The Wayward Godking (15 page)

Christopher slumped on the table and turned over his mug, spilling the contents across the colorful tablecloth. Il Dolce Mio moved quickly to avoid the milk, and Armand rushed around the table to check on his friend.

The King slid from the table and Lucifer stood up as well. He stretched his arms over his head and a bright light erupted from behind him momentarily, silhouetting him briefly in the glare.

“Impressive,” the King said and smiled up at him. “What was that you just did?”

“I have to flex my wings occasionally or they will become stiff,” the angel answered and then glanced at Christopher, who seemed to be all right, but a bit disconcerted as Lavon plied him with water. Lucifer stuffed his hands in the pockets of his combat fatigues and walked toward the barbecue pit. The King followed after him like a small boy.

“Tell me, Lord Lucifer, if you think I did wrong by teaching my captain to read the words of men?” he asked as they walked along.

Chapter Five of Twelve

When the morning stars sang together,

and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

The music faltered in spite of the gruguach’s stern warning to keep playing regardless of what happened within the circle. The power of Alanna had come to the circle as a tiny breath of warm air that seemed to wrap around each and every head in the assembly, one by one, until they began to notice something was not quite right. Each time the power touched one of the elves, he or she became very still and quiet, eyes staring blankly into space. Only Steppet, Prado and the grugruach were left with all their faculties working. Even the strangely clad mummers, with their conical black hats, were frozen in place inside the circle. Steppet clinked his left stiletto against Prado’s right and stopped. He frowned as he realized there were no sounds around him. Prado’s deep green eyes widened in terror and then two ghostly hands appeared on either side of the lieutenant’s head.

Prado uttered a long, wavering noise as the hands caressed his face, and then his head, running long, pale fingers through his hair, finishing off by tweaking the tips of his ears.

“Steady, lads,” the gruguach encouraged them. “He’s playing with us.”

The hands lifted Prado’s hat and turned it every which way before replacing it on his head. Prado’s eyes were tightly closed now, and he stood perfectly still. The ghostly hands fell to his shoulders and moved slowly down his upper arms, stopping to examine the decorations on his tunic, feeling of each feather and trinket before stopping just above his waist. Prado made another pitiful whining noise and then, he was abruptly jerked aside and spun around. His stilettos fell to the ground with a clatter.

Steppet gasped as his eyes fell on a tall, slender woman dressed in a short white tunic, bending over the traumatized lieutenant, kissing him rather passionately on the mouth. Prado’s arms were straight out from his body on either side, stiff as boards. The woman let go of him, and he dropped to the ground like a rock.

“Alanna!” Steppet mustered as much bass as he could in his voice. “Bakalatur! Badaratudd!”

The stately female’s smile disappeared and she seemed confused to hear the words of command and control from the diminutive Steppet, who looked more like a youthful girl than a powerful elven warrior.

“Elves!” The word came from her though her lips did not move.

“What have you done to my lieutenant?” Steppet demanded.

“I have expressed my gratitude, Great Little Lord,” she said and the smile slowly returned to her beautiful face. She looked similar to Armand’s faery wife, except taller and more muscular. In fact, her muscles rippled in her arms and legs as she moved with serpentine grace. She would have been a very suitable match for the mighty Djinni in love
or
war.

“Your gratitude? For what?”

“For releasing me from my dreams,” she told him and looked slowly about the still faces surrounding the circle. “These are your people? You are Lord here?”

“I am Captain of the King’s Royal Army,” Steppet told her haughtily. “You have been summoned here to do our bidding.”

“Oh? Well, then…” she stepped very close to him and bent slightly to look into his bright blue eyes “what is your bidding, Little Lord? I am here to please.”

“Ahem!” The gruguach cleared her throat when Steppet was unable to continue.

“We are searching for our King,” Steppet said with less conviction than before. “He is missing, but we know he is not dead. We want to know where he is. It is said you know everything.”

“Oh? Is it so said? And by whom?” She rose up a bit and surveyed the haggard appearance of the gruguach. “Did the crone tell it to you?” she asked. “Or some other of the gods?” The creature leaned very close and blew into the elf’s face.

“I told him nothing of you, wanton slut,” the gruguach answered and spat on the ground at Alanna’s feet, causing her to grimace in disgust. “His King is very wise in the ways of men, and his King is the son of Adar, the Mighty Hunter, Ninnib, Lord of Saturn, Uriel, Fire of God.”

“Ahhhh, Adar, son Anu, son of An.” Alanna nodded. “I know that one. Is he still intact then?” She glanced about the circle of elves again as if searching for Mark Andrew.

“Of course, he is,” Steppet answered. “We would know of our King.”

“Who is this?” Alanna pointed at the filmy form of Laku. Both Steppet and the gruguach turned to look where she was pointing. They were startled to see that Laku, still near the feet of the pipers, was not alone. There were two more shadowy forms there. A dark, empty space and a greenish form of indefinite shape.

Steppet broke formation and helped Prado to his feet before whispering rapidly in the gruguach’s ear.

“These are Laku, Urim and Tummin,” the gruguach answered the question. “They are here to protect us. Do not think to trick us, Alanna. Answer our question. Where is King Il Dolce Mio?”

Alanna raised her chin indignantly, and then pressed both of her hands to her forehead.

“Your king is lost in a dream,” she told them after a moment.

“Lost in a dream?” Steppet repeated her words.

“What do you mean? Is he under a spell? Where is he, so we might awaken him?” The gruguach asked her.

“I did not say he was asleep. Nor did I say the dream was of his own making,” Alanna said and smiled at the crone. “What do you offer Alanna for this information that you seek?”

“What do you want?” Steppet waved his hands at the wondrous array of goods spread around the circle. “We are prepared to pay you handsomely.”

Alanna leapt out of the protective circle, much to their surprise and perused the vast array of goods carefully before leaping lightly back into the circle with them.

“I want nothing of material things, Little Lord.” Alanna’s smile faded again. “I wish time.”

“Time is not ours to give,” Steppet told her, puzzled by what she meant.

“Grant it me, and I will use it wisely, and when I am done, return it to you unharmed.”

“That is preposterous,” the gruguach shook her grizzled head.

“Allow me to spend some of your time in my own way,” Alanna insisted. “Allow it me or the information you seek will return with me… to the endless sleep.”

“How much time?” Steppet asked her.

“A while and a bit,” Alanna crossed her arms over her chest.

“Granted!” Steppet blurted and the gruguach’s protest fell short of his remark.

“Your king is lost in the dream of the Queen,” Alanna told them as she began to grow thin and wispy. “The Queen of the Abyss. Seek him in the dream fields of the Queen.”

“What have we done?” After the form of Alanna disappeared completely from the circle, the gruguach’s eyes were wild with terror as she whispered the words. She was shoved aside quickly as three shadowy forms joined them in the circle. The moonlight failed, the sounds of the night around them ceased, and only their own heartbeats were audible in the eerie silence. None outside the circle blinked or moved as the five fires began to die, leaving them in pitch blackness.

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

“Who are you?” Meredith asked the question almost as soon as her eyes opened. “Where am I? Where is Luke?”

“Please, my lady,” the dark angel answered her. He pressed one hand against his forehead and raised the other one as if warding off her questions like physical blows. “I am weary.”

“
You’re
weary? You’re
weary
?” She pushed herself to a sitting position as he backed away from her. Meredith sat on the cold stone floor, surveying her limbs for damages. There were several points where bruises were certain to form. The flight from the cave had been rough to say the least. And though her ‘angel’ had wrapped her securely in the grace of his saving wings, his underpinnings had been quite lumpy. “Why did you save me? Who sent you?” She continued her questions in spite of his pleas.

Abaddon let out a sigh that sounded like a cross between a lion’s growl and a man’s groan.

“Enough!” He stretched his arms out and then over his head, and she could hear his bones popping. Meredith fell silent as she watched him stretch and flex every muscle and tendon in his body. He rotated his head and flexed his wings, all four of them. She tried to remember what she had read about angels with four wings. Something about the difference between cherubim and seraphim or some such, she couldn’t remember for sure. His wings were not covered with feathers, but seemed made of suede leather, soft and supple, though rather demonic in appearance. She thought perhaps his feathers might be more like those of penguins, resembling fur though none-the-less feathers of a sort. He inspected each one carefully before folding them away on his back. Meredith was surprised to see them fold into very compact bundles behind him, considering their size when extended. “The trip was very difficult. You are heavier than you appear.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered and inspected the blue dress she wore. It was identical to the one Merry Ramsay had been wearing.

She’d never thought to show up any place dressed like Merry Ramsay again, but some things never changed. It was a bit ragged and tattered around the edges, smudged with grass stains and dirt, but she still had her black ankle boots and stockings. She desperately needed to get back to the First Gate and find John Paul. They would have to rescue Luke Andrew before those idiots carted him off to Saturn. Of all the…. “Lord Adar would not be happy to know you have kidnapped me,” she said, trying a new approach. If this creature knew Mark Andrew as everyone of his ilk seemed to do, then perhaps a bit of threatening might do the trick.

“Kidnapped?” The angel chuckled. “You have a fine way of showing your gratitude, my Lady. I only just rescued you as the divine ‘White Knight’ of whom you speak might have done had he been hereabouts. I did not see Lord Adar in Kinmalla’s court. Perhaps, he is wiser than we might have opined. I would ask if you have seen him yourself of late?”

“Did he send you after me?” She perked up a bit when he recognized the name readily. “Where is he? What did they do with Luke Andrew? Have you seen Luke Matthew and Lily? Do you know who I am talking about?”

“Hush! Hush! Please, my Lady. Allow me to recover before we discourse,” he implored, before dipping his hands into the crystal pool that dominated their underground chamber. He poured the water over his head after drinking his fill and closed his eyes as it ran down his face. His hair was long and dark. His skin was charcoal gray with lighter areas where the bones were closer to the surface. The lines in his face were sharp and distinct, but his age was impossible to tell. His clothes were almost the same color as his skin, closely tailored, but seemingly loose robes, tied with braided cords of shining black. With a jolt, she realized that his powerfully built legs ended at his ankles. He had no feet!

Meredith drew a sharp breath.

“I’m sorry!” She blurted. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to burden you.”

“Your loss would have been the greater burden, my Lady.” He looked at her curiously from deep, dark eyes.

Merry grimaced as he stood up on his feetless legs and hobbled around the pool, gathering the thick green moss growing there. When he had an armload of the stuff, he found a smooth niche in the floor near the wall and spread the moss into an even layer before lying down on it.

“I must rest. My journey has been long and fraught with hardship,” he told her. “There is room here for you, my Lady.” He pressed one hand on the moss next to him.

“I can’t do that.” she stood up. “I don’t even know who you are. How can you invite me to sleep with you?”

Abaddon chuckled his peculiar laugh again as he made a pillow by gathering the moss into a lump under his head.

“I am the Angel of the Bottomless Pit. The
original
one,” he said tiredly. “I hold the Key of Life and of Death. I am hunting the Ancient One recently escaped thence.”

“Abaddon!” Meredith’s eyes widened with surprise. She had glimpsed him only briefly from a distance when he had ascended into the air over the city of New Babylon just before the flood. “You look… different. What happened to your feet? Did she do this to you?”