Christopher Golden - Lost Ones

Coyote grunted, low in his chest. “What makes you think he’ll have any interest in this war?”

The fox woman laughed softly. “He doesn’t. But neither did you.”

At the door, she did not hesitate. If there had ever been time for such pretensions, it had passed. Kitsune pulled the door open and stepped inside, eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness of the restaurant. Gray daylight spilled through the opening in the roof, but barely permeated the shadows of the corners. Coyote followed, moving off to one side so that they could not be attacked by the same foe.

Two withered, bent crones sat at a table in a far corner with a slim young man who stank of perfume. Kitsune knew them right away as madams from the adjoining whorehouse, which meant the slender man was one of their prostitutes. He was weeping quietly.

A quartet of gruff-looking men-warriors or even legendary heroes from the look of them-had gathered around a table off to the left. A thin tree-creature shuffled toward them with a tray bearing platters of meat. There were others already on the table, festooned with bones and fat that had been sliced away. Even seated, it was impossible not to notice that one of the men was taller than the others; some sort of demigod, Kitsune presumed. He studied Coyote a moment before giving her an appreciative appraisal. Then a shadow passed over his features and he merely nodded in greeting.

She nodded back, but only to be courteous. Her attention was otherwise occupied by the man sitting alone at a table in the patio at the center of the restaurant. His back was to them, but though she had only seen him once she would never have mistaken him for anyone else. He had wild, unruly hair and massive hands that seemed capable of crushing the skulls of his enemies effortlessly. He sipped at a large tumbler filled with ice and amber liquid that could only have been Norse mead. It was a rare import. Whatever remained of the Nordic legends endured beyond the shores of the Two Kingdoms. It was rare to find them, or their worshippers, here.

Kitsune and Coyote strode up behind him, stopping just outside of the range of his arms.

“Lycaon,” she said.

He made a noise that might have been a scowl or a laugh. “I wondered how long before one of you returned to recruit me.”

Coyote sniffed derisively. “Yeah. You seem to be in high demand, but we’re not here to recruit you.”

The man stiffened. Kitsune saw the hackles rise on the back of his hairy neck. Lycaon drained the rest of his mead, ice tinkling in the glass, and stood.

For just a moment, those bestial eyes pinned Coyote and then Lycaon dismissed him, staring instead at Kitsune.

“Have you come for a fight, then? You want to try to kill me?”

“We’re not here for trouble,” Kitsune said. She drew back her hood and shook out her raven-black hair, letting Lycaon’s eyes linger on her a moment before she fixed him with a stare as dark and brutal as his own. “But your business does seem to have dropped off, Lycaon.”

He let out a long breath, relenting to the inevitability of their conversation. “Many legendary have gone to help King Hunyadi, along with the few Borderkind who had been hiding away in the ruins.” He nodded toward the table of heroes. “Those warriors are leaving tonight, joining their swords to Hunyadi’s cause. The Lost Ones have begun to move out of the Quarter. Some want to be in the center of the city, among more of their own kind. Others have retreated further to the north and east, away from the war. But many have joined the king’s army.”

“Not you, though,” Coyote said.

Lycaon growled a low warning, but did not turn to look at him.

“You said ‘Hunyadi’s cause,’” Kitsune observed, studying the werewolf’s face. “Isn’t it also your cause?”

Lycaon knitted his thick brows. “Why should it be?”

“I know you haven’t been through the Veil in a great many years, but you are still Borderkind. The conspirators in Atlantis do not care if you want to cross the Veil. All that concerns them is that you can. One day, they will come after you.”

Lycaon rattled the ice in his glass, staring down into it. “Hunyadi has legions. What help can one old beast be?”

“King Mahacuhta is dead. Murdered. The Yucatazcans have been manipulated into war by Atlantis,” Coyote said with a passion that surprised Kitsune. “With both kingdoms allied against him, Hunyadi will need all the help he can find.”

Kitsune took a chance, reaching out to touch his arm. Lycaon sneered but did not pull away. She met his gaze.

“Others are dying to protect you. Not only legends and the Lost, but your kin. Soon you will be sitting alone in this place. The fires will be dark, and the mead will be gone. What then?”

Lycaon seemed to hesitate. “I thought you weren’t here to recruit me.”

Kitsune released him. “We’re not. If you would rather die alone and hunted than on a field of battle, there’s little I can do to convince you.”

The beast seemed diminished by her words. He spoke quietly. “I know about wars, kings, and murder. I promised myself, when I opened the doors of this place, that those things were all behind me.”

Coyote stepped nearer to him. All the mockery had gone from his face. “You put them behind you, Lycaon. But they’ve caught up.”

The werewolf flinched, but kept quiet, lost in reverie.

“When we go, you’re welcome to come along. That will be for you to decide. But no matter your choice, there is something we need from you.”

Lycaon frowned and glanced up at Kitsune.

Coyote cleared his throat. “The old gods.”

The beast looked askance at him. “They’re dead. You know that.”

“No one has ever believed they were all gone, Lycaon, no matter how they wished their legends would end.”

“And if I refuse, then what? For millennia, people have called me a monster. The word is not inaccurate. Do you think you can force me to help you?”

“We are not enemies, Lycaon,” Kitsune said. “If we succeed-if those rallying behind Hunyadi succeed-you will benefit. If they do not, you will die. All three of us here will die. So understand me well when I say that if you do not cooperate with us, then at least one of us will not have to wait for the Atlanteans to end our lives. You will have to kill us both, or we will be eating your black heart for our dinner, cooked upon your own stove.”

“I’ve never responded well to threats,” the beast-man said darkly.

Kitsune shrugged. “As you like. But I wager your response to death would be even less favorable. We’d rather have you as an ally than a corpse. No matter how hungry Coyote might be.”

Coyote took a final drag from his cigarette, then dropped it to the floor and crushed it under his boot.

For long moments, Lycaon said nothing.

Then, at last, he nodded. “I’ll take you to the old gods. But do not be so deluded as to think we are now allies, or that the old ones will trouble themselves with the likes of you.”

Kitsune nodded. “Lead on, then,” she said, as she raised her fur hood, hiding her face once more.

When Wayland Smith led them through the Veil into the human world, Blue Jay felt strangely at home. He had traveled all through the Two Kingdoms and to other lands in the legendary world, but he’d never felt quite so at ease as he did in the badlands of America. The people who’d believed in him and who still told his stories…this was their land, no matter who supposedly owned it now.

When they stepped into the world, they found themselves in an arroyo that hadn’t seen rain in months. The sky had been the deep indigo that only came in the small hours, long after midnight. The moon hung low and cast its light across a hardscrabble land of tangled brush and cactus. Far off, a mesa thrust up from the flat earth, its striated layers lit up by the moonglow.