Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Ghostlight (16 page)
“You know what I'm going to do tonight?” Julian asked her, his voice low and soothing.
“You're going to hypnotize me, just like you did before,” Light responded.
“That's right. And when I've done that, I'm going to give you some things to hold. I want you to tell me stories about them.”
“What kind of stories?” Light's voice was sleepily curious, already remote although Julian had not yet begun inducing the trance state.
“Any kind you like,” he said kindly.
Julian drew an object from his pocket: an egg-shaped piece of quartz, Truth saw, with a long chain attached to it by a band of silver about its middle. It must be faceted too: it flashed as he held it in the light. Truth could see the iron band of the bracelet he wore as the dark sleeve of his jacket fell back.
“Watch the light,” Julian said softly. “You're in a room with a staircase leading down ⦠.” A flick of his fingers sent the pendulum in his hand spinning and flashing.
Truth looked away, lest she fall under his spell, tooâor more likely, asleep. She wished there were more illumination, but every trance-worker, such as the medium, Light, was, required a different and familiar environment to enter the deep-alpha state of trance. Some worked only at night. OneâDylan used her talents frequentlyâonly entered trance to the sound of the loudest rock music.
Julian's voice faded into a reassuring background drone, and, now that she was adjusting to the quiet, Truth could hear other sounds: a rhythmic thrumming that must be something to do with the water heater, faint scratchings of branches on distant windows.
She glanced down. Set into the black marble square beneath her feet was a multirayed sunburst the size of a half-dollar piece, as if a celestial teardrop had fallen from the sky. She looked up, but the chamber's vault was shrouded in darkness. Just barely, she could make out an area less dark, which must be where the windows reflected light from the other rooms. No wonder she'd spent the morning getting lost, if the house really was built on a hollow square. She wondered if she could get a look at a set of architectural plans. They ought to be on file in the town hall, she supposed.
Truth looked down again, to the glinting star between her shoes.
This must mark the center of the room
, Truth thought with an inward chill.
, Truth thought with an inward chill.
She could not say why the knowledge was so instantly disturbing. She glanced at Julian, still leading Light down into trance state, the pendulum in his hand winking and spinning, winking and spinning ⦠.
“Cover her bed with branches of wild herb, and lay upon her couch the fur of every beast that stalks these woods. Such is the altar of the Hierolator, the Celestial Concubine, to whose bed the Sun will be brought, and whose ecstasy will show forth the Way.”
Had she read that? Or imagined it?
Had she read that? Or imagined it?
It looked different when it was set up for rituals, Julian said. Of course it did. The altar would be set up here, in the middle, right about where she was sitting.
As it had been in 1969.
Truth felt a wave of cold nausea well up from the very marrow of her bones.
Katherine Jourdemayne had died here.
In this room, on this
spot
, her mother had died. Blood called to blood, and only the thinnest of veils separated that moment from now.
spot
, her mother had died. Blood called to blood, and only the thinnest of veils separated that moment from now.
As if her horrified realization had summoned them up, Truth
saw
them here with the brilliant eye of imagination: Katherine and Irene here in the center, the others standing in a circle, the flames of their candles like diamonds on a chain. She heard the stutter and crash of thunder like distant artillery; each time the lightning flashed it bleached the lesser flames to nothingness in an instant.
saw
them here with the brilliant eye of imagination: Katherine and Irene here in the center, the others standing in a circle, the flames of their candles like diamonds on a chain. She heard the stutter and crash of thunder like distant artillery; each time the lightning flashed it bleached the lesser flames to nothingness in an instant.
And her mother was dying, dead, about to die, all innocent and helpless and unknowing; she was dying here, sucked lifeless by the powers Blackburn had called and Truth couldn't save her.
She wrenched herself out of the vision with a gasp, and Julian and Light snapped into sharp focus before her. Light, deep in trance, was gazing with trusting, unfocused eyes at Julian's face.
Just as Katherine had at Blackburn.
She'd trusted him.
He'd killed her.
He's going to kill her!
Truth cried in her mind, and did not herself know which pair she meant. Blind irresistible terror crashed over her senses like a wave of the driving ocean: History would repeat itself here in Shadow's Gate, and Julian would kill Light, gentle trusting Light, as Truth stood helpless.
Truth cried in her mind, and did not herself know which pair she meant. Blind irresistible terror crashed over her senses like a wave of the driving ocean: History would repeat itself here in Shadow's Gate, and Julian would kill Light, gentle trusting Light, as Truth stood helpless.
As Caroline had stood helpless.
Asâ
Truth did not hear the sharp pistol-crack her chair made as it fell over. She no longer saw the other occupants of the room. She only knew she had to get out of here
now.
now.
She yanked open the door and ran. The hall was twisty but there were no false turnings, she ran down it, stumbling and careening off the walls, until she reached the foyer once more. Gasping for breath but unwilling to slow down she plunged up the stairs; the last riser tripped her and she fell, scrabbling along on hands and knees for a few feet until she regained her footing. She fell rather than walked through the doorway into her room and stood there shaking, sucking air in great rasping gasps.
There was someone in the room with her.
He stood beside the window. The light from her bedside lamp cast him half in shadow.
“You're a damned fool,” he said harshly. Truth struggled to husband breath for a reply and then choked, starting to cough.
She knew who he was.
“You'reâ” she said, gagging.
But there was no one there. Only the curtains swirling in the breeze before an open window.
Â
Shocked to numbness, Truth took three wobbly steps and reached the edge of her bed. She sat down, staring distrustfully at the window, but it manifested no more apparitions.
She'd just seen Thorne Blackburn.
Impossible.
And heard him.
Ridiculous.
“Stress-triggered waking hallucination while in borderline hypnogogic state,” Truth muttered shakily. “You know the drill. He wasn't there.”
That he almost certainly
had
been there, sometime in that eternal 1969 that was growing to occupy more and more of her imagination, was also true, but the one thing Truth Jourdemayne knew that she was not, was psychic.
had
been there, sometime in that eternal 1969 that was growing to occupy more and more of her imagination, was also true, but the one thing Truth Jourdemayne knew that she was not, was psychic.
“Nuts,” she said aloud.
“Would you care to explain just what
that
little display was all about?” Julian, icily angry, demanded from the doorway.
that
little display was all about?” Julian, icily angry, demanded from the doorway.
Truth turned toward him. As if her movement had given her permission, he stalked forward, moving with catlike fury.
“I thought you were a professional. Do you know what that little tantrum of yours could have
done
? But I don't suppose youâ”
done
? But I don't suppose youâ”
“Julian, my mother died on that spot when I was two years old and I don't really think I have to listen to this.” Truth shot back, soaring to the attack. She heard the rage in her voice and choked it back, willing herself to coolness and calm. “I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. I'm sorry.”
“Oh, my God.” Instantly Julian's anger faded. “I'm such an idiotâhere I was, full of myself, showing off my
théâtre sacré
and not realizing what memories it
must bring back for you! I'm so sorry.” He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
théâtre sacré
and not realizing what memories it
must bring back for you! I'm so sorry.” He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
His warmth and strength seemed to search out all the frozen places within her. She wanted to take his face between her hands, take his lips with her own, feel his hard body surging against her own, blotting out the darkness ⦠.
“I was stupid. I let my imagination run away with me,” Truth said roughly, banishing the compelling image. “Is Light really all right?” she added in a small voice.
“Fortunately she'd already gone under. I simply brought her back up out of trance with a routine I'd already implanted in her for emergencies such as this. She's resting now. But I apologize again for subjecting you to such a nasty experience. I could have worked with her anywhere: We simply use the
théâtre sacré
in order to build up a learned response to it in the unconscious mind.”
théâtre sacré
in order to build up a learned response to it in the unconscious mind.”
“My fault. Don't worry about it,” Truth said again.
I have to get used to it sometime
, she thought bleakly, her mind roving back over Julian's last words.
I have to get used to it sometime
, she thought bleakly, her mind roving back over Julian's last words.
Théâtre sacré.
Sacred theater. Another phrase of Blackburn's:
“The first duty of the magician is to enact sacred theater.”
Sacred theater. Another phrase of Blackburn's:
“The first duty of the magician is to enact sacred theater.”
“Julian, do youâI mean, do you reallyâ” she faltered.
“Believe in the Work?” Julian smiled. “Of course I do, but that doesn't mean I believe it's perfect, or should be hedged around with hoodoo. Magick is both art and science, and I've never heard that blind acceptance helps either art
or
science. While it's true that Thorne's reputation holds a lot of people at bay, and even I have to admit that he had a pretty lurid public careerâ”
or
science. While it's true that Thorne's reputation holds a lot of people at bay, and even I have to admit that he had a pretty lurid public careerâ”
Truth smiled weakly. Julian took his arm from around her shoulder and turned toward her, his face shining with intensity.
“âwhat we have to remember about Thorne Blackburn is that he was a very gifted ⦠boy. He was barely
thirty when he died, and he'd already been internationally known in magickal circles for over a decade. His mistakes were those of youth and overconfidence, and I've learned from them, I hope.”
thirty when he died, and he'd already been internationally known in magickal circles for over a decade. His mistakes were those of youth and overconfidence, and I've learned from them, I hope.”
“So you won't make his mistakes?” Truth said, with a crooked, wistful smile.
How can anyone ever be certain of that?
How can anyone ever be certain of that?
“There's one I won't make,” Julian said with assurance. “Forgive me if I speak too bluntly, Truth, but Katherine Jourdemayneâyour motherâdied of an entirely explicable drug overdose. There was nothing the least bit mysterious about how and why she died. If you do any studying at all of Thorne's work, you'll see that his magickal style was influenced heavily by the promiscuous illegal drug use that permeated the American counterculture in the nineteen sixties. Opiumâhashishâpsilocybinâeven LSD, a drug that
certainly
wasn't known to the Secret Chiefs!âare part of all his rituals, and I've removed much of that from the Work. Not without being criticized for it, I assure you, but discipline, not drugs, sets the feet of the Seeker upon the Path. The drug use that killed your mother was a sign of the excess of that age; it has no place in this one.”
certainly
wasn't known to the Secret Chiefs!âare part of all his rituals, and I've removed much of that from the Work. Not without being criticized for it, I assure you, but discipline, not drugs, sets the feet of the Seeker upon the Path. The drug use that killed your mother was a sign of the excess of that age; it has no place in this one.”
Truth could only nod, grateful that he was speaking so plainly.
“And nothing is going to happen to Light,” Julian added in a coaxing tone. “Even if you believe in coincidenceâwhich I don'tâLight is our Hierophex, not our Hierolator.”
Truth stared at him blankly.
“Katherine Jourdemayne was Thorne's Hierolator, his Sacred Concubine. Light occupies the position in our ritual that Irene occupied in Thorne'sâthat of Hierophex, the Sacred Speaker.”
“He wanted Caroline for it.” What in God's name had made her say that? Truth wondered.
“Of course; it's best when the Hierophex and the Hierolator
are sisters.” Julian did not seem surprised by her statement, and even seemed to think it was true. “But Caroline refused, and Thorne honored her refusal.”
are sisters.” Julian did not seem surprised by her statement, and even seemed to think it was true. “But Caroline refused, and Thorne honored her refusal.”
So Aunt Caroline had been psychicâat least Julian said Blackburn had thought so.
“But you look tired, and I really should go and check on Light,” Julian said. “Shall I send Irene up with a cordial? I promise, nothing harmfulâor illegal.”
“Oh, no, really Julian, I ⦔ she faltered, her strength draining away like water from a tub. “That would be very nice, if it's not too much trouble,” she finished weakly.
“I'll do it, then,” Julian promised. “Sleep well, Truth.” And before Truth could check him or protest, he had dropped the lightest of light kisses upon her forehead, and gone.
Â
Too much is happening too fast,
Truth thought. She couldn't focus on any of it. Her hands trembled violently as she raised them to her face, and in the sudden backwash of reaction she couldn't stop shaking. She hugged herself tightly, rocking back and forth in her own embrace as she hadn't done since she was a very small child.
Truth thought. She couldn't focus on any of it. Her hands trembled violently as she raised them to her face, and in the sudden backwash of reaction she couldn't stop shaking. She hugged herself tightly, rocking back and forth in her own embrace as she hadn't done since she was a very small child.
I'm losing my mind. I know I am.
Â
She'd recovered herself enough to simply be sitting quietly, staring at nothing, when Irene Avalon knocked at the door a few minutes later. The emotional storm had passed, leaving numbness in its wake.
“Oh, my dear girlâwhatever's the matter? When Julian told me you'd fallen afoul of the Guardians, I never dreamedâ” Irene set the tray she was carrying down on the dresser and came over to her. “And your hands are as cold as ice!” she exclaimed, enfolding them in her own.
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