Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 23



Three Months Earlier…

Up to this point Cowl’s initiation had consisted mostly of learning the calls and incantations and mastering the correct vocal intonations for every syllable. He was made to recite them in exhausting and seemingly endless repetitions, stumbling over the strange, unfamiliar words, until he got them right.

For the first three days he felt as if nothing special was happening and he was starting to doubt the entire process. The Messenger, however, continued to lure him with the promise that his ‘Someday’ was very close at hand. The power of that single, irresistible lure was all it took to keep Cowl hooked. His confidence was renewed in short order when, on the night of the fourth day, he had his first indication that something was indeed happening.

Earlier in the day the Messenger had instructed him on how to prepare a special pigment, an alchemical concoction, that he would use to paint the complex version of the Lucifer Seal onto the wood floor under the carpet in the Inner Sanctum. The color of the pigment was to be vermillion produced by an ancient method of mixing mercury and molten sulfur.

Cowl protested that he had no idea where to obtain such materials but the Messenger told him not to worry, it would be delivered to his door by an old Chinese gentleman. Cowl laughed. Maybe the Messenger has a sense of humor. Within seconds of being informed of this odd circumstance, three loud raps of the brass knocker on the front door shook Cowl out of his chair. He answered the door and was handed a package by an old Chinese man who said nothing, bowed once, and scurried away.

Cowl closed the door and turned to the Messenger with a bemused look on his face. “Magick?”

The Messenger shrugged. “More like a payment for services rendered.”

“Services rendered?”

“It’s a very long story. But you have work to do. I suggest you get to it.”

That night, after the image of the Seal had been rendered, Cowl was instructed to cross over the perimeter of the Seal and position himself on his knees at the center of the image.

He did as he was instructed and looked at the Messenger. “So, now what?”

“Relax and close your eyes. Take three deep breaths, in through the nose and out, slowly, through the mouth.”

Cowl followed the instructions.

“Again. Deeper.”

Again, Cowl complied.

“And once more.”

The Messenger waited and then spoke in a slow, hypnotic tone. “Now… trace the lines of the Seal… in your imagination… until you see it clearly… in your mind’s eye… absorb the color… feel the power… let it become… part of you.”

Cowl felt his body beginning to sway back and forth, ever so gently, rhythmically. As if in some drug-induced dream, he sensed his consciousness merging with the image of the Seal.

The Messenger looked on approvingly. When the moment was right, he telepathically transmitted the words of an evocation into Cowl’s mind.

Cowl recited the words as they filtered into his brain. He repeated them again, louder this time, and then a third time, nearly shouting. His voice echoed off the walls of the room:

“Old Ones! Hear me this night, this hour! Gaze upon me from thine ancient tower! To thee my body is open, my mind is open, my soul is open! Old Ones! Hear me! I call thee from thy place of rest! Find me worthy of thy test! Daras sharod! Intu!”

Immediately, his gentle swaying motion shifted to an involuntary, vibrating frenzy. Something was pulling at him from the inside out, tugging at his soul, sucking him out of his shell. The intensity of the vibration increased at a furious rate until he could no longer hang on.

With a sudden jolt, he was catapulted outward into a dark and timeless void. He floated, weightless, with no sense of direction, no up, no down, just a disorienting ecstasy of nothingness. Jesus… this is beautiful… this is…

His reverie was interrupted by a faint, muddled din of voices––far off in the distance, somewhere beyond the darkness that surrounded him––aged voices, solemn, wooden voices murmuring like a grove of ancient oaks conferring with the gods, passing judgment on some soul. Then, for a brief moment, as if looking through the wrong end of a telescope, across an eternity of space and time, he caught a glimpse of himself kneeling at the center of the Seal. The voyeuristic sensation of separation was at first disturbing then liberating, intoxicating. He wanted it to last forever. But the moment ended abruptly as he was sucked into that long, dark voyeuristic tube and instantly hurled across the void and back into the confines of his mortal body. He collapsed onto the floor like a deflated balloon.

The Messenger waited for Cowl to regain his senses. “Welcome back,” he said, finally. The Old Ones are pleased. You have passed the test. Your ‘Someday’ is another step closer and Master Crowley is anxious to join you. In five short days the great transformation will take place and the resurrection of the Beast will be complete.”

The days passed in a blur: more instructions, more memorizations, more education on the protocols of the rituals, revelations of many dark and powerful secrets known only to a select few over the centuries. Rye Cowl could now be counted among the few.

The ninth and final day of the grueling process had finally arrived and it found the young initiate weak and disoriented. For the previous three days he’d had nothing to eat or drink save for a single slice of bread per day with a cup of water to wash it down. The fast was necessary, the Messenger insisted, in order to purify the body for what was coming.

Cowl sat cross-legged at the center of the Seal, his naked body clothed only in the ceremonial robe once owned by the senior Mr. Moorehouse. With the urn cradled in his lap, he gently traced its smooth contour with the tips of his fingers. He was about to give birth to something beyond his imagination. He looked up at the Messenger and spoke in a weak but determined tone. “I’m ready.”