Awen Rising

by O J Barré

  Angry murmurs rose around the room and behind him. Inwardly Nergal smiled, though he kept his demeanor passive. The generals were responding as he had anticipated. He stared at the screen until the room quieted. “Warriors,” he pointed to the images, “this is how we will take AboveEarth.”

  The room exploded in pandemonium. Generals yelled and shouted, some in protest, others in agreement. All demanded an explanation. Shibboleth and the henchmen behind Nergal objected the loudest.

  Nergal tapped the mic. “Let me explain.”

  Silence was slow to descend, but when it finally prevailed, Nergal continued. “The human on the left is Shalane Carpenter, an internationally-known televangelist. To her right is her associate, Patrika Tolbert.”

  A sea of mostly Reptilian faces peered at the screen. A quick glance told him Shibboleth and his goons watched, too. “I have discovered a way to influence the humans’ behavior.” Unshod feet shuffled and stamped as the curious generals waited.

  “During a practice they call ‘meditation,’ humans send energetic ‘roots’ into UnderEarth. All that is required to link with a human is to connect with this energetic root.” The room erupted again but Nergal powered through.

  “The connection is fed to the Main Brain where all memories, thoughts, and actions of the human are recorded and displayed on the screen. We influence the human by inserting instructions via this connection.”

  The naysayers roared and Nergal paused until the others shouted them down.

  “We have been testing for months and these are the first humans to be linked successfully. Our primary target is connected to a Fomorian under my command. I relay instructions to the human through the Fomorian, which is effective, but cumbersome. I personally linked with this woman.” Nergal pointed to the human, Patrika. “Through her, I am able to exert control over the priest.”

  Well, pressure really. Control had been elusive thus far. Nergal would keep that to himself, though.

  From the dais, Shibboleth harrumphed for attention. “Why do you not link directly with the target? Why have you entrusted this to some inferior creature?”

  Nergal raised his hand to call for order. “In early testing, we found that while the first link is strong and effective, it can be injurious and even fatal to the one making the connection.

  “Lesser beings were used for this task while we improved the technique. Likewise, multiple links tend to damage or kill the human host. This one is an exact match for our profile. It may become necessary to test her limits.”

  Shibboleth sat down reluctantly and waved Nergal to continue.

  “We have identified key influential figures around AboveEarth.” Nergal toggled through frames depicting various human targets. “Each controls a significant human following. Once we get these leaders under Reptilian control, we will incite the humans to annihilate one another. Then, lofty sirs, an intact AboveEarth will belong to the Dracos.”

  This time the room exploded with jubilation to the tune of catcalls, whistles, and foot-stomping applause. Nergal rejoiced in the adulation. He had known it was a good plan, better than anything they had dreamed up in a thousand years.

  There was a crash behind him and Nergal wheeled. Shibboleth’s chair spun upside down on the dais. His henchmen glowered, in attack posture. Shibboleth clomped to the center of the stage, his glare daring Nergal to speak. There was a smattering of half-hearted applause.

  “Thank you, General.” Shibboleth sounded far from grateful. He stroked the prominent ridge of horns that flared from his forehead to the back of his cranium, eyeing the crowd. Nergal wondered whether he should exit the stage or take a bow.

  “Thank you for that marvelous idea,” Shibboleth continued. “But I have one question.” Nergal’s sphincter tightened. “Once the humans destroy one other, how do we break the barrier? We still can’t live on AboveEarth—our agreement with the federation binds us to UnderEarth.” Shibboleth’s tone hardened. “How do you plan to get around that, Nergal?”

  “Good question, Sir. We have yet to work that out but are getting closer.” Nergal held his breath. What happened now was crucial, the difference between him winning or losing it all.

  Shibboleth’s expression telegraphed his black thoughts. Nergal could tell he had not expected a viable solution from him, nor did the warlord want one. He wished merely to be rid of Nergal. And the sooner, the better.

  “Be gone foul-tongue.” Shibboleth roared, true now to his face. “Come back when you’ve something better to offer.”

  The hall quieted, save the shifting of generals in chairs, uneasy at the thought of being similarly skewered. A few clapped, but most waited to see what would happen next. When Shibboleth sat down in the chair his henchmen had righted, the room exploded.

  Traitors. Refusing to show emotion or any other sign of weakness, Nergal squelched the urge to swallow. He moved to exit the stage amidst a cacophony of boos, hisses, and grunts. As he passed, one of Shibboleth’s bodyguards drew a red-clawed forefinger across his throat.

  That clinched it. Nergal gulped down the lump clogging his airway. Head held high, he ignored the red-nailed henchman and clomped down the stairs. Not one of the generals met Nergal’s gaze as he traversed the aisle to take his seat.

  When the emcee stood to announce the next speaker, Nergal studied the goon that had threatened him. Even for a Draco, the Reptilian was large. He wore a half-helmet, wristlets of leather, and a vest fashioned from an arthropod’s carapace—some vanquished foe, most likely. The claws on all four of the Draco’s limbs were painted blood-red. Nergal found the practice disgusting and prohibited it in Xibalba IX.

  Perhaps sensing Nergal’s malevolent perusal, the muscle-bound Draco eyed him with contempt and mimed being hung by a noose, complete with bulging eyes and lolling tongue.

  Rage reddened Nergal’s vision, but he kept his fists clenched in his lap and looked away. He’d have to watch his back. And the best way to do that was to get out of Irkalla. He would be leader of all Earth, no matter the opposition. Nergal considered his limited options and made a decision.

  When the meetings adjourned, he would reroute to the UnderEarth base nearest the reverend’s current location. Nergal’s scientist, Ishkur, would handle the delicate extrication process between the Fomorian and the human, and join Nergal with the necessary equipment.

  It was time to ramp up the experiments. Even if it meant injuring his prized target.

  Premonition

  L ugh slammed the phone in its cradle. Jocko’s was finally up and running after the tornado damage, but that was his third call-in today, making the current down-and-out count two waitresses and one short-order chef. And it was only eleven oh five.

  On waking that morning, Lugh had known it wouldn’t be a good day—nothing he could put his finger on, but the hairs on his arms vibrated and that was enough. Now rain lashed the windows and the temperature dropped. The lunch rush had started, and Jocko’s needed help something fierce.

  Punching Suzy’s number, Lugh got her voicemail and left an urgent message, then hung up and called the next on the list. Topher answered, on his way to class. And so it went. Even the always-available Zaleem couldn’t help, at home babysitting four “snot-nosed siblings,” as he so graphically lamented. The doorbell jingled and a party of six bustled in shaking off…was that snow?

  Shit. How could it be snowing? Outside, the white stuff fell in thick clumps and had already formed a blanket on the wet concrete. Dread crawled up Lugh’s neck. March winter storms made him nervous. One had claimed his parents.

  While the newcomers found a table, Lugh switched the overhead to The Weather Station. Earlier this morning, there had been no mention of snow. Or freezing temps. Now NOAA was predicting blizzard conditions for the entire southeast.

  The hairs on Lugh’s arms stood and danced. He lifted a handful of menus and hurried to greet guests and take drink orders with a patience he didn’t feel and an almost genuine smile.

  The bell jingled
on a group of four, laughing and in high spirits. Lugh passed his ticket to the bartender and searched the dining room for Talli. His lone waitress was nowhere in sight. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed four menus.

  Directing a young brunette to the bathroom, Lugh scribbled beverage orders and dropped the ticket at the bar. Hefting the tray of drinks for the six-top, he delivered them to the table and answered questions about the menu. Talli appeared and Lugh nodded her to the four-top.

  When the bell jingled again, his stomach lurched and sweat broke out on his brow. Jocko’s was headed toward a full house and he was desperately short on staff. He glanced up at an empty doorway. He scribbled the order and rushed to the kitchen.

  “Did someone just come in?” he asked Talli as they passed.

  The waitress nodded toward the garden room. Emily Hester. Of all the rotten luck. She would show up today of all days. His smile was tight as she closed the distance.

  “A little birdie told me you could use some help.” Emily beamed, genuine and open.

  Lugh stopped in his tracks, the six-top’s order forgotten in his hand. “That was one wise bird. Ever waitressed?” He prayed the answer would be yes.

  “I worked my way through college waiting tables. Give me a pad and an apron and I’m yours for the next two hours. I’m warning you, though, it’s been a while. I’m a little rusty.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re a lifesaver. Follow me.”

  Lugh showed Emily where to hang her coat and stow her purse, then handed her an apron, pad, and pen. He ignored the spot where his mother had warned him about her.

  “You and Talli are in charge of seating, taking orders, and delivering the food. I’ll keep the drinks filled, bus, and handle any overflow. Ready to rumble?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Then let’s do this.” Lugh shoved through the swinging doors.

  The restaurant was already half full and customers piled through the front door, wiping feet on a rug dotted with melting snow. Emily grabbed a fistful of menus and hurried to greet them.

  **

  The lunch rush was over as early as it had begun. In spite of the nasty weather—snow drifted several feet up the building and blew sideways outside—Jocko’s limited staff had fed two hundred and twenty-two people including take-out orders. They’d sold more than double the normal amount of coffee and hot-tea drinks.

  Only a few guests lingered, conversing and ignoring the growing threat outside. Talli bussed the vacated tables. Emily dropped checks and collected tabs from the remainder.

  Lugh watched his new grand druid make her way across the restaurant. She swept the room with a gaze that took in every detail and gave patrons an opportunity to catch her eye. Not just her tables, either. All of them. Only the best did that.

  She glanced up and he grinned, busted. But damn, the woman was good. On her walk to the kitchen, Emily pranced a little.

  “Like my moves, dahlin’?” she said it in a mock southern accent, punctuated by a lilting laugh.

  “Honey, you can bust yo’ moves in my dining room any time.” Lugh chuckled with admiration.

  She shook her head. “In your dreams.”

  “I’m serious,” Lugh pursued. “You’re not working. It would do you good to get out of that mausoleum and hang out with people now and then. You know, once a week, twice a week, whenever I have a call-in.”

  “I’d love to say ‘yes’ but you know I can’t. Hope would have a hissy.” She chuckled. “No pun intended. We’re packing twenty-six years of lessons into weeks. Months if I’m lucky.”

  “You have a point,” he admitted, though reluctant. “But you’re here now, so I had to try.” He opened the cash register and fished out a crisp fifty-dollar bill, ran it under his nose to savor the money smell, and handed it to Emily.

  Her fine eyebrows shot up registering shock. “For two hours? Really? Servers make a lot more now than I remember.”

  “No, actually, they don’t,” Lugh grinned wryly. “Put that away or Talli will be hitting me up for a raise.”

  “Ahh. A bribe then.” Emily tapped the fifty-dollar bill on her nose while he looked around for Talli. She was in the back corner but walked toward them lugging a full bus tub.

  “One I will take back in a heartbeat if you don’t stop waving it around. Here she comes,” Lugh growled. “Put that away.”

  Emily folded the bill twice and palmed it. Talli closed the distance.

  “Thanks.” He relaxed.

  “Hey Talli, I bused that last table for you and look!” Emily held the folded fifty in the air.

  Lugh’s heart sank.

  Talli squeed and danced to reach for it. “Which table?” Emily pointed. “Wow. I wouldn’t have pegged those guys for big tippers.” Talli started to slide the fifty in her apron pocket, but then hesitated and held it out to Emily.

  “You earned this more than I did. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have made squat today. Nobody tips when the service is lousy.”

  Lugh watched the interaction, warmed by Emily’s generous spirit and falling for her a little more.

  His savior for the day shook her head, hair escaping its confining band to curl in ringlets around her exertion-pinked face. “It’s yours, Talli. You worked your buns off. You deserve it. Keep it.”

  Talli hesitated, then tucked the bill in her apron and hugged the surprised redhead. “Thanks. It will come in handy, believe you me. I’m a single mom of two and short on bills.”

  With a nod, Talli made a beeline for the kitchen, lugging the bus tub with her. There was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there before. Emily Hester had that effect on people. Especially Lugh. But she had given away his fifty.

  “Really?” Lugh mock-glared, preferring to hide his gooey side.

  “Really.” Emily glared right back. “It was a bit unfair to Talli. Plus, Brian was worried and I wanted to help. I didn’t do it to get paid.”

  “Not even minimum wage?” he joked.

  She pulled a wad of bills from her apron pocket. “I’m pretty sure this covers that. Take me to dinner if you insist on paying. Hanging out with cats, a kid, and a testy dog has me jonesing for adult conversation.”

  Lugh dismissed his mother’s warning again. What harm could dinner do?

  “How about this weekend? After we get through this blizzard? We still haven’t made it to Zoo Atlanta.” The doorbell jingled and they both looked up.

  The druid cop Taurus Gowan, sans partner, shook the snow off his plastic-shrouded police cap. He dusted it from his overcoat and surveyed the almost empty dining room with a seasoned eye.

  When Taurus spied Lugh and Emily behind the bar, he nodded and headed their way. She waved and ducked into the kitchen, leaving Lugh alone at the counter.

  “Taurus,” he acknowledged the aptly named officer whose neck was as thick as Lugh’s thigh. He’d grown up with the guy and still wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.

  “Lugh.” Tense, Taurus leaned against the bar and murmured in a low voice, “Mitchell sent me to spread the word. Arthur has called an emergency meeting and you know what that means. You gotta close the place down unless someone else can run ‘er for ya. No one can miss, least of all you, Mitch says.” The burly officer’s expression said he didn’t envy Lugh.

  “Taurus, I have no time for false alarms.”

  The officer groaned. “Nor do I. But I’m afraid this isn’t. Arthur and Morgan agree there’s some outside force at play here. A few hours ago, this wasn’t a blip on the radar. Now WNN is calling it a once in a lifetime weather bomb. The barometric pressure dropped forty points in under an hour.”

  The cop massaged the stubble on his chin and the underbelly of his throat.

  “A tiny non-system,” Taurus drawled, mimicking an announcer. “A wisp of a nothing stalled over the Gulf of Mexico turned into a vicious, cyclonic cell.” He dropped the farce and his voice turned serious. “Just before that, a Canadian cold front changed directions and barreled down the center of the country
toward Atlanta. Both are heading straight for us. Coincidence?”

  Lugh shook his head.

  “None of the other druids think so either. Even the weather dudes are scratching their heads. It looks like trouble may’ve found us, my friend.”

  Lugh glanced at the screen above Taurus’s head. The sound was muted, but a reporter stood in front of Atlanta International Airport. The caption showed several runways closed. A list of delayed and cancelled flights scrolled across the screen. More were flashing iffy.

  He cocked his head at Taurus. “And what do you think?”

  The cop leaned closer, his meaty hands planted flat on the counter. “I think something’s up. Don’t you feel it?”

  Looking down at his own clenched fists, Lugh nodded. He did feel it. In his bones and in the hair vibrating on the backs of his arms. He caught an echo of his fear in the cop’s eyes, then the flicker was gone.

  “Yes,” he agreed. Unclenching one hand, he laid it on Taurus’s. “Something is fishy for sure. And it looks like the storm will get worse.” He opened the register to close out. “What time and where?”

  “Two hours. Wren’s Roost, main house.” Taurus looked out at the blowing snow, then up at the television screen. “Or as soon as possible. Be careful out there.” Concern carved valleys across his wide forehead.

  “We will. Brian will be with me. Emily is in the kitchen, so I’ll make sure she gets the word.”

  “I’m sure Mitchell’s ahead of you on that, but please do.” Taurus tipped his hat and turned to go, solemn to the core.

  “Have you eaten?” Lugh called after the hunched cop.

  “No, but no time. More stops to make. Mrs. Mary will have something, I’m sure. Oh!” The policeman turned back. “I almost forgot. Bring clothes. We may be there till this thing blows over. They didn’t say, but if it lasts more than a couple of days, we’ll be celebrating the equinox indoors.”

  Lugh stuffed the day’s receipts in a money bag. No sense in keeping Jocko’s open in a blizzard. “Got it. Two hours.”