December, 2007. The distant Alps are covered in snow. Small flakes swirl in the wind, dancing around red clay statues of muscular giants and voluptuous goddesses, reminiscent of Egypt. Most prominent is the falcon-headed god, Horus, facing the Fire Altar where the looming statues converge.
I start to walk into the grove of the Earth Altar, but my guide Shama tells me I should go no further.
“It is dangerous for anyone who is not spiritually prepared,” she warns me. “Very dangerous.”
I would be willing to chance it, but I suppose rules are rules.
In the distance is Monti Pelati, the sacred mountain of the Damanhurians. It is said that more Synchronic Lines converge there than any place in the world. These lines are like the Earth’s magnetic field — only magic. They were discovered psychically by the founder and leader of the Damanhurians, Falco.
This is a place of power, of mystery. The perfect place for a secret Temple. A nice spot to start a cult.
So how did I end up here?
I have a sweet tooth for communal cults. As the Zendiks say, cult is just short for culture. A brief visit to a welcoming sect is like Disneyland and a voodoo possession ritual wrapped into the same vacation package. It’s invigorating, it’s mind-warping, and if you get lucky, it’s terrifying…
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