by Dyrk Ashton
“Him,” Edgar says, “I have not met.”
Mrs. Mirskaya is surprised to see the man. “Many of us thought him dead. That is Ochosi, The Mandrill. Few could match him with bow and arrow. Today, maybe none. In Yoruba beliefs of Western Africa, and some in Brazil and Haiti, he is still evoked as god of hunting, tracking, and truth. Is good to have him for war. Very good.”
Lastly, coming out of the light of the gate, is a huge man, big-boned, thick with muscle, with a massive chest. At least eight feet tall, with a head of shaggy brown hair and heavy beard to match, he pulls a sizable two-wheeled cart behind him, stacked with luggage, packs, barrels and crates. He drags it clear of the gate, drops the poles and throws his arms into the air.
“Geia sas!” he shouts. His voice is deep, and loud enough to shake the ground. His bright green eyes fall on Freyja. “Theítsa!” he exclaims through a colossal smile of great white teeth. In a few strides he is upon her.
Freyja raises her cane to fend him off. “Don’t you—” but he snatches her tiny frame up in his giant hands and kisses her all over her face. She protests, wriggling. “Put me down, you oaf!”
He holds her out in front of him. “I am just so happy to see you, Theítsa,” he says with a Greek accent, using the Greek word for auntie.
Freyja says, “You could visit more often, disingenuous lout.” He sets her down and she smacks Brygun and Trejgun with her cane. “Some protection you are.” They smile, until the big man hugs them both together, picking them up and kissing their cheeks. “My brothers!”
Mrs. Mirskaya harrumphs, but Edgar is grinning. He gives Zeke a nudge and says, “The earliest tribes of Mesopotamia called him Humbaba the Terrible, but he is better known as the Beast of Cithaeron of Greek myth. Neméos Léon is his name, and you know what that means. There, Zeke, stands none other than The Nemean Lion.”
“Holy shit,” Zeke replies. “But in the myth he was a monster. Hercules killed him and took his skin.”
“Léon, as they call him, and Hercules, as well as Hercules’ brother Iphicles, were great friends. They fought side by side in the Second Holocaust. The story we’ve heard is a lie, told to appease those who were lording it over the earliest Greeks at the time.”
“He is oldest to have come,” says Mrs. Mirskaya, “though he doesn’t behave like it.”
Léon gives Peter a quick clap on the shoulder and jogs back to tower behind Sekhmet and Anubis, his shoulders wide as the two put together. The two Dogs with ankhs tap them on the ground and loose a grunting call. All the newcomers kneel and greet Freyja in unison, speaking in a form of Archaic Egyptian.
“Hail, Mother, hail!” Then they address Peter, “Hail Ptah! Hail Amun-Ra, Hail Olorun!”
“Is this all of them?” Zeke whispers to Edgar. “All that are still alive?”
Edgar says, “There have not been many Firstborn, Deva or Asura, for quite some time. Still, I would have hoped for more from this group.” He attempts to lighten the mood. “A few days ago you were amazed they existed at all, and already you’re lamenting their number.”
“Well, yeah. But if there’s going to be a war...”
His attempt at levity failed, Edgar says, “True enough, lad. True enough.”
Myrddin holds out his hands, mumbling under his breath, and the light of the gate fades. “Did Myrddin build that?” Fi asks Edgar.
“He did. Circles and gates are the same thing, just in different configurations. There once were many, on every continent. He built them and maintained them for myria upon myria. All but a few have fallen into disrepair, been plundered, or destroyed altogether. There are none operational in North America. This one was his crowning glory, however, built only for Freyja.”
Myrddin begins removing braces from the broken monolith. Fi says, “Can the Asura come through?”
“Only if they know the secrets of the gate,” Edgar replies, “the meaning of the runes and proper combination to activate them. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. If there are any stragglers, they will have to come by another route.”
Myrddin kicks out the last brace and the monolith thumps down, denting the earth.
* * *
The new arrivals mingle with the others, exchanging greetings and conversing. Fi and Zeke are introduced as they come by, to a variety of reactions, from cool skepticism to welcoming gladness. Several times Peter is asked what happened to his vow not to have anymore Firstborn, to which he shrugs or smiles. Myrddin flits amongst them, thrilled to see everyone, and they all greet him kindly. Mol is equally as gregarious, though he always goes back to sit near Freyja. Freyja alternates between welcoming and scolding for not coming more frequently. Pratha remains cold and regal, though she and Sekhmet seem to have some regard for one another, if not outright affection. All are happy to see Edgar and Mrs. Mirskaya.
While Fi and Zeke are chatting, shadows fall over them as if out of nowhere. They look up to see Anubis and Sekhmet. He must be six and a half feet tall, and she’s at least six eight. Damn, Fi thinks, these two really do look like gods. Anubis’s smile full of long narrow teeth appears genuine, if a bit disturbing, his eyes piercing and critical but also caring. And Zeke’s right, Sekhmet is gorgeous. When she smiles, even more so. Mrs. Mirskaya introduces Fi, telling them she’s the new baby sister.
“It is good to have another female among us,” Sekhmet says, taking her hand. Fi blushes at her touch, surprisingly soft and warm, though she knows the glorious painted nails at the end of her elegant fingers are actually frightful claws. “There have always been so few in the family. I, for one, am glad Pater did not stop at Alexander and Temujin, though they were supposedly ‘accidents,’ if you catch my meaning.”
Zeke perks up at the names she’s mentioned. “Alexander of Macedonia and Genghis Khan were Firstborn?” he spouts before thinking, then winces at his outburst.
Sekhmet smiles, leans closer to Fi. “Boys. Am I right?”
Fi grins back. Anubis laughs, a deep bark so loud and unsettling Fi and Zeke recoil at the sound. Thankfully it doesn’t last long.
Looking deeply at Zeke, as if he might be a delicious treat to eat, Sekhmet says, “And you are mtoto, no?”
“I’m human, yeah. Just a guy who plays the guitar.”
Fi elbows him. “His name is Zeke Prisco, last in the line of Antediluvian Kings. He has the mark of Cain and everything. And he can slip.”
“‘Just human,’ he says,” Anubis mocks, his voice clear and striking, like the toll of a bell. “We’ll have to keep an eye on this one, my love.”
“A fine mtoto indeed,” says Sekhmet. Then, to Fi, “Is he your mate?”
Fi and Zeke both stiffen, erupting into “ums” and “ers” as if they rehearsed it.
Edgar and Mrs. Mirskaya look on with interest, and Fi notices Pratha is watching as well. Zeke starts to say, “We’re friends—”
But Fi grabs his hand and says, “Yes.” The look of shock on Zeke’s face causes Sekhmet to laugh lightly, like music it sounds, but Anubis breaks into his barking laugh again, drowning her out.
“Come dear,” says Sekhmet, taking Anubis’s hand, “You’re scaring the children.”
Anubis smiles. “My apologies. I do make the most terrible din.” They move on to the others.
Zeke shuffles, watching them walk away. “They’re nice.”
Edgar chuckles. “They are powerful personalities, to be sure.” More softly he says, “Anubis is a gifted thaumaturge of... mixed persuasions, shall we say. A Deva through and through, but his practices often edge on the darker side.”
Mrs. Mirskaya says, “Sekhmet is also accomplished witch, holding sway over both beasts and plant life. But mostly she fights like devil, and can run very fast.”
“It is said only Xecotcovach may be faster,” says Edgar, “and perhaps Sleipnir. When he’s not flying, of course. That wouldn’t be fair now, would it?”
Zeke says, “Odin’s horse? Had wings?”
“Of course. You didn’t think he actually had
eight legs as it says in the myths, did you?”
“No, of course not. Because that would be, you know, ridiculous.”
“Just so.”
Fi grins at her uncle messing with Zeke. Tanuki catches her eye, alone and wringing his hands. She’s watched him throughout the greetings, fending off questions and condolences regarding Arges and Asterion as graciously as he can, but looking more ill at ease by the minute.
She lets go of Zeke’s hand, leaving him to Edgar’s teasing, and approaches Tanuki. “Are you okay?” she asks.
He’s guarded at first, quickly responding with, “I’m fine,” then sighs when he recognizes genuine concern for his wellbeing. “To be honest, no. I’m a mess. Thank you for asking, though. I think I’m going to go look after Asterion so Horus can join the group. I need the rest, and he’s more important.”
Fi says, “I think everybody’s important right now.”
Tanuki’s expression softens and his eyes grow wet. “That is kind of you to say.”
Fi doesn’t know why, but she likes this little Firstborn man-raccoon-dog brother-guy, and feels bad for him at the same time. Fi kisses him on his fuzzy cheek. He smiles, says, “Thank you, Sister,” then sniffles as he wipes his eyes, pulling himself together as much as he can, and strides to Freyja to tell her his plan.
* * *
Freyja climbs into her seat at the center of the head table on the highest tier of the dais, Peter at her right arm, Pratha at her left. She frowns, clutching the edge of the table with her little hands, her head just above the tabletop. “This isn’t my chair,” she grumbles. “Who put this here?” Brygun sets down the pitcher from which he’s pouring water into crystal glassware and hurries to grab another chair. Within moments he’s back with Trejgun, who lifts her while Brygun removes the old chair and sets a new one into place. Once sat and slid in at the right height, she looks around for the culprit. Peter removes his nose from the flowers on the table in front of him and gives her a sympathetic look that might not be entirely genuine.
Mrs. Mirskaya sits at the lower table, left of the head table as facing the dais. Next to her is Fi, then Zeke, and Edgar. At the opposite table are Sekhmet and Anubis, as well as Thoth, The Ibis, who has a ledger and is recording those in attendance with an old-fashioned feather quill and inkwell.
Zeke leans to Edgar. “I’d have thought Thoth would be scarier.”
Edgar says, “I wouldn’t want to tussle with him, lad. None who survived the Holocausts are without some exceptional skill. Even Tanuki is a master with the staff, and can move with complete silence.”
“Does Thoth write down everything? All of their meetings?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“Man, I’d love to see those journals.”
“A lifetime of reading and more, I’d imagine. And all about water levels, weather, census data, supplies.”
“Oh,” says Zeke. “Still.”
Beneath the head table, Mol nudges up the tablecloth in front of where Freyja sits and pops his head out, hanging his paws over the edge of the dais. Fi says “Psst,” and when he looks, ears perked, she says, “Traitor.” His dog-eyes squint as he grins, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth.
Thoth stands, narrow-shouldered and thin. His voice is surprisingly loud, and screechy. “Hear ye, hear ye. Let this meeting of—”
“Stuff it, Stork,” says Freyja. “Neither one of us is getting any younger.”
Thoth smooths the tails of his tuxedo and sits, unfazed by the interruption. He licks the end of his quill, dips it in the ink, then holds it over the ledger, waiting.
Freyja gestures to Sekhmet and Anubis. “First, let’s hear from you lot. We must all be apprised.”
A deep voice carries through the great hall like cannon fire. “Water? Am I a guppy?” Léon’s not yelling, that’s just his voice. He’s speaking to Trejgun, who holds a water pitcher next to him. “Where’s me grog?” Léon says louder, mimicking the voice of a pirate. “I wants me grog!” He smacks his palm on the table, which shakes it hard enough to cause the others to grab their glasses and the flower vases. He looks like he could break the table in half with one blow if he wanted to. “Grog! Grog! Grog!” he chants as he looks around, expecting the others to join in.
Only Myrddin does, drumming his table with both hands. “Grog! Grog!” The rest either ignore them or shake their heads.
“Quiet, you rabble!” shouts Freyja, and Léon folds his hands in his lap. “Have you any grog, Lion, and plenty to share?”
Léon shoves to his feet. “Have I any grog? To whom do you think you are speaking, madam?”
A few minutes later, Léon is filling tankards of horn and silver with a honey-colored liquid from a cask he’s retrieved from the wagon he brought through the gate. Brygun and Trejgun deliver them to whoever would like some, which is more than a few, even though they said nothing earlier.
Léon himself carries four tankards up to the head table and gives one to Peter. “It’s not actually grog, but a fine mead, if I say so myself.” Pratha waves him away when offered, and Léon moves off.
“Hei!” Freyja protests, using the Norwegian form.
Léon halts. “Dear Auntie, my sincerest apologies.” He sets a tankard before her. “I didn’t think you would wish to imbibe.”
She clutches the tankard in both tiny hands. “Didn’t think I would wish to imbibe,” she mocks. “To whom do you think you are speaking?” She quaffs a generous portion and sets the tankard down, smacking her lips with satisfaction. She waves a hand at Anubis and Sekhmet. “Well, what are you waiting for? Proceed.”
Sekhmet and Anubis stand and take turns relating what has happened in Egypt over the last few days, as well as telling what they’ve heard from the southern Levant and Libya. Others at the tables also speak, some of whom were in different parts of Africa when the attacks began. Freyja hurries them along if they begin to get too detailed. She’s particularly harsh on Léon, but he chuckles and takes his seat, having had his say.
Altogether, they tell of attacks by Blues, trolls, ogres, wampyr and werewolves, bhutas and ganas of all varieties, led not only by living Asura but some brought back from the dead as well. They also list off the Deva killed by the enemy, six they know of for certain. All the while, Thoth scratches away with his quill.
Fintán and Myrddin speak of Bödvar Bjarki, The Bear, and Lamia, The Leech, and how Myrddin was released from his cave. Peter describes, from what he’s learned from Tanuki, what happened to Asterion, his current state, and once again laments the death of their grouchy but beloved armorer, Arges, The Rhinoceros.
Mrs. Mirskaya gives a brief account of being attacked and kidnapped by the three Cerberus brothers at her Russian shop, then escaping to the tunnels beneath Peter’s home.
Fi and Zeke are called upon to relate what happened at the hospital. They’re nervous at first, but the group listens attentively, and Peter helps fill in the gaps, so they soon speak with confidence and emotion. There’s an outcry and pounding of fists when the audience hears of Billy’s death, for apparently Samson was loved by all, and Fi almost succumbs to tears.
With encouragement from Mrs. Mirskaya, she and Zeke continue, describing how they slipped away from the hospital to World Memory, Peter’s transformation from a catatonic old man, retrieving Gungnir from the bank, then winding up at Peter’s with Edgar, and the prolonged battle there. There’s rejoicing when they hear Kabir was with them, but frowns and the shaking of heads at the news Cù Sìth turned on Kleron and has apparently joined the side of the Deva. Léon asks where Cù and Kabir are now, but no one knows. He’s particularly adamant that Cù Sìth cannot be trusted, and his defection must be a ploy.
Many gaze in wonder at Zeke when they learn he can slip, others with calm reflection. They listen with particular intensity as Fi and Zeke, along with Peter and Edgar, describe the destruction on other worlds, and the locusts. Together, the four of them and Mrs. Mirskaya tell of what happened in the hub chamber
beneath the grounds of Peter’s home, Max biting Fi (and they’re mightily impressed she’s alive), Pratha’s arrival with Baphomet, Ao Guang and Idimmu Mulla, and Ao’s death after his attempt to escape.
Pratha interjects with her tale of the three Asura arriving in her cave in the Amazon Jungle, and how they came to Peter’s, before the others complete their story of the day in the Highlands of Scotland, the attacks there, the Templars, and the renewed attack at the vault of The Lady of the Lake. The gathered Firstborn marvel at the loss of Max’s legs, and how they all came to Norway in the Wheel.
Fi and Zeke both notice Peter takes over during certain points in the story, as if purposely omitting details such as how the Siege Perilous was destroyed, Kleron’s visit to parley, and making no mention of the other Zeke, the destroyer of worlds. Peter can see they’re wondering about it and gives them a knowing look, acknowledging the omission, and encouraging them to silence. Since Edgar, Mrs. Mirskaya, Pratha, and Myrddin don’t speak up, neither do they, figuring Peter must have his reasons for keeping that information secret.
As if sounding out a close to this portion of the meeting, a tap, tap, tap, is heard from an interior corner of the hall. All eyes turn to a large open door that leads to other areas of the castle. A shadow looms on the stone floor, and Asterion enters. One massive hand on Tanuki’s back and shoulder, in the other he uses a staff, sturdy and ten feet tall, as a walking stick. At its top is a disk of gold held by gleaming horns much like his own. Or, as they had been.
Various names by which he’s been known are whispered. As he approaches, all in the room rise, until everyone is standing. They clap and shout his name. The ovation of Firstborn is no little thing, and the rafters ring with their greeting. Asterion leans on the staff and humbly raises his other hand to quiet them, but they only cheer louder.