Firetale (17 page)

Caius shot
. At the same moment, Jill
rushed him from behind. The shot was clumsy because of the blow.
The arrow went lower than the Judge expected and struck Danny in
the thigh. The boy cried out, and his cry turned into a roar. Jill
hadn’t transformed yet, so Caius easily dropped her and stuck the
butt of the harpoon between some large stones, fixing the chain to
its shortest length. A mighty blow sent Caius flying into the far
corner of the cave. He tumbled head over heels over sharp stones,
cutting his hands and bruising his elbows and knees.

Jill had turned into a wolf, and
Danny
was
desperately trying to pull the arrow from his hip. Blood, shock,
and inexperience prevented him from choosing which form he should
take, human or wolf, and he changed rapidly from one to the other,
screaming and howling, the cave filled with the sound of his bones
crackling as they reconstructed after each transformation. Jill
rushed the judge. In wolf form she was smaller than the Judge
thought. Her chestnut hair was standing on end on the back of her
neck, and her eyes were full of human malice. Her chaps were aiming
for the Judge’s throat, but Caius covered his face with his arms,
and Jill’s teeth snapped on his forearm. Howling in pain, the
werewolf jumped aside. Under his cloak, Caius wore steel bracers.
Jill had not expected it and now stood between the Judge and Danny,
pondering her next move, growling and making false lunges every
time Caius reached toward the second harpoon on his
back.

Whin
ing and squealing came from behind
Jill. Danny had finally decided which shape to take, and had dug
his fangs into his leg, trying to bite it off and escape. His blood
gushed to the cave floor. When Jill heard Danny’s screams and
turned to him, an incredible howl of horror and despair came out of
her mouth. That was enough for the Judge to grab the second harpoon
and take a shot. The arrow hit Jill in the back, near the heart.
From this distance Caius never missed. Almost instantly, Jill began
to change shape, trying to escape, but the Judge had secured the
harpoon, and Jill jerked against the taught chain and fell to the
ground. She rolled onto her side and tried to crawl to Danny, whose
howling was becoming crazier. But the Judge began to reel in the
chain, and despite all her efforts, Jill couldn’t reach Danny.
Caius pulled her close. Her body was still trying to take the wolf
form, but her strength was not enough, and just a touch of fur,
which prompted another surge of lust in the Judge, covered her skin
before disappearing again.

Danny
’s leg was nearly detached from his
body, only skin and bits of sinew holding it. The werewolf tore his
leg off and launched himself at the Judge. Danny was a young
werewolf, but larger than Jill, and the weight of his body, even
without one leg, was enough to knock the Judge down. But he made
the same mistake as Jill and went for Caius’s throat. The Judge
covered his face and neck with his hands, and Danny’s chaps bit the
steel bracers. However, unlike Jill, Danny did not unclench his
teeth. He began to wrench his opponent’s arm from side to side, his
paws pounding the Judge’s chest and slipping on his leather coat. A
sharp pain shot through Caius’s shoulder, and he thought it might
be dislocated. But he felt no fear. Monsters prompted his disgust
and contempt, but not fear. One hand was useless, but with the
second he tried to unbutton his cloak, even as werewolf claws
struck it. The beast had become weaker from loss of blood but was
still dangerous, so the Judge had to act quickly. He knew that if
he undid his cloak, Danny’s blows would be much more dangerous, but
it was worth the risk. The pain from his scratches and dislocated
shoulder was getting stronger. White spots swam before his eyes,
but Caius ordered himself not to pass out.

On
his chest he found what he was looking
for—a huge silver cross. Tearing off his crucifix, he held it like
a blade and stabbed. The longest part of the cross hit Danny’s eye
and went in as far as the crossbar. The werewolf jumped aside and
tried to pull the cross out with his paws. He howled and thrashed
on the ground while silver poisoned his brain and blood. Danny
realized that it would be easier to pull the cross out with his
hands and changed into human form. Leaning against the wall of the
cave, extending his only remaining leg, Danny grabbed the cross. He
managed to pull it out an inch or two, but then his strength
drained away.

The Judge examined his wounds. His left
shoulder was dislocated, his chest and right hand were slashed, but
the cuts were not deep. It was unpleasant and very painful, but not
life-threatening. Monster saliva had not entered his bloodstream,
and this was most important. Two werewolves on one hunt was a high
achievement. His gaze lingered on Jill. He turned her face up to
look again. Her body was still warm, and lustful images blurred
Caius’s vision for a moment. But he repressed them.

He burned the bodies, and
whatever fire
couldn’t consume, he gathered in a backpack and put in his minivan.
He would hide them on his next hunt, somewhere in another state,
and even if the police found them, they would puzzle over how they
got there. He would change his blood-stained clothes, get back to
the hotel, and get some rest.

At the entrance to the hotel,
the
young
woman at the reception desk addressed him. “Mr. Edwards? An
invitation for you,” she said, handing Caius an envelope. Inside
was a ticket to the circus. The ticket had clowns, flames, and
strange animals painted on it. On the reverse was written “Come and
see tomorrow. It’ll be very interesting.”

“
Are you sure it’s for me?” asked
Caius, fiddling with the invitation.

“
Oh, yes, sir. He asked me to
give it to you personally.”

“
Who asked?”

“
Some very nice guy. Not from
around here, obviously. We’ve never had such hot guys. He said he
works in a circus.” The girl behind the counter was
blushing.

The J
udge thanked her and went to his
room. The invitation was hardly a mistake. He wasn’t a man who
could be mistaken for someone else. But before cluttering his mind
with this mystery, he had to clean up.

In the bathroom Caius
washed the cross
that killed Danny, washed his and the werewolves’ blood from his
forearm, kissed the crucifix thrice, and set it upright on the tub.
Then the Judge undressed and knelt in the tub before the cross. He
said a prayer of repentance, full of remorse for what he had felt
toward Jill, for the lust that had intoxicated him. Caius took a
knife to his groin, carved three crosses, and watched as blood
trickled between his thighs. It was bad blood, which had distracted
him from his focus on the hunt. Except for his face and hands, his
entire body, even his back, was covered with scars in the form of
crosses. He gently touched them with his hands. They were a
reminder of his sin and his struggle with it. Each cross meant a
battle, but each also meant a victory.

Record made on 02/24/2001

Archivist: Jacob

This is my last entry.
An archivist’s duty
is to capture on paper the importance of what happens in the
circus, and, in my opinion, it’s important to explain the reasons
for my action. I joined Mr. Bernardius’s troupe three and a half
years ago, when I was 29 years old. However,
joined
is not quite the right word. When
people join something, they decide on their own. I was appointed,
and had nothing to argue. I’ve checked the records. I became, and
remain, the youngest archivist in the 130-year history of the
circus. Perhaps this is the reason. Maybe I was not ready for this.
All the other archivists were in their late fifties or sixties when
they became part of the circus. They knew twice as much as me and
were already wise, emotionless people.

My appointment was a
surprise
to
everyone. The former archivist, Enzo, died, and I was the quickest
possible replacement. I was told that this would be temporary, that
once the circus found a more experienced archivist, I could go back
to my studies. But this did not happen. Of course, the first six
months I lived in hope that it would be over soon. Then I began to
convince myself that my job had some positive aspects that, because
of my constant whining, I hadn’t noticed. I came to terms with the
situation. But humility eventually turned into despair. Work for
the Devil is unlike any other. Once you agree to it, you can’t
change your mind later. You cannot quit or go to a competitor.
Especially if you’re an archivist.

We,
the chroniclers of Hell, preserve and
increase the knowledge of all that happens on earth. We are
constantly learning. The first thing for a young archivist to learn
is that he’s not in school, where the main task is to hold out for
a few years and get a diploma. An archivist shall be improved to
his last breath and share his knowledge with others; this is his
main task. Each of us begins our journey at different ages, one a
child, someone else an adult. I have not figured out how the right
people for the job are chosen. I only remember that my parents, a
pair of dead duck alcoholics, sold me to some smiling old people
for a few hundred bucks. I was at the age when children, especially
those growing up in lousy families, already know that sometimes
adults use them in the most terrible ways.

But
these two old men were not like
those. They took me to an old mansion many kilometers from any
settlement. There was not even a filling station or roadside diner
anywhere to be seen. There, far from the world of ordinary people,
I met a few more lonely children, kids like me. The old men—there
were a lot more than two, and they changed all the time—began to
teach us. Initially, the training did not differ from school.
Mathematics, English, geography. But over time, courses appeared in
our program that modern schools never heard of. Latin and other
dead languages, ancient grimoires, demonology. Other courses, such
as world history, were strikingly different from the usual. We
learned the true nature of things, learned how and why events that
determined people’s lives occur in the world.

Students
proceeded at their own pace, not as a
class. I was a good student, one of the best and quickest. Soon I
got a call to start my Path. His own Path is the dream of every boy
archivist. It’s a kind of deployment period. Starting one’s own
Path, an archivist tours the world, meets with his brothers, and
learns from their experience. Each of us has our own Path, which
determines what each individual archivist will study. We never knew
which of the brothers would meet us next or where it would happen.
It might be in Guatemala or Russia, Poland or Bhutan. After
completing the archivist Path, one receives an appointment.
Whatever it was, the brother cannot refuse it. Some work in large
corporations or government structures, some get a place in the
media, and a few become priests, spies in the enemy camp, climbing
the ladder of the Church hierarchy. Whatever their place,
archivists gather information, analyze it, and work on important
decisions. They pull the levers, as one of my teachers used to
say.

Lazarus
Bernardius
’s
circus was always considered a special place among my brothers. Of
course, many yearn for an important position and the accompanying
benefits and privileges. Only the best could get such positions.
But appointment to the circus is special. It’s for those who
believe service to the Devil is something more than a way to have a
life. It’s for those who believe that touching the underside of our
world is more important than anything else. I was not one of them,
yet I got the appointment—archivist to the Lazarus Bernardius
circus.

When news of my appointment
spread among the brothers, many sent me letters with sincere
congratulations. Some admitted they env
ied me a little. Two, much older than
me, claimed that they should have received the honor. I felt
strange and ridiculous. People around me treated me almost as a
living legend, the youngest archivist in the history of the
Bernardius circus. But I did not share my brothers’ enthusiasm.
Perhaps it was because I never thought the choice would fall to me.
In the world, there are about two thousand archivists, and their
number is gradually increasing. I always thought that someone else
from among this number would be assigned to the circus. I did not
even finish my Path. In my opinion, it was like making a
fifth-grader the president of the United States.

It seems to me that
my relationship with
Mr. Bernardius did not work from day one. My age, it seemed,
unpleasantly surprised him. I have studied the archives and
realized why. Before me, all archivists were elderly, the only
creatures in the circus whose knowledge and experience were
comparable to Lazarus’s. As I understand from the records, every
archivist for Mr. Bernardius was not merely an adviser and helper,
but came close to being a friend. With me the ringmaster was mostly
cold. However, it would be perfect folly to blame Mr. Bernardius
for my not becoming a part of the circus.

I did not like
it here, from the
complexities of the nomadic life to the daily coexistence with
demionis. During training and passing the Path, each archivist
practices calling demons and engages in monster studies: their
classification, anatomy, habits. Each of us, before getting an
appointment, checks his theoretical knowledge in practice. So I
can’t say that I had never encountered demionis. But a rare meeting
is one thing, living with them under the same roof is quite
another. Many of them are smart, but even in these, the animal
instincts are sharpened. They feel your fear, your hostility. It’s
been impossible for me to get on the inside. This is not what I
wanted.