Published: 13 Apr 2020

Nothing is Certain
but Death and Texas

Death

Gary was worried about Richard – the new Asclepius. Something was troubling the boy, something associated with death. Gary wouldn’t read him, but hoped I could help. I joined them for a Saturday breakfast.

Richard had been right: Saturday breakfast wasn’t about a meal. It was about ritual and celebration. Gary began the tradition the morning after Nemesis rescued Bobby, and Gary learned that for a long time Bobby had eaten little except dry cereal. Gary promised himself this would never happen, again. Even though Bobby was now a citizen of Erewhon, he was a frequent guest in Gary’s home. Bobby wasn’t present, today; still, Saturday was a celebration.

I thought Zhang looked at me a little oddly, until I remembered. I had been there. I had been there when the yakuza had cut Zhang’s throat all the way to the bones of his spinal column. I knew Zhang had a role to play so I reset reality until Asclepius could arrive and complete the healing. I had been there when the yakuza had stepped from the alley to see Richard holding Zhang. It was I they saw, standing behind Richard, and it was their fear of me that caused them to step back into the alley. I wondered, briefly, how I had appeared to them.

None of this helped me understand Richard; however, his own thoughts would be the key to understanding. I had seen them on that day, and I remembered. After breakfast, Nemesis took Zhang to the gym for their martial arts lesson. Gary pushed Richard and me from the kitchen, claiming there wasn’t enough room at the sink for help with cleanup. I didn’t waste time.

“It would have been a hard and lonely death,” I said.

Richard raised his eyebrow.

“You would have fallen into a crevasse. Broken limbs would have kept you from climbing out. Your foot would have wedged between two rocks, and you would have hung nearly upside down for hours until you no longer had the energy to breathe. You would have suffocated. It would have been very unpleasant.”

Richard turned white, and then began to cry. I grabbed him, and hugged him while he sobbed into my chest. He had seen not only the words, but also the-possibility-that-might-have-been-reality. Then, he asked me.

“How do you know? Who are you? Are you like Nemesis and Gary?”

I shook my head. “No, my job is much easier than that of the gods. It is my responsibility to be present for untimely deaths, and for especially painful or significant deaths. Yours would have been especially painful. And, I think, significant.”

I held Richard for a long time. He loves Zhang, I thought. They are matched. He can cry on my shoulder; he can relax in my hug. But, he cannot love me. That is as it should be.

I saw Gary standing in the kitchen door. He gave me a thumbs up, and retreated into his office so not to intrude on Richard and me.

Gary, too. He’s in love with Nemesis. Gary is my good friend … perhaps the only friend I have, really. How many other people in the entire world – human or god – would argue sports and play skee-ball with Death, and do it without fear or awe or … or condescension?

In Gary, I had a friend: the first in the centuries since I had accepted this role. I think Caden also would become a friend. Richard? He had a lot to work through first, but yes, he too. In time, I think Richard would become my friend. After centuries without them, I was gaining friends. I would, however, like someone to love.

Third Rock Ranch, Near Silver City, Texas

Calvin

I shoved my feet into the boots and pulled the legs of the blue jeans down over them. Only dorks and girls wore their blue jeans tucked inside their boots. I was a dork, according to most of the boys at school, but only because I was smarter than all of them put together, and they were too stupid to come up with a better nickname. I was also more of a cowboy than any of them. I lived on a real ranch. I did chores like taking care of cows and horses and, a couple of times a year, puppies. And, my cowboy boots had actually been inside the stirrups on a horse. Most of theirs hadn’t been any closer to a horse than the pony rides at the county fair. Speaking of which, my bull won a yellow ribbon at the state fair last month … in the adult division.

Sounds like a good life, doesn’t it? Most of it was, except for the dork part. Would have been better, except that my stepfather ran the ranch, and he was a real jerk. I think the only reason he let me go to school was that he was afraid he would lose control of the trust fund if he didn’t. For sure, he would have lost everything if people knew what all went on at the ranch.

Why didn’t I say anything? Mostly because I was afraid of what Fred – that was the stepfather’s name – might do to my mother and little sister. And because of what he would for sure have done to my little brother.

Mother and Fred didn’t get along any more. It had started when she had been diagnosed with a prolapsed uterus. Fred figured that if he couldn’t have sex with Mommy, he’d have sex with me.

Please don’t judge me … I know a lot more now than I did when I was ten; and Fred knew even more than I did. I was really afraid he would hurt Mommy and Susan and Casey. So, I did what he told me to do.

The past couple of months, Fred started acting like he wasn’t interested in me … and started looking at Casey, who was twelve. And Susan, who was only eight. I didn’t know much about girls, then. In fact, and you’ve got to keep this secret, I didn’t know what a prolapsed uterus was, except that it pissed Fred off. I just figured if Fred fucked Susan or Casey he’d really hurt them because they were so little.

I was right.

Two of the horses had to be shoed and the farrier was due around mid-afternoon. I had chased the horses down. That was the fun part of the job – I rode Silver, the big stallion. I was bringing them into the barn when I heard a whimper, and then a scream. It was Casey, and it was coming from the hayloft. I dropped the reins and scrambled up the ladder.

Fred was lying on top of Casey. I had been where Casey was often enough to know exactly what was going on. I didn’t need to see Fred’s naked butt pumping up and down, and I didn’t need to hear Casey crying to know. I grabbed a pitchfork and ran toward Fred.

He must have heard me, because he turned around and looked up. He grabbed Casey and rolled over. He held Casey in front of him. Before I could stop, I stuck the pitchfork into Casey!

I was paralyzed, and that’s all Fred needed. He grabbed the pitchfork, pulled it out of Casey, twisted it around, and stuck it into my stomach.

At least, that’s what I thought he did. Until I saw this guy standing beside Fred and holding onto the pitchfork.

“Not their time, Fred,” the guy said. I couldn’t quite figure out his voice. It sounded like he was standing at the bottom of a deep well, and his words echoed all the way to the top. It was like he was standing somewhere in my head, too, because I understood all the words, even with the echoes. Weird.

I ran to where Casey was, and realized that there weren’t any pitchfork holes in his tummy. I looked at the guy.

“Not his time, Calvin. However, it is Fred’s. Please don’t look.”

Naturally, I did. Looked, that is. I think the guy knew I looked, but he’d warned me, so I guess he figured it was on my head. He picked up Fred like he was a wisp of hay, and threw him over the edge of the hayloft. There was a really satisfying thump when Fred hit the barn floor.

“Calvin?” the figure said. “Casey isn’t going to remember any of this. You shouldn’t, either. But you will. I’m sorry about that.”

“Sorry?” I said. “Sorry? Who are you? How did you do what you did to Casey? Why did you kill Fred? Oh, and where did you get those boots? They’re rad!”

Death

“You may call me Uncle George if you like. And, the boots were custom made for me in Tombstone, Arizona. About 1870, as I remember.” I looked at the boy as I spoke.

There was something about this kid that called to me. Yeah, he was cute, but that wasn’t it. When he asked me about the boots … so soon after seeing me toss his stepfather over the edge of a hayloft … and when he didn’t flinch when he saw that his little brother wasn’t hurt after being stabbed with a pitchfork … I realized there was something special about him.

“George,” the kid said. “Uncle George.” His voice was calm. He heard the 1870 and Tombstone, but they didn’t faze him. “Right.” He drawled the word. “You weren’t there a minute ago; then you were. Casey was hurt; then he wasn’t. Fred was fucking my little brother; then, Fred was dead. I think you owe me a little more than just, George.

“Oh, and the truck you hear? That’s the farrier. He’s probably going to wonder why Fred’s dead.” The boy giggled at his own rhyme.

“You take care of Casey,” the boy said to me – ordered me! “I’ll keep the farrier in the front of the barn. We’ll worry about Fred, later.”

He scampered down the ladder. I stood there, wondering just what I had awakened.

Calvin

When I got back, the guy who called himself Uncle George was playing what looked like mumblety-peg with Casey. The farrier had finished shoeing the two horses, but hadn’t looked in the direction of Fred’s body.

“He’s gone,” I said. “Casey? Are you okay?”

Uncle George waved his hand, and the knife Casey had tossed into the air stopped – frozen in midair. “It never happened,” the man said.

“Casey was never raped. At least, there are no physical signs and Casey has no memory of it. You saw it; you remember.”

He plucked Casey’s knife from mid-air, folded it closed, and handed it to me. Then, he asked, “As I said, you shouldn’t. Who are you?”

Whoa! This mystery guy was asking me who I was?

“I live here; Casey is my brother,” I said. “Fred the dead was our stepfather. Who are you?” I asked.

The guy chuckled. “That’s a fair question. Calvin. I’m sorry, but I can’t answer it.” He looked like he meant he was sorry. Then, he disappeared … just wasn’t there.

Well strike me for a rattlesnake, I thought. Then, I woke up Casey who thought he’d fallen asleep in the middle of chores, and who didn’t see Fred lying at the foot of the ladder, just like the vet hadn’t.

It was later that night when the hands found Fred. The sheriff came out, and so did Doc Severs, but there weren’t any question. Fred had fallen to his death. So tragic. Susan and Casey and I acted sad. So did Mama … but I was pretty sure she wasn’t, really, and I know for sure I wasn’t.

Now, I needed to get hold of this guy who said he was Uncle George.

Who was he? He’d fixed Casey after I was pretty sure I’d killed him. Then, he’d killed Fred. Lowest common denominator: death. And, he was more than a hundred years old. The guy was Death. The person you usually saw in the black robe with a cowl hiding his face … and a skeleton hand holding a huge, old-fashioned scythe. Crap! I thought. How am I going to find Death?

At first, I thought I should hang out around the cemetery or the funeral home. Then I realized how stupid that would be. According to Google, more than 150,000 people die every day. That gives this guy less than a thousandth of a second for each one. And, I knew he’d spent most of the afternoon with Casey. Something didn’t add up. Still, I knew he was Death.

So, I thought some more. There was no reason Death needed to be at every death, only the important and interesting ones. Or, like he said, when it wasn’t someone’s time. Whatever that meant. So, where did that leave me?

Nowhere. I was so frustrated, I lay on my bed and started crying. Eighteen years old, and I was crying.

“Calvin? I’m really sorry.” It was that voice from the bottom of the well, again. “I don’t know what to do. Will you help me? Please?”

I looked up. The dude with the 1880 cowboy boots was sitting on the edge of my bed. He held his hand over me like he wanted to touch me, but was afraid to. He looked thoroughly miserable.

“Uncle George!” I said. And then, I really started crying. I don’t know why I was crying. I wasn’t sad any more … in fact, I was really happy. I sat up and grabbed him and held on like I wasn’t going to let go. And, I wasn’t. I had found him, and there was no way I was going to let him go … at least until I found out some things.

I looked up, and felt Uncle George was happy too … happy for me? Happy for himself? Happy because I was happy? I wasn’t sure, but for now, happy was good enough.

“Calvin, do you know how much I missed you? Do you know how much I wanted to be with you? Do you know how much …” Uncle George paused. I knew what he was worried about.

“Uncle George, I know who you are, and I know why you want to be with me, and I love you, too, and I want to be with you, always, and I missed you and I love you and I want to know everything …” I wrapped my arms around him and, before he could stop me, kissed him … on the lips.

I thought I was going to melt into a puddle of Jell-O on his lap. And then, I felt him: he was afraid he was going to do the same thing.

“Calvin,” he said. “I … I’m centuries older than you … I can’t love you like I do …”

“Well, if you’re centuries older than me, then the age difference doesn’t make any difference.” I was absolutely sure of what I was saying.

Death

With his kiss, Calvin had opened himself fully. I saw who he was and what he had suffered. I knew what he knew and I knew what he wanted. He had figured out for himself who I was and what I did. He wanted to be with me … as a helpmate. He wanted to support me in what I did. He wanted to be what I had been looking for; something I didn’t know I had been looking for until he showed me.

Why? I wondered, and formed the question in my mind.

Do you think my job is … exciting? Do you think you’ll be powerful and awesome? I did not speak those words, because I saw his answer before I could ask.

Your job isn’t cool. But it is something that has to be done. I’m not powerful; next to you, I’m just a kid. But maybe that’s what you need beside you … someone who isn’t a god … yeah, I figure that’s what you are … maybe you just need someone ordinary to ground you … and, maybe, to hug? Maybe? …

Calvin’s thoughts drifted off, but I saw more, below the surface, waiting to come out. I had to back away from his thoughts before I was overwhelmed.

Did I need someone to hug? Did I need someone to love? Had I made Calvin want this? That thought frightened me.

“Calvin, your step-father raped your body. I may have raped your mind. I may have projected so strongly how I felt about you, and what I hoped you could be—”

Before I could finish the sentence, Calvin had grabbed me, again. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his head into my chest. I could barely hear his voice, but his thoughts were clear.

“No! I searched for you! I wanted to find you! I know you heard me when I was crying because I didn’t know how to find you. You came when I called. You didn’t force me, I called you!”

I hugged Calvin and kissed the top of his head.

I thought about Gary and Nemesis. I thought about Nomos and Leroy. I knew they had become lovers. And I was happy for both of them. I’d run into Nomos often since he had received his powers in the late 1800s. As a policeman, he was a focus for sudden, violent death – part of his role as the Spirit of Law. We had a cordial-but-not-close relationship. I had not encountered Leroy, but I knew that I would have, soon, and that had Nomos and Nemesis not rescued Leroy, our meeting would have been neither cordial nor pleasant.

“Calvin—” I began, and then briefly pressed my lips onto the top of his head. “Calvin, I love you … I think. I haven’t loved anyone in so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. Will you help me remember?”

Calvin relaxed, and returned the hug. I felt his hurt dissolve and vanish. I wasn’t reading him, but he was projecting, strongly. More strongly than I’d felt a mortal, before. It didn’t occur to me, then, to wonder if he were something more – something more than mortal, that is.

“Sure, Uncle George,” he said. Then, he giggled. My new, 18-YO boyfriend giggled. And I loved it. “Oh, yeah, you’ll have to be Uncle George to Mama and Casey, and Susan, and yes, you’ll have to meet them. They’ll wonder …” Calvin paused, and I realized he’d figured that out, too. “No, they won’t wonder, will they?”

“No,” I said, “they won’t wonder. It’s part of who I am. Mostly, people ignore me. If someone sees me, and realizes who I am, it’s usually too late. It won’t be a problem.

“There is something, though,” I added. “You grew up fast and hard. You never had a childhood. Now, you are going to take on some very serious responsibilities. And, if I read you right, you want to take on even more. You have a ranch to run, you know. I’m not sure you’ll have time or energy for the other thing you want … to help me …”

“I’ve figured that out, too,” Calvin said. “You spent the whole afternoon with Casey … you spent hours with him while the farrier was here. But, people all over the world were still dying. You can move in time, can’t you?”

“Um, hmm,” I said, and nodded.

“Then you can take me with you.”

Calvin

Uncle George sighed. I grinned, ’cause I knew it wasn’t a sad sigh. I felt he was really kind of happy because I’d figured it all out, and showed him how it would work. He gave me another hug.

“That, too … will have to be taken slowly. Do you understand?” he said.

I nodded. This was not Uncle George talking, it was Death. The guy who was going to be my friend, my boss, and – I hoped – my lover.

“Yes, sir,” I said. Death nodded, and then smiled. He knew I understood, and it made him happy. I felt tingly inside, and I knew he felt that, too.

“Even though I can move in time, there are limits. And, there are things I must do. I’ll be back,” Uncle George said.

I saw, I felt the rock-solid truth of what he said. I knew he could no longer live without me, just as I knew I could not live without him. We were somehow bonded.

“Oh, and don’t be surprised at anything you see,” he added, and winked. Those words were wrapped in a warm smile, which I saved and savored long after he had gone.

The next morning, Uncle George drove up in a shiny black Ford 450 dually. I found out later that it wasn’t solid black. There was a tiny white star over the right headlight. It was too small to see unless you knew to look for it. I didn’t know to look for it until I saw the dually turn into a horse. That was later, though.

With Fred dead, Mother needed someone to run the ranch. A lot of the men had left as soon as the sheriff took away Fred’s body. The ones who didn’t leave? They were from the shallow end of the gene pool. I don’t know if Uncle George did something to Mother … I don’t think so, and I didn’t ever ask … but she hired him to be foreman. The first thing he did was to fire all of the remaining men, and bring in a new bunch.

The second thing he did was to ask me to saddle Silver, and to show him around the ranch.

“I’ll ride Spike,” I said. “Silver’s the alpha horse, you should ride him.” I grinned. “ ’Cause you’re the alpha male around here.”

Uncle George looked … not unhappy but not happy, either, and went into what I learned was his daddy mode. I realized, then, that I had gotten a lot more than just a friend.

“Calvin,” he said. “Silver is your horse … and I already have one. In the second place, we’re partners. I’m not your master, and I’m not alpha to your beta.”

He saw the confusion, and maybe the hurt, in my eyes, and then said. “It’s going to take a while to work all this out, don’t you think?”

I nodded, and we swapped smiles as one of the new men led a huge, black horse from the barn.

“Oh!” That was all I could say. It wasn’t an Uncle George horse: it was a Death horse. He was three hands higher than Silver, and shiny black—except for his eyes, which got red whenever Death got close. Except other people didn’t see that. Oh, and he had a tiny white star over his right eye. It was so small you wouldn’t see it unless you knew it was there. His tack was as black as he was. His name was Impala, which was kind of funny since when he wasn’t a horse he was a Mustang … a Ford Mustang, that is. Or an F 450 dually truck. Or a Hummer – the military kind, not the civilian knock-off. I didn’t know all that until later, though.

That day, I showed Uncle George the main part of the ranch: the cantonment where all the buildings were, the corrals, and stuff. He pointed to a building on a hill, and asked what it was.

“That’s the power station,” I said. “On the other side, on the upslope, are a bunch of wind generators. Just over the crest—” I pointed to a different hill— “is a solar array.

“We generate all our electricity, and sell a bunch back to the grid.”

By this time, we’d reached a hill that stood behind the cantonment area. “This is the highest point in the bottom of the canyon,” I said. “It’s about 300 feet above the floor. The walls of the canyon go more than a thousand feet, pretty much straight up. On the other side of the ridgeline are some of the most rugged mountains in Texas. They’re all part of a national park, mostly ’cause they’re not good for anything else. Except for the road you drove in on, there’s no easy way in.

“This is about all I can show you, today. There’s lots of other things to see, but we’ll need to take a couple of days, and camp out …”

I got this image of the two of us, lying on bedrolls under the stars. The air was so clear I could see all seven of the Pleiades, and could easily separate Mizar and Alcor in the Big Dipper. I thought about how it would be to lie on my back, naked, while my Uncle George entered me … not like Fred had, but with care, and love. I didn’t know if it was something I imagined, or something he imagined, ’cause by now, we were showing each other a lot of things in our heads. I shivered.

When that happened, a few days later, it turned out to be both of our dreams.

Death

It was to be the best day of my life. I had completed a day’s work dealing with souls, and then traveled back to early that morning on the ranch. Calvin handed me saddlebags and a bedroll, and showed me how to attach them to Impala’s saddle. Yes, I’d been riding him for more than 200 years, but I’d not gone camping since Valley Forge. This was a new experience for both Impala and me.

Calvin and I rode side-by-side most of the time, but it was clear Calvin was in the lead. He pointed out the geological features of the canyon: the alluvial fans where spring rains flowed down the canyon walls to irrigate the cropland and pastures, and then fill the main lake that sparkled turquoise in the clear air. He pointed out springs, fed from the mountains that surrounded the canyon and dotted the floor.

“You remember,” Calvin said, “that I said the mountains around us aren’t much good for anything?”

I nodded.

“That’s not entirely true,” he said. “They keep people out, ’cause there’s almost no way to get through them, and, they collect water and send it to us.

“The geology is a combination of limestone, from when Texas was a shallow sea, and volcanism that raised the mountains. Put together with the prevailing winds, there’s a lot of rain that falls on the mountains, and most of it flows through underground streams, carved in the limestone, into our canyon.

The sun had passed the western wall of the canyon, although the sky over our heads was still bright, when Calvin announced, “We’re here.” He reined in Silver. “It’s my favorite place in the whole world. I brought Casey here last year, but never anyone else.”

I looked around. There was a lake … a small one, about an acre or so … that was fed by three rills and emptied into a stream. The lake was surrounded by cottonwood trees. Other trees lined the creeks. To the north, the sheer walls of the canyon rose into the darkling sky. The muted light painted the rocks a color like a purple-gray.

“This is beautiful,” I said. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

Calvin took, of all things, Tupperware containers from his saddlebags, and tossed the contents into a pot hung over a campfire. “Slumgullion,” he said. “The meat was frozen, and has barely thawed out; the vegetables are fresh. I’ve got biscuits to go with it, and a couple of apple turnovers for dessert.”

I was way out of my element, here, and simply watched with a little wonder as Calvin prepared and served supper.

Calvin

It is the Pleiades … and Alcor and Mizar … I thought for only an instant until the hot fullness of my lover pushing deeply inside me brought me back to reality.

It was nothing like Fred. In the first place, Uncle George faced me, looked into my eyes, kissed me, and pressed his tummy hard against mine so that I felt more than just him inside me.

In the second place, I felt what Uncle George was feeling, and I knew he felt what I was feeling. Everything he did was done to make me feel good. I knew what I could do to make him feel good, and did it. He gasped. His eyes widened. I felt his release not only in the heat in my bottom but in my own spurts that coated our tummies.

Calvin

The next morning, I cooked beans, tortillas, and eggs, and made campfire huevos rancheros. I did cheat a little, and used canned salsa and a bag of grated cheese from the grocery. Uncle George tried to help, but gave up and simply watched in wonder.

“I haven’t camped out in a couple hundred years,” he said. “Always, even during the Civil War, when I spent most of my time on the battlefield and in primitive field hospitals, I went to a real house for supper and sleep. I don’t know how you can do all that with just a rock for a table and a single frying pan …”

“Practice, Uncle George. But I don’t understand. You’re a god … I figured that out … so you should—”

“Not a god, Calvin. A spirit.”

Death

“You’re not an elder god?” Calvin asked. “I guess I knew that, ’cause you weren’t anything like I thought Hades would be like.” His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Then, I guess you’re Thanatos.”

“Probably his successor, at least in part,” I said. “I took this job in 1778. It was the dead of winter – no pun intended. I was an 18-year-old soldier in the Continental Army, under the command of General George Washington. I had watched my companions die from starvation, cold, and disease. I was waiting my turn, when a man rode up on a solid black horse.”

“Salutem,” the man said.

“Salutem, ignotum,” I replied in schoolboy Latin.

“Estes vos frigus, puerum?”

“Yes, I am cold,” I said. “But I have friends who have frozen to death. You are … you are not one of us,” I said. “Nor are you British. Who are you?”

“I am the spirit of Death.

“The death you have seen on the battlefield and the death you have seen in this winter’s cold are but a jot or a tittle against what you shall see.”

I knew he was telling the truth about being the spirit of death, and about my seeing more death than I could imagine. I misunderstood the context, however.

“Why?” I asked. “Is the war lost, then?”

“No,” he said. “The colonials will win this war, although at a great cost. They will win the next war with the English, as well. That is as far a-future as I have seen.”

“Is it not wrong to tell me my future?” I asked. “Does not that destroy free will?”

“Neither this war nor the next are in your future,” he said. “Not in the way you are thinking.

“You see,” he said. “You are to be my replacement.”

He told me that he could no longer bear the burdens he was asking – no, demanding – that I take his job. He explained what I must do and the powers I would have.

“Within your realm, you will be inviolate; use your powers for other than that for which they are given, and you will be vulnerable,” he warned.

“So that’s why there are limits on how much you can time-travel?” Calvin asked.

“You’re probably right. It takes energy to travel in time or in space. I can get all the energy I need to travel to or from a death. If I want to go somewhere on my own, I have a harder time. I get tired and hungry. And, it takes a while to recover.”

Calvin

“Uncle George?” Several days had passed since our camping trip. Uncle George had spent every night with me, but we’d not had sex again. Just cuddles. I knew that was because he was tired … exhausted, sometimes.

Now, we had just finished lunch, and were standing on the porch of the mess hall. “You’re spending a lot of time at the ranch … and I know when you go off to do your other … your real job.”

Uncle George nodded at what I hadn’t said: and, it’s time I went with you on that other job.

“You’re right,” he answered. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He whistled, and Impala … sort of appeared. Saddled, ready to ride.

“Whistle for Silver,” he said.

I raised my eyebrow, and then remembered him saying not to be surprised at anything he did or anything that happened. I whistled.

I knew Impala wasn’t a real horse. When Silver appeared, I figured by now, he wasn’t, either. Impala and Silver were like, god-horses. Just like Uncle George had powers – what he called Authorities – the horses had something he called Attributes.

Uncle George knew what I was thinking. “Impala and Silver have Attributes … characteristics, things they can do,” he said. “They are limited, but within those limits they’re pretty powerful. The Attributes aren’t like our Authorities, which are much broader and, as long as we’re acting in our realm, inviolate.

“Impala can be the F 450 you saw, before; a Mustang; and an HUM-V. Silver can change, too. I think he’s going to be a Lamborghini … silver, of course.”

I thought about that, and decided that I wasn’t ready for it, quite yet. I was used to driving a pickup truck … and being about six feet above the road … not six inches! Besides, there weren’t any roads around here that were flat enough for a Lamborghini. I was afraid I’d rip the oil pan and transmission out in the first mile.

“You said our Authorities …” I said and raised my eyebrows.

“Yes,” Death said. “You are either receiving or finding Authorities. I don’t know how, or where they come from. Actually, I think you might have had some before we met … or, perhaps, our meeting triggered something that was already in you.

“Usually, a god or spirit’s Authorities come from one of the old gods or spirits. You can find out who has what by Googling the god or spirit’s name. Yours? I don’t know. Perhaps from some god or spirit who no longer exists on this world, but who has moved on to another. Perhaps one of the elder gods has given you part of his or her Authority, like Athena did with Aiden … you haven’t met him, yet. Perhaps they are a gift from Zeus, himself.

“Perhaps, the people of this world are creating a new god, to meet a new need.”

Death must have seen the puzzlement on my face. I think my eyebrows were all the way up under the brim of my ten-gallon hat. He chuckled, and then said, “Let’s think about that, later.”

He had mounted Impala. I put my foot in Silver’s stirrup, and hoisted myself into the saddle. Uncle George waved his hand, and we were no longer on the ranch; we were in the middle of a huge crowd of people, all of whom were moving quickly and, it seemed, in every direction. The sun had shifted to the west, so I figured we were east of the ranch. I looked at the people. They were a mix of races and ethnicities. Many were dressed in colorful clothing … I recognized it from magazines – Inca or Aztec, I think. Around the plaza were huge buildings, and a cathedral. A big city. My head spun briefly, and I realized that the sun was in the northern sky.

“South America … Rio de Janiero? Buenos Aires?”

“The former,” Death said. He clucked to Impala. Silver followed, and we moved across the plaza toward the cathedral. The people in the plaza seemed to part before us and flow around us. Death dismounted, and dropped Impala’s reins onto the pavement.

“The horses will be okay, here,” he said. “No one will see them, and they won’t wander away.”

I followed him into the cathedral. As soon as we entered, the noise from the plaza became muted. The air was cooler. The cathedral was illuminated by light from windows high in the walls, from a stained-glass window high over the altar, and by hundreds of tiny, flickering candles.

Kneeling before one bank of candles was an old woman. Her hair was covered with a lace kerchief. The white of the lace was only a bit whiter than her hair. Her lips moved quickly while her hands danced over the beads of a rosary. I sort of knew what she was doing. I had, after all, seen the Godfather movie … the one when the younger brother kills Frodo or Freddie or something while he’s saying a Hail Mary.

I had hardly finished that thought when the woman’s voice went silent, and she bowed … no! She fell onto her face, and knocked over a whole row of candles. I knew she was dead.

Death was no longer Uncle George, although his appearance hadn’t changed. He touched the woman and pulled from her a bright point of light. He lifted it. It rose from his hand and seemed to disappear into the darkness that hid the ceiling of the cathedral. Death looked at me, and raised his eyebrows. I nodded. I understood. We walked toward the door as two men in robes … cassocks … alerted by the falling candles, came running.

Our next stop was a desert in Africa. “Mali,” Uncle George said. “Once a piece of the French empire; then the Sudanese Republic. Now? A wasteland. The entire country is a battleground in which most of the population is starving. The country’s motto is ‘One people, one goal, one faith,” but that faith had better be Islam of the Sunni persuasion. Even though the state professes secularism and tolerance, the Sunnis don’t.

“The battle, here, was about religion; however, it was over uranium, which can be found under the ground.”

The occasional crack of gunfire told me that the battle wasn’t over. Uncle George felt my unease, and assured me. “We cannot be harmed. Only that with which we choose to interact can affect us.”

He knelt by a body. I gasped. Nothing I had seen before, nothing I had imagined, had prepared me for this.

The body was a child, a boy, perhaps 8 years old. He wore a camouflage shirt that was several sizes too large, and gym shorts with the logo of a famous sportswear company imprinted on them. He was barefoot and bareheaded. His hands clasped some kind of semi-automatic rifle: AK-47? I knew about revolvers – we wore them all the time on the ranch because of rattlesnakes and coyotes. I know about hunting rifles, but I didn’t know squat about modern military weapons. Still, I knew what he held wasn’t a kid’s toy.

Flies danced on his lips and eyelids, seeking moisture that was absent elsewhere. I nearly upchucked when he opened his eyes and licked his lips. He wasn’t dead!

“He will be in a moment,” Uncle George said.

“Can’t we do something?” I asked. Actually, I begged.

“Succor on the battlefield? An easy death in battle? Those are the province of an ancient god, the soldiers’ god: Mithras. I have not seen him in centuries, however.”

“But we have to do something!” I protested.

“I may not,” Uncle George said. “You, however … you have a water bottle?”

I nodded, and lifted the boy’s head and dribbled some water on his lips.

“Dieu vous benisse,” the boy whispered. He took a deep breath. His eyes opened wide. Then, his entire body slumped. His eyes glazed; his chest collapsed; his limbs went limp. He was dead.

Uncle George reached into … into the boy’s chest and pulled out something that looked like the envelope for one of mother’s informals … her note cards. Uncle George looked at it, and then lifted it toward the sky, into which it ascended. I knew what it was – the little boy’s soul.

“He’s going to Heaven, isn’t he?” I asked.

Uncle George surprised me. “What did you see?” he asked.

When I explained, he said, “What you saw was the mythology and superstition to which you’ve been inured. Yes, I took his soul. Yes, I sent it to a good place. However, it didn’t ascend to Heaven, nor did I lift it in that direction. Your mind interpreted what you saw using the patterns of your upbringing.”

“You mean, there isn’t a heaven?” I paused, and then added, “Or a hell?”

“There are as many heavens and hells as there are religions, and they were created the same way as were the gods. The believers in Islam have created a heaven based on the words of the Koran – and a hell of desert heat and aridity. The followers of Yahweh have created a hell not unlike that described in Dante’s Inferno, although the theology of that book is … at the least, unorthodox. They’ve also created a heaven very much like the one in which Mark Twain feared he might have to spend eternity in an everlasting praise and worship service. There are others.

“This little boy was a Muslim. He believed and was faithful to that belief. He will live with others like himself in a garden full of sweet fruit and cool water until he is recalled.

It was still just a little after lunchtime when we returned to the ranch. “You’ll be tired, tonight. Try to get to sleep, early. Next time, we’ll plan for a rest stop.” Uncle George gestured to one of the men, who took both our horses.

We spent the next day at the ranch roping and branding, and culling the herd. I was headed for the house to shower when Uncle George gestured to me to follow him. We walked over to Impala – except now he was a Ford Mustang. I heard the locks pop even though Uncle George didn’t have a key ring. I got in.

I didn’t say anything about how hard we’d already worked, how tired I was, or how badly I wanted (and needed) a shower. Death had warned me that helping him would be hard, and I wasn’t about to quit.

As soon as we passed the mesquite copse and were out of sight of the cantonment area, the windshield blanked. I looked at the GPS screen and saw that we were several thousand feet over Missouri. A quick extrapolation, and I figured out where we were headed. “Chicago?”

“Yes,” Uncle George said. “There’s a bit of business we have to attend to. Someone’s messing with reality … someone I’ve brushed against, before. It’s the same feeling I got when a boy in Nepal almost died before his time, and when Fred didn’t die when he was supposed to.”

“Who is it?” I asked. “What are their powers? Are we strong enough?” I tried not to let worry creep into my voice.

Death

Calvin was trying not to show fear, but I felt a tremor in his voice. It was so faint he probably was not aware of it.

“Don’t know who they are, or what are their powers,” I said. “I do know that within my realm, my powers are inviolate. Once, Mars, who is an elder god, tried to interfere. He fought one of my predecessors, and lost. The only thing we have to worry about would be Zeus, or someone empowered by him, and he wouldn’t do something like this.” At least, I thought, I don’t think so. I managed to hide that from Calvin.

We had arrived. The windshield cleared. We were about 50 feet above a freeway. The lake was to our right. Whatever I sensed was directly in front of us.

“There!” Calvin pointed to a bus. Just as he spoke, the bus crashed through a guardrail and plunged toward the lake.

Calvin gasped as time stopped. The bus hung, motionless, between earth and sky, and only yards from the lake.

Calvin pointed, again. “What are they?”

Unaffected by my having stopped time, winged creatures flew around the bus. They resembled women, but their faces were sharp, noses hooked and pointed, hair closely cropped. Their flowing robes were bloody. They flew against the windows of the bus as moths to a flame.

No sooner had one found a handhold somewhere on the bus than another fought off the first to claim her place. One, stronger or more determined, had opened a window. She clung so strongly the others could not push her away. I brought Impala closer. We saw her reach into the window. We saw her target. The bus was full of children, perhaps on a school field trip. Seated by the window was a boy, about eight years old. I looked at him, and saw it was not his time.

“Bring me closer!” Calvin said. He unsnapped his seatbelt, and rolled down the window.

When he did, we could hear the screeches and screams of the creatures. I knew what they were: Keres. The spirits of violent and cruel death. Where did they come from? I thought …

“What are you doing?” I asked Calvin, my voice raised over the screeches of the Keres. “You can’t fight them!”

Calvin still wore his .38 revolver. He drew it and held it by the open window.

“A mundane weapon won’t harm them!” I said. By this time, a couple of them had spotted Impala, and were moving toward us, perhaps looking for an easier target.

“It’s not mundane any more!” Calvin said. “Get closer … I need a line of sight that won’t put a bullet in the bus!”

I relaxed. It was only then I realized how tense I had become. Calvin was right … in a way I didn’t understand.

I swung Impala around. Calvin fired. The Ker that had been reaching into the bus exploded without sound, and vanished. Calvin fired at another that had been approaching Impala. She vanished, as well. The others, alerted to the danger, flew away

“Well, now. What are you going to do about the bus?” Calvin asked. Then he gasped when I reset reality.

In slow motion, the bus reversed its arc, moved backward through the guardrail, and a hundred feet backwards on the freeway. When time resumed its normal flow, a small application of force caused the bus to strike the guardrail a glancing blow, skid a hundred yards or so along the rail, and come to a stop.

I parked Impala by the side of the road. Calvin and I got out to check on the children. Other than a few bruises and a split lip or two, they were okay. The driver, however, had suffered a heart attack, and was dead. In the grand scheme of things, his death was neither important nor interesting, however I took his soul and sped him to his good place.

“What were those things?” Calvin asked. The tremble in his voice was obvious. I grabbed him and hugged him.

“Keres. Ancient. They were among the evil spirits released when Pandora opened her box. I haven’t seen one since … since the war between the USA Marines and the Barberry Pirates … you know, the “shores of Tripoli” war?

“You saved those children’s lives,” I said. “You did well. I’m very proud of you.”

Calvin returned my hug. “Yes, but you could have—”

“Could have? Certainly. As I said, Death is my domain, and there I am inviolate. However, it was you who did it. Now, please let your Uncle be proud of you, okay?”

Calvin grinned. “Okay. But—”

I raised my eyebrows, effectively cutting off what he was going to say. Or so I thought.

He took a breath. “But, don’t you think the appearance of a spoiler this far into the game isn’t a little too coincidental?”

“Yes,” I said. “The Keres were going to cause untimely deaths; Fred’s untimely death was prevented. The Keres are not the answer to the mystery.”

“At least,” Calvin said, “not the only answer.”

I nodded. “Come, we’ve done enough today.”

I moved us back in time, and took us to Omaha. There was a restaurant in the stockyards that served a great rib eye steak. And, there was a motel just down the street from it.

It was a simple matter to clean the clothes Calvin and I were wearing, and although we tried, we didn’t run the motel out of hot water with our shower. We left Calvin’s six-shooter in Impala, and walked to the restaurant, and afterwards, back to the motel.

“We’ve been awake for … more than 18 hours?” Calvin said. “I should be falling asleep on my feet. But, I’m not.”

I answered the implicit question. “Part of your powers, Calvin. You still need sleep … at least eight hours at a time … because you need to let your mind clear itself of clutter, and that’s one thing sleep does. I think the elder gods can get away without sleep – at least so much – but spirits, avatars, the younger gods … and youngsters such as yourself … we still need sleep.

“Okay,” he said, “but not immediately.” He stepped into my arms and raised his face for a kiss.

I told Calvin I was not alpha to his beta. I thought I knew what that meant, but on this night, I learned an entirely different interpretation.

The first night we had camped out was also the first night we’d had sex. I thought I was top, but realized – well afterwards – that Calvin had asserted his dominance to make himself bottom.

Confused? So was I.

On this night, Calvin lay on his back, legs spread wide. He lifted his buttocks slightly from the bed in invitation. I knelt, my legs were between his. It would have taken little to slide my penis into him, and it was obvious that was what he was expecting.

But it was not what I wanted.

Yes, being inside him had been wonderful. The expression on his face when I filled him with my heat and when his own orgasm splashed his seed between us had been wonderful. It was better than any of the boys and men whom I’d penetrated in the past couple of hundred years, and that was because of our bond. Still, it wasn’t what I was expecting.

Without thought, and certainly without planning, I lifted myself and in a single, smoothly coordinated movement, planted myself onto Calvin’s penis, and felt it slide powerfully into me.

We both gasped.

There was some initial discomfort, but within seconds I adapted to his presence inside me, and to his heat, his girth, his length. My buttocks pressed hard against his pubis. Calvin was no smaller than I, and I had never allowed anyone to dominate me the way I wanted Calvin to.

But he didn’t. He was dominant the first time, but he was my receptacle. Tonight, I took him into me, but I was dominant: I was the alpha, and Calvin was the willing and enthusiastic beta.

Afterwards, we cuddled. I held Calvin tightly and closely.

“Uncle George?” he spoke. There was more to the question, but he was reluctant to ask it. It was my job to create both the question and the answer.

“I told you I was not alpha to your beta,” I said. “I have long thought that …” I was reluctant to continue, because it would involve telling him of other relationships. It didn’t matter. He knew.

“Uncle George? You’re an immortal eighteen-year-old. You usually appear to be in your twenties, but I see you sometimes the way you are … were … more than two hundred years ago. Almost the same age as me. You haven’t been a monk for the past two-hundred-and-some years. I wasn’t your first. I know that, so it’s okay for you to talk about it.”

“No,” I said, although I wasn’t sure what I was denying. “No, I’ve had many partners throughout the years. It’s easy to find them … I can feel their thoughts. It’s easy to manipulate them.”

Calvin gasped. I knew what he was thinking. “Yes,” I said. “At first … I used my knowledge and power to seduce. But only once. At the moment of climax, I knew what I had done was wrong. It was the worst experience of my life. I apologized, I professed my sorrow. The boy shrugged. He had enjoyed himself … he was a creature of hedonism … and was markedly unconcerned with my feelings. I learned two lessons, that day. The first was that using my powers for my own purposes was wrong, and, moreover, would leave me unsatisfied. The second was that not everyone had the same motivation as I.”

“And me?” Calvin asked. “What is my motivation?”

“It is as pure as the snow that fell in Antarctica before mankind discovered fire,” I said. “I love you, Calvin and I know you love me.”

Calvin

“The Keres were instruments of whoever or whatever is causing the wrong thing to happen. They were going to create untimely deaths. Something prevented Fred’s death … and …” I trembled when I remembered the pitchfork in my hand going into Casey’s stomach … “and nearly caused Casey’s death.”

“The simplest answer is that the Keres were someone’s tools, someone’s catspaws.”

Uncle George had taken me for a steak-and-eggs breakfast at the restaurant where we’d eaten last night. Instead of sitting in a booth, we were at the counter. The place was full of guys dressed pretty much like we were: working cowboys. We were in a corner of Omaha that was still a rough-and-tumble cow town. I said something about overeating, but Uncle George said we would need the energy, and that we might not get lunch.

“Got a lot to do, today. I want to work more on what or who is behind the Keres, and the late Fred’s death.”

“We’re going to go after them?” I asked. I was afraid, at first. Not of the Keres, but that he wouldn’t let me be part of it.

“Yes,” he said. “And, yes, I want you with me. You were present at two wrong events. At the first one, you were being manipulated. Yesterday, however, you acted quickly and correctly.”

Death

I explained to Calvin that it was the morning of the day before. He and I were in Texas, just starting the roping and branding. Later that afternoon, we would take the Mustang to Chicago to rescue a busload of children. We had a day to be anywhere but the ranch and Chicago. He took it pragmatically.

“Where do we start?” he asked.

“Good question, Calvin. I’m not sure I know.”

Calvin managed to hide the disappointment I knew he must have felt, but not his surprise. Then, he surprised me.

“I’m not disappointed!” he said. We were still in the restaurant, so he couldn’t hug me – although I knew he wanted to. Frankly, I wanted a hug. He reached out his hand and tapped mine, briefly. It was enough … for the moment.

“It’s got to be a god,” he began.

“Or a spirit,” I added.

“Don’t be picky,” he said. “Which gods might want to mess with you … or with reality?”

I hadn’t thought of it, that way. I figured it was someone – Mars, perhaps – trying to cause problems for me, personally. It hadn’t occurred to me it might be someone with a broader goal, a goal of altering perhaps the destiny of humanity, of civilization.

I stopped time for an instant so I could squeeze Calvin’s hand without one of the locals noticing. Then, I said. “Calvin, once again, I’m so very proud of you. You saw what I could not see. I assumed it was an attack on me. You have seen it might be broader.

“Come on, we need to find a place to talk.” I glanced at the check, dropped a couple of twenties on it, and slid it toward the waitress. “Thanks.”

I didn’t want to use a lot of energy. I wasn’t sure if I were on my own, here, or if I could legitimately use the energy that was my right as Death. So, I took us only as far as the Badlands of South Dakota, and parked the Mustang on a bluff from which we could see a panorama of geology. Calvin was fascinated, and I gave him time to look.

While Calvin was watching the colors shift while the sun came up behind us, I thought. In what direction is reality going? Is this world still being driven by the USA? If so, where is the unholy tension between the right-wing Christian conservatives and the Alt-Right taking that country? Which gods would be weakened? I didn’t realize it, but I was still missing an important point.

“Who are the gods who are weaker or less important than you are, and who would benefit from your being hurt?” Calvin asked. “And, if you were out of the way, who could affect reality?”

Calvin hadn’t been just looking at the rocks; he’d been thinking, too. I thought about his question, but couldn’t come up with an answer.

“We are unique in our Attributes and Authorities,” I said. “There is no overlap; there is no way I could, for example, gain power by harming another spirit or a god.”

“Well, maybe somebody thinks they can do that. Who are the gods and spirits?” Calvin insisted.

“There are still a few original, old gods: Dike, who is goddess of justice, is perhaps the most powerful, save Zeus. He keeps pretty much to himself, now. Athena is still here, and active. She may be very powerful, but she’s not exercised real power in a while. In fact, she recently gave some of her Authorities to a boy named Aiden.

“A fellow named Gary, and his assistant, Nemesis, are the gods of Children and Retribution, respectively.” I was reluctant to tell Calvin I knew – was friends with—Gary and Nemesis. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps I was afraid of jealousy? Perhaps I was trying too hard to nurture this new relationship.

“There’s an Apollo,” I continued. “But he’s new. And an Asclepius, god of healing, but he’s even newer than Apollo.

“A spirit named Nomos, and his assistant, Leroy, represent the spirit of law.

“I’ve already told you about Mars—”

Calvin interrupted. “He’s the only one, so far, who has anything to do with death, and you told me you two were ancient enemies.”

“Well, perhaps not ancient enemies,” I said.

“He’s still the best candidate,” Calvin asserted. “Who else?” he demanded.

“Poseidon rules the sea … undisputedly, apparently. He and I have concurrent jurisdiction over deaths at sea and by drowning. We’ve run into one another at some interesting deaths, but we’ve never disagreed about who was in charge. I don’t think it’s he.

“Pluto still rules the underworld … but there is no conflict between what I do and his rule.”

“Not even if you send too many people to heaven, and not enough to him, in hell?” Calvin asked.

“It’s not like that, at all, Calvin,” I said. “Whether a person goes to his or her heaven or hell, or to one of the places that are neither heaven nor hell, they all enter Pluto’s domain.”

“Pluto runs heaven, too?”

I nodded. Calvin simply gulped. “What about … G*D?” he asked.

“You mean the Jewish-Christian god? The one you learned about in Sunday School?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the one you called Yahweh. I mean, he’s the original monotheist god, the worship me to the exclusion of all others, or else god …”

“Actually, Atan was the first monotheist god with any power to speak of. Yahweh inherited his mantle—”

“Would he be jealous of you?” Calvin interrupted.

“Might be,” I said. “But it’s not he. He’s … he’s pretty much lost in his own mind, now a days. He set up too many conflicts, and doesn’t know how to deal with them.”

“Huh?” Calvin raised his eyebrows.

“Too many conflicts in his teachings,” I said. “The biggest is between his old testament persona and the image he tried to portray in the new testament. He started as a bellicose god of a small tribe of goat-herders, and then tried to make himself a loving father figure of the whole world. He is absolutely sure he created the world, and the universe, but cannot resolve that with the evidence that everything happened through natural processes. And, he’s sure that humans have both free will and the knowledge of good and evil, and that they will do what is good. Another thing that just isn’t happening.

“If I were a psychiatrist, I’d say he was schizophrenic – totally isolated from reality. He runs around, complaining to Zeus and Dike that they’re undermining his reality. About the only thing he hasn’t complained about is the CIA implanting a radio receiver in his molars.”

Death shook his head. “No, it’s not he. His power is in the hands of charlatans and televangelists, now.”

Calvin looked stunned.

Then, his eyes sparkled. It was the first time I’d seen that, and I knew he had something important to say.

“Except for Yahweh, all you’ve mentioned were Greek or Roman gods,” he said. But, they weren’t the first. What happened to the Babylonian gods? The Egyptian gods?”

Now it was my turn to gulp. I had known the answer all along, but it took my helpmate, my son, my lover to show me.

“Anubis,” I whispered.

“He’s the jackal, right? What was he god of?”

“Funerals, death, and resurrection,” I said. “As a jackal, he represents a creature that threatened bodies buried in the sands of Egypt. His skin is black, and represents both the color of the skin of mummies, and the black soil deposited annually by the overflowing Nile River – a symbol of rebirth and renewal, resurrection.”

“You said is,” Calvin said. “He’s still around?”

“Yes. He’s been living in Germany, as a member of a neo-Nazi hard rock band. I’ve known about him, but have ignored him. That was a serious mistake.”

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