“Seen a few. Never fought one,” says the Shonin. “Of course, you have. You’d fight your own shadow if you got the chance.”
“So, what does knowing it’s a killer and a dinner bell get us?”
The Shonin shrugs.
“I don’t know yet. That’s why I have my books. And this new one your friend Blackburn gave us.”
I go over to his desk.
“He told me he sent something over. Which book is it?”
The Shonin puts his hand on the box of glass vials.
“This one. Great stuff. Fascinating old magic. One of the rarest grimoires in the world.”
“It looks like a medieval juice bar. How is that a book?”
The Shonin smiles. It cracks his dry cheeks.
“Magic, dummy. You don’t read it. You drink it. Each potion is a page of powerful old knowledge. The right bastard could kill the world with what’s in here. Good thing it’s a trap.”
“What does that mean?”
The Shonin puts his hand back on the wooden box.
“Each potion is a page. And each page is a different poison. See the trap? You gain vast power and knowledge from a book like this, but when you have all of it, it kills you. It’s genius, don’t you think? It keeps deep, world-altering magic out of the hands of people like you.”
That’s what the Shonin has been scribbling. Poison wisdom from a killer book.
“I get it. That’s why Wells wanted you on this case. He knew about the book or knew about something like it. Something that would kill a regular magician. So he hired himself a dead one so it wouldn’t work on him.”
The Shonin sits down again.
“But it is working. I told you, this is old magic. Stuff from when the world was young. Not like the flashy stuff you magicians do today. This is the magic of continents dividing and life moving from the sea onto land. Powerful enough to kill even a dead man.”
“Then why is Wells letting you read it? Drink it? Whatever the hell you’re doing with it.”
“Because it’s necessary. Why do you think I worry, working with such a fathead? I won’t be here for the end. But you will be, and all these poor fools will rely on someone who’d rather be eating pork chops.”
“And all you do is make fat jokes when you should be teaching me about these things. Like, if the Angra can’t get through to us, what about Lamia? I talked to her. She appeared as a demented little kid, but she still managed to murder a lot of people.”
The Shonin nods impatiently.
“Her real name is Aswangana. What you saw was like a demon version of the goddess. Not all of her broke through to this dimension, but enough so she was smarter and more powerful than ordinary Qliphoth. What you defeated was a fragment of her essence. Do you believe you could do that to a full Angra?”
“I’m not stupid enough to think that.”
“Good. You know something after all.”
“The Angra sound a little like Hellions. They can’t break out of Hell into this world, but they can influence the world through their worshipers and using the possession key. But they’re no closer to bringing the Angra back than anyone on Earth.”
“I’m trying to learn how to destroy the Qomrama. If it can be destroyed,” says the Shonin. “I don’t have much more faith in the Vigil than I have in you. If things go badly, destroying it might be the only way to save the universe.”
“Have you found anything?”
He gets up and goes to the magnetic chamber holding the 8 Ball.
“No. I don’t think it can be destroyed. Gods made it. Only a God can unmake it.”
“What about Mr. Muninn? He’s a piece of God. Maybe I should take it to him.”
The Shonin laughs his rattling laugh.
“Your God is so broken up he can barely wipe his own ass. You think he can destroy this?”
He’s probably right. If Muninn or any of the other God brothers could kill the 8 Ball or the Angra, they would have done it by now. Especially Ruach, the only part of God left in Heaven. Blind and half deaf, he has it in for all the other brothers.
“Maybe I should take it to him. Just to see.”
“No,” says the Shonin. “It doesn’t leave here. There’s something to be done with it and I’ll find it out.”
I stand next to him at the magnetic chamber.
“What about the Tears of Gihon? That’s a potion that’s supposed to cure all poisons.”
“I know what it is,” says the Shonin quietly. “It won’t work. I’ll drink a hundred different poisons by the end. I’ll be too weak for any cure, from this world or Heaven.”
“Seems like a waste of four hundred years to just die.”
“You’re telling me.”
“How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“The only interesting thing about you. Self-mummification. How does it work?”
“Everybody asks that sooner or later,” he says, and walks away. “It’s boring. Monk stuff. You’re a monster in love with another monster. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe I will and that won’t make you so special anymore.”
The Shonin stands and pulls his robes around him in mock outrage.
“Ooo, psychology,” he says. “You took me down a peg, didn’t you, you sly dog? Here’s the truth. I didn’t want to talk about it because I think all you want to do is compare it to your time in Hell and see who suffered the most. Think about it. What if I suffered more? Then you’re the one who won’t be so special anymore.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
The Shonin looks at me with his empty eye sockets. The bone around the edges is the color of dirty tea. He opens and closes his mouth. Thin lips stretched across rotten teeth.
“It begins with a thousand days,” he says. “Fat rots the body, so you have to get rid of it. Even rice can make you fat. I ate only nuts and seeds, with a little tea, but mostly just water. I worked hard. Manual labor. It burns the body down to its essence. Want to hear more?”
“Right now it doesn’t sound much worse than what an Olympic runner goes through.”
The Shonin shakes his head.
“In the next thousand days there’s nothing but bark and pine roots to eat. You’ll find this part funny. To prepare my body I had to drink a kind of poison mixed with tea. Not strong, but it will ruin you if you drink enough. You puke your guts out. Maggots hate it. I drank plenty. I loved it more than you love tacos.
“When there is so little of us left in this world we’re barely ghosts, monks like me, we enter our tombs. There’s a tiny breathing hole and a bell. We sit and meditate. Clear our minds and let eternity enter us. Once a day I rang the bell to let other monks know I’m alive. Soon I can’t even do that. I’m not sure if I’m dead or dreaming I’m alive. I’ve stopped ringing the bell, so the other monks seal my tomb. I stay there for another thousand days before the tomb is opened. They took my body, placed me in robes, and put me in a place of reverence. There are not so many like me who made the journey intact.”
“So, you’re dead. What happened next? I mean what was the point of the whole thing?”
“I preserved myself to come back with wisdom to help the world when I’m needed.”
“Why you?”
“Why not?”
“Who woke you up?”
“No one woke me up. I woke myself when I sensed it was time. A young attendant came in one day to brush the dust off and I said ‘Boo.’ Not only was I awake, but the boy attained enlightenment the moment I spoke to him.”
“One soul saved. Only six billion to go. That’s a lot of ‘Boos.’ ”
The Shonin gets up and puts a kettle on for tea.
“What do you say, fatty? You heard my story. I already know yours from Wells. Tell me. Who suffered more?”
I feel in my pocket for a Malediction, then remember I can’t smoke in here, like maybe I’m going to give a dead man lung cancer.
“You suffered plenty. I’ll give you that,” I say. “But if we’re going to get along you’ve got to give me something. The difference between us isn’t who suffered more. It’s who chose it. You chose to suffer. Me, I was just standing there and Hell opened up and swallowed me. Eleven years of torture, rape, slavery, and fighting monsters, that’s not the nothing you want to make it out to be.”