Firesouls: Thirteen

By Matthew Rattsifer

Asudem is commanded once more to do evil, but will she heed the call for the sake of a world that has hated her through the ages. Will she control her rage when a friend is killed. Will she walk the world as the Medusa once again. Callisto travels to collect an ancient artifact. Corriander's mother's ghost is mysteriously absent. One god must be destroyed while another god is accidentally released. The world may need to prepare for hell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Rattsifer
• Release date: Aug 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463551509

Matthew Rattsifer

My whole life has been spent in one book or another. Most of that time has been spent reading Piers Anthony, Forgotten Realms, and Dragonlance and various true crime novels. I have lived in PA my entire life and hope to someday visit Transylvania, Ireland, Easter Island, and the Galopagos Islands. Now that Firesouls: The Demon Journal is finished I have started on Firesouls: The Thirteen, the second and final book of the Firesouls. Then I plan on keeping up with my other writing ideas.I collect Halo figures and Transformers. Yes, I've gotten older but have never grown up. I have been married for fourteen years and have two great kids. I hope you enjoy what my imagination has produced and look forward to entertaining you for a long time to come. Thank you for reading.

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Firesouls:

THIRTEEN

MATTHEW RATTSIFER

First Smashwords Edition 2018

Copyright 2018 by MATTHEW RATTSIFER

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover by JOLEENE NAYLOR

Cover images courtesy of CANSTOCK

Edited by Sharon Stogner

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One: The Mind Spider Does Her Work

Chapter Two: Truth and Switch

Chapter Three: Captive Audience

Chapter Four: A Mission Unresolved

Chapter Five: Zander Steps In

Chapter Six: The New Power

Chapter Seven: First Encountered

Chapter Eight: Fighting Zander Ceros

Chapter Nine: The Innocent One

Chapter Ten: Bear

Chapter Eleven: Dark Son Rising

Chapter Twelve: Into the Kettle

Epilogue

About The Author

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE: THE MIND SPIDER DOES HER WORK

April 3, 1812

It was a warm spring day. The three of them sat in a triangle in the grass a few dozen yards from the rushing stream. Sitting in tense silence; awaiting the return of Callisto’s consciousness. Today was their first attempt to rescue their friend from Hell. He’d been abducted by his father, the legend, Spring Heeled Jack, who turned out to be a real demon from the lower planes of Hell. Callisto, a gypsy with unusual mind powers, meditated while Blaze, a sometimes ill-tempered werewolf, and Asudem. When Callisto's body vanished they knew she was physically gone as well. Her body always followed her consciousness. Taking advantage of the moment Asudem tried to copy what she had seen the gypsy do. She took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it out. The dark, curly-haired vampire began to imitate her. She needed something to help calm her while they searched for a way to save Corriander—her future husband.

It'd been half a year since Corriander had been taken from her, and the loneliness was eating away at her sanity. If significant progress to retrieve him wasn’t made soon, she was sure she’d attempt suicide out of frustration. Now she understood how Corriander felt for so many years, being an immortal and having no one to share his feelings with. The only person he had for the longest time was the spirit of his deceased mother, and he wasn't sure if she were real or a figment of his imagination.

This kind of pain simply couldn't be described to anyone, except another immortal. She valued her friends, but they could never truly understand. Not the way Corriander did.

As she sat there, so many memories flooded her mind. She remembered when they first met and when she finally accepted the fact that she loved him. And all the moonlit nights they walked through unfamiliar woods hand in hand, talking like young lovers and making promises to each other for the rest of their lives. So many private times they kept to themselves, shared with no one.

As she reminisced about the past, Blaze tapped her with his booted foot and motioned with his chin to look at Callisto. They had watched as she faded away to a ghost and then to nothing. Asudem took a chance on ruining the gypsy's concentration and waved her hand through the space where her foot should have been. Her hand felt no resistance so she looked at the werewolf in askance.

Her talents allow her to become insubstantial, like a ghost. Then also become invisible. She can travel exceedingly fast that way. I can't explain how she does it; I just go by what she tells me, mostly. She says they’re all mental abilities she’s perfected over many years.

Asudem cocked her head to the side. What do you mean 'mostly'?

I'm a werewolf, I can smell her scent. Right now, she's gone. Literally vanished.

Can you tell to where? She was fascinated with the ability and would love to learn it, and perhaps someday she would. She'd already promised Callisto that if she helped save Corriander from imprisonment from his father in Hell, she could crawl through all the memories in Asudem's mind. Callisto loved information, and Asudem was filled with it from the beginning of time and beyond, when time didn't exist.

No, I can't tell which way she went. Once she's insubstantial, she's undetectable. We used to play hide and seek when we first met, that's how she got me to hone my people tracking skills.

Any idea how long she'll be gone? Asudem inquired as she looked to the stream, seeing the tiny ripples in the water become the waves of the ocean from her memory when she and Corriander had traveled by ship back to America.

No, she varies on her absences. She could be halfway around the world by now, take over some army general's body and bring an army back with her to march on Hell with, he said matter-of-fact. She knew Callisto was talented but…

She could do that? Asudem asked with some disbelief.

I wouldn't put it past her. Her parents had taught her many powerful talents before they were lynched as witches.

But Callisto said they weren't witches, they were gypsies, Asudem argued.

That’s true. But try telling that to a town of normal people that are afraid of their own shadow. Salem was a different time and place back then, he informed her.

I see. Well, in that case, shall we go get some lunch? Feeling the need to fill her belly with food instead of blood at the moment.

Blaze cut his eyes at her, probably wary of how she meant lunch. She might be Medusa but she was a vampire as well.

Asudem tilted her head towards the blazing sun and told him, I hunt for blood at night, when my strength is enhanced by the moon's light. During the day I eat just like you. Besides, I hunted for blood last night. I'm good for a while. Feel better?

I don't think I'll ever get used to your diet. Let's go find something to eat, then he looks at her, in the kitchen, I mean.

Hey, you're the werewolf. How would I know if you meant to change into a wolf and go kill something yourself? she said with a grin, getting even.

Okay, you got me. From now on why don't we both just assume we mean normal human food?

Agreed, she answered, feeling more relaxed around him.

With both of them relieved they got up off the ground and headed inside the log cabin they called home.

***

Callisto's spirit soared through the air and over land and ocean alike with a definite destination in mind, Europe, Vatican City to be precise.

She'd been searching for months through the minds of many clerics, pastors, historians, teachers, and anyone else she felt could help her find a way into Hell and back out with Asudem's husband, or lover, or whatever they are. There were too many memories going through Asudem's mind to figure out the relationship between the two. As good as she is at finding information in anyone's mind, she hasn't been able to discover that about the immortal couple. Asudem has so many memories that it would take a good ten years to root through it all. A prospect she was looking forward to.

She came into sight of the Vatican City. She may not be very religious but she had to admit that it was a wonderful example of intricate architecture. She drifted down to the rounded roof and sank through into one of the museums that most citizens outside of the area knew about. Mostly ignoring her surroundings, she concentrated on the minds of the Holy Men, looking for one in particular.

****

Cardinal Murrowitz was busy looking over a document sent to the Pope from the President of the United States, requesting permission to tour the famous religious landmark. Murrowitz doubted it very much that the U.S. Government was only interested in visiting on friendly terms. The Church and the Government simply didn't mix.

The Church wanted the President to stop telling the people of a free land what they could and couldn't do, including what religion they may wish to subscribe to, while the Government wanted the Church to stop pushing the concepts of Heaven and Hell, God and Christ on the American People. Really, what did the Government know about right from wrong? With all the over taxation since the Civil War, bribes, and scandal among a few things to list, did they have the right to tell anyone what they can't do? Secretly, though, he had some doubts of his own about the Church and the way things were handled.

As he sat at his desk, Murrowitz had an epiphany. As he stared out the window, watching a robin construct a nest, he wondered: how different were the two factions, the Government and the Church. We both tell others what they should believe and what to pay for things, the government wanting more money, and the Church, wanting more dedicated souls and prayer. Who's right anymore? When did that fine line become blurred?

Noontime approached and with a sigh he pushed his rotund bulk up from his plush chair and walked to the far side of his office and kneeled in front of the fireplace on a pillow that always sat there for prayer. He bowed his head, folded his hands and began his prayers.

As he prayed he heard the hymns of his faith ever so softly in his mind. Maybe it's God reminding me to stay on my path for that wayward thought earlier, he suspected. He continued to pray in earnest in hopes of redemption for his blasphemy.

He could have sworn that the harder he prayed, the more he felt another presence in his mind. He took it on faith to be God, for who else would have the hymns play. That's when he felt he wasn't alone anymore, and try as he might, he couldn't contain his curiosity anymore, so he opened his eyes and saw a ghost standing beside him.

His astonished mind found the first name he could name, Mary Magdalene! Once again he began beseeching God, believing the ghost as some form of punishment.

The ghost watched Murrowitz for a bit, trying to have the patience to let him finish his prayers. She only listened to his words for the first few seconds. Oh Father, forgive my sins......

Murrowitz, said Callisto.

I ask forgiveness in such wayward thoughts and beseech you for atonement, he continued with his eyes closed and hands pressed together.

Callisto shook her head and sighed. Oh well, let him blubber on. She entered his mind and found an obscure reference to the Last Supper.

Once again she called his name, Murrowitz. Cardinal Murrowitz, and still received no response.

Finally she lost patience; she'd been searching a long time. It was time to end it. MURROWITZ!

That got his attention. He opened his eyes and shut his mouth. Trying to decide why a ghost is yelling at him. With a final quick close of his eyes and a murmured prayer he asked, Mary Magdalene, what is your message for me? He held his folded hands toward her as though she would take his hands in hers, but she just stared, gave an exasperated sigh and looked away, shaking her head again.

I'm not Mary Magdalene, she informed him as she became solid, her physical body having caught up, and slapped his hands away. Please get up, I have some questions for you and I'd prefer to hear them in your own words, but I can root through your mind if you wish.

He pulled himself to his feet. If you're not Mary Magdalene then tell me who you are? Or what are you? Are you from Heaven or Hell? She can read his thoughts, he’s ready to run for the door for help halfway thinking she was a demon sent to kill him and possibly everyone in the Vatican. She continues the music he hears in his head to calm him.

Earth. I'm from neither Heaven nor Hell. I'm still alive. And no, I'm not a demon sent to kill you or anyone else. Ironically, I'm trying to save a demon and you possess the information that I need.

How on Earth do you do that, and more importantly, are you aware that you shouldn’t be here? He was going on as if he never heard a word she’d said.

Don't worry about how I do what I do, it's a family secret. You just have to know that I'm here to do the Church's work.

The Cardinal became somewhat indignant at that point. What makes you think the Church needs your help in anything?

Because I can, and will be, going where the Church can't or wouldn't want to go, she said with a calmness that made his senses a little jumpy.

You presume to speak for the Church? Unless you’re God, then you have no right.

I have the right because what I'm doing is for a good cause and you either talk to me and tell me what I need to know, or I can take the information forcefully from your mind. It's your choice.

You threaten me? I will be calling for security to have you placed in confinement until His Eminence can determine your fate, the Cardinal said with a good amount of authority and quickly walked to the door while Callisto closed her mismatched eyes and shook her head.

They never learn, she whispers to herself.

The Hymns of God rose up unbidden in Murrowitz's mind. He believed God was working through him. His thoughts are on calling for security, but instead, he becomes immobile two feet from the door with his hand outstretched for the handle. His red robe swished across his sandaled feet that can no longer move across the tiled floor.

The woman in the tight black, long-sleeved shirt with a neckline that he feels plunges too far for decency, approaches him and stands before him. She slides her bejeweled hands into the pockets of her loose-fitting gray pants and falls back leaning against the door, staring him in his frozen, brown-eyed gaze.

He thought God was acting his will through him, but now he considers alternative possibilities. He can't move, all he can do is look the strange woman in the eyes. He can, however, move his eyes. His attention is drawn to something shining brightly on the woman's breast—a polished silver yin yang on a thin silver chain hanging around her neck. That ancient Chinese symbol that represents peace.

Finally, out of frustration of not being able to move, he took in her appearance. By the look of her, she was a middle aged, often fabled about, gypsy. From her too-confident attitude, to her calm old-world style demeanor. Realizing she hadn't hurt him in any way, other than immobilizing him and appearing to be waiting for something, gave him pause. Perhaps this was God's way. She didn't appear dangerous, except for whatever powers she possessed. That, too, didn't make her a criminal, just mysterious. And secretly, he loved mysteries, even though the Pope disagreed with his interests. This could be why he was the least favored Cardinal in the Vatican. He made a quick prayer for guidance. Then he remembered she wanted to know something she’d gleaned from his mind.

Great! A gypsy that could read minds and control the molecular structure of her body. What other impossible powers did she have?

No answer seemed to be forthcoming, so with a sigh of resignation he asked, What information, exactly, are you seeking?

With a ghost of a smile she asks, During the time of Jesus Christ upon the world, did he ever bless anything other than people?

No, he answered, but he didn't sound as convinced as he wanted to with that answer. It was an odd question, but perhaps a worthy one. No story ever claimed Him to have blessed any inanimate object.

Are you sure? I saw the question in your mind. I would like to discuss that thought with you. I want to hear it in your own words. She kept saying that. She wanted to hear things in his own words. Did she really spend so much time in other people's minds that she missed the sound of a voice?

His interest was genuinely piqued. Could you let me move? This is highly interesting to me. You at least want to talk of it, the other Cardinals scolded me for my wayward thinking and the Pope had me feeling like an uneducated child with too many questions. The hymns that had been playing unbidden in his mind became almost inaudible, but he was able to move again.

Suddenly he stumbled toward the door, not ready to take the step he was about to. Instead of finishing the act of reaching for the doorknob, he turned around and headed for a bookcase. She followed closely behind him.

Callisto watched as he stood before the bookcase and scanned the volumes, found the one he was searching for on the second shelf and without hesitation grabbed a thick tome and pulled it from the shelf and quickly walked back to his desk and lay it gently down. He was excited, like a child in a baker's shop. He looked from the book to her and back again as he sought the right page, as if expecting her to vanish before they had time to talk about the subject, afraid this was all a dream.

This seemed to be what he lived for, she thought, for discovering and learning and discussing new finds. He was fully alive now.

My mother got this book for me when I turned sixteen years old. She always knew I'd end up in the church. The look in his eyes was unbelievable. If she hadn't known better she would have thought he was a child all over again with a new toy. She couldn't help but smile at his excitement. It brought back memories of Blaze in his youth, before he became the cynical hunter.

Ah, here it is. He opened the book to a picture of the Last Supper. He beamed with pride, but she couldn't understand the significance of the artwork.

What am I looking at?

He didn't look at her, but kept his neatly-trimmed, bearded face glued to the page. She looked back at the book, then the picture. To her it looked like any other picture of the Last Supper.

Again, what am I looking at? she inquired.

His mind was really one-track, no distractions at all, not even any additional knowledge of the picture. Most people's minds will echo all sorts of information about something they're talking about, such as names, places, clothing and colors, but not Murrowitz. His mind shows the picture in silence.

Look at Jesus's outstretched hands, then look at the table in front of his place setting. She could sense he was so thrilled to be talking openly about this with someone who wanted to listen.

I'm sorry, but I'm not exactly the most church-going person you would like me to be, so why don't you just tell me what I'm looking for. It seems he’d forgotten that small detail.

With a sideways glance at her and a humph sound, he pointed at Jesus's hand. Jesus was a simple carpenter, what's he doing with a silver chalice? Even if it is plain and unadorned, he’s still a simple carpenter.

How can you tell the cup is silver and not just clay? It's just an artist's rendition of something that happened long before his time, finding herself drawn into the conversation. She became more skeptical.

An artist would have painted the chalice tan or even brown to indicate clay, this is silver or very light gray. Plus, a clay cup would have been rough even after it'd been smoothed over, this looks like a worked metal, beaten into this shape. Whether raw or worked, metal is smooth, even when it looks bumpy, he said. He had a point.

She was familiar with the story, so what was he doing with a silver chalice? She looked closer and sure enough it was true, in his outstretched hand he held the cup in question, and on the table in front of him was a clay goblet like all the others, right where Cardinal Murrowitz was pointing.

Okay, you're really excited about showing me this, why? She was really having a hard time reading his mind. All he saw was the outstretched hand and the goblet on the table. Once again, one track mind.

Don't you see? The man was livid. She could tell that he was just living for this moment. Your question of whether he'd blessed anything but people is answered right here! He saw that she still didn't understand so he launched into more detail, finally. He spun away and skipped to the bookcase again and picked up an hourglass. It was a heavy construct of pewter and glass with silver sand inside the top and bottom halves, no sand was running at that time. A detail he should have seen, or would have if he'd been thinking rationally. He hadn't realized that time, in the sense that he knew it, had stopped for him and anything associated with him. This room was frozen in time for the moment.

He turned back to her and exclaimed with his arms outstretched, mimicking Jesus's pose. He stood before an assembled group of people and stated 'Unto you all and everyone, and all that is of importance to you, I bless you. Take forth my blessing and spread my word of faith and love forevermore.

It slowly dawned on the gypsy, So you're saying that the chalice in his raised hand received that blessing as well?

Precisely, he said excitedly, but why a silver chalice? Why not a clay goblet? Unless he knew that you or someone like you would have need of it one day. He set the hourglass with the suspended sand on his desk and looked at her, biting his lip. Possibly nervous about being told it was nothing and to quit wondering about it, like all the others had told him.

He thought about her presence and why she must be there. He didn't understand much of it but he had a strong feeling that something major was happening. This is the biggest thing this world has ever seen in thousands of years isn’t it? This is bigger than just the church. This is a true war of good against evil, isn’t it, he asked somberly, with his eyes downcast, nervously looking back and forth.

A silver chalice, hmm, now that could hold some potential, she said. Ideas began to percolate in the Gypsy's mind. Do you have any idea where this biblical item is now? I know that the church is aware of much more than it lets on. It was obvious that she had ignored his question and concern.

Admonished, like a child caught snitching cookies, Cardinal Murrowitz looks a bit sheepish and replies, Everything happens for a reason. I've spent the better part of twenty-five years researching this artifact. I knew it would be worth it someday! he rambled on to himself.

CARDINAL! she shouted to get his attention. He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at her, fearful.

Sshhh, he quickly hissed at her. Do you want the others in here now? If they come and catch me consorting with the likes of you, whom by the way, shouldn't even be here, not only will I be accused of blasphemy and being a heretic, but you will be arrested and probably never see the light of day again. He seemed past the point of not wanting to talk to her at all and now wanted to conspire with her. Good.

Callisto smiled at him and touched his cheek lightly, You need not worry about that, she consoled him. She gently took his other hand and led it to a quill pen, dipped it in the inkwell and scribbled a few words on a piece of paper in his own hand, then let the quill fall to the desk.

He stared into her eyes, lost. In patient tones, through the playing hymns, she asked again, where is the blessed silver chalice?

He looked at her like a scared puppy, as far as I’ve been able to determine, it found its' resting spot in a very unremarkable place. A small unassuming church in a small community, a town called Rutherford, in the north eastern part of America. I tried to go there but could never find reason enough for the trip. The church has no business there nor do I have family. The Pope simply wouldn't allow it, he told her with disappointment evident in his voice.

As he spoke, Callisto, or as some in the past have called her, the Mind Spider, traveled through his memories of timelines, following the path of the coveted chalice. After the Last Supper, the silver cup was given to one of Jesus's Apostles, and from there, journeyed from hand to hand, slowly making its way to the faraway land across the ocean.

The chalice had been