by Scott Hale
Elizabeth and Miranda told her she didn’t want to hurt herself or others so much, that there were other ways. But those ways were shut to her now. There was blood in her past and present. Who was she to expect anything different from the future?
Reaching the place where the pink fog covered the path, R’lyeh took a deep breath and pushed through it. Like a barrier, it bucked, but her will was stronger than its rule to keep her out. She closed her eyes and pressed her body into the fog. Every inch gained, another was lost. She screamed and threw fists, beating at the air like the mire it mimicked.
A foot in, and she could feel the fog breaking apart, giving itself to her. It enveloped her, filling in the hole she had made with her pig-headed desperation. Not wanting to do it, but doing it anyway, R’lyeh opened her eyes slightly to make sure she hadn’t steered off course.
The dock still lay before her, but there wasn’t much left of it. A few feet farther and she would’ve plunged straight into the bloody waters. But that wasn’t the worst of it. This was Mr. Haemo, and when it came to Mr. Haemo, he could always be counted on to deliver disgust.
Out of the water, and seemingly reality itself, giant, shit-colored rafts of mosquito eggs had grown. It wasn’t a matter of deciding if there were hundreds or thousands, but millions or billions. Fixed to the air, to the fabric of space, they curved over the dock like tooth-lined jaws—the spit they dripped the fluid from the wriggling larvae contained inside. Looking into the rafts, especially those on the surface of the lake, was like looking down on a city from the sky; the rafts were impossibly deep—deeper, maybe, than even the lake itself. Millions of eggs? Billions of eggs? No, much more than that. The rafts weren’t parts of a nest, but countries of a continent—small, surface-level glimpses of the great, unimaginable horrors beyond the Membrane of this world.
Others would’ve stopped, but R’lyeh kept going. She took out the vial of Thanatos and, with both hands, pressed it to her heart.
“Where are you?” she called out, going to the end of the dock. “I know you’re here.”
A buzzing broke from the shit-colored heavens above. R’lyeh tipped her head back, but there was nothing there. Again, a buzzing; this time, to her right. In her mind, she drew Vrana’s ax and faced that direction. And again, there was nothing there.
“Stop!”
Like vibrations across a wire, one after the other, the rafts of eggs shivered out wet, slopping sounds. A whole nation of larvae was watching her, waiting to get at her; to be her first, and her last.
The pink fog hadn’t forgotten her. It rose up from in between the gaps in the dock and immediately overtook her. R’lyeh closed her eyes and her mouth, but it didn’t matter. The fog was blood, sentient blood, and her pores were like doors to it. It seeped inside her, filled her lungs to capacity. Choking, vision dimming, she remembered the Ashen Man and how he had filled her lungs with flies. She had dodged Death once. That was more than most could hope for.
“Let her go,” she heard the Skeleton say.
The fog rushed out of her lungs, up her throat, and exploded from her mouth. R’lyeh reared back, doubled-over. Shaking, she took big, greedy gulps of air while the fog dissipated around her.
“I’m g-going with y-you,” R’lyeh stammered.
She swallowed hard and stood upright. The scene was the same, and different. Instead of the dock dead-ending at the borders of uncharted hell, it was checked by a single tree that twisted out of the lake. Its branches were bare, and its midsection massively engorged, so that it gave the appearance of being pregnant. Sitting atop the bulge was Mr. Haemo, and at the foot of the tree, on the edge of the dock, stood Herbert North and the Skeleton.
“Iä! Iä! R’lyeh fhtagn!” Herbert North cried, wringing his hands. He smiled a guilty smile and tried to block R’lyeh’s view of the lake beyond.
There was smoke coming off the lake, behind the tree. R’lyeh hurried forward. Herbert North stepped aside, but the Skeleton stepped in front of her.
“You can’t come,” he said.
R’lyeh shoved him—
Celibate circuitry singing psalms to the achromatic tower. Sickness in the stars.
—shook off his Black Hour touch, and went to the edge of the dock.
“Shouldn’t be here,” Mr. Haemo buzzed, legs spread over the tree’s bulge. “What’d you see?” He leaned forward, claws deep in bark, his huge proboscis inches from her head. “It’s our secret.”
R’lyeh ignored him and, pointing at the lake, said, “What the hell is this?”
Between the end of the dock and the base of the tree, a man-sized whirlpool churned. It was from here that the black smoke poured, but it wasn’t because of the whirlpool itself, or the spells that had woven it. The smoke was coming out of the images inside the whirlpool, the scenes that played out shakily on every constricting layer. Earth and stone; cave and causeway; prison bars and ruddy opulence. Like the Skeleton’s caress, the whirlpool was a mere fraction of a maelstrom of experiences. And the images? They weren’t reflections, but etchings; Mr. Haemo and the Skeleton were burning their way through reality, the same way the mosquito had hitched his brood into the invisible grooves of time and space.
R’lyeh had seen this before. Months ago, when the Skeleton had destroyed the Red Worm and saved his family. Everyone knew Mr. Haemo was using Gallows as a blood well. But the smoke? The images? The sons of bitches had opened another portal.
“You can’t come.” The Skeleton put himself in front of R’lyeh, and then stepped forward, pushing her back. “The Dead City isn’t a place for you. I want you with my family. I’m not going to be moved on this.”
“I thought… you were… going to—”
“Walk?” Mr. Haemo clicked out laughter. “Our Fearless Leader is above such mortal things.”
Herbert North’s eyes pleaded with R’lyeh. He reached out as if to touch her, but stopped himself. “I knew a girl who went through hell, and when the time came, she thought hell was all she deserved.” He nodded back towards Gallows.
Gemma? “How do you—”
“I saved her from the Dread Clock once. But I underestimated its effect on her family. This is Atticus’ curse. It doesn’t have to be yours.” He smiled. “I’m going to Angheuawl, too, with Hex and the others. I know you want to know all about the Old World. I’ll you everything. But this isn’t—”
The Skeleton pulled his ratty cloak closed. “There’s nothing to discuss. The Dead City is covered in sickness and disease. You’ll die. I won’t. That’s all there is to it.”
“No, that’s the thing. I won’t.” R’lyeh finally took her hand away from her breast and revealed the vial of Thanatos inside it. “I’d say ask Elizabeth or Miranda…” A tear snuck out, and she quickly wiped it away. “That stuff doesn’t hurt me. I’m immune.”
“What is this? I’m intrigued,” Mr. Haemo said, flashing his wings. “You been holding out on us, girl?”
The Skeleton cocked his skull. “What’s that in your hand?”
The pink fog pressed in on them from every direction. From the whirlpool, the sounds of a cavern emerged, amplified.
“Deathshade, malingas, poisonbite berries,” R’lyeh started. “Darkslick frogs, gloom caps. I’ve eaten or been bit, or both, by all of them and more.
“When I went to Rime? I was immune to the Rot in less than thirty minutes. And you know the Crossbreed couldn’t have affected me. I wouldn’t be here if it had. I want to go with you. I can help you.”
“Is that the Thanatos?” The Skeleton chattered his jaw. “Give it here. Killed me once. It’ll kill you.”
Herbert North shouted, “No, don’t.”
And Mr. Haemo leaned farther in, his bulbous red eyes glinting with sadistic curiosity.
R’lyeh took the stopper out of the vial. The Thanatos’ odor found her nostrils immediately and coated it with that sweet, intestinal smell. She pressed the vial to her lips; the poison clung like barnacles to the vial, so she had to shake it loose. O
ne drop was enough to kill a man. But she wasn’t a man, nor was she a human. So maybe, just maybe, this could work.
“What’re you trying to prove?” the Skeleton said, inching closer to her.
“Never you mind,” R’lyeh said, mocking his accent.
She opened her mouth and flicked the vial. The Thanatos dribbled onto her lips, sealing their cracks with the stuff of Death. By the time the poison had reached her tongue, she was blind. And by the time the thick, black spread had coated the back of her throat, she was dead.
And then she wasn’t.
R’lyeh shot up from off the ground, her nose bleeding, her eyes watering; the tips of her fingers and toes feeling as if they were on fire. Her chest hurt so bad she had to check it to make sure it hadn’t caved in completely. Mouth and throat still filled with the Thanatos, R’lyeh clawed over to the edge of the dock and splashed the blood into her mouth; guzzling it, gargling it, she spat and swallowed and made herself vomit, over and over again, until the taste of blood was stronger than that of Death.
“Goddamn,” she heard Mr. Haemo say. “Atticus, you got some competition.”
R’lyeh didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Every inch of her, inside and out, felt as if hooks had dug into her, like she had been reeled out of the underworld.
“What did you see?” The Skeleton stepped up next to her. “R’lyeh, what did you see?”
“Nothing.”
That was a lie, of course. She had seen something. She could still see it even now, the residual image like needlepoint upon her eyelids. There had been mostly darkness; bridges of light. And a moth and two skulls, and red words amongst the stars. But the Skeleton didn’t need to know that. The jackass had tried to call her bluff, and failed. Now, she was calling the shots.
“Are you okay?” Herbert North’s voice shook as he spoke. “Oh god, are you okay? Big Bug, do something!”
R’lyeh batted at the air, just in case someone actually tried to help her. Carefully, smiling with her bloodstained teeth, she rose to her feet. “I told you,” she belted to the lot of them. “I fucking told you.”
Mr. Haemo rubbed his claws together and hopped down from the tree’s swollen trunk. The dock gave a little as the seven-foot mosquito’s weight crashed into it. He pulled the hood of the skin cloak he wore over his head and giggled like a child.
Herbert touched the wound on his neck. “Atticus, she’s been through enough.”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Mr. Haemo said, starting to pace back and forth in front of the whirlpool. “Take the girl, Gravedigger, or I close the portal. Don’t trust you do this on your own. Not with that shit in your chest.”
The Skeleton ran his fat, black tongue over the top of his jaw. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth, between Mr. Haemo and Herbert North. “We’re leaving now.”
R’lyeh nodded. But she couldn’t help herself: “What about the others?”
“Got to go now,” the Skeleton said. “Won’t if we don’t. Blood will take us to the Dead City, and that’s how we’ll get back. There’s weapons in the City; guns, explosives. The Vermillion God is coming. The humans killed It before with those things. We can do it again. The Marrow Cabal will wait in Angheuawl until we get back.”
“How do you know all that?”
Herbert North looked away, ashamed.
“But… you have the Black Hour’s heart.” R’lyeh wiped her mouth. “You can do anything. You don’t need to go to the Dead City.”
The Skeleton shook his head. “Penance is going to be here soon. Eldrus, too, probably.”
“Do the others know that’s why they have to leave?” R’lyeh curled her lip. “Is that what you told your wife and son?”
The Skeleton looked over his shoulder. “Never you mind that. Are you coming?”
“N-now?” R’lyeh looked around the dock. “We don’t have any supplies.”
“I don’t eat or drink. And I don’t need no weapons when I have these—” The Skeleton held up his boney hands.
Hebert North cleared his throat. “Stay, R’lyeh. Being immune to one thing doesn’t mean you’re immune to everything. You don’t want to go in there.”
R’lyeh raised an eyebrow and looked into the whirlpool. The images in the blood were growing more intense. Earth and stone, and towers covered in gold and rust.
“Is that the Dead City?”
Mr. Haemo finally stopped pacing and launched off the dock into the air. “It’s one of them.”
The Skeleton grumbled, took off down the dock, and dropped into the whirlpool. A downdraft formed at the center of the lake, transforming the whirlpool into a smoking vortex.
The white hairs on Herbert North’s head whipped back and forth. “Don’t,” he said. “He did everything for Clementine and Will to get them back, and now he can’t bear to be around them. He’s not the man he used to—”
R’lyeh waved off the old man and staggered to the end of the dock. The Thanatos was still in her system, but she didn’t have time to wait it out.
“You have to admit,” she said, staring into the swirling vortex, “this makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Herbert said. “This isn’t fate.”
R’lyeh put one leg over the edge of the dock. “Then what is it?”
“A little girl who went through hell, and who now thinks hell is all she deserves.”
She shook her head and tongued the last of the fresh Thanatos hidden behind her teeth. One drop was enough to kill her, and this time, she didn’t even feel a thing.
R’lyeh closed her eyes, told the old man and giant bug she’d see them again soon, and fell forward into the vortex.
The blood swallowed her whole; seconds later, it spat her back out. She fell from one body of gore to another, before washing up on a dim, stony shore. Disorientated, she clawed her way across the rocks, out of the pool of blood. She could hear the Skeleton nearby, doing the same, but her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light.
“R’lyeh?” she heard the Skeleton call out.
R’lyeh blinked and blinked until her pupils were large enough to work with. This was a cave, she surmised; some sort of underground place. Body sticking to the stones, she flipped over from her belly to her back and stared up at the ceiling of the place.
But there was no ceiling, no true ceiling; only a gigantic hole at the top of the cave through which the evening sun poured. The rocks around the fissure were stained with blood, as if some massive torrent had blown through the cave.
R’lyeh’s heart sank. Her eyes became jittery as they danced around the hollow. Fixed to the walls were pieces of what appeared to be a spiraling platform; they ran from the top of the hollow, all the way to the blood from which she and the Skeleton had emerged.
She could see the Skeleton in her periphery, watching her as she put the pieces together. He was holding a red stone in his hand that had strange markings across it.
R’lyeh scurried backwards and looked over her shoulder, where she found another piece of a ramp, and a hole in the wall where a few prison cells had been built. Then she was on her feet, staring at the closing portal, noticing how the lake of blood seemed to go deeper still.
R’lyeh glanced back up at the fissure. She could see the sun and the clouds, but there was more than that, too. There were buildings. Large, towering buildings, gilded and glowing, that were so rich just looking at them made her teeth hurt.
She looked back down, at the blood, and at the sheer walls that fed into the lake, forming a funnel. She noticed doorways on one of the overlooks, and what appeared to be skinny corpses piled there.
The Skeleton told her not to worry, that she was safe.
But how could she be safe when she was back where this started? Where she had been beaten and abused, and forced into a cell for days on end. Where she had watched children being raped, and made to rape one another. Where she had seen her mom and dad murdered during the day that’d happened, and all the night that’d followed. Where ten thousand C
orrupted and hundreds of Night Terrors had been brutalized and degraded, so that the holy could keep their hold on heaven. Where flesh fiends had risen out of the waters she now stared at, to feed on fresh flesh, rather than the rotted muck they then wore.
Where a woman named Vrana had saved her, who she couldn’t even save in return.
She was safe? R’lyeh started to laugh and cry at the same time. She was safe? How could she be safe when she was back again at the Pit of Geharra?
CHAPTER XIX
Other than the Garden of Sleep and the stars that shone below it, there wasn’t much color when it came to the Abyss. At least, that’s what Aeson thought, until Death pointed to a place in the dark, distant and gray. It was hard to see, but once he had, it was impossible to see anything else. Shapeless and senseless, the gray cloud sprawled out across the blackness like a nebula. Little light emerged from the astral splatter, but it was enough to let everyone who saw it know that, though it may have been forgotten, it was not unoccupied.
Staring at the gray nebula filled Aeson with such an intense sadness that he almost started crying. It was radiating emotions, the same way the Dead City was said to give off sickness and disease. But the Dead City, however unearthly, was a physical place. Aeson couldn’t explain it, but the distant nebula made him feel as if he were peering into a mind, rather than a universe; into a place that had never been, or could ever be, ever again.
“Pain and Joy are my daughters,” Death said, “and that gray place is the Void in which they reside. They are never far from me.”
Death crossed her arms, closing her wings around her body. The antennae twitched on her head, the same way someone’s lip might if they were starting to tear up. Using her scissor-like fingers, she made shapes in the air—sign language, perhaps, for the forever sleeping—and then turned her back to Aeson and Bjørn.
