For the second day in a row, Blake was surprised by the ring of the doorbell, although this time it didn't excite him in any way. He made his way downstairs with the tempo of a man who doesn't really care. Blake peered through the peephole and looked straight into the stern and powerful presence of Bahij Khaleel. Bahij was wearing a perfectly fitted grey suit and black shirt, and he carried an ebony sword cane as his weapon to ensure that he did not look too out of place in this part of Shades. While Blake didn't recognize the man and opened the door without much precaution, he did think to check that his katana was indeed within reach and found it resting in the umbrella stand by the door. As Blake opened the door, Bahij found that Blake didn't look like the mountain of a man he had come to expect, rather he found him to look somehow broken.
“Good day?” Blake said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Beck. Allow me to present myself. I am Bahij Khaleel, a close associate of Mr. Ferre.” As Bahij spoke, he presented himself with a deep bow. Blake remembered McCoy mentioning the infamous Bahij Khaleel at Dæth's mansion during the banquet that followed Blake's initiation as a Hunter. While Bahij bowed down, Blake preemptively reached out for his katana, drawing it from its sheath and striking out against Bahij in one fluent movement. Bahij had expected that this might be a natural reaction, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he raised the cane to block Blake’s blow while still halfway through his bow. The two swords met and Blake's katana cut through the ebony cane until the blade hid within stopped it. Rather than rising from his bow, Bahij jumped forward in a somersault, getting to his feet and maneuvering behind Blake at the same time. Bahij moved with an unnatural speed and agility, the grace of his movements surpassing anything Blake had ever seen. By the time Blake had readied his sword and turned to face his enemy, Bahij had already unsheathed his sword and moved to strike. Although Bahij did not seem to put in much effort, the force of the blow shook Blake's balance and almost ripped his katana from his hands as he parried the attack. Blake sought to regain his footing and gain some distance from Bahij by sidestepping towards the downstairs living room. “Mr. Beck, there is really no need,” Bahij said, seemingly lowering his guard for the shortest of moments. As if to parry his adversary's words, Blake moved to strike again, going for the kill with all he had. It was now or never. Like a bolt of lightning, the blade of Bahij's sword shot between them, effectively halting Blake's attack. At the same time, Bahij put his boot to Blake's abdomen, sending him flying back through the open living room door and crashing down on the glass coffee table, shattering it into a million pieces. As Blake moved to get up, he realized that it hurt. The pain wasn't like the physical pain of life; it was more like a very vivid recollection of a pain that had once existed. Bahij stood in the doorway looking as though he might as well have been carved out of stone - unmovable and indestructible. “As I was saying, Mr. Beck, there is really no need for this now. A time may come when we may continue this, but for now, Mr. Ferre has requested your presence.”
“Oh, Him,” Blake said as he got to his feet. He looked around assessing the situation, his eyes catching sight of several figures hiding in the shadows outside his windows.
“I would prefer for you to join me of your own free will rather than having to force you to come.”
“You want me to come with you? Alone?” Blake asked.
“Yes.”
“Why on earth should I?”
“You should come because Mr. Ferre has requested you to do so. Now while I deeply appreciate your apprehension, I will guarantee and swear upon what is left of my soul that no harm will come to you on this day should you not yourself seek to harm others. You may view this as an offer of parley.” Bahij gave Blake time to think. Outside the windows, Blake could see the shapes moving in closer – there were at least ten of them now.
“It doesn't look like you're giving me much of a choice.”
“Well, truth be told, there is always a choice. Some choices merely carry dire consequences,” Bahij replied. Blake lowered his katana and rested its tip on the floor, making a small dent in the hardwood.
“So, where do we go from here?” Blake asked.
“To my car.”
“And then?”
“Then we will go to see Mr. Ferre.”
VII
Blake and Bahij drove for about an hour until they were well out of town and deep into the hilly woodlands that rose up outside the city. Blake eventually found himself driving down something that, on a good day, could best be described as a dirt trail, and the trail soon came to an end. Bahij stopped the Land Rover and turned towards Blake.
“This is where you get off,” he said.
“And?” Blake asked.
“You follow that path up the hill. Mr. Ferre will be waiting for you up there.” Blake didn't see fit to argue. So he got out of the car and started up the hillside, his trench coat waving a courteous goodbye to Bahij in the autumn breeze. He walked through the woods with its withering leaves of yellow and red, and headed ever further up the hillside. It took about an hour of Blake continuously struggling to figure out what was his path and what was the wilderness around him. As he conquered yet another peak, he looked down the path on the other side and saw a man standing at the foot of a tall cliff face where the path ended. From there, a cobblestone walkway ran through a beautiful stone portal carved in the cliff face and into the depths beneath the hills. Blake walked slowly down the path towards the man who greeted him as he approached. Wearing a pair of black leather pants and boots with a simple white linen shirt, the man seemed to be unarmed.
“Mr. Beck, welcome,” He said as Blake came within earshot.
“Mr. Ferre?” Blake asked.
“Yes, indeed. And I must thank you for heeding my call and granting me the pleasure of your company on this fateful day,” He said, extending his hand as Blake reached Him. Blake took Mr. Ferre’s hand and shook it. It felt cold and distant despite the fact that it was right there in Blake’s own hand. Blake couldn't bring himself to reply “you're welcome” and instead he said nothing. “Now I assume that your mind is plagued by the question of why I summoned you here and that this is the reason for the absentmindedness that seems to have impeded your manners,” He said. Turning his back to Blake, Mr. Ferre started down the cobblestone walkway, making it clear to Blake that he was seen as no manner of threat at all. The fact that this annoyed Blake, paired with a lack of restraint and ability to care after Marie's visit, led Blake to speak.
“No, I just don't think you’re welcome, so I didn't pretend just to be polite,” he said, immediately realizing that this was perhaps the wrong thing to say to Him, the oldest and most powerful being in Shades. Even from the back of his neck, Blake could see Mr. Ferre's eyes flaming at the insolence. But there was no immediate retort – no utter destruction, disintegration or the like – and Blake began drawing breath once again.
“For now, Mr. Beck, I will let that pass as the mistake of one who does not know better. But know this: I shall never again suffer you to speak to me in that manner, no matter what becomes of you after this day.” Blake decided that it was probably best to not reply, and he followed Him into the darkness. Mr. Ferre slowed his walk, allowing Blake – for just this once – to walk beside him. As darkness began to envelop them, He held out his hand and, without a word, conjured up a small flaming orb in his palm. The orb burned like a torch and illuminated the ancient tunnel around them.
“What is this place?” Blake heard himself say as the light fought back the encroaching darkness.
“That, Mr. Beck, I shall keep to myself just a little while longer. Instead let me begin with the other question that fills your mind: that of ‘why?’” Blake looked at Mr. Ferre, feeling no need to question this. “I have brought you here to enlighten you to the true nature of your undertaking, and to extend my hand with an offer of redemption,” He said. “I know that you, Mr. Beck, have sworn the oath of the Hunters and, as such, are the sworn enemy of me and my children. However, b
efore I will treat you as such, I wish to be certain that you took the oath because of your convictions, not because you lacked the enlightenment of the better choice.”
“I'm sure that I know what I'm doing,” Blake replied.
“Even so,” He said with a smile that Blake couldn't judge to be anything but overbearing. They walked down the narrow limestone corridor, and as they went further underground, strange etchings, signs and ciphers began to appear on the walls around them. “Let me ask you this. You have vowed to serve Dæth as a Hunter for eternity. Have you done this to save yourself from an otherwise unavoidable fate, or have you done so because your convictions command you to?”
“I'm a Hunter to rid the world of your children, as you call them, not to save myself. If I were to have saved myself, I should have started long ago – foremost by refraining from doing what I've done.”
“Interesting answer, Mr. Beck. Now please humor me, and pray tell me why you would seek to rid the world of my offspring?”
“Isn't it obvious? Have you seen what your ‘children’ do? They prey on the souls of others, devouring indiscriminately the innocent and the guilty.”
“So you seek to protect the innocent from harm, sacrificing yourself as you do so. You claim such nobility?” Blake thought about it for a moment.
“Yes.”
“I beg to differ that my children and I feed randomly or indiscriminately. As you know, had I permitted, we could have decimated the number of souls in life to a much greater extent, and it very rarely happens that the truly innocent are fed upon. It is something that I, in fact, do not condone, save if it has a higher purpose.”
“Even if that is the case, what's the point? You still admit to eating the souls of others.”
“Indeed. But those souls have been doomed to spend an eternity here in Shades.”
“So?”
“I will show you.” They walked for a few more minutes until the light from the orb in Mr. Ferre’s hand reached the end of the corridor and revealed a room up ahead. “Well, Mr. Beck. Have you had time to wonder what happens to the souls that are condemned to stay in Shades?”
“Yes. They try to go on as if nothing has happened, but eventually they stop pretending and begin pondering their life instead.”
“For eternity,” He added.
“Yes, for eternity.” As they walked out of the corridor and into the great darkness at the end of it, He raised his hand. As if wresting reality, He pulled the flaming orb ever larger and brighter. Bending to his will, the orb floated into the air above them, growing in size and luminosity. By the time the blazing orb had reached the size of a huge bonfire, the light finally reached the walls on the side. Blake looked around and found that the gargantuan hall ran much further into the hill and it lay as silent as the grave. As Blake's eyes got used to the lighting, he noticed countless alcoves cut into the walls from the floor to the ceiling hundreds of feet above them. In each alcove there was a statue of a human figure sitting or lying down – they reminded him of the dead of Pompeii.
“What is this place?” Blake asked, his voice echoing as it traveled into the darkness.
“This, Mr. Beck, is what you are so gallantly protecting. It is the reason you have sacrificed your own soul.” Mr. Ferre walked slowly towards the wall urging Blake to follow. Then He knelt down, trailing his hand along the edge of one of the alcoves where a young woman was sitting. She sat cradling herself, holding her legs with her knees pulled towards her chest. She looked profoundly sad as she stared into the room without noticing the light that – for the first time in millennia – kept the darkness at bay. Looking at the woman and catching her sad eyes, Blake realized that these were not statues.
“This is . . .”
“Yes. This is where the souls of the dead eventually reside. At least, the souls of those not pious and pure enough to move on from Shades.” As He spoke, Blake couldn't pry his eyes away from the woman. There was a profound pain and regret in her eyes unlike any he had ever seen or even managed to imagine. Blake felt the pain and regret tear at his own heart, flooding him with guilt. Eventually, he couldn't bear to look at the woman anymore and he averted his eyes to the floor in shame. “Now Mr. Beck, when you look into the eyes of this woman, can you, with true conviction, tell me that what we do is evil and that what you do is good?” As Mr. Ferre’s words rang out, Blake could feel the doubt filling his soul.
“I'm not sure I follow,” seemed the best defense available to Blake on such short notice.
“While I know that the stories you have been told were told by the very people who wish to portray themselves as righteous, I simply wish to show you this and ask you the question: as you stand here before those whom you seek to protect and see the pain in their eyes, do you truly believe those tales? When you serve Dæth, you seek to uphold the regime that forces these unwanted souls into an eternity of purification in the blazing flames of their own conscience. You seek to uphold eternal punishment for a lifetime of impurity. Is that truly what you believe in?”
”I . . .”
“I know. It is hard to realize that you are not the one on the cross, but rather the soldier hammering in the nails. Now that I have offered you a much needed perspective on your own enterprises, let me continue to enlighten you to ours.” Blake felt sick. “While you seek to defend this regime, we have chosen to fight, rebel and disobey the tyranny. Yes, we feed upon the souls of others in order to continue the fight, but as we do, we offer peace to each and every one of the souls we consume. For each soul we eat, another soul finds peace. The pain on this woman's face is your doing, not mine.” As Mr. Ferre spoke, Blake heard the words of Harlan McCoy repeat in his mind:
“Destruction offers them a peace which we do not see fit to grant them.”
“As I kneel before this woman now, I know that I am her only hope of salvation as she has been cast away by all others and deemed unworthy,” Mr. Ferre said, looking into her eyes. “Should I deny her peace, Mr. Beck?” He asked. As expected, Blake made no reply. He closed his eyes and leaned forward towards the woman. As He did, the back of his shirt began to darken in patches and the scars on his back began to smolder, threatening to break through the garment and set it ablaze. As He sank his teeth into the woman, his jaw seemed to dislocate and widen like that of a huge snake swallowing its prey completely. Blake thought he heard a distant scream of pain as the woman dissipated and disappeared through Mr. Ferre’s mouth, like a ghost sucked through a length of pipe. Blake did nothing, and he felt something die inside. He felt profoundly unsure and he felt betrayed. As Mr. Ferre rose to his feet, a tiny bit of charred cloth fell from his shirt, partially revealing the scars on his back. “Now Mr. Beck, I pray that you will consider what I have shown you in the light I bore, and that this will allow you to find your true calling. Ask yourself if your place in eternity is to punish or to relieve. Then know that I have extended my hand and invited you into my family with the promise of atonement for the sins you have perpetrated against my children out of ignorance. It is a gift that you are not likely to be offered again.” Blake said nothing. He just stood staring at the empty alcove. “Now I will leave you to choose your own fate, Mr. Beck,” said Mr. Ferre, turning and walking off into the darkness of the corridor towards the light of day, leaving Blake in silence and in doubt.
VIII
Elijah Butler couldn’t make it to his usual place of greeting at the bottom of the stairs outside the mansion before Blake headed up the stairs – unexpected and unannounced. Trying to remedy the situation, Elijah intercepted Blake at the door.
“Mr. Beck,” he said, trying fruitlessly to halt Blake's advance. Rather than stopping, Blake hurried past the butler and into the hall. “Mr. Beck, I really think . . .” Elijah said as he closed the door behind Blake.
“Where is he?” Blake snarled.
“I take it you mean the master?”
“Yes, where is Dæth?”
“I believe that my master is in the lounge, but I'm sorry
, the master does not wish to be disturbed.”
“Well, I don't give a fuck, Butler!” Blake yelled as he edged past Elijah and headed down the hall. The fact that Blake was so utterly neglecting the rules and forms of good conduct nearly cracked Elijah's facade.
“Blake . . . I . . . Mr. Beck . . . You really can't just . . .” Elijah tried. Blake stopped for a second and turned to Elijah, who was trying to keep up with Blake without resorting to running.
“Elijah, this has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it!” Blake said before continuing down towards the lounge.
“But sir . . . I . . . This is wholly unacceptable behavior! I must ask you to stop,” Elijah said, clearly hearing the hollowness of his own words. Several more equally vain attempts were made to stop Blake before he reached the lounge doors and pushed them open in anger. As the doors swung open, one of them smashed into a table behind the door, knocking over a priceless porcelain vase crafted by the souls of an ancient Chinese dynasty. Dæth sat on the sofa in the middle of the lounge, bent over a large, leather-bound tome containing endless rows of figures and entries pertaining to his business accounts. As Blake burst into the room and the vase shattered on the floor, Dæth looked up from the book. “I'm sorry, sir,” Elijah said, clearly at his wits’ end.
“It will be quite alright, Elijah,” Dæth said, removing a pair of spectacles and placing them on the table. Then he slammed the book closed and turned his attention to Blake. “Mr. Beck?” was all Dæth said, much to Blake's surprise. He had expected an unrivaled tirade, which would have made it much easier for him to return the favor with a broadside of curses and accusations. Instead there was a only a calm and collected inquiry that summed up the fact that Blake was there uninvited, that Blake shouldn’t be there, and that Blake had better have a damn good excuse. This somewhat disarmed Blake, although it didn't discourage him.
Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck Page 13