I stand here... in my world of darkness.
A world without light, a world without impressions.
Leave behind the suffering of the day,
nestle in the shadows, and enter my night.
On the illusory path to sleepless eternity,
on the path of thorns, to the grave of the soul...
Take your place among the embers of flame,
among us who remain in the world of darkness,
cast aside memories of sunlight...
This is my kingdom... here I am the princess.
You are here with me, and here you will remain...
A group of thirteen hooded men walked silently to the top of a hill covered with dense groves... From between the spreading branches of the trees, single streams of silvery light from the full moon streamed down towards them. The forest was immersed in the dead silence of the dawning night... the golden light of the torches they carried flickered like will-o'-the-wisp between the black tree trunks... When they finally reached the very top of the hill, they found themselves in a small clearing surrounded by tall stones, which rose like black pillars toward the navy blue sky illuminated by billions of stars... The hooded figures began to circle the circle marked by the stones clockwise, then silently positioned themselves beside each one...
Only for a brief moment did silence reign again, broken only by the rustle of the wind that stirred the oak crowns, when three figures began to emerge from between the enormous trees. The milky mist shrouding the dark hill suddenly thinned, and soon they saw the High Priestess and High Priest, dressed in dark green priestly robes, and a man following them silently. As soon as they approached the Sacred Circle, thirteen figures, in a single, fluid motion, raised their pale hands toward the center of the circle, then raised them heavenward in homage to the silvery Moon. Then the wind suddenly subsided, and the silence seemed to deepen even more, which only further terrified the man who had dared to seek initiation. The silence stretched on unmercifully, until suddenly, in the center of the circle, they saw a delicate and ephemeral Goddess emerge from nothingness, wearing a simple white dress and a wreath of wildflowers woven into her long, linen hair. Immediately behind her came a tall, powerful God, wearing a deer's antler on his head... The thirteen silent figures simultaneously raised their outstretched hands to their foreheads, crossing them there in a sign of reverence. The terrified man looked helplessly at the High Priestess and High Priest, who silently approached him and began to undress him.
"You must be ready," whispered the Priestess, in a voice unlike any human, "To cast off your mask, which you present to the unconscious world... You must be ready to enter our circle, just as you came into the world - naked and defenseless...
" "If you wish," continued the High Priest, in a no less strange voice, "to begin the journey into the depths of yourself, you must shed your false disguises and poses... You must be ready to enter our circle, just as you came into the world naked and defenseless..."
The Priests blindfolded the initiate with a black blindfold, and then, holding him protectively by the shoulders, they entered the Sacred Precinct marked by the stone pillars.
"Listen to the words of the Great Mother, She who has been called Atermis, Astrate, Diana, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerdwen, Aria, Brigid, and many other names," the Goddess spoke in her beautiful, nightingale voice. "When the need to achieve something comes to you, then once a month, or better yet, when the Moon is radiant in its full splendor, gather together in a secret retreat and honor my Name, Queen of all the Wise. It is not lawful for you to be slaves, nor to enslave others; as a sign of your freedom, you shall honor me clothed in heaven itself. Sing, celebrate, play, make love in my Presence, for Mine is the joy of the spirit and Mine is the joy of the Earth. My law is Love, equal for all living beings." Mine is the secret that opens the doors of youth, and Mine is the Chalice of the Wine of Life, which is the Cup of Cerrdwen and the Holy Grail of immortality. I am the giver of wisdom, with a spirit eternally alive and beyond the gates of death. I give Peace and Freedom and union with those who have passed away. I do not demand sacrifices, for know that I am the Mother of All, and My Love pours out upon the entire Earth. Listen to the words of the Star Goddess, from whose dust the stars arose, whose body envelops the entire Universe. I am the beauty of the green, primeval Earth and the white Moon among the stars, and the mystery of the waters. It is I who call upon your soul to arise and come to Me, for I am the Soul of Nature, who gives life to all things. From Me all things come and to Me must return. May devotion to Me and joy be in your heart, forever and ever. Rejoice! For all acts of Love and Delight are My rites. May there be within you Beauty and Strength, Power and Compassion, Honor and Sincerity, Joy and Devotion. And you who seek to know Me, know that your acquired knowledge and all your intentions will not bring you solace unless you experience the Mystery of My Initiation. And it is simple, and such that you will not find outside yourself what you have not first found in your heart. Know, therefore, that I Am with you from the beginning of your existence. And I Am What You Achieve. And I Am your final Desire...
The newcomer sank to his knees with a soft groan and, gripping the whip he had held tightly in his hand, submitted to self-flagellation. He continued this until warm, purple blood began to trickle down his pale back. The beautiful Goddess and the Horned God stared at him silently, not stopping him. The High Priestess slowly turned her hooded head toward the forest wall surrounding the stone circle, as a black, swirling cloud began to emerge from between the black pillars. Like fog, it approached the self-flagellated man and enveloped him on all sides. It was this man's fear that summoned the eternal Shadow.
"I..." the Goddess spoke again, "...who am the beauty of the green Earth and the white Moon among the stars, the mystery of the waters and the desire in the hearts of man and woman, I say to your soul: arise and come to me. What you seek you will not find within yourself, you will never find without yourself." Remember that I was with you from the beginning and I am what lies at the end of desire…
The Dark Shadow increasingly enveloped the man until it surrounded him in a large black hemisphere, sunk into the earth, and the self-flagellated man vanished from the Priests' sight… The Shadow coiled around him, sinking his soul deeper and deeper into a magical trance, robbing him of the ability to think logically. And when the intoxication reached its zenith, the Horned God raised his large, strong hands toward the black hemisphere and leaned on it, pushing it underground without much difficulty. The man then found himself in a completely different dimension, a dimension where he would journey to the afterlife, to the Land of the Unconscious, to meet the powerful being embodying the Horned God… Even though he wore a black blindfold, he could see before him a wide, black, stone staircase winding down between steep rock walls. Below, darkness reigned, shrouded in a bluish mist, swirling in the gentle breeze... He was completely alone. His cautious, hesitant footsteps echoed hollowly against the dark rocks, which breathed an icy cold. Without even realizing it, he was descending into the afterlife, just as the Great Goddess had done centuries ago, descending to the Land of Death to meet the God who was the Dark Lord of Death...
As he stood at the foot of the stairs, a strong gust of wind suddenly blew the bluish mist from beneath his feet, and dozens of rotting corpses appeared before his eyes. He screamed in terror, recoiling, but only stumbled and fell onto the stone steps. His teeth chattering with fear, he stared at the gruesome corpses, crawling with disgusting white larvae and swarming with black flies. An unbearable stench hung in the air, making him nauseous... He wanted to get up and run, but his legs refused to obey him, for it seemed to him that these corpses, strung up on X-shaped crosses and nailed to the walls with large nails, were staring at him with faded eyes that conveyed nothing but suffering and panicky fear. He groaned, trying to rise, but then he saw the Horned God emerge from the darkness of the seemingly endless cavern. The man blinked in surprise and breathed a sigh of relief... The Horned God paced silently among the rotting corpses, but his piercing, commanding gaze was focused entirely on the newly arrived man.
"Here you are, in the depths of the Land of the Dead," he said, spreading his hands and showing him the macabre corpses. "Here you will rot, too...
" "No..." he moaned, his voice cracking with fear. "No...! I want to live again. I want to live again! I beg you not...! I beg you...
" "You are so wretched!" – the God muttered contemptuously – You care about your body more than your soul, losing it in the World of Forms... As long as your body is more important to you than your self, you will be damned and imprisoned in the Nothingness…
– I don't want to die… please, I don't want to die…! – the man moaned, clutching his head.
The Horned God looked at him for a moment with unconcealed irritation and contempt, then took a step forward, as if to approach him, but stopped just in time and began to speak again.
"You are cursed precisely for underestimating the potential of your soul. You forget that the most powerful magic lies within you, and if only you could overcome your stupidity, which compels you to be guided by reason, you would finally understand the true essence of this world... Your bodies are mortal... However, it is not in them that your strength lies, nor in them that your life lies... It is in your soul that immortality resides! It has endured and will endure forever, regardless of what happens to your body...! Your fear of annihilation is meaningless in itself; you are only wasting time caring for your body... Your soul, however, will endure forever... Death is merely a stage in the cycle of life... It is a single rung in the chain of endless incarnations. Yet, despite all the knowledge Nature and the Universe impart to you, you are unable to appreciate and accept this...!"
The trembling man raised his eyes to him, and with his hands clasped to his head, he looked uncertainly at the Horned God, and then at the rotting corpses, on which white maggots writhed.
"What you see is only the feeble, mortal shell that gives shape to your soul... This shell you were forced to wear in this world only limits you. You don't even know what happiness it is to be pure self, pure energy, without this body that from the moment of your birth begins to wither, preparing for its final end...
" * * *
The black hemisphere emerged unexpectedly from the ground and disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. The man, still kneeling in the same position as before, breathed loudly and unevenly for a moment, unable to catch his breath... Suddenly, he lowered the whip he held in his hand to the ground and ripped off the blindfold. There was no one around him anymore. There were no High Priests, no deities, no hooded men. In the stone circle, atop the dark hill, which was beginning to drown in the first, bloody rays of morning, there was only himself. He rested his bloody hands on the grass, feeling nauseous and dizzy...
"All divisions are only an illusion," he whispered in a trembling voice. "I and the Remnant are one...
"
A rider dressed in black rode at a breakneck gallop through a chestnut avenue. His black mount showed every sign of fatigue after the long and grueling journey forced upon him by the man with the black cape strapped to his broad shoulders. Icy rain lashed his hooded face, but he seemed oblivious. The dull darkness of the dawning night spread everywhere. Spreading, centuries-old trees bent lazily under the strong wind that heralded the imminent arrival of a storm, and on the horizon, lightning flashed intermittently in a silvery glow, cutting perpendicularly through the heavy, rainy clouds. He galloped until he reached an old, wooden inn built on the shore of a muddy, calamus-covered lake. He roughly set his horse on his hind legs and dismounted smoothly. A young man with a pleasant, plump face immediately ran up to him. He smiled broadly, wanting to lead his horse to the stable and tend to it there. But as soon as he looked into the darkness surrounding the man's face, it suddenly seemed to him as if the stranger's eyes were glowing with a strange, unfamiliar light. He had been standing outside for a long time, and the pouring rain had soaked him to the skin. The stranger pressed the reins into his trembling, outstretched hand and, without a word, stepped under the rotten and dilapidated roof of the inn. Without looking back at the boy, whose terrified, large eyes followed his every move, he pushed open the creaking, heavy door and looked around the stuffy room, filled with smoke from the leaky tiled stove. Inside stood a few round, scuffed tables, and against the opposite wall stood an old wooden counter, behind which a woman stared at him with bulging, reddened eyes. She was very fat, dressed in darned gray clothes, and had a large wart on her chin. The man strode through the inn, dripping wet, his burning eyes fixed on her. The landlady stared at him, afraid to take even a deep breath, her trembling, plump hands clutching her dirty apron. The stranger stopped at the counter. She couldn't see his face. The dim light of the oil lamp swinging beneath the musty wooden ceiling illuminated only his long, black cloak, from which water dripped in streams. The landlady could feel a strange coldness emanating from him, radiating from his body. There was something strange about him, something her primitive senses couldn't quite grasp or even name.
"Luois..." he said in a strange, distant voice, "Luois Fanchon..."
The woman blinked her eyes rapidly several times, as if she had just woken from a dream, and then swallowed hard.
"Room s-six... six... s-room..." she whispered in a hoarse, trembling voice.
The stranger ascended the creaking stairs to the second floor. The narrow corridor was almost completely dark. Only the light from below illuminated the passage. The man walked with a calm, silent gait, staring at the individual numbers carved with a knife into the wooden door. Finally, he stopped at the appropriate entrance, but before he could even raise his hand to the doorknob, he heard a calm, melancholic voice from the room, commanding him to enter. The stranger opened the door and then closed it tightly behind him, glancing around the room. The man, seated in a deep armchair, a dirty quilt draped over the chipped wood, was exceptionally tall and handsome. His midnight attire, consisting of a simple black shirt and black trousers, indicated that he was not from the peasant class. He had large, expressive eyes, so beautiful that it was difficult to tear his gaze away. To those who gazed at them, it seemed as if they were standing on the shore of a magnificent blue sea. The man was no older than twenty-five, his snow-white, flawless complexion gleaming in the flames of the fire burning in the fireplace. Seeing the rider, he smiled and stood up, approaching him casually. Only then did the rider pull back his wide hood, revealing black, pageboy-cut hair framing a narrow, snow-white face with sharp, masculine features. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle, even though no one could see into them. They radiated emptiness and immense strength. The two of them shook hands coldly in greeting, and when Luois sat down again in his chair, the stranger sat down opposite him.
"Do you have something for me?" he asked in his distant, masculine voice.
"Don't be so impatient, Armen!" Luois smiled. "Get some rest." You probably won't be able to cover much ground in this weather. Besides, your mount is probably exhausted..."
Armen looked at him from under his unruly black fringe that fell over his dark eyes. And though he didn't say or do anything more, Luois immediately sensed the anger rising within him.
"Easy..." he said, though casually, the smile faded from his face.
"So..." he said impatiently, not taking his eyes off Luois.
"This time, the family... Apparently, they've failed the court in something, and..."
At that moment, Armen shifted impatiently. Luois didn't wait for more warnings. He sat back in the old armchair and looked into the fire, unable to bear his companion's black eyes.
"The family... all of them, without exception. They live nearby, it's a white house with a large garden. Just remember, no one..." he didn't finish, as Armen rose from the armchair he was sitting in and left the room without a word. Luois followed him to the door with an irritated look, then looked back at the flames consuming the tree.
* * *
Armen left the inn, where outside the storm was already raging. Icy rain lashed the inn's roof with large drops of water and bent the heavy branches of the oak avenue under its weight. The man stared for a moment at the heavy clouds, which, occasionally illuminated by enormous bolts of lightning, drifted lazily across the sky. Finally, he pulled his hood back over his face and stepped out, exposing himself to the downpour. His horse was waiting in the stable. The young man hadn't even had time to unsaddle it when Armen suddenly appeared in the doorway. The boy looked at him fearfully, pausing halfway to the saddle, and immediately stepped away from the horse, which tossed its long, black mane back with a nervous jerk of its head. It was an exceptionally beautiful animal, with a swan-like neck and strong legs, perfectly built for the long journeys its master undertook. The man wordlessly approached the horse, checked its girth, and easily climbed onto its back. Then, giving it a painful slap on the reins, he galloped out of the warm stable and out into the open. He galloped again at a furious pace along the same path he had taken to the inn. The rain was pounding with every passing minute, and the horse's hooves sank into the soft earth. Despite this, Armen continued his journey until he reached a small white house surrounded by a beautiful garden. For a split second, he reined in his horse, gazing glumly at the lawn illuminated by the windows. Then he dismounted and, tethering it to the fence, climbed nimbly up the tall iron gate and, in a single silent leap, emerged into the garden. He walked so quietly that even the dog didn't hear him cross the terrace and pause at the door, raising a cold, snow-white hand to the brass knocker shaped like an angel. A moment after he knocked, a short, very thin maid with a white cap appeared at the door. She looked alarmed by such a late arrival, but as soon as she looked into his eyes, gleaming with an unearthly light, a short scream of terror tore from her throat. Armen seized this moment, swiftly shoved her inside, slamming the door behind him, and knocked her to the ground. The maid struggled horribly, trying to free herself from his strong and painful embrace, but she had no chance. Armen was a superhumanly strong man. Panicked, she tried to free herself until she felt the cold blade of a knife against her neck. For a split second, she froze and looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.
"...P-please..." she stammered desperately, her whole body trembling. "...Please... no..."
She didn't finish, as the knife plunged into her neck and slashed it open with such a deft movement that the woman instantly died, drowning in a huge pool of purple blood. Armen rose at the sound of a woman's worried voice. The lady of the house found him standing over the twisted, bloody body of their maid. She stood there for a long moment, staring first at him, then at the body, until she suddenly began to back away, her legs buckling beneath her. Armen watched her with a devilish smile. He relished her fear. And when she thought she was safe, he immediately gave chase. The woman fled through the elegant living room, glancing back in terror. Finally, she reached her three-year-old's bed and wrapped her arms around him, wanting to protect him.
"Ma... Mommy..." the still-sleepy boy whispered. "Mommy, what happened...?
" "Nothing... everything will be alright... nothing..." her voice caught in her throat.
She hadn't even heard Armen stand over her. She only felt the terrible cold radiating from his body. She raised her fearful eyes to him, but it wasn't for herself, but for the child she held protectively in her arms. This enraged him even more. With a violent movement, he ripped the tiny child from her arms and, holding him against his chest, placed a knife against his neck. A piercing scream of despair escaped the woman's throat. Without hesitation, she rushed to her child's aid, but as soon as she reached Armen, he mercilessly slit the boy's throat. The child let out a soft scream, then, covered in blood, collapsed to the ground. The woman of the house rushed to him, screaming horribly. She grabbed him again and began to rock helplessly, whispering the boy's name hysterically. Armen stood over her. Warm, red blood dripped from the knife in his hand. He felt no pity for her, not for a single split second did he feel either regret or pity. Silently and smoothly, he knelt beside her and looked into her lifeless, tearful eyes. She seemed to have lost her mind as she rocked back and forth, cradling the pale blue corpse of her child. Armen smiled at her, malicious and ominous.
"Wh-who are you?!" the woman stammered desperately. "Why...?! W-why...?"
But he didn't speak. With one deft thrust, he pierced her long, swan-like neck, then dragged the knife down her throat. The glassy-eyed woman slumped to the ground, but she didn't release the child from her arms...
He knelt beside her for a moment, staring at the purple blood spreading in a large pool across the polished wooden floor. Then he rose and was about to leave when he suddenly had a strange feeling, as if someone else were still in the house. He paused in the hallway, inadvertently stepping in the maid's blood, and began to listen. The faint sound of rapid breathing reached his ears. He slowly turned his head and looked at the wooden, spiraling stairs leading upstairs. He turned and silently climbed the stairs. He searched every room before reaching the last one, which contained only a large bed, with four pillars supporting a canopy. The room was completely dark, as the windows were tightly covered with black curtains. He approached the bed, hearing rapid, shallow breathing. When he gently pulled the canopy aside, the girl appeared. Her skin was snow-white, and he could see the entire mesh of her blue veins through it. Her raven-black hair was scattered across the white pillow, her eyes closed, and her trembling, frail hands clutched the sheets. She was sick; he could tell she had a very high fever; she probably hadn't even noticed anyone was beside her. He gripped the knife tighter in his hand and leaned over the girl to kill her. But at that moment, as the blade approached the seventeen-year-old's emaciated neck, she opened her eyes. That made him hesitate. Her eyes were as dark as her raven-black hair, yet glistening with fever. He narrowed his gaze, bringing the knife to her neck again. The girl looked at the gleaming blade of the dagger, then back at him.
"...finally..." she whispered, closing her tearful eyes.
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