Historical Lovecraft: Tales of Horror Through Time

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  “Even my own,” she acknowledged and held out her scarred palms, which now seemed sacred and right. “Call me ‘Crab-and-Shell Priestess’,” she pronounced. Feathers were of the sky.

  Llama-Tall Woman continued to dance for the sky, asking once more for Bat-Winged God to return the rains, now that all was restored to a new rightness.

  Crab-and-Shell Priestess looked at the sky and thought, without jealousy, that Llama-Tall Woman might finally bring the rains for which she had begged so many moons. There seemed to be more clouds than she could recall ever seeing over this island.

  But this was no longer her concern.

  She turned her eyes to the sea, and tried to imagine her master’s mountain-sized face and tentacled mane, somewhere deep beneath the dark waters. When she’d promised to love him, she had not imagined his monstrous immensity. When she closed her eyes, she could see herself surrounded by that section of sharp-toothed tentacle on all sides, taller than her. This was like a small strip of a man’s wrist in comparison to the length of the arm.

  She loved him, already. For protecting her. For choosing her. He had driven even Skinpainter from her fickle heart.

  The others had seen his face. She had not. She would tie a dozen diving weights to her skirts and let herself sink to the deepest place and try to see him where he slept. He’d like that.

  She knew now what even Wrinkle Face did not know in all his long seeing. Octopus Lion God slept out of the desire to be awakened. And the alarm that roused him best was the rare, strident, dizzying, blood-flavoured call of a mad act, a foolish gesture, or a breaking mind. Like hers.

  An open eye called to the sky.

  The blood of man called to the land.

  A mind broken free – insanity – called to the sea.

  Mae Empson began selling fantasy and horror short fiction to magazines and anthologies in July 2010. Her first Lovecraft-inspired story was in the anthology Cthulhurotica (December 2010). She is a member of the Horror Writers Association and of HorrorPNW – the Pacific Northwest chapter of HWA. She lives in Seattle, WA. Read Mae’s blog at: http://maeempson.wordpress.com.

  The author speaks: “An Interrupted Sacrifice” was inspired by my research into the Moche people of Precolumbian Peru. I first encountered the Moche while researching a story about modern graduate students and a newly-discovered Moche tomb for the anthology In Situ (April 2011). I’ve been fascinated to see how many Lovecraftian elements are incorporated into their art and rituals – from tentacled gods to blood-drinking priests and human sacrifices. The two stories that I have written about this culture use the same set of historical facts to describe very different explanations for their beliefs and pantheon.

  PRALAYA: THE DISASTER

  Y.W. Purnomosidhi

  In the ninth century, in the central area of Java Island, after a sheep-wool-like heat cloud covered some villages near Mount Merapi peak, the Medhang Mataram kingdom sent Arya Sotya to lead the team of soldiers and medicine men who would aid the survivors. Joko was in that team as an Acaraki, a medicine man.

  Everything was grey. The flying dust in the wind was a memory of death. It was hard to breathe.

  Joko saw that some men plundered the villagers’ properties. They took advantage of the injured.

  “How could you?” Joko shouted.

  “They will die and their properties belong to us now,” said a plunderer.

  “This does not belong to you.”

  “We don’t need your advice. Don’t be a hero!” the villains replied.

  “They suffer. You are supposed to help them,” Joko said.

  They mocked him. “A hero like you will die here.”

  The men drew their blades and attacked Joko. Joko drew his kris, the Javanese traditional wavy, doubled-bladed dagger. It was not only a weapon but also an amulet. Joko moved, nimble as a snake, defending from and attacking his opponents. Suddenly, an arrow hit a plunderer.

  “Freeze! We are the kingdom’s soldiers!” Arya shouted.

  Six soldiers readied to attack the plunderers with spears and kris daggers.Growing pale, the plunderers stopped their attack and ran away.

  Joko and other medicine men treated the injured villagers with herbal medicine. To spare them the next disaster, they evacuated the people of the slope villages of Mount Merapi to a safer place in Prambanan. Quakes rumbled seven times and people feared nature.

  “Look! That’s Prambanan,” a villager cried, happily pointing his finger at the complex of beautiful Hindu temples.

  From the high land, they saw the complex. It housed three main temples, Shiva Temple, Brahma Temple, and Vishnu Temple, with small temples surrounding them.

  On the way to the temples, some strangers blocked their way. An old man moved forward, towards the refugees. “My name is Ki Atur,” said the old stranger, holding a stick in his right hand.

  “This disaster happenned because of their sin. God punished the people of the slope of Mount Merapi. Mount Merapi is angry. If these sinful people stay here, the punishment will come to us. So, you must take them back.”

  “These people need help. They do not need your judgment,” Joko said.

  “Young man, you do not understand God. If you are against God’s will, you fall into the heresy of worshiping older gods,” Ki Atur replied.

  “God’s will is a mystery. I am neither a wise nor a smart person. I just follow my heart to help people. I do something for people and pray to God to lead my way into Thy way. However, you are not God. You add another disaster by judging people. We must go now,” Joko said.

  “Ask your people to disperse! If you block our way, you are an enemy of the kingdom,” Arya shouted, drawing his dagger.

  Holding weapons, Ki Atur and his people were ready to fight and so were Arya’s soldiers. “Stop!”

  Soldiers with kingdom banners and symbols came to them. A nobleman with golden arm bracelets and medals was standing gallantly. He was Pu Sindok, the King Wawa’s son-in-law. When people saw Pu Sindok, they put their blades into their sheaths and knelt.

  An old man in white, who accompanied Pu Sindok, walked to Ki Atur and hugged him. “Ki Atur, my brother,” said the old man, smiling at Ki Atur.

  “Romo Giri, why do you come without first sending word?” Ki Atur asked the old man.

  Romo Giri was one of the spiritual leaders in the Medhang Mataram kingdom. ‘Romo’ means ‘father’. His real name was ‘Giri’. People called him ‘Romo’ because they considered him their spiritual father.

  “I see wild animals running away to the south and east,” Romo Giri said. “There will be Pralaya here. There will be a big disaster. Mount Merapi is going to erupt. Nobody is perfect, but this disaster is not about our sin. We live on the island with many mountains. Through the mountains, the Guardian Spirit of Merapi gives us a prosperous and fertile land, beautiful green country, fresh water, sand and stones, and she always requires a price. People give offering of flowers and food to the Guardian Spirit of Merapi to calm her explosive anger. However, disaster is also the price of this plenty and beauty. There is a time for the mountain to erupt and the earth to quake. Today, Mount Merapi is going to share her prosperity through the eruptions and take back her tithe from us. If it is the end of days, let’s make our last days become the time to share love and help people. It would be a great honour if you joined us and helped people. We are going to evacuate them.”

  Ki Atur frowned. He thought of what Romo Giri had said.

  “Ki Atur, all people should go to the east. Don’t lead your people into death. We will try to go to a safe place,” said Pu Sindok.

  “Sir, we will follow you,” Ki Atur said, respectfully greeting Pu Sindok with palms together, fingertips upward and touching his nose.

  “My brothers and my sisters, Pralaya will come. We must leave this land! We will go for a new life!” Ki Atur told his people.

  Ki Atur and his people joined the refugees. Pu Sindok and his soldiers led them to the square near Prambanan’s temple
s.

  The twilight in Prambanan was beautiful, but fear made people unaware of the beauty. Medicine men healed the injured refugees with herbs and magical powders. Some religious leaders and followers prayed for gratitude and safety at the temples. The women from Prambanan and Kalasan distributed food and water to the refugees.

  “Do you want fresh water?” a beautiful, dark skinned girl asked Joko.

  Joko took an earthenware flask from her and drank the fresh water from it.

  “Thank you, Sri!” Joko smiled at her.

  “You should eat enough food. You should take care of yourself,” said Sri.

  “Don’t worry! Your smile can raise my spirit.” Joko said.

  Sri’s face was flushed. She smiled and bent down her head shyly.

  Joko and Sri ate rice and vegetables, wrapped with a banana leaf. While enjoying his meal, Joko saw ten villagers quarrelingwith Arya Sotya. Joko left his meal and Sri’s side. He went to Arya, to see if there was something he could do to help.

  “Sir, I have a local belief,” a vilager said. “I don’t want to depend on help from people of other religions. I don’t want to be deeply indebted. I don’t want them to convert our belief.”

  “To take advantage of people’s helplessness as opportunity to win converts is exploitation. Who has asked you to convert?” Arya asked.

  “They haven’t, yet, but they will.”

  “So, it’s just your prejudice. It’s time to unite for our nation.”

  They did not listen to Arya’s words. They meant to leave, but Arya and the soldiers stopped them.

  “Use your head! You don’t want to let your family die, do you?” Arya said.

  “Sir, I have a different reason. I don’t want to receive help from Sanjaya’s people,” said another villager.

  The villager explained to Arya about an old local dispute. Many years ago, there had been conflict between Sanjaya and Saylendra’s families. Those two families had great influence in the Mid-Java. The conflict had only made innocent people suffer. Then, both families had united with the marriage of Princess Pramudawardhani and King Rakai Pikatan. Borobudur temple, a pyramid temple with many stupas, was built in the middle of the lake as a monument of peace. However, there were some people who were still not satisfied with the situation and wanted to return to the old ways.

  “I don’t want to live with Sanjaya’s people. I want to move to the northwest,” the villager explained.

  “Northwest? Do you want Mount Merapi or invaders to kill your family? Listen to me! Now, our soldiers are blocking any attack by invaders, who call themselves ‘brave enemy-killers’. They are the allied forces of the Emperor who conquers the sea and worships older gods. Go there if you wish death!” Arya said.

  “My friends, no matter who you are and what you believe, we are equal here,” Joko said. “We should help each other. We are in a complicated situation. Enemies attack us and we face disaster. It’s not the time for internal conflict. Conflict only creates additional disaster. If you love your family, please come with us to a better place.”

  The villagers, who did not like Sanjaya’s family, were thinking.

  “Let’s see whether we may live together,” one of them said.

  “But we have different beliefs. I don’t want to be with them,” another villager said.

  “You feel the heat of prejudice in this cold night, don’t you?” Someone behind Joko and Arya said.

  Joko and Arya turned around and saw Romo Giri.

  “My sons, look at Mount Merapi!” Romo Giri said. “There are so many ways to the peak of the mountain. You can go there on the south path, west path, or other paths. It’s your choice. You can choose the path that you love. Beliefs or religions are like the paths. The peak is unity with heaven or God, or Hyang Widhi, and the religion is the way to the peak. Choose your path and respect the others. I respect yours. Don’t worry about the difference.”

  The villagers were silent. They bent their heads.

  “Arya, don’t force them. If they want to go, let them go,” Romo Giri said.

  Romo Giri smiled and touched a villager’s shoulder.

  “Arya has given you his explanation. Now, it’s up to you. You can join us or not.”

  He turned around and left them. Joko and Arya accompanied the villagers back to the refuge.

  People at the refuge took a rest. Warnings and ancient prophecies of great disaster were on the tip of every tongue in the Medhang Mataram kingdom.

  Meanwhile, in the northwest area, Medhang Mataram kingdom soldiers countered the attack from the invaders, who called themselves the ‘brave enemy-killers’. The tension was horrible. Both parties fought hard. Arrows flew. Soldiers screamed and shouted on the battlefield. Blood and blades decorated the scene. The brave enemy-killers were experienced men of war, but they were unable to penetrate the power of the Medhang Mataram soldiers. The invaders were aware of the great disaster that might come from Mount Merapi. There were two possibilities of death. They might be killed by their enemies or by natural disaster.

  Mount Merapi shook her body again and again. A dark cloud emerged from her crater. The earth quaked. People moved away from the palace, temples and other big buildings to avoid the falling stones of the buildings. King Wawa, the ruler of Medhang Mataram, sent couriers to give information to the commanders and lower kings, including his men on the battlefield, that they should prepare for evacuation in face of the great disaster.

  At noon, King Wawa instructed Pu Sindok, the king’s son-in-law, to lead the people to the east, but there was something that weighed on Pu Sindok’s mind.

  “Your majesty, you don’t need to go to the northwest. Give me an order and I will go there,” said Pu Sindok.

  “I command you to bring your family and lead the people to the east,” King Wawa replied. “I should go to the northwest to save the villagers. I am the king of mountain and to save my people is my responsibility. My son, you can start a new life in East Java.”

  King Wawa put off his golden sandals, which were the symbol of the King’s existence, and gave them to Pu Sindok. Golden sandals symbolized the King’s steps on the land under his power. To give the golden sandals might be interpreted as to pass on his power to continue his kingdom.

  “Your majesty, it’s not the time for me to receive it,” said Pu Sindok, distressed.

  “Yes, it’s the time. If this is the last time I see you, you must continue my kingdom and lead my people,” said King Wawa.

  “Why don’t you just go with us?” Pu Sindok asked.

  “I love my people. I love this place. I love this mountain. I know you also love this place, but you must bring the people to safety. The end, the Pralaya, will come, but I am sure it’s not the end of everything. It is just the end of the old for the beginning of the new.”

  “Father, come with us,” said Pu Sindok, his eyes bathed in tears.

  “Sindok, this is an order from me!” King Wawa turned away.

  The green country turned grey. Grey dust was flying everywhere. Pu Sindok could not stop his father’s strong will. King Wawa, his soldiers, and some medicine men moved to the northwest.

  Pu Sindok gave an order to his men to announce to the people that it was the time for journey to the east. Following his advisors’ advice, he led his people to the south to put distance between them and Mount Merapi. People brought what belongings they could, to join the exodus. The leaders, soldiers and medicine men helped in the process of evacuation.

  A mud rain fell – rainwater mixed with volcanic ash.

  When the people got to the riverside, some brought their goats, bulls and pigs to the river to drink. Suddenly, they heard a thundering from the north. Goats, bulls, pigs, and other animals screamed in panic.

  “Run! Run! Run!” the soldiers cried.

  People ran away in panic when they saw the big brown flashflood, which brought dead trees. They pulled their animals to higher places, but the flood was too swift and washed some of them away. Even i
f they had ever learned to swim, it was too hard to swim in volcanic mudflow. Women screamed and children cried. The soldiers threw ropes to help people. They saved some, but others disappeared forever.

  A man tried as hard as he could to drag his horse to safety, but it was swept away by the mudflow. The mud’s power was stronger than his and it began to pull him down int the flow.

  He wouldn’t give up. “It’s my expensive horse. I must get it!” he cried.

  Joko hugged the man and tried to drag him to a higher place.

  “Idiot! Don’t stop me! I don’t want to lose my horse,” shouted the man, trying to release himself from Joko’s hug.

  “Fool! You’ll kill yourself!” Arya shouted, forcing the man to release his horse.

  “Let it go, sir!” Joko shouted.

  The man wept. “I don’t have anything left,” he mourned.

  Pu Sindok did not want to wait for the death of his people, so they continued their journey. They marched with worried faces, avoiding the mudflow and hiking to the southern highlands. Mount Merapi thundered and Mother Earth quaked. Everything was dark-grey when they looked to the north. Their minds and bodies were tired. Sadness and sickness killed some of them. They believed that it was the end of days.

  Mount Merapi erupted, throwing stones and covering the area around her with dark cloud. The green land became grey stony desert. Buildings collapsed. Soil and stones buried Borobudur temple and the lake around it, as well as the other temples and most of the villages near Merapi.

  Day by day, through the track to the southern highlands, the Medhang Mataram refugees marched east. It was an exodus to a new hope.

  One day, they saw a beautiful sunrise in the east. They arrived in a safe place between Mount Semeru and Mount Wilis in East Java. It was their new land for a new hope. They united to build their new country.

  Two years later, people had a more normal life. In East Java, they built temples and homes. Joko married Sri and they had two children. Arya Sotya was promoted. Romo Giri chose to live in the highlands with his disciples.

  The hell near Mount Merapi turned back into a green, wild paradise. With no worshipers to torment, the old gods faded away. Wildlife came back and natural beauty appeared. Overgrown vegetation claimed the ruined temples. Buried, the temples lay, unseen and forgotten, under the green land. With no word from his father since the eruption, Pu Sindok became King and founded a new dynasty, called ‘Isyana Dynasty’ in East Java, to continue his father’s kingdom. Pralaya was the death of the past and rebirth for the future. Pralaya was the process from dissolution of old form to recreation of new form. Pralaya was the end of the old things and the beginning of new life. With hope and spirit, the end became a new beauty, though ever mindful of the next time the Guardian Spirit of the Mountain would require her price.