Finishing the circle was a tall man of Caucasian descent. His head was shaved, but he had a short, well-trimmed black beard. He was wearing an open button-up shirt that had seen better days, a belt covered in pouches, and faded denim pants. Up and down his arms, as well as on his scalp, were tattoos of snakes, monsters, and shadowy creatures that moved around underneath his skin.
Mathew Blake.
A member of the Dunwych tribes, he was something of an amateur archaeologist. Mathew Blake traveled the Wasteland looking for relics useful for restoring the human race, be they magical or of historical significance. Whether the owners of these objects wished to depart with them was not a concern for Mister Blake, and he’d managed to loot the treasures of many powerful individuals. I imagined his mouth was salivating at the awful wonders surrounding us.
“Well, isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do,” Jessica said, speaking in an affected Pre-Rising Southern accent.
“First, we get a Fish-Woman and now we’ve got the Black Soldier and his girl sidekick,” Thom said, picking The Great God Pan from the bookshelf behind him.
The Black Soldier was a nickname given to me after the fall of the Black Cathedral and the death of Alan Ward. It was a reference to a Wasteland scare legend about a Grim Reaper-type figure some associated with the god Nyarlathotep. No one had any clue how right they were.
“Hey, Booth is my sidekick,” Mercury said, eyeing Thom. “Don’t forget it!”
“This Fish-Woman can find this asshole the University is looking for on her own,” Bobbie said, slapping her webbed fingers on the table. “Armitage, I don’t need this group. They’ll just get in my way.”
“I don’t care if I’m given back what is mine,” August replied, his stare containing a hint of something ungodly.
“A pleasure to meet you, Captain Booth, Doctor Halsey,” Mathew said, walking over to extend his hand to us both. “I’ve long been a fan of both your works. Doctor Halsey, your treatise on Tunneler migration patterns was most informative. I read it on my last visit to New Arkham’s library.”
“I wrote that before I realized the magnetic poles were shifting,” Mercury said, smiling. “I could do a much more accurate treatment today.”
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Mathew looked down at my right hand as if feeling something strange, then shook his head. “Our little party has been arguing about who is in charge since we were assembled.”
“That’s because I am,” Thom said, starting to read.
“Over my dead body,” Bobbie said, snarling.
“That can be arranged.” Thom didn’t bother looking up from his book.
I suspected if any of them had weapons, this gathering would have ended in bloodshed before our arrival.
“Captain Booth is in charge,” Professor Armitage said, staring at them.
“Ah, shit,” Jessica said, grimacing.
Mercury’s expression was one of undisguised loathing.
Jessica turned away.
“Like hell,” Thom said, staring over at me. “I’m the best one—”
Professor Armitage lifted his crystal rod in the air and it made an eerie chiming noise. Everyone fell silent.
Professor Armitage’s voice was powerful and commanding. “The Great One picked Captain Booth to head this team and Doctor Halsey to be his second. This is not up for discussion. All of you were made promises for your cooperation. There are things the Yithians can grant you that are unavailable anywhere else in the Wasteland. For example, if you want your dead brother restored, Mister Braddock, I suggest you do not dissent.”
Thom looked down, then back at me. “You’re in charge, Captain.”
Oh yeah, this was going to go well. I’d led a Ranger unit for a decade while still a Remnant citizen. Gamma Squad had been a group of professionals who knew what they were doing. People I could trust. Family. Seeing this collection of misfits, especially with Jessica here, was a bad joke.
“I’m willing to give the Black Soldier a chance. We’ve worked together before.” Bobbie leaned back in her chair. “Of course, I didn’t get a chance to offend him either.”
Bobbie looked over at Jessica.
“What about us, Booth?” Jessica asked.
“Don’t talk to me unless you have something to say about our mission,” I said to her. “That’s where we stand.”
“I see,” Jessica said, sighing. “I’m fine taking orders from him.”
The others acquiesced to my leadership, which changed the situation from a major clusterfuck into just kind of one.
“What do you hope to accomplish with this group, Armitage?” I asked, surveying the collection of murderers and thieves around us.
“The same thing we said earlier—kill Whateley and save the world,” Professor Armitage replied. “Each of these individuals possesses skills you might need. This group consists of a killer, a scholar, a wizard, someone familiar with the eldritch arts, a tracker, a scientist, and yourself. Combined, you might have a chance of stopping him.”
“Might?” Mercury asked.
“Might,” Professor Armitage said. “Professor Whateley knew things about space and time others could only dream about. He bound the spirit of a long-dead relative to himself and gained near deific-power manipulating both. He is still vulnerable to mortal weapons and attacks, but his strength is also well beyond what a normal human can possess.”
“What sort of allies does Whately have?” Thom asked, not bothering to look up from his book. He seemed to be flipping through it, his eyes scanning each page before moving to another.
“Professor Whateley tended to work alone,” Professor Armitage said. “He possesses the skill to summon and control creatures the same way Mister August does, however.”
“No one can do it like me,” August replied, cracking his knuckles.
“And we have no idea where he’s going?” Mercury asked.
Professor Armitage proceeded to conjure a manila folder, as if by magic (or was it “technology of the mind”?). “This is all of our information on Mister Whateley, his research, and what people know of his departure.”
Why did I not believe that? Oh right, I wasn’t a moron. Still, I took the folder and spread its contents out on the table—black-and-white photos, documents, and maps that had large number of black X’s on them. A cursory glance at the documents told me these were the locations that Marcus Whateley had investigated for insights into the Unimaginable Horror. I recognized several of them as places where antediluvian ruins had arisen from strange aeons. Interesting. Also, completely useless.
“We’re not going to have any luck trying to decode what this asshole has been trying to solve for however long he’s wanted to destroy the world from these,” Mercury said, flipping through the file. “We need to find out where he is and where he’s going.”
“Wow, we never would have deduced that on our own, Red,” Thom said, closing the book and putting it back on the shelf. Strangely, he was on the last page of it when he did so. “You’ve given us a real mind here, Professor.”
“Fuck off,” Mercury said.
“Rowr,” Thom said, making a cat claw gesture. It was less effective than it might have once been because cats were considered lucky in the parts of the Wasteland I frequented.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance the Yithians might expend their vast time-travel abilities to help us find the Unimaginable Horror’s location?” I asked Armitage, looking through each of the papers.
“None,” Professor Armitage said.
“These are all Elder Thing ruins,” Mathew said, pointing at the locations marked on the map. “Whatever Marcus Whateley was searching for, it was among them.”
My fist clenched at the mention of that hateful race I so loathed. I recognized, on some level, that my hatred was irrational. The death of Richard had been, in a world filled with deliberate murder, an accident brought about by misunderstanding. Yet when was murderous rage not irrational? What did I
have left if not my capacity for hatred? I hated the Elder Things because, guilt and anger at my friend’s loss aside, it made me feel human.
“Elder Whatzit ruins?” Thom asked. “I swear to God, why can’t things have normal names anymore?”
“What’s normal?” August muttered, looking at a picture before handing it to me. “I grew up surrounded by demons and creatures with fifteen eyeballs.”
It was a photo of Marcus Whateley standing next to Professor Armitage and August Bierce, all three of them dressed in white lab coats over very human attire. Marcus Whateley’s must have been custom-stitched, because he towered over both men by six feet. His build was not thin, either, with broad shoulders and massive muscles that made him look like some sort of hulking juggernaut. Yet his face was not that of a brute but something much more mischievous. Goatish with thick, bushy eyebrows and a pointed chin covered in a beard, he was like something from Greek mythology. Marcus’s satyr-like face belied eyes which were filled with intelligence and a barely-contained lust for life. While photos, rare as they were, were not windows to the soul, he didn’t look like the sort of man who would want to extinguish all life on Earth. His eyes did not have the crushing depression and mad fury of a true zealot.
“How well did you know Marcus Whateley?” I asked, looking at August.
“Well,” August said, pressing his fingertips together. “There was a time when I would have counted him among my closest friends. That was before our lives took us on different paths.”
“You mean before he started worshiping monsters and trying to end the world?” Bobbie asked.
“An odd comment from a Deep One,” August said. “Your people have spent your entire racial history doing both.”
Bobbie stared at him. “I can’t choose my family. I can choose to live a life free of the Great Old Ones.”
It was a painfully naïve statement. None of us could live free of the Great Old Ones. I wasn’t happy with this motley collection of murderers, thieves, and strangers, but it was a better group than I’d expected to have. If nothing else, all of them knew their way around both a gun and the Wasteland. Jessica’s presence was an unnecessary complication, but she was a professional who knew what she was doing. Once, I’d called her my best friend too. It was why her betrayal cut so keenly. Worse, I understood exactly why she’d done it and hated myself for not being able to forgive her. Fuck me, this was going to be an awkward trip. At least the world was going to end for the second time if we failed.
That took off some of the pressure.
Jessica proved her value seconds later. “I know where we can find an Elder Thing to ask what these ruins have in common.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“In the Ghoul City of Shak’ta’hadron, beneath the Boston Ash Fields, they have an Elder Thing sage called the Keeper. It’s old, even for one of their immortal kind, and the ghouls say it has access to the whole of the Elder Things’ knowledge.”
It was almost too good to be true. “How did you come by this knowledge?”
“Does it matter?” Jessica asked. Her expression surprised me. I was prepared for hatred and betrayal, not sadness mixed with regret.
“It gives us a place to start, at least,” I said, putting the photo down.
“I will prepare your supplies,” Professor Armitage said, nodding. He turned around and proceeded to walk away, disappearing as if he’d never been there.
“Assuming he doesn’t destroy the world while we’re journeying down to speak with the Dog Men,” Thom replied.
“Assuming.” It wasn’t a good plan, but it was the only one we had.
That was when a beast from another dimension attacked and all hell broke loose.
Chapter Eight
All the evil in the universe was concentrated in the monster’s lean, hungry body. Or did it even have a body? I had seen a lot of inexplicable shit in my time as a Ranger and caravan guard, but this terrified me beyond reason. I also recognized it from the mad descriptions of such creatures in the Re’Kithnid.
It was a Hound of Tindalos, monsters who hunted the living through the angles of time and space. The Hounds of Tindalos were creatures consisting of living geometry. I do not mean to say their bodies were angular, for this would give you the wrong impression.
If one were trying to picture it, they could do worse than a hunting dog made of a million separate mirrored squares linked together by some invisible force. The pieces of its body constantly shifted position and size while maintaining the same general shape. This does not convey what the creature truly looked like, but when dealing with my increasingly inhuman perceptions, it’s the closest an earthly language can convey.
The thing appeared above our heads and landed on the table, causing it to split into dozens of pieces spread across the floor. Its first attack was beyond lethal, striking not at a man’s flesh and bone but the spaces between his cells. I know this because poor Mathew, one of the few remaining well-educated men in the world, was struck by the creature before we could react. His head, arms, and legs fell into hundreds of perfectly cubed pieces on the floor. I could not fathom the kind of strike that could inflict such a perfect death.
“Hit the floor!” Jessica shouted, falling to the ground. Others pulled away from the table or threw themselves to the ground. None of these individuals would have survived so long as they had if not for their ability to get away from the monsters that preyed on humanity.
“Where are our weapons!” Thom shouted, running to the side and pushing over a library shelf onto the creature. The shelf exploded into hundreds of papers and pieces of wood, flying in every direction.
The Hound let out an inhuman screech, half animal call, half shout from another dimension. That sound penetrated my soul and was as loud as the cry of a beast a hundred times its size. I would have covered my ears to drown out the hellish cacophony, but was too busy aiming my gun at it.
I was out of orihalcum ammunition but fired anyway, the bullets disappearing into the gaps between the monster’s angles. They ricocheted and bounced around the library about us.
“Put that away!” Thom cried out.
“Have you got any better ideas?” I shouted, ceasing my attack anyway.
The Hound’s tail pulled back as if to strike them, only for the back end to disappear and then reappear behind Thom.
“Behind you!” I shouted.
Thom hit the ground as the monster’s tail shot over his head. The creature was able to stretch its impossible body in directions beyond anything I’d seen in the Wasteland. Thom rolled to the side as the squares making up the tail separated and fell down on the ground like knives, trying but failing to impale him.
“Nodens, I call upon your power to protect me! I’phek Re’Kithnid K’a!” Bobbie shouted, waving her hand around in the air before, much to my surprise, a flaming whip appeared inside her hand. As she cracked it against the Hound of Tindalos, the creature let forth another inhuman cry. This one, however, was a screech of pain.
I hoped.
August, meanwhile, had moved a safe distance away. Making a series of strange hand gestures, he shouted to Mercury, “Do you know the Breath of Ithaqua?”
“Yes!” Mercury shouted, hiding behind another shelf. My lover was already preparing another spell, having ignored my request not to study sorcery beyond banishment and protection spells.
“Then let us strike with it!” August cried out, trying to rally his courage.
The Hound, however, had other ideas. Hit repeatedly by Bobbie’s flaming whip, which seemed to draw the creature’s angles together rather than separate them, the creature split into a hundred different shards before they vanished. Then the Hound appeared right behind her.
I charged forward but was unable to keep the creature from slashing across her chest and taking three square ribbons out of it before it leapt at my throat. I threw my arm in front of my face and the massive creature landed on me. The Hound slashed its claws and gnashed its jaws agains
t my arm, biting, snapping, and howling, but the monster didn’t tear through me as with Mathew. I felt tremendous pain, but the claws on my arm and chest were no worse than any other animal attack. Though the Hound of Tindalos had no recognizable expressions, its next cry sounded frustrated and confused.
The creature might not have experienced anything like a human being, but I suspected it was in anything but a good mood when Jessica smashed it across the face with a table leg she’d broken off. Momentum, more than force, sent the creature flying off me. It disappeared in midair and reappeared right side up, once more ready for battle. That was when Thom smashed a chair over its head like we were having a bar fight in a saloon rather than a battle with an otherworldly horror. The Hound turned its head toward him, making a hissing noise. That reaction, at least, was unmistakable.
“Nice doggie,” Thom muttered, wincing and backing away.
The monster opened its mouth, which expanded to a size capable of swallowing Thom whole, and its entire body seemed to shake. Alien words filled the air, seeming to disrupt reality with their presence. A miniature twister caused the bookshelves around us to blow over as books went flying. Mystical energies ran thick and cool around us, easier to access in this strange place than cursed Earth.
Mercury and August were casting their spell together, their voices speaking in unison. “Na’ck thul nu’ll al’zul Ithaqua! Mock’thall Mock’thall ck’eb Ithaqua ner’zhul kabthan!”
The temperature dropped to freezing levels around us while the Hound of Tindalos grew more and more physical substance. I speculate, now that I have a moment to think about it, that the creature existed in multiple points of time at once. Moving through time was as easy to it as a fish swimming downstream, and presence in a single point of time was painful.
“Ithaqua mock’thul akrthas khack-mul za!” August and Mercury continued their chant. Every utterance of the magic spell tortured the Hound, the creature seeming almost of this Earth when it began glowing with Saint Elmo’s fire.
Tower of Zhaal Page 7
