Suddenly the Priest muttered a word and flicked his hand, and Hamar was whisked upright into the wall! Directly behind the Priest, Hamar found himself entombed by stone! This was beyond anything done to him before! He could see and hear, even could still smell the heady aromas, but was paralysed at one with the mortar!
For half an hour Hamar could only stare into the room in torment as the Priest lolled back at his leisure, sipping wine. Then Aktiarh gave a last thorough wipe of his fingers, burped, and rose up adjusting his clothing, and finally turned to address the wall. He flicked his fingers in another pattern and Hamar fell out as cold as marble onto the tiles!
“Tomorrow, Hamar,” Aktiarh said as he stepped over the boy’s body and went toward the door, “I expect to see you in the Chamber of Ecstatics straight after lunch.” He looked back down at him, “Do not be late! Now, straight to bed, get out of here. Not a crumb of our food must be touched.” Then he left.
Hamar went trembling with hunger through the halls, barely making it past a gorged crawlerworm that was rounding a corner. The next morning he wolfed down his breakfast, but later on hardly ate any lunch. He’d never been in the Ecstatics Chamber before, – it was for older students and adepts learning of the ‘Turkeshi Path of Consciousness.’
When he entered the Chamber it had about forty older students in floor-length gowns, and all eyes were fixed on him. The Red Priest was already conferring with several teachers at the back wall.
The chatter ceased as Aktiarh saw Hamar and cut short his talk to solemnly walk to the front to address the class. Aktiarh swirled his cape up over his shoulder, “Learned teachers, fellow scholars. You will be pleased to know that today we have the privilege of a unique demonstration by our Little Majus.” Aktiarh’s wide smile had the hint of a sneer to it. All heads turned to the boy as Aktiarh beckoned for Hamar to come join him.
Hamar nervously crossed the floor. The Priest took Hamar’s cape and coat off him, and put a floor-length coat with long sleeves on him instead. Its voluminous skirt piled up on the floor, and Aktiarh secured the sides together with a sash. Then Aktiarh made Hamar turn to face them as he placed a hat like a tall cylinder on Hamar’s head, complete with a long tassel fixed to the center of the top, and tied the hat’s strap firmly under the boy’s chin. Its top end was weighted and it pulled Hamar’s head back, raising his eyes to have to look at them all.
“Now we will all be shown what can be done in a mystic’s gown when an ‘expert’ uses it. To the center of the room, Hamar.
Twirl for them!
Now!”
Hamar stepped to the center, struggling under the wobble of the hat and the long hem tangling his feet. He kicked the cloth aside and started a slow twirl, then began to spin. At first the skirt twisted tighter on him, but he kept up a steady kick of it and then went faster, fanning it out, freeing his legs. He padded in a tight circle until there was a rhythm to it, faster and faster.
A drum joined in with increasing beats, driving him on. Soon he was spinning crazily with his arms flung out wide, the skirt pooling out and rising higher off the ground and his head pulled way back until his neck arched almost to breaking point! As he whirled even faster the hat’s weight lagged his head even more, so that he had to do a flinging move to get his head back up straight, the revolving tassel creating its own repeating pattern.
In a few seconds he began to master the spinning-in-place, his outer arm rising up high for balance, his inner arm heavying and pulling down low to anchor the spin. The tighter he spun, the lighter his outer arm became and the heavier the inner one became as the hub of the twirl, – holding Hamar in its vortex!
He began travelling the room in great spirals, frantically spinning the tassel of the hat.
The people were a blur to him, the room disappearing. It was as if his dizzying brain became dense inside his skull while his imagination began to sail voluptuously free. It made for a lusciously giddy feeling, began causing scenes to appear in his head. So this was Ecstatics!
But before he could indulge himself, he was aware of the cold wind on his legs. The skirt was now a rising disc fanning out all the way up to his waist. His loincloth was there to be seen by all!
He couldn’t stop, he realised the heavy spin was spinning him! He tried to anchor his gaze and concentrate, tried to retract his arms, but could only hear laughter beginning to fill the room as he wobbled around the men!
Horribly, he felt his loincloth untuck! If the cloth dropped, his privates would be exposed and go flinging out like the tassel! The loincloth drooped looser and looser while his head stayed flung back as if he was ecstatically enjoying himself while it happened! The laughing of the students went into uproar.
His hip bones were naked as the loincloth started inching apart! Hot tears slid horizontally along into his ears!
It dropped more and he felt cold breeze on the cheeks of his bottom!
Suddenly the drum stopped dead. The spell was broken.
Hamar fell face down on the floor. He tried to hold onto the tiles with one hand as the room kept spinning, and flailed pathetically to cover his rear!
After long minutes the laughter died away.
He could hear people finally moving out of the room. When he lifted his head the slowing room was now emptied of all but the Red Priest.
Aktiarh jerked him upright onto his feet in one move, the skirt’s hem mercifully dropping like a curtain to the floor, the last of Hamar’s loincloth falling around his ankles. The Priest steadied him and pressed several fingers to Hamar’s stomach, ending his nausea.
Hamar looked helplessly into the man’s face as Aktiarh next put forefingers to Hamar’s temples and the spinning sensation ceased, the room standing perfectly still.
“Respect, young man. For things always greater than you know,” Aktiarh said. He smiled as he squeezed the boy’s shoulders. Then with a last pat on them, he left Hamar standing there.
Hamar stabbed the tears away from his eyes and looked fiercely at the disappearing back of the Priest’s bald head.
And made vows.
….
Alone back in his room Hamar sullenly threw himself onto his bed, an angry mound. Thoughts came.
No one was a true friend! Any could laugh, all mocked him! No one cared, except for what they’d get out of him in the end. He wasn’t liked, – only valued.
He reviewed all the men’s faces distorted by evil, in his head reviewed those of the other boys. He saw the truth, – the older ones nevertheless knew greater volumes of majic than he did and now saw him as a fool, would be able to look down on him that way for years. They would never allow any freedom.
He thought again of his mother’s sweet brown eyes, and his father’s sober ones, the way they’d grabbed him up in their arms when he was little whenever he scraped a knee or got stung. But scenes of precious home-time hurt him worse, making his throat knot up.
No! Dearnesses caused pain, made him soft. He jabbed away a last tear. Life as a great Majician-Over-All-Majicians was what mattered!
He abandoned the warmth of his childhood, – a thing the Red Priest, invisible to him in the corner, was pleased to note.