Book Six, Chapter 84: It Begins

Kimberly and I walked through the temple at the crest of the largest hill in Southeastern Carousel. Since this was a sound stage, the circus was nowhere to be seen.

A lot of research had led us to this place. It was beautiful.

On-Screen.

“So, is it true that the gods used to live as giants among men?” I asked the man who worked as both a tour guide and a spiritual leader. He wore robes like a priest, but they were dusted with a bright yellow powder.

“Yes, I know the stories,” Yeoman Brock said. “Ancient peoples believed they saw Heaven King Gaugh in the distant mountains, sewing together thunderstorms and spying on them from atop his mountain throne. Modern doctrine teaches that these oral histories came from a much more spiritual time, when the spirit of Gaugh was all-surrounding. Perhaps people truly believed he was there in the distance.”

The yeoman leaned in and whispered, “You know, I like to believe it’s all true. The legends of physical gods battling for supremacy, of magic, and worship under the stars in the old days before the canon was written. That, however, is not the position of the temple.”

He led us through the courtyard of the temple, where acolytes and other worshippers worked in the soil, planting and pruning.

“This place is beautiful,” Kimberly said. “I had no idea all of this was in Carousel.”

“Yes,” Brock said. “His word commands us to be where the people are. Right this way.”

He led us out the temple door toward a well-trodden stone path leading to a large statue of a god sitting on a throne. This was the place where the statue of the Hooded God could normally be found in Carousel proper.

Here, it was replaced by Heaven King Gaugh, one of the last remaining deities that existed back in the time of The Pilgrim of Silver Isle. He had changed a bit over the millennia, but it was him. My character had confirmed it in his research binge during the time skip. He was on top of things.

Yeoman Brock brought us close to the statue. As he did, we saw the baskets upon baskets of food laid at the statue’s feet. They contained corn and tomatoes, bread and butter, things grown and things bought.

“What happens to the food?” I asked.

“Gaugh’s earthly messengers feed upon it. The rest is used to bless the fields,” Yeoman Brock said. Gaugh’s messengers were crows, who flitted through the piles of food squawking and feasting. “You know, divine oblations are very powerful in our beliefs.”

“That’s what we heard,” Kimberly said as we looked over the piles and piles of possibly wasted groceries. “So we can offer anything?”

Yeoman Brock nodded. “Food, wine, anything of the sort. We have provided some wafers made of wheat, sugar, and salt that visitors often use as offerings. Any offering made in earnest shall do.”

He gestured toward a large wooden container near the statue, which contained baskets like those in the stacks at the statue’s feet.

“We brought our own,” I said.

“Very well,” Yeoman Brock said. “Remember to pray for noble things. The mind can justify even wickedness as kindness if it is the heart’s desire. Pray first, that your heart is unburdened.”

He bowed and turned to leave us there.

As he did, I turned to Kimberly and pulled two containers out of my hoodie pockets.

“I hope Old Man Gaugh craves premium fuel,” I said, showing her and the camera what I was holding.

Dr. Antoine Stone’s Premium Performance Powder — Fruit Punch Flavor. Two canisters of it. I also brought some of his individually wrapped protein bars.

“Well, Gough,” I said, staring up at the weatherworn face of the statue, “We need help beating an old enemy of yours. You do not speak of him.”

Time ticked on, and all we could do was wait, going over our plans and contingency plans and thinking through who might be the last characters standing, which ones would die gloriously, and who would die all pathetic and helpless.

Kelsey was a Final Girl who had seen too many episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and, as a Final Girl, she had Last One Alive. She kept pitching that we should let her get captured as a distraction. She couldn’t be killed until everyone else was, so she felt she would be the ultimate decoy.

“These guys can’t kill me,” she said. “And it’s not like they will just torture me. That’s not their vibe.”

“No,” I said. “Literally, the biggest rule in the Atlas for Final Girls is to not try to use that exploit. It always ends badly. Carousel doesn’t like it.”

“I think that’s exag—” she started to say, but then I shushed her. We were getting dangerously close to going On-Screen according to my Call Sheet trope.

One good thing about this storyline was that most of the players were canonically plotting to take down the cult, so we didn’t have to worry about hiding our planning materials.

On-Screen.

Kimberly’s landline phone started to ring. She answered it.

“Hey, Tom,” she said. After a few moments, she continued, “Yeah, he’s right here.”

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Was calling me here meant to show we were being watched? How much did the cult know about our plans? Was Dina right? She had said they knew nothing.

I had to hope that was true.

I grabbed the phone, stretching its cord all the way to the next room.

“Tom?” I asked as I put the receiver to my ear.

“Hey, Riley,” he said. “I tried to get you at home, but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, my call forwarding is on the fritz,” I said. “What can I do for you? I gotta say, if it’s about you-know-what, I can’t talk much.”

“I understand,” Tom said. “You don’t have to talk much. I need you to do something for me. Just trust me, okay?”

I paused.

“Okay,” I said. “Go ahead.”

“I need you to tell me where Antoine Stone is,” he said. “Don’t ask questions. I need him. We need him.”

“I… don’t… I, well, Tom… he’s a friend.”

“I know. Tell me where he is. It is vital for us to bring about a better world,” he said.

I turned. Antoine, Kimberly, and Kelsey were there watching.

“This is part of the secret stuff, isn’t it?” I asked. “In the back room.”

For all of my character’s spying, he had not yet been brought in on the whole human sacrifice secret.

“Riley,” he said. “I need you to go on faith here. You can trust me.”

I looked up at Antoine.

He nodded. He knew what was being asked. Tom had befriended me and invited me into his cult for the express purpose of this.

“I’m supposed to drive him to the airport tonight,” I said.

“Good,” Tom said. “I need you to drive him somewhere else.”

One last look at Antoine and Kimberly, and I said, “Where?”

On-Screen.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, looking up at Antoine in the rearview mirror.

“I’m dead either way, right?” he said. “At least this way, they might actually trust you enough to let you in to save me.”

We normally transported Antoine around in the trunk of our cars so that no one would know he had spent so much time at Kimberly’s.

The sacrifice was hours away. Still, I felt they were cutting it close waiting until now to nab him. It was a very movie-bad-guy thing to do, though. It was possible the audience wouldn’t know the actual time frame.