Consecration

by Ira Robinson

  All grew white and the voices ceased, leaving him in a pool of light with nothing around. He looked down and noticed he had returned to his body, his hands held up like they had been before he touched The Flow.

  He let them drop to his sides and, as he did, the white faded away, revealing the center of Trading Circle, and the myriad symbols emblazoned on the ground beneath his feet. The circle was before him, its swirling aether tap still intact.

  What had happened? Was any of it even real? He hadn't recognized any of the voices or faces he saw in the aether, though he had nothing specific in mind when he touched the thing. Was that it? Was he shown just something at random because he was not focused on a target?

  He didn't understand how it really worked; maybe his lack of knowledge interfered.

  Heaving a sigh of disappointment, he hung his shoulders and put his hands back in his pockets, turning away from The Flow and heading down the street, his feet crunching along the granite path.

  The air was strangely silent, the echoes of the chorus of voices in his ears while he was in the aether hovering, perhaps, but as he approached the more familiar pathways of the Circle, his stomach began to grumble, his eyes wide and staring.

  There was no one. The dozens of humans, the demons he passed on the street, all were gone, leaving behind the smoking pits of cooking food, the books and papers still on tables waiting to be used. No noise of people barking that they had this or that available.

  All was silence.

  What the hell? It was like the place had been evacuated without anyone telling him there as an emergency, teleporting away in an instant while he was gone.

  Even the golems were not there, their imposing forms, always such a part of the place they could have been decorations, nowhere to be seen.

  Carver stopped moving, trembling as confusion warred with his fear that something terrible was going on and he was the cause of it.

  His thoughts spun. It's not real It's an illusion of some kind. It can't be real.

  As soon as the thought entered his mind, the world around him faded to darkness, leaving no trace of any light at all.

  He gasped, echoing off of nothing.

  Grabbed from behind, strong hands grappled his torso and arms, pinning them so hard he could not move them. Then the thrill of rising again struck him, and he screamed into the deep.

  A new tone emerged, wings, huge and wide, flapping within the dark as the something lifted him up, his feet nowhere near the ground. He tried to fight the hold, to twist himself so he could meet whatever held him tight, but he could do no more than kick his legs feebly as gravity forced him to be carried by the being like a weak child or a kitten in its mothers teeth.

  The darkness faded, and again he sees the emergence of Trading Circle, the center of it directly beneath him as he rises upward and away from it. He whirled his head around and saw the ceiling above, the giant rock it massive and approaching so swiftly he gasped in fear, but there was no sign of whatever had hold of him.

  Then he crashed into the roof, the feeling of the rock passing through him eerie and he opened his mouth to scream again as the miles of it passed, lit by some imperceptible source of illumination.

  That, too, fell away as the stone disappeared, breaking through the surface of the earth into a bright day, the clouds above moving slowly across the blue sky. Those, too, rapidly approached as he was flown toward them by the wings of the being carting him.

  He was whirled down again, facing the ground as it perished beneath him, the distance growing by the second.

  His head was turned by the invisible hand and he was shown what he thought might be his home, his vision zooming in upon it, like a magnifying glass on an ant farm.

  This, too, disappeared with the flight as he was taken out of the atmosphere into the emptiness of space above. Somehow the breath remained, inhaling and scraping out of his throat with a guttural cry. He was there, but he could still breathe. His mind was locked in terror as whatever carried him continued its flight upward, until he could see the earth below him as one large globe.

  The clouds passed by, the blue of the seas and the browns and greens of the land beneath him clear. There was no feeling of cold in the depths of space around the earth, perhaps somehow transporting a part of the planet with him in order to allow him to survive.

  He was still above the place his house would be though it was too far to identify where it would be.

  At the edges of the world, the daytime was just beginning to fade, the shade of night falling across it all. There, something else moved.

  It was out-pacing the sun, a dark shadow that began to blot out everything underneath it. It started on one coast, but he could see, turning his head the other way, more shadows there, as well.

  Their pace was so fast he could barely know where the sunlight was anymore, blurring the land completely, overwhelming it within moments.

  His vision zoomed again, perhaps forced by whatever carried him, and, as he began to see things clearer, he realized the blackness was made up of bodies.

  Thousands, millions, of them, all different shapes and forms, crossing over the land and consuming everything they touched, rotting it into nothingness as the earth was unmade.

  Hordes of demons, twisted and dark, slavering jaws and claws rending the flesh of the people they came across, a cacophony of howls and screams as their ink blurred the world.

  The sensation of being lifted was once again upon him, but it was only for a second; the hands grappling him let go. Then something smashed into his back and he was flung toward the ground, the blackness of the demonic horde racing to catch him.

  His scream joined their chorus as they nearly overtook him. He slammed into the dirt, falling through the rock faster than he had come up it until the sight of Trading Circle broke free and he caromed toward it.

  He struck his body with a force that shattered the pavement beneath him. Giant cracks spread out from his feet, breaking the granite and splitting the symbols embedded within into pieces.

  Carver's hands touched the crumbling, the edges of the cracks sharp and real.

  He pushed himself up and wobbled, the feeling of the arms around him still pressing his breath away, though he knew they were now gone.

  He fell again as he vomited, closing his eyes against the damage his landing had done.

  Chapter 14

  Carver stepped through the portal into his shed, his body still shaking as the magical light faded, leaving the small space in twilight, the sun outside seeping through cracks in the walls.

  He could not toss away the looks on the faces of the people he passed by as he made his course out of Trading Circle. It was as if all of them knew what he had done, that he tapped into something taboo and brought back with him a thing unfathomable.

  Perhaps he had.

  Was it all nothing more than a dream? It felt so solid, the way his body was wrapped in the arms of an unseen entity and the massive flapping of wings that carried him from The Flow. For more than a few minutes, he quivered with cold and steam rose from his skin.

  Then there was the damage. That had been real. Whatever force lifted him and threw him back to the ground was not some mere thought, no touch of unreality. The cracks spread for yards around him, breaking apart the pavement that had, perhaps, been there for eons unharmed.

  Did everyone know he was touched by something? The way they looked, the questioning in their stares as his feet carried him to the alley where Malachi set up the permanent portal for him, those told him enough. They might not have known what he had, but they were aware something happened to him, horrible and confusing at once.

  What had he seen? What did it all mean?

  He went to find answers and came away with more questions than he could have imagined.

  Was it, somehow, related to the demon he missed on the night he killed the succubus? The horde that attacked him then had to have been controlled by something more powerful than they, otherwise they w
ould not have braved such a blatant and public display. The multitudes he saw in the vision were uncomfortably too close in resemblance to that particular night for his tastes. Had he, in his error, opened the door for something greater to occur?

  Or were the two completely unrelated?

  Too many questions. Too much chance for him to be wrong and make a mistake that could cost him everything. More than himself, too, if the vision was to be trusted. It showed the whole world being subsumed in demonic darkness.

  He shook his head, trying to calm his nerves and take the edge off of his fear before opening the door to the shed and facing the light of the sun.

  That something was going on was undeniable, but what his part in it could be, he had no idea. Until he did, he was helpless, still tossed among the wakes of an ocean he could not see.

  When Carver crossed the yard to the main house, he was calmer, at least on the surface. He didn't want to worry Lisa unnecessarily, though knowing her, she would sense something was wrong, either way. In the amount of time they were able to spend together, she came to know him and his moods quite well.

  He knocked on the door, giving the familiar signal to her it was him and waited while she undid the locks and the traps around it. A weak smile on her face greeted him, but the shotgun in her hands looked deadly nonetheless.

  Their ritual complete, she gave him the hug he desperately required, her long, thin arms comforting enough the nervousness fell away for that brief moment. He sighed into her hair and smiled.

  When she stepped away again, taking the pack from him as he handed it to her, she said, "Malachi called while you were gone."

  He raised his brows. "Did he say what's been up? I've been trying to get hold of him."

  She shook her head. "No, he only said he needed to see you, and to be careful. Things are not what they seem."

  "That's it?" He turned and continued to the kitchen, prying the cordless phone from its rack on the wall.

  "That's it. Sorry." Lisa put the shotgun in its place next to the door.

  "No, it's okay."

  He punched in the numbers and listened to the beeps as they were dialed. A few moments later, with no answer, he shut the phone off.

  Damn. What was going on with him?

  "He didn't say anything else?" Carver hung it up again.

  "No, but he did sound really strange."

  "What do you mean?" Carver went back to the living room and plopped on the couch.

  "I dunno, just like he was really stressed out or something." Lisa sat on the couch next to her father. "I tried to ask him if he was okay, but he wasn't on long."

  He tried to call again an hour later but there was still no response. Not even the generic voice mail message he had picked up.

  Carver glanced out the front windows and saw the sun was not long before it would set, the light already beginning to tamp down across their yard.

  "Listen, I'm going to call the sitter for you," he said as Lisa pulled the ladle from the pot and tapped it against the side; the drippings plopped back in and she laid it aside. "I'm going to go see what's going on with Malachi, and I don't need you to be alone."

  "Dad, I'll be just fine," she protested, her hands on her hips. "You left earlier and nothing happened."

  "Yeah, but I might be gone a while," he said. "Maybe all night. With everything going on..."

  "Stop fussing," she interrupted him with her cry as stern as her little self could make it. "Mrs. Littleton is out of town, and some babysitter is not going to know what to do better than I do if there's trouble."

  "Lisa, with everything going on, I don't want you to be here alone." He raised his voice but regretted it immediately. He turned away, pulling his pack from the table and strapping it around himself. "I can't predict what could happen," he continued, softer.

  "I'm not as unaware as you might think," she said, moving around the counter toward him. "I know you're scared, dad. But there are a lot of girls like me out there who are in more danger than I am, and what you're doing can help them." She stood before him, standing as erect as she could, cocking her head. "Right?"

  The sides of her eyes were slightly damp, though whether from the heat of the stove or from a welling of emotions, he could not tell. He averted his gaze from her, the shaking in his body beginning again as the memory of the vision he had flooded in again.

  "You've got the power to make the world a better place, dad, and as much as I appreciate what you've given up for me, you can't turn away from that." She reached a grip to catch his shoulder as he turned, stopping his movement. "Please. You've got to do everything you can to help people who need it. Isn't that what you've taught me? To protect those who can't protect themselves?"

  He could not help himself. A sigh cascaded from his lips and he put his own palm on her shoulder.

  How was she so grown up already?

  "I've tried to teach you to do the right thing," he nodded.

  "You can't save the world if you're stuck here fretting about me," she said, and Carver saw the tears realty welling, her voice shaky.

  He pulled her into his arms and whispered, "I'll never stop worrying about you."

  By the time he had everything arranged, the light outside was almost too dim to see across the entire yard and he considered waiting until the morning.

  But after multiple calls with no answer, his concern for Malachi grew to an intensity he could not shake and he had to force himself to stop pacing constantly. He could not let go of the feeling things were seriously wrong, especially after Lisa described the strange manner he sounded. Had he turned up something and it drove his friend nervous enough to flee into hiding?

  Too much happening, and no way to get a handle on any of it without answers. Malachi claimed he found something out, and Carver needed that information desperately.

  Lisa was right, he did have a sense of duty to others, whether he liked it or not, and Malachi had been there for him throughout the worst of what he had gone through. If he was in trouble, Carver had to find out.

  "Don't go outside," he chided Lisa as he made himself ready to leave. "And don't let anyone in."

  "Of course, dad. Please be careful."

  "I'll call and let you know what's going on. I may not be back until late, or even morning. Okay?"

  "Dad, just leave. Everything will be okay. Give Uncle Malachi a hug for me." She held the shotgun in her long fingers, though sideways away from the door as he dropped the augurs and unbolted the locks.

  "Guard her close," he said to Jessup, who perked his ears up and sniffed the outstretched hand.

  He hated having to leave her, but taking her with her might be more dangerous than leaving her confined. At least there, the spells were in place to keep any demons getting inside, and she knew how to handle herself if trouble did try to come knocking. He may not be able to protect her as freely if she were with him and something big was happening.

  The lesser of two evils, both intolerable.

  Carver climbed into the truck and rumbled down the lane, watching in the rear view mirror until the house was out of sight. The light stayed on, shining across the grass and weaving between the trees as he turned onto the main road.

  The drive through the country lanes was long and tiring, and as worn as he already was, he had to roll down the window to keep himself aware. There was little traffic. Only a few semis and people making their way back home from one of the bigger cities around traced their own paths, passing by him at speed.

  The wind swept his scalp, cool and slightly damp, and he wondered if a rain might be coming soon. It helped him stay awake, though, despite the hypnotic effect the highway had on his mind.

  It took a couple hours to reach the insignificant town Malachi called home, and as he reached the outskirts, the darkness of the midnight hour had fallen on it completely. There were few lights along the streets, and most of the homes were dampened in the late hour, their own dark shadows barely seen as he passed them by. He tamped the bra
ke as a small dog made its way across one of the thin lanes, running from one side to the other without stopping. Its eyes, however, flashed in his headlights as it watched him drive on.

  Even the single bar in the town was closed, its neon shut down for the night.

  Carver could appreciate why Malachi would want to live in a place like this, away from the bigger towns around with few people to be bothered by, but there should have some activity at this time of night, especially the bar. He frowned as he drove past it; no cars were parked in the small lot. Shouldn't there be a waitress or bartender cleaning up?

  Strange, but Carver had only been to the town a couple of times, and wasn't sure how its blood flowed. Maybe it did close down early each evening and he just hadn't noticed.