Lesser Evils

Chapter 2 - The Underworld, 2002 A.D.

"It's done."

Whiro sat down heavily at the massive stone table.

"What's done?" Lethe replied, her back to the Maori god.

Whiro grimaced. How could he make this quick? Lethe tended to draw things out and be dramatic, and he was in no mood for a lengthy discussion. Besides, Lethe knew exactly what he was talking about. It was her idea.

"She's born," he sighed. Lethe stilled and WHiro held his breath, waiting for her response.

"Well, color me impressed." Her tone was surprisingly subdued.

The minor goddess turned and sauntered over to the table. Lethe was absolutely resplendent in a gauzy white gown, delicate swan wings folded carefully against her slender back. She slid into a tall, ornate chair opposite Whiro, taking her time to rearrange the folds of her skirt to be sure enough of her silky bronze leg was visible. Whiro smirked and chuckled at her display. 

She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, tapping her fingers on her temple.

"A girl, then?" she whispered.

"I said "she", didn't I?" Whiro rolled his eyes.

Lethe twirled the end of her long blonde braid in her other hand and smiled to herself.

"Of course she's a girl," she murmured. Lethe  sat up and arched her back to stretch, adjusting the neckline of her gown while Whiro eyed the goddess' exceedingly pure white attire.

"A bit much, don't you think?" he grumbled, eyeing the swan wings.

"Oh, Whiro, you know I can't stand this place anymore. It's so... so dark!" Lethe pouted.

She looked around at the obsidian walls that flickered and glowed with firelight. The occasional hollow sound of dripping water punctuated the silence. Lethe pushed away from the table and stood, flinging her hand towards the thin dark stream winding through the cavern. "What good is governing the River of Oblivion if there are no souls to drink from it!"

"Here we go," Whiro mumbled.

"Is it too much to ask to be relieved of my duty?" she complained. She crossed the floor of the cavern to stand next to the thin trickle of dark liquid.

"They call this a river?"

She kneeled next to the slow-flowing fluid, scooping up a handful. She let the black liquid trail through her fingers and drip back into the pitiful current.

She watched it for a moment, then looked up at Whiro.

"Would you drink that? I wouldn't drink that!" Lethe wrinkled her nose in distaste.

She stood and rubbed her hands together, her magic washing away any traces of the black liquid.

"My river is not organic, or quadruple distilled from fairy glaciers. There are literally no people anywhere who would trade their memories by drinking this." Lethe pointed down to the river.

"We have to face it - human standards are too high these days," she frowned.

Whiro ran a hand through his dark wavy hair and leaned back against his chair. While she might be irritating, she spoke the truth. The humans of Earth were a completely different breed than they were four, or even five, thousand years ago. He was a Maori god of evil-doings and disease, but with current human medical technology, one full half of his job was getting harder and harder to do. It seemed lately his power affected children and family pets most now. Evil and disease was for the big, bad, and wicked, but he had begun to draw the line at babies and kittens because even a dark deity had emotional limits. And with evil-doings among humans these days an apparently effortless pastime, what was his purpose? The humans were handling that part of his job for him.

For once, he wondered what it might be like to do a good thing. He had a taste of it today when he placed the hero's spirit in the baby's soul and he had to admit it felt nice. What if he could feel like that all the time? That had been the question that brought the four of them together. He was tired of the disease and sadness he spread, Lethe had no visitors to her River of Oblivion anymore, Dama was tired of controlling weather from below, and Aed was secretly terrified of the dark. None of them wanted to be part of the underworld anymore. They all wanted out.

But that revelation had been a millennium ago. Three times they had tried to catch the attention of the gods above and three times they had failed brilliantly. There was always a minor dark deity trying to climb the evil ranks, so finding some small calamity to quell was never a difficult task. As dark deities themselves, they couldn't directly intervene, but they could plant a convenient human hero in the middle of things to do the legwork, with their magical sponsorship, of course.

They'd tried everyone's ideas, except for Lethe's. None of them wanted to listen to her because she was so damn dramatic and overbearing, but all of their attempts had been fruitless. Lethe had been convinced they needed a sleeper hero - one that was reliable but understated. They had laughed her off saying her idea sounded more like a wardrobe choice than a key to their eternal salvation, but eventually they agreed she might be right.

Recently they had gotten word that Itzli, an Aztec god of stone with aspirations of greatness, had launched a campaign to ascend the evil ranks in a promotion attempt. He had customarily played second fiddle to Tezcatlipoca, the Aztec Lord of the North and the Night Sky.

Apparently, Itzli had gotten a little big for his britches and had fostered some seething, unsettled energy within the Earth. Earthquakes and volcanic activity were increasing around the globe and with the Nyiragongo eruption, the little Aztec had actually caught the attention of Beelzebub himself.

The timing looked good, so Whiro stepped up and offered to give Lethe's plan a go. She had supplied him the spirit of Ayas, a Cree Indian mythological hero.  Famous for battling monsters, Ayas had a gift for remaking things better than they were before. It seemed like a perfect match for the current situation, now they just needed the girl-child to reach an appropriate age and just maybe their dream would be realized.

At first, Whiro planned on using a newborn boy for the hero vessel, but there had been several life-threatening complications during the birth and the baby wouldn't have been strong enough to withstand the joining of spirits. The Maori god was just about to slip out of the doctor's consciousness and return to the Underworld when cries reverberated through the hospital hallway and pierced him to his core. 

He was drawn to a birthing suite at the end of the hall. 

When he stepped inside, all went quiet. The room was in disarray - little metal rolling trays of equipment were pushed off to the side at odd angles and linens lay piled around the end of the bed. Whiro could smell the fresh death. He glanced up to see the spirit of a woman look over to her husband before turning toward the warm glow of the angel sent to retrieve her. She looked dazed, as if she did not realize what had just happened. The angel made eye contact with Whiro, acknowledging him, then gave a small nod before turning to lead the woman away.

Whiro stared at the gentle sway of the curtains where the woman and her escort had disappeared, the steady chirp of the heart monitor alarm the only noise now. Then, that singular sound was joined by the shuddering moans of a man laying beside his wife. One strong arm cradled her head against his camouflage fatigues while the other arm clutched a newborn. The tiny infant was still damp and bloody, wrapped in hasty swaddling. At the sound of her father's grief, the infant girl's cry grew fierce and at that moment, Whiro knew. 

He knew he had, without a doubt, found the perfect vessel to lead he and the other gods out of the eternal darkness and into the welcoming arms of the light.