Vagabonds Page 2

  CHAPTER ONE

  Aurphel had become a modern world, one that had moved on from the gods of old. In the ancient days, myth and belief had come about as a way to explain life’s mysteries, a way to ascribe meaning and purpose to the chaos of nature. As mortals lived and grew and time marched ever forward, as science and reasoning offered up answers to tame and demystify the chaos, the old ways were left behind.

  Mortals had learned, for example, that there wasn’t some angry fellow in the sky hurling bolts of lightning about. Rather, lightning was a phenomenon of differences in electrical charge between the clouds and the earth.

  With enlightenment came a radical departure in the usual beliefs of the day. Some people ceased believing in any gods or deities and others, still hungry for spiritually, followed religions built around a singular, all-mighty “God” who lived somewhere else, but made sure to take a vested interest in the goings-on of the mundane. A few mortals, hearkening back to an ancient belief, had another take on life after life and were firm believers in nothing—which was a different matter altogether from those who didn’t have much faith in anything.

  But, no matter what mortals believed in, be it anything, something, or nothing, most would pause when asked about Sejit and follow up with the question of “Who?”

  Sejit liked things this way. Made it easier to operate, for the most part. Sometimes, though, it’d be nice to flex her muscle and bring the annoyances to heel.

  To the world at large, who knew nothing of Sejit, she prowled under the name Jasmine Reith. Only a handful of mortals and the other gods who were still around knew who she really was.

  A few thousand years ago a woman of Sejit’s stature and build would’ve had people lauding her physical prowess, that she must have been blessed by the gods, or that she herself was a god. Her height put her above most every mortal and her musculature alluded to a perfect blend of strength and speed, even without the hidden boost granted by her divinity. Nowadays, her imposing presence was a curious anomaly of genetics.

  At least when she walked as a human.

  During the eras of the gods, she often went about her days and nights with fur instead of skin, an amalgamation of woman and lion striding upon two legs. Sometimes she would assume her four-legged form, but there were a great many inconveniences inherent in walking upon your forelimbs, never mind what the lack of opposable thumbs meant for even simple tasks.

  Modern ages generally saw a hulking were-lion as something of a faux pas for public appearance, which limited her to the privacy of her home whenever she wished to be comfortable. In public, she kept her nature hidden away as a mane of sandy-blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders.

  She swirled a glass of wine in her not-quite paw, not-quite hand, gazing out at the capital of Yosel from her penthouse atop one of the finest and largest anthropological museums in the world. A new construction, only a few years old, there’d been considerable murmuring over constructing such an expensive structure in a nation that had, until a year before the project began, been caught in the grip of a decade-long civil war.

  Sejit closed her eyes and sighed. What did mortals know of resurrecting a nation? They were always so short-sighted, so eager to chase the quick money, to leave Yosel to bleed out. They would even hurry it along by depleting its natural wealth in the name of economic resuscitation—they failed to mention it was a resuscitation of their bank accounts, not of the country.

  Mortals weren’t always like that. Not all that long ago it was possible to round up a few who could see beyond themselves, who knew the future wasn’t something that happened tomorrow, that happened to someone else.

  Below, neon lights flashed, street lights glared, and smooth asphalt stretched out as far as she could see. Even at midnight, pedestrians meandered, cars queued at stop lights, and money flowed. The capital city Sioun was alive again. Sure, if she squinted she could still make out the skeletal remains of the past, but like everything else, they would be cleared away to make room for life in due time.

  Everyone in Yosel knew Jasmine Reith was responsible for planting the seeds and kindling the flames of tender new beginnings, and Sejit, as Jasmine, knew they required a delicate, experienced touch to flourish. The old politicians and statesmen hadn’t a clue how to tend a nation, let alone weed a garden. They needed wisdom, but wisdom took time to develop. Generations upon generations. So, they’d just need someone to guide them during the interim.

  Wine rolled across her sandpapery tongue and she smiled, at least until she went for another sip and found her glass empty. As Sejit rummaged through her wine rack for another choice bottle a pair of blue eyes lifted from the book their owner had been deep within.

  “At this rate, not even the whole of the Mujelio Vineyard could slake your thirst,” said a deep, rich voice that was wholly out of place from the lips of a young, blonde-haired boy. His name was Wophin, forgotten among the forgotten.

  “Then I will have to find one that can.”

  Sejit’s claw popped from the tip of a thick, furred digit and she skewered the cork of a fresh bottle and began to work it out, fearing for a second when the top of the cork threatened to come apart. A bit of experienced wiggling averted the crisis with a satisfying pop. Satisfied, she plucked the cork from her claw and with a flick of a finger, sent it sailing into the trash bin across the room.

  The boy sighed. “And what is the occasion that has you racing through your stores this evening?”

  “The government has accepted my proposal and candidacy,” she said, twirling the glass’s stem between two fingers, peering into wine before downing half of it in one long gulp, “There was a considerable outpouring of support.”

  With a snap, he closed his book and slid from an overstuffed chair that’d been built to Sejit’s specifications, the effect of which made him look more like a puppet or doll than a youngster. Landing on the thick carpet with a muffled thump, Wophin continued with his usual sarcastic enthusiasm.

  “I suppose congratulations are in order, then. I’ll have to begin planning the feast immediately, we’ll have to invite all the townsfolk, of course…”

  Sejit’s emerald eyes twinkled, “An excellent idea! I appreciate you nominating yourself to its organization.”

  He balked, “You can’t be serious?”

  “Who better than you? Hospitality and succor are your domain after all.”

  “Were,” Wophin said, annoyed, “And I was never about the provisioning of either. I ensured people kept their vows.”

  “Wishing you were, does not make it so,” said Sejit through a smirk, “We all have to change with the times.”

  Wophin sighed, there was no point in trying to get out of the quagmire he’d stumbled into. “I’ll begin tomorrow, Madam.”

  “Good. I will see to it that Marshal Julian offers to host the event. He is not one to miss an opportunity to flaunt his wealth,” said Sejit, continuing to smirk, though it’d found itself accompanied by the gleaming points of fangs peeking out, “He and his ilk will break bread with us after a few choice words and seal the pact. Should they engage in any treachery unbecoming of Men of the People, you will be able to have your fun.”

  “Just as well, I’d rather not have to bother with any of it, but I appreciate the concern over my entertainment.”

  “Come, now. When is the last time you evoked any of your curses?”

  “Who knows?” said Wophin with a shrug, “It was never something I enjoyed, despite claims.”

  “Then this will be—” Sejit’s rounded, fur-covered ears flicked. “Hold that thought,” she said, setting off to the next room.

  Returning with her mobile phone pinched between two furred, inhuman digits, the goddess prodded at the touchscreen with her free paw, but, even though the phone was an XL-sized model, it was still too small for comfortable and precise use, which always led to a degree of frustration. With a resigned sigh, she morphed her paw into something more suited to the task of operating a small touchscreen.<
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  “It would appear we have early guests,” said Sejit, thumbing through an alert transmitted to the device via the museum’s security system.

  “Again? They’re certainly greedy to steal from their benefactor,” said Wophin, shaking his head in disappointment, “Back in the day, you’d have wiped the town from the map for their trespass into your temple.”

  “Back in the day I knew less than I do now,” Sejit said, stretching out her arms and cracking her neck, “Greed is what keeps them going, gives them purpose and pushes them to new heights. Or pulls them along if need be. Without greed, how else would I herd them?”

  “Speaking of greed,” Wophin said as he collected stray wine bottles, giving one a shake, “I don’t believe we’ll be able to order enough for the guests and you at the same time.”

  “Such is the difference in ambition,” said Sejit, vanishing from the study, with its cozy fireplace and carpets, towards her bedroom.

  Wophin, meanwhile, disposed of the empty bottles at the garbage chute. No longer burdened, he dusted his hands off on trousers that looked like that’d been stolen from a stage actor specializing in plays hundreds of years old, the sort of that had big poofs and frills to match his doublet. He even paused in front of a floor mirror while heading back to the study to straighten his red bowtie.

  While he was doing so, Sejit came round the corner, all human and all dressed up for her venture into the museum below.

  “You must be in a good mood. You’re wearing white,” he said, memories of the last incident fresh in mind.

  “I do not always make a mess,” said Sejit as she walked passed him and towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

  “No, not always.”

  The glaring overhead lights had been shut off for the night, leaving various displays as the sole sources of light within the sprawling, multi-storied complex.

  It didn’t matter that her human guise put a damper on her senses—if anything, the handicap made it that much more fun. Be it vast deserts, dense jungles, or the shadows of a sleeping museum, Sejit could stalk her quarry through any terrain.

  The dim lighting put most of the world into shades of monochrome, but color didn’t matter—shapes and motion were what was important. Color was just for show, a way for nature to add in a bit of whimsy when the light was right.

  Guided by eyes that gleamed in the dark, Sejit stalked among the shadows, drifting from one group to the next. If it wasn’t for the gentle rustling of her blouse and slacks, she may as well have not existed.

  Scents drifted by on faint currents, some so ethereal that her movement was enough to disperse them. The stale odor of linen and ancient embalming fluid lingered on wispy tendrils, reaching out from their faraway, darkened halls. A faint, distant hum roared to life, mingling all the scents in the ductwork and spraying them out haphazardly.

  Sejit wrinkled her nose when the blinding scent of ammonia filled her nostrils. The janitorial staff must’ve switched back to their old cleaners, despite the fact she’d told them to stop using anything with ammonia in it. They were going to get a warning.

  She let out a half-snort, half-sneeze from the sinus flashbang, and just when she was starting to pick up the interesting bits: The telltale scents of exertion, of nervousness, and of excitement. If the world of sight had lost its color, the scents were bursting in rainbows of the stuff.

  There were probably four of them, maybe five, but something was familiar about that fifth scent. She sniffed again, picking up the haze through the after-image of the ammonia.

  Very familiar.

  A noise caught her ear, the faintest of tinkling far away down some corridor. She paused, focused upon her hearing. Seconds stretched while she stood, erect and tense, pivoting her head towards any possible sound, building up an image of the museum in her mind, adding those tiny sounds that echoed from rooms and hallways.

  The goddess began to slightly regret her handicap. As each sound came she strained in her shape, urging her human ears to move beyond their limits while her nature strained and demanded to change for the fine control her more animalistic features would offer. But, she kept herself, kept moving along, guided by dull scents and echoes off marble, steel, and glass.

  Sejit paused for a good listen after meandering half-way across the first floor. She’d managed to get close enough to pinpoint them. The would-be thieves were in the section dedicated to the ancient Yoselian pantheon.

  Of course they would be. That was where most of the gold was.

  Shadows carried her along in their concealing grasp until, at last, she could make out the murmurs and whispers. All her senses save for sight came together to paint a scene of four men working to remove the Idol of War. The irony made her grin.

  In a way it was rather impressive, not many would have the audacity or sheer cheek required for an attempt at stealing a solid gold statuette weighing almost 200 pounds.

  The only oddity was the fifth scent. Her mind’s eye envisioned four men milling about its pedestal, their locations given away by the slap of rubber sole on marble tile. She sniffed again, what was the fifth one doing? The scent was stronger now, more distinct against the ammonia backdrop.

  That better not be her.

  As she approached the group on silent steps, their voices became clearer, more distinct, until she was just around the corner.

  “Careful, careful,” whispered one man, observing as one of his partners in crime cut the glass of the container holding the statuette.

  “Ya don’t have to tell me!” Hissed the cutter.

  “Ready with that weight…”

  A fourth man held a small block of metal that so happened to weigh the same as the bit of glass they were removing.

  “Mmmmph!”

  In the corner, a young, mid-20’s woman with long blonde hair, wearing a fetching gag made from a rag to go along with the grayed rope binding her hands and feet glared at them—partly because her jean shorts and t-shirt meant the frayed rope was already leaving red marks against her skin.

  “Quiet!”

  “Hmpmm!”

  “If you keep making noise,” growled one of the men, producing a blade and motioning with it across his neck.

  “…” replied the young woman.

  “Good lass.”

  “Hurry it up!”

  “Can’t hurry this shit. Our info missed some security.”

  Piece by piece the glass came off and more weights were added around the pedestal. With the statuette exposed, two men readied power saws and the other two waited with open bags.

  “Ready? Once this shit goes off, we got like three or four minutes tops ‘till the cops show.”

  “Hope we really did disable that shutter on the window.”

  “You ‘n me both. Ready? On three, two—”

  “Despicable thieves!”

  The four of them jumped in unison like the ground had been pulled out from under their feet. One of the saws clattered to the ground.

  “Who the—”

  “Silence, fool,” Sejit uttered, cowing the thieves.

  “And you, Sophia,” she rumbled, glaring at the captive, “How did you succeed in getting captured again?”

  “Mmm! Mmp, mm mm, phmm!”

  “So you did not learn from the first time,” Sejit said, storming right past the stunned thieves towards Sophia where she squat down. If one didn’t look too closely, they could almost be mistaken for mother and daughter as they shared hair and skin color. For a moment the end of a finger changed, producing a claw to cut through the rope and slice off the gag.

  “Er, thanks,” said Sophia, rubbing her wrists as she stood.

  One of the thieves had managed to get over his shock, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Sejit whirled and stomped up to the one who’d spoken. Another, possessing an uncanny insight, remarked, “She’s fucking huge!”

  “They never said anything about a bitch like this working security!”

  “Shu
t up,” said the apparent leader, producing a gun from his waistband. He leveled it at the imposing woman.

  “Now I don’t know who ya are, but ya just sit down right there if ya don’t want to be full o’ holes…” He trailed off, licking his lips nervously.

  Under most circumstances, pulling a gun on someone who was unarmed meant he assumed all the power and control because there wasn’t anyone who could help but stare down the barrel pointed their way. The woman, however, regarded it as if he’d pulled one of those bright orange pop-cap guns on her. Given her powerful, sturdy build, it almost made sense.

  “I will give you until the count of five to reconsider your actions,” said Sejit, indicating the direction of the exit, “Though, do leave your firearm behind. The city has too many in the hands of mortals such as yourself as it is.”

  “What the fuck? You’ll give me—Sit down!”

  “One.”

  “Boss, I don’t know if—”

  “Shut up! And you, bitch, I have the—”

  “Two.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Three.”

  “Boss!”

  “I said shut it!”

  “Four.”

  “Fuck it!”

  Even as the man’s finger squeezed the trigger, Sejit observed where the barrel was pointing and shifted accordingly. A deafening crack echoed across the marble of the floors and ceiling. Stone chips spalled to the ground somewhere in the distant gloom.

  Before he could fire again, Sejit was upon him. One hand held his arm like a clamp. The gun went off again, its flash reflecting in her eyes, revealing narrow, cat-like slits where there ought to be round pupils. Her second hand, no, paw—big enough to engulf the entire top of his head—gripped him tight. In one smooth motion, she twisted, as if unscrewing a light bulb.

  His body slumped to the ground, its head on backwards.

  “A monster!”

  “She’s a fucking monster!”

  Of the remaining three men, one of them had reached for his own gun, getting it halfway out of his waistband when a paw came down upon his arm.