by J K Ishaya
“One of the females was the first to be overpowered. She was holding off two n’gai at the ground, had even sliced through one of them sending an arc of gore into the air, slinging off of her blade, when three more dropped onto her from above. One of them screeched, feeling the bite of the steel’s edge, but in moments I heard her screams rip through the cavern, and more than one of the fighters shouted, ‘Brenna!’ Just like that the screams ended, and the n’gai dispersed to fight others, leaving her pale body torn open, and as the head lolled sideways, facing in my direction, I saw that her eyes had been torn out. Simply gone. Pulled cleanly from her sockets, leaving two bloody holes. This sight made my heart sink, for how could even these skilled people overpower such numbers. It recalled for me the night the gates of Sarmizegetusa burst open to let in the hordes of Romans, the chaos that ensued, the burning homes. It had happened just weeks ago, but now felt so far away even as it stung my heart and head and I shouted out for that poor girl at the same time the aroma of her blood stirred my instinct to feed, and the corpse right next to me was no longer of interest as was the meat of a fresh kill. Disgusted with myself as I had been over that poor soul whom Nyarlathotep had goaded me into killing, I bent my head and looked away, clenched at my gnawing stomach, and groaned.
“When next I looked up, it was to see that one of the young men was cornered against one of the columns but still fighting valiantly against the n’gai that was closing in on him. With a skillful lunge and thrust, he stabbed it through its gaping mouth, severing the tongue, and scraping steel over long teeth. As he drew back, another gaunt was climbing down the column behind him. It was simply reflexive that I called, ’Watch out!’ to him. To my shame, I only distracted him as he turned right into his attacker and was grabbed up by the head by spindly claws and dangled from his neck. He kicked and shouted as the gaunt, bent backwards from its purchase against the stone, opened its wide mouth and its slathering tongue slid out. The appendage stabbed forward, right into one of the young Borean's eyes and plucked it out neatly before it was drawn into the hideous mouth and devoured. The n’gai’s victim screamed and kicked and tried to no avail to get an angle at which he could cut into the beast.
“‘Sten!’ the second woman shouted and ran straight for the column and her captured comrade. Just as the thing’s tongue was ejecting to take out the second eye, she leapt, raising her sword, and brought it down crosswise on the n’gai’s outstretched front arms. The blade severed them cleanly and both young man and claws came free and dropped. The n’gai screeched as blood spewed from its stumps and tried to back up the column awkwardly using only its hind claws and feet. The girl, meanwhile, dropped down to the ground in a kneel beside her half-blinded companion with her sword at the ready.” I pause as my audience now seems extremely humored. “What is it, Howard?”
“Just women fighting so, with such skill. It seems very strange to me.”
“And why not?” I ask. “Dacian women fought beside their men, so this was no strange thing to me. You have read your myths have you not? Of warrior goddesses? Athena? Artemis? Or the Valkyries of the Norsemen?”
“Yes, I understand, just… to describe this.”
“Joan of Arc,” Kvasir adds pointedly, and then in a moment of utmost helpfulness says, “Now shut up, Howard.” This draws a fresh glare of offense but reaps the desired results.
“It was at this point of being overpowered that said warrior woman—Freytha—clearly decided she'd had enough. Her comrade had pushed up onto his knees, head bent over as he clutched a hand over his gored eye socket and she was beside him, keeping him close. She shouted something to her kinsmen then, and I observed that they all immediately, even while holding their blades at ready, made the same pattern of circles in the air around themselves. My prison mate, too, did this, and at the least, tiny moment, I saw him look at me. There was no concern on his face, but it was a strange stare, perhaps like an apology. It was the faintest shimmer that I saw in the air over each of them, like the fragile iridescence on a bubble but it rippled not unlike a heatwave. The woman, crouching close to her companion, who was still too consumed in pain and shock, made the gesture for the both of them, and the subtle ripple descended upon them at the same time she drew something from a pouch at her side. I saw her close her eyes, mouth some unheard words, and then she ferociously dashed something upon the floor.
“It splashed out in a circle with the effect of blue flame that roared outward, expanding rapidly. It consumed the n’gai as it grew in circumference, and the hideous screeches that arose were chilling and satisfying to hear. It burned their flesh so swiftly as to leave twisted, charred bodies that collapsed in its path. It climbed walls and columns and burned away more of the creatures with that rumble I had heard earlier. I watched it sweep toward my prison mate and appear that it would consume and him, too, but instead it veered around and over him, and I could see him standing within the blue flame, unharmed, at which point it occurred to me that I was not mystically shielded. I cursed then, just a fragment of a second before the wave hit my circle.
“The pain of burning was worse than the damage I had willingly done to myself. I toppled over, screaming as I felt my flesh singe and smoke and peel from my body, yet through that agony, a lucid thought seeped into my mind that this was what Bendis had felt when she died, that this was what my children had felt, and I would have wept for them again were I not plunged into unconsciousness. It was only for, perhaps, minutes, for when I came around again my body was mending itself yet again, the blackness of my singed muscles bubbling back into their proper form and shape while whole, human-looking skin climbed over them and met and covered the angry, ugly underside that was now my internal body. Other awareness came to me. The cavern was quiet now, and when I looked up and around, I found the floor littered with the singed bodies of the n’gai.
“The group of intruders were now standing well away from my circle and watching me with looks that were nothing less than horror, while the woman, who had set off what I can only call a preternatural fire bomb, was kneeling next to my prison mate, using some other occult and secret method to unlock the chain around his ankle. I saw her glance at me with disgust and then back to him, speaking again in their language, and he answered her in a hush and also looked at me in a way that I could not read. None of her spells seemed to work on the chain, and finally she called over one of her comrades who used the pommel of his sword to beat at the link as close to Kvasir’s ankle as he could get. Sparks flew from the strikes, each producing a sharp clang through the cavern that pierced my sensitive ears and caused me to cringe.
“Meanwhile, the other two males stood together, one being that who had lost an eye—Sten. I’d heard the girl call that name when she’d rushed to save him. His companion helped him stand, as he was clearly woozy from the injury over which he also pressed a rag. His one good eye stared with suspicion at me. It was obvious why. They had expected me to burn along with the n’gai, yet here I was, whole again, but no less still trapped and no less an abomination in their eyes.
“When the chain broke with one last, harsh clang, my prison mate and his companions got to their feet. He wobbled slightly but after a few deep breaths, stood straight and accepted the sword that had belonged to the dead girl.”
“Brenna,” Kvasir says now. “She was a very young Borean, but brave, and I have forever been in her family’s debt for her sacrifice.”
“They spoke amongst themselves then, and then in a rush started from the prison area. I watched helplessly, desperate again, heart sinking that they might abandon me, so I shouted after them, ‘Wait! Set me free!’ The others hurried on ahead to keep the way clear, while Kvasir and his injured comrade stayed in the rear, both weakened from imprisonment and injury, and when I called out his name he turned and hesitated. ‘Please!’ I begged. ‘I know now what Nyarlathotep wants with me… and with Malorix!’
“Again, he hesitated, stood there looking broken and tired, his hair like a halo in the hal
f-light. Beside him, Sten snarled out some objection, but was nudged aside. I saw consideration flashing through Kvasir’s eyes, but I understood why he would hesitate as well. He had seen me do atrocious things, even within that confinement, and I am sure that I looked quite a state with the hunger churning inside me.
“‘Kvasir,’ I said softly. ‘He is my enemy, too.’
“One of the other two Borean men came jogging back to implore, in a hushed tone, that Kvasir and Sten hurry. Sten did so, turning and stumbling on, still holding that rag over his eye while clutching his sword with his free hand.
“‘Please,’ I said one more time, then finally, without further pause, Kvasir stepped forward and scraped the tip of the sword across the outer circle, marring the phosphorescent line so that the glow dropped away and I felt my body become suddenly light and fully able to move around. He turned and ran ahead, leaving me to my own devices. I got to my feet, shaking, gasping with relief, and took a step out of my prison.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“The hunger was now a continuous, agonizing hum in my body, causing me to pause over the body of the poor Borean girl. Her blood was still so fresh, even if the blast had charred her remains, leaving her clothes singed and her hair almost gone. I clamped a fist over my stomach and pounded it, clenched my teeth, and thought of the way in which I had murdered the poor old baker on the Phantasm. Healing over and over again was taking its toll, but I told myself I could resist this. I forced myself to stop breathing instinctively to avoid the smell, and rushed on, finding that the others had gone quite far ahead of me already.
“I caught up with them where the cavern opened upon a much larger chamber than the prison. It extended for many hundreds of feet with two rows of thick, black columns down the middle, each column circled with ensconced torches that emitted a heavy, cloying smoke. In the surrounding walls were rows of openings in which, I thought, anything might lurk from more n’gai to any other atrocity Nyarlathotep had managed to bring to the earth plane.
“The Boreans had regrouped to listen to the noises ahead, the great rumbles still resonating through the mountain’s core. They whispered sharply amongst themselves in their language and for the first time since being free of my prison, I remembered that I could scan their thoughts. Gently, I thought, just enough to get an understanding what they were communicating to each other. I tried this only to suddenly find them all glaring at me furiously, well aware of my attempt and treating it as a very offensive intrusion. I had not had any understanding as to how telepathic they truly were. Their eyes were streaked with drying tears from the loss of their kinswoman, and I had just dealt a second, if not as severe, injury. I was all but brushed off as they resumed their focus on escape and made quiet gestures to each other. They hurried forward, and I did not feel particularly welcome to follow, so I trailed behind them keeping a distance.
“I traced the same disturbing rumbles that they were attempting to track until we’d all made it through the larger, vaulted chamber and back into a series of more narrow corridors. Then I lost sight of them when the cavern opened yet again and the passages split. I bent an ear to listen, but a series of echos made it unclear whether they had taken the right or left passage. Closer by, I caught, over the mountain trembles, a scurrying sound and then a heartbeat, and once more I breathed, taking in a scent that was warm and living and suddenly my hunger could not be contained.
“I turned just as the robed figure came from the shadows with a dagger, attempting to bring the gleaming blade down on my back. In that moment, the speed I had come to know since my awakening came back to me, and I caught the descending hand by the wrist and with a simple flick, broke the bone. A voice cried out from inside the hood as I shook the dagger free to clatter on the floor. I held him up, whimpering, by his creaky, wobbly wrist, savoring his pain, and then my mind began to tap into those places that Nyarlathotep had forced me to discover on the deck of the ship. I found within me the means to trigger my own transformation, not just in claws or teeth but throughout my entire body, every muscle, sinew and bone, every cell and I knew without a doubt that only from Azathoth’s essence did I have this gift. I would use it, as Malorix had proclaimed, to fight Nyarlathotep and all that he represented. With little effort, and the sensation of tingling and crawling under my skin over my shoulder blades, I manifested a small series of the same narrow tendrils I had produced during that initial coerced change. They emerged from my upper back and streamed forward over my shoulders. They were as perceptive to touch as my fingers and as easy to manipulate.
“With five in all, to start, I brushed the edge of his hood back to briefly see the face of a man in perhaps his thirties. His skin was ashen, his eyes blood shot to a hideous degree, and I could see in the dilated pools of his pupils a fanaticism that rattled me. It was not unlike that look I’s seen in Decebal’s drugged, fevered eyes in the temple that last night, when my father had shockingly sacrificed not one but six young men to Zalmoxis. Now that I knew Zalmoxis was nothing but a minion, and Decebal’s faith horribly misplaced, I despised our supposed god. This man, however, was no servant god but very human, and he followed Nyarlathotep, shunning daylight… shunning life itself… in favor of the evils that the Crawling Chaos could dispense upon the rest of mankind.
“‘You will do,’ I hissed before my new arms twined around his neck and tilted his head back steeply. My jaw unhinged before I closed my mouth over his throat and gnawed ferociously and deeply. Blood burbled up out of his mouth from the compression, but he barely struggled. His good hand came up to grasp at a thick, filthy lock of my hair and pull weakly, then the hold gradually loosened and fell away along with his life. With my hands completely free, and the body supported by other means, I tore away the front of his robe with one hand and pulled out his heart with the other. As I became distracted by the delectable smell, I cradled the bloody organ in both hands and all but nuzzled it as I finished my feast, and each long and slender new protrusion slid back underneath my skin, allowing the body to slide down to the floor. I licked my fingers as I felt my strength return to full muster, my senses growing keener again. I suspect much of it also had to do with shuffling off the effects of the prison, and with that renewed potency of mind and body, I felt more eyes on me. I spun around, tensing and ready for an attack.
“Instead, I found there, stepping from the shadows, not another of Nyarlathotep’s gray, obscure human minions but none other than Amarisa. The witch was smiling with approval at my deed. I immediately braced for whatever enchantment she might try. When she merely raised one hand in what was more of a welcoming gesture, I recoiled and snarled at her. How I must have looked with my beard caked in blood and my claws still at the ready, yet she kept padding closer to me, her pale skin shining to my sensitive vision. My back crawled again, but I managed to keep the appendages hidden beneath the surface as a last resort. I kept my eyes upon her as I eased back into the darker shafts of the cavern, instinctively cloaking myself.
“’Oh, Zyraxes,’ she cooed at me, ‘you have no reason to be concerned.’ She came closer, that hand still out as if to beckon me to take it, and to my horror, I wanted to. So very badly I wished to take her small, elegant hand and pull her into an intimate embrace, kiss her mouth, grope her breasts… gods… to fuck her. I was hardening just looking at her. This was the power she had, to seduce so easily. Fighting its influence, I shook my head slowly, shifted my weight back and forth like a cornered animal. I knew I should kill her, but I could not find it in me, the hunger was sated and thus lessened the drive to slaughter for the reason of feeding. That left my basest, male drive weak and at her disposal.
“‘There is nothing to fear from me at all,’ she said, ‘my son and I only mean to give you back your kingdom. In Azathoth you have a purpose. Through him you will have the truest power, and we will be your servants.’ She pressed her body against mine until the two of us were melded with the shadows that should have been my retreat. The distant rumbles continued, rac
king the stone walls in rising and falling waves, yet for me they became more distant, my seducer and me becoming gauzed in a soft, soothing atmosphere in which my desire for her continued to build.
“‘But,’ I did weakly attempt to argue with her, ‘Nyarlathotep is not your son. Your son is trapped inside there… in his own body.’ If, I reminded myself, his consciousness still existed at all. To this she paused, the least furrow on her brow, and her eyes dimmed. I tried to sense what she was feeling, but so well was she shielded that my mind only met a solid, slick wall that mental fingers could not grasp or read.
“‘Lyrr,’ she said softly at last, and I wondered if perhaps she actually held some remorse. How had she become a follower of Nyarlathotep to begin with? I wondered. Had she been coerced? I knew now the Crawling Chaos’ modus operandi, so was it possible she had been manipulated into following him, even offered a higher station, which she clearly enjoyed now? But did she regret it? Was it possible she might repent? These considerations were quickly unraveled when she said, ’Lyrr did his duty and submitted to his destiny.’ I had no response to that, being that I did not know the entire story, only the little that Kvasir and Nodens had told me, and this left me with a further sense of confusion. ’And so shall you,’ she said with renewing determination, and before I knew it she was dropping light little kisses on my mouth to which my mind screamed at me to stop her, but my body remained in thrall. ‘You do not even have to go back through the Dreamlands, Zyraxes. I can help you. There is a ceremony. I can guide you through it to reach and connect with Azathoth.’
“To my horror I kissed back. The way she spoke the Daemon Sultan’s name was so alluring that yes, I felt that I wanted that, that I wanted to know to the fullest that part of my being that coursed with Azathoth’s untapped power. Once I laid claim to that, I could claim her. She would be mine and, as she had just said, even Nyarlathotep would be my servant, and to have it put in that perspective was especially enticing.
