Younger Gods 1: The Younger Gods

by Michael R. Underwood

  Dorothea took a breath, and cracked her neck, shoulders, and back, wincing. “Ready?”

  I raised a hand. “Sorry, hold on. Can you tell us what else you can do with your connection to the city? Should I assume strength, stamina, or other powers due to being sustained by the ley lines of the city?”

  “Yep. Now let’s go.”

  “Care to expand on that at all?” I asked. “I prefer to be properly informed before heading into battle.”

  “Don’t you worry too much about ol’ Dorothea, and you’ll be fine. Let’s get moving.”

  More nodding. “Very well,” I said, not satisfied but willing to proceed, given the urgency.

  “Don’t you worry, kid. I’ve been cleaning up the streets since her mama was your age,” Dorothea said, indicating Antoinette.

  Content to let the comment stand, Dorothea led us up to the door of a nondescript warehouse building. There were tracks of muck and standing water at the door, as if someone had spent a significant amount of time loading something in or out. Or someones, for that matter.

  Dorothea went to the door, holding her short sword in her off hand. Carter stood behind him, me in the middle, Antoinette in the rear, as her work required the least proximity.

  The door opened with a notable scraping squeal, the door improperly set, grinding against the frame. Once it cleared, Dorothea’s strength suddenly sent it slamming into the wall.

  “There goes subtlety,” I said at a whisper, nerves bringing out a bout of thoroughly unhelpful snippiness.

  The Knight and the Nephilim headed down the hall, moving with practiced stillness. I followed, trying to be as quiet as I could. We learned to be quiet in my family too. Childhood games that I realized in retrospect had been preparation for stalking, slaying, and kidnapping.

  Antoinette followed on my heels, stealthy enough in her own right, as we made our way down a long, unlit hall. I drew upon the gems again and smeared the energy over my eyes. I blinked, and the black-on-black outlines came alive in my vision. There were two doors fifteen feet down the hall, one straight ahead, the other on the right.

  Dorothea walked confidently, not seeming bothered by the darkness, and opened the right hand door with more studied care than the front door. This door had been better set, however, and opened without complaint. The room beyond was lit by wide overhead bulbs.

  The storage room was wide and tall, with stacks on both sides that looked like the sort for crates of meat, though they were entirely empty. We assembled inside, and when I got all the way in, I saw a pair of bound figures I took to be Dorothea’s missing people.

  And surrounding them were three Exxeven, bloody smiles as wide as their faces.

  Esther was nowhere to be seen, but she’d left more than enough guards behind to count as a trap.

  And behind us, the front door slammed shut.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Exxeven!” I said, hoping that any who didn’t know the creatures by sight might recognize them by name.

  Exxeven were lesser servants of the Gatekeepers—beings that stemmed from the same chthonic source as the Gatekeepers themselves. Neither celestial nor infernal, they were merely endemic to the earth, by-products of the Deeps. Eldritch wildlife, one might say. Not naturally hostile, the Exxeven were territorial and easily bargained with for service.

  One of the creatures stayed behind with the captives, and two ambled toward us on four feet, the other two legs held up like claws. Exxeven resembled a twisted cross between a spider and a wild boar, with limbs like a spider but thicker, and their maws had both mandibles and tusks.

  Carter and Dorothea fanned out to intercept the creatures, leaving me time to draw upon the remaining power in the gems.

  I plunged a hand into the bag of borrowed materials, drawing power. Using the Deeps against Exxeven was difficult, akin to trying to use water to choke a fish. This was actually a case where using a lesser caliber of power was advisable, especially when paired with peridot, the gem most closely associated with the Deeps. Feeling around, my fingers wrapped tight around the distinctive shape of the crystal, two notched bumps side by side, and I felt the power filter through the gem like a key in a lock.

  I spun power into a lasso, corded thick, grasping the rope with my free hand, transforming raw power into an object whole and material. I wound up, and threw the lasso at the beast facing Carter when my roommate dodged left to avoid a swipe from the beast’s hoofed leg.

  The working caught. I yanked back with both arms, pulling the working in toward me with the might of my will. The creature stumbled, bound around the thorax. It hit the concrete, and Carter seized the opportunity, jumping forward and hacking off one of the creature’s legs.

  The beast righted itself on its other legs and moved forward, snarling. I’d not bound the creature’s limbs, so it was still free to resist me. Carter slashed horizontally, cutting off the creature’s counterattack. My roommate moved with liquid grace, each movement flowing into the next without pauses or weaknesses in moments of transition. He’d been well trained, to be sure. If only his mental discipline was as good.

  A shape bound past me and tackled the Exxeven facing Dorothea. It was Igbe, red strands weaker than before but still solid enough to send the beast sprawling. Dorothea quick-changed her weapons and let the creature from the Deeps have a taste of buckshot. The shell took a hunk out of the beast’s face, but it kept coming, several limbs wrestling with the spirit while Dorothea switched back to her sword.

  All three Exxeven reared back on their three hind legs and let out a discordant screech, exactly out of tune in a way that dug into your mind and replicated, the scream infecting your mind with its wrongness.

  I’d hoped to kill one before this could happen.

  Exxeven moved in threes for this exact purpose. They were the singers that crafted the world, sub-created beings made by the raw earth that gave it form inside and out. But with the power to shape came the power to un-shape.

  That power they were using now, on us.

  I dropped to my knees, feeling like my cells were tearing themselves apart, mitochondria revolting, T-cells turning against tissue. Everything was discord.

  Cries of pain filled my ears, the discordant song mixing with our screams.

  Sorting through the pain, I reached out into the Deeps once more. I’d only have one chance, if that.

  I would not call down to the Deeps, but the Exxeven were practically made of it. And that power was far closer, more present. It’s a reason why Exxeven so frequently served the Greenes, as they were nearly defenseless when faced with one that could access the very core of their being.

  Reaching out for the Exxeven closest to me—which was probably about to tear into Carter as soon as they were content that we’d been incapacitated—I pulled at its lungs.

  The Deeps were like oxygen to the Exxeven. I couldn’t blast them with it, bludgeon them with it.

  But there was more than one way to flay a cat, my father had always said.

  I grasped the Deepness within the Exxeven, and pulled. I imagined the Deeps within the beast as a balloon, and myself holding the string tied to it. I yanked, willing the energy to me, like I’d done a thousand times. But this time, the energy was five yards away, not a thousand.

  The power came, and with it came the creature’s innards. The Exxeven retched, and purple-red lungs spilled out of the beast’s maw, shredded by its tusks. The beast cried out once more, a muted, pained cry through suffocated trachea, and it collapsed.

  The Deep power hit my system like a drug, making me giddy. It’d been nearly a year since I tapped that power, and it came back so lovingly, like a soft caress.

  After one taste, it would be far too easy to take another.

  But I was a Greene no longer, not really.

  And with one singer gone, the three-part chord of
un-making was broken. A sharp inhale told me I’d been holding my breath, hadn’t been able to, allowed, to breathe.

  “Fucking hell!” Antoinette said from behind me.

  The red receded, my vision clearing. Instead of shearing apart, my cells merely all burned, like the day after I’d been out in the fields with Saul all afternoon and hadn’t worn sunscreen, but throughout my whole body.

  But a burn I could deal with. I focused on the scene.

  Igbe tore at the Exxeven that faced Dorothea. Her face was bloody, but I couldn’t see a wound. But to have been that close to a song of un-making . . .

  To my side, Antoinette tried to edge around the side of the room and slip past the Exxeven. I just needed to clear the way.

  I could try to do the same working on the other creature, end the fight quickly. But after the last fight, I was already taxed. If I overdid it now, on Esther’s minions, what would I have left for her?

  Carter and Dorothea fought together, my roommate faring better than the Broadway Knight, either due to her more-than-human heritage or his youth. Carter danced around the creature with flowing cuts and thrusts, while Dorothea was shorter, more jagged in her movements, efficiency without beauty, all stabbing and hacking.

  The remaining Exxeven paced in front of the prisoners, cutting off Antoinette’s attempts to reach them. It had likely received orders to guard the kidnapped New Yorkers, keep us busy for as long as possible.

  I did not intend to wait in order to find out.

  “Igbe, with me!” I said, cutting wide around the beast tussling with the two men.

  The red guardian spirit took one more swipe at the Exxeven and then broke off, charging for the fresh beast.

  Not what I was hoping for, but I would have to make do. I wheeled to the side so that a stray shot would not hurt the prisoners, rendering our mission moot. I had little doubt that Dorothea would give my blood to the sewers if I got these people killed.

  Exxeven were fast learners, and the lasso had been only partially effective, so I needed to come up with a different strategy.

  I tapped the Deeps within my body, doled it out in two handfuls, and spread it over my chest, arms, and fists. Then I clenched mentally and solidified the energy, giving myself a crude form of body armor. It was dark, covered in crags and spikes, like melted-and-refrozen ice. So armored, I moved forward, taking a fighting stance.

  Igbe was hounding the beast, darting in and out, never staying within the Exxeven’s reach for it to lash out with tusk and hoof.

  I slammed down at the creature with both ice-covered hands, a move I’d seen in Carter’s execrable excuse for entertainment, the one filled with oiled, muscled, steroid-laden men and women. Parts of my armor chipped off with the blow, proving my solution was temporary, at best. With more time, I’d be able to—

  My train of thought was derailed as a leg swiped out and knocked me from my feet. Deepness chipped off of my chest, fading as it hit the ground. I felt crackling underneath me as the armor weakened on my back.

  This won’t last long, I thought. From the ground, I stole a glance over to Dorothea and Carter. The Exxeven they faced was down two limbs and was bleeding purple from a half-dozen wounds. But Dorothea and Carter were both wounded.

  I’d never learned proper teamwork, and I found myself a variable, unable to integrate into my fellows’ efforts.

  Standing once more, I removed the weakened Deep-forged armor and reshaped it into a two-handed sword, with a jagged blade, but with a polished-smooth handle and cross-guard. It would do me little good to cut myself on my own weapon.

  Hefting the grip in both hands, I charged the beast once more.

  Swinging the sword over my head and forward, I let the weapon pull my body, trying to strike with my whole weight to plow through the creature’s defenses.

  Proving he was smarter than I’d perhaps given him credit for, Igbe slid to the side in one smooth motion, tearing at the Exxeven’s rear leg. The spirit paid for the blow, taking two sharp hooves directly to the center of his mass, but the creature was sufficiently distracted for my cut to land on its neck. It wasn’t a clean blow, not even a skillful one. But it was enough, chopping halfway through the Exxeven’s neck. The dark light went out of the beast’s eyes, and it crashed into a pile on the floor.

  I joined it, the Deep sword dissipating along with my strength, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I know that I heard other sounds of fighting, yelling, steel against carapace, but I did not listen, did not process.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  The next thing I remembered was Antoinette’s voice and someone’s hand on my arm, pulling me up.

  “Jake? You okay?”

  I blinked my eyes open, processing the world through too-bright lights and a catalog of pains.

  “Did we get them?” I asked, my voice croaking.

  “Yeah, we got ’em,” another voice said. Carter. The brightness faded, revealing the warehouse room.

  Finding my feet, I saw my three companions standing around, joined by the two former captives. The Exxeven’s stench had begun to dominate the room, loam and mold and other scents of the deep underground.

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  Dorothea looked back to the civilians. “Now I get these people home, and you three take a breather. I’ll meet you at Delhi Heights, around the corner from the Jackson Heights station. Tell them you have a reservation under ‘Dorothea’—they’ll know what to do.”

  I was still processing consciousness, but Antoinette was on top of it. “Got it. You sure you don’t want backup in case Esther comes back for these folks?”

  My vision settled on the former captives. One was a young Hispanic man who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, though he had a tired, haggard look. The other was an African American woman with half her head shaved, the rest grown out naturally. Both captives had fresh bruises on their faces and hands. Apparently Esther hadn’t been gone too long, since the bruises looked human-made, not from the Exxeven.

  “Thank you,” the woman said. “I think those things were an hour or so away from eating us.”

  “They don’t eat humans. Not usually. They’d have to un-make you into slurry first.” I caught myself. “You’re very welcome.”

  “Who the hell is this guy?” the Hispanic youth said, seemingly out of genuine curiosity rather than incredulity.

  “You don’t need to know,” I said. “Dorothea will take you back home. And if you ever see that woman again, run. Just keep running until you can’t or until you find a group big enough that they can blow her to pieces. Do you understand?”

  The youth’s head rocked back before his body language settled again. “You don’t need to tell me how to take care of myself, gringo.”

  Antoinette squeezed my arm. I ignored it. “Clearly you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. There are forces more terrifying than corrupt police, greedy gangsters, and the casual apathy of your fellow New Yorkers. I’m sorry I cannot do more for you, but I can give you wisdom, and you should listen.”

  “Forget you, man. Dorothea, let’s get out of here.”

  Dorothea gave me a look that I took to be some kind of comfort, then circled up with the former prisoners, leaving me to Carter and Antoinette.

  “Not helping,” Antoinette said in a low voice.

  “He can refuse to listen at his own risk.”

  “That kid just nearly died. Cut him some slack,” Carter said.

  I jumped in as soon as he finished speaking, almost cutting him off. “And we nearly just died saving his life. Dorothea should give us the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Calm down, Jake,” Antoinette said.

  I took a long breath, still aching.

  “I know. Let’s go get something to eat, unless Carter would rather not have Indian.”

  “What I e
at at home and what most Indian buffets make don’t have a lot in common, man. But I like aloo gobi and garlic naan as much as the next guy.”

  My stomach grumbled in response. “Agreed.”

  I waved to Dorothea, who nodded. “See you soon, kids.”

  Letting the “kids” comment pass, we exited the building, staying on our toes the entire way to Jackson Heights.

  When we arrived at Delhi Heights, Antoinette gave Dorothea’s instructions, and the server nodded, leading us straight past the normal dining room, around a switchback, through a locked door, and up a set of stairs to a dining room. Beaded curtains closed it off from other rooms that I took to be part of an apartment. Doubtless, the proprietors were close acquaintances of our increasingly-seemingly-connected Broadway Knight.

  The combination of chicken tikka masala, naan, and heaps of basmati rice did wonders for my mood, easing the general sense of exhaustion, anxiety, and pain. I’d not been eating as heartily as when I’d been at home, due to the fact that the food courts were priced somewhere between extortion and exploitation.

  I’d do well to remember that our fat-rich diet was at least partially to fuel our magic, and not just because meat-and-potatoes fare was expected from the Upper Midwest. All magic was taxing, as mental exertion burned energy just as much as physical exertion. The brain itself consumed a substantial percentage of the glucose produced by the body. The more rarefied the power source, the less strain on the system. Blood was better than stored power, and Deeps greater than any other power save the divine spark.

  And the strain of reaching to the Deeps meant that my family’s sorcerous magic was even more exhausting, which led to the body burning fat reserves for energy during extended magical combats. As a result, the Greenes were as thin as rails as a matter of course. For me, the dreaded freshman fifteen made me look healthy, since upon my arrival at campus, I was so emaciated that more than one person on the street had offered to buy me lunch.