Casey stood under an awning in front of the coffee shop, drinking his “Black Magic” blend coffee out of a paper cup. He watched the rain come down, watched people come in and out of the place, heads ducked against the battering of the rain.
He felt naked without the bike. He knew it was being well taken care of by Kael. He’d treat her with the respect he had. The bike was a symbol of something that he wasn’t anymore, even if it did make him look badass and reminded him of what he used to be.
He drank the coffee and thought back, way back, back before the wars changed him. The Civil War had done the worst damage. He was shattered and shell-shocked when he headed west. Sometimes he would stay and help the people in the area or the town, help the sherrif, or even be the sherrif for a short time.
He had continued the work Soniac had given him to do when she pressed the Heart into his chest; help the people who walk this world. At first, it was the Iroquois. Then Indians in general. Then eventually poor whites. Then he became a plantation owner and treated his black slaves better than most. How was he supposed to know that slavery was “bad”? Some of the tribes had it, he never had thought it was bad.
The rain started coming down in sheets, with thunder rumbling in the background. Casey smiled and said, “Welcome, Hino.” He continued to watch the rain. As he did, he watched as it started to materialize, to form into something else, the shape of a man. Casey watched as slowly, Hino in his godlike form, eight feet tall and made of water, appeared before him in only his loincloth.
“Lord Hino,” Casey said, and looked around for a basket to put the cup in to give him a proper greeting.
“Black Fox. Attend me.” His wings unfurled quickly.
A man stopped short, barely missing him. “Hey, asshole, watch it!”
Hino turned and looked at him. A lightning bolt came down and hit him knocking him aside, and killing him instantly, while the entire area shook with the BOOM of the effect. Casey swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
Hino turned his burning blue eyes to Casey, and then shot up in the air. Casey stepped out from under the awning and stepped over to the man. He was twitching still, involuntarily, as he could see electricity coursing over and through him. Then the man was still.
“Come, Black Fox,” boomed Hino’s voice.
Casey took two steps and jumped, launching into the air himself to follow. The rain grew colder as he rose. He couldn’t see exactly where he was going, seeing only Hino’s blueness to guide him. He found himself in a moist cloud and felt lost, not knowing which way was up. He hovered, confused.
Hino appeared before him and took him by the shoulder of his clothes, dragging him upward like a stuffed doll. “You do not know the ways of the air or sea,” Hino said, breaking out of the clouds.
Casey gasped. Before him was what looked like a glade, but instead of the lush green grasses, it was fluffy, white clouds. At one end of the glade was a longhouse, meant to hold a few families. He counted four smoke-holes, which meant eight families. It was small, in comparison to other longhouses that he had grown up in.
Hino set him down near the longhouse. “You will explain things to me.”
“Explain what?”
“Why there are many gods, and we are all similar.”
“I – well, I don’t really know. I’ve never tried to figure out gods.”
“You will now,” he said, and parted the door of the longhouse.
Casey stepped inside, and was immediately assaulted by light. When it cleared, and he could look, there were men – and one woman – who were seated around the cooking fires.
“These are gods of thunder,” Hino said. “Explain to us how we exist.”
Casey looked at them all. They were in all sorts of costumes – some not in anything at all. The woman was looking at him, a small smile on her face. They were all looking at Hino or him.
Casey knew he was out of his league, so he reverted to what Kenna had told him and hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t.
He wasn’t back until four days later, by then so mentally exhuasted he could do no more than stare at Alex when he was talking to him…
Words: 770
Music: Arise, e.s. Posthumus.