There’s no longer any doubt in my mind. All of these signs add up to one big secret. Possibly the biggest secret of them all.
It all starts when you inspect the ancient cults. They have old beliefs, older than what’s written down. They were studied in the 2nd century but the traveller who wrote of them wasn’t allowed to see into the inner sanctum and he was never told – and this is the important point –
He was never told the Master’s name.
Or, more accurately, the name of the Mother Goddess, who held two snakes in her arms. But I…
I have seen beyond the veil! I have been in that house of worship, and I have seen, hovering behind the altar, transparent – but completely real – the Cheshire smile of the girl prophetic and daedalic. Just what is she thinking? The vision disappeared before I could react to be replaced by mundanity.
Hail! I half-remembered your face in dreams, dreams I was sure portended real events. I recognised you by the dreadful sword you held, the ritual sprig of myrtle leaves.
Men think me mad but I know better. It is simply a question of knowledge, not of sanity, or of clarity. Once you have the data you have the answer. And I have data none have. I saw –
I saw the clouds open up and the vision reappeared, and this time, this time the smile was accompanied by a downward turn of the eyebrows. A direct glance. There played a hint of mischief on that mystery-weighted face, and the eyes spoke of something I should have known, and could only pretend to know, shifting to me for only a second.
I felt that I saw an Archaic statue, and saw the smirk on its cold marble face – and like the statues of old, it resisted all impressions, for –
One would assume such a smile was more akin to a sneer of cold command, but there is instead a perfect warmth in the stone, a participatory air. It is an intelligent smile, born from a private joke, probably a joke the joker is unwilling to tell their mother. Or a secret. A terrible hidden thing passed down in the blood not the mind, and passed only to this single place, this living breathing korai. It is apparent from the face – the swift expression says all this – it might, or might not be, time for the joke to be shared.
One appearance begets another. This is not the end, not ‘til the consummation. The laugh.
O girl prophetic and daedalic! Perhaps I am mad after all. Will your countenance confirm that for me?
Yours was nothing more or less than a smile of perfect good health, of sheer contentment. One advisable for all to have on their faces often – if life can allow them. Such a smile heals the soul and soothes the body.
Perhaps the smile itself is the secret – and against all logic it was granted to me.
verso folio 