Authors: Gilliam Ness
By the time Christian arrived
at the Vanderhoff suite, more than an hour had already passed. He had purposely lingered at the hotel bar, wanting to make it clear that he was not one to be ordered about. He prepared to knock, but just as they had done on his first visit, the doors opened before he could do so. The dark and somber room came into view.
“You may come in, Christian,” said the brittle voice of the Nautonnier from the shadows. “Your eyes will soon adjust to the darkness.”
The doors closed silently behind Christian as he entered, the room plunging into blackness. He could feel a strange presence very close to him now, almost brushing his face and body. A subtle yet unmistakable stench filled the room; one that smelled of death and rot. A terror began to take hold of him, and it was only a sudden rush of anger, brought on by that dark-self within, that prevented him from collapsing to the floor.
“This is such bullshit!” said Christian aloud, his fear transforming. “I didn’t come here for a spook show. Turn on a bloody light or I’m leaving and you can go to hell!”
He heard a match being struck, and saw a candle come slowly to life. It sat in the corner of the suite, illuminating a table, along with its five shadowy occupants. They wore dark, hooded robes.
“I didn’t know this was a Halloween party,” said Christian dryly.
He saw the Nautonnier rise to his feet and throw back his hood.
“You will have respect!” he hissed.
“Fuck you!”
The Nautonnier sat down as Christian approached, and the others remained motionless in their seats. The air seemed to crackle with energy. There was an empty chair at the table, and as Christian arrived he stood by it, looking down at the robed figures. It was the first time he had seen them up close, and their rate of vacillation seemed to have slowed, so that they almost appeared solid. Christian fought back an urge to vomit. They were repulsive to him.
“Sit down!”
came his father’s icy hiss.
Christian did his best to ignore it.
“Show me your faces!” he demanded.
As one, the four reached up and pushed back their hoods. Christian stepped away in shock.
What is this? How can this be?
Fluctuating between grainy ghostliness and solidity, he could see four visages before him, so ancient that their appearance defied all natural law. They stank of rot and decay. That something could be so old seemed to Christian utterly impossible. He bent forward despite his disgust. Their features were clearly reptilian.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, looking over at the Nautonnier.
“Our brothers are ancient by all standards. They belong to a race of beings that dwelt on the earth long ago. We are of their bloodline, Christian. Please, sit down. I beg you.”
Seeing that the Nautonnier was finally assuming a respectful disposition had a calming effect on Christian. He had had enough of the old man’s arrogance. He sat down and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into the Nautonnier’s face.
“Start talking,” he said, feeling his self-confidence eroding. “I’m a busy man.”
“You are nothing without the master!”
hissed the four in unison, each of them rising to their feet.
In that instant it seemed to Christian like a great weight were suddenly pressing down on him, as though he had been submerged into very deep water. The intense pressure made his head reel in pain, but he could not cry out. He watched the Nautonnier rise to his feet and disappear behind him. The pain was intensifying. He could do nothing but grasp the arms of his chair and writhe in agony.
“Can you now feel what you are up against, boy?” came the icy whisper.
Christian could hear the voice as though it were filtering up from the floor. The stench of the Nautonnier’s breath curled over his neck and into his nostrils.
“Fuck you,” he managed to utter.
“You will learn respect!” cried the brittle voice, and suddenly Christian felt a piercing pain burning into his lower spine.
It shot up into his ears, silencing his scream and sending all the muscles in his body into seizure. The room went black.
When Christian regained consciousness he found that he was still seated in the same chair. He looked up to see that the table before him was ablaze with candles, each one placed at the outer points of a pentagram that had been crudely drawn onto its surface. At its centre lay a dagger with a serpentine blade. Surrounding the table were the four ancient figures, and the Nautonnier. He could feel their wicked eyes on him.
“Who are you?” muttered Christian at last, looking to the four.
“We are the Zurvanites of Ahreimanius,”
came the cold whisper, as dry as ice.
“We are the keepers of the Eternal Temple of Set.”
Christian passed his hands over his face. His head was spinning.
“They are The Four,” said the old sage, nodding. “Since ancient times they have served the Nautonnier, and given him knowledge and power. They represent the four great forces of destruction, and are the keepers of the four dimensions. They answer only to Lucifer.”
“How can you expect me to believe any of this nonsense?” asked Christian weakly.
“You will believe when you witness the destruction they shall reap through you,” said the Nautonnier. “You were always a disbelieving boy. It is time you opened yourself to the truth.”
“How would you know what kind of boy I was?”
“Ah, but you forget, my child,” whispered the Nautonnier. “We were great schoolmates.”
In the depths of his heart, Christian felt a sudden pang of intense emotional pain. It seemed to come from a long way off; from another life, or from a nightmare. He squelched it immediately, denying it utterly.
“I see you choose to forget our special friendship,” hinted the Nautonnier, a sly smile spreading over his face. “And after all the fun we had together...”
Christian battled with himself. Memories that he had long ago buried were coming up from his dark childhood. His loveless father, his cruel nanny, the loneliness and isolation. They had sent him far away, to a horrible place. It was an institution. There had been teachers.
Brothers
they had been called. Catholic priests. Christian squirmed in his seat, feeling the cruel eyes of The Four on him.
“Oh,” said the Nautonnier in a playful tone, “I think he is starting to remember those things we did together.”
Christian squirmed. The Nautonnier’s voice was like a scalpel.
“How could you have forgotten? You are breaking my heart!”
Christian looked directly at the wispy haired Nautonnier. The latter was staring back at him now, an exaggerated pout distorting his repulsive features. In his cold, cruel eyes Christian could see something vaguely familiar, and in an instant, long drowned memories came flooding back to him, as though a dark gate had been lifted, or a tired dike thrown down.
“Father Adrianus,” breathed Christian in horror, moving his head from side to side. “No! It can’t be you!”
A darkness was enveloping Christian now. It came in from his periphery, engulfing everything in an inky blackness. Out of the shadows a scene materialized. He was remembering. He was a child. He was in a study room in the school library.
“You’ve been a very dirty little boy, Christian,” whispered a voice, and Christian knew at once that it belonged to the Nautonnier. “What you have done to me is very wrong, and very dirty.”
“No!” screamed Christian. “You made me do it! You made me!”
“Dirty boy!” scolded the voice. “Now you will do it to me again, or I will tell everyone what you have done!”
Christian jerked into the present. He focused his eyes on the Nautonnier, remembering fully what he had been made to do.
“You!” he said, trembling with fury.
A deep shame was making its way through Christian now, as though he were drowning in it. The seething hatred and anger that came in its wake threatened to consume him entirely.
“I will kill you for what you did to me!”
“He remembers!” exclaimed the Nautonnier, clapping his hands in feigned delight.
Christian attempted to rise from his chair, realizing only then that he was completely paralyzed. He could move nothing but his head.
“And, yes, Christian,” said the Nautonnier wickedly. “Your father knew very well of our little games, as did you your uncle Vladimir.”
Christian was in tears of frustration. Through the Nautonnier’s promptings he had now regained all the memories he had so thoroughly repressed. He could recall each and every cruelty perpetrated by those who were supposed to have loved him. The walls had broken, and all the subterfuges that Christian had created to hold onto himself were gone. There was nothing but the truth, and he refused to believe it. He refused it with all his will. He would never allow himself to accept this. Never.
As the Nautonnier came closer and closer, something in Christian transformed. From the depths of his soul, riding on a swelling wave of violence, there came to him a great surge of strength. Its power was intoxicating, and he did nothing to repress it, choosing instead to observe the beast within him as a spectator might do. It felt primal and ancient; like something he had long ago once been, and only forgotten. In a fraction of a second his dark inner-self had taken up control.
Directly before him, Christian could see the Nautonnier’s creased and wrinkled face. It was contorting with mock pity. He could smell his putrid breath, and the stench of it brought a pang of sheer lucidity to his memories. His childhood suffering played out before him. He was reliving every feeling; every sordid experience at the hands of the malevolent priest.
“You will pay,” he said in a low, trembling voice.
His rage was on the verge of explosion.
“Oh, he is upset with me,” mocked the Nautonnier. “Is this a lover’s spat?”
With one concerted effort, Christian broke free from the spell that had held him paralyzed, shooting out his hand to take hold of the Nautonnier’s wrinkled, brittle throat. His strength seemed unreal.
I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch!
To his utter surprise, Christian felt his fingernails perforating cartilage with a sickening crunch. Hot blood exploded from the Nautonnier’s mouth in bubbling gouts, running down Christian’s arms, and drenching his face and body.
Christian rose from his chair like an angry god, lifting the dying Nautonnier into the air as though he were a limp rag doll. He could see the old man’s eyes bulging from the pressure, but there was still an icy smile on his bloodied lips, as though he were somehow encouraging Christian to continue. The latter was beside himself now. Running in his mind was a movie of all the torments he had suffered at the hands of this man. The humiliation. The sheer humiliation.
Christian reached down with his free hand and took hold of the serpentine blade that lay on the table. Ever so slowly he sunk its full length into the Nautonnier’s neck, sawing ineptly until he had at last severed the screaming head. He tossed it onto the table when he was done, and then watched the lifeless body crumple to the floor. The head had landed in the centre of the table, amid the pentagram of burning candles. Its eyes were still blinking. The smell of burning hair filled the room. Around the table the Zurvanites stood unmoving, shuddering and flickering in and out of being.
Christian was in a kind of ecstasy. He felt sated and free; like one who has finally rid himself of a postulant wound, or pulled an infected thorn from his flesh. His hatred rang like a bell’s note. He took a long, deep breath and looked up at the Zurvanites as they stood there before him, his eyes dark and reptilian.
“It is done,”
they said to him, bowing in reverence.
“The prophecy is fulfilled.”
Their voice was no longer a physical one. It came like a thought from somewhere deep in his own mind. A wave of fear and repulsion passed through Christian. The Zurvanites were now inside of him. He and they were somehow fused. He gagged and bent over to vomit.
“Hail the new Nautonnier,”
they hissed as Christian sank to the floor,
“All power to Ahreimanius, the Lord of Darkness and Matter.”
Rome, Italy.
Natasha stood before the balcony
in Gabriel’s suite, the shutters drawn aside. Eruptions of lightning where filling the horizon, spreading sheets of fleeting light over the distant clouds. Framed as they were by the starry sky above, the masses of cloud resembled mountains, black and threatening. From them there came an ominous rumbling that seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. An immense stormfront was drawing closer, and the busy streets of Rome seemed oblivious to its impending wrath.
Behind Natasha, Gabriel slept soundly in his bed. She knew that there was no reason to be frightened. She had only had a nightmare, but nevertheless something deep in her seemed persistent in its warnings. She passed her fingers through her hair.
“You’re up,” came Gabriel’s groggy voice.
Natasha turned to find him propped on an elbow, his brow furrowing with concern the moment he saw her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you have a bad dream?”
She stood there without moving, looking helplessly at him. Her eyes began to fill with tears.
“I am so sorry for coming into your room like this, Gabriel.”
Gabriel got up and went to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, not knowing what else to do.
“You’re trembling.”
“We were together in hell,” she said. “Then we became separated. Oh, Gabriel, I felt so lost.”
Natasha threw her arms around him and began to cry. The rolling thunder boomed.
“I cannot understand,” she sobbed. “Why is all this happening?”
“It was just a dream,” Gabriel heard himself say. “Just a nightmare, that’s all.”
Natasha pulled her head back and looked into his eyes.
“Something happened to us when we were babies,” she whispered, pushing aside his hair and tracing the tips of her fingers over the scar on his forehead. “Something horrible.”
Gabriel felt a cold shiver run down his back. An instinctive urge to deny what she was saying took hold of him, but he dismissed it at once. The idea that they could have spent the first fourteen months of their lives infested by demons was horrific, but it had to be accepted. He reminded himself that it was only through this paranormal event that the Bishop had found them, and if they were who they were today, it was only because those events had taken place.
Something horrible happened to us when we were babies.
He moved away from Natasha and stepped out onto the stone balcony. It was past midnight but the streets of Rome were still bustling below.
“I’ve had dreams too,” he said slowly, facing out into the night. “All my life. I’ve always pretended that I didn’t have them, but when they came, I always knew something was wrong.”
“Then we are not in this alone, Gabriel,” came Natasha’s voice, but this time there was a renewed strength in it. “That makes everything different.”
Gabriel turned to find that Natasha had gone over to his bed. She lay there on her stomach, propped on her elbows and gazing into the glowing Cube. Once again Gabriel was captivated. The Cube’s blue light was washing over her face as though it were moonlight. He could see that she was no longer frightened, and her resilience surprised him, helping him to douse his own fears.
Gabriel shook his head in wonder. Just like the Cube, it seemed to him that deeper levels of Natasha were being revealed to him with every passing moment. This being said, it was getting easier for him to keep his distance from her. The more virtues he saw in her, the more unworthy he felt. She was intelligent, genuine, and compassionate, without ever coming off as prudish or self-satisfied, and he was, after all, a whore monger and a thief; a tomb robber. He felt more empty than ever.
“Do you remember what Uncle Marcus said about the spiritual separation between us?” asked Natasha, her attention still fixed on the glowing Cube.
Gabriel gathered himself before answering.
“He said there’d be dark forces attracted to you as long as we were not spiritually merged. Whatever that was supposed to mean.”
Natasha looked over at him through dark, curling locks.
“Two days ago I felt a supernatural presence in my workshop,” she said, tucking her hair away behind an ear. “It was evil, Gabriel. That is why I went to stay with Uncle Marcus. It really frightened me. I thought I was going crazy.”
“Two days ago,” said Gabriel, letting himself fall into an ornate chair next to the bed. “The same day I recovered the Cube.”
“That would make sense,” she said, sitting up and facing him. “Uncle Marcus said that dark forces were alerted to my presence when you retrieved the Cube without me being there.”
Gabriel thought for a moment.
“Do you think the dark forces could be in tune with our separation, in the same way that the Cube is in tune with our togetherness?”
Natasha shrugged.
“Considering that all positive spirituality is based on unity, and that all negative spirituality is based on separation, it could be so.”
“By negative spirituality, do you mean Satanism?”
“Among other things,” she said. “There are two opposing belief systems. The right hand path, and the left hand path. Followers of the right look for integration with the godhead. They want to achieve divine creative power by achieving union with all. That is what
‘All Is One’
means.”
Gabriel nodded.
“And followers of the left?”
“They seek the glorification of the individual self,” said Natasha. “They want power over others, and fragmentation. That is what
‘divide and conquer’
means. Throughout history the left hand has always been synonymous with evil because of these two different paths. As a matter of fact, in Latin, the word left
means
sinister.”
“Dextra et sinistra,”
said Gabriel in Latin. “Right, and left.”
They both fell silent, each one caught up in their own thoughts. Natasha continued to examine the Cube.
“You know,” she said at length, “I am thinking we might find something if we could scan this with a biris.”
“What’s a biris?”
“It is a portable imagining scanner. I have one in my shop. It is on loan from the National Research Council of Canada. I am using it to capture all the Vatican pieces I have been restoring.”
“How does it work?”
“It uses three twin-aperture lasers to scan an object,” she said, “and then it triangulates the data to generate a three-dimensional image. With translucent objects like this one, you can scan them inside too. A biris is like an x-ray machine and an MRI, all in one.”
Gabriel’s face lit up.
“We’ve got to get that gizmo, Natasha,” he said, a roll of thunder filling the room as he spoke. “It might give us a clue as to what makes that artifact tick.”
Just then Gabriel’s phone rang, the name on the display filling their hearts with hope. Gabriel hit the speaker setting.
“Marcus?” they said together. “Is that you?”
“It certainly is!” came the familiar voice. “And I must say that I am delighted to be speaking with you both!”
“And Suora and Fra? Are you all safe?” asked Natasha.
“We are all fine,” came the humble voice of the old nun. “The good Father sent a noble giant to save us.”
Gabriel and Natasha looked at each other.
“Bahadur?” asked Gabriel.
“That is correct!” said the old Bishop. “He will be coming to Gibraltar to help us organize the rescue.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gabriel. “I thought he was being held prisoner by Nasrallah.”
“Bahadur was the leader of the men who invaded the rectory, my son. Nasrallah forced him to do his dirty work by threatening to kill his family, but Bahadur has happily decided to join our side instead.”
“You’ve got to tell him how sorry I am, Marcus,” said Gabriel, frowning. “This is all my fault. By stealing the Cube I put his entire family in danger. I had no idea this would happen.”
“It was not entirely your fault, Dr. Parker,” came the deep voice of Bahadur. “Had I thought twice before giving you and my cousin Amir the information, all this might have been avoided. Nonetheless we will free them all. Everything will be fine. Of this I am certain.”
“What will happen now?” asked Natasha.
“I have chartered a plane that will take us all to Gibraltar,” continued the giant. “We will leave Rome immediately. There is a storm approaching. You must come quickly.”
“Is there any way we can meet you in Gibraltar?” asked Gabriel. “We have to gather some important equipment in Florence first.”
“That will not be a problem,” said Bahadur. “I can arrange to have a plane waiting for you there. How much time will you require?”
Gabriel looked at Natasha.
“How tired are you?” he whispered, covering the microphone.
“I feel like I have been sleeping for an entire month,” she said, smiling.
“Let’s see,” said Gabriel into the phone. “It’s about a three-hour drive from here to Florence, but in a fast car I could do it in less than two. We’ll need an hour to gather the equipment. How about three hours from now? That would put us there at around three-thirty in the morning.”
“Consider it done, my friend,” said Bahadur. “I will text you the particulars.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Gabriel. “How can you be so sure you’ll find a plane on such short notice?”
“Dr. Parker,” said Bahadur. “My position has its advantages.”
“I’m sure it does,” said Gabriel with a dry laugh.
“Very well then,” chimed in the old Bishop. “Off you go! At the
Pillars of Hercules
shall we meet!”
The elevator doors opened, revealing the hotel’s pompous lobby. They had not taken two steps forward before they were approached by the concierge.
“Dr. Parker,” he said formally. “The car you have requested is waiting in the courtyard.”
“Thanks,” said Gabriel, stuffing a hundred Euro note into the man’s jacket pocket. “It mustn’t have been easy to arrange at this hour.”
“It was my pleasure, Doctor,” he said cordially.
A peal of thunder shook the air as Natasha led the way outside. There was a black Audi R8 parked in the courtyard, its sleek curves reflecting the silent flashes of lightning that lit up the night sky.
“Wow,” she said to Gabriel. “I am impressed.”
“We needed something fast,” he said with a shrug.
Gabriel lead Natasha to the passenger door and held it open long enough for her to fall in. A moment later she felt a dense thud as the door sealed itself shut, the car’s interior reminding her more of a fighter-jet cockpit than anything else. In a moment Gabriel had entered as well, quickly firing the engine to life. He slipped the car into gear and Natasha felt herself being sucked back into her seat as they sped out of the hotel and into traffic. Following Gabriel’s example, she clicked her seatbelt home, delighting in the car’s sexy interior.
“Here’s where she really sings,” said Gabriel, entering the autostrada’s onramp and gunning it.
The car lurched instantly into dizzying acceleration, but just then heavy drops of rain began to strike the windshield, smacking into it with the force of small stones. They were headed right into the storm. Gabriel gripped the hand-stitched leather steering wheel and settled back into his seat.
“Good thing we’ve got the quattro-drive.”