The Balance Omnibus

by Alan Baxter

  The Sorcerer shook his head. ‘You misunderstand me. Certainly this Order has grown from a seed I planted and, quite frankly, has grown beyond anything I originally envisaged. But it endures because, while I leave the running of individual Gathers to capable and loyal people like yourself, I control all of you Optimates without any democracy. You obey me and that’s final.’

  ‘Well, I can’t argue with that. But none of us resent it. Our rewards are legion.’

  The Sorcerer nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He stared past his hands at the wood of the desk. An uncomfortable silence persisted for several moments. Eventually, ‘Do you have any idea what that costs me?’ The Sorcerer looked up, pinning Darryl with his flinty gaze.

  Darryl shifted in his seat. ‘No, Dominus. But anything we could do to ease that burden, I’m sure we would do gladly.’

  The Sorcerer nodded. ‘Good. That is the point, you see. I am a control freak. It is necessary for our Order to survive. Therefore I guide all of my Optimates with a steel grip and I watch over you with a distant eye. It takes an enormous amount of power for me to maintain my control. A long time ago I developed a way to supplement that power.

  ‘With events as they are currently progressing, enormous drains on me are drawing out more power than I have at my control and I must increase the supplementation.’ Darryl’s face was creased in concentration as he struggled to follow the Sorcerer’s words. His Dominus seemed to be struggling to make sense. The Sorcerer stood. ‘I am trying to justify my decision to you, Darryl, as I feel that you deserve it. However, I’m afraid that my mind is frayed with a thousand concerns.’

  Darryl stood up. ‘Dominus, I don’t need to understand. Just tell me what I can do to ease your burden.’

  ‘Yes. You have been a long and loyal servant of mine, Darryl, and you deserve better than this. Perhaps what you really deserve is a promotion to the Eighth Degree. However, rest assured that your continued service in this new role is vital and incredibly important. We must translocate.’

  Darryl nodded nervously. ‘Of course, Dominus, but I have never been very good at that.’

  ‘Few have. Concentrate, Darryl. We need to go somewhere far away and you will have to follow me closely. Let me do the work and let me worry about our destination.’

  ‘Certainly. And what exactly is this new role, Dominus?’ Darryl’s eyes were nervous.

  The Sorcerer walked around the desk and stood before Darryl, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders, fingertips digging in with a powerful grip. ‘Draw your blood, Optimates.’

  Darryl obediently took a knife from his pocket and drew its blade across his arm. As his blood flowed he looked into the Sorcerer’s eyes. The Sorcerer began to mutter the words of their magic and Darryl let himself become subject to those words.

  They Travelled and reformed in a hot, dark, humid place. As they arrived, Darryl noticed that his Dominus was still uttering words of ancient blood magic and he felt himself trapped, paralysis preventing any movement but his eyes. And his eyes fed him information that caused his bladder to release its contents and his organs to flutter and tremble with fear.

  They stood in a large cavern, its walls shiny and slick with moisture. A thick, viscous mucous covered everything and dripped in long, pregnant tears and pooled around them. Puddles of it gathered in hollows. A susurration of laboured breathing filled the cave. In the centre of the roughly circular floor was a shallow dip, a viscous pool, that Darryl faced and could not take his eyes away from, though he wished fervently that he could. In the pool were people and some were people that he knew. Or had known. They lay naked and gaunt, skeletal with malnutrition, yet somehow alive and it was their breathing that he heard sighing through the cavern. They were smothered in the thick mucous that coated everything and they squirmed and shifted, their discomfort apparent, their expressions pained. They stared at Darryl and his Dominus with beseeching eyes, began reaching desperately towards them. Twenty or more people were trapped there.

  The Sorcerer looked at Darryl with an expression of genuine regret. ‘Yes, Darryl. These people are Optimates, some you have known. They are among the most powerful members of the ONC. No doubt it is occurring to you now that there must have been a reason that very few Optimates you have met are much older than yourself? The organisation has been around a long time and it needs an engine to power it. I need more power from that engine than ever before, so the engine needs to be enlarged. Every so often this is necessary. And as Optimates age they are more useful here.’

  Tears began to run from Darryl’s eyes. He stared in horror at people that he had known, some he had never seen before, now grotesque and violated in the most hideous way. He didn’t want to be like them. He gave out a moan of despair, a wail like the cry of a person trapped in a nightmare, unable to scream as they want to.

  The Sorcerer put a hand on his shoulder. ‘These are the Custodis Cruor, my son. In many ways, they are the most important members of the ONC. They are the power behind the group. The power behind me. They watch, they observe, they empower. They have spent decades in the mortal world improving their abilities and now they combine, the sum far greater than the individuals. Through them, my power remains strong enough to control everything. Now you must join them. I need more power.’

  Darryl began to tremble despite his paralysis. The wailing continued from his frozen mouth, staccato with laboured breaths. The Custodis Cruor squirmed and moaned.

  ‘I need an enormous amount of power to move unseen,’ the Sorcerer said quietly, almost regretfully. His eyes hardened as he looked at Darryl again. ‘The power of the great is often at the expense of a few and the control of the many. You still have a part in this, Darryl, and it is a valuable part. You will learn to be a part of the whole. Your own individual consciousness will not really remain. Not... really. You will be part of a greater mind.’

  Over Darryl’s increasingly desperate keening the Sorcerer began again to incant. As he spoke he used his own knife to cut away Darryl’s clothing. Pushing the unfortunate Optimates to the ground he removed shoes and socks. Once Darryl was naked, the Sorcerer drew his blade across Darryl’s chest, blood spilling swiftly, mingling with hair and mucous. Sliding his faithful servant easily across the slick cavern floor, the Sorcerer added the man to the collected Custodis Cruor in their pool of gelatinous slime. As Darryl screamed, the Custodis swarmed clumsily over him, clawing and grasping, sucking at the blood on his chest, hugging his limbs and head tightly to themselves.

  The Sorcerer continued to intone hideous words, binding Darryl to the group. The frenzy of activity subsided and the Custodis slipped back into their supine repose, gently shifting and undulating. Darryl’s body, looking gruesomely fresh among the emaciated group, settled, his face twisting from fear and horror to settle into something like the others. Resigned, impotent. Trapped.

  The Sorcerer stepped back from the pool, sweating profusely in the intense humidity. ‘Your numbers increased. Your power increased. I must be invisible, untraceable, now that the time has come for me to move. Watch everyone, know everything and protect my journey.’ The effort of working such enormous magics as he did to control this group caused blood to trickle from the Sorcerer’s nose and ears. He felt the magic pulling at him, trying to rend his soul, but he knew this power was his and he had held it for a long time. The return on his investment was power amplified a thousandfold. ‘Obey me,’ he said.

  The Custodis Cruor shifted and howled softly. Their combined voice was like wind in dry trees and Darryl’s lips moved along with the others. ‘Nos obtempero.’

  Faith walked along Oxford Street, watching people more closely than she ever had before. She held her own aura, her presence, in check. She had continually practised and it was becoming easier all the time. It was actually a very simple process. She likened it to getting dressed, only she was wearing an imaginary jumpsuit that covered her entirely from head to toe. The more she practised pulling this imaginary outfit on and letting it slip away, the easier
it became. Already, this morning, Lars had complimented her again on her great natural ability and the speed with which she learned and improved. Then, of course, the business of the ONC had taken him away and she was left once more to her own devices. After a while of practising inside, masking and unmasking herself at will, she decided to go outside and try out the other aspect of last night’s lesson.

  Walking the streets, she was overwhelmed with the clarity with which she saw things that she had never considered before. Learning to see as she had done last night had opened eyes in her mind and made her privy to secrets that were hard to believe. And yet, it was also hard to believe that she had not been able to see them before. How could everyone not be aware of these things? She watched people and knew things about them instantly. She could see who was generally a kind, generous person and who was mean and selfish. She could see people that were worried, happy, frightened, sad. She didn’t necessarily know why, but she did know, beyond a doubt, that this was the case. She felt like a blind person cured, such was the difference in her perception.

  Before she realised it, she’d walked the length of Oxford Street and found herself at Hyde Park, near the centre of the city. She entered the park and sat on soft grass, soaking up sunshine and warmth. Across from her, some thirty metres away, a homeless man lay among large, plastic laundry bags, striped blue, white, red. A bottle in a paper bag lay on the grass beside him and he slept the sleep of the paralytic. Faith let her new sense of perception wash over him and he seemed little more than the wasted human life he appeared. But something was different. Something seemed out of place. She tried to look harder, tried to see more clearly. Nothing changed, but the sure knowledge that there was something more to see gnawed at her.

  She remembered the words that would let her pass by the wards set in place by the ONC. Those horrible words inched and crawled into her forebrain, clamouring to be used. Without really thinking about it, she pressed one long thumbnail into the side of her index finger. Sawing back and forth, drawing a little blood, she whispered the words under her breath, willing herself to see through whatever it was the drunken bum had wrapped around him.

  The man shifted, as if uncomfortable in his sleep. As he moved his image ripped and peeled away, as if his body had instantly grown and burst from too tight a package. His true nature revealed, Faith gasped at what she saw. Simultaneously the man sat bolt upright, staring directly into her eyes, his wide mouth opening in a snarl, a hiss escaping between rows of vicious, sharp teeth, his long snout drawn back in anger.

  Faith sucked air in through her mouth, dropping her probing spell, and jumped to her feet. She slammed her own shield of anonymity tightly around herself, backing away, unable to take her eyes off the man. Or whatever the fuck he was. But it was too late. He had seen everything.

  The drunk’s cloak slipped back into place before her eyes as he seemed to morph back into a normal, harmless, drunken bum. He looked around, as if checking to see if anyone else had seen what had happened. Faith followed his gaze, looking around the park. People sat and talked or read or walked along the paths, oblivious to the incredible occurrence in their midst. As her gaze returned to the drunk she screamed and leapt backwards. He was standing right before her, his grizzled, stubbly face leering into hers, his breath rancid and hot.

  He laughed, sick and burbling. ‘You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?’

  Faith backed away, one hand up, palm forward like a shield. ‘Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!’

  ‘You know a little, but, oh, you’re green! You’re green and ripe for the plucking.’ The man advanced, reaching one hand towards her outstretched palm.

  She pulled her hand back, clutching both hands tightly to her chest. She sought something, anything, that Lars might have taught her that could help with this. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the folding knife Lars had given her. She fumbled it open, the short blade almost comical as a weapon. Regardless she waved it before her, left, right, left in trembling arcs.

  The man laughed, his head tipping back. ‘Foolish girl!’ His reaching hand began to elongate, his nails extending into gnarled claws.

  Faith looked frantically around, wondering why no one was making any fuss over what was happening. Everyone in the park appeared to continue on with their lives, oblivious. Run! For fuck’s sake, just run! Her fear held her rooted to the spot, even while her brain told her exactly what she needed to do. The hideous drunken creature advanced, his eyes hungry.

  There was a loud, raucous screech. A rapid squawking followed as a huge, black crow swept down between Faith and her assailant, wings beating, talons grasping. The drunk staggered backwards, swatting at the crow. ‘Argh, fuck off! You interfering bitch, fuck off!’

  Faith’s brain found a connection to her feet and, adrenaline flooding through her, she turned on her heel and bolted. The soles of her trainers slapped hot tarmac with quick rhythm and sweat began to pour off her in the summer heat. People shouted abuse as she thrust her way past them, pushing and swerving, ignoring everything but her own flight. She didn’t stop running until she had fallen in through the front door of Lars’s house and collapsed, sobbing, to the hallway floor.

  ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood.’

  Gupta jumped in shock at the words whispered in his ears and spun around. The grinning face of his friend Karl swam into view. Gupta made a stern face, indicating the crowds queuing around them with his eyes. ‘Keep quiet, you fool. We’re in public.’

  Karl chuckled. ‘No one can hear me. No one cares! Ready for your holiday?’ He emphasised the last word dramatically.

  Gupta shrugged. ‘I dunno. I’ve risked a good job for this.’

  The queue shuffled forward, the two friends moving with it, as a crackling tanoy announced that passengers on flight BA122 to Mumbai had better hurry, as the gates were about to close. The person making the announcement made no real effort to indicate that they cared one way or another.

  ‘A good job?’ Karl scoffed. ‘As if that’s important! Especially now.’

  ‘I get well paid and I have access to all sorts of things that allow me to sow seeds of chaos. If I lose my job and this... this Massed Gather is not the earth-shattering event it’s tipped to be, then I will have no money and have to start again.’

  Karl shrugged. ‘You’re always so damned organised, Gupta. So practical! It doesn’t matter now. After this trip, nothing will be the same again.’

  ‘Hmm. I really want to believe that’s true.’

  ‘It is! It really is. I can feel it in my water!’

  Karl’s enthusiasm was infectious. Gupta smiled. ‘I’m a worrier, I know. I want to be excited about this. I suppose I’m also a little scared. I’ve never been so far away and I have no idea what to expect.’

  Karl nodded. ‘Me either. But this is important. It must be, the way the Optimates are so serious, organising us all. And financing us poor suckers.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Gupta’s brow furrowed.

  ‘Ah, well, yes. I’m not really supposed to mention it, actually.’ Karl looked genuinely uncomfortable. ‘I went to see Optimates Gareth and told him that I really wanted to be a part of this but simply didn’t have enough money to afford the trip. I’m on the dole after all. He questioned me, even probed my mind, I’m sure of it. Then he just nodded and took a wad of cash from a drawer. He said this trip was too important and all the Degrees need to be there. He did also ask me not to mention it. Sorry.’

  Gupta made a sound of annoyance. ‘It’s a little unfair that those of us with money get penalised. Still, the important thing is that we’ll all be there.’

  Karl pointed that the queue had moved along and Gupta hurried to make up the gap. Karl grinned at his friend. ‘We’re about to be part of something that will change the course of history!’

  Gupta could not help but join his friend’s excitement, his own grin like a child that’s discovered where the cookie jar is hidden. They inched closer to the check-in desk
.

  11

  After several hours Isiah decided he had done enough. They stood in a hot, dusty street, outside a ramshackle hut housing an old, withered Hindu devotee. Petra was tired. ‘We’ve been all over the world and met some bizarre people, Isiah.’

  ‘I know. Sorry to subject you to that. But I think it was necessary.’

  Petra nodded. ‘Fair enough. But I repeat, you know some bloody strange people. Mind you, none so strange as the first we met at the Temple of the Dragons.’

  Isiah smiled. ‘Gabriel’s not so strange. I have to admit, I was intrigued about how his presence would affect you. I didn’t mean to experiment on you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Petra shrugged. ‘It was an interesting experience, regardless of your motives. But the strange people we recently met. They are an... unlikely collection.’

  Isiah paused in thought, deciding how best to explain. ‘There are always going to be people that are the public face of a faith, like the Pope. Then there are those that are true religious aesthetes. The ones that have learned to cultivate their belief to such levels that they really can commune with their gods in certain ways. Most people that claim such communion are simply bonkers or charlatans. But some people have the ability to really get it. They are, however, almost always bloody strange.’

  Petra returned Isiah’s grin. ‘You feel better now you have spoken to these people?’

  ‘I do. My position is difficult to maintain and I can be switched from a person’s close friend to their mortal enemy in an instant. Hazards of the job. But I’ve found that the more transparent I am, the more freely I share information, the less people take my actions personally. Gods tend to be less forgiving.’

  Petra stared into Isiah’s eyes, her expression ambiguous. Isiah raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘I thought my life was very different from the usual existence of people,’ Petra said quietly. ‘But you, your life is so different. And hard.’ Again she placed a hand on Isiah’s cheek, that warm, strong palm. Isiah began to wonder if it was not only her way of affectionate connection, but also a way of looking beyond the surface. ‘You can be very lonely, no?’