A Night in the Lonesome October Part 15

The winds were stronger at this height, and as I paced the circle a small rain began to descend. Graymalk crouched on the dry side of a block of stone, watching me as I took my sightings.

Out of the southwest, I took my line from the distant graveyard, extending it to all of the other points of residence in view or in mind. Then, from the place where lay the Count's remains, I did it again. In my mind, I beheld the new design. This pulled the center away from the manse, downward, southward, pa.s.sing us, coming to rest ahead, slightly to the left. I stood stock-still, the rain forgotten, as I worked it out, repeating the process line by line, seeing that center shift, positing where it had to fall. . . .

Again, the same area. But there was nothing there, no outstanding feature. Just a hillside, a few trees and rocks upon it. No structures at all nearby.

"Something's wrong," I muttered.

"What is it?" Graymalk said.

"I don't know. It's just not right. In the past, they've always at least been interesting, acceptable candidates. But this is -- nothing. Just a dull stretch of field to the south and a little to the west."

"All of the other candidates have also been wrong," she said, coming over, "no matter how interesting." She mounted a nearby stone. "Where is it?"

"Over there," I said, pointing with my head. "To the right of those five or six trees cl.u.s.tered on that hillside."

She stared.

"You're right," she said. "It doesn't look particularly promising. You sure you calculated correctly?"

"Double-checked," I answered.

She returned to her shelter again, as the rain suddenly grew more forceful. I followed her.

"I suppose we must visit it," she said a little later. "After this lets up, of course."

She began licking herself. She hesitated.

"I just thought of something," she said. "The Count's skeleton. Was that big ring he wore still upon his finger?"

"No," I said. "Whoever did him in doubtless collected it."

"Then someone's probably doubly endowed."

"Probably."

"That would make him stronger, wouldn't it?"

"Only in technical prowess. It might make him more vulnerable, too."

"Well, the technical end of things counts for something."

"It does."

"Do the Games always get confusing at some point? Do they mess up the players' thinking, ideas, values?"

"Always. Especially as events begin to cascade and accelerate near the end. We create a kind of vortex about us just by being here and doing certain things. Your confusion may trip you up. Somebody else's confusion may save you."

"You're saying that it gets weird, but it all cancels out?"

"Pretty much, I think. Till the end, of course."

There came a flash of light from nearby, followed by an instant crack of thunder. The Good Doctor's storm was spreading. Abruptly, the wind shifted, and we were drenched by the sudden pelting.

We bounded across the way immediately, into the shelter of a much larger stone.

Sitting there, miserable in the special way that wetness brings, my gaze was suddenly fixed upon the side of the stone. There, brought out perhaps by the moisture, a series of scratchings and irregularities now appeared to be somewhat more than that.

"Well, I hope the whole gang of them appreciates all this trouble," she said, "Nyarlathotep, Chthulu, and all the rest of the unp.r.o.nounceables. Makes me wish I had a nice simple job catching mice for some farmer's wife -- "

Yes, they were characters in some alphabet I did not know, incised there, worn faint, emphasized suddenly as the trickling water darkened the stone in some places, bringing out contrasts. Even as I watched, they seemed to be growing clearer.

Then I drew back, for they began to glow with a faint red light. They continued to brighten.

"Snuff," she said then, "why're you standing in the rain?" Then her gaze moved to follow my own, and she added, "Uh-oh! Think they heard me?"

Now they were ablaze, those letters, and they began to flow as if reading themselves. Excess light formed itself into a high rectangular perimeter about them.

"I was only joking, you know," she said softly.

The interior of the rectangle took on a milky light. A part of me wanted to bolt and run, but another part stood fascinated by the process. Unfortunately, it was the latter part that seemed to be in control. Graymalk stood like a shadowy statue, staring.

Deep within it then came a roiling, and I suppose it must be called a premonition, for suddenly that other part of me was in control again. I sprang forward, seized Graymalk by the nape of her neck with my teeth and sprang away to the right. Just as I did, a flare of lightning sprang from the rectangle and fell upon the area we had occupied but moments before. I stumbled, feeling a small shock, feeling my hair rise. Graymalk wailed, and the air smelled of ozone.

"I guess they're kind of touchy," I said, rising to my feet and falling again.

Then I felt the wind swirling about us, ten times stronger than it had been earlier. I tried again to get to my feet and was again knocked down. I glanced back at the stone, saw that the roiling had subsided, that another lightning bolt might not be imminent. Instead, a faint outline hung there, of a silver key. I crawled nearer to Graymalk. The wind increased in intensity. Somewhere, a voice came chanting, "I! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Wood with a Thousand Young!"

"What's happening?" she wailed.

"Someone opened a gate to provide means for expressing disapproval of your remark," I suggested. "That's done now, but the door hasn't swung shut yet. That's what I think."

She leaned against me, back arched, ears flat, fur risen. The wind, stronger still, was pushing against us now, near to the point of irresistibility. I began to slide across the ground in the direction of the gate, dragging her with me.

"I've a feeling it'll close too late!" she cried. "We're going through!"

She turned then and leaped upon me, clinging with all four paws to my neck. Her claws were very sharp.

"We mustn't separate!" she said.

"Agreed!" I choked, as I began sliding faster.

I was able to gather my feet beneath me as we moved. Rather than being pushed through, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, some measure of grace might provide a survival edge.

It was easy to stop thinking of it as a rock wall that we were approaching, for there were obvious depths to it, though no clear features presented, and the image of the key had already faded. What lay beyond, I'd no idea; that we were going to go through, I'd no doubt. Better a little dignity then. . . .

Straightening my legs, I leaped forward. Into the breach. Into the mist. . . .

. . . Into the silence. Immediately, as we pa.s.sed through, the sounds of wind and rainfall ceased. We did not come to rest upon a hard surface, or any other surface. We were suspended in a place of pearl gray light -- or, if we fell, there was no sensation of falling. My legs were still extended -- forward and back, as if I were leaping a fence -- and while misty eddies and currents, faint as high clouds, played about us, my sense of motion was paradoxical; that is, by turning my head in any direction, I could create the feeling of pursuing a different vector.

I did turn my head to the rear in time to see the rectangle fade behind us, paling stones and gra.s.s within it. Dotted about the place where it had been, as well as about ourselves, droplets of rain and a few leaves and strands of gra.s.s hung in the air. Or perhaps we were all falling together, or rising, depending on -- Graymalk gave a little wail, then looked about. I felt her relax after that, then she said, "It is important that we not be parted here."

"You know where we are?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm sure I will land on my feet, but I don't know about you. Let me move around onto your back. We'll both be more comfortable that way."

She worked her way about my neck then, finally settling into a position behind my shoulders. She did retract her claws as she settled.

"Where," I said, "are we?"

"I see now that something tried to help me as we were being swept forward," she said. "This is not of a piece with the lightning stroke. But the way was opened and he seized it as a means of rescue. Possibly there is even more to it than that."

"I'm afraid I don't understand you," I told her.

"We are between our place and the Dreamworld now," she said.

"You have been here before?"

"Yes, but not right here recently."

"It feels as if we could drift here forever."

"I suppose that we could."

"So how do we go ahead -- or go back?"

"My memories of this part are all scattered. If we do not like where we find ourselves, we withdraw and try again. I will try it now. Call to me if anything too unnatural occurs."

With that, she grew silent, and while I waited for whatever sequel was to ensue I thought back over the events which had brought us to this place. It struck me as odd that her mere disparaging mention of the Elders had not only been heard, but that whichever had taken umbrage thereby had been strong enough to do something about it. True, the power was rising in this, a most powerful time, but I wondered at such profligacy with it when there must have been mult.i.tudes of better uses to which it might be put -- unless it were simply another instance of that famous inscrutability which I sometimes think is to be better understood as childishness. Then a possibility struck sparks deep within my mind, but I had to let it go, unexamined, as alterations began about me.

There came a brightening from overhead -- nothing as patent as a single light source, but an increasing contrast to the darker area below my feet. I said nothing about it to Graymalk, for I had resolved not to address her -- barring emergencies -- until she spoke. But I studied that light. There was something familiar about it, from driftings off and awakenings perhaps. . . .

Then I realized it to be an outline, as on a map, of a continent or island -- perhaps two or more -- hanging there, as in a skiey distance, overhead. This did peculiar things to my orientation, and I struggled to alter my physical relationship to it. I moved my legs and twisted, trying to turn my body so as to look downward rather than up at it.

It was almost too easy, for there followed an immediate turning. The view became clearer, the land ma.s.ses larger, as we seemed to drift nearer, topographical features resolving themselves against a field of blue, wispy swirls of cloud hung above prominences, along coasts, a pair of large islands surmounted by great peaks between the two greater ma.s.ses -- to the west, if what seemed upward along the vertical axes were indeed north. No reason that it should be, of course, nor, for that matter, that it shouldn't.

Graymalk began to mutter then, in a flat, affectless tone, ". . . To the west of the Southern Sea lie the Basalt Pillars, beyond them the city of Cathuria. East, the coast is green and home to fishers' towns. South, from the black towers of Dylath-Leen is the land of white fungi where the houses are brown and have no windows; beneath the waters there, on still days, one can see the avenue of crippled sphinxes leading to the dome of the great sunken temple. To the north again, one may behold the charnel gardens of Zura, place of unattained pleasures, the templed terraces of Zak, the double headlands of crystal at the harbor of Sona-Nyl, the spires of Thalarion. . . ."

As she spoke we came even nearer, and my attention was taken from spot to spot along the coasts of that sea, those features somehow magnified across the distances, so that I beheld things with the vision of dreaming; though a part of me was baffled by this arcane phenomenon, yet another accepted with a feeling more of memory than discovery.

". . . Dylath-Leen," she mused, "where the wide-mouthed traders with the strange turbans come for their slaves and gold, anchoring black galleys whose stench only the smoking of thagweed can kill, paying with rubies, departing with the powerful oar strokes of invisible rowers. Southwest then to Thran of the sloping alabaster walls, unjoined, and its cloud-catching towers all white and gold, there by the River Shai, wharves all of marble. . . .

"And there lies the granite-walled city of Hlanith, on the sh.o.r.es of the Cerenerian Sea. Its wharves Its wharves are of oak, its houses peaked and gabled. . . . are of oak, its houses peaked and gabled. . . .

"There, the perfumed jungle of Kled," she went on, "where lost, ivory palaces sleep undisturbed, once home to monarchs of a forgotten kingdom.

". . . And up the Oukranos River from the Cerenerian Sea slope the jasper terraces of Kiran, where the king of Ilek-Vad comes once a year in a golden palanquin, to pray to the G.o.d of the river in the seven-towered temple whence music drifts whenever moonlight falls upon it."

We moved steadily closer as she spoke, drifting now over vast regions -- brown, yellow, green. . . .

". . . Bahama is eleven days sailing from Dylath-Leen, most important port on the island of Oriab, the great lighthouses Thon and Thal at its harbor's gate, quays all of porphyry. There is its ca.n.a.l to Lake Yath, of the ruined city. It flows through a tunnel with granite doors. The hill-people ride zebras. . . . Westward lies the Valley of Pnoth, amid the peaks of Throk. There the slimydholesburrow among the mountains of bones, cast refuse of ghouls from centuries of their feasting. . . . That peak to the south is Ngranek, two days' ride on zebraback from Bahama, if one would brave the night-gaunts. Those who dare Ngranek's slopes will come at last to a vast face carved there, with long-lobed ears and pointed nose and chin. It does not appear to be happy.

". . . And back to the northern land, fine Ulthar lies near the River Shai, beyond a great stone bridge in whose arch a living man was sealed when it was built, thirteen hundred years ago. It is a city of neat cottages and cobbled streets where wander cats without number, for the enlightened legislators of long ago laid down laws for our protection. A good, kind village, where travelers take their ease and pet the cats, making much of them, which is as it should be.

". . . And there is Urg of the low domes, a stop on the way to Inquanok, frequented by onyx miners. . . .

". . . And Inquanok itself, terrible place near the waste of Leng, its houses like palaces with pointed domes and minarets, pyramids, gold walls black with scrolls and swirling with inlays of gold, fluted, arched, capped with gold. Its streets are of onyx, and when the great bell sounds it is answered by the music of horns and viols and chanting voices. High up its central hill lies the ma.s.sive temple of the Elder Ones, surrounded by its seven-gated garden of pillars, fountains, pools wherein luminous fish sport themselves and reflections of tripods from the temple balcony shimmer and dance. The temple itself bears a great belfry atop its flattened dome, and when the bell sounds masked and hooded priests emerge, bearing steaming bowls to lodges beneath the ground. The Veiled King's palace rises on a nearby hill. He rides forth through bronze gates in a yak-drawn chariot. Beware the father of Shantak-birds who dwells in the temple's dome. Stare too long and he sends you nightmares. Avoid fair Inquanok. No cat may dwell there, for many of its shadows are poison to our kind.

". . . And there is Sarkomand, beyond the Leng Plateau. One mounts salt-covered steps to its basalt walls and docks, temples and squares, column-lined streets, to the place where the sphinx-mounted gates open to its central plaza and two monumental winged lions guard the top of the stairwell leading to the Great Abyss."

We drifted even lower now, and it was as if I could hear the winds that blow between the worlds as she continued her litany of Dreamworld geography.

". . . On the way to Kadath we cross the terrible wasteland of Leng, where, in the great windowless monastery surrounded by monoliths, dwells the High Priest of Dreamworld, his face hidden by a yellow silk mask. His building is older than history, bearing frescoes of the story of Leng; barely human creatures dance amid gone cities, the war with the purple spiders, the landing of the black galleys from the moon. . . .

". . . And we pa.s.s Kadath itself, enormous city of ice and mystery, capital of this land. . . .

". . . Coming at last to fair Celephais in the land of Ooth-Nargai on the sh.o.r.es of the Cerenerian Sea. . . ."

Now we swooped very low, above a snowcapped peak.

". . . Mount Aran," she intoned, and I saw ginkgo trees upon its lower reaches; then, in the distance, marble walls, minarets, bronze statues. "The Naraxa River joins the sea here. There in the distance lie the Tanarian peaks. That turquoise temple down the Street of Pillars is where the high priest worships Nath-Horthoth. And so we find our way to the place where I have been summoned."

We dropped steadily then, to touch the bright-cut onyx-stone of the street. Immediately, there were sounds about us once again other than the wind, breezes that I could feel. Graymalk leaped from my back, alighting beside me, shook herself, and stared.

"You wander these lands in dreams of catnappery?" I said.

"Sometimes," she replied, "and sometimes elsewhere. And yourself?"

"I think that sometimes I might have."

She turned in a complete circle, paused, then began walking. I followed.

We walked for a long while; none among the merchants and camel drivers or orchid-wreathed priests disturbed our pa.s.sing.

"There is no time here," she remarked.

"I believe you," I answered, and sailors pa.s.sed us from the pink-vapored harbor and sunlight sparkled upon the streets, the minarets. I saw no other dogs about, smelled none.

In the distance, a blinding spectacle came into view and we made our way toward it.

"The rose-crystal Palace of the Seventy Delights," she said, "whence he has called."

And so we walked toward it, and it was as if a part of me normally awake were sleeping and part of me normally asleep were awake, a reversal which led to easy acceptance of wonder, to easy forgetting of daylong movements and concerns these past several weeks.

The crystal palace grew before us, gleaming like a piece of pink ice, so that I looked past it rather than directly at it. Our way became more quiet as we approached, and the sun was warm.

When we came into its precincts, I beheld a small, gray form -- the only other living thing in sight -- sunning itself on the terrace before the palace, head upraised, regarding us. Graymalk led us that way. It proved to be an ancient cat, lying on a square of black onyx.

Drawing near and prostrating herself, she said, "Hail, High Purring One."