by R. E. Vance
“But here’s the thing about your theory. Maybe, just maybe, The BisMark got the crown from Poseidon before he left, and maybe, just maybe, he pried off two of them and gave one to Greg, leaving one on the crown for whatever plans he had for it later.”
She paused before taking a deep breath and continuing. “You know, that legend seems to confuse this fact a lot.” She rubbed the palms of her hands against her dress as if she were trying to rub out some invisible stain. “I did have a child. Chrysaor. Not that his bastard of a father ever acknowledged him.”
I thought back to the beach and to the wooden trinket that fell out of her purse. She was so quick to take it back, like it was the most precious thing in the world. “The wooden horse from the beach. That was his,” I said.
She nodded. “A pegasus. The only privilege he got for having an Other as a mother, and even that eventually was taken away from him. When his pegasus died, he cried for three days straight, looking up at me with devastated eyes. He was alone, with a freak for a mother. The pegasus was his best friend. I carved him that toy so that he’d never forget his heritage, and he carried it everywhere.”
“Where is he now?”
Medusa’s voice went cold. “He was mortal. Athena’s punishment for my affair with Poseidon. Actually, Athena gave me a choice. Give up my son and become a god, or raise him as a mortal.
“That was my punishment for being young and naïve … for letting a god seduce me with his sweet talk and divine powers. A child born of a gorgon and a god should have lived forever. But Athena made him human … and just like any other human, he grew old and died.” She sat down on Michael’s oversized chair.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I walked over to her and put my hand on her shoulder. I don’t know what I was going for. A hug to comfort her, a shoulder to cry on. But Medusa stood up and drew her shawl over her shoulders.
“He lived well. A good, long, happy life. That’s all a mother really wants for her child, and he had it.” She wiped away her tears and her face went rigid. She looked up at me. “You know, I haven’t said his name in over two thousand years. It feels good to say it. To remember him.”
“Sounds like he was a great kid.”
“A great kid, a great man. He was my boy, and I’ll love him until my last breath.”
“I know you will. He was lucky to have had you.” I put a hand on Medusa’s shoulder, and this time she didn’t shrug it off. I was wrong about her. So dead wrong that I hated myself for being so stupid. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Do you know why I was so desperate to be invited to the gala? I wanted to apologize to Atargatis. Bury the hatchet, so to speak—start fresh as two mortal Others. That’s why.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling foolish.
She huffed out a groan of frustration and threw her arms in the air. “It would have been so much easier if I was guilty. Then you could go on with your life without me. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Finding a way to not like me anymore.”
“I … I,” I stammered. “I do like you.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“It is.”
“Because of Bella.”
I nodded.
“I’m not asking you to let go of her. I just want you to find a bit of space in your heart for me, too. Is that a possibility? Because if it is not, I’ll leave you alone, cross my heart.”
“I don’t know,” I said. I think that was the first honest thing I’d said to her since we met.
“When you do know, you know where to find me.” She started for the door. She gave me a sad smile before walking out of Michael’s office.
I watched her walk down the hall—the Queen of the Gorgons, who had a bigger heart than that of anyone I knew. A heart that chose me. And here I was, treating it like some curse rather than the amazing privilege that it was. There were no two ways about it—I was an idiot. “I’m sorry!” I called after her.
“I know,” she said, without looking back.
“I still don’t think it’s The BisMark.”
“I know,” she repeated.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes,” she said, and I heard her walk out of the back entrance, the door slamming behind her.
“Harsh, bro,” I heard Brian’s voice say in my ear.
“Brian,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“OK.”
I turned off the lights in Michael’s office and scurried after her.
Hellelujah!
Chapter 8
Trumpets, Trumpets, Trumpets
We got back to the others, who were still waiting at the back entrance. Astarte leaned against a squad car in all kinds of wrong ways, casually tossing car keys in her hand and making the simple act seem like tantalizing foreplay. And it was working—Enkidu was crouched on the hood of the car, his head resting on Astarte’s shoulder, watching the keys go up and down, up and down … and drooling.
Atargatis, on the other hand, was already in the car, sitting—like the debutante she was—completely unimpressed by the scene and eager to get going. As soon as I emerged, Astarte tossed me the keys. “What?” she moaned. “I don’t drive.”
“Fine,” I said.
Medusa got in the passenger side while Astarte and Enkidu squeezed in the back with Atargatis. Everyone was silent.
“So,” I said, breaking the tension with an easy question. “Who’s going to blow the horn?”
“Me!” Atargatis and Astarte said in unison.
“You bitch!” I couldn’t see which one yelled it out, and they both sounded so similar. It didn’t really matter. They were both thinking it.
“You always steal my glory.”
“And you always shirk your responsibility. Even if I gave you the trumpet—which I’ll never do—you’d probably discard it to have a romp on the beach!”
“Sex on the beach is undignified—too much sand! And secondly, you know damn well why I didn’t show up.”
“Why? Because of him?” Atargatis pointed at Enkidu.
“Yes. And Gilgamesh.”
“That human? Why? He was nothing but a mortal. We could’ve been gods!”
“Because—”
“Because what?”
“Because I LOVED HIM!”
Atargatis stopped speaking, gobsmacked by her sister’s confession.
“I loved him. I knew that if the Assyrian pantheon ascended, Chaos would rule and he would be lost.”
“You’re … you’re serious,” Atargatis murmured.
Astarte nodded.
Atargatis smirked. “The Queen of Lust, the great succubus Astarte, loved?”
“Yes,” Astarte said, her voice carrying a hint of shame in the confession. “And it almost killed me.”
Atargatis took a deep breath. “This really must be the end. Astarte loved.”
“If you’re just going to make fun of me, I’m going to—”
“No,” Atargatis said, her tone soft, understanding. “No, sister. I’m not going to make fun of you. You know that I’ve had many children in my life. I’ve loved every single one of them. Even the little bastards who tried to kill me earlier today. Even Tiamat, who seeks to devour me. I’ve loved each and every one of them, and I’ll tell you that love is a burden. It always comes at a cost, and it always brings pain.”
“I know,” Astarte nodded. “That’s why I’ll never love again. Not when—”
“You misunderstand me, little sister,” Atargatis said. “Love’s price is high, but its rewards are even higher. For pain is what happens when you live. Life without pain is not life at all. It’s animated death.” Atargatis took Astarte’s hand in hers. “Sister—you loved. You lived.”
The two beings embraced in a sororal affection.
Then Atargatis withdrew and in a stern voice said, “I’m still angry at you. Should we live through this night, we’ll have words. Hard words. Painful, costly ones.”
Astar
te nodded, and although I couldn’t quite see her face in the rearview mirror, I thought I heard gentle sniffles. The car went silent.
“Wonderful to see you two bonding, but it still doesn’t answer my question. Who’s blowing the horn?” I piped in. Hey—there was an all-consuming monster on its way to my home. Can you blame me for getting to the point?
“Jean-Luc,” Medusa admonished with a chuckle.
“Me,” the two sisters said in unison.
“I don’t think it should be either of you.”
“Why not?” Astarte shot back. “It’s our pantheon, our beast.”
“Exactly,” I said. “If I understand everything correctly, you two are of the old way. Chaos’s way. But this monster has emerged in a new era, which has yet to ally with either Nature or Chaos. Didn’t you say that Enkidu was of both worlds? He should blow the horn.”
“It should be a human. The world needs a new Champion,” Medusa said, not looking at me. “And since there’s only one person that fits that description, I think it should be Jean-Luc.”
“Champion?” I said, putting my hand on my chest. “You think I’m a Champion?”
“No … I think you are a human. And barely one at that.” I caught the hint of a smile.
“OK—human I am. But that doesn’t mean I should be the one to blow it.”
Atargatis eyed me. “Enkidu was once our Champion. He is of the old world. But you … you’re a derivative of nothing.”
“So a derivative of nothing is better than something?” I offered.
The sisters nodded.
“You’re a human of this era,” Astarte said.
“Personally I think I’ve been stuck in the ’80s, but if you say I’m a human of this era then so be it,” I said, and put the car in Drive. “Sometimes I really hate being human,” I muttered as we drove towards the monster that wanted to eat my city and everything in it.
↔
We got to the beach just as the pale light of dawn began to creep in. By my estimation, we had less than half an hour until the sun’s light hid the moon from the sky. Which meant that the fabled Blood Moon could happen any minute.
The Army had set up barricades that made getting close to the Promenade damn near impossible. I parked the car several blocks away and got out, looking around for the delivery van, but I didn’t see it. Either the popobawa was still stubbornly weaving his van through crowded backstreets or he was just as stuck as we were. Either way, we had to keep moving, and our only option was by foot.
I led the way, and the succubus, the demigoddess of fertility, the WildMan and the gorgon walked behind me. And given that I still had Astarte’s ruby red shoes on, that made me Dorothy in this twisted entourage from The Wizard of Oz.
The beachfront was packed with creatures born of the old world. They waited for the approach of a being that their gods promised would appear at the world’s end. This was the end they expected—not the GrandExodus that they’d received.
And so they waited to welcome the death they’d been denied.
We were at the edge of the crowd, the barricades no more than fifty feet in front of us, but with everyone standing shoulder to shoulder, it might well have been on the other side of the ocean. I started to push past all the tentacles, talons and wings that blocked my way, slowly making progress. Enkidu, on the other hand, got to the front by literally climbing over Others with preternatural agility.
I pushed on, hoping to get to the front so that I could at least see the beach, when a hand grabbed mine. Medusa. I pulled her in close and, in a hurried whisper, asked, “Can you see The BisMark through all this?” I asked, leaning in close to hear her over the murmur of the crowd.
She nodded, but her eyes were closed. Marty, on the other hand, stood erect on her head, his serpentine body stretching three feet straight up.
“Oh,” I said. “Neat trick.”
Medusa smiled. “Michael is with several officers—Steve and his brothers, Officer Valk and … ohhhh … Conner is there. What a handsome—”
“Focus.”
“Not as handsome as you, but probably much nicer—”
“Again … focus,” I said. “And sorry. Again. Really … really sorry.”
Medusa blushed. “Yeah, I know you are. The BisMark is near the water. Michael and the others are standing by his side, as well as that diamond gargoyle.”
“Stewart.”
“And that’s not all. There are several Army vehicles with what looks like boxes on them.”
“Those are RIM-116 Rolling Airframe Missile launchers used for surface-to-air combat. I guess they think Tiamat is big enough to be considered an aerial threat.” I looked up at the skyline above the Promenade and saw several soldiers with RPGs standing on the rooftops that of the buildings nearest to the spot. Whatever The BisMark had planned, the Army clearly didn’t trust him entirely. They had a Plan B that came in the form of explosive rockets. Even though I was damn near positive The BisMark was behind all this, I was rooting for him to have a way to stop this thing. That was, of course, if our little plan failed.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yeah. The BisMark has set up one of those portable stages. It’s pretty fancy. I doubt he just had it lying around.”
“More evidence against him,” I said.
“That’s not all … It’s decorated almost exactly as it was at the gala. The table off to the side, the speakers, the fake Roman columns and the Poseidon statue, except instead of facing the audience it’s looking out at the sea. Also, he brought along that giant crystal vat he had on the stage. It’s got wires coming out of it, and Greg is busy typing away on a laptop.”
“OK,” I said, slinging the trumpet on my back. “I guess I better get to it while they’re all distracted. Anything else I should know before I blow this thing?”
Medusa opened her eyes. “Yes … One more thing, Jean-Luc.” She hesitated.
“What?” I asked.
“Ahh … I don’t know how—”
“Just out with it.”
She leaned in and kissed me. A firm, passionate kiss that sent a shockwave of electricity through my spine. “If this is the end, then I want at least one last kiss.”
“Medusa …” I said.
“You letting me down easy is going to have to wait.” Her eyes softened. “Until then, we better get to it. Look up.” She pointed up at the moon. A thin crescent of red grew, slowly turning the face of the moon to blood red.
“Great,” I said. “This is it, then. Wish me luck!”
Medusa’s two little dimples appeared on her cheeks as she put on a brave smile and for a split second, I thought to myself that this could be it. Last kiss, last goodbye … last everything. Bella’s last words to me ran through my head: Live well. And given that I probably only had a few minutes left, I figured I’d listen to her. I wrapped my free hand on the small of Medusa’s back and drew her in close and tight, pressing my lips against hers. Her mouth was soft and delightful, her lip gloss scenting our kiss with vanilla as we embraced.
And so we kissed like it was our last day on Earth, because it very well might have been.
After a second that felt like an eternity, we separated.
“There,” I said. “Now we’re even.”
She blushed, and I turned to get into position.
↔
I looked for a place with a better view and found exactly what I was looking for. You see, Others came in all shapes and sizes: from pixies the size of hummingbirds to dragons the size of buses. Then there were hill giants—whose massive bulk made elephants look like puppies—which were perfect for climbing on.
Thing about hill giants—they didn’t get their name because they were the size of hills. They got it because they had a reputation of falling asleep for such long periods of time that moss and grass started growing all over them. That is to say, they weren’t disturbed by smaller creatures climbing them; so when I clambered up a hill giant’s back and he grabbed me, I w
as quite surprised.
“Fee-fi-fo—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Look, I don’t have time for this.” I put the horn to my lips and blew hard and true—right in the giant’s face.
The sound was tremendous, sending a shockwave that knocked the giant back. He would have crushed several Others had not Medusa and Astarte herded the crowd away from him.
The giant dropped me. As I fell, I looked up at the moon. The bloody crescent still crept along its face. Just before I hit the ground, I blew the horn again, this time pointing it straight up at the sky.
The announcement echoed across the horizon like a series of cannon blasts. The sky clouded over; lightning crackled, arcs of brilliant illumination painting the sky.
And still the moon bled—the clouds were unable to cover its halo.
I drew in a breath and pursed my lips against the trumpet’s silver mouthpiece. I was about to blow again when time stopped.
I don’t mean that everything slowed down or that a moment felt like an eternity. I mean that time literally stopped. The escaping crowd halted, fixed in place like statues of fleeing bodies. Bolts of lightning froze, their energy still illuminating the sky as they hung motionless in the air. The mountain of water that approached no longer came closer but rather stood sentinel in the ocean, a foreboding structure imprisoned by time that no longer marched forward.
And I, awake in a moment that did not progress, could not move to blow the horn again.
A deep voice spoke as a translucent, ghostlike vision of Michael appeared before me. “Think well, human,” it said, “before you blow again.”
I tried to move my lips to speak, but could not … and still my voice came out. “Michael, what are you doing?”
The specter shook its head and motioned to the beach. There hovered the real archangel Michael, his wings spread out longer than two city buses, concern painted on his face. He was coming for me, but whatever stopped time froze him as well. Next to him was The BisMark, a look of shock on his face, his hand pointed in my direction.
“I’m not Michael,” Michael’s ghost said, “but I’m like Michael. For between us is only an iota of difference.”
