Dead & Godless (18 page)

“Angels
are strictly forbidden from slaying mortal men, or so I’d heard.”

Anxious
stares probed the forest’s forbidding shadows. No man would breathe easy until
they were well away from this accursed place.

The
wind had died and an eerie silence hung in the air. Between the trees, a pair
of eyes glimmered like silver coins. With a bloodthirsty growl and a flash of
fangs, the black-furred beast emerged from the brush.

“You
took the form of a wolf?” asked Corwin.

“Sometimes
we wear masks,” said Ransom. “Sometimes more than one.”

The
shadows came alive with eyes and sharp teeth. A ferocious pack of wolves, more
than a match for the bandits’ numbers, descended upon them.

“I
left a trail of blood and corpses a mile long. The neighboring townsfolk would
call it divine retribution, but I’m not so sure that the Father saw it that way.”

Quiet
returned to the wood, the somber hush of death, and in the east, the horizon bloomed
with dawn’s coming. Crimson dirt glistened in the early morning light.

“As
penance, my true form was sealed and I was assigned to a new department,
providing last counsel to souls like yourself.”

“So
I’m
your punishment?”

“Well
you’re certainly not a reward!”

“And
you’re alright with that?” Corwin stared into the lifeless eyes of a bandit who
lay eviscerated, his chain mail torn by razor jaws. “If you ask me, your only
crime was having a sense of justice.”

“God
sees farther than you or I.”

“You
said once before that this job is only temporary. How many more years have you
got?”

“The
hour of my atonement is for the Father to decide. Whether it takes another day
or another thousand years, it is not my place to question his judgment.
Speaking of which, we’re still not done preparing for yours. Your fifth and
final paradox yet remains.”

The
rising sun crept over the treetops, rimming the sky in fire, and Corwin limbered
up his back with an arching stretch.

“Heaven
awaits,” he said. “And what would Heaven be without a few atheists to keep
things interesting?”

Enslaved to Happiness

“You’re looking
spry,” noted Ransom. “That’s good, because we’ve got a bit of a climb ahead.”

Golden
sunbeams striped the forest, illuminating patches in the dirt trail. Ransom
marched over to the nearest. As he lifted his foot, the ray began to bend. Its
perfect slant sprouted ridges, a staircase ascending into the sky.

Corwin
felt a song coming on.

“And
it’s whispered that soon

If
we all call the tune

Then
the piper will lead us to reason”

Led
Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” continued to play in his head as he mounted the
steps, each smooth and clear as a sheet of glass. The light which gave shape to
them intensified ever so slightly, so that the beam’s pathway was distinct even
beyond the window of leaves that framed it.

“This
does go to Heaven, right? Not the surface of the sun?”

“Depends
who’s climbing it.”

As they
rose above the beech trees, the forest’s dense canopy spread forth like an
otherworldly meadow. Butterflies bobbed and birds nested in its green and
yellow folds. The treetop plains rolled towards distant hills in the east, but
to the north, Corwin spied the march of civilization. A clearing had been
carved into the land, dotted with crop fields and farm houses. Past a river
bank, the walls of a medieval castle town arose and fortress towers thrust
their parapets stark against the horizon.

They
climbed higher and higher until Corwin could glimpse the sea. There he paused,
raising his head to ward off a momentary dizzy spell. The thought of falling
wasn’t nearly as terrifying as it would have been a day ago, but that didn’t
make looking down any less hypnotic. Ransom waited a few steps ahead. Shading
his eyes, he gazed skyward. The stairway appeared to stretch on forever.

Just
then the sun pulsed, sending forth a ripple of light that pealed across the
heavens. Corwin crossed his arms to guard against the blinding shockwave, but
he felt only a static tingle as it passed. When he opened his eyes, the world
below had changed.

The
forest had receded, with highways and railroad tracks cutting efficiently through
the trees. Modern skyscrapers replaced the fortress towers of old and
suspension bridges spanned the river. The city had spilled over to both shores,
growing like an inkblot on a fresh sheet of paper.

Corwin
continued to climb as hundreds of cars sped along the roads beneath him, and
soon he reached such a height that the traffic seemed to flow in slow motion. The
sun pulsed a second time.

A
boundless cityscape now carpeted the earth, with only a few green islands of
woodland remaining. City walls had returned as if recalling the medieval age,
only these soaring, metallic barricades were many times taller. They divided
the opulent inner city from the outlying slums, where a jumble of buildings
from different eras stood in various states of disrepair. Mega-structures
loomed behind the walls, towers stacked atop towers and an enormous trapezoidal
pyramid that dwarfed the skyscrapers of Corwin’s day.

Another
pulse, and the world became a glittering reflection of the blue sky. The seas
had risen, reclaiming the land, and where once the sprawl of the outer city had
been, only a scattering of eroded buildings now jutted from the waves. Mangrove
trees dug their roots into the crumbling concrete and moss hung from
windowsills. The great walls had endured, as had the inner city, though its
rusty spires no longer shone as proudly.

“Is
this—are we moving into the future?” asked Corwin.

“Into
a future,” Ransom replied.

Again
the shockwave swept away what was. A curtain of amber draped the heavens, and
Corwin’s first thought was that day had faded to sunset, but when he looked
ahead, he found that the sun still hung in the very same spot. However, this
sun was larger and orange-tinged. The ocean had retreated and a forest of scarlet-leafed
trees had sprung up vengefully in the wake of civilization’s fall. Yet humanity
lived on. Farmers penned livestock in the foundations of ruined buildings and
horse-drawn wagons rolled atop cracked and beaten pavement. Inside the walls,
the monolithic pyramid had become a fire-lit temple. Technology’s clock had
been turned back, or so the Earth proclaimed, but among the stars which poked
through the day’s thinning firmament were constellations new and unnatural. They
twinkled in tight formations, patterns that spoke of intelligent design.
Perhaps Earth hadn’t abandoned technology, but rather those who commanded
technology had abandoned Earth.

Corwin
had little time to wonder about it before the next pulse flashed and the world
was made anew. A biting-cold wind whistled and he hugged his arms with a
shiver. The land had brightened, but only because sheets of glacial ice now
stretched as far as the horizon. Glass panels domed the ancient inner city, a
warm bastion of life that stood alone against the frozen tundra. Streaks of
light darted like shooting stars between the manmade constellations, and a red
sun burned dimly in the sky.

The
sun mustered one final pulse, transporting Corwin and Ransom to the misty gray
heart of a cloud. Corwin glanced down to check that the steps were still there.
The stairway was only faintly visible. He could see the shadow of Ransom’s back
farther ahead, along with a dull glow where the sun had been.

“Ransom,
I’ve had some time to think about things, and I’ve decided that I’d rather not
go to Hell.”

“Well
that’s a start.”

“However,
I’m not really sure that I want to go to Heaven, either. When it comes right
down to it, there’s more than enough wonder and mystery in my own universe,
without the need for any heavenly fantasy realm. Why not let me be reincarnated
as part of some karmic cycle?”

“Beware
of karma,” warned Ransom. “In the strict sense, it means that in all things, everyone
gets what they deserve.”

“Sounds
like a nice thought,” Corwin remarked.

“Far
from it. Judging by karmic laws, one might say that an abused child is simply
receiving payback for some sin committed in a past life. One might look at the
Holocaust and declare that the Jews had it coming. With karma, there are no
victims.”

“Then
to hell with karma! But even if I can’t reincarnate, I’d still rather haunt the
earth as a ghost than spend eternity prostrated on my knees, stroking some
god’s infinite ego.”

Ransom’s
laugh echoed through the fog.

“You
humans sure have some odd ideas about Heaven.”

From above
the clouds came a soft hymn that steadily grew louder and more triumphant.

“Allow
me to tell you something that, as an atheist, I think you’ll be glad to hear,”
said Ransom. “There are no religions in Heaven. Road maps lose their use once
you’ve arrived at the final destination.”

The
sunbeam led through a gap in the clouds and there the stairs ended. Corwin
stepped off onto the fluffy, white cloud top. A pearlescent gate swung open to
greet the two travelers, admitting them to a land where fluted columns rose,
upholding nothing, and slender bridges arched between sky islands. The whole
place was bathed in celestial light and filled with the sound of the joyous
hymn. Winged angels in flowing robes sat atop nimbus puffs, their fingers
plucking harp strings, while a great multitude of humans knelt humbly and raised
their hands, singing praise to a glowing figure enthroned above.

“For
a moment there you were starting to get my hopes up, but this is just what I was
afraid of,” grumbled Corwin. “Is Heaven really like this?”

“I
should hope not. Could you see me singing in a choir?”

“Oh,
I don’t know,” Corwin said in an encouraging tone. “Maybe if you quit smoking,
took a few classes . . .”

Ransom
hopped onto one of the drifting nimbus puffs. Once Corwin had climbed aboard,
the cloud began to rise, flying out over the singing congregation.

“What
you see is no more than a popular conception of Heaven,” said the angel. “I
assure you that it falls well short of the reality.”

“Yet
isn’t this exactly the sort of slavish devotion that your god demands?” asked
Corwin. “He clearly has self-esteem issues.”

Ransom
tapped his cigarette case and the lid flipped open.

“Who
stands to benefit the most from religion, God or man?”

“Going
by your theology, it’s man who has everything to lose.”

“And
everything to gain. So it is with worship. God doesn’t need the praise, but man
needs the humility.”

“What
you call humility looks a lot like groveling.”

“Only
to one who can’t tell the difference between awe and cowardice.”

They
set down on one of the smaller islands where a line of boxy contraptions spat
out reams of paper. The sign above them read: “Incoming Prayers.”

“I
might have a higher regard for prayers if your god actually answered them with
any degree of consistency,” mentioned Corwin.

“Answered
them with a ‘yes,’ you mean.”

“There
are thousands of religions in the world with billions of followers sending up
god-knows how many prayers every day. If any of them were the
one true faith,
shouldn’t we see a preference for that group’s prayers getting granted more
frequently than the rest?”

“Perhaps
you were looking for the wrong signs,” replied Ransom. “When it comes to God
and requests, religion’s role isn’t to get you everything you want, but to
teach you what
to
want.”

Grabbing
up a length of loose paper, he stretched it before him as if reading a scroll.
The usual prayers were all in evidence. Corwin spotted pleas for success in
romance, for financial security, for good health in the face of illness or
injury.

Unmoved,
Ransom let the list fall.

“Many
pray to be millionaires. Few pray to be saints.”

At
the island’s edge, a dock extended into a current of wispy cirrus clouds that
snaked through the air like a river. A gondola was tethered to one of its
posts. Standing at the stern, a white-robed woman waited with an oar shaft in
hand.

“But
enough about prayers,” said Ransom as he strode onto the dock. “Your Paradox of
Heaven raises an altogether different concern.”

“The
problem is that the Christian conception of Heaven rests upon two conditions
that simply aren’t compatible,” Corwin asserted. “Heaven is supposed to be a
place without sin, yet Christians insist that we still have free will. The
result is an illogical, unsustainable state of affairs.”

They
sat down in the gondola and the woman gracefully pushed them off from the dock.
Her brown hair was gathered into rings that swung about the sash at her waist.

“Given
all eternity,” continued Corwin, “what’s to keep me from sinning if I can do as
I please?”

“It
certainly wouldn’t work in the mortal world,” concurred Ransom. “Down there,
doing what you please and doing what will bring you happiness are not always
one and the same.”

Since
entering this realm, not once had the sound of music ceased. Profound and
solemn and jubilant at the same time, the harmonious melody would have humbled
even the greatest Renaissance composers. But as Corwin listened closely, a
disturbance reached his ears. From the broad, stepped clouds below, a
discordant note arose. Someone was singing out of tune.

Sporting
a goatee and a shiny bald head, the man in question was either oblivious or
supremely confident in his baritone voice. However, the fellow to his right was
rapidly running out of patience. He gave the man a nudge, but it had no effect.
An angry vein bulged on his forehead and he nudged harder.

“Hey
now, what’s the big idea?” the bald man thundered as he turned on him.

Abruptly
the melody broke.

“You’re
not singing in tune!” the skinny fellow complained.

“You
got a problem with my voice?”

“Now
hold on!” said another. “There’s no need to be unkind.”

“But
he’s right,” someone else chimed in. “That oaf was singing to his own piper!”

“Maybe
a little variety is just what this choir needs!” yelled a rebellious hippy.

“No!”
the skinny fellow shouted back. “What we need is harmony!”

The
bald man’s blood boiled.

“I’ll
show you harmony!”

Tearing
off his robe like a pro wrestler, he roared and threw himself at the fellow
with the tenor voice. In moments, the whole choir transformed into a roiling
mosh pit. Fists flew and a few unfortunate souls rolled right off the clouds in
a tangle of grappling limbs.

Ransom
watched it all with a shameless smile on his face.

“What
does it mean to sin?” he asked.

“To
defy god’s will—whatever
that
is—and choose to do evil instead of good,”
replied Corwin.

“What
if I told you that most sin isn’t a matter of choosing outright evil over good,
but rather of choosing a lesser good over a greater one?”