Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Book 2) (12 page)

“You are correct,” Henry answered, reciprocating the gesture with his left hand, forcing Marcus to switch. As they let go, he noticed the intricate tattoo work on Marcus’ hands, extending up beneath the long sleeves.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” Marcus said in his deep voice, pointing to the elevators. “It’ll be that one there, on the end. I was delayed pulling together more of my notes on all the Noctis activity – they’ve really stepped it up since the event last month.”

Henry had heard a casual reference or two of something large happening about a month ago, but never did find out what it was.

Curious, he asked.

Marcus rubbed vigorously on his beard as they walked, dawning on him that Henry had been out of touch. No wonder, as he’d been holed up with the Noctis for some time being tortured and subsequently laid out in an ordinary hospital while he recovered.

“Gage Crosse.”

That name was all Marcus had to say for a whole litany of thoughts to stream through Henry’s mind. Gage was known by virtually everyone, friend or foe, for better or oftentimes worse. “What did he do?”

“Well,” Marcus said with a grimace, “that’s pretty much who they’re pinning it on, since he's kind of a ready made scapegoat. In reality though, the event was a massive beacon that could be seen for thousands of miles. Pegged out damn near all the meters here at HQ, the only thing ever measured higher being the rift from the Incursion. Now, humans are telling their general populations that it was a freak storm. Unsure how weather stories always seem to remove suspicion over supernatural events, but it did cut down on a lot of panic, making it easier to respond to the widespread damage.”

Henry dipped his head, his voice low. “Was there a lot?”

“Too much. From a mere
signal
no less. One thing demons have going for them are powerful artifacts.”

“My goodness,” Henry replied in shock about what he was hearing. “So this signal is somehow tied to the Noctis? To me, this has their fingerprints all over it and I’ve yet to review any of the reports or evidence you have.”

“You’d be correct, Henry. It was definitely tied to them and their plans for the Earth. I fear the worst. It is our hope – my hope – that you, having been in the presence of their leader yet managing to escape, is a blessing. Hopefully you'll have something that will shed some light on their motives and…”

They stopped right outside the elevator doors, Marcus’ finger hovering over the call button. “Between us, I am bothered that the Council has not called an Assembly.”

“What are they waiting for?” Henry shouted before lowering his voice several levels. Quite a few beings had overheard the commotion and cast eyes their way. “Why the hell not, considering the level of threat? We all need to be able to discuss matters face to face – not via come disparate and patchy communique.”

“I truly don’t know,” said Marcus, glad to be hearing a similar opinion as his own. “They keep saying they don’t want to incite a panic, but the Noctis seem to be growing enough balls to make more public moves and cause panic anyway. Despite this, our leadership is insistent that there is nothing to worry about.”

“Until it is too late, Marcus. This is preposterous.”

“Call it a gut feeling, but I can’t help but think there’s more to it. I am sure you’re wondering why I am even telling you all this. I trust you. Not just because you’re a human but because you’re in the Order… and that used to mean something.”

“I will try my best,” Henry reassured his colleague.

Marcus smiled, pressing the button and a few seconds later the elevator dinged. Its doors slid open and they got inside before being whisked away in a column of light to the Council.

STEPPING OUT FROM
the lift, they entered a long corridor, bright from the wall of windows to the left. Skyscrapers filled the view as puffy clouds ambled along and Henry found himself discovering shapes in them, something he would often do as a child. Now he did it longing for some proper rest.

The opposite side of the hall was much darker, a large stone frieze jutted out from the wall, depicting a sea of Journeymen of every race standing side by side against the darkness. It was a homage to happier, more honorable times.

At the end of the walk, they had reached a set of heavy doors which led into the conference room and paused once more.

Marcus looked to Henry intently. “Ready?”

He nodded, though the prospect of speaking directly to the Council made him incredibly nervous. “As I will ever be.”

With that confirmation, Marcus smiled and pulled on the door handles and they stepped inside.

The room was much darker than the hall, the window shades having been shut, but there was still enough light to see. Seated at the large table on the far end were all seven councilors and all of them were there in person. This was a rarity and in the face of the rising threat, a good sign. Marcus thought it reassuring that they were taking the threat at least somewhat seriously.

A cold voice came from the table.

“Marcus, we didn't expect to see you again today. You're not here to throw papers all over the floor again, are you?” It was Fenran, still as arrogant an elf as ever, sitting highly in the seat just right of center.

“That's quite enough, Fenran,” Councilor Jane Carter admonished from the center seat. Her voice was as stern as her face always was and she gave him a long, chastising glare down the bridge of her nose – ironic as he was the one often doing that to the others. She lowered her eyebrows then turned her attention toward Marcus and Henry, speaking in a much softer tone, “Mr. Sheridan, thank you for collecting Mr. Abington for us. We all have a lot to discuss.”

“My pleasure Madame Councilor,” Marcus said with a respectful bow.

“Likewise ma’am,” said Henry.

Timothy Randall, sitting to the left of Jane, could see the nervousness in Henry's face. “Mr. Abington, you can relax,” he said reassuringly. “This is only a testimonial, not a trial or interrogation. You have committed no crime and are with your own here.”

Fenran snickered, joined in quietly by the gargoyle Drogir on the far right. Between them, a horned beast sat straight-faced. Tyrol was just watching, his hairy fingers strumming the tabletop.

Without further ado, Marcus took up in one of the seats around the edges of the room, not nearly as cushioned as the ones at the table. He set his stack of documents in the empty chair beside him then crossed his legs and arms to watch Henry approach the table.

His muffled footsteps stopped just before a circular pattern in the carpet and a baroque chair rose out of the floor, as if it were stretched from the fabric itself. Henry shifted around and sat himself gingerly on the seat, placing his forearms on the surprisingly stiff armrests. It grew lighter around him and the Council darker, as if he were in a spotlight.

“Let it be stated for the record,” Jane opened, and a pen on a table in the far corner of the room flicked up, transcribing everything being said, “that Mr. Henry Michael Abington has been called forth on the second of November, 2015, to provide testimony to the Council on the demon threat known collectively as the Noctis. All council members are present, in person, and accounted for.”

The room fell silent.

Timothy began, clearing his throat and taking a sip of water. “Can you tell us about your time in the Whittingham area – why you were there in the first place?”

“Of course,” Henry said. Still a bit shaky from nerves, sweat started to pool at his lower back. “I was working a case that appeared to involve werewolves just south of there, in Haighton Green. Seemed that some of the residents had spotted a large, black wolf the size of a man out in the fields a night or two before I got there. Upon further investigation, I confirmed that it was indeed a werewolf, one of several in fact that had been chained up further north at a house on Eaves Green.”

A few not-so-hushed whispers were passed along the table. “Is that the ‘torture house’ we've heard mentioned in some reports?” asked Tyrol, low and grunting, while shuffling through a stack of papers in front of him.

“One and the same,” Henry acknowledged as the chill of memory spilled down his spine. “A lot of death happened within those stone walls; a lot of screams. Yes… innocent, guilty, young, old, it did not matter to them one bit. They extracted every ounce of pain they could from their captives, taking great pleasure in those boundless activities. When I close my eyes, I can still hear them faintly and sometimes, when they are open, too.”

Marcus could feel his agony from across the room. It was palpable and deep.

Henry continued in a soft voice, “The werewolves were only one small part of the brutal process and when not in use, were treated more like guard dogs. Luckily for me, one of them – the one that had sparked the reports that brought me to the area in the first place – was weary and disenchanted with serving them. He helped me flee, bringing my bag and assisting with some temporary spells to see us out of that nightmare. Geirolf was his name, and I dare say we could have been friends.”

Jane bowed her head, taking a deep breath before looking back to the worn face sitting in front of her. “So he is…”

“Yes…” Henry said with a subtle sniffle and a wipe under his nose, “he perished in Whittingham when we were recaptured by the Noctis leader. Without him, I would not be sitting here right now. I owe him my life.”

Fenran was muttering something indecipherable to Drogir then spun his head back to Henry. “I would like to know more about what went on in this house, Mr. Abington,” Fenran said without the slightest hint of emotion.

“I would rather NOT discuss it,” Henry replied sternly, only just managing to keep those horrific memories from undoing him. “With all due respect to the Councilor, of course.”

“So be it,” Fenran said, dismissing his request to the scowls of his colleagues. “Is there any other information you can provide us on the area then – something you ARE willing to discuss?”

Henry nodded, hiding the fact he wanted to punch the smug elf right in the chin. What was he playing at with all this discourtesy? He scanned the darkened faces at the table and focused on Quileth, who seemed to have the most interested expression on his face. Perhaps it was the intense yellow of his eyes that drew him.

“As I mentioned we were recaptured, just outside a farm where the fields were crawling with goblins. As much as we would have liked to escape, the sheer number of them would have made that impossible.” Henry was crestfallen, feeling as if he had failed. “We were then escorted from the farm, about a mile or so, to a base of operations at a construction site. At least, it appeared to be one from the outside.”

This piqued Allete’s interest greatly. A diminutive woman dressed in a simple yet elegant blue dress, she had an aura about her that was much larger than herself. She leaned forward, her jet black hair sweeping across her shoulders. “An illusion barrier? Most interesting indeed. We’ve not heard of demons using enchantments of this kind before.”

“Times appear to be changing my lady,” said Henry, picking nervously at the threads in the armrest. “I believe this was an illusion spell or possibly warding I can’t be sure. I do know that it was coupled with a protective shield, barring entry. We had to step through an opening in the barrier to get onto the property itself.”

Allete slid back into her chair and looked in thought. “Seems they are adamant about keeping themselves hidden from us, possibly other monsters that will not join their cause as well.” She looked to Drogir. “This must be a large operation, or some high level facility for them to employ so many charms.”

Drogir grunted as he shifted in his seat, stretching his wings slightly for comfort. “I concur,” he said deeply. “They have managed to stayed hidden… until now. Thanks to our friend here.” He looked down at Henry with his stony gaze. “Can you tell us what’s on the grounds?”

“I didn't see much I'm afraid, but there was an old building, like a hospital of sorts. I’m not sure exactly what it was but it was crumbling. Well, actually, the entire place was falling apart.” His face scrunched up. “There was also a church, an old affair with thick stone walls. They took us in there where we all talked. It was a miserable place, empty as if happiness decided to take a detour. They had heads impaled on lanterns… and that’s also where Geirolf…”

His voice trailed off, overwhelmed with nauseating memory.

Drogir spoke assertively. “Make a note to alert the warding, spells, and tech units to begin researching possible means of attack against this stronghold, should that become necessary.”

Tyrol turned to him and nodded. “Yes, and keep the chatter on this low. We want to keep anything we discover in our back pockets, so as not to give away what we know at the wrong time.”

Drogir agreed while Fenran continued to listen, but did not say a word himself. Placing his elbows on the table, he brought his fingers together, tapping them while he stared at Henry.

Timothy spoke up, “This ‘leader’ you spoke to, Henry. There are rumors that she is a lesser demon… that would be astonishing if the case. Do you know if this is true?”