Sunday December 21st 2014
Walking into the woods, he followed the trail out to the training ground. The duffel on his back was only a few pounds heavier than when he'd walked into the cursed school. Memories sheathed him in hate and malice, but he was as poor as when he'd crawled off the streets.
It was his last day waking up with Anastasia in his arms. He’d never feel that again. He’d held her through the night, only her breathing breaking the still darkness. She wasn’t for him. Meant for someone else, she was the destiny of a man with a life and a family, a man that wouldn't stain her with the worthlessness of the weak and discarded. But for a time, he’d been able to pretend.
He’d left just as her mother had come into the room. While they were caught up in their reunion, he’d slipped out. They were going to ask him to come with them, he knew it, and if they’d both worked on him, he’d have said yes. But their desire was born out of pity, it was diseased with condescension and poisoned with knowing. The world had made him a beggar, but he’d die before he wore those clothes for them. He hoped they’d understand when Robert dropped off the boxes later.
Alexandra was busy packing, the savage maiming of kids calling to her hateful soul as she prepared for the blood bath waiting for her. Cesare had gotten her one last torturous feeding this morning. They’d parted with her saying she’d drop by later to say goodbye. Robert would be on the lookout for her.
And now, the only thing holding him here was Elizabeth and her ritual. He’d been surprised when she told him she wanted to do it out in the training ground and not in the Sanctuarium Virtutis. She’d given him a long look before telling him that the old gods liked the wild places where the moon ruled the night.
Elizabeth’s back was to him as he entered the clearing through the gauntlet of thorns. Black, shining silk cloaked her body. The blade sheathed at her side was held by a cord of braided ebony around her waist. She was midnight and dark places given form, mysteries of murder and insanity danced in her shadow. Dotting the trees, ravens were seen as moonlight struck their dead, black eyes.
Turning, she gave him an uncertain smile. She hadn’t expected him to show, not after last night. She’d come because hopes hook was too deep for her to pull out. Maybe, if he showed, she could find the words to explain what could never be explained.
She gestured at the space, her words soft as down feathers. “The four altars are the quarters, north for earth.” Twisted roots rose from the deep earth, black as the void between stars, they’d woven themselves into an altar of wood. A single green candle rested beside a piece of bloody quartz.
“East is wind.” The alter was woven of white roots, pristine and beautiful. A yellow candle propped up the raven’s feather next to it.
“South for fire.” Black, shining obsidian pulled from the earth by her power created a single pillar, edges sharper than razors shone silver under the moon's grace. A red candle stood on the single flat surface, a drip of scarlet against spites love.
“West for water.” A fountain bubbled waist high from the ground. The rushing water balanced a plank of wood, steady enough to hold a sapphire candle the color of deep oceans and sadness. The candles burned with clean flame, the four points marking off a boundary separating the place from the world. Their light caressed the midnight darkness of the night, shadows swirling around them, lapping waves of the stygian ocean waiting to drown the light.
An altar larger than the others stood in the middle of the circle. Grown from the ground, dozens of new trees bled into one another, vibrant green leaves glowed with life, searing the world with their energy. They mocked the land of bare, dissected limbs and the sleeping life of winter. On top of the alter sat incense, raw salt, oil, and two candles—one of black so deep it seemed to disappear and the other a point of nova white brilliance.
“You don’t need to do anything, Cesare. Just stand with me and copy my movements.” Twisting her hands, Elizabeth took a long, shuddering breath. “This is a power rarely used these fallen days. It’s what made us so valuable as slaves. Now, we only give this blessing to those we ... care for.” She winced, knowing how self-serving she sounded after what he’d heard last night.
He didn’t ask for this, whatever it was. It was sacred to her and special. He could respect that, but it didn’t move him the way it did her. After last night, this didn’t mean as much to him as it might have. If it was a consolation prize, it was a poor one. Maybe he’d just needed to hear her say the words he’d said so often to himself, to hear that she thought of him as nothing but a smelly little boy. He wasn't special, just a convenient friend.
“It’s not like you said anything I haven’t thought.” Her eyes fled from his as a silent tear fell. She understood what he was saying, that he didn’t see her as any different from the students who laughed at him.
“Anything I say will seem like an excuse … I tried to think of something that didn’t sound like I was trying to save my ass.” Tears traced her face as she smiled with bitter pain. “I was lying to her, Cesare. When she confronted me, I … said what I knew would throw her off the scent.”
“So, you’re either lying now or then? Which should I believe, the woman whose my friend when no one’s around or the words you whispered in a garden where no one could hear? Tell me Elizabeth, which would you believe? You’re not new to this, you know what it’s like to overhear something like that.” The cold air cut through Cesare’s hoodie, his face hidden under shadows deeper than the midnight sky.
She shook her head but never took her eyes off him. “I know what I’d believe. I’d believe the words in the garden, in what looked like an unguarded moment. I’d believe I was laughing at you behind your back, that you were a punch line in a joke I was part of. I know that … but I’m begging you to give me the benefit of the doubt. I … do care about you, Cesare. Don’t throw me away for a mistake.”
Her hands twisted, delicate things turned bone white by fear and anxiety. Which to believe? Would you rather be happy, or right? If your girl was cheating, would you really want to know, or would it be better to be happy life? How much pain is the truth worth?
He didn’t know what he’d do and hoped to never face that kind of question. But here he was, having to decide what was truth. He cared for her, maybe even loved her. He knew he wanted her as much now as he ever had, but he couldn’t keep chasing rainbows.
Sighing, he opened his arms in invitation. Giving a hurt cry, she ran into them as shuddering sobs rocked her body. A damp spot spread across his chest as she let the long hours of waiting spill out. He gave her this because she was still his friend, even if she’d turned out to be as treacherous as the others.
Slowly, the pain filled sobs died down. His words were soft as he breathed them into her ear. “I don’t need fair-weather friends. I don’t want a friend who’s only my friend when it’s convenient. Where you stand, it’s not on my side.”
He hoped she understood what he was really saying. She’d betrayed him with her words. No one wanted a friend who talked shit and cut with gleeful greed. He’d thought she was better than the others. That they had a friendship born of shared pain. He’d thought there was no way she’d betray him after having been skinned by the same blades. That she’d throw his friendship away to make nice with a teacher was the painful shock of a knife pushed deep into his back. He’d thought his friendship meant more to her, that he meant more to her than that. He’d always known he meant nothing to Anastasia, so her betrayal made sense in a way, but this … this hurt.
He could understand what she was saying, that she’d been desperate to show nothing was going on between them. She’d said what she knew would throw off the scent. None of it mattered because intentions were worthless when measured against pain.
He wouldn’t forgive Anastasia for her betrayals, not the smallest or the most grotesque. No matter how close they got, that shadow never left his eye. And now, no matter what happened between them, he’d always finger the scar on his soul Elizabeth had carved. When he wasn’t around, she laughed and degraded him. Nothing would ever change that.
Gesturing for him to wait by the center altar, she stood tall as she held her hand out over the earth. The soil bubbled and fountained up as a tree sprouted from the ground, twisting, thickening, and refining before his eyes. It stopped when it was exactly her height, small branches grew into a leafy canopy at the top. Pulling it easily from the ground, she walked over to the Earth Quarter.
Walking clockwise, she dragged the staff behind her, digging a trench into the ground. “I call on the Old Ones to come to this circle carved in their honor. I call on you through the ancient ties of my people, from mother to daughter, from blood to blood. I call on you through my love and devotion to the cunning ways. Share this night with me and mine.” Ancient and primal, the words resounded in the still air, the world going quiet as ripples spread, etheric strings pulled taut and lethal. Stirring under the skin of reality, her words reached old, unquiet ears. Elizabeth let the staff go after completing a full circle, its roots sprouting and anchoring it to the ground.
Facing north in front of the earth quarter, she held up a bowl of raw salt. “Lords of the Earth, of bone and blood, of soil and flesh. We take from you to live; we carve our homes from your flesh. We bask in your bounty in summer and warm ourselves with your bones in winter. Come to our circle and add your grace.” Lighting the candle, she dusted the ground with salt as she walked clockwise around the circle.
Standing in front of the altar of white wood, she lifted the raven feather. “Spirits of air, the warm breath of life and the cool reason of logic. Summer breezes and storms of fury, we stand in the open under your sky, in the heart of your winter with the blade of your fury bared against our necks. We call on you to join our circle.” Holding aloft the feather, she paced the circle before setting the feather back on the altar.
Black and shining, the obsidian altar to fire hoarded the moon's light jealously. Picking up the candle, she raised it high in the air. “Lords and Ladies of fire, Master of the molten heart of the Goddess. The heat that warms our blood and consumes our lives. Of rage and hate, of lust and love, come to us and warm this rite with your power.” She walked the circle, with the lit candle held out in front of her.
The Quarter for water bubbled as Elizabeth dipped a cup into the fountain, raising it above her head. “Ladies of water, of streams and oceans. From which all life crawled, keeper of the darkness of souls. We stand under the moon, the mother of the tides, wash us in your secrets.” Dipping her hands in the water, she paced around the circle as she let the drops fall.
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Elizabeth moved to his side, facing the central altar, she held her athame high. “My Lady Hecate, Queen of Madness. Hunter of hunters, Mistress of the hounds that course the night paths. Blood soaked Keeper of the Gateways. She who lights the way in the dark. My Lady of the Night, mother and goddess, I call on you, partake of my love and devotion.”
It came from beyond the circle, a tingle skittering over his flesh, a razor at the back of the neck, the moment before lightning rends flesh from life. The pressure mounted, the air growing heavy and still as the attention of something vast came to bear on this small patch of reality. Grass, stringy and sick in the grip of winter, flushed the vibrant green of life. Shining silver moonbeams turned iridescent on the borderland of sight, dimensions sliced open on their edges, bleeding insanity leaking from nameless hells.
The black roots of the earth quarter transformed, a creeping gray spreading upward, compressing the roots with cracks and crackles. As it reached the top, Cesare understood. The roots were fossilizing in front of his eyes, hardening into the bones of the Earth.
Elizabeth shared a startled glance with Cesare, a tremble of fear running through her hands as she held them high in her Invocation to the Goddess. A wind began to blow around the eastern quarter, a slow swirl that bent the fairytale grass and gathered up the dust. Gathering force, it reached higher and higher as eldritch power fed its gluttonous hunger, birthing a whirlwind. Ripping up the grass, it left only bare dirt behind. The wind grew, compressed power held in place by madness hoary with blood and slaughter. Tearing up the ground in great chunks of dirt, the tornado crossed the threshold from interesting to horrifying. It reached high into the sky with only bare stone at its base. The crystal-clear tornado swirled around the altar. Untouched by the terrible wind, the single flame burned in its heart.
Heat spilled from the quarter of fire and its obsidian altar. The candle melted into rivers, tracing over the stone in veins of scarlet. A light grew within the stone, heat waves rising from the glowing pillar. Small fires broke out around it with grass ashing in an expanding circle of destruction. It stopped in a perfect circle carved with razor-sharp precision, charred ground flush with the fresh green vegetation.
They both looked at the western quarter in anticipation. Peaceful bubbling turned into a roiling boil, the board and candle swallowed. Devoured, the wood splintered and spit out of the circle. Enclosed in a bubble of air, the flame was untroubled by the violently swirling water, a sphere of light in the heart of violence. The water twisted, rising higher and higher into a tendril of gathering fury. Reaching into the sky, it stopped when it was at the same height as the tornado.
Swallowing, Elizabeth faced the earth quarter. “Lord Pan, Keeper of the Soul of the Wood. Lord of Solitude. Not man, and yet, not beast. Creature of Lust and Love, Enchanter of Women and Men. Teacher of the Deep Wisdom of Tooth and Claw. Lord of Ecstasy and Abandon. Caller, and Keeper of the Wild Soul. He who has played the song of eternity and watched over man and monster since they crawled from the darkness. I call to you, oh wild one, to share this night with us!”
It wasn’t a feeling, but it wasn’t a sound, working through the flesh, burrowing into the bone. Heat flushed Cesare’s face as his eyes ran over Elizabeth’s body, lush and full, mature and ready. Her nipples were hard points in the cold air, the robe accentuating her plush ass with its soft, delicious curves. His own lust stirred and rose, hands aching to caress, to taste and devour. He was seized by the urge to see her bent over the altar as he howled his ecstasy into the night, spilling his seed with abandon, to make her his own.
Flame and heat surged inside him, burning the night’s chill away, a feral feeling that had Cesare flaring his nostrils. The forest’s scent drowned him, old and hard, sterile and clean, only hidden life threaded the night, those things hidden in dens or sleeping deep in holes. The trees, quiet in their slumber, waited for the sun to return and wake them. But the woods were still wild. Owls hunted and stalked, silent and deadly. Rabbits ran in terror of winged death. Serpents, sly and blind, quested with senses honed for murder. Bugs filled vast world between, busy and hungry, their small lives were unseen and uncared for, living and dying by the millions.
The silent killer stalked the shadows of both predator and prey. Hunger, always there, sought only a single mistake to claim its due during its season.
Face hot, Elizabeth watched him hungrily, finally seeing more than an ugly child. Now, all she looked on was flesh, satisfaction of the need that clawed and tore within her body. He was a means to an end, sweat and pleasure, cool water for the damp heat that pooled inside. Desire broke free, a lightning bolt looking to ground in hunger.
It chilled his lust, dousing the flames of need, tearing an agonized cry from his soul. Now, he could see that all the looks she’d sent his way before were hollow. She’d never seen him as a man, only as a child. A friend is all he was to her and all he’d ever be.
Understanding settled across her face. The realization of a boundary crossed, a truth they’d never wanted birthing itself raw and bloody in their souls. They had called Lady Hecate to the circle, and she’d given them the deep knowing that always comes with a price.
Elizabeth looked back at the altar. Her hands shook as she took up the incense, holding it over his head, she breathed in its thick smell. “I bless you with air and fire. May the air clear your mind and quicken your step, may fire burn in your heart and draw your eye ever to the kill.” She blew across the censer, the incense flowed over him, smokey tendrils grasped at flesh, worming into his skin.
A fuzziness he'd never noticed cleared from his mind. His thoughts came into sharp focus, razors cutting the soul, steel bright and hateful in their cruel logic and savage cold. Flames stirred in his gut. A wild, untamed confidence danced along his skin, pouring into his heart.
The incense went back onto the altar. Elizabeth picked up the goblet and sprinkled it with salt. Dipping her hands into the water, she swirled her fingers until they dripped with water. Resting her fingers on his forehead, water traced the hard angles of his face. “I bless you with water and earth. May the water flow through your actions, powerful and nimble. May the earth never betray your steps.”
Water flowed through his blood, slowing his heart until it beat slow and steady, calm and ready. It moved with the power of a river, strong and peaceful, but underneath, a raging power that broke trees and shattered mountains, seeking only release to let out its fury. The earth was solid beneath him. Hard and firm, its power was in its steadiness. The earth was his to walk and its power was that it never wavered in its duty.
A small dish of sacred oil was raised to his head. With eyes of dark shadows and madness born from realms of the insane, she stared at him, her voice echoing with a symphony of other, older voices. “I anoint thee in the name of Queen Hecate, Lady of Madness and Lord Pan, Keeper of Solitude. I give you their blessings to seek your kill.”
She touched her fingers to his forehead. The sacred oil burned into his skin, sizzling along his flesh. A tingling swept down his body, a benediction, an acceptance. There was no judgment of right and wrong, only acceptance of who he was and what he’d done, a simple understanding that his actions were his own. They couldn’t forgive him, wouldn’t take the responsibility for those he’d wronged. They merely saw him for who he was in all his cruelty and malice, and accepted. It was more than he’d expected and, in many ways, more than he deserved.
Elizabeth motioned for him to sit. “That ends the working part of the ritual.” She ripped the bread apart and handed him half. “This goes to the spirits for their help, just toss it out of the circle.”
As he tossed it out, something hound-shaped curved through the air, massive jaws coming down with finality on the sweet bread. Smoky and black, it was translucent, more imagination than substance—but the jaws were real enough to shred flesh. Elizabeth started at the sudden appearance, tossing her own piece out. Another hound appeared and disappeared into gray smoke.
She stared at the spot, her voice weak. “Yeah, like … that.” She shook her head, popping the top off a bottle of wine with one hand and taking a long swig without a look at the cup she held.
“I take it this doesn’t happen often?” Cesare asked, taking the bottle from her hand and sipping slowly.
“No … never, not since the beginning times. I thought the stories were bullshit. Now … I don’t know what I’m going to tell the others,” Elizabeth whispered.
“So, is this your power?” Cesare asked, as they both sat on the ground penned in by a tornado of air, a whipping tendril of water, burning obsidian, and fossilized roots.
More falling than sitting, Elizabeth took a spot on the ground in front of him. There was a time, not so long ago, that she would have sat next to him. Now, it was different, the bleeding part of his soul still raw from her knife. “No, not really. A Chthonic has two sources of power. One we control, I told you about that. The other we call Vias Sapientiae, a series of rites and rituals preserved from the elder times when our race was young.”
“This,” She nodded at the magic that surrounded them. “Is why they enslaved us. The ability to enhance the powers of other races is prized by the Immortals. We came after the other Umbrae Lunae, born into a world already carved up into armies and empires. At first, we were thought of as an offshoot of humanity, they were food, and we were weapons. We broke free. Some Chthonic still work for the Illuminati as weapons, hunting down the Umbrae Lunae and empowering others to kill. But then, some loners work for the Imperiums and Sceptrums beyond the Bound Blades we sell.”
“Any of you can do this?” Cesare asked.
“The rite? No. Only the strongest of us can grant the Blessing of the Long Night.” Her eyes widened as she looked around at the quarters. “But no one can do this anymore. The Old Ones have left the world, moved onto other places and times. No one has seen them come out like this in … I don’t know, thousands and thousands of years at least.”
They ate in silence as they looked out at the night. Iridescent beams of moonlight shined down on them, reflecting the light from realms beyond the bounds of the real. The heat from the fire quarter kept the circle warm while breezes from the tornado stirred the air around them. Out of the corners of their eyes they watched immense, smoky hounds stalk the clearing, their black eyes swirling pools of malice. It was comforting to be guarded by the gods for a time.
“Cesare …” Elizabeth began.
Sighing, he cut her off. “Don’t. I know you care, but you can’t get over my age or what you have to lose. You don’t look at me as a man, only as a child.”
“I do care for you.”
Smiling, he looked at her. “But you don’t crave my touch.”
She turned her eyes out onto the field, the sounds of water and wind heavy in the air. “It’s illegal, Cesare. You’re only a chi … a teenager. Being with you like that, it’s wrong. I can’t do it.” She turned to face him, her eyes deep wells of pain. “If you were older …”
“And you can’t get past it.” He stood up and handed her the bottle. “Don’t cry, it doesn’t change anything for me. Maybe after what I heard last night, it’s better this way. Some dreams are better left alone, to starve and die quiet little deaths. This was probably one of them.”
He slipped his duffel bag onto his back, tightening the straps to let it lie just right for a long walk. Elizabeth looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t stay. Jerold’s kicked me out until school starts again. It’s back to the streets for me.” Cesare cast the words over his shoulder as he walked to the edge of the circle.
Stricken, she looked at him, not knowing what to say. Neither of them cared that the tornado slowly died and the tendril of water came back down to earth. Even the glowing obsidian was dying. The Old Ones, knowing the rite was ending, retreated back to their domains.
“I can give you some money or … something.” Elizabeth scrambled to her feet.
“No. You may see a child to take care of, but I’m a man, and I’ll make my own way in the world.” As the circle came down, the world devoured the small reality set aside for them.
“Will you come back?” Her words were desperate and quick, tears falling unheeded down her cheeks as he walked out. “You said I was your home. That means you’re coming back, right?”
He didn’t turn around as the night swallowed him whole, hiding him in its embrace. Sinner or saint, darkness offers its blessing to all.
“Not everyone’s home is good for them. Some are better left.” Cesare’s voice floated from the distance. “But I’ll never leave you, even if you left me.”
He was back on the trail, the same one he’d met Alexandra on so many months ago. He’d always known he'd be back on the dirt track. A week, a month, or a year, the road was all he owned.
A rustling sound in the trees stopped him. Only the trail was visible; pale moonbeams warping the forest into a primeval thing of vile secrets and barbed truths. Glowing yellow eyes blinked into life from the blackness, staring at him hungrily. My what long teeth you have, grandma.