They came upon one of the drinking establishments. Ana wasn’t sure if you would call it a bar or saloon or what; the sign simply had a picture of a black drink. Several dozen souls lay about the front, most against the wall, a few lying right out in the street. A woman came stumbling out of the door, nude, missing an arm, her eyes blank as she stared skyward, smiling.
“Why don’t they just drown themselves and get it over with?” Chet asked.
“I think,” Mary said, “that even in this life within death, there is a part of them that can’t let go. The drink makes it easier, taking their memories away in small pieces. The sad thing is . . . many lose too much of themselves to the black water, and forget why they even came here. They end up wandering out into the canyons to be eaten or just fading away in one of the alleys or nearby caves.”
Ana smelled the river, inhaled the moist air, felt a sense of calm steal over her. The children smelled it too. They quieted. It was as though they knew, or at least sensed, what this place was.
They passed a terrace that overlooked the river below. A small fountain stood at its center surrounded by white, polished standing stones. Piles of clothes, weapons, coins, lay around the fountain. Even as they passed, a soul was stripping down, folding his clothes and stacking them atop the others.
“There,” Veles said, not hiding his contempt. “That is why Horkos has such wealth. He’s convinced these fools that leaving him all they possess will please the river gods.”
“Sounds about like every other church I’ve ever heard of,” Ana said.
The street leveled off, running along the river. Torches lit up the fog, illuminating the surrounding statues, arches, and terraces.
“Temple Lethe,” Mary said.
A domed structure loomed out of the gloom ahead of them. It sat on an island of white stone; a single bridge led over to an arched entrance. A handful of souls meandered across the bridge, and many more leaned over its railing, staring down into the dark water. As they neared, Ana noticed several pools around the temple. The pools were composed of rings of steps leading into the depths. Souls sat on the steps, some wading into the pools, others adrift, drinking in the water as they floated out into the river.
Ana watched a woman sink beneath the water with a blissful smile upon her face. Ana understood everything about that smile. It’ll all be over soon, she thought. Never have to hear my son screaming . . . not ever again.
The woman disappeared. No arms took her, no tormented faces; she just sank slowly away, that peaceful smile never leaving her face.
“It’s not at all like Styx then?” Ana asked
“Oh, no,” Mary answered. “Though Styx too offers an end. Only the soul is purified first. Or at least that is what they say.”
Veles nodded. “It’s true, after about a century of torment, Styx releases what she claims.”
Ana shuddered.
They rolled the carts and children across the bridge, entered the rotunda. Souls lay everywhere, the voices of the children bringing many out of their stupor, staring at the infants with dazed confused faces.
The sisters began unloading the infants, carrying them down the steps, through the short archway, and out into the courtyard between the pools.
The Red Lady stooped, entered the chamber. She looked up at the statue, swaying, as though she might collapse at any moment.
“Sekhmet,” Mary said. “Come, time for a rest.” She put a hand on the sphinx’s shoulder and led her down the steps into the corridor leading to the pools. Veles, aided by two sisters, followed, as did Chet and Ana—none noticing the man with the thick handlebar mustache hiding within the shadows.
CHAPTER 72
Ana walked to the edge of the pool—the pool being a series of submerged steps leading out into the currents of the river—and watched as Isabel handed one of the infants to Mary. Mary, one step at a time, waded into the calm water until she was chest deep, then gently lowered the infant into the river.
Ana was surprised that the child didn’t thrash and cry out, but instead appeared calm. Mary cradled it and whispered into its ear, the gem set in her head glowing a soft green. The child smiled. Mary placed a kiss upon its head and let it go. The infant slowly sank away, its face showing no alarm, no fear, but serenity, the face of a child falling asleep.
The sisters worked in silence, handing the infants one by one down the steps to Mary. She repeated the ritual with each one, taking her time, cradling and kissing each child as though they were her own, before setting them adrift.
The scene was almost more than Ana could bear. But what else is there for them? she wondered, trying to imagine what it must be like for them, lost, confused. An eternity of being alone. She shuddered and told herself that it was a mercy. What she saw on each face was peace, as though the river were the arms of the mothers and fathers these innocent souls most desired.
Ana stepped into the water. She still held the child, clutching it to her bosom as though she’d never let it go. I’m dead, she reminded herself and took another step, and another; the water felt warm, comforting. We’re all dead. She was up to her waist now, staring into the river. The river made no judgment; all were welcome. She’d wanting nothing but this since the fire, an end, a true end, yet here, upon the brink, she hesitated. Why?
Someone was beside her. It was Mary; she seemed to read her thoughts. “There’s no return. Never another chance to make it right.”
Make it right? Ana thought. My son is dead . . . because of me. How can I ever make that right?
The child reached for the water, patting it, making small splashes. Ana knew it was time for both of them. Fighting back tears she held the child out to Mary.
Mary shook her head. “It’s you she trusts. You should be the one to give her to Lethe.”
Ana looked into the child’s eyes, nodded. She took another step down and she was up to her chest, the water feeling like a warm blanket wrapping itself around her and the child. The infant let out a small cooing sound. Ana hesitated. There’s nothing here for her, nothing. Not for her, not for me. It is time, little one . . . time for us to go.
She released the child, letting her slip beneath the water. The child held on to her hand, looking up into Ana’s eyes, her little face peaceful. She gave Ana a tiny smile, a smile that said more than words ever could, then let go, just slipped away, disappearing into the gentle currents, her smile never wavering.
Ana found herself smiling and this confused her. What right did she have to smile, to feel good about anything? But she did and she knew why: because no matter how hard her mind worked to twist things, to punish her, her heart knew what she’d done. She’d saved this child from untold misery, possibly even an eternity of torment.
Ana closed her own eyes, preparing herself for that last step.
“Forgive yourself first,” Mary said.
“No,” Ana replied. “I can’t.”
“You can. One child at a time.”
“What?”
“There are more innocents out there. They need you.”
“But there’re so many.”
“There will never be an end to suffering. You do what you can, only what you can. Peace comes from knowing you helped those that you could.”
Ana glanced back at the bank, at the empty carts. How many more are waiting for someone to care? And she thought then of her own child. What if he’d ended up down here? Crying for me. Waiting for all eternity for me? The thought brought tears to her eyes. Would I want someone to take him to Lethe? Of course. She took a step back, then another. “Maybe,” she said, whispering to the water. “Maybe after a few more children, a dozen, maybe a hundred, a thousand . . . maybe then I’ll have earned the right to leave it all behind.” But she thought maybe she’d already started down that road, because for the first time since the fire, she didn’t feel consumed with self-loathing.
Mary was there, arms open. Ana stepped to her and was enfolded in her embrace. Ana began to sob.
?
??You’re not alone, child,” Mary said. “Yours is a road we all travel.”
CHAPTER 73
Could he really be a Moran? Gavin peered down upon Chet from the second-story window. Sure looks like a Moran. Who is he then? My grandson? No, couldn’t be. ’Cause that would mean Lamia lived . . . and that bitch is dead. He scanned the courtyard, searching for a way to get to the boy. The infants were all gone to the river and the last two women left the pools. One of them, the young woman with short hair, went to Chet. They embraced, holding back as the others followed the Red Lady toward the temple.
Gavin glanced down to the chamber floor and spotted Carlos smothering the torch nearest the corridor, then slipping into position next to the archway. The long corridor made the perfect trap; there was no other way off the island, nowhere to run or hide.
The Colonel slid up to the opposite side of the archway, spear in hand, ready. The others too, the Colonel’s men and Carlos’s Defenders, all withdrew their weapons and began moving up. A few souls began to notice, their faces confused.
The Red Lady staggered along looking haggard and exhausted. Christ, Gavin thought, drawing his own guns. We could probably take her with just the spear.
Gavin lost sight of Veles and the Lady as they, along with the sisters, entered the corridor. A moment later the echoes of their footsteps preceded them into the chamber, louder and louder as they approached, then the cast of the Red Lady’s large shadow upon the three wide steps. Veles, leading the way, walked up the steps and into the chamber. He was talking over his shoulder, so he didn’t see Carlos standing with the demon weapon pointed at them, a nasty smile upon his face.
“Boo,” Carlos said, giving them just enough time to see him, to register what was about to befall them, then pulled the trigger.
There came a flash as the flint struck the pan, followed by an enormous explosion. The blast kicked Carlos to the ground, the shot tearing into the Red Lady, into Veles and the sisters, knocking them back down the short steps into a heap of torn flesh and screams.
CHAPTER 74
The concussion thundered from the chamber, echoing down the river, followed by musket fire, smoke, screams, and shouting. Chet and Ana instinctively ducked down.
It’s happening again, Chet thought, horrified. How can it be happening again? The gunfire all seemed to be coming from the temple. He glanced about seeking escape, but they were on an island. He started for the bank, intent on swimming for the shore, stopped, looking at the dark waters, realizing he had no idea if the river would claim them if they tried to cross. He decided their best chance lay with the boulders clustered about the base of the temple. “C’mon!” he cried, yanking Ana to her feet. They dashed for the rocks.
There was more musket fire, random blasts. Smoke billowed out of the archway and several of the sisters—about twenty of them—came stumbling out. Chet spotted Mary, her leg injured, being helped along by a women.
Several pops from above; men shooting from the windows. Flesh and limbs exploded, women dropping, falling onto the ground and into the pools. Others scattered, seeking cover. The women helping Mary was hit and collapsed. Mary fell to one knee.
“Hell!” Chet cried, dashing out. He grabbed Mary, dragging her back behind the rocks. Shards of stone exploded around them.
“We can’t stay here!” Ana shouted.
Chet spotted several windows and balconies along the low wall that led around to the towers on the back side of the temple. He saw no raiders positioned there. Chet put an arm around Mary. “We have to get over to the wall. Can you do it?” Mary’s leg was torn open below the knee, the pain visible on her face, but she nodded. Ana took Mary’s other arm and they hefted her to her feet.
“One,” Chet counted, “two, three.” The three of them dashed for the stoneworks, a few musket balls kicking up dirt around them as they ran. They dove, tumbling, ending up behind a row of large cut stones at the base of the wall. They headed down the wall until they were just below a balcony. Chet climbed up the first stone and reached back to take Mary’s hand.
“Look out!” Mary cried.
A blast went off just above Chet.
Ana let out a cry and fell to the ground.
A man stood on the balcony, reloading his musket.
“Motherfucker!” Chet cried, his rage setting him to fire. He scrambled up another stone, then caught hold of the bottom railing of the balcony, pulling himself up and over just as the man finished reloading. The man swung the barrel up, but Chet drove into him, the two men crashing into the dark room beyond. The musket went off right next to Chet’s head. The blast was deafening.
Chet landed two hard blows to the man’s face, then tore the musket from his grasp. He brought the stock down on the man’s head, slamming it three times with all his strength, crushing the man’s skull.
Smoke and dust filled the dark, murky room. Chet coughed, his ears ringing. Someone else was in the room with him, he felt them. He turned, knowing who it was even before he saw the tall figure in the doorway.
Gavin stood staring at him, two large revolvers pointed at Chet.
Their eyes locked.
“Who are you?” Gavin asked, his face cold stone.
“I’m your grandson.”
The man didn’t flinch, as though expecting Chet to say just that. He nodded. “What’s your mother’s name?”
“Cynthia.”
And there, for a second, the stone facade of the man’s face cracked. Chet saw pain, deep pain.
Suddenly, a gunshot blasted through the doorway. Gavin’s upper shoulder tore open, the slug knocking him several steps into the room. The attacker, one of the Defenders, pulled his sword and rushed in to finish the business. Gavin brought up his good arm and fired once, the bullet taking the top of the man’s head off. The man’s momentum carried him forward, colliding with Gavin, and the two landed in a tangle.
Gavin shoved the body off him, but before he could stand, Chet was there, angel knife in hand. Chet swung hard, the blade catching Gavin in the throat, a perfect strike. Gavin’s head flew from his neck, landing against the wall, his body collapsing in a heap.
Screams and shouts came from outside.
Ana! Chet thought and dashed back to the balcony.
They were gone.
“Ana!” he shouted. “ANA!”
Cries and the clang of arms came from the arch: somehow a handful of sisters were putting up resistance. Chet scanned the rocks, but found no sign of Ana or Mary. “ANA!” he cried again, starting back down the balcony. He stopped. “No,” he snarled. “The key. Get the fucking key.”
Chet dashed back into the room, slid down beside Gavin’s body, and began digging through his grandfather’s coat pockets.
A clamor came from the hall; several souls ran past, their faces confused and terrified.
“You better hurry,” someone said behind Chet. Chet jerked around, knife ready. No one was there.
“They’re gonna be here any sec, then you’re gonna be screwed.” It was Gavin’s head, his grandfather’s head, talking to him.
Chet ignored him, returning to the man’s coat.
“It’s not there,” Gavin’s head said.
“Shut up,” Chet said, continuing his search, digging through any pockets he could find, the coat, vest, pants. He found nothing. He unlatched the satchel, dumping out the contents. Plenty of coin and bullets, even several of the silver god-blood stars. But Chet hardly noticed; he was looking for one thing.
Shouting, men’s voices, echoed up the hall.
“Where’s the key?” Chet snapped.
Gavin grinned at him.
Chet slid over, pointed the blade right at Gavin’s eye. “Where is it?”
Gavin didn’t even blink.
“I said where is it? Where’s the key?”
“Thought you told me to shut up?”
Chet sliced Gavin’s ear off.
Gavin hardly flinched. “You think I’d be stupid enough to have it on me?”
/> “You got one more chance before I drive this knife into your skull!” Chet growled.
Gavin laughed, actually laughed. “You do and you’ll never find the key. That’s for damn sure.”
“Where is it?” Chet demanded, hating the desperation in his own voice.
“I’m telling you it isn’t here. But you get us out of here, and sure enough, I’ll take you to the key.”
It’s a trick. Chet knew it; he also knew the man had him.
“You’re running out of time,” Gavin said, his voice cool, calm, making Chet want to smash him in the face.
The shouting was growing louder, coming down the hall.
“Okay,” Chet snarled. “Hell, okay.”
“Good. Now, you better get my guns and quick.”
Chet shoved his knife back into his belt and snatched up one of the big revolvers off the floor.
Boots clumping—sounded like several men heading right for them.
“Down,” Gavin hissed. “In the corner. Take the shadows. They’ll be looking at the bodies.”
Chet crouched into the corner. A second later two men barged into the room—one with a sword, the second a musket—and indeed, all eyes went to Gavin’s decapitated body.
Chet fired, the recoil almost blowing the gun from his hand. He missed both men and had a second to wonder how he could’ve missed when they were only four feet away. Then the man with the musket fired, the slug catching Chet in the chest, slamming him into the wall. The other man rushed him.
Chet fired again, catching the forward man in the face, blowing off most of his head. Chet was astounded at the amount of carnage the gun made. The remaining man spun round for the door. Chet got off another shot but missed, hitting the top of the doorway. The man ran down the hall yelling.
“You shoot worse than a drunk on dope,” Gavin said. “You sure you’re a Moran?”
“Fuck you,” Chet snapped. He tried to stand, but collapsed, the pain in his chest overpowering.