Awen Storm Page 17

  Ooschu circled the promontory until she spied another outcrop. Wooden structures with thatched roofs rose from the jungle, facing east and south. She sank into the warm, shallow water and resisted the urge to pursue a colony of squid that darted away.

  Along with the presence of the Awen, Ooschu sensed dragon magic as she closed the distance. Rising above the surface, she scanned the island, then submerged to swim the last hundred meters to the mangrove-dense shore. This time her eyes were rewarded.

  The Awen languished on a blanket spread across the fine, white sand, snoring loud enough to wake the gods. Ooschu stared. This was the Awen she had tracked back and forth across Earth’s globe?

  Despair raked at Draig Ooschu. She sank beneath the waves, momentarily daunted. How were they supposed to save the world with a puny, untrained Awen? They had almost failed a thousand years ago when she was seasoned and in command of her powers. Something bumped hard into Ooschu’s shoulder.

  She swung around, sensing more than seeing the large creature before it disappeared. Then it rammed her hard from behind. Ooschu struck out defensively with her tail and razor-clawed feet, but caught nothing but water. She turned a tight circle and spied the threat. It swam toward her, moving fast.

  Ooschu stared, not believing what she was seeing. Earth dragons didn’t swim. Yet here was Talav, underwater, leering at her. In the dragons’ long history on Gaia, Ooschu had never known Talav to tolerate the water. Similarly, Ooschu couldn’t stand being on land.

  Ooschu surfaced with a gasp to gulp air. Talav came up beside her.

  “Talav, you’re swimming!” The earth dragon swam in a circle around Ooschu, slicing through the water like a pro. “You old she-devil. Where did you learn to swim like that?”

  Talav laughed and splashed water in Ooschu’s face. “It’s amazing what happens when necessity presents.” Talav swam to shore and trudged onto the beach to settle beside the Awen. Taunting Ooschu, she challenged, “Your turn, sister.”

  Social Climber

  “You seem different,” Patty whined. “Did something happen while I was in L.A.?”

  Shalane frowned. “A lot happened. But what do you mean? Different how?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’re stand-offish, less attentive. You don’t laugh at my jokes or my funny faces. And when I try to initiate sex, you push me away. You’ve never done that.”

  Shalane stared up at a picture on the wall. Something was wrong with her. For the first time in her adult life, she didn’t want sex from anyone. And she had no idea why. “I’m tired, is all. This headache takes a lot out of me.”

  “But you had the headache before. And you wanted me all the time. Do you not like me anymore?” Patty’s lips twisted in a jealous sneer. “Or is it that Ebby Panera? Did you hook up with her while I was gone?”

  That got Shalane’s attention. “What do you know about Ebby Panera?”

  “N-nothing. Only that you get all googly-eyed when you talk about her.”

  Then why couldn’t Shalane remember the woman?

  She looked Patty up and down, barely recognizing the Marilyn-wannabe she’d rescued from a bar in California. Her sexuality still oozed, but there was a new, sharp edge of sophistication. Her breasts were larger, for one thing. Shalane had paid for the augmentation in Las Vegas after Patty threw a hissy fit. Personally, Shalane liked them better before.

  But that wasn’t the problem. Shalane felt nothing for the girl. And she hadn’t since Patty had come back from California. Her eye twitched, and a pain shot through it like a bolt of lightning. Shalane grabbed her head and rocked, riding it out.

  “Are you okay?” Patty asked, suddenly attentive.

  When it eased a little, Shalane slumped in her chair. “Do I look okay?”

  “Well, you don’t have to be shitty.” Tiny lines crinkled across the girl’s forehead and between her brows. “I’m worried about you. It’s not like you to turn down sex.”

  So they were back to that. “Look, Patrika. I feel like crap. Stop making this about you.” But Cecil had said the same thing.

  “Nothing is about me where you are concerned.” Face flaming, the girl flounced from the room fluffing the new hairdo Shalane had paid for and wagging her ass in the expensive jeans Shalane bought. Patty had turned into a greedy monster. She ought to send her back home for good.

  Shalane checked her cell phone. In the last few minutes since she’d looked at it before, the attorney had neither called or texted. But heat gathered in her loins. She sighed, relieved. At least she wasn’t dead down there. She had begun to wonder.

  Only she hadn’t heard from Mitch since that night in Atlanta. He’d been gone when she woke the next morning and hadn’t contacted her since. She thought about calling or texting him again, then decided against it. People chased Shalane, not the other way around.

  **

  Patty crammed her clothes into the new suitcase. She had agreed to come on the road with Shalane to escape the shithole she’d lived in after leaving her mother and stepfather’s house. But if she wanted to be treated like a piece of trash, she could’ve stayed home. There, she was invisible. Unless her stepfather was drunk.

  At least he hadn’t come to her room while she was there for the wedding. She’d been terrified he would. He was probably afraid she would draw a butcher knife on him again. The last time he raped her, she’d told her mother and threatened to go to the police. She shuddered, remembering.

  Her mother had turned on Patty. She insisted she’d manufactured an elaborate lie to get attention, and had even threatened to throw her out. At fifteen, Patty had nowhere to go. So she recanted and kept the knife beneath her mattress, and slept with her door locked.

  Good thing, too. He’d come to her room one more time, shit-faced drunk. She’d been asleep. He’d ripped her panties off before Patty could get her hand on the knife. Luckily, she didn’t have to use it. He fell over his own feet, hit his head, and blacked out. Patty fled to a friend’s house and never went back.

  But she was used to pretty things. She’d gotten her hands on a fake driver’s license, and took a job as a waitress. The tips were good, but not enough to support Patty in the way she was accustomed. Determined to be the pampered princess she was meant to be, she earned extra money sleeping with wealthy customers.

  Which was why she had gone with Shalane in the first place. Patty had never been with a woman, but Shalane was supposed to be her ticket out. In the beginning, she’d made Patty feel special. Then she expected her to perform on demand, just like her stepfather. But ignoring Patty was even worse.

  Well, screw that. She had made it on her own once she could do it again. If Shalane didn’t start treating her better, Patty would leave. But not without Shalane’s money.

  Medical Supplies

  Three long nights and days had passed since the earthquake. While Nergal slept, the doctora spent most of her time foraging the hills for herbs to make poultices and teas. They were rank-smelling and tasted of rotted piss, but her decoctions had tonified Nergal’s blood and lifted his spirits. Each day his wounds healed a little more.

  On the evening of the third day, the doctora declared Nergal strong enough to tackle the journey, and the two set out for Agartha. If her office still stood, they would scavenge anything that could aid in Nergal’s healing. The first hill wasn’t too difficult. Nor the second, or even the third. But each one after that became more laborious. They had to stop often for him to rest, but Nergal made it to the city on his own.

  Inside the scorched gate, the stench of death and sulfur rendered the air untenable. The once-imposing city had been annihilated; the charred metro area half-razed, with vents spewing steam here and there. The air and ground was blistering hot.

  Nergal gritted his teeth against the pain and repositioned the empty pack. He let Magdalena lead as they picked their way through the stinking, steaming ruins. But reaching her office took longer than expected. Each time they found a path through the wreckage, another peril b
locked their progress.

  About halfway in, a band of thugs appeared from a dark alley and surrounded them. Nergal threw back his hood, probably a bad idea considering he was a wanted Draco, but the brutes melted into the shadows and gave them a wide berth.

  Soon, they came to the doctora’s street. Nergal cheered silently, then cursed himself, despising the weakling he had become. They approached what was once her office. The doctora cried out in dismay and rushed into its shell.

  The stench of rotting flesh assaulted them. The waiting area was unrecognizable beneath the rubble, but at least the magma had not encroached here. Holding one hand against her nose, the doctora yanked an intact cabinet open, and came up with lightsticks and an emergency kit. Nergal placed the kit in the empty pack. The lights they used to pick their way to the back.

  Here the walls and roof had only partially buckled, but the Fomorian rotted in the crushed tube, and it stank unbearably. Nergal gagged and followed the doctora to the hindmost office where one partially-smashed cabinet yielded instruments, braces, ointments, and unguents.

  When she found her safe unharmed, the doctora cheered. It held the main object of their trip—narcotics and powerful anti-inflammatories. In the dim glow of a lightstick, Magdalena searched the rest of the office while Nergal stuffed her finds in the packs. They scavenged everything possible, then waded through the rubble-filled waiting room.

  Extinguishing the lightstick, Nergal made sure the way was clear. As they exited quietly to the dark street, a spotlight clicked on, pointed straight at them.

  Demigods

  The arduous flight north took all of one day and the following night. Running on next to no sleep, Ethnui and Brian neared the edge of the Fomore’s known territory. When the sun broke the horizon on UnderEarth, they stopped for a brief rest. Brian fell asleep immediately.

  Ethnui drank water and studied him in the dim light. They had made good time. The human was in excellent shape and had only complained once or twice. After a while, she stood and slung her pack over her shoulder, then jostled him awake.

  Brian protested but rose and scrubbed his face in his hands. “We’re nearly there, right? I can’t go much farther without a good night’s sleep.”

  “Cheer up, human.” She checked her handheld, though she already knew the answer. “Only a few more clicks.”

  Shouldering his pack, Brian gave her a grim nod and fell in line behind Ethnui.

  The trail had climbed steadily for the last part of the journey. Now it rose at an even steeper angle. Picking her way through limestone karst littered with potholes and towering monoliths, Ethnui’s heartbeat quickened. The steady susurration they’d been hearing deepened, and there was a new, rhythmic, crashing whoosh.

  They neared the summit. Ethnui slid her weapon from her belt and motioned Brian to do the same. For the last few meters, they walked side-by-side on the narrow trail. At the top, they stopped and looked at one another, then mounted the summit.

  Brian gasped and Ethnui stared. Before them spread an enormous body of water, larger than any Ethnui had seen.

  “It’s the ocean!” Brian crowed and threw a companionable arm over her shoulders. “I’ve only seen the Pacific in Oregon, but that’s what this is. I’ll bet anything.”

  Ethnui stared in wonder and trepidation. She’d known that her birthplace in Ireland was surrounded by ocean. But she hadn’t been prepared for the profound sight. Awe, immense and sharp, overpowered her. Tears sprang to her eyes and Ethnui fell to her knees in the prickly sand.

  **

  They pitched camp in a cave by the ocean. Brian set up the lighting and portable heater and hurried from the cave.

  “Be careful out there,” Ethnui called behind him.

  She unfurled the thin, eiderdown sleeping bags and spread them on either side of the heater. Then she moved to the cave entrance to keep an eye on Brian. In case of trouble, she told herself.

  Her stomach flip-flopped when the human squatted beside the perilous sea. He scooped water to wash his face and hands, then wet his unruly hair, slicking it back behind his ears. When he proceeded to have a conversation with himself, Ethnui strained to hear. But she couldn’t distinguish his words over the surf.

  Sitting with her back to the cave entrance, Ethnui dug her handheld from her pants pocket and plugged it into the kinetic charger. She accessed the interactive map she had engineered for the Fomorians and checked their bearings.

  They were at the edge of known territory, far from Agartha. Other than local fauna, the only sentient lifeforms in a fifty-kilometer radius were Ethnui and Brian. She glanced up. Brian had settled on the sand. Sitting cross-legged, he threw stones into the water, lips still moving, speaking to himself.

  Ethnui checked in with her headquarters, but none of her comrades had made it back, increasing her worry exponentially. When Brian returned to the cave, she’d laid food on a thin, metallic sheet. The fare was simple but filling. The boy chewed contemplatively as they ate in silence. Finally, he looked up.

  “The longer I’m down here in what you call UnderEarth, the more it seems I’m back home. You even have a sun, though it’s a reddish color and not nearly as bright as ours. And there are animals and birds, and even an ocean. How can that be?”

  Ethnui pondered a moment, unsure of the answer. “Wouldn’t each be a mirror-image of the other? That would make the most sense to me.”

  Brian stared at something on the wall behind her. “Yeah, probably. But from what I learned in Biology classes, species evolve to reflect their environment.”

  “Is the environment here all that different from up there?”

  “When I was underground I thought so. But once I saw daylight, I thought I was back home until you told me I wasn’t. So, no. It’s not that different at all.”

  Tears sprang to Ethnui’s eyes. “I wish I could see your world. UnderEarth is all I’ve ever known. Or, all I can remember. I wonder if I still have kin in Ireland.”

  “Can you tell me more about your people?” Brian flopped onto his stomach facing her.

  She had wondered if he was as curious about her as she about him. “The Fomori?”

  He nodded. “Until now, I’d never heard of your people. Are you—” he gulped.

  Ethnui held her breath, waiting for the label she feared was coming.

  “Human?” He said it in a near whisper, eyes soft and searching. No judgment lurked in their dark shadows.

  “Yes,” she sighed, “and no.”

  At his intake of breath, Ethnui smiled. Patience was not one of Brian’s virtues. “According to legend, the Fomori are a semi-divine race that inhabited Ireland in ancient times. Like the Greek Titans, it was believed the Fomori preceded the Dagda and the other Celtic gods.”

  Brian’s eyes danced. “So you admit you’re a demigod!”

  Ethnui squirmed. “No more than you. The original Fomori were gods of storms and rough weather. Some of us still wield that power.” He looked thoughtful, and she hurried to add, “No, not me. Nor anyone I know. Though my mother could summon storms and calm them.” Sadness squeezed her heart. “My parents were captured before me. I still don’t know their whereabouts—or if they are alive.”

  “I’m sorry, Ethnui.” His gentle tone soothed some of her sadness.

  “Have you heard of the Tuatha De’ Danaan?”

  “Yes!” Brian sat up. “My family and I are descended from the Tuatha. What about them?”

  “Though the Tuatha are more well-known as the gods of civilization, we Fomorians predate them. The original Fomori had the body of a human with the head of a goat. That’s why I have horns. I can also fold myself into a ball that has outer armor. My mother couldn’t do that.”

  Brian’s eyes grew wide, but he didn’t comment.

  “There are accounts of Fomori with one eye, one arm, and one leg. But others were very beautiful. Like Bres and his father, Prince Elatha. Fortunately, I descend from that line, a fact for which am eternally grateful.”

&n
bsp; “Why?”

  “Because the others are hideous, with pointy teeth and ears.” Brian eyed hers and Ethnui shook her head. “No, much pointier. Like elves.”

  “You have elves down here?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Not that I know of. But the tales are still whispered. Does it bother you that I’m descended from goat-people?”

  Brian hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really. I mean, you have built-in armor. How cool is that?”

  “Very cool. But I didn’t always think so. Imagine growing up looking different than everyone else. I hated my differences. Every one of them. Of three sisters and one brother, I was the only one who took after Mother.” As she said it out loud, Ethnui realized the fact no longer stung.

  “Over the centuries and millennia, the Fomori and Tuatha interbred. Now, thousands of years later, we are of one blood. Some look Fomori, others Tuatha. Thankfully, I am a strong blend of the latter.”

  “So we’re related?” The words rolled slowly from Brian’s tongue.

  Of all she had revealed, that was what he grasped?

  “No, not really. And yes. We are related in the way all humans are.”

  “Ahh.” He sounded relieved.

  Ethnui winced. It was clear Brian didn’t want to be related to her. He thought her defective. Or worse, a monster. She fought the reflex to close in on herself.

  “I didn’t know any of this until I was captured by the Dracos. They threw me in a dungeon complex similar to yours, only it was filled with Fomori. Mostly from the other side of the family tree. They despised me and would have killed me.”

  She swallowed hard, shoving back the memory. She had hated them with a passion. Until Progen changed their minds. And helped her to understand, if not to forgive, how her kin had treated her.

  “How awful,” Brian growled. “I’m glad you escaped. How did you get out?” His anger dulled her hurt.

  “Progen saved me. Because he is different like me, he convinced the others that we share a common ancestry and history. Then one day, he told me of the grand hall abandoned and forgotten by the other races. He got us out, and we fled to the compound.”