MudMan (The Golem Chronicles Book 1) (33 page)

The sword carved into his chest burned all the same, reminding him that his obligation was unchanged regardless of his physical condition.

“Stop right there,” the Mudman croaked, the words like sandpaper in his throat. “Stop before I stop you. And you won’t like the way I stop you.” He hooked his remaining thumb at the carcass of the monstrous creature behind him. “Just ask that thing for my references.”

The doctor swiveled, his gaze brushing over Levi for the first time. His eyes swelled, his brow knit in wonder, and his jaw dropped perceptibly.

“By all the darks gods below,” he said, “it can’t be. No, no”—he shook his head—“it can’t be possible. It can’t be, not after all these years. You, creature. Golem”—he jabbed a finger at Levi—“I command you to come here. To obey your maker.”

Levi tensed up, shifting on anxious feet. “Name’s not Golem. It’s Levi. Levi Adams. And I don’t listen to the commands of murderers. I execute murderers.” He balled his good hand into a fist, which transformed into a spike-covered mace. “Now you let the professor go and let that girl be.”

“What did he do to you?” The man stared, dismissing Levi’s words, his narrow eyes questing over the Mudman’s body. A sneer spread across his lips as his gaze landed on the brand carved into Levi’s chest, glowing with golden light. Levi thought there was a flash of recognition, or maybe realization, in his eyes. Something brushed at Levi’s senses, a subtle power that licked at his skin.

“I see now, of course. He filled you up with the tattered remnants of their souls.
Whoever sheds human blood, by humans shall their blood be shed; for in the image of God has God made mankind
.” He read the words inscribed in Levi’s flesh, then sighed. “Like the Golem of Prague. It all makes sense. The binding circle, even his suicide.” He shook his head and pressed his eyes shut, then rubbed at one temple. “The brilliant bastard. Well, the question is what to do with you now.”

The last was said for Hogg’s benefit, not Levi’s.

“I’m not going to ask again,” Levi replied. “Let ’em go. That girl, she’s important to me. I don’t want to see her hurt, and
you
don’t want to see her hurt either—because I’ll kill you and I’ll take my time.” Levi’s butchered face—one-part roadkill, one-part burn victim—split into a rictus full of torture and pain.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” the man replied, unruffled. “Anyone with a pair of working eyes can plainly see you’re lucky to be standing at all.” He smiled a greasy grin. “My eyes work just fine, Levi Adams. Instead, you’re going to be a good, obedient golem, just as I created you to be, and listen.” He edged forward a step. “First, let me say I truly mean you no harm. You, beast, are one of my greatest creations. A creation I thought lost over sixty years ago. One I certainly never thought to see again.” Another step. “You belong to me. You are my
property
,
and I have no intention of damaging you further.”

Levi shuffled back a pace. He didn’t know what game this man was playing at, but it made him uneasy. And confused.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t belong to you, and I’m no one’s property,” Levi said, though his voice faltered, failing to carry its usual certainty. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“There are gaps in your memory?” Hogg responded, evading the question with a natural liar’s ease. “I suspect you know little of your creation, or your purpose. But make no mistake. You. Are. Mine. I am your creator. And you, golem, are a
profane
miracle.” He savored the word
profane
, holding it too long in his mouth.

“You may not realize this, Levi, but the golden blood flowing in your veins is the alchemic elixir of life. And at your center—the heart beating in your chest—is the rarest of treasures. One of only two Philosopher’s stones in existence. Able to transmute lead to gold, to produce an elixir that can stave off death itself, to allow you to transform like that.” He motioned at Levi’s mace-fist. “I know because I built it. Built it and implanted it in you. The other one is in here.” He tapped at his chest with one finger. “We’re two peas in a pod, you and I.”

“Liar,” Levi said. “You’re a liar. You didn’t make me. My maker was good.” Levi faltered. “He made me good,” he finished in a whisper.

The man shook his head. “A naïve creature, I see. I can assure you, I am no liar. Your body was crafted by Rabbi Yitzchak Tov Ganz—a renowned mage and a little known disciple of Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel. You were built from the remnants of the original Golem of Prague. During a massive Nazi sweep, Rabbi Yitzchak was unfortunate enough to be captured and interned. I was working for the
Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei
—that is to say the National Socialist Party—when I found him. Instantly, I knew him for what he was.

“All of that is neither here nor there.” He swished a hand through the air
, it is nothing
. “The point is, I knew of the good rabbi and knew he could help me in my quest to free my master. I liberated him from the camps, and he agreed to help me build you, believing me to be a double agent working against the Nazis. He also knew I was creating a Philosopher stone to power the creation, but it was only near the end that he discovered
how
I managed to create a source capable of providing true life to an inanimate object.

“After that”—he shrugged—“well … we had a falling out of sorts. He betrayed me, destroyed you, and killed himself in despair—or so I’ve always assumed. Now, though, I see he used his own death not to destroy you, but as a ritual sacrifice to fill you up and brand you with that vile inscription you have etched into your chest. Would you, perhaps, like to know the secret of your life and creation? The secret that drove poor Yitzchak to kill himself?”

Levi shuffled away, body trembling. He wanted to believe this man was a liar, but he knew too much. Ignorance looked more blissful by the second.

“I created you to be a vessel, Levi, a powerful homunculus capable of containing the essence of Cain, the god of murder.” His greasy smile widened. “I’m sure you can appreciate the irony, considering that inscription you bear. What’s more, only the Philosopher stone could make an inanimate object powerful enough to house my Lord. And do you know how I created it, Levi?” He paused, drawing out the moment.

“I tortured three hundred sixteen Jews—one for each of the sacred names of God above. And, after torturing them, I performed a profane rite, which ripped the souls from their battered bodies and fused them into the gem which beats in your chest.”

He laughed, then, a slow chuckle that bubbled up from his stomach. “You are a living blasphemy, born from the Buna massacre.”

Levi’s knees gave out beneath him, and his body hit the ground with a
thud
.

One of the Thursrs flanking Professor Wilkie rushed forward.

The man, Levi’s creator, raised a single hand, stopping the creature midstride.

“Hold, you idiot. Weren’t you listening? I won’t risk damaging my rightful property further. Use that pea-sized brain for once, buffoon, and use your eyes while you’re at it. He’s standing at death’s door. Any more damage could destroy him permanently, and that profits me nothing. Besides, I have what I’ve come for. Despite your interference, Levi, you have delivered me everything I need to complete my task. An hour ago I had neither the girl nor the mage. An hour ago I couldn’t even venture into this sanctuary without fear of Siphonei. Now, here I stand, with my prize in hand, and you, beast, have my gratitude.”

Hogg lowered his hand and reached into his lab coat pocket. Levi’s body tensed, preparing for the man to draw some sort of weapon. Instead, he withdrew a business card and a golden pen. He carefully jotted something down on the back of the creamy-white card, then flicked it toward Levi, conjuring a gust of air that dropped it inches from Levi’s hand.

“I assume you’re going to come for the girl, or perhaps you’d just like more answers. Either way, that’s where you can find me. You have until the equinox—midnight, two days hence—before she is dead and my Lord walks the world once more. But please, Levi Adams, feel free to stop by whenever you’d like.”

Levi looked up, hate dashing across his features, turning his broad face even uglier. “You know I’m going to stop you.” He caught Ryder’s eye. “I’ll come for you. I swear to God, I’ll come. Just keep fighting.”

“I’m expecting you to try, golem—how could you do anything else, but what’s in your nature?” He turned toward his thugs. “Come, our business is finished here and we have work to do yet.” With that, the man turned his back toward Levi, dismissing him as a threat, and made for a doorway set into the far side of the room: the exit the professor had told Levi about.

The Mudman didn’t try to stop him. Couldn’t stop him. After a long while he picked up the card, turning it over in charred fingers, black grease smudging the surface. On the front, in matte black lettering, was a name: “Doctor Arlen Hogg, Geneticist.” On the back was a hastily scrawled address—someplace in Nevada.

TWENTY-FIVE:

Clay Pots

Levi leaned against the bloodstone in his yard, back pressed up against its cool, smooth surface, legs sprawled in the grass before him, while he gazed at the stars overhead. Pinpricks of stabbing light reminded him of that night so long ago when he first looked upon the world with new eyes. It’d been raining then, not clear like tonight, and the moon hadn’t been so full as the ball of light hanging above. A gleaming layer of slip covered every inch of his body. The goopy substance reminded him of the thick mud from the grave, and his nostrils still held the scent of burnt death, which conjured images of the bodies stacked up next to him, covered in slaked lime.

To think the heart beating in his chest was the by-product of those deaths, the culmination of a lifetime of murder and horrendous experimentation. And his soul? A Frankenstein monster, stitched together from the tattered remains of other souls. A tapestry of vengeful specters shoved into a crude body of muck and mud.

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”
Words from the Good Book, delivered directly from the mouth of Jesus. Levi hadn’t so much knocked as he had smashed the door from its hinges, but now he wished he could pick up the shattered remnants of the door and shoved them back into place. Except sometimes once a thing is done, once a thing is learned, it can’t be undone or unlearned.

He was an abomination, he now knew, and nothing he did could ever change that. For the first time in his life all he wanted was death. No, even that wasn’t right. He wanted to cease to exist. He wished he had
never
existed. All the AA meetings, the church services, the good works—feeding the hungry, protecting the homeless, caring for the widow and the orphan—they meant nothing.
Nothing
. He knew in his mind that salvation was by grace through faith that no man should boast, but there was nothing in him to save. No goodness. No redeeming grace. No light.

He was a monster.

He was death and darkness, vengeance and hate.

He would never overcome that, would never be anything else.

And, if he couldn’t rise above that nature, he didn’t want to live. Once he saved Ryder and killed Hogg, he would find a way to end it. He touched the brand on his chest. Yes, he would end it, but not until he saw this thing through—and there was work left to be done if he wanted to finish this race well. So much to do and so little time to do it.

He held up his left hand, examining the damage. He had fingers again and all his limbs were now in working order, but he still hurt from head to toe: muscles ached, skin taut and tender from the burns, while a head-splitting migraine hammered away inside his skull.

It didn’t help that he was bloodletting at the same instant: A plastic length of tube—dipping into one arm and running to a mop bucket beside him—dribbled out splashes of liquid gold. There was nothing to do for it, though. The Mudman needed to heal, but he also needed an edge if he had any hope of getting Ryder and the professor back whole and hale. The Mudman was well versed in the art of the kill, but fighting against a fortified enemy with a far larger force—not to mention ancient magics, dark alchemy, and access to a murder god—was well beyond his skill set. Levi reckoned the extra ichor might help.

Disposable ichor
, to be precise.

Levi’s most spectacular abilities—rending the earth, manifesting javelins of obsidian, even his shapeshifting and healing—were all tied to the ichor, but the more ichor he burned, the weaker he became. If, however, he had a reservoir to work with? Well, that might shift the odds in his favor, if only marginally. All things considered, his condition was a vast improvement over the night before. In another two days he’d be good as he always was.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have two days to spare—he had a handful of hours left before the equinox, and even that was cutting it awfully close.

He’d had two days from the time Hogg had captured Ryder, but he’d wasted a day and a half trekking back to the Hub from that damned temple with Chuck. Judging by the heat radiating from the ground, he could put the time at just after 10:00 PM, which meant he had three hours and change before the dark-heart of the equinox. Three hours wasn’t much time, not considering all he had to do in preparation for the battle. He shook his head at the thought of wading into this fight so ill-prepared and ill-equipped.

Even with the reserve of ichor he was far outclassed, and knew it.

Levi had one other surprise, a nuclear failsafe of sorts, that
might
turn the tide and give him a leg up on Hogg and Cain, but he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He’d swiped something from the ancient Atlantean temple—something powerful and insanely dangerous—which was now sitting in his basement, locked away in a silver-lined box inscribed with powerful containment runes. If everything went wrong, unraveled at the seams, Levi could always open the box and pray for the best, though he hoped to God above things wouldn’t come to that … unleashing the Atlantean weapon could be nearly as bad as setting Cain loose on the world.