Xander had no way to argue after that display; all he could do was scowl and follow Depok into the library, only to stop halfway and gawk. The room—occupied with rows of old, hardwood desks and expensive-looking office chairs—was vast, taking up more space than the town’s public library. The shelves, all of which were so packed with books that the wood around them had begun to warp, were over a hundred feet tall and stretched across the enormous walls and towered in breath-taking rows.
Depok put a hand on Xander’s shoulder and directed him towards the largest of the desks; littered with open books and papers. Taking a seat, he motioned to the chair on the other side, which Xander, after a brief pause, sat down in.
Depok pushed some of the clutter out of the way, making a clearing in the center and pausing to look at a page that was open in a large, old book. After smiling at his reading he looked at Xander and tapped his finger on the table.
Xander shifted under his growing discomfort. His entire life he’d been seen as a freak, and he’d grown quite used to the attention that came with that title. Since arriving at the Odin Clan, however, he was getting quite a lot of attention of a foreign nature, and he couldn’t help but feel unnerved by it.
Depok stared, his eyes burning into him. Though this bothered him all he could do was try to maintain eye contact and not fold in on himself like his body wanted to.
It’s okay. You can trust him. Trepis spoke up.
Xander scowled, “How the hell could you know—”
“He knows because a part of him remembers me,” Depok answered.
“Huh?” Xander looked at him, “H-how could he remember you?”
Depok looked down at the desk and tapped his fingers a few more times on its surface, “That’s a subject that I don’t think you’re ready to deal with yet.”
“Then what am I ready to deal with?” Xander demanded.
Despite the hostility in Xander’s voice Depok smiled, “That’s up to you.”
Xander growled and looked away and began scanning the room, avoiding direct contact with Depok.
Depok cocked his head, “I fully understand that all of this is quite a lot to take on all at once. But it will—”
“Stop digging in my mind! I don’t give two shits if you are the biggest clown in this whole circus, but I will not be treated like one of your old, dusty books!” Xander’s muscles were tensed and shook with the familiar rage. Though he was terrified of what Depok could do to him, he couldn’t help but finally vent, “If you want to talk to me then you turn off that annoying little habit first!”
Depok stared back at him, looking stunned, though not surprised, and Xander wondered if anybody had ever talked to him like that before. He also wondered, considering how powerful he appeared to be, if he had just vented himself into an early grave.
Depok, after a long moment, grinned and nodded, “Consider it turned off.” Xander exhaled, the fear of death lifted, and leaned back in his seat, “Now, most of the basic facts I’ll leave to Marcus to supply you with.” Depok was quick to change the subject, “He will be your, well—for the sake of simplicity—let’s call it a ‘mentor’.”
“Don’t you people—or whatever you are—ever call something what it is?” Xander asked, feeling that things were once again being overcomplicated.
Depok laughed and shrugged, “You’ll find that much of what humans remain ignorant of tends to be difficult to label. Probably one of the reasons most myths and religions are so misdirected.”
Xander shook his head, “I used to believe that all religion was was a misdirection.”
Depok smirked, “Not quite right, though I’m glad to hear that you have your own views on the subject. If nothing else, however, you should remember that one must avoid ignorance in their pursuit for knowledge. Though I suppose we’ll talk about that on another occasion. It really is such a complicated subject that—”
“If it’s all the same,” Xander interrupted, his interest in a meaningful conversation reaching its peak, “I’d like to talk about it now. After all this vampire stuff that’s been thrown at me lately, I don’t see any reason to hold back on other things that I’ve thought of as fiction.”
Depok chuckled, “Just like your father,” he shook his head and motioned to the rest of the room, “He actually helped build this library.” His smile widened, “Probably read almost every book on these shelves, too. Anyway… your skepticisms are quickly beginning to prove justified, aren’t they?” He stood up from his chair with another chuckle and paced as he spoke. “You’ve been raised in a society where creatures like us and others are myth,” he ran his fingertips across a row of books behind him, “I find it’s healthy for a mind to exercise skepticism; the greatest minds often do.” He frowned and started to pace again, “But I digress…”
“But now that I find that these”—Xander paused for a moment, trying to remember the term Sophie and Marcus had used—“‘mythos’, right?” Depok nodded, pleased that he was catching on. “Now that I know they exist, I can’t help but wonder what else is real?” Xander looked up, “Is every so-called ‘bullshit’ myth actually real?”
Depok raised an eyebrow, “Such as?”
Xander shrugged. “Uh… like ghosts and angels and demons. Are those real too?”
Depok smiled and sat back down, “That is an excellent question, and, ironically, an easy one to answer: all three are actually one in the same. The term ‘ghost’ implies that the remains of the deceased have some consciousness, which is impossible. You see, after death, biological energies—whether you want to call them a ‘soul’ or an ‘aura’ or what-have-you—leave the body, but the mind—its awareness and, therefore, its consciousness—is left behind. Without this, there is no real consciousness to drive it, only need.” Depok paused and smirked as Xander’s eyes started to glaze over, “Anyway, these energies move on to…” he paused again to think, “… well, to another place.”
“My mind’s starting to go to another place,” Xander smirked.
Depok raised an eyebrow, “Would you like to change the subject?”
Xander frowned and shook his head.
Depok nodded and took a deep breath before continuing, “Now, occasionally these energies have been known to come back to our world, and it’s when this happens that people have their encounters with ghosts or angels or demons. Though there is no real distinction between them, only the severity of the anomaly and whether the witnesses are affected in a positive or negative way.”
Xander nodded when he was sure that Depok had finished.
Depok’s smirk returned and Xander narrowed his eyes at him, beginning to wonder if he enjoyed making people’s heads spin, “Unfortunately,” Depok went on, “the universe doesn’t get much more complicated than the laws of nature and energy. You know full well the incongruities between real magic and what people like to see in movies and on stage. The truth is humans seem to enjoy confusing themselves by making everything seem too complex.”
Xander grinned, “I don’t think humans are the only ones who like to make things ‘too complex’.”
Depok laughed harder at this, “Indeed. But things do get somewhat more complex when you go digging beyond our realm.”
Xander bit his lip and leaned forward, “Beyond our realm?”
“Mmhm,” Depok nodded, “Most of the time, when someone prays or even attempts to call forth a being—angelic or demonic—all they’re really doing is digging deeper into themselves; giving themselves the courage they need to ask for that raise or to finally talk to somebody they’ve had their eye on. In other, far rarer situations, they end up inadvertently casting spells.”
“Normal people casting spells?” Xander shook his head, “But how can somebody who’s never practiced the arts do anything with them—mistake or not?”
Depok gave a casual shrug, “Most of the time they can’t, but what you have to realize is that the only difference between those who do practice the arts and those who do it by accident is the
knowledge of what they’re doing. While the magic cast by normal people is rarely very potent, there are times—again, very rare times—that someone might put enough energy into a prayer to see actual results. It’s still all very basic, though, nothing as powerful as what stronger users can do.
“So people pray, and usually it does nothing. While they expect their pleas to reach Heaven or Hell they never realize that those places are in their mind. Though I’ll tell you now that this is a very complex universe, one thing that I am certain of is that there is only one ‘other side’, and it is there that the magical energies—souls or auras or what-have-you—go to become a part of a greater force.”
Xander nodded, intrigued, “So what do you call this greater force?”
Depok shook his head, “Nobody’s really named it yet because not enough people believe in it to give it a name.”
“Then why do you believe in it?”
“Because I’ve seen it for myself.” He paused and shook his head, “Well, you don’t exactly ‘see’ it, but I’ve at least experienced it… anyway! Though its origins are a mystery, what I and a few others who have been lucky enough to find out is that it is one single entity made up of the aforementioned energies. Now, this being—or beings, however you want to imagine it—has been known to visit a select few who go about calling to it the right way.”
“So,” Xander looked at Depok for a moment, “this creature—built up of all these other creatures—just shows up to anybody if the right words are uttered?”
“Not exactly,” Depok shook his head, “First off, it’s not a ‘creature’, nor is it built of anything that’s alive. It’s…” He paused for a moment, “It’s like a wall of consciousness made of bricks, and these bricks are always being added on—feeding into it. Only instead of bricks, it’s built of biological energies.”
Xander nodded, though he didn’t fully understand.
“Furthermore,” Depok’s runaway train of an explanation charged on, “it doesn’t show up in its entirety. Instead, when an invocation is strong enough to reach it, it sends out smaller portions to answer the call. Usually, they’re sent over to collect a particularly ‘tasty’ looking energy that refuses to cross over, or even to try and kill something that it wants too much to wait for. However, if someone can get through to it and entice it enough to respond, deals can be made, knowledge can be gained, and power can be wrought.”
Xander narrowed his eyes, “How do you know all of this?”
Depok beamed and Xander realized that this had been the point he’d been leading to all along, “Because I know somebody who succeeded in invoking it and who gained a great deal of power; somebody who learned the magical arts from me and your father. Somebody, I might add, that you know personally.”
Xander looked at him with astonishment. He knew who was powerful enough to invoke such a powerful entity; the only person he knew who could dig into the cosmos and entice a being by will-power alone.
“Stan!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
S(a)TAN
Throughout his upbringing, Stanley Ferno was a part of the church. His mother was a member of the chorus that met every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday to practice. His father, who was good with gardening and landscaping, was constantly called upon to help keep the church-grounds looking beautiful. Whatever the occasion, any call to help or participate was a chance for the Ferno family to “be closer to God”, and Stanley was always brought along.
Stanley’s father often said that the priest, Father John Hover, had made him a better man by helping to fund his education when he had decided to go back to college. The church had, indeed, been a big help to the entire Ferno family at that time. On top of helping to pay for Stanley’s father’s tuition, they had also helped by watching over Stanley and helping Mrs. Ferno by preparing meals so her work load wouldn’t be as great. After four years of school, Mr. Ferno graduated with a degree in architecture and went on to join one of the region’s top construction companies.
When Stanley was old enough, his parents put him in a private Catholic school. Though it was expensive, Mr. Ferno’s new job easily paid for it. Each day, when Stanley got out of class, he hurried to the church where he’d sit and do his homework until his father came to pick him up. He grew up for many years knowing the church and all those who worked and attended there were a true family to him, and he loved them all very much.
He loved nobody more than Father Hover, however, who was always willing to listen and teach, no matter the time of day.
After high school, in hopes of one day becoming a member of the clergy, Stanley decided to stay with the church and study with Father Hover. The years thereafter were spent in the back of the church over piles of books and scriptures. Though he still lived with his parents, he got a job teaching the new Sunday School students as well as working at the Christian bookstore down the road.
Despite all of his dedications and efforts, however, he noticed that the previously tightly-knit relationship between him and his priest was becoming unraveled. The once joyful and entertaining man that he had grown up with had become distant and quiet. At first, Stanley assumed that his mentor was giving him his space in order to study, but as time progressed he began to notice the aging priest showing a greater enthusiasm than he had ever offered him.
These newcomers were hardly motivated by the teachings and were only seen on Sundays. And though they were lazy and obviously uncaring about the church—interested only in the services it could provide for them—Father Hover would listen to their sins each week as they begged for forgiveness. Of course, they were granted pardon and Stanley would watch them walk out the doors, seemingly renewed; only to return the next week and confess the same sins all over again. The corruption of these newcomers was sickening, and Father Hover still seemed to love them more. He worked on making their lives better and focusing on their happiness when his most loyal and faithful follower for more than two decades sat in the back of the church trying to learn all he could to be as righteous a man as Father Hover.
Or at least as righteous as he had once been.
Each time the old priest called for him, Stanley’s hope at being brought back to his original status would send his soul soaring, only to find out that Hover wanted a cup of tea or needed him to go buy bourbon from the liquor store. Over time, the once melodic voice turned sour, and it got to the point where Stanley would shudder every time he heard it call for him.
Meanwhile, each passing day that Stanley felt himself further distanced from Hover, he felt his faith leave him as well. He came to realize that he didn’t actually believe the stories, but instead had embraced them as wonderful fairytales read to him by someone he’d once loved. He took them to heart as good stories with important lessons to take out into the real world, but no longer felt like pretending.
He realized one day, as he rose from his desk, that the newcomers he’d come to hate so much were simply more interested in the joys to be had in the real world, and he began to admire them for adhering more to themselves than blind faith. With his newfound views and a world that he’d ignored for so long right outside the church’s doors, Stanley decided it was time to leave.
He stepped out of his study and into the front of the church, squinting against the colorful glare of light that passed through the stained-glass windows. He’d looked out across the large room and the rows upon rows of empty pews and frowned; without the large crowd and energy that emanated from them, it all seemed so dull and lifeless. The confession booths stood in the back and, as Stanley walked by them, he heard a sound.
He stopped, trying to decipher the sound’s source. It didn’t seem to be the right sort of noise to be overheard from someone during confession. Then he heard it again, more agitated than before and followed soon after by a soft whimper.
Stanley frowned. It wasn’t right, and as he stood, looking at the booth as if it would suddenly have voice and scream its secret to him, the door opened and Hover herded out
a young lady—blonde, budding, beautiful. . .
And bruised.
Hover looked up at that moment and seen Stanley standing a short distance away, frowning and clearly confused by what he was seeing. Hover’s face blushed and contorted in embarrassment; his eyes darting away from Stanley's own and refusing to return.
The girl—Sasha, Stanley believed her name was—shifted uncomfortably and kept fidgeting with her wrinkled blouse and chewing her lip, not daring a glance at Stanley or the priest. Hover roughly patted her on the back as a sign to leave. She quickly and quietly did so, seeming relieved to be free of the situation.
The squeaky old wooden doors sounded the young lady's exit and Hover, clearly relieved to have her out of the picture, straightened himself and tried to take on a demeanor that would be more suited for his title.
The damage had already been done, however, and Stanley’s lip curled in hatred as he stepped towards the priest, clenching his fist with a rage that he’d never felt before.
His trusted mentor.
His role model.
His close friend.
An adulterer!
“You bastard!” Stanley growled as he raised his arm for the first time to do somebody harm.
Hover held his hands out to stop him, “Stanley, I—”
“NO! DON’T SAY MY NAME!” Stanley yelled, which seem to hit Hover harder than his fists could have. “You’re a pervert! A filthy, disgusting pervert!” he shook his head, tears welling in his eyes, "Has it always been this way? How long have you been sinning under the roof of this house of lies?"
The first and last punch was thrown and Stanley fell to the floor. Hover stood over him, his fist still balled. “'House of lies', Stanley? You call our beliefs a LIE now?”
“Your beliefs,” Stanley growled, wiping a spot of blood from his lip as he rose to his feet, “not mine… not anymore.”
“Then it is your mind that is filled with perversions!” Hover spat.
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