Doc Ardan: The Troglodytes of Mount Everest

by Guy d'Armen

  They did not have the dejected look of men marching to their deaths; yet, the young man suspected at once that this was their fate.

  The four sacrificial victims were made to kneel down and were tied to four marble posts around the basin; their heads rested on top of these, leaning forward over the edge of the grisly receptacle. As one of the Chinese wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of the post, a Tartar slipped a small cushion under his knees.

  Then the Tartars unsheathed their scimitars. The blades glinted with a sinister glare in the cold, merciless electric light. In his “cottage,” Ardan could not repress a shiver, because he knew what was about to happen.

  A strange melody coming from nowhere, yet everywhere, started. The Tartars raised their swords, then remained totally still as long as the music was playing.

  As soon as the music stopped, with a single stroke, all four warriors simultaneously decapitated their victims!

  Ardan closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, he could not take his sight from the four scarlet “circles” that were the sliced necks of the unfortunate Chinese. Four powerful streams of blood were describing a curve in the air before splashing into the basin.

  The four Tartars remained still and emotionless, impervious to the horror of what was happening.

  When the streams of blood stopped, the Tartars untied the bodies which fell to the grounds. They took the heads with them as they left, while other servants came and dragged the corpses away.

  In a matter of minutes, the courtyard was empty, except for the basin and its sinister, scarlet contents.

  So much for “blood transfusions,” thought Ardan. That so-called “Wizard” is nothing more than a murderous lunatic. Now I know what fate he has in store for me! I must find a way out of here as soon as possible!

  The young man was surprised that no one had come to collect the blood. But then, he witnessed something very strange.

  The light in the courtyard behind the “cottage” had slowly begun to change, going through the full spectrum until it finally stopped at green.

  Then, a bright beam of pure emerald light, emanating from some place above, which the young man could not see, fell straight onto the basin, bathing it—and the blood—in its eerie green radiance.

  Ardan stretched his neck to see if he could find the source of the light. It came from a lenticular stone that looked as if it had been carved straight out of some giant, freakishly large emerald, of unnatural size.

  Ardan wondered if he hadn’t uncovered the secret of Kyzyl Kaya’s immortality—but what was it? For a few minutes, the horror he felt at the murders he had just witnessed was driven away by his overriding curiosity.

  This is no ordinary emerald, he thought.

  The young man knew that the region was rich in gemstones, something that was already well established in the days of Genghis Khan. Perhaps Kyzyl Kaya had found this monstrous stone in the ruins of the long-buried dead city? There were rumors of ancient civilizations and other races that had preceded man in this part of the world, and maybe that was one of the strange artifacts they had left behind?

  This string of thoughts leading nowhere, the young man eventually felt sleepy again and, without any notion of time, closed his eyes and lay down to rest on a couch near the window.

  Ardan was woken up several hours later—or so he supposed—by a sudden change in ambient light. The green beam had gone and been replaced by a violet light that bathed the entire courtyard.

  Then, the door at the back opened and two elderly Chinese mandarins entered, each followed by two servants. They were very old men, with wrinkled skins and haggard eyes, dressed in rich purple robes decorated with embroidered white ibises and blue brocade. They wore black toques on their heads. They could barely walk and would not have made it to the basin had it not been for their servants.

  Two heavy chairs of teak wood were brought to either side of the basin and, with the help of their servants, the mandarins sat down. Then, the servants helped their masters remove their tunics so they were bare-chested.

  Ardan’s impression of their old age was confirmed by the sight of the emaciated bodies, visible ribs, skeletal arms and grey, mottled flesh that showed numerous needle marks, indications of heavy drug abuse.

  Then, Kyzyl Kaya entered, wearing a white medical frock over his red uniform. The ambient violet light made him look even more diabolical. The same Tartar that had carried Ardan earlier followed him, a few paces behind, carrying a tray of instruments.

  The Red Wizard looked in the direction of the cottage and smiled, as if he could see his young prisoner; then, he took a lancet from the tray and, after having disinfected the arms of his two “patients,” proceeded to exsanguinate them, drawing all of their blood—what little there was!—into two copper bottles.

  The mandarins would likely have collapsed had it not been for their servants propping them up in their chairs.

  Then Kyzyl Kaya took a set of thin rubber tubes and inserted one end of them into the arms of the two mandarins while connecting the other ends to a small pump located in the stand of the basin.

  Once the pump was activated, the blood from the basin began flowing through the tubes and into the mandarins’ bodies.

  Under Ardan’s astonished eyes, the two men seemed to gain new vigor and even new life as the strange new blood was pumped into their veins. They began muttering almost unintelligible words from their dry, parched lips and, in response, their servants helped them stand up and take a couple of hesitant steps.

  At that point, Kyzyl Kaya removed the tubes—the basin being now nearly drained—and ligatured the mandarins’ arms.

  More Tartars brought in plush cushions and the servants helped their masters sit comfortably on them while the Red Wizard left.

  The ambient violet light slowly disappeared, to be replaced by normal “daylight.” The sounds of water splashing in fountains and invisible birds returned. Looking at the courtyard, no one could have imagined the dreadful execution that had taken place there, moments earlier.

  A little later, a Tartar brought a lunch tray with roasted chicken, which Ardan ate with great appetite, figuring out that he needed to recover his full strength if he ever was to escape from this hellish place. Through the open window, he could hear the two Mandarins chatting amicably while eating.

  Their newly-regained strength enabled them to take a few, still somewhat uncertain, steps but it was clear that they were gaining in youth and vigor with every minute.

  After the lunch was over, they lie down on the cushions again to take a short nap.

  By the end of the day, the wrinkles on their skin had all but vanished, their hair had grown black again, their voice no longer cracked when they spoke, and they looked and behaved like a pair of robust 40-year-old men.

  Watching the transformation, Ardan was amazed, but could not forget the cost of the lives of the four men who had been slaughtered in order to make this miracle possible.

  No one anywhere in the world has any clue about what’s going on here, he reflected. And if I don’t get away, they never will either—and my own blood will likely be used to regenerate that monster, Kyzyl Kaya!

  As if merely thinking about the Red Wizard had been enough to summon him, the Comte de Bertheville walked into the cottage.

  “Do you now believe that I told you the truth?” he asked Ardan.

  “I believe that you’re a monster!” replied the young man.

  CHAPTER IV

  A Dark Gathering

  “I am terribly disappointed in you, Doctor Ardan,” said Kyzyl Kaya. “That’s all you can say, after witnessing the incredible rejuvenation of those two elderly mandarins who were literally at death’s door? Let me guess: your ridiculous sensibility is offended by the sacrifice of the lives of the four slaves I had to execute in order to perform this miracle? Or are you simply afraid that your neck will be next on the chopping block?”

  “I am not afraid of death,” replied the youn
g man. “Do with me what you will—I will never surrender to your will, nor condone your abominable experiments.”

  “Excellent!” said the Red Wizard, smiling. “I knew you were a brave man. I dare say, the blood that flows in your veins is precisely the precious fluid I’ve been looking for. But fear not, I have no intention of chopping off your head. I only use that method when I need an entire body’s blood supply because of the age and decrepitude of the intended beneficiary. For myself, I would never dare wait that long. No, the transfusion that I have in mind for you is of the traditional kind. Your health will not be affected in the least.”

  “Can I ask when you plan to avail yourself of my precious blood?”

  “I don’t know yet. A month; perhaps, two? It will depend on when I diagnose myself as in being need of a new injection... In the meantime, you are free to wander as you wish in my underground kingdom; but I strongly advise you not to try to escape. I have, er, powerful ways of forcing you to do my bidding, if you rebel.”

  Watching the Comte’s evil smile as he uttered these last words, Ardan could barely repress a shiver.

  When he left the cottage, Kyzyl Kaya did not bother locking the door, so the young man had the opportunity to go out and explore the magnificent park that the Red Wizard had created. It was full of exotic essences that bloomed in the perfectly controlled micro-environment as if they were in a carefully tended hothouse.

  Ardan spotted the sources of electric light, and several conduits that brought in the outside air, all unfortunately too small to offer any possibility of escape.

  During his exploration, the young man heard distant singing. He walked towards it and soon discovered its source: a young tartar using a three-string instrument was singing heroic songs about ancient figures. Amongst the minstrel’s audience were the two rejuvenated mandarins.

  The young man was spotted by a member of the audience and the minstrel invited him to join them. Ardan did so and sat next to one of the mandarins.

  “This was a song devoted to the glory of the great Tamerlane,” explained the Mandarin. “In his days, we were a great and powerful nation, feared the world over. But thanks to the Red Wizard, we shall soon reclaim our rightful dominion!”

  Ardan was amazed by the faith and vitality expressed by the mandarin.

  “Do you really believe that those days will return?” he asked.

  “Yes,” replied the other, “because the soul of great Tamerlane has been reincarnated in the person of Kyzyl Kaya. He already is master here—and will soon be master of the world!”

  The next day, Ardan continued his exploration of the fabulous underground city.

  As he wandered through new corridors, he suddenly spied the Comte de Bertheville coming out of a chamber ahead of him. He wasn’t dressed in his usual scarlet attire, but more ordinary black clothes, which made him look a little less diabolical.

  Taking great care not to be spotted, Ardan decided to follow him.

  The Comte trod along a series of maze-like tunnels that looked older and less well maintained than the rest of the city. The lighting was spotty in places and Ardan used these shadowy areas to continue to follow the Comte without being seen.

  Eventually, the Comte arrived in a cavern sealed by two massive bronze doors. One could hear chanting, made up of strange and often discordant harmonies, emanating from the other side of the doors. Although the words meant nothing to Ardan, he couldn’t help but shiver when he heard the heard the names of “y’g sot’th” and “yud s’shai.”

  The Comte stuck three times and the doors opened, revealing a congregation of nine lamas, all dressed in black robes, kneeling and praying before an elderly lama sitting on a low stone altar. The red wizard stepped over the threshold; the doors closed behind him, and the young man could see no more.

  However, the doors were ancient and some of the rock around the hinges had been partially broken and disjointed by the passage of time, leaving a few cracks through which Ardan could spy on what was happening on the other side.

  What he saw was the Comte taking a place amongst the lamas and worshipping—or pretending to worship?—the old lama, who was reading from an ancient book opened in his lap.

  Ardan could not understand the language of the book, which was far more ancient than Tibetan, but he guessed it must have been a tome of ancient, forbidden knowledge, dating back to the pre-cataclysmic civilizations of Atlantis and Valusia, which were rumored to still exist in the Orient.

  He also guessed that this was the source of much of de Bertheville’s accomplishments, and that, here, in this cave, the Comte was not a master, but a student.

  After the reading was over, the elderly lama closed the book and blessed his students. Then, the group broke apart, and the black-robed lamas all disappeared into another maze of tunnels. The young man could not guess as to the purpose of this mysterious gathering, nor who were the lamas who had attended it. It would always remain a mystery.

  Ardan hid behind a rock and, as the bronze doors opened to make room for Kyzyl Kaya, he decided to continue following the Red Wizard.

  The Comte took another tunnel, perpendicular to the one that led to the underground city. Unlike the earlier tunnels, which twisted and turned, this one was totally straight, which made Ardan’s goal of not being noticed even more difficult. But he had learned the stealth techniques of the Ninjutsu and managed to follow the Comte while not attracting his attention.

  The tunnel eventually opened onto the shore of an underground lake, mostly shrouded in darkness.

  He saw Kyzyl Kaya step into a flat bottom boat and, using a pole to push away from the banks, float away until he vanished into the darkness.

  I wonder how deep this lake is? Ardan asked himself.

  He cautiously stepped into the water, expecting his feet to sink into the muck and the mire that made up most of the so-called lakes in the region. But instead, he found a hard, glassy surface.

  It must be all the salt that has accumulated over the years, he thought.

  As he moved into deeper water, at waist height, he decided to swim across, and experienced another surprise: the water was so dense, so heavy, that his body floated on the surface without any effort. He could have lay on the surface as if it were a bed of feathers!

  By pushing with one foot against the bottom, he found he could propel himself across the strange water with no problem. Although, he had to be cautious to not be spotted by the Comte.

  As he glided over the surface of the lake, Ardan saw little pyramid-shaped islands of salt crystals shining in the dark like diamonds. But there was still no sight of the Red Wizard...

  Suddenly, the young man heard a strange bellowing noise that seemed to come from a tunnel of about two meters in diameter that opened onto the bank to his left.

  Another of Kyzyl Kaya’s diabolical machines? thought Ardan. The world will be well rid of that madman. I wonder what...?

  More disturbingly, the awful smell of decomposing flesh unexpectedly assaulted his nostrils.

  Does he keep a charnel here, where he dumps the bodies of his victims? wondered the young scientist.

  And then, he saw the horror:

  Two shiny red eyes pierced the darkness. And just beneath them was a pair of sharp, slimy mandibles which were chewing, mauling, feeding on something the young man preferred not to try to identify.

  The creature was huge, as large as a buffalo, and rested on eight, hairy, spindly legs.

  It was a spider—a monstrous, giant spider!

  Abruptly, the thing stopped its abominable feast; it had seen, or smelled, the young man. The red eyes turned in his direction.

  The impossible, uncanny spider lunged onto the surface of the lake, rushing forward towards him.

  Ardan let out a scream of genuine terror.

  CHAPTER V

  The Monsters

  Ardan immediately identified the creature as a monstrous tarantula.

  The beast was gliding over the salt water with its long, t
hin, hairy legs like an ice skater. Considering its speed, it would be upon the young man in a matter of minutes, and would proceed to devour him as it had done with its other prey.

  Ardan looked around him and spotted a small fracture in the rocky wall bordering the lake, large enough for him to hide inside, but not for the arachnid to grab him. He rushed towards it, hoping to reach it in time.

  The spider must have understood its victim’s plan, for it, too, turned and tried to cut him off, but because of its weight, its momentum was too powerful, and it lost too much time turning.

  By the time the spider reached Ardan, the young man was already safely inside the small cave.

  He knew that tarantulas disabled their victims by jumping on them, killing them with their mandibles, so there was little risk the thing would use its legs to pry him out.

  Indeed, he heard the deadly mandibles clicking in hungry frustration, and even felt the tip of the monster’s hairy legs ruffle against his clothes, but as long as he stuck to the opposite wall like glue, he seemed to be safe.

  Once, the tarantula touched his skin and it felt like being brushed with metal bristles. It took nerves of steel to remain motionless, hugging the cold stone, waiting for the deadly creature’s rage to pass.

  Eventually, the monster tired of not being able to grab its prey and settled on another, equally lethal, maneuver: it began to weave a thick, milky white web around the opening of the cave, virtually trapping what it considered as its food inside.

  Ardan knew that this was part and parcel of the arachnid’s normal behavior: sometimes it brought prey back to its nest, and kept them “fresh” in that fashion until it decided to eat them. He was, in effect, being preserved in the monster’s larder!

  It also meant that the tarantula planned to remain the neighborhood, in order to prevent any escape attempt.

  I’m going to die here from thirst or hunger—or worse, feared the young man.