Moses sipped tea from a wooden cup and glanced across the one-room hut at his friend. Bayissa Afewerek took a swig of herbal tea as though his tongue was immune to its heat. Moses noted his frown as he reached for the canister of sugar cubes. One, then two, and Bayissa stirred.

When he sipped again, his expression hinted at a smile. 

Between them lay a cloth sack filled with books. Although Moses was grateful for the reading material, he could not shake his dissatisfaction. “You have only one day left to change your mind.” He spoke as if baiting a squirrel to take a nut.

Bayissa snorted. “I've changed my mind many times, my friend.” He sipped. “You don't know how much I'll miss the crossovers and using magic.” He placed the cup on the floor between his legs and pressed his back against the wooden wall. “I know that what I'm doing is the right thing.” His voice grew louder, and he spoke faster. “Eleven countries fought on three different continents. The world has changed. One day, this change will come knocking at our door. The butakah way will have to change too.”

Moses looked away. 

“You've been here for two years. Haven't you seen change? The men who come to this island are not the same as you and me. I don't know what it is, but we need something stronger.” Bayissa reached for his cup. “Tradition is fading.”

 Moses knew his friend was correct. Yet he did not want to be part of the change. He believed in the butakah order. “Who will guard the gates if we all step away from tradition?”

“Secrecy will guard the gates.” 

“How do you mean?”

Bayissa rubbed his hands together and leaned forward as he raised his knees. His eyes illuminated as they often did when teaching Moses something important – something he had learned from Grandmaster Yoshi. “Tell me what you remember about toroidal flow.”

Moses gripped his cup with both hands. He thought momentarily, not of the toroidal flow but Bayissa’s intent. “The heart is a microcosm of it. Life begins with the heart, and the body builds around it. Blood goes out of it and comes back to it.”

“Good, that's the physical. Now, the spiritual?”

Moses hesitated for a moment. He continued to predict Bayissa's lesson. “We reap what we sow. A man's treatment of others is equally his treatment of himself.”

Bayissa nodded his approval. “And the metaphysical?”

“The energies that create and bind the many worlds are all from the same source. The multiverse is mental. It started with one consciousness, and other worlds formed around it. They are fractions of one mind energy flows out and returns to recycle.”

Bayissa smiled. “You've done well to remember, but you must know it. Saying the words is not the secret. Knowing the secret is.” He paused and licked his dark lips, then he moved his braided locks from his eyes. “What do you say we take one more trip? I will show you everything from where the worlds meet to where they end. I will leave this island one gift. It will protect the gates even better than secrecy.”

 Moses took a deep breath. “Should we ask Grandmaster Yoshi? Last time, we did it without his permission. I didn't think it was quite right.”

Bayissa chuckled and stood. “Do not worry, Moses. It will be okay. I've done this a hundred times.”

Moses rose to his feet, thunderstruck. “A hundred times? Alone?”

Bayissa nodded as he walked over to a corner to gather a backpack. “Maybe more. I've started a map.” He faced Moses, holding a skeleton key he’d pulled from the backpack. “This time, we'll do it inside the Hall of Relics.”

“Why not here?”

“The Hall of Relics is built under a null. The energy is strongest there.” He dropped his arms to the side, and an apologetic expression shadowed his face. “I understand how you feel about tradition and the code. If what I show you does not change your point of view, I’ll respect your choice. I’ll go so far as to tell the grandmaster you desire training.”

Moses slid his hands into the pockets. He always wanted to become a butakah master. Moses desired Bayissa’s education. He hoped the books on the floor would satisfy his thirst. But he needed to do things the right way. The brotherhood code was necessary, and Moses did not understand how deviation would make anything right. He sighed with the conflict. Bayissa was a mentor to him. He'd accept the challenge if following Bayissa into the astral world would get him one step closer to butakah training. After all, if Moses avoided interactions with djinn or angels, he’d keep the code. How hard could that be?

“Ok,” he relented with a shrug.

 *****

 The Hall of Relics was a cube-shaped building with a rounded top. A skylight allowed moonbeams to cast elongated shadows in monstrous shapes. The hall smelled of lime soap and wood polish. Bayissa fumbled with a kerosene lamp for a few minutes before successfully lighting it. 

When the shadows vanished, Moses scanned a collection of artifacts on polished shelves lining the perimeter. The butakah masters claimed the oldest was over several thousand years old. From behind one, an iron shield, Bayissa fished a lambskin parchment. With a smirk of satisfaction, he unfolded the parchment and sat on the floor. He invited Moses to sit across from him as he unfolded the parchment.

Moses studied the drawing on it. Bayissa had crafted a pattern of interlacing circles that Moses identified. “It's the seed of life.”

“It's bigger than that,” Bayissa explained. “It's the fruit of life. But even more than that, it is a map of the multiverse. You see, I figured it out. Now I know why the scroll has this mark. It is the key to one of these worlds, maybe more.”

Moses shifted and glanced up at the shelves. On the top was the ancient scroll preserved in glass. He thought about retrieving it to compare the drawings. “What do you imagine will happen if we read from it?”

“Nothing,” Bayissa responded impatiently. “The words are a language that speaks more to your soul than your intellect.” He compelled Moses' attention back to the map, pointing. “Here is the material world – our world. That one,” he said, pointing to another, “is the astral plane. In reality, there is no plane. None of them are planes. They are all worlds, not flat layers, but spheres.”

Bayissa's finger traced a circle.

“Notice how the astral overlaps the material world. Here is the mental world and the causal. This is an angelic stronghold.”

Moses pointed. “Why is this one red?”

“That's the Devachosic. It's the world of fire – the place where djinn were born. ” 

Judging from Bayissa's extended pause and fixated glare at the red circle, Moses surmised that his friend had either visited the Devachosic world or wanted to. He felt that peril lay in the place and that he should never visit. 

Bayissa broke the silence. “I've not been there, but beyond the causal world is the akashic. It is there where Metatron writes and stores the history of everything.”

“Master Yoshi says the words in the scroll are Metatron's.”

Bayissa paused, and Moses could not tell if he agreed with the grandmaster. He folded the parchment. Moses to read the circle to the south. Etheric. 

Bayissa crossed his legs. “The map is not finished. Perhaps one day, you will do me the honor of completing it. For now, let’s go.”

Moses did not respond but shifted towards his friend and crossed his legs.

Pulling a long-handled spoon from his backpack, Bayissa placed it on the floor between them. “As before, concentrate on the spoon, and we will cross into the astral world at the same place.”

Moses closed his eyes and exhaled. He wanted to push the memory of his first conscious projection away from his mind. He had learned many things since the first time. He reminded himself to synchronize his thoughts with Bayissa’s. Doing so would guarantee they arrived together.

Bayissa must have been aware of Moses' difficulty. He started chanting the sound of the Hebrew letter aleph. Moses joined in, causing a shift in his thoughts. The chanting reminded him of the oneness and unity of the Creator. The aleph was made of two yods, he recalled from Grandmaster Yoshi's lesson. One above, one below. The diagonal line, vav, represented the separation of the higher and lower worlds.

When his projection had crossed over, the spoon hovered between them. An ocean-blue aura traced its perimeter. A similar aura illuminated Bayissa. The glow around Bayissa brightened, signifying an emotional rush. Moses understood that Bayissa was proud of him for the ease of his astral projection.

“Your astral body has grown.” He observed Moses. “It looks like an adolescent. That's a good sign of maturity.” He turned and led the way.

Moses remembered Grandmaster Yoshi's lesson. The physical body and the spirit did not mature simultaneously. A man fifty years old may have the soul maturity of a toddler. Bayissa's astral body was no different in size or shape from his physical one. 

Moses stopped to take in his surroundings. “I don't remember this place.”

“That's because you're in my mind.” Bayissa stopped and half turned. Then his arms opened as if to embrace every tree in the garden. “This is the link between the astral world and ours. In this garden, I find and keep my sanity.” 

Moses was inspired with awe by the trees. They were enormous. The gravel path between them led to a small land bridge ending at a sea of golden sand. 

“This is the sand of formation.” Bayissa bent to touch it. “I built everything you see with these sands.”

Bayissa tilted his hand, allowing the sand to slip between his fingertips. Moses squatted to touch it. He remembered reading the sands could form whatever a dreamer imagined. As Moses palmed the grit, it swirled and rolled into a ball before taking the shape of a porcelain cup. 

Bayissa continued. “It is imperative that you build a garden of your own. When you travel between worlds, your mind needs a home to find balance. It is wrong for me to bring you here. But I know no other way to teach you.” He stood and walked across the sand. A hundred paces ahead stood a door with brick walls on either side. The walls stretched endlessly in both directions. 

Bayissa stopped and turned to Moses, who was looking around. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

He smiled warmly. “Good. Beyond this door is the astral world. I left the sand of formation between the door and my garden in case anything from out there follows me inside. If that were to happen, I'd use the sands for defense.” He waved a finger. “If anything from outside enters through this door, it could destroy my mind. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Bayissa reached for the door. He vanished as soon as he touched it. Moses reached out the same way. Darkness enveloped him. A sharp noise pierced his mind. He thought his head had stretched in two directions. When the noise ended, vertigo remained. For a moment, Moses did not know if he stood or floated in the saddle of a mountain chain.

Bayissa said something to him, but Moses did not understand the mutter. The words came again, and Moses realized his friend was saying to remain calm. Soon, the spinning stopped. Moses glanced behind him. He was on the opposite side of the door, which seemed painted against a mountainside. The door was camouflaged, barely visible. Moses exhaled.

They followed a curved path that traversed the mountain. When they reached the summit, high enough to look down upon a field of rolling black hills, Bayissa stopped. “This could be the last time I'll see this world, except in my dreams.” He pointed to a village in the distance. Moses could not make out many details, but he could see shadows of small buildings. Above them hovered a dull, marigold light, similar to a rising sun. “That's the City of Dreamers. When the soul leaves the body at night, it gravitates there. I've learned it can be dangerous to go there.”

Moses followed Bayissa's finger to the left. “There is the Library of Portals. Beside it, Reitzel Row.”

“Reitzel?” Moses glared. “Agaliarept's priest.”

“Yes. I once saw a hundred or more corvish spirits—”

“You saw a corvish?”

“Not just one, hundreds. I don't know what they're building, but if they're doing it for Agaliarept's priest, it can't be anything good for humanity.” He moved up the curved mountain path. “Agaliarept is the architect. Without him, this world would be nothing more than mist and flowing energy. Look there – it's the mogyain fields. Thousands of saddened souls walk a line into that tower. Saudadis fly past with sad music and depressing tales. Beware of them, my friend.”

Moses stepped past Bayissa to get a better view from a higher vantage point. He looked atop the tower, where rust-colored vapor released into the sky. Bayissa knew more about the astral world than what literature provided. He should not have learned these things. Moses was bewildered and ashamed that he wanted to know everything his mentor knew. “What happens there?”

“That’s a processing plant of some sort. The parasites from the mogyain fields drain the soul’s energy. In our world, the bodies of every soul walking that road are inundated with depression, procrastination, apathy, and things I don’t yet know. The mogyain parasites grow fat from draining souls of their willpower. The Saudadis' dirge pulls them toward the tower as if they were manacled. Something in that building removes the parasites, smoke from the tower thickens, and the soul exits the other side. When it leaves, the soul is a shadow of its former self.”

“So, the tales are true,” Moses whispered, fascinated. “The spirits rebuilt the world that angels destroyed before there was ever a man.”

“Long before there was a man.” Bayissa pointed. “There is the labyrinth prison that holds Agaliarept. He won't design anything else.” Bayissa paused for a moment to stare long at the maze prison. Then, as if he remembered something, he said, “Beyond the maze is the dark forest. It leads to the end of the realm. Once we pass through it, we enter the causal world. There is where we must go.”

“Why?”

“I will warn you, my friend.” He walked further. Moses followed close behind. “I show you all this because I may not have the chance to map this place. There is a chance that I won't return with you. If I fail, I'll need your promise that you will continue my work.” 

“I don't know what that work is.”

They stopped, and Bayissa looked from the mountainside. Moses followed his eyes when he spoke. “From here, you can see beyond the City of Dreamers. To the right, there is a river of flames. Beside it, you will find Iblis’s Temple.”

“The Devil's chair? Is it in there?”

“I don't know.” Bayissa's voice trailed away. It was apparent to Moses that Bayissa had never satisfied his curiosity about the temple. “I would love to see if the chair exists. To sit in it and connect with the others. To be a hundred places all at once.” He half grinned when he turned towards Moses. 

Moses did not share Bayissa's sense of adventure. He did not want to visit this world any more than necessary. The green swamp that Bayissa pointed out was beautiful, but Moses had read of the dangers inside. Within it was a lair inhabited by a dangerous shape-shifting si’lat, Jah-Ku Din. Moses also read that the colorful River of Ice Flames flowed into the fjord where ifrits, trapped beneath its surface, yearned to escape. Bayissa pointed far beyond the crying mountains and the road of despond, across the river to the pit of sorrows. “Marid djinn are there,” he paused and spoke again regretfully. “Exorcised djinn are tortured in that pit.”

When Bayissa had shown everything from the Atlantean djinn stronghold to New Lemuria's eccentric buildings, they crossed a group of fanned-out creaks, stepping on smooth stones. Reaching the other side, they entered the dark forest. Bayissa seemed to keep quiet about his mission intentionally, but Moses could bear the anticipation no longer. He inquired often.

Apparently, Bayissa realized that Moses would not stop asking, so he explained. “There will be a time when the butakah can no longer protect the gates to this world. People grow more apathetic each day. Some very dangerous djinn are waiting for us to slip. More than that, they’re counting the moments for something else, a resurrection.”

“Yaron?” Moses recalled stories of a Nephilim, rumored to have severed his soul into parts. 

“I believe they’re waiting for his return. They will bring back the days of Noah. The djinn will enter our world in army formations.” He paused and moved close to the trunk of a tree. 

Sounds of chanting mantras grew louder from behind the trees. Taking Bayissa's lead, Moses ducked behind a tree and peeped into the clearing. A dozen human souls draped in hooded robes knelt in a circle. As they continued chanting, a lavender smoke stream took the form of a human with expanded wings. 

Bayissa tipped away and motioned for Moses to do the same. When they were far enough away, Bayissa explained. “Those were human souls - mystics learning dark magic.”

“They're dangerous?”

“They are servants to the djinni you saw with them. That makes them dangerous.”

They stopped at a crossroads. To one side, the sky was bright with fire. The other side was as golden as a sunrise. Moses admired the division. He spun around. The orange sky of the astral plane was behind him. To the fourth side was the blue sky of the material world. He did not have to ask. They were at the junction where multiple worlds merged. 

“We are here.” Bayissa did not seem as fascinated as Moses. He stepped forward. “What I am about to do is dangerous. I've trained myself, but I may fail.”

“I still don't understand.” Moses followed his friend. Ahead of them were green rolling hills dotted with flowers. 

“You will have to wait for me on that mountain. Be careful not to wander far. This is an angelic land. Angels are not as kind or forgiving as you may believe.”

Moses looked over at the black mountain. “Do you plan to tell me what you will do? How can I continue your work if I don't know it?”

Bayissa stepped close. His voice was low, like a man with a secret to tell. “I plan to reassign an angel to the Hall of Relics.”

“Reassign an angel? Grandmasters have died trying to do that.”

“I know.”

“And you are far from being a grandmaster.”

“I know. I know all of this you're saying, but I must try.” He turned away. “I will go beyond that passage and into a valley. You will not see me for a while, but you may see me speaking to an angelic being when you do. That is the one I will try to assign.” He turned back and tilted his head toward the top of the black mountain. “If you are high enough, you will see everything.”

“If I don't see you again, please tell me why you're compelled to do this without Grandmaster Yoshi's consent.”

“Because the code forbids me to engage with angelic beings. But one day, the butakah will fail to keep the brotherhood's secrets. We need an immortal to protect the most vital ones. That's why I must try to reassign this one.”

As Bayissa walked away, Moses finally understood his concern. Bayissa would not take the butakah pledge to guard artifacts and secrets. He assumed the most sacred secrets would inevitably come to light. As was evident from the hooded souls in the forest, the djinn would reveal many secrets to men. As Moses watched his friend, he realized he should share Bayissa's concern. The djinn would manipulate the mystics they enticed. Those fools in hooded robes may one day release a powerful djinni like Agaliarept from his labyrinth prison. If that happened, what could the butakah masters do to save the world? What would preserving the code or tradition do against calculating djinn?

Although Moses doubted he should break the code, he could not condemn Bayissa for doing so.

Heading for the black mountain, he recalled the subject of reassigning angels. He remembered reading and believing the idea was so far-fetched no one would try it. For Bayissa to succeed, he needed to move an object that an angel protected. Moses contemplated the danger. It was impossible to predict what the angel would do if it perceived Bayissa’s actions as threatening. If he’s in danger, I’d have to try rescuing him. But how? 

Moses climbed the mountain. When he saw Bayissa again, he had reached an elevated plateau. Descending from another, higher ridge a short span further was a creature formed from silver light. As it neared Bayissa, it changed shape. When it was an arm’s reach away, it had morphed into a clone of its visitor. Moses could not differentiate the angel from the man except by their positions. As far as he could tell, one figure gave orders, and the other followed.

Moses wished he knew more about what was happening. He watched Bayissa extend an open palm, holding black metallic balls clumped together in a heap. He signaled and flipped his wrist, and the metal balls ignited flames. The angel circled behind, but Bayissa did not react. He fixed his gaze on a set of rods that surfaced from the grass at his command. Like putty, the rods bent to form two yods. The rods hovered midair in front of Bayissa. It was as if one hand cast them in place without touching, and the other called to the fire. From the fire emerged a rod that drifted over to Bayissa at his command. He used it to form a vav, then placed it between the two yods, dividing them at an angle. 

The object brightened into a light that blinded Moses for a split second. When the brightness dissipated, Bayissa held a brass box and fell to his knees. The angel waved, causing the lid of the box to levitate. Moses was anxious to know what was inside. He climbed higher in the hope of having an unobstructed view. He could not see what so captivated his friend. Bayissa was enthralled, but the angel's demeanor became agitated and confused. Something must have happened to startle the angel. It circled Bayissa as if looking for something in the grass. Antlers sprung forth from the side of its head, and a massive pair of wings unfurled. Moses feared that Bayissa had angered the immortal. 

Unable to defend Bayissa from an angel's wrath, Moses feared he was about to witness an execution. The angel extended its palm, summoning a sword to materialize. The blade dazzled with blue electric currents. Turning in Moses' direction, it wielded the weapon; the sky rumbled, causing the black mountain to quake. Moses lost his balance, dropping to his knees as they buckled. Random, barely visible objects came flying his way. He made out a pair of butterfly wings, which he understood were djinn helpers, sent to attack. He feared they would sap his energy, separating his astral projection from his material body. Reminding himself that fear had no place in that world, he summoned his courage. 

The first two flew past him. The other four had him encircled. “Son of Adamu,” simultaneous voices said, though the butterfly creatures were mouthless, “reveal your intention.”

Moses kept quiet. He lowered his head. “The code forbids me from interacting,” he whispered into the black grassland instead. 

“Show us!” they demanded.

Still, Moses refused to speak. He refused to acknowledge them. He muttered the code again. 

 Louder and more forcefully, the creatures insisted on making their demand. Again, Moses refused to respond. He fixated only on the black grass. Were they able to read his thoughts, they would have known that he intended only to leave. 

“We've found him.” The words broke Moses’ attention. Confused, he lifted his head. 

The creatures had flown away, their long tails lagging behind. Moses looked past them, at the sight of Bayissa running. A second projection advanced even faster; it wore a white hooded robe and emanated a red aura. This running Bayissa moved faster and leaped higher than anything Moses had ever imagined. In three bounds, it reached the plateau. The angel prepared to strike, but as soon as the projection was within the angel’s reach, it vaporized. The angel brandished its sword into the ethereal mist. The scarlet condensation floated towards Bayissa and settled on his astral being. He stood still, gazing into the box as if unaware of everything happening around him. 

“What have you done?” the angel roared.

Startled, Bayissa stumbled from his trance. He sprang to his feet. The angel held the sword at Bayissa’s throat. Moses hoped for the angel’s mercy. He saw them talking and wished he knew what they said to each other. When he saw Bayissa run away, Moses scaled his way down the mountainside. 

Bayissa did not stop to talk when he reached Moses at the bottom. “Let's go. Hurry.”

Moses wanted to know the details, for all the excitement was too much to bear. “I'll explain later,” Bayissa promised when they exited the dark forest. They raced for the mountain from which they had entered. Bayissa looked over his shoulder. 

“What are we running from?”

“Soon, it will know that I've taken its words.” He paused momentarily. “If you try to return through my cerebral portal, our thoughts from this experience will merge. We would both experience mental psychoses. You must return another way. Go to the City of Dreamers.”

“But you said it was dangerous.”

“We've been in danger all the while.” He stood erect. “Go to the City of Dreamers – look for the place that looks like a tavern. Once you are inside, find a corner near a window, and I will send you a sign. Like before.”

Moses left him. The last time he had entered the astral world, the return was simple. That time, Moses waited near the Hills of Answers, and Bayissa sent the sign. It was an ethereal dove. Moses touched it and opened his eyes to the material world. This time, Moses needed to escape something. He disappeared into a crowd of souls. 

What words did Bayissa take? Moses wondered. He did not recall seeing anything in Bayissa's hands. Moses observed everything he walked by while hoping to remain inconspicuous.  

He passed two men in full fencing gear engaged in a sparring match. One was acrobatic with elaborate parries and half turns. Further ahead, he hurried past a teen peeping into a window. Something raced by him. It scooted across the ground and slithered behind a tree. Moments later, two terrified girls came running, their faces seized with terror. Behind them slithered a serpent. Moses turned around. He was now in a room with a marble floor.  A lady with red hair stood close. A wedding dress hung from her shoulders, and she gazed into a mirror. Her friends circled her, paying one compliment after the next. She smiled and spun. Moses, guilty of having invaded someone's dream, turned again. With one rotation, he was out of the room. Then he spied the tavern. Someone exited the building through swinging doors. 

He entered. The music would have relaxed him, but the laughing to his right caught his attention. Turning, he peered at a djinni's hypnotic eyes. He was compelled to stare deeply, but a sound like a growling bear distracted him. Moses shifted his gaze to the group at a round table near him. They played cards; the dealer shuffled the deck using some telekinetic spell. The growler rammed his furry knuckles on the table. Moses passed them and took a corner seat near a window. He hoped Bayissa’s sign would come quickly. Torn between the code and his curiosity, Moses struggled to ignore the spirits and human projections around him. Further, he sensed two figures, who had house-cat faces, watching him. 

A human soul approached the house cats from behind and sat near Moses. Strapped to his side were pistols. The house cat creatures made no effort to keep their conversation private. The first spoke with a feminine voice. “Do you know why we called you?”

The soul did not answer right away. “Something is missing, and you want me to find it.” His voice was low, saturated with arrogance. 

“No,” said the second feline djinni. Her voice was softer, lighter – almost like a whisper. “Something was stolen, and we want it stolen again.”

“Before the angel finds it,” said the first.

“Was it stolen from an angel?”

“Yes. The Ilalin spell, taken by a son of Adamu.”

The sarcasm in his voice revealed his doubt. “A spell to stop bullets? Only in children's tales.” He laughed.

“We think he has not yet returned to the material world,” said the soft voice feline. The voice was close to Moses, as close as if she sat beside him. 

Despite his efforts to ignore her, Moses could not understand why she attracted his attention. He did not want to look in their direction, so he turned to the window. He was anxious for Bayissa to send the signal. What’s taking so long? He checked the table and the seat across from him. In doing so, he could not resist glancing back at her. He remembered her species – bejangli, mind readers. Their eyes met. She stared Moses down from over the man's shoulder, and Moses turned his head. He wanted to get up and leave. Hurry, Bayissa. His thoughts began to reverse, retracing his last moments. His astral body sat beside the window as if in a daydream, but he couldn't feel it. Instead, he thought he had re-entered the tavern. He turned to laughter. The slamming paw, again, commanded his attention. 

Moses shook his head as if that would clear his thoughts. That worked. He peered out the window once more. But again, he lost control over his thoughts. Something else was causing him to backtrack every action before he had entered the tavern. He remembered his embarrassment at watching the lady in the wedding gown. 

Moses lifted his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. His thoughts had returned. Was the bejangli tampering with his mind? Moses glanced at her again. Her stare was more intense now. 

“He had an accomplice,” she said. 

“You’re serious,” the human soul tapped his fingers. “Well, if you’re right, neither of them will get far.”

“You are correct more than you know.” She leaned forward. 

When Moses glanced again, the djinni had arisen from her seat. “Turn around, son of Adamu,” she said to her table visitor. “The accomplice is a novice.” She took one step in Moses' direction. 

Moses slumped in his seat. He searched his memory for a spell or sign to defend him. 

“The master has escaped already, but the novice can't. Isn’t that right, son of Adamu?” This time, she spoke to Moses. 

She was two steps away when the sign finally materialized. The spoon Bayissa used as a homing device hovered over the table, glowing red as if wrapped in fire. He could not tell who noticed it first, but when the djinni yelled, “Get him!” Moses threw his body across the table, grabbing the spoon as he slid over the slick varnish. Before reaching the edge of the table, everything went black.

*****

Blinded in darkness, Moses felt his head spinning. When his vision cleared, he was again inside the Hall of Relics. Not far away, Bayissa squatted over the flame from the kerosene lamp. 

“Welcome back, my friend.”

Moses was light-headed. He searched his pocket for something to eat and realized that he had nothing. How irresponsible of him to astral-project and not bring food to re-orient himself upon return. He crawled to Bayissa. “What are you doing?”

“I'm embedding the spell in the spoon.”

Moses inhaled. “Do you mean the Ilalin spell?”

Bayissa smiled. “Yes.” He heated a blade with the flame and carved a glyph into the spoon handle. 

“Was this what you saw in the box?”

“Yes, this is a Trithphiyan glyph, and this one is Lemurian Kadmii. The spell was written in different languages.”

“What does it do?”

“If you know this spell, no projectile can harm you.” He pressed the blade to the handle again. Moses was silent while Bayissa formed the marks. “Imagine a man who cannot die from gunfire.”

Moses thought momentarily, trying to grasp the magnitude of Bayissa's words. He wanted to tell him about the danger he had faced in the City of Dreamers. He wanted to warn about the bounty hunter and djinn looking for him – looking for them both. But before getting into that, he had another pressing question. “How did you do this?”

Bayissa blew on the spoon handle. “Entanglement.” He held the spoon over the flame. “The particles of your astral body, the energy of it, can exist in two places at once. I projected to the mental plane from my astral body and sustained the energy cycle between the physical.”

Amazed, Moses whispered, “The toroidal flow?”

“Yes. I was fortunate to use it well. As my astral body read the words, my mental self projected them onto my physical body. When that happened, while in my trance, I inscribed the glyphs on my person.” He revealed his palm. 

Moses read the glyphs burned into blisters in his hand. “Does it hurt?”

“It hurts like hell.”

Moses smiled. If Bayissa felt pain, he did not show it. Finally, Moses realized that his friend had taken something from the angelic world. The repercussions were not clear. “Bayissa,” Moses called to him humbly. “I must tell you something.”

“I know there is much to discuss, but the mission is not yet complete.” He motioned with his head. “Open the trap door.”

Moses stood. “Bayissa, you are in danger, and so am I.” Before he opened the door, an explosion shook the Hall of Relics. The blast threw Bayissa back onto the floor. He dropped the spoon. 

The silver flash of light blinded Moses. The angel had found them sooner than Moses had anticipated. Bayissa yelled for him to escape through the trap door. Behind it, a flight of stairs led to an underground tunnel. He reached the bottom just before Bayissa tumbled down. The tunnel was pitch black and Moses had no sense of direction. He speculated where Bayissa lay from his heavy breathing. When the angel appeared, the light of its flesh brightened the tunnel. Moses motioned to retreat up the stairs, but Bayissa grabbed his leg. Then, with the spoon lifted between him and the angel, Bayissa cried a spell using Arabic words. Some of the words were familiar, but most were not. However, the obvious fact was that Bayissa commanded the angel using those words. The angel’s aggression paused.

The light dimmed, and the angelic features faded into Bayissa's clone image. Its gaze continued to sparkle with electric energy. Bayissa agreed to something and pulled himself to a seated position against the stairs.

“It will,” Bayissa said through grimaced teeth.

Moses surmised the angel spoke to Bayissa using telepathy. He knew without asking that Bayissa had agreed to keep the spoon inside the tunnel. The angel, compelled to protect the spell written on the spoon, was obliged to remain in that tunnel.

When the bright creature walked away, the tunnel was dark again. Moses felt around the darkness for his friend. He touched his braided hair, and Bayissa sighed. Moses reached to help him, but Bayissa refused.

“Let me stay for a little while.”

They sat in silence. Moses tried to understand the magnitude of what Bayissa had accomplished. In the tunnel was an angel, bound to stay there so long as the spell was written on the spoon. He questioned the relevance of the code. Was interaction with the angel in the material world now inevitable? Bayissa’s heavy breathing stopped. Moses heard nothing in the darkness besides his doubts and the crumbling trust in the code.

Moses broke the silence. “You’ve changed things. Forever.”

“I made things better.” Bayissa was confident.

“Not for me. You’ll be on a boat ride back to the mainland, and I’ll have to explain to grandmaster Yoshi why we must abandon the code.”

“I’ll tell you a secret.” He grunted as he shifted positions. “Yoshi has already violated the code. Together, we’ll tell him the spoon must stay here. Nothing with ill intent will pass through the tunnel as long as it does. Further down the tunnel are catacombs. The secrets hidden in them will be safe forever.”

Moses sat on the rocky tunnel floor beside his mentor. He looked as far into the darkness as possible. The secrets of the catacombs, he thought. That's something to discuss another day. “You did it.” He sighed. 

Bayissa grabbed Moses's knee. “We did it.”