Ava said, “Carsten? Please, please, Carsten, tell me. Are you going to leave me for a wealthy woman? My mother says you must, that you cannot be with a lowly maid…”
Carsten caressed her face gently. They had had this conversation over and over again, and every night he made her drink laudanum to become docile enough for him to use in his ritual. And every night he stole the memories of that whole day from her. Banished, erased, gone. But the absence of memory could not be hidden, and he suspected memory could even be restored from certain cues. Ava had exhibited something of this with her mother’s repeated warnings. Not much, just a glimmer, but something nonetheless.
Did Uli’s paintings do this same thing for Wilhelm? Was that why he was now a murderer? Was that why Karl believed he was heading back here?
Carsten shushed her with gentle kisses. Ava was extremely fragile now, and he had to be the lover she needed and more. “No, my darling. We’re getting married, and then we’re sailing the Danube, and walking the boulevards of Vienna. Your mother is right to worry for you, and it’s natural for her to not understand our love. We’ve been together our whole lives. You are mine and always will be.”
She buried her face in his chest and sobbed. He could feel her tears rolling down the sides of his ribcage, feel the small tap as they dripped off his skin to the sheets beneath. He knew that when this was all done, he would have to give her a long break before drinking laudanum, and hopefully he would never have to wipe her memories away again.
He smiled to himself. She truly was a blessing. Without her, none of the Great Work could have been achieved, or at least he couldn’t imagine how. He kissed her forehead, and it was as real and as close as he could come to true human affection. Yes, if the only price he had to pay was her tears, then she was worth it.
***
Wilhelm started to get the shakes earlier in the day but had been fairly good at maintaining. He drank red wine, knowing it was hardest for him to swill should the compulsion take over. So far, he’d drunk only one bottle of the cheap stuff offered at the hotel. He was encouraged that the very nastiness of the crap prevented his drinking too fast.
He had one more bottle in a satchel on his shoulder. He exhaled to get his bearings and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He hadn’t been here since he was a child. He used to come here to get away from his father’s mournful drinking. His dad was always a drunk, but after their mother died giving birth to Carsten, the man imploded and steadily turned into the wretch he was today.
There was a large open clearing of manicured lawns backing up to the forest. Across that big open field was the small cemetery where his grandparents and mother were interred. Past that, the small servants’ quarters, then the gardens and patios, and the big glass windows at the rear of the house.
When he was young, the groundsmen built him a small perch of stout wooden beams cleverly hidden in the branches of the trees. From here, he looked out with his telescope to imagine himself a captain of a great ship at sea, at least until he discovered that he could view the intimacies of the neighbors. He learned what a man does with a woman in this very tree. Needless to say, he immediately began to experiment and found ways to fill the void left by his absent parents.
He walked to the base of the tree and was pleased to discover that the boards of the ladder were still in good shape and well worn. In the dark, he smiled to himself, wistfully hoping that maybe another little boy might find this place to observe the world.
As he started climbing, a harsh light hit his eyes.
An unsympathetic voice cut the silence. “Hello, Wilhelm, how interesting to find you here.”
Wilhelm fell backwards off the first step of the ladder, landing painfully at the feet of another man who pressed the barrel of a rifle into his chest, pinning him down.
The man speaking was Karl. He held a lantern with a big mirror inside for focusing a beam of light. That’s what hit him in the eyes. Another two men emerged from the darkness and put their heavy boots on his knees, pinning him completely. They wore rifles slung over their shoulders and big revolvers on their belts. They could be hard men from the American West or the Australian outback, but for their well-tailored suits.
Wilhelm said through gritted teeth, “You will release me this instant. My family owns this property!”
The men didn’t move at all.
Karl crouched down next to him and lit a cigarette with his lantern. “That would explain why you’re walking through these woods at night, and why you’re heading to this cleverly disguised vantage point.”
Wilhelm didn’t know what to say, all he could do was glare his fury at Karl, the carriage driver.
Karl drew on his cigarette and exhaled thoughtfully. “Perhaps you were coming to perform a surprise inspection of the Ernst estate, checking to see that everything is running smoothly. ‘Ship-shape’, as the English would say?”
Wilhelm said, “You will release me and take me to my father this instant!”
Karl’s men did not budge and Karl smiled playfully. “A man named Haas came to inquire after you, Wilhelm. It seems he received some distressing news out of Paris: there was a fire and an untimely death. He’s left a carriage parked further up the street from the front of the Ernst estate with men who watch the front of the house with a telescope. I daresay this Haas doesn’t like you.”
Wilhelm’s expression changed to stark cold fear. He stammered, “Will you give me over to them?”
Karl put a reassuring hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “Perish the thought, Wilhelm. Let us help you. We’ll get you to the house, get you a good meal and good night’s sleep, then set you on your way. We’ll just need you to make sure that you aren’t seen. As stunning as it may seem, I don’t think this Haas wants to give you a fair hearing. So we’ll need your help keeping your presence here secret. You’ll help us with this, right, Wilhelm?”
Wilhelm nodded and he understood. He would behave and be gone or he would be handed over to Haas. Before he walked back to his own home as a prisoner, he was forced to change clothes with one of Karl’s men. When they headed across the big open field, they would be observable from the sides of the property and from Haas’s men and their telescope. He carried one of the rifles, unloaded before it was handed to him.
His plan had failed spectacularly, and he knew he was a fool out of his depth. Carsten had Karl and his men because he left nothing to chance. His youngest brother was brilliant, undeterred and evil. Nothing a hapless joke like he could do would stop someone like Carsten.
He did manage to make one singular observation while marching to captivity. His mother’s grave was emptied, the dirt piled neatly to the side, the coffin missing.
They stopped before the hedges surrounding the wide patios. For some reason, it seemed like Karl’s men didn’t want to go any further. They didn’t say, but their body language suggested it. Karl turned up his lantern and Wilhelm saw his hard, cold eyes. He smiled and said, “You are more astute than others might give you credit for. You’re right, they don’t come in at night. So, how are we going to make sure you don’t run amok and stir up the hornet’s nest, Wilhelm?”
Wilhelm said quietly. “I have no desire to go to prison. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t give me to Haas.”
Karl nodded. “Yes, but if you were to set foot in there, you might go running to Haas yourself. So we’re going to protect you from yourself.”
Wilhelm just looked at Karl with frightened apprehension. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me, Karl.”
But something burned at the edge of his consciousness… dreams that were too real, and knowing that Carsten was doing something unspeakable, something powerful enough to alter the very laws of nature.
Karl pulled out a cigarette case and handed one to Wilhelm, taking another for himself. Then he lit a match and held it up for Wilhelm to light his smoke. Wilhelm put the cigarette to his lips and pulled in a big drag. This wasn’t tobacco, or at least it wasn’t al
l tobacco.
Karl laughed, exhaling a big cloud of sweet-smelling opium smoke. “I met my first love in Africa, Wilhelm. She protects me from the spirits of the night. Really, you can watch the whole world end, and it won’t bother you at all. That’s why I love her so.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Carsten stood in his little servants’ quarters before the disinterred body of his own mother. This part of the ritual cycle was fairly well mapped out by information principally gleaned from The Song of the Death God. His job for tonight was to prepare the body to be a whole vessel for its soul’s return. Everything must be in place for the flesh to return to its living state to be suitable for life again.
Everything must go perfectly tonight for the resurrection to succeed tomorrow night. Tonight, he was channeling something he had come to understand as being a Daimonos. That’s how Gaius, the author of Song of the Death God, referred to it at least. This was something like the chthonic deities, minor spirits of the underworld in Greek mythology. Gaius saw himself as a philosopher and peppered the text with references to Greek mythology. He wasn’t a modest man, and barely discussed the actual results of the rituals laid out by the African shaman he captured and brought back to Carthage.
They followed the seasons, allowing for the ritual to be performed twice a year, at midnight on the vernal and autumnal equinoxes. Tomorrow night was the autumnal equinox. The quantity of work done over the past months was extraordinary. The fact that he was an architect of the Great Work by night, while being the studious and impressive young man, was nearly impossible to fully appreciate. While ordinary men lived lives of quiet desperation, Carsten refused this mandate. For a moment, he felt a surge of pride at this, but quickly put it aside. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by pride; in fact, pride was a mental poison that could kill him. Other men were irrelevant.
He focused back on the task at hand. Ava stood at his mother’s head; he stood at her feet. She dutifully drank her laudanum, and he put her in a trance. Perfectly obedient, she invoked the Daimonos with him, and using its authority, they purified the desiccated body. While many components in high ritual were in the original tongue, many of the lower rituals were in the native languages—Greek, Latin, Hebrew, and Arabic—and could be translated provided the exact meaning was preserved.
Daimonos, primoris quod permaneo, vobis venit filiolus
Daimonos, silens, Tribuo nos vestri vox vocis.
Daimonos, caecus, Tribuo ut mihi vestri os.
Is est unus per meus manus manus ut Ego partum, quod unus per meus mos ut Ego to order!
Daimonos, primoris quod permaneo, suscitatio ex vestri somnus.
Daimonos, sententia vos audite haud sanus, Tribuo ut mihi vestri auditurus esse.
Daimonos sententia vos operor non sentio, Tribuo ut mihi vestri manuum.
Ego to order sol solis aborior in oriens!
Is est per meus manus manus unus ut Ego partum, quod per meus mos unus ut Ego to order!
Daimonos Ego to order ut vos ostendo sum vestri verus nomen Daimonos Suscitatio!
***
Wilhelm sat in the salon of his bedroom across from Karl. To his right were the big double doors leading out into the garden, to his left, the phonograph and its strange scratchy notes falling out of the big, ornate horn. When they first debuted, he wondered why others were so very impressed with them. Yes, it was amazing that one could play music at home without musicians to provide the music—it just sounded like they were in a building across the street, or maybe in the basement while he was in the second storey. He was torn on which was the more apt description. The notes really were falling out of the horn, and on their way to the floor, they shed off a layer of dust motes that formed a cloud that the stream of notes pierced as they drifted and shattered in little pops and crackles that also came out of the horn…
He looked back over to Kreutz, grinning and laughing. Wilhelm laughed, too. He wanted to laugh more, but it just seemed such a colossal effort.
Karl leaned back and stretched his arms out to the side, “Really, Wilhelm, I took you to be more experienced in this sort of thing. You seem almost a novice.”
Wilhelm tried, “I… uh… opium? Was there something… something else?”
Karl smiled. “Hashish. Another gift the Arabs showed me in Africa. Tobacco, hashish and opium make a splendid palliative against the rigors of the Dark Continent. Wilhelm, I say this with all sincerity, Africa is hell. Beautiful, but deadly and merciless. There, human life is no more valuable than dirt.”
Wilhelm noticed that the notes weren’t shattering when they hit the floor anymore. Instead, they bounced along the carpet and came to a rest near his feet before melting. It was amazing!
He looked back up to Karl, who smiled solicitously. He peered down at the glass in his hand. It was laudanum. He hadn’t even touched it, but right now he was so very thirsty. He took a sip—bitter, awful, slimy, and dry at the same time. But still so thirsty, he drained the cup in a swig and made a face that made Karl laugh even more.
“Bravo, Master Wilhelm! You probably couldn’t have seen the shadows after smoking that cigarette with me, but I had to be sure. You probably have the belly of a goat with all the liquor that you swill, so there was really no way to know.”
Karl paused, “Can you see the shadows, Wilhelm? It’s enough to drive a man mad, but just a dab of opium makes them go away, or being a besotted drunk like your pathetic sisters. But you weren’t even halfway there when we found you. If you look really hard, can you see them?”
His stomach was warm, but it felt good, like hot rivers flowing up through his guts and into his lungs.
He held up his hand and looked at it. Something was missing. His lungs felt hot and big, like bellows in a foundry. He needed smoke, yes, a cigarette.
Karl was already holding one out to him, leaning over the table, taking the empty glass of laudanum away and handing him a tall, cold lager. Karl was like some kind of magician. He knew exactly what was needed and when. No wonder Carsten employed him. He put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, Karl holding up the match.
He drank, exhaled. He felt his vision getting wobbly, and it was difficult to stay sitting upright. Were the walls moving, or was something sliding across their surface? He couldn’t track the motion; his eyes were just too slow. But it seemed like… something he had seen before.
At the Gallerie d’Arte Voltaire, all of the shadows, they had slid across the walls, and after he killed Renaud, they walked among the paintings.
***
A rumbling and a screeching filled the world. He saw it in the distance and he felt it in his chest. He felt the very air sucking from his lungs. He was here again, but this time he was more here than ever before. His mind was here, his soul was here, and now it felt as if his body were here. The wind whipped his hair, his gasping breath, the grit buffeting him from all directions and pulling him like a mote of dust towards something in the distance, many miles away on the horizon. And he knew what it was. It was the house, this house with his sleeping body far away in the real world, in the only world he knew was real until now.
Now this world was real, too, and he was there.
From the house, Darkness shot from the windows and doors like a beam from a lantern in reverse. Real Darkness, Darkness that burned the light it contacted, sending clouds of smoke and ashes of the defeated light upward in a spinning pillar of poison. At the same time, the Darkness sucked in everything around it to feed the inferno of its hunger. He was being pulled in, as was everything here. The air of this world vacuumed to the house in gale force winds. When it got close, it rotated, a tornado of winds pulling everything to this death. He could feel it in his bones and teeth. This place was thrumming, vibrating with force, building by the second. The house was consuming this world.
Wilhelm closed his eyes, and his eyes over there, and tried to will himself back to here. But he could not. When he opened his eyes, he was closer to the epicenter of the maelstrom. All of th
e same elements from his last dream were here, and some new ones, too.
The beautiful woman with long black hair still hung in mid-air, her pose different, but struggling to avoid the pull of the house. Uli was here too, suspended upside down, barely visible through the tornado of winds destroying this world. But they were different now. They were not frozen statues in a static world. They were real people whipped about in a tempest. And whatever force was holding them in place, suspending them in time, was losing out to the house and its pure entropy.
The souls of the multitudes were different now, too. Previously, they were translucent and disappeared after mere seconds of existence. Now they didn’t disappear, and were losing their transparency, their incorporeality, becoming real, just as Wilhelm was. But just as in another dream, another motif appeared. The souls of the millions formed concentric rings around the house, walking in a giant choreography of suicide. Then they all turned and faced the house, their faces filled with rapt religious ecstasy. They all simultaneously got down on their knees and began bowing, praying, worshipping the Darkness destroying their world. They rose onto their knees in unison, groveling before this abomination, praising the agent of their own destruction, the oblivion of this world.
Then a new screaming filled the universe. The smoke from the fires of the light burnt by the darkness reached the curtain of black boiling clouds enveloping this world. When the smoke hit, it reacted with fury, forming the colossal tentacles he saw before. They grasped at the smoke, trying to fight back against it, but to no avail. The smoke burned them just as it burned the light, piercing them and blowing a hole through the canopy surrounding this world.
When that last barrier was breached, the cataclysm began.
Uli was the first to go, skin torn off, his guts pulling away, followed by the meat and bones. Then the beautiful black-haired woman, still struggling, still transfixed, tried to turn away, but the winds severed the lower half of her body, tumbling through the air, the intestines spooling out behind. In the last moment before the rest was drawn into the house, she looked at Wilhelm with an expression that told only infinite pain and sorrow.
The Singularity Cycle 02 Song of the Death God Page 21