Death And Darkness

by E. A. Copen

  I finally realized covering my ears wouldn’t do any good and removed my hands. “You mind toning down the mind yelling there, Eleven? Makes it hard to think.”

  The wolf lowered his head to stare at me.

  “Right. Your half-sister wants me to let you go. I need some of your blood to open the Cross Gate. Problem is, I’m not too sure it’s a wise idea to let you go.”

  The wise do not come here at all. This is the land of pain and punishment, the consequence for poor decisions. Yours have not yet claimed your life, yet you are HERE.

  “I think he just called you foolish,” Jean whispered.

  “Yeah, well, I’m rubber, you’re glue, and we’ll both melt if we draw this out much longer.” I tugged on my collar. It was damp from perspiration.

  The voice in my head heaved a heavy sigh. What is it you want from me, mortal?

  I stood up straighter. “Let’s start with your word that you’ll behave yourself if I let you go. That means no killing humans.”

  Humans are of no consequence to me.

  I held up a hand. “And no killing gods in my city.”

  He stood still a moment. I will agree to the first.

  “But not the second? Why?”

  Fenrir lowered his head and looked directly into my eyes. A chill slithered down my spine. I have suffered. Now, they will suffer. So it is written, so must it be.

  “Don’t do it,” Jean urged, grabbing my arm. “I know you care deeply for Ms. Knight, but gods don’t lock up monsters this securely for no reason, Lazarus. What good is freeing Emma’s soul only to face the end of the world?”

  I shook my arm free.

  A growl rolled through the pit, sending Jean shrieking back toward the stairs. I will be free this day. Shall I eat your magic, Horseman? or will we strike a bargain? Friends or foes? Decide.

  “You’re going to have a hard time eating me with that muzzle on, Cujo.” Just the same, I took a step back when he moved forward. Muzzle or not, he could still step on me.

  Fenrir’s chain pulled taut, forcing another, more feral growl from his throat.

  Thunder crashed above and lightning illuminated the pit, revealing deep red fissures vomiting plumes of steam. No wonder I was roasting.

  “Lazarus, the stairs!”

  I turned around to see the rocky pit rebuild itself. Our only other exit was sealed. Son of a bitch! I should’ve known better than to trust a goddess of death. There was only one way forward now, and it required striking a deal with a whole new caliber of monster.

  Persephone’s words echoed through my mind. “Someone’s about to open the gates between this world and the next and let Hell loose on Earth.” If Fenrir got free, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.

  I was the someone.

  The realization snaked its way down my spine and settled in my gut as a ball of ice. It was me. My fault. If I went forward with this, all the bad dreams, premonitions, and end-of-the-world predictions could come true. I could find a way out now and spare the rest of the world a lot of pain and suffering. Walking away was the right thing to do, but could I do it? Could I leave Emma’s soul in Hell to rot for the sake of the nameless and faceless thousands?

  What I was about to do could have long-reaching consequences that changed the world forever. Was it worth it to save one soul? It was a classic moral dilemma. Which soul was worth more, the soul of someone I knew and loved or millions of nameless, faceless souls that I was potentially about to put at risk?

  Everyone wanted to say they’d save the most people instead of making a personal decision when questions like that came up. After all, it was nobler to save one hundred strangers than just one person. When the problem was staring me in the face, however, it was impossible to envision the names and faces of one hundred strangers. It was impossible to care about one hundred people I didn’t know.

  It was easy to care about Emma. Maybe it was wrong and selfish but I wanted her back more than I wanted to save untold numbers of strangers. That realization made my skin prickle and my stomach lurched into my throat. Maybe I was a worse person than I thought.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tightened my grip on the staff in my hand until it shook. There was no way forward but to fulfill Persephone’s prophecy and free Fenrir. It was that or die. At least if I got out, I’d have a chance to make things right in the future.

  “What do I have to do?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  The blood of gods binds me. The blood of man can free me. The wolf shifted, nodding toward the place his chains disappeared into the rock face. Place it there and my fetters will wither to nothing. Then you shall have what you seek.

  I took a step toward the rockface.

  Jean’s nearly transparent form floated up to block my way. “Lazarus, what are you doing?”

  “Get out of my way, Jean.” I tried to step through him, but he was more solid in Helheim than he’d been on Earth.

  “If you do this, there will be no going back. You’ll be setting a Titan free on Earth!”

  “I know what I’m doing,” I growled and shoved him aside.

  The truth was, I knew what I was doing was probably a mistake. It was wrong, as wrong as breaking into a morgue to try and revive my dead sister, as wrong as choking the life out of Morningstar for what he’d done. I didn’t care. It should’ve scared me, how far I was willing to go for one soul. Instead, I felt numb.

  No one would ever call me a hero or a savior, but that was never going to happen anyway. I was a charlatan who used credit checks and social media to con clients out of twenty bucks. I stole cars, ate souls, and felt more at home in a cemetery than my own bed. Setting a Titan loose on Earth felt more like the inevitable culmination of all the bad I’d ever done than a choice. Every road led to this inescapable ending. Jean, for all his faults, would never understand. Emma wouldn’t either. That didn’t change what I had to do.

  I approached the chain and looked down at my hands. Without a knife, there was no easy way to draw blood, but I did have the key, and it had a sharp edge. I lifted it from around my neck and pressed the sharp edge to my palm, wincing as I drew it across the meat of my hand. Blood welled to the surface in a jagged line. The metal hissed when it met my skin and blood. Steam rose.

  Magic exploded in a concussive wave that knocked me from my feet. Hot, heavy wind swept through the pit, throwing ash and fire everywhere. I raised my arms over my face to shield my eyes.

  Fenrir let out a loud and mournful howl, the force of which threatened to rend the flesh from my bones. Rocks cracked and fell as the pit folded in on itself.

  And then there was nothing. Silence. The air was neither too cool nor too hot.

  I lowered my arms away from my face to find myself standing in a room with white floors, white ceilings, and white walls. A woman all in black stood directly in front of me, her face hidden behind a sheer black veil. In her fluffy, formal gown, she looked like someone had taken a bride on her wedding day and dipped her in a vat of black paint.

  Black gloved fingers lifted the veil to reveal a familiar face. Persephone. Her expression pinched as if she were in physical pain. “Lazarus? It’s you?”

  Chapter Five

  I pushed myself to my feet, avoiding eye contact. The way she was looking at me, she wasn’t angry or judgmental. She was disappointed. She’d thought better of me, and I’d let her down.

  Persephone pursed her lips. “Lazarus, what are you doing?”

  “I…” My throat was suddenly too tight to speak. I tried swallowing the tension. “I have to save her.”

  “Oh, Lazarus.” She reached out to place her hand on my cheek. Her fingers were cold. “Do you even know what you’ve done? What you’ve set in motion?”

  “Fenrir promised not to kill any humans.”

  “Yes, but he will kill gods. He will rampage through their ranks with any who will join him, and he will make sure they know it was you who freed him.”

  I leaned into her hand and closed my eyes. She
was right. If every god didn’t already want to kill me, they would now. I’d just signed their death warrants. Hell, it wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it. Most gods were dicks anyway. Maybe it was time for a restructuring of the hierarchy.

  “You don’t know that.” I sounded more tired than anything. “All you’ve got are broken visions and vague prophecies. Nobody knows what’s going to happen, not really.”

  Persephone sighed and withdrew her hand. “That’s true. Even your path is shrouded for me now. I can’t see where you will go, what you will do, or how to help you. It worries me.”

  I finally lifted my eyes to meet hers. “That’s never happened before?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about Emma? If I reach her in time, can I do it? Can I really bring her back?”

  Persephone waved a hand to her side and a green park bench appeared. “Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?” she asked as she sat.

  I nodded. “Orpheus was so in love with her, he braved the underworld to retrieve her shade, playing his lyre. Hades was so moved by his song of grief, he agreed to let Eurydice go—but only if Orpheus could walk out of the underworld without looking back. He almost made it but turned at the last second to see her, dooming her to be trapped in the underworld forever.”

  “You are no Orpheus.” Her shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh. “You stand no chance of charming Morningstar into letting her go. Even if you reach her in time, which will be difficult considering how few friends you have here, you must find some way of defeating Morningstar in his own realm where he is strongest. You couldn’t do it in the arena, even with help. Doing it alone in his home, surrounded by his legions of demons? Not to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s impossible.”

  “Archons can be killed. I saw it happen.”

  “You saw one Archon kill another,” she corrected, leaning back and crossing her legs. “Killing the host will make the Archon vulnerable, but they will always find another host. Drive him from the one he currently occupies, and he may decide to use Emma’s corpse, or you.”

  I squatted in front of her. “Tell me how to kill him.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t. As I said, it’s impossible. Abandon this fool’s errand, Lazarus. Go back to your life. Kiss your daughter. Mourn your lost love. Live.”

  It wasn’t impossible. There had to be a way. Either she didn’t know, or she just didn’t want to tell me, but there was a way. There had to be. I had seen fear in Morningstar’s eyes when we launched our attack. We were so close. Where had it all gone wrong?

  With me. I’d hesitated when he possessed Nikki, his new body and Darius’ sister. I hadn’t wanted to sacrifice a human life, so I’d pulled the spell at the last possible second. The dryad staff suddenly felt heavier in my hands. With it and the Rod of Aaron, I’d stood a chance but stopped and now I was paying the price.

  Sometimes, doing the right thing meant being the bad guy. I hadn’t understood it then, and I wasn’t ready to embrace it. Now I was. I understood why the Baron had chosen me. Being the Pale Horseman, or any Horseman for that matter, required getting your hands dirty. I had to be more like Haru, cold and calculating, and willing to do unspeakable things in the name of maintaining balance. I didn’t know if I could.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, standing. “I can’t do that. I can’t explain it, Persephone, but this feels right. I must do it, even if I don’t win. It’s who I am, who I’m meant to be.”

  “I’ve always respected that about you, Lazarus.” She uncrossed her legs and slapped her hands down, using the motion to push herself to her feet. “Well, if you won’t listen to reason, I can’t stop you. It’s time to show you to the first door.”

  Persephone snapped her fingers, and the white room sped by in a rush, another more colorful scene zooming into focus. Deep reds and amber yellows rushed by in strands of light. When we stopped, it was so sudden that I almost fell.

  I blinked at my reflection, which was staring back at me from the polished marble floor. Flickering torchlight made shadows dance, obscuring my features, but not well enough to hide the purple bruise on my jaw or the black eye. Hel must not have been as thorough in her healing as I thought. Spatters of blood covered my face and clothes, though I didn’t think it belonged to me. Maybe it was Fenrir’s.

  Decaying wooden pews sat on either side, some of them overturned. Thick cobwebs covered them like a funerary shroud. Singed hymnals sat in piles, their covers too burned to read. Broken lamps attached to rusted chains lay in puddles amidst broken colored glass. White particulate dust floated in through the open windows like snowflakes. They piled near a broken altar, upon which a stone cross rested.

  I glanced around for Persephone but found myself alone.

  “And on the pedestal, these words appear,” boomed a voice through the rotten cathedral. “‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’”

  A black man stepped out from behind the fallen cross. He was tall as a tree and thin as a rail, dressed in an old-fashioned coat with tails and carrying an elaborate cane made of cherrywood and finished with gold bands. He removed his top hat and tucked his cane under his arm as he made his way toward me.

  “‘Nothing beside remains,’” I finished. “Ozymandias. Percy Shelley. A poem all about the temporary nature of monuments. Kind of ironic, since we’re standing in a bastardized version of the oldest surviving church in New Orleans.”

  He stopped, let his cane tap the ground, and replaced his hat. “Ah, so you’re a scholar and a fool, or at least a well-read fool with some education in literary theory and local history.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  He extended a hand and grinned. “Baron LaCroix at your service. I must say, it is a pleasure to finally meet the infamous Pale Horseman in person.”

  “Likewise.” I shook his hand. His fingers were like ice. “Say, did you happen to see a giant wolf come through here?”

  He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Fenrir found his way.”

  I braced for LaCroix to shout at me or lecture me about the mistake I’d made, but instead, he turned and started for the front of the church. A minute later, he blew a layer of dust off an old piano I hadn’t noticed before. He opened the piano and started plucking at the keys.

  I frowned and put my hands in my pockets. “So, you’re not going to yell at me?”

  “Au contraire, mon ami. It was bound to happen eventually. Getting red-faced and angry is pointless. If one’s days are numbered, it is always best to enjoy whatever you can on the way out. For me, that’s the wonder of the piano.” His fingers finally found the right chord, and he smiled before launching into a tune. It was familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “Tell me, Lazarus, what’ll it be for you? When you draw your last breath, where would you like to be?”

  I wandered closer and found a pew that hadn’t decayed too badly to sit in. “I don’t know. Never given it much thought. Guess I’d like to go the same way every man does: at home in my bed with a beautiful woman, just before I get too old to get to the bathroom by myself.”

  “Amen to that, brother.” LaCroix’s white grin cut through the darkness.

  “Oh, that reminds me.” I pulled the cloth wrapped pound cake out, stood and placed it on the piano in front of him. “From Hel. She called it a peace offering.”

  “Mm-hmm, I do love a good pound cake! A good goddess, Hel. A little serious for my tastes. Death goddesses, man. Why they got to be so damn dark? I mean, I like a good tragedy every once in a while, but what can compare to the comedy that is life?”

  “Comedy?” I shrugged. “I guess so, from a certain point of view.”

  “From every point of view, my brother! Consider this. Who’s the most revered dead man in America?”

  I glanced around, my eyes settling on the overturned cross. “That depends on who you ask. I like to think it’s David Bowie.”

  “Last guy said Elvis. My, how the
times have changed!” He chuckled. “But my point is still the same. As awesome as Ziggy Stardust was in his time, he’s still dead. The mighty fall and lay with the weak, their bodies turned to the same dust and eaten by the same worms and ghouls. No matter how much wealth and power a man amasses, no matter what great performances he’s lauded for, who he loves or how, it don’t matter. In the end, the best a man can hope for is a nice rock to mark his passing. Like tally marks on a jail cell wall, man counts his days, worrying about the end. And when it gets there, he never sees it coming, does he?” LaCroix whistled a bar of music.

  I finally recognized the tune and smiled. “You’re a Monty Python fan?”

  “But of course. No better way to face mortality than with a smile and a sense of humor.” He played another minute before asking, “The key, did it give you much trouble?”

  The key suddenly felt heavier around my neck. I reached up and lifted the heavy chain over my head, considering the simple key. “Not much, I suppose. It could’ve been worse.”

  “That’s the spirit! Although I feel it’s my duty to inform you that it will, indeed, get much worse for you.”

  “Figures.” I sighed. “So, how’s this work?”

  He nodded toward the wall where a simple wooden door waited. “You put the key in the lock and turn it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  I studied Baron LaCroix. As much as I wanted to like him, experience had taught me to be wary of anyone too helpful. He was being rather pleasant, but maybe he was just that sort of guy. Still, he was a Loa. I couldn’t trust him any more than I could trust a god, no matter how nice he was.

  “You don’t have to trust me,” LaCroix informed me, picking at the keys. “But you do have to go through that door before sunrise if you want your body back. Of course, it don’t matter to me. Do what you want, forward or back. You just can’t stay here, friend.”

  I walked toward the door, carefully stepping over fallen debris.

  The key slid in and the lock turned without resistance. No monsters jumped out to grab me, and the doorknob didn’t burn my hand.