Isiah sat in his car and waited, breath condensing in the cold air. He had parked on the opposite side of the street, a hundred yards back, from the house where Filthy Frank had taken part in the ONC’s activities the night before. The house was clearly visible, as was Frank’s battered car parked outside. It was very early, false dawn smudging the eastern horizon with grey and purple shades like a fading bruise. From here he would easily see Frank when he got into his car and he could also see if any other cars left the house. It was quite possible that Frank would abandon his car here and get a lift to the airport. It was also possible that Frank would not be leaving for some hours yet, so Isiah settled down. Waiting came easily to him. There was a certain peace in letting time slip past like the water of a gentle stream.
The eastern sky brightened as the minutes ran into hours, a golden disc of sun breaking the horizon, rising into an icy, cloudless blue. Orange light like liquid gold spilled across the dashboard of the car and onto his body and face. Its gentle, early warmth was revitalising. No wonder ancient races saw the sun itself as a god and would engage in rituals to ensure it rose each day.
A movement caught Isiah’s eye. He sat up, the loving caress of the early sun forgotten. He narrowed his eyes, staring up towards the house where Frank was staying, squinting against the bright sunlight. He had definitely seen movement up there. Near the roof. Perhaps it was the surreptitious figure from last night. It was hard to see with the sun as low and bright as it was.
Isiah slipped smoothly from his car, never taking his eyes from the roofline. He walked steadily along the road, closing the gap between himself and the house, until the angle of the sun and his line of vision separated. As he walked he drew his aura in and clamped down a tight mental cloak. If this person could see his astral self, they would certainly spot his physical aura, even from afar. But he was very good at masking his presence. If the person on the roof was to spot him now they would have to see him the conventional way and that would not necessarily raise any suspicions. They would have to be talented indeed to see through his cloak.
With the bright rising sun off to one side, he had a clearer view of the roof. He paused, scanning every inch of it. The house was a good fifty or sixty yards away, but Isiah’s eyesight was preternaturally good. He could manipulate himself as easily as he worked his magic on anything, or anyone, else. He could see nothing but roof tiles.
He drew in a long, slow breath, staring and thinking. This person had seen him in his astral form. So this person certainly had some talent. Perhaps they too were masking themselves, psychically and physically. Isiah let his cloak loosen and cast his mind towards the house, probing, feeling with his will. They spotted each other simultaneously.
As Isiah saw through the cleverly constructed visual and mental barrier concealing the person on the roof, crouched just above the gutters, that person whipped their head up, stared directly into Isiah’s eyes. They were very talented and extremely sensitive. In a flash they were up and gone. Isiah pounded after them. Not this time!
As he had touched them very briefly with his mind he had a certain sense of them, like a dog catching a scent. Faint though it might be, it was something to hang on to. The person went up over the roof, trying to put the house between themselves and Isiah. They were dressed in charcoal greys, dark and easily concealed in shadows. Far more effective than black. They had a hood or head covering of some kind, not unlike the popular images of a ninja. Nimble and fast, they cleared the roof in a instant.
Isiah dropped his psychic cloak and let his willpower gather, running at a phenomenal pace, right past the house and into the adjoining street. As he cleared the corner, his mind holding onto the roof dweller’s psychic scent, he caught a brief hint of movement between two houses a way down the road. Drawing in a fast breath and gathering his energy, he increased his speed, hammering along the road, now too fast for a normal eye to see as anything more than a blur. He ducked between the two houses as his quarry had done. They were inhumanly fast, though not as fast as him. He saw them vanish over the fence at the back of one property. He ran and jumped, clearing the seven foot fence effortlessly. As he landed on the other side he found himself in a large concreted area, some sort of loading bay or car park behind a huge building, perhaps a warehouse. On the other side of the concrete space the grey clad figure was half up the wall of the building.
They stopped climbing, hanging to the corrugated walls, staring at Isiah. He skidded to a halt in the middle of the wide open space and stared back. The person dropped lightly to the ground and stood facing him, some twenty yards separating them. Isiah smiled. Brave. Or stupid.
The figure took a few steps forward. Something about the way they moved triggered the start of a thought in Isiah’s mind but it was stopped dead as the sudden swell of MageSign rose from them. Isiah threw up a barrier of pure energy as a bolt of power shot from the stranger’s outstretched hands. As he staggered back, surprised by the force of the blow, his attacker broke into a run, bearing down on him like a missile. Another bolt of energy pulsed out from the grey covered hands and Isiah took it again on his shield, ready for the impact this time. The stranger was taking no chances, using enough power to destroy any normal man. They were clearly wary of whatever power they had sensed in him. As the energy of the attack and defence crackled in the cold of the early morning air they were upon him, flying forward with a well executed kick.
Isiah clenched both fists and sidestepped, blocking the kick to one side and sweeping his arm around in a looping blow. His assailant was quick, ducking his counter-attack and landing on one leg as the other swept around in a graceful arc. Their shin connected with the back of Isiah’s ankles and swept his legs clean out from underneath him. With a grunt of surprise and annoyance he fell, tucked, rolled. He came up as a grey fist flew towards his chin. Turning his head to one side, the blow shooting past close enough for him to feel the wind of its passing, he grabbed the forearm in one meaty hand and powered out his other hand in an open palmed blow. His palm landed with a satisfying thump high on his attacker’s chest, eliciting a rush of exhalation.
Without any time to celebrate his strike, he felt the person’s arm and hand twist against his thumb, the weak point of his grip. Isiah’s grip was anything but weak. Realising they could not break free, the grey clad attacker leapt up and over, grabbing hold of his wrist themselves, and landed behind him, pulling his own forearm across his throat. He felt their knee slam into his spine. Again he grunted, this time in surprise and pain. This person was very good and very powerful.
Isiah drew his energy deep into his core and pulsed out a wave of power. His attacker managed to shield themselves mentally just in time at the expense of their hold. Isiah twisted out of the grip, spun around, grabbed under the knee that had been in his back and threw the person up and over. They twisted in the air like a cat and landed on all fours, hands and feet splayed wide and stable. Their position and shape suddenly coalesced the thought that had been tapping at the edges of Isiah’s mind while he fought. A woman!
As the thought occurred to him, the woman leapt forward again. With energy flowing out before her she knocked Isiah back mentally and physically and rained blows across his shoulder and arm as he defended his head. By the gods, she’s strong! He had to end this now. He took a risk and let one blow through. The crack across his jaw sounded like a gunshot and made his vision cross, but it was enough. As the woman moved to take advantage of the blow he anticipated her movement and intercepted. His own blow was solid and crushing, knocking her head to one side with a crack and upsetting her momentum. As she stumbled, Isiah helped her down with a kick to one thigh and a second palm into her chest. She grunted in pain and fell. Isiah dropped with her, all his considerable weight over her, laid one forearm across her throat. He knelt across her hips, sinking his weight to prevent her from bucking him off or kicking up between his legs, and raised his free hand. Blue energy crackled and burned between his fingers like electricity, snaking across his open palm.
‘Who are you?’ the woman cried.
‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ Isiah replied, panting. ‘But you chose attempted murder, so the question had to wait.’
‘You’re not with them?’
‘With who?’
‘Them.’ The woman flicked her eyes towards the fence they had jumped. Her eyes were the most magnificent glacial blue. ‘The ONC.’ She had an accent. Eastern European of some sort.
Isiah shook his head. ‘No. And neither are you. We have more in common than you think, so perhaps we should start again. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘It’s a bit late for that!’ She sounded as if she had something in her mouth
‘Not my fault. You started it.’
‘You lifted my cover and started chasing me. What was I supposed to do?’ Her eyes flashed angrily through the slit in her hood.
Isiah smiled grimly. ‘We could have talked from a distance. You didn’t have to start so violently. I’m going to let you up. We’re on the same side, right? No need to fight any more?’
‘Sure.’
Isiah raised one eyebrow. ‘Seriously! If you start off again when I let go, I’m going to thrash you. I’d barely warmed up before.’
The fire in the woman’s eyes burned on for a moment, then Isiah saw it fade. She relaxed underneath him. ‘You are powerful. No one has beaten me before.’
Isiah made a rueful face. ‘I’m sorry. That would really suck. But at least you’ll live to fight again. Most people that I beat don’t have that luxury.’
‘Fair enough. Let’s talk.’
Isiah lifted his weight and moved aside letting the woman rise to a sitting position. As she sat up she put a hand to her jaw, then whipped it away. The pain in her eyes was heartbreaking. Isiah reached out. ‘Here, let me.’ The woman watched warily as Isiah touched his fingers lightly to her chin. He felt inside, his mind probing through skin and flesh. The jaw bone was fractured in two places. He let his energy flow through his fingers, painstakingly reknitting the fragmented bone. The woman’s eyes drilled into him as he worked. After a few minutes he sat back. ‘There. I’m sorry, that was quite a blow. I’m surprised it didn’t knock you out.’
‘I’m strong.’ She gingerly fingered her jaw line as she spoke, her voice normal again.
Isiah laughed. ‘No shit!’
He saw the woman’s eyes smile. ‘You’re very good at healing. I can barely feel it any more.’
‘You need anything else fixed?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle myself.’
‘Okay. So, why do you like to hang out on the roof over there? It was you last night as well, right?’
The woman nodded. ‘Yes. Did you get inside? Did you see their rituals?’
‘Some. Not all.’
‘How did you manage in that form? They would have spotted you in a instant.’
‘I wasn’t in that form inside. But I only saw the opening part of the meeting. After that they went into a sealed room and I couldn’t have gone in there without being discovered.’
The woman nodded. ‘Yes. You left with the Neophytes and Prospects.’
Isiah raised an eyebrow. ‘I heard those terms. What do they mean?’
‘How much do you know of this society?’
‘Very little. I’ve only just discovered them. I’m trying to track down their leader.’
The woman laughed. ‘Really? You have no idea what you’re up against here, do you?’ She looked at Isiah intensely, her eyes narrowed. ‘Could you be...?’
‘Could I be what?’ Isiah had a flash of realisation. ‘Oh, fuck! I was watching the house to see Frank leave!’ He jumped up, grabbing the woman’s arm, and ran back across the concrete, heading for the fence.
‘What are you doing?’ The woman limped as she stumbled along beside him, one hand pressing her thigh where Isiah had kicked her.
‘If we follow Filthy Frank he’ll lead us to the Sorcerer!’ Isiah pulled and virtually threw the woman over the fence, jumping over behind her in a single bound.
‘Filthy Frank and the Sorcerer?’ There was amusement in the woman’s voice. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Fuck!’ Isiah stood at the kerb, staring at the space where Frank’s car had been parked. He looked up and down the empty road. ‘Come on, we may catch up with him at the airport if we’re lucky.’
‘You think I’m going with you?’
Isiah looked at the woman. ‘Why are you watching the place?’
‘We need to learn more of the activities of this group.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Well, you can tell it to me in the car on the way to the airport. Believe me, if we keep up with Frank he’ll lead us right to the heart of this thing. But you may want to change clothes. Security at airports is a little extreme these days and that would set them right off.’
Jake drove the Land Rover cautiously. The woman in the passenger seat looked half asleep, but it was only Jake’s concentration that kept her that way, the alcohol alone not enough. His left hand gripped a red stained handkerchief tightly against the steering wheel and he muttered soft, broken, hideous words. It didn’t take long to get back to Braden Estate. He pulled up right by the red brick porch and killed the engine. Hopping out, muttering all the time, he walked to the passenger door, gravel crunching under his boots, hoarfrost glittering in the moonlight. He pulled the soporific woman from the seat and cradled her easily in his arms. The rain had stopped, freezing everywhere, but the wind still whipped at hair and clothes, pushed clouds swiftly past a half moon.
‘Wassappen...?’ the woman mumbled, then giggled softly. She looked up. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ She looked around, confused. ‘Bloody cold in here all of a sudden, isn’t it?’
‘We stepped out for some air, remember,’ Jake said as he stood her on her feet, one arm wrapped around her back and under her arm. He dug his free hand into a pocket and pulled out a key, unlocked the front door. ‘You were feeling woozy?’
The woman nodded, exaggerated, wobbling nods. ‘Thatsh right! I’m woozy.’ Her brows knitted together as she looked up into the hallway as Jake pushed open the door. She took a deep breath, trying to rally herself. ‘Just a minute. What’s this place? Where are we?’
Jake muttered again in the foul language of the Sorcerer’s magic, looking hard into the woman’s eyes. She stared at him defiantly for a moment, one hand raising in protest. Then her head lolled against her shoulder and Jake took her full weight again. He pulled her inside, her feet dragging behind her. She mumbled incoherently. He sat her in a carved wooden chair just inside the door, dark timber with a red velvet seat, and held up his right hand. He barked three short, sharp words and struck the heel of his hand into the woman’s forehead. She slumped heavily in the chair, out cold.
‘Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?’
Jake jumped, spun around. ‘Dominus! I didn’t feel you there at all.’
‘Of course not. That’s why I’m the boss and you’re the boy.’
‘In case I got pulled over. Better to have her looking very drunk than actually unconscious. If she acts drunk then my story is easy. If she’s out, then there are too many possibilities for a pig to think up and delay me.’
The Sorcerer made a face. ‘Good thinking. So, how did you get her? Tell me everything.’
Jake shrugged. ‘Not much to tell. I got lucky. I was heading into the pub when she stormed out. She ran straight into me. Very apologetic, very upset. I asked if she was okay, she said no, she’d had a big argument with her boyfriend. At that point a guy comes out and says, “Oh, that’s about right. Straight into the arms of another man!” She told him to fuck off, he told her to fuck off, I offered to buy her a drink. She just looked at him with this nasty expression and said, “Sure, you can buy me a drink.”’
The Sorcerer pursed his lips. ‘The boyfriend will remember you.’
‘No. I told her to go back inside as I’d left my wallet in my car. She went in and I followed the boyfriend and tapped his memory. He’ll remember his girlfriend going off with a tall black guy with dreadlocks and a big green coat.’ Jake smiled, pleased with himself.
‘Good. What about the people in the pub?’
‘Nothing to worry about. The place was packed and she said she hadn’t been there before, so no one knew her. We kept a low profile and I got her more drunk. She was already bladdered when I got there and I added a bit of pressure to the effect. Within ten minutes we were back outside so she could get some air. That was it. In the car and away.’
The Sorcerer nodded, satisfied. ‘Good. Well done, Jake. Very well done. Help me get her downstairs.’
Jake crouched and tipped the woman over his shoulder, lifted her in a fireman’s carry. He followed the Sorcerer to the door under the stairs and down the cold stone steps. As they passed the wine racks and entered the open space with the candles and stone sarcophagus the Sorcerer held up a hand. ‘What is it?’ Jake asked.
‘You’ll have to stop here. Put her down there.’
‘But the coffin is only ten feet away, I can take her...’
‘Put her down!’ the Sorcerer snapped.
Jake jumped, his expression hurt. ‘All right. Whatever you say.’
The Sorcerer bowed his head, then looked back up at Jake. ‘My apologies, Jake. You’re one of my dearest students and you don’t deserve to be shouted at. It’s just that you can not see the child now.’
‘Okay. Why not?’
‘It’s how it must be. The child can see nobody but me, and even then he hardly sees me.’
Jake was confused. He tried a different tack. ‘It’s still freezing down here. Will the child survive?’
‘If he feeds often enough. He is not a normal child.’ The Sorcerer took hold of the shoulders of the woman’s jacket and dragged her across the stone floor to the sarcophagus. ‘You should leave now.’
‘I saw you feed the child before. I have no qualms about it and I’m happy to watch sacrifice to Yath-vados.’
The Sorcerer looked at Jake, his eyes hard. ‘You don’t understand what is happening here, Jake. You are serving very well and you have done exactly as I have asked. Please, continue to do so.’
Jake knew he was pushing his luck, but couldn’t help himself. ‘These people, the food for the child. They’re sacrifices to Yath-vados, right? And the child will be the ultimate sacrifice to Yath-vados when the time is right?’ The Sorcerer said nothing, one eyebrow raised. Jake plunged on. ‘Because if we plan to give power to a god, then we need to sacrifice to him. He is weak now, as you said before, but our ministrations will make him strong. Then he will be able to wield his power to this world, empowering our actions. That’s what gods do, right? Reward their faithful by helping them achieve their goals and aims.’ Jake stopped, unsure where he was going with this sudden tirade.
The Sorcerer pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. ‘You have always been the thinker, Jake.’ He had a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. ‘You’ve always been a favourite of mine, you know that?’
Jake nodded, cast his eyes down, embarrassed. ‘I owe you a lot.’
‘And you always had the most questions. You always needed to know more. And I always told you as much as you needed to know. Never more, never less. I’ve guided you well and you have grown magnificently, have you not?’
‘Certainly.’
‘So trust me now, Jake. I tell you what you need to know and you will benefit the most that way. Don’t try to second guess me. Your loyalty and hard work will be repaid, I promise you that.’
Jake nodded resignedly. ‘I feel that if I knew more I could be of more help, that’s all.’
The Sorcerer smiled. ‘I know, Jake. And you like to know what’s going on. But trust me, in this instance, the more you knew, the more trouble it would cause.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll go upstairs. I’m hungry anyway. Do you want anything.’
‘No, thanks. And good work tonight, Jake. Really.’
Jake nodded again and headed back across the cellar, up the worn steps. He did trust his Dominus, with his life. But something different was happening here. Usually he and Chris and Frank, and Lars when he was around, Sam before he had disappeared, they would all work together with the Sorcerer, making the magic stronger. Even Dieter and Raul would join them regularly, the core team. At the moment he felt excluded. But he wasn’t the only one. None of the others were any more included than he was really.
As he pushed open the door at the top of the steps he heard the woman’s voice echoing from below. ‘Who the fuck are you? What are you doing?’ The was panic in her voice and the sounds of struggling and scuffling. Jake heard the Sorcerer bark out hard, diamond edged words, followed by a moment of silence. Then the woman’s screams were piercing and agonised. With a soft smile Jake pulled the door closed and headed for the kitchen.
Faith sat nervously on the leather couch, a smile tugging at one side of her mouth. What a night it had been. And a day. She cast her mind back, thinking that meeting Lars at the hostel seemed so long ago. They had talked, sitting there in the lounge, for hours. She had felt so happy. Just being in his presence had relaxed her, made her feel safe. He talked about how he had travelled for years from his native Denmark before settling in Australia. He had flirted with her, explaining how he had been walking past the hostel and had seen her sitting alone inside. He had been irresistibly drawn to come and talk to her. Then he had told her how he had seen the strength of her will from out there as she meditated. This had stunned her, but he had been so sincere. He talked about normal people and how they were so blind, so muted. She told him all about how she felt so trapped and oppressed at home, so misunderstood. She told him the thing she had vowed not to tell anyone, except Gabby, that she had run away.
Eventually he had suggested that they get a drink and she had been charmed. She felt naughty going out for a drink at three o’clock in the morning, but there were pubs in Sydney that never closed. It felt like a very cool thing to do. On a street corner in Chinatown they had perched on high stools, drinking cold beer in air-conditioned comfort and they talked some more. Faith explained about her Pagan ways, her Wiccan beliefs. Lars had chuckled softly and explained that there was so much more power in other methods. He had said how it was the system, the government, the police, all conformists, that caused the grief of the world. Did they ever suffer from the threefold law? No one could follow their dreams because they were all caught in the machine. The machine run by religious zealots and money worshippers that harboured only the desire for power while they destroyed people and the world around them. His words had made so much sense. He told her that there was a higher power, not lost and old, bowed by dogma like modern religions. He told her that he would show her wonders, but her questions then had met with handsome smiles and promises of explanations later.
They had drunk some more and Faith, although she was not much of a drinker and knew that she was getting quite inebriated, didn’t feel at all threatened. When he invited her back to his house it seemed perfectly normal. She wanted to go. She knew that he was flirting with her and that was fine. She wanted him. And she had had him.
Again she smiled that crooked smile. He had been quite the lover. She was no virgin, but her experience was nothing beyond the quick fumblings of astonished teenage boys. One or two out of the handful of occasions had been fun, but nothing earth moving. Lars last night, this morning, had been incredible. Patient and sensuous. His body was strong and athletic as he had stood before her, naked but for the dark leather band around his wrist. He had numerous scars across his hands, arms, chest and legs, but had assured her they were nothing to be concerned about. He said they represented something wonderful and again, he would explain more later. They suited him, signs of danger and mystery.
Faith wasn’t stupid. She knew she should have been scared, or wary at least. But Lars was so open, so calm. He exuded sweet concern and she simply believed him to be sincere. He was obviously too old for her, he must be twice her age, but that was exciting too. And she was not falling head over heels in love or anything like that. She was having fun, playing exciting games. She was intrigued by the things he had promised to show her, explain to her.
Come mid-morning he told her that he needed to do some things in the city. She asked if it was work and he told her that it was, of a sort. She was to go to the hostel, shower and change, and come back to his house again in the evening. Then she could join in with a group meeting he chaired and she could learn about the wonders he could share with her. He had given her taxi money and a gift. A black leather wrist band with a deep red spot on it, like the one he wore.
So she had gone back to the hostel, washed, slept. Now she felt reinvigorated, back at his house in the old fashioned suburb of Paddington, east of the city. The house was huge, three stories in the old Federation style, with large rooms, high ceilings. It must be worth millions, fully detached as it was in the heart of one of Sydney’s wealthiest suburbs. She sat on the couch and waited while he made a phone call, his voice a muffled murmur down the hall. Before long he was back.
‘My apologies. Always so busy!’ He flashed her one of his winning smiles, perfect white teeth.
‘No worries.’ She smiled back, unable not to. ‘Work again?’
Lars nodded. ‘Yes. But now we have a little time to ourselves.’
‘What do you do?’
‘It’s a little complicated to explain. I am part of a global organisation, one of the leaders of this group. I really don’t consider it work in the traditional sense of the word. It’s my passion.’
Faith nodded, still really none the wiser. ‘What sort of organisation?’
Lars drew in a long breath. ‘We are an old Order. We stand above and outside the normal day to day lives of most people. We refuse to bow before the sort of authority that would oppress us and keep us as tiny cogs in a giant engine of corporate greed and political maneuvering.’ Lars’s eyes were a little wary, looking deep into Faith’s eyes, trying to judge the impact of his words.
Faith was not going to be unnerved by him. ‘Sounds cool,’ she said, with a cheeky grin. ‘But really, it sounds like a lot of rhetoric. No offence intended,’ she added.
Lars smiled again. ‘Of course. And there is an awful lot of that sort of rhetoric around these days. But we are different.’
‘How?’
‘We promote and encourage acts of civil disobedience. We finance anarchy.’
Faith was surprised at the bluntness and clarity of the statement. She could not help but respect his honesty. ‘Is what you do legal?’
Lars laughed, a warm, open sound. ‘Not at all, darling. Not even remotely.’
Faith smiled, looking hard into his eyes. Was he winding her up?
‘I’m deadly serious. We are careful not to draw attention. We are careful not to get caught. If any of us do get caught, we maintain our silence and protect the organisation.’
‘You really are being serious, aren’t you?’ Faith’s smile was still there, her rebellious nature intrigued by such a bold statement of such a dangerous practice.
‘I am. I said that I could tell you were different. I could see in you a power and a desire. A need. We can fulfill that need and, in return, you can empower us. But there is something more.’
Lars’s face was serious again and Faith felt a wave of nervousness pass through her like a cool breeze brushing a naked back. ‘What is it?’
Lars sat beside her and took her hand in his. His touch was warm and strong. He kissed her soundly on the lips. Again she felt that sense of utter safety and comfort. ‘We praise a higher power,’ Lars whispered into her ear as his cheek brushed hers. ‘We accomplish through the power of blood, and the blood is our god. We dedicate ourselves and our actions to Yath-vados, Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens. We honour Him and He lends strength to our endeavours.’ Again Lars kissed her, firmly, powerfully, his energy mingling with hers, electric, primal lust.
She was confused but, at the same time, utterly consumed. This man was like the most ridiculously expensive chocolate, dark and smooth and totally delicious. When he spoke, it made perfect sense to her. When he touched her she wanted him inside her again. If he was empowered by this Yath-vados, she wanted that empowerment too. And it sounded right. It sounded good.
Lars drew back from her. She felt as though he was pulling her heart back with him. ‘The meeting is about to begin,’ he whispered. ‘We call it a Gather. You must realise that you are special. You have immense potential. I want to help you realise that potential. Come to the meeting. Join with us, learn from us. We can achieve great things together.’
Faith felt drunk again. ‘Of course.’ Her voice sounded low, husky. ‘I want what you have.’
Lars smiled and led her from the room. As she followed him along the hallway she noticed one of his fingers was bleeding, just a few spots near the nail. As she was about to mention it, Lars turned, pointed to a door. ‘This way.’ He held the door open and Faith saw a large room beyond. The windows were bricked in, strange symbols and unfathomable words painted on them. The walls were matt black, hung in places with heavy, dark curtains. The ceiling was high, also black. Chairs and small couches were scattered all around the room, facing roughly one way. Many people occupied the chairs. Faith’s eyes widened at the sight.
‘They come in the back way,’ Lars whispered in her ear. A shiver danced across her flesh at the closeness of him. ‘I told you that you were special. Take a chair anywhere. I have to speak now.’
She took a small leather armchair near the back of the room. The mix of people was remarkable. From the most well-dressed city dwellers to the filthy and ragged denizens of the streets. All manner of young tribes represented, Goths, metallers, crusties, homeys. She had never seen such a bizarre collection of people. Yet they all had at least one thing in common and that was this group. A couple of people nearby smiled when they caught her eye. It would seem that regardless of any other interest, this group made these people friends.
The room was very warm and close. Faith could still feel that sense of security and joy that Lars gave her, it permeated the place. Another man, dressed in a long black robe with a large, dark red disc dyed into the front, stood to one side. Lars emerged, wearing a similar robe, and stood before a lectern, black wood, carved to resemble a rearing eastern dragon. Beautiful, terrifying.
He raised his right hand, the black leather wristband plainly in view. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’
Everybody gathered raised their right hands. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’ they cried. Every one of them wore a leather wrist band like Lars. Like Faith.
Lars looked around the room with a smile. Almost beatific, he seemed to be radiating love. The juxtaposition of darkness and love was confusing. It was intoxicating and at the same time disturbing. Faith’s heart and soul were softened by it while her rational mind rapped at her forebrain in warning. But the feeling of joy was rising in the room, the warm glow of love and power saturated her body. Lars spoke again, his voice not loud, but strong. ‘By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected. Nothing worthwhile is ever born without blood. Through our ministry will Yath-vados rise. Through our efforts will the world be born anew. We will ensure the New Ascendance. We mean no harm to those that don’t follow, though we will encourage all to believe. We will go about our Will and oppose any that would oppose us. If it means their blood, so be it!’
‘So be it!’ the others in the room roared. Faith jumped, then giggled nervously to herself. A young woman beside her, spiky hair and dog collar, smiled at her and tipped a wink. Faith smiled back. Her concerns were fading.
Lars bowed his head. This time his voice was soft , but perfectly clear. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens.’
Everyone gathered repeated the words. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens.’
Faith leaned towards the punk girl beside her. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Blood, the new eternal almighty.’
Faith stared for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Her brow creased.
‘Don’t worry,’ the girl said with a smile. ‘It all becomes so clear in no time at all.’
Faith nodded and turned her eyes back to the front.
‘Welcome all,’ Lars said, leaning casually on the lectern. ‘Firstly, let me welcome the Neophyte joining us for the first time tonight.’ He pointed to where Faith sat and all heads turned to see. ‘Her name is Faith and she will be remarkable.’ Lars smiled at her and Faith’s heart melted again. Faces all around the room smiled and nodded in greeting. She nodded nervously back.
Lars paused, then spoke again. ‘The Rite of Dedication.’
Faith looked around, surprised, as everyone rose and moved towards the front. The punk girl squeezed her shoulder. ‘Follow me. You’ll like this.’
With a nervous shrug she stood and joined the line that had formed before the dark lectern. She could see Lars touching his fingers to a gold bowl, then to the forehead of the member at the front of the queue. He murmured constantly. ‘Say “By blood” when he touches your brow,’ Faith’s new friend said as she stepped up to receive her touch. Now Faith could see that Lars was dabbing what looked like blood onto each person’s head. For a moment her stomach flipped at the thought, then it was her turn. Lars smiled, his eyes beckoning, deep.
With her heart hammering, she stepped up. Lars moved his lips as he uttered words that sounded like nothing she had ever heard before, barely audible, strangely compelling. His fingers rose from the bowl and what could only be blood dripped thickly from index and middle fingertip. He touched the blood to Faith’s brow and she gasped, a sudden rush spreading through her entire being. Everything was exactly right, exactly as it should be. There was nowhere that could possibly feel more like home than this place, this moment. Lars had stopped talking and was looking at her, one eyebrow raised. Faith stared back, wanting to jump him right there and then. The eyebrow went a little higher and Faith remembered what she had been told. ‘By blood,’ she stammered and the rush through her body intensified in a wave then settled. Lars nodded, gesturing subtly for her to return to her seat. Eyes wide, heart thumping, she walked back past the remainder of the line.
A couple of years before, at a party, she had been offered an ecstasy tablet. Feeling bitter and resentful to life she had taken it, just to be bad. Thirty minutes later she had been dancing and hugging everyone, loved up to the max. Here in this strange room in Sydney, with this rag tag collection of strangers, she felt that way again. And this time it was without a pill.
The last member of the group received the strange blessing and Lars returned to stand behind the lectern. He smiled across the heads of those present, then placed his hands together and bowed his head. ‘We believe in the blood.’
The group spoke as one. ‘We believe in the blood.’
Lars kept his head bowed and spoke again, reverence in his voice. ‘There is power in the free mind and our minds are free. There is power in independence and we will always strive for freedom of action. We will oppose those that would curtail our Will and support those so oppressed.’
The single voice of the room rose again. ‘We believe in the blood.’
Faith looked around and saw that most people had their heads bowed too. A few looked towards Lars with a kind of rapture on their face. While something nagged at her that felt like a warning, she couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of power that flowed through this room, through every person, entwining, embracing. Lars’s voice was like music. ‘By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected. Nothing worthwhile is ever born without blood. Nothing worth having is ever gained without sacrifice. The sacrifice may be our own or another’s, but by sacrifice shall our Will be known.’
Again the rest of the room spoke in a single, whispered voice. ‘We believe in the blood.’
Lars spoke more loudly. ‘Our Order is powerful, our magic is real. Our Will be known.’
The volume of those Gathered rose to match it. ‘Our Will be known.’
Now Lars almost shouted the words. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’
The commitment of the reply made the hairs on the back of Faith’s neck stand up. ‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens!’
Her eyes were closed, basking in the combined ecstasy of the Gather. When she opened her eyes, Lars was looking directly at her. He smiled. ‘We will hear from the Neophytes that would be Prospects,’ he said, his voice strident. ‘Who here can report their activity?’ Two hands on opposite sides of the room raised. ‘Come on up here, then.’
A man in his early or mid thirties, dressed in a suit and tie, stood up and joined another man, maybe twenty five. The younger man wore the overalls of a mechanic, his hands still lightly stained with stubborn engine oil. They walked to the front and stood beside Lars.
Lars moved aside and indicated the lectern. The man in the suit stepped forward. ‘Er... I’m not really sure how relevant this will be, but I tried something.’ He looked at Lars for support. Lars smiled, nodded. He smiled well and often. ‘I work for an investment bank,’ the man continued. There were murmurs of dissent around the room. ‘I know that’s bad. I know it’s against everything we stand for, but I have to pay the mortgage. I’m trapped in the engine for now. But I can work against it from the inside. This week I deliberately lost the bank money on every foreign currency trade I worked on. I claimed to be having a bad week, so I won’t lose my job, but I’ve cost them hundreds of thousands of dollars. Every time I submitted a bad trade, I asked Yath-vados to pass it through. Every one passed. I have copies of the trade reports to show you.’ He looked at Lars, holding papers towards him.
Lars stepped back up to the lectern, took the papers, buried them in his robe. He squeezed the man’s shoulder. ‘Every single cent contributes to each dollar,’ he intoned with a wink. ‘Every blade of grass is an essential and intrinsic part of the field. This man has to feed and house himself, yet he still sows the seeds of chaos. The rich, the greedy, they use this man for their own wealth.’ He turned to the man, put one hand against his cheek. ‘Well done, Paul. You are a Prospect now.’ Paul beamed as applause rippled through the room. ‘Serve your time, and in a few months you may join us in Sanctum.’
Still smiling like a child at Christmas, Paul returned to his seat. People nearby clapped him on the back or cast congratulatory smiles as he passed by. Lars turned to the mechanic. ‘Your turn.’
The mechanic was a burly man, tall. He stepped up to the lectern with confidence. ‘There’s this dickhead that always brings his Beamer in for service with us.’ His voice was confident and soft laughter washed across the room. The mechanic grinned in spite of himself. ‘Yeah, well, he is a dickhead. Anyway, I know for a fact that he’s rich only because he exploits people. He runs a club in the city, a strip joint in the Cross. Now I have nothing against that, but he prostitutes his dancers and pays them fuck all. They’re smuggled in from Thailand and places like that and have to work off a ridiculous debt to him.
‘He came in this week for a service, acting all king shit like usual. I fucked up his brakes for him and he stacked it at the first junction out of the shop. Messed up his Beamer good.’ A variety of responses travelled around the room, surprise, amusement, grim satisfaction. Faith was not sure quite how to feel. ‘I do my work well,’ the mechanic continued. ‘There’s no way they could trace what I did. Sadly he wasn’t really hurt and he came storming back in ranting about how he had no brakes. He brought the police in and everything. I said that I was standing outside having a cigarette and watched him jump the red light. That’s exactly what the car he hit claimed, as that’s exactly what happened. The insurance will check his claim that his brakes failed, but they won’t find anything.’ He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and held it towards Lars. ‘Here, I took a photo of the crash as I dedicated it to Yath-vados.’ Lars leaned forward, looking closely at the phone. He smiled, nodding. The mechanic pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and held it up for the room to see. It was a grainy print of the photo, two cars in a mangle of steel and glass beneath traffic lights. He handed the print to Lars.
Lars stepped up to the lectern again ‘Well done, Bill, ONC Prospect!’ Applause rang around the room again as Bill grinned, as Paul had done, proud of himself. ‘Delete that photo from your phone, okay?’ Bill nodded, jabbing at the buttons of his phone as he returned to his seat.
Lars looked at the crumpled page again. As his eyes returned to the gathered group, he flicked his wrist and the page popped into flame and vanished. Faith jumped in her seat. Did I really just see that? She looked around and saw others smiling and nodding, none of them surprised.
Lars drew himself up, taking a long deep breath. ‘Everything that we do in the name of Yath-vados brings us closer to breaking the machine. We will not be fooled by the media and the politicians, the corporations and the rich. There is no equality in this world. And nothing is achieved through peaceful protest and petitions with ten thousand signatures. Any lazy fuck can sign their name to anything and it will change nothing. People are fed the lie that they have free will while they are herded and farmed from nine to five with weekends off if they’re lucky.’
The feeling of joy and warmth around Faith was like a fur coat as she listened to Lars speaking. This was the right place to be. These were the things that she needed to hear. This is what she had been looking for all her life.
‘Whatever your faith, your career, your race or creed, we are all united in this place.’ Lars swept the room with his arm. ‘All you need to do above all is praise Yath-vados. His strength becomes your strength and your strength becomes his. The more we work in his name, the more we can achieve. And not with words and petitions and stickers handed out in the park to worker ants on their lunch break. We will disrupt and destroy, we will spill blood and break bones. By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected. We say this every time we meet because we need to remind ourselves of its truth. We will not bow down and give in to fear and oppression. Others talk and plan and do nothing. We act! Where once we praised the blood, we now praise blood Himself! Our power grows.’
Lars paused, looking around the room, letting his words sink in. ‘So many of you have heard these things before, in many different ways. Yet you don’t bore of hearing them. Why? Because you have started to see the rewards. We don’t promise you a cloud and a harp after you have grown old and withered. We don’t promise you a horde of virgins if you blow yourself to smithereens. We give you power here and now. The more you work, the more you achieve, the more you receive.
‘Through Yath-vados, through blood, is our power real and strong. We will share that power with everyone that proves themselves worthy. Paul and Bill are now on the way to receiving our power. They need to stay true and serve Yath-vados, then, in short time, they will be welcomed into Sanctum and they will learn.’ Lars raised one hand, palm towards the crowd, fingers spread wide. There was a flash of silver as his other hand flicked by and a single rivulet of blood ran down the side of his palm, splitting in the fine blond hairs of his arm. His lips moved soundlessly as his eyes closed. A sudden rushing sound filled the room, the hanging curtains billowing. Bright light spread around him.
Faith sat frozen, her mouth fallen open. There was a smile trying to pull her mouth closed again as she stared. People around the room seemed to be in ecstasy, some reaching forward, some leaning their heads back, literally bathing in Lars’s glow. Faith felt a rush through her body and mind, more powerful than anything that ecstasy tablet had done for her.
Lars’s voice boomed through the thick air. ‘Praise Yath-vados, by blood!’
The crowd roared the words back at him. This time, before she realised it was happening, Faith was shouting the words as well. The rush and the swell in the air faded. Faith watched the light recede from Lars as the feeling leaked away. She felt as if something had been stolen from her. She wanted it back.
Lars looked lovingly around the room. ‘This power is yours,’ he said. ‘You just have to earn it. Neophytes, Prospects, follow the way. Serve Yath-vados, not for us, not even for Yath-vados Himself, but for yourselves. The more you achieve for yourself in pursuit of the greater good, the more everyone benefits. Let the love and power of Yath-vados guide you, nurture and empower you. Shy not away from the blood as nothing worthwhile is born without it. It is time for you to relax now, while those of the First Degree and above go into Sanctum.’
Faith’s heart fell. She did not want to miss anything.
‘Remember the simple rules of our Order,’ Lars continued. ‘Don’t talk about our meetings, as people will not believe. Those that do know and try to tell you to leave us are the enemy. If you know someone that you think would join us, tell me or James. We will assess them.’ Here Lars paused and his face became hard. ‘And the most important rule of all, if you get caught, you serve your time alone and silent. Pray to Yath-vados and his strength will see you through.’
Faith felt a slight surge again, a hint of the ecstatic rush that had so recently deserted her. Lars was speaking the mantra of the group again. ‘By blood are all things living empowered and by blood is all change effected.’ Faith was full of the power of Lars and his organisation. His words slid unheard over her mind as she imagined mastering the skills she had seen here tonight. And what else might she learn? Lars’s voice rose in volume, breaking her reverie. ‘If it means their blood, so be it!’
The Gather roared back. ‘So be it.’
Lars swept out a hand to encompass everyone present. ‘Yath-vados empower you.’
The Gather responded again, some reaching back towards Lars. ‘We believe in the blood.’
‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens.’ Lars looked serious, intense.
‘Cruor Novus Sempiterna Omnipotens.’ The energy of the Gather swelled.
Then the smile was back and Lars was soft and warm again. ‘Neophytes, Prospects, thank you. We’ll see you again next week. Feel free to mingle here as long as you wish, as usual. Degrees, to Sanctum.’
People rose amid chatter and movement. As people milled around her, Faith saw the other man in robes, that she assumed was James, pull aside a curtain revealing a table laden with drinks and food, sandwiches, beer, fruit, tea and coffee in urns. Some people headed for the door while others stood around chatting or headed to the table for snacks. A large number of those gathered headed towards the back of the room. Passing by Lars and James they slipped through a door at the back of the room that Faith had not noticed until then. As she watched, Lars appeared in a gap in the crowd, his eyes locked to hers. His smile was like honey on her mind. He mouthed words to her. ‘Wait here for me.’ Faith was sure she actually heard the words too, deep in her ears, even though he was far too far away.
Faith dipped her eyes and nodded. He hadn’t forgotten her! She rose and joined others at the food table as Lars slipped from view.