Eldren: The Book of the Dark (11 page)

“Come into my parlor.” Margaret cackled in her best Vincent Price impersonation, and Brian couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it. But don’t come running to me if we actually see anything...I’ll already be long since gone.”

The trees seemed to crowd in around them as they stepped onto the gravel drive. Brian knew that they were big, old hoary chestnuts with branches grasping like skeletal arms, the wind in the leaves whispering conspiratorially to each other.

He reached out and took Margaret’s hand…more for comfort than affection, but was rewarded with a smile and a kiss. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Just ten steps onto the drive he had changed his mind again. The trees crouched over them and it was so black that it was almost impossible to see more than a few yards. He turned towards Margaret.

“Look. This is silly. Even if we get to the house we’re not going to be able to see anything anyway.”

Unfortunately for Brian a cloud moved and the moon shone down through the branches of the trees, throwing everything into hues of black and silver.

“You were saying Einstein?” Margaret said with a grin, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Come on. If you’re a good boy I might even take you up on that offer of a coffee.”

They didn’t talk on the way up the drive, merely held hands ever tighter and walked ever slower. Brian felt a deep chill in his bones, a chill that brought shivers through his torso that he didn’t think were wholly due to the cold.

The house sat like a great head poking through from under a vast expanse of gravel coated drive; twin bay windows like eyes surveying any invaders to its realm. Brian knew that it was built of red sandstone but now, in the moonlight, it was merely jet, like a single hewn slab of rock. He got a tingling at the base of his neck...that feeling you get in your bed at night when you’re certain that there is someone else in the room with you.

“Okay. No spooks here.” He said, and made to turn away when Margaret’s strong grip pulled at him and whirled him back round to face the house.

“Oh no you don’t. You don’t get away that easily. We’re going inside. Remember... coffee later.”

The way she said ‘coffee’ made Brian’s pulse race, but he wasn’t sure that his legs would carry him into the house...promises of intimacy or not.

“I’m not sure we can get in...I’ve never heard of anyone trying,” he said, hoping that would be enough to dissuade her. But, as he was beginning to discover, she was strong willed once she had made her mind up about something.

“What kind of kids do you breed in this town anyway?” she said with a realistic show of venom, “Surely someone’s had the balls for it? Well I’m up for it anyway.”

She refused to let go of Brian’s hand as she dragged him forcibly towards the house. Now more than ever he wished that he had brought his cigarettes with him...at least they might have calmed the tremors he felt rising inside him.

The door was made from a single piece of solid oak and looked strong enough to withstand a battering ram. It sat in a small porch round which some climbing roses were no more than a withered tracery of dead wood and rotting leaves.

The door’s top half was in shadow, but the carving on its bottom panels seemed alive in the flickering shadows...Victorian gothic fairies and centaurs mingled with elves and dryads, a plethora of Greek, Roman, Irish and Scottish figures from folklore, all dancing for the moon. Margaret reached out and ran her free hand over the surface.

“God. How did something like this survive the kids? Look. There’s no graffiti, no damage...not even a
Jim loves Agnes
.”

“I told you,” Brian replied. “There’s something about the place...the kids stay away in droves. Have you seen enough yet? I need a fag.”

As if in reply she let go of his hand and began searching, fumbling in the dark shadows to the left of the door.

“Ah. Here it is,” she said, almost in a whisper. There was a loud click and the door swung inwards with a deafening creak. The hallway beyond lay in pitch dark blackness.

TENETS

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DARK

AND IT came to pass that the children of Adam multiplied greatly and began to raise great cities. And many were the people therein. And the sons of Adam hated the Eldren, for they had come first.

And the Eldren were hunted, and their heads were wrested from their bodies that they never more presume to be first in the eyes of the Lord.

And the Eldren waxed greatly in their rage and would have risen up against the sons of Adam. But Amro who was leader called them together and said unto them: “Let us take ourselves from the sight of the Adamities lest they continue in this persecution. Let us repair to the northern lands, where we may rest from the sight of the accursed globe of fire.”

But Shoa who was hot with the fire of the thirst stood against him, and many of the Eldren stood by his side, saying: “Why should we slink and crawl like serpents? We are stronger than the Adamities, and what they have is rightfully ours. We will go amongst them and learn their ways, and we will feed.”

And there was a sundering of the tribe of the Eldren and only three score stood with Amro. And among them were Kalent, Rohash and Droma who are known as the Chosen.

And Shoa sent Amro away from the tribe.

And it came to pass that Amro led his people north out of the sight of the Adamities, and they heard of the people of Shoa no more.

Many were the tribulations of Amro and his people on the journey north, but the Lord looked over them during the days when the fiery globe tried to seek them out and they traveled fast under the stars of night until they reached the great ice wastes of the north.

There they built many caverns and caves and they lived simple lives in the ways of the Lord. And the Lord looked down on them and saw that they were worshipful and he sent a river of blood that they might feed without succumbing to the thirst. And Amro and his people lived long and prospered for many years.

And the Lord came to Amro in a dream, saying: “I am sending a great flood to cleanse my people. The tribe of Shoa has been living among the sons of Adam and many have been their sins. They have turned from me and been corrupted and I would rid myself of them. Take yourself and your people to the highest mountain and fear not. The Lord your God will protect you.”

Amro heeded the word of the Lord and took his people to Iorma, the mountain of the Moon. And the Lord sent a great storm such that the waters of the sea rose to cover the land. And a great wailing passed on the face of the deep as the Lord God cleansed his creation.

And God sent Amro a vision of the cities of the Adamities, their turrets and spires falling into the churning waves. And Amro saw a great vessel floating on the tempest, and he knew that the Lord had spared a son of Adam.

And it rained for forty days and forty nights.

When the waters receded Amro sent his people back to their caverns, but he remained on the mountain.

And the Lord came to him in a pillar of fire and said: “You are the last of the Eldren. As long as you remain faithful to me I will keep you and watch you. I will give you laws. Abide by these laws and I will forgive you your sins in the first days.

“And when the day comes that I deliver my last judgment you will be risen up in glory and you will sit by my side forever.”

And the Lord sent down his message in tablets of stone and each law was written in silver fire.

“Thou shalt not drink of the blood of the Adamities.

Thou shalt not sleep with the daughters of Adam.

Thou shalt not drink of the blood of the Eldren.

Thou shalt have no other God but me.

Thou shalt not kill.

Thou shalt not make any graven images.

Thou shalt not make any others in your image.

Thou shalt not covet the goats or asses of the Adamities.

Thou shalt honor they brethren, the Eldren.

Thou shalt only feed on one day of the cycle of the moon”.

And Amro took the Tenets of the law to his people and they lived in the way of the Lord for many years.

But many of the tribe of Shoa had escaped from the wrath of the Lord by means of their sorcery. The great serpent had hidden them from the Lord’s sight and bound them to him with promises of power and blood.

And they never came to the word of God and they never read of the Tenets. There are known as the Unforgiven, and they are legion.

TONY CAME awake slowly; aware only that he lay, fully clothed, in a too soft bed.

His eyes felt as if they had been glued together, and although he knew he had been asleep, he did not feel rested. He wanted nothing more than to put his head back to the pillow and let the dreams come and take him away for a while.

He felt hot, sweating and shivering in equal measure as he began to push bedclothes away from him. There was only a dim light illuminating the room, but even that was enough to show Tony that he was not home in bed...this room was much plusher and the furniture much more sturdy. It hadn’t all been a dream after all.

There was a full glass of water on the bedside table and he stretched out towards it, having to fight against the tremors that shook his hand.

The water tasted cool against the heat in his throat and he gulped the contents of the glass down greedily, immediately wanting more.

He lay back against the pillow and stared, not seeing, at the ceiling as the events of the night came flooding back to him. The moonlight and the creature, Ian’s death and the old man, both merged into one long dream-like memory that always ended the same way…the soft thud of the crossbow bolt as it went in to the old man’s body and his own scream repeating again and again in his head.

He felt tears begin to well at the corners of his eyes and brushed hard to keep them away, smearing moisture across his eyes and blurring the world into soft edged shadows.

There was a soft click of a door opening and muffled footsteps as someone approached the bed.

“Ah. You’re back in the land of the living are you?” a soft voice said above him.

He struggled out of the folds of eiderdown and found to his surprise that he was still holding the old book tightly in his left hand, his grip so tight that white showed at his knuckles.

“No. Don’t move,” the voice said, just as Tony’s eyes focused and the black clad figure of Bill Reid came into view. “You’ve had a bit of a fright. I thought I’d killed you out there in the churchyard. I didn’t mean to frighten you...I heard a noise and went outside to investigate, and when I touched your shoulder you just fainted right away.”

The Minister looked almost embarrassed and his mouth flapped open and closed as if he did not know what to say next.

“I tried phoning your parents, and the police are on their way,” he said, and it was almost a question, a fervent desire to be told that he had done the right thing.

Tony could see the strain around the man’s eyes. He’d seen the Minister before…mainly at school...prize giving ceremonies and parent teacher’s meetings and other events where the man had been just another authority figure in the background. But whereas before there had always been a smile on his face, now he looked pale and drawn, as if he hadn’t slept in a long time.

“I recognized you straight away you know...you’ve become quite the celebrity in the last couple of days,” Bill said, and Tony saw an attempt at a welcoming smile, an attempt that came nowhere near being successful.

Still Tony stayed quiet, reluctant to speak, knowing that once he started he would be unable to stop.

“You must be attached to that Bible,” Bill said, pointing at the book still gripped tight in the boy’s hand. “You refused to let it go, even when you were fast asleep.”

Tony merely stared, pictures still unreeling in his mind of bloodletting and crossbows, garlic and gravestones. He couldn’t help it...tears began to flow again, streaming down his cheeks in hot streams, and his body was wracked with heavy, almost painful sobbing.

“The old man...he’s dead isn’t he?” he managed to say through the tears.

Bill nodded, and that was enough to tip Tony completely over the edge. He bawled like a newborn babe and wrapped his arms around his body, hugging tight, then tighter still, rocking from side to side.

Bill moved slightly closer. He stopped, seemingly unsure of what to do. Then he came to a decision, clumsily taking the boy into his arms until the crying subsided. Tony felt almost secure in the man’s arms, cradled in the warmth of the soft clothing.

“It’s not a bible...at least not one that you would recognize,” he said, his voice muffled against the Minister’s black shirt.

“What did you say?” Bill asked, shifting around until he could see the boy’s face.

Tony didn’t reply, but held out the book to the Minister. Bill took it, almost reverentially, but his expression changed to one of disgust as his fingertips touched the black leather cover.

“What is this?” he asked, almost to himself. His expression ran the gamut from dismay to horror as he opened the book and began to read.

“
The Book of the Dark.

“Being a high history of the Firstborn.

“Of their tribulations and trails, of their prophets and sages, and being a history of Rokar our Redeemer who died a final death that we could all come once more to the sight of our Lord.

“Dedicated to the memory of the Master Amro, our light in the darkness, the bringer of hope, in the sure and certain knowledge that he sits on the right hand of our Lord on high.

“Being the work of Donald, once 12
th
Lord Allan of Strathallan, now disciple and servant.

“Transcribed from the words of the prophet Kalent, in this the year of our Redeemer Six Hundred and Twenty Three.

“Those who have eyes, let them see.”

~-o0O0o-~

The Minister flicked through the pages, his expression of horror growing as he stopped and read aloud.

“And Amro spoke, saying ‘Bring all of the Eldren to me, that I might share with them the glory of the Lord.’

“Kalent he sent to the south, to the lands of the Adamities, and he it was who found the people of Shoa in the great city of Ur.

“Great was the throng of Adamities in that place, but Kalent could move through them in the night like mist through the trees, unseen and unheard, for he was of the Eldren and he was first made.

“But there were some among the Adamities who could feel his passing. They were of the tribe of Dan and they had shared in the blood of the Unforgiven and were no longer merely sons of Adam. They were known as the Blood Children, and they are forever damned.

“And the Blood Children took Kalent down into the earth to where the Priest-Kings lay in their tombs and the tribe of Shoa lived away from the burning of the Sun.

“And Kalent was brought before Shoa and he was made to suffer great torture.

“But his faith in the Lord was strong and he spake to Shoa saying ‘Come with me and look upon the Temple. The forgiveness of the Lord is yours if you would only see.’

“And Shoa laughed, saying, ‘We have no need for your weak god. The Great Serpent sustains us and keeps us. And see...we make yet more in our image. Soon the Adamities will be no more and the first-made will take their rightful place.’”

Bill threw the book away from him with a cry and it landed on the quilt next to Tony who grabbed it tightly in his left hand as if it were a talisman with which he could ward off evil.

“Blasphemy...that’s what it is,” the Minister said, almost shouting, “It should be burnt...burnt before anyone can be corrupted by it.”

Tony shook his head but still didn’t speak.

Bill rubbed at his hands, wringing them together as if trying to wash away the feel of the book.

“Where did you get it?” he asked, “It wasn’t from the old man was it?” Another thought struck him and the look of horror was back. “It wasn’t you who killed him?” he whispered.

Tony still didn’t speak, but it would have done him no good to reply. The Minister was beginning to move toward him again when, barely audible through the thick walls of the Manse, the doorbell rang.

~-o0O0o-~

Dave McCulloch came up out of sleep slowly, vaguely aware of having been woken by a loud noise.

The noise came again as he sat up in bed, the heavy banging of somebody pounding on the pub’s door.

He looked at the red digital readout of his bedside clock, taking several seconds to focus on the winking numbers. He finally assimilated what it was telling him and groaned. It was nearly ten past one. He’d only had half an hour’s sleep at most, and now he had been wakened he knew from bitter experience that it would be a good few hours and more before he would be able to settle again.

“Doesn’t anybody have a home to go to.” He moaned, but he knew, as every barman knows, that the thought of booze is like a magnet, drawing the faithful at any hour of the day or night. Opening hours was an alien concept to a certain type of drinker, the type that just didn’t know to stay away, or more to the point, when they had had enough.

“All right, all right,” he shouted as the banging continued, louder now. “Hold your horses, I’m coming.” It sounded like the door would be off its hinges soon if he didn’t get a move on.

He managed to get his trousers on at only the second attempt and cursed loudly as he barked his shin off the heavy corner post of he bed. The pounding on the door continued as he limped down the stairs.

“Jesus Christ. Would you give it a rest!” he shouted. “The pub’s shut. Can you not just go to bed like everybody else?”

He threw open the heavy bolts and dragged the door open, wincing as the cold air hit his exposed chest. He was ready to lash out, to shout the drunk down...it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d had to use his fists to turn them away...it was part and parcel of the job.

But this time he stopped just before the shout left his mouth.

Jock Dickie was standing in the doorway, one huge meaty fist raised as if to hit the door again. His mouth hung slackly open and his eyes were two black marbles set deep in his skull. But the worst thing was his skin…it was pale, almost sickly gray, sweating slightly with an oily, obscene glow.

“For God’s sake, Jock,” Dave said. “It’s after one o’clock. Get yourself away to bed...you look like you need it.”

The big man swayed slightly and had to hold on to the doorjamb to keep him from falling. A long moan came from the fleshly lips, a descending note of want and pain accompanied by a stream of stringy drool from the left corner of his mouth.

“Oh shit. You’d better come in while I call for the doctor,” Dave said. He turned away from the door, so he didn’t see the huge grin that spread across the big man’s face as he stepped across the threshold.

“Help yourself to some whisky,” Dave shouted as he headed for the phone. “You look like you could do with one.”

He couldn’t believe the change that had come over the man in the past two hours...he only hoped that, whatever it was, it wasn’t contagious. He rang the doctor, who wasn’t best pleased at being called out at that time in the morning.

“Jock Dickie, is it?” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “And you’re sure it’s not just the drink? I don’t want to drag myself out there only to find him sleeping off a hangover. I’ve only just got in from the last visit and I’ve had enough of dispensing aspirin for one night.”

“No,” Dave replied. “He’s had a good drink, but it’s worse than that. He looks like death warmed up, and I think he might keel over any minute. I wouldn’t have phoned you, but you know what the man’s like...it takes gallons to get him pissed, and even then he never keels over.”

“Okay,” The doctor replied, and Dave heard the resignation in his voice. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just make sure he doesn’t start eating the furniture before I get to him.”

Dave hung up and turned back to the bar.

Jock was holding a whisky bottle up to the light, studying the patterns made by the liquid as it swirled and sloshed in the bottle. He licked his lips, in anticipation of a drink yet to come, but put the bottle down and turned toward Dave.

“Drink,” the big man said, his voice slurred and childlike, saliva dripping from his red, fleshy lips, “…I was promised a drink.”

“Aye, that’s right,” Dave said, “I suppose I did. And I think I’d better have one with you. I may as well...it looks like I’m not going to get much sleep tonight anyway.”

He moved forward towards the bottle, but he didn’t make it. A massive meaty hand grabbed him by the forearm, digging deep into his muscles and grinding his bones together with a sudden flaring pain. He opened his mouth, ready to scream, but it was choked off in his throat.

His head was dragged round to look into the moon-like face of the man that held him. The fleshy mouth opened and this time Dave did scream as twin fangs slid from the gums in a sudden flash of blood.

The scream didn’t last long...just long enough for Jock Dickie to lower his head to Dave’s neck.

“Drink. Promised.” Jock said as his head lowered and the fangs went in and Dave’s world exploded in white, hot pain.

When the doctor arrived ten minutes later he found the bar empty, and he didn’t see the spots of blood, which were spattered on the floor around the bar.

He had a longing look at the bottle of whisky on the bar but he knew he had many calls ahead of him that night.

If he knew what the night held for him and the town, he may have changed his mind, but he closed the door of the bar carefully and headed wearily back to his car.