Lost Gods

by Brom

  “Angel. Demon. What’s the difference? These demon lords, the Fallen, they were all angels once. What does that tell you?”

  “Senoy said if he can just get the key back he can stop Lamia . . . save Trish. You think there’s any truth to that?”

  “Chet, all I know about this Senoy is that he had your mother’s blood running down his face. That both him and Lamia did. They were drinking my little girl’s soul. Makes them no different than any of these other gods to me. They’re all vampires and soulsuckers. So you need to just keep that in mind.”

  Chet fell quiet, wondering where it all left him. Who could he trust? He knew so little about this man he was walking with. “Is that why you hunt them? The gods. Is it some sort of vengeance thing for you?”

  “Maybe once. In the beginning. At least I think that’s what I was after . . . searching for something to set my rage, my hate on. Killing seemed to serve that purpose. Took me a while to realize that it was myself I really hated. So, of late, I’ve mostly been working on that . . . on killing myself. Not sure why it’s taking so long. Maybe at the end of it all I’m just a coward. What I hope is that somehow . . . I was meant to hang on. To be here when you came along . . . to help you.”

  They walked in silence for a while.

  “It’s not like it seems,” Gavin said. “Nothing ever is.”

  Chet wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

  “The killing. It started out good. The Colonel lost his way, that’s all. Got tangled up with that jackass, Carlos . . . and those demons. In the beginning he did a lot of good. Raiding gods, freeing slaves, hunting down flesh traders and soul hunters.” Gavin laughed. “It’s kinda funny when you think on it. I mean the man just wants to make purgatory a kinder, more civilized place for us souls. Imagine that, purgatory, a swell place to live. Bring your wife, bring the whole family. Stay for eternity.”

  Chet shook his head. It was all too much; he wanted a little time to sort things out.

  “Chet, your mother. You said she died. What was her life like?”

  “I hardly knew her. She died when I was only—”

  Gavin held up his hand, silencing Chet. “Someone’s coming.”

  They pressed up against the stone, peering back up the long corridor from where they’d come.

  Chet heard it then, tromping, heading their way.

  A moment later a host of figures marched out of the distant haze, and behind them, creatures on horseback.

  “Shit,” Gavin said. “Looks like an entire regiment. Why, they’re even carrying banners. Oh, you gotta be kidding . . . that’s a demon lord.”

  Chet caught sight of a tall figure on horseback in the lead. The figure was engulfed in a flaming aura. A chill, a crippling terror spread through Chet. Was this the Burning Man Billy and Davy had taunted him with? Was this devil going to drag him to Hell after all, after all he’d been through?

  Gavin slapped Chet on the shoulder. “We need to move.”

  Chet took one last fearful glance at the demon and followed Gavin as he sprinted away.

  CHAPTER 79

  You need a name, little one,” Trish whispered to the baby as she suckled at her breast. “How about Amy? After my grandma.”

  The curtains were drawn back and sunlight filtered through the slats. Jerome had come in a few days ago and fixed the broken pane, hammering a square of plywood in its place. The door stood open and Trish could hear a scratchy phonograph playing upstairs—an old jazzy tune. A tray sat next to her with tangerine peels and grape stems. She’d meant to only eat a few of the fruits, but they were so sweet and juicy she’d ended up eating them all and wondered at the witchcraft used to grow them, especially this time of year.

  Lamia’s voice drifted through the house as she sang along to the record. She sounded vibrant, happy. Trish tried not to hear her, tried to pretend there was no one else in the world but her and her daughter. She combed her fingers through the baby’s soft hair, noticed a bit of grime on the child’s stomach, just below her navel. She tried to wipe it away only to realize it wasn’t grime, or a stain, but a marking—a strange scribble. She found another below it and looked for more, saw two marks high on the inside of Amy’s leg and let out a gasp. These weren’t marks, but wounds, tiny punctures. “Oh, dear God.”

  Trish slid out of bed and carried Amy over to the window. Jerome was loading up the station wagon—the one she and Chet had stolen—with a few old suitcases, a trunk, and several baskets of Lamia’s plants.

  It was obvious to Trish that Lamia meant to take the child and leave. But when, to where? Did Lamia plan to take her along as well? Or just to kill her? One way or another, Trish felt sure she wouldn’t be around long.

  Trish had watched Chet hotwire the station wagon, felt confident she knew which wires to touch together to get it running. She just needed to get herself and Amy out there. Trish turned around and started. Lamia was standing in the doorway looking at the platter of fruit.

  “I’m glad to see you’re eating,” Lamia said and smiled. “Fresh fruit will do both mother and child good.” The old woman appeared healthy, almost radiant. She walked over and peered out upon the station wagon. “Have you ever been to Brazil?”

  Trish didn’t answer.

  “I’ve read about the jungles down there . . . the people who live in them. I believe there’s a place for me there.” Her eyes went to the child. Trish saw longing, but not that of a mother, something else—almost a hunger. Lamia reached for the baby and Trish pulled back.

  A dark look flashed across Lamia’s face.

  “I don’t want you touching her,” Trish said.

  Lamia cocked her head.

  “The marks. These.” Trish pointed to the tiny wounds. “What did you do to her?”

  Lamia shrugged. “It’s where I drink.” And the way she said it, as though nothing could be more natural, sent a chill straight to Trish’s heart.

  CHAPTER 80

  Gavin came upon a narrow ravine splitting off from the main corridor and stopped. He walked in several yards and came back out shaking his head. “Dead end.” He slapped the slick black stone, searching the tops of the towering obsidian cliffs, then looked at Chet. “We can’t climb out of here, and there’s no hiding. That’s a demon lord heading our way. If he gets much closer he’ll smell us if he hasn’t already. This canyon will take us to Osiris’s Mother . . . maybe two more miles. Plenty of paths there. We just have to beat ’em there.”

  “Make a door,” Chet said. “Just make another one of them doors with the key.”

  “I can’t. Don’t know how.”

  “But . . . back in the cave.”

  “That door was already there.”

  They continued down the canyon at a steady run. After about two miles Gavin halted.

  “Almost there,” Gavin said, but Chet could tell by his face something was wrong.

  “What now?” Chet asked, trying to catch his breath.

  “Hear that? Sounds like men ahead . . . or maybe more demons.”

  “Ahead. Oh, that’s just perfect.” Chet could see the towering cliffs opening up: the canyon was at an end. He glanced back, saw no sign of the demons, but knew they couldn’t be far behind.

  The two men pressed forward, rounding the bend and peering over a massive shard of obsidian.

  Chet saw the towering iron statue, realized he was back where he’d first seen the demons, then he saw the soldiers. “It’s them. Your friends.” Wagons, horses, and soldiers wearing red scarves and green coats were spread out among the ruins—at least two hundred marauders, maybe more.

  “They’re not my friends,” Gavin said. “Those men there, the ones in green, they want me dead. So understand me when I say this, Chet. They are not my friends. We’re gonna have to try and get past ’em without being seen.”

  Chet wondered how they were gonna do that. The canyon corridor emptied directly into the ruins with nothing but sheer cliffs on either side. Once they stepped out from the bend, they’d
be right out in the open. He could see plains beyond—mountains, clusters of boulders, monoliths, a thousand places to get lost in—but they might as well have been on the moon, because the only way to get to them was through the marauders.

  Sounds echoed down the corridor behind them. There’s no way out of this, Chet thought. He could see Gavin felt the same, his face sullen, grave.

  “I got an idea,” Gavin said, pulling Chet back around the bend. “Here, hand me your knife.”

  “My knife. What?”

  “Quick. We don’t have much time.”

  Chet slipped it out and handed it to Gavin. Gavin pointed to the rubble behind Chet. “We can use that brick there.”

  Chet looked about, didn’t see a brick, but felt his gun leave his holster. He spun back around, and Gavin drove an elbow into his chest, knocking him to the ground. The man fell on him, pinning him beneath his knees, pressing Chet’s face down in the dirt. He set the knife to Chet’s neck. “I don’t wanna cut your head off, but if you struggle I sure as hell will.”

  “Gavin, what . . . why?” But Chet already knew, already guessed. He’d been played, been played the whole time. Senoy was right. “You’re a bastard. A fucking bastard!”

  “Yup, that I am,” Gavin said. He yanked the rope from the satchel, tied it around Chet, binding his arms to his side. That done, he cut off Chet’s sleeve and wrapped it tightly around Chet’s mouth. There came a moment of searing pain, first on his right wrist, then his left. Chet cried out against the gag, realizing the man had just cut off his hands. He struggled, but Gavin held him, stripped him of his gun belt, then took the key back.

  Gavin stood, sliding the satchel over his shoulder, then yanked Chet to his feet, gave him a shove toward the camp, half-carrying, half-dragging him along. “Sorry about this. Really am. I was pulling for you. I just can’t go to Hell. Not for you, not for nobody.”

  Heads turned, one by one, all staring at the tall man and the kid he was dragging along.

  Chet spotted Carlos, his dark eyes on Gavin, his thick brows cinched together. Carlos summoned several armed men, four of them, all carrying muskets. They stood waiting as Gavin drew near.

  “That’s far enough,” Carlos said. “You care to tell me where you’ve been?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Carlos’s mouth tightened. “This isn’t a game. You got about two seconds—”

  “Gavin!” someone shouted, a man wearing a Confederate officer’s jacket.

  Gavin kicked the knees out from behind Chet, knocking him to the dirt. “Brought you something, Colonel.”

  The Colonel walked up to Gavin, slapped him on the arm. “Damn good to see you. Thought we’d lost you for good this time.” His eyes fell on Chet. “Well, I’ll be. That’s him, ain’t it?” He turned to Carlos. “That’s him, right?”

  Carlos nodded.

  “Well how’d you like them beans?” He let out a laugh. “Told you Gavin’s your man. How’d you ever catch the son of a bitch?”

  “Saw him fleeing the ambush,” Gavin said. “Back at the temple. Carlos’s right, he’s not what he seems. A witch, a hoodoo man maybe, not sure. Just know he’s slippery. I tracked him all the way into the canyons. He knows a few tricks, did some funny business, some sorcery. About got the best of me.”

  The Colonel gave Chet a wary look.

  “Hasn’t given me any more trouble,” Gavin said. “Not since I cut his hands off.”

  Carlos didn’t appear to be buying any of it, but the Colonel nodded. “Don’t wanna be taking any chances with a spookman. Why don’t you put him with the others. We got ’em tied up over there, in the circus wagons.”

  Gavin nodded, hefting Chet to his feet.

  “Hold up,” Carlos said. “The kid had a knife on him. A special kinda knife, might even be a demon blade. You happen to find it?”

  Gavin ignored him, pushing Chet forward.

  Carlos stepped in the way. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

  Gavin let out a sigh, one that sounded like he was running short on patience. “I didn’t find a knife.”

  “How about I take a peek in that bag of yours then.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were calling me out.”

  “You can think what you like, but I’m going to have a look in that bag.”

  Gavin’s hand dropped to the handle of his revolver, a small, dangerous smile touching his lips.

  “Whoa!” the Colonel called. “Whoa, now. Everybody hold up. Christ, what the hell is wrong with you two? Can we just take things down a notch?”

  “Hey, boss,” one of the men said. “Looks like we got company.”

  Carlos, the Colonel, all of them looked toward the pass, to where a line of figures came marching around the bend.

  CHAPTER 81

  Carlos stared at the approaching horde, at their banners, their weapons and armor, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Those are demons. Yes, certainly demons. But that’s not Lord Kashaol. It can’t be. Whoever they were, Carlos couldn’t believe they could be so brazen—demons, an entire regiment, here, in the middle of the river realms.

  “What are they doing here?” the Colonel asked, not hiding his irritation. “Carlos, I thought I’d made it clear we were to meet Kashaol in the canyon, away from the men. Goddamnit, the last thing I need is the men to see me dealing with—”

  “That’s not Lord Kashaol, Colonel.”

  “What? What did you say?”

  “I said I don’t know who that is.”

  The Colonel squinted at the approaching troops. “Ah, Christ, what’s going on?”

  Carlos wished he knew. He did know that they were at a serious tactical disadvantage, that these appeared to be real demons, possibly an elite regiment, well armored and well armed—he saw plenty of muskets among the spears and swords.

  The Colonel spun about, snapping out orders. Men began gathering arms and forming up into ranks along the edge of the ruins. Carlos could hear the alarm in their voices, feel the tension.

  A single rider spurred forward, rode up to Carlos and the Colonel.

  “Hail, Carlos.” It was Gar, a mischievous grin on his face.

  “Where’s Lord Kashaol?” Carlos asked.

  Gar’s grin widened. “That worm is where he belongs . . . cooking in the pits.”

  It took Carlos a moment to get the gist of that, found himself at a loss for words.

  Gar turned, swept his hand toward the horde. “This is Lord Beelbeth. He’s traveled far to see you. I have informed him what a steadfast and dependable servant you have been. He is looking forward to having you in his service. Now come and meet your new lord.”

  Servant? Carlos thought, the word catching him like a fist to the stomach. Servant? He looked again at the horde, at the hungry red eyes, and couldn’t suppress the chill running up his spine.

  CHAPTER 82

  Three of Carlos’s Defenders escorted Gavin and Chet over to two large wagons sitting end to end—cage wagons, the ones Veles used to house his animals. Iron bars lined three sides of the wagons, the back being planks. Chet saw the crumbled form of the Red Lady as they passed the first one. She lay on her side in a pool of her own blood. Great gaping wounds covered her body, raw gashes where they’d hacked off her wings and paws. Her face was covered in a mask constructed of a steel pail wrapped in wire and chains. He saw no signs of life.

  They halted before the adjoining wagon.

  “Open it up, Bill,” the Defender said, addressing one of the two guards standing watch. “We got one more.”

  Bill wasn’t paying them any attention, staring instead at the horde of demons, his mouth ajar.

  “Hey,” the Defender said, nudging Bill. “Open the damn door.”

  “What’s going on?” Bill asked. “What are all them demons doing here?”

  “Hell if I know. Now open the door. We have to get back and quick.”

  Bill fumbled a ring of keys from his pocket and opened the door, his eyes hardly
leaving the demons. “I don’t like it,” he said. “Not one bit.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not so keen on it either,” the Defender said as he reached for Chet.

  “No,” Gavin said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Suit yourself,” the man said.

  Gavin pushed Chet up the steps and into the wagon.

  Veles lay bound to the bars at the far end, his body riddled with wounds, his hands cleft from his wrist, his face wrapped in blood-soaked sackcloth, one eye glaring out at Gavin. Lying beside Veles was Yevabog, all six of her arms hacked away. She glanced up at Chet and the sadness on her face deepened. Mary sat next to Yevabog, bound and gagged, her leg obviously broken, but at least they hadn’t cut off her hands or otherwise mutilated her. Chet didn’t know whether to be glad to see her or not. She’d survived the battle, but for what? He saw no fight left in her or any of them. They were all going to Hell and they knew it.

  Gavin shoved Chet down between Mary and Yevabog and glanced over his shoulder at the guards. The guards’ attention remained fixed on the demon horde. Gavin yanked Mary’s gag down, shoved three ka coins into her mouth, then pulled the gag back into place. He did the same to Chet. He slid out the knife and snipped both their bonds, then pushed something into Mary’s hands. “God-blood,” Gavin whispered to both of them. “You know what to do.”

  Gavin shoved one of the revolvers into Chet’s belt, laid the knife against the wall behind him. “Chet, when the fireworks start, look for me. I’ll have two horses. Remember, nothing matters now, but getting out of here and saving your daughter. Got it?”

  Chet was too stunned to even nod. By the time he did, Gavin had left the wagon, pushing the door shut and locking it.

  The Defenders were gone; only the two guards remained.

  “It’s locked up,” Gavin said.

  Bill tore his eyes away from the horde just long enough to see that the door was indeed closed and locked.

  “I’d find some good cover if I was you,” Gavin said.