Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (27 page)

“What the hell happened?” asked Peggy.

Not even the spirits had a good answer for her.

The gate to the midway rolled up. Agent Waechter, flanked by several other NQB agents in gray suits, strode onto the scene of carnage.

“OK, everyone,” said Waechter. “That's a wrap on this operation.”

Nigel's throat had healed enough to allow him to speak. “Who the hell are you?”

“I could ask the same thing of you, sir,” replied Waechter. “You very nearly gummed up the works. How did you get involved in any of this?”

“We were sent by the gods,” said Peggy.

“Ah, that explains it.” Waechter loosened his tie. “Gods always do love mucking about in our affairs. I do wish they'd learn to leave this business to the professionals. In any case, everything worked out well enough, so no harm done.”

“No harm done?” Helen growled like a beast. “No harm done?”

The earth elemental stepped back. “If you don't need me anymore, I should probably get going.”

“Nobody goes anywhere until we straighten this out,” she said.

Though the elemental could've returned to its plane of origin, where she could never follow, it decided to stay. Just in case she was determined enough to find a way.

Waechter smiled in a manner meant to relax her. It only pissed her off.

“Helen…”

Scowling, she towered over him. He held his ground but gestured at his agents, who drew their swords. Except for Agent Campbell, who stood ramrod-straight with her standard unreadable expression.

Waechter said, “Miss Nicolaides, you have every right to be upset. This isn't the ideal resolution, but this isn't an ideal world. We take the victories we can get, and are thankful they aren't the defeats they could've been.”

“What happened to Troy?”

“He donned the helmet, taking on the hosting duties for a banished god. He did so of his own free will, and by doing so he satisfied the conditions of your curse. You're free to return to your own life now.”

“And Troy? What about him?”

“He's gone. Or he soon will be. But I can assure you his noble sacrifice won't be in vain. It's regrettable, but—”

Helen grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him close to her. She snorted in his face.

The agents moved to his defense, but the Wild Hunt, battered as they were, readied their own weapons. Agent Campbell stood to one side. She smiled, amused by thoughts she didn't feel like sharing.

“I thought you were the assassins of the gods,” said Waechter.

Nigel used his ax to steady his broken legs. “The young lady asked you a question. I suggest you answer it.”

Waechter sized up Nigel's band. None of them were in prime fighting shape. That only made them more dangerous. Their fearsome, bloody grins showed they were less concerned with avoiding death than with dragging as many souls into oblivion with them as possible.

“There is a cycle to these things,” said Waechter. “The Lost God attempts to break from his exile every three hundred years or so. He drafts two innocent souls. They gather the relics of power. One sacrifices him- or herself. The god gains physical form for a few hours and then returns to exile again. That is the way it always goes.”

“What's the point?” she asked.

“Point? There's no point. It's just a cycle. There are thousands of them, invisible gears turning, keeping the universe running as it must.”

“Says who?”

“The Fates. The gods. Some implacable, nameless thing beyond even them. I don't know. I only know that it's the way it works.”

Helen dropped him. “And there's no way to change it?”

He stayed sitting on the ground. “No cycle is unbreakable. They can change. They
must
change eventually. But they're like time bombs. They must be disarmed or reset. Remember when I told you that my job is to see that some quests are never completed? This is one of those quests. The Lost God can't escape his banishment, but if the other gods are forced to take a direct hand in shoving him back into exile, the resulting tiff of the gods would be a national disaster. Hundreds of thousands of deaths. Billions in property damage. Environmental shifts that would take decades to recover from.

“But now this god has found a mortal body, and because he's a god and easily distracted, he'll spend the next few hours indulging himself, and then, because gods also lose track of time, his window of opportunity will pass him by. His host will burn out, and he will return to banishment until the next cycle.”

“But he has all the relics,” said Helen.

“All of the relics, yes, but he's missing the final element to unlock his prison.”

“What?”

“It's not important. All you need to know is that we have things in hand.”

She said, “You knew this was the way it would turn out?”

“Knew? No, I didn't know. We can never truly know. We can only predict based on previous patterns, but there are always exceptions. Things don't always unfold by the numbers. Your friends here, for example. We didn't see them coming, though we should've.” He nodded to an agent. “Make a note of that, Campbell. Intelligence dropped the ball there.”

Campbell pulled out a notepad and jotted down a reminder.

“So it doesn't have to end like this?” Helen asked.

“No, but this time this
is
how it ends.” Waechter stood. “Go home, Miss Nicolaides. Go back to your life, and leave the rest to us.”

“You don't expect me to abandon Troy.”

“You can't save him. If you try, you'll only make things worse. The best thing you can do is trust us to do our job.”

Helen stuck her hand in her pocket, felt the old key. It had to be the final relic. It was the only thing that made sense, and Waechter had practically said so in a roundabout way.

The fates had given it to her, and saving Troy had to be the reason. Destiny might be impossible to decipher, but she refused to believe it was outright cruel.

Waechter and the NQB agents must have read her thoughts on her face.

“Miss Nicolaides…”

She turned to the elemental. “Kick their asses for me.”

The elemental scratched its head. “Technically, I only follow the orders of the sword bearer.”

Peggy said, “I'm a shaman, so by the powers given to me by the spirits of nature, I suggest you follow the young lady's orders.”

The elemental locked stares with the pale orcess. Her skull-like face and milky-white eyes proved disconcerting to the monster.

“All right already.” It shrugged. “If you insist.”

He tapped a nearby agent. It was enough to send her flying across the midway. The agents' swords clanged harmlessly against its stone body. Within moments it'd knocked them all away and held Waechter in an inescapable bear hug.

“Keep him here,” Helen ordered.

The elemental saluted. “Yes, ma'am.”

She took the measure of Agent Campbell, standing inscrutably to the side. “You aren't going to try and stop us?”

Campbell smiled. “Doesn't seem like an option at this point.”

Helen walked away. Waechter shouted at her back.

“You can't do this! You don't know what horrors you could unleash!”

He was right. She didn't know. Nor did she care.

The Wild Hunt, those in walking shape, trailed her. Nigel, Peggy, and James struggled to keep up. It wasn't easy for any of them. Franklin, wincing with every step of his twisted body, brought up the rear.

Helen kept walking. “Why are you following me? Can't wait to finish what you started?”

“You're going to need our help,” said Nigel.

“Didn't you try to kill me? Didn't you almost kill Troy?”

Peggy shoved Franklin forward.

“I'm sorry about stabbing your friend,” he said. “I was…we all were following the will of the gods.”

“Yes, sorry about trying to assassinate you earlier,” said Peggy.

She slowed. “And now?”

Nigel said, “And now we'd like to believe there's another choice, that we don't have to blindly follow, that we can make our own decisions. If our gods don't like it, they can go ahead and smite us now.”

Thunder rumbled in the clear sky.

“Ignore them,” he said. “They're all talk.”

A bolt of lightning struck the ground beside him.

“And they can't aim worth a damn.”

He chuckled.

“Ever since the first cursed orc stepped onto a world that hated him—”

“Or her,” said Peggy.

“A world that hated him or her,” he said, “we have been deemed nothing but an inconvenience, minions and savages. Even when times changed, even when the world became civilized, we were still monsters. When the hordes of the steppes crushed the armies of warlord Napoleon, no one thanked us. When my ancestors devastated Alexander of Macedonia's forces, did the Arabians even give us an ounce of credit? When my grandfather won the day on the beaches of Normandy, they didn't even give him a medal. Just told him to shove off and not make trouble.

“We've always been the whipping boys of destiny—”

“And girls,” added Peggy.

He glared at her. “After a while, you start seeing yourself the way the rest of the world does. You wouldn't be in this mess if not for us falling into that trap, and so we pledge our strength and our honor to help you save Troy. Give us a chance to make it right.”

He paused to catch his breath. Immortal or not, he was fairly certain one of his lungs had yet to regenerate.

“Give us a chance to show we're more than murderous thugs. Please.”

Helen stopped. She glanced over her shoulder.

The Wild Hunt raised their weapons and roared. It wasn't much of a roar, but something about its pitiful nature moved her.

“You aren't going to be much use to me as you are.”

Nigel said, “We are temporarily immortal, and Peggy here's a shaman.”

Now that she was no longer moving, Helen felt the ache in her flesh, the sting of every cut. It was only supernatural endurance that kept her on her feet, but there had to be limits.

She said, “Waechter is right. Troy's just one person, and I'm being reckless and irresponsible by even considering this. I don't know if there's even a way to save Troy now. I don't know what's going to happen, but if even part of it's true, then I am very likely about to get myself and a whole bunch of innocent people killed. I could have nothing to show for it and we could be caught in the middle of a full-fledged scuffle of the gods, and I honestly don't see how it can turn out any other way.”

They smiled.

“Getting stepped on by the gods is a good way to die,” said Franklin.

Achilles went over and sat by the orcs. It was a good-enough endorsement for her.

The Lost God's fiberglass mount landed on the tower of Castle Adventure. Three dozen worshippers bowed before him. Some were park employees who had quietly awaited his return. Others were tourists, drawn to this place of power by omens. There was tension between the two groups. The employees saw their years of putting up with cranky customers, sprinkling sawdust on vomit, and capering sweatily in mascot suits as proof of their true devotion, whereas any idiot could read an omen. Plus the tourists had a hard time respecting anyone wearing an “I Love Churros” apron.

Rather than fight about it, the two groups had appointed their own leaders. A woman in a foam gargoyle costume and a man sporting a trilby hat, wearing black socks and sandals, approached the Lost God.

“You return to us as you have promised,” said the woman.

“As revealed in signs,” added the man.

They exchanged glares.

“All has been made ready,” added the gargoyle woman. “All that's required is the relics of power that we may complete the ritual.”

The relics orbited the Lost God's head. He snapped his fingers, and they fell to the floor. His followers fought among themselves for the right to gather them up. They scurried around, preparing the ancient magics. He didn't pay attention to the details. Those were mortal concerns.

“Have anything to drink?” he asked. “I'm parched.”

A soda, borne aloft on a golden platter by a pair of attractive young women, was brought to him. The can was too large to fit in the helmet's face opening. He tapped it several times against the helmet.

“You wouldn't happen to have a straw on you?”

A straw was found, and the Lost God was led to his throne room, where he sat while the followers did their jobs.

The sacred slab had been seamlessly integrated into Castle Adventure. He didn't know how it had gotten there. He didn't care. The rune-scarred slab always found its way to him. Or he to it. It made no difference where the gods above hid it. It was always found by the right silly mortals who would read whatever promises they wanted to see in its writings.

He wasn't responsible for any of it. It just sort of happened on its own. He suspected the gods above had made it that way on purpose. They could've dropped the slab in the deepest ocean, buried it in impenetrable magma. There were dozens of places where no mortal might reach it, but that would have been boring. If there was one thing the gods despised, it was boredom.

A twenty-year-old woman in a tank top, no bra, and short shorts asked, “Is it true you're going to help all the animals?”

The Lost God sipped his soda. “Of course.”

“And do something about the Man?” asked a second youth, draped in loose-fitting jeans and a lopsided baseball cap.

The Lost God, his gaze trained on the woman's ample bosom, nodded. “Yes, I'll get right on that.”

A fat man in a Hawaiian shirt said, “Beg your pardon, Lord, but there's this guy at work who keeps using my reserved parking space—”

“Consider him smote.”

His followers surrounded him. They assailed him with their petty requests. He pretended to listen for a moment. He didn't give a damn about their dreams of power. Mortals were such silly little things. While the gods above sometimes chose their favorites, the Lost God saw the lot of the creatures as pathetic, weak things. Amusing at times, and with so much potential, though he was convinced they would be able to realize that potential only after he'd burned their world to cinders.

Yet still mortals looked to him to offer them aid and comfort. If not him, then something else. Given the brief and disorienting nature of their existence, he didn't blame them. He listened to their prattling and nodded wisely, and they misread his condescending smile as sympathetic. In the end, it was the limit of any relief he would deliver them.

He grew bored and snapped his fingers. Thunder shook Castle Adventure.

“All your enemies will die horribly. All your desires will be satisfied. This world will be remade in a shape pleasing to you, and I shall reign, forever and ever and ever, with you, my loyal believers, at my side. Ice cream and cake for all. For those who dare stand in our way, only death, suffering, and the poorest parking spaces.”

He eyed the buxom neo-hippie. “And every kitten shall have a loving home.”

He motioned for her to approach. She knelt before him.

He took her hand, cupped her chin, and lifted her face to his. “Stand, not as my subject, but as a flower of the cosmos, a goddess in your own right.”

She smiled. Mortals ate that nonsense up.

The gargoyle woman and trilby-hatted man approached again.

“My lord, there seems to be a problem.” He fell and prostrated himself before the Lost God. “We're missing the final element. Without it, we can't complete the ritual to make permanent your ascension.”

“I wouldn't worry about that. It should turn up soon.”

“But…”

“Do you not trust in your benevolent god?” he asked.

“Your wisdom and power are beyond measure,” said the gargoyle woman.

“Then believe me. The final object will turn up in time. Now prepare things while I acquaint myself with this lovely young creature.” He ran his fingers through the young woman's long hair, and she smiled coyly.

They returned to their work.

He removed his helmet.

“Wow, you're even more gorgeous than I expected,” said the neo-hippie.

“Aren't I, though?” He studied his reflection in the gleaming helmet. As host bodies went, Troy's was one of the best he'd worn.

“Can I try on your helmet?” she asked.

“Nobody tries on the helmet,” he replied. “Tell me, child. What is your name?”

“Chandra.”

“Nice to meet you, lovely Chandra. I am your god.”

Since the dawn of time, he'd yet to need a better pickup line.

There were three obstacles to entering Castle Adventure.

The first was a velvet rope, and a sign reading
CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE
.

Helen undid the clasp and marched onward.

The second obstacle was a locked gate. She tried her key, but it didn't fit.

“Should we climb it?” asked Franklin.

Helen grabbed the wrought-iron gate and yanked. It snapped off its hinges with hardly any effort, and she tossed it aside.

“Remind me to stay on her good side,” said James.

“You're already on my bad side,” she said, and marched onward.

The last obstacle was a trio of sentries. Two wore knight costumes. The third was a blue-skinned ogre in khaki shorts and a Che Guevara T-shirt. Though the knights' armor was plastic, their swords were real enough. The ogre, though unarmed, was bigger than Helen.

The Wild Hunt and Achilles girded themselves for battle, but Helen calmed them with a gesture. She expected a fight, but in her current shape she was hoping to avoid it for as long as possible.

“We should have a signal for when it's time to attack,” said Nigel.

“We'll probably know when that time is,” replied Helen.

“Can't hurt to have something ready, just in case,” said Franklin. “How about
grapefruit
?”

“Why
grapefruit
?” asked James.

“Why not?” answered Franklin. “It's an easy word to remember, but not so common it's likely to pop up randomly in the conversation.”

The Wild Hunt agreed it made sense. They briefly debated other possibilities, like
honeydew
and
cantaloupe
. They moved on to non-melon possibilities, with Peggy suggesting
pineapple
because it didn't sound so tough, but it at least had a tough outer shell, and James offered
attack pattern alpha omega
because it sounded more badass, though it was a mouthful. They were still working on a consensus when Helen silenced them as they approached the guards.

“We're here to see your boss,” she said. “I have something he needs.”

A knight stepped forward and removed his oversized foam helmet. “You've been expected.”

The guards allowed them entry through the great wooden doors. Helen and the Wild Hunt entered the castle and the guards followed close behind as an escort. Under normal circumstances the castle would've been a wonderland for tourists, full of interactive exhibits. Everything was switched off today. Half the lights were dimmed. Animatronic monsters stared at them as they passed, but they were too cartoonish to be frightening. The most sinister thing in the whole place was a sign warning against flash photography.

They were led up several flights of stairs and to the throne room, where the Lost God sat on his seat with Chandra on his lap.

Helen hated that. This wasn't Troy, but the Lost God wore Troy's body. Her first instinct was to pull Chandra from the throne and break her every bone. Helen attributed it to her bristling monstrous urges.

The Lost God smirked at her. He had Troy's face, but all the easy confidence Troy had exuded was gone, and arrogance had taken its place. She tried to see if any of Troy was buried under there, some influence she could play upon. If he was still in there, the god smothered him completely.

“You came? I must confess I'm a bit surprised. They don't always come.”

Helen held up the old key. “Release Troy and you can have this.”

A puzzled expression fell across the Lost God's face. “Why would I want that?”

“It's the key. The last thing you need to unlock your prison.”

The Lost God gestured to one of his followers. They had a quick whispered conversation.

“You must be thinking of another banished god,” he said. “I have all the relics I need.”

“But the fates gave this to me,” said Helen. “It's a key. It must have some symbolism, right?”

He looked genuinely puzzled by her confusion. “Don't ask me. I think the fates mostly make it up as they go along and then swoop in and take credit whenever the opportunity presents itself. Regardless, I have all the relics I need. I had the heroic sacrifice, thanks to Troy.”

He stood suddenly, letting Chandra fall unceremoniously to the faux cobblestones in a way that made Helen smile.

“But the final ingredient for my freedom is the arrival of the headstrong fool, entering of his—or her—own free will, rendering the sacrifice meaningless. And here you are.”

She squeezed the key tighter and cursed the gods. “Shit.”

The Lost God put his helmet on. She was grateful for that.

“Getting the relics is the easy part,” he said. “The sacrifice is a bit trickier. It happens maybe half the time. But the fool…”

She couldn't see his arrogant grin beneath the helmet, but she could imagine it.

“That's the part that so rarely lines up. To think that you're probably only here because of that useless key in your hand. I must remember to thank the Fates the next time I see them.”

“Is that it then?” she asked. “You're free?”

“Oh, there's some incidental chanting, some dancing, maybe some wanton sexual depravity.” He nodded toward Chandra. “A blood sacrifice, if we get around to it, though I understand that thing isn't quite as fashionable as it once was. But all the hard work is done, thanks to you, and this is mostly dotting the
i
's and crossing the
t
's. Nevertheless, you're welcome to stick around for it. In fact, I insist.”

The followers formed a circle around Helen and the orcs.

“But it's all but done now, and there's nothing the gods above can do to stop it.”

“Why do you even need Troy's body?” she asked. “I'm sure any of these people would be happy to serve as your host.”

The cultists murmured and nodded among themselves.

“Have you seen this body?” The Lost God unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his bare chest. “Have you seen these abs, this muscle definition? This is the Cadillac of mortal flesh. Anything else would be a trade-down.”

The cultists murmured and nodded among themselves.

Helen resorted to her last hope.

“I think I love him.”

The Lost God walked up to her. “Of course you do. Why else would you be here? But if mortal life is fleeting, mortal affection is even less substantial. You'll get over it. Or you'll die horribly when the gods above try to stuff me back into my prison.”

Thunder rumbled.

“What a bunch of killjoys. Banishment is almost preferable to having to deal with those idiots on a regular basis. Almost. You're quite lovely in a way. If you'd like to take a tumble with this mortal's fleshy shell after this is all said and done, let me know.”

He put a hand on her face, and she shuddered. It wasn't Troy. He wasn't in there anymore. And if she'd lost him, she was sure as hell not going to let the Lost God keep what was left.

She put her hand on his, smiled.

“Grapefruit.”

She unleashed a jackhammer punch right to his helmeted head. The Lost God flew across the throne room. He shattered his plywood throne and embedded into the fiberglass stone wall.

The Wild Hunt joined the battle, pouncing on the followers with every ounce of orcish fervor at their disposal. It was only half of what they had available under normal circumstances, but it was more than enough for their poorly trained and off-guard opponents. They might have been overwhelmed still, but a third of the cultists turned tail and ran, discovering they valued their lives more than their god's favor.

The ogre moved toward Helen. She punched him in the face, breaking his forty-dollar sunglasses. Blood dribbled down his nose and onto his Che Guevara T-shirt. The look on his face showed his surprise. Like her, he'd probably spent most of his life avoiding fights simply by being bigger and stronger than everyone. Unlike her, he hadn't spent the past few days fighting dragons.