Jump to content

Wine of the fauns : Chapter one


Hialmar

Recommended Posts

INTRODUCTION

This supernatural crime novel or thriller will build very slowly.

Don't expect muscle growth in every chapter.

If magic and the supernatural are boring themes to you, you will not like this story.

You have been warned.

 

Preface

For information's sake, let it be known, that this story take place in the same universe as my unfinished stories Hulk Out and The strange proceedings at St. George's .

 

Wine of the fauns

Chapter one

A knock resounded in the dimly lit meeting hall. Most of the room was shrouded in darkness, and silhouettes of human shapes sat on single rows of chairs along the left and right walls, respectively, leaving an open space to perform a cross-breed between ritual drama and an old-fashioned formal board-meeting. The silhouettes of three beings sat behind a writing desk on a podium at the eastern wall. The silence was broken by a middle-aged male voice:

"Brethren and sisters, please be seated."

Then two knocks.

"Officers of the Convivum, take your stations."

"Brother Sentry in the West. What is the first duty of planispheric brethren and sisters, when a Convivium is to be opened?"

A younger voice answered from a seat close to the entrance:

"To ensure, that the Convivium is free from cowans and eavesdroppers, o Mighty Proctor in the East."

"Then ensure yourself, that all persons present have the right so to be."

"Mighty Proctor in the North. Are all persons at the north column in possession of the grip and the password?"

An elderly male voice answered.

"They are, Brother Sentry in the West."

"Mighty Proctor in the South. Are all persons at the south column in possession of the grip and the password?"

A middle-aged female voice replied:

"They are, Brother Sentry in the West."

"Mighty Proctor in the East, we are gathered in the exclusive company of planispheric brethren and sisters, all persons present are in possession of the grip and the password, and Brother Sentry stand in the West like the Cherubims and the flaming sword which turns every way, to keep the way of the tree of life."

"Are we then ready, to invoke the blessing of the seven planetary spheres?"

"We are, o Mighty Proctor in the East."

Three distinct knocks.

"My brethren and sisters. Stand to attention! Let us proceed, and invoke the blessing of the seven planetary spheres!"

* * *

Russ Carter, private investigator. The scholar detective. The occult private eye. Sounds more impressive than it is. No Smith & Wesson in my drawer. No deductive skills at the level of Sherlock Holmes. No fisticuffs with horned demons of flesh and blood like in the Dennis Wheatley novels, just once a phone call to the police about a cult leader, who believed in demons, and behaved like one. No mysterious busty blondes rushing into my office at godforsaken hours, more about searching for witnesses on internet communities or interviewing the local New Age community. And to be honest, it would be more satisfying to me, if the client in need was a blond meathead himbo with protruding pecs, if you get my drift. Ever heard about that poisoning case in a biodynamic commune in Strathclydeshire a few years ago? Aye. It was yours truly who solved that case (The gardener did it).

I will not waste your precious time, by telling you how I ended up in such a strange line of work, but, let us say, that it is interesting.

More recently, I had infiltrated an occult fraternal order called The Order of the Sevenfold Planisphere in search of clues to the disappearance of a young man called Will Brown. His mother had reported his disappearance to the police, but after six months they hadn't found him, and his Mum, who was in possession of significant private means, had become desperate, and hired me to solve the mystery. I will not tire you with the details, but I had found out, that Will had become a member of the Order one year before his disappearance, so I followed in his foot-steps. Until now, it had been disappointing, but on the other hand, I always felt relief when any occult order turned out to be a harmless organization of endearing eccentrics.

Twenty minutes into the meeting, the usual smell of floor polish and mothballs was replaced by the scent of incense and wax candles instead. The room was illuminated by the warm glow of candle flames, and the ritual garb of the participants looked similar to the monastic habit of Cistercians. A new candidate was welcomed into the order, and instructed about the supernatural influence of The Moon.

The order was organised in nine degrees, the last one only for bureaucratic reasons, and it all revolved around the astrological symbolism of the seven celestial bodies known to the ancient Greeks and Romans. After the "Convivium", all members changed from that Cistercian-esque garb into everyday wear, and shared a few cups of tea and some biscuits. They then cleaned the hall after themselves. They rented the meeting hall once a month from the actual owners of the building, The Ancient and Benevolent Order of the Aardvark, which consisted of a handful of elderly men. Allegedly, and from what I could gather, both orders had got much higher member rates back in the 1920s, but had declined significantly since the 1960s. Though Sevenfold Planisphere had turned the tide with an unexpected influx of Mllennials recently, The Aardvarks were fading.

* * *

This evening, the local Convivium had a visitor from another city, Sister Lisa, and I shared a cuppa with her. She was a chestnut-haired woman in her late twenties, and about the same age as Will.

"Did you ever meet a Brother called Will Brown?"

Bingo. I could see on her facial expression, that she did.

"Oh. Bill. Bill was so sweet. Though a member of Convivium Berenice Number six, he often visited the local Convivium in our city, Convivium Asterism Number four. I have no idea why he stopped attending our meetings. Do you know him?"

"No, but I know his mother. She is worried for him."

"That sounds troubling. The last I heard, he had begun hanging around the crowd of Freddie Masterson."

"Masterson?"

"Yeah. He believe he is so avant-garde, because he listen to punk rock, is pansexual and channels spiritist messages from The Ascended Master Papa Smurf. The typical occultist born in the 1950s. He owns a book-shop on King's Head Road in Puddleborough. Why don't you ask him about Bill. I hope Bill is okey. He is so sweet."

I had a clue now. I had to follow it. The next day, I took the train north to Puddleborough.

* * *

To be continued.

Edited by Hialmar
language, added an introduction. links to other stories in the same universe
  • Like 1
  • Upvote 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

6 hours ago, Ro20316 said:

Pretty interestimg start.Lets see where the leads take him

Thank you. I wanted to try an unusual setting, while still toying with a familiar genre. I had just watched two British crime dramas and read a novel by Katherine Kurtz, when I got the idea. Her Adept novels are very entertaining.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Guidelines, Terms of Use, & Privacy Policy.
We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..