As Fenrir’s gentle words ended, a hammer slammed into Alec’s arm. But when he looked, it wasn’t a hammer; it was a dagger. Splitting open his forearm, its black blade pinned his arm to the wheelchair. And even as Alec squealed in pain, the elegance of the blade caught his eye. It was a nice blade.
More important was the pain. Ever growing, even the subtlest movement sent lightning shooting through Alec’s body while thunder screamed from his lips. Reaching over his lap with his other hand, Alec sought to tear the dagger from his arm and relieve his pain, but it was not so.
Each effort to grab the dagger was met by Fenrir casually and calmly slapping away Alec’s hand. And between slaps, Fenrir’s sapphire eyes coolly watched as Alec suffered. It was only once Alec pursed his lips tightly and quieted his thunderous screams into clenched-lipped and shaky-eyed humming that Fenrir finally moved.
Fenrir nodded and smiled. “Good.” A different and difficult lesson. Fenrir wrapped his meaty palm around the handle of his dagger. “Remember one thing, boy: Life brings scars. Some seen, some unseen. For you, for your grandfather, do not be so quick to judge him. If you would call yourself a warrior, or a soldier, or a Marine; it would be wise to remember such things.”
As Alec’s eyes darted between the dagger and Fenrir’s sapphires, the man-child shook with fear. But then, after waiting a few more seconds, Fenrir finally yanked out his dagger, and Alec gasped as he pulled his wounded arm to his chest.
Breathing heavily, Alec tried to regain his composure. And seconds later and once his nerves had settled, he examined the wound. Only there wasn’t any. The pain was gone, and there was no blood. There was only a thick slab of scar tissue where the blade had been. Fenrir grunted then said, “Remember, life brings scars. It is a lesson I would not have you forget.”
Fenrir’s eyes were narrow and she finally stood up. Growing tired of the impetuous boy, Fenrir was getting anxious to leave. “Tell your grandfather that his prayers have been answered.”
He flicked a gold coin into the immature boy’s lap. As Alec grabbed it, he noticed something else, his legs had returned. Thickening from a fog of dust, he saw his feet below his once deflated blue jeans.
“And tell your grandfather, the name is Gray Sky, from his father’s father. Because whenever the sky turned gray and thick with rain, he would go out hunting, so the shadows from the cloud would hide the glare of the sun—so as not to not obstruct his aim or eyesight. Gray Sky, a noble name, it was… once.”
Fenrir took two steps then turned back to Alec. “He chose Grayson because he wanted his son to be great, greater than himself at least. Great Son. Yet, you border on disappointment. Your father even more so.”
Alec Grayson stood on his new legs, mouth hanging open in awe. Surprised that he could even make out words, Alec yelled after Fenrir, “Take me with you. Please, I can help. I’m a warrior, you said so yourself.”
Fenrir growled, “An error on my part, no doubt. I misjudged you. It seems that the gods can error as easily as men. You are no warrior. You are a child, infatuated with the idea of war and less so of its truths. So, go on and spend the government stipend that paid for your legs and paid for your pain. You have little time left—or prove me wrong. Go to your grandfather, thank him, take care of him… for he has even less time. Prove to him and yourself that you are more than what you have allowed yourself to become… or not.
“Tell him that you saw the Great Wolf Spirit, and tell him that he was disappointed in you—or don’t. Either way, I am finished here.” Fenrir nodded to something behind Alec, his pack. Then, Alec watched as six giant wolves appeared from behind him. Each standing as tall as he did, and each one turning towards him with bright-yellow eyes as they passed, judging him with disdain, before galloping out and into the desert.
Alec Grayson stood and watched as the seven giant wolves galloped off under the moon. Then looking down at the gold coin in his hand and the howling wolf engraved on it, he knew he was blessed more than he deserved, but he felt empty nonetheless.
The pack continued through the desert, kicking up crusted dirt and dust as they continued north to where the ground became moist and the rivers came alive and the mountains grew tall. The desert turned to grass, and the air became damp. Orange dirt and dull-colored gravel became dark forests of green cloaked in the shadows of large leaves of old, tall trees. Behind them, Gray gravel cliffs stood tall and etched a ridge into the blue sky with their snow-sprinkled mountain tops.
The rain and wind became heavy and frequent. And as the heavy beads thumped against large buoyant leaves and oversized plants, the sounds became a solemn symphony of nature.
Once they had travelled far enough, where man disappeared and nature grew strong, they stopped. Fenrir closed his eyes and lifted his head towards the heavens. As he inhaled deeply, the scent of pine trees and moss filled his nostrils and then his lungs. Rain exploded against his forehead and droplets sank into and hung in his thick and trimmed beard.
His lips curled into a self-serving smile. This is the place, he knew.
His icy-blue eyes scanned the forest. Natural and alive, this was definitely the place.
His wolf pack howled loudly, sending the forest animals scampering far away—as if they sensed that something was about to happen. Deer, smaller wolves, and rabbits retreated towards quieter pastures. Birds cawed and flew south, some north, anywhere but here.
Near the ragged and ridged mountain range behind the forest, the moon hung low and rested behind the craggier ridges. This drew his attention—not the moon but the mountain, and his eyes narrowed into slivers of ice as he studied it and sized it up.
“A pack must have a home, a den. This will be ours. Under the forest and through the mountain. Close to nature, it will make us a solid stronghold. From here, we will grow our pack. We will feed. We will gain strength. Then… we will cleanse the land.”
He spun his three-bladed trident in the air then stabbed the ground.
The earth shook as it swallowed the polearm. A crack exploded through the dirt and widened, swallowing all that surrounded it. Giant trees were upended from their equally large roots before falling into the great hole. Dirt, fallen logs, and green shrubbery gave way to the darkness.
The mountain growled. It shook off snow and stone like it itself was a giant gray wolf.
Again Fenrir addressed his six silent followers. “Seven are one, but a pack must grow. Go forth, in both my spirit and soul, and harvest. Let those lost souls that have waited for so long, those you deem worthy—those with strong souls and weak bodies, whose spirits remain tied to the earth… Harvest them, and let them be filled with your spirit and soul. Only then should you return. And then, we will rest. Then, we will fill our bellies as we cleanse the land. We will remind them of the old ways.”
The six howled and shot out all in separate directions. Yet, the woman delayed her departure. Her blurred face lingered on Fenrir’s, sensing something the others hadn’t. Fenrir nodded to her, “Go now.” Only then, did she truly depart. And the wolf leapt through the forest to do her master’s will.
Fenrir sighed, “So it begins,” then stepped into the black hole before him. And as he did so, Long tentacles of green, red, and purple weeds grew in behind him to conceal the entrance.
CH 16: Secret Lovers
Mea stepped out onto the edge of the roof before flopping down and dangling her feet off the ledge. She half-hoped that either Raven or Vincent would come. The other half of her just wanted to be alone.
“Fate, destiny, they’re just words,” her mother had told her. If it were only that easy, she thought. Hopping up, she started pacing across the rooftop. The Cleansing, Azazel, Patterson, Anna. It was all too much. She ruffled her golden-brown hair with her fingers, scratching her nails into her scalp. “What the hell?” she wondered aloud, to any and every thing happening. Yet, against the onslaught of endless issues, a new one entered her mind. How’d I do it?
She flicked her wrist, and a shorter ver
sion of her sword, identical to the one she cut Lilly with, suddenly appeared in her hand. Then when she flicked her wrist again, it lengthened into the blade she was more familiar with. It looked odd hanging from the thin, youthful arm dangling out of the sleeve of her t-shirt, but it felt nice in her palm. And Mea squeezed the leather grip a little tighter, the sleeve of her t-shirt flapping all the while. After giving it a moment’s thought, she concluded, it’s fine. I don’t need my armor, not now anyways. She swung the sword around, slicing through the air. Lilly, Lilith, she made me do it. She left me no choice. I tried to avoid it, to stop the whole incident from happening, but Lilly wouldn’t let me; she forced my hand, Mea concluded.
On the rooftop, Mea inhaled the thick muggy Midwestern air full of smog and humidity and looked at the thin sparkling blade in her hand. She marveled at its perfection and sharpness. I sliced her face. In a thread of a second, I marked both her cheeks and split her sunglasses. Through both the frame and darkened lens, the cut—her cut—was clean, surgical even.
She smirked and couldn’t help momentarily swelling with pride. It was a bold move, a sharp slice.
The edge of her sword reminded her of a razorblade. It was so fast, the cut she gave Lilly, and smooth. How sharp is this thing? Against her better judgement, she ran her thumb along the edge. She gasped as it didn’t break the skin. Cringing and after building up her courage again, she pressed her thumb along the edge again, this time applying more pressure. Still it didn’t cut her. Despite its sharpness, it was overly dull against her fingertip. Strange, unnatural.
Was it broken? She looked around for something to test it on. An old pallet was leaning against an old maintenance shed—that would work nicely. She half-heartedly hacked at the top of the broken wooden pallet. Thinly sliced, the corner slid off the blade, and the slice of wood floated a few feet away before crashing onto the rooftop. The rest of the wooden pallet remained still as stone. She sliced at it again, and again, she shaved off another slice of wood. Then again, she continued shaving off small wooden blocks with no effort.
It reminded her of her fight with Azazel. Her eyes had turned into two raging white infernos while the bindings that were tied around her wrists and ankles froze solid and shattered like hammered sheets of ice. Then she had moved like lightning and struck twice as quick and three times as deadly. Until…
An explosion wounded her. Strangely enough, a flurry of blades hadn’t come close to her, but an explosion—exploding concrete—was what had injured her and left her vulnerable. Odd.
Again she sliced at the pallet, shaving off wood like butter.
“Hey,” said someone behind her. “What’d that pallet ever do to you?”
Her eyes were white flames again, and the tip of her blade was aimed at the voice before quickly dimming as she recognized the source.
“Not this again.” Raven grinned as he lifted his arms in surrender, remembering their very first meeting in Hell. He lowered them and approached her slowly. “Easy. It’s just me.”
“Oh… Hey,” Mea said and moved closer too him. Still she was puzzled by her sword and was still examining it. “Hey.” I got an idea, she thought and extended her blade towards Raven. “Touch this.”
Confused at first, he still did it. Raven’s hand shifted into a black claw as it crept towards the edge of her blade. Purple electricity appeared—from either her sword or his claw, though neither knew for sure—and danced between the two, her blade and his talon. Odd as it was, he still moved it closer to the sparkling silver-crystal-like blade, doing as he was initially commanded. The electricity became brighter and angrier and crackled, and both the blade and his claw seemed to be reaching towards each other like magnets. Then…
“Raven, don’t…” And before she could finish, she accidently swept her sword upwards, slicing into his retreating palm. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He waved her off and hid his wound. “I just wanted to come by and say…” Goodbye? No. Instead he took a deep breath. Shifting gears, he teased, “I just thought I’d pop in. I missed you.”
Mea flicked her wrist to make her blade vanish. “That’s…”
Turning away from Mea’s sad eyes and trying to be as discrete as possible, Raven stepped away from Mea as he applied pressure to his sliced palm to stifle the bleeding.
“Sorry about your hand,” Mea apologized.
“Don’t worry about it.” He was about to go kill a god; a cut on his palm was the least of his worries. “What were you doing anyways?”
She told him. All the while, he stared at her with his sad, gray eyes. Who was he looking at, Mea wondered, her or the woman he loved enough to sell his soul for? She still didn’t know.
“Huh,” Raven said. “A blade that doesn’t cut you? I’ll take one of those any day of the week and twice on Sundays.” He bumped her with his shoulder. “Useless as tits on a boar.”
She couldn’t help but to smirk. Seeing Raven always cheered her up, but not at a cost. Thinking of Vincent, she always felt a little guilty too. “Let me see yours. Do it.”
Again, he did as he was told, and Raven reluctantly agreed and pulled his blade. And almost presenting it to her like he was a knight, he held out the blade for her to touch. Black-steel, sharp, and wide; it was certainly an elegant blade.
Less eventful than just a moment ago, there was no electricity as Mea’s thumb crept towards the tip of Raven’s sword. But when she pushed her thumb against the sword’s tip, it quickly drew blood. And momentarily wincing, Mea began squeezing out the thick, bright-red blood until it coated the print of her thumb. Then she said, “’Least I can still bleed. If gods can bleed, they can die… We can die.” Then, after a darting glance, she began sucking at her wounded thumb.
All the while Raven’s eyes widened as he tried to remain stoic, lingering on what he was about to do, what he had to do. “Mea, are you… Are you sure?” he asked, not knowing whether she knew about his and Blackwell’s plan or if he should even mention it to her. He decided not to and hid it the best he could.
Mea grunted something that sounded like, “I don’t know.” Then, removing her thumb from her lips, she said “Call it an educated guess,” then went back to sucking at her thumb again before resuming her pacing. “It beats the alternative.”
“Which is?” Raven looked at his sword as it momentarily lit up as it soaked up the sprinkles of Mea’s blood.
She looked over her shoulder. “Everybody dies.”
“That’s not going to happen—Hey...” He sheathed his sword then chased after her, his armor and blade fading away as he got closer. Although he looked human again, he still felt like a monster on the inside—a monster wrapped in human skin, trying to be human. Raven’ put his hands on her shoulders. “Mea, hey. Look at me…. We’ll stop them. Okay?”
“Damn it,” he huffed, forgetting about the cut and blood on his hand. He examined it then looked at the red stains he just left on Mea’s shoulder. Red? It was black before. I guess I’m not as far gone as I thought. Still, I have to do this. “Sorry ‘bout that. Sorry about your shirt.”
And Mea, momentarily thinking that he was going to kiss her—and still not knowing who he was looking at, thought that a bloodstained t-shirt was as good distraction as any, a welcomed one. “Hey, ah… don’t worry about it. It’s just a t-shirt.” Mea huffed with built-up frustration. “Raven, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Mea, it’s okay. I…”
Raven’s voice seemed to be fading out as a ringing started up inside Mea’s head. It seemed to drown out his words. She could see that lips were still moving, but the volume was gone.
With Raven continued speaking, looking concerned and panicked, and his words were still muted. And Mea, the only thing she seemed able to consciously process or hear was anxiety and the insistent humming inside her head. But whatever he was saying seemed to register on some level because she could feel her face turning pale, her stomach bubbling, while every other part seem
ed to be tingling or going completely numb.
CH 17: Midnight Meeting
The room was dark—best that they not be seen together, but the lacquer of the long oak table still glistened in the moonlight while cloaking their faces in half-shadows. And even in the dimness, even while the twelve faces that surrounded it were shaded in darkness, the lacquered finish of the table glistened relentlessly.
The only attendees that were remotely identifiable were the two by the window. One was a heavy set man with onyx skin and darker eyes. The other was a thin, pale woman with hair the color of canaries. Both wore fitted business attire that would have been befitting of the kings of old and cost as much. They looked just as bored as the other ten sitting around the large oak table.
And then, what usually happens (when twelve people with different ideas, agendas, and motivations get together) happened. The arguing began. Using a handful of languages between them, they still seemed to understand each other completely.
“This is bad; it’s got to be bad.” “It’s only a meeting. We’ve had meetings before.”
“This one is different.”
“Different how?”
“Didn’t you feel it? It’s coming; they’re coming. This is what he was using us for, what he had us preparing for, for all those years.”
“And he’ll protect us.”
“How? He doesn’t care about what happens to us.”
“You knew the deal before you signed it.”
“Don’t act like you don’t care, that you’re not scared.”
“You’ve seen the photos, what’s out there… It’s gotten worse.”
“Not worse, more visible.”
“More visible? Not in that third-world wi-fi connected…”
“Don’t start up on that again. You’ve had plenty of chances to leave.”
The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 17