CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (4 page)

“She doesn’t need medicine,” he said. “She needs a seer, one who can look into her mind and find what’s been erased. If they can see even one thing, it might be enough to bring her memory back.” Kafele stepped over to one of the counters, rummaging through his belongings until he found a square of parchment and an inkwell. He dipped a stylus into the brownish liquid and scratched out a message. “I’m referring her to the Oracle at Buddha’s Retreat, across the lake. This pass will admit her.” He held the parchment out to D’Molay.

“Thank you,” the girl said.

“He really hasn’t done anything,” D’Molay jibed. “I have to get you there, but he’ll still want a coin.”

“Oh, you Freemen clutch your purses so tightly. You forget I have provided clothing, a referral to the Oracle, and made sure she has not suffered any physical damage. But if I must do even more to earn my coin, let me then give our pretty friend a temporary name.” Kafele put a finger to his lips, thinking. “Let’s call her . . . Aavi, for now.”

“Aavi. Agreed. I suppose good advice is worth a coin, and here’s another for the robe.” D’Molay handed the money over. “Looks like I’ll be showing you more of the City, Aavi.”

Aavi smiled as Kafele helped her stand up and D’Molay held the door open for them to leave. She was relieved that she wasn’t sick and that the men were continuing to help her. She had a fleeting thought that such goodness had become rare, but the notion quickly flew out of her head as D’Molay began to speak of the journey before them. Aavi listened intently as he began to tell her how they must ride in a cart and cross a large lake to visit Buddha’s Retreat.

In each realm within the Barriers there was a place of pristine beauty, a locale that recreated the perfection of Earth during the ancient times when the gods had true power there. The Egyptians enjoyed the deltas and deserts of their own Heavenly Nile, whose lush green reeds challenged the Hanging Gardens of Babylonia for verdancy. Afrik and Maya boasted the splendor of virgin jungles, while immortals of the Asian and Hindu realms meditated among jeweled spires of palaces that sprang from the living rock of snowy mountains and sparkling grottoes. Even the hardened knights of the Middle Realm paused to remark upon the blue perfection of their lakes and pools, so much deeper and clearer than those of neighboring Purgatory. Lord Ghede, ruler of Purgatory, would have countered that the waters of Camelot were mere puddles in comparison to many watery graves on Earth and beyond, had he not the sense to avoid pointless arguments. Yet among all the scenic wonders flanking the City of the Gods, there was one that was truest to the lost paradise of old Earth. The best was Seven Hills in the Olympian Realm, whose deities once ruled Greece and Rome.

Seven Hills, at first glance, seemed simply that, just over half a dozen huge rolling banks of land. But the hills not only served as a home for many beings, but also provided an aesthetic view to the greater gods whose temples rose on the plain between them and the real Mount Olympus. Unfortunately, the scene was no longer pristine - and this sudden calamity had triggered reactions ranging from fear to disgust among the gods of the Olympian Realm. Whatever had marred the scenery was the talk of the hills.

The satyr shepherds and their intelligent sheep had, after long debate and intense kick-fights that left many hoof print-shaped bruises on both sides, come to the conclusion that it was a fumbled bolt from Zeus that had decimated the ground and gouged out the large crater. Higher beings, who perhaps knew more (or at least knew enough not to implicate their King in such a blunder) maintained a different opinion. The damage was indisputably the work of some unknown beast from a foreign realm. None could, of course, definitively agree on what beast or which realm, but the topic was sure to keep their heads nodding together for an eon or two, and would be a welcome change from the tedious attempt to determine which side had cheated more during the Trojan War.

Two friends now sat upon the third hill considering all they had heard and what they had seen with their own eyes, for both had been nearby when the tremendous blow shook the valley. They were formed in the shape of young men, yet with wings. Those of one were as insubstantial as the clouds far above them. The wings of the other were finer than any bird’s plumage. Each being was a keeper of the secrets of flight, which made their discussion of one particular rumor concerning the beast all the more interesting.

“So if its wings fell off, it can’t fly anymore. So I don’t see why we care.”

Zephyrus, the West Wind, wore the cloudy wings and a wrinkled tunic stained with ale. He sent a puff of warm air across Eros and the party of nymphs he had collected for their afternoon amusement with every ‘so’ that crossed his lips. Eros reflexively glanced at his bow and quiver on the grass beside him, forcing down an urge to pierce Zephyrus if he dared start another sentence with that meaningless word. Eros diverted his annoyance by focusing his power on one of the nymphs, who swooned conveniently into his lap. Her calming scent of dew and blossoms allowed Eros, the god of passions, to endure his friend’s repetitive speech patterns and the hot breezes they created.

“I care because we may only be safe for the moment,” Eros reminded him. Zephyrus was pleasant company, but shallow and short-sighted when it came to anything beyond his immediate pleasure. “We’ve flown to safety, but what about those who can’t? Even you have to come down from the sky if you want your beer and women.” The nymphs began to chatter about the disaster and whine about their sisters who had not been as lucky as they to be plucked from the valley. Eros growled at their squeaking and they fell quickly silent, immediately turning their attention to braiding one another’s hair or collecting silky cobwebs from between blades of grass. Although Eros was beautiful and perfectly formed, the nymphs sensed that his refined exterior did not negate his ability to be monstrous in anger.

Zephyrus frowned, his handsome brow furrowing above his dark eyebrows as he tried to absorb his friend’s point. “So . . . you’re saying . . . we should protect the brewers and whores, then? We should move them all to these hills.” Zephyrus nodded to himself in satisfaction and tipped back his tankard of beer, leaving a few droplets clinging to his upper lip. He wiped the moisture away with one large-knuckled hand that bore a metal ring on every finger. “That is, if any are left. You saw the size of that crater.”

Eros nodded. The image of the great hole that had been blasted to the west of Venus’ Temple was still fresh in his mind. It had completely wiped out her settlement of priests and slaves, sending the goddess into a furious rage. First blaming Ares, then Hephaestus, for the insulting defacement of her lands, she’d been making the rounds of the Olympian realm seeking restitution. Eros and Zephyrus had taken to the hills before they too were dragged into the fray.

“I wonder what really did it,” Eros mused. No one had actually seen a beast, not even the watchers at Hermes’ outpost. This fact had allowed speculation to run rampant, and everything from dragons to giants was being suggested as the cause. Some claimed to have seen a bit of broken wing in the center of the hole, but that it crumbled to dust when Venus tried to seize it as evidence. This implicated some flying creature and allowed simple Zephyrus to assume that whatever injury it had sustained would render it wingless forevermore. From their long association, Eros knew it was easier to let the wind think what he liked rather than engage in a witless debate.

“I wonder where it went,” Zephyrus countered before slamming down the last of his drink. A familiar twinkle of drunken resolve danced in his eyes. “We should go hunting. Get your bow.”

Eros stared at him silently for a moment before realizing he was serious. “Zeph, no -”

“Let’s do it! Come on!” The wind’s resolve was rendered less than convincing by the waver the strong Olympian beer put in his step. But before Eros could dissuade him, Zephyrus launched himself into the air. Momentarily tempted to leave him to his own stupidity, Eros hesitated. Then, thinking how insufferable Zephyrus would be if he was somehow successful in hunting down the threat, Eros admitted to himself that he could not stand to be left out of such glory. He dumped the nymph he’d been cuddling from his lap and sprang to his feet.

“You idiot! At least take a stick or something!” Eros called after him.

“At least I’m not naked!”

The nymphs were unable to contain their laughter as Eros flew off in pursuit.

Zephyrus rose straight up into the heights of the sky, shifting from his solid man-guise to his true form. His dark, thick hair transformed to white wisps of cloud and the rough wool tunic that clad his body was replaced by a fine mesh of vapor. What had been muscular planes of flesh on the ground turned to smooth plates of ice in the cold, thin air. He turned, hovering, to look down over his native realm in hope of spotting the monster he was hunting. But he saw only Eros gliding effortlessly just below him, his strong wings barely moving to maintain his position.

“See anything yet?” Eros asked. His tone was doubtful, but he took the precaution of stringing an arrow just in case. The bolt he chose was Indifference. A direct strike with it would remove any being’s driving lust. If the beast lived only to destroy, Eros would soon erase that joy from its life.

Zephyrus looked past Eros seeking any new scars on the landscape. He could see the crater and a strange trail that spiraled from it into the thick forests of Artemis. There was no great disturbance in the trees, no smoke, no avalanche or flood to indicate where a monster might be wallowing. Zephyrus made an impatient fist, the rings on his hand rubbing against one another to produce a crackle of lightning.

“It wouldn’t be much of a hunt if we found it right away,” he said defensively. “But I see where its tracks lead, and you’ll be happy to hear that I can get a stick there.” Zephyrus pointed toward the great forest and the two gods began their descent.

The trees in the great forest of Artemis stood proudly, their slender smooth trunks extending upward so far that most beings standing at their roots were unable to discern their heights. Rare creatures - golden deer, exotic reptiles with flecks of precious metals on their scales, birds with beautiful human faces - coexisted peacefully under the canopy. The dense edible groundcover of the wood provided all that any animal desired. Lush truffles fed gigantic boars with ebon tusks. The nourishing seeds of ever-ripe fruits, so peculiar in shape that they could only have come from some god’s whimsical dream, satisfied furry branch-dancers and all things that flew. For everything else, great founts of honey, dripping like slow-motion waterfalls, oozed from giant hives tended by massive swarms of tiny bees. All wildlife was under the protection of Artemis, and her influence prevented it from turning hungers on its many expressions or upon any being who stumbled unwittingly into her home.

None of this was known to the great one who nestled in the underbrush. He was sleepy, his back hurt, and he was just glad he’d found a safe place to rest. His thoughts were confused, as if he kept waking repeatedly from a dream and falling asleep again without a chance to decide what was real and what was merely phantasm. It did not seem to matter, really. Despite his pain and weariness, he somehow knew that nothing would hurt him here. It was as if the friendly forest had called out for him, wanted him to come.

A small silver snake with yellow eyes zigzagged toward his face. It reared up, its head a mere breath’s reach from his snout, thin black tongue flicking in and out. Curiosity satisfied, it moved toward one of his many limbs and disappeared under the arch of a great claw. As the day wore on, he was often nudged from his torpor by other creatures, which, like the snake, had no fear or malice toward him. It was very odd to experience such peace, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. Too weak to do anything more than rest, however, he decided not to worry about what was going on outside his body.

The next time he awoke, deep shadows cloaked the wood as far as he could see. It was cooler, and the sounds of the forest had changed. The nocturnal beings were now active. Strange chirps and rattling calls coalesced into an intriguing serenade. A low grumble joined this music, and it took a moment for the visitor to realize that this sound was coming from his own stomach. The hunger he felt was beginning to clear his head, and he stiffly rose onto his many knees. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders where the sting of some injury persisted and thought about where he might find breakfast. There was nothing in this wood to satisfy his appetite. His diet was too specialized.

As he knelt, he listened. His great ears were sensitive and he understood many languages. Far off, he heard Greek words. Two were speaking, one warning the other not to harm anything within the wood lest the goddess take his head. Yet this seemed not enough threat to the chastised one to prevent mutters of stick-stealing from crossing his lips. As the two moved farther away from where he sat, he dismissed them from his thoughts. He could smell that they were not good to eat. The only thing he wanted was . . . human. The memory spread a happy grimace across his muzzle. Now he had a purpose. Stretching, he stood, parting the brushy fronds of his shelter like a whale breaching the sea. With a few shakes to equally distribute his spotty hair along his thick hide, he started to move through the forest. Sooner or later his nose would guide him to breakfast.