CHAPTER 89

_________________________________________________

‘Cardinal Werner says we can leave you go. For old times sake.’

O'Connor did not respond. He did not move. He continued to stand in front of the four men. He stood relaxed and loose, his hands held by his sides.

On the ground behind him, Stryker stirred. Even O'Connor, who knew the stories, who knew the legends, could not conceive of Stryker still being alive. He had taken a shotgun blast at short range, to his chest and gut. His entire front was a topography of pain and gore. He did not move significantly, but he stirred. A gurgling groan escaped his blood shrouded lips.

Ralph rolled his eyes, as if exasperated by Stryker’s insistence on living. He pumped a new round into the shotgun and started to walk past O’Connor.

‘He’ll leave me go, but Stryker has to die?’ O’Connor just wanted to get Ralph to talk, to buy a few seconds to think.

‘You’re passed it, old man,’ one of the other men said.

Ralph smirked and agreed, ‘You had your day, but it’s done now. His Eminence doesn’t really perceive you as a threat. If you agree to leave, then you can whittle away the last few years of your life in your precious jungle.’

‘But he has to die?’

Ralph walked around O’Connor and came to a stop by Stryker’s form. He rested the barrel of the gun on Stryker’s head, but did not pull the trigger.

‘He's an abomination,' said Ralph. ‘He served a purpose, like a mad dog in a junkyard. While he did what his master needed, we kept him around. But this was always going to be the end for him. This is what we do, it's why we're here. I must be honest, though, it feels special that I get to do it. Me. It will always be me that killed the Father Stryker.’

One of the men took a few steps forward and around the bench, eager to see the end of the legend. The man held an automatic pistol in his hand. He paid no attention to O’Connor, even bumping him with his shoulder as he moved.

O’Connor said, a gentle edge entering his voice, ‘And I’m not worth your while?’

‘You’re just an old man now, O’Connor. If you really feel left out, then we can finish you. I would have thought you’d be glad to have a few more years.’

O’Connor sighed. Then he moved.

O'Connor was a veteran of one of the most persistent wars in the history of the world. He had fought what he had perceived as a righteous fight in Ireland. He had fought the English, he had fought what he perceived as the enemies of freedom. He had fought for things that, at the time, had seemed all important. Later, when the weight of the murders weighed on him, when the body count had seemed too much to bear, he had come to feel that the cause had been of little matter. He had been recruited, by the same man that had recruited Stryker, to The Order. He had been their best, not counting the extraordinary Father Stryker, for long decades.

O’Connor’s fame came with his rifle. But he had never been fueled by strength and speed. Even as a youth, that had not been the reason that he walked away and another man died. O’Connor’s strength was certainty. There were no flickers to consider, no hesitations.

As he moved this time, it was the same as every time. The plan formed itself ahead of him as he acted. It took as much time as two blinks of an eye. His right hand shot out and his fingers stabbed into the eyes of the man who stood closest to him. Like a magic trick, the man's pistol was suddenly in his hand. Then, three startlingly quick shots later, he was the only man standing.

‘Life in the old dog yet,' he muttered to himself and briskly moved to kick the shotgun away from Ralph, where he lay. The younger man lay on the ground, clutching his bloody right arm. His eyes were amazed and outraged.

O’Connor looked down at him. He flicked his eyes to the other three. They were unmoving. Then he looked back down at Ralph.

‘How…’ Ralph groaned.

‘No witchcraft there, youngster,’ O’Connor said. ‘But maybe you’ll learn something from all of this. Next time you’ve got me under your barrel, pull the fucking trigger.’

O’Connor fired the pistol two more times, once into each of Ralph’s knees.

Stryker rolled over and groaned. He got an arm under himself and attempted to rise.

O'Connor scooped up the duffel bag and then he joined Stryker. Getting an arm under him, he helped him to rise. It was difficult, not just because of the other man's dense weight, but because of the slick blood that made it hard to keep a grip on anything.

O’Connor said, ‘We need to get you attention somewhere.’

‘Nah,’ Stryker said weakly, blood oozing from his lips. ‘I’ll sort this out. Just need a little time.’

‘You’ll sort out a shotgun blast to the guts?’ O’Connor asked. He heaved a little under Stryker’s armpit and then they were both standing. They started to stagger away.

‘I’ve sorted out worse,’ Stryker said.

‘We need a plan,’ said O’Connor.

‘Con, you’ve already got a plan. You’ve always got a plan.’

‘We'll call the number Razmik gave us. We'll get out of here before we get shut away someplace by the authorities. Are you sure you don't need a doctor right away?'

Stryker coughed again and a bubble of blood burst from his mouth and drooled down his shirt.

Stryker grimaced, ‘It’ll be okay. Let’s get gone.’

They had moved only a few more steps away when Stryker said, ‘They sure shouldn’t have counted you out.’

CHAPTER 90

___________________________________

In the cave, they regrouped.

Weary and battered, the group assembled around Metis. She was weakened, but conscious again.

Slayer held his left arm loosely by his side and Ardia expected that they would confirm a break when they returned to civilization. Abraham had a bruising cut on his forehead, his eyes were dazed and bloodshot. Ardia expected that he would be revealed to be concussed. She, herself, had plenty of cuts and scrapes, her skull throbbed horribly. She expected to be mostly healed by the time they returned to the settlement. That was the way of her body.

‘Done,’ Metis said, looking distantly away.

‘Are you alright?’ Slayer asked.

‘Used up,’ she said. Exhausted as she was, she seemed more coherent. She seemed more aware of them. She said, ‘Used up, for now. I can barely hear your thoughts.’

‘What are we going to do with you?’ asked Ardia. ‘They know where you are.’

Metis smiled, very weakly. She said, ‘Listen.’

They listened. Homer and Ardia could barely hear the approaching rumblings of a vehicle.

Homer said, ‘Who is it?’

‘Men. Mine for now. From far away. I called them, hours ago. They come, then I go. There is another place.’

‘You’re going somewhere else?’ Slayer asked, a little stupidly.

Ardia pursed her lips. She said, ‘The little boy, Hassan, will be crushed.’

Metis answered this comment with a single tear that ran down her cheek. Ardia could not fully decipher the sadness on her face.

‘So, what now?’ Razmik asked. ‘We don’t need to worry about you further?’

Metis nodded. She said, ‘None will know. Only me. I will know.’

Slayer looked apprehensive. He said, ‘We won’t be able to find you again.’

Metis smiled fondly. She said, ‘No. You won’t. None will.’

The lion limped across the floor of the cave to stand by Metis. Slowly, showing all of her frailness, she got to her feet and leaned on the creature. Outside they could hear wheels crushing sand, an engine coming to a halt.

‘I must go,’ said Metis. ‘I thank you.’

Ardia was suddenly panicked. She said, ‘Can you help us? Help us find them? Who were they?’

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Metis said, ‘I must go. Soon. More will come. Troy wants.’

Ardia was pleading then, ‘Please. Don’t you know anything?’

Metis looked at Ardia and then she pointed to Slayer.

Ardia blinked rapidly. She said, ‘Wha?'

Metis said, ‘He knows where The Crucible is. I told him where it is. You want revenge, go there. Destroy it with fire. That will hurt them.'

‘Who Metis? Who will it hurt?’ Ardia asked.

‘All of them. They all want it. Troy and Zeus.’

‘Who are Troy and Zeus, Metis, please?’ Ardia asked.

The lion and the frail woman started to walk, as one, towards the mouth of the cave. Metis said, ‘They are makers.’

‘Of you?’

‘And you. And him,’ Metis waved a hand towards Homer. ‘And everything you fought today.’

The truck rumbled across the flat dusty plain. Ardia and Homer were alone in the bed of the truck. Ardia’s gaze drifted into the distance, in the rough direction of their destination. Homer sat brooding.

After enough silence had passed between them, Ardia said, ‘You could take him, Homer.’

Homer didn’t look up. He said, ‘I know I could.’

‘Then stop pouting.’

Homer snorted loudly. ‘I’m not pouting. I’m thinking.’

‘Thinking about how upset you are that the big bad monster knocked you down?’

A smile flickered at Homer's lips and he looked up. He said, ‘I didn't like it. He was stronger than me. That's never happened before. Even with The Golem, I know I was stronger. He knew how to move better, how to fight. But I was stronger. With the other two, back there, I was stronger. But him, Hercules, he overpowered me.'

‘I’ve said it before Homer, you need to learn how to use that body of yours. You’re so used to just smashing your way through everyone. You need to learn what The Golem knows, what I know. If you did, with your combination of speed and strength, you could take him.’

Homer snorted again, but there was interest in his eyes. After a pause, he said, ‘Maybe you can show me.’

‘Maybe I will.’

‘Then I can meet him again…’

Ardia took her eyes from the distance for a moment. She looked at him and said, ‘That's not what you want, though, is it?'

‘No,’ Homer agreed. ‘I want to beat him with my strength, like he beat me.’

‘Who is he, Homer?’

Homer opened and closed his mouth, not finding an explanation. He said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘We’ve met several of them now. Guys a bit like you. One of them killed my mother. Another, or the same one, killed one of Razmik’s employees, a pilot that had helped them kill my mother. We met the one on the rooftop in Germany, Hyperion. Then we get attacked, and nearly destroyed, by a whole nest of them in Chad. You’re not as endangered a species as you might have thought.’

‘My father is out there, too. But… I don’t feel like I’m the same as them.’

‘No, you look more like a man, less like…’

‘An animal?’

‘Less like them.’

‘I think Hyperion is separate to these ones.'

‘Not with them, you mean?’

Homer nodded. He said, ‘These ones wore no clothes, except for pouches and belts. My father, my human father, taught me modesty. I always wear something, even if not much. Hyperion, he was clothed as well.’

‘You’re talking about a cultural difference here.’

‘There are differences, that’s all I’m talking about. We know for certain now that there are at least two factions set against us, and that they’re set against each other as well.’

Ardia returned her stare to the skyline. She said, ‘Yeah. And one of them killed my mother.’

‘And one of them may lead me to my father.’

Ardia said, ‘Troy and Zeus.’

‘They both want The Crucible,' Homer said. ‘We can assume that as well. So we will destroy it.'

Ardia shrugged. She said, ‘I don't know, Homer. This Crucible sounds like one of the wonders of the world. I mean, I get that it's powerful, that it had something to do with making all of them. But it made us too, apparently. We're not all bad. Is it really right to erase it?'

Homer was about to answer when Ardia suddenly stood up, grasping the roof of the cab to steady herself. She peered into the distance and said, ‘Oh no.’

Homer stood to join her. As he stood, he said, ‘What?’

He didn’t need her to answer him. As he stood and looked towards the settlement, he could see the clouds of thick black smoke spreading on the wind.

As the truck rolled into the settlement, there was little doubt about the attack. Several of the buildings were burning. The crude watchtower for the airstrip was lying on its side in wreckage. And there were bodies.

The state of these bodies identified the killers. Ardia looked out on the remains of the idyllic settlement with tears stinging her eyes. The corpses of the people that had welcomed them so kindly just a few hours ago had been scattered everywhere. The bodies were battered and broken. There were no bullet wounds. Just torn forms. Many had been shredded into multiple pieces.

‘The hybrids…’ Ardia whispered, dismounting from the truck. The others joined her. She turned to them, a tear escaping her control and careening down her cheek. She said, ‘Why?’

Slayer nodded solemnly. He said, ‘They must have wanted to prevent Metis from summoning them to help her.’

‘But she wouldn’t,’ Ardia said. ‘She wouldn’t have risked them like that.’

‘They didn't want to take any chances,' Razmik added, staring wide-eyed at the destruction.

Ardia took a few steps forward. Then she saw them. She had been looking, hopeful that she wouldn’t see. But she saw the two bodies lying in the dust. She walked towards them, stumbling as tears blinded her. There was Arafa. A sweet, innocent woman. It was bad enough to see her lying dead on the ground, her limbs curled in on herself like a tortured insect. What was worse was the other, much tinier form.

Ardia stooped to pick up the limp body of Hassan. His face was intact, but his torso was a crushed mess. Her hands were smeared with thick drying blood as she held him up and looked at him. Then the tears blinded her completely, and it was a blessing.

She felt the heavy footsteps of Homer behind her. Felt his massive hand grip her shoulder. It didn’t fix it, this gesture. But it wasn’t quite worthless either.

She turned to him, cradling the crumpled body to her chest. She looked up into his eyes and the thought that passed between them needed no words.

She had been wrong. The Crucible had to be destroyed.

CHAPTER 91

___________________________________________

Stryker opened his eyes. He looked around at his surroundings. He was lying in a massive four-poster bed. The room that surrounded him was beautiful and expansive. The huge space was full of ornately carved furniture, classical wallpaper adorned the walls. The light from the floor-to-ceiling window was softened by perfect, billowing silk netting.

He did not know this room.

His first assumption, and this was his assumption whenever he awoke in an unknown place with no idea of how he’d arrived there, was that this must be a brothel. That was the most logical explanation, wasn’t it? Afterall, it wasn’t as though this was new to him.

He dispelled the idea of the brothel when he investigated his immediate surroundings a little more closely. The first sign was the simple lack of any prostitutes. There was also a suspicious absence of empty bottles on the beautiful bedside lockers. No brothel sounds seemed to be coming from any of the adjoining rooms either, though the light from the window suggested it was morning so that wasn’t necessarily a clincher.

When he tried to move, he was reminded. As soon as he tried to sit up his chest and abdomen screamed at him with pain. Everything hurt intensely. Gingerly, he lifted the duvet from his chest and saw the bandages that encapsulated his chest. He understood.

The door to the room opened and Father O’Connor entered. O’Connor’s face brightened with pleasure when he saw Stryker. He said, ‘You’re awake. At last.’

Stryker said, ‘Have I been out long?’

‘Two days, Stryker. You lost an awful lot of blood. Razmik’s doctor seemed certain that he was treating a corpse.’

‘I don’t die easy.’

‘You were shot by a shotgun, point blank.’

Stryker smiled, ‘I guess that gets close to doin’ the trick, don’t it.’

O’Connor returned the smile and walked around the bed. He sat into a wing-backed chair and said, ‘Yes. If you want to gauge the limits of what you can survive, Stryker, then a shotgun blast is more or less the upper end of it.’

Stryker gradually eased himself up to a sitting position. He winced continually through the process. He said, ‘Jesus, it still hurts like hell.’

‘The doctor said that you broke a couple of bones, punctured both your lungs. There’s also some massive damage to your pectoral and abdominal muscles.’

‘Shit, I might be another few days getting right again. Did he say how long a normal person would take to heal from this? I can get a pretty good guess at how long it’ll take me based on that.’

‘Stryker, a normal person doesn’t recover from a wound like that. A normal person doesn’t survive the first instance of a wound like that, let alone the blood-loss and complications.’

Stryker nodded solemnly. He said, ‘Another few days so, I guess. Hey, what happened with the rest of ‘em? How did things go in Africa? Also, how the hell did we get here? Also, also, where the hell is this?’

O’Connor held out both hands, pleading with Stryker to pause. He said, ‘We’re in Armenia. This is Razmik’s home. Palace might be a better word for it. Do you care if I smoke, Stryker.’

‘Go nuts. These are some pretty nice digs. It’d make a hell of a brothel. How’d we get here?’

O’Connor produced a premade cigarette and lit it. He said, ‘I called one of the numbers Razmik had given us before we left. Some local gentlemen, associates of Razmik’s, picked us up near the station. We didn’t get out much ahead of the authorities. The shots from our encounter drew a lot of attention.’

‘What about the boys you laid out? What happened to them?’

O’Connor shook his head as he exhaled smoke, creating a silvery halo around his head. He said, ‘I have no idea. Knowing The Order, they’ll be okay. Those that survived anyway.’

‘Don’t mess with Con O’Connor, eh?’ Stryker smiled broadly. ‘You showed ‘em a thing or two, that’s for damn sure.’

O’Connor pursed his lips. He said, ‘I tried not to kill them. I don’t know how successful that was.’

‘You didn’t take it easy on Ralph, though. Fuckin’ kneecapped him at then end. Didn’t know you still had that in ya.’

O’Connor pressed his lips more firmly together. He said, ‘I wanted to keep him immobile, but, I think I went overboard. That was unnecessary.’

‘He hurt your pride, when he said he’d let ya go,’ Stryker said. There was no accusation in the statement, just a keen interest in O’Connor’s response.

O’Connor nodded, a slightly defeated droop creeping into his shoulders. He said, ‘I should be too old to let a thing like that affect me.’

‘Ah, stop. It’s good for ya, a little bit of the young bull still bubblin’ away in you. Keeps you young. Now, tell me, how'd we get here?’

‘The Italians, the ones that picked us up, they drove us.’

‘All the way from fucking Rome?’

O’Connor shook his head. ‘No, Stryker, not all the way. They took us to some little airport and put us on a private plane. Almost certainly a Mafia jet. Razmik has a lot of pull. When we landed, some of Razmik’s people brought us here.’

‘What about the others?’

‘They arrived very late last night. Or, very early this morning.’

‘How’d it go?’

O’Connor raised his eyebrows. He said, ‘Well, they succeeded. The woman, Metis, is safe. I haven’t spoken much with them, they were exhausted and they all retired pretty soon after getting back. They’re pretty banged up. Slayer has a broken arm and collarbone, Abraham is still badly concussed. The doctor was more than a little worried about him.’

‘So they had some action?’

O’Connor nodded, ‘Yes, they had some action. They kept the details last night. Ardia was very upset about something, but she wasn’t really able to speak about it. We’ll learn more later. I do know that they know where The Crucible is. They plan to destroy it.’