4552 words (18 minute read)

Chapter 5 - Lemegeton


The reflection of the fractured moon bathed in the sea. Its originator hung firmly on the night sky. 

The coast was silent this evening. As if expecting their arrival. Strawberries was fixated on the moon. It seemed brighter than ever. Menacing even. Watching, threatening to tattle to anyone who cared to listen. She felt their eyes on them, the creatures out there in the darkness, surely searching for them. And here she was, stuck in this little train, making far too much noise. 

Ritter groaned. Strawberries was certain she had given her a concussion. They had handcuffed their captors to the radiator, but—thanks to Strawberries—gone a little easier on the poor woman. She studied her face. Ritter was beautiful, even with that purple bruise on her forehead. Her defined cheeks ended in a jawline sharp and strong. Strawberries wished she looked more like that. 

The blow must have scrambled her a bit. Her left pupil was wider than her right, and she kept muttering about FarHaven.

One time Oliver had gotten knocked out in a bar fight and he had struggled for weeks afterwards. Complaining about dizziness and headaches. How terrible she felt to have inflicted that on anyone. She ran her fingers through Ritter’s hair, then thought of Oliver, then of Jonny. Then she looked out of the window and thought of the ocean. 

“Well, this was a right lovely idea..” Gavin paced up and down the aisle. “Just lovely..” 

“They’re gonn’ kill us if we go home.” Shelby replied. “We figure out what’s going on and then we send them back, without us. We got a better chance escaping to somewhere else.” 

“He’ll hunt you down,” Barrett said and yanked on his handcuffs. “Gut you traitors. You better think real hard on your next move. You’re walking on a tightrope.” 

“Better walking it than swinging from it,” Shelby replied. 

“We’re coming up on the lighthouse.” Cassiel announced from behind the driver’s seat. “I’ve slowed down so you may take the helm and bring us in.” 

“Looks like angel boy is a fast learner,” Shelby said.

“Angel boy?” Barrett replied.  

The train pulled up at the foot of the hill. Shelby, Strawberries, and Gavin had been at the lighthouse a few times before, but for the others it must have been a surreal image. A daunting pillar. The blinding searchlight on top, illuminating the area as it rotated. Guarding it from outsiders like themselves. Behind it, the treacherous sea stretched into the black horizon. A fresh salty scent of water hit them. She had seen the ocean before, but it never ceased to amaze her. 

The first time, she had stood there speechless. Shelby had patted her on the back, reminding her how it was turned vicious after the Great F-All and not to venture any closer. ‘Wicked beasts live in it now,’ he had said.

She stepped out onto the platform. Ritter leaned against the door, trying not to throw up. 

“If you give me any trouble,” Shelby told her. “I’ll bury you out here.” 

She rubbed her forehead and signaled for him to lower his voice. 

“Hey.” He turned to Gavin. “Stay here with the meathead. Take care of him if he gives you any trouble.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gavin replied. 

“Just shoot him in the head if he moves, Gav. it’s not exactly brain surgery, is it?” 

“Well, if we’re bein’ ‘onest, it technically is, innit?”

Shelby stared at him until he gave in and sat next to Barrett. 

The rest of them grabbed their bags and begun hiking up the pathway that lead to the lighthouse. Cassiel trudged in front. His oversized boots clunking against the gravel, the thick coat hiding his angelic body. The hood covering his golden hair. She was so curious about him. These almighty, but absentee rulers of the land. The destroyers of the old-world. All Strawberries could see was an awkward young man, with the curiosity of a child. He looked like Oliver, but had none of the confidence.

Oliver had often scoffed at talking about Heaven and Hell. Lying in Strawberries’ bed back at home. Her head in his arms. They would chat about everything; The world out there, a better future, the farm and his father. But whenever she mentioned angels, or God, he would sneer and claim everyone was bound for Hell. God had left them, so why even believe in him? 

He had a point. 

“Keep in sight, angel boy.” Shelby raised his revolver. “Stay behind me, and we’ll go find the Old Man.” 

“What about the Baron’s train?” Ritter murmured. 

“I’ll give you the train.” Shelby replied. “Just wanna know what we’re dealing with first.”

Strawberries had never seen the houses up close. She would either wait down at the station or follow the others to the greenhouses to help pack the vegetables. Only Shelby and Jonny were allowed up here to greet the Old Man in person. This was by the Baron’s explicit instructions, to avoid causing any ‘diplomatic incidents.’—Those were Shelby’s words, not hers.
She noticed Ritter clutching the empty bag with her hands as if it would magically protect her from falling over. 

“Are you all right, my child?” Cassiel asked. 

“Who are you calling child?” Ritter replied. “What are you? Like, twelve?” 

“Apologies, my lady.” He bowed his head. 

“Don’t be a weirdo…” Ritter replied, and staggered onwards.

“I’m also 10 billion years old.” He said, audible only to Strawberries.

Next to the lighthouse, they spotted a cottage. Its door was bright green. The bricks saturated red. It stood defiantly majestic in the moonlight. A unique sight in this grey world of dirt and rust. 

Shelby knocked three times.

Ritter groaned and leaned against Cassiel.

The door slowly creaked opened. 

“Who disturbs at this hour?” A rough voice asked from behind it.

“Just some weary travelers.” Shelby replied.

“State your business.” The voice said.

Strawberries could have sworn she saw flames flickering in there.

“It’s quite alright.” The Old Man came to the door. “Aḥmar, you may leave us. I’ll be fine.”

The door opened further. There stood an old man holding a candlelight. His big grey beard easy to spot in the darkness. 

“Shelby! what are you doing here?” He smiled and opened his arms, then noticed the revolver. 

“Oh, is there a problem?” He backed into the room. “Please come in. Watch your steps.” 

The inside was further separated from the world they lived in. She was used to sleeping 1 foot above the muck. Here it was as if the desert didn’t exist. Wonderful paintings, vibrant colors. Books filling every nook and cranny. 

“So, Shelby.” The Old man sat down and opened a box of chess pieces. “Would you offer our guests a seat?” 

“Sure, old-timer.” Shelby motioned with his revolver for Ritter to take a seat, then slumped down into the chair behind her. 

“All right.” He said. “I hope we didn’t travel all this way for nothing.” 

Cassiel threw his hood back. “Ben-Adamm.” 

The Old Man’s eyes widened in shock. “Cassiel!” He leaped up in excitement… Then his expression changed. “What has he done to you?” 

“It is as it must be.” Cassiel forced a half-believable smile. “A necessary sacrifice.”

Strawberries had a hard time following what was happening. Her eyes locked with Shelby’s, who reflected the same trouble. 

“All right, all right.” He raised his voice. “With all due respect, old-timer. I’ve been clawed at, almost drowned, almost hung.” He shot Ritter a dirty look. “So I would much appreciate you explaining what the hell is going on.” 

The Old Man clapped his hands and sat down. “Certainly.” 

“The Lemegeton.” Cassiel continued, ignoring Shelby. “Do you know of its whereabouts?” 

The Old Man frowned. 

“The Lemoloto.. what?” Shelby mumbled. 

“The Lemegeton.” The Old Man said. “So that is the plan, Cassiel? How I wish we had more time.” 

“As do I.” Cassiel said. “I must locate it.” 

Shelby bounced up from his chair. “Enough of this cryptic shit!” 

As calm as ever, the Old Man placed the candle on the table and pulled out a dusty, torn scroll. 

“I will tell you a story, and I will answer as many questions as I can.” 

He put his glasses on. The light flickering on his face, illuminating a thick scar across it. Like a quick brushstroke of pale paint. He slowly opened the scroll. Careful not to damage the paper. Then he began reading from it:

I write this now from the edge of the world. 

Months and years have passed since I last saw the Light of Creation. For we have built our own light, and our own creation. 

My name is older than any written language, but you may call me Echo, for that is the title given to me by the great djinns. I was born by the river Inon, in the village of Ngwatbe. A proud tribe, feared and respected by our neighbours. Our women gave birth to strong children who grew up to be fierce warriors. We honored our elders and worshipped the spirits. 

Now there is nothing left. 

Time has erased all traces of my people. 

At my burial, my belt had 23 marks on it. I did my chieftain’s bidding until I fell at the hands of the 24th. I was praised by my beautiful wives, mourned by my wonderful sons. But the Lord of Creation found no mercy for me. 

And so, after my death, I awoke on the shores of the underworld, in the realm of Sulfur. I longed for water, but the river carried nothing but salt. I hungered for food, but could find nothing but ash in the broken landscape. 

Then. 

A boat. 

I waved and called for it to see me, and so it did. Slowly it moved towards me, and my grateful cheering turned into a frightful realisation. 

In it, the Ferryman stood. 

A shiver raced through my heart as he took my hand. 

Was he to feast on my soul? To enslave me?  

To my surprise, he offered me a seat on his boat, carrying me across the river into the land of the infernal. 

Hopelessly, I wandered west. In those days, men were few, and so I had not seen a soul in weeks. When I finally reached the village of Caina, I was met by gray, disfigured versions of the living. I was aghast when they informed me that I too had become as them. My skin had turned chalk white, my eyes were that of the blind. 

I am forever grateful to the tribe of Caina, for they taught me the ways of the punished. Which specter to be bargained with, and which best left alone. And so, with great cunning and hard work, I made my home there. 

I have spent eons in this place. I have seen the Stygian Marsh; the mothers wail there by the banks for their unfound children. A sound that haunts me still to this day. I have stood at the mountains of Jahim, at the Gates of Diuy.

I am proud to declare that I carved out a piece for myself in this land of anguish. Allying with the House of Nestaron, the Rankless, I built a small cottage, with several spouses who came and went throughout the centuries. The lords left me to my own. They were not concerned with petty punishment, but for power. And by blood and sweat, I was powerful enough. 

But Hell is a prison, and I longed for freedom. 

One night as I lay sleeping, a lone traveler came to my door. He was dressed in flames and introduced himself as Dia Aastam of the exiled djinns. Long had his kind wandered the lands in their exodus. I welcomed him with suspicion, as he was not of the underworld. We sat at my table and I offered him the customary refreshments that we harvested every spring near the Forest of Suicide. Dia Aastam told me he had been sent on an urgent and highly secretive mission by King Solomon of Israel. In exchange for immortality, Dia Aastam had bargained with the old sorcerer for land. To meet these needs, King Solomon had forged an alliance with Nestaron himself. Evidently, the fallen angel was also eager to break his bonds to Hell. 

In secrecy, they constructed a vessel powered by mighty spirits, confined together, capable of breaking through Creation itself. They named this vessel The Lemegeton. To finish its construction, they needed but one last formidable spirit: The Ferryman himself. 

The Ferryman, unbeknownst to most, is not part of the hierarchy of the Pit. He serves no demon, no angel. He answers to Death, and Death only. The Ferryman can travel anywhere, but resides at the River Styxx at the behest of Death. And so Solomon and Nestaron devised a plan to trick him out of his dominion. Nestaron had volunteered me. A stubborn, but reliable soul. The plan was thus to smuggle me out. Then Nestaron would leak the news to the Ferryman and direct him to my location. 

If all went according to this plan, the Ferryman would find me in the temple in Israel, whereupon his arrival, King Solomon and his djinns would summon the power of the Lemegeton and capture him with it. Then we would use this force to travel into the void. Where I would live without chains or bonds. Nestaron would be free to rule above Naught, with the djinns as his servants. 

Faced with the chance to escape Hell, I agreed to Dia Aastam’s proposal, and was informed he would return in six days and six nights. 

Long, I laid pondering. A way out? Of the inferno? Of the hand that rules all? But mostly I contemplated the details: Nestaron wished to be creator, and Solomon wished to be immortal. Would Solomon allow Nestaron to build his new land outside of God’s grace? Would Nestaron pander to a petty human when his usefulness ran out? 

I deducted that this game bore many schemers, and many turns, and thus I took precautions. 

I trekked the River Lethe to visit the witch that lived there. I sold her all my infernal material for a simple, but effective holding spell. One that could bind an individual to an object. Often to bind someone you require blood or fluid to open the bond, a few words to close the bond, perhaps a vessel to lock them in. Circles have to be painted, vows have to be made. For that is how it works. 

I would gamble upon needing only the words. 

The witch laughed at my arrogance and taught the spell to me. 

I awaited with great anticipation Dia Aastam’s return. The remaining of the six days and nights went, and I kept to myself believing the witch would soon arrive for my property. On the seventh night, Dia Aastam came back. And so, in haste, we left, traveling through a secret passage of the Light and Shadows. For that is the way of the djinns. 

Upon returning to Earth, my tired eyes saw the night sky anew. My feet touched the sand of Alkebulan again. It took my breath away. The scent of a lost lover. The laugh from your offspring. I, Echo, had made it back to the land of the living. 

Dia Aastam brought me before King Solomon, where I was greeted with skepticism. 

He carried a long stick, which he menacingly waved around when instructing the djinns, and feebly rested upon when he thought no one was looking. The djinns bickered among themselves; What grand magician was this? To challenge the powers of Hell and Death himself? To trap these mighty spirits in bondage? 

The Lemegeton itself lay upon a table within the circle. It appeared as nothing more than a book. 

Dia Aastam and I had spoken a great deal on our journey through the passage. He only wished for a home for his remaining family. Long had they fought their aggressive neighbours. Many of his brothers and sisters had fallen, and now there was nothing left for them in the Light and Shadows. I empathised as the last of my tribe. 

He never warned me, but his face displayed concern whenever my name was brought up. I sat trapped within the circle for days. The old king on his throne, and the djinns by his side. 

Eventually the Ferryman came for me. 

He is an ancient entity and not easily fooled by the minds of Earth. And so, upon seeing me, did not take one step inside the circle. The djinns were in disarray, but King Solomon did not waiver. He stared into the black hood of the Ferryman and uttered the name; Nestaron. 

I know many things, more so now than I did then. The Ferryman is of Naught, and Nestaron that of Creation, and which of them is truly the strongest even I do not know. But the fallen angel had momentum on his side and arrived faster than an arrow and quickly pushed him in. 

I was now locked inside a circle with the Ferryman, as Solomon summoned a spell that opened the Lemegeton, and the fallen angel watched in glee. 

The Ferryman went silently. The Lemegeton pulled him in as I cowered in fear. Then, Solomon gave the djinns a signal, and they turned on the bewildered Nestaron. Just as swiftly as the Ferryman had fallen for the trap, Nestaron was bested by the old king and his company. Cursing and fighting as he was forced into the circle. 

There I stood, only a hand’s-length from the fallen angel as he too disappeared into the Lemegaton. 

Solomon proved to be a more cunning magician than I had thought. He was not in the circle. I was. The vessel could trap me, but I had no means with which to trap him with. The wretched witch had warned me; binding a man to an object requires time, or exceptional ability. I had neither. 

However, binding a simple object to another is a far easier task. And so, it is with great embarrassment I admit that I bound his staff to the ground. Therefore, when the old king moved to finish me, he toppled over. 

I was still trapped inside the circle when the djinns entered. Quickly, before they could attack, I leaped for the Lemegeton. I grabbed the vessel and whispered to myself, “Far from Creation.” 

I awoke floating in a black void. 

There was nothing but absolute darkness that span into the infinite.

I was free of Hell, free of King Solomon’s circle. Once a damned man, I was now free to swim in nothingness. A lesser man might have thought himself cheated, but I am not a lesser man. It took years, considerable planning, and patience. I discreetly and carefully traveled back and visited many places to seek out allies.  

It was a dangerous affair. Death might search for the Ferryman, or the Lord of Light might seek to destroy the Lemegeton. Perhaps the vessel would prove too weak to hold the 72 spirits and they would return to enact vengeance on me. 

I stayed clear of Israel in fear of Solomon. Clear of the Light and Shadows in fear of the four tribes of djinn. Dia Aastam had been my friend, but the others had not. 

Years later, I caught word of Solomon’s death, and so I sent a messenger to his temple. Dia Aastam greeted me and together we discussed freedom for his exiled brothers. I told him that I had begun building their new creation. During those first years, his friendship was crucial. He informed me that the vessel was made by man, and only man should wield it. The djinn’s would not touch it even if they wanted to. With King Solomon dead, and the djinns by my side, my campaign advanced more openly. 

They are great practitioners of magic and so we transported an extensive amount of soil and water to the void. There, they spun it together into a shell. 

The world works differently here. Inside it we live, held up by the eternal rotation. The water flows, and the grass grows. At first, illuminated by the flames of the djinns. It was dim, but tolerable. I ventured back to earth to meet with the Libyans for the body of Apsethus, said to have tried to shine like God and then sentenced to burn as bright as Him. the Libyans offered me his remains. They feared what would happen if someone were to open his casket. I brought him back to the void, and with the djinns placed the body of Apsethus in the middle of our now rather enormous sphere. What took the Lord of Creation only seven days, it has taken us a thousand years to reach a mere fraction of. 

Dia Aastamn calls it Cartagra; The home of the exiled. 

During my many trips I have not only brought back items, and now Cartagra is the proud sanctuary to thirty Si’lat djinns, two Jann djinns, six-thousand men and women, three lost souls from Hell—which the djinns had significant troubles smuggling out. Twenty-three nephilim—who are outcasts of their own. Four anakims, three fairies, and one clay golem. We also now have a large variety of animals and insects. I sometimes think of the story of Noah and feel a kinship. 

I am proud of this world, but also weary. In time, all men succumb to emptiness and I have felt it for so long now. The sun here shines radiant. the air is good, the lakes are clear, and the trees reach out into the light, but my own light is spent. 

It has been for so long. 

I shall leave the Lemegeton in the care of the djinns, in the knowledge that it must be kept hidden. For in the wrong hands it would spell the ruin of this place. Then, I, Echo, the first of Cartagra, and the last of the Ngwatbes, shall finally be put to rest in the grove, next to the humans who live here now, and shall live here for as long as they wish. But nothing is forever, and one day even Cartagra shall follow me into Naught. Where all ends meet.

The Old Man put the scroll down and took a deep breath. 

“Hey,” Shelby nudged Ritter. “Are you following any of this?” 

“Not a word.” 

“Guys.” Strawberries grumbled. “… So what happened to the Lemegeton? To Cartagra?” 

“The vessel surfaced fifty years ago,” the Old man replied. “It was taken into protection by the church. My djinns believe it was recovered from its ruins by a mortal man and brought to the human citadel.” 

“H-City?” Strawberries replied. “The Tunnelers?”

“So we have to return where we hence came.” Cassiel replied coldly. “I was hoping to avoid it.”

Strawberries stood up. Oliver’s face flashed in front of her eyes. 

“You should show some more respect.” She said. “You got a man killed coming here.” 

“You loved him.” 

“What you think you’re really doing here?” She asked. “You ain’t no savour of mankind. No one here’s asking for your help. Why are you even here?” 

Shelby applauded. “You tell ‘em, girl.” 

“Shut up, Shelb.”

“I am here to end the war.” Cassiel said and turned to the Old Man. “I seek your insight on how to get to these tunnelers.”

“The train will take you to the 5th. That’s halfway there.”

He walked over to a large cabinet. This one did not contain a single book, instead, a multitude of maps and drawings. All ancient and of different sizes. He carefully picked up the newest map. It was crudely drawn with charcoal. He handed it to Cassiel.

“This map shows you everything from here to the human citadel.” 

“I will cherish it with my life.” He bowed his head.  

“Okay, Gandalf, that’s enough bullshit.” Shelby interrupted. “We’re out of here.” He leaned over to Ritter and whispered. “I don’t give a fuck about any of this. Take angel boy and tell the Baron he’s the reason Hell went for the train.” 

She nodded in confusion. 

“Shelby.” The Old Man seemed to choose his next words carefully. “They are coming for him.” 

“Who?” 

“Everyone.” 

Shelby stormed out. Ritter following close behind. 

Cassiel bowed to the Old Man. “Thank you.” 

“Godspeed, Cassiel.” 

Strawberries stood there awkwardly. 

“And you, young lady.” The Old Man said softly. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“When the time comes,” He continued. “Shepherd them to Cartagra. You will know how.” 

She was dumbfounded. A few long seconds passed before she thought to run and find the others. 

Outside, the wind whipped against her face. Heavy droplets hit her cheeks. She had seen nothing but hardships in this world, one built solely on wickedness. Now she had been told the war could be ending. Like really ending. It all sounded like a lie. She ran up to Shelby, who was walking with Ritter. He was still clutching his revolver, but seemed less interested in keeping her hostage. 

Shelby leaned over to Strawberries. “We’re getting out of here,” he whispered. “Angel boy can hitch a ride back to the Baron for all I care.” 

She agreed. A trek towards Caster Pass was not impossible. Evading the Baron that way. Ritter would return the train, along with the reasons for its disappearance. They would run and live another day. 

The path down seemed longer than before. She glanced back at the sea and the moon and imagined traveling away on the water. She wondered if Cassiel knew what creatures lived there now, and if he had ever seen them.

She looked back down at the train station. A shadow stood there she could barely make out. Who was it? Someone sitting on the ground?  

“What the fuck?” Shelby muttered. 

It was Gavin, with his hands and legs tied. His mouth taped. 

“Sawrp.” he mumbled. 

Shelby quickly pushed Strawberries into the ditch. She tumbled over and hit the dirt with a thump. The cold rain seeped into her clothes as she stared up at the fractured moon. She rolled around and carefully peaked across the road. There, Alan Barrett stood, pointing his rifle at her. 

“Well, hello there, sunshine.” 

Behind her, Ritter held Shelby and Cassiel by gun point. 

Strawberries cussed and spat into the dirt. 

“My thoughts exactly,” Barret replied mockingly.







Next Chapter: Chapter 6 - A Mexican stand-off