Halcyon's Wake: Faith

Closed Doors

I sat outside of Mooney’s on the patio where Lisa and I had once enjoyed those fabulous sunsets, puffing on a halfway decent cigar Eddie Killmore had scrounged up. I thought of Doc Vandenberg and the last stogie I’d enjoyed a harsh reality ago, then eyed the underside of the darkening sky-skin, wondering if reality would ever again resemble what I once knew. Muffled Tunaki and human conversation drifted from the bar, floating Hiro and Eddie along to my table, Hiro clutching a new pitcher of sky juice and an overfilled pewter tankard. They sat down with me not saying a word, no doubt lost in their own musings of the grim tales told to us by the survivors of the day’s horrifying events.

We sat in companionable silence as the darkness deepened, the wispy lines in the sky-skin disappearing in the gloom, Nick wandering out to light the few oil lamps and tiki torches framing the patio. No breeze stirred the flames, and Sedona seemed as quiet as a morgue at midnight.

Brizzock silently appeared from the gloom of the parking lot, his scarred Tunaki features looking slightly alarmed as he paused, gave me a curt nod, then entered the bar, returning a brief moment later with Andrex - who looked equally concerned, and a little pissed.

“Where is the Cytheran Jacob?” asked Andrex, a hard edge to his eyes.

I motioned towards the trees framing the southern parking lot, “He wandered off that way with the Cytheran messenger who arrived earlier - maybe twenty or thirty minutes ago - I thought he was going to relieve himself, but he has been gone awhile now that you mention it - what gives?” I looked to where the horses were tied, and noticed Jacob’s mount was no longer there, it had to have been moved before I even came outside.

“I told you that sumbitch was no good,” accused Hiro, wiping a violet froth from his upper lip. “What’d he do?”

“Tenegress Prime is closed, Zack Dalton - our way into Redstone has been blocked. Brizzock’s scouts have attempted the other gateways, but they are likewise closed - this can only be done from the inside - and only by order of the Cytheran and Tunaki leadership.” Andrex eyed Hiro curiously. “Why do you question the Cytheran leader, blacksmith?”

Hiro drained his tankard and began immediately refilling it from the glass pitcher, his face a mask of frustration and long forgotten fears.

“Back in the 50’s when I was in seminary in northern California and the man you call ‘Jacob’ was my Aramaic professor - there was a lot of weird shit going down. We had stables, a lot of farm animals and fields we tended as part of the school - then critters started disappearing or showing up mutilated real bad, like they was gnawed on by some nasty predator none of us had ever seen,” he took a plaintive sip from his tankard, not bothering to wipe the froth from his upper lip and continued in his languid , west Texas drawl.

“This old boy Jenkins - an army vet who’d fought in WWII and Korea - well, he and I snuck off one night and grabbed us some beers and whiskey and were drinking behind the old hen house… Jenkins got this far away look in his eyes, talking about some of the horrors he’d seen in Europe and Korea - and then he told me to stay away from Professor Watkins - said the man was ‘evil beyond anything he’d ever seen in the wars’, and that he knew ‘first-hand’ that the professor was party to what was happening to the animals,” He took another swig and eyed all of us seriously. “You boys know when liquor starts flowing it’s hard for a good man to lie to you - and I never doubted what old Jenkins said about your Jacob.” He set his mug down and nodded, obviously finished with his tale.

“If Jacob is so evil - then why would Amalek have touched him - like he did me?” I asked.

“Because Amalek is an idealistic fool that is easily duped,” came a deep, commanding voice from the darkened parking lot, those of us at the table rising quickly, the sound of swords and pistols clearing hilts and holsters overshadowed by multiple, booted footfalls steadily approaching across the asphalt.

“Time has done little to improve your ugly face, Strategos - but Stone keep you, nevertheless,” boomed a voice tailor-made to ring clearly across the din of ancient battlefields. Andrex motioned for us to safe our weapons, and I warily obliged as a towering, red-bearded figure emerged from the shadows into the torchlight, flanked by three very serious looking henchmen. The speaker was only slightly taller than myself, with forearms like anvils gauntleted in thick, bronze-studded, brown leather. His aura rang a brilliant white to my ‘other’ eyes, like a human but much more vibrant and intense - more pure, perhaps. A long mane of unkempt auburn and red curls framed a serious face that looked to have been on the receiving end of many blows, sheltering piercing blue eyes that spoke of humor, kindness and unabashed intensity. A breastplate of boiled leather covered an impressive chest, with a gilded celtic cross emblazoned across it. A long cloak of a deep, forest green draped solid shoulders, clasped around his neck with a golden chain that would make a rap artist drool with envy.

“You never were good at seeing Tunaki beauty, Eindridi - and my nose tells me you still smell like a dirty goat’s balls.” I could hear the laughter and warmth in Andrex’s voice, and he clasped the newcomers extended forearm in a grasp that would’ve ripped my own from my shoulders. Eindridi’s cohorts looked like extras from a Conan the Barbarian film, and remained behind their leader with stolid, unmoving faces. “Stone keep you, Eindridi - sit and drink - if you are here, then there truly is madness afoot and the last battle fast approaches.”

Nick emerged from the bar with more tankards and pitchers, and we began to shuffle the tables around to make room for everyone to sit. The henchmen didn’t sit, instead quickly pounding a tankard of sky juice, then fading back into the darkness with a nod from their leader. Eindridi laid a massive, formidable hammer on the table in front of him, showered Nick’s tray with a huge pile of gold coins, and Hiro began laughing hysterically, tears streaming from his eyes. All of us eyed the old metal worker curiously - wondering what was so funny, or if the old man had finally lost his last marble. Hiro stood and raised his tankard high in salute to the newcomer, drawing in deep breaths to maintain his control, then eyed Eddie and I with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You boys really don’t have a fucking clue, do you? I know education has taken a pretty good nose-dive over the years - and maybe I’m just a sucker for ancient mythology - but even I know that Eindridi is just one of the names this fellow goes by. How’s about Asabrag, Ennilang, Rym or Sonnung? Ringing any bells?” Eindridi raised his eyebrows in surprise, smiled at Hiro and clanked his tankard with Hiro’s, Eddie and I still staring in perplexed confusion as Hiro cackled louder and danced in place like a giddy school boy. “Thor!! You dumbass jarheads!! Heard of that one, maybe? You’re drinking beer with the God of Thunder himself!! Fucking Thor!! If that don’t beat all - Smokey’s gonna shit! If I’m dreaming don’t wake me, cause this is one helluva ride!” He continued his one-man happy dance and Eddie and I stared at Endridi - Thor - in disbelief - and awe.

“So you’ve heard of me,” said the God of Thunder, sending Hiro into another fit of raucous laughter, which he chased with a long draw on his tankard, finally collapsing into his seat, smiling bigger than any man ever had a right to.

Aliens, Bigfoot, ancient Gods, Reptilian monsters - and now drinking sky-juice with freaking Norse legends. I rubbed the pocket where I kept my package of peanut M&M’s, my last link to normal, then looked up at the faint whisper of the moon drifting palely beyond the sky-skin. I lifted my tankard to the heavens and toasted silently, Wish you were here for this one, Doc - its really starting to get interesting… here’s to the luckiest friggin’ co-pilot on the planet.

Cheers, Doc.