Char & Ash: Char

Two figures entwined in a circle of burnt trees, saplings as tangled as old cord in the bottom of a forgotten fisherman’s vessel. The char drifted from the bark of burnt flesh to the sodden grey shore in clumps. An ember of orange faded to a dull red in the centre, as dull as the ancient wooden boat in the Dover Museum scant kilometres eastward. Older than pyramids, as dead to the water as exhibits behind glass cases and security measures could be in a half-dying town mid-reconstruction. Inhaling to the side in a weak attempt to escape the miasma, Judge Caleb Mauthisen lowered to his haunches. A navy peacoat heavy with the ephemera of his life slumped over a driftwood log out of the grove's charnel ash. 
"Bringing the Roman Empire back to Dover? A little late to pick back up at the Fort, isn't it?" Caleb rolled one sleeve to his freckled elbow, popped the button on the other cuff and rolled it up like its’ twin as the waft of the smoke melded with the salt water and petrol off the stretch of rocky Dover beach.
Not the most sacred place for a grove dedicated to warriors fallen in the Mystic War, but the self-absorption of the humans of Midgard caused progression to often set ancient ways to the side of the road. Or untouchable piecemeal curios set behind security glass, reduced down to suppositional statements detached historians guessed at creating. 
“Helios found them, recognized the smell. We mobilize quicker than most, don't need to pile up at Finn's. Helicopters and vehicles, my friend. Faster than a door knob and a hearty run.” The god who spoke towered over the figures in the sand, his ginger hair shorn in a style becoming of modernity. Stance as militaristic as his shoulders and the pistol strapped to his right thigh, kopis sheathed on his left, he surveyed the English Channel as if the primordial depths would regurgitate any number of Poseidon’s children for the hell of it. In his eyes, they likely could.
Not that Poseidon did anything but guide endangered fish away from nets and trawlers nowadays.
Soldiers in olive fatigues secured the beach, cordoned a few onlookers and waved off cars. One of the soldiers removed the Kopis with its utilitarian black handle and semi-curved blade, from its scabbard to cut away a bunch of seaweed from the edge of a scuffed drag mark, which ended too abruptly to be anything but teleportation magic, or so the person mumbled into a slim headset microphone. Golden embroidery on their lapels labelled the soldiers and the god:
Hellenes.
“Yeah, it’s distinct.” Ice-laden eyes scanned the figures found by Olympus' Helios, one bent and crooked as a forgotten tree, the other as macabre and human as the half of him he couldn’t deny. Caleb Mauthisen watched the corpses crumble in the stiff winds from the Channel, nothing but embers in the middle of the dryad’s corpse. “Shinigami, or at least the recipe for it.”
“That” The god pointed to the pile of grey ash, “Was no god.”
“No, but she dressed like one. I am sorry, gentlemen, haste is relative and I was in Cairo... the bastards burned the entire grove?” A woman in a pristine grey suit walked in sensible shoes to the shoreline, her natural curls blanketed rich, flawless skin as beautiful and deep as ochre. In her hair, a seven pointed star of diamonds and opal laid on a bed of lapis lazuli, mirrored by the signet ring on her thumb.
“Madame Scribe.” Caleb rose only to bow low, right hand to his heart. 
“Seshat.”
“Ares.” The Kehmeti Seshat, goddess of the written word, nodded to the tempestuous Olympian of War in the circle of dead branches and grizzled roots. “Judge Mauthisen. Please, do not bow to me, tell me why my cousin is dead. How did this happen?”
“Force of habit.” Caleb rose with the burning coal sizzling in his palm. If the man felt it, he said nothing. “A dryad entangled with a Kehmet, on a beach in the middle of a scorched Sacred Grove. Intertwined bodies look ritualistic. Why was she wearing your Leopard skin cloak?”
“I would make a quip about you not having sisters in the house, but given your history, I’d rather not." Seshat watched the rope of muscle at Caleb's jaw twitch, and pursed her lips. "It’s common for people raised in the same home to borrow each others’ clothing. Especially women. Tiperet was going on a date. She borrowed it.”
“The Dryad?”
“I would guess Juliana. Her friend.”
“I’m sorry, this must be…”
“Once the murderers are caught, I’ll allow myself to be a blubbering mess and accept condolences." Seshat sniffed, a steady flow of breathing despite the smell. Pursed lips, a clenched fist at her side. "How can Kehmet help find the bastards?”
“It doesn’t make sense.” Caleb tossed sand to the ground, stared at the sea until its’ rhythm lulled the thoughts loose of his tongue. “Whoever did this followed the spell to create Shinigami incense, but they should have known the spell wasn’t going to create the poison once they lit Tiperet up. So why not douse the flames? They're a kick away from the water. Why burn an entire Grove?”
“Tiperet might not have been a deity, but she had goddess blood. Enough I can’t see one person take her out.” Seshat pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed both eyes, the golden eyeliner swiped over each lid smeared at the edges. 
"Where were the Fae? Are Queen Selyka's buckthorn not supposed to watch over our honoured dead? This Grove had Hellenes, Bogatyrs, Kehmeti. An Einherjar or two. Who has gripe against all of us?" 
The waves rustled to the shore in a perpetual cycle, a rush to the ear, which receded to return in a few seconds’ time. He searched the horizon, the walk to the road, where cones from two Olympian recruits redirected traffic. No scraps of herbs or matchheads on the ground, nothing but the detritus of life in Britain: sandwich wrappers, old plastic drinks containers, a few clumps of garbage charred by the fire and bagged up by diligent and silent Olympians. Why the side of the road to the Chunnel? “Judge? Caleb?”
“Unless they were testing the method. Ares? Make sure Seshat gets home safe. Not the loft, take her to Luxor. Go straight, don't stop. Get me Merc, Nirah and Agni. No deities leave their realms until I have this sorted." 
"You cannot be..."
"Serious!? We haven't seen Kami-Shi incense in a century and a half for a reason. I am not letting it come drifting back, and thinning the divine herd. A weapon capable of god killing is not something I'm willing to allow lightly. Nor ever. This? This is a fail. Fails usually mean future attempts. Batten down the hatches, or I will batten them for you!" The Judge pointed at the troops behind them, "Go!" 
"You do not control me, truce child." Seshat, her proud bearing jutted out with her chin, was as regal as her aged pantheon. One of the first, who slunk out of the chaos into a sun they newly created. As old as the written word. Ares glanced from Seshat to Caleb, nodded to the staff sergeant who lingered close enough to hear a whispered order or see the hand signals the Areosides made infamous. 
"Today I do." Caleb got down on his haunches with a hiss, snapped off one of Tiperet's fingers and held it up to the sun. Mystic marks, the odour of immolants combated with the macabre presentation of bodies. Flagrant, displayed. "Some part of the ritual must've gone awry. Bodies didn't burn as expected." 
"Do you need the sample analyzed, Sir?" A lieutenant with a plastic bag and tongs stepped up crisp and proper. The uniform was as pressed and dressed as she was, even in inclement English weather. As Caleb eyed her, he saw the twinge of old beliefs, but nothing more substantial than a scant prayer or two. A convert? New believer? Hired security? 
"Yes. Send the info..." 
"Aahh, wait nope! No, not the... nope, I ah, I got it thank you, hand the disembodied... body... part... here." A bumbling young man dove for the plastic bag and tongs, chin length black hair tied back from a round face and stark blue eyes. Ares' eyes, one of the only identifiers of the man beside the froth of shaking limbs to seal the evidence bag. "I got it. Me, here. Me, I... it's not for me, you understand it's... I mean can ya blame her, like, been centuries since and..." 
"Hello, Icarus." Caleb stretched with a sordid smirk, in an attempt to cover the pain and heat of his side. "Sorry. Dr.Areides, I heard your dissertation was defended better than Thermopylae." 
"Well, ah, if you wanna get specific I'd rather it was likened to Marathon since... heh... I didn't die. Again." A toothed grin and Icarus hugged the bag with the ashen finger against his chest, angling his back to the sea. One foot tapped at the rocks in its sneaker, the hint of two ear buds in the youth's ears. "So...ah, yeah. Neat case. Gonna solve it, or..."
"You going to tell me why you of all Folk need a finger in a bag?"
"Right." Tap, tap, tap went Icarus foot, rocks beneath his sneakers rustling at each tiny kick. "Can we not be beside a massive body of water? Bad vibes, man, like... whew..." 
"Easy, Icarus." Ares' arm set across Icarus' shoulders, staying firm as Icarus squeaked and flinched half out of his hoodie and worn black jeans. "How did you get here so fast, you didn't come with us?"
"Oh, I took a door, then drove like a Fury after fratricide. Might've gotten a couple tickets, if I didn't hack the speed cameras, but egads I don't wanna get a strike on my Truce record so like, I can prove my hacking ain't magic if you need me to Mr. Judge Caleb Judge Sir, and... so Amita Athene was all 'Hark! Helios doth say some moron attempted the Kami-Shi Ritual!' and she was convinced there'd be fascinating data but like heck she'd leave her lecture hall to go get it, and like, it's my day to do Me Projects instead of Her Projects or Us Projects and I was, 'but dude it's by water and you know I hate that cause of the whole drowning to death thing' and she was all 'what would be more distracting than a couple of corpses ritually sacrificed to make powder capable of killing half the deities in the Cosmos, here, take this sample baggie kit' and I was like 'yeah, but I don't wanna' and she let me rent the new Bentley and reminded me you was gonna be here Pater Ares, and I knew drivin' the car at its top speed would make Lou jealous so..." The torrent of words cessated with the repeated pop-smacking of Icarus' lips, his fingers tapping at the plastic bag, while Ares hugged the resurrected Hellene into his side. 
"Athene wants her own study samples?" Caleb held back a snort at the twenty year old and his bundle of nerves. Genius was as it did, he supposed, the young man was still Daedalus' flesh and blood. "Is Athene going to share her findings? And, ah, it's alright Dr. Areides. I know your AI aren't breaking the rules, you don't have to be nervous." 
"Can I get that in writing? A kind'a Get Out of Truce Jail Card? Pass go, collect the $200?" 
"Icarus." Ares burst into a series of chuckles, immediate in his battle to quell them in front of his troops. "Son, breathe. I'm proud of you for coming, don't bother the Judge."
"Can we give the luddite his new phone and get away from the water, please?" Icarus shut his eyes, fished a shiny silver smartphone out of his back pocket and shoved it at Caleb. "It would be easier if you took this. Sending emails are far more efficient than songbirds and transference spells into a notebook. It's primed for you to press your thumb on the button for biometric locking. Please take it. Save me from collective minutes of stalking you via satellite and CCTV. Adds up to hours, dude." 
"Icarus!" 
"No, it's okay. Thank you." Caleb took the phone and set his thumb on the button. The screen guided him through rolling his fingerprints across the surface. Once the screen switched to a picture of a green pomegranate carried by an owl, Caleb gave a grunt and slid the phone in his pocket. "I'd say tell Athene the 'track the Judge' mechanism worked, but she can already hear me, can't she?"
"I... ah... yeah, well... I mean c'mon..." Icarus' hood was flopped over his hair, and he shuffled a few paces away from the shore, Ares hovering over him - a protective shield from the surf. "... made it myself. Sized it for your hand, since... ya know... big hands, tiny touchscreen buttons... recipe for suffering and after Mellinöe for ah... yeah..." 
"I needed a new phone, thank you." Hazarding a tight smile, Caleb shuffled them all to the bank of support vehicles away from the immediacy of the shore. The careful mask of command twisted at the edges of Ares' eyebrows, melting into concern for his Alcippe's resurrected grandson and the fears which bound him to his death. As weighted in Icarus' belly as an anchor in Poseidon's seas. 
"We know. Your last one was destroyed in the river outside Moscow." 
"Oh really? How did it get there? Please, inform me." Caleb's eyebrow raised. 
"Sorry?" 
"My life you're talking about, remember?" 
"Yes! I was watching that day, had your feed on like a lil livestream and... you're kinda better to watch than half the streamers playing BlastNuit and... oh... oh gods... that's not what you meant, oh man I mean not man! I mean, you're male, but a demi-ma-ah I mean ah... you're not human-human like me, you're human adjacent so I shouldn't say oh man... I'm gonna shut up now."  
"Go on, go for a drive I'll catch up." Ares' smooth baritone was more calming than the waves of the sea behind them. Icarus fled back to the supply trucks and disappeared into a luxury sedan parked askew between a crew transport and a support vehicle.
"When's the last time that kid touched grass?" Caleb huffed with a shake of his head, dusted off his hands and stood with a groan. "Power half the planet with his nervous system." 
"At least he didn't pass out this time. I brought a medic for you, if you want to get that demon-blade wound checked at." Ares offered his hand, set it back behind him when Caleb didn't take it. 
"Yeah, apparently, I didn't know this, but I was in Russia and my phone got destroyed in a river? Fascinating, you know? Learning about my own freaking life from a wet-behind-the-ears child with a camera phone in his pocket." 
"Wet-behind-the... bad choice of words, Cale. Bad fucking choice." 
"Oof, nope. No, you're right, I see it. Damn, I see it...sorry kid." Caleb kicked at the ground around the bodies, dug up a few charred sticks with his boot. "Huh." 
"He'll be spending a few more months in Athene's labs after this. Talk about the day he drove in England until his brother gets him back... He wasn't supposed to tell you." 
"That you're watching my every move with a fine-toothed comb?" Caleb fiddled with the phone, sticking it into a back pocket, then the front. Damn thing even had his contacts installed. Apps, the whole shebang. The other back pocket, beside his anemic bill fold.
"You're the Judge, Mauthisen. Of course we are. What happens the day you need backup?"
"Your soldier brigade show up, blow a couple of bullet holes into potentially the wrong side, and starts another war." 
"We're not about to let our only Judge get murdered." 
"Like in Russia?" 
"You lost us in the Moscow transit system. We didn't expect you to..." 
"What, ditch my phone?" 
"To take on the demon enclave by yourself. You could have called seven different Realms for backup and you didn't. Perun was within paces of you." 
"Not supposed to, am I? I'm the Judge, remember? There's only one of me." 
"Which is why we want you to have protection. Did you think I would let you out of my sight? Do you think Shiva does? Durga? Amaterasu and Inari? What happens if you investigate these deaths alone and you were the target?"
"Fuck, you've really thought about this." 
"It's my job. Owe it to your father." 
"Huh." Caleb stared off at the ocean, hand on his side, while two technicians collected samples from the dead. "Course you do. Thick enough thieves razing country sides in your days. We don't bring others into this. Keep it contained, I'll inform the Truce and say I've taken on private investigatorial help before they try to hoist one of every Realm at me in an attempt to see through the lines." 
"You should get that wound looked at." 
"I should do a lot of things. Save the bloody world, quell an uprising of feline spirits in the Sahara, smash my head through an illegal black magic ring in Vancouver. Most of my life can wait." 
"We're not your enemy." 
"Didn't say you were." 
"You used to want our help. What changed?"
"Tough couple of...." Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets, kicked another pebble into the sea Icarus hated with a once dead passion.  "Your medic can stitch me up." 
"Thank you. Why didn't the ritual work?"
"Aren't that many deities left, whose death could create the stuff in the first place. And killing the god? Even more on the unlikely side of the equation. Probably needed more divine-adjacent sacrifices. Although... something wrong with the fire. Ritual's lethal, but reverent. It's the opposite of Holy in the way a negative is the opposite colour of a photograph. Not demonic, but... flipped. Making it is an act of worship, a tempering and memorial of the dead. My hot take? Whoever tried this didn't believe in a damn thing. Someone who knew the ritual, but didn't have the mindset to perform it." 
"There can't be many who know how to do this. Let me know, I'll track Icarus make sure the boy's okay, otherwise I'm on this. You're not shaking me, not with god death on the line." 
"Athene, Makosh, Izanami, Erishkegal, Thoth. I'll ask around, get a list from old Sal. Narrow down our search to the people who knew the spell enough to try to perform it, but lost faith in seeing it done. Can rule out your half-sister, if Athene did the ritual it would have been perfect or never attempted."
"Narrow list." Ares guided Caleb to the medic vehicle, a hand hovering not far from Caleb's wounded side. He tried not to smell the funk of the wound, how it stunk and how Caleb's shirt clung to his skin. 
"Yeah. Not many gods are atheists."