Mythmaker

by Tim Waggoner

Dean didn’t know what was so interesting about it. The supernatural equivalent of one percenters thought they were so important that they needed a human pet constantly at their side. Big surprise.

  “Let’s go say howdy,” Dean said. Sam nodded, and the brothers rose from the table.

  “I’ll join you as soon as I can,” Sheriff Deacon said. “Lena sent me over to get coffee and hot chocolate for everyone, and it’ll probably take a while.”

  Dean clapped the sheriff on the shoulder. “Get some crullers, too. Those things are delicious.”

  The brothers then headed for the door, leaving behind a smiling, but puzzled, sheriff.

  * * *

  Geoffrey followed Adamantine down the sidewalk, a handful of her other followers walking directly behind him, along with a number of new recruits. While Adamantine lacked anything even remotely resembling warmth and compassion, she exuded strength and power, and Geoffrey was always surprised how many people were attracted to that. But then, he supposed he shouldn’t be, as he was one of her followers, too. Things had certainly changed for him since meeting Adamantine. For the first time in a long time, he had a purpose, a family, a sense of community, and—best of all—he had a home, even if it was a hijacked electronics store. But one thing hadn’t changed: He was still stuck outside in the cold, just like any other night. He supposed it was a small enough price to pay for everything he had gained, but he couldn’t help thinking longingly of the heater in the Geek Fleet car, and wishing he was behind the wheel right now, heat on full blast.

  Adamantine walked at a fast pace, as if she were determined not to waste any time. They came to the last building before the intersection, a stately, sturdy old thing of red brick that had probably been built in the early twentieth century, Geoffrey guessed. They don’t make them like that anymore, he thought. As Adamantine approached the corner, she slowed, then stopped. Geoffrey and the others stopped as well, but when Geoffrey started to ask her if something was wrong, she turned to him and pressed a silver finger to her lips. Silence, the gesture said, and Geoffrey shut his mouth. Moving slowly, Adamantine placed her hands on the side of the building and peered around the corner. She stood like that for several moments, watching, but watching what, Geoffrey couldn’t say. But then she motioned for him to join her, and he did so, moving just as cautiously as she had.

  “What is it, my lady?” he whispered.

  “See for yourself,” she whispered back, then retreated several steps to make room for him. He stepped forward and leaned his head out past the edge of the building so he could see.

  A crowd of men and women stood halfway down the block, grouped around a tall man in a white coat who was obviously another god. But the man projected an aura of power that Geoffrey—after having been in Adamantine’s presence for half a day—could feel even at this distance. He pulled his head back and turned toward Adamantine.

  “He’s as strong as you,” he said, then mentally added, Maybe stronger.

  He thought Adamantine might be angry that he’d suggested any god could possibly be her equal—let alone her superior—but she broke out into a huge grin and said, “I know.”

  Since leaving TechEdge, they’d encountered two different gods: a harvest maiden named Cornucopia and a hideous multi-tentacled thing called Yithuggug. Adamantine had fought and killed both of them without much trouble, and she’d acquired most of their followers. She destroyed those who’d refused to Bind themselves to her, just as she’d done with those two worshippers of Wyld. He supposed he’d been unable to keep the horror he felt at watching them die from his face, for Adamantine had told him, I can’t allow them to lend their strength to another god, not if I want to be the One.

  With each god she dispatched, Adamantine grew exponentially stronger, and she now emitted such power that Geoffrey’s entire body tingled when he stood too close to her, as if an electric current coursed through him. Sometimes the sensation was so strong that his teeth ached and he felt tiny hot pinpricks of pain on his skin, as if invisible sparks were shooting off of him.

  That’s why she’s so excited to see this new god, he thought. She doesn’t view him as a threat. To her, he’s just another energy source to be drained, although a damn sight more powerful than those last two.

  Adamantine had brought Wyld’s spear with her. Geoffrey was glad that she’d only felt the need to hold on to this particular trophy, the one from the first god she’d defeated. If she’d kept it up and collected the weapons from every god she fought, she’d never be able to carry them all. He’d probably have been the one forced to drag all the items around. Be grateful for small favors, he told himself.

  “Are you thinking about challenging him?” Geoffrey asked, even though he knew it was a stupid question.

  “Of course! Can’t you feel the power flowing from him? If I can add his energy to mine, I’ll be unstoppable!”

  If is the operative word, Geoffrey thought.

  “Go forth and announce me,” she said.

  He suppressed a sigh. Somewhere along the line she had decided that it was more “dignified” if he approached the god she wished to battle and announced her name and intentions. After this, she would come forward, head held high, affecting a regal bearing as if she already was the One, and having to fight her way to the title was merely a dreary formality. Geoffrey hated this new duty of his. Not only did he feel silly doing it, Yithuggug had been so annoyed that the loathsome creature wrapped several tentacles around him and nearly crushed his rib cage before Adamantine had stepped in.

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, trying not to let on how unenthusiastic he felt about the task. He walked around the corner and started toward the god and his group of followers—

  —just as a ball of fire flew across the street to strike the god, instantly engulfing him in a blazing-hot inferno.

  * * *

  Sam and Dean had just stepped into the parking lot of the donut shop when they saw a tall, slender woman whose hair appeared to be on fire. She stood on the sidewalk, a group of people behind her, and she drew her right arm back like she was getting ready to throw a baseball, then flung it forward. Her hand had been empty, but as her arm curved downward, a ball of flame shot from her palm and soared through the air toward Paeon. The woman’s—no, the god’s—followers cheered, clapped, whistled, and hooted, sounding more like excited sports fans than worshippers.

  Sam had time for a single thought before the flame struck Paeon, and it was this: I wonder if gods are fireproof. He had his answer a second later when fire erupted across Paeon’s body, and the god bellowed in pain. No human could’ve produced that sound. It echoed like thunder, and Sam felt the asphalt beneath his feet vibrate, as if the town was experiencing a minor earthquake. His ears—which were still ringing from when he and Dean fired Armament’s quadruple-barreled shotgun—felt like someone had rammed knives into them. He clapped his hands over his ears to protect them, and he wasn’t surprised to see Dean do the same.

  The fire god’s worshippers began to chant in unison: Flare, Flare, Flare, Flare!

  She turned to them and bowed, as if she were a stage magician who’d just performed an especially astounding trick. The flames that rose from her head didn’t seem to bother her, nor did they appear to be damaging her skin in any way. The parking lot lights revealed that her skin was red, as if she had suffered severe sunburn, and her eyes were a solid glowing orange.

  “Thank you, all,” she said, and as she spoke, Sam could see tiny flickering flames behind her teeth, and he thought, She’s like a furnace inside.

  She wore a black leather jacket over a rock concert T-shirt for a band Sam had never heard of called Rhapsody of Fire. Black jeans and thigh-high black boots completed her outfit.

  Paeon’s cries began to diminish in volume, and the ground no longer trembled beneath their feet. Sam gingerly pulled his hands away from his ears, and although they still hurt, it was nothing like before. He nodded to Dean, and his brother uncovered his ears as well.

/>   “Man,” Dean said, “that girl is—”

  “Don’t say it,” Sam said.

  “Smoking hot!”

  Sam sighed while Dean grinned.

  Flare blew a kiss to her followers, turned, and walked into the street, moving toward Paeon with long, purposeful strides. Paeon was still wreathed in flame, but he no longer cried out in pain. The woman who was his “assistant”—the sheriff had said her name was Lena Nguyen—stood close by, too close for safety, Sam thought. She was yelling at Paeon, but Sam couldn’t hear what she was saying, partially because of the ringing in his ears and partially because of the distance between them. An instant later, the flames shrank and then were extinguished altogether. Paeon’s flesh and clothes were burned to such a degree that it was impossible to tell one from the other. Sam couldn’t believe that the man was still on his feet. Even for a god, the level of pain he was experiencing had to be excruciating.

  Flare was halfway across the street when Paeon, moving stiffly, reached toward his chest, pried back a blackened section that could’ve been clothing, flesh, or a sickening combination of both, and removed a small rod-like object that had also been charred by the fire. He gripped it tight in his charred fist and a golden glow burned away the soot covering its surface. Now that Sam could see the object clearly, he recognized it as a caduceus. The glow flashed brightly, covering Paeon from head to toe, and when it faded, he looked completely normal again. Skin smooth and healthy, hair unburned, features all where they should be. Even his clothes had been restored to their undamaged state.

  “Now that’s some damn powerful magic,” Dean said.

  By the time Flare reached Paeon, he was as good as new, although several of his followers looked worse for wear. They leaned on each other for support, and a couple had passed out and were being tended to by fellow worshippers. Sam wondered what would happen if a battle became too intense—would the gods drain so much energy from their followers that instead of feeling ill or weak, they died? Of course they would, he thought. They’re monsters, aren’t they?

  Flare curled her hands into fists and they burst into flame. She drew back her right arm, clearly intending to deliver a fiery punch to Paeon’s jaw, but before she could strike, he lunged forward, almost as if he were fencing, and jammed his caduceus into her sternum. The artifact glowed with black light this time, and the flames rising from Flare’s fists extinguished. She moaned, hunched over, and put her hands on her belly. She took several steps backward, fell to her knees, and dropped her chin to her chest. The fire that rose from her head like a deadly halo sputtered and went out, revealing her bald head. The fire was her hair, Sam realized. Around her head she wore a copper circlet. The fire had hid it before—perhaps had even come from it—but now it was plain for all to see.

  “That thing on her head,” Sam said. “That has to be her weapon.”

  “Bet you’re right,” Dean said. “What do you think Paeon did to her? Isn’t he like a god of medicine? Shouldn’t he have, I don’t know, cleared up her acne or improved her digestive health, something like that?”

  “Paeon can heal, yes. But he can hurt, too, when he wants.”

  The brothers turned to see Sheriff Deacon standing next to them. He held three drink carriers containing coffee and hot chocolate, one stacked atop another so high that they blocked the lower half of his face.

  Deacon continued, “And as long as a god has a physical body, he can affect it just like he can a human’s—as long as he can touch them with that golden doodad of his.”

  “Please don’t say ‘golden doodad,’” Dean said. “It sounds wrong in so many ways.”

  Sam ignored them. His attention was focused on the scene playing out between Paeon and Flare. Paeon walked over and gazed down upon her, his expression an unsettling mixture of compassion and satisfied cruelty. When he spoke, his voice was loud, as if it were amplified. He wants everyone in the area to hear his words, Sam thought. He wasn’t surprised. He and Dean hadn’t met a god yet that wasn’t a full-tilt diva in one way or another.

  “It was poor form of you not to say the words. I would give you a chance to say them now, just to make sure we dot our I’s and cross our T’s, but considering that I have rearranged your internal organs, I doubt you’re capable of speech right now.”

  He still held his caduceus in his right hand, so he reached down with his left, took hold of the copper circlet, and removed it from her head. He held the object up so he could examine it, turning it back and forth so he could look at it from all sides.

  “Beautiful craftsmanship. The design is elegant in its simplicity.” He looked at the circlet for another moment, while Flare continued to press her hands to her abdomen and whimpered.

  Sam couldn’t imagine the pain she must be feeling. Even for a god, having your internal organs “rearranged” had to be an agony beyond endurance. If Paeon had done the same thing to a human, he or she would’ve died instantly. Only Flare’s divine nature had kept her alive this long.

  Paeon looked away from the circlet and down at Flare once again. “Well, if you feel no need for the words, I suppose there is no need for me to speak them either.”

  He raised the circlet high, and with a single swift motion brought it down hard on Flare’s head. A horrible crunching sound filled the air, and she slumped over onto her side, her skull shattered. She lay motionless for a moment, then—as the brothers had witnessed with the other dead gods—white light enveloped her as well as her weapon. The two lights merged into a sphere that hovered in the air for an instant, and then streaked toward Paeon and disappeared into his body. Flare and her circlet were gone.

  Paeon’s followers cheered and clapped for their god’s victory, but not Dr. Nguyen. She looked weary, emotionally if not physically. Her reaction—or lack thereof—made sense to Sam. What sort of doctor could stand by and watch someone be murdered and not be affected? It went against everything physicians stood for.

  Sheriff Deacon was just as thrilled as Paeon’s other worshippers.

  “I told you he was great! Come on, I’ll take you over and introduce you.”

  Sam looked at Dean and Dean gave a slight shrug in return, as if to say, Your call.

  Sam wasn’t sure what to do. Now that they’d had a chance to see Paeon in action, it was clear he could be as ruthless as any other god. If he figured out they were hunters, he’d probably use his caduceus to turn them inside out—or worse—and without some kind of weapon of their own, the brothers would be helpless against him.

  “Now might not be the best—”

  Before Sam could complete the sentence, a tall woman whose body and clothing appeared to be formed entirely of silver came walking around the corner of a building at the end of the block. As soon as she was in sight, Sam felt tremendous power emanating from her, and if the way she looked hadn’t marked her as a god, her regal bearing and the energy she exuded would have. An older African-American man in shabby clothes stood on the sidewalk halfway between the corner and where Paeon and his worshippers stood, and as the silver woman drew near, he glanced over his shoulder at her. But rather than run in fear, he gave her a deferential nod, faced forward, and started walking toward Paeon. The silver woman came after him, moving more slowly now, maybe to give him a chance to reach Paeon ahead of her. A moment later, a dozen people came around the corner and trailed after the silver woman. Her worshippers, Sam figured, or at least some of them.

  “Paeon certainly attracts the ladies, doesn’t he?” Dean said. “Then again, he is a doctor.”

  “Do you think that guy walking ahead of her is her assistant or familiar or whatever they’re called?” Sam asked.

  “Maybe,” Dean said. “Guess she likes the grungy look.”

  “Guys, I’m going to head on over,” the sheriff said. “I need to add my support to the group in case another fight’s about to start. Besides—” he shifted the drink carriers to get a better hold on them “—these things are getting heavy.”

  Sheriff De
acon started walking across the street then, and he reached his fellow worshippers the same time the African-American man drew near Paeon. The man stopped ten feet from the god and began speaking, his words hesitant but clear.

  “I wish to announce the advent of my lady Adamantine, strongest and fiercest of gods. Gaze upon her countenance with awe, tremble in her presence, and prepare yourself for death at her hands.”

  “How much you want to bet she wrote that herself?” Dean said.

  “Come on,” Sam said. “Let’s get closer so we can hear better.”

  “You mean get killed more easily,” Dean said, but when Sam stepped into the street, he followed.

  TWELVE

  The brothers took up positions on the sidewalk not far from where Sheriff Deacon was passing out hot drinks. The way people grabbed them and then hurried to find a good vantage point to watch the two gods made Sam think of spectators at a sporting event getting their refreshments and settling in before the action started.

  By this point, the silver god—Adamantine—had walked up to Paeon and stood facing him. They were on the sidewalk, standing on a section of concrete blackened from Flare’s fiery attack on Paeon. The humans on both sides had backed off to make room for the two gods, but not so much room that they would be safe when the gods started fighting, Sam thought. Now that Paeon and Adamantine were in close proximity, the air seemed to crackle with unseen energy. Sam felt his skin begin to tingle, and if he looked in a mirror right now, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see his hair standing on end, as if he’d been exposed to a massive electrostatic charge.

  Paeon was the first to speak.

  “I am Paeon.”

  “I am Adamantine,” the silver god said.

  And then both at the same time: “In the end there shall be One.”

  It sounded to Sam like a ritual of some sort, but not one that all gods followed, he guessed. After all, Armament hadn’t spoken these words to Karrion.

  “Round One,” Dean said. “Too bad nobody has a bell to ring.”