Queen of Nothing (Marla Mason Book 9) (13 page)

“All commerce with the Earthly realm will cease under my reign. Dead souls will come in, but nothing will go out. The dead will keep to themselves. No more ghostly visitations, no more oracles, no more necromancy. Which means you should take a last look around.” He pushed the point of the sword into her chest, and she gasped as the icy blade pierced her. “Go. Into the water. Submerge yourself. Erase your memories. You need not be conscious of your purpose in order to fulfill it: merely being alive will suffice for the seasons to continue, for the cycles of life and death to go on.”

“You want me to be a mindless Fisher King for the whole world?”

He shrugged. “Not mindless. Merely ignorant of your true nature. I will return you to Earth, to a place where you may live in peace, with resources to begin a new life. You will retain your physical immortality. These are my promises to you.”

She straightened her back, raising her chin. “And if I refuse to go?”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice.” He lunged forward with the sword, and she dodged aside, but his attack was a feint. The waters of the river Lethe rose up behind her, given shape and form by the New Death’s will: a vast bearlike creature made of water wrapped its dripping arms around her, squeezing her, and dragged her down. She screamed defiance, and threats, and rage as she went, until the waters of the river filled her mouth, and obliterated her self.

Death and Chaos

“Holy crap,” Bradley said.

“What a dick,” Rondeau said.

“How unseemly,” Pelham said.

Marla nodded. “Yeah. All that. So, here I am. Exiled from the place I pledged to serve and protect.
Again
. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in fate or destiny, because if I did, I’d wonder why the powers that be always pick on me. And I
am
the powers that be.”

“Do you, uh... I mean... can you still do the stuff a god can do?” Bradley asked.

“You mean can I lay waste to my surroundings with fire and earthquake, survive a direct nuclear bomb blast, live forever even if I forget to eat, things like that? Yeah, sure. I’ve got all kinds of powers that somebody walking around in the mortal world probably shouldn’t possess, and thanks to Bradley’s very thorough job restoring my memory, I actually
understand
the full extent of my capabilities now. I’d make a kickass superhero, and I could probably subjugate the human race, if I were feeling more villainous. What good does any of that power do me, though? My connection to the underworld has been severed. The New Death has closed all the borders. I can’t even
sense
Hell anymore. He exiled me and changed the locks. I’m surprised you were even able to summon the ghost of Emperor Norton, B. You’re more powerful than the New Death realized.”

“We call him ‘Skully,’” Rondeau said.

Marla snorted. “Nice. And even then, Skully didn’t let you talk to the Emperor long before he slammed that connection closed, too. You’re strong, B, but my new husband is a lot stronger. On the plus side, I doubt he knows I got my memory back. He really doesn’t seem to care at all what happens up here in the realm of the living, so maybe I have the element of surprise.”

Rondeau raised his hand. “At the risk of being the dumb guy asking ignorant questions... why not take Skully’s deal? Keep doing your thing on Earth.
Be
that great superhero. Help the helpless, save the innocent, live forever, and avoid your jerk of a husband entirely.”

Marla shook her head. “What’s the point of saving people in this world, if I know they’re going to suffer forever in the afterlife? Sure, some people always had a horrible time in the underworld, but only if they believed they were
supposed
to—if that was the afterlife they imagined. Most people just spent their afterlives in a sort of hazy dream, and the more imaginative ones got to experience amazing impossible worlds, for eternity. But Skully wants every person in the world to spend forever trapped in his torture porn dollhouse universe, just because he thinks that’s what a death god
should
do.” She sighed. “I’m still a ruler of Hell. I have a responsibility to the souls under my care. I can’t take the easy path of semi-retirement. I have to fix things.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rondeau said. “I withdraw my stupid question.”

“Why did such a terrible god rise?” Pelham said.

Marla shook her head. “I have no idea. He’s the third god of Death I’ve met. The first was a megalomaniacal control freak. The second, before I did surgery on his personality, was a smug, selfish jerk. This one is a sadist with a nasty sense of cosmic justice. Who knows? I think human expectations shape the nature of gods, to some degree... and humans have a pretty dark view of death, mostly. It could be worse. This is an isolationist god of death. We could have gotten an expansionist one—a Death with wings of dust and shadow, wearing a robe covered in eyes, swooping over the mortal world, killing firstborn, trying to annex Earth as a subdivision of Hell, who knows what.”

“Oh, well,” Bradley said. “Now I feel positively lucky.”

Marla nodded. “Always happy to correct your perspective. Anyway. I have to stop the New Death and save the billions of souls that should be under my care. That means I have to somehow get into Hell, when all the borders are closed.”

“I have an idea,” Pelham said. “We could die.” The others stared at him. He shrugged. “I didn’t say it was an
appealing
idea. But if death is the only door to the underworld that remains....”

Marla shook her head. “Wouldn’t work for me. I’ve still got physical immortality, so I can’t die my way back home. I’d happily accept you guys as my mercenary goon squad, but it wouldn’t work. The souls of the dead maintain continuity of personality, mostly, but they’re subject to the will of the gods. The dead can shape the primal chaos of the underworld, but only to the extent that the gods of death lets them do so. If you died, you’d be at Skully’s mercy, and he might even take a personal interest in you because you’re friends of mine. Also you’d be dead. I don’t want any of you to be dead.”

“We are too young and pretty to die,” Rondeau said. “Especially me.”

“So what’s the alternative?” Bradley said. “If the trains and portals and stairways and sinkholes that lead to Hell are all sealed up, how do we get in?”

“We find someone who’s good at getting into places where she’s not welcome, and ask for help.” Marla sighed. “She’ll probably be along any minute now.”

“Who?” Bradley said, and then the doorbell rang, a loud
ding-dong
. Which was strange, because the suite didn’t even have a doorbell.

“Yeah, that’ll be her,” Marla said. “Come in!”

Rondeau stood up. “I’ll get it. The door’s locked, and I’ve got the bolt turned and the chain on –”

The door swung open, and Elsie Jarrow walked in, dressed in a stylish black dress, wearing oversized sunglasses, with a shopping bag dangling from one slim arm. “Darlings!” she cried. “So good to see you all again. What a luscious lot you are.” She dropped the bag, kicked the door closed behind her, and approached Marla, arms outstretched, fingers wiggling and beckoning. Marla consented to let the chaos witch—who was so much more than that, now—hug her. Elsie smelled of strawberries and, faintly, blood. She took a step back, but kept her hands on Marla’s shoulders, gazing into her face. “Look at us,” she said. “We’re more like sisters than ever, hmm? Like two gods in a pod.”

“Thanks for joining us,” Marla said. “Have a seat.”

Elsie threw herself onto the couch between Pelham and Bradley, putting her arms around them. They both tried to shrink away, and she grabbed them more tightly. “Now, now, boys, circumstances have made us enemies in the past, but now we have a common goal: to help Marla regain her throne. I’m here to help.”

“Why do you want to help, though?” Rondeau said. “I get that you’ve been
elevated
or whatever, but why are you all the sudden on Team Marla?”

“Us girl gods have to stick together.” Elsie winked at Marla. “Besides, I owe Marla a debt. She’s the reason I’m the chaos goddess you see before you. Did she tell you the story of how I became so fabulous and powerful and fabulously powerful?”

Marla pinched the bridge of her nose. Being in Elsie’s presence was giving her a headache. She’d better get used to the feeling. “No, I focused more on telling them about the rise of the New Death and how he exiled me from my realm.”

Elsie waved her hand. “The fact that a new god arose and exiled you is pretty much all I need to know, Marla darling. No need for details. The story of how I became a goddess is much more interesting. You see, after you cruelly murdered my body and dissolved my consciousness in the ocean –”

“Elsie, please. We just
had
story time. I’d like to focus on the future right now.”

That chaos god wrinkled her nose. “Oh, fine. But you have to tell them later. I get bored when people stop talking about me for too long.”

Marla nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell them. Partly because, in a weird way, the story of how you became a god helps explain why I was such a bitch to Nicolette, and froze her in a magical iceberg even though she was trying to redeem herself. I’d like you guys to understand why I did that.”

“We just assumed it was basic vengeful nastiness,” Rondeau said. “But I’m always interested in extenuating circumstances. They’re probably my third favorite kind of circumstance, right after ‘mitigating’ and ‘unforeseen.’”

Marla ignored him. “Gratitude doesn’t quite convince me, though, Elsie. You’re a trickster god, now, and the social contract doesn’t really apply to you. Why did you help my friends track me down? Why are you here now?”

Elsie arranged her skirts over her knees, smiling like she knew all the secrets in the world. “Oh, partly I intervened just to see what your boys would do. The world is just more interesting when I meddle, and needle, and nudge. But also because I like the world with Marla Mason in it. You’re too practical for my tastes, and I have a far more highly developed sense of whimsy than you do, but you never fail to shake things up. You’re a walking, talking disruption of the status quo. And your new husband....” She scowled, and the room visibly darkened, all the lamps dimming for a moment. “He’s no fun at
all
. I’ve had some lovely times in the underworld, and I’m irked that I can’t go back. His closed-door policy means no more necromancers, no more zombies, no demons, no illicit trade in Lethe water, precious little in the way of ghosts, no renegade psychopomps... What a waste of potential strangeness!”

Marla nodded. “That sounds... halfway plausible. Can you get us into the underworld, Elsie? I know the entryways are sealed, but if there’s anyone with a knack for wriggling through tiny cracks, it’s you.”

“Oh, I have an idea. I know a way in—a passageway the New Death doesn’t know about. It’s surprisingly difficult to protect yourself against those unknown unknowns. Actually getting to Hell should be the easy part. You and I will need to make preparations for what to do
after
we get there. We need to arm ourselves for a war in Hell. In the meantime, can we send your boys to fetch the key to the underworld?”

“Is it literally a key?” Marla said.

“No, it’s only figuratively a key. It’s
literally
a sword. It’s also literally in the hands of a violent man with a ridiculous worldview named Dave. The man is named Dave, not the worldview. Or, no, wait, maybe that’s not his name. Anyway, I
call
him Dave. He won’t want to give up the sword, but I’m sure your boys can be very persuasive.”

“You’re sending us to find a sword,” Bradley said. “Which will somehow get us to the underworld. Elsie, is this a joke where the punch line is you stab us to death with the sword and we die our way into Hell after all?”

She shook her head hard enough to make her hair fly around. “It’s not that kind of joke at all! It’s an entirely different sort of joke. No, this is a genuinely magical sword, forged by a god. Or maybe not actually forged, like with a forge and a hammer and... tongs... and things. Probably it was just imagined into existence. I’ve heard it called the Blade of Banishment. I suggested renaming it the ‘Épéé of Exile’ but apparently it’s not an épéé and I should have been very embarrassed about making such a categorization error, but I wasn’t, because I can’t remember how to feel shame. I told Dave it was called Night’s Plutonian Sword.”

“That’s... not incredibly enlightening,” Bradley said.

“Oh. You want advice.” She put her forefinger against her lips and went
hmm
. “First off, I’d avoid letting Dave hit you with the sword. On the plus side, Dave is not a very good swordsman. On the minus side, he doesn’t really have to be, on account of how it’s a magical sword.” She clapped her hands, once, sharply. “Do you think you can handle this mission-critical, um, mission? Even though you’re just a ragtag team of psychics and butlers and whatever Rondeau is?”

“I’m rich,” Rondeau said. “That’s what I am. Maybe we can buy the sword off Dave.”

“I can make people go to sleep by looking at them hard,” Bradley said. “So we can just knock Dave out and take the sword away.”