The Rite of Spring: The Fourth of the Eye

The Rite of Spring: Fragment 34

The Fourth of the Eye
in which Bre Choron casts a horoscope, and Bre Inverch prepares a horror

One might think it was sufficient that this House, once all-powerful within the Place, should now be dependent on foreign barbarians for any hope of restoration of our former glories, without our having to tolerate allies whose handwriting is so bad that it scarcely possible to interpret what is written. Often I cannot tell the glyph of the feather from the glyph of the pea, or, more seriously, that of the mouth from that of the eye. In any case, their spelling is so uncertain that their cipher codes will not come out cleanly. Really, I wonder if we need a cipher. I have enough trouble with their glyphs anyway. I doubt whether, even supposing one of our rival houses was to intercept a message, it would make much sense to them. And, to make my life more trying, this message had been written on paper in a soluble ink, and the dratted pigeon had got its feet wet.

Another problem, of course, with messages from... our friends without, shall we say? - is that the matter contained in them is often somewhat delicate, so that I must decrypt them myself, rather than leaving it to one of my assistants. My eyes are still perfectly good for distance work, of course - I do, after all, still serve the Sight of the God - but I find that reading is becoming more and more trying.

I spent a long time over that message, that afternoon, and resented it at the time, for there are many calls on my attention; but when the import finally became clear, I was glad that I had. For the news, once I had discovered its import, changed much that I had been planning.

There were two parts to it. First there was intelligence of the political situation on the steppe, which seemed most satisfactory; and secondly, there was something I had awaited for a long time. It was the precise date and place of the birth of the young lady who was now occupying so much of my interest.

I went at once to Bre Choron's cell. Choron had one of his sight tubes apart on a bench, and was assiduously cleaning its glasses; but when I explained my mission he at once turned to his shelves, whence he drew the appropriate almanacs and ephemera. He cleaned a broad circle of the floor of his cell, and marked it off, working furiously with flag-board, chalk and compass. As he engaged in this I could see him become visibly excited, hissing and clicking with his teeth in the irritating way that he has. All at once he straightened and said

"at precisely what time of the day was she born?"

Now of course it is well known that the people who hold highest place in the plans of the God are necessarily born at times when the dance of the heavens is changing most rapidly. Otherwise everyone born on the same day as a great warrior would be a great warrior, and everyone born on the same day as a great sage would be a great sage. But the hint that our sweet little princess might be such a person merely strengthened a view that was forming in my mind. I replied

"in the middle part of the day, I believe, but my informant was not sure. It seems that the birthing woman was unwilling to say, despite... persuasion."

"Ahhh..."

said Choron. He enlarged on this:

"ahhh...hah!" He drew the glyph of the eye, which symbolises of the sun, on his diagram.

"So she would be, so she would be."

He drew the symbol of the cunt, which symbolises the moon, on his diagram. He drew it so that it entirely erased the eye.

"She was born at noon."

He stood up, and stepped back. I stared at the diagram. Ruadhonach the Red Wanderer, Lord of War, stood in the constellation Crearchaintoul, the Dragon, emblem of victory. The Sun, the Eye of the All Seeing God, was blinded by the Woman, the Light of Darkness. It was not a hard chart to read. Choron turned back to his shelves and started to flick furiously through a crumbling tome.

"Ahh!"

Click, click, hiss. "I thought as much, I thought as much, yesss."

"May I see?"

I asked, guessing already what it was he would pass me. The volume was open at a page, and on that page was a diagram identical to that on the floor. The legend down the left hand side read 'the Demon Kiar, cursed be her Name'.

"Do I read this aright, Choron?"

He stared at his floor, thinking furiously. Click, hisss. He indicated a symbol with his foot. "Sgurchusduainnbh, the Erratic Wanderer, stands at the head of the constellation Quiraingruing the Tree. That is often a sign of an uncertain life-span. As I read it, she could live to be a great weapon of the Dark; or she could die young - quite young. And also, of course, she may not have been born at noon. That is only my conjecture."

When I had returned to my own cell, I at once summoned a novice, and asked that Inverch be sent up to me at once, and also Skiary, if he was in the building. In due course Bre Inverch came up. My business with him did not take long. I required one of his little toys - one suitable for a young woman. One that would not attract attention, that could be passed to her. Inverch, of course, thought he had something suitable, and in due course he returned with a toy I thought just the thing to please a young maiden. I thanked him with due cordiality. He left; and, there being nothing better to do, I paced the small cell that is all my home now, waiting for Skiary.

He did not arrive; instead, after some time, the novice returned to say that he was not to be found. I therefore sent the novice with a note to the keeper of the Tavern of the Seven Dancing Girls, in the Red Close off the Street of Love, and turned to my other responsibilities.

It was late indeed when Skiary at last arrived. Fortunately I find that I now need little sleep, and was not abed. It is one of the few consolations of age. My agent made no apology for his tardiness, but merely greeted me in his lazy drawl, cast himself down on my palette, and said

"well, dear master... I believe you desired... converse with me? It would be the matter... of the little princess, would it..?"

I hid my asperity, and said

"it is good to see you are still acute, when you want to be."

"There is... perhaps... news..?"

"Indeed there is", I said.

"Matters are moving rapidly, and I think the time may have come to revise our strategy somewhat."

Skiary yawned broadly.

"Ahhh... I suppose our almost... why do I forget words so..? ah, yes, co-religionists... our al-most co-rrrel-igion-ists... beyond the Rim... are falling out with each other... alrrready?"

Really, Skiary knows the most effective ways of irritating me. The suggestion that the similarities between the cult that this House represents and the idolatorous worship of the heathen Rhiconicfhearchaorusduadh are anything more than coincidental is quite blasphemous. I said, sharply,

"how did you know that?"

Skiary's eyes closed.

"Know, old one..? I know... almost nothing... but I am ac-quainted with barbarrrians... and so I don't... really... need to know... anything, really. Of course they are... falling out..."

There are times I grow to hate that whispering, drawling voice. An eye opened, just a slit.

"Arrren't they..?"

I suppose that it is that acuteness which makes him so difficult to deal with that also makes him so effective. Thugs are easy to come by; but Skiary is a lot more than a thug, and a lot rarer. I said

"You err only in tense, my friend. Try it in the past perfect".

"So really little Aonan... rrrather loses her... value, somewhat..?" "She does, yes. Also, I've learned more about our young protege, and feel that we need to take a hand in the game just as we proposed earlier. But, Skiary, the matter becomes urgent. I have a toy for her - a very pretty thing. Could you see that it gets to her?"

"Oh... no difficulty... I shouldn't think. How pleasant... to be working with Inverch... again... I do so like his little... devices..."

With that, he arose from my bed, saluted me with insolent grace, and left the chamber. I found myself still unready for rest, and after pacing my cell for a while, went up to the Dragon Chapel. I knelt, and gazed at the eternal flame burning between the golden claws of the sacred statue. I have always felt most at peace in that private place, where none but initiates of the inner circle may come. None but the pure. No woman had ever entered this chamber; nor any man who had ever lain with a woman. Here there is no need to pretend that the God has a feminine aspect; no need to pretend the God has any fleshy attributes at all. Here the one sacred name of God may be spoken. I called upon the All Seeing God to watch over us particularly over the next weeks. If all went well, we would once again hold the whole Place in the palm of our hand, and the woman worshippers could be defeated once and for all. If things went ill... But Skiary is a bold man, and a clever. Surely things could not go ill...

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