Hell, p.20
Hell, page 20
Having no plausible reason to refuse, Tat complied, dropping the hood and meeting her eyes.
The look of surprise and confusion on Tiphareth’s angelic face was well-apparent.
“Amazing,” she breathed. “Are those Tattoos?”
Tat felt a grim satisfaction as she answered, “No, this is the way I was born.”
For a moment she could see that Tiphareth was unsure whether she was joking or not.
“Truthfully?”
“Yes, ask Maria if you don’t believe me.”
“Everywhere? All over your body?’’
“More or less.”
“Hmm, now that’s something I’d like to see,” she muttered. “I recognize the Ajna, but the rest, what is it? It’s not Sanskrit, what are these other symbols?”
Tat felt her hopes fall. She’d momentarily held an unfounded certainty that this woman would recognize her markings. “I was hoping you could tell me. I know of the Chakras, though no one I’ve ever met could tell me anything about the rest.”
In response, Tiphareth bent her face close to Tat’s own, invading her personal space with a familiarity that unnerved her. She was almost hard to look upon, such was her perfection, as those wide eyes probed and examined.
Tat put up her hood as Tiphareth appeared to reach a decision. Grabbing her hand, she brusquely pulled her through the same door Maria had so recently entered.
“Malkuth, where is Geburah?”
This room was largely empty except for a raven-haired woman seated behind a long mahogany desk bearing a large ledger open to laboriously hand-drawn charts and tables. Her toothsome features spoke of strong Russian stock, and she had on heavy black eye makeup. Behind her were floor to ceiling shelves of baskets containing what appeared to be all manner of herbs, gemstones and metals. The air was fragrant with pungent incense.
She crossed her arms, pouting in mock petulance, “Hello, Tiphareth, nice to see you as well.”
Her escort sighed, “I apologize, dear one, no time for manners. This is Tatiana Seldeen… Maria’s daughter…” She trailed off, letting the news sink in.
“Maria has no children,” Malkuth replied, glancing distractedly in Tat’s direction. “It is accepted fact that Esion’s house dies with her.”
“Be that as it may, she was presented to me as such and I have as yet no real evidence to the contrary,” she addressed Tat. “Show her.”
She took down her hood, submitting herself to another stark appraisal.
The shock was short-lived, all too soon those dark eyes narrowed in suspicion; she was not impressed.
“I am to believe that this tattooed slip of a girl is a Seldeen? Looks more like she escaped from a cirkus.”
Tat winced as a hot burst of anger threatened to escape her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Tiphareth subtly shake her head.
Not now, not here.
“I know you did not mean to insult the alleged progeny of our founder and patron, God rest his soul. I make no claim as to the parentage of this girl, I will say that these are not tattoos, this is a naturally occurring condition.”
Something in her tone, or perhaps those bewitching eyes, was enough, not to convince, but to at least plant a seed of doubt. Malkuth inclined her head in thought, wrestling with the implications.
“I think you can now appreciate why we must reach Geburah at once.”
After a further moments vacillation, Malkuth glanced at her wall clock, then began flipping through her desk ledger.
“Let’s see, twelve-twenty six, on the tenth of June…” This was news to Tat, who had not known the proper date for months. “She is in preparation for a solstice ritual in Chokmah. It begins in eleven minutes,” she turned and rummaged through the baskets. “Here, you will need seven quartz to traverse Shin, two lapis for Mem, and finally, five garnets for Cheth.”
She placed the crystals on the counter, and Tiphareth sorted them into a small hand bag with many pockets. Tat let this all happen without comment, mystified as to what was being decided here.
“Thanks, Mal.” Tiphareth said.
“Hurry, and don’t forget, the pillar of synthesis is meeting this evening at eight thirty-two in your sephiroth.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She replied.
The chamber beyond contained an altar, a tableau of esoteric diagrams drawn on the floor with chalk, and seven candle stands each with seven candles. Sheets of delicate silk in all colors hung on ringed rails high up on the walls so that the room could be fully adorned in any color desired by pulling the sheets up over the rail. Flipping them like the pages of a book until the desired color was displayed, which was presently a deep, royal blue. The hazy air smelt of an incense unfamiliar to Tat; reminiscent of Myrrh, but spicier. Three doors led out of the room.
“Beyond here I ask that you do not speak. Follow my lead, quickly now,” Tiphareth chose the left-most door. “Hold these in your left hand and think pure thoughts.” Tat took the quartz crystals as they passed through the door.
There it was, the dreaded sensation. Faint waves of energy insistently rippling up her spine as they mounted the steps. Not nearly enough to awaken her dormant power, but still troubling all the same. Dozens of candles burned within small shrines set in the walls. The curved stair was rather narrow and upon the outer wall was painted a large mural she recognized at once as coming from the Tarot. Tat received a shock as memories of her old life with the troupe emerged for the first time in weeks. Recalling the cruel fate of the fortune teller, Zayda. This was a mistake, as it led her directly back to Yurgis…
“Pure thoughts! You mustn’t poison the energy of this place!” Tiphareth snapped, either through amazing coincidence, or simple telepathy, correctly identifying her inner turmoil. Tat shook her head and tried to focus on maintaining a semblance of purity, with precious little success.
The mural was of Judgment…
The next chamber closely resembled the first, the fabric curtains arranged so the room glowed orange in the flickering candlelight. Five doors exited from this room at irregular intervals, proclaiming the architecture of this building to be somewhat eccentric to say the least.
Tiphareth wasted no time choosing the far left door once again. “Here, give me those quartz and take these Lapis. We are now ascending the pillar of Severity. As such, guard your mind against indulgences, keep it fixed upon divine splendor.” Tat tried to do as she was told, fast growing weary of the strange, nonsensical rules of this place.
This stairwell was graced with a prodigious mural of the Hanged Man. Hung upside down with one leg crossed, his inverted face passed within centimeters of her own as they ascended. At one point she swore his enigmatic smile transformed into a falcon’s beak. She gasped, doing a double-take, earning a reproachful glare from Tiphareth; nothing was amiss. They reached the landing and switched back, passing again the mural of the martyr. This time she watched closely for any change, and was disappointed...
The waves were growing much stronger now, taking on unfamiliar, almost sexual, characteristics. Causing a not-altogether unpleasant sensation of heat to radiate from her womb. Simultaneously arousing yet profoundly uncomfortable.
Upon reaching the next chamber, Tat began to fear for Tiphareth’s safety. The pulses, which had seemed so innocuous moments before, multiplied tenfold, eminently overwhelming; knees shaking as every nerve ending in her body swelled to bursting. Unable to speak, as no amount of effort could overcome the force which silenced her.
As if this wasn’t already terrible enough, her traitorous mind visited her with especially troubling visions of the Innkeeper, Ronan Devine, melting in her arms. So vivid she could practically smell the burning flesh. For the thousandth time she silently begged forgiveness of his son, Izaak…
“Okay, only one more to go.” Tiphareth reached out to take the lapis…
“Don’t touch me!”
The words ripped out of her throat like barbed wire a moment too late. As their hands touched, the entire Universe erupted out of her in a brutally orgasmic rush. Breath caught in her breast as she dropped to her knees, shuddering with wave after wave of intense pleasure.
This is almost as good as morphine.
As she abandoned herself to these sinful sensations, her mind’s eye dwelt only upon death, tragedy, and discord. This was surely the path to Hell, paved with gold. When at last it faded, Tat opened her eyes, looking to Tiphareth, fearing the worst.
To her tremendous relief, the discharge had not destroyed her. She was backed up against the wall, and from the look on her face, it was quite obvious they’d shared a similar experience. An enormous grin spread from ear to ear as she bit her lower lip, skin seeming to glow in the low light.
Tat was mortified, “Are you alright? I’m so sorry…”
Small, cooing sounds escaped her as she sensuously caressed the full length of herself, hands lingering on her ample chest. “Mmm, Tatiana, that was incredible,” she continued to spasm as the final bursts of pleasure ran their course. “I underestimated you, twould seem you possess… significant ability. We should definitely keep you around.” She purred, breathing heavily, bosom heaving. Tat turned away in embarrassment, face flushing hot with shame.
It took several seconds for Tiphareth to regain her composure. “Well, I was certainly not prepared for that,” a mischievous smile curling her lips as she stretched and yawned like a cat in a sunbeam. “Best feeling in the world if you ask me.”
Tat still couldn’t look her in the eyes, such was the humiliation she felt. “You’re lucky, the last person who felt this power died a horrible death.” She confessed.
Tiphareth hesitated, as if seeing Tat in a different, altogether more sinister, light. “To one untrained in the higher mysteries, such a jolt could surely prove fatal. I’ve been dealing in large quantities of Auric for most of my life. However, I will say that if that was my time to go… I would’ve died a happy woman.” She confessed, laughing, trying desperately to lighten the dark tone this ordeal had taken on. “Are you alright, love? Can we continue?”
Now that the flash-burn of pleasure had faded to a smoldering coal, Tat found she felt fine physically. Better, in fact, than she had in a long, long while. Mentally however she was a complete wreck of frayed nerves and mixed emotions. Here was a person who had taken the unchecked brunt of her ability and came through unscathed. What were these higher mysteries of which she spoke?
“I, umm… I’m fine now.” She awkwardly replied.
Presently they stood atop of the final staircase as Tiphareth knocked at the door in a precise pattern, one, three, one. The mural of the Chariot looming above.
“You’re early.” A dusky voice intoned from within.
The door opened, revealing a fully nude woman. Lithe and well-muscled, curly auburn hair reaching to her waist. She shrieked at the sight of them, scrambling to retrieve her robe and tying it shut. Tat averted her eyes, but not soon enough; why were there so many women here? All possessed of unearthly beauty…
“Tippy, what are you doing here? My focus will be arriving any moment. I thought you were him! Go away!” She started to slam the door before being blocked by a strategically placed foot.
“It’s Tiphareth. I come in my capacity as the child, the king and the sacrificed God…”
“I have four minutes…”
“I am escorting the heir of Esion Seldeen.”
This finally got through to her, “And I, Geburah, in my potency of the sphere of Mars as warrior and scholar, receive thee.” Parroting the words with more than a little exasperation, she stepped back from the door.
They entered a chamber resplendent in verdant grass-green, made all the more vibrant by candles placed in jars of green glass. The air, cloying with strong pine-smelling incense from a brazier near the altar.
“Maria is here, talking to Kether as we speak. This is her daughter, Tatiana…”
“Daughter?!” Geburah interrupted. Evidently Maria had done a flawless job keeping her existence hidden from everyone.
“I was surprised as well, seems she is more skilled at keeping secrets than we thought. The reason I brought her to you is because her skin is covered with symbols I’ve never before encountered and cannot identify. Furthermore, she claims these markings are naturally occurring,” pausing for dramatic effect. “Take that old robe off so Geburah can see.” She commanded.
Tat reluctantly reached down and grasped the hem of the robe, drawing it up and over her head. Instead of surprise, Tat saw a scholar’s thirst for knowledge light up Geburah’s face. Without a word she went to work.
“Pull up the sleeves.” She curtly requested.
Tat did as she was bid.
“And the skirt.”
She coyly showed as much of her legs as she dared, clad as they were in uncomfortable stockings and garters.
“Are all the Chakras present, other than Ajna and Vishuddha?”
“They’re all there,” Tat replied, adding their names from memory so as to not appear totally ignorant. “Anahata, Manipura…”
“You don’t need to recite. I am well aware of their names.” Geburah brusquely cut her off.
For nearly a minute, no one spoke as Geburah, deep in thought, gave Tat a thorough once over, stopping short of asking her to strip down on the spot.
Finally Tiphareth broke the silence, “Tatiana is rather adept at channeling… She rang my bell at the threshold of Atziluth…”
Don’t tell her!
Tat gasped as her heart lurched, unable to believe what she was hearing. She would never reveal such things to anyone. As if she wasn’t already disgraced enough, It was all she could do to refrain from running from the room. She shot Tiphareth a glare, who reciprocated with a naughty smirk.
Geburah snorted derisively, “You’d ring your own bell five times a day if you could find the time.”
“Only because you aren’t there to do it for me,” they both laughed at this, before returning the conversation to the question at hand. “What d’you think? Recognize anything?”
“Not at all, and it’s maddening,” she paused, failing to catch Tat’s gaze. “It’s not often that I am presented with a question I have no answer to. Though well-versed in all known writing and numerical systems from the ancient to the contemporary, this is a complete mystery to me.”
“What about the primitive cuneiform of the lunar cult of Lugh-as-sun-hero?” Tiphareth proposed.
“Wow, Tippy, so you have been doing the reading I suggested,” her voice cutting in a sarcastic tone. “I suspected as much at first, but it’s not correlating, and the fact that I can find no duplicate characters is strange indeed…” She trailed off, then came back, “Tatiana, there is a great convention of science and learning taking place next month from the twentieth to the twenty-seventh at Oxford University, my old alma mater. If anyone can identify this script, that would be the place to find them.”
“The Symposium!” Tat perked up as she realized what Geburah was talking about. Up until now she had forgotten all about it. “That’s the whole reason I’m here, in London.” At least if Yurgis was to be believed, she was forced to remind herself.
Geburah clasped her hands in a warm gesture. “Wonderful. Many of the girls, myself included, will be in attendance as well. I will be giving several lectures on Pagan Deities and Their Continued Relevance in an Emerging Industrial Society.”
Not to be outdone, Tiphareth chimed in, “I’ll be teaching a class on Musical Theory as it Relates to Universal Cosmology.”
Geburah ignored the interjection, “Don’t mind her, she’s just mad because she went to Cambridge…”
“Why you cheeky slag…”
They both laughed at this in-joke that went over Tat’s head.
“Anyway, I look forward in anticipation to discovering the truth about you,” Geburah said as Tat adjusted her dress in disappointment, again donning her robe. “Okay, are we done here? I have…”
But Tiphareth wasn’t quite through, “Gebbi, I believe she may be the cause of the unrest we have all witnessed in Yetzirah of late, the fulfillment of the archetype of the High Priestess…”
The air of levity between the two women turned unexpectedly serious. Geburah looked grim, “Cutting to the chase eh? Well, you of all people would be the authority on that Tippy, having personally communed with Freyja herself. I can see that she’s special, but a true physical incarnation of Da’ath?”
Tat was fed up with being talked over in this cryptic manner. “What are you talking about? What is Da’ath?” She demanded
Both women looked at her with something akin to fear in their eyes.
“The portal in the Abyss.” Tiphareth began.
“The light in the darkness.” Geburah continued.
“The Gate.” They ominously finished together.
“Terribly sorry, am I interrupting something?”
All three spun to see a shirtless man, lurking in the doorway.
“No, they were just leaving.” Geburah said, forcefully herding them out an adjacent door. As it swung closed Tat saw her untying her robe…
Alone again in the dim stairwell, Tiphareth almost put her hand on Tat’s shoulder, before thinking better of it, “I must apologize, I thought for sure Gebbi would have the answer. Between you and me though, if she can’t help you, I cannot conceive of one who can.” After delivering this devastating assessment, she adopted an upbeat, bubbly persona. “It’s wonderful that you will be in attendance at Oxford, hopefully we will be seeing a good deal more of you in the weeks to come.”
Great. Tat thought sarcastically to herself.
They descended the stairwell in silence, the mural of the Lovers seeming to mock their passage…
The chamber below, festively decked in bright yellow, clashed with Tat’s blue mood. She counted nine doors; apparently, through a feat of inconceivable architectural genius, this chamber directly connected with all the others.
Tiphareth went from wall to wall, changing the décor from canary yellow to a deep crimson, then dropped onto a low couch. “What an eventful day, and not even one o’clock,” she motioned for Tat to be seated, as she lit an oil lamp, supplementing the meager candlelight. “We can talk freely here, this is my sephiroth, my sanctuary. You can take that robe off, nobody is judging you here. I am sure you have questions, I will do my best to answer them before you are summoned before Kether.”
