Tempo

By Bill Ricardi and Oleg Tsoy

"The god of sex and music isn't available to answer your prayers right now. Please leave your devout plea after the tone, and he'll bestow his divine grace upon you at his earliest convenience."

After surviving The Day of Red Claws, Lucas and Izadore did their best to lay low overseas. But with Ihy out of the picture, the situation back home quickly spiralled out of control. So Host and god-son returned, with a single goal in mind: Turn the tables, at all costs.

War with Menhit’s cultist and mercenary army was inevitable. For Lucky and Izy, it was time to step up. Everyone would need to pick a side, from mortals to Muses, from history’s heroes to the gods themselves. Could a desperate gambit from beyond the Void be the answer? Or would the Goddess of Massacre roll over the face of the Earth, plunging humanity into an age of eternal conflict?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Ricardi
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 1916454089

Book preview

book.

Playlist

‘Tempo’ is heavily invested in the music that surrounds us. These are some of the key songs and albums that appear in the book, presented to the reader so that they can create a playlist (on YouTube, iTunes, etc.). The reader can then use this playlist to enhance the reading experience, hearing what Lucas hears when the time is right.

These songs are presented in no particular order, to avoid spoilers. Like Lucas, you must be ready to play the right song at a moment’s notice.

Please support these amazing artists if you enjoy their work. Use their official channels when possible, buy the music that you love, become a fan if it touches your soul.

They Might Be Giants - Women and Men

Saosin - Seven Years

Toto - Africa

Run The Jewels - A Report To The Shareholders / Kill Your Masters

The Highwaymen - Highwayman

Radical Face - Welcome Home

Shriekback - Fish Below The Ice

Ella Fitzgerald - How Long, How Long Blues

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps

Foreigner - I Want To Know What Love Is

Cake - Meanwhile, Rick James…

The Cure - Friday I’m In Love

Billy Joel - The Night Is Still Young

Green Day - Having a Blast

Jimmy Eat World - Hear You Me

Buckethead - Jordan

Imagine Dragons - Radioactive

Oasis - Wonderwall

Run The Jewels - Thursday In The Danger Room

Pink Floyd - Shine On You Crazy Diamond

Joe Henderson - Blue Bossa

The B-52’s - Roam

Kid Rock - I Am The Bullgod

Foreword

The three book arc is a tradition as old as publishing itself. And third books carry a weight of responsibility: Hopes and fears find truth’s harsh light. Protagonists face their foe in that long awaited showdown. And all of us learn the fate of the world, for better or for worse.

Hundreds of thousands of words aren’t enough to tell the full tale of Lucas and Izadore. Millions of words wouldn’t be enough either. But I hope that I was able to hold the lens on them for just long enough to give you a glimpse into the bright vortex of their entwined souls. At the end of this novel, we pan the camera and catch a glimpse of the next generation of heroes. But rest assured, as The Ihy Saga continues, we won’t forget our old friends.

Let me thank a few folks before I get carried away:

To my fans: 2020 has been a wild, and often sad, ride for all of us. My only hope is that my novels provided some amount of comfort and joy, as all of us fight for a healthy, fair, and equitable world. Please have one another’s backs, regardless of race, gender, and sexuality. The only way we survive on this wobbling, spinning rock is together.

To my loyal Beta Reader, Tim Vecchiarelli: You’re awesome. Always have been, always will be.

Special thanks to our cover artist, the astounding Oleg Tsoy: He brought two scenes to life in a single, rich artistic feat. Lucky and Izy riding mechanical steeds, one possible and one impossible, as all Hell breaks loose behind them? Damn right. I couldn’t have asked for more.

To Stephen King and the ‘On Writing’ method: You owe me a beer for all these shameless plugs.

This book is dedicated to Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, and Hunter S. Thompson: You took yourselves from our fragile world, and we still feel the void to this day. Sometimes no amount of help, and no amount of love, can fix what is broken inside. But we still love you. And we still love every word.

To every musical artist mentioned in the book, living or otherwise: You bring the rhythm. You create the cadence. This is your tempo. Wherever you are, this one’s for you.

To Loki and Rick: Cat and husband respectively, who meet in secret places at impossible times to plot the destruction of the universe: Have some treats instead, maybe?

Alrighty, then. On with the show.

Introduction

Social Services. Hal Gordon speaking.

He was dressed in a full black business suit, the kind found on the rack at popular chain stores. It didn’t matter that nobody else could see him, alone as he was in his office. It didn’t matter if the bulk of his muscular torso strained every seam, making him look less like a social worker and more like a Navy recruiter. This was how he dressed for the job; at least for the better part of the last century.

Ah, Elizabeth, as I live and breathe. One moment, I’m just pulling up your file on this antiquitated device. Tell me, are you doing well?

The weathered fingertips of a kindly old man tapped away at a faded membrane keyboard. The device looked like it belonged in an ancient government facility like NORAD, or perhaps a service station in the 1980’s. The LCD monitor was more modern, if out of place… it had been torn right out of a submarine’s sonar console. Sitting next to it was a massive tower computer, complete with floppy and CD drives that never got used. His telephone was an old school handset, including one of those spiral cords that managed to tangle itself at the slightest opportunity. He pinned it between his broad shoulder and cauliflower ear.

The ‘old-tech, but sturdy’ theme of Hal’s electronic suite was matched by his choice of desk. It was a huge, semi-circular affair with stone cladding; the type of thing one would see in the reception area of a bank or investment firm. How it got into his private lair was a mystery.

Well, you need to lay low, Miss Kent. I understand that some quite extraordinary things happen around you. But another public incident might impact your education. We don’t want you being held back a year.

The man’s choice of decor made more sense in the context of the office itself. It was, quite literally, a cavern. Craggy gray stone walls stretched thirty-five feet into the air before curling inward to form a natural dome. Naval battle scenes, ranging from ancient times to the modern day, were painted directly onto the rock itself. The only exception to this strange aesthetic was the giant glass tank on the flat wall behind Mr. Gordon’s desk. It was more suited to a national aquarium than a private office, containing salt water fauna raging from giant clams, to white squid, to sharks. The moisture in the air was thick, which perhaps justified some of the man’s technology choices.

No, I wouldn’t advise that. California is just about as safe as it can be. Times like these always pass, young lady. You need to have patience. Will you do that for me?

He listened to the assurances coming from his client. They put him at ease… Elizabeth wasn’t known to lie. He tapped a few notes into her file, which was unlike any social services record on Earth. Fields included ‘Divinity’ and ‘Power’, both of which pegged in the mid range on Miss Kent’s chart. Her ‘Empathy’ rating was incredibly high, however. The contents of the file didn’t say if she was a Host, or… something else. But more importantly, perhaps: Her ‘Local Threat’ and ‘Global Threat’ levels were quite low. It was unclear whether that referred to threats to her well being, or the young lady’s rating as a potential danger to the rest of the world.

Well, I’ll let the department know. I’m sending a note to our lawyers, and they’ll advocate on your behalf. Hmm? Of course. No need to thank me, that’s my job.

Hal saved the file, which apparently put it somewhere in ‘The Cloud’, according to the crazy woman who installed the system. He would have preferred a private mainframe in a secret vault somewhere, but she had assured him that the information would be both secret and safe. All changes were reviewed by his right hand man, Matt, who took any appropriate legal action on behalf of their clients. Matty was a good kid. Despite himself.

"That’s done. Now you’re sure about this part time work? You’re fine as long as it doesn’t exceed twenty hours a w- hang on, Miss Kent."

He cut himself off, abruptly. Just above his phone console was a set of small bulbs. Over the last fifteen years, they never lit up. Not once. They sat dormant, like a string of Christmas lights that was too old fashioned to hang on the tree, but for some reason never got thrown out.

Now, the first red light silently flashed at Hal. A few moments later, it was joined by a second.

Ice gripped the man’s heart. This was never supposed to happen. He was nobody. He didn’t exist. And yet, the lights blinked balefully at him. He drew in a deep breath, then addressed his client as calmly as possible under the circumstances.

Elizabeth, something has come up. You remember what to do if you don’t hear from me? No, I’m fine. I’ve just got an unexpected meeting. I may be engaged for a number of days. Alright then. You too, young lady. Goodbye.

The third red light announced the deactivation of yet another layer of defenses. He dropped the handset back into its cradle. As something thumped against the metal door on the far wall, the big man took cover under the lip of his desk.

A powerful shape charge tore the office’s thick door right off its hinges. A dozen paramilitary operatives, in armored black uniforms and full balaclavas , stormed the room. They bore no insignias. They announced no allegiances.

MP5 submachine guns flashed and barked, reducing the tower computer and military grade monitor to component parts. Bullets sparked off of the stonework adorning the front of the desk, unable to penetrate the density of such oldschool cover. The phone’s handset splintered and emitted a dial tone for a split second, before the next Parabellum round took out the base unit.

Cease fire!

The men slowly, cautiously started to fan out. Their target was nowhere to be seen. But unless the office had a trapdoor, he could only be in one place. As one, they approached the broad desk.

The commander pitched his voice low, intended only for the pick-up on his tactical headset. When you get the angle, roll a stunner under there. Everyone else, brace.

But the man was either too loud or too late. From under the desk, an ancient and primal sound rolled forth. The conch horn’s deep bass tone shook the cavern walls. Mere mortals in the room felt a wave of nausea pass through them. Thick aquarium glass, helpless against the resonance of the soul of the sea itself, shattered into a hundred shards.

The queasy mercenaries braced against the rush of water, expecting a short flood followed by a swift completion of their task. But their expectations were defied. If anything, the initial surge intensified. One of them came to the realization that this wasn’t a simple aquarium.

It’s open to the sea!

The commander’s mind raced. What kind of nut builds their office thirty yards underground, in a cave that’s exposed to the entire ocean?! Still, they had a mission to accomplish. He barked his orders, "Kill him quick and fall back."

The two lead soldiers were hip deep in frigid salt water before they managed to round the corner and get an angle on the old man cowering under the water. They sprayed their MP5’s under the desk from about five yards away, a certain kill under most circumstances. But after a little more than half that distance, the water blunted the bullets’ momentum. They might as well have been firing rubber bands. Before they realized the error of their ways, it was too late. There was a sudden thrash, a scream, and a fountain of red. The first shark staked its claim. Before the second horrified mercenary could turn tail and run, white tentacles wrapped around his face and throat, tugging him underwater in horrific fashion.

Then: Chaos.

Hal was no longer a kind, aging social worker. And he was certainly no longer taking cover under that stone-clad desk. Triton manifested as a fully naked man in his prime, looking for all the world to be some kind of golden-skinned, musclebound version of Jesus. He burst out of the water like a breaching whale. Bodies flew. Four men in the secondary line were taken completely off guard by the supernatural entity. Particularly when the man-god’s fiery orange crab claw snapped off the first soldier’s arm at the elbow.

As screaming filled the air, another shark bit into the leg of the startled, off balance mercenary in the back of the little group. He went under and never came back up. Before the closest man, or at least the closest man with all of his limbs, could bring his weapon to bear, a lightning fast lunge closed the distance. This time, the wicked ‘snip’ of Triton’s claw sent his victim’s head tumbling into the swelling pool of salt water. The invading ocean turned scarlet.

The commander was giving the order before it consciously registered in his own mind. "Retreat! We need air support. O-or sea support. God dammit, help us!"

But the water was already chest high. The entire Atlantic Ocean was paying them a visit, and it had only a tiny doorway to escape through. Unable to get a good grip on the balaclavas, jellyfish clung to the eyes and lips of a couple unfortunate men. Electric eels slithered in on a flanking maneuver, going after the terrified perimeter guards. A trio of massive tiger sharks washed into the room, happy enough to join the blood frenzy caused by their sisters and brothers. The massacre had just begun.

Triton abandoned the scene to his primitive children. He kicked away from the center of the bloodbath, moving as easily as a dolphin through a calm tidal pool. The god paused only long enough to grab a black leather bowling ball carrier from underneath his desk. He zipped up the bag, hiding his sacred conch from prying eyes of every species. Even carrying the oddly shaped and weighted object, he was easily able to swim against the inrush of sea water.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching as the ocean reclaimed his home. Anger and regret welled up in his mighty chest. For a moment he considered invoking the Binding of Catana, summoning the ancient Carthaginian dead to wage eternal war against the living. But eventually, the rage washed out of his belly like a falling tide. He remembered his new commitments. The god of the sea struck out towards the northern coast, and he didn’t look back.

Not many people were frequenting Town Beach in Narragansett, RI. It was a popular spot to be sure, but the tourism season wasn’t in full swing. So just half a dozen families witnessed the strange, kindly looking old man walking out of the surf. Why the pensioner would have walked into the Atlantic Ocean in an old dress suit was a mystery to most of them. A couple of more cynical folks spotted the bowling ball carrier and assumed he was trying to end himself in a very strange way.

Mister Gordon ignored the murmurs of disbelief. He scanned the crowd for something… for someone. Then he saw it: The gaze that pierced ocean waves. The near-understanding of eternity.

He walked up to the tattooed man in his early fifties, sitting on a beach blanket with his family. The slightest glance was all it took. There was a brotherhood among sailors that was stronger than appearances, or generations, or even time itself.

Excuse me, Senior Chief. Can I borrow your phone?

The sailor didn’t ask how the man knew his exact retired rank. He didn’t ask if it was going to be a long distance call. He simply nodded, reached into the pocket of his shucked trousers, and offered the old man his cell phone.

Hal muttered his thanks. As the noonday sun started to dry his tattered suit, he punched in a number that he knew by heart. A number given to him by a smart, young friend. A number that he’d hoped never to use.

Ah, yes. Hello miss. I’m exceedingly sorry to bother you. Is this Zelda, by any chance?

Chapter 1

‘Don’t scratch at it.’

Lucas hissed in frustration. He did his best to ignore the tiny, gritty little grains of sand that slid through every gap in his clothes and pooled in his boots.

Still, his mental reply to Izadore reflected the irritation that he felt.

‘This is crap, Izadore! I only agreed to be buried up to my neck because you said that, and I quote, the desert was your friend.’

Izy shot back, ‘The desert IS my friend, buddy! I just didn’t expect the beach sand to be so cool. So moist. It’s a different kind of sand. Hey, Lucky. Did you know that my people had dozens of words that they could use to pinpoint the exact properties of a patch of sand?’

‘What? I thought that was a myth.’

‘It is, yeah. We just called it ‘sand’. But still, it makes you think.’

Lucas contemplated ways that he could separate himself from his spiritual partner, somehow give Izadore his own body, and then beat the crap out of him.

Izy pouted. ‘No need to be mean. Maybe a little music to take your mind off of it?’

‘No. Not yet buddy. I’ll survive.’

The voice in his head was gentle, ‘I know but… you’re in pain. I feel it too, remember?’

The Host brushed it off, ‘It’s nothing new, Izy. Just old wounds.’

‘You’re still a teenager, Lucky. You shouldn’t have ‘old wounds’. I’ll see what I can do after we’re done here.’

‘Thanks, man.’

Doing his best to ignore the sand that invaded every crevice, the young man adjusted his fingers on the grip of his tan rifle. The M110 was a semi-automatic weapon, so he wouldn’t need to flail around in the sand after every shot, reaching for a bolt in order to chamber the next round. His earbuds were already in place. After tapping the touchscreen on his cell phone to start the all-important music, he could lay perfectly still and simply react as needed.

Izy had picked out a beautiful spot for them to observe the sleepy Florida beach. Their elevated bluff was shielded from the left by mossy boulders, just at the edge of where fertile soil degraded to sand. It gave them a clear line of sight for miles, though Lucky’s choice of scope wouldn’t exactly take advantage of that. He knew his limits, even enhanced by Izadore’s affinity for music. The adjustable optics would give him three times magnification for closer encounters, and nine times at half a mile. Everything was pre-adjusted for the longer range, and it would be a pain in the ass to get everything calibrated quickly for the lower magnification… but it could be done. If things got hairy.

‘I hope Bo and Rashida were right about this. We don’t want them right up in our face. These people need to stop further to the East if I’m going to be at all useful. If they aren’t driving towards me at least somewhat, they’ll zip through my field of vision like…’

‘Like a spark off a blacksmith’s hammer?’

‘…sure, we’ll go with that.’

Izy was quick to comfort his Host. ‘I trust them. They spent a couple of weeks observing this faction in particular. They even set up a false alarm so they could see stuff like response times. And Rashida’s mind doesn’t work like ours. He sees things in painted layers… risks and odds, potential impacts and rewards. I don’t fully understand it. But it works.’

Lucas murmured aloud, Well, I trust Bo. Rashida… you don’t think he’s a little nuts?

‘Big bro? No! No, of course not. I mean. A little.’

‘A little? Doesn’t he want a sun god to walk the Earth? Giant footsteps turning sand to glass as he delivers a message of reckoning?’

‘Well yeah, sure, when you say it THAT way he sounds like a complete loon.’

The human sighed. The afternoon sun baked the sand, which in turn baked his buried rump. He found himself hoping for a little bit of rain.

Izadore reminded him, ‘South Africa.’

‘Shit. Right. No rain.’

Over the past few months, the pair covertly travelled the world. They found themselves with many tales to tell, and precious few people who they could safely tell them to. They were, after all, hunted. Izadore’s nationally televised ‘miracle’ during the halftime show of the holiday football game put a big, fat target on their backs. Without knowing who they could trust, they had to rely on old friends and allies.

But the comfort of familiar faces was paired with guilt. The nature of their very existence meant that anyone who got too close was potentially exposed to danger. Lucas was officially a wanted man, particularly on American soil. Government agencies, local police, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and of course violent religious cults all wanted a piece of him. His friends knew this, and yet they still wanted him around for some strange reason.

Izy gently admonished him, ‘They love you, idiot. What’s the point of survival if you aren’t allowed to be with the ones you love?’

Lucas nearly jumped out of his skin when their encrypted phone started to ring.

‘Did you do that?’

‘What?! How could I do that? Do I look like Ma Bell?’

He allowed his left hand to creep over and grab his phone. He positioned it in the shadow of his broad straw hat before flipping open the magnetic cover. The caller was ‘Unknown’. Lucas cursed softly, then tapped the screen.

Hello?

The voice on the other end was familiar, albeit confused. Bo? Is that you son?

Relief washed through Lucas’ chest like a gallon of ice water. He murmured, No, sir. It’s Lucas.

Izadore was immediately in full happiness mode. ‘Tell Mister Gordon I said hello!’

Izy says hello, sir.

Hal’s voice was a mixture of pleased and confused. He said, Well, hello Izadore. Mister Andrews, I’m profoundly relieved to hear your voice. But why do you have Bo’s phone? I had to use… back channels to get this far.

He explained, quickly, I don’t have it, sir. If you mean you used Zelda, she probably tried to put you through to Bo and Rashida, but saw they weren’t taking calls. She has full monitoring of our comms, now. So when she saw that we were using the same cell towers over the last couple of days, she likely routed the call to Izy and I instead.

Hal asked, in hushed tones, Do you mean she could be listening right now?

Izadore already knew the answer to that. ‘She’s absolutely listening.’

Lucas murmured, We brought her into the fold after the stadium incident. She knows about the four of us.

An irritated voice cut into their conversation, "The six of you, since Brian and Nak subscribed. And more requests from these ‘Muses’, which you need to explain at some point. It’s like I’m running some kind of damned eternal family plan."

Izy thought, ‘Well, that’s rude. I mean, we’re paying her. Um, we ARE still paying her, right?’

Lucas resisted the urge to rub his eyes. He said, Thanks, Zelda. Could you give us a minute?

She suggested, less-than-politely, Hurry it up.

The faint electronic ‘click’ indicated that their communications director was on mute.

Hal heaved a heavy sigh, Well, son. My cover is blown. My base is destroyed. I need to put Matty in charge while I figure everything out. Are you and Bo safe?

Ummm…

The older man’s tone took on an unusually sharp edge. He said, Lucas Andrews. The four of you aren’t on some damned fool crusade, are you?

‘Don’t tell him about the gun.’

‘Good tip, Izy, thanks.’

Aloud, Lucky said, We’re fine, sir! Fine. After we do this… thing, we’re heading for safer spaces.

There was another ‘click’. Zelda started scolding them almost immediately. You idiots! You’re back on American soil now, you know. Bo needs to keep Ally safe! How dangerous and stupid are you being?

Hal piled on. You dragged that nice young lady into all this?! Lucas, I thought you and Izadore would have more sense!

Izy whined, ‘But it’s not my fault!’

Lucky put an end to the chastising. He calmly murmured, Ally’s fine. Bo will swing by and pick her up on the way out. This is a Church matter, actually. So, due respect to both of you, kindly lay off.

Mister Gordon took a deep breath. Then he said, "Fine. I expect to hear from the two of you in short order. As soon as I can figure out this blasted ‘Cloud’ thing."

Thinking quickly, Lucas said, Oh, Zelda will help you. Get somewhere safe, Mister Gordon, then she’ll talk you through it all. I’ll get off the line so you two can chat.

Zelda said, What? I didn’t sign up for th-

But he didn’t give her time to finish. His finger caressed the ‘End Call’ button.

Izadore thought, ‘They’re gonna be mad at us.’

‘They can get in line. Look. At ten-o-clock.’

A string of daytime running lights in the distance heralded the arrival of border vigilantes. Lucas craned his neck down to make use of the long range scope on his M110. Most of the dozen or so vehicles were stock SUV’s. But a couple of them were all too familiar to Lucky and Izy: White vans, the same make and model that they encountered back at the parking garage months ago.

‘Yeah. It’s like Bo feared. Menhit’s people tipped off these yokels.’

‘The Y’all Qaeda.’

Lucas sighed aloud. He murmured, Remind me to restrict your TV watching hours.

‘Joke’s on you, I learned that one on the interwebs.’

Any attempt to lighten the mood did little to ease their collective tension. One misstep in either direction would lead to a bloodbath. Even armed and prepared as they were, the core plan didn’t involve any killing. But it was still a distinct possibility that the situation would devolve… quickly.

Izadore’s dual awareness paid off. He was listening as his Host watched. ‘Is that the fleet?’

Lucas allowed his head to pop back up, straw hat shifting a little sand from the brim. He peered off to the right. Low cloud cover was blowing in from the Gulf, lessening the glare off the ocean water. He managed to spot the tight grouping of little ships as they rode the waves in.

‘Yeah, Izy. Good call out. And they’re much closer to us than the convoy. We have a shot.’

He meant that both literally and figuratively. With the vigilante border patrol driving West, he would be able