by M. K. Gibson
I felt something deep inside me well up, threatening to break free. I pushed it back down. It wasn’t easy. I lit a smoke and took a swig off the flask to help.
We arrived at a lodge for farmers who had stayed in town too long to make the trek back to their homes. The sign outside said “The Earned Respite.” And based off the smells I was picking up, it might very well live up to its name.
The guards who accompanied us took us inside and introduced us to Esther, a nice plump lady at the counter. Esther gave off a warmth and matronly glow. She exuded happiness with her entire being.
“New strays?” Esther smiled warmly at TJ and me.
“Riggs said to put them up until he was ready for them,” one of the guards said as he handed Esther a green chit. “This should cover them.”
“Wow, are you popular,” Esther smiled, taking the chit and placing it in a lockbox under the counter. “You are welcome here for as long you need. Now, would you like to see your rooms first, or would you like some breakfast? We have some food in the common room, and there is plenty of it. Help yourselves.”
I sniffed the air and my stomach churned in anticipation. “Esther, I think I’m in love with you,” I said.
“Oh honey, you wouldn’t be the first man to try and tame me,” she said. “And you, young man, are you hungry?”
“Ma’am, if it meant stabbing him to get some food, I’d ask you where the knives were,” TJ said, pointing his thumb at me.
“Thanks, kid.”
Esther dismissed the guards and led us to the common area. The large oval-shaped room was made of the same carved white stone. The tables, chairs, and furniture were a mix of white stone and golden oak, with hand-woven cushions.
Farmers who’d stayed the night were at various tables, talking with one another. People gave TJ and me a friendly nod or a welcoming smile.
“Here you go,” Esther said, seating us at a private table near the room’s central fireplace. She returned with a massive tray and set it on the table. Before us lay scrambled farm-fresh eggs and real bacon. Warm bread, still hot from the brick oven and slathered in honey butter. Cuts of grain-fed steak were laid out, swimming in their bloody juices. Carafes of fresh-squeezed orange juice, frosty cold milk, and real coffee.
Coffee. Honest-to-God, hot freaking coffee.
Foodgasm.
“Oh, Esther,” I said, looking at the bounty before me.
“I know, it’s a gift.” She smiled. “If y’all need anything else, just ask.”
Esther smiled as she left us to our meal. I was in culinary heaven. This had been the first real meal I had had since before prison. On the island, we scavenged for food and ate things I was pretty sure weren’t edible. But when you’re starving, you’ll eat anything.
But this—this was divine. After I finished my fifth helping, I began eyeing up TJ’s plate. The boy put an arm around his food and watched me like a dog guarding his bowl from packmates.
“Get your own,” TJ said, scowling.
“Come on kid, just a little bit,” I said, smiling as I sneaked another strip of bacon from his plate.
“Come on!” he lamented. “Why are you eating my food?”
“Because I have been in prison and I’m starving.”
“But I’m a growing boy and need my nutrition. You don’t wanna deprive me of that.”
“Fair enough, kid. Besides, I think I’ve reached my limit. Rest is yours,” I said, snaking one last piece of bacon.
I narrowly got my hand back before TJ stabbed at me with his fork.
“I wasn’t joking. I will stab you.”
After we had our fill, Esther showed us to our room and wished us a pleasant rest.
The room was made of the same seamless white stone and furnished in hand-crafted wooden furniture that glowed gold in the warm white light. A large bay window opened over the white city. I pulled back the homespun curtains and looked out.
TJ jumped into one of the two large beds in the room and flopped onto his back. “This is awesome!” he exclaimed.
“It’s just a bed, kid.”
“Yeah. But I don’t have one.”
What? “TJ, what do you mean you don’t have a bed?”
TJ sat up and crossed his legs. “I don’t have one. Not yet, anyway.”
“Since when?” I asked, sitting by the open window and lighting a smoke. “TJ, did you have a bed at Midheim?”
“Yeah. Well, sort of. It was more of a straw-filled bag on wood and rope frame. But that was what everyone had.”
“And in Löngutangar?” I asked.
“Well, no. No one does.”
“No one?”
“Well, you do, I guess. In your underground house.”
I was stunned. “Why doesn’t anyone have a bed? Why don’t you? Don’t any of the kids have beds?”
“Well . . . no. Nobody really does. Most people just have bedrolls, or hammocks. We had to leave most of our stuff back at Midheim. It really isn’t that bad. Things are getting better. We’ve built a lot of stuff already. We’ll get around to the beds.”
“Yeah. Yeah we will. Get some rest, TJ,” I said. TJ happily obliged me. The boy fell back in the soft bed and was out cold in seconds.
I finished my smoke, lit another and looked out the window a moment more. This place seemed nice and peaceful and perfect.
I bet the kids here all have beds, I thought, mentally kicking myself.
I bet they slept peacefully after a hard day’s work. I bet they didn’t live under a constant threat of utter destruction because their leader wasn’t such a constant cock-up that his self-centeredness ensured his people were a razor’s edge away from being killed on a regular basis.
How foolish of a leader was I that I didn’t realize how bad things were for his people? Why didn’t I ever even think to ask if there were children who slept on the cold ground, denied the most simple of basic needs like a bed?
I was an asshole.
Pushing aside my inept leadership for a moment, I focused on Grimm, wherever he was. My mind came back to the moment I found TJ in the back of The Outrider. Why did Grimm have bags of blood in his trunk?
I thought back to when he was shot by Legion in the junkyard with the hex bullet. He had disappeared, teleporting away with his magic. A few minutes later he’d come back in the Outrider and ran Legion over—fully healed, in the same vehicle we were in now. The ones with the bags of blood in the trunk.
My imagination ran away for a moment. Was he . . . drinking them? Was that how he healed?
No. Come on, Salem, get a grip. While I don’t think I ever encountered a . . . vampire, I was pretty sure they didn’t exist. Well, not like the stories and movies portrayed them. There were offshoots of human and demon mating which resulted in the rare incubi and succubai. They were sexual creatures who could evoke powerful desire and emotions in people, but not bloodsuckers. Ninety-nine percent of inter-species sex was non-reproductive, and I’d never heard of a union that created a blood-hungry monster.
Monster? Is that what I thought of my friend?
God . . . I was an asshole.
But the first step to healing was admitting there was a problem. I resolved, right then and there, to de-asshole myself.
Well, not all at once. I didn’t want to go through asshole withdrawal. But I was going to be a better leader. I was going to ensure my people had what they needed. They were not going to be wiped out. Not ever. I was going to be a better friend. Hell, I was just going to be a better person.
I flicked my smoke out the window and immediately winced. Shit. OK, I’ll stop being an asshole now.
I plopped into my bed and put my arms behind my head, interlacing my fingers, feeling more tired than I should. But warmth, peace, and a full belly tends to make one drowsy. We would find the Tears. And I would make good on my promises.
I listened to the sounds of a productive human city, the work and commerce. Normally the sounds would keep me up. But given the sheer exhaustion
of the last couple of days, the hum of First Heaven was just white noise to me.
I fell into a blissful sleep in a soft bed.
Chapter Thirty
I Can Smell You
In Flotsam Prison
Following the fall of man, during the rise of Hell, Vali killed.
He killed men for the evil they enacted upon other men.
He killed gods when they preyed upon mankind as a food source rather than uniting them in defiance.
He killed demons on principle, for the suffering they brought to man.
Save for his first kill, Vali never took the act of killing lightly. Hod was simply the instinctual response of a deity but one day old. However, from that moment onward, Vali saw his kills as necessity. Responsible acts that must be committed for the greater good.
But that did not alleviate the never-ending guilt.
The only way to keep his sanity was to divorce himself emotionally from the blood. To lock off that portion of his mind that would derive pleasure from the act of killing.
But at that moment, in that prison, thinking of the children . . . his mind unlocked. He was going to kill all of them.
And laugh while he did it.
As Vali pulled Tarnhelm down, his form faded away. Invisibly, he marched in time with his heartbeat, strong and steady. Silently, Vali moved through the rectangular tunnel that opened to something akin to a caged funnel. At the entrance was an open gate resembling a monstrous form of demon’s mouth. From the entrance, Vali could see the inner garden of the warden’s home.
A marble path beset with petrified trees led from a two-story marble home to a large pool of green water, as Yeela described. This was where the indoctrination started. Fitting this was where it would end, in this one almost beautiful place, nestled among the ugly cruelty of the gods’ forsaken island.
The garden was walled partially by the complex itself and an inferium-razor-wire-laced duranium fence on the one open side, which faced inland. Along the solid wall portions, Vali saw lookouts and snipers watching over the garden as well as any prisoner who would wander too close to the fence.
Kneeling down by the tunnel entrance, Vali could see two figures illuminated by floodlights as they walked down the marble path towards the fetid pool. One of the figures he recognized as Archbishop Maz’ael, the demon who fought alongside him against Abraxas.
That was sad. He did not hate Maz’ael, for a demon.
Maz towered over a shorter human man who wore a thick, black greatcoat with fur trim. While Maz blocked Vali’s complete view of the human, he could see the man seemed to be sick or injured. He limped along with a cane, and Vali could see that most of the man’s hair was burned away, replaced by ragged scar tissue. The two walked to the pool and stared into the dark green waters.
“How long do you think it will take to rebuild?” Maz asked.
“Not terribly long,” the human said. “Already the wall is near complete. Once the construction is complete, we will be ready to accept new prisoners.”
The human’s voice had a horrible scratching sound, as if he suffered from severe laryngitis, and there was a wet sucking sound to his words. The man still had his back to Vali, but he could see the man take out a handkerchief from his coat’s pocket and wipe at his mouth.
“That’s Gerhardt,” Yeela whispered.
“He is the one who orchestrated the indoctrination process?” Vali asked.
“Yes,” the demoness whispered back.
Vali nodded and slowly removed a wooden rod from a thigh holster. Vali activated the magical device, and the rod silently extended into a strung bow. As he drew the bowstring back, an arrow appeared on its own, manifested from the ether. Agneyastra was the fire-bow of Agni. He hated the day he struck the god down. But it was for the greater good.
If Vali chose, the arrows would burn those they hit with unquenchable fire. Was the anguish the arrows caused warranted?
“Yes,” Vali thought, remembering the forty-four hooks. He watched the two figures and listened, preparing for the coming slaughter.
“I am pleased you are on the mend,” Maz’ael said.
“No thanks to your friend,” Gerhardt rasped.
“I warned you not to underestimate him,” Maz said with a smile.
“Indeed,” replied the human. “But as much as I wish to see him return here so that I may vivisect him, I must in an odd way thank him. After all, he exposed many flaws and weaknesses in our security. But listen to me prattle on. How are you feeling after your altercation with him?”
“My body is not as injured as my ego,” Maz mused. “Nor as my standing with Archduchess Bathin.”
“What’s the plan?” Yeela whispered.
“When I finish with the guards, I’ll then move on to this Gerhardt,” Vali whispered back.
“What should I do?”
“Run,” Vali said.
“Run?” Yeela asked. “What about my sister?”
Vali lowered his bow, allowing the arrow to vanish back into the nothingness it came from. The god removed Harpe from its sheath on his back. The short sword materialized when it left Tarnhelm’s influence and was placed into the demoness’s hand.
“Take this. Run back the way we came. Look for your sister, but get back to the beach. Wait for Taylor. If I’m not there when he shows up, leave without me.”
“If I could see you, I’d kick your ass.”
“Good thing you can’t see me then.”
Vali drew the bow’s string back to his cheek. Once more, an arrow appeared ready to fire from the magical bow. With several quick strikes, Vali could shoot out the floodlights, casting the garden into darkness. Or he could take a shot now and end Gerhardt once and for all.
The decision was easy. Vali sighted the weapon on the shadowy figure’s head, but Maz’ael was in the way.
“Archbishop Maz’ael,” Vali’s voice boomed through the night. “I offer you this one chance to live! Lay down on the ground, face first, and hold until long after the screaming has stopped. You fought with Midheim and Baron Salem against Abraxas. Because of this act, I offer you this one chance to live. If you do not, you will assuredly die with the rest of Flotsam. Choose.”
“No offense,” Maz said to Gerhardt as he got to the ground, “but fuck you all.”
“Coward,” Gerhardt sneered.
“Good luck,” Maz said as he placed his hands over the back of his head.
“Gerhardt!” Vali called out. “You die this night.”
“The world has been trying to kill me for a long time. You will not be the one to do so.” The man coughed. “Come out so I may at least see the face of my would-be killer.”
“No.” Vali said as he lined up his next shot and prepared to fire. “You are scum who would torture children. You deserve no such honor.”
“Is that how Vali Odinson of the Last Aesir conducts himself?” Gerhardt asked.
What? How did this person know who he was? As if reading his mind, Gerhardt began to laugh. His mirth gave way to a coughing fit.
“Do you honestly think I don’t have backup communications and surveillance within the very complex I helped to design? I’ve been watching your crusade for some time now. Did you like the hooks for the children? I want you to know, even if Salem succeeds, I will eventually get your children.”
Vali refused to engage this monster any longer. He sighted the bow and drew back.
Before he released, pain blossomed from his back.
Vali’s mouth filled with coppery-tasting blood. Crimson slowly dripped from his lips while giddy warmth spread across his body. Looking down, he could see that the tip of Harpe had poked through the metal of his emerald breastplate. His arms went numb and he absently fired his arrow, going wide and missing Gerhardt completely.
Even though the arrow missed him, Vali saw Gerhardt raise his arm and create an energy dome of translucent red energy, just like Grimm.
Damn it. A mage, Vali thought as the shock of the trauma forced
his mind to focus on something else. Numbness spread through his body. Vali made himself look down at the weapon that transfixed his body.
Vali began to laugh softly. The venom of a Gorgon, which was infused in the adamantine weapon, pumped though his veins. The god fell to his knees before he fell over on his side. Tarnhelm jostled loose, dispelling his invisibility.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Yeela standing over him.
“I told you, pretty boy. I don’t have to see you. I can smell you.”
“Well done, my little spy,” Gerhardt smiled before looking down at the bishop, who remained on the ground. “Oh, do get up, Maz’ael. You will miss the part where I get to kill a god.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Liquid Poo-Goo
A long time ago
The lights came on in a flicker and hum as the old generators kicked in. Supplied by geo-thermal power, they would never run dry. Isaac’s father, Abraham, fumed silently with impatient anger, his fists clenching and unclenching in rhythmic anxiety as the elevator ran slowly, deep into the earth. Abraham kept his back to Isaac and the cargo tube.
Isaac laid a hand on the tube that contained his mother. It was a prototype that Abraham had worked on in the family cabin. A stasis chamber. But the without a proper power supply, it would fail. Soon. Abraham theorized that a concurrent alternating power chamber could create a field that would place the contents slightly out of phase with time, preserving them. But the technology of the day could not sustain the invention. And modern power supplies would only keep the chamber active for an unknown short amount of time.
“Move your hand,” Abraham said in a flat, forceful tone.
“Dad, I—”
“Do as you’re told. Your actions and lack of thought are why we are here,” Abraham said, casting a narrowed-eyed stare over his right shoulder.
Isaac obeyed, removing his hand and casting his eyes downward. Despite his age, he felt like he was a child again. And as such, his childhood memories flooded back to him. This was the place where he was altered, turned into the person he was today. Isaac never asked to be changed. It was done to him by the very parents who claimed to have loved him. “To survive what was to come” was the reason. A greater good.