by R. E. Vance
Chapter 3
Coming Straight from the Underground
The BisMark walked over to us with his usual princely demeanor. He approached Stewart and ran his hand along the gargoyle’s diamond chest. Then he put his hand on the leg of Poseidon’s statue and in a forlorn tone said, “So many sacrifices. So many hurt.” He shook his head as if chasing away a depressing thought and turned to the audience. “This isn’t the first time this has happened. We have sent Tiamat back to the depths before. And I promise you this … We will do so again.”
“Sent what back to where?” I asked. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but if someone doesn’t start talking soon, I’m going to release my own Tiamat.”
“Jean.” Miral looked at me with the same angelic pity that you’d give a puppy about to be put down. Medusa, on the other hand, was doing something a bit more practical. She was on the phone. Since I was gargoyle-encumbered on the stage, I was eye level with the seven-foot-tall angel, who still stood on the main floor. Miral started up, “Please be serious. We must figure this out, and it—”
I pointed at the angel. “If you say this doesn’t concern me, I swear to the GoneGods, I’ll scream.”
“Oh no, Human Jean-Luc. This very much concerns you,” The BisMark said, and without a warning, one of Stewart’s gargoyles jumped on my back. You know that expression “monkey on your back”? I never understood it until that moment. I tried to move, but the gargoyle was heavy and cumbersome. All I managed was to hobble around—there was no way I could run, throw a punch or do anything useful. Hell, pouring myself a cup of coffee would’ve been a challenge. I tried to shake him off, but his grip was solid. It was like thrashing about with a backpack full of rocks. Every swing rattled my spine, and if I continued doing it, I would throw out my back.
“Get off me, you garden gnome!” I screamed.
“Hey,” cried out an actual gnome in the audience.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to pry off the gargoyle. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Tickle him? Do gargoyles even have a ticklish spot? “Get this thing off of me, BisMark. Now.”
Conner stepped forward. As soon as he did, another gargoyle jumped on him, this time wrapping its arms around his legs. “What the—” he said. “Unhand me.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” The BisMark said. “You see, you’ve stepped in the middle of a … family dispute. Until I’m positive you have nothing to do with this, I can’t let you go.”
“Family dispute?” I said. “I don’t know what you think we’ve done, but—” The BisMark raised a hand to silence me, a very stately gesture that in the days of old brought most Others to their knees lest they offended the great consultant—but I wasn’t an Other, and I wouldn’t have known this guy from Adam (well, maybe from Adam, but you get my meaning), and I wasn’t about to shut up because some guy in a peacock-feathered suit told me to. I shuffled over to him, groaning with each painstaking, gargoyle-heavy step, and put my finger right in his face. “If you shush me one more time, I’ll—” But before I could finish, a small, cold granite hand covered my mouth, muffling my protests.
The BisMark looked at me and sighed. “For a human who doesn’t relish the spotlight, the gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.”
“Mmmm, mmmm,” I said in retort. No one could understand what I was saying, but I swear by the GoneGods that it was the sweetest comeback in history.
Conner dragged the gargoyle two steps closer to The BisMark and poked a finger at the Other’s peacock-feathered chest. “I’m an officer with the Paradise Lot Police. Assaulting me is a criminal offense. Now, tell your minion to unhand me. As for Jean-Luc, you can keep him until we get this whole thing sorted out …” Conner looked over at me and shrugged in way of apology. I nodded in understanding.
“I know who you are,” The BisMark said, “but I’m afraid there are higher laws being obeyed here. I’m sure the police chief will understand.” Then, turning his back on Conner, he addressed the audience. “As I said, this is not the first time we have returned her to the depths. We must prepare, and I ask each one of you to do your individual rites. We have one chance at this, my fellow Others, and it will be a logistical nightmare. Lucky for you, logistics is just my thing.”
Atargatis backed away. “This isn’t my fault.” As soon as she spoke, another gargoyle bear-hugged her. Seeing it on someone else showed me how ridiculous this whole thing was. She was being embraced by stone. “I was tricked,” she said.
“By whom?” The BisMark asked.
Atargatis’ eyes were wild with fear and anger, then they narrowed in thought. With spiteful hatred, she spat out, “My sister. She’s always hated me. It must’ve been her.”
“Then we must make sure that your sister joins us.” With a nod, BisMark signaled the remaining three gargoyles, who took to the air and left the room. “Tiamat will only return to the depths if all of the offending parties are present, will it not?” Atargatis looked away. “Will it not?” The BisMark repeated, more sternly.
Atargatis nodded.
“Very well.” The BisMark strode over to Stewart, who still held on to the children, and with a gentle hand on his servant’s shoulder said, “Everyone … prepare yourselves for what’s coming. You’ll find everything you need here.” He pointed at the centerpieces. They were made of crystals, gold, herbs, incense, objects of various shapes and sizes that were obviously religious symbols. The centerpieces weren’t gaudy decorations, but rather celestial care-packages filled with all your altar needs.
Then, in a stage whisper that everyone could hear, The BisMark said, “And you … if it’s determined that your negligence contributed to her summoning, will you do what you must?”
Stewart nodded, and his diamond face twisted into an expression of deep contemplation. “Yes, I think so. My gargoyles and I will climb the sacrificial altar with pride.”
The audience gasped in admiration.
“And with honor, my friend. Pride and honor,” The BisMark said, stepping off the stage.
It was a touching scene between two entities that clearly respected and admired one another. I would have been quite moved by this had it not been for two words that Stewart said.
“Altar” … and “sacrificial.”
But there was another part to this equation—the part that only comes up when those who die do so unwillingly. Offering: the act of giving another’s life—against their will—so that others may live. In the early days when the gods had just left, many Others made offerings, hoping that if they did enough of it, the gods would come back. Beheadings, stakings, burnings—all done in the name of some absent god who wasn’t listening.
Offerings weren’t as good as sacrifices. But under the right conditions, they worked. And the more blood, the more screaming, the more terror, the better. Also, the Other performing the offering had to spend a lot of time to get it right. It cost life—on both sides of the aisle.
Marty was right … I was screwed.
Hellelujah!
Chapter 4
Do You Even Realize the Sacrifices I’ve Made for You?
The word “sacrifice” means different things to different people. Before the gods left, humans usually meant it in the context of time. The ambitious sacrificed leisure for their careers, lovers sacrificed hours of precious time indulging their partner’s opera obsessions and parents sacrificed sleep for their hungry infants.
Sometimes a human makes the ultimate sacrifice—a firefighter willingly steps into the flames that could consume him, a police officer takes a bullet in the line of duty, a soldier fights until she cannot. But none of those brave souls wake up thinking that today would be the day they died. None of them walk into danger knowing that they would never walk out … For hope is always there, whispering that, although death is near, it wouldn’t take them. Not this day.
Sometimes hope lies.
To Others, “sacrifice” is something far more literal. It means giv
ing up everything so that others might live. It means knowing that whatever comes next, they won’t be there to see it. Sacrifice is cruel, swift and final.
And it only counts if you do so willingly.
So when The BisMark asked if Stewart would sacrifice himself should the need arise, he was referring to the ritual killing of his servant. And when Stewart said he would willingly offer himself up, he meant it.
It was starting to make sense now. The fight, why the other Others didn’t get involved, why Medusa tried to hold me back. Whatever was happening between Atargatis and her kids was some sort of sacred dispute that, if you got involved, meant you tied your fate to her. If Atargatis was innocent, then so were you. But if she was guilty, then you were guilty too, and that was punishable by death. That’s why The BisMark wanted Conner and I shackled. He blamed Atargatis for whatever was going on, and when Conner and I helped the poor Assyrian, we were protecting her, which made us also guilty. It also explained why he wanted Astarte here … she could have framed her sister. If enough of those involved were offered up, it could work.
Whatever was going on, if The BisMark had his way, it would ultimately culminate in a sacrifice—as in the Temple of Doom, the “ripping out the heart” kind of sacrifice—to appease the gods.
But the gods were gone. The Others were just following some broken script. I understood that some cultural habits die hard, but this wasn’t like circumcision or not eating pork. Others’ lives were on the line. My life was on the line.
I could point out that sacrifice and sacrificial offerings were archaic practices that were old school centuries before the gods left. I could argue that with the gods being gone the whole point of it was moot. I could also mention that sacrifice—human, animal or Other—was illegal. But seeing how the room burst into a flurry of activity as the Others organized themselves for the sacrificial ceremony, I realized that my words would fall on deaf ears. And to think that three hours ago my biggest problem was letting Medusa down without hurting her feelings. Hellelujah!
I scanned the crowd hoping that good ol’ Miral would have a plan. After all, her date was just as screwed as I was. But I couldn’t find her anywhere. I mean, how easy was it for a seven-foot-tall, model-gorgeous angel with dove-white wings to disappear in an open ballroom? Somehow the angel managed to do it. Medusa, on the other hand, sat at our table, looking up at me with an expression that simultaneously conveyed annoyance at her ruined date and concern that my getting offered up made her prospects for another date unlikely. OK—I’m being harsh. But she was just sitting at our table, fumbling with her phone nervously, while all her snakes drooped down over her shoulders.
Atargatis quietly sobbed as her gargoyle sat attached to her like some well-crafted giant turtle shell. She was apparently resigned to her—our—fate. Officer Conner, on the other hand, was considerably less resigned and was trying to pry off his gargoyle boot with a knife and fork.
“It’s no use,” I started to say, but the words came out muffled. Damn gargoyle. I remembered how, when I was a kid and some bully covered my mouth with his palm, I licked it and the kid recoiled in disgust. I licked the stone hand. The gargoyle didn’t recoil. He didn’t even seem to register my committed tongue action. All I got was a mouthful of granite.
“Does this always happen?” Conner asked.
“Yes,” I said, but it came out, “Yeshhh.” “Yeshhh, it awways daaaz.”
“Remind me next time I’m invited to one of these shindigs to politely decline,” he said.
“Meaaa, twww,” I agreed.
↔
The hubbub of preparations continued. The BisMark came over—calm, confident and completely unfazed by the fact that three dozen species or so were preparing to rip out my guts.
He gestured to the crowd. “Look at them. How they scramble to get ready for an event that hasn’t occurred in a millennia. One ritualistic sacrifice and you’d think they’re preparing for Christmas.”
“Yah kunt duh tis,” I said.
“Excuse me,” The BisMark said. “Oh, how rude of me. Gargoyle, remove your hand from the human’s mouth.”
The gargoyle did as instructed, and I repeated, “You can’t do this.”
“But we have to,” The BisMark said. “Atargatis ate one of the Holy Carp of Urfa.”
“So what?” I asked.
The BisMark’s eyes narrowed before a playful smile appeared. “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”
“Sadly, no,” I said.
“The Holy Carp of Urfa … they’re no ordinary carp. They’re her spawn. Her first children. The first carp to ever come into this world. The bread of flesh that your species first farmed from the rivers and the seas. Entire fishing villages grew around their appearance, fishing villages that became towns that became cities. They’re the spark that allowed the rosebud of civilization to blossom.”
“Again … so what?” I said.
He leaned in close so no one could hear him. “So … when the world was young and the Others of power fought for followers, it was the carp that Atargatis birthed into the world. But when the humans did not immediately bow down, she placed a powerful boon over the first of her children—a constant reminder of what she did for your species. Eat the fish of the sea and live, but eat one of the Holy Carp of Urfa … and die.”
He appeared to stifle a small smile. “One of those sacred fish has been eaten, and now an old curse is rebirthed.”
“OK, I get it. She had a bad fillet of fish. What’s the game here, BisMark? I’ve seen your kind make a bid for power, but sacrificing a bunch of innocent people to get it—that’s overkill and ridiculous.”
“This is about more than just bad fish … It’s about the End of Days. You see, when Astarte’s clan were trying to ascend to godhood, they put an apocalyptic protocol in place. When they failed to become gods, that same protocol was incorporated into other pantheons.”
“Incorporated?”
“Yes, think of it as a hostile takeover. They were downgraded and their assets were transferred into the new holding company. In this case—companies. After all, why waste such valuable resources like world-ending monsters?”
“Yes, why waste such a thing?”
“Sarcasm?”
I nodded.
“Good—I’m becoming more human every day,” The BisMark said. “If I may continue, Tiamat has many names. In Norse tradition, she is Ragnarök. In Christianity, she is the Four Horsemen. The Beast, the End of Days … Tiamat was an early way for the gods to end the world. And now she’s been awoken. Now she approaches.” The BisMark examined his fingernails as he spoke. “Rather silly of them to leave her behind, considering that the gods are the only bloodless way to stop her.” He eyed me. “Well, almost bloodless.”
“‘Tiamat’?” I asked.
The BisMark sighed and leaned in close. In a whisper, he said, “Big fish, lots of tentacles. Relentless hunger. That is what approaches.”
“Great! You released the kraken.”
“The kraken?” he said. “The kraken isn’t real.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re kind of splitting hairs here.”
“Perhaps.” He leaned back and stretched out his arms with a lazy, exaggerated yawn. “Regardless, when we present you and Atargatis and everyone else involved in this horrible offense, it should send her back to the deep.”
“It won’t work.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“For one thing, sacrificing anything is illegal. For another, you’re sacrificing us to gods who are gone. But the real reason is, it will serve nothing.”
The BisMark laughed. “The answer to your protests is one and the same. Yes, the gods are gone, but there are the AlmostGods that still walk amongst us. And one of their oldest and most sacred rules has been violated.”
“Once-, Almost-, Gone—it doesn’t matter. You’re sacrificing us for no reason.”
“First of all, Mr. Matthias, because you’re not willing to submit,
we cannot sacrifice you.”
“Good.”
“That is why we submit your life as an offering, in hopes that it will appease Tiamat.”
“And the difference being …?”
“Sacrifice is willing, whereas an offering is generally not. Also, let me remind you that your death will save the world.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. If I had a penny every time I’ve heard that—”
“You would not have much money,” The BisMark smirked. “Please, Jean-Luc, enough posturing.”
“Fine, enough posturing. What’s your plan?”
“My plan? Why, to send Tiamat back.”
“No … your real plan. Why did you summon her in the first place?”
He looked at me, confused. Then his confusion turned to amusement. “You think I did it.”
“If it looks like a peacock, squawks like a peacock, then it must be an egotistical, power-hungry Other, hellbent on bringing the world to its knees.”
“I see,” BisMark said. “Very well. I’m guilty … You caught me.” He held up his hands in surrender. Trouble with Others is that they don’t have the same intonations and facial expressions as humans, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or serious.
“So what’s the plan? Save the world and be a hero?”
“I wouldn’t say that was my plan, but if you insist.”
“And let me guess … This will only work if you offer the guilty, right?”
The BisMark nodded.
“So that’s why you’ve orchestrated it so everyone but you is guilty. I’ll even bet you don’t know exactly who did what, right? So you’re just going to offer up everyone? Even your faithful servant, Stewart.”
The BisMark nodded. “His negligence that allowed the fish to be switched. As for who actually switched the fish … It was you and the succubus who retrieved it from the dock. You could’ve done it. Or Astarte. Or both of you.”
So that was it—offer up a half a dozen people for sacrifice and hope that you get all the guilty ones in the mix. If a few innocents get caught in its wake … so be it. The BisMark was living up to his reputation. Cool, calculating, logical.