A grinning death’s-head.
Father Vidicon stopped and stood stock-still. A chill enveloped him, beginning at the hollow of his back and spreading upward to embrace his scalp, for he was certain that this death’s-head was the first he had beheld within this viewless tunnel. Then did he bethink him of the footsteps he had heard above his head, and knew with certainty (though he knew not how he knew) that those had been his own footsteps going past this place. They’d seemed inverted for, at the time, he had walked upon the outside of the throat he was now within; yea, now he walked within it once again. “In truth,” he whispered, “I do wander a Klein flask.” And so it was—a tube that did curve back upon itself, then curved within itself once again, so that he passed from inside to outside, then back to inside, all unawares. Aye, forever might he wander this dark hall and never win to any goal except his own point of origin. He might well press onward, aging more and more, till at last he would stumble through this hall, a weak, enfeebled, ancient spirit. Yet, “Nay,” he cried, “for here’s the place of paradox—so as time goes forward, I shall grow younger!” And hard upon the heels of that realization came another—that he might wander where he would, yet never find that spirit within whose throat he wandered—the spirit that did invest this place.
Or did the place invest the spirit? “Aye!” he cried in triumph. “ ’Tis not Hell’s mouth that I did enter, but Finagle’s!” And so it was, in truth, and the throat of Finagle was like unto a Klein flask. Therefore did Father Vidicon set forth again with heart renewed and fear held in abeyance, to pace onward and onward, downward to his left, then upward left again, until the wall did fall away beneath his hand and the floor curved down beneath him. Then he cried in triumph, “I have come without! Nay, Spirit, look upon me—for I have come from out to stand upon thy skin! Behold him who’s sent to battle thee!”
A door thundered up scant feet away, nearly knocking him backward with its wind of passage. He did fall back, plunging downward, and cried out in fear, flailing about him, near to panic—and his hand caught upon a spike which did grow from that surface there below. More such spikes caught him, pressing most painfully against him, for their points were sharp; yet he heeded not the pain, but did gaze upward, and beheld a great and glowing baleful eye that did fill all his field of vision.
“Indeed, I see thee now,” a great voice rumbled. “May there be praise in censure! I had begun to think I would never have thee out from my system!”
“Nor wilt thou,” Father Vidicon did cry in triumph, “for the outside of thy system is the inside! Indeed, thine inside is thine outside, and thine outside’s inside! They are all one, conjoined in endlessness!”
“Do not carol victory yet,” the huge voice rumbled, “for thou dost address Finagle, author of all that doth twist back upon itself. I am the fearsome spirit that doth invest all paradox and doth make two aspects of any entity separate and opposed as thesis and antithesis, in Hegellian duality.”
“Ah, is it Hegel’s, then?” Father Vidicon did cry, but . . .
“Nay,” Finagle rumbled, “for Hegel thus was mine.”
“Thou dost affright me not,” Father Vidicon did cry. “I know thee well at last! Thou art the bridge from Tomorrow to Yesterday, from Positive to Negative, from nucleus’s strong force thus to weak! Thou art the bridge that doth conjoin all those that do appear opposed!”
“Thou hast said it.” Finagle’s voice did echo all about him. “And I am thus the Beginning and the End of all. Bow down and adore me, for I am Him Whom thou dost call thy Lord!”
“Thou art not!” the saint did cry, and righteous wrath arose within him. “Nay, thou art a part of Him, as are we all—yet but a part! Thou must needs therefore be within His limit and control.”
“Art thou so certain, then?” The great eye did narrow in anger. “For an I were the Beginning and the Ending joined, how could I lie?”
“Why, for that,” Father Vidicon replied, “thou art the Spirit of all Paradox, and canst speak true words in such a way that they express mistruth! Thou dost lie by speaking sooth!”
“Thou hast too much of comprehension for my liking,” Finagle then did rumble. “Ward thee, priest! For I must annihilate thy soul!”
Light seared, and did shock the darkness, turning all to fire, lancing the good saint’s orbs sightless with light. He did clap his palms over them, and closed them tightly—yet the light remained. Recalling then that he was within the Realm of Paradox, he did ope his eyes to slits, and the little light admitted did darken dazzle till the saint could once again distinguish form and detail.
He beheld a gigantic, fiery bird that did drift up from ashes, its wings widespread and cupped for hovering, beak reaching out to slash at him. Then terror struck the priest’s stout heart, and he grasped the spikes that held him kneeling on Finagle’s flesh and, throwing back his head, did cry, “Oh Father! Hear me now, or I must perish! Behold Thy servant, kneeling here in helplessness, beset by that dread raptor called the Phoenix, in whom resides vast power, for in its end doth it begin! Give me now, I pray Thee, some shield, some weapon here for my defense, or I must perish quite! Even the last shreds of my soul must be transformed and subsumed into pure, unmodulated energy devoid of structure, an that fearsome predator doth smite me!’
He held up hands in supplication—and light did glare within his palm, pulling back and pulling in, imploding, gathering together, coalescing—and the saint did hold an Egg of Light!
Then did the spirit’s vasty laugh fill all the Universe, bellowing in triumphant joy, “Nay, foolish priest! For all thy pleas to thy Creator, nothing more than this hath He to give thee! An egg—and thou wouldst oppose it ’gainst the bird full-flown! Now yield thee up, for thou must perish!”
But, “Not so,” the saint did cry, “for I do know thee well, and know that when thou most doth laugh, thou art most in dread—and when thou dost most gloat on victory, thou art most in terror of defeat. Thou must needs be, for to thy Phoenix grown out of an ending, I do bring a beginning that must needs bear its death!”
Then he did rise, that he might face the greatest peril of his existence upright and courageous; and he held the Egg out in his two hands cupped, as though it were an offering.
The Phoenix screamed, and fiery wings beat downward to surround him. The beak of flame seared toward him, like unto a laser; and he bore himself bravely, though he did feel his spirit quail within him. Fire did surround him on every side, closer then and closer—and the spirit of pure energy did envelop him and did sink in upon him . . .
And inward passed him. The heat of that passing did sear his flesh, and he closed his eyes against it. Cool breath then touched his face and, opening his eyes, he saw the bird, shrunken now unto a handsbreadth, shrinking still, diminishing and growing smaller. Its despairing cry did pierce his ears and heart; for as it shrank, it sank. The Egg absorbed all flame and every erg of energy, until the Phoenix’s head did shrink at last within its shell. There it sat, glowing within Father Vidicon’s cupped palms, brighter and more pure than e’er it had been.
The priest breathed a sigh, and cried, “All praise be to Thee, my Lord, who hath saved me from the mountain of the Light of Death.”
Then the dazzle faded from his eyes, and again he saw that huge orb, still glinting balefully upon him. “How now, then, priest,” Finagle’s voice did rumble. “Thou hast defeated my most puissant servant. What shalt thou, therefore, do with me?” His voice did sneer. “Shalt thou now annihilate me? Nay, do so—for then thy race shall be free of this urge to self-defeat that doth invest it!”
Fathomless tranquillity enveloped the priest. “Nay,” quoth he, “for I cannot make thee cease to exist, nor can any—for thou art part of God, as are we all, and thou art spirit—the Spirit of fell Paradox. Nay, tempt me not to hubris, arrogance—for I do know that, did I eliminate thee, thou wouldst turn that, even that, about, and make of it Creation. Thus wouldst though blaspheme—for none can create, save God. Thou wouldst not die
but wouldst simply change thy form—and ’tis better to have thee as thou art, so that we know thine appearance. Go thy way—thou art a necessary part of existence.”
“So, then.” And the huge voice rang with disappointment quite profound—nay, almost with despair. “Thus thou wilt let me live.”
But Father Vidicon knew that when the Spirit of Paradox did seem desperate, it was in truth triumphant. “Be not so proud,” he did admonish it, “for thou art even now within the hand of God, and ’tis that which He hath proven through me—that even thou canst be comprehended, and accepted within a person’s harmony of being. Thus thine urge to self-defeat can be transformed into growth. Thou wilt ever be with Eve’s breed, fell Spirit, and with Adam’s—but never again need any man or woman fear thee, for they will know thou art as much a part of the world about them as the rain and wind, and as much of the world within them as the urge to charity.”
“So thou dost say,” the spirit rumbled, “yet doth that not make a mockery of thy victory? Dost thou not see that I have triumphed finally? What shalt thou do with that Phoenix thou hast at long last slain by bringing within the scope of Birth? Wilt thou then destroy it, and with it, all beginnings?”
The priest then shook his head. “Nay; for ’tis not mine to do with anywise. I must surrender it unto its Source.” Then he cried, “Oh, Father! I give Thee now Thine Egg of Rebirth, with all the thanks and praise that I do own—thanks that Thou hast preserved me, but more: that Thou hast deemed me worthy to become Thine instrument for this restarting!” He thrust the Egg up high, an offering there within his hands, and it rose above his palms and arced upward, and farther upward and farther, and Father Vidicon did cry out, “See! This is the Egg of All, the Cosmic Egg, the Monobloc!”
Then at its zenith did the Egg explode, filling all that emptiness with light, searing barrenness with its seeding of Energy and Matter, investing all the Void with the Cosmic Dust and with it, the structure of Time and Space, thus bringing Order out from Chaos.
And Father Vidicon did rise within it like to a flaring candle, for flame surrounded him transcendent and un-burning; and thus did he ascend through Space and Time, unto the Mind of God.
Saint Vidicon to the Rescue Page 27
