Younger Gods 1: The Younger Gods

by Michael R. Underwood

  Sveta stood in the front room, staring at me through narrowed eyes. I turned to look at Antoinette and Carter, who sat silent.

  Antoinette said, “Jake, we need you to calm down.”

  “That is precisely the least useful thing to say to someone who is outraged! I know that I need to calm down! Do you think I like being this upset, and burned as well? I’d just like enough respect from someone to at least start answering my questions before Esther finds us and we have to go off running again for another hour of cat and mouse.” At that last, I flung a hand out to the side.

  Instead of the air I was expecting, my arm met resistance.

  “Aaah!”

  I turned, and saw Julie beside me, hands covering her nose, eyes already teary.

  The anger bled out of me as I realized my carelessness. “Oh no! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” I trailed off as Sarah practically leapt across the building to her wife.

  “You, sit,” Sarah said in an imperious, uncompromising voice. I sat.

  Sarah walked her wife to another of the chairs, then left through the far doorway again.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said again to Julie.

  “I’ll be fine. Are you calm now?”

  My ears burned again with anger, this time at myself for my impatience, my childishness.

  I picked my mug up off the floor, saw that it had been chipped, a portion of the top lip broken off and sitting on the floor a yard away.

  “While shamed by the unwitting harm I inflicted, I still require answers. If not to the trivialities, at least to the important questions: What do we do next, and what happened to Dorothea?” I asked, perfectly aware that I was digressing from the conversation.

  Antoinette’s face darkened. Carter’s shoulders sank.

  But it was Sveta who spoke. “When a Knight dies, the city takes them back. Their spirits strengthen the city’s protections.”

  “What, like a pseudopod subsumed into its parent body?”

  “Basically,” Antoinette said.

  “If the city itself has wards, why haven’t said wards done anything to help us?” I asked.

  “They have, it just happens that your family has dumped enough blood sacrifices down the gullets of the Gatekeepers that they can run roughshod over the city’s protections,” Antoinette said.

  I closed my mouth. That would do it.

  “That is . . . most unfortunate. Dorothea’s assistance, while briefly felt, was impressive. I would ask to assist with any remembrances or memorials that are to be held, once this crisis is completed.”

  Sarah nodded. “That’s very kind.”

  Sveta said, “We managed to keep the Heart out of Esther’s hands, so our next step is to get everyone back into fighting shape, and then look for a new hiding spot. Your sister’s on a deadline, right?”

  “The third circle must be completed in time to birth the Younger God at the height of the solstice. A delaying tactic would work, assuming that she does not switch to pursuing the other Hearts.”

  Sveta nodded.

  “And another question. Who are you? We barely had the chance to meet.”

  The woman chuckled, tension bleeding from her face for the first time since I’d met her. She took a seat.

  “I’m Sveta. I look after the community in Queens.”

  “Look after. Would you be able to unpack that a bit, perhaps? And share your capabilities, as it appears that we may be working together in highly lethal situations?”

  “Sure. I’m Raksha, but the sneaky kind.” Most Raksha could hide their supernatural heritage, but it took concentration, like having to consciously breathe.

  “Toughness, speed, strength, better senses, that kind of deal,” Carter added.

  I nodded. “Thank you. And where do you come from? Have you always been in this community?”

  “Born and raised,” she said, pounding her heart with a fist. “My family’s been guardians for the Raksha in Queens since before the Statue of Liberty turned green.”

  “Another lifer,” Antoinette said.

  “So it seems. So few people come into the magical world without some kind of grounding. Or few who do so survive long enough to be known and remembered as anything other than statistics,” I said.

  “Thanks for that tour through Morbid Town, freak,” Carter said. But this time, when he said “freak,” he said it with a brighter, joking tone.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Sveta, and for humoring me in my inquiries. Do you require anything of us at the moment?”

  “I’d like some peace and quiet until the food arrives.”

  To that, I nodded. Antoinette helped me as I bandaged up my bloodied forearm, and then we waited in not-quite-comfortable silence.

  Sometime later, a cheap door chime rang, and Sarah went to answer. Julie still held the ice pack on her face, covering a bandage.

  The smell of grease and fatty foods wafted across the front room and hit my nostrils like a siren’s song.

  I stood and crossed to a stack of plates, trying to make myself useful in atonement for my carelessness.

  Plates distributed to all, we dug into the food, which was as workmanlike and delicious as promised.

  I’d never eaten anything that purported itself to be high-end Chinese food, and had no desire to do so. For my Upper Midwestern palate, the greasier the better, and this was heaven.

  Silence dominated for several minutes as the four of us who’d been on the run tore into our food. Julie’d selected beef and broccoli for me, a healthier choice than I’d have made for myself, but it hit several of the right spots. Protein and other nutrients, the building blocks to repairing cells and refreshing the spirit. Plus the iron to replace lost blood.

  When our dishes were nothing but streaks of sauce and orphaned grains of rice, Julie took them off to the kitchen, and Sarah looked to Sveta. “Where will you go next?”

  The woman pursed her lips. “Ideally, we’d let these three sleep for a while, but I don’t trust your wards to keep this woman off our trail. No offense. She’s probably the nastiest thing I’ve come across in a long time.”

  “A strange thing to say from a woman who looks no older than I am,” I said, failing to restrain the stray thought. At least it was verbal flailing, not physical.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

  “Granted,” I said. “But that’s ‘ideally.’ What will we do next? Run from safe house to safe house until my sister abandons the task she believes she was put on this earth to do? That’s no living worth speaking of.”

  “We’ll come up with something,” Antoinette said.

  “I think we can beat her,” Carter said. “Each time, we learn a bit more about how she fights, what we can expect. Eventually we’ll be able to beat her with numbers.”

  “Or one of us will die,” I said. “She’s still enjoying the game, Carter. As soon as she thinks there’s a chance she’ll lose, at least one of us will be bound for a body bag.”

  Sveta took a sip of what was either her third or fourth cup of tea. “Sadly, I think he’s right. And we’re a person down now. I’m good, but Dorothea knows this city better than anyone I’ve ever met. And I doubt that the Knights will be doing anything other than going to ground by now, getting folks deep into the subway tunnels.”

  “We’ve eluded her long enough now that I wager she’s headed for one of the other Hearts. I’d guess Staten Island,” I said.

  “Seems likely,” Antoinette said. “The pack there is tough, but they’ll need our help if we can get there in time.”

  I did some mental math. “Antoinette and I should go to Staten Island. Carter, you stay with Sveta and keep this Heart safe until we can return.”

  Carter cocked his head to the side. “Doesn’t that contradict the whole we’ll-wear-her-down-with-numbers thing?”


  “Yes, but if we leave our assets twiddling their thumbs, we’re not going to get ahead. And even if I go to ground, I can’t guarantee I can keep the Heart safe on my own. I’ll take the backup,” Sveta said.

  I found myself wondering what Sveta did outside of this life. If she had been a guardian since birth, was she allowed hobbies of her own? To marry whom she saw fit? I suspected such inquiries would not be met receptively. They were undoubtedly too personal, as Tessane had said when I asked about her dating activities.

  Carter had school; Antoinette had her friends, the roller derby, and seemed to be on her way out of the magical world, as best as she could.

  That led me to thinking about Dorothea, another life dashed on the rocks by my family’s greed and ambition. And my carelessness.

  “So if I go with Sveta, will you be okay with the pack?” Carter asked.

  “No problem,” Antoinette said, standing. She turned to our hostesses. “Thank you for your hospitality. Please let me know if you need anything from the shop.”

  Sveta hugged both of the hostesses, showing more tenderness than I’d seen from her, and then we prepared ourselves for the road again. Which would mean more subways.

  “Is there a way to avoid the ferry this time?” I asked. “There is a tram, yes?”

  “You want to be a couple hundred feet up in a steel box if Esther is around? Ferry’s safer.” Antoinette clapped me on the shoulder. “Sorry, Jake. We’ll bring you a bucket.”

  Sarah’s face brightened. “Seasick? Just a moment, I can do something about that.”

  A minute later, she returned with a finger of ginger. “This should help. Leave some for the trip back.”

  I thanked Sarah for the assistance, and we four weary travelers conferred on how to communicate, then made our farewells.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  The ginger helped. It may have been as much a placebo as anything else, but I was not about to second-guess Sarah’s remedy. My misery was greatly reduced for the second ferry trip to Staten Island, which allowed Antoinette and me to speak, to work through our conversational approach with the pack, which was again for me to mostly keep my mouth shut and be on the lookout while Antoinette did the actual talking and we both tried our best to give absolutely no reasons for the pack to take us for their dinner.

  We made our way from the ferry station to the bus, and from the bus stop to the park. Antoinette produced a flashlight, which she lit once we’d left the range of streetlights, entering the darkness of the park. Unlike the other municipal parks I’d seen, there were no posted lights here.

  “The lack of lights? Why is that?” I asked.

  “Not sure, but I bet you fifty bucks it’s the pack’s doing. They can see just fine by moonlight.” If so, their local influence was as substantial as the first display of power had led me to believe.

  This time, we took the path that the wolves had shown us on the way out, which was far less steep. My knees and pride were grateful.

  It did, however, involve walking along a deer trail, looking directly down to keep the path, following Antoinette’s light. I could have used a working to see in the dark, but my reserves were already taxed, even after the excellently-greasy dinner.

  Just fifty yards into the trail, a bark cut through the background noise of the park at night.

  “Was that . . . ?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Antoinette said. “Looks like we know where Esther went.”

  Antoinette sped up, crashing through the branches, hopping over roots, and ducking over thicker tree limbs. I flowed through the path in her wake, more comfortable in the thick brush than I’d ever be in the streets of New York. Animals made sense. Forests made sense. This place was only partially shaped by the hands of men; it was still more wolf than dog.

  Another pair of barks came from ahead and to our left. They sounded like orders, the wolves coordinating.

  I overtook Antoinette, longer legs letting me tromp through a shortcut.

  “Now would be a good time to call upon some friends,” I said, heavy breathing puffing up clouds of crystalizing breath as I pounded my way through the forest, up a medium grade.

  More barks, a yowl of pain, and a sharp cracking later, we broke into a clearing to see three wolves facing off against a spirit formed of sludge. The spirit was the size of a brown bear, but was composed of trash, septic waste, and spent needles.

  I recognized one of the wolves as the pack leader. Her muzzle was bloodied, and there was a broad burned wound across her flank that looked like a chemical burn. Her two companions were similarly wounded, one of them limping on a hind leg, the other missing an ear. But still they fought. Ten yards to the side, I saw the still forms of two more wolves, and beyond them, a mass of sewage reminiscent of the trash barges I’d seen on the Hudson.

  “We’re here to help!” Antoinette shouted. I prayed her speech would remind the wolves who we were, in case battle rage had pushed memories of our (more likely my) face from their minds. The sewage spirit turned, needles pointing my way like eyes.

  The limping wolf leapt, tearing into the thing’s back as it charged me.

  “Oh,” I said, not thinking the thing would abandon the wolves and attack directly.

  Instinctively, I pulled at the Deeps. I caught myself, then snarled, and relented. Holding back had likely gotten Dorothea killed.

  If I had to sully my hands to protect these people, to protect the city, then so be it. I would sooner live with the shame than wear the shroud of guilt for their deaths.

  The power came readily, as if it had been waiting for me. The electrical chill flowed up my arms and hit my heart like a wave of frigid ice.

  One hand went to the pouch for a crystal, any crystal. My fingers found a hematite. That would do nicely. I drew the stone and shifted my stance, channeling the Deeps once more, after more than a year of abstinence.

  I unleashed a burst of pure energy, striking the refuse spirit across the face with the force of an out-of-control motorcycle. A gallon of sewage broke off, scattering on the ground, but the construct kept coming.

  My stomach churning, I drew more power as the spirit loomed large in my black-on-black view.

  “For the books!” said a defiant voice, and Igbe jumped over my shoulder to tackle the sewage spirit, checking it off course. I scrambled back as the red-streaked spirit clawed at the sewage spirit, joining the bloodied pack.

  Ever-more-familiar chanting filled my ears as Antoinette began her incantation. I registered “Papa Legba,” and the rest was lost on me.

  I paced back, steadying my breath through effort-strained lungs. The lungs and heart took a toll in drawing upon the Deeps as the power seeped into breath and blood to be channeled and released. My mother had the voice of a lifelong chain smoker and the only thing she’d ever smoked was Ayahuasca.

  How could I help the pack defeat this creature with the least effort? I was not Esther, who could wield power like a Wall Street banker wielded money. I had to be smarter.

  Sewage creature. Pollution. Disinfectant, bleach, fungus. Water. But we were a mile from the water already, and fairly well above sea level. But if there were a stream nearby . . . I searched my memory of the park, flashed to an image of a brook flowing off to the right of the hill we’d taken to get to the pack the first time.

  But converting the Deeps into water or drawing upon an aquifer would be even more difficult.

  “Push it to the stream!” I shouted, hoping the wolves understood human speech even in their original forms. Igbe at least responded, circling around and pushing the creature, lashing out with claws and bites, putting the thing’s back to the river thirty yards away.

  Foot by foot, inch by inch, the wolves and Igbe contained the beast, three keeping their distance while one struck, the others always close enough to respond when the sewage creature lashed out in respon
se to one of their attacks.

  It took a minute that felt like an hour, but the pack maneuvered the creature to the edge of the river. I looked over to Antoinette, who was chanting something in French, sweating.

  The water close now, I drew the Deeps and forged the power into a ladle, as wide as my wingspan. The power shifted from intangible to a semisolid muck, then crystalized into a beaten-steel texture, close enough for my needs.

  I lifted the ladle with another measure of power, grunting, then dumped thirty gallons onto the creature.

  Much of the creature washed away with the water, leaving behind a creature a third smaller than it had been when we arrived. I dropped to a knee, gasping for air as my alveoli screamed in protest at the punishment I’d put them through today.

  A serpent of water reared up from the steam, leaping into the air and then showering down on the creature, diminishing the sewage-thing by another third.

  “Hell yeah!” Antoinette said from behind me, her chanting ceased. I looked up through tear-blurred eyes to see the pack tearing the sewage creature to pieces, refuse flew from claw-swipes, Styrofoam disintegrating, garbage and septic fluid spilled like blood on the muddied grass.

  The clearing was ruined, but faster than I could have imagined, the pack and Igbe demolished the creature, and the rest of the mess dropped to the ground, as if below a certain mass it lost its magical viability, the enchantment broken.

  I focused on breathing, willing my lungs and pulse to normalize. By the time my heart settled down from feeling like it was going to combust, the pack leader had changed into her human form, wounds carrying over. A stomach-churning burn plastered the jacket and shirt to her body across her left hip and onto her back, and her face was a mass of bruises and cuts.