Hell's Pawn (38 page)

An angel stepped out of the co age, his beauty stopping J ohn in his tracks. His hair was auburn and barely reached his shoulders. His face was perfection: a strong brow with dark, delicately arching eyebrows and eyes like serene sapphires. Full lips carried the slightest touch of arrogance, his well-defined jaw flexing against his strong neck.

The chestnut wings spread wide, obscuring the door from view as the angel drew a flaming sword from his belt. His eyes lingered on J ohn, who stared stupidly back.

Deciding John was of little consequence, the angel turned his attention to the yard.

J ohn followed his gaze. Dante was still pinned beneath an angel, and B olo was being pursued by two more, wearing a look of glee as if this game had been invented for his amusement. R immon was the only one truly fighting. Three angels were on the ground around him, as he raised another above his head and threw it at an angel who was descending.

“Hello, Rimmon.”

The angel guarding the door had spoken, his voice soft, but the demon heard him regardless. R immon stepped out of the way of a new a acker, his eyes locking on the angel.

“Uriel,” he breathed.

A dozen angels dropped from the sky, but Uriel raised his hand and they withdrew.

R immon marched toward J ohn, showing no signs of stopping, so J ohn stepped out of the way and watched, fascinated, as R immon wrapped his arms around Uriel and kissed him deeply. They were smiling when they pulled apart, faces beaming as they examined each other, eyes hungry.

S eeing their impossible beauty together, J ohn knew this was the person to whom R immon belonged. He saw before him an immaculate union. They were crafted, quite possibly by the being in this very co age, to be together. To try to step between them would be wrong, and rather than feel any sense of loss, J ohn felt honored to witness such perfect happiness.

Uriel shoved Rimmon away and pointed the flaming sword at his throat.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t
that
perfect.

“Imposter!” Uriel snarled. “You are not my lover!”

Rimmon was pained. “How could you say that?”

From his crimson robe, Uriel pulled free a necklace. Hanging from it was a small, single horn that looked exactly like those on Rimmon’s head.

“He gave this to me,” Uriel said, “and yet you have two horns. W hat is your excuse, imposter, that Rimmon would hide his love in shame?”

“Did I feel like an imposter when I kissed you?” R immon pushed the flaming blade aside and stepped close to the angel, whispering something in his ear. Uriel’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing again.

“And why should I believe such a ludicrous claim?”

R immon smirked and began to sing, his serenade just as haunting in day as it had been at night. Uriel’s face softened before he joined in with his own melody. His voice was a gentle angelic choir, the purity of light, that soothed as much as R immon’s song stirred. The two voices that sounded like many met and harmonized, blending together seamlessly, the beauty of the sun complementing shadow.

“I heard you,” Uriel said when they had finished their song. “E very time you thought of me and sang, your voice was carried to me by the grace of His will.”

“But you did not answer.”

“I wanted to,” Uriel promised. “M y anger at you faded long ago, but by then the Ministers had come, and I could no longer leave His side.”

“We must speak with Him,” Rimmon said.

“Are you certain?”

As R immon nodded, one of the angels cried out in alarm. An army had been seen on the horizon, one very familiar to John since he had helped raise it.

“R eturn to formation,” Uriel commanded, eyes fierce as he turned back to R immon.

“I must do my job, as you have always done yours.”

There was uncomfortable emphasis on these words, reminding J ohn that R immon’s profession was still a point of contention between the two. Uriel took to the sky, leading a formation of angels to battle.

R immon watched him go with concern. “L et’s end this quickly, before anyone gets hurt.”

J ohn nodded and placed his hand on the door, anything but ready to meet G od face to face.

Chapter Eighteen

The fireplace in the corner crackled and spit. A bundle of fragrant pine needles had been tossed onto the fire, filling the co age with an earthy, comfortable scent. An old man with wild eyebrows, a long beard, and mane of white hair slumped contentedly in a chair upholstered with fabric so worn that stuffing stuck out of the arms. The fire was reflected in his eyes as he watched it, his face serene until panic crossed his features and he hopped to his feet.

“I forgot to make tea!” he declared.

“Then why is there a cup beside your chair?” asked another old man from behind a book. He hardly had any hair at all, but his cheeks were warm and red.

“He means for the arriving guests,” another elderly man answered. His skin was dark and wrinkled, his eyes stern as he pondered the chess pieces before him. “I f they wanted tea, you would have made it already. W hen have you ever go en it wrong? O r I, for that matter.”

“M ore than once,” mumbled a younger man. He stroked his short brown beard worriedly as he peered out the window.

“Well I made cookies to go with the tea,” the white-bearded man said. “Not enough for the armies though. Do you think that’s rude of me?”

“C onsidering that they are here to kill us,” said the chess player’s opponent, who positively glowed with light, “I hardly think they are expecting tea or cookies.”

“I always liked giving them the unexpected,” the book reader said.

“At least I made enough for the first three guests.”

“When do they get here?” the younger man asked.

“Right about now,” every voice in the room said in unison.

* * * * *

J ohn stepped into the co age to find half a dozen faces staring at him. As with the other gods, he knew their names and natures instinctively. Allah was playing chess with the Holy S pirit. J ehovah was si ing up in bed and reading a book while J esus was waiting by the window. Directly in front of them Yahweh was holding a tray laden with a humble tea service. Each paused in their activity to regard John and his friends.

John licked his lips and swallowed before asking his question.

“Are you God?”

“Yes,” they all answered.

“Close the door, would you please?” The Holy Spirit said.

“Tea?” Yahweh offered. “Or perhaps a cookie?”

J ohn fought back a smile. He liked all of these gods instantly, and felt like he was meeting a father, an old friend, and a complete stranger all at once. B olo must have shared his sentiment because he hopped onto the bed with J ehovah and se led down for a nap, his head resting on the old god’s leg.

“There’s an army at your door,” J ohn said, forcing himself to look away from the inviting scene.

“It’s your army, isn’t it?” Allah said pointedly. “Tell them to go away.”

“Don’t tease the boy,” the Holy Sprit chuckled.

“There’s time for us to talk,” J esus said. “Time enough for us to do what is necessary.”

“No tea, then?” Yahweh asked again. “Very well.” The tray and service disappeared.

“Let us get down to business. It would be best if John hears it from someone he trusts.”

“Me?” Dante said. “What do I know?”

“I think he means me,” R immon said, turning to J ohn. “G o on then, hit me with your usual barrage of questions.”

John didn’t need to be asked twice. “These are all aspects of God?”

“Yes.”

“And we were expected?”

“More or less.”

“We hoped you would come,” J esus said. “B ut few things in life, or death, are certain.”

“I was certain,” Allah said.

“And the army outside,” John said, “they aren’t really a threat?”

“I imagine they are,” R immon said, “but we hope to defuse the situation with your help. B efore you narrow your eyes any further, I never deceived you, J ohn. I was only ever there to help you, never to manipulate you. I stood by and let you make your own choices, and my instructions were not to hinder you if you decided to act of your own accord.”

“I trust you,” J ohn said, but his mind was already spinning. I t seemed to J ohn that G od wanted him to come here, and yet his actions had resulted in the army waiting outside the cottage. How could he be both the problem and the solution?

“O ne must think many steps ahead,” Allah said. “B ut you haven’t been given all of the pieces. Let him unpack.”

“Unpack?”

“I believe Dante would be the best one to show you,” Yahweh said.

Dante crossed his arms. “Again, what do I know?”

“It’s not what you know, it’s what you have stolen,” Jehovah said.

“You’re going to have to be much more specific than that,” Dante snorted before he could catch himself. He squirmed under the combined gaze of the deities. “O h, fine. I knew it was special the moment I laid my hands on it.”

From out of his jacket he pulled a crown, glistening with jewels. J ohn recognized it as the crown Dante had stolen from the G reeks. He handed it to Yahweh, who placed it on the floor and spoke.

“We gods have always delighted in disguising ourselves. A swan, a burning bush, or a humble beggar. That’s always a popular one, but we needed to be even more subtle this time. Not that our colleague here shares our definition of that.” The crown slowly rose into the air, pushed from below by hair and soon after a head. The effect was like watching a man being poured from a bowl. The process continued until Z eus stood before them, white hair bristling with electricity. The missing leader of the G reek gods adjusted his toga, glared at Dante, and wordlessly walked to the window.

“You stole something everywhere we went?” John asked accusingly.

Dante held up his hands innocently. “If I was supposed to, then we’re screwed.”

“The rest is up to J ohn and his stowaways,” Yahweh replied. “The lead deities were quite clever about ge ing here. B y travelling with J ohn, who is unique, they avoided detection from the Ministers. Hold out your hand, John.” J ohn held out his right hand, and as he did so the splinter there stung. He had nearly forgo en about it, how he had placed his hands on Danu’s chair in the C eltic realm. The pain from his finger disappeared as the splinter left. I t spun in the air, growing in size and changing, one moment the size of a plank, the next the shape of a woman. S he initially appeared to be made of wood, before her features colorized and softened.

Danu wore a practical emerald-green robe and a belt with a number of items hanging from it. Her red hair held just a hint of gray, and the light lines around her eyes and mouth spoke of amused wisdom. S he turned, regarding the rest of the gods in the room.

“You really must get in touch with your feminine side,” she said.

“That has always been a shortcoming of mine,” Yahweh said, “which is why we are so glad to have you join us.”

Danu took a seat on the bed’s edge. “Any guesses as to what is next, John?”

“M y sunburn!” J ohn exclaimed. “I knew it was R a I saw in the underworld, and it never left completely.”

The skin of his neck flared in pain, and with it came a light so bright he was forced to close his eyes. W hen he opened them again, R a was standing in the room. He had the head of a noble falcon, and was clad in a simple white skirt. His upper torso was bare, the muscles of his dark chest impressive.

“I hope the pain I caused you has since fled from your memory,” R a said, his voice deep. “You have done all of us a great service.”

“Yes, at least he didn’t steal you,” Zeus growled as Ra joined him.

“E xamine your right hand, J ohn,” Yahweh said. “I am especially proud of how subtly Odin chose to travel with you.”

J ohn turned his hand over a few times. I t looked as it always did, except for his fingernails being a bit dirty. They had been ever since he had touched the ground in the Norse realm, happy to see nature again for the first time since his supposed death.

As J ohn watched, the dirt spilled from his fingers, grain by grain, until the air was filled with much more than his nails could have carried. The soil swirled in front of them, becoming a solid brown traveling cloak.

O din wore a floppy hat that dipped low over one eye, almost obscuring its absence.

His white beard was speckled with gray, and a number of ba le scars crisscrossed his face. A line of runes was carved into the simple walking stick he carried.

“They’re coming,” Odin said.

“He’s right,” Zeus confirmed. “Just in time, too.”

J ohn rushed to the window. The scene outside was chaos. His army of gods and demons had broken rank and were rushing the co age. Angels a acked them from all sides, landing in front and behind while even more a acked from above. The angels had a tactical advantage, but the powers of the gods were mighty. Flames rose from the ground to sear any angel who came too low, and storms were brewing above that would soon make being in the air a liability.

“You have to get out there and stop them,” John said. “You’re their leaders!”

“Watch,” Ra said, nodding to the window.

From further afield came a new army, rows and rows of glass men, all in perfect formation. They marched in precise rhythm toward the co age, but the ba ling armies hadn’t seen them yet. Then an angel sparing with a demon did see them, alerting his combatant to the new threat. They ceased fighting each other to turn on this new foe, launching themselves at the front line.

O ne of the terraco a soldiers—J ohn was certain it was Yi Yi— cried out in a loud and clear voice, a racting the a ention of both good armies. S oon they had all turned and merged together, the ba alion of angels, demons, and pagan gods becoming one.

The M inisters of O rder had numbers on their side, but they were uniform, predictable drones. The combined army they faced was wild, creatures from the entire history of man and religion, each with its own strange and wondrous abilities.

“The Ministers don’t stand a chance,” Zeus said, echoing John’s thoughts.

“R egardless,” R a said, “I think the reappearance of their leaders will drive them to an even swifter victory.”