surface.
But the structure of this chamber occupied my mind
a great deal less than did its occupants. There to meet us on the floor of the great cavern was what must have been the entire slum population of Mirocaw, and more, all with the same eerily wide-eyed and oval-mouthed faces. They formed a circle around an altar-like object which had some kind of dark, leathery covering draped over it. Upon the altar, another covering of the same material concealed a lumpy form beneath.
And behind this form, looking down upon the altar, was the only figure whose face was not greased with makeup.
He wore a long snowy robe that was the same color as the wispy hair berimming his head. His arms were calmly at
his sides. He made no movement. The man I once believed would penetrate great secrets stood before us with the same professorial bearing that had impressed me so many years ago, yet now I felt nothing but dread at the thought of what revelations lay pocketed within the abysmal folds of his magisterial attire. Had I really come here to challenge such a formidable figure? The name by which I knew him seemed itself insufficient to designate one of his stature. Rather
I should name him by his other incarnations: god of all wisdom, scribe of all sacred books, father of all magicians, thrice great and more rather I should call him Thoth.
He raised his cupped hands to his congregation and the ceremony was underway.
It was all very simple. The entire assembly, which
had remained speechless until this moment, broke
into the most horrendous high-pitched singing that
can be imagined. It was a choir of sorrow, of shrieking delirium, and of shame. The cavern rang shrilly with the dissonant, whining chorus. My voice, too, was added
to the congregation's, trying to blend with their maimed music. But my singing could not imitate theirs, having
a huskiness unlike their cacophonous keening wail. To
keep from exposing myself as an intruder I continued to mouth their words without sound. These words were a revelation of the moody malignancy which until then I had no more than sensed whenever in the presence of these figures. They were singing to the "unborn in paradise," to the "pure unlived lives." They sang a dirge for existence, for all its vital forms and seasons. Their ideals were those of darkness, chaos, and a melancholy half-existence consecrated to all the many shapes of death. A sea of thin, bloodless faces trembled and screamed with perverted hopes. And the robed, guiding figure at the heart of all
this elevated over the course of twenty years to the status of high priest-was the man from whom I had taken so many of my own life's principles. It would be useless to describe what I felt at that moment and a waste of the time I need to describe the events which followed.
The singing abruptly stopped and the towering whitehaired figure began to speak. He was welcoming those of the new generation-twenty winters had passed since the "Pure Ones" had expanded their ranks. The word "pure" in this setting was a violence to what sense and composure I still retained, for nothing could have been more foul
than what was to come. Thoss and I employ this defunct identity only as a convenience closed his sermon and drew closer to the dark-s.kinned altar. Then, with all
the flourish of his former life, he drew back the topmost covering. Beneath it was a limp-limbed effigy, a collapsed puppet sprawled upon the slab. I was standing toward the rear of the congregation and attempted to keep as close to the exit passage as I could. Thus, I did not see everything as clearly as I might have.
Thoss looked down upon the crooked, doll-like form and then out at the gathering. I even imagined that he made knowing eye-contact with myself. He spread his arms and a stream of continuous and unintelligible words flowed from his moaning mouth. The congregation began to stir, not greatly but perceptibly.
But the structure of this chamber occupied my mind
a great deal less than did its occupants. There to meet us on the floor of the great cavern was what must have been the entire slum population of Mirocaw, and more, all with the same eerily wide-eyed and oval-mouthed faces. They formed a circle around an altar-like object which had some kind of dark, leathery covering draped over it. Upon the altar, another covering of the same material concealed a lumpy form beneath.
And behind this form, looking down upon the altar, was the only figure whose face was not greased with makeup.
He wore a long snowy robe that was the same color as the wispy hair berimming his head. His arms were calmly at
his sides. He made no movement. The man I once believed would penetrate great secrets stood before us with the same professorial bearing that had impressed me so many years ago, yet now I felt nothing but dread at the thought of what revelations lay pocketed within the abysmal folds of his magisterial attire. Had I really come here to challenge such a formidable figure? The name by which I knew him seemed itself insufficient to designate one of his stature. Rather
I should name him by his other incarnations: god of all wisdom, scribe of all sacred books, father of all magicians, thrice great and more rather I should call him Thoth.
He raised his cupped hands to his congregation and the ceremony was underway.
It was all very simple. The entire assembly, which
had remained speechless until this moment, broke
into the most horrendous high-pitched singing that
can be imagined. It was a choir of sorrow, of shrieking delirium, and of shame. The cavern rang shrilly with the dissonant, whining chorus. My voice, too, was added
to the congregation's, trying to blend with their maimed music. But my singing could not imitate theirs, having
a huskiness unlike their cacophonous keening wail. To
keep from exposing myself as an intruder I continued to mouth their words without sound. These words were a revelation of the moody malignancy which until then I had no more than sensed whenever in the presence of these figures. They were singing to the "unborn in paradise," to the "pure unlived lives." They sang a dirge for existence, for all its vital forms and seasons. Their ideals were those of darkness, chaos, and a melancholy half-existence consecrated to all the many shapes of death. A sea of thin, bloodless faces trembled and screamed with perverted hopes. And the robed, guiding figure at the heart of all
this elevated over the course of twenty years to the status of high priest-was the man from whom I had taken so many of my own life's principles. It would be useless to describe what I felt at that moment and a waste of the time I need to describe the events which followed.
The singing abruptly stopped and the towering whitehaired figure began to speak. He was welcoming those of the new generation-twenty winters had passed since the "Pure Ones" had expanded their ranks. The word "pure" in this setting was a violence to what sense and composure I still retained, for nothing could have been more foul
than what was to come. Thoss and I employ this defunct identity only as a convenience closed his sermon and drew closer to the dark-s.kinned altar. Then, with all
the flourish of his former life, he drew back the topmost covering. Beneath it was a limp-limbed effigy, a collapsed puppet sprawled upon the slab. I was standing toward the rear of the congregation and attempted to keep as close to the exit passage as I could. Thus, I did not see everything as clearly as I might have.
Thoss looked down upon the crooked, doll-like form and then out at the gathering. I even imagined that he made knowing eye-contact with myself. He spread his arms and a stream of continuous and unintelligible words flowed from his moaning mouth. The congregation began to stir, not greatly but perceptibly.
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