by R. E. Vance
The memories stopped and I wiped away tears from my eyes. All this from a kiss … I shuddered and tried to step forward, except my legs wouldn’t work. In the crushing tsunami of memories, I had fallen to my knees and didn’t even know it. Astarte extended a hand to help me up.
“My sister wanted Gilgamesh dead. The Bull of Heaven was my sister’s last attempt to kill him,” Astarte said. “Enkidu willingly sacrificed himself to save Gilgamesh. Such a sacrifice does not come easily, for when the Bull consumes you, it feasts on your soul for eternity. He should not be here.”
My head still swam with her memories and I sought to make sense of it all, just as she did. “When the gods left, wouldn’t that negate his punishment? Or at very least stop the magics that held him?”
Astarte considered this. “I suppose that’s possible, but it doesn’t explain why he wasn’t released when the gods left. The gods have been gone for fourteen years, and he has only come to me now.”
“Maybe he got out right away, but he only sought to come out of hiding now, when he sensed what was happening. Or maybe The BisMark’s plan to use the Sacred Carp of Urfa somehow set some release mechanism. Either way, he appeared because of what’s going on.”
“Perhaps, but even so … What’s his purpose? To kill me?”
“Maybe … maybe thousands of years in the belly of the Bull drove him crazy. But I’ve been replaying what happened at the dock over and over in my head—I’m not entirely sure he was trying to kill you.” Astarte shrugged. “I don’t deny he’s violent, but think about it. He didn’t just attack you. He was trying to stop the popobawa from driving away with the fish. He knew that a sacred carp was in the van.”
Astarte considered this, a pained expression on her face. “Oh, how he must have suffered.”
“And just now … he didn’t attack us. He took down the chimeras. He saved us,” I said.
She looked back from where we came. Enkidu was nowhere in sight.
“Either way …” I said, rubbing my temples. My head hurt from trying to reason out what was happening. Gods and logic didn’t always go hand in hand, and I simply didn’t feel smart enough to put myself in celestial shoes and figure this out. “The mission stays the same.”
Astarte nodded and walked over to the bike. She threw a leg over the seat, straddling the moped as if she were preparing for the ride of her life. With a sly smile, she patted the seat in front of her. “Let’s go,” she said. I sat in front of her and touched my lips. I could still feel her kiss. I wondered, if she could do all that with just a peck on the lips, what she could do when she used her whole body.
Hellelujah!
↔
We rode out of the city core and headed towards the eyesore in the distance. The skyscraper stood two miles to the west, about a mile from the ocean’s Promenade. Before the gods left, the building was seen as Paradise Lot’s attempt to claim major city status. Of course, one skyscraper didn’t do it, but it was a start. The City Council, on advice from some Swedish architect firm, approved the Ladder: a building aptly named so because it looked like—well, like a ladder—with every third floor acting as the next rung up.
Of course, it was a ladder that went to nowhere. I thought of the story of Jacob’s Ladder. He tried to create a stairway to Heaven, but like so many stories in the Old Testament it ended badly for those who tried to climb it. With so many Others wanting to return home, I have often wondered if it was the last cruel joke performed by the now absent gods.
We drove down the empty street and up to the front door, its glass entrance locked.
Behind it sat the same popobawa who drove the delivery truck. I couldn’t hide my shock as I pressed the buzzer and waved at the bat-like creature.
The door buzzed open, and the popobawa rushed over to grab my hand. “Oh … oh!” he said. “It’s the form filler! He’s here. He’s here! Twice you grace my presence! Twice I see you.” His fish-eyes twisted around, the horizontal slips becoming vertical as his mouth pincers clicked in what I assumed was his way of expressing joy. Then he looked at Astarte and stopped. “How may I be of service to the Master of Master Form Filler and the Mistress Popobawa?”
“Mistress Popobawa?” I looked over at Astarte, who stared down at the little bat-like creature like he was the only creature on the planet. I was guessing that Mistress Popobawa was doing her thing—Astarte was the Queen of Lust to any and all creatures on the planet. That meant she looked like whoever and whatever you needed her to look like. To me Astarte was a sultry, sexy woman with a hint of a Parisian accent. To the popobawa, she was a winged creature of immeasurable, albeit leathery, beauty.
To each their own, I guess. I shook away the thought and continued, “Do you work here?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“And you have a delivery company?”
“Yes, Master of Master Form Filler.”
“And you work at the hospital?”
“Of course! That’s my highest honor and my namesake. A name you gave me, Master of Master Form Filler.”
“So you have three full-time jobs?”
“Six,” the humanoid bat clicked. “I also clean the bathrooms of those who live here and wash the dishes for Mistress Sandy. I sort recyclables from non-recyclables in the city dump and dig graves at dawn for the cemetery.”
“Do you like all that work?” I asked.
“Oh no,” he shook his head, “but I have a family to feed.” He pulled out a picture of what I assumed was his apartment. It was filled with a thousand bats, all hanging from his ceiling.
“Interesting,” Astarte moaned.
“These bats are your family?” I asked.
He clapped his hands together and nodded. “After the darkness came and I was forced to leave my home, I was cast out here. I was alone and frightened until I found my adopted family, the AlwaysMortal bats of Earth. They are so kind, so generous … but also so fragile. I take care of them. I feed them bugs, lots of bugs. Bugs are expensive.” So that was it—this little guy came to the mortal plane and saw the typical bat as somehow a member of his kin. And he worked six crappy jobs that most humans wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, and some of them have leathery wings and sonar.
“What about the truck driving? How did you get that job?” I asked.
“Humans do not enjoy entering the city. But I live here. I go to the docks, the loading bays and the bridge, and load my van with the goods that the humans do not wish to deliver personally.”
“That job you did today … Who hired you?”
“Jedi Master Greg! He told me about the gala and the fish.”
“See, I told you … Greg has ‘minion’ written all over him,” I said, looking over at Astarte. I turned back to Master Form Filler. “Is Jedi Master Greg home?”
↔
The elevator was one of those sleek, personal elevators that only serviced the top floor. With a bing it opened up onto Greg’s living room. Before we could even exit the damn thing, I heard a nerdy voice call out, “It took you long enough.”
Greg.
We entered a living room that made me feel like I had died and gone to Heaven. Well, my kind of heaven. It was filled with classic arcade games—Pac-Man, Digger, Space Invaders, Donkey Kong. He even had an original Street Fighter arcade. The walls were covered with posters of The Terminator, Alien, The Abyss, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and, of course, Star Wars. Glass cases displayed mint condition Transformers, Smurfs, He-Man and G.I. Joe figures, all complete with every accessory. His collection made mine look quaint by comparison. Then there were comic books. Shelf after shelf of single issue comics that made me drool just looking at them.
He also had collectibles. The big stuff … Ramirez’s katana from Highlander, a life-size figure of the Terminator and a rancor—the giant, reptilian monster from Return of the Jedi; the statue was a life-size sixteen-foot-tall replica and up close the beast looked like the illogical child of a lion and a potato—this
guy’s apartment was huge—complete with claws and a short, thorny tail. The only variation was that a red ruby sat on the over-pronounced ridges of the rancor’s nostril slits. Star Wars bling? Who knew what these rich kids were up to these days?
I thought of Medusa and her idols theory. Greg, like me, took comfort in those statues and what they meant to us when we were growing up. But unlike me, where every toy I had was played with, Greg displayed everything behind polished glass. “Not idols,” I muttered. “Trophies.”
“Excuse me?” Astarte said.
I shook my head. “Nothing … Look.” I pointed beyond the Valhalla of geekery to the balcony where Greg stood.
He was still in his Star Wars robe and held a straight, silver trumpet. For an instrument that heralded the End of Days, it looked remarkably like the ones football fans like to blow. He fiddled with it. “Can you believe it? He let me blow it. You must have heard it. He let me herald what’s to come. I’m the Nostradamus comet heralding the coming of the Destroyer … I’m the Silver Surfer announcing the arrival of Galactus.” He dropped the trumpet and pointed to the sea.
Paradise Lot was built on an island the shape of a teardrop, roughly seventy by thirty miles; most of the population lived in the swelling bulb of the tear. The Promenade sat on the outer curve of the swell. Standing on the top floor of the Ladder, I could see almost the whole city, its light springing up from the host of buildings that rarely broke five stories—a thousand tiny beams that came from the windows of living rooms, bedrooms and kitchens all over the city. And sitting in each light was a living, breathing creature—be it human or Other. The sight was breathtaking, and the thought that this soft glow was the amalgamation of so much life was awe-inspiring …
But all of that was completely overshadowed by the massive mountain of water that lumbered toward Paradise Lot. Given that we were a couple miles away, whatever was big enough to churn the water the way it did was friggin’ huge.
“Look,” Greg said, “she’s coming. She’ll be here in a few hours, and then … man, oh man … Godzilla’s got nothing on her.” He giggled when he saw us.
“What’s going on here, Greg?” I asked.
“Why, I lured you here to distract you, of course. The way the boss figured it, you were our only real threat and I had to get you away from the beach to keep you away.”
“See? Minion,” I said to Astarte.
“Let me guess. You’re here for the Grimoire. The one I said I had. You want to know who’s next in line to stop Tiamat, right?”
I said nothing.
“Right?”
I pursed my lips and nodded.
Greg jumped up in joy. “I knew it. I told my boss that you’d take the bait. He said it should be something less subtle. That you were probably too stupid to get it. But I held my ground, and I was right!”
“And why do you want to distract me?” I asked. “Astarte I get, but me?”
“Because the boss planned this whole thing out but figured you were the wildcard in all this. You know, because of what you did the last time someone tried to destroy Paradise Lot. You’re the city’s Champion and, well, he got nervous that you’d foil his plans.”
“Foil his plans,” I muttered, hitting my hand against my forehead. Where were we? In an episode of Scooby-Doo?
“Yeah, foil … That’s why he chose your hotel and all these theatrics. Personally, I think he should have just done it all somewhere else, far, far away from you. I mean, come on, picking your place is kind of setting you up. It becomes a whole ‘self-fulfilling prophesy’ kind of deal.” Greg shrugged. “But, then again, what do I know? I’ve only been around for three or so decades … These guys, they’ve damn near lived forever.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever … Fine, you got me. I’m here.” I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Now what?”
“Now we wait until the boss finishes up.”
“You keep mentioning a boss … Who’s that?” Astarte asked. She was edging forward, trying to get herself in position to pull him down.
“Who else? The Emperor.” Greg let the word hang in the air before cracking up. “Just kidding.”
“Why, Greg?” I asked, stepping onto the balcony.
“Why not?”
Astarte moved to his side, and as she drew near, he pulled something out of his pocket with a dramatic whoomp! “Step back,” he said. A red streak of light shot up. He held up a toy lightsaber.
“You’ve got to be joking,” I said.
He laughed and turned off the lightsaber. “Yeah, I am. But you should’ve seen the look on her face! Oh, come on. Lighten up. It’s only the end of the world!”
“Greg, why?” I repeated. “I thought you were a Jedi.”
“Bah, Jedi are lame. Now, the Sith! They’re much more interesting.”
“Sure, Greg,” I said. “But even the Sith didn’t want to destroy all life. They just wanted to rule it. Why did you do this? Why did you switch out the fish?”
“And abandon our date?” Astarte added.
Greg laughed. “Oh, honey …” His voice dripped contempt. “You’re not as spellbinding as you think you are.”
Astarte growled, and Greg leapt onto the railing of the balcony and precariously balanced on its ledge. “This is the part where I say, ‘Take another step and I’ll jump.’ ”
He wobbled with one foot on the edge. “Did you really come all this way just to get your hand on the Grimoire?” He pointed at his bookshelves. “OK—go on, then. It’s in the back. I didn’t even bother to hide it. Nothing can stop her now.” He pointed behind him to the mountain of water that approached.
The giant bulb of water was still a fair distance off the shore and still it towered at such a height as to make the Ladder seem like a modest apartment building instead of the skyscraper that it was. I had seen images of Tiamat’s approach on Sally’s iPad; I thought I had a handle on the enormity of the creature, but actually seeing how it pushed up the water as it came toward us made me realize that television did not do it justice—even in HD.
Waving his toy lightsaber, he pointed at me and said, “Five more hours to go. I think my master and I are doing pretty good.”
“You have a master?” I asked.
“In a way. My master is an Other and therefore isn’t used to the mortal world. That gives me certain,” Greg paused as he searched for the word, “advantages. My master might be using me, but I’m using my master right back.” Greg cocked a devilish grin.
“Humph,” Astarte snorted. “Tell that damned BisMark that—”
Greg held up a hand. “BisMark?”
“Yes,” Astarte jeered, “tell your master that—”
Greg broke out into chortles. “BisMark, my master? He’s a pompous ass. No, my master is someone a lot more …” He searched for the word before finally settling on, “fun.” Then he sneered, exposing straight, white teeth that could only be achieved by someone who spent a lot of money at the dentist’s—damn rich kid. He pointed his toy sword at Astarte with one hand as he fumbled with something under his robe. “There are more villains than your imagination can conjure,” he said. “You know, when the gods took off, they left behind all their toys. Tiamat, sure … but also Ragnarök, the Beast … even the Bull is in hiding somewhere in the mountains of Palmyra. So many toys to pick from, but my master chose Tiamat because of you. You are so desperate to know who’s behind this … Look in the mirror, sister. This is all in your honor.”
Astarte put her hands against her chest. “I’m not your sister …” she moaned, then her voice dropped as she pulled at the top button of Sally’s shirt. “Not unless you want me to be.”
Greg groaned, momentarily distracted, before shaking his head. He clipped the still-lit lightsaber to his belt. Then he pulled out a slingshot from under his robe. “My master told me you’d try to distract me.” He loaded his slingshot with a rock. I took a step forward and he held out a finger. “Ah, ah, ah … Seems I’ve run out of time,” he said, lo
oking at his wristwatch. “Before I go … I got one question for you, Jean-Luc. Can you fly?”
“No,” I said, confused.
“Good.” He shot the stone from his sling. It flew past my head and into his living room, where it hit the strange rancor statue in the chest. “Damn it,” he sulked, “I practiced to get that right.”
“Practiced what?” I said, edging forward. Astarte, who had also been edging toward Greg, was now looking behind her at the rancor statue. She wore a perplexed look on her face. “Practiced what?” I repeated.
Astarte shrieked, “Stop him! He must not hit the statue!”
“What?” I said, taking my gaze off Greg and looking at Astarte. Her eyes were wide open as she reached for Greg, but it was too late. Greg had managed to fire off another stone—this time it knocked off the weird red gem on the rancor’s head.
I lunged at Greg, but he leaned back and fell off his balcony. I got to the edge and watched as the light from his red lightsaber twirled down like a spinning glow stick, except instead of plummeting forty-seven stories down, he stopped. From the glow of his Sith weapon, I could see that he had been caught by the arms of an unlikely savior—ScarFace.
Red reflected off gray stone and a pair of powerful wings as ScarFace carried Greg higher and higher until it was parallel with me.
“Time!” Greg yelled. “You’ve got to spend it to make it!” ScarFace flapped his stone wings twice and slowly flew in the direction of the beach.
“He’s getting away,” I yelled. “Astarte—grab the sling.”
“Yes, Jean-Luc,” Astarte whispered. “He’s getting away. But we, unfortunately, have bigger problems to contend with.”
There was a low growl behind me. I turned around to see the rancor no longer had that strange gem on its head. That, and the rancor was no longer a statue.
The rancor lowered its head, a growl of aggression reverberating from it.
