Running on Empty (Journeyman Book 6)

by Golden Czermak

  “Caldran is my name, Your Highness,” the courier replied without turning, hiding a mist that was in his eyes.

  “Well, thank you Caldran,” Meriden stated, bowing herself as he turned ever so slightly to see it. “I owe you a lot and should we emerge from the other side victorious, please promise to return here for a… longer discussion.”

  “Your Highness honors me,” he replied, “and should consider it done.”

  With that, Caldran passed beneath the arch and was gone.

  Bong…

  The tower was again roused, calling out across the four winds to the entire Otherworld. Forces began to muster upon hearing the toll of ringing bells and horns like a choir as they resounded from Dún Gorias throughout the forests of the Land of the Young, all the way to the mountains of the Land of the Living, and to the sweeping plains in the Land of the Wise.

  Riders sprang onto the backs of their winged mounts, horses and cockatrice alike. Joined by mages and archers, plus fairies and sprites, they all launched into the air like a thundering Celtic storm, spurred by their honor in heeding the call they to which they were bound.

  Back on Earth, the Cliffs of Moher sat beneath a stunning sunset, the sandstone cliffs beaten harshly by the deep blue sea.

  Suddenly there was an earthquake, the land trembling as a low rumble traveled along the cliffs. Chunks of it fell into the sea and a sludge burst out of the ground in four towering jets. Gigantic, rocky arms were in them. As the rain of mud ended, those arms fell forward, crashing in the center with a mighty boom and the gateway to the Otherworld was unlocked.

  A light flickered to life beneath the stone henge, forming a dazzling portal of light. Winged beasts began to emerge, a few at first but quickly growing into hundreds. They circled the area before swooping into the dusky Irish sky.

  Leading the formation, the largest cockatrice flapped its wings, letting loose a terrible cry.

  “Aye, that's right laddie,” came a diminutive voice from its rider, “we’re off again!”

  The mount let loose another shattering roar, Brennan giving the beast a quick pat on its feathered head. The wee leprechaun then thrust his sword forward, laughing with a grin ten times bigger than he was tall.

  IT HAD BEEN a cold and utterly shitty day in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The dark skies were pissing hard rain over the tiny dive and annihilation hung over the world like a fog. But in Kyle Fuller’s mind, all of it was nothing that a cold beer from Leanne’s couldn't cure.

  As the bear shifter sat on a barstool scratching at the back of his tight jean shorts, the last inch of amber beckoned from the bottom of his still perspiring glass. Not one to let things go to waste, Kyle seized it with his large hand and in less than a second the beer was gone.

  “Hey Annie,” he called gruffly down to a short but striking woman who was serving a gang of roughnecks at the other end of the bar, “I’ll take another when you get a chance.”

  She nodded her pretty head, handing over a set of shots to the gruff men before coming over.

  “God bless those men’s little hearts,” she said in a perky voice with a sigh, looking over Kyle’s tee shirt, “Kyle, honey, if your clothes get any tighter I’m going to start wondering if you ain’t shopping in the baby section at the outlets.”

  The brawny man grunted, sliding his empty glass over to her.

  “Well, I happen to like the fit,” he answered, smiling smugly. Flexing his big bicep, the shirt strained against his skin. “When I wear any.”

  Leanne tittered, somewhat flushed.

  “I never said I didn’t like what I saw,” she admitted, snatching a chilled mug to fill. A logo of a bear silhouette with antlers was etched into the glass. “Ya have the Bear Brew, right?”

  “That’d be it Annie,” he replied, raising one of his dark eyebrows.

  “Sugar,” she said as her pour finished, frothy head dropping down the sides of the glass “how many times do I have to tell ya that I hate being called that?”

  “As many times as those sweet cheeks of yours go pink,” he said.

  Leanne slid over the fresh mug and snatched up a rag to clean up the overflow. Once done, she turned away.

  “Then you’ll be doing it for a while I think,” she said, parading back down to the other end, knowing that Kyle was staring at her.

  She knew him well; he was indeed watching her moves, sniffing her air. Once Leanne disappeared into the back of the bar, Kyle took a big swig and his attention shifted back to the rest of the dingy hole-in-the-wall.

  It was busier than normal, most patrons taking shelter from the downpour. Noisy with conversation, warm with close packed bodies, and steeped in smoke, the mixed crowd of humans and shifters were having good times in the face of disaster. If Kyle had doubted that such a rough dump was worth fighting for, the people inside confirmed that it for sure was.

  “My brother actually deep in thought about something?” whispered a familiar voice from behind.

  “Miracles can happen,” Kyle answered thoughtfully, spinning his head to find Seth standing next to him.

  Seth looked down at Kyle, his blue eyes juddering.

  “Well brother,” said Seth with an edge to his words, “best finish that beer and pay up. It’s time.”

  “We got the call then?” Kyle asked, glancing up at him. There was excitement in his expression, mixed with unease.

  Seth nodded and Kyle considered his mug, yanking the neighboring barstool closer.

  “Sit,” he told Seth.

  “Kyle, we really don’t have time to…”

  “Sure we do,” Kyle insisted, pointing at the stool. “There’s always time for the crew. Take a seat. I mean this could be it, right? Best make the most of it brother, because the demons might end up stealing all the shifter goodness away.”

  Seth grumbled and sat down, unable to argue against spending a few more minutes with his family.

  Leanne reappeared a minute later, Kyle getting her attention with a flash of his smile.

  “Annie, a tankard of the same for my brother please,” he said, met by her eye roll. “Plus, go ahead and close out my tab. The crew has some business to tend to after.”

  BY DUSK IN Colorado, the Crosse homestead looked once again as it had before, desolate and sad. Three lights floated amongst the gloom, casting an eerie glow on the wreckage. Nary a party favor was in sight; nothing indicated that anyone had been there, especially for a last minute wedding.

  The lights flared with a sparkling glow and the sound of wings flapping resonated through the evening sky, Azrael and Samael making their way slowly toward the rubble of the farm house. Up the gravelly path they went, past scattered planks of picket fence, and across a ragged threshold into what had been the living room.

  Azrael slowed to a crawl, stepping over the uneven ground with one of his arms out.

  “There is still power here,” he said as if confirming a notion, pointing toward a rug heaped between piles of debris on the ground. “Can you feel it, just there?”

  “Yes,” Samael said while nodding very slowly, as if doing it faster would have stirred some great force, “which surprises me considering the Devil’s Ire and its Shackles have long since been removed.”

  “Well, I’m unsure if you can separate the energies, but I’m sensing all manner of things that either were or still are down there,” Azrael replied. “It seems that Charles was very interested in collecting magical artifacts of all sorts.”

  “Given that,” Samael continued nervously, “is there anything down there that could help?”

  Azrael hesitated, propelling his hands into his pockets.

  “There are plenty of things down there that could help, even some that I’ve never felt before,” he answered. “However, we can’t directly interfere… well, most of us can’t. We still need to see how this all transpires with Dajjal and be ready to act at the last possible moment.”

  “You mean if Gage doesn’t manage to kill Dajjal?”

  “Absolu
tely,” Azrael said, blue eyes unyielding, “because if Gage fails and Dajjal seizes the blade, things will be far worse than we can imagine… for everything.”

  A loud snap cut through their conversation and the two angels quickly looked in the direction of the noise, expecting demons or other dark creatures. Instead it was Marcus, joining the two of them.

  “Ah, I was just about to ask Samael to head down the path and get you,” said Azrael. “I have a question to ask: can you feel the power that is here?”

  Marcus set to close his eyes, his mind stretching out to every corner of the house searching for any traces of latent energy. Strangely, he couldn’t feel a thing, relaying that to the others.

  “Very interesting…” said Azrael. He turned to Samael and lowered his voice. “I wonder if this has to do with the Grail as well…”

  “Possibly…” Samael answered, Marcus boring into Azrael with a glare. “What is it?”

  Azrael’s face suddenly became inexpressive and Marcus then snapped his head back toward Samael, who was jittery. Both angels’ eyes betrayed them.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you are both acting really guilty about something,” Marcus observed. “But surely that can’t be the case, right, unless you’d care to shed some holy light on the situation?”

  Azrael passed a hand through his short hair and sighed.

  “We weren’t keeping anything unscrupulous from you, Marcus,” he said. “In fact, if we were to put it into terms you would be able to understand – you are blessed beyond measure; in fact, far more than any ordinary angel that has come before you, making you… extraordinary. Samael and I could sense it when you showed up at Whittaker’s, and then Michael confirmed it while we were at the mall.”

  “Speaking of Michael,” Samael interrupted briefly, “where is he?”

  “Back in the Chorus,” Azrael said, his face hardening with disappointment, “leaving the three of us here to represent all of angel kind against the throngs of darkness.”

  “Blessed… more than an angel?” Marcus muttered, not really knowing or understanding where this conversation headed. He fell quiet and continued to listen attentively.

  “Regarding the Grail,” Samael continued, “it is a remarkably powerful magical artifact, like the Ark of the Covenant. Its use constitutes a direct path to Heaven itself. You see, sacrificing one’s life on behalf of another – like you did with Joey – is the most profound gift anyone can bestow upon another. To do such a thing willingly…”

  “… Allowed your soul, Marcus Sheridan, to travel that path without hindrance,” Azrael added. “You essentially bypassed all the hurdles a soul must go through in order to get into Heaven and by means of that blessing, you are able to do things a lot of angels cannot.”

  “Like what?” Marcus asked, still processing what he was hearing.

  “The first thing we noticed was that you retained all of your Earth-bound memories when you told us of Paris and Dajjal,” Samael said. “Normally souls are placed within a set of the happiest memories they have, and why their angelic forms are therefore more complaint.”

  Azrael frowned with disgust.

  “Which is why angels just follow orders and don’t necessarily display free will,” Azrael said. “You, on the other hand, have that aplenty and can possibly return to Earth permanently, given enough drive to do so.”

  Marcus became breathless at the revelation, unsure of where to focus his attention.

  “Although,” Samael said with tempering caution, “if that were to happen, I suspect your angel powers would be diminished. I could be wrong though.”

  “But I would be back?” Marcus asked keenly. “As me?”

  “Yes,” Azrael said, “back on Earth as good old Marcus Sheridan. Yet, you would still be an angel.”

  “That doesn’t sound all that bad,” he said, eyes twinkling with hope.

  “Remember your immortality,” said Azrael, “which is a mixed blessing. You would be forced to watch those around you – whom you care about – grow old and, eventually, die.”

  As happy as Marcus had been, his opinion flipped completely.

  “There is one more thing,” Samael said. Marcus looked disparagingly at him. “No, it's not a bad thing, but is quite trivial in comparison.

  Marcus perked back up; he was an emotional rollercoaster.

  “You may be able to transpose your old body with your host’s,” Azrael said solemnly. “That is, if your host is agreeable to it. The exchange would relegate the young man to Heaven, ending his earthly existence, but that would allow you to regain your body and be yourself… completely.”

  “Do I have to decide this now?” Marcus asked, overwhelmed. He wasn't even sure he understood the ramifications.

  “Frankly if you're going to go this route I would decide now. There isn't all too much time left,” Samael replied. “After all, the world is on the brink of ending.”

  Marcus shrank away; the choice before him wasn't easy.

  He would give anything to be back with those he cared about, but was it selfish to ask his vessel to give up his own existence? Part of him thought it was an incredibly selfish thing to ask, the other believed there was no harm in asking – after all the host had invited him in freely.

  Either way, it was a lot to ask of anyone and Marcus debated with himself for what seemed like forever. Finally, he plucked up enough courage to ask and he felt terrible about it.

  Stepping away from the other two angels, he closed his eyes tightly and began a silent conversation with Bradley Arnett. A short time later, there was a thundering rolling sound and Marcus opened his eyes wide. They were filled with an intense light that spilled out to blanket the entire area. His mouth cracked open, about to say something before being engulfed in white.

  “Thank you…”

  GAGE WAS THE first to open his eyes, looking out the dirty windows toward the East River. The day would be transitioning to night in about an hour and the warming light filtered in onto the decorative wood paneling of the Odyssey’s forecastle. As the deck faintly swayed and creaked beneath his feet, Gage turned his head and saw the rest of his team standing on the transportation squares to his left.

  Joey stretched his arms high above his head, letting out some kind of odd grunting sound while Adrienne yawned, trying not to laugh at his noisy gesturing. Ty was positioned down at the far end, looking a little worse for wear. Removing his hood, he hastily fiddled with his glasses before breathing out a heavy sigh.

  “Ya okay down there?” Gage asked, actually feeling quite good. He took a large step forward to get a less obstructed view of Ty.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Ty replied, his tone less than convincing, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all this transporting; and to do it back to back so many times today…”

  He seemed as though he was about to belch, or worse, but managed to suppress the urge.

  “Shit’s rough on the gut for sure. It should subside after a little bit and I’m sure ya have something to take care of the feeling,” Gage replied with a gentle smirk. He walked over to the windows. Taking one of his wide thumbs, he snaked it across the glass, noting all the smudges and grime smeared on the outside. “J, this ship needs a good cleaning after all’s said and done.”

  “I’ll pop that on the to do list,” Joey replied sarcastically, “if you remember to put a task on yours to look up where the cheapest airship washes are in the city. I’m sure there are lots to pick from, so be sure to check out the reviews…”

  “Ha, smartass,” Gage replied, swaggering back toward the exit on the opposite wall. He reached the lavish double doors and clutched their substantial handles. Pushing them open, he went out onto the deck.

  A cool breeze washed over him. He spotted Om walking onto the deck from down below; the short insect must have been on his way to the navigation room. Behind him were two familiar shapes, dressed in ridiculously tight clothes.

  “Well, I’ll be damned! If ya two ai
n’t a sight for sore eyes!” Gage bellowed.

  Seth and Kyle walked up to him, each giving Gage a hefty squeeze that caused him to gasp.

  “Damn, I can tell you both have been putting in the workouts,” Gage observed. “You’re looking great!”

  “Appreciate that, Gage. You’re looking quite… youthful yourself,” Seth replied, his blonde eyebrows jumping around in puzzlement at the lack of scars or tattoos.

  “It’s okay to say it,” Gage responded, having seen that look from every single Journeyman he’d encountered since returning from the dead. “It’s fucking weird, I know.”

  “It is fucking weird,” said Kyle so matter-of-factly as he shifted a backpack from one shoulder to another that nobody could tell if he was joking.

  They all laughed regardless.

  “I’m glad to see ya guys here,” Gage continued. “We are about to walk off into some deep and dark shit, and I dunno if there are many other people that could bring me the amount of hope ya two do. I don’t have to worry about sinking and drowning in it.”

  Kyle shuddered at the visual while Seth took point, saying warmly, “It’s never been our intention to abandon you along the way. Shifters are by nature a very proud people, pleased to be here to help our fellow crew and not ones to take disappointment lightly. Being able to join forces with the Journeymen and the Order has definitely been an eye opener for us, showing that the world extends beyond our own doorstep and petty squabbling. We’ve managed to convince a few more of us to come along, too; they’re down below, having dinner.”

  Kyle smirked, noting a tinge of anxiety in Gage’s green eyes.

  “Don’t worry there, big stuff,” he said, rubbing on his belly. “I made sure to look after you.”

  Gage’s face went flat, but not for long. It glowed as Kyle laughed, producing a small plastic container of pancakes from the rucksack.