The Wayward Godking (28 page)

1111

If things could get any worse, Lucio could not imagine how. They had successfully gathered the four ‘escapees’ into the dream fields, but now they were hopelessly lost. Lily Ramsay had long since succumbed to shock and horror at finding herself adrift, seemingly, in deep space. Vanni had lost his bearing, and now they drifted from star system to star system without any idea of where they were.

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Brother,” Luke Matthew commented dryly over Lily’s head. He was taking turns with Mark at carrying their mother.

“That was not Poppi. It was me,” Vanni said, quickly accepting the blame. “I thought I could do it.”

“Well, what are we looking for exactly?” Merry asked. She was bending close to a ball of boiling, blue-white energy, trying to see what might be inside it. There were numerous shapes inside the thing, but none of them made sense.

“We need to find someone we know while they are sleeping,” Lucio explained. They had stopped for a few moments in order to get their bearings, as if it were possible. This place was eternal, incomprehensible in size.

“Oh and how do we do that?” She asked. “These things all look the same.”

“Our thoughts are scattered,” Vanni told them. “We have to concentrate on the same thing. I suggest that we try to think again of Selwig and see if he is asleep now. If not Selwig, then Lavon de Bleu or some other person well known to us.”

“That’s all well and good, little brother,” Luke balanced his mother across his knee and looked into her face. “I hardly think that mother knows Selwig or Lavon.”

“And she’s sleeping,” Mark spoke up. “She’s
sleeping
in the
dream fields
. Her own dreams may be negating our own efforts.”

“Aha!” Vanni came close to the sleeping woman. “You may be on to something there.”

“Let’s wake her up,” Lucio suggested as he joined them and inspected her face as well.

“No,” Luke veritably moaned. “I dunna want t’ listen t’ ’er any more. I may take drastic action, if she doesna shut up.”

“Luke!” Merry was shocked. “You’re talking about your mother. That’s a terrible thing to say. If only I had a mother…”

“Oll roight, oll roight,” Luke sighed. “We’ll wake her.” He sat her up precariously on his knee and prepared to slap her face lightly.

“No!” Vanni grabbed his hand. “Since she doesn’t know the people we know, then perhaps we should use the people she knows. She’s dreaming… Look.”

They leaned close and saw that her eyeballs were moving rapidly back and forth under the eyelids.

“But who do you think she might be dreaming about?” Lucio backed away quickly. “I don’t like the idea.”

“Who else would she be dreaming of but her beloved John?” Luke looked up at him. “If she’s dreaming about Mark Andrew, then we’ll go where we need to be.”

“But what if she’s dreaming about Sir Timothy?” Mark asked.

“I don’t think so…” Vanni closed his eyes and concentrated for several moments. His father looked on curiously. “Mark, what are all these things?” Vanni asked the question and they looked at each other in surprise. “They are called utensils, I believe. Here… I’ll show you. That’s amazing! And this one? Like this. Take the potato so and just draw it over the surface… see? The peel comes right off. No problem. Simple. And this? A beater. If you want to make scones for breakfast, just break a few eggs in a bowl and then stick this end in there like so and turn this crank. Ooops. Hold on tighter… not that tight. Like this. Here. See? Simple.”

“That’s me brother. Simple. Everything is so simple.” Luke shook his head.

“Then I suggest we get on with it,” Lucio shook his son out of the trance.

Vanni snapped out of Lily’s dream and rejoined them.

“All right. Are we ready?” Vanni asked them. “Take hold of one another and concentrate on Lily.”

Lucio, Merry, Mark and Vanni locked arms and huddled around Lily and Luke Matthew. Within a few seconds, they had coalesced and collapsed in on themselves, disappearing from the dream fields without a trace.

Chapter Nine of Twelve

declare, if thou hast understanding

“Abaddon, Abaddon!” Ereshkigal leaned over the prostrate form of the dark angel. He lay in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

Lord Adar’s phantasms had vanished. Nothing remained of the Scottish meadow in the Seventh Gate. Huber had fought hard and long before Abaddon had subdued her at last. The task had taken a great toll on him and, in the end, Ashmodel and Lucifer had been forced to lend a hand to his efforts. The dark angel had been extremely surprised to see Lucifer fighting at his side. He had let slip his resolve for only a moment and Huber had landed a terrible blow to his back, almost completely shearing off one of his soft leathery wings. A growing pool of dark blood surrounded him as he lay helpless on the stones in the corridor.

“Let me have a look.” Lucifer knelt beside her. The gash in Abaddon’s back was deep and the rib bones were visible within it. “Ahhh. There is much damage here, my Lady. It is beyond my ability to help. Ashmodel? Can you help him?”

“Not I, brother,” Ashmodel said sadly. “I am more accustomed to inflicting such wounds than healing them.”

“My Queen.” Abaddon clutched Ereshkigal’s arm. “Tell Lord Adar that his Gate is free of the evil which has infested it. He can come home.”

“I’ll tell him. Now just lie still, faithful one.” Ereshkigal laid Abaddon’s head on the stone gently before standing up.

“We must bring the healer here,” she whispered to her companions.

“The healer? Selwig?” Lucifer blinked at her.

“No, no. The Gruguach. That cursed Bridgette.”

“No, no, no.” Lucifer shook his head. “Do not bring her here. The shock will kill her. She cannot withstand the Abyss.”

“Then who?” Ereshkigal whispered.

“You should know, My Queen,” Ashmodel put in as he peeked from behind Lucifer’s shoulder. “One of your former lovers, no doubt?”

“So! You are as evil as I have heard, Ashmodel! Looks are truly deceiving. When did you go messing about in my personal affairs?”

“I only know what I have heard, My Queen.” The angel smiled at her and then ducked again.

“You know of another healer?” Lucifer narrowed his eyes at the queen. “Not one of Uriel’s little brothers, is it?”

“Blast you both! I would not risk bringing him here,” she turned away from them.

“You care for him? You care for the Templar Healer?” Ashmodel danced around in front of her.

“I care for my daughter. He is her father. It is none of my business, really, what comes or goes with him,” she snapped.

“Then bring him.” Lucifer tossed his hair over his shoulder and knelt beside the dying Abaddon. “We cannot allow our brother to die, if he can be saved. I would have my peace with him before he goes.”

“A noble sentiment.” Abaddon laughed weakly, startling them. “I am grateful for your assistance, Lord Lucifer. I, for one, did not expect it or deserve for we have both wronged one another with extreme prejudice.”

“No and nor should you have had it, except that I am a reasonable being,” Lucifer said and then stood up. “You are all disgusting to me. All of this jumping about, hair pulling and gnashing of teeth. And for what? All for the sake of love. Love, love, love. What is wrong with good, raw, unadulterated hatred? It served me well for ages.”

“But hatred, in and of itself, is boring,” Ashmodel countered. “I have known both love and hatred and between the two, I would…”

“Shut up! Both of you,” Ereshkigal commanded them. “Wait with him. I will fetch the Healer.”

She left them alone without further ado. Where she was going, they had no idea, but she did not climb the passage back toward the destroyed meadow. Leviathan would not be there at any rate. The fires of Abaddon and Huber’s struggles had long since caused the great beast to take flight.

“Helloooo?” A voice called to them from the darkness.

“Hello?” Ashmodel stood up and sent a spiraling ball of blue luminescence down the tunnel from which the voice emanated. For a moment they could see three figures hurrying toward them.

“Who is that?” Lucifer asked from where he sat trying to comfort his old enemy.

“Omar, the Prophet,” Ashmodel whispered to him. “His sister, Dunya, and Lord Marduk.”

“Ahhh,” Abaddon’s eyes widened, and then he smiled slightly. “My old master will see that I do not suffer overlong.”

Soon Marduk was leaning over the dark angel, inspecting his wounds with surprising concern.

“I am no lord of the healing arts,” Marduk pronounced gravely and stood aside as Omar took a turn at examining the slashes on Abaddon’s back. He gently unfolded the wing and then refolded it in a more comfortable position.

“These wounds are dreadful,” Omar shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, my old friend.”

“You call me
friend
?” Abaddon’s voice was exceedingly weak. “I thought you would kill me, Your Grace.”

“You still don’t know me very well,” Omar said. “It would be to my great shame to render harm to a creature in need. I will not repay evil with evil.”

“But I thought you were the great healer,” Dunya spoke up. “Isn’t that what you were famous for?”

“I am a healer… of men, yes, but I possess no powers where the gods are concerned,” Omar told her. “We are often able to help those smaller than us, and we may render service to those greater than us, but we cannot even heal ourselves. The old taunt ‘Physician, heal thyself’ still carries the same stinging irony as when it was first said.”

“The Queen went to fetch the Templar Knight of the Serpent, Simon of Grenoble,” Lucifer told them. “If he arrives in time, he may be able to do something here.”

“Simon of Grenoble?” Marduk frowned. “I doubt he’ll come willingly.”

“That remains to be seen,” Ashmodel snorted. “The good Queen does not accept
no
for an answer.”

1111

“Have a care there, laddie.” Mark Andrew shoved Lucio aside and caught the bowl before it crashed to the floor. “Ye’ll spoil the batter.”

Lucio looked around quickly. He was in Mark’s kitchen in Lothian. Lily was standing at the sink, washing dishes in a wooden bucket. An electric percolator burped on Meredith’s yellow and white tiled counter from the apartment above the blacksmith’s shop on the Isle of Ramsay. Luke Matthew sat at the long wooden table and Merry Ramsay was busily making hot chocolate at the old gas stove. The second Mark leaned against the pie safe, drinking from a pitcher of fresh milk.

“Luke?” Lucio crossed the room quickly and looked at the Knight closely.

“I see you,” Luke whispered and nodded slowly. “Merry?”

Merry turned slowly. Her face was a mask of surprise and fear.

Luke put one finger to his lips and jerked his head for her to come to the table. She picked up the pot of steaming milk and walked slowly toward them. Lucio took the hot pot from her and set it on an iron trivet. A trivet shaped like a dragonfly he remembered from Catharine’s kitchen! The Dove set the pitcher down on the lip of the pie safe and came quietly to join his companions. Mark Andrew was mixing something in a heavy crockery bowl.

“Rigatoni,” Lucio whispered. “That smells like my rigatoni sauce.”

“Aye, o’ carse it does,” Mark glanced back at him. “Thot’s because it
is
your rigatoni sauce. You just made it, did ye not? Pour up the pasta, Brother, and let’s eat. It’s nae poached salmon, but when ye’re starvin’, ye’re starvin’.”

Lucio looked about in alarm and saw that the pot of hot milk had turned into a pot rigatoni noodles. He picked up the pot and carried it to the sink where Lily handed him a colander to strain off the water. Vanni stood up from where he sat next to Luke Matthew and followed Lucio to the sink. Lily smiled at him, and then he leaned close to his father’s ear.

“It was not Lily’s dream,” his son told him in a bare whisper. “It was Sir Ramsay’s.”

“Thair’s nothing loike a poached salmon at th’ end of a ’ard day’s wark. Throw in a few neeps and tatties, and a mon could live roight well,” Mark Andrew spoke again and Lucio looked over his shoulder in time to see the Knight of Death setting a huge platter of baked salmon in the middle of the table. The rigatoni sauce had disappeared. Mark sat down at the head of the table and ordered everyone to sit with him. When they had complied, Lily brought each of them a small plate containing salmon pate molded into the shapes of small fish. Each tray was flanked by five crackers, and the fish was decorated with a sliced, stuffed olive for an eye.

“Great Scot!” Mark Andrew shoved the plate onto the floor. “We’ll be ’avin’ none o’ thot poison tonight, lassie.”

He was looking at Merry now, ignoring his mother.

“How did you get in here?” he asked suddenly and then looked at Luke and Lucio. “How
did
you get here? Where did
you
come from?”