The walls were truly ancient. They had existed even before Hades had arrived, stumbling along the river banks as chaos was reigned in and sorted. For years and years, the walls had simply been, a seemingly pointless existence, separating only what was exactly the same on both sides- unending chaos. Hades hadn’t been the first to build Hell, but something had made the gates, and something had created what was beyond either side- Heaven and Hell. Most had chosen sides, then. Not some allegiance to a cause, or a value or even a name, simply one side of the wall or the other.

Charon, though, had stayed in the middle, eventually he found himself shepherding people to one side or the other, eventually he found himself in a boat on a river between two forces he’d forgotten to choose between, eventually he found himself between Heaven and Hell, both demanding he join them, both demanding what he found was a lot of power, stemming from his age and the places between the gates. He’d never chosen, and Heaven had closed its gates to him, while Hell had remained open, Hades promising nothing in return for nothing. He could come and go as he wished.
Perhaps the old man had thought he’d form ties in Hell, be brought over to a side. Well. Hades had been both wrong and right. But now it seemed that Lucifer, in Hades’ place, had killed those few he’d called friends, once upon a time. All the old ones. Charon smiled as he looked on the walls. He wouldn’t choose sides- Hell had nothing to fear from him, but Lucifer, now Lucifer was an enemy.
Beside him, Zeke stumbled a little and gazed up at the walls. They weren’t particularly impressive. Higher than Hadrian’s, obviously. Knee height wasn’t going to get you far in terms of walls these days. Still. They were nothing spectacular to look upon. Compared to the battlements of Heaven, Zeke thought to himself, they were nothing. Then again, he knew well enough how Heaven tended to opt for appearance rather than substance. His face was bitter, for a moment, lost as he was in thought. Charon shrugged.

“Well, we’re at the gates. You go over, I go back.”

Zeke laughed. “Charon, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Nothing I can’t get myself out of, I assure you. Now, you should be going. Harpies are not fooled for long.”

“And how would you get out of whatever it was you found yourself in?” Zeke laughed, suddenly finding himself absurdly reckless now he was out of that room.

Charon looked at him. “I would make it go away”

He turned back to the wall and, after a moment, reached out a hand to touch it. “Still feels the same.” He looked over his shoulder at Zeke. “What are you doing in Hell, Zeke?”

“We went through this. I was exiled.”

Charon shook his head. “No. Not truly. If you’d been exiled, you’d have fallen. You’re still very much an Angel.” He turned back to the wall and thought for a moment. Not fallen. An Angel in Hell, refusing to leave. War. Lucifer. Charon smiled.

“How does Heaven feel about Lucifer?”

“I- I don’t know. They never really breached the subject, to be honest.”

Charon laughed. “So you say, so you say. Exile. No.” He turned once more to the Angel still standing behind him. “They want you to get rid of him. Politics. I should have known.” He shook his head in disgust and let go of the wall. Zeke, currently increasing the space between them by edging backwards, shook his head.

“This is Heaven we’re talking about. They’d hardly make me come here and-”

Charon smiled again. “Make? Coerce? Blackmail? You, though. What could they have on you, Zeke.” He put a hand in his pocket and drew out a coin, rubbing it between his fingers. Zeke loosened his collar and looked back at the sprawl of streets and buildings that was Hell. A jumble of architecture and things that you’d hardly give the title to. It was ugly, crowded, dirty and it smelt. The opposite of Heaven. And right now, it was where he had to stay. And stay there without getting caught before the time was right- whenever that would be. He looked at Charon, still fondling the coin, and sighed.

“You said you owed nothing to Lucifer. I can’t tell you, and you don’t need to know.”

Charon shook his head. “Wrong. If it concerns Hell, it concerns me. So, little Angel, you concern me.” He smiled at that. “You are my concern. As such, I’m taking you home.” He held up a hand to stall Zeke’s coming protests.

“You’ll come with me. I’m the only safety you have now that they’ve got your scent,” he said, referring once again to the Harpies. “We need to have a talk about Balance. Yes. The wall still stands, and will stand, if I’ve anything to do with it, for a long time yet.” He laughed suddenly, the sound oddly fitting with the view of Hell below them. “So, Heaven wants to try again.”

Home, it turned out, was a surprisingly large room in a surprisingly quiet inn. Zeke, seeing the establishment complete with courtyard and stables, frowned. He didn’t know why Hell needed inns- inns catered to travellers, and the idea that there were people who travelled to Hell made him somewhat dizzy. Charon, however, seemed to find nothing concerning about its existence and requested room and food almost absently, no doubt his mind was still lingering on his beloved wall, Zeke thought. He’d gone along with Charon, displaying not even a token resistance. Now that he’d had time to think about it, he realised that this possibly wasn’t such a bad thing. He couldn’t see any immediate advantages to the arrangement other than a greater chance at survival, but for now, that was a pretty darn good advantage. He’d managed to avoid the notice of Harpies and Demons alike for quite some time, but Charon was right. Once they caught your scent, you were done for. He caught Charon’s eye and the Demon smiled, seemingly picking up his previous train of thought without having to ask.

“There are more people than just exist in Heaven and Hell,” he began, “and most of them find more welcome here than where you come from. It’s a little les… xenophobic, I suppose you’d call it.” He looked around the room they had entered and claimed as their own for an unspecified amount of time. “It’ll do. Now, Zeke I think it’s time we had a little heart to heart.”

Zeke smiled. “Let me guess. We’re going to spend an inordinate amount of time talking about your so called ‘balance’ and that lovely wall you just spent how long communicating with?”

Charon nodded as he sat down on a bed that groaned convincingly without snapping any springs. “Things are changing. Things always change eventually, but to shift so…“ Charon sighed. “A pity that it all relies on trust, and trust we do not have. A shame,” he looked at the Angel. “But we can do nothing but hope for it to build. Look, Zeke, to simplify things- my job is to make sure the walls remain to separate things. And that is being threatened.”

Zeke just stared for a moment, finally settling on the question that seemed the easiest to get a straight answer from. “Your… job?” he asked, hesitantly, hoping that the answer wouldn’t throw up too many more questions that just confused him further.

Charon smiled. “You seemed to recognise my name earlier. Think, boy. Charon… ferry man… dead souls… just remember your ancient roman literature and you should be fine. Virgil seemed to get the idea well enough, although I do happen to resent all that talk of filthy grey beards and knotted cloaks. I was never into cloaks. They’d get caught on the pole and it was literally Hell trying to the smell of the marsh water out of your rags after one good dunking.”

He seemed to be fond of dwelling in this long awaited reverie, and for a moment Zeke thought he would be content to let the conversation pass and remain in his remembrances, which would have suited him fine. But then, a small moment passed, and he came back to the room and grinned. “Have you figured it out yet?”

Zeke sighed. “Look, I do get it that you’re Charon, and I suppose that means you ferry people across a river or whatever, but honestly, isn’t calling it a job stretching the metaphor a little too far?”

Charon sighed. “Typical, that you should think such. Ferrying the dead across the Stygian Marsh is more than pretty metaphor constructed by the ancients. I might not have to spend my every waking hour pushing the unburied back from the shore, but I do have to maintain the balance. I have to ensure that the right people got to the right place at the right time, and my existence ensures the existence of those places.” He leant back, pleased with his explanation, smug and happy in the belief that he’d explained the meaning of his existence to the man in front of him.

Zeke just continued to stare. “So… the existence of Heaven depends on you. Look, Charon, I knew you were old, but this is getting ridiculous. I think you’re insane.”

Charon frowned. “You don’t understand, do you? Look, firstly, I’m not a Demon. I’m not even a Devil. In fact I’m not even one of Hell’s delightful denizens at all, hence the inn.”

“So what, you’re going to tell me you are, in fact, from Heaven- under cover I suppose- and hope that I tell you everything. Jeez, this is worse than I thought. You guys have no subtlety left at all.”

“No. Look, I’m trying not to have any subtlety- that’s the point of this little talk we’re having. I am not a part of Heaven, nor am I a part of Hell. The myths and Legends and beliefs of the living shape and form the after life- Heaven and Hell are, in essence, layer upon layer of belief. Ever changing, ever the same. Everyone dies, and everyone makes the journey to one or the other. There are no exceptions. But you’ve seen this war between Heaven and Hell, the discrepancies between Good and Evil. They struggle against each other and try to wipe each other out. If that were to happen, there would be no balance- there would be nothing to hold the victor in check, nothing by which to measure… whatever it is someone’s trying to measure, understand? The only way to ensure that both continue to exist so long as life exists, and death, is to make sure they both remain separate.”
He looked at Zeke’s sceptical face and sighed. “I’m not an enemy of Heaven or of Hell. I just find that my reception in Hell is a little warmer than it has been on the rare occasions I’ve attempted to visit Heaven. I think it has something to do with the general kind of populace you tend to get in each place. But Hell is in a weak position. Lucifer can’t rule, he’s a bloody idiot. I can feel him, you know. I can feel both sides. Something up in Heaven, of course, The fog that surrounds it is hardly normal but I can’t spend all my time in contemplation only to find that some Archangel got the great idea to confuse the lot of us with some nice, arcane spell he found in a book he shouldn’t have access to. Or scroll. Whatever. So, I need to make sure that Heaven doesn’t take over Hell, if you will. Because that would be very bad.” He nodded to himself, satisfied, before adding, “I hope you got all that. I haven’t said so much in eons, and the chances of me repeating myself are slim at best.”

Zeke eyed the bed and decided that sitting close to an insane maniac was better than falling over in front of one, his knees were weak and, honestly, most of what Charon had just said had flown right over the top of his head and straight on until morning. He was expecting mermaids and pirate ships any minute now.

“So…” he began, “what does all of that have to do with you not handing me over to the Harpies, again?”

Charon smiled. “I know you’re not exiled. I know you’re here for a reason, and I think that reason has something to do with whatever Heaven plans to do about Lucifer. So, I need to find out what you’re trying to do here, and I need to find out why you’re prepared to do it. Then, I need to find out a way to stop you from doing it, while still allowing Lucifer to get off the throne and leave to job to someone more capable.” He shrugged and smiled. “Now, Zeke, it’s your turn to tell a story.”

Zeke just frowned and tried to resist the impulse to collapse backwards on the bed and sleep for the first time in hundreds of years, just to forget about the previous day. Instead, he replied, “Look, Charon, I’m sure you believe what you’ve just said and all, but honestly, I am what I am- and what I am is loyal, still, to Heaven. Nothing of what you said has made me feel like I should divulge all to you and just step aside, confident that it’ll all work out for the best. You’re right- I did come down here to do something, and I’m still going to do it.”

Charon shrugged. “How do you know I won’t just stop you by force?”

“You don’t know what to stop. You don’t know what I want to do, and until you do know, there’s no way you can try to prevent it.” A slow smile spread across Zeke’s face and he finally gave in to the call of the mattress.

Charon frowned. “I hate when people have logic. I hate it when people don’t enter into this kind of conversation in the right spirit. I hate philosophy and I hate politics.’ he sighed, “I definitely chose the wrong time to come back to Hell.” He looked over at Zeke, smile of jubilation still plastered in place, and just sighed. “I’m going for a walk. Try not to get yourself caught or killed or force fed the kebabs we saw earlier.”

Zeke rolled over and flapped a hand. “If the harpies come, I’m spiking and you’re coming to save me. You still need to know what I’m doing here.”

Hell was proving to be less relaxing than Charon had at first hoped. He was also, he remembered, yet to find some food- the very reason for which he had originally come and, he thought, lost his boat. Or rather, his boat had lost itself, when he came to think about it properly. They’d sailed downstream for what had seemed like just a little too long, the long marsh weeds giving way at first to angry whirlpools and then to torrents of sand and mud. It had taken some skilful poling and a few changes of sail to get past that piece of scenery that someone had felt the need to create before they were moving swiftly past what looked to be a temporary refugee camp. Looking at it as the current swept them by, Charon realised the structures hadn’t yet changed after all the time they’d been there. He’d shrugged, wondering at the lack of inhabitants, before turning back to the task at hand, which was waiting for his boat to find a good enough place to dock. The boat, of course, had suffered the years of solitude with much less grace than Charon, seeming to take their self imposed exile in a spirit that was somewhat lacking in the ‘spirit’ department. It had developed the disturbing habit of thinking itself something other than its physical form suggested, and was often lost in histories it created for itself. It had, of course, promptly discovered one such history for itself after Charon had alighted and wandered downstream to get itself lost. Charon sighed. It was difficult, sometimes, having a schizophrenic boat.

He shuffled his way into a low built, wooden hall that proclaimed, by the sign hanging from it’s door, that it was some sort of food hall. He looked around at the clientele and realised, as he found himself a seat towards the end of a low trestle table, that he was going to need to get new clothes. And he was going to need to get them soon. Rags, it appeared, were out of fashion among the dammed and complicated looking costumes that seemed to consist mostly of lace and frills were the sole indicator of a persons worth. He nodded to a serving girl- noting the wounds about her neck and chest- and requested a plate of whatever the establishment happened to be serving, so long as it wasn’t kebabs. She smiled and obliged, hurrying over to the bar with a swing of her hips. She was, Charon thought, likely a suicide. She had that haunted look they often sported.

Once he’d been supplied with a plate of some kind of meat, vegetable and bread, a weight seemed to melt of his shoulders and he smiled.

Food, finally. He chewed while he thought over the past couple of hours. Whatever the case, Charon did know that Heaven and Hell needed to remain separate. Fighting and conflict between the two was perfectly acceptable, but neither could ever be allowed to triumph. He sighed and pushed his now empty plate to the side, turning his thoughts to the Angel that he hoped was still in his room.

He’d given the name of Zeke, but Charon had no doubt that it wasn’t his true name. The guy was an Angel, no doubt about it. He had enough power to reveal secrets hidden by a Demon, or the equivalent of such, and even then Charon knew he hadn’t been using much of his power. He hadn’t Fallen, either. His power was untainted by any Forsaken influence, and his aura was, as the mug had pointed out, clean and shiny. He wasn’t a fanatic and he wasn’t stupid- just very flamboyant, Charon guessed. Prone to awkward displays of angelic joy and light. So, Charon guessed, Heaven was blackmailing him, or he was here on his own. The former was more likely, and also easier to fix. He’d just have to find out what the Angel was afraid of, and make it disappear. Then, he could simply find a way to make sure that Lucifer’s time in control was limited.

Satisfied, Charon stood and headed back to the inn, gravy hiding in his beard.