The Rite of the Fire Demon
by J.V. Sanders

Editors Note: It is not the policy of the Fortean Bureau to publish works authored by editoral staff. This piece was selected for publication prior to our editorial relationship with Mr. Sanders, whose knowledge and interest impressed us so much we convinced him to work for us for free.

Al Azif written circa A.D. 730 at Damascus by Abdul Alhazred. Translated into Greek as Necronomicon, A.D. 950 by Theodorus Philetas.
-- Howard Phillips Lovecraft, 1936

It is said that the five cardinal elements of nature constitute the foundation of the universe. When air, fire, earth, water, and aether are in balance, the structure of eternity rests easy -- but when one element seeks ascendancy, chaos and devastation follow. Of the five, it is the mystery of fire that holds the greatest fascination. Its value is beyond estimation, and Man has always fancied himself its master; yet like an ill-tamed beast straining against its leash, fire has always sought to wreak havoc where it can. It obliterated the glory of old Rome at the behest of the mad emperor, Nero, and played a part in the rise of another great city of antiquity.

For more than a thousand years, mighty Constantinople commanded the Bosporus Strait separating the Mediterranean and Black Seas, and controlled the rich trade between Africa, Asia, and Europe. Colossal structures like the Hippodrome, and the great domed Church of Holy Wisdom stood behind her towering walls for centuries. At the height of her power, Constantinople held sway over a domain that stretched from Iberia to Persia. The bravery of her legions was feared, as was the cunning of her generals -- and they alone were masters of an awesome weapon known to history as Greek fire.

Its formula was a closely guarded secret, and death by slow torture awaited anyone who betrayed it, or even wrote it down. Invented in A.D. 673, it was used the same year to break an Arab siege. The true extent of its power would not be displayed until the Great War of 941, when it was used to destroy an invading fleet of ten-thousand vessels. The precise nature of Greek fire has remained a mystery for fourteen-centuries. Nevertheless, a disturbing reference to it is said to exist within the archives of an obscure fraternal society.

The founders of the millennium-old brotherhood were knights of the Fourth Crusade, and were among those who sacked Constantinople while enroute to the Middle East. In addition to a wealth of gems, gold, silks, and spices, arcane knowledge was also looted. Although the formula for Greek fire was not found, a secret history that makes considerable mention of it was discovered. According to rumors, the ancient document is read aloud every year in a ceremony commemorating the fall of Constantinople on May 29, 1453. The bizarre chronicle of blasphemy and utter madness deals primarily with a physician named Theodorus Philetas who -- according to savants of the obscure -- translated a book of sorcery known as the Necronomicon. If the secret history is true, the doomed man's contact with an ancient lore of fire sealed his fate in the year 950.

Soon after completing his hidden work of translation, Philetas found a dusty scroll near the Gate of Rhegium in Constantinople. In the spirit of civic cleanliness, he picked it up and placed it in his satchel. Upon arriving home his curiosity got the better of him, and he unsealed the scroll and began reading it. The anonymously written text offered a strange account of several clay tablets discovered at the Library of Alexandria during the Great War of 941. The fifteen-hundred-year old relics were the work of a priest named Zorbagga, who served at the Temple of Ishum, the Babylonian Fire God. Strangely, they had been inscribed in Hebrew rather than the cuneiform language of Babylon, and alchemists serving the Byzantine emperor enlisted a Kabbalistic rabbi to help with the translation.

The tablets told of a hooded traveler, newly arrived from beyond the river Oxus, who visited the Temple of Ishum during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar. He called himself Thoth Taran-Ish, and claimed as ancestor the first High Priest of Sarnath; a legendary city that once stood beside a vast lake in the land of Mnar. The name of that fabled metropolis was familiar to the priests, for rumors about it had been whispered through countless generations. Among other things, the stranger spoke of Sarnath's destruction thousands of years earlier. He told how strange, non-human creatures had taken their revenge against the men of the doomed city. The vengeful beings had summoned a great firestorm to consume Sarnath, he said, and then drowned the scorched ruins beneath the still waters of the lake. Furthermore, such power was within the grasp of any mortal man with the courage to seize it.

The Arch Priest of the temple demanded some manner of proof. The stranger seemed to smile at the absurdity of such a request, then extended his left hand. At once, a juniper bush more than twenty-paces away burst into brilliant flame. The astonished onlookers offered a fortune in exchange for all his knowledge, but the hooded traveler would only agree to divulge the secret of the firestorm. He was promptly invited to accept the hospitality of the temple.

That evening, the inner council gathered to examine an ancient papyrus their guest had given them. After several days and nights of feverish study, they were certain it contained a secret of enormous power. Unlike the others, young Zorbagga was horrified by the so-called Rite of the Fire Demon -- which depended upon human sacrifice for its success -- and spoke out against it.

"O Wise One, I beg you to remember the fates of Atlantis and Lemuria. Their rulers also sought the power of the gods and in the process, unleashed evils that destroyed those empires."

The Arch Priest was not swayed and ended further debate. It was his sworn duty, he proclaimed, to inform the king of such a discovery. A deputation then proceeded to the visitor's chamber with sacks full of gold as a reward but, much to their surprise, Thoth Taran-Ish had disappeared from the heavily guarded temple precincts.

The crisis came to an abrupt end that night when Zorbagga had the sorcerer's papyrus stolen and delivered to him in secret. Although the young priest was convinced of the rightness of his action, his conscience still troubled him. As a compromise, he would burn the original record after inscribing the secret anew on clay tablets, along with his own account of the strange incident. To further obscure the unholy knowledge, he used the complex language of his Hebrew house steward; who had been sold into slavery after the conquest of Jerusalem. Zorbagga then hid the tablets in a secret crypt known only to him, and offered a prayer to Ishum that they never be discovered.

The sinister details contained in the scroll were not meaningless to the scholarly physician, who had acquired much forbidden knowledge through his translation of the Necronomicon. That shunned book was a veritable catalogue of the most frightening lore imaginable, and Philetas was disturbed to find some of its most diabolical references included in the text he had just read. Even more troubling was the vague connection between those ancient evils and the Great War of 941. Like many citizens of the empire, Philetas had heard of a centuries-old Byzantine fire weapon. But if what he had just read was true, the secret of even greater power had been unearthed prior to the victory nine-years earlier. The physician considered what to do next. Although the bizarre tale could be dismissed as the ravings of a madman, it could also be interpreted as treason against the emperor. Nevertheless, he found himself intrigued. Finally, he decided to hide it along with his newly translated copy of the Necronomicon.

Although Philetas tried to dismiss the scroll as a mere work of superstition, his darkest fears were confirmed a few evenings later at the home of a seriously ill patient. The man's name was Belisar, and he had been suffering from an unknown malady for almost a month. Death was at his doorstep, and he wanted to unburden his conscience before someone other than a family member or priest. In spite of his illness, he found the breath to relate a monstrous tale.

According to Belisar, he had been a naval cadet during the Great War of 941 and served aboard the flagship. Despite the optimistic proclamations of the emperor, he said, the warriors of Byzantium knew how close the northern pagans were to breaching the walls of Constantinople. It was clear the besieged city could not hold out much longer and unless a decisive victory was achieved soon, all would be lost.

Eventually, a decision was made to send out three squadrons of Byzantine dromons in a night attack against the invading fleet. Although the usual preparations were made aboard the flagship, it soon became obvious that something unusual was afoot. A canvas barrier was rigged to wall off the Greek fire machine from the rest of the main deck, and armed guards were posted to keep the crew away from it. Later, a keen-eyed sailor whispered about a number of black-hooded figures that came aboard after sunset.

Nor was that the end of the strangeness. After clearing the harbor, the admiral signaled his ships to fall back a full league. Once that was done, all crews were commanded to take cover below deck and, as Belisar subsequently learned, soldiers manning Constantinople's seawalls were sent to their quarters. What happened that night, he whispered, was not meant for the eyes of living men.

Some madness borne of curiosity must have overcome the young cadet, for he disobeyed the order and hid inside the crow's nest. A brief period of silence ensued after the sailors had gone below, then the sound of movement could be heard and Belisar cautiously peered down. Five aged, torch-bearing men emerged from the forward deckhouse. Although they wore the traditional vestments of Christian priests, the gold crosses around their necks were hung blasphemously upside down. Also, a crude pentagram had been drawn around the base of the fire machine. After muttering among themselves for a short time, the priests raised their voices in a droning, repetitive chant. It seemed to Belisar as if two words in particular were given special emphasis, and Philetas's blood chilled when the fever-wracked patient was finally able to recall them; for they were the names of two demonic entities mentioned in the Necronomicon.

The chanters ceased when a shrouded phantom suddenly materialized before them. Luckily for Belisar, his frightened gasp was not heard by those on the deck below. The priests then sank to their knees and a moment later, the Holy Emperor of Byzantium stepped out of the deckhouse. The young man could scarcely believe his eyes, but there was no doubt as to the identity of the noble figure, for he had been an honored guest aboard the flagship several times. The grim-faced monarch walked up to the dark apparition, then unwrapped the bundle he was carrying. It was an infant.

What happened next, the dying man was loath to relate. After making the sign of the cross several times, he muttered how the child was made to drink from a golden chalice the phantom held. Whether it contained a painless poison, or the sleep-inducing juice of the poppy, Belisar could not say. However, the victim appeared to be mercifully unconscious when it was placed inside the muzzle of the fire machine. The shadowy figure then vanished, and the others took refuge below. A moment later, the fear-stricken youth heard the sound of the oars being struck, and the great ship slowed to a halt. Along the horizon, the lanterns of the invading armada stretched as far as the eye could see. The cadet was mystified; at best, a single Byzantine vessel could incinerate two or three enemy ships, but only from very close range. How could the flagship alone destroy an entire fleet from miles away?

Belisar was once the verge of climbing down the mast when a rumble like a thousand charging cavalry horses began. Within seconds it felt like an earthquake, and the young man held on in desperation as the lofty crow's nest began to sway. Below, the great apparatus of the fire machine took on a strange phosphorescence, and from it seethed a glowing green mist that rose to a dizzying height. A strange noise began to emanate from the swelling miasma, and Belisar swore it had the aspect of deep, mocking laughter. The tainted fog roiled like an angry storm cloud and within that chaotic movement, it seemed as if a monstrous, inhuman face was struggling to manifest itself.

With a clap like thunder, the towering form collapsed back into the fire machine, and the terrified witness screamed as a blinding flash of light seared his eyes. The air was scorched by the unbelievable heat of it, and for a moment he thought the ship would be incinerated. In spite of his pain, Belisar was determined to behold a sight no man should see. The huge bellows of the fire dispenser, which normally required the strength of four sailors to pump during an attack, were moving by themselves as fast as a hummingbird's wings. A deafening roar erupted from the mouth of the machine, then a solid stream of fire burst high into the air before falling in the center of the distant fleet.

Like a living thing, the irresistible conflagration seemed to stretch out tentacles of searing death. Thousands of enemy vessels exploded into flame, and Belisar knew that countless men were screaming their last breaths in the midst of that holocaust. To the half-blinded youth in his perch, it seemed as if the Bosporus had become a sea of fire, and the sky above it turned a glowing red. The young man cast a look behind him. Though it was after midnight, the Byzantine fleet was clearly visible. Further to the west, the great city seemed to hunch fearfully beneath the unhallowed glare, as if awaiting the smite of a fiery hand.

The sheer power of that inferno was like a mighty gale, and the waters churned as if in the throes of the worst winter storm. Horrified beyond all sanity, Belisar screamed a prayer from childhood over and over, for it seemed as if the gates of Hades had finally opened. Then, without warning, the arc of flame disappeared and the roar of the fire machine was choked into silence. For a long moment the stricken man was sure he was dead, but after feeling a cool breeze caress his face, he struggled to his knees and offered thanks to the Almighty. In the distance could be seen thousands of slowly ebbing fires: all that remained of a once-mighty fleet. Thankfully, the awful sea of flames was gone, and the night regained something more akin to its customary gloom. The fire machine sat silently on its base; a wisp of smoke and a dull reddish glow the only evidence of its infernal activity. Dazed and sickened, Belisar managed to climb down the mast and slip below deck before his absence was discovered. Soon afterward, the order was given for the fleet to return to port.

Great religious ceremonies were held the following morning in gratitude to God for His deliverance, and the emperor himself ordered a city-wide celebration of the great victory. Promotions and rewards were heaped upon the victorious warriors of the empire and the honor of a Triumph, the great parade handed down from Roman times, was bestowed upon the commander of the Byzantine fleet. Then, only a day later, the Patriarch of Constantinople announced the death of a royal nephew who had succumbed, it was said, to a fatal illness five-months after birth.

Belisar stared with horror-widened eyes after finishing his story, and a long moment passed before the physician realized his patient had died. Philetas knew that fatal sickness often resulted in wild, morbid ravings. Nevertheless, the dying man seemed to be of sound mind during his final hour. There was no longer any doubt: the deathbed confession of Belisar confirmed the blasphemous hints contained in the anonymous scroll and the Necronomicon. The physician had translated that book merely in hope of finding a key to the Philosopher's Stone: the magical orb capable of transmuting lead into gold. Although he had tried not to dwell upon the diabolical knowledge contained in the accursed tome, he now realized that monstrous evil actually existed.

Although Theodorus Philetas returned home that evening, he did not remain there long. Instead, he packed a few articles of clothing and spent the night at a dockside tavern. Soon after dawn he booked passage on the first available ship, and disembarked several days later at the island of Phraxos in the Aegean Sea. There he met with the abbot in charge of the monastery, and announced his willingness to serve as scribe and healer. Brother Christophorus, impressed by the physician's piety and his generous donation of gold coins, initiated Philetas as a monk a few days later.

Alas, not even the sanctuary of holy cloisters could protect the haunted man, for within a few months, the sight of even the smallest candle flame became intolerable to him. Then, during the equinox at summer's end, a rare celestial event triggered a fit of screaming madness. The raving monk was bound hand and foot, dosed with the calming extract of the poppy, and locked inside a dark, windowless room. Early the next day a surprised watchman saw smoke coming from the lunatic's cell. The door was hastily opened, and it took many buckets of water to extinguish the fire that blazed up from the stone floor. Then, to the horror of the assembled onlookers, a hand-held torch revealed the charred, shapeless mass that was once Theodorus Philetas.

The abbot was at a loss to explain how the dead man could have incinerated himself. Given his madness, every precaution had been taken. As to his insanity there could be no doubt, for he had apparently scrawled a bizarre sign on a wall of his cell before he died. The physician's remains were buried later that morning in the monastery graveyard. After the funeral, Brother Christophorus sat down to read the dead man's will. It had been written soon after the late-physician's fear of fire began to manifest itself. Consequently, the abbot had good reason to doubt the author's state of mind.

Nevertheless, what Christophorus read caused him to send a ciphered message to the head of his order. Within a week, a special messenger arrived at the monastery to confiscate the Last Will and Testament of Theodorus Philetas: the secret history Crusaders would loot from a vault in Constantinople five-centuries later. According to the physician's final writings, it was not Belisar's tale of horror that caused him to flee the great city. Instead, when Philetas returned home that evening, he found his residence in a shambles, and discovered that the mysterious scroll, as well as his translation of the Necronomicon, were both missing.

Worst of all, a symbol had been drawn upon an inner wall of the house; something the physician knew from his translation of the forbidden book. He even rendered it in his own blood on the final page of his will. It was a warning mark of ultimate doom: the Fire Sign of Taran-Ish; first High Priest of Sarnath, who scrawled it on an altar there before perishing of an unknown fright. That dreaded talisman -- also found upon a smoke-stained wall of Philetas's cell -- depicts what he saw in the heavens the evening of his fatal madness. It was a red, gibbous moon: the same one that shone over legendary Sarnath the night of its destruction. That celestial portent of malign fate would also rise above besieged Constantinople the night before it fell to Turkish hordes in 1453.

The precipitous, fatal decline of that once-glorious city has puzzled some scholars. The epic victory of 941 could have marked the beginning of a new Golden Age; instead, it augured the beginning of a slow decay. Within three-hundred-years, Constantinople would be unable to defend itself from the brutality of the Fourth Crusade. Two centuries after that disaster, a mysterious outbreak of bubonic plague in the city would spread to become the dreaded Black Death that killed off half the population of Europe.

If a forbidden power had been invoked in 941, it was apparently not available to stave off the final destruction.

Or did that power choose not to be reinvoked?

It is said that elemental forces of evil give more than they take -- and never return to the depths from whence they were invoked. Indeed, any who wish to summon what is better left in the realm of nightmares should heed the final warning of the Necronomicon.

Do not call upon Any that you can not put down. Call upon the Lesser Demon, lest the Greater command more than thee.

THE END

Author's Note

Certain references to Greek fire, the city of Constantinople, and the Great War of 941 are consistent with accepted history. Fans of H.P. Lovecraft will notice certain elements from his short story "The Doom that Came to Sarnath." The island of "Phraxos" does not exist: it was created by author John Fowles' for his best-selling novel of the 1960s, "The Magus." Last, but not least, "Brother Christophorus" was the name of a character in the original Twilight Zone series episode titled "The Howling Man." --JVS

Author Bio

J.V. (John Vincent) Sanders is a New York based writer whose work has been published in Fate Magazine and in Fortean Times. No stranger to the world of talk radio, John has appeared on such syndicated and local venues as Art Bell's Dreamland, Jeff Rense, Ground Zero with Clyde Lewis, The Hilly Rose Show, The Laura Lee Show, and WABC Radio in New York City. The J.V. Sanders Web Presence can be found at http://jvsanders.cjb.net.

Story copyright J.V. Sanders, published by the Fortean Bureau
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