Now, do you have any more questions? Any more doubts that need easing? Or are you ready to get on with it?
- - -
He had plenty of questions of course. Hundreds. Thousands. But there were none that he felt safe asking under the circumstances.
The procedure for performing the summoning was indeed very simple, almost to the point of being comical, and in providing him with it, the entity had also been forced to give him a name; which, it turned out, was Vivienne.
The name rang a definite bell. He had seen it in some old text or other at some point; a Celtic Goddess, he was almost sure. He couldn’t remember what sort of deity Vivienne was supposed to be, but the name had positive connotations in his memory. She was one of the good ones. Or at least he thought so.
I’ll have to look her up when I have a free moment.
It was unfortunate that there was no time for that now, because he would’ve definitely preferred to do a whole bunch of research before trying something like this—he’d never performed any kind of summoning rite before, and even his reading on the subject over the years had been relatively scant—but she’d made it clear that she wanted him to hurry, and he was afraid if he didn’t follow her orders explicitly she might not respond when he called. Which, assuming she had important information for him, was probably something he couldn’t afford to risk.
The only thing required for the ritual was a little water, and he had some on hand, in a gallon jug that he kept in his van in case it overheated.
He got the jug out and walked about 100 yards away from his van, positioning himself behind one of the small planes, making sure that the little spy running the office couldn’t see anything. Then he took the lid off the jug, poured out most of the water, until there was a great big puddle right there on the pavement.
He backed a few feet away, closed his eyes, cleared his mind and concentrated—she hadn’t specified any need for concentration, but it seemed like a good idea.
Then he spoke in a loud, clear voice: “Rise Vivienne rise, from waters wide, from waters deep. I face the hordes of the dark, and will surely perish without your aid. Come to me in my time of need. Bless me with your sacred gifts.”
He stood there in silence for a moment, eyes still closed—as specified—feeling very, very silly.
And then he sensed her arrival; a psychic blip, very powerful, almost like a bomb going off right next to him. His heart jumped in his chest and the hairs all over his body stood on end.
It was such a fearful sensation that he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes for several seconds.
Then he noticed the sound of her breathing, and suddenly the idea of leaving his eyes closed seemed even more terrifying than opening them.
When he finally dared to look, what he saw wasn’t so much frightening as exceedingly bizarre.
At first, she was just a blurry female shape, indistinct and shadowy. Then she clarified, like a camera focusing, and almost immediately started changing, shifting from one face to another. Oddly, most of the faces seemed to mimic various female celebrities. At one moment she looked almost exactly like a young Julia Roberts. And then she looked a bit like the singer, Alanis Morissette. And then she looked like a blend of the two.
He decided right away that he wasn’t really seeing her at all. Not in the conventional sense anyway. Rather, his mind was digging into its database of images and trying to put her into a context that his simple human consciousness could digest and interact with.
As he watched this happen, he had the sudden intuitive sense that the entity standing across from him wasn’t even remotely similar to a person or any other sort of living creature he had ever encountered. Which shouldn’t have been surprising—everything he’d read about gods and demons over the years had suggested that they were very different from corporeal beings. But he had never really understood the true meaning until now, and the truth was very different than he would’ve expected.
She’s just pure information, he thought. Like an idea with a consciousness…
Yes, it was something like that… A Data-Being, like an impossibly complex computer program, only with an actual soul.
He could almost see right through the mask of her shifting forms if he concentrated hard enough, but he had the feeling that something nasty might happen to his mind if he ever saw the whole truth, so he stopped trying, and instead focused on the aspects of her appearance that weren’t shifting so much, hoping they might give him a feel for what sort of personality he was dealing with.
Her clothes, unlike her face, had remained roughly the same, and they were fairly ordinary. She wore a loose and willowy green t-shirt made of thin rustic-looking fabric, and white knee-length shorts, and a pair of leather sandals. And she had large green hoop earrings that hung nearly to her shoulders. And even though her face kept changing, her lips were always painted blue, like the color of the sea, and her skin was always shockingly pale.
And there were always tattoos on both arms, of vines, starting at the knuckles of each hand and running all the way up in a swirling pattern past her elbows and under the sleeves of her shirt.
And her behavior was rather bizarre, not at all what he would’ve anticipated.
For several seconds after her initial appearance, she just looked around herself in shock, as if she were even more stunned by her sudden materialization than he was. She seemed afraid, or at least very deeply startled, like someone waking up from a nightmare. Then she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, and started mumbling to herself in some language he couldn’t understand.
When she opened her eyes again and looked at him, she still seemed badly shaken, but she had managed to gain at least a small degree of composure.
She nodded a greeting, and said through quivering lips, “It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced physical reality. It’s a very different kind of existence. Always catches me by surprise.” She had a fairly ordinary American-style accent. California maybe.
He nodded. “I imagine it must be a pretty big adjustment.”
She looked down at herself, and took special notice of the tattoos on her arms, as if she didn’t know what to make of them. Then she glanced up at him, a question in her eyes. “What does my face look like?”
“Well… Most of the time you look a bit like Alanis Morissette—very popular singer, was a huge star back in the 1990s—but you keep changing in small ways, constantly.”
She seemed mildly displeased by his answer, as if it were somewhat expected but still less than desirable. “That happens with some people,” she said. “It’s your brain, trying to get a handle on what I am.”
“I suspected as much. It’s very strange…”
“When your mind settles down, I’ll stop changing. Although I don’t think we’ll have enough time together for that to happen today.”
“What if someone else saw you besides me? Would they see something different?”
“No. They’d see what you’re seeing. You summoned me, so you define me. You are essentially creating my physical existence from the fabric of your imagination.”
“It’s like I’m dreaming with my eyes open.”
“More or less,” she said. “If you had a bit more mental discipline, you’d be able to stabilize my image by sheer force of will, but I suppose that would probably be expecting too much.”
“I told you I had no natural gift for communicating with the spirit world.”
“Mental discipline isn’t a gift. It just takes hard work and dedication.”
“I’ve always done well in trance and meditative arts.”
“You could do better, believe me.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps…”
“Anyway,” she said. “Let’s take care of our business. I’d rather keep this meeting as short as possible.”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Malcolm. “But what exactly is the nature of our business?”
“I’m just here to give you something,” she said. Then she t
ook a step back, and knelt there next to the puddle, started to whisper something that he couldn’t make out while holding one hand poised about 10 inches above the water.
And then suddenly Malcolm realized there was a white box resting there, just beneath her hand.
It wouldn’t be right to say that the box appeared out of thin air, because that’s not how it seemed at all. Rather, Malcolm had the sense that it had been there all along, and he’d just been failing to notice. Of course that was nonsense—there’d been no box when she first knelt down, but with each passing second that was growing harder to remember.
She took the box, and stood, brought it over to him, put it in his hands. The thing was damp from the water, and nearly weightless, about the size and shape of a shoe-box, and made of a substance that felt a bit like plastic, only with a hardness that made him think of metal. There was a faint line at the top that suggested a tight-fitting lid, but when he tried to open it, he couldn’t make it budge.
“This is for the young woman in Virginia,” said the goddess. “It’s enchanted to make it physically impossible for anyone other than her to get inside, and if you were to give this to someone else, or if it were ever stolen from you, it would simply cease to exist.”
“What’s in it?”
“Give it to Simone, let her open it, and you’ll find out.”
“I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with that.”
“I promise you, by all that is holy, that the box contains a gift. Something that will help her. That’s all I’m allowed to say.”
From what Malcolm knew of Gods and other powerful entities, they weren’t at all above lying, not if they thought it would serve their purposes. “I think I’ll need a little more reassurance than that,” he said.
Her lips tightened with anger, and at first he thought she was going to lash out at him, but then her face smoothed out, and all she did was shrug. “Do what you think is best. There is no requirement that you do my bidding. You have free will, naturally.”
“That’s good to know.”
“It’s one of the fundamental laws that governs the universe—often inconvenient, but absolutely unalterable.” She gestured toward the box. “But can you please at least take it along with you? Then you can think about whether to give it to her or not, and decide when you have more information.”
“I suppose I can do that, but is all the secrecy really necessary? I know you godly types have strict rules about sharing information with us lowly mortals, but this is a bit much isn’t it? You obviously know everything that’s going on. Why don’t you just tell me a little bit more?”
“I would love to tell you everything—would make the whole situation much simpler for me, and for you, but that’s just not how it works. That would make it all too easy. That’s not the way the game is played.”
“Is it really just a game to you lot?”
“In a way, but don’t think that trivializes anything. It’s a very important game, with an important outcome.”
“I’ve always been skeptical about all that.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I sometimes wonder if you’re all just having a bit of fun at our expense, pretending to be all-knowing, making up all this stuff about importance and destiny and higher purposes to amuse yourselves.”
“I suppose it’s okay to be skeptical. I probably would be too, if I were in your shoes. But don’t let that skepticism cloud your judgment.”
“My judgment’s fine. But I need information to make a smart decision, and you’re being awfully tight-lipped.”
“Eventually the facts will become apparent on their own. Until then, you’ll just have to live with a degree of uncertainty.”
“Can’t you give me at least a few hints? Something indirect?”
“It’s all a very delicate balance. If you know too much, your actions have no value to anyone. If you know too little, you become useless in the current situation, and we want you to be useful. I suppose I can tell you one thing, because certain events have already occurred, and your knowing won’t change the outcome too much. There have been setbacks in Virginia. We have been trying to aid the young woman ourselves in various ways—and we’re still trying—but it’s not going well so far. Which means you should proceed with caution. By the time you reach her, she might be very dangerous. You should prepare yourself for that possibility in any way you can think of, but no matter what condition you find her in, please don’t do anything to harm her.”
“I certainly have no desire to harm her, but if she’s becoming what I think she might be becoming, harming her is probably my job.”
“I know that. I’m asking you to ignore your job, and keep her safe, regardless.”
“That’s a hell of a lot to ask.”
She shrugged. “That’s what I want from you. Give it to me or don’t. I can promise you nothing in return.”
He was becoming exasperated, and was about to say so, but then, abruptly, he realized the woman wasn’t there anymore.
It wasn’t as if she had vanished into thin air. It was more like she had never been there in the first place.
He looked around in every direction, but there was no sign of her anywhere. He almost felt as if he had imagined the whole encounter. But he knew that wasn’t true, because he still had the box.
He stared down at it.
The thing was warm in his hands, like holding a machine.
- - -
There were four passenger seats in the tiny plane. Thackery sat alone at the rear left, gazing out the window during takeoff as they rose higher and higher, watching queasily as the objects on the ground shrank.
The pilot—a thick, jowly, middle aged fellow, named Kenny—called back to him, “You comfortable back there?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine.”
“I know the plane doesn’t look like much, but I promise it’s in great shape. Best little plane I ever owned.”
“I’m sure it’s splendid. I’ve just never been fond of airplanes.”
“No worries. I’ve never had a single crash.”
Yes, well there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there, he managed not to say.
Thackery suspected that Kenny-the-pilot—a perfectly nice fellow, to be sure—was essentially a hobbyist with only the most basic sort of civilian training.
A weekend warrior in a plane so tiny I have to double over at the waist to stand up in it. Probably the least reassuring sort of pilot Enid could’ve sent me.
Malcolm looked out the window at streets and houses small enough for toy soldiers to call home, and decided not to look out again if he could help it.
Instead, he gazed across at the seat directly opposite his.
The mysterious white box was there—all his other stuff was stored in the cargo hold, but it had seemed important that he keep the box very close if possible.
Seeing it made him think of an urgent task he needed to take care of during the flight.
He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his Kindle.
He had thousands of occult books on there, including many forbidden tomes only known to those in the various magical orders. He scrolled through the list and ignored all the really fancy books, choosing instead one of the most ordinary—a generic modern reference book dealing with world mythology.
It only took him a few seconds to find the name Vivienne, and as soon as he did, he realized why it had been so familiar to him.
It was a name that stood at the heart of the lore that surrounded the original founding of The Order of Merlin. A name from the dark ages of ancient Britain, with roots stretching far back into the mostly forgotten time of the druids.
It was a name with deep ties to a very well-known legend, involving a mythical king and a magic sword and an old wizard…
“The Lady of the Lake,” he said aloud.
Kenny-the-pilot glanced back. “What’s that?”
“Just a name,” he replied, waving his hand dismissive
ly. “A name from something I’m reading…”
Kenny gave him an odd look, then nodded and returned his attention to the instrument panel.
The engine hiccuped and coughed. Malcolm ignored it, suddenly far too excited to be afraid.
He had a few hours to do some research before he reached Virginia, and he intended to make use of all the reference materials he had on hand. Most gods had many, many names, and long, winding histories. If he knew a little more about this one, maybe he could make a guess at what sort of cargo she had given him, and maybe he could begin to understand why she was so interested in the welfare of the young woman from Virginia.
And so he started reading, and soon he found many interesting facts.
Things started adding up in a hurry.
Then, after about an hour, he let out a long sigh and turned off his Kindle, and tried to still his thoughts, because it was all just too much to take in.
It just couldn’t be that big.
No way.
He looked over at the little box, and as he contemplated the nature of the possible contents, he started to tremble slightly.
The plane ate away at the miles, moving gradually from light into darkness. He glanced out his window and saw the bitter face of the moon as it hovered there above the clouds.
Though he didn’t know it, on the seat across from him, the thing in the box was already wide awake.
It hummed softly, and gave off a pale blue light.
BOOK THREE - DARK VOICES
Chapter 1 - Best Laid Plans
The darkness soothed Simone. The darkness was almost like making love.
And she needed soothing, because of the pain—waves of hellish agony that rained down on her every 20 minutes or so, burning and prickling at her flesh like a swarm of angry stinging bees.
When the pains hit Simone would shiver, and her teeth would chatter, and her eyes would finally roll up into her head as she gradually lost awareness of time, and of space, and of everything related to the real world of living, breathing creatures.
The DARK Trilogy: Titan's Song Chronicles Volume 1 (Books 1 - 3) Page 18