Four Gods

by Sebastian H. Alive

  Then as suddenly as it had arrived the voice had gone. Agamemnon could feel himself calming down, the air clearing his head and he breathed deeply.

  “Who-who were you talking to?” asked Anya looking afraid.

  Turning to face her he knelt on one leg and cupped her chin with his spare hand.

  “No…no.” she whimpered shaking her head.

  “It must be this way.” he said softly.

  “You are going down there to die!”

  “No, I am going down there so that you may live. Can you climb down without me?”

  “I cannot.”

  “If you fall then all will be for nothing,” hissed Agamemnon. “Can you climb down without me? Anya, I want to hear you say it.”

  “I can. I can.”

  He bowed his head gratefully for a moment then fixed her with a firm look.

  “Don’t rush. You have already done the worst part. Be sure of where you place your feet and hands and only come down when it is safe. Do you understand?”

  Anya nodded her head as she wrung her hands nervously.

  “Head for the port and ask for a man named Hennig. He has one eye. Remember that. Tell him to sail for Piathaleas and give him this.”

  Agamemnon delved into his left boot and brought out a small bag of coin which he pressed into Anya’s hand. Then he lifted a knife from his baldric fastened across his chest and placed it by her feet.

  “I can see your path now. You are heir to the throne of Tarlath. One day you will return to your people and you will take what is yours. You are not like your father because you are strong. Can you be strong for me now?”

  “I’m…sure I can.”

  “Good girl. Now stay away from the edge out of sight and put your hands over your ears for me.”

  She did as he was told and Agamemnon nodded his approval at her before turning to face the ledge.

  “I am Agamemnon.” he said lifting the blade to his face and pressing his lips against the cold metal before sheathing it.

  He hooked a leg over the ledge and slowly eased himself down and after a few seconds found a foothold. Shaking, with his fingertips gripped over the shelf above him Agamemnon glanced over his shoulder below at the Meldlings feeding place. The creature was still gorging itself on the dead animal, tearing at the horse flesh in a wild frenzy as he stared at its broad, muscular back. He inched down the boulder until he was about 15 feet above the Meldling’s head hardly daring to breathe. Then just as he was adjusting his leg to seek out the next crevice to lower himself the creature reared its head and its nostrils flared. In an instant Agamemnon let go of his hand holds and threw his body from the rock drawing his sword in one smooth motion and swivelling around as he did so. The Meldling looked up but it was too late and the swordsman fell onto it with his blade gripped in both hands and the tip pointing down. Using all his weight he drove his sword between the creature’s shoulder blades, burying it deep and the Meldling howled out in anguish. It thrashed violently, flailing its powerful arms and Agamemnon lost his grip on the hilt and dived off the creatures back. He rolled to his feet and pulled out a dagger from his baldric and sunk it into the Meldlings throat multiple times and its hot blood splashed onto his face. The creature lashed out with a mighty clawed hand lifting him from his feet and he felt himself airborne for a second. Landing hard on his chest, he felt the hard ground grind into his face and heard a rib crack from the heavy landing as the air whooshed from his lungs. As he struggled groggily to his feet sucking in a lungful of air the Meldling was upon him snapping its jaws. He cried out as he felt its razor sharp talons rip into his side gripping him in a tight embrace with its slavering mouth so close he could smell its putrid breath as warm, sticky blood flowed out of his ripped side whilst the strength was slowly crushed from his body as it strengthened its grip on him. Taking his dagger he plunged it into the Meldlings left eye but still it did not release him and its talons dug deeper into his skin making him scream out aloud so he plunged the blade into the same eye again and again until he hit bone and the creature let him go with the dagger still buried into its socket. Staggering back Agamemnon clutched his side and glanced at the hilt of his sword still protruding high up between the Meldlings shoulder blades but he didn’t have time to pull out another dagger. The creature lunged forward with a speed that belied its size and knocked him from his feet and then it was on top of him pinning him to the ground with its snapping jaws aimed at his exposed throat. Just as it thrust forward towards his neck Agamemnon turned to the side and the creature clamped its blood-stained teeth into his left shoulder making him cry out once again. The Meldling twisted its teeth into his shoulder and he could feel it grate against his bone and his vision swam from view as he stared into its monstrous face.

  “No!” screamed the tiny voice of Anya from high up on the ledge.

  At the sound of her voice the creature’s head snapped around angling its back towards Agamemnon and his hand snaked out grabbing the sword hilt. Yanking the blade free he brought it down on the back of the Meldlings neck and cut deep with blood spurting out all over him. With its weight off him he rolled sideways and jumped to his feet twirling the blade about him in a flash of silver before hacking it down against its neck once again. The creature tried to rise to its feet but he brought the blade down one final time and its severed head fell to the ground and its body slumped forward. Agamemnon stood triumphantly over the dead Meldling, breathing heavily with his sword dripping with blood. Slowly he sank to his knees and then looked up at the ledge at the terrified face of Anya who was looking down at him. Then he toppled to the side and all was darkness.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The capital city of Tarlath

  Unfortunate’s alley

  Hephaestus winced as his boots sloshed through a puddle of filthy water and he paused a second to wipe his feet with a silk kerchief from his pocket. Straightening up he looked at the soiled cloth for a moment in his hand, rolled it up and tossed the ball over his shoulder in disgust.

  “Finest boots I ever owned.” he grunted.

  “Hide your disdain, Hephaestus.” commented Magdalenian pausing and looking over his shoulder at him from down the alleyway where squat, brooding buildings jostled with each other for space on either side.

  “This place is offending my senses,” he snapped in reply as he wrinkled his face in disgust at the narrow passageway. “I need some air, some clean air.”

  Delving into a hidden pocket on the inside of his fine cloak Hephaestus brought out a small vial of perfume and another silk kerchief. He opened the small container and sprinkled a few drops of the scented liquid onto the cloth, waved it into the air a few times to dry it off then held it delicately to his nose.

  “It is like my worst nightmare,” he said in a muffled voice. “Wandering around filthy alleyways filled with filthy people in one of world’s vilest cities. It’s nothing more than a revolting, run-down grimy cesspool of decomposition, depression, apathy and disillusion and our departure cannot come quick enough. Let us hope we do so before we are mugged, stabbed or threatened.”

  They weaved their way through a labyrinth of twisting narrow passages, cobblestone streets that led to other streets, sometimes sunless and steep and devoid of people and other times they found themselves navigating around discarded trash, animal waste or stepping to the side to allow sellers hauling their wares to pass.

  “This is something I could never get used to.” grumbled Hephaestus with a scowl.

  Suddenly a young boy no more than 10 years of age, his face dirt-streaked and with hollow circles under his eyes ran over to them from behind and tugged at the hem of his cloak before holding out his hand expectantly. Hephaestus looked down at the boy with a grimace and snatched his garment away and held it tightly to his body.

  “The only thing I hate more than children is needy children,” he growled. “Do not bother me child!”

  With a sigh he ignored the beggar and trudged on after Magdalenian who had j
ust vanished around a blind corner. When he caught up to him they had entered another passageway but this time there was a body of an old man laid on the cobbles before them blocking their route.

  “Is that a corpse in my path?” gasped Hephaestus thrusting his silk kerchief back to his nose and stepping back in horror as two rats scurried around the head of the body.

  The old man groaned and looked up groggily from where he’d been asleep, his gaunt face glistening unhealthily, his breathing laboured and shallow.

  “He is alive.” replied Magdalenian stepping over the man’s legs and continuing down the alleyway without looking back.

  “Clearly he is in his prime. He could not be more alive,” cried Hephaestus skirting around the man. “Is it much farther? This is more like a rat’s warren than an alleyway.”

  “We are close.”

  They entered another street and Magdalenian paused at the feet of another beggar who was sat cross-legged on the cold ground and nestled in a pile of discarded waste. His face was gaunt and wrinkled and he wore tattered clothing and thin soled shoes whilst holding out a battered old pan.

  “A little charity?” croaked the scruffy looking old man.

  Magdalenian reached into his pocket and dropped a couple of coins into the bowl.

  “Make sure you eat.” he ordered.

  The beggar grinned and scooped the coins up in his filthy fingers and looked up at Hephaestus who stood there with a look of open hostility on his face whilst clutching his cloak protectively about his body.

  “I didn’t think it would be possible to feel more disgust and hatred,” he muttered. “I was wrong. May I also suggest you don’t feed the vermin coin, Magdalenian. You will encourage them to live longer.”

  Magdalenian crouched down to his haunches, eye-level with the old man and stared at him intently.

  “We seek a woman named Ingrith. Can you direct us to her?”

  The beggar looked at him suspiciously and shook his head.

  “Old Theo don’t know no Ingrith,” he rasped. “Memory ain’t what is used to be.”

  “Then keep well, old man.” said Magdalenian nodding his head and standing up. He was about to turn away when suddenly the voice of the beggar cackled out after him.

  “I like your friend’s cloak. It looks expensive,” he said enviously staring at Hephaestus’ luxurious garment. “Maybe we could do a simple transaction which may just jolt the old memory.”

  “You’ve got a good eye,” replied Magdalenian. “It is a fine cloak.”

  “Now look, I can’t,” cried Hephaestus. “It is my most favourite cloak of all my attire.”

  “You don’t fit in.”

  “If I wanted to fit in Magdalenian, I would bathe in animal dung and wash in my own piss.” he snapped looking outraged.

  “Cloak for knowledge.” remarked Theo looking up at them both gleefully.

  With a distraught expression on his face he unfastened the garment and threw it at the beggar.

  “This cost more than your miserable existence, you worthless worm.” snapped Hephaestus.

  With a grin Theo placed the begging bowl to one side and picked up the long cloak and examined it carefully. He stood up with a groan and slung it around his bony shoulders and clipped it into place.

  “Makes me more approachable, don’t you think?” asked the old man.

  “I hope you get raped by a pack of plague-infested rats.” murmured Hephaestus.

  “Now tell us what we want to know, old man.” said Magdalenian.

  “Seek out the Happy Cripple, goes by the name Damascus. He’s a good man. You can’t miss him, he has a twisted back. If he trusts you he will take you to Ingrith.”

  “Where can we find him?”

  “Last I saw he was working the street up on Butcher’s Square. Follow this street up and don’t turn off. Just follow your nose.”

  “My thanks.” said Magdalenian spinning on his heel and beginning to walk away.

  Hephaestus gave the beggar a look of disdain then turned and followed him. They walked on through another maze of narrow winding cobbled streets that curved and weaved past rows of half-timbered houses that that were built so close you could almost touch them both with outstretched hands. After a while they could smell the creeping odour of blood and offal and the street finally opened up into a small busy square with butcher shops and houses complete with slaughterhouses at the rear. Fresh meat of all types was hung up outside the shops on metal hooks and laid out for sale on stalls with vendors shouting over one another to get their sale whilst a young street cleaner was washing away the blood with a mop and bucket that had pooled on the ground.

  Magdalenian’s eyes scanned the crowded square and he spotted a heavily stooped man who carried one shoulder higher than the other. He pointed him out wordlessly to Hephaestus and strode over to him.

  “Damascus?” he asked staring at the man’s back

  “Who wants to know?” asked the cripple turning to face him and flicking a glance towards Hephaestus uneasily.

  “Take us to Ingrith.” commanded Magdalenian.

  Damascus looked them up and down suspiciously.

  “You aren’t King’s men. Then who are you?”

  “We are here to help.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “What an ill-disciplined bunch of cretins!” snapped Hephaestus angrily. “Let us find the faceless man ourselves and be on our way.”

  The cripples face hardened and he narrowed his eyes.

  “You will not find what you are looking for around here.”

  “I fear time is not in our favour, Damascus. Think wisely because the fate of Tarlath hangs in the balance.” said Magdalenian coolly.

  “Like I just said, you will not find what you are looking for around here. Now if you don’t mind, I’m working. Good day to you.”

  “You are in great discomfort.”

  “A blind man could make such an observation.” muttered Damascus beginning to turn around.

  Suddenly Magdalenian reached out with his arm and placed his hand onto the cripples back. As he touched him his face contorted in pain and then relaxed.

  “You are set free from your pain.”

  Damascus blinked rapidly with tears welling at the edges of his eyes as he rolled his arms and shoulders in disbelief.

  “What are you?” he whispered.

  “We are here to help.” replied Magdalenian once again.

  Nodding his head numbly the cripple swallowed hard and glanced at Hephaestus before looking back at him.

  “I will take you to our mother.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The capital city of Tarlath

  Unfortunate’s alley

  Ingrith sat on a hard, wooden chair and rubbed her gnarled hands together and looked up at the two men, her storm coloured eyes focused on them with uncomfortable frankness.

  “You learn a lot about humanity from living on Unfortunate’s alley,” she said staring at them. “These streets will eat up anybody who shows weakness. It can break even the strongest of men, it’s true. I have seen it myself. Life down here is a dangerous, harsh existence and it’s particularly hard if you are young. The young need support. Most of the children are extraordinarily resilient but for others it’s just too much. During my time down here I have seen so many deaths that I have almost become numb to it. Almost.”

  She stopped talking, unable to speak for a moment and looked off into the distance sadly. After a few long seconds of uncomfortable silence Hephaestus impatiently stepped forward and made as if to talk but Ingrith cut him short with a raised hand.

  “If you talk before I finish, I won’t tell you anymore,” she snapped abruptly. “I just cannot tolerate interruptions. It’s one thing I can’t abide by, especially in my own home.”

  Magdalenian gave Hephaestus a short nod of his head as the old woman continued speaking.

  “Where was I?” she muttered with a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Yes, yes, li
fe on Unfortunate’s alley. We live as humbly as we can on what we can. I’m sat on the only piece of furniture I own. We eat when we can and more often than not we go hungry but we do what we do to survive. That is our way of life. We don’t have fine houses and important gardens and we don’t wear lavish clothes or eat the finest foods like you.”

  Both men glanced at one another and Ingrith chuckled and looked over to Damascus who shifted uneasily by the door.

  “Yes, I know your kind and I see that look in your eyes. You both dress like Lords. You walk in here with arrogance, conceit and egotism and you talk as though you are used to people obeying your every command. We know our kind down here and you are not our kind. A menial task to you is another day survived to us. You don’t belong down here. Down here you would not live past a day because we do what we do to survive and you know nothing about survival. This is a place of beauty and torment. I have seen a young girl raped and that same girl give birth to the rapist’s child with nothing but love in her eyes and I have seen even the lowliest, most despicable selfish of men give their life to protect another. Someone has to care for them all. I care. I look out for them. I’m their mother, their confidant, their protector and someone with a strong hand to guide them and keep them alive. I’m the last of an old breed and many of my friends I grew up with are dead. You have to be a specific kind of person to do what I do. Trust your instincts and learn to trust your eyes. I don’t know you but I feel that I should so who are you and what do you want? He says you have healed him of his pain. Are you a healer then?”

  “Of sorts,” answered Magdalenian. “I am not without power.”

  “Power like that will get you noticed around here. It would be useful but it would get you killed.”

  “I am a hard man to kill, Ingrith.”

  “I ask you again, who are you and what are you intentions?” she asked narrowing her eyes.

  “I understand your suspicion, Ingrith. It is reasonable. But you are wrong. I know about survival, we both do, so do not preach to me about it. I have seen the smallest microorganisms adapt and mutate to survive a changing toxic environment. Witnessed the largest most dangerous predators all but wiped out by the biggest extinction event of all time yet still emerge in small surviving groups to repopulate. I have seen creatures out-compete other creatures of their era and watched on as predation wiped out entire prey populations. I was there when global plagues struck followed by another burst of evolution and saw earliest man, cold and without heat, create fire from wood to keep warm and become the most perseverant breed of all survivors. You are natural born survivors, the ultimate animals and the most successful species on this planet and you are still a believer. You always have been because you have devoted your life to us and you knew who we were the moment we stepped through that door.”