The Heart is a Void: Ashes to Ashes - Chapter 104: Maricha

Chapter 104: Maricha

Crucis continued reading the book about Sobhraj, occasionally writing in his notebook to keep track of anything interesting. As Sharak roamed the room to check on the other books, Crucis overheard his conversation with Vladimir and Konstantin, who had been given one Russian book to pore through together.

Vladimir raised the book, with a hint of reverence. “This book is named тре (trre)- um, ‘Third Empire.’ It is about Kingdom of Russia, I think ‘fiction’? But not only.”

“Yes, has also people from history, a bit,” Konstantin said.

“I guess might be old book, they were imagining future,” Vladimir said. “Is fancy future, Russia goes back to Emperor like Ivan, and fight many wars. Not sure if exactly what happened, but I think is good story. Our leader did get ’emergency power’ recently to deal with big riot, so maybe will become Emperor, I don’t know.”

“I see. So, would you recommend the machine train on it?”

“Absolutely! But would like to read it sometime, it is good way to pass the time.”

“Sure, sure. We’ll get it translated in a few days, then when we have a translated copy we can send this one to the bookstore and tell them that one of you guys will collect it.”

“Thank you. What should do now?”

“While I’m sorting through the books, you can all have a look at the automatons. Wait for a minute or two, while I collect the rest.”

Soon, Fahiz appeared and summoned the group into the room containing the automatons. Crucis leapt up quickly, curious about what the automatons looked like.

As he entered the room, he was struck by a strange sense of familiarity. It was a rickety, wooden room, with a large, slightly splintered desk stretching across the building’s left wall, where the automatons sat in a line facing away from him and towards the wall. On this wall, there was a white blind arcade, which seemed intricately carved, and the rest of the stone wall was painted a few shades of brown as if in imitation of wood. An inkwell and book-stand sat on the table next to each automaton. Crucis felt certain that he had seen this room before, but he didn’t recall where.

Suddenly, a vivid memory flashed before his mind. He was in a similar room, but now wore a dark-blue suit.

As he looked across the desk, he heard a loud creak to his right, like the sound of an old, out-of-tune violin. Turning around and scanning the ground, he saw a black, hardcover book filled with thousands of pages. Its title was difficult to decipher, written in embossed black letters across the side of the book, but he could make out the words ‘heart’ and ‘void,’ as well as a sub-title saying ‘Volume I’.

Curious, he opened it, and found that the pages were incredibly light, pale white paper. However, as he tried to read, the words instantly evaporated into the air, and he heard a loud swarm of bats flying away above the building. He put the book back on the desk, but saw that the automaton on the far-right had been writing a story based on it, named ‘Heart Void Seer: Ashes in Black and Violet.’

Reading this, he found only the following passage:

The sable burst into fire, and as it roared in pain, the Mage extended his palm and drizzled holy water into the fire. The water erupted in a great column of steam, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. As the steam settled, there was left a great crater in the ground, and in the middle of it, there was a great pillar of flame, burning fiercely. The Mage stared at the pillar of fire with wonder, his eyes shining. As he had expected, the sable stood up before him, with its fur now golden and tinted like the pillar of flame. It stood up in the crater, and spoke.

“This is the vanity of power. Beneath the towering crucifix bearing the King of the Jews, Pilate is a spectre. Behold the spectre! He is an angel in hell. He was the father of lies. He was the first deceiver. He is the only one who knows the truth.

“Hear, ye! He stands in the vast doorway of the House of Darkness, the place where all men pass into inextricable deception. He does not wish to enter. He stands in the doorway, looking from one side of the threshold to the other, for on one side is the entrance to truth, and on the other is the entrance to falsehood. He stands on neither side. And he asks each man who enters, ‘What is truth?’ No-one has the capacity to answer him. Let those with ear to hear, hear.

“This is the vanity of power. Pilate’s ghost is there, even though he is alive. By knowing the world, he knows that there is no truth in the world, and no goodness, and no power that is not vanity. The Pharisees have assembled many facts, and the Skeptic has questioned these facts and put forwards others, but only Pilate knows the truth. How then does he live? He moves as an angel in hell might move, with a natural grace that is also the grace of a bird in flight.”

“What is your name?” the Mage asked.

“You do not need to ask what you know. I am Maricha,” the answer came.

While slightly bemused by this tale of a sermonising sable, he read the text carefully.

However, as he reached the end, he heard a loud roar to his left. Turning, he saw that one of the automatons had stood up. Its head was carved in iron, patterned like a medieval helmet, but the eyes were hollow. Its long, metallic black arms were raised in the air as it staggered menacingly towards him. It bent down slightly and let out an incredibly loud, earth-shaking screech at him, then launched forwards with its arms slashing wildly down.

However, as if by instinct, he held forwards his right palm, and a deep black spot formed in the air in front of it. This expanded into a void, and the aggressive automaton fell into this and disappeared. He clenched his fist, and the void disappeared.

The memory faded. He had felt almost as though he was caught in the memory, acting out the fight with the automaton, but he had actually been standing still in this room beside the door.

“Thanks,” DicingDevil said as he passed.

The rest of the group were slowly filing through, and thought that Crucis was just standing beside the door politely to wait for the rest to enter. Well, let them think that.

“No problem,” he said, and drifted slowly towards the automatons as the last member of the group, Danemy, entered the room.

As Crucis regained his bearings, he began to focus more calmly on surveying his memory of the room, and found that he remembered more about the context. Peculiarly, his name at the time had seemingly been something like ‘Aécio’ or ‘Ezio.’ He didn’t recall this name. He had always been known as Karel or Karl.

Some details of the scene he had just envisioned also seemed off. For instance, he was sure that he hadn’t read a passage about a sable in that old room. It had originally been a slightly surreal story about a man burning a lamb on a crucifix, and then going to church and listening to a priest named Martin sermonise about the Lamb of God. As the sermon ended, the crucifix on the altar burst into blood and white fire. A ghostly voice boomed across the church, saying, ‘You are no victim. You have more power than you could dream of, for I know you are King of the Jews. O, honest man, you are a liar!’ Crucis remembered that, at the time, he had wondered if this voice was some twisted rendition of Jehovah, but now it struck him that it might have represented Pilate.

Perhaps exploring this room might clarify something.

Curious, he scanned the automatons, checking if any of them resembled the automaton that had attacked him in the memory.