by Bob Williams
It was the Naming. She knew it made him nervous. It was a crapshoot, really. Granted, he’d seen thousands make it through and only a few hundred who didn’t, but still, the Naming was treacherous for all involved. He set the metal piece down, removed his heavy, thick leather gloves and turned to face the women.
“Mr. Frain.”
“This the girl?”
“Yes, Mr. Frain.”
“Go on, then, Miss. Introduce yourself.”
Emily stepped up confidently to Frain and said, “My name is Emily Prescott. I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Frain. I’m exci—”
“That’ll do, Miss Emily. Follow me.” And with that he turned back to his workstation, grabbed a thick, hand-carved walking stick, and began to pace back across the room from where they had come.
“Okay.”
He turned back. “You know the drill, Miss Meredith. Wait here. She’ll either be back or she won’t.”
Emily’s confidence was eroding slowly as fear began to creep into her consciousness. She followed Frain back across the expanse of the massive room and down a surprisingly long corridor. This is Hallway Hell, thought Emily. I’d never make it out of here without help. Emily noticed at about the halfway point of the long corridor that she was truly afraid of what was about to happen. The fear of the unknown had a way of doing that.
While imposing wood doors had lined the first third of the hall, there were none along the remainder of the walk to the end. Frain stopped and faced the door. He then produced a thick, heavy-looking, and very old steel key from under his shirt. It hung from a handcrafted chain around his neck.
“Miss Emily, I’ve opened this door thousands of times. What’s come out the majority of those times has been a spectacle of the most wondrous proportions. And there are times when the Naming is simply too much to endure. It is a rite of passage. A test that will challenge you to your very core. You will be damaged. You will suffer. But above all, the Superior believes you will emerge from the battle within yourself and wear the armor of the Protectorate.”
“You’re scaring the shit out of me, Mr. Frain.”
“Once you enter the room, you will see a suit of armor. Put it on. Wait. When the time comes ... fight! I do hope to see you again, Miss Emily.”
“What do you mean? What is this?”
“It is the Naming.” Frain escorted her across the threshold of the room and shut the door behind her. She heard Frain insert the key and turn it roughly. She was locked in.
What the hell is the Naming, anyway? I don’t have time for this. Prescott needs me.
She surveyed the room and saw the armor right away. It was immaculate. The armor had that showroom look. It was obviously brand new, and she knew it would fit perfectly. She knew this the same way she already understood how to put it on when she had never been this close to a suit of armor before.
She knew the name and the function of each piece and had to smile to herself as she began the process of donning the armor. She started with the sabatons for her feet, then on to the greaves, which covered her ankles and calves. There were a great many pieces. In no time at all, she was suited from her feet to her waist.
Next, her shoulders were covered by the besagues, and her arms were covered front and rear by the vambraces and the rerebraces. She then transitioned seamlessly into the chest and back plates, and the faulds for hip protection. Next was the bascinet to protect her neck. And finally, after her fingers had performed the acts requiring dexterity, her hands were protected by the gauntlets. The helmet and visor sat resting on the stone slab the armor was found on. She didn’t exactly know how, but she knew she didn’t need it yet.
What do I need the armor for ... in here? Okay. Now I wait. Gah! I can’t sit around and wait in here! Emily paced back and forth next to the slab. It looked like the kind of table you’d lay a dead body on. Is this a mausoleum? No, it couldn’t be.
After several more minutes of pacing, Emily walked back to the door. She intended to try the interior handle, knowing it would be futile, and was mildly shocked when she noticed there was no interior handle. She was not getting out of this room unless she faced the task assigned to her.
The Naming.
She shrugged her shoulders, exhaled, and walked back to the stone slab. It finally occurred to her to take notice of how perfectly the armor fit in every way. Her hand-tailored suits hadn’t fit this beautifully. And the weight. She hadn’t even thought about it as she dressed, because it didn’t weigh like armor should. She guessed it didn’t, anyway. She loved the empowerment she felt just by wearing it.
The Naming.
When the time is right ... fight! That’s what Frain said.
Emily thought maybe now would be a good time to practice some of the meditation exercises Meredith had taught her. She sat down on the slab, kicked her feet up, and lay flat on her back. Emily closed her eyes and began to count down from one hundred. This was the introduction to calming her soul and preparing for the exercise.
When she opened her eyes, Emily knew instantly something was wrong. She was disoriented and her stomach hurt terribly. She was starving. She attempted to sit up, but she couldn’t. She was bound at her hands and feet to the stone slab. Wait, no, it wasn’t stone at all. It was wood. And she no longer wore her armor.
She lifted her head, because that’s all she could move, and looked around. The room was dark but for the light of candles placed strategically around the room. At least the areas she could see. On the wall facing her was a large, maybe ten by ten, ornate banner that read The Black Hand Serves! The banner also had a large hand holding a chalice being lifted toward a hideous-looking creature as if it were an offering. There was also a lectern at the foot of the table she was on. Emily looked down to see her bare feet and then the powder-blue sundress she wore, which was covered mostly in sweat. It hit her like a tsunami crashing onto the shore. She was in Prescott Manor. This was the day she died.
Emily started to panic. She struggled mightily against the ropes, but somehow doing this only made them tighter. She felt outright fear of the moment and the betrayal that would soon follow. She fought for air. She knew it wasn’t real, but it felt real. Real enough that she knew this time she would fight like hell to survive.
A door opened and closed behind her, and she heard feet shuffling. Into her line of sight came two rows of twelve figures in black hooded robes and golden shaped masks that covered the top halves of their faces but not their mouths. The horror which began to engulf her was tangible. She knew who the next to enter would be.
“No! Not again!” The figures on either side stood silently. “I know what happens here. Do you hear me? I know!”
The door creaked open behind her and shut just as quickly. Emily heard the footsteps. Footsteps belonging to those who’d never loved her or her brother. Those who had lived a public lie only to serve a much more ominous, destructive, and evil power. Her parents. The Prescotts.
“Before, I was weak. Before, I was scared. I will not let you do this to me again,” Emily said, again struggling against the ropes. The two continued around the right-side line of robed figures and took their place at the lectern. Once there, they removed their masks and pulled back their hoods. It was her parents, just as she knew it would be.
“Emily,” her father said, “I know you must be afraid. But don’t worry, sweetheart. This will all soon be over, and your sacrifice will remembered throughout history as the one who gave birth to a glorious new world.”
“No! Father, I ... I won’t follow the script this time.”
“Emily, dear. This is what you were meant to do. It’s why you were conceived in the first place. You serve no purpose other than to usher in the New World Order designed by Chaos. Your brother, the bastard, has failed and disgraced us. You will not.”
“Mother! Why? You are supposed to protect me. Father, stop this. I know now. I know! The Black Hand is evil. Chaos is a monster. You used me to ruin the world.”
“Be quiet
, Emily!” Turning to her mother, he asked, “Have we contacted Bill Carr? We’ll need to get her body to him as quickly as possible so he can begin phase one of contamination.”
“Yes. We spoke earlier, and he has a transport vehicle awaiting your call.”
“Very well. Let’s begin.” Mr. Prescott began speaking in what Emily now understood perfectly as Latin. He was summoning Chaos, the Lord of Destruction and the Bringer of Darkness to ‘join him’ on this plane, using his body as a host.
“No! No!”
“Emily Prescott! You wi ... you ... will—” Her father stood erect, almost frozen in place. The room went completely silent. Even Emily was quiet as she watched. She had no clear recollection of this part of the scene before. Was something different? Had she closed her eyes then? Most likely she suppressed it, because this was terrifying.
“Is it happening? Are you all right?” Her mother sounded worried.
Emily stared at her father, willing with everything in her body and mind for this not happen. For the beast Chaos’s transfer from the Neverrealm to this plane of existence to fail. For her murder to have never happened. For the Descent to have never happened. For the bond with her brother to have never been severed. She wanted this to be her reality.
Yet she knew it was not, and that it would never be. Her father’s eyes turned from being as blue as the ocean to the crimson red of blood in one beat of her heart. His body language changed from his perfect posture to what someone might look like trying on a new suit. The voice that came from her father’s mouth was horrifying.
“Robert and Samantha Prescott, you have delivered on your promise. I am pleased. Let us now begin creating or New World Order. I see your daughter Emily has been delivered as promised. Her name will be praised in the halls of Chaos for thousands of years. Girl, do you accept your fate? Do you bask in glory, knowing your blood, your body will be the agent of Chaos?”
“No! Never!”
“It is of no consequence. The plan will proceed as originally conceived. Samantha Prescott, do you have any final words for your daughter before she fulfills her destiny?”
Her mother walked up to the table and placed her hand on Emily’s chest. “Emily, my daughter, my love. Your father and I have been waiting for this moment since the day you were born. Whether you understand the significance or don’t agree, it truly doesn’t matter. Just know that we are so very proud of you. And know that we will never let a day go by where your gift is not recognized.” She felt her mother move the hair out of her face and guide it behind her ear. “Oh, Emily. We love you.”
Emily winced at the sound of her name. Something happened. What? A shift on the cellular level. So much was happening. She was ... evolving.
“No! Get away from me, Mother! Do not touch me! You will not do this me. You cannot do this to me. My life matters! What I do with this life matters! I will not allow the betrayal to happen to me again.”
“Emily Prescott, your desires are irrelevant. Your time has come. Your essence. Everything that makes you who you are will be taken from you and replaced with mine. Your life will begin a slow decay. The low lyer, Dr. Carr, will take you to a care facility where you will spread my essence to everyone with whom you come into contact. And that is just the beginning.
“You see, Emily Prescott, you will spread my essence by touch as you decay, but the ones you touch—they will spread it through violence. And this this is how your world will crumble and mine will rise. How will you face your destiny, Emily?”
Her body seized at the sound of her name. It physically hurt to hear it. The fury which had been simmering inside her erupted. She flashed back to mere moments ago. To the voice of Frain the Armorist.
“When you enter the room you will see a suit of armor. Put it on. Wait. When the time is right ... FIGHT!”
The warrior screamed the sound of a thousand banshees. “This is not my destiny! You are not my destiny. This moment right here, right now, is where this story ends and a new one begins! Whereas Emily resigned to die, I choose to fight!”
“Emily, dear, you mustn’t struggle,” said her mother. “This has already been decided. You have a most crucial part to play in the movement.”
“That is no longer my name.”
Chaos laughed. “Your name is of no consequence, girl. The time has come for you to receive my essence.”
“You will not touch me.” Thus spoke the warrior.
“Silence!” boomed Chaos.
Chaos saw his prey lying on the table, her dress drenched with sweat and tears in her eyes. He approached and stood over her. “Take into your body the essence of Chaos. Take into your soul the knowledge to destroy, and take into your heart the darkness of evil.”
His hand, complete with razor-tipped nails, intended to pierce her chest and encase her heart. It was then he would dissolve her essence and replace it with his own. That is not what happened.
When Chaos brought his hand down toward her chest, the razor nails shattered to pieces and his hand was crushed to bone rubble as it crashed into the holy armor of the Protectorate warrior before him. The warrior looked up in time to see Chaos lurch backward in agony.
She looked down to her feet and saw her entire body encased in Frain’s armor. Empowered by her new persona, the warrior shrugged off her bindings and stood from the table. She looked to the wall where the armor had been sitting when she entered and saw the most beautiful sword she had ever seen in a sheath hanging on a wall peg. She marched over, took the sheath in her left hand, and removed the sword with her right.
The warrior turned to her enemies. Samantha Prescott, Robert Prescott, and Chaos. The twelve hooded figures on either side dissolved into the background as the Warrior descended upon her captors. The bond was severed. Emily Prescott no longer existed, and these repulsive excuses for human beings would be eradicated ... along with Chaos.
First was the woman, Samantha Prescott. She begged for her life; only the hollow shell of the woman she once was remained. She would be missed by no one. The Warrior ran the blade clean through her ribcage and directly through her heart. She locked eyes with the woman and shoved the blade all the way through to the hilt and watched as the last thought the woman experienced was pain. She then withdrew the blade, and the one who had been her mother dropped lifeless to ground.
The Warrior scanned the room and found Robert Prescott/Chaos several feet away from the table, nursing his damaged hand. He had watched her strike down Samantha Prescott. He would not stand for this.
“You would defy me! I am Chaos! Ruler of the—”
“Shut the fuck up,” said the warrior. “You are no longer the death of me. You took the life of the girl Emily Prescott. But you are of no consequence to me. I am a warrior and soldier in the Protectorate Guard. Your power ... your words ... mean nothing to me. Face me now. Or are you too afraid to fight your own battles?
“Would you kill your own father, Emily Prescott?”
“The body you inhabit and the name you called me both mean nothing to me. Face me now, you coward, so I may end this!”
“We will meet again, girl. We will meet again.”
“Count on it!”
Robert Prescott’s eyes returned to their natural blue tint, and when he was completely himself again, he ran to the body of his dead wife and sobbed.
“How could you this?” he cried. “You killed her!”
“Was it not your objective to murder me?”
“Murder? No. You were a gift to Chaos.” He stood from Samantha’s corpse and walked toward his daughter. “You have to stop this nonsense. You are ruining everything!”
“Enough! I choose to fight! I stand alone!” She raised the sword high above her head brought it down with a savagery that was both fulfilling and frightening. The blade struck Robert Prescott in the center of his forehead, penetrating his skull, slicing through the neck, and continued all the way through, lighting a spark when the tip of the blade struck the floor. She stepped back and placed
the sword in its sheath. A moment later, Robert Prescott, the man who had once been her father, fell in two halves to the floor, his entrails spilling out like a pig’s at the slaughterhouse.
Without a second thought, the Warrior strode across the room and back to the colossal oakwood door. She pounded on it. She heard the key enter the lock and immediately heard the loud clack of the lock turning. The door was pulled open, and directly in her path stood Frain the Armorist.
“Has the Naming been completed?” he asked.
“It has.”
“What sayeth the armor? What is your name?”
“My name is Kahlen, warrior and soldier of the Protectorate. Now please excuse me. There is work to be done.”
Frain flashed a grin as he stepped aside.
“By all means.”
REGROUPING
Shields and I barrel through the front door of Lobo’s Printing with Cole nearly unconscious from the shock, held between us. Lexi brings up the rear, whimpering with concern. My friend is in agony and there is absolutely nothing I can do to help.
“Get him to the couch,” says a strained Shields. “Uh ... see if we can get a cool, damp rag for his head. I ... got nothing for his ankle. I don’t think there’s anything we can do for it.” She speaks between deep inhalations. We bore the brunt of his weight for half a mile, and we are both exhausted.
Upon our entry, Curtis Woolever runs into the living room from the kitchen.
“Oh, my! What happened to him?”
“Curtis—can I call you Curt?”
“What? Yes.”
“Good. Well, Curt, we just had our fuckin’ asses handed to us by the bad guy. Basically, the only reason we aren’t dead is simply because he didn’t want to do it tonight. He’d rather do it tomorrow.”
“My goodness. What happened to Mr. Cole?”
“The good admiral disintegrated his ankle or something. It’s a limp digit there. It’s a fuckin’ bag of sand. He’s never walking on that again. We are so fucked!”
“Prescott, breathe,” says Shields. “Just ... breathe.”