Rain, Bubble's resident oracle, communes with Creation to look back on the day the Apocalypse came to destroy the world.
Rain glimpses back 22 years earlier on the events leading up to the start of the Apocalypse. Oliver, herald of the Apocalypse, desperately searches for his long ago lost wife, Amelie, while the whole world around him begins to tear apart.
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Written by Steve and Robin Pool
Voiced by Emily Woo Zeller, Freya Kingsley, and Jade Wheldon
Sound Design and Editing by DSS (Dissecting Sound & Soul). Sound effects provided by ZapSplat
Intro song “Timed” by Gilde Flores www.gildeflores.com
Outro song "Wayfaring Stranger" by Liessa (aka Jade Wheldon)
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Copyright (c) 2023 by Uncle Robot Media, LLC
SAYONARAVILLE: APOCALYPSE
EPISODE 12: A WIND AGE, A WOLF AGE
Word Count: Approx. 7,330
This is Sayonaraville Apocalypse.
The following series contains adult themes, strong language, violence, sexuality, and drug use. Listener discretion is advised.
[INTRO MUSIC: "TIMED" by Gilde Flores]
Episode 12: A Wind Age, A Wolf Age
Some nine months before the Apocalypse struck Brooklyn, Rain, a celestial dragon with a love of the Earth and an earnest gift for prophecy, was all but certain she knew when and where everything would go horribly wrong. Given her talent for viewing multiple probabilities as if she were watching simultaneous video camera footage, she had no doubt that a world-ending event was coming.
She wasn’t the only far-seeing individual to conclude this. Many deep-thinking, insightful, serious people across the world -- and some outside it -- had been carefully studying a vast number of events and conditions leading up to a triggering of the end of everything. Collaboratively, these people weren’t wrong -- in the big picture sense. Somehow, though lacking Rain’s ability to see actual chronostatic threads, these guardians against mystical threats had managed, with complex data analysis tools, dizzying venn diagrams and pretty analytics dashboards to generate a fairly well-considered and accurate prediction. Rain regarded it to be more or less right.
Let those without real sight use numbers and statistics and colorful graphs to depict what Rain had already seen. She didn’t care how these learned men and women had gotten where she was, just that they’d gotten there at all. That would help solve the hardest part of this puzzle -- getting people to take the impending threat seriously. This world would survive by working together to solve a supposedly unsolvable problem. Of course, it was solvable. Rain, who liked to think of herself as the Project Manager of the World Timeline, just had to keep everyone’s spirits and efforts up. Ensure that they all got the chance to see another birthday. Rain didn’t actually know what a project manager was, or what one did, but she’d heard Ty use the phrase occasionally and liked its vibe. The Sorcerer of Midtown, Ty had style.
Rain’s tools -- ones that didn’t rely on mathematics or computers -- allowed her to see which of the myriad responses constituted “best practices”, another phrase Rain had heard and liked but never bothered to understand conceptually.
She thought about the problem again. She knew what would happen, didn’t she? She almost always did, on a multidimensional level. Somewhere, in some reality, the things Rain foresaw would always come true, even if not in her own reality. But this time was different. This time, she had the help of the highest of higher powers. This time, Creation was playing the game or at least her own version, alongside humanity, and desired an outcome that, luckily, squared pretty well with humanity’s own desire to continue existing.
It wasn’t the first time that Rain had seen what was to come with borrowed optics much stronger than her own. Without the boost, she would just tweak her guesses, built upon cosmic semantics and modal verb tenses of predictions and probabilities, with the occasional subjunctive ‘Hell No’ thrown in to make it all more fun. With the boost, there were no guesses. She just knew shit.
It was hard, tiring work perceiving and understanding the future, and it required a lot of magic. Magic she would often supplement with infusions of chaos, the purest form of mana there was. Whenever Creation lent her its eyes, she could eschew those cheats, and didn't need juicing. Creation’s clairvoyance was a super-caffeinated jolt of “let’s do this”. She loved those highs whenever they came, even though they left her wrecked, sometimes for days.
Rain had adjusted her workspace appropriately. The lights were lowered and cast bluish hues that helped modulate Rain’s anxiety. ASMR-coded chill songs played in the background, adding to her sense of calm. A pot of enchanted jasmine tea -- thank you, Ty -- sat at the ready, a remedy for any onset head or muscle aches she might accrue during her deep dive. Her cat-cartoon bathrobe provided warmth and snuggliness. Time to read the timelines again.
In her mind, she recalled past incidents that she’d marked as keystone events on the way to Earth’s day of reckoning. Grateful for Creation’s help, she not only saw things she was supposed to see; she saw things she wasn’t.
She watched as, nine months ago, a man named Miller Colvin, a photographer with strong magical potential, had been hired by Iris Penner to photograph her pregnancy. Fueled by her foresight, Rain had prepped Miller beforehand to know what to say and do to win Iris’s business. A generous, under-the-table payment had additionally convinced Miller to cast a particular spell on his camera before the shoot, one that would capture not only physical images of Iris and her baby but also mystical records of their auras. One of Miller’s photos was to be placed into a heart-shaped locket phylactery given to him that Rain may or may not have borrowed from Ty. The locket had been mailed to Iris, along with the prints he’d taken of her.
Rain breathed in deeply and exhaled. Everything had happened as it had needed to. Part 1 of Plan: Save Earth – check.
Rain took a deep sip of tea before reviewing the next event. She hated this one, wished she could purge it from her mind, from reality. But it needed to be seen and acknowledged.
Six months previous. Rain finds herself in a space set up like a hospital examining room deep in the ping-pong bar/sorcery lair Bubbles. Dr. Lina Fisher, obstetrician and so-called friend of Ty, holds an adorable, cooing, swaddled baby girl in her arms. But not just any baby girl. Amelie, daughter of Iris Penner and Lord Arawn, the child of two gods, is possibly one of the very first to be born since the horrible War in the Heavens had nearly destroyed everything. Ty’s protection spells against Danu’s curse seemingly have worked after all. He really is amazing.
“Hello, little sweetie. Hello.” Dr. Fisher strokes Amelie’s forehead and cheek, eliciting a tiny mew.
Rain fought to stay in the vision, even as her heart tightened and her eyes teared. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her blood pressure and heart rate began to rise. Damn that traitor. Damn that bitch to the deepest of hells. Rain wanted to look away but knew that she couldn’t. She wanted to reach into the vision and slay this human monster. But she couldn’t do that either.
Dr. Fisher takes out a thin, gold chain bracelet with two small hearts. Speaking words of power, she places it over Amelie’s chest. Amelie begins to cry as the bracelet glows white.
“Shh, shh, shh, little one. I know it hurts. But it will be over soon. I promise.” Dr. Fisher rocks the baby, cooing soothing sounds until the crying ceases altogether. As the doctor pockets the bracelet, its glow fades. Spritzing her eyes with water and adopting a heartbroken expression, she goes out to talk to Ty and Mallory Pruett, who’ve attended the birth, before they speak with Iris.
Later, after many crocodile tears, Dr. Fisher exits Bubbles. An awaiting black European supercar speeds off once she’s closed its passenger door.
It took several minutes and a full cup of tea before Rain was ready to continue, controlling her hurt and rage. Long centuries of staring into the dark had toughened her to an oracle’s inevitable emotional bruises.
Five months previous. Rain watches a scene play out that only Creation herself had been privy to. Deep inside a hollow at the heart of Mount Hood, east of Portland, Oregon, a gathering of divine, elemental, fey, and infernal beings of power meets in a lair belonging to an old forge-and-hammer god who’d somehow survived millenia-passed The War of Wars. Viewing a place of such power, Rain is surprised by the number of details that evoke the affect of a supervillain’s hideout from a 1960s spy movie. Though the meeting place could arguably be considered a joke, those in attendance certainly are not. Dove and Sooty are there, she in a gray power suit and he in dirty coveralls, ball-peen hammer hanging out of a side pocket. So is Danu, Tuathan Queen of Annwyn (An Fin), dressed in a tasteful dark green suit suitable for royalty. Next to her stands Glasya-Labolas, President of Hell; his fitted black suit may or may not include a padded crotch. The towering Basalt King, a great power among the elementals, comes ornamented with shards of colorful crystals jutting out of his arms and legs and precious gems covering his torso. The last member of this secret cabal is Cat Boss. He -- or she, depending on his or her mood -- wears a stylish long black robe that almost but not quite covers his sandaled feet.
“Well, Sooty,” Glasya asks, “when are you going to fire up the machine? Some of us have real jobs to attend to.”
Danu rolled her eyes. Glasya, always under a microscope while in Hell, points a finger. “I saw that!”
Danu glowers. “Touch me with that filthy finger and I’ll rip it off and toss it into one of the former heavens.”
Sooty laughs. “Then you’d be just like Cat Boss!”
“Fuck you, metal-shitter!” Cat Boss shouts as he pulls his left hand with its missing index finger behind his back.
“Yeah, fuck you!” Glasya seconds.
The Basalt King’s response is lost on this crowd, as his voice sounds like nothing more than grinding rocks.
Dove radiates power and anger. “Everyone shut the fuck up, already!”
Those assembled silently straighten themselves.
[Dove] “Where’s the bracelet, Sooty?”
“It’s there, in the focus slot.” Sooty points towards a gigantic machine with row after row of steel cabinets full of dials, pull rods, glowing buttons, and steam-venting wheels. “Ready to test.”
“There is one thing that the crimson ape has right,” Danu quips as she points to the President of Hell. He snarls at her. “We all have other places to be. Are we actually ready to test the device, Master Sooty?”
“Yes. I’ve calibrated the arrays to channel the energies of the newborn godling’s soul. We can fire them as a beam at any location where we’d like to open a dimensional rift.”
“So make one, already,” Cat Boss hissed. “If I have to endure being in this mad scientist lab..."
[Dove] “That will be enough.”
Cat Boss stops talking.
[Dove} “Can we try the machine now, darling?”
[Sooty] “Yes, of course, love of my eternity.”
Sooty hobbles over to a bulky control panel -- also filled with a confusing array of dials, pull rods, glowing buttons, and steam-venting wheels -- and begins to work the controls. One cabinet lights up and hums, then another, and another. The bracelet holding Amelie’s soul begins to glow, first yellow, then blue, then white. The others exchange nervous glances as the machine channeling her power starts to shake, then rumble. One cabinet spits up a shower of sparks.
[Dove] “Uh, honey? Is everything okay? Should all this be...doing this?”
Sooty, dark-lensed goggles pulled down over his eyes, grabs and jerks or twists, seemingly at random, unlabeled controls on his panel. “Yeah, uh, I don’t know. My machines are tough, though. So, uh, yeah, we should be okay. Do we have a beam yet? Is it opening up a rift?”
The others, decidedly nervous, begin looking for rifts of their own to use, in case this all goes south.
A burst of flame and smoke from another cabinet elicits screams from Dove, Danu, and Glasya. They glare at each other in anger and embarrassment. King Basalt stomps over to the now flaming machine and begins to bury it in a flow of liquid rock.
[Sooty] “No, no, no! You’re only going to make the pressure..."
Too late. The entire machine explodes, blowing off a good part of Basalt’s arm, who rumble-screams in agony.
[Cat Boss] “Holy shit!”
Danu opens a portal to Otherworld. “I’m leaving. Let me know when you figure this out.”
Glasya rushes into the portal after her. “Take me with you!”
“The fuck I..." Danu’s words are cut off as the portal closes behind the two of them.
The bracelet holding Amelie’s soul shatters. The mountain follows, in a huge volcanic eruption.
Rain sat dumbfounded. “What the fuck?” That couldn’t have been right. Were all the Old Ones really that stupid and incompetent? As she considered, it occurred to her that Creation’s details might not be entirely accurate.
“You can’t be serious. Godsdamnit. You’re trying to make them look bad, aren’t you?”
Much about that scene, she decided, could not possibly be right. What seemed true, however, was that Dove and Sooty had indeed taken Amelie’s captured soul to Mount Hood and had tried to harness her power to open a world-ending rift. And Mount Hood had erupted shortly after the time indicated in the vision. Those two may not have been the fools that Creation tried to play them off as, but they were undeniably cruel, horrible beings who needed to be stopped.
After taking a long walk to calm herself, Rain sat down at her desk and reached back again into the past.
Four months previous. A new soldier enters the fray, a young, troubled individual from Manhattan named Angel. Troubled because of their uncomfortable degree of cosmic awareness, a burden Rain knows only too well. She feels for them.
After hesitating outside Bubbles, Angel, hidden as much as they can be under their dark, goth clothing, enters the bar. Outside, the city is gray concrete, glass, noisy traffic, all business. Inside Bubbles is light and brightness. Happy people eating and drinking and laughing. Some play ping pong. Others dance to the romantic ballads coming from the bar’s sound system. Just being here lifts Angel’s spirit and settles their fears. Even the voices they hear are quieter here. Here, they envy the cathedral-like magical peace.
A stylish, friendly, somewhat older woman with permed brown going-to-gray hair approaches. [Mallory] “Hi! Welcome to Bubbles. How can I help you?”
Angel normally finds it hard to look others in the eye, but they make themselves anyway, comfort be damned. This is important. “Hi. Uh, yeah, I’m, uh, looking for..."
A powerful energy engulfs Angel, almost bringing them to the floor. They cringe, prompting the greeter to ask if they are okay.
“They’re fine. And they’re with me.” A tall, indescribably beautiful red-haired woman dressed in a green silk top, skinny jeans, and thigh-high suede boots strides up and places a hand on the trembling Angel.
The woman who’s greeted Angel sighs. “Mab.”
Mab’s eyes brighten. “Mallory. Is my brother in?”
Another woman, similar in size and appearance, also radiating power, appears behind Mab. “Hello, Mallory.”
“Morgan. You’re here, too. [Sarcastically] Yay!”
Angel watches this interchange with trepidation. They need to take control of this situation though what they really want is to slip away unseen and race home where it is safe.
“You can do this, Angel.” The voice comes from within, but it is not theirs. This is not reassuring. Taking a deep breath, Angel speaks.
“Mallory, is it? I’m Angel.”
Mab begins to interrupt, but Angel holds up their hand. Thankfully, Mab understands the cue and lets Angel speak. “I am here on behalf of others far greater and wiser than us to deliver an important message to Ty Kemble. And his sister, Queen Mab of the Winter Court.”
Rain steps forward into the vision, sensing the need to intervene in this tangle of conflicting impulses to protect the man each person here is concerned about. “Hello Mab. Morgan. It’s okay, Mal. Angel’s business here is legit. I can vouch for them.”
Angel, Mab, and Ty meet in his office after strongly encouraging the others to remain in the bar. A free bottle of whiskey is all it takes to convince Morgan that her queen will be okay without her for a few minutes.
Ty and Mab listen as Angel gives them Creation’s message: “When the Apocalypse comes, you two must remain at Bubbles, channeling all the magic you can to ensure that Manhattan’s Tall Walls hold against what’s coming. I know you will want to rush into the fight, but this is how you can help the most. Others in Queens will ensure that its wall stands, as well.”
[Mab] “I don’t know if you realize this, Angel, but I don’t live here. Earth is not my home. It’s my brother’s. So I’m not sure how this involves me.”
[Ty] “Do we really need to involve my sister? Especially if it places her in proximity to any danger? I have sorcerer friends I can call on to help me strengthen the Wall.”
[Angel] “You should definitely invite as many of your friends as possible to help. But I’m telling you now that they won’t be enough. Mab’s the only one equal to your power, Ty. And you’ll need it. Earth cannot be allowed to fall. Manhattan cannot be allowed to fall. If they do, no world, not even Otherworld, will be safe.”
Three months previous. Angel the Seer has wandered into the middle of Central Park. They are looking for two particular trees, the Elms on the Rocks, east of the Mall. That’s where they will find Princess, a daughter of Ostara and the only one besides Iris Penner who reliably knows how to contact General Arawn, the Lord of the Wild Hunt. Angel has a message for him from Creation, but he is currently beyond Angel’s reach. So Princess will have to serve as go-between. Angel’s hands hold their offering: a large hazelnut, double-shot latte.
[Princess] “Mmmm. Is that for me?”
Angel sees a young woman dressed as a skater sitting between two elegant, winding elm trees growing straight out of the rock of their namesake.
Shyly, Angel approaches the dryad. “Um, yeah. Here!” They thrust out the drink, which Princess gently takes. “I’m...Angel.”
“Hi, Angel. I’m Princess.” As she sips the coffee, leaves in both trees above her rustle, even though there is no wind. “Thanks for the coffee. It’s hella good. I don’t get as many offerings as I used to, so you now get to be one of my new besties.”
There is power behind Princess’s smile that fills Angel with an indescribable warmth, and, against their will, a huge grin crosses their face. Forcing their smile down, Angel points to the rock Princess perches on. “May I sit?”
“Hell yeah, bestie.” Princess pats the rock, and Angel joins her. “You look like you have something you need to say to me. I’m all ears.”
“It’s actually not a message for you, Princess. It’s for your friend. Arawn. I was...hoping you could tell him for me. Because I don’t know how to reach him.”
Princess studies Angel. “I see. What’s the message, Angel?”
“It..." Suddenly, Angel can’t look Princess in the eye. “It involves Iris, his estranged wife. And, also...a dangerous time ahead for us all.”
Two months previous. Angel finds themselves in a place they’ve never been before. It’s not on Earth. It’s not even in the Solar System.
They are in some kind of fantastical, futuristic, towering city like they’ve seen only in science-fiction movies. They shiver, not so much from any cool in the air as from the idea that whatever power is guiding them has clearly taken them so very, very far from home.
[Cathy] “Excuse me. Pardon my saying, but you seem lost. You’re from Earth, right?” An elegant, 70ish woman attired in a pale lavender suit and black button-down blouse, hair up in a neat bun, strides up to Angel. Scrutinizing them closely, the woman remarks, “Hm. Maybe not as lost as you seem.”
[Angel] “Hi, I-I’m Angel. And I’m looking for someone.”
“Maybe I can help. Who is it, dear?”
“Her name is Catherine Beckett-Penner. You...you wouldn’t happen to know her, would you?”
“Indeed I do. She’s me.” Cathy extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Angel. First time in the Axis Mundi?”
“Is...that where I am?”
“Yes. In Medeis, the City of Wizards. Welcome. Now that you are here, looking for me, I’m assuming you’d like to talk. Shall we head over to my office?”
“Don’t you worry that I might be some kind of crazy stalker or something?”
Cathy smiles. “You carry the aura of Creation about you, Angel. Even if you were a stalker, I fear I’d have to listen to whatever it was you had to say.”
“I don’t want to take up any more of your time, Mrs. Penner. And I really really really would like to go home, no offense. So my message for you is quick. Creation, accompanied by the Morrigan, is coming to visit you soon to discuss some very important things regarding your daughter, Iris, and the future course of the multiverse. You need to prepare yourself for the hard thing they will ask of you. It will go against your motherly instincts, but the good of the world will depend on it.”
One month previous. Angel stands outside a charming brownstone in Brooklyn. They start to knock, then lower their hand. After a few seconds, they raise it again...and the door opens. They are looking at a pretty blonde woman who radiates a terrible grieving loss, despite her controlled manner.
“Iris Penner?”
The woman frowns. “Who’s asking?”
“I...I’m..."
Iris begins to close the door, but Angel’s hand reaches up to block it. “Allow me to handle this one, Angel.” Angel speaks to themself but there is power in their words that compels both women to stop and listen.
“Iris, this is me talking. Through this vessel, who, by the way, did not ask for this responsibility. So please be kind to them.”
“I..okay. Should I let you in?”
“Please.”
The two walk around the cozy home, which actually belongs to Iris’s friend Lara Walters. Lara has let Iris stay with her after her baby’s death.
“Do you still have the locket the photographer Miller Colvin sent to you?”
“Of course. You told me I needed to wear it.” She produces a small metal heart for Creation to see. Using Angel’s hands, Creation briefly touches it and sighs in relief.
“Thank me it’s still safe.”
“Thank me?”
“Well, what other higher power am I supposed to invoke, Iris, in expressions of gratitude...? Hmm?”
Iris frowns but says nothing.
“Exactly. Listen, dear, whatever happens over the next month or two, never ever lose sight of the locket. Keep it on you at all times. Literally the fate of everything you know depends on that.”
Rain was back in the present, and out of her trance. Cosmic energies surged and fell, like an earthquake. A major event was clearly unfolding on Earth. “Oh, shit. It’s started. It’s really started.” She clutched her mug of tea close to her as she shrank into her robe.
Hell on earth. As he raced from the cemetery east of Brooklyn, Oliver could think of no other words to describe the absolute chaos he passed as he car wars-style sped towards the city. So many crashes to veer around, so many panicking people and animals blindly racing across the road. So much screaming that the noise melded into an unearthly moan permeating everything.
The sky itself was fucked up. Black clouds, green clouds, red clouds, lighting-choked, eldritch-rip choked. Giant boulders raining down from a huge tear above it all, smashing into the city’s magical protection fields, breaking apart into an army-ant invasion of Krisi’s demons. Air elementals fought and died bravely. Lower to the ground, invaders targeted military helicopters and heavily-armed drones, dragging them to the earth as flaming wreckage. The sea itself, not content to just watch, sent hundreds of whirlpool tentacles skyward to swallow Krisi’s boulder demon inundation before the huge monster himself, taking the form of a gigantic, earth-killing meteor, burst through the widening dimensional rift. Far beyond Oliver’s sight, a desperate, savage battle raged between Krisi’s advanced invasion force and the earth’s strongest line of defense. He didn’t need to see it to imagine it, though.
Next Exit!
Oliver didn’t know how, but he was talking -- well, not talking, but still communicating -- with his horrid sword, Poe. And Poe seemed to know exactly where the two should go. Oliver eased the accelerator off the floor and cranked the steering wheel to drift around a line of stalled-out, abandoned cars between him and the highway exit. Just before he cleared the offramp, a huge boulder collapsed into the road in front of him. Slamming on the brakes, airbag explosion, crumpled front end, flames starting soon...and the van he’d stolen would no longer take him where he wanted.
He dragged his broken, regenerating self and his undamaged sword, damn that thing, out of the wreck. The boulder had separated into three gruesomely grinning gargoyle-like figures.
One pointed to him and said to his meteor crib mates, “It’s Oliver! Oh my master! It’s Oliver, fellas.” Their smiles widened.
One of the others asked, “What are you waiting for, Master Oliver? Our master needs your help to complete his passage into this world.”
Oliver stumbled backwards, drawing Poe up in a defensive stance. “Stay the fuck away from me, you monstrosities! I didn’t summon you. I didn’t call for the Apocalypse. You shouldn’t even be here.”
Unfazed, the three rock demons advanced. “Hmm, turns out we didn’t need you to open a rift for us after all. A magicked-up volcanic blast did that and more. And, for the record, you actually never said we couldn’t come.”
“You can’t come! You can’t come! I demand that you all stop what you are doing and leave this plane of existence right now!”
Each demon, in unison, shook its head. “Sorry, no. That’s not happening. We have a new plan to get what we need from you to finish opening the rift. Now that the gap is wide enough for Krisi to physically reach you, your consent is no longer required...”
A bright blue bolt of lightning lanced down from the sky and wrapped itself around Oliver. He screamed as its fire compressed him. The energy tentacle began to bleed his mana.
On its own, Poe flew from his grip. With a wide, swinging arc, it severed the glowing beam before returning to Oliver’s hand. The rock demons hissed and charged. With three brutal slashes, Oliver reduced his enemies to broken stone rubble.
RUN!
Oliver didn’t need to be told. He raced away from the wrecked car, following Poe’s directions. More rocks dropped from the sky. More demons peeled apart to join in the chase. More lightning bolts lanced down, too, but now Poe was ready. Its anti-magic field held them off as Oliver ran down the exit ramp and into Brooklyn.
The concussion of a huge fireball erupting from a nearby gas station threw Oliver to the ground. Looking up, he found himself surrounded by an unbroken circle of rock demons. Too many. He tightened his grip on his sword.
To the right, a slash, like a scimitar of dark feathers, cut through several of his foes. In the air above him, a woman hovered, wearing a black hoodie and a wooden mask carved like a crow’s head. Giant black angel’s wings sprouted from her shoulders. She extended an outstretched arm.
“Oliver Van Holland! Take my hand!” As she shouted, a billowing cloud formed and dozens and dozens of crows poured out, each wreathed in black smoke. They dove at the rock demons, driving them back with beaks and talons.
Without thinking, Oliver took this odd angel’s hand. Then the two were airborne. But the air was no escape. As the pavement fell away, Oliver heard the creak of rocky wings in pursuit. Looking down, he saw the rock demons had reformed into giant flying, stoney dragons. That was a new trick.
Well, Oliver wasn’t without tricks, either. He chanted words of power, and a three-column radiant firestorm dropped on top of the dragons, blowing them apart. Effective, but, Oliver noted sadly, exhausting. He wouldn’t be able to do that too many more times.
The angel shouted. “I’m going to take us up! But I’m warning you now...this will be rough.”
Now clutching Oliver, Rigan soared high into the realm of the air elementals, where a maelstrom of destructive weather had unleashed itself against Krisi’s hordes. More dragons -- many, many more, Oliver dismally noted -– battled to bring Krisi’s Apocalypse into being. A huge bolt of lightning, not the magical kind, but honest-to-god, actual lightning forked down in front of the pair in a deafening white blast. Rigan shouted to the sky, “Apologies that I’ve had to enter your realm, but I must get this man away from the tear or we all will die!”
As Rigan deftly dodged between swirling eddies and cloud-jumping, chain lightning strikes, rock dragons followed, drawn to Oliver’s magical signature. Darting left and right, Rigan led their slower, clumsier pursuers into a boulder-smashing storm of elemental wrath. Poe fended off mystical strikes lancing towards Oliver.
“There!” Rigan pointed down to a genteel neighborhood. “That’s where we go.”
Oliver heard a voice. Her voice. Her fucking real voice. The voice he’d waited nine hundred years to hear again.
“Husband. Is it really you?”
Amelie.
“Yes! Yes, oh god Yes! It’s me, my love! I’m here! I’m here for you! Where are you?”
“Come down and let’s talk.”
At Amelie’s words, all the winds and driving rain and storm violence fell away from Oliver’s ears. The relentless demons hunting him disappeared from his awareness. A stillness settled; a peace that had eluded him for a millennium washed over him like a soul-saving baptism. He didn’t feel his tears. He didn’t hear Rigan’s shouts. He didn’t feel pain. He didn’t feel sorrow. He didn’t despair. He didn’t want to die anymore. He just wanted to come home.
Oliver was shocked to see Iris standing on the front steps of the charming brownstone. The general destruction and mayhem occurring north of here had largely missed this neighborhood. So far. Though anyone with any sense had fled hours ago.
“Mom?”
Iris grimaced. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t recognize me? Your own son-in-law.”
Rigan interjected. “Iris has cycled quite a few times since then, Oliver. She doesn’t remember that old life.”
[Iris] “What old life? Are you talking about past life nonsense?”
[Rigan] “It’s not nonsense, dear. You’re actual proof of that.”
“Great. More strange shit to feel weird about.”
Oliver held out his hand. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Oliver Van Holland. Nine hundred years ago, give or take, I married your daughter, Amelie.”
Iris looked like she’d been gut-punched. “...Amelie?”
Rigan reached out to steady her. “Iris, uh, recently lost a daughter. A baby girl named Amelie.”
Now it was Oliver’s turn. “Wait. But. I just. I just...spoke with her.” He became angry. “Where is she? Where’s Amelie, goddamnit. Don’t lie to me.”
Another hand reached out but Oliver batted it away.
[Darling] “That’s the only one you get, Dane.”
Oliver turned to see a twin of Iris, except for the hair.
[Darling] “Next one and your arm’s in a sling.”
“Dane?”
“You think I don’t recognize a Copenhager when I see one?”
“How did you...?” Oliver rubbed his temples. “Answer my question, please. Where. Is. Amelie?”
Iris was the one to respond, holding out the open locket. “This is Amelie.”
Oliver had never seen Amelie as a child. She’d been 15 when they’d met, and there had been no photos, pictures, or sketches of her as a child, let alone when she was pre-born, quickening in her mother’s womb. Oliver touched the picture and was lost in white.
Amelie, beautiful Amelie, exactly as he remembered her, stood before him, smiling. “Hello, husband.” Then she rushed forward and hugged him. The smell of roses and lavender filled Oliver’s mind and he had to remind himself not to crush her in his arms.
She stroked his hair. “You really need a haircut. And a shave.”
“I know. I had a hard time getting them where I was.”
“Do you remember when we used to hunt for water lilies by the river near our cottage?” She raised a pristine white flower. He smiled again as she placed it in his hand.
Oliver thought for a bit. “It's one of the memories I’ve fought for over the centuries. It’s really difficult, my sweet, to remember everything.”
Amelie caressed his cheek. “I know.”
“But I fought so hard to hold onto yours.”
Amelie looked sad. “I know. It’s hurt you so much, too. Part of me wishes you hadn’t.”
“If I hadn’t, this world would have died long ago. I saved this world, my dear wife. For us. For you.”
“I think we need to save it again.”
Oliver nodded. “I have to kill Krisi. It’s the only way. Even if it means I have to die. If I have to let go of you for good.”
Amelie laced her fingers around Oliver’s. “I am not going to let you do this alone.” She kissed him. “We do this together, so that wherever you go after you are free of that dragon god, I can go with you. Then no one will ever keep us apart. Ever again.”
“How...how?”
“Simple, my love. I made a deal with Creation, herself, and she gave me her word.”
Oliver smiled once more, a rare, pure, true one. “This is going to hurt.”
“I know. It’s okay. You might be surprised to know the shocking number of times I’ve been hurt throughout my far-too-many lives.” Amelie leaned back, assessing her husband. “What do you say to ending that horrible motherfucker?”
Oliver laughed. He’d never heard her curse before.
Oliver found himself standing beside Iris, Rigan, and Darling. Another figure had joined them, an actual archangel.
“Abel,” was all he said. And he nodded in solidarity.
Shocked, but not complaining, Oliver addressed them all. “I have something I need to do.” He gently closed Iris’s locket, which no longer glowed. “Amelie and I have something we need to do.”
A tear fell down Iris’s cheek as she nodded silently. She understood perfectly well what he’d meant.
[Abel answered] “You and your soul-wife are going to need our help. That’s why I’m here, too. Count yourself lucky. Normally I don’t give a shit about what happens on Earth.”
Abel and Rigan cleared the road in front of the car Oliver drove, while Darling, clinging to the roof, struck down anything that got too close. Poe was propped in the sunroof, its anti-magic field keeping Krisi’s mana-draining energy bolts at bay.
Before them, and all around them, hordes of attacking rock monstrosities -- demons, dragons, ogres, tunneling worms -- fell before the combined might of Oliver and Amelie’s rag-tag army.
Iris sat quietly, fiddling with her now de-enchanted locket. “She’s with you now, right, Oliver?”
Oliver nodded.
“Tell me about her. Can you? This version of me never got to know her.” She was crying. “I guess future me’s won’t, either.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe if we’re cycled, too, you can come and be our child.”
“Don’t be weird. Just tell me about my little girl, dammit.”
“Well, she wasn’t a little girl when I met her, but..."
Above the group of them, beyond a nest of antennas and cables, the sky had nearly torn asunder -- their first glimpse of the terrifying Krisi. He’d taken the form of a mile-wide asteroid, just on the other side of a breach gaping out onto a star-filled blackness. If he came through and crashed into the earth, there’d be nothing left.
Abel the Archangel shuddered, remembering a similar devastating impact by an object that had been hurled at one of the heavens, during the war that no one talked about anymore.
“Oh, shit.” Iris blanched white and trembled as she looked up at Krisi the Destroyer.
Rigan herself cursed in an old Celtic tongue that only Darling would have known.
Darling clenched her eyes shut along with her hands.
At the top of the Brooklyn Tower apartment complex, they’d found a respite from the demon attacks, a place to focus, undisturbed, on the task at hand. Several hours into the incursion, most of the human resistance had been badly injured or killed. People had stopped fighting and started fleeing. An eerie peace had fallen over Brooklyn.
Oliver looked at his assembled band. “Let’s begin.” He held Poe aloft and spoke to it. The blade responded by lighting up along its edges, central fuller, and the waved Damascus patterns etched into its steel. From within Oliver, Amelie reached out and also touched the blade. Over the orange fire of Oliver’s and Poe’s magic, a white aura brightened. Rigan’s touch brought a hue of green and Darling’s a hint of red. Iris’s was purple, and Abel’s gold. Another hand, spectral and nearly invisible, appeared and added blue, Ashley Chen’s color.
[Ashley] “Sorry, Abel. You aren’t going to get all the credit for this one.”
[Abel] “You sure you’re up for this, Ash?”
[Ashley] “Hell, yeah.”
Across the roof, just beyond their little group, another figure appeared. An old man whom Oliver knew well.
[Oliver] “What the fuck do you want?”
[Krisi] “You need to stop this, Oliver. You need to let me complete my mission.” No sign of anger or arrogance in his master’s expression. That unsettled Oliver more than a bit.
“Why?”
“Most of the gods are dead. This world is without divine hands to guide it. If I do my job, if you do your job, we can fix that.”
“Not our fault.” Iris interrupted. Except it wasn’t Iris, her face glowing white, and her voice echoing with authority. “It was the Old Ones’ supreme greed and arrogance that brought them down. Why the hell would these people..." Using Iris’s body, Creation swept her outstretched arm in a huge circle. “Why would they want any of them back?”
“Who else is there, Artist, if not those who’ve learned from experience how to be gods and how, this time, not to fuck it up?”
“I don’t think it’s up to us to decide, Judgment. It should be up to those who live here to determine who will and won’t be their divine guides. Or if they even want them at all. The call to take this world has been revoked. You are no longer required here. Go on to your next assignment without complaint. And you can tell Dove and Sooty that they can fuck off, too, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Tell them yourself.” Turning to Oliver, Krisi said, “I knew we dug you up too soon.”
Two great blasts resounded across the city, one from above and one from below. From above, the power of angry Judgment shattered the Brooklyn Tower into fragments, simultaneously pulverizing trees, buildings, cars –- everything in a 2-mile radius.
From below, the love of a couple whose bond endured beyond death fueled by the support of the family they’d acquired, pierced the sky itself. A beam of rainbow-hued magical energy speared the giant asteroid to its core. Krisi -– planet-killer, dragon god, and avatar of the apocalypse –- shattered into a million tiny, tumbling meteorites.
From the Earth-based epicenter, a sliver of steel spiraled out. Borne by the shockwave, it sailed, tumbling and raging, over the Hudson River, where a greedy, watery arm reached skyward. As the tidal fingers circled around the sword’s hilt, the water began to blacken. Poe sank beneath the river’s surface.
A day later, amidst the devastation of the shattered Brooklyn Tower, Dove and Sooty sifted through the ruins, protected by a bubble of frozen time. Weaving their seeking magic, they found what they were looking for.
Sooty, seething with rage, stood over the charred skull of Oliver Van Holland.
“Fuck!” Sooty raised his foot, ready to smash. “Fuck, fuck, fucking motherfucker.” But then he took a deep breath. No skillful craftsman wastes his materials. He calmly lowered his foot. “No. I won’t grind you to dust, Oliver Van Fucking Holland. I have a better use for you.”
Brandishing a glowing pipe wrench, Sooty pulled metal fragments from all parts of the ruined building, shaping them into a coffin. With a wave of his hand, every findable bit of Oliver’s skeleton floated into its latest, greatest prison. Sooty sealed this casket with his best god magic. With a final “Fuck you!” he gave up a bit of himself to lock it up tight.
Sooty closed his eyes and cast his inner sight abroad for the wreckage of trucks. As he found twisted and broken chassis, axles, and even an intact vintage front end, he pulled them in and shaped them into a gigantic two-story golem. The broken logo on its chest proclaimed its name: “Ord”.
“Now, for possibly the first time ever,” Sooty pointed at the coffin holding Oliver’s remains, “You will be of some use.” The coffin floated over to Ord, inserting itself through the golem’s ass and locking in place. Sooty’s creation, his way. Of course Oliver was nothing more than a suppository.
He addressed his golem. “Live. Go and be a fucking menace to this ruined island city for as long as I can maintain my spite.”
Ord’s eyes glowed at Sooty’s command.
Dove had little to say when she discovered Iris Penner’s remains, buried under the shattered concrete and steel. Only a blackened arm was exposed.
“I found her.”
[Sooty] “Good. Any sign of the locket.”
Dove stared at the rubble covering Iris’s body. “No. I do see her arm.”
“Well, pull her out.”
Dove winced at the thought. So gross. Putting on the rubber gloves she was sure she’d need, she grasped Iris’s wrist and pulled. With a shooking sound, Iris’s arm tore free.
“Oh, shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
Dove winced. “Her arm tore off, and I’m not sure I can reach the rest of her.”
Sooty sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I think that will be plenty for what we need. C’mon, let’s get out of this FEMA disaster.”
The two walked side-by-side, Iris’s arm clutched in Dove’s hand.
Sooty stared at his partner. “Are you...crying?”
Dove smacked his right shoulder, aiming for his head. “No!” They began to quarrel as they dissolved into smoke.
[OUTRO SONG: "WAYFARING STRANGER" by Liessa]
Rain took a huge, gasping breath as she sat up and looked around. She was back in Bubbles, in 2036, not 2014. She rubbed her eyes and sipped her now room-temperature tea. Inhaling and exhaling, she took up the pencil next to her and began to write.
Twenty minutes later, she closed the book. “Thank you, Creation, for letting me see that which I normally can’t. Your continuing guidance is crucial to our ability to plan and adjust to the threats we know are coming as well as the ones we don’t. But, one small observation...that resolve. I think you embellished that whole Krisi fight. Be honest. The falling action seems a little too Hollywood, if you ask me.”
A moment of silence.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. Yes, of course I’ll bring you an offering on Taco Tuesday. I told you I would. Seriously, though, I don’t know why you don’t just wish them into existence.”
Rain stood up and stretched. Her cartoon cat robe morphed into a cute top, bell-bottom jeans, and ankle boots. Walking out of her office and down the hall to the bar, she announced to everyone, “Mama’s off the clock! And she needs a drink!”
IRIS AND THE WILD HUNT WILL RETURN IN SAYONARAVILLE SEASON 2.