The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  Erica was in pain, though he could not say why. Tears streamed down her cheeks, were swept up by the greedy wind. Zak wanted to reach for her but his arms were lead, soldered into place by the effects of the spell. It was all he could do to stay standing, his balance shifting, his legs growing weaker by the moment. Was the miraculous effect of the Paq'qa waning? Was the gift that had been given to him only temporary, a boon simply to delude him into participating in this blasphemous ritual? He did not know, and fought just to remain upright.

  The weird light that had infused the darkness around them spilled down, charging the air with its luminosity. Brighter than the fire, it was purer, truer somehow. Zak could see the others' faces clearly now. Adam was gritting his teeth, eyes closed. His body buckled beneath the roiling currents; small sparks of him were swept away to feed the ravenous presence that swelled the cavern. How much of him could possibly be left? How much more could one man give before folding, before being blown away on the thankless wind?

  Turning his attention to Chloe, Zak shuddered in spite of his current state; she seemed charged by the whole affair, strengthened by the madness that swarmed around them. Her body glowed an icy white, her robe a second skin shed before the unrelenting blaze. Her crystalline amulet hung around Metathias' long bare neck, glowing bright in the midst of the tumult. The old man's face was illuminated by the stolen light, his ordinarily emotionless visage showing the faintest trace of a smile.

  Ashton was ecstatic. While his words could no longer be heard, Zak felt each and every one, stinging blows rained across his unprotected soul. There was a stirring, a chain of small sounds that should not have been audible above the surging noise.

  "He comes!"

  Ashton began reading again, then turned to Chloe, indicating her place on the page. She too spoke the impossible language, the malign words even worse coming from her mouth. In the air above the circle the small sounds grew louder, more insistent. They intensified as each passage was read; when the time came for Zak to recite his text he opened his mouth to explain he could not read the writing. To his surprise and dismay more of the same bizarre language poured out of him. Despite his sudden self-loathing his found he could not stop, unhesitatingly reading his passage to the end. As Zak finished there was an ugly tearing in the air above. For a moment nothing could be seen in the greenish effulgence. It churned, spun in slow widdershins above the thriving fire, snaking upwards towards the unseen ceiling. Ashton was again speaking, crying out in a ragged voice; they all were now, even Zak. As one the seven called Him forward, shouting His name, imploring Him to appear before them.

  The cavern suddenly darkened, all light from the bonfire swallowed up by the swelling presence. The thunderous roar had built to an eardrum-shattering cacophony, then abruptly ceased. A curious silence filled the space around them, hesitant and uneasy. Not even water dripped now; it wouldn't dare. Something was in the air above them. Zak strained to see any detail but the darkness seemed to mass about the thing, keeping it hidden from sight. He found himself crouching, on one knee before the dying fire. The light and life had been sucked out of it, leaving only a bed of feebly-glowing coals.

  "He is here!"

  In the gloom Zak noted Ashton also gazing upwards, as if he could see what had manifested above them. He again began to speak the strange language, though now his tone was appeasing, supplicant in the unnatural quiet of the cave. The others all appeared spent, remaining silent as their leader spoke. After a minute of this Ashton stopped.

  "We have done as we promised; we have brought Him over from the other side. Now we wait, allow our King to gather the strength necessary to wake and make this world His own."

  With that, Ashton exited the circle and the others followed. Wordlessly they filed out of the cavern, making their way back to the distant gallery. In the flickering light Zak noted Annie was once again herself, the veil stripped away. He touched her shoulder but she did not respond, mutely following the others back to the surface. Hesitating, Zak looked back down into the cavern. Though the fire was nearly out the coals still glowed feebly, a slow-dancing nimbus of light. He thought he could discern a vague, ovoid mass in the air above it. A number of tethers seemed to lash it into place, stretching off into the impenetrable shadows beyond.

  "Brother Pan, please come forward."

  Zak turned, noted Ashton had stopped and was waiting for him. Wordlessly Zak did as he was instructed, turning away from the mostly-hidden thing and the darkness which cradled it. Together the seven made their way back into the light.

  ~*~

  Baxter opened his eyes. Dawn found him broken and alone, huddled beneath the bough of a long-dead tree. Shaking the damp leaves from his tattered robe he unsteadily rose to his feet. As he did a sharp pain shot down his spine and through his pelvis. Holding the tree for support he drew himself up. The pain was crippling, centered in his middle. All he wanted to do was drop, to return to the moldering comfort of the forest floor. Instead he lifted the remains of his robe. His entire groin was now a bruised blue-black, hairless and bloated taut. Baxter reached out, touched the shrunken brown root that had once been his penis. It snapped off with a brittle pop, dropping into the gathered leaves.

  "Oh, no. No…"

  He went to his knees, began the desperate and futile search for his lost manhood. Unable to weep, Baxter remained as he was, hunched over as if in prayer. Why couldn't he just die and be done with it? What kept him alive while his body moldered and decayed? No answers came. All he knew was that his condition continued to worsen. The itch was all across his shoulders and upper back now; in spite of his best efforts he found himself scratching.

  The skin split readily beneath his long ragged nails and Baxter fought to keep from tearing himself apart. He refused to do it, knowing even if he did it would bring no real release. The only way out was forward, his only hope to keep running. He had to go on. Forcing himself to his feet he ignored the shooting pains all through him and willed his legs to move. They shrieked in protest, cramping worse with each step. It was clear the muscles themselves had begun to atrophy, losing their ability to stretch. If he stopped he understood there would be no getting up again. Jarred by the thought Baxter soldiered on, forcing his raw cracked feet through the remnants of his final season.

  The day passed in a blur, morning blooming into afternoon and afternoon in turn fading to dusk. He walked without stopping, forcing himself ever onward despite the crippling pain. At one point late in his trek Baxter felt something crunch and he slowed up just long enough to examine himself. The space where his penis had once been was now black and broken; a web of cracks emanated outward from the ugly wound and, over time, had spread downward. The once-supple flesh of his scrotum had dried out, becoming stretched and paper-thin. The testicles themselves had then broken, revealing a sickeningly hollow interior. Baxter seized the ruined pouch and tore it free. He'd no longer be needing it. Tossing it over his shoulder he leaned against an ancient willow for support.

  Baxter assumed the bizarre noises coming out of his throat were sobs. A desiccated wheezing, they rose and fell with his breath, a piteous sound in the stillness of the deep wood. As he listened his ears caught a far-off noise. Focusing his attention he heard it again, a distant whoosh from the slope below him. Steeling himself for the descent Baxter took a deep breath, then clamored down the hillside. Loose earth and stones were kicked up with every footstep and Baxter fell more than once before reaching the mid-point. Through the nearly-barren branches of the forest he could see the highway perhaps half a mile below. Cars lazily rolled in both directions, their headlights winking on in the growing dusk.

  Pain threatened to crack him in half but Baxter blocked it out. He simply could not afford to stop. Following the ridge he limped through the growing night, looking for a lesser grade to climb down. If he could just make it to the road…

  ~*~

  Erica woke from what seemed like a coma, her mind clouded and aching. She reached for the bed-side
lamp and flicked it on, filling the room with harsh yellow light. She'd been dreaming of...? Whatever it was had returned to the dusty corner of her mind it had sprung from, leaving no trace behind. Thirsty. She was so thirsty. The glass she'd left on the table was empty so she dragged herself to her feet and walked to the bathroom. Flipping on the tap she waited but nothing came out. Erica tried the other; this time there was an ominous groan, followed by a sudden violent spurt. What the substance was she could not say. Black, foul smelling liquid sprayed into the sink and down the drain, leaving a web of root or veins behind. In revulsion she twisted the tap off and the ichor slowed to a thick trickle but the dark growth remained. Just then the toilet began to burp and gurgle and Erica ran from the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She would just have to go thirsty.

  Pulling on her shoes Erica slipped out into the hallway. It was empty, oddly quiet. She stealthily walked to Annie's room and knocked. There was no response. Nervously she tried the door. It was unlocked and she pushed it open, unsure of what she would find.

  The room was vacant.

  "Annie?"

  Getting no response Erica closed the door and made her way downstairs. The parlor was empty as was the game room. She made her way to the kitchen, stopping just short of the door-frame. The old serving woman was there, stirring a large tureen with a wooden spoon. The smell was sour, objectionable but Erica's stomach rumbled nonetheless. She'd eaten little in her week here and nothing since the night before. Still, she could not bring herself to enter the kitchen. Frustrated and afraid, she went to the study. To her surprise the door was closed, which was unusual. Were they all inside? If so, why had she not been invited? Erica listened but no sound came. Without knocking she opened the door and stepped inside.

  "Erica?"

  She screamed, jumping back out into the hallway. It was only Zak, but the sight of another person after all of her sneaking about was enough to scare her silly. He stepped forward, pulling her inside and closing the door.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he asked her, throwing the bolt.

  "Oh, God, I'm sorry Zak! You just frightened me, that's all."

  He looked uneasily around the room. "I was just on my way out."

  She smiled uneasily. "Uh, where is everybody?"

  Zak shook his head, his long white hair swinging back and forth. "No clue. Down in the cavern maybe?"

  "Yeah, that's what I thought. But Annie, Sandy…"

  Zak's face grew troubled. "Hmm. I can't see Annie taking her daughter down there. Not willingly at least. Perhaps they're outside?"

  "I doubt it," Erica said. "It's pretty dark out."

  "I hadn't noticed. Did you check the dining room?" he asked, moving beside her.

  "No. Guess I didn't."

  Zak nodded. "Well, it is about dinnertime. I'm willing to bet they're there." He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  "How are you holding up?"

  She shrugged. "I slept like I was dead. Even after I woke up I couldn't be sure I wasn't."

  Zak nodded. "Yeah, that damn ritual took a lot out of me as well. I only just came to a little while ago myself. It's funny. Usually I have very vivid dreams after taking the Paq'qa… I don't think I had any last night."

  Erica considered this. "Now that you mention it I didn't dream either. Why?"

  Zak stepped back and lowered his head. "Well, I'm pretty sure it's because of Him. He's feeding on them, sucking any ambient sustenance out; ours and theirs and probably everybody in town."

  Erica's face went pale. "Oh, no…"

  Zak grew grim. "I tried to turn on the TV to catch the news but I couldn't pick up any local stations. I'm guessing it's pretty bad up there."

  Erica walked from the window and sat down. "I'm not sure I understand what effect it would have on them, though. I mean, they weren't part of the ritual."

  "Not directly, no. But you don't have to be part of the circle to be affected by the Paq'qa," Zak began. "I've made it a point to study the drug over the last seven years. Its use can unleash raw, untapped human potential. One of its most dangerous effects is that it opens a 'trap-door' in the human mind., This makes us susceptible. Paq'q feeds on imagination, perseverance, creativity, all of the driving forces that helped our race evolve. Our dreams are the most easily digested energies, but soon these won't be enough. The Paq'qa seeds the mind, makes it possible for Him to develop a direct connection into each of us. And once He's in…"

  Zak didn't need to finish. Erica remembered Shea saying much the same thing to her years ago.

  "What about Mr. Shea? Do you think that there's anything he can do to help?"

  For long moments Zak said nothing then quietly replied. "Shea is dead. Has been for almost five years."

  Shocked, Erica nodded but Zak continued to speak. "Before he died, Baxter was given tools by Shea, objects used by the Dadan to repel Paq'q. Among these items is a small totem, carved in the form of the one they called Adaldaus, or He Who We Are Of . It wasn't a big surprise when I learned that this was also the archetype of Ur, the Jailer. The Dadan understood Ur's purpose; that is, to hold everything in the universe together, as a sort of cosmic glue. They believed if Paq'q was released from His brother's influence Reality as we know it would collapse in on itself. They came to understand that human potentiality must be limited or Mankind would simply burn itself out. It's the same for all sentient life, once it reaches a certain point.

  "When the Dadan realized the forces they were communing with, they knew their rituals must stop, that they were putting the entire world at risk. They ceased using the Paq'qa and went to great lengths to keep their secret, as well as to spread stories about the dangers of the underground caves, perpetuating less-than-flattering myths about themselves to protect the new influx of pioneers. Well, as you know, the Dadan are long gone. Over time the tribe was forced off of their land and they vanished as so many other tribes have. All that was left were their stories and the artifacts. The problem is, Ashton now has these artifact. Had them, anyway. He may very well have destroyed them. I simply don't know. Without them I don't think there's much we can do."

  Erica sighed. "But now that Paq'q is here, isn't He vulnerable? Can't we just shoot Him in the ass with a rocket launcher or something?"

  Zak chuckled in spite of his grim demeanor. "You have one?"

  She shook her head in the negative but was unwilling to give up the idea. "We could call in the National Guard…"

  "No, that would never work. Paq'q now has a physical form but He's first and foremost an idea. He's been in our minds for seven years now, growing fat, waiting to wake and spread. Even if we could destroy this body He'd still live on in our minds and the minds of the townsfolk. The Dadan artifacts are the only way to more or less rout Him. This battle, it's been happening in cycles forever, it seems. Humanity has been in Paq'q's sights for a long time; it's only within the past thousand years that we're ripe enough to pick."

  Erica looked at him quizzically. "So how was it that He got through in the first place? The first time? We certainly never performed last night's ritual before."

  Zak shrugged. "No, you're right. I can only guess He'd been charging up, building enough momentum to ram Himself through. As I remember those ceremonies were usually pretty intense affairs. Lots of energy flying around for Him to suck up and use. We have to assume everything that happened at the manor in the past played a big part as well. After all, Clautney Iris himself was up here at one point. I'm sure if there's a weak spot in the fabric of Reality, it's this place."

  Erica sighed. "So there's nothing more we can do?"

  Zak shook his head sadly. "I don't know. I just don't know."

  Just then the door opened and Ashton strode in. "Good evening, friends. What are you two up to, sitting here all alone?"

  Zak answered before Erica had the chance. "Just reminiscing, Brother. Remembering the good times."

  Ashton smiled unconvincingly. "Ah, yes. So long ago, in our infancy."

  Ne
ither responded to this, simply looking at him expectantly.

  "There is still much you can still do here, if you wish. Join with the others to sing His praises and give offerings in His honor. Join in the beautiful ceremony. After all, it will be the last of its kind."

  He reached down, tilting Erica's face up to his. "Sister?"

  Erica shook her head. "I did what I promised to do. I will do no more."

  A flash of anger crossed Ashton's face but he quickly tamped it down. "Brother Pan?"

  To Erica's surprise Zak nodded and went to stand up. He abruptly toppled forward, hitting the floor gracelessly. Erica was immediately at his side.

  "Zak? What is it? What's wrong?"

  Clearly panicked, Zak struggled to rise. "I... I don't know."

  Ashton crouched down and the two of them helped him to his feet. When Zak seemed steady they let him go. He pitched forward, was caught in Ashton's arms.

  "Brother?" Ashton asked, his brow furrowed.

  A look of sheer panic appeared on Zak's face. "It's my legs. I can't feel them. I can't walk!"

  THEN

  For the first time in weeks the group was gathered together for a special dinner. Annie and Zak had agreed to participate in another ritual, and it was cause for celebration.

  Their gathering was a subdued affair, with little interaction or conversation. A sense of acrimony hung in the air, a restrained bitterness held in check for the sake of goodwill. Ashton did his best to put a happy face on it nonetheless, making toasts with a forced joviality. He'd spared no expense in laying the table, ordering from nearly every restaurant within a twenty-mile radius. Baxter had never seen so much food in his life; it truly was the grossest excess yet. The wine-cellar had been opened as well, a number of impossibly-expensive bottles dragged forth for the group's enjoyment. Ashton wasn't kidding when he said he'd been planning something special.