Anikelam, or a Visit to the Junk Dealer's shop

Анастасия Сас

Anikelam, or a Visit to the Junk Dealer's shop

Anastasia Szasz.

Anikelam, or visit to the junk dealer's shop

Prologue.

…Spring had already burst into the life of the Holy City several days ago. Everywhere, there were those extraordinary scents of spring—viscous, spicy, damp, filling everything around them…

At times, rains poured down upon the Holy City. Slanting, resilient streams widely and freely drenched the frozen earth, as though embodying the departure of the land and all the people living upon it from winter and from the death it carried within itself. This sap, flowing from the heavens, meant for all the inhabitants of the Holy Land, for the vast nation of the Sacred Empire, a transition to life, a transition from the impermanence of existence to eternity. For spring had always signified eternity…

The inhabitants of the Holy City, meeting one another in the streets, sincerely rejoiced in life. Life seemed beautiful to them. Their Empire seemed to them the best place on earth, their capital the most wondrous, and their Tsar the most just…

And every year, on the days of the solstice and the equinox, the old gods left their altars in order to answer with their grace the gifts brought to them by the mortal inhabitants of the Holy City…

And every year in spring the buds swelled, in summer the rye ripened in the fields, and in winter blizzards swept through and snow fell. It was an unchanging cycle. And the inhabitants of the Holy City believed that it would continue forever…

But the people did not know that in recent years it had become harder and harder for the old goddess of fertility to ride out from beneath the earth to the surface, toward the light, in her gilded chariot… The people did not know that the whirl of life had little time left to endure, that they had little time left to sing merry songs, little time left to give birth to and raise children…

And today, Grakhash too was walking through the streets of the Holy City, rejoicing in life. Grakhash was one of the warriors who had dedicated themselves to the Tsar. As a child, he had undergone the rite of initiation. It had been on a fine spring day just like this one. Grakhash involuntarily surrendered himself to memories…

…Do you agree to keep forever the oath of loyalty given today? — asked a voice from the darkness of the church.

“Forever… Forever… No, I don’t want to!!! But I must… I must…” Grakhash’s thoughts were tangled in his head. He understood that his parents had decided it so. Their Tsar was the fairest, the best ruler in the world. All the inhabitants of the Sacred Empire were certain of his infallibility. Grakhash did not believe in rituals, but, regardless of his faith and will, after this ceremony had been performed, his head began to ache every time the full moon came…

A woman’s laughter brought Grakhash back to reality. He saw a girl; judging by her appearance, she was a commoner. She had stunning blue eyes and was magnificently built. But her greatest virtue was her long hair, which, like golden threads, spilled over her shoulders. It seemed that her beautiful hair had absorbed all the sunlight into itself and was even brighter than the sun, openly challenging it. Long, reaching down to the girl’s waist, it flowed freely in the spring wind, bearing witness to independence, freedom, and courage…

“Do you always walk without looking around?” the beauty from among the people asked, unceremoniously looking Grakhash over from head to toe.

Grakhash was a broad-shouldered, tall young man with long fair hair reaching his shoulders. His muscular torso was clad in iron chainmail polished to a shine, beneath which a scarlet tunic showed. A red woolen cloak was thrown over his shoulders, and a short sword hung at his belt by his right hip. But the most captivating thing was his face—with deep brown eyes in which inner resolve and willpower lay hidden.

“And do you always watch other people?” Grakhash asked in the same tone, also looking her over without ceremony.

Grakhash could see that the girl liked him, while the girl noticed that she was pleasing to Grakhash.

“Who are you, handsome? Where are you headed?” she asked.

“I am one of the warriors who guard the Tsar. My name is Grakhash. Today I must appear at the royal palace. And who are you?”

“I am the daughter of the craftsman Rikhvash. My name is Freya.”

“You have beautiful hair.”

“I know. I inherited it from my mother. I’m afraid of losing it.”

“Never say that you are afraid. Otherwise, you will draw misfortune to yourself. And precisely the misfortune you fear.”

“We are not so well acquainted that we should be giving each other advice,” Freya flared up. “If I need advice, I will go to the Maiden for it.”

“Don’t be angry with me. I liked you; I only wanted to do you good. And who is this Maiden?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I’ve heard that this Maiden lives far beyond the mountains, at the edge of the Empire. Anyone who turns to her can learn the Truth about themselves.”

“Fine weather today, isn’t it?” reckless Grakhash tried to change the subject, which seemed to him not as interesting as his companion.

“Yes, not bad…”

“I think it will rain by evening…”

For a long time afterward, their laughter, filled with the joy of a first meeting, carried over the streets of the Holy City…

On that day, Grakhash and Freya did not yet know that their carefree life would soon change. For a great, dark, heavy threat had hung over the entire Empire…

Chapter 1

A Mother’s Testament

That day, the road leading to the temple was dark. The great festival of fertility had ended, and the temple servants no longer lit torches along the roadside. Grakhash slowly wandered toward the temple, silently humming a cheerful little song to himself. From everywhere, the tickling scents of summer grasses seeped into Grakhash; somewhere a stream murmured softly, and life seemed beautiful to him… Only a headache slightly darkened Grakhash’s mood. The full moon had risen into the sky.

Grakhash was going to visit his mother, Aya, who was a priestess in the temple of the goddess of fertility. As soon as she was born, her parents had dedicated her to the goddess of fertility. This meant that, upon reaching adulthood, Aya was to leave worldly life forever in order to serve the goddess until the end of her days. But at seventeen, Grakhash’s mother fell in love with his father, and the vow was broken. They married, and Grakhash was born. Those were years of endless happiness for their family. But the broken oath gave Aya no peace. The violated vow burned her heart like fire, because in the Land of the Moon, to break the sacred will of one’s parents meant committing almost the most terrible crime imaginable. When Grakhash turned seven, and the White Moon in his horoscope returned to the same place where it had been when he was born, his mother left them and went to the temple, dedicating herself to the goddess. Grakhash and his father often visited her at the temple. And today, Grakhash was going to see Aya.

Grakhash had already come almost right up to the temple when he heard someone’s voices. Grakhash realized that his mother was arguing heatedly with someone. He quickened his pace; the road ended, and he stepped onto a narrow stone-paved path leading straight to the temple gates. The path climbed upward, to where the dark bulk of the temple rose. It was an ancient sanctuary that had stood in that place for two thousand years. Intricate monograms adorned the façade of this majestic building. The temple stood on a rocky ledge carved by nature itself, and below, from beneath the rock on which it stood, a waterfall thundered down noisily.

The area before the temple was illuminated, and when he came very close, Grakhash saw his mother. She was dressed as befitted a priestess born of a noble family. Aya wore a white satin dress; a massive necklace and bracelets of white gold adorned her neck and arms. Aya’s face expressed indignation; she was almost shouting.

At first, Grakhash could not see the face of the person with whom Aya was speaking. It was a tall man with very broad shoulders, dressed in a thin, almost transparent cloak.

Aya and the stranger were arguing desperately. But Grakhash could not understand what they were talking about. It was the temple language, which the uninitiated did not know.

Grakhash wanted to come closer and find out what was happening. But suddenly Aya began to back away in fear, toward the temple gates. The stranger started advancing on his mother. Aya turned and quickly ran toward the temple. The stranger rushed after her.

Grakhash dashed up the path, hurrying to help his mother. At some point he stumbled and fell to the ground. When he raised his head, he saw a strange and terrible sight. Never before had he seen anything like it.

The stranger caught up with Aya, seized her by the hair, and tried to turn her face so that it was directed toward him. Aya stubbornly turned away. The struggle continued for several dozen seconds. Grakhash tried to get up, but his arms and legs would not obey him; he felt unbearably heavy and could not move. Aya continued to resist, but the stranger finally managed to turn her face toward him.

“Open your eyes, daughter of the Goddess,” Grakhash heard him say in a language he understood.

Through his growing-heavy eyelids, he saw that Aya was trying with all her might to squeeze her eyes shut, but after a few seconds her eyes still opened. Grakhash saw that two piercingly bright beams were coming from the stranger’s eyes. A strange, unearthly red glow emanated from the beams. Horror appeared on Aya’s face. The stranger directed his glowing gaze straight into her eyes. At the moment the beams penetrated her, Aya’s entire body shuddered. Grakhash saw a thin, transparent substance leave his mother’s body and dart somewhere upward, into the sky. At that same moment, her whole body went limp. The stranger let it go, and it collapsed to the ground. Grakhash immediately thought that his mother was dead.

Now Grakhash was finally able to make out the stranger. He was a tall man of about forty. His nose stood out especially on his face. Large, aquiline, and pointed downward, it gave the stranger’s face a certain resemblance to a bird of prey. Grakhash thought he looked like a hawk. On the stranger’s head, Grakhash saw something resembling a golden crown, on which the warrior counted twelve points. The stranger’s body was clad in a strange garment that reminded Grakhash of a snake’s scales.

Meanwhile, the spell passed; the strange weakness released Grakhash. Horrified by what had happened, he rose to his feet and quickly ran upward, toward the temple, toward his mother’s body. When he reached the edge of the area before the temple, the stranger noticed him. He hastily covered his face with his cloak and began moving toward the edge of the platform, in Grakhash’s direction.

Grakhash backed away. He thought the stranger would kill him too. But, to Grakhash’s surprise, the stranger passed by without paying him any further attention.

“Beware! You murderer of my mother!” Grakhash shouted, and rushed at the stranger.

Meanwhile, the stranger reached the edge of the platform and… fell somewhere downward, to where the churning streams of the waterfall plunged with a hiss.

Grakhash rushed after him, but, frightened, recoiled. The height from which the waterfall fell was unimaginable. His head began to spin.

Grakhash approached the place where his mother lay. As he had assumed, she was dead. Everything became confused; the world collapsed for Grakhash. Aya was gone.

For a long time, Grakhash stood over his mother’s body, trying to comprehend what had happened. Somewhere high in the night sky, distant stars looked down indifferently upon Grakhash. The full moon had risen into the sky, spreading its dim, shimmering light everywhere.

Grakhash stood with his head thrown back and wept, gazing into the sky. Suddenly, dark clouds appeared in the heavens and quickly covered the moon. Grakhash had the strange feeling that someone was watching him. He looked around but saw nothing. Grakhash was already about to leave to call someone for help when suddenly he heard a quiet voice somewhere to his right:

“Grakhash, Grakhash…”

Grakhash looked toward the place from which the voice came. Beneath an ancient tree stood his mother, Aya. She was transparent, as though woven from the finest ether. Grakhash understood that this was his mother’s soul. As if enchanted, he approached the tree. The transparent Aya trembled and slowly said:

“Be careful, Grakhash… Do not lose your way in the worlds of reflections…”

And she dissolved forever.

No one ever managed to discover why Aya had been killed. Grakhash, however, did not tell anyone that he had seen how the murder had taken place. There were rumors that Aya had been punished for having once broken her vow. But Grakhash did not believe this. He was certain that his mother had been killed by a dark sorcerer who had taken her soul.

The words he had heard from Aya engraved themselves into Grakhash’s soul for the rest of his life. For many years, every full moon, he dreamed a dream in which the transparent Aya repeated her strange testament to him again and again. But Grakhash could not unravel what it meant.

That day, a deep hatred was born in Grakhash’s heart. He swore an oath to himself that from then on his entire life would be devoted to finding and destroying the stranger. He searched for him for many years, ready at every minute of his life to enter into battle with his mother’s murderer. But… he did not find him.

Chapter 2

The Tsar Becomes a Slave

That day, the Tsar’s palace was noisy. Preparations were underway for the great festival of the Moon. All the courtiers were rejoicing, expecting, as always, a grand feast in honor of the Mother Earth. And only Tsar Ekhash, lord of the vast Empire, sat gloomy and troubled in his chambers. Since morning, he had felt as though something terrible, something dreadful, was approaching him and his Empire.

Lying on his enormous bed, the Tsar tried to think about how he could make his people happy. It should be noted here that Ekhash had always been a good Tsar. He truly loved his Empire and cared for its inhabitants.

Suddenly, he broke off his thoughts, for he noticed something strange in his chambers. The room was gradually filling with a strange blue misty haze. This haze thickened, filling everything around him. Suddenly, there came a loud clap. When the haze dispersed, a terrible sight was revealed to the Tsar. In the middle of the room towered the huge figure of some creature. It had the head of a crocodile and the body of a man. The Crocodile’s body was entirely covered with iron scales. Its torso was protected by golden chainmail, and around its neck, on a thick golden chain, hung a metal plate with uneven edges, rusted in places. Upon it, in a strange sequence, were stamped numbers whose meaning was unknown. It seemed that the plate was very ancient—perhaps older than the existing world.

“What do you want?” the Tsar shouted. “Why have you come?”

“I have come for your soul,” the hideous creature answered in a muffled voice.

“I am the Tsar, and no one dares take my soul,” Ekhash shouted.

“I dare. I have a claim upon you. You cannot oppose me, for you depend on me.”

“But how? How can I depend on you? Get out!” the Tsar shouted in anger.

“Ha-ha-ha! Now listen to me. I am Merrog, your master and the master of your Empire. I was born several millennia ago of your God and Lilith, the mother of darkness. Since then I have grown, I have strengthened, I have gathered power. My dwelling place is the lower astral worlds. Until recently, I did not possess sufficient strength. But now all worlds have bowed their heads before me. The time will come when your physical world will fall to its knees before me. But I digress… So listen, Tsar: your power depends on me forever, and if you do not wish to lose it, then in everything—in every decision of yours, in every action concerning the rule of the Empire—you must obey me. And if you do not follow my counsel, I will become angry and destroy you.”

“But you are evil!!! I will not allow you to control me!!!” Ekhash shouted, trying to leap from the bed.

But suddenly a terrible weakness swept over him. Ekhash felt his arms and legs growing heavy, his eyes closing.

“Ha-ha-ha!... Hee-hee-hee!...”

The last thing Ekhash, the great Tsar of the great Empire, heard was the demonic laughter of the repulsive creature.

The Tsar sank into sleep…

In his dream, he saw himself as a young man. He was in a green meadow. Birds were singing, a stream was murmuring. He was there with his sister, Neshya. They were playing hide-and-seek. Suddenly, Ekhash fell. Something sharp pierced his stomach…

“A twig,” Ekhash thought, and wanted to get up. But he could not. He felt a strange heaviness in his stomach. And then he suddenly saw a huge snake crawling straight into his navel. Then he saw a kite soaring in the sky. The kite flew down to him, pecked him in the stomach, and immediately rose again. Ekhash saw that in the kite’s beak were thin threads coming out of his stomach. The kite opened its beak, the threads fell to the ground and began to grow into it…

Ekhash saw that he was falling somewhere downward, beneath the earth… He flew for a long time, until he struck something hard. Looking around, Ekhash saw that he was lying on a small platform formed by a rocky ledge. Far below him opened an abyss, at the bottom of which something red could be seen. Unbearable heat burned Ekhash, and he understood that he had flown to the center of the earth, that this was the very breath of the underworld. And then he saw Merrog the Crocodile, seated upon a golden throne. Black smoke swirled around him, and the mysterious numbers on the plate flared with a strange gleam.

“Now we are bound together forever!... Ha-ha-ha!!!...” the Crocodile rejoiced.

The Tsar waved his arms and rushed at the Crocodile.

“You will not dare! You will not dare!” Ekhash shouted in despair.

Gathering his last strength, he seized the Crocodile’s neck with both hands, trying to strangle him. But the Tsar’s hands merely slipped over the smooth scales, and a mighty blow from the iron paw hurled him aside…

“You are my slave!” the Crocodile roared with laughter, and the walls of the underworld shook from his laughter.

“No!!!” the Tsar cried out, and awoke in his own bed.

Looking around in terror, the Tsar could not at all notice the rusted metal plate beneath his bed, with unknown numbers stamped upon it…

Chapter 3

The Moon and the Sun

The inhabitants of the Empire and the courtiers remembered that festival of the Moon for a long time. The Moon Goddess, venerated in the Empire, was a symbol of the Motherland and the hearth. The festival of the Moon was a day of national unity, for it symbolized the solidarity of all people as one great family. The Moon was the patroness of ancestors and lineage, helping to preserve the continuity of generations. And ancestors had always been honored in the Sacred Empire, which was rare in the rest of the world.

The Moon, the great Birth-Giving Mother, fostered the growth of fruits, and the inhabitants of the Empire were the finest farmers. They did not know how to wage war, and in the Empire it was believed that war was against their religion. Every inhabitant of the Empire lived with the certainty that there was nothing worse than war. War kills; it destroys the family tree; it burns what had been patiently cultivated in the fields. Warriors like Grakhash made up the royal regiment, called upon to serve as the Tsar’s guard, though there was no real need for this, and in fact the regiment’s role was purely symbolic.

In addition, the adherents of the lunar cult especially revered the sacred feminine principle. For millennia, the inhabitants of the Sacred Empire burned incense and held festivals in honor of Proserpina, goddess of fertility; the Mother-Goddess of the Moon; and Venus, goddess of beauty. They honored woman as the continuer of the family line, as the keeper of the hearth. In the temples of the Sacred Empire, only women could foretell fate.

For many years and winters, the inhabitants of the Sacred Empire lived in harmony with themselves and the surrounding world. They loved nature and worshiped it in the form of numerous gods and goddesses. Each phenomenon of nature had its own god or goddess. If one of the gods grew angry, various misfortunes arose. Then people brought offerings to the god who governed that part of their lives in which the misfortune had occurred.

Thus, if it happened that a wolf destroyed an entire herd of sheep, people went with an offering to Pan, the patron of flocks. If the harvest perished, they turned to the goddess Demeter, or to her daughter Persephone—the goddesses of fertility and reborn nature. If a child died, people went to Hera—the mother-goddess of all that exists. People offered the gods milk, wine, and animal flesh. And the gods repaid the people in kind: misfortunes left them, and happiness knocked at their doors. These were relations that people understood. When some misfortune came to a person, he did not blame the whole world for it.

The Empire had worshiped the Moon since time immemorial, since the very beginning of this world. But the inhabitants of the Empire did not know that the Moon also had a reverse side, that Darkness had already stretched out its greedy hands toward the great Empire… Nor did they know that one of the Tsar’s warriors was yet to play a decisive role in its fate.

Far from the outskirts of the Sacred Empire, another world began, where the sun-worshipers lived. They were a very benevolent people, whose entire life was devoted to those pursuits that ancient astrology associated with the Sun. In the Land of the Sun, art, literature, and music flourished. Crafts developed actively in the cities: tanners, jewelers, and glassmakers produced a wide variety of goods in abundance.

The patrons of the City of the Sun were the musician-god, radiant Apollo, and the Muses: Calliope and Euterpe, who loved poetry; Erato, who helped compose songs; Terpsichore, who taught them to dance; Clio, who reminded them of the greatness of past ages; Polyhymnia, who sang hymns to the Sun; Urania, who taught them to observe the stars; as well as Melpomene and Thalia—the Muses of tragedy and comedy.

Unlike the adherents of the Lunar cult, the sun-worshipers believed that in order to preserve and increase one’s own “I,” it was not necessary to see it as part of previous generations. They believed this could be achieved through the development of one’s talents and abilities. The consequence of this was to be the strengthening of one’s own Spirit as part of the Sun. They, too, knew no war.

But, unnoticed, dark forces also penetrated the way of life of the inhabitants of the Land of the Sun. Gradually, they began to believe that life was a game, and that they were all actors on the stage of eternity, that one should live lightly… They produced fewer and fewer goods and worshiped Dionysus, the god of wine, more and more…

And so, that festival of the Moon went down in history. On that day, Tsar Ekhash came out to the people and said the following:

“Listen to me, inhabitants of the Sacred Empire! From this day forth and forever, your life will change! Today I received a revelation! Today God Himself descended from the heavens and spoke to me! He told me that the Sacred Empire shall no longer worship numerous gods. The idols must be cast down, and their temples destroyed. God is one; He is invisible and intangible. God is incomprehensible to the human mind. All people are God’s slaves. Man’s lot is to worship God and fear Him. Man is God’s slave. The priestesses of the Temple of the Moon are the chosen ones. Only they may interpret the messages of God. The heavenly embodiment of our God is the Moon.”

“But we worshiped the Moon before!” voices were heard from the crowd.