“I didn’t fall for someone like you, Cerice. I fell for you. You’re smart and gorgeous and talented. You’re a splendid coder, and I’d certainly be dead without the help you gave me in my fight with Fate.”
“Thank you, but—”
“Hang on, I’m not finished. You’re also deadly slick at avoiding things you don’t want to talk about, like us.”
She let go of my hand and leaned back into the side of the booth with a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Ravirn. I know the way I am is hard on you. I care for you deeply, and I want us to stay together and see where that goes. I even want to tell you that I love you. I just . . . can’t. Not yet.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. Words formed in my mind, hurt words, bitter words. Somehow, I held them in. Though my mouth has gotten me into a world of trouble over the years, I’ve always managed to keep it leashed around Cerice. Perhaps because she and Melchior are all I’ve got left.
“I thought it was Shara,” she said into the silence, “that I was still mourning her passing, or holding out hope for her return, or even just blaming you for her death. I know that’s not true now. I’m not sure what’s holding me back. I don’t really understand myself anymore.”
“Fantastic.” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t be angry.”
“Maybe I should step out for a while and drop back in once you find yourself?” It didn’t come out the way I’d meant it to, and I regretted saying it even before I finished.
Cerice looked like she’d been slapped. “Maybe you should,” she said. “Maybe while you’re out, you can find out who Raven is.”
I didn’t have an answer for that, so I picked up the check and headed for the register. After that, Cerice went back to the lab, and I headed for the apartment. We said good-bye, but there was no kiss, no physical contact at all.
“Ouch,” said Melchior when I told him about it later. “But she’s right about the Raven thing. You know that, don’t you?”
“No. I don’t.” He opened his mouth, but I didn’t wait to listen. “Melchior. Mtp://mweb.DecLocus.prime.Styx.”
I was angry enough that I almost forgot the “Please.” When I did say it, a split second too late, I knew it sounded insincere. Melchior’s mouth shut with an audible snap. For a long moment I thought he was going to tell me to stuff it and walk away. I would have deserved it. I was clearly in a mood for self-destruction. Witness my destination.
No one could deny that I owed Dave and Mort and Bob an apology, but the sensible thing would have been to “say it with flowers,” preferably from a great distance. I didn’t think Cerberus would eat me at this point, but I wouldn’t have bet money one way or the other.
Melchior shook his head. His eyes practically shouted “Stupid idea, dip boy,” but he didn’t say it. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all until he eventually acknowledged my request for a gate with the formal syntax of an accepted program. “Executing. Connecting to prime.Styx.”
A pause followed, one that stretched out unnaturally. Since we were in the apartment, he was using the hexagram Cerice and I had permanently inscribed under the oriental carpet in the living room instead of sketching one in chalk or light. On top of that, the Styx was part of the same world as Olympus, the center of the universe and home of the mweb core architecture. With that double advantage, the connection should have come so quickly that a flesh-and-blood creature like me wouldn’t even notice the gap.
Instead, a full and unnatural two minutes passed before Melchior finally said, “Connected. Initiating Gate procedure.”
I wanted to ask him what was up, but his expression didn’t invite conversation. He reinforced that conclusion by changing into his laptop shape as soon as light filled the gate. His lid was firmly closed. I took his point and tucked him into my shoulder bag. One more apology owed.
Then I stepped into the light. I would soon see whether the hound of hell was still my friend.
CHAPTER SIX
The second I appeared Styx-side, a great baying began. I was tempted to have Melchior gate me back out again on the spot. But that would have involved admitting I was wrong. While I might be thinking it in my own head, I still needed some time before I was willing to share. Instead of sensibly fleeing, I sat down on a rock and waited.
The near bank of the Styx is rocky and dark, a black stone beach under eternal twilight. I’ve never been entirely certain whether it is actually in a cave under Olympus, or just in a pocket reality anchored to the mountain of the gods. There’s little in the way of living vegetation on the near shore, and what there is has thorns and spines. If it doesn’t stick you, cut you, or try to poison you, it isn’t native. The black waters flow by in unnatural silence, so the huge splash that ended the baying was all the clearer.
Soon I could see the great vee made by Cerberus’s mighty chest cutting the water as he swam to meet me. His eyes glowed a baleful red as he glared in my direction. That was new, and the hairs on the back of my neck danced in response. Still, I held my ground. Part of that was bravado, part stubbornness, and part pure calculation.
The river marked the ultimate border of Hades’ domain. He held sway over the ground from its far side to the physical borders of the underworld and was absolute ruler within the latter’s walls. But here, I stood on Zeus’s territory. I didn’t believe Hades was fool enough to lightly order one of the children of the Titans murdered in his brother’s fiefdom.
Whether Cerberus might kill me without his master’s sanction made for an iffier question. After our last meeting at the gate, I was inclined to believe he wouldn’t just tear me to shreds. Shaking muddy river water all over me, however, turned out to be fair game, a fact I found out after he bounded up the hill to meet me.
As soon as I’d scraped enough of the foul stuff out of my eyes to see again, I gave Cerberus a slight bow. “Nicely splashed. I take it then that you’re not just going to bite my head off?”
“How do you figure that?” asked Bob, an edge of anger clear in his voice.
“I suppose I could be wrong,” I said, “but you never struck me as a big fan of muck-blackened cuisine.”
“Point,” said Mort, sounding much calmer than Bob.
“Not bad,” agreed Dave, clearly amused, “but what if we just didn’t think of it? What if our poor little doggy brains don’t plan things out that well?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Poor little doggy brains? Nice try, Dave, but I’m not buying it. You’ve got about as much in common with a normal dog as I do with a sparrow.”
“That might be more than you think, Raven,” said Mort. “There are certain habits of thought and behaviors that we share with our mortal kin.”
“Like an irrational attachment to our two-legged friends,” Bob said, giving Dave a sour look.
“Look,” began Dave, his voice hot, “just because I like Raven and take my duties to our mistress more seriously than you do—”
“That bitch hates Hades,” snarled Bob. “I’ve never liked her. From the day he brought her home, she’s caused nothing but trouble. We owe her nothing! Nothing. I wish she’d go away and never come back, that her mother would just keep her.”
“Jealous much?” Dave sneered.
“Of Persephone?” howled Bob. “That’s a joke, right?”
“If the collar fits . . .” said Dave.
Bob growled low in his throat and Dave snapped at him contemptuously. Seconds later both heads were barking and snarling at each other.
Meanwhile, Mort had moved as far away from the other two heads as he could. “At least I’m not between them,” he said to me in a quiet aside. “Sometimes I wish I could take a couple of weeks off from pack life and play only dog.” The barking cut off abruptly as Dave and Bob locked jaws, straining against each other.
Mort shook his head. “Bob never learns.”
“Learns what?” I asked.
“That he’s not as strong as Dave,
that he always loses arguments, that he’s never going to be alpha. Take your pick.” Bob began to whine then. “Whatever you might think about our relative dogginess, our shape makes a difference. And so does our name.”
“Subtle you aren’t,” I said, and it was my turn to sound sour. “If you think so much of this whole Raven thing, why don’t you just tell me about it?”
“Is that a sign of curiosity at last?” asked Mort. “Are you actually starting to wonder about who you are?”
“I know who I am,” I said. “I’m Ravirn, no matter what the Fates say. On the other hand, I have to admit that I’m beginning to wonder what I am. Or what others see in me. So, are you going to tell me anything? Or are you just going to stand there looking smug because I finally asked?”
“Asked what?” said Dave, who’d finally let loose of Bob.
“Who he is,” said Mort.
“What I am,” I corrected.
“A filthy little prison breaker,” said Bob, who went silent a moment later when Dave turned a dark eye on him.
“It’s about time you asked that question,” said Dave. “I just wish I knew the answer.”
“What?” I demanded. “All this time, the three of you have been giving me shit about this Raven business, and you don’t know what it means either?”
Dave looked sheepish. “What it means, no. That it’s important, yes. You don’t smell like a child of Fate anymore.”
“What?” I was surprised by that.
“We’ve met more than a few of Fate’s children,” said Mort. “You don’t die easy, but you can be killed.”
“I know that,” I said quietly. “I’ve sent two of my cousins across the Styx myself, though I’m not proud of it.”
“Moric,” said Dave, “and his uncle’s son, Laric.”
“Exactly,” said Mort. “Though you may not be able to smell it, there is a scent associated with those who come from the three houses of Fate. You don’t smell like that.”
I was frankly fascinated. “What do I smell like?”
“A raven,” said Dave.
“And Discord,” said Bob, still sounding angry.
“Say elemental Primal Chaos, and you’d be closer to the truth,” corrected Mort.
“Chaos?” I asked. “Don’t we all smell of chaos? It runs in the blood we inherited from the Titans, yours as well as mine.”
“This is different,” said Mort. “The Primal Chaos in our veins is fixed. The Primal Chaos that wraps you like an invisible cloak is the raw wild stuff that churns between the worlds.”
“What did Clotho do to me?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” said Dave. “I really don’t. But the spinner spun Eris’s thread as surely as she did those of Atropos and Lachesis. She is the author of order and disorder both, and her motives are not always the same as those of her sisters. If you really want that question answered, you’ll have to ask it of Clotho.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve got to go now.”
My brain felt like someone had stuck a stick blender in my ear and hit the on button. I simply couldn’t process the Raven stuff. To say nothing of the implications of Dave and Bob’s tiff and what they’d had to say about Hades and Persephone. Even more disturbing was how they’d said it. I started to walk away, then stopped and turned back.
“I almost forgot why I came today. I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble with my visit last week. I took advantage of our friendship, and that’s not nice. You don’t have to forgive me—I don’t regret the deed—but I owed you an apology.”
“Forgiven,” said Dave, with a smile.
“Forgotten,” said Mort.
“Fat chance,” snarled Bob.
It wasn’t until I’d moved a little way off and gotten Melchior out of my bag for the return trip that I thought to wonder where Kira was. Since she appeared a few seconds later, it was a brief concern.
“Yer likes ter live dangerously, don’t yer,” she said as she flew up.
“Think of the devil,” I said.
“And I’m yer reward,” said Kira. “When do yer think yer could do that jack job for me?”
“Like I said, drop on by. I’ll make time. Oh, and hang on.” I dug around in my bag for a moment and pulled out a plastic sack. “I got these for you as a temporary jury-rig.” Inside were three sets of earbuds and two stereo minijack Y-splitters.
“Thanks!” she said, flying in close to take them, then backing off and hovering.
There was something about her body language that suggested she had more to say, so I waited quietly. After a minute or so, she looked at her feet.
“Yer heard that bit about Persephone,” she mumbled.
“I did.”
“And Hades?”
I nodded. “It sounds like there’s some conflict in the kennel on the subject.”
“Aye,” she said. “There is that. It don’t seem right ter talk about my boss, but I owe yer a couple, so I’ll say this. Dave’s heart belongs to Persephone. Mort’s his own master. But Bob is Hades’ dog to the core. More to the point, so’s Cerberus. That hound’s more complex than he looks. He’s bound to obey the letter of his master’s orders, but his heads is pretty good at interpreting things to suit their fancies given half a chance. Yer won’t get that chance if you cross the river again. Dave’s yer friend. Mort, too. But Cerberus has orders to see you dead, and he’s with Bob on this one. Be careful.”
“I will; and Kira, thanks for the warning.”
“Yer welcome. I’d best be going now before they miss me.” She flitted away.
With a sigh, I pulled Melchior out of my bag and set him on a rock. As I reached to flip his lid up, he changed back into his goblin form.
“I thought you didn’t like it here,” I said.
“I don’t. I really don’t, but I wanted to make sure you were really listening to Kira, and it’s easier to read your expression with eyeballs than CCDs.”
“Is it also more satisfying to say ‘I told you so’ in the flesh?”
“What do you mean by that?” His face was the picture of innocence.
“Oh, just get it over with. You and Cerice and everybody else were right about me needing to make sense of Clotho’s gift. I was wrong. Even I can see that now.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with reeking of Primal Chaos, would it?”
“No one used the word reek, but yeah, that pretty much nailed it for me. Oh, and while I’m on the subject of eating crow and other dark birds, I was an asshole earlier about asking for a gate. I’m sorry.”
“Really? Are you going to tell me it won’t happen again?”
“No. It’ll happen again. I’ll just have to apologize again when it does.”
“At least you’re honest about it. Apology accepted, though I reserve the right to tell you to stick it in your ear next time.”
“Deal,” I said. “Now, how about you open up a gate so I can go home and make my third major mea culpa of the day?”
“You think you’re going to even things out with Cerice with a single apology? Aren’t you just the demigod of optimism.” He got busy with some chalk and string, creating a temporary hexagram.
“Connecting to prime.minus0208,” he said once he was done. A very long pause followed, then, “LTP error, client has encountered bad data from the server.”
That was a new one on me. I’d never gotten an error message on a locus transfer protocol link before. But Melchior was continuing, and I didn’t have the chance to ask him about it.
“Automatically rerouting connection request to alternate server. Waiting for response.” There was another pause, briefer this time. “Connected. Initiating Gate procedure.” The hexagram slowly filled with light.
As I waited for it to finish, I knelt beside Melchior. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know.” Melchior looked more than a little distressed. “The mweb is . . . I don’t know, I’ve never felt anything quite like it. I didn’t even know I had an LTP
error menu until I accessed it. It must be something the Fates built into the webgoblin firmware specs.” He gave a little shudder. “I wonder whether there are any other surprises lurking down in the depths of my code.”
By then the gate was complete, so we stepped into the light. And dropped. I felt like I’d landed in a particularly wild waterslide. I shouldn’t have felt anything at all, not as a stream of ones and zeros passing along an mweb channel. I shouldn’t have felt anything, and I shouldn’t have been able to scream because there shouldn’t have been time. Nor should I have been able to hear Melchior’s panicked cries. None of those shoulds mattered. I screamed and screamed again, and Melchior screamed back. None of it helped, and I started to wonder if this was what had happened to all the relatives I’d lost in transit. Then it was over.
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