Carthago !

Si’aspiqo wheezes:

14. On Goddesses

I have been reflecting upon the matter of the statue in the hidden room, and its implications.

It is not unreasonable to speculate that the statue itself is indeed a modern Greek rendition of Aphrodite, as suggested by my observant colleague Amphius of Crete. We know there has been Greek interest in this place of late, However I suspect a connection with the Alexandrian conquest of the Eastern world, when strange and ancient mysteries were overrun by the great conqueror’s armies and old knowledge brought to light for those with eyes to see. This, I believe, has lead to the modern interest in Kaskator which in turn brings us here.

Here in the lands close to Phoenician-founded Carthage, the Goddess statue is better understood to represent Astarte, as the Greeks call her, or Astoreth of the Phoenician rite. I say Astoreth because she is clearly not her close sister-goddess Tanit, or our fine leader Agripinus the military priest would recognise her. The symbolism of Tanit is not frequently erotic, an aspect of the statue that our soldier-priest clearly recognised in the matter of his close inspection of her, um, divine form.

I would venture that Astoreth, whom I might refer to as Isis were I in the northern lands of the great river, like any proper goddess has earlier avatars and sister-goddesses, mostly forgotten in this modern age here in the west, but still whispered amongst the wise of the North East.

You might say Astoreth is a goddess of love and war, the strong passions, and not the dismal gloom of dreams of the dead and the shadow that seems to hang over this region of Teveste, called Kaskator moving the Numidian people to declare it taboo.

My thoughts are caught by the observation of our good guide, Serif, as much as I can make out of his low-Greek, Arma argot, that the tale of his people is that this place was never until very recently the subject of interest by Greeks of modern times or their forebears, but that in ancient times the “Summer people” dug here for “the blood of the earth”. Quite what the blood of the earth means is unclear to me as yet. I speculate though that the Summer people are not some seasonal local tribe, but the ancient people of the land of the two rivers, far to the east, who worshipped, among others, a Queen of Heaven, called Astoreth in later days but who is also named Ishtar and Inanna. Inanna is she who had a sister Queen whom she tried to rob of her realm and was struck dead by the eternal judges for her impertinence and usurpation. Being a goddess she got better, of course, and someone else bore the price of her deeds.

You will note that the Shadow lies on this land. Several of us have head a sweet voice calling from the depths. I feel it in my bones and see the dead passing by in my dreams. It attracts the Darklings I believe. We have, as a party, fought dead men and darklings in the gloom of Kaskator.

Therefore, I have little doubt that the depths of the Kaskator impinge in some way, whether physically or symbolically, on the realm of Inanna’s sister: Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld and of the Dead.

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

25. Encounter with a Lamia

I, Si'aspiqo of Khem write these words for future scholars that the fuller truth be known than revealed in the account known as The Boast of Sammus the Gaul. For while that is an excellent and detailed account of many of the events within and surrounding the matter of Kaskator, there are details to which bold Sammus was not privy. Therefore I shall supplement his account, concentrating on matters of arcana and knowledge, where he has excelled in reportage on matters physical and of mundane acts of might.

The mixture of hooves and paws, the luring song and Sammus’s tale of erotic beauty made it easy to identify the creature as what the Greeks call a lamia, born of a female tribe descended from a family cursed by savage acts of lust and jealousy by rival gods, becoming a shape-changing witch-beasts of terrible lusts — both carnal and carnivorous.

I might parenthesise, however, that a story not much told here in the adjuncts of Carthage, but known in my homeland from prophetic legend, refers to an ancient queen (or sometimes king) of the west (or sometimes east) in the times when even royalty were born in caves who, for reasons to tedious to go into here save there may be one of the common saviour-myths intertwined, ordered her soldiers to seize children from their mothers’ arms and slaughter them, which inhuman order caused her to turn bestial in appearance matching her spirit and roam these western lands ever since. Furthermore, this queen Lamia’s father, it might be noted, was supposedly the lost pharaoh Belus (the connection explaining how the story came to be known in the lands of the Nile, I presume) and her mother was, sometimes, Lybie mother-queen of lands of Libya, the beast queen being exiled to the western wilderness in which we found ourselves.

So. I was reflecting upon these first and second levels of arcana scholarship, and not a little distracted by the pressing matter of making my analysis of a formulary scroll for the interesting, and usefully saleable, incantation of the wider shield against missiles, when a side venture to seek out and destroy this lamia creature was proposed by the three strong right arms of the party: Soldier-Priest Agripinus late of the Sacred Band of Carthage and captain of our little band, Amphius the sensitive and observant Cretan sailor whose gentle wooings few locks or traps may resist, and Oiorpata of the Accurate Bow, the Scythian Steppe amazon. She brings to mind another theory concerning a Scythian presence for the lamian tribe— but perhaps I digress.

There was, understandably, some concern amongst the strong-in-arm that the company of my donkey might slow their pursuit of the creature in the search for her lair. The idea of balancing on the moth-eaten little beast's saw-like backbone did not appeal to me either; also an interesting scroll beckoned so I was not disappointed that they felt the need for speed precluded my accompanying them. Serif the Numidian, our local guide and the representative of the people of these lands, was also left ostensibly to guard this base-camp with its beasts and supplies, and perhaps to guard myself, out of consideration for my venerable age.

The hunter set off on their ponies. Serif turned to practicing close-quarters javelin casts, killing a tree stump and a sack of earth many times over. It was most distracting as I sat in the doorway of our sleeping hut with my interesting scroll. Nonetheless I persevered and puzzled over the scroll, and pondered the deeper hidden meanings of the hieroglyphs. It seemed to me that the Carthaginian who made notes in the margin had a poor grasp of our Khemite usages in such works. Much worse than my own, admittedly shaky, grasp of the Punic script he wrote them in. Many of these notes contained basic errors in the primary transplation, they ignored secondary meanings, and any tertiary level was clearly way beyond the scribbler.

Serif, once convinced the splintered tree stump and the earth spilling from what was more like a net than a sack by the time he was finished, were no threat, turned to resharpening his javelin points. The regular strokes of the stone were little problem, but the irregular pauses to test a point or edge, perhaps continue sharpening, perhaps select anew, perhaps gaze off after the direction where the lamia hunters disappeared… well. He was clearly fretting about something.

My sense of superiority over the Punic ‘scholar’ was somewhat troubled as more lamia-lore floated to the forefront of my thoughts. I do suppose that I may have dozed momentarily and allowed dreams to bring back to me something I knew, but had forgotten, lore of the tertiary level I had failed to parse correctly, of the root and bedrock that lies under the popular consciousness of the Greek interpretations of the lamia legends. The Assyrian name for that which the Greeks call lamia is the Ardat Lilitu which they classed as Alu, an evil spirit and a far more consequential thing than the wild, cursed witch-woman of the Greek tale.

Between Serif’s distraction and intermittent attempts to distract himself from it, and my own growing unease, it was plain to me that my attempt to envision the rhythm of a spell structure from the scroll’s hieroglyphs was doomed for this day. Instead I stood, on only the third attempt I may say, such was my haste and, trying not to lean on my staff too obviously, made my way over to where the Numidian was testing his points again.

“Good Serif,” I said, “You are troubled. I am an elder of my people and see this in you. I have some small power to seek Auguries and read Answers. Speak your concern in simple terms and I shall Ask for direction.”

He looked long at me, weighing my words in the way of an experienced man.

“It is the woman,” he said. “When we in Teveste, she take test of manhood, good, it look child-play. Grandmother-mine last woman take test our tribe. She make laugh loud see it done so lightly.
“But fear woman too brave.
“Wonder what danger encounter, here we sit, watch wind blow?“

(I render the Arma bastard-tongue as I heard it, which is poorly for I have little of the spoken Greek it is based upon, and not much more of the Punic from which it borrows words. Observing Serif speaking his own tongue with his tribes' elders I know he is far more eloquent that I can hear him.)

His long pause before answering had given me the opportunity to bring to mind fully the rhythm of the cantrip rhyme within which I must frame his question to the hidden weavers, but before I could ask, the ever-present burning in my chest flared and I must cough and spit a gobbet into the dust of the kraal, shattering the essential rhythm.

Still, it never does to be too formal when seeking fortunes. All things are connected and there is much significance hidden in chance events. So I looked down to the dust at my feet to examine the pattern of the phlegm, and the bloody threads within, to read an omen in the sigil thus chance-scribed. To my shock there was only blood there, nothing that was not red. It is rare to see a portent so clearly written. Even Serif, hearing my wheezing gasp and following the direction I was looking, could read that omen. There was not a moment to be lost.

“Good Serif, you will rope me to a beast and get us to them as fast as you can.” Serif sprang into action and ran for the beasts, stabled in one of the larger huts. I rushed, as much as I could with the staff, and so presenting the very embodiment of the Theban Sphinx’s riddle, back to the sleeping hut and fumbled food and my medicine pouch into a sack and torches into a satchel. What else could I bring? The glass amphorae? A wild throw of the knucklebones as we did not know what they contained, only that they were found in a magician’s laboratory. Out of the hut door I could see the ponies scattering as Serif freed them into the wider compound.

A forked twig lying by the doorway caught my eye. So be it. I composed the Question: What is the One Thing that is essential, in the proper cantrip formulation then tossed the twig into the air, even as Serif vaulted onto his pony and rode towards me. A passing sylph sent it whirling up and around, then dropped it, turning to play with some dust instead. The twig spiralled down, to catch in my hair. Well… One must be very careful when interpreting omens concerning oneself, so rather than try I elected silent contemplation of the implication of this.

I had only moments to muse, as Serif quickly arrived in a cloud of dust, swung down off his pony, scooped me up as if I were just the bag of bones I look like and sat me behind the blanket pad on his pony’s back.

“We go now-now, you travel as wounded man after battle.“

He looped a rope about my left wrist, mounted to sit in front of me and passed the rope around before himself, looped my right wrist then wound the remaining length around himself.

“Hold tight!” he cried, and urged the beast into a trot. “We track horses, not beast, go faster.”

I was left trying to hold the sack of food pressed between his back and my chest, hunching down trying to keep the top of the sack closed with my chin as he hung over the head of the pony scanning ahead for tracks. Not the most comfortable way to travel, but better than the donkey as I was firmly lashed in position, not cramping my forearms with my terrified grip on some slippery leather thong.

Serif must have seen the tracks he sought for he whispered in the ear of the pony and it sprang into a canter, revising my opinion on comfort somewhat further down, but still surpassing the donkey from the ever-unlighted depths. The pony crossed two streams before I could even be terrified of the jumps, or surprised by running water in the dry brush and dusty hills, as we rode ever westward.

“Trail clear, tracks fresh, we catch them soon!” cried Serif…

The rest was a blur of pony sweat, hills, rocky slopes, crack cliffs and hinted caves, Serif calling to his beast in the Numidian, urging it ever onwards…

And then we were there. I was lifted off the pony and waited a while for the world to stop rolling so, or even to go away forever, but little by little it all settled into coherent reality and so we joined the the hunt for the lamia, so well described by Sammus.

My tale will continue later, in order to footnote other events consequent of the outcome of the lamia hunt…

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

33. Fungi and Pools

(A16a by Sammus’s admirable scheme of identification, I do believe, though I am, of course, open to correction.)

Up the hill to Kaskator to find the entrance door wedged shut again. This time Amphius’s cunning could push out sufficient – or any – wedges, or perhaps there was a further barricade, for nor can the mighty Sammus cause any movement by applying main strength. After some red-faced striving Sammus realised that firmer measures were required and returned to the kraal to collect the party axe, brought with us just in case of such a need.

A few blows, with feeling, demolished the door and the contrivances which held it in place and so we gained entry. Following from the ambush by Darklings in this entranceway corridor and the observation of their survivors’ escape through a previously unnoticed secret door, Amphius applied his skills in earnest to the middle of three alcoves on the right hand wall of the passageway as we entered. On this inspection, more familiar with the designs of the secret ways of this place than when we first passed by and inspected the alcoves, he detected the operating mechanism and passed through to find it opened in another alcove on the other side, which was readily recognised as one faced to look directly along the passage leading to Rogan’s room, the throne room, the pools and a way down to a lower level which last we had only barely glanced at in our earliest exploration.

While Amphius was identifying the location he found on the far side of the concealed access there was on the entranceway side some faint distant rustling to be heard in the darkness beyond us. Agripinus, with him Toxoanassa her arrow nocked just-in-case, stood torch-lit at the first crossways at the top of the stairs and called for the rustlers, whom he supposed to be now-masterless Darklings, to show themselves, but was rebuffed by silence.

Further explorations of the other alcove of the middle pair of the entranceway found that too is a concealed shortcut to the corridor which leads to the mushroom room – one of this visit’s targets. Re-investigations of the other four entranceway alcoves reveals nothing more, so the mushrooms were our next fruitful destination.

From our brief glance previously we knew to expect a space carpeted with a host of different types of fungi, some even seeming to float in mid-air. Passing across to examine the far side of the space for ways out was the main aim. The light of the single lit torch I carried being insufficient to the task of adequately illuminating the fullness of the space, Agripinus called upon his deity, Tanit, to bring forth her Light. This seemed to cause a stir amongst the ’srooms, or perhaps just revealed clearly what we did not notice in poorer torch light, for it seemed to me that there was a pattern of movement in the air above them, and a rippling amongst the many fruiting bodies. We had already taken the precaution of masking ourselves to limit inhaling such mould spores doubtless present here in abundance, but so concerned was I by the apparent activity I summoned repeated gusts of wind to blow from the doorway at our backs into the room, to carry away the fine dust of floating spores I suspected were the ‘movement’ in the air.

Agripinus was undaunted by mere mushrooms and carefully picked his way into a bare patch within the room, and called Amphius to follow him as he pressed on, his Tanit-light revealing an wide room with a side alcove which his light cast into deeper shadow by the inconveniences of layout and, nearer, signs of a dais, mostly covered by larger and more grotesque fungal bodies.

As he picked his way carefully further in I was assessing the fungi nearest me, while keeping up the summoned breezes. Some were shaped like a starfish, others most resembled bird’s nests. Some even I, no mycophile, recognised as poisonous and rather regretted the lack of thick gloves and a gathering basket for they could be harvested and dried and fetch a coin or three at certain market stalls… However my close attention on the growths before me led to an alarming conclusion. Despite the different varieties I could see, all seemed to have a common feature, a waving pattern of fine tendrils above them, catching the light in a way that seen close up made little sense, but across the entirety of the room and well-lit might make a pattern of special significance.

I called a warning to those in the room to carefully make haste out, backed away myself to give room for a faster exit and concentrated my cleansing gusts to blow loose spores from myself and close companions.

My concern about the waving, swirling patterns made by the fungus fronds proved well-founded, for Agripinus, with the best light and thus the best view of the wider pattern, was bemused, standing still in the middle of the room until Amphius abandoned his usual discreet subtlety in acquisitions and performed a smash-an-grab retrieval of the slack-jawed, dribbling priest, heedless of the pretty toadstools, fallen stars and intricate birds nests so carefully stepped around and across moments earlier, now crushed beneath his sandals, weighted as he was by a limp priest slung over his shoulders.

Withdrawing from the fascinating fungi - or was it one single fungal entity masquerading as several tribes of the fungal nation, I wondered - I kept up the winds to blow off spores, but it was clear that Amphius of the heavy heedless sandals and to a slightly lesser extent the bold explorer Agripinus were much bespored in their lower reaches and that only careful washing would rid them of the contamination and likely as severe bout of toenail rot as one might ever possibly fear. We retreated to the outside world where the once more functional priest dug some holes and summoned clean water by his god’s will to fill them to wash off the last clinging spores.

I regret that such was my concern with proper cleansing of our party that I entirely missed the chance to have one of the younger-eyed ones examine the miniscule spores and report to me whether there was one kind or many, which might answer the question of the singular or multiple nature of the beast. It is to be hoped that the spores that we washed to the ground thereabouts will prove no more than averagely able to survive the outside world and whatever creatures find fungal spores a tasty dish should dine richly by our actions.

The warmth of the day dried the water from clothes and our persons quickly. Less than an hour passed before we were ready to re-enter the Kaskator labyrinth, this time with the intention to inspect the room of the fourteen pools more closely. For practice we cut through the recently revealed secret shortcut from the middle alcove of the entrance passage and then strode along the passage - pausing every three or four steps for me to catch my breath - before taking the first door on our left, ignoring entirely the slightly earlier right hand door leading to the throne room, Ba’al, and the depths.

At the pool room we called upon Tanit, through Agripinus, for the miracle of light and, to help the gods reward those who help themselves, the more mundane miracle of a bagful of torches, we started to examine systematically the pools and their layout that we had previously stumbled around looking for doors out while trying not to fall in. That visit had been complicated by the presence of venomous centipedes scuttling about the floor. This time, at the left hand extent of the pool array, Amphius was dropped on by tick of prodigious size and hunger. For all that the tick was just a balloon of skin rapidly filling with Ampius’s blood it seemed quite difficult to damage or drive off, but perhaps that was just because of the way Amphius was writhing on the ground and screaming “Get it off! Get it off” in a weakening voice that so concerned Agripinus he called on his god to heal the Cretan even as the predator still sucked at his essence. Sammus grasped the creature and attempted to pull it way, but it seemed untroubled to sacrifice the leg he held, still twitching in his hand, likely sustained by it’s freshly invigorated meal. Fortunately the bloodsucker was less resistant to a flaming torch, even though my blows were weak compare to those of any of the other members of our band, I had encouraged the torch to emulate Alexander himself, to burn oh so brightly, though it’s life be brief, it was longer than the time granted to tick it seared.

Toxoanassa had kept a wary eye on the ceiling where she could make out creeping movements, waiting for the moments when the light cast by the bright, but wildly flailing, steadied long enough to give her a target. She loosed several arrows, knocking two ticks to the floor which were hunted down once the tick feasting on Amphius had met its fiery end.

Taking stock of the situation, and particularly the empty bag of reserve torches, I had to advise Agripinus and the band that, to my regret, we must withdraw from this fascinating place to restock with lights, having only a single torch left and that now burning, the reserve having been used in the survey of the pools or burnt out in the battle with Amphius’s tick.

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

34. Pools and Tools

(A16b by Sammus’s admirable scheme of identification, I do believe, though I am, of course, still open to correction.)

Having restocked on torches and poured a particularly thick barley porridge into Amphius to fill some of the gaps left by the tick earlier in the day, we returned to Kaskator to complete the initial survey of the pools (appended in a separate note).

Finding a pool full of sea-dark wine the soldier-priest could not help himself but to taste a drop of it, withdrawn on the tip of his finger. It seemed he found it good, for a beatific smile passed across his face as he described it as rich in flavour and full bodied, as from a distant, little-known region of Italia, it seems.

Much encouraged he repeated his carefully planned and measured experimentation on a vibrantly green pool nearby, one with a peppery, tangy herbal aroma. The merest touch of his little finger and it seemed he found it bad, for an excruciated rictus stopped on his face as and a small glob of green pond slime started to eat its way up the finger, swelling as it did so. A scrabble to wash it off with a potful of holy water proved ineffective, so yet another torch gave its all as I focussed it to the hottest, tightest flame yet, to sear off the end and no more of his throbblingly green finger. The touch of fire proved most efficacious. The demonic pond scum blackened to dust in an instant, though it seems the tip of the finger cannot be saved and he will bear the scarred stump to his grave. A salutary lesson: never conduct experiments upon yourself.

The survey being completed, and with no one else volunteering to possibly give their all in the cause of knowledge, we made our way to the next place of interest to some, an empty tool room we’d already surveyed, and a slightly more interesting dropping-bars trap.

Our route from the pool room took us through the bottle-shaped room to the irregular threeway junction just beyond where there was a possible encounter with a denizen of this underworld, down the passage we were not taking. Perhaps a darkling, but musing on the pools, I have to admit the event details rather passed me by as no blows were exchanged.

Then on to the tool room and the trap in the parallel corridor. Despite intensive investigation the trap seemed only to be a trap, nothing was found beyond it that it might be protecting, and the tool room at its second time of searching revealed naught but an already known broken vice and a previously overlooked fragment of iron saw-blade.

Our rejoicing at this triumph of exploration is slightly muted, perhaps overshadowed by a slight watchfulness at our back path and an ear or two cocked for the faint rustlings of others moving about this place. Having no more ambitions for this exploration and carefully reckoning the likely rate of torch consumption should we meet opposition we withdrew.

There were rustlings away in the dark of an untaken arm of the first T junction leaving the tool room area. With some thought of not taking the same route out as in we took the concealed entrance to what we dub the torture chamber, through the wizard’s store and so avoided the three-way junction and emerged in the bottle shaped room from another concealed entrance.

Then we were onto the highway out. As we passed over the crossroads to the steps there may have been an echo of a movement out of place, off in the dark of the right hand passage, but no ambush was sprung on us at the alcoves, then we were out from the cool gloom of Kaskator into the warmth and light of the northern spring.

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

35. The Pools

I’ve tried to emphasise the three rows of pools and the couple of pools at each end not in the main groupings:

    14
   |
13 |   12   11   09
   *----------------*
            10   08 | 03   05
                    *---------*
                 01 | 02   04  \
                    |           \
                    |         06  07
                  door


   01-14 = pool
    |/-  = pathway
    *    = junction / turn

Pools are approx 6ft across, empty ones 2ft deep.

1. Swirly green liquid. Fascinating?
2. Clear water, little fishes.
3. Bubbling, steam, crusty mineral deposit at sides.
4. Steaming but still. Through steam (fog?) surface like white rock or ice?
5. Shimmering, sparkly liquid.
6. Water seems deep, sparkle far away at bottom, treasure-like?
7. Almost dry. Unexamined puddle in centre.
8. Dry. Rim has smeared cuneiform inscription [Si' made copy].
9. Crystal clear liquid, still.
10. Opaque, dark purple-red liquid. Tastes & smells like good wine. Ripples?
11. Slimy green murky water. Third full. Smells distinctly herbal: minty/peppery. Green gloop clots are an aggressive demonic pond scum. Eats priestly flesh. Impervious to blessed water. Vulnerable to fire.
12. Murky-gray liquid, reminiscent of washing water colour.
13. Clear water (?) with bubbles. Chemically smell, possibly sulphurous, induces cough/sneeze. ‘Bronze’ glint at bottom: key? [Si' doesn't think it’ll be bronze if the chemical smell is sulphurous. Unless magic.]
14. Deep clear pink; image at/on bottom which Si' saw in prophetic dream before he came west.

It is not yet clear to me whether this place is a preservation store or actually generates its contents; the empty and lower filled pools argue for the former, but more research is needed. Obviously if this place can produce the pools’ contents it is rather valuable. Depending what the contents actually are, simple looting might be profitable, but even as storage there is value here. I can’t yet begin to assess the forces channelled here and the controlling spells or god-workings that shape this place.

(I have heard there is something like this pool array in the temples of Karnack, though I have not seen it with my own eyes.)

I can however envision a preliminary programme of investigation of the pools, but it’ll take an investment in time, light sources, materials and volunteer victims – Agripinus was lucky not to qualify fully for the designation. Some materials and equipment might be supplied by the magician’s store on the route to the pool room. Time, light and experimental subjects are our tightest constraints, though small creatures of the lands hereabouts might be captured for the simpler toxicity tests.

How we might practically undertake any investigation needs some discussion in view of the lurking of possibly hostile forces and our lack of knowledge of full extent of this Kaskator in the lower depths. Perhaps we should proceed with one of the pools for now rather than a full programme, so we might have preliminary results to report to our sponsors to encourage further investment; I would favour pool 14 of course, having been brought to this place by a dream of the image at the bottom of the pool.

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

36. The Pit Trap

A16c per Sammus.

We returned to Kaskator in the mid-afternoon, having held council on where to explore next. The lower level is acknowledged as a necessary target, but there is still work to do in evaluating the pools and there remain one or two places on the upper level in want of detailed examination. We agree to Amphius further exploring a suspected pit trap and the door beyond it, at the furthest extent of the main entrance passageway, just past the empty room noted by the symbols “003”. How to safely examine and if necessary trigger this pit provokes some discussion from which arises a plan to expend some bed-frames from the nearby barracks room at the end of the windy passage.

The first door was still wrecked, with no further attempt to block it since we left after our previous visit. To no one’s surprise there are faint sounds off down one arm of the entrance crossroads. We discussed how to reach the lurkers to confirm what or who they are, but plans for sudden dashes fall firstly on our supposition that our need for lights put us at some disadvantage in the matter of achieving surprise against the denizens of the dark and secondly on the feeling we do not have the numbers that we can afford to split up in lonely chases down dark passageways.

As the lurkers in the dark did not deign to ambush us at the crossroads we proceeded directly along the entrance passage, ignoring closed doors and a passage on the left which leads to the bottle-shaped room, but take the first passage leading right and on to the door at the end of it, being the entrance to the Wide Windy Way.

A small time is spent in confirming our memories of the Windy Way, the vents high up the walls we presume give the hilltop winds access here and how the door is constructed deliberately to facilitate it to blow closed. Satisfied we understood the necessary basics, though not the cunning details of how it was all achieved in design and building, we proceeded to the further end of the Wide Windy Way, lit not only by the torch I bore, but also by an enclosed oil lamp, a recent purchase in Carthage by Agripinus, and Amphius’s cunningly shuttered dark lantern, which can cast directional beams rather than lighting all about it.

Two bed frames were collected from the barracks and carried along the WWW. The weight of the frames is nothing to my mightily muscled companions, even the least muscled of them could lift a one, but the size and shape seemed to them to necessitate two bed-bearers to per frame to manage it and navigate doors successfully. Not only was I left carrying two lanterns and the torch, but the warriors all had their hands full of beds rather than sword, shield and bow. This did seem entirely safe should the lurkers come at us in the narrower passages, so after some discussion one frame is left behind at the end of the WWW so only two of the strong in arm are encumbered for the journey to rejoin the main access passage there to turn right and right again and on past the door to ‘003’ on our left, then a cautious advance to the area of the supposed pit trap.

Amphius undertook a careful inspection of the near end of the supposed trap, by light of torch and lanterns, but as before, could not find a trigger as he’d expected from his previous inspection some months ago now. Skill and subtlety having come to naught, the bed frame was launched to crash down onto the ‘trapped’ area, but with no resultant excitment to accompany the echos and ringing in our ears. The second frame was retrieved – with a distant accompaniment of scurrying heard down the dark passages towards the entrance crossroads – and added to the first, again to no effect.

We retired at this point to refresh our memories of the nearby room ‘003’ and particularly an alcove there, wondering whether one of the more cunningly artificed hidden entrances might lurk there. The room was empty and any hidden way remained hidden. We noted that this is one of the ‘built’ chambers, constructed or, or faced with, shaped stone slabs.

The diversion to the ‘003’ having proved to be merely that: a diversion, we return to the trap corridor. Amphius determed there was perhaps a safe ledge unlikely to be a moving part of his supposed trap and edges along it, pausing to hammer spikes into the wall and loop rope about them and himself. The hammering is noisy and risky work for Amphius missteps while working and puts a foot off the ledge onto the trap, but to no outcome and he reaches the intriguingly trap-protected door. After more spikes, this time in the door jamb, and additional loops of the rope he set to investigating how to open the door, which proved rather more challenging than expected; there seemed to be no mechanism, no handle even. Forgetting his situation for a moment he stepped back to contemplate the puzzle of the door. Back onto the corridor and finally the trap was triggered, the floor hinged open the beds dropped out of sight, down to a loud splash below. Ampius’s rope work proved its value so the loss of a floor to stand on only minorly inconvenienced him in regaining a footing and rejoining us beyond the collapsed floor. The door, we now suppose, must only be a dummy, a lure for the pit trap.

Further investigations with dropped torches suggests a 40ft drop to a large pool. With more rope from Toxoanassa Amphius climbs down the hole, reporting a 15ft shaft opening into the ceiling of a natural cave, mostly a pool at least deep enough to entirely engulph the bed frames, and a wet passage off, though direction of flow is unclear.

To drop all of us into the depths, with no sure route of return, seems ill-advised we all agree and so leave Kaskator, with only a hint of scurrying footsteps at the other side passage of the crossroads as we depart.

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

37. The Second Expedition, Second Night

A16d, per Sammus.

On this return from Kaskator we discussed the threat of the darklings, whom we presume to be the scurriers in the dark underground, coming out after us. Overall we think this is likely, and so make checks of the ground close by the kraal for darkling tracks, but find none recent. Even so we take care to set our night watch order and set the basic protections in place.

The strength of the darking response does come as a surprise perhaps, particularly for Toxoanassa and Amphius who receive a volley of at least half a dozen javelins as they stand watch in the first part of the night. Both are struck and seek cover, Toxoanassa inside the hut door and Amphius crouching in the shelter of the hut wall.

More javelins, rocks and thrown club-sticks follow. It seemed that we were well lit for the darkings outside by our own firelight in the hut and, Amphius discovered, outside by the merest glint starlight and thin moon. Amphius was driven back inside by the number of sticks and stones he attracted, despite his return shots often hitting. Toxoanassa had the advantage of the cover of the hut doorpost and picks out shots of her own, at lower risk than Amphius, reported she could make out just under a dozen pairs of eyes in the limited section of the night she can see from indoors.

(It is perhaps necessary to remark that, like some night-hunting birds and beasts, it seems darklings have some reflective component to their eyes which reveals them if they look directly at someone who is lit while not blinded by that light.)

I reduced the hut fire to a low smoulder and laid my hands on my pouch of fire-flutes while Agripinus crouched in the doorway behind his shield and summoned the Light of Tanit to illuminate the kraal and then concentrated the Light to beam from his holy symbol of Tanit, which he held in his hand and moved so a beam of Tanit’s light shone towards places the enemy might take cover, to gave the two archers a better change to spot glowing eyes.

Rocks and throwing-sticks continued to bounce through the doorway and occasionally struke a chance hit. Javelins were infrequent; perhaps only expended when the darklings saw a specific target? No rush came, which was puzzling until Agripinus remarked on a small knot of darklings scrabbling at the ground some 20-30 yards away in the kraal. He was puzzled, but it seemed clear to me that they would be opening the grave of the shedu, and I was not the only one voicing this conclusion. Clearly if they wanted it they should not have it so a sortie was proposed. A moment for the warriors to prepare and close their eyes, then I blew a flash-powder stream from a prepared fire-flute through a summoned flame and a bright sparking flame belched out from our hut doorway, hopefully blinding some of the watching darklings, followed by Agripinus, Sammus, Toxoanassa and Serif charging out and sweeping away the diggers.

Possession of the partly excavated grave however left them exposed to the darklings’ missiles. Sammus and Agripinus went back-to-back with their shields up and Agrpipinus summoned his arcane spear to stab at the darklings in the bushes closest by, while Toxoanassa and Serif dodge about and seek targets of their own. Amphius continued to watch for targets to shoot from the hut doorway. Someone remarked that there seemed to be a lot more eyes out in the dark than the ‘nearly a dozen’ spoken of earlier. But still they did not take advantage of that weight of numbers and close.

After a few moments, and more brickbats, there is a shout off in the darkness, which I hear as a voice of command in a version of the old tongue of Egyptian lands, ordering “Fall back! Left wing first!”

Even as I translated this and called it out to the rest of the band I realised that I can talk to the darklings, though we’d earlier remarked that we’d never heard speech from them, one out there has Egyptian and others in the dark understand it. This is not my understanding alone and a fast discussion occurred amongst my companions as they note the slackening of incoming missiles and the disappearance of targets of their own. I had no breath to waste on idle chitchat while I prepared to step outside and so started what seemed to me a necessary summoning…

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

044: A Map Key

…work in progress…

The entrance corridor is assumed to run South to North.

001

“a 20-foot square chamber stacked with wooden furniture. In the corner was a table with sawdust and wood chips underneath and a couple of saws. Some of the tables were of good quality hardwood, but the rest was poorer quality.”

002

Stairs down.

003

“a fifty feet wide chamber, about 12 feet deep, wider to the right than the left. In the right-hand corner was an alcove”

004

Missing: one of the 005s is misnumbered perhaps…?

80

“a wide passage headed off at 45 degrees to the passage we had just left. It was about 20 feet wide and looked like a processional way. As we opened the door a wind seemed to get up, and increased as we closed the door behind us”

Bottle Room

“a 20 feet wide corridor. There was a passage immediately on the right [east], but we realised this headed back towards the crossroads as we could see the glow of our fire. After about 30 feet the corridor narrowed and immediately before that…” a concealed door in the wall on the left or West

Bottle Room: concealed store

“a roughly triangular room with the [secret] door in the base … filled with building supplies: beams, 6 wooden doors, door fittings, mortar, nails, heavy rope, masonry blocks and two pots of pitch” (Si': pitch has been used for torches. Is the rope still there?)

Carving

“a large chamber — 20 feet deep and maybe 60 feet wide. The far wall had minor relief carvings and colourings, which seemed to tell a story. There was also some broken up wooden fixtures. In the far corner was some remaining furniture – a bed, and a desk or similar, which had been overturned. There was a door on either side of where we had entered the room.”
… “The frieze showed a bald, shaven headed priest, who looked slightly Egyptian, maybe Persian. He was on a hilltop with three peaks, similar to where we were. There was a battle scene with the enemy fleeing. The shaven headed figure was a priest or wizard casting a curse or power over the barbarians, and creatures of the night.” … “Si'aspiqo suspected there was night demon or ailu depicted. There was worn cuneiform around the border.”
— room off: a corridor trap. Illusion gold, dropping prison bars.
— room off: a 20'x20' walk-in closet or dressing room?

Chamber

a large square room with a table in the centre … wooden cabinets on the north wall with lots of earthenware jars, from which emanated a complex mix of musty odours. Arcana were scratched on the walls and floor amidst the thick layer of dust … There were more wooden tables, but the central table was a smooth piece of black slate.

Ro-gan Gym

“a room 20 feet across, and about 50 feet wide, 10 feet to left 40 to right. There was a door straight ahead in the opposite wall. The far wall was set up with targets, and there were empty hoppers for javelins or arrows. There were iron bars on a rack on another wall of different diameters. In one corner there was a metal fitting in the roof with a rope hanging down to the floor, and there was a rack with some dummy weapons, blunt and extra heavy”

Statue

(This is an ante-room – the statue is in the connected room?)

“…disordered furniture … about 20 feet wide and 40 feet long … exit on the right-hand side and a fireplace in the far left-hand corner, with two carved wooden chairs at the far end. They were each carved from a single piece of good quality wood. The other furniture was more mundane. There seemed to be carving in the walls and the decorations looked a little Persian to Si'aspiqo. The exit was a passage, which led to a door”

Statue (connected)

“…a stone statue of a beautiful naked woman. The room was 20 feet wide and 30 to 40 feet wide with a bench seat around three of the four walls. Amphius thought the statue looked like the Greek goddess Aphrodite”

Statue (opposite)

“a narrow room 10 to 12 feet wide and 50 to 60 feet long. There were shards of wood on the floor, maybe smashed up furniture that had been used as firewood, as there were two firepits towards the end on the right, with chimneys. After the firepits the room opened out on the right and there was a door”

Torture

“chained to the wall … a skeleton … very large … with the bones held together by wire. There were wooden tables and a heavy stone table in the centre of the room. … The room was about 30 feet deep by 40 or 50 feet across. There was an empty fire pit in the middle with ancient ashes. In one corner were two large wooden barrels, and a stone block next to them on which were perched a few ceramic containers and some glass. There was also an upright plain wooden sarcophagus. On one wall was a large mechanism, which appeared to be designed to stretch people.”

Chambe[r, Wizard’s]

Workroom / store of flasks of ingredients and ritual requisites.

To do:

• 005 (North)
• 005 (South)
• 006
• Armoury
• Baal
• Bedroom
• Beds Chests Tables (Barracks)
• ChalkDiagram
• CloakRoom
• CoalDust
• Forge (007)
• Mushrooms
• OfficerArmoury
• PoolRoom
• RedRoom
• StashHide
• Store Middle
• Store North / Darkling
• Store South
• ThroneRoom
• Tools
• Well

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheeze:

057: The Matter of the Spiders from the Underworld and How to Keep Them There

At the entrance to the cave of the spider-cleft we found inscriptions ancient, carved in the stone, and others recent and painted on the stone, but in the ancient cuneiform. There too was a carved stone representation of a lion-headed being with snake-like mane, made in an unfamiliar style.

I did not recognise this figure at first, but further consideration on later visits and helpful observations from my companions concerning the eastern style of the piece, gave me to realise what I saw initially as snakes and a mane there likely braided hair of the ancient Assyrians or even their predecessors, the people of Sumer.

The use of the statue is part of an attempt to keep denizens of the underworld from leaving it to trouble the living. This brought to mind the ancient god Nergal, both a ruler of the underworld as consort of Ereshkigal, and a god of death through war and pestilence. However, the statue does not bear the signs: of his double-headed mace, or the two sickle-axes, or the lion-headed mace, which makes an identification as Nergal something of a strained one.

If not Nergal, then who? It may be not be the pure pragmatism of simply choosing a smaller circumference to inscribe that the barrier inscriptions are at a narrowing of the access passage. Are not gateways narrow opening in walls? With this insight it now seems to me likely that the entity portrayed is Neti, the Chief Gatekeeper of the Seven Gates of the Underworld, Gatekeeper of the Palace Ganzer, servant of the Queen of the Underworld, Ereshkigal.

Thus we may need to approach Neti to ask him to keep this particular gateway shut. How are we do do that lacking a Neti-priest? It is possible to petition gods without a priest, but a little more difficult without the established practices, knowledge and agreements a temple gathers over the years. Nonetheless the general process, stripped of the disciplines of the reinforcing rituals of temples, is clear: one makes an appropriate offering, calling upon the name of the god to get their attention, makes one’s plea and awaits an answer.

The question uppermost in my mind about this process concerns the very first step, the sacrifice: What is an appropriate sacrifice to Neti?

In an attempt to put some practical boundaries on this, I should like to speak with you – likely through Agripinus who commands the common languages between us better than I – of your own practical experience or knowledge by reputation of sacrificial practice of your various peoples, concerning size of sacrifice and size of boon asked: I ask this with due respect for your cult secrets and mysteries. I mean no intrusion, I just seek to review what is publicly known, in order to scope our request.

For my own part, if I may speculate, it occurs to me that we do have some stock of doors to hand in the upper level of Kaskator, which might be of interest to a guardian of gateways – whether as sacrifice, or perhaps even as an installation of a door for the Keeper to keep (closed...) if, say, our Darkling allies are up to the construction task.

P.S. As a footnote:

— I recall once seeing an text on the sacrificial practices of the Assyrians where ‘bloody earth’ played some part in their rites, which seemed to fit their wider reputation. The text though went on to argue that the glyphs for bloody earth could also be read as blood of the earth, i.e. earthblood. Our recent experience of the ‘frankincense-like’ odour in the earthblood cave gives that a new significance I feel, and another possible contribution the darklings, as controllers of the earthblood, might make in any petitioning we undertake.

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheeze:

78: B1 – The Job Offer

Night fell and Carthage faded into gloom behind us. I dare say that if I had turned around I night have seen the pinpricks of light marking the great city, but in this unexpected second wind of my life I would rather look forward to whatever new things may come.

Or so I thought at first as we were rowed out of Carthage port. Despite the expectation of new things the rocking of the triacontor Morning Breeze over the swells in a steady evening breeze, fair for Sardinia, lulled me to unexpected sleep even as I thought to make conversation with my comrades, our lookouts, Amphius of the night eye and Toxoanasa – or rather the “Oiopata”, her tribal name, as she chooses to be here amongst strangers.

Sleep or no, I walked forward to speak with them, but found them ever a few steps beyond me. So, yes, it was one of those dreams that have marked the turning points of my life. This time it was not the goddess I now carry in my pack, Astarte-Bound, who had brought me here to the far north western wilderness from Kush, calling me in that language I do not know, but understand perfectly from her lips. Now though, first was the the cold, dark breath at my back that froze my body, then the grave-dark voice speaking in the northern tongue, the lower Nile language, that of the true Pharaohs before the Ptolomies.

“Do not fear, child of the Nile! The Gaul perished when he turned to face me. I, Arkon-zar, have taken control of your movement for your safety.”

The voice naming itself Arkon-zar went on acknowledged its debt to the god Ausar, whom the Greeks speak as Osiris, god of the afterlife, the dead, and resurrection. The mortal remains of Arkon-zar were even now with us, being transported to the tomb of their ancestors, but the voice expressed concern that their enemies, both in life and in death, seek to destroy their bones and thus deny their passage to the afterlife and, I presume, resurrection in the Sekhet-Aaru, the Field of Reeds, at Ausar’s blessing.

Arkon-zar’s spirit, on feeling the presence of one capable of walking in the borders of the dreamlands they could reach and noting the accompanying scent of a goddess associated with the underworld (though referring to the Greek’s Isis) had devised a plan of cunning to misdirect their opponents by sending their longtime servants by one route to lead at least some of their enemies stray, while offering the opportunity, with inducements, to me to arrange the escort of the sarcophagus and its mortal remains to the destination somewhere ahead of us.

There were negotiations. Once Arkon-zar was disabused of the notion that my companions were mere hirelings and understood that we came as a group with the agreement of all or not at all, I bargained over the price of the service. The offer to me personally seemed generously fair, a magical boon, but when I challenged the offering to my companions Arkon-zar seemed to regard this as mere mercenary greed, so challenged me to face them; they would increase their offer if I proved my courage in the cause of my companions. Of course a luckless Gaul had ended up dead, but I am Si'aspiqo who carries a goddess and has tasted the Earth’s Blood, so I turned — but was immobilised again even as I took the decision to move. Professing themself to be impressed by my bravery on behalf of my companions — for I had asked nothing extra for myself — Arkon-zar acknowledged that so strongly-bound a group were indeed worthy of a better reward, and increased their offer of material reward by half again, to 30 pounds of silver, which I agreed to put before all.

Then I woke up, feeling quite the most refreshed I have been in 30 years, but of course, I do not recall having tried sleeping for over a whole day in the last 30 years…

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheeze:

82: B3b – A Little Night Dreaming

As Amphius completed his report just short of the mid of the night, attaining a proper sleep in order to meet our Principal in my dreams would have been difficult. It is fortunate, therefore, that a meditation upon prayers set out in the Book of the Dead proved an adequate pathway to a sleep-adjacent trance. A familiar cold, oppressive presence filled my unwaking state.
  “Am I in the presence?” I asked that which stood unseen behind me.
  “It is I. Who else walks in your dreams?”
A question I did not answer directly, of course, but played on the Principal’s expectation of my… caution by mildly and apologetically replying
  “It always does to check.”

I gave my report of the present situation, carefully omitting the arrival of the limpet-like Mago in the hope that he can be prised off, dissuaded, or disposed of, before the lich can notice his presence amongst the damned, and take wroth.

“Kumar, your servant and our guide, tells us there have been changes in this land since he left with you. To his eyes all has changed. War has been fought here. Different tribes claim this land since your departure. We have found that Saar, the walled fortress of three towers, appears to be occupied by what we have been told are ‘broken men’. Our scout has confirmed the fort site is occupied, and the surrounding building have suffered fighting and are ruinous. We believe we are under observation, but nothing untoward has occurred, yet.
  “The road here, which Kumar expected to be open, was blocked at a nearby village by what described itself as a border post in the name of some local king.”

As the Principal had enjoined us not to attract attention I felt I must add that, “Paying what by their lights was substantial inducement in gold to let us pass may have have attracted attention, but they have not followed us and attacked, yet.
  “We have had no contact with your chief servant, but we are not in Saar, rather an ox-cart’s hour short, at a small stream ford, with signs of war close at hand. We can progress, but likely would attract attention from the, presumably, border bandits in Saar.
  “What, oh Principal, is your direction?”

Our Principal acknowledged “a strange silence is explained” as “the House of Musa” had fallen, and then railed for some time against men’s ambition as promoting division, weakness and collapse. It was difficult to understand their words for the dream-stuff could not sustain such extreme emotion. Only fragmentary words scathed my spirit as the darkness roiled about me.

Once they calmed they gave instructions that we are to retake the castle, to drive off, slay or enslave the present occupants – our methods and their fates are not our Principal’s concern. Then break into the catacombs and place the package of remains in the prepared tomb; also down there is our reward, silver and much else, but it is hidden. We shall have to dig, but our Principal will advise us of the secret ways involved in due course.

They can offer no advice whether there may be their loyalists amongst the present occupants. They expect a mere rabble lead by a strongman, and advises slaying that person would quickly bring the rest to heel or cause them to flee. Our Principal is of the opinion there are five ways to take out such a leader: stealth, force, cunning, poison or betrayal. They suggest considering engineering a direct challenge by our best warrior; or formenting distraction and panic by sorcery to cover a stealth decapitation attack; perhaps infiltrate the camp and administer poison to the common pot; or any other any strategem we may devise to move the odds in our favour.

However our Principal was optimistic. Though the situation here is not what they had expected, they had taken precautions against the vagaries of fate and have hidden reserves in case of reversals of fortune. Perhaps the present situation made their plans in some ways easier to fulfill, they thought.

So it is up to us to decide on an approach, to report back of our success and then to seek further direction.

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheezings:

116: E12a – Two Dreamers

’Twas a Dark and Stormy Night…

… aboard the Morning Breeze as we bobbed at anchor on the coast of Iberia somewhere west and north of Kart, following our departure from the said port westwards in notional pursuit of the slaver ships from the Hemeroskopeion raid, which we believed to have preceded us by some weeks.

There was debate about the safety of the anchorage and how the weather would turn, in the face of our general distaste for losing any of our exhaustingly won westward progress. This was it seemed, precarious should the wind shift, but better than trying to hold place by oars alone, close by a coast, in the dark.

I was considering, with little enthusiasm, a night’s intermittent bailing so that others might rest after the day rowing into the relentless west wind, but then a veritable messenger of the gods came to my rescue in the form of the Oiorpata, Toxoanassa, with an offer to let me sleep with her new favourite pet rock.

This pale pebble from the proud pillar of Melkart, prominently placed and perilously protected, was prised by the plunderer in pursuit of her pledge — by the practices of the pony-peoples — to perfectly perform promises of a previous progenitor.

Given where it came from she posited properties of possible puissance pertaining particu— A-hem. She thought it might be as well for it to be slept on in a mindful manner and that I was, of course, the man for the job. Well it was a better offer of work for our company’s benefit than bailing all night.

So I slept on it, with some difficulty because when I closed my eyes the dark pressed in, not as my old friend, but a swirling thing wherein I was buffeted up and down and down and up. Eventually though there was a degree of stability and a light in the darkness, with a strange quality as of first or last light when the colours of the world do not show. A profound greyness illuminated my world.

This light escaped from under the sacking upon which I pillowed my head (never mind that I had rested my head on a bundle of rope in the waking world). From under this pillow I pulled Toxoanassa’s stone and saw the Morning Breeze, its crew and passengers in the grey gleaming. None of the watch-keepers were aware of me except for the the statuesque woman standing at the stern with her hair streaming in the wind, looking back east. Standing by her, suddenly as happens in dream, I recognised Ione, the Hemeroskopeion temple maiden. I could see a faint gleam in the east and she spoke, “There is Apollo’s last light. If we go west we will lose even that, and out there,” she pointed west without looking around, “is the storm.”

And I looked and there were the storm waves marching towards us, the further waves bigger than the waves in front of then until in the darkness of the far distance it seemed they merged with the dark sky and the eternal chaos of the primal dark.

Looking around, closer, it seemed to me also that the wind itself was veering to the south. The rocks of the north shore were taking on the appearance of teeth ready to crush and rend any floating thing the wind might toss into the maw.

I woke with a start and scrabbled for the conch, murmuring the cantrip of weather opening, “I am Amun. I breathe the sweet air into my nostrils. My nostrils inhale the goodly wind without its ever leaving...”. Immediately I heard the faint rasp of the grains blown towards us from the great south sand and the crash of waves on rocks close behind me...

Calling my alarm to wakeful and half dozing comrades Kallicrates seemed doubtful at first, but I suppose I have a patchy record with weather — until Ione woke and spoke in terms of the enlightenment she has been vouchsafed by her sponsor deity. A close, perhaps even common, vision with mine, of course. Then it is all to oars until we are clear of the coast and can flee more or less east, as much as the wind permits.

It is days later, as the Morning Breeze rows rather than blows into Abyla that Ione and I find ourselves parked, out of the way of the sailors, on the same section of wale and can talk quietly about our meeting in the unseen world.

She saw me, that time on the offing of the Demon Sea. She saw me in dream, bearer of the gray light – I wonder as what, because what I saw of her was not the young lady we speak to day-to-day, but something more mature, greater. In her dream she could only look at, only see by, the light of the East, the light of Apollo. She could tell though that I could see further, into the West.

Her suspicion is that the ships that go westwards are under the protection, I might say perhaps the forbearance, of Melkart, her reasoning that He is the ultimate end for sailors on the Demon sea, waiting for them in the depths. She has profound doubts of our ability to penetrate the western seas; Apollo’s writ is stretched thin this far west and does not run beyond the Blessed Sea. There is no help through her from Him in the beyond. We have no priests of the bathytic gods to moderate Melkart’s will. She does not think the strongest arrow in our quiver, Tanit’s grace, is quite the tool we would need.

I note though, that I see in her signs of a close, uncomfortably close in mortals, link to her god. What did Apollo’s Temple at Hemeroskopeion make here I wonder? Who it is that is urging us to turn away from the west, and their motive, is unclear to me, but I do not think it was only Ione speaking to me.

—Si'aspiqo

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheeze:

129: By the Witch’s Pyre

The low, slow, thorough pyre glows beside the cave entrance, light catching our expedition’s principal, Baal-Shaq, as he stands a night watch over our close-packed campsite. His rite is concluded, his golden idol watches over him from the camp fire.

My comrades, exhausted and so susceptible, are protected within the boundaries I have laid down. Boundaries marked by tokens: the small cairns of the proper number of pebbles; the branch, twisted, so the low red-glow of the coals of the camp fire light it as a significant sign; on a protruding boulder the carefully patterned daub of mud taken from the edge of a holy man’s miraculous spring. All these mark vertices of a perimeter of protection.

I strongly suspect the slain witch to be a dream-walker as well as a wielder of the curse-sorcery, so lay my head down and leave the waking world, to stand my own guard in another place. There is dark and warmth. Below a warm breeze blows; high above streamers of cloud speed past the stars of this place, stars which never quite resolve into constellations known to the waking world.

Here below I am alone, though a golden light close-by must mark the camp fire. Alone, until a chill draught cuts through the warmth, the same chill I felt before the black lion attacked, the chill of the Archon, the chill of a deeper darkness from beyond.

A shade in the shape of a person circles around the camp, just beyond the light. Watching from the corner of my own eye, I catch a glint as of another's eye in the dark shape and below that, movement of a mouth, and my ears hear a faint muttering that is no language I recognise, let alone understand.

Better I am here to hear than it whispers into the ear of any innocent sleeper hereabouts. I am closer, nearly here with it. Though I think the shade cannot approach the sleepers through the protections in place, despite it seeming incapable of approaching close enough to achieve harm, I am uncomfortable at the prowling shade’s presence, so speak an incantation of protection:

“Oh male spirit, female spirit, male dead, female dead!
Be on your way, be distant from me!
Go on, you, I shall not go along with you!
You shall have no power over me, you shall not give me to Apep.
You will raise your face as well as your ba, your shapes, your corpse-like apparitions, your magic as well as your forms.
I speak with the blood of the earth on my tongue!
I stand here as the Hand and Eye of Ra!
I stand here to bring light in the face of those who would bring darkness!”

And it seems to me that I am become the focus of the golden glow at the camp fire, a torch in the darkness, and I step to the boundary to stand directly against the shade, which recoils into and merges with the outer darkness and troubles this dream no more. But there is no sign of it passing out of the world altogether while I stand watch here, alone, until woken by the pre-dawn light.

From Si'aspiqo's Wheeze:

131: Destroy the Unclean

Recorded in the 18th year of the reign of Pharaoh Ptolemy, son of Ptolemy, King of Upper and Lower Egypt.
7th day of the 12th Month.

(The afternoon of the morning of the Cleansing of Sammus)

Baal-Shaq said:

‘The things of the Witch should be for Si'aspiqo to study. Destroy the unclean, keep what is safe to use. No-one should handle them lightly. They are for those that know these Arts, at least in part.’

I have destroyed, by fire, the bone cursing wand* as a possible link to the world for the curséd spirit of the late witch whom I shall not name.

* Despite the possibility of an opportunity to advance the academic pursuit of counter-malediction studies. Sigh.

I thank Agripinus Tanit’s Priest for his support in conducting a further, cleansing, blessing of the ashes in the the name of Tanit’s Light, so standing shoulder by shoulder with me against the dark, after my application of cleansing fire to the bane-bone at a wilderness site beyond the boundary of our hosts’ fair home of Sif.

We, or our ponies most likely, shall further grind the ashy remnants of the witch’s working into the dust of the path in our passage out of Sif in the morning, tomorrow.

My thanks also to all who accompanied or assisted us.

Footnote:

By my reckoning, of the late witch's effects I bear: the black lion skin by gift of our leader Baal-Shaq and further, by his command above, responsibility for:

• six flasks of potions, variously marked in the Numidian manner as: Healing, Spirit Walking, both these being each two in number, then as singletons two more, marked Slave and Slow Death — and now all countersigned with my own marks in the manners of the Greeks and Egyptians, for clarity)
• a bag of ochre
• a bone charcoal-holder pen
• a bundle of 12 sheep-skin/parchment scrolls
• a bone, burnt, with holes through it, wound about with rawhide twine (perhaps a bull-roarer?)
• a lion tooth-and-claw fetish necklace
• a pestle

(I have concerns, still, about what exactly is is written on the sheep skins, and the actual contents and ingredients of the bottled potions, but judge their status less pressing of investigation and that their fate can – with due caution meanwhile – be determined at a later time.)

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheeze:

136: From Timoudi to Adrar

Rain fell during the 29th day of the 12th month and was spitting on into the night, and so we left Timoudi walking across damp sand. Some of the porters found this quite unusual, commenting about the ‘muddy’ sensation underfoot, if my beginning pidgin Berber served. The fitful rain and the relative coolth continued into the next day with the sun obscured by clouds.

The second night on the trail, that of the 30th day, we were still travelling over slightly damped sand though there was no more rain. Here and there were fuzzes of green shoots. Eventually we were distracted from contemplating the unfortunate necessity of crushing eager, hopeful young greenery under our boots and sandals and pony hooves, by Amphius reporting a contact, which our companion guides identified from tracks as a golden wolf, a rare beast with a valuable pelt.

There was a brief discussion whether a pelt might be worth a delay, but Agripinus felt the faster progress we were making on the firmer damp sand should not be wasted, given the delays at Timoudi, with which Baal-Shak agreed and so ended the discussion in short order. We pressed on for the rest of the second night.

In the day the clouds cleared, so warmth returned as we took our rest. We set off on our third night’s travel, 31st day, under a clear starlit sky, proceeding as expected until in the early morning well before any sign of the dawn, came a Berber cry from our forward scouts: “Jabba! Jabba!”, which sounded full of alarm, and was accompnied by calls for assistance from Amphius.

Various of us hurried forward from the middle part of the party to find Amphius and some of our guides at the edge of a sandy pit, one part of which had given way as guide Ijju walked by unheeding, trapping him in a sand-slide down at the bottom of the pit. His comrade Ghanim was making his way down the slide-prone pit side, trying to reach Ijju without burying him completely in further sand falls, while Amphius was trying to throw a rope end to the trapped man.

My observation was of a depression some 20 feet across and perhaps a third to a half that deep. Unsurprising that the sides slide easily and I was in mind of the the pits of the ant-lion, writ large. Certainly the trapped guide seemed to be calling out in pain as if stung perhaps, more than just fallen or trapped in a quicksand.

Having little to offer in that matter of climbing nimbly into carefully unstable sand and performing rescue by main force, I contented myself by falling off the pony as a rapid way to dismount – planned I assure you – lighting a torch and standing none-too-close to the pit’s rim to make the location clearer for all following and perhaps assisting those in and around the pit. Any but Amphius of course, who was saved some of the, for him, searing glare as he had his back to me.

There was a lot of throwing and hauling of ropes as Ijju in the centre slowly sank deeper through his struggles. His friend Ghanim, alongside, had to chose one of several ropes to secure himself, but then the sinking man screamed and convulsed, disappearing almost entirely as sand puffed up, sparkling in the torchfirelight. His roped companion caught Ijju by a spasming hand just in time to prevent it and him disappearing forever.

Agripinus, his rope lying ignored, jumped down into the pit, but controlled his slide to the bottom. Amphius took up the slack on his rope, attached to Ghanim, by walking backwards from the lip, but found himself pulled back as the sand quaked and Ghanim moved to catch his disappearing friend. Agripinus prayed to Tanit to protect the the soul of the trapped, nigh-disappeared, Ijju.

A third wave of assistance arrived in the forms of Toxoanassa, Sammus and Baal-Shaq. Toxoanassa had another rope noosed ready to throw, Sammus helped anchor Amphius, but Baal-Shaq kept running, not breaking pace until he was running on air, and landed in the pit.

The action in the pit became a mass of writing bodies and snaking or twanging ropes in a haze of dust, with cacophony of screams, thuds, shouted instructions and prayers to accompany it. When the dust cleared the be-roped Ghanim had been dragged out of the pit without his close comrade, Ijju, who was now sustained only by Agripinus’s prayers. Baal-Shak seemed to be venting some rage at the shambles by forcefully thrusting his sword into the sand at the bottom of the pit. The victim, Ijju, though somewhat extracted by the disparate balance of various tugging forces moments earlier, started to sink once more, until Agripinus brought to mind the aphorism that gods help them that help themselves and took a firm hold on the him rather than spending breath on calling Tanit, thus arresting a second, or maybe third, disappearance.

Anchoring Amphius being no sort of challenge as the rope was freed down in the pit, Sammus looped the rope around himself and scrambled down, anchored by Amphius and guide Bardis, while Toxoanassa braced her rope for the recently extracted Ghanim to climb back down to his comrade...

More coordinated pulling, perhaps less hampered by any panic actions by the Ijju, or indeed any actions at all by him, allowed the various tuggers to extract him from the sand and drag him back to the lip, while Baal-Shaq conducted some sort of slow, deep-stabbing fight with the sand of the pit itself. Sammus jumped back into the pit, for fear of missing out of a fight, stabbing the sand with his short sword up to the elbow of his long arm. Something beneath the sand seemed to wriggle, he he said later, so he stabbed again and again...

Baal-shaq paused, poised with his sword high, as sand danced out of rhythm with Sammus’s blows. Seeing Baal-Shaq, Sammus too ceased. The sand grew still. They carefully left the pit for Baal-shaq to talk with the gathering guides at some length. This is the trap of a Jabba Worm, they said. A very big one.

Ijju, on examination by Agripinus, was found with puncture wounds to his legs, ripped into tears by his forceful extraction from the sand and whatever the worm gripped him with, which wounds oozed a miz of dark venom and sluggish blood until Agripinus laved them with Holy Water of Tanit and prayed mightily for that such serious wounds be cured. And Tanit had mercy. Though the subject was not a follower, he would be a believer...

While Agripinus persuaded his god of the value of that investment in future reputation I listened to Baal-Shaq’s summary of the guides’ knowledge of the Jabbar worm. This could be summarised ‘possibly profitable — if it be dead not just hiding, nursing its wounds and its wrath, in the depths’.

As no one seemed inclined to get into the pit for speculative digging in the first faint lightening for the pre-predawn hour, I put out the torch and focussed on the poison-stained rags cut away from the Ijju's legs. If I could feel through the Unseen for the creature that was the source of that poison...? No, the poison was too contaminated by human blood and there were too many containers of human blood standing gawping all around me. Hmph.

So, would digging up the Jabbar Worm’s pit bring us fortunate times or disaster in its larder? A scatter of bones and minor idols from my pouch — I shaln’t go into the detail of why this 11th hour of the night became a propitious time to ask — but, well, well — “more likely than not…” would be a summary reading of the signs.

So there was a better than even chance of profit and as we were not likely to go much further before sunrise anyway… The decision was easy.

Baal-Shaq assigned Sammus to digging with Amphius keeping lookout until the sun rose, himself and Agrippinus stood with weapons ready should the sand start to move on its own again. It did not, for a fanged, barbed head was dug out, then its separated body, a wormlike tube some 20ft long.

There was no loot from the misfortunes of other less unlucky travellers, disappointing the expectations of some. Badis said this thing would have come from the deep desert, called by the recent rain and the chance of damp sand suitable for making its pit. Likely we were the first passers-by and left the way safer by our passing. However, its hide would be of worth in trade and the meat might be prepared to make it edible – though perhaps not this amount he said, looking at the 20ft length of the body, a span thick. More interestingly the head yielded intact one of two poison glands to Sammus’s meat carvings and the hollow fangs used to deliver it seemed intacte despite being wrenched from Ijju's leg. This venom is tricky stuff; I had already had a small accident by contaminating a scratched finger, which was by then numbed to all sensation. But this was known in the lore of Badis’s people. It would pass, which made a complete gland a useful tool for physic “Make heal, no pain good” says Badis. So I preserve the gland in small pot with a rite of sealing. Some spillage reconfirms the numbing properties… We also retained the sharp hollow fangs, rasping manibles, and roughly skinned hide to be made leather.

There remained one night and perhaps a further half of travel to Adrar oasis; the victim was weak and woozy from the venom, but more importantly unable to walk until the deep damage to his leg healed. Toxoanassa reckoned once he could sit on a pony she could steady him. But by the morning of the first day of the new year – in some calendars – and despite Agrippinus’s continuing attentions, Ijju was still too affected by the venom to sit up, never mind consider riding.

So we kept camp and those with the skills processed the worm meat and hide. The limiting factor for the meat was firewood to boil water for seething the meat before carving, then wind- and sun-drying it. I spent a lot of time and spell-mutterings that day tending the fire, keeping the burn just so to best use the fuel we had.

By the night of the first day of the new year the numbness and weakness of our friend Ijju had abated somewhat so we set off, slowed by me walking and having to take more breaks than anyone else. Though I may have had sore feet, trembling legs and the wheezing returning from gasping for breath in dusty air, at least my tail bone did not ache from sitting on a pony all night.

The second day of the new year passed in as undisturbed rest as is practical in bright sun in the desert. It was then a leisurely stroll that should perhaps have been a half night under our normal arrangements, but again I was forced to walk, slowing our passage to the oasis of Adrar.

We arrived at Adrar in the early morning of the third day of the year, without incident. Until, that is, our daytime rest was broken by the Elders of the oasis arrival, clamouring for our miracle worker to make it rain here, too. Amphius was puzzled how word of the miracles could have preceded us, but Baal-Shaq’s brow was thunderous as he caught sight of some of the guides and bearers telling tales of the wonders they have seen in trade for water, date wine and fresh food...

Agripinus was very reluctant to call on Tanit again for a weather forecast, let alone to make water fall from the sky. At least not without proselytising a little, to placate Tanit. Baal-Shaq, dedicated to Baal as a child, he told us once, pointed out these villagers and their elders are all followers of Baal and that he really couldn’t advise such a move. This goes and fro for a while, but with the Elders insistent eventually Agripinus agreed to seek the his god’s guidance as to when there would next be rain hereabouts and requested a small, quiet, private place he might use to commune with Tanit.

So he was awarded the use of largest building of the oasis, with the Elders seated outside peering through the doorway (and occasionally shooing away the close to the half of the village peering in over their heads). Perhaps much encouraged by the moral support of Amphius, who stood by ready with sponge, backbrush, bathrobe (and veil against the bright, warm sun), Agripinus communed. When he emerged to say there would be rain in two days time, were a sheep to be sacrificed, it was quickly done lest a fickle foreign god’s favour failed. Which meant, of course, we must we must wait here two days. More time for the tanning of jabba-leather. And reading scrolls.

Baal-Shaq said that the next stage of the journey – if we got away damp enough to depart without trouble – would be the three and a half nights to Regane oasis and the end of the Ajjer lands. There we should wait for the Kel Ere to take us south.

The next day, fourth of the year, was sunny, but I sniffed a change coming, as Tanit promised, and that night turned cool as the wind shifted to west and then north of west. Later on in the fifth day of the year it rained, for whole minutes at at a time! The locals people were ecstatic. Amphius’s bath robe was dampened, doubtless to his joy too. Agripinus was hailed a true miracle worker and doubtless many tales will be told of his works before we pass this way again.

Baal-Shaq sighed his relief and ordered all to rest, make ready for departure for Regane at the setting of the sun.

From Si'aspiqo’s Wheeze:

161: The Red Dune’s Overseer

Though in general it often best to dream while open to the subtle hints of the the Gods and Powers which hold sway in the land of sleep, in preparing to sleep in the entrance chamber of the ancient construction beneth the Red Dune I held it likely I would be facing some malevolent force, perhaps the demonic form which so twisted the perceptions of my comrades in an early stage of the explorations here, and so protections might be advisable even despite the risk of not receiving subtler intimations.

So I donned the cloak made from the pelt of the Black Lion as symbolic of the strength and fearlessness of one who has won the epithet of ‘Lion Hunter’. To this I added the green crystal spiral ring from the lair of the Shedim of Kaskator with its virtue of good fortune, and the protection of the gold-set, carved gem scarab from the encounter with the Kamalton. Other tokens and tricky trinkets were laid aside as likely a distraction, and of more use on the material plane than whichever of the spirit places I would visit.

I wandered in the dark and shifting mist mazes of sleep a while, until I came to a way light by candles — of tallow, from their pungent, smoky yellow flames — which led me through the confused mutterings and wailing of the last words of the newly dead to a more purposeful chanting of passages of the Book of the Dead as the line of candles before me turned to my right hand, time and time again, extinguishing as I passed them; there was no way back.

I came with silent footfalls to a well-lit chamber where stood a priest of the classic Egyptian style, with shaved head and plain white robe. At their sandalled feet I could count seven candles (I speculate that there may have been two more behind the priest to complete the traditional nine gods of the Pesedjet, but perhaps Set and Nepthys were excluded to minimise the effects of the chaos they represent so to favour Ma'at, or unchanging order, as part of the preservation of this place…)

As I approached the priest was chanting a passage I am not familiar with from any edition of the Book which I have studied, a bidding of the Guardian of Anubis to “await the Call to Faith, lest tomb-robbers return…” at which point the priest noticed my arrival and broke off.

A keen gaze from the priest focussed on the tokens I bore even in dream and they greeted me:

“Aha ! I see you clearly now. You are no Egyptian – with Lion cloak, a ring of power and your soul protected by a royal scarab – surely you are a Kushite from the Southern Kingdom, not some ragged adept from the desert waste !

“You stand straight and undaunted, I see, as one who has walked under the silent stars before, and talked to the Powers, perhaps.

“So… have you done as I bid ?”

I could truthfully answer the priest that we had, that the ghouls were lured outside of their domain, destroyed in the wider world and disposed by fire or flood to prevent their return. Further we had also removed the remains of an adherent of the Osiris of our contemporaneous world lest they too turned ghoul.

But before we set to sealing the ways in, as best as we might though mortal effort, I wished to confirm some aspects of the Overseer’s domain:

• The dark shadow over this area will inevitably act as a lure to the likes of ghouls and graverobbers.
• The existance of secret and magically controlled door we had found in a maze passage, but not yet penetrated to be able to check for unwelcome visitors.
• The pool array of the Sumer people — which I have seen the like of in another shadowed place — displayed some signs of decay and corruption that might give rise to further problems.
• And finally the gargoyle itself in its peculiar room.

I asked for guidance as to how or whether we should extend our cleansing to these matters.

Venerable Martak was pleased to give guidance as they hold the role of Overseer of this installation:

• The magic door contains the Guardian of Anubis. Should they give the Call of Faith, it will emerge to roam the passageways and destroy all it finds. However the ghouls hid in tunnels too small for the Guardian to enter.
• The pools are the purpose of the facility; which is closed and no longer maintained except in their eternal guardianship as Overseer.
• The gargoyle guards the way below whence the Darkness seeps, guarding the way to other worlds against mortal intrusion.

(As an aside, we have of course met similar arrangements at Kaskator, but the guardianship of the way beyond was perhaps aged and broken down, or interfered with and removed.)

I put it to Overseer Martak that while we could not destroy the intricacies of the ghoul burrows completely — as mortal people are bulkier than bone-thin ghouls — we could essay the covering of the external exits and entrances.

The overseer agreed we need only take mortal pracitcal measures. “Yes, that is what I would have you do. Seal up this place again. Close all the exits and hide them from view. It is inevitable that some may sense the darkness and seek to meddle. My purpose is to maintain this place sealed and secret.”

Gratifyingly, they went on: “You deserve some reward or recompense. You may take a dozen containers from any of the pools that still function when you seal this place. They produce components for healing, elementally pure substances… and weapons should they be needed. Take care, some of them have their own perils.”

“I pay you for your service… and your silence. There will always be dabblers and tomb robbers. I will have to deal with them if they return. But if you can unmake the paths they have made and warn others against entry, you have fulfilled your bargain.”

I explained how the facility they oversee appeared at our moment in time. The huge dune, with the ghoul burrows emerging near the top ridge and an entrance, the one made by mortal men, dug straight down from the top of the dune into an antechamber of a summoning place. This latter the Overseer had recognised from the feel of the sun peeping in. It too must be closed, breaking and burning the supports and hide everything in there. We should confuse all that we can on the surface and give warning against further disturbance; name it a forbidden place and abode of evil.

Further on the matter of our reward the Overseer noted “One pool for healing, a pool of tempting wine to make the drinker happy and thirsty… A medical substance to give those in pain over to sleep; potent. Then alchemically potent cold and hot water. The dangerous ones are animated green and oozing yellow. Beware.”

“There is Cold Fire; Ever hot; Compulsion of telling the Truth; and Forget Them All. Something like that.”

“You may take 12 containers with you and then seal the complex.”

Then we exchanged parting compliments and customary wishes and I made may way back to the world of the living.

Si'aspiqo wheezes:

163: Pools’ Properties Partially Perused

Following from the Overseer’s, Mar-Tak’s, words:

They produce components for healing, elementally pure substances… and weapons should they be needed. Take care, some of them have their own perils.
…
One pool for healing (1), a pool of tempting wine (2) to make the drinker happy and thirsty… A medical substance to give those in pain over to sleep (3); potent. Then alchemically potent cold (4) and hot water (5). The dangerous ones are animated green (6) and oozing yellow (7). Beware. There is Cold Fire (8); Ever hot (9); Compulsion of telling the Truth (10); and Forget Them All (11). Something like that.

I have conducted further investigation and assigned these descriptions as seems appropriate:

Late note: The large jars we have found here under the Red Dune are about 15L capacity, the small about 1L.