by Vance, R. E.
I waited to see if his tears would turn to rage—after all, I made a deal with the kid—but there was no fight left in him. He sat there leafing through the book, turning to the earlier pages he had skipped over.
“Newton,” I said, “I know that you blame them for your loss, but even you have to see how they no more wanted to hurt your family than come to Paradise Lot in the first place. They’re outcasts, just like you and me, without a home, most of them without their families.” I put my collarless jacket back on. “I have to go. I can’t protect them anymore. And I know that the book doesn’t go very far for returning what you’ve lost, but maybe it will go far enough for you to let go of your hate for them.”
And with that, I left him to his tears and confusion, praying that those pictures were enough.
Chapter 7
On the Road Again
I had no idea if my little conversation with EightBall would work. All I could do was hope. Hell, seems like hope and faith was all I got. Funny that I found both after the gods left. So after leaving EightBall, I asked Asal to drop me off at my last destination before I had to leave.
I asked him to take me home.
↔
The little bell over my front door rang as I walked in for what would probably be the last time. I climbed the stairs of the One Spire Hotel and opened the loft door above. In the corner sat Penemue, books thrown about, his hay bed in tatters and a bottle of Drambuie in his hand. He was crying, cuddling his bottle as he tried to coax comfort from its hallowed contents.
When he saw me, his eyes glistened, lit by angelic tears. “I was so afraid. I always believed that I would face my death with bravery, honor even, but in the end I was so very, very afraid. I am sorry for betraying you, Human Jean-Luc,” he said with a drunken hiccup. “But I am most sorry for breaking my promise.”
“You never promised me anything.”
“No, no—not to you, dear Human Jean. You are not the only one who makes sacred promises. I broke a promise I made to myself before the Earth was formed and when the sky still burned red. When He cast me into the pits of fire and brimstone, I swore that I would never ask Him for anything. Never again.” Penemue tried to stand, but drunk as he was, all he managed to do was fall on his back. His wings spread out and contracted, like he was trying to fly. He looked like an overturned turtle. I offered him my hand and as I righted him, he said, “But today, Jean, I prayed. I begged. I pleaded with Him to let you live, and here you are. He listened. He heard me.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, pulling with all my weight to get the angel to sit up. He managed to get himself half-erect and with my help he was able to rest his back on the wall. From the corner of the room, I took the pitcher of water and poured him a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
“You live. He must have listened.”
“Actually, I think it is Michael you have to thank. Michael tricked Grinner into leaving me alone. For a little while, anyway. I don’t know if that was His work.” With the last phrase, I pointed up.
Penemue’s face went grave. “Of course that is. He sent His emissary. An asshole, yes, but His emissary nonetheless!”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but that doesn’t matter anymore. The box? Did you figure out what it was? Not that it matters anymore.”
Penemue perked up, not hearing my last remark. “What is it not?” he exclaimed, hands and wings both outstretched in excitement. The tips of his wings hit the room and bits of drywall flaked off. He lowered his wings and, controlling his volume, picked up a discarded Drambuie bottle and cradled it like it was the box—man, this was one drunk angel. “I have never, ever, ever, ever held anything with so much history before. Truly unique! Singular in the significance imbued within its making—”
“And?” I interrupted.
Gesturing for me to draw closer, he whispered, “It is Pandora’s Box! I know, I know, shocked me, too.” He nodded in mock, drunken surprise.
“Pandora’s Box? As in the container from which all sin sprang forth—”
“Its contents emptied, leaving behind only Hope. Yes, the very same. But it is not only that … It is also the Ark of the Covenant, and Pharaoh’s Vial, and the Wineskin that once held the Blood of Kvasir, otherwise known as the Mead of—”
“Poetry?”
“You know it?”
“I’m familiar with the legend,” I sighed.
“In days gone by, it was the last cup from which Jesus drank, the first goblet which ever held Ambrosia and the bowl from which an asp bit Cleopatra’s hand as she reached for a fig in its basin! It is all those things and more. Whoever constructed the box itself, and I suspect that it was Joseph, did so by taking little pieces from all those items and putting it together into one place.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why else! To contain something of extreme significance.”
“But it’s so small,” I said, holding up my hands with enough space to hold a Rubik’s Cube.
“Bahhh!” the angel dismissed me. “Mortals always think in size, size, size. ‘Bigger is better.’ A thousand angels once danced on the head of a pin. How do you think we did that? By getting a really, really big pin? NO! Size, cosmically speaking, doesn’t matter. Only space. And even the smallest of spaces can hold the vastest of universes. That box, with all the significance it possesses, can hold a thousand universes and still have room to spare.”
“Big enough for a heaven?” I asked.
“Heavens,” Penemue retorted, “and hells and purgatories and a thousand other dimensions that your kind have yet to perceive.”
“I see,” I said. So that was Joseph’s plan. And that was why Grinner needed it. And considering what it was, now I suspected it would take a lot more than a little Hermes-fire to destroy it, which meant Grinner was still in the game. Now all he had left to do was fill the box, which was exactly where Bella and I came into play.
So I told the twice-fallen angel about Grinner, Hermes and the fight in Paradise Lot. About Michael and Miral. And about Bella. My dreams and how my wife existed in another realm. And about the kiss, and how it creeped me out.
“Bella’s soul is not lost,” Penemue said to himself. “A bit of joy can be found in every terrible situation.”
“Yes … Yes, it can.”
“Human Jean-Luc. The only way the Avatar of Gravity will be able to make the connection between Heaven and Earth tangible is by extracting it from you.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Our magic works by making abstract concepts real. Gravity is a Law, so the gods created an avatar with whom they could negotiate. Turning the abstract into the real. Your connection with Bella—your dreams—that is an abstract bridge built by your love. Grinner wishes to make that real. He wants to rip your connection to her out of you and turn it into a bridge that Others can use.”
“And if he does, what will happen to my connection to her? To my dreams?”
“They will no longer be a part of you.”
“You mean, I’ll stop loving her?”
“No, that is beyond our magic. What I mean is that your love will no longer be enough for you both to find each other, to speak across worlds.” Penemue drew heavily on the Drambuie. “Without it, she will truly be lost to you.”
I looked at the angel, who stared back at me with heavy, swollen eyes that glistened with the light of trapped tears. This twice-fallen angel had lived in the One Spire Hotel for six years and in that time he had been a colossal pain in the butt, but he was always my friend. What I had to do next would be the hardest thing I’d ever done.
“Do you know why I fell the first time?” he asked.
I had heard the story before, but before I could answer Penemue said, “Enoch, the judge of the Fallen, wrote that my sin was that I taught humans how to read and write …” His eyes went distant as he recalled the judgment against him. “You see, by his estimation, humans weren’t supposed to have that knowledge because … well, becaus
e you guys weren’t smart enough. The fear was that you’ll write down a false idea and, like the Golden Calf, worship it. An idea is far more dangerous than a statue, no matter how big or golden it is.
“But I didn’t think so little of humans. I thought that if they could only have a chance to record their thoughts and learn from their ancestors that in time their ideas would evolve into something worthy. That’s why I taught you how to read and write, how to make paper and brew ink.”
The angel sighed, drawing heavily on his bottle before continuing. “I knew I would be punished, but I did not believe I would be cast from Heaven. I thought my sin was great enough that He would grant me death—true death. And despite believing that, I did it anyway, because I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Penemue, you’re punishing yourself when there is no need,” I started.
The Fallen lifted a hand asking me to let him finish. “I was willing to die for what I believed. I was willing to face the abyss for the knowledge I granted you. But when I was asked to lay my life down for what really matters, for my friend, my resolve faded away into nothing and I told him all. I am a coward, Human Jean-Luc. A worthless, pathetic coward.”
“Enough,” I said. “You got scared. You chose to live over dying. I will never, ever hold that against you.”
Penemue’s eye cracked open and he looked at me confused. “Dear Human Jean, I tell you this, not because I am seeking your forgiveness, but because I want you to understand who it is you fight for. I was once willing to die for my cause, but for a friend, I betrayed you the first chance I got. I do not deserve your protection or your care. None of us do. You need to understand that in the days to come. We are not worth it. None of us are. So, should the Avatar of Gravity extract the connection from you and make the bridge real, then let him win. This world and its paltry occupants are not worth you losing Bella again.” From behind a stack of books, he pulled out another bottle of Drambuie and opened it with a twist of his pointy fingers.
“Maybe, but then again maybe your second chance isn’t up yet. None of ours is. And maybe if I give this world a bit more time, then they will be worth saving,” I said.
“Jean-Luc the optimist. When did this happen?” Penemue said, handing me the bottle.
“It was always there, just buried deep. Really deep.” I sighed, taking the bottle. “Look, I have to go, but before I do there’s one last favor I need from you.”
“Of course,” he roared with a sudden excitement, “I owe you for my betrayal and am eager to work off the debt.”
“For all the years I helped you stand when you fell—yes, you owe me. For all the times I saved you from that mouth of yours—yes, you owe me. But for saving yourself from Grinner—for that, you owe me nothing. Understand? I free you of that debt.”
The angel nodded. “Very well, then. A favor for a friend.”
“Yes, a favor for a friend,” I said, a lump catching in my throat. I handed him two envelopes.
Penemue sat up, his massive shoulders hunched over in defeat as he took the paper from my hand. “What are these?” he asked.
“One is instructions to you, the other is for someone else.”
Penemue read the notes and looked up at me. His voice trembled as he spoke. “But … but this is suicide.”
“Maybe, but we’re all going to die one day. Might as well die for something worthwhile.” I raised the bottle of Drambuie and said, “This is it, old friend. Time to say goodbye. What do you say—one more for the road?”
↔
Penemue and I downed a shot of Drambuie, and I left the big guy alone in his sorrow and headed down to my room. It always amazed me how the world might be ending and yet your room would look exactly as you’d left it. You’d think that it would have faced the same whirlwind that you did, but my things all just sat there unmoved and untouched. I hung up my collarless black jacket on the coat rack.
My junktiques sat on their shelves and Castle Grayskull sat empty on my chest of drawers.
Damn.
I had hoped that Tink would have made it back by now. I was sure she escaped; I saw her light flutter down the tunnel. Where was she? My only hope was that she was too scared to come home, afraid that Grinner would be here. But there was a big difference between knowing and hoping.
The part of me that lived with and cared for Tink for the last six years had to believe that she was alive and well, hiding somewhere safe. That she wasn’t crushed by some random rock or lost in tunnels filled with Others that would like nothing more than to own a true myth. To believe anything else would be too much for me to bear after a day of so much loss.
And it was hope that led me to leave behind a bit of the candle that Hermes gave me. I figured a creature as old and unique as Tink would know what to do with it, and if I couldn’t keep her safe, well, at least I could give her something to help.
I also left a recording on my old Dictaphone, telling her that I probably wasn’t coming back and that if she needed sanctuary, it was Miral whom I trusted above everyone else. It was up to Tink if she was going to entrust herself to another guardian or not. I couldn’t make that decision for her.
“I’m sorry, Tink,” I said, “but I can’t keep you safe. Not anymore,” and as I spoke those last words, warm tears fell down my cheeks.
I closed the little drawbridge on Castle Grayskull and headed out the door.
↔
The clock on the dashboard flashed two a.m. Good, that meant three hours and change before dawn, just enough time for me to get on the road.
Convincing Michael to let me go had been quite the feat. He wanted to get on the run right away. I had to swear on every GoneGod and living soul I knew, vow up and down, and absolutely promise to come back at least three hours before dawn, and even then he let me go with great protest. The thing about oaths and Others is that they are always making these grand gestures, spoken in archaic chant, that are absolutely binding. Before the GrandExodus, to break an oath meant death. “Cross my heart and hope to die” was quite literal. Magic, karma, chutzpah—call it what you will—but the Universe always got even with them, and as a result, making and keeping a promise was very serious business, indeed. I get that. Really I do.
Unfortunately for Michael, my promise was made with my fingers crossed behind my back. I don’t know how that cosmically works and I doubted that pre-GrandExodus, you could get out of it that easily, but still—that’s what I did. Didn’t make me feel any better, but I couldn’t keep my promise to him when it went against another, higher promise I made earlier. To Bella.
You see, Michael was right. Miral was right. Hell, even Tink was right. There was no hope in fighting an enemy like Grinner. I had to run.
But they were wrong about one thing—it wasn’t Bella’s dream to reopen the Void and send the Others packing. She wanted us all to live together. Here on Earth and in Heaven. That’s why she helped the Ambassador. She believed he was the key to peace in this life and the next.
I knew that Michael and Miral meant well and that they wanted to help. But after a while, even they would be tempted. There would be some shaman or prophet or Other that had a key or chalice or talisman that would find Bella and Heaven. And then what? Another experiment, another grand scheme, another maniacal wannabe god. If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, then what’s the road to Heaven paved with?
And even if they did find a way back to their Heaven, I don’t think it would solve anything. I’d gotten to know their kind and, well, they don’t play well with Others. Reopening the Void would lead to a war between Others, which meant more rainbow blood painting the roads. No, I couldn’t let that happen. That wasn’t what Bella wanted.
Besides, I had other plans in mind. I might not be able to beat Grinner in a fight, but there was more than one way to skin that proverbial cat. I had an ace up my sleeve—a long shot, but far more tempting than spending a life on the run with Michael and Miral. As much as I hated not keeping my word, this wa
s something I needed to do on my own. They were adults a couple of thousand times over—they’d get over it.
As for the other detail … well, like I’d said to Penemue, this was it—one last favor.
I turned my PopPop’s old 1969 Plymouth RoadRunner ignition and took to the road. It felt good to be in the driver’s seat. Soon the city was out of view and highway lights were exchanged for stars. I looked at the clock—just an hour to go before dawn. Right about now, Penemue was delivering a map to Grinner with a big X and the words “Come and get me,” scrawled in red.
… to be continued
Prologue
There is this girl whom I love very much. She is killed, and I go on a rampage of hate and destruction, accepting every mission they hand me. As long as I get to kill Others, I don’t care where I am, who I kill. My grief chases me, but as long as I am slaying Others I am able to outrun it. For a while, at least. But I am in a losing race and I will soon learn that there is no one in this world—or any other—that is fast enough to outrun grief.
Mine will catch me while doing an extermination mission on a remote island in northern Scotland. Recon says that there are Fanatics planning a suicide mission. Doesn’t matter to me. We get to the island and I glance at my watch. The minute hand is spinning, the second hand is moving so fast it’s invisible. Magic. On a hillside there’s a cave and an Other is burning time to hide. I point and we get into position. We don’t know what we’re up against. We should investigate. Plan. Prepare.
Instead I throw in a grenade.
What comes out isn’t a terrorist cell or group of Fanatics, but a single golden dragon. It always amazes me that no matter what kind of face an Other has—humanoid, elongated, animalistic—you can always tell when they’re scared. This dragon is terrified.