I looked straight at him, whispering, “Mankind didn’t dream you up.”
“No, of course not. The races older than Cthulhu’s people did. Humans aren’t the only ones to have begged for the Answer.” Nyarlathotep’s voice became mocking, insulting every being of faith throughout history. “I adopt whatever forms are needed though, to give you all the knowledge you mortals beg for, the secrets that will make your dull existence bearable.”
I was tempted to ask, shaking my head. Then I realized that Nyarlathotep was a trickster, a being who could not be trusted, and I guessed what sort of stories he provided to those who saw him in their visions. “The answer is whatever people want it to be.”
“Of course,” Nyarlathotep said, transforming into an Egyptian pharaoh with skin the color of obsidian. “The Answer is always what they want to hear. After all, what else would they dream of a god telling them?”
It wasn’t lost on me this was exactly the kind of thing that I expected Nyarlathotep to say. I could not trust this strange deity, whether he was a product of my dreams or genuinely a god, but I needed him. Hell, it was possible I wasn’t speaking to the real Nyarlathotep, if such a creature existed at all. The Necronomicon’s summoning rituals drew creatures from the Dreamlands into the physical world but gave them shape in accordance to the wishes and prejudices of the wizard casting the spell. That didn’t make them any less powerful and the least of them was powerful beyond imagination.
I shook those thoughts away, lest they lead me to madness. “I summoned you. I need you to take me back to my body. I need to stop Doctor Ward and avenge my squadron.”
Nyarlathotep transformed into a flying wasp-like creature that seemed as much fungus as insect. His next words entered my mind rather than my ears, “You do not have to do anything. It is your choice to be hero or villain or valueless drain on humanity’s resources.”
“I choose to try and do what’s right.” I felt strong again, better than I’d felt in years. It made me sick to my stomach to think it had come at the cost of other people’s lives.
“By whose standard?” Nyarlathotep changed into a black Elder Thing. “And for who?”
“My own and for me,” I said, trying to avoid thinking about the fact I’d long since given up on notions of right and wrong. “I have some things I need to ask …”
Nyarlathotep, however, had already moved on. “I can take you to distant R’lyeh, Kadath, or the very heart of the universe. There you may join the ranks of the many prophets I’ve made immortal. Your race will be dead in three generations, no matter what you do. Life is an insignificant and ephemeral thing. Think carefully before you waste your meager years left on a dying race.”
“Humanity has only three generations left to live?” I asked, stunned.
“Of course.” Nyarlathotep became the image of a man-sized Cthulhu, a cephalopod skull necklace around his neck. “I’m surprised your race is going to last that long. You were always such a self-destructive little species.”
Hearing Nyarlathotep’s words was like a sock in the gut, confirming my worst fears about humanity’s future. Then I remembered my speech to Mercury, telling her the importance was in struggling against death rather than triumphing over it. Taking a deep breath, I recited one of the most famous lines of the Necronomicon: “With strange aeons, even death may die. I will not give up. I will save my race.”
Nyarlathotep assumed the form of my father, his color still darker than black. Grinning broadly, he snapped his fingers. “Very well, soldier, I shall take you back to your body.”
My body caught fire.
Chapter Twenty-One
I screamed as I woke up, a scenario I was rapidly becoming accustomed to. Feeling someone’s hands on my chest, I grabbed them by the arm and went for my knife, only coming to my senses when I realized the person touching me was Jackie.
Blinking her large eyes, Jackie was surprisingly calm for a girl with a golden knife at her throat. “Uhm, hello.”
“Jackie, I’m so sorry.” Dropping the knife, I let go of her arm. From the feel of it, she didn’t seem to be injured. “Are you alright?”
Jackie looked down at her arm, flexing it a few times to make sure it was okay. “I’m okay, sir. Why is Mister Jameson dead?”
Turning my head, I stared across the room at Richard’s body. My canine companion was lying on the floor, his mouth open and eyes staring upward. Any hope I had for Richard’s survival was dashed: he looked like he’d had the ghoul equivalent of a massive heart attack. Reaching over, I closed his eyelids and said a little prayer. I doubted Richard worshiped my god, but it was my hope there was a heaven equivalent for ghouls.
“He was killed by ancient aliens living in the Dreamworlds,” I said, taking a deep breath and getting up off the floor.
“Oh,” Jackie said, looking horrified. “Was his sacrifice worth it?”
“No,” I answered her honestly. “It wasn’t.”
“I see,” Jackie said, staring up at me.
“Yeah, I suppose you do.” Checking the R’lyehian knife’s blade, I saw it was covered in blood. Apparently, some things physically transferred to and from the Dreamlands. It gave me hope I could eventually drive the gold thing into Ward’s black heart.
“What does this mean for me?” Jackie asked.
“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll take you with me to Kingsport,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take you with Mercury and we’ll find you both a home.”
Jackie looked down. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I pulled the sheets off the crumpled bed in the guest room before throwing them over Richard’s corpse. It was the closest thing to a funeral shroud I could provide my friend.
“Farewell, my friend,” I prayed aloud, shaking my head. “May byakhees ferry your soul to Tsathoggua’s caverns with swift wings.”
Jackie tugged on my shirt. “Uh, there are some things you need to know.”
“Yes?” I looked away from Richard’s corpse, my eyes damp. I would never be able to forget any of my times with Richard, the Elder Things’ tampering making each memory extraordinarily vivid. Certain neurological conditions gave similar perfect memories and often caused extraordinary distress to their bearers, but I was glad for it now. I would never forget Richard and for now, that was enough.
“Ms. Jessica is awake and Ms. Mercury has been kidnapped.” Jackie looked over her shoulder as she spoke, as if expecting me to explode.
“What?” I asked, unsure if she was serious.
“Ms. Jessica woke up just a few minutes ago,” Jackie said, looking up. “That’s why I came in here to talk with you. As for Ms. Mercury, Lady Katryn came here and said Peter had taken her and to tell you when you woke up. I tried to wake you up earlier but it didn’t work. I was hoping to try again and then you almost stabbed me.”
“I’m so sorry about that.”
“Please don’t. It’s okay.” No child should have to say that.
I blinked, shaking my head. “Goddamn you, Peter.”
“It’ll be alright,” Jackie said. “You’re going to go to Kingsport and get them back, right?”
“They’re going to Kingsport?”
“That’s what Lady Katryn said, yes.”
I took a deep breath. “Alright. Is she still here?”
“Yes,” Jackie said. “She said the journey required provisions and should be undertaken with you if at all possible.”
“Thank God for small miracles,” I said. “Jackie, it might be dangerous to go to Kingsport now. Are you sure you want to go with me now?” I said, fearing the sort of fate which might await a girl brought into the intrigues Peter was involved in.
Jackie looked outside one of the nearby windows into Scrapyard, a look of revulsion passing across her face. “I would rather go with you straight into the jaws of any Wasteland beastie than stay here.”
“I see. Did any of the villagers ever …” I searched for a word appropriate to the outrage I felt
, “hurt you, Jackie?”
Jackie seemed hesitant to answer, which only confirmed my suspicion. “Never my Da. His wife, though, used to. She hit me with her hand, wooden spoons, and even tried to drown me once. My Da found out though and drove her out of the village. None of the other Scrapyarders ever forgave him, driving out one of their own for a demon child.”
I absorbed that information, deciding that I would never help this community again. “I admire your father.”
“Did you have a Da you loved?” Jackie’s voice was wistful, as if finally touching on the raw emotion having her father killed must have instilled in her.
“No,” I said, my father’s mentioning triggering a host of memories both good and bad. “No, I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Booth.” Jackie was trying to comfort me, which struck me as an obscene reversal of the natural order.
“It’s alright.” I leaned down and placed my hand on her shoulder, watching her flinch. Reaching around, I gave her a gentle hug. “I’ve finally put that ghost to rest. You know, you remind me a lot of my daughter, Anita.”
“Is she pretty?” Jackie asked a question which almost made me laugh.
“Yes, she is.” I didn’t mention that she’d inherited too many of my features. Martha was, by all accounts, the most beautiful woman in the Remnant. Anita, on the other hand, had been a tomboy growing up with very little feminine about her. She was pretty as opposed to gorgeous, but I doubted Jackie wanted to hear that. “Someday, I’ll take you to meet her and your new brother Gabriel. They’ll love you.”
They might indeed, Gabriel was morbid and arcane enough that he’d have no difficulty acclimating to the fact she was a ghoul-human hybrid. Anita might have a bit more trouble with the concept but at heart Anita was a good little soldier. She’d trust my judgment that Jackie was no threat.
Jackie patted me on the back, seemingly a little uncomfortable. “So, when do we leave?”
“Soon,” I said, patting her on the back. “I have never left a child behind in distress. It is my one saving grace in a damned world.”
It was another reason why I was going back to the Black Cathedral, why I had to return there no matter the cost. There were still children held prisoner by Doctor Ward, close to a thousand of them if my restored memories were accurate.
They might or might not be transformed by his experiments yet, but either way they had to be rescued. It was the right thing to do. Afterward, should I somehow survive, the world would become murky again and the only remaining goal would be survival. It made hoping we triumphed difficult.
“Thank you, Mister Booth.” She looked on the verge of tears. “You remind me a bit of my Da.”
“He sounds like he was a wonderful man.”
Jackie’s toothy grin brightened the room. “He was.”
I heard the approach of a woman’s footsteps. By the sound, she was athletic, built, and of medium height. Seconds later, I heard her voice at the door. “Geez, Captain, you’re starting a family out here? I knew you liked the Wastelands but this is a bit much.”
I rose up, turning to Jessica. She was wrapped up in a bed sheet and drinking from a red Christmas mug with a bull terrier in a Santa hat on its side. Despite her ordeal, she looked much better than before.
“It’s good to see you alive,” I said, rubbing Jackie’s hair. It felt like a dog’s fur and I immediately stopped.
Jessica took another drink from her mug. “So what’s the short version of everything that’s happened since I suddenly felt like someone hit me with a tank?”
“Events include being found guilty of treason, having my execution faked, and being forced to sneak out of New Arkham with Doctor Mercury Takahashi. I killed a nightgaunt, killed an Earthmover, and went on a vision-quest where I killed a bunch of pre-human alien demigods where I’d lost a good friend. Then I summoned either the Devil, Son of God, or both, and he brought me home. We need to go to Kingsport and get Doctor Takahashi back. She’s apparently been kidnapped.”
“Alright,” Jessica said, nodding as if all the insanity I’d just blathered made sense. “Who’s the kid?”
“Jackie Howard, Mercury’s ward. If you choose to disregard most of my words, understand the bit about being exiled is true.” I took a deep breath, staring down. “There’s something else you should know—I was tried and convicted for the murder of my squadron, you included.”
Jessica didn’t say anything for a second before replying, “Wow, the Council of Leaders is full of idiots.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Want to go kill them next?” Jessica asked.
“Peter Goodhill first, Ward next, and then we can worry about anyone else we need to murder.”
“Understood,” Jessica said.
“Taking a look at me and then one at Richard’s corpse,” Katryn said, “I take it your dream-quest did not go well?”
I looked over at the body before glancing back at her. “No. Richard’s loss is one that diminishes the world.”
Jessica looked down at the sheet-covered body, apparently noticing it for the first time, before saying, “Richard’s dead? That stinks. He was a nice guy. You know, for a ghoul.”
“For anyone,” I corrected her. “To answer your question, Katryn, it went. That’s all that needs to be said. Are you alright? I heard about the situation from Jackie.”
“Betrayal leaves scars, John,” Katryn said, her voice bitter and cold. “I am most definitely not alright. I apologize for allowing your slave to be taken. I will compensate you for her loss.”
“She is not my slave.” I was surprised by her choice of language, though I suspected she was just expressing her disapproval of Doctor Takahashi.
“I know. I just didn’t like her,” Katryn said, giving a half-smile before continuing. “In the meantime, I’ve been treating your confederate to make sure she’s healed enough to help you recover the Doctor before she’s raped and murdered.”
Katryn had such a lovely way of phrasing things.
“Yeah, the crazy savage lady makes a mean cuppa mud.” Jessica lifted her mug, swirling around its contents a bit. “What’s in this stuff anyway, Hun?”
“Ghoul urine,” Katryn deadpanned.
Jessica started choking and rushed out of the room, presumably to vomit. Jackie watched the entire scene in silence, barely managing to stifle her laughter.
I raised an eyebrow at Katryn, biting my upper lip in order to prevent myself from laughing. “That was unnecessary.”
“Blame the fact I’m a crazy savage.” Katryn’s voice didn’t waiver or change. “John, if you need to talk, I’m willing to be your spiritual advisor. I sensed Richard’s death and some change in your fundamental nature. The Hand of Nyarlathotep is a heavy burden.”
“The Hand is no longer there.” I didn’t like where this was going. “I had it removed.”
Katryn removed my shirt, exposing the hand which had become a deep shade of black. It now burned with the same power the R’lyehian knife did.
“The Hand is eternal, John.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I took one look at the blackened-hand imprint on my shoulder, larger and more prominent than ever. The thing looked like a tattoo, only it now seemed to twist and turn as if trying to dance across the surface of my skin.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” I cursed, putting my shirt back on.
Jackie looked up to it. “Does this mean you’re still immortal, Mister Booth?”
“No!” I snapped at her, causing her to take a step back. Seeing her reaction, I winced and looked away, feeling ashamed. “I broke the spell. Jessica’s awakening is proof enough of that.”
“The Hand of Nyarlathotep is more than that,” Katryn said, almost resigned. “You have been marked by the attention of the God-Who-Walks. His presence will follow you no matter what.”
I couldn’t help but feel the pangs of fear. Nyarlathotep was a god; no other word could properly describe the extra-dimensional thing I’d sum
moned. I’d stupidly thought I could use the Necronomicon to make him obey my commands, but instead I’d become a source of amusement to the twisted deity. I wanted to take a knife and cut the offending mark off my body, to cast the excess skin into a fire and watch it burn. I could feel the magic burned my skin now and imagined the mark’s sorcerous energies leaking into my blood, slowly transforming me into something horrible. “Does this mean I’m doomed to become a monster? To go insane? To die screaming? What?”
Katryn looked down, speaking softer than I expected. “I don’t know, John. The last person who bore the Hand of Nyarlathotep disappeared centuries ago. I only know of it from hearing the holy diaries of Wilbur Whateley. One can never say the final fate of those who have attracted the attention of the gods, sometimes it is glorious and sometimes it is horrible beyond imagination.”
“Can’t you guess?” I confess, as rebuttals went, it wasn’t my finest.
“The mark has been reinforced. It is now many times more powerful than it was before. You have been touched by the Trickster directly. I …” Katryn trailed off, which spoke volumes about the situation. She wasn’t the sort of woman to shy away from uncomfortable truths.
“Go on, please.” I felt my head, feeling helpless before the curse afflicting me.
Katryn didn’t respond for several seconds. “Without someone to draw the breath of life from, the Hand of Nyarlathotep will in all likelihood turn in on itself.”
“You mean, it’s going to kill me.” I dropped my hands to my side. It made sense in a twisted sort of way: I’d summoned Nyarlathotep and he’d repaid me for my hubris by condemning me to a slow death by the same method I’d had my life extended.
“In all likelihood, yes.” Katryn’s words were meant to sound clinical and detached but she couldn’t keep the emotion out of her voice; it was a deep and welling sadness. I felt flattered she felt so much for me. “You may have a few years but more likely nine months to a year. Eventually, the Hand will drain away your life as it did Jessica’s. Then you will die.”
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