Part 19 (1/2)
”Owls? Well, that's different.” He pointed the powerful beam into the room. It was much larger than he expected. The sound of falling water caught his attention. He took two steps into the room. It was huge. It was at least nine feet to the ceiling, about thirty feet across, roughly sixty feet straight back and bare of all furnis.h.i.+ngs.
”Perfect.” He smiled. ”Plenty of room to do my ritual in here.” The beam of his light glittered across a rippling surface at the far end of the long room. Water gushed musically in a restrained waterfall down a three-foot, base-relief carving in black marble outlined with hieroglyphs that seemed to be part of the back wall. The beautiful and elegant face of an exquisitely carved female G.o.ddess figure peeked through the falling water that flowed over and around perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He could even make out the areola surrounding the erect nipples.
”Those Egyptians sure knew how to carve a woman,” he mumbled in appreciation as he s.h.i.+ned the flashlight beam all around the black marble G.o.ddess. Wings delicately folded down at her sides. Her arms were bent at the elbows with her hands lifted and clutching a loop in each palm.
”I wonder which G.o.ddess you're supposed to be?” He tilted his head to one side. ”I see the wings, but you don't look like any Isis I've ever seen.” His gaze dropped and he could make out the plump, pouting lower lips of her s.e.x between her generous thighs. Water cascaded down the G.o.ddess's body and over raptor-clawed feet into a large, black marble basin sunk deep into the floor and big enough to swim in.
”Well now, an Egyptian bath tub.” He chuckled. ”h.e.l.l, I've seen swimming pools smaller than this,” he muttered, dropping his pack to the stone floor with a m.u.f.fled thump. Looking into the water, the smooth bottom was visible.
”Doesn't look too deep, and doesn't seem to have any critters swimming around,” he noted. ”Should be okay to swim in, and the G.o.ds know,” he said with a quick, guilty look around, ”I could really use a bath right now.”
He dipped a finger into the water. The cool water flowed against his finger. ”There's a current...” He looked up at the water cascading down the base-relief G.o.ddess. ”Well, there would have to be, seeing as water is running into this thing and not spilling out over the edge. It has to be flowing somewhere.”
The ceremonial magician stripped in record time.I guess this'll take care of the purification part of my ritual, he thought as he climbed nude into the cool water.Now all I have to do is perform the spell itself. He stared hard at the violin as he soaked.
* Incantation *
The ceremonial magician tucked his long red robes into his rope belt and away from his bare feet as he lit the seven white pillar candles, one at a time. His shadow loomed large and splintered from the multiple light sources. From his velvet belt pouch he pulled out a huge chunk of drawing chalk. Carefully he drew a huge circle, then began inscribing the complicated conjuring diagram on the stone floor within the glowing ring of candles.
Light from the Coleman camp-stove flickered over the hieroglyphs and brilliantly painted carvings on the walls of the huge room he had found. The water from the fountain ran soothingly in the background.
In a strong and clear voice he called on the G.o.ds and spirits of his Arte to empower his design and witness his ritual as he drew. The archaic Latin and Arabic chant made strange echoes in the underground temple. He began to sense a vibration that resonated within his body.
He frowned as he chalked his diagram on the stone floor. In the erratic light of the candles and the cook-stove, the plain white lines seemed to be picking up the light and glowing. He could clearly make out every mark he had placed.
He continued to chant without hesitation, but his eyes grew wide as some of the inner traceries and symbols began to glow with color. Reds, blues, greens and gold began to race through his lines and glyphs as he completed them. The outer ring held a steady glow of bright white. Without stopping his incantation, he stood up and turned all the way around to look at the entire diagram. The design was definitely glowing. That had never happened in any of his previous rituals. He glanced hard at the chalk in his palm. It was stone white.
With the completion of his intricate ill.u.s.tration, he finished his chant. He stepped out of the conjuring circle carefully, without disturbing the chalked lines and archaic glyphs in their almost garish combination of colors. He looked back at the circle and realized that it was casting a light brighter than all the candles and his cook-stove combined.
”f.u.c.k.” he whispered, then grabbed his bag and pulled out his magical Arte book, his Grimoire, along with his silver ritual chalice and a bottle of expensive champagne. He took his violin out of the battered case that lay next to his pack and tucked it under one arm, unsheathing his ceremonial sword. Carrying everything, he reentered the glowing diagram.
Dropping to his knees in the circle, he placed his book on the floor in the exact center of the diagram. Flipping through the pages, he opened the book to the ritual he wished to perform.
He uncorked the champagne and caught the foam and some of the sparkling wine in the chalice, then tipped the bottle and filled the silver cup. Some of it ran over his hand and he sucked on his palm.
”Mmm, good stuff.” Guiltily, he placed the filled chalice by his Grimoire.
Carefully observing the liturgy forms of the ritual, he stood and raised his consecrated and purified sword. He took a deep, calming breath, then pointed the sacred blade at the white ring that encircled his diagram and slowly turned in a full circle. In a resonant voice, he called out the arcane spell to raise a cone of power.
A whisper of a breeze brushed his cheek and he froze, spooked as he felt the unseen world around him stir. He heard a humming, a soft sigh that was barely a whisper of sound. At his feet, the outer ring of his diagram turned a hard gold, then became dancing flames that raced around the entire outer edge, completing the circle where it began.
Whoa.Okay, this is weird,he thought to himself.So much for the formal invocation.I guess the spell is definitely working, but I don't remember it ever working this fast. I guess I better begin the actual spell.
Raising his violin, he began his invocation.
”...G.o.ds and Spirits of the Ether, I ask that you grant me the inspiration to write music, for my soul is lost in the pathways of humanity and I am bereft. I ask that you show me the way back to my own soul and the music that resides in my dream within a dream...”
Okay,he chided himself,no more listening to the Moody Blues before bedtime.
Carefully, he sat within the center of his glowing circle with his precious violin. Raising the instrument to his chin, he began to play the last song he had ever written. As he played, he poured his desire and need into his music. The song flowed from his violin, hauntingly beautiful and completely alien to this land of sand and sun.
Unnoticed, A breeze whispered through the chamber, circling from the magician in his circle of power. The candle flames danced with its pa.s.sing and lightly swept the sand from the floor as it flowed outward and into the hallways of the temple. The music sailed clear and sweet, throughout the temple and the wind followed. The sound and its accompanying zephyr swept through stone and pa.s.sageway, floating through room after undiscovered room.
He stopped, and the breeze fell. Echoes of his violin drifted through the stones and seemed to take forever to fade. He scrubbed his arm across his eyes, drying the tears that had dripped unnoticed down his cheeks.
He looked up as a strange howl echoed in the temple's depths, and then a powerful wind blew from the doorway and slammed into him. Wide-eyed, he noticed that the candles were not reacting, not even flickering in the strange wind. Arcane power danced on his nerves, his hair stood on end. It didn't feel angry or malignant.
Interest slithered into his mind. Something was perusing his mind and body with s.e.xual interest, like a queen a.s.sessing a new love-slave.
The power suddenly gathered, coalesced and solidified until he could actually feel it moving against his skin. It snaked around his body, closing around his wrists in a vice-grip. His arms were suddenly jerked wide, to either side.
”f.u.c.k!” he swore as he fought against dropping his violin. He couldn't move. His arms felt as though they were manacled with steel straight out from his sides. He wiggled his fingers. They seemed to be working just fine. He tried to stand, but his wrists felt like they were pinned to stone posts. He looked around but whatever was holding him was invisible.
”s.h.i.+t! I don't believe this.” He felt the arcane power slide under his loose robe with disembodied hands to explore him. He clearly felt something fondling his d.i.c.k, stroking him intimately, and he was powerless to do anything. His nipples hardened and his temperature soared as his body responded to the carnal exploration.
”f.u.c.k me! I'm getting a hard-on.”
His belt loosened and his robe opened to expose his naked body as he knelt on the hard stone floor. His breath heaved as he fought the power holding him. His engorged shaft jutted upward, obscenely swollen. The head of his c.o.c.k was purple with excitement, and a drop of liquid formed at the tip.
The power seized his wanton flesh and he threw his head back, feeling an o.r.g.a.s.m rising without his control. His body convulsed and he shouted as his seed burst from his swollen c.o.c.k to splatter the floor.
As suddenly as it came, the power left. The ceremonial magician fell forward in reaction, gasping. He turned and his shoulder hit the stone floor, his violin cradled in his arms.
”Well, that was certainly f.u.c.ked up,” he said between pants, then rose to his knees. He looked, but there was no trace of the s.e.m.e.n he had spattered on the floor. Carefully he placed the violin to one side, retied his robe, then grabbed the chalice of champagne.
”I better finish the ritual.” He took a swallow to wet his dry mouth. ”Before anything else weird happens.”
Formally he raised the chalice of champagne and poured it out on the stone floor in libation, thanking the attending spirits in the archaic language of the closing ritual.
His eyes widened as the champagne soaked into the stone as quickly as it was poured from the chalice. Without hesitation, he grabbed the mostly-full bottle and continued to pour the very expensive champagne on the temple floor. The bottle emptied and not a drop was left to mark the spot. He placed his fingers on the stone. Bone dry. A hard s.h.i.+ver raced up his spine.
He bowed formally, then picked up the silver bell that sat near his book. The sharp sweet tones from the bell marked the completion of his formal spell.
”Okay, all attendant spirits go home,” he said irreverently. ”And thanks for the thrill.”
He picked up the sword, stood and turned in a circle to disperse the magical energy of his conjure circle. Carefully, he gave the closing benediction.
The gold light dropped from the outer ring and the colors bled away from the diagram, fading until only white chalk lines remained. The flames of the seven guttering candles that circled his chalk diagram suddenly began winking out one by one, by themselves, until only the cook-stove cast light.
Tired to the bone, he left the circle, lit a candle that would last all night, put out the cook-stove, then dropped, still formally robed, onto his air mattress. In seconds, he was asleep.
Within the depths of the temple, gentle laughter echoed softly and whispered through his dreams.
* Avocation *
He yawned and sat up in his bedding. The blue glow of his watch said it was late morning, but there was no way to really tell in the absolute darkness of the underground temple. He remembered dreaming, and he remembered that a beautiful woman had been in his dreams. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember more that that.
Yawning, he rolled off the air mattress and lit the camp light, then the small Coleman cook-stove. Breakfast could come after clean-up, but coffee came before everything.
The firelight bathed the room in soft gold as he got out of his sleep-wrinkled robe. After a quick wash, he dressed in fresh jeans that were nearly white with wear, and a loose, white, cotton s.h.i.+rt that he left open to the waist. He was not looking forward to the long trek back across the desert to the hotel, where the rest of the orchestra waited.