The Seventh Age: Dawn

by Rick Heinz

  In every other scenario, he would have his wits about him and carry on the fine art of socializing, but something about Queneco was disarming him. It didn’t help matters that he had just revealed his true name and his gambit was falling apart. Arriana was not supposed to be here. She is supposed to be with the others diving at the Clinic. Does she think to kill Vryce herself?

  Instead, he was being paraded around and toyed with, introduced to a shape-shifting coyote who was a pediatric surgeon. Everyone he spoke with brought up some parable of his heroic defeat of the terrorists and wanted a further invitation to discuss some text or some book or some spell.

  Jacob Accardo was the worst of them. Not only did he continue with them from group to group, but he kept writing things in a small steno pad and asking questions for some archive report he was making. He wanted details on the full capture and a full interview after the main event tonight. His tiny round glasses and nosy attitude would interject into every further introduction to which Bollard was paraded.

  The fact he remained in a half-coyote, half-man form as he walked around bothered Bollard even more. Coyotes were trickster spirits, laughing at everyone’s folly when they had the upper hand.

  In all the confusion, Mr. Bollard’s head was spinning.

  Oh, I can see it from here. You are indeed being made into a joke.

  Mr. Bollard realized he was being turned into a war hero, a prize of the society. They weren’t going to kill him. They were going to stuff him, hang his head on the wall, and give him so much prestige that he would be unable to break rank. No room to take a piss if he wanted. Fame was his worst enemy, and he walked right into it. If they spread my true name around, I’ll be answering summons for eternity. He needed to leave.

  He excused himself from an introduction to someone called Trouble Jones from New Orleans and made straight for the exit. He could no longer tolerate this room or the presence of Queneco, that disarming little shit of a man. Sven Mereti saw him heading to the door and clapped his hands.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, dracs and leeches, and all of you fine sparkling creatures of the night. I do believe it is time for the main event, an opening speech from our primus, the founder of this library. After his speech, we will all commence reading the sacred texts on display. The special event of the evening will be a reading from the first edition of the Arcannum Arcannimusim,” Sven said.

  Bollard stopped in his tracks. He knew he was trapped in this room now. Leaving at this moment would be even worse than an outright assault. He turned and watched the thirty-some creatures assemble as Vryce put down a glass of wine on an oaken table and took to the center of the room. Despite his otherwise fine clothing, iron nails were still bolted into his bare feet.

  CHAPTER 45

  Bollard watched as Vryce stalked through the room, waiting until he had everyone’s attention before he spoke.

  “As above, and so below. The magi of the world know this simple statement to be truth. It is through the will of mankind that the heavens are shaped. It is from the power granted unto them from the heavens that they shape it.” He paused as he held one hand high and the other low, the spitting image of the magi from any tarot deck. “We have worked for centuries to ensure that this simple truth remains as such. Hidden in the shadows, we creatures don’t have that power, because our divine right was stripped from us the moment we tasted the blood.” He lashed out his lower hand and tipped over his wineglass. Blood flowed out and hovered in the air, suspended by magic.

  “Yet with this power we have”—Vryce pointed at the blood—“influenced the minds of weak-willed men for countless centuries, shaping the world as we saw fit. Humanity is nothing more than a collection of sheep to be herded by shepherds whose eyes are open.” Vryce brought both hands to his side and fanned out his fingers before snapping them shut.

  Books from shelves on the third floor fanned out and opened themselves up, forming a new ceiling. “Welcome to the new age. Welcome to the age of enlightenment. I know each of us can feel it within our bones. The dawn of the Seventh Age is but a night away.” Vryce closed his hands and lowered his head in a moment of silence.

  You should leave now. Mr. Bollard heard JJ’s voice in his head. We may have our differences, but I don’t want to end up as a personal pet of this warlock any more than you do. Mr. Bollard held his head low in concert with the rest of the room but looked for an escape. Roger Queneco twirled his handlebar mustache and flashed him a grin and a wink when they made eye contact. Mr. Bollard felt like a caged animal.

  Vryce broke the silence as he summoned his glass, refilled with blood, back to his hand and continued. “To commemorate this occasion, I have assembled within these halls the combined works of the centuries from occultists, prophets, and scholars.” He gestured to the dignitaries. “You will each be given sanctuary from the sunlight over the next day within these halls should you so desire. Humanity will need your direction in the coming years. To prevent mistakes of history from repeating, I offer you the greatest gift of all. Knowledge.” He paused and raised his wineglass as polite applause rang throughout the room.

  When the applause died down, he pointed his finger back to the ceiling of books. “However, one among you is a traitor to this cause. It seeks to interfere with our success to satiate its own desire.” Vryce slowly took in the room, pausing to look into the eyes of each person there. Bollard felt as if his knees would buckle underneath him. Queneco even gave him a snubbing look. “Arriana Mortgana,” Vryce said. “Did you not receive a special invitation from my dear friend Roger due to your impeccable donations of books about demonology?”

  All eyes in the room snapped to the thin woman in a black dress that had decorative lace curling around her neck. She became so pale that she made other vampires jealous as blood drained from her face. “Yes, Primus,” she said with a curtsey.

  “And you thought it would be wise to swap some of the books recovered in Hades with a copy, to be smuggled out by your companions tonight? Knowledge gained here is free for the taking provided the physical copy does not leave these halls. You are free to memorize anything you learn in these books and from these artifacts, but their removal is forbidden. Anyone who violates this rule must die.” He gave her one final look before he nodded. “Ignis vitae,” he intoned.

  Arriana collapsed to the ground as her very blood boiled. Flames exploded out of her in crimson jets. In mere seconds, there was nothing but a pile of ash and bone. The gallery of viewers stood silent before offering Vryce another round of polite applause. Bollard let his eyes roll back into his head, his cover had somehow been maintained through all of it. He was going to be okay after all.

  “Her companions are already being rounded up. Even our dear Alexandria had to let go of her own Vertovi this evening for his involvement. We must all sacrifice for our goals. In light of this, I’ve decided to offer a bit of entertainment for the rest of you. We are all scholars in our own right, so let’s begin with a bit of theological debate,” Vryce said.

  The warlock moved to the middle of the room, setting his bloody bare feet in the ash of Arianna. “I have a question for each of you. Depending on your theological stance, you will file into two groups. Based on my judgment, the victors will be granted the first viewing of the Arcannum.”

  Mr. Bollard watched Vryce pace back and forth, leaving footprints of ash. It reminded him of a lion circling his prey. “Fear not,” Vryce said. “There is no wrong answer. Among scholars, everything is subject to debate and testing. You understand, yes?” The room was his captive audience.

  Bollard was familiar with this. After the murder of Arianna, the remaining people were just glad to be alive and would play along with whatever game he set forth. They were all his now.

  When Vryce spoke next, his voice seemed to echo from every shadow in the room. “In the coming nights, do you believe that humanity should be shepherded and protected? Do you believe they are too weak to survive the return of demons into the world, to have the ve
il lifted from them? Should we continue to shelter them from the shadows? There is much merit to this idea. When humanity is threatened, they feed on their own panic and risk their own destruction. Greater threats are always clawing at the minds of men, and without a proper shepherd, wolves will descend on the flock and spoil the herd.”

  Mr. Bollard knew he was speaking of Lazarus as the shepherd. Once Lazarus returns, he could bring humanity back to its innocent state as their savior. JJ agreed with Mr. Bollard internally.

  The warlock stopped pacing and let the thought sink in, the smoking remains of Arriana now scattered. “Or do you believe that we should thrust humanity into a new age and have faith that they will find the strength they need to survive despite the fact that billions will die? This idea also has merit. For the greatest works of humanity have always been borne from the greatest tragedy. Each is a gamble. Each has merit.”

  Mr. Bollard let out a scoff that caused the boring Dr. Bowling to distance himself a few paces away.

  Vryce resumed his former position. “Will those who begin the night with the viewpoint of the latter please take a position to the right of the room, and the former to the left. After an evening of debate, we will take a census again.” He gestured to each side of the room. The hearths in the fireplaces flared and each took on different colors, lighter yellow and white flames for those who chose to shepherd humanity and darker green and blue for the others.

  Bollard watched as the diplomats looked at each other. Some knew where they were going already. Most of the guests Bollard had been introduced to chose the latter option, to present humanity to magic. It was no surprise to Bollard, though, that the beautiful Alexandria chose to shelter them.

  “Oh, my dear Vryce, I’ll play your little game. It’s amusing to see how you’ve grown up so much since you were a little boy. Regardless of which side you choose, though, surely you know I am going in first. My descendant, Roger, wouldn’t have it any other way.” She gave a wink to Vryce and took a stance among those wishing to shepherd humanity. It seemed to lend courage to others in the room as well.

  One by one, they filed into position like good little followers. Bollard took his stance on the side of those who would shelter mankind. He had seen humanity at its most vile, and during its greatest triumph, and he knew that they could not survive without shepherds.

  There is hope for your redemption yet, Mr. Bollard. The side Alexandria is on is the safest bet politically.

  Mr. Bollard realized one diplomat had not yet chosen.

  The Baron stood in the middle of the room. He raised one eyebrow and looked to those on his left. Then he nodded at those on the right. Everyone seemed to wait for him to make a choice before he stepped forward and gave a very long and deep bow to Vryce. “Primus Vryce, I see where this is going. A vampire of my age is used to such things. It has been a pleasure to visit your library and see your society during this ritual. I hope you find my contribution of notes taken during the signing of the Treaty of Unification as something of historical significance to your collection.” He held his bow and waited for a response.

  “I have, my friend. You may rise. What troubles you so?” Vryce said, a look of genuine concern on a predator’s face.

  “Since I cannot play this game, and thus disqualify myself from membership in your organization, I request that we remain allies. You are personally welcome to my estate should you ever wish to discuss this topic further in the coming days. As to not spoil the activity, I request that I be allowed to leave and return to my home. I think I shall like to watch the moon-set from my own back porch.” He rose from his bow.

  Whispers crept through the remaining dignitaries, most of them wondering why they had not thought to do what he did.

  Vryce applauded. He jaunted to the Baron and firmly shook his hand. “It is a pleasure and an honor to have creatures like you in the world. I look forward to my future visits. Please, the exit is actually over there behind those shelves. I’ll see to it that your bags are ready,” Vryce said as he took the Baron’s spot in the center of the room and waited for the old vampire to exit.

  Not a word was said. Bollard could not help but feel that the smartest man just left the flock to a wolf who was staring at his dinner. The dignitaries would not fight now. Their will had been crushed. Alexandria playing along, only cementing the feeling.

  The green-and-blue flames grew in strength, and Vryce’s voice echoed in the library. “You who have chosen to thrust humanity into a world of magic, I admire your courage. You have the first viewing. I will stay here and entertain debate with the others. When the last of the first group returns, it shall be the shepherds’ turn.” Vryce gestured to a side chamber, and the group filed out.

  Alexandria walked up to Vryce and gave him a demeaning kiss on the forehead before she sauntered off with the others. Aside from her, no one remaining had the nerve. That, or they actually believed him. Bollard searched for any exit that he could run to.

  He suddenly understood Vryce’s game. He was going to keep everyone distracted and locked in a night of debate while his apprentices finished his work. Bollard had sent everyone else to launch themselves at restricted locations, yet he needed to kill Vryce and take the best gateway himself, which was near the library. All before the twenty-first. Vryce is stalling us.

  Ambassadors began to debate with each other. Bollard ruled out each possible entrance and exit, including the one the Baron had used earlier. All of them were sealed. Perhaps we should have swapped roles with the other crew diving at the Clinic.

  “The rest of you can die,” Vryce said suddenly. The body he was possessing collapsed on the ground. The fires in the three fireplaces all went out, and Bollard felt the effects of nerve gas dispersing.

  First came the constriction of pupils and tightness in the chest as the dignitaries began to panic. All of them tried to escape, using a variety of talents at their disposal. Bollard knew it was already too late for them in this hermetically sealed chamber and braced himself for the coming pain. This particular method of death would not be permanent for him, but it was certainly unpleasant.

  The others in the room were not so fortunate. Blisters filled their eyes, and they twitched with myoclonic jerks. Bollard vomited on himself as his nervous system gave way. The souls of the people in the room left their hosts, spiraling upward. Bollard watched them go, and then saw Vryce as he truly was.

  He stood on the books that had formed the ceiling before his speech and stared down at them like they were pathetic. He wore a long black coat with a red lining and held a soul blade in one hand with a viola case in the other. Even though he was wearing a gas mask, Bollard could feel his toothy grin. It was no doubt filled with vampire fangs and the tongue of a snake. Mr. Bollard counted nine objects of power upon him, with one phylactery missing. Likely empty.

  The warlock threw the remaining souls into the green flames of the chamber hearth. With each ambassador added to the fire, the great ritual was granted another hour of life, just enough time to keep the Twin Cities active, limping along in the final nights. More importantly, there was no one left to kill the warlock before he finished. As Bollard’s eyes blistered over and his vision was lost, he tasted defeat.

  Vryce whispered in Bollard’s ear. “I think not, Ghatotkacha. Demons are always more useful alive than dead. Only silver will kill your kind. Your fate is for another to decide. A favor I will repay gladly. Yet my last soul fragment is what binds you two together. So I’m taking that back. You’ll survive. JJ will not.”

  Warmness flashed over his flesh, replaced by the cold feeling of snow beneath him. Then he felt himself plunge into ice water.

  “We can’t have Lazarus’s descendant so close to the gates, now can we?” Vryce said.

  Vryce sent Bollard back to the city with a spell, right into the river dividing the Twin Cities. Pain in Bollard’s eyes and lungs gave way to severe aching in his muscles as his body regenerated. He pawed his way in every direction to find purchase. He
was driven by a desire to survive and a fear of the pit, of being sent back to the abyss.

  Fear subsided after a while, and his vision returned. He lay gasping for air on his back, his body twisting and pulling at itself as he shed JJ’s mortal coil. The warlock had freed him, the soul fragment that had bound him and JJ together, the first one ever pulled back, was Vryce’s all along. Bollard had gotten exactly what he wanted, yet it was empty and tasted of defeat. All he could do was scream into a night where no one would hear him under the ghostly walls of the city. His hollow cries joined the wails of a thousand souls imprisoned by the soul stealer.

  CHAPTER 46

  Mike had spent the past days and nights in uncomfortable positions, finally crammed in between some rusted pipes. Akira had managed to keep them hidden before stuffing them into a more secure spot. He vaguely remembered her feeding him blood in his fugue state. From time to time, she would relocate them away from a patrol still hunting during the day, and by nightfall his wounds had healed with enough blood. For the most part. The soldiers had used special ammunition that slowed recovery. His face still felt sunburned, but the sharp tingling pain in his arms and chest was fading.

  Mike felt Akira start poking him in the forehead to rouse him as the sun fell. He cracked an eye open to see her staring at him.

  “Just five more minutes,” Mike said. “And stop poking me. I’ve been awake for a while now.” Mike attempted to dislodge himself from between the pipes. I don’t even feel like poking my head out of these sewers. Everyone around me is dying, just more ghosts to haunt me.

  “We don’t have much longer if we are going to kill Vryce,” Akira said. She pounced back into the tunnel, splashing up some rainwater before leaning against a wall.