Lost Gods

  “It’s no longer between us,” she said, nodding toward the stairs.

  At the top of the stone steps was a creature, some sort of big cat with sleek red fur and large feathered wings. Only it wasn’t a cat, not from the shoulders up anyway—the creature had the neck and head of a woman. Why, that’s a . . . it took a moment for the name to come to Chet. A sphinx, he thought.

  The sphinx stood statue-like, easily twice as tall as any of the souls. Her green eyes locked on Dirk and her tail began flicking back and forth.

  Dirk opened his mouth as though to speak but only a long wheeze escaped. The guards all lowered their weapons and stepped well back from the women.

  Dirk’s hand left his pistol. He too backed away, one step, another, bumping into Chet, seeming unaware of anything other than the piercing stare of the sphinx.

  Chet saw his chance, slipping Senoy’s pouch from Dirk’s belt and moving quickly away from the huge man.

  Dirk touched his belt, a slow, distracted movement. He frowned, glanced down, noticed the pouch gone, and saw Chet walking away. “Hey!” He took a step after Chet.

  A low growl came from the landing. Despite the deadening fog, this sound rumbled, resonated; Chet felt it right to his core.

  Dirk froze.

  “Leave now,” Mary said, addressing those souls still remaining on the landing. They hesitated, staring at the sphinx, but one left, followed by a few more, then the rest, tromping quickly past Dirk and his men.

  Mary gave Dirk one last dark look. “Watch your deeds, toad. The Red Lady’s wrath is unforgiving.” She spun away, her cloak twirling, and headed up the stairs. The women fell in behind her, escorting Ana and the babies. Chet started after them.

  “Hey,” Dirk hissed.

  Chet glanced back.

  “Leave the pouch or you’ll be sorry.”

  Chet kept going, quickly following the others up the stone stairs.

  CHAPTER 12

  Chet made the top of the stairs before he stopped and examined the wound in his chest. The meat around the injury was gray and leathery and a fair amount of blackish liquid oozed from the edges. It still throbbed, but the pain continued to recede. He touched the gash; it felt more like clay than flesh. He wondered just what he was made of, noticed a speck of ivory deeper in the wound and realized it must be bone, part of his rib cage. He grimaced. I’m still walking. That’s something.

  The women gathered around the sphinx on the far side of the wide square. Chet approached, captivated by the creature. She was beautiful and dreadful in equal measures. Her face, though human, was still catlike, regal and fierce, framed by two thick braids and tousles of long red hair forming a great mane that spilled down her shoulders and ran the length of her back. Two large horns curved out from an ornate copper headdress of curling spikes. A wide, layered necklace of spiked copper plates draped across her chest. Her emerald eyes seemed disinterested in those around her, staring intently downriver. Chet followed her gaze, saw only the ghostly outlines of ramshackle shacks and docks.

  A handful of shadowy souls shuffled past along the cobblestone street; the ones that noticed the sphinx kept well away. Chet hesitated, unsure if coming any closer was a good idea.

  Mary noticed him, beckoned him over, and he found the full weight of her intense gaze upon him. The gem in her forehead glowed faintly as she looked him up and down. “What’s your name?”

  “Chet.”

  “Chet.” She said the word slowly, as though tasting it. Her face softened a degree and the gem briefly glowed a pale green. “That was a brave thing you and Ana did.”

  Chet shrugged.

  “It’s not easy,” Mary added. “Coming over. It is a daunting enough task to find one’s own way, much less to take on the burden of others.

  “I’m Mary.” She touched her forehead. “This is Sister Elaine and Sister Nora. And this,” she gestured to the sphinx, “is Sekhmet, the Eye of Ra, the guardian of the gods. Known by most as the Red Lady.”

  The sphinx made no acknowledgment, only continued her vigil.

  A grinding sound approached. Four more women wearing black robes materialized out of the mist, pulling a cart with a wood cage on the back. One of them ran ahead, breathless. “Were you in time?” She pushed several strands of long dark hair from her face, tucking them beneath her cap, and her eyes alighted on the three infants. A relieved smile spread across her face. “Thank God’s good grace we heard them when we did.”

  “No, thank Chet and Ana’s good grace,” Mary said, introducing the woman as Isabel.

  “Was it Dirk again?”

  Mary nodded.

  Isabel spat on the ground. “Does he think we’re stupid? That we can’t see through his bullshit?”

  “I don’t believe he cares.”

  “We can’t allow this,” Isabel said.

  “He’s broken no laws,” Mary replied, the frustration obvious on her face.

  “If he’s throwing children into the river, he has.”

  “There’s no law forbidding such. None other than that of common humanity.”

  Isabel squinted across the square. “It’s him! That man. The one that’s been following us.”

  A figure in a wide-brim hat and cloak leaned against the wall near the top of the stairs. The man kept his eyes hidden beneath the brim.

  “It is indeed,” Mary said.

  “Another fucking Green Coat spy,” Isabel spat. “They’re everywhere these days.”

  Dirk came up the stairs with a few guards, walked over to the man, and they began conversing.

  Isabel slid back her cloak, clutching the hilt of a long sword. “What are we waiting for? Let’s send them all for a swim.”

  Mary glanced up to the Red Lady, but the sphinx’s face remained stone. “Not today,” Mary said.

  “Then when?” Isabel asked. “If we wait until the last temple is burned, the last god is driven away, it’ll be too late.”

  “Not today,” Mary repeated.

  Isabel’s jaw tightened, obviously struggling not to say more.

  The women pulled up with the cart. Chet thought the cage full of blankets at first, noticed the blankets moving, and realized there were babies among the linens, some sleeping, others quietly watching the souls march by.

  The infant in Ana’s arms began to whimper, then cry.

  “Here,” Mary said. “May I?” Ana handed the child over. Mary cuddled the baby, the gemstone in her forehead turning soft green as she whispered to it. The infant stopped squirming, fixated on the stone, and began to coo. After a moment Mary strolled over and sat the child in the cart with the others.

  “What’s going happen to them?” Ana asked.

  “We’re taking them to Lethe. These fortunate few will be spared endlessly wandering Erebus, or worse, drowning in the river of torment.” Mary looked sadly at the infants. “But there are always others.”

  “Lethe? What is Lethe?”

  “Ana, what is it that you seek?”

  Ana took a moment. “I’m not seeking anything.”

  “We’re all seeking something. It’s why we’re here.” Mary nodded toward the other women. “The sisters gather the lost infants, shepherd them to a better place. For many, this act of selflessness brings purpose to their existence . . . helps them to heal, but more importantly, helps them find what they need.”

  Ana’s brow furrowed.

  “Ana,” Mary said. “The sisterhood is always in need of courageous hearts. Join us. Redemption need not be a path walked alone.”

  “Redemption,” Ana said, almost spat. “There’s no redemption for me.”

  “You aren’t the first to say that,” Mary countered. “Once you have a taste of this place, if your heart doesn’t find what it needs . . . seek us out.”

  Chet cleared his throat. “Could I ask you something?”

  Mary turned to him.

  “Hell, this is gonna sound stupid . . . but any chance you’ve heard of a man named Gavin Moran?” Chet waited, searc
hing for some sign of recognition among the women’s faces, found none.

  Mary smiled. “Purgatory is a big place, Chet.”

  Chet sighed. “I thought it might be.”

  “Is he your father?”

  “Grandfather.”

  “If your grandfather’s soul indeed resides in purgatory, then you need but find a bloodseeker.”

  “A bloodseeker, huh?”

  “A true bloodseeker, not one of the hucksters on the riverfront. They’re all working for the Green Coats now. They will steal what they can, giving only lies in return.”

  “Yeah, head to Old City,” Isabel put in. “The Green Coats don’t have much hold there . . . not yet anyway. Some of the ancient ones are still there and their sight is strong. It’s not far. At the top of Calvary Hill, what some call the Place of the Crosses. Just head up the path here until you get to the main square. You can see Calvary Hill from there if the fog’s not too bad. A whole hillside full of crosses. There’s one in every little dipshit town down here. Souls, trying to get right with Jesus by doing awful things to themselves. Someone needs to tell them there’s no shortcut to redemption.”

  Mary nodded. “Once you reach Calvary Hill, look for an archway topped with ravens. Pass through and look for signs bearing the eye with the red teardrop.” She took a step closer to Chet, spoke low. “And, Chet, keep your mark well hidden.”

  Chet tensed, instinctively clutching his hand shut.

  “Your mark is hidden from most.” She touched the jewel on her forehead. “I have my own sight. It’s my gift, sometimes my curse, to see into people. But just know there will always be those who see, those who would trade your head for the bounty.”

  “Bounty?”

  “Lucifer’s minions pay well for damned souls. And though it is forbidden to trade with demons, to even talk with demons, there are plenty, as you have seen, who pay little heed to the edicts of the underworld.”

  Chet glanced at the souls stumbling past. He felt as though everyone was watching him, as though they could all could see the mark.

  “The cities are safest,” Mary said. “Demons won’t enter, but the soul hunters, they can be anywhere. Your best chance is to find your clan, your family, your grandfather. Blood looks after its own.”

  If only that were true, Chet thought bitterly.

  One of the infants pulled itself up on the bars, reached for Ana. “It’s as though God overlooked them,” Ana said.

  Mary sighed. “Yes, but which god? All have hopes that the afterlife will somehow be an orderly place. Death is madness and chaos—a hundred gods fighting over the dead. Sense, reason, fairness . . . they’re all foreigners here.”

  A cry echoed from somewhere down the bank. It sounded like a baby. The Red Lady looked over, then started away.

  Isabel and the rest of the sisters followed. Mary held back a moment, clasping Ana’s hand. “Ana, when you’re ready, seek us out.” She released Ana, striding quickly away after her companions.

  CHAPTER 13

  Chet watched the robed women disappear into the mist, then glanced back toward the stairs. Dirk and the man in the wide-brim hat were still watching him.

  “We need to get out of here,” Chet said.

  Ana followed his eyes, nodded. They started walking in the direction of the town. “Are you going to try and find one of those bloodseekers?” Ana asked.

  “Yeah, guess so. How about you? Think you have any family down here?”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “Might be good to at least see.”

  “My family would spit in my face . . . and I wouldn’t blame them a bit.”

  He glanced over. Her mouth was set, grim. He didn’t press.

  “When I did it,” she said, “took all those pills . . . I thought I was escaping.” She shook her head. “Didn’t know there’d be all this . . . y’know . . . all this shit after. Thought death was the end. And fuck you hallelujah if the shit doesn’t just keep going and going.”

  They continued walking, neither talking, watching souls shuffle by with despondent, sorrowful faces. Chet kept glancing behind, expecting to find Dirk and the man in the wide-brim hat following, but saw no sign of them.

  “Hey,” someone said. Chet felt a tap on his shoulder, turned to find a teenager. It took him a moment to recognize him from the barge. He was the one who looked to have had paralysis before the change. He fell in with them. “What was she like?”

  Chet gave him a questioning look.

  “The lion woman. The sphinx. Holy shit, I can’t believe you got that close. I mean she was just as real as we are. I still can’t believe it. Can’t believe any of this. Keep thinking I’m going to wake up, y’know. It’s so cool.”

  Chet and Ana stared at the kid as though he’d lost his mind.

  “Hey, I’m not crazy.” The kid laughed. “I’m just free. Free from that chair.” He darted away, hopped up onto a boulder, and leapt into the air—practically bounced back to them. “Oh, man, feels so good to be able to move.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ana asked.

  “Me?”

  “Can’t you see you’re dead? We’re all dead. That this place sucks?”

  The kid looked around. “I don’t know. It’s all overwhelming, terrible, yet . . . fascinating too. Y’know.”

  “You were in a wheelchair?” Chet asked.

  The kid nodded. “Fifteen years. I was paralyzed, a quadriplegic. It was worse than this . . . I mean to say I’d rather be here right now than back in that chair.” He lowered his voice as though talking to himself. “Rather be anywhere than back in that chair.”

  Chet hoped the kid still felt that way once the weight of this place really sank in.

  “Hey, I’m Johnny by the way.” The kid stuck out his hand.

  Chet took it. “Chet. And this is Ana.”

  “Man,” Johnny said. “Thought you were a goner back there. I mean when he stabbed you. But even with that big hole in your chest you’re still going. Can’t say the same for the poor guy with the cracked skull. Gets you wondering, too—what happens to dead dead?”

  “Probably just go someplace else where there’s even worse shit,” Ana said.

  The stone road became more and more populated as they continued, souls of all races coming and going, many barefoot, some nude, and several with missing hands and limbs, most of the traffic moving toward town.

  It quickly became apparent which souls had been here awhile—the older inhabitants’ skin, hair, and eyes were all turning gray like wood left in the weather, as though they were becoming one with the dirt and stone around them. They wore an assortment of dress, and even that seemed to be fading to gray, from rags to finery, styles from all down the ages, from biblical to modern times. Chet saw horned helmets, top hats, turbans, baseball caps, sandals, tennis shoes, combat boots, jeans, fatigues, robes, tunics, and cloaks, in endless variations and combinations. But it was more than their dress, it was their manner, the older inhabitants going about their business with purposeful intent, not hiding their annoyance of the slow-moving, confused newcomers. Many carried weapons: swords, knives, spears, clubs. A few even wore bits of chain mail and armor.

  The tents and mud-brick shacks gave way to taller structures, some two- and three-story stone buildings—empty, hollow-looking places with crumbling facades, the top floors collapsed or vacant, their windows dark. Scripture, names, and proclamations were scratched here and there along the walls in chalk and charcoal. Over and over they saw the words DO NOT FEED THE GODS and FREEDOM written in tall red letters.

  Stalls began to appear in front of many of these buildings. Chet stepped up, peering into one of the shops, and found ragged clothing, shoes, and a few shoddy-looking clubs hanging along the wall. The shopkeeper didn’t even bother to look up, just sat staring at the dirt floor.

  They kept moving and soon the road emptied into a large circular plaza paved with massive flagstones. Hundreds of souls, carts, and wagons were milling about or cross
ing through, along with the occasional group of patrolling Green Coats. An enormous statue lay toppled in the center of the plaza, surrounded by the shattered remains of dozens of smaller statues—life-size dancing figures. The central figure lay on its side, its head broken off at the neck, the androgynous face contorted, its mouth open as though wailing, its eyes smashed away. Someone had stuffed its mouth with the arms and legs of the shattered dancers.

  “That must’ve really been something in its day,” Johnny said. “Must’ve stood, what, two hundred feet tall?”

  Chet spotted a post topped with signs jutting from the rubble next to the giant head. He started forward, stopped as a wagon rumbled past. Six souls were harnessed to the front of the wagon, their skin charred, their eyes gone. A dwarfish man sat atop the wagon, driving them with a rein and whip. Two guards wearing green jackets sat next to him, holding some sort of muskets. The wagon bed was full of arms, legs, and hands.

  “What do you think of that, Johnny?” Ana asked; her tone bitter. “Was that fascinating?”

  Johnny didn’t answer, just stared after the wagon.

  Chet and Ana made their way to the base of the statue. A moment later Johnny caught up, caught Chet by the arm. “Careful.” He pointed at a broken statue Chet had just set his foot on. The statue was missing both legs, an arm, and most of its torso. It opened its eyes, opened its mouth. No words, no sound, just a blank stare.

  Chet stepped back and really looked at the statues, realized that many of them weren’t statues at all, but souls, broken, twisted souls, gray as the stone—lying motionless, their eyes listless and unblinking.

  The three of them moved to the front of the giant head. Someone had splashed the broken arms and legs hanging from the enormous mouth with red paint, had written along the cheek in that same paint, DO NOT FEED THE GODS.

  “What d’you think that means?” Johnny asked.

  “It sure doesn’t mean anything good,” Ana replied.

  Chet turned his attention to the signage. The post was topped with a soggy banner reading, CITY STYGA. Below that several arrow-shaped signs pointed in different directions: River Styx, Caravans, Temple Lethe, Calvary Hill, Old City, River Road. One sign held his eye, a black arrow below the others and pointing back down river. The four red letters read: HELL. Chet suppressed a shudder, surprised at the power those four letters now held. He glanced downriver, knowing that if he went that way Hell would claim him. That there would really be demons, creatures from his worst nightmares waiting to torment him, to bite, burn, and tear his flesh from his bones over and over. He found himself clutching his hand, keeping the brand hidden.