by J. P. Rice
The devils and Chieftains brainwashed the demons from a young age. Undying servitude had been hammered into their heads from the moment they could understand words. I didn’t know if Bres realized it, but he didn’t have much of a chance in a war with the Gods.
Instead, he irritated them by stealing objects that were important to them, like the Dagda’s Harp. Bres was more of a thorn in the Gods’ sides than a shiv in the back. He annoyed them, but didn’t pose a true threat. He knew that the Celtic Gods had a great interest in Pittsburgh, so he enjoyed pulling shenanigans around the city to piss them off.
Freezing the citizens of Pittsburgh seemed right on brand for the Red Cavern. King Bres would do it just to make the Celtic Gods scramble. Bres and Loki shared a common trait of stirring shit up just to piss off someone else. Brothers in mischief.
Probably why I hated them both.
My guts twisted and I felt a heavy pressure on my head. Uh oh. I fought off the sudden bout of nausea only to have my vision swirl and transport me to my past.
I was peeling potatoes in the kitchen in the Red Cavern. A warm hand landed on my shoulder. Hot, in fact. Helga’s eyes widened and she shook her head in disgust. Before I knew what was happening, the hand tightened on my hemp shirt and yanked me away.
Bruceras pushed me in front of him and poked me in the back to keep me moving. The devil shoved me into a cave with two dying torches. He punched me in the face, dropping me to the ground. He grunted, but it was more of a laugh. He was laughing at me.
I felt blood streaming from my nostrils. He tore my clothes off and shoved me into the corner as I bawled my eyes out. As he approached me the colors swirled again and took me to another cave in the Red Cavern.
I kissed my son and daughter goodnight, but something felt wrong. Whispers echoed from outside the cave, but just ignored them. As I lay back to sleep, I thought about taking my children and leaving the Red Cavern. I had an original mission of finding Lugh’s Spear, but now I just wanted to take care of my children.
I wanted a simple life. Enough of the undercover missions and near-death experiences. Just a mother and her children. I started devising a plan to escape the Red Cavern as my eyelids became heavy.
I woke up and felt like my body was about to explode. I stood up. My eyes had been blinded so I raised my arms above the thick liquid and felt around for my children. I worked my body up and out of the lava and my vision started to return.
Where were my children?
A rustling coming from above broke me out of my flashback. Cheryl’s feet emerged through the opening and landed on the ground. She stumbled over to me with her bottom lip trembling and tears streaming down her cheeks. I reached out and hugged her, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and massaging it gently.
Her body became dead weight and I knew exactly what she was going through, so I fell with her. I nestled up next to her and put my arm under her head. I lay on my back and her head rested on my chest. I rubbed her shoulder and upper arm lovingly.
“He stole my soul,” she said and sobbed.
“I know it feels that way now,” I told her. “It will fade over time.”
She pulled away. “Oh yeah. What the fuck do you know about it?”
I’d forgotten that I was in the form of a man. “My sister. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch. But she stopped me. She didn’t want me going to jail. She saved my life because I would have gone to prison for a very long time.”
“Sounds like she loves you.” She sniffled. “Thought you said you didn’t get along with your family.”
I stared into her frightened green eyes. “Things change and bad things can happen. It’s not important what happened to my sister. What’s important is that you understand everything will be all right. You’ll get your soul back. My sister did.”
“Thanks.” She swallowed and softened her tone. “Sorry I snapped on you.”
“No worries. You can snap all you want.”
“What was her name?” she asked.
“Name?” The question had taken me by surprise.
“Your sister.”
“Oh,” I said. That was another problem with lying. “Karen.”
“Cool,” she said and sniffled again.
Cheryl moved closer and we lay back down. I didn’t say anything. She didn’t need more words from a man. She needed comfort and understanding. I held her firm, letting her know that I was there, that someone would always be there.
An hour passed and I whispered, “You’re going to be okay.”
“I know. I’m going to make that motherfucker pay,” she said in a raspy voice.
“Be careful with that,” I warned even though I wanted her to exact revenge. “I’m all for that move but keep in mind he’s a powerful individual. Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Don’t you worry. I’m not as stupid as I look,” she said with a sorrowful giggle.
That was good. She didn’t look like the sharpest sword on the battlefield.
As I stared at her, the memories of my children flooded in. Burnadette and Tenda. Bres had picked their names. I’d had no say in the matter, just as I’d had no say in creating them. When they had poured the lava in our cave dwelling, Burnadette was only ten and Tenda eight. They had killed my babies because of me.
I’d planned to get my children out of the Red Cavern. I’d thought I was close to finding Lugh’s Spear. And after I secured the item, I’d planned to grab my kids and head for the hills. That night had changed everything. It had stripped me of the one thing that had made me happy since my husband disappeared.
Even though mothers weren’t allowed to be with their children in the daytime, we slept together every night. When the kids had started to realize they had magical ability, I’d told them I was a powerful witch from Ireland.
How could I tell them their mother was the most notorious magic thief in the world? In my undercover form, nobody could see my scars. I’d lied to my own children. Even though I’d planned to come clean one day, those memories still burned worse than the lava.
Because of me, two innocent children had died. I could still see their faces. Every single feature was branded into my memory. Why couldn’t I have had children with my husband? All this nonsense could have been easily avoided if the Gods weren’t so cruel.
I still needed to find out who’d ratted me out during my last visit. I tried to shift my mind to more positive thoughts. An image took form before my eyes. Sapphire scales covered a big reptilian body with wings. My dragons. My new family. And I wasn’t going to let anyone take them away from me. That was a promise and a threat.
But first, I had to find the Harp.
Chapter 15
“When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and wild heaths. Those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees—a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.
“But then the barking of dogs fills the air, and the host of wild souls sweeps down, fire flashing from the eyes of the black hounds and the hooves of the black horses.” Kveldulf Hagen Gundarsson
The wild hunt. It’s meaning had evolved greatly over the years.
Originally, the hunt passed through the forest on the coldest day of the year. It began as a hunt led by a God or Godess and signified a change in seasons. A majority of the early versions mention Odin as the leader of the hunt, which was more of a celebration that marked the end of winter and the beginning of spring.
Another early version featured Odin assuming his role as the Norse God of Wind. He streaked through the sky on his eight-legged steed, Sleipnir. Odin and the ghosts of the dead would kick up tremendous wind bursts, accompanied by thunder and lightning. The citizens could also hear pounding hooves and barking dogs coming from the sky. This version was believed to be the precursor of pestilence, war and death.
Another version had t
he hunt racing through towns and villages sweeping up unsuspecting citizens and carrying them miles away from their homes.
Over the years, the mythology of the hunt had changed to suit the geographical region and time period. In the middle ages, the lead huntsman was often King Arthur. Unfortunately, it had since become a generic term for a predatory hunt of any kind. The modern version slightly resembled animal hunting in that the targets weren’t predetermined. The wild hunt was carried out randomly. Usually, just for sadistic pleasure.
Dweezil—Bruceras’s top assistant—popped into our cave.
“Greetings.” He nodded to each of us. “I’ve been sent to inform both of you about the wild hunt you will be attending. You leave in two days. It’s an opportunity to prove your worth to the Red Cavern.”
Dweezil was a cambion. His mother was a succubus and his father a human. It gave me hope that I had a chance to appeal to his human side. He was Bruceras’s right hand man. He acted more like a squire, but he had access to the two items I was searching for.
He looked like a human, but a hideously haggard human. His skinny face and aquiline nose were covered in warts and his gaunt cheeks sported random tufts of dark hair. It was as if he was awful at shaving. His greasy dark hair hung over half his face and he had to keep up with it, occasionally swiping it behind his ear.
He had big ears and crooked buckteeth, which led me to believe he wasn’t a hit with the ladies. But then again, this was a demon underworld. Who knew what passed for good looking down here? The devil’s assistant appeared to be a smidge over six-feet tall.
He appeared young, but then again, so did I most of the time. He was wearing a black outfit that resembled karate gear. A white belt cinched around his waist held the jacket securely around his big frame.
“How does the hunt work?” Cheryl asked.
Dweezil’s dark eyes widened and he explained, “Simple, really. Your chaperone will find a hunting ground for you and set you loose. Your goal is to kill as many humans as you can and bring them back to the chaperone. Whoever bags the most wins the prize.”
Cheryl asked, “What’s the prize?”
“It’s a secret.” He placed his calloused index finger over his thin lips and arched an eyebrow.
“What kind of people are we trying to kill?” I asked.
“Humans. Old men, pregnant women, babies,” he said, and the firelight reflected off his glossy eyes, creating a sinister look. “That’s who I’d recommend. They don’t get away so easy. Be ready to leave at any time.”
He nodded and turned for the exit. The devil’s assistant stuffed himself into the passageway, his body snaking upward until the soles of his worn sandals disappeared from the flickering torchlight.
I couldn’t sound weak in front of Cheryl. From the look in her eyes, she didn’t want to go on a wild hunt either.
I tried to gauge her. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“Yeah,” her voice squeaked. “Time to get revenge for all those people who fucked us over.”
“I’m with you on that,” I agreed with her, but we weren’t killing our old enemies. “What about cops and stuff like that?”
“I never thought about that,” she said and twisted a few locks of hair with shaky fingers. “Dweezil sounded like all that was already taken care of.”
“That’s my only concern.” I contemplated the situation. “Are they setting up humans to take the heat off what they are really up to in Pittsburgh?”
“I don’t want to go to jail,” she said, shaking her head. “I can tell you that.”
“Me too. And if they catch us on a hunt, we’ll be going away for the rest of our lives.”
“But if we don’t do it, they’ll probably kick us out of here.” She grabbed her apron from a pile of clothes. “We need to talk to some people today in the kitchen and find out the details on these things.”
This put me in a tight spot. If I was forced to go on the wild hunt, I couldn’t kill innocent humans. And if I didn’t kill, the demons wouldn’t trust me. I would have to run from the hunt and escape. Then I could call in my favor from Zeus and take the Harp by force.
I didn’t want to flush all this work down the proverbial toilet though. If I could get into the Gallery where they stored the Harp, I could avoid the hunt altogether. Looked like I had some detective work to do.
Chapter 16
“Where is the Glove?” a deep voice boomed, echoing off the underground walls. I knew that voice.
I’d left the kitchen to go to the bathroom. As I walked down the hallway near Bruceras’s office, I heard murmuring. I moved closer and noticed that the walkway widened. Off to my left, I saw a big stone statue of Bruceras. I tucked my body in between the statue and the wall and eavesdropped.
Bruceras spoke without emotion, “What are you talking about? It’s in the Gallery.”
“I came straight from the Gallery. I can tell you it isn’t there,” said Merlin.
That son of a bitch. That double-dipping son of a bitch. Lecturing me, motherfooker.
I shook my head in disgust, and Bruceras said, “Let me page Dweezil and see if he knows. I wasn’t aware someone had taken it out.”
Whoa! Losing track of the Devil’s Glove was a big honking deal. I hated to agree with Merlin, but how could Bruceras not know if someone took the Glove out?
“You’d better find it,” Merlin screeched. “I need it. We had a deal, remember. I keep the council from harassing the Red Cavern and you let me use the enchanted items from the Gallery. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now I want the Glove.”
“Relax,” Bruceras said calmly. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. What do you need the Glove for?”
“The only way to kill bad blood is with the baddest blood of them all,” Merlin uttered ominously.
“What are you talking about, you insane wizard?” Bruceras asked. The fire was noticeably absent in Bruceras’s words. He’d apparently lost his passion for the Red Cavern.
“I’m taking out Junipher.” Merlin paused. “Once and for all,” he stated dramatically.
“Still obsessed with that?” Bruceras spoke through a slight chuckle. “Look at you. You’re basically foaming at the mouth.”
“When Brighid and I formed the magic council, we made a hit list,” Merlin hissed, his words dripping in venom. “I’ve crossed out every name on that list except for one. I’m done playing games. I want the Glove to finally kill that bitch.”
So my mother and Merlin came after me and left the Red Cavern to do as they wished. Perhaps my mother still had feelings for her ex-husband, Bres.
“You’re not worried about going mad?” Bruceras asked. “Although you already look like you’re halfway there. You should be careful. You know what happens to those who choose to wear the Glove.”
“I don’t care anymore. I welcome the madness. Besides, we wouldn’t have to deal with any of this if you’d put on the Glove at Machu Picchu,” Merlin chastised the devil.
After all his high and mighty talk at the Lair of Justice about how he fought against dark magic, I couldn’t believe my ears.
“If I’d put on that Glove, I wouldn’t be standing here right now,” Bruceras revealed. “And you know that. Think about the track record of its users. I thought Balor could handle it.”
“Well he couldn’t,” Merlin said, growing increasingly agitated. “It only proved that that bitch is a serious threat and the prophecy may be true.”
Prophecy?
I knew it. That was why my mother and Merlin had formed the Supreme Magic Council right after Machu Picchu. It was an excuse to kill me legally. All because I’d made a little joke at Merlin’s expense in front of the Gods. My mother hadn’t needed a reason. She’d hated me my entire life. I still didn’t know why.
It sounded like I was driving them crazy. Good. After their shenanigans with the death cards, it all made perfect sense. I was that fly that landed on Merlin’s nose, and when he went to smash me, I flew away
laughing while blood poured from his nostrils.
If Merlin got the Glove, he could kill me easily. The Devil’s Glove was made from the flesh of the original Devil and had dark blood running through it.
In the beginning, there was one God and one Devil. They both started families and little scuffles started to break out, Hatfield and McCoy style. A small disagreement had morphed into a bloody war until God drove the Devil and his following underground.
The Original God or O.G. knew that the Devil would try to attack again. The O.G. had gone to Mount Olympus first, and found a proper mate to create Kronos.
Then, the O.G. had traveled the world and found worthy mates to create all the other pantheons we know today. He’d created superpowered beings imbued with magic to walk among the humans and protect his greatest creation. Having the civilizations spread out meant that he could defend the entire earth’s surface against the Devil.
As for the Devil, he had consumed some poison accidentally, and as he lay on his death bed, he had given his sons directions. He had told them to use his burgundy skin to design a Glove they could wear in battle. Whoever wore the Glove and chanted the Devil’s Words became invincible, impervious to magic attacks.
I didn’t know the Devil’s Words, but I had a solid hunch that crusty fook known as Merlin did. If he obtained the Glove and found me, my life would be over in an instant.
A different voice called out, “You called, my lord and savior.”
Bruceras replied, “Dweezil, do you know of anyone who has taken the Glove out?”
“You don’t know if someone has taken it out?” Merlin snapped. “What kind of operation are you running?”
“Silence, old man,” Bruceras screamed. “Let me take care of this issue.”
“I don’t believe anyone has taken it out, my lord,” Dweezil said weekly. “I believe it should be in its place. You want I should look?”
“Yes,” Bruceras said.
“No,” Merlin objected, “Stop. Bruceras, I was just in there. It isn’t there. You must keep that area clear and find out who has the Glove. Why don’t you have the Gallery under control?”