Thunderbolt Trickster Series 2: Tricksters in Time [fic]

[Alice Macher]

THE AMAZINGLY ANNOYING THUNDERBOLT TRICKSTER

SECOND SERIES: TRICKSTERS IN TIME



PROLOGUE: Belleville 2028


It was Hell degrees in the shade, and humid to boot, but Sara was determined to keep her cool. She had, after all, volunteered to help with crowd control at the protest that Wednesday in July. Considering that her latest play had closed unexpectedly early, it wasn't as though she had much else to do, in between waiting tables.

"Communities and gates don't match!" said a dirt-blonde woman about a year older than her, heedless of the saliva hitting her face, just inches away.

"Please," said Sara, "stay at least ten feet behind the barrier at all times."

The woman next to the blonde activist got up in Sara's face next. "Picotech energy for everyone, not just the point-five percen--hey, don't I know you? Sara Kim, right? Millard Filmore, Class of '15?"

Sara did a double-take. "Emma? That you? I didn't recognize you with green hair instead of pink."

"That's me." Emma broke into a grin and nudged her friend. "Hey, Uma, it's Sara Kim. From LAZ, after Leah got the boot, remember?"

Uma scowled for a moment as she studied her old frat sister's face, then managed a half-smile of recognition. "Oh, hey, Sara. Long time no see."

"Hi, Uma." Sara smiled more broadly. "I almost didn't recognize you with the butch-cut, man-vest and necktie. Bit much for this weather, don't you think? Ha ha. Anyway, listen, I still need you both to keep at least--"

"So how come you're working for the Gaters, huh?"

"Uma," said Emma, touching her arm. "Be nice."

"Nice, my ass. You seemed progressive enough back in LAZ, Kim. When did you sell out and get on Chelsea's payroll?"

Sara stiffened. "If you mean President Clinton, may I remind you she's a progressive too, in her own way. And no one's paying me, Uma. I volunteered. Just my way of keeping order."

"Jawohl!" Uma gave a Nazi salute and clicked her heels. "Of course. We must have Ordnung. All must fall in line behind the Führerin's Five-Year Plan of distributing clean, green picotech energy to the wealthy and white, rather than making it affordable and available to all."

"You're mixing your metaphors, hon. The Five-Year Plan was Stalin's thing. And this is more a five-phase plan, to ensure picotech fuel is safe and mission ready with a test population first, so that--um, once again, you gotta keep back at least ten--"

"Liar!" Uma was pushing Sara now, ignoring Emma's attempts to calm her down. "Kapo! Class traitor!"

Sara felt like a thermometer about to shatter. Face reddening, she gritted her teeth, looked her confronter in the eye and said, "You forgot 'Closet breeder.' Oh no, wait, that's what Leah called you, wasn't it, when you stood up for bi inclusion? Hit a nerve, didn't it? Why else would you, the next semester, have let her eat your--oof!"

"Fuck you!" said Uma, punching Sara in the jaw. Stupid. Shoulda kept my temper. And then punching her again. Boy, she's been working out. And again. Where are the rent-a-cops? Again, this time in the eye. Sara groaned. If she keeps this up, I won't be able to stay on my feet...huh?

Sara opened her uninjured eye when she noticed the blows had stopped coming. But where was Uma?

"Let go of me, you fucking Nazi!"

Uma's voice came from many feet above, and to the left. Sara spotted her in a tree, a spider-haired hero holding her upside down.

"Sorry," said the Thunderbolt Trickster, "but I never engage in Nazi roleplaying on the first date. Mmmnh...come to think of it, I never engage in it at all. What can I say, some things don't get it up for me. Maybe it's because my Nana Frida, she should rest in peace, survived Treblinka back when she was four. But I'll overlook your Godwinning if you apologize to my friend down there. And if you do it real nice, I'll tell the judge to go easy on your bail when I bring you in, mmkay?"

"Mmkay! I mean okay. Anything you want. Just get me down; I'm scared of heights. Please."

Mere seconds later, Uma was back on her feet, apologizing to Sara, while Lisa Winklemeyer cuffed her wrists.

"Don't mention it," Sara said, then turned to smile, blush and mouth "Thank you" at the freckled, rainbow-pigtailed fellow security volunteer who had just handed her a cold compress for her eye. Blushing back, the volunteer motioned for Sara to hold out her forearm. She then traced on her arm with a stylus, on the spot where a thread-thin nano-circuit board lay just beneath the skin. A name and phone number appeared in black digital ink for a few seconds, then vanished. "I'll be in tonight," she told Sara, grazing her other arm with her fingernail. "Late as you want." She winked, then turned and headed along the barrier.

Sara, her veins thrumming, grinned in the direction of Lisa, who was "helping" Uma into a small electric police car. "I'd say I should get beaten up more often, but this is probably the wrong time, huh?"

Lisa looked back at her old friend and raised an eyebrow. "Y'doy. Still on for dinner tomorrow with the girls?"

"Yep. Hey, Lis...thanks."

"Bù kèqì," said Lisa, using one of the everyday Chinese phrases most every American under the age of fifty knew, although only those under twenty were learning systematically in school. She grinned out the side of her face just before joining Uma in the car. "Hey. Ever notice that sounds a lot like the word--?"

Sara rolled her eyes and winced a bit, having forgotten the swollen one. "No, actually, it doesn't. I've told you the 'q' in pinyin is pronounced 'ch' or 'ts,' not 'k,' so your oh-so-naughty bilingual 'joke' doesn't work. Now git."

"Party pooper." Lisa stuck her tongue out, smiling. Sara waved with her free hand once Lisa had gotten inside and the car had started off for the nearest precinct.


--To be continued--


* Many thanks to Lia S for her help with Pinyin.

[Alice Macher]

The next day, around half-past five in the afternoon, Aggie was handing Sara a beer, and asking how her eye felt.

"Still sore," said Sara, sitting down on the couch beside Penny, "but I can see fine out of it now. Thanks. How's the sprout doing?"

"Mel's fine," said Aggie. "She's sleeping over at a friend's."

"Sleep-overs, already?" said Sara. "She's, what, four now? Impressive."

Aggie cocked her head. "You kidding? Melody's been spending the occasional night away from her moms with no problems since she was almost three. The first time was with Lynda and Rob, and they said she stopped crying not even a couple of minutes after Pen dropped her off. Since then, she's been cool with it. So yeah, tonight it's just us grown-ups."

"Plus Lisa," said Penny, smirking.

"Hey," said Sara and Aggie, though not entirely without smiling themselves.

"If it weren't for Lisa being there yesterday," said Sara, "I might've gotten a lot worse than this." She pointed to her eye. "Stupid Uma."

"I know, I know," said Penny. "But I still can't get my head around her looking after a teenager now. How old's this kid, fifteen?"

"Sixteen," said Aggie. "And it's been three years since those priestesses from the Order dropped her off and said, 'She's your responsibility, now.' So given the kid hasn't, oh I 'unno, run off with some biker by now, I think we can say Lis is doing a good job."

"Oh, them's fightin' words," said Penny with a huge grin, springing up from the couch to grab Aggie in a headlock.

Aggie struggled. "So you and Rich were just delivering meals on wheels to shut-ins, then?" She flipped her wife over her shoulder. "Hup!"

"Mommies, don't fight," said Sara, barely trying to conceal her squeeing.

"Fight, ha." Penny grabbed Aggie's calves and pulled her to the floor with her. "This is just the G-rated version."

"Don't TMI the shipper, ice queen," said Aggie, pinning Penny's arms down and straddling her. "She might explode."

"'TMI?' Haven't heard that in a while." Penny made a transparently pro forma attempt at struggling free, but managed to hold Aggie's attention such that neither of them heard the doorbell.

"I'll get it," said Sara, popping up from the couch. "'Why thank you, Sar.' --Oh, no trouble at all." Shaking her head, she went to answer the door.

"Yarr! Now I has ye where I wants ye, me pretty," said Aggie a few moments later. "Do ye yield?"

"Uh, ladies?" said Sara.

"Never!" said Penny. "You'll--mmm--pay for this, you scurvy wench."

"Pen? Ag? It's Lisa and--"

"Wench, is it?" said Aggie. "By Davey Jones, ye'll--ooh--rue the day ye--"

"Ew! Lisa, is that what your friends do all the time?" The voice was unfamiliar to either of them. "Teragross. Petagross, even."

"Penny Levac, Aggie D'Amour," said a rather more familiar, and exasperated, voice, "when you have a minute...this is Beatrix Trixter, my apprentice. She goes by Trixie."

Red-faced, Aggie and Penny got up from the floor and brushed themselves off.

"Um. Hey, Trixie," said Aggie. "Penny and I were just, just--"

"Training," said Penny.

"Oh?" said Trixie, tucking one of her raven-haired bangs back into place under her gold-coloured, coyote-shaped barrette. "Training for what, seeing how you haven't been Lis's sidekicks since H.S.? Also, what kind of niù-niū trains in business suits?"

"Manners, Trix," said Lisa, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. "And what have I told you 'bout using Mandarin expressions us geezers may not understand?"

"Why?" said Penny, arms folded. "What'd your charming protegée here call us? ...Lisa?"

"She called you 'bent girls,'" said Sara.

Trixie looked curiously at her.

"Yes, Trixie, I'm half-Korean. Does that mean I can't have studied Mandarin too? Some of us 'geezers' were able to predict China would kick our economic asses one day. In any case, I can out-insult and out-swear you in three languages, girl."

The teenager grinned at Sara. "You, I like," she said in a bad Yiddish intonation she'd picked up from Lisa, who now cast a warning glare at her, her eyes turning not-quite-but-almost red. Trixie bit her lip. "Um, and I like you two also, I guess. Any friend of Lisa's a friend of mine. Sorry 'f I was rude."

"It's okay," said Aggie. "Nice to finally meet you, Trixie."

"Likewise," said Penny. "You're a feisty, wily one, though, aren't you?"

"Guess she's her mother's daughter," said Sara in an undertone.

"Oh Eris, I hope not," said Lisa, rolling her eyes. "Don't even joke, Sar."

Trixie put an arm on her mentor's shoulder. "Yeah. Lis, and the priestesses before her, have been training me so I don't take after the psycho bitch. Um. Sorry. Manners. Forgot."

Lisa chuckled as she patted her on the back. "No, kiddo, 'psycho bitch' is a fair and balanced description. But enough about your mom-in-name-only. Sit your tukhis down while I tell you about your real predecessors. And mine, too, for that matter. Oh, and you all can listen in too, if you want." She winked at her friends.

"Wait a minute," said Penny. "Are you saying you aren't the first Thunderbolt Trickster?"

"Welp, I'm the second to use that actual title, but there's been a long line of chicas who've done the same sort of super-power/magical thing I do. Some in the Winklemeyer clan, some not; some in the Order,* some not. I've been doing some research here and there: the Order's archives in Germany, the Vatican Library, Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I get around, y'know. Don't say it."

"Hey." Trixie laid a hand on Lisa's arm. "You gonna tell me 'bout my Dead White Female forerunners or not?"

"Okay, okay. So let's start with someone who, believe it or not, actually turns up in the Bible for a chapter. Some call her the Witch of Endor. Others, more anal, call her the Medium of Endor. Her? She called herself Elisheva. (That's where the name "Elizabeth" comes from, BTW, and from "Elizabeth" the name "Lisa." Coincidence? I think...well, I haven't decided yet.) And one day she had a business call from the last dude on Earth she'd expected to see."


--END Prologue--


NEXT: Raise a little Sheol

*The Holy Order of Highly Odd Oratory (HOOHOO), est. 1070. More on this later.

[sun tzu]

Huh. Been a while since I've read the older Thunderbolt Trickster fics...Are Trixie and her "psycho-bitch" mom people who were introduced before, or during the timeskip? (...Or is Trixie's mom Cyndi? )

[Alice Macher]

All I'm going to say at this point is that Trixie, her birth mother, and various other story elements, including some yet to appear, have previously appeared in the Complete the Sentence II thread (sometimes in substantially different form); however, I'm writing the Tricksters in Time series such that even those who haven't read the CtS II thread will still be able to follow.

[Alice Macher]

CHAPTER ONE: Land of the Living

Endor, Kingdom of Israel, 1005 B.C.E.


It was sundown, as good a time as any for Elisheva to remove from the oven the cakes she'd baked for the Queen of Heaven, and put them outside to cool.

A little burnt on top, this time, she thought, inspecting them. But then, I've yet to see Ashtart actually come down and eat these things, any more than Ya-Huwah the storm god actually eats all that meat his priests in Shiloh are said to offer him. Still, as a show of respect, when you need gods to lend you power, or at least not to smite you...yeah.

She took a knife and carefully scraped off the burnt portions. Don't say I never do anything for you, Lady. She put the knife back and stepped outside once more to take in the cool autumn evening air. Smiling, she sat down and, smoothing back her hair (dyed with two different concentrations of henna), gazed at the view of the Jezreel Valley.

In the distance, two figures on donkeys were drawing near. Elisheva watched and listened, trying to get a sense of whether they were travellers seeking a rest stop, potential customers or, given her profession, enforcers for the cult of Ya-Huwah. In case of the latter, she went inside to conceal her images of Ashtart and other deities, as well as her libation dishes, censers and incense, in the hole she'd dug in the floor, then covered them with the matching clay lid which doubled as her altar base. She went back outside to observe.

*****

As the figures came closer, she could make out their voices but not exactly what they were saying. They were men, and the older of the two had a vaguely familiar voice with a Benjaminite accent. The younger, taller and heftier man spoke with a Naphtalite growl.

It was growing dark now, so Elisheva built a small fire in the pit. As they came close to the entrance of her house, she lit a torch and walked out to greet her visitors. "Come in peace, my lords," she said. "May heaven's blessing shine on--You!"

Recognizing the older man, she nearly dropped her torch.

The man smiled a wry smile. "Peace also to you, Elisheva daughter of Mehitabel."

"But--you're alive. I'd heard--the battle last year at Mount Gilboa--the Philistines--."

"My dear lady. Do I look dead? Do I look like a shade up from Sheol from which no one returns, unless...raised?" He winked at her.

"N...no. I guess not." Elisheva jammed her torch in the dirt and prostrated herself before him, not even waiting for him to dismount. "Long live Saul son of Kish, anointed of Ya-Huwah, King of Israel."

Both men dismounted. Saul handed the reins of his animal to the other man, who tied them, and those of his own donkey, to a small post in front of the house.

"No need for that, my lady," said Saul. "I'm no longer your king. Please get up."

Elisheva complied. "So David son of Jesse really is--?"

The younger man stepped forward, clenching his fists. "You will not mention that name in front of my master." Elisheva swallowed as unobtrusively as she could. He was a big one.

"Enough, Bul." Saul cuffed him on the forearm. "The shepherd's son may be my enemy, but this woman is a friend and you will treat her with respect."

Bul shrunk back and mumbled apologies.

"Please excuse my servant," said Saul. "Bit rough around the edges, but as you can see, he's good for...protection."

"Not to worry," said Elisheva. "Oh, but where are my manners? Please come inside. I'll draw water for you to wash your feet and for you and your animals to drink. Hungry?"

Saul looked at Bul.

"My master hasn't eaten since before daybreak," said Bul, nodding. "It wouldn't be a bad idea."

Saul nodded back. "Well, then," he said to his hostess, "I wouldn't say no to a meal. A light one. Please don't trouble yourself on my account."

*******

Four helpings of lentil stew with chunks of lamb, two loaves of pita with hummus and olive oil, and a skin of wine later, Saul finally spoke again. "Mm. That hit the spot. Thank you."

Elisheva smiled. "You're welcome. Sooo...if my lord will pardon me for asking...what's the deal? How is it you survived that battle and yet are no longer king? What about your heir, Jonathan? And do you still even go by 'Saul?'"

Saul wiped his mouth and nodded. "Hrm. Last question first. For reasons that should be obvious, I am 'Saul' only to those very few I trust. Bul here. You. A select few other contacts here and there. To all others, I'm Zemer son of Bethuel, musician for hire." He pointed outside to the oud neck sticking out of the sack on his donkey. "In fact, my instruments serve more than one purpose, as you may have heard."

"'Is Saul also among the prophets?'"* said Elisheva, quoting the proverb with a knowing smile.

"Indeed. Although some accounts of my prophetic ecstasies have been wildly exaggerated--as if I would, even in a trance, strip naked and roll on the floor like an animal!--I have always relied on music to gain knowledge that I can't get from spies, astrologers...or a certain unkempt, nest-bearded prophet who, for reasons I'll never understand, is the apparent favourite of Ya-Huwah."

He spit on the earth. "Samuel, that bastard whoreson who made a big show of anointing me Israel's first king even as he told the people they were making a big mistake not letting him go on being judge. Who decided Yahu had rejected me when I refused to slaughter and burn every last Amalekite and their cattle, like some Ammonite barbarian, and endorsed that young, 'Lookit me, I'm so pure and innocent' upstart shepherd's boy in my place. Who wouldn't give me the time of day for the rest of his life...or beyond."

Elisheva lightly touched his clenched fist. "Like the night before the Battle of Gilboa."

"Yeah, like then. The first time we met." Saul broke into a sudden grin. "Heh. You were so scared of me even before you figured out who I was, given I wasn't wearing the royal garments."

She snorted. "Well, what was I supposed to think? You were the one who banned my livelihood and sent thugs throughout the kingdom to bump off anyone who defied the ban. So for all I knew, you were here for a sting operation. But yeah, when you asked me to raise Samuel's ghost, I figured it out." She grinned. "And maybe took a moment to relish the irony."

Saul hung his head. "Elisheva...you know I only did all that because Samuel told me it was Ya-Huwah's will. All things considered, you sure were good to me that night."

The necromancer's expression softened. "Yeah, well. When Sammy's ghost--rising up rubbing his eyes like some old, doddering fool--told you in the rudest way possible that you and your sons were as good as dead, you just went to pieces on the floor. You wouldn't budge. By Asherah's tits, in spite of all you'd done I couldn't just leave you that way. If I hadn't lectured you into getting up and eating something, you might've died right there and then."

"Yes indeed. Your compassion gave me strength, and--" he leaned forward to whisper out of the hearing of Bul, who was nodding on and off in any case--"the other thing you gave me that night gave me the will to go on." He touched her cheek lightly and she blushed.

"More than one thing a woman's hand is good for," she whispered, then grinned and grazed his cheek in turn. Then, gently, she pulled back and he did the same. "But uh, what did happen the next day at Gilboa?"

"Well." Saul looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. "This may sound shameful, but I never so much as set foot on that battlefield. I dressed a loyal footsoldier, who resembled me enough, in my armour and sent him off in my chariot to fight in my place. I told no one, not even my eldest three sons Jonathan, Abinadab and Malki-Shua, all of whom died, along with my stand-in, at the Philistines' hands. Good boys. Even Jonathan, for all he betrayed me in befriending the shepherd's son." He sighed and brushed a tear away.

"Anyway. Whoever saw 'me' on the battlefield that day saw 'me' die with dignity, falling on 'my' sword, and making a big show of it for the royal chronicles, as I'd instructed my stand-in. Meanwhile, the real me had gathered up some plainclothes garments, my instruments, and Bul here, and took off in the guise of Zemer the musician."

"But why? Why not regroup your forces and take back the throne?"

Saul put his hands, palms down, on the table and looked at her. "Because, dear Elisheva, I never asked to be king in the first place. And to tell the truth, I wasn't very good at it. I couldn't keep those Philistine bastards at bay long enough for the kingdom truly to be at peace. I couldn't ensure David's loyalty to me, not with my daughter Michal's hand, not with an officer's appointment, not even with an appeal to compassion on behalf of the...foul spirits that overtook my mind for many years and made me act not like myself. Shit, I couldn't even keep my own firstborn loyal to me. Always wondered just what he and David were up to behind closed...Anyway." He cleared his throat. "On top of all that, Samuel kept rubbing it in that Ya-Huwah had rejected me and my seed for the kingship. So I finally figured, well, if Yahu indeed no longer needs me, then maybe I no longer need him. Despite what hardliners like that decrepit old man will tell you, other gods are real. I know. I've seen them.

"And thus I decided it was time I worked for the good of the people. All people. And that meant opening myself up to the service of any deity, any spirit that could help protect them. As you do, my lady."

"So, taking on a new name and new mission, I wandered west to Taanach, north to Megiddo, Bethlehem and Acco, even east across the Jordan to Ashtaroth...the name of your patron goddess, I believe."

Elisheva nodded. "Close enough."

"All that time, alternating between playing at weddings and banquets for hire and tripping with nomadic bands of prophets. Then finally, I made my way back west, to you. You see, Elisheva, in three of my recent visions, four of my late trances, I saw something that once again makes me--" Saul leaned forward. "--in need of your...special services."

His hostess blushed and bit her lip. "Look, Saul, it's not that I don't go for older men, but that night a year ago was really just a one-time thing, and even then, we didn't go all the--".

Saul shook his head, grinning in spite of himself. "Not that service, you crafty trickster you. No, I need you once again to consult with a spirit. Not for my sake, this time, but for that of all Israel. Perhaps even of all creation."

Elisheva exhaled. "Wow. Sounds heavy. But I believe you. So, whom shall I bring up this time?"

Saul massaged the back of his neck and looked away. "It...may not entail bringing someone up. To prevent a catastrophe of this size, it may be necessary for you to go...down."

The necromancer gulped. "Down...there?" She pointed to the earth.

"Even as far as Sheol, the pit, the netherworld."

"And the safety of all Israel, all creation, is really on the line?"

Saul nodded.

Elisheva got up from the table. She sighed and paced back and forth for a few moments. She sat back down. She looked Saul in the eye.

"You realize I gotta charge you double my usual for this, right?"

"Sure, no problem."


--TO BE CONTINUED--


* I Samuel 10:11, 19:24

[sun tzu]

Well, that's...different.
Color me curious.