Disciples of the Serpent: A Novel of the O.C.L.T. Read online

  DISCIPLES OF THE SERPENT

  A Novel of the O.C.L.T.

  By Sidney Williams

  A Mystique Press Production

  Mystique Press is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition Copyright © 2017 Sidney Williams

  Cover art by Bob Eggleton

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Sidney Williams travelled to Ireland with his wife several years ago and fell in love with the land and people. Visits to Irish ruins and drives across the countryside piqued his imagination, and he had wanted to write about the land for some time when the opportunity to pen an O.C.L.T. title came along. Sidney is a Louisiana native who has worked as a newspaper reporter, reference librarian and more recently as a creative writing instructor concentrating on horror, mystery and suspense. He has also spent time in the corporate marketing world writing and editing web content and advertising and marketing materials. He earned an MFA from Goddard College in 2010.

  As a reporter, he conducted a host of celebrity and author interviews and continues to write features on authors as a contributing editor of The Big Thrill newsletter for ITW, the International Thriller Writers organization.

  His short stories have appeared in a number of magazines and anthologies including Under the Fang and Hot Blood: Deadly After Dark, and he has written comic book scripts and an audiodrama adaptation of The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. His serialized Lovecraftian story “Sleepers,” appeared on the Paper Tape literary magazine website in 2014.

  He currently resides in Florida with his wife, Christine Rutherford, and their cats.

  Novels

  Azarius

  Night Brothers

  Blood Hunter

  Gnelfs

  When Darkness Falls

  Midnight Eyes

  The Pembrook High young adult series (writing as Michael August)

  Deadly Delivery

  New Year’s Evil

  The Gift

  Watched (short story)

  Short Stories

  Scars and Candy

  Graphic Novel

  The Dusk Society

  Audiodrama

  The War of the Worlds

  Find him on:

  The web: sidisalive.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SidneyWilliamsBooks

  Twitter: @Sidney_Williams

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  We hope you enjoy this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any problems, please contact us at [email protected] and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.

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  About the O.C.L.T. Series

  There are incidents and emergencies in the world that defy logical explanation, events that could be defined as supernatural, extraterrestrial, or simply otherworldly. Standard laws do not allow for such instances, nor are most officials or authorities trained to handle them. In recognition of these facts, one organization has been created that can. Assembled by a loose international coalition, their mission is to deal with these situations using diplomacy, guile, force, and strategy as necessary. They shield the rest of the world from their own actions, and clean up the messes left in their wake. They are our protection, our guide, our sword, and our voice, all rolled into one.

  They are O.C.L.T.

  AVAILABLE & UPCOMING TALES OF THE O.C.L.T.

  AVAILABLE NOW

  Brought to Light—An O.C.L.T. Novella by Aaron Rosenberg

  The Temple of Camazotz—An O.C.L.T. Novella by David Niall Wilson

  The Parting—An O.C.L.T. Novel by David Niall Wilson

  Incursion—An O.C.L.T. Novel by Aaron Rosenberg

  No Laughing Matter—An O.C.L.T. Novel by Kurt Criscione

  Lost Things—An O.C.L.T. Tie-In Novel by Melissa Scott & Jo Graham

  Crockatiel!—An O.C.L.T. Novel Featuring Cletus J. Diggs by David Niall Wilson

  The Noose Club —An O.C.L.T. Tie-in Novel by David Bischoff

  UPCOMING

  Digging Deep – by Aaron Rosenberg

  Shades of Green – by David Niall Wilson

  “They know much about the stars and celestial motions, and about the size of the earth and universe, and about the essential nature of things, and about the powers and authority of the immortal gods; and these things they teach to their pupils.”

  —Julius Caesar

  DISCIPLES OF THE SERPENT

  Table of Contents

  20 Years Ago

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Report from the paranormal website Unexplained Oddities

  20 Years Ago

  The symbol looked almost like a contemporary set of tally marks. Short slashes angled away from a straight center line but not quite like those they’d seen in class. The slashes were clustered differently and featured additional flourishes at the end of some lines.

  Kaity angled her headlamp toward it with an adjustment then gave the mark a couple of careful strokes with the soft round hand brush she’d been given. She wanted to clear dust particles without damaging the edges. Etched along a corner on the old stone wall in
a seldom unexplored chamber, it might have gone unseen for ages until her headlamp hit it.

  “What have you got?”

  Her friend Lizabeth had slipped in behind her, through a doorway of this narrow building, what the professors had called the necessarium.

  “A marking. See it?”

  Liz laughed. “The monks wrote on their bathroom walls?”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t they tell you where you were working? This was the latrine.” Liz giggled. “It really was necessary.”

  “Well, it’s different isn’t it? We need to show one of the professors.”

  “They’re off at the truck. Drinkin’ coffee or something. Liam is close. Will a student assistant do? That’s close to a professor. Why don’t we get him?”

  That should do, Kaity thought. Everyone whispered about Liam, who was a couple of years older, and he’d been showing a keen interest in symbols from what she understood.

  Maybe he’d be impressed.

  Switching off her headlamp, she stepped from the shadows under the stone out into the light. She blinked a bit before spotting the young man at the work table under a small tent. He seemed to be cleaning a bit of stone with a hand brush.

  With Liz at her shoulder, making slight hand gestures at her side to keep her friend from giggling, she moved across the grassy expanse outside the old monastery wall.

  “I think we have something of interest,” she said.

  The young man looked up from his work. “Oh?”

  He followed her back to where she’d been working a few moments before.

  “I think it’s a bit odd to have it on a Christian site,” she said. “What do you think?”

  She hoped she sounded solemn and intelligent. She didn’t want him to think she was a twit.

  He stood up, his brow wrinkling.

  “These symbols have been found in a lot of places,” he said. “Let’s take a closer look.”

  His voice was soft, but deep and serious. He reached for a round-brimmed hat before rising. The hat seemed an odd choice for him. His work clothes were always crisp and perfect, even though he spent his hours working in chambers filled with dirt. He was tall and angular.

  Kaity tried to hide her infatuation as he moved past her.

  “Where was it?”

  “She was workin’ in the toilets,” Liz said.

  Kaity gave her friend a glare to freeze the inevitable giggle.

  “It’s over here.”

  She led the way back to the corner where she’d been exploring. There, she turned her headlamp on again, focused it, and pointed, then looked back at him.

  His eyes had widened and he looked just a bit mesmerized.

  “That is different,” he said. “May I?”

  He gestured toward her headband.

  She slipped the light off, and he accepted it, holding the lamp in his hand as he knelt beside the wall and carefully moved a finger along the hash marks.

  “This may really be something new,” he said.

  “Would a Druid sneak in and leave a message on a monk’s bathroom wall?” Kaity asked.

  “Not sure,” Liam said. “I’ve seen a couple of other similar marks, and I’ve been talking with some others. We’re wondering if there might have been a secret alphabet, maybe something only used in this region. You maybe have found a new piece of the puzzle.”

  He switched off the light and looked over his shoulder at her.

  “Don’t tell anyone about this symbol yet, okay? Could be something interesting. Don’t want whispers going around too early. We have some thoughts about what we might do with them. You know the African student?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’s bloody brilliant. He’s been makin’ some notes, doing some calculations, and we’ve been talking, a few of us, about doing something interesting with the findings.”

  “OK,” Kaity said, and she had to fight a giggle now. It felt a little exciting to be part of an ancient secret. What fun.

  One

  Dublin, Ireland - Today

  He had to hurry.

  Professor Inerney Burke’s heart thundered as he headed down the stairs, but not just from the exertion. A man and a woman had arrived unannounced, and without an appointment. His assistant had called, and he’d said he would be right out – he was pretty sure who the visitors were.

  He then rose from his office chair in Trinity College Dublin’s Department of History, put on his raincoat, beige tartan scarf and a hat and began to gather printouts, clippings and other materials scattered across his desk. These he stuffed into an accordion folder. He didn’t worry about the order. Organization could come later.

  In his haste, a small plastic item that had been resting atop a paperweight bounced off his desk, ricocheted off his chair arm and disappeared under a bookcase that stood on legs a few millimeters high.

  He let it go as less essential and headed for a back exit. He didn’t like leaving without finding coverage for his afternoon class in medieval history. It would be the first time in thirty years he’d shirked a lecture responsibility, but circumstances left him little choice. Things seemed on the verge of getting out of hand again.

  His heart rate ticked even higher by the time he reached the gray cobblestones leading into the grassy Library Square. Looking over his shoulder as he passed a row of student bicycles, he checked for pursuit. The lack of it offered no comfort. They’d be coming.

  He hurried through the arched stone exit onto the street, ignoring the afternoon rain as he waved for a cab. Failing to capture one’s attention, he made a left and hurried along to the busy corner of Grafton and Nassau. Pedestrians filled the walkways, traffic buzzed, and he stepped into the flow to lose himself, keeping the file tucked under his coat to protect it from the rain.

  He had intended to scan the drawing that had come this morning, storing it digitally for safe keeping, but he’d had no time. The envelope had arrived in the morning post, a printout of a photograph showing a symbol painted on a metal light pole, location undetermined. It seemed to be a warning from some anonymous ally that activity had resurfaced. Strangers on his doorstep had to be related.

  Back in the day, the time of the Old Crisis as he now thought of it, even though he’d disapproved, the ideas had seemed intriguing and exciting. The notions behind it all had been stimulating.

  Now, with the theories and hypotheses being discussed and dissected in Internet groups with disconcerting signs of belief, everything felt more like a nightmare. Decisions made then had triggered repercussions that rippled all around him.

  He looked back again as he waited for the traffic light. The figures that stepped from Trinity’s entrance had to be the pair who’d come to visit. They too wore raincoats, a square-faced man who stood head and shoulders above the crowd, and a younger woman, auburn-haired and dressed in a gray plaid skirt and dark boots that matched her overcoat and sweater. She’d probably be considered fashionable, but that was the sort of thing Burke would have to consult his assistant about. Some trends escaped his notice and interest.

  Could they recognize him?

  It would be easy enough to check his picture on the college website or from other online sources. Did they know him on sight? He couldn’t chance finding out by giving them more than the back of his head.

  He had to keep moving, had to take at least some steps in case he was captured. Rushing across the street with the Don’t Walk sign still on display, he drew a horn honk. Ignoring it, he pulled his mobi from his pocket, raising an arm to protect its face from the rain while managing to keep the folder tight in his arm pit. Almost frantically he searched through his address book, praying he had not deleted the contact he needed, the name of that man he’d met long ago at a conference.

  People jostled him as he scrolled the B’s, but he ignored them, slumping his shoulders, cupping one hand over the phone’s screen and forging onward, glancing up only to check street signs. He made a right when he saw the street name he wan
ted, turned and jogged down the less crowded sidewalk until he reached another corner, then another turn. The creak in his knees had to be ignored.

  Bells rattled on the shop door when he found it, putting his weight into it. A girl with straw-colored hair, young enough to be one of his students, stood behind the counter. He’d met her. What was her name? Best to be polite.

  “Nelda, I’m looking for Mr. Redmond,” he said, pulling off his rimless glasses to shake away raindrops.

  Her gaze locked on his face for a second then flicked down to the bulging folder under his arm, taking it in. Then a greeting smile flickered onto her lips.

  “He’s in the back–inventory work. New arrivals and the like.”

  “Could you get him please?”

  She disappeared through a curtain.

  Finding the name he sought archived on his phone, he pulled it up and began to tap a message. The students could do these things so much more easily. His fingers felt stiff and heavy, the aches in the joints intensified by the damp cold of the afternoon. He made mistakes, didn’t bother to correct them, just concentrated on getting his fingertips to convey enough meaning.

  “Inny,” came his friend’s voice.

  He looked up to see a gray-haired figure in a charcoal sweater. Redmond looked older and thinner than when he’d seen him last. How many months? Perhaps he was recently recovered from an illness. No time for small talk.

  “It’s been a while,” Redmond was saying.

  “I wish I had time to chat longer,” Inerney said. “Can’t.”

  He pulled the package from under his coat.

  “Safekeeping?”

  Redmond looked at the offering with a wrinkle of his brow.

  “What?”

  “I’ll call you later to explain. Just get this locked up somewhere, and I was never here.”

  Redmond looked at the girl, then at the professor again, jaw sagging.

  “Is this about…?”

  Burke didn’t want to say more, and he didn’t want the package he now held. Inerney just shook his head slowly. Sorry, Reddy, no other way.