by Alan Baxter
‘But what if it’s just as much bullshit as everything else?’
‘What if it is? What do we lose? For now I’m prepared to believe in it. Let’s get past this stupid Neophyte rank, become a Prospect, serve our time and join the First Degree. What we do tonight gives us the chance, in six months, to find out what happens in Sanctum. Let’s just wait and see. If it all turns out to be dickheads dancing naked around a goat’s head or some shit, we’ll just walk away. In the meantime we’re having a laugh, right?’ Peter patted his bag for emphasis.
David laughed. ‘I guess so.’
They walked on in silence for a few more minutes. Then Peter stopped, stood back into the shadows of a red-brick wall. David slipped next to him, out of sight. They peeked around the end of the wall, cartoon-like in their poor efforts at stealth.
‘Is this really the right sort of thing?’ asked David in a whisper.
‘Sure it is. Acts of anarchy and civil-disobedience. Anything that disrupts the brain-washing tactics of the large corporations or governments. The powers that be.’
David shrugged. ‘I know what it’s supposed to be. But is this really good enough?’
‘It’s a start. They turn people’s brains to mush with the repetitive, mindless bollocks they churn out and they intersperse it with ads trying to convince people to buy shit they don’t need.’
‘But it’s only a regional office.’
Peter put a hand on David’s shoulder. ‘Mate, everything counts. All the small blows add up. Remember what Lars said? No matter how small or inconsequential it seems, all our strikes help. Besides, if we tried something massive we’d probably get caught and jailed and that would suck shit. Come on.’
Peter slipped out of the shadows and trotted across the road under the watery glow of the streetlamps. David reluctantly followed. He saw Peter slip a penknife from his pocket as he ran. They reached the building, standing before the large double glass doors emblazoned with the logo. Peter flipped open his penknife. ‘We draw blood, we dedicate, we act. Okay?’
David nodded, held out his hand. Peter pressed the edge of the blade against the soft flesh on the side of David’s hand and quickly pulled down. David gasped and grabbed his wounded hand with his good one, squeezing tight. ‘Fucking stings!’ he rasped. Peter started to giggle. David couldn’t suppress his own smile.
‘OK, my turn.’ Peter performed the same quick slice on the edge of his own hand and echoed David’s gasp of pain. ‘Shit, it does sting!’
They looked at each other with expressions of pain and amusement, then they began to laugh again. After a moment, Peter hauled a deep breath in through his nose. ‘Fuck it, come on, let’s get it together. Dedicate now.’
David looked concerned. ‘Do you remember the words?’
‘Sure, I think so. But it doesn’t matter exactly. Lars said that the intent, not the actual words, are important. All right, here goes.’ He looked up at the building in front of him and took another deep breath. Then, ‘In the name of Yath-vados we strike this blow against those that would control us. Nothing worthwhile is ever born without blood!’
Peter paused, still looking up at the building. After a moment he elbowed the silent David. David jumped. ‘Oh, sorry. In the name of Yath-vados!’
They held up their bleeding hands for a moment, staring at the building. ‘Okay,’ Peter said. ‘I guess that’s it. Let’s do it. And we have to remember to photograph it.’
David nodded, short, sharp nods. ‘Right. Okay.’
Peter pulled open his bag and retrieved aerosol cans, handing one to David. They began spraying messages of discontent across the large, clean glass doors. They laughed and looked around nervously as they worked.
In a deep, dark Realm, something drew a shuddering, satisfied breath.
Isiah sat on the edge of the bed in his motel room. There were two main things he needed. One was more knowledge of this Ordo Novus Cruor society. The Order of the New Blood. They seemed to be a well organised group, with factions all over the world, so they must have been around a while. It takes time to establish these things, recruit members, promote people through the ranks, build a hierarchy. They seemed to worship this creature Yath-vados. Was he a god? Isiah did know that the Sorcerer was an accomplished blood mage. It would stand to reason that he worshipped blood in some way. Perhaps this Yath-vados was an ancient blood god. Although, during the meeting, they had referred to the Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens, the New Eternal Almighty. How new? Things very old could still be called new, still awaiting their time. Everything was new once.
Whatever the nature of the Sorcerer’s beliefs and the mission of his cult, he was a dangerous mage and he had several other talented followers. Filthy Frank being one of them. And that was the other thing Isiah needed; a way of following Filthy Frank. After all, the whole point of Isiah being here was to track down the Sorcerer. If Frank was leaving in the morning, like he had said he would, catching a flight to see the Sorcerer, Isiah needed a way to follow. With Frank’s level of magical talent it would be hard to track him unnoticed. He would have to sleuth the old fashioned way. Get back to the house before morning and wait outside, tail Filthy when he left for the airport.
He laid back on the bed, closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath he gathered his will and Travelled, dissipated from the mortal Realm. The shimmer of RealmShift blurred him momentarily, then he was gone. He felt his mind slip and stretch, expanding impossibly throughout everything, then he arrived. His body closed around his consciousness again, coalescing heavily about him. He was surrounded by a total white nothingness that supported him in every way, like a fish trapped in aspic jelly. Except this was the height of comfort, absolute repose. He laid back, stretched out his legs and interlaced his fingers behind his head.
‘Got a minute?’ he called out. There was no reply. Isiah yawned. ‘Come on, talk to me. What’s the matter? I caught you on the can or something?’ Still there was no reply. Isiah closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a while, relaxing, enjoying the utter calm. The bright, white place that seemed to be both nowhere and everywhere at once. The only place he ever felt totally safe. The only place that no other god or demon or strange creature could follow him to, no matter how much he had pissed them off doing the work of the Balance.
After a few minutes he tried again. ‘I’m not going anywhere till you talk to me. Come on, don’t be a prick. I don’t have a choice when you want to talk to me. The least you can do is return the favour.’
The soft, crystalline, androgynous voice of the entity that was the Balance swelled out all around, inside and outside his head, floating susurration. WHAT IS IT?
Isiah laughed. ‘As if you don’t know. This ONC society, cult, whatever. What is it?’
NOT RELEVANT.
‘Not relevant? To what? It’s relevant to me.’
THIS IS ONE OF YOUR PERSONAL GRIEVANCES, ISIAH. IT IS OF LITTLE CONSEQUENCE.
‘Get fucked. You’re not the last word on what’s important... well, perhaps you are. But this still needs attention. Perhaps you’re only really concerned with things that might upset the Balance, but this is important too. What is this ONC? They talk about a Yath-vados as if it were a god. Is it? What did that dirty blood freak summon tonight? Was that Yath-vados? Give me something.’
THERE IS NO GREAT DISTURBANCE TO THE BALANCE BY THESE PEOPLE.
Isiah pressed his lips together, rubbed at his eyes. ‘That’s not what I asked,’ he growled between clenched teeth. ‘You are so fucking frustrating sometimes!’
The chimey breeze of the Balance’s soft laughter rose and fell. THIS IS A PERSONAL VENDETTA, ISIAH. IT IS NOT AN ADVISED COURSE OF ACTION.
‘You have nothing for me right now and you can’t stop me from exercising my own free will. And don’t suddenly find a job for me either, cos I’ll refuse it until I’m done with this. You saw the chaos that Samuel Harrigan caused. You saw the corpses left in his wake, the blood he spilled. All that was down to the teachings of this Sorcer
er character. They call him Dominus. I don’t want to have to run around after people like Samuel again and I don’t want others to die like his victims died. There have to be some perks to this cursed eternal existence you’ve lumped me with. Hunting bastards like this Sorcerer can be one of them.’
YOU STILL CONSIDER YOURSELF CURSED?
Isiah barked a short, humourless laugh. ‘Yes, I’m cursed, acting on your every whim. I lead people to their death as often as I save them and it will never end. It will never fucking end!’
NO NEED FOR SUCH MELODRAMA, ISIAH. THE BALANCE MUST BE MAINTAINED IF HUMANS ARE TO RETAIN THEIR FREE WILL.
Isiah sighed. ‘I know. I do understand that. But I will not be entirely denied my own free will in the process.’
WHAT IF EXERCISING YOUR OWN FREE WILL IS ITSELF IN DISCORD WITH THE BALANCE?
‘Then you’d better train up another Isiah quick smart to come and kick my arse! Are you going to tell me what I need to know or not?’
The light chuckling rang in and around Isiah again, like bells of the thinnest glass tumbling over each other in a soft breeze. It was just about the most annoying sound Isiah had ever heard. And it seemed that he heard it often.
He gathered his will again. ‘Screw you. You know I’m going to do this anyway. It’s my choice!’ He Travelled, sliding back into the mortal Realm with a sharp sound of annoyance. He sat up on the bed as he formed again, fists clenched. For a moment he sat grinding his teeth. He wanted to punch something. Instead he controlled his rage. Taking a long deep breath in through his nose he concentrated his mind and drew his attention to the place just below his navel. The spot the Chinese referred to as the Dan Tien, where the life energy, the chi, is gathered and stored. He settled his chi and becalmed his mind. He was far too powerful a creature to vent his rage unchecked.
After a few minutes of meditation he had his focus back. There were other ways to proceed with this and if the Balance was not prepared to help him, so be it. He could call on his friends. A person in Isiah’s unique position did not have many friends and those he did have were rather unconventional. But he had learned that friends were extremely valuable, whatever form they took. Keeping his eyes closed he called out across the Realms, calling the ancient name of one of his oldest friends. There was a blinding white light and divinity flooded the room, briefly blinding Isiah through his eyelids. As the pure white light faded it was replaced with the sound of ragged, heavy breathing and a bright yellow flickering light.
Isiah opened his eyes again. At the foot of the bed stood a figure wreathed in flame, almost composed of fire. His eyes were deep black pits. His chest heaved. Giant wings hovered behind him, half furled, a sword of raging flame held in his hand. He towered over Isiah on the bed, his shoulders hunched, staring from under his heavy brow. Blood dripped from the parts of him not writhing with fire.
Isiah raised his eyebrows. ‘Sorry, mate. Bad time?’
The archangel closed his wings behind him as the flames eased, settling back into smooth, pale skin. Gabriel relaxed as the flames reduced, like a cat lowering its hackles after a large, slavering dog has passed on. Lustrous blond hair settled over his shoulders and hairless chest. He wore an open, plain white cotton shirt and loose pants, without buttons or ties. His huge wings shimmered behind, not quite solid, not quite invisible. He passed his sword over his shoulder where Isiah heard it sheathe with a hiss, then it faded from view. ‘My brother’s hordes are massing at the Gates again.’
Isiah crossed his legs. ‘Really? Persistent, aren’t they?’
‘They’re bored.’
‘Do you need to get back to the fight?’
‘Michael and Uriel can handle things for a while. They’re not actually attacking us right now anyway. We were just stirring them up.’
‘Trying to goad them to fight each other? Destroy themselves like the Nephilim did?’
Gabriel laughed. It was a beautiful sound. ‘One of my finest hours, eh? So long ago.’ The warrior of God was gone now, refined back into his form peace, messenger, protector. ‘What do you need?’
‘I’ve come across a group and I’ve never heard of them before. They seem well established, but I can’t figure out if they’re an old society or a new one pretending to be old or what. They use a lot of Latin and they share some methodology with Satanic or demonic cults, maybe extreme Christian cults. I wondered if you’d have any idea about them?’
Gabriel sat into a soft armchair beside the bed. ‘Have you Googled them?’
‘What?’
‘It’s quite possible they have a homepage. The Freemasons are an old society by mortal standards. The OTO is around a hundred years old. Supposedly secret societies but they all have websites these days. Obviously it wouldn’t tell you anything about their inner workings, their secrets, but it might give you a framework of reference.’
Isiah nodded. ‘I guess so. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘You can’t quite catch up with some of the modern ways, can you?’
‘You can stop smirking! Look at how you’re dressed! Accusing me of being old-fashioned.’
Gabriel laughed again. ‘I don’t walk among the mortals like you do. This isn’t my Realm.’
Isiah smiled in spite of himself. ‘Got super fast broadband right into God’s throne now then, have you?’
‘Of course. Anyway, what’s this group you’re talking about. Maybe I know something about them.’
‘They’re called the ONC; the Ordo Novus Cruor.’
Gabriel half closed his eyes as he thought. ‘The Order of New Blood,’ he said quietly, almost under his breath. ‘Or the Order of Fresh Slaughter?’
‘Or the Order of the New Blood,’ Isiah suggested. ‘I don’t know if that makes any difference.’
Gabriel shrugged. ‘Sorry, brother. I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Is there a god called Yath-vados that you’re aware of? Or a demon?’
‘No. They worship this Yath-vados?’
Isiah nodded. ‘They refer to Yath-vados as the new eternal almighty. Personified. Deified it seems. And they seem to also worship blood itself, or what blood signifies.’
‘Hmm. You don’t need me to tell you how weird these humans can be, Isiah. Sometimes I have to remind myself that they’re not monkeys any more, despite their actions.’
Isiah’s face was mock outrage. ‘Hey, human here!’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘They seem too organised to be very new. They have the feel of a group that’s been around for a while. I wonder how I might find out more.’
Gabriel stood up. ‘Wait here a minute, I’ll be right back. Cover your eyes.’
Isiah put an arm across his face while intense white light pulsed once, then again. He lowered his arm, then tutted and rolled his eyes. Gabriel was back in the armchair with a Dell laptop open on knees. ‘Does this room have access?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Actually, the clerk pointed it out to me when I checked in.’ Isiah pointed to a port above the bedside table.
‘And it still never occurred to you to use it?’ Gabriel shook his beautiful head as he dragged the chair nearer to the port and ran a cord to it. His face lit up, reflected brightness of the screen. After a moment he began tapping away at the keys. Isiah rolled himself a cigarette.
Gabriel sat tapping, clicking, waiting, tapping, waiting. His frown deepened all the while. Tap, tap, tap, click, wait. A heavy metal track burst from the small tinny speakers. Gabriel sat back, then clicked the sound away and carried on tapping. ‘I hate pages with embedded music,’ he muttered. Eventually he sat back, a resigned expression on his face. ‘Nothing. Sorry. A few death metal bands and fan sites, a few gaming sites. That’s all. Nothing of any relevance to a society.’
‘Ah, well. It was worth a try. I can’t say I’m surprised. This group aren’t the watered down version of something older like a lot of societies are these days. They’re pretty intense.’
Gabriel switched off the laptop and click
ed the top shut. ‘Is this anything to do with that vile bastard you were chasing down a few years ago? He was something of a blood lover, right?’
‘Yeah. It’s his teacher I’m trying to track down. It would seem this guy has quite the secret organisation and I want to find him and shut him down.’
‘The Balance protecting us all from upsets again?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No. The Balance is no help to me on this. I’m doing this for myself. All that nasty shit that was taught to Samuel Harrigan is still being taught to others. I can’t allow that.’
‘Very noble. I’m surprised you’re allowed to interfere.’
‘Don’t go there. This is just something I have to do. I was hoping that you’d have some ideas about this lot, but it looks like I have more snooping to do.’
Gabriel rested his chin on steepled fingers. ‘You think this Yath-vados is a god? If it was a demon of any stature I would probably have heard of it.’
‘That’s what I thought. One of this guy’s students summoned something tonight. There’s something that responds to their calls for Yath-vados. But I had to stay hidden. I couldn’t feel what it was.’
Gabriel stood up again. ‘Maybe there is someone that can help you. Let’s go to see Tir.’
‘Tir? The old Armenian god? Is he still around?’
‘Barely. But he still keeps scripts. He’s a god of wisdom, an oracle, tries to keep his hand in, you know? He might be able to help.’
Isiah nodded. ‘Fair enough. I’m game to try anything at this stage.’
Gabriel reached out. ‘Take my hand. I’ll Shift us both.’
Isiah reformed heavily standing beside Gabriel in a huge, dusty chamber. The room was massive, like the world’s most comprehensive library, shelf upon shelf of books, scrolls, carved tablets of stone. While the place looked like a library it also looked like the study of the most untidy wizard, tables and chairs all over the place, books and scrolls piled high in haphazard heaps. Even the shelves were crooked and twisted, weighed down by too many tomes. Candles flickered and melted everywhere, glued by their own wax to the corners of desks, the ends of shelves. Some simply hung motionless in the air. From somewhere among the random piles a loud, rasping snore rattled the dusty stillness.
