by R. E. Vance
“No,” he said. “I already screwed up one child’s life for falling. I’m not going to let other children suffer because of me.” A single tear of light streamed down Penemue’s face.
“EightBall will get over it,” I said.
“No … no, Jean-Luc, he won’t. He may heal, but forgiveness is very different than healing.”
I didn’t say anything. There was no point. We’d been over this a hundred thousand times before. Penemue did not mean to kill EightBall’s parents. It was an accident caused by an event beyond his control. But it happened, and he was there, and no amount of arguing would temper his guilt.
I put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him in for another hug.
I wasn’t great at this whole “hugging” thing, and let me tell you—it was damn difficult to console a being that was over three feet taller and about twenty potato sacks heavier than you. But Penemue took the gesture as it was intended and hugged me back.
“OK,” I said. “So what’s the plan?”
“The plan is easy: go somewhere out in the open, alone, and wait to get captured. Luckily I’ll have this to pass the time.” He took in a long gulp from his bottle.
“Aren’t you worried that what happened to Miral will happen to you? I mean, we know she’s under Colel Cab’s spell. Otherwise Miral wouldn’t have bowed to that bug god. And remember what happened to Michael at the Tree?”
“They’re different.”
“How so?”
“Whatever Colel Cab does to angels is faith-based. She is an empath, and empaths play on creatures’ dominant emotions. For angels, that’s faith.”
“I’m not following,” I said.
“Let me put it this way … you wouldn’t trust someone who’s trying to quit smoking on a tobacco plantation.”
“Tobacco plant-what?” I shook my head. “Are you seriously equating faith with addiction?”
“For angels … yes.” He wiped his mouth and offered me the bottle.
“No, thanks. But you’re going and—must I remind you—you’re an angel.”
“Ahhh, therein lies the rub. I am a fallen angel. Completely different.”
“How so?”
“Because I spent thousands of years in Hell.”
“Again … so?”
“Think of Hell as rehab. I’m no longer addicted to faith.”
“You’re no longer addicted?”
“No. I’ve been clean for nearly an eon,” the twice-fallen angel said. He proceeded to down the rest of his bottle, burbled, and pulled out a fresh bottle from the confines of his wing. Holding it to his ear, he twisted the cap. The plastic cracked open. “Best sound in the world,” Penemue smiled.
“Clearly,” I said.
Penemue took a swig from the fresh bottle and returned it to his wing. Standing, he picked me up with the ease of one lifting an empty suitcase and he glided back down.
We were met on the ground by Astarte’s IT Support: Brian. “Here’s what you asked for,” he said.
“This tracker better work,” I said.
“It will,” Brian said.
“Good.” I turned to Penemue. “I promise I won’t be far behind. Just resist them long enough so that we can get into position.”
“So,” he said, stretching out his wings, “in other words, just be myself.” And with that, he took to the sky.
↔
I walked into my hotel and briefed everyone on the plan—a plan which essentially meant we needed to wait. Wait for Penemue to get out in the open. Wait for Penemue to be captured. Wait for him to be taken wherever these assholes kept their prisoners.
Of course, Brian planted a few seeds to speed up the process. A few Facebook posts and something on Memnock Securities’ system. That should put them in high alert.
Sinbad nodded, Judith tisked and Aau growled in understanding.
With that done, I went up to my room to wait there in peace. Perhaps I could stage a battle or two between WWF wrestlers and Star Trek figurines. I’d always wanted to know who’d win in a fight—Hulk Hogan or Captain Kirk.
I entered my room and was immediately greeted by Marty, who slithered out of Castle Grayskull and up my leg, around my abdomen and onto my shoulder. Tink flittered out a couple seconds later and sat on Marty’s head, riding him up my body. I guess they found peace together after all.
Once they were eye-level, Marty—of course—hissed.
“A fight’s coming,” I said to the fairy and viper. “A big one that will impact Other and human relations for years.”
Tink nodded and Marty hissed again.
“You two coming?”
Tink saluted and Marty bobbed his head up and down.
“Good—we could use all the help we can get.”
There was a knock on my door, sending both Marty and Tink back into Castle Grayskull.
“Yes?” I said.
Without a word or further prompt, Judith walked in—and by walked in, I mean she floated right through the door. And she looked distraught. “EightBall’s gone.”
I nodded.
“He came back for his stuff and left without so much as looking at us,” she said.
“Does he know what’s happening?”
She nodded primly. “Sinbad told him—not that he listened. He just packed everything he owned in a fury, leaving his PlayStation behind.
“Makes sense. The PlayStation was a gift, from Penemue,” I said. “So he knows what Penemue is doing? The danger he is in?”
Judith pursed her lips and nodded.
“And he still left.”
“Without a word,” she said.
“OK. We can’t handle everything at once, I guess. We’ll track him down when we get back. Until then—”
“I’m coming with you,” Judith said.
I paused. Well, that was a surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t. You’re not a war—”
Judith stood her ground. Er … floated her ground. “We already lost one child to this. I’m not going to lose another.”
“Another child? You mean Sinbad? Believe you me, Sinbad is no child. She’s a badass pirate—”
“She’s a child and I’m coming with you.”
I looked into Judith’s eyes and saw a stubbornness that would not be swayed by a thousand logical arguments, emotional pleas or (attempts at) physical restraints. So I did the only thing I could, and gave her a warning: “It’ll be dangerous.”
She smiled grimly. “I’m dangerous.”
“Yes,” I chuckled, “yes, you are.”
“Good. So we’re in agreement?”
I lifted my hands in defeat.
“Very well, then. We await your signal,” she said, floating back through the door, presumably downstairs to do whatever a poltergeist mother-in-law does when preparing for a fight.
↔
The assault on the prison would have to be well planned. Two teams, entering at my signal, but only once I found exactly where the children were being held.
One team would handle the anomalies; the other team would get the children off the island—that’s where George and the myriads came in. They would be waiting by the shoreline. The myriads would tow the kids over to the George’s boat and help them aboard. Then they would escort them back to Paradise Lot, where Michael and other officers would be there to greet them … and get them home.
One piece of the plan in place.
I looked around the ballroom which only three weeks ago hosted the event that nearly ended the world. Conner, Judith, Sinbad and Aau stood there. A cop, two warriors and a stubborn ghost. Then, of course, there were myself and Penemue. Six against a high-tech prison.
Reasonable odds—if you were the prison.
But then the odds got a whole lot better when Milton the cyclops walked in. He was wearing a traditional Ancient Greece toga—not a bed sheet wrapped around his body like some freshman rushing a fraternity, but the real thing. In his
hand he carried a club—and by club, I mean he carved a tree trunk to be roughly the shape of a baseball bat and then drove railroad spikes because getting hit by solid oak just doesn’t hurt enough.
Milton was dressed for war.
“Jean-Luc,” Milton said, his eye not blinking.
“Milton? What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help.”
“Help?” I narrowed my eyes. “Help with what?”
Milton blinked twice and in a low tone grumbled, “Freeing the children.”
I ran my hand through my hair in bewilderment. “You know where we’re going?”
He blinked.
“You’ve known all along. Ever since I took that meeting with Mr. Cain.”
Milton paused, then blinked once.
“But you couldn’t tell us because of your curse. You’re going to help us save the children … and it’s going to cost you your life.”
Milton lowered his head slightly and blinked once more.
“Then don’t go. Stay here. Thwart the curse and live. It’s not like Athena is here to actually enforce it. Why come with us when you can live?”
Milton shook his head, blinking twice more. “Because, Jean-Luc, those years would be spent living in shame, especially because I know my presence will be of use to you and the children. Besides, I have a rare opportunity here. As you humans say …” He gave me a terrifying grin that I swear to the GoneGods made every hair on my body stand to attention, and patted the bat end of his massive club. “I get to go down swinging.”
↔
With my mini army in place, there was only one person left to call. An actual army.
General Shouf picked up on the first ring.
“I found the anomalies and who’s making them,” I said, cutting to the chase.
“Really?” she crackled. “Jean-Luc the Scourge … as good as ever. Where are they?”
“Ah, ah, ah … before that, let’s lay our cards on the table, shall we? This was always about the anomalies, wasn’t it?”
“Cards?” Shouf grated. “Ahh, I see … cards—facts, knowledge. The Scourge does not want to fight in the dark. Not anymore. Very well, then, Jean-Luc, I shall lay down this ‘card.’ Yes, it was always about the anomalies. It seems Cain wanted to play God after all. He used his position in Memnock Securities to hack into our systems and download the experiments.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“And you didn’t do anything about it?”
“Why would I? Cain—as colorful as his pedigree may be—is human. Humans cannot unlock the secrets of Creation. Your minds are … limited.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. But Shouf’s comment was the last piece of the puzzle I needed to pull this all together. It seemed that the first son of Adam was indeed playing the Creation game, but needed help doing it. And the top candidate for that was Colel Cab. Colel Cab may have been a bug, but she was the god of bugs. That gave her certain insights that the rest of us didn’t have.
“OK,” I said, satisfied that she was telling the truth. “And finding me? You always knew I wasn’t dead, didn’t you?”
“Indeed. When we retrieved the charred remains of your squadron, something essential was missing.”
“What’s that?”
“Your sword. It was nowhere to be found.”
“So? It could have been lost. Fallen in the sea or carried off by some Other. I could have forgotten it at home that day. There are a thousand reasons why the sword would be missing.”
“If you believe that, then you do not understand what the Earl King’s sword truly is. The weapon will lay by the side of its fallen master until another, more worthy warrior comes along to pick it up.”
“Like Thor’s hammer,” I chuckled.
“Exactly like Thor’s hammer,” Shouf said, but I got the impression that whereas I was talking about the Marvel superhero, she was talking about the actual Thor. As in, god-of-lightning, real-deal Thor.
“OK—so you knew I was alive. Why not find me, then? Instead of waiting like you did.”
“Your human comrades believed you dead. And you wished to be dead. What’s more, you deserved to be dead. But when the anomalies resurfaced, and not from my efforts, I knew that the Scourge was needed once more. That is why I decided to resurrect you.”
“So you found me?”
“Actually, you found me. For at the exact moment that I needed you, I saw the footage on the beach when you fought the Tiamat, saving the world from ruin. Even though I couldn’t see you, I heard you. A single word: ‘Enough,’ uttered by the very man whose help I required. Serendipitous, to say the least. Seems that Fate and Destiny still play a role in this GoneGod world.”
“Fate and Destiny. Yeah, yeah … got it. You know I don’t believe in crap like fate and destiny.”
“No matter—Fate and Destiny do not need your belief. They only need to believe in you.”
“Sure thing, Oprah,” I said. “Next question—you had nothing to do with this little Creationist debacle?”
Shouf was silent.
“I see. You’re using me to clean up your mess.”
She clicked once. An affirmative in her language.
“OK, fine, but after this is done, you and me, we’re going to have a sit down to discuss my de-resurrection.”
Shouf was quiet for a long moment before saying, “I could be persuaded to bury you again.”
“Figuratively, right?”
“Indeed. Killing you would be wrong. I may need you in the future.”
“Yeah … sure.” I could have argued, but I realized this was probably the best deal I was going to get from her. And I was working against the clock here. “OK, Shouf. I know where they are and I’m going in, but before I do, I’m thinking about getting the old band back together.”
“Excuse me?” General Shouf grated. “ ‘Band’?”
Others are terrible with colloquialisms, so I did the mature thing by saying, “I want to go in guns blazing, grab the bull by the horns, and do the do-si-do on their heads.” Hey, if you can’t bring a little levity when preparing to take down a den of literal monsters, then whats the point of living? When there was nothing but silence from the other end of the line, as I knew there would be, I sighed and said, “We need to take them down and I’d like the aid of the old team.”
“Ahh, I see,” she said in an unironic tone. “But I’m afraid that since your involvement is unsanctioned, I can not involve anyone else. Not officially.”
“OK … but these guys we’re going up against have some serious fire power and are run by ex-military personnel. They’re no cake walk.”
“Cake? Seriously, Jean-Luc. Don’t think I do not know you are trying to assert your dominance over me by befuddling me with humanity’s ridiculous command of language.”
Got to hand it to General Shouf—she’s no dummy.
“But this ‘cake walk’ you speak of … I shall hazard a guess that it will be a difficult mission. Are we talking Tehran- or Kansas-difficult?”
“Kansas,” I said. “Definitely Kansas.”
“Oh,” she shattered. “This is serious, then.” There was a long pause as she considered her options. “OK, very well. I shall supply you with some … how do you humans put it … off-the-book support. As for personnel, I can only offer you one soldier to aid in your mission.”
“One?”
“Oh, don’t worry, one should be enough. I may not have entered the battlefield in some time, but I assure you I am as lethal as ever.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said. “I’m sure you are.”
You know what they say—don’t bring a knife to a gun fight. Well, I’d like to upgrade that.
Don’t bring a legion of monsters to a Shouf fight.
Empty Hell!
Chapter 2
Assault on The Garden
DAY 7—
When I was planning the assault on the prison twenty-four hours ago, I made certain
assumptions about what I would find. I had made those assumptions based on the clues I’d ascertained during my investigation, relying on my military training to fill in the blanks. I am proud to say that one of my assumptions was right: I knew I’d find the Occultists and the children here.
I am also proud to say that one of my hunches was also correct: Colel Cab was part of this (Miral bowing to her kind of tipped me off).
But what absolutely shocked me was how much of this I did not predict.
For one, I had no idea how deeply Miral was under Colel Cab’s spell. Miral didn’t just bow to the bug god—she was completely enthralled by her spell, something I didn’t think was possible to do to the former Captain of God’s Army. The second thing I did not expect were the comatose bodies of both Mr. Cain and Mr. Yew. They were Crystal dreaming … a process that created ideal selves, or design-perfect clones that were an upgrade to the original, that were easily manipulated by Colel Cab. I knew, because I had an OtherMe running around up above—and I could feel him somehow.
And the last thing I didn’t predict was that Colel Cab would have a piece of Creation Crystal the size of a shipping container. Creation Crystal was the most powerful substance on Earth. I’d seen firsthand what a piece of Creation Crystal the size of a witch’s cauldron could do in the hands of a mischievous Other. And this former god had a piece a hundred times bigger.
“So that’s how you’re doing this,” I said, pointing at the gigantic Crystal that was, only moments ago, an apple tree. The Crystal was illuminated by the old prison’s fluorescent lights. “Creation Crystals,” I groaned.
Creation Crystals aren’t magic. They are something much more powerful. Because—end of the day—as impressive as magic is, it cannot create anything that is permanent or lasting. Magic fizzles. Creation does not.
And I should know. I’ve had experience with both magic and Creation before. It was a while back, when the world was about to end—and before you ask, no, I’m not talking about the near-apocalypse that happened three weeks ago. This one happened about a year before. And yes, that was how dangerous the GoneGod world was—an endless parade of apocalypses (apocali? I dunno, there’s usually only one). For this particular apocalypse, I was, sadly, in the muck of it because the Unicorn decided to give me a plain wooden box. Of course, plain wooden boxes are rarely plain wooden boxes … especially when they were the prized possession of a creature older than oceans and so unique as to make a snowflake seem commonplace in their uniqueness. Long story short (and it is a very long story), the physical manifestation of Gravity needed the box to create a bridge with Heaven.
