One Great Year (10 page)

Again the master began to speak and Marcus trembled, immobile and forever changed. He dared to look again just as Helghul moved to the center of the feverish, chanting circle. The student had removed his tunic and stood only in trousers; his lean torso trembled in anticipation and his pale skin glowed orange in the firelight. The females in the group churned and danced as if entranced; still chanting, they discarded their robes. Their varied shapes and movements, their exposed flesh, fed the perverse energy that was building in the room.

The Nephilim watched eagerly as the leader directed the many women to the torches on the wall. They ran their hands along the sticky, blood-soaked surfaces. They placed their soiled hands on Helghul's waiting body, smearing the gory mess across his naked chest, abdomen, thighs, and face. They kissed him and licked him, clutching and rubbing. There was no part of him unmolested, and the sexual energy of the rite raised the fervor of the group.

The cloaked master never joined, but directed the men in the outer circle to fall in upon the women in a base frenzy of sexual chaos: a reward for their allegiance. The Nephilim shouted and cheered in depraved appreciation. The remnants of bloodied white robes and tunics were torn away as the Adversaries' bodies became alive with the burning, compelling power of the lower chakra impulses, and they violently coupled, sodomized, and fornicated in every combination possible. Their unquenchable sexual desire was the hold over them. Lust was an age-old influence and power that had led many to the Darkness with its promise of pleasure. Their further wish for power, notoriety, and material reward had led each of them to the cavern.

The drumming continued, but the chanting had been replaced by guttural grunts and cries and moans and, more ominously, the sound of distant thunder. It was so far from the experience Marcus had shared with Theron only hours earlier. Helghul was at the center of the rite, shaking in twisted orgasm, when the leader shouted above the din.

“It is time for the initiate to become the host. The soul who will be offered to the dark entity stands willingly before us. Power will be yours!” the leader declared, and the group broke their chant and echoed him.

“Power will be ours!” they bellowed, robotically separating from one another and returning to their circle. When the drumming suddenly ended, Marcus could clearly hear the rumble of thunder, deep and ominous, and a distant roar like that of a lion.

Get out!
Marcus's inner voice shouted in warning. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of impending doom that pressed his already overfilled senses. He was in shock, and there was no power in him to run away.

The leader began to speak in a strange language that Marcus did not recognize. The naked group continued to sway hypnotically as if drugged, as they began once again to chant, sweat and blood streaking their bodies. As he orated, the cloaked man circled Helghul with a large silver knife. The younger man stood fearlessly waiting with his arms outstretched.

Shadows stirred and moved through the cavern—shadows newly come, not cast by fire or form but with their own will and way. Helghul's bloodied face was turned boldly skyward, and he looked weirdly euphoric. Dark powers and ambitions not seen for many millennia were being called upon.

The sinister master brought the knife down, resting the glinting blade against the flesh of Helghul's forearm. Though Marcus's hatred for his adversary burned like never before, he did not wish to see his murder and he instinctively said a prayer for him. The master began to speak:

“Hear me now, Darkness of the night
Chained in the fetters of fire by Light
Reach now forth this sacred land
Misbegotten beast take now this offered hand
See me now, oh wicked eye
Seek this place from whence we die
Offer this, your sacred feast
Rise up now, all-powerful beast!”

On the final syllable the leader handed Helghul the blade, and the young man willingly slashed open his own extended forearm. His blood spurted across the dirt and a jagged crevice opened up in the ground, expanding deeper and wider where the crimson trail had fallen. There was a deviant howl and a loud crack as the rock bed beneath their feet split open.

Marcus prayed desperately, begging for divine intervention and sending light and positive energy into the cavern below. Marcus's single light was not enough, and the shadows and dark energy continued to spew forth. Repeatedly, the vast chamber filled and the Darkness moved easily through the walls, released into the world beyond.

Marcus trembled as a terrifying demonic presence emerged from the chasm like cruel afterbirth and filled the chamber. The ten-headed, dragon-like beast glowed in particles and waves. It was an ominous grey, purple, and blue like a bruise. The evil presence gnashed its jagged fangs, howling at the mesmerized group as they chanted and reveled in the dark vibration.

Helghul, formerly brave and defiant, inwardly shuddered at the sight of it. It was more horrible than he had imagined, more horrible than his worst nightmare, and his passionate fervor was replaced by cold dread. Denying his fear, he lifted his head proudly, drawing on the envy and admiration of the adoring assembly. He was the chosen one, and he offered up his bloody arm.

The roar was unbearable as the wraith entered Helghul like a drug through a syringe. It infiltrated his veins through his bloody, self-inflicted wound, and Helghul screamed in agony as his body was lifted a yard off the ground. He jerked and jolted violently, defying gravity in the center of the circle and hovering over the endless crevice. The torches on all sides of the room grew brighter, highlighting Helghul's contorted face.

As the evil took hold, Helghul could not resist. He was no longer in charge of himself; he had been overtaken by his own choice. The new Helghul growled in twisted ecstasy. The room cleared of the last demonic shadows as they emptied through the walls into the vulnerable world outside. The transfer was complete. Helghul stood on his feet, a welcoming host to the Darkness. The King of the Adversaries had been ordained.

Fractures had opened around the globe as the membrane between worlds had been successfully breached and the underworld had been freed of its confines. The cloaked leader signaled an end to the chanting.

“We have succeeded. Through Helghul we have opened the gate to the Darkness, the cycle has shifted. Our strength will exponentially increase as the Age declines. The Emissaries must not succeed in bringing enlightenment to the new world. You, among others, will be the instruments of discord, and it is your calling to ensure that evil will out. Adversaries depart! Spread fear, isolation, and doubt, and by all means control the weak. Manage the unconscious and lead them as they grow in number. Keep their life forces bound and slumbering, and their frequencies will remain low and feeble.”

The dark speaker was interrupted by the groan of shifting earth. “There is no time left. You must all get to the wharf! There is no time to lose!”

As if awakened from a deep hypnotic state, the students jerked upright, scrambling to dress.

“We have not been chosen as Emissaries. How will we board the boats?” one of the Adversaries asked.

“The passage of the Adversaries is assured. The Universal balance guarantees it. Like the Emissaries, you have chosen your path.”

The Adversaries departed for the wharf. They were not the possessed, mechanistic assembly from moments before. They showed no remorse or shock, but rushed purposefully toward the waiting boats. The Nephilim were dismissed and filed out of the cave, their lust for blood fulfilled.

“What about the blood?” Marcus heard a woman ask, referring to her stained garments.

“In the chaos of tonight, it will never be noticed,” the leader promised. “Take the east exit. Everyone hurry to the boats!”

Marcus heard the urgings of the dark leader, and though he knew that he too must hurry and get to Theron at the wharf, it was too dangerous to move. From below, the students swiftly mounted the stone steps and passed Marcus, hiding only yards away. Helghul was now alone with the grand master, and Marcus tried to see who was hidden beneath the dark cloak but his hood remained in place.

“Helghul, you have done well. You will go on to live many lives of great consequence.”

“I feel the power within me—it's intoxicating—but strangely I still feel myself,” Helghul answered.

“You are yourself, but more. You are immortal. As ever, your soul goes on, though your avatar material incarnation will be born and die. Your spirit is united with the Power but, though you may feel it, you are not invincible. Before you go there is one last thing … I have an elixir that will grant you life-memory. The potion will allow that when you reincarnate, one lifetime to another, you will have memory … an advantage the Emissaries will not have.”

“Why would you not give it to all of us?” Helghul asked. Marcus had just been wondering the same thing and cringed that he had shared a thought with the monster.

“Because it gives one too much power. Power must be carefully protected … if it is shared, it ceases to exist.”

“But why then, why did White Elder not give it to his Emissaries to empower them?”

“Her weakness and compassion—memory is a cruel burden she would not impart. She believes each lifetime must be a journey to enlightenment as intended, even for the chosen ones … even in the darkest times.”

Marcus's hatred welled up in him, and he was enraged by the notion that Helghul would have the advantage of memory and he would not.
If there is a memory elixir, we should all have it. The Emissaries could do far more good, couldn't they? It would allow Theron and me to remember one another as well
, he thought. He must talk to White Elder and convince her.

The cloaked man handed a small bottle to Helghul, who dutifully took a sip and then tossed the container to the ground. The two men then quickly moved out of Marcus's sight. Would they come up where he was and find him? Had they taken another exit? Marcus waited, impatiently nauseated and distraught from everything he had witnessed. He was desperate to get to Theron and to inform White Elder of what he had seen and seek the memory potion, but he feared time was running out.

Once he was sure that the two men were gone, Marcus moved. Three of the five torches below were still burning, and though Marcus still trembled and loathed the idea of descending into the grotesque chamber below, he knew that he needed a light to get out of the cavern. He stealthily descended the stone steps and jumped the crevice with a shudder, remembering the Darkness he had seen and felt pouring from it. He approached the stained wall, intentionally keeping his eyes from the fragments at his feet. He knew he would be unable to function if he looked down or thought or remembered, and so he pushed the reality of the carnage he had witnessed from his mind and focused on speed and survival.

Marcus had to jump to dislodge a torch—it dropped on his third attempt, landing with a thud as he leapt sideways so he wouldn't get burned. He bent to retrieve the light and saw a silver flask discarded on the floor: the memory elixir. He retrieved the bottle and saw that it was not empty. There was a trace still in the bottom, perhaps enough for one.

Stop!
his mind warned. Marcus felt a rumble below him, not just thunder, this time a tremor. All around him the ground shook, and he covered his head as dust and rubble fell from the ceiling.
Time, time!
There was no time. He knew he had to choose.

This elixir is a gift
, he told himself.
Maybe this is why I am here. I can't forget what Helghul has become. I can't forget her
, he thought, as he put the vial to his lips and drained it. Marcus had chosen to become an Emissary with Theron, but now he had chosen to do it on his own terms.

The potion tasted of eucalyptus and mint and something bitter that he couldn't place. Marcus stared at his hands, expecting them to change visibly before his eyes. The potion bound itself to every molecule and fiber of his spirit, stripping the insulation and respite his spirit might have known and replacing it with knowledge. Like Helghul, Marcus had chosen a path of full memory, and he would struggle many lifetimes with the consequences of that choice.

Again the ground rumbled and quaked, and Marcus tossed the bottle and got out of the cavern as quickly as possible. When he finally emerged from the deep recesses of the mountain, nauseated and terrified, the weather had deteriorated. The sky was dark and foreboding, and a stinging rain pinched his exposed skin. Marcus flew his glider erratically, unable to focus, and rushed to Theron's home. Theron opened the door expectantly at his first knock.

“Did you have the vision too?” she asked nervously. She quickly picked up her heavy cloak and pulled it over her head.

“What? No, Theron. We have to find your mother!” Marcus said, barely able to keep from breaking down at the sight of her; his senses had been pushed too far. Marcus dripped puddles all over her floor, but neither of them noticed. He couldn't bear to tell her what he had witnessed. He didn't want to burden her, and he didn't want to break down. He must tell White Elder.

“I had a vision of floods and fires, Marcus! We need to go to the boats right away! My mother will find us!” she commanded. Theron was across the room putting on her sandals. “Come on!” she urged impatiently, and Marcus had no will but to follow.

The tempest howled outside, loud and ominous.

“We have to find White Elder!” Marcus insisted as they ran through the hallways. She looked at him in confusion.

“Do you think this is easy for me … leaving her?” she asked. “It was a premonition, Marcus, we have no more time … hurry!” she said, reaching back to him. He took her hand and they ran together. Strange winds whistled through the building, and when they opened the outer doors, Theron was shocked. A gale howled, rocking the vast island with its fury. Hard pellets of hail and rain pitched against them. The pair raised their arms to eye level to shield their faces. Marcus knew why darkness had come so quickly.