by Donald Tyson
Seal of Yubel
The ninth is called Yubel. In form he resembles the centaur, with four hoofed feet, but the lower part of his body is not that of a horse but of some alien creature that defies comparisons. His portion of the zodiac is Sagittarius, the Archer.
Seal of Harmupiael
The tenth is named Harmupiael. Silky white hairs cover his chest, and curling horns project from his head. His feet are cloven. His lustful part is Capricorn, the randy Goat.
Seal of Archiradonin
The eleventh is named Archiradonin. Alone among the dancing gods he has a body perfect in every detail, like that of a god of the Greeks, but he is without compassion. His portion is Aquarius, the Water Carrier.
Seal of Belias
The twelfth is called Belias. Her head is like that of a fish, arising from her shoulders directly, her fingers and toes are webbed for swimming, and her skin is blue and moist. Shining silver scales surround her breasts. Dark brown mottlings cover her back along her spine. Her portion is Pisces, the Fishes.
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Throne of Chaos
Before the fall of Barbelzoa, the triple throne of creation was white, the pure color of milk. Azathoth sat upon the largest central seat arrayed in purple robes, with a crown of gold around his forehead. At his left hand sat his beautiful daughter Barbelzoa, with a silver crown on her brow. The right-hand seat supported only a spiked crown of black iron, for it was reserved for the future son of the goddess, destined to be engendered by her own father within her womb when she came into the ripeness of her maturity. Then the son would put on the iron crown and occupy the right-hand seat of the throne, as the daughter occupied the left-hand seat, and the harmony of heaven would attain its perfection.
So read the akashic records of the Old Ones, but they must be understood in a poetic way, for at the heart of creation, there are no material things as we understand them, but only the essences or ideals of things. The gods are described by the poets in ways that allow human comprehension. The mind of man cannot conceive their true shapes, which extend beyond our reality into higher and lower planes.
The throne of Azathoth was carved from a single block of white stone harder than the hardest marble, with sparks of fire dancing in its milky translucent depths, so that it seemed to burn with embers deep within. It occupied a high mount of irregular black basalt at the top of ninety-three wide steps cut into the living rock of the mount, the firmament above it surrounded by ceaselessly flickering coruscations of brilliant colors. At the base of the steps, the gatekeeper Yog-Sothoth filled the space within a pointed stone archway, his countenance turned outward, barring the transition of any soul unworthy to come before the wisdom seat and speak its own name for judgment.
The notes of Azathoth’s unbroken flute made a sinuous rainbow upon the glowing air that surrounded the throne mount, and formed a pathway for the twelve archons to dance upon, who were then thirteen, for among their number was a pair of conjoined twins who were brother and sister. It is said that in those times Azathoth was not blind, and that the twelve who were thirteen could see like eagles all that passed in the countless worlds that filled the pit of stars below. They moderated their dance with compassion and judgment so that the cosmos was always balanced and well ordered.
In an open space beneath the central throne rested a scroll of white parchment on a roller of pure gold. Upon it were written the names of all those intelligent souls that had ascended through the ranks of successive births and rebirths to dwell in the summer land. They were not human souls, since humanity had yet to arise from the slime, but were souls of alien worlds. The summer land was the most perfect creation of the dancing gods, a place of sweet waters and lush green fields, with great forests filled with game beasts, and fields that never needed planting, but always brought forth their crops without fail. Without need to labor for bread, the souls occupied their minds with practice of the arts and the study of philosophy. Each time a new soul ascended to this summer land, a new name was added to the scroll, which was of endless length.
Chief among the dancing gods in beauty and intelligence was Nyarlathotep, who occupied the third place in the ring of heaven beside his twin sister Galila. They shared the same flesh, linked to each other at the side—Nyarlathotep was the left side and Galila the right side. In appearance Nyarlathotep was perfect of form and face, and keen in mind, whereas his sister was clumsy and dull, yet when Galila smiled, her brother glowered with rage, and when Galila sang songs of joy, her darkly beautiful half muttered curses.
Nyarlathotep grew weary of heaven. He found its perfect harmonies tedious and chafed at his subservience to Azathoth. He looked down upon the chaos mount and lusted after Barbelzoa. He used his necromancy to cast a sleep that was like death over the All-Father and his child. Azathoth slumbered, yet all the while he continued to pipe the music of his flute, which can never cease while he endures, for were the music to cease, all the myriad worlds would end.
While Azathoth slept and dreamed upon the white throne, Nyarlathotep descended from his place, tearing his flesh away from the side of Galila, who cried out in agony so that the heavens shook. He caught the sleeping goddess up in his arms and raped her. This is not to be understood of the body, but in another manner of the spirit. When she awoke and saw what he had done, in shame she threw herself into the endless pit of stars and fell down and down for countless ages, wrapping her shining body ever tighter around herself as its outer shell turned to hard stone, and making salt seas upon its surface with her never-ending tears.
When Azathoth cast off his unnatural sleep and saw that she had abandoned her place on the throne mount, he went mad with grief. He put out his own eyes with his fingernails, rent his purple robes, and cast away his golden crown. His flute cracked and the triple throne turned black as jet. The endless day around the throne transformed into endless night. What had been the towering heights of heaven became the deepest pit of chaos, the center of a world-consuming vortex that ate both space and time.
The eyes of the dancing gods were put out at the same moment Azathoth struck himself blind, all but those of Nyarlathotep who had divided himself from the twelve. Their dance faltered, for the music was no longer perfect in its rhythms. Evolved souls from the myriads of worlds ceased to present themselves before the arch of Yog-Sothoth to plead admission to the throne mount. Blind Azathoth squatted in his seat, neglected in his own filth and drool. In disgust, Nyarlathotep assumed control over the blackened throne. He placed the iron crown upon his head and sat in the right-hand seat that had been reserved for the first-born son of Azathoth, administering the mute will of Azathoth.
He removed the golden scroll from beneath the central throne. From between the very legs of Azathoth he took it. Never before had any other dared to touch the scroll. In fury he rent it into fragments and scattered them throughout the cosmos. These fragments became all the truths in all the worlds that are known to some but not to others. The perfect summer land of realized souls was transformed into a dark hell of torment and hunger. Those trapped within it shall never be released until Barbelzoa is restored to her seat at the left hand of her father, with a male child of promise engendered in her womb.
Nyarlathotep made a black book, and into it he inscribed the laws of chaos, and the names of souls who pledge their worship and service to him for eternity. It is called the Necronomicon, or Book of the Laws of the Dead, for all whose names are written within it are dead to their former earthly lives, though they yet walk. The book by the poet of Yemen, Abdul Alhazred, is only an echo of this black book of dead names. There are many false books but only one true Necronomicon. In his blindness and idiocy, Azathoth is not even aware that the book rests beneath him.
Nyarlathotep longs to strike the naked Azathoth from the central seat of the triple throne and wash it clean of filth so that he can take his place there, but does not dare interrupt the music of the flu
te, for when the music stops, all things will cease to be as if they had never been. He cannot seize the throne by force. The Crawling Chaos schemes for ways to restore the goddess Barbelzoa to the throne mount so that he can compel her to become his queen and engender a child in her womb. In that way he will claim the golden crown for his own by right of succession. In union with the goddess lies his path to ultimate ascendancy.
The throne of Azathoth is the seat of power, and all power flows from it. Only when the goddess is restored to her place on the left-hand seat shall there be harmony again in heaven, and the dark mourning of Azathoth be lifted from the cosmos. Nyarlathotep will seize all power to himself, and reward his worshippers and servants with rich gifts. The old god and his flute he will relegate to the smaller right-hand seat that he once occupied, and will take the central throne for his own. All restraints will fall from him. He will make and destroy worlds at will.
Yet before this can occur, he must wipe this globe clean of all lower forms of life, so that it can be lifted back up to its former place by his servants, the Old Ones, and by those transformed among our race who aid his purpose. Those who do his bidding are granted precious favors, and magic is theirs to command. It may be long ages before the stars come right, and the Old Ones walk unhindered across the land. Nyarlathotep seeks to speed the cleansing of this world by having the Old Ones engender a race of hybrids on mortal women, but the work is slow. Those who serve him enjoy rare pleasures while this work goes forward over many lifetimes. In the end of days, they will be lifted up and a suitable reward found for them. In the meanwhile, they thrive and work their will on this ignorant mass of man, who know nothing of the change that is to come, apart from a few vague myths they refuse to credit.
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Sacred Space
There is a division of the Old Ones in this fallen world that came about some six hundred million years ago. One clan consists of those who formerly inhabited windowless cities of black basalt on the surface of this globe, but were driven beneath the earth by the Great Race from Yith into tunnels and vast caverns unknown to man, where they reside still, waiting for the stars to come right in the heavens before emerging.
The other clan of the Old Ones never dwelt on the surface at all, but lived in the sky amid dimensions of space, and found access to this reality through the gateway of Yog-Sothoth. There they remain, behind the gate, unable to come bodily down to this world because of the poisonous pattern of stars that now persists, but will one day pass away. Men communicate with them through rituals on those angular days of the year when the gaps between worlds narrow, and the walls that separate realities thin.
The Old Ones below the earth have little interest in the affairs of men. It is possible to communicate with them by conducting rites of propitiation or sacrifice in deep places such as caves, mines, tunnels, pits, hollows, valleys, cellars, basements, and wells. They are invoked up from the bowels of the ground, which forms no barrier to their passage, for they are not of the same substance as mortal life. Wards of magic alone can bar their passage, such as are inscribed on the great doors that seal their dark tunnels. Necromancers seek commerce with these chthonic Old Ones and use the things of the earthen element and its symbols to draw them up. The shades of the dead may be invoked to speak for the Old Ones as their messengers, since these deep-dwelling gods have affinity for all things dead and rotting. Seals, charms, and talismans to be empowered by them are buried in soil at the center of a hallowed space, or placed beneath stone.
The Old Ones who dwell upon the heights of the air have long held commerce with wizards. They are invoked in high places such as towers, tall buildings, rooftops, attics, upper rooms of houses, hilltops, and mountain peaks. In ancient times, they were called down into stone circles on the crowns of hills. So it is still done by those wise in the ways of magic, for the old places retain their power even though the standing stones have fallen or cracked with frost. The open air is best to call upon the Old Ones of the heights, but when concealment from other men is necessary for the sake of prudence, a roofed chamber will serve. They are invoked with face and eyes elevated, and chants sent into the heavens, for the gate of Yog-Sothoth opens from above.
The sacred space for invocation of the dwellers in the heights requires an open ground or floor to accommodate the circle of art. When standing in the center of the space, it is enough for the rites of a single mage, or a pair of companions in the art, to be able to walk three paces in all of the four directions. Those who must use a smaller chamber will be restricted in movement around the altar, but this is not a fatal hindrance in itself. A resolute will and nimble wit overcome all obstacles to success.
The rites of the Old Ones are not for the eyes and ears of the uninitiated. Those who spy upon high magic corrupt it, causing misfortune to themselves and to others. A place must be chosen that is secure from intrusion, where the words of chants cannot be distinguished. Keep it separate and apart for the works of wizardry, and bar the entry of unbelievers for their own well-being. The very air of the sacred space becomes charged with potency, and provokes evil dreams, unease, and waking visions in those who breathe it. When the Old Ones come, the gate of Yog-Sothoth gapes like a hungry mouth. It is not a place for fools.
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Stone Circle
The sacred circle of the Old Ones is formed from seven well-chosen stones, each of a size that can without great difficulty be carried in two hands, so that the circle is not fixed into place but may be moved at will. This enables its concealment should its place of working be discovered, and its removal and erection at another place. The stones are arrayed on the ground, or the floor of the chamber of art, in a great circle that is large enough to accommodate the altar, with sufficient space to walk around the altar yet remain within the bounds of the circle. They are equally divided, so that a line drawn upon the earth from stone to stone would form a regular star of seven points.
Understand that the true circle of art is erected in the astral world, where all magic is worked. The ring of stones is used to fix the location, size, and shape of the astral circle. When the magician enters the astral realm in his imagination, the stones must be conceived as large and standing upright, just as the sacred space itself must be visualized as on a high hill or at the top of a tower. In the usual course of working, invocation is made only to the Old Ones of the upper airs, since those of the pits are at best indifferent to human intentions, and at their worst, actively malicious. All of the lords are invoked through the gates of Yog-Sothoth, which form about the circle upon the air.
In the choosing of the stones for the circle, there is no invariable guide. The magician looks deep into his heart and listens to the candidate stone. If it speaks to him in the mind, it will speak with the voice of one of the seven lords of the Old Ones, and forever after it will be the stone of that god. The stone may not use words to speak, but may express the nature of the lord of the Old Ones with which it resonates mutely, as a kind of humming that is felt in the bones of the head.
It is best if the stones of the lords are colored in the hues that accord with the celestial spheres of the lords. Naturally-colored stones are to be preferred, but the inner resonance of the stone is more important than its color. Natural colors of stones are seldom intense, but are more easily visible when the stone is moistened with water. If the necromancer has difficulty locating seven appropriate stones of different colors, stones of the same kind may be stained or painted over their surfaces in the colors of the seven lords. These are the colors:
Azathoth (Sunday): yellow
Dagon (Monday): purple
Cthulhu (Tuesday): red
Nyarlathotep (Wednesday): orange
Yog-Sothoth (Thursday): blue
Shub-Niggurath (Friday): green
Yig (Saturday): black
The seven stones are laid out in a circle so that they rest on the points of an invi
sible star, each stone according with a planetary sphere and with a day of the week associated with that sphere. The stone of Yig is aligned with the direction of the north. Following the clock, their order around the circle is: Yig (Saturn), Yog-Sothoth (Jupiter), Cthulhu (Mars), Azathoth (Sun), Shub-Niggurath (Venus), Nyarlathotep (Mercury), Dagon (Moon). Proceed around the circle clockwise and you have the order of the planets in the heavens from slowest and most distant to quickest and nearest. Follow the reflecting line of the star clockwise, and you have the order of the days of the week.
Seven-Rayed Star of the Stone Circle
The ordering of the planets is based upon their apparent movement through the heavens, as observed from the surface of the earth by ancient astrologers, who believed the earth to be the center of the universe. They mistook the sun and moon for planets, because these great lights appeared to move in much the same way as the five true planets visible with the naked eye. By applying the planetary spheres to the points of the heptagram, the ordering of the days of the week, which are associated with the planets, was derived.
It is not necessary to draw or mark upon the ground or floor of the sacred space the star of seven points. The star is used as a device for remembering the correct order of the stones, and for placing them accurately around the circle of art. Nor is it required that you draw a circle, although it is easier to place the stones regularly when a circle is traced lightly into the floor or ground of the place of working. It is the stones themselves that create the physical foundation for the circle, not lines marked on the floor.