by Jay Bell
I f only J ohn could make his stupid heart understand that, maybe the pain would go away. He thought of the goddess’s hand on R immon’s arm and shook his head. W hat a terrible way to realize he was in love.
J ohn wasn’t helpless though. He could leave. His work was mostly done anyway.
The most powerful gods had been gathered together, and now they had an army to command. All that remained was the inevitable victory, and they didn’t need J ohn for that. All he needed to do was climb into the driver’s seat of the steam coach, and he would be free. J ohn thought he knew his destination. R immon had hinted about it being where he belonged, a place where Dante or the incubus couldn’t follow. W here else could it be but Heaven?
“I ’m leaving,” J ohn said, heading for the door. “W hen R immon gets back, tell him to find someone else to wear the jade suit. I t won’t make any difference to L iu W u. He doesn’t even have to know.”
“J ade suit? Wait, leaving?” Dante followed J ohn into the hallway. “W hat do you mean?”
“I ’m taking the steam coach for a spin. O r you could save me the trouble and tell me the big secret.”
“C ouldn’t if I wanted to,” Dante said. “Asmoday has some sort of spell on me, but I don’t see how the coach is going to help you any.”
“M anannan thought it might. I f I take the driver’s seat, then it will take my soul to where it belongs.”
Dante’s eyes widened. “You think that will work?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
J ohn picked up his pace. The chariot was just outside the tomb, moonlight glistening off its black finish and brass pipes. J ohn climbed the two small steps to the driver’s seat.
“Wait up!” Dante shouted.
“You can’t stop me,” John said, taking a seat.
“No, but you’ll need someone to pull your lever.” Dante grinned at him. “B esides, someone should see you off properly.”
J ohn smiled back and gestured for Dante to climb inside. He probably wouldn’t be able to complete the journey anyway. O nce J ohn was in Heaven, Dante’s soul would be kicked back to Hell, which was where he was happiest.
E ven though it didn’t need to, J ohn’s heart thudded in his chest while he waited for Dante to pull the lever. The steam coach lurched, first forward, then backward. I t spun to the left in a full circle before launching forward and halting, tipping forward dangerously on two wheels before it fell backward again. C learly the steam coach was confused. Then it went still, and just when J ohn thought they wouldn’t be going anywhere at all, the coach began to fade.
He looked down at his own hands to see they were now transparent as well. They disappeared entirely as he watched. He couldn’t see at all anymore, not even the world around them. There wasn’t black, white, gray or any other color. There was nothing.
Then they arrived, the world exploding back into existence. The room was dark, the orange street lights outside just bright enough to illuminate the details. Two beds were in the room, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall across from them. A utilitarian dresser sat next to each bed, a curtain separating the two, although it wasn’t pulled far enough to provide complete privacy.
They had arrived on E arth. J ohn resisted a laugh, thinking how much that sounded like a line from a cheesy sci-fi movie. He could probably turn on the television and watch one of those films if he wanted, and despite the inevitable commercial interruptions, the idea sounded blissful.
“A hospital,” John murmured. “St. Francis Memorial by the look of it.”
“All the answers are right here,” Dante said, appearing around the side of the coach.
“I can’t say them until you know them, but—” He gestured to the beds.
J ohn stood, walking with deliberate care down the steps of the coach, which didn’t even fit in the room. M ost of it had disappeared beyond the walls, sticking out into the hallway, although John doubted it was visible to the living.
The sights and smells weren’t lost to the dead. The drab furnishings and sterile smell took J ohn straight back to the time his grandmother had been in the hospital, shortly before she died. He had walked right past her bed the first time, no longer recognizing her because of the cancer that had ravaged her body.
J ohn didn’t need to choose which bed to look in; he was drawn to it, almost pulled across the floor. And there he was, sleeping on his back, his mouth open and slack.
J ohn looked at J ohn, and felt dizzy, delirious, horrified, and excited. He saw a heart monitor, and while it didn’t beep like they did on television, a steady green line jumped across the screen.
“I’m not dead,” he said, and his feet left the floor as he floated toward his body.
“W hoa, whoa, whoa!” Dante said, grabbing one of his feet. J ohn stopped like a balloon tethered by a string. “S ee, they told me this would happen. You’re drawn to your body like a moth to a bug zapper. That’s where you belong.” J ohn’s feet slowly returned to the ground as he regained control of himself. W ith considerable effort, he turned to face Dante, even though he wanted to dive into his body like it was the only pool on a scorching summer day.
“I’m not dead,” he repeated.
“That’s right. You’re still alive and kicking. S ort of. Your body is in a coma. No idea if you’ll wake up from it or not, but with your willpower, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Dante gave him a playful punch on the arm. “S o this is it, then. W henever you do get around to dying properly, I hope we see each other again. Not that I want you to go to Hell,” Dante backpedaled. “I just mean, you know … Look me up, all right?”
“We left B olo behind,” J ohn realized suddenly. “And R immon.” For the first time since entering P urgatory, J ohn felt like crying. He wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye to them, wouldn’t see them again for a lifetime.
“I ’ll take care of the mu ,” Dante promised. “The demon can take care of himself, no doubt, but I’ll keep an eye out anyway.”
Dante would need to watch out for all of them because a war was coming, one of J ohn’s own creation. He had gathered enough forces for Asmoday to do whatever he pleased, and J ohn didn’t believe for a second that the Archduke would stop at P urgatory. Asmoday’s fear of Heaven would lead him to a ack there next, perhaps even first, and J ohn’s friends could be lost or hurt in that ba le. And yet, as much as he didn’t want to turn his back on all of this, his body was calling him home, urging him to return to life.
“You have a choice,” a new voice said. “You always have a choice.” The god stood next to the coach, dwarfing it in size. He was much too large to fit into the already cramped hospital room, but somehow the ceiling made way for him. The large elephant ears wiggled in greeting, as did one of the four human arms. L ike all gods, he was wrapped in his own name, his history radiating out from him. This was Ganesh, the breaker of barriers, the destroyer of obstacles.
S imilar to the E gyptian gods, he had the head of an animal—an elephant with a trident ta oo above his deeply intelligent eyes. G anesh had the body of a man, aside from the four arms that blossomed like petals around the rotund belly. Despite his size, he carried himself gracefully, his movements delicate.
“Talk about an elephant in the room,” Dante murmured.
G anesh’s eyes remained on J ohn. “You are not yet at the pathway between reincarnations,” he said, “so you may not know me as you once did. You have worshipped many deities in your lifetimes, J ohn G rey, but more often than not you have found your way to me.”
J ohn hesitated. There was something familiar about G anesh, but it was the nature of the gods to be known when in their presence. “So you are my—”
“Friend,” G anesh said. “High caste or low, man or woman, I have always found you to be pleasant company. How amusing that I stand here before you as a stranger.
Would you care for a sweet?”
The god stepped forward and held out one of his arms. R esting in his hand was a bowl filled with
small dumplings. They, like the elephant god, were very familiar.
“You’ve heard of taking candy from strangers, right?” Dante warned, but J ohn paid no heed.
He popped one of the dumplings into his mouth. They were sweet and tasted of coconut. M odak, that was what they were called. The dumpling melted in his mouth, memories accompanying the pleasing flavor. He remembered being an I ndian man who spent most of his time at the temple because he enjoyed the camaraderie so much. He remembered the joyful statue of G anesh that filled one wall of the rectangular room, always present as he talked and laughed with friends.
J ohn remembered another life too, as a housewife in North C arolina with six children. O h, how she had lived for those children! A neighbor had loaned her a book about E astern religions, and she had been instantly drawn to the black-and-white photograph of G anesh. S he had researched this strange god with a passion, even attempting to bake her own modak that ended up sticking to the pan.
He remembered even more lives, other connections to this god, but they faded as John swallowed the last of his treat.
“I know you!”
G anesh smiled and snatched up one of the treats with his long trunk. “W hat a unique time to meet again,” he said as he snacked. “A man who is living but walking among the dead. We all do occasionally in dreams, but as a distant audience member who can only make-believe their role in the play. These aren’t dreams, J ohn. You’ve set a great many events in motion.”
“Have I done wrong?” J ohn asked urgently. “I only wanted P urgatory to fall, but I fear for Heaven’s safety, even though I don’t belong there.”
“R arely is there ever a single place we belong,” G anesh said, “and even rarer is change for the worse. B ut you haven’t finished your task. You’ve merely pushed a boulder down a hill without yet chasing after to see where it rolls. You may even find the strength to guide its path.”
“Or?” John asked, knowing there were choices to be made.
“Or you may sleep again in your body until you reawaken to the real world.” J ohn turned to look at himself. The car wreck hadn’t been kind. There were cuts on his cheek and stitches on his forehead. Dark circles ringed his eyes; his lips colorless.
“If I stay out of my body, can I still come back to it when I’m done?” G anesh cocked his head, long eyelashes flu ering. “The body is not meant to be without a soul, not for so long a time as this. B ut if you act quickly and wisely, you might just make it back in time.”
John nodded. “Then I look forward to the day when we walk together again.” G anesh smiled. “No ma er what paths we choose, in the end we will all be together. Do not forget that. No choice you make will separate you from those you love.”
Headlights from the street cut through the room, and G anesh was gone. J ohn turned back to his body, the gateway to so much that he knew and loved. He wanted to see his family again, to sit in his mother’s kitchen while she baked and listen to the latest gossip. He wanted to call a friend and talk for hours, laughing about their latest misadventures. O r simply sit at his drafting desk in the morning, staring out the window and enjoying the morning light while nursing a tea. J ohn missed all of this and more, and before him was the chance to return to it all.
B ut behind him was an unresolved conflict, not just P urgatory but his emotions for Rimmon as well. He could run from that, or he could face it before returning here.
“We’re leaving,” John said.
“Yeah?” Dante stopped slouching and gave J ohn his full a ention. “You mean it?
Where are we going?”
John regarded the steam coach. “To Hell. And then we are going to war.” Chapter Fifteen
A marble glowing with blue light. A lonely planet set not against space but countless swirling colors and shapes. P urgatory imitated E arth’s appearance from afar just as it had on street level, but the gentle blue glow didn’t come from azure skies. The glow came from souls, locked into stasis, sizzling with energy that numbed and paralyzed.
Like Earth, Purgatory only appeared a place of tranquility when seen from a distance.
J ohn was pensive, observing all of this from inside the steam coach, which had been chained to countless other vehicles. V iking ships, chariots, wagons stuffed full of soldiers—all manner of vessel and vehicle were bound together in one massive convoy. These were flanked and protected by innumerable beasts, all scale and wing, creatures from the deepest pits of the inferno.
Hell had its own army. O f course it did, but J ohn had never stopped to consider the possibility. Asmoday behaved as if Hell had li le power of its own, when really he was just adding to its already considerable resources. Among the numerous gods and wagons of terraco a soldiers were demons of more variety than J ohn had ever imagined. He had to admit he was impressed. At first he was angry, as if everything they had gone through to gain L iu W u’s army had been for nothing, but Asmoday assured him that the terraco a soldiers had the skill his brutal demon forces lacked.
J ohn considered these creatures, the bizarre number of eyes and appendages holding his attention only momentarily before he began searching their ranks for Rimmon.
J ohn knew the incubus had returned to Hell because the jade suit was in the coach next to him. A less-than-casual inquiry to Asmoday revealed that the goddess Amaterasu had transported R immon and the terraco a soldiers back to Hell, but the incubus hadn’t made any effort to seek him out, and J ohn had no idea where to find him.
He reached over to stroke B olo’s head. At least the dog had found him, almost instantly. J ohn thought of the countless animals they had seen trapped in P urgatory’s depths. I f they managed to free them today, then they too would run free across the realms as Bolo did.
“Looks like we were expected,” Dante said. “Think that’s some sort of weapon?” The massive structure floating ahead of them resembled a construction vehicle rather than a weapon. J ohn had seen plenty of excavators on construction sites for buildings he had designed, except they usually had only one arm. The monstrosity before them had four arms with spoon-shaped scoops. The strange device was facing away from them, nestled up against P urgatory’s dome. As they watched, one of the scoops dove into the surface, dislodging a handful of souls who soon disappeared, called away to whatever realm they belonged to.
“I’d say it’s on our side,” John said, “but I don’t remember it being part of the plan.” The excavator must have been at it for some time, for a notable dent had been made in the dome’s surface. As another scoop delved into this barrier, it penetrated deep enough to break through and create a hole. J ohn was about to cheer when insects started spilling out. The featureless P rops, transformed into their arachnid forms, hatched like spiders from a nest. Their numbers were incredible as they spread over the machine. An elderly voice carried across the distance, yelling in panic from inside the excavator’s cabin.
“Jacobi!” Dante exclaimed.
The old man must have been here the entire time, working on building a device that could free the other souls. J ohn felt a rush of affection for the man and his determination, but now Jacobi had gotten himself into serious trouble.
“Defend that vehicle!” John shouted out the coach window. “The pilot is our ally!” Help was already on the way, countless demons swooping in and pulling the spiders away. Not all of the demons were humanoid. S ome were strange mixes of animals; others resembled nothing remotely known to E arth, great balls of sinew and hair or creatures made entirely of vapor. “We are legion!” was their battle cry. One that resembled a loop of sharp teeth with neither head nor eyes flew past the coach door.
Fascinated, J ohn watched as it reached a spider and began spinning, tearing the creature to shreds.
S oon the entire scene was nothing but demons and spiders, the construction vehicle lost completely in the chaos. J ohn felt trapped and useless in the comfort of the coach.
He wanted to leave its safety, but was unsure of how he could help or even su
rvive in the fray. He would be on his own, too. I f Dante tried to leave the coach he would be pulled back to Hell, just as he had been when they had first escaped from P urgatory.
O nly the specially trained demons had a chance out there. The rest of the troops were useless until they reached Purgatory’s surface.
They heard a thud on the roof of the coach. Dante and J ohn grabbed each other for comfort while B olo began to growl. S omething was up there, crawling around. They were being a acked from above! Then B olo ceased his growling and stood, his tail thumping enthusiastically. A red face appeared upside-down in the window closest to John, the features more handsome than monstrous.
“We need to talk,” Rimmon said.
The demon swung down from the coach roof, wings flapping. They were huge, segmented into four sections like a bu erfly’s but visually similar to the wings of a bat.
P urgatory’s blue light reflected off their black surface, shifting hypnotically as the wings pumped.
Rimmon opened the coach door and extended a hand. “Come.” J ohn took his hand and was pulled into R immon’s arms, but the incubus’s face was stern, not seductive. The wings pumped hard, and they flew upward with startling speed. The ba le below disappeared and soon even P urgatory was nothing more than a star, a distant pinprick of light. W hen they stopped, R immon held J ohn at arm’s length, his face no more friendly than it had been before.
“How can you be out here without being pulled back to Hell?” John asked.
The stony expression softened slightly. “Always the questions. You never change.” The hint of a smile showed when he realized that J ohn was waiting for an answer. “M y soul, like yours, is mostly in balance. R emember the test of O siris and the scales? And before you ask, I have wings when I need to have wings.”
