by J. F. Penn
SINS OF
TREACHERY
Book Three
J.F. Penn
Sins of Treachery
The priest intoned the Canticle Benedictus as the coffin was lowered into the hardened ground, frozen by the long winter. Simon watched as the solid oak casket descended, his eyes drawn to the gold tetragrammaton on the lid, his grandfather’s final prayer. A silence hung in the air before Simon bent to pick up a handful of damp earth to throw on the coffin, but as he did so, he heard a thud as someone else performed the family honour for the dead. Simon straightened quickly, and when he saw who it was, the soil spilled from his hand.
Gestas, his errant twin, had finally returned, but only now, after the death of the man who had raised them. Simon felt a stab of anger at how Gest had stolen this final sacred moment from him, and a deep resentment for his years of desertion. Try as he might, Simon had never been able to take the place of the favored twin with his grandfather, in spite of his labour in the pursuit of the Great Work.
“Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee, to Thy servant departed, that he may not receive in punishment the requital of his deeds who in desire did keep Thy will ...”
As the priest said the final prayers, Gest smiled thinly at his brother, his pale hazel eyes and high cheekbones a perfect mirror of Simon’s own, yet somehow bearing an air of superiority and entitlement that set him apart. His black coat looked expensive and Simon was suddenly aware of his own threadbare clothing. At a superficial level, they were identical twins, but Simon had always felt like a pale imitation, a watery reflection of his brother’s bright colour. The old jealousy rekindled within him, a remnant of childhood rivalry, but he tamped it down.
“May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”
The gathered crowd responded in prayer and then began to move away from the grave. Simon shook hands and nodded appropriately as people spoke kindly to him of his grandfather. But his eyes kept straying to Gest, who stood silently by the grave, his taut energy repelling any who thought to approach him. Finally, when the last of the mourners had left, Simon walked to his brother’s side and they stood looking into the pit, a reminder of where all must eventually rest.
“Why now?” Simon asked, his voice clipped, almost breaking.
Gest looked at him, his cold eyes serpent-like.
“He sent me a letter asking me to come. Said he had something for me, something you were unwilling to take to its conclusion. So, where is it?”
Gest put his hand on Simon’s arm, the strength in his grip communicating his intent. Simon remembered the games of their youth, how his bruises and broken bones were always blamed on clumsiness, how Gest had been praised for caring for his little brother, the weaker twin, the slower twin, the twin less blessed. But that hand was still able to crush and dominate, as it always had done, and Simon flinched, feeling the years peel away.
“It’s back at the house.”
———
The mansion would have been opulent once, but its grandeur had faded through many years of neglect. Gest strode into the dark entrance hall, his quick steps taking him into dusty rooms the brothers had run through together as children, hiding amongst the towering bookcases, their palaces of imagination.
“It really hasn’t changed much,” he said. “Seriously Si, how have you managed to live in this gloomy place for so long?”
Simon watched his brother’s mercurial movements, the confidence in his stride, and recognized that he had ever been the saturnine twin, the dark side to Gest’s golden sun.
“I’ve been helping Grandfather,” he replied. “You know how much his research meant to him, and now to me.”
Gest laughed contemptuously, and Simon felt his years of intellectual pursuit dismissed in a heartbeat. He had heard rumours of how his brother had spent the last twelve years, his string of women and exotic travels funded by the wealth they were both supposed to inherit, his expensive tastes paid for by the ever-dwindling funds. Simon knew that lust had also ruled his grandfather’s early life, but the old man had wanted more as he grew older, searching for power and fulfillment beyond material things. Simon had succumbed to his own tug of desire for influence far beyond his brother’s petty pleasures, but there were still days when he longed to lose himself in an orgy of flesh, and take intimacy to the realm of ritual.
“Well, how you live your life is your choice,” Gest said. “But I want what he promised me, then I’ll leave you alone in this melancholic place.”
“His gift is in the lab.” Simon replied, walking ahead through the dilapidated hallway and opening a metal door. “It’s been extended since you were last here.”
The neglected main house was in stark contrast to the gleaming laboratory, secretly constructed, where no one would have suspected that Simon and his grandfather continued to pursue the Great Work of the alchemists. It represented a mingling of cutting edge science with the occult, chemical formulas jostling for position with the symbols of medieval hermetics.
Gest idly picked up a round-bottomed flask and swirled the ruby liquid within.
“Careful with that,” Simon snapped, snatching the flask from his twin and placing it carefully back onto its stand. Gest moved around the lab.
“That’s his book, isn’t it?”
Simon turned from the bench to see Gest fingering his grandfather’s most precious tome, open to a page of intricately detailed drawings and symbols inscribed with spidery handwriting.
“Actually, he gave that to me. It’s not what he left you.” Simon heard a childish possession in his own voice and he thought back to the night when he had ripped the book from his grandfather’s arms, the old man begging to hold it once more, his arms outstretched in need, covered with the tattoos of words he had never explained. His eyes had been shadowed with dread as he reached for the book, sinister memories the man couldn’t help reliving, but would never speak aloud. Simon had thrust the vodka bottle at him instead, for his grandfather’s addiction had become the only way to quiet him, while he delved ever more deeply into the contents of the book.
Simon watched anxiously as Gest picked up the book anyway, desperate to tear it from his brother’s irreverent hands. Its cover was a patchwork of different coloured leather, sewn with cords and pulled tight like scars on a checkered board of human skin. The spine and pages were edged with gold, it was a work of art even without the precious words within. Simon knew that the art of distraction, that age-old sibling’s trick, was the only way to divert Gest’s attention.
Turning away as if he cared nothing for the book, Simon walked to a large print on the wall. Etched in pitch black upon a white background were intricately woven symbols of the planets, astrological signs and their alchemical metals. Simon’s eyes were drawn to the iron of Mars, the god of war, next to Mercury’s quicksilver, ruling planet of the twins of Gemini. He touched one side of the print and it swung from the wall to reveal a safe.
“So that’s where the old bastard hid his treasures,” Gest said, as his attention switched. Simon heard a thump as the book was dropped on the desk and a shiver of relief ran through him.
“Grandfather always said this was for you, and that I wasn’t to open it,” Simon said, as he took a heavy cream-coloured manila envelope from the safe and handed it to his brother. It had clearly been opened. Gest arched one eyebrow as Simon met his gaze unapologetically. “I didn’t seriously believe you would come back for it.”
Pulling the papers out of the envelope, Gest frowned as he studied the many pages, a combination of old handwritten diary entries scrawled with notes and modern GPS printouts. He
looked up with a question in his eyes.
“It’s a map, or a series of them,” Simon said, smiling with perverse pleasure at his brother’s ignorance. “Grandfather told me about it after his first heart attack and he pleaded with me to follow the directions, to take the path he had always wanted to. It has taken most of his lifetime to work out the symbols within the book, to understand where it leads. But he was on so much morphine by then that I dismissed his ranting. That must have been when he sent the letter to you.”
Simon remembered how his grandfather had implored him to take the book to the location it revealed, for the final piece to complete the Great Work must lie there, a power beyond imagining. Perhaps it could also be a way to replenish their fortunes, Simon thought, for the book also contained lists of ancient jewels, hidden for many years. He hadn’t taken the words seriously at first, but after he had taken the book for himself, he had begun to feel an increasing need to go on the journey it demanded. He felt a pull, a rising desire to discern what the book revealed and a pulse of latent power that begged to be unleashed. Perhaps the answer lay in these maps, Simon thought.
Gest spread the pages out on a worktop, scanning them quickly. “This all looks authentic, Si, and I know you’re as aware as I am of the state of the bank accounts. We need whatever this points to.”
“Even if it takes everything we have left?” Simon replied, looking around at his beloved lab, wondering if the risk was worth it.
Gest grinned, and his eyes sparkled with a lust for adventure.
“Every cent,” he said. “For we’ll get it back a thousand-fold. Remember his stories, Si, the ones he told us as boys. Diamonds and precious stones without name, all just waiting for us to pull them from the ice. And now we have the map to get us there.”
Gest embraced his brother, spinning him around in the lab. Simon reluctantly gave into his merriment, smiling for the first time since his grandfather’s death and finally understanding why the map had been left to his headstrong, reckless twin.
———
Two months later, Simon shook his head as he remembered that moment in the lab, the beginning of this trip to the frozen wastelands of the far north. The maps had indicated a little-known stratum of caves within the Arctic Circle but their ship could take them no further and now they had to take dog sleds for the final section of the journey inland. The trip had finished the last of the bank loans that Gest had secured against the mansion and the lab equipment and Simon cursed his own weakness at letting his brother mortgage his life’s work. His jaw ached from days clenching it, as each thunk of ice crunching on the side of the hull had reminded him of the miles of frozen water between them and civilization. For now there was no going back.
The specialist team Gest had hired were finishing the last checks of the equipment they needed to carry inland, and Simon watched the handlers bring the sled dog teams out from the ship. The Siberian Huskies and Alaskan Malamutes leapt about and yelped, shaking their shaggy fur, tongues hanging out as their hot breath frosted the air. To Simon, they were reminiscent of wolves, with sharp teeth and thick fur, animals suited to this cruel environment and ready to do battle with Nature.
“Cry havoc,” Simon whispered, “and let slip the dogs of war.”
He zipped up his fur-lined coat, his hand skimming the top pocket where his name had been sewn in violet letters to help the crew tell the identical twins apart. As if he could be mistaken for his brother, Simon thought, as he watched Gest arguing with the expedition leader, making sure the man was following his instructions to the letter.
Since his brother’s attention was elsewhere, Simon bent to check the position of the book within his pack. He had wrapped it in protective and waterproof layers, but he still felt a need to reaffirm its safety. As he put his hand on it, he thought he could feel a curious warmth emanating from inside and again he sensed a tendril of desire to place the book where it belonged. He looked up to see gusts of wind on the ice, swirling into figures like mutated angels, reaching for the book with ancient hands. He blinked and they became eddies of chill air again, but Simon tightened the straps on his pack, as the team readied to move out.
Later that day, the expedition leader called a halt as he and Gest checked their coordinates with the old paper map against the modern GPS. Simon peered around, squinting at the sun through his goggles, taking in their surroundings with a dawning sense of recognition. They had stopped within a shallow valley and the silhouette of the icy hills around them matched one of the drawings in the book, old lines etched in a shaky hand that his grandfather had never been able to interpret.
With rising excitement, Simon stepped off his sled. He snapped on cross-country skis and headed toward the edge of the valley, using his poles to spur himself onward. The barking and howling of the dogs followed him and he heard Gest shout in alarm, but he wanted to be the first to confirm whether this was indeed the place in the drawing.
Beneath a strange formation of ice cliffs, reminiscent of a demon’s head, a precipice fell into a vast pit. A dank and foul-smelling waterfall poured dark-tinted water downwards, anathema to the clear crystal they had found elsewhere. The volcanic crevasse was edged with stones the colour of iron encrusted with mold, and steam poured from the hole. A hot stench, like decaying flesh, filled the air, yet still Simon felt a dark pull to the murky depths below as he gazed into the tumbling waters.
Gest arrived on his skis, panting a little with the exertion of catching his brother, his face clouded with annoyance at being left behind.
“The map says that the caves are accessible from the abyss,” Gest said, as if he had found the location. “So we’re going down there. We’re close, I can feel it.”
Signaling back to the team, he directed them to set up the abseiling gear and soon the crew were busy hammering in equipment. Gest was impatient and, as soon as he could, descended first with his head-torch on, ignoring the team leader’s request for initial safety checks. As he disappeared beneath the lip of the waterfall, Simon hurried his own preparation, soon following Gest over the edge. He glanced down, watching as his brother ducked into a cavern under an overhang, unhooking his ropes in order to move more freely. Simon felt a pulse of excitement at finding the cave, a throbbing that seemed to vibrate through the rucksack from the book. Could this really be the place?
As he reached the entrance he heard a low moan from within, a deep sound of horror that was scarcely human. He heard his brother retching and coughing, the sound echoing from the rough-hewn entrance. Simon unhooked his harness and hurried down the rocky corridor to the cave within, blue light filtering down as the walls turned to ice again away from the heat of the waterfall. As his head-lamp flickered and reflected off the surface, Simon caught a glimpse of his own face as if in a mirror, startling him with the resemblance to his twin. He stepped onward to find Gest bent double as he threw up the remains of his meager breakfast, the smell of vomit permeating the chill of the cave. Gest pointed wordlessly and Simon turned, his head torch illuminating what his brother had seen.
A cylindrical block of ice bisected the cavern and as Simon looked closer, he realized there were bodies inside, parts of their frozen limbs protruding in bulges. But this was no peaceful grave, for their mouths were open in horror and their bodies had been split open, hacked apart and murderously slaughtered. Simon walked around the block, breathing deeply, swallowing down the bile that filled his own throat. On the far side, one man was split from chin to groin, his frozen entrails dragged from his body, his heart flopped from his chest, with mutilated intestines and bowels frozen into a tableau of agony. Another figure was face down in the ice, his head crushed as if chewed by the maw of a hell fiend, his back torn open by claws that rent his spine, exposing the bones through ragged flesh flayed from his body. Who or what had done this? Simon stared in horror, but part of him felt the echoes of violence as an edge of arousal.
“What do you think
happened to them?” Gest asked, finally standing straight. He took a swig of water to rinse his mouth and then spat it out onto the floor of the cave, where it swiftly froze.
Simon examined another of the figures, his head cruelly twisted around to face the back of his body, his eyes frozen open and his mouth contorted. The dead man’s clothes could be seen more clearly, the style and fabric from an earlier generation.
“Whatever it was,” Simon replied, “it happened a long time ago.”
“Do you think Grandfather knew about this?” Gest asked.
Simon heard a tinge of judgment, a hint of blame in his brother’s horrified voice, but he only felt a growing kinship with his grandfather’s quest and a rising discernment of what must come. He swung off his pack, removing the book of multi-hued leather. It seemed to pulse in his hands as he flicked through the pages for the handwritten notes he had once glimpsed and now perhaps began to understand.
On one page was a rough map of the north, with the label Hyperborea written in blood and twin lightning bolts scrawled at the bottom. In the middle of the landmass was a demon, a creature of primal myth, with six wings beating against the cold north wind. His grandfather had never been able to explain what it meant but now Simon felt a heat resonate from the book, a throb of rising power. Light seemed to emanate from it and Simon’s vision flashed. Suddenly he saw the cave floor awash with blood and hacked bodies as the men died at the hands of a possessed madman who fled alone with the book.
Simon was transfixed at the vision but Gest seemed not to notice his brother’s inattention, shining his torch away from the bodies and toward the back of the cave. The light reflected in a sparkle down a dark tunnel leading away from the pillared area. Gest moved the light and it caught again, reflecting facets of brilliant colour.
“Radio above,” he said, no longer focused on the wretched forms of the dead, but on the potential of riches beyond. “Tell them to wait while we investigate further. We mustn’t let anyone else see this, Si.”
