Thanatos

by Carmen Kern

  “You think they’re going to try and pin Helle’s death on me?” Hera asked, her usual cockiness simmering on low.

  “There’s a good chance. Thanatos wanted all eyes on us. That was the point of his TV interview.” Zeus sighed and took another sniff of bourbon. “And now this.”

  Hera swirled her drink, the ice clinking against the crystal. “I didn’t think he had this in him. The calculated planning, the sheer deception…I’m impressed.”

  “I underestimated him. We all did. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

  “Oh, don’t get all Freudian about this. His momma and his family…don’t buy into that oxshit.” Hera’s eyes flashed. “This is pure revenge. On us. On Hades. On Persephone—”

  “You didn’t choke on her name that time.” Zeus held up his glass in mock cheers. “I’d call that progress.”

  “Don’t read into it,” Hera snarked. “Thanatos has been a necessity for our worlds…an essential worker, nothing more. He wants notoriety. That’s what this is about.” Hera downed her drink. “Most humans think Hades is the god of death. Thanatos doesn’t even own his own title except in our circle of immortals. And now he’s taking us out one by one because we hurt his feelings.”

  A sudden raucous noise filtered in from the front street. The gods continued to sip their drinks in the dimly lit room, ignoring the outside world for as long as they could.

  Hera set her glass down and wrapped her sweater tighter around her body. “Did you ever think we’d feel this tired?” This was the closest to a real conversation the husband and wife had had in a decade or more.

  Zeus pulled at an imaginary thread on his pants. “No.” He looked up at Hera in a moment of unveiled honesty. Blackened, charred clouds the color of burned flesh filled his eyes, as if his mind, his essence was swallowed up by it, closing over him with the finality of a coffin lid closing. “There are many things I never thought we’d feel or do or lose…I dream of Olympus, you know that? I never used to dream. Not until we had to make a life here, with the humans—with those who are beneath us. Only they aren’t, are they?”

  Hera tapped her thick gold wedding band on the lacquered desk. “You know they are. They always will be. We changed zip codes, that’s all. Gods are always gods. But some of us are dead, and the killer is still out there. Tired or not, we’ve got to find Thanatos. It seems Hades is doing a piss poor job of that.”

  Zeus ran his hand over his trim beard, thinking. “I’ll call Poseidon, let him know about Helle. And then we find out where everyone’s at.” Sighing, he said, “When we find Thanatos, I’m going to rip him apart, feather by feather.”

  “There’s a poultry recipe I’ve been dying to try. I was saving it for a special occasion—perhaps a party,” Hera said, her smile radiant.

  “You have a deviant mind, my love.” Zeus grinned. “Roasted death. I like the sound of that.”

  SIXTEEN

  Hades had drifted in and out of a drugged haze as Arle and Kush led him through more tunnels, this time, to meet their rebel friends.

  The room held many men and women, scarred and grotesque and strangely beautiful. Through the blur of introductions, a wave of admiration enveloped the god and leveled out his herbal high, that is, until the red-haired, waist-high healer they called Reshawna cleaned and sewed his wounds with thread and needle. His skin itched under clean bandages. The raw edges of his puckered skin began to burn, and a strange heaviness seemed to weigh in his bones. The drug haze disappeared along with the wave of adoration from the rebels.

  That was almost two hours and six miles ago.

  The ragtag group of characters followed the sewers of Necromourn until they reached a culvert that dumped into the river with no end, the mighty Scorchberg. They had made their way through tunnels and forgotten mechanical rooms beneath the city. They ducked under huge pipes, crouched, and walked for long periods, climbing short ladders that led to yet more tunnels. They tried to avoid climbing when they could.

  Stiff and weak, Hades slowed them down as they navigated narrow ledges that ran alongside rushing waters and broken grating that gaped like open mouths. Arle and Kush helped him when they could. But finally, they had made it undiscovered to the river that bordered the city.

  With effort, Hades took a drink of water Arle offered him. “We’ve got a ways to go yet. When we get to the dump, we’ll rest and have something to eat.” His wooden face seemed softer in the light of day. More human.

  “I’ll make it.” Hades handed the canteen back to Arle.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Lead the way,” Hades said, stretching his back, being careful not to pull out Reshawna’s stitches.

  The others fanned out, some ahead of Hades and some behind with guns in hand. The path began to climb steadily from the riverbank. Hades’s breathing turned ragged, but he trudged on, one foot in front of the other, around wild scrub brush, over baked earth cracked from a drought that had left most of the brush and trees bare and charred—not unlike certain sectors of the Underworld. They walked from mid-morning until the sun was on its way down before they saw blocks of compressed garbage and mounds of sliding garbage. The waste seemed to have a life of its own, growing great limbs made of junk.

  They filed through a wide break in a chain-link fence and followed a road that ran between mounds and towers of teetering litter. After so many days living in the sewers, Hades barely noticed the stench.

  “Tire ruts?” Hades turned to Kush who walked beside him. “You have vehicles here?”

  “Many who live in the Badlands use this place like the animals of your world use watering holes. We meet here for a variety of reasons. One of them is to trade and for gathering supplies from the castoffs of those who live in Necromourn. We build transportation here…hire characters who are mechanics, engineers, and welders.”

  The sun brushed the tops of the tallest garbage towers, the slag on the ground seemed varnished with pink light. The air was hazy and hot, and strange flies with iridescent wings buzzed around their faces.

  Hades swatted at them again and again, wishing he had the power to command them to drop dead. His body burned and shivered at the same time, but he kept his feet moving, afraid that if he stopped, he wouldn’t move again.

  Arle slowed his stride to keep pace with Hades. “Up ahead is a shelter, a place to rest and eat. Looks like you could use it.”

  Hades nodded mutely as they rounded a mountainous tower of garbage so precarious it seemed it would blow over in a gentle breeze. True to Arle’s word, they came upon a tent city of sorts, canvas sails stretched out in all angles, overlapping each other, hooked together with cables and carabiners. Beneath the canopy were spaces separated by boxes, metal panels, solar panels and machinery parts.

  Other beings, some mechanical in nature, hunched over makeshift benches and lifts, tinkering with engines, gear boxes, computer parts and creations so outrageous, Hades wondered how they could work at all. Other characters roamed the narrow pathways between the makeshift stalls, stomping, delivering parts, and arguing. Strange creatures brought together out of a necessity to survive, though it was evident that not all of them liked each other.

  While the group strolled through the labyrinth of stalls, a fistfight broke out beside them. A mess of parts and pieces and grease were knocked over. crash! pop! pow! The sound words were spelled out in thick letters above the fighters. Hades walked past with the rest of his group, none of them stopping to help. Disagreements sorted themselves out in a place like this, even if they left a bloody mess.

  The ever-lingering dung smell was cut with paprika and cooked meat. Hades’s mouth watered at the thought of food. He stumbled, his body weak with hunger and loss of blood. “So this is what it feels like to be mortal,” he mumbled, almost running into the goat-man creature who had stopped ahead of him.

  Kush took Hades’s elbow and said, “Let’s find a table where you can sit while I get us food.”

  Ha
des didn’t argue. The ground softened under his feet, sucking him in, the air, the sky, the sails above weighed him down until he could barely move. Kush led him through the lineup of people waiting their turn at a buffet table.

  Arle was already ahead of them, dumping his large pack beside a giant wood spool once wound with thick cables. They pulled up wooden crates painted in bright colors to use as chairs. Hades slumped down on the one Arle offered him, resting his head in his arms on top of the spool table. Arle stood beside him. “Take off your pack. We’ll rest here for a while.”

  “I can’t move,” Hades said into the table.

  “Yes, you can.” Arle took the weight of Hades’s pack in his wooden fist. “Drop your arms, I’ll slide it off.”

  Hades didn’t remember moving, but he must have. The pack weight was gone, and a gentle breeze cooled the sweat on his back. He dozed off, head resting on his folded arms. All too soon, Kush slapped a metal tray down beside him. Startled, he rolled his head onto one arm and lay face-to-face with a steaming pile of meat, potatoes, and cool crisp greens drizzled with a white creamy dressing. The smells of the dump were erased by the almost magical appearance of a home-cooked meal.

  Arle straddled a crate to Hades’s left, setting down three full mugs of water. “If you finish this, I’ll bring you a pint of ale. Chef likes to experiment with his homemade brews. Ain’t had a bad one yet.” He shoved a mug to Hades and one to his brother while he drank and drank out of his own. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, water bursting over the top of the mug and down his wooden face.

  The Underworld claimed many strange beings, but never had he seen a wooden man drink or eat. The doll-like mouth chomped up and down with mechanical precision. He thought of Thanatos creating these living, breathing beings to star in his nightmare stories. A small surge of power, god adrenaline, flowed through him, enough of a boost that he pulled the tray of food over and began to eat.

  Others had joined them at the spool table, yet Hades hadn’t noticed. He shoveled the food in with a spoon and his fingers, ripping meat with his teeth, chasing it with buttery whipped potatoes. He was ravenous, as if his last meal were a lifetime ago.

  The others exchanged glances, nudged each other, and watched the god eat his fill. Sometime later, he looked up to six pairs of eyes staring at him. He belched.

  The men and Reshawna laughed. It was a melodious sound, like tinkling bells and trumpeting horns—it was the sound of spontaneous joy. Hades had almost forgotten what that sounded like. He grinned.

  “You want some ale now?” Arle asked him. “And there’s dessert too.”

  Reshawna pointed her fork at the god and said, “I highly recommend the berry crumble in cream. Get Kush to sprinkle some of his herbal drugs on top and you’ll have all the good feels you can feel.” She took a bite from her own bowl. “In case you didn’t get my meaning, you’ll be flying in the nicest way possible. Doctor’s orders.”

  Hades looked down at his empty mug. He hadn’t remembered drinking the water. “Drugs, ale, and food so good it could be in a fine dining restaurant…all we need is sex and rock and roll, and I’d say I stumbled into Elysium.”

  “Ain’t no such thing here,” Kush said. He pulled out a bundle wrapped in animal skin, unrolling it flat on the table. Several vials of powders poked their caps out of leather pockets. He pulled one out, shook it, and set it in front of Hades. “Not in a world made of nightmares.”

  Arle left the table carrying both their mugs.

  Hades scanned the rest of the tables and beyond, to the nearby workstations. “All these characters, are they working outside of Thanatos’s stories? Free will and all that?”

  “Most of us are outcasts,” Reshawna answered, her dessert plate cleaned off. “Forgotten sidekicks, or in some cases, a hero or villain character that didn’t gain traction as a series. Thanatos is a creator, but he’s out to make money. If a series can’t find an audience, he tosses it and starts another. Sometimes he remembers to kill us off but mostly we’re left to our own devices, and we’re stuck with the skills the creator gave us. Sounds good in theory, but this world wasn’t made for our kind. There isn’t much to scavenge. Some journey to the edges of the world to be alone in their nightmare—they can’t die, but they can go insane.” She tossed her long braid back over her shoulder. “Mal, here”—she nudged her neighbor, a slim, treeish being with knots for its eyes and mouth—“lost her brother that way.”

  Mal shook her bushy-haired head. “Twelve years gone. Not dead, though. Our creator has no room for that.” Her voice was flat, one dimensional.

  “So all of these people are part of your army?” Hades made air quotes with his dirty fingers.

  “A few of them. Most have no love for Thanatos, but they won’t fight against him. They tinker with their inventions and have enough to eat and drink and copulate if they’re lucky—”

  “Copulate?” Hades chuckled.

  Everyone around the table stared at him in silence.

  “I haven’t heard that word in a decade or three. My apologies.” He always did find political correctness tiring and somewhat of a bore.

  Arle made his way back to the table with dessert and ale.

  “Good timing.” Hades took the bowl from Arle’s hand.

  “You just need to add a little packet of icing, as per your doc’s orders,” Arle said, pointing to the vial on the table in front of Hades.

  “As I was saying,” Reshawna said, a hint of impatience coloring her voice, “they make a hodgepodge life, and they don’t want to jeopardize it, such as it is. We’ll take a few of these beings with us to the compound. The rest of our group are waiting for us there.”

  Hades opened the corked vial with his teeth and dumped the powder it into his bowl. He finished half of the berry crumble in the matter of a minute. Persephone would tell him to slow down, to enjoy the moment, the flavors, the company. There were times in the Underworld, when day after day was filled torturing the newly dead, and the thrill of it had disappeared from sheer monotony…that was when Pers would remind him to savor every moment. He searched his crusty pockets for her hound’s tooth necklace but found nothing.

  “Hades.” Arle snapped his wooden fingers. “Are you still with us?”

  Hades sighed. “Where else would I be?”

  “Good. There’s a latrine over there if you need it.” Arle jabbed his thumb to an outhouse with multiple doors. “We’re leaving as soon as we gather a few supplies and the rest of our people.”

  Reshawna stood and collected the empty bowls from the table. “I’ll check your wound and change the bandage while the others do their thing. I’ll be right back.” She left to take the dishes to a rack laden with dirty plates.

  “How are you feeling?” Kush asked, pulling a thick jacket from his pack. The sun had disappeared. Lanterns and solar lights blinked on while darkening shadows grew under the canopy of sails.

  Hades considered his question. “Pretty damn good, considering. Flames, you are a magician.”

  “Good to hear. I thought we were going to have to carry you on the way here. You went green, and then a pasty pale color. That ain’t right. You’re looking better. Like bronzed metal. You supposed to be that way?” Kush put on his goose-down jacket.

  “Never thought about it like that, but yeah, I guess so.” Hades held out his arms, contemplating the color, his tattoos, the rings on his fingers. His silver skull grinned at him.

  “I don’t want to jinx anything by saying it out loud, but maybe you’re healing up.”

  Reshawna came up behind Kush and said, “Let’s hope he is. I hate wasting my time.” She collected her first-aid bag and pulled up a crate beside Hades.

  “I’ve got a few things to do. I’ll see you in a bit,” Kush said and made his way to the latrine.

  Hades watched him go.

  Reshawna stepped up onto the crate she’d been sitting on. “Can you raise your arm?” she asked w
hile raising the bottom of Hades’s T-shirt. The tape from the gauze pads had folded and stuck to the fabric. She peeled the tape off slowly. “Are you still with me?”

  “I’m good. Can’t feel much of anything. Kush should export those drugs off-world, he’d make a fortune.”

  “None of us can leave here. Some have tried.” Reshawna tugged on the bandage where the blood had dried. “Okay, looks good so far.” She touched the skin around his stitches, pressing the flesh, checking the color under the lantern light. “Rumor has it that two made it out to the connecting points between worlds. They died when they broke the plane.” She cut a strip of tape, stuck one end on the table, and did it another three times. “Others tried to find those points…they wanted to die.”

  “You’d think the god of death would be better at letting people die.” Hades winced as she smoothed the bandage over his rib.

  “Not as tender as before, are they?” She looked up at him.

  “Yeah. Everything feels bruised, but better. Could be the drugs talking.”

  “It could, but let’s go with it.” She unrolled a plastic wrap and cut it to fit the gauze pad. “The god of death…he takes pleasure… Wait, no, I feel pleasure isn’t the right word… delights in his killing. It is his art. He studies anatomy, experiments on his characters to see how long they will live while taking them apart piece by piece, prolonging their pain. Physically or mentally. If you’ve read his comics, you know. He has found wondrous ways to prolong a being’s suffering.”

  “I thought that was my gig,” Hades said, watching her stretch the wrap over the rest of her handiwork.

  “You can put your arm down. I’m done.” She collected the bandage scraps into a pile and put the rest of her supplies away. “Here’s the way I see it: Your thing is tormenting and torturing those who deserve it. The rest of your charges are left alone to exist in their own flavor of afterlife.” She snapped up her first-aid kit and patted the cross on the front of the canvas. “Am I right?”