Chapter One

Life, Charon reflected, was an odd thing. It lasted for only a short time- a hundred years of all eternity- and once over haunted you until, he imagined, you got sick of remembering what it felt like and offed yourself for good.

Of course, he couldn’t say that that was how it was for certain. He had no idea what happened after you finished for good, disappeared and fell into darkness. It was probably, he thought, just like dying the first time. For a while you’d be confused and maybe jetlagged, after that you might be angry or depressed, and then, you just got on with things like wondering what would happen next. Or wishing that something would happen next. Charon sighed. He’d always hated philosophy. Well, granted, it hadn’t existed when he’d been alive- back then, nothing had existed. They’d just grunted, and that only occasionally. But he was pretty certain that if he’d known what philosophy was when he’d been alive, he’d have hated it then too. Taking a coin from his pocket, he flipped it into the air and watched as it fell back to land on his palm, rough side up. The coin had been made a long time before people had discovered that it would look much nicer with someone’s profile on one side. He’d been perfecting this for years, he guessed. Flicking coins into the air and waiting for them to reach his hand again. It was a lot more interesting, he’d discovered halfway through, if you suspended the laws of physics momentarily and just waited until the coin decided to come back down, rather than having gravity demand that it do so almost immediately. Unfortunately, this coin had grown particularly fond of him over the years, and now fell almost faster than it had done when gravity had had a say in the matter. Sometimes Charon thought it purposefully limited it’s own trajectory, just to stay closer to him.

He re-pocketed the coin and shifted in his seat. The trade along the river was slowing. Either less people were dying, or most of them had already done it and the others weren’t keen on arriving anytime soon. If he didn’t do something soon- be seen, act, re affirm his existence with the universe at large- he’d fade away into nothing. Maybe even find out what one did for eternity in the Great Unknown, Second Death. Charon stood. It was no use. Defeat just wasn’t his style, and he really did miss the food they served in Hell’s lower quarters. Perhaps it was time he gave up this reclusive lifestyle and bought a house along the Styx somewhere, in one of the nicer, upmarket suburbs. Charon shook his head as he walked towards the river, and his little boat.

He wasn’t the sort of guy who lived in upmarket suburbs. He was the kind of guy who lurked in alleys and leered menacingly at strangers. The kind of guy whose very nature went hand in hand with a cloak, dark corner and large mug of strong liquor. The strong liquor part he could do with, actually. The boat rocked serenely as Charon boarded, it’s rust coloured skirting creaking ominously. Charon settled himself on one of the benches and pushed away from the bank, watching the reeds wave to him as he pulled away and headed for Hell.

Later, in a sprawling metropolis complete with waterfront views if one was willing to put up with the cries of whores and fishermen alike, a cloaked figure sat hunched over a mug of ale, the shadows fanning across his corner. The other occupants of the tavern, all locals and all highly suspicious of people who wore cloaks, kept their distance. On any other day, and in any other tavern, such a sight would have been greeted with perhaps a few chuckles and a comment or two about how foreigners always seemed to insist on being so damn melodramatic. Here, however, such a thing was simply not done. Here, people appreciated the subtle nuances that practically screamed ‘Menace’ and left well enough alone. All this is what made what happened next so very odd.

Firstly, instead of slinking in with an air of secrecy and evil intent like any other patron, a simply dressed figure threw open the door and drowned the bar in sunlight. With a cheerful “Sorry!” to the few shadowed occupants who shrunk from the light with sustained hisses he crossed the floor to the windows. After peering out into the street for a few moments and seemingly breathing a sigh of relief a drink was called for, taken and carried to a table far too near the corner occupied by the cloaked figure. No one could possibly be expected to look formidable when a gaily dressed imbecile positioned himself so close.

When the door had been closed and secured once more the bartender turned his attention to the new arrival. After a few long moments of careful, considered scrutiny the mug that had been polished almost to non-existence dropped from suddenly still fingers. A murmur rose from the bar. No one had seen the barman’s hands still. No one. All eyes shifted to the newcomer, all ears strained to hear what spilled now uncontrollably from the barman’s mouth. “Fucking Being. Fuck! Fucking Divine Fucking Being in my Fucking inn. My Inn. In my Inn. Divine Being!” He looked from side to side in panic. “He’s one o’ them! Celestial creature, I knows it! An’ he’s in My Inn!”

The empty space around the newcomer seemed to draw as far away as possible and hold it’s breath. Every occupant in the inn did the same, except for the cloaked figure, whose full attention was focused on the mug that now hung in the air at around height of the barman’s calf.

The newcomer looked up from his drink. “What, me? Oh, I shouldn’t worry about me, if I were you. I’m not even an Angel. In fact, if I were you, which I’m obviously not, I’d be much more worried about him.” A pale finger pointed to the nearest corner, at which point the room’s attention shifted to the shadows there.

“Him?” The barman asked incredulously. “What’s wrong with him? Good, solid devil he is. Minding his own business and lurking to nice effect. Even adds to the ambience, he does!”

The newcomer pointed at the barman’s leg. “Your mug is floating.” He paused as everyone stared, and then pointed toward the cloaked figure. “He seems to find it very interesting. Hasn’t taken his eyes off it since you dropped it. Of course,” he continued deferentially, “Maybe denying gravity happens a lot Down Here. Up There though, it takes an Angel to do that sort of stuff.”

The barman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting that we don’t know a High when we see one? Cause I can tell you now, that there ain’t no Demon. He’s a devil. Probably a Shade, with his colouring. Might even be an old Vampire.” Murmurs of agreement hushed throughout the Inn. The newcomer shrugged and looked at his table, tracing a design in the watery substance that pooled upon it. “Sure you’re right. Still. The mug…”

He looked up at it. Or tried to. It was no longer where it had been, but was floating almost a meter above his own head. He cringed as it wobbled slightly. The barman looked toward the cloaked figure, who seemed to shake off the shadows and shrug.

“It likes floating,” the figure said in a low voice. He turned to the newcomer and inclined his head. “It really likes you. I believe it’s because you shine. You probably polish things.” He pushed back his chair and stood. With a sigh and a short rearranging of cloak folds, he started toward the door. Half way there, the barman cleared his throat. “My mug, sir. I’ll be needin’ it back. Soonish like.” He managed, without moving, to give the impression of scuttling away from the glance that came his way. He had that kind of build.

The figure grunted. “It’ll come down when it’s good and ready. They always do.” He turned to the newcomer. “I suspect you’ll want to be leaving soon. Things might have changed, but last I was here, people didn’t take to your kind too well.”

The newcomer looked around the bar and realised that, when the figure left, all attention would return to him. That was not, he decided, a Good Idea. In fact, it was a Very Bad One. He stood quickly and hurried to open the door. “Well, I guess I’ll just go then. Now.” He gestured towards the threshold. “After you, sir.”

Following the figure outside, the newcomer looked up into the perpetually red and boiling sky. “I hate Hell. I really hate it.”

“It has good food, though.”

The newcomer jumped, startled. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I guess it does. Um, so. Who are you, exactly?”

“They called me Charon.” He shrugged. “My boat got lost on the docks, so I’m waiting for it to find itself.”

The newcomer held his breath. Charon. Oh dear. By all accounts, Charon was old. Really, really old. And in Hell, old meant power. After centuries of solitude he’d probably be a bit rusty, thought wise. A bit slow, even. But still bloody scary. Maybe now would be a good time to run away…

“And you? Who are you?” Asked Charon in an unconsciously dark and foreboding voice.

“Me, oh, no one really. They call me Zeke, Up There.”

Charon nodded, eyes lightening by the minute. “Up There. An exile, then?”

“Oh, yes, well.” Zeke fiddled with his collar. “I may have violated a few of the more… restrictive laws. But I’m still basically good. Just, very basically.”

Someone shouted further down the street and Zeke tensed, the awkwardness leaving his body as he readied for flight. A hand descended on his shoulder, heavy and solid. “Eyes down, walk with me.”

With no choice but to obey, Zeke followed meekly beside Charon as he walked toward the docks.

“Skittish at the sound of harpies, then.” Charon murmured to himself, seemingly not caring if his companion overheard him. “Someone’s done something they shouldn’t have, then. Annoyed the High Lord, have you?”

Zeke shrugged his shoulder, still encased in Charon’s palm. “A task becoming almost too easy, I assure you,” he muttered. “Ever since the damn civil war Hell’s been going to, well, hell.”

Charon slowed his pace. “Civil war? I’ve been away too long, it seems.”

They passed through a cloud of smoke that seeped across the path, twining with the hot and heavy air as it snaked its way around the backstreets of the wharfs. Charon sniffed and smiled, eyes seeming to shine. “Been a long time indeed,” he mused. “I’d forgotten the smell of kebabs.”

Zeke paled. “That poison is edible?”

“Hardly,” Charon replied. “You’ve not been here for long, then?”

Zeke shuddered. “Longer than you’d imagine.”

“Good.” was the reply. Zeke looked up in question.

“You can tell me what’s been going on.” Charon pushed him around a corner and through a space Zeke was sure had been, until just then, a solid looking brick wall dating, he guessed, from the 19th century.

“Who’s in charge, then?”

Zeke frowned. “In charge? In charge of what?”

Charon swept his hand about a dimly lit room, a gesture intended, Zeke guessed, to indicate both their immediate surroundings and those rather more afar. “Who’s in charge of Hell? Last I was here, Hades was muttering about early retirement- didn’t think the bastard would go through with it. Still. Harpy raids and sprawling metropolis’ weren’t really his style.”

Zeke tried not to stumble over his response. “Lucifer. Lucifer’s in charge- call’s himself Satan, High Lord of Hell.”

Charon frowned. “Lucifer? He was one of you- Exiled. How did he come to power?”

Zeke fiddled. “I wouldn’t know- I wasn’t here. It was during one of the Wars- confusion and chaos, the usual. I’d say he just walked in, sat down, and started giving orders. It helped, I suppose, that a lot of the records were lost, and a lot of the older ones from both sides died. He even started saying he was the first to part with Heaven.”

Charon snorted. “Wonderful.” He turned around and sat on wooden chair against the wall. “He’ll want to see me, then. I should probably change.”

Zeke grimaced. “I wouldn’t advise it-”

“What? Getting changed? Lucifer a fan of the disgruntled peasant look, is he?”

“No. I was going to say I wouldn’t advise going to see him at all. When I said that a lot of the older ones died I didn’t mean they all died in the War. A link between the deaths and a depleting opposition to Lucifer’s reign could be made, if one was really desperate to be charged with treason and donated to the Succubi.”

Charon frowned. He could vaguely remember disliking politics even more than philosophy- something to do with smiling at a room full of people while you poisoned half the glasses on the table and attempted to get the dog to eat most of your meal. He was always disappointed when the dog turned up dead the next morning, froth coating its muzzle. Still, obligations were obligations, and if he wanted to stay in Hell for any amount of time he’d need to notify the authorities of his presence before they took it upon themselves to investigate the sudden surge in Forsaken power in his immediate area. And if what Zeke said about the Old Ones disappearing was true, it was likely that the surge would be noticed fairly soon. They might even arrive with soldiers. Charon shuddered. He didn’t get along well with displays of authority at the best of times. The coin in his pocket rested heavily, dragging the material down with its weight, causing just one of the numerous creases in his attire. Charon sighed.

“The Succubi and I got on well, last time I checked- which was a long time ago, granted. Still. Lucifer,” Charon said the name with an almost indiscernible sneer, “won’t be able to dispose of me in one meeting. Not when I’m at strength and readjusted.”

Zeke shrugged. “That’s lovely for you, I’m sure. Now that you’ve had your little history lesson, I do believe I’d like to leave.” He looked around the room, trying to find some kind of door. The walls seemed determined to hide it from him, and the shadows certainly weren’t on his side either. He looked at Charon, still sitting in his wooden chair. “Well? How do I get out then?”

Charon shrugged. “You can’t. Not unless I show you.” He slouched a little in his chair and leant back against the wall. “Tell me what you know of Hell, then, little angel. And know I’ll check your story against what I learn from Lucifer.”

Zeke shrugged. “You’re as likely to get the plain truth out of him as you are griffon with a penchant for riddles that don’t actually have answers.” He sighed and slumped against the wall, feet stretched across the floor. “How long ago did you leave the city, then?”

“Before Hades resigned. I don’t follow any sort of calendar.”

“Well, in any case, after Hades resigned the wars started out again. Glorious, blood-fuelled fury swept across the skies and so on and so forth. Hell, I believe, was pretty chaotic. A few people stepped in for a while- took the old mans reigns. Even had a kind of government occasionally, they say. Nothing lasted long. Anyway. Eventually, Lucifer steps up, waving his pretty little head around and talking about all kinds of evil things. He’s very, very good with propaganda, and very, very good at making people disappear. Most Damned who actively opposed him- the leaders, in any case- vanished quickly and quietly. Eventually, he held a majority in the upper echelons of whatever demonic society it is that you people have down here. He took the throne and started spouting more nonsense about being the first to fall from Heaven. Soon, the texts that proved his claim was heresy wandered off as well, never to be seen in a public library again.” Zeke fiddled with a lock of hair, sing-song voice turning bitter.

“A lot was lost, here and Above, during that time. You weren’t the only place to undergo a shift in management. Whatever the case, Lucifer reigns still, and his taste does run to sprawling metropolis’. He’s also fond of demented mind games, intrigue and fancy court games. I also hear tell that his dungeons are to be avoided at all costs. The Harpies patrol the streets and Hell’s army spends more time spying on the Damned than patrolling the borders. And that’s the way it is. Now, I do believe I’ve told you all you need to know. Let me out.”

“Oh, not yet, I’m afraid.” Charon closed his eyes. “Later, we’ll go see Lucifer.”

“We? Lucifer? Oh no. I never agreed to any of this. You may have intimidated me into coming here, but I’m not going anywhere near that bastard with you.”

Charon smiled. “You’ve hardly a choice, exile. Besides, I can’t think of a better way to show up uninvited at Lucifer’s front door than dragging with me someone he’s obviously so keen to meet.”

Zeke snarled. “Oh, we’ve already met, believe me.” He looked around the room again and sighed. He wouldn’t be dragged before Lucifer. That’s not how their next meeting was supposed to go. He was here for a reason, and no Demon was going to get between him and his goal, not even one who made mugs float and doors hide. He smiled a little, at that. Mugs and doors. Charon wouldn’t know what hit him. He still thought Zeke was just some small little exile, weak and powerless. Well, exile he might be, but truth be told (and wasn’t that unlikely) he could rival Charon in age, and perhaps, he could rival him in power. Not too much, he thought. A small dip, just to reveal the door. Then he’d be out, gone, and free. Let Charon face Lucifer on his own. Likely he’d be killed, just like all the others who thought their age a match for Lucifer. They never seemed to realise how much belief and fear could bolster a Demons standing.

Well. No use waiting. If Charon was going to sense this, he’d sense it be he awake or asleep. Zeke retreated to a corner, crouched down as if in defeat, and closed his eyes.

A moment later, a surge outlined the door and Zeke grinned. Bingo. Goodbye Charon, Hello Hell. He had his hand on the handle when he felt another surge, not his own, and the door locked. He turned around to see Charon smirking.

“Well,” he purred softly. “It would seem I have an Angel.”

Charon smirked at the expression he saw on Zeke’s face. He was amused, and truly amazed that the Angel had really fallen for such a trick. Close your eyes and turn the other way and people will do anything, even betray themselves.

“How far did you think you’d get,” Charon asked of the Angel, “before I, or something else, caught up with you? Your little display of power was small, I’ll grant you, but you’re in the centre of Hell- the biggest concentration of demonic power that exists. And I honestly don’t know how you could have thought I wouldn’t sense something.”

Zeke shook free of the Demon’s hand, seething. “I’m not going to Lucifer with you.”

“Oh? So you’d rather go with one the Harpy raids then? Because I can assure you that’s what would’ve happened. I can feel them winging through the skies now, you know.” Charon let that news sink in, just a little, before sighing. “Look, I’m not going to take you to Lucifer, I never was.”

“Then what in all Heaven’s name was all that about?!” Zeke spluttered, looking up from the floor that had previously captured his gaze so effectively.

Charon smiled. “That was the oldest trick in the books. That was making you show what you really are.” He frowned for a moment. “Though I must admit, the mug almost had me fooled at the inn- I know of very few Angels who are so flamboyant.”

Zeke frowned. “The Inn? But- I wasn’t making the mug float. That was you.”

Charon shook his head. “Nonsense. No one made the mug float- it wanted to. It liked you- probably, I repeat, because you polish things. Very few Angels, in my experience, polish things. Unless it’s a nice flaming sword of righteousness, in which case they’d probably just douse it in purifying mountain springs or something as equally ridiculous and appropriate. You, on the other hand, probably use rags and elbow grease.”

Zeke just stared, trying not to let his jaw hang open. “You’re… mad.” He whispered, finally.

Charon grinned. “You’re in Hell, little Angel. Sanity’s left at the gates.”

Zeke made a face and leant against the wall. ‘If you’re not taking me to Lucifer, then what are you going to do me?” He asked.

Charon shrugged. “I swore no oath to Hell itself, and certainly not to Lucifer. In truth, I’ve no obligations keeping me here, I just came for the food.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow at that, but Charon continued, ignoring the look.

“So I’m not going to do anything to you, except perhaps advise you to leave Hell. I think it’s safe to assume that you’ve been… discovered. You’d best be leaving the vicinity, as it were.”

Zeke frowned. “I have business here, but I’m confused. Why did you keep me here, once you knew Lucifer was in charge, if you’ve no plans as to my… continued existence?”

“I was curious,” Charon said. “As for your business, consider it put on hold, indefinitely.”

“Oh no. No more orders from you. As soon as I walk out of this room, we have nothing to do with each other.”

Charon nodded. “Yes. A fact that would be ensured most capably by the force of winged women with pointy claws standing outside this building. It seems your powers haven’t gone unnoticed.”

Zeke paled visibly, eyes widening. “Oh, no.” He stared at the wall paper where the door should have been, trembling, before turning on Charon. “This is your fault! You and your curiosity!”

Charon nodded. “I agree entirely. Well, almost entirely, because when you consider that there’d have to be a reason for them to be chasing you in the first place-” he stared down at the increasingly distressed Zeke and muttered an apology. “Look, it’s not that bad, We’ll just have to use another door.”

“Another door? What other door? There aren’t any doors!”

“I used to live here. Well, actually, I helped build the place, stayed here a week and then we got found out. Still,” he put his had against on of the walls and smiled. “No one’s been in here since then, so no one knows what’s here.”

“And what’s that, exactly? A nice, infallible, harpy destroying sword? Because that would come in handy right about now.”

Charon just frowned. “I can bring us out near the edges of the walls, I think,” he looked up at Zeke. “Hell’s still encircled by the walls?”

“Of course- no one’s powerful enough to change that, but I don’t see how the walls are going to help us, they keep people in, you know.”

Charon grinned. “We get to the walls, we get away from the harpies. Used to use it all the time to fool Hades.”

Zeke coughed loudly, interrupting Charon’s quick stumble down memory lane. “I don’t care what you used to do, Charon. We need to get out of here.”

“No. You need to get out of here. I just want to.” With eyes closed, Charon reached out and found what he was looking for. He opened his eyes and reached out a hand for Zeke. “I’m afraid we’ll be going through a window. Hold on.”

Zeke did, mistrust showing in his eyes. “None of this would have happened if you’d just minded your own business,” he sighed, and they vaulted through the window.

Charon pulled it closed as he replied, “yes, but you wouldn’t have lasted long on your own, bursting into inns like that.”

--

AN:
This story began life as a halfbreed of my year 12 major 4english piece... As in, i submitted a horribly dour and serious creative piece and this one just... kept...growing. The chapters so far aren't really clearly divided, so this is just the first chunk of what i have so far. :)