by S T Branton
A wayward nail caught me just barely in the face, opening a long scratch over my cheek. I winced enough for Rocco to push me backward. We tumbled to the ground, still tearing at each other. Not the way I had envisioned things to go, but I was nothing if not a scrapper. Still, he was strong, and I struggled to get over top of him. The hideous caricature of his face, hairless and leering, loomed over mine. A thread of saliva hung from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s over. You’re the kill I will never forget.” He spoke with hot foul breath.
He pinned the hilt of Kronin’s sword up against my body, the blade so close to my face that I could hear it humming and feel the edge of its searing heat. Beads of sweat stood out on my skin. If it even touched me, I was sure I’d die. The thing was made to kill monsters; I’d seen what it did to humans. Every muscle in my body strained to keep it away from me.
Every muscle in Rocco’s body strained for the opposite. There was only one way this temporary stalemate could end.
I looked deep into his black, emotionless eyes, searching for any remnant of the man he used to be. All I needed was a shred of the hate I felt for him to ignite a wildfire within my soul. If I could get to that place, I could win. Because deep down, it wasn’t about Rocco Durant the vampire. He hadn’t been a vampire when he shot my parents.
He had just been a good-for-nothing sack of shit. And that was who I needed to kill.
“I know you’re in there,” I told him around clenched teeth. “And the second I see you—you’re as good as dead!”
At first, there was nothing. Just pupil-less black orbs. Then, something vague stirred down inside them. Something I recognized from that night at the docks when I had my gun up in his face.
The ghost of fear.
His merciless grip loosened almost imperceptibly, but I felt it. I lunged with all the strength in my body, sending him splaying supine across the floor. My momentum, unchecked, carried me up and over, into the position for which I had been battling unsuccessfully. Now I was the one looking down in triumph, Rocco’s mutilated face cast in the fiery glow of the god-king’s sword.
His black eyes bugged out. We both knew it was the end of the line.
“No. It is I that will remember.” Strength of the gods surged through me. I knew it was over. “Now go rot in hell, where you belong.”
Kronin’s sword went straight into his heart. The death was so instantaneous that he only had time to open and close his mouth once. Like before, his features sort of slipped back toward normal as he died, then disintegrated.
I felt no remorse at all.
***
The pile of ash from Rocco Durant spread over the bare concrete, as if even his base atoms couldn’t bear to be near each other any longer. I leapt to my feet and ran until I could drop to my knees at Marcus’ side.
“Hey,” I said urgently, resisting the desperate urge to shake him. “Marcus. Can you hear me? It’s Vic.”
He looked worse than before. My heart told me he was halfway through death’s door, but I couldn’t bring myself to give up on him.
“Vic.” He spoke just above a whisper and tried to smile.
“Wait. Quiet. I got you.” I looked around for his flask, spotted it, and snatched it up. “Here. This will fix you, right? It fixed the hell out of me.”
I frowned. Something didn’t feel right. I shook the vessel a little.
It was empty.
“Oh, Marcus,” I whispered. “No.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Why?” I bent over him and took his hand. It was cold in mine. “You gave me the last of it. Why?”
The tears in my eyes made his face swim. I wiped them away fiercely. I wanted to remember that face for the rest of my damned life.
Marcus took a labored breath. “Forgive me, Vic. I did not tell you…” He trailed off, took another breath, and resumed. “The wound I sustained in Carcerum was always going to kill me. There is no escaping Lorcan’s curse.”
“Lorcan?” I frowned. “You said he wasn’t the god of death. You said he couldn’t do that.”
“Anyone can kill,” Marcus answered. “You know that now.”
I blinked back the tears. “This can’t be happening. There wasn’t enough time. And I acted like such an ass.”
“Perhaps that is a fault which lies with us both.” He gripped my hand harder. “Now, listen. I do not have much longer.”
I sat back. “Okay.” Just this once, I could do what he asked and listen. I owed it to him.
“Do not be angry with me,” he began. “It is too late for that. But someone had to drink the nectar. And I chose you.” He indicated the flask with his other hand. “That has imbued the strength of Carcerum unto you. You must take up my mantle and fulfill my mission.” A sigh escaped him, and I leaned down again, petrified that I was on the verge of losing him. “I am sorry. It was a dishonorable way to do it, but I had no choice. I wanted to save you.”
A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. “Me?”
“You.” His smile turned sad. “Do not weep for me. Weep for the people I was unable to save. And then avenge them. Protect your people.”
“But…” I grappled with the reality of what was happening. There had to be some way to stop it, to trigger the magic that would let Marcus stay. “But we never found your warrior. What about the yogurt guy?”
He laughed fitfully. “You’re still so dense. I did find my warrior.” His eyes softened. “She’s looking right at me. It was always you. But I was too blind…”
As his words dawned on me, a strange burden settled on my mind.
“I’m not ready.” I didn’t know why I kept protesting except that I wanted Marcus to remain a little longer. “Also, you said the warrior had to spar with you. We never did that.”
“Yes, we did. In practice, perhaps, but your spirit was so fierce that it mattered not.” He squeezed my hand again. “Tell me you will accept it, Vic. Tell me you will strive to love this world in the way it deserves. Find the gods, banish them. Let your noble people live in peace.”
More tears had started to fall. “We’re not noble,” I said, my voice cracking. “But you are. And your nobility, it gives me hope. If you want me to take up the mantle, I will.”
“Thank you.” He blinked, but his eyes stayed closed for such a long time that I started to panic.
“Marcus? Marcus.”
“Did you know?” He opened his eyes halfway. “In Rome, we Centurions were given more than one name. Two, sometimes three. Do you have a name other than Vic?”
Confused, I answered without thinking. “Victoria.”
He smiled. “My second name… was Victorius.”
I lost it. I couldn’t help it. I tried to stem the sobs for fear that he would die while I was bawling over him, but they just wouldn’t be contained. Even though it hurt like crazy, it was also cleansing.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” I sobbed. “Don’t.”
He moved his hand a little. “I’ll never leave you, Victoria. Remember what I said. And… protect the people.”
“How? I don’t know anything.”
Marcus squeezed my hand, and he said it again. “Protect the people.”
Then his eyes closed. His hand went limp in mine.
And he was gone.
***
What happened directly after Marcus died happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure I was seeing it or just imagining. I saw it in his face first.
I was horrified, but the shock morphed quickly into wonder.
The aging process I had seen before began anew, but rapidly. His eyes sank into his skull, his skin loosened, and his lips disappeared. The hand still holding mine grew frail and brittle. His true age came through in a body that had carried him for thousands of years.
I didn’t let go until it was little more than bones wrapped in skin.
Marcus Victorius, First Cohort of the Roman Army, faded from Earth somewhat less obtrusively than he had arrived on
it after an interval of two thousand years. He left me kneeling on the second floor of a newly re-abandoned slaughterhouse, head down, weeping softly into my lap.
I felt so very alone.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there, folded up beside the place where my friend had spent his last minutes. The next leg of the journey had to begin without him, and I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to find somewhere soft and warm and dark, crawl in, curl up, and sleep until nothing hurt and I was whole again.
I couldn’t do that, so instead, I stood up to go home. The waning afternoon light caught on a piece of metal on the floor.
I gasped.
It was Marcus’s medallion.
Cautiously, I leaned down and picked it up, cradling it in my hands. The coat of arms gleamed up at me. I traced its curved lines with my fingers, and I remembered what Marcus had said about it.
It is said to keep the spirits of my father and our ancestors close, should I need them.
Well, Marcus was not my dad, but he had left this treasure for me, and I was determined to honor him through it. I lifted the golden chain and put it around my neck. The medallion settled beside my heart. It was warm, and then it got warmer. A glow that matched his hero-king’s sword emanated from the golden engraving.
Comforting.
A breeze passed through the room, spiraling in through one of many broken windows. I heard a familiar voice tug at the back of my mind.
I jumped in shock, and then began laughing. It was a sweet, joyous sound, and it echoed through the room.
Shaking my head, I said, “You and your damn magic keeps surprising me.”
Ah, Vic, Marcus said in my mind. At long last, you believe.
I smiled. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
Good. Then let’s go kill some gods.
Epilogue
The demigod stood with his back straight, his hands clasped behind him and looking out the picture window of the office on the top floor. His master was behind the desk like always, turned away from him. Lorcan did not like to talk to others’ faces unless the matter was very grave. He preferred the aura of mystery inherent to his myth, particularly now that he was free to roam at will, no longer confined to Carcerum.
What sweet freedom it was.
“My Lord,” Delano said softly, deferentially. “I have news.”
“Good?” Lorcan asked.
Delano sighed. “And bad, my Lord. I am sorry we have disappointed you.”
“Indeed.” Lorcan drummed his gloved fingers on the arm of his chair. “Begin with the positive.”
“The Centurion has been found—and killed.”
Lorcan smiled wide, his fingers coming to a rest. “This is excellent news indeed. That fool Marcus, always Kronin’s favorite pet. It’s a pity I didn’t get to witness his demise myself. But no matter. How did you fail me?”
“We have lost one of our locations.” Delano braced himself for a burst of Lorcan’s infamous temper, which, though rare, was the stuff of legends.
Before Carcerum, Lorcan had engulfed an entire citadel in the realm of shadow in order to punish a wayward king. He had extinguished towns by depriving them of light, just as a token of his displeasure.
Delano admired him so very much.
“Which one?” Lorcan’s fingers began to drum again. His voice betrayed no hint of emotion. “Not the slaughterhouse, I hope.”
Delano winced. “It… was the slaughterhouse, my Lord.”
He half suspected that Lorcan already knew and simply asked just to make his servant uncomfortable. It was part of his nature, after all. Not even his friends were exempt from the barest hints of his malice. Lorcan considered it a gift. To himself, as well as to others.
Now, the greater god sighed with melodramatic flair. “Oh, and there was so much potential there.” He turned his chair a few degrees. “Why is it, my dear Delano, that forces consistently oppose my plans?” The chair inched around a little more. “Which one of the greater beings accomplished this? Don’t fear. I know it wasn’t you. You are my most faithful, purest sycophant.”
“I am, my Lord.” Delano grimaced. “But it wasn’t at the hand of a god or an Apprenti. A human destroyed the plant.”
“A human?” Lorcan fought the urge to rub his temples. “How did he accomplish this?”
“She, actually my Lord. I believe that the woman was working with the Roman.”
Lorcan nodded, a sick feeling suddenly coming over him. He felt he knew the answer to his next question before he asked it.
“What are you not telling me, Delano? Even with Marcus’s help, she should not have been able to stop that rat Durant, not after he had my blood pumped into his veins.”
“You’re right, my lord. As always.” Delano played his part perfectly. He had not clawed his way this far up the ranks through dumb luck alone. He knew exactly how to fill Lorcan’s intentional silences, how to massage the ego of a god, and how to turn his phrases so that Lorcan would listen without ripping his head off. He was very good at his job. “The woman, she possesses the Gladius Solis.”
The name of Kronin’s sword cast a pall over the room. Lorcan swiveled back toward the window, sulking. Since the fall of Carcerum, he had allowed himself the hope that the cursed instrument had been destroyed. To know that it had fallen into the hands of a human woman was simply unacceptable.
The chair turned ever so slightly. The shadow of Lorcan’s legs was visible now, long and trim in precisely pressed black trousers. For a being who so seldom deigned to be in the view of others, he took great pride in his appearance.
“Delano.”
“My Lord?”
“Tell me you know what your next mission will be.”
Delano smiled slightly. “I can guess, my Lord. None of our weapons will matter as long as she, or one of the other gods, is in possession of the sword.”
“Correct,” said Lorcan. “So?”
“So, I will bring the sword to you, my Lord.”
“Amazing.” Lorcan settled back into his chair with a smile, the tension leaving him. Delano always knew exactly what to say. “You never disappoint me, Delano.”
“I strive not to, my Lord. And what shall I do with the girl? Releasing her would be most unwise.” He couldn’t imagine allowing a pest with her potential to go free, which was apparently exactly what Rocco Durant had done, the mutant dunce.
“You are correct once again, my servant. Bring the girl to me, along with the blade. I have a feeling that we will have much to discuss.”
Delano inclined his head in total respect. “For you, Lord Lorcan, I will do anything.”
“Yes.” Lorcan’s head returned to the proper position on his neck. His smile relaxed. He clapped his hands. “You, Delano, can do anything. And that is why you belong to me.” He settled his hands in his lap, and the great chair rotated slowly back to face the view of the city below. “Such a wonderful, terrible, awful place, isn’t it?” he observed absently.
“It is, my Lord.”
Lorcan nodded. “I will be pleased when it has been burnt to the ground.”
Author Notes - Chris Raymond
Written March 7, 2018
Dear Readers,
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
You’ve made it this far, and we are so glad you gave Forgotten Gods a shot!
Now, a little something about us. ST Branton, the author who wrote the book, is really the love child of dynamic duo Chris Raymond and Lee Barbant. Over the past several years, we’ve been writing together in the wee hours of the night and teaching together at the University during the day.
Frankly, I’m not sure how we haven’t broken up yet!
So, after writing superhero books in the city of Pittsburgh (The Steel City Heroes), scifi thrillers across these United States (The Jack Carson Stories), and an epic eight book—and counting—magical fantasy taking place in the far future (The Rise of Magic), why the hell would we use a pen name?
Good question.
Well, there’s plenty of reasons for it… but for now, let’s just say, it is a rebranding for a fresh series.
Now, onto the official author notes.
I love writing. Love it. Really.
I love the fact that people want to read our stories, and Lee and I get to weave together tales about good and evil, with characters fraught with issues to overcome and dragons to slay (or gods to defeat). In the process they make both themselves and the world a better place.
I had dabbled in writing for years. Short stories. Crappy romantic poetry. Non-fiction. Academic mumbo-jumbo.
But my first real fiction books were written for my daughter Simone. She was young, but ahead of her years as a reader. Mrs. Raymond and I were at our wits end trying to find books she would enjoy with content we would approve. So, I figured, why not write some stories for my little girl! Months later, the Arcanum Island Series was born. (It has since been pulled for reworking and will be republished in Summer of 2018).
A year later, after a few drinks, Lee and I decided to write together. We made a pretty good run at it, sold a bunch of books, and had a load of fun in the process. But before long, we’d developed a friendship from afar with bestselling author Michael Anderle (The Kurtherian Gambit Universe) and somehow managed to talk him into letting us write in his world, which was teaming with possibilities (and readers!).
Michael’s taught us a ton, most importantly about how to write a story that is kickass, while giving the readers what they’re looking for when they grab a book. Hopefully, we’re getting closer and closer.
Urban Fantasy has been one of my favorite genres for a long time. But before I met Harry Dresden or any other of the heavy hitting UF heroes, there were the gods. I grew up with a fascination with the Greek, Roman, and Egyptian pantheons. Pair that with a ridiculous amount of Dungeons and Dragons through my formative (non-dating years), and Vic and the Forgotten Gods series makes perfect sense!