IntoTheMouthOfRavness

Petru’s intentions were clear. He was now fully intent on thrashing our new prisoner until he felt that his and Symeon’s honour had been satisfied. Some well placed right hooks, some disconcerting comments about what he would do to the man later; Pertu was going to spend the night enjoying his retribution.

Unfortunately the prisoner seemed to be immune to more traditional from of interrogation and corporeal punishment. And if not immune than adequately accustomed to such treatment to sit in stark defiance of it. This would not do at all. We had to deal with this rascal with an alternative method, and it was just our luck that I happened to be acquainted with one or two that the denizens of Dementlieu were likely unfamiliar with.

I remembered a series of books that I had read in my 17th year of captivity, a collection of crime serials by an obscure author named Archie Wynegrade called The Detector. In it Wynegrade’s protagonist, Camilion Church was a kind of intriguist, a pursuer and observer of the criminal element. Chruch was not a constable however, but a mild-mannered dentist who would seek out and punish criminals for their misdeeds using his own set of clever methods. His favorite trick involved befriending many of the players in the lower quarters and forging alliances with lesser criminals in order to graduate and flush out the significant ones. Camillion Church was my unofficial guide to the underworld, and through him I began to form my first tentative impressions and opinions of mankind.

The most important lesson I learned from those literary adventures was that a good hunter must become intricately familiar with his prey if he is going to pursue it. Camilion Church had to become a criminal in many ways to truly understand how to apprehend and dispose of one. The key to this method was what Wynegrade described as ”astuce” or “instinct”. Knowing when to apply pressure and when to pull away and allow your prey to entangle. This method in particular would come in handy with our troublesome captive.

I stopped Pert in his tracks. “No, leave him be Petru” I said. “Let him go, he has told us everything we want to know”. The prisoner looked at Petru and me with great confusion. “What are you talking about Samael?” Petru inquired earnestly. “Don’t you see my friend? This man has said everything with his silence. He has confirmed all of our suspicions. We have him!” I could see that even Petru’s mind was swimming. He couldn’t fathom what I was on about, but to his tremendous credit, he played along famously.

I would continue my deception and even go as far as to undo the prisoner’s restraints and open the door to let him free. I could not have imagined a more delightfully confounded look on the bastard’s face as he backed out of or room, massaging his wrists and acting positively petrified. His eyes searched for any action or words that might have betrayed his cause; he desperately wanted to know how I had discerned the “truth” from his silence? I of course hadn’t discerned a single bloody thing, but the cretin didn’t know that. As he took flight down the street, I shot out through the window and up into my element (rooftops), and pursued him like Camilion Church never could, right back to his lair somewhere in the lower-end hives of poverty and despair.

The Chuch method worked like a charm; the thug led me right back to his cohorts and with a little eavesdropping I was able to confirm some of our suspicions (and fears). These henchmen had been retained by (presumably) the members of the dark cult that had declared interest in me recently. They had been commissioned to molest Symeon and Petru that night at House Brass, probably to allow the cultists to approach me with their depraved proposals. If I interpreted things correctly, these ruffians had also been contracted to keep interlopers and the curious away from the 10 March St address, the location that now almost certainly housed the headquarters of this damned cabal of miserable defilers.

Clarity at last!

I returned to share my findings with Symeon and the others, and once Ephraim had returned from his business, we marshaled our courage and determination, and set out for our final showdown. Let us hope we do not drift off into another hallucination and lose our way again before the task is done… 

Some doors should remain closed, my father used to mutter to himself as he toiled endlessly in his laboratory in the dead hours of the night. It was never clear to me whether he meant to remind himself of that notion or if he was mocking those that had perhaps cautioned him in life.

I was never particularly apt at exercising caution when searching for answers to my more pressing questions; mayhap as a result of my physical abnormalities. It’s strange that I have never resented my captivity in all those years as much as i detested being referred to as some kind of a superior specimen, a marvel of physiological and intellectual engineering. I always hated being elevated in that fashion by my keepers, when a blind man could have easily attested to the fact that I was more akin to a visceral nightmare of what humanity should never be, rather than its surpassing inheritor.

And yet, for all the disgust I harbored for the revolting thing they made of me, I realize now that I have always secretly embraced some part of the security that being a prodigy often implies.

I think that is the essence of my recklessness, the root of my failure to weigh the consequences of my drastic engagements. I simply feel, as a general rule, completely and utterly invincible. That assurance naturally comes into question at times; like for instance when I find myself on the receiving end of the claws of some kind of gargantuan creature covered in 3-foot-long razor quills. I can think of another instance where my considerable abilities and attributes were all for naught, and all I had to keep me warm were my suspicions and my detachment from natural human conventions.

The mesmerist we had sought out with my companions had been as helpful to our cause as he had been a burden. I am confident that regardless of his motivations, Elisio did his utmost to interpret the hypnotic “readings” he took from his session with Symeon. In the end however, he could do little but deliberate on his observations in the typically cryptic fashion that learned men do, and raise more questions than answers.

He was able to ascertain through with his expertise that Symeon, Petru, Ephraim and I had been, possibly for the past months, been under some kind of a mental state of tangible hallucination. He speculated that the “lost time” that we had all experienced was in fact a result of some form of subtle manipulation by an outside force, bent on distorting our conceptions of reality, and possibly determined to lead us to our doom through misdirection and misinformation. While none of us could confirm these theorems, I think we all gave some kind subconscious validity to this hypothesis. Jean-Jacques, Elisio’s eccentric attache had some amendments of his own to contribute, citing dreams and premonitions that he had had. Elas I think even the most metaphisically-inclined among us were reluctant to put stock in any of his semi-coherent ravings.

We had but one concrete clue in our hands; the surviving would-be assassin we had recovered before beating our retreat from the dark alleys of Chateufaux. My colleagues revived him in the confines of St-Mere-Des-Larmes, the stronghold of Ezra’s faithfuls and the closest thing to a mother’s womb for our dear Ephraim Ulster. The prisoner was naturally disoriented when he found himself faced with our accusations. He claimed to know nothing as his sort always does, and protested any suggestion to the contrary.

Something quite peculiar occurred then. Jean-Jacques was babbling on about something related to our situation when one of his words, I do not recall which, incited a rather odd supernatural phenomenon. The moment the word was uttered, the prisoner’s eyes went wide and he began to collapse, seized by some form of catatonia. As his body surrendered to gravity, all the glass in the room spontaneously shattered, the shards shooting out on a eerily specific trajectories; namely, my companions’ faces. Poor Symeon absorbed the worst of it I’m afraid, but he quickly bounced back in his customary messianic fashion. It strange how adjusted we have all become to his little miracles.

This latest incident threw us into almost complete disarray. We simply became at a loss of where to go next. These past weeks had been a dizzying series of half-truths, illusions and warped reality, or had they? We couldn’t distinguish what was, what had been and when it had been? Were we still dreaming? The puppet strings were there, but we could not see them. Soon our tormentors would have to reveal their hand or suffer the consequences of our crazed desperation.

The weariness and contempt at being endlessly manipulated was beginning to chip away at us. When you’re told that you’ve been randomly sleepwalking without any trace or warning, the future is no longer merely a misty horizon filled with our hopes and dreams; it becomes the manifestation of vertigo and contradiction. Moving forward with your life becomes a test of character, an act of pure defiance rather than a conscious decision. The significance of your actions fade away and you become a creature of primal instinct.

Once recovered from our latest ordeal, we managed to collect enough information to attempt to forge ahead on our quest. We decided to fall back on the clues (we were most convinced) really existed.

We were facing a cult or coven of zealots devoted to some ancient and dark prophecy.

They wanted me to some revolting ceremonial end for their experiments.

They were determined to the point of lunacy and had shown themselves to be resourceful to the point of arcane sorcery.

They dealt by proxy; hiring criminals and thugs to accomplish their more sinister goals (like thrashing Symeon and Petru in the alley when we had visited Brass House).

The greatest clue we had at our disposal was mathematics, which would have delighted Gideon Coombs Elder, one of the stranger tutors that were made available to me during my formative years in Paridon. By mathematics I mean that we happened upon some curious details once we determined the time line of recent events. We played around with numbers and dates, searched our memories for points of reference; for any shred or fragment that could help us make sense of the on-goings. We determined the month of March and the number 10 to be of significance through our research. A date that held some kind of crucial significance. Later our good Symeon stumbled upon the key behind the 10th of March by realizing that it was not actually significant as a date, but rather as an address of residence; Number 10, March street to be exact.

Unfortunately Symeon had come upon this information on his own, and we were not there to defend him when a devil-faced brute from his past (on of his aggressors from the alleys of Brass House) emerged from the shadows intent on dealing out a second thrashing. Fortunately Symeon was prepared this time, and not only subdued the scoundrel with his special abilities, but he even managed to drag the blackguard back to to our inn by his hair. It was inspiring to see that even our holy man was not above administering a little schoolyard justice to such a deserving candidate.

When the ruffian came to his senses, his education would continue at the hands of an even more willing administrator; Petru was positively foaming at the mouth at the prospect of retribution. For my part, I was simply glad that Ephraim was entertaining with his fellow Ezran acolytes, and no where near this delicious debauchery…

to be continued.

O Ezra, hear the prayers of this humble sinner.

Lord, I had to make a difficult decision today, and I don’t know if I chose wisely. We left this morning from Port-a-Lucine to Chateaufaux, against my inclination. When we got back to the domicile of the mesmerist Elijio last night Samael told us of an old man he had encountered who seemed to cause Samael to lose several minutes of time — in the same way we had lost several months. I fear that with this old man in the manor the two men who were under our protection are in danger from the forces of the Mistress of Tears. I wanted to race back there, to search the entire area, to find this old man and learn who he was and what he was doing there!

But our current task is a more urgent one. We have learned what may be an important clue from Eli, the only man we have seen recover from these enchanted trances we have observed: that a guild of merchants known as The Merchants’ Dust may be the ones involved in the mystical happenings in Chateaufaux. As this is the first solid lead we have had, and we have the opportunity to potentially save everyone afflicted by these enchantments, we have no choice but to return to Chateaufaux and track down this cult of Deep Ones once and for all.

As much as it pained me, as much as every fibre of my being wanted to stay in Port-a-Lucine to protect Jean-Jacques and Eli, I knew — I know that stopping the Mistress of Tears and her minions is more important than protecting two men, but I cannot be sure that we will be able to stop what is happening or that the guild Eli spoke of is at all connected with this problem. And I cannot be sure that we are not needed more in Port-a-Lucine than in Chateaufaux.

I may have endangered innocents, Lord, and the pain of that knowledge grates at me with every step I take away from Port-a-Lucine. Please lend me Your guidance, and extend Your protection to those in Port-a-Lucine who need it. I pray that I am wrong. I pray that I am mistaken about Samael’s old man and the threat I fear he poses to Jean-Jacques and to Eli, now nigh defenseless in the house of Lord Lysée. I pray even that Jean-Jacques be allied with the sinister powers we fight rather than at their mercy, because at least then he will be safe. Please hear my prayers, Ezra, and keep those men from harm.

To You, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.
O my God, I trust in You: let me not be ashamed, let not my enemies triumph over me,
Also, let none that wait on You be ashamed: let them be ashamed who transgress without cause.
Show me Your ways, O Lord; teach me Your paths.
Lead me in Your truth, and teach me: for You are the God of my salvation; on You do I wait all the day.
Remember, O Lord, Your tender mercies and Your loving kindnesses; for they have been ever of old.
Remember not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions: according to Your mercy remember You me for Your goodness’ sake, O Lord.
Good and upright is the Lord: therefore will She teach sinners in the way.
The meek will She guide in judgment: and the meek will She teach Her way.
All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth to such as keep Her covenant and Her testimonies.
For thy name’s sake, O Lord, pardon my iniquity; for it is great.
What man is he that loveth the Lord? him shall She teach in the way that She shall choose.
His soul shall dwell at ease; and his seed shall inherit the earth.
The secret of the Lord is with them that love Her; and She will show them Her covenant.
My eyes are ever towards the Lord; for She will pluck my feet out of the net.
Turn You to me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted.
The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O bring You me out of my distresses.
Look upon my affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins.
Consider my enemies, for they are many; and they hate me with cruel hatred.
O keep my soul, and deliver me: let me not be ashamed; for I put my trust in You.
Let integrity and uprightness preserve me; for I wait on You.
Redeem us, O God, out of all our troubles.

Pie Ezru, domine, dona eis requiem.

In the name of Our Guardian in the Mists, protect us as we walk the pathways of this world and guide us to those of the next. Forgive our sins and grant us the wisdom to forgive ourselves.

Amen.

O Ezra, hear the prayers of this humble sinner.

Lord, there is a conflict in my heart. My companion Petru, while claiming to walk in the light, has been pushing for us to employ tactics that are anything but righteous. Not all the time, but with increasing frequency. Tonight he decided it would be a good idea to set fire to the establishment of Lord Brass, to act as a diversion while he escaped. I think I managed to convince him of the wrongness of such action — in any case he did not go through with it.

Petru’s reluctance to adhere to the path of light is troubling. I have never tried to put pressure on him to abandon his faith in favour of mine; that would be unconscionable. I have, however, pushed him to act as anyone with a moral heart would. It is a little surprising that his spiritual guide, Siméon, has not done more to steer Petru straight, but I do not presume to dictate what Siméon’s faith does or should entail.

If I managed to convince Petru to abandon his plan of arson, it was at least partially by threatening to leave his cause unless he behaved in a way I could condone. And of course if he does descend into the lures of wrongdoing I shall have to stop supporting his actions. But here is the dilemma: if I abandon his cause, I abandon the rescue of thousands of souls from damnation at the hands of the foul lords of G’Henna. I must find a better way to advance this noble cause, but if it comes to a choice between saving the thousands ond upholding my own beliefs…

No, for these are not simply my own beliefs. By colluding with arsonists, murderers, thieves and other wrongdoers I would not only be allowing myself to be corrupted, but I would be aiding in the corruption of others. By condoning evil, we actively spread it, as it is written in the books of Ezra:

Behold, ye fast for strife and debate, and to smite with the fist of wickedness: ye shall not fast as ye do this day, to make your voice to be heard on high.
Is it such a fast that I have chosen? a day for a man to afflict his soul? is it to bow down his head as a bulrush, and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him? wilt thou call this a fast, and an acceptable day to the LORD?
Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke?
Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou shouldst bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou shouldst cover him; and that thou shouldst not hide thyself from thy own flesh?
Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thy health shall spring forth speedily: and thy righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the LORD shall be thy rear-ward.

The scriptures are quite clear when it comes to doing evil for the sake of good. “Why not … ‘Let us do evil, that good may come?’ Those who say so are justly condemned.” I must not fall into that trap. Nor can I allow my friend Petru to fall into it. As was written: “Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye who are spiritual, restore such one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Ezra.” It is my duty to steer Petru onto the path of light, lest we both be lost. I pray that You grant me the wisdom to do this without infringing on the tenets of his own faith.

In the name of Our Guardian in the Mists, protect us as we walk the pathways of this world and guide us to those of the next. Forgive our sins and grant us the wisdom to forgive ourselves.

Amen.

(from the personal writings and poesies of Simeon of the Pillar, scribed in the more lettered hands of his fellow penitents: the Caliban Samael of Paridon, the blessed templar Ephraim of Mordentshire, and reverend brother Petru of Zhukar)

All concepts of God are like a jar we break,
Because only the infinite can contain our perfect Love

I thank you for your words, cherished one.

Watch over your priestesses of Hala that tend to the infirm and disenfranchised in Chateaufaux; watch over your anchotires that tend the sick there, too: they both bring your love to those who have none. Bring your love to those they tend - they are still afraid of death and need your hope to sustain them to their ends. They do not see. We pity them for it. Show us how we may heal their blindness of the soul.

Watch over your servant, Petru: he is like our troublesome child, so quick to anger. He looks upon your radiance and is blinded - his eyes squint and only a little of your light enters into him.

Watch over your servant, Ephraim. Show him a sign of your approval, my love. He is my brother: speak to your sister Ezra, plead to her on his behalf. He stand outside your warming glow and is cold, though wears it proudly. Is he not a worthy groom?

Watch over your servant, Samael: he stands in shadows, yet forgets that without light there is but darkness. It is his dark night of the soul, but after night the sun must rise. Give him hope that I am your sun, sent to light his way.

Like a newly-wed bride, I am to do your bidding and keep your house. Do they not know that we are all potential brides? Do they not see that each sunrise is a proposition? I should not be jealous of any others, just as you are not jealous of my love for them; the sun shines on all - it does not play favourites.

* * * * *

Am I not here, empowered by our sacred union, with your authority, your powers? I hear you even now whispering your will into my ear, your sight stirring in me. I hear and see… and tremble!

Oh, the caress of your divine commandments as they flow into me are exquisite. I live but to love you, lord. Oh… I can see their perjury, their hubristic defiance!… But who will care for those who are… yes. I see. I see now that the sun needs nothing but to be to bring his hope, to banish the darkness… All are saved that cross our path. The souls of the blind do see but they resist…

I am afraid, lord, not of death, but… of forces that would seek to break our bond. While your love is supreme, divine, yet are there those…

But I do not fear death.

When your first lover, he who they called “the Mad,” first set his eyes on you, did he not fear that absolute goodness, know his own mediocrity from your radiance? I fear, my love, such power that is your love, free of all restraint, like a deep passion that knows no bounds and conditions… and yet…

But I do not fear death.

A thousand grasping, clawing hands! I bleed your wounds as they tear at me, at you. All that stand against you are the the Devourers of Hope… And I that stand for you, alone. I am but a candle to the tenebrous evils that beseige us, lord! Yes. The Devourers; the Eaters of Light. They are Legion, my lord. I am but a candle. Naught but they can tear us appart my lord!!! Oh… hear, my love! I fear that darkness, that solitary darkness, lord!!! Remember the story…

A woman and her young daughters were destitute and travelling to another country where they hoped to find a new life. Three men stole them while they were camping.

My soul clings to You, Morninglord, like that, the way they held each other.

So many clinging hands, pulling down, tearing away… they are almost at my heart!!!

But I do not fear death!

But they would take me away from death! They would hold me from you! they would hold others from you! I cannot… I cannot stand as you ask me to! Do you not understand, I cannot!

Oh my lord… oh, I am filled with your seed: the Word! I… I can make out the shape of it. I slowly raise my eyes to your light… slowly… I cannot, I cannot bring myself… Why do you blind me?!? Oh, why do my eyes so hurt to look up at your face, the face that greets me each day… I cannot stand…

But I do not fear death.

Must I really walk this road? Do we not wait, with quiet patience, the coming of the Dawn? How do I fight the Night?

I quiver.

It is the coming of the growing darkness. My heart grows cold. I… our love dies… No. NOOOOO!!! I… I can hear their deep chanting in the Depths. I can see them, shambling, running, stalking. I can feel their fetid breaths in my face. My skin is melting at the acid of their lies! They grow and mutliply. The Legions of the Night! The sun lies slain at their feet! They walk in day as in night for there is light no longer! My skin is flayed, eroded - I am a naked skeleton. I… live from fear. I feed from the blood of innocents!

No! No, it cannot be. IT MUST NOT BE THIS WAY!!!

I… your Word fills me with such epiphany! I can see your angels, emessaries of light. Their hands are upon my sweaty brow; their lips kiss my temples, kiss my eyes…

The candle in the darkness begins to grow. Your enemies stand transfixed… the candle grows and grows.. it… is moving! I see it is becoming a man. It… it… I… I am the candle. Light glows and shines from my crown… I am wearing your glowing crown! I .. I am chanting. Light beams from my open mouth, my eyes; cascades down in rivulets of gold… The light spreads to the darkest corners: fire erupts! I… burn. My body falls like melting wax; like magma, tears of blood… Where once there was flesh, there.. there is only light! I am consumed and the white heat obliterates the Legions: those who are innocent are unharmed and begin to glow from within. Thety are changed; hope issue from their faces like lighthouses in the storm.

My body is gone, and only an shapeless incandescnece, a soul of light… I begin to rise. Above, the moon shines meekly, but as I soar higher and higher her light is dimmed: I stand above, like a second sun! Light washed the world in the dead of Night! I am not more - I have become one with you and together we fill the sky in its entirety! There are no more than shadows below…

I… I am once again in darkness. The time… is.. not yet come to pass. The light returns to the room and the Legions are restored. You… light begins to rise slowly in the East. I turn to face… I… my eyes are open! I stand. I see You, beloved, in all Your shining glory and spendor. I know. I feel. I am no more a man: I do not squint at looking straight into the Sun, I am not blinded by a fate I fear! Only your love sustains me: I have no need of food, no need of water in the desert. I consume and produce divine love, transformed into a heatless flame, and those whose hearts stand open are our children, blessed with divine gifts in turn.

Oh, blessed is the name of He who lights my way! Blessed is our love! Blessed is he who takes away our fear, who washes away our weakness and doubt! Blessed is the Morninglord, Bringer of Hope, Herald of the Eternal Dawn! And blessed is his instrument, crafted in his image!

Then let all that has thus passed be forgot: we do not mourn the Eternal Night! The tide begins to turn, the light begins to rise. It had begun: the Dawn is coming!

But I do not fear death!

I remember how my mother would hold me, I would look up at her sometimes and see her weep.

Don’t forget love; it will bring all the madness you need to unfurl yourself across the universe.