by Alan Baxter
A nervous cough from the doorway caused the Sorcerer to snap out of it, his head whipping around like a cobra about to strike. Jake, holding the door half open, leaning through, jumped, recoiling involuntarily. ‘My apologies, Dominus. I knocked but there was no reply.’
The Sorcerer shook himself and made a dismissive face. ‘Don’t worry, Jake.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Fine. What do you want?’
Jake stepped gingerly into the room. ‘We need more.’
The Sorcerer nodded. ‘Yes. His appetite is rather greater than I had anticipated. Didn’t Braden go quietly?’
A small smile tugged one side of Jake’s mouth. ‘Yeah. The moment you killed Colley he knew.’
‘Yes, but he seemed particularly quiet. Intense. The way he stared at me. If I didn’t know for a fact how weak he was...’
‘He hated you. That’s all. Hate and knowing there was nothing he could do.’
The Sorcerer nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, it’s beside the point now. I had thought we would have more time between feeds, but it’s not to be. What do you suggest?’ The Sorcerer indicated one of the chairs before the fire as he spoke, sitting down in another.
Jake sat. ‘We’ve discussed a few options, but I still don’t know which is the right move to make. The easiest would be to start having the Gathers here again.’
The Sorcerer clapped his hands softly together, rubbing them against the cold. ‘Damn this fucking hole, I’d like to leave it all behind. An English winter, what was I thinking? No. Having Gathers here again would be too risky. We must keep this situation completely under wraps. Having Brothers and Sisters of any decent level in this building now would risk compromising our position. You, Chris and I are the only ones that I can risk coming close to the core of our endeavour.’
‘And even Chris and I have no real idea what you’re doing,’ Jake said, with a crooked smile.
‘For your own safety.’ The Sorcerer’s returning smile was equally sly.
Jake laughed. ‘You know, I kinda prefer it that way in any case. Chris and I have followed you for many years and you have taught us amazing things. We have no reason to doubt your methods.’
There was silence for a few seconds. Jake looked at the Sorcerer with the eyes of the devoted. The Sorcerer stared into the fire. When the Sorcerer spoke again it was in a more decisive tone. ‘No, we simply can’t risk having Gathers here again. Keep them where they are in York. Chris has gone to York tonight?’
‘Yes. He left about an hour ago.’
‘Then it will be your job to hunt for food, dear Jake. You are quite the expert. The child will need to feed before the morning, but that’s plenty of time. If possible find someone that won’t be missed. We can harvest the local homeless and....’ The Sorcerer arched in his seat, gasping. His eyes rolled back and he looked through Jake, his mouth working soundlessly.
Jake was half out his chair, one hand reaching for his mentor, his eyes wide. ‘Dominus? Sorcerer!’
The Sorcerer’s left hand shot out, grabbing Jake by the wrist, squeezing hard. His fingertips, ragged nails, dug into Jake’s flesh. Then, like an elastic band reaching breaking point, snapping, he slumped down into his chair and gasped a deep, hitching breath. His hand slipped from Jake’s wrist down into his lap. Jake stared, still half standing.
The Sorcerer’s expression showed annoyance, a trace almost of disgust. Without looking at Jake he said, ‘Perhaps not the homeless or destitute. Find a good donor. Someone clean and healthy. You will need to be a lot more careful, obviously, but I trust your skills.’
Jake sat back down, his eyes never leaving his master’s face. The Sorcerer’s features, lined and craggy, shifted with the light and shadow cast by the fire as he stared into its dancing depths. He seemed to be staring through the logs, the floor, the cellar, staring deep into the earth below. Jake ran his fingertips over the red marks where the Sorcerer had gripped him. ‘Dominus, are you...’
‘You had better go, Jake. Time is of the essence.’
For a moment Jake said nothing. Then, ‘Sure. Is there anything you need? Before I leave. Or anything I can bring you?’
The Sorcerer’s voice was quiet. ‘No, son. There’s food enough for us here and that’s all we need.’
Jake nodded and stood up. ‘I’ll see you in a few hours. I’ll be back before midnight.’
The Sorcerer made no indication that he had heard but Jake assumed he had. Watching his mentor stare deeply, almost angrily, into the flames, Jake left the room and closed the door softly behind him.
The Sorcerer drew a long deep breath in through his large, hooked nose, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. The flames danced around the logs like tribal shamans in an ecstatic trance. The wind howled and sleet rattled against the windows.
The sound of the carriage rocking along on the rails was hypnotic, the dark night outside making half-mirrors of the windows. Faith stared out, through her own ghostly reflection, at the lights flying past. They had left the sandstone cuttings, dense bush and small stations of the Blue Mountains behind, crossed the wide Nepean River and now barrelled through the western suburbs towards the city of Sydney. Butterflies made frantic loops and barrel rolls in Faith’s stomach as she watched the lights becoming thicker, the towns becoming denser, closer together.
She thought about the note she had left on the kitchen table and, for a moment, felt a pang of guilt. Her parents, particularly her mother, would freak out. The note said little other than the absolutely necessary. She was sick and tired of feeling trapped. She was going to the city and she wanted to be left alone. She was old enough to look after herself and she would contact them when she was ready.
Her parents had gone to bed before eleven, as they always did. Good Christian folk, early to bed, early to rise, clean living and faithful adherence. Faith had made a show of going to bed as well, closing her bedroom door and switching out her light. In the darkness she had changed her clothes, checked her large sports bag by torchlight. She had decided not to take much. She didn’t really have much in the way of possessions anyway. Nothing that she couldn’t live without. Her only real loves were her MP3 player and her books. If she had her music, books and clean clothes, she could cope just fine.
She had drawn her money out of the ATM that afternoon, every last dollar that she now had divided up about her. The majority was in her wallet, stashed in her handbag with her iPod, her mobile phone and a few other essentials. She even had her passport, just in case she needed photo ID for anything. She hadn’t got around to learning how to drive, so didn’t have a licence to produce as ID. The rest of her money was spread evenly between a pair of socks rolled up in her bag, the pocket of her jeans and one well worn Blundstone boot. She could feel the small wad of cash pressing against her ankle and was comforted by it.
In the dark of her room she had sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. She wanted to be on the last train down the mountains, leaving at eleven thirty six. It would only take her a few minutes to walk to the station. For a good twenty minutes after all the sounds of the house had subsided, she sat staring at her carpet. Then, calmly, almost robotically, she tiptoed to her bedroom door and opened it a crack, looking down the hallway. Everything was dark and still. Holding her breath, she listened. She could hear the muffled sound of her father snoring, sleeping the sleep of the self-righteous. Her brother was out and wouldn’t be back for hours yet. He would stumble in about two or three in the morning, totally baked after pulling cones with his mates all evening. The same way he spent pretty much every night, using pot to muffle the boredom of his life. She went back to the bed, slipped her handbag strap across her chest like a bandolier, shouldered her sports bag and went back to the door. She felt like a child, nervous and naughty, but also liberated. And, though she was annoyed to admit it, she was scared.
She slipped from her room, closing the door painstakingly slowly behind her, then crept down the s
tairs. She turned into the kitchen, pulling the note from her pocket and laying it, folded in half, on the clean pine table. Then she walked soundlessly along the hall carpet and let herself out of the front door. Using her key to turn the latch she closed the door with the merest of clicks.
The summer air outside was thick and muggy, the night hot. She would rather be wearing shorts, but jeans and a t-shirt seemed infinitely more practical. Besides, she didn’t want to arrive in the city looking like a country bumpkin.
She had reached the station with several minutes to spare, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her face from the walk. The train was dead on time. Now she sat with John Butler singing into her ears about corporate greed, staring out at lights flashing by. She could almost feel the city getting closer, the buzz of life and opportunity glowing on the coastal horizon. She knew it was another forty minutes at least before the train would pull into Central Station, but she already felt like she had left the country behind. In truth, she had. The western suburbs were the overspill of Sydney city. Mountain towns gave way to homogenous suburbs as soon as the river was crossed. Faith had only been down to the city a handful of times, and never before on her own. She was excited, nervous, energised.
Her hand squeezed her phone through the thick canvas of her handbag. She really wanted to phone Gabby, but was nervous of calling before she had actually reached the city. She didn’t know why. In truth, it was already too late to call when she had got on the train, but she decided that Gabby would be cool about it. It would be soon after one a.m. when she arrived at Central. She would call then, the moment she was out of the station. The first thing she would do was apologise for calling so late. Then she would immediately explain that she had quit the Blue Mountains, just like Gabby had, and that she needed somewhere to stay. It would only be for a night or two. First thing in the morning she would look for a room in a share house of her own. She had plenty of money to be going on with. As soon as she had found a room she would find a job and then she would be on her way. She had fantasies about Gabby having a spare room in her house, a housemate having just moved out. Faith pictured herself out with Gabby at night, drinking in city pubs or having coffee in trendy cafés. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew it wouldn’t necessarily be like that and Gabby had her own life. But as long as she had a floor to crash on for a couple of nights while she found her feet everything would be cool.
Before long the stations she was passing were city stations. The train didn’t stop, but names like Petersham, Stanmore, Newtown, Macdonaldtown, flashed by. The train did stop at Redfern for just a couple of minutes, then it moved on to Central. Faith stepped off the train onto the grey concrete platform. Immediately the hot metallic smell of the city hit her nostrils, pollution and refuse. She walked out through the turnstiles, through the huge central hall with its marble floors and carved sandstone walls, out into the parking lot, a pedestrian crossing and taxi rank directly in front of her. The parking area circled a small park in the centre, with a low iron fence and a pathway slicing diagonally across it. Over the parking area in every direction she could see the towers and blocks of the city, glass and metal behemoths reaching up into the orange glow of the night sky. It wasn’t really dark and there wasn’t a star in sight, night artificially chased away by the technological prowess of man.
Faith took a deep breath, looking around. This place was going to be a double-edged sword for her. On the one hand it was the place of opportunity, the place she could dive into in order to forget about the mundane, artificial happiness of the Mountains. It was also artificial, the ultimate creation of human greed, the great temple to the almighty dollar. It was in these buildings that people worked like ants, destroying the planet with mines and mass farming, plastic and petrol. Here is where real people were trodden on in pursuit of that golden place high in the economy. But it was the dichotomy that made the city so enticing. It was easier to fight from the belly of the beast.
What am I fighting for exactly? Faith’s thought was unsettling. In truth, she didn’t have a specific direction. She wanted to achieve something, make some kind of a difference. Her beliefs were based in the natural world, her pagan adherences stifled by technology and development. But she needed to escape the trapped existence of her home town. That was her driving need. She knew, deep inside, that in order to get where she wanted to go it was necessary to pass through the city. A baptism of fire. Survive the city, find a path. Make a difference.
‘Two dollars, sister?’
Faith jumped, disturbed from her reverie. ‘What?’
A deeply lined black face stared at her with bloodshot eyes. The woman was dirty and her clothes ragged and no cleaner. There was a sickly sweet smell of illness and alcohol about her. ‘You got two dollars, sister?’ she asked again, one hand outstretched, pink palm up. ‘I not eaten for two days, eh?’
Faith reached into her pocket, felt for a coin. She was repulsed by the woman, but also repulsed that this would be her reaction to someone so obviously suffering. She pulled out a few coins, mostly silver. She tried to smile as she dropped them into the woman’s hand.
‘Bless ya, sister.’ The woman hurried away, counting the coins as she went.
Faith watched her go. Compared to the city, she lived in the country, but the Blue Mountains were fairly gentrified country. She was about as far from the outback, real Australian country, as any city. Her experience of Aboriginal people was limited. The images she did have came mainly from books and TV, families sitting cross-legged on red sand in the middle of nowhere. Or the occasional semi-naked man, face and hands painted in traditional colours, playing the didgeridoo for tourists at the Three Sisters near Katoomba. As the woman crossed the road, still counting the coins in her hand, a tall, very skinny Aboriginal man wearing a filthy track suit stepped out from a little park in the middle of the car park. The woman looked up, quickly closing her hand and stuffing it deep into a pocket. There was heated conversation for a minute, the man pointing at her pocket. The conversation became shouting and the woman hurried away. The man followed, pushing at her back, making her stagger and curse.
Faith was distracted by another voice. ‘Can you spare a dollar? I need a ticket to Albury.’
This was a young white man wearing Nike sneakers and shell suit. He was pale and drawn, his eyes angry, his teeth brown. Faith knew a smack addict when she saw one. She shook her head and backed away, heading for the street on the other side of the parking lot.
‘Fuck you! Bitch!’ The smackie flipped her off as she retreated.
As she hurried to the street and the large bus interchange she fumbled in her bag for her phone. The sooner she talked to Gabby the better. The traffic and bustle of the streets was a sudden relief after the strange attacks outside the station. Standing under the glass awnings of the bus stops between two streets, Faith keyed up Gabby’s number, stored in her phone. It was very late and she was nervous that Gabby would be angry, but she trusted in Gabby understanding her actions. The phone rang several times, nobody picking up. Then there was a click. An answer machine came on, a girl’s voice, ‘No one here right now. Leave a message.’ Faith hung up as the answer machine beeped. It wasn’t Gabby’s voice. It must have been one of her house mates.
Frowning, unsure how to proceed now, she watched a large blue and white bus pull up. As it hissed and revved away again, she dialled Gabby’s number once more. After four of five rings there was another click. Just as Faith was thinking it was the machine again, a sleepy female voice said, ‘Yes?’
Faith broke into a smile. ‘Oh, hi. Gabby?’
‘What?’
‘Is that Gabby?’
‘No. Who is this?’
‘I’m sorry. My name is Faith, I’m a friend of Gabby. I’m really sorry to call so late. Is Gabby there?’
The voice at the other end was annoyed now. ‘No. You must have the wrong number.’
Faith’s heart sank. ‘What? No. Gabby Wilkins. She lives there with some other people. She
gave me this number. You’re one of her house mates, right?’
There was a sniff from the other end. ‘Look, love, I’m sorry. There’s no Gabby here. I live here with my boyfriend and a cat. Maybe Gabby was a previous tenant. We’ve only been here a couple of months.’
This hadn’t been in Faith’s game plan. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why hadn’t she called first, just in case? What would she do now? ‘You don’t know where I might find her? Or any of the previous tenants?’ Her voice was desperate, frantic.
‘No, I’m sorry. Look, it’s after one in the morning, I have to work tomorrow. Good luck finding your friend.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I have nowhere to go!’ The phone line clicked dead. Faith took her phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. Her hand trembled and a tear began to build up in the corner of one eye. What do I do now? What the fuck do I do now?
She turned in a circle looking at the city. The city that suddenly seemed like a giant, ravenous beast, ready to swallow her whole, sharp, massive grey and glass teeth ranged all around her. A hot breeze lifted her long, dark brown hair, floating it back over her shoulders, dropping it again. The tear crested her eyelid and rolled down her cheek.
‘Do you really believe all this stuff?’
‘What stuff?’
‘This Yath-vados stuff?’
Peter stopped walking and looked at his friend. He played with the leather band on his right wrist. ‘You were there, man.’
David made a wry face. ‘Sure. But, you know, was it tricks? I mean, I’ve seen David Copperfield walk through the Great Wall of China, but I don’t for a second believe he actually did it.’
Peter started walking again. ‘I know what you mean, but there’s something else here. We both agreed it was more than just a bunch of goths fucking about, right?’
‘Yeah. But you don’t believe in God. How can you believe in this?’
Peter shifted his tote bag from one shoulder to the other. Sounds of metal on metal rose, muffled, from inside. ‘I don’t believe in Christian bullshit. All these big religions, you know. Catholics, Jews, Muslims, whatever. They’re all fucked. But I do believe in higher powers of some kind. There have been too many gods through history. I don’t think they’re all made up or anything. Yath-vados strikes me as a pretty righteous dude to sing to, if you know what I mean.’
