Elak of Atlantis

by Henry Kuttner

  5. AYNGER OF AMENALK

  For the man dwelt in a lost land

  Of boulders and broken men…

  —Chesterton

  They came to a forbidding, bleak coast that loomed high above the galley. The cold winds of Autumn filled the sails and let the weary oarsmen rest. The sea turned smoothly gray, surging in long, foamless swells under a blue-gray sky. The sun gave little heat. The crew turned gratefully to the ship’s stock—oil and wine and woven stuff, finding warmth and comfort in it.

  But Elak was chafed by inaction. He longed to reach Cyrena; endlessly he paced the decks, fingering his rapier and pondering on the mystery of the thing called Karkora. What was this Pallid One? Whence had it come? These problems were insoluble, and remained so till, one night, Elak dreamed.

  He dreamed of Dalan. The Druid priest seemed to be standing in a forest glade; before him a fire flickered redly. And Dalan said:

  “Leave your ship at the red delta. Seek Aynger of Amenalk. Tell him you seek the throne of Cyrena!”

  There was no more. Elak awoke, listening to the creaking of the galley’s timbers and the whisper of waves against the side. It was nearly dawn. He rose, went on deck, and searched the horizon under a shielding palm.

  To the right, breaking the gray cliffs, was a gap. Beyond it—an island. And on the island a castle loomed, part of the rock, it seemed, growing from it.

  The galley swept on. And now Elak saw that a river ran between the broken cliffs. At its mouth was a delta, made of reddish sand.

  So, in the cold, lowering dawn, Elak and Lycon left the galley. Willing oarsmen rowed them to shore. The two climbed the northern cliff and stood staring around. Inland the plateau stretched unbroken by tree or bush, windswept and desolate. To the west lay the Ocean Sea, chill and forbidding.

  “Perhaps this Aynger of your dream dwells in that castle,” Lycon said, pointing and shivering. “One of the men told me this is Kiriath. To the north, beyond the mountains, lies Cyrena.”

  Elak said somberly, “I know. And Sepher rules over Kiriath—Sepher, whom Karkora has taken for his own. Well—come on.”

  They set out along the edge of the cliff. The wind blew coldly, and brought to them a thin, high piping that seemed to come out of nowhere. Sad, mournful, weird, it murmured half-heard in the air about the two.

  And across the plateau a man came—a great gray man, roughly clad, with unkempt hair and iron-gray beard. He played upon a set of pipes, but put these away as he saw Elak and Lycon. He came closer and halted, with folded arms, waiting.

  The man’s face might have been chipped from the rough rocks of this land. It was harsh and strong and forbidding, and the cool gray eyes were like the sea.

  “What do you seek here?” he asked. His voice was deep and not at all unpleasant.

  Elak hesitated. “Aynger. Aynger of Amenalk. Do you know of him?”

  “I am Aynger.”

  For a heartbeat there was silence. Then Elak said, “I seek the throne of Cyrena.”

  Laughter sprang into the gray eyes. Aynger of Amenalk reached out a huge hand and gripped Elak’s arm, squeezing it painfully. He said, “Dalan sent you! Dalan!”

  Elak nodded.

  “But it is not me you seek. It is Mayana—the daughter of Poseidon. You must seek her there.” He pointed to the distant castle on the island. “Her power alone can aid you. But first—come.”

  He led the way to the cliff’s edge. A perilous, narrow path led down the jagged face; Aynger started along it with sure-footed ease, and Elak and Lycon followed more gingerly. Far below, the breakers tore upon the rocks; seabirds called shrilly.

  The path ended at a cave-mouth. Aynger entered, beckoning to the others. The cavern widened into a high-arched chamber, obviously Aynger’s home. He gestured to a heap of furs and gave each of his guests a great horn of mead.

  “So. Dalan sent you. I had wondered. Orander is dead. Once the Pallid One has set his seal on a man, there is escape in death alone.”

  “Karkora,” Elak said musingly. “What is he? Do you know, Aynger?”

  “You must seek your answer from Mayana, on the isle. Only she knows. Mayana—of the seas. Let me tell you.” The gray eyes grew bright with dream. A softness crept into the deep voice. “This land, on the western shore, is Amenalk. Not Kiriath. Once, long ago, Amenalk stretched far to the east. We were a great people then. But invaders came conquering, and now only this bit of land is left to us. Yet it is Amenalk. And I dwell here because in my veins runs the blood of kings.”

  Aynger flung back his gray, tousled head. “And for ages the castle on the isle had existed. None dwelt there. There were legends that even before the Amenalks held this land, an ancient sea-people made it their home. Sorcerers they were, warlocks and magicians. But they died and were forgotten. So, in time, my own people were scattered through Kiriath, and I dwelt here alone.

  “Sepher ruled, well and wisely. One night he walked alone on the cliffs of Amenalk, and when he returned to his palace, he brought a bride with him. This bride was Mayana. Some say he found her in the island castle. Some say she rose from the waves. I think she is not human. She is one of the old sea-race—

  “A shadow fell on the land. Out of the dark, out of the unknown, came Karkora. He took Sepher for his own. Mayana fled here, and dwells now in the castle, protected by her sorcery. And Karkora rules.”

  Aynger’s gray beard jutted; his eyes were lambent pools. He said, “My people were a Druid race. We worshipped great Mider, as I do now. And I tell you that Karkora is a foulness and a horror—an evil that will spread through all the world if the Druids fail to destroy him. Mayana holds his secret. Mayana knows. You must go to her on her isle. For myself—” A mighty hand clenched. “I have king’s blood, and my people live, though in bondage. I shall go through Kiriath and gather men. I think you will need armies, ere you sit on Cyrena’s dragon throne. Well, I have an army for you, and for Mider.”

  Aynger reached behind him, brought out a huge war-hammer, bound with thongs. Laughter touched his grim face.

  “We shall fight in the old way, woad-painted, without armor. And I think Helm-Breaker will taste blood again. If you get aid from Mayana—well. But with you or without you, man of Cyrena, Amenalk will go forth to battle!”

  The great gray man towered against the cave-mouth, a grim, archaic figure, somehow strong with primeval menace. He stood aside, pointing.

  “Your way lies there, to the isle. Mine lies inland. When we meet again, if we do, I shall have an army to give you.”

  Silently Elak moved past Aynger and went up the cliff path. Lycon trailed him. On the windy, treeless plateau he stood unmoving, while the gray giant passed him without a word and strode away, his war-hammer over one muscular shoulder, beard and hair flying in the wind.

  Aynger grew small in the distance. Elak nodded to Lycon.

  “I think we have a strong ally there. We’ll need him. But now—this Mayana. If she can solve the riddle of Karkora, I’ll find her though I have to swim.”

  “You won’t have to,” Lycon said, wiping his mouth. “Gods, that mead was good! There’s a bridge to the isle—see? A narrow one, but it will serve. Unless she’s set a dragon to guard it.”

  6. MAYANA

  By the tall obelisks, all seaweed-girt,

  Drift the pale dead of long and long ago,

  Lovers and kings who may not more be hurt,

  Wounded by lips or by the dagger’s blow.

  —The Sunken Towers

  From the cliff’s edge a narrow bridge of rock jutted, a natural formation worn by wind and rain. It ended on a jagged ledge, at the back of which a black hole gaped. Elak said, “Lycon, wait here, I must take this road alone.”

  The little man disagreed profanely. But Elak was firm.

  “It will be safer. So we won’t both fall into the same trap. If I’m not back by sundown, come after me—you may be of aid then.” Lycon could not help but realize the truth of this. He shrugged fat shoulders.


  “Very well. I’ll wait in Aynger’s cave. His mead was potent; I’m anxious to sample more. Luck, Elak.”

  Nodding, the Atlantean started along the bridge. He found it safer not to look down, but the surging roar of the breakers sounded disquietingly from beneath. Sea birds mewed and called. The wind tore at his swaying body.

  But at last he was across, and felt the firm stability of the rocky ground under his sandals. Without a backward glance he entered the cave-mouth. Almost immediately outside sounds dimmed and quieted.

  The road led down—a natural passage, seemingly, that turned and twisted in the rock. Sand was gritty underfoot, with bits of shell here and there. For a time it was dark, and then a greenish, vague luminous glow appeared, apparently emanated by the sand on which he trod.

  It was utterly silent.

  Still the tunnel led down, till Elak’s feet felt moisture beneath him. He hesitated, staring around. The rocky walls were dewed and sweating. A dank, salty odor was strong in his nostrils. Loosening his rapier in its scabbard, he went on.

  The green glow brightened. The passage turned; Elak rounded the corner, and stood motionless, staring. Before him a vast cavern opened.

  It was huge and terrifyingly strange. Low-roofed, stalactites hung in myriad shapes and colors over the broad expanse of an underground lake. The green shining was everywhere. The weight of the island above seemed to press down suffocatingly, but the air, despite a salt sea-smell, was fresh enough.

  At his feet a sandy half-moon of a beach reached down to the motionless surface of the water. Further out, he could see, far down, vague shadows that resembled sunken buildings—fallen peristyles and columns; and far away, in the center of the lake, was an island.

  Ruined marble crowned it. Only in the center a small temple seemed unharmed; it rose from shattered ruins in cool, white perfection. All around it the dead and broken city lay, to the water’s edge and beyond. A submerged, forgotten metropolis lay before Elak.

  Silence, and the pale green expanse of the waveless lake.

  Softly Elak called, “Mayana.” There was no response.

  Frowning, he considered the task before him. He felt an odd conviction that what he sought lay in the temple on the islet, but there was no way of reaching it save by swimming. And there was something ominous about the motionless green of the waters.

  Shrugging, Elak waded out. Icy chill touched his legs, crept higher about his loins and waist. He struck out strongly. And at first there was no difficulty; he made good progress.

  But the water was very cold. It was salt, and this buoyed him up somewhat; yet when he glanced at the islet it seemed no nearer. Grunting, Elak buried his face in the waters and kicked vigorously.

  His eyes opened. He looked down. He saw, beneath him, the sunken city.

  Strange it was, and weird beyond imagination, to be floating above the wavering outline of these marble ruins. Streets and buildings and fallen towers were below, scarcely veiled by the luminous waters, but possessing a vague, shadowy indistinctness that made them half-unreal. A green haze clothed the city. A city of shadows—

  And the shadows moved and drifted in the tideless sea. Slowly, endlessly, they crept like a stain over the marble. They took shape before Elak’s eyes.

  Not sea-shapes—no. The shadows of men walked in the sunken metropolis. With queer, drifting motion the shadows went to and fro. They met and touched and parted again in strange similitude of life.

  Stinging, choking cold filled Elak’s mouth and nostrils. He spluttered and struck out, realizing that he was far beneath the surface, that, unconsciously holding his breath, he had drifted into the depths. He fought his way up.

  It was oddly difficult. Soft, clinging arms seemed to touch him; the water darkened, but his head broke the surface, and he drank deeply of the chill air. Only by swimming with all his strength could he keep from sinking. That inexplicable drag pulled him down.

  He went under. His eyes were open, and he saw, far below, movement in the sunken city. The shadow-shapes were swirling up, rising, spinning like autumn leaves—rising to the surface. And shadows clustered about Elak, binding him with gossamer fetters. They clung feathery and tenacious as spider-webs.

  The shadows drew him down into the shining depths.

  He struck out frantically. His head broke water once more; he saw the islet, closer now.

  “Mayana!” he called. “Mayana!”

  Rustling movement shook the shadows. A ripple of mocking laughter seemed to go through them. They closed in again, dim, impalpable, unreal. Elak went under once more, too exhausted to fight, letting the shadows have their will with him. Only his mind cried out desperately to Mayana, striving to summon her to his aid.

  The waters brightened. The green glow flamed emerald-bright. The shadows seemed to pause with odd hesitation, as though listening.

  Then suddenly they closed in on Elak. They bore him through the waters; he was conscious of swift movement amid whirling green fire.

  The shadows carried him to the islet, bore him up as on a wave, and left him upon the sands.

  The green light faded to its former dimness. Choking, coughing, Elak clambered to his feet. He stared around.

  The shadows had vanished. Only the motionless lake stretched in the distance. He stood amid the ruins of the islet.

  Hastily he staggered away from the water’s marge, clambering across broken plinths and fallen pillars, making his way to the central temple. It stood in a tiny plaza, unmarred by time, but stained and discolored in every stone.

  The brazen door gaped open. Unsteadily Elak climbed the steps and paused at the threshold. He looked upon a bare room, lit with the familiar emerald glow, featureless save for a curtain, on the further wall, made of some metallic cloth and figured with the trident of the sea-god.

  There was no sound but Elak’s hastened breathing. Then, abruptly, a low splashing came from beyond the curtain. It parted.

  Beyond it was green light, so brilliant it was impossible to look upon. Silhouetted against the brightness for a moment loomed a figure—a figure of unearthly slimness and height. Only for a second did Elak see it; then the curtain swung back into place and the visitant was gone.

  Whispering through the temple came a voice, like the soft murmur of tiny, rippling waves. And it said:

  “I am Mayana. Why do you seek me?”

  7. KARKORA

  And I saw a beast coming up out of the sea, having ten horns and seven heads, and on his horns ten diadems, and upon his heads names of blasphemy… and the dragon gave him his power, and his throne, and great authority.

  —Revelations 13:1

  Elak’s wet hand crept to his rapier. There had been no menace in the whisper, but it was strangely—inhuman. And the silhouette he had seen was not that of any earthly woman.

  Yet he answered quietly enough, no tremor in his voice:

  “I seek the dragon throne of Cyrena. And I come to you for aid against Karkora.”

  There was silence. When the whisper came again, it had in it all the sadness of waves and wind.

  “Must I aid you? Against Karkora?’

  “You know what manner of being he is?” Elak questioned.

  “Aye—I know that well.” The metallic curtain shook. “Seat yourself. You are tired—how are you named?”

  “Elak.”

  “Elak, then—listen. I will tell you of the coming of Karkora, and of Erykion the sorcerer. And of Sepher, whom I loved.” There was a pause; then the low whisper resumed.

  “Who I am, what I am, you need not know, but you should understand that I am not entirely human. My ancestors dwelt in this sunken city. And I—well, for ten years I took human shape and dwelt with Sepher as his wife. I loved him. And always I hoped to give him a son who would some day mount the throne. I hoped in vain, or so I thought.

  “Now in the court dwelt Erykion, a wizard. His magic was not that of the sea, soft and kingly as the waves, but of a darker sort. Erykion delved in ruined t
emples and pored over forgotten manuscripts of strange lore. His vision went back even before the sea-folk sprang from the loins of Poseidon, and he opened the forbidden gates of Space and Time. He offered to give me a child, and I listened to him, to my sorrow.

  “I shall not tell you of the months I spent in strange temples, before dreadful altars. I shall not tell you of Erykion’s magic. I bore a son—dead.”

  The silver curtain shook; it was long before the unseen speaker resumed. “And this son was frightful. He was deformed in ways I cannot let myself remember. Sorcery had made him inhuman. Yet he was my son, my husband’s son, and I loved him. When Erykion offered to give him life, I agreed to the price he demanded—even though the price was the child himself.

  “‘I shall not harm him,’ Erykion told me. ‘Nay, I shall give him powers beyond those of any god or man. Some day he shall rule this world and others. Only give him to me, Mayana.’ And I hearkened.

  “Now of Erykion’s sorcery I know little. Something had entered into the body of my son while I bore him, and what this thing was I do not know. It was dead, and it awoke. Erykion awoke it. He took this blind, dumb, maimed man-child and bore it to his home in the depths of the mountains. With his magic he deprived it of any vestige of the five senses. Only life remained, and the unknown dweller within.

  “I remember something Erykion had once told me. ‘We have in us a sixth sense, primeval and submerged, which can be very powerful once it is brought to light. I know how to do that. A blind man’s hearing may become acute; his power goes to the senses remaining. If a child, at birth, be deprived of all five senses, his power will go to this sixth sense. My magic can insure that.’ So Erykion made of my man-child a being blind and dumb and without consciousness, almost; for years he worked his spells and opened the gates of Time and Space, letting alien powers flood through. This sixth sense within the child grew stronger. And the dweller in his mind waxed great, unbound by the earthly fetters that bind humans. This is my son—my man-child—Karkora, the Pallid One!”