"You don't have the right to come here from Earth with your irrelevant standards and place our survival as a colony in peril," she said.
Shocked, Brother Paul realized she was correct. This pseudo-religion of the Hyades colony of the future was valid on its own terms, alien as they might be. He could not accept it—but he also could not condemn it.
Yet if he could not eliminate this type of religion from consideration, how could he eliminate any religion? All were valid on their own terms. He could continue his survey for the rest of his life and never be able to choose between them. He was no closer to his answer than before.
Who was the God of Tarot? He needed some more direct means of finding out.
But first he had to dispose of the matter at hand. These Animations were to a certain extent under his control, despite the constant pressure of precession. Presumbly he could turn them off when he wished. But if he did that, quitting the game as he tired of it—of what validity would be any answer he might eventually obtain through these Animations? He suspected he really had to play the game through by its own rules to protect its relevance. Which meant that he had to resolve the dilemma here before leaving. How could he protect both his own integrity and the welfare of this Hyades colony?
Ah—he had it. "Ruby, you should be making love to your brother—husband, your brothub, not me. You aren't really mad at him, are you?"
She frowned prettily, loath to answer directly. "He's not here, and the Naths—"
"He is here. I am the one who is not here. There is no freezer-ship from Earth. I am a ghost."
She laughed. "Oh, come on! That isn't in the script!"
"It is now."
"All right. I'll play along. I've always been curious about how a ghost made love."
"In a moment I shall assume my true form: that of your beloved brothub, who shall turn out to have been with you all the time. Are you ready?"
"This can't—"
"Now." And Brother Paul made an effort of will, hoping Precession would not abort it, and faded out of the picture.
As the scene disappeared, he wondered: who played the part of her brothub?
IV
Time: 12
The Sphinx, crouching a little distance away from the foot of the Great Pyramid, is carved out of the granite plateau itself; there is no break between its base and the original rock. Its height, about 75 feet, gives some idea of the enormous labour it must have entailed to free it of unwanted stone and to level the base. Its total length is 150 feet; its height from breast to chin is 50 feet and from the chin to the top of the head 25 feet; the circumference of the head, taken round the temples, is 80 feet, the face being 14 feet wide and the head 30 feet long. The layers of granite from which it has been carved divide its face into horizontal bands in a curious way; its mouth is formed partly by the space between two of the layers of stone. A hole several feet deep has been drilled in the head: this was probably used for the placing of ornaments, such as the priestly tiara or the royal crown.
This carved rock, reddish in colour, has a tremendous effect as it stands overlooking the desert sands. It is a phantom that seems keenly attentive; one would almost say that it listens and looks. Its great ear seems to hear all the sounds of the past; its eyes, turned towards the east, seem to look towards the misty future; its gaze has a depth and fixity that fascinates the spectator. In this figure, half statue and half mountain, can be seen a peculiar majesty, a great serenity and even a certain gentleness.
—Paul Christian: The History and Practice of Magic, New York: Citadel, 1969.
Brother Paul stood in front of the Sphinx. The stone creature was impressive in the light of the full moon, the more so because its nose was intact: this was evidently before Napoleon's gunners had shot it off.
What an animal it was, crouching there like a living thing! Brother Paul felt a prickle at the back of his neck. This was an Animation; could he be sure this monster was not alive?
But it was absolutely still. No breathing, no heartbeat, no motion of eyes. Inanimate, after all. Fortunately.
Still, he would test it, just to be sure. "The sexual urge of the camel is stronger by far than one thinks," he said aloud, quoting the poem from a memory that predated his entry into the Holy Order of Vision. "One day on a trek through the desert, he rudely assaulted the Sphinx."
He paused, listening, watching, No reaction. Was the monster truly inanimate or merely waiting? "Now the posterior orifice of the Sphinx is washed by the sands of the Nile—which accounts for the hump in the camel, and the Sphinx's inscrutable smile."
Still nothing. No doubt about it: if the thing stood still for that verse, it was dead.
He contemplated the parts' of it. A woman's head, suggesting human intelligence, aspiration, and strategy. A bull's body, signifying the tireless strength necessary to pursue human fortune. Lion's legs, indicating the courage and force also needed, that is to say the human will. And eagle's wings, veiling that intelligence, strength, and courage until there came the time to fly. Thus the Sphinx as a whole was the symbol of the concealed intelligence, strength, and will possessed by the Masters of Time.
Famous Greeks had come here to study at the feet of the Masters: Thales, Pythagoras, Plato, and others. Thales had been the first to embrace water as the primary substance in the universe, explaining change as well as stability. Pythagoras, known for his doctrine of the transmigration of souls and the Pythagorean Theorum. Plato, primarily known for his Dialogues, presenting his mentor Socrates and the thesis that Knowledge is Good, Ignorance Evil. Giants of philosophy, all of them. Now it was Brother Paul's turn to meet the Masters those famous Greeks had met—if he dared.
Time to proceed. Brother Paul walked to the front of the Sphinx. There between its extended forelegs was the outline of a door into its chest. The door was made of bronze, weathered to match the stone of the statue. He walked up to it, took a breath, and put one hand forth to touch it.
Nothing happened. The metal was neutral, neither cool nor hot, and it was solid. He felt around the edges to find a handle or niche, but there was none. He could not open it.
He sighed silently. He lifted a knuckle and rapped, once. There was no response. Did he really want to enter this structure? He rapped again, and then a third time. Theoretically, the ancient Masters had possessed all knowledge and could answer his question—if they chose to. But first he would have to undergo their rite of passage. That, according to whispered legends, could be hazardous to health. Yet he continued knocking, half hoping no one would answer. Then, at the fifth rap, the door silently opened.
Two hooded persons stood inside, their faces invisible. One, by his bulk and manner, seemed male; the other was shorter and slighter, seeming female. "We are Thesmothetes, guardians of the Rites," the male said. "Who are you that knocks at the Door of the Occult Sanctuary?"
Brother Paul controlled his nervousness. "I am a humble seeker of truth. I wish to know the identity of the True God of Tarot."
Within the shroud there seemed to be a frown. "Do you understand, Postulant, that you must give yourself over entirely to our discretion?" the Thesmothete asked. "That you must follow our advice as if it were an order, asking no questions?"
Brother Paul swallowed. "I understand, Thesmothete."
The man stood aside. "Enter, Postulant."
Brother Paul stepped inside. The female touched the wall; a small spring depressed, releasing a hidden mechanism. The door closed silently—and the interior was completely dark.
A small hand took his. This was surely the silent Thesmothete, the lady. She guided him forward, into the bowels of the Sphinx. To the place of digestion? The sexual urge of the camel... no, don't even think that! By a slight pressure on his fingers the female made him pause. He felt her form lower a few centimeters, and realized she had stepped down. He put forward a foot cautiously and found the step.
It was a spiral staircase. Brother Paul was a compulsive counter; he had tried to break himself of t
he habit in recent years, but during stress the desire sometimes returned irresistibly. He had to know how many there were of whatever he encountered, however inconsequential. He counted thirty steps before the passage leveled out.
Here there was another door—bronze, no doubt—to be opened silently, passed through, and closed. Obviously the Thesmothetes had this labyrinth memorized, so they could find their way unerringly. The air was cooler in the new passage, but not musty. This suggested that it was well vented, for he was in a time millennia before the day of air conditioning.
His footfalls echoed, giving him the impression of a large, circular chamber. He thought of a story he had read once, Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum," and his nervousness increased. But of course his guides were beside him and knew their way; they would not let this party fall into any oubliette, with or without pendulum.
Suddenly both Thesmothetes halted, the male's arm barring Brother Paul's forward progress. "We stand at the brink of a precipice," the man said. "One more stop will hurl you to the bottom."
Just so. Had Brother Paul made his way here alone, in this gloom he could have fallen into it. He should have brought a light—but then they would not have admitted him. "I will wait," he said. He was about to ask the purpose of this march to the brink, but remembered his promise to ask no questions.
However, his question was answered. "This abyss," the male said, "surrounds the Temple of Mysteries and protects it against the temerity and curiosity of the profane. We have arrived a little too soon; our brethren have not yet lowered the drawbridge by which the initiates communicate with the sacred place. We shall wait for their arrival. But if you value your life, do not move until we tell you."
Did the Thesmothete protest too much? Maybe there was an abyss and maybe there wasn't—but Brother Paul could not afford to proceed on the assumption that there was no threat. Not after the things he had experienced in other Animations. They had so arranged it, this time, that his control over specific visions had been nullified. He was at the mercy of these anonymous people and had been from the moment he entered the Sphinx. Yet he had come here voluntarily; he was on the threshhold of the unknown, and if the answer were here—"
Suddenly there was light, blinding after the darkness. Two grotesque monsters stood before him, each in white linen robes, one with a gold belt and a lion's head, the other with a silver belt and bull's head. Even as his eyes adjusted and took them in, a trap door opened between them. From this rose a grisly specter brandishing a scythe. It was most reminiscent of the skeletal figure of Death in the Tarot. With a horrendous roar it swept the scythe at Brother Paul's head.
His first instinct was to tumble back, out of range of the weapon. His second was to duck under the blade and grapple with the specter. But his third overrode the first two: he stood frozen.
The scythe's blade swished so close over his head that it might have parted his hair. Indeed, a small lock of it tumbled across his face. "Woe to him who disturbs the peace of the dead!" the monster screamed, whirling entirely around and sweeping the scythe at Brother Paul a second time. But again he judged the path of the blade, and again he did not flinch. This was a scare tactic, not a serious attack; a test of his courage that his judo training had prepared him for.
Four more times the scythe came at him, and each time he stood firm. But on the seventh stroke the creature shifted its balance; this time it was going for his neck!
Brother Paul gambled: he stood firm. They surely had not arranged this elaborate presentation merely to execute an unresisting man. And as the blade touched him—the monster vanished. It dropped down its hole, and the trap door closed. This, too, had been a bluff; the threat had no substance.
Now the lion and the bull removed their masks. Brother Paul saw their faces for the first time: Therion and Amaranth.
"Congratulations," Therion told him. "You felt the chill of murderous steel, and you did not flinch; you looked at the horror of horrors and did not faint. Well, done! In your own country you could be a hero." He frowned. "But amongst us, there are virtues higher than courage. What do you take to be the meaning of our costumes?"
Brother Paul had already worked that out. "You are the lion, one of the aspects of the Sphinx, with the golden belt, representing the astrological Leo and the Sun. She, masked as the bull, is another aspect of the Sphinx, Taurus, and the Moon. The Sun and Moon together are supposed to exert the most direct influence on the lives of earthly beings. Yet man does not live by Sun and Moon alone; there is always the savage influence of Time, bringing the chance of untimely death—"
"You are most impressively apt," Therion said. "Yet we have a value superior even to this intelligence. That is humility—voluntary humility, triumphing over the vanity of pride. Are you capable of such a victory over yourself?"
So the physical test was over. Good! Brother Paul was ready for the moral one. "I am willing to find out."
"Very well," Therion said. "Are you ready to crawl flat on the ground, right to the innermost sanctuary where our brethren wait to give you the knowledge and power you seek in exchange for your humility?"
Why this follow-up challenge? He really, was not seeking power. Still, he seemed to have no choice but to accept. "I am."
"Then take this lamp," Therion said. "It is the image of God's face that follows us when we walk hidden from the sight of men. Go without fear; you have only yourself to be afraid of henceforth."
Brother Paul, thinking of his experience of the Seven Cups, did not find this reassuring. What other horrors lurked in himself? He accepted the lamp and looked about. The chamber was formed of blocks of granite shaped into a dome; there was no entrance or exit. But again he remembered his stricture and made no inquiry.
After a moment, Amaranth touched another hidden spring in the wall. An iron plate slid aside; it was coated with granite to resemble a full block when in place. Behind it opened a corridor, an arcade, narrow and so low it was impossible to crawl through it on hands and knees. "Let this path be for you the image of the tomb in which all men must find their eventual rest," Therion intoned. "Yet they awake, freed from the darkness of material things, in the life of the spirit. You have vanquished the specter of Death; now you can triumph over the horrors of the tomb in the Test of Solitude." And both Thesmothetes extended their right hands toward the opening.
Now Brother Paul hesitated. Why were they sending him alone, now? What sort of horrors did they consider so awesome? That constricted hole—if it got any smaller, once he was in, he would be unable either to squeeze through or to turn about. He would have to retreat, feet first, as though in the throes of a breech birth—and surely the entrance-exit panel would be closed and locked.
The two Thesmothetes remained as they were, fingers pointing to the hole. They neither reproached him for his weakness nor encouraged him to carry on with the test. What would they do if he balked, now?
Actually, he knew. He had read of a test like this once; the memory was faint, elusive, and only returned as it was refreshed by this present experience. The postulant who lost his nerve was not excluded or even reproached. He was merely led out of the sacred place. The law of Magism dictated that he would never again be tested; his weakness had been judged. So—if he wanted his answer, it was now or never. The law of Animation was as inflexible in its fashion as the law of the ancient Egyptian mystics. He had not yet encountered the same vision twice; the vagaries of the dynamics of this situation were too great to permit him to rerun any scene.
Brother Paul was not unduly claustrophobic, but he didn't like this at all. He was not the most slender of men; a passage sufficient for a 150 centimeter tall Egyptian or Greek might not suffice for him. If he got wedged in amidst these thousands of tons of stone—"
Still the two Thesmothetes waited, pointing, as still as statues. Brother Paul offered up a silent prayer to whatever God governed this demesne—Thoth, perhaps?—and got down to enter the dread aperture.
Amaranth got down beside him. "God
be between you and harm in all the empty places you must go," she murmured and gave him a quick sidewise swipe of a kiss on the lips. Then Brother Paul pushed the lamp forward and crawled into the hole.
The tube sloped gently downwards. Its circumference was of polished granite, absolutely smooth as though drilled by a giant worm. There was room for him, barely. By a combination of elbow-drawings and knee-hitchings, augmented by toe-flexes, he moved himself forward until his full length was within the tunnel.
A terrible clang deafened him momentarily as the bronze door fell back into place. As from a distance, a reverberating voice came: "Here perish all fools who covet knowledge and power!" It was followed immediately by an echo: "power...power...power... power...power...power...power!" Seven distinct echoes, hammering themselves into his brain. The effect was foolishly terrifying; sonics could have a fundamental influence on a man's emotion, bypassing his reason. Brother Paul knew that—yet still felt the frightening impact.
Had the Magi condemned him to death after all? That still did not make sense; they could have barred him from the Sphinx at the outset. If they intended to bury him alive, why had they given him this good lamp?
Gradually the irrational fear subsided. There had to be an exit to this tube; all he had to do was keep moving. Yet it went on and on! Brother Paul had a fair sense of orientation, perhaps a function of his compulsive counting. It informed him that he could no longer be within or beneath the Sphinx! This interminable tunnel was proceeding under the surface of the plateau itself—toward the Great Pyramid! Furthermore, it was still descending, deeper and deeper into the rock. What would he do if his guttering lamp went out?
Still it continued. His elbows and knees were sore, perhaps bleeding, but he could not stop. Nervousness prevented him even from resting. He passed the lamp from one hand to the other, finding different ways to crawl... and crawl.
At last the tunnel expanded. What a relief! He got up on his hands and knees for a space, then proceeded at a stooping walk. But the floor still sloped down; the added space was gained by the floor's retreat from the level ceiling. He was not being allowed nearer the surface.
Vision of Tarot Page 7
