The Blood Decanter (The Tales of Tartarus)

by A. L. Mengel

  “Good,” he said. “Then let’s go inside and save our energy. Let’s wait until we are under the complete shroud of darkness. I don’t want the local authorities to get involved.”

  Antoine nodded as Ramiel assisted Delia up the front path towards the Chateau. Antoine leaned close to Monsignor Harrison. “I’ve explained to you my predicament, Monsignor. I am very concerned with going in the middle of the night. It seems the forest is always churning at night.”

  The Monsignor stopped walking and looked at Antoine. Antoine couldn’t help but notice the bags under the tired man’s eyes. “Asmodai, I presume?”

  Antoine nodded.

  “You do have a debt to him, Antoine. There is no getting around that. But I do believe we will be able to defeat him if he comes. But you know, as well as I do, that we must get Darius’ body. It is simply not an option. We must find out what the potion is that he drank.”

  “And what about what you said? The ritual? Can’t you bring him back?”

  Monsignor Harrison looked at Antoine and smiled. But hesitated for a moment. “Antoine. We will do everything we can.”

  “And do you honestly think there will be a way to find out about what he drank? After his aging and now decomposition?”

  The Monsignor continued on towards the front steps and did not immediately answer. He trudged up the first few steps and turned back around to face Antoine. “If there is any hope for the survival of the immortals who have drank from the decanter and are still alive…then it is our only hope, dear Antoine.”

  *****

  The group of immortals waited for several hours in the chateau before venturing into the night and to Les Enfants Cemetery. While they were waiting, Delia napped in one of the guest rooms, the Monsignor read by a crackling fire, and Antoine and Ramiel gathered the equipment for the exhumation of the body. They went to a large garage in the back of the Chateau, which was several hundred yards behind the main building. Antoine led the way through a path surrounded by tall, old oak trees, as Ramiel followed in silence.

  “Do you remember the days before it was this complicated?” Antoine looked back towards Ramiel seeking an answer. Antoine noticed Ramiel’s dark hair, how it framed his face perfectly, and his olive complexion which was undeniably flawless.

  Ramiel nodded. “I am several thousand years old,” he said. “From the sect in Rome. Yes, we have always been embroiled in uncertainty. And things have always been complex. And they have always been complicated.”

  Antoine stopped walking, turned around and nodded. He looked at Ramiel for a moment, and their eyes locked. He then turned and looked forward. “I feel like a novice.”

  “We all are at different stages, Antoine. One shouldn’t compare oneself to another who is significantly their senior. I have far more experience. I have had more time to gain wisdom. You will get there. I assure you of that. The way you conduct your behavior – from what I see – is far superior to Darius. You will grow much wiser than you are now.”

  And then Antoine turned to face Ramiel. “Yes. But you appear to be my age. It’s very difficult to view you as an elder when you look like a peer.”

  Ramiel nodded. “I certainly understand. But it is something that you must accept. There are those who will come before you who will have more knowledge than you. Look at Monsignor Harrison. I am a child compared to him.”

  “When was he transformed?”

  “He is older than Claret.”

  Antoine whistled. “Wow,” he said. “Is he the oldest of our kind?”

  Ramiel shook his head. “I’m not sure. There are others who say there are older immortals, but I have yet to find one.”

  They stopped in front of the garage. The building was far less glamorous than the chateau. Rather than grand mason columns, it was a rather small wooden building, tucked in the woods, several hundred yards behind the chateau.

  “Do you see the bag? It’s hanging on the back side of the barn.” Antoine stood in the doorway, holding his flashlight, and shining it inwards. Ramiel walked deeper into the barn, and turned around for a moment. “You’re not coming?”

  “I would prefer to stay outside,” Antoine said. “I have this thing about barns. They don’t agree with me. Just get the equipment, and get out.”

  Ramiel nodded and turned forward. “Just direct me then. Let me know what I am grabbing so we can move the night forward and get this all over with.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  Antoine stood at the edge of his own barn and remembered Badulla. And his father. And the old woman. And his mother. And then he turned off the flashlight and closed his eyes.

  “Hey!” Ramiel called from the darkness. “Are you going to give me some light?”

  Antoine stood with his eyes closed. His voice quivered. “Yes, Ramiel…”

  And then a few minutes passed, and there was a rustling of hay. “Hey are you going to give me some light? Isn’t this my second request?”

  Antoine opened his eyes and snapped the flashlight back on. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ramiel. Just get the green bag in the far corner. You’ll see it hanging on the wall. That’s all we’ll need.”

  LYON

  After Antoine and Ramiel had gathered the equipment from the barn (which was all neatly organized in the hanging green bag which Antoine had insisted to Ramiel) – they all retired to the Chateau. Later, after dinner, Antoine sat in the study, as the others had retired to their rooms, and sank deep into thought.

  Antoine knew that once Darius had passed, things had to be set in motion. As soon as Darius expired, he closed the window and drew the drapes. And then he walked over to the bed and covered the corpse with a blanket.

  Antoine closed his eyes.

  Darius, here we are again.

  He remembered the moments after Darius had passed; they were burned too far into his mind to forget them.

  Antoine shook his head and closed the door to the bedroom and let the body lay where it was. He was at a point now, it seemed, in deciding whether the body needed to be burned to ash, which he doubted, since Darius was mortal when he passed. It was so much different now since Darius had been mortal.

  Would he be able to return? Was Darius gone forever?

  He paused in the kitchen and looked over at the table. Darius had left his cup of tea there. He walked over to the table and looked down at the remaining bit of brown liquid inside of the china cup.

  And then he cleared it, placed it in the sink, and went to the study. There were too many emails to sift through, and too many phone calls to make before Darius started to decompose. He knew that he could not venture to the local authorities, and bury a body that essentially died hundreds of years ago.

  For the immortals, they leave, they pass away, just like anyone else. Immortality is a myth. But what they leave behind is so very different. Their mortality returns and they die. But what they get – and what so many seek – is their extended life. They live, and they die, and they continue to live when they are dead. But eventually, just like anyone, their time arrives that they must face the astral plane and move on from this world.

  Antoine opened his eyes. “Is the only way out truly gotten to by going farther in?”

  Antoine thought back to the day he buried Darius. When the sun was setting in the sky, when it was painted red.

  The sun sank into the horizon, and painted the sky with deep blues, fiery red and crimson. The purple clouds leapt across the sky and fought their way to the west, across the Atlantic and towards the Americas.

  Antoine looked upwards towards the sky, surrounded by the dark patches of forest, holding a shovel in his hand.

  The deed had been done.

  He looked over towards the grave, under the same tree that Darius had been buried under so many years ago; under the same tree that he himself had been buried under. And then he paused for a moment.

  Darius, do you hear me?

  Antoine envisioned Darius, lying in his coffin below. />
  It would be dark, it would be cold. Darius would be lying utterly still, his eyes would remain closed. There would be a musty smell, the odor of rotting flesh, the crispy sound of insects fighting their way into the coffin. But Darius would be lying there, waiting.

  Waiting for something.

  Maybe to resurrect, maybe just to decompose and lie utterly still in darkness.

  But Darius, can you hear me? Can you hear my thoughts? Do you remember? Do you know how to find your way back?

  Remember, the only way out is farther in.

  *****

  There was a sense of familiarity when Antoine visited the same cemetery in the same town that he had so many years before. As he walked down the old, familiar path, and as the gravel crunched beneath his feet, he looked off to his right, and saw the edge of the forest; they were the same trees which Asmodai tore his way through, years ago, when Antoine had visited the cemetery the second time to raise Darius back to the earth.

  But this time, things were quite vastly different. For the first time, Darius had died as an immortal. Antoine had plunged a dagger into his heart and he laid Darius to rest, as he was written to do so, in that very same cemetery under the very same tree, under different clouds in a different time.

  And then there was the second time that Antoine had visited Les Enfants. It was the time that Antoine remembered needing Darius. Longing for his companionship once again. And Antoine had made the journey to the cemetery from Miami, after years of living in that city, building a name for himself, becoming a spiritual healer, finding himself to be a local celebrity and nightclub promoter.

  But Antoine had his downfall.

  And it was not an event that led to his downfall. It was not an event or the timing of everything.

  It was a person.

  And that person was named Roberto Perez.

  The only way out is farther in.

  What exactly did that mean?

  There was a certain time when Antoine could remember. He felt the searing heat of the flames on his skin; the hot burning assault, tearing his flesh from his body in a chorus of bloody aspiring mist, as he had burned on the altar. And then, there was the tearing of his muscle, as he felt the rocks underneath him dig into his back, assaulting his inner being. And the smoke, which billowed above his body; a black cumulous dark cloud rising into the sky, into the red sky painted with black clouds, as cries of sadness and despair from the sea of souls fought to drown out his own cries for help.

  But the help would not come.

  For the last thing he remembered was only darkness.

  His eyes closed, and then there was darkness.

  There was a certain time when he still felt that he existed, when there was a point that he were still alive, maybe not immortal, but somehow still a presence. That much was for certain, was it not?

  “I exist. I still exist.”

  His words reverberated against the black silence like a metronome. And he caught himself saying it again. “I still exist.”

  But there was no physicality. There was no body, no muscle, no blood coursing through his veins – even if he were immortal, he still had some physical existence, did he not?

  “I still exist.”

  Antoine waited in the darkness. “How much further should I go?”

  And then he woke up. As he opened his eyes, he saw he was in the front parlor of the Chateau, and the Monsignor was staring at him.

  “You were talking in your sleep,” he said, looking over at Antoine, holding a glass of red wine.

  Antoine nodded. “Yes, it was a smattering of thoughts, swimming in my head.”

  “You were speaking though. I couldn’t make out all of the words. But I do believe you said ‘I still exist’. What did that mean, Antoine?”

  “I don’t know if I was dreaming about Darius…or about myself.”

  *****

  Antoine wandered to the back of the Chateau.

  He sat in front of a glowing computer screen with a glass of red wine. The brilliant glow of his phone shined against his face, as he thought of Delia, sleeping in the next room. She was the only one, now, who could help him.

  But there were thoughts that permeated his mind. As he sipped the wine, he stared at the computer screen, and put on his glasses. The monitor glowed on the lenses, as he shifted his face.

  He opened the web browser and navigated to an internet search site. He sat downwards in his chair, slugged down, and cocked his head to the side. After a few moments of silence, he reached down towards the desk and brought the glass of wine to his lips. And then, he quickly placed the wine back on the desk as his eyes widened. He typed a bit on the keyboard, clicked the mouse to the side, and sat back in his chair.

  Searches for The Hooded Man flooded his screen. He stared at the results for a few moments, and craned his neck towards the hall. He got up and opened the door completely.

  Antoine stood in the doorway. He looked down the hallway – Ramiel, the Monsignor and Delia were all resting before they ventured to the cemetery. He then looked back at the same computer, where he had sat and searched for information about the ‘Hooded Man’, where he had sat and spoke with Delia about his existence, questioned…and did nothing.

  “Damn!” He slammed his fist against the door. “Damn!”

  *****

  Later in the night, the group rose and readied to venture out to Les Enfants. Delia was the last to rise, but she appeared once the others raised the activity level in the Chateau from walking back and forth, splashing water on their faces, clearing the puffiness from an early evening nap, and readying to venture out in the devil’s hour.

  They left the Chateau in silence, and walked into the woods to the rear in silence, their feet crunching through leaves against the silence of the night.

  After a bit, Antoine and the Monsignor started talking about Antoine’s business ventures in Miami.`

  The call of the loon interrupted their conversation. Antoine held up his hand. “Quiet. Do you hear that? I think he may be coming.”

  “Who?” The Monsignor stopped and stood next to Antoine, as they both looked upwards towards the sky. The clouds had parted and the sky was filled with stars. A branch snapped off in the forest, and Antoine fell silent.

  “Don’t move,” he said, as he slowly crept deeper into the woods. “The call of the loon is what indicates that he is coming. I am thinking that someone doesn’t want us to exhume Darius.”

  “Well we must,” the Monsignor said. “Let us go. I walk with God, Antoine. He will lead the way for me. I must not lose sight of that. He is far more powerful than any demon that is chasing you.”

  The Monsignor placed his arm around Antoine’s shoulders. “Come, my son. Let us do what we are meant to do.”

  They proceeded. As they walked deeper into the woods, Antoine thought about the first night that he had traveled through the same trees, under the same stars, with different clouds rolling past above, and under the same blue moonlight. The night that he had exhumed Darius before; when the ritual of resurrection was performed, when his chest bled, when the corpses rose from their graves, and when the demons held flaming swords.

  He remembered Asmodai.

  The powerful, lumbering, muscular beast who ushered in roaring winds, who froze time and stood motionless, who stood above the grave that Antoine had hidden in. And there was a sobering thought to that whole memory. Antoine knew that he could not take things back; he could not relinquish his demons. For the past was always there, it would always follow him as long as he walked the earth.

  They reached a clearing. The darkness held fast. Another, much larger branch snapped, this time much closer. Antoine closed his eyes, shook his head. “I cannot deal with him anymore, Monsignor. He has been coming for me for far too long. For years. He is teasing me. He is probably yards away. Maybe even feet. He probably can hear our conversation.”

  The Monsignor looked outwards, and squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

&nbs
p; “Of course you wouldn’t. He only appears when he wants to. And even then, I may only be able to see him when he does.”

  “Well, let’s proceed then. We will run out of night soon. It is fleeting quickly.” They approached the edge of the cemetery, and Antoine led the way, deeper through the stones, walking in various different directions through rising markers and monuments.

  *****

  Giovanni did not join the others when they went to exhume the body. He waited in the Chateau. The night held fast; there was no moonlight, and the group walked close together through the forest; the leaves crunched under their feet, and the trees swayed with an occasional passing breeze. Antoine led the way, holding a flashlight, aiming it through the thick forest, as Ramiel walked beside him.

  “You were close with Darius, were you not?” Ramiel looked back and forth at Antoine and the direction they were heading.

  “Yes, we were.”

  “You two have a long history?”

  “Yes, we do.” Antoine stopped walking and looked over at Ramiel. “I miss him terribly. He is my maker. He appears to me sometimes.”

  Ramiel looked directly at Antoine. “He appears to you?”

  Antoine nodded and started walking again. “As a ghost. He has visited me several times already.”

  Ramiel looked behind his shoulder. “Monsignor – could you come here for a minute? We may have just had a revelation.”

  Antoine and Ramiel both stopped walking again to let the Monsignor catch up. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Darius has been visiting Antoine lately as a ghost,” Ramiel said.

  The Monsignor nodded and looked at Antoine. “It won’t mean anything concerning what he drank. He won’t know. But he might be able to help us find this ‘Hooded Man’.”

  “So let’s forage on,” Antoine said. “The plan will proceed. Can you guys help me wrap up his body so we can take it back to Ned? He’ll need to extract some blood to have it examined.”

  Delia sat on a grave marker and lit a cigarette.