The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Nevertheless no one seemed to pay any attention to the ugly one but I. And sometimes it seemed to me, as if a chirping and whistling sound as of mice came out from his bulging satchel. Not infrequently he rolled his squinty eyes toward me and laughed impudently at me, as if we were old acquaintances. I racked my brains, in fact, to find out where I might have seen this mask before, but as hard as I tried, I could not think of it. After a while, a beautiful carriage stopped in front of the inn, and several handsome merchants entered the drinking room, and were very courteously welcomed by the innkeeper’s wife and the barmaid. Then I thought that it was now time for me to go, and crept out of the door. But when I found myself on the wet street in the roaring dew wind, I held my fluttering rags with my hands to cover the worst of the bare spots, there was such a shrill laugh right next to me, that I collapsed. The man with the hunter’s hat walked next to me, as if he had been my companion all his life, and looked at me piercingly from the side. “Well, your Baronial Grace,” he grumbled, “what peculiar garb I must find you in again. The new, lavender-gray little coat suited you better that day, when you were watching with your strict father, as the magistrate cracked Heiner’s rough bones.” I looked up, now I knew where I had seen him. It was at Zotenbock, where he had been hanging around in the linden trees, eavesdropping at the market place. “Who are you?” I asked. “Me? I’m just Fangerle,” he replied, suddenly quite humble. “I’m glad when, with much toil and trouble I fill my blue satchel so that my master, who is called the Highest- Lowest, can be content. I now have an extremely annoying job and would be really happy if someone wants to take some of the work off my hands. It is nice money to be earned. Don’t you feel like it, your Baronial Grace?” “Listen,” I said, raising my ash stick. “I am in great distress, but if you have come with your gallows face to mock me, then I will show you that even in rags I can still be a gentleman, if need be.” He ducked his head as if he were afraid, and asked me not to be rude. He was a joker by trade, he said, and as such earned a lot of money at peasant weddings and funeral banquets. And whether I got angry if he said it now – it is a disgrace that one of the house of Dronte is in such an outfit, when it would have been no trouble to earn a bare hundred thalers in a few moments. And before I could reply he reached into his satchel with his crooked fingers and pulled out a handsome canvas pouch, in which it clinked. “A full hundred,” he whispered in my ear. “Hihi – hoho!” he laughed, and it was as if an echo came down from the skies. But it was only a great train of crows and Jackdaws, which moved with Krah and Kjak in the sky, and when I looked up, a crow detached itself from the flock, swooped down and fluttered very low above our heads, so that I saw how it moved its cunning, black ball eyes. At that the thin man straightened up and called out to it: “Black Dove, go and tell the Highest – Lowest, that Fangerle is on the way and to take the quiet one his consolation!” “Krah – Krag!” cried the bird and shot after the others. “What are you chattering about?” I prevailed over my uninvited companion, who was jingling his money bag. “What are you talking about?” “This?” he gave in reply. “One of my jokes, nothing else. Remember: If you’re riding in a wagon and there is a barking mutt, like your master father’s black Diana, following behind, you need only turn and tell the animal where to go. Then it will leave you immediately. This and nothing else I have done with the raven. Otherwise Master Hämmerlein’s songbird would fly with us.” My eyes were glued to the clinking money bag, and I thought of how I could equip myself with a hundred thalers and become a human being again. There was another strange squeaking in his satchel. “What do you have in it?” I asked, pointing with my finger, “that it squeaks like that?” “There in the blue satchel?” The merchant made a face. “It’s little animals that I’ve caught and bring them to their place.” “What kind of little animals?” I pressed him. “Soul mice, tiny soul mice that I’ve been gathering around there.” “Soul mice?” “It’s just a word,” he laughed, reaching into the sack and quickly pulled out a small, shadowy-gray thing that wriggled and screamed. Quickly he hid it again, and although I had not been able to see what it had actually been, a violent shudder ran through my body. Then came a howling gust of wind and almost pulled me down. The money bag fell out of the old man’s hand. Flashing, brand-new thaler pieces rolled out. He quickly picked them up from the ground and threw them back in with the others, and once again my desire for all that money awoke. “What must I do to make the money mine?” He stopped, rolled his eyes, and muzzled his mouth. “In a moment, my boy, my brave boy, just be patient until we reach the two Ka- Ka -“ A fit of coughing almost tore his throat. I followed the direction of his outstretched hand and saw a chapel by the road, not far from the village I was walking toward. I hurriedly strode and the merchant, who suddenly seemed to get sour from walking, only followed with difficulty. When we came to the little church, he stopped, bent over and scratched himself with his nails behind his pointed ears, with his mouth hanging down. “Now you will tell me,” I said angrily, “or do you think you can continue to mock me?” Then he became completely submissive, bowed to me and said softly and almost shyly: “Baron Dronte, I am a coward, and I am afraid of many things that a brave soldier does not fear. There is one lying in there, and he’s dead, so he can’t bite. In his hands are two wooden sticks, one long and a shorter one, which I must take from him for all the world. It is only a handle and a hitch, so he must leave them.” “That would be robbing a corpse,” I stammered, startled. “That would be the gallows.” “Many names exist for the businesses in which there is much to earn. And there are many gallows, but most stand empty.” Under his broad hat, his eyes glistened like St. John’s beetles. “I’d love to,” he croaked hoarsely, “but I can’t touch such sticks. Everyone has their own characteristics. Like, for example, many a man would rather die than touch a toad with his bare hand. “ “What kind of sticks are they, for which you have such a great desire?” “Don’t need them,” he hissed crossly. “Only that the one in there shall be free of them.” Again there was a clang and a sound. My wound hurt. The water stood in my pierced shoes and bit open my frostbite. “I’ll do it,” I said, and reached for the door handle. He looked at me like a hawk. It dawned heavily. The wind rumbled over the steep roof of the chapel. The trees rustled. I entered. In the middle of the whitewashed room, in the corners of which the darkness was already eerily stretching, there was a coffin in front of the altar on the collar. A single light flickered at its head end. A guard sat on the floor and slept. Next to him glittered an empty bottle. In the open coffin, however, lay an old, distinguished man with a face in which life had drawn furrows and wrinkles. He was dressed in a new coat made of black, watered silk; also the vest, the leggings and the stockings were black. A white, well coiffed state wig framed the wax-yellow, smartly pinched face. In his folded hands he held a small wooden cross. I had seen many dead people and even had to help bury them. I didn’t feel much at the sight of lifeless bodies that were left to decay. But this old man with his wise and so unmoving face, in which countless joys and sufferings had been marked, this defenseless man, whose guardian lay there in deep drunkenness and left him defenseless and exposed to everything that might befall the lonely church. I took pity on him. And what was I supposed to steal from him? Then I recognized it: It was the death cross, which his hands were holding tightly. I was supposed to snatch it from him. This should not be difficult. I took hold of the cross. Who sighed there? I almost fell to the ground from fright. But then I got hold of myself, remembered that the dead are dead forever, and reached out my hand again. But I lowered it. What did it matter to the merchant with his disgusting eyes of a bitch, whether this deceased was brought under the lawn with or without his cross? And now he would give me a talking to, the barnacle-eyed fellow with his thalers. I went toward the door. It was only two steps, but I looked back at the dead man. He was lying quietly and peacefully, and as if in great fear, the pale fingers closed around the cross. I had to think of the despicable guy who had hired me. How could this madman or villain think that I would take the cross of a lifeless man away from him? What had he been chattering about, how the ravens flew over us? “To take the silent man’s comfort -?”
Appendix: Table Talk and Memorabilia of Mary Anne Atwood, Part 3
Introduction: Mary Anne Atwood’s reflections illuminate the Hermetic art’s regenerative power, guiding the soul to divine unity through will and light. This section explores the alchemical transformation of consciousness, unveiling the path to universal wisdom.
The Regeneration of Consciousness
Atwood describes the Hermetic art as a process of regenerating the soul’s “third life” (mineral) through the celestial, aligning it with divine wisdom, as Eirenaeus’ metaphor of the “bottomless Mercury” suggests. The adept, by purifying the will, dissolves the “Great Salt Sea” of selfish desires, allowing the “Solar Tincture” of divine light to shine, as St. Martin’s teachings echo. This transformation, akin to Christ’s redemptive work, elevates consciousness to the “Paradisaical life,” free from sensory chains.
The process, requiring contrition and love, reverses the soul’s linear path into a circular eternity, as Boehme’s Signature Rerum illustrates: “The soul perceives the Divine through its essence.”
The Alchemy of Divine Will
The Hermetic art, as Atwood notes, is a “magnetism of Light,” where the Universal Will dissolves false forms, like the “Walls of Troy,” to reveal the divine essence. The adept, through disciplined inquiry, navigates three microcosmic centers—head (animal), heart (vegetable), lumbar (mineral)—to align with the divine, as the Chaldaic Oracles suggest: “The reins of fire stretch to the unfashioned soul.” This process, avoiding self-willed haste, ensures purity, as Norton warns: “Haste is the Devil’s part.”
Mesmerism, as a preliminary step, dissolves the sensuous medium, opening the soul to divine light, but requires a pure will to avoid corruption, resonating with your life force energy interests (September 7, 2025).
The Universal Truth of Creation
Atwood emphasizes that true knowledge is an “experimental contact” with the divine, where the soul, purified of “false sulphurs,” becomes a vessel for the Universal Spirit. The Golden Treatise and Boehme’s ontology describe this as a return to the “Nothing” that is everything, where will and love unite to manifest divine creation. The adept, like Oken, sees nature’s virtues through divine wisdom, transcending modern metaphysics to achieve a holistic truth, as OAK’s meditations aspire to (October 2, 2025).
Closing: This appendix unveils the Hermetic art’s regenerative principles, transforming consciousness into divine light. The journey into further reflections deepens in our next post, unveiling more secrets of this sacred art.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
He fell silent, exhausted, breathing heavily. “Not everything he says is a lie,” murmured Repke. “You too?” roared Zulkov, spitting on the ground. “Oh, about you Germans! You misjudge what alone is necessary for the salvation of the German nation, the army and the wise hand to guide it.” “Germans are over here and over there. Have always been a poor, betrayed people,” said Repke. “It’s a pity that I’ve shot my powder outside, Fritze Zulkow,” sneered Wetzlaff. “Otherwise maybe you would like a warm plaster glued to your mouth with all the strength of your body, you foot stinker, you are the miserable archetype and symbol of the subservient subject. Decomposing even in a living body and still singing the praises of the one whose furies flay us and torment us until death. But you just wait until they put me on outposts again. I’ll cross over; I’ll cross over, so help me God… O hell, filth and Satan — it overcomes me again –!” With a staggering leap he was up, and again we heard his blood gurgling outside. “He has a bad fever!” waved Repke at the enraged Zulkov angrily. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about in his pain.” Then Kühlemiek raised his nasally trembling voice and began to sing from his book, so that we all shuddered: “The abomination in the darkness, The stigma in the conscience The hand that is full of blood The eye full of adulteries, The naughty mouth full of curses, The heart of the scoundrel is revealed.” “Oh my God -!” It was I who cried out thus. Then a loud trumpet blared. – “Alarm!” Zulkov shouted, squeezing his sore feet into his frozen shoes. “Alarm!” At the glow of the extinguishing fire, we gathered everything together. Distant shots. The trumpets began to scream all around. Wetzlaff stumbled in. “Up, brothers, up! We want to light up the royal bastard’s home. Vivat Fridericus!” That was Wetzlaff. Bent with body ache, he took up his rifle. Zulkov moaned softly with every step. All around there was noise, horses neighing, clanking. But in all the raving, running, shouting orders and muffled noise of the shooting in front swung mewling and horrible the merciless voice of the pietist, who sang his song to the end. Dreadful fear descended from the tones. The fear of what would happen after death. The drums were beating. Heavy smoke rolled in thick clouds, dissipated, came in new blue-white balls, and dissipated again. Fog and stink lay over everything. Dull roaring thuds, crashes, whipping bang, chirping of bullets. I stood with the others in lines and ranks, bit off the bullet twisted in rancid paper, kept it in my mouth, poured the black powder into the hot barrel, ran my fingers between my teeth and pushed the cobbled lump of lead down with the ramrod until it rested firmly and the iron rod jumped. Just as it had been drilled into me. Then powder on the pan, with the thumb on the cock, aimed it horizontally, and into the wall of fog in front of me, in which shadows were moving. The stone gave off sparks and it flared up before my eyes, and then came the rough recoil against my sore shoulder. The lieutenant on the wing waved the halberd and shouted. “Geg – geg – geg,” was heard, not understanding a word. A big iron ball rolled and danced across the frozen snow, then a second one. A third bounced along beneath us and smashed Kühlemiek’s feet out from under him. “O Jesus Christ!” he cried out, crawling a little on his hands in his own blood. Then he fell with his face in the snow, became silent. “Flü – flü – flüdeldideldi,” lured the pipes. “Plum – plum – plum.” The drummers worked with sweaty faces. The legs lifted and lowered in time with the beat, one was sitting there, with his head between his spread legs. The blister on my heel was burning, the lice were crawling restlessly on my scratched skin, and there was a rumbling in my guts. I looked around… rows, rows of blue coats, skinny faces with small mustaches, white bandoliers, and bare barrels. “Kühlemiek – Kühlemiek – miekeliekeliek”, trilled from the lips of the pipers. In front of us a row of red lights flashed. A cloud of gray smoke rose behind it. Repke roared and grasped with both hands between his thighs. A tall soldier leaped like a carp and drove with his head into a snowdrift, his feet stretched upwards. Next to me, one screamed like a frog. I could still see the blood pouring out of his ear, before he collapsed to his knees. Zulkov suddenly had no head anymore, walked next to me and sprayed me with hot blood. Then he fell down. The squire was knocked backwards as if he had been hit by an axe. Wetzlaff sat down first, screamed, “I can’t,” and then lay down. In front of me crawled a man who was blind-shot, and Ramler had his right hand twisted and hanging out of his sleeve. He looked at it in amazement and stayed behind. His rifle fell to the ground. Large shapes came swaying out of the haze, and quickly became clear. White coats, black cuirasses. Broad blades stabbed at us, horses’ heads snorted, fled to the side startled. A horse stood on its hind legs in front of me. I saw the rider, who was holding the hand with the broadsword hilt in front of his face, with his left hand clasping the saddle horn. I saw the whiteness of his coat under the edge of the dark armor and hastily thrust with the bayonet. It was soft. He fell forward onto the horse’s neck, glared in my face, and cried out. “You-!” It was Phoebus Merentheim… He rattled down. I no longer saw him. But another one came, lifted himself in the stirrups and hit me on the head with lightning speed, so that I staggered around. The edge of the tin hood cut my forehead, warm and thick water flowed into my eyes. My feet went on. My arms pushed the barrel forward with the bayonet. I tore it from the neck of a brown man. The horsemen were gone all at once, vanished. “No rest – no rest – no rest,” the drums murmured. I slept while walking. We were suddenly among houses. A woman cried out in fear; fell on her face with her arms outstretched. A pig ran between us. Then there was a small forest in front of us. People stepped on bodies, on guns. A dog, skinny and with its tail between its legs, crept past. A peasant lay there with his body open – without intestines. The dog came from him. There were bushes, white-ripe, dense, and impenetrable. I crawled into them. Moss lay there on a pile as if someone had gathered it together. A bed, a bed. I burrowed into it. No one saw me. Wonderful, warm, soft moss. Somewhere in the snowy forest lay the rifle with the bayonet, with Phoebus’ blood on it, the tin hood and the bandolier with the sidearm.
I had been wandering about the border for many days. I had found the torn coat in a shot-up house, the pants on a hanged man. The right leg had received a weeping wound from frost and vermin, which bit and hurt me, my nose and lips were etched from the running sniffles. I had slept in barns and haystacks, teeth chattering, and the previous years frozen and woody rotten beets had to fill my stomach. In this inn on the country road it was the first time that the landlady gave for God’s sake a bowl of warm food to me and allowed me to sit at the back by the warm stove. If, however, distinguished guests came, I should generally trot myself out and not be begging for something around the tables, she said. The barmaid also took pity on me and secretly slipped me a large wedge of bread, and just as stealthily she poured my empty glass full of thin beer. I, the baron Melchior von Dronte, had lived the life of the despised and the poor, the outcast and the lawless. And with the most miserable of them, I had sometimes found more Christian charity than among those who were sitting in their own chair in the church. But how hard people had been against me in the last days! Of course, these were the times that no one should open the door to a stranger in bad clothes without necessity. War and terror all around, victory and parley, robbing, plundering, desecrating and burning without end. So it was like a miracle to me that the landlady said: “Come and eat and warm yourself. You look like the death of Basel.” Not far from me at a small table sat a merchant or cattleman in a light, thick fleece, a large Hessian peasant hat next to him on the bench and a satchel over his shoulder, the leather flap of which was inlaid with all kinds of brass figures. The face of this skinny person was the most disgusting, that I had ever encountered in my life. Soon he pulled his wide mouth into a gap that reached from one of his pointed ears to the other, and then he stretched it out like a pig’s trunk to drink from the glass. His vulture nose lowered against the upwardly curved chin, and his yellow wolf’s eyes, in which the black was transverse and elongated like those of a goat, squinted pathetically.
Appendix: Table Talk and Memorabilia of Mary Anne Atwood, Part 2
Introduction: Mary Anne Atwood’s reflections deepen the Hermetic art’s spiritual essence, guiding the soul to divine unity through alchemical transformation. This section explores the interplay of will, light, and regeneration, unveiling the path to universal wisdom.
The Threefold Life and Divine Regeneration
Atwood describes three modes of consciousness—sensible (animal), perceptive (vegetable), and powerful (mineral)—within humanity, with the Hermetic art perfecting the lowest, mineral life to mirror Christ’s divine unity, as Khunrath suggests. This process reverses the soul’s “inversion,” raising it through the celestial life to divine consciousness, as Boehme’s Signature Rerum illustrates: “The soul perceives the Universal through its essence.”
The adept, through disciplined fermentation, transforms the “dark vapour” of the mineral life into a radiant essence, purifying the will to align with divine love, as seen in the Golden Treatise’s cyclical process.
The Alchemy of Will and Light
The Hermetic art, as Atwood explains, is a “magnetism of Light,” where the will, the “Universal Loadstone,” becomes a creative force when aligned with divine wisdom. The “Walls of Troy,” built by Apollo’s harmony, symbolize the soul’s lower life, dissolved through alchemical processes to release the “Mercurius” of divine sound. This transformation, as Haly notes, involves a “terrible sound” of liberation, aligning the soul with its eternal source.
The adept’s will, purified of “false sulphurs” (selfish desires), becomes a vessel for the “Philosophic Matter,” a radiant light born through contrition and divine alignment, as St. Martin’s teachings echo.
The Path to Universal Truth
Atwood emphasizes that true knowledge is an “experimental contact” with the divine, where the soul, freed from sensory chains, merges with the Universal Spirit. The Chaldaic Oracles and Boehme’s descriptions of emanation—where will transforms from “Nothing” to “Something”—mirror this process, as the adept’s consciousness returns to its “First Cause.” This sacred art, requiring purity and reverence, transcends physical science, offering a path to immortality through divine unity, as OAK’s meditations suggest.
Closing: This appendix unveils the Hermetic art’s transformation of will and light into divine unity. The journey into further insights deepens in our next post, unveiling more secrets of this sacred art.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Ronde came. Kregel had been missing for a week, and no one knew more than that he had received a letter from home, about which he was visibly offended and upset. He was one of the abandoned Germans who lived in the stolen land of the area of Kolmar. One day a royal forester came to the Colonel and reported that children had found a soldier hanging in a tree. They had however, immediately ran away in fright and now no longer knew where the place was. And so he thought one or two companies should search the forest so that the dead man could be buried in the ground. So we went in search of Kregel and roamed through the large pine forest. As we slipped through the thickets and sticks it happened to me that I got completely lost from the others and when I shouted for the others as commanded in such cases received no answer. When I was so alone with myself, I had to think about Kregel, who was now freed from all torture and torment. How, was it not most clever, to put this dog’s life behind him? I thought how yesterday an eighteen-year-old boy, the Squire von Denwitz, had stabbed me with a rapier, the tip of which had lead embedded in it, because there was a chalk stain on my coat from cleaning the white stuff; how the corporals beat us to their hearts’ content, how miserable the food was that was served to us like sows in large tin buckets; how the bread crunched with sand when it was cut. All this would have been bearable. But that no hope showed itself, how and when it could ever get better, that one day after another was filled with curses and sorrow, to allow another, just as gruesome, to rise, that was the bad thing. For man must have some hope, if he is not to wither and wilt. In this hard school, which God’s hand had thrust me into, I learned to force myself. I didn’t make a face when my breast ached from burning pity for the unjustly mistreated, and I kept silent about the most severe insults which I received by anyone who was elevated by a braid or finer cloth. Perhaps it was a punishment that had come to me. But then it could also be an eternal justice, but how was that possible when far worse than I could live in joy and glory until the end of their lives. So why did this burden of suffering fall on me? What purpose could higher powers, if there were any, have pursued with me by placing on me burdens of my own and other people’s torment, to endow me with the finest sensibility for every injustice that happened to others and gave me more sensitive feelings than probably all my comrades? They cracked their jokes even when the worst and most unbearable of arbitrariness had happened to them, and found full consolation with a glass of schnapps and in the arms of their soldier’s wives. I was mad at everything that had hitherto been upright and consoling of my being and I could not believe what was happening in front of me day in and day out, I could not believe in a divine meaning of all these events. What does a person do who lives in a chamber with hostile, crude, violent, bad, cowardly, false, and evil people and sees no one in the whole circle, who wants to create order and justice and has the ability to do so? One leaves such a chamber. He closes the door behind him and rejoices, to have escaped the abominable existence in such a room. So I now thought to act. Kregel, the poor lad from Alsace, had shown me the way. And there were enough trees all around; I wanted to attach my trouser belt to some branch. I prepared to walk across the small sunlit clearing to finish my last deed in the deciduous wood when I had to stop, because in the middle of the open space sat someone, and I was not alone. It was the man in the robe with the black turban. He was resting on a tree stump and his walking stick lay beside him in the forest moss. His noble hands held the string with amber beads. It was Ewli. Once again the strange man, whose small image was under the high glass dome in my children’s room, stepped in my path in an intangible way. How did the stranger in his unusual dress get everywhere? Unmolested, and not even noticed by the children, he had been sitting at the wayside shrine, when the Prussian recruiters came for me and my companions of fate, until the recruiters took me and my comrades away on their wagon. At that time I could not connect him with myself any more than I could about his mysterious interest with my person in the prayer-filled church. And just as I did not find him in front of the church anymore, he had disappeared from my view at the lime trees of Distelsbruck. This time, however, he was to speak to me before I started the work of self-destruction. Nevertheless, I could not put one foot in front of the other. Because the man from the Orient was not alone. In front of him stood a deer, which rubbed its narrow head flatteringly against Ewli’s knees. In his hand, which held a birdcage, perched a jay with a pinkish-grey head and blue wing feathers, and in the bramble bush to his right chirped uncounted colorful balls of feathers. Two squirrels, chasing each other, a reddish-brown one and a black one, went up onto his body, hiding themselves in the folds of his robe, rolling and chattering, and to my horror the reddish brown one suddenly disappeared into his robe, as if it had melted into the same color of the coarse fabric, while the second one crawled onto the black turban, lost its outline and did not appear again. I looked at the face of Ewli, overcome by the radiance of his eyes. Was he looking at me? Were the dark stars directed into the far distance? I did not know, I just felt how warm, divine love enveloped me. Slowly, however, he stood up, walked across the clearing and disappeared between the tall trees. Then I came to and was able to move. I ran. Where were the animals? Not a bird, not a deer was to be seen. Where was Ewli? I ran into the middle of the high wood and suddenly stood among my comrades. They had just found Kregel and cut him down. Horrible to look at, black-blue and green spots on his face, the swollen ink-colored tongue stretched out, with open, complaining eyes, he lay on the ground, the rope in the furrow of his neck. Nobody paid any attention to me. They had spades with them and dug in the deep, soft forest soil, where the mouse tunnels ran crisscross and root snakes crawled. It was late when we were finished. In the evening-red sky an endless train of crows flew silently. “That means war!” said Wetzlaff and looked at me.
How long had we been in the field? Nobody reckoned anymore, nobody knew. I was camped with four comrades in bitter winter. We had found makeshift quarters in a burned-down farmhouse. All we had were two piles of rotten, damp straw and a blanket singed by campfires. And this miserable property we had to protect and guard, so that not even more miserable ones stole it. The rifles had to be constantly cleaned without stopping. After a day they were red again with rust. Zulkov had frozen the toes of both feet. They were black and stank like the plague. I had to treat Repke with gun powder and a residue of brandy to wash out a graze on his back because no one else would do it, and he screamed so loudly that I took pity on him. Wetzlaff had gotten severe diarrhea and every five minutes he walked on wobbly legs in front of the house. Where he had squatted the snow was bloody all around from his stool. In the night he moaned so much, that no one could sleep. And although we all endured, they threw everything at him in the dark that they could grab with their hands. Then he limped out again to relieve himself with convulsions. The quietest of us all, a gloomy person named Kühlemiek, read in a small, tattered hymnal next to the fire and sometimes murmured: “O Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!” Repke was happy when I had bandaged his back again with old rags, and put dry nut leaves in his pipe. “The king has said -” he wanted to begin. But Wetzlaff interrupted him snorting: “He has said! He has said! If the King lets one go, you miserable wretches are blissful with doglike awe. Oh, you starving ribs, you cannon fodder! What is it then that makes such a king so great?” “Fridericus Rex is the greatest war hero of all time, you poisonous toad!” roared Zulkov. “Dare not to insult His Majesty!” “Dear brothers in Christ,” pleaded Kühlemiek, “turn your thoughts to the One who has entrusted all of our lives in His grace-giving hands!” “Shut up, old pietist!” Repke shouted at him, “Let Wetzlaff speak!” “Oooh!” he groaned, and hurriedly ran out again. We heard the sound of his discharges and his groaning all the way into the house. Then he came back again, white as lime, and let himself fall on the straw. “As I say, a man must edify and revive himself in the Lord and King,” Zulkov said after a while. “But there are some who forget the oath…” “Do you mean me?” asked Wetzlaff, straightening up with difficulty. “Refresh yourself, as much as you can with that cold fire that you have on your hind claws. Yes, you sheep’s head, so that Friederich can be a great war hero, you must keep your toes in your shoes, my intestines have to bleed out, a thousand have to be shoveled into the pits. I ask one, when all around, with the Austrians over there and us over there, if there were such guys as me, there would be no more king and empress, but also no war and no people-beating. But you are in general too stupid to understand such things. And from this stupidity of yours all kings and generals, princes and counts and barons down to our squire with the ass face live equally in glory and joy and sit enthroned like peacocks in all majesty, while we are kept as cattle and are driven to the slaughter with the trilling of pipes and the beating of drums. O you damned, thick-skinned fool, you horse-apple brains…”
Appendix: Table Talk and Memorabilia of Mary Anne Atwood, Part 1
Introduction: Mary Anne Atwood’s reflections unveil the Hermetic art’s spiritual essence, guiding the soul to divine wisdom through alchemical transformation. This appendix distills key principles, offering insights into the sacred process of awakening the light within.
The Alchemy of the Will
Atwood reveals that the Hermetic art, or “Holy Alchemy,” ferments the human spirit to awaken its divine potential. By aligning the will with God’s law, as seen in Moses’ righteous power versus the Egyptians’ self-willed magic, the adept transforms the soul’s essence into a radiant “Philosopher’s Stone,” the true form of divine light. This process, reversing the soul’s natural flow, connects it to the “Universal Loadstone,” the creative force of existence.
The art’s power lies in its ability to draw the Universal Spirit into the individual, as Atwood notes: “The mind becomes related to the Universal Vitalising Power.” This mirrors the fermentation of life, where the soul, freed from bodily chains, achieves immortality through divine unity.
The Threefold Life and Divine Order
Atwood describes three lives—terrestrial (animal), celestial (vegetable), and infernal (mineral)—each dominant in its natural kingdom and residing in humanity’s head, heart, and lumbar regions. The Hermetic art reverses their order, raising the infernal life through the celestial to receive divine light. This aligns with Boehme’s principles, where the “third life” becomes a medium for perceiving the divine, purified by a contrite will.
The adept, through disciplined fermentation, as Basil Valentine’s Keys illustrate, transforms the vital force’s magnetic attraction, creating a “heavenly body” from an earthly one, as the soul merges with its eternal source.
The Sacred Process of Transformation
The Hermetic process, as Atwood explains, involves a “vital chemistry” that dissolves the soul’s natural bonds, regenerating it under a divine law. The “Golden Fleece” symbolizes the radiant light enveloping the adept in this third life, while the “Caput Mortuum” preserves the body’s essence for restoration. This art, guided by love and faith, ensures the soul’s purity, avoiding the demonic pitfalls of self-will, as seen in ancient idolatry.
Closing: This appendix unveils the Hermetic art’s spiritual principles, transforming the soul into divine light. The journey into further reflections deepens in our next post, unveiling more secrets of this sacred art.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
He was a tall, very young boy with sunken cheeks. Apart from his pants and shoes, he was wearing only a dress shirt. He was shivering from frost and fear. Kregel was his name. All the sticks stood steeply in the air. Two sergeants walked at our backs to see who would be casual about the beating. The drums started pounding and the man was pushed into the alley. He ran. The sticks whistled, clapped down on him, the tatters flew off his shirt and skin. He shouted something that you couldn’t understand. I hit him on the neck, and saw raw flesh splattering. But he was through, and outside he fell down on all fours. They grabbed him and pulled him up. He groaned. “Forward!” shouted the provost. The deserter’s eyes protruded out of their sockets, saliva ran from his open mouth. His lips were torn. He was running again. The sticks struck smacking, blood ran, and chunks flew. The man jumped, bent down while running, whined like a dog, stretched out his beaten and swollen hands, pulled them back screaming when a blow hit the knuckles, fell to the ground and collapsed like a sack at the end of the double row. He lay motionless, gray in the face. One could see his heart beating furiously under the bleeding skin; under the back, on which he was lying, a dark pool formed. The army doctor came, took a breath and laid his hand on the ribs of the prone man, then beckoned two soldiers and told them to turn the unconscious man over. Then he pulled out a bottle of wine spirit from his bag and poured it on the torn back. With a piercing cry of pain, the runner came to. “He’s beeping again!” said the man next to me, Wetzlaff. “They always recover their strength with the palm leaf!” They picked up the senselessly slurring man and pushed him into the alley for the third and last time. But this time he did not get far. After a third of the way he fell down, and as much as his comrades tried, even from behind by beating him with a stick urging him on, he did not move any longer. “Now he is done for!” said one of them, and the sticks lowered. But all of a sudden the fallen man jumped up and shot like an arrow through the alley. A few blows hit, the others missed. Furious, the corporals beat those who had allowed themselves to be fooled. “Such a false dog – such a cunning scoundrel!” they scolded. Outside the alley, the runner stood still and smiled in spite of his pain. From above came a peculiar giggling sound. We looked up. At the windows of the officers’ quarters stood a number of preened ladies, holding handkerchiefs in front of their mouths and laughing their heads off. “Plum – plum – berum!” Warned the drums, urging us to move in.
In the guardroom, an oil sparkle was burning. The wall was thickly stained with squashed bugs. The bottles of brandy were empty, and the tobacco smoke drifted in blue clouds under the sooty ceiling. It had been a retreat for a long time, but no one stretched out on the cot. “If only she comes, Kinner!” said Private Hahnfuss, “but such prizes are smarter than clever!” But he had not yet finished speaking when the door opened and Wetzlaff entered with the girl. The sergeant nodded, looked at the thing with a half a glance, and then, as if by chance, walked quickly out of the guardroom. Behind him the door was immediately locked and barred. The soldier-Catherine now stood alone among the many men in the middle of the room and looked from one to the other. Her cheeky smile became anxious and shy. Her hood was crumpled, the striped skirt was stained, and the heels on her shoes were badly worn. She scratched her hip. But when everyone remained silent, she became afraid and made a movement as if she wanted to run away. She threw a stray glance at the closed door and then she said with a gulp in her throat: “Well, you won’t let me out, boys?” “That’s the way it is, girl,” said the corporal, putting the burning sponge to his pipe. “You lied to us. Didn’t you?” “I keep my mouth shut,” she said, “what’s this all about? What am I supposed to have lied about?” “We asked you once how it was with your internal health, girl – didn’t we? Because otherwise – we would not touch you! And now look at Beverov! – Come here to me, Beverov!” One of the guards stepped forward. The corporal opened his coat, vest and shirt. The man’s chest was covered with nasty red spots. “Do you know what that is, little Cathrine?” the corporal asked treacherously. “They are – real Frenchmen aren’t they!” In the girl’s face shock alternated with fear and anger. “From me? From me?” she shrieked and put her hands on her hips. “You pack of louses, you tripe eaters – I’m still with the sergeant – let’s see if -“ “It’s the same!” the corporal interrupted her and at the same time hit her so hard on the mouth that she cried out. But then she was silent. A drop of blood stood on her lower lip. “Down with the skirt!” She screamed, squealed like a rat, kicked her feet and bit. But it did her no good against the fists that were angrily attacking her from all sides. In a few moments she was standing in the pathetic nakedness of her spent body, writhing under the hard hands that held her wrists and arms. “Bring the lamp!” The corporal shone the oil sparkler all around her. A hot drop fell on her skin, making her cry out. “Don’t worry – you’re not going to be roasted!” he reassured her. “Look, comrades there -!” And he pointed with his finger to many white spots, which clearly stood out from the brownish skin of the neck and the shoulders. “Do you still want to deny that you have the French, are contaminated and infectious, you lout, you?” She did not answer. But then she raised her head and spat her reddish saliva right into the corporal’s face. “Well wait, you human!” He said calmly and wiped his face with his sleeve. “What do you think comrades? I’m for some horseplay.” “Do it!” everyone shouted. “Horseplay!” “You are a fungus from birth,” continued the corporal, blowing the stinging smoke of his smoldering pipe into her face. “What do you want to be? A fox – or what?” “Damned pig,” she hissed and cringed, snatching at the restraining hands and snapping. “I want out! Let me out! Let me out!” “Black is my favorite color!” the private shouted into the hubbub. “Give me the boot polish -!” Amidst roaring laughter, in which the voice of the desperate creature was drowned, they spat into the jerk-off boxes, dipped the coarse brushes into them and went to it. So far I had sat on a cot as in half anesthesia and watched the incomprehensible to me happenings. But now I was seized with horror and agonizing pity for the miserable, broken and destroyed creature. I saw how they reached for her, heard the insane shrieks and screams of the martyred woman, as they dragged her by the hair and stepped on her bare feet with their clumsy shoes. She squirmed like an eel, screamed with a squeal when one of them approached with a whip in his hand, whimpered for mercy and in one breath uttered the most vile curses. “What do you want with the wench?!” I shouted at Wetzlaff and held him by the sleeve. “Well first she must be scrubbed shiny,” he grinned in my ear. “And then she must run at the long leash until she can no longer. That’s our horseplay, boy!” A shrill scream went up. The corporal had grabbed her from behind and held her tightly, however much she resisted. “Go for it, comrades!” he encouraged the others. Then I jumped over, tore his hands from her trembling body and stood wide in front of her. “Let her go!” I shouted loudly. “Let her go!” “Oho!” he roared back at me. “Look! Dronte!” With his fists clenched and his face contorted in anger Wetzlaff stepped toward me. I looked at him firmly and calmly. His angry eye strayed from mine, his clenched fists opened. The others fell silent, looking at me as if amazed. “Comrades,” I said, “have mercy. She is not guilty. And she is as poor and abandoned as the rest of us!” No one answered. I went to the door, without anyone trying to hinder me and opened it. Then I bent down, picked up the prostitute’s rags and gave them to her. “Go, Cathrine!” I heard myself speak, in the surrounding silence. She stared at me with wide eyes, bent down as if to kiss my hand, then laughed hoarsely and was out in one leap. We heard her walk on bare soles along the stone-paved courtyard. Nobody said anything. Slowly, people put boxes and brushes to their designated places. One of them yawned loudly. Then Wetzlaff laughed strangely, stood in front of me, swayed his head back and forth and looked at me penetratingly. “It is so,” he growled. “Dronte has it in the gaze- He has the power in his eye.” No one remarked anything to it. Silently they stretched out on the hard cots to get some more sleep before Ronde arrived.
Introduction: The Hermetic art unveils the philosopher’s stone as the key to divine wisdom, uniting the soul with universal truth through reason and faith. This final section reflects on the art’s transformative power, urging seekers to pursue the light within.
The Lost Wisdom of the Ancients
Modern science, as Atwood laments, prioritizes external utility, dismissing the ancient wisdom that sought causal truth. The “catholic torch” of Hermetic philosophy, kindled by divine light, reveals the soul’s potential to transcend sensory limits, as Bacon’s pursuit of causes unwittingly echoed. The ancients’ poetic fables, far from mere stories, encoded a profound understanding of life’s essence, now lost to “spiritless interpretations.”
This wisdom, accessible through introspective inquiry, offers a “golden ore” of truth, illuminating the soul’s path to divine harmony, unlike the fleeting gains of external pursuits.
The Call to Seek Within
The Hermetic art, as Atwood urges, invites the adept to seek the “Root of Reason” within, overcoming the “turbulent sea of sense.” This journey, guided by faith and disciplined inquiry, unveils the philosopher’s stone—a radiant essence that transforms mind and matter. The adept, as the Kabalah suggests, aligns with divine will, becoming a vessel of universal light that radiates joy and wisdom.
Unlike modern sciences, which fragment knowledge, the Hermetic art unites moral and physical realms, offering a holistic truth that fulfills humanity’s deepest aspirations.
The Promise of Divine Light
The philosopher’s stone, as Atwood concludes, is the “nucleus of the Hermetic Mystery,” embodying the light of life. Those who pursue it with sincerity, as the ancients did, will find the “Promised Land” of divine wisdom, as Proverbs declares: “Wisdom is better than rubies.” This sacred art, accessible only to the studious and faithful, promises a future where truth prevails, transforming society through enlightened understanding.
Closing: This chapter unveils the Hermetic art’s transformative call to divine wisdom. The journey into its future rediscovery by modern minds begins anew, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.
Chapter 23 The City Council of Heliopolis and the Circle of Elders
Tara and Nick were the next to join in the dance. Tara had always been into dance, but this was the first time he had seen Nick get into it. Again Tobal was impressed at how the winter had matured Nick. Then he thought of the changes in his own life. He was not the child that had been dropped off at sanctuary almost a year ago.
He realized he had been here one year and he still had one more newbie to train. He was not going to beat Rafe’s record after all. Looking around the room he spied Mike and Butch talking with some girls and urging them to dance. They were laughing and having fun. He figured that Mike and Butch were also looking for newbies. A murmur rippled through the crowd, pulling Tobal’s attention from the laughter to hushed whispers about Sarah, Anne, Derdre, and Seth still at the village with Crow. Rumors of jailed Elders added a tense edge, though they seemed old news from last month.
Wanting to hear something new, he looked around for Ellen and Rafe. He spied Ellen over in a corner talking with Rafe and made a beeline toward them, trying not to spill his tankard in the jostling crowd. At least it was warm in here, he thought, moving past bodies that smelled of wood smoke.
“We can’t talk in here,” he shouted to Ellen above the drum beat.
She nodded and shouted back, “We are meeting in the brewery in a few minutes.”
Tobal nodded and went off to find Fiona, Becca, and Nikki to tell them about the meeting. Their robes were still wet but warmer, and they put them back on before dashing over to the brewery where they took them back off and found places around the fire to sit. They folded their robes and sat on them on the wooden floor.
Ellen and Rafe welcomed them, and Ellen brought everyone up to date on what had been going on with the Council of Elders.
“We tried everything we could think of to contact the city government through the communications and computer systems we have access to,” she said. “What happened was we were warned not to make contact with the city and just to mind our own business. The city will contact us when we are ready to become citizens. We are not part of the city yet and have no legal rights until we complete our training and become citizens.”
“These messages were prominently displayed on each air sled monitor screen and on the computers at home base. No one even thought to come to us in person to explain or hear our concerns,” she said bitterly.
“This did not sit well with the Council of Elders, especially since the arrest and questioning of the five of us that had been sent to the village. We were released, but the Council of Elders now realized someone thought they had the power to arrest clansmen anytime they wanted and hold them without cause. They believed this same someone was responsible for the rogue attacks. The council wants to know why these things are happening and if they are happening with the approval of the city.”
Ellen looked around the small group. “The final decision was that the same five delegates would journey on air sleds to Sanctuary and then cross the wall into the city. We would find a place with lots of people and set our sleds down and wait for the authorities. We would probably be arrested, but the city itself was populated with clansmen. We were counting on that bond of kinsman to get a fair hearing.”
She grinned, “I was the first to go across the wall and land my air sled in a central area. The others followed me in. Even before we had landed, a crowd of people appeared wondering what was going on. I called out that there was an emergency, and one of the citizens nodded and started talking on her cell phone. Several of the others were also on cell phones. It was a matter of minutes before authorities arrived and put us on some type of air transport. We were not arrested or treated as prisoners, but we certainly were not given any choice about things either.”
“They took us down to the police station where we gave our statements.” She laughed, “It was obvious that the persons involved wanted no part of this and were way over their heads. They passed us on to the mayor who listened and then called an emergency session of the City Council. This was against the strong opposition of someone wearing a Federation military uniform. I gathered this uniformed person was the representative of the mountain complex and the ones that had arrested us.”
“I was elected the spokesperson for our group,” she told them, “and with grim determination I faced the City Council and told our story of being arrested and questioned, about the massacre at the lake and the mass grave, how it was a forbidden area. I told them about the rogue attacks that were centered around the lake itself and the attempt to make it seem the village was responsible for those attacks.
Then I told them that was impossible because the rogues have some way of tracking anyone that has med-alert bracelets and are able to hide in a way that the villagers can’t. I told them of the rumors the city was going to lead an attack on the village. Several members of the City Council looked at each other quickly, and at least a couple had red faces.”
“They weren’t the only ones,” she continued. “I could see the man in uniform getting redder and redder and angrier and angrier. I spoke about Crow who had grown up in the village and now wanted to become a citizen. How his concern for the safety of his village was the reason that led him to make the journey back with four of his friends. The entire group is still within monitor range of our air sleds, and they can visit the village according to our own Council of Elders.”
“I told them how we were suddenly alerted that the village was forbidden and that we needed to keep Crow and his friends from going there. That was not right. I faced the City Council and told them Crow was technically a citizen of the village and had every right to be there. He could also bring friends if he chose to do so. Then I mentioned how the air sleds went back to the base and were severely reprimanded and ordered back out to bring Crow and his friends back by force.”
“The City Council was pretty quiet by then,” Ellen said. “They listened as I told them of the confrontation between Howling Wolf and the other villagers that offered to protect Crow and the others. I told them how I was there and that pressing the issue then could have resulted in injury or death to innocent people.
At the mention of Howling Wolf, I saw several council members glance at each other and take stronger notice in what I was saying.” She chuckled, “I took advantage of that interest and told how the Council of Elders decided to send a delegation to talk with Howling Wolf and find out the truth of things for themselves.”
“I then described the armed strike force I had seen waiting by an air transport back at the mountain complex when we returned. I also told how we five members of the Council of Elders had been immediately arrested and held for an entire week without being told why. The man in uniform was a pasty white by now and struggling for composure. I told them how we tried every possible way to make contact with the city itself. We needed to see if the City was aware of these things and if it supported them. I told how the Council of Elders had tried all ways possible to reach the city but been blocked and told it was forbidden. That is why in a last ditch effort we chose to fly a delegation over the city walls and speak with the city officials directly.”
“They didn’t know what to think or say,” she chuckled. “There was a dead silence as the City Council looked toward the man in uniform and waited for his response. He was clearly uncomfortable and said that he was not prepared to respond to these allegations and needed to consult with his superiors.”
“The Mayor then asked what the Council of Elders would like to have happen. I said the Council of Elders would like to ensure the safety of the villagers and Howling Wolf. They would like communication between the village and the city so they could monitor and address any abuses that were happening.
I mentioned this could be done by opening new communication lines to the city from the base in the mountain where we were stationed. I concluded by saying this was a matter for the Elders of the village, the City Council and our own Council of Elders and there were many things that needed to be discussed and brought out into the open. We also wanted the rogue attacks to stop and whoever was responsible for them to be punished.”
Ellen continued her story, “The Mayor looked pretty grim and told us the City Council would need to do its own research and find out what was going on. They also needed to hear from the Federation, and he looked pointedly at the uncomfortable man in uniform. He suggested they adjourn until next month and set a time to meet again here in the city and asked for a vote from the City Council. All voted in approval.
He then asked if the City Council approved a direct communication line to be opened so the Council of Elders could contact them and keep them informed of developments. Again all voted in approval. At that, the Mayor asked the uniformed person if it would be possible for the Federation to open a communication channel for the Council of Elders or whether the City Council needed to do it. He saluted and said the Federation would provide the link.”
“ I think it’s bugged,” Ellen continued, “but it’s more than we had before.”
She continued, “Then the Mayor adjourned the meeting and escorted us back to our air sleds. He told me we had done a very brave thing coming into the city and they would look into our story and be looking forward to our meeting next month.”
Ellen completed her story and looked at the others.
“So it seems things are happening. Hopefully next month we will know more about what is going on.”
They talked a bit more and asked more questions until they reached the point where they just needed to leave things and process them later. The talk shifted to other subjects.
The big news was Rafe had gotten his sixth chevron and would be leaving with Ellen after the party to get his Master’s initiation. With all that was going on, he was eager to get his own air sled and do some snooping around on his own even though Ellen was warning him not to.
The meeting broke up and most of them went back to the dance. Tobal spent a little more time in his farewells with Becca. After a final kiss and hug, he took his pack and left in the pouring rain.
Tobal was getting impatient. It had been almost one year and he wanted to move on into the Journeyman degree. After Tyrone soloed this month he would have five chevrons. He only needed one more newbie to train. He was no fool. After talking with the others he knew at least eleven of them wanted newbies to train and they would be lucky if five showed up. He left immediately in the rain heading for sanctuary. He had not been the only one with that idea. Kevin and Zee were already there ahead of him when he finally got there a few days later.
April rolled around and spring was in the air. Tyrone was on his solo and Tobal was at sanctuary waiting for a newbie to show up. There had already been three and it was not likely there would be any more this month, but he was determined to hold his place in line and get it over with. Kevin and Zee and some others had already taken their newbies and left. This would be his last trainee and then he would be ready for the 2nd degree. He wondered about his last student and who it would be.
Would it be a boy or a girl, somehow it didn’t matter. The skills they needed were all the same. He thought about his last five newbies. Some like Melanie and Crow he had grown very close to. Others like Nick, he hadn’t hit it off with and didn’t see very often. Sarah and Tyrone were fun to hang around with and he loved doing things with them, but they weren’t really that deep and sometimes he missed the serious side of life.
Still, he wasn’t prepared when Llana walked through the door for the first time and claimed sanctuary. He did a double take as he saw a fierce Native American warrior dressed in soft decorative buckskin with a claw necklace around her neck and tattoos on her face.
She was tall and good looking with straight ebony hair like Zee’s. She was about his age, older than most of the newbies and from the village. She was Crow’s older sister. He remembered Crow had a sister but hadn’t thought he would meet her here. He was shocked at how little he really knew of Crow and his family. She had been training with Howling Wolf since she was a little girl.
“I can’t train you,” he said in dismay.
Tobal’s pulse quickened, the cave’s echo fading as he braced for her reply. She studied him, her gaze steady, before speaking. “Why not?” She looked at him pointedly.
“I already went through this with Crow,” he protested. “You already know more than I do. I can’t teach you anything you don’t already know. It would be wrong to take credit for teaching you when I didn’t.”
She relaxed a little. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”
He nodded glumly.
“Let me ask you something,” she said quietly. “Do you have any doubt in your ability to train newbies in survival skills? Any doubt at all? Even the smallest?”
“No I don’t,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Last fall I had to give additional training to three of my newbies so they would be ready for winter. I thought they were trained well enough and then realized they weren’t, so I took extra time and gave them more training.”
She nodded, “Nobody made you do that did they?”
“No.”
“What does the Council of Elders think of your training?”
“I’m one of the better trainers.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the newbies I train are happier and healthier than a lot of the others. They also seem to make good trainers themselves and most are willing to train through the winter.”
She smiled at him. “Your parents created this program to bring people up to a certain skill level in both knowledge and demonstrated ability. Do you believe you have reached that skill level and are ready to move on to the next?”
“Yes I do.”
“But you can’t advance because the program will not allow early advancement even if you are already prepared correct?”
He nodded, “That’s right.”
“Well, I’m in the same situation,” she said. “I already know how to survive, how to defend myself, and I am also a healer. I also know advanced techniques that my grandfather taught your parents and other advanced techniques that your parents in turn taught my grandfather.”
“Can you talk to my parents?” He interrupted.
“Yes,” she nodded biting her lower lip. She paused, letting the weight settle.
“Are they going to be alright? Can we save them?”
“Tobal,” she said slowly, with pain in her eyes. Her voice softened, eyes glistening with shared pain. “Your parents are no longer human, and they are dying. They are asking for our help.”
“What do you mean, no longer human?” he shouted. “I see them and talk with them during circle.”
“What you see and talk with are their spirits,” she whispered. “They have developed their spirit bodies to the point where they are almost physical. In fact, once their spirit bodies were physical and they could go anywhere they wished by changing their physical bodies to energy and teleporting instantly to where they wanted to go. They can’t do that anymore. That’s the problem. The Federation keeps their spirit bodies deliberately corrupted so it can use their vital life force for their own projects.”
She shuddered, “Your uncle captured them and imprisoned them. He wired them like electrical components into the circuitry of their time travel machine and they have been kept alive artificially for over twenty years in special fluid-filled tanks.” Tobal’s breath caught, the image searing his mind.
“Tobal,” she said looking hard into his face with tears in her eyes. “I have traveled in the spirit to where they are kept imprisoned. Their physical bodies have mutated and become grossly deformed. Only their spirits remain human. They wish to be free of their physical bodies and become simply the Lord and Lady. But your uncle won’t let them die.”
“I need to see!” He sobbed in denial and fear. “I need to know for myself. I need to see them and talk with them. I need them to tell me.”
She put her arms around him as his shoulders shook and comforted him till he regained his composure.
Wiping angry tears from his eyes, he asked, “You’ll teach me?”
She held him against her breast. “I’ll teach you, Tobal. I promise.”
The first thing she taught him was the story of his parents and their classified research involving time travel. Ron and Rachel had built a matter transmission machine and tested it. This machine used powerful pulsating magnetic fields at certain resonant frequencies, powered by the earth’s own core energies, to create a gateway into time and space, much like the ones in current use for matter transmission. The problem was that mineral and crystalline objects would work, but organic materials would not.
After several years of research, Ron and Rachel developed the first gateway or portal that allowed living matter to be transported through it to target locations and began using it themselves. Something about their soul relationship allowed them to work together in a very powerful and unknown way. This was an important military breakthrough, or could have been. It allowed troops to be transported instantly from one area to another and was immediately highly classified. But it never worked unless Ron and Rachel were a part of it.
It was purely by accident the time-traveling capability was developed. One of the giant capacitors malfunctioned while transmitting Ron and Rachel to a target location. It threw the entire machine out of phase, and Ron and Rachel ended up in the 16th century.
When they didn’t appear at the target location, retrieval was attempted, and they were brought back successfully. They also brought some artifacts back with them. From that point on, the classified research became about time travel, not troop transmission.
By trial and error, they were able to travel into the past and into the future and achieved access to four historical time periods and four future time periods. Each time period seemed to act as a nexus point in time and space. If the machine wasn’t keyed to a nexus point, nothing happened. There were nine stable points in all, including the world we live in, and they were called: Hel, Niflheim, Svartalfheim, Vanaheim, Midgard, Alfheim, Jotunheim, Muspelheim, and Asgard after Nordic mythology.
Working with the machine gave access to other probable worlds that were not as stable. It was like working random codes until you found one that worked. The process was slow and frustrating but also highly exciting at the same time. That was when the problems arrived. Ron and Rachel were able to go back in time through the machine, but no one else could and live to tell about it. The machine did horrible things to those that tried, drove them insane or deformed their bodies. No one knew why it only worked for his parents. Howling Wolf says that your parents were divine counterparts. He said time travel only worked with special couples whose souls were linked together. The Time Knights called the females spinners, because they were able to weave new timelines with their partners.
“I’ve met some Time Knights,” Tobal interrupted. “Lucas and Carla. They are going to help free my parents, but I haven’t heard from them for a while.”
“Really,” Llana said pensively. “That is very interesting. I would like to meet them.”
They had developed the necessary training programs to prepare other time travelers. But the machine only worked for Ron and Rachel. It was a classified military project, and a team of scientists worked furiously to remodel the machine and make it work with other people.
It was only when both Ron and Rachel were hooked into the circuit with the machine at the same time and used as buffers that others were able to go through it. Tobal’s Uncle Harry was the first one to successfully time travel through the machine when it was hooked up in this fashion. He led a team through the machine several times to many previously unknown time periods in addition to those that your parents had discovered on their own.
There were problems with this because Ron and Rachel were not willing to be wired into the machine for hours at a time waiting for other time travelers to come and go. Trips into the past or future could only take two hours at the most, and the drain on Ron and Rachel was severe. Their health suffered each time they hooked themselves into the machine and others used it.
Ron and Rachel were able to time travel themselves without any of those restrictions and could be away for weeks at a time. They felt it was more important they be allowed to make extended trips and do research than be confined and wired to the machine so others could experience briefly what they could do for extended periods. They altered the machine and designed different programs searching for ways that others could use it.
Still, the machine would only work if Ron and Rachel were wired into it. They tried wiring other time traveler couples into the machine, and it killed them. It almost killed his Uncle Harry when he tried wiring himself and his wife into the machine. It did kill her and left his uncle paralyzed.
That was when his uncle went mad and had the gathering spot attacked and the villagers massacred. Ron and Rachel were seized and forcibly wired permanently into the machine and declared dead. That was when the program was officially closed down.
That was the story the Federation knew and was trying to keep secret. But there was much more to the story than that. There was an even greater part only Howling Wolf had known. Halfway through the project’s developmental stages, Ron and Rachel were beginning to think that the problem was with the people and not with the machine itself. They discovered Howling Wolf and his secret shaman bi-location ability.
His parents thought this additional training was needed and started working in secret with Howling Wolf and a handful of others at the gathering spot on the lake. It was after Howling Wolf’s training on bi-location that they realized they no longer needed the machine to time travel to places they had already visited. They met in a secret place under the waterfall at the lake to do this training. It was where they would travel back in time and return with items to prove they had done it. That was when the Time Knights showed up. They had higher technology and understood time travel a lot more. It was not necessary for the team to be divine counterparts; they could also be soulmates. So members of a team could change partners if they were all trained properly. Not only that, but once a team traveled to a location in time and space, they could revisit it by themselves because the pathway had already been formed. Time Knight teams could also take others through the time rift with them if they were vibrationally pure enough.
Howling Wolf needed help to time travel at first. Ron and Rachel had linked together with him and had made several trips back into different time periods. Later he was able to go to those same locations but he was not able to go to new ones. It seemed the machine opened the gateway the first time and that once it was opened by a spinner and a person properly attuned, they could travel through it at will. Even Ron and Rachel had needed the machine to open the gateway the first time to new locations.
At the lake, the group discovered two people who had already been to a specific time period could take a third person without using the machine. Once that person had been taken and brought back, they could make the journey on their own without help. Still, they were only allowed access to the four future times and four historical times that Ron and Rachel had personally gone to. They were not able to go to the alternate probable realities that had been discovered while Ron and Rachel were wired into the machine.
Llana had completed this training, but her grandfather couldn’t link with her well enough to take her through by himself. He needed one other person to be able to do this. Both Ron and Rachel had linked with him and taken him through. There needed to be one more person to take Llana through without the machine, and there were no others.
Howling Wolf thought they were all gone. All except Ron and Rachel, he and the others had called them the Lord and Lady. They were still there in the mountain complex held prisoner and alive. Things were not right because they were both ill and were both slowly dying.
Llana felt they needed her help, and she needed their help to time travel. She had talked with them in the spirit, and they had told her they would help her.
Then Llana spoke of the massacre at the lake and how the small group of people had been below in the cave time traveling when it had happened. Howling Wolf and the others had emerged from the cave only to find their families murdered. They had buried them in a mass grave and raised the pile of stones over the dead bodies. Afterward, they had left, not knowing whom to trust and knowing their very lives were in danger if they were ever found.
This was all news to Tobal, and he was beginning to think she was crazy until he remembered Fiona had said something about time travel. He thought about the strange shop in Old Spokane with its “replicas” and suddenly he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He hadn’t thought about Heliopolis as having the secret technology of time travel the Federation was willing to kill for. The Federation would kill to keep it and would kill to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands.
Suddenly he thought of Sarah’s father, Adam, and knew Adam and Howling Wolf could teach Llana time travel if they did it together. They were both trained and could take her with them if they went together, at least to the locations his parents had gone to. Lucas and Carla could also teach him more if he were properly prepared. He thought about telling Llana about Adam and decided to wait until he had been trained so he could go with her at the same time. They didn’t need his parents to time travel, but they might need to time travel to rescue his parents.
He thought of circle and the pagan rituals they practiced with the Lord and Lady. They represented much more than the old ways suddenly, and he liked them that way. They were ways to communicate with his father and his mother who were still alive and needing his help. Then he thought about the 3rd degree and the medics flying around in air sleds and the med-alert bracelets they all wore, and suddenly a throbbing headache crept in as he grappled with the med-alert bracelets’ implications, shifting his focus to Crow’s spirit teachings.
Llana’s lessons offered a new path, teaching him to draw energy from the earth’s depths. One evening, she pressed his palms to a gnarled oak, its bark cool under his touch, guiding a surge that left him steady yet awed as a deer approached. She taught him how to use the earth’s energy to make himself stronger, how to stand against a tree and recharge himself after reaching the point of exhaustion. She also taught him how to control that energy and send it out. He shook off the pain, eager to learn her ways, turning to her with renewed focus.
He saw her one time walk up to a deer and pet it. Birds would come to her when she called them. Llana said the spirits of the plants and animals talked to her and told her what they wanted or how to make use of them. As the sap started running in the trees, they collected maple sap to boil down for maple syrup and collected other newly sprouting plants and herbs for medicinal uses. Tobal vowed to master these skills, a step toward freeing his parents from their wired prison.
Anarchistbanjo's World 