GoneGod World: A Paradise Lot Urban Fantasy

by R. E. Vance

  All the buildings on the street showed neglect—all except one. It was an old brick building, three stories high and had two blooming rose bushes and an old sycamore tree in the front yard.

  I watched for hours, boredom taking its toll. At one point, my chest started to stir as Tink poked her head out of her hiding place. “Don’t,” I whispered. “We’re not alone.”

  But the fairy pushed out nonetheless, looking down the pipe where CaCa stood, enthralled as he drew his latest masterpiece. How he found the right materials and colors in the patch of sewer where we were standing, I don’t know, nor did I want to. But you know what? It didn’t matter, when I looked over at the mural CaCa had drawn using the raw materials common to sewers. Still, despite his tools, what he drew was beautiful. There was a park with children running, flying kites, playing ball. Their parents were there, picnickers laughing, drinking, being merry, each with CaCa’s signature joy on their face. But they weren’t just human picnickers, there were Others, too. Standing next to each other, happy, each tolerant of the other’s ways. A perfect scene of serenity.

  And then I saw him, on a hill watching over the serene scene: Joseph. Except not my Joseph, who reminded me of my PopPop, or Penemue’s who looked like light—but a roly-poly man with a Buddha belly, smiling down on all of us.

  “Holy shit,” I said, turning to CaCa. “This is amazing.”

  The demigod put a hand over his chest with a shrug that said, What? This old thing?

  “Yeah, this! So is that what he looks like to you? Joseph, I mean,” I said, pointing to the happy man on the hill.

  CaCa shook his head, making a hugging motion.

  “Oh,” I said with sudden comprehension, “that is how he looks to most people.”

  CaCa nodded.

  So that was it—he didn’t depict Joseph as his own personal comfort, but searched for a figure that gave comfort to the most number of beings, Other and human alike. And seeing that happy man on the hill, well, it worked for me. I could buy into this symbol of Joseph.

  I don’t know if it was seeing the picture of a future denied us by the Unicorn’s death or if it was simple boredom, but I just couldn’t sit around and wait any longer. I walked over to a more remote part of the pipe and removed the old dice pouch around my neck, placing it on a bit of brick that jutted out. Tink put out her head and started to gesture that she was coming with me when I whispered, “You promised.”

  I turned to CaCa and said, “Thank you, I can take it from here.” Then, as an afterthought, I said, “CaCa—if you don’t see me back at the One Spire Hotel by tomorrow, I want you to come back here and take this pouch to Miral. Make sure she, and no one else, gets it.”

  He looked at the brick ledge and nodded. Then he began lumbering back down the pipe.

  “Thank you,” I whispered and looked up at the manhole that separated me from the world above.

  ↔

  The grate slid open easier than I had expected and I popped out in the alleyway behind the little house without making a sound. Luckily for me, the grate was in-between a parked van and an old SUV. Unless someone was standing right there, no one would have seen me getting out of the sewers.

  The back door was less than seven meters away and I used the sycamore tree as cover as I slunk up the stoop. Whether or not he lived there, someone did.

  OK—remember the plan. Get in, see who’s here, gather intelligence. Do not engage.

  I looked up and down the street. Empty. OK, it was now or never. In the Army, one of the skills that I particularly excelled at was sneaking around. Not to beat my own drum, but I was uncannily light on my feet. Bella joked that it was because I was part cat. After the Army, when I retreated to the mountain side, I used to practice this skill by taking down game with only my hunting sword, which meant I had to be less than two meters away before the animal saw me. How good was I? Let’s put it this way: I never went vegetarian in those mountains.

  I employed my best skills, taking the most care to get to that back door. Just as my hand touched its handle, it opened. What was worse, my phone started to ring at that exact moment, professing to the world that I had forgotten to put it on silent.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that, Jean-Luc Matthias?” the Ghost asked.

  ↔

  I picked up the phone, and a frantic Penemue said, “I figured out what the box is. Where are you?”

  I shot a quick glance up at the street sign, before returning my gaze to the Ghost. “Bread Street,” I said. “I’m with him.”

  “Who?”

  “You know … the Ghost.” Then, still looking at him, I asked, “You are the Ghost, right?”

  He smiled, waving a hand. “Please, of all the names I once had, the Ghost is the least inviting. Call me Hermes.” And with that he opened the door wide, gesturing for me to enter.

  “I gotta go,” I said, hanging up before the angel could protest.

  “You seem upset to see me,” Hermes said, his smile touching the corners of his aged eyes. The person, or rather Ghost, who stood before me was an elderly man, well into his sixties, not the young man who saved me last night. But there was no mistaking him. He wore the same white shirt, black pants and buzz cut, which was now more gray than black. The elderly man shuffled into the room, taking strides that his body simply was no longer designed to take. He wasn’t used to being old and still moved as he had in his youth. “Did I ruin your surprise?”

  “I really put a lot of thought into coming here. You could have at least had the decency to pretend you were surprised to see me,” I said.

  He chuckled. “I do not believe that traveling through the sewers was for me.”

  “True,” I nodded.

  “That was wise. Thus the only wasted theatrics was your approaching my home like a thief in the night, instead of the welcome guest that you are.”

  He led me to his living room, a sparsely decorated room with two couches, a throw rug on wood-paneled flooring and an open liquor cabinet. Frameless photographs were taped to the walls—him fishing up north, him in a military uniform, him with some girl. All of them showed a young man that, as far as I knew, could have been photographed yesterday. Gardening gloves and a small hand rake sat on a coffee table, dirt still clinging to them. It was your typical bachelor pad, sparsely decorated, a halfhearted attempt at decoration, except for the candelabrum that sat in the corner. There must have been fifty candles of various sizes and shapes, all lit.

  He examined the candles, relighting one that had extinguished, and went over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of wine. “Drink?”

  “No thanks,” I said. “How did you know it was me and not … you know, Gravity’s rejected son?”

  He gestured at the candelabrum. “I have my own ways of hiding from him. Now, an enterprising human … well, that is much harder to hide from.” Hermes looked at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “So you’ve figured out that you are up against a First Law,” he said. He poured himself a glass and lifted it toward me before taking a sip. “The Fallen One told you?” It was more a statement than a question.

  “We’re all the fallen now,” I said.

  He took a seat a little too quickly. The youthful thump rather than the careful lowering that an old man would do caused him to groan. He took another sip and said, “Touché. We are, indeed. Fallen and blessed. Are you sure that you do not want a drink?”

  I shook my head.

  “Too bad. When you reach my age you learn to slow down and enjoy the finer things in life,” he said, not masking his bitterness. “I do pray that Joseph was right about you and that my sacrifice was not in vain.”

  What do you say to someone who literally aged fifty years in an hour just to save your ass? Thank him? Skirt the issue? Offer to help him with the gardening? All I could do was lower my head and apologize. I looked at my hands and saw more blood on them.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he said.

  “Have we met
before?” I said, looking back up at him. I tried to imagine him without the liver spots or wrinkles. I tried to see him as he once was and remembered nothing.

  “I don’t expect you would. I was … in the background. But we have met. More than once. We never spoke though, even on that long, turbulent plane ride to Helsinki.”

  Helsinki? I had only been there once, as a guard for the Ambassador and Bella on one of their failed diplomatic missions. I had never liked flying and when the plane was tossed around like a leaf in a hurricane, I threw up more than once. I was convinced that some demigod once worshiped for weather was trying to kill us all. I was supposed to be the soldier. The one calm in the face of death, and yet I was falling apart. Like I said earlier, I want to see death coming, and falling out the sky in a metal cage didn’t cut it.

  And all the while Bella and the Ambassador had laughed at me, both cool as cucumbers. “What’s the matter, Jean-Luc?” the Ambassador said. “Scared of a little wind?”

  “Easy for you to say,” I said. “You have wings.”

  “Ahh, yes—that is true. And moreover, should we fall from the sky, I am strong enough to save at least one of you. But only one. Tell me, Jean, who should I save? You, Bella or someone else?” He gestured to the half dozen or so fellow passengers.

  “The one who has the most worth,” I said without hesitation.

  The Ambassador chuckled. “That is a soldier’s answer. But we are diplomats now. Answer me as that. Who do I save?”

  “I don’t know,” I said in between dry heaves.

  The Ambassador opened the question to the floor. “Come on—someone must know the answer. Who do I save?”

  A couple of people said, “Me, please,” joking. One said, “If you save him, he’ll barf on your shoes in thanks.” Another laugh.

  Then from the back of the plane a voice said, “No one. Not even yourself.”

  “Indeed,” the Ambassador said, snapping his blunted fingers. “To save one over another is to value one life over another. And in this brave new world, no one life, no matter their species, role or purpose, should be more valuable than any other. That includes my own.”

  “So do nothing?” I snorted with derision.

  “I never said that. But as a leader, it is incumbent on me to save everyone or die trying.”

  Lost in the memory, I refocused on Hermes and said, “It was you on the plane. The one that answered the Ambassador’s question.”

  He nodded. “He was a great Other.”

  “Was he?” I asked.

  He met my uncertainty with his own certainty and nodded. “He was. And so was your wife. Not a great Other, but a great creature—a great human being.” He poured himself a second glass. “You do not have to drink, but you do have to join me in a toast. To Bella.” He handed me the glass.

  I could drink to her. We clinked. “You knew her?”

  “Worked with her. She was such a special human,” he said, taking another sip. I could have sworn when he started drinking it the glass was filled with white wine, but now it was a crimson red.

  “And you’re in town to meet Joseph?” I asked.

  Hermes nodded.

  “And the cynocephaly? Were they here for Joseph as well?”

  “Guards that knew both the Ambassador and Bella,” Hermes said. “They were to meet us in town and resume their role as guardians while we continued their work.”

  “And what was their work, exactly?”

  “All in good time,” Hermes said.

  “All in good time? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I have yet to assess your character and deem you worthy to know.”

  I felt the rage within me rising. “My character,” I said. “My character? You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re the guy who comes into my town, destroys my hotel and I’m the one being judged?” Hermes met my gaze with an even demeanor, which only served to anger me more. “So Penemue guessed right. You are the messenger.”

  “The messenger,” Hermes said absently. “Yes, I suppose you could call me that.”

  “So you’re the guy responsible for that doozy of a message … What was it? ‘Thank you for believing in us, but it is not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.’ You couldn’t have given us a little more, don’t you think?”

  Again he nodded, casual and relaxed, as if I was asking him if he was the one who cooked dinner or brought the dessert.

  “Of all the arrogant Others I’ve met … Our world changed in an instant, thousands died and all you could give us were those three short sentences.”

  “What did you expect me to say?”

  “An explanation. A reason. Some guidance.”

  “Really,” he said. “And tell me, had I spoken page after page of instruction, would you have listened?” He pointed at me as he spoke.

  “Maybe not me, but others might have.”

  “Really? And what would have happened when one group interpreted my words one way and another group understood them another way?” he said, bitterness rising in his voice. “I’ll tell you: exactly what happened every time they gave me the task of sending you mortals a message. More misinterpretation. More war. More death. No matter what I said, no matter how I consoled you, tried to guide you, you humans have an incredible ability to hear exactly what you want to hear and then kill anyone who understands differently. Well, no more. If this was to be the last message I was to give the mortal realm, then let it be clear for once.”

  “And was it?”

  Hermes shook with rage. “I don’t know,” he yelled, “you tell me. In all the fighting, all the killing, did any of it have to do with how the message was received? Or was it just human nature’s unwillingness to share? You know, Joseph told me all about you … about your desire to redeem yourself, your promise to Bella … He told me about how you want to fix some of the things you broke. Clean some of the blood off your hands.” Hermes drew in close, his face less than an inch from mine. “But you are not the only one with blood on your hands. Try eons fighting over misinterpreted messages, centuries of killing for words misheard, and then you will understand what it means to have blood on your hands.”

  Hermes stood up and poured himself a second drink. Taking a large gulp, he turned to me and said in a calm voice, “But we’re really not here to talk about me. This meeting is about you and the girl whom you promised to love forever. In this life and the next.”

  ↔

  “How do you know those words?” I demanded. “That’s what I said to her the night I proposed.”

  Hermes ignored me. “When the gods left and kicked out their denizens from their realms, it was like …” He searched for the simile. “Like kicking out your family, turning off the lights and locking up the mansion.”

  “So?”

  “Look, when the gods created humans and Others, they gave both of us immortality. For humans it was the afterlife. For Others it was endless life. And when they left they took that immortality away from everyone. And that was OK. At least by Bella’s estimation. At least it was equal to all. But what wasn’t fair was forcing us to all live together. For so much change … But if the Void could be reopened, for both humans and Others, then we’d have more space. And what’s more, it wouldn’t be about Others coming to Earth, it would also be about humans going to the Void. Equal. Even.

  “So, Bella was seeking a way to reopen the Void. She figured if we get into that space and start again—this time without the gods to control us—well then, we’d be masters of our own destinies. And with that, things would get better.”

  I was stunned. It was true that I knew she was working on a secret mission, but I always assumed it was diplomatic in nature. I figured it was something like trying to find a territory where the Others could make their own nation—I just never assumed that that nation would be on another plane of existence.

  “Did she?” I asked, the words stumbling out of my lips. “Did she find a way back?”

  “I was
hoping you knew the answer to that.”

  I shook my head. “All I know is that my wife is dead because a bunch of Others tried to play God.”

  Hermes looked down, hope draining from him. “You are right, Human Jean-Luc. We did try to play God. I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Oh, you’re sorry for my loss. OK, then. All is forgiven. Are you friggin’ crazy?” I screamed. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What happened? Tell me something! Anything!”

  His eyes softened. He said, “Yes. She failed and that failure came at the cost of her life. Still, she found something. A clue as to where the Void is and how to get there. That’s why Joseph contacted me, but before we could meet, the Avatar of Gravity showed up.” His voice was distant. “That’s why I saved you. Because I hoped you knew something. But you don’t and I lost all that time believing in something that doesn’t matter anymore. The mission is over. Failed. Done. Their once-upon-a-time divine purpose lost. It simply doesn’t matter anymore. We tried to right the world, fix what was broken, and we lost.”

  “What about the Avatar? He clearly thinks there’s hope.”

  Hermes shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I believe he followed the Unicorn in town for the same reason I saved you. For the hope that the Void was found. Once he learns that such hope is false, he too will disappear.”

  “Not good enough,” I said. “He killed Joseph. He hurt a lot of people. We can’t just let this go.”

  Hermes laughed. “Why not? For justice? What justice is left in this world? Peace is all we can hope for. Leave him be and he will leave you be. Nothing matters anymore. Now go. Leave me to live what little time I have left to tend my garden.”