chapter 2 Mountain and Desert #2
The demon drops to the ground and madly churns it’s million legs in the sand.
The vibration triggers a violent earthquake that partially collapses the surrounding sand dunes and sends Abraham to his knees.
A whirlwind descends upon them with an ear-piercing whistle and obliterates the protective circle in the sand.
The blazing pentagrams are whirled up like leaves and completely disappear into the spinning vortex. Then, as fast as it appeared, the funnel cloud vanishes, leaving a terrified Abraham on his knees in the sand shielding his eyes with his hands.
He manages to get to his feet. In wonder, he watches as the monsters transform into four colorfully clad warriors of breathtaking beauty. In perfect unison, they approach and flank him as a ceremonial guard. They escort him over the top of the dune and down the other side.
The scene is an oasis paradise; ancient towering date palms ring a large, irregularly shaped pool of rippling water.
It reflects the blood-red rays of the fading sunset.
To the right of the pool, sheltered by palm and rose trees, stands a large, richly appointed tent, illuminated from within.
An old man stands at the door of the tent, flanked by what at first appear to be two children wearing bright pantaloons and feathered turbans.
Abraham and his demon warrior guard halt a few yards from pool.
He turns for a moment to gaze at the beauty of the scene before him, then proceeds to brush off the dust of his travels.
When he again looks up, he discovers his escorts have disappeared.
He catches a glimpse of four beautiful insects scurrying into the grass near the pool.
Abraham turns his attention to the old man.
He is rather short. His long grey beard is immaculately twisted into seven braids.
His robe is wondrously belted with a bright-green living serpent holding its tail in its mouth.
The two servants at his side are not actually children, but upon closer examination, appear to be miniature adults, with fine features and warm pink complexions.
Abraham approaches the tent and stands directly before the old man. He bows and makes the customary gestures expected from a guest.
“Salaam alaikum,” he says awkwardly.
“Walaikum as-salaam,” the old man answers, as the miniature servants offer Abraham the customary bread and salt. After he dips the bread and eats, the old man parts the veil of the tent door and gestures for Abraham to enter.
The interior walls of the tent are decorated to give the illusion of a starry night in the desert. The old man silently gestures for Abraham to sit with him upon the huge ornate mamluk carpet.
The servants pour each of them a goblet of wine. Not a word has been spoken since the greeting at the threshold. As the two men sip their wine, the carpet upon which they are seated gently rises and hovers several feet off the ground.
The old man begins, “You call yourself Abraham Ben Simion, from Worms, a city in Germania.”
“That is correct, sir. How did—”
“What can be known is known, Abraham of Worms.”
Abraham respectfully tries to explain himself. “I have traveled for three years in order to—”
The old man laughs and raises his hand to hush Abraham. “No, boy! You have traveled much farther than that.”
“I am sure you are mistaken, sir. I left Germania in the spring of fourteen hundred two as the Christians reckon years. It is now—”
“Now? It is always now, Abraham of Worms! You have traveled three years from the past and four hundred years from the future.
“Forgive me, my lord, I—”
“You seek Abramelin the Mage, do you not? Well . . . you have found me.”
Abraham is visibly relieved. “Master, I have sought you out for I wish to learn the sacred magic.”
Abramelin lifts his cup and takes a healthy swallow of wine. “That cannot be done. Someone else must teach you the sacred magic.”
“Someone else? Who? I was told you were the greatest—”
“Yes. Someone else must teach you. Someone you’ve not yet met.”
“Who?
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“I don’t understand.” Abraham squirms nervously, causing a wave that disturbs the serenity of the floating carpet.
“Nor will you ever understand!” the old man coldly snaps.
“Then, master, what must I do?”
The old magician calms the undulations of the carpet with a wave of his hand. “Ask not what you must do, boy . . . but ask who you must become.”
Young Abraham is visibly frustrated and confused.
“Master, I am most sincere. I swear I would use the magic only for good.”
At this, Abramelin laughs so heartily that his serpent belt momentarily releases its tail from its mouth and travels around the old man’s waist before once again biting its tail.
“Good, you say? Good? You would use the magic only for good?” He leans over and raps his knuckles on Abraham’s forehead as if knocking on a door. “My young friend, you are not yet awake enough to know when you are doing good and when you are doing evil.”
Abramelin sits back and chuckles as he drains his cup. Abraham silently empties his cup also. He looks confused and dejected. He stares into the emptiness of his cup.
Taking pity on the young man, Abramelin reaches over and flicks the cup lightly with his fingernail. The cup miraculously fills with wine.
Abramelin’s voice becomes soft and hypnotic . . .
“Milo? Milo? Are you still getting this all down? Milo!”
I guess I must have looked like I had fallen asleep with my eyes open. I was totally absorbed in the story.
“Yes. Forgive me, Sir Francis. I was drifting a bit. Perhaps I need a swallow of tea. I believe I’ve got it all: ‘ . . . soft and hypnotic.’ But when will we get back to Crowley?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Look sharp, boy!
This is an important scene. Where was I?
Oh, yes. Abraham the Jew and Abramelin the Mage are sitting on a floating carpet and drinking wine in Abramelin’s tent.
Abraham wants the old man to teach him the sacred magic, and Abramelin is being very vague and inscrutable.
Ah, yes . . . Abramelin’s big speech. All right .
. . his voice becomes soft and hypnotic. ”
“Hear me, Abraham of Worms. Half your soul is asleep and dreams it is a man. The other half is awake and dreams it is a god. You must awake, boy! Unite your soul. Wed yourself to yourself. That is your first magical task. Awake—and when you have become a magician—everything you do will be magic.”
Abraham looks deep into his wine cup and seems hypnotized by the reflection of his own eyes. Without looking up he asks . . .
“And what do you call this real me who is awake?”
Abramelin whispers his answer. “It must reveal its name to you and you alone.”
A more perfect and radiant image of Abraham’s face is now reflected in the wine cup, giving us the impression of a glowing, angelic version of his face melding with his dull mortal reflection.
The old man giggles softly and adds, “Until then, think of it as your Holy Guardian Angel—for that is indeed who it is.”
Abraham looks up from the angelic vision in his cup and gazes into the wise and beaming eyes of Abramelin the Mage. The furrows in the skin of the old man’s brow suggest the presence of a third eye.
“Master, if you will not teach me the sacred magic, then I pray you . . . teach me to awaken.”
As Abraham speaks, the entire scene—the tent, the trees, the pool, everything—dissolves into thin air. Abraham and Abramelin are left sitting alone under the star-filled desert sky. Nothing remains but the carpet they are sitting on, which now hovers about three feet above the desert sand.
Abramelin smiles and says matter-of-factly, “Let us begin.”
The carpet instantly disappears. The old man remains seated suspended in the air. Abraham drops painfully to the ground, creating a small cloud of dust that transforms into swirling snow and ice flakes seen against the backdrop of the black abyss of the crevice of ice at the Baltoro glacier.
Crowley lies semiconscious on the ice ledge. He hallucinates that he hears Abramelin’s voice.
“Awake, boy!”
Crowley opens his eyes wide. Forgetful of his situation, he rolls to the side only to see that he is inches from a bottomless chasm. He remembers where he is.
“And now, Milo, let’s fade to white. Are you getting all this?”
I was struggling to keep up with Sir Francis’s dictation, and I sensed he was feeling a bit sorry for me.
“Yes, sir. Please continue. I must know what comes next.”
“There’s a good lad. Now where was I?
“We faded to white,” I excitedly reminded him.
“Ah, yes. When we fade back, we’ll find ourselves at the base camp of the K2 climbing party.”