The Knowledge (The Circle Book 2)

by Lee Isserow

“I said play it!”

  Reluctantly, Shana continued the re-enactment. The blade was still in Kahgo's hand, but it was not his to control in amongst the force of the explosion. He struggled stop its swing, grabbed the hilt with both hands―but that alone was not enough to stop its uncontrollable spiral.

  The God's End came to a stop, as the force of the blast began to push the Old One back through the veil. Its blade found a home in Shaman Kahgo himself, all but clefting him in twain. Both his hands still on the hilt, his skull and shoulders and ribs butterflying out, the blade sitting in his guts as he no longer moved of his own volition, only with the rhythm of the creature he was trapped within. The blade dissipated as it crossed the rift, leaving his body floating, alone, forever to remain deep inside the invader he had played a massive part in warding away.

  Tali collapsed on the muddy silt of the reclaimed land. This was her fault, the death of her friend was all but at her hands for not ordering him to get the hell out of there.

  Shana comforted her as best she could, but words could do nothing to alleviate the mix of emotions that were overwhelming her. There was only one thing that could make a damn bit of difference. And she was certain that there would be no objection to her bringing it up when the Circle convened.

  64

  Their final act

  It was a full week of silent, solemn recovery before the Circle would convene. With the beast defeated, and its avatar, 'The Knowledge' no longer speaking through the Dream Realm, the Circle met yet again with the intent to rid it from the minds of every mundane across the planet. This time, they double-checked that no seeds remained.

  The next order of business was to reclaim all the lives that had been lost, and to repair all the damage that the incursions had caused across the Natural World.

  Then, the more selfish aspects of the re-write were attended to, bringing back all the magickians that had died during the final battle with the beast. Tali tried to ignore the thoughts that swirled through the collective consciousness of the Circle, the stray implications of them as 'her cannon fodder'. They were far and few between, but there was certainly an objection to her command of the skirmish.

  Faith brought up the next order of business, to help Raven get back to her normal, albeit obnoxious self. To rid her of the pain and anger that infiltrated her heart since the incident in Italy. The collective agreed, and each let it be known that they hoped if they befell the same fate, magickal rehabilitation would be an option for them too. Then, doctor Hildebrand was reconstituted, his remains stitched back together, his essence reclaimed from the world to come.

  With that complete, it felt as though the Circle was done. Tali couldn't believe it, they were only alive because of Shaman―if it wasn't for him, they would have been mesmerised and killed instantly. Shana seconded her motion, but that still did not bring consensus.

  Tali wiped her tears away and sent a plea out, she beseeched the rest of them to listen, begged Faith to do the right thing. She could feel his reluctance as her desperation washed over his mind. But he had to admit that if it were not for Kahgo, the Natural World would have fallen. . . And his own faults had led to The Knowledge spreading, to it gaining a foothold with their last ritual. . .

  One by one, the objections dissipated. Whatever the magickians present thought of Shaman Kahgo, there was no denying that in this instance, he had most certainly been the linchpin of their survival. And for that reason, if no other, they would do what they could to return him to life,

  But of course, there would be no way to know whether it worked or not. His body was no longer in the Natural World. Even if they did manage to revive him, he was in the abyss, a place that was not exactly hospitable to those of their realm. And of course, there was the matter, of the only known method of crossing back into the Natural World. . . The Lurker was the gate. . . They had likely killed the only method of returning.

  Despite there being no guarantees one way or the other, the Circle conceded that it was the least they could do. And as their final act of that convening, they did all they could to return Shaman Kahgo to life.

  65

  Waves of intent

  The waves of intent rippled across the Natural World. They pulsated through the realms and spaces between the realms, where they were felt by one that shed a tear at their attempt. He added his intent, amended it to bolster the aims of the Circle's ritual.

  The intent continued to travel until it found the thinnest of cracks between the layers of reality, and funnelled through into the Outer Realms. It spread far and wide, travelled eternal distances in the blink of an eye until it found the one that the magick was destined for.

  Flesh sewed itself together around the essence of the God's End, repairing the damage that had been done by the blade's final strike, building bones that had been broken, sewing musculature, forming skin, growing hair. And finally, it breathed life into his chest.

  Shaman Kahgo found himself reborn. He gasped as the memories of his life and death flooded through his every fibre. He was surrounded by meat that was bleeding and rotting, drowning in a thick soup of stinking, black ooze. He panicked, could not recall his magick, and held what little breath he had as he desperately crawled through the tunnels torn in the beast that re-bore him.

  There was a light up ahead, a dot that shined, gleaming with the possibility of offering freedom, and he scrambled through the innards, getting ever closer, until finally bursting out from a wide slit in the skin.

  But there was no light, not waiting for him directly ahead. He emerged to discover that the light was far, far in the distance, one of a myriad lights in the swirling void of the abyss. Each of those a creature of cosmic proportions, each trapped in the same place he was trapped. And as that revelation came to him, he dared to breath.

  There was no air in this place, locked on the other side of the veil, where such elements never formed. The body he inhabited shook as the oxygen depletion began to take its hold. He looked at his hands, they were young again, as if the use of the God's End had been undone. . . as if he had been put together just as those of the Circle had remembered him. . . but they only knew him as a man, they did not know what he was beneath the mask he wore.

  He felt tears shedding down his cheeks, each cold as ice. But it was not the tears that were cold, it was this place, it froze them before they had a chance to fall. He had been born anew. . . only to die all over again. His sacrifice and noble death taken from him.

  Shaman Kahgo soon became unable to see for all the tears in his eyes, and he reached with a trembling hand to wipe them away, only to discover that they were frozen solid on his face. He pressed on them nonetheless, trying to wipe or scratch the ice away, and they shattered in his skull.

  He was blind.

  Blind, and dying, and alone.

  And yet, despite being overwhelmed by all the horrors that had befallen him in this new and short life, somehow, he felt as though he could still see.

  There was something within him, that was not of the Circle. An intent by one that knew him better than they. . . An intent that had made certain that he would not be reborn as simply a man, that he would retain the lineage that he hid beneath the form they knew.

  His skin bubbled and blistered, his hair shed and cascaded down off his shoulders. The gleaming bald skull rippled and undulated, each follicle stretching wide, torn open as his thin tentacles burrowed out of the skin he wore and slithered down the sides of his head. He flexed his true back, and tore through the human flesh, reached behind him with a man's fingers and tugged hard until he completely flayed himself. Tenticular arms burst from his gut, wrenching those arms off after they had served their purpose. He opened his true mouths wide and breathed deep with a myriad lungs that were built for this place.

  It was a revelation, an experience the likes of which he had never thought he would have, breathing the air his forefathers breathed. That of the Outer Realms.

  As he tore free of the body he wore in the Natura
l World, the skin and musculature and fluids of his mask floated off into the vast abyss, and he stretched out his tentacles, using them for their true purpose for the first time in his life. Their undulations propelled him forward through the darkness, and he began to explore this side of the veil.

  Somewhere, in the expanse of the void there would be another passage back, and he would find it. Not only for the vow he made to protect the realm, but because of a message that hung in his mind, transmitted along with the intent to retain his true form.

  A warning, that it was not just the realm that required him to return and stand as it protector. Soon, his children would need him by their sides. For something was coming, that if left of its own devices, would change the face of the Natural World. And without him, the time of man would be over. . . before it had had a chance to truly begin, let alone fulfil its incredible potential. And he knew that potential all too well. Shaman Kahgo believed in the human race, mundane or magickal. And he would do whatever it took to return to them, and aid them in the fight to come.

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  Keep reading for an exclusive preview of the next book in the world of The Circle

  The Circle Series continues with:

  Red Rain

  Red Rain will fall, as too will mankind. . .

  The disappearance of the most powerful magickian in all the lands has left a power vacuum.

  In his absence, something beneath the ocean is preparing to take the world for its own

  And as a portent washes upon the streets, making them slick with rain as red as blood, the operatives at The Circle must take it upon themselves to save the world.

  Because they are the last bastion, the thin line between survival of the human race. . . and the death of all things.

  Red Rain is available exclusively from Amazon and ABAM.info

  Red Rain

  1

  The world of man

  PARADISE ISLAND, BAHAMAS

  In decades previous, the island that had been named 'paradise' suited the nomenclature that had been bestowed upon it. It was once a majesty for the eyes, a monument to humanity's co-opting of nature for their own ends. Although more recently, it had become a place of tacky splendour. It still had pristine beaches of the most golden sands, but alas it had succumbed to the Vegas-ification that was afflicting many of the nearby resorts.

  Located just off the coast of New Providence, it had once stood adjacent and yet alone, a true island. But man is not one to allow such jewels to go unexploited, and money had flooded in. It became the home to a resort and casino, and with that development, two bridges bolted it on to the mainland. It was as if the new owners were fearful that it might drift away in the night, and wished to crudely stitch it to the country for fear of losing their investment to a cruel tide, and their wealthy summering patrons to the ravaging seas

  This night, however, the guests were not best pleased with their stay at the resort. As the sun set, the hues of orange and pink swiftly became obscured by a mass of dark, foreboding clouds that sewed themselves together in the skies above. The weather forecast had not warned of such a thing, clear skies were projected for the remainder of the week, and yet as the darkness came, it seemed almost certain that rain would fall upon their holiday parade.

  The darker it got, the more the clouds brewed. But it was not the furtive conspiring of moisture or air pressure that drew them forth. It was something in the air that could not be quantified, not by science at least. And as the first drops of rain fell, plummeting down at great haste, their freedom coincided with movement under the surface of the sea that washed up upon the shore.

  As the rain landed, exploding like a myriad depth charges upon the ocean's surf, something dark ushered itself out of the water. It had no legs on which to stand, pushing itself onto the beach with slick tentacles, ten or fifteen of them, each indistinguishable from the other, for they were as black as night, blacker even, as if its skin absorbed the light, devouring it as it would devour so much, once it had gained strength.

  It heaved itself forward, out from its oceanic home, into the world of man for the very first time, looking out upon this place it had emerged, with eyes that swirled with a vortex of yellow and green. The rain was a welcome sensation, a memory of its watery home pouring across its skin, as if the heavens were enabling and aiding its transition to the land. And that transition was not easy. . .

  The creature had never walked before, its myriad swirling and slithering limbs used only for propulsion through the currents of the deep. Despite being thick and muscular, the tentacles had never held any weight upon them, not truly, and thus it struggled to hold its body aloft upon them. It fell several times, collapsed onto the sand over and over again as it worked out how to stand, and then to walk, as if it had only just emerged from the womb.

  This journey of discovery was halted when it realised its lungs were aching, it had yet to breath in this place, having spent its life absorbing oxygen through the water itself using miniscule gills secreted around its body.

  As it took its first breath, using its mouths rather than the gills, it collapsed once again. The experience was overwhelming, so much oxygen rushing through its system. It felt dizzy, rolled around on the sands as it tried to shake off the feeling.

  But the next breath was slightly less disorienting, the one after that even less so. The more it breathed, the more it adapted to the situation. It shifted its weight once again, pushed itself upwards on the tentacles that were to be its legs, and held its body aloft. Adaptation was key, and it was a born with that in mind, it was designed to adapt.

  Movement was the next obstacle it would have to overcome. It had not seen how the species of the land moved, but it had observed crustaceans at times, and sought to imitate their movements. Few of them had as many limbs as it did, but they did hold certain limbs aloft whilst they walked, and it copied that motion, leaving just four tentacles to act as legs. It fell again, and swiped at the sand, losing patience with the process of learning such a simple and infuriating thing.

  A whisper embraced it. Encouraged it to try again.

  The muscle mass of its form was incorrect for the world of man. It needed to change, to keep its body up and move in any one direction. Under its shiny skin, it pulled muscle from the tentacles that were in the air, and redistributed it to the ones that it stood upon, stretching the flesh, making them big and fat. Once its legs were fully formed, it practised shifting weight from one to the other, moving one forward, then the next, then the third, then the fourth. It was not a practical way in which to move, so slowly, a step at a time, and it attempted a new method, moving right front leg and back left leg simultaneously. That worked better, and although it was still shaky on these vestigial legs, it soon moved quickly across the beach.

  Once it had conquered breathing and movement, it adjusted its gaze, a myriad eyes looking out upon this place, the world above, fabled as a place that he and his brethren would never get to venture in their lifetime. That had changed. The status quo had changed. . . They no longer lived in exile, and they were now free to explore this place that was once forbidden.

  The monstrous child staggered off the beach, cautious to hide from the light of the great walled temple to the god of commercialism that lay ahead of it. The time would come when it would storm those gates, but that time was not now, not yet. It needed to continue to learn of this place, to understand it, before it could even dream of conquering it in its master's name.

  It found itself a sewer grate, and pulled it from the road, stuffing itself into the slim gap, contorting its body to hide out of the sight of those that resided in the world of man. It would wait until the time was right to re-emerge, and it had all the time in the world,. There was no rush to take this place for itself, for it was not just this place that needed to be taken. There were many places that were so similar to this, where nature had been perverted by the whims of the primates that had cla
imed the above-land as their own, and crushed all who dared object to their ownership.

  But when the time was right, that too would change. One status quo had already become undone, and the others would also be toppled and crushed and torn asunder in the name of that which lives beneath the ocean. For soon, there would be nothing that stood in its master's way to take this place, this world of man, for itself.

  Red Rain is available exclusively from Amazon and ABAM.info

  Elsewhere in the world of The Circle...

  The Spirit Box

  SYNOPSIS

  It's not a nightmare if you're awake...

  Ana's grandmother has died in a horrific fashion.

  Soon, she finds herself under assault by the same supernatural forces.

  With nowhere else to turn to, Rafe, a low-level magical detective comes to her aid.

  He's been tracking the creature, and the box that appears to draw it forth. Together, they set out to put an end to the malevolent fiend once and for all.

  But all is not as it seems with the entity that's hunting Ana down. Nor is all as it seems with Rafe, or Ana for that matter.

  Everyone has secrets, and some secrets are powerful enough to kill.

  The Spirit Box is available now

  exclusively from Amazon and ABAM.info

  The Spirit Box