A muted snoring sound drifted from beyond the thick gossamer veil of sleep, and the smell of old but clean ashes filled my nostrils. Not like an ashtray, but… like a bonfire had died hours ago, leaving the crisp, purifying scent of burned wood. I also scented a pungent fur or pelt, as if I was in some sort of hunting lodge. I peeled open my eyes to find myself in a cottage. Simple shelves held wooden utensils, a few cast-iron pots, and mason jars of herbs and colorful liquids.
The faint smell of the lingering ashes tickled my nose, causing me to sneeze. Which hurt.
“He’s awake,” a masculine voice murmured. “Here comes the pain, boy.”
But hadn’t the voice just been snoring? I thought to myself.
I tried to pinpoint the sound, but groaned, only managing to turn my head a few inches – enough to see spears of sunlight drifting through a thick window in the wall. I squeezed my eyes shut at the pain of the blinding light, but was too exhausted to move. Then the intensity of the light began to grow brighter, hotter, malicious in its purification as it tore through the thin skin of my eyelids like tissue paper.
I quickly realized that this was no ordinary light as it ignited my pain receptors with napalm. Like hot fire pokers tipped with acid were slowly piercing my brain via my eye sockets. My body began to convulse against my will, rocking the surface in which I lay. But I couldn’t control my body, couldn’t actually pull away, despite my incessant thrashing. The light was everywhere. It was all.
And it was killing me.
“No. Endure,” the voice cracked, startling me with its authority. I sucked in a breath, mind instantly fighting to obey such a powerful voice, despite my body continuing to spasm and shake. “Good,” the voice encouraged. “It is burning away his hold. Firing away the chaff. Iron sharpens iron, after all.” The voice seemed to grow closer. “You are transforming…” it whispered encouragingly.
The pain slowly – so, so slowly – began to dissipate, and in its place, I heard an anguished wail deep in my mind, as if someone, or something, was being skinned alive. I felt claws scrabbling at my chest, but not on my skin…
It was scraping at the inside of my chest. As if fighting to claw its way back to the surface, but recoiling as soon as it neared my sun-kissed flesh. With a final howl of rage, the voice fell.
And I was reminded how unfair the universe is.
My hands clasped onto the table beneath me as if struggling to hold on for dear life, clawing at the edge of a metaphysical cliff. My imagined fingernails tore free, and part of me fell down, down, down with the voice – as if we were one entity.
Lucky me, as part of me fell with the voice, I had the uniquely unpleasant experience of also being my physical self.
Which meant that as my soul fell, I simultaneously felt as if a fiery fist had struck through my abdomen and out my back. Kind of like those old Kung Fu movies where the bad guy punches through the hero’s chest to grab his heart, shoving it out the back of his rib cage for a moment before ripping it back out the front to squeeze triumphantly in front of the hero’s dying eyes.
Four out of five wizards don’t recommend it.
The fifth wizard is the one doing the punching.
I vomited. Like a true badass.
Thankfully, my head was still twisted sideways.
I groaned, watching as my regurgitation steamed on the floor, hissing as if the ground was as hot as a griddle. The voice at the other end of the room chuckled. “That’s it, boy. Let it all out.” So, I did it again. Because, well, he had cheered me on. He waited a few moments, and I realized that although my mouth tasted disgusting, the pain had dissipated to nothing the moment I had finished throwing up. The sunlight now felt… invigorating.
I slowly swiveled my head as I heard a gentle clapping from the other end of the cottage. But it sounded like two pairs of hands.
The voice had hands, and they were clapping.
“I’m getting sick and tired of visits like this,” I wheezed, locating the source of the voice.
Chapter 39
My mouth immediately dropped open, awed as I saw him for the first time. I didn’t even have time to consider whether my stare might have been considered rude. He was simply breathtaking.
“Happen often?” he asked in a calm, soothing tone, responding to my complaint.
A four-armed man, skin as white as bone, hovered in the air above a rug of tiger fur, legs crossed in a traditional meditative pose. Around his neck, he wore a set of rosary beads, and a freaking python of some flavor. The serpent flicked its tongue at me before losing interest to slither into a more comfortable position amidst the rosary beads. I tried to keep my face neutral, body motionless rather than running for the door. Where the rest of his skin was bone-white, his neck was a bright blue, like the color those travel commercials use to depict the ocean when selling island vacations to suckers.
His head and face were perfect, well, except for the gnarliest matted hair I had ever seen. But he made it work, somehow. His skin was as perfect and unblemished as porcelain, and he had three eyes – one centered slightly higher than the usual two. A painted crescent moon adorned his forehead like a sparkling tattoo of glittery ink. A trident was propped up against the wall behind him, looking as if made from rough, unpolished stone.
I managed to respond, regaining my composure. “You would be surprised…” I assessed the figure thoughtfully, carefully, respectfully, as I swung my feet clear of the table. These types of visits didn’t typically end well, but it never hurt to be polite.
He only chuckled. I was pretty sure I knew who I was dealing with, but wasn’t stupid enough to say his name out loud. Some beings weren’t too keen on that.
“Look… Chuckles. What’s going on?”
“I just saved you from your Beast. Temporarily. He’s sleeping now.” And I realized that the Dark Presence was indeed asleep, practically nonexistent. And I suddenly felt free for the first time in months. Although I didn’t like how he had referred to it as my Beast.
I took a few breaths, stretching my arms, preparing for some bad news. “Thanks, but I thought you were less of a helper, and more of a… knock the house of cards down, kind of guy…” I murmured – as respectfully as possible.
He smiled. “Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds…” he recited. “I am Shiva.”
I nodded slowly, unsure if I was happy or horrified to be correct. “Sweet rug.” I pointed at the tiger fur below him, then scanned the cottage again, spinning in a slow circle. “Where am I?”
“Mount Kailash. My home. I astral projected you here, so, you’re not really here, here…”
I blinked at that, but decided I really didn’t want details. Astral projection was the intentional act of having your spirit leave your body. And in my case, it had been done to me, not by me. I shivered at the thought, only just beginning to realize how deep of a shit-bucket I was in.
Shiva’s four arms didn’t hold any objects at present, as was usually the case with him. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad omen for me. I flinched as something beside the rug snorted loudly. And I suddenly remembered the snoring sound I had heard.
A huge freaking bull rested on the floor beside Shiva, dozing. It had been so motionless, and Shiva so captivating, that I hadn’t even noticed the beast. The specimen was so large that at first look, I thought it might be Asterion in bull form. But upon second glance, I realized it wasn’t. Horns as thick as my wrist, and tipped with a dark crimson stain, decorated his dome. This thing looked wild. Untamed. Well, untamed by anyone other than the god sitting beside him. No, Hovering beside him.
“He’s called Nandin,” Shiva said, watching me in amusement.
I grunted. “He’s called a huge fucking bull.”
The bull snorted, cracking open one eyelid to reveal a furnace of white fire. He took one look at my blazing red shirt, and the other eye cracked open in instant outrage.
Shit. Bull. Red shirt.
His muscles bunched up, as if ready to
launch an attack at the red-shirted Matador in front of him. I promised myself that if this was how I kicked the bucket, my last words would be Cardinal Nation!
The bull opened his mouth as if to kill me with sound alone, but the god immediately snapped his fingers together like a whip. “NANDIN!” The room instantly grew thick with power, and the bull grumbled as it calmed, muscles relaxing. Then it promptly went back to sleep. The god grinned at my reaction. “One must establish dominance when necessary.”
I grunted my agreement, idly wondering if it would be considered inappropriate to check my drawers for a backfire. I finally peeled my eyes away from the bull, confident I was safe.
“I hadn’t considered the color of your shirt. Hindsight,” he clucked. One of his hands reached up to fix his hair. It didn’t work. The other hands moved absently, resting here, scratching there, stroking his snake…
Heh.
It wasn’t that his arms did anything odd… there were just a lot of them. It was distracting.
He smiled, pearly white teeth peeking out from his thin, white lips. “Do you feel better?”
I opened my mouth, and then realized that he wasn’t simply being socially polite. Now that I thought about it… The warm sunlight streaming in through the window no longer hurt. It was just regular sunlight.
“Yes, thank you. I feel great.” I split my attention from eye to eye, unsure which one to focus on. “No disrespect, but which eye do I focus on? I’m not familiar with,” and then I realized that my question could be seen as entirely disrespectful, even blasphemous, “your customs…” I said, hoping not to die.
He studied me for a few moments. “For all your days, with every friend or foe,” he leaned forward, which must have been difficult while hovering, “always focus on the Third Eye…”
I nodded, waiting for more as I followed his advice – which felt entirely unusual, let me tell you. Try having a conversation with someone’s forehead sometime. Weird. But he just continued to watch me. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, but I have some important things to do today. Get my back waxed. Trim my nose hair. You know. Human things.”
“Your Beast will return. You should stay for a while. Enjoy your… break.”
I stared back. “You want me to stay here?” He nodded. “For how long?” I asked fearfully.
“Until you find yourself…”
My patience evaporated with his answer, and I suddenly forgot all about being respectful. I didn’t have time to sit here with my thumb up my ass. “Okay, what’s really going on here?”
His lips thinned at my tone, but I was done playing nice. He had a reason for bringing me here. The burden was on him. He finally answered. “I… owe my son a favor.”
I waited, but got nothing else. “Nice guy, Ganesh. Loves those wieners,” I said in an effort to keep the conversation going. Then I realized what I had said. And how it could be taken. But he only grunted in response. I waited a few breaths before proceeding, more conscious of my words this time. I might not have patience, but at least I could use a little tact. “How does Shiva end up owing his son a favor?”
His eyes grew distant, staring off at nothing. Or, hell, staring off at everything, for all I knew. In that silence, I realized that I suddenly had quite a few questions about gods. I had met Angels of Heaven who worked for the big G. But if I was sitting here, casually having a conversation with another god who was also known as the creator, well, that kind of put my brain into an impossible conundrum.
But my tiny mortal brain was saved from worrying too much about this as he shot me a dazzling smile. I couldn’t prevent a smile from splitting my own cheeks. His grin was just so joyful, happy, and radiant. Godly… Then he answered my question.
“Well, I cut off his head, of course.”
My smile fell down a trap door and died in a sickening splat a thousand stories below me. I realized I had stopped breathing, and was openly staring at him.
I had caused Shiva to kill Ganesh.
Chapter 40
He burst out laughing. “Your face!” he bellowed, slapping his knees with all four hands in a steady rhythm. This went on for a few seconds before he regained his composure, using one finger to wipe a tear from his Third Eye.
Crikey. His Third Eye could cry?
He lowered his hand, smiling at me. “Thank you for that. It feels nice to have a good cry every now and again. Been years…” he trailed off, shaking his head. Then he turned back to me. “Ganesha is fine, by the way. I meant when I originally cut off his head as a child. Boy, was Parvati upset about that. I had to go run and find a replacement,” he snapped the fingers of all four hands like a string of firecrackers, startling me, “really quickly. Came back with an elephant’s head of all things… Dumb kid was just doing as he was told, guarding the door as she took a bath. And I was only trying to get a quick peek of my wife in the nude. Didn’t even know who the kid was at the time, let alone that he was my freshly-created son!”
And he was slapping his knees again, laughing uproariously.
I decided it was best for me to mimic his emotions. Whether I thought the topic of decapitation and transplantation humorous or not. It’s a sales tactic called mirroring. It puts people at ease. Mirror their reactions. If they lean forward, you lean forward slightly. If they lean back, you lean back. Establish similarities. Subconscious bonds.
Of course, it got a bit more complicated too. Sometimes it was best to do the opposite. For example, if they had their arms crossed, it meant they were on guard, and it was best to open up, leaning back and spreading your arms in some subtle way.
I snapped out of it to find him staring at me. Right. Sales tactics were not important at the moment. Especially a mortal using them to try to psychologically manipulate a god.
“You have been misled,” he said ominously, no longer smiling at all.
I blinked at the abrupt change of mood. “Pardon?”
“You consider yourself a Maker, yes?” he asked, hands restless again. I focused on his Third Eye as I nodded back. “Do you know what that means?”
I frowned. “No. Not a clue, to be honest.”
He let out an exasperated sound. “No wonder Ganesha reached out to me.” He closed all three eyes for the space of a measured breath, and then opened them, staring at me with all three of them. I felt rooted to my chair, both at the intensity and the topic. “I’ll hit the highlights, if that’s okay with you.” I nodded eagerly. This would be the first real information I had found outside of Ichabod’s book. “We made you. Gods. You were to be our enforcers. Our Deus Ex Machina. Our Hands of God. But like all creations, we failed. You were tainted. With Beasts. Do you understand so far?”
I stared as if struck in the nose. “The Dark Presence…” I whispered.
He nodded. “That Beast,” he corrected, “is not your friend. He almost had you. You chased him down to the void, begging for him to teach you.”
“Sure, he’s a little demanding. But we have an agreement. We’re partners,” I said.
He took a calming breath, and leaned forward, explaining slowly. “You had a temporary agreement. During the Grimm War, when emotions ran wild. But peace never lasts, child.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it, truly considering his comment. The Dark Presence, or Beast, had been more of a struggle lately. “You’re saying that this entire time… the Beast has been planning a takeover?” Shiva nodded, smiling at the fact I had accepted it so quickly. But hearing it like this, it suddenly made a whole lot of sense. “Okay.” I said, discarding the emotions now rising up inside me. They would do no good here. I needed to learn.
Shiva didn’t look best pleased at my eagerness for some reason, but I didn’t care. I was going to get as much out of him as possible. “The Hatter is what happens when a Maker loses control over his Beast,” he said in a dry tone, as if waiting for my reaction. He got one.
My heart stopped, suddenly horrified. I had spent time with him. Spent months speaking to him. And he
was a cracked Maker? Here I was, a fledgling Maker, knowing nothing of the Beast, and I had been basically learning from a monster. A failed Maker.
Another realization struck me like a blow to the gut. I had told Ichabod about my Dark Presence. And he had said nothing about a Maker’s Beast. But he had to have known. He had been dealing with it for centuries…
Shiva was watching me sadly. “You should probably cease speaking with the Hatter…” I nodded numbly as he continued. “Now, whether you succeed or fail in Mastering your Beast, there will likely come a time when one of us Old Ones knocks on your door. Think of it like the Draft for your military. We call. You answer. Because we Made you,” he said ominously. “And some of us prefer the Beast over the Man.” He shrugged, letting that sink in.
My mind was scattered, and I wanted to run away screaming. “Are you telling me that I have no other option? Either way, I will end up as someone’s bitch? To my Beast or a god?”
He shrugged. “There is always the chance that we won’t call on you. Just depends on the day of the week, really.” He leaned forward. “But the way things are escalating in your world lately, I would say it’s a fair bet the Draft will be called. Especially with you as one of the last two remaining Makers in existence. Not too many options left to us.”
I shivered. “How long do I have?” I whispered.
He laughed, waving off my concern. “You’ve a long way to go before you would be of any use to us.” I frowned at his underhanded criticism. He saw my face, and smiled sadly at me. “No offense, but you’re incredibly inefficient. You’ve been running around, trying to be a wizard with your Maker power.” He began to shake his head in disapproval. “A Maker is a thinker. A doer. He is not a cook. He rarely needs ingredients to make something be. He simply thinks, and it is. Take fire for example. Whether you know it or not, you’ve been using your Maker power to create the right type of air, then again for the right type of spark, then again for the right amount of force to successfully send it at your target. You’ve been imagining each necessary part of a spell, instead of the result itself. Like a wizard would.”
Beast Master: A Novel in The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 5) Page 22