by Jay Bell
“Sorry. I guess that was a little below the belt.”
They both considered the potential humor in this expression and grinned.
“Nothing to worry about,” R immon said. “The mistakes of the past are mine to bear.”
J ohn hated to cause the incubus further pain, but he had to know. “I f this job causes so much strain between you and your boyfriend, why don’t you do something different? I know you said it’s your nature, but surely your line of work only makes it more tempting.”
R immon sighed. “You were born a human, but why did you never strip off your clothes and live among the apes? I don’t mean to insult you or the origin of your species, but would you be happy living in the trees, picking lice from your neighbor as a snack?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” John said. “Beats working in a cubical.”
“M y point is that either of us could try to change our nature and be something that we’re not, but neither one of us would be happy. I ’m very good at what I do, and I enjoy it. I’ve found my calling, just as you seem to have.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t need my help at all with the C elts, and you’ve found a cause worth rallying behind. I t’s been a pleasure watching you work. Hell should gracefully step aside and allow you to carry on with your goals.”
“R eally? W hat do you think, though? About going after P urgatory, I mean. Do you think it’s the right thing to do?”
“Not many people worry about what an incubus thinks, and to be honest, I prefer it that way.” R immon paused. “B ut since it’s you, and I know that questions plague your mind like fleas on a dog, then yes, I think what you’re suggesting is much more sensible than Asmoday’s plan.”
“Do you think Asmoday will feel the same way?”
R immon laughed much longer than J ohn liked. “No,” he said. “No, Asmoday won’t like the idea at all, but let me worry about him.”
“Thanks, but don’t think I didn’t notice you changing topics.” R immon crossed his arms and legs, looking sidelong out the coach window. “Very well. The reason I don’t quit my job to please my boyfriend is because it is already too late. He refuses to see me, and no ma er how often I try, he never answers my summons. There’s no sense in stopping what I do now, because it has already driven him away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I ’m the one foolish enough to still give him such a title, to refer to him as a boyfriend, lover, or any other self-deluding term of endearment that helps keep my sorrow at bay.”
J ohn didn’t know what to say, but he hated to see the incubus miserable, so he tried flirting. “Hey, at least I don’t need that permission slip now.” R immon rewarded J ohn’s a empt with a sporting smile, but the incubus was still troubled. The remaining trip to Hell passed mostly in silence. J ohn wished he could find comforting words to make up for those he had already spoken. M anannan was right. W ords could be the most harmful weapon, and perhaps C ernunnos was right to mistrust them so deeply.
* * * * *
As soon as they returned to Hell, so did J ohn’s anxiety. He waited outside with Dante and B olo, but even the sights of the red light district didn’t distract him. Despite R immon’s assurance that he’d handle Asmoday, J ohn couldn’t help feeling nervous.
He wasn’t sure what the Archduke would do in his anger, and he wasn’t eager to find out.
“S hit,” Dante said, holding up his stolen goblet. The cup had lost its gold sheen and was now an unbecoming brown color. The smell wafting from it wasn’t pleasant either. “I mean that literally! This has turned to shit!” He tossed the goblet to the street, where it landed with a wet splotching noise. Bolo ran over to sniff it eagerly.
John laughed. “That’s what you get for stealing from gods.”
“Irish gods, at least. I think they call that fairy gold.”
“You’re lucky that’s all that happened to you. S tealing from the gods seems risky, even for you.”
“I f you haven’t noticed,” Dante said defensively, “my particular afterlife isn’t the cheapest place to live. I have to make a living somehow!”
“I just hope I ’m not around when you get caught.” J ohn hesitated. “W hen this is all over, do you think you’ll be happy here?”
“Here in Hell? No doubt about it. Fits me like a glove. S eeing those farmers and sleepy villages in Asgard made me shudder, and the C elts were just too weird. At least this realm feels like what we knew back home.”
“I suppose. You know it’s not all like this though. R immon showed me. There are people who want to be punished, and in those places it really is fire and brimstone.” Dante shrugged. “I ’m not one of them. The only problem I see is that we’ve go en caught up in intrigue. Nothing worse than intrigue.” He stubbed out his cigare e on the coach. “As soon as this whole mess is over, I hope to be beneath the notice of someone like Asmoday. W hen you get to the top, all the people below become a threat, and that’s everyone. G uys like Asmoday have everything to lose, and they’ll cut off your bollocks if they think you have designs on their position.” J ohn eyed the entrance to Asmoday’s office. R ight now R immon was in there telling the Archduke that J ohn had taken ma ers into his own hands, and more likely than not, Asmoday would find that threatening.
“M e?” Dante continued. “G ive me a couple cold ones, good friends, and the occasional woman. That’s all I need.”
The simple life sounded good right now. J ohn could imagine whiling away a few decades, leisurely exploring the different realms with B olo and meeting Dante at night for a drink. W hat was stopping them from walking away right now, leaving the whole idea of war behind and never looking back?
E xcept J ohn knew it wasn’t in his nature, just as monogamy wasn’t in R immon’s.
J ohn could climb into that coach seat right now and fly away to wherever he was meant to be, but doing so would take him off the job. He had started something, and he intended to see it through. J ohn wouldn’t be able to rest otherwise. People like Dante who found it so easy to release their cares and simply relax, they were the lucky ones. John had never been good at letting go.
The red-lit cabinet swung open, R immon’s perfect form filling the frame. He smiled seductively, whether he meant to or not, and motioned for them to follow. J ohn braced for the worst. W hat he didn’t expect was for Asmoday to stand and start clapping.
“There’s my boys,” he said, grinning around the cigar trapped between his onyx teeth. “The heroes of Hell! Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Delilah!” The succubus came from the backroom, carrying a tray loaded with all manner of drink. John shook his head at her offer, but Dante didn’t hesitate to grab two.
Asmoday leaned forward, splaying both hands flat against his desk. “G ood news!
The war with Heaven has been called off.”
“Called off?” John asked more incredulously than intended.
“C alled off,” Asmoday repeated. “The idea has weighed heavily on my heart, and I ’ve decided it’s not right. We just don’t have enough to go on. For all we know, Heaven could be in the same boat as the rest of us, am I right?”
“Could be,” John admitted, “but what about the Norse gods? And the Celts?”
“Don’t worry, we need them as much as before. Purgatory is still in plight, after all.” J ohn glanced at R immon, who was concentrating on the ceiling. Asmoday’s change of heart was much too convenient, an obvious ruse to ensure that J ohn kept recruiting for them. No doubt Asmoday had recognized P urgatory as a selling point for coming together and had decided to use it, but the Archduke’s true intentions were all too easy to guess.
“So it’s business as usual, then?” John asked.
“O nwards and upwards!” Asmoday rubbed his hands together. “We have the warrior skills of the Norse and the magical prowess of the C elts. W hat we need next is raw power.”
* * * * *
The man strapped to the coach’s drivin
g seat was a R oman solider, possibly an officer, judging from his highly decorated armor. The arrogant scowl on his face was permanent, refusing to disappear even after J ohn greeted him, and was still there when the coach kicked into motion. The military discipline did not allow any sign of fear or enjoyment on the soldier’s face as they picked up speed and left Hell behind.
“I thought you would be happier. Maybe even grateful.”
J ohn spared R immon a glance. The demon had chosen to stay outside Dante for this part of their journey and was si ing next to J ohn, the heat of his body radiating against his arm.
“Asmoday is playing me,” John said. “Why should that make me happy?”
“B ecause it allows you to do whatever you please,” R immon replied. “You can continue telling the gods the real reason you want them to join you.”
“True, and I like that, but in the end Asmoday still gets his army.”
“An army that has been told that we’re warring against P urgatory, not Heaven.
Asmoday will still try to turn this to his advantage, but I have faith that your will is stronger than his.”
J ohn thought about this for a moment. “S o you’ve pit me against an Archduke of Hell, and you expect me to be thankful?”
R immon grinned and leaned against J ohn. “I assure you, I have your best interests at heart. Poor Asmoday doesn’t know what he’s up against.”
“G et a room, you two,” Dante said across from them. “O r wait until we’re in Greece before commencing with the buggery. At least there they’ll appreciate it.” John laughed but Rimmon took the comment seriously.
“We’re not headed to Greece,” he corrected. “The Olympus we’re visiting isn’t the mountain in the physical world, although it is related. The G reeks knew Mount Olympus wasn’t really the home of the gods. They could view the top of the mountain on a clear day and see there was no marble palace there. I nstead, Olympus was allegorical, a symbol for a higher realm represented by the highest land known to them. I n the afterlife, that symbol became the Olympus of their stories, the actual home of the gods.”
“B ut we have a R oman officer guiding the coach,” J ohn said. “S houldn’t we have a Greek philosopher up there or something?”
“Finding a repentant philosopher is no easy task,” R immon said, “but there are two roads leading to our destination. The G reek myths were so popular with the R oman people that they adapted many of the stories to fit their own deities. J upiter inherited Z eus’s history and a ributes until they became more or less indistinguishable. This was the case with the other major gods as well. E ven though the concept of O lympus wasn’t officially recognized in Rome, the blending together of group belief spread across two cultures created phenomenal metaphysical anomalies that—” The lecture was cut mercifully short as an explosion shook the coach. A dusty landscape had appeared beneath them, filled with soldiers, horses, and catapults. O n each horizon were organized formations, but for the most part the ba le had descended into chaos. Olympus was at war.
The coach shuddered and spun, R immon snarling in frustration. This could barely be heard over the driver’s furious shouting. The officer was desperate to join the ba le below, his intent so strong that it threatened to send the coach crashing directly into the fray. P oor B olo was sliding back and forth along the floor of the coach, his claws ski ering for purchase. J ohn wanted to help him, but it was all he could do to not fall over himself.
“His mind is almost as stubborn as yours!” R immon cursed as he tried to stand but ended up tripping over the dog instead. “Damn it! I’ll be right back.”
“Where is there to go?” John spluttered.
As an answer, R immon opened the coach door, swinging out dangerously with it.
He managed to maneuver himself to the other side of the door before it slammed shut again. J ohn watched in fascination as R immon steadily gouged his way toward the driver, his normally well-groomed nails now extended into deadly claws.
The coach dropped abruptly. O utside the window, an enormous beast with a hundred heads and just as many arms towered over the landscape. J ohn stared with terror and revulsion, his gaze met by a dozen pairs of eyes as their comparatively small vessel was noticed. The beast roared from a multitude of mouths, a hundred hands reaching out to crush them when the coach lurched and gained altitude again.
R immon was shouting something at the driver, most of his words lost in the wind, but “Olympus” and “gods” were among them. Finally the demon lost all patience and grabbed the officer’s head, forcing him to look farther along the plains toward a great, cloud-covered mountain.
The coach shot upward at an angle that sent them directly into the clouds, and for a moment they seemed to have escaped the chaos. R ising to the very top of the mountain, they could see a number of white-columned palaces, decorative gardens, and fountains. The sight was serene until sunlight glinted off moving figures sca ered among the buildings. J ohn’s stomach sank. They were men made of glass. The Ministers of Order were already here.
The coach lurched again, the officer sensing that something was amiss. R immon struggled with him, forcing him to focus on a large, domed temple. The direction was achieved but stability was not. A crash landing was imminent. Dante and J ohn both covered their heads, an instinct left from life.
The collision was painless but confusing. B y the time the coach had skidded to a stop, J ohn’s face was buried in B olo’s stomach with Dante’s body keeping it pressed there. J ohn tried unsuccessfully to push Dante off until he realized that his world was upside down. Bolo was on top of him and they were both crushing Dante.
After enough struggling and swearing, they managed to push open the coach door
—which was now above them—and clamber out, except B olo, who was stuck. They found themselves inside the domed temple. The coach had made it through the huge open entrance before crashing and skidding a fair distance into the building. The ceiling was high and constructed out of white marble, like everything else in sight. All around them, placed rather randomly, were statues of the gods. The R oman officer frantically prayed to one before determination returned to his features, and he ran toward daylight.
“S o eager to fight,” R immon murmured. The demon placed his hands on the coach and heaved, muscles flexing until it rocked back onto its wheels, allowing B olo to hop out.
“Did you see the glass men?” John asked.
“I saw them,” R immon grunted, “and their handiwork.” The incubus gestured to the statues around them.
“No!” J ohn breathed, approaching the nearest. The sculpture was of Venus, her feminine beauty and aura of love unmistakable. O n touching the statue, J ohn could tell something was wrong. The sculpture wasn’t made of marble. The stone gave to his touch, like skin that had turned gray and stiff. He could feel something just below the surface, an emanating life force.
“These statues are the gods?”
Rimmon nodded.
“Can we help them?”
“M aybe. I ’d like to get them out of here before the M inisters return to finish the job.”
“Nice chair,” Dante said from across the room where a massive throne sat upon a dais. “E ven nicer hat.” S i ing on the throne was a crown made of white gold, encrusted with long flat diamonds.
“Don’t you dare!” John said.
A defiant look crossed Dante’s face, but before he could steal the crown, a new voice spoke, making them jump.
“Is the coast clear?”
One of the statues began to tremble, the stone flaking off piece by piece to reveal the god beneath. The shrewd eyes under the winged helmet made M ercury instantly recognizable. He shook the remainder of the stone off his body like a dog drying itself and looked around.
“M inisters still gone, then? I sent them on a wild goose chase. C onjured up images of gods that don’t even exist and set them loose in the city.”
“So nobody is hurt?” John asked. “The stone thin
g was all a ruse?”
“O nly for me.” M ercury frowned. “I stoned myself, so to speak, to avoid detection.
The others here weren’t so lucky. The M inisters came wielding gorgon heads, waving them around like incense burners. Not nice, turning our own mythology against us.” M ercury raised an eyebrow when he noticed R immon. “W ho let the demon in, and more important, does he know anything useful?”
“Plenty,” R immon answered, “but I don’t think your trick will keep the M inisters at bay for much longer.”
As if on cue, a strangled cry came from outside the temple. O ne scream sounded much like any other, but John suspected it might have been the Roman officer.
“Time to move,” M ercury said. A staff entwined by two serpents appeared in his hand. “Luckily the Ministers have yet to grasp the true nature of our pantheon.” W ithout further explanation, M ercury began swinging his staff in a wide circle, whipping up a wind that made their skin buzz with electricity. R aising the staff high, he struck it once on the floor.
Everything changed.
And yet it was exactly the same. Almost. The temple appeared identical, but the steam coach was gone and the statues were now living gods. As for M ercury, his hair was longer and curled, and a new name came to mind when J ohn focused on him: Hermes.
“From the R oman pantheon to the G reek,” Hermes explained. “We are very much the same. Two sides of one coin, if you will.”
“Do you bring news, messenger?” spoke Hera, queen of the gods.
“Yes, why this feeling of weakness?” sun god Apollo asked, his features so fair they appeared feminine.
The deities gathered around Hermes, desperate for answers. As Hermes explained what had transpired, John took stock of his friends. Bolo was nearest to him, and Dante was loitering next to the throne, which was still empty except for the crown. There was no sign of R immon, but a subtle red glint in Dante’s eyes suggested he had hidden himself.
“And which of you will complete this story?” Hera’s voice rang out.
J ohn sighed, knowing it would be up to him again. He slowly worked into his best speech yet, detailing more than ever the horror of the situation in P urgatory and citing the three realms, including Hell, that had banded together to free the trapped souls.
