by J. F. Penn
At the end of the corridor, Morgan could see a faint light from an open courtyard. Her footsteps echoing in the old hall, she walked towards the light and looked to either side, the head torch illuminating artwork on the walls. One picture portrayed fantastical beasts of mythology devouring human sacrifices; in another, a mob of demons fought against a group of angels. It looked as if the balance of the battle favored the dark side, as the angels' wings were torn and bloody, their faces scarred. One looked to Heaven with desperation in his eyes, hands raised in prayer as a demon sank its teeth into the angel's neck. These were not the popular religious paintings of Europe's churches, where good always vanquished evil. Here, a different truth was celebrated.
A rattling of chains and the rhythmic stomp of feet came from ahead. Morgan looked up, directing the head torch towards the sound, but the light couldn't pierce the darkness that far away. As she walked towards the noise, the lamp flickered and then died just as she reached the threshold to the inner courtyard.
Clouds scudded across the sky and patchy moonlight illuminated the scene. Morgan stood on the step, trying to work out what she was seeing. A long line of men were chained together, dragging themselves around the central quadrangle, their voices a cacophony of moans and the discordant notes of an ancient chant. They stamped their feet onto the stone beneath, leaving marks of bloody filth behind them. The stink of unwashed bodies, rotten flesh and decay filled the air. Morgan clutched at the stone walls either side of her, rooted in the doorway, anchoring herself to what she could feel with her fingertips. These men must surely be another of the dark hallucinations, a ghostly chain gang destined to suffer here night after night.
She looked more intently at the group, forcing herself to witness their pain. Several of the men were decapitated, their necks a bloody mess with white bone peeking through, but their legs still walked on. One of them carried his own head, the eyes fixed and staring in a rictus of horror, the mouth still moving in desperate prayer. There were men with missing limbs, some partially torn off, dragging their remains in endless circles.
A frenzied barking came from one corner of the courtyard and the men nearest that area screamed in terror, pulling away as far as their chains would take them. One of them disappeared, dragged away from those around him; the sounds of ripping and tearing could be heard above the panic as his screams died away. Morgan put her hands over her ears at the awful noise of flesh devoured, the crunching of jaws.
A massive black dog stalked from behind the men, its mouth dripping with dark blood, spittle flecked around its muzzle, eyes wide with bloodlust. The chain gang froze, quiet now, their dead eyes following the dog's path as its huge head swung back and forth, looking for the next victim. Morgan watched the tableau, waiting for it to stop and repeat itself as the horse had done outside.
The dog's gaze shifted to her, growling as its lips pulled back over sharp teeth and Morgan was sure it could see her physical form. Suddenly she wasn't so certain this was all a hallucination. It stepped towards her, nails clicking on the flagstones.
Morgan slowly reached inside her jacket and pulled out her gun, sighting on the dog's muzzle.
"Don't even think about it," she whispered.
The feel of the weapon made her confidence surge and she stepped down into the courtyard. The dog took another pace towards her, snarling now, the growl in the back of its throat a rumbling that echoed around the stone walls. She saw its back legs flex as it prepared to jump. Time slowed as her logical brain insisted this wasn't real, but the most base part of her animal nature recognized a mortal threat. Saliva and blood dripped from the dog's mouth. As the slime pooled on the ground, its eyes narrowed and it sprang at her.
Morgan shot once, twice.
The bullets had no impact on the beast as it leapt with powerful legs extended, its jaws open to snap shut on her flesh. Morgan continued to fire and then flinched, ducking against the wall, head turned away as she anticipated the snap of its jaws, heart almost bursting in her chest.
Suddenly it was silent again, and she opened her eyes to find the beast gone, the chained men disappeared. But across the courtyard was the gigantic figure of Adam Kadmon's tattooed bodyguard, flanked by two other men with guns pointed at her. For one crazy moment, Morgan was glad they were there, grateful to see those she knew as physically real. The man began to clap, as if celebrating her performance.
"I see you met the resident courtyard ghosts," he said. "Our intruder alarm, if you like."
"What … were they?" Morgan said, her voice shaking. She put her gun down on the ground and stood up straight, hands wide in surrender. There was no point in trying to overcome these three, and besides, she wanted to be where Kadmon was now.
The tattooed man shrugged. "There have been many legends of this place over the years, and it's said that the layers of the dead built up until they thrust into the physical realm. We know this place is built over a bottomless pit, and the castle draws those who would use blood magic to open the void beneath."
"And you – why are you here?" Morgan asked. "Why join Kadmon?"
He pointed to the sky. "You don't understand our true purpose or you wouldn't stand in our way. Tonight, the stars align, and the dark gods are ready to join us. This is the first chance in generations to open the gate." He looked at his watch. "Come now, we must hurry back. Adam will be grateful that he has another daughter of the Remnant for the occasion." He gestured to the other men. "Bring her."
Morgan went with them, unresisting, following the man down another winding corridor to a chapel lit by candlelight. A huge painting of the Archangel Michael dominated the wall facing the altar, the leader of God's army attacking the hordes of Hell. He looked every inch the Teutonic warrior. In another painting, Michael pulled his great sword from the neck of a dragon, his shield burning as the beast spewed a rain of hellfire over him.
"This way," the tattooed man said, striding through the chapel towards the altar. He stepped behind it and then began to descend into the depths that ran below what Morgan remembered from the blueprints of the castle. The man behind prodded her forward and Morgan walked on.
Beside the altar, she noticed a strange painting for a Christian place of worship: a female centaur – a pagan creature, half woman half horse – her arrow nocked and aimed at a human figure tied to a stake. Morgan noted that the woman was left-handed, for which the Latin word was sinister. To be so marked was to be associated with Satan and the reverse of everything good. A strange image for a chapel, but then the legends of this place told of half-human creatures emerging from the depths of Hell beneath. As she stepped down into the darkness behind the altar, Morgan wondered what would be waiting below.
She followed the men as the stairwell wound down, lit by torches of flame placed in metal brackets, a touch of the medieval in this Gothic place. The smoke from the fires whirled in the air, an incense note to the woody scent. Morgan tried not to breathe too much in, keeping her breath shallow. The smoke clouded their view and she stepped carefully on the slippery stone. In the distance they could hear a rhythmic booming noise, a thumping, and she thought of the dog in the courtyard, the sound it would make if locked up. This sounded more powerful, more determined. More calculating.
The cold was piercing as they descended, making Morgan think of the icy Hell of Dante, not the fiery pit portrayed in most Hellish vistas. The walls were wet in parts, as if water seeped through the cracks. As her fingers brushed against a patch, they came away bloody, the thick viscous liquid clinging to her skin. She shivered and rubbed her fingers on her jeans, not wanting to think about the bodies behind these walls, the twisted minds that had created this place. Finally, they emerged into a round room at the bottom of the stairs.
Great torches of flame set in medieval iron brackets on the walls cast a flickering glow around the room. A gigantic round wooden trapdoor was set into the middle of the flagstones, covered with intricate carvings of occult symbols. There was a copper roundel in the middle of
the door, its bronzed surface burning a deep red. Centered within the roundel was a keyhole. The booming noise echoing around the chamber came from underneath the trapdoor. Something was beating on it from the inside, trying to push its way out.
Chapter 27
Mikael was strapped to a stone pillar at the side of the room, his mouth gagged. He looked at Morgan with sorrow, as if he had hoped not to see her again – as if he had not wanted her to come to this dark place. Beyond the trapdoor was a sarcophagus, a giant stone coffin, and on its lid lay Sofia, tied spread-eagle, wearing the red flamenco dress she had been taken in. Her eyes were closed, her body relaxed. She moaned, clearly drugged and only partially conscious.
"Glad you could join us." Adam Kadmon stepped from the shadows to stand in front of the trapdoor. "The blood of the Remnant will strengthen the dark ones as they emerge." He looked at his watch. "The alignment approaches." His good eye was bright, almost manic, shining with the desire to see what pounded on the trapdoor. The booming reverberated around the room, and Morgan had to speak loudly to be heard.
"You really want to release whatever is down there?"
Kadmon smiled, and Morgan saw an edge of madness there.
"This is the culmination of my quest, the final step on my journey. The Crusaders said it best: my God will know his own and spare the ones who are faithful." He turned to the men, nodding towards Mikael. "Bind her with him. The three of them will be the first for the Devourers to consume, to speed them on their way into the world."
The tattooed man pulled Morgan across the room and tied her to the pillar alongside Mikael, facing the pit. The great trapdoor seemed to bow outwards, pulsing as if whatever was beneath tested its resistance. The booming increased in tempo. Vibrations shook the ground they stood on, making Morgan's teeth rattle and her ears ache. Adam Kadmon withdrew the Key from its box.
A tapping on her hand drew her attention. Morgan looked at Mikael and realized he was trying to communicate something to her, his eyes desperate as the seconds ticked onwards, the words he spoke muffled by his gag. As she tried to work out what he was trying to say, she remembered the chanting in the salt cave. Whatever he could do, he needed the power of words to do it. She yanked against the ties that bound her, but there was no way to free her hands.
"Lean towards me," she whispered, and as Mikael pulled as far as he could to meet her, she leaned forward, using her teeth to catch the edge of his gag. She tugged and lost her grip, teeth slamming together. She tried again and this time gripped tighter, yanking her head downwards as he pulled away from her. The corner of his mouth was uncovered now and she tried one more time, her lips meeting his briefly as her teeth bit down on the gag. A shock of electricity sparked between them, the air almost crackling, and then his mouth was free.
Mikael began chanting under his breath immediately, his eyes flicking to the trapdoor as it bulged obscenely, ready to burst. Morgan saw the bonds on his wrists drop away, but he didn't charge at Kadmon as she would have done; he just bent to the ground and began to draw symbols in the dust.
Adam held the Key up, his gaze fixed on the skeletal shape which glowed in the torchlight. It pulsed, throbbing in Adam's hand as he approached the straining doors above the pit. As he stepped near it, he cried out in pain and Morgan saw vicious spiked tendrils emerge from the blade of the Key, stabbing into his hand. A slick of blood coated Adam's fingers. He grimaced but kept walking, fixed on the final goal.
As he approached, the metal of the lock piece on the door began to melt and morph, reforming itself into a pool of burning liquid. The groans and thumps under the door grew louder, as if those beneath could sense the approach of he who would release them. Adam's eye burned now, reflecting the copper liquid he stared into. His arm was pulled forward as the Key was drawn towards its home, desperate to fulfill its final destiny. Morgan could see a hint of fear in his gaze as he leaned forward, his hand so close to the liquid metal.
At the last moment, he dropped the Key and the lock accepted it, sucking it whole into a spinning vortex before releasing it back into Adam's hand. A deep clunking sound filled the room. The lock dissolved. The ancient wood began to crack, thick wounds splitting across its surface as dark pitch welled up from its surface. Adam backed away quickly.
Mikael looked up and Morgan saw recognition there, as if he had foreseen this moment. He spun and sketched in the dirt around her, enclosing her in a circle of protection, etching symbols in the dirt on the boundaries.
"This is all I can do for you," Mikael whispered to Morgan, standing up briefly next to her. "I can't release you because you won't be able to stop yourself attacking them. But this is not a physical fight and you can't win your way. These are the shades of Sheol, conjured by the terror of ages and released by a magic we hoped to control." He stroked her cheek with one finger. "I had hoped to spare you this, but now you will witness the end."
"In my pocket," Morgan said. "There's a page from the book my father sent me. It has symbols like the ones you've drawn here. Perhaps it will help."
Mikael reached inside her jacket pocket, pulling out the page from the manuscript. He unrolled it and hope dawned in his eyes.
"This might just be …"
He bent to the ground, kneeling again, his chanting louder now. No one paid them any heed as pitch from the trapdoor began to evaporate into the air, a billowing of black smoke that crept into the corners of the room, exploring the reaches of its space. Morgan could smell burnt flesh in its shadow, a sickly odor of decay overlaid with a promise of everlasting darkness. Adam's good eye began to take on the blackness of the air around him, the white darkening as shapes began to slink from the pit.
The smoke in the air shrouded the room in darkness and formed a bridge from one side of the veil into reality. Morgan watched as bat-like creatures with leathery wings pulled themselves from the pit, their muscles wasted and unused for millennia. One of them stood tall, fixing its gaze on one of Kadmon's men. It reached out a clawed hand and grabbed the man's neck, choking his screams as the thing bent to suck from his face. The man writhed in its grip, his body becoming desiccated as the wings spread out, blood pulsing through them now. When they were fully unfurled, the thing dropped the man's wasted body and flew upwards, its cry one of dark pleasure.
One visibly female form slithered close to the tattooed man, winding herself around his body, her breasts full and voluptuous as she touched him. Morgan saw conflict in the man's face as he gasped at her cold touch, arousal and fear vying for dominance as her mouth claimed his. Her tongue thrust into his throat as he tried to escape and the woman's body began to change, her full figure rotting and pulling apart. He began to choke, trying to push her from him but she was like smoke to his grasping hands. The remnants of her tattered skin pushed onto his, her bony fingers clawed into his chest, pushing through his skin and tearing open his chest. Her tongue withdrew from his mouth and she bared her teeth, lowering her head to feed on his exposed heart.
Morgan watched the unfolding scene with mounting horror, as more creatures emerged from the pit. A gigantic bulbous toad slithered out, its huge tongue flicking out to taste Sofia's skin, leaving a black residue on her perfect face. It began to waddle towards the bound girl, its black lids fixed on its prey, and Morgan knew they didn't have much time. She turned her head to Mikael, praying that he would have a way to save her – to save them all.
Mikael knelt on the ground, rolling and shaping a ball of muddy dirt as he repeatedly spat into the dust to bind more of it together. His gaze were fixed on the misshapen wraiths emerging from the pit, their diaphanous bodies becoming more substantial with every second. Under his breath, he chanted words from the Sefer Yetzirah, the Book of Creation that summoned divine life. Morgan watched as he picked up a shard of splintered wood from the floor, slicing into his palm.
He squeezed drops of blood out into the mud and began to shape the lump into a tiny figure of a man. The page of the book was next to him on the floor and he began to copy
the Hebrew letters from it onto the stone, using his blood as ink. As Morgan watched, the letters gleamed gold and spun in the air, lifting from the ground and drawn into the muddy figure. As they were absorbed, the figure grew, first to the size of a child and then into a grown man and finally, to a giant made of mud and the blood of a righteous man, its features a mess of molded clay but its hands like clubs. The letters of power surged within like the pulses of its blood. In the swirling smoke of the dark chamber, it gleamed with a golden light.
Morgan beheld the golem, the ancient creature that had protected the Jews in times of trouble. It was animated earth, the extension of the man who had conjured it, driven by the power of the unnameable. Mikael reached up with one finger and traced a single word on its forehead: chabal, destroy. The golem reared up, its great meaty fists clenched as it turned towards the pit.
Chapter 28
The golem lumbered towards the toad-like creature, putting itself between the demon and the daughter of the Remnant. Morgan watched as it began to push the toad back towards the pit, its terrific strength evident as the monster gurgled its rage.
"No!" A shriek rang out and Adam Kadmon stepped forward, wraiths swirling about him, their opaque figures waiting to feed. He held the Key aloft, pointing it towards Mikael and Morgan. A cloud of the ragged Devourers flew at them, gigantic maws wide open with a depth of blackness inside that threatened endless terror.
Morgan's breath caught in her chest as she froze, expecting to feel their chill embrace, but the demons stopped inches from her, clawing at the invisible barrier Mikael had drawn about her. The fiends screamed and scratched, desperate to tear her flesh and feed so they could materialize.
