Changeling, and Other Stories
white garments of the former monk, and of his disciples; the white
shoes embroidered in red; the white crowns with the Hebrew letters.
"Do you still wish to go ahead with this?" the Russian asked him.
"Of course," Kerrigan uttered. His own voice seemed strange in his
ears.
"You are to obey me in all things." The ex-monk's voice had a terrible
hidden menace in it, "and if you move out of that circle you are worse
than a dead man! Follow me."
They moved forward through an opening into the strange geometric
design, and behind them on silent feet came the four attendants.
Kerrigan noticed in a sort of daze the sword they carried, the trumpet,
the book, and the lighted taper. About him, outside the circle, were
strange paper symbols that seemed to cut him off from the world of sane
and living men. The Magus lit a circle of censers about the outer
square. He closed the circle and lifted one on high. He swung it
toward the four corners of the square. An attendant handed him a
sword. He stuck it in the ground. Another handed him a trumpet. He
blew it brazenly.
"O Lord! Hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee...."
Queer little whorls of smoke mounted through the air from the censers.
The attendants had retired to the four points of the compass. The
Magus raised the bare sword. His voice vibrated like an organ:
"O ye spirits! Ye I conjure by the power, wisdom, and virtue of the
Spirit of God ... by the Holy Name of God Eheith ... by which Adam,
having invoked, acquired the knowledge of all created things ... by the
invisible name Yod, which had Abel invoked he would have escaped from
the hand of Cain, his brother...."
It seemed to Kerrigan, standing there that about this circle was
something that was not life, and that it was cut off from the security
of things without as an island is cut off by water. About it the
incense rose in shadowy vapors. The lights of the candles became
dulled to a pale, diaphanous gold. There was something terrible about
it all. He had imagined a grisly, morbid thing of quackery. This he
could have stood smiling. But cold, stern majesty of ritual made his
heart contract, as it might be oppressed in the nave of some great
cathedral.
"... By the Two Tables of the Law; by the Seven Burning Candlesticks;
by the Holy of Holies where only the High Priest may go..."
He wanted to raise his voice, to tell the man to stop this mummery. He
wanted to walk to the door and slam it contemptuously, and to walk home
through the cool mundane air. That would be an end for him of all this
morbidness. But somehow he could not go. It was as though he were
held by hypnosis to the spot.
"... That spirit who was known here as Leonard Holt, and with whom this
man, for a sufficient reason, would converse. I conjure and invoke him
in the name of the Lord Adonai. I conjure him in the name of the god
El, strong and powerful...."
Fear arose in Kerrigan like a cold marsh vapor. He had come there in a
braggadocio test of fate, to something whose being and name he knew
not; to face it man to man, and to abide by the result. But he seemed
now to be, as it were, in a dock, not to argue but to be judged, by
that vagueness against which he had thrown down the gauntlet.
The Magus had fallen to his knees. Before him a disciple held an open
book and a taper.
"In the name of Him who hath made the heavens and the earth, and who
hath measured them in the hollow of His hand, enclosing the earth in
three of His fingers..."
Without those circles now, Kerrigan imagined, things were hovering with
a force as of a great wind. Things hurtled themselves against the
mystic, powerful symbols like troopers against an impregnable
fortalice. No longer was he certain that nothing could happen. If in
a minute now, at any instant, the Thing that was being called would
come, not the vacuous, impractical body, but a terrible being armed
with the awful majesty of the dead, standing before him accusingly,
with terrible eyes--standing like a flaming weapon between Kerrigan and
the daughter who was flesh of him, who they said was murdered ... If!
If! If! If! His skin contracted in a tense horripilation. His
breath came shallow and panting, like that of a strained dog.
The Magus stood up. Again the sword flashed in his hand. He laid his
hand on his heart. His voice rang vibrant with power. The acolytes
bowed their heads.
"Here be the symbols of secret things--the standards, the banners, the
ensigns of God the Conqueror; the arms of the Almighty One to compel
the aerial potencies. I command absolutely--"
Across Kerrigan's mind thoughts raced like skipping rabbits; like reels
of living pictures. He was being tried! His wrists shook as the blood
pulsed through. Tried! Tried by ordeal of justice! By the terrible
thing that made a dead man's wounds open when you touched him. By
ordeal of justice! That was it. He felt his face contract into a
horrible grimace. By ordeal of justice! There was a weight on his
chest of as huge granite blocks, very cold. He could n't breathe.
Through his heart there ran a pain like a knife....
"... By their power and virtue that he come near to us, into our
presence from whatsoever part of the world he may be in--"
"Master!" An acolyte stepped forward and touched the exorcist's white
samite sleeve. He pointed to the crumpled figure in the circle.
"Master, this man is dead!"