by Ramy Vance
“Is the breakout session on ‘Food: Which Dead Creatures Are Socially Acceptable to Eat’ cancelled?” asked a despondent ghoul.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Ooh, but it’s all so confusing.”
“Such is life. But don’t worry, we’ll email you the PDF guide,” Aldie said with a wink.
“Are humans on the list?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What are you doing?” I whispered to Aldie.
“Getting us out of here. Those maniacs aren’t going to attack us in this crowd. And even if they did, they’d have to face off against all of them.” He turned with those last words so that he was walking backward. “Tell me, what is the harshest thing about being mortal?”
“Headaches,” a three-headed cerberus said. “I get them in all my heads at once. Can’t burn time to make them go away. Must consume something called Tylenol.”
“Bowel movements,” a raijin said. “Never had those before.”
“When can you trample your neighbor to death and when can you not?” brayed a centaur.
“Never,” I said to the centaur. “The answer is never.”
The centaur stomped his hind leg. “So unfair.”
“There are so many rules. Then, all of sudden, there don’t seem to be any rules,” complained a lich.
“Exactly,” Aldie said. “The rules are all over the place because the essence of being mortal is navigating the Charybdis that is chaos, and the Scylla that is order. Humans have a unique ability to live in both. We Others have only ever had to live in one.
“For us fae, order was our lives. Everything was dictated by our gods. Protocol was paramount. And not just fae—angels, dwarves, gnomes. Our gods demanded order. For other Others, chaos reigned supreme. Dragons, orcs and demons of all manners swam in the unguided pools of their existence. But the human world is something else.
“And so, let me tell you the secret to being mortal. It’s knowing when to walk the straight line of order and when to dance the hurricane of chaos. That’s it. Figure that out, and you will live the rest of your years happy, secure and joyous.”
As Aldie spoke, I saw that he was slowly guiding the crowd out of the conference hall, where the sphinx who had originally taken me backstage was standing. You could tell that she was taking Aldie’s new events program in stride. I guess she was embracing the chaos of the situation.
“You haven’t seen my hyena and his, ahhh, changeling handler?” I asked.
“Changeling? No. The hyena, however, is tied up outside. We can’t have a wild animal running about.”
The sphinx was about to launch into a rant about being more responsible with my animals when I saw Egya tied up to a bicycle rack outside.
I ran over to him and hugged the big, hairy lug with all my might. “Oh, thank the GoneGods you’re OK.”
I looked around, expecting to see Deirdre, but she was nowhere in sight. “Where is she?” I turned to see that Aldie was now outside, the crowd slowly pouring out of the conference hall behind him.
Egya yelped.
“Where is she?” I repeated.
Another yelp.
“Great,” I said. “I spend most of my time begging you to shut up, and the one time I need you to speak, you can’t.”
Egya cackled with genuine mirth.
Bless him … he’d find a way to laugh being tortured in Hell.
Dumpsters, Dark Elves and Private Planes
I unhooked Egya and immediately he grabbed my hand in his mouth, pulling me toward the outside of the conference hall.
“No,” I said. “It’s too dangerous. Safety in numbers.” I nodded toward Aldie and the hodge-podge of adoring Others. “Where do you need that crowd to go?”
Another yelp, and Egya pointed his paw to the corner.
“Aldie,” I said, getting the dark elf’s attention. I pointed to where Egya had. Aldie nodded in understanding, and we made our incredibly slow progression to behind the hall, where I found Deirdre clutching her chest. She was bleeding, barely conscious, and I suddenly understood what had happened.
Egya and Deirdre were trying to leave when the angel attacked. A fight ensued. The Soul Jar was taken, and when Egya went to find help, the stupid sphinx tied him up.
Deirdre’s eyes opened. “Milady. I … I failed you. He has it in his …” A cough cut off her words.
She’d been hurt very badly by that angel. Rage filled me as I went to my friend, helping her to her feet. I don’t make many promises, but I made one then and there.
I was going to pay the angel back for what he did.
“Shuush.” I wiped her forehead. “No, Deirdre—you did great. We have it. You did great.”
If Deirdre heard me, she made no indication of it. Instead, she closed her eyes, her breathing becoming very shallow. I’d been around enough of the dying to know that she wasn’t going to make it. Not without help.
↔
“Look here. Another example of mortal chaos,” Aldie said. “What do we do when such chaos presents itself?”
The crowd said nothing, and I looked at them with utter disgust. “Seriously. Isn’t this obvious? You help her,” I screamed, dabbing her wounds with the sleeve of my blouse. Green blood oozed out of the wound in her forehead, and she groaned as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She was hurting pretty damn bad, and everyone just stood around watching her.
Including Aldie.
Through tears of frustration, I whispered, “You help her. If I had magic, if I could burn time, I’d give whatever I had to help her. I’d burn it all.”
“Why?” Aldie asked, still not moving to help.
“Because she doesn’t deserve this. She is so good. Better than me.”
“Again, why?” There was a tenderness in his voice.
I thought back to everything I’d gone through with Deirdre. All the fights, the talks, the hanging out … She was a royal pain in my ass, and completely oblivious as to how to live in the mortal world, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Really trying.
“Once,” I said through tear-strained eyes, “she burnt over a month of her life to save three rat pups. No human I know would have even stopped to look at the rats, let alone helped them. Whenever I’ve needed her, she’s been by my side. And whenever she saw an injustice, she was always the first to get involved. The world needs more like her. Not like me. As a vampire, I was selfish and vain. Am no better as a human. And the shit I’ve done as both an immortal and a mortal automatically makes me ugly.”
“Perhaps,” Aldie said, putting his hand on Deirdre’s forehead. “Perhaps not.” The dark elf closed his eyes and whispered a short elvish incantation. The wound on her forehead closed. It didn’t wake her up, but at least she was no longer bleeding from that gash. “I give her three minutes of my time,” he said.
“And I give her two minutes of mine,” the cerberus said, pointing a clawed hand at her.
“Three of mine,” announced a troll.
“One of mine.”
I watched as, one by one, members of Aldie’s crowd sacrificed precious minutes of their lives to save my friend, and as each did so, another wound closed, another bruise disappeared. She was going to make it.
Aldie put a tender hand on my shoulder. “You might not be able to burn time, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have time to give.”
“Humph,” I thought, “more self-help mumbo jumbo.”
“Perhaps,” Aldie said, clearly listening in on my thoughts. “And here’s a bit more for you. You spend so much time hating your past that it obscures your future.”
“And what should it do?”
If Aldie had an answer to my question, he didn’t share it. He just stood next to me as we watched my friend become whole again—minute by burnt minute.
It was quite the tender moment. Then a friggin’ angel showed up and ruined it all.
↔
Oche landed with all the subtlety of a Mack truck slamming into a bicycle, a
nd clearly not getting the memo that bad guys are supposed to soliloquy you with phrases like, “You stole it from me” or “Time to die,” opted to pick up a tiny two-door sedan and throw it at Aldie.
Normally Aldie would have tumbled out of the way, but given I was right in front of him and he had dozens of adoring fans standing behind him, he pushed me out of the way of the car.
No way he did that with his natural strength. Aldie was burning time. And not just a minute or two—a feat like that would cost him days, if not weeks.
Tossing the car to one side, he said, “Another piece of mortal chaos. I guess not everyone’s a fan.”
Oche roared in frustration, pulling out a sword from under his wings. “Shit’s about to get real,” I muttered in my best Samuel L. Jackson voice before grabbing one of the sedan’s fallen hubcaps. Holding it like Captain America’s shield, I charged at the hulking beast.
“Kat,” Aldie cried out. “What are you doing?”
I could hear the dark elf’s footsteps behind mine. Always my knight in shining armor, I thought as I drew in close to the angel.
Oche shot the two joints of his wings like fists at my attack. The thing about fighting angels … because they are overpowered creatures that spent their entire creation obeying orders, they were also predictable. And he was doing exactly what I expected him to do.
I rolled under the winged attack and beneath his feet, where the joint that connected his wings to his back was exposed. Then I thrust the hubcap into that tender piece of flesh as hard as I could. That was their sensitive spot—and hitting him there was the angel’s equivalent of getting kicked in the balls (not that I’d know what that was like).
Oche growled in real pain, and then did something I hadn’t predicted. He folded his wings inward, wrapping around me with those massive, feather-filled folds. And then he squeezed.
I couldn’t breathe. I was literally being smothered by angel wings. One hell of a way to go, I thought as I struggled to get out, but as hard as I did, I couldn’t move. I simply wasn’t strong enough to push my way out. Not as a lone human.
I was doomed. So, I did the only thing I could. I stopped trying. I conserved my strength and prayed that Aldie would get me out.
Dark Elves and Private Planes
Who said prayers were no longer answered in the GoneGod World? Within seconds I heard a growl—Egya—and a war cry—Aldie. Inch by inch the wings loosened their grip, allowing me to take in precious air, before they unfolded entirely.
Freed, I tumbled out from under Oche and saw Egya and Aldie pulling at one set of wings as the sphinx and two wyverns pulled at another. Three dwarves wrapped themselves around Oche’s legs, and a dozen pixies clambered up his back, clawing at his ears, one good eye and his cheeks.
I guess group efforts weren’t just for burning time. They were also for overwhelming angels, too.
With all that overwhelming force, I figured it was only a matter of time before Oche would go down. Trouble was, him going down didn’t really help our situation. It wasn’t exactly like we had rope strong enough to bind him or handcuffs large enough to go around those wrists. We were in a stalemate that could only end with the finality of death.
So be it, I thought.
I grabbed Oche’s sword and pointed the tip at his throat. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to leave me alone.”
“Never,” spat Oche.
“Then I see no other way.”
“Kat,” Aldie said, his voice strained as he wrestled with the angel. “There is no honor in killing a subdued enemy.”
“And there is no hope if we leave him alive,” I said. “You said that I hate my past. And you were right. Hating my past has only gotten the people I cared for hurt. Maybe I should stop hating the monster I was. Maybe I should embrace her and ask her to help me in moments like these. Maybe that’s what this world needs … for me to become the monster I once was.”
Closing my eyes, I felt hatred and anger swell within me. I was prepared to kill this angel. I knew it. But more importantly, so did everyone else.
↔
As I prepared to thrust the blade into Oche’s neck, I cried out, “Do you not feel my intentions?”
“Who … who are you speaking to?” Aldie asked.
“Him,” I said. “The coward standing behind that parked car.”
Aldie looked in the direction I had cocked my head and saw Enoch standing there, a forlorn look on his face.
“I do,” he rasped.
“And you will do nothing to save him?”
“I cannot. I have run out of tricks. There is nothing I can do.”
“So you’re content to just watch him die.”
“I am,” Enoch said, but his tone wasn’t even like it usually was. He was in anguish and doing everything he could to hide that from me. But over three hundred years of playing the poker game of life and death, I’d gotten very good at reading others. Enoch was dying inside.
“Then I offer you this: a truce. His life for peace.”
“I cannot do that,” Enoch said.
“You’re willing to let him die? For what? A fool’s errand.”
“Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. I am willing to let him die for a chance to change everything. He knows my purpose. And he, too, is willing to die.”
Shit … I hadn’t gambled on that. Still, there was one more thing I could try before slitting an angel’s throat. “Then a temporary truce.”
Enoch’s eyes lit up. “The terms.”
“Two weeks.”
“I cannot.”
“Then one,” I said.
“One day?”
“I was going for one week, but OK. Let’s regroup for one single day, then we can go right back to trying to kill each other.”
Enoch thought this over before nodding. “One day that will start now.”
I twisted my wrist so I could see my wristwatch; it was two in the morning. I was getting twenty-two hours out of this deal. That should be enough.
“Very well,” I said. “But I get to keep the sword.” I lowered my arms and nodded at Aldie.
“Are you sure?”
“He may be insane, but he is honorable. He will adhere to the terms.”
Aldie growled, but let go. “The rest of you, I thank you for coming to my aid, but it is time to let the fiend go.”
The Others clambered off him. Everyone but Egya, who continued pulling at his wing.
I crouched next to the hyena. “Let him go,” I said, petting his neck. “I promise that karma’s going to give him his due.”
Egya growled as he reluctantly unclenched his jaw.
Freed, Oche jumped several dozen feet into the air before landing next to Enoch. Show-off.
I pointed the sword at the two of them. “One day. Now go.”
Without another word, Oche picked up Enoch like he was cradling a child and took to the sky.
We had our truce. Hopefully it was enough time to get to Paradise Lot.
Part VI
Intermission
When Enoch awakens, he is on the basest of planes—Earth. His angel savior is nowhere to be found. The angel did, however, bring the celestial treasure. Something of immense power.
And danger.
The first thing that Enoch must do is find his place on Earth. Establish a base. Garner some followers. Research. Plan.
He knows his mission as clearly as anyone can. Find the gods, and once they are found, uncover the path to them.
But as much as he has purpose, something is wrong—something is missing. For in the deepness of self, Enoch does not recognize who he is.
Once upon a time, he was mortal. Human. This body, these emotions … there should be some sense of familiarity to all this. But there is not. Nothing about who Enoch is today feels right.
It’s as if something integral to being human is missing from his very essence.
It takes Enoch months to uncover the problem. He tries everything, but nothing reveals what
he knows to be true.
He does uncover it. And like so many great discoveries, it is an accident that leads him to finally understand what has happened to him.
↔
The day Enoch figures it out, he is at a café, mulling over the greatest pieces of the celestial treasure. He knows that in any other context, he should be hiding what is his. That at any moment, marauders could be crashing through the feeble glass windows to get at him.
But this is the GoneGod World, and few can recognize true power anymore. And those who can are too depressed and frightened to seize it. Besides, Enoch is adorned with the Gauntlets of Samson … bracers that imbue their wearer with incredible strength.
Not even the archangel Michael possesses the strength to beat him.
A young woman comes up to him and says with typical human drollness, “May I take your order?”
Enoch pines for the days when he did not need food or drink to sustain himself. To do so was a matter of pleasure, not necessity. He picks two items from the menu—a soup for its nutritional value and a sandwich with the highest caloric value.
He estimates that the combined items will sustain his body for at least six hours, perhaps longer.
The waitress scuttles off to get his order, and when she returns, she has two soups and two sandwiches. Handing him his order, she delivers the identical items to the table next to him.
The young woman with the same order as him leans over and says, “When I heard what you ordered, I thought to myself, ‘That sounds so good.’ I couldn’t help myself. I hope you don’t mind sitting next to a copycat.” She giggles at her own joke.
Enoch does not return her mirth—not that she notices. Instead, she turns to her meal, and with a smile too wide for something as base as eating, shovels in the first mouthfuls of food.
With each bite, the gregarious woman makes little noises of pleasure. At first Enoch believes she is acting. But that doesn’t make sense. Why put on such drama for something as worthless as lunch?
