The Balance Omnibus

by Alan Baxter

  3

  It was getting dark as Filthy pulled up in front of an old building on the outskirts of Billings. The drive had been uneventful, almost boring. The building was old stone with a wood and tile roof. It had the look of an old mill or farm house that had been swallowed by the burgeoning population as Billings had grown from a farmers community into a large city. Isiah drove by and turned the nearest corner. He killed the engine and hopped out, mentally tapping down the locks as he jogged back to the corner. As he paused, looking past a redbrick corner, he saw Filthy disappearing through the front door of the old house. There were no obvious lights in the place. He couldn’t tell if Filthy had let himself in or if someone had answered the door. Now it was going to be tricky to keep an eye on proceedings. He needed a disguise.

  He went back to his car and drove further along the road, looking for a quiet, dark spot. As night fell the shadows grew quickly. It wasn’t long before Isiah was parked in the purple dark shadow of a large tree, the car almost hidden. Seeing inside the car would be difficult, even from close up. He climbed over the driver’s seat and laid down in the back, making himself as comfortable as possible in the near blackness, his large frame considerably cramped. Once he was settled, curled almost foetally, he began erecting shields around himself and the car, invisible barriers that would alert him if any one or any thing came near. Once he was sure that he would be safe he relaxed into a state of deep meditation, let his mind slip free from his body. He paused, his astral self floating above the car. The area seemed quiet and secure, his body was completely concealed by shadows. The psychic alarm barriers could do the rest.

  He flew the half mile or so back to the building that Filthy had entered. It would be converted now, someone’s private residence. He knew that Filthy had some degree of talent with magic, so it was fair to assume that any one else that might be in the house could well have similar abilities. Travelling the astral plane was very convenient, and all but completely undetectable to people that had no connection to the greater energies of the universe, but no real disguise to talented beings. Filthy would spot him immediately that he drew near. Perhaps not in great detail, but Filthy would certainly know that something was there and that would be enough to put him on his guard. Isiah wanted to learn as much as possible without Filthy suspecting a thing.

  Sinking down through the road surface and floating through the sewers below the house led Isiah to his goal. A rat, dirty and matted, ran along a ledge of stone above the flowing sewerage, whiskers flickering. Isiah mentally pinned the creature to the floor and slipped his consciousness, his astral self, into the rat’s mind. ‘Scuse me there, fella. Won’t be long.

  He pushed the rat’s consciousness aside and asserted his own. For the rat it was really no different to falling asleep. Or perhaps slipping into a coma. Either way, it was painless. Isiah, now inhabiting the rat’s body, stood and shook himself from nose to tail. The rat felt old and sick, but strong enough. He made his way up to the house.

  It took him a while to find a way in, but he eventually found rat sized access and scurried through the place, searching for people. He could hear voices and feel vibrations from up ahead. Keeping to shadows and keeping his mind well cloaked, hiding behind shelves and curtains, he eventually found his way to a large room. It was a dining room, one large, central table and several chairs. Little else occupied the room other than some old artworks on the walls and three people seated at the table. One of them was Filthy. There was a small unit just outside the door, wooden with a glass front. Some small items were inside, combs, ivory hairclips, tortoiseshell spectacle frames, fragments of several yesterdays. Isiah slipped behind the unit and listened to the voices.

  ‘It’s easier said than done, mind you.’

  ‘Of course it is, but nonetheless possible.’ That was Filthy’s voice, Isiah recognised it from the diner.

  ‘Anyway, you got the pouch that Dominus requested?’

  ‘Of course. Nothing to worry about. Good of you to put me up on my journey.’

  ‘When will you deliver it?’

  ‘Who knows. You have a Gather tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’ll stay tonight and head off tomorrow. I can take a flight first thing and see how I go from there.’

  Isiah was intrigued. He’s delivering the pouch to someone they call Dominus and needs a flight to find him. Do they call the Sorcerer Dominus? And what’s a Gather? More questions and no answers.

  ‘So, where is Dominus now?’

  Filthy laughed, a guttural, dirty sound. ‘I can’t tell you that. You know better than to even ask!’

  ‘Well, I just wonder. You know, all this business seems so surreal. We’ve seen the power, from people like yourself, of course, but...’

  Filthy snorted, derisive. ‘You want to be careful, talking like that. You have doubts? That kinda thing can get you killed.’

  ‘But seriously, are we really that close to the New Ascendance? This change in focus over the last few years is a little strange, don’t you think?’

  Isiah’s ears pricked up. New Ascendance?

  Filthy snorted again. ‘Of course we are. Do you really need any proof after the things you’ve seen? The blood you’ve spilled? Our Dominus is very wise in our ways, yet he’s always re-examining his own focus and that of the rest of us. This isn’t a change of focus. It’s more a refinement of purpose.

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I don’t have a fraction of the attention that Dominus does, but I’ll lead your Gather tonight. I’ll talk to your congregation and we’ll have a little practical demonstration. How do you like that idea?’

  ‘Practical demonstration? You have to be careful, the cops in this town are bastards.’

  ‘The cops in every town are bastards. It’s a cop’s job to be a bastard, it says so on their contract. Fuck ‘em. Anyway, I’m not going to kill anyone. It seems to me that you’re losing a little faith in our mission here. We can be raised in the dark glory of Yath-vados, washed in the blood of unbelievers and raised above all others in a new world order. I think you need reminding of that. I think you need to see a little direct intervention.’

  There was a gasp from the others. ‘You can do that?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Of course I can. I don’t have the same level of power as Dominus himself, naturally, but I am an Optimates of Eighth Degree. I can make direct communion with Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens. His time will come and our will and our faith will make that happen.’

  Isiah frowned. Their use of Latin is interesting.

  ‘Who was your leader before you took over here?’ Filthy asked. ‘Who started this Gather?’

  ‘It was Lars. Then he moved on and left us in charge. I think he went to Australia. He was powerful, but I’m not sure that he would ever claim to have direct communion.’

  Filthy laughed, a short bark. ‘He’s a good man, Lars, and more powerful than you realise. What time is your Gather?’

  ‘Soon, downstairs. The congregation should start arriving any minute. Perhaps the demonstration you describe will be good for all of us. There are some here that have joined since Lars left and we are... less impressive.’

  ‘But you’re still recruiting well?’

  ‘Of course. The disaffected are drawn to our call.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get ourselves downstairs and get ready then.’

  Isiah hunched back into the shadows as the three men trouped from the room and headed off down the hallway. He followed as soon as it was safe. One of the men went to the front of the house, telling the others that he would wait for people to arrive and send them down. Filthy and the other man went down into the cellar through an iron studded, heavy wooden door. Isiah hopped in through the door just as it was closing and scurried back to the shadows, hopping down cold stone steps.

  The basement was decked out with rows of wooden benches, like pews. There was a large altar at one end, little more than a table with a black covering. Lots of black hanging cloth, cu
rtains, sputtering candles. The whole place was a dark, black parody of a Christian church, though it lacked any obvious religious icons.

  ‘Where are your robes?’ Filthy asked.

  The other man went to a corner and returned carrying black robes like monk’s habits. The two men slipped them on, leaving the hoods down, piled on their shoulders like deflated balloons. Each robe had a red disc in the middle of the chest, like a stain from a bleeding heart. Isiah, hidden in the shadows, was amused and perturbed at the same time. The black church, the black robes, all the talk of the New Ascendance, the blood of unbelievers, a new world order. It was all so cheesy, clichéd almost. Yet he knew that this Sorcerer must be a powerful man. He must be the one they were referring to as Dominus. There was something disturbing about this, something unique. The question was, how dangerous was it? How established had it become?

  There were numerous cults and societies in the world, some more established than others, some ancient, some new. Not many of them had any real impact on the greater scheme of things. Few of them would ever have any impact of any note on the Balance, yet Isiah had long since learned to treat everything with suspicion. When you had been around as long as he had it was hard to ignore how stupid people could be and how dangerous that made them.

  He made his way through the shadows towards the front of the room. He wanted to be in a position where he could see the congregation as well as the service. As he picked a darkened spot the door to the cellar opened and two young men, late teens perhaps, long hair, heavy metal bandnames on their t-shirts, sloped into the room and sat at the back.

  Filthy smiled at his friend. ‘Nearly showtime, Dan.’

  Dan nodded. He walked towards the young men. ‘Good evening. Good to see you guys back again.’

  One of the teenagers smiled awkwardly. He was obviously the bold one of the two. ‘We thought it might be worth another try. Seemed a bit hokey before, but we’re prepared to withhold judgment.’

  Dan laughed. ‘You’re honest, at least. Well, after tonight I’m sure you’ll be convinced.’ As Dan spoke, he lifted his right hand and pointed at his wrist, one eyebrow raised.

  The lads looked confused for a moment, then realisation dawned simultaneously for both of them. They dug in their pockets and pulled out black leather wristbands, each with a deep red spot on it, leather laces connecting each end like a belt. They tied them on, the red spot over the inside of their wrists.

  ‘Never forget; nothing worthwhile is born without blood,’ Dan said, his face serious. The lads nodded, slightly nervous. As Dan walked back to the front of the room they looked at each other and made faces, then laughed quietly.

  Over the next ten minutes or so the room filled. Isiah was surprised at the numbers. He lost count at fifteen, his rat’s eye view hindered by the front row, but he could hear and sense many more arriving. There must have been thirty people by the time things looked ready to begin. Filthy had been talking earlier about the leader of this group before the current incumbents and had called him a powerful man. Lars. That meant that Filthy knew Lars, but not these guys. They had just offered him lodgings, presumably based on his status within their society. So the Sorcerer had groups in at least a few places and they weren’t all run by people in direct contact with him. Lars had apparently gone to Australia, so the group would seem to be quite global.

  Isiah had always considered this Sorcerer character something of a loner that had picked up a protégé in Samuel Harrigan, but this was making things look altogether different. Filthy was obviously well versed in the Sorcerer’s blood magic. This Lars character was apparently powerful, more so than these people here realised according to Filthy. It would seem that Isiah’s quarry was more of a threat than he had considered. And that didn’t even begin to address the point of these so-called Gathers and their talk of Yath-vados and the Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens, Latin for New Eternal Almighty.

  The gathered crowd was an unlikely mix. There were a number of people like the first two that Isiah had seen. Young, under thirty, alternative. Isiah always sympathised with the alternative youth. They were often the ones with more developed minds and free will that actually thought about stuff rather than just follow, sheep-like. Not always, but often. The large majority of people got sucked into society’s norms without any consideration of what they were actually doing. Over the centuries Isiah had always witnessed the alternatively minded minorities effect the greatest change in ideals while the blinkered will of the majority governed stubbornly.

  Others in the room tonight were similar, society’s rejects. Bikers, punks, metalheads, Goths. There were a few others too, some even in suits as if they’d come straight from their nine to five grind. One young girl wore a McDonalds uniform that she tried to conceal with a heavy black cardigan. Most of the people were under thirty or so, but not all. There was an old man off to one side, his dark skin blending into his surroundings, while his greying hair stood out against the dark walls. He had to be at least sixty.

  There was a soft susurration of chatter in the room that faded as Dan stepped up to the altar, nodding to his counterpart who now stood at the foot of the stairs at the back of the room. Dan stood tall behind the altar, arms above his head. ‘People,’ he called, his voice deep, strident. ‘Welcome!’ He held up his right hand, palm towards the crowd and closed his fist tightly. His black wristband with the deep red spot became visible as his sleeve slid back. Everyone gathered rose their right hands in a similar gesture, fists clenched. Each wore the wristband. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’ Dan intoned.

  The crowd replied as one. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’

  Dan took a deep breath and continued. ‘By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected. Nothing worthwhile is ever born without blood. Through our ministry will Yath-vados rise. Through our efforts will the world be born anew. We will ensure the New Ascendance. We mean no harm to those that don’t follow, though we will encourage all to believe. We will go about our Will and oppose any that would oppose us. If it means their blood, so be it!’

  ‘So be it!’ The power of the crowd’s chant was surprising in its force.

  Dan raised his other hand high. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’

  Hands throughout the room punched the dry air. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’

  The furry brows of the rat in the shadows knitted as Isiah frowned. Cruor was Latin for blood or gore. Blood New Eternal Almighty. It didn’t make much sense.

  Dan lowered his arms and bowed his head, staring at the floor between the altar and the first row, breathing deeply. The energy of the group subsided and he looked up again. ‘We have a special guest here tonight. One of our Order is visiting on business and has graced us with his presence. We were fortunate enough to offer him a place to stay on his travels and, in return, he has offered to speak to you tonight. One of our most senior Brothers, he has the personal ear of our leader. You all know that we are led by the wise guidance of the man we know as Dominus, though few of us ever meet him in person. This man, here tonight, may be as close as some of you ever get. Brothers and Sisters, please welcome Optimates Cruor of the Eighth Degree, Brother Frank.’

  As Dan gestured to the side, motioning Frank to join him, Isiah smiled to himself. Filthy Frank. One of the most senior, eh?

  Frank stepped up to the altar, nodding his thanks to Dan. His filthiness and guttural presence seemed to smooth out as he stood there, preparing to perform. He raised his right arm. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’ The crowd responded in kind once more. Frank smiled broadly. ‘Let us begin with the Rite of Dedication.’

  Dan stepped forward again and placed a chalice on the altar before Frank. With practiced ease the gathered members stood and formed a line. Reverently, the first in line approached. Frank dipped his fingers into the chalice and drew them out, scarlet, dripping. He touched his fingertips to the person’s forehead and uttered something under his breath. ‘By blood,’ the acolyt
e whispered in response.

  Isiah could tell without the need of any extra sensory study that magic was at work here. Whatever words Frank was muttering, they were in the language of the foul blood magic of the Sorcerer. Each person received the touch of blood and the words were uttered in some strange parody of the Catholic Communion, and each acolyte was subjected to something there that affected the mind. Isiah ached to break from his disguise and feel exactly what was happening, but he didn’t dare. There was too much still to be learned and secrecy was his only ally.

  Eventually the whole gathering had received the strange rite and returned to their seats. Frank touched his fingertips together, bowed his head. His voice was deep and surreal when he spoke. ‘We believe in the blood.’

  The crowd, as one, replied, ‘We believe in the blood.’

  Frank continued alone. ‘There is power in the free mind and our minds are free. There is power in independence and we will always strive for freedom of action. We will oppose those that would curtail our Will and support those so oppressed.’

  The voice of the gathered members was soft, but strong in numbers. ‘We believe in the blood.’

  Frank smiled gently at his steepled fingers. ‘By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected. Nothing worthwhile is ever born without blood. Nothing worth having is ever gained without sacrifice. The sacrifice may be our own or another’s, but by sacrifice shall our Will be known.’

  ‘We believe in the blood.’

  ‘Our Order is powerful, our magic is real. Our Will be known.’

  This time the voice of the crowd was stronger. ‘Our Will be known.’

  Frank raised his eyes, drinking in his audience. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’

  The voices bounced back from the walls. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’

  Frank opened his hands, palms up, and smiled. ‘It is indeed pleasing to see so many of you here tonight. The slow but sure expansion of our Order is wonderful evidence of our growth and eventual success. Brother Dan is too kind with his words and paints me as rather more than I really am. Certainly I have been a part of the Ordo Novus Cruor for a long time. I was one of the first fortunate enough to take tutorship from our Dominus. But whether you are Neophyte, First Degree or Optimates Cruor, we are all equal in at least one regard; we all want to see things change. We are all sick of the world we live in, the normality forced upon us, the dictatorship of our governments, our bosses at work, our families.