“Alas Knights, we are twelve, yet four seats remain open. The other four abandoned their thrones, but I feel them out there. Wandering. I know when the time comes, we are going to need them,” he said to himself out loud.
Caden and Claudius returned to the Grand Rotunda when a late night news report on one of the television screens caught their attention. “A fire rages at the Cathedral of St. James on the corner of Burkett Street. It is not clear if anyone has been found within the blaze --” the reporter went on.
“That shit has Borgia written all over it!” Rufus yelled sending him a text to get his ass to the Grand Rotunda immediately.
Cesare and Mila both looked at the phone in the cup holder as the message from Rufus came through. He burst out laughing. “Looks like I'm in trouble,” Cesare said, nearly turning red from laughter.
He pulled up in front of the Blue Palace; the temple headquarters for the Order of the Blue Goddess, and leaned over giving Mila a deep passionate kiss.
“I love you Cesare,” she said, looking as though she didn't want to leave.
“I love you too. Can’t someone else take your place tonight?”
“I'm relieving Bibi. It’s slow tonight so I let the girls have the night to themselves. I should be home in a couple of hours. Besides, you don't know how long Rex is going to curse you out,” she said giggling.
“I'll hurry back. Promise,” he said sticking his pinky out. Mila wrapped hers around his and stole another kiss before getting out of the car. Cesare sped off down the road to a small rock formation bearing one of the Magia sigils, and drove right through.
He entered a tunnel which led to a garage beneath Temple Salamanca; giving direct passage to and from the Upper Earth and The Hollow. He parked his car next to a line of black Challengers and one gray jeep, wiping himself free of blood and quickly headed upstairs.
4
The Round table
Cesare was welcomed by D'Artagnan, Caden and Claudius who were listening to Rufus rant and rave about something. Jin-Lu chose to enjoy his tea in a more silent place and went to the meditation room. “Borgia! Sit your ass down!” he yelled causing Cesare to lift up his hands as though innocent.
Rufus’ voice often boomed like that of a drill sergeant, and could scare a lesser man. “Dis all your fault. Rex be in a good mood to-dey until you blows up de church mon,” D'Artagnan said, throwing a towel at Cesare.
D'Artagnan being Haitian born, was raised in Jamaica after his mother fled the country to avoid being burned as a witch. His accent was heavy, yet he was a polyglot which helped him in his business before he was knighted.
His hair was dreaded down to his waist, beaded with clasps matching the gold on his teeth. His green eyes stood out against his dark skin and his septum was pierced; often changing it to bright colors matching his outfits.
D’Artagnan got along well with everyone, but was typically considered to be a jokester as his life before Knighthood caused him to be very superstitious. He and Cesare had become good friends as they both took a liking to bending the rules and doing their own side missions. Cesare took the towel and rubbed his arm pits.
“What the fuck were you doing tonight?!” Rufus yelled across the table.
“I was driving my wife to the Blue Palace Rex,” Cesare answered, knowing it was going to piss Rufus off even further. Claudius sat quiet, playing Sudoku, while shifting his eyes back and forth across the table as they argued.
“Don't bullshit me! Tell me what these rogue missions are about,” he demanded. Cesare shrugged.
“I'm not in Magia black so what I do on my own time is my business.”
“You fucking cunt! We are not a guild of assassins!” Rufus stormed as D'Artagnan laughed.
“Oh yes we are. But the only time kills aren't questioned is when they are mandated from that chair,” Cesare said pointing at Rufus.
“Are you challenging me boy?”
“No, but you're sitting here interrogating me about what I do on my free time. Now if I’m not mistaken, every man around this table has taken their fair share of lives. Caden drowned a whole god damn country and yet there he is, sitting on his throne eating chips like nobody’s business.”
“That was an accident by the way,” Caden interjected.
“Doesn’t matter. Accident or not, there were dead bodies everywhere! Then, D’Artagnan summons the occasional hurricane, he kills people all the time.”
“Why you talking about my shit no? Rex be mad at chu,” he answered.
“Then we have the Round Table’s very own Claudius Meridius. He who Hell doesn’t even want yet, there he is with his housecoat and puzzle books looking all innocent. See, we all kill Rex, some on accident, some in secret. Casualties of war. I think the real issue is, you're mad because my kills are so -- eventful,” he said smiling.
Everyone turned to look at Rufus, waiting for a retort, but he somewhat agreed with Cesare.
“Think of tonight as an offering to Mars,” Cesare added, sniggering at himself. Rufus couldn't hold in his laughter.
“Aren't we a demented bunch of fucktards,” Claudius said staring blankly at everyone.
“This coming from the Knight who wears the crown for most lifetime kills. Only Hitler rivals you,” Rufus said looking over at him.
Claudius took his glasses off and looked at Rufus with a smile on his face. “I wasn't judging Rex, merely agreeing,” he said laughing.
“Anyways, I have a mission. Who wants dibs?” Rufus asked. Claudius, who was never quick to raise his hand, looked towards the younger Knights. While he appeared to be a man in his fourth decade of living, Claudius was over a thousand years old as he too was inflicted with the Curse of Cain. He did his fair share of fighting and now preferred the quiet comforts of reading and drinking tea.
Cesare and D'Artagnan air fist bumped each other waiting for the orders. Rufus put up a map of a mountain side.
“While you were out barbecuing Christians, we got a visitor, a god damned Baron graced us with his presence to send us warning that the angels are trying to descend to Malkuth. Now, that's not it. We also had three Unnamed surface and they attempted to possess Dante. Some stupid ass Dactyl has been sending shit to the darkness,” he said, showing the photo of the dead dragon.
“Wait, who burned the cross in the yard?” Cesare asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question.
“Baron La Croix leave burning crosses wherever he go,” D'Artagnan answered. Cesare's face nearly went white, but he fought to maintain his composure in front of the others. He knew the Baron, all too well. Despite their pact being completed on his end, he always felt he would have to cross the Baron's path again.
“The warning of Baron La Croix will not be dismissed. The fact that a Baron would descend gives us enough cause to pay attention, but right now the pieces aren’t fitting together. Caden has been following reports of the increase in witch burnings. The most recent four burnings have shown signs that someone has been summoning angels. He and I believe there is an order, most likely a sheeple order, summoning the angels,” Rufus said.
“Why do you think they’re summoning angels?” Cesare asked.
“Malachim has been found at the burnings in question. Sheeple can’t see Malachim, and it’s difficult to forge. These god damn angel autographs are always left after they manifest on this plane,” Rufus answered.
“But angels are not summoned by human sacrifice, so that gives no explanation for the witch burnings. Since none of the thirty-three Orders of Man are stupid enough to do such a thing, that would mean --”
“There is someone trying to make it look like angels are being summoned to mask their true deeds,” Claudius said, finishing Caden's sentence. Rufus nodded.
“I guess I’m still confused about the Baron La Croix visit. How can a Baron just appear here in the Hollow like that? I thought they had to be summoned. What are they exactly?” Caden asked.
“The Barons are what we enlightened ones become as we take
the path of the ascended masters. They are an evolved form of ourselves, essentially, and that is why they can travel to and from Malkuth. Baron La Croix is not one whose presence brings one to excitement. He has been known to lose his shit on occasion. Luckily, big brother Samedi keeps him in line. In any case, I believe the appearance of the Unnamed is due in part to the stupid ass sheeple doing the burnings on one of their graveyard entrances. One in particular, Cemetery Gromere, is one that Baron Cimitiére oversees,” Rufus said.
“Why are they attempting to summon angels by burning witches in graveyards?” Caden asked, still confused.
“Caden, did you get hit by the stupid train today son? Open your eyes. All of them. Whoever is doing this wants us to believe it’s angelic summoning. So look, Borgia, I want you and D to scout and that's all I want you to do. See if there has been recent activity that would point to angels. Look for signs of anything strange --” Rufus said as he turned up the volume on a headline that flashed across the screen.
“Four women have been burned at the stake --” the reporter went on.
“Dey burn de witches again. Who it be Rex?” D'Artagnan asked.
“I don't know. I'm sure the Crone is having herself a fit at the moment. It may or may not have to do with the Broken Skulls. They have been known to burn a witch or two for sacrifices.”
“As have the Paleros and Bakors. Hell even the Red Axes have had unsanctioned burnings,” Claudius added.
“Yeah. But the Keepers would've warned us if it were one of the Hidden. These burnings are taking place in cemeteries which just so happen to have gateways to both the Necromanteion and the Baron's lands. So Knights, go now. Don't spend all fucking night. We have to prepare for The Prophet's clusterfuck in DC,” Rufus said.
“Oh yeah, what's that about Rex?” Caden asked.
“Well, apparently he wants to initiate a mass awakening,” Rufus said sighing.
“You've got to be kidding!” Claudius said, slamming his paper down.
“In other words, he wants to hand sheeple, dead mindless people an atomic bomb. Why?” Caden asked.
“I don't know shit ok! But we'll find out in a day or two. Now, Knights, just report what you feel and come back. Don't act unless they attack you. Summon me if something is off,” Rufus ordered.
The guys made their way to the garage downstairs and hopped in a black Challenger. D'Artagnan put on some Rihanna, rocking his head to the beat.
“Dis be me bish,” he said smiling. Cesare looked over at him.
“Look man, you need to squash this shit with Lance ok. He loves you like you're one of the Borgias,” Cesare said with puppy eyes.
“Fuck dat Lancelot! Dat asshole gets a fist in his mout!” D'Artagnan started to fuss. Cesare cracked up laughing as he knew that would set him off.
The entire thirty-minute drive D'Artagnan fussed about Lancelot sleeping with his wife Josie, which provided ample entertainment for him while he drove.
“But forget all of dat. I saw your face when Rex mention de Baron. You crossed paths with him before?”
Cesare began to slow the car near the entrance of Cemetery Gromere and gripped the steering wheel tight. “I know the Baron. Too well. He is the reason I am what I am,” Cesare answered. D'Artagnan nodded, knowing not to ask anything further, but diverted his attention to their surroundings.
“Oh. Dis place is bad man. De spirits are angry,” he said, instantly picking up on the change of vibration. Cesare parked the car and turned off the lights.
“What we do now?” he asked. Cesare reached into the glove compartment quickly remembering he wasn't in his car.
“Let’s go canvass the place and see what’s what,” he said, opening the car door. D'Artagnan grabbed him, forcing him to close it back.
“Why you got to see? You always got to see! Can’t you feel it? Rex said look. Dats all. We see, now we go back. Dere is someting evil stirring in de wind,” he said pointing.
“Are you a Knight or a Dactyl? My wife has more courage than you, now don't make me tell her that,” Cesare said leaning towards him.
“If dey kill me, I kill you,” he said getting out the car.
***
Dante settled back in from his visit with the Knights, writing in his journals the visions which he had seen in the Chamber. Emotions were high as Callan threw a fit in the privacy of his room, frustration boiling to the point of hatred.
He sat on the edge of his bed rocking back and forth, trying to hold back tears of anger; his thoughts jumbled and confused. His face, red with veins protruding from his forehead was strained as every emotion he felt fought for dominance to be seen.
The rage which gripped his soul grew lax from the moment he heard the soft giggles of a young woman outside of his room. He pressed his ear upon the door and closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall under the spell of her angelic voice.
Her voice became faint as she walked down the hall causing his frantic state to return; quickly remembering his ailment. A soft tapping on the outside of his window captured his attention, as a dark energy tickled his crown, and root. The soft caw of a bird accompanied the tapping which intensified; startling Callan.
His eyes, blinded by tears blinked rapidly to see the dark silhouette of a man. “Who's there?” he asked, but there was no answer. He placed his hand upon the quickly freezing window as he was drawn by the energy on the other side of it.
“Seek Solon the Great and he will make you anew. By pain and pleasure, he will aid you in your quest to regain that which was taken by your own choosing,” the voice whispered.
“But that’s impossible. There is no magic on this planet that can give me what I desire,” he answered, as a book dropped near his feet.
When Callan looked up towards the window, the specter was gone. He grabbed the book bearing the seal of Ordo Magnum Opus and opened it to a page entitled: The works of Solon the Great. His eyes widened as his mouth forced a smile. Perhaps the Alchemist can help, he thought to himself, throwing on a wool shroud.
Callan looked around the corner and the quiet halls of the Parthenon gave him the security to leave. Pulling the hood over his head, he quietly walked down the side of the Promethean Mountain, hoping not to alarm his fellow Dactyls. Callan looked towards the east, just past Temple Salamanca, and made his way to one of the Magia gateways. “Take me to Castle Panchrest,” he said, as he walked through.
Castle Panchrest sat high upon the Carpathian Mountains looking down on the rural lands of Romania. While the night was high in The Hollow, the sun was rising on the other side of the Upper Earth.
The golden banner of Ordo Magnum Opus, glistened in the light of the morning sun, flapping against the strong northern wind; courtesy of the mighty Sons of Ragnarok in the North. The chill of the wind made Callan cover himself with his hooded robe as he looked for a way into the castle.
As legend had it, there was no door which one could find at the base of the mountain, and climbing was next to impossible. Most of Castle Panchrest was made invisible to the eyes of the sheeple, a term the Orders gave for the common, non-magical humans.
Atop the mountain it looked to them like an old, abandoned Medieval castle, but the reality was much grander. The splendid castle was made of limestone and gold bricks, the conical towers topped with red roofs. Waterfalls of mercury trickled around the castle emptying into a silvery man made pond.
The Alchemists hid the entryway from those who were not of the brotherhood, only allowing those of other Orders in by invitation alone. Breaking the enchantment of Solon the Great was nearly impossible for a man such as Callan; a simple seer from the Order of Dactyls. Nevertheless, the determined young man began to climb.
The winds blew the hood of his robe back exposing his short, dusty blonde hair. His sandals slipped upon the decaying rocks and branches which poked out of the mountainside; his grip, weak, as physical activity was foreign to his body. Not even a foot off the ground, he abandoned his climb and began kicking the rocks about him
in his frustration.
Callan suddenly noticed a small cave that three wolves ran into and he remembered one of the great ballads of the Alchemical order: Up the mountain, you cannot tread. Beneath the skin, the soul be bled. To reach the heart of the mountain's core, one must listen to the wolven roar.
Callan grabbed a stick and wrapped some of the cloth from his robe around it. He lit a torch with pieces of flint lying around and descended into the wolf cave. It was dark and dank, and the smell of a man gave the wolves an unquenchable thirst which Callan could hear growling beneath their woolly layers.
Having no knives or weapons, he was vulnerable to just about everything. Down the tunnel, a small light flickered like that of a candle, giving him a sense of comfort as he prayed himself to safety.
The walls were painted with Alchemical sigils and symbols throughout, along with a primitive painting of Hermes Trismegistus in red and white pigments. His pace, slow, as not to make any sudden sounds, heightened the killer senses of the beasts around him.
Callan pulled out a small wooden cross, tied around his neck by a thin piece of tethered leather bearing the seal of his order; praying he would not meet his end to a thousand teeth. The hot breath of the ravenous wolves blew against his calves; wet noses brushing against him.
He looked back and began waving the torch to create a barrier, but they continued to keep close behind him; waiting for any missteps which would prove detrimental to the young Seer. He came upon a small stairwell, which led further into the deep of the dark cave, and the wolves ended their pursuit; watching from an invisible barrier which kept them from moving forward.
Callan felt a sense of accomplishment as he walked upon a door bearing the seal of Ordo Magnum Opus. He pushed the door and it opened to his surprise, without issue. Looking through, he could see the outside world as he found himself standing on the Carpathian Mountain top.
Hmm. That was easy. Perhaps too easy. But I could’ve sworn I was descending, he said to himself, wondering how he came to be at the top.
Knights of Enmity: The Barons Have Fallen (Descending Fires Book 1) Page 5