Chapter One
A lonely god sat atop the roof of a red barn somewhere in the Canadian prairies as he watched the young woman, heavy with child, tend to their meagre farm. He pursed his lips and sighed as he watched her mill about, this mortal so oblivious to the fact that they built their lives atop a place of power.
“Brother!”
The god turned to see his younger brother step through the shimmering air, scantily clad in a pair of violet briefs that hugged his generous endowments. “Yes, Hypnos?”
“Must you be so rude to walk out of your birthday celebrations and come here of all places? To what, sulk and watch that fat woman?”
He rolled his eyes at that. “My birthday? We are twins, Hypnos. That’s all you back there.”
Hypnos spluttered with indignation. “Well, you have never complained about my orgies before!”
Thanatos grunted, turning from his brother and going back to watching the pregnant woman struggling to complete her chores. His twin, the god of dreams, came to sit beside him, bare feet dangling over the edge of the rooftop. Though gods, their human forms were that of young men with brown hair, brown eyes, modest muscle tone, and hairy chests as they sat in their underwear, black and purple respectively, observing the mortal who could not see them.
“Look at her, Hypnos,” Thanatos marvelled aloud. “She is in labour as we speak, fighting through and getting her daily chores done. The husband is out in the fields and has no idea. Isn’t she a remarkable human? So strong-willed and resilient?”
Hypnos curled his upper lip and cast his brother a judgmental look. “She’s an idiot.”
Thanatos leaned forward and rested his scruffy, five-o’clock-shadowed chin in his hands. “Hm. Maybe. I don’t think her husband is gonna make it in time. She might end up doing this alone.”
“Then she should have called an ambulance. See? An idiot.”
“Even if she did, the nearest town is a thirty-minute drive from here.”
Hypnos gasped in horror. “Do you mean to say that coming out into the sticks was more interesting than my birthday?!”
Thanatos flashed an impish smile. “So he finally admits it was his.”
“Shut up, brother! You’ve no idea how much your behaviour hurts me!”
“Oh, oh fuck,” the young woman cried out in the garden down below, her water breaking as she doubled over onto the ground, panting on all fours. “Oh no, oh no. Not now.”
“Think anyone will end up pregnant during your orgy?” Thanatos asked, ignoring the woman’s plight. “You had invited some women this time, right?”
Hypnos interrupted his sulking long enough to answer. “Potentially, yes. Some are going to get HIV as well.”
“Pity. Treating that is still a young science for humans. But soon.”
“Well, I left condoms out for them, so that’s their hubris if they choose not to wear them,” Hypnos said petulantly as he crossed his arms. “I know there was a lot of bare backing.”
“And the ones with prophylactics that failed?”
“Bad luck, brother. Much like this young mother you’re so fascinated by. You might as well claim them while you’re here. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
She screamed out in agony as she rolled onto her back in the empty garden, the last of it harvested just a couple of weeks before.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Thanatos lied.
“Oh god, oh no. God help me,” the young woman pleaded as she hiked up her sundress to access and feel that her unborn child was crowning, unaware gods were eavesdropping on her.
Thanatos pursed his lips. “Always on about god, aren’t they? Do you think the Abrahamic god exists? I’ve never met him.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Hypnos huffed, furious, as he stood up and dusted himself off. “I’m bored. This is boring me. I can’t believe that you ditched me for this!”
“I doubt this will take much longer. It’s not like this was our actual birthday, anyway. We have no idea when that is. You just decided you wanted to celebrate it on Samhain because you like parties and attention.”
Hypnos gave him a look that shot daggers. “As do you, brother! I’ve no idea what’s gotten into you tonight, but you will make this up to me!”
“Shh, this is getting good now.” Thanatos waved him off absently, watching the young woman while she cried out and wailed–her screams echoed through the valley that nestled this quaint little farm.
Hypnos clicked his tongue along his teeth, glaring at his brother. “Sadist.”
Thanatos ignored him as they both watched in silence while the sun continued to dip below the horizon, the golden twilight splintering into bands of red and violet against the darkening sky. It had been nearly an hour as he watched the woman toil and scream whilst she controlled her breathing, and finally pushed the child onto the soft earth with the cord taut around his neck.
“Oh, god,” she scooped him up and freed him from the cord, wiping away at his nose and mouth. “Breathe, please. Oh, no.”
“It’s a boy,” Thanatos announced. “Big, too.”
“Mazel tov. Also dead.”
He rolled his eyes at that and kept his gaze fixed on the mother and her stillborn child. “I never told you to stay.”
The young mother pushed through her fatigue and held fast to the lifeless child, using what she knew of infant CPR in her desperate bid to resuscitate him.
“Well, damn it, Thanatos, I just hoped my brother would come back and spend my favourite night of the year with me, seriously. But, no, a dead baby was more interesting to you than me. I even hoped against hope this was one of those miracles of life moments you were taking a break for. Nope. Just you being morbid and weird. Again.” He gestured down to the crying woman desperately trying to revive her baby, tears in his eyes. “This is actually really hard to watch!”
Thanatos turned around, a glint in his eye. “Hypnos. What dead baby?”
The child coughed and gasped, drawing his first breath of life here at this place of power on the night of Samhain. The baby’s cries pierced through the shadows of dusk. An aura of relief settled on this place.
“Oh, you’re okay, you’re okay,” the mother cooed, hugging her child close. “Everything is gonna be okay, my little clay baby.”
It seemed to dawn on her then as she laughed with tears in her eyes. “Clayton. You’re Clay, my beautiful red-haired boy.”
Thanatos chuckled as he stood up. “I get it.”
“I bless this child with the luck of the gods,” Hypnos said, wiping a tear from his eye as he turned and walked along the roof of the barn, disappearing into a shimmer of air whence he came. His disembodied voice rang out, beckoning Thanatos to follow.
The god of death, one of many, paused as he turned to look down at the baby below. “Oh, you emotional fool, Hypnos. You have no idea what you’ve just done. Or who you blessed.”
Thanatos swallowed hard, a look of yearning and pain dancing across his features. “Welcome back, Cu Chullain.”
With that, he turned and vanished into the same shimmering air.
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Clay waited with bloody knuckles in the dated, off-white front office of his small K-12 school while he watched his father bully, intimidate, and belittle the principal through the glass door, their voices barely muffled. He looked at the analog clock above the secretary’s desk that told him it was ten to four.
The stout elderly woman with bifocals glowered at him over her computer monitor. He killed that owly old bitch with kindness and gave her the warmest of smiles. She scoffed and rolled her eyes before she resumed whatever it was she did on that thing, her keystrokes louder than before now. Guess she didn’t like that her grandson was among those he bloodied in the boy’s bathroom this afternoon.
Four other boys, two grades ahead, and they still got their asses beat. They were the aggressors, yet here he sat as the only one in any kind of trouble.
The door flew open and his dad stormed out of the office, his fair skin flushed from all the yelling. Clay looked up at his mountain of a father, built like an ox despite the beer gut. The only things the father and son really seemed to have in common were their hair colour and temperaments.
“Clayton, we’re leaving,” his dad snarled, his lip curling underneath the red, tobacco-stained handlebar moustache.
“And you,” his old man spat, looking back at the principal, who seemed a bit shaken up by the hostile conversation he just had, “you spineless sack of shit. Suspending my boy for sticking up for himself against a group of older boys. He’s fourteen goddamn years old!”
Clay perked up a little, somewhat vindicated by the fact his dad’s wrath wasn’t pointed in his direction—this time.
“Need I remind you, Blake,” the secretary cut in, tersely addressing Clay’s dad, “that Clayton here put one of those boys in the hospital with a concussion? You should be grateful that a suspension is all he’s getting, and that nobody is pressing charges! If anything, he should be the one apologizing.”
Clay laughed at the irony of that. Those gay bashers got what they deserved. Like hell they deserved an apology.
She gasped in horror, clutching her pearls. “He’s laughing? Not an iota of remorse? I don’t know what kind of home you’re running, Blake Weston, but this school is not a place for animals. Suspension is too lenient if anyone’s asking me.”
“Nobody is asking you, Glenda,” Clay said with disdain as he stood up, first naming the secretary, his voice even as his brown eyes burned with fury. “Your fatass grandson tried to give me a concussion. He got one instead.”
“Fucking deserved it, too,” Blake spat before he led his son out of the office and outside the school.
Well, all things considered, the old man was in a good enough mood, Clay supposed. He followed him down the sloped sidewalk to his dad’s farm truck, a green 1999 F150 with rust creeping along the fenders.
“You fucking idiot,” Blake growled at his son after the doors closed. “You don’t know your own strength, you know that?”
Clay folded his thick arms. Well developed for a boy his age thanks to the rigorous chores his dad made him do, and the weight set he used religiously since his birthday last Halloween. “Yup, guess I don’t.”
Blake sighed, putting the truck in reverse before he backed out of the gravel parking lot. They drove down the main street and out to the dirt road that led away from the small town. It would be at least twenty minutes to get back to their farm.
The scent of tobacco wafted through the cab of the pickup until Blake rolled the window down with the crank, smoking his lit cigarette.
“Those’ll kill ya,” Clay said, keeping his eyes out the passenger window as the partially thawed April landscape with rolling hills, sprawling prairies, and patches of aspen and boreal forests.
Blake chuckled. “If raising you won’t do me in first.”
“Can I have one?” Clay turned, looking his way.
“Fuck off, boy.”
“That’s fine. I’ll just take one when you’re not looking.”
Blake scowled at his son, a spitting image of him when he was that young. “Don’t you dare, boy. Look at me. I started at your age and now I’m at two packs a day and can’t quit. I ain’t gonna let you be like me.”
The prospect of ending up like his old man was enough to sell him on not indulging that curiosity.
“Yeah,” Clay agreed. “Can’t imagine what your lungs look like.”
As if on cue, Blake coughed and hacked, unable to respond to that remark. If Clay wasn’t already over it, he might have laughed. They rode home in relative silence until they arrived back at the farm, and Blake parked in front of the garage.
“Hey,” Blake said, stopping his son before he got out of the truck, “get changed and then I want you to check the cows, feed the dog, organize the shop–and I mean organize every goddamn nut and bolt, feed the cows before supper, and after that you can shovel the shit out of the empty calving pens–do not use the bobcat. I don’t care if you take all day, every day, till your suspension is done.”
“Dad!” Clay protested at the staggering list of chores, and not being allowed to use the bobcat.
“You wanna put boys in the hospital? You’re gonna work that aggression out. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” Clay seethed before he stormed off into the house.
His mother opened the door, looking at him with worry in her pale blue eyes as she stood aside and let him pass by. She looked out at her husband, who shook his head, and she then closed the door. “Clay, hang on.”
With his back to her, he rolled his eyes before turning to face her with her loose-fitting t-shirt and blue jeans, and her blonde hair done up in a French braid. “Yeah?”
“Less attitude, more explaining. What happened?”
Clay shrugged. “Got jumped in the bathroom. Took care of it.”
“I know you hurt four other boys and put one in the hospital. I know that there are some very upset school staff and parents, too,” his mom said, crossing her arms. “The only thing I’m missing is your side of the story.”
He sighed, pursing his lips as his gaze slid to the left corners of his eyes before moving back to her. “Dad gave me lots of chores, so….”
“They can wait. I’m talking to you.”
“Mom, I told you,” Clay groaned out of exasperation. “I got jumped in the bathroom. What do you want from me?”
“Why did you get jumped while in the bathroom, Clay?”
He scoffed. “Oh, so now you’re blaming me?”
His mom shook her head. “Not at all what I said. I’m just missing some key details. Your perspective. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Mom,” Clay pleaded, just wanting to go.
“You know what? Get changed into your barn clothes and we’ll chat while you have a snack.”
Clay stood there, looking at her with a blank expression.
“Clayton Blake Weston, I will not tell you again,” she warned, her soft voice snapping into that authoritative voice that made him, his siblings, and his dad jump to whatever she asked when she asked.
He went upstairs to his bedroom, a nook in a loft space with sloped ceilings and eggshell white walls. His room was like most bedrooms for boys his age. Clay had decorated his room with Lego sets throughout his childhood that he now hadn’t touched in a while and there was a tube TV on the dresser along the far wall with a PlayStation 2 and some game cases on the floor. Dirty laundry also cluttered the floor along with some bodybuilding magazines at the bedside. His parents never knew what he actually did with the magazines with shirtless, musclebound men proudly displaying their physiques.
It didn’t take long for him to change into black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, and he descended the wooden stairs and came out into the mudroom where his little brother and sister were walking through the front door with their winter coats and backpacks.
“Clay!” Eden called out before she ran and hugged him.
He smiled down at his five-year-old sister and tousled her blonde hair. “Hey, Eddie.”
“That’s a boy’s name,” she giggled before throwing aside her coat and backpack and running up the steps into the raised kitchen and through the dining area of their cramped farmhouse. She soon disappeared down the hall and into her bedroom and shut her door.
“You weren’t on the bus,” his little brother said with a tone of criticism as his gaze lowered to the floor. “I got picked on.”
“Bryce,” Clay sighed, looking down at the boy with red hair, hazel eyes, and freckles–both boys taking after their father that way. Bryce, though, was gentle and soft spoken, the least fiery member of this family. That often made him a target at school. “I’m not always gonna be around to stick up for you, you know? Why don’t you do it yourself once in a while?”
Bryce’s bottom lip quivered, and he nodded.
Shit. Too harsh, too far.
“Tell you what,” Clay offered, his expression softening as he realized how much of an asshole he was being, “you can hang out in my room tonight and play the PS2. Just don’t snoop, okay?”
His brother perked up. “Really?”
“Yup. Dad’s practically got me doing chores till midnight.”
Bryce’s eyes went wide. “Oh wow, you’re in deep shit.”
“Get out of here before I change my mind.”
That was all Clay needed to say to make his brother remove his outside clothes and bound up the stairs to his room. He walked up to the dining room table and sat at the handcrafted oak table his grandpa made for his parents while he was still alive.
The mudroom door swung open, and he heard his father bellow. “Charlotte! Tell that boy to quit jackin’ off and get his ass out here!”
Charlotte, his mother, set the sandwich and all-dressed ruffle chips in front of him before she stomped over to face her husband in the mudroom. “You’ll get him when I’m done with him. Now go back out to the shop, smoke your cigarettes, drink a beer, or pull on yourself–whatever it is you do out there.”
Clay snickered as he saw his dad blushing out in the mudroom.
“Baby!” Blake spluttered from his embarrassment, not at all enjoying having that crass language turned back on him. “D-don’t say stuff like that.”
The door closed, and his dad was gone again. Charlotte went and poured herself a glass of pinot noir before she crossed the kitchen with oak cabinets to the dining room and sat across from him. “Well?”
Clay chewed loudly, being obnoxious on purpose as he looked at her with a blank stare. “Well?”
She reached across the table and cuffed him across the back of the head for being a smartass. “Why are you fighting at school?”
“Ow,” he protested, swallowing what he almost choked on. “Fine. Jesus.”
Charlotte looked at him, a mixture of expectation and annoyance, hoping he’d elaborate sometime while she was still young.
“I trusted somebody and told them something, it got repeated. Then some of the tenth graders found out and tried to beat me up.”
She folded her hands and inhaled through her nostrils, maternal instinct rousing a sleeping mama bear awake. “What could be so bad that you’d get jumped? This isn’t making any sense.”
Clay sighed, lowering his voice. “Mom, I’m–”
The door to the mudroom opened, his dad again, but he’d already said it.
“–I’m gay.”