by James Moore
There was no response from the soul of Tremere, though there had been occasionally in years past, and then there was a pause as the souls of the Tremere reached out to one another, not in unity against the tainted souls of the Sabbat, as when they usually joined in the Chant of Union, but just to familiarize themselves for this extraordinary event.
I AM LISTENING, came one last voice of power. Elaine de Calinot, the Councilor of Africa. PLEASE, CONTINUE.
ETRIUS HAS CALLED YOU TOGETHER TO DESTROY THE CLAN.' cried the united voice of Grimgroth/Wyncham. DO NOT LISTEN TO HIS LIES.'
There was a dark chuckle from Grimgroth. IF THE COWARD WISHES TO DESTROY THE CLAN, THEN FOR ONCE, HE HAS MY SUPPORT.
Etrius replied, I DO NOT CALL YOU TO DESTROY YOU — I CALL YOU TO SAVE YOU! WE HAVE DEVISED A RITE WHEREBY THE CHARM OF GORATRIX CAN BE BROKEN AND EACH OF US MAY LIVE AGAIN. FREE TO WALK AGAIN IN THE SUN! FREE TO LOVE! FREE TO LIVE!
YOU SHALL LOSE EVERYTHING-' cried Wyncham/ Grimgroth. YOU SHALL BE WEAK AND MORTAL.' YOU SHALL DIE!
YOU SHALL NOT! MAGIC WILL RETURN TO THE WORLD, AND THE OLD CHARMS WILL WORK AGAIN. WE HAVE THE AID OF OTHERS TO ASSURE THIS. THE WORLD SHALL HAVE MAGIC. AND WE SHALL BE MAGES AGAIN!
LISTEN TO ETRIUS, said Meerlinda and de Cincao as one. HIS COUNSEL IS WISE, AND HIS SPELL IS SOUND, FAR MORE SOUND THAN GORATRIX’S. ETRIUS HAS DEVISED A METHOD TO WASH AWAY THE STAIN OF INNOCENT BLOOD, TO EXPUNGE THE MARK OF CAINE. HE COULD DO THIS FOR HIMSELF ALONE IF HE WISHED, BUT HE INSTEAD OFFERS THIS GIFT TO ALL. DO NOT BE FOOLS AND REFUSE IT.
ALL, EH? came the thought from Goratrix. WHAT LITTLE CHARM DID YOU DO, ETRIUS?
I STOLE THE EYE OF SAULOT, said Etrius, AND I DID NOT DESTROY ALL OF MY MORTAL DESCENDANTS.
Shock rippled through the web of spirits, even the Sabbat, who had not yet been cast out of the gestalt. I HAVE FOUND ONE, A MAGE, A SEVENTH SON OF A SEVENTH SON, AS I AM A SEVENTH SON OF A SEVENTH SON AND THE SEVENTH OF THE COUNCIL OF SEVEN. WITH THIS MAGE TO LINK TO. AND WITH THE EYE OF SAULOT AS THE EYE OF THE PYRAMID. WE CAN DO THIS GREAT WORK. I HAVE ALSO GAINED ANOTHER TOKEN OF POWER — THE MANDRAKE, THE FIRST MANDRAKE, GOD'S STUDY FOR US ALL, WHO PREDATES THE RACE OF MAN AND WHO WAS WATERED WITH THE BLOOD OF ABEL, THE BLOOD OF THE FIRST INNOCENT, THE FIRST AND GREATEST OF THE WORLD'S SACRIFICES.
WHAT, EXACTLY, DO YOU PROPOSE, ETRIUS! Elaine de Calinot’s voice was calm and mild, tinged with curiosity.
THE MANDRAKE IS NOW THE CORE OF MY HOMUNCULUS AND THUS ALSO HOLDS MY BLOOD, AND THROUGH ME, THE BLOOD OF CAINE AS WELL AS ABEL. THE EYE OF SAULOT IS MY SOUL GEM AND CONTAINS BOTH MY BLOOD AND THE BLOOD OF SAULOT.
MY MORTAL DESCENDANT, CARL MAGNUSON, SHALL DRINK MY BLOOD UNTIL THERE IS NO MORE. ALL MY POWER SHALL FLOW INTO HIM, YET MY SOUL SHALL FLOW INTO THE GEM WHICH WAS THE EYE OF SAULOT, THE HEALER. CARL SHALL THEN PERFORM A RITE OF TRUE MAGIC, TAKING THE GEM AS HIS THIRD EYE WHILE MERGING WITH THE LAST OF MY BLOOD, THE FLESH THAT CLOTHES THE MANDRAKE ROOT. THE SYMPATHY SHALL MAKE US ALL ONE, AND WE SHALL BE REBORN AS A NEW CREATURE, IMMORTAL AND WITH ALL THE POWERS OF THE THREE. THE BLOOD OF CAINE WILL BE
UNITED WITH THE BLOOD OF ABEL, AND THE MARK OF CAINE WILL BE WASHED AWAY BY THE BLOOD OF THE FIRST MARTYR AND INNOCENT. BY THE ANCIENT LAWS, THE POWER WHICH RESIDES IN MY BLOOD WILL BIND TOGETHER ALL WHO HAVE TASTED IT, AND THE CHARM OF LIFE WILL COME TO EACH PART OF ME, EACH WHO IS OF MY BLOOD. AT DAWN THE NEXT DAY, WE WILL AWAKEN AS MAGES, ALL OF US, ALIVE AND WITH ALL THE POWER WE HELD BEFORE, AND MORE. MAGIC AND LIFE SHALL RETURN WITH SPRINGTIME.
There was a long pause, then Elaine de Calinot inquired, IF YOU CAN DO THIS THING, WHY DO YOU NEED ASK OUR PERMISSION?
BECAUSE HE'S ETRIUS, said Goratrix, and if there was a way for soul to sneer, his did.
BECAUSE IT IS RIGHT TO ASK, AND BECAUSE THE CHARM WILL NOT WORK IF YOU OPPOSE ME. A PYRAMID THAT WILL NOT SUPPORT ITSELF WILL CRUMBLE. AND A BODY THAT FIGHTS AGAINST ITSELF WILL DIE.
TRUE, YET I SHALL STILL ABSTAIN, said Elaine de Calinot, BUT I WILL BE INTERESTED TO SEE THE RESULTS NEVERTHELESS.
I SAY YEA, said Meerlinda
AS DO I, said Xavier de Cincae.
Abetorius’ voice was long in coming. AYE HERE AS WELL.
I SAY NAY, said Grimgroth. YOU BETRAY US ALL, ETRIUS. YOU, WHO HAVE SET SUCH A GREAT STORE BY YOUR LOYALTY.
I SAY NAY AS WELL, said Thomas Wyncham.
DO I GET A VOTE? Goratrix chuckled with dark humor. IF I DO, I VOTE TO JOIN ETRIUS IN HIS EXPERIMENT, AS HE DID IN MINE. IF IT SUCCEEDS. THERE WILL BE
LITTLE ROOM FOR VAMPIRES IN HIS NEW WORLD, AND IF IT FAILS, THERE IS NOTHING TO BE LOST BY THE SABBAT. IT WILL MAKE FOR AN AMUSING EVENING.
WHAT AN EASY WAGER, said Elaine de Calinot. AND YOU CALL ETRIUS THE COWARD, GORATRIX. YOUR SOUL QUAKES IN TERROR AT THE THOUGHT OF HIM SUCCEEDING AND YOU STILL REMAINING IN YOUR GRAVE.
Goratrix did not respond, but then the power filtered down along the chain, each soul making its decision, and the gestalt came to a resolution: YES. WE SHALL DO THIS THING.
The chain then broke, and ilse opened her eyes.
And to what a sight. The Brocken had been transformed, and the field of wildflowers glistened in the moonlight, each flower seeming to glow from within as they had in the memories in Etrius’ dream, the whole mountaintop transmuted into something pure and primal, burgeoning with life and love — the Mountain of Venus, the Venusberg. The witches had summoned it, a place of legend superimposed atop the Brocken. The Hexenhaus become the Palace of Venus, a manse of living wildflowers. Nymphs and satyrs danced and frolicked with the witches and magicians in the dancing circle. It was beautiful and wonderful —
Then a shot rang out, and one of the nymphs screamed and fell into the bonfire, wailing.
The music stopped, and everyone turned to look. Atop the easternmost gable of the Mansion of the Moon was a man in a tie-dyed straightjacket, a deer rifle raised to pick off another of the revelers.
Melsinde raised her wand, and it was as if time itself had stopped. The witch queen, though still appearing as the simple peasant girl, now glowed with the power of the Goddess, no longer in her benign and beautiful phase, but a terrifying figure of rage, hair floating in a cloud about her, her eyes burning with silver flame. “The circle has been profaned!" she cried, then looked to the madman on the roof. “And the transgressor will pay..."
She looked about, as if seeing something beyond the house and the mountaintop, even magically transformed by the glamour of the Venusberg. “All of them will pay..."
The meager forces Kurt Westphal had managed to gather surrounded the lodge, watching the proceedings in stony silence. Ozzy Hyde-White stood beside him, leaning against the chainsaw he’d collected the night before; it was the first time Kurt had ever seen him without his cane. There were another dozen or more Malkavians with them, easily spotted by the tie-dyed straightjackets that each of them wore — the Straightjacket Dancing Club of West Berlin, known to Kindred and kine alike as a dangerous group to toy with. Another dozen Ventrue stood with them, armed with a variety of weapons. Despite his wishes, the Nosferatu had opted not to show themselves. Outside the influence of the powerful ritual, Zho and Charnas waited for Kurt’s return. The powerful chantry of the Brocken was well-guarded against the forces of evil, and there was simply nothing to be done for them.
Kurt was almost amused by the knowledge that neither of his companions could enter the area. Thoughts of Faust and the man's deal with Mephistopheles had haunted him since his realization that they were headed into the place where Goethe had set his play. To find that demons were not permitted actually relieved him while also leaving his forces lessened. At least he still had Jing Wei, though at the moment all she could do was give the signal for them to start the attack.
Ozzy looked over to Kurt, “It’s an impressive lot of us out here, Kurt, but there are members of the Tremere Council of
Seven in there, and for all we know Tremere himself. How in the name of Caine do you expect us win against those odds?”
Kurt stared at the light cree
ping from below them in the amphitheater where the ceremonies were just beginning, shaking his head. “If it comes to actual fighting, Ozzy, I shall strongly suggest retreating. All I need from you and yours is a distraction. A very big distraction. I’ll take care of the rest." He spoke with a confidence he did not feel. The thought of breaking into the crowd below was terrifying him.
“You're sure you want to go this alone, then?"
“Yes. But if I should fail, Ozzy, I’d greatly appreciate your replacing me. The Soul Gem of Etrius must be ours if we’re to stop this madness."
“I won’t let you down, Kurt. We’ve both got too much at stake in this affair. I don’t think I could hope to stop the Dancing Club now, anyway. They want revenge for what happened last night, and they’ll take it with or without me.”
Jing Wei spoke up, her voice commanding and urgent. “Now, Kurt. You must attack now.”
“Well, no time like the present. Let’s get this show on the road.”
While the noises of revelry came from the crescent-shaped building, they sounded too distant for the short space that separated the celebrants and Kurt. He hoped the sound was muffled in both directions, because the piercing whistle that erupted from Ozzy’s mouth was close to deafening. The Malkavian called out to his companions, demanding a game of “Hide and Seek" for the benefit of the Tremere.
A few moments later, the cries began from inside the lodge. All around Kurt and Ozzy, the Kindred they had gathered began spreading out, the tie-dyed maniacs moving among the trees and disappearing into the darkness. From time to time one would appear, only to disappear a second later. Hide and seek, indeed.
The mages and Tremere within the oddly distorted field
of sound began looking around, and one frail girl pointed to a straightjacketed Malkavian. The man she’d pointed to exploded in a blaze of blue flames, a walking screaming funeral pyre that fell after only a few seconds, but continued to writhe for what seemed like an eternity. The Malkavians moved forward as one, rifles, submachine guns and even a flame thrower sending arcs of ammunition and tongues of flame into the area around the heart of the witches’ ritual. Vampires fled the burning fires, giving in to the Rotschreck, and the mages and nymphs scattered as well, fleeing from the deadly hail of bullets and liquid fire.
Ozzy nodded to Kurt, and both of them plunged forward towards the heart of their enemy’s camp. Even as they moved, Ozzy White blurred for a second, seeming to grow in size and bulk. His already wild hair grew shaggier still, his face became brutal, and his laughter was several octaves lower than usual. Mr. Edward Hyde became the dominant personality, and the words he spoke as he looked at Kurt sent icy chills running down his spine. "Master Therion sends his regards, Westphal. Let’s stomp a few Tremere, what say you?"
Kurt poured on the speed, barely keeping pace with the madman beside him. The sound of Hyde’s chainsaw screaming into motion was a battle cry that could not be ignored. Tremere and mage alike turned to see what demon was barreling their way, and several fled from the maniac even as he cut down the first creature too stupid to get away from him.
The path the fleeing people cleared was easier to maneuver through, and Kurt saw the object of his desire within seconds — Etrius stood bound to a pole, covered with seemingly countless ribbons connected to wreaths. Against his chest, the Soul Gem gleamed redly in the light of the bonfire. The ancient vampire was powerless, and Kurt ripped the chain of office from around his neck with ease. In the chaos surrounding them, Etrius’ screams were buried beneath a thousand other sounds.
Never pausing to think about what he had done, Kurt pivoted around and ran back towards the area he had just left. His foot caught on something as he moved, and he fell to the ground, nearly dropping his prize at the same time. He looked towards his feet, and there he saw the form of Etrius, only far too small to be the true Councilor of the Tremere. The tiny form looked upon him with dread, and Kurt seized 'it in his hand before regaining his feet. It called out to him, but he could not hear the words, would not hear them. Small hands pummeled against his finger with little effect, and Kurt increased his pace again, hurdling the prone form of a naked young man. He did not allow himself to think of the wetness he slid across as he landed on the other side of the body.
He bolted around the side of the lodge, slowing and stopping only when he reached Zho, where the man waited in the shadows. There was no preamble. Zho held out his hand, and Kurt set the Eye of Saulot in the mage's grasp. He presented his second prize and watched as Zho’s single eye blazed with greed.
Zho then writhed in pain and fell to the ground, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Behind him stood a second Zho, a grim and brooding image of the mage. Kurt looked down at his fallen ally, only to see Charnas where Zho had been. The real mage reached down and grabbed both the small man and the necklace of office from the imp’s hand.
“For the last time, Charnas. Never imitate me again."
Before the demon could reply, a voice cried out, filled with enough sorrow for a thousand years, a voice that sounded as lost as Kurt had felt since Jackie walked away the night before, one word distorted by grief:
“EETTTRRRRRllIIIIEEEEEE!!!!”
And that’s when all hell broke loose atop the Brocken.
The Inquisition had told of the Witches’ Sabbat being a place of chaos, damnation, and horror, and with the crazed vampires storming the ritual grounds, it had become just that. The madness network of Malkavian dementia had somehow allowed them to pierce the glamour which Ilse had been told hid the true peak of the Brocken from campers and hikers, and ilse knew with a horrifying certainty that Crowley was responsible. The madman knew magic and hated both vampire and mage alike — whichever he truly was.
“Play with Mr. Hyde, witchy-girl!" roared the maniac, all his teeth pointed like a barracuda’s. “See what Talbot’s chainsaw can do to rich witch-bitches like you!”
“Play with fire!” Ilse screamed and grabbed handfuls of hot coals with her mind, hurling them straight from the bonfire at the man and his top hat and billowing opera cloak.
A vampire’s vulnerability to fire was legendary, but so was the ability of the mad to ignore everything but their own crazed world, and the Mr. Hyde creature continued on his course. The coals landed in a line, blazing like fallen stars on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame, creating instead a Walk of Flame, a trail of hellish breadcrumbs before the Hexenhaus.
Ilse fell backwards, tripping over a root, holding up one hand in a desperate gesture of warding, for she had no talismans or tools save the Iron Key about her neck, but then Lazarus stepped into the madman’s path. While naked as the rest of the participants in the ritual, the Miami primogen had retained his serpent-headed cane, and he blocked the madman’s chainsaw with the ebony wand, holding it in the manner of a quarterstaff. Etheric flashes and sparks flew up as the two weapons clashed, the enchanted wood holding against the chattering blade. The serpent’s head came alive and spat venom.
ilse rolled out of the way, seeing Sarah Cobbler play a Gandalfesque Zorro, cutting a pentagram into a man's chest with an elaborate flick of her sharpened foil. The cloth of the tie-dyed straightjacket fell away in a star, and the wound began to smoke. The man screamed, mouth open in a rictus of pain and terror, then he began to be eaten away from within until nothing was left but a husk of ashes and glowworm fire.
Xavier de Cincao and Aries Michaels had linked arms, eyes as intense and postures as choreographed as if they were doing the tango, weaving some spell in the air about them, de Cincao's woman had disappeared, and in her place a huge jaguar leaped straight onto the roof of the Witch House, bounding up the slick slate shingles to score open the face of a woman in another of the tie-died straightjackets. The woman’s flamethrower tumbled down the roof, spitting arcs of fire into the air.
Sarah Cobbler rushed in to join Lazarus, and as Mr. Hyde’s enchanted chainsaw shattered the Englishwoman’s fencing foil into so many bits of metal, the Tremere elder swung his cane around, and
the serpent’s head connected with the Malkavian’s shoulder. The chainsaw fell from the psychopath’s hands as his right arm withered and hung useless, and then the brute seemed to shrink in his clothes, becoming a tall, skinny young man, still in a top hat and opera cloak, and he took a step back. “Oh, dear,” said the new personality, who Ilse took to be Jekyll. “This has gotten a bit sticky.”
He turned and ran, leaping astride one of the tethered goats and flying it off over the gables of the Hexenhaus, rope and stake dangling behind, the hijacked goat bleating in terror. Several witches and magicians took off after him, and then came the scream: “EETTTRRRRRUIIIIEEEEEE!!!!"
Etrie. The homunculus. The Mandrake root that would save the souls of Carl and all his family, not to mention the world.
The scream came from Councilor Etrius, still bound to the Maypole, and Ilse looked around, seeing the altar table and the tiny throne, which had held the homunculus only moments before now overturned. Carl lay on the ground before it, horribly wounded. He was aided and guarded by Meerlinda, while beside them, Melsinde floated in the air, blazing with the power of the Goddess, the air crackling around her as the bullets intended for the Queen of the Witches turned to rose petals and fell to the ground.
Despite the rose petals, Venus was not a peaceful goddess, and her aspect in Melsinde was even less so. “I want blood!” the Witch screamed, the wind rising up and whipping her hair. “I will have blood! NOW.'"
A storm gathered above Her, the elements reflecting Her mood, lightning crackling in the dark air. She pointed at one man, and only the fact that he still had clothes on identified him as one of the enemy. Lightning stabbed the ground before him, but the witch's weather control had not missed, only served to underscore Her wrath. The man looked up, fangs bared, but the Goddess’ eyes blazed and he fell to the ground, screaming in terror.
A pack of maenads descended upon him, maidens of unearthly beauty, ripping him apart with tooth and claw, drinking his blood. The maenads then filled a drinking horn with the vitae and brought it back to their Goddess. The cup rose up into the air and roses sprouted where the blood spilled as she drained it.
