by Eli Ingle
“Cheers.” They raised their glasses and drank. The liquid was warm and soothed Frivlok’s throat. A blossom of warmth spread from his stomach and to his chest. Suddenly he felt less irritable.
“It seems you have a lot to tell us,” Frivlok commented, looking over at Vegalior. “Please speak and, unless necessary, we will not interrupt you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Vegalior said, nodding his head. He sighed, collecting his thoughts for a moment, and began. “I was sent to this outpost near the end of the War. It was barren – there were only raw materials. The War had warped the land, but this far away from it, the landscape was largely unscathed. With its convenient location and raw materials, it was an ideal location for the outpost. Of course, my Lord would not have chosen it had it not been so.
“I arrived and began sculpting the church. Full of the power of war, it was a simple job. From there I would enchant daily, weaving energy, filling the air with the idea of how this was a place of sanctuary. It was easy enough to build a population. With the land torn apart, what remained of the humans was a fractured group that would have settled in a damp cave if they thought it was safe. So when they arrived here (influenced by my enchanting, of course), they thought they had died and gone to heaven.
“You had kindly armed me with some equipment that would aid my cause. I don’t suppose you remember any of it?”
Frivlok shook his head even as his mind raced at the new revelation. What wonders had they had at their disposal in a past life?
“The most impressive was a small time-compressor,” Vegalior continued. “A device that creates what is essentially a localised time bubble. You may have noticed its effects as you entered the village.
“Like a charge of electricity?” asked the Commander.
“Exactly. Locked in a vault in the church, it encapsulates the village and the surrounding area. The time has passed faster inside the bubble than outside its boarder. The purpose, which I’m sure you’re wondering about, was to allow me the time I needed to accelerate the village to its full potential. Moulding takes time. Had I had more men – not that I’m complaining, please don’t misunderstand – I would probably have managed without the compressor, but under the circumstances, it has helped massively. For every year that passed outside the bubble, I had ten inside it.”
“What if people walked outside the barrier? Surely they noticed it?” asked Frivlok, pouring himself another glass and sipping.
Vegalior looked amused. “Pfft! Frivlok! My Lord, people never see what is right in front of them. You taught me that yourself. They’re so worried about what I’ve taught them to worry about, that they don’t notice the real threat right in front of them. And if they did, who would admit to it? The radius of the bubble is large enough that the accompanying fields and so on are included in the area. If someone were to wander outside, what would they say? ‘I went for a walk; it took an hour; when I arrived home it was nightfall’? They would be classed as mad and no-one in this town wants that accusation.”
“Why is that?” asked Frivlok, grinning. He might still be unable to remember Vegalior, but he liked him a lot and could tell why he had been picked for his mission.
“We have operations that are more complex than meets the eye. Underground is a vast collection of research labs, pharmaceutical production and other such establishments. We handpick the most hopeful-looking candidates early, tell the family they have been offered opportunities in one of the larger cities to the east and off they go. Although they don’t; they stay here several feet underground. Forever.”
“Don’t the families try to stop their children from leaving?” asked Frivlok. Attachment was one aspect of human nature he could never understand, even if he was aware of it.
“They used to,” Vegalior conceded. “Nowadays they understand that it’s the done thing. Impose a rule for so many generations and the ones following it will not question the rule. They even encourage the children to go. It’s seen as prestigious.” Vegalior paused to laugh. “Of course, it’s nothing of the sort. We keep them underground. They work and work and work. We have developed certain medicines to keep them alive longer but the machine keeps grinding. Those who work well are treated well. Those that resist are removed. Selective breeding. In a few years, we should have developed a second breed of villagers who are based underground. The children are to be intelligent and accepting of authority. We’re not quite at that stage at the moment. Not all of the children meet the grade. They have to be removed. They can’t go above the surface for obvious reasons, so they have to disappear. This of course causes the workers upset and interrupts production. It’s a tricky procedure but we’re getting there.”
“So why doesn’t anyone want to be classed as mad by talking about the time bubble?” Frivlok asked, returning to the original question.
“We medicate them. Say they’re mad, they need help. Give them pills that stops them worrying about … well, anything, in the end.”
“And the purpose of the above-ground population?”
“Twofold. Firstly, to provide potential candidates for the underground system –although of course in time this should become unnecessary. The second and main purpose is they are my fuel. Having arrived at the time you did, you would not have seen anyone, I don’t doubt. Again, my work. They prefer to stay inside when possible. Hyper-religious and superstitious. They worship at my church, of which I am, of course, the vicar. It’s a religion based on fear. In fact, it is not even a religion, although they don’t know this. They worship you. I fear it may be seen as blasphemous to our beloved Zero, but nevertheless, it is a necessity. The villagers provide me with a weekly dose of fear. Sustenance. When the time comes they will give their children for you. That too took time to get into their little heads, but eventually I got there. They’ll do it. They may even do it willingly. Although I hope they don’t. Double the energy that way.”
“My, my, you have been busy,” said the Commander.
“I have, sir,” Vegalior nodded.
“You speak of energy,” sighed the Shapeshifter. “It seems we are in dire need of it. More need than we realised, perhaps. Do you have energy for us?”
“Sir,” said Vegalior, “the whole purpose of this station is to provide you with energy. Not that it was expected that the War would go the way it did, but should the situation have gotten out of control, then my assignment was to wait for your return and aid with your renewal.”
“Why were you not affected by the blast?” Frivlok inquired.
“Every bomb has a radius, my Lord. Even fallout has a radius. You were wise enough to locate me far from both.”
Frivlok smirked. He liked his current self at the moment: wise, cunning, agile. It seemed that the old version of himself was an even greater amplification of that. He awaited the return to his former self with excitement.
“I could talk for hours, my Lords,” Vegalior said. “Although I fear you may not be able to reminisce about the old times as I can. Unless you wish to wait, I could sound the bells and the ceremony could begin?”
“I am ready.”
Chapter Fifteen
The mournful singular clanging of the church bell filled the evening air. The sun was setting in the west, filling the sky with its bloody light. Frivlok, the Commander and the Shapeshifter stood in hooded black cloaks to the right side of Vegalior. Much to his displeasure, the vicar had been forced to wear his human form – at least for the time being.
The villagers had gathered to the front of the church within a few minutes. Frivlok was surprised but pleased at their efficiency. They were well conditioned.
“My children,” Vegalior said, his arms outstretched. “I have gathered you from your homes tonight for one reason: They have returned!”
Whispering spread throughout the crowd. But there was nothing beyond that, and no-one seemed to dare point a finger at the hooded Three.
“Your Gods walk this land once more. But they are weak, drained by the
foul parasitic children who wish to drain their energy for their own purposes. Your Gods are weak and they cry out for your help!”
Weak, scoffed Frivlok. I could tear the village apart in half an hour.
Nevertheless, the words had the desired effect as the villagers cried out in despair and fell to their knees, offering pledges of loyalty and words of encouragement.
Vegalior turned and began walking away from the church. The Three followed in a row behind him. Zeph traipsed behind them, stumbling over the path. Silently the villagers followed the group.
The sky turned a darker shade of red as they approached the edge of a pine forest. Fronds of mist were beginning to form and swirl between the boughs. Vegalior took the first step inside and soon the air was hushed as the trees absorbed all sound. The pine needles on the floor softened their footsteps as they headed deep into the woods. Nightfall descended earlier than usual as the canopy began to block out all the light.
Onwards they walked until they arrived at a clearing in the centre. The view was dominated by a statue of a horned owl. Rising to the tops of the trees, the bronze statue stared down at them with an unyielding icy glare. The villagers fell silent as they saw the statue, a small mist of fear began to build up inside them, filling the clearing. Again the Three were invigorated by it, their minds sharpening and their purpose acknowledged.
Frivlok strode over to Zeph, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him roughly over to a post directly in front of the idol. Pulling the boy’s arms around his back, Frivlok tied him to the post so that he would be forced to watch. He did not, however, tie the rope tightly enough. Zeph immediately noticed and began wriggling his hands back and forth as soon as his master began to walk away. What Zeph did not see was Frivlok tipping a wink to the Commander as he walked away.
Vegalior stepped forwards in front of the crowd and began to intone from a huge book he was carrying with him. He spoke of dark times and the failing power of their gods. Of sacrifice to wash away past wrongs and bring in a new era of civilisation.
Frivlok watched the speech from the sidelines, thoughtful. He was a man who preferred cunning actions over words; in this instance, words were proving to be their greatest ally. Sweeping his purple eyes over the crowd, he watched, fascinated, as they swayed and moaned at his words.
Back and forth, back and forth, Zeph pulled at his bindings. The rope was loosening under his work. There was still a chance!
Out of the corner of his eye, Frivlok spotted the boy attempting to free himself. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. Why was everyone so predictable?
Still Vegalior spoke. Behind him, members of his twisted church were attending to the statue. Its belly was hollow. Here, they began kindling a fire that was soon ablaze, turning the bronze owl first cherry red, then a fiery amber and finally a hot yellow-white.
To the side, more members had taken to beating a rhythm on a drum, slow at first, then building in tempo until the music almost melded with Vegalior’s words, whipping the crowd into a further frenzy.
The energy emanating from the crowd was overwhelming, like a banquet after weeks of starvation. The Three swayed along with the drums, eager for the final phase to begin.
Raising his hands into the air, Vegalior finished speaking. After the torrent of noise, the silence was heavy with expectation.
“Let us … begin.”
Frivlok was scowling. Zeph should have managed to free himself by now. He was still having trouble. Frivlok strode over to Vegalior.
“A moment, yet,” the Dark Angel murmured in the priest’s ear. Vegalior nodded.
“Line up your children,” he commanded, “and wait for our signal.”
A drum beater was standing two paces behind Vegalior, wringing his hands and glistening with sweat. After a moment of indecision, he hurried over to the priest.
“Sir?”
“What? Why do you interrupt?”
“Sir, it’s … it’s my brother. You said that if I worked for you, he would be spared.”
Vegalior smiled and laid a sympathetic hand on the man’s shoulder.
“And so he shall be, my child.”
The man was noticeably relieved. He grinning and tried to shake Vegalior’s hand.
“He shall be spared the pain of having to suffer living in this world!” Vegalior cried, raising his voice so the crowd could hear. “Where is the child?”
There was a scuffle at the back. Voices were raised as one woman shouted “He’s trying to run away!”
“Seize him!” Vegalior snarled.
Several of the fire kindlers hurried into the crowd, elbowing people out of the way and returning a moment later, dragging a boy. He looked almost Zeph’s age and had black hair and warm, brown eyes. He was crying and struggling but to no avail.
The drum beater charged forwards.
“Charley! Charley!” he cried, attempting to get to his brother.
“What’s happening?” Charley sobbed. “You said they wouldn’t take me!”
“We’re leaving! Come on!” The drum beater charged towards the group, knocking one of the men over.
Frivlok was smiling. “Now, now,” he crooned. “There’s no need to dishonour yourself in the last moments.” Pointing at the drum beater and his brother, he froze them in place with a simple thought. “That’s better. Get up.” Moving his hand higher, the boys were dragged to their feet. “Now, isn’t this nice? Charley, is it? I’m going to stop restraining you now. Nice and slowly, you’re going to walk towards the owl.”
Charley was shaking his head, desperate to resist.
Frivlok’s voice became calmer, charming. Almost (Zeph was loathe to admit it) pleasant.
“Look at me, Charley.” The boy’s eyes were inexorably dragged up. Brown met purple. Charley’s eyes bulged as he stared into Frivlok’s. “You’re going to walk towards the owl, do you understand? It’s a nice owl, isn’t it?”
“Don’t listen to him, Charley!” the brother screamed. “He’s tricking you!”
In the same calming voice, Frivlok addressed Vegalior. “I’m going to let the brother go so you can move him. He may cause … trouble. See to it that he does not.”
Vegalior nodded. Frivlok waved his hand, causing the older brother slumped to the floor with a grunt as the pressure holding him up was released. Immediately, he sprang back up and dived for Charley. As if repelled by some invisible force, his hand sprang backwards.
“What have you done?!” he yelled, his voice breaking. He swore at them. He screamed. “What have you done?!” Fist hurtling through the air, he punched Vegalior in the face. With a noise like dry branches snapping, his fingers broke as they hit the priest. Vegalior was unaffected. It sounded as though the boy had punched a block of marble. His face went slack and white and he clutched the shattered hand.
“Do not presume to try that again, human,” Vegalior said. Turning to the side so none but the brother could see, Vegalior allowed his priest’s face mask to fade slightly so his true form was visible underneath. If possible, the brother went even paler and scrabbled away.
Frivlok returned his gaze to Charley. “It’s a nice owl, isn’t it?” The boy nodded. “It’s warm there, and safe. Why don’t you walk towards it?”
In a trance like state, Charley took a tentative step towards the flaming statue. As if the first step had released a mental barrier, the boy continued walking forwards.
Regaining some composure, the older brother crawled forwards, dragging his broken hand like a dead spider.
“Charley! No! Stop it! Come back! Come back!” his voice broke.
On the precipice of the fiery belly of the owl, Charley turned and smiled at his brother. “But don’t you see, David? I want to go.” He turned back towards the flames.
As if on cue, Zeph finally broke his restraints and charged towards Charley. Language had all but deserted him by now, but as he charged towards the boy, he made the closest noise he could to
shouting ‘No!’.
“Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!”
As Zeph’s arms stretched out to pull Charley away from the fire, Frivlok made the smallest of wafting motions with his right hand. Zeph stumbled and tripped forwards. Instead of pulling Charley back, he cannoned into him and pushed him into the inferno.
Staggering backwards, Zeph stared at his hands as if he could not believe what he had just done. Surely he should have saved Charley? There had been enough time! What had happened?
Spinning on the spot, he looked straight at Frivlok who tipped him a wink.
“That’s the spirit, Zeph! You’re finally getting the hang of this!” Frivlok shouted over.
Zeph finally felt something break inside of him and, oh, what a glorious feeling! Madness at last. He welcomed it like an old friend. Surely madness would be a relief after the pain he had suffered.
The elder brother was still screaming after Charley, whose dying screams were starting to fade, the smoke from the fire pummelling out of the eyes of the owl.
“Vegalior?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Shut him up, will you?” Frivlok sighed.
The priest grabbed the elder brother by his jacket and dragged him to the fire.
“Reunited!” Vegalior smiled. “And so soon after parting. How nice.”
He threw the drum beater in after.
Turning on his heels, he addressed the crowd.
“See what it gets you!” he shouted. “See what resisting does! You will bring forth your children and Frivlok will see to it that they will gladly feed the flames! Resist and we shall throw them in unwillingly and force you to watch and you shall follow them afterwards! Form a line and MOVE!”
Waves of despair, misery and horror crashed over the Three. The way their feelings interacted with each other’s, amplifying their fears and increasing them only fed the demons more. The herd mind had always fascinated Frivlok.
One by one the children were cast into the flames. Bar one other family, there was no resistance. The example had been made and Zeph (unknowingly) had played his part perfectly.