Awen Storm Read online

  “Which is?”

  “In this lifetime, her name is Emily, Emily Bridget Hester. To the world, she is Awen. THE Awen.”

  A shiver passed over Khenko. What had his totem gotten him into? He leaned closer. “Hello, Awen. I’m Khenko. How ‘bout we get you back to the center?”

  Talav had a quick conversation with the invisible spirit, then used magic to lift her into the air. Khenko followed the dragon and floating body through one tunnel after another, until they were back at the entrance to the blue hole.

  Khenko outfitted Awen in the extra mask and tank. When he was sure she was breathing without distress, he donned his own and signaled Talav. She hesitated and Khenko could swear she was gathering courage. Which made him wonder if there were things even a dragon feared.

  Talav arched her long neck and glared. “I fear nothing, healer. But I am an earth dragon, not a water dragon.”

  Khenko shuddered. The dragon could read his mind. He turned to attach the tow rope to the woman. Talav wagged her head and motioned him toward the blue liquid.

  “You go first. I will follow with the Awen.”

  “Are you sure? I can tow her.”

  “Aye, healer. I am sure.”

  He entered the water and followed the nylon cord through liquid-black corridors. Periodically he looked back to make sure Talav followed with Awen. Soon they reached the delicate, calcite curtain disguising the entrance. Clipping the guide reel to his belt, he pointed up, and Talav nodded readiness. Khenko ascended slowly, passing through the murk, then the red hydrogen-sulfide haze.

  When he finally hauled himself out of the water, night had fallen. By the scant light of the sickle moon, he changed into street clothes and threw an old blanket across the back seat of the jeep. He made a pillow from a towel and returned to the blue hole as the dragon climbed out.

  Khenko removed the woman’s gear, and Talav levitated her into the back of the jeep. A groan escaped the Awen’s lips as she sagged into the battered seat. Her wet hair and torn clothes clung to her petite form. He positioned her head on the towel and tucked another around her dripping body. The air would be chilling in the open jeep, though it was a humid seventy-something degrees Fahrenheit.

  “Contact me when she wakes.” Talav rumbled.

  “How do I do that?”

  “Call my name and I’ll appear.” The ochre eyes went somber. “But understand, this is no mere woman. The Awen is Earth’s only hope in the days to come. Her life, and that of every being on the planet, is in your hands, Healer. Do you understand?”

  Daunted by the enormity of Talav’s pronouncement, Khenko wavered. “Not really. Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious.” Talav shook her bejeweled head, raining water everywhere. “You, Khenko, blessed of Corr, have been called to service. It is your duty as a peacemaker and medicine man to heal this woman and ensure she makes it to her next destination. There is little time, and I have matters to attend. Do you understand?”

  Icy fear traced the curve of Khenko’s spine. He nodded slowly. “That, I understand.”

  “It is my job to help Awen achieve her appointed task. As soon as she is strong enough, you will return her to my care. Keep me informed. Keep her identity secret. And allow no calls or hospitals. It is important the world thinks her dead.”

  Sadness filled the dragon’s eyes. She lowered her snout into the jeep and gently nudged the girl. “Fare thee well, sweet Awen. Call me if you need me. I will answer.”

  Talav turned to Khenko. “Khenko of Corr, to you I say it is time to cease your wanderings. Time to fulfill the destiny to which you were born.”

  The dragon’s words touched something deep within Khenko, opening a well he had been afraid to tap. Long had he led a vagabond’s life; long had he denied his calling. But in his bones Khenko Rainman Blitherstone knew—and had since the stork appeared in his dreams—his wanderings had indeed come to an end. It was time to return to the Iroquois.

  Then the most incredible creature Khenko had ever seen strolled to the edge of the blue hole and slipped into the water with a loud splash.

  Feeling the weight of the whole world descend upon his shoulders, Khenko climbed behind the steering wheel. He drove along the gravel road at a low speed so as not to disturb his passenger. He could no longer think of her as a package.

  Cocking the rearview mirror, a thrill ran through him. The Awen’s face glowed in the wan moonlight.

  The Atlantean Center

  Emily found herself in a small room. Was she still in the Otherworld? Or was she dreaming? The room spun around when she tried to sit. She laid back carefully and studied her surroundings.

  A steady sluicing outside the open window sounded like surf. At least she was no longer in a cave. Unless this was an illusion created by her mind. Or the tricksy dragon. Had she dreamed the whole thing?

  Emily got out of bed slowly and deliberately, keeping a steadying hand on the mattress. When the spinning stopped, she moved to the window and peered through the screen. Moonlit breakers rolled ashore to pound the sand. Her heart soared. She was at the beach. But how did she get here?

  Shivering, she searched for her shoes to no avail. Lifting the thin blanket from the double bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and tiptoed to the door to slip into a long hallway. She tiptoed down the hall, glancing in the open doors that lined each side. Every room was empty and identical to the one she’d left.

  What was this place? And how had she gotten here?

  The hall opened to a large foyer. A cane fan whirred lazily overhead, stirring the tangy air. Community flip-flops of various sizes were arranged neatly by the front door. Emily found a pair that fit her size sevens and slipped them on.

  Releasing the deadbolt, she flapped onto the dark porch and down to the yard where a gravel driveway bisected thick jungle. The building appeared to be situated on a promontory overlooking the ocean. The night lent a surreal quality to the surging and receding waves.

  Though largely obscured by a palm thicket, lights twinkled from next door. If she squinted, Emily could almost make out the house. She turned back to the building she had exited and spotted a sign by the front door. The Atlantean Center.

  Was she in Florida? The Bahamas? Most of those islands had succumbed to the rising seas.

  Several structures surrounded the main building, including a garage and some sort of utility building. A wooden cabana opened onto the beach, with chairs and umbrellas stacked in one corner. A light wind fluttered the palm-leaf awning and carried the scent of salt and sea creatures. Her ocean-deprived senses soaked in everything.

  Breaking waves churned in the light of a sickle moon, and slapped against the shore before washing out to sea. Her eyes devoured the scene, mesmerized. The spray caressed her cheeks.

  Spying a lone director’s chair beneath a date palm, Emily dragged it several yards from the waterline and sank into the salt-encrusted canvas. She sat for a spell without moving or thinking, letting the ocean’s essence wash over and through her battered self.

  In a hypnotic state, she leaned back and looked up at the star-filled sky. Based on the placement of the constellations, she couldn’t be far from Atlanta. How long had she been gone? Days? A week? More?

  The sting of her losses had miraculously lessened. Somehow she knew the others were okay. All was as it should be. For the moment, anyway.

  Emily closed her eyes and let the pounding of the surf scour her senses. She fell asleep, head cocked to one side. Her soft snores blended with the ocean sounds. Slowly, one by one, the creatures of the deep left their hiding places and gathered nearby.

  **

  Talav eyed the sleeping Awen. Getting her out of the caverns had been exactly what she needed. She still walked the Otherworld, but she was growing stronger. Strong enough that the sea creatures were drawn to her presence—a good sign. Talav lingered until the sun approached the horizon and night gave way to dawn.

  With a satisfied sigh, she eased into the ocean and s
truck out for the blue hole, leaving a trace of earth magic on the waves.

  Death Sentence

  Ishkur hefted his pack and donned his fiercest headgear. Fashioned from a hawk he had defeated in battle, Ishkur wore it with pride. The raptor had terrorized a rural community outside Xibalba before Ishkur caught wind of it in a poker game. He’d lost a week’s pay taking time for the hunt, but had gained his most prized possession. Thus attired, he set out to meet the others in the central square.

  The three Dracos, Kaijin, Mokele-Mbembe, and Nahuelito, were waiting for Ishkur on the platform. They stood at attention and saluted—a quick, closed-fist smack to the chest. Ishkur returned the gesture and shouldered past them, intent on catching the next car out before Shibboleth changed his mind. The further he could get from the warlord, the better Ishkur would feel.

  Chute cars whizzed by, going east and west. The north-south lines were at the far end. Giving no thought to the Dracos trailing behind him, Ishkur made a beeline for the station pub. Tossing credits on the bar, he requested a froksch and downed it in one swallow, then slammed the empty stein on the counter and nodded for the barkeep to draw another. Leaning on the tap, the Pharechi filled his mug, then hurried to the other end of the bar.

  All around him, patrons whispered, likely about Shibboleth. Or Nergal’s death. Two things Ishkur had no control over. Shame deepened his pale-olive scales to turtle green. He gulped the chilled ale, pivoted, and strode out of the bar.

  The others waited outside.

  “What the hell?” Mbembe muttered. “Couldn’t you wait until we got on the chute? How ‘bout staying sober for once? Our lives might depend on it.”

  “Yeah,” Nahuelito growled. “Put a cork in it. At least ‘til we get outta Xibalba. That warlord means business.”

  It took all Ishkur’s restraint not to strike them down on the spot. But they had a point. He resolved to hold it together, at least until they arrived at Agartha and he’d had time to assess the situation.

  He thought of Lamia, his familiar, and their two little ones. Would he ever see them again? After news of Nergal’s death, Ishkur had sent them to the country in case things got ugly.

  “Attention,” the intercom blared. “The Agarthan Express is approaching the station. Please stand back. It will debark at Gate Nine, and depart in fifteen minutes.”

  Snatching his pack from the platform, Ishkur slung it over one shoulder and settled his hat more securely on his head. The chute chugged past, a deluxe sleeper. Which meant a bar and a casino. Just the distraction Ishkur needed to quiet his anxious gut.

  Because Shibboleth had spared him for one reason—he didn’t want to risk the safety of his own Dracos. Agartha and its spreading magma was a death sentence.

  **

  Azi entered the dark lab, the center of Nergal’s Human Domination project. A thrill of excitement raced through him. Supine on an onyx bench in the corner was the first successful intermediary, a lowly Fomorian. A lab tech occupied an adjacent terminal.

  Acknowledging her, Azi moved to the glass enclosure. The Fomorian’s chest barely moved. Azi considered activating its paused connection with Shalane Carpenter to study how it worked. All the others were modeled on this one, and Shibboleth’s orders to Azi were to implement Nergal’s program worldwide.

  But it was not yet past the experimental phase, and he had given Azi only one week.

  Azi’s claws clattered over the main console’s keyboard. The technology and methods used to identify and tag the targets, as well as connect and download their information to the main brain, was nothing short of genius. Azi memorized the project specs and all its particulars, itching to try the system. But that would have to wait until tomorrow.

  He accessed the extensive target list and included it in a communique to the corresponding coordinators around UnderEarth. In it, he outlined Shibboleth’s orders and scheduled a virtual meeting with them for the next morning.

  When he was satisfied with the evening’s work, Azi bid his tech good morrow and went in search of his quarters. He would be living in Xibalba IX for the foreseeable future. At least until they perfected the domination technique and breached AboveEarth, a daunting task for most. But for Azi, it was a challenge worthy of his superior intellect.

  Cybele

  The sight of Jocko’s Pizza was a balm for Lugh’s spirit. Before going in, he admired the upgrades they had made last month after tornadoes demolished the front wall. The new brick was stronger and safer, and still boasted a generous array of windows. They had also rearranged the dining room, picking up enough space to add an extra booth and table.

  Unlocking the front door, Lugh left the “Closed” sign hanging. The restaurant wouldn’t open for several hours, and he planned to be quick, just long enough to check on Cu and hopefully talk to his parents.

  He circled the restaurant and ran loving fingers over the shellacked countertop. He found and traced the initials he and his brother Jake had carved with a pocketknife. Pinky, the bartender, had caught them in the act and dragged them to the kitchen, where Mama lectured them on the bad manners of destroying property. Papa’s punishment was a leather belt.

  How Lugh had hated those whippings, more sensitive to the sting of shame than that of the strap. Jake was older and blamed everything on him, a habit that backfired as much as not. Then one day Jake left and didn’t come back.

  Lugh’s heart ached as he stopped beside the table Emily had occupied when Mitch brought her to Jocko’s. The first time Lugh saw her he’d known he would marry her. Now, like Jake, she was gone.

  He looked around the dining room, and a surge of gratitude brought tears to his eyes. So many memories had been made here over the years. Despite all that had happened, Jocko’s had survived. As had Lugh.

  But not his nephew. Or Emily. Or her father. Like Cu, they were probably dead.

  The thought bent Lugh double, a punch to the gut. He crumpled to his knees and put his forehead in the wooden chair. And there, in the middle of his family’s restaurant, Lugh howled like a wounded animal. What was the goddess thinking?

  Anger flooded in, scuttling the despair. He dashed away tears. Cybele had entrusted Brian to Lugh’s care, and it had been two days since the earthquake. He had to call her. What if she had seen the news? No. She would’ve called. But how could Cybele forgive him? How would he ever forgive himself?

  “Oh Goddess, give me words,” he begged, tapping Cybele’s photograph on his phone.

  As always, her voice mail answered right away. Never once, in all the years Lugh had known Cybele MacBrayer had she answered a phone. Leaving an urgent message, Lugh hung up and swallowed. It was time to talk to his parents and see Cu.

  He shoved through the swinging doors, but the kitchen was empty. Disappointment tugged at his heavy heart. He’d hoped to see Ma and Pa’s spirits bustling about, waiting for Lugh to open the place.

  He glanced at the mementos on the walls—a Hamsa from Rabbi Soflinski, who had eaten at Jocko’s every Thursday until he died, the ceramic triskele they’d brought back from Europe the year Lugh turned twelve, and the bronze bust of St Brigit purchased in Ireland on the same trip.

  Lugh fingered the frilly apron still hanging where his mother had placed it the day they turned the restaurant over to him. They had planned to travel, had even purchased a motor home. But they died that March in a traffic collision, making the transition bittersweet.

  Burying his face in the apron, Lugh groaned, “Ma, I don’t know what to do. You told me to help Emily, but I couldn’t. Now she’s gone. Brian, too, and they both might be dead. I left a message for Cybele. But how do I tell Jake, if he’s even alive? Ma, what should I do?”

  “Nothing, my son,” his mom whispered behind him. “You wait. And do nothing,”

  Lugh swung to face her, arms open for one of her famous hugs. Catching nothing but air, he teetered on tiptoes.

  “Nothing?” That was the last thing he wanted to hear. “I can’t do nothing, Ma. I lost Brian. And
our Grand Druid.”

  “No, dear. You did not. You did everything in your power to save your nephew. And your girl. Let them go, Lugh. They’re in the gods’ hands. Even I cannot see them.” She reached a distraught arm toward him.

  He turned his back, miserable as only the damned can be. Hot anger churned inside his gut. So they were dead. And according to his mother, there was nothing Lugh could do.

  “Mi Amor,” she crooned, “do not despair. Just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean they are dead. There are places even I cannot see.” Lugh winced and she rushed to add, “Not all of them are bad, my sweet, sensitive boy.”

  His Pa’s stern voice boomed across the room. “Lughnasadh Bran MacBrayer, are those tears I see?” His father was a man’s man. Not one to coddle or condone waterworks.

  Lugh blinked back the tears as the rotund man joined his mother by Lugh’s side. Since their last meeting, he had donned a clean apron, but the ever-present dusting of flour rode high on one cheek.

  Unashamed, Lugh admitted, “Yes Papa, I am crying. I lost Brian and Emily. And you may have noticed that Cu is dead in the deep freeze. Maybe Hamilton Hester, too.” His Pa’s thick eyebrows arched, and his mother gasped.

  “No,” Lugh sighed. “Mr. Hester is not in our deep freeze. He transferred to Cu’s body a few weeks ago when his own gave out. But now Cu is dead and in the freezer.”

  The two knitted foreheads smoothed, but only a little. They sighed in unison, as linked in death as they were in life.

  Lugh’s phone vibrated and he jumped several inches. Recovering, he retrieved it from his jeans pocket. “Lugh MacBrayer.”

  “Lugh, this is Cybele. What in the world? Are you crazy leaving a message like that? Brian is missing? For the love of all that is sacred and holy, tell me my son is okay!” Her voice was shrill and near hysteria.

  The truth caught in Lugh’s throat. On the other end, Cybele sobbed. He listened, feeling helpless. Soon came the bleat of her blowing nose. Hopefully, she had passed the hard part. That’s why he’d left the news in his earlier message.