Author's Note: Inspired partially by American Gods, Neverwhere (both books written by Neil Gaiman), Star Wars and oddly enough Heaven on their Minds a song from Jesus Christ Superstar. Hey, I don't insult where you get your ideas, do I? Be kind, leave a review. And oh yes, a cookie to who can tell me who or what Mammon is. No, he's not Gambit.
Chapter Five: Waking the Elder Gods
The coin he played was old and tarnished. Gold with a god with two faces on one side, and a horned creature on the other, the coin would glisten every so often when it caught the reflection of his skin. The man himself, if he could be called that, was dressed in finery, and heavy pouches of gold and goods hung around his narrow frame. He sat now, reclining on the back two legs of his chair, with his mud-caked boots on the table. By his boots, another bundle of gold rested. A narrow strip of silk covered the place his eyes should be, and a beggar's cane rested by his arm.
When he had first entered the tavern, a youth had picked him for a lift. He had waited till the man had a few drinks in him before easing over and trying to lift the bundle. The man had grabbed his cane and with one swift, deft swipe dislocated the youth's jaw. Another swing, this one on the return, had broken a knee.
They left him alone after that.
His chin lifted slightly as he heard the door open. Lifting his hand idly, he motioned to the waitress to refill his drink and smiled a little.
"I thought I smelled rotting meat." He purred, and motioned to empty chair across from him. "So, he called you too."
"He didn't call me, Mammon. He commanded me. And I would kill him if I had the chance for that disgrace."
Mammon smiled, but bit back laughter and shifted as began to combat the sudden rush of energy that came over him. Even for a Being as strong as he, Macha's pull was a powerful one. In her glory days, she had one of the threefold Goddesses of War. Her arrival herald in great carnage, and in her wake, Macha left rotting corpses and bards to tell her stories. Even now, he could hear arguments arise among various patrons of the tavern. He shook his head in disgust; he had little use for carnage.
There was no money in it.
"You would fail." He told her simply. "Besides," He reached over and took her hand. "My company isn't that bad, is it?"
He heard Macha laugh a little, and then felt her hand engulf his. She felt like a skeleton, and was cold to the touch, but when she spoke; her voice was softer and lyrical. He had to lean in to hear her and decided he liked her voice. "So, why did the Old Man call us?"
"His agent inside the Holy Order told him some alarming news."
"Do I have to guess?"
"No, the pause is for dramatic purposes only." Mammon took a sip of his drink, barely flinching at the sound of a table crashing near them. He smiled, giving Macha he best disgruntled look his "blind" eyes could manage. He swore he saw her smile. Suppressing his annoyance, Mammon resumed his thought. "The Order played right into the plan. Count Dracula has returned; the Order hopes he'll aide in the counteroffensive."
There was a pause as Macha digested the news. "Do they know about him and Lazarus yet?"
"Not yet. The agent inside the Holy Order claims Dracula is human."
Macha laughed: a thick, terrible laughter that sounded like charging brigades and crying wounded. Mammon ran his fingers over his gold to comfort himself. "They're being predictable. What's worst, they're making deals with the Devil himself."
Mammon leaned back, "You forget, that was the plan…"
Macha licked her lips, pulling a flask from her side and drinking the foul-smelling black liquid in one gulp. "He promised me a war." She said simply.
"You sound almost disappointed."
"There will be no glory in this."
Mammon twirled his gold coin between his fingers. "We go back a long time, you and I Macha." Macha laughed again, nostalgic sort of way, pressing him to continue. "So understand what I say next, what the Man is planning…we're not ready for. None of us. This war…" He shivered. "This war has no winners."
Macha looked at him disapproving. "There is glory to be won. That is victory enough. You dwell too much on material possessions."
"Material possessions are only part of my domain." Mammon rebuked her before thinking, and then blinked under the silk blindfold and paused. He would have to choose his words wisely. Macha was a War Goddess, she could not know of those like himself who, during their glory days, had dwelt among humans every day. His dealings with them made him soft to their plights- despite this fact his domain always lead to their ruin.
Still, who was he to buck against himself? He was only Mammon and as much a slave to his own desires as the next. With one final flourish, he palmed the gold coin and tucked it into his pocket before standing.
"Come on." He told Macha. "We have a war to jump start."
Macha grinned, and rose to her feet. She turned, stepping daintily over the bodies of those who had been injured in a bar fight that somehow had erupted around them, and followed Mammon out the exit. Once her face encountered the cold air, she lifted her chin and sniffed the air.
Yes, War was coming.
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He could stop this before it happened.
The thought occurred to Vladislaus suddenly, as he came up for air amid his horse playing with the Friar but once realized, it took root in the back of his mind and grew. His arms were clamped firmly around Karl's narrow chest, holding him just above the water-level, shouting at Karl to beg for mercy. The holy man would not surrender, and amid laughter and sheer instinct, continued to splash around in the water- trying to get free. It was the most fun Vladislaus could remember having in far too long.
And something desperate and childish in his head, wanted to keep this happiness for as long as he could. Quietly, his mind went to work against itself. Something was coming. It was an old feeling that struck Vladislaus down to the marrow. Familiar and frighteningly, the sensation nevertheless curled into Vlad's skin like armor, and despite all reason, Vlad was calmed by the foreboding. He had within him all the assurance a man bred and trained for combat and glory could have. He had all he courage a Gypsy Count could possess and the wisdom to know how to use knowledge effectively.
But this didn't stop the tremor of fear that ran through his veins like ice, when he thought how Karl would be caught in this storm unawares.
No, he swore to himself. Everything else could fail in the upcoming battle, but not Karl. He would not allow harm to come to the simple man of God.
And he would die to protect him.
Reality came back as Karl snaked his body around, and pushed with his back against Vlad's grip. The sudden movement caused Vlad to stumble. Karl broke free just long enough to catch more in his lungs before plunging at Vlad- pushing the Gypsy under water.
"Plea for mercy!" Karl demanded. "Plea for mercy!"
"I surrender to you!" Vladislaus shouted playfully, only half-kidding. "I surrender to you!"
Karl blinked, catching the meaning and looked down at him. "I'm not the one to seek salvation from." He whispered.
"Gabriel will have none of my sorrow."
"Gabriel's not the one you should be looking to either." Karl seemed to want to say more but something took his voice.
Vladislaus sensed it a moment later, he stood, letting the incoming waves crash around his legs. He looked towards the horizon for the source. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see in the ink black night. And he cursed himself. He had been able to control night itself. He had had the power to use the blackness as his weapon when he had been king.
And like the previous thought, he wondered when this had passed. He wondered where the memory of such dominion over the night came from. In his stomach, something twisted, eager for release.
This time, he wasn't afraid. He almost welcomed it.
"What do you see?"
He became aware of Karl's eyes on him, and felt a stab of guilt. Licking his lips, he motioned for Karl to be quiet.
Two creatures were coming. He could see them now clearly, and knew Karl could not. There was something about these figures that was alarming familiar. He was beginning to feel like he was barely beginning to wake up, into his life. He knew these figures. They were not friends. But they were allies.
But they meant to harm the Friar.
"Father…" He whispered urgently, "Get to the room and get weapons."
Karl's eyes widen as he scrambled after Vlad to the beach. He opened his mouth twice before actually forming words. "Gabriel and Moshe will be coming soon…we just have to…wait, they'll come…" Karl met the other man's eyes and saw it then: the fire of a creature born of Hell, with all dominion over it. He saw the darkness of command festering in Vlad's eyes, coming to capture what had been uncertain about Vlad only moments before.
And, in short, he was afraid. This was not Vlad, this was Count Dracula.
But not yet.
"Enough talk! I can't protect you, unarmed. Trust me, Father." Dracula hissed. He turned back towards the horizon and the advancing figures. "Gabriel won't make it in time."