Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. (15 page)

She visibly gulps when she sees the faded signature:
Shane Mills.
The officers huddle to get a look but Freya pushes them back with a stern stare. A very groggy Adam is then pushed into the room; he falls near Ember and she instinctively tries to help him up as Freya wanders around the room, but his toxin-riddled body is non-responsive.

“What is this bullshit?” she says, looking first to Raphael then to Ember. Ember tries to plead her innocence but Raphael interrupts.

“Those are the words of Shane Mills. It is the message that will free the people from tyranny and slavery, bringing down the Fourth Reich and freeing the world from sick bitches, like you.”

Freya gently places the disc inside her tight-fitting military jacket and then, like a giant, fat toddler, she throws a tantrum, smashing the antique TV set and kicking the Blu-ray box across the room. She pulls her gun back out, walks up to Raphael and squishes the barrel hard into his cheek.

“You are going to die. You do know that, don’t you?”

While Ember is so scared she’s worried she might soil herself Raphael merely laughs. “You probably can’t even squeeze the trigger with your fat piggy trotters!”

Ember’s breathe catches in her chest. Raphael just laughs louder and makes a pig’s snorting noise

Embers instinctive blink means she misses the exact moment Raphael’s head explodes and his brains splatter against the back wall like some morbid art but she can feel the wet slime of bits of skull and grey matter sliding down her cheek. Losing control of the contents of her stomach she violently vomits. Adam is helpless on the floor as he tries in vain to avert his gaze from the bloody mess that is a hole in Raphael’s head. Freya stands over his dead body, calmly wiping blood from her tunic.

“Let me explain what happened here, Captain,” she says. “We followed the fugitive known as Raphael into an abandoned house after reports that he and his accomplice had kidnapped the Procurator’s daughter. The kidnappers opened fire, we returned fire.” She looks at Adam then walks over to Ember, still recovering from her sickness. She lifts the shaking girl’s head by the chin before speaking directly into her face, close enough for Ember to smell the rancid breath exhaling from her foul mouth. “Tragically we were too late to save her. The criminals had cut the poor girl’s throat before doing who knows what to her,” Freya smiles before adding. “They also bashed the girl’s pretty little face in before killing her.”

Ember blinks rapidly, desperately trying not to weep.
This cannot be happening,
she thinks.

Freya turns back to her captain. “I will let you decide if she was raped during the kidnapping.” Adam stiffens and Ember feels a cold clench of raw fear strike her insides. The captain looks momentarily bemused. Maybe he is disgusted by the old bitch’s intentions and will come to her rescue? Any hope fades as his face settles and he starts to undo the buckle on his trousers.

“Oh yes, it would be rude not to,” he says, looking Ember up and down.

“Well, I have better things to do than watch you violate a young virgin.” She looks at Ember with distaste. “You are a virgin, I hope? I don’t want my boys catching any nasty diseases.”

Ember can barely speak but she manages a weak, “Please don’t do this.” Tears are streaming down her face now. “Please, my dad…”

“Oh, do shut up. I am doing you a favour. I mean, you don’t want to die a virgin, do you?” A nasal laugh snorts out from Freya. “Now boys, I have to go. Have fun and clean up after yourselves.” She hands the captain a grenade. “Oh, and it looks like one of the kidnappers had a grenade and before we could stop him he blew everything up.”

A genuine smile spreads across the captain’s face. “Yes, Ma-am.”

Freya leaves and the officers all look to their captain. A particularly young man, probably a new recruit not used to their ways, says, “Sir, are we really going to do this?”

The others mock him. A tall, thin officer nearest to Ember pulls her roughly towards him, “Fucking right, we are, kid.” He licks her face.

Ember is trembling, all her strength dissolving in fear of what is about to happen and her inability to stop it. She struggles to breathe as a panic attack takes hold.

“Sweet little virgin pussy,” the officer adds, pushing his hand down and forcing it roughly between her legs. She suddenly recovers her senses and bites down hard on his exposed cheek. In reflex he lets go of her and she uses all of her tiny frame to push him away. The other men all laugh at his discomfort.

“You fucking little whore, I will rip your cunt apart for that!” He hurriedly undoes the buttons on his trousers to reveal a semi-flaccid penis, aggressively playing with it to make it harder quicker. With the situation quickly deteriorating Ember’s bravery fails her and she starts to go into shock. The captain appears, pulling the panting man away, but any hope this gives Ember is short-lived.

“I believe the highest-ranking officer goes first,” says the captain. “The rest of you can strip over there. First one ready can follow me. I’ll break her in for you all.”

The captain pulls out his gun and Ember can’t even cry any more, her mind falling into a sort of horrified trance. The other officers’ frantically undress, racing to be next; no one wants to be last and fuck a corpse. As the severity of what is about to happen overwhelms her, Ember crumbles to the floor, just a little girl who wants her daddy.

Adam still struggles on the floor. He has been trying to sum up the strength and courage, looking to somehow protect Ember but what could he possibly do? He can barely lift his body and there are more of them and they have guns. It is utterly pointless.

Regardless, Adam uses a surge of effort to get to his feet and stand between Ember and the captain.

“Leave her alone, you bastards!” he cries out.

He sways and his legs buckle as he attempts to throw a punch before crashing back to the floor. “Poor Adam,” thinks Ember, all their hopes for a better world being brutally crushed. She sees the captain’s face; a rough-looking beard covers it, his teeth are stained from tobacco and a scar runs from his eye to his neck. Ember’s disconnected mind wanders. She is a virgin, she has never even kissed a boy, and now the only touch she will ever know will be the sick perversion these men are about to commit. She knows what awaits her but she decides she will take control. She would rather take her own life.

Ember looks around. There are small shards of glass left over from Freya’s tantrum. She makes a mad grab for the nearest but the sweaty hand of the captain catches her first. She is lifted from the floor like a rag doll and forced into the corner of the room. The captain presses her tight into the corner and nuzzles into her neck. Ember turns her head in pure distress, waiting for the gross act to begin. The man brings his mouth to her ear, his hot breath coating her as he says, “Don’t worry.”

Ember can see something else now: a cloud-like swirl of colours forming a snake sits upon this man’s shoulders. He gives her a brief nod before turning his back to her, shielding her from the others who are in various stages of undress, slobbering with anticipation. Those ready and waiting watch him, a little bemused as he raises his firearm, pointing it right at them.

There’s a burst of gunfire and the men’s bodies dance as they are peppered with bullets. Their faces have little time to show the fear and confusion they feel as their trusted captain slaughters them. Ember looks over his shoulder mystified. The captain stops firing once he is certain all the guards are dead. He walks over to them to make sure, then walks to the prostrate body of Raphael. To Ember’s utter bewilderment he strips Raphael’s body of his blue Teddy boy jacket. He inspects it, frowning at the spots of blood before putting it on. He then walks to a drawer and pulls out another small disc and places it in the inside pocket. He looks down at the two stupefied children.

“Holy moly! That was some buzz. Come on kids, we have to go.”

Acre 1270 AD

“We have enough religion to make us hate but not enough to make us love each other” Jonathan Swift

Six men ride across the barren land that leads to Acre. They are dressed in the garb of Turks and carry the banners of Baybar, the fourth Sultan of Egypt. The lead man in this group is Baybar himself and he is followed by four head tribesmen known as Caliphs and one lowly slave.

A large tent sits in the middle of the wilderness. From the east rides another group of six: one wears the royal armour of the Kingdom of Great Britain, two wear the white surcoat adorned with a red cross as worn by the Knights Templar, two wear plain black robes and the last is conspicuous by his grey large-brimmed hat denoting him as a chaplain.

Standing at the entrance to the tent is a man adorned in a turquoise tunic and purple cape. Inside awaits King Hugh, the king of Jerusalem, and his general. Both groups arrive at the exact same time. A summit is about to take place that will bring an end to the Holy Crusades that have destroyed lives and land in this area for over two hundred years.

First to dismount is Jacques de Malay of the Knights Templar, followed by the Grand Master Thomas Bernard. The two sergeants dressed in black robes hold the horse of Edward, the Prince of Wales, to aid his dismount. They all look over suspiciously at the Arabian contingent.

Baybar waits for the Christians to tie their horses up before he instructs his men to dismount. Prince Edward looks at the Sultan. He is surprised at the blonde hair and blue eyes of this infamous warrior. Baybar returns his stare. He had heard this son of the Western king was a giant. He is tall, but he is no Nephilim.

The turquoise man at the entrance of the tent greets the honoured guests. Baybar and his generals remove their swords and enter the tent. The slave remains to tie up the horses and then takes out a bag from one of the saddles before settling beside a campfire outside of the tent.

Prince Edward, the two knights and the two sergeants make to follow Baybar into the tent. The elaborately dressed turquoise man welcomes them and, speaking in French, explains that they must leave their weapons at the door. The chaplain waits outside and joins the slave by the campfire as his party disappears inside.

Raphael adjusts his turquoise clothes and closes the heavy drapes sealing inside Hugh, King of Jerusalem, who is hosting this meeting between the Sultan of Egypt, the four Caliphs of the great Muslim empire and the soon-to-be king of England with two of the most influential men in Christendom. This great event will decide which of the two most powerful forces on the planet will gain control of the Holy Land.

It is to be held around the campfire outside of the tent. Raphael throws his cape over his shoulder as he makes his way to the small fire where the slave and the chaplain sit waiting. Raphael sits down cross-legged, turning to the slave first.

“Holy moly Benjamin Ocdar, you’re acting as the Sultan’s servant? This is a new low for you, at least you were a court guard with Saladin.”

“I prefer to call myself an attendant.”

The Djinn known as Benjamin has had many guises over his two thousand years on this physical plain. He knows the lowliest slave is the one who has the best access to the highest power.

Reuben Lupas is in the guise of the chaplain, he pulls at his clerical robes, exposing the marks where they irritate his neck.

“This fucking material.”

Raphael is amazed that in each incarnation Reuben always looks the same: pale blonde hair, a bony face and almost transparent skin. Why, when he can choose from thousands, does he always favour this appearance?

“So, you wish to agree to the Christian retreat from the Holy Land?” starts Raphael.

Reuben looks at the bright-blue Arc Hon, then to his fellow Djinn.

“First,” says Reuben. “I wish to have a ruling on these hand canons the savages have ‘all of a sudden’ discovered.”

Benjamin is quick to reply. “Are you accusing me of intervening with technology? That is rich coming from you.”

An argument breaks out as the two Djinn vent their grievances to Raphael. Eventually Raphael calls for quiet.

“Do you want the lords and masters inside to hear you?” says Raphael. “Now, we investigated the hand canons and found no reason for action. This man, Baybar, is indeed an exceptional general and has developed new warfare and weaponry all by himself.”

Reuben scoffs, but concedes in the end.

“So, on to the surrender,” says Raphael. “Are you agreed, Reuben, that continuing is pointless? Benjamin’s side has defeated the Christian powers as well as Zeb’s Mongols so I think it’s only right that you pay the concessions, agreed?”

Reuben looks none too happy. “What is the concession?”

Raphael looks to Benjamin who answers. “Well, there is the pre-agreed reparation of gold but I also wish for a man you have under your influence.”

Reuben is outraged. His normally controlled face glows as a vein throbs on his forehead. He knows who the man Ben wants will be.

“Well, tell me, who?” he says stonily.

“Thomas Aquinas.” Benjamin smiles when he says this, knowing the upset it will cause Reuben.

Indeed Reuben leaps up and stomps around, kicking over a water bowl. He addresses Raphael while pointing an angry shaking finger at Ben. “He must have used the Almanac! How else could he know about Thomas? I have invested a lot of time in that man, I will not be handing him over to this arse-fucking slave.”

Benjamin calmly interrupts. “You say I used the Almanac but I have no access to it. Only the Arc Hon can allow such a thing.”

“Then you have forced your will upon one of my brethren using Vril. It’s the only other answer,” declares Reuben.

“Who was it that entranced the Caesar Constantine?” counters Benjamin. “Who is it that revealed our secret to the Knights Templar and showed them Vril?”

Again Raphael calls for calm but the two rivals are riled now. The occupants of the tent come out to witness the slanging match.

“What about you?” bites back Reuben. “Creating this religion, appearing to the Quraish! You started this fucked-up religion just to wage war on the Christians. You can’t tell me you did that without using Vril to inveigle their precious Muhammad?”