Lost Gods

by Brom

  Lord Kashaol stepped over, peering down at the bound god.

  Carlos tugged the sack from Veles’s head.

  Veles blinked, saw Lord Kashaol, and his eyes widened, the mutilated corners of his mouth quivering.

  Lord Kashaol smiled. “Two gods in two days.” He reached out, pinching Veles on the muzzle. “How does it feel, Veles, to know none will ever hear your voice again?” He returned his attention to Carlos. “Tell me, how did the battle go? Did you suffer many losses? Is your army still intact?”

  “It was a rout. Took them completely by surprise. Veles fell before he even knew what was going on.”

  Lord Kashaol nodded, appearing pleased.

  Encouraged, Carlos continued. “With Lord Horkos and Veles out of the way, Styga and Lethe are all but ours. The other gods are spread out and too damn arrogant to work together. It won’t take much to bring them down. Even Queen Hel herself can’t hold out on her own. Once I’m in control of the port cities, well, then there’ll be no more games. Those who escape Hell will have nowhere to hide. We’ll be bringing you the damned in cartloads.” Carlos stroked his mustache. “We just got that one last problem.”

  “The good Red Lady.

  “Come,” Lord Kashaol said. “I have something to show you.” He walked Carlos over to the black wagon, and nodded to Gar. Gar hopped into the bed and lifted the lid off a long crate, revealing a device somewhere between a small cannon and a blunderbuss—a short, flared barrel mounted to a bone stock and fitted with a dragon-shaped firing mechanism.

  “Would you look at that,” Carlos said, unable to resist sliding his hand along the black ore; it felt smooth as glass, not a pit or crack. “Divine, simply divine.”

  “Yes, divine. Forged in Hellfire by the great sorcerer Jaraol. Once a smith for Heaven above. We fought together, Jaraol and I . . . in the great war against God. And now, again, we find ourselves joined in our cause. As he too has had his share of being kicked by Lucifer’s lords.”

  Carlos glanced up. It was the first hint he’d heard that Lord Kashaol might not be in Lucifer’s good graces.

  Lord Kashaol withdrew a fist-sized ball of cloth from his cloak and sat it down next to the blunderbuss. Carlos realized it was shot for the weapon—shards tightly bound in oiled rags.

  “The gold here,” Lord Kashaol continued, indicating the shot, “and that which is upon the spear—they come from Heaven itself. It fell with the angels . . . their swords and spears. They are coveted among the lords and extremely difficult to come by. I have gone to extraordinary lengths to secure these. But it was Jaraol’s alchemy, his sorcery that devised an ore from which they could be shot. And . . . I will show you something more.” The demon slid back his cloak, revealing a large revolver made of the same black ore as the canon. He pulled it free of its holster. “The bullets in this gun are tipped with the same gold.”

  Carlos looked on amazed. “You’re kidding?”

  “Once I secure more of God’s gold, Jaraol has promised to forge another. Perhaps, such a gun for you one day.”

  Carlos couldn’t take his eyes from the weapon. A god-killing gun, he marveled. Why, that would almost make a sport out of slaying those cocksuckers.

  “All is coming to fruition,” the lord said and smiled. He stroked the gun with long, bent fingers, caressed it like some beloved pet. “Bringing in Veles will win over more to my cause. Soon I will take back all that was stolen from me . . . all, and then some.” His voice became almost a growl.

  The demon slid the gun back in his belt and pushed his visor up. Carlos was surprised to find no red glowing orbs of hate and fire, but instead, deeply soulful eyes beaming with intelligence. But they were also sorrowful eyes, the eyes of a being who’d lost everything. “Carlos, I have traded in every favor to make these weapons, spent all I have, my rings, my own heavenly sword, even stolen from Lucifer himself. If I fail, my fate will be far worse than that of Horkos and Veles. So I will not play games with you. I will not insult you with talk of loyalty and fealty, of lofty ideas. Because I see in your heart that you are a man who serves only himself, and that is just the creed of soul I am seeking. Because a man such as you sees that our goals can only be attained together and there is no stronger alliance than that of necessity.” He paused a moment, scanning the cliffs. “I have no army, thus it would be too great a risk for me to try and take down a monster as powerful as the Red Lady, even with these weapons. But more than that, we both know it is crucial that my hand not be exposed, lest I bring down the wrath of Lucifer and the One Gods. But you are a soul. You have no such restraints, and you do have an army. A proven force. Carlos, if you can fulfill your part, can fell the Red Lady, then all the port cities will be yours. You could become an emperor. Think of that. And so long as the souls flow my way, I will keep you well stocked with the weapons you need to protect your kingdom. As my own kingdom grows, so will my influence among Lucifer’s court. An ally in Lucifer’s court is not a bad thing to have. The old gods grow weak. Who is to say, but one day, with my aid, you might conquer the Elysium Fields themselves.”

  Carlos found himself nodding. How easy it is to become swept up in such sweet talk, he thought. Yet, he had to admit he felt a closer kinship to this demon than the Colonel. No pretense, no need to hide behind idealistic rhetoric. He looked at the blunderbuss again. I could build my own kingdom, my own empire. Once the Colonel is out of the way, who is to stop me? Think of that . . . from a flesh trader to an emperor. And why not?

  CHAPTER 61

  Chet peered slowly around the boulder. The demon still sat upon the stallion, its back to them, watching the figures below. A second group had joined the first and they appeared to be exchanging items. As Chet watched, the parties split apart, each leaving the ruins by opposite gates. One of the groups, the one that appeared to be creatures, or demons, headed toward the cliffs—toward them.

  Chet shifted, trying to get a better look, when a rock slid beneath his foot with a clack. The horse snorted and the demon creature turned around. Chet withdrew, pressed his back up against the stone, praying the demon hadn’t seen him. Ana tugged her sword out, her face tense.

  The horse snorted, its hoofbeats moving in their direction. Chet could hear the demon sniffing, closer and closer, and clutched his knife, ready to spring.

  The horse trotted into view on Ana’s side of the boulder. The rider spotted Ana, yanked out its sword, and let loose a piercing screech that echoed all down the valley. Dozens of howls came in answer from below.

  The giant horse snapped at Ana and she stumbled back, falling on the rocks. The beast tromped after her and Chet dashed around the boulder, coming up on the horse from behind, raking his knife across its hind legs just below the hock. The angel blade did its work, wholly severing both of the horse’s back legs. The steed let out a shrill cry as it collapsed to the stones, tossing its rider from the saddle.

  Chet leapt after the rider. The demon tried to bring its sword around, but Chet hacked into its arm, slicing the limb off just below the shoulder. The demon howled and Chet howled back, driving the blade upward, catching the demon beneath the chin, hacking and slashing as though half-mad, cutting the demon’s head from its neck. The head bounced and rolled away.

  “Look out!” Ana cried, just as something bit into Chet’s arm, yanking him onto his back. Chet found himself face-to-face with the stallion. The monster snarled and shook its head back and forth, thrashing Chet against the rocks. Ana struck, bringing her sword down across the thing’s snout. It shrieked, letting loose of Chet and turning on her. Ana dashed back behind the bolder as the beast clawed and kicked up the dirt, snapping at the air, trying to come after her despite its severed legs.

  Chet stumbled away, trying to get clear of the snarling monster.

  Howls came from up and down the valley, growing closer.

  “C’mon! C’mon!” Ana shouted, helping Chet to his feet.

  Chet could hear approaching hooves, but couldn’t tell from which direction.
r />   “This way!” Ana cried.

  “No, they’re coming from—” Two horses crested the rise. “Shit!” Chet yelled. They turned to flee when four more horses rode up, blocking their escape.

  The demons circled, lances ready.

  “Well, c’mon!” Chet shouted, knife out before him. “C’mon, you ugly motherfuckers!”

  Two more riders appeared, followed by a black wagon. One of the riders, a bent creature draped in a purple shroud, pushed back its hood, revealing a tarnished faceplate. It surveyed the scene and cocked its head, sniffing at the air. Its attention fell on Chet and Chet felt the mark heating up in his palm.

  “Not a good place for a damned soul to be,” the creature said, speaking to Chet. “Were you aware that demons stalk these hills? That they can smell the damned?”

  “I’m not going to Hell,” Chet stated with absolute conviction. At that moment he wasn’t thinking of Trish, the baby, he was thinking of the sermons Pastor Thomas used to give on the torments of Hellfire, of having one’s flesh burned off one’s bones over and over for all eternity. “I’ll cut you down. Cut every one of you down.” Chet held the knife up so they could see the strange glint of the blade.

  The creature with the faceplate smiled. “Such pluck, such stoutheartedness. If I but had a hundred souls such as you . . . why, I could conquer a kingdom.” It sighed. “Heaven is full of sheep. Hell is full of those who actually shaped the world. Men who carved out their own paths, the courageous, the bold, they are the ones that end up damned. It pains me to say this, but you, my brave soul, you will not win this day. Your fate is—”

  A bell tinkled, a delicate sound like a wind chime. All heads turned to a large boulder set into the rise. There, watching them with calm green eyes, sat the Red Lady, the light breeze ruffling her long red hair. She spoke, her voice deep, yet feminine, that of a mature woman. “You are very loud, and smell very bad.”

  The demons seemed as statues, unable to move, staring at her with mouths agape. Their mounts snorted and began to back away. The Red Lady cocked her head, regarding them like something fun to play with.

  “Take her!” the lead demon commanded, its voice suddenly reedy and weak. It fumbled beneath its cloak, yanking out a large black revolver, but before it could even sight the gun, the Red Lady leapt upon the demons nearest her with a loud roar.

  The demons tried to bring their weapons to bear, but she tore into them, all claws and teeth, knocking one horse into the other. Demons and horses shrieked as she ripped them apart, thrashing them against the wagon, smashing it into splinters.

  The remaining demons broke and ran, scattering in all directions, all except the one with the revolver. It leveled the big gun and fired. A deafening explosion thundered down the valley and a large hole opened up on the Red Lady’s chest, knocking her backward.

  She looked at the wound, at the blood—appeared confused.

  “It ends this day!” the demon screamed, and pulled the trigger again.

  The Red Lady brought her wings down in front of her like a shield.

  The gun boomed four more times. Fur and feathers flew with each blast until there was only the sound of the hammer clicking on spent chambers.

  “Die, die you whore of Ra!” the demon hissed, but when the smoke cleared the Red Lady still stood. One wing appeared to be broken and blood ran from her chest, yet her eyes were more alive than ever and locked on the demon.

  “Monster!” the demon cried, its lips quivering. It drove its heels into its mount and the horse sprang forward. The Red Lady snarled and leapt for them, but stumbled, falling short, something obviously wrong. The horse dashed past, flying down the rocky slope.

  The Red Lady let loose another roar, the echoes chasing the demons as they raced away. She took two shaking steps, then collapsed.

  CHAPTER 62

  Trish twisted loose another nail, then about an hour later, another, until all the nails were gone from one side of the slat. She stuck her fingers into her mouth, sucking away the blood, then pried the board free with a loud creak. Trish froze, listening. No one came. She hid the nails, then peered out of the window.

  It was about a six-foot drop, just far enough to worry her. She would need to remove at least one more slat to slide out. She hoped she’d be able to use one plank to pry loose the other. She looked at the board, at the nail sticking out the end, and realized it could make a decent weapon if it came to that. And the demons? Just how am I gonna get past the demons? She thought she might have an answer, that she could just tear some of the bells loose from the string and carry them along with her. But will the bells really scare them away? She shuddered, knowing there was only one way to find out. Sometimes people leap from burning buildings, don’t they? When there are no other choices.

  Footsteps came her way; she quickly set the board back into place, drew the curtain, and slid into bed.

  The key hit the lock and the door swung inward. Lamia walked in. She glanced at the untouched tray of food on the foot of the bed. “My, dear, you haven’t eaten?” She picked up the plate of vegetables and sat down on the bed next to Trish. She jabbed the fork into a chunk of broccoli. “Here, now. Have a bite.”

  Trish stared at the far wall.

  “You’re only hurting the baby,” Lamia said, her tone growing terse. “I cannot allow you to hurt our baby. Now eat.”

  Trish continued to stare past her.

  Lamia plucked a long pin from her own hair and before Trish could even raise an arm, jabbed it into the side of her neck.

  “Oww, Jesus!” Trish yelled, pushing away from Lamia. She rolled off the bed, intent on the door, only the door suddenly appeared far away. Her legs grew weak, her hand hit the wall, and she slid to the floor. Everything became blurry.

  Lamia’s face was before her, twisting, distorting into something primal and wicked, a toothless hag, then a succulent beauty, then scales and horns and yellowy serpent eyes—all of them, then none of them. Trish let out a cry and recoiled.

  “You think you’re the first to play games with me? I’ve prowled this earth since before the dawn of men. A thousand maidens have danced for me. I’m a goddess . . . your goddess. You will obey me. Now open your mouth, child.”

  And Trish found herself powerless to do anything else.

  Lamia shoved a clump of broccoli into Trish’s mouth. “Eat.”

  Trish did, dutifully chewing her food, chewing twenty times just as her grandmother used to tell her to. She swallowed and when another bite was presented, she ate that one as well. It was as though she were a passenger in her own body now, sitting in the backseat and watching someone else drive.

  “Eat,” Lamia commanded, presenting more food, and again Trish chewed and swallowed. This continued until the plate was clean.

  “There,” Lamia said, her tone now soft, gentle. “That’s a good girl. Now, come . . . back to bed.” Trish crawled over to the bed and Lamia helped her up and onto the mattress.

  Trish lay staring at the ceiling, unable to move.

  Lamia climbed onto the bed, straddling her, and set her ear against Trish’s stomach. She slid a hand beneath Trish’s gown, gently caressing her swollen belly. “Not much longer, my little dear,” Lamia whispered. “Not much longer.”

  Trish tried to push her away, tried to shout, tried to scream, but could only stare upward as tears ran down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER 63

  The demon groaned, clawing at the dirt, trying to drag its broken body away. Chet walked up behind it and jabbed his knife into the back of its head, over and over, until it stopped moving. He stood and surveyed the broken bodies of the downed demons and horses, satisfied that they were all dead now or at least no longer a threat.

  Ana sat next to the Red Lady, pressing her scarf against the sphinx’s wound, trying to stifle the flow of blood. The Red Lady lay on her side, staring at the blood as though it couldn’t be hers.

  Someone was yelling, a muffled wailing sound, the cries coming from the smashed wagon
beside the sphinx. Chet found Veles’s mutilated body under some boards. He tore the gag from the god’s mouth, then cut the bonds from what remained of his arms and legs and helped him to sit up. Veles’s hands were gone and his mouth was little more than a jagged raw wound, hard for Chet to look at. The god tried to speak, but what came out was more of a garbled sputter.

  A woman shouted and Chet turned to find Mary—the woman from the docks—running up the slope, sword in hand, her cape fluttering out behind her. She spotted the Red Lady and rushed to her.

  “Oh, dear Mother Eye,” Mary gasped, sliding down to one knee. “Sekhmet, you’re bleeding. But how?” Mary yanked her satchel around, digging through it. She pulled out four ka coins, shoved them into the sphinx’s mouth. “She needs more!” Mary looked to Chet and Ana, her eyes desperate, the jewel in her forehead glowing. “We need ka. Quick, give me what you have!”

  Chet put away his knife, digging out a several of the white coins from his satchel and handing them over.

  Mary fed these to the sphinx and demanded more.

  Chet gave her a few more.

  “Stop playing games!” she snapped. “Give me all you have.”

  Chet handed her the satchel and Mary emptied it upon the ground, snatching up more coins and feeding them to the sphinx.

  A loud wail caused Mary to glance up. She saw Veles and her brows furrowed. “Veles? What is going on?” Before anyone could answer she scooped up several coins, handed them to Chet. “Here, take these to him.”

  Chet hesitated; they were the last of his coins.

  “Quick!” Mary yelled.

  Chet fed them to Veles.

  Blood still pumped from the Red lady.