Written in the Ashes

by K. Hollan Van Zandt

  “Have you chosen your weapon?” asked Savitur.

  Julian nodded reverently. “Yes, Master Savitur,” he said, twirling the long staff in his hands.

  “Very good. This duel shall be won when one of us delivers the death blow.” As Savitur spoke the words, his eyes glittered playfully in the light.

  Hannah looked to Mira. Surely the men would not fight each other to the death? But Mira was engrossed in what was happening before her, and did not return the glance.

  There was a dramatic pause as two other priests approached with long black sashes draped across their hands. They bound the blindfolds snug over the men’s eyes, and then handed Savitur a staff of equal length to Julian’s.

  Hannah felt unsure of how a duel would be fought between two blindfolded men. Surely there had to be some mistake.

  Savitur and Julian bowed to each other one last time, and then the horn sounded. Julian raised his staff instinctively, but made no move to attack. Not yet. Julian let his breath extend to the blunt tips of the long staff as he invited his root energy in the base of his spine to ascend into his belly, his heart, the center of his forehead. The yoga techniques brought to Pharos by the mystic Kalanos from the caves of India had taught him how to redirect this powerful energy, and now his test had come.

  Savitur lifted his staff smoothly, poised for the moment of first contact. A stillness arose that enveloped the two men, as if no one else was present. Then Julian cut in and swung the first blow, but his staff whistled through the empty air. He swung twice more, but each time Savitur ducked or stepped back from the staff’s reach as though he could see it perfectly.

  Hannah was astonished. Beside her Mira let out a little gasp.

  Julian spun sideways and extended his staff, and this time the two staffs smacked. Sensing an opening, Julian advanced with formidable intensity that would have toppled any other opponent instantly, but Savitur parried the blows effortlessly and then slunk back into the shadows and disappeared.

  Julian crouched in the courtyard, turning slowly, waiting for Savitur’s attack, using his other senses to hone in on his opponent. Suddenly Savitur sprang from above, his staff aimed at Julian’s shoulder in a downward thrust, but Julian managed to roll and dodge the blow.

  The two opponents circled each other slowly, as though walking on opposite sides of a wheel. Though Julian had trained for this moment extensively, he still did not know how he would succeed in besting his teacher. Savitur had the spring of a deer in his agile step, and the severity and power of a tiger’s deadly lunge in his blows. So far as Julian knew, no one had ever beaten him.

  Perhaps sensing Julian’s questioning thoughts, Savitur extended his staff at a low angle to knock him off his feet. The staff nicked Julian’s ankle, but he quickly moved to the side to absorb the blow. He was only off balance for an instant, but the cleverness of his teacher fanned his impatience. Suddenly he burst in with a loud yell and there was a blur of staffs as the two men fought and parried. Julian managed to back Savitur into a corner of the courtyard and smiled to himself, feeling the advantage, but then Savitur turned one end of his staff to the ground and swung himself up to the rooftop.

  There was a gasp from the priests and priestesses that muffled the sound of Savitur’s gentle landing on the roof. Julian turned his head to one side, listening. Sensing that Savitur had vaulted, he turned his own staff and followed him up to the roofline, losing his balance for a moment as he landed, and then righting himself.

  Savitur burst in immediately and went for low cuts to Julian’s knees to try to knock him off balance. Then his head. Then his knees. The cuts came high low, high low, attempting to confuse his opponent. Julian leapt several times and then ducked to avoid a staff blow to his skull. The energy around the fighters began to whirl. The flash of staffs created circular patterns like flowers of light in the air. Julian focused on his breath while parrying and looking for openings. He took a blow to the shoulder that caught him off balance for a moment, but he responded by snatching Savitur’s staff and giving it a yank to pull his teacher forward in the direction of his own thrust. For a moment, Savitur lost his balance, rocking forward, and then he quickly regained his center.

  Thunder crackled in the distance as the storm drew nearer. A roost of starlings in the palms beside the temple suddenly erupted into flight and swept in low over the rooftop. For a moment the fighters were concealed by the shimmer of black wings. When the birds passed, Julian struck for the elder Kolossofia, but Savitur returned the trick and grabbed his staff and hurdled Julian off the roof. Julian spun a back flip and landed on his feet, but without a weapon.

  Fight with a weapon and risk that it will be used against you, the voice echoed in Julian’s mind. Then Savitur sprung down from the roof. He dashed forward and struck out with a flying kick, but Julian caught his heel and sent him spinning backward. Savitur flipped and landed on his feet, his agility never faltering.

  Seeing the men fight, Hannah’s fears of the Parabolani appearing at the ceremony evaporated. Apparently, what happened on the island of Pharos was of no interest to them. Now she only wondered how the fight would ever end with two opponents so well matched. Mira apparently shared her thought, because she looked over at Hannah with questions in her golden eyes.

  Though no one in the audience could perceive it, at that moment in the duel, both men engaged the mental powers for which the Kolossofia were known. Capable of projecting an image of himself into his opponent’s mind, Savitur lunged forward and Julian parried the projection. He took a jab to his ribcage and doubled over, spreading his hands on the stone cobbles of the courtyard as his topknot came undone, his long black hair spilling down around his shoulders. Then Julian realized what was happening and set a cloak over his mind so that he might sense what was real. Savitur circled him playfully, a light smile upon his lips.

  Coming to his feet, Julian extended his senses beyond his body and felt for Savitur’s presence. As he did so, a world began to open behind his eyelids as though he had just stepped through a door. Suddenly he could not just sense, but actually see the entire courtyard with its lanterns lit, the priests and priestesses watching him. Savitur stood before him, smiling. Julian was so perplexed that he actually reached up to check his blindfold, but it was still secure.

  There is no division between us now, Julian, your eyes are my eyes, your body my body. You must let die within you what would dim your vision, and when you do, you will find the open door. The voice of Savitur resonated in the hollows of Julian’s mind.

  From his depths a great rush of light flooded Julian’s heart and filled the chasm there with ecstatic sensation. The energy consumed him, overwhelmed him. His whole body began to shake. He heard the words of the Emerald Tablet in his mind: Join earth to heaven, heaven to earth…learn to live in both worlds equally.

  The meridians of his heart pulsing with renewed life, Julian swung his staff in a full circle and as it whistled past his ear, he swung full force at Savitur and the staff connected with his neck. There was a sickening crack, and the old master fell to the ground, his head at a very wrong angle to his body.

  Julian tugged his blindfold from his eyes, suddenly despondent. He knelt beside the body of Savitur, picking up his hand and pressing it to his cheek. What would happen now? Savitur had no successor.

  But as Julian held his hand, the skin of the corpse began to glow and pulsate, and then finally there was a burst of light from within the chest cavity of the body, and then it was gone. The robe where Savitur had been lay empty and shapeless on the ground.

  Julian sat up, confused. He looked around at the other priests and priestesses. Then there was a gasp from the audience, but it was too late. Savitur stood behind Julian with a staff, and whacked him cleanly in the neck. Julian crumpled forward and lay dead on the ground. Savitur raised the staff overhead, then set it down. The audience might have cheered, but they were now completely conf
used. Where had Savitur come from? Was this some magician’s trick? Had he been standing in the shadows the entire time?

  The enemy you must fight now is death. The words rang in Julian’s mind, though he no longer knew where he was. A true Kolossofia Master knows his immortality. Death must be nothing to you.

  Julian floated a short length above his body, watching the scene unfold. He knew that the Kolossofia Masters sometimes dematerialized themselves bodily, but he had never encountered any text or teaching about the technique. As far as he knew, it was not possible.

  Seconds lengthened into minutes. No one moved. The corpse of Julian lay on the ground to everyone around him. But in the ethers, Julian struggled to reclaim his body, his center, his light attempting to pour into a broken vessel. He called out to his teacher, but there was no inner answer. Above, Julian the full moon appear from behind the clouds.

  And then he knew.

  Julian set his intention on the moon, recalling certain passages from the writings of Hermes Trismagistus. He willed himself to pass through the moon. He willed himself alive on the other side.

  Suddenly the body of Julian began to shimmer and glow, and then there was another blinding flash, and it too was gone.

  Every gasped and looked around.

  Suddenly, Julian stood beside Savitur, alive and unharmed.

  Savitur strode forward, removed his own blindfold, and placed his hand upon Julian’s shoulder. “I take from you this name of Julian and bequeath to you your new name. From dawn tomorrow you will be known as Master Junkar, defender of peace. Now you understand that fighting only brings more fighting. Anger brings only more anger. Hatred, more hatred. In your death you have found the greatest lesson, for death is only a doorway.” Savitur helped Julian to his feet and they bowed deeply to one another, eyes blossoming with kindness. Julian’s heart had been purified, attaining the highest level of a warrior’s mastery.

  Chills swept through Hannah. She regretted that she would never be able to tell Synesius of that moment. Surely the monks had reason to keep their ceremonies a secret, but it seemed such a tragedy to keep it from Synesius, who would have rejoiced with his brother in his new title.

  “Now we continue with the tracing of our origins. Come.” Savitur lifted an arm and beckoned to the priests and priestesses.

  Slowly, the dazed onlookers stood and filed out of the courtyard and down the soft sandy path. Behind the temple on the north beach a crepitant bonfire was raging, the flames licking the dome of the sky. A colorfully painted small wooden chest had been set beside the fire, its handles and hasp of pure gold, the images on it of sacred birds and flowers.

  Savitur and Julian sat cross-legged together on the sand and began the ceremony by chanting the names of the four-hundred gods and goddesses that the Nuapar recognized, for in doing so, the priests believed that the deities would be irresistibly drawn to the ceremony to protect and support it. When they finished, both men closed their eyes and bowed their heads. The fire popped and shot streams of sparks up into the night sky. Then Julian stood and stepped aside to allow Savitur to step forward in a rite that he in turn would someday perform for the priest that would fill Savitur’s place when he chose to leave his body. The fire played in shadow and light against Julian’s skin, and Hannah felt her breath catch in her throat. He looked like a god.

  “Now we remember our origins.” Savitur licked his lips and smiled. “The story is a sacred one to the Nuapar, sweet priestesses of Isis. Learn it well in the depths of your hearts, but do not repeat it, for the story releases magic into the world, and the door is yet too powerful for the living, but belongs to our ancestors who reside on the west bank of the valley.”

  Hannah smiled beneath her veil and buried her toes in the sand, feeling incredibly privileged to be there. Turning her eyes to the elder Kolossofia, she listened in rapt attention.

  So Savitur began:

  “When Master Kalanos came to us from the mystical mountains of the Himalayas in the east, he brought with him seven elephants wearing headdresses of pure gold and precious gems. One for each gate of the spiritual realms. They were called Control of the Mind, Control of the Body, Cleansed Spirit, Open Heart, Respectful Tongue, Eye of True Vision, and Still Center.” Savitur smiled in an enchanted way as his gestures painted the picture. “Strapped to the back of each elephant were seven silver baskets, each with one poisonous serpent inside. The serpents were called Distracted Mind, Slothful Body, Desirous Spirit, Calloused Heart, Opulent Tongue, Lost Eye, and Weak Center. First Master loved his elephants and taught his disciples how to bathe them and give them pleasant fruits to eat without disturbing the snakes that slept inside the silver baskets.

  “But First Master craved union with the Divine Creator and decided to leave the earth and enter the realms of heaven, where he could be of greater assistance to all living beings. But before he left he chose two disciples and named them Savitur and Junkar, so that they might carry First Master’s teaching to worthy aspirants.

  “But before First Master left this realm, he paid a visit to Dung Beetle and offered him a string of pearls for his ball of dung. Dung Beetle took the pearls greedily, thinking he had won something precious, not realizing his loss.

  “First Master took the ball of dung and set it in a crystal jar beneath the light of the moon for three days and three nights. Then he poured fresh water from the Nile into the jar, stirred it, and set the jar in the fire.

  “Then he paid a visit to a small hut in the desert where a poor fellah woman was birthing her first child. He offered the child’s father his blessing upon the baby if he could have the baby’s first shed tear. He promised that the child would lead a life of wisdom and excellent health if the father agreed. The father had a good heart and consented, so First Master caught the tear and placed it in the shell of a clam and brought it back to the fire, dropped it into the jar, and then set the jar in the sunlight of the desert for a hundred years.

  “After that time a thick green paste had formed on the bottom of the jar, and first master rolled it into a ball between his hands, flattened it into a slab, pressed it between two falcon feathers, and then buried it in a clay pot inside the earth for thirteen cycles of the moon.

  “At sunrise on the last day, First Master dug up the clay pot and found in its place a pristine Emerald Tablet.

  “First Master was very pleased and he took the tablet and placed it beneath his grass sleeping mat for seven nights. Each night he dreamed one dream, and at dawn a teaching of the dream’s wisdom appeared on the surface of the tablet. After seven nights the tablet held seven wise teachings. First Master then dissolved his body in flames and ascended to the realms of Amenti.”

  Savitur paused and closed his eyes for a long time. The only sound was the pop and hiss of the fire. Hannah looked at the chest and her mind raced with the thought of what it might contain.

  When Savitur spoke again it was along a different tack. “The time of change has fallen upon us once again.” Savitur opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of Mother Hathora, who closed her eyes in understanding. “But do not despair, the Emerald Tablet will rise again to the world of men, at a time when the people are ready to take responsibility for its teaching; at a time when their prayers for peace are greater than their capacity for war.”

  Murmurs went up from the monks.

  “Do not fear, sons of Hermes, daughters of Isis. I have seen the return of the tablet in a vision, for within every death is hidden the seed of renewed life.” The elder smiled reassuringly and knelt before the chest. “These are the ashes of Master Junkar, who gave up his body several nights ago. Julian, as his successor, do you accept the honor of carrying them to the far mountains of India to the sacred burial site?”

  Julian nodded. “I do.”

  Savitur smiled. “Very well. We have one more ritual to perform.”

  20

  In the dim tem
ple archways, priests and priestesses held their breath, nervously anticipating the final rite in the coronation ceremony of the new Master Junkar.

  “In this night of deepest darkness, we bow before the seed of light conceived in the hour of shadows.” Savitur’s commanding voice cut through the quiet temple. All eyes trained on him. “Tonight, in utmost reverence, we call upon the priestesses of Isis to perform for our new master The Dance of Many Veils, that one may be chosen as his bride of the sacred rite.”

  Savitur bowed and winked at Julian, who sat patiently on a silk cushion near the front of the temple, his shirt removed, his thick black hair braided like a rope down his back, a string of shining garnet beads resting against his smooth, tanned chest. Encircling him were the abundant offerings of the ceremony: moist breads and cakes on silver plates, glass vials of the finest Arabian oils, golden pitchers of milk, bowls filled with ruby pomegranate seeds, apples, dates, olives, berries and shells, while rich Egyptian Frankincense dusted the air with its sultry smoke. Julian sat, poised upon the edge of his cushion, awaiting the entrance of the priestesses while several priests behind him tested their musical instruments. One tuned a kanun while another fingered his flute, as beside him two others tested their doumbeks with several loud slaps. There were pillows to be adjusted, drum skins to be tightened, strings to be changed, until finally, the priests were ready. With a nod from the kanun player, the drummers began to tap out a rhythm to invite the priestesses to enter.

  Veiled and barefoot, ching! ching! ching!, the priestesses streamed into the temple, their silken skin gleaming in the candlelight, kohl-lined eyes peering over the colorful veils that hid their faces. Some held candles in their palms while others kept the rhythm with delicate brass finger cymbals. Their arms swayed, bare and bangled, jewels in their navels glinting as they turned in the amber light, bodies undulating with the ease of swirling river water.