Only Ashes, Part One

Only Ashes

Part One

Charlotte Bailey

Only Ashes

Part One

Charlotte Bailey

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2014 Charlotte Bailey

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

‘Only Ashes: Part One,’ is a work of adult fiction and is not indented for younger readers. It contains strong language, scenes of strong bloody violence and scenes of a sexual nature.

Also by Charlotte Bailey:

Dark Earth (A paranormal teenage romance)

http://sinsofthedamned.blogspot.co.uk/ (an ongoing series of erotic paranormal fiction)

Coming Soon:

Only Ashes: Part Two

The Family Business

For Lucie, Matt and Glen. Somewhere, it’s always two am, and I have no intention of going to sleep

Table Of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

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Isaac moved slowly through the night, with his arms hanging heavy at his sides. As he looked up to the moon, he found it so bright that he needed to narrow his eyes against the deep silver glow. It was almost painful to feel that light penetrate his half-closed eyelids, and for moment, he stumbled blindly in its guiding path. The vibrantly burning moon was a good and healthy sign, a strong prophecy for the evening’s sacrifices. Isaac had studied the symbols, and he was sure of it. This night, the river glittered like a bright jewel, like a sheet of oil spreading out into the lights from a distant sewage plant. Those tiny pinpricks glittered like golden beacons. Isaac took a deep breath in of rancid air, turning swiftly away from the beautiful things he saw in front of him. Stony and resigned, he continued his march forward.

The idea of his imminent death was never a welcome thought, and every night which mirrored this one, he asked his own dark and silent prayers, to be spared. Isaac welcomed a chance to prove his worth, and if it was his time to be chosen, he would accept death with courage, but the fear that pushed adrenaline through his body, that was a sign of weakness. Recently, and with greater frequency, Isaac had found himself lost in thought over the things he would leave behind him, should his life be ended. He would miss the dirty sky, dotted with pollution choked stars that were barely visible through the smog. He would miss the river, as clogged as it was with rotting fish and poisonous chemicals. The Thames, a river that held a thousand mysteries, filled with the victims of unsolved murders and brimming with sunken treasures.

Fear began to form a dangerous cloud over Isaac’s heart, and he let his footsteps slow to a crawl. He thought hard on the pain and suffering he had already witnessed in the hallowed place he was about to enter. The dirty patches of grass were riddled with puddles from the recent rains, and Isaac trod squelching mud into his polished shoes. Tiny beads of water rose in the puddles around him. His hands were clenched into fists within the confines of his deep pockets. At moments like this, he felt unworthy of the black robe he wore, and it was his greatest wish that he could finally ascend the ranks. He craved the right to stand above the other sacrifices, but it was his will to live that would always keep him in his current place.

It seemed too soon that the warehouse loomed black and foreboding before him. It was a sullen statue watching the docks and the city lights like a vigilante, like a solid authority figure. The warehouse was a simple metal box, ugly and utilitarian, abandoned many years ago due to cruel economic failure. Isaac raised the deep and low black hook back over his keen eyes. He wanted to view the world freely one last time, before it was taken from him. He took a long and dirty breath in of the dry and cloying air, and reflected that it would have to be enough to satisfy him, until he was reborn into his new existence. There was a hidden door cut out of the heavy metal frame, and fixed on crudely with rusty hinges. It was a door created hastily by the members of Isaac’s ancient and respected order, and it was the entrance he had been seeking.

The metal scraped angrily along its twisted hinges as it fell open to the blackness within, inviting Isaac inside the cold and damp building. He was here to join the ritual alongside the Brother’s of Baphomet, a group of fierce cultists, comprised mostly of criminals and deeply evil men. There to welcome Isaac, was a man dressed in a black robe, exactly the same as Isaac’s own garment. At Isaac’s entrance he did not need to bow, as he would for members of the order who outranked him. He crept out of the shadows that lingered beyond him, acknowledging Isaac with a simple nod. His hands were held together at the front, folded into each other. The long sleeves of his robe fell almost to the wet and filthy ground, and around his neck was a simple iron pendant, an upturned pentagram.

‘His fire will cleanse us,’ the man before Isaac growled hoarsely.

‘His fire will cleanse us,’ Isaac echoed his works, and he lowered himself into a bow, as this man was his senior. ‘Brother Joshua,’ Isaac recognized his deep and harsh voice, despite the fact that his face was hidden.

‘Novice Isaac,’ Joshua spoke the word as though it were an insult. He led Isaac through the make-shift door, and into the wide and vastly empty space of the silent warehouse. They walked into the hollow hall, with was lit only by flickering black candles. They were held in simple iron vessels, smooth pillars rising up from the concrete ground. The candles reflected a sinister glow on the faces of all the men gathered here to worship, and Isaac knew that if he tried to run, any of them would cut him down where he stood. They would kill him without remorse and revel in his death.

‘Are we all gathered?’ Isaac asked in a voice with was barely more than a whisper, he feared the stigma of being the last to join the circle.

Joshua’s hidden eyes gazed heavily around the room to count the members of the Order, to determine if anyone was missing. He did not utter a word, and Isaac took this as a sign that everyone was present, and the time was ripe for the night’s ritual to begin. There were well over fifty assembled, the groups divided into novices and those who were considered priests and unholy men. The sacrifices stood on the left, already forming a line. Those who had less to fear from death pushed their way to the front. These were usually the men who had committed terrible crimes, for which there was no forgiveness, and in life, their punishment had already begun.

On the bare and dusty ground, several meters wide, and drawn intricately with intense precision, a symbol had been etched in chalk. Two concentric circles were scrawled inside with twisted crosses, all tumbling over each other as though the artist had been in a frenzied state when he had drawn them into the floor. Inside the smaller circle a monstrous goat’s head had been beautifully depicted, the light shining on it made it seem alive. Upon the goat’s forehead, nestled between its horns, another upturned pentagram glittered. The men began to close around the symbol, all taking their assigned places according to their status.

The high priest, known only to the men in the order as ‘Malack’, took his place before the great and wide symbol. As he reached a deathly stillness, Isaac saw a smooth, yet barely noticeable shiver trickle across the symbol. It was as though, for a moment, all the candle flame had been manipulated to illuminate the magnificent goat’s head. Isaac knew the ritual well enough to know it had not been his imagination, or a trick of the light. As the high priest of the Brotherhood, Malack’s robe was more elaborate than those beneath him. The black was trimmed in a deep wine colour, and, at the long draping sleeves, the wine melted into a rich gold. No one had ever seen Malack’s face, as it was always covered with a mask of bright, blood red. Malack was an impressive figure, well over six feet with rippling muscles that strained against his robe.

Malack’s masked face turned on them all, and somehow, each man felt his gaze rest upon them, and with it, a strong churning sensation, all their individual guilt and shame rushing to the surface. The assembled group of thieves, drug dealers and murderers, was hushed into silence by the dark eyes that shone behind the lacquer mask. Isaac thought Malack’s eyes were inhuman; they were so dark that the pupils didn’t stand out, so they seemed two flat sheets of darkly glimmering glass. There were several rumours in the order that under the mask, Malack’s face was hideously deformed. It made sense to Isaac, as the high priest was telling the order, in this rasping tones, of the suffering he had been through to earn his place in the eternal fires, and how children and holy men fled from the sight of him.

‘His fire will cleanse us.’ The rest of the brotherhood said the words as a chant, in uninspiring and dull voices. Malack said the words as though they were a promise. He spoke slowly and deliberately, elongating every syllable. The entire warehouse repeated his words with one echoing voice. The echo raced through the hollow space with barely disguised fury.

‘Welcome,’ his voice was solemn and hard, a voice which matched his immense stature. ‘Welcome, my brothers.’ As he said these words, his black eyes rested momentarily on Isaac and the other potential sacrifices, they reflected back disgust and anger.

A deep and significant pause followed, and the brothers steadied themselves for the ritual. They could all feel it rumbling up from the bones of the earth, something dark was about to break forth. Then Malack began to speak. ‘He is corruption,’ his harsh voice clawed its way into even the furthest reaches of the shadowed warehouse. ‘He is filth and he is pain. He is the darkness that crawls over the light, he is the scavenger which feeds on death and he is the illness which strikes down the strong.’

‘His fire will cleanse us,’ the room chorused, held in awe by his passionate words.

‘We are on the cusp of a new dawn,’ Malack continued, his voice burning with righteous fury. ‘I can feel it,’ he raised a huge fist into the air. ‘I can feel the roots of new trees dying before they reach the surface,’ he breathed fire into his words, a blaze resting just for a split second over those lifeless eyes. ‘I can feel the earth crying, weeping black blood across its dry and broken deserts. This will be the last long, dark day in the futile existence of this world.’

‘His fire will cleanse us,’ came the inevitable echo.

‘Who will be the first to make their eternal sacrifice?’ Malack’s eyes were still bright with fire, and his words created a deep and resounding silence within the group. Those who did not stand with the sacrifices bowed their heads in silent respect, waiting with baited breath for the blood about to be spilt.

Isaac did not bring himself further forward; he stayed firmly away from those men with nothing to gain from living on past this night. Isaac’s fear and panic shivered downward, overwhelming his whole body. He felt ashamed, as it was recognized throughout the brotherhood that death was only the beginning. Retribution and glory awaited the sacrifice; their lord’s swallowing flames were ready to consume them. Isaac was no stranger to seeing men die, though it was not something he would ever feel casual about. Isaac did not want to grow accustomed to death, and he prayed that he never would.

The first young man stepped up to die. He was skinny and gangly under his robe, and he walked with a swagger. If he was afraid, he was either hiding it deeply in his soul, or he believed, with an unwavering faith, that this unholy act really would deliver him whole and safe into the magnificence of eternal fire. This was what Malack spoke of when he preached of the significance and importance of the sacrifice. Isaac wondered how many men here actually believed it without question.

The sacrifice took his place in the centre of the goat’s head symbol; his hands were steady by his sides. Isaac questioned whether he would be so calm if he were called forward. Gently, almost caressingly, Malack placed his hand upon the man’s chest, just under the place where his heart rested. Malack himself was still and calm, his eyes unreadable as they became lost in candle flame. A soft, dark smoke began to curl from underneath his hand, slowly at first, and colored a soft grey. It was subtle, barely noticeable as it gently rose from his palm like it was a living thing, breathing itself into life.

In a swift and violent rush of movement, Malack took his hand away from the man, leaving a trail of that smooth smoke dancing between his fingers. The man began to convulse. First, his shoulders jolted, hunching over his chest, and then his stomach began to move in waves. Isaac could see his rib bones pushing against the black material. The hood of the man’s cloak fell back, and as his knees started to buckle under him, his face was caught in a silent scream. Sweat dripped freely through thinning dark hair as the man fell to his hands. He was young, about the same age as Isaac himself, with a thin, pinched and ratty face. His ears glittered with rows of piercings. 

The worst part of watching him die, Isaac thought, was the silence. The young man’s face was bulging in pain, his mouth hanging open, thin lines of drool falling from the edges. Isaac watched as those lines of spit turned pink, and then deepest red, as blood began to pour freely from the frozen hole in a face slick and shining. It seemed as though he were crying, lamenting his lost years, as the blood began to leak from his eyes, in