Paradise Lost Boxed Set

by R. E. Vance

  Sometimes hope lies.

  To Others, “sacrifice” is something far more literal. It means giving up everything so that others might live. It means knowing that whatever comes next, they won’t be there to see it. Sacrifice is cruel, swift and final.

  And it only counts if you do so willingly.

  So when The BisMark asked if Stewart would sacrifice himself should the need arise, he was referring to the ritual killing of his servant. And when Stewart said he would willingly offer himself up, he meant it.

  It was starting to make sense now. The fight, why the other Others didn’t get involved, why Medusa tried to hold me back. Whatever was happening between Atargatis and her kids was some sort of sacred dispute that, if you got involved, meant you tied your fate to her. If Atargatis was innocent, then so were you. But if she was guilty, then you were guilty too, and that was punishable by death. That’s why The BisMark wanted Conner and I shackled. He blamed Atargatis for whatever was going on, and when Conner and I helped the poor Assyrian, we were protecting her, which made us also guilty. It also explained why he wanted Astarte here … she could have framed her sister. If enough of those involved were offered up, it could work.

  Whatever was going on, if The BisMark had his way, it would ultimately culminate in a sacrifice—as in the Temple of Doom, the “ripping out the heart” kind of sacrifice—to appease the gods.

  But the gods were gone. The Others were just following some broken script. I understood that some cultural habits die hard, but this wasn’t like circumcision or not eating pork. Others’ lives were on the line. My life was on the line.

  I could point out that sacrifice and sacrificial offerings were archaic practices that were old school centuries before the gods left. I could argue that with the gods being gone the whole point of it was moot. I could also mention that sacrifice—human, animal or Other—was illegal. But seeing how the room burst into a flurry of activity as the Others organized themselves for the sacrificial ceremony, I realized that my words would fall on deaf ears. And to think that three hours ago my biggest problem was letting Medusa down without hurting her feelings. Hellelujah!

  I scanned the crowd hoping that good ol’ Miral would have a plan. After all, her date was just as screwed as I was. But I couldn’t find her anywhere. I mean, how easy was it for a seven-foot-tall, model-gorgeous angel with dove-white wings to disappear in an open ballroom? Somehow the angel managed to do it. Medusa, on the other hand, sat at our table, looking up at me with an expression that simultaneously conveyed annoyance at her ruined date and concern that my getting offered up made her prospects for another date unlikely. OK—I’m being harsh. But she was just sitting at our table, fumbling with her phone nervously, while all her snakes drooped down over her shoulders.

  Atargatis quietly sobbed as her gargoyle sat attached to her like some well-crafted giant turtle shell. She was apparently resigned to her—our—fate. Officer Conner, on the other hand, was considerably less resigned and was trying to pry off his gargoyle boot with a knife and fork.

  “It’s no use,” I started to say, but the words came out muffled. Damn gargoyle. I remembered how, when I was a kid and some bully covered my mouth with his palm, I licked it and the kid recoiled in disgust. I licked the stone hand. The gargoyle didn’t recoil. He didn’t even seem to register my committed tongue action. All I got was a mouthful of granite.

  “Does this always happen?” Conner asked.

  “Yes,” I said, but it came out, “Yeshhh.” “Yeshhh, it awways daaaz.”

  “Remind me next time I’m invited to one of these shindigs to politely decline,” he said.

  “Meaaa, twww,” I agreed.

  ↔

  The hubbub of preparations continued. The BisMark came over—calm, confident and completely unfazed by the fact that three dozen species or so were preparing to rip out my guts.

  He gestured to the crowd. “Look at them. How they scramble to get ready for an event that hasn’t occurred in a millennia. One ritualistic sacrifice and you’d think they’re preparing for Christmas.”

  “Yah kunt duh tis,” I said.

  “Excuse me,” The BisMark said. “Oh, how rude of me. Gargoyle, remove your hand from the human’s mouth.”

  The gargoyle did as instructed, and I repeated, “You can’t do this.”

  “But we have to,” The BisMark said. “Atargatis ate one of the Holy Carp of Urfa.”

  “So what?” I asked.

  The BisMark’s eyes narrowed before a playful smile appeared. “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

  “Sadly, no,” I said.

  “The Holy Carp of Urfa … they’re no ordinary carp. They’re her spawn. Her first children. The first carp to ever come into this world. The bread of flesh that your species first farmed from the rivers and the seas. Entire fishing villages grew around their appearance, fishing villages that became towns that became cities. They’re the spark that allowed the rosebud of civilization to blossom.”

  “Again … so what?” I said.

  He leaned in close so no one could hear him. “So … when the world was young and the Others of power fought for followers, it was the carp that Atargatis birthed into the world. But when the humans did not immediately bow down, she placed a powerful boon over the first of her children—a constant reminder of what she did for your species. Eat the fish of the sea and live, but eat one of the Holy Carp of Urfa … and die.”

  He appeared to stifle a small smile. “One of those sacred fish has been eaten, and now an old curse is rebirthed.”

  “OK, I get it. She had a bad fillet of fish. What’s the game here, BisMark? I’ve seen your kind make a bid for power, but sacrificing a bunch of innocent people to get it—that’s overkill and ridiculous.”

  “This is about more than just bad fish … It’s about the End of Days. You see, when Astarte’s clan were trying to ascend to godhood, they put an apocalyptic protocol in place. When they failed to become gods, that same protocol was incorporated into other pantheons.”

  “Incorporated?”

  “Yes, think of it as a hostile takeover. They were downgraded and their assets were transferred into the new holding company. In this case—companies. After all, why waste such valuable resources like world-ending monsters?”

  “Yes, why waste such a thing?”

  “Sarcasm?”

  I nodded.

  “Good—I’m becoming more human every day,” The BisMark said. “If I may continue, Tiamat has many names. In Norse tradition, she is Ragnarök. In Christianity, she is the Four Horsemen. The Beast, the End of Days … Tiamat was an early way for the gods to end the world. And now she’s been awoken. Now she approaches.” The BisMark examined his fingernails as he spoke. “Rather silly of them to leave her behind, considering that the gods are the only bloodless way to stop her.” He eyed me. “Well, almost bloodless.”

  “‘Tiamat’?” I asked.

  The BisMark sighed and leaned in close. In a whisper, he said, “Big fish, lots of tentacles. Relentless hunger. That is what approaches.”

  “Great! You released the kraken.”

  “The kraken?” he said. “The kraken isn’t real.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re kind of splitting hairs here.”

  “Perhaps.” He leaned back and stretched out his arms with a lazy, exaggerated yawn. “Regardless, when we present you and Atargatis and everyone else involved in this horrible offense, it should send her back to the deep.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  “For one thing, sacrificing anything is illegal. For another, you’re sacrificing us to gods who are gone. But the real reason is, it will serve nothing.”

  The BisMark laughed. “The answer to your protests is one and the same. Yes, the gods are gone, but there are the AlmostGods that still walk amongst us. And one of their oldest and most sacred rules has been violated.”

  “Once-, Almost-, Gone—it doesn’t matter. Y
ou’re sacrificing us for no reason.”

  “First of all, Mr. Matthias, because you’re not willing to submit, we cannot sacrifice you.”

  “Good.”

  “That is why we submit your life as an offering, in hopes that it will appease Tiamat.”

  “And the difference being …?”

  “Sacrifice is willing, whereas an offering is generally not. Also, let me remind you that your death will save the world.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. If I had a penny every time I’ve heard that—”

  “You would not have much money,” The BisMark smirked. “Please, Jean, enough posturing.”

  “Fine, enough posturing. What’s your plan?”

  “My plan? Why, to send Tiamat back.”

  “No … your real plan. Why did you summon her in the first place?”

  He looked at me, confused. Then his confusion turned to amusement. “You think I did it.”

  “If it looks like a peacock, squawks like a peacock, then it must be an egotistical, power-hungry Other, hellbent on bringing the world to its knees.”

  “I see,” BisMark said. “Very well. I’m guilty … You caught me.” He held up his hands in surrender. Trouble with Others is that they don’t have the same intonations and facial expressions as humans, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or serious.

  “So what’s the plan? Save the world and be a hero?”

  “I wouldn’t say that was my plan, but if you insist.”

  “And let me guess … This will only work if you offer the guilty, right?”

  The BisMark nodded.

  “So that’s why you’ve orchestrated it so everyone but you is guilty. I’ll even bet you don’t know exactly who did what, right? So you’re just going to offer up everyone? Even your faithful servant, Stewart.”

  The BisMark nodded. “His negligence that allowed the fish to be switched. As for who actually switched the fish … It was you and the succubus who retrieved it from the dock. You could’ve done it. Or Astarte. Or both of you.”

  So that was it—offer up a half a dozen people for sacrifice and hope that you get all the guilty ones in the mix. If a few innocents get caught in its wake … so be it. The BisMark was living up to his reputation. Cool, calculating, logical.

  I glanced over at Atargatis. She was devastated. She had just eaten her own child. Accident or not, that could play hell on the mind of any parent. And even though my human mind couldn’t comprehend how anyone could get upset over a fish, I did understand what it felt like losing a loved one, a member of your family. I had said goodbye to too many of my own. She was grieving. She wouldn’t run. She would welcome punishment because that’s what the grieving do … blame themselves for something they have no control over. With my limited movement, I shrugged towards the devastated Atargatis. “You know damn well that I’m innocent, don’t you? So is Astarte, so is her sister.”

  The BisMark shrugged. “Perhaps this was all an accident. Perhaps the guilty person or persons,” he tapped me on the forehead, “knew of the curse on the Sacred Carp, but assumed that in this GoneGod world, eating it would have no effect … or perhaps their purpose was something else entirely.”

  I snorted. “Someone accidentally set off an apocalypse? Now I’ve heard it all.”

  “The gods left, but they didn’t take their little toys with them. Any number of foolish mortals or Others could have set it off. After all, the curse is well-documented.” He spoke like we were playing a game of Clue and not actually considering executing five people.

  “So if I accidentally ate the carp, but knew nothing about the curse, I wouldn’t have summoned Tiamat?”

  BisMark nodded. “A mistake doesn’t set off an apocalypse. It must be purposeful.”

  “So ignorance is an excuse.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I didn’t know. Neither did she.” I nodded at Atargatis.

  “Perhaps. But then again, you could be lying. The mere fact that Tiamat is approaching tells me that someone knew. Someone did this on purpose. Since you and the others could be lying, it’s best we offer you all up. I’m—what do you humans call it?—hedging my bets.” The BisMark spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. He wanted to broadcast our little conversation, assure them that this was not how the world ended. In Other logic, he was being perfectly reasonable. Offer up four lives in the hope that the apocalypse is averted.

  “It could’ve been you. Or Atargatis, or Astarte …” He scanned the room. “Or that gorgon you came in with. Offer you all up, and if it works—then the problem is solved. If not, switch to Plan B. But do rest assured, Jean, I intend to keep the offering to a minimum number of kills … That’s why that human will not be part of the ritual.” He pointed at Officer Conner.

  “Thanks,” Conner said with less sarcasm that I would have liked.

  “Hold on … Medusa?” I said. “What the hell does she have to do with anything?”

  “History, dear Jean. She has just as much reason to incriminate Atargatis as Astarte. More so, if we take certain events into account.”

  “If you hurt so much of a hair—rather, a snake—on her head—” I started before the gargoyle’s hand rudely covered my mouth again.

  I started to thrash about, determined to get out of the gargoyle’s stone grip and throttle The BisMark. It was one thing to threaten me, Astarte, Conner and Atargatis. But Medusa was an innocent creature who had nothing to do with this. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  The BisMark watched me struggle and said in a loud voice, “And as for it being illegal to sacrifice you, consider this. Once your governments attack Tiamat—which I’m sure they will—they will fail. Seeing that it’s hopeless, don’t you think they’ll fall to their knees and beg whomever they can find to save them? I’m the only one who can. Do you really think they’ll get too fussed over a few insignificant souls being offered up when it means saving the world?”

  As if on cue, we heard a voice bellow from the back of the ballroom, “There will be no offerings!”

  Everyone’s attention shifted to the archangel-turned-police-chief, Michael, just stepping in.

  Hellelujah!

  ↔

  Medusa stood up and went directly to her boss’s side. “Captain Michael,” she said, her words sounding natural yet somehow strange, as if she had called him by the title he once held: archangel. “There is some terrible misunderstanding. Jean couldn’t be involved in this. He has no knowledge of the old ways.” Captain Michael walked in with several officers in tow, including Officer Steve, the youngest of the Billy Goats Gruff.

  Hey, I thought. Ignorance is not an excuse for breaking the law. Of course, I didn’t say it out loud. Part of me believed that ignorance of celestial, divine or esoteric law was very much an excuse. I sat back, trying to get comfortable with the gargoyle still clutching to me and letting the scene play itself out.

  “He’s guilty,” The BisMark said. “He protected the offender.”

  To this Atargatis stood up and, with an angry accusing finger, said, “I was tricked. And I’m beginning to think that I was tricked by you. You always hated me and my family.”

  The BisMark raised an eyebrow. “If I hated you, why would I invite you as my guest of honor? Why not simply let you fade into obscurity?”

  “You bast—”

  “Enough,” Michael trumpeted. Everyone turned toward the archangel, and I could have sworn I saw The BisMark shudder in momentary fear. “You two can settle your little ancient quibble after.”

  “After?” The BisMark said with mocking scorn, evidently forgetting that he was afraid of Michael. “There will be no after. Not for her. The Beast must be satisfied, the guilty offered up.” For the first time this evening, The BisMark looked worried.

  Medusa shuddered at this and, addressing the crowd, yelled out. “Jean is not guilty! He’s innocent, and I will not—” She took a step forward, but before she could get any closer, a heavy, angelic hand fell on her shou
lder.

  “Medusa,” Michael said. “No one will be offered.” He took a step forward. Every eye was on him. The BisMark scowled as he met the archangel’s gaze. “Such offerings, necessary or not, are the old way—”

  “It’s been used in the new world, and quite successfully—” The BisMark started.

  “No,” Michael interrupted. “There will be no appeasement through blood. Tiamat shall be sent back by other means.”

  “But Tiamat comes to consume us!” cried out a particularly nervous gnome. To this the audience whined and muttered words like beast, death, appease, kill.

  They stood in front of each other. Michael was a head taller than The BisMark, who—I swear to the GoneGods—grew as they continued their debate. Michael wore a look I knew well. I’d seen it before. His eyes were heavy but distant. It was the look he got when searching for some faint, ancient memory. Only thing was, for Michael, searching his memories meant going through hundreds of thousands of years. An easy task if you were willing to burn a little time to do it, but doing it au naturel meant hard concentration and frequent disappointment. Evidently, whatever Michael was looking for was important enough to pay for with a couple hours of his life.

  The BisMark gazed into the archangel’s eyes with unnatural confidence. The entire room watched them go at it with the same intensity that the crowd had watched Astarte and Atargatis wrestle.

  We all waited for a flinch, a flicker—any sign of weakness. A good strategy on their part, the eyes being the window to the soul and all, but experience had taught me that, whereas the eyes were great mood indicators, the hands were better. A finger will twitch before an eye softens; a hand will clench before a gaze diverts.

  Michael’s hands were steady, relaxed, his talons hanging loosely at his side. The BisMark’s hands were also calm, his feathery exterior steady, except … except the feathers didn’t go all the way to his otherwise human hands. They stopped at the first knuckle, replaced by brown, almost goatlike fur. And what’s more, although his hands hung loose and free, his pinkie twitched.