“Maybe you do understand more than I give you credit for,” Sananda said. Cameron gave him a look that said I don’t have the slightest clue was you are talking about. “This is the first gate along the Path. I’ll give you a hint: you can’t take your physical body with you.”
“I had gathered as much.”
“And you must go alone.”
“You aren’t coming as a guide?”
Sananda peered at him. “There is absolutely no reason for me too. You have no faith.”
“If I didn’t believe then why did I come to you?” Cameron opened in his arms in an I’ve never done anything in my life gesture.
“There is a huge difference in believing in something and to have faith in something,” Sananda said, “You’ve never been a Christian your whole life. So you walk this Path alone, and I’m not going to kid you it’s going to be hard. The hardest thing you’ve ever done.” He licked his lips and held out his palm. “Now, I’ve done my part you give me back the Paladins like you bargained, because I’ll never see you again.”
Cameron placed the flask in Sananda’s hand. “Now don’t drink it all in one sitting and try to wait until I come back before you open it. I’d like you to watch my body while I’m out.”
“Fine,” Sananda said. “I’ll watch it until I deem it unreasonable, which won’t be long. Alone you’ll get lost and probably reincarnated within the hour.”
Cameron grinned. “Now watch this.”
Hey Ryoma Cameron said in his mind. Do you trust me?
Absolutely not Ryoma replied. There have been a few things I’ve been meaning to ask you...
After this last part you can be free to go and I’ll answer any of your questions, but for this next part to work I need your consent.
There was silence.
No! Nothing like that! Honest!
More silence.
Are we at an accord?
So desu. Do what you must.
Sananda watched Cameron close his eye and drew into himself for a good five minutes. He could have eavesdropped if he wanted, but quite frankly he was afraid at what might happen. Then wordlessly Cameron came back, sat down, and his astral body emerged. But it was not his astral body. He was dressed in a hakama with the buccaneer’s overcoat. An eye patch was still over the left eye, but the right was now the sharp blue eye of a bombardier. His dreadlocks were still red, but now tied back in the style of ronins. Wedged down the front of his hakama was a single Smith and Wesson revolver.
To say this was the amalgamation of both Cameron and Ryoma would be inaccurate. The astral body was far more Cameron than it was Ryoma, but this was a massive change. They were truly as one.
“Interesting thinking,” Sananda said, “That works for now, but if you think you can find a loophole in the ineffable then you are sorely mistaken.”
“Unless said loopholes were part of the plan to begin with,” Cameron said now with a hint of Ryoma’s George Takei accent. He looked around. “So where is the path?”
“Behind the gate.”
“And the gate?”
“You have to make it,” Sananda said. “What part of 'you are on your own' did you not understand? The Universe is not going to put the path together for you. No guide is going to put the path together for you. You have to tangle with your own spirit to get there and your own mind. You create this path yourself. You are entirely own your own.”
Cameron grinned and rummaged through his coat pockets. He pulled a battered and old tarot deck. The Thoth deck to be exact, the one that Aleister Crowley designed with each card painted by Lady Frieda Harris – he would have been proud that his deck was being used for this. Cameron flipped through the deck and pulled one of the Major Arcana cards. The twenty-one card. The Universe.
“Looks like today is going to be the start of a journey,” Cameron said. The card vanished into space, but now hanging in the air was a doorway. Painted on the door was a nude woman gripping a ray of dazzling light in each of her hands.
“Mind turning time back on before you go and never return? As Cameron anyway.”
“Yes,” Cameron said. “Greatly. I’d like to pretend I’m the most important thing in this Universe at the moment. You don’t seem terribly worried so I bet good money that something kicks it back on eventually.”
Before Sananda could protest some more Cameron flung open the door and stepped through.
7
The door with the Universe card painted on the reverse side as well closed behind Cameron. He stood at the top of a long winding staircase descending for what seemed to go on forever. Cameron knelt down and examined the floor. The staircase and walls were made of carved granite, but he could not tell the colors in this light. However, at the top of the staircase he was able to make out the Hebrew letter of Tau.
He tentatively tried the first step, and when he found it was solid under his bamboo sandal, he stepped down. It appeared as if there was a switch inside the step as the torches behind extinguished. While he didn’t test this theory he was sure that the platform and door behind him were no longer there. He dropped down to the second step. It was far steeper than the last. Nearly a three-foot drop.
When the soles of his feet touched the granite there was a click and the torches changed to a green hue. After another three feet drop the dead appeared. A stream of transparent and screaming ghosts poured from behind him where the top of the staircase may or may not have been like a rushing river. He flinched and wanted to jump, but he knew they were far less tangible than him. The dead rushed through his center, which Cameron had to admit was very unsettling, but otherwise achieved nothing.
The next step was four feet. There was a sharp flare of pain in his right ankle. Watch that last step it’s a dozy. The next step he slowly lowered himself over the edge. Cameron was sure that the staircase was intelligent, and with each step it observed how he adapted. This time all the torches blew out in a gust of wind that nearly took Cameron off his feet.
He lowered to all fours and felt his way to the edge in the pure darkness. He carefully shimmied over the edge until his feet were firmly on solid granite. He preceded over two more steps like this. Each one was steeper than the last. The fourth after the lights went out required that he hang by his hands until his toes touched the ground. He let go and the tile under his feet collapsed at the full weight of him. Clever. The damn thing was two steps ahead of me.
He fell through the air for what seemed like a minute, but it was hard to tell since time was not on and probably didn’t work here. He finally landed neck first and it gave a sickening snap. The momentum carried his limp body back into the air and over the step. He rolled over at least ten steps in short succession. It was far too rapid to keep an accurate count, but he eventually came to a stop.
Cameron started blankly at the darkness overhead. I’m going to rest a minute. It seems I’ve had a bit of a tumble. Cameron heard scratching on the floors as something big and with claws was walking towards him. He tried his arms. Nothing. He tried his legs. Nada. He tried to lift one of his fingers. Zip.
Three pairs of eyes glowed in the darkness overhead. A jet stream of hot, rotten air blew over him and drizzled a river of saliva over him. He heard three pairs of sniffing and the eyes moved towards him at an alarming rate. Cameron’s hand zipped to his revolver and fired three times with his thumb pulling back the hammer each time.
The three explosions filled the entire cavern with light and transformed Cerberus the three-headed dog of Hades into the no-headed flaming corpse of Hades. Cameron pulled himself to his feet.
“Did you expect me to forget that my spine doesn’t mean anything here?” Cameron shouted at the corpse. By the light of Cerberus’ flaming corpse he realized that he was before the river Styx. Its waters were the same as the green specters that had poured from the top of the stairs earlier. The ferryman pushed a tiny black boat over the surface of the water with a long pole. He looked like a Venetian taxi driver in a tattered black cloak.
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The ferryman wasted no time making it across the river. He turned to Cameron and a skeletal hand emerged from the cloak palms up. Cameron rolled his eyes. “Two gold,” gasped a scratchy voice from under the ferryman’s hood.
“Sorry,” Cameron said and drew the revolver. “All I got is three lead. Is that enough? I think I’ve got some more in my pocket.”
It was indeed enough.
8
After a quick and awkwardly silent ferry across the river Styx, Cameron was now standing in a magnificent courtyard. Two large shrubs blooming with black roses surrounded the courtyard. Once again Cameron rolled his eyes at the over dramatic nature of it all. A woman was crouched over a fire spit in the center.
“Would you like one?” she asked as he approached and pulled a roasted pomegranate from the spit.
“No thank you,” Cameron replied. His hand dropped to the butt of his pistol.
“Well then I’m not going to detain you,” she said. She appeared quite young, but sometimes when the fire flickered shadows danced through the deep valleys on her face. “But before you may pass you have to give me something of value.”
“And what would I have of value to a girl who has everything,” Cameron gestured in the air. “I mean look at all this. A bush. Fire. Pomegranates. First class all the way.”
The woman (or was it girl?) pulled herself to her feet. She looked like she took fashion lessons from Lilith, which would work with her raven black hair and vermillion lips. This girl was thin however, almost deathly thin. It was not a very good contrast to her pale skin at all. Of course if this woman wanted to appear beautiful to him the worst thing she could do was remind him of Lilith.
As she circled the fire spit towards Cameron she seemed to change from girl, middle-aged, and to crone depending on her angle and the lighting. When she was in front of him she appeared the girl again. “This is the Sephirot of Yesod, Cameron Styles. This is where all things are designed before they enter the Physical.”
“I’m aware,” Cameron said.
“Then if you want to pass what I need from you is what sets you apart from everything else,” she said. Suddenly a gnarled finger poked him in the forehead much faster than he could draw his revolver. He was faced with her toothless grin now. “Give me your name, boy.”
“Then can I have yours?”
“Clever, but no not to keep. You may borrow it for a listen, though. Hekate.”
“I’m surprised that Hades didn’t meet me here.”
“You shot his dog. Why would he want to meet you? Most go under the dog. Some clever ones pit the heads against one another…”
“Fair enough,” Cameron said. He stroked his chin. “Fine. I forfeit my name to you, Cameron Styles.”
“Then you shall pass, Pirate King. It is fortunate you have so many names. However, I only need one.” Her wrinkles were nowhere as deep, but he saw their beginnings now. She placed his tarot deck in his hand. He shuffled through the deck looking for the Devil trump card. The card that would lead him to Tiphareth, the center of Creation.
The easiest path to travel was a straight line, but no such luck. There were many cards in the deck, but they were all the same card – The Sun. Two Cherubs danced under its light in the portrait. He tossed the whole deck in the air, and he passed through the door painted by Lady Frieda Harris.
9
The Sun closed behind him. It seemed the Pirate King was still in the caverns. This cave was tiny, and he could see light gleaming at the end. He approached the opening with his hand on the butt of his revolver. On his approach the head of the cave lowered and lowered until he was on all fours. He crawled under the opening.
The opening was flat and square. He struggled to climb upwards through it, and emerged on a street. The street was boxed in with discarded cars and dilapidated buildings. It would be conceivable to get around them, but that would get him lost. Nothing good would come from leaving the path. The Dread Pirate turned around and saw that he had climbed through a sewer gutter. Carved on the top of the gutter was the Hebrew letter Resh. A street marker told him this was Lafayette Street.
Finally confirming he was on the right path, the Pirate King walked forward. It was really the only way he could go. The only sensible path, and he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to fit through that gutter again. However, he was not on that road alone for long. The Urban Shaman stepped out of a P.T. Cruiser with the left light busted out.
“Long time no see,” the Urban Shaman greeted. The Pirate King only grunted in response. “I’ve heard you’ve made quite a name for yourself with magic. I’d like to see that now.”
“You’re looking at it. I created this and I created you.”
“No, matter how much you want to be you are not God, Pirate formerly known as Cameron,” the Urban Shaman said, “No more than you created Baltimore. It was your interaction with me and this city is what caused you to create this. That’s not magic.”
“I’m far more accomplished that you could ever be,” he replied, “More than you could ever dream of. I once had all the power of God.”
“Who is not to say that I have all the power of God, but because I chose not to use it I’ll never lose it.”
“And that is what makes me the better magician.”
“Neither of us is better. I gathered wisdom for the sake of gathering wisdom, but never use it. You had all the power in the world, but you squandered it. The better magician would have taken the middle ground.”
“Hmm, the Buddhist approach,” the Pirate King mused. “Perhaps you’re right, but I still think I’m better because I acted instead of waited.”
“There you go flapping your ego again.” The Urban Shaman crossed his arms behind his back.
“Then ask me something about the nature of magic. Anything. I can answer it – I’ve seen it first hand. I believe you were the one that said that experience was the better teacher.”
“Very well.” The Urban Shaman stopped in his tracks. He seemed to pluck a thought from his head. “Answer this riddle then: I am a tree. I need light to live, but not water. I am rooted in death so I can be life itself. Ten are my branches. What tree am I?”
“The Tree of Life,” the Pirate King said without any hesitation. “That might have tripped me up if I wasn’t walking it right now. The ten makes it far too obvious. Try something harder old man.”
“Alright,” the Urban Shaman opened the car door to a ’97 Jaguar. “I’ve got a good one. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’ve squandered my power, but I want a second chance.”
“Why?”
“I want to walk that middle ground now.”
“Why?”
Cameron focused on something else. He noticed that there was overcast today. It added to the feeling of this being a tunnel and to the illusion that this was Baltimore. He bit his lip until he drew blood and spat it on the ground. He breathed in deeply and exhaled.
“I’m afraid of becoming another meaningless cog in the mechanics of life. I want to be something incredible and amazing. Someone that will always be remembered. I’m afraid of being forgotten.”
“Why?”
“There is no more! I’ve given you the actual answer! You just can’t ask why to that.”
“Why not?”
“Because, that’s the correct answer!”
“That is not the whole answer,” the Urban Shaman said, “and until you can give me the whole answer to my riddle you will not be allowed to the gates.” He ducked into the Jaguar and slammed the door behind him. Cameron flung open the door of the broken down Jag, but there was nothing inside but a cut-up leather interior.
10
What the hell? What does he mean there is more to the question? I bare my soul to him and it’s still wrong!
Cameron kicked a Pepsi can that got into his path. It clattered over the side of a Ford Pinto; it was difficult to see if there was a scratch since there was no paint left on the car. The can rolled back to
him and stopped at the tip of his sandal. He lifted his foot and crumbled the can under its weight.
Following the path wouldn’t get him anywhere unless he solved the Urban Shaman’s riddle. He had gathered this from the last path.
“Well, can I at least get a hint?” Cameron yelled at the sky.
“Sure,” the Urban Shaman said from no particular direction. “No problem. This is the hall of memories after all.” The Urban Shaman appeared beside Cameron dressed in sparkly hobo clothes. A tiny pair of silk wings was attached to his back. Before Cameron could say anything, the Urban Shaman grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down an alley.
Cameron was standing in a living room. He suddenly realized he recognized this living room, but really it could have been the living room of any Irish family. The room was boxed in with wooden paneling and floor was covered with what his father would have called “booger carpet” – a brown and tan splotched carpet that had the purported properties of causing any booger thrown into the carpet t vanish. His father treated it like the carpet would transport the balls of snot into another Universe – perhaps the one with those scaly yellow bastards and their endless deserts. Cameron knew better and always wore his shoes in the house much to his mother’s chagrin.
He turned to duck back into the alley, but was greeted by another wood paneled wall. He turned to his right and saw that the Urban Shaman had vanished as well. Cameron sighed and turned back around.
He recognized the man that sat on the couch with the floral print, too. His father nursed a Miller Light. An envelope addressed to Cameron Styles rested on the coffee table with a return address in Sarasota. The envelope was as large as a sheet of paper and had a light blue tint to it.
“What the hell do you mean you aren’t going to pay for it!” a man with trimmed red hair yelled at the older man. “This is college!”
The Spaces in Between Page 17