Stealing Sacred Fire

by Storm Constantine

  Shemyaza walked along the passageway, which sloped gently downwards. The details of his earthly life blurred in his mind. He felt no weariness, hunger or thirst, even though he’d walked for an eternity.

  The passage-way ended at an immense sand-stone door, upon which was carved an image; the first decoration Shemyaza had encountered. It depicted a priest, drawn in the style of Ancient Egyptian art, who held out a ceremonial staff to a winged, lion-headed man. Shemyaza remembered what Tiy had told him about the first guardian of the Chambers. The leonine figure was Cosmocrator, Keeper of the Precessions of the Equinoxes. Between the carved figures, the door was pierced by a purple crystal, about the size of Shemyaza’s fist. He leaned down and tried to look through it, but could see nothing but darkness beyond the portal.

  Shemyaza held the crystal key up before his face, and projected into it his desire to open the entrance. The key began to hum a low note, which Shemyaza willed into the crystal in the door. Presently, the inlaid stone began to glow with a red light and then to resonate with the sound. The carved figures became warped by moving shadows; they seemed alive. A jewel in Cosmocrator’s eye reflected beams of ruby light, as if Shemyaza’s intrusion had awoken him.

  Shemyaza bowed respectfully. ‘Cosmocrator, I entreat you to let me pass. I am the spiritual son of those who created you. I am Shemyaza.’

  The light became vaporous, and Shemyaza could see the spectre of a winged, lion-headed man standing before him; a transparent red image. The wise leonine eyes stared at him sternly, while the tones emitted by the crystal echoed off the walls. Then, so quickly that Shemyaza jumped, the image vanished and the door rolled to the side with a crash.

  He stood upon the threshold of a vast, tenebrous chamber. This was the Hall of the Twelve. His body stiffened as his senses struggled to interpret what lay before him. Perspective zoomed out on all sides; he felt as tiny as a seed and his astral light now seemed dim. The hall’s ceiling was indistinct in shadow, perhaps a hundred feet overhead. Six columns of highly-polished green stone lined both sides of the chamber; so wide that eight men linking hands would not have formed a circle around one. Beyond the columns, the walls were enormous blocks of a darker green stone, highly polished yet unornamented.

  Shemyaza forced himself to take the first step into the hall. It was immense, yet seemed so watchful. He did not want to hear the door crash shut behind him. The hall was sleeping, but alive. He knew that all the columns were hollow and that the twelve initiates of the Chambers had once used them to resonate the sacred tones that had created their empire.

  One step. Two. He heard an echo, but it came too late, as if somebody walked furtively behind him. Turning round, he saw no-one, but the door had slid silently shut. Tentatively, Shemyaza ventured further into the hall. He was fascinated by it, drawn to it, yet it terrified him, for he sensed it was the precursor to the immense oblivion of space. Beneath his feet, the ancient flag-stones were covered by a thin film of unmarked sandy dust. He glanced round, and could see his own foot-prints leading back to the door. His astral body had substance in this place.

  Tiy had told him that rituals had once taken place in the Hall of the Twelve. The Elders and their philosophy were incomprehensible to a modern mind, even that of a Grigori. Shemyaza visualised the tall, alien forms standing before each of the columns, touching them, invoking their individual tones. It seemed that faint echoes of those hollow notes reverberated through his mind, and as he walked further, he sensed ghostly forms drawer nearer.

  The twelve walked beside him. The columns seemed to recognise their presence — he sensed a quickening of attention. Perhaps the phantoms were merely memories, emitted by the stone. He could not see the Elders clearly, but sensed their appearance. They were taller than he was, and clad in belted robes of turquoise linen. Their long white hair floated on the air, as if they swam through a sea of ether. Their eyes were an unnatural, cerulean blue, which was the result not simply of pigment but a radiance that filled the entire socket. Their elongated faces looked like masks. Even the pharaoh Akenaten in his wildest excesses of self-representation had looked more human. Shemyaza was not afraid of these ghostly manifestations, for they seemed oblivious of his presence, but their proximity troubled him. It was not revulsion, but simply a strong reaction against the unknown. In the world he knew, he had come to appreciate his special qualities, his divine kingship, but in this place, he was just a child.

  All the pillars had a spectral memory of an Elder connected to it, bar one. Halfway down the hall, Shemyaza was drawn to this solitary pylon. It beckoned to him and seemed strangely familiar. Shemyaza placed his left hand onto its glassy surface. Intolerable cold assailed his palm and crept up his arm, and a buzzing vibration coursed through his entire being.

  Shemyaza closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the pillar. He could no longer feel the burning cold, and became absorbed in the tonal vibrations that pulsed through the stone. Within them, he could hear a gabble of words and phrases. The words Tehuti-ti and Ku-na-el were whispered over and over again. Shemyaza felt swamped by drowsiness. He wanted to abandon his journey and remain connected to the column for eternity. Its power was his power; he felt at one with it. The frequency of its tones had been used to build Kharsag; he just knew it.

  Gradually, he became aware of a source of prickling heat somewhere on his body that burned into his communion with the pillar. He forced himself to pull away and saw the crystal key flare brightly within the cage of his right hand. He sensed the urgency of its message and knew he had to move on.

  With dragging steps, he went back into the centre of the hall. The ghostly Elders had disappeared now. Perhaps he no longer had the perception to see them.

  The end of the hall was very close now. Shemyaza found he had stopped walking and was standing before a black pedestal, upon which rested two spherical crystals of astounding clarity; a small stone, with a hole in its apex, on top of a larger one. The lower crystal had two projections sticking out from either side of it like horns. Beyond the pedestal was another door of black basalt, adorned with carvings of concentric circles, which appeared to be set firmly into the wall. It did not look as if it could be opened. In the centre of the door was a black stone, similar to the one in the portal guarded by Cosmocrator.

  Shemyaza extended his hand experimentally over the hole in the upper crystal. At once, the stone emitted a high-pitched tone, which ceased the moment he removed his hand. Instinctively, Shemyaza placed the crystal key into the hole, with its base uppermost. Nothing happened. The crystal spheres remained silent and colourless.

  Before the Sphinx, Melandra knelt over the prostrate figure of Tiy. The old woman lay apparently lifeless upon the dusty floor of the enclosure. The crowd had drawn back, instinctively giving the two women a wide berth. In the aftermath of Tiy’s unearthly scream, the gathering seemed directionless and bewildered. Technicians swarmed over the lighting rig and stage, but as yet whatever had caused the black-out had not been rectified.

  Melandra held Tiy in her lap. The old woman’s milky eyes were open, but it seemed as if they were somehow focused inwards. Melandra could only offer soft, soothing sounds. She knew they could not leave this place and if fate had decreed Tiy should die here, there was nothing they could do to alter it. At least Melandra could make sure Tiy would not die alone.

  Tiy, in fact, was far from death. In a way, she had left her body, as her whole being had become concentrated on the inner world. The image of her angel son before the black pedestal filled her psychic sight. She too had heard the whispering voices within the pillar. Now she knew she had to project her own spirit voice to Shemyaza, who waited at the next gate.

  ‘Say it, my son. Say the words that you heard.’

  She concentrated hard, willing some part of Shemyaza’s mind to hear her.

  ‘Hush, Tiy, hush,’ Melandra murmured as the old woman’s frail body flexed in her arms. The mutterings meant nothing to her. They were in a foreign tongue.

&nb
sp; Shemyaza cupped his hand around the upper crystal and focused intently on its core. Knowledge came to him, but he had lost all memory of his mother, and did not realise it was her voice who gave him the information he needed.

  ‘Who is Tehuti-ti?’ he asked in his mind and directed his intention to open the door firmly into the spheres. Presently, the upper crystal began to glow with a golden light. Simultaneously, a ring of the same golden light appeared around the stone in the door ahead of him. He poured his will into the crystal, and gradually the light within it transformed into a blue hue. A blue ring also appeared around the stone in the door, pushing the golden ring outwards. Finally, the crystal turned red and a red ring appeared on the door. Now, three rings of gold, blue and red light vibrated around the central stone. Shemyaza knew that these circles of light represented sounds manifested as colour. If Shemyaza concentrated upon sound, he could still hear the three tones, but doing so made it difficult for him to perceive the rings. For now, he knew he must focus on the visual image alone.

  The black stone in the centre of the door had also begun to glow red. Gradually, this radiance grew stronger, until all the rings merged into one vibrating red disk. The light increased in intensity, until it was glowing pure white.

  Shemyaza flexed his stiff fingers away from the upper sphere. Taking a deep breath to summon his strength, he gripped the two horn-like projections on the bottom crystal. With all of his energy, he willed his desire to pass through the door into the crystals.

  One moment he was staring at his own hands, the next, his body was flipping over and over through a void. He felt as if he had been turned inside out. A powerful, hungry force had sucked him forward. He was spinning and spiralling: falling. All sense of identity was peeling away from him, and seeds of panic took root in his mind.

  Then, abruptly as it had started, the experience was over. He stood in another dark corridor. The door was behind him now; a red glow diminishing in its central stone. He had been projected right through it.

  Shemyaza summoned his astral light once more, but found he was unable to illuminate the passageway. Despite the darkness, he could sense its walls, floor and ceiling. He began to walk along it and presently saw another red glow ahead of him. His astral body felt alien and uncomfortable after his passage through the door, almost as if it was losing substance. He must not linger in this place. As he travelled deeper into the Chamber complex, he risked losing his sense of identity completely. His task must be completed as soon as possible, before he lost the memory of why he was here.

  After twenty steps or so, Shemyaza became conscious of a low, deep hum that vibrated the air around him. The sound invaded his being, conjuring greater discomfort. Abruptly, both the red glow ahead and the humming ceased. For a moment, he was suspended in darkness, then the walls of the passageway bloomed with a soft radiance. He could see a door not far in front of him.

  Just ahead, two carvings of enormous serpents looped out from the wall. Their bodies were encased within the walls, as if they had been frozen in the act of moving through them, like ghosts. Shemyaza knew that these were guardians, perhaps of a more technological nature than Cosmocrator. Cautiously, he approached them, aware that anything might happen if he acted impulsively. Pausing just in front of them, he extended one hand. At once, a curtain of red light appeared, accompanied by a shrill, harsh tone. Shemyaza winced and quickly withdrew his hand. Immediately, both the red field and the shrieking tone disappeared. The air was filled with a pungent, bitter odour; a residue of the force field. Shemyaza was unsure of what to do. He had left the crystal key behind in the Hall of the Twelve. He could not use it again.

  Hesitantly, he extended his hand once more to invoke the field. No matter how hard he pressed against it, the force repelled his being. Maybe he would fail here, a victim of ignorance.

  The rigid form of Tiy sprawled in Melandra’s lap, barely breathing. The old seeress still watched her son’s journey. She could see the serpents that barred his way and, to her, they were very much alive, rippling constantly through the solid stones of the wall. It was obvious to her what Shemyaza must do. The legends of his own notoriety provided the clue.

  ‘Look at the serpents, Shemyaza,’ she cried in her mind. ‘They are like you. They are you. Remember, you are the serpent in Eden, whom the vengeful god commanded to crawl on his belly in humility.’

  Shemyaza did not hear these words, but they invaded his instinctive mind. He thought nothing of Eden or temptation, but simply experimented with an idea that had come to him. Keeping the red field in place with one hand, he ran the other slowly down its surface, until he was squatting on the floor. He laughed in surprise, pleased that his wild supposition had been correct. The field did not extend right to the floor. There was a gap. Was it wide enough for him to wriggle under it? He removed his hands and the field disappeared. Then, he lay down on his stomach, facing the door ahead. Slowly, he began to inch forward.

  The curtain of light did not appear until the crown of his head had passed between the serpents. Then, it manifested with its shrill scream, and Shemyaza felt as if someone had punched him in the head. He turned his face to the side and kept wriggling. The high-pitched hum filled his being, vibrating so quickly, it made the bones of his astral body itch and ache. His mind felt as if it was under a terrible strain and he was afraid he’d lose consciousness, trapped beneath the force field. But gradually, driven by determination, he slithered forward, flattening himself as much as possible. The pressure on his back felt like intense pins and needles, as if the red energy was cooking his etheric substance. But it was too late to turn back now; he had to keep moving.

  He only knew he was through when the infuriating hum ceased abruptly. Pulling his body up into a ball, he rolled over and then knelt up. Behind him, the serpents stared placidly out from the walls. For a while, he could not continue. When he tried to stand up, lights pulsed in front of his eyes and he felt nauseous. Willing these uncomfortable sensations to ease off, he sat with his knees up, his head thrust between them. This is an astral experience. Fight it! After a while, he was able to get up without falling over, although he still felt dizzy and sick.

  Adjacent to the door ahead of him was another black pedestal supporting two spheres. Shemyaza groaned, unwilling to endure another nightmare journey through a crystal portal. Leaning against the pedestal, he blinked at the door. It took him a moment to realise, with relief, that it did not possess a central passage stone. Perhaps his intention alone would be enough to open this door. Weakly, he gripped the horns projecting from the lower crystal on the pedestal.

  I can’t do this. I’ve no energy left. No strength.

  But he had to go on. If not, he’d be trapped in this corridor, with no hope of rescue and would remain there until his astral body broke up and dispersed.

  You have to try.

  He braced himself on splayed legs and arched his spine. With his remaining strength, he projected his will into the crystals, and visualised the door ahead opening up. At first, nothing happened, but then the top crystal began to glow weakly, sporadically. Shemyaza slumped. He felt exhausted.

  ‘Do it, Shem,’ he said aloud, and heard Salamiel’s voice in his mind.

  ‘Don’t stray from revolution, brother. Do it; do it now.’

  Yes! Shemyaza gripped the stone once more and poured his will into it, but it was not enough. He slammed his fists down onto the pedestal, filled with anger.

  ‘What is this?’ he cried aloud. ‘I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me to be. Why all these obstructions and difficulties? Don’t tell me love will open this door.’

  With a cry of rage, he gripped the horns and blasted the crystals with the energy of his emotion. He was sure his mind would burst with the effort, but then it seemed he broke through an invisible barrier. The crystals sang out their tones for him, and a bolt of energy knocked him backwards, although he did not fall. His body was shaking. Something was different. Something…

  He became
aware of an alien presence around and within him; an unfamiliar personality that haunted the corners of his mind. The etheric temperature had become lower and his body seemed to be moving in a way that was strange to him. He stumbled forward and of its own volition, his body straightened up before the doors. Instinctively, he raised his arms high and a voice issued from his throat. It was not his voice.

  ‘I am Sin-Na-Ru! I am the Opener. Open unto me.’

  Immediately, and with almost inappropriate slowness, the doors swung gently inwards. At the same time, the alien presence rushed out of him, in a spasm that felt as if his whole body was sneezing violently. Shemyaza did not pause to think about what had just occurred. He hurled himself through the doors before they could swing closed.

  Shemyaza lay winded on a hard surface, his eyes squeezed shut. He felt totally spent. Gradually, a deep rhythmic sound seeped into his awareness. It was impossible to classify accurately, as it sounded like a sibilant drum, a deep heartbeat and gravel shifting all at the same time. The pounding became louder, until it filled the whole chamber. Shemyaza opened his eyes.

  He was in a trapezoid room that was wider behind him than ahead. The door through which he’d entered had already closed again. Doors led off to left and right and there was another in the opposite wall. Shemyaza lay down again on his back, with his knees raised. There was time to recuperate now. He would allow himself that. Feelings coursed through him: shock, ecstasy, relief. This was one of the twelve antechambers to the Crystal Chamber itself. Only one more obstacle lay ahead: the door in the opposite wall.

  Once he felt rested, he sat up to examine his surroundings. The chamber was lit by an invisible light source and built entirely of the familiar, polished green stone. Its floor was carved with deep concentric grooves, trisected by straight channels that led from the centre of the circles to each of the three doors ahead. Shemyaza recognised them from Tiy’s descriptions of the Chambers. The straight furrows were part of a geometric pattern that connected all the ante-chambers with the great, central chamber itself. In the middle of the concentric grooves lay a deep hole, which presumably was once used to accommodate a crystal key, similar to the one he’d left in the Hall of the Twelve. The walls of the ante-chamber were covered in abstract patterns; cubes, oblongs, triangles and dots, which Shemyaza identified as the script of the Elders. The room felt unthinkably ancient, but the patterns and the substance of the walls themselves reminded him of an advanced technology. There was something strangely futuristic about the place.