Kultus

by Richard Ford

  One of the acolytes secured Blaklok’s manacles to a stone pillar, as Arkwright sidled up beside him. ‘I hope you will enjoy the show, Mr Blaklok. I’ll see if I can put in a special word for you when the President arrives. Perhaps he will allow you to be his pet.’

  Blaklok stared, and for the first time he spotted the glint of insanity behind Trajian Arkwright’s twinkling eyes. ‘You’re all going to die,’ he said.

  ‘Not us,’ Arkwright replied with complete conviction. ‘We are about to begin our lives anew. Lives that will last an eternity at the right hand of our master.’

  Arkwright turned, stowing his revolver inside his golden robes, and raised his arms high. Blaklok could see the Key of Lunos clutched tightly in one raised hand.

  ‘We are moments away from apotheosis, my friends. Valac patrem!’

  ‘Valac patrem,’ cried the acolytes in a single voice. Even now they were assuming their positions, faces twisted in glee, smoothing their robes and preening their hair as though they were keenly awaiting a secret lover.

  Arkwright strode to the centre of the summoning circle and was surrounded by his acolytes, each of them joining hands with their neighbour and beginning the droning chant.

  ‘We have been gifted,’ said Arkwright spinning on his heel and showing the Key to the assembled circle, as though blessing them all with the sight of it. ‘We have the means. We have the will. Nothing can stop us.’

  Blaklok began to strain against his manacles. They were padlocked to a bracket that was secured to a stone pillar. Though the manacles themselves were of good quality, there was a chance he could pull the bracket free of the pillar if he worked quickly enough. His muscles strained as he pulled with all his might. The grip of his left hand was not as strong as he’d have liked due to a recently lost finger, but he put that to the back of his mind. The manacles cut into his wrists but still he wrenched at them, staring at the bracket and willing it to move. There may have been the most minute of movements but it was no use, he was still tightly secured.

  In the meantime, the chanting had grown louder. ‘Valac dominus. Valac patrem. Valac omnipotentum. Valac invicta. Valac serviam.’ The chant was almost joyous as it was sung through bewildered smiles, gleaming from the hooded golden robes of the acolytes. And in the midst of them was Arkwright, his eyes locked with steely intent on the Key of Lunos.

  Blaklok silently scolded himself again. He should have taken the fucker out when he had the chance. Should have snapped that neck like a twig before he could do any harm. Well that would teach him to show mercy when it wasn’t warranted, but it was too late to castigate himself now. He had to do something. But that wasn’t going to happen with him trussed up like a sacrificial goat.

  He pulled again at the bracket and it began to move. A little dust at first, just a tiny spray dislodged from the pillar as the bolts that held the bracket began to loosen. Blaklok took some heart in this, trying to block out the droning chant, trying not to panic. With another tug, the bracket began to wobble, but the manacle about his wrist was cutting deep. The flesh was parting and blood was starting to run in rivulets down his arm.

  He had to ignore it; there were more important things at stake.

  By now, Arkwright had joined in the chanting along with his followers. His voice was raised higher than the rest, shrill and loud, as though he wanted the limelight all to himself.

  It was starting to get hotter, and that was never good. A warm wind was blowing straight through the chapel, but there was nowhere it could be coming from.

  Nowhere on this earth, anyhow.

  Blaklok turned his attention back to the manacles. The pain was getting more intense, even for him. His wrists felt like they were ready to split right off, and that wouldn’t have been an altogether bad thing. He reckoned that even handless he could have taken down these wet bastards.

  ‘Come, Valac!’ Arkwright’s voice peeled out above the din, momentarily diverting Blaklok’s attention from his painful task. ‘President of Hell. Lord of the Eighth Gate. Master of Serpents. Keeper of Hidden Secrets. We are ready to receive you. We have toiled long and hard for the means to offer a guiding light to the teeming masses of this foul city.’

  Blaklok was annoyed at that last comment. Especially since he was the one who had done all the toiling to retrieve the Key of Lunos, but he had little chance to complain. A blinding light suddenly glared from the Key. It looked like it was burning white hot, but Arkwright appeared to feel no pain. This was it, the demon was coming.

  Thaddeus strained once more, desperately pulling at the bracket, feeling it give a little more with each agonising tug, but it simply would not come all the way.

  ‘Yes!’ screeched Arkwright. ‘He is here!’ With that he placed the Key of Lunos down in the centre of the pentagram and stepped back from it, retreating all the way to the edge where he joined the rest of the chanters. He joined in with their endless litany and they all looked on eagerly as the light emanating from the Key intensified.

  Blaklok had to close his eyes as he kept tugging. The blood now covered his arms, but he knew he had loosed the bolts that secured the bracket to the wall. He was almost free, another few seconds and he would be able to stop this before it was too late.

  Then he realised that a disturbing hush had descended on the room.

  Slowly he opened his eyes and felt the cold, unnatural chill that told him he was in the presence of the unearthly. The gold-cloaked acolytes were now standing in silence. Some gawped, open-mouthed and astonished. Others smiled dumbly, a pall of orgasmic glee having fallen across their faces. The rest could only weep, but whether from fear, happiness or some twisted sense of accomplishment, Blaklok couldn’t tell. Arkwright himself merely looked victorious, his eyes burning with intense madness.

  And in their midst, rising from a crouching position, a sulphurous miasma emanating from its bare flesh, was President Valac.

  The demon was twice the size of a man, maybe more, naked and matted with thick, wiry fur. A huge hairy cock dangled flaccidly between its legs, denoting it as male, but Blaklok knew demons bore nothing that could be described as gender. This thing was an it from the tip of those wicked horns to the bottom of its massive cloven feet.

  It embodied every stereotype and myth ever written about demons – the horns, the snout, the hooves, the skin. But its face was not ferocious. Indeed, it seemed almost limpid, and imparted an aura of calm throughout the chapel. Part of Blaklok wanted to stop struggling against his bonds and merely stare in awe, but he knew better. He knew the odious, deceptive nature of the unworldly creatures that resided in the Pit, and before things could go tits up he resumed his straining against the bracket.

  From the corner of his eye he saw one of the acolytes lurch forward, dropping to his knees before Valac. ‘Master. We beseech your blessing,’ he pleaded, tears straining from the corners of his eyes.

  President Valac reached down with its huge, hairy hand, a faint smile playing across its fat red lips. It gently rested the hand on the acolyte’s head, as though anointing him, and the man closed his eyes, tears of joy running across his wide smile.

  With a final wrench, Blaklok dragged the bracket from the wall, six-inch bolts lurching from their housing within the stone pillar. He almost cried in triumph, but the pain in his wrists cancelled out any sense of accomplishment he might have felt.

  Thaddeus turned to the gathered acolytes, their demonic master standing in their midst.

  The President’s face regarded its congregation with an ambivalent stare. Then it looked down to the one at its knees. Valac’s blank stare suddenly took on a ferocious sheen. Its teeth bared in a half-grin, half-leer as it reached down with talons that had a second before seemed so innocuous, grasping like a vice, piercing gold robes and flesh. The man screamed in pain as he was lifted, just for a second, before his head was crammed into the demon’s maw and snapped off by powerful jaws.

  A scream rose to the ceiling of the chapel as panic ensued.

&nbs
p; Well, thought Blaklok, you can’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Golden robes fluttered in panic as Valac’s acolytes began to flee in terror. Blaklok’s eyes were on the Key of Lunos, now lying at the centre of the summoning circle, but the huge demon still stood astride it. It reached out another hand, grasping a fleeing figure by the hem of his robe and lifting him high, examining the struggling man like a child might observe a dangling worm. As the victim began to peal out a high pitched scream, Valac lowered him towards its jaws, taking a deep bite of the man’s torso, crunching through ribs and flesh and into organs, allowing the rich red juices to run in rivulets down its chin.

  The man didn’t scream for long.

  Blaklok looked around for Trajian Arkwright, determined that he should not escape the hellish justice of his master, but he was lost in the confusion as bodies ran every which way in terror.

  Trajian would have to keep, for now Blaklok had to retrieve the Key and stop a ravenous demon from slaughtering scores of innocents. Obviously these acolytes were an exception – Valac could have as many of these injudicious bastards as he could stuff in his huge maw.

  The demon finished rending the flesh from its now flaccid victim and dropped the body to the ground, as though discarding a stripped spare rib. It glared around at the confusion, its former acolytes now fleeing in terror, and it roared. The sound filled the chapel and made Blaklok cringe. He felt the fear wash over him and struggled to fight against it. This was not real terror, not the primal kind you got from being scared for your life. This was a horror only the demonic could imbue – a fear for your very soul that even death could not liberate you from.

  And as the noise of the hellbeast’s roar subsided, Thaddeus saw that its eyes were solidly fixed on him. Two burning embers lodged deep within a face of solidified magma.

  Blaklok fought against the terror but it was no good, the eyes had him transfixed. His knees were trembling and his bowels were about to loosen. He knew his very soul was in jeopardy.

  With a deafening crash one of the ornate windows burst inwards, showering the chapel and the few remaining acolytes with multicoloured glass. Valac turned in time to see hideous red robed figures bound into the sanctity of the wide room. As they did so, more scarlet cultists came storming through the door, pushing past those in gold, as eager to enter the room as Valac’s followers were to exit.

  Blaklok recognised the feral, bounding forms of the Cult of Legion, and even noted the wild-eyed features of Castor Cage, but he soon realised they were not here for him.

  ‘Seize the Key!’ cried the cultist to their fore. To all intents this one was human, not bearing the vile demonic taint of some of the other red-robed monsters, but his face was hidden behind a large mask, shaped like a bronze sunburst. ‘We must have the Key!’

  Valac roared once more, this time at the defilers encroaching on his sanctum, but these intruders did not seem to be afraid. Three snarling beasts leapt at the demon, rending him with their talons, and Valac gave a wail of pain. As it was distracted, more red-robed figures scurried forward, reaching desperately for the Key of Lunos where it lay discarded on the ground.

  Blaklok was suddenly enraged, his fear of President Valac dissipating as he saw the creature now combating several smaller demons. As he took a pace forward, Valac grasped one of the creatures that had clamped jaws around its broad shoulder and flung it aside – right at Thaddeus.

  It was like being hit with a block of stone, and he fell back, cracking his head against the marble floor. The beast of Legion quickly scrambled to its feet and leapt back into the fray, but Blaklok was stunned, and not for the first time in recent days. He stood in time to see one of the red-robed men grasping the Key, thrusting it towards the masked leader. ‘I have it,’ he cried gleefully, just as Valac swept its wickedly clawed hand around to decapitate him. The body fell forward, spilling the Key to the ground, and Blaklok did his best to lurch towards it. But before he could reach it, the masked figure had stretched out a long arm and clutched his prize.

  ‘We have it,’ he said, his voice distorted behind his mask. ‘Let us leave this foul place!’

  With that, he and his robed followers made for the door, leaving three of their beastly fellows, including Castor Cage, still engaged in a vicious battle with the demonic President.

  As much as Blaklok wanted to stay and watch these monsters tearing into each other, he had to get the Key back. His legs trembled as he moved towards the exit, narrowly avoiding the flailing, snarling beasts that were fighting for their lives in the centre of the chapel.

  Once he made it through the archway, Blaklok staggered through a twisting corridor that led to a wide landing.

  By the time he got there he was too late, a huge winch was grinding and squeaking as the tower’s lift descended towards the ground. To the side was a staircase that twisted hundreds of feet down, and Blaklok could see several golden robed figures falling over themselves in their eagerness to clatter down the stairs.

  He needed a quicker way.

  Pulling off his shirt he tore it in two and wrapped it around his bloody hands. Then, gulping a deep breath of air he leapt for the pulley cable that was quickly descending. The pain in his palms was instantaneous as he gripped the cable and felt the friction burn his flesh. The stub of his missing finger seemed to scream out in protest as he tightened his grip, desperately trying to alleviate his fall.

  Blaklok slipped for several feet, feeling the rush of air sweep past as he fell, until finally he managed to slow himself.

  His palms were on fire but still Thaddeus clung to the cable for dear life. The lift car was almost fifty feet below him, and to fall now would make an awful mess of its roof.

  Above he could hear the roar of angry demons, and he looked up, in time to see a huge bestial face glaring down at him.

  Valac!

  The demon reached out, its bulk filling the lift shaft as it began to descend. Blaklok duly shimmied down the cable as fast as he could, away from the approaching monster, but with its superior size and strength it was easily gaining.

  Seeing that the cable was aiding Blaklok’s escape, Valac reached out for it, trying to stop its descent, but the thick steel simply ran through the beast’s grip. It roared in frustration, clambering faster, and Blaklok had to fight to resist the temptation to let go, and drop away from the ravenous demon.

  He was almost at the elevator, shimmying down the cable for dear life, when the cabin suddenly hit the ground with a grinding of breaks. Thaddeus dropped, landing on the roof and wrenching open the access panel as Valac let go of either side of the shaft and dropped after him.

  Blaklok fell into the lift, seeing the red robes of the Cult of Legion running for the tower’s exit. Desperately he scrabbled out to safety as Valac landed on the lift with a smash of metal and wood, crushing its roof and sending metal panels flying.

  As the demon fought to free itself from the lift shaft, Blaklok rose unsteadily and made after the Cult of Legion and the Key.

  They were sprinting, their red robes billowing behind them, but Blaklok was faster. As they made their way out onto the street, Thaddeus was on them, crunching his fist into the side of one red hood to his right, smashing his booted foot into the knee of one to his left. The men went down screaming, and the rest turned. Their leader, eyes glaring from within the bronze mask, simply stared, grasping the Key of Lunos to his chest.

  ‘That belongs to me,’ said Blaklok, mustering as much menace as he could. ‘Do yourself a favour and–’

  With an unearthly roar, President Valac burst onto the street. Passers by began to scream in terror as the demon appeared, its hungry eyes regarding them with evil intent.

  Blaklok was torn – the Key was right in front of him, he could almost taste it. It would be nothing to reach out and take it from the masked man, but Valac was loose, and the innocents on the street had the look of an all night buffet about them.

  As the red-robed c
ultists backed away, Thaddeus turned to face the beast. The fear was still in him, the soul rending terror that threatened to spill out into his underclothes, but he couldn’t allow this creature its liberty. It did not belong here on this plane.

  This was Thaddeus Blaklok’s domain, and while he was here there was no room for fucking demons.

  Valac began to stride towards the crowded street and Blaklok ran forward, yelling at the top of his lungs. The demon turned, recognition sparking in its eyes. Blaklok could see its body was rent and torn by claw and tooth marks – the beasts of Legion had made a valiant attempt at bringing the demon down. He could only hope he would do half as well.

  With a hideous grin, the demon took a step towards him, flexing its razor talons that were now covered in gore. Blaklok desperately scanned the area for a weapon, anything would do, but there was nothing to hand. People were scattering all around, and every instinct inside him told him to do the same but he knew he could not.

  With a beastly grunt, President Valac swung a huge claw. Blaklok ducked, feeling the air part inches from his head, and he rolled to the side. He was on the demon’s flank, with time to spare, and he leapt up, stepping off the monster’s bent thigh and stretching up for the head. Before Valac could stop him, Blaklok had grasped one of its horns and wrenched it back with all his might.

  The demon roared in pain as the horn crunched and twisted within its head. Blaklok knew that had the demon been manifest for more than a couple of hours it would have felt no pain, but newly summoned it was vulnerable.

  It reached up, grasping with its talons, but Blaklok had already leapt clear, hitting the ground hard and rolling to his feet. Valac snarled, staring with hatred at the annoyance in front of it, the audacious mortal that had dared to do it harm. With a sound like the sucking vent of an airship, the demon drew in a deep gulp of air.