by Dorian Dawes
"We've fucked," he said loudly, and then did allow himself a disbelieving chortle.
Rhamal stopped. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Justin flicked a finger at Dayabir, signaling him. Dayabir took the hint and began cautiously creeping his way towards Veronika's unconscious body. Justin took a deep breath and pressed forwards.
"You heard me," Justin said. "We've fucked. I kissed you. You called me beautiful. Any of that ring a bell?"
"A moment of brief carnal intimacy." Rhamal rolled his eyes. "Back when I thought you worthy of my gift."
"You've not really made it clear what the hell that 'gift' was." Justin took another step forwards. He'd struck a confident swagger, but couldn't hide his nervous sweating or the frantic beatings of his heart. "What the fuck were you trying to do?"
"I wanted to be one with you …" Rhamal's voice came not as the booming echo of a god, but instead like that of a forlorn lover disappointed with the journey's end. "I wanted to dance upon eternity with an equal."
"And what are you here for now?" Justin asked.
"I care little to explain myself to you," Rhamal snarled. "You are but insects! Deserving of naught but oblivion."
Justin kept walking forwards. His legs shook. To his right, he could see that Dayabir had found Veronika and was kneeling beside her.
Okay. Five minutes. That's all they needed.
Justin now stood but an arm's length from this imposing and frightening man. He could look him directly in the eyes - those terrible, beautiful, alien eyes. Rhamal's expression softened once more.
"Your eye …" the god whispered. "It's the same as mine."
"Is it lonely?" Justin asked. "Does it hurt?"
The creature diminished at that. They stood on equal footing staring into one another's eyes. Justin saw into him, windows of pain. They mirrored his own.
"I must find a vessel if I am to be free of him," Rhamal said in a plain voice. "It is beyond your understanding."
"Try me."
Rhamal placed a hand on the side of his head. Justin flinched at first, but it was not a malicious touch. Justin closed his eyes, listening only to the sound of the other man's voice.
"I am a child of Avaroth. My will is not entirely my own. My very being is still a part of that blind-idiot's body, chaotic … formless. I do not truly exist."
"What do you want?" Justin asked.
Rhamal kissed him on the forehead. "Freedom."
Justin opened his eyes. They were red and watering. "I don't want my friend to die."
Rhamal tousled Justin's hair. He grew again, looming over him with a wicked smile. "Her sacrifice will not be in vain, dear one."
Dayabir kept trying to summon the magic. Nothing happened. He felt impotent and lost, helpless to help the people he loved. He looked back at Justin who could only stare in the face of the beast and weep. Dayabir wanted to weep too.
He held Veronika's head and began praying in Punjabi. It was a prayer that'd long given him comfort in his moments of greatest terror. "You are the Creator, Lord; I can do nothing. Even if I try, nothing happens. I am a sacrifice to Your almighty creative power which is pervading everywhere. Your limits cannot be known …" Then in English he screamed, "Help me!"
Peace. For one of the few times in his life, he felt at peace. There was no anger, no fear. He couldn't think of the last moment he wasn't quelling some gnawing anxiety or sadness.
Power gently flowed through him and into Veronika. She groaned as she slowly stirred to consciousness. He stood, leaving her to recover the rest on her own.
Rhamal turned hearing the crackling and sizzling of power. There was a divine radiance pouring out of the boy in the blue turban. Rhamal gawked for a moment, unsure of what to make of the young man whose eyes glowed with holy power.
"Leave this place, child of chaos," Dayabir said, his voice as kind and soft as ever, but laced with an alien authority. "You're as much a victim as the others. I'd rather see you unharmed."
Rhamal turned his back on Justin, pushing him to the ground with a casual shove against his chest. He sneered at Dayabir, gradually resuming his more monstrous form, sliding into his robes and tentacles as easily as one slides into an evening gown. "Your faith is no match for my will," he growled.
Dayabir's eyes lowered. A tear slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry."
Bartleby rushed to the edge of the silo's entrance. He held the thin metal rod towards the sky, clasping it in both hands. He watched Dayabir and Rhamal facing off against one another and prayed inwardly that this gamble paid off. "Dayabir! Get him towards the silo!" he screamed.
Dayabir lifted a hand and with an apologetic glance towards the massive creature delivered a forceful wave of blue energy, a great barrier that blasted the beast several yards back. Rhamal had barely landed when Bartleby stomped hard against the ground. Arcane symbols and pentagrams and runes lining the inner walls of the silo illuminated brightly. Visible ley lines appeared, connecting them to the ground beneath Bartleby's feet. The ley lines and arcane symbols rushed out, forming glowing magical tendrils that enclosed around Rhamal's collapsed body, binding him like rope.
Once more the creature stood, a howling thing neither man nor god, just a horrible state of in-between. He lunged at Dayabir with all the hate left in his miserable form. His arms were stopped by violet and emerald cords latching behind him. With a wide, vengeful gaze, he turned to look back to see Veronika stand on shaky feet, leaning against Justin for support. Her fingers were held outwards, keeping what remained of her magic to hold him in place.
"I'm not so easily shoved aside!" Veronika yelled.
Rhamal let out a scream of impotent rage. The tentacles and monstrous parts of him were being stripped away, violently torn from his body. His face appeared grotesquely human now against his alien form. He was in agony. His mouth was forced open as a deluge of black slime poured from him; taking with it all manner of filth, additional limbs, eyes, and teeth. It was like a beast unto itself. It screamed before departing into the heavens.
He fell once more, now fully human in appearance. He clutched his ribs. His entire body ached. Blood trickled down the sides of his mouth.
He turned around, staring upwards at Bartleby with a look of confusion and horror. "What have you done?
Bartleby knelt before him, his eyes full of as much disgust as pity. "Siphoned the essence of Avaroth from you. You're now free to scrounge in the dirt like the rest of us."
"You're lying! You're lying!" Rhamal yelled, even as his eyes widened in dawning horror.
When he coughed, it looked as if the act alone would kill him. He spit more blood out upon the dirt before shakily standing to his feet. Rhamal snapped his fingers and, utilizing the last modicum of power within him, vanished.
Bartleby scowled at the empty air before retreating back into the silo. "Everyone always thinks I'm faking it."
Helena had sweat pouring from her entire body. She looked exhausted. The strain of having expended so much magical energy was taking its toll on her. Bartleby patted her on the back reassuringly and stepped in front of Kara.
"Delays are over … let's see about saving your life," he whispered.
"There is another way." Dayabir's voice came clear and strong. He stood in the entrance of the silo.
Justin aided Veronika in walking back, her arm slung over his shoulder. Her strength appeared to be returning. Bartleby looked at Dayabir. The young man's eyes still glowed fiercely and a gentle wind seemed to be following his every movement. Bartleby had never seen such a look of serenity.
"Can you help her?" Bartleby asked.
Dayabir nodded. He walked towards Kara with purpose and gestured with his hand so that his palm lay flat over her stomach. Helena watched eyes widening as something gradually floated out of Kara's body; it was enclosed in a translucent bubble of Dayabir's magic. She thought for a second it was a pink, fleshy slab of meat, but soon realized that it was alive and pulsing - no, throbbing.
The thing
had several tiny hands straining out from it. The worst was when it lifted back what approximated for a head and she could see a clear visible face like that of a small man. It opened its mouth and screamed.
Bartleby was quick with a glass jar large enough to hold the infant horror. He sealed it in with a lid and then uttered a spell quickly under his breath. He would be taking no chances in letting this unknown terror escape.
As soon as the creature was safely tucked away Dayabir collapsed. Justin hurried to his side, leaving Veronika to recuperate in the corner. He held his boyfriend in his arms and stared, awestruck.
"That was amazing," he whispered.
Dayabir smiled weakly. "I only wanted to help."
"I think I know why I couldn't teach you now," Helena said with a smirk. "Your powers, they're nothing like mine. You get yours from some other place entirely."
"His faith," Bartleby added. "It's not an unknown phenomenon for those who cling strongly to the tenets of their beliefs to draw power from them, and in a place so rife with magic as Harbinger Island … well, there you have it."
Kara groaned and began positioning herself to lean on her elbows. Veronika stumbled over to her, kneeling at her side. They held each other's hands in a firm grip.
"Heard you kicking ass out there …" Kara said.
Veronika rolled her eyes. "Got my ass beat, is more like it."
Kara shook her head. "No. It helped. You fucking saved me. All of you did. And dear God, what the fuck was that thing my mom put inside me."
Everyone turned to stare at the jar. The creature slid around inside of it leaving blood and mucus trails all across the glass. It beat its pulpy body against the jar, shrieking inaudibly.
"Rhamal thought he could use it as a vessel to escape the clutches of the elder god," Bartleby murmured. "Whatever it is, it's powerful. And we need to get it out of here. Now."
"Rhamal mentioned someone else was coming to this party," Veronika said. "Who's on the guest list?"
Bartleby's eyes narrowed. "The Maleficarum."
Kara made a feeble attempt at standing to her feet. She staggered but Veronika held her steady. Dayabir's burst of magic had completely healed her wounds. She was operating at full strength, able to lift Kara with ease.
Gloria waved a hand, causing the burning candles to vanish. She grabbed her skirts in her fingers and hobbled towards the entrance of the silo. She stood there for a good minute, staring silently at the field of overgrown grass bathed in the scarlet glow of the blood-red moon.
"Gloria?" Dayabir's voice rang with concern.
She didn't turn back to face them. "Professor Bartleby Prouse … our forces are weakened. You've expended quite a bit of magical energy, haven't you?"
"I've still got a few tricks left," Bartleby said, clenching his fist. "But I'd rather avoid a confrontation."
"There'll be no running tonight. They will keep coming for us so long as that moon remains." Her shoulders shook. "Helena has used all her magic. If she casts another spell, it could kill her. All you have are tricks. Veronika, I'm betting you're close to tapped out too."
Veronika nodded. "'Form of the Gorgon' is a pretty demanding spell. Drains me every second I remain in that state."
"Impressive you kept it up that long," Gloria grunted. "But that leaves it to me; I've far deeper reserves than any of you and I've been at this game the longest. Go. Get out of here. Leave the cultists to me."
"I have more than just magic. You oughtn't go it alone," Bartleby said with a scowl.
"And who will protect these kids, you daft nincompoop!" Gloria turned on him, pointing a bony finger at the students. "They will be defenseless against the forces of the Maleficarum. You're all they've got left."
Bartleby marched towards her, hands clenched into shaking fists. "You will be vastly outnumbered. They will kill you."
Gloria smiled. "Wild nights are my glory, Professor Prouse."
"A Wrinkle In Time …" he whispered.
"You always loved that book." She clasped his hands in hers. "We both know how this ends, Professor."
"I'm not a professor any more, you know." He touched his forehead to hers.
She reached forwards and took his chin in her fingers. "Old habits die hard. Let this buzzard have her way, huh?"
Bartleby embraced her tightly. "Kill them all. Then come back to us."
"Fuck off," she said, but her tone was playful.
Headlights shone through the trees, appearing one by one like a vast array of eyes opening in the darkness. The Maleficarum had come.
Bartleby began throwing his tools back into his bag. "Help me. There's no time."
"Leave it!" Gloria barked. "Take that thing in the jar and get those kids out of here."
They hurried towards the station wagon as quickly as they could. Cars began driving out of the Black Goat Woods, many of them familiar. If Justin had any time, he would have checked to match them to faces of people around Wakefield - not that there would have been any difference, it'd felt like this whole town had been trying to kill him for years. Every hateful look, every violent slur, all of it leading of course to this natural conclusion where they would be clamoring for his death.
Doors slammed loudly as figures emerged clad in black robes. Gloria marched to meet them while whispering fervently in Spanish. More candles appeared floating around her in a protective circle; they burned as bright and fierce as the look in her eyes. Her gazed darted from cultist to cultist. They were all here tonight. She recognized more than a few of them, people she'd lived with her entire life, all here feebly attempting to disguise themselves with the uniform of their wretched cult. Some of them even had the audacity to arrive in police cars.
Some retrieved guns from their sleeves and began firing at the fleeing station wagon. Gloria raised her arm in the direction of the car, creating a wall of fire fifteen meters high. She then swung both her arms above her head in a sweeping motion. The fire moved again, creating a circle about her and every single cultist, enclosing them in the field. There'd be no escape for any of them.
One of them had robes distinguished from the others by gold threading that created several dancing patterns along the sleeves and hem, as well as a tall pointed hat worn over the hood of their garments. The figure rolled up their sleeves and raised their head. It was a man around Gloria's age. She recognized him immediately.
"You. You're the dean of that school. Richard Stanton, was it?" Her voice was a threatening growl.
He smiled. "Mrs. Gloria Padilla, I've been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time. Your work has proven problematic for us in the past."
"I'm glad I never took any of it to the police," she sneered. "How many buy into your bigoted rhetoric in worship to the blind idiot god?"
"Most, in fact," Stanton's smile broadened. "We tend to hire from within, or at least look for certain qualities that will keep the undesirables such as yourself in line. You have to admit it's hilarious - you and that degenerate professor dedicated so much of your lives to purging the Maleficarum from Wakefield … but we are Wakefield. We are everywhere. We sell you your groceries, deliver your mail, teach your students, enact laws, and then we enforce them. And we are more than Wakefield, our influence has spread across the entirety of this island! You've been fighting a war that you've already lost."
Gloria raised an eyebrow. "If I've lost, Mr. Stanton, then why are you here?"
Stanton glowered. He raised both arms then dropped them to his sides with the cry, "Kill the fucking bitch!"
The night exploded with the sounds of echoing gunfire. Gloria made wild gestures, flickering hand movements to spells she'd invented while these white shit-heads were still in diapers. They were her spells, but also her mother's spells, and her grandmother's spells - a culture of magic women passing their knowledge down through generations, growing and learning even as the world sought their destruction. Gloria had already been tested and bathed in fire; now was the time to see how well these gringos did under
the flames.
Not a single bullet made its mark. They simply smashed against an invisible wall and fell before they could even reach her. Laughing maniacally, Gloria turned her head to the heavens. All around her appeared the translucent form of a thirty-foot tall woman, saintly and clad in white robes while bowing her head in prayer. In both hands she held torches lit with a dozen candles.
The sounds of gunfire were quickly replaced by tortured, agonized screams. The cultists' robes were set ablaze by the towering figure kneeling down with her long powerful arms to put them to her mighty torches. The air stank with cooked flesh. They ran shrieking, desperate to escape the flames. Only Gloria's laughter was louder than their pain.
Those that could cast spells were stammering out incantations in an attempt to shield themselves from the purging fire, or to put out their comrades. Dean Richard Stanton fumed. He angrily added his own spells to the fight, raising up the newly deceased as undead minions. A meaningless effort; the flames cut through them instantly.
Veins bulged on either side of his head as he screamed. "Mine is the power! Yours is as nothing compared to the will of Avaroth! We will make this city great again!"
His deceased servants would no longer need their cars. Stanton hurled his arms forwards, flinging the discarded vehicles at the large phantom woman. Gloria whispered out several counter-spells, hands zipping through the air to make rapid arcane gestures and shields to knock aside each projectile hurled her way. The barrage was merciless, unending. Metal groaned and warped as her flames cleaved into pieces every vehicle hurled her way. They pounded into the earth around her adding the acrid stench of burning rubber to the medley of foul odors.
Hearts thudded in the chests of both casters as they regarded each other, eyes narrowed and sizing up the opponent. Gloria looked about to collapse, her garments and face covered in ash and soot, but her eyes still burned. Her fingers crooked, ready to sling more spells at this bastard.