The City in the Autumn Stars

by Michael Moorcock

  Chapter Nineteen

  In which I confront the incredible and accept the impossible. The Alchemical Goal. A Marriage of all elements. Galliard of the Old Stars. Concerning the properties of certain magical objects. The flaw in the formula.

  THEY HAD RAISED a black cross amongst the ruins and hanged my betrothed upon it. I had heard her speak of Christ and the necessity of the ritual of repetition, but I had not once guessed her full intention. She was dying, I was convinced. Overhead the sky swam with turbulent dust and the light from the old stars faded, flickered and expired. Exhausted rays fell upon her body. Then her eyes lifted up to the heavens and met mine. I was horrified by her sweet smile. ‘Hermes to my Aphrodite!’ she called. ‘My husband comes!’

  Montsorbier saw us descending now and although he could not move the vessel in which he caught her drops of blood, he grew greatly agitated. He was inspired, I knew then, by profound jealousy. He shouted: ‘Ha! Here comes Citizen Cockerel flapping to the slaughter. Fly away little rooster. You are not needed here. Your hens call you back to your coop!’

  Though she could only be in inconceivable pain, Libussa carried her familiar authority: ‘Beware, Montsorbier. You are commissioned to perform certain tasks. Perform those and no others!’

  He sulked. Her blood dripped, bead by precious bead, into the upturned helm. From amongst the mumbling crowd now stepped the golden girl, the same as sacrificed the lamb, and she was singing in Latin, much garbled, with some Greek and, I guessed, Hebrew. The entire ensemble joined in that hymn and Montsorbier’s reply, if any, was drowned.

  Pale St Odhran trembled in disgusted terror. ‘There’s nought to do here, von Bek. She conspires in her own blasphemous martyrdom! If we linger, we’ll be drawn in for certain and destroyed.’

  I was calm; reconciled now. ‘Do you not understand, dear friend, that it is my destiny as well as hers?’

  ‘I feared you would grow mad as she,’ he said soberly. ‘Will you try to listen to reason, von Bek? For love of what you were?’

  ‘I have no love, St Odhran, for what I was. I have changed beyond redemption and must fulfil what Fate demands.’ I smiled at him. He drew back, gasping as if I were leprous, and my stretched hand could not touch him.

  ‘You’re Satan’s creature now, von Bek!’

  ‘Always, it seems.’ I was tranquil. ‘There’s no sinister meaning…’

  ‘Sir, until but lately you were a human soul! A good heart. Now you are possessed. I’ll wait a day for you. No longer!’

  As I threw the ladder groundwards I shook my head, pitying his ignorance. ‘I must away now, my friend, to the wedding. I’m much disappointed you do not see your way clear to keeping your word.’

  He took a step or two across the gondola, as if to stop me, but I had swung over and was climbing towards the smouldering wasteland and an oblivious congregation of Witnesses whose eyes were entirely held by that dark crucifixion, the manifestation of what prophets had called ‘Anti-Christ’; the new messiah. Rejecting God, this messiah claimed the Earth in the name of mankind! As part of that destiny I would be second only to she, whose wisdom had reorganised my blood and illuminated my soul. Clinging to the ladder I looked down on all her Witnesses. The wind drummed against the balloon’s canopy like a tremendous heartbeat; the surrounding silhouettes of buildings waved like agitated wheat; the dust formed shapes in a huge sky and behind it still glowed the Autumn Stars.

  I jumped the last few feet into the hot ashes of The Friend Indeed. Embers flew about my legs, smoke attacked my eyes, yet I waded unconcerned through the red-hot débris until I reached the congregation. Most there were taller than I and I could see nothing of the cross. I pushed against bodies as cold as corpses, but they did not resist, and at last I stood to the left of the golden priestess. Montsorbier turned, lifting the bowl, crying out until the hymn gradually died and they waited again in silence.

  My lady hung upon the great cross, her head limp against her left shoulder, her body white, as if every drop of blood was drained. I could not see her breathing.

  I record these events to the best of my memory. While much is vivid some is vague and one image blends with another. Some was doubtless illusion, much definitely was not. In my daze I had decided all was preordained. To play my part in it was effortless for I merely followed my own desires. No prayer was ever more fervent than my prayer to her (for to whom else should I pray?) that she complete her ritual and be resurrected. Now I knew why Prince Miroslav had been so afraid, for like so many of his generation he reverenced God and believed that blasphemy must surely be punished.

  Montsorbier’s voice lifted like a bishop’s: ‘Here is the Grail! Here is the blood of the Anti-Christ mixed with the divine tincture. Here is sulphur, mercury, salt and cinnabar; here is gold and silver and an essence of rubies. Here is the stone made liquid.’ And he displayed that battered helmet as if it were the crown of Zeus. ‘So sayeth Marduk: I shall maketh my blood solid. I shall maketh bones therefrom. I shall raise up Man from mine own dismembered flesh. So sayeth Marduk!’

  ‘So sayeth Marduk!’ They gave chorus again, as they had at the sacrifice of the lamb.

  ‘When the Holy One, blessed be, created the first of our race they were called Androgynous,’ intoned the priestess. ‘So sayeth the Holy One.’

  ‘So sayeth the Holy One!’

  ‘Behold,’ she cried, ‘the truth hath been revealed to thee! The seed hath been sown.’

  ‘The seed hath been sown.’

  ‘Whomsoever sows the holy chryosperm shall know rebirth for eternity. They shall know the secret of holy metals, the alchemical tree, the seven waters and the thirteen vapours. The tree is cut down! The tree is reborn.’

  And while she chanted, Montsorbier, reluctantly, yet helpless as anyone to do otherwise, came slowly towards me, offering me the helm in outstretched hands.

  ‘Behold!’ shouted the priestess. ‘The male that is female shall be wedded to the female that is male. Brother to sister, mother to son, daughter to father! Here is the old king dying and the young king being born. Here is Kibrit come to Al-baida, his sister, to be swallowed in her womb. From darkness there shall come light.’

  ‘From darkness shall come light.’

  ‘So shall Hermaphroditus come to the fountain of Salmacis and the two become one. Animate and inanimate shall be called Rebis, which is our stone. Immortal, it shall be whole, self-reproducing with the sum of all our wisdom!’

  ‘Thus at last,’ chimed in Montsorbier, ‘is Christ recrucified; Christ made complete; Christ who is man and woman and the child of man and woman! Thus the plural is abolished.’ And he handed me the upturned helm which I took in my palms. Swirling gold, dark red and green, the elixir within gave off a gentle, delicious vapour, that tincture which in the alchemical belief was the essence of divine wisdom, as it was the essence of my Libussa.

  ‘Drink!’ cried the priestess. ‘The ritual must be completed and we shall witness the crucifixion and resurrection of the female Christ; the marriage of opposites, the final reconciliation. Then shall Harmony come upon the Earth. Drink!’

  I drank. It was salty, sweet, heady. My stomach attempted to reject it, but if I was to be married I knew I had to consume every drop. I took another sip. The Witnesses had now disrobed. Their limbs were pale in the light of the Autumn Stars. The black dust swirled around them. The coals glowed red. They watched as I drained the cup. They moaned with ecstatic approval.

  Montsorbier took the Grail from my hands. The priestess reached out to me. I feared her. I was suspicious of her. She was ally to the Beast. I believed it wrong she should officiate at the ritual. Neither should Montsorbier have been there. But few others were now alive. The priestess came towards me again and I could not draw back. She and Montsorbier removed my clothing until I stood naked before the black cross, my sword raised before me in my two fists.

  They withdrew. I was alone before my mistress, her face serene in its power, even though life had left her lacerated body a
nd swept through my own like a tremendous tide, through every channel of my being. It was as if I were the universe and was populated by elementals. Never had I known such strength.

  From behind me the priestess declaimed. ‘So shall ye be the second of the two, the whole, the creature some call Anti-Christ but which is called in the secret lore Krystous Androgynous: The Lord that is both Man and Woman.’

  Stiffly upright I was lifted upon the backs of the Witnesses, and used my sword to prise loose the nails, then catch her in my arms as she fell. She was my sweet love. She was my Libussa, who taught me the meaning of lust. Her cold body hung in my arms.

  ‘First comes the resurrection, then the marriage, then begins your eternal rule, when justice and equality shall be the same as harmony and all shall be whole. We shall have achieved the End of the World’s Pain!’

  The Sword of Paracelsus, my gift from Satan, was slung over my naked back. Bearing her limp remains I stood ankle deep in the black ashes beneath that great cross. They surrounded us again, the Witnesses, chanting with uplifted hands. Montsorbier and the golden girl, priest and priestess of this rite, were the leading voices. I scarcely saw them as I looked upon the face of my tutoress; I looked upon undaunted Faith.

  ‘The winged one with two heads shall stand upon the pyre of old hope; here is the Cup and here the Sword. Where is the Beast?’

  Now it seemed a great lion stalked through the ruins, in his jaws the body of a pelican, round his neck a snake, and he was crowned with yellow lilies. The Witnesses fell back before him. He stood upon a spur of fallen masonry and, dropping the pelican from his mouth, lifted his head to utter a great, triumphal roar. The roar echoed amongst the swaying towers of the Deeper City, amongst the Autumn Stars, at once a lament and a victory shout. Then, from beneath his feet there suddenly burst a huge fount of silvery water which washed away the ash and the coals.

  The Lion vanished but the fountain remained. It was the same O’Dowd had spoken of, the old spring upon which the inn was founded. It was gushing mightily now as I carried my Libussa into its centre. The water was so powerful it appeared to dissolve us as our bodies were washed and grew white. Moaning, Libussa stirred in my arms and a tracery of blood sprang from her wounds and was at once washed away. Libussa! Libussa! Mistress of my desire. Wake, I beg you! She opened her astonishing eyes and smiled at me. ‘It is as it should be,’ she said softly. Still holding her in my arms I reached down my head and kissed her lips.

  ‘I knew you would follow.’ She was still weak as she lowered herself to the ground, the water pouring down her face, pressing her hair flat against her skull. Holding my hand she peered through the silvery curtain of water. ‘Where’s the crucible?’

  She led me from beneath the fountain. Blood no longer issued from her hands and feet. She was purified. The bulk of the Witnesses lay face down in the wet ash, still maintaining a muffled chant, and from across the square came a score of naked men and women pulling a wooden tumbril upon which stood upright a thing of copper and brass: a great cylinder with a domed top. From the dome issued tubes and vents. I had never seen one so large, but I knew it was an alchemist’s crucible: the Chemical Womb where the elements were blended and fresh elements created.

  ‘You have done well,’ said Libussa to them. ‘Now you must prepare the Catinus Uteri. There is little time. Nec temere; nec timide.’

  Her blood was now my own. It was fire in me. I was a god. They placed the crucible beneath the black cross and began the work of bringing it to life. Great bellows heaved, charcoal blossomed red, steam and sparks poured into the darkling air. Montsorbier and the priestess supervised this work while Libussa embraced me, smiling more tenderly than ever before. ‘It is all as it should be, my darling. Every ingredient, every equation, every formula. At the moment of the Concordance we shall be joined. Do you fear this, little one?’

  ‘I fear nothing, Madam. I am yours.’

  She stroked my body. The combination of the tincture and her touch upon me made me gasp. And if that were ecstasy, what could the ultimate ecstasy she promised be? I trembled as we approached the crucible. Montsorbier lifted up the helm, still glowing from the remains of its contents. The red light from the furnace fell upon all our faces. The heat was terrific.

  Montsorbier and the golden girl grinned in their mystical glee. Libussa’s arm was around my shoulders. She stood gracefully, staring up at the hazy sky. It grew darker. I placed my own arm about her waist and for a moment it was as if we were rustic lovers taking the air in the evening fields. I had no intimation of what was to come, but it was enough for me that we were to be married. It did not matter what future she sought to create. I would serve her however she wished. This thought was enough to thrill my blood, her blood.

  ‘The Time of the Lion,’ whispered the golden girl, ‘shall be upon us. The Time of the Lamb is past.’ I recalled her lovely, innocent lips rimmed with the blood of the sacrificial creature. I recalled Montsorbier’s cruel carelessness, his lust for revenge. These were poor servants for my mistress, I thought. ‘The Beast shall be set free,’ murmured Montsorbier. ‘All who refuse his worship shall be destroyed, so shall cowardice be cleansed from the world.’ I looked to Libussa, who said nothing to contradict him.

  ‘But the Beast must be banished,’ I said. ‘He is part of the Old Time. There can be no real justice or harmony if he comes over with us!’

  Libussa pursed her lips, frowning at me, demanding silence. Montsorbier flashed a glance from her, to me, to the priestess who said: ‘We combine our forces, Sir, and so ensure success. It was agreed that if we helped you two in this transmutation, you would help us in our ambition.’

  ‘But they are at odds!’ I felt wounded, fearing fresh betrayal. ‘There is no reconciliation between Reason and the Beast!’

  Libussa wished me to say nothing. I could only suppose she intended to settle the matter later, when the power was fully hers. ‘They are reconciled,’ she said. ‘We have found a satisfactory formula.’

  This talk was too familiar from my Commune days. By such compromises we had lost all we hoped to achieve. Yet my silence was assured. I loved Libussa. If she wished me to say nothing of our mutual principles, nothing would be said. Nonetheless I remained perturbed. Both Montsorbier and the priestess had shown they would use any bestial means to achieve their ends. Surely Libussa found them as degenerate as did I? She drew me closer to her. In spite of the unnatural strength in my veins I yet grew weak at her touch. I smiled into her face, from which some of the pallor had gone, driven out perhaps by the flames from the crucible which grew hotter by the moment. She returned my attention to the sky. ‘Do you detect any alteration, little one?’

  The dust was swirling faster while the Autumn Stars continued to emit their faded light. I believed that she detected a change in the configuration of the heavens, but I could see no difference. My betrothed looked again upon her crucible. She stretched out her resurrected limbs to feel the heat upon her flesh. She uttered a lazy yawn and she might have been the Lion herself. Her tawny skin glowed with its old vitality. Her breathing was more rapid. She pointed to the upper chamber of the machine. ‘’Tis in there we’ll be united for ever. Within that metal womb there is space for our bodies. We shall enter it at the exact moment of the full Concordance.’

  It seemed to me we would hardly both fit into the little room and would be mighty hot if we did. She noted my uncertainty. ‘The Grail shall go with us, von Bek, to provide spiritual fire as the crucible provides our temporal. I shall eat what I must eat. Now you have the blood and the tincture mixed within you. Next I must take that blood and tincture within me. This shall occur at the moment of maximum power. It is in all the grammars. For sixteen hundred and forty-seven years, seven months, thirteen weeks and nine days have the alchemical adepts worked to achieve this specific moment. True, we have worked in different ways and sometimes, as Montsorbier and I have done, towards different ends, but between us we have accumulated wisdom enough to predict the exac
t moment when the stars conjoin and the new era begins. This knowledge shall give us control of the fate of the world! We have waited long, little von Bek. Great men and women have lived entire lives, accepted torture and death, to bring about this moment. John Dee said we shall be called Monas, the One. He devoted every moment in his search for a formula enabling us to create the One. Before him came the great Paracelsus. And Cleopatra, of course, who searched for Balance and Harmony, the two paramount goals of the alchemical life. Are you aware, Sir, of the numbers who searched and experimented, writing their learned works so that you and I could be joined on this day?’ She returned her frowning concentration to the sky.

  I shuddered and grew suddenly cold. ‘We shall be united,’ said she in a whisper, ‘with all this!’ And her hands went out to encompass the universe. ‘Two great concordances have occurred since the adepts began their work. Both times we failed to take our advantage. We were not sufficiently ruthless. Henry Cornelius Agrippa exhorted us to dedication in the Three Books, and Basil Valentine was urgent that we take advantage of this Concordance for it could be our last chance. Our master, Hermes Trismegistus, even Cagliostro… Every one of them, living and dead, shall be vindicated, for the Occult Reign shall soon begin. All will be in balance! All, male and female, shall be equal. All injustices shall be abolished! Can you not see that whatever I choose to do now is right, so long as it achieves that harmony?’

  ‘The Beast is not harmony. He should die…’ But I was entranced by her enthusiasm and could only accept it. My arguments seemed dull and pointless in my own ears.

  Sweat shone on our bodies as the crucible’s heat turned from red to white. The darkness wavered in that radiance and again I imagined the Lion, stalking back and forth, as Montsorbier had stalked before The Friend Indeed, with lashing tail, waiting as impatiently as Libussa for the Moment.

  The Sword of Paracelsus was like an icicle against my back and recalled Lucifer’s urgent pleading that I use the sword to win the greatest possible advantage. Libussa, too, had said she had a use for the sword…