The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  Zak watched Annie eat. She looked manic, her hands shaking, her eyes showing entirely too much white for his liking. What she was going through he could not imagine. Out of all of them she'd had it the worst, had never deserved this. But that was why she'd been chosen, of course; it was her innocence Paq'q had wanted. It could not have been done without her, or Baxter, or any one of them. Zak learned long ago that all of this had been tried before, that there had been other, less-successful circles than theirs. He wasn't sue if he pitied or envied them.

  "Enjoying your breakfast, Zak?"

  Zak looked up at Ashton and smiled thinly. "Sure, Brother. It's great." He took a bite of the rancid food to appease his host. Zak understood now he had to play along, in the hopes of regaining Ashton's confidence. If it had not been destroyed or discarded there was still a chance of retrieving the bag of artifacts, of turning this thing back on itself before it was too late. A slim hope perhaps, but he hadn't made it this far without the power to believe. Zak felt his back begin to cramp as it usually did from sitting in the chair for extended periods, but this time the pain was less acute, more of a warm burn than the usual scorching agony. He twisted in his chair and his spine cracked with an audible pop. It brought a flood of relief to his strained muscles and he sighed blissfully.

  "Feel good?" Ashton asked, eyebrow arched.

  Zak nodded. "Yeah, that felt great. It's the first time I've been able to crack my back in years."

  Ashton nodded, looking to Adam and Chloe. "Excellent. Finish your eggs."

  THEN

  Baxter woke within a dream, the strange noise that dogged him in sleep following him into the muggy, sun-washed world. He rose, slipped into his shoes and out of his room. Heading down the hallway he followed the weird signal, trying to track the sound to its source. A single note stretched impossibly taut, drawing him forward through the sun-washed manor. Refusing to end, the tone degraded in shades as Baxter followed it, down the steps, through the main hall and into the library. And there was Zak, or what was left of him after three sleepless nights.

  Baxter wandered over to where his friend sat absorbed in the sonic decay. Zak looked up and through him, off into the infinite. The bristly figure returned to his array of computers, turntables, and keyboards; a new mixer dominated all, its multicolored eyes winking as it purred sonic mud. "Hey, a new toy."

  Zak nodded absently. He made a minute adjustment to a bank of knobs and the tone brightened slightly, revealing irregular pulses hidden within the tide of undersound. Baxter listened to the noise, watched his friend nod and smile. Zak scribbled something down on a scrap of paper, then returned his attention to the monitor display.

  "So how you been sleepin', Zak?" Baxter asked tactlessly.

  "I haven't." Zak blinked, actually saw Baxter for the first time. "I can't sleep. I'm onto something."

  "Oh, yeah?" Baxter asked warily.

  "Listen."

  Baxter did as his friend asked. The sound was beyond recognition now, a field of static mined with pockets of red noise. He listened to it rise and fall, each erratic beat blooming, terminating in a shower of dissonance. It was a fearful sound, the crush of countless mouths chewing out the insides of some insensate thing, feeding on its sleeping form. "What is it?"

  Zak leaned heavily on the table. "It's a dying child's final heartbeat."

  Baxter blinked.

  "I found it on the internet. Some morbid fucking rock star used it on an album back in the Sixties. I'm using this program to stretch it out… I can keep it going almost indefinitely. See, within this one heartbeat there's a vast terrain, whole worlds of sonic potential to explore. Listen to it; words without a voice, endless tracts of information just waiting to be discovered."

  To his horror Baxter could hear it. A chorus, it ground out sounds without breathing, speaking in a language understood by the body, not the mind. It seemed to work at Baxter, threatening to pull him apart beneath its attentions. "Maybe some things should be left undiscovered, Zak," Baxter said, placing a hand upon his friend's shoulder.

  A look of scorn passed across Zak's face. He stepped back, into the maw of metal and wire. "You just don't get it. You're so close and yet so far. Read the book, man."

  Baxter looked down at the object Zak placed in his hand. A thing singularly unremarkable, it nevertheless filled him with a dread. Its black cover flashed in the light, its crimson seal matching the scar upon his palm. "Zak - I need to talk to you about... all this."

  Zak shook his head ruefully, turning away. He twisted a dial and the murmuring chorus became a roar, the trickle of pity turning to a geyser of agony. It seemed to come from everywhere, the walls seeping it, the floor and ceiling spilling its hideous contents back and forth.

  "Zak… Come on. Give it a rest for a second."

  But this only spurred Zak on, driving him to wrench the most tormented of sounds from the scrap of digital fabric. They shot up like stalagmites, impaling tortured notes across the aural scree. It surrounded them, a cage of their own making, its wail taking the place of air. Baxter staggered beneath the assault, watched Zak sag behind the bank of equipment. The sound redoubled, echoing back through the house. The entire manor was wired with speakers, was amplifying this null tone to its peak. It screamed through them, shredded their resolve in a razor-wall of pure noise, left Zak weeping on the floor and then...

  It stopped.

  "What happened?" Zak asked weakly, rising to his feet.

  Baxter looked at his friend through weary eyes. "I kicked the damn plug out." Baxter grabbed a bottle of Dom Lligori from the bar and carried it back to his room. This shit was really starting to get old.

  ~*~

  The ceremony began as scheduled, in the upper garden at twilight. Ashton had been right about the weather; it was a lovely evening. The sky turned and turned again, producing unusually vivid sunset hues. A warm wind blew in from the south, perfumed by the garden's night-blooming flowers and the sweet incense Zak burned. The group was in a mellow mood, a subdued-wine buzz keeping things light. Ashton was his old, genial self although restrained; content to spend the evening listening to, instead of leading, the conversation. Over a sumptuous dinner there had been the usual talk about Clautney Iris and The First Book of Paq'q, with the group (mostly Adam) elaborating on or arguing over various points. He was anxious to somehow link this mythology to his own, a hodgepodge of Norse lore, American survivalist dogma and heavy metal music clichés.

  It was all very boring to Baxter, who found the conversation dogmatic and irrelevant. He'd had a far more personal interaction with the uncanny forces Iris spoke of, one that still burned in both his body and mind. He kept the knowledge of his experience in Iris' room to himself, for reasons unknown to him. Considering the angry scar on his right palm he realized he'd been keeping several secrets and understood grimly he was not the only one. Zak had yet to speak of his experience the weekend before, and Adam remained uncharacteristically silent on the matter as well. Varying degrees of mystery clung to the women, ranging from Erica's forty-eight hour disappearance to Annie's auditory hallucinations. In the end the circle re-formed willing yet wary, ready to experience whatever might be next. Seated around the circle's center a small bonfire burned, flames leaping and dancing to the now-familiar music of iFFF, which played through expensive new speakers.

  "Sisters and brothers, we join together to form a circle seven strong, that we may speak His Word and do his Will. Seven is the number, seven by seven, and seven again, the stars that govern in His new sky. Come now and take this sacrament, that you may see the night as it will be before Him." Ashton removed the ceremonial pipe from its case reverently, then packed the bowl with a practiced ease. Instead of starting it as he usually did he passed it to Zak, who looked both surprised and unusually reticent. "If you would do the honors, Brother Pan?"

  Zak nodded, swallowing hard. Several in the group looked at him curiously, surprised by his timidity. After all, it was very un-Pan-like behavior. He lit the pipe
and drew from it deeply, leaning back as he passed it on.

  "Tonight we move forward," Ashton began again. "Now named, the time has come to accept the responsibilities that come with those names. Each of you has an innate power; a gift, if you will. These gifts can be developed, brought to the fore through ritual and trial. This evening is just such a trial, borne that we may grow strong enough to face the greater challenge that lies before us."

  He took the pipe as it came to him and smoked, his eyes closed. A blissful smile passed across his face, one of acceptance, of willingness to embrace whatever the night had in store. If there had ever been any question in Baxter's mind it was at last resolved: the man was a damn fool. Ashton played at being a king but it was clear now he had no idea of the forces he toyed with. The Paq'qa was a substance far beyond the realm of the narcotic. Baxter understood that the queer substance should not be in the hands of anyone, let alone a group of impressionable college students. He'd seen more than enough to know better, yet when his turn came Baxter hit the pipe as they all did, leaning back and watching the stars shine in time with the music.

  The bowl went around again and again, spinning as the sky did, red at the center of an endless blue. The smoke's effect was intense, rooting them to where they sat. Ashton's eyes were still closed. He seemed to be having some ecstatic vision, his body twitching, his lips twisting what had once been a smile into truly frightening shapes. Chloe was beside him, still cool and composed despite the fact her eyes were also closed. She appeared to be waiting, though for what Baxter did not care to guess. Adam sat grimacing as if trying to void his bowels, in that moment perhaps the most enlightened of them all.

  Annie swayed in tune to different music, dirty hair falling down into her face. She was pallid, thinner than she'd ever been, wasted to a shadow of her former self. Baxter felt a sense of helplessness looking at her, knowing what she needed was beyond him. Erica looked excited but uncertain, smiling at anyone who glanced her way. She clapped Zak's knee as if to reassure him: Zak placed his hand over hers and squeezed in appreciation. It was then the circle seemed to close. The circuit completed, a wash of energy swept through the seven, its suddenness taking them all by surprise. A hum filled the air, buzzed down through them into the ground.

  "It begins." Ashton's words were barely audible above the buzz. It wasn't that the strange hum was loud, as much as it displaced all other sounds around it. Unknown, it was nonetheless recognizable.

  "That's it!" Annie cried, eyes wide. "That's the sound I always hear!"

  It came from everywhere but was without a source, a liquidous droning note. To Ashton it seemed to bring vindication, a kind of sweet peace one might only dream of. To Chloe it was something different. To her it was sly, almost taunting, calling her forward though she couldn't move from her place before the fire. She thought to block her ears but knew it would make no difference; she had gone beyond simply hearing this sound, had come to perceive it on some entirely unknown level. Her body was reacting to it, responding in a way altogether foreign to her. She was terrified by the sensation, but more frightened still of the sudden desire to let go.

  "Do not be afraid," Ashton said as if reading her mind. "The power is yours; it cannot hurt you. You are in control."

  Baxter watched Chloe intently, aware that something was happening. His attention was… unwanted. "Stop looking at me!" Chloe hissed, staring him down.

  Chastened, Baxter turned away. As he did Ashton caught Chloe by the arm, leaning forward and saying something that only she might hear. This calmed her but only just, the wild look remaining in her eyes. Zak paid her no mind. Entranced, he was dancing in place, swaying back and forth in time to the music. It had changed tempo, grown faster as if to compensate for the change in mood, soon becoming unrecognizable in spite of its familiarity. To his right Ashton lit a fresh bowl of Paq'qa and took a sizable hit; he offered it to Chloe, who declined, passing it on with a shaking hand. She had gone white, was sweating profusely. In truth, the heat from the fire had grown oppressive but no one else seemed to notice. Adam took a small hit from the bowl, quickly placing it in Annie's waiting hand. She smoked from it gladly, both terrified and eager to further explore the remarkable sound now churning the air around her.

  The sensations it stirred were damnably familiar, deja vu to the nth degree. If she strained, Annie could almost understand it, not in the sense of it being a language recognizable to the ear as much as the recollection of something from another time and place. Ancestral memory perhaps? An off-ramp to the Akashic Record? Or simply information encoded in an unknown and wholly remarkable way? Perhaps it was all of these things. As she listened Annie discovered smaller sonic merge-points, clusters of this information connected to one another through thought, intent, dense pockets of knowledge knit together through their conceptual interactivity. She found if she focused she could begin to navigate through them, as a blind woman might cautiously make her way through an unfamiliar room. One path in particular seemed to draw her though she could not say why, offered glimpses of something she had once known and then forgotten. For a moment Annie hesitated, wondering if perhaps this was a thing best left unremembered. Then, suddenly, she understood: this was simply her gift, waiting to be used. She went to it.

  Baxter took the pipe from Annie's wilting hand, watched as her eyes rolled back into her head. He could not bring himself to smoke any more, and he passed the pipe on. By now the hum had intensified, drowning out the music and making Baxter's fillings rattle. As it built in intensity, so did the pressure at the back of his skull. Baxter's brain was throbbing, a thousand thoughts straining to be had, each one more tantalizing than the last. It was overwhelming, with concepts, theories, ideas all suddenly competing simply for the opportunity to be conceived of. Head aching, Baxter did his best to block it but he might as well have tried to hold back the sea. His mind simply gave, flooding with unrealized dreams, fantasies and nightmares yet to come. He slumped and slid sideways, landing unconscious upon the ground. No one noticed.

  ~*~

  Baxter woke to madness.

  "Shut up!" Adam was screaming, a heavy branch of firewood in his hand. Mad laughter rang all around him, a high, accusatory trill that froze the blood. Others in the circle were rising but not fast enough to stop Adam's blow.

  As the larger man swung Baxter found himself upon his feet, catching the crude weapon a split second before its impact. Hands throbbing in pain, he wrested the length of wood from Adam. "What the Hell are you doing?" Baxter shouted, brandishing the heavy branch. "Are you out of your god-damn mind?" He shoved Adam hard and he toppled, tripping over his own feet. Baxter resisted the urge to leap upon the fallen man and beat him as he'd been about to beat…

  "Annie?"

  And then he understood. Baxter dropped the branch as she began to cackle, realizing with dread what had happened. Annie had transformed, once again wearing that hideous veil of unblinking eyes. She spoke in a voice not her own.

  "Thank you, Brother Helios. It seemed Fenris was about to bash my head in. Clearly, he does not wish to hear my prophecies."

  The group was riveted by Annie's transformation. All stood now save Annie, who remained at her space beside the fire. Baxter looked to Ashton, who stepped forward. "Pay him no mind, Sister. Tell us what you see."

  "NO! No more!" Chloe shouted. Ashton reached forward but she pushed him aside.

  "Sister Zephyr, please…"

  "Don't give me that, you son of a bitch! Make her stop! I don't want to hear any more!"

  The buzzing Baxter last remembered had become something altogether different now, sheets of white sound stretched taut across the infinite. It was all around and through them, linking them to a vast and terrible intellect. Baxter felt this presence exploring his mind, probing through its darkest corners and crevices, searching for...? He tried to force it out only to realize he no longer knew where he ended and it began.

  "Don't turn away, Sister Zephyr. There is much you need to know if you ar
e to be His queen; so very much you must know; so very much you must give."

  Chloe went after Annie. Restrained by Ashton and Zak, she fought against them savagely, her arms flailing, her nails gouging arms, necks, faces. A well-aimed kick caught Ashton between the legs and he sagged, loosing his grip. In that moment Chloe dove forward, dragging Zak with her as she closed on Annie. Baxter stepped between them, caught her arms and twisted them behind her back.

  "You son of a bitch!" Chloe screamed.

  He spun her around, pushed her to the ground with the help of Zak. They held her as she writhed, only just able to contain her violence. Ashton stood to one side, crouched in pain. Adam was watching Annie warily, as if staked to the spot where he'd fallen.

  Baxter heard himself shouting. "Leave her alone, Adam…" The rest of his words were swallowed in a sudden gust of wind. It was unusually chill, out of place in the balmy summer night. All grew quiet then, in sudden observation of this strange phenomena. In the space of seconds the temperature seemed to drop by thirty degrees, Baxter's bare arms suddenly trembling. "Is that… snow?"

  No one had a chance to answer. Chloe's eyes flashed and a freezing gale was suddenly sweeping through the garden, the night around them vanishing into a vacuum of white. The fire was snuffed in the blink of an eye, the black ash and charred wood sucked forward on the screaming wind. Hailstones began to rain down, marble-sized chunks of ice that shredded the unprotected flowers and the group's exposed flesh. Zak released his grip on Chloe though she no longer struggled. Her head had fallen back, unseeing eyes wide, mouth hanging agape. "Baxter, what the hell is happening?"

  Baxter lifted Chloe to her feet though she remained unresponsive. "Take her! Have Ashton help you get her back to the manor!" Baxter turned and staggered forward, quickly losing sight of the others. He groped through the blinding storm, arms searching for what he hoped he still might find. The rain of hail intensified, peppering his skin and leaving angry welts. Breath stung in his lungs, the temperature decreasing by the moment. He felt his body protest, begin to shake involuntarily. Just as he though he would have to turn back Baxter found her, still seated at her place by the now-extinguished fire.