by Erik Lynd
An hour later he found himself seated with his feet folded under him. He looked around at the Library with new eyes. It had been a year since he had laid eyes on it, a year for him, only a moment for here.
A thought of homesickness rose up in his head. He acknowledged it, he wanted to go home. Christopher wanted to sleep in his own bed, he wanted this more than anything. Well, almost more than anything. He wanted to see Eris, to stand by her and just touch her, let her know that he was there and wanted her back.
He couldn’t do any of that trapped in a hole in the ground. He glanced back at the bookshelf. He had to select a new book, a next step, but he wasn’t ready yet. His mind was still fragile.
The Librarian was gone, but then it had only been minutes since Christopher had left. His memory was still a little askew, but he remembered the Librarian was off learning what he could about Apophis.
Christopher spent a few hours there thinking and not thinking. He would never have been able to sit so silent and still a year ago…or a moment ago, depending on which timeline you used. More than once anxiety reared up as he thought about pulling another book. Each time he steadied himself with his new skill. It was a great gift.
Eventually, it was time for him to move on. He didn’t have a method to get out of the cave yet. His mission wasn’t done. He selected another book and opened it. And this time he was gone for a very long time.
He came back briefly several times. Pausing to regain his calm. Sometimes he arrived after years away. The memories washing over him every time threatening to drive him mad. Each time he breathed, he stilled his mind, he became focused by letting it all go. Sometimes he would drink water or eat a little food while he prepared himself for the next book. Even though it was not real, his mind took the refreshment.
He was living adventures now, each book of knowledge a new learning, a new test. He fought on battlefields alongside barbarian hordes, he studied with the greatest Asian and European mystics, he climbed mountains. He stormed the beach at Normandy along with a great warrior, doing his time as a simple soldier. He sailed seas and found battles ship to ship.
Each book was a land of dreams. He had fought in worlds dreamed up by his teachers. In some, he used his Hellpower. He learned not just how to use weapons, but also how to use them in harmony with his other power. His speed and dexterity were far beyond what they had been when he first started this journey.
He trained in a half-dozen fighting styles, taking what worked and fusing it with other techniques. His body was covered with a thousand different scars that remained on his mind and soul if not his body. He didn’t stay long enough with each teacher to master any one training. But as he progressed through from master to mystic to honored soldier to warrior to occultist and beyond he understood that the underlying skill, power, and learning were the same. He had been told that a master of an art shows mastery in his every action.
In the years he was gone, he lived enough adventures to fill many books.
And then it was time to return.
When he came home that final time he was standing. The books he had lived scattered about him in a semi-circle. He still had vertigo at the rush of memories, but he stilled his mind out of habit and slowly, one by one, processed the memories. They were distant now, but Hamlin and Juan were still there; he even remembered Courtney and Jeremy. And of course, there was Eris. That thought hurt along with a pang of guilt.
But they were distant memories. Although in the real world only a day or two had passed and the memories were right there at his fingertips, they were fuzzy.
“It is because you are a different person.” The Librarian had arrived from the shadows as he finished his meditation. Christopher had known he was there, had sensed him; he was no longer startled by the Librarian’s sudden appearance.
“What was that Librarian?” Christopher said. “It has been a long time since I have seen you.”
“Yes, quite,” the Librarian responded. “Did you find what you were seeking?”
“Yes. I believe so. I have learned so much, I have mastered so much. The person I was before, the child, the newborn is gone. I have understood real power and I am the master of it. I have learned the workings of the world, I see the ebb and flow of energy.”
“And your memories?” the Librarian asked. “Do you remember your friends? How they help you?”
“They are there, but distant. That is for the best. At this point I am someone different, someone better. The darkness, the Hellpower inside me is now my servant, my control is complete—”
“Yes, that is great,” the Librarian interrupted. “I just have one last book for you to use.”
He held out a book with a solid black cover. There was no title on the front or the spine. Christopher took it and flipped it over in his hands.
“What is this?” Christopher asked. “I don’t need another book, Librarian. Not now. I have to save my body and return to my job hunting dark souls.”
“You’ll have to trust me. This is important. It is the greatest teacher you could have. He will take everything you have learned until now to the next level.”
Christopher looked at the book doubtfully. What teacher could this be who could do all that? Then he asked, “Who is it?”
“It is best if you just trust me,” the Librarian said. “Have I ever led you astray?”
“Not astray, but you have failed to tell me a few things.”
“All important omissions for your growth.”
“Sure Librarian. Okay, but I can’t spend long on whatever training is there for me. My body wastes away even as we speak.”
“It won’t take long,” he said.
Christopher looked down at the ominous black book, hesitating for a moment. Something about it made him nervous. He had other plans, a world that only he could save. He shrugged it off. This would just take a moment. He could leave this new teacher anytime.
He opened the book, but instead of falling in, it all fell out and into him. Like a fire hose of power, energy shot out of the pages and washed over him head to toe. Memories deep and rich came back to him.
His family long before the horrible day he returned from school. His sister and mother smiling as they played in the yard, went camping, and of course their trips to Disneyland. These memories were old but strong. Mostly it was the good times, but a few sad and profound moments blossomed fresh in his mind.
Like watching a movie, the memories moved forward, becoming stronger the closer they came to the present. He experienced his high school days a second time, not just the good times, but the bad and embarrassing ones as well.
The book wasn’t so much giving him these memories; instead the power seemed to be moving through his head awakening the old thoughts. It was moving faster and faster.
Then his college days sped by; the classes he loved as well as the ones he hated but made him think. And there was Courtney. His first love and first heartbreak. It had taught him a lot.
That was it. It was hard to focus on putting logical thoughts together as he went through this memory onslaught, but his subconscious was getting a grip on what was happening and let it slip into his consciousness trying to process the flaring memories. These were the key moments that made him who he was, all memories made him the person he was, but these moments were the true shapers.
The memories were more vibrant as he passed through the time after he had encountered the Beast. He saw all his missteps, all his foolish mistakes yet somehow, he survived.
He remembered how Hamlin had been there from the beginning and then there were the Erises: dark Eris the demon fighting by his side, saving him when needed, and Eris there for him to talk to and show him the compassionate way. Followed quickly by Juan, rescued from a deep mind fuck, who just wanted to help. And he was an anarchist. He thought of the team because that is what they were. Not just his support staff.
Then he remembered the gang member in Mexico and the true extent of what he had done at that mom
ent came to him. The one who had brutalized his family deserved his damnation, but the other one, that one still had a chance, but Christopher had taken that chance from him the moment he judged the kid and sent him to Hell.
In his arrogance he had condemned a poor kid to an eternity of suffering. Anguish bent his body in two and he wailed. He could blame it on the darkness that had been growing in him, that Grace had manipulated him with her power. But he had opened the door to it, then he had opened it wider when he used the Hellpower to try and help heal his soul.
In the end it was him, it was his mistakes; he was the one who let the darkness in. He was the one who had let the balance slip in favor of hatred.
The Hellpower in him flared up, stoked by the darkness tied to his soul, as though angered by the memories, rebelling against anything that showed compassion or reliance. Anything that showed weakness.
His training was still there, however, and came to him in a reflex and he channeled that anger away, letting the memories thrum through his head.
When it was done Christopher found himself on his knees. He heard crying and as the rush of memories faded he realized it was just him.
“It was me,” he finally said, whispering it. “It was my book.”
“Yes. I had to special order it,” the Librarian replied. “After that many years away, living that other life, I knew you would need something to bring you back to now, to who you are. This seemed like the best way.”
“You mean, creating an emotionally fragile wreck before sending me out to do battle with the monsters?”
It might have worked. His two lives fused together, but in reverse. His years spent training were in the background, not forgotten. He felt as if all he had experienced was at his fingertips, it was just put into perspective, so to speak. It was all very confusing.
“Ah trained with a psychologist, did we? You were experiencing a wealth of philosophy and martial skill. You were learning ten lifetimes of knowledge and skill in a handful of years. Before you left, the darkness inside of you was making you arrogant with power. I suspected when you returned you would be insufferable. I was right.”
“You thought this would help?”
“It did help,” the Librarian said, somewhat smugly, Christopher thought. “At least that is the theory. I guess we will have to see how it all plays out. You do seem somewhat less arrogant than you were a moment ago.”
“Great.” Christopher wasn’t convinced. He did feel better than he had in a year. He was exhausted physically and mentally and emotionally. His life away had taken its place in his memories. It was there but not dominant. Still, he could feel the darkness simmering just below the surface like it was just waiting to break free and start shaping him again.
And that need, that hunger to claim souls for hell was still there stronger than ever. In fact, it flared as he thought of it. Although, part of that might have been the physical hunger his body was going through.
“I need to get back. How long has it been?” he was tired and drained, his brain fuzzy from it all. It felt like his mind had been pulled from his body and flayed. It hurt and was numb all at the same time.
“Three days I believe,” the Librarian said.
Christopher smiled, only three days. He didn’t think he’d be right in the head for a long time. He wiped the tears from his eyes. He pulled from his training and calmed himself. “I have to get back, I have to get out of that cave and stop Apophis.”
He stood up, a little unsteady. The room spun a little.
“You should rest a moment at least. Drink something, it won’t help long term but psychologically it might help while I tell you the rest.”
“The rest? That doesn’t sound good. Please don’t tell me you’re going to give one of your famous pep talks.”
“No, I have found the origin of Apophis, you will not find him in your hunter’s journal. But if you want a pep talk, I can say he will probably kill you quickly if you encounter him. None of this stuck in the ground stuff.”
“Thanks, I’m glad I can always count on you to have my back.”
“Quite. Apophis is a bit of a challenge you see. He, I mean they, are not living.”
“Tell that to the guys who kicked my ass a few years…um, I mean days ago.” This was going to take some getting used too.
“They appear living, but they are not mortal nor living, and definitely not a dark soul.”
“Are they like a beast then, some sort of monster?” Christopher asked.
“Not exactly, they are not living things, but not undead either. They were created thousands of years ago by a powerful witch queen. Golem is the technical term. They were shaped from an ancient substance much like clay and enchanted. They look human but have no true humanity.”
“They’re like some sort of ancient android?”
A glass of water had appeared on the table next to him. As he sipped on it, he suddenly became insanely thirsty. He could taste the refreshing water, and moments later his thirst was the same.
“More or less. The ancient witch queen created the amorphous substance that is their essence and enchanted it then, she gave it purpose.”
“And what is the purpose of these particular golems?”
“The name Apophis is a legendary name. It is the Greek pronunciation of an Egyptian god. It means Lord of Chaos.”
“That is an appropriate name. They sure created a shit ton of chaos. At least for me.”
“The Egyptian god was equated with the god of evil and the enemy of life itself, and he was blamed for all the evils that befell the ancient world. However, I think it was more specific than that. The witch created them with one purpose only, to kill her enemies.”
“Like her personal soldiers?”
“Not exactly. Although many people killed for money, some say Apophis was the first assassin. At least the first true one to openly serve royalty. The witch who created them was a queen of chaos herself, always keeping her land off balance to maintain order. The paranoid type who regularly cleaned house, killing her lieutenants and counselors. From what I understand she was keen to kill innocents, support the guilty. Her small kingdom along the Nile, long before the great Egyptian dynasties came along, was just this side of Hell.”
“What happened? How were they trapped?” Christopher asked, his mind had stopped spinning and he was able to follow along for the most part.
“That part was unclear. The queen eventually died, slain in a revolution of her closest allies. Three of her generals and several of the most powerful merchants. They killed her when Apophis was away on some errand for the witch queen and her own bodyguards were overcome.”
“I assume that didn’t sit well with Apophis?” Christopher asked. “I already get they are the vengeful type.”
“Yes, over the next two days the generals were found dead, as well as the merchants who had supported them and their closest servants.”
“Well that does sound like—”
“Then the merchant's families, everyone including the smallest grandchild. Then the entire palace staff was slaughtered in one night, next it was the five hundred soldiers who had followed the generals that night. All killed. In the span of a few days.”
Christopher was sobering up quickly. “You’re saying they’re good at killing?”
“They are the best. From what I could find, after their vengeance was complete, they wandered, looking for purpose but finding only death. They hired themselves out to the highest bidder. But they never served another like the witch queen, they never found someone to give them purpose.”
“And somewhere along the line, they crossed paths with my predecessor.”
“Yes, though that part is unclear. They must have interfered with his retrieval of a dark soul. That is my only guess.”
“He was able to defeat them. But why just lock them up? Why not kill them permanently?”
Christopher caught the minute movement of a shrug under the Librarian’s robes. “I don’t know.
Perhaps they are unkillable?”
“Well that’s just great. Not only do they not possess a soul for me to dispatch with my trusty blade, but I also may not be able to kill them? What am I supposed to do? Put them in prison again?”
“Well, that would be a type of solution. However, if I might speculate, while they may not be able to die, they might be destroyable.”
“Hmm, aren’t those the same?”
“To use your android reference, they may not be killed by a mortal blow or even a dozen mortal blows, nor do they have a soul to take; but you might, for example, be able to melt them in a crucible of liquid metal.”
“That was a cyborg, not an android,” said Christopher. The Librarian remained silent in judgment. “But I get what you mean. So, all I need is a giant pot of melted steel?”
“It seems that last book was too effective, you are truly your old self. No, not a vat of steel, just enough destruction that they cannot self-heal, then somehow dispose of the parts.”
“Got it, cut the ancient enchanted super-assassins into little bits and then flush them down the toilet.”
The Librarian sighed and seemed to look disappointedly at the shelves of books Christopher had just trained through. “The Beast was able to capture them and imprison them. My only guess is that he used a type of canopic jar to store their malleable essence after he was able to destroy the bodies they inhabit.” He apparently recognized Christopher’s blank stare, because he continued. “A canopic jar is what ancient Egyptian embalmers used to store the organs of the bodies they interred. If you could capture this essence in a similar container, they might be trapped until you find a vat of molten metal, or a volcano, or a large enough toilet.”
“I have to go,” Christopher said standing slowly. “None of this matters if I can’t get out of that room. And then figure out a way to get my Weapon back if I can find it.”
“That will be the easier task. It will call to you. Follow your instincts and you will find it. As for who you must take it away from, that could be a problem. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”