Isiah rose from his healing meditation and took a long, deep breath. ‘Time to go to work,’ he said to no one in particular. Letting his mind and his molecules vibrate apart, he Travelled. He reappeared in the mortal Realm in the place that Gabriel had snatched him from, the Gather room of the ONC house in Sydney. As the heaviness of corporeal presence dragged him together he crouched, senses alive, looking, feeling all around. Nothing. He relaxed, stood up straight. He had anticipated no presence left behind, but it paid to be cautious. For a moment he flinched inside, remembering Filthy Frank’s leering face, that self-satisfied smugness, the smoking barrel. Frank had some incredible stealth skills, there was no doubt about that. Possibly better than Isiah’s own. Isiah imagined himself beating Frank to a bloody pulp and sending him off to meet this god that he seemed so taken with. The desire for revenge was strong and Isiah was no paladin. He had had to do dark things in his unnaturally long life and many of them pained him to this day. But some things he revelled in and removing murderous bastards was one of them. Especially bastards that had murdered him. Frank was going to pay with his life for what he had done. But the first priority was the Order as a whole.
A warm feeling replaced the ice cold desire for Frank’s death as Isiah thought of Petra. He had no idea where she was or what she was doing. With any luck the Umbra Magi had managed to learn more of the ONC in his absence. He didn’t want to go shouting his return to the universe. He could probably find Petra that way, but would find everyone else too. More to the point, everyone else would find him. If the ONC thought they had killed him, then he could use that to his advantage. For all their stealth and care, he and Petra had obviously not been careful enough. The ONC had known he was stalking them and had laid a trap for him. As far as they were concerned, it had worked.
But it was frustrating. He felt out of the loop. The only place he could think of was the Temple of the Dragons. With any luck there would still be at least someone there that knew what was happening. Isiah gathered his will and Travelled.
Petra staggered as dizziness swept through her mind. She sat heavily onto the sandy floor, unable to respond for several seconds. Eventually she yelled out into the ether, You were dead. I felt you die!
I know. I thought I was dead too. Fortunately I have some very good friends.
You son of a bitch, you let me think you were dead!
Well, sorry about that. Next time I get killed, I’ll keep it under my hat.
Tears were running down Petra’s cheeks. Tears of joy. Of relief. She laughed through the tears despite herself. Make sure you do that!
Where are you? Can I come to you?
Not yet, I’m too close to the camp. Let me move.
The camp?
Wait, I’ll explain everything soon.
She hopped silently to her feet and ran in a swift, low jog away from the valley edge. She needed to let Cai Wu and the others know about the vantage point that she had found, but this was more important. Imagine their faces when she returned with Isiah! Perhaps their prophecies were accurate after all. What better example of Isiah’s power and immortality than this? She had to admit despair had begun to take a hold of her heart as she sat there watching the camp. She was convinced that the best they were going to be able to manage was to watch and record what happened. But not now. If Isiah was back, the game had changed again. She scurried through the bush then stood and began to run as fast as was safely possible on the dark, uneven terrain. She needed to get a couple of kilometres away so that the MageSign of Isiah’s arrival didn’t alert anyone. Her heart sang as she ran.
Two Italian backpackers trembled as Frank approached them across the large tent, tears streaming from terrified eyes. They were securely bound, hands wrapped tightly in thick canvas to prevent them from worrying at the knots, then tied behind their backs. Their ankles were bound together and rope connected the wrist and ankle bindings together, pulling their feet up behind them, forcing them lie on their side, trussed like Christmas turkeys. Their shoes had been removed and dirt caked every inch of them from where they had struggled and sweated on the sandy dirt floor.
The young man began babbling in Italian, completely incomprehensible to Frank. ‘Shut up, I don’t speak wop,’ he growled as he approached them, putting down the bucket he carried. A cloth floated on the surface of the water in the bucket.
The young man tried to speak in English, though fear seemed to have stripped him of his skills. ‘Why you do? What for?’
Frank laughed. ‘Shut the fuck up. You’d probably be even more scared if I actually told you what was in store for you. In truth, I don’t know the exact details myself, but it’ll be delicious. Our Dominus has great plans for you. I’m just here to get you ready. You know what? I think I’ll get your girlfriend ready first.’
Anger bubbled up through the young backpacker’s fear. He struggled harder against the ropes. ‘No! Fuck! No, you stop!’
Frank grinned and dragged the young woman towards him as she tried to wriggle back from his grasp. With a deft motion he whipped his large, shining knife from the back of his jeans and yanked hard on the ropes at her ankles, pulling her to him. He cut the rope that pulled her feet back, rolled her onto her back and knelt astride her hips. She screamed, shutting her eyes, squeezing tears from them. Frank laughed, groping her breasts. ‘What exactly do you think I’m planning, eh?’
The young man shouted incoherently again, spitting in his rage, struggling to get to his knees to help his girlfriend. Without even looking at him Frank pistoned out one hand, cracking the man across the jaw with the butt of his knife. The man fell back with a grunt, dazed. Frank reversed his grip on the knife and sliced straight up the girl’s t-shirt, pulled it away. He did the same to her bra, wet with the sweat of fear and the outback summer. Laughing he groped her now naked breasts, looking at her boyfriend as he did so. The girl turned her face away, crying out in anguish. The young man struggled to get up again and Frank once more struck him to the ground. He lay there stunned, blood running from the corner of his mouth and one nostril.
Frank stood up and ran his knife blade straight up one leg of the girls jeans, then the other, then her underwear. All she wore were the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. Frank took the cloth from the bucket and began to wash the desert dirt and sweat from her, violating her at every opportunity as he did so. Then, grinning at her boyfriend, he sliced the ropes that bound her ankles and violently raped her. The Dominus had not forbidden any fun while he did as he was tasked. Repeatedly he hit the young man, never hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to keep him ineffectual. Eventually he dragged the girl up onto a chair and washed the dirt from her back and the back of her legs and buttocks. Taking a long rope he rebound her ankles and tied her to the chair.
He then turned his attention to the man, cutting away all of his clothes as he had the girl’s. Using the same cloth and bucket he roughly washed the young man down. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, laughing. ‘I ain’t gonna fuck you too. I don’t swing that way.’ Eventually he tied the man to another chair next to the sobbing girl, then stood and thought for a moment. ‘I don’t want you two rolling onto the floor and getting all messed up again,’ he said, largely to himself. Dragging the two chairs over to one of the large tent poles in the middle of the Dominus’s quarters, he tied them back to back either side of the pole.
He grinned. ‘That’s better. So, stripped and cleaned. Now to prepare. Do you know what that means?’ He sunk his face close to the girl’s own, but her eyes remained squeezed shut as she sobbed and trembled. He walked around to stare at the young man instead. ‘Do you know what being prepared means?’
The man growled like a dog and spat in Frank’s face. ‘Fuck you! I fucking kill you!’
Frank laughed, wiping his palm across his face. ‘I hardly think so.’ He took his knife in hand again and pointed it between the young man’s eyes. The man drew his head back as far as the pole behind him would allow, which was not far. Without taking his eyes from the young man’s, his stare piercing to the soul, Frank lowered the knife and pressed its sharp point against the man’s upper chest. With a slow, deliberate motion he dragged the knife point down and around, carving a shallow circle into the flesh of the man’s chest and stomach. The young man howled in agony.
Grinning, Frank stepped back and admired his work. ‘Not a bad circle that. You know, they say that the real test of a natural artist is in whether or not they can draw a near-perfect circle freehand. I once read that Leonardo Da Vinci could draw an absolutely perfect circle.’ He laughed to himself, tipping his head to one side, observing his own handiwork. Blood flooded down the man’s chest and abdomen, obscuring a lot of the original cut as the man panted and grimaced against the pain. ‘Maybe not Da Vinci,’ Frank muttered, ‘but not bad.’
He walked around to stand before the girl. The man yelled out, craning to see over his shoulder, his voice thick with pain and tears. ‘No please. No her. Do me anything, but nothing her. Let her go, please, let her go!’
Frank shook his head. ‘Nope. Not gonna happen. Now, your girlfriend here has great tits, but they’re going to mess up my circle.’ The man began shouting again, noises of frustration and agony as the girl whimpered and screwed up her face. Frank leaned down. ‘No matter, I can only do my best.’ He sunk the point of his knife into her upper chest and drew it around once, trying to keep his circle as true as possible despite the contours of her body. Her scream pierced the early morning stillness of the camp.
‘That would be Frank enjoying his tasks,’ the Sorcerer said, looking up.
Lars grinned. ‘I hope he doesn’t enjoy them too much.’
‘Frank is not that stupid.’ The Sorcerer helped Lars to deposit the semi-conscious Faith into a canvas director’s style chair in his tent. He put one hand against her forehead and concentrated for a moment. ‘She’s angry with you.’
‘I know. She’s angry with all of us and scared about what’s actually happening. She’s smart enough to realise that something is up.’
‘You did well to string her along for as long as you did.’
‘It was easy enough. Once things began to move more quickly it became a lot harder. But it’s done now. She’s going to be right for your needs?’
The Sorcerer nodded. ‘Great natural talent, but no real skills. You found exactly what I needed, Lars.’
Lars smiled, basking in the glow of his Master’s approval. ‘So what now?’
The Sorcerer began removing Faith’s clothes. ‘We will keep her soporific like this until she is needed. Thank you Lars, you can leave us.’
Lars nodded, casting one last look at Faith.
‘Will you miss her?’ the Sorcerer asked, an eyebrow raised in interest.
‘I suppose I will, to some extent. It was... passionate, the time we had together.’
The Sorcerer looked down at Faith’s body as he removed the last of her clothing. She wriggled in the chair, like someone trapped in a bad dream, desperate to wake. ‘And so young and nubile. Well, you’ll have to enjoy the memories.’
‘I will, Dominus. Do you need anything else? Anything at all?’
‘No, son. Go and help the others spread the word. Help to organise the Gather so that everybody is in the clearing by noon. And make sure I am not disturbed. Not for any reason at all.’
Lars bowed his head quickly and left the tent. Once he was gone, the Sorcerer stood before Faith’s naked body slumped in the rickety chair and began to incant, under his breath, almost silent. The words were ancient, ugly things that floated through the air like pungent smells, lingering, drifting. The words themselves had substance, presence. The words began to coalesce around Faith’s recumbent form, forming an invisible cloud around her. Once or twice she arched her back slightly, straining subconsciously against the weight of the arcane magic being woven around her. The Sorcerer drew a connection between her and his carefully tended garden of power, the distant yet potent Custodi Cruor. He felt their desperate yearning as he connected their consciousness with that of this vibrant, powerful young woman. He entwined them, bound them across the vast distance and made Faith into an anchor of their power in this place. She began to pulsate with the energy of the repulsive source his power. She writhed and moaned, every aspect of her being becoming open to the fetid, viscous, mewling touch of the Custodi.
The Sorcerer sank to his knees before Faith, his eyes shut in concentration as he worked his sorcery, building the powerbase that he needed. He knew this was where the real risk began, where all they had worked for came together. He knew he risked discovery now as he stretched the boundaries of his magics. But there was no choice. Now or never and this most delicate of work would take several hours. He needed to be ready by noon.