by Peter Harris
8
The Sisters of Renunciation
It was as the goatherd had said. Avalon itself was but a part of a larger World, a place remembered by some on Earth as the Garden of Eden. Avalon was in a sacred lake of that world, and that lake was itself on a greater island, which the peoples of that world called Namaglimmë, the Starfish Isle, because it had five arms. And on the Tor Enyása, the High Plateau, in the middle of Namaglimmë was the Tree of Life, by whose magic and beauty the Nine Worlds were once linked.
And Calibur was greeted in a little bay of Avalon, and made welcome, and learned much of the languages and ways of that world by means of a magical Stone, one of the Orpadra, which means ‘Mindstone’. He learned, too, of the fall of the once-wise Travellers, an ancient race, creatures who come from great creeping thorns, and who journey as wind-borne thistle-seeds across the heavens, to take root in foreign worlds.
Some of these Travellers had gone far into outer space where they met the Dark Entities of the Void, and now, Calibur was warned, began to teach terrible things: the renunciation of Life and the blessedness of the pure Void from which all life proceeded, and (they say) should not have. And they cursed the Goddess, saying that she was but an evil spirit, and all Her priestesses evil witches who kept souls enslaved to the lust of life. And these Travellers were known by the faithful of Aeden as the Aghmaath, which means ‘Life-smotherers.’
By Calibur’s time the Aghmaath had set up monasteries in Aeden, and though as yet they did no harm to others by force, their thoughts had darkened the air of Aeden, and some humans were being drawn into their thorn-hedged enclosures by their promise of blissful release from all the struggles of life.
Many books could be written of the lore of Aeden, and its history, and that of the Nine Worlds; and have been. But we must now pass over these great matters to follow Calibur as he sought his love and his destiny.
For a long while he searched the enchanted isle, though it was a strange land, hard to keep one’s bearings in. And he asked all he met, ‘Have you seen my wife, the Earth woman named Rosa?’ It seemed that none of the fair inhabitants of Avalon knew where Rosa was or how to find her. Nor did the Ferryman who had brought her across the sea. But he comforted Calibur, saying, ‘When the time is right, you will meet the Old Man of Avalon, and he will surely know.’
On Avalon, meanwhile, there was much dancing and singing, and more joy and beauty and magic than Calibur had ever imagined possible, and the people were hospitable, and he almost forgot why he had come there, so happy had he become, except that every pair of lovers reminded him that his own beloved was gone.
Then one night he stood alone upon the summit of Avalon, looking across the enchanted waters at the land of Aeden, wondering where in all that strange country Rosa was, when an old man appeared, coming up a hidden stair cut into the reddish rock. Calibur was afraid, for he felt a power in the man which seemed to tilt the very rock beneath his feet, and time seemed to fly away, and he stood exposed in a place beyond time. But the old man smiled, and held out his hand, and the earth stood still again, and he could breathe. And the old man told Calibur, ‘No drastic action, such as yours in leaving your Rosa, is without effect, but it ripples down the warp and woof of time, shifting the threads in the great tapestry of Life.’
‘Master, are you the one who sent me the warning by way of the goatherd?’ asked Calibur, for he felt he was in the presence of a great seer and a wise man.
‘I am. And it was I who called you here, for your destiny concerns me, too. Now, since you are here, I assume you are ready for any ordeal to find your beloved and your destiny, since you received from the goatherd my message warning you of the path ahead?’
‘I am.’
‘Then I will tell you what has happened to Rosa. She had a dream that you came back to the cottage where you once lived with her. For your sake, against my advice she took a boat and left the sacred isle to seek a way back to your land, since the Ferryman would not take her. She could not bear the thought that she would not be there to greet you. But the lake is treacherous to cross without the Ferryman, and in any case the path to Earth is not often open. Failing to find Britain, she tried to return to Avalon, but was blown off-course, and landed on the far shore, in Namaglimmë. She had heard of the Tree of Life, high on the sacred plateau of Tor Enyása, whose magic in former times linked Aeden with Earth, and so she decided to seek it. But my arts tell me that on the way she was ensnared by the mindwebs of the Aghmaath, and has departed for a thorn convent to become a devotee of the Void.’
Calibur felt the earth again move under his feet, as a black horror and fear gripped his innards. The old man steadied him, and guided him down the steps in the rock to his cave, where he told him many things that he would need to know on his quest to find Rosa and win her back. ‘Especially, you must guard your mind from their probings, for they can read the minds of humans like a book, and turn them to despair and love of the Void,’ he warned Calibur. ‘The Aghmaath have a third eye, which is set in their foreheads covered by spiny lashes, which open to reveal the eye. With this eye they transmit thought-forms of great power. Of old this power was used to create and teach, but now only to bring despair and thoughts of the Void. So beware!
‘On the other hand, if you wish to be allowed into the convent at all, you must pretend that you are open to their doctrines. But I say again, beware! They are subtle, and will soon turn your thoughts to the ways of death.’
‘Is there then any hope that I can turn her back, without myself succumbing to their snares?’ asked Calibur in dismay.
‘Yes, if you trust your heart and do not follow doctrines of seeming logic, as you are prone to do.’
The next morning, with a sick heart but full of determination, Calibur set out to recover his beloved from the distant convent, and the Ferryman took him across to the shores of Namaglimmë, and wished him well as he set off into the woods that surrounded the lake of Avalon, making for the western arm of the great starfish-island. There, the old man had told him, were the strongholds of the Aghmaath. For in ancient days that whole peninsula had belonged to them, before they fell into darkness.
Over the northern mountain range he went, then turning west came down into the great wide valley that once was known as the valley of the rainbow, as it held a long lake with a waterfall over which a rainbow hung. Now it is known as the Valley of Thorns, and the lake is called Deadwater.
But in those days the valley still seemed fair, though it was a solemn place, and the Aghmaath missionaries who met him there were grim, and told him that he was not welcome, unless he came as a convert to join one of the monasteries. But Calibur did as the old man had said, and pretended to be a trader, and offered the missionaries some gemstones from Avalon, sapphires which the old man had given him. But they waved him on, saying, ‘Be gone! We are the Phangür Aghinax, of the holy Order of the Renunciators. We have no desire for such baubles.’ He passed a strange hill, in which there was a great dark entranceway that made him shiver, though the sun was shining. Skirting this hill, he came to a wilderness where creeping thorns grew over the land, choking all other life. Their form of growth was such that they formed great hexagonal fields, surrounded by the impenetrable thorn hedges which rose from the main branches. And inside the hedges were tunnels by which the Aghmaath could travel unseen.
In one such field was the convent of the Sisters of Renunciation, where the women had made cells of wattle and daub for sleeping, and a meeting-hall, all built around a square in which was a central sacrificial fireplace with a tall black chimney.
And there lived Rosa with her sisters in the Void, having not a care in the world, for she had renounced it. Now she was preparing for death even in life, cutting the threads that tie mortals to the wheel of suffering. Only the thinnest silver thread remained to bind her to this life, until the Void saw fit to let her go to her eternal rest in the nothingness. Then she who was called the Phagzagira, or Wombcutter, would come, and ritually remove her
womb, the sacred source of new life, and cursing it, bless the one who had relinquished it as she bled to death (or, if she survived, she would herself become a Phagzagira). Many of Rosa’s sisters had already thus shuffled off the gravecloths of this life, and found final peace, and their wombs had been burned in sacrifice to the Void, and their ashes scattered to fertilise the ground where the Apples of Forgetfulness grew.
Those sisters that remained lived only to lead the new novices brought in by the Phangür Aghinax, the missionaries of the Aghmaath, into the path of renunciation. And just as a star burns more brightly as it falls into a black hole, or the sky flames with rich colours at sunset, so the sisters of renunciation felt great joy as they ate the Apples of Forgetfulness and waited for the final release of death, sitting together in the shade of the sadly creaking thorns and singing hymns to the Void.
When Calibur finally arrived at the gates of the convent, the Aghmaath guards fixed their baleful eyes on him, reading his mind. Then one spoke in a terrible voice: ‘You may not enter here, for we see into your heart, that you seek one of the sisters, to seduce her back into bondage to lust.’
‘I beg of you, if there is any truth in your doctrines, let me hear it from her own lips,’ replied Calibur humbly, And as the Old Man of Avalon had taught him, he made his mind open to thoughts of renunciation, though indeed the guard’s voice made his heart waver from his purpose to save Rosa, and itself totter at the brink of the Void. The Aghmaath gazed at Calibur until his mind writhed under the withering stare which seemed to probe his very thoughts. At last the guard replied,
‘Very well, you shall hear it from her own lips, and be enlightened! But if you harden your heart to her words, we will chastise you with whips of thorn and cast you out into the ditch before these gates to die like a dog.’
They swung the thorn-gates open, and two of the Phangür Aghinax came out to meet him. Though the sun was shining their touch was icy, and in their proximity a shadow was cast over his heart. They led Calibur into the compound, where Rosa prayed a little apart from the others. She was pale, and her eyes seemed huge in her gaunt face, but to him she was the most beautiful sight in the world. The Phangür Aghinax released him and withdrew. He ran forward to embrace her. But she pushed him away and said, ‘Get thee gone, lustful stranger!’
He fell back, staggering as if stuck to the heart. ‘It’s me, Calibur, your husband!’ he managed to reply, but his words sounded hollow in his own ears. ‘Rosa, please…’
‘Rosa — that is no longer my name’ she interrupted. ‘Now I am Tavapagh, child of Nothingness, the blessed nothingness of the Void.’
‘Rosa, I was wrong to leave you, to seek the One on the mountaintop. Now I have seen that Life…’
Rosa interrupted him. ‘Life! Life is an illusion to be seen through, a petty trick by a bad magician, to be mocked and ridiculed, not suckled and nurtured like a bastard child. For to embrace life is to embrace the very serpent which has bitten you so that you are in torment from its poison. Only in relinquishing the will to life can the soul find a cure, and finally crush the serpent’s head.’
Calibur felt the shadow of the Phangür Aghinax over his heart. They were listening, waiting for him to yield to the inevitable… With an effort he remembered why he had come, and said,
‘But the Goddess herself weaves the fabric of life. Surely you do not mean to deny her?’
‘So you have found the Goddess? Then I pity you, for you are but a fly in her accursed web. But as for me, being a woman, I was far worse: I was one of the evil spiders who seek to spin out more woe, bringing new life into this vale of tears through the accursed womb-portal, turning the wheel of endless suffering, of birth and rebirth. At least my womb did not open to cast a child into this world of woe! And soon, even by the next festival of the Void, I hope to be accounted worthy to leave the accursed web, be rid of the womb and spin no more.’
And as the sun beat down on him, Calibur felt the weight of her words, and it seemed an unutterable weariness to him to go on, resisting the truth of what she had told him. She was pitying him, wounding him with a healing despair, hurting in order to heal. The truth of her words seemed to him like the very sword of Truth, piercing his defences as it had pierced hers. He yearned to join her in relinquishment and find rest at last. He became aware that she was holding out an apple. He took it in his hand and looked at it, shiny and red. He raised it to his mouth. The sisters of renunciation were crooning a hymn to the Void which spoke of rest and eternal peace, and Rosa joined in, singing soft and sweet.
Suddenly he heard another voice inside his head, and it spoke very differently:
‘Don’t be a fool! Did I not warn you of the apples?’ It was the Old Man of Avalon. And Calibur remembered the Goddess, and the beauty of Life and all its forms rushed in a glorious vision before his eyes, and he knew he could not slander it, though it stung him with a thousand stings. With a great effort he lowered the apple, and said, ‘I cannot deny Life.’
Then the Phangür Aghinax stepped forward, and held him with pincer-like hands, and pressed him into the thorns, which curled and held him fast while they beat him with thorny rods until his clothes were in shreds. Then they threw him bleeding into the ditch outside the gates, warning him never to return, and the gates of the convent were closed against him.
Pierced with the pain of rejection and with the thorn-lashes of the gate-keepers, he lay there until night-fall, and grotesque stick-insects from the thorn hedge above began to drop down and crawl over his body, and they clung on when he tried to brush them away. Screaming, he sat up. He groaned, ‘How much longer must I endure this? When will I be helped in my quest to find my Destiny? Will nothing go right? Am I cursed forever by the Goddess — if She exists?’
He heard the voice in his head speak again:
‘And how long will you continue to set an hourglass to the Creator of Time? How long will you keep seeking a sign to prop up your faith? Even now, behold, help comes!’
Calibur looked up and there was someone approaching along the road that wound past the convent walls. He saw that it was a young shepherd leading a little flock of sheep. The boy stopped, and giving him water to drink, listened to his story of woe.
‘And now,’ said Calibur, ‘if you have a sword, have mercy on me and kill me, for I have lost all hope and wait only for death.’
But the shepherd said to him, ‘Shame on you! Faint heart never won fair Lady! The only way back to her now is through suffering and sacrifice. You must find a way over, or under, or around the thorns. But next time do not come without an offering to win her heart back, to remind her of the Goddess, and to release her from the spell of the Void.’
Then the shepherd led Calibur away from the gates to a place where there was a pleasant spring which trickled down into a shady pool. There he bathed Calibur’s wounds, and removed the thorns, which were working their way inwards. The pain was worse almost than when he was being beaten, but he felt renewed faith in life, and the love of the shepherd reminded him that love is stronger than death, and makes life worthwhile, even in the midst of suffering.
‘But what offering could I bring her?’ asked Calibur when at last his wounds were clear of thorns, and he could speak again.
‘Perhaps an icon from the sacred artists of Baz Apédnapath,’ suggested the shepherd.
‘And where is that place?’
‘To the west of Lake Avalon, and south over the High Pass, and down to the gates of the canyon. For Baz Apédnapath means ‘Bottomless Canyon,’ and there in the cliffs dwells a community of “Seekers of Truth”, as they call themselves. They are divided into disputing sects, among which are many skilled iconographers. I go that way now, to trade my wool and cheese for silks and icons and diamonds to trade with the North-eastern villages. Then one day I will be a successful merchant, and be able to win the hand of my love, whose father despises me, as I am just a poor shepherd.’
The shepherd wished him well, and departed, after f
eeding him with cheese made from sheep’s milk, and bread and cider, which was made, he said, from the apples which grew in the blessed orchards of the Lady by Lake Avalon. And the miraculous fragrance of that cider brought back to him the memory of all the fragrance of life, so that he marvelled that he had wished to die, and that he had given up on Rosa so soon.
As the rich golden sun of Aeden set, he lay in the soft grass by the pool where he had bathed, and gazed into the water to see the colours of the sunset reflected deep within. Closer, he saw his own reflection surrounded by the padmaësta, the hopeflower of Aeden, and his face merged and was transformed into an image of Rosa, glowing with life, more beautiful than he had ever seen her, the very image of Ainenia, the Lady of Aeden.
Then, as he stared at the lovely reflection in the water, he was suddenly seized with the urge to go to Baz Apédnapath and learn to paint icons, and paint such an icon of Rosa that it would show all his love for her, which was now as high as the sky, as wide as the earth, and as deep as the sea. And in that image, he must capture the power of the Fifth Element, the union of opposites in the sacred embrace of Life. Thus would he portray to Rosa the spirit of Ainenia, through whose being shines the love of the Goddess. Then Rosa would remember the love she once had for Life, and for him, and she would consent to be his wife again.
So he sprang up, and hurried through the gathering darkness to catch up with the shepherd, and beg to be allowed to go with him to Baz Apédnapath.
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