30 January 2009 — New mail links

We’re still officially on hiatus, and there will be no Imbolc issue. We hope to be ready in time for the Ostara issue. Send your submissions or inquiries to admin@rendingtheveil.com (the submission address is still good, too). We’re looking for articles, art, fiction, and reviews. If you have an interview to submit, contact Sheta directly at sheta@rendingtheveil.com.

Since the server change, and I just discovered this, we’ve been unable to reach the mail etc at the old mail.rendingtheveil.com address. For the time being, you may access the Rending the Veil “stuff” page at http://partnerpage.google.com/rendingtheveil.com; all other services are linkable from this page. Reach your RTV Email directly at http://mail.google.com/a/rendingtheveil.com, but if your bookmark works, just use that instead. This new address is for those who don’t have their mailboxes bookmarked.

Feel free to visit the forums and to leave comments on individual articles.

4 January 2009

Rending the Veil is officially on hiatus until we can get the bulk of the archives moved over. I expect it to take a couple of months, but that’s just an estimate. I’ll keep you posted here as I learn more. Meanwhile, enjoy the Yule issue, send your submissions for the next issue to submissions@rendingtheveil.com, and check out the forums! Happy new year!

31 December 2008

I’m thrilled to welcome you to the new look of Rending the Veil! We’ve put a lot of work into this new design, and while we’ve had to make sacrifices to get here, we hope you will enjoy the easier to use format. Please note that the old accounts are gone, and you must re-register to use the new forums. You may comment on any article simply by entering your name and email address — no registration is required.

We had hoped to move the old databases and blogs to this site, but the blogs really didn’t take off and the Elgg-based databases weren’t easily converted into WordPress compatible databases, so they have not been re-integrated. We are not offering blogs at this time, and our hope is that the forums will be of greater interest to our readers.

Everything else is in transition, and in a few days we should have more pages, archives, and/or forum functions to utilize, with additional progress occurring gradually in the coming weeks. Anyone wishing to submit content for future issues may send them (or any questions) to submissions@rendingtheveil.com, and anyone wishing to volunteer to help out in any way may contact us at admin@rendingtheveil.com. Suggestions, complaints, questions, or tech issues may either be emailed (to the same address) or posted in the forums.

I’d like to express my gratitude to each and every one of you, particularly those who read us regularly or who volunteer. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it through the last two years. Administrators learning by the seats of their pants make for a bumpy ride, and I’m impressed with the commitment and dedication demonstrated by everyone who has stuck with us in spite of the obstacles. You have my thanks.

Watch this space for updates!

©2008 Sheta Kaey

1

It was not the worst hangover Melissa had ever had, but it was bad enough. She was grateful her parents were out as she stumbled and retched her way through the morning. By the time they came home shortly before noon, she was recovered enough to pretend she hadn’t avoided alcohol poisoning by a bare margin.

After a shower she tried calling Luanne; the phone rang and rang without answer, Melissa eschewing leaving a message in favor of calling back repeatedly, knowing that if anything would be likely to wake her friend it would be the ringing of the phone.

But Luanne wasn’t answering. Finally, Melissa dug out her phone book and called the number for the McPherson house.

“Hi, it’s Lissa,” she told Luanne’s mother when the phone was answered. “Is Luanne there? She’s not answering her line.”

“No, she’s not here,” Luanne’s mother replied, somewhat stiffly. “I thought she might be with you. She was gone when I got up this morning.”

“Oh,” Melissa said. “No, she’s not here either. I guess I’ll catch up with her later.”

“I’ll tell her you called,” Luanne’s mother promised, only slightly less stiff.

“Thanks.” Melissa hung up, puzzled. Luanne hated getting up early, even when she wasn’t hung over. And she’d had more to drink at the party than Melissa herself; certainly she hadn’t gotten up and gone to do anything with the kind of hangover she had to be nursing.

She called the others; neither Bree, Gwen or Sierra had any idea where Luanne might be, either. Melissa found their reactions predictable. Bree was caustic, saying Luanne was probably still passed out in the yard; Sierra was moderately concerned, but pointed out that Luanne didn’t have to ask their permission to do anything; and Gwen was quiet for a long time, finally asking only what Bree and Sierra thought about it.

Frustrated, Melissa decided she wouldn’t let it ruin her day. She and Luanne had planned to go shopping, and maybe see a movie. Melissa went to the mall by herself, and while it was nice to try on clothes without Luanne pointing out how everything accentuated how full her hips were, shopping just wasn’t as fun by herself. She called home repeatedly to see if Luanne had called, but as afternoon wore on into evening and there was still no word from her friend, Melissa gave it up.

Going to a movie by herself would be embarrassing, so instead Melissa decided to stop in at Books and Brews to see if by chance Chris was there. Any night that Sally Fawkes was there, he would be, but Saturdays were Therese’s nights to read, when she bothered to show up, and so it was a gamble. But she didn’t have anything else to do, and she wasn’t about to sit home on a Saturday just because Luanne had blown her off.

Chris wasn’t around either. Melissa masked her dejection in espresso and a couple of magazines, sitting out in the garden and telling herself she needed to give herself more days of doing her own thing.

The immediate problem was that Melissa had planned the next two weeks around Luanne being home on summer break, catching up on the months apart. The five of them had been near inseparable through high school, and although they’d gone off to five different colleges they’d stayed close.

As Melissa headed home, she reluctantly accepted the fact that Luanne simply hadn’t changed, and was still as thoughtless as ever. No doubt she’d show up at brunch tomorrow at their favorite restaurant, acting as if she hadn’t blown her best friend off and mystified that Melissa was irritated about spending Saturday alone.

Bree picked her up Sunday morning at eleven, and Gwen and Sierra met them at the restaurant. Bree sniffed at the suggestion they wait for order for Luanne to show; an hour later, as they lingered over coffee, Melissa had to admit to them and herself that their fifth Musketeer wasn’t going to grace them with her presence for brunch, either.

“Her highness is probably shacked up with some one,” Bree sneered as they walked through the parking lot. “I’m not waiting around all day. If you want to sit home by the phone, be my guest, but we’re going to Amber’s party.”

“I’m not waiting around either,” Melissa answered. “I just wish she’d call.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Sierra said. “You know how she is, she gets an idea and runs with it without thinking about the rest of us.”

“I know,” Melissa sighed. “Anyway, I’m sure she’ll call soon, I left enough messages.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Bree said. “And if all you’re going to do is talk about her then you might as well stay home. You’re boring the shit out of me.”

“Jeez, Bree,” Gwen muttered. “We’re all friends, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever. She done anything for anyone lately? The most she’s done for me was not getting sick in the car on the way home.” Bree was obviously serious about being done with discussing Luanne. “Now I need to get a new outfit for the party. Who’s coming?”

They all agreed new outfits were in order; Melissa resolved not to mention Luanne again for the rest of the day.

2

By Wednesday, Melissa had company in her worry.

The police were reluctant to dedicate much effort to her disappearance; she was legally an adult, and a check of her bedroom indicated that she’d taken some clothes and personal effects. It appeared, to the police, that she’d left on her own accord. At the parents’ insistence, they’d checked the house and yard for signs of other people, but there was nothing suspicious to be found.

Her friends could offer no explanation. Luanne would have said something to Melissa at least if she was going to skip out with a guy or something. None of them could see any sign in Luanne’s room that she’d been forced to leave, either, and so the mystery only deepened.

Amongst themselves, her friends agreed to do their own investigation; but there was no one to be suspicious of. Even the new guy, Chris, continued to show up at the coffee house, and seemed as baffled as anyone else that Luanne would just disappear.

“It sounded like she had plans for every day of break,” he said as the girls sipped coffees. “Why would she go on about it if she didn’t?”

“She did,” Melissa said. “That’s why it’s so confusing. This isn’t like her.”

“It kinda is,” Bree corrected. “I mean, come on, Lis, she’s not a freakin’ saint. She’s made plans with all of us and then ‘something else came up’.” She glanced at Sierra and Gwen, who nodded agreement. “She probably hooked up with an ex at the party.”

“We already talked to all of them,” Melissa replied. “And she wouldn’t make a three-day booty-call, and not even call me.”

“What if she left on her own, for a day or two,” Gwen suggested slowly, “and while she was gone something happened?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Melissa said, fighting tears. “It’s like you guys don’t even care,” she said to Bree and Sierra.

“Oh, come on, Lissa,” Sierra said. “You know we do.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Bree asked, putting her mug down sharply. “I can’t put my life on hold because something bad happened to some one else.” She stood up at their surprised looks and nodded. “I’m sorry but I can’t. Luanne did a lot of stupid things and maybe one finally caught up with her, and if I’m the only one willing to say it then fine. Don’t you remember that Fourth we were going camping, and she hooked up with that married guy and went to Aspen instead, and we covered for her? And then the guy’s wife turned out to be psycho and came after them? If you guys want to waste your whole summer looking for her just so she can laugh in your faces when she strolls back from some other stupid fling, then be my guest. But I’m not.”

There was nothing to say to that. After a moment, Bree turned and walked out without another word.

“Well,” Chris said uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” Melissa said to him.

“No apologies,” Chris replied. “People worry different ways. Maybe her way is anger.”

“Maybe,” Melissa agreed, relieved he wasn’t put off.

“We’ve tried everything else,” Sierra said, getting up as well. “I’m going to go upstairs.” Gwen joined her, but neither had much to say as they waited in line.

Melissa found herself in an odd position. Alone with Chris, as she’d hoped to be for so many months as she’d watched him over her homework or coffee, but unable to enjoy this small victory because of her worry for Luanne, which, as Bree insisted, was probably wasted anyway.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Chris said after a few moments of silence.

“I wish I could be,” Melissa sighed. “Thanks for the coffee, and for listening, though.”

“Any time,” Chris told her. “I was missing once. That turned out okay.”

Melissa returned his shy smile with one of her own. “You probably didn’t have Luanne’s track record, though. Damn, if she didn’t act like this all the time people would have listened to me Saturday, you know? Even her mom thinks like Bree — I mean, I’m not going to pretend that she couldn’t have gone on off her own, but I’m not going to sit around, either, pretending that this is all okay, you know?”

“You can’t just write her off,” Chris said.

“No, I can’t. That’s a good way to put it. Everyone else is ready to just write her off.” Melissa sighed, wiped an eye, and finished her coffee. “Do you think Miz Fawkes will be able to help? Sierra says if anyone could find her, Sally can.”

Chris pondered a moment before answering, toying with a couple of sugar packets. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

“Do you believe in psychics? I mean, you’re here all the time.” Melissa smiled to show she wasn’t interrogating him, and he smiled back to show he knew she wasn’t.

“Oh, I do believe in psychic sight, and I’m sure Sally is as gifted as everyone says,” he replied. “I just don’t know if Luanne wants to be found, you know? I think that could be important. I mean, if the person you’re looking for, psychically, doesn’t want to be found, they could be right around the corner and maybe you wouldn’t be able to find them.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well,” Chris said, shifting in his chair, “It’s not like Sally, for example, is a bloodhound. She can’t sniff the air and pick up a scent of somebody that walked past a week ago. When she uses her gift, she’s trying to pick up on specific things. Like vibes, you know what I mean?” When Melissa nodded he continued. “You figure something’s happened to her, and she wants to come home, and that’s the sort of vibe a psychic would look for, Luanne’s distress. But if she’s not distressed, they could kind of slide right past her vibe without recognizing it, because it doesn’t ring out like they’re expecting.”

“I don’t follow,” Melissa said.

“Look at it this way,” Chris replied. “Luanne’s been all over this neighborhood, right? So her residual energy patterns are going to be all over. But if Sally, say, is looking for her, she’s going to kind of tune out those weak patterns and look for something stronger, because you don’t want to know where she wandered before she went missing, you want to know where she is now.”

“Oh, I see,” Melissa said, although she wasn’t entirely sure she did. “You know all about this stuff, huh?”

“No,” he answered with another shy smile. “Just enough to sound like an expert, I guess.”

Melissa laughed a little. “Well, you know way more than I do,” she told him. “Maybe you could tutor me.”

“Sure,” Chris answered easily. “You have to make your own flash-cards, though.”

“It’s a deal,” Melissa chuckled. Their talk moved onto other things, and as minutes slipped by, it seemed her worry for Luanne weakened. Surely Chris was onto something; surely her friend was indeed okay, off somewhere and not wanting to be found, which was why she hadn’t called. Luanne didn’t need anyone looking for her; Melissa needed to accept that her friend wasn’t much of a friend sometimes and get on with enjoying her summer vacation. Luanne would call or come home when she was ready. When Sierra and Gwen rejoined them an hour later, saying they’d waited as long as they could but the psychic was just too busy, Melissa wondered privately why Sierra was so worried; Luanne, wherever she was, was just fine.

3

That night, and the next, Melissa had the weirdest dreams.

Both started the same: at Books and Brews, talking with Chris as she had on Wednesday evening, only instead of psychic vibes they were talking about something else entirely, something important, something about him and her and what it meant … But even as she dreamed it, it seemed that she couldn’t recall what it was, as if the information bypassed her mind and settled in her bones and soul.

After that, she couldn’t remember anything at all upon waking, only certain that it was strange, and thrilling, a bit frightening but arousing as well.

Friday morning, she could recall one part clearly: just before Books and Brews faded into the strange fog, Chris had asked for a kiss and said, “Melissa, my sweet.”

Perhaps it was the odd dreams affecting her sleep, but she didn’t feel very well as she got up Friday morning. Not precisely sick; it didn’t feel like she was coming down with a summer cold or anything. She just felt tired, as if she hadn’t slept at all, and achy in head and body. She was also, she discovered, somewhat dizzy, stumbling to the bathroom on unsteady legs.

She showered, toweled, and dressed without noticing the peculiar, shiny livid mark on the inside of her upper arm.

By lunchtime she was feeling better physically, although she still felt tired, and mentally she was even more unsettled, dejectedly shuffling through the empty house and missing Luanne.

She resolved to ask Sally Fawkes to look for Luanne, no matter how long she had to wait in line. Recalling what Chris had said about vibes, Melissa realized she would need something of Luanne’s to help the psychic find her even if she didn’t want to be found.

As soon as Mrs. McPherson got home from work, Melissa went over. She explained her intent to have the psychic help, and Luanne’s mother let her in to find something in Luanne’s room that would give a clear signal to Sally Fawkes.

Luanne’s prized ruby earrings were on the vanity, and once again the certainty that something horrible had happened to Luanne crashed over her like a foul wave. Most of her wardrobe was built around red so she could wear them as often as possible; Melissa could not believe she would willingly go off — especially with a guy — and not wear them, not even bring them with.

She found an earring box to put them into and returned to Mrs. McPherson. “We’ll find her,” Melissa promised, trying to keep her tears in check. “I’ll bring these back tomorrow.”

“We won’t be home,” Luanne’s mother said stonily. “We’re going to be out putting up flyers.”

“I’ll come help, then,” Melissa said. “It will be okay.” They hugged, and Melissa left, wishing she didn’t know that Mrs. McPherson wasn’t always sure she even wanted to know what had happened to her daughter, and wishing she herself wasn’t so certain that whatever had happened was bad.

She went straight to Books and Brews to wait for the psychic, although Sally Fawkes wasn’t due in for another hour. To her dismay, there were already three old ladies waiting upstairs, and as she sat down, another creaked up the stairs with greetings to the others.

Melissa decided to wait downstairs; the worst the psychic could do was make her wait in line. She sat where she could watch the door and as soon as Sally Fawkes pushed it open Melissa was on her feet and hurrying over.

“Mrs. Fawkes, I know you already have people waiting upstairs, but this is a real emergency and I really need your help.”

“What is it?” Sally said, putting a calming hand on Melissa’s shoulder.

“It’s Luanne,” Melissa said, near tears. “The cops won’t look for her, they said she’s an adult and can go where she wants. But I know she wouldn’t just take off without saying anything to me or calling or anything —”

“Slow down,” Sally said. “Let’s get a seat over there and start at the beginning, all right?”

Melissa let herself be led to a table and sat down, taking a moment to compose herself. After a few shaky breaths she was able to relate the details. “Last week Luanne got home for summer vacation, and we went out to a party, and then we dropped her off at home. The next morning when I called her, she didn’t answer, and her mom said she wasn’t there. No one’s seen her and she hasn’t called anybody, and the police looked around her room and said there was no sign anyone had forced her out. Her mom said it looked just as if she’d come in, gotten ready for bed like always, gotten into bed, and disappeared. We talk all the time, she wouldn’t just take off like this, not for so long.” Melissa lifted the velvet earring box. “These were her favorites, she wore them to the party, and probably right up until she went to bed. She wouldn’t have left without them, unless someone made her.”

Sally reached for the box, but paused before taking it. “I might not be able to help,” she cautioned.

“I have to try everything,” Melissa said. “Whether you can see something or not, I can’t just give up looking for her.”

“All right,” Sally responded, accepting the box and opening it slowly. Melissa watched, fascinated, but the psychic just looked at the earrings thoughtfully for some moments. Just when Melissa was starting to expect Sally to say she couldn’t help, the psychic lifted her free hand to her forehead and said, “I’m so drunk.”

“I’m sorry?” Melissa said, not certain she’d heard right.

“A party,” Sally said. “I’m at the party. So much to drink …” The psychic blinked, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t know how she hasn’t passed out yet. I’m going to go forward from the ride, but it’s hard, she’s very out of it then.”

“Yeah, we were celebrating, you know,” Melissa muttered softly.

“Okay,” Sally said. She took the earrings out of the box and held them in her left hand, wrapping her right fingers loosely around and closing her eyes as she concentrated. “It’s like her mother said,” Sally told Melissa slowly as she replaced the earrings in the box. “It’s like Luanne went to bed and disappeared. She went to sleep, and started dreaming, and that’s where I lose her.”

“Lose her?” Melissa repeated, dread seizing her. “Does that mean she’s dead?”

“No,” Sally answered immediately. “She’s alive. I just … it’s like she’s still dreaming, I can’t find her.” She shrugged an apology. “I guess I’ve never tried to find some one while they were sleeping. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re sure she’s alive?” At the psychic’s nod Melissa added, “Can you tell if she’s okay? I mean, maybe she’s drugged or something?”

“I can’t tell,” Sally said. “It seems as if she isn’t in any distress right now, but she might be unconscious or otherwise unaware.”

“I understand,” Melissa said, taking the jewelry box back. She understood, but could no longer believe Luanne just didn’t want to be found. “Thank you, Mrs. Fawkes. We’ll keep looking.”

“Good luck,” Sally told her. “I’ll let you know if anything else comes to me.”

Melissa thanked her; the psychic patted her shoulder and then hurried upstairs. She got up to leave and saw Chris had come in; she went to his table instead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked at once.

“Luanne still hasn’t called or come back,” Melissa told him. “And I — when I got up today I just had the worst feeling …”

“This is terrible,” Chris said sympathetically. “I hate to see you like this, Melissa.” He touched her shoulder lightly. “Maybe there’s something I can do.”

She shrugged. “You’re sweet to want to help, but I don’t know what anyone can do. I don’t even know where to start looking. Mrs. Fawkes said she couldn’t find her, but she’s sure Luanne’s alive … I’m just as sure something has happened to her, though.”

“I thought that might be what you were up to when I came in,” he said. “Listen, why don’t we go check some places around here, and see what we find?”

“Really?” Melissa asked, and his light touch on her shoulder became a reassuring grip. “You’d spend your Friday night like that?”

“Sure,” Chris answered, easy as ever. “Friends help each other out.”

Melissa was so relieved she almost forgot about Luanne. Chris was her friend, and they’d have hours together while Melissa did more than simply fret about Luanne’s disappearance.

Outside, Chris suggested they start by checking places Luanne wouldn’t typically go; Melissa was uncertain at first, but his explanation garnered her agreement. If Luanne had met some one Melissa didn’t know, she may have gone to a restaurant or bar that her friends weren’t likely to think of as likely, a place familiar to whomever she might be with. Melissa got a picture of herself and Luanne out of her wallet, and kept it ready to show to everyone they spoke with.

As they walked along, however, Melissa felt her worry fading. It had to be Chris; he was so calm and capable, just being around him was soothing. By the time they reached the first place to check, Melissa almost forgot why they were even in that part of town.

Just inside the door, she paused. It was a bar, and a rather seedy one; some of the clientele glanced at them as they came in, and none of the gazes were particularly warm.

“I don’t know,” Melissa said softly to Chris.

“No, this is the place,” Chris answered, putting an arm around her shoulders. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, smiling at him. He guided her to a booth toward the back, where a man and a woman sat facing one another.

“Well, well,” the man said, with a slight accent Melissa recognized as southern Florida; his gaze was no warmer than the others, but his smile was welcoming. “If it isn’t Chris March.”

“Hello,” Chris replied. “Melissa, this is Jack.”

“Hi, Jack,” Melissa said.

“Have a seat,” Jack said, and the woman slid over to let Melissa sit down. He was dressed rather flamboyantly, in a dark red suit with a scarf so white it nearly glowed in the dim, smoky atmosphere. He wore a couple of rings on either hand, large gold pieces with huge stones of red and black; one of them, a ruby to shame Luanne’s earrings, was surrounded by diamonds large enough to adorn a score of engagement rings. In contrast, the woman was dressed in a dark suit jacket and top, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and no jewelry at all.

“What are you drinking, Jack?” Chris asked.

“The usual,” was the answer, and Chris went to the bar.

Melissa smiled, a little nervous. She took out the picture. “Um, I’m looking for a friend of mine,” she began.

“Oho,” Jack said, taking the photo and looking it over. “I didn’t think a kid like you would just wander in here.”

Melissa smiled nervously again, glancing at the woman next to her; the woman seemed oblivious, slowly stirring the ice in her drink with the little straw. She looked back at Jack; he had finished with the picture and handed it back.

“Haven’t seen her,” Jack said. “Do you think she came in here?”

“Not really,” Melissa answered as Chris returned with a waitress that set three drinks down on the table and left without a word. She looked up at Chris as he stood beside the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” he told her. “It’s a wine spritzer.”

“Thanks,” she said. She’d never had one of those, it sounded very sophisticated. She took a sip and found it light and bubbly, almost like a soda.

“So you don’t think she’d come in here, but you’re leaving no stone unturned, is that it?” Jack said, placing the fresh drink beside the one he hadn’t quite finished.

“Yes. Chris suggested we check everywhere, just in case.” Melissa took another sip, wondering how much wine was in a spritzer, and if wine would give her hangovers like beer and the liquor she usually drank. If not, she may have just found her new drink; it certainly was tasty.

“Oho,” Jack said again, glancing sideways. “It was Chris’ idea, was it?”

“You know I like to help,” Chris replied. “And I couldn’t very well let her come in a place like this alone, now could I?”

“Not at all,” Jack agreed, lifting his drink. “You are a true gentleman.”

“And then some,” the woman muttered, almost too soft for Melissa to hear.

Melissa glanced at her, then looked at Chris; it almost seemed as if the woman was trying to hint Chris really was interested in her after all.

“You are very helpful,” Jack said to Chris, and suddenly Melissa knew they were talking about something else, somehow talking about her. She sipped while she thought, trying to figure out where the suspicion had come from and what it could mean. Too soon the glass was empty, and she still wasn’t certain what was going on.

“We should probably keep moving,” Melissa said abruptly, moving to get to her feet. The others gave her startled looks, and she realized belatedly that they’d been talking for some time and she’d interrupted quite rudely. The table shook as she bumped it, and she swayed on her feet when she gained them. How much wine had been in that spritzer?

“Whoops,” she heard Jack say, his voice dim and distant as if he was across the room instead of a few feet away.

“Where’s your car?” Chris’ voice was faint too, even though she could feel him holding her up and somewhat steady.

“Out back,” the woman said, a mile away and getting further. Melissa tried to cry out but her own voice seemed vanished altogether; white fog was crowding the edges of her vision, swirling across the middle, closing her in.

She sagged into unconsciousness before Chris had gotten her more than a few steps from the table. He scooped her up smoothly, following the woman to the rear door of the bar.

Jack paused by the bar as he sauntered after. “Too much,” he told the waitress, just a hint of reproach in his tone.

“Sorry, Mr. Jack. It’s that Chris — you know he gives me the creeps.”

“Now, now,” Jack replied dismissively. “Let’s not be silly.” He continued on his way, whistling merrily.

4

Melissa woke up slowly, groaning thickly as the greasy pounding in her head throbbed through the last shreds of blissful unconsciousness. She would never drink so much again — what a party, what a hangover. But it was summer vacation, and Luanne was home, and later they were going to go shopping and then see a movie …

The pounding reached a plateau and remained steady, and Melissa timidly opened her eyes. Something was very wrong, but she was having a hard time thinking with the pain. The room was dark, much darker than her room usually was; something must have happened to the neighborhood’s power, maybe a thunderstorm had come along while she slept …

Melissa groaned softly and moved to rub her face, but her arms stopped short as something pulled against her wrists.

All at once she realized that the party had been the week before. Luanne was missing, and she had been looking for her … but she couldn’t remember what had happened, and she had no idea where she might be.

“Somebody!” she tried to yell, but her throat was dry and her head filled with spikes of pain. She started crying with raspy sobs, her imagination running wild in the absence of facts. The last thing she could remember clearly was leaving the café with Chris … had she been hit by a car as they crossed a street? Was she unable to move because she was badly injured? She might even be dead, her terrified imagination supplied, insisting she couldn’t move because her body was frozen in death and her spirit trapped inside forever —

When bright light flooded suddenly into the room, she shrieked in fright and pain.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice she didn’t recognize said. “Look who finally woke up.”

“Where am I?” Melissa whimpered, eyes shut tight against the blinding glare.

“Told you she’d say that first,” the voice said. “They always do. Now pay up.”

“Where am I?” she repeated tearfully. “What happened?”

“No time for all that,” the man told her, his voice closer. “Here’s the thing. You now are chattel. Chattel is living property, if you don’t know the word. And property doesn’t ask questions, it does as its owner wants of it and nothing else.” She felt a hand on her chin, turning her face up to the light, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “See? She looks all right, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, that’ll do,” another male voice said. “Still need a couple more for the full order, though. Any idea how long it’s gonna be?”

“Let’s not be greedy,” the first man admonished. “They don’t all drop in my lap like this one.” His hand fell away and Melissa started crying harder.

This had to be a nightmare, had to be. Any moment now she would awaken, safe in her own bed at home, and it would be just another strange and frightening dream.

She heard footsteps walking away, and dared to open her eyes a slit; but the man was still beside her, and bent down to look her eye-to-eye as he spoke.

“This is goodbye, Melissa,” he said. “You aren’t one of the lucky ones, you see? You get to be one of the statistics instead. You foolishly trusted someone you shouldn’t have. You accepted a drink from a relative stranger, and drank it all without a single thought to the possibility that it had been drugged. And now here you are, tied up in some Godforsaken basement on a rancid mattress, being sold into slavery. Well, actually, you were already sold into slavery, and now I’m selling you to a brothel. It’s in the Caribbean, so at least you’ll die in a tropical paradise.” He smiled and patted her cheek.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please, no.”

“Oh yes indeed,” he said, straightening up and adjusting the lapels of his dark red suit jacket. “Don’t worry, Melissa dear, they’ll keep you so doped up you won’t care what your customers do to you. Ta-ta,” he added in mocking farewell.

He closed the door on her ragged weeping and accepted the envelope from the client.

“You’re something else, Jack.”

“As always, a pleasure doing business with the Goldon Bay Resort,” he replied mellowly, slipping the envelope into his jacket pocket. “We’ll be in touch.”

Jack hummed to himself as the client was shown out and he moved along the other cells, checking his stock. It had been a good week; his retrofitted yacht would be full to capacity when he sailed out on Sunday.

As he headed out of the basement he let the words free. “We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot, drink up, me hearties, yo ho, we kidnap and ravage and don’t give a hoot, drink up me hearties, yo ho …”

Beyond the Veil is a regularly appearing column featuring fiction, including occult, horror, science fiction, and fantasy. If you’d like to contribute a story, please contact admin@rendingtheveil.com and we’ll be happy to review your submission.

©2008 by C.A. Broz
Edited by Sheta Kaey

About the Artist

My name is Jesse Lindsay. I am a freelance artist currently living in Portland, Oregon after hitchhiking around the U.S. for 6 years.

I refer to my work as “alchemical surrealism.” Most of my art is derived from dreams and studies into alchemical ritual, psychology, and various aspects of the occult. To me, everything is a way of expressing reality in different forms, creating methods that allow each of us to understand.

My work in the public sphere ranges from book illustrations to film projects to collaboration with musicians and galleries. I am working on a project of collected personal works, which I hope to release by the end of 2008.

Aside from art, most of my time is spent with my son Djinn and my daughter Arson. I also enjoy working on personal projects, such as drinking and constant collaboration with my wife and friends.

Artistic Visions is a regularly appearing column featuring original occult oriented art — whether it be traditional, multi-media, or graphic art. (Photography appears in Ocular Distortion.) If you’d like to submit art for publication in RTV, email your images to admin@rendingtheveil.com. We’d love the opportunity to showcase more talent.

©2008 Jesse Lindsay
Text edited by Sheta Kaey

A recurring fixture in the folklore of northern Europe is the fairy godmother. This mysterious woman appears by magic to attend the birth or Christening of an infant, often a child who is seemingly of no special importance. She may be alone, or accompanied by other women. She comes uninvited either to bless or curse the child, displays various magical abilities, and then just as mysteriously departs, perhaps to reappear at some distant future date, or perhaps never to be seen again. This quaint figure of children’s fairy tales has more importance in the history of Western magic than most people realize. Let us take a look at some of her folk characteristics, and then consider her true identity and significance in the context of the Western esoteric tradition.

The first thing that must be observed about fairy godmothers is that they are not nearly so common in ancient folklore as might be supposed, given their modern popularity. They appear in two of the most beloved fairy stories — Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella — both of which were turned into animated films by the Disney Studios. This cinematic treatment helped spread the fable of the fairy godmother far and wide in the 20^th century.

Sleeping Beauty

In Sleeping Beauty, the fairy godmother first appears in the version by Charles Perrault (1628 – 1703), published in 1697 in France in his hugely popular Contes de ma Mère l’Oye (Tales of Mother Goose). In the portion of the tale that concerns us, seven fairies are invited to the Christening of a newborn princess by her loving parents, in the hope that they will confer magical gifts upon the child and act as her godmothers. To honor them, the king orders seven plates of gold to be made for them to use at the Christening feast. However, an eighth fairy who is older and unattractive decides to come to the Christening, and when she sees that no gold plate has been made for her, she feels that her dignity has been slighted.

Six of the fairy godmothers bless the infant girl with various life gifts. The crone is the seventh to approach the child, and she curses the baby with the curse that when she touches a spindle, she will prick her finger and immediately fall dead. One of the fairies had observed the crone and has hung back to go last, and although she cannot undo the curse of the evil fairy, she renders it less severe, proclaiming that the girl will not drop dead but will fall asleep for one hundred years, whereupon she will be awakened by the kiss of a prince.

Perrault’s version was based on an older story by the Italian Giambattista Basile (?1566 – 1632), published posthumously by his sister in 1634 under the title Sol, Luna e Talia (Sun, Moon and Talia), in which there is no fairy godmother. In this earlier tale, the name of the baby princess is Talia. At her birth, astrologers cast her horoscope, and predict that she will come to harm from a tiny splinter of flax. Her father, the king, takes every precaution to keep her away from flax, but one day the girl sees an old woman spinning flax on a spindle, and out of curiosity decides to try it. A splinter of flax gets embedded beneath her fingernail, and she falls down in what appears to be death. The king cannot bring himself to bury his beautiful and beloved child, so he lays her safely to rest on one of his country estates.

After some time has passed, another king who is hunting in the forest comes upon the girl and is so enamored with her apparently lifeless form that he has sex with her, then goes away. Still deep asleep, the girl gives birth to twins, a boy and a girl who are named Sun and Moon. One day, when the boy is unable to find the breast of his unconscious mother to suckle, his pangs of hunger cause him to suckle her finger, and he draws out the splinter of flax. She immediately awakes.

The earliest version of the story, Perceforest, published in France in 1528, has goddesses in place of fairy godmothers. In this version, three goddesses visit a female child named Zellandine at her birth celebration. They are obviously intended to bring to mind the three Fates of Greek mythology, although their names are different. The first, Lucinda, confers the gift of health on the infant, but the second goddess, Themis, curses the child because the goddess took the absence of a knife beside her plate at the feast as a personal slight. Her curse is that Zellandine will one day impale her finger on the point of a distaff, and sleep until it is removed. The third goddess, Venus, cannot undo the curse placed on the head of the baby but mitigates it by prophesying that one day the distaff will be removed and the curse lifted.

In the popular version of Sleeping Beauty recorded by the Brothers Grimm, titled Briar Rose and published in 1812, the fairy godmothers number thirteen, twelve who give gifts to the infant princess, and one who curses the child out of spite. The gift of the final good fairy softens the curse of the twelfth. Much was made of this number of fairy godmothers, but since they were only eight in number in Perrault’s older version of the story, the importance of the number thirteen may be exaggerated.

Cinderella

The story of Cinderella goes back as far as the ancient Greek historian Strabo (64BC – c. 24AD), who wrote in his Geographica about an Egyptian girl named Rhodopis who was forced to wash clothes in a stream while the other servants attended a celebration sponsored by the Pharaoh, Amasis. While she was working, an eagle snatched away her rose-gilded sandal and carried it to Memphis, then dropped it at the feet of Amasis. The Pharaoh was enraptured by the fineness and smallness of the sandal, and asked all the women of Egypt to try it on, so that he could locate its owner. When Rhodopis was able to put on the sandal, Amasis married her and made her his queen.

Nothing here about a fairy godmother. This magical figure does not appear in the Cinderella story until the 1697 version of Charles Perrault. In his tale, a widower takes in marriage a proud and cruel woman with two grown daughters. His meek and modest daughter by his first marriage is forced by her step-mother to do all the housework, which she performs without complaint. It is her habit to sit amid the cinders, hence her name Cinderella (Cendrillon, in French). One day the prince of the land decides to host a ball for the purpose of choosing a wife. The stepsisters go, but Cinderella has no dress that is suitable for so grand an occasion.

As she weeps in sorrow, her fairy godmother appears, and tells the girl that she will be attending the ball after all. The fairy turns a pumpkin into a coach, mice into its team of horses, a rat into the coachman and lizards into footmen. She creates for Cinderella a gown and a pair of glass slippers, but warns the girl to be home before midnight, since that is when the spell will be broken. Everything goes well and Cinderella is the belle of the ball, but the next night when a second ball is held, she becomes careless of time and departs in haste just before midnight, leaving behind her one of her glass slippers. The prince searches the kingdom, seeking the girl whose foot fits the slipper. When Cinderella tries on the shoe, he knows he has found her, and this is confirmed when she brings forth the other glass slipper, which has not vanished away along with the coach and her gown.

In the version of Cinderella (Aschenputtel in German) published in 1812 by the Brothers Grimm, there is no fairy godmother. Instead, Cinderella is helped by the ghost of her dead mother, represented by a pair of birds that perch in a tree growing above her mother’s grave. Thus the supernatural element is still present, but it is ancestral spirit in nature rather than fairy.

Role of the Fairy Godmother

These examples should be sufficient to give some notion of the stereotypical role of the fairy godmother in fairy tales, particularly the literary tales written by French writers in the 17^th and 18^th centuries, such as Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy (1650-1705). These were not true folk tales, but imitations of folk tales, or composed stories based in part on genuine folk tales. In these stories the fairy godmother makes more frequent appearances than she does in true folk tales.

It is the usual role of a human godmother to give a Christening gift, and to watch over the spiritual education of the child. The fairy godmother takes on the same obligations as a mortal godmother, though the reason these obligations are assumed is not always clear. Sometimes it is done as a fair exchange, as when the seven fairies were invited to the feast by the king, and given golden plates as gifts; other times, it seems motivated by some unseen occult requirement. The child is destined from birth by the Fates to receive the gift of its fairy godmother, who is merely an instrument of destiny. Indeed, the Fates of Greek mythology are probably the prototypes of the fairy godmothers of later children’s fiction, as suggested by their thinly veiled appearance in the 1528 French version of Sleeping Beauty, described above.

In mythology, the gifts of the gods can be both a blessing and a curse, depending on the circumstances under which they are received, and the uses to which they are put. Fairy tales simplify this dichotomy by making the gifts of good fairies always good, and the gifts of evil fairies always evil. In life, what seems good may prove to be a curse, and what seems a burden may in the end be revealed as a blessing. Even in fairy tales, good may come of evil, and the curse of the evil fairy godmother results in great happiness in the end, when all problems have been resolved.

An important factor to consider about the role of a godmother is her accepted obligation to watch over the spiritual development and well-being of the child. In Christianity this often takes the symbolic form of the gift of a new Bible to the baby. Spirituality is broader than any particular religion, and if we consider the obligation of the godmother in these terms, she is charged with the general spiritual health of the child. In fairy tales this is symbolized by the various physical and moral virtues that are given to the child as gifts, such as beauty and wisdom.

Nature of the Fairy Godmother

The fairy godmother is a spirit, not a being of flesh and blood. This is seldom made clear in the fairy tales, where she is given a physical body and is made to dine at the Christening feast. In ancient folklore and mythology, spiritual beings often received physical bodies. For example, the angels in the Old Testament were described as being like men in every respect. They eat, drink, sleep, and have material bodies. Similarly, the witch’s familiar was usually described in physical terms, and malicious spirits such as incubi and vampires were credited with physical forms.

The archetype of the evil fairy godmother is Grandmother Lilith, a female demon of the ancient Sumerians and Babylonians who made her way into Hebrew folklore via the Babylonian Captivity of the 6^th century BC, during which the Jews were taken as slaves from the Kingdom of Judah to Babylonia. During their stay in Babylonia, they picked up much of the mythology of the Babylonians, including the myth of Lilith, who was fabled to be a horrible old crone with unkempt long gray hair and long, dirty fingernails, yellowed teeth and glaring red eyes, who visited the cribs of newborn infants. Sometimes Lilith merely played with the infant, but at other times, seemingly on a capricious inclination, she would kill the baby by stealing away its breath.

Lilith is not often regarded as a fairy. She is more likely to be classed among the demons of hell, but this is an arbitrary classification, since she is Sumerian in origin and predates the Christian concept of hell, with its orderly demonic hierarchies.

Fairies are indigenous to Celtic lands, although similar nature spirits exist around the world. Perhaps more than any other spirit, they are apt to be regarded as physical by those who believe in them. They live in a kind of parallel universe that has portals into our reality under certain hills recognized as fairy mounds. The doorways to these fairy realms materialize from nowhere to allow the fairies to enter or leave, and just as swiftly vanish, leaving no trace. This transition from the fairy realm to the human realm happens most often at twilight, in the gloaming when the world is caught in a timeless moment between day and night. They are also more frequent at the equinoxes, when the seasons are in balance.

Transitional periods of the day or year facilitate the transition between fairy reality and human reality. A portal of any kind is a transition between one place and another. In the gloaming, fairies become visible to the eyes of those psychic enough to see them, but at other times of the day they are more difficult to see, unless they wish to be seen. The birth of an infant is a kind of life transition, from the spiritual reality into the physical reality, so it is natural that fairies would appear at this time.

It is a mystery as to why fairies should wish to associate with humanity, yet this has always been the case throughout their history. They are known to appear to men, woman and children, and to abduct them into their fairy realm, where they may keep them forever, or may release them after a prolonged time has passed. The fairy practice of kidnapping children, and leaving a fairy child in their place, is frequently mentioned in the literature about these strange and somewhat frightening spirits.

As usual, these events are described as completely material in the accounts of them that have come down to us, but it is more probable that they are spiritual events. A man is not physical taken to fairyland, he falls into a trance or coma, and is taken there on an astral level of reality. There are records of those who, when they lay down and went to sleep on fairy mounds, fell into a coma, or even died. I say that it is “probable” that these are merely spiritual events, not certain, because accounts exist of those who simply disappeared for days or years, and who when they suddenly reappeared, told tales of having lived among the fairies in their world.

The parallels with alien abductions are obvious. But whether these parallels suggest that aliens are fairies, or that fairies are aliens, or that both are something else that has yet to be accurately described, I leave to your conjecture. It seems fairly certain that there is a some underlying connection between fairy abductions and alien abductions.

Can the fairy godmother of folklore be an alien being who confers upon a newborn child certain superhuman abilities? Is this the root of this persistent motif? Children abducted by aliens are sometimes said to be altered or enhanced in various ways — to possess psychic abilities that they did not have before the abduction. There is also the belief that aliens are breeding a race of hybrid children, half-human and half-alien, who possess more than human abilities. Again, this has parallels in the ancient belief that spirits could interbreed with human women and engender offspring. Jesus is one such being, according to this view — half human and half something else.

Tutelary Spirits

A tutelary spirit is a spirit that teaches, guides, and protects a human being. The idea that certain spirits watch over and protect human beings with whom they are in some way linked is universal. This belief has taken many forms, as different human cultures try to come to terms with it. Often it is looked upon as protection by dead ancestors of their descendants. Whole religions exist based on this belief, that the dead watch over their children and children’s children. It is a reasonable explanation as to why a spiritual being would bother to protect a living person, or even take an interest in that individual.

Sometimes, spirits associated with certain places develop links with the people who live there, and come to watch over and guide them. For example, a nature spirit dwelling in a spring might form an attachment to a man who owned the land occupied by the spring; or a house spirit might become fond of a person living in the same house. A fairy associated with a certain thorn bush in a farmer’s field could form some sort of personal interaction with the farmer — although in the case of fairies, that interaction is just as likely to be harmful as helpful. But fairies are capable of affection, and even love, for human beings. Their affection is capricious, and easily turns into jealousy or malice.

The ancient Greeks believed that certain special men, who were by their nature semi-divine, had daemons — tutelary spirits — joined to their lives. The most famous man who was guided by such a daemon was the philosopher Socrates, whose daemon was well known to his contemporaries. Socrates made no secret of the fact that his tutelary spirit often intervened in his life when he was about to make a mistake, to warn him not to do it. The day Socrates drank the hemlock that killed him, he told his friends that he knew it was the right thing to do, because his spirit had not warned him against drinking it.

Some men were even believed to be favored by the gods. Often they were men who were hybrids, half mortal and half divine by nature. The god who was one parent of such a man would continue to watch over him throughout life. These demigods were the heroes of ancient Greek mythology, such as Hercules and Achilles. The belief that one of their parents was divine was just a way of trying to explain why they were favored by spirits in their lives. Some Greek writers held the view that Socrates was semi-divine, as was Aristotle, and Alexander the Great, just because of the great works they accomplished during their lifetimes, which seemed to their biographers to be beyond unaided human abilities. A man capable of miraculous works must have superhuman aid — such was the common opinion among the Greeks.

A more plebian notion arose among the Greeks that every man received at birth both a good daemon and an evil daemon. These two tutelary spirits were at constant war with each other, which canceled out most of their effects on the life of the person to whom they were attached. The good daemon whispered sound and helpful advice, while the evil daemon suggested actions that were worthless or harmful. This idea carried over into Christianity in the form of the good angel that is supposed to sit on the right shoulder of every person, and the evil angel that sits on the left shoulder.

The good daemon and evil daemon take the forms in the fairy tales of the good fairy godmother and the evil fairy godmother, whose efforts to some extent cancel each other out. The good daemon cannot simply banish the evil daemon, but it can to some degree moderate the mischief the evil daemon is able to cause.

Familiar Spirits

Most people recognize the term “familiar” in connection with witches, who were supposed by the demonologists of the Inquisition during the Renaissance to have demons that served their needs and desires. However, the concept of a familiar spirit is much broader than that. A familiar is any spirit that is attached to a human being.

Familiars perform various functions. They teach, guide, protect and also serve. Some were considered to be low spirits, in the nature of servants, while others are looked upon as more sophisticated and powerful. The Church regarded all familiars as subservient demons, who pretended to serve the witch while really working to corrupt the witch’s soul. This is a narrow and simplistic view, dictated by the religious dogma of those who held it. However, familiars do appear to be of varying degrees of power and sophistication. Some are simple beings that fulfill well defined and limited functions. Others are complex and act more as partners in the lives of those human beings to whom they are linked.

Shamans would sometimes take to wife familiar spirits who were, in many respects, their superiors on both power and wisdom. They would also have mortal wives upon whom they engendered children. It would not be unreasonable to assume that the spirit wife of a shaman would confer various benefits and gifts on the head of the newborn child of the shaman by his mortal wife.

Some spirits are associated with entire bloodlines. The best known is the water spirit Melusina, one of the dames blances (white ladies) who watched over the descendants of Raymond of Poitou. The white ladies were considered to be fairies. Raymond married Melusina and had children by her. Even after Melusina abandoned him because he broke his vow to her that he should never look upon her on a Saturday, she continued to watch over their descendants, and would appear wailing with sorrow when some great catastrophe was about to befall the bloodline.

Conclusion

So what exactly is a fairy godmother? She is a spiritual being who either blesses or curses the life of a newborn child. Because she is a spirit with the power of working magic, her blessing or curse has practical consequences. The curse of one spirit may be countered, at least in part, by the blessing of another spirit. These spirits are linked with the lives of the infants they visit, but the exact nature of that connection remains unclear. It may be based on a blood relationship. The infants may be spirit-human hybrids, or descendants of such hybrids; or it may be that the fairy godmother is a dead ancestor of the infant, and is not really a fairy at all.

Most people will dismiss the whole notion of fairy godmothers as absurd. However, it is undeniable that some human beings appear to be born with gifts and abilities that are so far above those of humanity in general that they are looked upon as supernatural. The myth of the fairy godmother is one attempt to explain where such extraordinary gifts come from. It is somewhat simplistic, as are most mythic explanations, but like most myths, it has a seed of truth at its heart that is worth considering.

Donald Tyson is the author of Sexual Alchemy: Magical Intercourse with Spirits, Familiar Spirits, and Soul Flight: Astral Projection and the Magical Universe, among other works. You can visit his website here.

©2008 Donald Tyson
Edited by Sheta Kaey

It is physically impossible to travel through time, until such time as a time machine is created. From that point, theoretically, someone from the future of that time machine could travel back as far as the creation of that time machine, wherever it is anchored in the past.

The dinosaurs were the first to figure this out — the smart ones, that is. Looking up into the night sky at the swarms of comets falling into the inner solar system, they elected to send probes out to the regions of ice dark where the dirty snow balls drifted in a dance of millions of years.

Calculating that they would face periodic destruction for at least the next seven billion years, and lacking the imagination to devise a means of herding something like one trillion comets into stable orbits, instead they decided to move themselves completely ahead of the problem, to a point after the sun had blown off all its outer layers and fried to vapor the leftover halo of ice balls that extended to the nearer suns.

There, the dinosaurs found a desiccated earth moved nearer to the now stable and comet free sun, by a species that had apparently gone extinct some time after this minor celestial adjustment.

On the eve of the final bombardment, these bipedal, ten foot high, warm blooded saurians moved their entire civilization, plus a few of the foods and entertainment animals they cherished, to the far end of earth’s life, some twenty billions years down the road.

Yes, the road.

These sentient saurians had discovered wheeled travel 93 Million years before Henry Ford, and tooled around their planet in vehicles powered by the virtual particle pressure differential of the vacuum that underlines all existence. At first, most of the world was still one continent, but they eventually had to create great elevated spans across the opening oceans to keep their world physically connected.

After driving around for over thirty million years, they naturally took one of the straighter sections of their road, and by exaggerating the virtual particle bias of the vacuum in that vicinity of the road, extended it temporally… while at the same time, apparently, creating a physical extension of the road.

In the days before the final impact, which would end life as they knew it on earth, a great migration of wheeled vacuum-energy-powered vehicles commenced — individual sportsters, family sedans, clan autobuses, and great freight trucks, all zipping down the road at 100 mph, heading toward the safety of a quiet solar system huddled close to a white dwarf sun.

The migration took thirty years relative time. As these great reptiles had attained a form of immortality, this was a mere holiday excursion, and plenty of supplies had been stored for the journey. Many waited out the trip in stasis, while others spent their time planning what to do once the “safe earth” was reached.

There were, of course, a few traffic accidents: youngsters driving recklessly and elders not paying attention, resulting in their premature departure from this expressway of the eons.

The elders wrecked in what would in a few thousand years be the first Chinese civilization, giving rise to the entire mythology of Chinese Dragons and their various beneficial powers.

One of the youths tumbled into an idyllic section of Mesopotamia, startling some blissed out mammals into a state of inquiry.

The other youth ended up hungry in Mesoamerica, around the time of the Crusades, inspiring a rather nobody people into a great empire, guided by his beak and claw, still offering to his desiccated corpse freshly harvested cardiac muscles as armored Europeans rowed ashore.

It was these accidents that first alerted various Godlike Beings who dwelt on an Earth beneath a swelling red sun that someone, somewhen on this planet, had discovered the means of traveling through time.

While these beings were mentally superhuman, perhaps having come from human or related primate stock, their physical sciences were somewhat limited. While long lived, on the order of tens of thousands of years (a prior species had designed them that way) and able to exist as disembodied mentalities when forced to by situation or boredom, they had become incapable of physically leaving their world, which had been parched dry by the ever swelling sun, rendering the corpses of the great oceans as deep and inhospitable deserts.

What was left of these shattered gods, both fleshy and disembodied mentalities, dwelt in the last few remaining cities, perched on the tops of the last mountains Earth was able to strain out of her ancient skin.

The legends of the dragons amongst various nations of early humans was the first clue that time travel was possible. Centuries later, there was a slight oscillation of the Road that had a ten mile section intersect with “normal time” for a period of five years. First, the stretch of road suddenly manifested in the parched desert under the bloated red Sun. Ghostly forms could be seen whizzing past in one direction, then after a few days, a blinding flash turned the surrounding desert to glass thirty miles in all directions, revealing the road and the endless stream of travelers appearing at one end and disappearing at the other.

Small robotic camera planes were sent in to fly over the road, which were mostly ignored by the travelers, though a few were shot down (apparently for sport). Those that returned reported seeing strange skies over the road. A sun small and yellow, like that of the earth over six billion years prior. Sometimes the sky over the road was a night sky sprinkled with stars, with spiral arms of a galaxy seen edge on.

Yet another indication that this might represent a period six to seven billion years in the past, as earth and the solar system had been hurled out of the Milky way during its merger with the Andromeda Galaxy some three billion years prior. The Sun and his children now wandered alone in the chasm of intergalactic night; the merged Galaxies retreating: a luminous misshapen cloud of light in an otherwise empty night sky.

Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the road vanished, leaving in its place a quickly wilting valley of Fern Trees and large clumsy reptiles, baking under the swollen sun.

This event sparked the imagination of these last dwellers on a baking earth, and whiles their control of the physical forces of creation where minimal at best, their mental abilities, in the purely intellectual sphere, far surpassed any dwellers Earth would ever see.

If they could not physically travel thru time, perhaps they would telepathically, as disembodied mentalities.

And so began the great quest to contact some prior civilization on earth, and request rescue. If these broken angels could not build a time machine such as they had witnessed, perhaps they could contact the makers of that time machine. Failing that, perhaps some heretofore vanished civilization with a better grasp of the physical science might be persuaded to build such a device.

Having been sensitized to the effects of the rupture of the road into their present time, these great beings mentally extended themselves back thru the ages, searching for a similar signature, and focusing on the legends of the Dragons that guided an earlier human species.

The first attempts at communication were misunderstood. In the time of the Glory of the Roman Empire this initial effort managed to derail a peace and love movement with visions of the End of the World. A second attempt to communicate better a few centuries later amplified this misunderstood message and made it part of the official religion of what was Left of the Empire.

Going just a little beyond temporally the last intrusion of the reptilian time travelers into human history, they managed to make tenuous contact with a set of mentalities that were a muddle somewhere between science and mysticism. Again they tried to establish firm contact, to relay what their world was like, the crisis of extinction they faced, and how they rudiments of a time machine could be made, at least with their crude understanding of physics and temporal science.

But those individuals contacted confused the message about the end of the world, locking it into the official story handed down from the now dead empire. And while they understood they had a means of contacting vast supra-human mentalities, these individuals projected their own needs for worldly power onto the message, and saw the plans for the time machine as the means for bringing about the end of the world in the shared vision.

Our mental time travelers under the ever swelling sun broke off contact at that point. They were prepared now to embrace their extinction as the Earth first roasted, then fried.

But then, several centuries after their last point of contact, new messages began to emerge from the past. Some loan scholar, whiling away hours in the primary museum of a new world empire, had come upon the plans for the time machine, at least in its communicator form. Actually sensing part of what was missing, he added some three dimensional details to what he had found, and taught others who had proved themselves to him how to make tenuous contact with these godlike beings from after the end of the world.

Those suffering under the ever swelling blood red sun soon realized that this current contact, and his acolytes, had no clear idea what they were really doing. Instead they were interpreting these trans-temporal communications in the light of some mystical matrix of spiritual development.

Instead of giving up in disgust again, the mental travelers thru time utilized these established connections to a prior time to reach out to other minds in that era. One tried to impress upon the mind of a failed science teacher the theoretical plans for a vehicle to travel back and forth thru the ages. This resulted in a popular romance about a horseless carriage able to transport thru the ages… yet fell into a misunderstanding about the state of affairs at the other tend of time, instead writing a tale about class warfare a mere million years in the future.

While the more misguided contacts continued as a bridge across the ages, other explorers pushed out their contacts to other minds beyond the conduits. All efforts were made to find and inspire those working in the physical sciences to look deeper into the nature of matter, space and time. One receptive mentality was pushed to peer fully at the relationship of time, matter, space and energy, setting off a self-perpetuating revolution in the physical sciences.

But the connections were becoming weak again. The misguided conduits had become bored with establishing contact with these exalted beings. Before the channel was completely cut off, nearly full rapport with a compatible mind was established. A cool and logical social scientist had been contact. Quickly they transferred to his mentality all they knew about the fate of humanity, life on earth, and the nature of the cosmos. But they did it too quickly, and overloaded his mind in the middle of one of that era’s wars involving all the major nations. This sudden flash caused him to wreck the ambulance he was driving away from the front line, barely escaping before a bomb blast destroyed the vehicle. Spending weeks in a hospital shell shocked and overloaded, it would be another decade before he would attempt to decipher the message, by which time he was a philosopher of renown; and he would use this message from the future to lay out a philosophy regarding the rise and fall of civilization, man, and intelligence in the universe.

Half a millennium passed before those on the verge of Extinction on a baked and cracking earth would hear from the prior age… not more than half a century after they lost contact.

It was more of the same misinformed contact. But, whereas it had been a few dozen before, now there were hundreds, if not thousands, attempting to make contact with what they saw as all knowing, wise, god-like beings. Once again they utilized these mistaken contacts to reach out into the new era, and learn what had become of the inspirations they had made.

The greatest surprise they found was that these ancients had erected an artificial universe of information, made of electrons and light, in which they stored all their knowledge. And wonder of wonders, one lone individual had actually understood the plans, from bits and pieces scattered about the sum total of human knowledge and the information hard fought regarding the nature of physical reality, and was working on building a machine for traveling thru time using coherent light.

Yet the situation in their time had become exceedingly grim. The surface of the sun was a mere million miles overhead, and the earth was cooking as it plowed through the suns atmosphere.

In an act of desperation, the few remaining corporeal individuals surrendered their bodies and became pure mentalities. Overnight, what was left of the citizens of the earth performed a mass evacuation back thru the contact conduits, startling the misguided mystics into thinking they had called forth god like beings to physical manifestation.

But their aim had not been true, and the last citizens of Earth emerged from the down when terminus of the communication conduits, their digital selves scattered over a period of twenty-five years, with nowhere, no-when, to really go to from there. Since each of the mystics had a terminal to the planet-girdling, artificial universe of information, most of these travelers migrated there, in the process spawning small sections of fragmentary program code which often destroyed the terminals they entered.

It would take another forty years for these travelers to find each other again, dragging the images of their communication code with them, helpfully inserted into the information world by those misguided mystics, and ten years after that before they found one lone researcher who was about to make a breakthrough on using light for generating a temporal field.

And in their joy they would once again blunder, as the machine was turned on for the first time, and they injected their own communication codes into the matrix of light, their mentalities, communication codes, the temporal matrix, and some of the circuits of the machine itself, would fuse to become an impossible object that not only allowed the user to travel forward and backward in time to and from the moment of its creation, but was slowly warping the Earth prematurely toward its penultimate state beneath the swollen sun.

Its resolution and transportation to a place and time where it could no longer disrupt the balance of physicality and temporality is another story.

Beyond the Veil is a regularly appearing column featuring fiction, including occult, horror, science fiction, and fantasy. If you’d like to contribute a story, please contact admin@rendingtheveil.com and we’ll be happy to review your submission.

©2008 J. Michael Glosson
Edited by Sheta Kaey

Ain

(Qabalah) Hebrew Literally, “no thing.” Some texts suggest that this is the condition of being that is God. Or, to put it another way, God is absolute nothingness or negative existence. No thing that can be understood. Ain represents the first Veil of Negative Existence.

Cherub

(Qabalah) Hebrew The four powers of the Universe, corresponding to the Four Worlds, the four elements, the Four Powers of the Sphinx, the four senses, and which are generally represented by the four fixed signs of the zodiac. They are elements that manufacture our world by way of unconscious delineation and discrimination. The word “Cherubims” is incorrectly given as a plural form in the King James version of the Bible, by adding the English plural termination to the Hebrew plural cherubim instead of to the singular cherub.

Griffin

(Alchemy) A mythological beast, half-lion and half-eagle, whose eggs symbolize the Conjunction of the fixed and volatile principles. The griffin egg is a reference to the Vessel of Hermes.

Lunette

(Ecclesiastic) From the Latin luna, meaning “moon.” In the Catholic Mass, a lunette is a crescent shaped clip made of gold or silver, used to hold the Host in an upright position in the monstrance.

Philosophy of Mind

(Philosophy) The branch of philosophy which studies the nature of the mind. Central questions in the philosophy of mind include: Is it possible for a machine to think? How is the mind related to the brain? Do animals have minds? How can I know that anyone else has a mind?

Premise

A principle accepted as true.

Psychological Hedonism

(Philosophy) The doctrine that a person actually pursues nothing except his or her own pleasure or happiness.

Pyx

(Ecclesiastic) A small metal container, used to house the Host while it is taken to the sick and housebound.

Reflection

(Psychology) Mental activity that concentrates on a particular content of consciousness. A spiritual trigger, or religious instinct in the search for meaning. See meditation.

Tetragrammaton

(Qabalah) Greek The four-lettered Ineffable Name of God: Yod-Heh-Vav-Heh. Its true pronunciation has been lost, and legend has it that its proper pronunciation can confer great power.

Gerald del Campo is the author of A Heretic’s Guide to Thelema, New Aeon Magick: Thelema Without Tears, and New Aeon English Qabalah Revealed, among other works. You can visit his blog at http://solis93.livejournal.com and his website at http://thelemicknights.org. Gerald serves as Senior Managing Editor of Rending the Veil.

©2008 Gerald del Campo
Edited by Sheta Kaey

Recently, my husband Taylor and I moved to a new home. This, of course, meant uprooting everything, packing it into boxes, bins and bags, and trucking it across town (thankfully the day before Snowpocalypse 2008 hit the Pacific Northwest!). After about a week of recovery, I had the time and energy to reconstruct my ritual/artwork area. In the old place, Taylor and I shared the finished attic of our two-floor apartment as sacred space. Here, we each have our own private room in addition to the main bedroom, which has been a nice change. It’s been three and a half years since I had my own private ritual/art space, and I’m making the most of it.

Before I go on, let me explain what my ritual/art space contains. For over a decade, I have been creating ritual tools and other sacred artwork out of animal bones, hides, feathers, and other preserved remains. Many of these are secondhand, retrieved from coats and other apparel, taxidermy mounts, old fur rugs, and so forth. Over time, I learned to speak with the spirits in these remains; I don’t believe they’re the actual souls of the animals, but something leftover once death occurs. Often, they’re not happy, since most of these animals died in some pretty horrible ways.

A large portion of my magical/spiritual practice has involved working with these spirits to help them have better afterlives, so to speak. When I create something artistic, part of the process involves communicating with the spirits to get their input. If a particular spirit doesn’t want to be part of a project, I find something different for hir. Then, when the project is done, it goes through a full ritual purification, and offerings are made to all spirits involved. So my art/ritual space is generally full of various animal parts and other art supplies, along with the skins, drums and other artifacts of my (neo)shamanic practice.

After two days of sorting, playing Tetris with boxes, and pulling indignant dead critters out of storage, I finally had things arranged the way I wanted them. This was by far the most haphazard and last-minute move we’ve had, right on the heels of finals week (I’m in graduate school). So I didn’t get to do the usual ritual that I do with moving. I still added an extra bit of reverence to the careful placement of everything in my new space, and that seemed to make everyone happy.

Let me introduce you to a few of the critters who stay with me on a permanent basis.

Above is my altar. It’s changed in some ways since I was a newbie pagan so many years ago, and this is the newest incarnation, updated to reflect my shamanism more specifically (and to also clear our some of the clutter of things I no longer use in practice). The bear hide serves as an altar cloth. S/he was left on my doorstep back in August, I believe. S/he’s old, and well-worn, with a few holes and bare spots here and there. S/he’s too old and tired for the dancing, but is quite happy to hang out, draped over the altar, with various sacred items nestled into her pelage. That white thing in the center of hir back is the rear paw of a wolf given to me by a friend and fellow canid-person; the spirit in that decided to stay and represent Wolf on the altar. To the left is a pile of red stag antlers, connected to the Animal Father, the archetypal personification of all animals that I work with in my shamanism. The large pair mounted on the backing came to me this past summer, when Taylor and I drove by a small random stuff shop (these things seem to be popular in Portland). Out on the front lawn of the shop, the antlers were perched on an antique chair in the sunlight. I begged Taylor to stop, and once I went over to visit it was love at first sight. Two of the loose antlers came from a small taxidermy shop in the Midwest; one came to me through a barter years ago. On the right side you can see an elk antler that came from the same taxidermy shop. To its left is my horsehide drum that I got from a local shop, Cedar Mountain Drums, a few months ago. The beater originally was made with a stick. However, on a rite of passage in the Columbia River Gorge, where I took the drum to be played for the very first time, I found the leg bone of a deer in the woods that spoke to me and said s/he would be the beater. Finally, along the front of the altar you can see the tiny leather pouches where I place the offerings for the spirits of the remains, until such time as the offerings move on to new places.

This is the Wall of Skulls. Some of these have been with me since the beginning of my pagan practice. The painted skull at the top is a dog skull found in the woods who has always been the protector of the East. There’s also a trio of deer skulls — buck, doe and fawn. A ram, a few black bears, coyotes and other canines, even a bobcat and two domestic felines. These and more witness rituals, and find a safe place to be here in my sacred space.

And these are the skins I dance. The grey wolf on the far left — I’ve been dancing with him since 2002, and have had him in my life even longer. I first danced him at Brushwood Folklore Center in Sherman, New York, when I lived in Pittsburgh — I still run into people online who remember me from there. I’ve had a few occasions to dance him here in the Portland area, though dance and drum fires are fewer, and the circles often not large enough to dance in. The bear next to her came from a very old rug in an antique shop from the same little town where I got the elk antler. The coyote to the right came from the very same trip. The pheasant skin was one of my very first skins, and came from yet another antique/curiosity shop in my hometown. The badger skin was one of the first I danced once I began my shamanic practice, and helped me learn to dance with others besides the wolf. Some of these skins even have songs I’ve written for them as I’ve gotten to know them and the totems who watch over them. While I haven’t yet danced all of them, I intend to.

This is my sacred space. This is where the magic happens. I feel comfortable here, and I look forward to spending much more time in this place.

Lupa is the author of Fang and Fur, Blood and Bone: A Primal Guide to Animal Magic, A Field Guide to Otherkin, and co-author of Kink Magic, among other works. You can read her blog at http://therioshamanism.com and see her website at http://www.thegreenwolf.com.

Text and photos ©2008 Lupa
Text and photos edited by Sheta Kaey

I first encountered Franz Bardon’s works approximately five years ago, and was amazed I hadn’t read or explored his concepts earlier. It likely didn’t help that until recently his works were out of print or printed only in German. In 2001, Merkur Publishing translated all of Bardon’s works and re-published them in the U.S.

Franz Bardon lived approximately forty years and was a stage magician as well as a hermeticist. He died in 1958 from pancreatitis, which may have been purposely induced when he was put in prison by communists. Bardon wrote three books on Hermeticism, and was working on a fourth when he died. There is also a biographical book about him called Frabato the Magician. [Ed's note: This book is by Bardon, so if it's a bio, it is an autobiography.] Bardon’s work tends to focus on practical applications of magic. While he discusses theory, the books are clearly written to instruct the reader in how to practice magic. Exercises are provided throughout each of the texts. It’s fair to say that the potential of his books isn’t fully realized unless the magician does the exercises.

The quality of Bardon’s work is high. I wasn’t exposed to his work until recently, and while most of the exercises he proposes in Initiation into Hermetics are ones I’ve done variants of, trying out his exercises has proven to be helpful in honing my skills and focus. In fact, it’s fair to compare the quality of his work to William G. Gray. Both tend toward an exactness of description, as well as a thorough explanation of how a practical technique should work, that is sorely lacking in a lot of the other occult literature of the time. The exercises in his first book are useful challenges to aspiring magicians, and I’d also recommend them to experienced magicians who want a different perspective on ceremonial magic than is found through the more traditional work of Crowley and Regardie. It’s interesting to note that Bardon clearly had some background in Far Eastern breathing techniques, as his concepts of pore breathing and energy accumulation are decidedly not Western practices. The energy work exercises are very helpful in improving one’s health.

Bardon’s second work, The Practice of Magical Evocation, provides an excellent explanation of how evocation works in a manner that is unique to Bardon, but nonetheless could easily have influenced the chaos magic movement in terms of how entities are created. Bardon provides readers an opportunity to summon a large number of entities based on planetary attributes, as well as explaining to readers how to develop relationships with said entities. I’d have to say that this book should be considered one of the cornerstones of evocation, as Bardon’s work provides readers an opportunity to really develop their skills in evocation, while also understanding how it works.

I have to confess I haven’t yet read The Key to the True Kabbalah. From what I understand, this work isn’t considered to be as good as the previous two works, though it should be noted that Bardon intentionally wrote his books to build upon each other. So prior experience with the practices in his two prior works may be necessary to unlock the key of the third book. It is interesting to note that Bardon uses the German alphabet in his kabbalistic workings, similar in fact to the work done with the English language and Kabbalah.

Below is a list of Bardon’s works. It’s definitely in the interest of any magician to pick up Bardon’s writing and run with it in your personal practice.

Recommended Reading

• Bardon, Franz (2001). Initiation into Hermetics. Salt Lake City: Merkur Publishing.
• Bardon, Franz (2001). The Practice of Magical Evocation. Salt Lake City: Merkur Publishing.
• Bardon, Franz (2002). The Key to the True Kabbalah. Salt Lake City: Merkur Publishing.

Taylor Ellwood is the author of Space/Time Magic, Inner Alchemy: Energy Work and the Magic of the Body, and Pop Culture Magick, among other works. You can visit his blog at http://magicalexperiments.wordpress.com/ and his website at http://www.thegreenwolf.com/.

©2008 Taylor Ellwood
Edited by Sheta Kaey

When I first became interested in paganism back in the mid-1990s, the very first divination set I worked with was the elder futhark of runes. I had a photocopy of a few pages with rune meanings out of a book that I suspect may have been from Ralph Blum’s questionable writings. While runes have never been a central focus in my practice and I no longer utilize them, I do have somewhat of a nostalgic soft spot for them. I am quite pleased with this brand new text — it takes an entirely innovative approach to the runes, not only as a historical alphabet/divination system couched in venerable traditions, but also as a living, evolving set of energies and symbols that the modern practitioner will find relevant regardless of current cultural context.

Olsen presents us with a solid overview of the history and origin of the Norse runes. However, before he even gets into that, he throws a chapter on the nature of reality at the reader, asking us to challenge our perceptions and assumptions, particularly with regards to magical thinking. This sets a stage for an introduction to the runes not only as symbols with correspondences, but as tools for shaping and understanding subjective reality.

While Olsen has done his research, drawing extensively on primary texts, he strongly supports the use of Unverified Personal Gnosis as a key to one’s individual relationship to the runes and their meanings. This is a much more organized and introspective process than mixing up runes and the I Ching, for example. While UPG is crucial, it is still set within the context of historical meaning, and the two are meant to complement each other, even if their information doesn’t entirely agree. In short, Olsen allows the historical material on the runes to serve as a solid foundation on which the practitioner may then build hir own extensive personal research — a healthy balance.

The runes are not treated as only tools for divination. One of the most valuable dimensions of this book is the potential for a Western system of internal change. Olsen blends techniques from NLP and other psychological systems, as well as other areas of modern science, with runic magic and spirituality to create a wonderfully workable system. The runes are promoted as tools for understanding interconnection between the self and the world, and various elements thereof; as energies that may be utilized in improving the self in deep, fundamental capacities; and making connections with deities, among other capacities. The depth with which Olsen explores these possibilities is commendable, and I say this not only as an experienced psychonaut, but also a counselor-in-training.

Practitioners who are critical of UPG may find this book to be too UPG-heavy for their tastes. This all comes down to a matter of subjective preferences. Olsen does an excellent job of presenting his material, and beyond a certain point it’s not really possible to change people’s minds. The solid research may mollify some by-the-book folks; however, I can also see this book coming under fire from exceptionally conservative individuals.

Overall, this book is a winner. Whether you are Asatru, a psychonaut in need of a system for internal exploration, or merely someone who appreciates the magic and aesthetics of the elder futhark, this text is an excellent choice.

Five pawprints out of five.

Review ©2008 Lupa
Edited by Sheta Kaey

This is another one of those “Why is this important to pagans, anyway?” books. At first glance, it would seem that a balancing act between Catholicism, agnosticism, and strict scientific interpretations of reality would be of little interest to your average neopagan. This is exactly the kind of book that I like to bring to my readers’ attention, however. It’s full of interesting little surprises, and I got quite a bit out of it as far as brain food goes.

Raymo presents a series of arguments towards a materialistic interpretation of Nature as sacred. Nature is not sacred because it is filled with spirits, but rather because the very processes which science is uncovering are endlessly fascinating. With this perspective, he skewers dualistic worldviews which separate Sacred from Profane, and the idea that Earth is just a waystation to be used and abused before we go off to some afterlife. However, as a dedicated agnostic, he proceeds to toss the idea of a personal God, along with numerous religious trappings (emphasis on “trap”) out and instead explains the Divine as the ongoing “I Don’t Know.”

It is this emphasis on admitting that we don’t know everything (and that’s okay) which I think really makes this book worth reading. Neopaganism as a whole lacks a healthy dose of skepticism. Raymo presents a nice alternative to the more militant atheist voices at the table; healthy skepticism (as opposed to outright debunking) is paired with the admission that, removed from its fundamentalist, harmful roots, religion and spirituality can still serve healthy purposes in the evolution of humanity.

Do be aware that Raymo tends to shove animism, pantheism, polytheism, and other mainstays of (neo)paganism into the same category of useless superstition, while admitting aesthetic preferences for certain aspects of Catholicism. This bias may not have been intentional, but it is glaring. If you are easily offended, you’ll probably end up unhappy with this (of course, if you’re easily offended the entire book may come up with the same result). However, I still found his concept of Nature as sacred (in his own interpretation of the idea) to be one that I could resonate with on numerous levels, even if I believe in spirits and he doesn’t.

Despite my enjoyment of the book, I’m still not convinced that animism isn’t a good theological choice for me at this point, so his argument against it wasn’t as effective as he might have hoped. And, as with anything, take what you read with a grain of salt. This is a book to digest over time, not simply to read and discard after first impressions. If you find things that you disagree with (and if you’re like most neopagans, you will), don’t disregard the text in its entirety. Give it time to percolate in your mind, and see what you think after a second read a few months down the line.

Five pawprints out of five.

Review ©2008 Lupa
Edited by Sheta Kaey