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

But at that moment, the clock on the city’s main tower loudly struck midnight. The astrologer said anxiously:

“You must hurry. Today is the Great Festival of Fertility—the only night of the year when the monastery of Num is open to all visitors. If you do not receive initiation before dawn, when the monastery closes, you will not be able to gain access to the sacred book of Anikelam and will not fulfill your mission.”

“And where is it? Will you tell us the way?” asked Efaksh.

“It is far away, a thousand kilometers from here, in the Forest of Cybele.”

“But there is no way we can reach it before dawn!” exclaimed Grakhash.

“Do not forget that you have the Amulet of the Moon…”

Grakhash took from his pocket the metal plate received from the astrologer and brought it to his eyes. The ghostly light of the Moon, streaming through the window, fell upon it. “VI, II, IX, VIII, VI…” the outline of each number lit up in turn.

Grakhash slowly pronounced:

“О Isis! Remove the veil from my eyes; allow me to see the light of Anima Mundi… I wish to be in the monastery of Num…”

Before his eyes appeared spirals, rings; the old astrologer blurred and disappeared. Space and time folded for the young friends, only to appear again at another point on earth.

The astrologer called after them:

“Take care of yourselves! Perhaps we shall meet again someday!..”

Chapter 5

The Death of the Astrologer

Tsar Ekhash sat gloomily upon a golden throne adorned with inlays of precious stones. Although there were many courtiers, guests, and servants in the palace, he felt like the loneliest man on earth. Ever since Merrog had established his power over the Tsar, he had been in a foul mood all the time. The Tsar was thinking. He was thinking about the question that now constantly occupied his mind: how to preserve and strengthen his power. Today the Tsar had summoned the astrologer, and now he was waiting for him to arrive.

Quiet footsteps sounded in the throne hall. The Tsar raised his head and saw the astrologer before him.

“You called for me, O ruler?” asked the astrologer.

“Yes, I called for you, Zankh,” said the Tsar. “Have you made the horoscopes of my faithful servants—Haniksh and Key? I wish to know of the events that await these glorious warriors. Each of them has done much to strengthen our state.”

“And what good have they done?” the old man asked mockingly.

The Tsar did not notice his irony.

“Haniksh has put much effort into ensuring that the cult of the Mother-Moon flourishes in the Sacred Empire, while Key devotes all his time to preparing for the Great Campaign. He personally trains the warriors so that they may easily crush the hateful sun-worshipers. Today, both of them are among the worthiest people of the Sacred Empire.”

“My ruler,” Zankh began gently, “unfortunately, their horoscopes do not tell me at all that they are decent men.”

“What nonsense are you spouting, you worthless old fool!” the Tsar howled. “I shall order your head cut off for such words!”

“What is to be cannot be avoided… You used to believe my predictions,” the astrologer remarked calmly.

Ekhash’s entire face turned red; he was breathing heavily. His hands convulsively gripped the armrests of the throne.

“And what exactly did you see in their horoscopes?” he asked the old man menacingly.

“I see in Key’s horoscope a square between Mars and Saturn. In addition, the Moon is in conjunction with the star Antares, located in the constellation Sagittarius. A person born under the influence of Antares is willful, uncontrollable, and impulsive. Such a person must not be allowed near military action, much less be given the chance to command it. He will destroy everything in his path, sparing nothing living around him, not even his own warriors. To satisfy his own ambitions, he will stop at nothing…”

“You lie, miserable worm! I will destroy you!” shouted the Tsar.

“You are wrong not to believe me, Tsar. Be careful. The negative aspect between Mars and Jupiter tells me that Key is very ambitious and sooner or later will lay claim to the royal throne,” the astrologer concluded calmly.

“And what about Haniksh?” the Tsar asked, stammering.

“He is a true madman,” said the astrologer. “The Moon is waning, Mars is in Cancer, Mercury is in Aquarius… He is a pathological hater of women. You say he builds temples to the Mother-Moon? But look at the cult he has created! The priestesses of the Moon are unreachable to the people! They demand unbearable sacrifices! Soon the rebellious people will burst into the Temples and destroy them all! Tsar, whom have you placed at the head of your Empire?”

“You lie!” the Tsar almost howled. “Haniksh is a decent man!”

“I tell you again, O Tsar: Haniksh is a madman. In his horoscope, the Black Moon and the White Moon are in conjunction. The Black Moon reflects a person’s connection with evil. The White Moon reflects a person’s connection with good. The merging of these two Moons happens rarely, once every thirty-two years. There have been many cases in history when, at the moment of their conjunction, religious figures were born who created cults in which, under the cover of religion, service was rendered to Satan.”

“You lie, lie, lie!” the Tsar roared. “I do not believe a single word you say!”

“Your heart and your memory lie, my ruler! Remember that I have never deceived you!” exclaimed the astrologer. “I beg you, open your eyes! Come to your senses before it is too late! I know that Merrog is instilling these thoughts in you! Force your soul to awaken!”

Hearing Merrog’s name, the Tsar shuddered, but said nothing.

“I know, Tsar, that lately your head has been aching, and at night you see nightmares in which infernal entities kill living infants. This is the future that will come to the Sacred Empire if you allow Merrog to rule you through those close to you!” the astrologer said calmly.

“But if our cult is evil, why does God not punish us?” the Tsar asked mockingly, having already recovered a little. “We have been preparing for the Sacred Campaign for almost ten years, and all these years fortune has been with us!” the Tsar said, proudly raising his head.

“Remember one simple thing, Tsar,” Zankh said, enunciating each word. “It is not God who helps you, but the Forces of Evil. And they always help only for a time, and at the most important moment they abandon a person. A person thinks that fortune will always favor him, but in truth they are only using him to achieve their own goals. Insignificant people they simply discard, while major figures they destroy. You will be the first they destroy after they establish their power over the world. You will remain alive only if your soul becomes completely black. But I know that you have not entirely lost what is human in you. And they do not forgive that.”

“I shall order your head cut off for everything you have said here today!” the Tsar shouted again. “Someone, take him away from my sight!” In despair, the Tsar clutched his head. It was beginning to ache more and more.

“I know that for all these past months you have thought only about power. But you were not like that before. Before, you thought about your people and cared for them. Understand, Tsar: the thoughts swarming in your head are not yours. Merrog—one of the Supreme Demons of Darkness—is placing them there. You are a kind, honest, just man. By an effort of will, you can still break your connection with him. I implore you: do it, save the Sacred Empire! Renounce the campaign against the sun-worshipers!” Zankh said softly.

The Tsar’s face turned green, his eyes bulged from their sockets, and he seemed to be trying to answer the astrologer’s words. For several minutes he struggled with himself. At last, wheezing, he forced out:

“Everything you say is untrue… I know no Merrog. The Spirit of God speaks with me. Our cult was created from the words of God…”

“I know what kind of God that is,” the old man said sadly. “My mission was to warn you. Now it has been fulfilled.”

Meanwhile, the Tsar began to regain control of himself again. Suddenly he straightened sharply on the throne and shouted:

“Guards!”

A few seconds later, four guards in armor appeared on the threshold of the throne hall.

“Seize the old man!” the Tsar growled.

Two guards twisted Zankh’s arms behind his back, while two others stood on either side of him. The astrologer remained perfectly calm.

“I order you to execute this worthless worm tomorrow at dawn!” the Tsar pronounced his sentence.

“As you wish, Tsar… But remember—one day the Messenger on the White Horse will come…” the old man murmured in farewell.

After the astrologer and the guards had gone, the Tsar sat on the throne for a long time. Heavy thoughts tormented him.

And the next morning, news swept through the Holy City that the Tsar’s personal astrologer had been beheaded. It was said that during the execution he had been completely calm, like a man who had meekly accepted his fate.

Chapter 6

The Festival of Fertility

Grakhash and Efaksh came to their senses on a narrow sandy road. Majestic night reigned over the earth. It was dark, and the young friends, who were on their way to the monastery of Num, could see nothing around them.

“It’s strange that there are no torches burning along the road. They are always lit for the Festival of Fertility,” Grakhash remarked in surprise. His mother had been a priestess, and since childhood he had known the rites of all religious celebrations.

The sounds of the Great Festival of Fertility, being held that night in the monastery of Num, reached Grakhash and Efaksh. The closer the young friends came to the temple, the louder the human voices and temple music became.

But this was what surprised the young friends: the music and voices were not merry or truly festive. The music was heavy and aggressive; the beating of drums could be heard again and again. At times, human cries rang out, resembling shrieks.

“This festival of theirs is rather strange!” Grakhash said in bewilderment.

“Yes, as if they are burying someone—or preparing for a final battle!” Efaksh agreed.

“It’s a good thing I have my sword with me today!” said Grakhash, listening closely to the strange sounds.

“Maybe the old man mixed something up when he sent us here?” asked Efaksh.

Grakhash did not have time to answer him. The young friends had come right up to the monastery. Before them rose an enormous dark structure. Everything around it looked very gloomy. The vault of heaven was lit by the full moon. High in the sky, where the columns of the temple ended as they stretched upward, crows were circling. There were many of them. The crows cawed loudly, with a strained cry. Shivers ran down the backs of the young friends. It seemed that the crows had flocked here for a reason, and that they were waiting for something.

“Listen, Efaksh, crows gather where there is carrion,” Grakhash said warily.

Grakhash and Efaksh stood very close to the temple entrance. The sounds coming from behind the massive gates were terrible. There was human weeping, and groaning, and the roaring of animals. Drums boomed hollowly, and it could be heard that the people inside were wildly shouting the same word over and over, as though praising someone.

The young friends hesitated. They did not want to enter the frightening temple. But duty and conscience called Grakhash and Efaksh to fulfill the mission entrusted to them. They opened the massive gates. The sight that appeared before their eyes filled the hearts of the brave warriors with irresistible revulsion.

They saw a vast temple chamber. Towering columns supported the dome. On the walls were depicted goddesses connected with different states of womanhood: maidenhood, maturity, motherhood, love, and old age. Persephone and Demeter, Hera, Aphrodite, and Rhea looked with divine dignity upon everyone who entered the temple. The walls were spattered with blood.

The temple was noisy. There were many half-naked men and women, children, animals, and birds inside: horses, cows, sheep, pigs, and chickens. The animals made a great deal of noise. The temple was filled with neighing and mooing, bleating, grunting, and clucking. The people’s nakedness was only partly hidden by loincloths. They behaved very strangely. Most of them, looking toward the place where the altar stood, continuously made rhythmic movements forward and backward with their bodies, moving like pendulums. Others, spinning in place in a dance known only to them, inflicted bloody wounds upon themselves with knives.

Grakhash and Efaksh were horrified by everything they saw. But the most terrible sight appeared before the young friends when they came almost right up to the altar.

The altar was a large cube covered with heavy red fabric. It rose two meters above the floor, so that everyone present could see what was happening during the temple service.

Usually, a deep bowl was placed on the altar, which during the service was filled with milk or honey. This was the people’s offering to the almighty gods. But the offering taking place now was entirely different.

Beside the altar stood a half-naked priest holding a knife in his hand. From time to time, someone from the crowd handed him a sheep, then a chicken, a pig, or a foal. The priest seized the animal tightly, dragged it to the altar, and cut its throat. Then he held the bleeding animal over the sacrificial bowl and filled it with blood.

On the other side of the altar stood a massive golden tripod. Upon it sat the main participant in the ritual taking place—the priestess of the Moon. She took the bowl filled with blood and solemnly drank it. Every time she drank the blood, the crowd below began to rage especially fiercely. The people whirling below cut bloody wounds into themselves with even greater force, frenziedly plunging huge knives into their tormented bodies. Some of them, bleeding heavily, fell dead.

While the priestess drank blood from the bowl, the priest was not idle either. He furiously butchered the sacrificial animal he had just killed on the altar. The priest threw pieces of fresh meat into a huge vase standing at the feet of the priestess of the Moon. After the priestess drank the contents of the bowl, she seized the pieces of meat one after another and devoured them. The crowd below went mad. Women shrieked loudly, men shouted warlike praises to the priestess of the Moon.

The blood of the sacrificial animals flowed down from the altar onto the floor. An entire lake of blood had already formed, and its amount kept increasing. The people standing close by stood ankle-deep in blood. In their frenzy, they bent down and drank the still-warm blood straight from the floor, at the same time rubbing it over their half-naked bodies.

The priestess of the Moon was completely naked. She wore only massive golden ornaments: a necklace around her neck, long earrings reaching her shoulders, and bracelets on her arms and legs. Not all the blood that the priestess drank from the bowl entered her mouth. It flowed down her naked body and fell onto the floor around her. The priestess’s face was brightly painted in different colors: lilac, crimson, and black. She had long, thick black hair falling almost to her waist. During the temple ritual, it had grown even darker and heavier, mingling with blood.

The crowd raged more and more. The people surrounding Grakhash and Efaksh loudly shouted the same word over and over. Because of the noise made by the crowd and the animals, Grakhash could not make it out. At last, he understood:

“Cybele! Cybele!” the people cried, worshiping the priestess. “O Mother Earth! Praise be to you, goddess!”

Since childhood, Grakhash had known that during temple festivals, priestesses symbolically embodied a deity that had descended from the heavens to take part in the people’s celebration. The ceremonies held during the festival helped people understand what that deity patronized. Thus, during the festival of fertility in the temple where Grakhash’s mother had served, Demeter—the goddess of fertility—was worshiped in the form of the priestess. The milk and honey poured into the bowl symbolized eternally fruit-bearing nature, whose gifts—plants and animals—fed humankind.

Suddenly, the priestess rose from the tripod, threw aside the bowl, and shrieked loudly:

“And now let us begin the festive meal!”—and pointed toward the left wall of the temple.

Turning their heads toward the wall indicated by the priestess, the young friends saw a long festive table stretching across the entire wall, covered with a red tablecloth. There was a great deal of food on the table. There was raw meat of animals and birds, and the bowls were filled with a red liquid. Grakhash thought it was not wine, but blood.

Hearing the priestess’s words, all the people in the temple immediately rushed to the laden table. They began greedily devouring the food upon it.

Grakhash and Efaksh stood bewildered in the middle of the emptied hall. Around them were only pools of blood and bloodied, half-butchered animal carcasses. Outside the window was a sultry summer night, and the animal corpses had begun to spoil. A disgusting, suffocating smell hung in the temple.

Meanwhile, the priestess of the Moon stood silently beside the altar, slowly looking around the hall. Her dark eyes, full of menace, came to rest on Grakhash and Efaksh. The priestess asked hoarsely:

“Hey, why are you not taking part in the festive supper?”

Grakhash thought he heard mockery in her voice. Everything he had seen in this temple seemed strange and frightening to him. Driving away his alarming thoughts, he answered:

“We came to this temple to receive initiation, priestess. The Bloody Mysteries are held here, are they not?”

The priestess’s eyes lit up with an evil fire. She said insinuatingly:

“Yes, the mysteries are held here. But in order to receive initiation, you will have to sacrifice something, warrior. Are you ready?”

Grakhash thought the priestess would ask him to sacrifice some valuable objects to the temple—for example, the golden amulet worn on the body by every warrior dedicated to the Tsar, or his weapon. This was common practice during temple mysteries.

“Yes, I am ready,” answered Grakhash.

When Grakhash spoke these words, the priestess’s eyes filled with blood, and greed flashed in them.

“Then sacrifice the life of your young friend!” she screamed. “Let him be your offering to the Mother-Moon!” And she laughed demonically.

Grakhash was paralyzed with horror. Efaksh, standing beside him, turned white as a sheet.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, several priests appeared. They seized Efaksh, who was in deep shock, and dragged him toward the altar.

Unexpectedly, the drums began to beat. The priestess, dancing in place, screamed throughout the temple:

“People! Let us bring our chief sacrifice! The Moon Goddess deserves human flesh!”

The people sitting at the table leapt up and, holding bowls filled with blood in their hands, shrieked:

“Death to him! Death to him!”

Grakhash wanted to run to Efaksh’s aid. But when he tried to move, he discovered that he could not stir. The priestess of the Moon, narrowing her blood-filled eyes, stared intently at Grakhash. It seemed that at any moment her gaze would turn Grakhash to stone.

For several minutes, the priestess did not take her terrible eyes off Grakhash. Meanwhile, the priests continued dragging the desperately resisting Efaksh toward the altar. The priestess opened her mouth and said sweetly:

“And now, to the table, brave warrior! Take part in our festive meal!”

And… Grakhash discovered with surprise that his legs were moving by themselves toward the enormous table. He did not want this; everything inside him resisted it, yet still he walked.

When Grakhash came right up to the table, the priestess said spitefully:

“We cannot continue our feast without our dear guest! Taste our dishes, warrior, and after that we shall bring our chief sacrifice!”

In horror, Grakhash watched as the priests finally dragged Efaksh to the altar and furiously tore the clothes from him. Under the priestess’s fixed gaze, he slowly lowered himself onto the bench standing at the head of the table. Pieces of meat and ears of wheat lay scattered across the table. The people sitting there settled back down and began devouring the food again.

The raw meat filled Grakhash with revulsion. He did not want to eat it. But, obeying the priestess’s invisible command, Grakhash’s hand reached out, took a piece of meat, and began bringing it to his mouth. At that moment, he saw with horror that Efaksh had been handed over to the chief priest. Efaksh cried out loudly, begging for help.

In despair, Grakhash looked around. His gaze fell upon the table. Meat lay on it. The man sitting beside Grakhash tore a large piece from the meat and began greedily devouring it.

Meanwhile, the priest at the altar raised the sacrificial knife over Efaksh.

One more minute, and Grakhash, against his will, would taste the food that disgusted him, becoming the same as the possessed people in the temple. One more moment, and Efaksh would be sacrificed to Cybele. Everything clouded before Grakhash’s eyes. The smell of narcotic incense and corpse miasma reigning in the temple was driving him mad. Grakhash desperately tried to concentrate. His gaze fell upon the table again. And suddenly…

Grakhash leapt to his feet and shouted loudly:

“This is not true! None of this exists!”

At that moment everything broke apart, crumbled away. The priestess of the Moon, the people in the temple, the animals—everything spun like a whirlwind before Grakhash’s eyes and… disappeared.

“It does not exist, does not exist, does not exist…” only the echo repeated after Grakhash.

Chapter 7

The Book of Anikelam

Grakhash and Efaksh stood on the stone steps of an ancient temple. It was surrounded by a high fence, and several other buildings could be seen around it. Grakhash realized that this was the monastery. The weather was wonderful. High above, the sky was piercingly blue. Trees were green, birds were singing. The sun shone brightly in the heavens, sending its warm, life-giving light down to the earth.

Efaksh looked himself over in confusion. He was completely naked, except for a loincloth.

“Do you know where my clothes are?” he asked Grakhash.

Grakhash looked at him in bewilderment.

“What, don’t you remember that they took them off you?” he asked Efaksh.

“Who took them off? When?” Efaksh cried.

Grakhash understood nothing. Can it be that Efaksh doesn’t remember that he has no clothes because they wanted to sacrifice him? Perhaps my friend has lost his mind after what he went through, he thought.

“Your friend is all right. He has not gone mad. He truly remembers nothing,” Grakhash heard a pleasant voice say.

Turning around, he saw a young, beautiful woman. She was descending the temple steps toward them. She was dressed in a white silk tunic. Her feet were shod in golden sandals. Grakhash heard a pleasant sound: the delicate earrings hanging from the woman’s ears were jingling. Judging by everything, she was a priestess in this temple. Coming closer, the woman said:

“I congratulate you, Grakhash. You have passed your first initiation and proved that you are worthy of gaining access to the Akashic Records.”

“I don’t understand anything. What initiation?” Efaksh asked excitedly. “We have only just arrived at the monastery! Can one receive initiation so quickly?”

“Tell your friend what happened to you,” the priestess said to Grakhash.

Briefly, Grakhash told Efaksh what had happened to them in the monastery. As Grakhash spoke, Efaksh’s eyes grew wider and wider. When Grakhash fell silent, Efaksh asked:

“But why do you remember it, and I don’t?”

The priestess said:

“You do not remember it because you were frightened. Fear bound your soul and slammed shut the door leading into the corridors of your memory. Grakhash was not frightened, and therefore he clearly remembers what happened.”

“That isn’t true. I was frightened too,” said Grakhash. “I can say that I was terrified.”