Gary Myers, immortalized by the quality of his early work, the Dunsanian-Lovecraftian stories collected in The House of the Worm, and then formally by Lin Carter who (in his Lovecraft: A Look behind the “Cthulhu Mythos”) enrolled Gary in the ranks of “the New Lovecraft Circle,” along with J. Vernon Shea (questionable judgment there—wasn’t he a member of the Old Lovecraft Circle?), Brian Lumley, Ramsey Campbell, James Wade, Colin Wilson, and Carter himself. In fact, Lin judged Gary the most talented of this bunch. Here you will find one of Gary’s tales of Clark Ashton Smith’s Hyperborean sorcerer, Eibon of Mhu Thulan. This one will not be found in the Chaosium collection The Book of Eibon since it had not yet been written. It is Gary’s second Eibon tale, the first (“The End of Wisdom“) appearing in Strange Tales volume 4, number 1, 2003.
The Tower of Mormoroth
Gary Myers
The student of magic sees many things beyond the vision of other men. He alone glimpses the secret powers that hide behind the veil of life. He alone measures the smallness of men against the vast schema of the heavens. He alone sees with the eyes of the gods. Yet this vision is not without its price. The higher he builds his observatory tower, the more he neglects its base. The longer he holds his head above the clouds, the sooner he trips on the lowly stone that waits before his feet. To the truth of this I can attest, for I have seen it demonstrated more than once in the course of my life, the long full life of Eibon, the sorcerer of Mhu Thulan. I have witnessed it several times in my own person, to my lesser or greater sorrow. And once, most disastrously of all, in the person of another.
It was in the autumn of my sixtieth year. Sitting alone in my study that morning in my house of black gneiss above the northern main, I was gazing upon the enchanted glass that was my primary window on the world. On any other day it would have extended my vision beyond the scope of normal human sight. To the north I would have seen rich farmlands rolling field upon field and horizon upon horizon until they were lost in the dazzling glare of encroaching fields of ice. To the south it would have been similar fields and horizons rolling down to hide themselves in the obscuring haze of steaming jungles. To the east those fields would have disappeared beneath the cool shade of distant mountains. And to the west the boundless sea would have vanished in the fog of distance alone. But today my glass showed me none of these things. Today its eye looked only to the east. And in the east it saw only one sight: a round stone tower, broad and squat, in a little bay of rocky hills beneath a cloudy sky.
I could not look upon this sight without a feeling of consternation. My glass was a powerful magic, one of the most powerful at my command. For such a thing to be subverted required a magic more powerful still. Yet who in all of Mhu Thulan was strong enough to wield it? And for what purpose? As an invitation or a challenge? I did not know. And my primary means of finding out had been rendered useless by the very thing I needed it to find. But it was not my only means. I could still go on my own two feet where my ranging spirit was forbidden, and still see with my physical eyes where my psychic eyes were blind. At least I resolved to try. And before the day grew too much older, I disguised myself in the worn hooded robe of a common traveler, and set out on the long road to the east.
At first my journey was pleasant enough. The day, though young, was warm and bright. The air was loud with the song of birds and the hum of flying insects. The only other men I saw were some mowers far off in the golden fields on either side of me. There was only one thing to remind me of the seriousness of my purpose. Much as the wall of the affronting tower had impaired my psychic view, now a wall of heavy clouds impeded my ocular sight. It was not the tall cumuli of a summer storm, light above with reflected sun and dark below with impending rain. No, it was a heavy blanket of leaden gray lying flat and low upon the horizon, a blanket more seasonable to the depths of winter than to the height of early fall. Yet I could not regard even this without a certain satisfaction. I was pleased to receive this confirmation of what I had seen in my magic glass, pleased to acquire a range and direction for a journey that had otherwise lacked both.
But my pleasure did not last long. For presently I saw an ox-drawn wagon coming toward me down the road. The wagon was loaded with people and freight. It might have been a family of farmers taking their produce to Iqqua market. I thought that I might question them about the land from whence they came. But when they drew a little closer my cheerful greeting died on my lips. It was a family indeed, with men and women young and old, with children and animals and assorted household goods. Yet theirs was not the merry air of a farmers’ holiday. Rather it was the somber mien of a funeral procession. Their tight-lipped mouths declared their sorrow. Their lifeless eyes bespoke a dull despair that could take no notice of anything but itself.
I might have spoken to them even so. But then I saw another wagon coming a little distance behind them. That wagon was followed by another, and that again by another, until I had counted seven wagons in a long and straggling line. Some were drawn by animals and some were drawn by men. Some had few riders and some had many, one so many that two or three had to go beside it on foot. But all wore the same sad air as the first. All were burdened with the weight of the same dull despair. I wanted to ask them about the meaning of their procession, but great emotion demands great privacy. All I could do was stand aside and let them pass unhindered. All I could do was watch them go and resume my journey alone.
The wagons had left a shadow on my heart, a shadow nearly as wide and deep as the shadow of the heavy clouds that by this time lowered above me. I wondered if the wagons and the clouds were connected in another way as well. It would certainly have been reasonable to think so. When two such unusual phenomena occur together at the same place and time, it is certainly reasonable to suppose that they may be causally linked. Yet it was hard to imagine what that link could be. I had passed beneath the clouds some time ago, and so far nothing I had seen had made me wish myself out again. Maybe the air was cooler here. Maybe the birds and insects were silent. And maybe all lesser shadows were hidden in the greater shadow from above. But it would have taken more than these to frighten away the farmers. It would have taken more than a threat of storm to drive them from their hearths and homes, or to make them abandon their fertile fields at the height of the harvest on which their lives depended. Yet everywhere I looked I saw that something had done exactly that. I saw fields half reaped and orchards half picked, with scythes and ladders lying still where the reapers and pickers had left them. And once, least accountably of all, I saw a farmhouse open to the cloudy sky, its thatched roof lying upside down in the vegetable garden beside it.
A farmhouse with its roof torn off was still a kind of shelter. But there was no more shelter to be found in all the wide land behind it. The fields and orchards had disappeared. The plain continued flat and barren to the foot of the bordering hills, the hills that form the uttermost end of the northern Eiglophian mountains. The question of shelter was not a frivolous one. The sun, so long invisible above the clouds, had lately passed below them, and was even now sinking toward the horizon. Night would be upon me soon, and the day had made me increasingly reluctant to let it find me in the open. But where else was it to find me? What were my alternatives? To scratch a hollow in the stony earth beneath my feet? Or to find some cranny in the rocky hills that loomed above me? I raised my eyes to the hills themselves to assess the practicality of the latter prospect. And then I saw the tower.
There was no mistaking it. The distance, the angle and even the light were exactly the same as when I had seen it in my magic glass. I wondered how I could have come so close without being aware of it. But maybe the real wonder was that I was aware of it now. It was set in a bay of the rocky hills, and it was not much taller than they. It was made of the same gray stone as they. And it was deep in the shadow of the same gray clouds that hung low and heavy over all. Its top was crowned with jagged battlements. Its windows were narrow and few. Only the door see
med remotely welcoming, and it was guarded by the straitness of the causeway that was its only approach. In earlier days the tower would have housed a sizable garrison. Now it was an empty shell. The windows and door were dark and vacant. The only light was the red glow cast by the ruddy sun that was even now dying behind me.
Then the death of the sun disclosed to me what its dying glow had hidden. I had thought that the door was dark and vacant. I now perceived a yellow light shining faintly in its depths.
The light that had seemed so faint without was considerably brighter within. It showed me a broad stone passage running straight back into the body of the tower. Yet the light came not from the passage itself but from the second opening at its opposite end. The actual source I could not see, for it was raised above the passage by a short flight of rough stone steps. But as I followed the passage to the end and climbed the steps to the top, it was revealed to me in all its splendor.
I found myself in a great round chamber, very wide and high, very nearly as wide and high as the tower that contained it. It was brightly lit by a series of torches set in sconces evenly spaced around its circular wall. The upper reaches of this stone wall were crumbling with age and blackened with ancient fires, but the lower reaches were overlaid with rich and beautiful hangings. Nor were these hangings the only appointments of beauty and costliness to be seen. There were barrels overflowing with varicolored fabrics, and open chests bulging with jewelry and plate, and deep shelves sagging with the weight of books and tablets and scrolls. But all were arranged with a carelessness that showed how little their owner regarded them.
In the center of the room was a dais of seven levels. On the topmost level stood a golden chair, almost a throne in its magnificence. And on the throne there sat a man. Of all the things the room had to show me, it was the man who surprised me most. I had expected to see a bowed and bearded hermit, and instead I had found a strong young king. His beardless face was fresh and smooth. His yellow hair was bright and curling. His body was draped in a voluminous robe, a robe colored with the rich purple of the night sky and ornamented with constellations picked out in golden thread. Yet its richness and fullness could not wholly hide the hard clean lines beneath. But a greater surprise was still to come. For now he rose to his feet and in a clear, strong voice exclaimed:
“Welcome, Eibon! Welcome to my house!”
“Do you know me?” I asked.
“Who does not know Eibon?” he replied as he started down the steps to meet me. “Who is ignorant of the fame of the sorcerer of Mhu Thulan? I know you and I have been expecting you. Indeed I have been watching you from the moment you crossed into my land. But I have a more personal reason for knowing you than your stellar reputation. Can you not guess? Do you not remember your old friend? Have you really forgotten your fellow apprentice in the house of Zylac?”
I looked more closely at the smiling young man now standing expectantly before me. And suddenly it all came back to me.
“By the gods, it is Mora!”
“Yes,” he answered, embracing me warmly. “It is Mora. I knew you would not have forgotten me. I am pleased beyond measure to have this chance to offer you the hospitality of my humble home.”
Here was a surprise indeed. Mora truly was my fellow apprentice in the house of my master Zylac. We had served together for two whole years, and during that period I was happy to call him friend. He was a full year older than I, and for that reason alone I was inclined to look up to him. Yet, if the truth be told, he was an indifferent student. This was not for want of energy or ability, but rather because his mind was too much diverted by the bright dreams of great plans and greater accomplishments to give proper attention to the many small matters that were the daily occupations of our apprenticeship. Finally he had run away in the night. And it was surely a judgment that the wise Zylac, who had the power to find him and bring him back, had not deemed it worth his trouble to do so. Yet there must have been something in the young man still, for the riches with which he surrounded himself were never produced out of empty air. I was pleased to see that my early admiration had not been entirely misplaced.
“But how can this be?” I asked in amazement. “Our time together in the house of Zylac is now more than forty years in the past. Those years have wrought great changes in me, and not all of them to my good. They have increased my experience and my wisdom, but they have also expanded my stomach and shrunk my limbs, thinned my hair and drawn lines of care on my face. But you they have not changed at all. Or, if they have changed, it is only to transform you from an awkward and scrawny adolescence to the full flower of exuberant manhood. What sorcery is this that can turn back the years and make an old man young?”
“This sorcery is the least of my accomplishments. I have achieved far greater since leaving Zylac. I will be happy to tell you about all of them in time. But now there is a more pressing matter. You have come a long way to be here, and I would be remiss in my duties as friend and host if I did not provide for your comfort. Nay, I insist. We have over forty years of catching up to do. And as you see, I have already made my preparations.”
He gestured to one side of the dais behind him, indicating the preparations of which he had spoken: several plump and ornate cushions arranged to form an improvised divan on one of the lower steps, and an equally ornate silver tray on another step above it. The tray was laden with a crystal platter of fruit and cheese, a crystal decanter of amber wine and two slender crystal goblets. I sat down on one side of the divan and Mora on the other. He filled my goblet from the decanter. But I was too preoccupied to eat or drink.
“You were about to tell me of your ageless youth,” I prompted, “and of other achievements far greater. The latter must be great indeed if they can eclipse the miracle of the former. But the greatest miracle of all must be that you have managed to accomplish them in silence.”
“Not altogether in silence, Eibon. Have you never heard of Mormoroth?”
“Mormoroth? Of course I have heard of him. Ten years ago his fame had spread the length and breadth of the civilized world. His exploits were the stuff of legend. He first appeared in the retinue of the last king of Phandiol, where he was credited with the deaths of all who had stood between his master and the throne. Later he was rumored to have engineered the sudden rise of the fortress city of Lophar, its sudden rise and, when its rulers grew fearful of their servant’s power and endeavored to curtail it, its even more sudden fall. Then the world held its breath, waiting to hear what his next exploit would be. But the word of that exploit never came. Mormoroth had withdrawn completely from the public ear and eye. Why do you ask about Mormoroth?”
“Because I am Mormoroth also. There are times when it is useful to change one’s name, if only to gain a little distance from a less than shining past. And Mora’s past was less than shining after he left the house of Zylac.”
“But this is wonderful!” I cried. “Every pronouncement that falls from your lips only deepens the mystery, only increases my eagerness to hear its explanation. You must tell me everything, Mora. How did you become Mormoroth? What secret enabled you to rise so far above other men? Why did you disappear from the eyes of the world? Why have you reappeared now? But tell me first, why did you leave the house of Zylac?”
“The years have not robbed you of your youthful curiosity, Eibon, whatever else they have taken from you. But it would not be fair to rouse your curiosity without at least trying to give it satisfaction. I owe you that much for friendship’s sake alone. Yet any account of my late success must also acknowledge my early failures. Even if I would hide them from others, I will not hide them from you.
“You ask why I left the house of Zylac. The answer is simple. I left because I could not stay. I mean no disrespect to the memory of our old master. He was a wise man in many ways. Yet he placed too much emphasis on the minutiae of knowledge, on his catalogs of flora and fauna, his genealogies of devils and gods, his ch
arts of the planets and the stars, to apprehend knowledge in its fullest scope. Catalogs, genealogies and charts all have an important place in our art. My own art could not have advanced as far as it has without them. But one can become so obsessed with them that he loses his ability to see anything else. Zylac never saw beyond the pages of his own musty tomes. That is why I had to leave him.
“Yet my freedom was not what I had hoped. Hard as my life as an apprentice had been, my life as a runaway was harder. My master had plagued me with onerous chores, but my freedom plagued me with hunger and cold and the terrible loneliness known only to those without money or family or friends. There were times when I should have liked nothing better than to return to Zylac on my hands and knees and beg him to take me back again. Yet through all my hardships I was sustained by my single-minded goal: to see things and hear things that I never could have seen and heard from the shelter of Zylac’s roof.
“Finally, after many years, I deemed that I had learned enough to declare as a sorcerer myself. I made my way southward to the great capital of Uzuldaroum, the wonder of whose palaces is only matched by the horror of its slums. I hung my sign over a rented booth in the poorest quarter of the city. At first my life in this new station was only marginally better than my life in the old. The few clients who came my way were either too poor to hire the services of an established sorcerer, or else too morally shady to deserve the help of an ethical one. But I could not afford to turn anyone away. And then I began to realize that my willingness to do what others would not might be the very thing I needed to bring me new and better clients, and to bring me them in droves.
Worlds of Cthulhu Page 22
