Meditations on Hartshoen's Sign (Kulatąo) and the Perkwunosian have led many magicians to suspect that there may be more ways into the unworld of Qell besides those two sigils. Čiurlionis, Qell's discoverer, himself said that there must be "another door."
Romantic as the idea is, and as much as I know we magicians need to feel that nothing is impossible, I dismissed the so-called Other Ways idea for a long time, because the magick behind the theory was unconvincing. In the formulae I read, there were always too many variables, or there was too much unstable original spellwork or too heavy a reliance on rustic magick and shamanism such as seiðr, faea, and kulning. Serious practitioners have derided the Other Ways idea since the 12th century, I among them.
But, as we must accept the impossible, so we must remember that the limits of the possible can only be accurately described by those who have really seen them, and seeing is not quite so simple a thing as it sounds, even (if not especially) for an adept and diligent practitioner of the dhimaic arts.
I have recently been in contact with a spirit that calls itself Bhaon. For 8 months, I have communicated with it, at first through a green-flame Solomon's Window and then more directly - in my east-facing chamber at dusk - as it became bold and grew familiar. Bhaon is a sciall spirit, comfortable among human magicians. It began to speak to me of a place beyond a sliding door, and a sliding door began appearing in my dreams; after some investigation into the things Bhaon said, I realized that it was describing Qell. Once this had come to me, Bhaon showed me a novel sigil. It is to be painted in oxblood facing either south or toward the nearest body of water. In a Dorian ring, it glimmers and has a faint lavender halo. Drawn into a mandala, it produces Thule radiation. It appears to be a leywalking sigil, but there is an unusual glamor to it. It is not man-made. After my first successful charge and casting of the sigil, Bhaon disappeared for a month or so. On that same occasion, I saw the gates of Qell from a new vantage point: from the west, with Hartshoen's Gate visible. The experience was real, not hypnogogic; I felt the winds of Qell and heard the songs of the threshold spirits. I was as Čiurlionis must have been that night in 1137, but his magic was rough and primitive. Here I reveal the sign, which I call the Bhaonic, for any magician to cast with a stern warning: Qell is a wild place, even more so in the west, and the Bhaonic's casting left me enervated for 7 hours afterward. Cast it only under strong wards, or you will be vulnerable in the unworld. Remember what eventually befell Čiurlionis.
I have found another way into Qell. There are more. I'm certain of it.
When the doors opened and a Sith strolled in flanked by a pair of heavily armored soldiers, the entire area hushed in a wave that broke across the long room as heads lifted and the troops turned to watch. A wary tension filled the room and Karcen was no different. Pushing his connection to the Force down deep, he turned his blue eyes to the entryway just the same as the rest of the Imperial soldiers in the bunkhouse. And he waited.
Things had being going so well, and now this. A young sithling draped in black and red robes over hard armor and her face cast into the shadow provided by a large and draping hood. She moved as if taking a leisurely stroll through the barracks, hands clasped demurely before her and if it weren’t for the sense of dark emanating from her and the alert soldiers at her sides, he could almost believe her to be harmless. Faces both young and old followed her progress as she passed by bunks at her casual pace and in the silence he could hear each of her slight footsteps. The apprehension that was clear on the face of each other soldier he was sharing space with only made him increasingly nervous.
She stopped abruptly, hems of her robe swinging forward about her toes. “That one.”
They were on Karcen in an instant. Too fast to blink and he was caught between the mattress of his bunk and unyielding armor and he barely had time to give voice to his genuinely surprised shout. Skin split as an armored fist caught him in the face and he felt the cartilage of his nose give with a sick burst of pain. Light exploded through his vision as a second blow caught him in the side of the head and dumped him onto the floor. The impulse to reach for the Force was strong but even in his state of painful shock he knew better.
You’re just another Imperial soldier here.
Karcen went limp as a kick caught him under the ribs and his world went through a dizzying flip. The soldiers were fast, they were smart, and they were viciously thorough. Pain hissed through his teeth as his arms were wrenched up behind him, wrists clamped into heavy manacles and without a second’s pause they were dragging him out of the Imperial barracks. Head hanging and the taste of blood thick on his tongue, he caught sight of stunned faces in the greyed out blur of passage as his toes scraped across ground and they hauled him out the door.
This mission had quickly become a failure. Somehow his cover had been blown, his position compromised and now he was manacled and there was a sith and they were dragging him to god knew where, bleeding, stunned, and cut off from the Force. Trying to find the calm center of himself, he pushed through the confusing mass of troubled, panicked thought with a quiet groan. Ground passed beneath him at a clipped pace and his shoulders were a symphony of agony. When he tried to get his feet beneath him to stumble along between the soldiers, they were kicked out from under him again and so he fell quiet and compliant for the moment.
The vast exterior of the compound gave way once more to interior as he was pulled through a door; grated metal floor, rough walls, industrial looking doors and dividers and the scents associated with weaponry, armor and machinery. When they arrived at their destination it was abrupt enough that he had no time to prepare for his fall and was simply let go. Karcen’s jaw cracked against metal flooring and he writhed over onto his side and spat blood with a low hiss of painful frustration. A boot landed on his chest, heavily enough to get his attention without causing much more in the way of punishing pain and he winced as he was rolled onto his back. And that was how he found himself staring at armored toes and up and up the imposing figure stooped over him, finally to a dark matte helmet with a skull painted onto the surface that showcased a grim smile.
“So you’re the nexu in sheep’s clothing we have spooking around here.” Clearly in charge though he bore no obvious sign of rank, the larger soldier pressed his boot down pointedly and Karcen sucked in a breath.
“He is,” a soft voice proclaimed from out of his immediate vision. The same silk-over-sludge of the sith who had managed to single him out. “That is your spy, Major Qell’zik. A Jedi.”
“Jedi.” Leaning over to brace arms against bent thigh, the man with the skull-helmet leaned in closer. Karcen tried not to compare himself to a bug under a wary and predatory eye. “Well that’s new.”
“Give him to me.” The sith intoned, low and sweet.
“We appreciate you pinpointing our spy, Lord. But we get first crack at him.” Stepping off Karcen’s chest with a low chuckle, the soldier dusted his armored hands and lifted his chin. “That’s the way it’s always been.” He could almost feel the sith fall into a sulk.
“Fine. I get him after.” She floated into view once more and Karcen’s heart seized at the glimpse of green, green eyes in the shadow of the hood. It was not Tekeli-li, but she carried a similarly overwhelming feeling of wrong. Of contained violence.
“Sergeant.” At Qell’zik’s command, one of the escorting soldiers straightened. “Contact the Commander. Tell Moff Aker we’ve got us something more than just the usual little spy down here. Something he might like to see.”
Despite the beatings, the shock and looming despair of failure and falling right into the hands of the enemy… it was the name that had the blood draining from his face quick enough to make him feel cold. It was coincidence. It had to be. Let it just be that.
“Well now,” The pressure returned to his chest, Qell’zik’s boot pinning him to the ground. “That was an interesting reaction. I think you and I should have a chat while we wait for the commander, Jedi.”
