by Alan Baxter
So she had gone back to the hostel, washed, slept. Now she felt reinvigorated, back at his house in the old fashioned suburb of Paddington, east of the city. The house was huge, three stories in the old Federation style, with large rooms, high ceilings. It must be worth millions, fully detached as it was in the heart of one of Sydney’s wealthiest suburbs. She sat on the couch and waited while he made a phone call, his voice a muffled murmur down the hall. Before long he was back.
‘My apologies. Always so busy!’ He flashed her one of his winning smiles, perfect white teeth.
‘No worries.’ She smiled back, unable not to. ‘Work again?’
Lars nodded. ‘Yes. But now we have a little time to ourselves.’
‘What do you do?’
‘It’s a little complicated to explain. I am part of a global organisation, one of the leaders of this group. I really don’t consider it work in the traditional sense of the word. It’s my passion.’
Faith nodded, still really none the wiser. ‘What sort of organisation?’
Lars drew in a long breath. ‘We are an old Order. We stand above and outside the normal day to day lives of most people. We refuse to bow before the sort of authority that would oppress us and keep us as tiny cogs in a giant engine of corporate greed and political maneuvering.’ Lars’s eyes were a little wary, looking deep into Faith’s eyes, trying to judge the impact of his words.
Faith was not going to be unnerved by him. ‘Sounds cool,’ she said, with a cheeky grin. ‘But really, it sounds like a lot of rhetoric. No offence intended,’ she added.
Lars smiled again. ‘Of course. And there is an awful lot of that sort of rhetoric around these days. But we are different.’
‘How?’
‘We promote and encourage acts of civil disobedience. We finance anarchy.’
Faith was surprised at the bluntness and clarity of the statement. She could not help but respect his honesty. ‘Is what you do legal?’
Lars laughed, a warm, open sound. ‘Not at all, darling. Not even remotely.’
Faith smiled, looking hard into his eyes. Was he winding her up?
‘I’m deadly serious. We are careful not to draw attention. We are careful not to get caught. If any of us do get caught, we maintain our silence and protect the organisation.’
‘You really are being serious, aren’t you?’ Faith’s smile was still there, her rebellious nature intrigued by such a bold statement of such a dangerous practice.
‘I am. I said that I could tell you were different. I could see in you a power and a desire. A need. We can fulfill that need and, in return, you can empower us. But there is something more.’
Lars’s face was serious again and Faith felt a wave of nervousness pass through her like a cool breeze brushing a naked back. ‘What is it?’
Lars sat beside her and took her hand in his. His touch was warm and strong. He kissed her soundly on the lips. Again she felt that sense of utter safety and comfort. ‘We praise a higher power,’ Lars whispered into her ear as his cheek brushed hers. ‘We accomplish through the power of blood, and the blood is our god. We dedicate ourselves and our actions to Yath-vados, Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens. We honour Him and He lends strength to our endeavours.’ Again Lars kissed her, firmly, powerfully, his energy mingling with hers, electric, primal lust.
She was confused but, at the same time, utterly consumed. This man was like the most ridiculously expensive chocolate, dark and smooth and totally delicious. When he spoke, it made perfect sense to her. When he touched her she wanted him inside her again. If he was empowered by this Yath-vados, she wanted that empowerment too. And it sounded right. It sounded good.
Lars drew back from her. She felt as though he was pulling her heart back with him. ‘The meeting is about to begin,’ he whispered. ‘We call it a Gather. You must realise that you are special. You have immense potential. I want to help you realise that potential. Come to the meeting. Join with us, learn from us. We can achieve great things together.’
Faith felt drunk again. ‘Of course.’ Her voice sounded low, husky. ‘I want what you have.’
Lars smiled and led her from the room. As she followed him along the hallway she noticed one of his fingers was bleeding, just a few spots near the nail. As she was about to mention it, Lars turned, pointed to a door. ‘This way.’ He held the door open and Faith saw a large room beyond. The windows were bricked in, strange symbols and unfathomable words painted on them. The walls were matt black, hung in places with heavy, dark curtains. The ceiling was high, also black. Chairs and small couches were scattered all around the room, facing roughly one way. Many people occupied the chairs. Faith’s eyes widened at the sight.
‘They come in the back way,’ Lars whispered in her ear. A shiver danced across her flesh at the closeness of him. ‘I told you that you were special. Take a chair anywhere. I have to speak now.’
She took a small leather armchair near the back of the room. The mix of people was remarkable. From the most well-dressed city dwellers to the filthy and ragged denizens of the streets. All manner of young tribes represented, Goths, metallers, crusties, homeys. She had never seen such a bizarre collection of people. Yet they all had at least one thing in common and that was this group. A couple of people nearby smiled when they caught her eye. It would seem that regardless of any other interest, this group made these people friends.
The room was very warm and close. Faith could still feel that sense of security and joy that Lars gave her, it permeated the place. Another man, dressed in a long black robe with a large, dark red disc dyed into the front, stood to one side. Lars emerged, wearing a similar robe, and stood before a lectern, black wood, carved to resemble a rearing eastern dragon. Beautiful, terrifying.
He raised his right hand, the black leather wristband plainly in view. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’
Everybody gathered raised their right hands. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’ they cried. Every one of them wore a leather wrist band like Lars. Like Faith.
Lars looked around the room with a smile. Almost beatific, he seemed to be radiating love. The juxtaposition of darkness and love was confusing. It was intoxicating and at the same time disturbing. Faith’s heart and soul were softened by it while her rational mind rapped at her forebrain in warning. But the feeling of joy was rising in the room, the warm glow of love and power saturated her body. Lars spoke again, his voice not loud, but strong. ‘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 others in the room roared. Faith jumped, then giggled nervously to herself. A young woman beside her, spiky hair and dog collar, smiled at her and tipped a wink. Faith smiled back. Her concerns were fading.
Lars bowed his head. This time his voice was soft , but perfectly clear. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens.’
Everyone gathered repeated the words. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens.’
Faith leaned towards the punk girl beside her. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Blood, the new eternal almighty.’
Faith stared for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Her brow creased.
‘Don’t worry,’ the girl said with a smile. ‘It all becomes so clear in no time at all.’
Faith nodded and turned her eyes back to the front.
‘Welcome all,’ Lars said, leaning casually on the lectern. ‘Firstly, let me welcome the Neophyte joining us for the first time tonight.’ He pointed to where Faith sat and all heads turned to see. ‘Her name is Faith and she will be remarkable.’ Lars smiled at her and Faith’s heart melted again. Faces all around the room smiled and nodded in greeting. She nodded nervously back.
<
br /> Lars paused, then spoke again. ‘The Rite of Dedication.’
Faith looked around, surprised, as everyone rose and moved towards the front. The punk girl squeezed her shoulder. ‘Follow me. You’ll like this.’
With a nervous shrug she stood and joined the line that had formed before the dark lectern. She could see Lars touching his fingers to a gold bowl, then to the forehead of the member at the front of the queue. He murmured constantly. ‘Say “By blood” when he touches your brow,’ Faith’s new friend said as she stepped up to receive her touch. Now Faith could see that Lars was dabbing what looked like blood onto each person’s head. For a moment her stomach flipped at the thought, then it was her turn. Lars smiled, his eyes beckoning, deep.
With her heart hammering, she stepped up. Lars moved his lips as he uttered words that sounded like nothing she had ever heard before, barely audible, strangely compelling. His fingers rose from the bowl and what could only be blood dripped thickly from index and middle fingertip. He touched the blood to Faith’s brow and she gasped, a sudden rush spreading through her entire being. Everything was exactly right, exactly as it should be. There was nowhere that could possibly feel more like home than this place, this moment. Lars had stopped talking and was looking at her, one eyebrow raised. Faith stared back, wanting to jump him right there and then. The eyebrow went a little higher and Faith remembered what she had been told. ‘By blood,’ she stammered and the rush through her body intensified in a wave then settled. Lars nodded, gesturing subtly for her to return to her seat. Eyes wide, heart thumping, she walked back past the remainder of the line.
A couple of years before, at a party, she had been offered an ecstasy tablet. Feeling bitter and resentful to life she had taken it, just to be bad. Thirty minutes later she had been dancing and hugging everyone, loved up to the max. Here in this strange room in Sydney, with this rag tag collection of strangers, she felt that way again. And this time it was without a pill.
The last member of the group received the strange blessing and Lars returned to stand behind the lectern. He smiled across the heads of those present, then placed his hands together and bowed his head. ‘We believe in the blood.’
The group spoke as one. ‘We believe in the blood.’
Lars kept his head bowed and spoke again, reverence in his voice. ‘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 single voice of the room rose again. ‘We believe in the blood.’
Faith looked around and saw that most people had their heads bowed too. A few looked towards Lars with a kind of rapture on their face. While something nagged at her that felt like a warning, she couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of power that flowed through this room, through every person, entwining, embracing. Lars’s voice was like music. ‘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.’
Again the rest of the room spoke in a single, whispered voice. ‘We believe in the blood.’
Lars spoke more loudly. ‘Our Order is powerful, our magic is real. Our Will be known.’
The volume of those Gathered rose to match it. ‘Our Will be known.’
Now Lars almost shouted the words. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’
The commitment of the reply made the hairs on the back of Faith’s neck stand up. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’
Her eyes were closed, basking in the combined ecstasy of the Gather. When she opened her eyes, Lars was looking directly at her. He smiled. ‘We will hear from the Neophytes that would be Prospects,’ he said, his voice strident. ‘Who here can report their activity?’ Two hands on opposite sides of the room raised. ‘Come on up here, then.’
A man in his early or mid thirties, dressed in a suit and tie, stood up and joined another man, maybe twenty five. The younger man wore the overalls of a mechanic, his hands still lightly stained with stubborn engine oil. They walked to the front and stood beside Lars.
Lars moved aside and indicated the lectern. The man in the suit stepped forward. ‘Er... I’m not really sure how relevant this will be, but I tried something.’ He looked at Lars for support. Lars smiled, nodded. He smiled well and often. ‘I work for an investment bank,’ the man continued. There were murmurs of dissent around the room. ‘I know that’s bad. I know it’s against everything we stand for, but I have to pay the mortgage. I’m trapped in the engine for now. But I can work against it from the inside. This week I deliberately lost the bank money on every foreign currency trade I worked on. I claimed to be having a bad week, so I won’t lose my job, but I’ve cost them hundreds of thousands of dollars. Every time I submitted a bad trade, I asked Yath-vados to pass it through. Every one passed. I have copies of the trade reports to show you.’ He looked at Lars, holding papers towards him.
Lars stepped back up to the lectern, took the papers, buried them in his robe. He squeezed the man’s shoulder. ‘Every single cent contributes to each dollar,’ he intoned with a wink. ‘Every blade of grass is an essential and intrinsic part of the field. This man has to feed and house himself, yet he still sows the seeds of chaos. The rich, the greedy, they use this man for their own wealth.’ He turned to the man, put one hand against his cheek. ‘Well done, Paul. You are a Prospect now.’ Paul beamed as applause rippled through the room. ‘Serve your time, and in a few months you may join us in Sanctum.’
Still smiling like a child at Christmas, Paul returned to his seat. People nearby clapped him on the back or cast congratulatory smiles as he passed by. Lars turned to the mechanic. ‘Your turn.’
The mechanic was a burly man, tall. He stepped up to the lectern with confidence. ‘There’s this dickhead that always brings his Beamer in for service with us.’ His voice was confident and soft laughter washed across the room. The mechanic grinned in spite of himself. ‘Yeah, well, he is a dickhead. Anyway, I know for a fact that he’s rich only because he exploits people. He runs a club in the city, a strip joint in the Cross. Now I have nothing against that, but he prostitutes his dancers and pays them fuck all. They’re smuggled in from Thailand and places like that and have to work off a ridiculous debt to him.
‘He came in this week for a service, acting all king shit like usual. I fucked up his brakes for him and he stacked it at the first junction out of the shop. Messed up his Beamer good.’ A variety of responses travelled around the room, surprise, amusement, grim satisfaction. Faith was not sure quite how to feel. ‘I do my work well,’ the mechanic continued. ‘There’s no way they could trace what I did. Sadly he wasn’t really hurt and he came storming back in ranting about how he had no brakes. He brought the police in and everything. I said that I was standing outside having a cigarette and watched him jump the red light. That’s exactly what the car he hit claimed, as that’s exactly what happened. The insurance will check his claim that his brakes failed, but they won’t find anything.’ He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and held it towards Lars. ‘Here, I took a photo of the crash as I dedicated it to Yath-vados.’ Lars leaned forward, looking closely at the phone. He smiled, nodding. The mechanic pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and held it up for the room to see. It was a grainy print of the photo, two cars in a mangle of steel and glass beneath traffic lights. He handed the print to Lars.
Lars stepped up to the lectern again ‘Well done, Bill, ONC Prospect!’ Applause rang around the room again as Bill grinned, as Paul had done, proud of himself. ‘Delete that photo from your phone, okay?’ Bill nodded, jabbing at the buttons of his phone as he returned to his seat.
Lars looked at the crumpled page again. As his eyes returned to the gathered group, he flicked his wrist and the page popped into flame and vanished. Faith ju
mped in her seat. Did I really just see that? She looked around and saw others smiling and nodding, none of them surprised.
Lars drew himself up, taking a long deep breath. ‘Everything that we do in the name of Yath-vados brings us closer to breaking the machine. We will not be fooled by the media and the politicians, the corporations and the rich. There is no equality in this world. And nothing is achieved through peaceful protest and petitions with ten thousand signatures. Any lazy fuck can sign their name to anything and it will change nothing. People are fed the lie that they have free will while they are herded and farmed from nine to five with weekends off if they’re lucky.’
The feeling of joy and warmth around Faith was like a fur coat as she listened to Lars speaking. This was the right place to be. These were the things that she needed to hear. This is what she had been looking for all her life.
‘Whatever your faith, your career, your race or creed, we are all united in this place.’ Lars swept the room with his arm. ‘All you need to do above all is praise Yath-vados. His strength becomes your strength and your strength becomes his. The more we work in his name, the more we can achieve. And not with words and petitions and stickers handed out in the park to worker ants on their lunch break. We will disrupt and destroy, we will spill blood and break bones. By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected. We say this every time we meet because we need to remind ourselves of its truth. We will not bow down and give in to fear and oppression. Others talk and plan and do nothing. We act! Where once we praised the blood, we now praise blood Himself! Our power grows.’
Lars paused, looking around the room, letting his words sink in. ‘So many of you have heard these things before, in many different ways. Yet you don’t bore of hearing them. Why? Because you have started to see the rewards. We don’t promise you a cloud and a harp after you have grown old and withered. We don’t promise you a horde of virgins if you blow yourself to smithereens. We give you power here and now. The more you work, the more you achieve, the more you receive.
