—while I tie a few more on.”

  “Scheisse, I got more stories than yer mountains got rocks. Here’s one fer ye…”

  Karl told her a story, and then another. They talked until the bar was empty, Aysa having headed off to her room long before. Finally, through bleary eyes, Karl told her that he’d need at least a few hours of rest before the festival began.

  Mariah stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “What the hell was that fer?” he asked.

  “For being a perfect gentleman.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you at the festival, rearick. Get some rest. You’re going to need it!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  If Illah’s house could be described as clean, organized, and sparse, Stan’s place was the polar opposite. Hannah stood in the middle of what might have been the old Lynqi’s living room, but it was more like a museum. A table sat in the middle, with a three-foot space to move around it. But every other square inch of the place was chock-full.

  Shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, each holding a different set of artifacts. One was covered with rows and rows of parchments bound with thick covers. Hannah ran her fingertip over the spines, their fading words describing the contents. From what she understood, Stan had everything from collections of ancient tales to manuals on mechanical devices from before the Age of Madness to memoirs written by the-gods-knew-who.

  Another shelf was home to ancient gadgets. Most of them were things she had never seen before, and all of them were rusting and in disrepair. She stopped and ogled an ancient compass. Picking it up, she turned it and watched the red arrow spin, always pointing toward true north.

  “Hey,” a voice said from behind her. “I’d put that down if I w
ere you.”

  She spun to see Vitali in the doorway between two massive towers of boxes. The boxes were stacked on top of one another, and threatened to collapse at any moment.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, tracing the engraved words on the metal base: Qui scit viam tenet. She held it up to Vitali. “What does it mean?”

  His furry brows pulled together as he read it, and she could hear the gentle purr that resonated deep in his chest. Finally he said, “Hell if I know.” Then he looked at the door. “Seriously, Stan is a bit particular about his collections, so, you might want to put it down before he returns.”

  She placed the compass back on its shelf, taking care to position it exactly where she had picked it up.

  “Stan’s not here, then?”

  Vitali smirk. “Nope. He could be back later today or a month from now. You never really know. He’s got a bit of the wanderlust. Never know where he is, but eventually he always comes home. I was hoping you’d get to meet him. He’s a bit, well…eccentric, to say the least.”

  Her eyes turned back to the shelves and the piles of random debris. From a distance it all looked like junk, but to a careful eye it was clearly appreciated.

  “He brings all this stuff back with him?”

  “Yeah, from all over. I think it started with the towers. Once they were abandoned, he started to creep around there and beyond. He finds all kinds of stuff. Check this out.” Vitali walked over to a corner of the room and reached up to the top of the shelf, feeling around out of reach. Pulling down the remains of an ancient gun, he held out what was left of it toward her in his soft palms.

  “Whoa!” She craned her neck to inspect the other side of the ancient pistol. “It’s nothing like our magitech weapons back home.”

  “I’d guess not. This thing is way-the-hell old. He said this one used little balls of metal or something and that an explosion shot down the tube here. People used to kill each other with these things.”

  Hannah scrunched her nose. “How prehistoric can one get?”

  They laughed, and Vitali led her back to the table where Laurel and Illah had sat down. “About those drinks?”