by R. E. Vance
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.”
Astarte 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,” 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.”
“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.” 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 was 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.”
Somehow, I didn’t think the archangel’s shade was using the term as an expression. It was much more literal. “What are you?” I asked. “His shadow?” It shook its head. “A projection? A shade? … An effigy?”
It nodded.
“OK—an effigy … Then what’s happening now?”
“An intervention,” the effigy said.
“An intervention? I don’t understand.”
“This trumpet holds the essence of creation itself. It can unmake, just as it once made. It’s up to the bearer to decide. When it was created, the Universe demanded that whoever should use the trumpet’s power will be given time to consider.”
“Like a safety lock?” I asked.
“A moment to reflect.”
“Are you trying to stop me from blowing it?”
The effigy shook its head. “No, that’s not for me to decide. I’m only here to help you choose if it’s what you want to do. Truly.”
“If I blow it, then we’ll stop the kraken—I mean, Tiamat.”
“Blowing the horn should send Tiamat back to the depths. But it’s also the signal for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to ride.”
“Four Horsemen of the Christian Apocalypse,” I added.
“So—you’ll be trading one end for another.”
“True, but I’m willing to bet that Michael could stop the horsemen. Much easier to deal with that than—” I couldn’t move, but if I could, I would have pointed to the mountain of water.
“Perhaps. But there are other consequences you have not considered.”
“Like what?”
“The first time the gods ended the world, it was done by water. Because of the defiance of one amongst men, the world survived.”
“Noah.”
“God promised that in exchange for worship, the world would never end by water again.”
“I know the story.” It felt strange talking to an effigy of Michael while I was caught, motionless, in midair. I must have looked like a photograph of someone falling, instead of a living, breathing human.
“Indeed. But what you don’t know is that Noah did not immediately accept his promise, saying that there were too many other, more devastating ways to end the world. He refused the terms. For forty days and nights the mortal and the divine negotiated, until finally it was agreed that, should the world end again, it wouldn’t simply be this plane of existence but others as well.”
“Heaven,” I murmured. “That was the deal? End this place and end yours as well? A mutual agreement of destruction? A cold war?”
The effigy nodded. “Noah meant it as a deterrent. If the horn is blown, Michael may be able to protect this place, but there is no one and nothing to stop all the heavens and hells from being erased as well.”
“But Heaven is already gone.”
“No, Heaven is closed. Barred off, so that no souls can enter. And Heaven is not empty.”
Then I understood what the effigy was saying. This second apocalypse … this end … had one side effect that not one of us had been aware of. Heaven would be destroyed, which might be fine if the big guy was still on the throne—he could do something, create another place, protect his denizens—but the gods were gone. All of them. And Heaven was unprotected, nearly empty save for one single soul that remained there. Bella.
Blowing the horn would mean her destruction.
“So that’s why Michael never used the trumpet himself. Not for Bella, but because he couldn’t destroy his home—even if he could never go back to it.”
The effigy nodded. “What will you do? Time—or rather, the lack of it—is running low.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t kill her … no matter the cost.”
“Very well,” the effigy said with a soft, understanding smile.
“You know,” I said, expecting time to resume and for me to hit the ground. “You’re much nicer than the real—”
Just then time resumed and in the split second that it moved forward, powerful angelic arms grabbed me.
“—Michael.”
Hellelujah!
↔
“What are you doing, human?” Michael ripped the trumpet out of my hands.
“You could’ve blown it and stopped this. And before you say it—you could’ve stopped the horsemen, too. Right? Right? But you didn’t, because it would’ve destroyed Heaven.”
Michael did something I’d never known the archangel to do before—he averted his eyes in shame.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
The archangel nodded, then dropped back down onto the beach. I looked up and saw that the Blood Moo
n was complete. Whatever window we had to stop the fifth sign was over.
I nodded at the mountain of water. “What do we do now?”
“We,” Michael said, reverting to his usual self, “do nothing. The BisMark will deal with the Beast … and as for you—Officer Conner, cuff him.”
“What?” I said. Conner forced me to my knees. “Again!”
Crystals Are More than Just Pretty
Handcuffed for the second time today, I knelt on the beach and helplessly watched the mountain of water stop a mile from the shore. There was a hush over the crowd as the world filled with the sounds of rushing water pouring off the creature. A huge bulbous mount of flesh stood perfectly still in the sea, but before I could get a good look at it, a nervous-sounding human soldier cried out, “Fire!”
What followed was a barrage fire of machine guns and missiles. Bullet after bullet, missile after missile hit Tiamat. In all my years in the Army, I’d never seen so much firepower thrown at one thing in one go. Nothing could withstand that. Nothing.
“Come on,” I said to Conner. “Let me go.”
“I have my—”
“Orders.” I shook my head and stared at missile after missile pummeling Tiamat’s body. Hell, we all did.
Eventually the fire stopped, and just like in every monster movie you’ve ever seen, the mount of flesh was completely unmarred. The Army’s best little tricks did nothing to hurt it.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Tiamat rose out of the water. Apparently, that mount wasn’t all of her. It was just her back. What came out was skyscraper-tall, with a mouth that could eat a Boeing 747 like a cocktail wiener and tentacles as thick as four-lane tunnels.
Huge, friggin’ terrifying show-off! Gulp.
The BisMark ran up to the Poseidon statue and yanked out the trident. Then, returning to where he had been standing, he placed one hand on the crystal vat and with the other pointed the trident at the creature in the ocean.
The BisMark began his assault on Tiamat.
What happened did not have a visual element to it. There wasn’t any lightning that shot forth, no red beam of energy that struck the beast. There was no sound, no thunder, no crackling. And still we could feel the battle that raged on. Tiamat staggered back then lurched forward, her tentacles thrashing out of the water. Sweat dripped from The BisMark’s brow. With a force of will that I’d never seen before, he cried out—a dragon’s roar, a minotaur’s cry, a banshee’s shriek—“You shall not pass!” Then he turned to me and winked. Show-off!