by Rick Heinz
“This is Delilah.”
“Evening. Containment in St. Paul is under way. Did you know that your Special Forces unit was bringing helldivers in hot, ready to kill everyone?”
“Excellent news. Of course, sir. Our orders were to leave no witnesses. I assume the operation was a success?”
“No witnesses means stopping creatures from getting out before they get into public areas. You were going to slaughter an entire church of innocent people, you ruthless bitch! In what colossal pile-of-shit view do you think that’s even remotely okay?”
“I believe,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “that view would be the view of a world where people such as yourself construct fortified cities to pull forth an ancient lich from the pits of purgatory. You cannot expect to have this scenario play out without broken eggs, Mr. Walsh. Besides, death allows for a deeper dive. Greater chance of ending it all.”
“They are not eggs. They are humans. Living, breathing people with free thought and will. It is our job to save them. To protect them. I’m issuing a new order to you. Tell your trigger-happy special task force that from this point on, they will arrest all witnesses and relocate them to the survival shelters located around the city.”
“If that is the wish of the Unification, it will be done. I will inform our second wave as well. They will be led by JJ Bollard. You will be informing the council of these new orders, then, I presume?”
“I’ll take care of them. I have a meeting with them after I finish another round of personal business. Have my friend Roger Queneco meet me in my office at eleven.” He hung up the phone. This just smells wrong. The bleed was only supposed to last for three days, at best, and be located right around the ritual sites, and according to the council, placement of their location could not be helped. To make it worse, all the witnesses and apprentices in the ritual were killed. Death was bound to happen, but this . . .
Charles pulled over on the expressway shoulder, late-night traffic beginning to die down. He rolled his pocket watch over his fingers like a coin and looked at the illuminated white Walsh Tower in the distance. 10:15 p.m. Forty-five minutes left to get real answers. He was high enough in the ranks of the Unification to know its operations and just how secretive the council was about the warlocks. Yet they gave them autonomy in one of the most critical parts of the ritual.
Am I really ready to risk my life to learn the truth? If I die, Delilah will be the next in line to assume my position. For all its faults, the Unification means well enough. Global peace and a unified consciousness are a worthy goal. I can make the call to kill the gates, accept failure here, and hope another region will be the one to locate Lazarus. Do I? Charles weighed the merits in silence before kicking the clutch back into gear and heading to Walsh Tower.
While the city and the area above the ground belonged in theory to the Unification, the Libraries of Dues, the ritual chambers, and other facilities below were all the personal domain of the warlock Primus Vryce. Entering uninvited was not permitted, or even an option for most. Charles opened and snapped shut his pocket watch. The reassuring ticking sound gave him focus. I am not most people. I might lose seven years for this, but it needs to be done.
He walked past two blooded guardsmen at the elevator and pried open the doors. It was a long way down. Coming back up is not likely an option. He took off his vest, wrapped it around the cable, and slid down. Any sensors or wards he triggered would be paused as his life ticked away. He opened up the doors below and stepped into a scene that looked like a painting from an epic battle.
Gabriel wielded a sickly green cavalry sabre and floated in the air, a stream of fire erupting from his hand into the face of a pit fiend. It reminded Walsh of the statue where Lucifer was cast into hell, if Gabriel the angel wore blue jeans and a hoodie. Bodies of dying demons lay strewn about, ash paused in time as they decayed and were sent back to hell.
Another sorcerer, who looked like a druid, was in the midst of slamming his staff in the ground while his animated vines ripped a fallen angel’s wings off. They were all fighting to keep everyone above ground safe. Down here it seemed there was no barrier between worlds any longer.
Instead of a ceiling filled with lights, Walsh was able to see above, a sign that the area was fully immersed between worlds. A giant island floated above the city, tethered with enormous chains. Inside gashes in the earth, he could see the gray hellscape that demons were crawling from. The first circles of hell.
His path to the library chamber was clear; its massive stone door and keystone stood as imposing and impenetrable as ever. Walsh made his way through the time-stopped scene.
He knew of no deception that could be used here, nor did he intend to use any. He activated the keystone and spoke his true name, gaining entry into the hermetically sealed chambers. Tsk. Warlocks never plan on time manipulation. You’ve underestimated me, Vryce. Magic can still be bent outside of time. Instead of heading to the library, however, Walsh walked to the chambers below.
Even though the ritual was completed and etched with divine magic in every corner, it appeared mundane compared to outside. Walsh knew the room could still tell him secrets. The first was a porcelain mask that hung on a wall, cracked down the middle. I’ve already come too far to turn back.
Walsh reopened his pocket watch with a familiar click. He still had a few more tricks up his sleeve. Since he knew the exact time the ritual took place, he could view what transpired. Like rewinding an old VHS tape. As he tampered with the gears, wrinkles started to appear on his face and streaks of his hair turned gray. All around him, the events of the ritual played out before him. He saw the turning point, the opening, and, most important to him, that other warlocks also betrayed the council.
“Find what you need?” said an unfamiliar voice.
Walsh spun around, his right knee giving out and causing him to fall on it. His breath was visible in the air, and his hands shivered from the cold as the temperature of the room plummeted. Frost and ice formed in fractal formations along the etchings in the ground. His heart raced as goose bumps rose along his arms, shortness of breath only adding to the panic. Sitting under the mask was a boy. He was no older than ten years of age, maybe eleven. His hair was as white as fresh snow, and he had familiar gold-and-green eyes.
“Vryce?” said Walsh. His body betrayed him, as he felt an invisible force keep him in the kneeling position. It felt as if the air itself were crushing him, and if the pressure increased, he would pop.
“Congratulations.” Vryce clapped. “You are the ninth person in six centuries to see me without a host.” The warlock stood and walked over with patience. Despite Vryce’s boyish frame, Walsh felt miniscule in his presence.
“But how? Time is frozen.”
Vryce flicked a small wooden cross on his necklace, dangling next to his ouroboros talisman. “It took me a long time to acquire this artifact to prevent your little trick. You aren’t the only one with friends in low places.” The child crouched in front of Walsh and held his chin with two fingers; his touch was so cold it burned. “You know, I am a firm believer in a simple truth. Do you know what that truth is, Mr. Walsh?”
Walsh shook his head.
“People are always more useful alive than dead. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“If you are going to enslave me, then kill me. I’d rather die for what I believe in.”
“And what is that? That mankind will be saved by the resurrection of Lazarus alone? What happened with Zeus? Odin? Thoth?” He paused. “Buddha?” Vryce moved his head to each side, inspecting him. “Age is a wonderful price to pay for knowledge. A worthy sacrifice.”
“What do you want? I will not sacrifice my dignity to be your lapdog,” Walsh said. His face quivered with fear, but his eyes still managed to stay focused and determined.
“If I needed another slave or gargoyle, I would not be talking to you.” His eyes tried to give a reassuring look. It was like a snake telling a mouse they would be friends. “Taking your soul, stealing your bl
ood, and turning you into a puppet would do neither of us any good. I need your willing help.”
Events of the ritual replayed themselves in Walsh’s mind. “You betrayed the Unification?”
“Is that what you saw? I opened the portal as requested,” Vryce said, tilting his head sideways in a quizzical fashion.
“I’m . . . not sure what I saw, but it explains much. The other warlocks? You are not acting alone.”
“This highlights exactly why puppets are not useful. Critical thinking skills are often lacking.” Vryce rose and waved his hand. Walsh felt the weight of the air lift. He had his freedom back. “As director, you can lie to the council. You can keep the walls fueled and working.”
“Why would I do that? Why should I trust you?”
Vryce nodded to Walsh and began. “If you are to trust me, I will trust you with my secret. I am taking my soul back and, in doing so, helping legend and wonder return. My vision is to allow all humans the chance to save themselves through their own awakening. The council places their faith in Lazarus alone, but they are misguided by the demon kings who whispered in their ears to open the gates. Do we really want to place the fate of the world in the hands of a creature bound in purgatory for millennia? Our ideals can be similar, Charles. You will need my power if humans are to have a chance at fighting back against ancient creatures. Join our society, buy me time with what little you have left.” Vryce sat back down on the steps and folded his hands on his knees.
“I’ll admit, I started with a leg up. My master rigged the game and gave me one of my shards back before this all went down.” He unconsciously twirled the wooden cross. “Ten rituals. Ten warlocks with their souls shredded ten ways.”
Walsh knew there was something wrong here. He could feel it in every bone he had. This creature before him should not exist.
Lichdom was not a new concept among his colleagues. After all, Lazarus was the first who had achieved such divine immortality. He was subsequently jailed for his audacity. The idea was immensely complex, even on paper. Become a warlock, having your soul shredded. Then find a way to drag fragments individually out of heaven and hell and unite them in ritual. An utter abomination of existence according to angels and demons. So much so they imprisoned Lazarus in purgatory for eternity out of fear and disgust.
The rise of a second lich, or even more, was a feat never likely to occur, but Walsh saw the puzzle fall together. Vryce was patient and has waited for others to provide the chance.
“So that’s what you did. You—”
“I did what I was forced to do. Create a pathway from the land of the dead for Lazarus to follow home. No one said it was exclusive to him alone. If you place your faith so highly in him, then fuel this city and help the divers before it’s too late. To get what I needed, I shattered the gates open farther than anywhere else. The portals here go deeper into purgatory as a result. This is the best spot for both of us. The Society of Deus will give this world a choice. I am giving you a choice. One for you to make of your own free will. You paid a price for knowledge. I granted it. What you tell the death lords of the Unification is up to you. You will live with whatever choice you make. I will survive regardless, even in memory. The assassins they send to snuff out my life will not change that. I have cast my lot in with every forgotten myth and legend to return wonder and awe back to this world.”
Vryce made a series of circular gestures, shards of ice falling from the portal sliced through the air behind him. “Now be gone with you. I have work to do.” With a thrust of Vryce’s hands, Walsh was flung through the portal, his head slamming into a desk, knocking a phone and computer off it. His ears rang, and his watch was no longer ticking as the view of his office came into focus and the world moved once again.
He let me live! Why? I still have more questions. Why give Lazarus a chance to come back? Will the Unification kill him? Is this even possible? His hands were still shaking, both from the panic and the cold. The time on the phone blinked eleven o’clock. It was time for his phone call to the Unification.
The door to the room opened as the sly frame of Roger Queneco walked in. He looked down at Walsh. “I was wondering how long it would take before Vryce offered you the same choice he offered me.” He reached down and lent a hand to help Walsh up. “I wonder what you’ll say to the council. I advise caution, to a friend, of course. How would mankind survive the council’s plan if nobody finds Lazarus? How, without power like Vryce’s to save them?”
Walsh looked at the smirk his old friend wore. “I wish Delilah never introduced the two of us.”
“Don’t say that.” Roger’s fangs seemed to protrude farther than usual. “I just saved your life by making you seem useful to a creature that ripped open a gateway to both hell and heaven. I’ve your best intentions at heart. Imagine what would happen if my master decided that you were nothing more than the council’s loyal puppet and an obstacle in his way?”
The phone rang. Walsh answered. “This is Director Walsh.” Time. I only need more time. “The gates are open. May Lazarus find his path.” He hung up the phone, its click reassuring, bringing him clarity. The council would no doubt demand more information in person. I have time, though. Not much, but time enough to make my choice.
“Charles?” Roger asked.
“Yes?”
“You need to shave.” Roger smiled and spun out of the room with a slight skip to his step.
CHAPTER 19
The thirteen lords of death sat in their chamber deep beneath the Vatican, rulers of the Unification. Twelve of them wore masks that served to represent which aspect of death they presided over. One for murders, one for unfortunate accidents, one for starvation, one for old age, and so forth. The thirteenth sat in the middle of the room, unmasked. Yet at his feet lay the grave clothes of Lazarus. Wrappings of ancient power that the thirteenth seat would have the honor of bestowing to their lord.
Every third year, the members of the thirteen would change hands within the Unification. Over three hundred occult groups signed the Treaty of Unification around the world. Some vastly more powerful than others, all of them vying for the prestige to sit on the council. It was intended as a method of ensuring that power among all within the Unification remained somewhat distributed. Dr. John C. Daneka, the current thirteenth chair, knew it was all a farce. When you pull from the same set of immortal candidates every three years, there would be no change.
Regional Director Charles Walsh had just delivered the shortest report received thus far. The final report coming in meant it was time to take an accounting.
“Very well. I have received the final report from my regional director. This concludes the first stage. Let us recap where we stand within the world,” Dr. Daneka said.
Lord of Murder rose. “I am pleased to report that the ritual led by Warlock Mortiemer Ploutuns was successful, in the utmost regard, in Jerusalem.” Everyone nodded in approval and held for a moment of silence. None had expected failure from Lord of Murder, who took very direct agency within his region.
Lady of Age rose and hesitated. “The ritual led by the Warlock Lucian Montague in Haiti has gone awry. It appears that Baron Samedi interfered from the land of the dead. The loa are freed from their prison, and Haiti will soon be lost to us.” A moment of silence was held after her report. Dr. John C. Daneka watched Lord of Suicide roll his eyes behind his mask. The region was notoriously difficult to begin with, and Daneka chided himself inwardly in hoping that Lady of Age’s wisdom would provide experience in that region.
Lord of Starvation rose before Lady of Age sat. “The ritual led by the Warlock Rasputin in Moscow was a success. No signs of influence from Baba Yaga or her lot. Events are unfolding according to the schedule.” The lack of sound after his statement eerily held the room. None had expected Rasputin to play along, much less succeed. It meant the Unification had vastly underestimated his power.
Lady of Misfortune rose. “Warlock Sydney DuWinter in London was a resounding failure. The go
od people of MI5 intelligence had somehow discovered our activities and marshaled their forces just in the nick of time. Ah shucks, sucks don’t it? So in the end, a portal was opened to some godforsaken place, and the Innocence in that area will continue to shred at an alarming rate. Let’s give a big ol’ round of applause to the moronic humans for muckin’ with a perfectly good day.” An uproar of surprise echoed through the chamber. Sydney DuWinter was a member of an occult group that drew its strength from the Golden Dawn. London had been counted among one of the Unification’s prize regions. John silenced the room with a clank of his moderator hammer and dismissed Lady of Misfortune back to her throne.
Lady of Pestilence rose. “The ritual by Warlock Kiro Yamakaz in Japan did not take place under the watchful eye of the Unification. A coup by the emperor’s family usurped the proceedings, to their agenda.” John C. Daneka glared at each member who dared to make a sound. The fall of Japan was a calculated risk, one that could be remedied after the ritual’s completion.
Lord of Suicide rose. “The youngest warlock, Peter Culmen, in Mexico City, was successful in the first act of his ritual. His silicon-based prototypes quelled an uprising by apprentices to bring forth their own Mayan gods. Peter is already assisting helldiving teams personally.” Lord of Suicide gave a flourishing bow. He was the newest member to the council, and ruler over the only warlock that interwove science and magic. John felt they were growing too powerful in modern times, but his success would have to be rewarded and remembered.
Lady of Drowning rose. “The ritual led by Warlock Nefertiti in Cairo was a success. Nothing further to report.” She sat back down, and all other lords bowed their heads in respect. Including John. Lady of Drowning, he suspected, was the oldest lich on the council.
Lord of the Unborn rose. “The ritual completed by Warlock Null in Antarctica was a failure to the standards of the Unification. Nothing was contacted and nothing was found.” Lords and ladies looked to each other, but remained silent. Daneka watched them shift in their seats and adjust their positions out of curiosity for more information, but none was to be had for now.