Chaos Magic (10 page)

Chapter
25

BASE JUMP BABE

The symmetry of the glass pyramid was disrupted by a ten metre steel gantry that ran around the base on three sides, however on the southern side it extended outwards to form a platform on which stood a single helicopter. From her hiding place Lorna watched as half-a-dozen men in paramilitary fatigues, several carrying weapons had emerged from the building to join her on the helipad. They had stood in the shelter of the doorway, smoking, whilst two of them had checked the integrity of the hawsers that looped around the helicopter’s landing gear to prevent the wind from ripping the craft from its perch and flinging it into the void. They did not seem to be searching for her, just going through their routine inspection.

The gantry itself was a lattice of steel allowing an uninterrupted view downwards. It was a very long way to the ground; there were lights, some stationary some moving. She had fetched up here following her flight from the altar and across the killing floor. Luckily her exit had coincided with the moment the crazed adorants had been distracted by the messianic appearance of their new Dieucifer, and thus they had failed to notice her departure.

After finding that the elevators were in lockdown she had followed a corridor to a room where cleaning equipment was stored, here she was able to wrench open a grill that was set into the floor and crawl along a ventilation duct. She then worked her way out onto the gantry, where she finally secreted herself behind one of the four huge searchlights that marked the cardinal points of the landing area, thankfully switched off.

The pyramid itself was in darkness with no external sign of life – it seemed unlikely that they had all packed up and gone home – perhaps, she reasoned the candlelight was too insignificant to make an impression on the bible blackness of the heavens.

The last of the men threw down his cigarette and left the platform, the metal door clanging shut behind him. Alone on the helipad Lorna emerged from her hiding place. Looking to the east she tried to see if the dawn’s early light might be signalling the end to this longest of nights, but all around the darkness was unyielding. Then she saw it – moonrise. Hidden from her by the soaring bulk of the black pyramid she could only see the faintly reflected lunar light and not the source; it was slowly illuminating the landscape below, turning the meandering loops of the Thames into a quicksilver highway. It seemed unlikely that there would be any flights on this particular night so she moved out onto the platform in order to explore her options and to find a way to keep warm.

So far, since her own resurrection whilst on the altar, where she had risen from her extended coma and fled the nut-job soiree, she had been functioning on a purely reactive level – now she attempted to take stock of her situation.  But she was unable to gather any traction in this task as the
Burundanga
had efficiently done its job – her last clear memory being one of walking towards the dressing rooms after fighting at the Babadrome.

Clearly much had happened since then, none of which had produced any impression in her mind and therefore there were no memories to be retrieved only a dark lacunal fog. In the end she settled for ‘knowing that she did not know’ – at least for the present. She was cold and she was naked – but also exceedingly grateful to be alive, and currently un-sacrificed.

The helicopter was unlocked. She had no intention of trying to fly the thing but it at least afforded some shelter. She began pulling open lockers in order to find some food, drink or clothing; she found none of these things, just some flares and a couple of parachutes. She was exhausted and finally closed her eyes whilst sitting in the co-pilots seat, and slept for an immeasurable length of time. She awoke bathed in light – just a

naked girl staring at the moon through the helicopter cockpit window. She felt a generative energy radiating from the silver serpents that encircled he upper arms and throat, and holding out her left hand she saw trails of light streaming from her fingertips. Then there was the sound.

The wind had died down and she became aware of a long drawn out keening howl that was on the upper reaches of the audible frequency range. It seemed to emanate from the pyramid itself. At the same time jumbled images of the scenes she had glimpsed during her escape seemed to crowd in on her. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head in order to banish the nightmare. It comprised of weeping women, blood and slime, mad gibbering and screams of pleasure or maybe pain. A dark circle had begun to impinge on the perfection of the full moon.
And now the eclipse
, she thought.

“Heya Legba Atibon, sinn eternal,” came the chant, rising on the breeze.

And then the response, “E Zo, e Zo, e Zo.”

It took only moments
for Lorna to prepare herself. The green webbing straps went over her shoulders and the parachute’s side straps clipped together across her midriff with a satisfying clunk. Leaning into the wind, her bare toes curled around the cold smooth edge of the platform, far below the darkening landscape reduced to a patchwork of grey fading to black, and only the thinnest sliver of the moon now visible – Lorna felt that a time of reckoning was upon the land, on the heavens, and upon her. Time to fly or die - maybe both. She pushed out into the void.

Chapter
26

THE SACRED RIVER

As we get closer to the end we also get further from the beginning – this not only applies the telling of a story, the unfolding of a journey, the living of a life – it also is true when saving the world. The problem is that no one really knows when anything really began. Maybe we tripped over a truth or a lie and things began to unfurl as if to slow our descent and give us time after the blinding rush of freefall in which to contemplate with new eyes a potential insight or even an epiphany. Christians speak of ‘the fall from God’s grace’ that occurred in Eden, as being some kind of starting point – but what do they know? The organised church with their agendas are masters of deceits, dressing up their supplication to Rex Mundi, the reigning slave god, the master of the cruel worlds, and touting this psychopathic cock-blocker as the demiurge of our days. NOT SO.

My own journey began during a personal ‘dark night of the soul’ in which a stranger reached out a helping hand across an ale-stained table and also across the space we cannot see but which bridges different aspects of our dislocated world and put in my palm a key. I still have it – the key to the tower – and all down my days, wherever the invisible axis of my life should spin me – I will remember and honour that event as the revelation on my road to Damascus that set my own particular wanderings in motion. I will remember his kindness and sincerity above all else.

When the elevator door slid open and Detective Z and I arrived at our subterranean destination, we straightaway found the cold and broken body of Alan. He was discarded amongst the ruins and rubble of the lost Temple of Diana – a Roman archaeological site where the rites of the goddess had been enacted beneath the streets of Londinium a couple of thousand years ago. Maybe the magical spring that here fed into the River Walbrook had been the site of many past miracles, but none were available for Alan. He body had been crushed by some unimaginable act of evil.

Detective Z and I exchanged grim looks.

“This makes no sense,” he said.

“None,” I replied darkly.

Nearby ran the Walbrook, swollen by the recent heavy rain its roar filled the cavern where we stood, the storm waters thundered by our sad scene and disappeared down a tunnel, presumably into the nearby Thames. We could do nothing for our friend and so in mute agreement we rose to make our way back to the elevator in order to search for the perpetrators of this and other ill deeds. At that moment somebody upstream perhaps opened a sluice gate – the result was that the volume of water increased to a crashing frenzy of elemental energy and we were swept away into the darkness, to emerge a minute later in the oily waters of the Walbrook Lagoon. I managed to grab the rungs of a metal ladder and was able to drag myself out of there. Once I had a secure footing I helped Detective Z, who had followed the exact same trajectory as myself, to climb from the freezing grey water.

We stood gasping on the floodwall above the Thames, only to see a white and silver bird descending from the upper realm, some kind of angelic visitation, and miraculously landing upon the deck of
the Alembic Valise
.

Chapter
27

DIEUCIFER RISING

There were many doctors and surgeons amongst the
Brotherhood
; soon they had overcome the confusion and expertly staunched the flow from the wound that Eddie Brocade’s blade had inflicted upon Simon Magus. They used the self-same gurney that earlier had been used to wheel Lorna to her place in the centre of the Peristyle and quickly had their patient hooked up to intravenous drips and various electronic monitors.

After a short time he regained consciousness; the robed men surrounding him waited for his first words.

“Fetch Brocade,” he croaked.

When Eddie, still wearing the bloodstained red robes of the Dieucifer, was brought before him he stared at him for a full minute before speaking.

“Crucify him,” was all he said.

* * *

Eddie Brocade barley winced as they drove in the spikes because he had by now finally remembered where he first smelled the fragrance that he had only a few short hours ago inhaled as he had bent over the unconscious Lorna Z. It had taken a while but now he was back there, having travelled down the years, reliving that original moment back in his mother’s bedroom in Islington, his schoolboy pants around his ankles, the pale thighs of his French teacher wrapped around him, the fragrance of Candice Noir enveloping him; he could still smell it. He had bitten the exchange students from Poitier’s upper lip and she cried out as the taste of her blood in his mouth only served to intensify the pleasure of his first sexual experience.

Then he opened his eyes and realised that the reason he could now taste blood was because various members of the
Brotherhood
had repeatedly punched him in the face prior to nailing him to this makeshift cross – and it was his own blood that he tasted.

Eyes snapped shut – there in the periphery of vision was the familiar form of the true Dieucifer, now resplendent amongst the black brothers encircling this primal tableau, wearing the red robes of office; final and repugnant it constituted the last thought in his dwindling attention to conditions in the outer world of pain through which he departed.

Chapter 28

SAIL AWAY

The Alembic Valise
was out in midstream before we spoke.

“Did you see her?” I asked.

“Who?” answered Detective Z with his own question.

“The goddess descending.”

“Oh, right – that was just my Lorna,” he replied, and received a punch on the shoulder from his daughter for his trouble.

She was wearing a shapeless green anorak and Wellington boots, and standing at his side looking angelic, as I spun the wheel to set us on a course back towards Mortlake.

Wesak was over and shafts of morning sunlight streaming between the riverfront blocks, etched cardinal geometries through the clumps of grey mist that still swirled above the Thames like steam from Odin’s cauldron. And we too left the pattern of our journey upon the waters of life, like a vapour trial of our conjoined destinies as we departed
the Vertical Abyss
. The demonic singularity of pain, now in darkness as if shuttered and in denial of the dawning day. And what a day it was to be – their desecration of the holy Wesak had failed and instead not only was Lorna Z back in Alpha world, it appeared that the
Brotherhood of the Serpent
had lost it’s overlord status to the extent that whole swathes of beta world were blinking out of existence and the enslaved denizens released into the new day that was greeting us all.

The conundrum that my mind was seeking to unravel was if this was some kind of significant victory following a tactical withdrawal on our part, the fates having blessedly engineered our exit to coincide with Lorna’s escape from both
the
Vertical Abyss
and beta world, or had we achieved nothing other than a temporary cessation of hostilities.

Despite being reunited with his daughter I knew that Detective Z was feeling pretty hostile. That much he had made clear when he had tried to insist that he return to the Abyss and make a few arrests; only relenting from this course of action when outvoted by Lorna and myself.

“Sail away to fight another day,” she had said, and the simple logic of this phrase had convinced him that it was time to depart. There may not be a perpetrator to show for our nights work but he had his daughter back.

The final bridge that crossed that shining highway, the Thames, was Hammersmith Bridge. Here on the wooden jetty by the northern shore we moored
the Alembic Valise
and made our way through the streets and pathways of the awakening city to the one sure place where we were guaranteed to be able rest and repair our exhausted selves in style: the Cypress Café. Here we planned to work our way through the finest Irish breakfast menu to be found on the wrong side of the Irish Sea; never did Shepherds Bush look so beautiful or the scrapple taste as good as on that morning.

THE END