The Last God

by Norris Black

  Dagda stared at me with a shocked expression on her face.

  "What? It's not like I got a lot of proper meals in that prison of yours."

  "You were in prison?" asked Loretta.

  "Not important," I said quickly, holding up a hand to stay any further conversation in that direction. "Wait... if you didn't know where I had been, how did you know where I was going to be tonight?"

  More shuffling of robes and awkward glances at each other. Lonnie got up and stomped off to the front to order some food. At least it's what I hoped he was doing. I really was starving. With a vividness I could do without, I recalled the putrid stench of rancid corpses burning in an underground dance club. "Forget the bacon, just eggs!" I called out to the young boy's retreating back.

  I turned back to the remainder of the cultist crew. "Out with it. How did you find me?"

  "Zane had a dream," said Ray, nudging the boy beside him, urging him to speak.

  "It was a scary dream," explained Zane. "It was the city, but everything was smashed to bits, and this creepy dude in a hat told me we had to make amends for what we did, and we needed to find you to give you a message. He told me where to find you and exactly when to be there. I don't know how he knew, but he did. He was really creepy."

  "We've met," I said dryly. "One day I think I'm going to introduce Mr. Smileypants to the business end of a bullet. Alright, what's this message then?"

  Zane marshaled his thoughts before clearing his throat and speaking. "The word needs a heart," he frowned. "Or maybe it was the other way around... the heart needs a word?"

  "I don't much appreciate that question mark at the end there kid. It's not inspiring a lot of confidence. Which one was it?"

  "I don't remember," he said with a rueful look.

  "You don't remember?"

  "It was a very scary dream."

  Wonderful. Just. Fucking Wonderful. I looked at Dagda. "Does that mean anything to you?"

  "Sounds like gibberish, either way," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  "Alright kids, look, it's been real and I do appreciate you filling in a few of the blanks for me, but now I think it's best if you head on home and stay there for a while. Maybe hug your parents and say you're sorry."

  "Sorry for what?" asked Loretta, confused.

  "You're teenagers, I'm sure there are a dozen things you should be apologizing for. Pick one. Speaking of teenagers, where's that brother of yours with my food?"

  I've never been a big believer in luck, mostly because any I did tend to stumble across was of the bad variety. But for one brief, shining moment luck was on my side. I glanced towards the front of the bar in time to see a metal serving platter flying through the air towards me in a way serving platters typically don't. With a yelp I ducked, narrowly avoiding having the words 'decapitated by dinnerware' chiseled on my tombstone.

  Dagda heard my yell and reflexively leaned back, allowing the plate to skim past her and embed itself in the wood of the back wall.

  Standing inside the doorway at the front of the bar was a tall, lanky figure swathed in a swirl of dark cloth. Despite being torn and ragged I recognized the robe as a match to the ones worn by the young cultists who were now collectively staring at the sudden apparition with jaws agape. All except Lonnie, who the newcomer was holding in the air by his neck, feet kicking futilely a full foot above the floor.

  "Gideon Brown," it slabbered. Maybe 'slabbered' isn't the proper word there, but it's the one that came to mind. Shoulder-length black hair was slicked back from a thin, pallid face. I've seen healthier looking corpses.

  "Ralph!" shrieked Zane, his face going white. He swayed for a moment and I thought he might faint right then and there.

  I don't remember rising from my seat or drawing my gun, but I must've done both considering I was now standing and pointing the ugly little six-shooter directly at Ralph's face. Dagda had snapped some sort of collapsible baton out of a hidden pocket and was starting to circle to the left.

  Ralph swung the purple-faced Lonnie in front of him, spoiling my aim and causing Dagda to pause in her flanking maneuver.

  "Ah, ah, ah," it said, sounding like it was speaking through a gallon of moldy gelatin. "We won't have any of that. Unless you want to be responsible for me crushing the trachea of this tiny little toy."

  I could hear Parakas howling in my ear to shoot. The kid, the monster, the bartender with the shotgun, it didn't matter, Parakas wanted to feed, to drink in death.

  Wait... the bartender with the shotgun?

  The boom was deafening inside the close confines of the taproom. Ralph, or whatever it was wearing his skin, must have seen Hassil at the last second and managed to twist enough to avoid having his entire head turned into a pink mist by the impressively-sized shotgun the sour-pussed tavern owner must've been hiding behind the bar. Even still, the buckshot tore away his left cheek, his ear and part of the neck on that side of his head. The shock from the blast caused Ralph to drop his would-be victim and let out an eardrum splitting shriek. Covering my ears with both hands I watched as the dirty-front window with its chipped and faded yellow crown shattered into splinters.

  "Mother. Fucker!" howled Ralph, a hand to the side of his head to stem the blood gushing from face and neck. Without another word he spun and leaped out the broken window and sprinted off into the night.

  "Stop!" shouted Dagda before racing after the wounded creature, vaulting the windowsill and setting off in pursuit.

  I wasn't near as quick. After stopping to make sure Lonnie was okay—the kid was shaken and was going to have a wicked bruise on his neck but was otherwise unhurt—I got reached the sidewalk in time to see Dagda returning, a look of frustration on her face.

  "Got away?" Yes, I realize it was a stupid question on my part.

  "No, I stuck him in a pocket so he was easier to carry. Of course he got away."

  I deserved that.

  "His blood trail went into an alleyway and then vanished." She appeared to be personally offended by the existence of a mysterious vanishing blood trail.

  Staring out through the shattered window were the four cultists. Behind them, Hassil had produced a broom and had begun to sweep up the broken glass, all the while shooting murderous glances in my direction.

  "So that was Ralph?" I asked.

  Loretta nodded mutely.

  "Did he always talk that way?"

  A solemn shake of her head.

  "Alright, I think you kids have had just about enough excitement for one evening. Do you have someplace you can go and hunker down for a while?"

  "Our place isn't far from here," said Loretta. "My mom's working nights so there'll be nobody home, we can all crash there."

  "You do that then. Keep your head down and I'd advise staying indoors as much as you can until this is all over."

  "And how will we know when that is?"

  An excellent question. I just wish I had the answer.

  Something big was coming. I could feel it in the air, like the way you can feel the electrical charge right before a big storm hits.

  If I had to guess, this was going to be the biggest storm to ever hit Crash City.

  Chapter 15

  I attempted to convince Hassil I had nothing to do with the hellish patron he had just given a lead baptism to and my being present at the time was nothing more than pure happenstance.

  I didn't think he bought it, but he let us stay anyway. The old man may have a face like a chunk of wood with an upset stomach, but deep down I think he liked me. Or, at the least, liked the fact I agreed to pay to have his window fixed.

  I also paid for a bottle of whiskey, which he had produced along with a pair of thick-bottomed glasses. Hassil had prepared some sausages, a few of which had survived the scuffle. They were a little too close to bacon for my liking, but my hunger overruled my reticence. I wolfed one back before carrying the bottle and glasses over to our dented table and plopping them down.

  "Have a seat, grab a drink. I think we ne
ed to talk," I said to Dagda who had been watching my haggling exchange with the barkeep with what suspiciously looked like amusement.

  "Seraph do not drink," she said, though she did grab a chair and sat across from me.

  "You're not a Seraph right now, and I think we could both use a drink. Probably several drinks, but let's start with one." I poured out a few fingers of amber heaven into each glass and pushed one towards her.

  She picked the glass up, eyeing it with suspicion, before tilting it back and taking a gulp. Her eyes popped open, and she spit the liquid out onto the tabletop. Up front, I could hear Hassil cursing.

  "I think it's gone bad," she said, lifting the glass up to her eye to get a better look at the liquid remaining in it.

  "That's how you know it's good. Just sip it this time, a small amount, feel the burn in the back of your throat and down into your stomach. It should feel like someone's set up a warm and friendly hearth in your belly."

  She took another drink, this time much smaller and scrunched her face up as she swallowed. I joined her with a sip of my own, letting out a quiet sigh of contentment.

  "This is something you enjoy doing?" she asked, taking a second sip, followed by a second face.

  "It's one of those acquired taste deals. Acquire enough and you lose your sense of taste. Now, to business. If you and I are going to be working together we should take some time to compare notes and make sure we're on the same page."

  "That seems rational," she said, motioning for me to re-fill her now empty glass.

  She sipped at her drink as I filled her in on the parts of the story so far she hadn't been privy to—excluding any details not overly flattering to yours truly. I also skipped over my trip through the wyrd with Garm. The latter was mostly because I was having some trouble believing that experience myself, and I was there. By the time I was done my story a red flush had started to creep across Dagda's porcelain-white cheeks.

  "…and then I got roughed up in a prison cell for a few days and, most recently, avoided a beheading at my favorite bar," I said in conclusion. "But you're already familiar with those last parts."

  "Sounds like a very rough week."

  "That's what I've been saying."

  She squinted at me, her green eyes glazed from drink. "But why you?"

  "That is the question of the hour, at least one of them. I know I can be a hard guy to get along with, but I can't think of anything I've done of late to piss off a god, or whatever this Baranabus character actually is."

  "No, not that. I mean, yes that, but that's not what I meant," she said with a slur in her voice as she batted my response away airily with one hand.

  "This... creature has tried to kill you at least three different times, and from the sounds of it, has gone through quite a lot of effort to do so. The most common motivation of premeditated murder cases are passion, revenge or fear. I don't think this thing is a jilted lover, is it?"

  "Hells no."

  "Right, so passion's out. And if you haven't done anything to cause a grievance that just leaves fear. What I don't understand is, why would it be afraid of you? You're not exactly what I'd call intimidating."

  "Well now, plenty of people find me—"

  "I mean just look at you, why would anyone be afraid of you? I guess if they were really old and frail, but a god? Come on now." She picked up her empty glass to take another sip and stared at it for a moment in confused surprise before grabbing the bottle and refilling it, this time right to the top.

  "Well now there's no need to be—"

  "Even your survival of the attacks... each time it was because you were rescued. At the nightclub, the, what did you call him… ‘smoke wizard’?" She was gesticulating animatedly now as she spoke.

  "I don't think I called him that," I said sullenly as I slowly and discretely slid the nearly overflowing glass of whiskey to my side of the table and out of harm's way.

  "Smoke wizard," she said, with an emphatic nod that took her a second to recover her balance from. "He saved you there. Then I saved you at Brickstone Block."

  "I'd like to think we saved each other," I grumbled, slugging back the rest of my drink. It somehow didn't taste as sweet as it had before.

  "And tonight, it was that lovely bartender. Hamish? Hashish? Hastur? Him!" she said finally, pointing a few feet to the left of where Hassil was busy boarding up the broken window. I wondered why he had wooden boards and nails on hand, but decided I had enough mysteries on my plate as it was.

  The bartender took a moment out of his labors to shoot me yet another glare to which I made a helpless gesture in response.

  The sound of light snoring brought me back to my chatty companion to see her head and arms splayed out on the table in front of her, eyes closed and with just a bit of drool escaping the corner of her mouth.

  "I probably should've warned you to pace yourself a little," I said to unhearing ears. "Hey, Hassil, any chance you can give me a hand getting our friend to the car? She's heavier than she looks."

  The gloomy bartender pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes closed like he was having a world-class headache. He muttered something under his breath I didn't quite catch. It was probably best I didn't, I had endured enough abuse for one night. Each shouldering an arm, we managed to get the Seraph situated into the passenger seat of the Marauder.

  Dagda's snores were full bore now, punctuated by the occasional snort or giggle. It sounded like her dreams were a lot more friendly than mine had been as of late.

  It was clear we weren't getting anything further done tonight. The Marauder growled into life as I turned the key and slapped it in drive. Going back to my apartment seemed like a bad plan and I didn't relish the idea of spending the night sleeping in the car, so I headed to the one safe place I knew. Here's hoping I hadn't worn out my welcome.

  Chapter 16

  "Again?"

  I cringed at the tone in Mara's voice.

  "Is this some newfound hobby of yours? Dragging unconscious blonde women around the city like they're some sort of fashion accessory?" She peered closer at Dagda's sleeping face. "Wait... is this the same one? The Seraph? What in the hells have you been up to!"

  Showing up on Mara's doorstep in the middle of the night was a breach of etiquette for sure. Showing up in the middle of the night with a passed-out Seraph on your arm was something else entirely. Now to do that twice in the span of a week? That required the absolute fastest of talking.

  "It's not like that, she just had a few too many. Girl can't handle her whiskey."

  Mara looked at me with angry eyes that quickly softened to concern. She studied my face thoroughly. The Seraph healers had done an admirable job in patching me up, but I knew I still wore plenty of the marks left by my stay in their dungeon.

  "Well, don't just stand there, come in." She stepped aside to let me pass and I grunted as I guided the snoring Dagda to a nearby cushion. With a sigh of relief, I laid her down before standing and stretching my aching back.

  "Have you ever considered getting a ground floor apartment? Those stairs are fucking murder."

  "I like the view and besides, why don't you just take the elevator?"

  "That deathtrap? I have enough things trying to kill me as it is. I don't need to add an inanimate object to the top of the list."

  "Deathtrap?" She harrumphed at me as she gently laid a blanket over the sleeping Seraph and snugged it under her chin. Louie appeared as if out of thin air and curled up into a tight ball on top of the sheet. Soon his soft snores joined hers in duet. "I'll have you know I pay good money to have a nice young fellow come out once a month to service it. It's probably in better shape now than when it was first installed."

  I stared at her, mouth agape. It had been working all this time? Well shit.

  "Alright, now let me take a look at you." She guided me to the ruffian cushion and sat me down. She took my jaw in one small but strong hand and turned my head one way and then the next. All the while she studied me with
large, amber eyes, her face inches from mine.

  "It looks like you'll survive. A week or two and most of those bruises will be gone, though I see you've lost a tooth at the back there." She let go of my face and moved to a cushion opposite mine. "Now, do you mind telling me what in the Fallen's name happened to you, and why you're suddenly drinking buddies with pretty young Seraphs? The last we spoke you were on your way to Happy Jack. I heard he got hit by a Seraph raid. I assume you got caught up in that?"

  I nodded. "We rode right into the middle of it. Garm got clear though I think. He didn't come back here?"

  "The last I saw him you were on his back looking like you were about to shit yourself," she said, a slight smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

  I had been seeing a different side of Mara as of late. She had been letting a little more warmth, a little more levity, trickle through her iron facade.

  "Is that normal?"

  "Garm and I have an arrangement, but he also has his own life outside of that. His job was to deliver you to Happy Jack, which he did... after a fashion. I suspect he considered it a task fulfilled and moved on to other, more personal, matters."

  "How's Louie been?"

  "He's been no trouble, though he keeps bringing me dead mice."

  "That means he likes you."

  "Well, I'd appreciate it if he liked me a little less frequently."

  Not much I could say to that, so I told her about my audience with Apoch, including the information he had shared about the ritual sites as well as the missing soldiers.

  "This Apoch is shrewd, though I shouldn't be surprised. You'd have to be a canny one in order to rise in the Seraph's ranks. You do know why he let you go right?"

  "I'm bait. Whatever this thing is that's terrorizing the city, it clearly has a personal interest in me. My guess is he thinks me being out and about will draw it from wherever it's hiding and out into the open where his men can put it down once and for all."

  "Correct. Or he's hoping it'll gobble you up and vanish back to where it came from. A self-correcting problem as it were."

  "Thanks," I said dryly. "I hadn't considered that possibility."