Startaker

by Marian Goddard

  They continued on until the river reached its greatest width and hove to beside a temple crumbling to sand on the banks, giant serried columns of hewn stone, in imitation of the lotus blossom.

  He asked the captain to keep his precious cargo in the hold and meet the ship on its homeward voyage, seven days hence, promising a king’s ransom for its safe return.

  He had ample money, Althotas insisting that he be provided with gold sufficient for his needs. About his waist hung a small bag of farthings and when he stepped ashore, was soon surrounded by laughing, boisterous children. He pressed one into each small hand and the crowd grew larger, carrying him along through the noisy, dusty streets.

  Then they reached the steps of a temple, carved with majestic pillars and set with golden statuary and the children stopped and drew apart, silently. A man was standing at the top, dressed as Zosimos had been, with a wide collar of lapis beads around his neck.

  Christian ascended the steps, meeting the eyes of the guardian, who greeted him as a brother would greet another. And gratefully, he relieved himself of his burdens… and followed him into the cool, quiet darkness.

  A week later, the boy he’d set as watch banged on his door to tell him the ship had berthed and was awaiting his return. He hurried to the wharf. So profound had been his experience, so overwhelming the honours given, he prayed earnestly that none of it would be lost to his memory. He was to speak of it to no-one, nor write of it in books. He must keep it hidden, as the others had before him.

  He was to journey now to Morocco, to take instruction there in magic and the conjuring of elementals. And as the noon sun beat down and turned the water into glittering silver, he glimpsed in the distant haze three giant stone pyramids and wept at the sight.

  *

  Christian sailed the whole coast of Africa until he came to the quiet port city of Rabat, and from there he employed two camel drivers and their strong sons to carry his precious cargo across the desert and over the mountains to Fez.

  His caravan had swollen now to ten camels, all piled high with riches; rare books of astronomy, mathematics, medicine, lost inventions and philosophies, maps and instruments of navigation, collections of rare plants and precious gemstones and small devices he’d made in the quiet hours, looking glasses of diverse virtues, little burning lamps and chiefly wonderful artificial songs.

  He carried also the crushed stone of Amianthus, the same mineral that glowed in the rocks in the mountain of Damcar, to be used in the making of ever burning lamps.

  It was by these treasures and his profound learning that he hoped to open minds to the possibilities of a reformation in the sciences and arts, a new axiomata…and a new beginning.

  He purchased a fine Arab stallion from the best horseflesh dealer in Rabat and his heart rejoiced in the freedom it gave him, galloping and whooping over the dunes, his hair flying, the young animal’s strong muscles untiring in the desert heat.

  And soon enough they reached the walls of Fez, a city bigger than any he had seen, spread out in light and shadow across the sands.

  They entered through a beautiful arched gate into a square crowded with market stalls and shouting shopkeepers. Christian brought a drink from a water seller wearing a red feather hat, his goatskin strapped to his shoulders, silver cups jangling from a chain around his neck.

  The camels became skittish as they tried to wend their way through the narrow streets, so he sought out a donkey carter and his train of sturdy beasts carried the load the short way to a Jewish merchant willing to warehouse them. As was expected, they haggled over the price but Christian left satisfied that the old man was trustworthy and his treasures were safely locked away until his return.

  Fez was celebrated for its great schools of learning and its beautiful madrasa, lovingly decorated with cedarwood panelling and marble pillars, and it was here he stopped, to ask directions to the house of Neiliman, the Cabalist, spoken of with honour by Artephius of Damascus.

  They warned him away. The Jew was a charlatan, ignorant, trafficking in misery, cheating the unwary with talismans, bogus charms and spells. Why was one such as he, a learned man they could see, seeking a duper of fools?

  Stay… and be instructed in the intricacies of the law and the Holy Qu’ran.

  Christian thanked them for their kindness and rode on and a pretty barefoot beggar led him to Neiliman’s house, a pink stone building with lush palms shading a fountain splashing in the middle of a courtyard filled with flowers. He’d handed her the sapphire purse that Artephius had given him, full of gold, and pulled her up onto his horse, enjoining her stunned mother to use the money wisely and it would provide all that they needed. And to use some of it for a worthy dowry for her daughter, so her beggar’s life could be forgotten.

  He returned to the pink house and walked to the entrance, admiring the beauty of the roses, savouring their soft sweet smell. And in the doorway stood a woman, covered all over in pale gauzes, only her coal black eyes showing through a slit in her veil.

  She gestured with a sweep of her arm and drew him into the cool, dark house.

  He marvelled at the richly hung tapestries and thick carpets underfoot, the bright cushions arranged around tables etched with the signs of the zodiac, the heady scents of jasmine, rose and frankincense.

  She pushed him down onto the soft pillows and glided into another room, returning only a moment later with a tray of fruits, a loaf of bread, a dish of honey and a jug of wine and placed them on a table in front of him. She left again and came back with a water-pipe and a bowl of nut brown hashish and prepared it for him in silence, her movements practiced and without haste.

  He waited patiently, noticing the impressive shelves of books lining the walls. There was no sign of his host and he wondered whether he was to be granted an audience. And when he turned back to the woman, she was gone.

  He took up the pipe, inhaling the fragrant aroma, filling his lungs with the rich, resinous smoke. He was tired from the journey and his eyes fluttered closed in peaceful contentment. Then suddenly he was woken by angry shouts and a woman’s frightened, muffled pleadings.

  “Please, my master…Thy guest has been offered refreshments as the teaching of the prophet decrees…Have pity!”

  And a deep, scornful voice, echoing through the rooms. “And wouldst thou give a prince for his supper, worm eaten fruits, weevilled bread, wine only last week from the presses?”

  And the woman again, whispering “One such as I exist only to serve thee…Master

  …I fall at thy feet in shame.”

  Christian pulled himself up, he had been treated with the utmost attention and the woman did not deserve this tirade. Perhaps what the Imams had said was true and this man was unworthy. He walked unsteadily through the low doorway, into another room and then through another, his head spinning, his eyes heavy with the effect of the drug. The shouting seemed far away, the whispered pleading urgent and close. The walls rippled and shrank from his outstretched hand, the ceiling closed in over his head.

  Then he pushed aside a heavy curtain and saw a bearded man standing in the middle of a circle, symbols painted on the floor in a pentagram inside it. He was pointing a wooden staff at the woman who had welcomed him, kneeling in abject misery in the corner, her slender arms held up in supplication.

  “My master, I beg you…thou art my life as the flower is to the sun, my breath as the seed is to the wind…do not send me back!”

  Again the contemptuous, booming voice “Begone… foul disobedient creature!” and he lifted the staff into the air and swung it in a wide arc toward her.

  To Christian it seemed as if a bolt of lightning had flashed and rent the space in front of him. He felt the electric hum and crackle of it about his ears, tasted it on his tongue. He lurched forward to stop the murderous intent of a madman as a shattering squeal pierced the air. Then the man turned his face to him and shouted across the room “Nay…do not approach! If the seal is broken, the elemental will slay us both. Thou art
deceived…look again!” And Christian turned to the crouching form in the corner, which was crouching no more.

  He gasped. The fine garments lay in a crumpled, smouldering heap and the woman had transformed into a thing almost beyond imagining, risen up and towering over them both.

  Its skin was grey and scaled, the body long, sinewy, without arms, the forked tail writhing and lashing the ground. The same fathomless eyes bulged out of a head covered with greying hair. He felt vomitus rise from his stomach. Surely this abomination could not be real? And it turned toward him and spoke, in the sweet, feminine voice he had heard as it pleaded for its life. “Wert thou not pleased with the victuals I prepared thee, young traveller? Was the herb not to thy liking?” Its head swivelled back and a stream of bile shot from its mouth toward the old man in the circle, landing just at its edge.

  The creature looked to Christian again and laughed, pulling back its fleshy lips to show the rows of blackened teeth lining its mouth. “Pray…allow an embrace then…thou art fair…and I did not fail to notice the lust in thy eyes at our first meeting.” It loomed over him, leering. And as he stepped back, the thing laughed again, hollow and rattling “Ah…am I not pleasing to thine eyes… I, who exceeds even the salamander in beauty?

  No matter…we will have eternity to sate our desires.”

  Then another bolt of lightening threw it back against the wall. He heard the old man shouting but could not make out all the words.

  “Under the rule of the Inferior Governors…

  By the command of the Guardian of Death…

  In the name of Him who created us all…

  Begone!…

  Back to the North…Into the dark!

  And the shrieking peeled as the lightening flashed again and again, searing its flesh, the stink bringing tears to Christian’s eyes.

  Was it all a dream? He watched the old man, hurling thunderbolts, uttering incantations. His back was bent almost double now, the wrist that held the heavy staff weakening. He called out “Tell me what to do…let me aid you…”

  And the thing in the corner mocked and reviled them. “Not long now ungrateful beings…a lifetime for me is as the birth of a star…but for thee…the fall of a single tear.”

  Then, without taking his eyes from the creature, the man shouted out “Take yon stick of alum and draw about thee a circle. Do not lift thy hand from the floor. There can be no breaks.” Christian grabbed up the soft stone and drew a circle an arms length around him. The elemental screeched again, its tail lashing wildly. “Now quickly…Draw within it the pentagram and the mark of the daemon as you see here.” And he moved a little so Christian could see the pattern under his feet. He made the figure and stood upon it. Then the floor began to shake as if the ground were opening up and the wizard shouted again, his voice becoming lost in the din as the creature hissed and writhed and coiled around itself. “Now…hold up thy hand to me…and the power of the heavens shall be thine!”

  Even before Christian could raise his arm, his fingers began to tingle and pain like a thrust into a blazing furnace pulled a scream from him that he could not stifle. And there in his hand was a glowing ball of white fire, pulsing and flashing in the darkened room.

  “Now, pray to thy God and strike!”

  He hurled the fireball and another formed in his hand as soon as the first one left it as the monster screamed and beat the floor with its tail. He threw that one too and another, bolt after bolt, feeling himself growing in strength as the elemental weakened under the fiery onslaught. The old man too, threw his thunderbolts and between them they reduced it almost to ashes in the corner.

  And then, a mewling like the cry of a newly birthed kitten, soft and without menace…and it was gone.

  *

  Earth, Air, Fire and Water.

  The clay of the Potter.

  For the mountains, the trees, the animals, for man. And for the elemental inhabitants of the aether, neither of the earth, nor of the heavens but in-between, soulless and without immortality.

  This was the creature Neiliman had brought forth and clothed in the dust of the earth. For twenty years it had served his needs, shared its wisdom and obeyed his commands. But the Old Enemy has its minions.

  He’d seen the danger, the way it watched and waited patiently for the boy who was amongst those who would bring light to the world. He’d been resting when his guest arrived and the elemental neither informed him nor obtained permission to welcome him. Suddenly he’d lost the iron willed control he’d exerted over it since he’d summoned it all those years ago. It had to be banished before it could do more harm. Already the drug had the potential to destroy all that the boy had built. His mind must be strong to carry on the Great Work.

  He’d lured it into his workroom, regaling it with complaints about the meal. But it did not know his mind. Until he’d stepped back inside his magic circle and took up his wand. It pleaded for its life then and when it realised that its true intent had been discovered, sloughed off its earthly form and revealed to him the true nature of its being. His heart had almost failed him but the young man appeared in the doorway, a light shining around him…and joined his courage to his own.

  Afterward, he’d tottered to his couch exhausted, leaving Christian still standing in the midst of his circle, his innocent face blanched with horror.

  There was much he needed to teach and much perhaps that must be left to lie fallow, to be lost to a time when all men have the strength to be master of themselves and thus command the beings who inhabit the spaces between.

  *

  Neiliman was a mathematician and an astronomer as well as a magician and it was these sciences that brought them close, keeping them huddled over the light of a sputtering candle, measuring the earth, the deeps of the oceans, the distance to the moon…and searching for fabled Antichthon, earth’s dark twin.

  Christian learned to draw magic squares to be used as talismans and never failed to be astounded at the way the numbers tallied up, down and across, always adding up to the same, for there was a deeper meaning there, alluding to order and reason, as Pythagoras had taught.

  And he was instructed in the conjuring of elementals, though now he had no desire to do so, seeing all at once its dangers.

  But Neiliman missed his creation. As he pointed out to Christian when he regained his strength, Socrates had his daemon as did Iamblicus before him and they had become wise and respected…until the great man could not hold his tongue after the water jar was filled at his trial and he was sentenced to death for corruption.

  The oriental sages taught that a corner of creation was given to each of the four kingdoms, the gnomes and the goblins of the earth were given the North, to live in darkness and toil, the undines the water, to sing their mournful songs to the Western winds, the salamanders fire and the South, and the sylphs of the air the East…and the land of the fairy-folk. At one time the elemental inhabitants were revered as gods and to them still, are altar fires kept burning. But beings with no heart and no soul must be subject to greater will and Satan had need of an instrument to stifle the emergence of light.

  Christian knew that if it was not for him, Neiliman would summon it once again and live out his days in its company, for ordinarily an elemental was no danger to the man who gave it flesh.

  He made his plans to leave.

  Though he confessed that the magic of those of Fez was sometimes impure and their Cabala was often defiled by their religion, still he had learned enough in the alchemical laboratory of Artephius and the conjuring circle of Neiliman to make good use of the kernels of wisdom he found there.

  In fact, the two years he spent in Fez taught him the value of all he had learnt and brought him closer to a deeper understanding of not just the half part of the world, one that the eyes could see, the hand could touch but the celestial and elemental realms, a wondrous creation too profound for mortal man to comprehend.

  Now, he collected this knowledge into a cohesive whole, to take with him on
the final part of his journey…to the city of Seville, in Spain.

  It was here that the learned of Europe gathered.

  And here he must begin.

  BOOK THREE

  ‘But now, draw near and pay heed: take this cross unto yourself, for the one who increases knowledge increases sorrow, for in much knowledge is much grief, as we know from experience…’

  Robert Fludd

  (from Ecclesiastes)

  January.

  In the Year of Our Lord 1400

  Seville.

  Christian dressed carefully, as befitting his rank, in a black velvet doublet and silken hose and around his shoulders, a heavy brocade cape lined with satin and edged with filigree and black pearls. His hat was of simple design suggesting the cap of a scholar but with a sweep of black feathers trailing behind. He’d sought out the finest tailor in all of Seville to make these clothes for him, the quality evident in workmanship and fabric, not in its ornamentation. To be thought frivolous and vain would be detrimental to his cause.

  He’d arranged to meet the masters of the General School of Seville, before the Hora Sexta, the sixth hour after dawn, when it seemed that every citizen of Spain lay down, sheltered from the blistering sun.

  He rode his stallion through the cobbled streets, the horse tossing its fine head as if it understood the weighty mission entrusted to his master. No faded harlots lurked in alcoves to accost him; no open sewer assailed his senses. The people he met were mostly stocky and dark eyed, well dressed in muted colours, with only small flourishes of lace and ribbon to distinguish them.

  He felt a flutter of excitement. Now at last, his dream would be fulfilled. He had brought with him wonders and marvels…and new knowledge. The humanist dreams of the abbot, the longed for Trygono igneo of Artephius and the lofty ideals of his teachers were to be coalesced into a new axiomata, for the benefit of all.