by Nazri Noor
He chuckled. “I try to get up to exercise if I can. I was grabbing a drink in the kitchen when you came in. Guess you didn’t see me. Point is: it’s going to be fine. Whatever it is, you two will work it out.”
I gave him a forced smile. Mason didn’t know about the Apotheosis, either. None of them did, but they were doing their honest best to be good friends regardless. I clapped my hand on his shoulder, squeezing it as thanks, and the two of us continued up the mountain in silence.
We hit the plateau soon enough, the air even thinner and colder. Banjo stopped in the middle of it, looking around himself, blue lights trailing as he moved his little head, searching for who knows what. But Carver seemed to be following his gaze, and together the two of them watched the sky, their heads turning with precision in oddly synchronized motions.
That was when I saw them, tiny specks of light, one green, the other blue, just among the clouds. They could have passed for stars streaking along the sky, if it wasn’t for the completely unnatural way in which they sped in different directions, flying in erratic patterns. Every now and then the two lights would collide, then spark, then dash away again, circling each other as if they were locked in a duel.
“Is – is that what we’re looking for?” I said, my hands on my hips.
“Hush,” Carver said, pressing a finger to his lips. “There,” he added, bending to the ground and lifting Banjo by the chest, so that he looked like a teddy bear, belly and legs dangling in the air. “You see them, Banjo? Do it for Daddy.”
So Banjo did – it, whatever it was. He opened his little jaws and borked a bork that shook the heavens. If anyone on that mountain was asleep, they sure as hell had to be awake now.
But more importantly, as the sound of Banjo’s bark spread across the mountain, so did its power, jerking the twin lights in the clouds so that they flew completely out of pattern, then fell from out of the sky. And as they plummeted, each light stretched and grew into the vague shape of a human, until the two gods had assumed their more recognizable forms.
Then they smashed into the earth. Or the rock of the plateau, more accurately, sending up clouds of dust, rocking the mountain itself with the force of their impact. Loki arched his back as he groaned in agony, acknowledging the pain as he returned to his corporeal form. Odin’s face was dark with fury, his fingers digging deep furrows into the rock as he fought to right himself.
“There had better be an excellent reason for this interruption,” the All-Father growled, glaring holes into my very soul.
“I’m suing the pants off of everyone present,” Loki croaked. “Including the dog. Then I’m going to eat all of your souls.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “Anything you say. But first, we need a little favor.”
Chapter 22
Sterling knelt to look more closely at the two gods. A little too closely, if you ask me, but people are surprisingly gung-ho when they can only really be killed by sunlight – or a stake through the heart.
“So the two of you have been fighting since the last time we saw you, huh?”
Odin frowned at Sterling, gathering his huge thighs under him and sitting cross-legged. “Yes. And as you could all see, I was clearly winning, until you so rudely interrupted.”
Loki stroked a lock of hair out of his face, then guffawed. “All-Father, I will confess that you are a powerful adversary, but it was very clear that I was on the brink of defeating you. I have the upper hand.”
I cleared my throat. “But not for long, Loki. Not if you have to stay away from your company just for this extremely protracted battle. Who’s keeping Happy, Inc. running at the moment, anyway?”
Loki brushed off his suit, trying to look dignified by sitting up on the ground, raising his chin at me. “I’ll have you know that I hired only the best people. They aren’t fools to run around like headless chickens at the slightest sign of something gone wrong.” His eyes flitted evilly towards Odin, and he wore a sly grin. “Quite unlike some other people I know. It’s a wonder the valkyries haven’t torn the Twilight Tavern apart without your leadership.”
Odin raised his finger, his mustachios twitching with rage. “Now listen here, deceiver – ”
“Please,” Carver said. “Save the threats for later. There is a reason we have tracked the two of you down. We require aid.”
Odin folded his arms, fuming, very much like a seven-foot-tall child with a beard. Loki tilted his head, studying Carver before he gave a frustrated huff.
“Truly? After all you’ve taken from me, now you want more? I should destroy you where you stand, lich.”
Carver chuckled, spreading his hands. “And you may very well try, god of lies. But for now, it seems that it is I who have the – how you say – upper hand.” He snapped his fingers, and plumes of amber fire rose from the ground, arranged into a convenient circle around Loki.
The god leapt to his feet, his arms squeezing against his body, his eyes wild as he spun in a circle, watching the fires close in on him. “What trickery is this, lich? What have you done?”
Carver laughed. “Nothing that you haven’t attempted yourself in the past, Loki. I am but an amateur when it comes to trickery. This circle is merely our insurance policy, that you will listen and consider our plea.”
Loki poked a finger at the flames cautiously, then, seeing that they couldn’t burn him, gave a chuckle himself. “Why, it’s a simple sealing spell, isn’t it? You think that you can keep me locked here forever?”
Odin looked between the two, his face grim, but he stayed silent. There was a glimmer of admiration in his eyes when he focused on Carver, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“Let me explain in brief, Loki,” Carver said. “I am a lich, as you know. Undying. This mountain on which we stand is a place of great legend and mythical significance to its people. I can draw marvelous amounts of power from within its ancient stores. Do you see where I am going with this?”
Loki folded his arms in on himself, staring at the ground, his lip turning up, making him look like an impetuous boy. Sealing a god within a magical prison wasn’t something even Carver would normally be capable of, but circumstances were different. We were basically standing on one gigantic arcane battery.
“Correct,” Carver said, as if Loki had given an answer that none of us had heard. “I can do this all day. All week. All month, and all year. Forever, if that is what it takes, until you agree to help us.”
Odin made a noise from somewhere within his beard that sounded like a stifled chuckle. Loki bared his teeth, making a low snarl.
“Then speak what you wish,” he growled. “Tell me what you want and let’s get this over with.”
“I won’t mince words,” Carver said, gesturing to the sky. “Those thirteen stars – a servant of the Old Ones has committed mass injustices in favor of her masters. Something horrible is coming, and we need your assistance.”
Loki laughed, his eyes burning sinister in the light of Carver’s flames. “Fool. If you truly believe that a god will stoop to help you, lich, and in a battle that could very well spell my doom, then – ”
“Laevateinn.”
Loki’s voice stopped streaming from his throat. His lips remained in the exact position they were when he stopped talking. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to burn with so much more fury as they looked into Carver’s face.
“Laevateinn,” Carver repeated.
“You cannot ask that of me,” Loki hissed. “Not my blade.”
I knew exactly what they were talking about, and why Loki was so reluctant to turn it over. Laevateinn was his sword. It was ancient, and powerful, and as personal to him as the spear Gungnir was sacred to Odin himself. Not just an armament, but an emblem, a symbol of who and what Loki stood for. It was his brand, and knowing how much Loki took pride in his brand, asking for Laevateinn was like slapping him in his face, then spitting in his mouth for good measure.
“We only mean to borrow your relic,” Carver
said. “When our ritual is complete, it will be returned to you unsullied, unmolested.”
“And what proof do I have that you speak the truth?” Loki shouted, his eyes now totally black from rage. “I have no evidence that you will give it back to me once you finish.”
Carver shrugged. “You will just have to take my word.”
“You,” Loki snarled, pointing to me. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I know that this is your fault. Twice now you have stolen from me.”
I lifted my hands up, palms out. “Listen. It’s either this, or the universe ends. No universe, no Happy, Inc. Your call.”
Loki’s hands curled in frustration, like he wanted to reach through the fire and wring my neck. Keep the sealing spell up, I thought to Carver. Please keep the damn spell up.
“If this is not returned to me, mortal, I will come and find you. I will feed you your own entrails, cooked upon a fire built from your own bones.”
“If you wish,” Carver said.
“Dude,” I murmured. “Don’t speak for me.”
Loki scowled at me again. I could feel his anger searing my very soul. He reached for the sword, putting his hand into himself, his fingers pushing and digging until he was elbow-deep into his own chest. I watched in horror, then amazement as he pulled a sword out of his own torso, its edge bloodless, but gleaming with a deep scarlet glow.
“Take it,” Loki said through gritted teeth, holding his hand up, then releasing the sword.
Laevateinn flew to me of its own accord, and I reached out to catch it by the hilt. Like Vanitas, the sword was light, effortless to hold. I placed it in my backpack with the other blades.
“And that makes four,” Carver said, “for as long as Belphegor keeps her promise.” He looked at Mason thoughtfully, then rubbed his chin. “There is still the question of acquiring an angelic sword.”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “I still need to figure that out.”
“Hello?” Loki yelled, waving his arms frantically. “We had a deal. You have my sword. Let me out of here. And pray that you keep it perfect and polished, or I will have your head, Dustin Graves.”
Carver snapped his fingers, and the sealing flames vanished. Loki launched instantly into the sky, his body hovering above us as he fixed each of us with a death glare, the dirtiest looks of all reserved for Odin, Carver, and me, in that order of magnitude. He turned his face to the sky, then took off like a bolt, disappearing into the night.
I looked from the sky to Odin, one eyebrow raised. “That’s funny. I thought you would have gone after him immediately. You gods hold very long grudges. Literally an eternity.”
Odin clambered to his feet, his huge beard moving with him as he shook his head. “I believe you mortals. There are matters to attend to, if the Old Ones truly are to return. I will speak to my peers, see what can be done to stave off the coming of their corruption.”
I was taken aback, but I wasn’t about to look a gift eight-legged horse in the mouth. “Thank you,” I said. “Any help we can get is worth so much right now. Thank you.”
Odin reached his hand out, clasping his fingers around an invisible pole. His spear, Gungnir, appeared in his hand as he spoke his last words to me. “Pray that you comprehend the true meaning of what you are doing, boy. Do not take your fate lightly.” He tapped Gungnir’s butt against the ground once, then, like Loki, went rocketing off into the night.
Mason scratched his head, staring at the gap in the clouds that the All-Father left in his wake. Then he looked at me with a frown, the question clear on his face. “What the hell was that about?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
“That’s a pile of bullshit and you know it, Graves,” Sterling said, stepping between us, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into my face as he turned to address Mason. “The Apotheosis is going to kill Dustin. That’s what Odin meant.”
Cat was out of the bag. It felt as if the night had frozen over. Gil, Mason, and Asher stared at me wordlessly for a long, tense moment. Then Mason stepped forward, his eyes crinkled as he struggled to focus on my face, watching for signs of deception.
“Is Sterling right? No more lies this time, Dust. Are you really going to die?”
I stood there, watched, it seemed, by the lingering spirits of an ancient mountain. For the first time in what felt like weeks, I told my friends the truth.
Chapter 23
The air was almost sweet on the hilltop outside of Valero. It was the same one where Bastion had shown me his little trick with his arcane grenades, and the boys and I picked it to make sure we could perform another communion without stinking up the entire Boneyard. Granted, our offering for Scrimshaw this time around wasn’t going to involve burning raw onions and garlic, but we thought it was best to make sure.
Gil and Asher were as polite and supportive as they could be when they learned the truth about the ritual. They were being good friends, in that sense, and I imagined that they would have reacted the same way if I’d told them that I had a terminal illness, that we only had so many more months to spend together.
They were doing their best. I was very careful to explain to the boys that Sterling had exaggerated, that the Apotheosis wasn’t meant to kill me, but only remove me from reality for, well, a while.
“How long?” Mason had asked, his eyes stern and hard.
Grudgingly, I had to answer with the truth. “Decades. Possibly a century.”
That didn’t soften the blow for anyone. In the minds of my mortal friends, that still meant that I was as good as dead. We would never see each other again.
Sterling had gotten snippier with me about the entire situation, making even less of an effort to speak to me, glance in my general direction, or acknowledge that I existed at all. But I didn’t expect such a negative reaction from Mason, of all people.
He’d come out that night, the same as all the others, I suppose to ensure that we’d have enough hands on call just in case our communion somehow went sideways. Carver and Banjo stayed back at the Boneyard for the night, but Asher and Gil were up there with me on the hilltop, roasting marshmallows on a little campfire that Gil had built himself. Sterling was there, too, sulking quietly into the fire as he used it to light cigarette after cigarette. Farther off, a little ways away from the flames, Mason sat alone, his arms folded, his face as dark as the night around us.
Which didn’t bode well, truthfully, considering Mason was our best option for seeking out the final sword, the celestial one. It was bad enough that we weren’t exactly in good graces – pun intended – with the angels. The only two I’d ever met weren’t in any condition to help, clearly. Samyaza gave his life for me, and was the primary reason Mason was our friend at all. The other one, Adriel, was bent on wiping out mankind, and was completely insane from the outset, to boot. We didn’t even know where he was.
Plus, I had to imagine that if someone like Zeus had picked up on me being in touch with demon princes, then it wasn’t a stretch to assume that the heavenly host would be clued in on that juicy little factoid themselves. They probably weren’t very happy about it, either.
“I cannot, in good conscience, essentially participate in assisted suicide.” Those were Mason’s exact words to me, that night on Mount Kinabalu, just after Sterling dropped his truth bomb. I was still mad at Sterling for that, actually – it was my truth to tell, my burden to explain to my own friends – but he really only expedited the revelation. I knew myself well enough. I probably wouldn’t have said shit until the very last moment, if at all.
I popped a toasted marshmallow into my mouth – tried to, rather, since it was burning hot right out of the fire. I got some of the crispy bits, but also the scalding lava of molten sweetness smeared over my lower lip. I cursed, wiping myself off on the sleeve of my jacket. That was as good a sign as any to get the communion out of the way. Bite the bullet, as it were.
“We should get started,” I said.
“Consider it finished,” Gil replied
.
He helped Asher spread the contents of the various packets we’d hauled up to the hilltop with us, arranging them in a circle around the bonfire. I thought it was sweet that they even bothered to alternate the pattern, putting down a graham cracker, a square of chocolate, and then a jumbo marshmallow in the grass. It was all the same to Scrimshaw, who was one hundred percent going to smash it all into his face anyway.
I contributed the blood, dripping a bead of it directly into the fire. I hadn’t even made my way through half of the Puppy Yum biscuits incantation when the smell of brimstone overpowered the scent of wood fire. Similarly, the sound of kindling crackling and sputtering in the flames was quickly replaced by the scandalous and vaguely repulsive noises of our little imp friend enjoying his delicious bounty.
“Scrimshaw,” I said, clearing my throat to draw his attention. He already had chocolate and melted marshmallows gumming up his lips. I must have lucked out in assuming that he would have a good time with an offering of s’mores.
“Hnnngh,” Scrimshaw said.
It was interesting how Scrimshaw always prioritized getting down and dirty with the piles of food we offered him before he bothered acknowledging anyone else’s presence. Did he do it just to make us uncomfortable on purpose? Or maybe all demons were like that. Both Mammon and Belphegor certainly seemed to enjoy making me squirm and keeping me on my toes.
Sterling held his cigarette between his teeth and clapped his hands sharply. “Come on, sweetheart, we haven’t got all night.”
Scrimshaw stumbled around in the flames for a moment. Fire never injured him, I noticed, something about his demon blood or his coppery skin, which made making s’mores a decidedly more intimate affair between him and the flames. This was a guy who could sit on the inside of a pizza oven, or watch croissants blossom in all their perfect layers, up, close, and personal. But the idea of imps going around molesting baked goods and sitting with their bare asses on cookie sheets made me deeply uncomfortable, so I squatted in the dirt, putting myself level with Scrimshaw.