Abruptly the floor terminated. The wan light of the lamp showed a vast crater, a cone plunging deep into the rock, its slides slick and hard. An iron ladder picked up where the tunnel left off, leading down into that gloomy cavity. There was no other route; only by getting on the ladder could he proceed forward, or rather downward.
He now had ample room to turn about, but was sure a retreat up the tunnel would not be wise.
He started down the ladder, nervously testing each rung before putting full weight upon it. All were sturdy. And of course he counted: ten, twenty, thirty, on.
There were exactly one hundred rungs. But the ladder did not lead to another level or sloping passage. It terminated in a circular hole. Brother Paul had no object to drop experimentally into it, but he was sure this was an oubliette: a fatally deep dungeon with no exit. He could not trust himself to that!
Yet there was nowhere else to go! What now?
"God be between me and harm in all the empty places I must go," he repeated, staring down into the dread void. And added mentally: And may there be avenues of escape from those empty places!
Brother Paul studied his situation. There had to be an alternative; this setup was too elaborate to be a mere death trap. He had to believe that! All he had to do was figure out its rationale. The ladder went down and stopped; there was no question of a hidden continuance because the final rung was in the dank air over the pit. Still, he could look.
He climbed down, then poked both legs through the bottom rung, hooking his knees over it. He bounced twice, with increasing vigor, testing its solidity; it would hold his weight. He leaned back, slowly, holding the lamp carefully upright as his angle changed, letting his torso swing around until he hung upside down by his knees. His head projected through the hole, and his lamp illuminated the chamber below.
It was a featureless well, plunging straight down beyond the reach of his lamp. The walls looked slimy, and there was no second ladder below the one he was on. This was a one-way avenue... probably filled with water at the nether terminus. Maybe that fluid would break his fall—but he did not care to risk it. Not yet.
He had been more or less given to understand that he had nothing to fear but himself. Now it occurred to him that this was subject to alarming interpretation. If he decided to drop into the oubliette, and that was an error, would he have killed himself? All he had to do was make the correct decision—without adequate information.
Well, he had no need to remain on this ladder! He caught the rung with his left hand, held the lamp steady with his right, and drew himself up until he could extricate his feet. Then he started back up the hundred rungs.
About twenty rungs up—twenty two, technically—he spied a crevice in the cone. A flaw, invisible from above because the upper wall overhung it slightly. Was this natural or artificial?
He had grown wary of chance here. He leaned as far over as was convenient, holding the lamp extended to the left. This gap was broad enough for a man to squeeze through—and there were steps inside! Here was his alternate route!
He balanced carefully and swung himself into the crevice. The steps were slippery but solid. They advanced deeper into the wall; the crevice was becoming a new tunnel, at places so narrow he had to proceed sidewise, but it was definitely going somewhere. It coiled into a spiral. At the count of thirty, the steps ended at a small platform, and the way forward was barred by a bronze grating.
Was this a service access, intended for the use of the Thesmothetes, that he had spied accidentally? If so, it would be a dead end for him since the grating was locked and unattended. Yet it did not seem extraneous. Twenty two steps up on the ladder from the bottom, matching the number of Major Arcana of the Tarot, appearing only when the Postulant was returning from his fruitless quest to the oubliette. Surely no coincidence! But what, then, was the significance of thirty alternate steps, here? These passages seemed to have a motif of thirties and hundreds, and that did not equate to any Tarot deck he knew of. So if there were a numeric rationale here, he had not yet fathomed it.
Brother Paul peered through the grating. Ahead was a long gallery, lined on each side by statuettes of sphinxes: fifteen on each side. Thirty in all. Between statues, the walls were covered with mysterious frescoes. At this angle, he could not quite make out their nature, but there was a haunting familiarity about them. Fifteen lamps rested in tripods set in a row down the center of the hall, and each lamp was in the shape of a sphinx.
A Magus walked slowly down the hall toward him. No—it was the female Thesmothete, Amaranth, garbed in the manner of a priestess. Her face was veiled and her gown covered her body completely, but he recognized her provocative walk, that pushed out hip and breast in subtle but quite feminine rhythm.
"Son of Earth," she said, smiling, "you have escaped the pit by discovering the path of wisdom. Few aspirants to the Mysteries have passed this test; most have perished." So that explained what happened to those who entrusted themselves to the oubliette!
"The Goddess Isis is your protector," she continued. Brother Paul remembered the Egyptian Isis, said to be the Goddess of Love. "She will lead you safely to the sanctuary where virtue receives its crown." Virtue supervised by the Goddess of Sex? The geese were being put in the charge of the fox! "I must warn you that other perils are in store, but I shall aid you by explaining these sacred symbols which will clothe your mind with invulnerable power." No question: Amaranth was now Isis. This was her kind of role.
Isis opened the gate by releasing another secret spring. She took Brother Paul by the hand and led him down the gallery. She moved slowly, almost languorously, but even so this was far too rapid for him to properly assimilate the portraits they passed. All the wisdom of the ancients spread out here—and he had to zoom past it like an ignorant tourist!
But perhaps that was the point. He was only looking, not buying. If he chose to remain here indefinitely, if he qualified by passing all their tests, then he could linger over each symbol for as long as he liked. Years, if necessary.
"First we review the aspects of Nature," Isis murmured. "Here is the Crocodile." She gestured with her free hand toward the nearest picture, just before the first sphinx. It depicted an Egyptian peasant walking by a river, two bags slung over his shoulder, while a crocodile paced him in the water. "It symbolizes Folly."
The Zero Key of the Tarot! So Tarot was at the root of this! Now he had an excellent frame of reference, enhancing his understanding.
"The Magus," she said, indicating the representation across the hall. "Representing Skill." It was an Egyptian magician, very like the European one except for costume.
"Veiled Isis," she said, going right on to the next. "Memory—among other things." And the veiled figure portrayed was—her. He did not need to guess at the identity of those "other things" she was thinking of. He remembered Amaranth in her landscape dress, her breasts living volcanoes. Amaranth as naked Temptation in the Vision of the Seven Cups. As Sister Beth of the Holy Order of Vision, whom he had tried to seduce. What was her true role this time?
What else but Temptation again! A temptation he was sure he had to resist here, if the terrible weight of the Pyramid were not to crush him.
But she had already moved on to the next picture—and it was blank. "The Ghost," she said. "The Unknown or Unidentified; the Infinite, the Nothingness."
What? This was no Tarot card! He stopped by it, about to inquire—but caught himself. No questions! His thoughts about her sexual temptation had almost distracted him into a different trap. He would just have to accept the fact, for now, that this was not Tarot. Not precisely. It was—an unknown.
"Isis Unveiled," she said, abruptly throwing off her veil. Now she was Woman in her full splendor, her face absolutely lovely in the lamplight. She played variations on a single theme, but she certainly had the equipment for that! "Action."
Action. She still held his hand, and now she was drawing him in close, raising her lips. So eminently kissable.
He mov
ed his hand, carrying hers along, guiding it and her toward the next exhibit. His action—was to pursue the lesson further.
She yielded gracefully. She had a thousand little ploys; the failure of one was of little account. If this had been another test, he had passed it—probably.
"Now we review the aspects of Faith," Isis continued. "Here is the Sovereign, symbol of Power." She moved on. "And the Master of the Arcana, representing Intuition. And here are the Two Paths, showing Choice."
Brother Paul moved along with her, nodding. These were very like the Tarot, but not identical. That card of the Unknown...
But now she paused. She made a convoluted shrug and her robe fell away. Now Isis stood in a short skirt and halter, as scenic as ever. "Also known as The Ordeal," she said, moving in close again.
The ordeal of rejecting her? That seemed the only safe course, much as he might have liked to try her constantly preferred sample and be done with it. Celibacy and rejection of sex were all very well for the unhealthy recluse, but Brother Paul was a thoroughly healthy and social man. However. He advanced to the next picture.
Immediately she followed. "The Chariot of Osiris, signifying Precession," she said.
Precession! He almost challenged that, but again caught himself. He had expected her to give the interpretation as Victory. Each time the Tarot connections became slightly firm, something broke them up again!
She moved on. "Desire—Emotion," she said of the next. Well, that might equate to the Thoth Tarot version of Strength, titled Lust.
But then she showed the next: "The Tamed Lion—Discipline." That one had to be Strength! But then what—? "Also called the Enchantress, Strength, Spiritual Power, and Fortitude," she continued. And the picture was of the woman calming the lion. Yet—"
"Here is the Family of Man—Nature," she said. He didn't recognize that one in Tarot either. "And here is the Wheel, symbolizing Chance. And the Sphinx, alternately known as the Veiled Lamp, which unveiled is Time." Now that was all mixed up! The Hermit card was Time, while the Sphinx bestrode the Wheel of Fortune. But she went on talking, preventing him from getting his thoughts organized. "Chronos, who was once Chief of the Gods."
Brother Paul had another realization: he had been encountering aspects of these images all along, since his arrival on Planet Tarot. Maybe since his first assignment to this mission! Was this his own fate being summarized? If so, he was about to glimpse his future!
Isis gave him no time to consider the ramifications of that. "Here are the aspects of Trade. The first is Past, suggesting Reflection; the next is Future, symbolizing Will."
Brother Paul peered at the pictures, but could not grasp them in the time he had. Surely both of these were merely aspects of Time! Did they show his own past and future? Reflection he could understand; he was much given to it himself. But how did Will relate? He thought he saw an airplane, and a bottle of wine, and a document, and trees, and a child, but somehow neither picture would come together meaningfully. If only he had more time to study—"
"Here is Themis, Goddess of Law, signifying Honor." Strange; Brother Paul remembered Themis as a Roman Goddess, rather than Egyptian. But perhaps it only showed that this sequence of images derived from multiple sources and was not limited to any single mythology. Rome had existed in the period of Egypt's greatness; archaeology had verified the presence of Rome a thousand years before the legendary date of its founding by the wolf-suckled brothers, Romulus and Remus.
"The Martyr—Sacrifice," Isis continued. This seemed to be the card he knew as the Hanged Man, suspended by one foot from a gibbet. Was that in his future? He was driving himself crazy with these speculations!
"The Scythe—Change," she said. He knew this one as Death or Transformation. "Imagination—Vision." That one he could not place at all, though there was something irrelevantly familiar about the illustration. A field, with a tower to one side, and a gully at the other—"
"The Alchemist, signifying Transfer." Transfer! That was the term the alien Antares had employed for the transposition of auras from one host to another—"
"And the aspects of Magic, that some call Science," she continued inexorably. What torture, to be treated to these tantalyzing glimpses of half-familiar revelations! Surely it all did fit a larger pattern, if only he could—"
"Here is Typhon, known as Fate, signifying Violence." It was the Devil. "The House of God —revelation." He knew it as the Lightning-Struck Tower, though that was probably an iconographical transformation. A familiar card—yet he felt a premonitory dread. He was of course searching for the House of God—but this cruel edifice seemed more Satanic than Angelic. Some interpretations indicated this card was actually the House of the Devil, signifying Ruin.
Meanwhile, Isis was blithely removing her remaining apparel. Revelation—naturally she would take it not only literally, but physically! He wished this tour were over; he was maintaining a firm countenance, but she was making it very difficult. What happened to a Postulate who yielded to the obvious suggestion and put his lustful hands (lustful hands? Ah, the euphemism!) on the priestess?
"The Star of the Magi," she continued, and now she looked very much like the nude girl in that picture. "Hope and Fear."
Exactly.
"Twilight—Deception." Yes, another familiar card that he knew as the Moon. Deception was surely the key concept here! In revealing her entire body, she deceived him about her intentions. As did all women...
"And the Blazing Light, suggesting Triumph." Well, he hoped so! But triumph for whom?
"And the aspects of Art," she said. Nude art? He wondered how many people would be interested in art if it were not thoroughly peopled with naked young women. To his mind, a nude young man was as artistically beautiful as a woman; but it was sex, not esthetics, that made the difference. Women did not dash out to buy portraits of nude men as avidly as man bought nude women, so the definition of Art became—
"Here is Thought, that we interpret as Reason." The picture was—well, it looked like a field of stars. "The Awakening of the Dead, meaning Decision." The picture resembled the Judgment card he knew. His own moment of Judgment might be upon him all too soon! "The Savant, meaning Wisdom."
Naked, she advanced to the last picture and spun about, showing herself to advantage. "The Crown of the Magi—Completion," she said. She stepped close, caught his head in her hands, and drew it down for a quick kiss. Then she opened the door at the end of the gallery and stood aside.
Beyond that door was a long, narrow vault. At its end were the leaping flames of a blazing furnace.
"Son of Earth," Isis said, "Death itself only frightens the imperfect. If you are afraid, you have no business here. Look at me: once I too passed through these flames as if they were a garden of roses."
Brother Paul looked at her. Suddenly she was much more tempting. If he put his hands on her, stroked one or two of those perfect fruits—would she acquiesce? Or would sudden disaster befall him? Would the touch of her flesh be worth the penalty?
He looked again at the flames. The teaching he had just received, hurried and elliptical as it was, would be useless to a man about to die. There had to be a way through! He stood, as it were, at the fork in the road, the Two Paths, also known as the Ordeal. The choice between Love and Fire. Had he learned enough to make it through?
Actually, there was a way to overcome fire or at least hot coals. South Pacific natives heated rock to red heat and walked barefooted over it, and there was no fakery involved. The secret was a special effect that could be noted with droplets of water dancing on a hot frying pan: the heat evaporated just enough water to form a layer of steam, and the droplet floated on that steam, insulated from the much higher heat of the pan. Thus the droplets could take many seconds to dwindle, instead of puffing entirely into vapor almost instantly, as happened on surfaces heated more moderately. Similarly, the natural moisture of the native's feet became that layer of steam, enabling them to walk the coals without being burned. So if he could find
an area where the flames were low enough to expose the hot coals, he might be able to cross. If he had the nerve.
Abruptly he faced forward and stepped into the new chamber. Again the door clanged shut behind him, forever closing off what might have been. He was alone again, unable to retreat. Did God stand between him and the flame?
But as he approached the furnace, he discovered that it was largely illusory. Wood was arranged on iron grills, and lamps were so placed that their light suggested open flame. A path wound between these mock-ups, on through a vaulted passageway. He moved forward with renewed confidence. God was here!
The path ended abruptly at a stagnant pool. Who might guess what lurked beneath that slimy surface? Brother Paul turned about, so as to retrace his route and look for an alternate—and a cascade of oil descended from sluices in the ceiling. There was a spark, ignition, and the oil became a curtain of flame. The pretend furnace had become a real one!
He had to plunge back through that flame—or go forward through the water. Or wait, hoping one threat or the other would abate. But that was not the way of this series of challenges; he had to show his mettle by conquering the hurdles, rather than by avoiding them. Somehow.
The water seemed the better bet. Brother Paul removed his robe, wadded it tightly, and held it in his right hand along with his lamp. Then he stepped cautiously into the pool.
There was a slippery slope beneath that urged him on faster than he cared to go. Each step brought him deeper. Knees, thighs, waist; the water was chill, which was encouraging because it meant reptiles were less likely to inhabit it. Chest, shoulders, chin; now he held the lamp over his head. Any deeper and he would have to swim—but then he would risk dousing the light, for he could not safely carry it high and level while swimming.
Now he could see that he had indeed reached the middle of the pool. With luck—or the foresight of those who had designed this test—the deepest part. Had someone measured his height, so they could fill the water to the appropriate level? Now it should grow shallower—"
Vision of Tarot Page 8
