Legion

By Steven Carlton

What if magic was real? Not the magic of tribal shaman, Indian mystics, Wiccan witches, nor even the legerdemain of telephone psychics, but real honest-to-goodness magic. The Christian Bible is full of references to real magic, from Moses to a pantheon of Angels and demons, Powers which walk the Earth and skulk in shadows, the mythos of the supernatural. And demons.The Biblical demon, the Legion, was only banished, its diabolical power only diminished, when it was confronted with the Son of God.What if it came back?Returning to Earth after almost 2000 years, the demon has a mission: to open a gateway to Hell, shift the infernal balance of power, and trigger an Armageddon which makes Revelations pale in comparison. Standing against the demon is an ancient order of sorcerers and warriors, descended from the Angels themselves. But the demon, able to possess more than a thousand people simultaneously, may prove too powerful for even them, and the world's fate will rest on the shoulders of a seventeen year old girl warrior-in-training, and the mysterious powers of her equally enigmatic boyfriend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Carlton
• Release date: Feb 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465724090

Steven Carlton

I've been writing since I was thirteen, but only took it seriously when I finally turned thirty just before the turn of the century. Currently, I work as a freelance videographer with my own business, Black Dove Media Arts (www.blackdovemediaarts.com) where I design motion graphics and visual effects for the local television shows I help produce and edit. My wife Anita and I have been married for over twenty-two years and have six children together.

Book preview

For he said unto him, Come out of

the man, thou unclean spirit.

And he asked him, What is thy name?

And he answered, saying,

My name is Legion:

For we are many.

Mark 5:8,9

CHAPTER ONE

God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down

to hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness.

-2 Peter 2:4

The air, sweeping down from the distant mountains and whistling through the still bare branches of the forest, was chill for the front edge of spring. Daryl Atwater shivered slightly, not so much from the cool touch of the breeze as from the sheer excitement he felt. He hugged the oversized book he carried tightly to his chest. Ahead of him marched his friends, moving almost stealthily through the shadows carrying the paraphernalia they would need tonight. Four boys entered the woods that night. The path was, by now, familiar to them all, but each saw the shape of the unknown in the shadows, and the fear of the dark places, the disquiet which haunts the very young, was a presence each boy felt like a breath on their necks. In truth, it was not the dark which made the boys so uneasy, it was the things left unseen, hidden by the shadows not only of the trees but of their own beliefs. The boys, after all, were here to summon demons.

Daryl, ostensibly the leader of the group, was at the rear of the line. Jason led the way holding a lantern high over his head. Mick Jones, the largest and oldest of the boys, carried an ice chest loaded with beer, a sort of liquid courage each of them depended on. Mick was the least likely member of the quartet, an ex-football player who had been kicked off the team because of his violent temper. The darkness suited him just fine, it matched the color of his thoughts. Todd Weinstein, gangly and shy, walked at the end of the procession carrying a sack filled with what the boys had determined, by recent experience, that they would need.

The unofficial fifth member of the group walked beside Jason, a scruffy mutt stolen from the city pound. Each time the boys performed this ritual, a little more was added, slight modifications which they hoped moved them closer to perfection and success. Daryl smiled grimly to himself. Tonight, he was certain, would be the final time. Not only because the other boys were growing disenchanted with the occult, but because Daryl believed he had at last found the key to deciphering the book.

He had discovered the ancient, leather bound tome at an estate sale. His father, whom he rarely saw, was forever dragging him along to such things. Better that, actually, than having to actually spend time with the man. This time, some old, eccentric hermit had died leaving no heirs but plenty of debt. His dilapidated house was being emptied and some surprising items were emerging. Medieval armor and weapons, Victorian furniture, rare books and thousands of other collectibles were being pulled from closets and storage rooms, attics and basement. The man had obsessively collected almost everything, including those things associated with the occult. An assortment of books had been piled haphazardly on a table, a small portion of the thousands boxed and crated nearby, and no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Daryl, an avid reader, was trying to relieve the boredom by looking through the stacks. The book had almost jumped out at him. There was no real reason it should have caught his eye. Bound in cracking leather with no adornment, it looked more like some cast off ledger than a real book. But inside…

Daryl had been stunned. Page after page of pictures, barely legible script, and diagrams. The book was a cornucopia of information for the aspiring wizard. He did not need to read the writing to understand it was a grimoire, a book of spells and incantations. Daryl, Jason, and Todd had been playing Dungeons and Dragons for years, and books of this sort had a special place in the fantasies they created. And here was a real one!

There was no doubt in his mind. He had to have this book. Daryl had looked around furtively, trying to see if he were unobserved. There were a few people close by, but they were absorbed in their own affairs, inspecting furniture and the like. Daryl had slid the book into his jacket, tucking it under his arm and covering it carefully. He made his way back to his father’s car and hid the book under the seat. No one had even noticed him. It was, despite his claims, the first time he had ever stolen anything, and he could not later recall what had driven him to do it. The risk had been worth the reward, though. Safely back at home, Daryl had removed the book from the car and hidden it in his room.

It quickly grew to an obsession for him. The writing remained a mystery, but the pictures spoke volumes. This was real magic, he just knew it. When he had finally revealed the book to his friends, they caught the fever of Daryl’s excitement. There were only passing thoughts given to the ominous Satanic overtones. None of them believed in God very much anyway. This was much more tangible, and the excitement of possibly being able to perform real magic was a temptation too strong to resist.

Séances produced unsatisfying results. A love potion had seemed to work for awhile, at least long enough for Jason to loose his virginity. They placed a curse on a teacher, but it could have been a coincidence that the man was later caught with a male prostitute. Slowly, the boys gravitated toward more elaborate rituals, and finally to demonology.

That was when Mick joined the group. The other boys had conducted a Black Mass one night and were talking about it at school the next day. Mick had overheard. The younger boys were more than a little afraid of the large upperclassman. Mick was well known for picking fights and bullying smaller people, so when Mick wanted to join in, the other boys were too afraid to refuse. Thus far, things had been disappointing. Daryl had been sure they were performing the ritual correctly, and he had even managed to decipher some of the incantations they were supposed to use. Yet still they had nothing to show for their efforts. It had been Mick’s idea to add live sacrifice. Daryl suspected the older boy just wanted an excuse to exercise his sadistic form of humor, yet he was hesitant to voice any objection. The only sacrifice mentioned in the book was a human one.

The entourage arrived at a clearing some distance into the woods. Here the trees formed a tight ring, blocking the chill wind and shielding their activity from prying eyes. The ground bore the evidence of prior use, and the boys each busied themselves preparing for the night’s activity. Jason tied the dog to a low branch and began dragging wood into a pile for a fire. Todd started unloading the sack, laying out the items which the book indicated were necessary for this particular ritual. Mick, as usual, sat against a tree watching the others work and began drinking. In a way, Daryl was glad this would be their last attempt. Perhaps they could at last be rid of Mick.

Daryl set the book down reverently. A section of the clearing had already been cleared down to the dirt, and he began the task of redrawing their pentagram, the five pointed star used to summon the denizens of the netherworld. There was a certain way to do it, precision was required, and the arcane symbols which encircled the star had to be added in just the right order. It had to be a perfect closure, any broken lines meant the demon, if it appeared, could get to the person who summoned it. That meant a one way ticket to Hell. Normally, the boys stood in a circle around the arcane drawing and performed the ritual. Supposedly, the demon would appear in some form inside the pentagram. Once summoned, the demon would obey them and perform any task they commanded. One task only, however, and then it would return to Hell. Demons were very single minded.

The drawing complete, Daryl took a small sack of flour pilfered from his mother’s pantry and used it to fill in the little grooves he had made in the dirt. That made everything easier to see. He had drawn this one a bit larger than usual, and he smiled to himself as he thought of why. It had come to him in a dream, or at least he thought that’s what it was. He slept less and less each night, his mind consumed with the book and its contents, as if something where driving him toward some unseen goal. Daryl had seen himself and the other boys engaged in the ritual, achingly familiar by now, only he had been standing inside the pentagram. He had awakened in a cold sweat, the chill of realization throbbing inside him. The demon was supposed to appear outside the circle while the wizard was protected, held safe inside. Had he been able to read what he presumed where the instructions they might have succeeded on their first attempt. Tonight, he was certain, there would be an end to the futility. Tonight they would at last summon a demon. Daryl would step into the pentagram tonight, just as his dream had instructed. The pentagram was like the control booth, and Daryl intended to be the controller.

Soon the fire was blazing, casting eerie, flickering shadows which bounced off the trees, crossing each other like drunken dancers. Black wax candles burned steadily at the points of the pentagram as well as at various points around the clearing. A towel had been laid out and on it lay a large hunting knife, a silver cup, and the book. The boys gathered around the circle.

Let’s get it on, Mick said crudely. This shit ain’t gonna work no how anyway. We’re just wastin’ good drinking time. He had already consumed four beers in the short time it took the other boys to set up. They didn’t mind, though. The alcohol seemed to cool Mick’s violent temper somewhat.

Anything new from the book? Jason asked. He held high reverence for the ancient tome. It was understandable. His parents were both a bit fanatical about religion and tried to shove it down Jason’s throat constantly. Naturally, he rebelled, but he was unable to shake the template his parents had molded him into. He was always looking for something new to believe in.

Daryl smiled. Actually, he said, yes. Todd’s head snapped up. Todd was the skeptic in the group. He styled himself a scientist, though UFOs, Bigfoot and poltergeist were more to his liking than microscopes and Petri dishes. Like what? he asked doubtfully.

Yeah, chimed in Jason. What’cha got?

Daryl was unsure how the other’s would react to what he had planned. Not that they were set on doing things a certain way or that they might fear for his safety. He knew no one here other than himself actually believed what they were doing would have any consequence.

I think, he began hesitantly, that the person calling the demon is supposed to be inside the star.

What? cried Jason. That’s suicide!

Ain’t no way I’m gettin’ inside that circle with no demon, joined in Todd.

Daryl could see the fear ignite in their eyes. No fuckin’ way.

Mick burped loudly. I think you oughtta go for it, he said. I wouldn’t mind seeing somebody get eaten. He laughed raucously at his own joke.

The other boys looked at him oddly, but Daryl knew he had an unwitting ally. He decided at that moment that the others must not know about the true reason he wanted to be inside that circle. Shit, guys, he said, it’s not like anything’s gonna happen anyway.

I don’t know, Jason protested feebly. Mick rolled his eyes.

Don’t be such a whiny-ass, he said. You know ain’t no goddamn demon gonna show his hairy ass around here.

Then why’d you bring the dog? Todd countered.

Mick looked over to where the animal lay quietly. ’Cause, he said, you know. What if it does work?

Exactly, Jason said. Thing is, we just don’t know if it’s gonna happen or not. Mick might be right, a hairy demon might just pop up inside that star beside you. What would you do then?

Well, Daryl said, if it works and the demon ends up inside the star, then I’ll have to count on you guys to control it and not let it eat me. He laughed, hoping they’d believe it.

Evidently they did. Perhaps it was the beer, or maybe the long series of failed attempts, but in any event when the ritual began Daryl was standing inside the circle. Jason presided as the leader, speaking the words from the book which were by now familiar. Daryl still did not understand their meaning, and the sound was harsh on the ear. Jason would be a gifted linguist one day. The incantation was torturous but he made no mistakes.

The dog had been brought to the edge of the circle, and Daryl did not miss the fact that it was Mick who wielded the large hunting knife, poising hungrily over the cowering animal. The sacrifice would be useless, Daryl knew, and even though he hated dogs he felt sorry for the animal. The cup was brought up, and each boy pricked his finger, letting the blood drip into the chalice. Todd leaned over the circle, careful not to disturb any of the lines, and Daryl added his own blood to the mixture. From his pocket, Jason added a vial of powder Daryl had prepared earlier. The recipe was straight from the book. Nothing more than some spices and powdered iron, but it seemed to be essential. Jason raised the cup over his head and began the second incantation. With a start, Daryl realized the hairs on his arm were standing. He could definitely feel an electric crackle in the air. He wanted to shout with joy, with the elation he felt coursing through him. This had to be it, this was what it was like when the gateway opened and the world blended with the chaos beyond. It was heady, the feeling of power which churned in the air around him, and Daryl wondered why no one else seemed to notice that anything was different this time.

Jason paused in his recitation, cutting his eyes at Mick. Drunkenly, Mick raised the knife in the air, a tiny grin on his mouth and the spark of malicious glee in his eye. He had his own incantation to recite, and though he slurred many of the words he did not forget any. The knife plunged down, and the boys jumped involuntarily at the pained yelp from the dog. Mick raised the knife again to show it was coated with the animal’s blood. Todd looked at Mick with distaste then glanced at Daryl to see how he was taking it. Strangely, Daryl’s face remained impassive. It was as though he had withdrawn from the activity and no longer cared about its outcome.

With a flourish, Jason emptied the cup into the fire. The flames roared loudly, as if he had poured gasoline onto them. He jumped back in haste, nearly colliding with the other boys. Mick shoved him roughly but said nothing. Any words now would ruin the ritual. Jason turned back to the circle, his face ashen. Clearly, something unusual was happening. Either the ritual was working or Daryl had put something strange into that vial. He would get the truth from Daryl later. Now, it was time to finish. The three boys outside the circle raised their arms in the air, looking toward the stars, and slowly recited the last lines together. The last words echoed dully off the trees as each were made of lead, and the night descended into bleak silence. Jason looked around. There was no sign of anything in the clearing other than themselves. Well, Mick said, that was a load of horseshit.

Jason frowned. He felt cheated somehow. The moment had felt so right, so full of impending importance, and now it seemed there was nothing in the world which would lend itself to some tangible evidence of its validity. No one could see God or angels, and it seemed no one could see the minions of the other side either.

Todd was looking at the dog. I think it’s still alive, he announced.

Shit! Mick cursed loudly. He kicked the prone animal savagely, making it moan. Fuckin’ dog, he muttered, ain’t good for nothin’. Can’t even die right. He bent over the dog raising the knife for a finishing stroke.

No! Todd screamed. He rushed past Jason and shoved Mick hard, sending the larger boy over on his side. Todd backed off quickly as Mick sprang to his feet, clenching the knife in a fierce grip.

What the fuck is wrong with you? he shouted. It’s just a goddamn dog, you stupid fuck! Jesus Christ, why do I even hang around you bunch’a fuckin’ losers? You’re just like the stupid dog, you can’t do nothin’ right. Where’s the demon? Huh? He was waving the knife around like a madman. Jason and Todd were scrambling to get out of the way. Daryl, in the center of the pentagram, was unmoving.

I get kicked off the team, my girl dumps me, those faggots on the team won’t hang out with me no more, Mick was ranting now, his rage building by the second. He was so much stronger than any of the boys, they were actually becoming afraid. Todd was considering abandoning everything and bolting for the cars they’d left at the edge of the woods. All I wanted was a little revenge, Mick continued. You guys said we could get a demon to do anything we wanted! It’s the fifth time and there ain’t no demon! You bunch’a fuckers. He took a menacing step toward Jason and Todd who cringed back in fear. Mick growled incoherently and spit at the boys. He swung around, putting his back to Jason and Todd as if trying to contain his homicidal rage. His eye caught Daryl who still stood inside the circle. And you, he said, with all your talk and your weird fuckin’ book. He waved the knife menacingly. I oughtta gut all of you.

He looked around the clearing with burning eyes. Fuck you all to hell, he said. He turned as if to leave, kicking angrily at the edge of the circle. Dirt and flour flew, a candle fell over and went out. Mick was between steps, Jason and Todd cowering in fear, a moment suspended in time. And Daryl moved.

His speed was blinding. To Jason, it was as if a film had been edited. One instant Daryl was standing unmoving in the circle, the next he was out beside Mick. Daryl struck Mick hard sending the larger boy to his knees. Jason was stunned. What did Daryl think he was doing? Attacking Mick was suicide!

Daryl grabbed Mick by the throat, squeezing. Mick gasped and brought the knife up, stabbing at Daryl’s exposed stomach. The smaller boy’s hand moved with the speed of lightning. He grabbed Mick’s wrist with an iron grip and squeezed savagely. The boys could hear the bones in Mick’s wrist pop, and with a cry of pain he released the knife. Daryl released the larger boy and snatched the knife from the air before it could hit the ground. His hand was back around Mick’s throat before the older boy could gasp a breath. Daryl stood straight, lifting Mick from the ground as if he weighed nothing. Mick clawed at the hand gripping his throat, choking him.

Wetness spread across the front of his jeans as his fear overwhelmed him. His throat was collapsing under the tremendous pressure of Daryl’s grip. You were right about one thing, Daryl said, his voice oddly stilted, an unplaceable accent. A sacrifice is required. He smiled horrifically and plunged the knife into Mick’s belly, twisting it. Mick kicked spasmodically, gasping, burning with the need to cry out. Daryl jerked the blade sideways, ripping it from the larger boy’s body and sending a spray of blood onto Jason and Todd. A wet mass spilled from Mick’s belly. He gurgled as his eyes rolled back in his head, blood oozing from his mouth. The smile never left Daryl’s face. He held his arm rigid, suspending Mick in the air until the boy’s movements ceased, then flung his limp body across the clearing like a rag doll. It crashed into a tree with a sickening crunch and fell to the ground in a heap. Jason was having a problem holding his bladder. One thought continued to race through his mind. We did it, we did it, we did it! Daryl had been right, someone was needed inside the circle.

The demon had needed a host.

Todd separated himself from Jason with an effort. He could barely keep the tremor from his voice long enough to speak. He wished he could remember a prayer, but only one thing filled his mind, the vision of his own fast approaching death. He glanced at Mick, obviously dead, and swallowed a bitter taste. Shaking, fighting for control of his breathing, Todd turned to face the demon. Who are you? he asked simply. It was all he could think of to say.

Daryl smiled again. Ah, he said, such a familiar question. He laughed, and it sounded like a chorus.

Come, he said, moving toward the boys, let me tell you.

Dawn was breaking over the forest. A thin mist clung to the ground, blanketing the world with a soft dewy kiss. The country road was deserted at this time of day, not that it would ever see much traffic anyway. Two cars, parked on the grassy stretch between the road and the nearby forest, had been waiting quite awhile. There was movement among the trees, still shrouded in darkness. A boy emerged into the light, followed by another. A third emerged, and together they stood a moment blinking at the clear sky. Wordlessly they moved to the cars. One was enough, and the other was abandoned there. They moved with purpose, steering the car toward town. The car vanished into the mist, and the road was alone again. The forest was quiet.

Four boys entered the wood one dark night, and something else had emerged.

CHAPTER TWO

We should live for the future, and yet should find our life in the

fidelities of the present; the last is the only method of the first.

-Henry Ward Beecher

Seventeen year old Frances ran down the wooded path, as she had done so often before, at full speed. She was passing the two mile mark and had barely begun to breathe hard. the ground was rocky and uneven, but she knew it well. While her physical abilities might have amazed most, Frances knew she had yet to reach her full potential. Her father could easily run faster than she, and there were some in the Clan who could out distance her, though not many. She leaped easily over a wide ditch and thought about what a star athlete she could be if she were allowed to reveal her special abilities. It was difficult sometimes to swallow her pride. She was passing the three mile mark now and nearing the end of the path. She expected her father to be waiting for her, probably ready to run her through yet more exercises.

Training meant a lot to her father. Geoff Durant was a man out of place. He had been prominent at one time, but had made a mistake. Whatever it was, it had earned him censure and a kind of banishment. The Durant family was the only one of the Clan here in this small southern town.

Tyler, her younger brother, had been born with Talent, and the Seers predicted he would make a fine sorcerer one day. He took after his mother and grandmother in that respect. Fran, however, took after her father. While it was not uncommon for males to be born with magical ability, it was unheard of for a female to be born with the Skill. That was the basic division of clan members. Those with Talent became practitioners of the Art: sorcerers, healers, seers, whatever their magical propensity directed. Those with Skill became warriors, trained in the martial arts, possessing physical abilities far beyond those of others, and utterly unable to work any of the Arts.

Geoff saw Frances as his path to redemption. Women were not allowed to become warriors. In fact, if any were born possessing any portion of Skill it was so hushed up that one never even heard rumors about it. Yet there was no denying Frances had it. If Geoff succeeded, Fran would be the first acknowledged female warrior.

The woods ended abruptly, and Frances slowed to an easy jog. Her father was waiting, just as she had expected. She was surprised, however, to see him wearing practice armor. Her own armor lay in a disordered pile. You have three minutes, her father said simply. Fran thought he was being unfair. Had he not even timed her run? To expect her to run nearly four miles in less than fifteen minutes and be ready to jump into a fight without so much as time to catch her breath was more than unfair. It was criminal. Fran knew he was serious and wasted no time, or breath, arguing. There was not enough time to put on all the armor. She roughly pulled the padded aqueton over her head but passed over the cuirass. The greaves were a must and she hurriedly strapped them onto her shins. What else? She grabbed up the tassets and slapped them onto her forearms. She was fast, but not fast enough for anything else. She cast the other pieces aside digging for her sword which, predictably, her father had placed at the bottom. Her sword was one of the few things she was allowed a choice about. Armor and tactics were standard and were expected to be learned by rote. But a warrior needed some flexibility, so the type of arms he carried was a matter of personal choice. Geoff favored a falchion, a kind of one handed scimitar, which freed his other hand to hold a buckler. Fran detested the little round shields and depended on her speed to move out of the way of incoming blows. Her own choice ran to Japanese lines. A sleek, two handed katana was her favorite.

Just as her hand closed around the sheath, her father sprang into action. Frances had no time to draw before he was on her. She parried his first stroke with the sheath, drawing the blade smoothly in the same motion. She feinted for his side, his blade moved to block, and Frances rapped him on the head smartly with the empty sheath. He erupted with a flurry of strokes, pushing Fran backwards as she parried furiously with both blade and sheath. Abruptly, she tossed the sheath into the air towards her father’s face. He instantly batted it aside. Fran was already in motion, leaping sideways into the air and delivering a kick to her father’s exposed side. Had she been wearing full armor she doubted if she would have been able to do that trick.

Geoff stumbled but recovered quickly, turning in time to catch his daughter’s stroke on his shield. It was what she had expected. As her father turned to ready his return stroke, Fran place a spinning back kick against the edge of his buckler. The straps gave way under the force and the shield flew off his arm. Only her reflexes save her from her father’s stroke. She felt the air from his blade brush her hair in its passage.

A year ago, Fran would never have believed she would be in this position. The transition from wooden practice blades to steel swords was only the first step. A misstep on her part would result in serious