Thirty - Six

The Crystal Cave had been a total fiasco. She had been knocked senseless before the real fighting had begun. When she regained consciousness she was thankful that she was still alive. Tony was dead, with half his chest vaporized, the surrounding area blackened from cauterization. The energy had to be enormous to create such destruction. Sammy huddled in a corner whimpering, rocking back and forth, with his arms clenched tightly around his knees, blind and terrified.

Devlin was unconscious. Laying in a crumpled heap on the floor of the cave near one of the huge crystal boulders that he had been standing upon. Only the upper portion of his left boot remained, the edges singed and still smoldering. His foot black and charred. Blood trickled slowly from the mass of cuts and scraped along the left side of his face. His breathing was shallow. She knew that he would die if she did not get him home immediately.

There were no thoughts about a proper burial for Tony, or how Sammy was going to survive in that cave. That was no longer her concern. At this moment, her only concern was getting Devlin to medical treatment. Cradling his head and shoulders in her lap, Morgana closed her eyes to mentally visualize their pattern, a dragon in flight within Lucifer’s magic circle. The pattern envisioned, the incantation recited, and the cave blinked out of existence for her and Devlin. The hope that she would never have to return to that place filled her mind as the comforting surroundings of their pattern room slowly encroached upon her senses.

The doctor insisted that Devlin be rushed to the hospital to have his charred foot amputated above the ankle. Gangrene was not a possibility, but a certainty unless the foot was removed immediately. To wait endangered his whole leg and possibly his life, if sepsis were to set into the body. The problem was further compounded by the fact that Devlin had not regained consciousness, which could indicate brain trauma. Answers as to how he had injured himself in such a fashion were vague. Morgana refused to sign the releases for the surgery, instead insisting that the amputation wait and for them to treat the foot. She would take responsibility, but she knew that Devlin’s wish would be to keep his entire body in tack.

Devlin was in a coma for four days. Repeatedly the doctors insisted upon amputation for the longer Devlin remained in the coma, the less likely he was going to come out of it without a certain amount of brain trauma, if he were to ever regain consciousness. Tests confirmed that gangrene had set into his foot and Morgana would only allow the infected areas to be removed, three toes and a section curving back three inches from the base of the missing toes. There was evidence of a stroke from a blood clot in the brain, but the extent of the damage could not be gauged until Devlin woke. If he was ever going to wake again. Morgana stayed with Devlin around the clock for the first thirty-six hours, and exhaustion was getting ready to over take her. She set the house staff to take four hour shifts to watch for any signs of him waking up and call her every two hours with reports.

Sleep eluded her except when exhaustion caused her to collapse in bed and sleep for a few hours. The answer to his survival had to lay somewhere other than the doctors who only practiced at their profession, the so called doctors. Hours of praying to the Dark Lord yielded no results, so she turned her mind to more drastic ideas.

She had no idea which volume or book to read first in the private library that Devlin kept all to himself. The sheer number of books overwhelmed her. After hours of reading titles to the books she could, she started to contemplate the problem. Her answer was to start with his personal diaries. There was never a question in her mind that she wanted him back. She did, whole and well, but the knowledge that she was gaining, his precious secrets that were being revealed to her, made her silently hope that the solution to his health would take just one more day, and then another, and then another.

Once he was back, she would never have this opportunity to learn as she does now. Unfortunately, the diaries and the cross referenced texts in the ancient library yielded up their answers slowly. Finally, she was ready to try her own brand of medicine to cure the only man she had ever loved and hated at the same time.

Black candles flickered in their stands around the tower room. Fires in the great hearths poured forth their light and heat, making the air stuffy. Offerings of incense and oils had been made to the appropriate deities. It was once again midnight. Now she was ready. Steeling herself to perform the ceremony she hoped was the right incantation and summons, she drew in a deep breath and began.

“I reign over ye, Astaroth, Dark Lord of the underworld, in power exalted above the firmaments of wrath, in whose hands the sun is a sword. The moon is a burning shield of fire! I measured Thy garments in the midst of my Vestures. I carrieth Ye to the Mighty Throne in the palm of my hands. I garnished thy seat with the Fire of Gathering, and beautified Thou garments with the admiration of the faithful. To whom I make a law to govern with my knowledge of the dark. I deliver to Ye a rod to the ark of my knowledge.

“Moreover, Ye lifted up Thou voice, as I, to swear obedience and faith to him that liveth and reign over all things dark and evil whose being is not, nor end cannot be, which shineth as a flame in the midst of Thou’s palace. Come, reigneth among us as the balance of power and strength!

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“Move therefore and showeth yourself! Open the mysteries of Thou’s knowledge! Be friendly unto me, for I am the Servant of the same Thy God; the true worshiper of the Highest Darkness, the Most Profane. I call Ye Astaroth before me! Appear and Obey!”

The flames of the candles shot up into the air as if the candles had been replaced with canisters of butane gas. Flames leaped from the giant hearths to scorch the mantles and scare them with permanent disfigurement. The air turned frigid. Morgana’s breath clouded in little puffs before her eyes as her breathing quickened with anxiety. For all the light from the candles and hearth, the center of the room lay cloaked in a veil of total darkness. Unsure what was happening, Morgana gathered all of her bravado to call again.

“I call Ye forth Astaroth! Obey and appear before me to answer my questions and do my bidding! By my power and my allegiance to the Dark Lord, Himself, appear! Ye are commanded!

The blackness over the central pentagram slowly receded. Two golden eyes tinged with red swung around to regard Morgana. Suddenly a long reptilian head plunged towards her spewing flames before it. Tongues of icy cold washed over her body, burning her nerves but leaving her skin unscathed. In the back of her mind, she knew that whatever appeared within the pentagram was confined by its unbroken lines and could not truly harm her. The darkness turned to grayness and she saw the full size of the dragon from hell. Upon its back sat a hunched figure. Its body thin and frail looking, huge leathery wings protrude from its back, a writhing viper clutched tightly in its claw-like hand. The face was sharp and angular, long beak like nose, drooping pointy chin, high pitched ears and eyes that burned with the coldest black. The apparition smiled, and Morgana felt the chill run through her body.

“Who dares call forth the magnificence of the great and powerful Astaroth?” and his voice was as cold as his eyes.

“I do, for I am Latifulos. I summoned Ye and Ye shall obey for Thou hath answered the summons!” Her voice held more strength than she felt. “Even Thy mate, Varlinquiost, has never dared call upon the upper hierarchy of the kingdom,” and his voice held an unasked question. “He does as he sees fit, and I do as I see fit. I have summoned Ye for I have need of Thy knowledge of things past and future. The power to open the Gate on the appointed day and time is in jeopardy. Are Ye aware of what transpired in the place known as the Crystal Cave?” “Yes,” he hissed, “and the Dark Lord is not pleased. One of his loyal servants has been decimated. The actions were foolish and haphazard. Payment and retribution is needed.”

“Payment and retribution have already been made through our aid in opening the Gate, and our worship of the Dark Lord. Do not threaten or deceive me on trivialities.”

“More tribute is needed,” he hissed venomously.

“More is not forthcoming. The bargain was struck long ago, and the contract shall stand unaltered. Do Thy choose to obey or do I vanquish Ye to the void?”

Feeling its master's anger, the dragon whipped his head around spewing fire in its wake. Again the icy tongues of flame licked over her skin, as she heard the flat laughter of their rider echoing in her ears. “Thou does not have the power,” he taunted.

“Are Ye so sure?”

Silence filled the frigid air, both staring deeply into the others eyes, not moving, not willing to be the forest to break the contact. Finally, Astaroth snorted derisively.

“What do Ye ask?”

“Is the one we fought capable of preventing the Gate from opening?” “Yes,” and the word was a low tortured hissing sound.

“Can he be stopped from acting?”

“Yes,” he answered again with a hiss.

“How?”

“Through his Other. She is weak, still an infant in the universe which now surrounds her.”

“How do I get to her?”

“Through Thyself. If Ye truly have the knowledge to cast me into the void, then Ye truly have the knowledge for this meager task, or do Ye play with more than Ye hold?”

Morgana dismissed his question, to have answered would have shown weakness unnecessarily. “Varlinquiost lays injured, as Ye know. I command Ye to heal him.”

“He will survive for now and be present when the Gate is opened. The appendage shall be healed, against my better judgment, instead of serving as a reminder of his carelessness and disobedience. ‘Tis a pity that the reminder would not last long anyway.”

“Why? Will he not survive the opening of the Gate?”

“No,” and there was a malicious glee in his voice.

“Will I?” she asked while wondering if she had the power to command that Devlin live.

“Yes,” Astaroth hissed. “However, I am not sure Ye will desire Thou’s life to come.”

“Why?”

Laughter filled the room, the sound beating down on Morgana. Abruptly the sound stopped, and their eyes met once more in the contest of wills. This time it was Morgana who looked away first.

“I have told Ye enough to allow Ye to fulfill the contract. More is not Thou’s right or power to command. Do not summon me again, for in the future I shall not deal with Thy so kindly.”

With a roar from the dragon, all the light in the tower room disappeared. Only the orange-red flames gushing from the creature's open maw flashed through the darkness. Then that too was gone, leaving Morgana trembling in the cold dark air. The thought that Devlin was going to die grating upon her mind. What must she do to prevent that? Or at the very least, protect herself?