“But my grandfather succeeded. He just stayed too long.”
“Yes, but—”
“Look. I share your concern, but this spell is a necessary step along the path to greater command of my magical abilities,” he insisted. “From this point forward, very little will be easy. I must—We must—continually attempt more and more difficult spells until we reach the level of expertise necessary to banish Sothoth Pnath. Sooner or later, I shall need to attempt something like this anyway. Why not now, if I’m confident that I can succeed? And I am confident.”
He had harped on the theme of confidence since the start. It seemed not the best idea to introduce doubt into his mind, but his safety—our safety—was paramount.
“What about this contact in Boston?” I asked. “Can you trust him?”
“I have no reason to distrust him. My grandfather began to exchange letters with him just before he handed off the shop to my uncle Charles and me.”
“But Mr. Hunt never met him?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
Andrew was calm about my line of questioning. I think he could see what I was attempting, but his confidence was unshakeable. I had one tactic left.
“Okay,” I began. “Let us assume that his moral character is honorable, as there is no evidence to the contrary. However…what if, though his intentions are good, he accidentally made an error in writing down the instructions? Or miscopied one of the commands in that preposterous language? It seems easy enough to get one of those words wrong. Can we trust him not to have made a mistake?”
That got a reaction, but not the one I was expecting. Andrew grinned.
“I was wondering when you would realize that,” he said. “That issue is a constant with everything we attempt. There is always a chance of an error creeping in. Just because the information has been handed down through the ages does not guarantee that it is correct.”
For me, that revelation was terrifying.
“But how…”
“How is anything ever accomplished?” he finished my question.
I nodded.
“You should know,” he said. “Faith.”
The word echoed in my ears. Yes, I was well acquainted with the concept. Or had been.
“Faith, not in God, but in the good will of other men,” I said.
“At times, I am sure that good will plays a part. But it’s not necessary to stretch your faith that far. Greed is likely often a driving factor. And pride. It doesn’t matter. Ignore the motivation that drives anyone to record the information we need. The only thing we are concerned with is its accuracy.”
“An accuracy which is a complete mystery,” I insisted, brimming with doubt.
“No,” countered Andrew. “Not necessarily. Consider the case of the magician who works alone. Let’s assume that he comes across errant information. If he survives the mistake, he either destroys the data or corrects it. In either case, that error is not passed along. If he dies, it is also not passed on, unless his notes survive and are found. If another solo magician is the unlucky recipient, the same scenario repeats. But now consider the master magician who has an apprentice. If the master were to die due to that same errant information, the apprentice would survive to destroy or correct it—and also seek revenge if appropriate. So you see, the system is self-correcting. The odds are extremely good—though not perfect—that we can rely upon the information.”
He paused to ensure that he had my attention.
“You’re the apprentice,” he said.
“And so I should be prepared to exact revenge.”
“Exactly.” He laughed, easing the tension. “The master may get the glory, but being the apprentice is safer. And besides…you said yourself some time ago that I should be more trusting. Based upon our experiences with this gentleman from Boston, I’m starting to believe that he would not steer me wrong.”
I found myself unable to disagree.
Fifteen
On Saturday, Andrew unexpectedly closed the store just after lunch. He said that he wanted extra time—both to relax, and to prepare for the upcoming invocation, in that order. We had different definitions of relaxation, though. For me, it meant sitting down with a book even though I spent my days studying. He wanted to do something more physical. Based on my past experiences with Elizabeth, I suggested rowing on the lake in the park, and he agreed.
The sky was overcast, and humidity had been building through the morning, threatening rain. Perhaps because of that, no one was using the boats. I was about to pay for one when Andrew stopped me.
“Look,” he said, pointing at a pair of women not far off. “I like the tall one. Let’s go over.”
They were both attractive, I had to admit. When I made no move, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me gently along.
“I don’t want to diminish the love you had for Elizabeth,” he whispered. “But you have a long life ahead. You’re going to need to start interacting socially again. No commitments are necessary. Just talk with the pretty, young woman over there.”
That got a smile out of me.
“Just relax and talk,” he continued, “while I—oh, I know what to do. Just play along.”
They took notice as we approached. Andrew dove right in.
“Ladies,” he said, “my friend here has actually challenged me to a rowing race. We need some unbiased judges at the finish line. Do you think you can help us out with that?”
I could tell that he had directed his speech at the taller one because her own gaze never wavered from his. Right away, the other woman picked up on what was going on. If she had resigned herself to being my companion, she gave no indication that I had been forced on her. Her name was Donna, and the one who had caught Andrew’s eye was Denise. His introduction had the intended effect, and before long, the four of us were talking and laughing as we all walked over to the rowboats.
We decided to row out at as easy pace, then turn around and race back. The ladies, waiting on the end of the pier, would see who passed the end of the pier first. On our way out, I could tell that Andrew was stronger, but my technique was more efficient, having been honed through practice. After we turned around and evened up the boats, I began to wonder about his plan.
“Are we really racing?” I asked him. “Or are we going to just try to make it interesting for them?”
“Oh, we’re racing,” he said with a grin. “After all, I need to prove my worthiness to Denise.”
A race it was then.
It was a fair start, our oars hitting the water at the same time. I was ahead for a bit, then Andrew passed me with a furious effort. By the halfway mark, he had increased his lead to nearly a boat-length, but I began to close the distance as I sensed his pace slow. I heard the cheers of the women as we neared the dock. The view of his boat in my peripheral vision made me think that it would be close. And it was.
As we sat in the boats gasping for breath, our clothes soaked through with sweat, Denise declared Andrew the winner. Donna disagreed politely, and the exchange that followed swiftly became a heated argument. Andrew and I both found the situation hilarious. Our roars got the attention of the ladies, and they began to giggle when they realized what had happened. But even with the situation defused, neither would budge on their opinion. Another race would be needed. But because they had an appointment to keep, and Andrew and I were spent, we all decided to have the rematch in one week, with the women riding along in the boats to get a better perspective.
I wish we had been able to keep that date.
Because Andrew wanted extra time to ensure that he had everything memorized, I didn’t arrive at the shop until ten o’clock. A few brief showers had wet the town during the afternoon, their evaporation adding even more moisture to the sticky atmosphere. Steady rain finally began on my way over, first as a light drizzle, but rapidly gaining momentum. I arrived, only slightly dampened, and pounded on the door. As I stood there waiting for him to answer, I had the most intense feeling of being wa
tched. The hairs on my neck stood up, as I imagined the presence of someone right behind me. I whirled around quickly, but no one was there. With my back flat against the door, I scanned the darkness for any sign of life. There was nothing but rain.
The lock clicked and the door open behind me.
“Good heavens!” said Andrew, pulling me inside. “It’s pouring. Were you caught in that?”
I shook my head.
“It only just started,” I said.
When he had closed and locked the door, I peered out the windows to search the empty street one more time for a reason to justify my strange feeling. The trip to the bookstore in the darkness had been uneventful; it was only while standing outside the door that I had the sensation of being spied upon. My fears banished, Andrew led the way upstairs.
“I must admit,” he said, “I can’t wait to try this.”
There was excitement in his voice, though his outward appearance did not betray his feelings. To my eye, he was very restrained, an almost palpable aura of self-confidence about him. The irritable tenseness that had preceded the previous ceremony was thankfully not in evidence.
“And thank you for helping me relax today,” he added.
“No, I have to thank you. That was a good idea. I will beat you next weekend, though.”
He chuckled.
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
The letter with the instructions was on the table, the top sheet showing the English and R’lyehian command translations. A dull roll of distant thunder penetrated the room. The curtains were drawn closed on all the windows, but I could still discern the lightning flashes of the heart of the storm—still far off—through the white gauze.
“You can have a seat at the table,” he said. “I’ll be on the couch. I want to keep this simple: summon the creature, command it, dismiss it. This time, the difference will be that we cannot contain it in a circle. When summoned, it will come, but will remain beyond our perception. Because we cannot contain it, we cannot protect ourselves. Regardless, you should be safe. I would be the focus of any…misunderstanding. We must trust that the sacrifice of my dreams will be accepted.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.
“My only request, as before,” said Andrew, “is that you do not interrupt me.”
I nodded again and sat down. Although this ceremony required more memorization than the one for summoning the salamander, no physical preparations were needed. He took a seat on the couch and began to cast the first spell. After speaking in Latin, he paused, then intoned a string of syllables which grated on the ears. He then got comfortable, laying so that he faced me, and murmured to himself for a few seconds. Sleep was upon him almost instantly. I alternated my attention between him and the lightning of the approaching tempest.
Within minutes, his breathing took on the slow, regular tempo of dreaming. The room was silent, the only sounds being the rain hitting the windows, and the airflow in and out of his nostrils. But then, he eerily began to speak while still fast asleep. In a hollow voice, he repeated aloud the terrible words he had commanded himself to utter not long before. When the final syllable was finished, silence returned, but in place of Andrew’s peaceful sleep, his brow furrowed with worry, and his limbs twitched. He must have been conjuring the dream to be sacrificed to the Servitor. I wondered what kind of horror his sleeping mind had produced.
As I watched him struggle with the nightmare of his own devising, I became more and more alarmed. The unconscious thrashings of his limbs grew continually more violent, and his features contorted with fear. Would he awaken soon? Should I interfere? A flash of lightning from the coming storm stirred me from my seat. Judging by the delay before the thunderclap, the storm was closer, yet still a ways off. The thunder…there was a bizarre echo to it. I went over to Andrew, wanting to do something, but afraid to. His body wrenched violently, pulling him briefly up off the couch, before flopping back down like a dead fish. The force of his convulsions made my decision: I had to wake him. I hovered over him, gathering courage. But before I could even touch his shoulder, his eyes flew open, and he shot up to sitting.
“Alive!” he shouted. “Am I alive?”
“Yes! Alive and awake.”
Shaken, but reassured, he laid back down on the couch. The continuing echo of thunder was disorienting, and I peered through the curtains to try to catch flashes of lightning. There were none at that moment, and yet the throbbing continued like the heartbeat of a titan. I looked at Andrew, filled with both fear and excitement.
He sighed and sat up on the couch.
“It is here,” he confirmed, seemingly struggling to keep his voice calm.
“Then the sacrifice was a success,” I said.
“Yes.”
The emphasis he put on that one word conveyed so much. I heard a thrill of success, satisfaction of a job well done, and the confidence that comes with great power or secret knowledge.
“Do you remember what it was that you dreamed?” I asked him.
He closed his eyes tightly, and there was a visible shudder, as he grabbed his head with both hands. Seeing his anguish, I hoped that I would not regret hearing the answer. As I waited for him to answer, the muted sounds of the storm mounted as the center of it drew ever closer. Even more noticeable, though, was the unnatural throbbing that indicated the presence of the Servitor: That alien resonance chilled me to my soul.
After a few tense seconds, Andrew relaxed and opened his eyes.
“Unfortunately, I do remember pieces of it,” he whispered in a ragged voice. “A string of images, only vaguely connected, all horrifying…perhaps not visually, but emotionally. Had you seen what I did, you may not have had the same reaction. It was as if the dream was keyed to my own personal fears. Or…”
I waited, but there was no further elaboration. Instead, he stood on shaky legs, walked over to the table and picked up the paper with the list of commands. A bolt of lightning illuminated the curtained windows; the lag of the matching thunderclap was much shorter.
“I must assume,” I said, “that you are still committed to going Outside.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling grimly. “Based on the list of commands, there are few options.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
He cleared his throat.
“I am.”
I had only one tack left to try.
“You succeeded in the summoning,” I said. “You could just dismiss it without telling it to do anything, right?”
“I could, but please trust me here. You trusted my judgment when I handled the salamander. I have the confidence to handle this—and yes, I do remember my grandfather’s warning. This will be a short trip. The summoning itself was the dangerous part. The creature is here. It obeys me. It would even obey you, in fact, if you would like to command it. Unless I explicitly tell it not to.”
Another bright flash of lightning, and accompanying blast, made Andrew jump. He looked at me with a crooked smile.
“Though when it comes to storms like this, I must admit that I’m somewhat less confident.”
I could not help but laugh.
“You fear the known, but not the unknown?”
“I fear what I cannot control. The storm is beyond my control. The Servitor is not.”
“For both of our sakes, I hope so.”
He moved toward the center of the room, about six feet away. With his back to me, he took a deep breath and gave the command. The blasphemous noise that poured from his throat was startling to hear. It was astonishing to think it actually had any meaning at all. But immediately after the final syllable was pronounced, it happened.
He disappeared.
There were no noises, no lights, nothing to smell or sense in any way. He simply disappeared. I hardly had time to react. Looking around, it was an indisputable fact that I was alone in that room. The storm continued to rage outside, but I hardly noticed the lightning flashes, the peals of thunder. There was only that thr
ob—dull, aching, like the ticking of a clock—counting the seconds that I stood there, and with Andrew somewhere else entirely.
Then, he reappeared in the same spot. When he started to waver, I rushed over, and steadied him before he could fall. The moment I touched him, he seemed to snap to consciousness.
“Andrew! Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He shook his head, and his stance became more solid. “How long? How long was I gone?”
“I…I’m not sure,” I said, trying to think. “Certainly less than a minute.”
“A minute?” He shook his head again as if to wake himself, then listened to the storm. “But it must be. The storm yet rages. The clock on the wall…”
His voice faded out, and he stared into the middle space. Mouth agape, his face was completely blank, though his eyes danced around and blinked rapidly. On anyone else, such an expression would have served as a mark of insanity. In light of the circumstances, however, it seemed as if his mind was trying to come to terms with what it had experienced. I was afraid of what he might say next, what he might do. It wasn’t long before he emerged from his stupor—seemingly none the worse for wear—and began to speak.
“I can’t even begin to describe everything that happened in that short span of time,” he said, the words tumbling out. “It’s astounding—while I was there, I could actually comprehend the extra-dimensional reality of the place. I could see you standing right there! And the Servitor! It’s not…no, it’s not the dream-eater your professor described. I saw those things, as well. The description of them as both angular and curved is probably most apt, given the words we have available in English. But regardless, the creatures that feed on dreams are akin to…mice. And the Servitor is a cat. I believe my nightmares were meant as a kind of bait to lure the dream-eaters, which the Servitor then preyed upon.”
He paused and shook his head.
“Or I think so. I don’t know. I’m still trying to digest it all.”
He paused again, and listened. The ever-present thrumming was still about us.
The Shadow Beyond Page 17
