by Rick Heinz
“To make sure that you are worthy. Delilah brought you to the society’s attention, and I’m going to make sure that you have a chance at success.” Roger moved in faster than Gabriel could react, a blur of unnatural speed and grace, and put his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “Do you see those fine gentlemen over there?” Roger pointed to the other side of the foyer.
Gabriel spied nine of the apprentices waiting off to the side in the lobby near a massive pine tree brought in for the season’s festivities. He recognized Visago, a large man whose neck swallowed his chin, gesturing to the tree as if he was explaining its history, trying to sound important. He still wore bandages on his arms but tried to hide them under a winter coat. Gabriel was surprised to see that of the nine victors, many had been replaced by lower-ranking candidates. The certamen was just a showcase of talent. Nice.
Roger grabbed Gabriel’s chin to refocus his attention back on him. “Your task is simple. I want you to piss them off. I want you to be an absolute, unrepentant jerk of the highest caliber to everyone.”
“How is that going to help? Is this what Vryce wants?”
Roger hesitated a bit. “I’m his herald, aren’t I? I’ll be monitoring your performance in our courts and reporting back to him on your success . . . or failure. When you fail, I’m going to watch you cry.” He paused and held up his finger. “Don’t take this the wrong way. This has a purpose. I was passed up for the job because I’m so likable. We need you to keep your distance from them. You’re already an outcast and a failure in the Unification. We need to increase that. This helps us determine who’s really loyal, and who is just . . . loyal.” Roger slapped Gabriel on the ass with a slight pinch added in and pointed to Visago. “Get to work.”
Gabriel’s face was already reddening with anger and embarrassment as he watched Roger give a fancy bow and begin to skip away. Make enemies with the most powerful, clandestine organization in the history of mankind? Well, this is my leap of faith.
“Why are you hiding your suntan there, Visago?” Gabriel smirked as he walked right up to them and patted him on the back in alpha-male fashion. “Don’t like the new skin tone my flames gave you?”
Visago frowned and leaned forward with a scowl. “Quiet, you fool, there are still humans around. They could hear you.”
“Fuck ’em. They’re going to learn soon enough. What’s it to you if the world knows you’re a crap sorcerer? Who brought a set of knee pads in order to get Vryce to sign off on you being his yesod in the ritual?” Gabriel leaned down, his nose almost touching Visago’s. Gabriel realized he looked down on everyone here. “Did you kick Cael McManus and Mitch Slade off your team? Is that why they aren’t here? Didn’t want them showing you up?” Gabriel put a single finger on Visago’s forehead and pushed him back, claiming Visago’s spot by the tree. If Visago is still this afraid of me, I am going to exploit that.
“He . . . he . . . he w-w-won’t stand for this,” Visago stuttered. “I am his yesod in this ritual. I am the understanding of concepts and actions, which places us above animals on the tree of life, something an ignorant swine like you failed to study. That is why you are not invited,” he said.
“Do you even know what you just said? You sound like a mental patient. You are nothing so glorious. You might as well be his altar boy.” Gabriel turned to the rest of the apprentices, their eyes fixed to the floor. Most of them were old, almost geriatric by Gabriel’s system of measurement. “A bunch of old men with scraps of power they stole from a vial of blood in their youth, holding on to what glory they can in their final days. Just like the old warlock. Come on, tell me you wouldn’t want to take his spot in the ritual.”
Gabriel leaned in so close that he could smell Visago’s rotting teeth. “You know, at Vryce’s post on the sphere of da’at. The sphere of progress.” I’ve studied plenty divine magic that actually worked. It was all the useless fluff I ignored. “None of you can tell me you would not shoot Vryce in the back if you could take his spot for the prestige you would earn in the Unification. You are all one bullet away from treason.”
“Enough. Not today.”
The voice cut through the gathering, stopping even occupied workers. One of them almost tripped into a fountain as she looked to the sound. Delilah Dumont marched through the lobby, watching Gabriel. Filing in with her were Roger Queneco and Charles Walsh, the Unification’s regional director. Gabriel was pretty sure he recognized most of the faces in the crowd behind them. He leaned from side to side to see around and glimpse Roger giving him a nod of approval.
“Museum tour of the area’s foremost occultists? Where is the hotline psychic?” Gabriel asked with a smile. Am I pushing this too far? With that scowl on her face . . . He saw a few nods come his way from the crowd and even a snicker. They are supposed to be staunchly loyal to the Unification. Guess not.
Roger Queneco nudged a few of them with his elbow and leaned in to start whispering in their ears. While some in the crowd looked like they hated Gabriel, the ones who snickered looked like they wanted to recruit him. They are fools if they fall for this. Centuries reading books and not a day of life experience. Sheep, I suppose, with no real quality among them. They are going to fall right into Roger’s trap. This cannot be that easy.
Delilah continued, “You do realize that I can revoke your invitation here? Furthermore, you stand in a room full of not just blooded apprentices, but in the presence of those who have fully shed their innocence and eaten a heart.” Delilah seemed to be talking to the lot of them, despite dressing down Gabriel.
Some in the crowd behind her looked at each other as if she were talking to them.
“Let us move to the correct floor and begin preparations. Ladies and gentlemen, Charles Walsh will escort dignitaries to the top-floor ballroom. While the opening events must be conducted in private below ground, you will be able to see the results from the ballroom over the next month at your leisure.” She gestured to the main elevators.
Delilah entered a password into her tablet and pressed her hand on a marble column. The white marble gave way and a concealed elevator opened. Every inch of the elevator was bathed in a warm yet dull white light, designed in such a way to keep out shadows. “Apprentices,” she gestured.
Gabriel waited for the rest of the apprentices to file into the elevator. He winked at Visago as he got on last and turned around to face the crowd. Gabriel gave the crowd a face of boredom and an eye roll. I could probably get very good at this job. The elevator lurched before picking up a very smooth pace. His ear seemed to pop, and Gabriel worked his jaw to relieve some of the pressure from the descent. He did not know what he should be doing next. The instructions only went this far. A chance to prove myself. Success instead of failure. Keeping my record clean would be ideal.
Lights in the elevator started to go dark, causing a quick shout from one of the old men. The glass panels of the elevator, which were providing light, began dimming to reveal a landscape behind them. Deep underground, a massive cavern, a geofront, was hollowed out well beneath the city. Gabriel placed his hand on the glass and took in the view even more, his brow scrunching up like two caterpillars moving along a tree. Impressive. Well done, Master.
He slowly began to nod to himself. “You scum suckers ready for this?” he asked. Looking down below them, Gabriel saw a forest full of vines and overgrowth. Geothermal wells served as a power plant up to the north. The top of the cavern had its own source of lights. They mimicked stars in the sky with only a fraction of them lit in the pattern of constellations.
A solid stone pyramid sat in the middle of the geofront. And that’s where we are going to change the world. A temple to Hermes Trismegistus the Thrice Great. The other apprentices started to marvel as well.
“Equal parts of alchemy, astrology, and theurgy,” one said.
“The holy trinity,” another added.
“As written in the Emerald Tablet, ‘That which is above is the same as that which is below,’” Visago concluded. “But fo
r that to work here, there would need to be a floating structure above Walsh Tower.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Gabriel said. “This is just one structure of many in a series of points connected in the world. That’s where you will set about ensuring that Lazarus has a safe return and all of you get your reward for loyal service.” He paused. “That or you ambassadors of Dumbfuckistan will toss it all away, happier than a pig rolling in shit.” Which better happen if I want to free us from the cycle. Not that my job prospects look very good if this goes south. What’s Vryce’s real plan here?
The elevator touched the bottom, letting the apprentices out into the garden full of vines as thick as jungle snakes with thorns to match. They began walking down a path, admiring the various blood-drenched roses and the array of plants. The entire cavern felt infused with magic. Never had Gabriel’s fingers felt so alive before. For a man of my pedigree, I could light this place ablaze. Could I be useful here? The cobbled path led into the side of the pyramid.
An imposing stone door stood as a barrier preventing all who would enter without admittance. A proper hermetic seal, bound by magic. In front of it stood a man equally imposing. He wore an ivory-and-crimson porcelain mask cracked with a deep scar across one eye. On his shirtless chest rested a golden ouroboros pendant, one snake with green eyes, the other with gold. The fingertips of his hands were blackened with soot and blood.
Visago took the lead and gave a deep bow. “Primus Vryce.”
The other apprentices and Gabriel followed and bowed as well. Gabriel noticed that under the wide black hakama pants, the man was barefoot with two nails in his feet. It’s not really him, technically speaking.
“Welcome to the ritual chamber and libraries for the Society of Deus. The microcosm we will utilize to affect the macrocosm. Inside this door you will find a keystone. To gain entry past this chamber you must speak your true name while letting your blood flow on the stone. Any magic, demonic possession, shape-shifting, or form of arcane deception will be detected. You will be incinerated on the spot should you be found guilty or fail to perform this task.” As Vryce spoke, the sound of his voice came from all angles, mixed with the voice of his host body.
“Surrender your true name and your life to the temple inside. You will enter one at a time so that your true name is revealed to none other. You will be . . . transported to your personal ritual components. Then you shall take your place on a symbol for the tree of life.” His voice was not as raspy as the first time Gabriel heard it. It sounded more vibrant instead.
“As Delilah Dumont promised, for your services in this ritual you will be granted first access to my library of magic. Inside these walls are the assembled collections and works of every warlock, demon, angel, prophet, and other such occultists, including my prized possession, the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus himself, which contains the base formula for all spells. Ask yourselves, what spell could you invent with private access to such a tablet? Twenty-one days of learning magic without having to cut a deal with demons because the remaining occultists who assisted with the construction of this city will be invited after that for a final night.”
Primus Vryce’s puppet turned around. The massive stone door shook and grated against the building as it opened for him as if on command. The keystone chamber was just beyond the threshold. The last sight of Vryce was of him slicing open his hand as the stone door shut with a thud behind him.
Offering knowledge such as the keys to immortality, shape-shifting, and spells from the dark ages is a rather impressive payment. “So that’s the bribe to force you blood junkies into working together,” Gabriel said while they were waiting.
“It is what Delilah went to great lengths to recruit us for, and why we chose to come to this site rather than go elsewhere in the world. We are sorcerers; let the vampires and shape changers flock to a place more suited for them,” one of the old men said.
“We each have our own agenda, no doubt. We do this one favor and lend our strength to Lazarus. You should be thankful, child, that you stand among us. Your purpose here is no doubt our sacrifice for fuel. A death that may yet resurrect your lineage from fallen glory, just like Lazarus,” another said as he spat at Gabriel’s feet.
“All the knowledge in that library isn’t going to save your souls. A demon king will always come to collect the blood and knowledge he gifted you. In one way or another,” Gabriel said. Sacrifice? I’m just one person. My blood alone could not fuel a ritual of this size.
He was excited to study the Emerald Tablet. Perhaps he could find spells that would work without divine blood as fuel. Or something, anything he could use to get the power he needed to show the old ways could work again. Even normal people are awed by tales of magic, right? Even if the almighty dollar is the new magic. It saddened his heart to realize that not only would he be last inside, but he would probably never get much alone time in the library.
Gabriel had to wait, of course, for each of the other men to walk through. They were all part of the ritual. Why am I here? Am I really a sacrifice? The fact that nobody questioned him made the doubt rise within him even more. No. No way. I’m here to showcase glory. My turn now.
CHAPTER 10
Gabriel entered the keystone chamber and waited until he was alone, his only companions silence and the absence of light. He did not even feel the pain of the cut from placing his hand on the sharp stone, warm to the touch. Smooth yet covered with a flowing blood as it ran over his fingers, defying gravity. He recited his true name aloud to the room, his voice coming back to him in the echoed chamber with a slight delay. It was uneasy being deprived of sight and hearing the delay of his own voice.
A true name was more than your birth name. To any occultist or creature, no matter the type, it was a recount of your deeds and the name of your soul spoken in the language of the divine. A secret anyone would guard with his life. Yet without knowledge of one’s true name, working magic was completely impossible, with or without the crutch of demon blood. You were . . . innocent. Or as Gabriel liked to put it, more ignorant. Still, for all the secrecy, there was always one person who knew your true name. Usually it was the demon you sold it to for his blood. People such as Vryce hid it with their own sorcery after killing anyone who once knew it. For Gabriel, a sorcerer of birthright, it was his parents. Because of this, he said his name proudly and with conviction.
He felt the magic of the keystone chamber send a chill through his legs. The walls oozed charcoal gray liquid as a doorway opened up into the instrument room. It was less dark due to a red amber glow from the ceiling and etched circles that reminded him of the certamen chamber. A single sword leaned against the wall. A sword is my ritual component? At least I will have a weapon. Its blade absorbed the dim light around it, making it difficult to focus, but Gabriel could tell it was shaped like a cavalry sabre. A clear crystal about the size of an eye was centered in the hilt, appropriate since Gabriel noticed that it was one of the fabled eyes of Mammon, a demon of greed. That means this is a soul blade.
Forged by an apprentice and master together in ritual, the blade would steal the souls of its victims, granting the bearer of the blade all knowledge and powers of those killed in sacrifice to its forging. I may not read like the rest, but no one will ever say my study of artifacts in museums is lacking. I just hate long manuscripts. But why a soul blade? It is useless to anyone but the two who forged it. Gabriel inspected the blade, hands trembling as they came close to the blade, but he dared not lay a finger on it. He knew well enough that it would be hazardous to his health to wield it. I thought the eye was supposed to be green and glowing. Wait. Is this an invitation? It is still not forged completely. Only the master’s work has been completed on it. It still needs an apprentice to satiate it with souls. In the red light, crouched down in front of the soul blade, Gabriel weighed his options. This is hardly a tough choice. He reached out. The hilt felt cold as ice in his hands. He stood and readied himself as the final chamber door op
ened, the ritual already beginning. I accept.
The ritual room was immense, the size of an airplane hangar. Gabriel paused on a mezzanine with spiral staircases on both sides. Wonderful. The very stones themselves emanate magic. The obsidian floor sprawled the entire length, the ten circles of the Sephirot etched into it with streams of blood, bile, and water flowing between them. Each Sephirot circle laid in the tree-of-life pattern was large enough to contain all the instruments of ritual and the apprentice within. Gabriel felt his stomach knot up in anxiety. This chamber has been built with the purest of substances and etched with divine magic that has only been used at the turning of each age.
The ceiling was constructed of a blue stone that reminded Gabriel of sapphire. It had markings mirroring the floor with the exception of language. The etchings above were not in Latin, nor in Hebrew, nor any language Gabriel had seen before. The sapphire ceiling had dark spots where each of the ten Sephirot rested below them. Gabriel could see faces through the blue crystal behind each circle. The smell of bile permeated the room as Gabriel traced the lines from the ceiling. Eleven of the apprentices I beat earlier, now dead, to fuel the ritual, no doubt. The rank smell of bile from above and boiling blood from below started to make Gabriel gag a bit. He quickly made the choice to take a spiral staircase down to where the other apprentices were already stationed.
On the ground level, the smell was worse. Now it smelled of hot, sticky sulfur, and he could taste the blood on the air. His eyes began to water. It was almost too much for him, and he took a moment to pull off his T-shirt and tie it around his face. I doubt that’s why Vryce wears a mask, but I’ve never wanted one of those deep hooded robes so badly before. He could only see some of the apprentices. The rest were surrounded in a storm of magical energy, the ritual already beginning. Four of them were visible in the circles of the bottom Sephirot; kingdom, victory, glory, and yesod, the elements of all things.