In this chapter: the girls get their magic circle on, and Babylon opens her gate.
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The Ritual
“Hear us, oh Babylon!
We gather to open your gates,
to follow John the Unknown through streets lit with a thousand lights.
Open your gates, that we may gaze upon the glorious city
and witness her mysteries.
Hear us, Babylon the Great, queen of cities!”
“Hear us,” the circle of young women droned, Inga among them. The speaker, Terry, paused for a moment. She was reciting the text from memory, her voice strong and confident. Inga was pleased Terry had agreed to be part of this, she was as good as Meredith had promised.
“Hear, sisters, how it was
for that one who passed before us:
‘There I saw an angel come from heaven.
His face shone like the midday sun
and in his hand he held an iron rod.
And he said, “Hark, Babylon is nigh at hand
and thou art ill prepared.”
Inga smiled, impressed with Terry’s showmanship. She even had different voices for the speakers. In the centre of the circle a small fire burned in a portable barbeque. It was the main source of light, and cast the abandoned pub in a spooky light. Lovely.
“Babylon the Great,
mother of harlots and abominations of the earth.
Beware, you who must gaze upon this great city,
for though her streets are paved with silver and gold,
her waters are bitter poison.
No man speaketh there, but speaketh lies.
Taste not of her delicacies,
for they are sacrificed
to the idol of fornication.”
Inga looked around the circle of faces. They were tense, painfully sincere. Meredith stood across from her, her glasses reflecting the firelight and hiding her eyes. Meredith was convinced the ritual would do something, show them something. Inga told herself she was ready for anything. Mostly, though, she was ready for nothing happening at all. In the several years she had researched strange sightings and paranormal phenomena, nothing solid had ever turned up. Just people hearing spooky noises. Her digital voice recorder was in her shirt pocket, recording the proceedings. Even if nothing happened, she could still write about the experience, and the forbidden book.
“Tremble at the sights of Babylon,
and know that soon she will fall
and her streets will run with the blood of liars,
and of sorcerers, and of harlots.
Wear thou this seal upon thy brow,
that they may know: thou walkest under His device.”
Inga looked at Terry, stood to her left, and closed her eyes. Terry took a red marker out of a pocket and drew the sign on her forehead. It was a cross with a circle around it. Old. Simple. The way authentic magic was often simple. Terry gave the marker to Inga, and continued reciting. Inga drew the mark on the forehead of the next girl, and passed the marker along. And so it moved slowly, counter-clockwise around the circle.
“Hold fast onto what thou hast been given –
while thou yet bearest the seal,
no devil may touch thee,
or tear off thy clothes,
for He holds thy name yet in the book of life.
But he who partakes of the Feast of Babylon,
he who drinketh the wine of her fornications,
he who would taste but the smallest morsel,
he will surely be taken out of the book of life.
He will suffer the demon’s bite and the scorpion’s sting,
and on earth he will be seen no more.”
The seal had nearly completed its round of the circle. Inga watched as Abi, the youngest girl, drew it onto her neighbour’s forehead with a look of perfect concentration. She was only fifteen. Inga was worried for her. Whatever Babylon was, if it did bring them visions, they might be a little intense for a fifteen year old, if not… inappropriate. The ritual was about as explicit as seventeenth century writings got about the nature of Babylon's "mysteries". Surprisingly, Terry had insisted on Abi being included. They were close, Terry was Abi’s mentor or something, it wasn’t entirely clear to Inga. In any case, here she was, and with Abi included the circle consisted of seven young women. Clearly an auspicious number. Terry knelt to pick up the bowl of water and the white cloth. She gave the cloth to Inga to assist her. The wooden rod she had prepared appeared in her hand.
“Take thou a rod of wood, and bind it in the middle with thread.
Plunge thou one end into salted water
and the other end into thine own mouth,
for even such are the mysteries of Babylon.”
Terry dipped the stick into the bowl with an air of ceremony. Inga wiped it dry and gave it back. Terry put the other end, which was marked in red, into her mouth and licked it. One of the girls suppressed a nervous giggle, but Terry was stone-faced. Inga wiped the rod, then put it in her own mouth. She tasted the wood, briefly, it stuck to her tongue. She wiped it again and handed it to the next girl, along with the cloth. Her mind felt strangely numb. Ready for anything.
“Hang the rod by the thread
and it will point thy way to the mysteries of Babylon.
Follow the salty end and it will guide thee home.
Be warned, thou art wretched.
Tread not boldly the streets of Babylon,
but shut rather thine eyes to these mysteries, and shield thine ears,
for His seal will not guard thee against the lies
and blasphemies of Babylon the Whore.
Here is the hour of thy temptation drawn near.
Guard thyself, Babylon is the queen of lies!”
and the angel of the lord departed, and I was alone a while.’ “
Silence descended as the rod completed its circuit. There was a tangible expectation in the air, a clingy electricity. Inga caught Meredith’s eye across the circle. Meredith smiled, then licked her top lip in a surprisingly lewd gesture. Inga could not help but smile, too.
***
The rod had returned to Terry, marked with two different colours of lipstick. The circle seemed to draw itself up for the second part of the ritual, the incantation. It was in call and response form. Inga felt tense, nervous. What if something would happen? What if everything would happen? Would she be the one responsible? “Lo, a new spirit came upon me. It came with the force of a storm and the voice of thunder. It cried:
Babylon, open thy gate to me!
The circle responded,
Babylon, open thy gate!
Terry called loudly, as if against the storm, her eyes closed.
Babylon, great mystery, mother of harlots!
Babylon, open thy gate!
Dwellingplace of Demons, Blasphemy of Earth!
Babylon, open thy gate!
More girls had closed their eyes; some were swaying in the rhythm, as if in a trance. Inga watched them all carefully, transfixed, the words rolling out of her mouth almost automatically.
Babylon, open thy arms to me!
Babylon, I open my arms!
Babylon, open thy heart to me!
Babylon, I open my heart!
Babylon, open thy womb to me!
Babylon, I open my womb!
A twinge happened, as if of its own accord, in what the writer doubtlessly meant when he wrote “womb”. Inga heard Terry gasp. It seemed an electric shock had passed through the circle at their last word. Their eyes were open now. Silence hung in the air. They looked at each other, seven young women waiting for something to happen. Or nothing. Terry held out one arm with the rod hanging from its thread, and tapped it so it would spin. It didn’t spin very well, pointing instead to Anna, the chubby girl with the carefully arranged black hair. Terry tapped the rod again, and again it pointed at her. No, past her. “The door,” Inga whispered. The rod pointed at a featureless, smooth door with a round knob and an old-fashioned keyhole, the key sticking out. “Babylon is in the broom cupboard?” Anna asked. There was nervous stifled laughter. Inga tried to remember seeing the door before. Of course there would be a cupboard there, it made perfect sense given the layout of the pub; there wasn’t anything odd about it, except she couldn’t remember seeing it before. “Inga, is that it?” Terry asked in her own, non-ritual voice. “I don’t know.” Inga broke the circle and moved around the outside to the door. What if it was just a broom cupboard and the whole thing had failed? She’d look like a fool, or a fraud. As she turned the key she felt certain of it, and cursed herself for being an idiot. The door opened without a sound. Steps led down into darkness. “It’s a cellar.” She couldn’t see the bottom of the steps. The walls were grey plaster. She could smell something down there, and it wasn’t beer. It was a human smell, warm, familiar, intimate. She drew back sharply when she realised what it was. Hope that the ritual had been a success after all blossomed. “Flashlights,” she said. The circle broke apart, as they all made for the bar to grab their bags. “I’ll go first.” No one objected, but Terry followed her close behind, still dangling the rod from her hand.
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