Hell's Pawn

by Jay Bell

  W hen he finished, the faces around J ohn weren’t moved or impassioned. I nstead they were cold or incredulous.

  “W hat good will this union of pantheons do us?” snarled Ares, the god of war. “The M inisters have already assembled an army. They’ve managed to recruit the Titans and turned the hundred-handed giants against us again. W here are these would-be allies?

  Can you summon them now to join us in battle?”

  The other gods soon took up this angry cry, all of them demanding an explanation.

  J ohn had to shout to be heard. “We never expected an a ack like this! There was only one Minister in Asgard, not an army.”

  “S o you provoked them by a acking one of their own kind.” Ares glowered down at him. “You probably thought this would force us to join you, that we would tremble and beg for your assistance. O nly a fool would leave his allies isolated, to be picked off one by one! No doubt Hell’s forces are nearby, ready to sweep in and save us once we’ve given in to your ridiculous demands.”

  John stared. “There is no army. Even if you agree, there’s only us.” Ares snorted in amusement, but his smile soon faded. “B ut you can summon them, surely. You can call Hell’s armies to our aid.”

  John shook his head.

  “No means of communication?” Ares roared “No contingency plan?”

  “No!” John shouted back. “Why are you so desperate? I thought you were gods!” Ares appeared to grow in height as the shadows of his face deepened. “Don’t try me boy, or I’ll pound you back into the clay Zeus sculpted you from!”

  “You can hardly expect us to fight,” Apollo whined, waving a golden fan in his face and appearing on the verge of a dramatic swoon. “O ur R oman counterparts failed to carry their half of the burden, leaving us much too fatigued to fight.” J ohn suspected Apollo was never in a state to do more than lounge around his temples and be admired. The other deities shared this air of self-appointed royalty and weren’t likely to be useful in ba le, all except Ares. O r perhaps Hermes, which gave John an idea.

  “They call you a messenger,” J ohn said to him. “C ould you travel to another realm?

  Ask the Celts and the Norse to come here?”

  “E asily,” Hermes said, “but I don’t think they’ll make it in time. The M inisters are clever. They might not enter the G reek realm as directly as we did, but they’ll find a way.”

  J ohn supposed that if Hell could strap a R oman man to a magical coach, then the M inisters probably had similar means. Ares was right. They should have had a be er plan. I f J ohn could get them out of this mess, then maybe Hermes could be the one to establish communication between the pantheons. Ares would be useful too, since he had the tactical knowledge to organize the alliance of pantheons into a proper army.

  Perhaps the other G reek gods had talents J ohn hadn’t yet recognized, but he would never find out if couldn’t get them back to Hell.

  A memory surged to the forefront, one of the names put there by C erridwen. Hel, Norse goddess of the underworld. How interesting that her name was so similar to C hristianity’s word for their version of the underworld. That couldn’t be coincidence, nor could the fact that the C elts, Norse, and C hristians all embraced the concept of an underground realm. Did every religion have such a place? J ohn’s mind ran over the list of names, stored there in perfect recall, searching for one that sounded Greek.

  Pluto. That was the name of a R oman god, which was only one step away.

  M ythology wasn’t his strong suit, but J ohn was certain that Hades was the G reek equivalent, and that name conjured up all sorts of underground imagery. C erridwen was the C eltic goddess of the underworld, her realm the darkness of caves as well as the night. J ohn felt it was a fair bet that every god on the list was an underworld deity.

  What had Cerridwen told him?

  “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.” J ohn understood now. C erridwen had handed him the solution to their problems.

  His eyes darted around the room, looking for the god in question. O f all the names and personalities that impressed themselves upon him, Hades was not among them. J ohn looked to Hermes, who wore an expectant expression.

  “How quick can you get a message to Hades?”

  Hermes blurred for a split second, like film snagging in a projector before returning to normal.

  “B rothers, sisters,” a deep voice intoned as a new god joined their ranks. Hades was dark in almost every regard. His pitch black hair was thick and coiled, as was his beard, which blended in with the dark material of his robe. His skin was the deep olive color of the Mediterranean, the corneas of his eyes deepest onyx. “Is this a call to arms?”

  “No,” John answered. “It’s a request for sanctuary.”

  Ares turned even redder. “You expect us to cower in Hades’ realm? Trembling among the rotting dead as if we’d already fallen in battle?”

  “No one said anything about trembling,” J ohn retorted. “I f I ’m not mistaken, Hades’ realm connects with the underworlds of other pantheons. We can travel through them like a sort of underground escape route.”

  The Greek gods turned expressions of disbelief and suspicion to Hades, who ignored them in favor of sneering at John. “Your mouth is dangerously free with secrets.”

  “Desperate times,” J ohn said, refusing to be intimidated. “Ares had a point about organizing our resources. Hell has allies, but not where we need them to be. We need to get everyone to Hell.”

  “And what of our realm?” Hera asked. “The people we will be leaving behind?”

  “Are you sure your armies aren’t sufficient?” Hermes asked of Ares.

  “They’ve already lost in the R oman realm,” the war god replied. “I f the ba le plays out here, it will only be history repeating. I f I had somewhere to call them to, a safe haven where we could regroup and develop a plan, then victory could be ours.”

  “W hich would mean joining with Hell,” Hermes said. He turned to his fellows, who shuffled uncomfortably but didn’t protest. J ohn had a feeling that this was as close to agreement that they would come.

  Hera gathered her robes about her and stood tall, reestablishing her status. “I s it true, Hades? Can we make our way through your realm to Hell?” Hades nodded grudgingly. “C haron can boat us down the Styx to the river Acheron.

  An offshoot of water there will lead us to the Hvergelmir spring in Hel’s realm. The Christian Hell isn’t far from there.”

  Hera considered this in silence before nodding.

  “What will happen to your Roman selves?” John asked. “They’re still trapped on the other side.”

  “They will enter Pluto’s realm there at the same time we enter mine here,” Hades answered.

  “But they’re statues. How can they move?”

  “Do not burden me with the reasoning of man,” the dark god replied. “I have no patience for it. Are we ready?”

  “M y brother’s crown!” P oseidon, god of the oceans cried. “I t is no longer on the throne! The Ministers are already here!”

  J ohn gri ed his teeth. Dante was innocently pe ing B olo on the opposite side of the room, having put as much space as possible between himself and the throne.

  “Don’t be an alarmist,” Ares growled. “The only enemy here is your imagination.”

  “Then where has it gone?” Poseidon said. “We dare not leave it to our enemies.”

  “Time’s up!” Hermes eyes had grown wide. “The M inisters have returned to the Roman temple. They sense our presence here.”

  “The steam coach,” John exclaimed. “We need it on this side!” Hermes shook his head. “The glass men swarm over it like ants on sugar. There is no possibility of recovering it. You are stuck here.”

  “You are coming with us then,” said Ha
des. “You troublesome humans and my arrogant brethren, all of you, coming to my domain where I reign supreme.” The dark god smiled. “I ’m beginning to warm to the idea.” He snapped his fingers and the floor disappeared beneath their feet, plunging them all into eternal darkness.

  Chapter Nine

  Falling became standing. The black void became shadow. Dim light outlined a barren river bank and cold cave walls. The few visible paths shifted if J ohn looked away, making escape impossible and ge ing lost a certainty. The G reek gods mu ered to each other and shuffled uncomfortably, all but Hades, who wore a serene smile. The river before them was so dark that not even light reflected off its surface. W ithout its bubbling song, no one would know it was there.

  A small boat made a subdued appearance, a figure standing at its bow. He was everything J ohn expected C haron to be, a nautical version of the grim reaper, holding a long punting pole rather than a scythe. The skeletal features peeking from beneath the dark hood were filthy and worn with age. As the boat came to a standstill at the shore, its captain didn’t even lift his head in interest at the gods gathered there.

  “S urely you have a more appropriate ship than this with which to convey us,” Poseidon complained.

  “I concur,” Apollo said. “You can hardly expect me to stand for the entire voyage.”

  “I shall require a cabin of my own,” Hera commanded. “I t isn’t fi ing for the queen of the gods to travel like a lowly fisherman.”

  “O h, very well.” Hades snapped his fingers again and the li le pontoon, without the least bit of fanfare, was suddenly a large, floating home. “A house-boat on the Styx.

  Happy now?”

  Placated, the gods began boarding.

  “C ome on, B olo,” J ohn called, but the dog’s a ention was focused on the shadows further down the shore.

  J ohn kept calling to the dog but was steadfastly ignored. He rolled his eyes. How easily dogs became the master when they so desired. G iving up, J ohn went to B olo to coax him away and flinched when B olo began to growl. L oose gravel skipped across the cavern floor toward them as something massive shifted and stood. B olo began to bark, and out of the shadows, three canine heads appeared to return the challenge.

  J ohn stared upward. C erberus, the legendary three-headed dog and guardian of Hades, was larger than a two-story house. The beast could easily swallow them whole or crush them with a single step of its mighty paws, which were already stomping closer. The three canine heads growled, foamy drool splattering on the ground.

  “Come on, Bolo,” John whispered, tugging on the scruff of the dog’s neck.

  C erberus took another step forward, growling again. The three-headed beast sniffed at them, knocking J ohn over with a slimy nose, before dismissing them as unimportant. I nstead it turned its a ention toward the boat. All had boarded except Hermes, Hades, and Dante.

  Dante! C ould C erberus smell the demon inside? O r was it the stolen crown that a racted its a ention? The revelation of either could prove disastrous. Hades appeared more interested than agitated by his pet’s behavior, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as they sought out Dante.

  “W hat’s wrong with your dog?” Hermes asked, wincing every time the great beast barked.

  “Cerberus feels there is a stranger in our midst,” Hades murmured.

  “I would rather you think of me as a brother than a stranger,” a new voice said.

  E merald light flooded the cavern as a god manifested. O siris was nothing like the other gods present. His skin was pale green, and the cut of his robes exotic. The E gyptian god wore a tall white crown with large plumes to each side, and held a crook in one hand and a flail in the other. B oth were golden, reinforced by blue copper bands. Osiris crossed these instruments over his chest and bowed his head.

  “I hope I am as welcome in your realm as you would be in mine,” the green god said.

  C erberus barked again, sparing only the a ention of one head for this new arrival, but Hades snapped a finger, silencing the dog before commanding it to leave. The great hound retreated back into the shadows, all three heads casting sullen gazes toward their master.

  “I delight in your presence as if you were my son, brother, and father,” Hades responded with sincerity.

  The aura surrounding O siris was similar to Hades’ own, since he was a god of the underworld in his own pantheon, but there was more to him. There was life, a promise of something more than death’s finality. Fertility, not only of the earth, but of the soul.

  “What reason has compelled you to honor us with your visit?” Hades asked.

  “We, too, would meet with these curious envoys,” O siris answered. “We would hear of their war and how it can benefit us. They are to accompany me back to our realm immediately.”

  Hades’ indulging smile faltered. “That is a shame, for I am not quite finished with them.”

  Dante, who was already moving toward Osiris, quickened his pace.

  “Trg’kl det srogyln en p’gered dehrk,” Osiris uttered in a strange tongue.

  Hades responded in the same indecipherable dialect, to which Osiris replied in turn.

  The two gods locked eyes, a battle of wills playing out, until Hades smiled and nodded.

  An understanding must have been reached, for Hades turned and boarded his boat.

  Hermes followed, pausing only to raise his eyebrows meaningfully at J ohn. His silent warning was unmistakable.

  “C ome.” O siris walked backwards toward an opening in the stone wall that hadn’t been there moments before. He beckoned for them to follow. “We must travel the length of the night to reach our destination.”

  J ohn looked at Dante, hoping to see a glint of red in his eyes, to glean some indication from R immon if this was the right thing to do. There was nothing. Was the demon even in there anymore?

  John sighed. “Come on, Bolo.”

  They followed the E gyptian god into the dark passageway. As they walked, J ohn pondered the reason behind this means of travel. O siris had arrived surrounded by light, and Hades had transported his entire Pantheon to his realm with a snap of his fingers. The gods were capable of these feats and more, and yet O siris expected them to walk. L ike the C elts, was the god using this journey as a test? I f so it was a strange one, for the E gyptian god showed no interest in engaging them in conversation, nor did their environment prove to be a challenge. B ut as they moved through mile after mile of stone tunnel, this began to change.

  The darkness here was death. C old, it brushed against their skin, whispering of their graves and the eternal silence of night, because here dawn never came. B ut there was more. This wasn’t just the realm of the dead, this was the pathway of gods, ancient beings from a time so long ago it was almost incomprehensible. This was their footpath that no man, living or dead, was ever meant to walk.

  You do not belong here, the void around them intoned. You are small, insignificant. Only the gods tread here, gigantic and eternal. Turn back now before your souls shrivel into dust and blow away.

  A hand reached out to take his. J ohn gripped it back. The idea of holding hands with Dante would have made him laugh any other time, but here it was different. Here they were two terrified children, trespassing somewhere they were never meant to be.

  J ohn tried to silence his fears by focusing on the god leading them. Unlike C erridwen, O siris didn’t glow with the light of the moon, and yet he remained visible.

  The effect was unnatural rather than comforting, for li le about O siris was familiar. He may have had the shape of a man, but his strange clothing and green skin made him alien. Even the scent of him was unusual: a mixture of cloves, incense, and honey.

  This wasn’t working. J ohn needed something else to take his a ention away from their journey or he feared he would snap.

  “Dante?” he began, unsure at first what he intended to say. I t didn’t take long to find a topic he wanted to broach. “I need you to tell me what everyone is keeping from me.”

/>   “What are you talking about?”

  “C ome on, you know what I mean. W hat Asmoday told you in his office. W hat Manannan mentioned before you asked him not to tell me.” Dante’s chuckle was loud in the stillness surrounding them. “I t’s nothing bad. The opposite really, since it made all that stuff you could do in P urgatory possible. We never would have made it out otherwise.”

  “Then why can’t anyone tell me?”

  “I t’s like one of those Z en things. I f you don’t know, it’s a good thing, but if you did know it would be bad.”

  J ohn gri ed his teeth. He had never enjoyed riddles, meaningless answers hidden behind deliberately obtuse questions and thinly veiled jokes. He realized that some people reveled in their challenge, but they always left John feeling stupid.

  “W hat’s bad if you know it, but good if you don’t?” J ohn said, not hiding the sarcasm in his voice. “When is a door not a door? What gets wet when it’s drying?” Dante was silent for a moment. “The truth, when it’s ajar, and a towel.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Sorry, mate.”

  I n his irritation, J ohn shook Dante’s hand off and immediately wished he hadn’t, for the moment he did everything disappeared. E verything in this case was O siris, who could no longer be seen, Dante who he could no longer feel next to him, and B olo’s steady panting, which he could no longer hear.

  J ohn clamped down on his rising panic. S o this was the test? They wanted to see how he would fare when alone in the dark? B ring it on! W hat child hadn’t grappled with and eventually conquered this fear?

  J ohn stood motionless, waiting for his eyes to adjust to light that wasn’t there. W hen it became clear that he wasn’t going to regain his vision, he systematically began exploring his surroundings with his hands. E ach stone wall was still there, separated by about thirty feet of space. He was still on the same path. M aybe the others had disappeared while he remained.