JED BUTLER

an irresistible pattern

If you must know, I took the plainer door on the left. Too often I have chosen the most beautiful door, and been left disappointed by what I found inside. But this time, it was an accident. I had knocked on the wrong door.

It was raining that night. Did you notice that the left door had a small shelter above? In the darkness I missed the sign above the portal in the middle: Riad Yazid, where I was supposed to stay.

The rain was driving, and I sought relief. I was told that heavy rain was very unusual for that time of year. My clothing was soaked. I knocked at the door and huddled against it, seeking refuge from a weeping sky.

I was leaning against the door, and when it opened, I stumbled into the old man who had opened it. He was sturdier than he looked and he caught me with a strong arm, hidden beneath his white beard and flowing robes. With his other arm he held a glass lantern. The flame was still and safe against the wind and rain.

The man said nothing. The glass lantern illuminated his billowy shadow against the wall. I collected myself and watched him turn around, slowly plodding back towards the unknown depths. He seemed to invite me inside, through his slow steps. He paused and turned, pointing back towards the entrance. I listened and returned to close the plain blue door. It swung closed flawlessly, as if the solid wood enjoyed the sweeping motion, reminded of younger days when grand branches would swing in the wind. The lockset chimed in happy satisfaction as it found its resting place.

I looked back and the bearded old man was gone. I was alone in the smooth, blue-painted passageway. All the edges were rounded: floor disappearing into wall, wall rounding into ceiling. It was as if a tunnel inside an enormous hive. Regardless of the rain, the passage was dry. Light danced on the pale-blue surfaces, past a soft bend in the far end of the passage. I followed it.

Turning the corner, I found myself entering into a very strange room. It was far taller than I expected, and the light danced high up on the gently sloping ceiling. The room’s ceiling was like the inside of an enormous dome to a far larger building, yet the room itself was not altogether large, excepting the high ceiling. Indeed, this was a strange city, formed at the steep mouth of a mountain pass, holding volumes unseen.

The old man sat in the middle of the room, eyes closed, seated on a colorful pillow atop an enormous carpet. He seemed like a piece of delicate furniture. The intricate carpet spanned almost the entirety of the room, which seemed to be a kind of foyer or atrium. There was another passageway in the back, and as I looked I felt the hint of moving air. The old man was silent and smoking from an antique brass shisha, the mouthpiece dangling at the edge of his mouth.

Standing at the entrance of the unusual chamber, I saw in the back another man curled up, asleep on the carpet. Next to him was a small pile of heavy blankets. All I could see was the stranger’s back, and then nothing at all, as an enormous cloud of smoke escaped from the lungs of the old wizened man who had brought me inside. The white smoke rose toward the impossibly tall, conical ceiling, obscuring much of the room. The lantern lay on the woven carpet next to the meditative man, and the light folded itself in and out of the white cloud of smoke, to the slow rhythm of a quiet dance.

I was tired and wet, ready to rest my feet. The smoke had partially dissipated and I saw a stack of blankets, near the sleeping man. I quietly crossed the room and took one, ready for sleep. Holding the heavy cloth in my hand, a person-sized pattern emerged on the room’s large carpet, as if presented itself to me. Perhaps I had simply not noticed it before. It beckoned to me, a place destined for sleep. I laid down my leather satchel and lowered myself into position, laying on my back on top of the nocturnal design. I pulled the blanket over my cold, damp body.

Closing my eyes, I drew a heavy breath through my nose, bringing in the scent of the cleansing rain and perfumed tobacco. I exhaled from my mouth, and I felt myself sinking into the rich carpet’s irresistible pattern. The wool blanket felt even heavier than before, as if it were sealing itself around me, joining me to the carpet and the tall room itself.

I felt the quiet presence of the old man, and the stranger sleeping near me, before I too fell asleep.

an oasis of shadowy, warm water

I fell asleep on top of that strange and alluring pattern, and was joined with my surroundings. I say that I fell asleep, because there is no better way to say it, but it was not really that.

My eyes were closed and my breath had softened. My wet clothes had lost their chill and I felt sure and safe. I sunk even deeper into the quiet embrace of the carpet beneath me, feeling the presence of the wizened man and the sleeping stranger.

The heavy blanket spread across my body, fused to the nocturnal design on the carpet. I felt the blanket crawl over my head and the new envelope of solid wool around me tightened. A pressure began to build, and I began to feel as if I were sinking into a night oasis of shadowy, warm water, descending deeper and deeper. In this trance I could not see, but I felt myself insignificant against a dark, vast expanse.

Altogether I was not uncomfortable. As I said, the water was black, but warm. The pressure built around me as I descended, but I was experiencing a tranquil act of change. I was sinking, but also floating, and the fiery anxieties of my soul had been momentarily doused. My awareness continued to fade, like the way that the glowing crimson dusk turns into a purple starlit night among the dunes.

The pressure was all-encompassing, and I continued to sink, until my motionless body softly landed on the bottom of the vast expanse. Prone and on my back, my body touched the floor of the depth, but the top and insides of my body continued in rich momentum, collapsing within itself. My body compressed and diffused until it was flat: my torso and limbs had all become one uniform sheet, like the plain blanket that covered me.

I could not tell if the pressure had abated, or if I had simple adjusted to its constant weight. My eyes could not open, but my vision gradually returned. I could think again, but my thoughts were cloudy. I had changed.

I curled up my head and looked at my new self. Where my body had been, I now saw the same, smothering blanket that had sealed me to the carpet in its powerful embrace. No longer flaccid, my blanket body seemed to hold rigidity like a rug. The plainness had vanished, replaced with the same irresistible pattern that had beckoned me.

I was of interwoven blue and white strands, colored like the small mountain city where I had sought refuge. A large blue medallion was stitched across my middle. I moved my toes and watched as the corner of the lower row of white tassels twitched. I looked at my hand, and saw my upper corner twist down, also covered in fringe. I felt for my head, and it was gone. My vision seemed to emanate from where it had once been, and I could see the entirety of my new body.

I had transformed. I had heard tales of Chefchaouen’s mysterious carpets, but I never expected to become one. But the unexpected was lost on me. I was not alarmed at the metamorphosis, for I did not entirely grasp what had happened. My state of mind found itself aligned on a new paradigm. It was I, after all, who had mistakenly knocked upon the plainer door on the left.

In the distance, I began to hear a grievous laugh. It reverberated, as if it had traveled through the depths of a writhing ocean to arrive. The laugh grew and filled my mind, as if to jolt me from the bottom of the vast expanse where I laid; the mysterious oasis of my soul. I felt myself pulled upwards, rolling up toward the surface at a great speed. I lost control entirely, and when I came to, I had returned to the very tall room where I had laid. The laughter had come from the sleeping stranger.

He was now visible, and I saw him standing tall next to the short pile of vacant blankets. His rich blue tunic flowed to his ankles and opened at the neck where I saw his naked chest. His beard was youthful and black, and his face bore a smile of rich importance, pleased at my new arrival. A dreadful, curved scimitar hung about his waist, tucked into a white sash.

He waved at me to come. I am not sure if I had choice in the matter. I was unable to speak, but I had gained control of my new woolen piles and moved towards him. I flew. He raised his hand and caressed my fringe. I was scared, still frightened from the tumultuous change, but I felt more at ease as he pet my woolen tassels.

Closely studying the design across my flat front, he addressed me clearly. You are the first in many years. Of the three great stables, the Soaring Rugs of Chefchaouen were once considered the grandest magic carpets in all the world. But now we are rare, few and far between. You are special: the last of a once noble heritage.

The stranger’s strong hands felt electric on my woolen form. I lowered my fringe so that he could more easily run his fingers across the blue and white of my ornate pattern. Lurking inside me unrecognized, I felt a dissonance between the evil laughter that had called me, and those gifted hands. His voice was firm as he spoke to me. He commanded me to lower myself, and I did. He then climbed on top of me, with strong hands, and I instinctively tensed so he could ride in peaceful ease.

I felt his command instinctively, and I rose in the air with him on my back, seated on the pattern of the blue medallion that adorned the center of my now woolen self. You will always fly with me, and for no one else, he said. Not even when you are alone. You must only fly for me. His words felt like old keys twisting the heavy mechanism of an ancient lock within me. All the Soaring Rugs of Chefchaouen have the same blue medallion, he told me, but the rest of the pattern is a reflection of your soul. All who look upon you will see your splendor.

I strained under the burden of his body, but the new experience of flight was magnificent. I was able to explore the entirety of the voluminous room, banking upward in rich, concentric circles. The stranger riding upon my back was relaxed, seated cross-legged. His sword curved behind him, resting where my legs had been before. I was compelled to ensure his comfort and he did not grasp my sides. I felt proud, but distantly I also sensed my own disquiet.

The flame within the lantern was no longer motionless, violently flickering at us as we rose higher inside the tall room. A legion of shadows darted and fought on the pale blue canvas of the gently sloping walls. The wizened old man was fixed on his pillow and did not open his eyes to witness the magic above. His weathered face had lowered and darkened. He stroked his long, white beard, and a puff of smoke emitted again from his lungs, swirling beneath us as we flew.

together, we seek greatness

I did not realize how tall the room was. Its domed height seemed limitless, as I flew upwards with the stranger seated on my back. He was heavy, but did not struggle or tip. He was relaxed, and I held him carefully in place as I flew, so he did not have to grasp my woolen edges. From the changed vantage of my sight, I could see myself and him, resting confident on my blue and white medallion. He was not much older than I, and his bearded face wore the beginnings of a smile.

Below us, the wizened old man held the mouthpiece to the antique shisha in his hand. He drew in the perfumed tobacco smoke slowly and completely, filling his old lungs. The flame within the glass lantern flickered angrily. The old man leaned back on the colorful pillow and tilted his head towards us and exhaled. A massive cloud escaped his lungs as if a great fog had appeared, swirling around us like a cyclone. It completely enveloped us and the pale blue room disappeared beneath us.

We had been lost within the cloud and then it was gone. The white vapor fell off us like a rain dripping off brown leaves after an autumn storm. We had appeared outside, flying in the purple night, high above the sleeping city of Chefchaouen. The clouds that had earlier soaked me were absent, and the stars twinkled brightly while we flew.

I could see that the stranger’s smile had widened and glee overtook his entire body. He laughed the same dark laugh that had jolted me from the depths of my metamorphosis. But this time, the laugh gave me no unease. I was overtaken by the wondrous joy of flying among the blinking stars and the sharp mountain peaks that cradled the dormant town.

The stranger put his palms flat on my woolen pile and spoke softly to me. I have waited all my life for this, and now that we are here, my heart is full. Now you and I are bonded, and together, we seek greatness.

Where to fly was not really my decision, it was his. He knew where to go, and I both followed him and led us there. There was no need for the stranger to speak directions. High into the cool mountain air we flew, and the scattered lanterns of Chefchaouen dimmed behind us. Soon the only illumination was given from the stars among us as we flew deeper into the barren mountain range.

Tonight we fly deep within the mountains, to the Great Caves of Toubkal! He spoke surely, and I knew what waited there. I too, lusted after the same hidden power and enchanted treasures, for I felt the stranger’s will stir inside me.

He continued speaking. Before my time, the source of our magic was a rare talisman. It had been in our family’s keep since the beginning. But, under the cover of night, a thief had stolen the talisman from my sleeping parents. Alas, I have no memory of my mother wearing the cerulean amulet. Our house since faded and the Soaring Rugs of Chefchaouen are no more. Until you knocked upon the plainer door on the left. You are a sacred gift, and together we will find the shrouded jeweler in the caves under the mountains. He will restore our power.

Through the purple night we flew, the stars shining their milky light upon us. The air was brisk but the stranger sat upon my medallion and did not shiver. I felt his excitement as we passed through the high Atlas Mountains. Soon I knew we were approaching Toubkal, the mighty peak in the south. I had heard of its splendor, but nothing could prepare me for it’s midnight majesty. In the starry night, it glowed white with snow, but in the distance I saw both the dark endless blue of the sea, as well as the moonlit sands of the Great Desert.

Through the thin mountain air, we flew along the jagged peak Toubkal. The stone refuge at the base was quiet and lightless. We flew, searching for the hidden entrance to the storied caves. The stranger did not know the way, he only knew the myth. I slowed our flight and in the blackness a goat screamed. The starry night illuminated a frantic herd scattering from a vicious predator. It was large but I could not make out its exact form. The beast rested on the screeching goat, and then the air was quiet.

The stranger knew to watch the predator, for it was not of this world. It dragged the horned mountain goat with its large maw, through the pale rocks of the mountain pass. I felt for the curved scimitar resting upon my patterned back, offering its sharp protection. We watched from above as the beast made its way, and arrived at a tall stone obelisk. The stone stood mighty, like a gargoyle on a castle wall. With ease, the foreign monster threw the lifeless goat at the base of the carved monument. Soon the obelisk grew in brightness as if it were made of the hot molten river that ran underneath the mountains. It turned a brilliant white, as bright as the noonday sun, accepting the blood of the dead goat.

I flew towards it, feeling the stranger’s instinct within me, his will guiding me. The deceased goat had disappeared from sight, as had the formidable monster. With great speed, we flew towards the searing, bright stone pillar. My vision was overcome with brilliant light. There was a great collision, like the crash of an ancient tree upon a once-quiet forest floor. We smashed against the molten rock, and we too faded from the existence of this world.

you can only take it for yourself

No sooner had we crashed into the blinding obelisk, than we appeared in a vast underground cave. Thunder shook around us, and I came to realize that I was laying on the ground, no longer a rug, but again myself: a human wanderer. The stranger raised himself from the ground and looked for me. He too realized that my form had changed and was surprised.

“The blood of that goat must have allowed our passage,” said the stranger. “We must be in yet another world, deep underneath the sharp peak of Toubkal.”

I stood and faced the stranger, and he observed my human form. I no longer felt the bond that had joined me to him as we flew. He spoke firmly to me, “you will still obey my voice. After we have found the shrouded jeweler and we leave this cursed depth, you will again be my woolen steed.”

From where we stood, the huge cave was dimly lit. Stalactites held lichens that glowed a gentle green. The maze of dank pools and shadows of stalagmite columns filtered in and out of focus as the lichen glow ebbed and flowed. The stranger reached down to retrieve his scimitar and dropped it. The steel sword clanged loudly on the rocky floor and beyond us a roar sounded.

As if in response, the lichen in the great cave grew their soft green glow so that it was much stronger, focusing on the approaching creature like a spotlight. Blood dripped from the predator’s maw, still fresh from the slaughter of the goat. Yellowed teeth and claws shown dimly in the lichen spotlight and the creature’s bright green eyes glistened. I stood transfixed in fear. Next to me the stranger lifted his scimitar in the confident stance of a trained fighter.

The beast lunged towards us, and I fled. I could not well see and I stumbled through the dark cave, while behind me I heard the stranger shout and the sharp clash of talon and steel. Through shallow pools I sloshed and past enormous stalagmites I struggled to escape the doom of battle. The predator roared and the sounds of steel and rock rang loudly through the voluminous cave, echoing against the distant walls.

I tripped again, and I found at my feet the goat whose blood had brought us into that underground depth. I looked in horror at the remains of the horned creature. Behind me there was a shriek, unlike anything I had heard before. The predator had sounded his defeat, and I heard the monster clatter upon the hard stone floor. The stranger made his victory known. “Victorious I have always been, victorious ever shall I be!”

The large cave held a quiet rush of wind and dripping water.  My eyes had adjusted in the dim green light and I could more clearly see. As quietly as my position allowed, I knelt down and hid behind a tall stalagmite.

The stranger called again, but this time it was for me. “You are mine. Show yourself!” But his will was no longer within me, and I did not leave my hiding place. It was as if the monster had not died. “Together, we seek greatness! We will find the shrouded jeweler and restore my houses’s power.”

His voice felt of evil. I remembered his callous laugh and the somber face of the old, wizened man from the room with the high ceiling. In that moment I felt a terrible fear. Dread consumed me while I considered the return to a life of servitude, like some great steed. I could never again carry the burden of the stranger with the sword across the starry skies of a purple night.

I worried that the blood pounding through my chest would give away my spot. I searched around my hiding place for some advantage that might allow me to escape. “Do not fear,” called the stranger. “You and I are meant to fulfill a greater calling. Rise! I know there is honor within you still.”

I ignored his petition for my return and looked back towards the slain goat where I had tripped. It’s horned head lay mostly severed from its mangled body. The horns were long and sharp. I had no other option for defense and so I took up the head and tore it from the corpse. I would escape this mountain dungeon.

The stranger found me. He held his scimitar low, the long curved blade extended in front of him. “You should not hide from me. You must do all things that I ask of you. That is the requirement of every Soaring Rug of Chefchaouen.”

I held the goat head in front of me with both hands, as both a shield and a weapon. The sharp, curved horns extended in grim defense.

He saw my makeshift weapon and laughed. His evil mirth again filled my head with sharpness, but I stood firmly in my place. The dim green light of the cave pulsed around us, expectant of our duel.

I called to him. “I do not wish to fight you! My only wish is to regain control of my human self.”

His laugh ended but his smile remained while he replied. “The control of self is the greatest wish of all. That, I will never grant you. You can only take it for yourself!”

Anger flowed through my veins. The green light around us pulsed, as if following the speeding beat of my heart: a war drum inside my chest. The stranger’s navy tunic looked black in front of me, and I steadied the severed goat head fiercely within my hands. His curved sword swung slowly through the air like a pendulum, feeling the distance between us.

His words lingered hotly. You can only take it for yourself! I lunged forward with every ounce of speed that I possessed and stabbed the twin horns at the arm that held the scimitar, wishing to disarm him.

He stepped deftly to the side and laughed. “You fool!” I regained my balance as he mocked me. “You think that you can defeat me? Did you not see that predator, now lying dead upon this stone floor?”

“No,” I replied. “I did not see the monster fall. But you; you I will send back to the place of evil from whence you came!” The dim green light pulsed brightly and I felt it’s sustaining strength. The cave wanted me to fight. Again, I prepared myself to lunge.

return me to the world where I belong

The stranger’s sword dropped lower than before and I spied a moment of chance. The green light from the cave’s lichen chorus pulsed. My fear had left me and it had been replaced with some foreign elixir: the strength of a hundred angry bees. I leapt forward with the goat horns and thrust towards his chest.

He raised his sword in time and the ring of steel shot through the enormous cave. He blocked my blow in a fierce struggle. We faced each other in grim determination: the master against the servant. His hard face glistened in the sweat of destroying the predator from before. He held back the horns that inched closer to his throat. I pushed with all my might, and with a yell, I forced the stranger back.

He stumbled and I clattered on top of him. I firmly lead with the bloody goat head, gripping tightly with my hands. The left horn impaled his shoulder, wounding him. He did not scream, he merely inhaled the sharp breath of a struggling life.

He muttered his reprise: “You traitor! You were bound to serve me.” I stepped back, watching him suffer upon the cave floor. Blood coated his blue tunic and turned it into the darker shade that it should have been.

“You have no understanding of what you’ve done! A great house falls and a noble lineage dies with me. This was not your decision to make!”

I took my captor’s withering words and spat on his wounded frame. He had taken me against my will. I would not dignify him with my breath and so I let him suffer in silence. I did not see that under his blood-soaked tunic he held a knife. I should have taken the cave’s pulsing green light for the warning that it was, but I was distracted by my violence.

The bony blade flashed in the pale green light and the knife flew from the stranger’s hand. Through the air the knife came at me, and barely I dodged the ivory blade. The stranger reached for his curved sword and I again lunged towards him. I hefted the gory goat head and again I thrust the horns into the stranger’s chest.

This second time, the twin horns descended deeper into the evil stranger’s flesh. He called out a final screech, trying one last time to assert his dominance upon me. But I knew that for all his noble power and commanding gaze, he was not more important than myself. His head slumped onto the cold cave floor and the life drifted from his form.

I left the head of the goat where it lay, puncturing the stranger’s chest, and took up the ruby-hilted scimitar. Now it was mine. The green light of the cave seemed to brighten as I lifted the curved sword above my head. The red rubies captured the massive cave’s glow and the refracted brilliance bounced across the distant walls in colorful shimmers. Victory was mine.

No sooner had I celebrated my moment of victory, did an odd figure approach. Veiled such that I could not see it’s face, the being shuffled closer. A neutral voice called out and spoke: “You! You are no rug! You are only a wanderer, mixed up in a great saga that is not your own.”

I lowered the bejeweled scimitar and the brilliant light dimmed. I stood my ground, unsure of the approaching figure. “Yes,” the figure spoke. “I am the shrouded jeweler of which you sought. This is no place for treasure hunters; humankind is not meant for such great wealth. Your companion should have seen the greed festering within himself.”

I called back to the figure. “Who are you? Make your intentions clear, shrouded stranger. Return me to the world where I belong!”

The figure had arrived in front of me and I held the rubied scimitar strong before me. The shuffling visage spoke again.

“Few arrive at a depth so great as this, lost traveler, for the reward is a mystery. But at the end of an unknown road, after much effort, the reward is great for those who remain pure of heart after facing evil.”

Even as I felt the jeweler’s words, the visage disappeared before me and the green light dimmed until it evaporated into a thick darkness. I felt a weight hanging off my waistband. Despite the dark, I looked to my belt, but of course I could not see. With my hands I felt for the weight and found a small leather pouch, hanging from a string. I opened it and found a glass vial contained within. It was round and smooth, with a cork stopper at the top.

The light was still absent, and I held the vial within my hands. Feeling my options limited, I pulled the cork from the vial and immediately a light shone from within the small glass orb, as if a fire had been lit. The potion gave off the same green light that the lichen had emitted from before. Putting the vial to my lips, I drank the unknown liquid.

As the mixture entered my body, the potion brought with it seemingly all the greed of all the world. I shuddered and coughed, feeling a new and enormous need for wealth. I was now prepared to betray and kill for jewels and kingdoms. The greed coursed within me. There was a flash of light, and in that instance the cave disappeared from sight.

I awoke in a pile of pillows, inside a small room adjacent a sunny courtyard. I felt like myself again: no rug, no greed, no unknown strangers. The sun shone down through wooden slats and I heard the whistle of a boiling teapot. I lifted myself from my pillowed bed and felt again a weight at my waist. I reached down and the same leather pouch from before was hanging from my belt.

Instead of a potion, I found the pouch held an ornate blue talisman with a white diamond at the center. It shined in the bright morning light. Lost within the endless facets of the magnificent jewel, I remembered the greed that had run rampant through my veins. I understood for a moment the stranger and his need for greater wealth and I felt a moment’s sorrow for my killing blow. His noble house had vanished in terrifying lust for a return to greatness.

Gathering my things, I left the pillowed room where I had slept. I did not recognize the place. Holding the magnificent talisman tightly in my hand, I walked into the cascading light of the day before me and felt the sun upon my face.

I began to fear dropping the jeweled talisman, and gripped it tighter as I stood in the morning sun. Tighter and tighter I held the priceless jewel.

by Jed Butler