One Great Year

by Tamara Veitch

  Marcus assumed that Helghul was returning to the tunnels near the secret cenote, but he could not imagine why. The young man’s body pulsated with curiosity and adrenaline as he passed over the location where Theron had almost drowned. Marcus loved a good mystery, and he was certain that Helghul was hiding something.

  CHAPTER 5

  CONJURING DARKNESS

  The Exodus

  His glider discarded, Marcus had to move quickly to keep Helghul in sight as he navigated expertly through the labyrinth of tunnels and caves in the mountainside. They had already passed the glowing cenote as they delved deeper into the Earth. Innumerable colonies of bats slept, squeaked, and flew through the caverns. Marcus flinched as a tough, bony wing brushed his cheek.

  The smell of bat feces was overwhelming, and Marcus covered his mouth and nose in disgust. He tried to keep his steps as light as possible and was aware of the movement and life skittering around him in the darkness. Helghul’s light source disappeared ahead many times, and Marcus had almost become lost in the overwhelming obscurity more than once. He listened for Helghul’s footfalls and cursed his own unpreparedness.

  As they wound deeper into the rocky maze, Marcus grew concerned. What if he got lost? What if Helghul had seen him and was leading him into a trap? How would he find his way out? Who knew what danger might lie ahead or what creature he could encounter? Marcus’s skin prickled and burned as each hair and follicle bristled at attention. He was rushing to keep pace and held his arm bent over his head at eye level to warn of rock outcroppings, since the light was almost always only a flicker turning through the low, narrow passageway in the distance. He was almost bent in half and wondered if he should turn back from his reckless pursuit.

  The tunnel narrowed further, and Marcus hurried as Helghul disappeared through a ridiculously small opening approximately two yards up the wall. Ignoring the sticky foulness of the bat feces and knowing that the rock face was rife with spiders and other creatures, Marcus pressed his body against the stone and found foot and hand holds. He then boosted himself up and cautiously emerged through the opening, which was only just large enough to allow his broad shoulders entry.

  Marcus pulled himself up and was standing on a steep precipice. Below him was an open, circular pit that likely had an entrance from the other side of the mountain. It had obviously once been excavated, and he noticed the glimmer of residual atlantium crystal on the surrounding cliffs as the firelight danced in shadows. The hollowed cavern had no natural light but was illuminated by five large torches evenly spaced around the circumference.

  Marcus heard the loud murmur of voices, and as his eyes traveled down the cave walls he was stunned to see the unusual and substantial congregation gathered below. Beneath each of the torches stood an enormous male Nephilim looking more harsh and menacing than ever. Each wore extravagant leather armor braided with silver and gold.

  There were hundreds of humans, including Helghul. There were both women and men, and Marcus recognized most of them. They were all students, and he wondered which of them had been chosen as Emissaries, if any, and what business they could possibly have in this pit.

  Helghul seemed to have a position of importance among the group. As he passed, each individual bowed to him in respect. On his order, the group began to chant, focusing on the chromatic notes. The inharmonious chant grated on Marcus, and he rolled his head on his neck to shake out the tension that had gathered in his body. He gritted his teeth as the dark intonation continued and grew louder. He had never heard anything like the hum that vibrated through him, the air, and the earth, reaching the darkness just below.

  Marcus’s instincts were warning that he should flee, but his curiosity would not permit it. He was determined to see what Helghul was up to. It was a decision he would eventually regret many times.

  Suddenly, the eavesdropper’s attention was drawn by a burst of light to the opening through which he had just come. Marcus shifted as far as he could away from the hole and found a generous outcropping in the dark wall. Silently he cursed his white pants and tunic, aware that his dark brown skin would camouflage him much more effectively. He tucked himself out of sight as best he could, his belly flat against the ridge, knowing that it wouldn’t hide his brawny frame if anyone shone a light directly at him. He saw a slender white hand reach up through the opening, and his heart hammered in his chest as he prepared to fight or flee, though luckily neither was necessary.

  The figure passed within two yards of him and, as Marcus had hoped, the individual’s attention and light source had been fixed on the spectacle and sound below. He was not discovered. Marcus released the air slowly from his lungs as the newcomer joined the others in the hollow.

  The new arrival was obviously in charge and wore a heavy, dark cloak. Marcus regretted that he hadn’t dared a look as the stranger had passed, desperate as he was to know who had convened a group of students in such an unlikely place. The ringleader’s voice suddenly boomed through the eerie vibration of voices. It was familiar but quivered strangely, and Marcus could not place it. The glow of the torches flickered as a hot wind was conjured and twisted up from the center of the circle. Before he had time to think, a ceremony had begun below him.

  “Shadows of the underworld, we call upon you. Empower your disciples. Your servants will go forward and be the Adversaries to the Emissaries of the Light. Give us strength. We come in service, to free you of your tethers, to open the door to your prison, and to bask in your power! The Golden Age has ended; we share in your glory. We come willingly to suffer on your behalf, to sacrifice for your freedom!” the deep voice roared, as the chanting continued and grew louder.

  Marcus was horrified by the words and he prayed silently, surrounding himself in white light. Again his intuition beseeched him to flee, but he would not. His curiosity, his need to know, could not be overcome by fear or common sense, and he stood mesmerized as a scene of horror and carnage unfolded at lightning speed below him.

  “We bring the innocents at this time of decline, this time of change, and we give them to you freely, oh evil serpents of the world forsaken,” the voice continued. The ring of students was circling, swaying, and jerking as if in a trance. The Nephilim, who had thus far stood silently observing beneath the five points of light around the room, disappeared to a corner of the cavern that Marcus could not see. Marcus could vaguely hear the squawk of creatures, perhaps birds, but the dark hymn was so loud that he could not be sure.

  The fervor of the chanting group doubled, and their movements became frantic as the Nephilim returned to their posts beneath the torches. Marcus struggled to comprehend the scene. With horror, he realized that each of the giants held a flailing, squirming child. The indifferent Nephilim held the screaming babes like sacks in front of them and roughly passed them to members of the macabre circle.

  I have to do something! What is this? Marcus thought in panic. Nothing in his life in Atitala had prepared him for this. In the brief second it took Marcus to compose a single coherent thought, it was too late to intervene, though it would have been useless at any rate. Without warning, or further ceremony, the central leader raised his hands into the air and shouted.

  “Rise now, Darkness. Accept this sacrifice!” The toddlers were mercilessly swung against the cave walls as if they were mats to be beaten clean. Marcus dropped to his knees in shock, and a powerful howl inexorably escaped him and was swallowed easily by the noise below.

  Too late Marcus turned his face away; what he had witnessed could not be unseen. He retched over and over, vomiting in the dirt as he sobbed uncontrollably. The Nephilim had each taken up a wide drum, and they began to beat in rapid pulse, urging the humans on. Marcus rocked back and forth in horror, his eyes clamped tightly closed, unable to stop the retching that wracked his body.

  The chanting continued, heightened by the carnage. Marcus dared not look. He did not want to see the gore; he could not fathom the violation of God’s laws, the inhuman sacrifice of the innocent. H
e felt the evil grow exponentially around him, and he shivered and cried in horror. He wanted to disappear, to be anywhere other than where he was, and the burden of guilt was quick to envelop him. He should have done something! Anything! As the blood of the little ones stained the walls of the cave, so it indelibly stained Marcus’s soul. He had witnessed humanity at its darkest.

  Again the master began to speak and Marcus trembled, immobile and forever changed. He dared to look again just as Helghul moved to the center of the feverish, chanting circle. The student had removed his tunic and stood only in trousers; his lean torso trembled in anticipation and his pale skin glowed orange in the firelight. The females in the group churned and danced as if entranced; still chanting, they discarded their robes. Their varied shapes and movements, their exposed flesh, fed the perverse energy that was building in the room.

  The Nephilim watched eagerly as the leader directed the many women to the torches on the wall. They ran their hands along the sticky, blood-soaked surfaces. They placed their soiled hands on Helghul’s waiting body, smearing the gory mess across his naked chest, abdomen, thighs, and face. They kissed him and licked him, clutching and rubbing. There was no part of him unmolested, and the sexual energy of the rite raised the fervor of the group.

  The cloaked master never joined, but directed the men in the outer circle to fall in upon the women in a base frenzy of sexual chaos: a reward for their allegiance. The Nephilim shouted and cheered in depraved appreciation. The remnants of bloodied white robes and tunics were torn away as the Adversaries’ bodies became alive with the burning, compelling power of the lower chakra impulses, and they violently coupled, sodomized, and fornicated in every combination possible. Their unquenchable sexual desire was the hold over them. Lust was an age-old influence and power that had led many to the Darkness with its promise of pleasure. Their further wish for power, notoriety, and material reward had led each of them to the cavern.

  The drumming continued, but the chanting had been replaced by guttural grunts and cries and moans and, more ominously, the sound of distant thunder. It was so far from the experience Marcus had shared with Theron only hours earlier. Helghul was at the center of the rite, shaking in twisted orgasm, when the leader shouted above the din.

  “It is time for the initiate to become the host. The soul who will be offered to the dark entity stands willingly before us. Power will be yours!” the leader declared, and the group broke their chant and echoed him.

  “Power will be ours!” they bellowed, robotically separating from one another and returning to their circle. When the drumming suddenly ended, Marcus could clearly hear the rumble of thunder, deep and ominous, and a distant roar like that of a lion.

  Get out! Marcus’s inner voice shouted in warning. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of impending doom that pressed his already overfilled senses. He was in shock, and there was no power in him to run away.

  The leader began to speak in a strange language that Marcus did not recognize. The naked group continued to sway hypnotically as if drugged, as they began once again to chant, sweat and blood streaking their bodies. As he orated, the cloaked man circled Helghul with a large silver knife. The younger man stood fearlessly waiting with his arms outstretched.

  Shadows stirred and moved through the cavern—shadows newly come, not cast by fire or form but with their own will and way. Helghul’s bloodied face was turned boldly skyward, and he looked weirdly euphoric. Dark powers and ambitions not seen for many millennia were being called upon.

  The sinister master brought the knife down, resting the glinting blade against the flesh of Helghul’s forearm. Though Marcus’s hatred for his adversary burned like never before, he did not wish to see his murder and he instinctively said a prayer for him. The master began to speak:

  “Hear me now, Darkness of the night

  Chained in the fetters of fire by Light

  Reach now forth this sacred land

  Misbegotten beast take now this offered hand

  See me now, oh wicked eye

  Seek this place from whence we die

  Offer this, your sacred feast

  Rise up now, all-powerful beast!”

  On the final syllable the leader handed Helghul the blade, and the young man willingly slashed open his own extended forearm. His blood spurted across the dirt and a jagged crevice opened up in the ground, expanding deeper and wider where the crimson trail had fallen. There was a deviant howl and a loud crack as the rock bed beneath their feet split open.

  Marcus prayed desperately, begging for divine intervention and sending light and positive energy into the cavern below. Marcus’s single light was not enough, and the shadows and dark energy continued to spew forth. Repeatedly, the vast chamber filled and the Darkness moved easily through the walls, released into the world beyond.

  Marcus trembled as a terrifying demonic presence emerged from the chasm like cruel afterbirth and filled the chamber. The ten-headed, dragon-like beast glowed in particles and waves. It was an ominous grey, purple, and blue like a bruise. The evil presence gnashed its jagged fangs, howling at the mesmerized group as they chanted and reveled in the dark vibration.

  Helghul, formerly brave and defiant, inwardly shuddered at the sight of it. It was more horrible than he had imagined, more horrible than his worst nightmare, and his passionate fervor was replaced by cold dread. Denying his fear, he lifted his head proudly, drawing on the envy and admiration of the adoring assembly. He was the chosen one, and he offered up his bloody arm.

  The roar was unbearable as the wraith entered Helghul like a drug through a syringe. It infiltrated his veins through his bloody, self-inflicted wound, and Helghul screamed in agony as his body was lifted a yard off the ground. He jerked and jolted violently, defying gravity in the center of the circle and hovering over the endless crevice. The torches on all sides of the room grew brighter, highlighting Helghul’s contorted face.

  As the evil took hold, Helghul could not resist. He was no longer in charge of himself; he had been overtaken by his own choice. The new Helghul growled in twisted ecstasy. The room cleared of the last demonic shadows as they emptied through the walls into the vulnerable world outside. The transfer was complete. Helghul stood on his feet, a welcoming host to the Darkness. The King of the Adversaries had been ordained.

  Fractures had opened around the globe as the membrane between worlds had been successfully breached and the underworld had been freed of its confines. The cloaked leader signaled an end to the chanting.

  “We have succeeded. Through Helghul we have opened the gate to the Darkness, the cycle has shifted. Our strength will exponentially increase as the Age declines. The Emissaries must not succeed in bringing enlightenment to the new world. You, among others, will be the instruments of discord, and it is your calling to ensure that evil will out. Adversaries depart! Spread fear, isolation, and doubt, and by all means control the weak. Manage the unconscious and lead them as they grow in number. Keep their life forces bound and slumbering, and their frequencies will remain low and feeble.”

  The dark speaker was interrupted by the groan of shifting earth. “There is no time left. You must all get to the wharf! There is no time to lose!”

  As if awakened from a deep hypnotic state, the students jerked upright, scrambling to dress.

  “We have not been chosen as Emissaries. How will we board the boats?” one of the Adversaries asked.

  “The passage of the Adversaries is assured. The Universal balance guarantees it. Like the Emissaries, you have chosen your path.”

  The Adversaries departed for the wharf. They were not the possessed, mechanistic assembly from moments before. They showed no remorse or shock, but rushed purposefully toward the waiting boats. The Nephilim were dismissed and filed out of the cave, their lust for blood fulfilled.

  “What about the blood?” Marcus heard a woman ask, referring to her stained garments.

  “In the chaos of tonight, it will never be noticed,” the leader promised. �
��Take the east exit. Everyone hurry to the boats!”

  Marcus heard the urgings of the dark leader, and though he knew that he too must hurry and get to Theron at the wharf, it was too dangerous to move. From below, the students swiftly mounted the stone steps and passed Marcus, hiding only yards away. Helghul was now alone with the grand master, and Marcus tried to see who was hidden beneath the dark cloak but his hood remained in place.

  “Helghul, you have done well. You will go on to live many lives of great consequence.”

  “I feel the power within me—it’s intoxicating—but strangely I still feel myself,” Helghul answered.

  “You are yourself, but more. You are immortal. As ever, your soul goes on, though your avatar material incarnation will be born and die. Your spirit is united with the Power but, though you may feel it, you are not invincible. Before you go there is one last thing … I have an elixir that will grant you life-memory. The potion will allow that when you reincarnate, one lifetime to another, you will have memory … an advantage the Emissaries will not have.”

  “Why would you not give it to all of us?” Helghul asked. Marcus had just been wondering the same thing and cringed that he had shared a thought with the monster.

  “Because it gives one too much power. Power must be carefully protected … if it is shared, it ceases to exist.”

  “But why then, why did White Elder not give it to his Emissaries to empower them?”

  “Her weakness and compassion—memory is a cruel burden she would not impart. She believes each lifetime must be a journey to enlightenment as intended, even for the chosen ones … even in the darkest times.”

  Marcus’s hatred welled up in him, and he was enraged by the notion that Helghul would have the advantage of memory and he would not. If there is a memory elixir, we should all have it. The Emissaries could do far more good, couldn’t they? It would allow Theron and me to remember one another as well, he thought. He must talk to White Elder and convince her.