Necronomicon: The Wanderings of Alhazred

by Donald Tyson

  It is strange to witness a sacrifice of blood made by such a passive and timid race, but they do it to turn aside the imagined wrath of their god, to whom they give the name Yad in their own tongue, though whether this is a proper name or merely a title of respect is not easily determined. When they speak the name, they bow their heads and point to the sky as though fearful to look up; they do this both night and day, so that it is evident that their god is neither the sun nor the moon but the heavens itself, or something that dwells in the heavens.

  Near the cliffs at the eastern end of the valley rises an enclosure in the midst of a small plain of tall grasses. It possesses four walls each as high as the tallest palm, and five thousand paces in length. The walls are seamless and are formed from a kind of black glass, smooth and cold to the touch, that does not transmit the light of the sun. One of the tributaries of the spring that waters the valley floor flows beneath the corner of the west wall of this enclosure. Also set within its west wall is a gate made from black wood having the hardness of iron, bound with iron straps and hinges, that is forever sealed from the inside.

  If one of the barbarian men is captured and compelled by force to walk toward the gate, he begins to tremble and cry out repeatedly the words poamala yaida raas and the words oxiayal teloc, his distress mounting until at last he falls upon his face on the ground and can by no means of persuasion be made to go nearer. To avoid the gate is the strongest motivation of all this race, which they acquire at an early age. Even beasts of low intelligence learn to avoid that which causes them pain, for the dog flinches from a stone in the hand and the wolf will not approach an open fire. The man of wisdom can gain knowledge from the beasts of the field by observing their ways, and should notice that at the base of the gate the flowers grow highest. He does well to avoid any close approach to the black gate, and will on no account touch it with his bare hand.

  A door is not the only passage into a locked house. Although there is no gap between the waters of the stream and the base of the wall where the stream enters the enclosure, by holding the breath in the lungs and pulling with the hands over the rough stones in the bed of the stream it is possible to pass beneath the foundation of the wall and emerge on the other side unharmed. So the fish pass from the valley to the enclosure, and from the enclosure to the valley, and so also a man may pass, if he emulates a fish.

  he dense forest within the enclosure is much like that of the rest of the valley, save that it is marked by winding stone pathways for walking beneath the trees. The paving stones of the paths are broader than the height of a man, but so closely joined that not a blade of grass grows between them. They are overhung by the trees on either side so that they are in perpetual shadow. From within the forest may be heard the songs of strange birds and the cries of beasts, but the traveler should resist the urge to explore the dark trees for it is an easy matter to become lost under their canopy and to wander in circles.

  The intersecting paths wind their way to the center of the enclosure, where there is a wide clearing with two low hills that are covered only in grass. Between the hills passes the stream that entered beneath the western wall. Each hill bears on its crown a great tree. The tree upon the northern hill is green with leaves and new growth, and bears abundant red globes of succulent fruit. On the southern hill arises only a bare trunk and naked, twisting limbs bereft alike of leaves and bark. The color of its wood is the color of bleached bone. For countless ages nothing has grown on the tree, but some uncanny property of its wood preserves it from decay.

  The fruits upon the lower boughs of the tree growing on the northern hill hang close to the ground and appear easy to pick, but when the tree is approached it will be found to contain innumerable venomous serpents that make their nests and breed their young amid its leaves. In length the mature serpents are less than the forearm of a man, and their black bodies are variegated with bright blotches of color, of which yellow and orange predominate, so that their skins almost resemble the wings of butterflies. The mothers of these vipers are fierce in the defense of their young and will not permit a man to touch the tree in any of its parts. Moreover, their venom constantly drips from their gaping and hissing mouths and falls upon the fruit of the tree, rendering it unfit to eat even were it possible to harvest it without being struck by the serpents.

  When dried in the sun, the venom of these serpents becomes a pale blue crystal that may be hammered into fine dust with a stone. It does not lose its potency over time, but even after the passage of years it may be regenerated by mixing the powder in boiled wine. If the blade of a knife or a sword is steeped for a day in the resulting liquid, the merest scratch upon the skin brings swift death. A man struck with such an envenomed weapon experiences shortness of breath, then falls upon the ground in convulsions that do not endure above a minute before life flees from his body. The corpse of one killed in this manner is subject to accelerated putrefaction, and will dissolve into a mass of wet decay within the space of three nights. It is claimed that the greatest virtue of this poison is that it may be extended to an astonishing degree by mixing its crystals with powdered salts, yet its potency does not diminish nor is the manner or term of death altered.

  Directly between the hills a small stone bridge spans the stream, permitting easy passage from one side to the other. It is uncommonly wide for a bridge of its length, for in the middle upon its western side has been constructed an elevated platform that is surmounted by a throne of carven stonework of great subtlety and beauty. The high back of the throne bears the shape of folded wings, and between them is set a head of inhuman aspect and proportions. In its forehead glares a single open eye that is formed by a large ruby of surpassing clarity, fixed into a setting of gold. The arms of the throne are carven into the shape of claws similar to those of a hawk.

  Few are the travelers who have penetrated the hidden valley of Eden, and fewer still are those bold enough to enter the enclosed garden of black, glass and look upon the wisdom seat. So it is called in the veiled texts of Ibn Schacabao, yet the sage never described its shape, nor is it to be supposed that he saw it with his own eyes. The throne faces east, where the wandering stream that flows between the hills passes out beneath the eastern wall of the enclosure, ft is so directed that at dawn its occupant sees the rising of the sun between the narrowing hills that enclose the eastern end of the valley. The rays of the sun, striking the rounded dome of the ruby on the back of the throne above the head of the occupant of its seat, activate the throne’s power. Of these truths concerning the wisdom seat Ibn Schacabao, called the Boaster by his detractors, knew nothing, for surely he could not have resisted the temptation to hint at their existence.

  To sit upon the wisdom seat at the rising of the sun is to experience the omniscience of a god, so potent is its influence upon the mind, for any question or puzzle that might be considered, no matter how complex, becomes at once the plaything of a child. The very number and proportion of space itself may be reckoned and manipulated, and passage gained in an instant to any of the most distant worlds. This is not a function of the seat, but a capacity inherent in the mind that is awakened and enabled by the seat. Were a man patient enough to remain within the enclosure and each day seek answers to his questions at the wisdom seat, in the space of a year he would know all things, and would possess the capacity of the Old Ones themselves.

  Sadly, it is the nature of our race to become impatient and to covet. When the attempt is made to pry the ruby set in the back of the throne from its socket with the point of a knife, the guardian of the seat senses this desecration and comes through the edges of space trailing stars in her long hair and crying out with fury so that the air itself trembles and falls in frozen sheets. She comes from the sky, her thousand translucent limbs floating upon the winds like serpents, and in the solitary eye in the dome of her forehead is the blackness between the stars. With her myriad hands she rains down fire upon the ground, blackening and scorching the grasses.

  If the foolish trav
eler who has thrown away his chance for the wisdom of ages on the lust for a single jewel moves without hesitation as she approaches, he may have time to flee to the eastern wall of the enclosure and hurl himself into the depths of the stream that rushes beneath it while fire rains around him and his skin blisters.

  The passage beneath the eastern wall is longer than that beneath the west, for the wall presses close against the base of the hills, and the stream does not immediately reemerge but continues under the rocks for some little way through a cavern.

  Once the wall has been passed, there is found air to breathe in this lightless channel, and eventually the swift flood of the stream carries the traveler out into the sun again, beyond the limits of the valley of Eden. It is an easy matter to proceed on foot along the course of this tributary, which leads after the journey of a day and a night to the banks of the river Tigris and the monastery of the magi.

  he monastery of the magi stands upon a low hill overlooking the meeting place of two tributaries of the river Tigris, surrounded by a cultivated grove of date palms and fruit trees. It is a large walled compound built from clay bricks, with many tiers of flat roofs and four square towers rising at its corners that act both as defensive fortifications and platforms upon which to make observations of the heavens. Its solitary gate opens to the east and overlooks a broad plaza beyond which lies the conjunction of the river, where there are well-constructed docks for the mooring of boats. Fields of grain stretch behind the building to the west, tended by a small village of farmers who dwell completely outside the monastery walls in their own simple huts, but who serve the needs of the monks and those who have commerce with them, and in this way prosper.

  In times of war, or when the land is ravaged by bandit tribes, the villagers gather up their grain and livestock and move inside the gate of the monastery, where they are protected. The monastery has never fallen under the assault of hostile armies, for its walls are formidable and the monks defend it with vigor, being expert both in the use of the bow and the sword. Deep wells and great cisterns beneath the building, together with large storehouses of grain, allow it to resist even a prolonged siege from a determined foe.

  Those who travel the river rely upon the monastery both as a trading center and as a secure port where they can deposit their wares in the confidence that they will remain unmolested. It is a center of arcane learning, the greatest in all the world, attracting scholars from far lands who pay large sums for the privilege of living with the monks and studying their teachings. To these students the monks entrust their outer wisdom, but they reserve their inner knowledge to members of their own order. Merchants and foreign scholars abide in buildings that lie outside the monastery walls, for the monks admit no one through their gate except in the dire necessity of war, when their sense of charity compels them to offer sanctuary to the helpless.

  They call themselves the Sons of Sirius, and worship as the manifest expression of their god the star Al Shi'ra, the Dog Star of the Egyptians that burns so cold and blue in the firmament. Each monk takes a vow of chastity upon admission to the order, and offers his worldly possessions to the order as his pledge. Whether he is a poor laborer with only one cloak or a wealthy merchant with tens of ships and many houses, he gives all, for the wealth of the monastery is shared in common, and no monk enjoys any luxury that is not available to the least and most recent of members.

  The religious beliefs of these monks are strange and difficult to determine upon slight acquaintance, for they resist speaking of them before outsiders and know them so well among themselves that they have no need to discuss them. They believe themselves to be the descendents of the priest caste of the magi who served in the court of Darius the Great of Persia. How they came to this remote place, and whether they built the monastery with their own hands or found it already here and improved it for their own purposes, is not talked about among them, and it may be that the monks themselves do not know these matters, they occurred so many generations ago. They follow neither the teachings of Jesus nor those of Mohammed, although they honor both prophets as inspired by divine light. No idols or images receive their adoration, nor do they have altars as we know them, or make sacrifices, but worship the stars themselves and the higher principles that inhabit them.

  Their training is austere and warlike. Each day the monks, from the most slender youth to the oldest graybeard among them, put on armor and exercise upon the grounds within the walls of the monastery, where they practice in the use of the sword and shield, and in accuracy with the bow. They also strengthen their bodies by lifting stone weights and running about the perimeter of the monastery lawns. Their food is plain and of small quantity. Chiefly they subsist on boiled barley, fowl, fruits, butter, milk, fish, and eggs, for they avoid the consumption of red meat. They sleep no more than five hours a day after midnight, for the hours of darkness before midnight they spend in studying and adoring the heavens from their high places, of which there are an abundant number upon the rooftops of the monastery buildings.

  In one respect their teachings resemble those of the Greek philosopher Pythagoras, for they maintain that any form of excess is to be avoided, and that moderation is the chief virtue of mankind. They demonstrate through the use of historical examples that all the hardships and disasters of our race have been the result of immoderate passions or actions committed in reckless haste, and assert that for so long as the mind rules the heart, order continues, but that so soon as the heart overthrows the mind, the result is chaos. They seldom laugh among themselves or raise their voices in anger, and are never to be seen running unless during exercise or when some dire peril makes haste unavoidable.

  The leader of the order in the present generation is a man named Rumius, by birth a nobleman of Persia who came to this meeting place of the river Tigris as a boy, having been sent here by his family in recognition of his precocious intellect, for he could read Greek at the age of five and Hebrew at eight. His present age is difficult to determine, for his back is unbent and his body as strong as that of an athlete, but his flowing hair and long beard both have the whiteness of milk. He is of uncommon stature, so that the heads of most men rise only to his shoulders, yet is slender of limb. His blue eyes and straight nose look more Greek than Persian, so that it may be suspected that his parentage is not of pure blood, but mixed; indeed, so great is his sagacity and beauty, it might almost be thought that he carried the blood of the sons of God.

  traveler to the monastery of the magi is free to purchase such teachings as the monks dispense outside the gate to those who gather each day in the paved square. No student is refused provided he behaves in a decorous manner and attends the lessons with silence; even women are permitted to sit at the feet of the monks, who teach by means of lectures, either standing and declaiming before their scholars, or walking up and down as they speak. The younger monks alone fulfill the task of teachers, as though it were a matter of too small importance to occupy the time of the elders. They teach logic, rhetoric, poetics, geometry, history, writing, and arithmetic. Absent from their lectures are references to magic or the arcane arts, astronomy, geomancy, or theology. Concerning the nature of the cosmic spheres and the stars of the heavens, which make up their own chief study, they say nothing.

  It is soon apparent to the traveler who is well versed in necromancy and the secret wisdom of this world that nothing of importance is to be gained by sitting at the feet of the teachers outside the gate. Even as the jewels of a monarch are not left scattered about the flagstones, but are kept safe within an ironbound strongbox, the true wisdom of the Sons of Sirius is preserved within the walls of the monastery itself and never set on display for the eyes of the vulgar. Yet the monks are accustomed to admit none within the gate but those of their order, and to gain admission to the order is a work of many months.

  This puzzle will not long keep the traveler from his purpose, if he reflects that the actions of the monks are invariably governed by compassion. A wealthy merchant or a labore
r whole in body and mind they would never admit, but a poor beggar disfigured in his face and maimed in his body, whose feebleness of mind has rendered him unfit to allow him to secure the requirements of food and shelter for his survival, they will pass through the gate that he may be protected from harm, and they will provide him with a place to sleep and food to eat, and give him simple tasks that place no great demands on his broken intellect, such as sweeping the floor of the library and the scriptorium where rare manuscripts are copied, and collecting the empty bowls after the morning meal in the dining hall where it is the custom for senior monks to give lectures in arcane and secret matters while their brothers eat.

  The grounds inside the walls of the monastery are spacious and green, for they are daily watered against the heat of the sun, and many shade trees grow amid the pathways that cross these lawns between the three primary structures of the compound.

  The principle of these is the great library, which extends out from the northern wall in two projections that face each other, forming an intimate courtyard between that is decorated by a statue of the goddess Ishtar upon a pedestal. The statue is not worshipped by the monks but serves to exemplify in human form the excellence of the celestial goddess. Here the monks study, teach what they have learned, and carry out the administration of the order; it is in this building that the Father of the order, Rumius, keeps his offices and private chambers, which are surrounded by the chambers of his councilors. A portion of each day is devoted by every monk to the copying of manuscripts, unless infirmity of the eyes or hands prevents this noble work.