290 lines
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290 lines
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
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OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
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OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
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OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #78 |
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- Gift of the Maga -
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by Ace Lightning
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At the great Collegium of the Magi in Persia, the astrologers finished their
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calculations and turned to one another in astonishment. "The One who will be
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born at the moment of the Grand Stellium will, indeed, be a world-changer!"
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In seconds, the astrologers' news spread through the entire Collegium. The
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alchemists murmured it over their alembics. The thaumaturgists heard it from
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the demons and spirits they held in thrall. The numerologists hurried to the
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Hall of the Stars and, combining their calculations with those of the
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astrologers, soon determined exactly where the Child of Promise would be
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born, and what His name would be.
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Not all of the Magi were men, and not all were practitioners of the classical
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arts of magick. There was one Maga, in particular, who belonged to none of
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the schools, for her arts were not classifiable according to the systems that
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the Collegium taught. Vashti was more of a generalist; at least that was how
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she preferred to think of herself. Most of the Magi thought of her as little
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more than a jumped-up hedge-witch. When the news of the prediction reached
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her, she was in the Alchemists' Tower, distilling a potion from nasturtium
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buds and rare Eastern fruits. The Magus working near her cocked his head as a
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mouse scampered up his robes and squeaked in his ear. "My familiar tells me
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that the astrologers have determined what the signs in the sky predict. There
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will be born a child whose life and teachings will change the entire world!"
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"A world-changer, indeed. Well, any baby changes his mother's world when he's
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born," she muttered. It took more than some astrological rumors to excite
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Vashti. Still, as she worked, she thought about the idea. Even a mystically
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prophesied Child starts out as a baby, needing to be fed and changed and kept
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warm. She knew these Magi. They would send a delegation to bring gifts to the
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child. But, being men, their gifts would be symbolic things, like gold,
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frankincense, and myrrh. They would never think to bring clean rags for
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swaddling cloths, or a carved wooden toy. She set aside her potion, and left
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for her tiny rooms near the kitchen. As she was leaving, her companion
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noticed the potion, and asked, "What are you making, Vashti? Liquid gems?
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Elixir of immortality?"
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"Steak sauce," she replied, as the door swung shut behind her.
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Once in her chambers, she rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a packet
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wrapped in midnight-blue silk. Inside were seventy-eight thin plaques of
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ivory. Each one was painted with a different colorful scene. She spread the
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silk carefully on the table and began to shuffle the ivory plaques, chanting
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to herself in a singsong whisper. Soon her eyes were half-closed, and a
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barely perceptible tremor ran through her body. She stopped shuffling and
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collapsed the plaques into a neat pile. Then she took a plaque from the top
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of the pile and laid it, picture side up, on the silk. She repeated this
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several times, arranging the plaques in a pattern in front of her. When she
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had her pattern complete, she stared at it with a slight frown of
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concentration.
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"The Sage, yes...Death, and the Hanged One, of course...and the Empress! And
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beside her, the Priestess...but the Priest, and the Emperor...." Suddenly
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Vashti swept the plaques together and re-wrapped them in their silk cloth.
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But instead of returning them to the drawer she had taken them from, she slid
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the bundle under the pillow on her sleeping-pad. Then she hurried out of the
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room to find one of the senior Magi.
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"Caspar," she said, "I know what the stars have said to us. I'm not trying to
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argue that, indeed, a World-Changer is about to be born. But I have had
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....certain signs... that the changes that he will bring will not be quite
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what we've been expecting. And there are some aspects that I find
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frightening."
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"Foolish witch! I do not believe in your hearth-magicks. This child will be
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the Prince of Peace! I have already made plans; Melchior and Balthazar will
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accompany me as we bring our ritual gifts to the Child of Promise...even if
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he IS being born in some backward little village in the dirty end of the
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Roman Empire."
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When Vashti approached Melchior, he was busy packing for his long trip. As
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the older man stuffed silk robes and curl-toed slippers into a camel bag, she
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tried to explain what she had seen in the images on ivory. "But, Vashti my
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child, you know your little peasant divinations lack the true vision that we
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gain by observing the heavens. This Grand Stellium is something that occurs
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once in several thousand years. This Child of Promise will bring a new
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destiny to the entire world! Now, where did I put that striped turban...?"
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Balthazar's carved-ebony face was sympathetic. "No, Vashti, I know that your
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methods are at least as valid as any others. But a World-Changer WILL change
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the world. Change isn't always pleasant. You have to live with some of the
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more painful aspects if you want to have the more pleasant ones. Besides,
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none of US will be here to see it happen. After all, the Child isn't even
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going to be born for a few more weeks."
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So Vashti went back to her room, and slept that night with the colorful ivory
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plaques beneath her head. And she dreamed...
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She saw a man in the prime of his life, with a kind face framed by flowing
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hair and beard, speaking to crowds of people. She saw him lay his hands on
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desperately ill people, who immediately recovered their health.
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She saw the same kind-looking man, wearing only a dirty loincloth and a piece
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of thorn-vine wrapped around his head. His face was twisted in agony, because
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his body was fastened to some sort of wooden framework by large nails driven
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directly through his flesh.
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She saw armies of oddly-dressed men, each wearing a symbol that was a
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stylized picture of that odd wooden framework. The men were killing
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methodically, then destroying everything they found.
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She saw scrolls of ancient and mighty wisdom, tales of the Gods of many
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lands, powerful magicks, histories, and all manner of writing, piled up and
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burning...and the one who wielded the torch wore the symbol, too.
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She saw the graceful temples smashed, the sacred groves cut down, and in
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their place buildings topped with the wooden crossbars.
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She saw a woman, heavily pregnant, being tied to a stake with kindling at her
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feet, while men wearing the crossed symbol smiled at the executioner ready to
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ignite the oil-soaked tinder...
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Vashti woke up, gasping. With hands that shook uncontrollably, she took out
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the painted plaques again and created another pattern of pictures. "Can this
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be stopped? Can it be lessened? How?" she asked. She stared at the pattern
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for a long time. "The Empress...and the Priestess..."
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At the appointed time, Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar left to attend the
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miraculous birth. They traveled in state, with servants and treasure-wagons
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and extra baggage-mules. It would take them weeks to reach the town with the
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strange name...Bethlehem, was it? Vashti thought that, even though the birth
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was weeks away, they might still arrive late. Well, that fit perfectly with
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her plans.
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When the Grand Stellium, and the birth of the World-Changer, were about a
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week away, Vashti quietly took a fast horse from the stables, loaded her
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simple belongings onto it, and rode westward, following the caravan's trail.
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The night of the Grand Stellium found the three Magi still far from
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Bethlehem. They pitched their silken tents and stared up at the marvelous
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arrangement of lights in the sky. In all of recorded time, no Grand Stellium
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had ever been quite so grand. From her inconspicuous campsite on a ridge
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nearby, Vashti watched her brethren, smiling to herself. She could overtake
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them now, if she wanted, and arrive in Bethlehem before they did. Yet her
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dreams and visions had let her know that she should wait, and arrive just
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after they did. So she lay back and watched the mystery in the sky, until she
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fell asleep.
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Twelve days later, the three Magi rode into Bethlehem with full pomp and
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circumstance. They found the newborn child exactly where they had calculated
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he would be, although they were surprised at the humble surroundings. The
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baby's parents were surprised to see three richly-dressed Magi, carrying
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elaborate gifts.
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"I am Yosef the carpenter," said the man holding the baby, "and this is my
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wife Maryam, and our newborn son Yeshua. Why do you honor humble folk like
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us, O wise ones from the East?"
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"Great portents in the sky have led us to you, O Yosef!" rumbled Caspar. "We
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come with gifts of great symbolic meaning and enormous value, to present them
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to the Child of Promise." Sinking to one knee, Caspar held out his gift with
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a flourish. "I bring you gold, O Prince of Peace!" He presented an elaborate
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golden crown on a silken pillow, with gems of many colors set here and there
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in the gold. Baby Yeshua tried to grab the crown with his tiny hands, but
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missed. He began to frown.
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Melchior stepped forward. Bowing deeply, he held out a vase-shaped container
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of silver filigree. "Behold, I offer you precious frankincense, O Child of
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God!" A strong, musky odor rose from the jar. Yeshua's tiny face screwed
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itself into an expression of distaste.
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Then Balthazar moved near the child. With a dignified tilt of his head, he
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offered a jar carved from a single flawless amethyst. "And I bring you myrrh
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from the embalmers of Egypt, O Dying and Reborn One!" The aroma of the myrrh
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clashed violently with the frankincense. Yeshua turned his face away and
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began to squeak. Yosef quickly handed the baby to Maryam, who started to
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fumble with the bodice of her robe, then stopped as she realized that the
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Magi were still there. Yeshua's cries ascended into a wail. Maryam looked
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tired.
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The three Magi bowed, and went out, leaving their gifts in the straw on the
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floor. Sighing, Maryam dropped the top of her robe and began to suckle the
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infant. Yosef said, "Now, what are we going to do with all these expensive
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presents? I don't think it would be polite to sell them."
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"No, it wouldn't," said Vashti, stepping into the stable. "But I am one of
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the Magi myself, and I have some gifts for you and the child that might make
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more sense." She held out a bundle to Maryam. "Clean rags for swaddling
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cloths. No baby ever has enough clean cloths." She went to the small cookfire
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and began to boil some water. When it was boiling, she added a handful of
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leaves from a packet she carried. "Here, dear, let this cool a bit, then
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drink it. It will strengthen you, and help you recover from the birth. What,
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nobody ever told you about steeped raspberry leaves?" She took the baby, who
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had fallen asleep, and rocked him gently as Maryam sipped at the leaf brew.
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Soon Maryam and Vashti were like old friends. The younger woman - she was
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barely thirteen - had never had a chance to learn much birthing lore from
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other women, so Vashti's knowledge of potions and midwifery was very welcome.
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Maryam was young and healthy, and possessed of a quick mind and a kind soul.
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Under Vashti's care, mother and child thrived, and Yosef found his own life
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returning to normal.
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Maryam was not surprised that Vashti knew the circumstances of the baby's
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conception and birth. In turn, Vashti was not surprised. There had been women
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impregnated by Gods before, and heroes and demigods born to mortal women. But
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Vashti had the feeling that Maryam had not been an ordinary girl even before
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her God chose her to bear His son.
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One night Vashti showed Maryam the ivory plaques. The girl looked at each
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picture, then chose two. The first one showed a Priestess, enthroned in front
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of a temple, with a crescent Moon beneath her feet. "That's me, before I got
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pregnant," said Maryam. She then chose a picture of a full-figured woman,
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crowned with stars and holding the scepter of an Empress. "And this is me,
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now." Vashti gravely kissed Maryam on the forehead, whispering a Word.
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And Maryam remembered Who She was. She smiled at Vashti and said, "Only a
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Goddess can give birth to a God." Just then, the baby God woke up, screaming
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for milk. The moment passed. But people began to look at Maryam and see
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different things.
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Vashti and Maryam had many private talks, often with the strange pictures to
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guide their thoughts. Baby Yeshua began to toddle, and then to speak. He was
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a strange child, wise beyond his years, but sunny and kind-hearted.
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"I must go back to the Collegium," Vashti told Maryam. "My work here is done.
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Remember what I have taught you, and what to teach your son." And she packed
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up her few belongings and rode away to the East.
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Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar were waiting for her when she returned to the
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Collegium. "Where have you been? Why did you follow us? What did you do to
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the mother of our Child of Promise?" She smiled at them and said, "I just
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reminded her that she is the Mother of God."
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"Why? Surely she has enough cares, knowing that her child will grow up to
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change the whole world!" said Balthazar. "But the world can change in many
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ways, and not all of them are pleasant," said Vashti. "My visions showed me
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armies killing in the child's name, smashing temples, torturing women,
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because their knowledge of their God was purely male. But if they remember
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the Mother of God, She will temper their instincts toward violence. Now that
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Maryam remembers that She is the Mother of God, so will His followers in the
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ages to come." And Vashti slipped out of the room and down to the Alchemy
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chamber.
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"I tended to your brew while you were gone," said the alchemist who had
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worked beside her. She dipped a fingertip into it and tasted the mixture.
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"Just as I planned it - steak sauce." The alchemist turned away, shaking his
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head. But Vashti began setting up the ingredients for another potion, singing
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quietly to herself in Latin. Her companion listened, straining to understand
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the unfamiliar language, as Vashti sang "Ave, Maria, gratia plena..."
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