The Awakening of the Gods (Forgotten Ones)

by M. H. Hawkins

  “Darius.” The first male.

  “Arrous.” The protector.

  “Brontus.” The largest, strongest.

  “Glenstark.” The loyalist.

  “Ramus.” The runt.

  Lastly the woman stood up and said, “Nisha.” This time she couldn’t hold it in, and her lips curled into a half-smile that looked more like a smirk. Lowering her head to conceal her smile, she failed and could only chuckle. She nodded up at Fenrir and sighed, trying to keep her composure.

  Fenrir nodded at her, doing a better job at keeping his composure, but from the corner of his eye and across the other five men, he could still see Darius’s look of disdain; the way Darius’s narrowed and the way that his lips curl into a crooked, uncontainable snarl of contempt.

  Fenrir nodded and smiled at Nisha then went down the line, congratulating each of the other five. All the while he was thinking: this isn’t good. This is more than the normal amount of tension, he thought, and that one has the scent of defiance.

  But now was not the time, he decided. The ceremony was sacred, and Fenrir decided to ignore the issue for now. Speaking to all of them while staring hard at Darius, he said, “Seven are one.”

  They again finished Fenrir’s sentence. “And one is seven.”

  “Yes, we are.” Fenrir walked over to Darius and put his hand on his shoulder. A few inches taller than Darius, Fenrir looked down on him and smiled—hoping that the young wolf would put away his contempt and that Darius would own the mantra of the words they were speaking. Fenrir said, “Aye, we are… Seven are one, and the one is the seven. Once, there was only one wolf-god. Now there are seven. Seven wolves, seven packs… one family. One goal, united.” Fenrir kissed the top of Darius’s head, hugged him, then took a few steps back—scratching his beard as he did so. Again settling in front of the six, Fenrir said, “Now go forth with your packs. Feed them. Teach them… lead them. And at an appropriate time, at a time of your choosing… anoint them, as I have anointed you.”

  And they did.

  CH 4: Eat the Rich

  The Ancient Egyptians believed that when the wicked—the truly wicked—died, their souls were devoured by Ammit—a female demon that was part lion, part hippopotamus, and part crocodile. Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead, the Eater of Hearts, the Great Death. After death, after Anubis weighed the heart of the deceased, if the heart of the deceased was judged as being impure, Ammit would eat it—and with it, the deceased’s soul. After being consumed by Ammit, the soul was condemned to an eternity of torture, or it was just wiped away from existence… or so the legends say.

  Surely there’s a better way. Perhaps the wicked should not have to wait for death to be judged. Perhaps there is a fairer, better judge for the wicked—fairer than a transmuted demon made up animal parts. Perhaps there is a simpler way—simpler than a heart-eating monster—to condemn the wicked and purify the impure. Perhaps the wicked should be judged while they are still alive. Perhaps a wolf is a better judge of what-is and what-is-not pure… perhaps.

  “Eat the rich?” muttered the chubby man in the suit, looking at the basketball sized drawing on the beige-painted brick wall. Talking into his cellphone, he asked, “Eat the rich? What’s that mean?” The chubby man examined the poorly drawn face on the beige-painted wall, scraping his thumbnail against the words “Dammit.” The wet ink of the words rubbed off on his thumb, and he huffed. Into the phone, he said, “Huh? It means… Well that’s stupid. Yeah, well apparently this graffiti artist hasn’t heard about trickle-down economics. It figures.”

  Momentarily looking back, down the carpeted hall leading back to the hotel, he walked away from it and further into the glass pavilion of the parking garage. Time to go home to the wife, I guess. The chubby man sighed then jabbed his chubby finger on the down elevator button. Going down, he thought, aren’t we all. Looking out of the glass pavilion he was standing in, he eyeballed the parking garage. It was mostly full. At the far end, a few shadows were standing around. Their eyes glinted yellow in the concrete garage’s artificial lighting. It didn’t matter. The elevator dinged, and the man entered it, went down two floors, and then got back off it again.

  Jabbing his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his parking ticket and looked at it. Then he double-checked it, making sure that it was the right floor. B2, yep, that was the right floor. All the while, his cellphone never left his chubby, sweaty cheek. “No, Bob. I don’t care what they say. The stock options were vested, and I don’t care who-lost-what.”

  The chubby man pushed out of the glass pavilion and into the parking garage. “Bob, Bob… Bob. Listen. Listen to me. If they want to sue us, let them sue us. That’s why we have lawyers. And our lawyers are better and better-paid than anything the government can throw at us—the states?!” The chubby man pulled the phone away from his ear, made a pssfting sound, then laughed. Back into the phone, he said, “The states. I thought you were talking the feds. The states are nothing—minor league shit, at best. And if the customers want to fire up a class-action against us, they can go right ahead and do that too. We have enough paperwork to bury them for years. And if we don’t, we can always make more (paperwork). And the cost… There’s no way, no lawyer, in their right mind would go against us.”

  Pausing into a wobbling stop, the chubby man looked around the parking garage then huffed. Where the hell did I park? “Bob, let me call you back. The signal’s crap in here, and I need to find me car. Yeah, bye.” And the chubby man jabbed his phone into his pleated pocket and continued looking around for his car. Then he heard a voice that startled him, blindsiding him from the left.

  “Got a light?” asked the man—a large man in a weathered leather jacket. Oddly enough, he looked like a grifter but was leaning against an expensive German sedan. And he was standing next to the chubby man.

  Where’d he come from? the chubby man wondered. He could’ve sworn that he was alone, that the man wasn’t there a minute ago. What if he was a robber? the chubby man now wondered and swallowed the lump in his throat—which, considering the fluffy layers of his neck, was unavoidably discreet. Suddenly frightened and considerably less discreet than his lump swallowing, the chubby man looked around for a security camera. Surely they have to have a security camera around here. It’s a four-star hotel. They did. It was hanging overhead on a concrete beam. Well, it was supposed to be hanging overhead from a concrete beam. Instead it was dangling lifelessly from a tangle of wires. As much as I pay for a room in this overpriced hotel, he thought, they can afford to fix the damn security cameras.

  “Hey buddy,” said the man in the leather jacket. “Do you have a light that I can use?” he asked, now waving a cigarette pack in front of him.

  “A light?” the chubby suited man said. “No. Sorry. I don’t smoke.” Nobody smokes anymore, he thought then went back to looking around for his car.

  “I do,” said the man in the leather coat, as if he could read the chubby man’s mind. He couldn’t, not exactly, but he said, “I do… still smoke. Although… I am not exactly a man.” And he took a few steps closer to the chubby man in the now-sweaty business suit.

  By now the chubby man was certifiably frightened and turned back towards the glass pavilion. Nervous and trying to buy time, he said, “Know what? I forgot something in my room. On my way back, I’ll… I’ll, ah… I’ll ask the concierge for some matches. And then I come back down, I can…” His words faded out as he looked towards the glass pavilion.

  The glass pavilion was no longer empty. Two people, one man and one woman, were standing inside it. Their faces were nearly identical and stern looking, and they were also wearing leather jackets. Using mirrored motions, they looked at each other, grinned, nodded at one another, and then simultaneously turned and looked back at the chubby man. Then they grinned darkly at him and nodded.

  Closer to the chubby man, the leather-jacketed smoker to a step closer to him. He sniffed at the air then said, “You know what, fear has the strangest of smells. Don’t yo
u think? I wonder if you smelt of fear when you were doctoring those FDA reports or when you withheld those testing results from the board of directors—with the intent of manipulating the company’s stock prices vis-à-vis by getting the drug approved or… when you so recklessly used those poor third-worlders to test the drug. Where you frightened then?”

  Fire alarms went off inside the chubby man’s head. How could he know such things? “Those drugs were tested,” he snapped back, almost stuttering. Huffing, he added, “Why am I even telling you this? You know what, I’m calling the police.” The chubby man fumbled at his pocket, reaching for his cellphone.

  “That metal brick won’t help you. It won’t help you any more than those FDA reports or those stacks of paper shields you hide behind.” The man in the leather jacket leaned back against a glossy black SUV and lit his cigarette, grinning. After all that, he did have a light.

  The chubby man had just successfully pried his cellphone out of the tight sweaty pocket of his suit pants. And as he did so, something sharp sliced through the air and ripped it right out of his plump hand.

  “Ya see?” the leather-jacketed smoker said. He took a deep pull from his cigarette then nodded off to the side, at the concrete wall. The chubby man’s cellphone was stuck to the wall, pinned up by the thin-bladed dagger that had come out of nowhere. The smoker grinned and exhaled a cloud of white cigarette smoke. “Told ya so.”

  The chubby man panicked, he glanced at the glass pavilion again and was surprised to see that it was empty. They’re gone. And he made a run for it. Waddling atop his chubby legs, he ran as fast as he could. I need help, he thought, retreating to the glass pavilion while his darting eyes searched for help. He was almost there, to the glass pavilion of safety, when glanced up at the concrete ceiling of the parking garage. He smiled as he spotted something hopeful; help, a security camera. Different from the last one, this camera was properly bolted on the overhanging concrete beam, and presumably, it was also working properly.

  The chubby man slid to a stop and yelled into the camera. “Help me. Help me, please. I’m getting… robbed. They’re going to kill me.”

  Then another dagger shot through the air and into the bowed camera lens. Then another dagger shot through the air, severing the camera from its base and leaving it dangling like the first one had been.

  The chubby man swiveled his head, panicked and looking for the incoming danger and help alike. The parking garage was empty. And after a long start-up that almost looked like slow-motion scene, the chubby man was dashing for the glass pavilion again.

  But yet again, he stopped in his tracks. Two wolves, almost as large as the parked cars in the parking garage itself, crept out from behind two concrete pillars and stepped in front of the glass pavilion, blocking its entrance. Snarling, their eyes lit up like golden spotlights that were tethered to chubby man.

  Then the lights flickered, and the chubby man turned around and sprinted the other way, away from the wolves.

  The smoker, watching all the while, thought it funny. Watching from where he was before, he hissed out a grinning cloud of cigarette smoke and shook his head. A fat, crooked, middle-aged man trying to outrun two over-sized wolves. He found it all quite funny. “That’s not going to help you,” he yelled out, trying to help. “Besides, they’re not a threat to you.” The smoker took a long pause and turned towards the dark end of the parking garage. “But she is.”

  A curvy shadow that was darker than the rest of them was strutting up the isle of the parking garage, between the rows of parked cars and empty parking spots. Emerging from the garage’s downward-sloped aisle, she was as storm of swaying black satin. Without form, her movements were as elegant as a runway model’s. Then her eyes lit-up like azure-stars at midnight. Her voice echoed from afar. She sounded like a shot of chilled vodka; crisp, sharp, and seductive. “Marvin Fetalli,” she said, “the CEO of Enlightened Pharmaceuticals. You are an abomination.”

  The chubby man in the sweaty business suit, Marvin Fetalli, again slid to a stop. Chubby Marvin’s lips quivered, and he knew that there was nowhere to run. I don’t want to die, he realized, the words screaming inside him. What can I do? I can talk; I can reason with them. Marvin was always good at talking. “I, I, I… I have money. I can give you some of it—some of my money.”

  “Stolen,” said the approaching woman, her voice echoed through the parking garage and almost didn’t really sound real. “Stolen money,” she said, sweetly. “Stolen money swindled from your shareholders and free-market investors.”

  “N-n-no… I followed SEC procedures. I-I-I… followed the rules. I followed the SEC rules for the sale of options for insiders.”

  The smoker laughed out another cloud of cigarette smoke. “You reported favorable FDA results two quarters before you were legally allowed to exercise your vested options. Oh, and then you held off selling your other options for two quarters when you knew the FDA results would be less-favorable for Enlightened Pharmaceuticals’ other drugs. And all the while, you were the one manipulating the results. Okay, I’ll admit that you were less-greedy than some, and more coy than others, but legal… Oh no. Even if it was legal—technically speaking, it was all market manipulation, and thus, it was stolen money. Oh! And, you know, don’t forget about those people that died when you were testing your drugs on them.”

  “No, no, no… I-I-I… I didn’t break any laws. And the…. And the FDA results… they were statistically significant. They-they-they helped people.”

  As he tried to ration with the smoker in the leather jacket, chubby Marvin Fetalli felt his cheeks getting smushed together and his head involuntarily being turned to the side, towards the mysterious woman. Despite being so far away a moment ago, she was now right in front of him, in his face. And her hand was what was clenching his face and smushing his cheeks together. Despite the cold, angry look in her eyes, she was still quite beautiful. She leaned in close, moving her plump lips next to Marvin’s ear, and whispered into it. “Yes, the results were statistically significant. Ten percent, wasn’t it? Ten percent more effective than its generic counterpart, and patent-protected—so you could—and did—charge twenty times as much for it, relative to the generic alternative. But insurance companies would cover your drug, some would. If not, who cares? The individuals can pay, right? It was a record-breaking year for sales and corporate profits, wasn’t it? Those numbers were statistically significant as well.”

  The woman shrugged and took a breath before continuing. “Not to mention, for the drugs that didn’t make it through those first rounds of FDA testing, the side-effects of those drugs… well, you’ve seen the pictures. Haven’t you?”

  Chubby Marvin was shaking with fear, with guilt. The woman’s hand was still clenching his jaw, and part of his was afraid that she’d snap it in half with her hand, like crushing a soda can. He could feel her breath on his cheek, on his ear. He heard the women sigh. Then he heard something that sounded like an angry growl. Her wavy black hair grazed his cheek and felt like silk, and she smelt like heaven. She continued whispering into his ear. “Those deaths, were they statically significant? Would you like me to list them for you, their names. Or would you like me to list the side effects?”

  The smoker laughed out another cloud of smoke. “She’s good, isn’t she? Ma’am, do you want me to take him? Or the twins could do it.”

  The twins? After glancing at the smoker, Chubby Marvin started backing away from the woman as he realized something that forgot, something he shouldn’t have forgotten, the giant wolves.

  It all started with a giant thump. Then, on both his left and right, Chubby Marvin heard the sounds of squeaking and crunching metal. The sounds of growling and snarling wolves followed. Then out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the cars moving, bouncing and creaking. The twins were casually walking over the tops and trunks of the parked cars, one by one. Large and heavy as they were (both the wolves and vehicles), each of their padded steps sent the upper-class automobiles bouncing aro
und as their shock-absorbers squeaked in pain.

  Their focus remained fixated on Chubby Marvin, their yellow eyes glued to him as they passed over the parked cars and approached him. Then both hopped onto two separate car hoods—one blue, one red—before finally leaping onto the concrete floor of the parking garage. With their yellow eyes still locked on to Chubby Marvin, the twins were now growling at him, their furry muzzles rolled up and showing off their flesh-ripping fangs. Then they padded over to the beautiful, mysterious woman.

  As the wolves slowly padded over to the woman, each one settled in next to her, one on each side. Only then did Chubby Marvin realize how large they truly were. Standing as tall as the woman, each wolf nudged at her shoulder—sending her briefly bouncing left and right—before they settled themselves and sat on their hind legs. The woman, as she studied Chubby Marvin, patted each of the giant wolf’s heads and scratched behind their giant ears. “It’s okay,” she told them. Then they nuzzled her again and their wolfish anger seemed to simmer. “Down,” she said, her words suddenly soft and loving. “Raja, Sima, I said down.” The twins let out two reluctant, wolfish moans, and then they laid down on the concrete floor.

  The woman stepped forward, closer to Chubby Marvin. “Marvin, those that are gifted with power should use it to protect those without it. Power is not given so that you can manipulate the powerless. Its purpose is to help those without it. But leadership is hard—this I know. And when you make a mistake, as all leaders do, you should face it and make amends, as best you can. And regardless if your clan finds it in their hearts to forgive you or not, you should try to be better. Life leaves scars, and we all have to live with the scars of our mistakes, and with the scars from others’ mistakes. But if you are strong enough, you force yourself to remember the pain, to remember the scars, and you learn from your mistakes. You let them make you a better person.”

  The woman had a sad look on her face, and her convoluted words were clear enough. Her message meant only one thing, that Chubby Marvin should admit his wrongdoing and atone for his sins. He didn’t. Instead he did what they all do; he tried to justify his actions. “I-I-I… I didn’t do anything wrong. I followed the rules. I obeyed the laws. The stock options? Those-those were only paper. I didn’t do anything any other businessman wouldn’t have done a thousand times before me, what anyone would do in my position. And the FDA testing? That was only…”