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In Search of.... (Mythklok Chapter 98)
Title: In Search of.... (Mythklok Chapter 98)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A search and rescue mission.
Warnings: Just the usual nonsense
Notes: After jump
Last time: we plotted and planned. And played a game.
This is one of the last two or three chapters I'm gonna write. I don't know for sure because, other than scribbling illegible notes on cocktail napkins, I almost never write a fucking outline.
“You shouldn't smoke, dear.”
“Yes, Azalea Auntie.”
Ganesh ignored the well-intentioned advice and leaned back into the large elephant's flank, taking a deep drag on his fragrant Indian cigarette. He twisted his legs up into the lotus position and tried to clear his mind. Azalea switched her tail, but offered no further advice. He found the rough feel of her skin on his back comforting somehow, like coming home.
Back at Mordhaus final decisions had been made, and a small army had been marshaled and mobilized. Men and gods and angels and assorted other beings were now encamped in the shadow of a great wall of copper and iron, awaiting the signal to descend into the unknown: a treacherous mountain road that had reduced one of the greatest armies ever created – one of the legendary armies of his people – to just one lone soldier, Durga.
And all for the faintest of hopes: the tiny snore of a sleeping angel.
He became aware of a shadow blocking the sun. He shielded his eyes, looking up.
“She will be here. Do not worry,” he assured Sariel. The angel didn't currently have his wings out, but if he had, they would doubtless be fluttering in anxiety and frustration. As it was, all that was visible was a persistent quivering at the edge of one eye.
“It's getting late,” stated Sariel. “Where the fuck is she? Shopping for shoes?”
Ganesh pushed the hair out of his eyes. It immediately fell back. “They will be here.” He tilted his head. “What is in the bag?” he asked.
Sariel squatted down next to him and flipped the top open on the messenger bag. “I just grabbed these off Boon's bed before we took off.” He dug out what was inside: two very well-worn soft toys.
“Oh, Wunge and Lelefun! Yes, I am certain he misses them terribly!” said Ganesh, playfully poking the ratty plush angel in the chubby stomach.
Sariel flinched, and then quickly stuffed the toys back into the bag. Ganesh frowned. The wrong thing to say, now they were both thinking of their little one, all alone, without even the small comfort of his imaginary friends. Ganesh leaned forward, proffering a hand. Sariel thumped down on his knees, greedily snatching the offered cigarette and taking a large drag.
“Do not Bogart, my dear,” said Ganesh affectionately. But Sariel was looking up, distracted. Ganesh strained his ears, listening. Yes, the whir of rotors. And … something else.
They were both standing up now, as was most of the party, squinting into the sky, watching a shadow traced the clouds. The whirring sounded louder as the Blackhawk helicopter suddenly dove and tilted. At the open door stood a figure, clad all in white, and, improbably enough, jamming on a guitar, seemingly heedless to the great height and crazy flight pattern of the copter. Two smaller figures, like oversized gypsy moths, fluttered at his shoulders. Skwisgaar bowed his head and played as the helicopter danced overhead, seemingly controlled by some madman.
“Raziel!” shouted Sariel, sticking a finger into his left ear as if he were wearing an earpiece.
“Can you hear her?” asked Ganesh.
Sariel frowned and shook his head. “She says everything is ‘copacetic,’ whatever the hell that means.” He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Nathan! It’s time!”
Nathan looked up from where he had been playing cards with some leprechauns. He tossed his hand to the ground and yelled, “All right, douche bags! Let’s fucking DO IT!” All at once, everybody and everything seemed to be moving.
Ganesh rose and headed towards the cliff. He found Wotan standing at the precipice. Grinning madly, the bearded god blew a kiss. The helicopter tilted again, as if in acknowledgement, and then dipped beneath the cliff.
“Uncle,” said Ganesh.
“Skwisgaar’s got balls, I’ll give him that! You wouldn’t get me up in one of those things! Especially with the wife piloting,” Wotan laughed, clapping Ganesh on the shoulder.
“All is at the ready up here?”
Wotan grinned and gave thumbs up. “Locked and loaded, son. You really think the Old Ones will be able to see you through?”
“They appear to think so. However, I would prefer to take no chances.” They both turned their heads at the roar, and looked to see red and orange flame shooting up from over the cliff edge.
Wotan pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered down. He handed them off to Ganesh. “The little woman’s giving them a bit of hassle,” he grinned. Ganesh focused the twin lenses. As the helicopter swooped, a bushy-haired, mustachioed figure squatting on the side opposite of Skwisgaar was operating a huge flamethrower cannon, incinerating swaths of the thick jungle below. There were barely audible shrieks, and visible below what seemed to be some dark figures running in panic.
“That is our cover. We must be off,” said Ganesh.
“Good luck, son!” said Wotan. “I’ll check back at Mordhaus on my way home!” Ganesh rushed off to where men and materiel were being off loaded from the top of the glinting copper and iron wall onto broad elephant backs. Ganesh, ignoring the offer of a leg up, leapt to the top of the wall, where he repeated the magic spell to transform to his elephant head. Drawing his sword, he roared and jumped onto Basil’s broad neck.
Basil the Old One, despite being heavily laden, went up on his hind legs and answered with a louder roar. Behind, Azalea and Mortimer trumpeted as well.
Sitting behind Charles on Azalea, owl hooting on his shoulder, Nathan leaned forward and said, “Holy fuck, this is cool.”
And then they were off, two enormous wolves thrumming along at the head of the pack. The pathway down was narrow: barely room for a horse, much less the tremendous beasts, but the Old Ones were remarkably sure footed, and charged down at an alarming pace, much more like a controlled fall than a march, great feet loosening rocks and sending dust and gravel flying every which way.
“Archers!” yelled Ganesh, as the first flurry of poisoned darts began. The Old Ones waved their trunks and switched their tails, repelling the worst of it. “Earplugs, everybody!” he said.
He had barely shouted the order when an unearthly wail was heard from back up the cliff. Banshees, up at the top, were all wailing.
“Nathan, your earplugs!” Charles shouted, tapping the singer on the shoulder.
“No way, man, this is totally metal!” enthused Nathan. “We need these chicks on our next album.”
Charles, who had jammed two plugs into each of his sensitive angel ears, couldn't hear, but could easily read Nathan's lips. He sighed and sat back, contemplating lawsuits from all the shattered eardrums.
Then there was the sound of canon fire from up above. Charles strained over Azalea's back to see the ground far below. Wotan had directed the leprechauns to fire white hot gold coins into the forest below. The fusillade of arrows had decreased, and he could spot more shadowy figures screaming and running away.
Charles smiled, remembering the discussion at Wotan's kitchen table. Plan A would have been to try sneaking down under the cover of night but, Charles had reasoned, sneaking silently was just not how Dethklok rolled. The alternative was to make as much “fuss and holler,” as Wotan called it, as was humanly (and supernaturally) possible. It hadn't taken much convincing for the band to go along. Pickles, bringing up the rear on Mortimer, had mounted two gigantic bass drums over the elephant's sides and was now pounding them with all his heavy metal might. Oddly enough, the usually reticent Mortimer seemed to be rather enjoying the whole thing, and was charging in time to the beat.
The helicopter swooped by, making another pass, setting the ground below flaming to another hot guitar riff.
“We're half way down, Raziel,” said Charles, holding tight to his headphones. “We're getting hit from two o'clock.”
“Flame ON, William!” came Raziel’s laughing voice in his ear. She genuinely appeared to be having the time of her life. More of the forest below lit up.
“Just a couple more switchbacks,” said Charles, more to himself than anything else. Something flashed in the corner of his eye. He turned. It was a pair of missiles, headed for the helicopter. “Raziel!”
“Brace yourselves!” he heard her shout, and then the helicopter suddenly did a number of maneuvers no helicopter should rightly be able to do: not when piloted by a sane person.
“Hey, can helicopters do a barrel roll?” asked Nathan. Charles held on to Azalea beneath him as they thundered around another switchback, looking up again just in time to see the two missiles, obviously greatly confused, run into each other in midair and explode.
Unfortunately, a bit of shrapnel caught the tail rotor of the copter, which began pitching and yawing.
“We’ve lost the rotor! Abandon ship!” Raziel called. But then the copter disappeared behind a stand of trees.
Nathan looked forward: there was suddenly no one sitting ahead of him. Charles had leapt off Azalea’s back to land behind Ganesh on Basil, down on the switchback directly below.
“Ganesh-“ said Charles, as suddenly the sky lit up crimson and orange, and a terrific explosion sounded.
“Go ahead, Sariel,” said Ganesh. Charles had already True Formed, and now sprang from the elephant back, gliding down to the canyon floor, landing within range of the flaming wreckage.
He sailed over to where a white angel had just alit along with the grinning figure of William Murderface. “Thanksch, Dick, I don’t truscht my wingsch for thisch altitude.”
“No problem, baby! Dick Knubbler lives to blow shit up, yeah!” laughed the producer.
“Hey you guys,” said Charles, digging the plugs out of his ears.
“Sarry, baby!” said Dick.
“Did you see the others?”
Dick grinned and pointed upwards to a very odd sight. Skwisgaar in mid-air, still wailing on his guitar. He was being supported by two little angels, each holding on to a shoulder strap, like little living parachutes. They skillfully glided him down to land softly on the ground.
And then lastly came a black-winged angel circling with a Marshall amp in a sling. Raziel landed the amp and then hopped up on it just as Skwisgaar completed his solo. There were claps and cheers and whistles as Skwisgaar took a bow.
“Raziel,” said Charles when the cheering had died down. “Is this always what happens to your helicopters?”
“Mummy cwash da copt!” giggled Abby, who was fluttering around excitedly with her brother.
“Booom!” chimed in Liam, whacking two little fists together, as he had evidently experienced this eventuality on previous occasions.
“Still haven’t mastered the whole landing thing,” Raziel grinned, hopping down from the amp. “Wotan says I need to learn if he’s gonna keep buying me new ones.”
“Thisch wasch pretty aweschome!” said Murderface appreciatively. “Charlesch-“
“No, William, don’t even ask about crashing the Dethcopters,” said Charles sternly.
“How is our landing party?” asked Raziel.
“Fine so far,” said Charles. “I should get back up.”
They all heard the crashing noise. “Kids! Stay here!” ordered Raziel, who followed Charles as he flew towards the direction of the sound.
Two of the elephants had evidently made it safely to the bottom. They now stood, concerned, over their not so fortunate third, Mortimer, who lying on the ground, bleeding.
“What happened?” Charles asked Ganesh, who was crouching over Mortimer.
“Took one in the haunch!” roared Basil.
“We were almost at the bottom,” worried Azalea.
“Arrows suck,” agreed Charles.
“ARROWS SUCK!” thundered Nathan. “Is he OK, Ganesh dude?”
“I can remove the arrow,” said Ganesh, who had transformed back to his human head, and was in the middle of extracting the projectile. “I am afraid however it has been poisoned, and I do not know the antidote,” he concluded, pointing to the arrowhead, which appeared to have something green smeared on it. He looked at Azalea. “Will he be able to use his magic to recover?”
“I don’t feel well,” moaned Mortimer.
“Doesch schomebody need leechesch?” inquired Murderface, who, ignoring orders to stay put, had just walked up along with the other helicopter passengers.
“Er, I do nott think that will be necessary,” said Ganesh.
“Dear,” urged Azalea, her trunk stroking Mortimer’s forehead. “I believe you ought go to your True Form.”
“Oh, here? In front of everybody?” whined Mortimer.
“Yes, love, it will help.”
Ganesh stole a glance at Charles. The Old Ones had so far appeared to them in the guise of large elephants and even larger whales. There was no telling how they might appear in true form. Charles didn’t say anything, but ruffled his wings. He was anxious as hell to get moving, but he had to admit, he was pretty damned curious.
Mortimer closed his eyes, and Ganesh took a couple of quick strides back. Mortimer’s body seemed to emit a very soft glow and then, suddenly, it was gone.
“Wait! What did they do with the elephant!” wailed Nathan.
“There you are, dear,” said Azalea, scooping up something from the grass with her trunk. Charles strained to see, and Raziel’s kids leaned in, giggling.
Mortimer was a tiny white mouse. He twitched his little mouse whiskers at the twins.
Abby sent out her chubby hands, and Azalea gently set the shivering little creature in them. The girl held him to her chest, blue eyes shining.
“You be careful with that, Abigail,” ordered Raziel. “He’s a pretty important god!”
“Uh-huh, Mummy!” said the little girl.
“I do feel better now!” squeaked Mortimer Mouse.
“That’s your, uh, True Form?” Charles asked Basil, as he really really couldn’t help himself.
“Well of course!” harrumphed Basil. “Enlightened creature, the mouse. Simply fails to convey our vast majesty to the masses.”
“To the masses- Uh, gods, Toki you be careful with that!” said Charles, as Mortimer, who was evidently already feeling much recovered, had climbed the guitarist’s shoulders and was now getting lost in his long hair.
“We should probably get him back,” said Azalea.
“Yes, we lot won’t be a lot of help on the rest of this journey,” reasoned Basil, scooping tiny Mortimer into his great trunk.
“We thank you. We really do,” said Charles. He then gasped as Azalea pulled him into a great elephant hug with her trunk.
“You go find your little one,” she said as she put him down, cuffing his chin.
Charles blushed, crimson and silver.
“Say bye to the elephants!” urged Raziel.
“BYE!” yelled the twins!” as the two tremendous Old Ones and one very tiny Old One began the long march upwards.
“Bye-bye!” said Toki.
“We rode down here on MICE?” Nathan asked Charles.
“Kaun!” hooted his owl.
“'Tis a noble mount, the mouse!” said Ganesh.
“Yeah, look, we have to regroup,” said Charles. “Toki do you have-”
“Who were thosche guysch schooting at usch?” asked Murderface.
“I never got a good look,” said Raziel. “Too busy not crashing.” Charles hooked a thumb towards the glow of the still flaming wreckage of the helicopter, and Raziel shrugged.
“I wasch too buschy blowing schit up,” mused Murderface.
“And I ams to busy playings!” added Skwisgaar.
“I sent the Koori on ahead to take a look,” reported Ganesh. “Oh, here they are now.”
“DOOODS!” said Pickles, who had been excitedly confabbing with a group of Koori warriors.
“Most righteous Charles....” added one Koori.
“Yeah?” said Charles.
“Who is often flapping in a most impatient manner....”
“We have our suspicions....”
“Regarding the gnarly buggers....”
“Who were firing the most unfortunate poisoned arrows in our direction!”
“Dey t'ink dey're anudder c'lective uncawnshiousness, dood!” explained Pickles, waving his joint.
“They are all of one mind?” asked Ganesh, who had the advantage of not being surrounded by babbling surfer dude gods.
Charles nodded, not certain what to do with the knowledge. He had advocated for a small assault team, but Pickles had gotten terribly stubborn in insisting that the Koori accompany them. Charles was stumped. He wasn't entirely certain whether Pickles knew something, or whether the Koori dudes were just packing especially good weed. Perhaps it was a combination of both?
“The beast that thou sawest, and did not, and is about to come out of the abyss, and to go into perdition,” said Raziel.
“Yeah, like dat!” said Pickles.
“That's just Father's bullshit. It doesn't mean anything!” said Charles.
“Yes, but these fine fellows seem to have a point,” said Thor.
“Have you been smoking with Thor again,” Charles sighed to Pickles.
“Dood, he’s a trip!” grinned Pickles, who did not deny it.
Wotan clapped a grinning leprechaun on the back and, lighting a cigar, nodded a goodbye. He clucked, almost imperceptibly, and Sleipnir was there, his fine eight-legged mount. He climbed astride and set off without another word, much preyng upon his mind.
The king had just sent three of his sons down into the bottomless pit: the heir, the bastard, and one barely out of his damned diapers. And Ganesh, who had often seemed more like his own son than any of his own blood. It wasn't fear for them he felt. They could handle themselves, that's what they did. That was what it was to be an Odinsson.
And the daughter. He smiled warmly for a moment. Daughter of Odin. She would be legendary. That he knew. That he knew.
No, it was not worry for his family that occupied Wotan's fine mind just then. The Creator. That rat bastard. He had warned Brahma – warned him! - the little shit was up to no good, off digging his bottomless pit, demanding permits. Oh, it's all right, just going to tuck a couple of scoundrels locked away in there.
But Brahma was Brahma, just wanted to get back to his gardening and Sarasvati's Sunday dinner, not be bothered. Well, they were all gonna pay the piper now, that was for sure.
And maybe at the cost of the boy.
He hadn't told the fathers, not Ganesh: he couldn't bear to. And Sariel. Damn. That one should have murdered the old coot when he'd had the chance. That's what Wotan would have done. Sariel: he'd spent too much time on earth, picked up some of the forgiveness. Well, and he was obviously besotted with Ganesh. Obviously! Couldn't criticize him there. A fine boy, one he'd wanted in his own family, wanted him for Baldr, so long ago. But now, well, they would affiance the children, unite the bloodlines that way. It could all work out in the end.
But now it would all go sailing out the window if the Creator was up to what Wotan suspected.
And Wotan trusted his suspicions. Nurtured them like children. You can't long outfox a trickster god, that’s for sure.
He rode up to the front entrance of Mordhaus, great ramshackle floating island. He dismounted, casually tossing the reigns to one of the hooded attendants. The air was always good up here, this high. He breathed in deeply, clearing his head.
“Wotan, you old cocksucker! Here to cheat me at cards?”
“You're thinking about the wife, Jacque,” grinned Wotan. The short god, Ogoun Sen Jacque, extended a hand and Wotan pumped it.
“You'll stay for a hand?” asked Jacque. “My boy loaned me the motherfucking key to the liquor cabinet.”
“Sariel trusted you with the good stuff?”
“Too trusting,” said Jacque. “Takes after his mother there, I think,” he mused as the two men, broad-shouldered Norse god and vodouisant, machetes clanking at his waist, made their way inside. “So. Everything go off this morning.”
“Everything. Though I have needs buy the wife another damn helicopter,” sighed Wotan.
“I told you before, that girl's a pistol!” said Jacque approvingly.
“Why don't you settle down again, Jacque?” asked Wotan as they crossed the vast threshhold and began to stride down the corridor.
“Aw, I've had the great love of my life, you know. You only get one,” said Jacque.
“I thought. Once. That were true.”
“Phanny!” shouted Jacque in greeting as more enthusiastic handshakes were shared. “Now we've got a poker game!”
“I had heard rumors. Of. Scotch,” enunciated the Grey Angel.
“That's on the agenda!” agreed Jacque. “Let's stop by the control room and make sure those motherfuckers are playing nice.”
“You've moved the room?” asked Wotan as Jacque made an incantation at a large, heavily reinforced door.
“My boy throught there was a need for more space, given the times.”
“Hello, boys!” came a greeting as the door opened. The goddess Breagan removed her headset and stood to greet the three beings.
“Breagan, enchanting as ever,” said Wotan courteously.
“Aw, aren't you a doll?” she asked.
“You'll stay long enough to visit? The kids are demanding it!”
“Certainly!”
All heads turned to a great harrumphing that was occurring across the control room floor. Edgar Jomfru in his sling, pointing an accusing finger, sputtered, “This … female person … persists on taking my position!”
“I was just usin' your monitor for a sec,” smiled Breagan.
“I cannot work efficiently given this interference! She has espoiled my desktop!”
“What did I do,” asked Breagan, who was now hovering over Edgar's shoulder.
“This icon? It is OUT OF ALIGNMENT!” he huffed.
“Oh,” breezed Breagan, leaning over further to grab his mouse, “we'll just ask 'em to align.”
“NOOOOOOO!” whined Edgar, as the icons obediently formed up, pixel to pixel. He broke into sobs.
“Do you need your mule thing, dear?” inquired Breagan, patting him on the back.
“A mule?” asked Jacque. “We can get him something. Why the fuck would this cocksucker need a pack animal.”
“Don't think it's the animal! Mule, huh? That's the wife's favorite shoes!” tried Wotan.
“You believe. He is keening. For quality footwear?” inquired Phanuel.
“Nooo,” sobbed Edgar, rubbing his horribly tear-smudged eyeglasses.
“No, I am wrong. It's those.... The burros?” said Breagan.
“Burrito!” said Klokateer 31415, who was also often referred to as Pie. He had just come into the room, bearing a platter with some waxed-paper-wrapped snacks. “Does his lordship require his lunch?”
“Oh, yes, snackie time!” agreed Edgar, lunging (inside his sling) at the platter.
“We have a selection of burritos, as well as churros, flautas, encheritos, taquitos, gorditos, and quzcks,” explained Pie.
“Well, now that's we've gotten that bullshit taken care of, we've got a highly important fucking poker party to schedule!” barked Jacque, crossing his arms.
“At the present establishment?” asked Breagan, cocking her head.
“Right fucking here.”
Breagan glanced at Edgar, who was eagerly licking chalupa from his fingertips. “I have no objections,” she said.
“You are cleared for games of chance, gentlemen,” burped Edgar, brushing crumbs from his beard.
“Looks like this way, yeah. Suppose we should Court Form?” asked Charles.
They had made their way from the cliffside descent to the Abyss's coastline now, abutting a great, stirring ocean that disappeared over the horizon. Charles and Raziel were leading the way along the beach, heading towards – it was hoped – the river delta of which Durga had spoken. Raziel's kids fluttered excitedly around them, while a pair of wolves alternatively charged ahead and then came galumphing back. The rest of the party trudged along behind, Dethklok, flanked by countless Koori warriors, and then mighty Thor and Ganesh taking up the rear.
Charles held a strange, Polaroid-looking photo from Toki's scrapbook. Ganesh had already digitized them all into his handheld device, but Wotan had insisted that they take all the originals, as he wasn't exactly certain how the magic worked. Ganesh didn't see magic emanations from inanimate objects, and all Skwisgaar would opine was, “Ja, dats some angel shit,” which, though probably true, was of not much further assistance.
Raziel snatched the picture and held it up in a direction that, in our world, would probably have been more or less northward, up to the river's origin. “I'm staying True Formed. This place has changed. And not for the better.”
Charles began to speak, but was quieted when Raziel indicated Toki's scrapbook photo. Since she had taken it, it had changed angle, and now also showed the perspective of looking up river: a forbidding jungle.
Raziel lowered the photo, and they looked together at the present situation: it was clearly the same place, but now the sky was hazy, the result, no doubt of the many, many fires they could see raising smoke everywhere.
“Maybe they like barbecue?” Charles ventured.
“Look, Our Father said it was a place of eternal warfare now....”
“And you believe him. Because he's always so truthful and straightforward.”
“Gog and Magog are here,” said Raziel. “They're not old fashioned villains like Durga faced.”
“How so?”
“They're assholes.”
“Kauuuuuuun!”
Charles frowned as the little owl Nathan had adopted from one of Ganesh's relatives came to rest on his shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?” he asked, as the owl, as owls will, turned its head at a weird ninety degree angle to stare at him.
“He came from up ahead,” said Raziel, pointing with her sword to where the zig-zagging coastline took a zig and became invisible behind a stand of trees. “Hey, does the water there look muddier to you?” she said.
“That might be it,” said Charles. “Or not. My eyes are no good in this light.”
“Want me to fly up and check it out?”
“Stay with us,” said Charles.
Raziel shrugged and turned around. “Hey, douche bags! Liven up! The delta's up there!”
“Give me back my fucking OWL!” howled Nathan.
“Give him back his owl,” Raziel told Charles, who, rolling his eyes, incined his head at Ullu. The owl hooted a “Kaun,” and flew back to Nathan.
“A motherfucking visitor?”
“He is unaccompanied, sire,” Pie told Ogoun Sen Jacque. The room was dark and the air was smoky.
“Wasn't on my fucking agenda,” mused Jacque.
“We might interrupt. The hand,” Phanuel told him evenly.
“Never anything good to hear form that bastard,” grumbled Wotan. “What if I spear him?” he asked, thinking of Gugnir's sure grasp.
“You would not. Hear objection. From me,” enunciated Phanuel.
“When he gets his death, I'll have some say in it,” said Jacque darkly. Phanuel and Wotan nodded at this. “Well, he's just one lone cocksucking motherfucker, I'll go meet the bastard myself.” He stood, peering ill-temperedly at his wrist. “Stupid newfangled thing. Breagan!” he yelled into the wristwatch-like object.
“Yes, Jacque?” came the voice, the lilt only somewhat distorted by electronics.
“Everything still on track?”
“Aye aye, mon capitan!”
The pirate captain nodded. “I'll be back,” he said, heading for the door, Pie moving silently in his wake.
Wotan scooted his chair back and took out a case of cigars.
An angel sat at the open window overlooking the courtyard. He resembled nothing so much as an odd, gigantic parrot. He flapped his green and gold wings in agitation. “I do not think he is a good man.”
“No, Engelbert,” said Phanuel, who had come to stand beside him. “Nor do I.'
“I wish I had my bow.”
“I do too, son, I do too,” said Wotan, who also stood at the window. All three gazed downstairs to where stood one Court Formed but nevertheless terribly large, white-haired Seraph.
The three beings watched as a rather smaller, rather darker being, machetes rattling at his waist, strode out to meet the Seraph. Despite Jacque's vow to meet the angel one on one, he was flanked by the burly, hooded figure of Pie the Klokateer, and the black clad Nephthys, Eqyptian goddess of death.
The Seraph, spotting Nephthys, moved back perhaps half a step, and, pointing to her, said something to Jacque.
Jacque stood, feet planted, arms crossed, and answered back, something very short.
“Can ye hear?” Wotan asked Phanuel.
“Honored Uriah is not pleased regarding young Miss Nephthys' presence. For his part. Jacque requested that Uriah perform an anatomical. Impossibility.”
Wotan chuckled. He situated an ashtray on the windowsill and tapped out his cigar.
“Uriah now goes into detail. Regarding our collective. Low intelligence,” related Phanuel.
“Bastard should talk.”
“I think that is insulting!” said Engelbert.
“Yes, that is not terribly polite,” agreed Phanuel. “Jacque is presently urging him. To cut. To the chase.”
“Good. I want to get back to my gods damned poker.”
Phanuel was silent, listening. Engelbert, who had obviously been listening in as well with his angel ears, turned to ask, “Whatever is he speaking of?”
Phanuel simply said, “He knows about her.”
“Ah,” said Wotan. “Well, that's a spanner in the works.”
“Who is she?” inquired Engelbert. “Shall I be scared? Should I be scared for my bear? Should I be scared for my Toki Barnebarn?”
“You do not have cause to be alarmed. Little one,” soothed Phanuel. “You see? Your bear is right there, where you dropped her. To look out. The window.” Engelbert hopped off the window ledge, hunkering down to scoop up his stuffed toy. He sat on his bottom, and rocked her contentedly, wrapping her in his green and gold wings.
“And what did he say? That last bit?” asked Wotan, who was still at the window, watching as Jacque turned on his heel and marched back inside, Pie and Nephthys following along.
“Jacque informed Uriah. Simply. Stand with us. Or stand aside.”
“Captain Charon, I presume?”
Ullu the owl had been right. They had found the river delta right around the next bend in the coastline, and thence the mighty river Durga once had followed.
There was a dock right where they expected it (or at least where the photos indicated it should be, never mind that Durga's journey had happened many centuries prior to the invention of photography). And on the dock, a rusty barge and a skinny man scraping barnacles from the hull.
“Who wants to know?” said the captain, barely looking up from his work.
“I am Shri Ganesha, Lord of Beginnings. It is my understanding that once, many years ago, you provided passage upriver to my Auntie, the warrior, Durga.”
“Durga?” asked Charon, fevered eyes flashing. He was gone, quick as a wink, into the cabin. And then he was out again, clutching something.
“She paid this in fee,” he said, showing the jeweled saber. “But I never had the mind to sell it. Never did.”
Ganesh took the blade from Chauron, sighting down the finely-wrought edge. “This is a rare beauty!” he said, nodding and handing it back.
Charon shook his head. “It goes to the heir. None other.”
“Oh, I couldn't keep it! It was for passage, was it not?”
“It goes to the heir. None other.”
Ganesh frowned. “Well, thank you then,” he said, putting the sword in his belt. “I have another favor, for my family. We are looking for passage, my party and myself.” He now stood back to indicate the ragtag bunch that accompanied him: assorted gods, angels and death metal musicians.
“I can't take you,” sighed Charon.
“We have fare for passage. I believe gold coins are the customary currency?”
“Ain't that,” said Charon.
Ganesh stood in silence a moment, while the old man scratched his beard. Finally he said, “Er, yes?”
“Can't get so far upriver. N'aught but halfway, these days.”
“Why is that?” asked Ganesh.
The old man didn't reply, but simply pointed to the sky.
“Shit!” said Charles who was standing off to the side. Ganesh frowned, but then heard the sound of ordnance, wailing overhead. There was an eerie whistling sound, and then an even more unnerving silence, before a report. The ground shook slightly, and Ganesh could see ripples in the river water.
“Da fire mummy!” said Abby, pointing up stream at the small reddish mushroom cloud fooming up from the jungle.
“Two villages,” said Charon. “Set across the river. Every day, one side builds a bridge across. Every night, the other blows 'er up.”
Ganesh looked at Charles, who was now at his side. “Did you hear-”
“Yeah,” said Charles.
“Of course.”
“Can you take us as far as the villages?” asked Charles.
Charon nodded. “Don't see as it'll do much good, as it's not where you two need to go,” he said.
“Maybe we'll take our chances,” said Charles, stealing a confused glance at Ganesh.
“Well then,” said Charon, eyeing the various gods and wolves. “Ye'll need to decide who's on and who's off. Can't take the whole menagerie.”
“Righteous Charon....”
“Oh Captain....”
“My Captain....”
“Uh....” said Charon, who appeared to be a bit taken aback to be surrounded by rather a lot of Koori.
“You can take any....”
“And all....”
“For one of us is all....”
“And all, one.”
“Captain dood, it's easier t' shew yoo dan t' explain da metaphysical implications!” said Pickles, who was now standing by Charon, offering a puff.
Charon took the joint, and then shrugged. Suddenly, the Koori were pouring over the damp metal gangplank and onto his small, rusty boat.
Which was really not so small, nor really so rusty after all.
In point of fact, it more resembled some kind of luxury yacht.
“Well I’ll be damned for eternity,” said Charon, passing back the spliff to Pickles.
“Dey’re lords o’ da Dreamtime, dood,” explained Pickles, now taking a rather generous puff.
“Must be handy,” said Charon, regarding his refigured craft. It was all white with black windows, and somewhat resembled, from the front, a grinning skull. “Do those guns in the front work?”
“Oh, I hope scho,” said Murderface, who obviously held his own dreams as to suitable watercraft.
“All aboard!” said Charon, as various beings herded themselves onboard.
Ganesh felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to where Charles was pointing. A missile of some kind, just barely visible, hanging in the sky like a curse, upriver. And then it dropped. Even Ganesh was able to hear the explosion, and all could clearly see the plume of red fire rising in the jungle.
“That’s where we’re going,” said Charles.
“AWESOME!” said Nathan. His owl hooted, and he made his way aboard.
“Another motherfucking visitor, huh?” grumbled Jacque. He reluctantly pushed himself back from the table and rose, pausing to tap his cigar before he joined Wotan, Phanuel and Engelbert at the window once again.
Down in the courtyard this time, a woman with a baby carriage. It looked like the kind that can be folded up and, by some miracle of origami, placed into a minivan. Something cheap, from Dream*Mart, perhaps.
On the nylon sides were depicted friendly pink teddy bears and blue bunnies.
The woman pushed the carriage to the center of the courtyard, and then stopped, appearing to wait. All of her attention was directed at a PDA in her hands. Instantly she was surrounded by silent Klokateers, led by Pie, all mounted on flying vehicles. They neither moved to attack nor meet her, but instead hovered expectantly, being careful to keep a respectful distance.
Suddenly, Engelbert, still waiting at the window, began to flutter and flap, eagerly pointing at the sky. A green and golden cloud had drifted nearby. At the head of the fleet of golden chaiots, a white-haired Seraph.
“Once upon a time, I led such an army.”
Three men turned to the sound of the voice.
“Honored Michael,” said Phanuel, bowing low.
“You realize, don’t you, that this is personal?” said Michael.
“Wouldn’t blame you, if you were a might resentful, ending your days as a gofer for that cranky old bastard,” chuckled Wotan.
“Learn your place, earth god,” spat Michael.
“We’ve already been through that angel bullshit once today. And once is too fucking much,” grumbled Jacque. “No offense,” he hurriedly added to Phanuel.
“None. Taken.”
Down below in the courtyard, as Amber idly punched buttons on her smart phone, her back turned, the baby carriage had begun, ever so slowly, to roll away from her: slowly, slowly, barely moving at first.
“Darlin’! You must know….” Breagan, entering the room, breathless, stopped dead at the doorway, looking Michael up and down. “Oh, you do already know. Well, silly me.”
“What is this … thing supposed to be?” asked Michael.
“I’m the spirit of play, dear. You lot would know nothing about it,” she grinned.
“Annoying servant,” huffed Michael, casually sending a lightning bolt towards the goddess. There was a crack. And then Michael, who had jumped back at the very last microsecond, was gawping at a smoking black spot. Breagan had pulled out a sword, efficiently deflecting the bolt and sending it crashing back to just where he had been standing.
“Fuck me,” whispered Michael.
“Ain’t a servant,” said Breagan, her sword still ready.
“She’s a paid consultant, you dumb angel motherfucker,” scolded Jacque. “Now,” he said, donning a pair of reading glasses and pulling a scribbled piece of paper out of his vest pocket, “I’ve promised my damned son-in-law to say some bullshit. ‘This can end peacefully. Blah blah-dy fucking blah do-gooder bull dung. Or it can end badly. It’s up to you,’” concluded Jacque.
“Why did that fool bring Powers?” asked Wotan, who had again moved to peer out the window as Engelbert fluttered in anxiety.
Down in the courtyard below, the baby carriage rolled, picking up speed.
In the air above the blue-gold cloud roiled, as winged charioteers, one after the other, fluttered nervously.
“We will tear you from the sky, and send you smashing to the earth,” warned Michael.
“Breagan,” said Jacque, tossing the bit of paper to the floor. “Kick his ass, will you?”
“What?” said Michael.
“Pleasure,” said Breagan, poising her sword.
The carriage rolled…. But then bumped to a halt as it ran into a rock.
Wotan watching up above, breathed out as Michael drew a sword.
The green gold cloud roiled again.
And then it came, the tiny glint in the sun.
A single arrow.
Amber looked up either a second too soon, or too late, depending on your point of view.
The PDA, streaked in red, dropped to the ground, where it shattered, its last message trapped forever in its circuits.
Something snaked out of the carriage. Something obscene.
“Edgar! Get this thing turned about!” shouted Jacque through his wrist communicator.
“Jacque!” barked Wotan, his gaze glued to the happenings down below. “Gods damn it.”
“What the fuck?”
“Twins!” he said, pointing to the courtyard. “She had twins this time gods damn it!”
“Fuck me,” said Jacque.
Ganesh relaxed in the deck chair, opening and closing the little umbrella from his frosty cocktail.
“Hate to interrupt your vacation,” grumbled Charles, sitting down next to him. He watched as one of the Koori warriors waterskied in back of the boat.
“Charon says we will be at the point of contention presently. Until then, and until we know what we face, it is good to keep a calm demeanor,” advised Ganesh.
“Is it good to keep a shit-faced demeanor?” asked Charles, taking a sip of the drink through the curly straw.
“He keeps GOING AHEAD!”
“What, Nathan?” asked Charles.
“He keeps FLYING OFF!” said Nathan. “MY OWL!”
“Well, Nathan,” said Charles, taking a rather larger sip – more like a gulp – of Ganesh's drink. He stood up to walk off with Nathan, “Ullu is working as a scout for us, so that's what he's likely to do....”
“BUT HE'S MY FUCKING OWL,” wailed Nathan.
Ganesh cast a glance over at Raziel, who was relaxing on a deck chair next to him, leafing through a Hello! Magazine and watching her children play with their wolves.
“How does Sariel continue to put up with it?” Ganesh asked her.
“Are you kidding? He lives for this,” she laughed.
“He will always come back to you, Nathan,” said Charles, who was nervously pacing the deck with Nathan.
“How do you know that?” asked Nathan.
“Has he always come back before?”
“... Yeah,” Nathan agreed.
“Hey, Ofdenschen, when are we gonna blow up schome schit?” asked Murderface, who was leaning on the deck gun along with Dick Knubbler.
“Hopefully not soon,” said Charles.
“Awwww!” said Murderface as Knubbler's eyes flashed momentarily red.
“Dood! You gahta see this!” said Pickles. Charles sighed and let Pickles lead him off, hoping he was not going to be lured into another circular conversation with a mob of Koori.
He saw instead a lone figure sitting in the shade of the port side, hunched over a photo album.
“Toki,” said Charles.
“Ams da new crapbooks!” said Toki excitedly, handing over a completed volume.
“You're making a scrapbook of us looking at your scrapbooks?” asked Charles, leafing through a few sparkling pink pages.
“Ain't dat deep?” asked Pickles. “Da recursiveness is mind-blowin' in its scope.”
Charles shook his head at Pickles, who grinned and walked on. Charles sat down next to Toki for a while.
“Ja?” said Toki, as Charles was nervously rattling his wings.
“Uh...” said Charles, idly thumbing through one of Toki's books. “You don't think.... Could you....”
“You ams wants to see Booms?”
Charles froze, feeling his throat constrict. He nodded.
“I ams not knows. Ams you sees hims? Wit' da angelses powers?” asked Toki, wide-eyed.
Charles gulped. “I can hear him. If I really try,” he whispered.
“All right! You ams hears hims, and you tells me!” said Toki.
Charles squeezed his eyes shut, willing out the world. He sent himself over the boat, the rumbling of the motor and burbling of the river. He reached out, upriver, hearing a distant exchange of gunfire and shouting. Then, even further up the bank, from somewhere in the deep of the jungle, a low growl. And then … yes! The temple grounds, the soft warble of a color-splashed bird, somewhere hidden in the rainforest canopy.
He was straining now, leaning into the vast expanse. Somehow, it seemed a greater distance separated them now than when he first tried to listen for him, wrapped in Ganesh's arms back at Mordhaus.
He almost gave up, let himself give in to despair, but there it was, such a tiny quiet scratch.
“He's sitting! He's drawing a picture! With a pen on paper!” said Charles, who was unconsciously miming drawing a picture.
Toki smiled. He leaned over, brown hair spilling everywhere, and pulled a notebook out of his bag. Charles steeled himself so he would not to snatch it away from him. It was labeled, “BOOM” on the binding. Toki spread it across both their laps and began to leaf through pages.
Charles held his breath again. Yes, there it was, on the very last page. It was a photo of a clearing.
He leaned over, squinting at the small dark-haired figure, there in the corner, hunched over, all concentration.
His hands nervously brushed the photo.
“INCOMING!”
The deck lurched as the shell exploded off the bow.
Charles pushed himself up. He had instantly leapt upon Toki, knocking him to the floor: guitarist, notebooks, everything.
“Toki get inside!” Charles was already on his feet, sword in his hand. “MURDERFACE!” He was around to bow.
“I don't know where they're fucking schooting from!” said Murderface, ducking behind the gun.
“THAT WAY!” came a cry from overhead. Raziel had gone to her winged Form and was hovering aloft, pointing a sword.
Murderface was already firing. “I schee! Baschtardsch! We need the rocket launscher!” he called.
“NATHAN!” screamed Charles. The singer was already on deck, a rocket launcher mounted on his shoulder, Ullu the owl fluttering after him, obviously annoyed to be usurped.
“Three o'clock!” called Raziel.
“It's NOT THAT LATE!” said Nathan, regarding his watch. “It's not ELEVEN YET!”
“That way!” shouted Charles, pointing Nathan in the right direction.
“Oh yeah, I knew that....” The rocket fired, and they all held their breath watching it streak across the water.
All except Nathan. “ULLU! Come the fuck back!” he shouted, suddenly running astern.
“Nathan!” warned Charles.
“Nathan, bro!” shouted Murderface as the singer leaned over the railing, grasping at the fleeing Ullu. “Careful!”
“Nathan get away-” But just then, another shell landed nearby, sending everybody reeling. Charles was thrown down on the deck.
“WE GOT 'EM!” yelled Raziel, pointing at the red fume rising in the jungle. There were cheers.
Charles pushed himself up, scanning the jungle.
And then he looked in horror over to the railing, where Nathan had been standing, one moment before.
No one there.
“NATHAN!” screamed Charles.
There was no answer.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A search and rescue mission.
Warnings: Just the usual nonsense
Notes: After jump
Last time: we plotted and planned. And played a game.
This is one of the last two or three chapters I'm gonna write. I don't know for sure because, other than scribbling illegible notes on cocktail napkins, I almost never write a fucking outline.
“You shouldn't smoke, dear.”
“Yes, Azalea Auntie.”
Ganesh ignored the well-intentioned advice and leaned back into the large elephant's flank, taking a deep drag on his fragrant Indian cigarette. He twisted his legs up into the lotus position and tried to clear his mind. Azalea switched her tail, but offered no further advice. He found the rough feel of her skin on his back comforting somehow, like coming home.
Back at Mordhaus final decisions had been made, and a small army had been marshaled and mobilized. Men and gods and angels and assorted other beings were now encamped in the shadow of a great wall of copper and iron, awaiting the signal to descend into the unknown: a treacherous mountain road that had reduced one of the greatest armies ever created – one of the legendary armies of his people – to just one lone soldier, Durga.
And all for the faintest of hopes: the tiny snore of a sleeping angel.
He became aware of a shadow blocking the sun. He shielded his eyes, looking up.
“She will be here. Do not worry,” he assured Sariel. The angel didn't currently have his wings out, but if he had, they would doubtless be fluttering in anxiety and frustration. As it was, all that was visible was a persistent quivering at the edge of one eye.
“It's getting late,” stated Sariel. “Where the fuck is she? Shopping for shoes?”
Ganesh pushed the hair out of his eyes. It immediately fell back. “They will be here.” He tilted his head. “What is in the bag?” he asked.
Sariel squatted down next to him and flipped the top open on the messenger bag. “I just grabbed these off Boon's bed before we took off.” He dug out what was inside: two very well-worn soft toys.
“Oh, Wunge and Lelefun! Yes, I am certain he misses them terribly!” said Ganesh, playfully poking the ratty plush angel in the chubby stomach.
Sariel flinched, and then quickly stuffed the toys back into the bag. Ganesh frowned. The wrong thing to say, now they were both thinking of their little one, all alone, without even the small comfort of his imaginary friends. Ganesh leaned forward, proffering a hand. Sariel thumped down on his knees, greedily snatching the offered cigarette and taking a large drag.
“Do not Bogart, my dear,” said Ganesh affectionately. But Sariel was looking up, distracted. Ganesh strained his ears, listening. Yes, the whir of rotors. And … something else.
They were both standing up now, as was most of the party, squinting into the sky, watching a shadow traced the clouds. The whirring sounded louder as the Blackhawk helicopter suddenly dove and tilted. At the open door stood a figure, clad all in white, and, improbably enough, jamming on a guitar, seemingly heedless to the great height and crazy flight pattern of the copter. Two smaller figures, like oversized gypsy moths, fluttered at his shoulders. Skwisgaar bowed his head and played as the helicopter danced overhead, seemingly controlled by some madman.
“Raziel!” shouted Sariel, sticking a finger into his left ear as if he were wearing an earpiece.
“Can you hear her?” asked Ganesh.
Sariel frowned and shook his head. “She says everything is ‘copacetic,’ whatever the hell that means.” He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Nathan! It’s time!”
Nathan looked up from where he had been playing cards with some leprechauns. He tossed his hand to the ground and yelled, “All right, douche bags! Let’s fucking DO IT!” All at once, everybody and everything seemed to be moving.
Ganesh rose and headed towards the cliff. He found Wotan standing at the precipice. Grinning madly, the bearded god blew a kiss. The helicopter tilted again, as if in acknowledgement, and then dipped beneath the cliff.
“Uncle,” said Ganesh.
“Skwisgaar’s got balls, I’ll give him that! You wouldn’t get me up in one of those things! Especially with the wife piloting,” Wotan laughed, clapping Ganesh on the shoulder.
“All is at the ready up here?”
Wotan grinned and gave thumbs up. “Locked and loaded, son. You really think the Old Ones will be able to see you through?”
“They appear to think so. However, I would prefer to take no chances.” They both turned their heads at the roar, and looked to see red and orange flame shooting up from over the cliff edge.
Wotan pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered down. He handed them off to Ganesh. “The little woman’s giving them a bit of hassle,” he grinned. Ganesh focused the twin lenses. As the helicopter swooped, a bushy-haired, mustachioed figure squatting on the side opposite of Skwisgaar was operating a huge flamethrower cannon, incinerating swaths of the thick jungle below. There were barely audible shrieks, and visible below what seemed to be some dark figures running in panic.
“That is our cover. We must be off,” said Ganesh.
“Good luck, son!” said Wotan. “I’ll check back at Mordhaus on my way home!” Ganesh rushed off to where men and materiel were being off loaded from the top of the glinting copper and iron wall onto broad elephant backs. Ganesh, ignoring the offer of a leg up, leapt to the top of the wall, where he repeated the magic spell to transform to his elephant head. Drawing his sword, he roared and jumped onto Basil’s broad neck.
Basil the Old One, despite being heavily laden, went up on his hind legs and answered with a louder roar. Behind, Azalea and Mortimer trumpeted as well.
Sitting behind Charles on Azalea, owl hooting on his shoulder, Nathan leaned forward and said, “Holy fuck, this is cool.”
And then they were off, two enormous wolves thrumming along at the head of the pack. The pathway down was narrow: barely room for a horse, much less the tremendous beasts, but the Old Ones were remarkably sure footed, and charged down at an alarming pace, much more like a controlled fall than a march, great feet loosening rocks and sending dust and gravel flying every which way.
“Archers!” yelled Ganesh, as the first flurry of poisoned darts began. The Old Ones waved their trunks and switched their tails, repelling the worst of it. “Earplugs, everybody!” he said.
He had barely shouted the order when an unearthly wail was heard from back up the cliff. Banshees, up at the top, were all wailing.
“Nathan, your earplugs!” Charles shouted, tapping the singer on the shoulder.
“No way, man, this is totally metal!” enthused Nathan. “We need these chicks on our next album.”
Charles, who had jammed two plugs into each of his sensitive angel ears, couldn't hear, but could easily read Nathan's lips. He sighed and sat back, contemplating lawsuits from all the shattered eardrums.
Then there was the sound of canon fire from up above. Charles strained over Azalea's back to see the ground far below. Wotan had directed the leprechauns to fire white hot gold coins into the forest below. The fusillade of arrows had decreased, and he could spot more shadowy figures screaming and running away.
Charles smiled, remembering the discussion at Wotan's kitchen table. Plan A would have been to try sneaking down under the cover of night but, Charles had reasoned, sneaking silently was just not how Dethklok rolled. The alternative was to make as much “fuss and holler,” as Wotan called it, as was humanly (and supernaturally) possible. It hadn't taken much convincing for the band to go along. Pickles, bringing up the rear on Mortimer, had mounted two gigantic bass drums over the elephant's sides and was now pounding them with all his heavy metal might. Oddly enough, the usually reticent Mortimer seemed to be rather enjoying the whole thing, and was charging in time to the beat.
The helicopter swooped by, making another pass, setting the ground below flaming to another hot guitar riff.
“We're half way down, Raziel,” said Charles, holding tight to his headphones. “We're getting hit from two o'clock.”
“Flame ON, William!” came Raziel’s laughing voice in his ear. She genuinely appeared to be having the time of her life. More of the forest below lit up.
“Just a couple more switchbacks,” said Charles, more to himself than anything else. Something flashed in the corner of his eye. He turned. It was a pair of missiles, headed for the helicopter. “Raziel!”
“Brace yourselves!” he heard her shout, and then the helicopter suddenly did a number of maneuvers no helicopter should rightly be able to do: not when piloted by a sane person.
“Hey, can helicopters do a barrel roll?” asked Nathan. Charles held on to Azalea beneath him as they thundered around another switchback, looking up again just in time to see the two missiles, obviously greatly confused, run into each other in midair and explode.
Unfortunately, a bit of shrapnel caught the tail rotor of the copter, which began pitching and yawing.
“We’ve lost the rotor! Abandon ship!” Raziel called. But then the copter disappeared behind a stand of trees.
Nathan looked forward: there was suddenly no one sitting ahead of him. Charles had leapt off Azalea’s back to land behind Ganesh on Basil, down on the switchback directly below.
“Ganesh-“ said Charles, as suddenly the sky lit up crimson and orange, and a terrific explosion sounded.
“Go ahead, Sariel,” said Ganesh. Charles had already True Formed, and now sprang from the elephant back, gliding down to the canyon floor, landing within range of the flaming wreckage.
He sailed over to where a white angel had just alit along with the grinning figure of William Murderface. “Thanksch, Dick, I don’t truscht my wingsch for thisch altitude.”
“No problem, baby! Dick Knubbler lives to blow shit up, yeah!” laughed the producer.
“Hey you guys,” said Charles, digging the plugs out of his ears.
“Sarry, baby!” said Dick.
“Did you see the others?”
Dick grinned and pointed upwards to a very odd sight. Skwisgaar in mid-air, still wailing on his guitar. He was being supported by two little angels, each holding on to a shoulder strap, like little living parachutes. They skillfully glided him down to land softly on the ground.
And then lastly came a black-winged angel circling with a Marshall amp in a sling. Raziel landed the amp and then hopped up on it just as Skwisgaar completed his solo. There were claps and cheers and whistles as Skwisgaar took a bow.
“Raziel,” said Charles when the cheering had died down. “Is this always what happens to your helicopters?”
“Mummy cwash da copt!” giggled Abby, who was fluttering around excitedly with her brother.
“Booom!” chimed in Liam, whacking two little fists together, as he had evidently experienced this eventuality on previous occasions.
“Still haven’t mastered the whole landing thing,” Raziel grinned, hopping down from the amp. “Wotan says I need to learn if he’s gonna keep buying me new ones.”
“Thisch wasch pretty aweschome!” said Murderface appreciatively. “Charlesch-“
“No, William, don’t even ask about crashing the Dethcopters,” said Charles sternly.
“How is our landing party?” asked Raziel.
“Fine so far,” said Charles. “I should get back up.”
They all heard the crashing noise. “Kids! Stay here!” ordered Raziel, who followed Charles as he flew towards the direction of the sound.
Two of the elephants had evidently made it safely to the bottom. They now stood, concerned, over their not so fortunate third, Mortimer, who lying on the ground, bleeding.
“What happened?” Charles asked Ganesh, who was crouching over Mortimer.
“Took one in the haunch!” roared Basil.
“We were almost at the bottom,” worried Azalea.
“Arrows suck,” agreed Charles.
“ARROWS SUCK!” thundered Nathan. “Is he OK, Ganesh dude?”
“I can remove the arrow,” said Ganesh, who had transformed back to his human head, and was in the middle of extracting the projectile. “I am afraid however it has been poisoned, and I do not know the antidote,” he concluded, pointing to the arrowhead, which appeared to have something green smeared on it. He looked at Azalea. “Will he be able to use his magic to recover?”
“I don’t feel well,” moaned Mortimer.
“Doesch schomebody need leechesch?” inquired Murderface, who, ignoring orders to stay put, had just walked up along with the other helicopter passengers.
“Er, I do nott think that will be necessary,” said Ganesh.
“Dear,” urged Azalea, her trunk stroking Mortimer’s forehead. “I believe you ought go to your True Form.”
“Oh, here? In front of everybody?” whined Mortimer.
“Yes, love, it will help.”
Ganesh stole a glance at Charles. The Old Ones had so far appeared to them in the guise of large elephants and even larger whales. There was no telling how they might appear in true form. Charles didn’t say anything, but ruffled his wings. He was anxious as hell to get moving, but he had to admit, he was pretty damned curious.
Mortimer closed his eyes, and Ganesh took a couple of quick strides back. Mortimer’s body seemed to emit a very soft glow and then, suddenly, it was gone.
“Wait! What did they do with the elephant!” wailed Nathan.
“There you are, dear,” said Azalea, scooping up something from the grass with her trunk. Charles strained to see, and Raziel’s kids leaned in, giggling.
Mortimer was a tiny white mouse. He twitched his little mouse whiskers at the twins.
Abby sent out her chubby hands, and Azalea gently set the shivering little creature in them. The girl held him to her chest, blue eyes shining.
“You be careful with that, Abigail,” ordered Raziel. “He’s a pretty important god!”
“Uh-huh, Mummy!” said the little girl.
“I do feel better now!” squeaked Mortimer Mouse.
“That’s your, uh, True Form?” Charles asked Basil, as he really really couldn’t help himself.
“Well of course!” harrumphed Basil. “Enlightened creature, the mouse. Simply fails to convey our vast majesty to the masses.”
“To the masses- Uh, gods, Toki you be careful with that!” said Charles, as Mortimer, who was evidently already feeling much recovered, had climbed the guitarist’s shoulders and was now getting lost in his long hair.
“We should probably get him back,” said Azalea.
“Yes, we lot won’t be a lot of help on the rest of this journey,” reasoned Basil, scooping tiny Mortimer into his great trunk.
“We thank you. We really do,” said Charles. He then gasped as Azalea pulled him into a great elephant hug with her trunk.
“You go find your little one,” she said as she put him down, cuffing his chin.
Charles blushed, crimson and silver.
“Say bye to the elephants!” urged Raziel.
“BYE!” yelled the twins!” as the two tremendous Old Ones and one very tiny Old One began the long march upwards.
“Bye-bye!” said Toki.
“We rode down here on MICE?” Nathan asked Charles.
“Kaun!” hooted his owl.
“'Tis a noble mount, the mouse!” said Ganesh.
“Yeah, look, we have to regroup,” said Charles. “Toki do you have-”
“Who were thosche guysch schooting at usch?” asked Murderface.
“I never got a good look,” said Raziel. “Too busy not crashing.” Charles hooked a thumb towards the glow of the still flaming wreckage of the helicopter, and Raziel shrugged.
“I wasch too buschy blowing schit up,” mused Murderface.
“And I ams to busy playings!” added Skwisgaar.
“I sent the Koori on ahead to take a look,” reported Ganesh. “Oh, here they are now.”
“DOOODS!” said Pickles, who had been excitedly confabbing with a group of Koori warriors.
“Most righteous Charles....” added one Koori.
“Yeah?” said Charles.
“Who is often flapping in a most impatient manner....”
“We have our suspicions....”
“Regarding the gnarly buggers....”
“Who were firing the most unfortunate poisoned arrows in our direction!”
“Dey t'ink dey're anudder c'lective uncawnshiousness, dood!” explained Pickles, waving his joint.
“They are all of one mind?” asked Ganesh, who had the advantage of not being surrounded by babbling surfer dude gods.
Charles nodded, not certain what to do with the knowledge. He had advocated for a small assault team, but Pickles had gotten terribly stubborn in insisting that the Koori accompany them. Charles was stumped. He wasn't entirely certain whether Pickles knew something, or whether the Koori dudes were just packing especially good weed. Perhaps it was a combination of both?
“The beast that thou sawest, and did not, and is about to come out of the abyss, and to go into perdition,” said Raziel.
“Yeah, like dat!” said Pickles.
“That's just Father's bullshit. It doesn't mean anything!” said Charles.
“Yes, but these fine fellows seem to have a point,” said Thor.
“Have you been smoking with Thor again,” Charles sighed to Pickles.
“Dood, he’s a trip!” grinned Pickles, who did not deny it.
Wotan clapped a grinning leprechaun on the back and, lighting a cigar, nodded a goodbye. He clucked, almost imperceptibly, and Sleipnir was there, his fine eight-legged mount. He climbed astride and set off without another word, much preyng upon his mind.
The king had just sent three of his sons down into the bottomless pit: the heir, the bastard, and one barely out of his damned diapers. And Ganesh, who had often seemed more like his own son than any of his own blood. It wasn't fear for them he felt. They could handle themselves, that's what they did. That was what it was to be an Odinsson.
And the daughter. He smiled warmly for a moment. Daughter of Odin. She would be legendary. That he knew. That he knew.
No, it was not worry for his family that occupied Wotan's fine mind just then. The Creator. That rat bastard. He had warned Brahma – warned him! - the little shit was up to no good, off digging his bottomless pit, demanding permits. Oh, it's all right, just going to tuck a couple of scoundrels locked away in there.
But Brahma was Brahma, just wanted to get back to his gardening and Sarasvati's Sunday dinner, not be bothered. Well, they were all gonna pay the piper now, that was for sure.
And maybe at the cost of the boy.
He hadn't told the fathers, not Ganesh: he couldn't bear to. And Sariel. Damn. That one should have murdered the old coot when he'd had the chance. That's what Wotan would have done. Sariel: he'd spent too much time on earth, picked up some of the forgiveness. Well, and he was obviously besotted with Ganesh. Obviously! Couldn't criticize him there. A fine boy, one he'd wanted in his own family, wanted him for Baldr, so long ago. But now, well, they would affiance the children, unite the bloodlines that way. It could all work out in the end.
But now it would all go sailing out the window if the Creator was up to what Wotan suspected.
And Wotan trusted his suspicions. Nurtured them like children. You can't long outfox a trickster god, that’s for sure.
He rode up to the front entrance of Mordhaus, great ramshackle floating island. He dismounted, casually tossing the reigns to one of the hooded attendants. The air was always good up here, this high. He breathed in deeply, clearing his head.
“Wotan, you old cocksucker! Here to cheat me at cards?”
“You're thinking about the wife, Jacque,” grinned Wotan. The short god, Ogoun Sen Jacque, extended a hand and Wotan pumped it.
“You'll stay for a hand?” asked Jacque. “My boy loaned me the motherfucking key to the liquor cabinet.”
“Sariel trusted you with the good stuff?”
“Too trusting,” said Jacque. “Takes after his mother there, I think,” he mused as the two men, broad-shouldered Norse god and vodouisant, machetes clanking at his waist, made their way inside. “So. Everything go off this morning.”
“Everything. Though I have needs buy the wife another damn helicopter,” sighed Wotan.
“I told you before, that girl's a pistol!” said Jacque approvingly.
“Why don't you settle down again, Jacque?” asked Wotan as they crossed the vast threshhold and began to stride down the corridor.
“Aw, I've had the great love of my life, you know. You only get one,” said Jacque.
“I thought. Once. That were true.”
“Phanny!” shouted Jacque in greeting as more enthusiastic handshakes were shared. “Now we've got a poker game!”
“I had heard rumors. Of. Scotch,” enunciated the Grey Angel.
“That's on the agenda!” agreed Jacque. “Let's stop by the control room and make sure those motherfuckers are playing nice.”
“You've moved the room?” asked Wotan as Jacque made an incantation at a large, heavily reinforced door.
“My boy throught there was a need for more space, given the times.”
“Hello, boys!” came a greeting as the door opened. The goddess Breagan removed her headset and stood to greet the three beings.
“Breagan, enchanting as ever,” said Wotan courteously.
“Aw, aren't you a doll?” she asked.
“You'll stay long enough to visit? The kids are demanding it!”
“Certainly!”
All heads turned to a great harrumphing that was occurring across the control room floor. Edgar Jomfru in his sling, pointing an accusing finger, sputtered, “This … female person … persists on taking my position!”
“I was just usin' your monitor for a sec,” smiled Breagan.
“I cannot work efficiently given this interference! She has espoiled my desktop!”
“What did I do,” asked Breagan, who was now hovering over Edgar's shoulder.
“This icon? It is OUT OF ALIGNMENT!” he huffed.
“Oh,” breezed Breagan, leaning over further to grab his mouse, “we'll just ask 'em to align.”
“NOOOOOOO!” whined Edgar, as the icons obediently formed up, pixel to pixel. He broke into sobs.
“Do you need your mule thing, dear?” inquired Breagan, patting him on the back.
“A mule?” asked Jacque. “We can get him something. Why the fuck would this cocksucker need a pack animal.”
“Don't think it's the animal! Mule, huh? That's the wife's favorite shoes!” tried Wotan.
“You believe. He is keening. For quality footwear?” inquired Phanuel.
“Nooo,” sobbed Edgar, rubbing his horribly tear-smudged eyeglasses.
“No, I am wrong. It's those.... The burros?” said Breagan.
“Burrito!” said Klokateer 31415, who was also often referred to as Pie. He had just come into the room, bearing a platter with some waxed-paper-wrapped snacks. “Does his lordship require his lunch?”
“Oh, yes, snackie time!” agreed Edgar, lunging (inside his sling) at the platter.
“We have a selection of burritos, as well as churros, flautas, encheritos, taquitos, gorditos, and quzcks,” explained Pie.
“Well, now that's we've gotten that bullshit taken care of, we've got a highly important fucking poker party to schedule!” barked Jacque, crossing his arms.
“At the present establishment?” asked Breagan, cocking her head.
“Right fucking here.”
Breagan glanced at Edgar, who was eagerly licking chalupa from his fingertips. “I have no objections,” she said.
“You are cleared for games of chance, gentlemen,” burped Edgar, brushing crumbs from his beard.
“Looks like this way, yeah. Suppose we should Court Form?” asked Charles.
They had made their way from the cliffside descent to the Abyss's coastline now, abutting a great, stirring ocean that disappeared over the horizon. Charles and Raziel were leading the way along the beach, heading towards – it was hoped – the river delta of which Durga had spoken. Raziel's kids fluttered excitedly around them, while a pair of wolves alternatively charged ahead and then came galumphing back. The rest of the party trudged along behind, Dethklok, flanked by countless Koori warriors, and then mighty Thor and Ganesh taking up the rear.
Charles held a strange, Polaroid-looking photo from Toki's scrapbook. Ganesh had already digitized them all into his handheld device, but Wotan had insisted that they take all the originals, as he wasn't exactly certain how the magic worked. Ganesh didn't see magic emanations from inanimate objects, and all Skwisgaar would opine was, “Ja, dats some angel shit,” which, though probably true, was of not much further assistance.
Raziel snatched the picture and held it up in a direction that, in our world, would probably have been more or less northward, up to the river's origin. “I'm staying True Formed. This place has changed. And not for the better.”
Charles began to speak, but was quieted when Raziel indicated Toki's scrapbook photo. Since she had taken it, it had changed angle, and now also showed the perspective of looking up river: a forbidding jungle.
Raziel lowered the photo, and they looked together at the present situation: it was clearly the same place, but now the sky was hazy, the result, no doubt of the many, many fires they could see raising smoke everywhere.
“Maybe they like barbecue?” Charles ventured.
“Look, Our Father said it was a place of eternal warfare now....”
“And you believe him. Because he's always so truthful and straightforward.”
“Gog and Magog are here,” said Raziel. “They're not old fashioned villains like Durga faced.”
“How so?”
“They're assholes.”
“Kauuuuuuun!”
Charles frowned as the little owl Nathan had adopted from one of Ganesh's relatives came to rest on his shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?” he asked, as the owl, as owls will, turned its head at a weird ninety degree angle to stare at him.
“He came from up ahead,” said Raziel, pointing with her sword to where the zig-zagging coastline took a zig and became invisible behind a stand of trees. “Hey, does the water there look muddier to you?” she said.
“That might be it,” said Charles. “Or not. My eyes are no good in this light.”
“Want me to fly up and check it out?”
“Stay with us,” said Charles.
Raziel shrugged and turned around. “Hey, douche bags! Liven up! The delta's up there!”
“Give me back my fucking OWL!” howled Nathan.
“Give him back his owl,” Raziel told Charles, who, rolling his eyes, incined his head at Ullu. The owl hooted a “Kaun,” and flew back to Nathan.
“A motherfucking visitor?”
“He is unaccompanied, sire,” Pie told Ogoun Sen Jacque. The room was dark and the air was smoky.
“Wasn't on my fucking agenda,” mused Jacque.
“We might interrupt. The hand,” Phanuel told him evenly.
“Never anything good to hear form that bastard,” grumbled Wotan. “What if I spear him?” he asked, thinking of Gugnir's sure grasp.
“You would not. Hear objection. From me,” enunciated Phanuel.
“When he gets his death, I'll have some say in it,” said Jacque darkly. Phanuel and Wotan nodded at this. “Well, he's just one lone cocksucking motherfucker, I'll go meet the bastard myself.” He stood, peering ill-temperedly at his wrist. “Stupid newfangled thing. Breagan!” he yelled into the wristwatch-like object.
“Yes, Jacque?” came the voice, the lilt only somewhat distorted by electronics.
“Everything still on track?”
“Aye aye, mon capitan!”
The pirate captain nodded. “I'll be back,” he said, heading for the door, Pie moving silently in his wake.
Wotan scooted his chair back and took out a case of cigars.
An angel sat at the open window overlooking the courtyard. He resembled nothing so much as an odd, gigantic parrot. He flapped his green and gold wings in agitation. “I do not think he is a good man.”
“No, Engelbert,” said Phanuel, who had come to stand beside him. “Nor do I.'
“I wish I had my bow.”
“I do too, son, I do too,” said Wotan, who also stood at the window. All three gazed downstairs to where stood one Court Formed but nevertheless terribly large, white-haired Seraph.
The three beings watched as a rather smaller, rather darker being, machetes rattling at his waist, strode out to meet the Seraph. Despite Jacque's vow to meet the angel one on one, he was flanked by the burly, hooded figure of Pie the Klokateer, and the black clad Nephthys, Eqyptian goddess of death.
The Seraph, spotting Nephthys, moved back perhaps half a step, and, pointing to her, said something to Jacque.
Jacque stood, feet planted, arms crossed, and answered back, something very short.
“Can ye hear?” Wotan asked Phanuel.
“Honored Uriah is not pleased regarding young Miss Nephthys' presence. For his part. Jacque requested that Uriah perform an anatomical. Impossibility.”
Wotan chuckled. He situated an ashtray on the windowsill and tapped out his cigar.
“Uriah now goes into detail. Regarding our collective. Low intelligence,” related Phanuel.
“Bastard should talk.”
“I think that is insulting!” said Engelbert.
“Yes, that is not terribly polite,” agreed Phanuel. “Jacque is presently urging him. To cut. To the chase.”
“Good. I want to get back to my gods damned poker.”
Phanuel was silent, listening. Engelbert, who had obviously been listening in as well with his angel ears, turned to ask, “Whatever is he speaking of?”
Phanuel simply said, “He knows about her.”
“Ah,” said Wotan. “Well, that's a spanner in the works.”
“Who is she?” inquired Engelbert. “Shall I be scared? Should I be scared for my bear? Should I be scared for my Toki Barnebarn?”
“You do not have cause to be alarmed. Little one,” soothed Phanuel. “You see? Your bear is right there, where you dropped her. To look out. The window.” Engelbert hopped off the window ledge, hunkering down to scoop up his stuffed toy. He sat on his bottom, and rocked her contentedly, wrapping her in his green and gold wings.
“And what did he say? That last bit?” asked Wotan, who was still at the window, watching as Jacque turned on his heel and marched back inside, Pie and Nephthys following along.
“Jacque informed Uriah. Simply. Stand with us. Or stand aside.”
“Captain Charon, I presume?”
Ullu the owl had been right. They had found the river delta right around the next bend in the coastline, and thence the mighty river Durga once had followed.
There was a dock right where they expected it (or at least where the photos indicated it should be, never mind that Durga's journey had happened many centuries prior to the invention of photography). And on the dock, a rusty barge and a skinny man scraping barnacles from the hull.
“Who wants to know?” said the captain, barely looking up from his work.
“I am Shri Ganesha, Lord of Beginnings. It is my understanding that once, many years ago, you provided passage upriver to my Auntie, the warrior, Durga.”
“Durga?” asked Charon, fevered eyes flashing. He was gone, quick as a wink, into the cabin. And then he was out again, clutching something.
“She paid this in fee,” he said, showing the jeweled saber. “But I never had the mind to sell it. Never did.”
Ganesh took the blade from Chauron, sighting down the finely-wrought edge. “This is a rare beauty!” he said, nodding and handing it back.
Charon shook his head. “It goes to the heir. None other.”
“Oh, I couldn't keep it! It was for passage, was it not?”
“It goes to the heir. None other.”
Ganesh frowned. “Well, thank you then,” he said, putting the sword in his belt. “I have another favor, for my family. We are looking for passage, my party and myself.” He now stood back to indicate the ragtag bunch that accompanied him: assorted gods, angels and death metal musicians.
“I can't take you,” sighed Charon.
“We have fare for passage. I believe gold coins are the customary currency?”
“Ain't that,” said Charon.
Ganesh stood in silence a moment, while the old man scratched his beard. Finally he said, “Er, yes?”
“Can't get so far upriver. N'aught but halfway, these days.”
“Why is that?” asked Ganesh.
The old man didn't reply, but simply pointed to the sky.
“Shit!” said Charles who was standing off to the side. Ganesh frowned, but then heard the sound of ordnance, wailing overhead. There was an eerie whistling sound, and then an even more unnerving silence, before a report. The ground shook slightly, and Ganesh could see ripples in the river water.
“Da fire mummy!” said Abby, pointing up stream at the small reddish mushroom cloud fooming up from the jungle.
“Two villages,” said Charon. “Set across the river. Every day, one side builds a bridge across. Every night, the other blows 'er up.”
Ganesh looked at Charles, who was now at his side. “Did you hear-”
“Yeah,” said Charles.
“Of course.”
“Can you take us as far as the villages?” asked Charles.
Charon nodded. “Don't see as it'll do much good, as it's not where you two need to go,” he said.
“Maybe we'll take our chances,” said Charles, stealing a confused glance at Ganesh.
“Well then,” said Charon, eyeing the various gods and wolves. “Ye'll need to decide who's on and who's off. Can't take the whole menagerie.”
“Righteous Charon....”
“Oh Captain....”
“My Captain....”
“Uh....” said Charon, who appeared to be a bit taken aback to be surrounded by rather a lot of Koori.
“You can take any....”
“And all....”
“For one of us is all....”
“And all, one.”
“Captain dood, it's easier t' shew yoo dan t' explain da metaphysical implications!” said Pickles, who was now standing by Charon, offering a puff.
Charon took the joint, and then shrugged. Suddenly, the Koori were pouring over the damp metal gangplank and onto his small, rusty boat.
Which was really not so small, nor really so rusty after all.
In point of fact, it more resembled some kind of luxury yacht.
“Well I’ll be damned for eternity,” said Charon, passing back the spliff to Pickles.
“Dey’re lords o’ da Dreamtime, dood,” explained Pickles, now taking a rather generous puff.
“Must be handy,” said Charon, regarding his refigured craft. It was all white with black windows, and somewhat resembled, from the front, a grinning skull. “Do those guns in the front work?”
“Oh, I hope scho,” said Murderface, who obviously held his own dreams as to suitable watercraft.
“All aboard!” said Charon, as various beings herded themselves onboard.
Ganesh felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to where Charles was pointing. A missile of some kind, just barely visible, hanging in the sky like a curse, upriver. And then it dropped. Even Ganesh was able to hear the explosion, and all could clearly see the plume of red fire rising in the jungle.
“That’s where we’re going,” said Charles.
“AWESOME!” said Nathan. His owl hooted, and he made his way aboard.
“Another motherfucking visitor, huh?” grumbled Jacque. He reluctantly pushed himself back from the table and rose, pausing to tap his cigar before he joined Wotan, Phanuel and Engelbert at the window once again.
Down in the courtyard this time, a woman with a baby carriage. It looked like the kind that can be folded up and, by some miracle of origami, placed into a minivan. Something cheap, from Dream*Mart, perhaps.
On the nylon sides were depicted friendly pink teddy bears and blue bunnies.
The woman pushed the carriage to the center of the courtyard, and then stopped, appearing to wait. All of her attention was directed at a PDA in her hands. Instantly she was surrounded by silent Klokateers, led by Pie, all mounted on flying vehicles. They neither moved to attack nor meet her, but instead hovered expectantly, being careful to keep a respectful distance.
Suddenly, Engelbert, still waiting at the window, began to flutter and flap, eagerly pointing at the sky. A green and golden cloud had drifted nearby. At the head of the fleet of golden chaiots, a white-haired Seraph.
“Once upon a time, I led such an army.”
Three men turned to the sound of the voice.
“Honored Michael,” said Phanuel, bowing low.
“You realize, don’t you, that this is personal?” said Michael.
“Wouldn’t blame you, if you were a might resentful, ending your days as a gofer for that cranky old bastard,” chuckled Wotan.
“Learn your place, earth god,” spat Michael.
“We’ve already been through that angel bullshit once today. And once is too fucking much,” grumbled Jacque. “No offense,” he hurriedly added to Phanuel.
“None. Taken.”
Down below in the courtyard, as Amber idly punched buttons on her smart phone, her back turned, the baby carriage had begun, ever so slowly, to roll away from her: slowly, slowly, barely moving at first.
“Darlin’! You must know….” Breagan, entering the room, breathless, stopped dead at the doorway, looking Michael up and down. “Oh, you do already know. Well, silly me.”
“What is this … thing supposed to be?” asked Michael.
“I’m the spirit of play, dear. You lot would know nothing about it,” she grinned.
“Annoying servant,” huffed Michael, casually sending a lightning bolt towards the goddess. There was a crack. And then Michael, who had jumped back at the very last microsecond, was gawping at a smoking black spot. Breagan had pulled out a sword, efficiently deflecting the bolt and sending it crashing back to just where he had been standing.
“Fuck me,” whispered Michael.
“Ain’t a servant,” said Breagan, her sword still ready.
“She’s a paid consultant, you dumb angel motherfucker,” scolded Jacque. “Now,” he said, donning a pair of reading glasses and pulling a scribbled piece of paper out of his vest pocket, “I’ve promised my damned son-in-law to say some bullshit. ‘This can end peacefully. Blah blah-dy fucking blah do-gooder bull dung. Or it can end badly. It’s up to you,’” concluded Jacque.
“Why did that fool bring Powers?” asked Wotan, who had again moved to peer out the window as Engelbert fluttered in anxiety.
Down in the courtyard below, the baby carriage rolled, picking up speed.
In the air above the blue-gold cloud roiled, as winged charioteers, one after the other, fluttered nervously.
“We will tear you from the sky, and send you smashing to the earth,” warned Michael.
“Breagan,” said Jacque, tossing the bit of paper to the floor. “Kick his ass, will you?”
“What?” said Michael.
“Pleasure,” said Breagan, poising her sword.
The carriage rolled…. But then bumped to a halt as it ran into a rock.
Wotan watching up above, breathed out as Michael drew a sword.
The green gold cloud roiled again.
And then it came, the tiny glint in the sun.
A single arrow.
Amber looked up either a second too soon, or too late, depending on your point of view.
The PDA, streaked in red, dropped to the ground, where it shattered, its last message trapped forever in its circuits.
Something snaked out of the carriage. Something obscene.
“Edgar! Get this thing turned about!” shouted Jacque through his wrist communicator.
“Jacque!” barked Wotan, his gaze glued to the happenings down below. “Gods damn it.”
“What the fuck?”
“Twins!” he said, pointing to the courtyard. “She had twins this time gods damn it!”
“Fuck me,” said Jacque.
Ganesh relaxed in the deck chair, opening and closing the little umbrella from his frosty cocktail.
“Hate to interrupt your vacation,” grumbled Charles, sitting down next to him. He watched as one of the Koori warriors waterskied in back of the boat.
“Charon says we will be at the point of contention presently. Until then, and until we know what we face, it is good to keep a calm demeanor,” advised Ganesh.
“Is it good to keep a shit-faced demeanor?” asked Charles, taking a sip of the drink through the curly straw.
“He keeps GOING AHEAD!”
“What, Nathan?” asked Charles.
“He keeps FLYING OFF!” said Nathan. “MY OWL!”
“Well, Nathan,” said Charles, taking a rather larger sip – more like a gulp – of Ganesh's drink. He stood up to walk off with Nathan, “Ullu is working as a scout for us, so that's what he's likely to do....”
“BUT HE'S MY FUCKING OWL,” wailed Nathan.
Ganesh cast a glance over at Raziel, who was relaxing on a deck chair next to him, leafing through a Hello! Magazine and watching her children play with their wolves.
“How does Sariel continue to put up with it?” Ganesh asked her.
“Are you kidding? He lives for this,” she laughed.
“He will always come back to you, Nathan,” said Charles, who was nervously pacing the deck with Nathan.
“How do you know that?” asked Nathan.
“Has he always come back before?”
“... Yeah,” Nathan agreed.
“Hey, Ofdenschen, when are we gonna blow up schome schit?” asked Murderface, who was leaning on the deck gun along with Dick Knubbler.
“Hopefully not soon,” said Charles.
“Awwww!” said Murderface as Knubbler's eyes flashed momentarily red.
“Dood! You gahta see this!” said Pickles. Charles sighed and let Pickles lead him off, hoping he was not going to be lured into another circular conversation with a mob of Koori.
He saw instead a lone figure sitting in the shade of the port side, hunched over a photo album.
“Toki,” said Charles.
“Ams da new crapbooks!” said Toki excitedly, handing over a completed volume.
“You're making a scrapbook of us looking at your scrapbooks?” asked Charles, leafing through a few sparkling pink pages.
“Ain't dat deep?” asked Pickles. “Da recursiveness is mind-blowin' in its scope.”
Charles shook his head at Pickles, who grinned and walked on. Charles sat down next to Toki for a while.
“Ja?” said Toki, as Charles was nervously rattling his wings.
“Uh...” said Charles, idly thumbing through one of Toki's books. “You don't think.... Could you....”
“You ams wants to see Booms?”
Charles froze, feeling his throat constrict. He nodded.
“I ams not knows. Ams you sees hims? Wit' da angelses powers?” asked Toki, wide-eyed.
Charles gulped. “I can hear him. If I really try,” he whispered.
“All right! You ams hears hims, and you tells me!” said Toki.
Charles squeezed his eyes shut, willing out the world. He sent himself over the boat, the rumbling of the motor and burbling of the river. He reached out, upriver, hearing a distant exchange of gunfire and shouting. Then, even further up the bank, from somewhere in the deep of the jungle, a low growl. And then … yes! The temple grounds, the soft warble of a color-splashed bird, somewhere hidden in the rainforest canopy.
He was straining now, leaning into the vast expanse. Somehow, it seemed a greater distance separated them now than when he first tried to listen for him, wrapped in Ganesh's arms back at Mordhaus.
He almost gave up, let himself give in to despair, but there it was, such a tiny quiet scratch.
“He's sitting! He's drawing a picture! With a pen on paper!” said Charles, who was unconsciously miming drawing a picture.
Toki smiled. He leaned over, brown hair spilling everywhere, and pulled a notebook out of his bag. Charles steeled himself so he would not to snatch it away from him. It was labeled, “BOOM” on the binding. Toki spread it across both their laps and began to leaf through pages.
Charles held his breath again. Yes, there it was, on the very last page. It was a photo of a clearing.
He leaned over, squinting at the small dark-haired figure, there in the corner, hunched over, all concentration.
His hands nervously brushed the photo.
“INCOMING!”
The deck lurched as the shell exploded off the bow.
Charles pushed himself up. He had instantly leapt upon Toki, knocking him to the floor: guitarist, notebooks, everything.
“Toki get inside!” Charles was already on his feet, sword in his hand. “MURDERFACE!” He was around to bow.
“I don't know where they're fucking schooting from!” said Murderface, ducking behind the gun.
“THAT WAY!” came a cry from overhead. Raziel had gone to her winged Form and was hovering aloft, pointing a sword.
Murderface was already firing. “I schee! Baschtardsch! We need the rocket launscher!” he called.
“NATHAN!” screamed Charles. The singer was already on deck, a rocket launcher mounted on his shoulder, Ullu the owl fluttering after him, obviously annoyed to be usurped.
“Three o'clock!” called Raziel.
“It's NOT THAT LATE!” said Nathan, regarding his watch. “It's not ELEVEN YET!”
“That way!” shouted Charles, pointing Nathan in the right direction.
“Oh yeah, I knew that....” The rocket fired, and they all held their breath watching it streak across the water.
All except Nathan. “ULLU! Come the fuck back!” he shouted, suddenly running astern.
“Nathan!” warned Charles.
“Nathan, bro!” shouted Murderface as the singer leaned over the railing, grasping at the fleeing Ullu. “Careful!”
“Nathan get away-” But just then, another shell landed nearby, sending everybody reeling. Charles was thrown down on the deck.
“WE GOT 'EM!” yelled Raziel, pointing at the red fume rising in the jungle. There were cheers.
Charles pushed himself up, scanning the jungle.
And then he looked in horror over to the railing, where Nathan had been standing, one moment before.
No one there.
“NATHAN!” screamed Charles.
There was no answer.