J. L. Cowan 

Throat of the Eye

An Alchemist’s Musings

 

 

“I visit with madness, or so it seems, when combining a motley collection of substances. Using organic organisms or my own inorganic compounds and specialized techniques, I concoct my potions. Some cause death or states of deep sleep that out last the body, still I investigate their properties; my potential favorably influenced by lunacy.” 

 

“I have many Strays that I feed well in exchange for their service at some future date. The body reacts in a multitude of ways when introduced to foreign elements. If the Stray survives to see another day, they have served their purpose and are rewarded the offer of shelter in my castle. I then experiment with the substance myself.” 

 

“Protected by minions, under the careful watch of my assistant, I have discovered several useful potions each having its own influence over parts of ourselves that we have no knowledge or understanding. This exploration has contributed to innumerable thoughts otherwise unknown, ideas incapable of being perceived without the aid of the toxin.” 

 

“Having no known illness, I have no need of curing medications. I seek to use toxins as a way to gain certain advantages in life.

My experience has resulted in unsurpassed manifestations for the taking; an entrepreneurs dream. Creating new, more superior toxins is vital to my purpose and spies are a constant threat to my progress.”

 

“I must guard the potions from my assistant or any un-loyal dimwit who chooses to leak information in exchange for a dose of some favored toxin. Those who betray me will soon realize much to their dismay; they work under my complete control and will perform as necessary. Incredibly, recent traitors have taken to self-mutilation. With the use of toxins, they remain alive in less than able bodies. It is quite amusing to watch as they toy with themselves; diligently trying to eliminate every part of their inhospitable body without much left to use.” 

 

“Feared and sought after by groups of savage, simpleminded souls. Seen as a witch or warlock, a wizard and a god, I live my life in sweet solitude having riches unknown to most any man and knowledge worth a painful killing. As many seek my information, as seek my head in a basket. They keep quite busy after one another, while I slip away into a world invisible to them.”  

 

“I approach a small valley with a township of sorts; the uncivilized group is ripe for the taking.   I enter the village turning many a curious eye with my assistant at my side. Straight away, they take me to the largest hut where I learn the value of this colony; fuel, coal to be exact, and beautiful silver. Sharing food with the leader affords me the opportunity to slip a toxin of powerful states of suggestibility into the drink. I then suggest to these unassuming people, their inability to battle a coming plague and offer medicine to stave off the cruel condition. Paranoia heightens but the herb I give to all the towns’ inhabitants makes them feel euphoric.” 

 

“Again, I have become a vital element. They seek cures for every ailment. I give ordinary treatments they know nothing of and gain their trust. To the leadership, I give substances that require maintenance. Now dependent on me, I have control of their riches, and they are begging for medicine to ease their pain.”

 

“An easy living and I fear no repercussions. Of course in civilized towns, there are always complicated healers. In these, I have to perform feats of magic to get compliance. Usually by dosing the public, suggesting my superiority then sending them on a trip to oblivion, where many will not return, sane anyway, I gain control.”  

 

“Occasionally I find a soul with special inclinations; able to journey within and return with riches that I take on as an apprentice.

It never fails that those whom I find with a mind such as my own, get satisfaction experimenting within the realm of our unconscious. They too hunger for information from abroad. The power it has when brought back to our present conscious state in the objective form, enthralls them.” 

 

“I use the fledglings to scout and gather. They come across interests that I then obscure from them and investigate on my own.

Only under my close advisement will they perform as I, and never without several of my minions about to keep them in check. Society fears what we are and makes us into that which they hate and seek to eliminate. Even the best intentions turn to survival and the simplicity of taking advantage makes lowering morals easily justified.” 

 

“The time has come; I have gathered organics and other interesting specimens for study and application from all over the lands and in the ocean waters. I hold the power of many souls within my chalice. Immense information gleaned over the years from tribes afar, even a few spirits have chosen to walk within my circle. I have become increasingly eccentric and more, less real.”  

 

“The world moves on. I am an enigma, safe within my armor of magic spells. Deep in the north-lands forest where the mountains are dark and craggy, my loyal ones await my arrival. The massive castle rises out of the rocky ground. Ancient, it has been in the circle for as long as forever is; a place to return after many years of travel. From here, I will not disappear.” 

 

“The hidden castle is full of secrets and minions with dangerous minds. Having no will of their own they live under my rule. If some misguided idea to do harm to me or my loyal ones arrives, we go into the inner sanctum. The minions fight our war. With their gift of fearless, inhuman behavior, they will have served their purpose well.”  

 

“The forest encroaches upon the lonesome castle keeping it company, for it can never destroy the powerful place. In the far reaches of the court, the darkest area around the castle, grown over with briars, impassible by all rights, there is a thick, heavy door, barred and locked with layers of chain. Behind this door is a passage underneath the castle. Water drips from above and weeps from the musty walls of the caverns that riddle the mountainside. The door in the briars is but one of many outlets. Some lead out the side of a cliff or underwater; most pass into one another forming a labyrinth where solitude can be an exceptional rendition of the state, a place indescribably desolate.”  

 

“Somewhere in the depths is a chamber I have yet to find, in which there exists a bottomless pit; the throat of Osiris or throat of the eye. The legend says the castle is on top of the labyrinth surrounding it, effectively concealing it from all life on earth. I plan to make use of this throat to eliminate the armies coming, that seek my head on a spike.”

 

“The cold walls of the hollow place empower me. I go to my private chamber below, which contains stored goods of the magical nature. No one enters into this wing of catacombs, if they do I will put them to death. From there, I set my plan in motion. I mix a toxin that when burned, the smoke will put the enemy to sleep.” 

 

“I have sent all available minions to hunt for the throat of Osiris. The mettlesome mobs are closing in just as I desire. My visions show me armies on the final draw before the castle. They enter the smoke blown into the courtyard from many smudge pots around the walls. Sleep follows, and for some, it is deep and full of terror.” 

 

“The throat of the eye is found, its waiting, wanting. The angry mob disappears without a trace; one by one flung into the pit. No sound, nothing hits bottom. No man awakens from smudge slumber to scream. It is quick, clean and effective. The scouts will believe the men went into smoky ruins and never returned. I will remain here until the end of time. Only so many assassins will they send before fearing my wrath evermore. I will become a legend reaching into the minds of children far from thought.” 

 

“Having completed my task, I sought the women whom I have administered toxins, each for a different flavor of fun. After sometime they become unsatisfactory or otherwise compromised by the toxin. I banish them to the servitude of a few good slaves, except for the wanton. Chained, so it cannot infect the others with mayhem, I visit, but too little for its needs. For amusement, I reward students who believe they are a Casanova, by giving them entry into the wanton’s chamber. If they stay too long the wanton eats them alive.” 

 

“It has become as I have seen in the past. My life becomes boring, and my amusements become questionable. I have grown uncomfortable within the confines of the massive castle with its buzzing, vibrating resonance. This sound grows. The gobbets sing and the crystal screams. The throat of the eye has begun to speak. It was fed and perhaps now hungers for more.” 

 

“I tell the crazies to kill that which they abhor, to make offerings to the pit. They gladly accept this fate laughing wildly as they drop into the vast darkness. However, the droning, incessant sound is not appeased. The vibrating grows louder, unbearable. Deep beneath the surface in that dark chamber, something lives.” 

 

“I have stood on the rim of the throat of Osiris, the throat of the eye. I felt it charm me; merciless icy fingers touch the sacred places of my being and the fibers of my soul. I was to find my way to sanity by leaving the place of my heritage to seek ancestry

to wizen myself to the nature of the eye."

 

“A great rumbling of the lands commenced when I was thirty days beyond the forest. From the depths of nowhere, it set upon the surface moving freely to satisfy its hunger. I have been friends with death for a very long time. We have formed an agreement of sorts. It tells me the Heritage will find me heavily affected by several of my favorite substances, looking amidst the far reaches of consciousness, filtering the unconscious at will.” 

 

“Death comes speaking a language I know not, but the information came unto me nonetheless. Murmurs told of a void walking the land that sucks life from the world. It found its way to this reality, smelling the blood of man. It will not return to the castle for fear of becoming its slave once again.”  

 

“Realization brings about self-loathing. The void was kept by a spell of sorts, and I was sure to pay for my own pitiless action. Heading back, I was alone. The hum and roar of the thing was about. I was surprised to find the castle to have risen and those who remained ran about the place, wild in nature.”  

 

“Upon entering, the savages attack. They chew on my flesh and tear me apart alive. I bleed into the stone, a governor of the source, the source of life for the castle. It breathes its discontent as I infiltrate its essence and become one with it for evermore; penance such bliss.”  

 

“In the dark woods, the cannibalistic ones run wild. No one will ever find the ruins. The in-humans keep the forest clean of inhabitants and they torment me with their deeds. For I have become the vibrating life deep within. Starving in the void, I await the Heritage, I await my release. I alone, mad, insane, deranged...”   

 

 

 

J. L. Cowan endeavors to convey endless mind chatter from a multitude of expressions. It is her ultimate intent to seed those expressions onto the canvas of your imagination.  Living in the Pacific Northwest J.L. enjoys trees. Climbing trees, talking to trees, in general, hanging out with trees. She has always loved writing; a necessary therapy.