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I Gamma

Chapter I

Section Gamma

 There among the faces of the fallen, littered on the fields of ice, 
 Marduk locked in combat, with his bright bitter glowing foe.
 And with his right hand he smote with iron,
 And with his left hand he cast with fire,
 Fire which burned bright, without burning,
 Which touches and brings death to the unthinking
 Sight, it gives, to the unheeding.
 Marduk marks his own, by the meaning of his fire.
 
[[Gilgamesh?]] Trilogy Scene 5, lines 249-256

Long Count Date: 998.11.90

It began with a sense of falling, and feeling dizzy, so much so that she could barely keep her eyes closed, even though, when she tried to open them, she found she could not. First there was nothing which she could remember, even as she was seeing it, because it had no shape or colour which she could grapple with. Finally after a seemingly interminable time, there were blobs that oozed across her sight, with dark reds and beiges in the center, and edges that seemed to glint darkly. But then came the sound of hammering and noises she could recognize. There came into view, as if light were being slowly increased, a scene which felt familiar, but looked wrong.

It had, she finally decided, a familiar smell: the smell of cooking. But she was not in the childhood kitchen, where her foster mother had placed clay pots into a bellows oven, along with logs split to small size, and the closed it. She remembered, even as she looked on the dreamscape, how her mother would then rapidly spin the lighting rod, and then work the bellows until one could hear the dull thud of fire being lit inside the stone box. Her mother would then say the appropriate prayers.

And that smell, plus the sound of chanting, was what made her feel as if she was in her childhood home, even as she looked at a large room of white marble, filled with people who were chattering and moving about. There were four large double doors, each made of bronze, and decorated with pounded figures engaged in combat. She saw shield and swords and great lizards. The noise seemed gay and happy, as her mother’s kitchen had always bustled with business, and she looked out over a sea of white tunic clad people. Then, the doors slammed shut, and there was a loud “booming” drum which repeated three times. And then people began running every place. A moment before she had beheld this from above, but now was washed into people running up the stairs which she now realized she had been standing on. The large marble squares turned over carrying people down into the blackness, and then creating a hole in the crowd, a hole that remained as people avoided the square, now of black marble.

She finally waked to one, and stood on it, as one by one the other squares turned over, and everyone on the main floor was dragged under. Smaller and smaller islands of panic, where people rigorously jumped and stepped to avoid the black stones. Finally, only those that had stood on the steps remained. She could see the grand staircase now, each step thirty or fourty feet across, slowly narrowing and turning upwards to a first landing, which had marble squares on it, and then branching to two more staircases that went opposite directions, these no more than twenty feet across, upwards to two bronze doors – which had closed during the booming noises. On the landing itself was a giant fresco, of a massive serpentine figure, which seemed to be slowly moving and writhing. No one noticed as they panicked and rushed the doors at the top of the stairs. Most of the steps were filled with people, some resting, some injured, but all getting ready to follow the leaders upwards. It had become packed as the last of the people on the main floor had pressed their way up on to it.

Then the bottom step turned over, the people who could, jumped off, but those who were wounded or sitting were crushed, and bits of blood and flesh were thrown into the air, as if they had been smashed against a rock: which was quite out of place for the slow speed of the turning. Then the next step, and the next. Each turned over to leave behind a black step. She stood paralyzed, she could not even beckon to them.

Then the landing turned over, and the crowd divided. One half pounding on the doors, the other half grimly looking up. But no one jumped down onto the black squares or steps. Then there were 10 steps left, and there were shrieks and screams, as people pushed each other, she kept expecting someone to be pushed off a step, and show the rest that it was safe. Then 9. Then 8. Finally someone was pushed, and stumbled down on to the landing. Then 7. A few jumped down and followed. Then 6, and 5. More people came down, there were perhaps 20. But the rest continued to pound on the doors, until they were dragged under.

It was at this moment that she realized that the fresco – with its lurid red clouds in the background, on which sat spear carrying armored warriors – was moving faster and faster, and attaining a greater and greater depth. The serpentine creature bolted outwards, and snatched up the remaining people on the landing: first by coiling around them, and then by squeezing them until they were dead, and then consuming them.

The site faded into oblivion, its last moment was the smell of cooking pork as the creature breathed fire on the bodies before eating them.

She was cast back into the abyss of shapes, the bowels of a dream land, which, she felt, must lie at the roots of mountains. As the burning smell gave way to a that smell of damp rock and moss, she realized that there was no light, or rather, that there was a dim light of phosphorescences, rather like the message stick, only in purple and gold as well as green. She realized she was no longer in that dream place of shapes, but was deposited in a dark cave. She had been taken down to caves before, and knew the ones that the sea carved out well. But this was another kind. There was a blackened, half burned smell, and the stench of free sulfur. She said the prayer reflexively, and then startled, it was the first sound she had made in her dream.

She stood, trying to look at the phosphorescence. The patterns seemed to draw out misshapen figures, but before she could go beyond this, she snapped to consciousness. She was not only incredibly awake, but standing. Not only standing, but talking as if she had not been asleep.

“So what does it mean?” She heard herself saying without conscious decision to say it. Before making a conscious decision, she further said: “And what does this have to do with the thaumaturgical fire?” At this point her wakingness caught up with her mouth and she added.

“And what did you do to me?”

Amalthea put up a hand palm forward and nodded.

“The brazier had opium in it, and that carried you away into a dream. I could see it on your face. It was not truly intentional, I keep the brazier stocked with it, because of my pains, and other reasons. It slows down the spirits that reach in her. There are advantages you know, to being a priestess of fire: breathing smoke and incense are two of them.”

She then seated herself on an “X” legged chair made of a deeply rich dark wood, and continued. “It comes from the poppy flower, the legionnaire’s flower.”

March nodded, she had known that the poppy was extracted to make medicines, and that soldiers and their families grew it, but had never connected the two facts in her mind.

Amalthea pulled out a stoppered flask and handed it to March. “Here, it is a special distillation of the flower and a very strong drink which can only be made easily with heat. This was made by some brethren, without use of fire, to keep it pure and holy.”

March slowly extended her hand and took the proffered flask, which was made of hammered metal. “How did they make it?”

“They focused the suns rays on fermented grain, an ale, and then captured the resulting alcohol. Then they combined this with the poppy mass, the gum that the heads give. It is a pain killer and dream maker. When you need to dream, take of it. When your comrades are in pain from wounds, give it to them.”

March had no intention of doing either, but placed the flask on a hook on her rope belt. And looked, blinking occasionally, at the old lady.

“I am not going to do as you ask yet. I am not interested in this task. And I do not like the idea of being cast into nightmares, and drinking strange liquors. I came here,” meaning to the university, but she realized also to this home even as she said it, “so that I could learn, and have a good and easy life, filled with seeing curious things, but beautiful ones.” She did not add that she did not care for religion, or the burdens it placed on one, nor for those who carried it out. She did not like the old lady, did not like the trick, for she was sure that the opium was intentional, or at least a very convenient oversight, and the whole thing was just a way to recruit her into this.

She was about to ask for permission to leave when the old lady simply smiled a very gentle smile and said.

“You’ll be back. And use the second stick to get home, you reek of the holy airs.”