by J. E. Gurley
At first, he thought his eyes had deceived him. Then, several of the tentacles shifted slightly. No, he realized with a sickening feeling, the tentacles came from the pit. Round tentacles, each as large around as a wagon wheel, swept from the pit. They gripped the statue and pulled it down, shattering it into a dozen pieces. Then, with a ghastly howl that shook the entire chamber, the creature within the pit rose, brushing aside stones and bones. The remaining creatures cowered from it. Any minion touched by the massive tentacles gibbered in fear before bursting into flames. Finally, the head of the creature appeared over the edge of the pit. As in Sevilius’ drawing, the head held two large, blood red eyes and a lipless mouth surrounded by a nest of writing smaller tentacles. Gaius trembled as the dead red eyes swept over him; then, dismissed him as insignificant.
“Come,” Rashid urged, frantically grabbing at his hand.
Gaius turned to face him. The Berber had not seen the creature through the dust and remained unaware of their peril. The presence of the wraiths drove his fear. The truth was overwhelming. Gaius’ mind, trained by Greek and Roman philosophers, had no place in its well-ordered world for creatures such as this. The Inyosh worshipped a terrible god that held even its minions in appalling contempt.
“It’s alive,” he said.
Rashid stared at him as if he were mad, as perhaps he was. He had seen an impossible creature arise from the depths of Hades. Surely, that was as mad as one could become. Would he now follow Tribune Sevilius’ path into madness? He looked back at the pit to reassure himself that he had been mistaken, but smoke and dust now filled the cavern, shielding it from his view. Terror coursed through him like a fire. A consuming desire to flee the cavern and the dark tunnels engulfed him, submerging him in darkness as deep as that from which the creature had risen. In all his battles, facing death with any lucky enemy thrust of the sword or by a well-aimed arrow, he had not known fear. Now, fear was all he felt. It washed away all other sensations – courage, curiosity, steadfastness. Like a coward, he ran.
Gaius expected an attack by the creatures from each opening they passed, but none came. The appearance of their god had driven them deeper into their burrows. Choosing an opening at random, he raced up the steep slope. He barely noticed the pain in his leg or the presence of Rashid behind him, and then realized the azure glow of the amulet the Berber wore on his chest illuminated the way. He ran until his legs cramped and his chest begged for more air. Finally, exhausted and recovering a small portion of his senses, he collapsed on the floor of the tunnel. He listened, but heard nothing – No pursuit, no footsteps, no clanking of armor, no sounds of battle. He heard only the rumble of falling stone and the rasping sound of his and Rashid’s breathing.
“Why are you running so blindly?” Rashid asked between deeply drawn breaths.
“Did you not see it?” Gaius demanded.
“See what?”
The words burst from him, “The creature, Nergal. It emerged from its lair.”
Rashid stared at him for a moment and shook his head slowly. “Surely, it was a trick of the light.”
“No, it skewered me with its evil gaze, and then began moving, its tentacles writhing in the air like a squid.”
“You saw the statue tremble. Stone does not move.”
“And shadows do not eat people,” Gaius shot at him. “Why is one nightmare so easy to believe and not the other?”
Rashid did not respond to the question. Instead, he said, “I think we are lost within this mountain.”
“We cannot go back. I will not go back,” Gaius insisted.
“Then we continue forward.” Rashid sniffed the air. “The air is fresh. It must lead outside.”
Gaius marveled at the Berber’s sense of smell. His nostrils detected nothing but the stench of death.
As they continued walking, Gaius spotted a glow ahead of them. “A light,” he said.
A small fire still flickered in an overturned brazier, one of the braziers they had left on the way in.
“This is the main tunnel,” Gaius pointed out with a sigh of relief. He stopped to listen but heard nothing. “Where are my men?”
He doubted that he and Rashid could have fallen so far behind the main group. His unease increased when they began to encounter more overturned braziers, their flames dead, along with scraps of bloody clothing and discarded weapons. The soft whispers of ghosts filled the tunnel both behind and ahead of them.
“It appears you were right,” he told Rashid, as a sense of despair descended over him over the loss of his men. “It looks as though we will not return alive from Hamad Rus.”
“If my god is willing, perhaps we shall.”
“The gods are capricious,” Gaius mused, and then laughed aloud. “What petty gods men worship! To think that such gods as I have witnessed this day walk this earth.”
He would pit himself against any adversary – animal or human – but these dark killers were neither human nor beast. They were creatures born in the pits of hell, serving a master who was ancient before the beginning of time. The minions were deadly enough. Now, the master had awakened. Why did he not prostate himself upon the ground in fear?
He realized the henbane coursing through his body sedated his senses. Had the henbane been the source of his glimpse into Hades? Had his drug-befuddled mind created an enemy greater than the one that had defeated him and killed his men? No, his imagination was not that vivid. He had witnessed something rising from the pit. He was sure of it.
The pair finally emerged from the confines of the tunnel into an ash-gray light. Dust clouds covered the western sky, the precursor to another savage dust storm descending on them. The sun rode low on the murky horizon, a smudge of light through a veil of sand. Gaius fell to the ground breathing in great lungfuls of clean, cool air to flush the stench of the burrows from his nostrils, but the smell of death remained. Of Marcellus and the men he had posted to guard the entrance, he saw no sign. The pyre still burned, though it now burned low, casting eerie shadows on the cliff face. The daylight didn’t erase the memory of the darkness haunting his soul.
“We are too pitiful to oppose such a creature,” he said from his knees, shaking his head. “We are but mortal men. Even the gods could not defeat such a creature.”
“They are wraiths, but they die. You saw them.”
Gaius sobbed. “Not the Inyosh, their master, Nergal.”
Rashid stared at him. “It is but an idol of stone.”
The ground shuddered beneath them. A wail like the screams of a thousand dying men trumpeted from the cave entrance behind them, echoing from the smaller tunnels as well. Gaius covered his ears and rolled into a ball on the ground.
“Hear?” he yelled over the terrifying sound. “He wants us.”
“It is escaping air from the cavern collapsing. Nothing more.”
Gaius laughed. Rashid rose from the ground slowly, grabbed Gaius’ arm, and urged him to stand. “Come. We must find shelter before dark.”
Gaius saw no reason to stand. He resisted. “There is no hiding from the gods.”
Rashid persisted, tugging on Gaius’ arm. “We hide from the Dark Ones. It is almost night. Come, Roman. I need you to clear my people of your men’s deaths, but I will leave you here to die if I must.”
Gaius stared at Rashid. “You have no idea of what we have awakened. Your people will all die, as will mine. Pitiful mankind will be swept from the face of the earth.”
As he spoke, he allowed Rashid to draw him to his feet. Numbness now replaced fear. He looked out over the ruins of dead Hamad Rus below them. Had they tried to come to some arrangement with Nergal and his minions, exchanging their worship for safety? If so, it had done them no good. Such a creature from the abyss of time, alien to anything human, had no regard for worshippers. Their deaths had meant no more to the loathsome creature than the deaths of its Inyosh minions inside the warren. Could Rome, with its panoply of gods borrowed from the Greeks, accommodate another god? He did not believe so.
Nergal would not tolerate Rome’s lack of conviction toward the beings she worshipped.
Already, the early evening shadows were gathering like blown sand against the shaded eastern side of the buildings, awaiting the fall of full darkness to spring forth like hungry animals to devour him and his companion. Free of the dark confines of the cavern and with the effects of the henbane wearing off, the panic that had consumed him slowly faded. Summoning the dignity of the Roman officer he was, he straightened himself and dusted off his tunic. If he must die, he would face death like a man, like a Roman soldier.
Spotting a full urn of oil, he picked it up and smashed it inside the entrance to the cavern. He then took a burning piece of wood from the pyre and tossed it inside. The flames erupted in a fireball, chasing back the shadows within. He knew it would not stop Nergal or burn away the centuries of corruption and death committed within the walls, but it might give the creatures pause.
He drew his sword. “Come. Let us face death as equals.”
“All corpses are equal,” Rashid replied.
Gaius held out his hand. “You saved my life. Let us then face death as friends.”
Rashid eyed the proffered hand with some amusement, but grasped it tightly. “Friends with a Roman. What will my people think of me?”
The mountain shuddered so violently, the pair stumbled around like drunkards to keep from falling. Slabs of rock broke away from the cliff face and slid down the slope. Rocks pelted them. The fluted columns in front of the cave entrances cracked, and then crumbled and gave way, submitting to the trembling earth after centuries of long sentry duty. Gaius danced out of the way as a splinter of rock twice his height broke away and skewered the ground where he had been standing.
“Nergal comes,” Gaius cried, staring into the opening.
Rashid followed Gaius’ gaze. “Something comes,” he said. The tone of his voice indicated he longer felt as certain that Gaius had imagined Nergal climbing from the pit.
They exchanged worried glances, and then, as one, fled the rocky ledge. The ground beneath them churned and quaked as they ran down the zigzagging road to the desert floor, dodging boulders that chased after them rolling down the slope. They raced for the city of Hamad Rus. The ground shook at regular intervals, like the strides of a gigantic creature but originating deep in the earth. Gaius had given no thought to their destination. Though he knew the soft stone walls of the buildings of Hamad Ras would not keep out the creature, the city offered the only cover on the otherwise flat, empty plain. As a cockroach caught in the sudden brightness of a lit lamp, he didn’t want to present a visible target to Nergal.
The monster wasn’t their only problem. Encouraged by their master’s presence, the creatures would enter the city like a vengeful horde bent on their deaths.
As the pair entered the city, Gaius raced directly for the temple. Around him, buildings that had stood for a thousand years collapsed, spilling their walls into the narrow streets. At the temple, the tremors had scattered the rocks his men had used to seal the entrance. He stood at the door and peered inside. The black basin overflowed with fresh blood. It ran down the sides of the altar and spilled onto the floor, an offering by the creatures to their bloodthirsty god. The thick, dark liquid, once the essence of men’s lives, rippled with each tremor.
His stomach tightened at the ghastly sight. He cringed at the thought of Flavius’ blood being there in the basin. A rage overtook him. He drew his sword intent on destroying the altar, saving his men from at least the ignoble fate of becoming a blood offering to an ancient evil.
Rashid’s amulet burst into life, illuminating the room in bright, azure light. Gaius paused, his rage dissolving with the knowledge of Nergal’s presence. Each increasingly powerful tremor sent fresh spasms of fear coursing through his body. He tried to pray to Jove, but knew Jove’s power could not match Nergal’s ages-old strength. Compared to Nergal, Roman and Greek gods were but children. The light of the amulet kept the creatures at bay. He heard their wails and yammers outside the temple above Rashid’s incantation in words as old as time itself.
The azure light fell upon movement in the corner of the room. Gaius gripped his sword tighter and positioned himself for a better swing of his blade. The shadow moved again. It was no wraith, but a man.
“Show yourself,” he yelled at the figure above the din of the earth shaking.
Sevilius stood, his filthy uniform tattered and bloody, his armor and mantle missing. In his hand, he held a bloody dagger. His blank, expressionless face was as white as milk. He stared at Gaius without comprehension.
“He is lost to us,” Rashid warned. “That is not Inyosh blood on his dagger.”
Gaius saw the self-inflicted slashes up and down the mad Tribune’s arms, as if he tried to cut away the darkness inside.
A deathly silence fell over the city, but a dark presence remained. Suddenly, a look of abject terror twisted Sevilius’ face. His scream seemed inhuman, incapable of issuing from a human throat. Gaius dropped his sword and covered his ears with his hands to drown out the piercing shriek. Sevilius’ body began to spasm. He danced around the room like a marionette with tangled strings, jabbering strange words. The floor cracked and erupted at the Tribune’s feet. Tentacles as big around as a man’s body thrust through the earth and stone, showering all three men with fist-sized chunks of stone flooring and dirt. A foul odor, the stench of death and corruption, issued from the crack in the floor.
A tentacle whipped in Rashid’s direction, but he held the amulet steady in both hands. Azure light shot from the amulet and struck the writhing appendage. It withdrew amid a tremendous roar from within the crack and a renewed shuddering of the building. The second tentacle sought Gaius. He pulled his dagger and stabbed at it, but the creature’s flesh was as tough as stone. He ducked its wild gyrations and rolled across the floor beyond its reach. Before Rashid could react, Sevilius snatched the amulet from his hands. The tentacle lashed out and struck the Berber in the chest, lifting him and smashing him high into the wall. He slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap at its base. The mad Tribune held the amulet above his head, grinning.
“I am its master,” he yelled. “I am safe.”
Gaius rushed to Rashid’s side. The blow stunned the Berber. His face was drained of color. He breathed slowly and shallowly, but his pulse remained steady. Gaius dragged him away from the groping tentacles.
Sevilius, his face now dark as soot, his eyes filled with hate, glared at Gaius. He pointed his finger. “I will order this creature to kill you. You are the cause of all this evil, you and your cowardly men.”
Gaius had had enough of the Tribune’s accusations and demented raving. The amulet was useless in his hands, but if he could rouse Rashid, they might yet survive. He flung his dagger underhanded at the Tribune. It struck Sevilius in the throat. The look of surprise on Sevilius’ face as his life’s blood ran down his tunic brought Gaius no pleasure. There was no glory in killing mad men. He sought only to retrieve the amulet. He almost failed in that task as well. The amulet dropped from Sevilius’ dying hand and bounced across the floor of the temple toward the yawning chasm beside the altar. As Gaius lunged for the amulet, he ducked a tentacle that swept over his head and encircled the Tribune’s body. The claw at its tip ripped into Sevilius’ stomach, gutting him like a fish. Blood and intestines spilled from the gaping wound and mingled with the dirt and rubble. As the tentacle withdrew, it dragged Sevilius’ lifeless corpse into the ground with it.
Gaius caught the amulet by its chain as it slid over the precipice of the chasm. As his hand grasped the amulet, it flared to life for a moment, sending a surge of cold heat through his arm and into his chest. The brief flash of azure illuminated the depths of the chasm. What he saw below made him realize he had not been hallucinating in the wraith cavern. Writhing tentacles blurred the creature’s form, but two massive, crimson eyes stared up at him from the darkness. It took all his willpower to break the hypnotic pull of the malevolent orbs an
d crawl from the brink of the chasm.
Holding the glowing amulet before him like a torch, Gaius picked up the unconscious Rashid, slung him over his shoulder, and dashed out the door. Behind him, the temple exploded, as a dozen tentacles thrust into the air through the roof. The shattered roof rained debris around them as he ran. The walls crashed outward, missing Gaius’ heels by a hand’s width. The Inyosh ignored him, caught up in their worship of their ancient god of death.
At the edge of the cursed city of Hamad Rus, a ghost galloped at him from the darkness – Apollo, his Andalusian warhorse. He threw Rashid across Apollo’s neck and leaped on behind him. He kicked the horse in the flanks and held on as the horse raced through the dead streets. Apollo was as eager to leave the stench of death city as he was. The horse sped away into the Sea of Lost Souls, leaving the deafening roar of the ancient god behind him.
11
Morning found them many leagues from dreaded Hamad Rus. Exhausted by his underground ordeal; Gaius had difficulty remaining upright on Apollo’s back. His head reeled from the horrors he had witnessed, and his mind languished between the realm of sleep and the fear of the nightmares he was certain sleep would bring. Rashid lay doubled over on the horse’s broad neck, oblivious to his surroundings. His chest did not move. Gaius did not know if the Berber still lived.
They had missed the full wrath of the sandstorm, but its outer fringes hammered them with sheets of windblown sand so thick Gaius didn’t know if they were traveling in a straight line or going in a circle. He had half expected to see the city of Hamad Rus appear before him out of the sand like some ghostly apparition. He placed his trust in Apollo’s sure-footed sense of direction and closed his eyes against the storm.
