In the encampment of the astrologers, I found Magus Amet in much the same posture as I had left him the day before. He opened his eyes at my arrival, welcomed me, and bade me to sit, patting the cushion beside him. Then, turning to a copper pot which was steaming over a small fire, he lifted the vessel and poured a thin brown liquid into two tiny glass cups sitting on a brass tray. Holding the tray, he offered me a cup, saying, "Refresh yourself, my friend."
Accepting the cup, I lifted it to my lips. It was very hot, so I hesitated. "Drink! Drink! It will not harm you," Amet said. Taking up his cup, he sipped the hot liquid noisily into his mouth. "Ah! Most refreshing, you will find."
The stuff smelled vaguely herbal, so I sipped at it and found the taste not unpleasant-a little like rose petals combined with tree bark, and something slightly fruity. "It is very nice, Amet," I said. Even as I swallowed down the elixir, my heart began beating faster for word of what he had to tell me.
"You are wondering," he said, "if I have discovered anything of interest to you."
"That I am," I granted, "though I must confess that all my teaching prior to this moment has warned me against trifling with the forces of darkness."
"Forces of darkness?" Amet raised his eyebrows high. "Hoo! Listen to you! If that is what you believe, then be gone from me. Shoo! Go away."
"Truly," I told him, shaking my head, "I no longer know what I believe."
"Then allow me to assure you, my sceptical friend, that I have not spent my life in the pursuit of trifles. The same God-the very same-who set the stars in motion guides my sight along Future's course. This is my belief."
We sipped our drink in silence for a time, and then Amet put aside his cup and slapped his knees with the palms of his hands. "I have discovered many things about you, my friend," he said. "Whether they are of interest to you is another matter, and one which you alone must decide. Shall I tell you?"
"Yes, tell me. I am not afraid."
The old man's eyes narrowed as he looked at me. "Fear comes into your mind very quickly. When I said you were a seer, you protested to me that you were not. Yet I know that you are, and I think you have seen something of what the future holds for you, or fear would have no place in your thoughts."
"It may be as you say," I allowed vaguely, trying not to give away any more to him than that. If his abilities were genuine, and I truly hoped they were, I wanted to learn from an untainted source.
"Since that is the way of it," Amet continued, "what can I tell you that you do not already know?"
This seemed to me a ruse-a trick to coax the ignorant or gullible into revealing more about themselves, details which the seer could then claim as proof of his veracity and craft. "Pretend I know nothing of which you speak, for indeed-with all respect, Amet-you have told me nothing."
The old man's wrinkles rearranged themselves into an expression of deepest pity. "Very well," he said, choosing a scroll from among those in his basket. He unrolled the parchment and studied it for a moment, then began to read aloud. "All praise to Allah, Wise and Magnificent, Ruler of Realms, Progenitor of Peoples and Nations! Blessings to all who honour His name." So saying, he bowed his head three times, then raised his eyes to me and said, "You, my friend, are destined for greatness." Holding up a finger, he warned, "But this will not be won without great sacrifice. This is God's decree: virtue is purchased in the marketplace of torment; he who would be great among men must first be brought low. Amen, so be it."
The old seer's pronouncement was unexpected and disappointing; it was, in fact, considerably less than I had hoped. My heart sank low to hear what I considered an extremely meek and ordinary announcement-nothing more than a dubious and ambiguous declaration united to a tired aphorism. Was this the wisdom dispensed by the Ruler of the Universe?
"I thank you, Amet," I said, trying to conceal my disappointment. I replaced my cup on the brass tray and prepared to take my leave. "I will heed your words."
"You are disappointed," the magus said. "I can see it in your eyes. You think me a fool."
"No," I said quickly. "I think-that is, I hoped you would tell me something I did not know."
"And I have already said that I can tell you nothing you do not already know, yes?" He frowned fiercely. "Speak plainly, priest. Why did you come to me?"
"I thought you might tell me about my death."
He peered at my face as if at one of his scrolls. "At last we come to it," he said.
"Have you seen this?"
"It is tempting fate to speak of death. Since you insist, however, speak of it we will."
Closing his eyes, he placed the palms of his hands over his face and began to rock gently back and forth. This continued for a little time, and then he whispered, "Amen".
