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Men in Black (Mythklok Chapter 99)
Title: Men in Black (Mythklok Chapter 99)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A search and rescue mission (again).
Warnings: Just the usual nonsense
Notes: After jump
Last time: we descended into the bottomless pit of no return. And played poker.
Grinding down to the end, folks. I sincerely thought this would be the last chapter, but it’s more like the last chapter before the next chapter. Sahry.
Charles ran along the shoreline. He ran until he thought his heart would burst.
He could see the place, just up off the water, Ganesh’s tall figure hunched over, and about a million of the fucking Koori. The warriors silently parted the way for Charles. It would have mattered: he would have knocked them over. And then he was on the ground kneeling next to Ganesh, pebbles scratching his shins.
A shiver wracked his body as he got a good look at Nathan’s supine figure: wet and bedraggled; cold and pale as one of Orula’s zombies.
“Did he drown?” he choked to Ganesh.
Ganesh, kneeling over Nathan, eyes squeezed shut, two hands resting on Nathan’s chest, shook his head. “He lives. But we shall need to get him back.” Ullu the owl, sitting on Ganesh’s shoulder, fluttered nervously.
Charles exhaled. “Oh, thank gods! Can you treat him?”
Ganesh opened his eyes and displayed something in yet another hand. A dart. There was an evil green smear on the end.
“He has been poisoned. Perhaps this is the reason he fell from the boat.”
“Oh, that explains it,” said Charles.
“Kaun,” hooted Ullu, fluttering his little wings.
“Unfortunately, I cannot treat him here,” said Ganesh.
“OK,” said Charles.
“Sariel,” said Ganesh, now turning his body to face him. “I need to get him back home. We need to get him somewhere he can be treated with an antivenin.”
“We need to-“ But then it finally registered. Charles turned, desperate, to look upriver. “Is that the only- But we’re so close!” He frowned. “OK. OK. You take him. You guys take the boat. I’ll go! I’ll go!” He suddenly felt himself being yanked up by a small but powerful set of hands. “I’ll go… With Raziel!”
“Sariel!” she said, her dark eyes locked to his. “Call my father. Now.”
“Phanuel! But what the hell would he-? Oh. Hell.” Suddenly, he frowned. “EDGAR!” he shouted, sticking a finger in his ear.
“You’ve spent your life at sea! Haven’t you had to deal with a damned kraken before!” barked Wotan.
There was a great crack. Mordhaus shook to the very foundations, the entire castle pitching and rolling like a carnival ride.
“Of course I’ve had to fucking deal with a fucking kraken!” Jacque barked back when the worst of it was over. “Every motherfucking sailor worth his salt has to deal with a fucking kraken! I’ve just never had to deal with two fucking krakens!” He turned to an aide. “Status, Mr. Pie!”
“Sire, they are currently playing tug of war with our suspensors,” stated the calm, professional hooded Klokateer.
“That will bring us right the fuck down!”
“Sire, I believe that might be the intention.”
“Never trust a god with suckered appendages. Never!” cried Jacque.
“I’m going to get Sleipnir. That cephalopodic bastard is gonna get an eyeful of Gugnir,” vowed Wotan.
“WHAT?” Jacque yelled into his wristband communicator as Wotan strode off. “What the fuck is it now, Edgar. You got your lunch. What? Oh!” Cursing, he tore off the wristband and tossed it to Phanuel. “Phanny! It’s your fucking daughter.”
Mordhaus rocked again.
“Yes, little one?” inquired Phanuel, quite calm as the dead. “Ah, he is? No. That will not. Be necessary. Remain where you are. I will set forth. A herald.”
Phanuel flipped the wristband back to Jacque. “I must away. For a brief time. An emergency. In the Abyss.” He turned to Engelbert, who was standing expectantly at his side. “Most Honored Brother Bert.”
“Yes, my lord?” asked the Power, his lovely wings quivering.
“Remain here. In my stead. Do. As we have spoken.”
The green and gold-feathered angel bowed low.
“I am sorry. He is sending a…. What?” asked Ganesh.
“You heard him,” said Raziel, indicating Charles, who had the person actually relaying the words.
“How does Phanuel propose to get a herald here?” demanded Ganesh.
“He’s my father. Lord of Hell. He does what he says,” insisted Raziel.
“But this is…. He will never get past the wall! And then Nathan will surely die!”
Charles winced at Ganesh’s words. He felt a tapping on one winged shoulder “Whoa. Bro. Do we need to talk about getting a replaschement schinger?” inquired Murderface.
“What? No!” said Charles, wings arching out in agitation.
“There was that cat I met doing the swing metal album. Swinging guy, baby, yeah!” suggested Dick Knubbler.
“Nathan’s still alive!” said Charles.
“Ja, but Ganoshes ams says, he ams dies soon,” reasoned Skwisgaar.
“We could ams does instrumentacockles,” suggested Toki.
“Pffft. You could ams not do da instrumentacockles,” scoffed Skwisgaar. “You ams needs to plays da instrument first.”
“I ams da goods geetarist!” squalled Toki.
“Maybe it’sch time to reawaken the scholo project!” mused Murderface.
“How can you reawaken a project you’ve never bothered with?” asked Charles. He felt another tapping on his shoulder. He rounded on Pickles. “WHAT!”
The drummer didn’t speak, but simply held up a small, damp photo. Charles reached out his hand, and then snatched it to himself. It was Toki’s scrapbook picture: Boon, somewhere upriver. Charles clutched it to his chest, nodding gratefully at Pickles.
He rounded on the now bickering group. “Everybody SHUT UP!” he shouted.
“Why are you schouting at us?” pleaded Murderface.
“Phanuel says stay here, so for now, we STAY PUT,” said Charles.
He received in return a round of glares from seemingly everyone. He glared back, heedlessly arching his wings in an aggressive manner.
“Er,” said Ganesh finally. “Nathan would probably be more comfortable if we got him back to the ship.”
“All right. OK,” said Charles. This was good: get them something to do. “Can we get a team-“
But then he looked back.
They were surrounded.
“Yes, Edgar my love?”
Edgar cringed back in his sling as first Archangel Michael and then Breagan leapt up on his computer table and desperately tried to slash each other with really large, fairly realistic swords.
“This is not the time for historical recreations! And watch out for my Hot Pocket!” whined Edgar as the two danced around a small, paper-wrapped snack item.
Breagan lunged, driving Michael off the table, and then she was after him. Michael was large, even Court Formed, but Breagan was quite tall, so they were a fairly even match in terms of reach.
“Earth god whore!” fumed Michael.
“Sticks and stones!” laughed Breagan.
“Really, that is no way to address a female person!” scolded Edgar, reeling over to snatch his still microwave-warm Philly steak and cheese sandwich off the table.
“My hero!” said Breagan, easily avoiding being beheaded by a wild swing. “Now what did you want me for, darlin’?”
“Ogoun Sen Jacque requires the vodouisants! Wherever have they gotten to?”
“Chango and Orula, you mean? They tend to get themselves lost in the basement, trying to resurrect the dead womp rats.” She lunged again, but Michael parried, kicking over a trash can, sending litter flying everywhere.
“We’ll have womp rats in here if you continue making a mess,” scolded Edgar.
“I’ll hunt them down for ya, if you like?” offered Breagan.
“Can you prioritize this, please?” asked Edgar, who stuck the Hot Pocket in his mouth and began to type on his ergonomic keyboard.
“Certainly, darlin’. I just have one,” she said, dodging another ill-aimed slice, “or two little things to tie up first.”
“Are you all of Gog, or Magog?” inquired the personage who was evidently a leader of the tribe that now held Charles and his group at gunpoint. Or rather, at blowpipe-point. He had a rather pleasing low voice.
Charles stared at them. Chalk-white skin, deep dark eyes, and black hair. And they were dressed all in black.
“Wut’s in dat blowpipe, dood?” inquired Pickles, who simply couldn’t help himself.
“Pickles,” said Charles.
“Ams you guys da Goggles or da Madrigoggles?” inquired Toki helpfully.
“We follow THE MIGHTY GOG!” thundered the leader. His voice was as impressive, in its way, as that of Nathan Explosion. “A curse upon them as follow Magog,” he added, spitting on the ground.
“Oh, yeah, thosche Magog people are dousche bagsch!” Murderface cheerily agreed, to cheers from the tribe.
“Pffft on Magoggles!” put in Skwisgaar.
“Yeh, dey’re real douches, dey have bad weed,” said Pickles.
“Gog all the way baby yeah!” said Dick Knubbler.
“But Gog and Magog, they’re the same fucking person,” whispered Charles, to a sharp elbow from Raziel.
“So, we all like Gog, but we ran into some Magog idiots, and they hurt our friend!” explained Raziel, pointing to Nathan.
“Yeah, followers of Magog will do that. FIE UPON THEM!” yelled the leader.
“Er, I don’t suppose you have an antidote?” inquired Ganesh, who was sitting on the ground, worried look on his face, supporting Nathan’s head.
“No, we don’t have an antidote. Only the evil dopes of Magog would have the antidote.”
“And they keep blowing up our fucking bridge,” grumbled another tribesman.
“Bastards.”
“Feckin’ Magawg doods,” huffed Pickles.
“Yeah, what dousche bagsch,” grumbled Murderface.
“Ja, dem dumb douches, da Goggles!” piped up Toki.
“Magoggles,” Skwisgaar swiftly corrected.
“Ja, dems too!” said Toki.
“I sense a lack of commitment to the mighty Gog!” sniffed the leader as several of his tribesmen glared at Toki.
“No no no no no,” explained Charles. “We’re, uh, Gog all the way.”
“Yay Gog,” said Raziel.
“Gog, baby, yeah!” emphasized Dick Knubbler.
“Hail Magog!” said Thor.
“Goggles,” Toki told him.
“Oops,” said Thor.
“All right,” said the leader. “Kill them all.”
“NO!” shouted Charles, hands and wings up, as the blowpipes were raised. But then he heard it: the thunder of hoofbeats. He noticed Ganesh had carefully placed Nathan’s head on his jacket and then stood up expectantly.
It came crashing from the jungle, a slice of night escaped into the bright tropical day, sparks dancing from underneath its hooves, breathing fire.
“Ashva!” shouted Ganesh, ignoring the tribesmen to stride towards it. Uncharacteristically, the often persnickety mount gave Ganesh an affectionate nudge. “But how-“ Ganesh stopped short, staring at the tribesmen. They were all now kneeling before him.
“And I heard a voice that said, come and see,” said the leader. “And there was before me a black horse. You are the horseman?” he asked Ganesh.
“Er. This is my horse, yes, much as he sometimes vexes me,” he couldn’t help adding. Ashva snorted a horse chuckle.
“I am honored to be here for this occasion. Your coming has been foretold,” said the leader.
“Oh, er, has it?” asked Ganesh, as Raziel and Charles frantically gestured for him to roll with it. “Oh, er, yes, I am.”
“I am Johnny,” said the leader. “I walk the line. And these are my people, the Men in Black.”
“So, since this is the important horseman, Johnny, do you think you could see your way through to getting us an antidote for our friend?” asked Charles.
“Well, you’d have to get yourself over to the Magog-ites. Over t'other side. We’re building a bridge, you know. One piece at a time. But the bastards blow it up every night.”
“Boom!” giggled Liam, who rather enjoyed things blowing up.
Breagan and Michael found themselves in Mordhaus' kitchen area.
“What would you like for lunch, Lady Breagan?” one of the Chefateers inquired.
Breagan had leapt up on one of the long food preparation tables, and was repelling a flurry from Michael, who had gotten only more and more incensed as he failed to defeat the goddess.
“Oh, I'll just have my normal salad, darlin'.”
“Yes, Lady.”
“Oh, and make certain Master Edgar gets his enchirito!”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Stand still so I can kill you!” yelled Michael, whacking at a line of hanging pots and pans with another wild swing.
“Will Honored Michael be eating?” asked the Chefateer.
“Oh, I don't think he's staying long!” laughed Breagan, who leapt off the table and ran off.
“BITCH!” yelled Michael, who took off after.
He ran along the corridors, and stopped at the entryway. Breagan had led him outdoors, up to Mordhaus’ wide dragon back. Michael stepped out confidently. “I saw you come here! Come out and let's finish this!”
“As you wish!” Michael turned to repel a barrage of blows from Breagan.
She stepped back and then back again. They fought closer and closer to the edge of the building.
“Well, this has been a bit of fun, darlin’, but I’m afraid I have other things to do now,” grinned Breagan.
“What do you think you’re doing, goddess whore?” grumbled Michael.
Breagan stepped back to the edge. And then hopped back, falling back over the edge.
“WHAT?” yelled Michael, running to look over, cheated of his kill.
He leaned over, searching in vain the ground below. “Where the fuck did she go?” he muttered.
And then he screamed as, kicked squarely in the ass, he too fell over the side.
He managed to True Form just before he reached the bottom, his giant Seraph flight wings stroking mightily to keep him from crashing to the ground, and certain death. He reared up, wings back, looking back at the top of the castle, to see the god who had just kicked him grinning down at him.
“That was for Raziel!” Wotan shouted down.
“WOTAN!” screamed Michael, brandishing his sword.
It was to be his last word on earth. Big as he was, he was no match for the speeding DethTrain.
There was blood, and a whole lot of feathers.
There was a whir of a motor. Pie, riding his flying machine, buzzed up to land beside Wotan. Breagan hopped off the back to stand beside Wotan. “Thanks for the ride!” she hailed and Pie took off.
“And thank you for that. He was rightly your kill,” said Wotan.
“I don't have much of a heart for killin',” said Breagan. “We'll consider it even.” Just then, Mordhaus rocked again, a terrific jolt.
“Damn!” said Wotan. “I need to quit fucking around and get Sleipnir. Kraken won't slay themselves!”
“Need a hand?”
“I thought you hadn't the heart for killing?”
“Yeah, but I have a hankering for calamari.”
“One piece at a time!” sang Johnny as the Men in Black feverishly built the bridge that spanned the river. The sound of construction – pounding and hammering – echoed everywhere in the valley.
“…And it didn’t cost a dime,” the workers chorused.
“We can't just take boat?” Charles asked for the thousandth time.
“Ain't no landing on that shore,” replied Charon, also for the thousandth time. They stood inside Charon's craft, inside one of the cramped sleeping areas: when several of the Koori debarked, the ship had, accordingly, contracted. It was a strange magic. “The currents are bad and there’s no moorage.”
“And you can’t fly over?” Charles asked Raziel for the millionth time.
“I tried, the wind just throws me back,” she answered.
“I heavily suspect the presence of some repulsive magic,” said Ganesh.
“That would make sense,” said Raziel.
They had situated the still unconscious Nathan Explosion on a bed, where Ganesh worried over him. “I feel I should stay here...” Ganesh mused.
“Ganesh,” said Raziel, standing in the doorway, “I can do a lot of things, but riding Ashva isn't one of them.”
“You won't have much time,” said Charon. “I've seen this before. Soon as they finish, the Men in Black, those Magog-ites over on the far shore set to blowing it up.”
“This is stupid. Gog and Magog are the same fucking person!” raved Charles.
“Stupid is as stupid does,” said Raziel.
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?” growled Charles.
“Sariel,” said Raziel. “As you like to say, we've talked about this. We can’t fly and we can’t swim. The best bet is to take Ashva, and hope they have the same nonsense about the rider on the black horse.”
“And what if they don't?” asked Charles.
“That's why you guys are taking swords.”
Charles frowned and looked up. Everyone in the cramped room was now looking out towards the bridge. The frantic sound of construction had abruptly ceased.
“Honored Sariel....”
“The irritable if most righteous angel....”
“We have word from up high....”
“The main Man in Black....”
“Johnny.” And at this, all the Koori ceased their babbling and solemnly bowed their heads. They were all now standing inside what was now a rather capacious stateroom in Charon's boat, as their magic had increased the size.
“....That the most excellent bridge....”
“Which they built....”
“One piece at a time....”
“And it didn't cost a dime....”
“Is nearing completion.”
Charles looked questioningly at Ganesh, who frowned and reluctantly stood up. “Can you honored Koori do me a favor, please?” Ganesh asked.
“Certainly....
“For the most auspicious Ganesha....”
“He of many arms....”
“And an awesomely tight ass.”
Charles tried glaring at the Koori, but soon realize he wasn't quite certain who to direct his scowl towards.
“Could several of you remain on the boat? I believe your combined magic will be of a help,” said Ganesh.
As the Koori assented, Charles extracted himself from their presence, Ganesh following along, though still seeming to hesitate.
“Is Ashva gonna do this for us?” Charles asked as they departed Charon's boat and started to walk along the shore.
“I never know what that horse is of a mind to do,” sighed Ganesh. “He always seems to prefer....” Ganesh stopped, his tongue tied on mention of Elias. He shook his head as if to shake off the thought. “I still do not reckon I know how Phanuel even sent him here.”
“I dunno,” said Charles. “Wotan told me once that those demon horses can get back and forth to Hell any time they want.”
“But this place shouldn't be like that. It was part of the Nether Regions. That is what my parents always told me. What Brahma Uncle always said.”
“Brahma is a gardener, not a surveyor,” laughed Charles.
“What did you say?” asked Ganesh, who suddenly stopped short.
“Oh. You know. All that fuss in Durga's story about Our Father getting the proper permits?” Charles told him, as his lawyerly instincts had been piqued. “You said Brahma couldn't be bothered to look into it.”
Ganesh crossed innumerable pairs of arms, tilting his head so his hair fell into his face. Charles reached up and pushed it away: it only fell back again, the same as it always did. “Contact Edgar,” said Ganesh. “Tell Phanuel Uncle his herald arrived.”
So Charles did.
“I'm Bert!”
“Yes, I know who you are,” said Edgar, craning his head so he wouldn't be quite so disoriented talking to this annoying as well as presently upside-down angelic personage.
“Oh! Then who am I?” asked Bert, blinking those odd but lovely green-gold eyes. He fluttered down off the ceiling to stand right side up, but now uncomfortably close to Edgar.
“You are Engelbert,” said a very flustered Edgar, “who is presently thought to be father of Anja, who is in turn mother of Toki Wartooth, currently second fastest guitarist alive, and rhythm guitarist for Dethklok.”
“You know a lot!” said Engelbert. “You have all the pretty machines.”
“You are a Power,” said Edgar, warming up to it, “relatively low amongst the hierarchies of angels, and thought to be a bit scattered, though loyal to a fault.”
“You know a lot, and you smell like beans!” sang Bert, leaning in even further and taking a whiff.
“Uh, yes...” said Edgar.
“And you can't move your legs since those people walked all over you!”
“The crowd control at their concerts was appalling...” began Edgar.
“And you always suspected your brother was smarter....”
“THAT'S ENOUGH!”
Engelbert had fled to the opposite side of the room, where he perched on an open windowsill, flapping his fabulous wings and looking hurt. “I thought we played a game?” he said. “Maybe I will go away now....”
Edgar hung sullenly in his sling. “No, don't do that! Do not take this personally.”
“It's not nice to shout,” chided Engelbert.
“Do not speak of my brother,” said Edgar.
Engelbert cocked his head and ceased flapping. “Didn't you love your brother?”
“Of course I … felt affection for my brother. This went without saying.”
“So you did not tell him?” asked Engelbert, eyes wide.
“Well....”
“Then you are sad.”
“Engelbert,” said Edgar. “The reason I summoned you here is that I have received a message for you. A message for Lord Phanuel. His herald has arrived. Will you please convey it to him?”
“I will do that! Bert can convey messages!” said the angel happily. He bounded off the stool, and leapt over to Edgar who he engulfed in a hug, complete with wings.
Edgar emitted a small, strangled scream.
“I will tell Phanuel!” said Engelbert. “And then I will find your brother. And I will tell him that you love him!”
Mordhaus lurched again, and then trembled. And there was a terrible sound: an impossibly high-pitched scream that seemed to get further and further away.
“Yes. Uh. Do that. And hurry please?” said Edgar. But Bert was already gone, leaving only a small scattering of brightly colored feathers.
Charles didn't protest for once when Ganesh basically grabbed him by the waist and tossed him up on Ashva's broad back. He winced, expecting the mischievous demon horse to suddenly teleport away from underneath, as it was wont to do. But instead he found himself situated, and then a beat later, Ganesh was in front of him, holding the reigns.
It was growing dark. Charles wasn't exactly certain how nighttime came to a land without a sun, but come it did. He strained to hold his wings in as tightly as he should. He had wanted to Court Form, but Raziel had outright vetoed that one.
They stood at the ready, Ashva’s hooves nervously sparking on rocks, just off the almost completed bridge over the river: the one that was constructed by the Gog-ites ever day, and blown up by the Magog-ites every night. There was a great hole yawning below them, right at the foot of the bridge.
“One piece to go,” said Johnny. “And that's when they start to blow it up,” he added. There were solemn nods. “Is that a fast horse?” he asked Ganesh.
“Ashva is the fastest,” said Ganesh, patting Ashva's flank. The horse nickered smugly.
“He has the nerve and he has the blood,” said Johnny, nodding.
Charles peered into the gathering darkness, wondering what the hell awaited at the other end of the bridge. Delays, he thought ruefully. They had no idea what was up there, or whether they too had a legend about a rider on a black horse.
The bridge itself looked a little rickety: clearly something that had been thrown up within a day. He wondered if anyone from the Gog tribe had ever actually tried crossing one of their ill-fated bridges, much less riding a giant horse across at full gallop.
He strained, thinking he heard something from across the bridge. It sounded like woman's voice. She was singing something: words that sounded like, “I fall to pieces....”
The light was fading. Several of the men in black now carried torches he noticed. Charles leaned forward a little, putting his hands on Ganesh's waist. He was not surprised that Ganesh did not feel tensed up in the least: the god seemed to go to another place when he rode, a kind of weird meditation, where all that mattered was the road ahead. He sighed, a little envious of Ganesh's single-mindedness.
Raziel was down below them, looking up. She seemed even shorter when viewed from horseback. She was speaking to him. “Sariel,” she said. “Don't look back.”
He nodded, and she stepped back into the darkness.
“Hold on,” Ganesh whispered. Charles tightened his arms and squeezed in his great wings some more.
Johnny had his hand up in the air, one finger pointed up. There were a couple of tribesmen right at the entrance to the bridge, waiting upon settling in the last piece, which would evidently bring on the fusillade.
Without a sound, Johnny's arm dropped. The piece dropped into place, the bridge complete.
Ashva was already at a gallop when Charles' angel ears caught something: something that sounded like fireworks going up on forth of July. Ashva ducked his head and ran on, heedless.
Charles gripped Ganesh tighter as the explosion sounded behind them. He felt the heat on his back, and against Raziel's advice turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. The entire end of the bridge – the end they had just finished – was now afire, all orange and red in the night sky. He could hear the crunch of bridge beneath Ashva's hooves as they splintered the soft wood.
Another explosion, and then another, all in back, getting closer.
And a great shudder.
“The bridge is collapsing!”
“I know,” said Ganesh. The bridge was now swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor. Ashva's footing was sure. The other side was in sight now. The smell of fire was everywhere, and all was noise of explosions and shattering wood.
And then the explosion was ahead of them, as a piece of the bridge directly in front gave way. Ashva thundered on.
“That's too fucking wide to jump,” yelled Charles.
“No it isn't,” said Ganesh, he and Ashva seeming of one mind. “Wings!” he ordered.
Charles, gripping Ganesh more tightly than he ever had before, and wishing not for the first time he was blessed with more than two arms, felt every muscle in Ashva's body tense and release as it powered into a great leap. He instantly unfurled his great silver wings to their fullest, hugging Ganesh and pressing his knees tightly around the horse. He held his breath, riding air, shoulder muscles straining.
And then jaw-snapping jolt as they landed, Ashva's rear hooves showering sparks on the shattered end of the bridge.
“Oh fuck we made it!” said Charles, not even halfway believing, but then the hoofbeats suddenly went from crashing to a thudding, as they at last alit on the far shore.
Ganesh pulled up, and they turned just in time to see what was left of the bridge fall away into the river.
“We made it!” said Charles, who had already slipped from horseback, pulling out his sword, grateful to have his feet back on the ground. “I don't believe it.”
“Er, you know the legend of the rider?” said Ganesh, who had once again turned Ashva around.
“Yeah?” asked Charles, looking up at Ganesh.
“I don't believe they have it on this side,” said Ganesh. Charles turned around.
He faced a line of archers.
“Arrows,” he grumbled. “Why does it always have to be fucking arrows?”
“Well, we’ve simply never subjected anything of this size and magnitude to the process of zombification!” explained Orula, examining the remains of what had once been a Kraken, now sprawled out for miles on the grounds beneath Mordhaus.
“Oh. Means you can’t do it?” asked Jacque as Wotan grabbed the spear, Gugnir, from the creature's large eye and hooded Klokateers piloting flying vehicles hovered nearby.
“Oi, I dunno, mate,“ admitted Chango.
“WHAT! Of course I can do it!” sniffed Orula, tossing his cape dramatically.
“Are you sure, mahster?” inquired Chango.
“I’m not going through that shit again,” grumbled Wotan, pulling a sucker off his shirtsleeve and regarding the Kraken eye goo on Gugnir with a frown.
“What we fucking need you fuckers to do is revive this fucking kraken and have it pull down that fucking kraken!” said Jacque, pointing his cigar up at Mordhaus, which was still bucking under the assault of a giant space squid.
“It is a large endeavor!” protested Orula. “I will need time! And resources!”
There was a great snapping noise up above: one of the dragon spires had broken off, and was whistling down. The party on the ground dove for cover, except for Jacque, standing directly in the path, who stood, casually smoking his cigar. Suddenly, there was a great crash, and when the dust cleared, there was Jacque, still standing there, flicking ashes from his cigar, his foot not inches from the fallen spire, now sticking straight out of the ground.
“You got half an hour,” Jacque told Orula. He inclined his head, and a Klokateer whizzed over on a flying machine. Jacque jumped on the back, and they departed back up to Mordhaus.
“Yes sir,” said Orula, shaking out the dust.
“Uh,” said Charles. “I don't suppose you guys have an antidote around, do you?”
They were surrounded by a group of women, all of whom were dressed in what looked like fringed cowgirl outfits.
“You’re from across the way. You're Gog-ites, aren't you, Hoss?” asked the leader.
“Uh, who's Hoss?” asked Charles.
“We have a friend who's been injured by one of your poisoned darts,” said Ganesh, who slid down from Ashva's back, many hands raised.
“And they said, come and see,” said the leader. “And he rode upon a black horse.”
“Well, that's true,” grinned Charles.
“And death followed him,” she concluded.
“No, wait, look, that's not what we're here for,” said Charles, suddenly clumsily trying to hide his sword behind his back.
“You're Gog-ites, ain't you?” asked the leader. “You are from the far shore!”
“And I presume you follow Magog?” asked Ganesh.
“Magog!” yelled several of the cowgirls. “Yee-haw!”
“You do realize Gog and Magog are the same person,” sniffed Charles.
“Sariel!” warned Ganesh.
“Should we kill them?” asked one of the cowgirls, who all pulled back on their bows.
Suddenly, there was a rustling from within the jungle.
“It's the beast of the land!” said the leader. “Hide yourselves!”
“Uh, did Phanuel say he’d send one herald, or two?” Charles whispered to Ganesh as the tribeswomen dove for cover.
Suddenly crashing into view was an incredible orange-striped tiger. It was the biggest Charles had ever seen: every bit as big as Shiva’s hunting tigers.
Giving a great snarl, it bounded forth and pounced on Ganesh. Charles furled his wings and drew his sword.
“Wait!” laughed Ganesh. Charles stopped. The great tiger was licking Ganesh’s face with its great sandpaper tongue.
“This one of ours, certainly!” said Ganesh, pushing himself up and giving a beast a great scratch behind the ears. “One of my family's hunting tigers!”
“Wait! Could this be Durga’s tiger?” asked Charles. “After all these years?”
“She may well be!” said Ganesh.
“He is the master of the beast!” exclaimed several of the women, who had emerged from hiding.
“Well, she belonged to my Auntie,” said Ganesh modestly.
“And a voice said, come and see!” said the leader. “And behold, it was the great beast of the land.”
The women bowed down before Ganesh.
“Wait, you’re the chosen one on both sides of the river?” pouted Charles.
“Well, er, yes, I supposed,” said Ganesh modestly.
“I am Patsy!” said the leader, introducing herself. “I go out walking after midnight. And these are the Jordanaires.”
The women all began to harmonize. “Searching for looooove!” They sounded fantastic.
“Damn,” said Charles. “If Nathan were here, he'd want to use them on the next album. Oh. Wait. Nathan!”
“Yes!” said Ganesh. “Our friend has been sickened by one of your poisoned darts. I don’t suppose you would have an antidote.”
The drug was soon secured and given to Ganesh, who handed it to Charles. “This needs to be administered as soon as possible,” said Ganesh. “Ashva and I will follow as soon as the Men in Black have completed a new bridge.”
Upstream, in the courtyard outside an ancient building, a very small angel slept, his companion at his feet.
An equally small wolf blinked awake, instantly aware of the threat to his beloved master.
Sniffing to assure himself the boy was well, and also checking the girl who wasn’t there, Murgatroyd padded off on feet that were still comically too large for his small body, sensitive wolf nose to the wind.
He was brand new to this life, but he had lived many before, so he knew many things, many more things than a normal youngster. Friend or foe: these are things a wolf knows. Who is in the pack,and who is not.
And this one was not in the pack. Nor was he wanted.
He padded along the night-darkened path through the jungle, steeling his small wolf heart.
“Of course I can administer an antidote baby, yeah! Dick Knubbler has been in this business a long time!” sang the record producer.
Charles stood, shivering, at the door of Nathan’s now rather luxurious stateroom. A whole pack of the Koori were there, as well as some of the Men in Black, who evidently were now adding their own collective magic to Charon’s once rickety ship. Dick Knubbler and Pickles were sitting at Nathan’s bedside now, poking around in Ganesh’s medical bag. Pickles was expertly filling a syringe with the antidote while Knubbler was directing a few volunteers to turn Nathan over onto his stomach.
Although the wind currents had been in his favor, the flight from the far shore had been far more taxing than Charles had expected. Indeed, if Raziel hadn’t sent the twins flying out to meet him, he wondered if he would have completely lost his sense of direction and ended up crashing into the river. As it was, they had remained cheerfully at his side, and he noticed now that little Abby was there, holding his hand.
“Da wanty dote, Wunky Sar!” she told him.
“Yes, that’s the antidote.”
“An Boonie?” added Liam.
“Yeah, kids, we’ll go get Boon now,” Charles told them. If Nathan doesn’t die, he thought miserably. He felt drained, beyond tired, as if he would never feel right again.
“OWWWWW! MY ASS!”
Charles blinked. The ship shrunk down perceptibly, as several of the Koori had actually been frightened off.
“Kauuuuuun!” chirped Nathan’s owl happily.
“What happened to MY PANTS?” wailed Nathan.
“We hadda give yoo an injection dood,” explained Pickles, who had grabbed the syringe from Knubbler and was now depositing the needle in a sharps container. “Yoo were DYIN'.”
“I WAS NOT DYING!” boomed Nathan.
“It’s all right, baby! Doctor Dick is here, yeah!” Knubbler assured him.
“You let this guy stick a needle in my ass?” asked Nathan, rubbing the same. He flipped over and sat up, tugging up his pants.
“Are you absolutely sure you’re all right, Nathan?” asked Charles, who had rushed over to his side.
“OF COURSE I’M ALL RIGHT. Man, I had this strange fucking dream! It was weird, all creepy and shit.” He looked around at the members of Dethklok. Besides Pickles, Skwisgaar, Toki and Murderface had come to hang out in the doorway, possibly looking for cocktails. “And you were there,” he told Pickles, “and you and you,” he said, pointing to Skwisgaar and Toki, “but not you,” he said indicating Murderface.
“Wasch it becausche I’m fat?” grumbled Murderface.
“I have some great fucking ideas for the next album!” Nathan announced, ignoring Murderface.
“Whats new albums?” asked Skwisgaar, looking bored as can be.
“The next DETHKLOK FUCKING ALBUM,” grumbled Nathan, who was now, despite Charles’ worried hovering, up on his feet.
“Oh, dat ams da problems, you ams no longer da members of Dethkloks,” Toki told him sweetly.
“WHAT? Are they JOKING? They’re joking, right Charles?”
“Uh, I know nothing about this,” admitted Charles.
“Well, he didn’t come t’ da band meetin’,” Pickles noted.
“WHAT BAND MEETING?” chorused Charles and Nathan.
“Whoa, watch the wings, dude,” Nathan cautioned Charles, who was now flapping in a most irritable manner.
“Hey, everybody!” yelled Raziel from somewhere outside the stateroom. “They’ve finished the bridge.”
“What, so soon?” asked Charles, who was already making his way out.
“I guess the Magog-ites helped this time, and they met in the middle,” Raziel told him. They hurried up shore, with various parties from the boat trailing after them. “And they don’t go one piece at a time: they’re crazy!”
Ganesh was riding Ashva at the head of a procession coming from the far shore. The tiger was at his side, and he was followed by Patsy and what seemed a sizable number of the Jordanaires.
Raziel’s children ran to meet the tiger, and there was much petting, as well as some mutual sniffing with the great wolves, Geri and Freki.
“Wait, where’s she going?” asked Raziel. They gawped as the tiger stole off towards the jungle and disappeared.
“Tiger business?” guessed Ganesh, dismounting. “And how is Nathan?”
Charles didn’t answer, but simply pointed. The lead singer, still squabbling with Dethklok, had accompanied him to the bridge.
“Well, the band looks to be the same as ever,” laughed Ganesh.
“Mummy!” screamed Liam, as both kids suddenly pointed back to the jungle. The she tiger was back, and holding something in her mouth. She boldly strode up and she deposited something at Liam and Abby’s feet.
“KITTY!” squealed Abby as she and her brother went down on their knees to pet the mewling tiger kitten.
“Well, she’s been busy,” laughed Raziel. “Wait, Mom, what’s the deal?” she asked as the tiger turned tail and ran back, disappearing once again into the jungle. “Well, I guess we’re tiger-sitting.”
“As if we needed another thing to do,” sniffed Charles. “Hey!”
The tigress had reappeared, with yet another kitten, which she dropped near the first, and then padded off once again. She then returned with a third kitten, at which point she sat down, looking tiger-smug.
“I have a proposal,” said Ganesh. “I was speaking to the Jordanaires, and it appears that the shore on that side is traversable up to the temple grounds.”
“You want to ride ahead?” asked Charles.
“I think we could both ride ahead,” said Ganesh.
“Wouldn’t I slow you down?”
“No,” grinned Ganesh. “As you have your own mount.”
“You want me...” said Charles looking back. “Wait, you want me to ride the fucking tiger?”
“She was almost definitely my Auntie's mount!”
“Oh, that’s so awesome!” said Raziel.
“Yeah, then why don’t you do it, Raziel?” Charles grumbled.
“Sariel,” said Raziel. “You really want me to go ahead and find your kid instead of you?”
“NO!” said Charles. Raziel scowled. “No, sorry. Of course I want to find him,” he said more softly. “I need to find him.”
“I think you do,” said Ganesh softly, gently taking Charles’ face in his hands. “Your magical aura…. It has not been looking well. Perhaps it is worry. I do not know. But I think it is best for all of us that you and our dear one are reunited, and swiftly.”
“Great plan!” said Raziel. “We’ll take the boat and follow. Charon had said we’d need to shed some weight, since it gets shallow. We’ll station the Koori here, and make it just us.”
“My band is fighting again,” sighed Charles.
“Yeah. When are they not fighting?” grinned Raziel.
“The idea was for the fucking zombie kraken to fight the other motherfucking kraken, not team up! Now I have a dead motherfucking kraken and a live motherfucking kraken. I’m tired of these motherfucking kraken on my motherfucking mordhaus!”
“As I told you,” Orula sniffed, as Mordhaus took another lurch. “The process of zombification is an art, not a science.”
“So hang your cocksucking zombies in an art museum!” growled Jacque as the grounds of Mordland lurched and pitched between them.
“Sire!” said Pie, who was hovering in back of Jacque.
“What is it, Mr. Pie?”
“A visitor!”
“I don’t have time for motherfucking tea and cocksucking toast!” barked Jacque.
“Jacque!” Wotan barked back.
“Ogoun Ssssssen Jacque,” said a black figure, who bowed courteously.
“Yeah?” said Jacque.
“This is Surtr, lord of the south,” said Wotan.
“Oh, hell yes! My boy has great things to say about you!” said Jacque. “That’s your volcano, isn’t it?”
“I believe I can offer sssservice,” explained Surtr. “Pessssst sssssolutionsssss.”
“We definitely got a couple of tentacly bastards!” said Jacque.
“You would need to maneuver Mordhausssss into range of my volcano. And then, I will do the ressssst!”
“Holy hell, boiled kraken?”
“Yesssss!” grinned Surtr. “And as an exsssstra, I have brought along a carton of my patented barbecue ssssauce!” he announced, indicating some Klokateers bearing wooden crates.
Just as Durga had said, you could see the tallest of the buildings long before you reached the site. And it only seemed to increase Charles’ fatigue and anxiety to know the goal was in reach. What if Elias wasn’t there after all? What if it had all been a waste? Ganesh had suggested, when last they had stopped, that Charles listen for him, just to reassure himself, but he hadn’t even been able to focus. He considered Court Forming, to save energy, but he had started to doubt whether he had enough magic left to True Form again, should the need arise.
He was so distracted by various musings that it came as a surprise when Ganesh pulled up and told him, “here is the crossing Charon mentioned.” Charles looked across the river, which had gotten awfully shallow. The temple was still upriver, perhaps a mile.
“I believe your mount will prefer crossing at the bridge up ahead,” said Ganesh, pointing upriver. Charles could see the suspension bridge, just around the next bend. “What I propose is that I ford the stream here, and you make your way up ahead, and we meet on the temple grounds. That way we will have both routes of access covered. Does that sound reasonable?”
Charles nodded distractedly.
“Sariel!”
“Yes. Sorry. We’ll go up to the bridge.”
“Sariel, there is a kind of dark magic here. Please be careful!” said Ganesh.
“All right,” said Charles, although even he could tell the lack of conviction in his own voice. Ganesh gave him a worried glance, but then hastened across the river, Ashva expertly fording it, and then broke into a gallop as soon as he’d reached the far shore.
“So, I guess we get to the bridge,” Charles told the tiger, who immediately stalked upstream once again. He immediately understood why Ganesh’ family used these beasts for hunting. She could walk seemingly anywhere, and made nary a sound. He was soon along and up to the bridge.
He stopped, frowning. “There’s something not right about that place, huh?” he asked the tiger, who did not reply. “Do you think he’s there?” he asked her. Once again, if she knew anything, she did not reveal it.
The big cat bore him across the bridge. It was nothing like his frantic ride on horseback the past evening: the tiger felt sure-footed, even on the swaying, creaking structure.
They reached the shore. And then the tiger paused, arching and hissing.
Charles slipped off her back, looking around. “Yeah, definitely something not good here.”
She switched her tail, golden tiger eyes glinting at him.
“How about this? You wait here for Ganesh, I’ll go poke around. OK?”
The tiger sat still, staring.
Charles drew his sword and began to walk towards the temple grounds. It was not really a temple any more, but more the site of ruins. It looked like the place had suffered at least one earthquake since Durga had visited: the entire top piece had fallen off the main temple, although the building was still by far the tallest.
He longed to call out for his son, but sensed somehow that was the wrong thing to do, so he walked instead, silent and alone, for some time.
He occasionally heard what sounded like a far off call of birds or monkeys, but sensed no movement at all.
He had made his way all the way around the giant temple, out of sight of the shore, to an area where there were some smaller buildings, when he heard it: the gentle pop of small branches breaking.
Something was walking around, perhaps stalking him, under the cover of the jungle.
He did not even stop to think. Instead, holding tight to his sword, he strode straight into the jungle, listening with all his might. He broke through the line of trees, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He turned.
He was not prepared for what he saw: an enormous jet black wolf – its shoulders came nearly up to his own – standing, a silent dark statue blocking his way.
He gasped, nearly dropping his sword.
“Murgatroyd?” he whispered, steadying his shaking hands on the hilt.
He heard the happy yipping around his ankles, as the terrifying beast was suddenly nothing more than a black puppy.
He was down on his knees. “Where is he? Where is Boon? Take me to him.”
The puppy gave another joyful yip and then tore off down the path, Charles hot on his heels. They ran around some ruined temple buildings, out to the back, where there was a smaller edifice that appeared to have survived the worst of the shaking. There was a clearing beside it, a peaceful area with a small offshoot of the river running alongside.
There was a girl, sitting under a tree, reading a book. She looked up at Charles, dark eyes worried.
And beside her, attacking a piece of paper with a pencil....
“DADDY!”
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A search and rescue mission (again).
Warnings: Just the usual nonsense
Notes: After jump
Last time: we descended into the bottomless pit of no return. And played poker.
Grinding down to the end, folks. I sincerely thought this would be the last chapter, but it’s more like the last chapter before the next chapter. Sahry.
Charles ran along the shoreline. He ran until he thought his heart would burst.
He could see the place, just up off the water, Ganesh’s tall figure hunched over, and about a million of the fucking Koori. The warriors silently parted the way for Charles. It would have mattered: he would have knocked them over. And then he was on the ground kneeling next to Ganesh, pebbles scratching his shins.
A shiver wracked his body as he got a good look at Nathan’s supine figure: wet and bedraggled; cold and pale as one of Orula’s zombies.
“Did he drown?” he choked to Ganesh.
Ganesh, kneeling over Nathan, eyes squeezed shut, two hands resting on Nathan’s chest, shook his head. “He lives. But we shall need to get him back.” Ullu the owl, sitting on Ganesh’s shoulder, fluttered nervously.
Charles exhaled. “Oh, thank gods! Can you treat him?”
Ganesh opened his eyes and displayed something in yet another hand. A dart. There was an evil green smear on the end.
“He has been poisoned. Perhaps this is the reason he fell from the boat.”
“Oh, that explains it,” said Charles.
“Kaun,” hooted Ullu, fluttering his little wings.
“Unfortunately, I cannot treat him here,” said Ganesh.
“OK,” said Charles.
“Sariel,” said Ganesh, now turning his body to face him. “I need to get him back home. We need to get him somewhere he can be treated with an antivenin.”
“We need to-“ But then it finally registered. Charles turned, desperate, to look upriver. “Is that the only- But we’re so close!” He frowned. “OK. OK. You take him. You guys take the boat. I’ll go! I’ll go!” He suddenly felt himself being yanked up by a small but powerful set of hands. “I’ll go… With Raziel!”
“Sariel!” she said, her dark eyes locked to his. “Call my father. Now.”
“Phanuel! But what the hell would he-? Oh. Hell.” Suddenly, he frowned. “EDGAR!” he shouted, sticking a finger in his ear.
“You’ve spent your life at sea! Haven’t you had to deal with a damned kraken before!” barked Wotan.
There was a great crack. Mordhaus shook to the very foundations, the entire castle pitching and rolling like a carnival ride.
“Of course I’ve had to fucking deal with a fucking kraken!” Jacque barked back when the worst of it was over. “Every motherfucking sailor worth his salt has to deal with a fucking kraken! I’ve just never had to deal with two fucking krakens!” He turned to an aide. “Status, Mr. Pie!”
“Sire, they are currently playing tug of war with our suspensors,” stated the calm, professional hooded Klokateer.
“That will bring us right the fuck down!”
“Sire, I believe that might be the intention.”
“Never trust a god with suckered appendages. Never!” cried Jacque.
“I’m going to get Sleipnir. That cephalopodic bastard is gonna get an eyeful of Gugnir,” vowed Wotan.
“WHAT?” Jacque yelled into his wristband communicator as Wotan strode off. “What the fuck is it now, Edgar. You got your lunch. What? Oh!” Cursing, he tore off the wristband and tossed it to Phanuel. “Phanny! It’s your fucking daughter.”
Mordhaus rocked again.
“Yes, little one?” inquired Phanuel, quite calm as the dead. “Ah, he is? No. That will not. Be necessary. Remain where you are. I will set forth. A herald.”
Phanuel flipped the wristband back to Jacque. “I must away. For a brief time. An emergency. In the Abyss.” He turned to Engelbert, who was standing expectantly at his side. “Most Honored Brother Bert.”
“Yes, my lord?” asked the Power, his lovely wings quivering.
“Remain here. In my stead. Do. As we have spoken.”
The green and gold-feathered angel bowed low.
“I am sorry. He is sending a…. What?” asked Ganesh.
“You heard him,” said Raziel, indicating Charles, who had the person actually relaying the words.
“How does Phanuel propose to get a herald here?” demanded Ganesh.
“He’s my father. Lord of Hell. He does what he says,” insisted Raziel.
“But this is…. He will never get past the wall! And then Nathan will surely die!”
Charles winced at Ganesh’s words. He felt a tapping on one winged shoulder “Whoa. Bro. Do we need to talk about getting a replaschement schinger?” inquired Murderface.
“What? No!” said Charles, wings arching out in agitation.
“There was that cat I met doing the swing metal album. Swinging guy, baby, yeah!” suggested Dick Knubbler.
“Nathan’s still alive!” said Charles.
“Ja, but Ganoshes ams says, he ams dies soon,” reasoned Skwisgaar.
“We could ams does instrumentacockles,” suggested Toki.
“Pffft. You could ams not do da instrumentacockles,” scoffed Skwisgaar. “You ams needs to plays da instrument first.”
“I ams da goods geetarist!” squalled Toki.
“Maybe it’sch time to reawaken the scholo project!” mused Murderface.
“How can you reawaken a project you’ve never bothered with?” asked Charles. He felt another tapping on his shoulder. He rounded on Pickles. “WHAT!”
The drummer didn’t speak, but simply held up a small, damp photo. Charles reached out his hand, and then snatched it to himself. It was Toki’s scrapbook picture: Boon, somewhere upriver. Charles clutched it to his chest, nodding gratefully at Pickles.
He rounded on the now bickering group. “Everybody SHUT UP!” he shouted.
“Why are you schouting at us?” pleaded Murderface.
“Phanuel says stay here, so for now, we STAY PUT,” said Charles.
He received in return a round of glares from seemingly everyone. He glared back, heedlessly arching his wings in an aggressive manner.
“Er,” said Ganesh finally. “Nathan would probably be more comfortable if we got him back to the ship.”
“All right. OK,” said Charles. This was good: get them something to do. “Can we get a team-“
But then he looked back.
They were surrounded.
“Yes, Edgar my love?”
Edgar cringed back in his sling as first Archangel Michael and then Breagan leapt up on his computer table and desperately tried to slash each other with really large, fairly realistic swords.
“This is not the time for historical recreations! And watch out for my Hot Pocket!” whined Edgar as the two danced around a small, paper-wrapped snack item.
Breagan lunged, driving Michael off the table, and then she was after him. Michael was large, even Court Formed, but Breagan was quite tall, so they were a fairly even match in terms of reach.
“Earth god whore!” fumed Michael.
“Sticks and stones!” laughed Breagan.
“Really, that is no way to address a female person!” scolded Edgar, reeling over to snatch his still microwave-warm Philly steak and cheese sandwich off the table.
“My hero!” said Breagan, easily avoiding being beheaded by a wild swing. “Now what did you want me for, darlin’?”
“Ogoun Sen Jacque requires the vodouisants! Wherever have they gotten to?”
“Chango and Orula, you mean? They tend to get themselves lost in the basement, trying to resurrect the dead womp rats.” She lunged again, but Michael parried, kicking over a trash can, sending litter flying everywhere.
“We’ll have womp rats in here if you continue making a mess,” scolded Edgar.
“I’ll hunt them down for ya, if you like?” offered Breagan.
“Can you prioritize this, please?” asked Edgar, who stuck the Hot Pocket in his mouth and began to type on his ergonomic keyboard.
“Certainly, darlin’. I just have one,” she said, dodging another ill-aimed slice, “or two little things to tie up first.”
“Are you all of Gog, or Magog?” inquired the personage who was evidently a leader of the tribe that now held Charles and his group at gunpoint. Or rather, at blowpipe-point. He had a rather pleasing low voice.
Charles stared at them. Chalk-white skin, deep dark eyes, and black hair. And they were dressed all in black.
“Wut’s in dat blowpipe, dood?” inquired Pickles, who simply couldn’t help himself.
“Pickles,” said Charles.
“Ams you guys da Goggles or da Madrigoggles?” inquired Toki helpfully.
“We follow THE MIGHTY GOG!” thundered the leader. His voice was as impressive, in its way, as that of Nathan Explosion. “A curse upon them as follow Magog,” he added, spitting on the ground.
“Oh, yeah, thosche Magog people are dousche bagsch!” Murderface cheerily agreed, to cheers from the tribe.
“Pffft on Magoggles!” put in Skwisgaar.
“Yeh, dey’re real douches, dey have bad weed,” said Pickles.
“Gog all the way baby yeah!” said Dick Knubbler.
“But Gog and Magog, they’re the same fucking person,” whispered Charles, to a sharp elbow from Raziel.
“So, we all like Gog, but we ran into some Magog idiots, and they hurt our friend!” explained Raziel, pointing to Nathan.
“Yeah, followers of Magog will do that. FIE UPON THEM!” yelled the leader.
“Er, I don’t suppose you have an antidote?” inquired Ganesh, who was sitting on the ground, worried look on his face, supporting Nathan’s head.
“No, we don’t have an antidote. Only the evil dopes of Magog would have the antidote.”
“And they keep blowing up our fucking bridge,” grumbled another tribesman.
“Bastards.”
“Feckin’ Magawg doods,” huffed Pickles.
“Yeah, what dousche bagsch,” grumbled Murderface.
“Ja, dem dumb douches, da Goggles!” piped up Toki.
“Magoggles,” Skwisgaar swiftly corrected.
“Ja, dems too!” said Toki.
“I sense a lack of commitment to the mighty Gog!” sniffed the leader as several of his tribesmen glared at Toki.
“No no no no no,” explained Charles. “We’re, uh, Gog all the way.”
“Yay Gog,” said Raziel.
“Gog, baby, yeah!” emphasized Dick Knubbler.
“Hail Magog!” said Thor.
“Goggles,” Toki told him.
“Oops,” said Thor.
“All right,” said the leader. “Kill them all.”
“NO!” shouted Charles, hands and wings up, as the blowpipes were raised. But then he heard it: the thunder of hoofbeats. He noticed Ganesh had carefully placed Nathan’s head on his jacket and then stood up expectantly.
It came crashing from the jungle, a slice of night escaped into the bright tropical day, sparks dancing from underneath its hooves, breathing fire.
“Ashva!” shouted Ganesh, ignoring the tribesmen to stride towards it. Uncharacteristically, the often persnickety mount gave Ganesh an affectionate nudge. “But how-“ Ganesh stopped short, staring at the tribesmen. They were all now kneeling before him.
“And I heard a voice that said, come and see,” said the leader. “And there was before me a black horse. You are the horseman?” he asked Ganesh.
“Er. This is my horse, yes, much as he sometimes vexes me,” he couldn’t help adding. Ashva snorted a horse chuckle.
“I am honored to be here for this occasion. Your coming has been foretold,” said the leader.
“Oh, er, has it?” asked Ganesh, as Raziel and Charles frantically gestured for him to roll with it. “Oh, er, yes, I am.”
“I am Johnny,” said the leader. “I walk the line. And these are my people, the Men in Black.”
“So, since this is the important horseman, Johnny, do you think you could see your way through to getting us an antidote for our friend?” asked Charles.
“Well, you’d have to get yourself over to the Magog-ites. Over t'other side. We’re building a bridge, you know. One piece at a time. But the bastards blow it up every night.”
“Boom!” giggled Liam, who rather enjoyed things blowing up.
Breagan and Michael found themselves in Mordhaus' kitchen area.
“What would you like for lunch, Lady Breagan?” one of the Chefateers inquired.
Breagan had leapt up on one of the long food preparation tables, and was repelling a flurry from Michael, who had gotten only more and more incensed as he failed to defeat the goddess.
“Oh, I'll just have my normal salad, darlin'.”
“Yes, Lady.”
“Oh, and make certain Master Edgar gets his enchirito!”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Stand still so I can kill you!” yelled Michael, whacking at a line of hanging pots and pans with another wild swing.
“Will Honored Michael be eating?” asked the Chefateer.
“Oh, I don't think he's staying long!” laughed Breagan, who leapt off the table and ran off.
“BITCH!” yelled Michael, who took off after.
He ran along the corridors, and stopped at the entryway. Breagan had led him outdoors, up to Mordhaus’ wide dragon back. Michael stepped out confidently. “I saw you come here! Come out and let's finish this!”
“As you wish!” Michael turned to repel a barrage of blows from Breagan.
She stepped back and then back again. They fought closer and closer to the edge of the building.
“Well, this has been a bit of fun, darlin’, but I’m afraid I have other things to do now,” grinned Breagan.
“What do you think you’re doing, goddess whore?” grumbled Michael.
Breagan stepped back to the edge. And then hopped back, falling back over the edge.
“WHAT?” yelled Michael, running to look over, cheated of his kill.
He leaned over, searching in vain the ground below. “Where the fuck did she go?” he muttered.
And then he screamed as, kicked squarely in the ass, he too fell over the side.
He managed to True Form just before he reached the bottom, his giant Seraph flight wings stroking mightily to keep him from crashing to the ground, and certain death. He reared up, wings back, looking back at the top of the castle, to see the god who had just kicked him grinning down at him.
“That was for Raziel!” Wotan shouted down.
“WOTAN!” screamed Michael, brandishing his sword.
It was to be his last word on earth. Big as he was, he was no match for the speeding DethTrain.
There was blood, and a whole lot of feathers.
There was a whir of a motor. Pie, riding his flying machine, buzzed up to land beside Wotan. Breagan hopped off the back to stand beside Wotan. “Thanks for the ride!” she hailed and Pie took off.
“And thank you for that. He was rightly your kill,” said Wotan.
“I don't have much of a heart for killin',” said Breagan. “We'll consider it even.” Just then, Mordhaus rocked again, a terrific jolt.
“Damn!” said Wotan. “I need to quit fucking around and get Sleipnir. Kraken won't slay themselves!”
“Need a hand?”
“I thought you hadn't the heart for killing?”
“Yeah, but I have a hankering for calamari.”
“One piece at a time!” sang Johnny as the Men in Black feverishly built the bridge that spanned the river. The sound of construction – pounding and hammering – echoed everywhere in the valley.
“…And it didn’t cost a dime,” the workers chorused.
“We can't just take boat?” Charles asked for the thousandth time.
“Ain't no landing on that shore,” replied Charon, also for the thousandth time. They stood inside Charon's craft, inside one of the cramped sleeping areas: when several of the Koori debarked, the ship had, accordingly, contracted. It was a strange magic. “The currents are bad and there’s no moorage.”
“And you can’t fly over?” Charles asked Raziel for the millionth time.
“I tried, the wind just throws me back,” she answered.
“I heavily suspect the presence of some repulsive magic,” said Ganesh.
“That would make sense,” said Raziel.
They had situated the still unconscious Nathan Explosion on a bed, where Ganesh worried over him. “I feel I should stay here...” Ganesh mused.
“Ganesh,” said Raziel, standing in the doorway, “I can do a lot of things, but riding Ashva isn't one of them.”
“You won't have much time,” said Charon. “I've seen this before. Soon as they finish, the Men in Black, those Magog-ites over on the far shore set to blowing it up.”
“This is stupid. Gog and Magog are the same fucking person!” raved Charles.
“Stupid is as stupid does,” said Raziel.
“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?” growled Charles.
“Sariel,” said Raziel. “As you like to say, we've talked about this. We can’t fly and we can’t swim. The best bet is to take Ashva, and hope they have the same nonsense about the rider on the black horse.”
“And what if they don't?” asked Charles.
“That's why you guys are taking swords.”
Charles frowned and looked up. Everyone in the cramped room was now looking out towards the bridge. The frantic sound of construction had abruptly ceased.
“Honored Sariel....”
“The irritable if most righteous angel....”
“We have word from up high....”
“The main Man in Black....”
“Johnny.” And at this, all the Koori ceased their babbling and solemnly bowed their heads. They were all now standing inside what was now a rather capacious stateroom in Charon's boat, as their magic had increased the size.
“....That the most excellent bridge....”
“Which they built....”
“One piece at a time....”
“And it didn't cost a dime....”
“Is nearing completion.”
Charles looked questioningly at Ganesh, who frowned and reluctantly stood up. “Can you honored Koori do me a favor, please?” Ganesh asked.
“Certainly....
“For the most auspicious Ganesha....”
“He of many arms....”
“And an awesomely tight ass.”
Charles tried glaring at the Koori, but soon realize he wasn't quite certain who to direct his scowl towards.
“Could several of you remain on the boat? I believe your combined magic will be of a help,” said Ganesh.
As the Koori assented, Charles extracted himself from their presence, Ganesh following along, though still seeming to hesitate.
“Is Ashva gonna do this for us?” Charles asked as they departed Charon's boat and started to walk along the shore.
“I never know what that horse is of a mind to do,” sighed Ganesh. “He always seems to prefer....” Ganesh stopped, his tongue tied on mention of Elias. He shook his head as if to shake off the thought. “I still do not reckon I know how Phanuel even sent him here.”
“I dunno,” said Charles. “Wotan told me once that those demon horses can get back and forth to Hell any time they want.”
“But this place shouldn't be like that. It was part of the Nether Regions. That is what my parents always told me. What Brahma Uncle always said.”
“Brahma is a gardener, not a surveyor,” laughed Charles.
“What did you say?” asked Ganesh, who suddenly stopped short.
“Oh. You know. All that fuss in Durga's story about Our Father getting the proper permits?” Charles told him, as his lawyerly instincts had been piqued. “You said Brahma couldn't be bothered to look into it.”
Ganesh crossed innumerable pairs of arms, tilting his head so his hair fell into his face. Charles reached up and pushed it away: it only fell back again, the same as it always did. “Contact Edgar,” said Ganesh. “Tell Phanuel Uncle his herald arrived.”
So Charles did.
“I'm Bert!”
“Yes, I know who you are,” said Edgar, craning his head so he wouldn't be quite so disoriented talking to this annoying as well as presently upside-down angelic personage.
“Oh! Then who am I?” asked Bert, blinking those odd but lovely green-gold eyes. He fluttered down off the ceiling to stand right side up, but now uncomfortably close to Edgar.
“You are Engelbert,” said a very flustered Edgar, “who is presently thought to be father of Anja, who is in turn mother of Toki Wartooth, currently second fastest guitarist alive, and rhythm guitarist for Dethklok.”
“You know a lot!” said Engelbert. “You have all the pretty machines.”
“You are a Power,” said Edgar, warming up to it, “relatively low amongst the hierarchies of angels, and thought to be a bit scattered, though loyal to a fault.”
“You know a lot, and you smell like beans!” sang Bert, leaning in even further and taking a whiff.
“Uh, yes...” said Edgar.
“And you can't move your legs since those people walked all over you!”
“The crowd control at their concerts was appalling...” began Edgar.
“And you always suspected your brother was smarter....”
“THAT'S ENOUGH!”
Engelbert had fled to the opposite side of the room, where he perched on an open windowsill, flapping his fabulous wings and looking hurt. “I thought we played a game?” he said. “Maybe I will go away now....”
Edgar hung sullenly in his sling. “No, don't do that! Do not take this personally.”
“It's not nice to shout,” chided Engelbert.
“Do not speak of my brother,” said Edgar.
Engelbert cocked his head and ceased flapping. “Didn't you love your brother?”
“Of course I … felt affection for my brother. This went without saying.”
“So you did not tell him?” asked Engelbert, eyes wide.
“Well....”
“Then you are sad.”
“Engelbert,” said Edgar. “The reason I summoned you here is that I have received a message for you. A message for Lord Phanuel. His herald has arrived. Will you please convey it to him?”
“I will do that! Bert can convey messages!” said the angel happily. He bounded off the stool, and leapt over to Edgar who he engulfed in a hug, complete with wings.
Edgar emitted a small, strangled scream.
“I will tell Phanuel!” said Engelbert. “And then I will find your brother. And I will tell him that you love him!”
Mordhaus lurched again, and then trembled. And there was a terrible sound: an impossibly high-pitched scream that seemed to get further and further away.
“Yes. Uh. Do that. And hurry please?” said Edgar. But Bert was already gone, leaving only a small scattering of brightly colored feathers.
Charles didn't protest for once when Ganesh basically grabbed him by the waist and tossed him up on Ashva's broad back. He winced, expecting the mischievous demon horse to suddenly teleport away from underneath, as it was wont to do. But instead he found himself situated, and then a beat later, Ganesh was in front of him, holding the reigns.
It was growing dark. Charles wasn't exactly certain how nighttime came to a land without a sun, but come it did. He strained to hold his wings in as tightly as he should. He had wanted to Court Form, but Raziel had outright vetoed that one.
They stood at the ready, Ashva’s hooves nervously sparking on rocks, just off the almost completed bridge over the river: the one that was constructed by the Gog-ites ever day, and blown up by the Magog-ites every night. There was a great hole yawning below them, right at the foot of the bridge.
“One piece to go,” said Johnny. “And that's when they start to blow it up,” he added. There were solemn nods. “Is that a fast horse?” he asked Ganesh.
“Ashva is the fastest,” said Ganesh, patting Ashva's flank. The horse nickered smugly.
“He has the nerve and he has the blood,” said Johnny, nodding.
Charles peered into the gathering darkness, wondering what the hell awaited at the other end of the bridge. Delays, he thought ruefully. They had no idea what was up there, or whether they too had a legend about a rider on a black horse.
The bridge itself looked a little rickety: clearly something that had been thrown up within a day. He wondered if anyone from the Gog tribe had ever actually tried crossing one of their ill-fated bridges, much less riding a giant horse across at full gallop.
He strained, thinking he heard something from across the bridge. It sounded like woman's voice. She was singing something: words that sounded like, “I fall to pieces....”
The light was fading. Several of the men in black now carried torches he noticed. Charles leaned forward a little, putting his hands on Ganesh's waist. He was not surprised that Ganesh did not feel tensed up in the least: the god seemed to go to another place when he rode, a kind of weird meditation, where all that mattered was the road ahead. He sighed, a little envious of Ganesh's single-mindedness.
Raziel was down below them, looking up. She seemed even shorter when viewed from horseback. She was speaking to him. “Sariel,” she said. “Don't look back.”
He nodded, and she stepped back into the darkness.
“Hold on,” Ganesh whispered. Charles tightened his arms and squeezed in his great wings some more.
Johnny had his hand up in the air, one finger pointed up. There were a couple of tribesmen right at the entrance to the bridge, waiting upon settling in the last piece, which would evidently bring on the fusillade.
Without a sound, Johnny's arm dropped. The piece dropped into place, the bridge complete.
Ashva was already at a gallop when Charles' angel ears caught something: something that sounded like fireworks going up on forth of July. Ashva ducked his head and ran on, heedless.
Charles gripped Ganesh tighter as the explosion sounded behind them. He felt the heat on his back, and against Raziel's advice turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. The entire end of the bridge – the end they had just finished – was now afire, all orange and red in the night sky. He could hear the crunch of bridge beneath Ashva's hooves as they splintered the soft wood.
Another explosion, and then another, all in back, getting closer.
And a great shudder.
“The bridge is collapsing!”
“I know,” said Ganesh. The bridge was now swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor. Ashva's footing was sure. The other side was in sight now. The smell of fire was everywhere, and all was noise of explosions and shattering wood.
And then the explosion was ahead of them, as a piece of the bridge directly in front gave way. Ashva thundered on.
“That's too fucking wide to jump,” yelled Charles.
“No it isn't,” said Ganesh, he and Ashva seeming of one mind. “Wings!” he ordered.
Charles, gripping Ganesh more tightly than he ever had before, and wishing not for the first time he was blessed with more than two arms, felt every muscle in Ashva's body tense and release as it powered into a great leap. He instantly unfurled his great silver wings to their fullest, hugging Ganesh and pressing his knees tightly around the horse. He held his breath, riding air, shoulder muscles straining.
And then jaw-snapping jolt as they landed, Ashva's rear hooves showering sparks on the shattered end of the bridge.
“Oh fuck we made it!” said Charles, not even halfway believing, but then the hoofbeats suddenly went from crashing to a thudding, as they at last alit on the far shore.
Ganesh pulled up, and they turned just in time to see what was left of the bridge fall away into the river.
“We made it!” said Charles, who had already slipped from horseback, pulling out his sword, grateful to have his feet back on the ground. “I don't believe it.”
“Er, you know the legend of the rider?” said Ganesh, who had once again turned Ashva around.
“Yeah?” asked Charles, looking up at Ganesh.
“I don't believe they have it on this side,” said Ganesh. Charles turned around.
He faced a line of archers.
“Arrows,” he grumbled. “Why does it always have to be fucking arrows?”
“Well, we’ve simply never subjected anything of this size and magnitude to the process of zombification!” explained Orula, examining the remains of what had once been a Kraken, now sprawled out for miles on the grounds beneath Mordhaus.
“Oh. Means you can’t do it?” asked Jacque as Wotan grabbed the spear, Gugnir, from the creature's large eye and hooded Klokateers piloting flying vehicles hovered nearby.
“Oi, I dunno, mate,“ admitted Chango.
“WHAT! Of course I can do it!” sniffed Orula, tossing his cape dramatically.
“Are you sure, mahster?” inquired Chango.
“I’m not going through that shit again,” grumbled Wotan, pulling a sucker off his shirtsleeve and regarding the Kraken eye goo on Gugnir with a frown.
“What we fucking need you fuckers to do is revive this fucking kraken and have it pull down that fucking kraken!” said Jacque, pointing his cigar up at Mordhaus, which was still bucking under the assault of a giant space squid.
“It is a large endeavor!” protested Orula. “I will need time! And resources!”
There was a great snapping noise up above: one of the dragon spires had broken off, and was whistling down. The party on the ground dove for cover, except for Jacque, standing directly in the path, who stood, casually smoking his cigar. Suddenly, there was a great crash, and when the dust cleared, there was Jacque, still standing there, flicking ashes from his cigar, his foot not inches from the fallen spire, now sticking straight out of the ground.
“You got half an hour,” Jacque told Orula. He inclined his head, and a Klokateer whizzed over on a flying machine. Jacque jumped on the back, and they departed back up to Mordhaus.
“Yes sir,” said Orula, shaking out the dust.
“Uh,” said Charles. “I don't suppose you guys have an antidote around, do you?”
They were surrounded by a group of women, all of whom were dressed in what looked like fringed cowgirl outfits.
“You’re from across the way. You're Gog-ites, aren't you, Hoss?” asked the leader.
“Uh, who's Hoss?” asked Charles.
“We have a friend who's been injured by one of your poisoned darts,” said Ganesh, who slid down from Ashva's back, many hands raised.
“And they said, come and see,” said the leader. “And he rode upon a black horse.”
“Well, that's true,” grinned Charles.
“And death followed him,” she concluded.
“No, wait, look, that's not what we're here for,” said Charles, suddenly clumsily trying to hide his sword behind his back.
“You're Gog-ites, ain't you?” asked the leader. “You are from the far shore!”
“And I presume you follow Magog?” asked Ganesh.
“Magog!” yelled several of the cowgirls. “Yee-haw!”
“You do realize Gog and Magog are the same person,” sniffed Charles.
“Sariel!” warned Ganesh.
“Should we kill them?” asked one of the cowgirls, who all pulled back on their bows.
Suddenly, there was a rustling from within the jungle.
“It's the beast of the land!” said the leader. “Hide yourselves!”
“Uh, did Phanuel say he’d send one herald, or two?” Charles whispered to Ganesh as the tribeswomen dove for cover.
Suddenly crashing into view was an incredible orange-striped tiger. It was the biggest Charles had ever seen: every bit as big as Shiva’s hunting tigers.
Giving a great snarl, it bounded forth and pounced on Ganesh. Charles furled his wings and drew his sword.
“Wait!” laughed Ganesh. Charles stopped. The great tiger was licking Ganesh’s face with its great sandpaper tongue.
“This one of ours, certainly!” said Ganesh, pushing himself up and giving a beast a great scratch behind the ears. “One of my family's hunting tigers!”
“Wait! Could this be Durga’s tiger?” asked Charles. “After all these years?”
“She may well be!” said Ganesh.
“He is the master of the beast!” exclaimed several of the women, who had emerged from hiding.
“Well, she belonged to my Auntie,” said Ganesh modestly.
“And a voice said, come and see!” said the leader. “And behold, it was the great beast of the land.”
The women bowed down before Ganesh.
“Wait, you’re the chosen one on both sides of the river?” pouted Charles.
“Well, er, yes, I supposed,” said Ganesh modestly.
“I am Patsy!” said the leader, introducing herself. “I go out walking after midnight. And these are the Jordanaires.”
The women all began to harmonize. “Searching for looooove!” They sounded fantastic.
“Damn,” said Charles. “If Nathan were here, he'd want to use them on the next album. Oh. Wait. Nathan!”
“Yes!” said Ganesh. “Our friend has been sickened by one of your poisoned darts. I don’t suppose you would have an antidote.”
The drug was soon secured and given to Ganesh, who handed it to Charles. “This needs to be administered as soon as possible,” said Ganesh. “Ashva and I will follow as soon as the Men in Black have completed a new bridge.”
Upstream, in the courtyard outside an ancient building, a very small angel slept, his companion at his feet.
An equally small wolf blinked awake, instantly aware of the threat to his beloved master.
Sniffing to assure himself the boy was well, and also checking the girl who wasn’t there, Murgatroyd padded off on feet that were still comically too large for his small body, sensitive wolf nose to the wind.
He was brand new to this life, but he had lived many before, so he knew many things, many more things than a normal youngster. Friend or foe: these are things a wolf knows. Who is in the pack,and who is not.
And this one was not in the pack. Nor was he wanted.
He padded along the night-darkened path through the jungle, steeling his small wolf heart.
“Of course I can administer an antidote baby, yeah! Dick Knubbler has been in this business a long time!” sang the record producer.
Charles stood, shivering, at the door of Nathan’s now rather luxurious stateroom. A whole pack of the Koori were there, as well as some of the Men in Black, who evidently were now adding their own collective magic to Charon’s once rickety ship. Dick Knubbler and Pickles were sitting at Nathan’s bedside now, poking around in Ganesh’s medical bag. Pickles was expertly filling a syringe with the antidote while Knubbler was directing a few volunteers to turn Nathan over onto his stomach.
Although the wind currents had been in his favor, the flight from the far shore had been far more taxing than Charles had expected. Indeed, if Raziel hadn’t sent the twins flying out to meet him, he wondered if he would have completely lost his sense of direction and ended up crashing into the river. As it was, they had remained cheerfully at his side, and he noticed now that little Abby was there, holding his hand.
“Da wanty dote, Wunky Sar!” she told him.
“Yes, that’s the antidote.”
“An Boonie?” added Liam.
“Yeah, kids, we’ll go get Boon now,” Charles told them. If Nathan doesn’t die, he thought miserably. He felt drained, beyond tired, as if he would never feel right again.
“OWWWWW! MY ASS!”
Charles blinked. The ship shrunk down perceptibly, as several of the Koori had actually been frightened off.
“Kauuuuuun!” chirped Nathan’s owl happily.
“What happened to MY PANTS?” wailed Nathan.
“We hadda give yoo an injection dood,” explained Pickles, who had grabbed the syringe from Knubbler and was now depositing the needle in a sharps container. “Yoo were DYIN'.”
“I WAS NOT DYING!” boomed Nathan.
“It’s all right, baby! Doctor Dick is here, yeah!” Knubbler assured him.
“You let this guy stick a needle in my ass?” asked Nathan, rubbing the same. He flipped over and sat up, tugging up his pants.
“Are you absolutely sure you’re all right, Nathan?” asked Charles, who had rushed over to his side.
“OF COURSE I’M ALL RIGHT. Man, I had this strange fucking dream! It was weird, all creepy and shit.” He looked around at the members of Dethklok. Besides Pickles, Skwisgaar, Toki and Murderface had come to hang out in the doorway, possibly looking for cocktails. “And you were there,” he told Pickles, “and you and you,” he said, pointing to Skwisgaar and Toki, “but not you,” he said indicating Murderface.
“Wasch it becausche I’m fat?” grumbled Murderface.
“I have some great fucking ideas for the next album!” Nathan announced, ignoring Murderface.
“Whats new albums?” asked Skwisgaar, looking bored as can be.
“The next DETHKLOK FUCKING ALBUM,” grumbled Nathan, who was now, despite Charles’ worried hovering, up on his feet.
“Oh, dat ams da problems, you ams no longer da members of Dethkloks,” Toki told him sweetly.
“WHAT? Are they JOKING? They’re joking, right Charles?”
“Uh, I know nothing about this,” admitted Charles.
“Well, he didn’t come t’ da band meetin’,” Pickles noted.
“WHAT BAND MEETING?” chorused Charles and Nathan.
“Whoa, watch the wings, dude,” Nathan cautioned Charles, who was now flapping in a most irritable manner.
“Hey, everybody!” yelled Raziel from somewhere outside the stateroom. “They’ve finished the bridge.”
“What, so soon?” asked Charles, who was already making his way out.
“I guess the Magog-ites helped this time, and they met in the middle,” Raziel told him. They hurried up shore, with various parties from the boat trailing after them. “And they don’t go one piece at a time: they’re crazy!”
Ganesh was riding Ashva at the head of a procession coming from the far shore. The tiger was at his side, and he was followed by Patsy and what seemed a sizable number of the Jordanaires.
Raziel’s children ran to meet the tiger, and there was much petting, as well as some mutual sniffing with the great wolves, Geri and Freki.
“Wait, where’s she going?” asked Raziel. They gawped as the tiger stole off towards the jungle and disappeared.
“Tiger business?” guessed Ganesh, dismounting. “And how is Nathan?”
Charles didn’t answer, but simply pointed. The lead singer, still squabbling with Dethklok, had accompanied him to the bridge.
“Well, the band looks to be the same as ever,” laughed Ganesh.
“Mummy!” screamed Liam, as both kids suddenly pointed back to the jungle. The she tiger was back, and holding something in her mouth. She boldly strode up and she deposited something at Liam and Abby’s feet.
“KITTY!” squealed Abby as she and her brother went down on their knees to pet the mewling tiger kitten.
“Well, she’s been busy,” laughed Raziel. “Wait, Mom, what’s the deal?” she asked as the tiger turned tail and ran back, disappearing once again into the jungle. “Well, I guess we’re tiger-sitting.”
“As if we needed another thing to do,” sniffed Charles. “Hey!”
The tigress had reappeared, with yet another kitten, which she dropped near the first, and then padded off once again. She then returned with a third kitten, at which point she sat down, looking tiger-smug.
“I have a proposal,” said Ganesh. “I was speaking to the Jordanaires, and it appears that the shore on that side is traversable up to the temple grounds.”
“You want to ride ahead?” asked Charles.
“I think we could both ride ahead,” said Ganesh.
“Wouldn’t I slow you down?”
“No,” grinned Ganesh. “As you have your own mount.”
“You want me...” said Charles looking back. “Wait, you want me to ride the fucking tiger?”
“She was almost definitely my Auntie's mount!”
“Oh, that’s so awesome!” said Raziel.
“Yeah, then why don’t you do it, Raziel?” Charles grumbled.
“Sariel,” said Raziel. “You really want me to go ahead and find your kid instead of you?”
“NO!” said Charles. Raziel scowled. “No, sorry. Of course I want to find him,” he said more softly. “I need to find him.”
“I think you do,” said Ganesh softly, gently taking Charles’ face in his hands. “Your magical aura…. It has not been looking well. Perhaps it is worry. I do not know. But I think it is best for all of us that you and our dear one are reunited, and swiftly.”
“Great plan!” said Raziel. “We’ll take the boat and follow. Charon had said we’d need to shed some weight, since it gets shallow. We’ll station the Koori here, and make it just us.”
“My band is fighting again,” sighed Charles.
“Yeah. When are they not fighting?” grinned Raziel.
“The idea was for the fucking zombie kraken to fight the other motherfucking kraken, not team up! Now I have a dead motherfucking kraken and a live motherfucking kraken. I’m tired of these motherfucking kraken on my motherfucking mordhaus!”
“As I told you,” Orula sniffed, as Mordhaus took another lurch. “The process of zombification is an art, not a science.”
“So hang your cocksucking zombies in an art museum!” growled Jacque as the grounds of Mordland lurched and pitched between them.
“Sire!” said Pie, who was hovering in back of Jacque.
“What is it, Mr. Pie?”
“A visitor!”
“I don’t have time for motherfucking tea and cocksucking toast!” barked Jacque.
“Jacque!” Wotan barked back.
“Ogoun Ssssssen Jacque,” said a black figure, who bowed courteously.
“Yeah?” said Jacque.
“This is Surtr, lord of the south,” said Wotan.
“Oh, hell yes! My boy has great things to say about you!” said Jacque. “That’s your volcano, isn’t it?”
“I believe I can offer sssservice,” explained Surtr. “Pessssst sssssolutionsssss.”
“We definitely got a couple of tentacly bastards!” said Jacque.
“You would need to maneuver Mordhausssss into range of my volcano. And then, I will do the ressssst!”
“Holy hell, boiled kraken?”
“Yesssss!” grinned Surtr. “And as an exsssstra, I have brought along a carton of my patented barbecue ssssauce!” he announced, indicating some Klokateers bearing wooden crates.
Just as Durga had said, you could see the tallest of the buildings long before you reached the site. And it only seemed to increase Charles’ fatigue and anxiety to know the goal was in reach. What if Elias wasn’t there after all? What if it had all been a waste? Ganesh had suggested, when last they had stopped, that Charles listen for him, just to reassure himself, but he hadn’t even been able to focus. He considered Court Forming, to save energy, but he had started to doubt whether he had enough magic left to True Form again, should the need arise.
He was so distracted by various musings that it came as a surprise when Ganesh pulled up and told him, “here is the crossing Charon mentioned.” Charles looked across the river, which had gotten awfully shallow. The temple was still upriver, perhaps a mile.
“I believe your mount will prefer crossing at the bridge up ahead,” said Ganesh, pointing upriver. Charles could see the suspension bridge, just around the next bend. “What I propose is that I ford the stream here, and you make your way up ahead, and we meet on the temple grounds. That way we will have both routes of access covered. Does that sound reasonable?”
Charles nodded distractedly.
“Sariel!”
“Yes. Sorry. We’ll go up to the bridge.”
“Sariel, there is a kind of dark magic here. Please be careful!” said Ganesh.
“All right,” said Charles, although even he could tell the lack of conviction in his own voice. Ganesh gave him a worried glance, but then hastened across the river, Ashva expertly fording it, and then broke into a gallop as soon as he’d reached the far shore.
“So, I guess we get to the bridge,” Charles told the tiger, who immediately stalked upstream once again. He immediately understood why Ganesh’ family used these beasts for hunting. She could walk seemingly anywhere, and made nary a sound. He was soon along and up to the bridge.
He stopped, frowning. “There’s something not right about that place, huh?” he asked the tiger, who did not reply. “Do you think he’s there?” he asked her. Once again, if she knew anything, she did not reveal it.
The big cat bore him across the bridge. It was nothing like his frantic ride on horseback the past evening: the tiger felt sure-footed, even on the swaying, creaking structure.
They reached the shore. And then the tiger paused, arching and hissing.
Charles slipped off her back, looking around. “Yeah, definitely something not good here.”
She switched her tail, golden tiger eyes glinting at him.
“How about this? You wait here for Ganesh, I’ll go poke around. OK?”
The tiger sat still, staring.
Charles drew his sword and began to walk towards the temple grounds. It was not really a temple any more, but more the site of ruins. It looked like the place had suffered at least one earthquake since Durga had visited: the entire top piece had fallen off the main temple, although the building was still by far the tallest.
He longed to call out for his son, but sensed somehow that was the wrong thing to do, so he walked instead, silent and alone, for some time.
He occasionally heard what sounded like a far off call of birds or monkeys, but sensed no movement at all.
He had made his way all the way around the giant temple, out of sight of the shore, to an area where there were some smaller buildings, when he heard it: the gentle pop of small branches breaking.
Something was walking around, perhaps stalking him, under the cover of the jungle.
He did not even stop to think. Instead, holding tight to his sword, he strode straight into the jungle, listening with all his might. He broke through the line of trees, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He turned.
He was not prepared for what he saw: an enormous jet black wolf – its shoulders came nearly up to his own – standing, a silent dark statue blocking his way.
He gasped, nearly dropping his sword.
“Murgatroyd?” he whispered, steadying his shaking hands on the hilt.
He heard the happy yipping around his ankles, as the terrifying beast was suddenly nothing more than a black puppy.
He was down on his knees. “Where is he? Where is Boon? Take me to him.”
The puppy gave another joyful yip and then tore off down the path, Charles hot on his heels. They ran around some ruined temple buildings, out to the back, where there was a smaller edifice that appeared to have survived the worst of the shaking. There was a clearing beside it, a peaceful area with a small offshoot of the river running alongside.
There was a girl, sitting under a tree, reading a book. She looked up at Charles, dark eyes worried.
And beside her, attacking a piece of paper with a pencil....
“DADDY!”