by R. E. Vance
And I, awake in a moment that did not progress, could not move to blow the horn again.
A deep voice spoke as a translucent, ghostlike vision of Michael appeared before me. “Think well, human,” it said, “before you blow again.”
I tried to move my lips to speak, but could not … and still my voice came out. “Michael, what are you doing?”
The specter shook its head and motioned to the beach. There hovered the real archangel Michael, his wings spread out longer than two city buses, concern painted on his face. He was coming for me, but whatever stopped time froze him as well. Next to him was The BisMark, a look of shock on his face, his hand pointed in my direction.
“I’m not Michael,” Michael’s ghost said, “but I’m like Michael. For between us is only an iota of difference.”
Somehow, I didn’t think the archangel’s shade was using the term as an expression. It was much more literal. “What are you?” I asked. “His shadow?” It shook its head. “A projection? A shade? … An effigy?”
It nodded.
“OK—an effigy … Then what’s happening now?”
“An intervention,” the effigy said.
“An intervention? I don’t understand.”
“This trumpet holds the essence of creation itself. It can unmake, just as it once made. It’s up to the bearer to decide. When it was created, the Universe demanded that whoever should use the trumpet’s power will be given time to consider.”
“Like a safety lock?” I asked.
“A moment to reflect.”
“Are you trying to stop me from blowing it?”
The effigy shook its head. “No, that’s not for me to decide. I’m only here to help you choose if it’s what you want to do. Truly.”
“If I blow it, then we’ll stop the kraken—I mean, Tiamat.”
“Blowing the horn should send Tiamat back to the depths. But it’s also the signal for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to ride.”
“Four Horsemen of the Christian Apocalypse,” I added.
“So—you’ll be trading one end for another.”
“True, but I’m willing to bet that Michael could stop the horsemen. Much easier to deal with that than—” I couldn’t move, but if I could, I would have pointed to the mountain of water.
“Perhaps. But there are other consequences you have not considered.”
“Like what?”
“The first time the gods ended the world, it was done by water. Because of the defiance of one amongst men, the world survived.”
“Noah.”
“God promised that in exchange for worship, the world would never end by water again.”
“I know the story.” It felt strange talking to an effigy of Michael while I was caught, motionless, in midair. I must have looked like a photograph of someone falling, instead of a living, breathing human.
“Indeed. But what you don’t know is that Noah did not immediately accept his promise, saying that there were too many other, more devastating ways to end the world. He refused the terms. For forty days and nights the mortal and the divine negotiated, until finally it was agreed that, should the world end again, it wouldn’t simply be this plane of existence but others as well.”
“Heaven,” I murmured. “That was the deal? End this place and end yours as well? A mutual agreement of destruction? A cold war?”
The effigy nodded. “Noah meant it as a deterrent. If the horn is blown, Michael may be able to protect this place, but there is no one and nothing to stop all the heavens and hells from being erased as well.”
“But Heaven is already gone.”
“No, Heaven is closed. Barred off, so that no souls can enter. And Heaven is not empty.”
Then I understood what the effigy was saying. This second apocalypse … this end … had one side effect that not one of us had been aware of. Heaven would be destroyed, which might be fine if the big guy was still on the throne—he could do something, create another place, protect his denizens—but the gods were gone. All of them. And Heaven was unprotected, nearly empty save for one single soul that remained there. Bella.
Blowing the horn would mean her destruction.
“So that’s why Michael never used the trumpet himself. Not for Bella, but because he couldn’t destroy his home—even if he could never go back to it.”
The effigy nodded. “What will you do? Time—or rather, the lack of it—is running low.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t kill her … no matter the cost.”
“Very well,” the effigy said with a soft, understanding smile.
“You know,” I said, expecting time to resume and for me to hit the ground. “You’re much nicer than the real—”
Just then time resumed and in the split second that it moved forward, powerful angelic arms grabbed me.
“—Michael.”
Hellelujah!
↔
“What are you doing, human?” Michael ripped the trumpet out of my hands.
“You could’ve blown it and stopped this. And before you say it—you could’ve stopped the horsemen, too. Right? Right? But you didn’t, because it would’ve destroyed Heaven.”
Michael did something I’d never known the archangel to do before—he averted his eyes in shame.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
The archangel nodded, then dropped back down onto the beach. I looked up and saw that the Blood Moon was complete. Whatever window we had to stop the fifth sign was over.
I nodded at the mountain of water. “What do we do now?”
“We,” Michael said, reverting to his usual self, “do nothing. The BisMark will deal with the Beast … and as for you—Officer Conner, cuff him.”
“What?” I said. Conner forced me to my knees. “Again!”
Chapter 9
Crystals Are More than Just Pretty
Handcuffed for the second time today, I knelt on the beach and helplessly watched the mountain of water stop a mile from the shore. There was a hush over the crowd as the world filled with the sounds of rushing water pouring off the creature. A huge bulbous mount of flesh stood perfectly still in the sea, but before I could get a good look at it, a nervous-sounding human soldier cried out, “Fire!”
What followed was a barrage fire of machine guns and missiles. Bullet after bullet, missile after missile hit Tiamat. In all my years in the Army, I’d never seen so much firepower thrown at one thing in one go. Nothing could withstand that. Nothing.
“Come on,” I said to Conner. “Let me go.”
“I have my—”
“Orders.” I shook my head and stared at missile after missile pummeling Tiamat’s body. Hell, we all did.
Eventually the fire stopped, and just like in every monster movie you’ve ever seen, the mount of flesh was completely unmarred. The Army’s best little tricks did nothing to hurt it.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Tiamat rose out of the water. Apparently, that mount wasn’t all of her. It was just her back. What came out was skyscraper-tall, with a mouth that could eat a Boeing 747 like a cocktail wiener and tentacles as thick as four-lane tunnels.
Huge, friggin’ terrifying show-off! Gulp.
The BisMark ran up to the Poseidon statue and yanked out the trident. Then, returning to where he had been standing, he placed one hand on the crystal vat and with the other pointed the trident at the creature in the ocean.
The BisMark began his assault on Tiamat.
What happened did not have a visual element to it. There wasn’t any lightning that shot forth, no red beam of energy that struck the beast. There was no sound, no thunder, no crackling. And still we could feel the battle that raged on. Tiamat staggered back then lurched forward, her tentacles thrashing out of the water. Sweat dripped from The BisMark’s brow. With a force of will that I’d never seen before, he cried out—a dragon’s roar, a minotaur’s cry, a banshee’s shriek—“You shall not pass!” Then he turned to me and winked. Show-o
ff!
I saw bits of gray start to creep up his face. The BisMark was using magic—lots of it. “Not enough time,” he said, turning his head to the crowd. “I need more time. Will you help me, my gods’ rejects, my fatherless children? My friends of the old world and the new?”
The crowd went silent. Then a centaur stepped forward, put his hand on the crystal and said, “A year for you.”
The BisMark grunted in approval and thrust up the trident with renewed vigor. A minotaur offered six months, an ogre two years. Time flowed through Poseidon’s pointed trident, out toward Tiamat. The beast slowed, and with that, Others stepped forward, each offering a bit of their lifespan. Life exchanged to protect their new, mortal home.
↔
With over a thousand years offered, The BisMark continued to hold Tiamat in place until—miraculously—the crown on the beast’s head turned a stony gray. Just like the rancor, she slowly turned to stone.
The BisMark fell to his knees. “There—that should hold her.”
The crowd cheered, the Army boys cheered, and I could almost hear the world breathe a collective sigh of relief. The threat was over.
The BisMark turned to the TV cameras manned by human beings either too brave or too stupid to run, and—pointing the trident’s tines at Tiamat—cried out, “Behind me is the symbol that will remind us that together,” he pointed at the Army, many of whom still trained their weapons at the monstrous statue, “we can overcome any calamity, any problem … any threat that faces this world. Together!” And in true showmanship fashion, he grabbed the arms of the platoon’s commanding officer and the archangel Michael and raised them both in triumph.
As people cheered, I sat back and thought that this must have been the plan all along … to bring the world down to its knees and then save the day. Prove that Others are worth something, while solidifying his own hero status. And what’s more, he froze Tiamat into some sort of twisted Statue of Liberty that would stand as a constant reminder of what he did.
I had to hand it to him. His plan was brilliant—even for a master strategist.
The stakes were high, but I had to admit—if he played the rest of his hand well, Others could get a fair shake in this human-run world. Hell, the commander was already pulling him aside to discuss what to do next. Bad guy or not, maybe sometimes evil is worth doing.
I was on the verge of letting it go, throwing myself at Michael’s mercy and hoping that whatever punishment the Paradise Lot Police Chief saw fit wouldn’t be too severe when I heard a crack!
And slabs of stone flew off one of Tiamat’s tentacles.
Hellelujah!
Chapter 10
Calamari, Anyone?
The tentacle whipped down onto the beach, crushing two military vehicles under its weight. Michael reacted with preternatural speed, managing to get several of the soldiers standing nearby to safety, but even the archangel wasn’t fast enough to save the drivers. If we survived this, there would be a human memorial for those fallen soldiers, and there would be hell to pay.
A second tentacle began to shake off its stony encasement as Others on the shoreline started running. Soldiers opened fire, but all they managed to do was help Tiamat shed her stony skin. Michael and the Gruffs were busy saving as many lives as they could, while The BisMark looked up at Tiamat in shock and fear. He put his hand on the crystal and raised the trident once more. A bolt of energy shot out at the creature, and the two tentacles shuddered before freezing once more. But unlike the first time when he froze the creature, this time Tiamat shook, her solidification uncertain.
The BisMark wasn’t showing off this time—he actually breathed hard as he exerted his energy, time taking its toll on him. Luckily, he had over a thousand years of donated time from the Others to spare.
Yet I knew it wouldn’t hold.
The BisMark put a hand on Greg’s shoulder, his human Padawan clearly just as shocked as everyone else, and murmured, “Get to the helicopter.” He pointed at the metal bird that had brought in the oil rig workers.
“I don’t know how to fly the damn thing,” Greg said.
The BisMark shut his eyes. A flash of illumination coursed from behind the closed lids. “You do now,” he said.
“I don’t— Whoa. I can fly,” Greg said, and he scampered off.
Stewart picked up the crystal vat, and the two of them headed to their escape. Hell, no! They were cutting and running. Not like this!
“Conner!” I yelled. “Let me go!”
Conner looked back at me, his gun out, completely unsure what to do next. “No,” he said.
“Come on—look over there. The BisMark is making a run for it. Let me go. Let me help!”
Conner got down next to me. I could see the debate running through his head as his blue, crystalline eyes contracted. With a groan, he uncuffed me.
Free, I put my forefinger and thumb in my mouth and whistled. The popobawa, who was parked on the road off the beach, opened his back door and pulled the gem off the rancor’s head before he ran like a bat out of hell.
The rancor shook off flakes of stone and turned to flesh. Then it looked right at me, snarled and leapt out of the van. I ran to The BisMark, tumbling past him so that he would be between the rancor and me. Reacting swiftly, The BisMark backhanded the creature, causing it to fly fifty feet before it crashed to the sand, unconscious. Hell—The BisMark was strong. It took three of us to take that creature down, and we barely managed to do it.
Still, the rancor did what I wanted it to do: distract the great strategist long enough for me to get to my feet and charge.
The BisMark turned to grab me. I dodged him and rolled toward my intended target. The BisMark must have realized what I was going for, because he screamed—for the first time in real panic—as I threw my body against the statue of Poseidon.
The statue wobbled back and forth. Its stone crown teetered and fell off Poseidon’s head, onto the ground, red ruby—Eye of the Gorgon—glittering in the crimson moonlight.
The way I figured it, the statue of Poseidon wasn’t a memorial, but actually Poseidon himself. A crazy theory, I know. After all, the gods were gone. Except, a few months back, I met a god. Dionysus, the god of revelry, had remained on Earth, throwing out the theory that all the gods left. If he stayed behind, perhaps other gods did too.
And maybe, just maybe, one of the gods stayed behind against his will. Captured and held prisoner until just the right moment. From all the legends I’d heard about The BisMark, if anyone had the power to capture a god, it was him.
The once-upon-a-time statue of Poseidon shook, bits of stone raining off him in whirls of dust as he turned to flesh. But whoever emerged from the statue was not the god of the oceans and the seas—but rather a man-looking Other who was covered from head to toe in peacock feathers.
A creature that looked exactly like The BisMark.
The two BisMarks looked at each other in mutual shock until the original BisMark broke the tension with a devilish smile. “Oh darn,” he said in a cool, casual tone. “You caught me.”
END OF PART THREE
Part 4
Prologue
Gilgamesh’s Last Days—
Once-upon-a-time, were you to ask Astarte if she could love anyone, let alone a mortal, she would have laughed.
Yet Astarte has loved not one but two mortals—Gilgamesh and Enkidu. The three of them have formed a bond that could not be severed by sword, guile or magic.
Of course, Atargatis sent other assassins to kill Gilgamesh—Enkidu was not the last. But between the three of them, no warrior’s blade pierced Gilgamesh’s heart, no thief’s poison passed his lips.
Nothing could hurt him. And nothing could hurt them. Astarte, Gilgamesh and Enkidu—the inseparable rulers of Uruk. Together they pursued knowledge, worshipping the gentler, more humane principle of Nature.
The Assyrian valley experienced a rare peace that thrived for many years until Atargatis, still angry from being dethroned, sent her most pow
erful Champion to dispose of the wayward king. The creature has many names: the Beast, the Four Horsemen, the Bull of Heaven. Astarte knows this monster by another name, the name given to her by her mother—Tiamat.
Tiamat was birthed to punish mortals who offended the gods of Chaos. It was the being to consume all, and it would have if not for Enkidu’s sacrifice. His death sacrifice saved both Gilgamesh and his city from ruin. But sacrifice comes with a steep price: death.
Astarte hates death for its cruel indifference. Over time, she and Gilgamesh have learned to find happiness without their beloved friend.
One evening, forty-seven years after Astarte first met Gilgamesh and eleven years after Enkidu died, the Queen of Lust feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. She knows who is coming.
The balcony window is open, and despite it being midsummer there is chill in the air.
“You missed your wedding,” a voice says in the shadows.
Astarte says nothing, does nothing. She just waits for the voice to speak again.
“You’ve changed. I must admit, had circumstances been different, I would’ve loved this new you. But as we stand here—in his bedroom—the sight of you … new or old … disgusts me.”
“Are you here to try and kill my husband again, my dear sister Atargatis?”
“No … the Bull of Heaven was our last failure. Chaos will not send another Champion. Not after that foolish Enkidu sacrificed himself. We are fallen gods now,” Atargatis grits her teeth, “and forever.”
“What of Poseidon and that union?” Astarte asks, and she knows the answer from the way her sister’s shoulders slump.
“You didn’t come, so I stood in your place. Not that doing so has changed what we are to become.”
Astarte touches the pendant that Gilgamesh gave her once-upon-a-time. “We lost long before any of this started, sister.”