by Kyle Olson
Interesting!
Tess hadn’t considered his cult of personality had grown that strong. Perhaps… Perhaps they’d been going about this the wrong way all these centuries.
Though, really, the nerve! They think she’s me? Hah! Let’s see her spend some time to make her coat look as good as mine.
She wanted to laugh, but she dare not try her ribs, so she settled for a good wheeze instead.
If Ifon is commended, even protected by his own nation… Sejit and Daontys might get ideas. They wouldn’t have to tip-toe about anymore.
That was something that absolutely, positively, couldn’t be allowed to happen.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Modern communications were a blessing and a curse. Sejit could get updates from her staff, both at the museum and the trusted few in the government, relay instructions, and generally run things from another continent, even separated by oceans.
Forty, even thirty years ago, the idea bordered on the absurd end of novelty. She remembered when the fax machine was all the rage, and certainly, rage was what that shrieking beast caused.
It also meant bad news traveled faster than ever before, and it was already among the fastest things in the universe even back in the days when no one knew what a postal service was.
Sejit had gotten the brief from Yf and Sophia, and later, Tess, when she’d recovered enough to awaken.
Not that she’d needed to contact them at all to discover what had occurred.
She’d taken up temporary quarters in a dirty hovel of a motel down the street, so to speak, from Daontys. Despite the fact it was the closest place, it’d be the last they’d think to look for her should they go searching.
The longer she stayed there, the more she felt an inclination to move to someplace more her… everything.
From the acne-riddled youth at the front desk who struggled with basic math when presented with cash to the suspiciously-stained sheets, the tiny, fuzzy television, and the dirty carpet that was, somehow, always damp for reasons unknown, all parts conspired to drive her into the open. In a half-serious thought, she wondered if allowing herself to be caught would really be worse than her present situation. At least the teenager had the presence of mind to avoid asking questions about Mun’skit.
On the blurry screen, a re-run of the earlier news program went over images and features of the massive creatures that’d torn down a few blocks in Sioun. Footage of fire and ice intermixed with those of the beasts. Speculation ran rampant that the white wolf was Ifon, and a lack of communication from Coanphany was fanning those flames. Some made a few guesses on the identity of the black jackal, but none of them hit the mark.
A small part of Sejit felt a pang of pity for Sartessorinova, who was possibly one of the eldest gods still around.
Residents had scoured up what ice they could and stashed it in their freezers. Several of the ice-hoarders were interviewed. Some had even bought extra appliances to store it, for it was a divine thing—the gods had returned! Such devout believers wouldn’t dare to part with their holy relics, unless presented with an appropriate sum, of course.
If there was some small comfort to be found, it would be that Daontys had performed excellent damage control. No police or fire engines had responded, nor any news outlets. The damage on the road-facing side of the structure had been mostly covered. Not the greatest job, but enough that the usual locals passing by wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. For those who even bothered to look at the mansion half-built into the cliff, anyways.
One more day to put an end to it. After so many years of constant thorns and annoyances, one more day was nothing at all. Yet, at the same time it felt like a day so far off in the distance it’d never come. Yf, Wophin, and even Sophia had urged her to reconsider, but what did they know? Nothing! Daontys would still be feeling the effects, as would Tess. Already she was near full-strength. Ifon would recover just as fast, but that was fine.
With Tess at her side, she was confident a gimped Daontys and Ifon would pose little threat.
Reasonably confident. Tess was still injured, perhaps more than Daontys.
No matter, it had to end. She couldn’t take another day longer than needed.
After seeing the same set of stories the second time over, Sejit turned off the noisy box and got to thinking. Victory was inevitable. As such, she didn’t worry about the winning, but the aftermath.
The contingencies and reasons she’d formulated to ensure none would question or notice her missing were nullified, owing to these recent events. No doubt it’d turn up that she was absent. Reporters were already bustling around the capitol, asking for a statement from Marshal Reith. That she hadn’t given one or even made an appearance was suspicious indeed.
Ifon would need an excuse, too. Or would he?
Perhaps, with a bit of this and that, she could turn things towards the same end in Yosel. Secure her position and build a following that would die for her—or better. But, that line of thinking went against the crux of what she was trying to accomplish.
…Still, it could be done short-term, at least. Use it to keep the mortals in line, get things moving in the right direction at a good pace, and then taper it off. Fade away.
Something to think about in the dimly-lit, musty room while waiting for tomorrow.
A new dawn, a new day, and whole new opportunities to survey the wreckage. For a place that’d just had two gods rampaging about, it was in, all things considered, good shape. Or, perhaps, it’d be more apt to call it clean rather than in ‘good shape.’
Ifon had expected to kick a few bits of rubble about or step on some errant debris at the very least.
“Seems things went better here,” he said as he took a seat in one of the few remaining pieces of furniture that hadn’t been smashed or reduced to a pile of ash. While the ground floor was a lost cause, the two basement levels were largely intact.
“Better? Yes, but far from ideal. Hu’phed killed himself to buy me a moment. Had it not been for him, I would likely have perished, or been forced to… escalate the situation as you did,” Daontys said, voice ragged with fatigue. Even gods needed their rest, after all, and his compulsion for tidiness was not doing him any favors. Neither did it help Wio, who was wrapped up in a blanket and dozing in a corner as Daontys had claimed her room for himself.
“You make it sound like that snake did a noble thing.”
“Yes, almost,” Daontys sighed, rubbing at the accumulated baggage under his eyes, “We both got what we wanted, though I was hoping he wouldn’t have been so eager. He would have been useful to have around.”
“Not that the same trick would work twice,” Ifon added, thoughtfully.
“Mmm,” Daontys hummed, neither agreeing or disagreeing. Then, in a rare moment—one that made Ifon want to sneak his phone out for a quick picture, the neat and proper Father of Gods, The Morning Dawn, The Light of the World, put his feet up on his desk and reclined, eyes fluttering shut.
“Tell me,” he said, eyes still shut, “What happened in Yosel?”
With a bit of preamble, Ifon launched into his spiel, coming to an end on: “Ultimately, yes, her strength with the flame was far stronger than I gave her credit for. Not just the raw power, but the way she used it with her gun, enhancing the power and speed or her rounds far beyond what they should’ve had. Masterful precision to go along with the strength.”
To anyone that might be listening, without knowing who was speaking about whom, they might have said they thought they heard the unmistakable quality of admiration in his tone.
“Get on with it, please.”
“I suppose I did wander, didn’t I? Anyways, her fire wasn’t the worst of it,” Ifon leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees, fingers locked together, “While she had me wrapped up in those flames, I felt something reach into me. It attempted to…” He took a breath, face scrunched up in thought, “Scatter me, maybe. Or disperse parts of me. Pull my thoughts and self apart.”
&
nbsp; Daontys cracked an eye and fixed it upon Ifon, “That’s rather vague.”
“It’s difficult to explain. Something you’d have to experience, though with any luck, you won’t and neither will I, again. I suspect if my will or purpose had wavered for even a moment, we would not be having this discussion.”
Daontys knew Ifon was not one consider much of anything a threat, least of all Tess, yet here he was. Both eyes opened.
“She could pierce your thoughts, you mean? Alter them, control them?”
“No, not like that,” Ifon shook his head, pausing to think of his next words. He cracked his knuckles. “Imagine a jackal, dark as eternity, on the hunt for the immaterial. It was hungry, chasing prey to devour and consume. Not just thoughts, but my being. The more I think about it, the more I realize I was… Yes, afraid. Hence my eagerness to put an end to her threat.”
The feet came off the desk. “Soul manipulation, then? Quite rare. Yet, now we know Sejit has two allies possessing such feats. Hmm. If nothing else, we have learned why Sejit keeps Tess around.
“For all the good that does,” Ifon snorted, “And to think the other one, who escaped me all those years ago, would be the one to save Tess. I should not have held back as I did,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“You wished to minimize the damage—nothing wrong with that. And yes, Yf. If not for that tiger, he, she, whatever, would be a laughable prospect at best. Even then, that animal...” Daontys came up short, as Ifon was glaring at him. “…That said, we can deduce it was likely Yf who had a hand in the creation of the sphinx. The purpose behind her choice in acquaintances has become apparent.”
“About her. I got one look at her, as she fled from the battle, running away on all fours. The flicker burns within her, but barely. I don’t think we have much to worry about from her for a while yet, if ever.”
“Yet,” Daontys repeated the word with a certain harshness, “A dangerous word. A pity you couldn’t ask her a few things,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall any rebuttals from Ifon, “And no, I do not mean to imply any failings on your part. At this point, much as I hate to throw away potential resources, I believe it would be best to simply deny them that one before it becomes a problem.”
“You’re probably right. Should she learn about the library, let alone its contents—took forever for someone to silence Lorithyl.”
“Exactly. That aside, we need to attend to the matter of Sejit’s inevitable return and retribution.”
“Yes,” Ifon said, gruffly, as he stood, “Knowing Sejit, she’ll come knocking once she’s recovered, regardless if anyone else has.”
A hint of worry crossed Daontys face, “That would be reckless, even for her. Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. You may be exhausted, Tess is probably still half in the grave, but Sejit? Me?” He thumped his chest, “We’re Gods of War. How laughable would we be if a single battle was enough to tire us! While the enemy is licking their wounds—that’s the best time to strike.”
Daontys glowered at the implication but couldn’t argue the point. Indeed, if Sejit recovered as if her fight had never happened, an immediate follow-up would be opportune. “Be that as it may, I find it surprising as there is already so much attention from the world at large. She may be persistent, but I have never considered her stupid. Continuing this squabble without allowing for events to be forgotten, that seems to me it would be detrimental.”
“Ah, but you forget,” Ifon said, raising a brow, “We didn’t just threaten her, but we made good on it. If I were in her position, I wouldn’t wait any longer than necessary, either. Actually, I’m surprised she hasn’t already come around to collect on her dues.”
The Sun God could only sigh, “You would know her best. So, then, since we have been graciously afforded time, let us make the best use of it,” he said, steepling his fingers together.
CHAPTER FORTY
President Temmen, the Chief of Internal Security and Welfare, Darrin, and several top military officials were seated together within a gloomy chamber dubbed “The War Room” by various interns and the like throughout the years. Function had taken precedence over form and no one thought to panel over the barren, concrete walls. Someone had, however, thought to install a large, flat-panel television on a wall with an approximation of what the view might’ve looked like had it been a window. A secure, safe room, yes, but not one any person wished to stay in for any length of time. Such was security.
“And you’re positive?” Remarked one general.
“Without a shred of uncertainty. Many key factors agree, and we have the testimony of an eyewitness who managed to escape alive, albeit with minor burns,” answered Darrin.
“We got a real bitch of a problem here, eh?” said President Temmen, reclined so far back in his chair it threatened to topple, “A weapon like that just up and walkin’ around.”
“Sir.”
“So what’s the alternative? Throw a battalion at her? Seems a bit overkill.”
“If the reports are accurate,” said another official, a special forces colonel, “A battalion of infantry would meet a similar fate. There’s just no way to focus their firepower on a single target like that.”
A chorus of “Mmm” resounded around the table.
“Air strikes, then?” said the Secretary of the Air Force, perking up now that he had his moment to shine.
“I ain’t too keen on bombing our own soil,” Temmen said, looking across the table just above tented fingers, “One wrong move and we’re in for a world of hurt. Press’ll come down on us and raise all kinds’a hell. We need to be sure like we’ve never been sure about anything.”
“Sir,” Darrin agreed, “While we cannot be 100% certain, there are few individuals matching her height, complexion, and build, and even fewer that would book a trip to Erton so soon. She is after someone here.”
“Maybe that wolf, eh? Or maybe she is the wolf!”
“That’s… A possibility,” said the Chief, uneasily.
“Nonsense. Rubbish and utter nonsense!” said a general.
“Yet,” the colonel said, “We have two attacks from this woman, unleashing destruction that would take… I don’t even know what, without any sort of visible or apparent weaponry. I am willing to bet there’s a connection.”
“Hogwash,” muttered the same general.
The air grew gloomier still. What they were about to embark on in their discussion was something reserved for the realm of tyrants and dictators, ruthless despots who thought nothing of their own people. It was one thing to do tests and train in some desolate stretch of land with a nice perimeter and ample warning to stay out, and quite another to track a person and drop weapons on her location in what would possibly be a crowded, civilian, area. Should she never leave the safety of numbers or if there was a risk of her leaving the country…
“Our missiles are precise as they come,” the Airforce Secretary began, “Accurate enough to send it through someone’s mail slot from a thousand miles away, and we have a few models where the explosive force is relatively weak and directed, to minimize unwanted damage.”
“Relatively,” scoffed Temmen, pointing at the Secretary with a pen, “We both know that means what, only ten or twenty or a hundred of our own people get all wrapped up in it?”
“Should we find a moment when, say, she’s driving, it would be small enough to limit causalities to her, the vehicle she is in, and possibly the immediate vicinity,” the Secretary added, chest puffing with pride knowing his weapon could hit fast-moving targets as well as mail slots.
“With our team deployed, we’ll be able to use our spotters to guide in any additional ordnance as well,” said the colonel, “And if need be, clean up any leftovers that may exist after the strike.”
More general agreement and muttering followed between the military staff, while President Temmen and his Chief of Security remained quiet. Neither had a military background, but each was aware that, at a certain rank, a casualty stopp
ed being a friend, a comrade, or even a person, and instead became a figure in the grand calculations of the math of war. It was heartlessness built into the chain of command; how else could a man bear the weight of knowing that at the end of an action, or operation, or conflict, or war, there was going to be a figure in that column, both combatant and non-combatant.
But, outside The Endless War, Erton had not experienced a conflict upon its own soil since its inception. The concept of Ertonese civilians at risk on their own ground was unsettling. This was going to be a defining moment in Temmen’s presidency. A maniac who thought nothing of killing his own population or a hero who snuffed out the threat of a god before it could do any major harm.
A god. He leaned back in his chair and had a good chuckle at himself. Myth and legend had come back. Much like most of his nation, he didn’t belong to any religious group, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t believe in anything. Most folks had their beliefs, a sort of muted spiritualism. A temple or two could be found in most cities, where people could pray for good health and fortune and so on to someone, or no one in particular.
This latest incident underlined the fall of worship, because, after all, if the gods were so powerful, then why did they skulk about? He had a thought.
Temmen stood, placing his palms against the table’s surface. He looked each man in the eye.
“We know of only two… gods,” he said, testing the word, “All throughout history there’s been tons of ‘em. What’s to say they won’t come boiling out of the woodwork if we attack this one?”
“History,” the Secretary of the Army said, “Says that the gods of old fought each other as much as anyone. If any others exist, they might well cheer on the fall of a rival. Just look at that business in Yosel.”
“And what if we throw some missiles at ‘em, some troops, and they still come out smellin’ like a rose. What then? Now we’ve gone and poked the wrong damn sleeping dog. If we do this, we need to be sure we finish it.”