Time of the Heathen

By James Matteson

Two 2023 university graduate students, Ewan and Alyssa, trained to squint at the universe, find themselves transported among the heathen of the early middle ages. Trying to get back home, they encounter poets, priests, priestesses, warriors, gods, as well as university professors, philosophers, mystics, and religious teachers. To survive, they make choices and experience moments of inspiration as their sense of the supernatural grows and their modern world-view shrinks. Time of the Heathen is a literary novel set in a sci-fi/fantasy (SFF) adventure genre. This book is Volume 1 of a two-book sereies. Part 2 continues the 7th century story but in the 21st century, where the protagonists choose which side they support when an alien invasion occurs at the height of a nuclear war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Matteson
• Release date: Jun 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224759729

James Matteson

I am a sr. technical writer having written over 50 books for corporate customers. My current novel, Time of the Heathen, is Vol 1 of a 2-part story. I am in the middle of writing Vol 2.

Book preview

Editor’s Introduction

I have come into the possession of a series of codices that describe the adventures of heroes and villains from the dawn of our civilization, and from the time preceding. Before the Blackline was created―which is found world-wide in the sediment beneath the soil. This geographic stratum is said to mark the occurrence of the fabled fire catastrophe.

Some assert that these myths originated among the survivors of this event(s) and include fragmentary records of various traumas, massive world-wide volcanic eruptions, the reorientation of the earth's magnetic field and poles, earth and water strikes by iron asteroids streaking in out of the void, and the great earthquake that leveled every building on the planet which created the Blackline.

The myths say this disaster was caused by apocryphal aliens who appeared in the atmosphere in monstrous pulsating balloons and used only the power of thought to evaporate the human armies gathered below that opposed them. So, the stories say, the enigmatic, ante-fire civilization was destroyed, and so (it is said) was founded the current despotic, but increasingly corrupt, Eolian World Administration (EWA).

Of special emphasis was the angled near-miss of the earth by a large, magnetic, iron asteroid that suddenly (and briefly) accelerated the earth's diurnal rotation and sent it reeling like a top in its orbit. The close proximity of the asteroid drew enormous amounts of water out of the ocean and vaporized it in the upper atmosphere. These cosmic events allowed the earth's crust to briefly and rapidly rotate over a plasticized lithosphere on the overheated upper mantle; resulting in the amalgamation of the previously separated continents into our one continent, the single Pangea Ultima that now exists. Every island disappeared.

At least, that is one theory of how the climate and geography of our Pangea Ultima was created. Such geologic events are predicted by some to occur slowly over millions of years. Others assert such events can happen over a period of several frightful and deadly days or weeks and could be survived by a small group of humans.

Scientists do not quarrel with the possibility that natural events once conspired to almost eliminate the human species from this planet. We do, however, most strenuously object to the assertion that an alien invasion from space occurred at the same time as a great war, and that after earth's armies and governments were violently destroyed, these beings became suddenly benevolent and used their power to rescue the human survivors, repair global ecological damage, and initiate a new world government.

Later, turning the responsibility for governing over to their human collaborators, the aliens are said to have returned from whence they came, leaving no trace either of themselves or of their origins, except what evidence we may construe arises from these myths, and from the lessons of the Teachers who, until recently, traveled the world providing each generation with instructions designed to make the population subservient to the will of the government.

As a Senior Fellow of the Distinguished International Society of Scientists (DISS), I must respond to the idea that the legends of our social origins are not just imaginative allegories but reflect (with minor distortions) some actual historical truth. Straight thinking scientists’ recoil in horror at such wild assertions.

My response takes the following form: I have divided all of the collected myths into two large groups: those which describe the destruction of the pre-catastrophic civilization (Part I), and those that describe the beginnings and development of our own civilization (Part II). I think the best way to confront those at the fringes of our society who advance such notions is to publish the documents upon which they rely.

In the following pages of Part I, we will see that the force shaping these stories is, in fact, nothing more than the unconstrained human imagination. Not the controlled and approved use of imagination that those of us in academia admire, but a fantastic imagination, undirected and flighty, that we find today used by radical religionists to undermine all of the human development and progress achieved during the last 800-900 years.

This publication (Part I) has two sections. Section 1 contains the Myths of the White City with the stories of two protagonists, Alysa and Ewan; Section 2 contains the all of my editorial remarks and comments about each of the stories.

So without further delay or digression, here is Part 1, Section 1 of the first group of the sagas contained in these codices.

—  J.B. Harkness, Editor

© January 1, 2023

Section 1 — Myths of the White City

CHAPTER 1 — SILENCE

In a senseless world, a myth makes sense out of non-sense.

− Mayee Fortune, The Mythic Need, WHC.

The Appearance of the Mystic Doors

Alysa and Ewan return home one day between school terms to find three new doors in unexpected places in the rented house they shared. They found the first one when they went to the basement to get one of Alysa's English papers out of storage.

Ewan flipped the light switch in the stairs and a single naked bulb glowed to life at the bottom casting dark shadows around the stairwell. Descending, he switched on another dim bulb in the center of the basement ceiling, then stopped, as the dim glow illuminated a door in the wall.

It was made of plain planks fitted with elaborate iron hinges and four latches along the right side that included wooden hasps with leather keepers. A square carved wooden relief, like a woodcut, was framed in the center of the door. She came to his side, and they stood before it silently. The relief depicted an angel in the upper left corner with one wing extended to the opposite corner and the other wing pointing down the left margin of the block. Angel hands implored two astonished figures below, a man and woman carved in Romanesque attire, who stood carved in the bottom center of the plaque.

I don't remember this door, he said.

His voice trailed off. She stood before the wooden relief. Her fingers extended towards it like someone warming their cold hands over a small fire. She spoke with a mixture of wonder and intrigue, Where does it lead?

Something's not right. Let’s check the rest of the house, he answered.

She touched the female figure and then pulled away, following him slowly up the stairs to the main floor.

Let's see what else is weird, he said, You check the bedrooms. I’ll look in the garage.

No, let's stay together, she stated. She was slight, 5 foot 6 inches tall, small shoulders, with sandy blond hair that she pushed back behind her ears. Her blue-green eyes were wide-set and intelligent without the aloof arrogance some young women adopt when they believe that they understand people and how the world works. She quickly engaged in the moment, was conscientious, and in a moment of reflection could sense the truth. In a room full of standouts, she was shy enough to be overlooked. But Ewan had noticed her at a party put on by the Nordic association, midsommarfirandet. He was Norwegian while she was Swedish.

Ewan was 6 feet tall, lean, with hard black eyes that softened if he liked you. His hair was dark brown with red bands that became visible in bright light. His expression was of self-confident determination, but it was his mouth, what he said and how he said it, that often got him noticed. At times witty, he was often impertinent when frustrated or impatient. He seemed to know what he wanted, even if he didn't always achieve his goals. He could deal with circumstances; he just didn't want other people blocking his way forward. Even so, he seemed marked for success and a bright academic future.

He shrugged his shoulders, put his head down, and turned toward the master bedroom, a little irritated. Come on then. I don’t want you getting lost.

The door to the downstairs bath was partially open. She had to check it. Gently she pushed it in and looked inside. Nothing here.

The master bedroom door was also slightly ajar. He pushed it with the fingers of his left hand. The nightstand and bed was just visible inside. Neo-classical warriors in gilt stood guard on the cut cranberry lamp on the bed stand. The bed's footboard was carved with iron leaves and flowers mixed with acorns.

In the corner, where it shouldn't be, there was a small rectangular door. This door was only about four feet tall and was shaped like an elegant feminine tombstone. Made of whitened birch, the door had a square center of frosted English muffle glass. She ran to it, turned the handle, and drew it open. Behind the door a kind of tunnel descended with stairs hewn out of rock. She drew back in momentary shock and let the handle go. The door closed with a sigh of escaping air. Turning her head, she looked at him. Let’s see where it leads.

When they got together, she knew she was the stronger under pressure. She enjoyed pushing the situation a bit and him along with it. He placed a restraining hand gently on her arm.

Where it leads? Are you mad? I want to know how these doors got here before I open one.

She employed an indulgent tone. The answer to that question lies at the end of the passageways. We need to see where they go.

Passageways? he echoed.

Yes, I assume that beyond each door is a passageway leading somewhere.

Or perhaps they all lead to the same destination, he responded. Or to no where at all.

Taking her hand, he pulled her out of the bedroom. He was going to rise to this challenge, but he needed a moment. Before we do any rash thing, let’s check the upstairs, he said.

They ascended the stairs just inside the front door. The upstairs rooms were originally intended as two bedrooms with toilet and shower between, but they had turned them into his and her offices. At the top of the stairs, she checked the bath. Finding nothing, she followed him into his office. Nothing. They walked into her office. All clear, except an attic door behind her desk caught their attention.

He knelt down and pushed the door open. The space behind was dimly lit by light coming in under the eaves. He crawled inside, stooping slightly under the rafters. She crawled in and stood beside him. They looked over the bare rafters and she spoke quietly. Do you see anything strange?

Nothing... yet. Wait! — Over there. What’s that?

He motioned to a spot on the rafters at the very front of the house. What appeared to be a door lay across several of the ceiling beams. They approached it by stepping on trusses and small pieces of refuse plywood. They stood at its base and noticed that the door was a strange combination of wood and stained glass arranged in the design of a tree trunk having but a single branch. In the center of the branch, which coincided with the center of the door, a small glass oculus emitted a faint pinkish glow. She stroked it with the fingers of her right hand. Without looking up she spoke. Let’s open it!

The door looked heavy. He shook his head, then leaned forward and grasped the brass door handle and pulled up. The door opened to an oblique angle identical to the slope of the roof. Beneath the door a brass ladder was fastened to one side of a descending, vertical vault. The bottom of the ladder was just visible in the pinkish-white glow. The air rising from the shaft felt slightly warmer than that of the attic and there was a faint aroma of spice and flowers, and something else unfamiliar, that stimulated their palates. They looked at each other and, without saying a word, he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder.

OK, he said, as if the idea was his own. Let’s find out where it goes."

She held the door with both hands testing its weight. Then she swung her legs over the side and followed him down the vault.

His feet found, felt, then rested upon the dark floor of the shaft. A click or snap, like the sound made by a metal wire breaking, made them look up. The half-open door swung in and closed by itself. The glass center of the door grew dim then faded to a deep obsidian that made the shaft overhead seem to rise skyward. A reddish dot appeared and began to sweep left and right across the dark surface, writing in a red arabesque script a series of unknown words.

The words faded as soon as they were written. The darkness around them was relieved only by a pinkish-white glow from a tunnel that stretched away to their right.

What were those words? She asked him pointedly.

Possibly a warning, he said.

Or a blessing, she responded.

They moved cautiously into the tunnel. The tunnel sloped sharply down. They could feel gravity tugging at their legs and backs. They heard a sound, at first only like the whistling of the wind, then louder like the sound of rushing water. It became more and more difficult to keep their footing. They began to breathe heavily, one hand on the wall for support.

A few more steps and the sides of the tunnel fell away, and the descent was over. They stood in a large, dark room. Far above glittered what appeared to be stars or points of lights. Across from them, in the expanse, they saw a brighter light flickering. As they walked closer, the light became a flame that slowly made distinct the outline of an ancient round hearth. While something in the atmosphere in which they moved seemed familiar, in the background they felt an ominous presence, a potential for violence. As they walked toward the light, something darker slipped by. Occasionally, other shadows crossed between them and the burning flame. Imploring mummers whispered before and behind in the darkness.

The Flying Man's Fireplace Commission

A large, square, ebony table stood before the great flagstone fireplace. Matching stone benches attended on every side. A solitary figure, robed and hooded, sat at the side furthest from the fire. The figure rose. They heard comforting words clearly pronounced in a reassuring tone.

I haven’t seen either of you in such a long time. I’m very happy you’ve arrived.

It was familiar, beckoning.

And you’ve come together; oh, that augurs well — in spite of all the difficulties. Will you not attend me at dinner — you will indeed.

How do you know us? Ewan asked. Who are you?

Some call me master or teacher; but really, I am just a practitioner, a mystagogue. I lived across the street from you, Ewan, when you were just a boy—don’t you remember—I used to walk along with you to school. Then you moved (coincidentally) right next door to me, he nodded to Alysa, "just as you were becoming a young woman. I’m sure you remember. I used to say hello my dear and talk to you across the yard. Yes, surely you remember—how could you not."

Alysa peered into the darkness underneath the cowl. I’m not sure I do.

Don’t give it another thought, hardly important, even though it might be essential to some. Nevertheless, Ewan please sit at this side of the table, and Alysa, will you sit at the end closest to the fire?

The Flying Man pronounced the last word fee’air. They sat. She had her back to the blazing fire in its circular hearth.

Strange, she thought, I can hardly feel any heat.

She looked down the table as Ewan seated himself and noticed the darkness appeared to fold itself around him like a cape. As he sat, Ewan saw no reflection of the fire in the surface of the atramentous stone. Looking down the table at her, the flames of the fireplace spread around her like bird’s wings ascending.

Without warning shadow figures stepped from the darkness and, with a sound like the fluttering of raven’s wings, took places on the piceous benches around the table. They were flat two-dimensional featureless silhouettes, turning their heads on their bodies like birds, nodding, chirping as a group.

She looked at one intently. As she did, it grew strangely three-dimensional with shadow cheeks, nose, lips, and blinking eyes. When she looked away, it again became a silhouette. The Flying Man noticed her response. Brushing aside the hair lying over her ear, he whispered. Pay attention to them and they grow lifelike. Ignore them; well, they don’t like to be ignored.

Food appeared from the shadows: wonderful meats spiced with minced garlic, oregano and red pepper, plates of venison from thicket and bramble beasts. Steaming pots of asparagus, bowls of artichokes, avocados, tureens of spinach, caskets of celery, carrots, radishes, and basins of tomatoes were flavored with cloves, garlic, cardamon and ginger. Pots of pine nuts, almonds, and walnuts were piled in tub-shaped pottery plates. Carafes of fennel tea with milk were served with musky truffles, figs, and pomegranates, followed by molasses candy deserts, strawberries and raspberries.

As they ate, the Flying Man circumambulated the table four times, speaking as he went.

"I am the shaman of initiation

You are the initiates of Lascaux

I am the yogi of sindhu

You are the brahmachari bhava-pratyaya

I am the bodhisattva Quan Yin

I am Tara, Yemara, Chenrezig of one thousand compassionate arms

You are the sentient beings, the inner anima and the animus

I am Hermes, I am Thoth

Passing from the chthonic carrying the caduceus

I am the flying man

You are the water pigs

You are the fetish rodent and the genius of the snake

You are the wild duck, the impetuous swan

You have come to rest under the juniper tree

to drink the galbuli to shade under its whorls

to be healed with its oils to build with its red cedar woods

You have come to rest under the juniper tree

I will feed you and send you forth

I will send you to Horeb

to hear the wind, to feel,

to shake as the rocks,

to hide yourself from the fearsome fire.

I will send you to the wilderness.

I will I will I will I am the Flying Man."

The silhouettes thumped their flat melanoid hands on the ebony tabletop. They whispered to each other of inborn fears, germs of dissolution, fated acts. They moved their lips sibilant with flat forked tongues, speaking of imagery, little-known qualities, prophetic moments now repressed, then lived. The silhouettes stood in a circle around the square table intoning:

Om mani padme hum

As cards marching in Alice’s strange vision, they moved first left then right, counterclockwise then clockwise, as distant discordant bells tolled the late hour. The Flying Man stood behind Ewan's place. He leaned forward to speak in his ear.

"You have been too long alone. This can be no longer. The way ahead is difficult and dangerous, you are more likely to lose all than to gain, but there is no going back, no returning, the fateful step has been taken.

So loose the goose, pass the cash, step on the gas, up and ‘at ’em, don't ever say what you wouldn't do because you will do everything you said you wouldn't do and a thousand things you never thought of doing, remember nothing beats a try but a failure, use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without, you’ll grow too soon old and too late smart, you'll soon be cooking with gas, and you’ll be busier than a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest."

The Flying Man slapped him on the back. Then he drew Alysa up, paused, and then kissed her astonished lips. Turning about, he stepped over to the fire, stopped, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, threw himself into the flames and disappeared up the flue.

Ewan stood up. He clapped his hands together and groaned at the sky. Alysa stepped away from the table. She stood with her hand to her mouth, her fingers touching her lips. Is this the beginning or the end? Where do we go from here? She asked.

He looked around at their surroundings. I don’t think that we can go back the way we came.

The room is so big and so dark and those creatures... she said out loud.

I think they’re gone. We seem to be alone. It is too late to be afraid, he said.

I’m not afraid.

Good.

He searched the area around the table looking above and below. Then he walked behind the fireplace disappearing from view. Look at this. His disembodied voice echoed around the pillar. She remained unmoved. Here’s a door. Quick, look at this, he called again.

She hesitated, started and stopped, then broke free of her taciturn mood and stepped around the chimney. The darkness away from the fire was so intense that he seemed almost invisible. His hand floated in space, as if extended from behind a drapery. He took her arm and drew her to him. They stood together before a new and different door. But she spoke quietly, much chastened. I think we face a difficult journey with much suffering.

The giant door stretched its oaken planks up into the darkness. The door had no handle or latch. The only decoration was that single keyhole in the center. He stretched out his arms out in the blue light that came through the large keyhole, feeling along the far sides of the door for the edges.

She bent down and looked through the keyhole. The blue spot of light dotting her face made her look cruelly beautiful. She stood up. Perhaps there’s another way out. Let’s look around, she said.

No... Well, we might, but what happens if we get lost searching? Those things are out there in the dark, he said, his voice trailing off.

Oh no. I feel better. Let’s look. Perhaps the key to this door is over by the table, she said.

They stepped to the front of the hearth. The table with its benches was gone. Another light, a dark line of purplish glow, appeared near the floor of the room in the distance. They watched the purple recede before the deep reddish orange of a new dawn.

The stars overhead faded before the advance of a lighter blue. They could discern the shapes of trees against the sky. They stood on flattened piece of ground at one end of an apple orchard looking east. Behind them, a great spruce tree towered up to the sky, blocking their view to the west. A dawn wind rushed down from the northwest. They clung closer to each other in the cold. Their breath, hanging in the air in puffs, suddenly dissipated in the breeze. He spoke quietly.

We are outside, although I don't know how. Our house is gone.

Yes, but where? she asked.

The morning hurried upon them. The great reddish ball of flame ascended over the eastern horizon. Low hanging dark clouds rushed by close over their heads toward the source of the light and heat. The sky was clear and bright behind the clouds. The small birds of the meadow began cheering the morning with tics, whistles, and tocs. They could see the dark silhouette of some great bird flying eastward high in the sky toward the sun.

We appear to be in some kind of rural farmland. Let’s go for help.

The Story of Nauei Dywll

They saw a farmhouse on the crest of a small, rounded hill across a low valley. The earth was crisp with the morning frost. Rigid dead leaves, dry sticks, and bracken cracked under their feet. The dormant leafless apple trees of the orchard saluted them with bare branches, as they passed beneath, and followed gelid wheel ruts toward the blank watching windows staring down the hill. Alysa breathed warm words into the stiff early morning,

Did we just see, just experience, what I think we did? All those men seated around that stone table and their leader vanishing out of sight?

Men? I saw a woman in a hood and cape kiss you on the lips and then throw herself into the fireplace. It was women seated around the table, some saying terrible things. I thought they might rise up and pull us to pieces.

She stood still and he stopped next to her. She put her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes.

I heard their insistent male voices revealing secrets speaking passionate things that seemed very true to me, frightful things. I wanted to run away and stop my ears but I was paralyzed. I realize now they wanted me to do things to say things that I would never normally say or do but at the time, while they were shouting at me, urging me, the things they said seemed right. They seemed to be things I ought to do. I remembered you, and for a moment the mystery was clear, and I understood. Of course, now I’ve lost it. I can’t remember...

She put her head down in sorrow. He started walking, and drew her after him, pulling on her hand. She stopped resisting and followed, finally looking up. They crossed a little frozen stream between the hills and ascended toward the house. Ewan stopped, then spoke.

I heard female voices calling to me like the sirens of Odysseus. I panicked because there was no wax to stuff my ears. I became irritable, angry that I could not protect myself. They kept warning me of accidents to come, of disease, pestilence that would ravage and rot my body, and I grew afraid, tormented. The woman in the cape and hood asked me questions and when I couldn’t answer, she mocked me. I wanted to rip off her cloak, pull off her hood, and expose her as a traitor; then, I remembered you, and I knew for a moment what I could do and I felt a peace. Now it’s gone from me. I don’t know how we got here.

A low picket fence enclosed the house. A gate hung uselessly from one post. He kicked it aside in an angry release and then glanced up at the blank windows. The lawn was pockmarked. Scratched with patches of many-rayed dandelions, bunched together like faint yellow islands in an earthen brown and green sea. Tufts of wild grasses grew untended along the fence, especially thick under the fractured and splintered pales. A ragged dirt path, strewn with broken bricks, rubble, and frosted mud led up to the front door. Next to the door a tired, rust-stained ivy plant clung by a few tendrils to a collapsed trellis. He stretched out an arm and banged the door with one fist.

This looks like migrant farm housing to me. It’s out of season and no one is here.

Do you suppose the farmer would mind if we went inside out of the cold? she asked, shivering.

I don’t want to break in. But he gave the door a push and it fell away. He smiled and looked at her. I doubt anyone will mind. Careful of these steps, he admonished.

They clambered over the broken steps, stood inside on the bare boards of the living room floor. Trash, broken sheet rock, curls of dirty floral wallpaper, dirt and dust littered the dining room floor. The kitchen was even filthier. One broken cabinet door hung by a single hinge. The sink was filled with broken plates and jars. A cold unclean stench rose like ozone through the plumbing. The place seemed to be rotting into the ground. They were about to pronounce it deserted when, off the kitchen in a back room, they saw him.

An old man crouched on the floor, his head thrust forward, his right hand tightly gripping a pen. His eyes, set close in a white, ghastly face, slowly focused on the shocked and motionless couple. The man fumbled with his left hand in his tunic pocket and brought out a little, dirt-stained, bound red book, and held it out to them with one trembling hand. It was covered with numbers, calculations, and words within and without. Examining it, the couple exchanged it, and she turned it over in her hand and opened the front page. The old man noticed, sighed, and spoke, I’m glad you’ve come for it. It’s no use to me, anymore. I’m almost gone and tired of lingering. It’s no use to me.

Is this your house? Alysa asked. We are looking for help.

"My house has fallen into disrepair. In the days of the orchard, when all the trees were pleasing to the eye and good for food, this house was a mansion. Now, my patrons have abandoned me. They want instant results. Compliments! From me!

Look in the Red Book. All the calculations are there. Ancient mysteries exposed. Even though the answers are intuitive and subjective, they are completely sure, absolutely worked out."

Where is this? Ewan asked. And who are you?

The old man continued speaking disconsolately, ignoring, or not hearing any questions. Possibility cannot be calculated from fate, he said, with a pained expression. Calculated results change an intuition. These are the basic principles. Not every truth can be repeated by experiment.

Ewan felt the ancient scribbler was being evasive and took a belligerent step forward. I... we, need a real answer. Don’t give me any more patterns or tendencies. I don’t want your abstract concepts or hypotheses. Answer the questions I ask. Tell me the truth, he demanded.

The old man waved his hand in the air at the utterance of that final word. I am Nauei Dywll. I have collected histories, poetry, rules and practices for poets, herbal remedies, battle formations, and devised secret calculations on how to acquire inspiration, how to understand mysteries.

Suddenly the couple felt as if they were walking on air, their heads got light, and it was with difficulty that they kept their feet on the bare boards of the dirty floor.

What is this? Ewan thought. It would be so easy to rise into the air and float away.

Regaining her composure, Alysa glanced up from turning the pages in the little Red Book. Perhaps I might understand, she said.

Outside a chorus of screeches and yells rose into the air. It sounded like dogs snatching at each other, snarling and barking in canine anger. It brought his feet back to the ground. He glanced fearfully out the window. What’s that? he said

Alysa continued speaking to the old man about his numbers and formulas, as if she hadn’t heard the dogs. These calculations, she continued, do they describe what is likely to happen? Are they prophetic?

The old man grunted, angling his head like a bird looking for bugs in the ground.

Ah, choice is a series of doors. Once one is selected, you must go where the passageway leads. Inspiration is making the right choices. Those in the city serve only Pluto, Apollo, and Mercury and have cast the other gods and goddesses to the caves! They are not looking for choices.

Seeing nothing out the window to connect to the sound of dogs, Ewan looked back at the old man. We need to go, Ewan said. Tell me, which way do we go? Is there a city nearby?

The old man waved one hand toward the window trying to brush aside his youthful intensity. "Ahhh, the city! Go north through the forest. It is an ancient city. I came out of it some years ago. (But we all go back from time to time.)

I have lain beside the lion at spring

I have soared with the eagle on summer winds

I have reaped the golden harvest at Autumn

I have plowed with the ox in winter.

I stood on Bamoth Ba'al

And stood at the top of Peor

I stood on the bank of the Tigris broad

While one clothed in linen

Stood above the waters of the flood

Announcing destruction.

———-

I helped the son of dawn

Compose songs of praise in the sides of the north

Until a shadow was found in the garden

Among the fiery stones.

I taught the doctrine of Merkabach to Rabbi Ammi

I placed the pomegranate on the Chanukah candlestick

I decided that creation's seven days were first numbered by the Menorah

I am the master of ambivalence.

I penned the nine missing Scriptures.

I decided the third person was two brothers.

I set them against each other to keep the traditions of the past.

I took the blessings from the nation and gave them to the assembly.

I told the nation to keep the curses to themselves.

And what else I have done I dare not tell

Either to true or unbelievers, who know nothing.

That was my task, my contribution, my axiomatization. You have it all there in my book. Is it possible that there really is only one? The riddle might solve itself."

They squatted down on the floor in front of the old man.

Fine, we have the book, Ewan said emphatically, how do we use it?

You don’t use the book to find the city, the old man snapped with a sullen glare. I don't gladly suffer fools. Use my calculations and the power of names to escape the traps and snares. It's too late to test my conclusions. Use my method, if you can.

You’ve not taught us your method, said Ewan. You’ve just handed us an indecipherable something. We need scientific explanations.

"The faith of science is in a method. A method is not truth. Reasoning is a method based upon a premise. If the premise is untrue the reasoned conclusion is false, even if it is correct. When inspiration (even revelation) wells up, you will know in that moment what you have never known before.

Locate Esmun. He is working in the city. He can be your tutor, even in music and medicine."

The old man began to mumble incoherently like a person losing his senses. Ewan took Alysa's hand and guided her out of the room. He pulled her outside. They walked away from the house toward the north, toward a dark line of woods at the end of a meadow. She slipped the Red Book into her pocket. As they walked, he asked her. Is there any reason we should believe anything he said?

Of course, she said, looking up at him, he gave us the book! He told us of the city. It was his final act.

What good is it? It’s just a jumble of words, numbers and formulas. You said you understood it. How is that?

I didn't say I understood it. I said I thought I might. The formulas seem to speak to me like brief images in a kaleidoscope falling one upon another. I don’t understand it right now. I might understand it someday. He sent us to a tutor, Esmun. There is hope.

Do you think there is even a city beyond those woods, he asked.

He gave us the book and told us to go. You obviously think he’s a trickster.

Do you think we should just leave him squatting in the dust? he asked with a slight smile.

He enjoyed occasionally saying something that she should have said. Alysa looked at him, pausing before she spoke. Normally, no, we should have called for help—but who could we call?

They paused before entering the tree line of the forest. He smiled and changed the subject. "Can you tell me