The Singularity Cycle 02 Song of the Death God Read online

  Most simply go mad.

  But Carsten Ernst didn’t go mad. He looked into the abyss and the abyss looked into him, and both parties found that the other had many things to offer.

  Carsten certainly was traumatized, but he bore it as a mile marker on his path. Lesser men see the mountain of eternity, accept the impossibility of the task, and choose to live as normal men. But Carsten saw the peak of the mountain, and those beyond it as well, and coveted their heights for his own. Nothing would dissuade him. He would have this thing. He would plumb the depths of the abyss, and he would know the infinite.

  The Top Hat Man pulled Carsten to his feet and prodded him up the stairs. Karl took the money out of his pocket, yet another one of his precautions against these people, and handed over the twenty-Mark coins.

  As they got to the front door, Carsten turned to Piroska.

  “There is one more thing that I need from you, and then I can answer your questions about Anjellika.”

  “Ask, and be gone.”

  “You have seen the color of my coin. I want “Pe Corpul Nemuritor…”

  Piroska said nothing.

  Carsten continued, “Angellika told me that I needed to see A tánc a halott lejárónyílás, and after seeing that I would understand, and once I understood, I would have to decide. I have made my decision. I want Pe Corpul Nemuritor, I want The Immortal Body.”

  Piroska said, “The cost will be great. And I want my answers.”

  Carsten answered her, “I will pay you and provide those answers after I have that book.”

  Piroska said, “This is a fair trade. Bring one thousand Marks tomorrow, and we will parley.”

  ***

  That night, Carsten dreamed of the world he lived in. He saw Ava, and his classmates, his siblings and his father. He saw all the people in Munich looking up with fear and wonder as a total eclipse blocked the sun. The shadows grew longer until the city plunged into a world of shadow, a place of not-day but not-night. The people looked into graying faces and realized it wasn’t changing back to day; it would be this way forever.

  The next morning, Carsten looked in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. Even though he had only just begun to shave, he had aged. His eyes were lined with black. Soon, Karl came to accompany him downstairs for the morning meal. It was obvious from Karl’s expression that he also saw the change in Carsten. The other guests in the dining room looked at him queerly, too. Here was a young man with hard eyes that saw the world and found it wanting. When he looked back at them, they saw a truth they couldn’t stomach. They saw that they were nothing more than animals who got up on their hind legs and lit fires. This world, and those that come after, would pass. They couldn’t meet his gaze. He wasn’t evil, he wasn’t good, he was wise.

  ***

  When they arrived, Karl scanned the buildings and determined that no ambush waited for them. He brought both revolvers and wore a bulky jacket to hide them. A wide brimmed hat covered his eyes from Piroska’s gaze. Carsten carried the Derringer. Karl had the cash.

  The Top Hat Man admitted them to the home of Piroska. As they walked to the sitting room, Karl took off the overcoat, hiding the big revolver in his hand. He kept the hat on.

  Piroska sat in one of the two chairs. She wasn’t in her usual Romani garb, but in a severe grey high collar and long-sleeved dress worn by the East German upper middle class. She and the albino Top Hat Man would pass for a respectable elderly couple out for a stroll through the art galleries of Prague. On the table was the paperwork for a receipt, typical for a high value antiquity. Carsten was impressed with the transformation from vile hag to respectable bourgeoisie.

  Piroska didn’t immediately acknowledge them; she sat seemingly lost in her thoughts. After a moment, she turned to them and said quietly, “As you can see, we have all the appropriate documentation for this book, and the certificate of its authenticity provided by the Professor of Scholastic Antiquities at the University of Zurich, dated 1790. One thing you’ll find about books like this is that there will be a certificate that accompanies them—it may be very old, but you will be able to find the reference to it in the registry of the university or library. You would do well to follow up with them in person, or via a trusted correspondence to ascertain the provenance.”

  Karl spoke before Carsten could. “Thank you for your timeliness and hospitality, Piroska. Please tell us where this book came from.”

  “In time, bodyguard. First I have a question or two for young master Ernst.”

  It was unnerving that Piroska knew his family name, but Carsten didn’t show his surprise. He said, “May we see the book?”

  Piroska said, “Yes.”

  At this, the Top Hat Man stood and walked from the room. They sat in silence until the albino returned with an old locked case. It was about two feet by two feet. He set it on the floor, unlocked it, and swung the lid open.

  The book was very old. It was large with brass bindings, bound in red leather with no title on the front. He gently handed it to Carsten. When he opened it, he found it written by hand in an elegant, flowing script in Latin.

  Karl frowned. “Latin?”

  Piroska nodded. “Yes, luckily for our young man. It could have been Hungarian.”

  Carsten said without looking up, “This was translated by hand in Ravenna, in 1523, from the original, which was written in 1300, transcribed from dictation by a… Piroska.”

  Karl looked confused, and he didn’t appreciate confusion in situations like this.

  Before he could speak, Carsten said, “It’s written on the first page, sort of an introduction by the person doing the translation, who identifies himself as Albertus Rizzoli. He must have been paid a handsome sum to transcribe this by hand. Did you name yourself after this Piroska? Or is that some kind of honorific?”

  Piroska nodded and laughed. “Yes, my ancestor, there has always been a Piroska. It’s in the blood! The book only teaches us what we already know.”

  “Angellika said that as well.”

  “As you know, this is what I would like you to speak about.”

  Karl said, “After we make the trade? Understood?”

  Piroska smiled coldly. “Yes, yes, fine. But understand this: this book is real, not some cheap fake. There are only five genuine copies, this being one of them. If you really are able to read this, soon you will want more, but how does one get more?”

  She continued, “If you tell me what I want to know, then I will give you a letter of recommendation to give to the man I acquired this from. It will let him know that I vouch for you. Without this, you will search in vain for a hundred years before finding the next bread crumb.”

  Carsten said without even looking up, “Karl, give her the money.”

  Karl looked at him gravely. “I don’t like this. Are you sure?”

  “I don’t believe Angellika would have led me down this path for no reason. Give her the money.”

  Karl took a deep breath and exhaled. Then he reached inside his jacket with his free hand and removed the leather bag, placing it on the table. The Top Hat Man reached across the table and poured the coins out into his hand. He counted them, and nodded to Piroska.

  At that moment, there was a loud click as Karl cocked the pistol under his jacket and turned his body, but not his eyes, to Piroska.

  The albino was on his feet, but didn’t jump. Piroska inhaled sharply.

  Karl said, “Do we have an understanding or not?”

  Piroska sneered, “The book is yours. Do you wish to tell me what I want and receive the information that you will need?”

  Carsten was angry for a moment, then very grateful. Karl turned out to be far tougher than he had expected, but savvy to the grey areas that Carsten didn’t understand.

  Carsten smiled and raised a hand. “Thank you, Karl. I believe that I’ll be needing that letter.”

  He sat back in the chair in a relaxed pose and motioned for Karl and the albino to stand down. It struck him as odd that th
e albino hadn’t shown any fear of the bullets that would have pierced him.

  After the albino sat down and Karl uncocked the pistol, Carsten said, “Ask me what you wish to know.”

  “Where is Angellika?”

  “I don’t know now. She was departing Munich with the man called Ferenc, packing her bags, leaving her rented flat.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “To America, that she was going to tell fortunes on the big riverboats on the Mississippi river.”

  Piroska began having another one of those conversations with the Top Hat Man where she spoke to him, but no one heard what he said in return.

  “Yes, a trip across that water would kill Ferenc, of course she knew that.”

  She turned back to Carsten. “She told you this? Are you sure?

  “Yes, she said that specifically.”

  Piroska said to the albino, “She sent him here to give this message. I agree. She would be unable to draw another down, not without a book, not without me.”

  Carsten said, “She intends to make a living telling fortunes. She said that telling fortunes is fake, that it is not real.”

  Piroska nodded. “Yes, for the most part, absolutely. Fortune telling is fake. But Angellika, more than anyone, could truly speak to the dead, even without ritual.”

  “I believe that she wanted to get away from what she did, she just wanted to live a simple life. She didn’t want to do any more séances.”

  “She knows I can’t follow her there. Those such as Ferenc and his brother cannot cross the running water. And especially cannot cross oceans.”

  Piroska squinted at Carsten. “Tell me the dream.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Karl looked at Carsten from the corner of his eye. Piroska raised one cruel eyebrow and held up the envelope containing the letter of recommendation.

  “Enough of this charade; you know where I live. I understand well enough the penalty for an old gypsy woman, even one such as myself, for crossing a nobleman.”

  She motioned to Karl. “Men such as this will appear in the city, and when they do, the blood of my people will flow into the gutter.”

  Carsten shook his head, confused. “Both you and Angellika knew about the dream, how did you know that?”

  “My bloodline has done this for many generations. I’ve also come to know the human animal better than any saint or prophet ever could. There was a dream, there is always a dream. I just want to know if it meant anything.”

  Carsten looked down as he spoke. “I followed my siblings to a séance performed by Angellika. They were in the back room of a rented flat. I crept up the alley behind and looked through the keyhole. There, I saw Angellika.”

  The crone leered at Carsten knowingly and said, “So that’s what has compelled you? Perhaps I had overestimated you.”

  Carsten continued as if the hag had not even spoken, “She went into a trance… a clear liquid, a slime began to seep from her skin, her nose, her mouth, her eyes… and then it rose up into the air and hung there.”

  Piroska nodded her head and hissed, “Yes, something no one of our line has been able to do, until her.”

  “All of the people watching were amazed, but they were all idiots, so they didn’t truly understand what they were seeing was not possible.”

  Piroska laughed. “Not without help from another place!”

  “But she… sensed me, and she told the audience that they were being spied on. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, but I felt her following me, I felt her mind following me…”

  Piroska completed the thought for him. “And that night, you had the dream, and it was something more than soiling your sheets thinking of Angellika.”

  “Yes. I dreamed of a vast plain with a stone ground, extending out to the horizon. The sky was a solid curtain of jet black clouds. I was standing on this plain alone, as if I was the only person in that world…”

  Piroska quickly asked, surprised, “You were alone in this place?”

  “Yes, Angellika asked that same question. Why did you both find this interesting?”

  Piroska’s expression became one of grave suspicion. She narrowed her eyes.

  “What else did you see?”

  The Top Hat Man, who sat as still as a statue, leaned forward, exuding an air of menace.

  Karl cocked the hammer of the pistol. “Whatever has gotten into your albino freak, I don’t like it at all. Either you send him out of the room this instant or we walk out of here with that book and that letter. Now tell it to leave the room!”

  Piroska said nothing.

  Carsten was confused. Things had cooled off, but now his hosts were acting very oddly, so much so that they tripped off the alarm in Karl’s head. “Everyone! This is nothing. We all need to stand down. This is just a misunderstanding…”

  No one said anything, and no one moved a muscle.

  Carsten said, “Piroska, please, this is unnecessary. Let’s just continue our conversation as we were. Why is the dream important?”

  Piroska didn’t answer his question. “Tell me what else you saw in the dream; do not lie because I’ll know.”

  Karl said, “Don’t answer that, Carsten.”

  Carsten still believed that people could be reasoned with.

  “The clouds began to boil, then shapes emerged from them, shapes like the tentacles of the octopus.”

  Piroska’s eyes widened in wonder. “Go on! What else?”

  Karl said, “Carsten!”

  But Carsten continued. “In the second dream, the tentacles grabbed me and pulled me into a chamber with a giant angel sitting on a throne, and the angel said—”

  The Top Hat Man leapt across the room at Carsten like a jaguar. The bullets from Karl’s gun flew out in a torrent. The first bullet splashed through the Top Hat Man’s skull and erupted from the other side in a chunky spray of something that looked like thick, grey mud. The other bullets pierced his body in much the same manner.

  His last bullet was for Piroska. With a banshee shriek, she launched herself before the round splattered her brains up and down the fine paneled walls. Her body fell between Karl and Carsten on the couch and bounced off as if it weighed almost nothing.

  The body of the Top Hat Man was another matter entirely. It landed on top of Carsten. Even though he appeared to be an older gentleman, the Top Hat Man probably weighed at least a couple hundred pounds.

  Carsten was dazed. Karl was not.

  The second revolver spat fire and lead through the Top Hat Man’s head. After the revolver spoke for a sixth time, he had no head left to speak of.

  But the body of the Top Hat Man continued to flail mindlessly. Karl dodged the waving arms and leapt at the headless body straddling Carsten and managed to push it to the floor, but one of the arms struck him and sent him flying across the room. Carsten crawled towards the couch as fast as his breathless body would take him. He struggled to get to Karl to rouse him, to get away from the Top Hat Man, its titanically powerful arms pounding on the floorboards, shaking the whole house.

  And something else about the Top Hat Man was changing as well.

  His skin, his clothes, had all gone the uniformly grey color of wet clay. He was a man made out of clay. But a man made of clay doesn’t need a head to live, and despite being blind, it got to its feet and searched the floor with its crushing hands for something, anything, to kill.

  Carsten reached Karl, and together they struggled to their feet, grabbed the book and envelope, and tried to figure a way out of the room as the headless body of the Top Hat Man and turned a circle, clawing at the air around it.

  It stopped moving and stood very still, then faced Carsten and Karl and ran straight at them, its feet making a cacophony as it did so. They leapt aside, and it crashed straight through the wall into the next room and began reorienting itself to make a run back at them.

  Carsten’s eyes lit upon the corpse of Piroska. There was a hole trepanning her skull, but hate still burned in her eye
s. He dragged his gaze away from her, pointed the Derringer at her evil old head, and pulled the trigger.

  Even in death, her face kept its vile snarl, but the light animating her eyes was no more. They heard the clay man fall to the ground for the last time.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As soon as the clay thing that was the Top Hat Man fell, Carsten sprinted for the door, book in hand. Karl caught him by the back of the jacket—he was still stunned, but on guard enough to know what could happen when they hit the street.

  Carsten struggled for several seconds, but caught himself and took stock of the situation.

  Neither of them said anything at first. Karl began the slow process of reloading the revolvers. “There were many shots fired, but I think the witch had some spell that kept this place silent to the outside, but I don’t know if it would have been enough.”

  Carsten went to the window and slowly peeked past the heavy drapes. The street was crowded, but it appeared no one had noticed, or this area was such a warren of crime that nobody cared.

  Carsten let out a hard breath. “I killed her.”

  Karl nodded, his finger still working the cylinders of the revolver. “Yes, you did.”

  Carsten began pacing. “What the fuck just happened?”

  Karl said, “I told you to stop speaking and then… that, that… man—”

  Carsten interrupted, “I know that, but what in the hell was it?”

  Karl still didn’t look up. He set one gun down in front of him and began working on the next one. “It is the stuff of campfire tales. Things the poor and superstitious whisper about.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything… anything like that.”

  “That’s what I warned you about in the first place.”

  Carsten didn’t say anything. He was too shocked by the few last moments, and he knew Karl was right. He had seen things that he could not unsee.

  Karl finished with the second gun and motioned for Carsten to hand him the Derringer. He reloaded it and gave it back. Then he stood up and walked over to the wall, to the gaping hole the clay man had made. He drew his guns as he peered through.