The Blood Decanter (The Tales of Tartarus)

by A. L. Mengel

  The two men grabbed Claret from the floor and pulled her to her feet. She shivered, naked and dirty; her hair was caked to the sides of her face with blood and sweat. “Don’t…I have done nothing to deserve this!”

  Claret’s tiny wrist was swallowed by the men’s muscular hands, and they dragged her to the door. “Put these on!” She was handed a pair of shackle chains.

  “Take her,” Delia said.

  *****

  Monsignor Harrison stood behind the pulpit, and looked down at the crowd in the Catacomb Enclave. The large, red drapes behind him were pulled together and shut tight. The immortals gathered for the trial were in the hundreds; all waiting. There was a murmur rolling through the enclave, as Ramiel entered from behind the curtains. He approached the Monsignor, who nodded as Ramiel spoke into his ear.

  Antoine stood in the crowd and watched Ramiel. There was a time when he thought the younger immortal was somewhat of a competitor, but now, as Antoine watched Ramiel unconsciously brush his long, brown hair off to the side and hook it around his ear as he was speaking with the Monsignor, he realized that Ramiel was a peer.

  A definite peer.

  Ramiel exited through the curtains and pulled them shut once again. The Monsignor looked out towards the crowd. He raised his arms and the talking silenced. Antoine focused his attention on the Monsignor.

  “We still have Claret with us here. She is behind the curtains now. I will bring her to you and stand her before you. And it will be up to all of you what we shall do with her.”

  The crowd raised their fists into the air. “Crucify her! Let her die nailed to a cross!”

  The Monsignor took a step to the side as the drapes were pulled open with giant golden cords. Claret stood in a purple robe and a crown of thorns. Blood streamed down the sides of her head and across her cheeks.

  “Do you want her to die? For sins against the immortal race?”

  The crowed swelled in chorus, raising their arms. “Crucify her! Crucify her!”

  Monsignor Harrison leaned against the edge of the pulpit. He looked out at the crowd, as the cheers slowly died down, and after a few moments, there was silence. He looked at the crowd, scanning his head back and forth, and nodded slowly. “So you want this woman to die? This mother of our kind? You are cursing her to a similar fate of the Christian Jesus Christ. Do you think she is deserving of that kind of horrid punishment?”

  An unseen male voice called out from the crowd against the silence. “She is murdering our kind! Crucify her!”

  Antoine paused for a moment.

  He had studied Christ in recent years, as part of his involvement with theology, and in particular with Sheldon, after speaking with him at length when Sheldon was interviewing him for his book.

  Sheldon had said other things then, and spoke about Christ on that same stormy night, now years ago, when Antoine was still questioning what direction his life might take. The silence in the room after Sheldon offered his background research was stifling. Until Antoine spoke.

  “Do you think that the Christ Blood is truly saving? I mean, what do you truly believe?”

  Sheldon set his notebook down and looked at Antoine. “It’s what you believe, Antoine. What is it that you believe? You come from an area which has a completely different belief. Is this what you believe? That the Christ Blood is the salvation?”

  Antoine shook his head. “I don’t know. But when we were in Luxor, when we found the cup, it sent Claret into such a frenzy. I just couldn’t understand it.”

  “Understood,” Sheldon said. “That’s understandable. You found the Cup there. The true Cup. That’s power, my friend. Power beyond this realm. And to that, I must say I have run dry. May I have another whiskey?”

  Antoine got up and went to the bar on the other side of the parlor. He plucked a few ice cubes from the waiting bucket, and plopped them into the glass slowly. They each clinked as he spoke. “So what are your thoughts, Sheldon? From your studies, I mean. Certainly your background in Theology has helped you a great deal in these matters.”

  Sheldon sat back and sighed, as Antoine handed him his glass of Whiskey. “You would be surprised,” he said, as he took a sip. He placed the glass on the side table and looked back up at Antoine. “There are many who believe that the Blood of Christ is salvation. Others believe that drinking from the cup itself is a cleansing process. Redemption. In the Catholic Mass, it is believed that the symbolic wine transforms into the Blood of Christ.”

  “But what do you believe, Sheldon? I understand all of the textbook jargon you are giving me, but what does Sheldon Wilkes believe?”

  Sheldon sat back for a moment, cocked his head to the side. “I believe that there is definitely something out there, Antoine. I believe there is life after death. And yes, I believe the cup brings salvation, and Claret keeps it as spiritual currency. She holds so much power just by having it in her possession.”

  ****

  Ramiel peeked his head through the curtains, and was handed a rolled golden parchment paper, tied with a red ribbon. He handed it to the Monsignor as the crowd looked on. Claret stood on the other side of the pulpit, her head hung low.

  Monsignor Harrison adjusted his glasses and unrolled the parchment. He studied it for a minute, handed it back to Ramiel, nodded and removed his glasses. He sighed, looked at the crowed, and then looked over at Claret. She was hunched over, bloodied and battered, held up by several soldiers.

  “Claret, look at me.”

  The soldiers dragged her over close to the Monsignor.

  “Claret,” he said. “You have deceived our kind. We still do not fully understand your motive for this, other than your eternal hunger for power amongst your own kind. You have behaved as an imposter – claiming that your decanter was an avenue of salvation for our kind, while it brought death. As you stand before me, and as you stand before your descendants, I ask you one last time: why did you do it?”

  Claret opened her eyes and looked at the crowd as the Monsignor looked on. The crowd was silent.

  Claret opened her mouth, preparing to speak, and then closed it. Finally, she spoke, looking out at the crowd.

  “I am your Empress. You all descend from me! Without me, you would not even exist! My ‘Hooded Man’ is a faithful servant. And I gave him direct orders – to cleanse our kind. There were those who were chosen to drink from the decanter to cleanse our society of immortals that were not living up to the standards that I decreed thousands of years ago!”

  The crowd murmured as Claret looked over at the Monsignor. “And he will continue, Monsignor. The ‘Hooded man’ will not stop. You will never stop him. Because he is death. And I have selected those in our population to…revert back to their original human state. The decanter serves as a catalyst for that.”

  The Monsignor glared at Claret. “You chose them for extermination.”

  Claret smiled and shook her head. “I am keeping our ranks where they should be. Dispose of the problems. That’s what a leader does.”

  The Monsignor was handed an additional rolled parchment paper decree. He unrolled it and held it at arm’s length, and cleared his throat. “Claret Atarah,” he said, looking over at her, then at the crowd, which had hushed to silence, and back at Claret. He then continued. “For crimes against immortals, and for extermination other immortal members, we find you guilty as charged. You will hang from a cross on Golgatha until you burn and dry from hunger. You will then be exterminated and will cease to exist.”

  Conversations in the crowd swelled as Claret struggled to break free from the soldiers’ grip. “You will not exterminate me! I am your ruler! You bow down to me! I cannot be killed!” She stopped struggling and threw her head back in laughter. “I cannot be killed,” she said, as Monsignor Harrison signaled to the soldiers. They dragged her through the curtains as the crowd cheered.

  *****

  Antoine stood next to Delia in the crowd at the base of Golgatha. Delia leaned against Antoine’s shoulder, as Claret was led
to the wooden cross, as the soldiers placed her arms at either side, and her feet were tied at the base. She fought with the soldiers as Monsignor Harrison held up a long nail.

  “You all will perish!” She hissed as nails were driven into her feet and arms. She squirmed as the nails tore into her skin, spurting blood into the air, and onto her arms and legs. She looked up at the Monsignor.

  “These nails signify the pain you have brought your immortal community. For those sins, you will be stripped of your immortality. Your body will age and rejoin your soul in this time, leading to a final and eternal death. Damnation forever.”

  The cross was raised in front of the crowd. Antoine’s mouth fell open.

  The Monsignor looked over at Antoine and Delia. “She will hang here until her body catches up to her soul. And then we will remove her and burn her.”

  Antoine nodded and shook his head. “What a horrible way to die.”

  Delia squeezed his arm. “Christ died this way, Antoine. Yes, it’s horrendous. And Christ did nothing to deserve it. Claret tried to exterminate her own kind.”

  “So why didn’t the Monsignor choose to dispose of Claret another way? Why crucifixion?”

  Delia looked up at Claret hanging on the cross as the crowd started to disperse. “It sends a message to all of the immortals. That the crime of exterminating one’s own kind garners serious punishment.”

  “We’re never getting into Heaven, Delia. We are damned. It’s about time you opened your eyes.”

  Delia shook her head. “No. The cross has always been a symbol of hope. There is hope for our kind as well.”

  Antoine shook his head. “What about us? Immortals. We are the damned. There certainly is no Heaven for us.”

  “I have had a lot of discussions with Father Bauman, Antoine. And I have come to the conclusion that the damned are never truly damned. We just believe that we are.”

  *****

  Antoine stood at the base of the hill and watched Claret after the crowd had dispersed. Delia and Ramiel sat on some nearby stones. He looked up as Claret squirmed on the cross, and when he looked at her closely, he saw that she was not the same Claret. The blood that dripped from the wounds on her ankles and wrists had begun to dry up. The sun started to set as Claret hung her head down.

  Antoine turned around and Delia raised her head. Antoine looked Delia in the eyes. “Do you think she’s gone?” Delia craned her neck around Antoine to see Claret hanging on the cross, and shook her head. “It would not be this subtle.”

  Antoine watched out towards the horizon as the sky turned purple, and the last moments of sun were slipping from the horizon. He paused for a moment as he saw movement.

  He pointed out towards the desert. “Delia! Ramiel! Look!”

  The both got up and joined Antoine at the base of the cross, looking out towards the edge of the sky.

  There was movement.

  Like a billowing cloud, forming and expanding on the terrain.

  Come with me.

  They all froze.

  Ramiel stepped forward and placed his hand on Antoine’s shoulder. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Antoine nodded. “I think so.”

  The white cloud expanded and moved closer towards Golgatha.

  Drink from me…

  Antoine froze and pushed Ramiel and Delia aside. “It’s him!”

  Delia shook her head. “No. Don’t. Stop Antoine. Stay here!”

  Antoine stood behind Delia and Ramiel as the Hooded Man, in his flowing red cloak, with his faceless darkness, levitated towards Golgatha. They looked up at him, his enormous presence, as Claret hung on her cross in the foreground.

  Delia looked up at the Hooded Man as the winds increased in intensity. Claret awoke and squirmed on the cross.

  Delia took several steps towards the Hooded Man and looked up at him. “Remove your hood! Show us who you are!”

  Claret craned her neck to the right. “Don’t you do that! You keep your identity as I instructed you!”

  Drink and you will live forever.

  “No!” Delia said. She raised her arms up, towards a sky that was getting increasingly angry, as the clouds swirled above them. “Remove your hood! You can be saved!”

  And the Hooded Man brought his arms up towards the side of the hood.

  I do not carry the decanter. I no longer carry the symbol of death.

  Ramiel shouted over the increasing winds. “Then what do you carry?”

  Thunder rumbled as Claret stopped struggling.

  The ‘Hooded Man’ paused for a few moments, and removed his hood. The darkness permeated the air, just for a moment, a flash of black which flew away in an instant. Antoine, Delia and Ramiel looked up, as the darkness dissipated, and the sky calmed.

  Antoine’s eyes widened. “You’re a man!” A person. A human, with balding hair, glasses and a warm smile. “You have been doing this all this time?”

  He looked down, as he levitated down towards the group of immortals. “My name is George Stanley.”

  Antoine, Ramiel and Delia all looked at George, dumbfounded.

  George looked down at the group of Immortals gathered at the base of the cross. “I had my problems when I was living…”

  Claret hissed and writhed on the cross just as George joined the others.

  “Let me handle this,” George said, approaching the base of the cross. He reached under his robe and pulled out a small, plain cup. He held it up so Claret could see it. She looked down.

  “Is this what you are looking for?”

  Ramiel nudged Antoine. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She screeched and foamed at the mouth. “Give it to me! I need it now! Listen to my commands!”

  George shook his head and looked down. He held the cup and walked over towards Delia, placing it in her hands.

  “I give this to you,” he said.

  Antoine shook his head as Ramiel looked on, grinning.

  “I don’t understand,” Antoine said.

  George turned around and looked at Antoine directly. “I drank from this cup, Antoine, and the spell was broken. The decanter is an imposter. It brings death. This cup brings life. It’s no wonder Claret wants it so much.”

  “How did you get it?” Delia asked.

  “Claret had been coming to me when my wife was dying from cancer. She appeared to me, she came to me in voices. And I will be the first to say it. I was a troubled human. I was not a model or an individual with morals.”

  “That’s probably why she chose you,” Antoine said.

  George nodded. “Yes. Most likely. I had my weaknesses. I opened myself up. And then she started speaking to me. This voice. That told me to acquire four young men. And I kept them in cages in my basement.”

  “They became the Four Hoodsmen,” Delia said. “I remember that.”

  “Yes,” George said. “I killed myself shortly after questioning. If you remember the morning of the ‘Four Funerals’, that was when I was apprehended.”

  “And then what happened to you?” Ramiel asked.

  “After I hung myself, I was in my cell, and my vision gradually faded to black. The next thing I remember, I came to on a beach of stones, underneath an angry, red sky, and I was thirsty. So very, very thirsty. I think I may have gone to Hell.”

  “You didn’t go to Hell,” Delia said. “You were in purgatory. I know a lot of these matters.”

  George nodded and Antoine and Ramiel looked on. He handed the cup to Delia. “You take this. I no longer need it. You are aware of its power. So am I. I know you will use the power correctly. It has removed this curse. I am no longer cursed to carry a decanter of death.”

  Delia handed the cup to Ramiel. “Go bring this to the Monsignor. Have him drink from it.”

  AGNUS DEI

  Oh my angel.

  You have carried me through the rivers of blood and the forests of hatred. You have protected me. My sunken eyes. I close them so I cannot see the turmoil. I plug my ears with my fi
ngers so I cannot hear the screaming.

  But you protect me, without fail.

  My war angel.

  *****

  When the evil beast dies, the ground will open up and angels will emerge from the burning timbers and ashes; she will protect; he will serve and never deny. For the angel is without sex, without reservation and will always place the safety in the arms of the protector.

  For the hills of Golgatha are always underneath the shadow of the clouds, and where she hung, nailed to a cross, her arms spread wide, reaching outwards over the world, her face seeking Heaven; bright red blood dripped down her arms, spreading a virulent red patchwork.

  “You drain me of my life force but you will not end me!”

  But in a fleeting moment, she was gone. Claret’s body had shriveled and decomposed and slithered right off the cross in a putrid mess.

  *****

  But there was one still there, standing off to the side; one who watched the crucifixion, who watched the ‘Hooded Man’ remove his hood and redeem himself, and watched Claret die and slither off the cross.

  She had stood with the others, but went unnoticed. She listened to and observed all of the conversations, but did not say a word.

  And when everyone cleared away, she mounted her steed against a backdrop of fire and the sound of hooves approaching her as she ignited the ground around the cross. She raised her sword and pulled on the mane. “Raise your swords and follow me!” Her horse galloped forward, through the smoke, and orange lights, through the unknown and throughout the unknown.

  And then, when she vanished into the smoke and clouds, there was a feeling of loss. Several of the soldiers who had hung back, paused for a moment, watching the flames. “She sacrificed herself for us.”