Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods (11 page)

             
Halfway through the recounting of the fight, Zeke had enough.  Fighting the Karellan was, for once, far from his mind, so he decided to go up on the deck for a moment alone. 

             
He leaned against the side of the ship and gazed out over the water. 

             
Boats made him feel uneasy.  Freedom was always in question on a boat.  Cars, trains, and most passenger airships were small.  There wasn’t much choice.  You had to sit down and wait for the vehicle to take you where it was going. 

             
Ships were different.  They were big.  He liked that about them.  He could get up and move around from place to place.  But in the end, he was still being taken to the ship’s destination.  Free only for a time.  Only relative to the boat. 

             
Zeke was grateful that his current captain was working in his favor. 

             
But not so grateful that the same captain seemed to have followed him up from the cabin.  He turned away from the open water and watched Joel approach. 

             
“You’re their leader, are you not?”  asked the pirate lord. 

             
“Excuse me?  Leader?” 

             
“The others.  When they look at you, their eyes betray their deep respect.  Especially the little one.” 

             
He had noticed Daniel’s reverence of him from the beginning.  “It’s purely unintentional, I swear.” 

             
“Still, you possess a great power, and you wield it for a just cause.  Because of that, I think you should know something.” 

             
“Oh really?”  He was interested to see what the pirate could possibly entrust him with that deserved such solemnity. 

             
Joel took his place beside him, and gazed out over the water.  “Long ago . . .”

             
Zeke rolled his eyes, settling in for another story.

             
“ . . . I used to work for the Karellan, delivering cargo to his cities in South America.  It was good money, and my partner and I thought that by submitting to his authority we might gain his favor—perhaps even be promoted.” 

             
Zeke remembered Smalls and Jae-Ho.  “Seems to be a common mistake.” 

             
“After several voyages, our crew began to complain about unusual noises coming from the hold.  Talk began to fly.  The ship was haunted.  We had mutant rats.  Sea monsters clinging to the hull.  All sorts of insanity like this.  My partner and I just ignored it.  Then one day, we found out what our cargo was.  The crates were rotten and weak.  The draugr inside escaped.  Killed nearly everyone on board.” 

             
It came as no surprise, but he still asked, “Why would the Karellan be shipping draugr?” 

             
“I’ve been trying to answer that question for the last six years.  I rounded up enough support to start interfering with the Karellan’s shipping and salvage operations.  My partner, however, wanted to continue working for the government.  Not ask questions.  That sort of deal.  Became a little tense between us for a while.  Then the tension fell into an argument . . . the argument fell into an all-out hatred . . .”

             
And Joel’s story was falling into all-out irrelevance.  “So why are you telling me all this?” asked Zeke, pulling him back to the point. 

             
“If you are going to fight him, you should know there’s more at play than a tyrannical government.  There’s something shady involved with his administration, and this phony mission of yours further supports that idea.  There is some connection between the Karellan and the draugr.” 

             
Joel wasn’t telling him anything new.  He had worked it out for himself years before.  Eight years of the Karellan, eight years of draugr.  The draugr, which had effectively increased the government’s power by frightening people into submission.  He thought of the Theocrat.  Monsters have a tendency to push people closer to corrupt leaders.  Monsters of their own accord.

             
He faced the pirate.  “Thank you for your confidence, but I’m no leader.  I’m no fan of the Karellan, but joining a resistance group won’t make him disappear.” 

             
“Very well.  But should you reconsider, the world could use a hero.” 

             
“Of course it could.  People always need a hero,” Zeke said wistfully.  Changing chords, he snapped to attention.  “Hey, uh . . . do you ever have trouble with malak in this area?” 

             
Joel laughed nervously.  “Malak?  Not that I know of.  We don’t see their kind very often.  They stick mostly to North America.  Keep to themselves.”  More non-surprises.  “Why do you ask?” 

             
Zeke turned back to the sea.  “No reason.  Just wondering.”

             
“Fine then.”  The pirate took a step away.  “We’ll arrive in Nifelheim tomorrow.  Get some rest, and take advantage of my cook.  He’s the best in the fleet!” 

             
“I’ll be sure,” said Zeke, feeling neither tired nor hungry. 

Chapter Eight: Invasion

              The two men sized each other up.  It was a meeting between friends, but it was not without tension. 

             
Jae-Hoon liked the Supervisor.  He cared deeply for his citizens.  He was always ready with helpful story or anecdote.  He took interest in the Slayer’s recent hunts.  The young priest knew Dumah felt an affinity towards him for being a fellow warrior, fighting for a noble cause. 

             
They dealt with each other frequently.  While promotions were a Church matter, they were regulated by the government.  The organizations were required to cooperate.  As a result, he found himself in the ASH on a weekly basis. 

             
But the Slayer was always unsure about him.  In his friendly tales and polite questions, there seemed a trace of melancholy.  Something sad in his face when listening about Jae-Hoon’s hunts.  As if he might somehow explode with horrible news.  He never did, but it was too much to write it off as imagination. 

             
This morning, Jae-Hoon was only there to report on the most recent promotion, but he hoped for something more.  “We integrated them into the upper-plate at oh-seven-hundred hours.  The delegate from the first-class diocese met us at the lift and took them.”  It was routine.  Nothing out of the ordinary. 

             
“How many?”   The Supervisor seeming slightly more melancholy than usual. 

             
“This month’s quota was five hundred.  Quite high, compared to the usual two-fifty.  I think we’re making progress.”  He spoke cheerfully, but Dumah wasn’t excited by the news.

             
There was a long pause. 

             
When it was clear that he didn’t intend to speak, Jae-Hoon continued.  “If I may, sir, I’m interpreting the higher monthly quota to mean the government is more willing to unify the classes.  I’d like to request more frequent promotions, but only you have the authority to pass the request on to the Hierophant and the Karellan.  I was thinking, perhaps, bi-monthly.  Weekly if possible but . . .” 

             
His voice trailed off.  Dumah wasn’t listening.  “No,” was all he said, and that was under his breath.

             
“Sir?” asked Jae-Hoon.  There was no answer, so he spoke louder.  “
Sir?”

             
“I’m sorry” said the governor, suddenly remembering his business.

             
“The promotions?” 

             
“Oh.  Right.  I’ll consider your request, but I fear that more frequent promotions may detract from your duties as a Slayer.”  It seemed more like an excuse than an explanation. 

             
You’ll never succeed.  There are too many of them. 

             
Zeke’s words had been haunting the priest ever since their meeting three days before.  The draugr have been increasing within the last several months.  The Slayers’ efforts did seem in vain.  He wondered whether or not Zeke was right.  If he was, He wanted to spend more time working on promoting the lower-class citizens.  At least then he could accomplish some good.

             
A speaker buzzed.  “Sir, your wife is here to see you,” came the voice of the secretary. 

             
The Supervisor pressed the button on the intercom.  “Send her in.  We’re almost finished.”  Turning back to Jae-Hoon, he asked, “anything else?” 

             
“No,” he said, after a moment.  “That’s all.” 

             
He turned to leave, but Dumah stopped him.  “Jae-Hoon?” 

             
The priest stopped and waited.  “Yes?” 

             
The older man looked as though he were going to say something profound.  But after a long pause, all he said was, “You’re a good man.  Take care of yourself.” 

             
Unsure of how to take this message, the Slayer answered, “thank you.” 

             
He turned to the door.  It slid open.  Lilith, standing on the other side, shot him a cold glance.  He ignored her and left without a word. 

             
The rest of his day was free.  Promotions were over for the month.  There were no hunts until tomorrow.  He could have returned to the monastery for lunch with the other Slayers. 

             
But he didn’t.  Zeke’s words had troubled him too much.  That and the Supervisor’s brooding attitude toward promotions.  Instead of going home, he decided to take a walk down to the river.

Work, to Jae-Hoon, was more than just a way to earn a meal.  Work was what a man did with his life.  It defined him.  When men introduce themselves, the first thing they talk about is their jobs.  To understand another man, one had to understand his influence on the world.

Slaying draugr was his own influence.  His contribution towards eternal fame.  His mark on the world.  People would remember him as a hero. 

The contemporary Beowulf.

And if slaying was his effort to keep humanity from dying, promotions were his efforts to make sure it lived.  To both pull men out of the mucks of Hell and place them at the gates of Heaven. 

But the last few days had cast doubt on his success. 

The draugr are increasing,
he thought. 
The draugr are increasing. 
The thought, like the monsters themselves, multiplied in his head.  Despite his efforts, the draugr were not dying out.  Did God view slaying as a sin?  Atonement would rid the world of the monsters.  Had he not atoned enough?  Was he not doing his part?

The only way he thought to rectify the situation was to move people to the plate.  But Zeke had shown him that the second-class citizens didn
’t trust the Church, and the Supervisor was growing less pleased with the process every week. 

Jae-Hoon stopped by the river.  Thick and green with pollution, it looked wretched under the dim city lights.  He wrinkled his nose.  The city always smelled foul, but today it seemed somehow worse.

He thought of the prophets of the old religions.  Moses.  Jesus.  Mohammed.  Buddha.  Zoroaster.  They were known for heroic faith.  Was that true, or had any of them ever doubted themselves? 

Did Moses ever get an irresistible craving for bacon?  Did Jesus want to crack Judas
’s skull open when they were alone in the garden?  Did Mohammed have a secret stash of dirty pictures under his bed?  Were Buddha’s clothed actually made of silk?  And did Zoroaster really give a damn about the balance of the universe? 

Jae-Hoon was too depressed to laugh at the thoughts.  He stared out over the fetid water and did the only think that came to mind. He prayed to God for help. 

But God didn’t answer. 

The only reply was a woman
’s scream and the unmistakable sound of a gurgling hiss. 

“Any word from our supply runners?”  Dumah asked his secretary.  Lilith stood over his shoulder silently.  She tended to do this whenever he had trouble with his job.  When they were first married, he thought this was to offer help and support. 

That was before he learned she was a spy. 

“No sir,” answered the secretary.  “Nothing since their departure two days ago.” 

“
News from them is your first priority,” he instructed.  “When you hear something, inform me as soon as possible.”

“
Yes sir,” she said and left the room.

“
Are you still worried about your precious soldier?”  asked Lilith, stepping forward into the light.

“
Of course.  Him and my own men.”  He spoke strongly, but closed his eyes.

             
“The soldier who hates you?  The one you blackmailed?  The one who would kill you if given even a
poor
reason to do so?  You’re a fool to be concerned about him.” 

             
He tried to stay civil.  She was, after all, his wife.  “Dear, this is my job.  Try to understand.” 

             
“As I understand, you’ve never been capable enough to do your job without my help.  Adam, let him go.  You don’t have to protect him.  He doesn’t want your help anyway.  Let the Karellan have this one.” 

             
Dumah readied a biting retort, but didn’t deliver it.  He was interrupted when his door slid open and his secretary nearly fell into his office.  “Any news from them?” 

             
She was nervous.  “No, but if I might suggest a new priority, draugr are attacking the city!” 

             
He relaxed in his chair.  “Just call a lockdown on the gates and boost the guard wherever they’re attacking,” he said calmly.  Disappointed.  Draugr attacked the city all the time.  It was nothing special. 

             
“Sir, you don’t understand,” continued the panicked woman.  “They’re
inside
the city.  Everywhere!” 

             
This was different. 

             
He jumped to his feet.  “Call the militia into action!” he commanded.  “Find out where they’re coming from and evacuate the citizens to a secure location.” 

             
The secretary was calmed by the confidence the commander displayed.  “Yes sir,” she said, throwing in a salute for good measure. 

             
As she rushed out, Dumah took a small ring of keys from his desk and opened a closet.  An array of weapons hung inside.  Knives to swords, pistols to assault rifles, grenades to rocket launchers.  He may not have been a confident politician, but he was well prepared for a draugr attack. 

             
“What do you think of that?” he asked Lilith, selecting a powerful assault rifle from the closet.  The same model he had sent to Pusan with Zeke. 

             
She was unmoved.  “I think you should have let the Karellan release the draugr here in the first place.  Then you’d have a few more soldiers to help you.” 

             
Dumah was tired of losing arguments to her.  “You do understand that
you
are in danger now, right?  Because of the Karellan.” 

             
“Of course I do,” she said calmly.  “Now be a man and go protect me.”  She smirked.  Dumah glared at her, but he didn’t have time to stay and argue. 

              Jae-Hoon spies the woman.  The draugr throws her to the ground.  She lies twitching.  The monster raises its claws for the kill, but the stroke never comes.  The Slayer slams into the monster with all his weight.  They roll. 

             
Jae-Hoon gets up first.  He pulls a thin, silver spike from under his robes. 

             
The draugr roars and swings its claws at the priest.  He stops the attack with a strong kick.  Bones crack in the demon’s hand. 

             
But it keeps coming. 

             
He catches the draugr in a bear hug and jams the stylus into its body under its arm.  The monster screams loudly in his ear. A direct hit on the heart.  The monster is soon dead. 

             
The woman is still twitching in a heap on the ground.  “Ma’am,” he says.  “It’s okay.  You’re safe.”  He reaches down to help her up. 

             
She’s dead. 

             
Underneath the warm corpse is the source of the twitching.  A young boy, no more than four years old. 

             
That’s when the alarms sound. 

             
It wasn’t alone
, thinks Jae-Hoon.  He looks up.  Soldiers are now marching through the street.  Distant gunshots sound.  Scanning the city, he spies more and more draugr.  He holds his spike defensively.  The city is in danger.  It is his duty to help. 

             
But the boy! 
shouts a voice at the back of his mind.

             
He looks down.  The boy cries over his mother.  Jae-Hoon grabs his shoulders and speaks.  “Run to the nearest house.  Any house.  Lock the doors, then hide.  Go!”  The boy is too frightened to argue.  He bolts the instant the priest’s grip loosens. 

             
Watching the child for a few moments, he prays the boy makes it to safety.  The sounds of guns and screaming monsters grow louder.  He turns from the river and dashes into the fray.

              When Dumah hits the streets, the draugr are swarming.  One charges the Supervisor, but he downs it with a single, well-placed shot.  It feels good.  He is back in control.  He has been given a problem he knows how to fix.  He scans the city.  A young soldier fires nervously into a crowd of oncoming monsters.