Box Set: The Fearless 1-3

by Terry Maggert

  “Which are?” Wally asked dryly.

  “Far more altruistic than you might think. You see, unlike Andiarka, excuse me, Delphine, well, we have spent the greatest part of our existence running to conflict rather than away. Our motivation is quite simple. Achilles has the ability to end conflicts in the most nascent state, saving men and families, and oftentimes, empires.” Patroclus waved a hand at Achilles who was preparing to demur, but stopped when he realized we were all quite aware of the effects that a single, well-placed soldier could have. “I, of course, went to heal. To learn as well, but primarily to guard Achilles against the mystics and zealots who would shriek about heresy every time they saw him survive a minor wound. You must understand, in some of these cesspools passing as kingdoms, even the kings dined with hands so filthy that it physically sickened me just to see them eat. Not everyone was fastidious, and the less learning, the filthier a society remained, leading to endless gods who they credited for everything from sneezes to famine. Often, those fools became so enthralled with their own localized pantheon that you couldn’t take a piss without rolling snake bones to find favor with some minor deity.”

  “It’s true,” Achilles began. “I once had to sacrifice a duck just to buy a pair of sandals.” He shrugged with the memory as we chuckled in amusement at the realities that living for so long could reveal.

  Risa was thinking deeply, and then she asked Patroclus first, “So you approve of her attempt to seize control of the underworld? Or wherever that kingdom exists?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Fully. I—excuse me, we—have had dealings with some of the middle management among the gods. They dwell in rarified air and aren’t to be taken lightly.”

  “Excuse me, gods?” I asked, stunned. This was new.

  “Gods, indeed. Oh, there are minor deities, more like local constables, but gods nonetheless, and they’re rather easy to handle, especially for us. They generally want very little other than control over their territory, maybe the occasional bauble, but not a terrible burden. It’s the major ones who are dangerous and irritating.” Patroclus seemed incredibly calm in spite of the topic. He and Achilles must be very formidable when working together.

  Achilles put his glass down and adopted a cringe of regret. “I fought Ares twice and never got even. She’s a total ballbuster as you Americans might say.”

  “The god of war is female?” Wally was incredulous; it went against our mythical assumptions.

  Achilles shook his head decisively. “And how. A big woman, originally a Pacific Islander before she took office, so to speak. She has her teeth filed to points and fights with a pair of teak oars embedded with obsidian along the edges. She’s fast, strong, and wakes up in a rage. I was lucky to fight her to a draw, and the second time we danced, I cheated—I had Patroclus hamstring her from a distance with a new toy we acquired from an Aboriginal friend. Damned good throw there.” He punctuated this with a wink at us. It must have been a rather dicey fight, given the breezy description. “The entire misunderstanding was over ownership of a small island chain that we needed for our shipping interests.”

  “Which islands?” Risa asked, wondering.

  Achilles paused to remember. “Now you call them the Canaries, but at the time of our dustup, we knew them by their Roman name, the Canarii.”

  I had to admit, gods seemed to do things on a scale that boggled the mind. And, it seemed, immortals fought amongst themselves and over earthly possessions and apparently engaged in legitimate business interests, some of which were a true surprise. These revelations were not what one might think dinner with Achilles and Patroclus would reveal.

  Risa was still curious, I could tell, but Wally dove in first. “Then you know about Elizabeth?”

  There was a chill over the table as sure as if a winter wind had blown in an open door. Both Achilles and Patroclus lost their jovial bearings, and I sensed that what we were about to hear was in the realm of bad news.

  Patroclus nodded as if reaching a decision. “Yes. We have known Elizabeth, as she currently calls herself, for some time. In truth, since our second century. She predates us by an immensity of time, and she is an entirely different species of creature. I find her personally revolting for many reasons; Achilles hates her for the sheer pointlessness of her hobbies.”

  “Which are?” I could think of a few offhand.

  “I won’t bore you with trivialities like war and famine; those are tertiary aspects of her true passion. I think that in order to understand her, you must look at her extended career, not just your involvement with her.” Patroclus paused and played with his wineglass. “We have observed her, often through secondary sources, for millennia. Naturally, patterns emerge, as she is nothing if not predictable, although it may appear that her capacity for evil is utterly random. It isn’t. She follows a distinct, simple rhythm that is as steady as the tides, and she never deviates from it.”

  Wally wondered, “Why is she a monster?”

  “What an excellent question,” Achilles interjected. “It is better to understand a beast before you engage it, especially on any type of ground that she may find to her liking. Let me ask you something about her appearance. Was she beautiful?”

  “Very,” Risa admitted, with Wally concurring. I didn’t have to speak, though they knew I found her beauty disturbing.

  Patroclus asked, “And why do you think the vessel she has chosen is beautiful, by our current standards?”

  I admit, I could not think of a reason that didn’t involve something simplistic, like vanity, but we had previously decided that Elizabeth, for all her sin, was not vain. She was presumptive, ruthless, and hateful, but not vain.

  “I’ll tell you why, and the answer begins in the third century.” Patroclus began, only to have Risa’s face flash with cognition at his direction.

  “We’re speaking of the Western world, yes?” Risa asked.

  “Yes, as Elizabeth is a creation of that civilization. You’ve struck at an important distinction, Risa,” Patroclus said approvingly, but not in a condescending tone. With his looks, he could achieve that nuance.

  “Then logically, her creation and her cultivation of such an appearance is in direct retaliation to the early Christian church. By implementing a reduction in the overall power of women, the Church began to shape concepts like beauty. And obedience,” Risa said carefully.

  Patroclus agreed and then elaborated. “Exactly. For nearly two millennia, the idea of sexual equality was gradually eroded by the bureaucracy of the Church, until spirited women could be burned at the stake for imaginary crimes. Elizabeth is as beautiful as she is dangerous, and the reason for that is at the very heart of the sexual warfare that embroils the West. With a woman who looks like her, and no offense, both of you, Wally, Risa, well— men have been conditioned, and deeply. There is a certain expectation of cruelty from beautiful women, and Elizabeth is riding that preconception as her vehicle to create unending torment and sadness.”

  It was logically sound, and emotionally uncomfortable. I cringed at the thought of what Elizabeth could destroy purely for her own arcane reasons. I asked him, “But why, if not power?”

  Achilles laughed at that. “Oh, she has reasons aplenty. And they are all of such a scope that time and attempting to grasp them are virtually impossible for most people.”

  “Except you?” Risa asked him, bristling slightly.

  “No, no, you misunderstand me, Risa,” Achilles began in a placatory tone. “I am referring to someone who knows nothing of the true nature of the world. That obviously excludes present company.”

  Risa withdrew for the moment, and Wally did her best to give a demigod the stinkeye, but it came across rather flirtatiously, just like most things she did. She’s really not cut out for things that aren’t inherently lewd.

  “Power, yes,” began Patroclus, “but not just the kind of power needed to rule. She seeks unlimited control of a type that allows her to fulfill her nihilistic tendencies. This isn’t her first att
empt at the crown, you might surmise. She has begun the process many, many times before, only to be derailed by another deity or history or a worldwide calamity. Things she cannot control, those are the things that she finds most disagreeable to her plans.”

  I needed clarification about her process, so I asked. “Just what does she do, over and over, in order to warm up for brawling with the entirety of hell, so to speak?” It had to be impressive.

  Patroclus grew quiet, as did Achilles, who then explained, “This is beginning to enter the realm of the metaphysical. I’m a warrior, I fight. Patroclus heals. He creates, but does not destroy, unless it is absolutely necessary. I’m a bit more of an enthusiast when it comes to the martial sciences.” Nearly everyone snorted with laughter at the understatement, but he went on, unfazed. “Periodically, we’ve seen Elizabeth gather a sort of council around her, usually mortals, all of some deeply flawed makeup, and then attempt to use them as catalysts for advancing her own status.”

  “Cattle, not catalysts. She consumes them in a horrid manner,” Patroclus clarified. It fit with our expectations of Elizabeth.

  “She eats them?” I took him at face value only to see him shake his head grimly.

  “I wish it were that quick. No, she consumes them from the inside out, their soul, their purpose, memories—all of it. We’ve heard stories of her penchant for creatively ending lives. It’s impressive, if one can be impressed by something so grotesque. She’s due to make a grab for the crown, so if she’s consistent as she has been in the past, she will be gathering dusty, broken humans around her with promises of making them her archangels to live, free of care, doing the one thing that they have left in their miserable memories. It can be a skill or a habit, even a curse, but whatever quality she finds to use in these broken souls, she will exploit them to the fullest and to their last breath, which I can assure you will be hideous. But for a true understanding of what is happening with Elizabeth, you must find a man of God, and ask him about the one thing that can cause good men to sin without care.”

  “What’s that?” Wally asked.

  Patroclus looked at Achilles with thanks and answered, “Loneliness. It’s the one thing that all humans fear, and Elizabeth has a nose for it like a bloodhound. Do you know someone you can speak to, a scholar of the works of God and the Church?”

  Instantly, I thought of Father Kevin, the man of the cloth at a nearby church who set hearts fluttering in the pews and in my own home. An occasionally devout Catholic, Wally would take Risa, after teaching her the ropes, so to speak, and they would attend mass on Saturday nights, which gave them a solid hour of breaking the seventh and tenth commandments while ogling Father Kevin. I could tell Wally was in accord because she smirked at me as Risa made the sign of the cross, her eyes piously averted to heaven. Heathens. “I do. And, as it’s getting late, may I ask you a favor, both of you?”

  “Of course,” both men answered, with less wariness than when we sat down.

  “Tell Blue everything. The truth. Even about things you might think exist in corners and under stairways, because the she loves her son, and that means we do too. The sooner she is made aware of the wider world, the better things will be, for all of us.” I hoped they understood how we valued Blue’s friendship.

  They agreed heartily, and we arose without seeing Blue again and took our leave after genuine handshakes and hugs. As we walked away, Achilles deposited two more bottles of wine on the table and went to find his mortal partner. They were in for a long night.

  16

  I found Father Kevin playing basketball on the grounds of St. Maurice’s church, dressed in gym clothes and relentlessly pursuing the ball after his rare misses. He was an inch taller than me, lean and built like a natural athlete. I walked up with my hand out, which he took in a firm grip, and said hello, adding a genuine smile.

  “Father Kevin? I’m Ring Hardigan. Would you mind if I asked you for a small theology lesson?” I asked him directly as there was no sense lying to a man of God. He had keen eyes despite his smile, and I sensed an intellect that would smell bullshit from ten pews away.

  “Love to. It’s part of my job, but would you mind starting the discussion here, outside, and then, if I’ve not answered your questions fully, we can go to someplace to talk?”

  “Oh, excellent. Mind if I shoot?” Basketball, sunshine, and the architecture of defeating Satan. A typical Floridian afternoon.

  He effortlessly dunked the ball, then tossed it to me and put his hands on his hips. Despite being over forty, he was in excellent condition. I wondered what he had done before the seminary because he looked far more athletic than scholarly. When he saw my expression, he explained.

  “You’re wondering why I’m here, at St. Maurice, because, despite what you see, your deeply ingrained preconceptions make it a challenge for you to accept me as a priest, when all of the clergy are bookish, sometimes charmless and soft, right?” He smiled to take the sting from his words, but he was deadly accurate. I nodded uncomfortably.

  “I played college volleyball and was on my way to a paycheck from playing professionally at the beach. I was in a tournament, maybe nineteen—no, twenty years ago, nearing the height of my potential, as an athlete, that is.” He paused and dribbled twice, hard, then went on. “It was at Manhattan Beach. There was a kid, round as a bowling ball, sweating bullets in the sun but smiling all the while. He was with his parents, who were a bit older than the rest of the crowd, but they were mere feet away from the serve line. I still remember his goofy smile, lopsided but so honest. Perfect, really, the way only kids can smile, without guile.”

  As he spoke, I knew the boy was dead. I was saddened by that fact, and it fell upon me like a shadow I had passed under.

  “It was the second game. I took my eyes off my serve for a second because I saw motion, and then I looked over at this kid, this stranger, and he’s totally blue, choking in a crowd of people around him, and no one had seen.” He stopped dribbling and held the ball, reliving the moment. It required his full attention. “I yelled at— his parents? Him? Everyone, I guess, I didn’t know how to save him, and a throng of people who did know went to work without hesitation. There were several people who were obviously cool under pressure, the real kind of pressure, not just hitting a serve or digging for a point so I could get paid to buy a Jeep. Real pressure. Too real.” He paused and I saw him dragging the memory backwards so as not to lose control of it. “He died, right there, surrounded by a crowd, in the sun, with gulls crying out and people sobbing, and when they carried him away, for the first time in my entire life, I wondered what would happen next, for him. What about his soul? Do you understand?”

  “I do.” And I did.

  “So,” and he shot the ball again, quickening his pace as he finished his tale, “I decided that night, if I could not have saved that boy’s life, then I would learn how to save his soul, and the next time, I would be ready. I entered the seminary that fall, and I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”

  “I understand. You knew that there was more to him than met the eye.”

  “Exactly, Ring. There is so much more to humanity than we see, and I aim to discover what I can in order to save whoever I can.” He said this with the air of a man who has found his true north in every possible way. “But enough about my theological transformation from beach bum to priest. What can I do for you?”

  “I have a question about something that, well, it isn’t really hypothetical, but I would like to find out historical facts, or maybe just your opinion?” I foundered, seeking a discrete avenue for my questions.

  “I assure you, I will treat your question as if we are discussing the sun itself. We can see and feel the sun, but it is difficult to quantify, in human terms at least, but we know it is there, just as God is present because we are alive, aren’t we, and gloriously so?” he inquired. It was a short, easy analogy that he must have delivered before, but it didn’t sound canned, just thoughtful. I decided I liked
Father Kevin.

  “I guess. I’m not entirely sure that I’m even capable of understanding such a thing. I know my limitations. It’s one of my strengths, along with finding good partners, who suggested I come see you about my, or rather, a question.”

  “Knowing limitations is hardly strength, Ring. It’s an instinct.” He seemed certain. “Look, we’re creatures of God, but we’re still creatures. I get that, and so, when we talk about certain inviolable abilities, calling them an instinct isn’t a refutation of the Lord, it’s a confirmation of our physical makeup. Do you follow?”

  “I— yes. I do.”

  “Well, now that we’ve cleared up two millennia of questions about the composition of the human soul, what’s your question?” He laughed easily at such a grandiose notion. It did seem improbable, but it may have been the heat.

  “What if I told you an evil . . . being, person, let’s say, was following a pattern where they gathered people around them to use. To use completely, exploiting them via the weaknesses that have made them sad or lonely or maybe even suicidal.”

  “I take it we’re not speaking of Lucifer because you would have said so.”

  “Correct,” I said. “It’s not the devil, or however you want to identify the devil, I guess.”

  He inclined his head, indicating I should continue while sitting on the ball in order to give me his full attention, or at least more of the appearance of that kind of focus. I sat down on the sun-scorched court and stretched my legs, keeping them carefully off the concrete. It reminded me a bit too much of Elizabeth.

  “These people who are being promised something, a sort of station or position, and then they are killed, not just physically, but their souls, too.”

  “What station is promised?” He looked at me sharply. I definitely had his attention.