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Chapter Text

There was something about that night which made my hackles rise. The sun had been as bright as ever in the sky, but as soon as it had touched the horizon a great shadow seemed to fall across the world in an instant. I raised my eyes to the western sky and saw nothing but the deepening purple of twilight; the sun was already gone, swallowed by the night. The days are growing shorter already, I told myself, though I knew that it could not explain what I had seen. My mule brayed nervously, but I urged her on through the darkening plains.

It was then that I saw the city, shining in the ghostly light of the crescent moon. Harran’s walls rose from the fields, curving and graceful, and though only a sliver of moonlight was present, the pale stones of the city seemed to magnify and reflect every beam. My mule had frozen, but I did not goad it on; I simply sat still in shivering awe. At last I had reached Harran, city of sorcerers and sages, the last place in the Dar al-Islam where the old faith had never died.  Thabit did not do it justice in his descriptions, I thought, though perhaps he had his reasons for not speaking of this place.  

I noticed then that the world around me was unnaturally quiet, although I could not remember when sound had stopped. In the silence I felt that I could almost hear the old man’s dry voice whispering in my ear: You were never the most learned of my pupils, al-Basri, but you were always the most curious, the most willing to delve into the dark places. Soon I will be gone, and when I am gone there will be nothing left for you in Baghdad. If you thirst for secrets worthy of study, then you must head to Harran, and find the truth I proved myself unworthy of so many years ago.

I had stayed with him until the very end, as he gave his last predictions and crafted charms of good fortune for my journey. When at last we disciples gathered at his bedside, he grasped my arm with withered fingers and begged me to stay after all the others had left. From beneath his robes he produced a scroll case and pressed into my palms. “For… Qarnas.” He coughed. “Give it to him when you reach Harran. Tell him that I’m sorry, that I should have stayed…”

Those were the last words I ever heard from him. I kept the scroll close through the next few months, as I sold my property and my precious few valuables to prepare for my journey, but never once did I open it. I carried it with me, tucked in amongst my bags of books, as I had made my plodding way along the Euphrates over the last seven days. Now that I had reached the threshold of my destination, my mule was refusing to carry me further.

 All of a sudden I felt tired, bone-achingly tired. Just the rigours of the road. I’ll be able to sleep when I reach the university. And yet that thought gave me no comfort. Even though I felt exhaustion dragging down my eyelids, the mere thought of sleeping filled me with a primal dread I could not comprehend. My mule brayed and tried to turn back. Perhaps the beast is right. Animals often show a wisdom that proud men lack. I instantly felt ashamed of this thought. I have come this far to fulfill Thabit’s last wish. I will not let a frightened creature stop me now. I dismounted and pulled my mule forward.

I felt oddly light and formless, as though I was moving in a dream. The stars in the heavens above seemed to be guiding me onward, pulling me towards the gates of that dreadful city. Half-conscious, I stumbled across a bridge over a broad, shining canal that encircled the city and found myself at the gate. 

There was a lantern shining in the guard tower, and a face poked out to look down at me. “No entry this time of night”, the guard shouted in uncouth, accented Arabic, his finger pointing to the west. “You’ll find an inn a few miles that way”. 

The sense of strange, oppressive exhaustion was weighing me down, and when I finally managed to speak it was almost a cry for help. “Please, I’m too tired to go on. Tell them that Thabit ibn Qurra, the great scholar, sent me here with a letter for the university”. 

After a moment of silence, the guard ducked back in through the window. I heard a short, muffled conversation in Syriac before the guard’s head re-emerges. “Wait here!” he commanded before dashing off.

My vision grew hazy, so I leaned against the mule for support, raising my clouded eyes to the heavens. I could dimly see the stars and planets I had spent so many long hours studying. I looked upon the thin bow of the waxing moon, and scanned the starry expanse to realize that it was regarding dark and accursed Saturn. An ill omen. I was jolted from the edge of sleep by the sound of the gates creaking open. The guard had returned, and not alone. Walking beside him was a black-robed man, tall but bent with age. He wore his grey hair and beard long and unbound, swinging past his waist, and the starlight glinted in his eyes far brighter than it should have. He would have reminded me of Thabit, had he not regarded me with an unimpressed sneer.

“Well? What does that wretch have to say to us?”

“What?” I murmured, my head still foggy with dreams.

“Thabit, you idiot. I was told you bore a letter from him to our university.”

“The great scholar is dead, sir. I have brought you his last message.” I fished around in my robe for the scroll case, pulling it out with as much flourish as I could muster. The tall man flicked it open and began to read. In the low light I could just make out the disdain on his face give way to puzzlement, and then finally understanding. Without warning, he grabbed me by my chin and looked directly into my eyes. If I had been in my right mind I would have shoved him away, but in my mental haze I felt paralyzed. He studied me for a second before raising his eyes to the stars above and nodding. 

“So this is his idea of an apology, eh? One last act of repentance for his failure… Well, I won’t complain.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, and his expression became almost grandfatherly. “My name is Qarnas ibn Quzah”, he said in a gentler voice. “And your name, judging from this letter, is Bashir ibn Jawad al-Basri. Am I to understand that you have been sent here to study astrology?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am sorry for my outburst. Thabit parted with us on bad terms, so I was expecting a message of mockery.” My eyes were drifting closed, but I managed a weak nod. Qarnas chuckled. “You must be exhausted. Our fair city can have that effect on newcomers. Come, I will take you to the university. I’m sure we’ll find a place for you.”

My mind was flooded with relief at the thought of sinking into a bed, even if it would only be a meagre student’s cot, but there was still a voice in the back of my head telling me that this weariness was not natural. For a brief moment I felt that the last shreds of myself were fighting against the alien tide of darkness, telling me that whatever had taken hold of my body should be feared. Sleep will give you no comfort in this place, screamed my subconscious, but it was growing fainter. I gave in to the surging dark, and my fears were all snuffed out in an instant. I could think of nothing but sinking into slumber, and followed Qarnas as he guided me through the gate.

The city around me was bathed in bright moonlight, despite the moon being barely a crescent, and the silvery glow seemed to make the buildings around me insubstantial. It was like I was already in a dream, and the only true thing was the star-strewn sky above. My mule was led away from me at some point, although I do not know when; everything was a blur. One moment I was being led towards the huge minaret that dominated the centre of the city, the next I was walking down a long hallway, and then finally I found myself alone in a small bedroom. I blearily looked around, but could find no sign of Qarnas anywhere.  The room was frugal, but no less than I had come to expect of student’s quarters, and I was just about to collapse into the bed when I noticed a shape on the windowsill. A cat? A bird? 

No. As I took a step towards the window, I realized that the shape on the sill was a small statue made of clay. I felt a reflexive disgust in the pit of my stomach. An idol. Are they mocking me, or attacking my faith? Do they think that if I am surrounded by their heathenry I will come to accept it? All at once the lurid rumours about this city rushed back to my mind, of Harranians sacrificing children to the spirits of the stars or summoning the demons of the sky. I raised my hand to smash the unholy thing, but one thought held me back. What would Thabit think of this? I knew him to be an infidel, but he was the wisest man I ever met. He told me that I would need to be curious if I wished to be an astrologer like him, that I would have to delve into the darkness. If all I feel for this place is hatred, I will never learn. Cautiously, I knelt down to inspect the figure. 

The idol was simple but well-crafted, clad in a rough clay robe of which every fold was visible. It had the proportions of a child, with a large head and short limbs, but its pose was anything but childlike. In its right hand it held a dagger with a twisted blade, while in its left it gripped a fresh severed head by the hair. Its face was covered by a placid mask, blank except for six eye holes behind which only darkness could be seen. At the base of the mask I could barely make out a small, fanged mouth. My eyes were drawn upward to the crescent moon in the sky, which had settled above the idol’s head like a pair of horns…

The world was washed away beneath the tides of that silver light. Room, window, and city all faded, until I was left with nothing but the void, the idol, and the starry heavens above. The statue had grown; it now stood as tall as a young boy, and its clay form had softened and transformed into grey flesh. Something else had changed as well, but I did not notice what until too late. The figure took my chin in its small left hand, and drew its masked face close to mine to look me in the eyes. I looked beneath the holes of its mask and saw nothing but an abyss of stars. Then I felt a cold slash of pain in my neck, and realized that the change I had not noticed was the emptiness in the creature’s left hand.

My body fell into the blackness below, while my head was held level with the idol’s star-filled eyes. Its little fanged mouth was grinning with childish glee. “Much of what you were must be left behind if you are to take the road ahead.” it said in deep, solemn tones that did not match its body. I tried to respond, but found I had no lungs with which to speak. “But more will be gained if you can seize it. The Darkened Heavens have a plan for you. Will you be worthy of it?”

The idol turned to face the horned moon and held my head aloft. All around me the wheeling stars spelled out hymns in a language I do not know. The Moon was in the Mansion of Al-Sharatain, the hour of beginnings, but it was conjunct with cruel Saturn, and I knew that this was a dark sign for days to come. I stared at Saturn, highest and coldest of the planets, and I felt myself ascending into the frigid firmament. Its light shone brightly for a moment before a shadow crossed the heavens, a monstrous shape borne on the wings of a crow, clad in black robes and bearing a scythe. Those dark wings unfurled until their shadow blotted out the stars, and all that was left was the shining crescent ahead. It was growing closer. I felt my mind crack beneath its weight, and the cracks were flooded with its ancient song…

I woke up to the song of the muezzin and sunlight streaming down on me, curled in the fetal position beneath the window. The omens I had seen in my dreams were already melting away, leaving behind a sense of disquiet and the knowledge that something was lurking in Harran, something my mind could not yet fathom. Was this what Thabit had sent me to find, the dark truth he had alluded to? I must tread carefully here. I can’t let my thirst for knowledge shake my faith…. Afraid of what I might see, I raised my head to peer over the windowsill.

The idol was gone. Perhaps it had never existed in the first place, and I had simply conjured it up from my fevered imagination. But I felt a cold ache in my throat, and when I raised my fingers to my neck I thought I could feel a faint, unfamiliar scar. 

Chapter Text

The familiar call of the muezzin floated through my window with the sunlight, but as the fog of sleep cleared from my head I knew that something about it was not right. Though the tune of his proclamation was not unlike what I was used to back in Baghdad, the words were not Arabic- nor, indeed, did they belong to any language I knew. It doesn’t quite sound like Syriac. Is it Hebrew? Aramaic? I felt a chill down my spine when I realized that I had heard these words elsewhere. This is the language the idol spoke, though in my dream I could understand it. I stood still for a few seconds, entranced by the strange song, before I snapped out of my reverie. I shook myself and headed to the wash basin. Though the words of the muezzin in this place were strange, I knew I should pray anyway, as soon as possible, to wash away the horrors of the night. 

The cold water trickling down my face and arms felt like a blessing from God, banishing the lingering fears from the night before. I realized that the muezzin’s chant had changed again, and that I was listening to the same Arabic recitation I had heard all my life. I blinked, and looked around at the room that had seemed like a shadow-shrouded dreamworld the night before. The light of dawn laid bare the simplicity of my quarters, and I could hardly believe that I had seen anything unusual here last night. Whispering a prayer, I oriented myself towards the south and bowed in reverence. Merciful God, I think to myself , you are present even here, in a city of idols. There are dark secrets here that I am bound to uncover, but your light will be with me, chasing away the shadows. I knew that my dream was not all a dream, but I had faith that it would not come true; not while God was with me. Secure in this knowledge, I was ready to confront the University that was to be my home. 

As I left my room, I could hear the city coming alive with the sounds of conversation in the street. The hallway of the university echoed with the patter of footfalls, and I saw scholars like myself emerging from their rooms, some of them even younger than me, others old enough that their beards were tinged with grey. One man, perhaps a few years older than me, glanced in my direction and nodded. “Peace be upon you, newcomer” he said in Arabic, with only a hint of the strange accent of this place. “Peace be also upon you.” I replied. “It’s good to hear words of faith in such a godless land.” The scholar smiled wryly at that. “Did you think you’d be the only Muslim here? The university can’t afford to only educate heathens; the old sages have their pride, but restricting their education to those of their faith would cause all of their knowledge to wither. With how little you know, you can’t have been here long. When did you arrive?” The older man laced his fingers together and came to a stop, gesturing for me to join him in conversation

“Just last night.” I said, relieved to have found another outsider so quickly. “I barely saw anything before I fell asleep, I was so exhausted.”

“How were your dreams?”

When I heard that question, my heart stopped. “Troubling.” I said, trying to keep down my nagging curiosity for the moment. It hadn’t worked- I knew he must have seen the flash of fear in my eyes- but I decided to brush over the interaction as best I could. “I ought to introduce myself. I am Bashir al-Basri, pupil of the late polymath Thabit ibn Qurra, and I have come to Harran to study the art of astrology.”

 The other scholar’s brows shot up at the mention of Thabit. “I am Zahid al-Dimashqi.” he said, with a new tone of interest in his voice. “I, too, am versed in astrology, although I am first and foremost an alchemist. You must be bold, to come to Harran attached to the name of Thabit ibn Qurra. Even dead, that man will continue to cast a dark shadow over this place. His books are kept at the back of the library, and though we are permitted to read them we may not discuss them, or speak his name.”

I shook my head in confusion. “I heard he had left Harran on bad terms, but I never knew he was so hated here. What happened between him and the others?”

“Those who are old enough to remember won’t tell. If you get one of them talking, he’ll say something about ‘pride’ and leave it at that. Strange, isn’t it, that the most famous son of the city is despised here? Perhaps they resent his success, perhaps not, but until now I thought their loathing of Thabit ibn Qurra was ironclad. I’m surprised they didn’t turn you away at the door.” 

I thought back to last night, when I had first seen Qarnas striding out through those gates with fury written plain across his face. Through the haze of sleep, I managed to recall a few of the words said in that first interaction. He said something about this being an ‘apology’ from Thabit. What am I here for, really? “Qarnas must have had his reasons for allowing me, though what they were I cannot say.” I said, half to myself. 

“Oh, so you’ve met Qarnas, have you?” said Zahid. “As far as I can tell, he had the longest history with Thabit, and the ugliest.”

“I thought as much. Where might I find him?”

“More likely than not he’ll be in the library with the rest of his students. I could show you the way there, if you wish.”

I smiled gratefully. “Thank you very much.” There was one other thread that I needed to seize before it slipped away forever. “Perhaps later, when I’ve had time to get used to this place, we can have time to discuss…dreams.” 

Zahid’s eyes lit up, and for a moment I thought I could see stars swimming in their depths. Wordlessly, he continued along the hallway and beckoned me to follow. 

The library of Harran was small compared to what I was used to. I had come of age amid the splendour of the Bayt al-Hikma, so to me this middling room with its roughly organized rows of scrolls and books seemed quaint, but I knew from the moment I set foot in that room that there were secrets on these pages stranger than anything I had known in Baghdad. It was a room that seemed to be made for whispers; standing at the threshold, I could swear that I heard faint voices in every shadow. High windows above the shelves allowed the morning light to stream in, illuminating the motes of dust like flickering constellations. It seemed almost comfortable, until I saw a shape perched atop one of the shelves and my blood ran cold. 

It was another idol, though not the same one as last night. Instead of a masked child, this was a gilded statue of a hooded figure, covered in ornate golden jewellery and with four skeletal arms emerging from its robe. No face could be seen in the darkness beneath its hood, but I could not shake the feeling that there were many eyes in those shadows, and that all of them were watching me. It took a light tap on the shoulder from Zahid for me to return to reality and see the man sitting beneath the idol. 

Qarnas was sitting straight-backed on a small stool, clad in the same black robe I had seen him in the night before. Now that I saw him in the light of the sun, he didn’t seem nearly as tall as he had been, and his clothes were worn and stained as though he’d worn nothing else for years. Even at this early hour, a small group of disciples had pulled up stools of their own and clustered around Qarnas, hanging on his every word. They raised their heads as I approached, looking at me with curiosity. There were six of them, all of them different ages, with the youngest around my age and the eldest nearly as old as Qarnas. The master motioned for me to sit.

“Welcome to the University of Harran, al-Basri.” he said, and all his pupils murmured their own greetings. He turned to the rest of the group and gestured in my direction. “Al-Basri arrived last night from Baghdad, where he had until recently studied under Thabit ibn Qurra.” A gasp rippled through the small knot of people. The eldest looked at me with suspicion. “So, that traitor intends to spy on us, does he?” he said in venomous tones. 

“My old master is dead.” I replied. “I do not come to do you harm. Thabit admitted toward the end that there were some things he could not teach me. I have come to Harran to learn all I can of the stars and their ways.”

Qarnas smiled broadly. “As I knew him, Thabit was the most arrogant of men, but I am glad to know that he humbled himself in the end. He could have been the greatest astrologer in the world, had he learned his limits earlier and submitted himself to the education of others. Thabit spoke highly of you in his letter, al-Basri. I hope that you may have the chance to live up to his potential. How have you been since last night? The journey seemed to have taken a toll on you.” 

I hesitated, not sure if I should announce my feverish dreams in public, but I felt as though I could not keep them bottled up for too long. “I had a terrible sleep,” I said, deciding to let slip a few half-truths. “I dreamed of the Moon regarding Saturn from the House of Beginnings, and of the sky singing until it shattered.”

The room went silent after I said that, and Qarnas stroked his beard pensively. “Such dreams speak of a mind that goes beyond the normal senses of man. There is an omen in it, I am sure.”

“It can’t be a good omen. Saturn is the bringer of death, of decline and strife and disintegration. With the moon signifying beginnings, I fear that my time in this university might not be long.”

One of the other disciples chuckled derisively. “Is this what the great Thabit has taught you?” he said with a smirk. He was one of the younger ones, his face beardless and his eyes alight with passion. “Saturn may be dark, but he is not so cruel as that. Every rebirth springs from a death, every harvest requires a reaping. Your dream may have been a glimpse of days to come, but you cannot hope to interpret it from such a human perspective. To understand the skies, you must imagine yourself a part of it, godlike and impartial.”

I bristled at this remark. “There was no way to be impartial about that dream. The songs I heard… They were more terrifying than I can describe. This dream foretold nothing good.” Something about what I had heard made me nervous, and I glanced up at the idol above our heads. I could swear that its hands had shifted slightly. 

Qarnas cleared his throat and spread his hands, commanding silence. “Al-Tar’uzi and al-Basri, both of you are short-sighted.” He said, a disapproving look in his eyes. “This dream tells of a time of fear, al-Basri, such fear as you have likely never known. The knowledge we keep in Harran is not for the faint of heart, but those who weather its terror will have their eyes torn open, and see from the highest to the lowest. I would prepare for strange and terrible things if I were you. Your dreams are not the only dark signs that have been seen lately.” Qarnas stood and drew himself up to his full height, readying himself to address the full group. “Not long from now,” he declared, “the moon shall fall under the earth’s shadow, leaving it in an eclipse. The moon, as keeper of the keys of heaven, thus darkens every planet beneath its own shroud. This is a time of uncertainty and the breaking of order, in which the lords of the night sky may act unseen, their actions impossible to foretell even by the most knowledgeable astrologer. It is a time when the Dark Heavens can unleash their most terrible power, unbound by the laws of gods and men.”

I could feel myself shrinking inward under the weight of those words. A morbid fascination was taking root in my mind, and I silently prayed to God that he may free me from my unholy desires. This is the scholar’s pride, the longing to know what should never be known, the belief that one is worthy of omniscience…

But then another student interjected with his own opinion, and the spell was broken. The conversation grew ever more dispassionate and technical, as we all weighed in on the ways of the stars and quarrelled over our predictions. I could almost imagine that I was back in Baghdad, were it not for the hooded figure that presided over the discussion, its many unseen eyes judging us.

Many hours later, after the crowds had dispersed and the sun had sunk once more towards the horizon, I remained in the library, pulling books from the shelves and reading furiously. In a state of frenzy, I'd skimmed through so many tomes on the workings of stars that I'd lost count. I knew deep down that these books were mere distractions from the true reason I had stayed behind, a reason I could not admit to myself. Whatever lay beneath the idol’s hood had hypnotized me, keeping me bound to this spot, waiting with bated breath to see what it might do. The words on these pages and scrolls were no more than a shield against its terrible gaze piercing my mind. As the sun receded and the shadows grew ever longer, my brain ceased to take in what was being read, my eyes scanning blankly over a text on mathematics. I set aside the book and extinguished my reading lamp, leaving me to sit silently in the twilight. I turned my head to stare back at the gilded statue, and I felt as though our eyes met beneath its hood. 

“Go on.” I whispered. “I know that you have something to show me.”

Behind me, the moon was rising, its silver light spilling into the library and giving it a ghostly cast. In the moonlight, the idol’s gilded body gleamed and seemed to twitch. Then it raised its head, and the void within its hood swallowed my soul.

The idol descended lightly from its pedestal, floating like a feather in the wind, and made its way toward me. It stretched out its spidery arms in my direction, its jewellery clinking and glittering in the half-light. It reached out a hand and traced one spindly finger along my neck, feeling the scar there. I tried to flinch away, but my body would not listen.

“I see you’ve met my little brother,” it said in a languid, melodious voice that seemed to shimmer like its jewellery. “He has done well in stripping you of the self you constructed.”

My breath caught in my throat as I looked up into the darkness; I could not tell whether it was from fear or excitement. “And you? What is it you have planned for me?” 

One of its four arms reached deep into the folds of its robe, and pulled out an ornate golden mask. “To rebuild you,” it said, “to fill the cracks with gold and precious stones, to transmute your mortal flesh into something worthy of godhood. To make of you an offering for the transgressions of one who is gone.” It gripped my shoulders with two of its arms, and with the other two it lowered the mask onto my face. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them the idol had vanished, and I found myself weighed down with its robes and finery. Those many piercing eyes that I had sensed beneath the hood were no longer watching me — they were my eyes, and with them I could see all hidden things. I saw sigils scrawled on the walls and paintings of beasts and constellations. I could see where blood had been spilt and tears had been shed. I could see beneath the ground, to winding passages and forbidden vaults and hideous, profane altars, and I could see above, to the utmost heights of the sky. The crescent in the sky no longer looked like the moon; it looked like a half-closed eye, and as I watched the eye opened. Its radiance turned blood-red, and I was ascending to join it…

When I awoke in the library, the idol was gone, as if it had never been. I forgot to pray that morning; my mind was too preoccupied with another task. I wrote a note and slipped it under Zahid’s door:

Meet me tonight. I wish to speak of dreams. 

Chapter Text

The streets of Harran were bathed in twilight when I left the university and set out towards the eastern wall. I had seen Zahid a few times in the library today, and in a series of furtive conversations we had arranged to meet at the house of Ghassan al-Raqi. “He is a friend, and a Muslim. We can speak there undisturbed,” he had told me. For the rest of the day I had been on edge, longing for the secrets I knew I would hear under the cover of darkness. I could no longer pretend that I was horrified by what lay beneath the surface of Harran. Forgive me, God, if this goes wrong, but allow me time to sin, I thought as I stepped out onto the street. I had seen little of Harran since I first arrived, so I walked slowly through the lengthening shadows, pausing to take in the strangeness of the city. It was not so alien as it had seemed in the moonlight of that first night, but every now and then I saw little oddities that let me know something was not right. I saw curious inscriptions scrawled on doorframes and strings of amulets hanging in windows, and once I heard a muttering, chanting song from  inside a house that made my hair stand on end. Men and women gave me suspicious looks as they passed me by. The men wore their beards long like Qarnas and were adorned with amulets bearing the symbols of the planets and stars, displayed proudly over their robes. The women had their hair unbound beneath tall headdresses hung with moon ornaments.

However, as I moved eastward, I saw things begin to change. The people on the streets grew fewer, and those I did see were dressed in less remarkable clothes. The buildings were taller but less elaborate, and I heard no ominous incantations from the shadows within. My pulse slowed and I felt for a moment that I was back at home; a sense of mild, unwanted disappointment stole over me. 

Up against the city wall I spied the largest house in this neighbourhood, and recognized it from Zahid’s descriptions. Standing in the doorway was a greybeard in a turban, peering nervously out onto the street. As I approached, he beckoned me. 

“You must be al-Basri,” he said in a whisper. “Your friend Zahid is in the courtyard. Come in, and don’t make too much noise.”

The courtyard of Ghassan al-Raqi was dark with the foliage of his garden, but through the leaves I could see the dim light of an oil lamp. “Zahid?” I called softly, the echoes of my voice absorbed by the greenery. The first I saw of him was his gleaming smile, and the flicker of lamplight in his eyes. As I got closer I noticed that he was standing next to a small, bundled shape that I could not quite make out, “You’re earlier than I expected,” he said with a bemused grin. “I hope to find you well?”

I decided to hide my excitement for the moment, keeping my face a dull mask. “Cut the pleasantries,” I said. “What do you have to tell me about dreams?”

Zahid’s smile broadened. “We all have them, one way or another, but you’re the first Muslim I know who has been willing to discuss them at length. Most of the new arrivals just seize up when I ask the question and avoid me from that point on. First of all, why don’t you tell me about your dreams?”

I told him about the idols, and the dreams in which they had spoken to me. “When I woke they had vanished. I thought I must be going mad, that they must never have been there in the first place…”

“You are not insane, I promise you. I have seen the second idol you described, and many more besides. The hooded one calls itself the Crowning Hand. I have seen it often in my sleep, where it whispers the secrets of alchemy. The others appear to me more rarely, and they are not nearly as friendly as the Crowning Hand. One of them merely mocks me, while another will chase me through the halls on spider’s legs, and another will open its maw and devour me.”

I had a vivid, terrible image of a monstrous statue coming to life and swallowing me whole, and I shuddered. “Demons. That must be what they are. Do you think that the sorcerers of this city are summoning them with their spells, that they have been sent to shake our faith?” A part of me felt this could be the only explanation, but deeper down I hoped it was not.

“I think that can be the only explanation. They tempt me, these demons, with their promises of ancient knowledge, and I cannot deny that I have fallen to their influence in some small ways. Harran has a way of changing a man; all a good Muslim can do is ensure that it does not change him too much.”

I know that already, I thought with a sick feeling in my stomach. But what if I have changed too much? What then? “I, too, fear falling to their temptation. The things they tell me… I have always been curious, Zahid. That is why Thabit sent me here. I do not think I will be able to resist the lure of their secrets as you have.”

Zahid laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Well then, you have two options. If you truly believe that you cannot withstand the demons, you ought to leave Harran.”

That is what I should do, screamed the last vestige of my conscience. I squashed it. “No. I may be damned, but I feel as though leaving this place without answers would kill me.”

Zahid seemed relieved at this. “Thank heavens. I was afraid I would lose my only true ally in Harran.”

“What’s my other option?

“You spoke of your curiosity as though it were a weakness, but if we put it to the right use, I think that we can use it to our advantage. If we remain in Harran, there is only one thing for us to do; we must uncover the true extent of the blasphemy at the university, and bring it to the attention of the Caliph. Then we can be doing the work of God while still quenching our thirst for secrets. And luckily for us, I have already started my investigation.”

He bent down toward his side and picked up the cloth-wrapped bundle, which I had nearly forgotten was there. Lifting it up onto a small ledge, he carefully removed the fabric to reveal an odd, angular statuette.

Another idol. And unlike the ones I had seen before, it was definitely physically real. The statue had the upper body of a woman, but below the waist it burst outward into a tangle of spider-like legs. It was covered in armour, and in one arm it bore a sword. In the other it cradled a baby, holding it close to its chest. 

Zahid looked down at the blasphemous object with pride. “I found this last year, after a month of horrible nightmares. This thing appeared in its dreams, calling itself the Womb of Oblivion. It moved slowly on those awful clicking legs, but no matter how fast I ran it would always be there when I looked back. I came upon a stairwell that shouldn’t have been there, and I went down into the darkness with this monster scurrying behind. When I reached the bottom it was pitch black, and I stumbled into something large- I think it must have been a stone altar. It was then I felt a sword plunge through my back, and I woke up.

“Nothing about this dream was out of the ordinary, save the ending. I did not remember any of my other dreams involving a room which was not there in the real world, so I wondered if there might be something to this. I searched the area the next night, and though there was no staircase I thought that the walls sounded hollow. Sure enough, I searched the next floor down and found a tile that could be removed from the wall. When I got in, the altar was there, and atop it was this idol.”

I thought back to the night before, and all the visions I had seen after that gold mask had been placed over my eyes. That cannot have been the only chamber below the university. I saw far more than that, and more altars as well. Could all the idols be down there, stored for secret worship?

“And that is not all I’ve learned. Every now and then, painted symbols will appear on the walls and disappear the next night. I’ve heard mutterings from other Muslim scholars about the old sages walking up and down the halls at night, chanting spells and daubing sigils on doors. I managed to catch sight of them once-  a dozen or so men and women in Harranian clothes, all of them wearing masks. They are holding this place under their enchantments, tempting us to forsake our God for their devils. I know more than a few scholars who have turned apostate here.”

I shook my head. “May we never take that path.”

“We never shall, I swear it. If we can uncover the root of this evil, we shall win our place in heaven.”

A sudden idea crossed my mind. “In my dream I saw visions of sorcerers spilling blood at the feet of idols. If we can uncover proof of such sacrifices…”

Zahid rubbed his hands together with delight. “I can see why Thabit valued you. Perhaps this is why he sent you here: to finally uncover the horrors of this place, which he had kept secret all his life. But I fear that if we wish to do anything, we will have to move quickly.”

“Why is that?”

“The eclipse is almost upon us. The whole university is abuzz with talk of it, and of the darkness it portends. I fear that the sorcerers in this place of darkness will be strengthened by an eclipse, and that with it they may be able to weave a more dreadful fate for us all.”

“Our faith can protect us,” I said, though my voice shook a little.

“I’ve begun to doubt it. I worship God as devoutly as I ever have, but I know by now that there are other powers beyond Him. We must learn all we can before the eclipse, and leave the city before it is too late.”

I hesitated before nodding assent. Zahid began to wind the cloth around his idol again. “I’d like you to take this with you”, he said before pressing it into my hands. “I’ve studied it all I can, but the demons may be taking a special interest in you as a new arrival. Perhaps it will guide you to new discoveries. Now go: I’ll leave after you’re gone, it wouldn’t do to have us seen together too often.”

When I emerged from that quiet garden, the bewitching light of the moon had already fallen on Harran. I walked through those streets as I had on that first night, feeling that oppressive exhaustion dragging me down once more. My speed was flagging, and I was afraid I might become too weak to carry the statue by the time I reached the university. I shuffled wearily back to my room and set the idol down by the side of my bed, asleep before I hit the mattress. 

When I opened my eyes, it was standing over me, singing a lullaby in that unknown language. It stroked my hair with one pale, long-fingered hand, like a mother caring for a troubled child. “Rest easy, little one” it said in a whispering voice. “This part need not be painful”.

“You have not been so gentle to others.”

A laugh echoed from beneath its blank mask. “I am a defender of all things chosen by the Darkened Heavens, and I have no patience for intruders. But you are not to be harmed. You I will raise in the darkness. I shall protect you as you grow under the veil of night.” The shadows around the room were growing darker and bursting their bounds, consuming the room until I could see nothing but an endless expanse of void.

In this emptiness I felt myself unfurling, stretching out limbs and tendrils that I did not know existed into a black infinity. I knew that I stood taller than the stars and held the strength of armies in my body, but in this void there was nothing to strike or to trample, so I waited. I knew that one day the shroud would be lifted, and I would walk forth to claim my kingdom beneath the moonlight.

Chapter Text

I have always been a curious man, but never a brave one. Mine was the realm of scrolls and pens, and my thirst for knowledge met its match in my instinct for self-preservation. Over the next few days, Zahid and I met in the halls and alcoves of the university to discuss the task ahead of us, but as the eclipse grew ever closer I realized that we had turned to discussion to avoid action. A week had passed before I finally proposed the next stage of our investigation.

“Take me to the altar you found”, I told Zahid. “Whatever dark magic has been practised in this building, there will be evidence of it there”. 

Thus I found myself crouching on the stone floor of a dusty chamber, illuminated by the dancing flame of a single oil lamp. The room was dominated by a large, weathered block of stone which must have been carved in days long forgotten, inscribed with bas-reliefs depicting the phases of the moon, but other than that the space was disappointingly bare.   I kept listlessly brushing away the dust on the floor while Zahid inspected the altar. I looked up for a moment as Zahid rummaged in his satchel, pulling out the spider-like statue he had given me and setting it down delicately atop the altar. He stood back and waited for a moment, but nothing happened. I was beginning to fear that we’d hit a dead end.

What did you expect to find? A bloody dagger? A slaughtered infant? I am here to uncover blasphemy, but I must not allow myself to hope for it.

Then my fingernail caught on a groove in the stone, and I saw something that had been obscured by the dust of ages. Along the edge of one of the flagstones was written a line of script in a language I could not name. I inhaled sharply, and Zahid turned to look at me with a smile. “What have you found, Bashir?” he whispered.

I did not answer. As I stared at that line of characters, I could feel them worming their way into my mind, their meaning rising to the surface even as their language remained foreign to me: The Shining One walks in darkness, here below as He does above. We follow in His shadowed footsteps, where not even the All-Seeing may uncover our secrets. Without thinking, I raised my fist and slammed it down on the floor.

“What are you doing?” hissed Zahid, but I was too focused to pay him any mind. I pounded on the stone once more. “It’s hollow”, I murmured to myself. 

“Whatever it is, you ought to be more quiet”. Zahid said. He crouched down beside me and peered at the inscription. “I admire your enthusiasm, Bashir, but we can’t have our enemies discovering us. They stalk the halls at night, remember?”

“Sorry. I got carried away. Can you read what is written there?” I pointed at the line of glyphs, my finger trembling. 

“I recognize the letters- I have seen them often, painted on walls and doors throughout the university- but I cannot understand them. I’m afraid that this is a mystery we must leave unsolved”

“I can read it”, I said softly. 

I expected suspicion or disquiet- after all, how could a faithful Muslim know such a strange, unholy tongue? But on Zahid’s face I saw only shock, which quickly became excitement. “How- never mind, you can tell me later. What does it say?”

“Something about a ‘Shining One’ who walks beneath the earth to avoid the gaze of the “All-Seeing”’.

“The Shining One…I’ve heard it said that Iblis was once a jinni of bright flame, cast down to earth for his transgressions. It would not surprise me if these idolaters were invoking him.”

“It means more than that. There must be tunnels under here, connecting all of their secret chambers and ritual sites. We have to get in, to find more evidence. Help me lift this stone.”

Now Zahid looked uncomfortable. “What if we find them there? What if we’re next to be slaughtered before their idols? I think you may be moving too fast, Bashir-”

“The eclipse is nigh upon us. If we don’t move quickly, I feel certain that they will be able to work great and terrible magic when the moon is darkened, and all our labours will have been for naught.” I raised my voice, barely caring if it drew unwanted attention. “If we are to die, how would you want to be judged before God? As one who did his best to destroy the handiwork of blasphemers, or as a coward who recognized evil but refused to fight it?” Zahid seemed to wilt with shame as I spoke, but when at last I was done he shook his head.

“Forgive me, Bashir,” Zahid said with a sigh. “Go into the tunnel if you must, but I don't have the courage. I’ll wait for you here. If you don’t come back, I can at least carry the news to the Caliph, and perhaps he will send people to root out this conspiracy.”

When I looked at his face, I knew that he would not be moved. If he is not willing to pursue these secrets, then he is not worthy of them. 

“Fine then,” I said, an edge of disdain creeping into my voice. “But help me lift up this stone, at least.”

Zahid and I pried the carved stone from the floor with our knives and fingers, revealing a deep black shaft. Our lamplight did little to pierce the gloom; down there the shadows seemed impossibly thick and vaporous, although within its depths I thought I could glimpse faint points of light, like dim stars. It was impossible to tell how deep the hole was: I could only see a few handholds carved into the wall before all was consumed by the blackness. The smell of cold and dust and ancient incense wafted up from the depths.

“You’re sure about this?” Zahid asked.

I didn’t answer; I just grabbed the lamp, put the spider-idol in my satchel, and began my descent.

The hole was not as deep as I had feared it might be, so when I reached the bottom I took a moment to catch my breath. Down there the light of my lamp seemed dimmer than it should have been, and I could only barely make out a gaping doorway to my right, leading even deeper into the dark.

Just as I was about to step into that yawning portal, several things happened at once. I heard muffled footfalls from above, and a gasp from Zahid; in a sudden flurry of movement, the floor tile was pushed back into place with a thud. I turned swiftly to look up, and my lamp clanged against the wall. The flame sputtered and went out.

I stood paralyzed in the utter darkness, not daring to move or make a sound. Then, from above, I heard a terribly familiar voice.

“Good evening, Zahid al-Dimashqi.” said Qarnas, sounding smug and self-satisfied. 

“M-master Qarnas,” Zahid stammered, “I didn’t- I- I found this secret chamber as I was walking back to my room. Someone had left it open…”

I heard the echo of a sharp, stinging slap to the face. “You dare lie to me? No one left the passage open. I know full well that this chamber hasn’t been in use for years. You could only have found it if you went looking for it, which means you’ve been poking your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

There was a brief pause, and then a deep, throaty laugh from Qarnas. “A knife, Zahid? You think that you can touch me with such a paltry thing? Your God has no power in the depths of the night. Only the Shining one walks in this darkness, and He guides my hand.” There was the sound of a blade clattering to the floor, and of Zahid choking. I could imagine the withered old fingers of Qarnas tightening around his throat with preternatural strength. 

“I will not kill you now, al-Dimashqi” said Qarnas, his voice soft and sinister. “My god is hungry, and the eclipse is fast approaching. Your flesh and blood will be burnt, and its smoke shall ascend to the Darkened Heavens where our Lord dwells. And he shall be pleased.”

There was an awful, strangled cry from Zahid as he was dragged from the room out into the hall, but that quickly faded until all that could be heard was their footsteps receding down the hall. I felt sickness rising in the pit of my stomach but I fought back against it. He chose to stay behind, and now he must pay the price of his weakness. He refused to do God’s work, and now God has seen fit to punish him. I need not concern myself with one such as him. Thus assured, I stepped into the tunnel.

As I dragged my hand along the wall, I could feel the carved inscriptions that surrounded me on all sides. Though I tried to ignore them, I could feel their meanings surfacing in my mind: The moon, His throne… The stars, His hands… All minds bow before Him… Each dream is a glimpse of His glory…. I thought I could hear distant singing, but I did not know whether it rose from some far off hallway or my fevered imagination. The idol was growing heavy over my shoulder, and my limbs were drooping as if from exhaustion, but my mind was uncommonly alert. Have I descended into the Abyss? Is this my punishment? 

At last my trailing fingers which had followed the wall reached out to find only empty air. I stumbled and fell hard, the idol falling from my arms with a clang. I heard it echo in the space around me, and I knew that I had reached a space far larger than any I had yet seen. When I rose from the floor I looked up towards the roof, and I stood in silent awe of what I saw there. The ceiling was covered in a pattern of glinting gems; there should have been no light in that deep place, but those jewels shone like stars. I saw the shapes of constellations and realized that the ceiling was a perfect map of the night sky as it would have looked were I standing outside. Off to one side I saw the silver disc of the moon, gibbous as it was in the sky above, and between the stars I saw sigils carved into the stone, somehow darker than the darkness. My eyes reflexively darted across the star map, trying to discern what the heavens might portend. Omens of challenge, omens of judgement, omens of sacrifice… God has set a road of trials ahead of me, but what lies at the end?

I lowered my gaze as my eyes adapted to the low light, and began to inspect the room. The curving walls were set with cavernous niches, and within them I could see familiar shapes. I walked up to the closest, and in the dim starlight I saw what I had both expected and dreaded. It was a small, clay statue of a masked child, holding a severed head aloft in its little hand. I knelt to peer at the head and a shiver went up my spine. I could not easily make out the details, but I thought that that sculpted, slack-jawed face looked exactly like mine. 

The statue stood upon an altar carved with images of knives and dismembered bodies. At the very centre of it was a carving of a woman struggling to give birth, her face racked with pain, two clawed hands emerging from her womb. In front of the idol was a chipped stone basin full of dark liquid. My fingertips lightly brushed the surface and felt it, clear and cold. Just water. Don’t be disappointed. Beneath the water my fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. A few more seconds of splashing around in the basin and my hand emerged bearing a dagger. I stared at its blade, reflecting the pinpricks of light from the ceiling, for a long while. I let it drop back into the pool of water with a splash, and made a circuit of the room. The gilded, hooded idol was there in the next niche, atop an altar carved with alchemical symbols on which also rested a golden basin. Beyond that the idols were unfamiliar: I saw a grotesque representation of a diseased heart, covered in spikes and grasping tendrils, an armoured warrior bearing a sword and a censer with a bull-horned mask on his face, and a three-faced woman with blindfolds covering her six eyes. Some of the altars were vacant, but all of them were adorned with bowls of water. At last I came to an empty altar, carved with the images of spiders crawling atop one another. I glanced over at the spider-legged idol I had brought, lying sideways on the floor. This must be where it belongs.

 I picked up the statue and set it down behind the basin before me. A thrum pulsed through the air, stirring up a cold wind and rippling the water in the basin. Drawn by some dreamlike instinct I barely understood, I picked up the basin and carried it toward the centre of the room. There I stood staring into the water’s depths, watching the reflection of the starry ceiling dance on its surface. “Send me a sign”, I whispered, not sure which god I was speaking to anymore. “Show me something. Show me the truth”.

I plunged my right hand into the water, drawing the dagger out by the blade. I held it there for a moment above the water, mustering my courage, and then squeezed my fingers together. My hand was curiously numb as I felt my blood drip into the water, shattering its star-strewn surface.

 At last when I had given all that I was willing to give I raised the basin to my lips and drank deep. The liquid was impossibly cold, and it tasted of things other than water and blood. I could sense an undercurrent of opium and venom, dulling my senses and sharpening my mind. A curious elation was spreading through me, stemming from the wound in my right hand. I am flowing out into the darkness, and the darkness is surging into me. 

I heard whispers and shrieks all around me, rising from every altar in the room. I felt the dying gasps of hundreds who had been slaughtered in this room fill my lungs, and tasted their hot blood. I could sense shreds of souls clinging to my knife, and saw flashes of the lives it had taken. The pagans had killed a fresh-faced young student from Raqqa at the last full moon, and before that a preacher from the southern sands who had rebuked their blasphemy, and before even that a lovesick girl seduced by one of their students, and so on through the centuries. I heard their cries echoing from a time beyond memory, before Muhammad or Isa or even the prophets of the Jews, when all the world was dark and soaked in profane blood. 

The blood of ages flowed past my lips, and I blossomed like a moonflower. My many eyes saw the world bathed in soft silver light. I saw the idols raise their hands to the heavens, and I saw the roof shake with a thunderous groan. The silver moon disc fell from its place, and a few small jewels crashed down like shooting stars. “I am the Shining One” I chanted to myself, the words leaping unbidden to my mind. “I walk in darkness, below and above. As the water reflects the moon, I am a reflection of the Throne.” I saw the lives of those who had met their ends in this room as though they were mine…

And I saw, at the end of the hall on the far side of the room, a figure in black robes striding quickly towards me, a gleaming blade in his hands.

I returned to my body, but I felt different this time. I could feel dark sinews binding my muscles together, imbuing my frail scholar’s frame with a strength it had never known. I let the empty basin fall and shatter at my feet, and gripped my dagger in my bloody, wounded fingers. The cloaked man burst into the room, holding a blade identical to mine, and lunged at me. His face was hidden behind a mask, his eyes alight with confusion and rage. Before he could even strike, I had driven my knife up under his chin.

The strange, dreadful power I had felt up until that moment was drained away, and I was left shivering, bent over a corpse with my arms soaked in blood. I heard the sound of another set of feet running towards me, and I darted out of sight of the door. I pressed my body up against the doorframe, praying to whatever god might listen, asking for mercy…

I closed my eyes as I felt a rush of air beside me, and blindly slashed with my blade. A choking sound came from the shape at my side, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

When I opened my eyes, I surveyed the two crumpled shapes with mounting horror. I have shed blood. I have killed. I reassured myself with the thought that they were not Muslims, that to kill them had been necessary, but still the thought of taking a life was abhorrent to me. I thought I could hear footsteps coming towards me from every hallway; was I just imagining it? I was ready to run right then and there, but I stopped myself. I need evidence, and these daggers will be perfect. I bent down and my arm brushed the first man’s black cloak. I had an idea. 

When I left that room I was clad in the mask and robes of a Harranian, and in my satchel I bore three daggers. I walked quickly, back through the trapdoor and the secret chamber, and through the moonlit halls of the university. Thrice I saw other figures in black robes walking down the halls and held my breath, but they let me pass. 

I would not let myself sleep that night. I wrote feverishly, jotting down the names of those I had seen slain by the cult in my visions, describing my impossible adventure beneath the earth. When I take this account to the Caliph and show him the daggers, he will send an investigation to root out every pagan in Harran. I must keep writing, or risk forgetting it all. I must not sleep. I must not sleep…

I awoke bathed in golden light, with my face pressed into the page. I groaned as I lifted myself up and rubbed the ink from my eyes. The stern light of the sun bore down on me, and all the ecstasy and fervour of the last night evaporated. I was left with only one thought:

Merciful God, what have I done?

I had left Zahid to die, and descended into the darkness to perform blasphemous rites I didn’t even understand. Fool. Idiot. You’ve let this place get a hold of you. You need to get out of here and bring the evidence to the Caliph as soon as possible. I looked down at the pages I had fallen asleep on, and my heart sank. 

My reams of notes that I had worked on so tirelessly were nothing more than line after line of indecipherable hieroglyphs. I tried to summon their meanings to mind as I had during the night, but in the sunlight I was powerless. I frantically darted around the room, searching for the robe, mask, and daggers I had brought back from the tunnels, but they had all vanished. Even the cut in my palm was gone, as though the night before had been nothing but a dream.

It was not a dream. My only friend in this city is a captive of these monsters, and I have nothing to show for it.

I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming silently from my eyes. I could not leave Harran, not yet. 

Will I ever leave?