Doc Ardan and The Abominable Snowman

by Guy d'Armen

  Killer took a step forward. There was a problem, though. His feet didn’t move.

  Something was coiled about his ankles. It wasn’t entirely smooth. Rather, it was slightly bumpy and asymmetrical, like a tree branch.

  Unlike the branch Antinea had shown him under the throne room, though, this was more root-like, in that it protruded from the ground. Crystalline speckles glowed upon the root’s membrane, as if powered by some eldritch source of energy within.

  The root moved.

  It snaked up Killer’s legs, around his torso, and wound in a spiral down the length of the arm which held the ax to Antinea’s pale throat. The tip of the root covered the ax and exuded an acid. Killer’s eyes widened as he saw the root’s digestive juices begin to melt and consume the ax. He grasped it as long as he was able, then released it with a cry.

  He watched, held immobile, as the Reaver of Worlds dissolved and was absorbed into the translucent root. Then the root began to withdraw, slowly back into the Earth from which it obtruded, dragging him along with it.

  Harry Killer screamed and clawed at the ground.

  “Antinea, get away,” Hareton called, but the Queen was already pulling herself free. She stumbled over to the explorer, while the bronze man headed in the other direction, toward Killer.

  “Help me!” Killer called, and then the erstwhile Arab was next to him, one huge hand gripping Killer’s arm, the other on the glowing root. Massive thews tugged and strained.

  The bronze man’s eyes went from gold to glassy, and his efforts ceased.

  “What are you doing? Don’t stop–help me!” Killer yelled.

  But the colossal man, who had once posed as one of Antinea’s servants, did nothing.

  The bronze man’s vision dimmed. All was dark around him.

  Then a strange crystalline light pierced through, and within it a slender dark shape appeared. His sight cleared, and the dark shape was revealed as a massively tall building, towering over the New York skyline. A dirigible was moored to a mast atop the skyscraper. The picture shifted, and he saw Doctor Natas, from whose secret city in Asia he had recently escaped. The image blurred again, and he held a baby in his arms. The infant had his own reddish-bronze hair color. The vision snapped; he was flying an airplane over the Arctic, a beautiful, dark-haired woman beside him in the copilot’s seat. Then he was in a cavern, much deeper, down toward Earth’s center. He was surrounded by a circle of stone symbols lit by gas jets, and was facing a mirror. He was making hand-gestures, trying to sign, to the reflection in the mirror. Except it wasn’t a reflection. It was him, but the other in the mirror moved of its own volition.

  Then the bronze man was lying prone on the ground in the depths of the Mountain of Evil Spirits, still immobilized, and he saw Harry Killer’s hand being sucked into the ground, along with the last bit of glittering root.

  “It was a dendroid,” Doc Ardan was saying, “a semi-intelligent tree being–doubtless an offshoot of the same vegetable life forms your expedition encountered a nearly decade ago in Gondokoro.”

  The four of them–Hareton, along with Ardan, Antinea, and N’desi–stood round the ten-meter hole in the broken mosaic tiles of the ancient Atlantean temple.

  “Of course, I suspected as soon as I saw it,” Hareton said, his voice rasping with astonishment, “but to think–the distance the roots must have traveled beneath the soil! And what of the Reaver of Worlds? What drew the dendroid to it and sealed Killer’s fate?”

  “The roots were hungry,” Ardan said matter-of-factly. “I suspect there was a sort of sympathy between the two, the dendroid and the material that composed the ax-head. Perhaps even a symbiosis.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I’m not sure. But I have seen that same composition of glittering iron once before, in a collection at my family’s ancestral estate in Derbyshire. At the time, I did not have time to examine the rock fragments closely, although like the Reaver of Worlds, they had all the telltales of meteoritic origin, as well as a provenience of Africa. Zu-Vendis to be precise. And the fragments I saw in Derbyshire were laid out in the shape of a shattered ax-head, perhaps a chunk of the larger ax from which the Reaver of Worlds was reputedly crafted. While I’m hesitant to speculate on such little data, a hypothesis might be formed that a microbe fell to earth in a hollowed out cavity in the stone. Perhaps the composition of the meteorite is what attracted the microbes to it in the first place. It was food for the organism, although the latter had for some reason gone dormant while it traveled through the void of space.”

  Hareton shook his head, unbelieving. “And the taduki that gave me the vision which led to the ax?”

  “The herb has peculiar properties which I am fairly certain may serve to connect it with the vegetable life forms which originated in Gondokoro. Perhaps the taduki somehow communicates with the dendroid, possessing its human hosts–that is, those who inhale the herb’s smoke–and orders them to transport the metal food directly into the maw, so to speak, of the dendroid. Think of the taduki as a kind of hallucinogenic spore–a third member of a symbiotic chain: two from the plant kingdom, and another belonging to a very peculiar class of metal. Life beyond this world would likely take on much different forms than we are accustomed to, and possibly the metal is actually in some sense a life form as well. That’s one hypothesis. Or...”

  For a moment Ardan’s gold-shot irises seemed to swirl with excitement. Then he said calmly, “Or perhaps the ax was composed of the metal of an interplanetary vessel under the direct guidance of the dendroid. The vessel might have broken up upon impact with the Earth’s upper atmosphere, perhaps as it was consciously intended to do, scattering its contents in a broad swath over Africa, in order to seed our world. After all, the legends of the ax state that it was a gift of the Sky People.”

  N’desi shook his head. “Not a gift. No, the legends say it is xanigew–a curse.”

  Ardan broke a smile. “More data for our hypotheses, good. It will bear looking into.” Then Ardan’s smile vanished and he regarded Antinea.

  “Is our business finished?”

  Anger boiled up in Hareton. “You can’t possibly mean to let her go. Haven’t you seen her exhibition of death in the chamber above? She’s a cold-blooded murderer! What would your father say?”

  Antinea laughed coldly. “He would say let me go, wouldn’t he, Docteur Ardan? Unless you think he’d like me to reveal to your enemies the source of your family’s wealth?”

  Now Hareton understood Antinea’s pull over Ardan–the woman had somehow blackmailed him into assisting her. How she had managed to spin her web as far as the Ardans’ mysterious fortune, Hareton did not know, but he resolved to suss out the details when he returned to America.

  “Your punishment will come soon enough,” Ardan said coolly, turning away. “And perhaps it already has.”

  The haughty bearing left Antinea’s frame, her shoulders slouching as she gazed down into the blackness of the great opening in the floor before them. The dendroid might truly have slowed her aging as she had inferred, but now it was gone, hopefully forever.

  Hareton shuddered. He would gladly forgo immortality if he never saw the dendroid again–in his dreams or in waking reality...

  “I can take you in my plane as far as Tangiers,” Ardan called over his shoulder as he left behind the gaping hole and headed for the staircase that led above. “Then we must part company.”

  Hareton and N’desi sprinted to catch up, leaving Antinea to meditate upon her mortal future in the gloom of her subterranean temple.

  “You’ve no doubt heard of the financial crisis which has struck not only America but the very foundations of the civilized world.” If Ardan’s breathing grew any heavier as he began climbing the steep steps, Hareton could not discern it.

  “Indeed,” he said, now just behind Ardan. “That’s why your father was unable to lead the search for you in the Hoggar in person.” Though in excellent health for his 50-some odd years, Hareton struggled to hid
e his own panting.

  “We spoke just a moment ago of hypotheses,” Ardan said mysteriously. “I will not go into details, for I don’t wish to jeopardize your safety, but I’ve developed a singular hypothesis about the crisis on Wall Street. And I intend to test it.”

  But the importance of Ardan’s words faded as Hareton’s mind–without the aid of that infernal herb, he hoped–transported him back to his home in Baltimore, with Muriel and Phillippe and Aunt Rebecca waiting in the parlor, anxious to hear the story of his latest adventure. Hareton Ironcastle, just this once, would sit this one out and let the younger generation step up to the plate.

  He reached forward and clapped the climbing Ardan on his back.

  “Go get ‘em, old boy!”

  Harry Killer was not dead.

  He was underground, enveloped, suffocating, wrapped in solid crystal light.

  He saw himself strong again, rejuvenated, gathering his criminal empire in America, from the Pacific Northwest to Denver, New York to San Francisco, commanding a secret army of mobsmen, scientists, and beast-men. He saw a figure cloaked in black, face obscured by a large slouch hat, eyes alight, laughing an eerie laugh, twin .45s blazing in the night.

  The desert sands spat out Harry Killer, far from the Mountain of Evil Spirits. He lay there a while, catching his breath and orienting himself.

  Xanigew. The native word throbbed in his brain.

  He stood up and started walking.

  The historical Beast of Gévaudan was made popular by the 2001 action-packed movie The Brotherhood of the Wolf. It seems fitting that Doc Ardan would one day fight this legendary French monster...

  Matthew Dennion: A Scientist First and Foremost

  The Gévaudan, The 1930s

  The moon light lit the forest near the Langogne section of the Eastern Part of Gévaudan. Doc Ardan stalked quietly through the hot foliage as he searched for both his prey and its lair. Ardan was fully aware that in order to put an end to the horror that was occurring once more near Gévaudan that he would not only have to stop the creature that was committing the atrocities, but that he would also have to prove to the people that the beast was only an animal and not some supernatural threat.

  The summer was the hottest that it had been in years, which was causing all of the animals in the forest to behave in an excited manner. Ardan knew that he would have to take a moment to compose himself if he was to sort through the noises and smells of the humid forest in order to find what he was looking for.

  He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment as he let the acute sensitivity of his ears and nostrils take in the information that the forest provided. All of Ardan’s senses would need to function in unison if he was to find the creature’s lair, for only there could he put an end to the panic. Additionally, he was also fully aware that finding the beast’s lair would either confirm or put to rest his fears that the monster was only the first in a succession of vicious creatures that would plague the Gévaudan.

  Ardan could hear birds and frogs chirping and ribbiting around him. He could hear countless crickets singing to each other in the dark of the night. These sounds gave him a small sense of comfort, because he knew that, as long as heard them, the beast was not yet stalking him.

  Ardan took a deep breath and, as he inhaled the brisk air of the forest, he noticed the faint smell of water and mud to his left; the scientist began walking cautiously in that direction. As he walked, he pulled the short spear that was slung around his back into his right hand and, with his left hand, he removed the large hunting knife that was strapped to his belt. With the spear in his hand, he tapped the sticks of dynamite and the thick rope that were in the sack attached to his belt. The dynamite was both Ardan’s greatest option to end the threat posed to the people of Gévaudan, as well as the greatest threat to his life should the beast stalking the woods catch him by surprise.

  Ardan walked slowly in the direction of the scent of the muddy water and, as he did so, his sharp mind reviewed the information in his possession regarding the murders that had taken place in Gévaudan.

  Three weeks ago, a young couple by the names of Marie Leclair and Paul Sterguen had been walking home from a late dinner. The couple had opted to take some of the back roads through the fields, as it was a faster route than going through the heart of Gévaudan. When they had reached a deserted path, Paul had grabbed Maire and began to kiss her passionately. Suddenly, the couple heard a loud growl coming from the dark end of the field. They turned to see two blood-red eyes staring at them through the darkness.

  Paul pushed Marie behind him and he began yelling at what he thought was a stray dog. Marie screamed in terror when a monster, far larger than any dog she had ever seen, stepped into the light. Paul pushed her Marie out of the way and yelled for her to run.

  Marie had only made it three steps before she heard Paul fall to the ground behind her as the monster had jumped onto her lover’s back and forced him to the ground.

  Marie turned around and saw Paul with a look or terror in his eyes as the creature opened his massive jaws and then closed them around the man’s head. With one twist, the monster snapped his neck. Marie only looked on long enough to see the beast tear a chunk out of Paul’s back before she ran until she reached the village.

  The girl’s report was met with skepticism and the gendarme attributed the attack to a stray dog that, in her panicked state, the girl mistook for a monster.

  They changed their minds, however, when, an hour later, they saw the remains of Paul’s body. There was hardly an ounce of flesh left on the young man’s skeleton. His very bones had been bitten open and their marrow sucked out. The gendarmes were well aware that no dog possessed the bite strength or the size to inflict the kind of damage that they saw before them.

  Two nights later, a second attack had occurred. The Brier family had opted to host a dinner party in their garden behind their farm. With the weather being far hotter than normal, they were concerned that the house would be too uncomfortable for their guests. The Briers felt that they would enjoy strolling around the garden and the pond after dinner. Their property ended at the edge of the forest, allowing their guests to enjoy the sights and sounds of the woods as well.

  The Breir’s party was a highly attended with nearly thirty of their friends and neighbors enjoying themselves. Mr. Jean de Saint-Claire was enjoying a conversation with his wife near the back end of the property when he heard a strange growling noise coming from the forest. Saint-Claire’s wife urged him to run back toward the house, but her husband did not heed her warning and opted to walk closer to the woods to see what the cause of the sound was.

  His wife watched in horror when a huge hairy monster sprang out of the tree line and pinned her husband to the ground. Several other party guests ran over to see the creature raise its paw into the air and tear open Saint-Claire’s chest with a single strike. The monster growled, then sprang at the other guests.

  The beast had slain two more men before they were able to flee. The Brier’s immediately contacted the police but when the gendarmes arrived, the monster and the bodies had disappeared.

  Between the guests and the newspapers, the story of the monster spread like wildfire and, with it, so did a panic. The legend of the Beast of Gévaudan was well known. A series of similar events had taken place nearly two hundred years prior. The people of the town formed mobs that went into the woods, looking to shoot any canine that they came across.

  The people of Gévaudan were in such a state of mass hysteria that they began turning on their own community, or at least those who were not a part of the region.

  The members of the Caillet family lived on the outskirts of Gévaudan and kept to themselves. Nearly three dozen villagers stormed the gendarmerie and demanded that the Caillets be arrested and detained, based on fanciful reports that one of their family had once been a werewolf, and that they may be stricken with the same curse.

  Fearing what the mob might do, the gendarmes were forced to arrest the
Caillets for their own safety.

  A circus from India was in the region, and one of its featured attractions was Felifax the Tiger-Man. The man was said to not only train tigers, but to actually be half tiger himself. Given the story, and that he was of Indian descent, he, too, became a target for the town’s fear and anger. The people of Gévaudan soon surrounded the circus and demanded that it left town at once, with its murderous Tiger-Man.

  Deep in the woods outside of Gévaudan, there was an ancient castle where, legend had it, a prince had once been cursed and turned in to a hideous beast. The castle was now an archeological site of great interest for the study of Medieval France, but the locals feared that the monster had returned. In an attempt to ward off the Beast-Prince, they burned the ancient castle to the ground and, in the process, destroyed a treasure of architecture and knowledge.

  When Ardan saw that, not only was a creature terrorizing the region, but that its people had entered into a state of mass panic, he decided to act to put an end to the beast and to the panic that was tearing Gévaudan apart.

  While the locals approached the problem with fear and impulsive behavior, Ardan approached it from the point of view of a scientist. He examined the reports of other scientists and adventurers who had documented encounters with similar creatures, and, when he cross-referenced that information with both weather patterns and geological activity, he felt confident that he knew not only what the beast was, but where it came from, and the true threat it represented.

  Ardan’s mind suddenly snapped back to his surroundings when he noticed that the birds, frogs, and crickets had gone silent. He opened his eyes and focused them, as well as his other senses, on forest around him. He heard the sound of padded paws stepping gently across the thicket to his right. He slowly turned in that direction and saw the top of the brush, roughly fifteen feet in front of him, lean in his direction.