Paternus: Wrath of Gods (The Paternus Trilogy Book 2)

by Dyrk Ashton

  There’s a ringing ping as they connect. The Hands’ head snaps back, his big feet leaving the floor. The staff returns to its former density in an instant, its follow-through continuing as if it met no resistance at all. The floor bounces and cracks as The Hands crashes down on a pile of weightlifting equipment.

  Cù Sìth pries The Hands’ fingers open and shoves to his feet. Akhu pokes the beast with the staff, which has now shrunk back to normal size. The Hands snorts, its breathing a rumble of slumber. She looks to Cù, who tells Cernunnos, “She says, ‘He’ll live.’”

  Cernunnos laughs, an ungodly sound that would send the average human into spasms of terror. It has no effect on Akhu, Kabir or Cù Sìth. Seeing what Ruyi Jingu Bang is capable of in the hands of Akhu, Cernunnos decides to take his chances with Kabir—but as he spots Kabir’s weapons his laughing subsides, his plan giving new meaning to the adage, “out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

  In each hand Kabir holds a golden falchion-style sword. He utters the word, “Lehavah,” and the blades erupt in searing flames.

  Cernunnos watches them burn, the flickering fire reflected in his dull eyes. He speaks as if to himself. “You Deva have all the good toys.” He rolls his shoulders and wags his expansive head, cracking his neck. “No matter. I’m dead already.”

  He charges on all fours, hooves tearing up the old wooden floor. Kabir dodges like a matador, cutting off one rack of antlers, then the other, as Cernunnos passes. The antlers twirl, flaming where they’ve been severed, and clatter to the floor where they flash and disintegrate in green smoke. Cernunnos stands on two legs, fingers a flaming stump atop his head, then raises his muzzle to the ceiling and bellows his rage, mist flowing from his mouth and nostrils.

  Kabir lunges and stabs him through the chest with both swords. Cernunnos’s bellow stops as he realizes what has happened. His entire body bursts into flame. Kabir withdraws the swords. The fire that consumes Cernunnos turns cold and green. He lets out an audible sigh as he discorporates, smoke and green embers swirling in an uncanny breeze, leaving nothing but a pile of dust.

  There’s a crash of breaking brick from the far side of the gym. A hole has been smashed through the wall, and The Snapper is gone. Kabir runs to the hole, checks the darkness beyond. He douses the flames of his swords and plunges through.

  Only Adramelech remains. He spins and back kicks Mac, sending him flying. Mac uses his wings to guide himself in the air and pushes off the wall to fly back and land in a crouch, then strike Adramelech with the bony upper portion of his wing, sending The Mule up over the ropes of the ring to the mat. With a leap and a flap of his wings, Mac follows.

  Adramelech throws himself into a backward roll, coming up with fists raised. The Rooster slips a wing under the ratty old couch and flings it from the ring. Adramelech pushes the assault, jabbing with his front fingers held together in a single sharp hoof while bouncing on back-bending back legs. Several blows hit home, dazing Mac, and The Mule whips around, places his hands on the floor and lashes out with both back feet, catching Mac squarely in the chest, sending him into the ropes. Mac goes down.

  Adramelech fights well, and mules are crafty. He hasn’t lived through both Great Wars by being a pushover. But Mac Gallus is no quitter. Before The Mule can stomp him with a hoof, he rolls and is back on his feet.

  Three-quarters turned to The Mule, one wing down, held like a shield, Mac advances. He draws the wing away to jab with his fists then retreats, sliding it forward again. He clucks and caws, feinting with his hands and rapid chicken-like movements of his head and beak, taking quick shuffle-steps on clawed feet. Mac’s taunting and bravado are techniques he developed long ago, to anger his enemy so they rush in and make mistakes. It worked for Cassius Clay, whom Mac trained for a short time in the late 1950s. And it works for Mac now.

  Adramelech brays in frustration and attacks. Mac ducks and weaves, jabs to the face, then throws a shoulder and strikes with his wing, faster than any punch could ever be. The hard edge hits The Mule in the throat, flipping him to land hard on the back of his head.

  Mac soars high above the mat, then drives himself downward with his wings to stab both spurs into Adramelech’s chest. The Mule brays, blood gushing from his muzzle, but Mac hops and stabs him again. Adramelech gurgles, and his fiendish Firstborn life comes to an end.

  Mac struts to an old-fashioned bell at the corner of the ring and tugs its chain. Ding-ding! His neck puffs up and he crows to the sky, then swaggers across the mat, fists in the air. “And the crowd roars!” Akhu just looks at him. He leans on the ropes. “Tough crowd.”

  Kabir returns through the hole in the wall. “Taesan has escaped.”

  “Good riddance to the smelly turtle,” says Mac. He thrusts his hands in the air again, spreads his wings and cries to the heavens, “I’m still alive!”

  He flies over the ropes and snatches Akhu up in his arms, wrapping her in his wings. “Thanks to you, lassie!” He spins her around. “My savior!” He stops spinning but kisses her repeatedly on the cheek, at which she winces.

  Mac releases her and hurries to Kabir. He goes to hug him as well, but sees the swords and thinks better of it. Instead, he bows with a flourish of one wing. “Brother Zadkiel. You are a sight for sore eyes, laddie. Thank you.”

  He eyeballs Cù Sìth, who’s poking at the puffy flesh around his swollen eye. “But that...” He scratches at the base of the rooster-comb on his head. “I’m confused.”

  Akhu speaks in his mind. “He’s with us. For now.”

  Mac looks Cù Sìth up and down. “All right then. For now.” He struts to Cù and stares up at him. “Never thought I’d see the day a Cerberus would come to my aid. But thank you, I suppose.”

  “You are welcome,” Cù replies. “I suppose.”

  Mac points at him with two fingers of one hand. “I’ll be keeping my eyes on you, though, Old Shuck.”

  Kabir goes to The Hands, who still lies unconscious on the floor. “I don’t condone murdering someone in their sleep, but I’m loath to let him live.”

  Mac says, “Then don’t. Big ugly bastard.”

  “He’s not alive anyway,” says Cù Sìth.

  Mac’s still incredulous at the presence of Cù Sìth, as well as surprised at seeing Kabir, and Akhu having unleashed Ruyi Jingu Bang. “So, lads and lass. What’s all this about, ay? Besides myself almost being murdered by four Asura, two of which are supposed to be dead.”

  With the end of her staff, Akhu stirs the pile of dust that was Cernunnos. Her voice sounds in the heads of all present. “Kleron is capable of reanimating watoto who have passed, instilling malice and hunger in their physical bodies. But they have no agency, no memory, no thought other than to kill and to feed. This level of necromancy, however...”

  She approaches The Hands’ prostrate body. “The Prathamaja Nandana did it first, long ago, as an experiment. She vowed never to repeat it, destroying the restored creature and her memoirs in the process. She would not do this. The only other to accomplish it was the first Master of the Asura, whom I shall not name, and he’s been dead these seven myria, seventy thousand years. We all saw him die, his body cast into a living volcano by The Pratha herself.”

  “If that wee bugger Kleron’s back and causing mischief,” Mac kicks The Hands’ big gray foot, “he must have found his old Asura Master’s notes.”

  “There would have been no notes,” Cù Sìth responds. “The first Master kept all his thoughts, calculations, hypotheses, everything, in his head.”

  “Well, Kleron must have figured it out somehow,” says Mac. “They didn’t just up from the dirt with a stretch and a yawn and think to themselves, ‘You know, today would be a good day to go to New York City and kill Mac Gallus.’”

  Akhu is silent.

  Kabir speaks softly and flames ignite along the surface of one of his swords. He steps to The Hands, but hesitates.

  “I’ll do it,” Cù says, clenching his fists to display claws that run from his second knuckles d
own the backs of his fingers.

  Kabir steps closer. To The Hands, he says, “Rest in peace, Brother,” and slices off his head.

  An unfortunate side effect, however, is the floorboards bursting into flame where the sword touched them. Kabir says “Oh...” and backs away while The Hands’ head and body dissolve to dust.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” says Mac.

  The fire spreads, unnaturally hot and bright. Nearby canvas tarps ignite. The floor, already weakened by the battle of titans, begins to buckle.

  Mac shouts, “Oi! Let me get my kit.” He runs to the back corner, throws dirty towels off an old steamer trunk and yanks the lock off. He tugs out a partially filled duffel bag. A sad frown crosses his face as he looks over his destroyed sound equipment, but he starts stuffing sundry items of electronics into the bag.

  Kabir, Akhu and Cù Sìth retrieve their belongings from outside the door and come back for Mac.

  Packing his swords away while flames grow higher around them and smoke fills the room, Kabir shouts, “Mac, anyone else in the building?”

  “Naw, laddie, just me. Always just me.”

  The practice ring catches fire and goes up fast.

  “Mac, we need to go,” says Akhu.

  “Be right there, lassie!”

  As the fire continues to spread, the center of the floor buckles with a loud crack and drops several inches.

  Kabir shouts, “Mac!”

  “I’m coming!” He shoves a handful of MP3 players in the bag, tosses a set of headphones onto his neck and starts toward them, just as a section of floor between them collapses. Mac hops over the gap, flapping his wings through the smoke, and lands on the edge. “Ha HA!”

  And the whole floor gives way, taking everything in the gym, including the Firstborn, with it.

  * * *

  Passers-by have begun to gather on the street, their attention caught by the animal roars and sounds of destruction from somewhere high in the building. Now they cry out, leaping behind parked cars for cover as windows blow out, row after row from the top, as each interior floor collapses. The bottom floor windows shatter, the brick walls of the recessed entry tumbling onto the sidewalk, and dust blasts out onto the street.

  Residual sounds of falling beams and glass can be heard, accompanied by those of rubble being moved mixed with cursing in various languages, some of which aren’t spoken anywhere in the world today.

  Through billowing dust, Akhu and Kabir make their way over broken brick onto the sidewalk. Behind them are Cù Sìth and Mac. All are cloaked in human form, brushing dust and soot from shoulders, shaking it from hair and packs.

  “I’ve never used them indoors,” Kabir is saying to Akhu. “Not in a man-made structure. I hadn’t considered—” He realizes Akhu has stopped. The crowd is re-gathering as people come out from behind cars, around corners, and approach from across the street.

  A police officer jogs up. “Are you folks all right?” She looks at the building and speaks again before they can answer. “What the hell happened?”

  Kabir says, “We’re perfectly fine, thank you officer. Everything is under control.”

  She looks over the oddly mismatched group, then notices Cù Sìth’s eyes are red. “What the...”

  The compound rumble and phoom of a large-scale fire igniting comes from inside. The officer and people step back. An orange glow rises and flames lick out windows within seconds.

  Kabir adds, “You might want to call the fire department.”

  The officer turns to the crowd, hands up, shouting, “Get back everyone! In fact, it would be best if you all just went about your business!”

  Akhu tugs on Kabir’s arm. While the officer calls for fire control and more police, the four of them hurry around the corner and head up the side street. Akhu takes Kabir’s hand on one side, Cù Sìth’s on the other. Cù looks down at Mac and holds out his big, long-fingered hand. Mac steps around to take Kabir’s instead. He peers behind them at Cù and, having slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, makes the I’m watching you motion with his fingers again.

  Sirens wail in the distance. The officer realizes the four strange characters who came out of the building are gone. She halts in her communication with dispatch. “Shit.” She glances around, then steps to the corner, looks up the side street, the only way they could have gone so quickly. There’s no one there.

  * * *

  “Och, it’s all ruined.” Mac kneels on rough blue ice, partially encircled by spines of rock, rummaging through his duffel bag. His face brightens as he lifts an MP3 player still in one piece. “Ha, not all!”

  Kabir and Cù Sìth peer out through a gap in the stones, surveying the rugged glacial landscape of the world they’ve slipped to, the same one they ran across when heading for Mac’s gym. Jagged shards of rock jut here and there, but it’s mostly ice and snow as far as the eye can see.

  Akhu speaks to all while Mac retrieves a set of earbuds to replace his lost headphones and fiddles with his MP3 player. “I must try to contact my master. Wait here.” She sits, assuming the padmasana, the lotus position, closes her eyes and begins to meditate. After a moment she opens them again to see Mac has joined the other two and the three of them are watching her. “By wait here, I mean ‘out there,’” she says, indicating beyond the rocks.

  Mac says, “Best do as she says, laddies.”

  Outside the semi-circle of stone, snow whirls in the frigid wind, but being Firstborn, Mac, Kabir and Cù Sìth are little affected by the cold. Mac sits and puts his earbuds in. “Might as well make yourselves comfortable,” says Mac. “This could take awhile.”

  Kabir joins him, shedding his pack and setting his sword case on top of it. After a moment of deliberation, Cù Sìth drops his bag and sits as well, opposite Kabir’s rucksack. Trying not to be too obvious about it, Kabir moves his swords to the other side, away from Cù, who notices, but says nothing.

  “Well then, how about filling me in?” says Mac.

  Kabir relates the events as he knows them, since being abducted by Max outside the concert hall in Detroit. He tells how Father is involved and in possession of Gungnir, his lightning spear. That Galahad is with him, about the other Asura brought back from the dead, Kleron and his minions, and even Fi and Zeke. He describes how Cù Sìth saved his life, their trip to New York, the encounter with the assassin at Akhu’s, and the destruction wrought by the locusts and demon Asura on other worlds.

  At that, even Mac is silent. Kabir stands and stretches. From his sword case he retrieves a set of straps with two scabbards attached and begins putting them on.

  Mac says, “One of these locust creatures, it injured Cù Sìth, you say?” Cù shows him the scar on his arm. “That’s no good. No good at all. It means they’re either Firstborn, fabricated with the strength of Firstborn, or at least have claws equal to Astra blades. Perhaps jaws as well.”

  Kabir considers that while donning the rig. Two straps cross in an ‘X’ over his shoulders and chest, clipped to a belt. He digs in a pocket of his pack and hands Mac the coin. “Father gave us this.”

  “A gathering of the Deva,” Mac responds. “There aren’t many of us left.” He hands the coin back.

  “No,” says Kabir, “I don’t believe there are.”

  “I know the location of one other,” Akhu’s voice sounds in their minds as she approaches.

  “Did you speak to him?” Kabir asks.

  “Our communication does not work in that way. But he will hear.”

  Kabir reaches over his shoulders and slides the swords in the scabbards on his back. “How will we find him?”

  “My sifu will find us.” The others get to their feet and don their packs. “But there is another. If this is truly war, he could be a great asset.”

  Kabir asks, “Where is he located?”

  Akhu scans the vague horizon where white land meets white sky. “Here,” she says, and walks away with purpose, Mac close behind.

  Kabir and Cù Sìth look around
at the desolate frozen waste, then stride to catch up.

  “If I may ask, where is here?” says Cù Sìth.

  Mac replies with a mischievous grin, “This world, Moddey Dhoo, is Nagalok.”

  Kabir and Cù Sìth slow in cold trepidation.

  “What’s the matter, laddies?” Mac says. “Not afraid of a wee snakey, are ya?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIGHLANDS

  SLIP & SEE

  A mile inland from the beach, in a deep glen with sides ridged by sharp rock, Zeke, Peter and Fintán watch the truck drive off, Fi waving out the back. Zeke, wearing more layers and a heavier coat and stocking cap, waves back. He doesn’t like being separated from Fi, but Peter promised what they have to do will be brief and she’s safe with the others.

  “We’ll have no problem catching up,” Peter says.

  Zeke looks to Fintán, who has stayed behind at Peter’s request, and understands how they’re going to do that. But it also means he’s going to have to ride on The Falcon, or be carried. Either way involves flying. He’s not sure if he’s excited by the prospect or terrified.

  “So, the Lady of the Lake is real?” he asks, then realizes what he’s said and takes it back. “Never mind, of course she is—but the Lake is in Scotland?”

  Peter walks along the glen. Zeke follows, as does Fintán, though he keeps his distance. “That is correct,” Peter replies. “We would have needed to visit her eventually, if this is to be war. She’s in possession of a hoard of weapons and artifacts gathered after the last Great War. The Second Holocaust, as we call it. Losing Edgar’s plane has moved the trip up on the itinerary.”

  “Was Arthur Scottish?”

  “He was of mixed descent—everyone is, it just depends on how far back you want to go—but he was English enough.”

  “And Camelot?”

  “In England. Though it wasn’t nearly as grand as the stories make it out to be. Rather shoddy, actually.”

  Zeke has a thousand other questions, but they're here for a particular purpose. Slipping lessons. “So, where do we start?”