by J F Cain
Six endless centuries later, during which time he had moved from place to place to keep his true nature hidden and had only had short-lived affairs, his love for Jean had woken his need for the warmth and comfort of family. But he hadn’t had the chance to enjoy even a few years with her. Her untimely death had extinguished his plans and wiped any hope of happiness from his heart. The only thing he wished for now was to kill the one who had stolen his dream from him, casting him back into the place from where he had been trying to escape: Hell.
As silently as he could, Vincent followed the stone stairway that descended into darkness. As soon as he reached the bottom, he stopped in front of the arched hallway that stretched to his left and right, plastered himself against the wet stone wall and listened. Nothing was moving at close range. It was the middle of the night and the young vampires living in the fortress’s lower level had left in search of food. But he still had to be careful. Someone might not have been in the mood to hunt tonight or might not have been that thirsty and had remained in his room.
Cautiously, he turned right along the hallway and with his enhanced vampiric vision guiding him in the darkness, he tiptoed forward, flush against the wall. He passed two doors made of thick planks through whose cracks no light shone through, and stopped at the third door. He slowly lifted the old iron latch and the sound of two rusty metals rubbing against each other echoed treacherously in the quiet hallway.
Fucking door, Vincent cursed inwardly.
He pushed the door gently, trying not to make any noise, but the corroded hinges squeaked. Anxious, he quickly slid into the room and closed the door carefully. He stood motionless, his face practically glued to the timeworn planks, and with his senses on alert, he waited to see if anyone had noticed him. His keen hearing did not pick up any sound. Now reassured, he walked to a shelf full of thick candles that had dripped wax all the way down to the floor, took a lighter out of the pocket of his frock coat and lit one of them.
The small flame spawned shadows in the small windowless room hidden in the bowels of the castle. Humidity sprang up from the flagstone floor and climbed the stone walls, leaving dark stains and a heavy smell in its wake. The sheets on the iron bed were rumpled and dirty. The old wooden wardrobe across from the bed had become warped from the humidity and its one door gaped open, the mirror on the inside reflecting the image of an old-fashioned chest with rusted hinges on which modern female clothing had been tossed. The silence in the depressing ice-cold room was charged with a mysterious tension, as if an unearthly power that was still present had touched it.
Vincent approached the bookcase resting against a wall and looked at the framed photos arranged on one of the shelves in chronological order. In the first black-and-white photo, a petite twenty-year old girl dressed in an early-nineteenth-century long white dress and hat stood smiling in a sun-drenched garden. In the rest of the photos, the same face, untouched by time, wore increasingly modern clothing. But the smile had disappeared permanently from her lips and the photos had all been taken using a flash.
She’s regretted becoming a vampire, Vincent realized with some surprise. How stupid can one be not to appreciate the gift of eternal life?
He snorted contemptuously and let his gaze travel over the thick books with the illustrated covers on the bottom shelf. Curious to see what intellectual interests a relatively young vampire might have, he picked one up and holding it in his one hand, he fanned the pages with his thumb. Exotic beaches on paradisiacal islands, blossoming plains and turquoise lakes nestled between snowy mountains, ancient temples devoted to lost civilizations surrounded by tropical vegetation, rivers that rushed into waterfalls crowned with rainbows—all these images flashed past his eyes, all of them bathed in the bright rays of the sun. The young vampire longed for the light that killed the undead. She wanted to leave the castle, go out into the light of day and visit all those beautiful places shown in the travel guide.
You know what, little sister, I don’t know if you’ll ever get to do that, but I will for sure. Vincent wasn’t interested in traveling and touring, but becoming invulnerable to daylight would go a long way toward furthering his plans.
He shut the book and dropped it on the shelf. He shoved aside the remaining stack of guides and studied the stone that was right behind them. It looked no different from the others and the joints around it seemed untouched. He put gentle pressure on the left side of the stone and the right side swung open outwards, revealing a small cache. The vampire smiled with satisfaction. The reliable information his powerful ally gave him was only one of the benefits he would gain from their arrangement. He thrust his hand into the dark cache and carefully withdrew a sealed bag. Inside it, protected from the room’s humidity, was the book they had stolen from the Guardians’ library.
Lucard had hidden it in a crypt only the elders knew of, in a place it was unlikely someone would think to look. Even the vampire living in the room had no idea about the valuable book. However, Vincent had learned about the grimoire and was eager to study its contents. When they had stolen it from the Guardians’ castle, he hadn’t had a chance to do it since his comrade had stayed close to him right up to the moment when they had handed it over to the elders.
He slid the old book out of the bag, taking care not to slash it with the sharp blade he had for a hand, and then put it down on the shelf. He rested the tome on his arm and caressed the black leather cover with his fingertips, overcome by a sense of gratification.
“Adeptikon of Demon Banishment,” he whispered almost soundlessly, reading the title engraved on the cover with white letters.
In this manuscript, the Guardians had gathered all the magical practices of different religions and spiritual traditions that had to do with subduing Demons, ousting them from the earthly plane, and annihilating them. The vampire elders, being former Demons, had advanced knowledge in dark magic which they shared with no one, so they could manipulate the race and its powers in whatever way served their interests. However, they didn’t have the concentrated knowledge that the Guardians did, which was why they had sent him to steal the grimoire. Vincent planned to use the book to further his own plan. Eager to discover the secrets of Occult Knowledge, he approached the lit candle, lifted the thick front cover and began to page through the book.
On the pages were sketches of sorcerers of different traditions and races, scenes from rituals with Demons and Angels, circles of protection for the invokers of primeval powers, magical sigils, occult symbols, sacred words, and mystical names. There were detailed descriptions on how to construct the implements of the magical arts, instructions on choosing the right astrological conditions and performing rituals, as well as protective chants. But unfortunately for him, the information was written in ancient, unknown languages. Besides the simpler ones, such as Ancient Greek, Latin, Sanskrit, and Hebrew, some texts were written in runic script, others in the strange language of the Celestials and others were made up of figures and symbols. Overall, most were written in code, making it impossible for the uninitiated to read them.
Damn it! This is bullshit! Vincent thought, feeling the joy of impending discovery fade away. He quickly flipped through the next few pages. Not a word in English. That’s why the elders weren’t especially worried about safeguarding the grimoire. He slammed the book shut. He needed someone to translate the texts.
As he was thinking that only an eternal entity would know all those languages, Lucifer’s cloud appeared in the room. The powerful energy caused the temperature to plummet even further. The candle flame trembled, animating the shadows on the walls. As the eerie aura dispersed, its gloomy veils rippling across the room, the Dark Lord’s form emerged. He stood there, holding a steel sword with primeval symbols engraved along the blade, and regarded the vampire with his penetrating gaze.
“Master,” said Vincent, bowing deeply.
Without saying a word, Lucifer lifted the sword and dragged the blade across his left palm, cutting it deeply. A thick, dark liquid well
ed up from the wound, filling his cupped palm. Startling the vampire, he flung the sword down at his feet, and the blade lodged in the stone floor with a soft hiss. A faint grayish aura enveloped the demonic weapon and was slowly absorbed by the engraved symbols, giving it the power to serve the purpose for which it was intended. The Dark Lord conjured a white towel in his other hand and wiped the dark liquid from his palm. In an instant, his unholy energy was absorbed by the fabric and all traces of it vanished. He then tossed the towel into the air and the magical object landed softly on the sword’s handle.
Lucifer pinned his gaze on Vincent.
“Don’t let me down,” he warned him.
The vampire felt the eerie icy gaze of the greatest Demon penetrate him and bowed his head so as not to reveal his inability to face him.
“You can rely on me, my Lord,” he replied in a steady voice.
Without a single move, Lucifer shoved the grimoire off the shelf and onto the floor. The magical manuscript opened and its pages began to turn quickly, as if blown by a strong wind, until they stopped on a page that had a text written in cuneiform script. On the opposite page was a sketch of a ritual. In the drawing, four Babylonian sorcerers had formed a square in the middle of which stood a grotesque Demon. From the waist down, his body was dissolving into something that looked like sand dropping onto the ground, on a large symbol that looked as if it was absorbing it. The Demon, whose pain and anxiety were written on his face, had spread his wings and was reaching up, as if trying to grab hold of something; he was fighting to escape the power that held him captive.
Vincent smiled slyly and looked up at Lucifer. His ally’s message was clear: he would give him the information he needed as long as he got the results he wanted.
And the vampire was more than willing to please him, since his aims coincided with those of the Dark Lord.
The next morning, Aranes stepped out for a walk in the grove behind the mansion. In the dim winter morning light, the tall trees with their thick grayish trunks seemed like a vital force that had anchored its existence to the earth, a tranquil ancient power that owed its survival to the light. Every time Abaddon left, the house seemed empty, and she would seek out the serenity and companionship of the woods. With her hands tucked inside the pockets of her jacket, she walked under the tufted branches of the evergreen oaks, wondering about Lucifer’s plans. She was certain that he was up to something, but she could only guess what it could be.
As soon as Hope appeared before her in her ethereal form, Aranes stopped walking and inhaled deeply. Among nature’s winter scents she could also make out the fragrance of Elether.
“Hope, materialize,” she said with a smile.
The Angel made her ethereal form visible and knelt down on one knee.
“Superior …” she greeted her, bowing her head respectfully.
Aranes realized that something serious was troubling her companion.
“I am glad to see you. Is everything alright?” she asked with concern.
Hope stood up and looked at her leader. Her bright eyes were shadowed with worry and she seemed somewhat on edge.
“I felt it my duty to inform you about what is happening,” she replied. She paused, hesitant to go on. She didn’t know if the Archivist agreed with her initiative or not, but she believed she was doing the right thing.
“Tell me,” Aranes urged her.
“Things have not been going well for us lately,” said Hope in a disheartened voice.
“I am sure that Anael can handle anything that arises,” Aranes answered, conveying her confidence in her replacement.
Hope shook her head sadly. None of the Angels involved in the clash, Anael included, knew that the Archivist had restored the souls, and the injustice distressed them.
“I am afraid it is not so. Just yesterday, Asmodeus defeated us and stole souls that were not his to take.”
The news upset Aranes, but nothing showed in her expression.
“The Archivist will not let it stand. I expect you all to support your leader,” she said with the calm determination with which she always gave her orders.
“You are our leader,” Hope retorted in a measured voice.
“At the moment it is Anael and she will remain in that position until I return.”
The Superior’s companion was heartened.
“Can I ask when this will be?”
“Soon.”
“Have you been notified of some decision?” Hope asked, her eyes filled with expectation.
The Source’s message came to Aranes’ mind.
“You could say so,” she replied enigmatically.
Hope’s glowing face shone even more with joy.
“At last!” she said with relief. “The Demons will no longer do whatever they wish.”
It depends on Its will, Aranes thought. She wouldn’t be surprised if the Guiding Mind allowed more of these events to happen so as to create the conditions that would further Its plan. “All will be as it should,” she told her companion without giving any explanations. “Until then, I want you to support Anael with all your might.”
Hope bowed her head in acceptance.
“As you wish.”
“Also, do not let our discussion be known,” Aranes added. Her impending arrival would cause upheaval among the Angels in her brigades and that might make Anael’s job more difficult.
“Of course,” Hope said. Realizing that their discussion was over, she gazed upon her leader with love and, after first bowing, she left the physical world.
Aranes continued on her walk, thinking about the situation in the celestial dimension.
Her continued absence had emboldened the Demons and the Archivist didn’t seem to be willing to support Anael in her missions. The Source was evidently testing the Archangel, as It was testing many more of Elether’s high-ranking entities. The need to evolve applied both to transcendental entities and earthly beings, and the laws governing evolution in the supersensory world weren’t different from those in the tangible world.
The change had begun many earthly years ago. The law of cycles—birth, growth, decay, and death—governed the field of manifest forms. From the existence of humans to the creation of religions and the flourishing of ideas, everything that affected life was subject to that law. Yet once again, Earth would enter a new cycle, and the upcoming changes would alter both the spiritual and the physical existence of humans. Despite all the efforts of the dark forces to halt its progress, evolution was slowly but steadily continuing along its difficult uphill path. Even if sometimes centuries would pass before it managed to take a single step forward.
As was always the case in the course of human history, ideas would take center stage as a new cycle was begun, because those intangible forces were so powerful that they could break any resistance. The new ideas that had been hovering in the intellectual sphere for many years were about balance and wholeness; the unification of the three human states of being—spiritual, intellectual, and physical—and the ability to understand that everything was connected into a single whole. In reality, these were old ideas. However, they had always only been known and practiced by a small number of people who had kept this knowledge confined within their narrow circle of likeminded people. At the time, humanity had not been ready to accept this truth, and the clergy had managed to quash any voice that differed from their own.
The terrible God that Lucifer had created to gain control over the ignorant masses didn’t tolerate differentness. His preposterous rage and the fear of punishment stripped people of their ability to judge and analyze and blinded them to the irrefutable truth: that the deeds attributed to this God were more suited to the ruler of the dark realm. And so Lucifer stole their freedom of thought, the ultimate right of incarnated souls that could lead to their spiritual awakening.
Unbeknownst to it, the earthly race had for centuries been participating in the sacrilegious worship of a capricious and unjust God. A racist God who divided people into those who w
ere chosen and those who were not, and claimed the truth lay with his own religion, which was essentially the same as the others. Because, as all those who were versed in the matter knew, there was only one religion. It evolved, differed in details, but remained the same beneath the different names. This was an irrefutable truth that was being carefully concealed. So most denominations tore each other apart, grappling for the title of infallibility and control of the faithful. Lucifer’s divisive model of God, no matter his name, spread hatred and discord, disrupting the unity that would threaten his existence.
Even so, despite the Dark Lord’s efforts to keep the earthly race spiritually subjugated, it had begun to awaken once again. Rational thought, which helped to overcome fear, was gradually blossoming. The ability to question had laid strong foundations in the minds of millions of people. A new consciousness could be seen on the spiritual horizon. Universality, unity, and wholeness were no longer empty words on the lips of leaders. They had begun to gain the weight and significance they deserved. Consciousnesses were expanding bit by bit and were searching for a truth that would not negate reason; a truth that was compatible with universal values. The signs were encouraging, albeit very few in relation to the global population.
Aranes believed that the battle between Abaddon and Lucifer would be waged to determine the future of the new trend, but not only for this reason. The two eternal rivals were fighting for more than to decide humanity’s future. That was just the first step toward their aims, which were the same up to a point and had to do with her. The difference was Abaddon had no interest in becoming the absolute ruler of the dimensions. Nevertheless, they were both determined to prevail. They would clash violently and on many levels, and the odds were stacked against her partner. Lucifer would allow no one to ruin his plans of domination, especially now that things were going his way.
This thought brought Michael’s warning to Aranes’ mind.
She was certain that the Dark Lord would use the baby to put pressure on Abaddon, but how far would the Source let him go? Without realizing it, she covered her belly with her hands, as if wanting to protect the fetus. There is no way It will leave Its new creation unprotected, she thought.
