In his dream, Father Mac witnessed a scene of unfathomable carnage. He was on a hill looking down on an endless array of slaughtered bodies. Many were Roman soldiers. Most were men, women and children dressed in the fashion of the ancient Middle East. Then he heard a gentle voice behind him.
“Father, why hast thou forsaken me?” Trembling, Mac turned and gasped as he saw Jesus, nails in his hands and feet, thorns in his head, looking down at him from the cross. He was on Golgotha, the place of the skull. He knelt reverently before the Christ and cried aloud.
“Lord I haven’t forsaken you. I just don’t understand why this has happened? So many killed. So much human accomplishment and potential wiped out. Is this really an act of God?” Jesus laughed and looked upon the priest. His voice became harsh, mocking.
“How long did you think God could ignore your incessant wars and numerous crimes against your fellows and your planet? Time to pay for your own sins, old school style!”
Jesus pulled his right hand free of the crossbar and pointed to the horizon. Mac looked and saw the silhouette of something massive approaching, something so big he was seeing only a small fraction of it. Jesus laughed again.
“God wants a word with you,” he said. Mac’s eyes were fixed on the strange shape moving slowly over the immense field of corpses. Then God spoke in a voice like a million chapel bells tolling.
“McMahon, you are my Priest. The book shall show you the way.”
Mac awoke weeping softly, torn by horror and hope. He did so until morning.
What passed for morning in Canyon Haven was a dull swirling gray mist offering a few rays of weak sepia-toned light. Santiago and Father Mac stepped out of the cavern into it.
Neither had spoken more than a few words, after being awakened by the boy Shige and told to report to Farrow. They walked to Farrow’s cavern in silence.
There they found Farrow talking to a hearty-looking man in his thirties. He was dressed like a farmer: overalls over a wool shirt and sturdy work shoes. Farrow welcomed them as they entered.
“I trust you both slept well?” The question seemed to imply he knew about the dreams, a thought that discomfited them both. Mac and Santiago simply nodded. Farrow turned to the other man and made introductions.
“Elijah, this is Father McMahon and Santiago.” The man extended his hand and spoke with a definite New England accent.
“Elijah Whateley. Everyone in New R’lyeh is anxious to meet you both.” The words exploded in Santiago’s mind, the words from his dream.
“What’s New R’lyeh?” asked a confused Mac. Farrow answered.
“It’s another survivors’ camp,” said Farrow. “They need someone to help them translate a book in Latin; a task Father Mac is well suited for..”Mac suddenly remembered the words in his dream. Was this a sign, he thought?
“Fine for Mac but what do I do there?” said Santiago. Farrow replied bluntly.
“Provide company for the good Father and get out of Canyon Haven. My
Guardians are still angry about Andreas. I think you’ll find New R’lyeh better for your health.” Santiago smelled the scent of a dozen rats but he was more than happy to leave Farrow’s domain.
“What do you think Mac?”
Mac was torn, weighing the obvious dangers outside the Canyon against his desire to see the book told of in his nightmare. But like Santiago he was growing tired of this place and its odd master.
“So when do we leave?” he said.
“No time like the present,” laughed Whateley. He nodded to Farrow and beckoned them to follow him. They went down a tunnel that led to a large ledge. Whateley reached in the pocket of his overalls, extracting what looked like a curved piece of bone. He put it to his lips and blew a high-pitched whistle from it. In response there came a frightening screech from above. They looked up to see a formation of three creatures with leathery wings, wasp-like bodies and raptor-like heads descending toward them. All three landed before them. Whateley went to the one in the middle and mounted it, then pointed to the other two.
“If you’ll just hop on Merry and Pippin here we’ll be off,” he said. Mac and Santiago exchanged a dubious glance.
“No way,” said Mac, “I don’t even like to fly in a plane.”
“Uhhh, they smell like rotting flesh,” added Santiago as he drew close to one of the things. Whateley replied in a matter of fact tone.
“New R’lyeh is over three hundred miles from here. The Byakhee can get us there in less than an hour.” With no real alternative, Santiago followed Whateley’s lead and mounted one of the beasts. He could feel it vibrating beneath him. Mac crossed himself and followed suit.
“How does this work exactly?” ventured Mac, already in terror.
“Just hold on,” replied Whateley demonstrating how to grip the creature’s slim waist with both hands. When they followed his lead, he blew another blast from the whistle and all three creatures soared upward with ear-splitting screeches. They flew so quickly they were out of sight of the Canyon in a matter of minutes, during which Father Mac’s screams and Santiago’s whoops of joy were heard in equal measure.
Some thirty minutes later they spotted a series of cyclopean cliffs at the edge of a dark sea. On the largest of them Santiago could see the dome from his dream. The Byakhee slowed then, gradually leveling off to land near the dome. When their riders dismounted, the odd flyers immediately took off into the air and abruptly vanished from sight as Mac and Santiago marveled at their first glimpse of New R’lyeh.
Unlike the primitive conditions in Canyon Haven, New R’lyeh’s residents lived in rows of small picturesque cottages, facing a larger building. The edges of the town teemed with numerous gardens in which vegetables and fruit trees grew, while a wooden corral near the large building boasted a small herd of peculiar goat-like beasts. An old fashioned stone well with a bucket hanging from a wooden crank adorned the center of the town. Some twenty five people could be seen moving about the area. They represented many races and ranged in age from about twenty to eighty. They were attired in motley fashion that went from casual wear to business suits and went about their various tasks with enthusiasm. Mac addressed Whateley with unbridled amazement.
“How did all this survive the disasters?” Whateley smiled broadly.
“Hard work and a little help from God,” he replied as he started down a path leading down to the town. Santiago breathed in the cool sea air as he and Mac followed. He was tired of mysteries and dreams. The seeming normality of this place put him on edge. Mac was grateful for it.
When they reached the town the residents quickly swarmed around the visitors with cries of welcome. These ceased as a distinguished silver-haired man in a blue suit stepped forward and extended his hand.
“I’m Tobias Mason, Head of the Order of the Radiant Circle. We welcome you both to New R’lyeh.” Mac shook his hand. Santiago did likewise. His grip was as firm as his tone.
“Is that like a religious order?” asked Santiago. Tobias smiled.
“In a way, yes. But you must be hungry. Let’s talk over a hot meal.”
“I think I’m gonna like it here,” said Santiago.
Mason led them to the large building which functioned as the town hall. Inside was a long wooden table set with pewter plates and utensils. At one end of it sat a short black man, his hands resting on a large cloth-wrapped package. Tobias introduced him as N’doko. They took seats around him as two townsfolk emerged through a door, toting platters of steaming victuals. It was simple fare: vegetables from the gardens and thin slices of meat. Santiago dug into it with his usual gusto. Mac was more interested in the package N’doko held. Noting this, Tobias spoke.
“N’doko, the book please.” N’doko set the package on the table and carefully opened it. It was a thick tome bound in a copper colored material. Etched into the cover were the words “Liber Ivonis.” The book reeked of antiquity, filling Mac with joy and anticipation. He’d always loved old books and this was a prime specimen.
“The Book of Ivonis. May I…?”
“Of course,” replied Mason. N’doko gently slid the book across to Mac. The priest opened it and glanced through a few passages.
“It’s very old, I’d say perhaps 9th century…”
“Exactly,” said Tobias, pleased with the priest’s knowledge. “So you would have no problem translating it?”
“I could but it would take months, considering its size.”
“We don’t require an entire translation. Just a single chapter will serve our purpose.” Tobias moved to Mac and carefully flipped pages until he got to the final chapter. “This one,” he said. Mac read the chapter’s title aloud.
“The Last Prophecy?”
“I believe you’ll find it most interesting.”
In truth, Mac’s heart was pounding at the thought of what might be revealed in the book. He was eager to begin.
As for Santiago, he had paid little attention to the conversation thus far and now, belly full, he grew weary of listening to old men talking about old books. He rose from the table, with a satisfied belch.
“Seems like you dudes got work to do and my Latin sucks. I think I’ll take a look around, if that’s okay with you?” This last bit was directed at Mason.
“Please do. You’ll find our little town to be quite friendly.” With that he returned to the discussion and Santiago exited the building, determined to find the woman in his dream.
When Santiago stepped out of the town hall, the sky above him was twilight purple, but then he saw something shining through the dark clouds. He realized it was the moon, a muted blue in color. It was first he had seen of it since the end. Then he heard strange words chanted in a familiar voice. He moved toward the sound and saw her. She finished the chant and without turning toward him whispered his name.
“Santiago.”
He came to her then and she embraced him, pressing her lips against his in a long, succulent kiss. Santiago felt a wave of sensual energy course through his body. When the kiss ended she looked deep into his eyes.
“Who are you?” he said.
“I am Selene, High Priestess of Great Cthulhu. He has chosen you for me. Come.”
She extended a hand to him and he took it. They walked together through New R’lyeh, the townsfolk greeting them with sly smiles. She led him to one of the cottages and entered. The room was lit by several pillar candles and burning sticks of incense gave it a warm, exotic smell. She went to a bed and with one easy motion let her dress fall to the floor. Her body was magnificent; his desire a hot flame. Hungrily she stripped the clothes from his body, pushed him down on the bed and mounted him, crying out as he entered her. Their lovemaking continued throughout the night, driving all other thoughts away in sheer ecstasy.
Mac labored on his translation of The Last Prophecy. It went slowly at first but as he read more, the book seemed to come alive, the words imparting their meanings as if speaking directly to him. He began to write furiously, ignoring fatigue and doubt as his obsession with the text spurred him on. At times he felt on the edge of madness as the ancient words told of hideous deities bringing humanity to the brink of extinction. Each mystery he struggled with led to more secrets and more revelations, each draining mind and soul, until he finally came to the end and the grandest disclosure of all. He slept then, his head resting on the book.
When Santiago awoke he found himself alone in Selene’s cottage. He looked about the room and saw his clothes folded neatly on a chair. He left the bed and slowly dressed, savoring delicious memories of the night’s activity. Then the door opened and Selene entered. She crossed to Santiago and kissed him. He loved the feel of her body against his and tried to draw her closer but she backed away, scolding him in a gentle tone.
“Not now. There’s much to do. Find the priest and bring him to the dome. I’ll meet you there.”
“What’s in the dome?” he asked.
“Your destinies,” she replied.
Father Mac was still asleep when Santiago found him. Santiago shook him gently. The priest shifted his head and mumbled something but did not open his eyes. Santiago shook a little harder.
“Mac, wake up!’ There was more shifting and mumbling and finally the priest opened his eyes. They were bloodshot from a long night of reading but something twinkled in the dark pupils, something odd. Mac smiled as he recognized Santiago and began to speak with a messianic fervor.
“Santiago! This book, it explains everything. God hasn’t forsaken us. He’s yet to come. It’s not the end, it’s a new beginning!”
Santiago had never seen McMahon like this. It was as if the book had driven him insane.
“Whoa chill out Padre, you talking loco here,” he said. Mac considered it and for a moment the odd spark in his eyes was gone. He spoke haltingly.
“I know it sounds crazy but somehow I feel it’s true.” Santiago put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“It’s just words in a book, Mac.”
“Words in a book have changed the world before,” said the priest.
Santiago shook his head. Mac was obviously convinced by what he had read.
“Come with me. You need some air and there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Mac nodded as he looked down at the book. He felt a hunger for it he couldn’t explain.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he said softly.
The sky above New R’lyeh was a brighter gray this day. Looking seaward Mac and Santiago spied reddish clouds moving lazily in their direction. The enormous dome, its surface encrusted with an eon’s worth of shells and seaweed, loomed above them. There was no apparent entrance but, as they drew nearer, a section of the dome wall vanished. Selene was revealed there; breathtaking in a ceremonial robe of sea green embroidered with mystic symbols. Mac’s eyes grew wide as he saw her.
“Father Mac I’m so pleased to meet you. I am Selene Curwen. Welcome to the Temple of the God Who Sleeps. Come, meet him.”
The wall section re-appeared behind them as they followed Selene up a sloping hallway which led to the interior of the dome. There stood an enormous cylinder of thick glass filled with sea water. Floating in it was a colossal mass of gelatinous green flesh. It grew and shrunk, pulsating, twisting and ripping itself into gruesome parodies of faces, mouths, eyes, wings, tentacles and things too insane to define. It was at once fascinating and utterly repulsive.
Mac and Santiago struggled to look away but even then they could feel the presence of the god. Santiago once thought he feared nothing but this made him cower like a frightened child. Father Mac had fallen to his knees, blinded by tears of utter madness. It was then Selene’s voice called out:
“Great Cthulhu, hear my words, your priest anoint, your sword forge!”
She followed this with a strange incantation and suddenly what little sanity Mac and Santiago had left exploded. In their minds they saw dimensions collide and the Earth swallow all trace of human civilization. They saw loved ones die in chaos, terror and madness. They saw and felt the end but more importantly they saw the faces of those whose actions triggered it. The faces were familiar.
The members of the Order of the Radiant Circle, now attired in ceremonial robes, gazed upwards in eager anticipation. The sky was thick with crimson clouds. Several stars could be seen as the moon began to rise, shining like a ball of blood. Tobias spoke to them in a triumphant voice.
“The Blood Moon rises, as the prophecy says.”
There was a murmuring of wonder and excitement from the crowd as grotesque shapes began to form in the red sky. The first was a massive, ever-shifting collection of glowing globes of light. The next was a vile amorphous monstrosity attended by nine smaller horrors that played ghastly music on whining flutes and muffled drums to which their master writhed in a gruesome mockery of a dance. More hideous things followed every moment, the sky teeming with them like some unholy audience to what was to come.
“The Gods come to bless the awakening of Cthulhu,” shouted Tob
ias joyfully, “we must go to the dome.”
Inside the Dome, Selene, Mac and Santiago conferred as they awaited the arrival of the Order. Both men were calmer now, their madness bringing them clarity of purpose.
Selene alone harbored doubts. She’d been told the opening of the gateway which had brought the world of humanity to ruin was the work of the Brotherhood and other cults loyal to the god Nyarlathotep. The Curwen family had been loyal servitors to the Order for centuries and she saw the lie as a betrayal.
Santiago, tired of playing a pawn in a game of gods, suggested a plan. It would take courage and all of their skills to implement but if it worked they might save what was left of humanity. They looked to each other; grim determination evident on all their faces. Selene declared it.
“Time is short. We must make our preparations quickly.”
When the Order reached the dome they found the entryway open. They filed in, ascended up a sloping hallway to a large octagonal area covered with mystic symbols. There were numerous small grooves on the floor of the octagon all leading directly to the cylinder in which Cthulhu slept. Selene, Santiago and Mac stood casually beside it. The two men were now garbed in the ceremonial robes of the Order. Tobias stepped up to them and addressed Selene.
“Are you ready to begin Priestess?” Selene nodded and Tobias commanded his flock to take their places. They formed a circle around Selene, Santiago and Mac. Selene spoke.
“Tonight we fulfill the last prophecy. Focus your power to the utmost so Great Cthulhu may walk among us again.”
The members of the Order clasped hands and shut their eyes. gathering their sorcerous energies. Unknown to them, Mac was whispering words in Latin, as Selene began whispering a spell of her own. Then an all too familiar voice thundered loudly.
Shotguns v. Cthulhu Page 26
