The horrible dream had receded, but the memories it stirred still remained. His mind wandered back to his teenage years in Berlin. He doubted the whispered concerns about the Nazis until he witnessed a book burning. The wild look in the eyes of the troops as they tossed the volumes on the fire helped him grasp the true extent of the threat. But the realization came too late for him. He was sent to Auschwitz before he had a chance to flee the country.
The concentration camp survivor turned rare book dealer spent the next two hours putting together a number of offers he'd been considering for several weeks. He was prepared to go as high as $200,000 for a first edition of Don Quixote and $300,000 for one of the few remaining copies of On the Revolution of the Heavenly Spheres, where Copernicus argued that the Sun, not the Earth, is at the center of the solar system.
Enzo also wrote a letter to a fellow collector asking him to reconsider a previous offer of $750,000 for a Shakespeare First Folio. His friendly rival had countered with a proposal for an even swap: the First Folio for a Gutenberg Bible. But Enzo had no intention of ever parting with his prize possession.
The Sun was up so the book dealer showered and went to work. On his walk to the store, his mind wandered back to his early days in America. After the trials and tribulations of the war, he settled in New York City. A wealthy member of the established Jewish community recognized his academic ability and provided the finances for him to enroll at Columbia University where he graduated at the top of his class.
Enzo initially struggled despite his business acumen. He'd been a diffident youth and the horrors of war permanently cemented his shy nature. Enzo would always be timid and introverted, but luckily his predilection towards reading gave him an outlet. He came alive whenever he was talking about books.
Just before he ducked into the store, the book dealer gave some money to an impoverished man who'd been staying in a nearby alley.
It was a slow day at work. The clock struck ten before Enzo's secretary informed him of a visitor.
The dark-haired gentleman who entered his office was well-dressed and well-groomed. He had a regal air about him. "Mr. Geller. A pleasure to meet you," he said as they shook hands. "My name is Marlon Abrams."
"Please have a seat, Mr. Abrams. Would you care for a drink or perhaps a cigarette?" After his guest politely declined he asked, "How may I be of service?"
"There's a certain book I've been trying to track down for quite some time. I've tried various avenues but all for naught. It's the final volume in a set of four collectively known as The House of Hades. The author's name is Felix Felonius."
Enzo prided himself on his wide breadth of knowledge in his chosen field, so he was embarrassed to admit that he was not familiar with the work.
"I'm not surprised. It's a very obscure treatise. I inherited the first three volumes and I would like to complete the collection."
"Of course."
"I've done my homework on you, Mr. Geller. Your reputation is such that I have the utmost confidence in your ability to track down the tome."
"I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Abrams," Enzo said with a slight nod. "I hope I live up to your expectations. Shall we draw up a contract?"
"By all means."
Enzo took a prepared document from the top drawer, filled in some pertinent details, and handed it across the desk. Mr. Abrams slid on his pince-nez and looked over it.
"Quite satisfactory," he said. "Let me give a down payment."
"That won't be necessary."
"I insist," Mr. Abrams said as he produced his checkbook and scribbled out a note for $10,000.
Enzo walked his new client to the door where they shook hands once again.
"I'll be in touch, Mr. Abrams."
"Good luck, Mr. Geller."
Inferno
Part 2 - Believe
After two weeks of intense research and a dozen trans-Atlantic phone calls, Enzo had learned precious little about The House of Hades beyond the fact that it was a religious treatise associated with the coming apocalypse.
He was able to ascertain that any number of people had the first three volumes in their possession. It was the fourth book that was exceedingly rare. Through his connections in the United States and overseas he verified the existence of three known copies. They belonged to a venture capitalist from Philadelphia named
Stanley Gunderman, a Hollywood producer named Roger Thorndike, and a Japanese industrialist named Yuki Matsuzaka.
Thorndike and Matsuzaka rebuffed his initial inquiries, but Gunderman said he would be willing to talk if Enzo came to Philadelphia.
He took a flight the next morning and met Gunderman for lunch. The slick venture capitalist had no emotional attachment to the book, it was simply an investment. He purchased it at an auction where it hadn't even appeared in the catalog. On a hunch, he picked it up for $100,000 and was now asking $500,000.
Enzo countered with $300,000.
Gunderman ran his fingers through his blond hair as he considered the offer. "Let's split the difference. $400,000."
When Enzo agreed they ordered a bottle of champagne and drank a toast before signing the paperwork. After securing a six o'clock flight back to New York, the ecstatic book dealer spent the afternoon in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
The plane touched down at La Guardia just after eight. Enzo considered going out on the town to celebrate but two flights in one day had left him drained, so he put the precious book in his wall safe and went to bed early.
Something woke him up in the middle of the night. It wasn't his recurring nightmare this time, though. It was a vague sense of being watched. As he fumbled for his wire-rim glasses to check the time a voice came from the darkness.
"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Geller. I'm here to help you."
Enzo snapped on a lamp and saw the impoverished man from the alley near his store. But he no longer looked destitute. He was dressed in a cloaked outfit reminiscent of a monk's attire.
The Jewish book dealer should have been alarmed but there was something in the man's voice, some soothing quality, that set him at ease.
"You've been keeping an eye on me the last few weeks."
"I was keeping an eye on your store, waiting for Mr. Abrams to show up."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Constantine. I'm a member of the Order of Saint Durond."
"I'm not familiar with that group."
"We're a secret society sworn to protect mankind from the evils that threaten to engulf the world." As he said that he glanced at the numbers tattooed on Enzo Geller's forearm. "As a Holocaust survivor, you know all too well that evil is fecund. There will always be those who would do anything necessary to achieve their dark agenda."
"Yes, but what does that have to do with me?"
"The fourth volume of The House of Hades, Mr. Geller. The knowledge it contains can be used to open the gates of Hell!"
Enzo stared at the intruder. "I'm going to call the police."
"I know it sounds like the ravings of a lunatic," Constantine said. "But I can prove it. Get the book and I'll show you."
Suspicion flared in Enzo's eyes. "What if all this is just a ploy to get me to open the safe?"
"I entered your apartment with ease. I could have opened the safe and made off with the book already if that was my intent."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to join our order. There are probably dozens of copies of the book that still exist. You could help us track them down."
Enzo hesitated but then his eyes fell on the numbers tattooed on his arm. Yes, there was evil in the world. Of that, there was no doubt. "Follow me. I'll get the book."
The shrewd businessman deftly worked the dial to his safe, removed the ancient tome, and carefully placed it on his desk.
"Do you know Latin?" Constantine asked.
"Yes."
"Open to page five," he ordered. "There's a passage below a picture of a woodcut. Read it aloud."
Enzo did as he
was told. He gazed at the image for a moment. Though it was black and white, it was wrought with such intense emotion that it was overpowering.
"A disturbing scene, isn't it?" Constantine asked. "The demons of Hell in all their wanton depravity."
"It looks like the works of Albrecht Durer."
"Correct, Mr. Geller. You have a good eye. Now go ahead and read the quatrain below the print. What you are about to witness will make you a believer."
As Enzo recited the words, the room became charged with so much static electricity that his hair stood on end. When he finished there was a blinding flash of light and a portal appeared.
"A window into Hell," Constantine announced.
Enzo turned away. He was terrified and rightly so.
"Look!" his companion commanded.
What he saw drove him to the brink of insanity. He witnessed strange and portentous doings, entities of darkness and deceit, and plans for the destruction of the entire human race.
Constantine stood by his side and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's overwhelming, I know. But it provides us with new and terrible clues to the nature, methods, and desires of the evil that threatens our existence. You must understand that the world is filled with wicked people who want nothing more than to unleash this menace. They think they can control it and profit from it, but this kind of power can never be bridled."
At that moment, one of the denizens of this netherworld became aware of their gaze. It turned it's single, fulgent eye in their direction and laughed. The sound seemed to eclipse and erase all the joy and wonder that Enzo had ever experienced. "Close the window, I implore you!" he screamed.
Constantine turned to the next page of the archaic volume and recited another quatrain that sealed the portal. He handed the book to Enzo and nodded towards the fireplace.
The irony was not lost on the Holocaust survivor. It was a book burning that had given him the first inkling of the horrors the Nazis were about to unleash. But with the terrors of the stygian abode fresh in his mind, he didn't hesitate. He tossed the book in the fireplace and set it ablaze.
"Will you help us find the other copies?" Constantine asked as the flames consumed the fourth volume of The House of Hades.
"Yes."
Inferno
Part 3 - Dreams of Despair
After gazing through that portal, Enzo Geller's life was never the same. Henceforth, he kept his Gutenberg Bible open to the Book of Revelation as he embarked on a crusade to rid the world of the ancient text that could throw open the gates of Hell.
Over time he used his vast network of resources and his considerable wealth to help the Order of Saint Durond find and destroy a dozen copies of the fourth volume of The House of Hades. Along the way, he became a pundit on the occult by acquiring hundreds of manuscripts of great antiquity and mastering many a forgotten alphabet.
But his every move was shadowed by a man who had become his sworn enemy: Marlon Abrams. His former client was the leader of a forbidden cult known as the Hellfire Club, a group of learned disciples who were well-versed in occult erudition. As they raced around the globe trying to thwart each other's plans, Enzo tried again and again to warn Abrams that he was meddling with terrible powers beyond his comprehension, but he scoffed at the idea.
Enzo's nightmares about the Holocaust still haunted his sleep, but now they were joined by visions of the apocalypse. He conjured up terrible images of entities from another plane of existence that were determined to wipe out the human race and drag the Earth off to some nameless place for some nameless purpose.
While he slept his subconscious mind churned out images of grim towers, twisted phantoms, and places were childish desires withered and die. He saw things beyond the waking world. Secret vistas, sterile twilights, and vortices of fire seared themselves into his memory.
But in the end, no nightmare can compare to the horrors of the waking world. Enzo had arrangements to purchase a copy of the fourth volume of The House of Hades in Paris, but when he showed up he was informed that another man had made a substantially higher offer.
As he puzzled over the unexpected turn of events, he was struck from behind. He recognized Marlon Abrams voice just before he blacked out. "Take him with us."
Enzo awoke in the catacombs beneath Paris as cult members were performing a series of rites and rituals in the flickering light of a thousand candles. Some sang while others danced. Some muttered in unfamiliar jargon while others chanted in bizarre rhythms.
Marlon Abrams, dressed in the costume of the Grand Inquisitor of the Hellfire Club, recited quatrains from The House of Hades in perfect Latin.
The long-prophesied apocalypse had arrived. The gates of Hell were torn asunder, releasing obscene terrors on an unsuspecting mankind.
Marlon Abrams and his followers had labored for decades for this very moment when they would be granted dominion over the Earth. But that was not to be as they were unceremoniously trampled underfoot by the terrifying demons of the abyss.
As the life force ebbed from his body, Enzo Geller bore witness to the inferno.
Mountains of flesh, rivers of blood. Unseen hands stacked the bodies higher and higher. The hungry fire devoured the vacant remains that once contained wants and needs.
Smoldering hair, burning skin. Unseen faces laughed louder and louder. The greedy flames consumed the empty vessels that once held hopes and dreams.
The End
25 - Down, Down, Down
It had been in all the newspapers at the time but was eventually bumped off the front pages by the notoriously fickle press who turned their attention to the hoopla surrounding the celebrations marking the beginning of the 20th century. But now that the first anniversary was approaching, reporters had once again taken an interest in the story.
Dr. Maximilian Basil, the world's foremost expert in geology, had disappeared while doing fieldwork in Iceland, that extraordinary realm of fire and snow. There were rumors amongst his fellow scientists, whispers of mysterious findings and lost civilizations far beneath the surface of the Earth, but no evidence had been produced to support such wild theories.
*****
Two figures finished their long climb to the summit of a long-dormant volcano.
"Did we make it in time?" asked McKenna, Dr. Basil's loving wife.
"Yes," replied Gustave, Dr. Basil's younger brother. "When the sun rises above the ridge, it should point the way."
"I can't believe it's been a whole year since Max disappeared," his wife said.
"I wanted to act sooner, but we had to wait until today," Gustave said. "When everything was perfectly aligned."
"Look!" McKenna cried.
As the morning sun crested the edge of the volcano, light passed through a unique rock formation and marked a spot on the opposite side of the crater.
"There!" Gustave called. "That's where we'll find the opening to the cave that Max was exploring."
"We must find him, Gustave. I can't bear the thought of another day without him."
"We will, McKenna. I swear we will."
*****
Outfitted with the most advanced equipment available, Gustave and McKenna began their descent into the Earth's depths, entering an almost alien vista of rocks, minerals, and geologic wonders. On the third day, they discovered some markings on the walls of a cavern.
"McKenna, look. On the wall, beyond those stalagmites."
"Icelandic runes, exactly like the ones Max was studying. Do you think his hypothesis could be correct?"
"He's the smartest man in the world," Gustave said as he ran his fingers through his reddish beard. "If my brother thought an ancient civilization once flourished beneath the surface of Iceland, then it's probably true."
*****
The temperatures climbed as the days passed and they worked their way deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Earth. An odd, phosphorescent moss grew in abundance on the cavern walls, providing plenty of light for their journey.
Gu
stave and McKenna continued to find clues that Max had indeed traversed these same passageways. The runes appeared more and more frequently and they eventually found some of his clothing and one of his notebooks.
Gustave noticed the grave look of concern on his sister-in-law's face and tried to comfort her. "The geothermal activity provides plenty of heat. He didn't need his winter jacket anymore."
"But what about the notebook?" she asked solemnly. "Max would never have left that behind on purpose. Something must have happened to him."
Just as those words passed her lips, the distant sound of drums began to echo in the caverns.
"What's that, Gustave?" she yelled.
"Maybe we should go back," he suggested.
"We can't turn back now," she protested. "Not when we're so close to finding Max."
It was a gut-wrenching decision that McKenna and Gustave wouldn't have to make, as they were quickly surrounded by strange creatures dressed in tattered clothes and armed with sharp spears. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were marched forward as prisoners.
"They seem specially adapted to this subterranean environment," Gustave called over his shoulder as they were led further underground, through a series of twisting and turning tunnels. "Notice the excessively large eyes and the pale skin."
The drums grew louder and louder. In due course, they emerged in a vast open space, filled with thousands of the strange troglodytes that held them captive. It was an eerie, Kafkaesque scene, one that filled both McKenna and Gustave with abject terror.
"STOP!" a voice boomed and the drums fell silent.
"Max!" McKenna yelled as she noticed her long-lost husband, dirty and disheveled, seated on a granite throne high above the crowd.
Dr. Maximilian Basil, the world's foremost expert in geology, turned his gaze towards his wife, but there was no hint of recognition in his strangely blank eyes.
"Gustave, what's wrong with him?" she yelled in anguish as stinging tears welled up in her eyes. "Has he been hypnotized, somehow?"
"Look! The huge bump on his forehead," Gustave said. "He's suffered some kind of concussion. He might have amnesia."
Forgotten Realms Page 11