Brasil pulled Victorio into a sudden, fierce embrace, and Victorio could hear Gatina let out a loud half-snort as she slid off the bench.
“Of course you are!” Brasil choked out. “Y-Ye did so good…ye did right fine today…just don’t you dare run into somethin’ like that again. Ye scared me to death.”
“I get it,” Victorio whispered, feeling himself return the hug tightly. “I-I get it. Thanks. You guys are the only family I got right now.”
Gatina slapped Brasil’s hat off his head. “Family doesn’t let family fall on the ground. You’re the worst big-brother-father-figure ever.”
Laughing, Victorio leaned back and wiped his face. “Did you just not have any older brothers? ‘Cuz I’m one and I totally would have.”
Gatina then straightened and beamed as she looked back to the hall. “Hi there, Enki.”
Victorio spun in his seat, seeing that in fact, Enki stood in the archway of the balcony entrance, his tall frame outlined in the moonlight. “Hello, Gatina. Brasil. Victorio.”
Straightening his hat and rubbing his eyes, Brasil coughed as he stood and recollected himself. “I imagine ye’ll be needing to speak to Victorio?”
“Just for a bit,” Enki assured them, his hands casually tucked in the pockets of his slacks.
Victorio waved to Brasil and Gatina as they made their way back to the Runner and their beds. Awkwardly he tapped his heels, fidgeting as Enki paused next to the bench.
“Makes you grateful for them, doesn’t it?” Enki said, his aquamarine eyes resting on the stars.
Victorio nodded, then said, “Y-Yeah. I was just thinking that.”
“It wasn’t easy work,” Enki continued in a hushed tone. “Keeping the last stars alive just a little longer.”
“Thanks for it, though…I mean, do you get tired?”
“Not often,” Enki admitted with a casual shrug. “But I do. I am extremely tired,” he laughed gently. “You must be too. I’ve been hearing a lot about you tonight.”
Victorio shrugged, the bouncing of his knees intensifying. “I dunno. Like what?”
“That you’re handling your mantle very well. And you’re getting better. I know things aren’t okay yet. But they’re getting there, Victorio. They’re getting there.”
Letting out a haggard sigh, Victorio nodded as he recalled Brasil’s sentiments minutes before. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it’s getting better.”
“And thank you for helping Salema.”
Victorio laughed once, shrugging again. “I mean, that was kind of an accident.”
“I just don’t have many kids who actually like me, so thank you for being there for the one that does,” Enki chuckled back. “That’s what you do, Victorio, whether or not you choose to believe it. You help where you’re needed. Hold on to those victories because they’re going to make all the difference down the road.”
Distantly, he nodded at the stars. “I guess.” He cleared his throat, and added, “You got a lot of cool people working for you, sir.”
Enki sat beside Victorio, his perpetual, gentle smile softening by degrees. “I think so. You know you’re welcome here any time.”
Smirking, Victorio snickered to himself.
“Hm?”
“Thanks,” he said. “I love the zig.”
Enki was caught off guard, blankly glancing at Victorio, an eyebrow slowly arching. “The. Zig?”
“Figures you wouldn’t know. Only cool people call it the zig.”
Warmly, Enki laughed, his chest rising and falling with the strongest bit of emotion Victorio had ever seen him show. Grinning, Enki patted his back. “It’s had plenty of names. So I suppose ‘the zig’ is just another. It’s so good to see you laughing, Victorio. Keep it up.”
Beaming, Victorio shrugged again. “Yeah. Cool.”
Chapter Fourteen
Black Tides
That morning, Victorio and his escorts had returned to their travels. Continued relocation efforts and healing on the part of any injured Guard would take up their time in the coming weeks. There was one in particular that was still struggling to recuperate, and it was she who Enki entered the healers’ offices to see.
Looking paler than normal, Baihé glanced up from a compact, then returned her focus to liberally applying mascara. “Hi, Enki,” she mumbled, distracted.
Seeing her in her typical cosmetics made him chuckle as he approached her bedside. “I see you’re well enough to make yourself presentable.”
Popping the wand back into its tube, she let out an overly dramatic sigh. “There is no amount of hurt that will keep me from fabulous,” she said, propping her chin over her hands to show off her work with a bright grin.
“I see that,” he assured her. “Still not well enough to walk far?”
“The last time I tried I started feeling barfy,” she replied with a nod. “I mean, I know what that kind of spirit magic does to me…I just would have never thought it’d be this bad…”
“Consider the source.”
She shrugged. “True…But hey, all today I’ve been putting myself back together way faster than I thought I would.”
Enki raised an eyebrow in concern. “Like…Like a jump in your power?”
The wording made her tilt her head slightly, but she shrugged again. “I guess so? Or like being near a source. I mean, when you’re around I can feel it a little…This is different.”
Baihé was one of his most trusted Guard, and she couldn’t help the circumstances of gaining power. The nanomachine plague that resided in her body and allowed her to reach out to decay was a potent force—it was no small wonder a power of Creation like the Spear Bearer nearly killed her outright. But to hear it was gaining strength was…troubling.
And something half of him could feel as well. A half of him he wasn’t always proud of.
A soft clearing of a throat caused both Baihé and Enki to turn to the doors. Bakchos lingered in the doorframe, scratching behind his ear shyly while keeping an arm behind his back. Peering from behind him with a wide, barely contained grin was Rashad, his eyes sparkling with more than just his typical ethereal glow.
“Hey,” Bakchos said. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Come on in,” Baihé insisted, waving them in.
Rashad chose to stay several steps back from Bakchos, his eager smile growing with every step his partner took to the bedside. Gingerly Bakchos pulled out a skinny vase of black, withered roses and passed them to her. “Hope you’re feeling well enough to appreciate these.”
To anyone else, this might have been more an insult than a gift, but Baihé’s face lit up brightly and she smiled up at him. “Aww, you’re so sweet.”
Slipping beside Enki, Rashad whispered, “Aren’t they adorable?”
Enki couldn’t help but snicker in agreement. Paying no mind to them or Bakchos’ embarrassment, Baihé gently stroked the drying blooms, and from her nails bits of black and silver filled out the stems and crinkly petals, making them sparkle with false life.
“You could have gotten me live ones though,” she coyly pointed out.
Still pink in the cheeks, he ran a hand through his gold and brown hair. “Yeah, but I love how you make those look.”
Rashad let out a sharp squeal of delight, looking like he would burst in excitement at the exchange.
“All right,” Bakchos snapped, pointing at him and then the door. “In the hall or I turn you off.”
“Ugh, fine,” he pushed out melodramatically. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He smirked once more before slipping into the hall. “But seriously, I’m sure she’s well enough to make out. Healing love?” He quickly dipped around the doorframe to prevent an answer.
Enki tightened his lips to hold back laughter and gestured toward the door with a short bow of his head. “I was—actually just about to leave myself.”
Blushing, but still grinning, Bakchos waved him off. “Sweet gods, just go.”
“Thanks for stopping by!” Baihé called after.
>
Enki passed by Rashad in the hall, who whispered, “I think it’s finally official!”
“If not, I will never be more disappointed in two of my agents,” he chuckled before strolling down the hall. However, his smile faded as soon as his back was turned. Although he wanted to just appreciate the moment, he had too much to think on.
The midday sun shone through wide windows, casting glowing beams on the polished mosaic tiles of sweeping ocean waves across the floor; the vaulted, warm stone ceiling of the lobby was alive with the sound of any number of languages and footsteps. Various Cartesian Guard members walked through the halls; displayed in their brilliant palettes were the myriad colors of human and vibrant shades of sentient races of all kinds. No one gave each other a second glance in anything other than friendship—these were seasoned plane hoppers with few surprises left to see. The members gave Enki little mind as they passed him through the halls.
His identity as godly meant almost nothing to the Cartesian Guards; his title as Commanding Adviser held all the weight that most needed. Thus, there were respectful nods from those traversing the halls, but the men, women, and others somewhere in between laden with equipment, computer decks, or weapons of all shapes and sizes made no offers of worship or servitude.
Enki rather liked it that way.
After a solitary elevator ride, Enki entered his office/quarters, a wide, circular room with mosaics lining both the floor and ceiling. A staircase led to another open room at its zenith. All along the circumference of the highest two floors of his tower were tall, open windows that allowed a view of the rich, green oasis which the ziggurat towered over. A skylight let in the midday sun, opening the view above to the sky. His desk sat near one of the windows, opposite the door to the hall with the elevator, and lining the floor were tiny, clay figures dressed in the clothes of Enki’s ancient worshippers. They faced the center of the room, many with wide, pleading eyes, and giving silent tribute to him.
He didn’t linger on these things but yawned briefly as he stepped inside. He casually allowed the door to close behind him, but immediately felt a presence in the room. An unwelcome one. He spun on his heels, taking a sharp intake of breath as a woman lunged at him. While her face was unfamiliar—her short, straight, black hair, petite frame, and black clothes struck no chord, either—her slender eyes were deep, and held within them the expanse of empty, unfeeling decay and chaos.
Enki stared into the gaze of the newest avatar of the highest powers of chaos Itself.
That was the feeling. She had been waiting for him, slipping into the tower when his power had been diverted. He should have realized sooner, and now if he didn’t handle her, the Empty itself could have a doorway into Cartesian headquarters.
Before her outstretched fingers were able to dig into his chest, Enki slapped his hands around her wrists. Their feet scuffled on the floor, as they were locked in a dance, though this woman of decay grinned in anticipation more than struggled under his grip. Her eyes unrelentingly held onto his, even as sweat built over his forehead in growing fear.
To pretend to be far more confident than he was, he grunted. “The forces of the Black are growing brazen to the point of foolishness, I see. No avatar has been so arrogant as to attack me in my own home.”
As he tried to shove her back, the agent of chaos steadied herself and her smile grew. “Your powers come from creation, yes…But you also have every bit as much in chaos. A delicate balance you walk every moment, Enki.” It was clear her strength was not waning nearly as much as his as she continued to push her hands toward his chest. “How long did you think you would be able to fight us before we would come to claim the half that’s ours?”
“I’m not your kind of chaos!” he seethed back, digging his heels as far against the tile as he could. “You’re mindless destruction—no balance, no purpose, no rebirth!” He leaned his weight into her to force her back, and she yielded only by the barest degrees. “If you should ever win—nothing would be left! Not even you.”
“Perhaps,” she said, her eyes distant. She dropped, sweeping her legs into Enki’s. He let out a short cry and fell backward, but he couldn’t allow her to take him.
He could think of nothing else, no way to get the danger away from the Cartesian Guard, other than running.
Tiles on the floor lit up before he struck the ground, signaling his control over magic, flaring to allow him to pass through realities. His back hit soft grass, and he quickly pulled himself to his feet, looking over the vast, open moors where he had arrived. The avatar hopefully couldn’t follow. If Enki passed through several more realms, he could cover his trail and return to Babel before his protections on the tower weakened at all.
However, he felt something shift under his feet and yelped as his own shadow attempted to grip his legs. With a sharp kick, he pushed out of her grip, calling up magic symbols to impede her for good measure.
Turning away, he scrambled from the avatar of Entropy, pushing his way through one reality after another to widen the distance. Desert dunes, crowded concrete streets, corporeal clouds, volcanic beds, forest, ice, vacuum—one after another streaked by his vision as he ran and pushed himself through doors over and over again. Night and day flashed on and off, dashing between clear skies, rain, and wind. Enki slowed in one place only as he stumbled across a stretch of rock between hissing pools of sulfur, their rings of vivid, toxic colors mirroring the beating pulse behind his eyes.
Oh, he was exhausted? Not just colloquially or emotionally exhausted, but literally exhausted? That hadn’t happened in thousands of years. He propped his hands on his knees as he doubled over, attempting to catch his breath. He didn’t exactly breathe, didn’t exactly have lungs or what mortals understood as such, but the compulsion to cough and pant was real—every bit as much as the rapid pulsing of what passed for blood pumping through his chest and limbs.
Steps behind him caused his entire body to seize in terror. He didn’t have to look to know his pursuer hadn’t lost him. Cursing himself for wasting the precious seconds he’d had over her, Enki tried to sprint again, but his body failed him. He staggered, landing flat against the rock, and in desperation he called the only weapon he knew, a hand scythe that was more a symbol of his influence over farming than a weapon. As he rolled to face her, he swung, a pathetic swipe that she only needed to lean back to avoid.
Her emotionless, hollow eyes stared down at him. One of her hands lunged for his shirt, and by reflex he grabbed her arm, forcefully cutting into the flesh. Oily ichor dripped from the wound, but she was undeterred. That arm had been a purposeful sacrifice, the other he couldn’t stop. It plunged into his chest, and he felt his voice escape him in a wail of pain as something inside of him throbbed and filled his metaphorical veins. He hadn’t felt pain in so long—it was much worse than he remembered, and yet thrilling. Feebly, he held her wrist, but all strength to fight her faded, replaced by a part of him that hungrily, desperately wanted to rejoin her.
“Be with us again, trickster,” she whispered. “Remember nothing was what all that…everything…was ever meant to be. It is time you returned the source of your power.”
His eyes rolling back into his head, darkness began to overtake his vision, but he could still hear her: “Every one of your followers are next. Then the Spear wielder.”
While he couldn’t see it…he could now ‘feel’ the wave of entropy that approached his home, and the unsuspecting Cartesian Guard’s headquarters.
Varying-sized statuettes in Enki’s quarters shuddered, then stepped out of their postures of prayer. Heads once frozen in skyward devotion turned forward, hands fused in prayer parted. With clay feet tapping against the tile, they moved in groups, stiffly waddling towards the stairs or elevator.
✽✽✽
A good chunk of the Guard was still around headquarters, though plenty had started the work of relocating the natives of Terris-Alma 66. Salema was not really the sort to be asked for those kinds of tasks—largely because
she was terrible at things that required patience or planning. She was fine with waking up late and getting Flashbang separated from the cot he’d been moved to at some point in the night.
“I do not remember being moved,” he yawned, accepting the coffee she handed him.
“You weren’t awake for it, so of course not,” she snickered.
“What by Jesus was I drinking? They said it was beer.”
“It was beer.”
“It was not,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure that was Satan’s piss.”
Smirking, she leaned against the wall next to him. “You still drank it.”
After a long swig of milky coffee, he scoffed, “Of course I still drank it. You put beer in front of an Irishman he’s going to drink it, even if he has to let you know it’s piss. I have family honor to uphold.”
“Family honor, my ass,” she grunted, her lip curling slightly.
He didn’t know why the phrase rubbed her the wrong way; it would be impossible for him to know. He looked up at her, rubbing the back of his head. “Um, sorry? Wait, are you talking about Enki? Did you get in a fight or something?”
Turning red, she waved him off. “No, no. It has…nothing…to do…” Her voice trailed off as she noted the tiny figures walking slowly down the main hall toward her. “Dad…Dad’s votive figures…”
“His what now?”
Salema rushed to the parade of clay miniatures, kneeling in front of them as though staring into their wide-eyed faces would give her explanation. “What are they doing here? Why did you all leave the top floor?”
A group of them stopped and silently stared up at her while others aimlessly wandered toward agents in the hall as confused as herself.
“Something’s wrong…” she breathed in a hushed voice. “Something’s wrong!” Salema jumped to her feet. “Dad—where’s Dad?”
Distantly, from the direction of the hangars, the din of shouting and battle reached the hall.
Victorious Cross Page 10
