32.12

 

She looks up at Hasmed. “Who the fuck are they?”

Astaroth tugs on her shirt, pulling her gently back from the edge. “They are the martyrs crying out for God’s justice. There can be no end to their pleading until their number is doubled.”

“But almost nobody martyrs people for their religion anymore. Not Christians, anyway. I suppose other religions might still kill Christians for because of their faith.”

“Except maybe by the occasional Satanist,” added Steve, who looked decidedly pale in the wan light emanating from the pit. “And I want to say Spree-killing Fundamentalists?”

“None of those kill under Satan’s name.” Astaroth draws back from the pit, though Roisin doubted that as a former angel there was anything he had to fear. “Satan is just the name for Adversary. There is no literal Satan. Demons, yes, Archdemons, Dukes and so on, we like our hierarchy just as those in Heaven do, but no actual Satan. The only people who believe in an actual Satan are Christians, and they kill each other all the time.”

“Is that why there are so many down there?”

“No. Christians killing each other are generally for the sake of some perceived sin. Lust, Avarice and so on. No, those are actual martyrs for their faith.”

“Killed for any faith?”

Astaroth shook his head. “No. Only Christians. There is no other God but Him. Or was, anyway, so all other religions go directly to Hell without passing ‘Go’ or collecting their two hundred shekels.” He made a face. “Except the Jews, obviously. They don’t get the Resurrection but they do get a decent time in Sheol. You should pop in, if you get the chance. Lots of prayers and reciting of the Talmud. I always felt a bit sorry for them, because it’s hardly their fault that God changed the entry requirements for Heaven.”

“So these people know what’s happening to them?” Roisin felt her eyes pricking with unshed tears.

“No, of course not.” Astaroth held out one hand and a book appeared in it. The Bible, of course. Is flipped itself open, the pages turning by an unseen wind until they stopped at Ecclesiastes chapter nine, verse five, which he proceeded to read out: “The Dead know nothing. Also, their love, their hatred, and their envy have now perished; Nevermore will they have a share in anything done under the sun” He closed the book and it vanished again. Once the dead have crossed the River Styx they have no memory of their former life.”

“So, no loved ones waiting for them at the Pearly Gates?”

“No, except that in the sense that everyone in Heaven is love. That’s the precise definition of Heaven, Love. You get to Heaven, you re full of love. No need for all the tedious memories of the people you left behind, or the people who went before you.” Astaroth looked carefully at Hasmed, who had neither moved nor spoken for several minutes. “Although your mum might be waiting for you, she’s actually waiting for everyone, because only the Divinity can restore memories to a soul.” He hesitates before looking at Steve. “Not your mum, obviously. She came downstairs like the rest her friends celebrating the bodily functions.”

“So, the people down there, they were martyred for their belief in God but have to suffer torment anyway?” Roisin looked at him, aghast. “And they will for all eternity, but it doesn’t count as punishment because they don’t remember why they were killed in life?”

“It doesn’t count as torment, because the dead have no memory. It’s just like an ‘ouch!’ over and over again... They will get out eventually.”

“Will they ever double in number?”

“Oh yes.” Astaroth gave a perfect rendition of a Scooby-Doo laugh. “Wait until you see the locusts. Then there’ll be some serious martyring to be done and their number with double in weeks.”

“Locusts? They’re part of my—of Famine’s pantheon. They’re not dangerous to people, except by starvation.”

“Not these ones, these are God’s personal swarm. Each one the size of a horse with a man’s face, woman’s hair, lion’s teeth, iron breasts and scorpion’s tails. They’re supposed to kill anyone without God’s mark on their forehead.” He smiled wistfully. “The good news, though, is that Abaddon is let out of the Pit to lead them into battle. You’ll like Abaddon. Wicked sense of humour. Absolutely wicked.”

Hasmed jerks back into life, like a clockwork killer at the end of a cheap horror movie.” And then he will die. Along with all the other denizens of Hell, and we will rejoice forever.”