Hell's Pawn (17 page)

“The war you propose has already begun, triggered by your actions. The M inisters of O rder felt the death of their own in Asgard. Already they move to silence the other pantheons. They mean to break us down like pieces of a stone, dividing and separating us until we are gravel, sand, dust. You must bring us together. S eek out the other dark gods, those who understand the depths of the underworld. P repare them to move, to slither beneath the roots of the world tree and into the warmth of the fiery pits.

Whether they agree to fight or not, they must come.”

The goddess placed her pale hands on his forehead, and J ohn’s mind filled with names, dozens of them. They se led there where he could always find them, even though he wasn’t sure what purpose they held. He turned to ask, but C erridwen was gone.

J ohn looked at the moon, now sallow and heavy on the horizon. He took a few steps forward, encouraged when it did not move away from him. The moon was stationary as he continued to walk, although he noticed that its shape wasn’t right, too rough around the edges and flat at the bottom.

S ounds came to him, conversation, chairs skidding on the floor, and the crackle of a fire. J ohn rushed forward, recognizing that what he mistook as the moon was a doorway. He burst into a cavern, warm with heat and the scent of food. S eated around a large round table were dozens of gods. J ohn focused on them only momentarily, feeling overwhelmed by so many powerful auras in such a small space.

“Where’d you get to?” Dante asked, approaching with Bolo.

“I was—” John hesitated, unsure of how to explain it. “Well, how did you get here?”

“We followed her.” Dante nodded toward the table.

C erridwen was seated there. Her eyes met his momentarily and were filled with meaning before she turned back to the proceedings. C ernunnos was to her right.

Further down the table, Manannan was deep in thought.

“I think they’re going to join,” Dante whispered. “Assuming she doesn’t up and slaughter us in her excitement.”

There was no question of who he was referring to. The M orrigan was standing now, vehemently outlining the reasons they should go to war and occasionally striking the table with her fist. The war goddess had the a ention of everyone in a endance. S he radiated authority and power, and yet somehow J ohn knew she was not the leader of this pantheon.

J ohn searched the table, trying to determine who the leaders were in order to gage their reaction. L ugh was nearest to the M orrigan, a capable warrior in his own right.

Next to him was B righid, threefold goddess of poetry, smithcraft, and healing. Her face, framed by fiery red hair, wasn’t as convinced as some of the others. The Dagda was the next in line, and for a moment J ohn thought he was the leader. The older god watched the proceedings with confident experience. Perhaps he had once led his people or was often looked to for guidance, but he wasn’t an exact match. The next chair was empty.

J ohn stared at it, a name calling out to him but too muddled for him to understand.

W hoever sat there, the one person missing, was their leader. B ut who was that person, and why were they absent? He strode over to the chair in a dream state. Nothing had felt quite real since he walked through the night, chasing after C erridwen. J ohn reached the chair and placed his hand on its back, pulling it back slightly as if to sit.

W hoever had sat there was divine, and their aura still clung to it. He could almost feel the missing god’s warmth. J ohn moved his hands along the chair, exploring the surface and earning himself a splinter in the process, but the pain was just enough to send him over the edge.

A goddess, mother to most of the deities here. The wife of the Dagda, she was a goddess of fertility and wise leader of her people. And then it came to him, the name on the tip of his tongue.

“Danu!” he said out loud.

The room was suddenly quiet. All eyes were turned on him, some questioning, others accusatory until someone cleared his throat. It was Manannan.

“We have decided to go to war,” he said.

* * * * *

M anannan’s ship was waiting for them when they exited into daylight again. The tides had risen high enough to swallow up the once-steep cliffs, and J ohn knew be er than to wonder at this improbability. I nstead he considered how M anannan could have dropped them off here in the first place, rather than making them chase through the woods with Cernunnos. Just more evidence of the gods and their games.

M uch to J ohn’s surprise, he found a private moment with M anannan. Dante was making himself scarce as possible, no doubt because of the golden goblet he had pilfered from the feast table, and R immon was stuck with him. Another of the C eltic deities had decided to see them off: B righid stood at the ship’s stern, her freckled face upturned to the sun. E ven though the C elts had agreed to join with Hell, revealing now that a demon had been hiding in their midst would appear dishonest.

This was the perfect opportunity to find out what everyone conspired to keep from him. J ohn decided to approach the issue with tact, even though he feared his privacy with the sea god might not last, and asked instead another question that had been troubling him.

“Cernunnos mentioned that religion determines where we go when we die.”

“Belief more than religion,” Manannan corrected.

“So what happens to people who don’t believe in anything?”

“Any number of things. An atheist, for instance, might cease to exist if determined enough. That is, the soul will revert to the ether that we are all created from. Not necessarily, though. Faced with new information, an atheist might become agnostic and find himself wandering, trying to understand the situation be er or find the realm best suited to him. Visits such as yours weren’t so rare at one time.”

“But now they are?”

M anannan nodded. “We thought there was some form of campaigning, another afterlife venturing out and recruiting these souls to their own cause, but now we know that P urgatory is to blame. Any lost soul is now drawn to P urgatory and imprisoned there, but for what purpose?”

“I don’t know,” J ohn murmured. “Do you think my condition is what drew me there?”

M anannan was silent for a moment. “Your friends seem to think that you aren’t aware of your unique properties.”

J ohn tensed. Dante, maybe even R immon, had go en to M anannan first. “I t doesn’t seem fair that they know something about me that I don’t.”

“They have your best interests at heart, or at least they feel they do.”

“And you?”

“I think you are stronger than any of them realize.”

B olo began barking, his front legs against the starboard bow so he could see over the edge. The E nglish S hepherd had been watching the water the whole trip, but now a school of dolphins had noticed him and were pu ing on a show. B righid laughed and Dante’s caution was forgo en as he approached to see what all the commotion was about.

“Tell me what it is,” John pleaded. “Quickly.”

“I ’m afraid I promised not to,” M anannan said, “but perhaps if you took a seat and gave it all a good think, you might find yourself drawn to the answer. O h, look! Your coach!”

J ohn stared blankly at the li le island and their ride home before it clicked. W hat if he took the driver’s seat? The steam coach was supposed to take any soul to where it belonged. He wasn’t sure how this would answer his question, but it was the biggest lead he had.

“Thank you,” John said.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” M anannan replied. “We all deserve to know where we belong, but be warned, some journeys are more difficult to return from than others.”

Chapter Eight

J ohn waited in the coach, absentmindedly pe ing B olo while R immon strapped Dante in the driver’s seat. W ith M anannan’s boat having set sail, R immon could show himself again, and J ohn was eager for the chance to talk to him alone before they reached Hell.

S o much was happening so quickly. B eing trapped in P urgatory seemed a distant event of weeks or months ago. J ohn still didn’t understand how time functioned in the afterlife, but he knew that if he were alive, he would be desperate to crawl into bed about now. As it was, John felt great, especially since he had more to do than ever.

The tip M anannan had given him, the key to the secret that was being kept from him, was far from his most immediate concern. I nstead he kept thinking of what he had said to the other gods, how Heaven wasn’t their target. P urgatory was. S tanding up for his convictions had been easy at the time, but soon Asmoday would hear a full report. John could only imagine that the Archduke’s reaction wouldn’t be pretty.

The coach door opened and R immon climbed inside. He gave J ohn the sort of look reserved for meeting a date. Not a first date, but a few later when the sex was really gearing up and getting exciting.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” John teased.

“O h, I don’t know.” R immon ran his fingers over the brass-tipped lever before grasping it and giving it a healthy jerk. “A li le alone time could be just what the doctor ordered.”

J ohn braced himself as the coach lurched forward, barely managing to get an arm around B olo to prevent him from sliding off the bench. “Then again,” he said, “this van is rocking enough as it is.”

R immon stretched himself wide on the bench, arms and legs splayed open in a very clear invitation. “Maybe we can counteract that motion.”

“S ounds good. J ust show me wri en permission from your boyfriend and we’ll get started.” J ohn meant it as a joke, but R immon looked pained, if only for a second. J ohn wondered, not for the first time, what the true story behind their relationship was.

“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.