Poseidon's Scar

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Poseidon's Scar Page 28

by Matthew Phillion


  Add on top of that the screeching and growling of the fish-people, their incoherent babbling in anger and pain and hunger as they tried to destroy the ship and everyone on board, and then on top of that the battle cries—and, Barnabas noted with a knot in his gut, the stoic sounds of pain—from the Amazon warriors, and the entire ship became a cacophony of distractions.

  Still, he thought, I have a job to do. I’m going to do it. If it kills me. Which, judging from the way the giant monster was thrashing about, is probably what it’s going to do.

  He held the Eye of Dreams up above him in both hands, aiming it toward the colossus. The sphere was warm to the touch, almost comforting. It felt like a living thing, which was not as comforting. And most alarmingly, it spoke to him.

  He caught only bits and pieces at first, the Eye of Dreams speaking at first in a language he didn’t understand, then bits and pieces of languages he could recognize but not understand, and then a language he did understand: the spoken form of the words of magic.

  Command, it told him.

  I’m trying, he thought. What do I command it to do?

  Sleep, it said.

  Yeah, see, I’m trying that, he thought.

  Before he could make another attempt to control the sphere, a fish-man charged at him on the quarterdeck. Holding onto the sphere with one hand carefully, Barnabas blasted the creature with his flintlock, sending it spiraling off the deck. He heard another thump as behind him, Muireann cast some sort of sleep spell on another fish creature, leaving it drooling and unconscious on the floor.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Barnabas shot her a weak smile and placed both hands back on the sphere. He looked up at the giant monster again, and found his eyes drawn to its face. The thirteen eyes. No, he realized. Twelve now. Echo did some damage up there, he knew. That must be where she pierced its skull. It’s just waiting to be rocked to sleep, he thought, if I can just figure out what I need to do next. The monster swung its arms around blindly, like a boxer in the dark.

  He winced as he heard one of the Amazons cry out in what sounded like mortal agony from the deck below.

  “What’s wrong?” Muireann called out.

  Barnabas bit back a sarcastic comment about his own incompetence and shook his head at her.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I can hear it speaking to me but I can’t focus on what it’s saying.”

  “Well, then,” Muireann said, and she threw both arms out to her sides.

  The world went deathly quiet.

  In an instant, every sound was gone. The fight all around them continued, both sides bloody and battered, but here, in this moment, Barnabas felt instantly isolated, as if underwater. And with that, the Eye called to him.

  He held the Eye to his forehead, and his body went numb. No, not numb, not exactly. Detached. As if it were no longer his. The sphere was a new color now, no longer amber, but a deep, pale gold, the color of first light, or last. Barnabas held the Eye tighter and spoke not to the sphere, but to the monster itself.

  “Your time has come to a close,” he said, not in his native tongue but the language of magic. “Go back to your slumber, Star-Child. This world is not ready for you, and you are not ready for it. Go home and rest, or you will know what true oblivion feels like. Sleep again, so you may rise again. You were awoken too early. The end of the world is not today, nor tomorrow, and you will need your rest if you are to see that day when it arrives.”

  He said the words, but they were not uttered with his voice, Barnabas thought. Someone else’s thoughts had intruded on his own. But it worked; the massive monstrosity stopped thrashing and grew calm, arms falling to its sides. Its now-twelve eyes blinked lazily, slowly, their gold and red glow growing dimmer.

  The creature turned, a complete reversal of direction, and began to plod back into the ocean. Its movements were zombielike, sluggish, unrushed. Barnabas found himself thinking of a toddler who had been ordered to bed and went without question.

  The water hissed and bubbled as the colossus sunk lower and lower beneath the waves. It passed within meters of the Endless, and Barnabas watched in curious horror as the fish-men, no longer interested in fighting, dove desperately into the ocean, chasing after their sleepy god.

  The Eye of Dreams pulsed in Barnabas’ hands like a heartbeat. He felt himself being drawn in as well, the temptation of eternal rest, of dreams that never ended, of a sleep as long as time far beneath the waves.

  Muireann’s circle of silence dropped, and reality came rushing back into Barnabas’ ears and mind. The cries of the wounded, the splash of fish creatures diving into the ocean in a panic. Somewhere in the distance a bell buoy rang incessantly.

  Barnabas stared into the Eye of Dreams. It still glowed with a warm light, but faded rapidly, its job done. He cradled the glasslike ball in one arm and leaned heavily on the ship’s wheel, shaking off the feeling he’d been drawn somewhere else, an eerie sense that the Eye had wanted him to join the colossus beneath the waves.

  “Did it work?” Muireann said. Barnabas lifted his head up from the wheel to saw the ondine, a gash on one shoulder but mostly unharmed, rocking exhaustedly on her feet.

  He pointed across the waves to where the enormous titan had once stood. Bubbles burst and glimmered in the dark water, but it showed no sign of returning. Even its sycophants and parasites, the fish-men, seemed to have turned and fled, whether because they knew the battle was lost or simply to remain close to their silent god, Barnabas did not know.

  “I think it went where the Eye told it to go,” Barnabas said.

  “Are you sure?” Muireann said. She put a hand on his shoulder, as much to steady herself as to support him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I sure as hell wanted to go and it wasn’t even speaking to me. Whatever this thing is, it’s hard to ignore.”

  “What do we do now?” Muireann said.

  “Hope that thing doesn’t come back,” Barnabas said.

  Chapter 56: Sharks, just falling from the sky

  Simon and Clarissa made their way down out of the apartment building and started a hair-raising jaunt between buildings and cutting through alleyways to avoid detection. Fortunately, it seemed, most of the cultists had gathered along the main thoroughfare through the downtown, so it only took a block or two to get away from the bulk of the robed believers.

  They paused behind a gas station to catch their breath and watch as a set of hooded figures, whom Clarissa said she swore owned the local yarn shop, walked by, chatting about how pleasantly warm it was despite the hint of rain.

  “This whole town has lost its damned mind,” Clarissa said. “Any luck reaching your boss?”

  Simon risked a glance at his phone, trying to cover the light the screen gave off in case anyone happened by.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I mean I got through to the Department. They may be sending people. Or…

  “Or we’re on our own,” Clarissa said.

  The longer the march of cultists went on, the more lights from what Simon suspected were non-cultists started to click on throughout the downtown area. He could see lights in windows, and at one point watched a heavyset man he’d seen around town but never spoken to stick most of his body out his second-floor window and throw his arms up in the universal motion for “huh?”

  “Simon, we can’t leave all the regular people behind,” Clarissa said. “I know the smart thing is to run, but… like I have people in town who work for me. Kids. I can’t just leave them to be, you know, eaten by fish-people.”

  “I’m not feeling so great about our escape either,” Simon said. “But honestly, we’re two people. What can we do?”

  “Get the rest of the town on our side? It’s not all townies here. Half the people who live here are recent transplants.”

  “You think we can organize a militia in twenty minutes?” Simon said. “This is a fancy catalogue shopping town, Clarissa. I don’t see a lot of people rising up with makeshift weapons to def
end themselves.”

  “You never know,” Clarissa said.

  “Actually, I do,” Simon said. “I once saw an uprising in a town that had a vampire problem.”

  “Wait, what?” Clarissa said. “Did you just say vampire problem?”

  “Whole town got wiped out,” Simon said. “Man, what a nightmare. But that’s what you get when you send a bunch of regular people up against the supernatural.”

  “Can we at least try the phone thing again?” Clarissa said. “Look, there’s that… thing walking this way, that gigantic thing, Simon. Maybe if we warn everyone they can head out of town. We only saw a few cruisers. They can’t stop everyone, right? Overwhelming odds.”

  “The cops could start shooting.”

  “I see a giant monster about to step on the entire town, dude,” Clarissa said. “I think a couple of bullet wounds is a fair trade to get out of Dodge.”

  “You… would make a really good Department agent, you know that?”

  “I am unsure if that’s an insult or a compliment, but I’ll just say thank you and hope you listen to reason, Simon.”

  Simon turned back toward town hall. Maybe, just maybe, if the cultists started moving their way to the beach as a group, they could get into the hall. It was a small town, not one with a huge budget for technology, so he had to believe the phone system was relatively simple. Of course, the older the phone system, in his experience, the less logical sense it made to a modern user. But still.

  “Okay fine. You’re right. We’ll—”

  Before Simon could finish speaking, both he and Clarissa found themselves doubled over by a staggering pain, Simon involuntarily covering his ears against a sharp, inhuman scream.

  “What the hell is that?” Clarissa said as the sound subsided, only to nearly jump out of her skin as something fell out of the sky and crushed a parked sedan across the street.

  Simon and Clarissa let loose a string of curse words both of them had successfully held in check until now, including several composite swears so shockingly grotesque Simon found himself impressed and appalled.

  “What the hell is that?” Clarissa repeated, pointing at the massive beast crawling its way off the car. Bleeding and battered, it was a shark, literally a shark, but with arms and legs like an oversized human. It staggered to its knees, looked at them with jet-black eyes while clutching a wicked gash in its side from the car, and then flopped down on all fours. “Sharks! Just falling out of the sky!”

  “It’s raining man-sharks,” Simon said. “They left this part out of every prediction about the apocalypse ever written. How did no one predict raining man-sharks?”

  Simon pulled the gun he’d kept tucked in the back of his waistband and held it out in front of him, ready to shoot.

  “You have a gun?” Clarissa said, her voice uncomfortably loud in the otherwise empty street.

  “I have a gun,” Simon said.

  “You had a gun this whole time and you’re only letting me know now?”

  “What good was it against a million cultists, fish-men, and a walking island?”

  “What good is it against a man-shark?” Clarissa said, her voice cracking.

  “Guys,” a new voice said. Simon and Clarissa whipped around to see the man-shark had transformed into just a man, a very beat up, dark-haired man with a thick build, an unimpressive goatee, and an unexpectedly kind, round face.

  “What. The. Hell,” Clarissa said.

  “Don’t move,” Simon said.

  “Please don’t shoot me, dude,” the man said, dabbing his hand at the gash in his side. Simon’s heart skipped a beat in horror as he watched the wound seal up as if in fast-forward. “I’m here to save the day.”

  “You’re what?” Simon said.

  “Hi,” the man said, sitting down properly and waving. Clarissa waved back automatically. “I’m Yuri. I’m…”

  He waved a hand around vaguely. I think he’s concussed, Simon thought. Can man-sharks get concussions?

  “I’m a superhero? Sort of?” he said.

  “You’re a man-shark,” Clarissa said.

  “Actually, we prefer the term were-shark. Like werewolf, but with shark at the end,” Yuri said. “And me and my friends are, like, trying to stop that thing out there.”

  Yuri pointed at the walking island off the coast.

  “Are your friends all were-sharks?” Simon said.

  “Nah, I’m the only one of those on this squad,” Yuri said.

  “That implies there are other were-sharks,” Clarissa said.

  “Yeah, there’s a bunch—man, I feel like garbage. I think he threw me a mile, dude.”

  “That thing threw you?” Simon said.

  “Yeah, after I bit the crap out his hand,” Yuri said, smiling proudly. Simon determined the were-shark was definitely concussed by the goofy expression on his face. “But I guess it’s up to my friends to finish the job.”

  “Your friends, the superheroes,” Simon said.

  “Yup,” Yuri said.

  And that was when the sky lit up.

  A white light streaked across the sky, a glittering slash that cast a glow all the way up to the clouds and sent shards of light across the surface of the ocean. Yuri started to say “Wow, that looks like something out of an anime,” but was cut off when another scream echoed through the town, this one worse than before. Simon forced himself to flip the safety on his gun and holster it quickly before covering his ears again. When he put his palms against his ears, though, the left one came away with a trickle of blood.

  The creature, the moving island, shrouded in night’s darkness, thrashed and cried out, weaving drunkenly on legs that no longer seemed to want to support it. A warm golden light, falling like spores from the sky, danced around the monster’s head and shoulders, and the beast waved its arms as if trying to drive it away.

  And then everything went quiet.

  Simon watched in disbelief as the creature turned its back on the mainland. He dared not hope for the best, but then the monster slowly, deliberately, began walking away, staggering as if half asleep, its massive, bulky body disappearing beneath the waves. And what waves, he thought, watching the surface of the water as it churned like something out of a wildlife video of a feeding frenzy. He heard animalistic cries of panic, of fear, far off in the water. And within seconds, the great shape had become fully submerged, dipping beneath the black waters of the Atlantic.

  “Simon,” Clarissa said. “The cultists?”

  “Come on,” Simon said. He helped Yuri to his feet, Clarissa slipping an arm under Yuri’s shoulder to help him stand. Together, the trio awkwardly half-ran, half-stumbled back downtown.

  The streets were littered with cultists. Many lay catatonic on the pavement, staring up at the sky. Some wept openly. A few cursed and complained, muttering things about disappointing showings or never again in their lifetimes, better get the grandkids ready. Some started to head home. One, whom Simon immediately recognized as the school superintendent, locked eyes with him, then looked away as if ashamed.

  “Were these people… waiting for that thing to get here?” Yuri asked.

  “That is what we believe, based on empirical evidence,” Simon said.

  “This town is off its rocker, kid,” Clarissa said.

  “Huh,” Yuri said. “Reminds me of the place I grew up.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Clarissa said.

  “So, um, thanks for the assist,” Yuri said. “But I really need to get back to my friends. Make sure they’re not dead and all.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d try to get you to stay,” Simon said. “But at this point?”

  Yuri patted him on the shoulder and pointed down the street.

  “Easiest way to the water is this way?” he said.

  “We’ll help you,” Clarissa said.

  “On one condition,” Simon said.

  “Seriously, dude?” Yuri said.

  “Just… come back and tell me what this was all about, huh?”
Simon said. “I’m going to have to explain all this to my boss.”

  “Your boss?” Yuri said.

  “I’m an agent of the Department of What,” Simon said.

  “The Department of What?” Yuri said.

  “That’s what I said,” Simon said.

  “That didn’t answer my question,” Yuri said.

  “I kind of have the feeling this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Clarissa said.

  Chapter 57: There is always a bond, wanted or not

  Artem thought he was drowning, and compared to the alternative, he felt this would be a better way to die.

  His fall from the belly of the beast had knocked the wind out of him, a sloppy drop when his sword’s grip on the monster’s gut came lose. The sword was gone, lost in the plunge, and now, turned around and blinded by saltwater in his eyes, Artem struggled to figure out which way was up.

  But he’d also plummeted into a sea full of cannibalistic fish-men, whose god he had just assaulted, and so he fully expected to be fighting for his life in the brine any second.

  He drew the other sword, the one he’d sheathed before he fell, and swam one armed to the surface, waiting for the first bite to tear into his flesh.

  It never came.

  Instead, he watched as light flashed through the sky, another brutal burst of psychic energy washed over him, and the towering colossus turned tail to walk away. The creature’s departure caused the water around him to swirl turbulently, but also, he realized, all the fish-folk, every single one, began a panicked, spastic swim to stay with their master, following him like parasites afraid to lose the source of their survival. Several bumped into Artem as they swam, and there was a terrifying moment when a swarm of them darted so close Artem could feel their slippery skin against his, but it was as if he were nothing more than a minor obstacle between them and their true goal. The fish-people left him largely ignored, disappearing, with eerie, plaintive cries, almost childlike in their sadness, into the night, afraid to be left behind.

 

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