Their eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light which became apparent as they went
deeper into the tunnels.  Somewhere up ahead, there was a ruddy glow and a sweet smell
of apples, cinnamon, and smoke.
	They followed pawprints now.  The cat had long since disappeared up ahead of
them.  Every now and again they would hear a mewo, or another alien, rustling sound, as
if the wind had somehow followed them and scurried along through the tunnels.  As they
walked, they noticed that the walls of th tunnel were lined with long scratches and tears in
the earth which exposed raw edges of roots and opened tiny subways for earthworms.
	None of them spoke, for fear of awakening some ancient duende--an earth spirit
which might swallow them all, claiming them forever as part of the roots and darkness. 
The only sounds were the distant mewing of Amber and a soft whistle of wind.
	Apples and cinnamon became overpowering as they rounded a bend in the torn
earthen wall.  All signes of the cat had disappeared now.  Instead, there was the distant but
distinct thunderclap of a hollow bark.
	As they moved closer, they could see a large hole slightly above them from which
smoke and light poured.  A long, reddish brown form extended from it, oblong and
glistening.  The barking grew louder and more frenzied;  the oblong opened and closed
with a sparkle of white on pink.
	Roman was the first to peer up into the hole;  in the huge brown eyes of an
over-excited Irish Setter.
	�I see you did exactly as expected, Mr. Baines.�
	A female voice came out of the darkness beside him.  As if by some strange magic,
a torch ignited, and her form was bathed in an eerie light.
	The woman who stood before them was not quite human, although some part of
her surely was.  Her hair hung in long streamers of brown, tinged with gray and gold.  Her
figure, cloaked in folds of pink silk, was a pleasing shape.  Her features were, for the most
part, human in shape and position. But her beauty--and deformity--were of no humanity
with which Roman and his two young friends were familiar.  For her skin was not the
poets� creamy silk, nor were her eyes moon-bathed orbs.  She was everywhere
snakescale--a gold which shimmered in the torchlight and hissed as she moved.  And her
eyes were circles of gold, halved by black, vertical slits.
	�I am Asta,� she said;  �I will take you to the Arcanum.�
	Roman stood frozen.  The wind whistling through the tunnels shook his bones.
	Asta took his hand.  He gave it freely, although it was cold with fear.  She began
to pull him towards the lighted hole above them, where the Irish Setter still barked.
	�I�ll stay here,� Jay said, stepping backward in the shadows. �We may need to go
for help...�
	Roman nodded.  Certainly they did not know these people well enough to trust
them completely.
	Asta pulled Roman up into the light, and Marty followed.  The incline wasn�t as
steep as it looked once they had climbed it.  Still, Roman heaved for breath. Beside him,
the dog echoed his breathing as it panted and ran to Asta�s side.
	They found themselves in a cavern cathedral, lit by firelight and some surreal aura
whose source they could not see.  It was silent, like death. There was no wind here.  The
only interruptions were the fevered breathing of Roman and the dog, and the hollow
echod of a child�s laugh. The source of that laugh ran from a hut, gold hair flying, blue
eyes bulbous and sparkling.  She ran towards Asta, arms extended and open in greeting.  
	Asta scooped her in serpentine arms, smoothing the child�s golden hair against her
pale, soft cheek.  She whispered something to the little girl, unheard by her followers.
	They headed now to a large hut--larger than the other twenty or so--made of
wattle and daub, like the others.  It was completely dark.  No shadows moved against
flames in this interior, as they did in the interiors of the other huts.  Asta set the child
down at the door, and the dog tooh his position beside her.  Then she motioned for Marty
and Roman to follow her.
	The interior of the hut was completely dark.  Roman could not put down the
impression of being swallowed; he was Jonah in the belly of a wattle-and-daub whale. 
There was a silken rustle, as of movement in the shadows.  And the sweet scent of apples
and cinnamon mingled with a holy, musty smell.  In the darkness, a pair of green disks
sparkled, and Amber mewed.
	�I have brought them,� Asta said, stepping into the darkness.
	Roman shivered.
	A light as bright as the chill which ran down his spine suddenly radiated in the
hut�s interior.  Twenty-one forms stepped forward, lighting the room.  They were the
source of the light--their forms surrounded by golden auras.  And each was different, and
horribly beautiful, not unlike Asta, who was among them.
	And in their center was a familiar face.  His dark hair glistened, lighted by the halo
about his head.  And dark skin stretched across strong bones and muscles, and brightened
deep-set black eyes turned up and squinting in an Oriental smile.  This familiar face
stepped forward, fingering the arrows which riddled his body like porcupine quills, as they
bled on the white silk of his shirt.
	�Hikaru--� Roman gasped, as if asphyxiated byt the very sight of him.
	�It is I, old friend. I would give you a hearty hug, which I�m sure we both have
missed, but I fear you could not survive my beautiful wounds.�
	Marty stepped closer to Roman, prepared should he fall.
	But he did not fall.  He was pulled up and rooted to the spot by his fear and
happiness at the face of his old friend.
	�We are the Arcana of the Carnavale,�  Hikaru said, �and I am their leader;  their
Hierophant.�
	�But you are--were--are dead?� Roman whispered finally.
	�I was and am and am not, friend. The Dark was getting too close.  I was going to
die--more horribly, perhaps--and drag my associates and friends with me.  It is a strong
mysticism we practice, my friend, this Muse-worship and poetry.  We conjure Light which
we cannot know, and upset the Darkness.  We upset it;  anger it.  And it comes for us. I
called you before it could come for you, too.  I knew you could not escape through
seppuku as I did, you have no taste for blood, and never have.  You are truly innocent in
that, Roman.  And after my death, my people came for me--the Carnavale--these people
you are now among.  An we all fought the Dark.�
	�Dark?�  Roman asked.
	� �O Dark Dark Dark.  They all go into the Dark, which shall be the Darkness of
God.� Yes, Roman, Eliot knew it, too.  The �Darkness of God�, for all things have a
darker side, even God.  It is the black blankness of greed and importance;  of hipocrisy
and ego;  of industry and censorship.  The Earth is covered by it--like the veil of Hecate as
night falls.  And every true soul and poet has seen it, and has run from it.�
	The Four Quartets rang in Roman�s mind.
	�You have a purpose, Roman.�
	A cry erupted from outside the hut, and twenty-three heads turned within.  Asta
broke the silence in a rustle of snakeskin as she ran to the door to see to the saftey of her
child.
	Within the hut, the Twenty-One rustled and clattered as they headed for the door,
followed by Roman and Marty.  Amber stared at an empty hut, washing her paws.