The Mythniks Saga

by Paul Neuhaus

  Pan and El woke me up when we reached the outskirts of Los Angeles. I was astonished when I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The city looked more or less exactly as it had when I’d seen it last, but Bloop banners hung everywhere. Men and women in black uniforms (with Bloop armbands) marched the sidewalks. Concentration camps looked over by centaur guards filled once-vacant patches of land. Scary monsters circled the skies above downtown. Prometheus had been busy. “Gods, this is horrible,” I said, my hands pressed up against the back window.

  “On the upside, he’s still new at the fascist thing,” Pan said. “It’s still relatively easy to get around the city if you know where the checkpoints are.”

  “Prometheus’ main concern has been other Mythniks,” El threw in. “That’s what the camps are for for the most part. Obviously, we’ll need to keep you out of sight.”

  “Swell. Looks like I woke up right in the middle of the lion’s den.”

  Pan drove us into Westwood and parked in front of Elijah’s house. I had to shake off the feeling it was Elijah’s and my house. It was going to take me a while before I could completely divorce myself from my years’ worth of fake memories. It helped that our friends were exiting the home and coming down the lawn toward us. Keri wasn’t there, of course, but Ty was there along with Jack, Petey and Chad. From behind the house, I heard a loud whinnying. Petey smiled. “I told Pegasus you were coming,” he said. “Do me a favor and go back there a little later and say hello. He’s been like a puppy.”

  I trotted up onto the grass and my friends closed around me in a tight circle. Before I knew it, I was crying again. Not quite as bad as when I realized for sure I was no longer pregnant, but close.

  I went around the house and said hello to the flying horse. Petey tossed me an apple when he saw where I was going. The rapper really wasn’t kidding—Pegasus greeted me like a long-lost friend (which I guess I was). I didn’t bother asking anyone how they’d gotten the beast back. I assumed Sebastian Squire had had something to do with it.

  Speaking of Squire, he was inside the home when I entered. I went in through the back. He must’ve come through the front. He had a scar down the center of his face—from the Battle of the Conclave no doubt. He approached and gave me a small hug. “I’m really happy to see you,” he said. I didn’t ask, but I assumed his life in the last few months had consisted mostly of running and hiding. He had to be on Prometheus’ Most Wanted list.

  I allowed him to usher me into the living room where everyone was gathered. El had put out big bowls of chips and cans of soda were passed around. When he saw me, he raised his can and said, “To the prodigal daughter!”

  That was greeted with hear hears and applause. I took a small bow.

  “Where’ve you been?” Chad Kroeger said. “What did you experience?”

  “That,” I replied. “Is something I’m never going to talk about. Just know that I’m happy to be back. If I am back. My existential equilibrium is way off. If you told me Donald Trump was president in your dimension, I’d believe it.”

  Polite laughter. Petey raised a hand, pretending to be the guy that was gonna give me the bad news, then he shook his head and mouthed the word “nah”.

  Chad got up and offered me his seat, but I declined. I remained standing as I said, “I’m sure you all wanna talk about what we should do now that I’m back.”

  I was surprised at the volume of their reply. They all spoke at once and all of them said some variation of “get your feet underneath you first”.

  I appreciated their concern, but I felt I had to get through what I wanted to say. “I… have decided not to be a heroine anymore. It’s taking too much of a toll on me psychologically, and—in the last coupla thousand years—I haven’t stopped even once to figure out who I’m supposed to be.”

  They all looked at one another and muttered words of support. “Sure, that makes sense” and similarly encouraging phrases. Still, I could tell they were crestfallen. They thought I was going to abandon them to a world of missing daughters and divine fascist overlords.

  I went on before they could get too down about it. “That’s why, after we topple Prometheus and get back Keri and Hope, I’m hanging up my spurs for good.”

  That was met with positivity and some relief. I could see they were right on the edge of wondering whether they’d wasted all that time and effort trying to get me back. On the one hand, the fact that might be their attitude made me a little sad. Was I worth more to any of them than the daring do I was capable of? I nipped that line of thought off quickly. Of course, I was worth more to them than my knack for decisive action—but my knack for decisive action sure as hell didn’t hurt. I looked to Sebastian figuring he was the one most likely to have an answer to my first question. “Where is Prometheus’ rock?” I said.

  “Caucasus,” the man with the scarred face answered without hesitation.

  “And where is that? What country?”

  “It’s not in a country. It’s a region that—I think—cuts through Russia and Armenia. Maybe a couple of others. It’s mostly a mountain range that separates Eastern Europe from Western Asia.”

  “Can you pinpoint the exact rock?”

  Squire thought for a moment. “I know some people who know some people. I could probably get some satellite imaging done pretty quickly.”

  “Do that please. Do we know anything about the current mythological org chart?”

  That confused nearly everyone. “What do you mean?” M.C. Pliny the Elder said.

  “Now that everyone’s back, do we know who’s doing what? Specifically, in the Underworld. I used to have an in down there, now I doubt that I do.”

  Squire spoke up again. “Hades and Persephone are back on the thrones.”

  I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And you know that because?”

  He smiled, stretching his scar. “A little bird told me.”

  Ty turned his head toward the former venture capitalist and said, “I like the sound of that.” The information hadn’t come from Ty then. Who it came from didn’t matter right then.

  I didn’t press for more information. The plan forming in my head would come in stages anyway. “Okay, well, first thing’s first. I need to get to Caucasus. Can Pegasus fly that far?”

  Petey shook his head. “That might be asking a bit much.”

  “I figured,” I replied.

  Sebastian spoke up again. “Let me make a couple of calls.”

  I reached out my hand toward a six pack of Dr. Pepper. “Pass me one of those, would you?” Petey obliged. With my can, I bumped Chad on the shoulder. “Get up. What’s the matter with you? Not offering a lady your seat…”

  He rolled his eyes and stood. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  I sat down in Kroeger’s chair and popped the top on my soda. El was looking right at me. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” he said. “If you have a plan, tell us what it is.”

  I shook my head. “It’s still coming together. Up here,” I said, pointing at my head. “I wanna hold onto it for now so if it turns to shit, I’ve still got plausible deniability.”

  Ty smiled. “Spoken like every congressman ever,” he said.

  Amidst a renewed raucousness, Squire—cellphone in hand—excused himself.

  After some catching up and some binge-eating, the party wound down and people—singly and in pairs—took their leave. Even Jack (who’d been quiet most of the evening) went next-door to his little house. Finally, only El and I were left. “So…” I said. “I guess I should crash here.”

  He was taken aback and blinked with his one good eye. “Sure. You’re welcome if you need to.”

  I felt suddenly awkward. “Well, I mean, just since my trailer burned down…”

  “Your trailer burned down? No, your trailer didn’t burn down. I check up on it every so often. It’s locked up tight.”

  I had to shake the faulty memories out once again. “Right. Of course. I was thinking of what happened in�
�� the other place.”

  He nodded, understanding.

  “Besides which, I wasn’t thinking about crashing with you. In the same space, I mean.”

  He flushed bright red. “No, of course…”

  “I was talking about the office.”

  “The office?”

  “The office. On the couch. With the hideaway bed.”

  “I don’t have a couch with a hideaway bed.”

  It was my turn to flush. “Okay. Right. I’m just gonna go now.” Pan had passed me my keys on his way out, so the Pontiac was mine again. After such an awkward exchange—and a year’s worth of false memories—I looked forward to seeing the trailer in Malibu again. Right as I started heading toward the door (with dutiful host Elijah in tow), Squire reappeared. I’d completely forgotten about him. So, had everyone else, apparently.

  The venture capitalist looked past us into the empty living room. “Where did everybody go? Did you guys forget about me?” El and I talked over one another, giving Squire false assurances that he hadn’t been forgotten. He clearly didn’t buy it. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, after a head shake. He turned to me. “I’m assuming you want to remain mobile after Caucasus?”

  “Yeah. Barring trouble, I don’t expect to be there long. After that, I need a lift to a mountain range in Greece. I can point out the exact location on a map.”

  “Okay,” Sebastian said. “We’ll work out the details. I’ve got you a private jet into Armenia and a helicopter for local travel. Before you land there, I’ll have figured out Armenia to Greece.”

  “You’re good,” I said with a smile.

  “This is true,” he agreed. “Are you going to need anything special in Caucasus?”

  I nodded. “Mmm-hmm. I’m gonna need the biggest bolt cutters you can find.”

  Elijah was right. The trailer was exactly as I’d left it—which marked the second time I’d been tricked into thinking it’d been burned down. As I unlocked the front door, I wondered why Prometheus had built that bit into his artificial reality. I guess he’d intended for El and I to get together and make a baby inside of his pocket universe. Something to keep me contented and out of his hair. He must’ve gathered enough intel on me to know how I’d react given certain variables. That made me queasy to think about, so I promptly put it out of my head.

  Without turning on any lights, I plopped down on the couch and realized how weird it was Hope wasn’t around.

  I was awakened a few hours later by an insistent pounding on my front door. I’d fallen asleep where’d I’d been sitting on the couch and I was disoriented by the noise—especially since I hadn’t been inside my trailer in ages. Finally, I wiped the drool from my lips and opened up. Sebastian Squire was on my porch looking more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than anyone had a right to. I’d take him over a bunch of blackshirts. “Come on, come on,” he said. “Do you want a ride or not? Look at you, you haven’t even changed out of yesterday’s clothes. You haven’t showered.”

  “Can you give me ten minutes?” I said, my adrenaline suddenly pumping.

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s a private jet.”

  “Come on in. It won’t take me long to get ready.”

  “Do your thing. I’ll wait in the limo.”

  I looked past him and, sure enough, there was a big black limousine parked next to the Firebird. “You know, it woulda helped if you’d let me know.”

  “I tried calling,” he said. “They must’ve cut off your phone.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t pay your bill for a year.”

  He nodded, and I shut the door behind him. I then took a world record shower (partly because I was in a hurry and partly because the water was ice cold). I then threw on some outdoorsy clothes, exited the trailer, locked up behind myself and dashed out to the limo. I got in the back with Squire and he signaled his driver to get underway.

  We drove to the Santa Monica airport and right onto the runway next to a sleek little jet. “Is this your plane?” I said to Squire.

  He shook his head sadly. “‘Fraid not. It’s a loaner. My fortunes have fallen ever since I led a guerrilla raid on Der Fuehrer.”

  “Yeah, well. That’ll happen.”

  “So, yeah, the plane belongs to a good friend of mine. Don’t stop up the john.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He flicked me a salute. “Since you won’t give us an itinerary, how will we know when you’re back?”

  I shrugged. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know. I’m totally winging it.”

  “I can’t tell you how comforting I find that,” he said, and he was just deadpan enough that I almost missed the sarcasm. “There are some absolutely massive bolt cutters under your seat. I hope you’ve got the upper body strength to use them.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Okay, good. Did you remember your passport?”

  I flushed. “I don’t think I have a passport,” I said, on the verge of a panic attack.

  Sebastian flashed a devious grin. “Just kidding. This plane belongs to a rich man. International laws don’t apply to the wealthy.”

  With that, he turned and went back to his car. I turned and went up the stairs into the jet.

  Soon after takeoff, I fell asleep again and slept through the whole flight. Not surprising since I was both physically and existentially exhausted. When we landed, a nice man dressed like Captain Stubing from The Love Boat roused me. “Miss Weir?” he said. “I think Mr. Ohanian is already on the runway to meet you.”

  “Mr. Ohanian?” I said.

  The pilot looked down at a slip of paper in his right hand. “Apkar Ohanian. He’s your local contact. I’m told he’ll take you where you need to go.”

  I nodded and again wiped the drool off of my lips. “Do you have a toothbrush?” I asked. “I’m afraid I packed pretty light.”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling. “There’re individually wrapped toiletry kits in the head.” He pointed, and I went where I was directed. After I freshened up, I returned to the main cabin, claimed the bolt cutters from underneath my seat and exited the plane.

  When I got to the bottom of the stairs, there was Apkar Ohanian. He was a role-poly little man who reminded me of Peter Ustinov, the late actor. He wore a striped sweater, corduroys and hiking shoes. The long sleep had dulled my social graces and I told him he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could lead an expedition on foot.

  Ohanian smiled a pained smile. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “I’ve eaten more than my fair share of baklava. That’s why we’re going where you need to go in my helicopter.”

  “Sorry,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I completely forgot about the whirlybird.”

  He turned and walked toward a very modern-looking helicopter. “Right this way,” he said.

  I fell into step behind him and I kicked myself mentally. Two minutes in Armenia and I’d already gotten off on the wrong foot with my contact. “I’m sorry. Can we start over? I’m Dora. Dora Weir.” I held out my hand and he shook it over his right shoulder.

  “Hello, Dora Weir. I’m Apkar Ohanian.”

  “Nice to meet you, Apkar. I’m not an ugly American, I swear.”

  “Are you an ugly Greek?”

  “Touché. Please don’t throw me out of your helicopter, Mr. Ohanian.”

  Once we were aloft, Ohanian proved to be a very genial fellow. He had a thermos of some of the strongest coffee I’d ever tasted, and he showed me the details of his nearby city. Vanadzor, the place was called. It was small, but it looked beautiful from the air.

  Over the sound of the rotors, he asked me the obvious question. “You came here from California, right?” I nodded. “And you’re headed into Caucasus…” I nodded again. “For the love of God, why?”

  “Not exactly the garden spot of the region?”

  He shrugged with his shoulders and adjusted his headphones. “It’s alright, I guess. I just can’t figure out why a lady—who isn’t exact
ly dressed for the occasion—drops everything for a whirlwind tour of the ass-end of nowhere.”

  I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing a jacket, but the Bullwinkle t-shirt probably wouldn’t provide adequate warmth in the higher elevations. “I assume they gave you exact coordinates…” I replied.

  “They did. Very, very specific.”

  “And no one’s ever been up there?”

  “To that particular spot? I have no idea.” He grabbed a computer print-out and looked at it briefly. “What’s so special about—?” He read off the latitude and longitude of our destination.

  I struggled with exactly how much to tell my pilot. If I told him that there was a big rock at that location and, over the course of thousands of years, not one but two gods had been tortured on that rock, I was afraid he might throw me out of the helicopter for real. I squinted and said, “Sometimes it’s better not to know, Apkar.”

  “Alright,” he said. “The check already cleared. What the fuck do I care?”

  Sebastian Squire had given very strict instructions. Ohanian was to land in a clearing a short distance away from the rock and wait for my return. Once we were on the ground, I grabbed my giant bolt cutters and marched off through the underbrush. On the other side of a thick stand of trees was the rock exactly as described in myth and legend. It was mostly square and very flat. At each of the corners was a bracket to which was attached a length of chain. Each chain ended in a manacle. The manacles bound the wrists and ankles of a naked man with a bird sitting between his legs. The bird—a buzzard—had torn open the man’s abdomen and was feasting upon his liver. The man was, needless to say, not happy about this. In fact, he was moaning pitifully. I climbed up onto the rock and said, “Hold still” to the man. Then I brained the buzzard with the gigantic bolt cutters. I smashed its super-gross, nut sack-y looking head right in. Once it was dead, I kicked it off the rock and said to the man, “Hold tight. This might take a while.” Even as I set about trying to cut the chains, the guy’s abdomen started to close.