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

by Dyrk Ashton

  Kabir steps in front of Cù, holding up his hands. “Hold, Léon.”

  “Do not interfere, Brother,” Léon growls.

  The Deva shift in their seats, unsure of what to do, and Peter opens his mouth to speak—but something else stops Léon in his tracks. Something enormous, scaly and green, straight out of nightmares and myth, slithering up the steps.

  All but Peter and the Deva at the head tables gasp and shrink back. Fi grips Zeke’s arm as both of them stare in wonder, and no small amount of fright.

  Edgar’s reaction does little to calm them. “Dear Lord,” he whispers.

  The massive head of Naga curves around Cù Sìth and Kabir and slinks toward The Nemean Lion, who skitters back, then freezes, caught in Naga’s gaze. Naga’s head rises while his body continues to slide into the hall. He lowers it toward Léon, who falls flat on his butt, mouth agape.

  Naga is so immense, Fi can hear him breathing. Like wind sucked in and expelled from a cave.

  Naga flicks out his tongue, tasting The Nemean Lion’s breath. Léon cringes as it brushes his face.

  “Hello, Léon,” comes Naga’s colossal voice.

  Léon swallows hard and barely gets the words out, “Lord Naga.”

  “Behave, or be eaten.”

  “I will, Lord Naga.”

  “That is good.”

  Naga swings his gaze to the room, slithering further in and rising until he’s looking down from thirty feet above, his head just below the lowest beams. Slowly he spreads his hood to its full width of nearly fifteen feet and displays his scaled sinewy arms with clawed hands and the harness that holds his scimitars snug to his body.

  Fi says, “Oh. My. God.”

  Edgar replies, “Not yours, Fiona, nor mine, but he has been to many.”

  “Freyja, my dear,” says Naga, eyeing the Deva at the tables. “How kind of you to have set me a buffet.”

  “Stow it, Snake,” says Freyja, “There will be no eating of Firstborn in my—”

  “Slinky!” Myrddin can no longer contain his excitement. He sprints along on the tabletops and launches himself to Naga’s belly. Grasping the edges of Naga’s scales, he shimmies and climbs, like a coconut harvester might scale a palm tree, only faster. He spirals beneath Naga’s arms and hood to his back, then appears on top of his head, straddling it and scooting forward. He pats Naga between the eyes and says, “I haven’t seen you in ages, Naga. How have you been?”

  Naga heaves a long heavy sigh, as only Naga can, and his head slumps. “Not exactly the dramatic entrance I was hoping for. This is not very dignified, Myrddin Wyllt.”

  Edgar indicates Naga, Ganesh and the other new arrivals. “The odds against us may be great, but believe me when I say, ours just got better.”

  Peter says, “If you all wouldn’t mind, I would request a recess to speak to our new arrivals.”

  Léon is up and gathering what remains of his own pride after his confrontation with Naga. “Pater,” he shouts.

  Freyja says, “What is it now, Léon? Did you piddle on the floor? Shall we fetch you a bucket and mop?”

  Léon frowns but lets the slight pass. “I wish to make a formal objection to the presence of the Cerberus at these proceedings, unless it is a trial leading to his decapitation. At the very least, he should be removed to the cells immediately.” He growls and glares at Cù Sìth. “Or I could remove his head now.” Cù stares back with his bright red eyes.

  Freyja groans, but says to Cù, “Old Shuck, you miserable beast. You have ever been our mortal enemy, yet here you stand, without chains or guard, with most trusted Deva.” At that, she nods at Akhu, who nods back. “What have you to say on your behalf?”

  Cù Sìth flings something small and shining over the heads of the others. It tumbles, glittering, across the hall, and Peter snatches it out of the air. He inspects it then hands it to Freyja. It’s the coin Peter left for Kabir and Cù Sìth on the islet in the river below his home outside Toledo. Freyja’s forehead wrinkles at the sight of it. “You come by this honestly, Moddey Dhoo?”

  Kabir speaks on Cù’s behalf. “He does.”

  Freyja eyes Kabir. “The word of Zadkiel suffices.” None protest. Back to Cù, she says, “I see only one head of the Cerberi. Where are your brothers?”

  Cù gazes at her a moment, looks over the Deva, all of whom have little but hatred in their eyes. He swings the pack from his back, removes the sack of bloody black fur he’s carried with him for days, and tosses it to the floor in front of him. The Deva gasp at what tumbles out.

  The heads of Surma and Wepwawet, vertebrae and tubes of esophagus hanging at their brutally severed necks. Tongues loll from their bloodied mouths, and their eyes are still open, one pair yellow, the other blue.

  Even Freyja is surprised. “You did this?”

  Cù Sìth speaks. “I did.”

  Freyja looks to Kabir, who indicates confirmation, then back to Cù. “Why?”

  Cù hesitates. He glances to Kabir, then Akhu, Mac, and Naga. Meeting Freyja’s gaze once more, he says, “My reasons are my own.”

  “It’s a trick!” Léon shouts. “The treachery of this demon knows no bounds. His master has put him up to this, to place a spy, or perhaps an assassin, among us. The murder of their own, even littermates, is not beyond an Asura. Least of all Moddey Dhoo.”

  Freyja begins to speak, but Léon roars, “I challenge Cù Sìth to trial by combat!” There are rumblings of agreement from the Deva on the floor.

  Ochosi stands. “And I will second!” He removes his weapons, placing them on the table.

  Léon stalks toward Cù, stretching his neck, swinging his arms in a show of warming up, until they’re only a few feet apart. Cù has made no move to defend himself, but he shows no signs of backing down either, though Léon stands taller than Cù and broader of shoulder.

  “And who would second for you, fiend?” Léon inquires.

  “I will,” says Kabir, dropping his pack.

  Léon is surprised, but says, “You have always had a good heart, Zadkiel. In this, you have allowed it to cloud your judgment.”

  Kabir’s answer is to remove the harness that holds his twin swords at his back.

  At their table, Zeke asks, “What does a second do?”

  “In this case,” Edgar answers, “make certain the fight proceeds fairly. That no weapons are taken up, and one party ceases if the other submits.”

  Fi says, “Is this really going to happen? Right here?”

  “Apparently so,” Mrs. Mirskaya replies. She grunts, shaking her head. “Men.”

  Mac, having gone to the mead table anyway, finishes chugging his first tankard. He speaks to Brygun or Trejgun. “A good mead and fine entertainment. You lads always did know how to throw a party.” He pulls his MP3 player from his shoulder bag and stoops to glance beneath the buffet. “You wouldn’t happen to have a power outlet handy?”

  Kabir and Ochosi meet and shake hands. “It has been a long time, Brother,” says Ochosi.

  “Too long, Brother,” Kabir replies. Ochosi claps him on the shoulder.

  Léon huffs clouds of visible mist from nostrils and open mouth, backs up, roars loud enough to shake the windows of the hall, and changes into the form of his mother’s kind.

  Up at their table, Fi exclaims, “O-o-o-h shit.” The creature is huge, with tan fur spotted brown, a mane on its short thick neck, and great shovel-head with a mouth like a bear trap.

  Edgar says, “The Nemean Lion’s mother was a Megistotherium osteothlastes, of the genus Creodont, all of which are long gone. Neither dog nor cat, they weren’t even part of the carnivora family. They weighed up to nineteen hundred pounds, and once hunted throughout what is now Northern Africa. Can you imagine?”

  Zeke’s response is an adamant, “No.”

  Freyja smacks her cane on the table. “Léon, cease this madness!”

  Now Cù Sìth roars. Leaning forward, he places his hands on the ground. His image shimmers, meeting Léon’s challenge with the form of hi
s own mother’s kind, in the ancient Metamorphosis Magic tradition of combat.

  Fi blurts out, “Jesus!”

  “Fiona,” Edgar scolds.

  “But, look at it!”

  Léon and Cù circle each other on all fours, growling, roaring and pawing the floor.

  “I am,” Edgar replies. The beast Cù has morphed into looks half-wolf, half-bear, with shining black hair and a mailbox of a muzzle with long stout fangs above and below. He’s not as large as Léon, but every bit as frightening. “That is an Amphicyonid. The dog-bear, they’re called. Also not carnivora, and also extinct for millions of years. They roamed the same lands as Léon’s mother’s kind, at the same time, if you can believe that. Competing for food sources, warring over turf. Predators do the same today, but in ages past...”

  Zeke says, “It’s a good thing there weren’t any people around.”

  “If there had been,” Fi says, “I doubt there would be any now.”

  Edgar says, “Agreed.”

  Freyja is up on her feet, banging on the table. “Respect!” she yells. “Respect!”

  Léon and Cù shift to their true Firstborn forms, no less frightening than the previous. Though Cù is eight feet tall uncloaked, Léon stands over a foot taller. They leap upon one another with shocking speed. The sound of their bodies colliding echoes from the walls.

  Peter shouts, “Léon! Cù Sìth!” but the two are a tangled mass of monster, all snapping jaws and pounding claws, each trying to gain the upper hand as they grapple on the floor.

  Peter rises, intending to intervene, but a white form flashes over the table beside him, streaks across the floor, bounds onto the far table and launches itself right into the middle of the fray.

  From within the flurry of motion comes a yelp and a yowl, and the skirmish ends as swiftly as it began. Cù Sìth lies on the floor on his back. Standing on top of him is a much tinier creature that can only be Freyja, the scruff of The Nemean Lion’s neck clenched firmly in her sharp pointed teeth. She’s furred in white and gray, with clawed pink hands and feet—except for her right hand, which is black. On her soft belly hang six small pink teats, and her furry tail is long as she is tall.

  The first thing that comes to Fi’s mind is she looks kind of like a civet.

  Freyja shakes Léon until he hangs limp in submission and steps on Cù’s neck to stop his wriggling. They hold completely still.

  With a whip of her head, she tosses Léon to the floor, spits as if to get the taste of him out of her mouth. “You, Nemean Lion, of all creatures, are no shining example, and should know more than anyone that allegiances can be changed.” He says nothing, but can’t hold her gaze. She squeezes Cù Sìth’s neck with the needle claws of her foot. “And you, Cerberus, if you are false, if harm comes to any here by your hand, it will be the end of you.” She stomps harder on his neck. “Do you hear me?”

  He croaks out the words, “Yes, Great Aunt.”

  Her gaze falls on Léon again. He pushes himself sheepishly to his feet. “You shame me.” Freyja steps off Cù, who is visibly relieved, shifts back to her human form, and addresses the room. “All of you, with your petty bickering. After all this time, the passing of aeons, you are still petulant brats squabbling over scraps of pride.”

  The room is deathly silent as she pads between the tables to the dais and climbs up to slump into her seat, which Peter pushes in for her. He sits down next to her while she gulps down the last of her wine.

  “Cats and dogs,” she spits quietly, speaking to Peter. “Asura be damned, it’s this lot will be the death of me.”

  * * *

  “Vobla!” says Mrs. Mirskaya with delight, helping herself to a heap of the salt-dried fish from the buffet table. “I take back all bad things I might have said about my sweet Sestrenka Freyja.” She, Edgar, Fi and Zeke, graze near the table, nibbling delicacies, snack dishes held in their hands. The Deva mingle, chatting. Sekhmet, Anubis and Fintán have pulled up chairs to converse with Asterion, who sits in his spacious comfy chair nibbling dates with a delicacy Fi wouldn’t have expected from a creature of his size. Kabir, now in Trueface, is also there. In an exaggerated manner, he mimes someone pulling out his saber-tooth, then lifts one side of his split cat-lip to show Asterion the empty socket. Asterion waves a hand over the stump of his horn, as if to show how strange it feels to have it gone. They share a laugh, shaking their heads. It’s the first time Fi has seen mirth from Asterion, and though she doesn’t know him, it makes her smile.

  Léon and Ochosi are in another group, along with other Deva from Egypt, all drinking. Thoth still sits at his table, daintily sipping tea while he reviews his notes.

  Away from the rest, Peter is conferring with Akhu, Mac, Ganesh and Cù Sìth, while popping whole figs in his mouth from a large bowl under his arm. Freyja and Pratha are there as well, and Naga. Well, at least Naga’s head, which rests on one of his coils, looking down at them. The remainder of his ninety-foot long body wraps behind him.

  “Damn, that’s a big snake,” says Zeke. “The Naga from Hindu mythology, am I right?” he asks Edgar.

  “Aye, lad, though he was known by many other names in other cultures, long ago. He is not a True Ancient, but was born not long after the Cataclysm, of a mother closely related to the recently discovered Titanoboa, though as you can see, similar to cobras of today.”

  Fi says, “Myrddin seems to like him.”

  “I can’t believe Naga let him climb him like that,” says Zeke.

  Edgar says, “All Deva have a long history. Naga owes Myrddin his life.”

  Zeke’s incredulous. “Myrddin saved his life?”

  “With the help of The Twins, yes. From Maskim Xul, no less. That’s why Naga tolerates The Madman’s antics, and always will, I would imagine.”

  Fi says, “Max could beat that thing?”

  “Don’t let Max’s defeat at the hands of ones such as The Prathamaja Nandana and The Father fool you. He is a True Ancient, remember. Twice the age of Naga. His web can only be broken by The Father himself, and his fangs could pierce the scales of Naga quite as easily as the flesh of you or I.”

  Fi rubs her leg at the thought. She notices Akhu has said nothing throughout the conversation. “Why isn’t the lady—Akhu, right?”

  Mrs. Mirskaya says, “That is Akhu, yes. An esteemed healer and mystic in her own right. She is the most eminent disciple of Ganesh.”

  “He really is a big deal then, huh?” says Fi.

  Mrs. Mirskaya says, “They don’t get much bigger.”

  “But why isn’t Akhu saying anything?”

  “She is saying plenty, believe me.”

  Fi and Zeke share a look of confusion.

  Edgar says, “Long ago, Akhu swore a vow of silence, believing it would help focus her energies on more spiritual pursuits. In her meditations, she discovered she had a special gift, and she developed it.”

  “What was it?” Fi asks.

  Mrs. Mirskaya answers, “She is a telepath.”

  “She can read minds?”

  “No, glupaya devochka. She communicates through thought. Speaks words in your head, and you can speak in hers. She can talk to many at a time, and they to her, and she can keep all of them straight. Would drive me crazy.”

  Akhu’s eyes meet Fi’s from across the room. Fi fidgets. “Can she tell what I’m saying right now?”

  “Maybe.” Fi gulps. “But only because she is Rat. Big ears. For her telepathy to work, you must give her permission to use it with you. That permission can be revoked as well. She can force no one to hear her, or to use their thought to speak to her. I don’t know why.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” says Zeke.

  “Useful in battle, I would guess,” says Edgar. “A Deva communications specialist of sorts, able to relay information to and from the troops.”

  Mrs. Mirskaya responds, “Da, it has been done. She can allow speech to ‘pass through’ her link as well, so one can communicate to another without her having to repeat it. T
here are limits to distance, and too many voices can overwhelm her. Can be dangerous.”

  Fi leans to Zeke. “Is it just me, or does Ganesh keep smiling at us?”

  “I though it was me, but I think so.”

  Edgar smiles himself. “From what I hear, Ganesh rarely doesn’t smile.”

  Cù absent-mindedly dabs his neck with a napkin, spotting it with blood that still beads from Freyja’s claws, though the superficial scratches and bite marks from his tussle with Léon are mostly healed. Fi looks to Léon, who’s chatting with Asterion now, and sees his minor wounds are healing as well.

  “I can’t believe Léon fought Cù Sìth,” Fi asks. “Is he older?”

  Edgar says, “Younger, actually, but only by a myria, ten thousand years or so.”

  Zeke says, “Only...”

  “Cù and Léon are special, when it comes to Firstborn. Not only are they quite old, which as you know increases their strength, they are each Firstborn of Firstborn.”

  Fi says, “I was thinking about that when you told us Anubis and Sekhmet were married. Brother and sister.”

  “Half-brother and half-sister,” says Edgar.

  “Well, okay, but Firstborn of Firstborn? That means Peter had to, you know, with his daughters. That’s some serious incest there.”

  Mrs. Mirskaya scoffs. “We talked about this, Fiona. There were no mtoto rules so many ages ago. And remember, Peter is not man or beast. Did you know, too, that all human beings come from just thousands left after each of two Holocausts?”

  Zeke says thoughtfully, “It’s all incest.”

  “Now you get it,” says Mrs. Mirskaya.

  “The animosity between Léon and Cù Sìth runs deeper than Deva versus Asura,” says Edgar, changing back to the previous subject. “Cù Sìth’s mother, jealous of Peter’s union with Léon’s mother, murdered her and devoured Léon’s siblings. Only young Léon escaped.”