The Memory Palace of Passion and Pain - Part 7
Through the Gate of Hell
Through me is the way into the woeful city;
Through me is the way into eternal woe;
Through me is the way among the lost people.
Justice moved my lofty maker: the divine Power,
The supreme Wisdom and the primal Love made me.
Before me were no things created,
Unless eternal, and I eternal last.
Leave every hope, ye who enter!
I could not tell how long the journey lasted. I came back to my senses as I felt my box being lifted and carried out of the ship. I waited for the commotion outside to subside, and then opened the lid carefully, applying only the necessary force, but still feeling the pressure of my body cracking several of the porcelain pieces beneath me. The Portuguese merchants would not be pleased. I looked out, making sure there was no one around, crawled out of the box and set off for my long journey to the north.
Sometimes I would simply run through the night, sometimes I managed to get into a merchant’s wagon and continue the journey even on a sunny day. But I soon realized that my usual way of posing as a fortune teller or a healer was becoming very dangerous. I was passing though scorched fields and abandoned villages, with the remaining inhabitants either viewing me as their last chance, or as a demon and one of the sources of their misery. But even my centuries of learning could not help the plague-smitten land, and I had a task on my hands.
As I left Spain and proceeded northward, the signs of plague receded, but I soon realized much worse forces were at play here. An atmosphere of mistrust covered the countries like a thick, black veil. Everyone was reporting anything unusual to the authorities for fear of otherwise becoming suspect themselves - men were turning in their neighbours and friends, or even wives and mothers, and children were turning in their parents. The nights were filled with the cries of people burnt alive and with the mad, bloodthirsty cries of the onlookers, who wanted more torture, more blood, and more death. I looked at the scenery from a distance and thought of Matteo’s god - the benevolent being he spoke of with love and tenderness in his voice. But, who was this god in whose name things were happening that made my own deeds that still haunted me in my mind look innocent? Where was he?
I was relieved when my nightmarish journey was over. Gaiana stood in the gate of our monastery, awaiting me. I never knew how exactly Gaiana’s link to each and every vampire of her coven worked, but sensing our presence from afar was a part of it.
“Welcome home,” she said, simply, smiling. We embraced like the ancient friends that we were, savouring the reunion for a few moments before everyone else gathered around us - news travel quickly in a house where no one needs to sleep - and started shouting:
“How did it go?”
“What do we do?”
“There is no time!”
As Gaiana raised her hand, the shouts died off. She sent everyone back to the underground scriptorium to get ready, and nodded to me to follow her to her private rooms. As we passed by the small chapel that we kept fully equipped for cover, I could hear muffled sounds from within: ... adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caello ...
“Miguel is still ...” I started to ask, incredulously.
“Praying?” Gaiana completed my question in a sad voice. “Yes, almost incessantly.”
Her face was still full of concern for Miguel as we sat down in the comfortable armchairs of her study and she asked: “May I?” Even as I nodded, I felt her consciousness reach out into my own. From the tiniest memory images to my grand Library of Alexandria, she explored and internalized everything I had learned in the past months and years. But when she approached the gate that separated my own memory palace from Matteo’s, she found it sealed. I felt her squeeze my hand as she retreated from my mind.
“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked.
“No, not really. Besides, I heard it, there is no time.”
“I think your plan might work,” Gaiana spoke intensely, switching from 'friend' to 'matriarch' mode. “We will use the Web. But I cannot do this without you. I have your knowledge now, but not your experience. I’ll need you to direct the proceedings.”
“Me? But how ... I cannot master the Web!”
Besides being able to enter our minds when we allowed it - I actually never knew whether she could not enter our minds against our will, or, being Gaiana, simply chose not to - our matriarch could weave the Web. The Web was a mental network that could connect the entire Coven. I had once jokingly remarked that Gaiana was like one of those spiders spinning their webs on the ceiling of our scriptorium, and although she found the simile anything but flattering, the term had stuck. Through the Web, Gaiana could interconnect everyone’s thoughts into an intricate network. It required immense concentration and made her very vulnerable to the outside world, so we seldom used her gift. This time, though, it helped us to devise the ideal method of bringing the art of memory on a whole new level. Of all the vampires I knew, only Gaiana had the ability to weave and maintain the Web. In my plan, I counted on her to oversee the work that was to be done in the minds of the coven members.
But it would not be Gaiana if she did not have a plan of her own.
“You will not need to,” she told me reassuringly. “I will set it up, and I will maintain it. You will just need to concentrate enough to keep up the connection with me. Do you think you can do that?”
That wasn’t really a question, but I answered nonetheless: “I think so.” Concentration has never been a problem for me. I could block out the world and shut my senses easily.
“Then let’s do it,” Gaiana said cheerfully, standing up and heading towards the staircase.
“What about Miguel?” I asked, following her.
“Oh, he is already down there with the others,” Gaiana answered.
When we entered the scriptorium, everyone’s attention was instantaneously directed at us. Although I knew that Gaiana would be able to pass all the necessary information around much more efficiently through the Web, I took a moment to explain what we all were about to do in a conventional way. After all, although everyone trusted Gaiana fully, they did not always feel comfortable when she entered their consciousness - and now I was about to follow her there.
Watching Gaiana weave the Web from the outside was fascinating. A myriad of expressions passed over her face as she entered and connected each of the about hundred minds. Her concern for every single member of her coven was deeply etched into her face.
After a while, her barely noticeable gesture indicated that the Web was ready for me to enter. I concentrated and tentatively reached out for Gaiana’s mind. The walls of the scriptorium dissolved into a milky mist ... only to reappear again with a painful thud in my head. I fell on my knees, holding my head in my hands. The pain was nigh unbearable. Gaiana’s expression contorted in pain as well. No, I could afford no hesitation, no self-doubt, no second thoughts.
I started breathing regularly and with full focus: in - and out - in - and out, slowly regaining composition. I reached out for Gaiana’s consciousness once again, blocking off the wave of pain as it came, banishing it into a far-off corner of my mind. In - and out. The walls dissolved into a fog. Then the fog receded, offering me a view of a vast plain filled with frenetic building activity.
I was here! I was inside the Web, inside the collective consciousness of the House of Gaiana. Everyone else was here, too. Only, as I walked across the plain, giving advice here and there:
You need more light!
No, this is just not remarkable enough.
That niche is way too big for the statue ... all right, much better now!
I realized that they could neither see nor hear each other. Every vampire was busy constructing his or her own memory palace, but only I could see the magnificent civitas memoriae that grew through the collective effort. And what a grandiose sight it was! Palaces, theatres, temples, churches and castles were growing out of nowhere, springing into existence to hold yet another part of our immense repository of knowledge ... no, to become our repository of knowledge. There, the temple of the Oracle of Delphi was being raised to its former glory. Over here, Agamemnon’s Mycenae - I rushed to help with inscribing the Lions’ Gate with a few hieroglyphs of my ancient language that had proven to be the ideal visual alphabet for encoding specific sequences of sounds. Further still, the minarets of a mosque towered proudly towards the sky. A grand architect of memory, I walked through the growing city like Vitruvius through his Pantheon, advising the apprentice builders, guiding them, and adding touches of my own.
As I walked though the passages my mind constructed between the various memory buildings and listened to the cacophony of sounds - Use all your senses! Add sound, smell, texture, taste ... that way, something will always remain for your memory to hold on to - I noticed a staircase leading down below the surface. An intense heat emanated from the hole in the ground, and I could hear distant cries. What in the name of Mnemosyne was that? My curiosity awakened, I started to slowly, carefully descend the staircase. I was new to the world of the Web, and did not know what surprises it held.
The staircase ended ... nowhere. There was blackness beyond the last visible step, and no matter how hard I tried to reach out for the next foothold, I found nothing. But I thought I could discern a familiar voice rising from the darkness, above and over the cries. I listened closely, and yes, there it was: ... in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus ...
“Miguel!” I cried, having recognised the voice as much as the prayer.
“Renata! Come in!” Miguel shouted back.
This was just my - or Miguel’s - mind, and I was immortal anyway. Nothing could happen. I stepped into nothingness...
Only to descend into Hell. The place was dark and saturated with the stench of burnt human flesh I knew all too well from my voyage. Several fires provided a dim, flickering light, and fed their flames on the naked, tormented bodies that swarmed like insects everywhere the eye could see. And out of this mass of crawling, crying and screaming bodies rose the majestic, dark figure of Miguel, wearing the robes of the priest and inquisitor he had been before he was turned against his will a few decades ago. I thought he was the Satan of this mental Hell, but then I saw the tears that streamed down from his eyes. Here, even vampires could cry. I noticed my own vision was blurring.
“Miguel ... what is this place?” I asked, knowing the answer to my question. “I told you, Gaiana told you, the structures must be real to hold the memories properly.” Even as I spoke, my voice was breaking in horror and disgust.
“This is real. This is the most real of all places. It’s where demons like you and I will end up one day.”
“You are not a demon, Miguel.”
“No? I live off blood, what else would I be? Besides, God hates me. I know He hates me. He stopped answering my prayers.”
“Your god used to actually speak to you?”
Miguel never answered and I did not press my question. There was no time for discussions of theology.
“Miguel, just ... alright. The crater,” I pointed to the mouth of a huge crater to the right of us, “will work fine, actually. You just need some more light. That fire over there, bring it closer ... that’s right ... enlarge it ... very good. Now try differentiating the sounds a little. Or maybe make them say things... No, I don’t think I want to know what it is that you’ll make them say. Go on, I’ll check on you again soon ... Miguel! Miguel, how do I leave this place?”
“You don’t. What, did you think Hell would just let you go?”
“Just think of an exit, Miguel.”
“There is no exit from Hell!”
I had enough of Miguel and his Hell. I left him standing at the mouth of the crater, which was lined with several levels of terraces and ended - once again - in impenetrable blackness, and returned back to where my step into the darkness had taken me. There is a staircase above me, and now I am on it. I am ascending the stairs, away from this awful place, towards the light, now ... I was still in Hell. I could see Miguel in the distance, shaking his head in a mute “I-told-you-so”.
I reached out for Gaiana. Break the connection. I am stuck. Whatever you do, do not try to get here to me. Just break the link. I did not even want to think about what would happen if Gaiana followed me in here. Would we be trapped in Miguel’s gloomy vision for all eternity? Was that how the Web worked?
... to be continued
- The initial poem is the inscription on the gate to Dante’s Hell (Dante, Inferno, Canto III)
- Vitruvius did not in fact build the Pantheon, but it was built in his style. I have a feeling Daoming would compare herself with the intellectual originator of the building, no matter who actually realized it in the end.
- the picture is Dante's Hell
Link to Summary and Chapter List
Through me is the way into the woeful city;
Through me is the way into eternal woe;
Through me is the way among the lost people.
Justice moved my lofty maker: the divine Power,
The supreme Wisdom and the primal Love made me.
Before me were no things created,
Unless eternal, and I eternal last.
Leave every hope, ye who enter!
I could not tell how long the journey lasted. I came back to my senses as I felt my box being lifted and carried out of the ship. I waited for the commotion outside to subside, and then opened the lid carefully, applying only the necessary force, but still feeling the pressure of my body cracking several of the porcelain pieces beneath me. The Portuguese merchants would not be pleased. I looked out, making sure there was no one around, crawled out of the box and set off for my long journey to the north.
Sometimes I would simply run through the night, sometimes I managed to get into a merchant’s wagon and continue the journey even on a sunny day. But I soon realized that my usual way of posing as a fortune teller or a healer was becoming very dangerous. I was passing though scorched fields and abandoned villages, with the remaining inhabitants either viewing me as their last chance, or as a demon and one of the sources of their misery. But even my centuries of learning could not help the plague-smitten land, and I had a task on my hands.
As I left Spain and proceeded northward, the signs of plague receded, but I soon realized much worse forces were at play here. An atmosphere of mistrust covered the countries like a thick, black veil. Everyone was reporting anything unusual to the authorities for fear of otherwise becoming suspect themselves - men were turning in their neighbours and friends, or even wives and mothers, and children were turning in their parents. The nights were filled with the cries of people burnt alive and with the mad, bloodthirsty cries of the onlookers, who wanted more torture, more blood, and more death. I looked at the scenery from a distance and thought of Matteo’s god - the benevolent being he spoke of with love and tenderness in his voice. But, who was this god in whose name things were happening that made my own deeds that still haunted me in my mind look innocent? Where was he?
I was relieved when my nightmarish journey was over. Gaiana stood in the gate of our monastery, awaiting me. I never knew how exactly Gaiana’s link to each and every vampire of her coven worked, but sensing our presence from afar was a part of it.
“Welcome home,” she said, simply, smiling. We embraced like the ancient friends that we were, savouring the reunion for a few moments before everyone else gathered around us - news travel quickly in a house where no one needs to sleep - and started shouting:
“How did it go?”
“What do we do?”
“There is no time!”
As Gaiana raised her hand, the shouts died off. She sent everyone back to the underground scriptorium to get ready, and nodded to me to follow her to her private rooms. As we passed by the small chapel that we kept fully equipped for cover, I could hear muffled sounds from within: ... adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caello ...
“Miguel is still ...” I started to ask, incredulously.
“Praying?” Gaiana completed my question in a sad voice. “Yes, almost incessantly.”
Her face was still full of concern for Miguel as we sat down in the comfortable armchairs of her study and she asked: “May I?” Even as I nodded, I felt her consciousness reach out into my own. From the tiniest memory images to my grand Library of Alexandria, she explored and internalized everything I had learned in the past months and years. But when she approached the gate that separated my own memory palace from Matteo’s, she found it sealed. I felt her squeeze my hand as she retreated from my mind.
“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked.
“No, not really. Besides, I heard it, there is no time.”
“I think your plan might work,” Gaiana spoke intensely, switching from 'friend' to 'matriarch' mode. “We will use the Web. But I cannot do this without you. I have your knowledge now, but not your experience. I’ll need you to direct the proceedings.”
“Me? But how ... I cannot master the Web!”
Besides being able to enter our minds when we allowed it - I actually never knew whether she could not enter our minds against our will, or, being Gaiana, simply chose not to - our matriarch could weave the Web. The Web was a mental network that could connect the entire Coven. I had once jokingly remarked that Gaiana was like one of those spiders spinning their webs on the ceiling of our scriptorium, and although she found the simile anything but flattering, the term had stuck. Through the Web, Gaiana could interconnect everyone’s thoughts into an intricate network. It required immense concentration and made her very vulnerable to the outside world, so we seldom used her gift. This time, though, it helped us to devise the ideal method of bringing the art of memory on a whole new level. Of all the vampires I knew, only Gaiana had the ability to weave and maintain the Web. In my plan, I counted on her to oversee the work that was to be done in the minds of the coven members.
But it would not be Gaiana if she did not have a plan of her own.
“You will not need to,” she told me reassuringly. “I will set it up, and I will maintain it. You will just need to concentrate enough to keep up the connection with me. Do you think you can do that?”
That wasn’t really a question, but I answered nonetheless: “I think so.” Concentration has never been a problem for me. I could block out the world and shut my senses easily.
“Then let’s do it,” Gaiana said cheerfully, standing up and heading towards the staircase.
“What about Miguel?” I asked, following her.
“Oh, he is already down there with the others,” Gaiana answered.
When we entered the scriptorium, everyone’s attention was instantaneously directed at us. Although I knew that Gaiana would be able to pass all the necessary information around much more efficiently through the Web, I took a moment to explain what we all were about to do in a conventional way. After all, although everyone trusted Gaiana fully, they did not always feel comfortable when she entered their consciousness - and now I was about to follow her there.
Watching Gaiana weave the Web from the outside was fascinating. A myriad of expressions passed over her face as she entered and connected each of the about hundred minds. Her concern for every single member of her coven was deeply etched into her face.
After a while, her barely noticeable gesture indicated that the Web was ready for me to enter. I concentrated and tentatively reached out for Gaiana’s mind. The walls of the scriptorium dissolved into a milky mist ... only to reappear again with a painful thud in my head. I fell on my knees, holding my head in my hands. The pain was nigh unbearable. Gaiana’s expression contorted in pain as well. No, I could afford no hesitation, no self-doubt, no second thoughts.
I started breathing regularly and with full focus: in - and out - in - and out, slowly regaining composition. I reached out for Gaiana’s consciousness once again, blocking off the wave of pain as it came, banishing it into a far-off corner of my mind. In - and out. The walls dissolved into a fog. Then the fog receded, offering me a view of a vast plain filled with frenetic building activity.
I was here! I was inside the Web, inside the collective consciousness of the House of Gaiana. Everyone else was here, too. Only, as I walked across the plain, giving advice here and there:
You need more light!
No, this is just not remarkable enough.
That niche is way too big for the statue ... all right, much better now!
I realized that they could neither see nor hear each other. Every vampire was busy constructing his or her own memory palace, but only I could see the magnificent civitas memoriae that grew through the collective effort. And what a grandiose sight it was! Palaces, theatres, temples, churches and castles were growing out of nowhere, springing into existence to hold yet another part of our immense repository of knowledge ... no, to become our repository of knowledge. There, the temple of the Oracle of Delphi was being raised to its former glory. Over here, Agamemnon’s Mycenae - I rushed to help with inscribing the Lions’ Gate with a few hieroglyphs of my ancient language that had proven to be the ideal visual alphabet for encoding specific sequences of sounds. Further still, the minarets of a mosque towered proudly towards the sky. A grand architect of memory, I walked through the growing city like Vitruvius through his Pantheon, advising the apprentice builders, guiding them, and adding touches of my own.
As I walked though the passages my mind constructed between the various memory buildings and listened to the cacophony of sounds - Use all your senses! Add sound, smell, texture, taste ... that way, something will always remain for your memory to hold on to - I noticed a staircase leading down below the surface. An intense heat emanated from the hole in the ground, and I could hear distant cries. What in the name of Mnemosyne was that? My curiosity awakened, I started to slowly, carefully descend the staircase. I was new to the world of the Web, and did not know what surprises it held.
The staircase ended ... nowhere. There was blackness beyond the last visible step, and no matter how hard I tried to reach out for the next foothold, I found nothing. But I thought I could discern a familiar voice rising from the darkness, above and over the cries. I listened closely, and yes, there it was: ... in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus ...
“Miguel!” I cried, having recognised the voice as much as the prayer.
“Renata! Come in!” Miguel shouted back.
This was just my - or Miguel’s - mind, and I was immortal anyway. Nothing could happen. I stepped into nothingness...
Only to descend into Hell. The place was dark and saturated with the stench of burnt human flesh I knew all too well from my voyage. Several fires provided a dim, flickering light, and fed their flames on the naked, tormented bodies that swarmed like insects everywhere the eye could see. And out of this mass of crawling, crying and screaming bodies rose the majestic, dark figure of Miguel, wearing the robes of the priest and inquisitor he had been before he was turned against his will a few decades ago. I thought he was the Satan of this mental Hell, but then I saw the tears that streamed down from his eyes. Here, even vampires could cry. I noticed my own vision was blurring.
“Miguel ... what is this place?” I asked, knowing the answer to my question. “I told you, Gaiana told you, the structures must be real to hold the memories properly.” Even as I spoke, my voice was breaking in horror and disgust.
“This is real. This is the most real of all places. It’s where demons like you and I will end up one day.”
“You are not a demon, Miguel.”
“No? I live off blood, what else would I be? Besides, God hates me. I know He hates me. He stopped answering my prayers.”
“Your god used to actually speak to you?”
Miguel never answered and I did not press my question. There was no time for discussions of theology.
“Miguel, just ... alright. The crater,” I pointed to the mouth of a huge crater to the right of us, “will work fine, actually. You just need some more light. That fire over there, bring it closer ... that’s right ... enlarge it ... very good. Now try differentiating the sounds a little. Or maybe make them say things... No, I don’t think I want to know what it is that you’ll make them say. Go on, I’ll check on you again soon ... Miguel! Miguel, how do I leave this place?”
“You don’t. What, did you think Hell would just let you go?”
“Just think of an exit, Miguel.”
“There is no exit from Hell!”
I had enough of Miguel and his Hell. I left him standing at the mouth of the crater, which was lined with several levels of terraces and ended - once again - in impenetrable blackness, and returned back to where my step into the darkness had taken me. There is a staircase above me, and now I am on it. I am ascending the stairs, away from this awful place, towards the light, now ... I was still in Hell. I could see Miguel in the distance, shaking his head in a mute “I-told-you-so”.
I reached out for Gaiana. Break the connection. I am stuck. Whatever you do, do not try to get here to me. Just break the link. I did not even want to think about what would happen if Gaiana followed me in here. Would we be trapped in Miguel’s gloomy vision for all eternity? Was that how the Web worked?
... to be continued
- The initial poem is the inscription on the gate to Dante’s Hell (Dante, Inferno, Canto III)
- Vitruvius did not in fact build the Pantheon, but it was built in his style. I have a feeling Daoming would compare herself with the intellectual originator of the building, no matter who actually realized it in the end.
- the picture is Dante's Hell
Link to Summary and Chapter List