… A Myth for the Dawn of a New Mystic Age
“Western society is built on a series of misunderstandings.”
~ Terence McKenna
In 1984, Andy Crowley is as much metalhead and Dungeon Master as he is sorcerer. Humble beginnings for one who — in thirty years — will rule all reality.
On his neon green BMX racer, Andy came around the curved ramp off of Highway 14 into the Quinte Mall parking lot with the speed of a rabid leucrotta. He spotted Scott St. Pierre’s pickup truck about half-way around.
He should have known they would be there. Every Saturday after hockey, they would park at the entrance to the parking lot and scout for girls coming to the mall.
His heart leapt with the joy he had felt on the bus the other day: a new and thrilling sensation! A grin like a Jack o’ Lantern marred his pale face. Instantly, years of discipline, deep understanding about the mystic importance of compassion simply disintegrated.
Deb loves me! lit up his mind! I can do anything, whispered in his ear like an old memory paradoxically just recently acquired.
His mind flitted to his astrological charts, Mars was in ascension in his birth house today. Perfect. He could see St. Pierre’s face clearly now. The hockey player’s hands were clenched. His eyes fixed on Andy’s. And his teeth flared that primal invitation.
Andy Crowley then was nought but a taut, coiled spring of raging glee!
The fists that crushed the handlebars released to facilitate a dismount like a cheetah that became a gazelle. His discarded bicycle rocketed onward without him as he transitioned perfectly into a long landing gait that maintained the momentum hurling him toward Scott St. Pierre.
This is not Joe Campbell’s hero’s journey, he whispered through a red haze. This is not farm boy makes good! I write my own story — more grimoire than myth.
I am Andy Crowley…
And then, after the dismount, three long strides, and a left like a lightning bolt thrown by Zeus, his fist sent the back of St. Pierre’s head into the side of the pickup truck.
… Sole Sorcerer of Sanctuary!
For a moment Andy watched St.Pierre’s body on the pavement to make sure it was still moving. For another, he relished the awe and fear on the other hockey players’ faces.
He did not see the ecstasy on Scott St. Pierre’s face or the gleam in his hungry eyes. Indeed, the entity that had taken up residency in his body had made sure he wouldn’t see. Now is not the time, sorcerer, said the voice in St. Pierre’s head.
But the time is coming.
Andy Crowley gathered his bike and sped into the parking like nothing had happened.
He was thrilled at how the first punch he had ever thrown had worked out so well. His Tai-Chi training in the heavy-gravity dimension had certainly paid off. For an instant he wondered how word would travel. He did not think at all about why he had not hesitated in the slightest.
And he had no recollection whatsoever of the vision of the night before — and the experience of merging with the tiny black monolith with the grey apple in it.
Beyond Earth, across the event horizon of Sanctuary Rim, and into the wider, wilder cosmos, where probability is but a plaything of sorcerers, there is a saying…
“…Somewhere in the multiverse, everything is a true story.”