The Order of Talos

There are things in this world which were never meant to be seen by the eyes of man. Or perhaps I should say that there are things in the otherworld which were never meant to be seen by the eyes of man. It’s the otherworld for a reason, after all. The dead body on my study couch is testament to that.

It began five years ago. I was studying demonology in a backwater town in New England - the perfect way to spend daddy’s money and become educated without fear of having to work. Rhomaeus University was tucked out of the way in the deep forests of New Hampshire, and offered a practically cloistered environment. And the subject I chose to waste my time on fascinated me. Demonology! There were honestly men and women who truly believed in demons, and devoted their life to studying them! I immersed myself in the courses, burying my nose in tomes such as Clavicula Salomonis and Traditions of Belief in Late Byzantine Demonology and a host of other books all in the same vein. All of them were both boring and fascinating at the same time.

The head of the department was a small, twitchy man of some foreign descent. Arabic or Egyptian, I was never quite sure. He taught the course ‘Demonology In Early Christian Literature’, and his lectures were so bogged down in scripture that I found myself wondering if I were in class or Sunday School. But he seemed to like me, for whatever reason. He was forever calling on me, forever praising me, and forever smiling at me. It unnerved me to no end. It was to the point where he was seeking me out or calling me over when in the dining hall. He was most often in the company of the head of the chemistry department, a woman of equally foreign descent whom I did not know. For a long while I assumed them to be lovers until someone politely informed me that they were siblings.

It was on a late afternoon in early December when I first learned that there was more to my chosen alma mater than met the eye. I was passing through the library and there was my most perplexing and religiously minded Christian Literature professor. He was in the company of the woman I now knew to be his sister, and both were speaking in hushed tones over some old volume. Curious, I approached them. He looked up and she slammed the book shut with a scowl. She was a rather disagreeable woman for all I had seen of her.

“May I help you, Mr Ericson?”

I watched my professor for a moment, as though not certain how to answer his question. I had approached him, surely there was some reason for it. Desperately, I searched for some excuse to trouble him while he was clearly so deep in discourse. I offered up some mumbling regarding extra reading material, feigning an interest in his chosen subject. He seemed delighted and hurried off to gather for me what books he felt I’d enjoy. His sister - who’s name I later learned was Anath - guarded the volume they had been discussing bodily, scowling at me all the while. I did not bother with small talk.

My professor returned, burdened down with an impressive stack of books. I took them, and as we made the exchange my eyes were drawn to a small bit of paper that fluttered down between us.

“Excuse me,” I said, moving quickly and snatching it as it fell. “I must have dropped this.”

I shoved the scrap of paper into my pocket even as my professor rushed to stutter and stammer that he was certain that the bit of paper was his. His sister snapped something in foreign tongues, and I slipped out of the library while the two were distracted.

It was not until later in the week, when my Professor tracked me down and inquired about the bit of paper, that I even gave it another moment of thought. In truth, I had forgotten it as soon as my mind was occupied by something else. But now I remembered.

I feigned innocence. I claimed the only bit of paper I had was my own course schedule. I emptied my pockets as though to prove it. The dark-skinned man seemed both relieved and bothered at the same time. Upon returning to my private dormitory later that night, I dug through the pockets of my discarded trousers and found the famed bit of paper.

It looked, at first glance, like simply a handful of scribblings on some form of demonology. There were odd symbols and words that made no sense to me scattered over the page haphazardly. But there was one phrase that caught my eye, the only English that was written on the thing. “Talos Defends’. I was intrigued. Talos? Talos defends what? The symbols were unknown to me, circular patterns inscribed with hieroglyphics that I had not come across in any of my studies. This was the thing that my professor, my strange and good natured professor, was so worried about?

Puzzled, I copied over the symbols and the words. I poured over my texts, searching for familiar shapes or glyphs, or any mention of ‘Talos’. I found none. I would have brushed it all off as nonsense were it not for the professor’s avid insistence upon the return of his little scrap of paper - unread.

I found myself at a loss. Research this strange little mystery myself, or confront my professor? I could not begin to guess which one would grant me better results. I decided to conduct my own research for the time being, and if I found nothing I would turn to my professor. But only if I found nothing on my own.

At the first opportunity I found, I sequestered myself in the library and began my research. I believed my professor to be Egyptian and so I turned to Egyptian texts first. I knew little of hieroglyphics, however, and found myself rather lost in a sea of unfamiliar symbols. None of which matched anything I’d copied from my professor’s mysterious writings.

I was undaunted, of course. I hadn’t expected this to be easy, not by any means. Despite my professor’s boring lectures, I knew him to be an intelligent man. His encryptions would hardly be child’s play to decipher.

It was nearly a week later that I made any form of progress, and it was quite by accident. On researching a paper on Bacchanalian possession rights I came across a passage written in the language of Greek slaves - the characters were immediately familiar to me. Some of these characters were on that bit of paper! I abandoned my research and pulled forth my copied slip. A quick trip to the front desk found me with a character guide and my notebook, avidly scribbling.

I wasn’t exactly emboldened by what I translated. I felt as though I had translated something from a dimestore horror novel.

The gate is open. We must prepare.

Prepare for what? I was beginning to suspect that my esteemed professor was part of some strange cult. He did teach a demonology course, after all. This was nothing more than crazed scrawling and mad ravings. I was somewhat disappointed I had wasted so much time worrying over it.

I didn’t give it another thought until the next night. I’d dozed off in the library, attempting to make up for lost time on my paper. The library never truly closed, though students were strongly advised to be out of the room by midnight. I can’t begin to imagine what time it was when I awoke - I didn’t wake of natural means.

The first thing I was aware of when I first came to was a strange noise I couldn’t quite place. It was akin to a dog walking on hard wood floors, that scrabbling and clicking of claws on a hard surface. But not quite. And then I realized how cold it was. Winters in New England were not something to take lightly, and if the heating had failed….

But I soon learned there was no heating malfunction. When I opened my eyes and sat up, I found myself looking at a visage that I have no words to describe. I could call it dark, but I would first need to redefine the word. This wasn’t dark in the sense of darker than light, or shadow-dark, or even black. It was the dark of blackened souls, or pits of hell, or some other ghastly description. Hunched and sucking all light into it, the vision before me filled me with dread.

I hoped against hope that I was hallucinating. That all my studying of demons and monsters had spit up this gruesome image as I struggled to fully wake. But the cold and the twisted sense in my stomach was all too real. It was real. I knew that in an instant, as it leaned forward and hissed. It was vaguely man-shaped, but more corpse than man.

I froze. I was locked in my seat, unable to move. The creature’s eyes were upon me, yellow and slanted and staring straight through me. It had teeth, I remember that. Teeth like knives, pointed and sharp and curved. It was a waking nightmare, something that should not be right there before my eyes!

I knew, in that one moment, that I was going to die. It was watching me, dark form shifting and flexing as its mouth opened wide and an unearthly scream came forth from its gaping maw. In this strange university in the woods of New Hampshire, I was going to die.

The weight that pressed on my chest prevented a scream. I made some small noise of fear, and I felt my bladder give way in terror. I was beyond caring. I was waiting for my life to flash before my eyes, but nothing came. Just blankness filled by that monstrous visage.

Then, from behind me, there was a noise. My mind screamed that it was another one of those creatures, another demon come to devour my flesh. I slumped down in my chair, my body limp. The creature was no longer looking at me. Its eyes were looking beyond me now and I feared a more terrifying creature. Something that frightened even another demon, something which would gnaw on my bones long after I was dead.

“Alexander!”

My name. The demon that spoke with a human’s voice knew my name….

That was my professor’s voice. I turned then, confused and frightened. He stood in the doorway, hands outstretched as though to ward off the monster in the library. His sister stood by him and a red haired man I didn’t recognize.

The next events were much of a blur. The creature leapt, it passed over me, a shadow that turned me to water and threatened to force me into unconsciousness. I felt the freeze of its evil as it went over my head, and I swear the tip of one vile claw grazed my hair. My Professor was chanting, strange words in a strange tongue - his pitch was strong and deep, like a monk of old. I couldn’t watch. I sank deeper into my chair and buried my face in my arms. There was yelling, screaming, the sounds of flesh tearing .and blood hitting the floor.

I finally gave in to my baser instincts. I fainted.

When I came to, I found myself in a bed in an unfamiliar room. The red haired man from the library was sitting by the bed, sharpening a knife. Visions of virgin sacrifices flitted through my mind and I made another small noise of fear.

“You’re up.” The man - I remembered seeing him about, then. Red haired and bespectacled, he taught some course I didn’t take - said. “I’m Professor Seabert. But you can call me Mar.”

“What happened?” I know it was hardly a dramatic thing to say, but I was praying that the library had been a nightmare and nothing more.

“You got yourself in a spot of trouble.” He grinned, and I wanted to curse at him. A spot of trouble? I had very nearly died!

“Mar? Is Alexander up?”

Perhaps my professor would shed some light on this. I was tempted to blame him, though I wasn’t certain why.

“He’s up, Ammi. Shaken as hell, but he’s up. You probably ought to talk to him.” Mar set down his knife and I noticed the marking on the hilt. I’d seen it somewhere before…

“Alexander? Are you alright?” My Professor - had mar called him Ammi? - took the now-vacated seat.

“No.” I saw no reason to lie. “What happened?”

“You came face to face with Tzanit. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m afraid.” He was smiling nervously. There was blood on his jacket. What had happened after I passed out?

“I don’t understand. That thing…”

“Was a demon.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “There are…. Many things you don’t understand. That I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Like the fact that demons are real?” It was madness. It had to be. My rational mind couldn’t accept anything else. Even now, the events in the library seemed like a fading dream. The memories were hazy, tinged in some sort of fog.

“Yes. Like that.” He reached into his pocket. “You told me you didn’t have this,” he said, almost accusingly. It was that damned bit of paper. I only shrugged. What did that have to do with anything?

“And I see you made an effort to translate it. You have put us in a difficult position, Alexander.”

I wasn’t ‘Mr. Ericson’ anymore. I still said nothing, waiting for further explanation. I looked about the room. Occult knick knacks lined the shelves and there was incense burning.

“I have little choice but to explain to you… well, there is much I need to tell you. You know that there are things that walk this world that shouldn’t. You saw one tonight. There is this world we know, and there is another world. The world of spirits and demons, the world of the dead and the gods.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said, shaking my head.

“But you do. There is a doorway, between these worlds. The Talos Gate. It is not a door in the sense of a physical object, but it is the link between our world and the other world. And sometimes it opens.”

“And demons come out.” It sounded so surreal! “Alright, fine. Let’s say I believe that. You burst into the library just in time because…?”

“Because every gate needs its guards.” He smiled and reached into the collar of his shirt. He pulled forth a medallion, old and bronze, the same symbol upon it that had graced the hilt of Mar’s knife. It was the sun, and across it what looked like a nail.

“Guards,” I repeated, almost numbly. A shadow of a tangible memory hit me, the frigid chill of the library. I shuddered.

“The Order of Talos. We guard the gate, we keep our world free of the demons and keep humans from venturing too deeply into places they do not belong.”

My college professor was a demon hunter. I laughed. Perhaps it was hysteria, but I began to laugh. Ammi just looked at me, blankly, his lips still twitching in a small and nervous smile.

“And now you’re going to tell me to forget what I saw and not tell anyone, right?” That was how these things went. That, or they were going to kill me. I gave another mad little laugh.

“No.” He shook his head. “We keep our existence a secret. We cannot afford you letting slip something you shouldn’t. Our rules are quite strict, young Alexander.”

Panic settled over me like a cloak. Even if this was all madness and the ravings of a deranged mind, there was a very real knife on the bedside table.

“You’re going to kill me?”

“What? Gods and demons, no! We have no choice but to accept you into our order. You are rather young, but you are quite bright. And you have gifts. I have been watching you.”

“Gifts?” Rapidly the situation had swung back to sheer madness. What gifts could I possibly have? And was truly being asked to join some bizarre demon cult?

“That demon wasn’t drawn to you for no reason. And you saw it. I would have approached you upon your graduation, but fate seems to wish you to join us now.” He smiled. “Anath and Mar will look after you - you know Anath, my sister?”

“Yeah…” Thankfully I knew that she was his sister. And I knew also that she was a foul tempered woman.

“I realize this is quite a bit for you to take in. Rest here for now. We’ll speak more in the morning. Any questions you have will be answered then.” He stood and smiled. It was an honest smile, and I realized how tired he looked. Worn and frail and older than I guessed he truly was. Madness. So much madness. But what choice did I have but to accept it? I had seen a demon. I had ‘gifts’. My professors were part of some secret society that protected the divide between two worlds. It truly was the stuff of dime store novels.

But I was exhausted and my mind too weary to make sense of any of it. I clung to the idea that I would have answers in the morning. Answers and a new life. If only my father could see me now!

“Get some sleep, Alexander.” Ammi paused at the door, bloodstained and looking like some strange sort of bookshop warrior. The small, dark professor who spoke of God as easily as he spoke of demons, who had chanted in some strange language in a darkened library to save my life. He smiled once more and brushed his dark hair out of his eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning. And welcome to the Order of Talos.”