Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition (2 page)

"Boy."

The voice startled him, made him jerk in the chair and he had to steady himself with the desk. It was a dark voice full of gravel and melancholy undertones. Christopher didn't know why, but it conjured up images of violence and pain in his mind. It came from the shadows toward the back of the boiler room. Christopher leapt out of the chair and spun around.

"Boy, I need to talk to you," said the voice from the shadows.

It definitely wasn't the old janitor. This voice held too much strength and power. Christopher tried to see into the shadow, to pierce the darkness with his eyesight, but it was murky in the glow of the overhead lights. Christopher subconsciously moved around the desk keeping it between him and the voice. This also kept the door at his back. He inched towards it.

"I know you want to run, but we need to talk. Many lives depend on it," said the voice.

Christopher saw movement then. A shifting of the shadows. The figure was a man, but low to the ground, like he was crawling or leaning against the wall.

"Do you need help? I can get you help."

Christopher moved to the door. Just before his hand reached the knob, he heard a creak come from the wood, like something had just tightened around it. He tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge—not even a little give, as if it was suddenly made of concrete.

"I can't let you leave just yet, but don't worry. I will not kill you."

The panic that had been growing in Christopher turned to full terror at those last words. He began banging on the door, but it was like banging on concrete, muffled and painful.

"Help! I'm in the boiler room! Please, there is something in here!" He cried, but even as he did, he could hear his pleas bouncing off the door in front of him, muffled like his blows.

"BOY!"

The voice was now a shout, a voice of command. It sent terror like ice up Christopher's spine. He spun around, his back against the unmoving door.

He heard a scratching, followed by rustling and a wet sound like moist pasta spilling out of the bowl. The thing was moving. From the darkness Christopher saw it materializing as it crawled out of the shadows. It was man-shaped, dragging itself out of the dark. It clutched at its stomach, blood dripping from the pieces of entrails that poked out past its hand. The thing looked up out of the dark and stared directly at Christopher.

And Christopher knew he was staring at the Devil.

CHAPTER THREE

Christopher could not speak, his throat had closed up. He could not scream, although he wanted to. He did not know exactly what this man was, dying on the floor, but he knew it was not normal. This man was not human. It wore a long, black coat and old, slightly anachronistic, clothes. They were stained with the creature’s own blood and guts. Its long hair hung loose and greasy across its eyes. Its face was pale and gaunt. Christopher imagined it was the face a corpse wore just before rot set in.

"I need you to deliver a message for me to your father," the Beast said.

His father? This thing knew who he was? The idea that this man had dealings with his father jarred him out of the paralyzing fear he was in.

"How... how do you know my father? Did he put you in prison?"

"No. Any bars around me are of my own making," the Beast said. "I see your father in you, in your past. I have a... gift, so to speak, to see the bloodlines of people, to understand their history and the make-up of their character."

"So you know what my dad does for a living?"

"Yes, that is I know he hunts. That he is relentless and stops at nothing. The details remain fuzzy."

Christopher almost smiled in relief. Almost. There was some mistake, his father was not a hunter.

"My dad is a district attorney. He is dedicated, but he lives in the city, not the forest. I'm pretty sure he's never even held a rifle," Christopher said.

The thing looked at Christopher with those dark, almost dead eyes and for a moment Christopher thought the man was going to smile.

"I did not say what he hunted. He is a hunter of men, and that will be of use to me," the Beast rumbled.

"Look, I think you might have the wrong guy, or the wrong idea about my dad. He goes after criminals and is an ass at the best of times, but he is no 'hunter of men' as you put..."

"Quiet boy!"

Christopher abruptly closed his mouth. The fear was back.

"I need you to listen. I don't have much time left, and you are the only choice I have," the thing said. It pulled itself closer into the light, and for the first time Christopher got a good look at it.

It looked like a man, but Christopher was still reluctant to refer to it as human. It was injured, severely. Many lacerations crisscrossed its body, leaving tears in its clothes and bleeding, rent flesh. Part of its intestines spilled out into his lap. Not only was this thing dying, it should already have been dead.

"How did you do that thing with the door?" Christopher asked when it had settled itself again against the wall.

"No time for that," the thing said, "I need you to listen closely. I don't care if you believe me or not, your belief is of little consequence, but you must listen and you must remember."

It paused and dug through the pockets of its trench coat and pulled out a small book that looked like a journal and a pocket knife. It tossed the objects onto the ground between them. The effort alone seemed to make even more blood seep out of its wounds. It was now surrounded by a red pool of its own blood.

"Hell, amongst other things, is a prison for the dark souls that populate the world. Dark souls like the ones your father condemns to prisons here in your world. And, like here, sometimes those dark souls escape from Hell. It is rare, but it does happen."

Christopher once again tried to push at the door. It was talking about Hell now? Whatever this thing was, it was bat-shit crazy too.

"I do not speak of your average bad guy. The dark souls that escape from the inescapable are powerful and corrupt beings. It is not the Adolf Hitler’s of the world that I speak of, it is those who whispered in his ear and guided him in his mission. They are not the mass murderers you hear about on TV, although they have all killed in great numbers. No, it is the truly evil that I am speaking of.

"One of the tasks of the Devil—Satan—whatever you want to call it, is to collect these dark souls when they escape. That is... was my task. I am the hunter aspect of the Devil."

"You are the Devil?" Christopher asked.
Yeah, this guy is nuts
. But the thought didn't lessen the fear washing over him.

"Again, I do not care that you believe me. You are only a tool to carry my message."

It shifted, wincing in pain as it leaned back against the wall.

"I am dying. The last dark soul I was retrieving had a weapon I did not expect. I cannot be killed easily, in fact, I never have been. I have existed since the beginning of humanity’s reign on this planet. I have been hurt, slowed, even evaded for a time, but never have I known death. But this dark soul had found a Relic, a weapon, that has done this to me."

He coughed then, blood splattering from his lips.

"It never occurred to me that I would need a successor. I should be forever, but at least this embodiment of me is at an end. Unfortunately, that means I must pass my job on to a mortal. No human is truly equipped to take on this job, but that is not a problem that can be solved.

"You must take this book and this weapon to your father. I see in him the strength to take on this job. When he begins to read the book, the power of this position will be his. Make sure he understands what I am telling you. He may not believe at first, but make sure he understands. Once he reads the book, there is no going back."

"Make him understand? I don't even understand," Christopher said. "What is in that book?"

"It is the Book of Knowledge. It contains all knowledge that exists," the thing said.

"Looks a little small to be so thorough," Christopher said, a little amazed he had the calmness to quip.

"This book, the Weapon, they become what they need to be, when they need to be it. The book opens doors to all knowledge. Most mortals could never begin to fathom its depths."

"So then reading this book will make him like you?"

The thing looked at him sharply. Christopher paled under the scrutiny.

"No, not like me. His is mortal and it will be different. But he will be bound to this job, this purpose. I don't know what will really happen. Like I said, a mortal has never held this office. Your father is the best I could find in the time I have."

The thing seemed to pull itself a little deeper into the shadows—or the shadows moved forward to surround it.

"Take my message and these two objects to your father. Explain the best you can, but he must take this job. If the dark souls are allowed to run free, they will bring hell to earth. Because," it leaned forward again, its soulless eyes holding Christopher's, "humanity’s capacity for evil is far greater than anything the Devil could cook up."

A sudden click behind him made Christopher jump. The door to the boiler room opened with a creak. Whatever force had been holding it was gone. Christopher surprised himself by not running out the door immediately. Instead he took a cautious step forward, although every fiber of his body told him to run from this mad thing. He picked up the book and pocket knife. His hands stretched out, keeping as far from the creature as possible, ready to spring back at the slightest movement from the shadow-shape. He couldn't help but ask one last question.

"What happens if he doesn't read the book or want this job?" Christopher was not sure why he asked. He didn't believe this shit for a second, but something weird was going on and he wanted to have all his bases covered.

"Then boy, throw this Book and Weapon as far out into the ocean as you can. And pray it isn't in your lifetime that the world goes to hell."

At that the thing started coughing again, spraying more blood. The sudden noise startled Christopher, and he sprang to the door like a spring releasing its tension. He was halfway through the door when the voice of the thing stopped him.

"Don't tell anyone I am down here. There is no need and it would not go well for anybody else finding me down here. I will be gone soon. And boy, whatever you do, don't read the book. I doubt you'll be tempted, but it is not meant for you. You are too weak for this."

Christopher left the boiler room at a run and didn't stop until he was back in his own room four floors up.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two weeks later Christopher was on a train out of Boston, the meeting with the Beast in the basement all but forgotten. If he had been asked about it, he would have remembered— remembered it clearly in fact. But without a reminder it just seemed to slip into the back of his mind. It was as if some slippery substance sat on the memory and slid it just out of notice beneath his everyday thoughts and growing anxiety of seeing his dad.

For the past weeks he had ignored the attempts by Courtney to get ahold of him. Even to the point of hiding quietly in his room while she banged on the door, demanding that he answer. He hid because he did not have the strength to deal with her. He didn't want it to be over and if he avoided her, he did not have to admit to himself that it was. He did not want to talk to her about her seeing other guys or assuring each other that they could still be friends. He didn't want this new situation, he wanted things back to normal. As long as they didn't 'talk about it, part of him thought it would remain the same. So he hid from her and he hid from just about everyone for those last two weeks before heading home for spring break.

A girl sat across the aisle and a few rows up from him. He had seen her when he came in. She was pretty with dark black hair, a large tattoo across her neck and more piercings than he could count. She glanced back at him once, a look of surprise on her face, or possibly confusion. He thought maybe she had thought he was someone else.

He didn't think too much of it, Courtney was on his mind. He had planned on heading home with Courtney, maybe even taking her to the coast for a couple of days. But now here he sat alone on an almost empty train car, hood pulled over his head, ear buds nestled in his ears pumping out indie rock as he stared out the window at scenery he had seen a thousand times. The music and motion of the car had almost lulled him to sleep.

He did not see the man step into his car. He didn’t see the man look around briefly and then, after spotting Christopher, start walking down the aisle, hand sliding into his leather jacket. Christopher did not look up to see the man slip a gun from that jacket. But he did hear the scream.

"Terrorist!" screamed a man, standing up from his seat. "He has a gun!"

Christopher looked up in time to see the man in the aisle hesitate at the screaming business man pointing at him. The other passengers in the car jumped up and after a moment of confusion, chaos erupted as passengers began running and screaming.

Christopher's eyes met the man's, and Christopher knew instantly the man was looking for him. The gun began to rise. Christopher threw himself into the aisle and ran for the back door. He had only gone a few steps and almost reached the door when a gunshot, followed by an explosion of pain in his left shoulder, spun him around violently.

"Freeze, police!" cried another man who had just stepped in, pistol raised, from the forward car.

The gunman ignored him and raised his gun for a second shot, this one aimed at Christopher's head. Numb, Christopher hooked his hand in the door and forced it open. But he was too late. He didn't hear the second gunshot and only felt the searing pain in his head for a brief moment as he fell through the open door and into darkness.

CHAPTER FIVE

Christopher woke slowly, clawing his way out of unconsciousness and dreams. Dreams where he ran down endless library stacks chased by a dark hooded figure. He looked for a book that would save him and banish this demon pursuing him. But now consciousness beckoned and he raced towards it, expecting at any moment to feel the hand of the demon on him, pulling him back.