Casca could agree with much of that thinking. And that really had been what most of Hassan's conversations with him had been about. He had not tried to pry into Casca's past, and Casca had volunteered no information. Hassan was grooming Casca. He could sense that in this man's strong knotted body there was a potential, which if brought out and developed would be of great value. Perhaps the ferengi would one day enter the ranks of the Dais and be given the real truth of their mission on earth. Hassan needed men of special gifts and loyalties to carry on his work. One of the Dais would succeed him after his death. It was vital that he have only the best material from which to pick his successor.
Casca was sent for at the hour when the night was at its darkest and the stars the most distant in the heavens. With the other Novices he was taken in silence to the place of waiting and meditation.
They lined up in two silent ranks of ten men each and kneeled. Expectancy hung on the air as did the scent of rich oils from the brass lamps which lined the walls cut from living stone. The other Novices were eager. And awed. But Casca had been around a bit longer.
Their group leader, one of the Dais, came into the room and began the rites of acceptance into the Brotherhood of the Hashassin. Signaling them to rise he led them in a single line across the room where there was a raised block, almost an altar, of rough stone.
Brass basins of water. At the group leader's command they stripped to loincloths and submitted to a symbolic rite of purification, the group leader sprinkling each on the forehead with one of those odd little string-looking things priests in every religion Casca had known had used, and for which he could not remember the name.
Not that it mattered.
Then something got his attention.
The line ahead of him was disappearing.
As each Novice got his forehead sprinkled, he was led behind the altar… and disappeared.
Wonder how they do that?
When his own turn came he found out. Behind the altar was an absolutely black shadow, and when he stepped into it, there was nothing underfoot. He fell in the darkness, landing on some kind of soft surface that gave. Stretched leather, he thought, but there would have to be a lot of skins sewed together. As soon as he landed, hands found him in the darkness, and he was pulled over the edge to the group.
All this in silence, except for the feeling that somewhere far away there were drums beating very faintly, drums in the heart of the solid rock.
When the last of his group had landed, they were led into a narrow, twisting passageway in the rock (Casca could feel the rough stone on either side), and after the passageway they made two sharp right angle turns in opposite directions, into what looked like a huge cavern room, lit by great smoking, flaring torches. Directly in front of them, dominating their attention, was a great round stone, a wheel twice as tall as a man and nearly two cubits thick, that rolled in a track of the same stone as itself and was now rolled back uncovering a huge tomb in the rock.
Casca had seen many of these before, but never inside the heart of a mountain. As a matter of fact, hadn't the body of the Jew been put into a similar tomb? Only, that had been in a garden.
Garden.
For the first time he noticed the faint smell in the air… like flowers? He couldn't tell. Besides it was dominated by the heavy smoke scent of the torches. Yet there was definitely an odd fragrance in the air…
"… know ye that for him who follows the Way of the Hashishi death is but the opening portal into Paradise, a foretaste of what will be yours on the other side of the tomb. And that ye may know the saying is true, put on now the robes of resurrection before you enter this tomb; drink now the elixir that promises Paradise before you enter the darkness. Come now, Hashishi!"
Casca watched. Each Novice in turn was given a white robe which he put on. Then he was given some drink from a golden chalice, after which he walked through the opening into the darkness of the tomb beyond and stood, a gray-white figure in the shadows. When it came his time, he went through the same procedure. He had a rather futile hope the "elixir" might be wine, otherwise forbidden to the Faithful. No such luck. Water and honey, with some kind of flavoring substance he could not identify.
When they were all inside the tomb, the leader gave a signal and the figures on the torchlit side began rolling the huge door shut. When it closed the darkness in the tomb was absolute. That didn't sit too well with Casca. Too many memories…
Silence.
Except for the sound of their breathing.
Then the faraway drums began again, only this time they seemed to move closer. And that heavy, sweet odor…
Suddenly there was light!
Not the light of lamps or torches, but the bright golden light of the sun coming from nowhere to reflect off the smooth polished roof of the tomb. The Novices gasped, except for Casca. It was the light of the sun all right, appearing here in the heart of the mountain, but Casca was pretty sure he knew how this was done. A renegade Egyptian priest had once told him how the Egyptians painted scenes inside their "Pyramids." Mirrors of polished brass (sometimes gold or silver) reflected the sunlight down chimneys cut in the stone. Turn the mirror, and the light disappeared. Casca had to admit, though, that it was effective. Even he began to get caught up in the sense of awe as the leader led them into the room beyond.
The doorway he stepped through was small, square-cut, and simple. The room beyond, though, was not. Casca's first thought was, They must have hired themselves a whore to decorate this hall. The thought came into his mind like the words of a song — and indeed there was music, heavy with drums, coming through a latticed wall to the right — but it fitted the room pretty accurately. The room was filled with rich, heavy wall hangings; thick carpets; cushioned divans for every Novice, big enough to screw on, but obviously intended for smoking since there was a hookah (water pipe) at each divan.
The divans were in a rough semicircle facing one wall, which had a curtained opening of some kind about halfway up and in the center. On the wall itself hung a scarlet carpet upon which was embroidered in gold thread parts of verses from the Koran:
"Verily, the pious shall be in… pleasure, enjoying what their Lord has given them… reclining on couches in rows; and we will wed them to large-eyed maids."
The other Novices did not share Casca's mood of mockery. They gawked at their surroundings as they were led to their couches and handed the mouthpieces of their hookahs.
Then it was Casca's turn.
Suddenly he remembered the taste of the contents in the cup he had been given… Zinjadil?… the Arabic word for Ginger… No, but something like that… given to the Faithful when they entered Paradise.
Only what he had tasted had not been straight ginger. I've been drugged… Lightness was seeping into his head, that and a strange relaxed feeling of peace and goodwill. Even before the mouthpiece was between his lips the mockery was gone from his mind. And gone also was any critical sense. Like the other Novices, Casca leaned back on his divan and drew deep into his lungs the sweet, heavy smoke of the dried flowers of the hemp plant.
There was a salty taste in his mouth, but the sweet smoke blended with it. Everything felt good. The cushions of the divan caressed his body like the cloth of Chin; the smell of the air was as warm as the kiss of a maiden.
And the music…
Yes, the music beat in the room like a throbbing heart, the drums seemingly in perfect step with his own heartbeat, the wailing of the flutes like the soft whish of blood through his own brain, for he could feel his own blood coursing like a frolicking brook through his body. Then…
Time slowed.
Ceased to exist.
Forever became now, and now became forever. Someone came and filled the bowl of the hookah. Came maybe more than once. Who knew? Who cared? Casca closed his eyes, still drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. Dancing, kaleidoscopic arabesques appeared before his closed eyes. Then a purple fernlike structure, a plant glowing against a velvet dark background, grew from his mind and towered out into all space. It was still there when he opened his eyes. He was suspended from one glowing branch. He was no longer Casca — or Kasim.