The Knowledge (The Circle Book 2) Page 13

  Their plan was sprawling, with so many moving parts, and as much as he wished he had the foresight to be able to observe them all, in truth all he could see was the road ahead. And it was a road paved with death.

  As Kahgo stepped through the door Tali had sent for him, dragging the massive length of the God's End behind him, he took one last look back at Jules. There was a chance he would not get to tell him the truth, a chance that the boy―the man―would continue to grow up believing that his father had abandoned him, that his mother had passed on at his birth. There were so many truths that he wished he could tell him. And yet he knew it was neither the time, nor the place for such revelations. To even utter the mere notion would result in a long conversation, one in which he would have to explain to his son the myriad reasons he left once Jules's mother―the woman he believed was his grandmother―became pregnant.

  His reasons were just, they were true, they were for the greatest good. And yet, to reveal that fact to him, there and then would only harm the boy, and there was no time to console a fractured man. There was work to be done, a reality's safety at risk. And as with every action in his life, Shaman Kahgo was a slave to the wills and desires of the Fates. He would not get a happily ever after, not yet. Not until he had made reparations for all the ill he had laid unto the world.

  45

  The secrets of magick

  EPICENTRE, THE CIRCLE

  All eyes were on Kahgo as he returned to hte Circle with the blade in tow. The massive sword scraped against the floor with a high pitched wail, trailing behind him as if he were dragging a plough across the fields. He kneeled down and placed its hilt on the ground, and the door slammed itself shut as soon as it was clear of the gleaming sigil-inscribed tip.

  “Back to work, everyone!” Faith shouted, taking attention from the weapon that had been brought into his domain. He signalled over to Kahgo to join him in the briefing room, then shot a glare over to each of the operatives that were supposed to be in the briefing with them.

  As soon as they were assembled, Tali waited for a nod from Faith, and rose from her seat. “Latest projections show the soft spot the. . . god? Are we saying god?”

  “I would rather call it a 'being',” Shana suggested.

  “I'd call it dead! Have you seen the size of that sword?!” Sabre cawed, to chuckles from the others.

  Faith's icy glare silenced them instantly.

  “Call it whatever the bloody hell you want, just tell me what we know. . . Where's this soft spot?”

  “To name it a 'soft spot' is inaccurate,” Kahgo chimed. “It is thin, rather than soft, where the veil is easily pierced.”

  Tali thought it best to continue, before Faith's ire was allowed to burst forth. “The thin. . . thinness? It's currently heading south, with a deviation from the prime meridian to the east.”

  The mention of the compass directions sent a tingle over Kahgo's skin. He had an awful feeling that he knew exactly where it was heading. “How much of a deviation are you observing?”

  “It'll cross to the first eastern meridian within the hour. . . why do you ask?”

  He grit his teeth, and tried to hold in a long, growling sigh. “It is heading towards the eleventh,” he said, practically under his breath. To explain much more might reveal truths about the Natural World that he was sworn to keep from anyone, mundane or magickal.

  “What makes you say that?” Faith snarled, all too suspicious of Kahgo's prediction.

  He closed his eyes, and recited a passage from a mundane text, written by the exile Aleister Crowley, “Eleven is the number of Magick in itself. It is therefore suitable to all types of operation. Secondly, it is the sacred number par excellence of the new Aeon. . .“

  The shiver that Kahgo felt was now being experienced by all present in the room. Despite each of them believing Crowley to be misguided at the least―and traitorous at the worst―for attempting to share the secrets of Magick with the mundanes of the Natural World, his foresight was second to none, to the point of almost rivalling Three themselves.

  In that passage in particular, which was often debated in standard magickal training, the word 'aeon' did not refer to an age or passage of time as it might in any other sentence. It was commonly believed to be a misspelling of 'Aion', the Hellenistic deity of time―and not time in the same sense as that of the Hellenistic Chronos, who had control over the various derivations of time: past, present and future. In the tales told, Aion was not constrained by such linear bindings. It was eternal, and when it came forth it's will would spread out across the entire universe, it was to be the master of all that lived, and all that died, god of the Natural World, all of its realms, and the world to come in the afterlife. It was the beginning of all things, the end of all things, and no man or woman could withstand its might.

  “That's. . .” Faith stammered, as he swallowed over a lump in his throat, and tried to regain his composure. “That's not possible. . . If this is Aion. . .”

  “Then we know which of the Old Ones it is,” Kahgo said, finishing his thought. “I should have known from the pseudonyms that it revealed through its mouthpieces. . . but I dare not believe it. . . The Lurker at the Threshold, the Eater of Souls. . . it is undeniably Yog-Sothoth himself.”

  Silence fell upon the room at the mention of the Outer God's name. It was not its true name, but the name that was most commonly known, and never spoken aloud in the fear that even uttering it would give the god yet more power to wield. In the case of a being so old, so mighty, the term 'deity' did not apply to describe it. 'God' was not only appropriate, but perhaps even an understatement. It was the third generation of Outer God, a direct descendent of the Idiot God that birthed the universe, the Natural World, the realms, all of it. And a creature of that lineage, who had been birthed from the hideous and unimaginable loins of such powerful beings, the mere possibility of it crossing over into the Natural World, of it being allowed to claim their domain as its own. . . it would mean the end of everything, no life would survive its incursion.

  As much as it had promised its mesmerised meat-puppets a glorious and bright future as soon as it crossed over, they would not live to see a future, they would be the first to fall the very second it breathed upon the earth. Those magickians that had enough magick in their blood to survive the great beast's noxious expunging would not last long either, for its wrath would descend upon the world of man, its arms would spread across the globe, it would feed upon the very essence of the realms, and when it was done there, it would move on, perhaps consume the other planets in the solar system, perhaps the sun itself. And the more it consumed, the greater it would grow, the more power it would wield, until it had grown to fill every void the universe had to offer.

  It was not just the moments from its arrival that would herald death―for it was the master of time―and it would consume not only from the present, but from every moment in the past, and every moment to come. Such was the will and desire of Yog-Sothoth. Its hunger was infamous, its lust for power unrivalled.

  And it was ten hours from ripping through from the gilded cage of the Outer Realms, and emerging into the universe that contained all the sustenance that it could possibly desire.

  46

  The likelihood of many dying

  The enemy's name was known. And hushed tones spread that name across the Epicentre. Not directly of course, but with enough similar syllables that one and all soon knew who they were facing, and as that name became known, the spirit of optimism that generally saturated the inner sanctum of the Circle swiftly vanished.

  Few of those present had been around for the last incursion from the Outer Realms, and those that had been there could recall that the deity that attempted to cross was significantly younger than the threat they faced at the eleventh meridian.

  Kahgo took a deep breath, and sent everything he had into expanding his aura, hoping that his confidence would be enough to convert those who found themselves frozen in fear. His confidence was not unfoun
ded. Whilst he did not know for certain that the battle could be won, he knew that there were destinies due to continue beyond that day. What little foresight he had, and what glimpses Three dared to share told him as such. One way or another, the world was going to continue to spin, and despite the likelihood of many dying should they stand by his side, somehow―unbeknownst to him as of yet―they would not lose the fight that day.

  Faith was closest to him as he extended his aura, and cleared his throat to address the staff present.

  “I can see on your faces that you've heard what we've discovered. . . And I know you're all doubting yourselves, doubting that we can do this. . .” he glanced over to Shaman, and let a small smile come to his lips. “But we have a secret weapon that the big bastard on the other side of the veil doesn't know about. . . We've got this guy fighting with us, and word is, he's one of the most powerful magickians in all the lands.” He smirked, as he used the title that Kahgo had received somewhere in the midst of generations upon generations of stories about him having been retold. “Soon as that damn thing shows its face at the veil, the very second it tries to pass through, we're going to throw every bloody thing we have at it, and our boy here's going to make sure the first part of this realm it gets to meet is that big old pig-sticker, before it even has a chance to get across the threshold! It wants a taste of this realm? We're gonna let it taste a cut right through its slimy gut, and rip it a bloody new one! So get up off your arses, get your shit together, and get ready for this bloody fight!”

  His rousing speech garnered grunts of approval and the occasional cheer from around the room, as Kahgo's aura touched them all, infiltrating their minds and changing their moods. He knew it would not last, that it was a temporary solution―and as soon as the skirmish commenced, his focus would have to be purely on the task at hand, and there was the chance that they might freeze, or flee.

  There was a grunt from the far side of the room, loud enough to be heard over the top of the chatter from the newly-enthused operatives and operators. Kahgo turned to see Sabre grappling with the God's End, and sighed to himself. He should have known better than to leave it lying where it was, in front of the door he had entered through, but he had not had the opportunity to find a better place to conceal it.

  He forced a polite smile as he strode over to offer the magickian assistance. As his hands touched the hilt, Sabre suddenly found it remarkably easier to lift from the ground.

  “What's the trick?” she asked. “Sigil or something?”

  He shook his head. “It was made with the knowledge that only a few should be able to wield it.”

  She leaned in, and whispered in his ear. “Gods?”

  Shaman pulled back, and gave her a non-committal glance as a response. She did not take it as expected, and gasped, her eyes going wide as she joined the dots.

  “Only a god can kill a god. . . so that means you're. . .“

  “Barely,” he replied, hoisting the blade clean off the ground and whipping it through the air. Its tip tore through the floor, burying itself two feet into the concrete, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and remaining upright as soon as his fingers left its surface.

  As he turned, he caught Faith's glare for making a mess, and Kahgo rolled his eyes as he returned to the other side of the main floor. “Someone might trip over it. . . “ Kahgo explained. “Cut their leg open. . . wounds from a blade that can end a god's life cannot exactly be covered over with a band aid.”

  Faith's eyes narrowed. “You're unusually wry. . . what gives?”

  “The same revelation that you shared with your people. . . that not only can we win this fight. . . we will win it.

  47

  A conduit

  Five hours left, and every operative the Circle had on their books was brought in, briefed and armed. Faith even went so far as to send out operatives to attempt to bring the elder generation of magickians in to aid them. They returned from the old mage home with gift baskets of dates, figs and prunes, given in lieu of the support of many of the elders, but a handful had given guarantees that they would indeed come out of retirement to support whatever action Faith and Kahgo had planned.

  Shana led a scout team to investigate the potential sites along the eleventh meridian. By Tali's estimates, the veil was going to be pierced somewhere south of continental Africa, in the Atlantic. But where it would occur exactly was yet to be determined. The position of the thin fabric between realms was not operating under any obviously discernible rules. Whilst it was certainly heading towards the eleventh meridian, the line that lay beneath Africa was close to five thousand miles long, and if they were to be ready for the damn thing, they needed to know where precisely where it was going to break through.

  Whilst Faith sat at his desk and stared with milky white eyes at the reconnaissance operation, Kahgo had taken the God's End into a briefing room, away from prying eyes. There was something tingling in the back of his mind, a thought that was not his own―more accurately, it was three thoughts that were one, and he had more than an inkling of where that thrice-spoken thought had come from.

  He laid the sword on the floor and laid his hand upon it, closing his eyes and clutching it gently, as he attempted to commune with it. It was vibrating, not by any detectable measure, it was not a physical vibration. It was a magickal one, the blade was existing at frequency that did not match that of the Natural World. But despite it being a frequency he had not encountered before, in any object that existed in that realm, there was something familiar about, as if it was a vibration he had experienced, in another time, or another life.

  The answer came to him in the form of a lump in his throat, but he didn't want to believe what it meant. There was only one way to be sure. . . He laid his palm on the edge of the blade, and pressed gently upon it. The edge, which did not look as though it were anything close to razor sharp, did not require any force to do its job, as if it could sense the ancient blood that flowed through his veins, and cut through his skin, slicing straight into the tendons and musculature as if they were as ephemeral as the air.

  There was the slightest tightening in his body, that seemed to be coming from the other hand, the one that was not upon the blade, but resting on the hilt. The sensation moved across his chest, it wasn't pain as such, closer to tension or the dull ache that resides in an overworked muscle.

  Kahgo withdrew his hands, and let his blood fall upon the sigils engraved in the blade, and the blood continued to flow after he had done so―but healing himself could wait. There were more important matters that needed to be attended to.

  He closed his eyes once again, allowing his blood to act as a conduit between himself and the blade, as he attempted to commune with it once again. And this time, an image came to his mind's eye, an understanding of what would occur if they attempted to go through with the plan as Faith had laid it out.

  He tore from his position on the floor, feet barely touching the ground as he darted around the main floor of the Epicentre, leaving a speckled trail of scarlet, purple and black behind him. His blood was not like the blood of the others that surrounded him―but that was not of concern in that moment.

  Bursting through Faith's door, Kahgo found himself facing the pale gaze of man who was elsewhere, experiencing the sight and sounds of his lead operative in the field. There was no time for manners, With the countdown continuing to tick ever closer, Shaman could not wait politely for Faith to return to the room.

  With a subtle gesture from his bloody hand, the magickian was brought back to the room, and appeared a little shaken at the rough and unexpected return.

  “What the bloody hell?” he grunted, a shiver over his body as he adjusted to to being clumsily ripped from the overseeing position.

  “Your plan is not going to work―”

  “The bloody hell it isn't! We open the door, soon as we see the bastard we light it up, you slice it up, end of.”

  “That is not how the God's End operates. . .”

  �
�What the hell does that mean?”

  “It was not made of this realm, it is not of the Natural World, nor of its component elements. . . it was forged from the essence of the Outer Realms themselves. . . if we were to continue with your operation as it stands, and I am to stab the beast whilst it is still present in the Outer Realms. . . as soon as the weapon crosses the veil, it will no longer be as you see it. . . It will return to its natural state, to being mere essence. . .”

  “What?!”

  “It is as a solid turns into a gas.”

  “Solids tend to go via liquid to gas. . .”

  “The end is the same. . . the essence that makes the God's End is only solid in the Natural World.”

  Faith's cheeks went white at the notion. “So. . . The only way we can kill this damn thing. . .”

  “Is to let it cross over, to let it enter the Natural World.”

  “If the stories are true, then billions will die as soon as it bloody breaths on this side. . .”

  Kahgo nodded solemnly. “But if we do not let it cross, and attempt to attack it before it does so. . . then hundreds of billions from every era of humanity, and trillions of creatures from the aeons before, they will all die. . .”

  Faith swallowed over a dry throat. The choice was obvious, there was only one path to take. But billions of deaths, all those mundane lives snuffed out in an instant. . . he wasn't certain that even the combined might of the Circle could ever hope of undoing that scale of almost-extinction level event.

  Kahgo left the room and returned to isolation to heal himself. The operation would be amended with the new information in mind. And the other fact that he garnered from communing with the blade, that would be something he kept to himself. Neither Faith, nor the others who worked for the Circle needed to know that there was a caveat to wielding the God's End, that every strike of the blade took decades from the lifespan of whoever had it in their hands. It would require many strikes to take the great beast down. And his own life was a sacrifice that Kahgo was more than willing to make for the fate of the realm that brought him into being. It was his destiny, his birthright, just as Yog-Sothoth had said. His place was standing as protector for the realm, and he would do so until his dying breath. But if the operation went as intended, his dying breath might be sooner than he ever thought.