by Dyrk Ashton
Edgar pats him on the knee. “Probably not.”
Zeke listens to Tanuki, who sits hunched beside Peter, finishing his story of the attack on The Order of The Bull, located in the Kaçkar Mountains of eastern Turkey.
There’s no excitement in Tanuki’s voice, only pain. “At first, Asterion would gain consciousness from time to time. He told me that when he fell through the roof of the temple Ziz followed and their battle continued...” Tanuki shakes his head. “He said Ziz tossed over the statue of The Bull and it broke into pieces. Even after what had happened, that amused him tremendously. He laughed until he choked, then said they broke the columns and the temple crashed down, but Asterion escaped through the tunnels at the back of the naos. And somehow he ran, then crawled, then dragged himself, all the way through the secret passages in the mountains to the safe room where they had sent me, behind the northern face above the city of Rize on the Black Sea.”
Tanuki looks up at Peter, his eyes pleading. “Arges made me go, Pater. He gave me no choice. I would have been of no help in a fight, I know that, but I would have stayed. I didn’t run away.”
“You did the right thing, Tanuki-san,” says Peter. “We are in your debt.”
Tanuki can’t hold Peter’s compassionate gaze, and looks as if he is about to sob. Eyes on his wringing hands, he tells them he ran to the nearest village, one he knew to be sympathetic to the Order, and hired men to build a crate and bring a truck. He then sent them away, loaded Asterion himself, drove to a private airstrip and hired a cargo plane. He’d come as fast as he could.
“I know Freyja is unhappy with me,” says Tanuki, “as are many others, but it’s been a long time since we spoke to anyone but ourselves. At least a century. I didn’t know where else to go.”
Peter takes Tanuki’s hand, small and chubby in his own. “And for that, I am to blame.”
A tear falls to Tanuki’s fur coat. He wipes it, then his eyes.
Zeke realizes the singing has stopped and the windows to the infirmary have dimmed. The others notice as well. Peter moves to get up when the doors open and Freyja shuffles out, leaning heavily on her cane. Trejgun reaches from his place at the end of the nearest bench, picks her up and puts her on his knee. She makes no fuss, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The other women file out, looking tired.
“Will he recover?” Peter asks.
“Only time will tell,” Freyja answers. “Asterion is strong. If anyone could survive both a battle with The Beast of the Sky and a rite of the daughters, it is he.”
Fi sits wearily between Edgar and Zeke.
“How was it?” Zeke asks.
“I can’t really describe it,” she says in a daze. “Incredible, though. So much power. And love. I’m exhausted.” She shifts on the bench and leans back on Zeke. He puts his arms around her, an unexpected joy swelling in his chest. He nestles his cheek in her hair. She smells of ozone and mint and clean spring air.
Mrs. Mirskaya, who has come over to them with Fi, says, “We have given of our life force, but with our number, it will replenish quickly.”
“We women are life,” says Pratha, then flashes her trademark smirk. “Men are death.” She sneers with menace, causing Zeke to cringe. “Then again, we’re that too.”
Ptesan-Wi, farthest from the group, walks away down the hall without a word.
“For Pity’s sake,” says Freyja. “What is she up to now?”
* * *
The group exits the large front doors of the castle to find The Buffalo Woman standing in the grassy center of the circular drive. She’s facing away from them and looking to the sky, her hair and the fringe of her jacket moving in the gentle breeze.
She gazes back at them over her shoulder, as if considering something, then reaches and plucks something out of the air. She opens her hand to reveal a turquoise stone, slightly larger than her palm. Smooth, round and flattened, like a river rock, but carved with symbols similar to those used by native tribes of North America.
“Oh my,” says Freyja, in an uncharacteristic show of surprise and admiration. Ptesan-Wi narrows her dark eyes at them.
“Let’s go inside, everyone,” says Peter. “She wishes to be alone.”
They do as he says without protest, but once inside, they each hurry to a window to watch.
Peter says, “That is the Stone of Protection. She used it to save a band of the Clovis peoples during the inferno that destroyed North America nearly thirteen thousand years ago, then others when the Deluge drowned the world many thousands of years later. It’s perhaps the greatest achievement of her life. None have created such a talisman, before or since.”
“Not even Pratha,” Freyja says, “or me, for that matter.”
“For Ptesan-Wi to use it now,” says Fintán, “this is an honor indeed.”
They watch as The Buffalo Woman sweeps a place on the ground with a whisk of sage, also pulled out of thin air, and places the stone. She chants over it, then dances around it with slow, deliberate gestures. Once around, twice, a third time, and she drops to one knee and slams her hand onto the stone.
Wind blasts, rattling the windows, and a ring of molten orange light ripples out from the stone. It spreads in a wave to both ends of the valley and up the mountains at its sides.
When it has gone as far as The Buffalo Woman wants it to, she lifts her hand from the stone, but holds it just above, continuing her chant. From the edges of where the ripple stopped, the orange light rises, curving inward, until it meets high above, centered over the stone, forming a dome that swirls with color like the surface of a soap bubble. The Buffalo Woman closes her hand above the stone and is silent. The light of the dome fades until it can barely be seen.
“This ward puts mine to shame,” says Freyja with atypical humility. “No force can penetrate it, natural or intended. Those inside are free to leave and return, and loyal Deva and their allies may enter, but no enemy can come through, no matter how formidable.”
Ptesan-Wi gazes at them, head held high, noble and unyielding, then she turns and walks away across the grass. Once outside the drive, she somersaults, becoming a young black buffalo again. Another forward roll and she’s white, then another, and she disappears.
“Why did she go?” Fi asks.
Mrs. Mirskaya says, “It is her way.”
After a moment of silence, Freyja raps her cane on the floor. “No time to waste, people. Horus, my boy, would you keep an eye on our bullish brother?”
“Of course.”
“The rest of you, let us prepare for the arrival of our guests.”
As the group follows Freyja down the hall, Tanuki asks Peter, “Who is coming, Father?”
“The Cats and Dogs themselves, Tanuki. They too have been under attack. We’ll hear their tales, and they ours. Later, there will be an inquest, and depending on the outcome, a tribunal as well.”
Tanuki gulps. “A tribunal? For whom?”
“We hold an important prisoner in the dungeon at this very moment. The Prathamaja Nandana has brought us none other than Baphomet, the right hand of Lucifer.” Tanuki’s instinctive reaction is to gulp once more, and harder, but his throat has become much too dry.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
NORWAY
THE MOTHER
OF CATS & DOGS
Brygun and Trejgun have done most of the work, but all have pitched in to set up the great hall. Though they’ve been at it for an hour, Fi can’t help admiring how grand it is. Not ornate or gaudy, the hall is of an old and relatively simple Scandinavian design, but it’s immense, and, Fi thinks, definitely fit for a queen.
The ceiling is at least sixty feet high, peaked and supported with dark wooden beams. Chandeliers of antler and horn hang from the beams, fitted with gas fixtures, unlit because plenty of light comes in through windows of both clear and stained glass. The great hall is rectangular in shape, with doors of wood and iron at one end, standing open to the sun. At the opposite end is a dais in two tiers. A long table o
f sturdy construction sits on the highest tier, six feet from the floor. Two other tables are set near each end, angling out toward the hall, on the tier several feet below. Together they form the top three sides of an octagon, the five tables completing the design having been set in place on the stone floor, all with space to pass between them.
All the tables have white tablecloths, but only the three on the dais have high-back chairs, set on the side facing the room. Each table could seat six full-grown men on a side, with plenty of elbow room. Chairs haven’t been put at the tables on the floor, but set to the side. They are of various sizes, some far too wide for human beings. They could put fifty more tables in the hall and have plenty of room to spare.
As majestic as the room is, there’s the sharp tangy aroma of burnt wood from where a fire burned through broken windows yet to be repaired.
A serving buffet and two-wheeled serving carts sit against one wall, in close proximity to double doors to a hall that leads to the kitchen. Brygun finishes setting out hors d’oeuvres, which look delicious, but Fi’s afraid to try them until she knows what they are.
Fi places a vase of white arctic mouse-ear, blue bellflower and yellow alpine draba from a cart onto the last table, then goes to where Zeke and Tanuki are setting oil lamps on another.
She smiles to Zeke and approaches Tanuki. “Hi,” she says, holding out a hand. “I’m Fi.” In all the worry over Asterion and preparations for the visit, they have yet to be introduced.
Tanuki’s smile is genuine, but grief remains creased on his features as he shakes her hand. “Konnichiwa. I’m Tanuki.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“And they tell me you are Firstborn,” he says, “and quite special.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mokosh. And Father.”
“Don’t listen to them. I’m anything but special.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” says Zeke, joining them.
“This is Zeke,” Fi says.
Zeke adds, “And a mere mortal, I’m afraid.”
“Descendent of the great kings, and slipping,” says Tanuki. “Doesn’t sound like a mere mortal to me.”
“Now who’s been talking?” Zeke asks.
Edgar speaks as he approaches. “It was I.”
“Definitely don’t listen to him,” says Fi, poking fun, but her smile fades. “I’m sorry to hear about your friends, I mean brothers. I hope Asterion will be okay.”
Tanuki takes her hand and pats it. “You have my most sincere gratitude for helping to heal him, no matter the outcome.”
“I don’t know how much I really helped. I had no idea what I was doing, but you’re welcome.”
A flash of white light illuminates the hall from the main doors. Freyja, standing on the dais to survey the preparations, calls out, “That’s good enough, everyone. Outside with you.”
Wide steps lead down from the hall doors to a paved area where golden urns burn with low flames. On black granite bases, twenty feet apart in a square, glow four tall monoliths of gleaming quartz shot through with veins of silver and carved with runes inlaid with gold on all four sides. One of the monoliths is cracked toward the bottom and is braced with rough-hewn beams.
Fi isn’t sure what she expected, but at least some pomp and circumstance. Instead, the group stands around near the foot of the steps in no particular order or formation. No fancy outfits, horns, drums or red carpet.
Freyja leans on her cane at the back of the group, with Peter nearby. She shouts to Myrddin, who’s stooped to inspect the monolith that looks to have toppled and been propped up, “Is the gate going to work, Wyllt?”
Myrddin gives her two enthusiastic thumbs up. “All in working order, my queen!”
Fi and Zeke stand with Edgar and Mrs. Mirskaya, a short distance from the rest, closer to the gate and off to the side. Fi gazes at Brygun and Trejgun, flanking Freyja. Using her Firstborn sight, she examines their Truefaces for the first time.
She whispers to Zeke, “They look like mountain lions. Their heads, anyway. They have human-like bodies, but with short tan fur, and tails. Pretty nasty-looking teeth and claws, too. Just as identical as you see them.”
“I was wondering about that,” says Zeke. “In the Norse poems, the goddess Freyja had two big cats who guarded her and pulled her carriage. Their names were, what else, Brygun and Trejgun.”
Edgar says in a low voice, “They were born of a prehistoric feline in North America, believe it or not. Much like the mountain lion of today, though quite a bit larger. They have served Freyja for at least one hundred thousand years.”
The monoliths begin to hum, then glow more brightly, the light creating a white radiant wash between them.
“Here they come,” says Freyja.
Out of the light walk two figures, holding hands. A tall man with dark skin and sharp black eyes, a long face with angular features, ears that seem extra long, and a mouth that grins almost in a ‘V.’ He wears a brown and black striped suit with wide shoulders, perfectly fitted to his body and thin waist.
The woman next to him is even more striking. Taller and with darker skin, her hair is golden but cut close to her head, upon which sits a delicate crown of opals and silver. A line of black dots, which look to have been created by scarification, curve from the inside corners of her light brown eyes past high cheekbones to the corners of her mouth. She’s slim, graceful, and stunningly beautiful in a tight gold dinner gown with black polka dots, slit at the leg.
Edgar leans in to whisper, “Anubis and Sekhmet. The Jackal and The Cheetah.” Fi can see their animal features. Frightening, yes, but there’s wisdom and kindness in their eyes. “After the Second Holocaust,” Edgar continues, “many of the Firstborn who had come to be called The Cats and Dogs settled in what is now Egypt, as well as the surrounding regions. They did not always get along, to put it mildly, and the hostilities escalated.
“Freyja herself went to them and demanded they settle their differences. They did, with little grumbling. If there is one thing dogs and cats respect, it is their mother. She left Horus as her representative in the south, and Set in the north. To watch over all, and as mediator to settle disputes, she appointed Apis, the right hand of Ptah. It is he who Tanuki brought to us today, gravely wounded.”
“Asterion,” says Zeke.
“That is correct.” Edgar continues, “Anubis was leader of the Dogs at that time, and Sekhmet the Cats. They made peace, and against all odds, fell in love. They have been together ever since, and it’s their union in particular that keeps the peace.”
Quietly as he can, Zeke does his best Dr. Peter Venkman impression, “Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!”
Fi chokes on a laugh. Recognition dawns on Edgar’s face. “I know that reference. A delightful piece of comedic cinema.”
Instead of coming forward to greet anyone, Anubis and Sekhmet step off to the side and look over the group, smiling and nodding. Fi notices the relief in their eyes at seeing Peter, and surprise, even reverence, at the sight of The Prathamaja Nandana. Even though Fintán must have told them they’d be here, it’s as if they didn’t quite believe it.
Watching Sekhmet, Zeke says, “She’s gorgeous.” Fi gives him a good-natured elbow. “Just as an observation, I mean.”
Fi says to Edgar, “You said they respect their mother. Are they all Freyja’s children?”
“Not exactly,” Edgar replies. “Freyja was born in the Paleocene epoch to a small tree-dwelling member of the Miacid species, thought to have spawned the Carnivora order of mammals.
“Truth is, Freyja bred with various similar species, and her litters produced the carnivores, including the earliest members of the Feliformia and Caniformia suborders.” He nods to where Tanuki stands away from the group, as if he’s uncomfortable being here, or, Fi thinks, he doesn’t feel important. She can relate to that, especially in this company.
“Tanuki’s mother was in the canine family as well,” Edgar say
s. “As for Freyja, though they call her The Mother of Cats and Dogs, she is progenitor of many more suborders, of which many are now extinct, and have been for quite some time. The Firstborn of all of them see her as the matriarch of their kind, and always have.”
“She must have had a lot of babies,” Fi says.
“For a time she was, from what I understand, quite prolific.”
Mrs. Mirskaya grunts. “That is one way to put it.” Fi and Zeke share a grin.
Next through the gate comes a skinny and hunched old man wearing a tuxedo with tails. Scholarly and inquisitive in appearance, he peers over his long pointed nose with large eyes, magnified more by thick round glasses. Fi squints. “He’s a bird... man.”
Mrs. Mirskaya says, “That is Thoth, The Ibis.”
More arrive, the new Deva contingent reaching nearly two dozen. Edgar and Mrs. Mirskaya tell Fi and Zeke who they are and describe their animal heritage. There are more from the Egyptian pantheon, but also other ancient African cultures, as well as deities from the Levant, Mesopotamia, farther east through Persia, as well as the Arabian Peninsula. All are male, born of feline or canine mothers, from prehistoric species to those that still exist, including tiger, lion, leopard, panther, lynx, bat-eared fox, African wild dog, and wolf.
To Zeke it becomes a blur. All these gods, in the flesh. “Have you met all of them?” he asks Edgar, gaping at the crowd.
“So far, yes,” Edgar answers.
All bear arms of various design, and two have Egyptian ankhs, a staff with a cross at the top, except the highest part is a loop.
Fi suspects their weapons are of Astra construction, then she catches a glint and realizes she can tell they are. They have a shimmer and gleam to them, in various colors that shift on their surfaces. She checks Edgar’s sword at his hip, sees the Astra glow of the haft, with brighter light from the blade peeking out at the top of the scabbard. The locket and chape of the scabbard shine as well.
A dark-skinned man built like an Olympic wrestler comes through, his hair in dreadlocks, wearing a tight black T-shirt, loose colorful pants, and sandals. Over one shoulder is a long archer’s bow, the other a quiver full of arrows. Hanging from his belt are an Ngombe sickle-blade and a sheathed Poto knife. The bridge of his nose is painted red, and his cheeks with vertical stripes of light-blue. His eyes are naturally narrowed, and he looks over the crowd like a hunter assessing prey.