Mightiest of Swords (The Inkwell Trilogy Book 1)

by Aaron Buchanan

  Henri was eager to move on and had already roused Joy. Henri’s Parisian sensibilities were affronted by the provincial life. In towns like this, the sidewalks roll up at night, leaving anyone with late-night habits with nothing to do. He laughed when I suggested he read a book.

  We left for Marseille that morning. On the way, Henri insisted we eat a proper French breakfast, which for me included a croque madame—my first experience with one. Somewhat decadent, this French staple is like they allowed a sophisticated kindergartner assemble a ham and cheese sandwich and put the cheese on top of the sandwich. Oh—and an egg on top of that just to make sure everyone was impressed. We sipped espresso and discussed French cinema—a subject he was much better versed in than French literature. Joy remained patient with us both and tried to understand the language through the context of our conversation and brief translations I gave her.

  The city of Marseille maintained an ancient aura that I had yet to see in France. I recalled having read that though it was a colony of the Greeks, and apparently it has been a beach town for humanity for millennia unremembered. There were underwater caves with Paleolithic paintings that date back some 20,000 years—which now piqued my interest much more than they had in the past. While I had never formally studied linguistics, I have given much of my time over to reading about the subject—the likes of Noam Chomsky and others of his ilk. These cave paintings were ubiquitous in this area of the world—much more concentrated here than some of the other far-flung locations that claim to have older drawings. I wondered if homo sapiens sapiens first came to represent its words here in the Occitane region of France? Did this explain the Well’s location here?

  Though it was evening by the time we arrived, the night life was in full-swing. I saw what Henri was longing for, and he seemed in much better spirits just having entered the city. My inclination was to retire to our room for another night alone with Gulliver, or maybe find some other book to read. Instead, we took Henri up on his offer to accompany him to dinner and a night of dancing. I had never been dancing before. I had never been invited, nor would I have accepted if I had been.

  I danced poorly, but Henri was very gracious and showed me several types; Joy was much more skilled than I, so he spent much of the evening dancing with her. For my part, some fine wine made the evening go even better. When we arrived back to the hotel late that night, I was not remotely prepared for what awaited me: Victoria, flanked by Shred.

  I had not bothered to check my phone, but when I did, there was a message from Athena. It read: We’re here.

  “But now science is the belief system that is hundreds of years old. And, like the medieval system before it, science is starting not to fit the world any more. Science has attained so much power that its practical limits begin to be apparent. Largely through science, billions of us live in one small world, densely packed and intercommunicating. But science cannot help us decide what to do with that world, or how to live. Science can make a nuclear reactor, but it cannot tell us not to build it. Science can make pesticide, but cannot tell us not to use it. And our world starts to seem polluted in fundamental ways—air, and water, and land—because of ungovernable science.”

  —Michael Crichton

  “I have often wondered why, for such a great portion of mankind’s history, we set our heroes’ deeds to music. I have concluded that in order for greatness to truly be accomplished, we must have a truly kick-ass soundtrack. For my part, I’m thinking dueling guitars.”

  —Shred

  rEvolve: 8

  I am reminded of a tale told of the Swedish botanist, Carl Linnaeus: every Sunday, Linnaeus would attend Mass. Every Sunday, Linnaeus would stay an hour—no more, no less. At the end of the hour, even if the priest were still speaking, Linnaeus went home to his work.

  This serves so well to illustrate the objective of our revolution: Our time in the halls of worship is over. Our species has lifted itself off of the ground on which we prostrated ourselves. The poet Ovid wrote that we alone amongst Creation had the ability to lift our necks to the sky to praise our makers. What the gods failed to realize, we were already looking—and the gods were not there. They were beside us. They were around us. For centuries, we have told them to leave. They were the wizards behind the curtains who did not realize we saw through their tricks. For us, our mission became one of mercy. The gods have outlived their usefulness. Sadly, however, because of what they are, they are utterly incapable of realizing just how inane they have become. Many of them are dying; so many of them live in squalor with little recognition of even who they are.

  We will begin by granting the gods reprieve from existence. Using their own lifeblood—ichor as it has been called, we will close the Well of Gods for all eternity. With the Well of Gods closed, the gods will return to the ether. The rock hewn from the Well, we are told, is capable of bringing an end to gods. There will be no waiting for practitioners and worshippers to forget—the Well will be closed. Their fading will hasten. We will hunt them. We will return these beings to the collective subconscious of humanity and we will leave them there to be forgotten like so many childhood memories. The Well is a dream from which we must awaken. The sleeper will waken, will immerse himself fully in reality, in the present, and give himself over to his destiny.

  The gods will disappear. Humanity will inherit the stars.

  Our grandkids will lead the lives of the gods of mythology. Zeus could think and move objects around. We'll have that power. Venus had a perfect, timeless body. We'll have that, too. Pegasus was a flying horse. We'll be able to modify life in the future.

  —Michio Kaku

  Chapter 22

  I stumbled drunkenly to Shred, tears involuntarily streaming from my eyes. I even grabbed Victoria, who seemed to take great offense at the gesture, yet graciously patted my back as I hugged her.

  “Athena told you where I was?” She was one of the calls I had made earlier. “Where is she?’

  “She is in her room with Diomedes. She travels well, but he is much weaker than she.” Victoria, despite the eons between, still seemed to give Diomedes’ name what I imagined to be an Attic Greek-pronunciation. It made sense Diomedes was so reliant upon the power Athena could give him to sustain himself. While he had been deified three millennia in the past, his worshippers had long since disappeared. It must be the goddess’ sheer will alone that he remained among us. Her love, her devotion was inspiring.

  It was well past two a.m. The two of them waiting here for me was much more than I expected. When I had called Athena, I told her to call in what remained of any cavalry she had. In my drunken state, I dizzily envisioned Victoria riding into battle on a literal horse.

  “Where’s Urania?” I asked Shred. He took out a tablet and wrote: Solemn Ages. Pushan took her there. Soosikata—he paused, looking chagrined— here wit7h von ranke, so they should be safe there.

  “Who else is here?” Victoria was pressing the button for the elevator car. It opened immediately.

  “I shall be taking my leave.” She was smiling as the doors closed, and I had an inkling she might have been just as glad to see me.

  Dont know. have a lot to talk about Shred tapped out. Of course, he still had his mandolin strapped to his body. I doubted he would be going anywhere unarmed anytime soon.

  I knew I would not be able to take Von Ranke on alone, which was why I had called Athena. My second call was to Victoria to have her track down Dr. Valentine. During the car trip to Marseilles, she texted to inform me Dr. Valentine was staying in his aunt’s cottage on the Isle of Arran—and a telephone number for the cottage. He had been very surprised to hear from me. I tried not to get into too many specifics, and begged him to suspend disbelief. He agreed, but he acknowledged it would be a great strain upon him. Still, he called me right before he left the Isle of Arran that next morning. He was on a fact-finding mission: who and what were rEvolve? How deep did the organization run? How many could we expect to face? It was a fact-finding mission I had wanted
to begin the moment we found out about them, but there were no friends to call, no colleagues to call upon; no one to trust. Valentine was all we had.

  I exchanged casual texts with Valentine since the phone call. He had discovered little, but had discovered a member of rEvolve was a professor at Pembroke College, Cambridge University. He was now engaging the professor under a false pretense and discerning whether or not it would be safe to talk to the professor about his affiliation. Meanwhile, we had to prepare ourselves.

  I was drunk, but felt a grim sobriety. Joy was standing beside me. I peered over my shoulder. She smiled. “Maybe we do survive this,” I said. Shred, took each of us to his sides and hugged us as we walked. We were thousands of miles and a continent away from home, but for the first time in my life, I think I felt at home.

  Marseille was a gorgeous town by day and equally stunning at night. It was late but the past 24 hours had been oddly calm. We found a pier overlooking no less than a hundred small sailboats and sat down on the concrete blocks. Shred used his tablet and typed out notes concerning what Victoria and Athena were working on. Athena was planning her own coordinated attack, but we were, as of yet, still very short on intelligence. It would be our job to find where Von Ranke was staying in Marseille. We will see if he is holding Gavin there, and free him with a reconnoiter later. However, it was difficult to imagine Gavin and Von Ranke would be found in the same place.

  We would spend the next couple days finding out where Von Rane was, following him; observing him. I would also attempt to infiltrate whatever operation he was running. I would hide. And I would listen.

  * * *

  Being able to blend in with the locals gave me an advantage. While Marseille is France’s second largest city, its communities within the city were largely distinct. There were only certain areas Von Ranke and his rEvolvers could even be staying. Marseille held France’s largest population of Muslims, so we eliminated that area of the city. It also seemed unlikely that they would stay in the areas frequented by the locals (even if some of them were) or, for that matter. places patronized by tourists. I cloaked Joy and Shred and they went to investigate the port area.

  I remained at the hotel with Athena, Victoria, and Diomedes.

  “Will you be able to accomplish this feat?” Victoria asked. She wore an expression of polite skepticism.

  “I think it has the potential to work, yes. Magic will work on the gods, it just takes much greater amounts depending on…” I wanted to say weakness, but grasped for something less offensive, “vitality.” I turned to Diomedes himself to address him, feeling like we were discussing him as if he were not there. He looked more frail than the last time I had seen him. The travel from America revealed Diomedes’ frailty. To accomplish what Athena and I hoped, I would need to work for most of the day. “You used to be a man. I think the magic will have an easier time taking hold. No guarantees, but…”

  “Grey—I was made for this. I am sure you realize the tales told of the war are greatly embellished,” his voice even sounded more tenuous. Homer called him the Lord of the War-Cry. There, talking to me, I had to lean in close to hear him. “But, if I told you what was true and what has been lost to the ages, you would, my dear, call me a liar.” He smiled, with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

  Athena walked hand-in-hand with her consort. If I did not know any better, I would have surmised the goddess was nervous. Having exited the hotel, two taxis were waiting for us. I rode with Victoria to a tattoo shop on Boulevard Longchamp. Athena had arranged renting the facility and training me with the machine, needles, and inks. The heavily-tattooed and generously-pierced man who shared his trade with me was named Etienne. Etienne was surprised that I was such a quick study. Athena had even managed to secure a test subject for me to tattoo. He was a local vagrant Etienne recruited. The vagrant complained little. I worked through the man’s body odor and Etienne took every opportunity to spray rubbing alcohol on the man.

  I had no desire to tattoo the homeless man with anything that resembled logomancy, so my first attempts were a happy face, a Hello Kitty (my fascination was deep-seated), and finally some words. Etienne told me that lettering was among the most difficult to do satisfactorily. He was not kidding. It required a very steady hand. Yet, I appreciated it, because it made me concentrate even more on my words and I knew that it would allow me to imbue them with more of my will. I thought about Tolliver and Gavin doing this; the labor Tolliver must have endured while sick could not have helped keeping his disease at bay.

  My first words were in kanji script: quotes I remembered from Musashi’s Book of Five Rings.

  When I finished, Etienne surveyed the vagrant’s inked skin and was gleeful. He offered me a job. Apparently, I was a natural. He had no idea what the script meant, so I told him: You win battles by knowing the enemy’s timing and using timing which the enemy does not expect. The homeless man who had, up until that time, done little to acknowledge that he was being tattooed, looked at the script on his calf and declared it a work of art. I told him what it meant as well, but it was no sooner forgotten as said.

  I was ready to work on Diomedes three and half hours into the morning. I did not finish until nine that evening. I made only two mistakes and restarted in different areas both times. The paper towels I used to wipe at the wounds I made in Diomedes’ flesh were moistened with the same gold ichor I had seen in Cernay-La-Ville. When the work came to be too much, I took breaks, but could tell the spellcraft was bolstering his constitution, revitalizing him. Victoria was a valuable source of strength and encouragement: goddess of victory, indeed. Athena brought me water. Victoria chatted me up about Game of Thrones, and other television shows which she claimed to fancy. It was a welcome distraction, and had no effect on my final product.

  I was utterly exhausted. The breaks had helped, but the level of care and concentration, plied into a new craft, and I was more than ready to return to the hotel. Instead, the six of us met at a fine restaurant. We were joined by an additional six individuals who I could only assume to be members of other pantheons. The area was also likely scouted beforehand to ensure that none of Von Ranke’s followers were nearby. I was almost too knackered to be cordial, but I managed to anyway, though I refrained from asking questions. Nor did we speak of events at hand, as the premises were not likely that secure yet. We agreed to convene there the next evening, hoping to add a few more to our number. Additionally, Victoria had arranged the entire restaurant to be ours after 10 p.m. tomorrow to conduct a meeting.

  On the way to the hotel, Joy and Shred admitted they had a few leads and intended to check a few more out. Joy actually did not go into the hotel with us as one of her leads required her to investigate some of the sketchier areas of the docks. I, on the other hand, was hoping to make contact with Dr. Valentine before turning in for the night. Somewhere between losing the signal in the elevator and arriving at my room, I noticed a voicemail. I dialed my mailbox, and listened to Dr. Valentine order me to call him “straight away.”

  I dialed his number.

  “Miss Theroux!” His voice quivered. He sounded frantic. “The good news is I’ve dug up some information for you. Bad news is, I think someone is following me.”

  “Okay, don’t panic. Where are you?” I asked.

  “I’m in Cambridge at the moment, but I am leaving as soon as I get my overnight bag at the hotel,” he explained.

  “No! Do not return to the hotel under any circumstances!” I demanded.

  “Miss Theroux, that is out of the question. My tablet is there. Whatever notes I’ve made about this is there,” he sounded beside himself.

  “Doesn’t matter now. You have something. Hail a cab and get to Heathrow. If you need me to pay for it, I will arrange that. I plan to compensate you for any expenses you’ve incurred anyway.”

  “Miss Theroux,” Valentine breathed my name in a sigh.

  “Grey,” I interrupted. Maybe being impertinent would get him focused on me instead of his situation. Since
we first met in Clio’s office, I found myself hoping for his safety and thankful for having met him.

  “Grey, I can manage my affairs quite nicely, thank you.” Just then, he sounded like the bureaucrat I first thought him to be—which mean he was still operating logically. I supposed in his line of work, he would need that business-like mentality to accomplish what he had in life. But I knew his childlike, wide-eyed curiosity was right under the surface. Right now, he was running scared, even if he could bury it just under the skin.

  “Okay, Doctor Valentine. I have no doubt that you can, but please, just get in a cab and drive to the airport. Please? For me?” The thought of appealing to some sense of chivalry seemed beneath me only moments before. “Better yet—someone may be watching for you there at Heathrow. Another airport?” I swallowed hard to bait a hook I had hitherto never thought I would use in my life: “Please. You’re scared, but I’m scared for you too. There aren’t many people I can count on. I’m sorry, but I need you.”

  He sighed heavily this time. “I’m in the cab now. I must tell you this: they are…” he paused. I pictured him deliberating what he should say in front of the cabbie, “They are an international fraternity. They recruit person-to-person. They have a localized and encrypted blog server…their leader has set up to be accessible with passwords. I do not have a usable password.”

  “Did you found out anything about where they come from?” I asked eagerly.

  “Hold on—Grey, I called a friend to help me find out who was web-hosting,” he paused again, I assumed for dramatic effect. “The European Organization for Nuclear Research.”