Stealing Sacred Fire (49 page)

Shemyaza gazed out over the
lush, fertile landscape, which had once been the land of Khem: a
paradise. He stood upon the Giza plateau as it had appeared six
aeons ago. Shemyaza stepped between the pillars, initiating the
process of returning.

Red rays reflected off the
domed roof of a columned temple on the island. He could see it
clearly now. History unfolded. The island was the primal mound of
creation, and the temple upon it was the first ever to have been
built upon the virgin body of Mother Earth. It was the original
omphalos of the world. All subsequent sacred omphali had been
constructed in its memory: it was the House of the Human Soul.
Shemyaza knew that in the time he left behind, the great Sphinx
stood in the temple’s place, and had done so for six epochs, gazing
watchfully upon the changing constellations of each new aeon. Soon,
it would gaze upon the stars of Mankind, the House of Aquarius. The
consensual soul of humanity that rested in this house would be
reborn under the light of those stars. But not yet. First, there
would have to be the conception.

Shemyaza stood upon a narrow
wooden jetty, to which a small boat was moored. He climbed into the
boat and it began to drift swiftly towards the island. Shemyaza
gazed into the water. This was the lake where all the spirits that
inhabited the earth and sky were forged: the waters of life, the
rivers of belief. He was reminded of the silent boat-man of all the
underworld myths, who carried the souls of the dead across the
waters to judgement.

The boat reached the steps to
the temple. Glowing marble disappeared beneath the water, as if
made of light. The boat turned itself sideways. Shemyaza climbed
out without touching the sacred water; no spirits could reach out
for him and suck him down into their dreaming realm.

Shemyaza looked back to the
shore he had left. The black columns seemed incongruous, severe
against the soft fluttering of foliage. There was nothing between
them but a colourless void, for the world beyond had yet to come
into being.

Inside, the temple was bare and
unadorned, comprised of immense blocks of granite. It was quite
dark, because the building faced east, and now the sun set behind
it. Shemyaza walked towards the back of the temple, where there was
a wide hole in the floor. His feet made no sound and he could not
smell or hear anything. He felt calm, already resigned to the fate
of possible oblivion. He had been resigned to it for a long time.
There was no guarantee that his soul and spirit body would survive
the experience ahead of him. The Elders would have left traps and
obstacles to prevent intruders from entering the Chambers.

At the edge of the hole, he
looked down and saw a flight of wide steps. After a short way, they
veered abruptly to the right. Cautiously, Shemyaza began to
descend, projecting an astral radiance to light his way. The walls
of the stair-well were devoid of paintings or bas-reliefs. This was
a functional building, laid bare like his soul and the souls of
those who had built it.

The steps swooped down
endlessly. Shemyaza had left time behind him, so there was no way
of judging how far or how long he descended. His astral radiance
lit only the step immediately below him, and even though his limbs
moved to his commands, he felt like he was falling. Silence was
absolute; his sense of hearing ached with it. He was unsure whether
his spirit body would not fragment and diffuse before he reached
the bottom of the steps.

The descent ended without him
realising it, for now he walked along a horizontal surface. Sparks
of coloured light flickered in the air ahead, and he became aware
of space around him. He was in a passage-way, constructed of
enormous blocks of stone. Again, there was no decoration upon the
walls, and by his astral light he saw the passage disappearing into
darkness far ahead. Behind him was a blank wall, and overhead, the
entrance to a shaft. There was no sign of the steps he had
descended. At his feet, lay the crystal key he had found in the
Cave of Treasures, shining more brilliantly than it had in the
living world. When he picked it up, the crystal’s hard surface felt
warm and alive in his hands. His astral light intensified, dancing
with flecks of crystal colour.

Shemyaza walked along the
passageway, which sloped gently downwards. The details of his
earthly life blurred in his mind. He felt no weariness, hunger or
thirst, even though he’d walked for an eternity.

The passage-way ended at an
immense sand-stone door, upon which was carved an image; the first
decoration Shemyaza had encountered. It depicted a priest, drawn in
the style of Ancient Egyptian art, who held out a ceremonial staff
to a winged, lion-headed man. Shemyaza remembered what Tiy had told
him about the first guardian of the Chambers. The leonine figure
was Cosmocrator, Keeper of the Precessions of the Equinoxes.
Between the carved figures, the door was pierced by a purple
crystal, about the size of Shemyaza’s fist. He leaned down and
tried to look through it, but could see nothing but darkness beyond
the portal.

Shemyaza held the crystal key
up before his face, and projected into it his desire to open the
entrance. The key began to hum a low note, which Shemyaza willed
into the crystal in the door. Presently, the inlaid stone began to
glow with a red light and then to resonate with the sound. The
carved figures became warped by moving shadows; they seemed alive.
A jewel in Cosmocrator’s eye reflected beams of ruby light, as if
Shemyaza’s intrusion had awoken him.

Shemyaza bowed respectfully.
‘Cosmocrator, I entreat you to let me pass. I am the spiritual son
of those who created you. I am Shemyaza.’

The light became vaporous, and
Shemyaza could see the spectre of a winged, lion-headed man
standing before him; a transparent red image. The wise leonine eyes
stared at him sternly, while the tones emitted by the crystal
echoed off the walls. Then, so quickly that Shemyaza jumped, the
image vanished and the door rolled to the side with a crash.

He stood upon the threshold of
a vast, tenebrous chamber. This was the Hall of the Twelve. His
body stiffened as his senses struggled to interpret what lay before
him. Perspective zoomed out on all sides; he felt as tiny as a seed
and his astral light now seemed dim. The hall’s ceiling was
indistinct in shadow, perhaps a hundred feet overhead. Six columns
of highly-polished green stone lined both sides of the chamber; so
wide that eight men linking hands would not have formed a circle
around one. Beyond the columns, the walls were enormous blocks of a
darker green stone, highly polished yet unornamented.

Shemyaza forced himself to take
the first step into the hall. It was immense, yet seemed so
watchful. He did not want to hear the door crash shut behind him.
The hall was sleeping, but alive. He knew that all the columns were
hollow and that the twelve initiates of the Chambers had once used
them to resonate the sacred tones that had created their
empire.

One step. Two. He heard an
echo, but it came too late, as if somebody walked furtively behind
him. Turning round, he saw no-one, but the door had slid silently
shut. Tentatively, Shemyaza ventured further into the hall. He was
fascinated by it, drawn to it, yet it terrified him, for he sensed
it was the precursor to the immense oblivion of space. Beneath his
feet, the ancient flag-stones were covered by a thin film of
unmarked sandy dust. He glanced round, and could see his own
foot-prints leading back to the door. His astral body had substance
in this place.

Tiy had told him that rituals
had once taken place in the Hall of the Twelve. The Elders and
their philosophy were incomprehensible to a modern mind, even that
of a Grigori. Shemyaza visualised the tall, alien forms standing
before each of the columns, touching them, invoking their
individual tones. It seemed that faint echoes of those hollow notes
reverberated through his mind, and as he walked further, he sensed
ghostly forms drawer nearer.

The twelve walked beside him.
The columns seemed to recognise their presence — he sensed a
quickening of attention. Perhaps the phantoms were merely memories,
emitted by the stone. He could not see the Elders clearly, but
sensed their appearance. They were taller than he was, and clad in
belted robes of turquoise linen. Their long white hair floated on
the air, as if they swam through a sea of ether. Their eyes were an
unnatural, cerulean blue, which was the result not simply of
pigment but a radiance that filled the entire socket. Their
elongated faces looked like masks. Even the pharaoh Akenaten in his
wildest excesses of self-representation had looked more human.
Shemyaza was not afraid of these ghostly manifestations, for they
seemed oblivious of his presence, but their proximity troubled him.
It was not revulsion, but simply a strong reaction against the
unknown. In the world he knew, he had come to appreciate his
special qualities, his divine kingship, but in this place, he was
just a child.

All the pillars had a spectral
memory of an Elder connected to it, bar one. Halfway down the hall,
Shemyaza was drawn to this solitary pylon. It beckoned to him and
seemed strangely familiar. Shemyaza placed his left hand onto its
glassy surface. Intolerable cold assailed his palm and crept up his
arm, and a buzzing vibration coursed through his entire being.

Shemyaza closed his eyes and
rested his forehead against the pillar. He could no longer feel the
burning cold, and became absorbed in the tonal vibrations that
pulsed through the stone. Within them, he could hear a gabble of
words and phrases. The words Tehuti-ti and Ku-na-el were whispered
over and over again. Shemyaza felt swamped by drowsiness. He wanted
to abandon his journey and remain connected to the column for
eternity. Its power was his power; he felt at one with it. The
frequency of its tones had been used to build Kharsag; he just knew
it.

Gradually, he became aware of a
source of prickling heat somewhere on his body that burned into his
communion with the pillar. He forced himself to pull away and saw
the crystal key flare brightly within the cage of his right hand.
He sensed the urgency of its message and knew he had to move
on.

With dragging steps, he went
back into the centre of the hall. The ghostly Elders had
disappeared now. Perhaps he no longer had the perception to see
them.

The end of the hall was very
close now. Shemyaza found he had stopped walking and was standing
before a black pedestal, upon which rested two spherical crystals
of astounding clarity; a small stone, with a hole in its apex, on
top of a larger one. The lower crystal had two projections sticking
out from either side of it like horns. Beyond the pedestal was
another door of black basalt, adorned with carvings of concentric
circles, which appeared to be set firmly into the wall. It did not
look as if it could be opened. In the centre of the door was a
black stone, similar to the one in the portal guarded by
Cosmocrator.

Shemyaza extended his hand
experimentally over the hole in the upper crystal. At once, the
stone emitted a high-pitched tone, which ceased the moment he
removed his hand. Instinctively, Shemyaza placed the crystal key
into the hole, with its base uppermost. Nothing happened. The
crystal spheres remained silent and colourless.

Before the Sphinx, Melandra
knelt over the prostrate figure of Tiy. The old woman lay
apparently lifeless upon the dusty floor of the enclosure. The
crowd had drawn back, instinctively giving the two women a wide
berth. In the aftermath of Tiy’s unearthly scream, the gathering
seemed directionless and bewildered. Technicians swarmed over the
lighting rig and stage, but as yet whatever had caused the
black-out had not been rectified.

Melandra held Tiy in her lap.
The old woman’s milky eyes were open, but it seemed as if they were
somehow focused inwards. Melandra could only offer soft, soothing
sounds. She knew they could not leave this place and if fate had
decreed Tiy should die here, there was nothing they could do to
alter it. At least Melandra could make sure Tiy would not die
alone.

Tiy, in fact, was far from
death. In a way, she had left her body, as her whole being had
become concentrated on the inner world. The image of her angel son
before the black pedestal filled her psychic sight. She too had
heard the whispering voices within the pillar. Now she knew she had
to project her own spirit voice to Shemyaza, who waited at the next
gate.

‘Say it, my son. Say the words
that you heard.’

She concentrated hard, willing
some part of Shemyaza’s mind to hear her.

‘Hush, Tiy, hush,’ Melandra
murmured as the old woman’s frail body flexed in her arms. The
mutterings meant nothing to her. They were in a foreign tongue.

Shemyaza cupped his hand around
the upper crystal and focused intently on its core. Knowledge came
to him, but he had lost all memory of his mother, and did not
realise it was her voice who gave him the information he
needed.

‘Who is Tehuti-ti?’ he asked in
his mind and directed his intention to open the door firmly into
the spheres. Presently, the upper crystal began to glow with a
golden light. Simultaneously, a ring of the same golden light
appeared around the stone in the door ahead of him. He poured his
will into the crystal, and gradually the light within it
transformed into a blue hue. A blue ring also appeared around the
stone in the door, pushing the golden ring outwards. Finally, the
crystal turned red and a red ring appeared on the door. Now, three
rings of gold, blue and red light vibrated around the central
stone. Shemyaza knew that these circles of light represented sounds
manifested as colour. If Shemyaza concentrated upon sound, he could
still hear the three tones, but doing so made it difficult for him
to perceive the rings. For now, he knew he must focus on the visual
image alone.