Forgotten Gods

by ST Branton

  I served us both heaping plates and dug into mine without delay. I noticed after a few mouthfuls that Marcus poked at his like a picky kid.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You don’t like eggs?”

  “Is this what you typically eat here?” He was doing his best to be polite. It was only half working. “I must have been more spoiled by Carcerum than I thought. The gods’ table was constantly laden with the finest fare.”

  “So, you’re saying Earth food tastes like trash because you’re used to eating magical feasts?” I had to laugh. “Sorry, man. There’s no Garden of Eden here, but there is a fridge, if you don’t want that.”

  He waved me away. “No, no. It would be ungrateful to refuse an offering from a host. And my body could use the extra fuel.” He put a forkful into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “It is not your fault, Vic.”

  I laughed again. “It might be a little bit my fault. Sucks that you have to deal with such a downgrade.”

  I’d made the decision that it would be best to roll with all his eccentricities for now. Even if I wasn’t sure what knowledge he possessed or how it might help me, Marcus knew something. If nothing else, he knew how to fight like hell. I could still see the arc of the spear slashing through the dark. And it was plenty obvious he did need help. So, until I had more information, it wouldn’t hurt to play along, within reason.

  But that didn’t mean I believed him.

  “Hey, Marcus.”

  He glanced at me. “Yes?”

  “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know how I feel about all this crazy god bullshit. The only thing I really care about is finding my man and killing him. And I’m getting a strong feeling that something is weird here. But that’s all I’m giving you.” As I was crumpling up the paper bag, I picked up the tabloid from Mac’s stand and handed it to him. “Here, I picked this up while I was out. What do you think?” I paused. Maybe he hadn’t seen the meteor; he’d been pretty busy drowning when it hit. If he could believe in a magical god-realm though, I felt confident he could handle a golden space rock.

  He examined the cover with the rapt intensity of a historian inspecting the Rosetta Stone. Plainly intrigued, he flipped through the pages. “What is this book?”

  “It’s the news. Actually, no.” I held up the local paper. “This is more like the news. That’s just sensationalist garbage.”

  Marcus closed the tabloid and handed it back to me. “Would you read the most important text out loud, please?”

  “You mean the headlines? You want me to read you tabloid headlines?” I held up the regular paper. “Why not from here?”

  He frowned. “That one looks uninteresting.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “If you insist.” Most of the tabloid headers were awful. Things like: “Aliens Abduct Woman from Farmhouse Bathtub,” or “Florida Doctor Accused of Poisoning Twelve Women with Fake Botox Injections.”

  Marcus barely understood those anyway.

  I flipped the pages until I got to a two-page story about a girl whose body was found in an alleyway without any blood left in it. “The Bloodless Maiden,” I read. “Corpse of Young Woman Found Exsanguinated in Dark Alley.”

  He made me read the details on that one. No blood, no weapon, no obvious signs of trauma. Surprise, surprise, the cops didn’t figure out shit. The case, apparently a murder, remained unsolved. Marcus didn’t want to hear any headlines after that. He sat immersed in morose silence until I dared to ask him what was up.

  “It is beginning,” he said.

  “What’s beginning?”

  He turned his eyes to the window. “Phase One.”

  The ominous tone of his voice made the hairs on my neck stand on end, which was stupid. I wasn’t a big fan of the sensation. “I don’t know what that means, as per usual.”

  Marcus took some time to mull things over. When he spoke, each word was measured and deliberate. He had a script in his mind that he was following to the letter. For once, I kept my mouth shut and just listened. For some reason, this time, it seemed important.

  “I told you that the gods became locked in Carcerum, away from humanity, because of Kronin, but I did not tell you why.”

  “When last the gods battled across the earth, they used all manner of creatures as their pawns. Humans, too. There was no shortage of humans who wished to fight alongside their chosen gods in the war, but there were severe consequences. For a human to fight with a god, he would have to surrender his humanity. Only then could he hope to attain enough power. Kronin thought that this was abhorrent, so he locked the gods away. Now that he has fallen, those gods that wish to do so are recruiting their pawns, building their armies, and making ready for Phase Two.”

  “And what is Phase Two?”

  “War,” Marcus said solemnly. “The cost of human life will be in the millions.”

  My trusty nihilism reared its head. “Why warn us, then? You ‘came from Carcerum,’ didn’t you? So, don’t you benefit from this war?”

  He gave me a disapproving look. “No one benefits from war. And I am not a god. I am human, like you. I know what is at stake when they return.”

  “But why would they come back to this place?” In light of everything I’d been through, it was a genuine question. I had trouble seeing real value in my world.

  “Better to be king over the earth than an equal in heaven. The gods…are not very fond of one another. They would much prefer to rule, and to rule, they need armies. I cannot say for sure what this will look like, but I know their methods are both cruel and effective. We must be vigilant for signs of a strange nature.”

  Oh, no. Hell no.

  Shaking my head, I said, “You must be vigilant for signs of a strange nature. I must be vigilant for signs of Rocco Durant.”

  He raised an eyebrow, a gesture I wasn’t aware Roman Centurions could even do. “How am I to know what signs are strange in this place? All things are strange to me here. Whether or not it pleases you, I require your counsel. And you, as previously noted, require mine.”

  “For what?” I muttered, feeling slightly sulky. This was a much bigger role than I wanted to play.

  He shot a glance of disdain toward my makeshift mattress punching bag. “I am going to teach you how to fight. Properly.”

  I glared. “Uh huh.”

  The Centurion smiled. “It leaves much to be desired.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I stood in the corner across from Marcus with a rough wooden sword in my hand, hewn from the plank of a pallet. He had one too, and he was showing me how to hold it.

  “Like this,” he said, gripping the hilt with each hand. “It is very easy. Let your instincts take over, and swing.” He brought the fake sword up and down in a chopping motion. The “blade” whistled powerfully through the air.

  Man, this guy is strong. Shown even minor evidence of his fighting prowess, I felt my respect for him climb a few notches. Sure, he was weird and probably more than a little delusional, but there was no question that the guy could swing a sword.

  I imitated him, but it was obvious that I was only going through the motions. My weapon didn’t make the same commanding swoosh. The tip of it bounced awkwardly off the floor. It reminded me of getting the blade stuck in the mud during my fight with Rocco’s goons.

  “No.” Marcus stopped me. “It is not yet time for emotions. You must learn the movements first.” He gestured downward toward his feet. “Your balance is critical here, especially when utilizing a heavy weapon such as a two-handed sword. One unwise shift could put you at your enemy’s mercy. Watch.”

  He stepped.

  I stepped.

  He stepped.

  I stepped again.

  His sword cut underneath my guard and struck me lightly between ankle and shin. My leg lost its purchase. If he had done it faster, I would have fallen for sure. He nodded. “You would be dead, then.”

  “Helpful,” I remarked. Marcus moved his weight to his back foot, twisted his blade, and brought it
up along the line of my side, to chin height. I knocked it aside with mine. “I’m guessing I’d be dead then, too.”

  “Yes.” He came at me from the other side.

  I stood like a tree, eyes half hooded. The moment our swords touched, I let my arms drop to the sides. “Oops. I’m dead.”

  He stood back from me, a neutral expression on his face. I waited for him to say something mild and encouraging like he had before, and then go back to fruitlessly attempting to engage me. Instead, he said, “For someone who has built her life around avenging the deaths of her parents, you do not seem to care very much.”

  “Of course, I care. Just not about this. All those guys have guns, Marcus. Do you know how long this thing would last in a gunfight? Less time than it would take for them to pull the trigger.”

  “Why should it matter what weapons they have? The weapon is defined by its wielder, not itself,” he shot back.

  “Okay.” I flopped the wooden sword from side to side. “Then, I’m not good at wielding this thing, and I never will be.”

  “Hand to hand combat has more uses than simply learning to fight with swords.” Marcus tapped the impressive musculature of his chest as he spoke. “It hones your reflexes, your strength, your endurance, your focus, your tactics. All of these things are essential, no matter which school of weapon you ultimately choose.”

  I folded my arms, giving him a taste of my stubbornness.

  “Very well,” he said. “Let me ask you this. You fought this Rocco when you encountered him, did you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times did you hit him?”

  I fidgeted uncomfortably. “Two. Almost.”

  “And how many times did you try to hit him?”

  “Five,” I replied, trying to keep my chin up in feigned self-confidence. “We were running for a lot of it. The terrain was difficult.”

  “Oh?” A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. “May I see the weapon you used?”

  My face flushed. “No. I lost it while I was saving you.” Which, I reminded myself, hadn’t prevented me from going 3-0, in the end. Maybe learning swordplay isn’t a bad idea.

  “I see. My point remains valid. No matter what the weapon is, your use of it will benefit from hand-to-hand training. And knowing how to use your body will save you in the event that your weapons fail. You must trust me on this.”

  “I don’t trust you on a lot of things,” I muttered. “You want to tell me gods are on their way back from space or whatever to take over the world.”

  “Do you know what else I can tell you?” he asked.

  “Ugh. What?”

  Marcus’s eyes bored through mine. “If you do not train to the best of your ability, then your parents’ deaths will have been in vain.”

  Later, I would understand that it was precisely the reaction he’d been looking for. In the moment, I didn’t even consider the idea because I was too busy seething with rage.

  “You don’t know shit about my parents, you ancient bastard,” I growled. My hand tightened on the haft of my sword. “So, don’t even think about saying a word about them. You don’t know why they died, or how they died, or how I felt when they died. I’ve been through this with everyone else in my life and more. I don’t need it from you!”

  I hefted the training sword above my head and hacked at Marcus, using the same technique I had used against the goons at the river. The major difference was that Marcus knew how to swordfight, and he was not afraid of my pathetic training stick. He knocked it aside easily.

  “It matters not why or how they died. It matters that you refuse to do everything in your power to claim the justice you desperately seek.” I roared, charged forward, and swung down again.

  He dodged and landed a clean cut across my back. “You know where you would be if this happened.”

  “I don’t care!” I shouted. “You’re an asshole, Marcus. God or no god.”

  “Does that mean you would like to fight me?” He blocked another one of my wild, unrefined swings. “I am giving you that chance.”

  I reared back, coming forward so hard that chips flew off the striking edges of our training blades. As far as I was concerned, it was a real sword, and I was using it to slice at all my hidden pain and fear that I could never be the killer I needed to be to find peace. I lashed out at the fear that I’d choke at the last possible second, and Rocco would somehow inexplicably survive.

  I knew in my heart that I couldn’t live with myself if that were to happen. I needed to be able to commit the necessary atrocities when the time came. I had reached that point last night, staring down the barrel of my lost revolver at Rocco’s wide, rolling eyes.

  Then Marcus happened. Because of him, I had to reroute my steely resolve into something completely different. The motivation I’d built to a fever pitch ebbed back to normal levels. Now, I had to worry about whether or not I would ever reach that level again. And whether I’d get that chance again.

  Rocco may have slipped up once, but he wasn’t likely to do it a second time.

  “You cost me this,” I told Marcus. “It was you!”

  The sword whipped through the air. It was still undisciplined, but there was a ferocity behind it now. The tune it sang was different from his, more savage, but it was singing.

  “No, it was not.” He blocked me easily every time, without looking like he was putting in any effort at all. “This is good, however. You are gaining in some areas. Try this.” He stepped to the side, swept the blade down, and then drove it up and forward with a powerful punch. “Aim it right, and your reward will be instant death.” He held his sword against mine. “Try. I will offer appropriate resistance.”

  I clenched my teeth. Pushing against Marcus’s strength felt like rolling a boulder uphill. I put my weight into it, both physical and emotional, and strained with all my might. “Damn… it… to… hell!”

  His blade gave way. Mine arced downward. I twisted it in my hands and shoved it upward. It stopped less than an inch from his chest. I was shaking, heart beating in my chest.

  “I think we are done for now,” he said. “Well done, Vic.”

  I didn’t feel good. The training session left me drained and numb. I washed off behind the poor excuse for a bathroom wall, before slumping on the mattress while Marcus took his turn. It had been a long time since I’d last allowed my feelings to consume me so completely. I thought I was past that. I thought I wasn’t doing that anymore.

  I was wrong.

  Marcus’s shadow fell over me as I lay curled up on my bed. I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I thought you said it wasn’t time for emotions yet.”

  He sat on the floor by the edge of the mattress. “That was true when I said it. I did not realize how you needed your feelings to unlock the strength you have caged inside of you.”

  “Don’t say that.” I pressed my face into the pillow. “It makes me sound crazy.”

  “That is a problem with your perception, not the words.”

  I rolled onto my back. “Fine, but I’m gonna say that I still don’t see the value in hand-to-hand combat when guns are in the mix.”

  He chuckled softly. “I have explained this to you. Hand-to-hand training will benefit you no matter what kind of weapon you choose, be it a sword, a spear, or a ridiculous modern gun.”

  “Guns are not ridiculous.” I closed my eyes. “They will mess your shit up for real.”

  “They can, perhaps, but there are stronger weapons.”

  “Like what?” I sat up, searching the room for the hilt. I found it and pointed. “Like that?” He followed the angle of my finger. His face tensed up. “What is it?”

  Some of my confidence started creeping back in. Marcus could smoke me in sword fighting, but he was no match for my shining conversation skills. I was determined to dig as much information as I could out of him now. It was the least he could do for me aft
er that training session.

  And for all the bull he had been shoveling, there really was something about that sword. I assumed it was some sort of advanced, government grade technology. But then why was it in Marcus’s hands? Maybe it really was magic.

  I shook my head. Next thing you know I’ll be running around with a breastplate and helmet.

  “You really want to know?” He seemed perplexed by my interest in the sword, and I realized he likely still didn’t know I had used it myself. I debated telling him but decided to keep that tidbit a secret. Maybe it would come in handy later.

  “Honestly, I really want to take a nap, but I mean, if you’re willing to tell me.”

  “It is called the Gladius Solis,” he said, his eyes still on the hilt. “It was King Kronin’s weapon. He used it to subdue the rest of the gods and lock them away in Carcerum, which was born of its magic.”

  “What does it do?” I glanced at him. “Besides create idyllic paradise realms, and cut things, presumably.” It definitely cut things. That much, I knew for sure.

  “I cannot say,” Marcus admitted. “I served alongside Kronin for millennia, but I only ever saw him use his sword one time—the night he fell. But the legends call it the most powerful weapon in the universe.”

  I recalled the image of the bodies by the pier, all of them cut through as easily as paper. “So, it’s strong up close maybe, but weapons have come a long, long way since you learned to fight. Isn’t it possible it’s been surpassed by now? And if it’s so strong, how come Kronin lost? He was a king, right?”

  “A hero-king.”

  “Okay, even better.”

  “Kronin did not fall to a weapon,” Marcus said softly. “He was killed by betrayal. His oldest ally, Lorcan, the god in the shadows, turned on him when he saw a way to bring about the world of which he had always dreamed. Lorcan hates humans, you see. He wishes for a realm with no humanity at all, one in which all humans struggle in the thrall of gods, shedding their spark of humanity to become monsters, one by one.”