by Alan Baxter
‘I’m sorry, I’m in a bit of hurry.’ Her voice had the tone of all people trying to come up with a reason not help out. She sounded nervous.
‘Really, it won’t take a moment.’ Petra’s smile and honesty flooded off her in waves. She turned and pointed into the alley. ‘It’s just down there.’
‘What is?’
Isiah felt a slight surge of MageSign, felt the gentle breeze of Petra’s power drift out like billowing mist. She turned into the alley, her smile still in place, and flicked a wink to Isiah. His camouflage was basic. Anyone looking directly at him would see him easily and think he was simply dressed strangely to blend so with his surroundings, what a strange coincidence. Anyone not really looking would stare straight through him. Such was the nature of most people, seeing mainly what they expected to see. As Petra walked into the alley, Faith appeared behind her, an expression of confusion on her face. Her eyes betrayed her curiosity.
As Faith passed Isiah, Petra stopped and turned. She smiled again, but it was a sad smile. Faith paused, looking like she might turn and bolt. ‘I’m sorry,’ Petra whispered as Isiah stepped up behind Faith.
He used his will, poured his magic down over Faith, stripping her of her shield, her protective aura. A brutal and invasive thing to do, no different to walking up to someone and tearing the clothes from their body. In some ways worse. Before Faith had time to react, Petra let her own power flow out again and wrapped up Faith’s mind in psychic cotton wool. ‘Sleep, child,’ she whispered, and Faith collapsed into Isiah’s arms.
He swung her up into a comfortable carry and nodded. They hurried along the alley, turning left at the end and stopping at a hire car waiting there. Petra opened the back door and Isiah laid the unconscious Faith along the back seat. They jumped into the front and Isiah pulled away from the kerb.
‘Are you sure about where we’re going?’ Petra’s face was worried as she twisted to look at Faith.
Isiah nodded. ‘We can trust Herb.’
Petra turned back, flashing a look of suspicion at Isiah. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yeah, really, Herb’s a good bloke. You’ll like him.’
A fifteen minute drive out to the eastern beach suburbs of Sydney. Isiah drove into the thin, winding streets of Tamarama, blocks of flats rearing up all around them with the occasional California-styled house wedged between. He slowed down, looking up through the windscreen and side windows, scanning buildings and street signs. Petra chose not to suggest asking for directions, trusting in the two certainties that Isiah would claim to know where he was going and that he would be affronted by the suggestion he might need help from a stranger. Men were always funny like that.
She smiled to herself as Isiah drove for a second time along the same road. He stopped for a long time at the t-junction at the end before making a sudden decision and swinging the car in a full u-turn. He grinned at her as he straightened out. ‘Shut up. It’s been a while since I visited Herb.’
Petra raised her palms, smiling, saying nothing.
Eventually he pulled over. ‘Here we are. It’s changed a bit since I was last here.’ He pointed to a garish block of flats, stained wood balconies and a strange choice of green for the walls. ‘That never used to be there.’
‘It does look new,’ Petra conceded with a smile.
‘Wait here a moment.’ He hopped out of the car and jogged to an old run-down looking house next door to the new block of apartments. Vines and palms competed for space in the small front yard, growing over and around planks of wood and blocks of roughly hewn sandstone that were scattered about. The front door was in shadow under a broad porch, plainly in need of a coat of paint. The white wooden window frames were equally in need of repair, peeling and splintered. Curtains were drawn, hiding the interior from passing eyes.
Isiah rapped on the front door and waited. After a moment, it opened just a crack. Isiah made grand gestures and a broad smile and the door flew open. Two arms, gangly and thinly muscled, covered in a mish mash of tattoos, shot out and grabbed Isiah in a rough hug, pulling him in through the door. A moment later, Isiah backed out again, pointing to the car. He jogged back again, smiling. ‘He’s in.’
Petra laughed. ‘Apparently. Pleased to see you?’
Isiah smiled. ‘We have history, Herb and I.’ He opened the back door and lifted Faith from the seat. He might as well have been picking up a jacket, so at ease was he with his strength. Petra pulled the keys from the ignition and locked up the car before following Isiah into the house.
Isiah carried Faith into the gloomy interior, the smell of pot smoke immediate and strong. The rangy figure of Herb preceded him down the hallway and into a large lounge room at the back. The room had broad sliding glass doors in the rear wall, with a wide deck beyond. The doors were pulled all the way open, a light breeze drifting in over the small garden beyond the deck. A number of armchairs and couches were scattered throughout the room and music blared from a stereo with a bewildering array of lights and buttons. Next to it was a huge plasma screen television, with all the home theatre peripherals around it and around the room. A PC with a psychedelic screensaver lived an electronic life in the corner on a desk littered with CDs.
Herb hurried over and turned the music down, System Of A Down’s rant against the American prison system fading to a background gripe. He turned and grinned broadly. He had a thin but friendly face, his whole bearing like a greyhound or a whippet, lean, fast looking. He wore loose cotton Thai fisherman’s pants that did nothing to conceal just how skinny his legs were. His sleeveless t-shirt bore a legend about the dangers of combining guns and people. Tattoos covered his arms, shoulders, upper chest and, presumably, large parts of him that were not currently revealed. ‘Been a long time, man.’
Isiah laid Faith down on one of the couches and turned to face his friend. ‘It has. I’m sorry I haven’t been around to see you sooner.’
‘No worries, man. I know how busy you are.’ Herb turned to face Petra. ‘You’ve brought a couple of friends, I see.’
Isiah smiled. ‘This is Petra. A... good friend of mine. We’re working together at the moment.’
‘Right. Working together.’ Herb stepped up and reached out a hand to Petra. ‘Nice to meet you, love.’
‘Pleasure to meet you too.’
‘And what about this one? She hurt? High?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No, she’s okay. I’m afraid we need to impose on you a little bit. You’re the only person I know well around here and can trust.’
‘I owe you everything, brother. Me casa, su casa.’
‘Thanks. Can I explain later?’
Herb shrugged. ‘No problem. You need me to vamoose?’
‘No, we just need some quiet for a little while, but you’re welcome to stick around.’
Herb nodded. He went and switched the music off and picked up a bong and small bowl of clipped pot from a side table. ‘I’ll be partaking of the fresh air then.’ He smiled and headed out onto the deck, swinging expertly into a hammock strung there.
Isiah looked at Petra. ‘We need to work fast.’ He went back to the front door and began erecting psychic wards and barriers, closing the entire house within a bubble of his own conscious control. No MageSign could enter or leave, no person could come close without ringing astral alarm bells. It took only a couple of minutes before Isiah was happy that the entire place was secure.
He came back and sat on the edge of the couch, looking down at Faith. ‘You ready,’ he asked without looking up.
Petra nodded, joining Isiah by the couch. ‘Herb’s a nickname then, is it?’
‘It is,’ Isiah laughed. ‘But he’s sharp, don’t let the weed fool you.’
‘Sure. And you trust him, so I trust your judgment. Why does he say that he owes you everything?’
‘We had a thing a few years back. It’s a long story. But don’t worry, nothing we do will surprise him or freak him out. Not any more.’
Petra looked up as the sound of bu
bbling water followed by a sharp intake of breath floated through the open doors with the warm, humid air. She nodded. ‘Okay, so what do we do here?’
‘Bring her round really gently, really slowly. While you wake her, I’ll check to see if I can spot any tampering, any controls.’
Petra knelt by the couch, her palm flat across Faith’s forehead. Isiah sat on the edge of the couch by Faith’s hip, staring hard at her face. Petra began to rouse Faith from her induced slumber. Isiah let his mind spread out over Faith’s consciousness, like a fisherman casting out a net. He let his thoughts sink through layers of Faith’s own thoughts, probing, sensing.
Faith began to come around, waking as if in slow motion. Petra’s ability impressed Isiah yet again. He would never have managed such gentle manipulation, and he was good at it. Petra was a master. Faith’s eyes fluttered and she stirred physically for the first time. Petra whispered, ‘Shh, don’t panic. You’re safe.’
‘She’s got parts of herself trapped in here,’ Isiah said distantly, his own awareness buried deep in Faith’s psyche. ‘She’s being controlled, but not actively. Someone has put blocks on certain thought pathways.’
‘You need some help?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No. We don’t have time to figure out exactly what it all is. We’re taking a chance here anyway. I’m just going to strip it all away.’
Faith made a sound of protest, her eyes opening a little more. ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was weak.
Petra stroked her forehead. ‘It’s all right, Faith. We’re friends. We’re here to help you.’
Faith squirmed. ‘No. Don’t need help. Lars will.. the ONC will...’ Faith’s face twisted as if in pain and Isiah leaned back, his own expression registering shock.
‘Shit, it’s like her mind is minefield. She wasn’t supposed to be able to say that.’ He leaned forward again, his own eyes glazed as he looked beyond Faith’s conscious thoughts. ‘Say the name again, Faith. What’s the name of your society?’
Faith moaned, her mouth working like she was trying to swallow something bad tasting. ‘The O... the ONC... ah!’
Isiah made a noise, annoyance and a touch of pain. ‘This programming is nasty. Convoluted. Do you have a god, Faith? Who do you worship?’
Faith’s eyes rolled back, the whites showing through the narrow slits of her eyelids. ‘The All-Fath... Dag... Mor... Yath... Yath-vados.’ Isiah and Faith both made sounds of pain and frustration again. ‘What are you doing?’ Faith cried, her voice weak but desperate. ‘You’re hurting me!’
Isiah grimaced. ‘There’s stuff in here to destroy her mind if she talks about certain things to strangers. It’s intrinsic to her thought process.’
Petra stroked again, leaning forward to kiss Faith’s forehead. ‘I’m sorry, child. Please try to relax, trust us. We’re here to help.’
Isiah’s brow creased in concentration. ‘I’ve got it. I think that’s it. Let her wake up, but slowly.’ He sat back, watching intently.
Petra continued to stroke Faith’s brow, speaking in a soft, quiet voice. ‘Wake up, Faith. Open your eyes, all the way. Breathe deeply. Long, deep breaths. Wake up to us.’
Faith’s eyes fluttered again, but there was a sparkle to her eyes that had not been there before. She stared straight up to the ceiling for a moment, then gasped, sitting up. ‘Where am I?’
Isiah moved off the couch, crouching next to where Petra knelt, Faith’s feet swinging to the floor between them. He looked up into her eyes and smiled. ‘I’m sorry. Really I am. But there’s a lot you need to know.’
Faith looked from Isiah to Petra and back again, her eyes wide, teeth worrying her bottom lip. ‘I couldn’t read you before. You were blank, like you didn’t exist. But look at you now!’
Petra put a hand on Faith’s knee. ‘We hid from you before, but without erecting any kind of false façade. We simply put up a wall. You are extremely sensitive to be able to notice such things.’
‘You were watching me when I was in the café.’
‘We were, yes. We want to help you.’
‘Are you with the ONC? Are you friends of Lars?’ Faith’s face betrayed her fear and doubt. Doubt that either the people before her or Lars were actually her friends at all.
Isiah sat down on the carpet. ‘Did you know that you couldn’t have asked us that ten minutes ago?’
‘Asked you what?’
‘About the ONC. You couldn’t even have said the name. Your mind had been manipulated, conditioned against it. I think that every member of the ONC has a similar programming. It becomes a part of you, of your presence, and only in the presence of others does it allow you to name names and speak plainly about the society.’
‘Are you sure?’
Isiah nodded. ‘I suppose it’s one of many protection mechanisms that the ONC has in place. And one of the reasons it’s remained so secret.’
Faith began to cry. ‘I don’t know what’s happening.’
Petra sat up on the couch next to Faith, put her arms around her, hugging her close, letting her cry. ‘It’s okay. Let it go. This is hard to accept, we know.’
‘Tell me about yourself, Faith.’ Isiah remained on the floor, below, unthreatening.
Faith looked down at him, her eyes red. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I want you to understand where we’re starting from. You realise that your perceptions have been changed?’
Faith nodded. ‘I thought I had found something amazing. Lars is incredible. Was incredible. I don’t know. I felt loved, safe, part of something more important than anything. Now I feel... different. Empty. What have you done to me?’ Faith’s face was angry.
‘We’ve freed you.’
‘What have you taken from me?’ Faith screamed, fear and anger combining into a mild hysteria.
‘We’ve given you back your free will,’ Isiah said calmly. ‘I know it feels bad. I know it hurts. But this is really you now, not you controlled by the ONC. Sadly, the truth is usually less palatable than the fantasy.’
Faith stared, tears running down her cheeks. Petra stroked her hair, one arm still around her shoulders. For a long time they all sat, saying nothing. Eventually Isiah put a hand on Faith’s knee. ‘You realise it’s the truth, don’t you,’ he said. Faith nodded. ‘Do you think you could help us?’
Petra’s eyes were sad as she looked down at the floor.
‘Help you?’ Faith asked. ‘Help you how? Who are you?’
‘It’s a bit hard to explain who we are. But we’re your friends. We won’t condition your mind or coerce you in any way. But you must understand what you’re a part of. You realise how dangerous the ONC is?’
Faith shrugged. ‘The whole world is dangerous. Government apathy is dangerous. Mass marketing is dangerous.’
Isiah smiled. ‘You know what? I can’t disagree with you about any of that. The ONC has a line of truth and, almost, nobility to its ethos. But its methods are wrong. There’s no solution to the world’s problems in anarchy and chaos. The ONC would create a state where anybody outside of itself is considered the enemy. But what happens when the ONC starts to defeat that enemy? What happens when society starts to fall apart?’
‘Those with their own free will intact will survive.’ Faith repeated the party line with a defiant expression. But there was doubt in her eyes.
‘You believed that line completely before,’ Isiah said. ‘You wholeheartedly accepted that philosophy. Now you’re not so sure. Why?’
Faith looked from Isiah to Petra. ‘It’s okay,’ Petra said. ‘Think about it.’
Faith’s face was a picture of consternation. ‘It just doesn’t seem to ring so true any more. You’ve taken away my conviction.’
Isiah nodded. ‘In a way that’s true. But what we’ve really taken away is the ONC brainwashing. They numbed you into believing their lines. They actually suppressed your free will for their own ends. So what does that tell you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If they
needed to soften you to make you susceptible to their philosophies, what could their ultimate goal be? What’s their agenda?’
Faith began to cry again, silent tears brimming over onto her cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’
Isiah took a deep breath. ‘A person’s philosophy is intensely personal. The way they choose to live their life, their own moral compass, is a product of their upbringing, their education, their thoughts and perceptions. A lot of people don’t give much time or credence to their own thoughts and let their world-view be dictated by their parent’s beliefs, their church’s beliefs, whatever. A lot of people can find a great deal of comfort and direction from religions or cults that dictate a philosophy. But almost always there is an agenda at work within organisations like that. More often than not it’s simply imperfect men corrupting an otherwise reasonable set of values.’
He leaned forward to emphasise his next point. ‘However, all too often, people use the belief of their followers to engineer a greater agenda that is often far removed from the supposed ideals of the group. In the case of the ONC, something huge is happening and it’s very unlikely that it will be for the greater good.’
‘We’re raising a god.’ Faith’s face was hard.
‘Is that what you really want?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you really want to raise this god? Aren’t you Wiccan? Your gods are Dagda and the Morrigan, Cernunnos. Do you have room for a new one? And why would you need him?’
Faith looked down at her hands. ‘I’ve seen real magic. I’ve seen the power this god can give us. Why wouldn’t anyone want that?’
Isiah laid his own hand over Faith’s. ‘At what cost?’ Faith looked into his eyes. ‘At what cost,’ Isiah repeated. ‘Are you aware of just how much blood is spilled in the name of your god?’
‘Why do you care?’
Isiah smiled. ‘You know, that’s a good question. I, of all people, should not care. I should let things run their natural course unless I’m told to interfere. And in fact, I’ve kinda been told specifically not to interfere. But I don’t give a shit about that right now. Your friend Lars is one of many people just like him. They all take their orders from the one they call Dominus. They all have the blood of numerous innocents on their hands. I had a run-in with another of their number some years ago and he was one of the most naturally evil people I have ever known. And I have a benchmark few can match, believe me. I care because I don’t want to stand idly by while a group that kills so indiscriminately raises itself to even higher power with the help of their own god.’