The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  So they stood together, both lost in thought. In time the shadows receded to a dim memory, the slow-crawling dawn claiming all. Annie stepped away from Zak, looked at the changing sky.

  "We can't do it without you, Annie."

  And though she knew this to be true still she resisted. "Zak. How can I possibly stay?"

  He shrugged. "How could you possibly leave?"

  NOW

  Baxter screamed.

  The sound was stolen, swept into the infinite abyss of darkness which even then threatened to engulf him. He forced himself to focus, to make his way through the baffling reality which now assaulted him. He'd leapt into the mirror unexpectedly, without a chance to chart his trajectory; as to where he was now, in relation to where he'd come in, he could not say. Ovals, squares and rectangles of light stretched onward down the endless row, silvery windows into unknown rooms. Baxter tried to orient himself, flowing forward to the first available light.

  ~*~

  "Smash the mirrors. All of them."

  Ashton tossed tools to Adam and Chloe, not bothering with the others. Adam stepped forward, violently striking the antique looking-glass which had hung above Ashton's head. The heavy pane cracked into three pieces, only shattering upon impact with the dinner table. Silver shards sprayed everywhere, sending Annie, Erica and Zak running for the other end of the table. Ignoring them, Adam followed Ashton out of the drawing-room, eager to break more stuff. Chloe would have stayed behind, had Ashton not demanded her from the hall. Brandishing her fireplace poker at Erica she snarled. "You'll get yours, bitch."

  With that she hurried off to join the others. As she did Metathias appeared and immediately began cleaning up the broken glass.

  Annie turned and breathlessly whispered. "Erica. What the hell just happened?"

  Erica looked at the other woman unsure of whether she should speak. Hurriedly Zak led the two into the adjoining room, out of Metathias' earshot. He did his best to explain.

  "Do you remember that old man who came around a few times? Daniel Shea?"

  They both nodded.

  "Well, it turns out he was a bit of a wizard. He'd deny it to the bitter end but there's really no other word for him. He had some experience with the sort of thing we're going through. He tried to teach Baxter and I, give us some tools in case Paq'q ever showed its ugly head again. We weren't very good students, I'm sorry to say. We'd just left the manor and were still in pretty rough shape. I went home after a few months, though Bax stayed on with him longer. He learned a few useful tricks."

  Erica swallowed hard before speaking. "He didn't tell me what it did. He just asked me to keep the bag with me. He said that I would know when he needed it."

  Zak looked at the two of them grimly. "Let's hope he makes it."

  ~*~

  Baxter was trapped.

  He watched as one by one the flickering panes of light winked out, closing just as he reached towards them. Movement in the null-space was maddeningly slow; he simply couldn't get far enough ahead of whatever was happening to escape. As he struggled to move Baxter heard a far-off roar, suddenly remembering what had happened to him last time he'd taken such a trip. Ignoring the fear, Baxter forced himself forwards, towards the ever-receding panes of light.

  ~*~

  "Upstairs, quickly!"

  They followed Ashton's lead, hurrying up the bare steps. The three had their work cut out for them; the manor had an abundance of mirrors scattered throughout its three floors, with at least one in every bedroom. With his head-start Baxter could very well make it back out, but at least he wouldn't be able to get past them.

  "Fenris, take the rooms to the left; Zephyr, right. I'll hit the third floor."

  They split up. In spite of his anger Adam took great pleasure in his work. He destroyed his own face again and again, hunting for the enemy within. The haunting music of the dining room now followed him down the hall, taunting and compelling in turns. Chloe joined him with grim single-mindedness; Baxter would not get away from her again. This time she'd finish him, crush him utterly so that nothing remained save the crystalline artifact pulsing between her breasts. She flew from room to room, striking each of the mirrors dead center so they shattered with one blow. Shards of glass sprayed her hair and bit through the silk of her dress, but she paid them no mind. She was nearly to the end of the hall.

  Ashton's mind was a red haze. All his fault. It was all his fault. Confronted by the face of failure he toppled an enormous vanity mirror in a rage, sending the two-hundred year old wooden frame to the floor with an ear-splitting crash. In was the first time he'd been in his parent's room since their death.

  "BAXTER!!!"

  He jumped over the mirror's splintered remains, into the adjoining room. His room. Though Ashton had not slept there since he was a child it was as he'd left it. The football wallpaper he'd once begged for was still there, albeit cracked and peeling. His old cloisonné globe shone dull beneath a thick coat of dust, its orbit arrested by heavy cobwebs. The desk which had once seemed so massive to him now sat puny and disused, shoved into a corner. The full-length mirror was clouded but Ashton caught a flash of movement within: livid, he swung the fireplace poker with all of the force he could muster.

  ~*~

  The last light went out.

  Baxter felt the dregs of his hope go, as the void about him became absolute. His final avenue of escape snatched away, Baxter floated in the icy effluvia, blind and alone. The roar was all around him now, coming from below, above, swelling up impossibly vast behind him. Whatever was in here with him had grown enormous in his absence, swelling to fill the infinite space. Baxter was but a particle, a stray mote caught up in the opening of its massive jaws. He spun with no control, down and down into the spirit-freezing depths of the thing, the last of him fading to a feeble coal-glow. But with his own light so greatly diminished Baxter found he was now able to perceive a tiny ribbon of silver in the far distance. Hallucination or one final stay of execution? He did not care which. Shaping his will into an single arrow, Baxter let it fly, his last iota of strength directed towards the impossibly-far off glimmer.

  Baxter screamed as it flowed over his fleeing form, engulfing him entirely in its stinking mass. There was impact and the taste of blood and dust in his mouth and then… he wasn't dead. He blinked, pushed against the fibrous caul which bound him. It fell away without resistance, sliding to the floor. Baxter let himself breathe then, collapsing in a heap onto the canvas hanging which had, until just now, been draped over the antique mirror. Judging from the cool stone floor, he was somewhere in the manor's basement. Knowing that it wouldn't be long before they came for him, Baxter forced himself to his feet, making his way through the maze of boxes, trunks and sheet-shrouded furniture. A stout wooden door separated the room from the rest of the basement. .

  Baxter gently pushed the door open. Closing it behind him, he quickly crossed the room, listening for any sound of pursuit. All seemed quiet. He took a moment to compose himself, placing the leaping-stone around his neck and re-fastening his robe. The itch had begun again almost immediately after exiting the mirror but Baxter forced himself to ignore it. He had no time for scratching. As if to illustrate his point, the sound of muffled voices and the scuff of feet were heard from above.

  "Damn it."

  Baxter hurried for the room's single window, which was set high in the basement's western wall. Hopping up onto a crate he reached out and gave the lock a yank. To his great dismay he found it had been painted closed. In desperation he planted his feet along the edge of the wall and wrenched the frame upwards. It sprang open in a rain of splinters and rust, one of the three glass panes within cracking from the sudden jolt. Baxter could hear Ashton's voice clearly now, undeniably heading his way.

  " …upper floors, but there may be a stray one or two we missed. Check down here first, then the attic. It's locked, so if he's up there, he's trapped. If you find him leave him be; I will deal with him myself."

  Baxter scrambl
ed through the narrow opening, gently closing the pane. Then he was running, discovering new-found strength in his freedom. He'd gotten away. The question was, what to do now?

  THEN

  In spite of Ashton's best efforts, the group had again splintered. Three days had passed since the last ritual, and in that time the divide had grown pronounced. Rarely were more than two people together in a room, and when there were it was always the same groupings: Annie and Zak, or Adam, Ashton and Chloe. Both Baxter and Erica had withdrawn, appearing rarely. Ashton should not have been surprised that his suggestion to have another ritual was met with little interest.

  "I don't think I'm up for another just yet," Annie said; Zak had agreed. "I don't think any of us are," he volunteered. Erica's response was much more unexpected. "It's my dad's birthday. I want to go see him."

  Ashton appeared put out. "What, you can't just call? We need you here, Sister."

  She patted the back of his hand. "I'll be back. I promise."

  Erica noted the flicker of rage in Ashton's eyes. Their host was seething, barely keeping his control. Clearly this was not how he expected it to be. The group split up then, leaving Adam, Chloe and Ashton alone in the study.

  "Let's do a ritual without them," Adam suggested.

  Without warning Ashton seized the bigger man by the collar, forcing him against the wall. "It won't work without them! Are you such a fool?" He let Adam go and made his way to the bar, where he poured himself a stiff drink.

  "So what do we do?" Chloe asked cautiously.

  Ashton sighed. "We've only gotten this far with their co-operation. As galling as it is we simply must wait for them to come around."

  "What about... the Others?"

  Ashton shook his head. "Impossible. We couldn't possibly bring strangers into this now. We're simply too far along. Besides, our friends were chosen to join us this summer because they are the ideal candidates. Judging from the results so far I'd say we made the right choice. No. We have to wait."

  ~*~

  And so it went.

  Erica returned home, Zak and Annie continued to keep to themselves and Baxter… Baxter went a bit mad. He found himself having what he'd later describe as 'odd moments.' At first these were mild, just minute changes in visual acuity or auditory perception. In time the effects grew more pronounced, with the world around him taking on a distorted, dream-like quality. His perceptions began to shift, as though a second set of impressions were being superimposed over his own.

  The spirit-animals he'd first hallucinated a month before flickered at the edges of his vision, only to vanish into corners, shadows, patterns of sunlight on the wall. Sleep became nearly impossible, as a vague but potent dread gripped him. He found himself seeking the dream-things which dogged him, revisiting the dry stream bed where he'd first seen them. Though absent, Baxter still felt their presence, churning just below the surface. What message did they hold for him? If they could speak to him what would they say?

  "You lookin' for something boy?"

  Baxter swung around, found a curiously familiar silhouette between him and the path back to the garden. "Shea? Goddamn, man, I've been looking for you…"

  The old miner stepped forward, into waning light. "I know. I been… busy."

  Baxter nodded, simply relieved to see the old man. "You were right. Things have gone bad. The group seems to be splitting up."

  "Good, good," Shea said, nodding. "An' you're gonna do everything you can to see that happens. It's all on the line, boy."

  Baxter swallowed, watching the fading sky. "I need to know what happened after. What really happened to Clautney Iris? Why did the first circle fail?" Shea waved dismissively.

  "All of that, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you're willing to do what needs to be done. If, in the end, you go along with Ashton, there's nothin' I can do to help you. Any of you. So listen to me, and do what I say if you want your friends to live."

  Baxter considered Shea's words. "Fine. What do I have to do?"

  "Bring them to me, the ones who still question the belief. I'll need more than you to do what needs done. Bring the kindly girl. And the goat-boy. I'll talk to them, set them straight."

  "But what about Ashton? What if they tell him about you?"

  Shea grew grim. "It's a chance we have to take. Ashton didn't choose these folk because they're dimwits. They'll listen to reason."

  He drew close to Baxter, tilted his head back with one calloused hand. Baxter opened his mouth to protest but shut it again. The old man was examining him clinically, as a doctor might. "You don't look well, boy."

  Baxter nodded in concession. "Yeah, I've been pretty out of it. Restless. Can't sleep. I'm seeing things."

  Shea nodded. "Your poisoned is why. That Paq'qa ain't exactly Kool Aid."

  "But I haven't smoked it in…"

  Shea cut him off. "Don't matter. The effect is cumulative. Toxins build up in your fatty tissues, break down and enter the bloodstream over time. Not so good for you, but fine for what's feedin' on you."

  Baxter stepped back. "What do you mean, feeding?"

  "Just what I said. Having all that crap in yer bloodstream… it goes straight t' yer brain. Stimulates a dark, sleepy corner called the tenebris variis, the area that drives all sentient evolution, according to the Hindu mystics. Like I told ya before, this seed of potentiality… it draws things to it like sharks to blood. Dark things with no light of their own. They feed on this latent potentiality oozing out of your heads, growin' strong enough to get a toe-hold. Fools like Wertham Ashton believed these things to be Gods, that if you just appease them they'll give you power. These things ain't Gods, boy; these things are the architects of our destruction."

  Shea reached into his vest pocket, removing a small cotton pouch. He tossed it to Baxter.

  "Mix a teaspoon of that in a glass of cold beer. Drink it down. There's enough there for the three of you there."

  "What is it? What will it do?"

  Shea looked at him crossly. "It's a medicinal power. It'll flush the toxins out of your system, help you think clearly again."

  "So why the beer?"

  The old miner smiled crookedly. "Because it tastes like shit."

  Shea turned and disappeared up the dry creek bed.

  ~*~

  Erica returned two days later, to a sumptuous dinner laid out in her honor. Though she was exhausted from her ten-hour drive and only wanted to go to bed Ashton insisted she join them outside immediately. Two long tables sat side by side, one for food and the other for seating. To Erica's surprise the entire group was there, though they looked less than enthused. Zak and Annie sat at one end of the table, quietly talking. They acknowledged her with small waves and returned to their intimate dialogue. Chloe appeared to wave as well, though she may have been shooing a fly. Adam and Ashton were listlessly winging around a Frisbee, the afternoon too hot for anything more strenuous. Catching the disc effortlessly Ashton chucked it to one side and ambled over to where Erica sat.

  "Hello, Sister. And how was home?"

  Erica smiled uneasily. "It was fine. I was glad to get a chance to see my dad, wish him a happy birthday. We went out to dinner."

  Ashton said nothing, a strange look on his face.

  "Vietnamese," she volunteered lamely. He nodded.

  "Good. Very good. We're glad to have you back. You must be hungry after your long drive. Please, eat."

  Erica looked at the other table in astonishment. There was enough food laid out to feed thirty people; entire chickens, hams, pans of lasagna, casserole, as well as fresh fruit and a bowl of salad big enough to hide in.

  "Jeez, James. I hope you don't go through all of this trouble for me. I mean, that's a lot of food…"

  "Please, say no more. It's been too long since we've all been together. It's cause for a celebration."

  This was way over the top and they both knew it; Ashton sure could lay it on when he wanted to. But before Erica could reply he was gone. She looked at the food
with sudden disgust, turning away from the sight. For a moment she stood alone, simply coming to grips with the situation. Suddenly she smiled, approaching the slender figure seated at the base of a nearby tree.

  "Mr. Knowles," she said, dropping down beside him.

  Baxter looked up: he seemed surprised to see her. "Oh, hey, Erica. Welcome back."

  "Thanks. What did I miss?"

  Baxter nodded slowly. "Only more of the same, I'm afraid."

  Erica drew her legs up, wrapped her arms around them and placed her head on her knees. She looked at him and smiled sleepily, the wind playing with her tousled hair. The effect was charming and Baxter found himself truly glad to see her, in spite of his hopes she would stay in the safety of her parent's home. But that would not have been Erica, he knew; when she said she was in it for the long run he knew she truly meant it.

  "I have to talk to you… in private."

  "You don't waste any time, do you Bax?"

  Though this was meant to be a joke Baxter did not smile. He pressed her forearm. "How have you been feeling? Have you been sick, hallucinating?"

  She shook her head. "No. Not that I've noticed. Why?"

  Baxter rose from his place at the base of the tree, his face dour. "Let's talk."

  ~*~

  Erica half-followed, half-led Baxter down the hill to the dried-up stream-bed, stopping to sit on a large flat rock. The moss was soft, cool and comforting against her skin. Baxter sat down beside her.

  "The old miner who came through here about a month ago. You remember him?"

  "Sure," Erica said, lighting up a joint she'd acquired from Zak. "He seemed like quite a character."