“Ri linn cothrom na meidhe, Ri linn sgathadh na h-anal.
“Ri linn tabhar na breithe Biodh a shith air do theannal fein.
“Dhumna Ort! Iog Sototh. Dhumna Ort!”
It started small again; a tear in the fabric of reality, no bigger than a sliver of fingernail, appeared and hung above the well. As Arthur watched it settled into a new configuration, a black oily droplet held quivering in empty air. The walls of the chamber throbbed like a heartbeat. The black egg pulsed in time. And once again it was more than obvious—it was growing. It calved, and calved again.
Four eggs hung in a tight group, pulsing. Colors danced and flowed across the sheer black surfaces; blues and greens and shimmering silvers on the eggs. In the blink of an eye there were eight.
Arthur had no thought of the city above, no thought of duty, lost in contemplation of the beauty before him.
Sixteen now, all perfect, all dancing.
Thirty-two now, and they had started to fill the chamber with a dancing aurora of shimmering lights that pulsed and capered in time with the throb of magic.
Sixty-four, each a shimmering pearl of black light. The colors filled the well, spilled out over the rim, crept around Arthur’s feet, danced in his eyes, in his head, all though his body.
He strained to turn his head towards the eggs. A hundred and twenty-eight now, and already calving into two hundred and fifty-six. As if right at his ear, he heard Merlin’s voice.
“You were born for this day. Days like this are why this land has Arthur—why it has you. The king and the sword will prevail.”
And suddenly he remembered where he was. He raised Excalibur high and struck at the center of the mass of eggs.
The myriad of bubbles popped, burst, and disappeared as if they had never been there at all with a wail that in itself was enough to set the walls throbbing and quaking. Swirling clouds seem to come from nowhere to fill the room with darkness.
When Arthur opened his eyes it was as if he was a colossus, his legs astride the banks of the Thames, standing guard over his city with Excalibur raised against all comers. He swung. White fire cracked through the air, setting scores of dirigibles aflame with each pass of the sword, the enemies of the land falling from the sky, blazing even as they tumbled into the river and Arthur laughed and Excalibur swung, and swung again.
The Saxon dirigibles burned.
The armada was still coming—scores—hundreds of them—the Saxe-Coburgs’ whole fleet in one final attack that was meant to take everything they had fought over, once and for all. And Arthur met the task willingly, blazing white fire across the skies while the people called his name in awe and wonder from below.
The moment of triumph was close—two or three more sweeps of Excalibur and the land and the King would be free—would be one again.
He heard a voice—a distant voice—call out.
“No! You shall not have it.”
He felt cold steel in his back, a coward’s thrust that took him in the kidneys and kept going, spearing him through and through.
Arthur fell, tumbling, down into darkness, back into the cavern beside the well. He was reeled in like a hooked fish, tugged reluctantly through a too tight opening and emerged into the dim light of a cold chamber where Lancelot, bloody sword in hand, stood over his body, ready to deliver the coup de grace.
“Percifal—he needs you,”
Merlin’s voice—then the clang of steel on steel, the clash of armor and the screams of dying men. It was over before Arthur could even bring himself to his feet.
Gawaine stood over the headless body of Galahad—who no longer looked quite so pretty. Persifal had Lancelot at the end of his sword. The old man was on his knees, bleeding from a head wound that unfortunately did not look fatal.
“Why? Why betray me after all these years?” Arthur asked, fighting for every breath—something was broken—burst—deep inside him. He did not think he had long left to do what still needed to be done, but first, he had to hear from Lancelot.
“The Saxon Queen—she promised marriage—a regency,” the old man said, and those were his last words, for Persifal took his head off with a single stroke before turning to Arthur.
“Sire—you are wounded sore. We must get you out of here.”
Arthur leaned on Excalibur for support as he got to his knees and looked up above the well. Four black eggs hung there—already calving to eight.
“Soon, gentle knight. Soon. But my work here is not yet finished.”
It was Merlin who helped Arthur all the way to his feet, and once again Arthur smelled the sea.
“There is something fishy here,” he said, and Merlin nodded.
“There has been for a long age, Sire—and soon now you shall know why—but first, Londinium and Britain needs its Arthur—one last time, for now.”
Arthur barely had the strength to lift the sword, but once again he swung, and cleaved the eggs of Sototh—and once again he stood high, astride the Thames, sending white fire into the air. The remnants of the Saxon armada fell in flames, and it was only when the last of them tumbled from the sky that Arthur let himself fall with it, tumbling, into the black.
Arthur dreamed, of empty spaces filled with oily, glistening bubbles. They popped and spawned yet more bubbles, then even more, until he swam in a swirling sea of colors. He drifted in a blanket of darkness, and he was alone, in a cathedral of emptiness where nothing existed save the dark and the pounding chant. He saw more stars—vast swathes of gold and blue and silver, all dancing in great purple and red clouds that spun webs of grandeur across unending vistas. Shapes moved in and among the nebulae; dark, wispy shadows casting a pallor over whole galaxies at a time, shadows that capered and whirled as the dance grew ever more frenetic. He was buffeted, as if by a strong, surging tide, but as the beat grew ever stronger he cared little. He gave himself to it, lost in the dance, lost in the stars. He didn’t know how long he wandered in the space between. He forgot himself, forgot his name, his family, his duty, lost, dancing in the vastness where only the color mattered.
Lost.
Merlin called him back—or rather, something that both did, and did not quite look like the old wizard. The robed hood was pulled back from a misshapen, bald head and a small pile of discarded hair—what had been a set of false beard and whiskers—lay on the floor of the chamber. Merlin looked at Arthur and smiled from a face that looked more like that of a cod than a human—there was no nose to speak of—just eyes that were too big and a wide mouth that contained too many teeth.
“We are done, Sire,” he said, and the smell of fish was stronger than ever. “The Saxon are defeated, Lancelot’s plot is quashed—and you have opened the way.”
“The way to what?” Arthur said. He could only manage a whisper now. More than anything he wanted to be back there, dancing, with the color in the dark.
“Uther closed it to me after he called me from the deep, bound me to his—to your—service. But that is now done—we are done, you and I. Come with me—I can take you back to dance with my people in the deep.”
Persifal moved closer.
“Sire—we must get you to a doctor.”
Merlin raised a hand, and the younger knight went quiet.
“Your job is to watch and tell, Persifal—you were always the best of the Table Knights, and you will make a good leader of men. Just, for all our sakes, do not call your lad Arthur.”
Merlin bent to Arthur’s side and lifted the dying king in his arms as if he was no more than a feather. Arthur held Excalibur tight to his chest—its heat was the only thing keeping him from slipping away now.
Above Merlin the black eggs danced—sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four and more—many more.
Merlin stepped up onto the rim of the well and turned to Persifal. Arthur heard the words, as if from far away.
“He will return—when he is needed.”
“Not if I can bloody help it,” Arthur muttered, then Merlin stepped into the eggs, Sototh opened the
way, and they danced, in the vastness where only the color mattered.
Lost.
Fate of the World
Christine Morgan
“MY FELLOW HEIMLANDRVOLKEN…I STAND BEFORE YOU NOW not only as your elected Lawspeaker but as a human being, mother, and citizen of the world.
“The purpose of this address is supposed to be for me to assure you that the state of the Althing is strong. To talk about the economy, our plans to reduce the tax burdens on the housecarl class, provide much-needed healthcare and jobs to those living in thralldom, and eliminate special-interest corruption among jarls.
“I could talk to you about foreign policy, military spending. I could placate you with platitudes, false hopes, gilded rings of tin disguised as gifts of gold.
“I could remind you of our struggles, our progress, and our triumphs through a thousand years of history, since our sea-going forefathers braved the icy waters of the north Atlantic to found a new land of freedom and opportunity upon these shores.
“I could seek to stir your spirits, your patriotism and pride. Divert, and distract you from the dangers that are so very, very real.
“My fellow Heimlandrvolken, you deserve better. You deserve honesty, and truth. You have entrusted me with this office. I am your thane. I owe you no less.
“But I speak not only to the people of this great nation. I speak also to our southern neighbors in the three proud empires of Quetzalcoata. I speak to our northern cousins of the Rus-Inuit territories. I speak to our kindred and friends across Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. I speak to you, as I said at the beginning of this address, as a fellow human being and citizen of this world.
“And, as I also said, as a mother. If there has ever been one single drive and unifying force among us as a species, it is to build a better future for our children. We have fought for that common goal since first we took up tools and fire. Through wars, through plagues, through climate change, through disasters both natural and un-, we have persevered.
“We have even survived, and thrived, in the face of eldritch madness. We, who once slaughtered each other over petty differences of skin color and religion, came together, and held together as a race. The human race. Our intelligence, our inventiveness, our advances in science and technology, more than held their own against occultism and magic and creatures from beyond the realm of nightmares.
“That strength of will, that determination and tenacity, that sheer stubbornness, is what has kept us going. It is why we have not, and will not, surrender to our enemies. The atrocities in Carcosa…insurgents and extremists from Leng…the tyrannical sorcerous regimes of Eibon…we have stood fast against them all.
“We now face the greatest threat our world has ever known. Greater than global warming, greater than the last ice age, greater even than the cataclysmic events responsible for the mass extinctions of the dinosaurs.
“There is not a culture among us which hasn’t portended a final apocalyptic doom, not merely for civilization or humanity, but on a total planetary scale. Whether you call it Ragnarok, Armageddon, B’Ak’Tun, or Judgment Day, we have long lived under the shadow of the end times.
“Which, I’m sorry to say, appear to be upon us.
“I am reliably informed by our top scientists that a rogue cometary dwarf star, designated X/1307616 2A but informally known as Grim-Ruin, is on a collision course to intersect its orbit with that of our solar system.
“To put it simply, it’s going to hit. Not us directly, not our planet—the odds of that would be even more astronomical; a full presentation will be given following this address—but our sun, which is a much larger target with a much more powerful gravitational pull.
“If this were an ordinary comet, the effect would be like throwing a snowball into a bonfire. Grim-Ruin, however, is massive. Even a near-miss would have catastrophic effects in terms of flares and radiation. A direct impact, such as projected…
“You may wonder why I am telling you this. If there is nothing we can do, if only utter obliteration awaits, wouldn’t it be better to keep quiet, to let the world live out its last days in blissful ignorance? Rather than risk plunging us into another New Dark Age of panic and chaos?
“Some of my Wittan of advisers strongly advocated just that. But I, as I said, believe you deserve better. You deserve honesty. Not pap and pandering. We are not a nation—not a world!—of milksops. If we are to fall, I believe it is better to fall with eyes open, with hearts strong and spines straight, defiant to the last.
“And I do not believe there is nothing we can do. I refuse to believe that. We have taken on every challenge the cosmos has thrown at us. We have risen to meet them, overcome them, and won.
“I believe we can win this battle as well.
“But we cannot do it alone.
“To that end, I have taken the unprecedented step of opening diplomatic negotiations with R’lyeh.
“I have not forgotten, nor have any of us, nor will we ever, the numerous conflicts our countries have had before. I am not urging anyone else to forget, or forgive. The lives lost, the ships sunk and planes brought down, the terrible tragedies of the South Sea Islands, these memories will always be with us.
“However, if we are to have any chance at there being such an always, we must move past our history. We must move forward. We must work together. For the sake of us all, and the sake of our world. A world in which the R’lyehans, as well as humanity, have a substantial stake.
“Our science, technology, and military might alone cannot defeat a cosmic destructive force the likes of Grim-Ruin. Neither can the magic and esoteric arts of R’lyeh. A combined, cooperative effort is our only hope.
“Even now, an international think-tank of experts, the most brilliant minds from across the globe, is being assembled. It is their conviction that, with the assistance of R’lyeh, we can divert the cometary dwarf star from its course, if not destroy it outright. Thereby saving our sun…our solar system…and ourselves.
“The Wittan and I recently met with other world leaders. They have pledged their full support in this endeavor, but defer to Heimland as regards the establishing of diplomatic relations.
“I’ve also spoken privately over secure channels with Spawnpriest Cthlullan, who assures me that his government will gladly provide experts to contribute to the think-tank, and bring their full formidable magics and esoteric knowledge to bear on addressing the impending crisis.
“If, of course, we can agree on terms of truce and treaty.
“If our two nations can vouchsafe our honorable intentions, demonstrate good faith and goodwill, by a temporary custodial exchange.
“To be blunt, my fellow Heimlandrvolken, they have offered, and asked for, hostages.
“Previous administrations have been criticized for the jarls’ apparent willingness to send the children of carls and thralls into combat and dangerous situations. To risk those lives, while their own children remain safe. Whether these criticisms are rightful or wrongful is not an issue to get into at this time.
“I will not be seeking volunteers. I will not be implementing a lottery or instituting a draft. I will not be subjecting our fine young men and women in uniform to this task.
“I will be sending my sons.
“Harald and Leif have accepted this obligation. They understand the importance of it, how we must show our absolute commitment to this cause. As a mother, yes, my heart is struck with dread. Yet, also as a mother, I am humbled and filled with pride.
“Let this stand as evidence; I would not request more of my people than I am willing to give of myself. Their lives are dearer to me than my own. I will do everything within my power to see this matter resolved.
“And I will personally host, within the White Hall as honored guests, the emissaries being sent from R’lyeh. No insult or action against them shall be tolerated. To this, I am hereby oathsworn before you all.
“In a moment, I’ll be handing the podium over to our scientists, for a
further briefing and discussion. Before I do so, I’d like to reiterate, to everyone not just here in Heimland but across and around this entire free world…we face the greatest challenge of our time, but, together, we will rise to the occasion.
“Gods bless, and goodnight.”
At cruising altitude, the thudding ascent of Asgard-One’s eight rotor-engines became a steady gallop of smoother, soothing motion. The big Sleipnir-class aircraft leveled off, riding as easily above the clouds as a longship might skim the open seas. Beyond the round windows flitted wisps of white, and beyond that stretched blue sky and curving horizon.
All fell quiet but for the distant thrumming noise of flight, and what muffled conversation filtered in from the steerhouse at the stern. They’d refueled in Cusco, been warmly welcomed and generously hosted by the Inca, and from there embarked upon this last and most dangerous leg of their journey.
Leif Freylindesson stretched, and rolled his head, glancing over at his brother on the far side of the wide aisle. Harald, two years older, wore his flax-fair hair and beard short and neatly groomed. Leif preferred the wilder bad-boy look, himself. His own flowing mane was amber-gold, his beard reddish like their father’s had been, though they both had their mother’s storm-gray eyes.
They hadn’t spoken much since leaving New Thingvellir. What else, really, was there to say that hadn’t been said already?
“Do you think she’s sending us to our deaths?” Leif had asked.
“I think she’s doing what must be done,” had been Harald’s reply. “And who better for it?”
“True enough.”
Now, here they were, leaving the last outposts of humanity further and further behind, with only the barest inkling of what awaited them. Just as their own ancestors had, centuries ago, set the prows of their ships westward, knowing it was a brave endeavor from which they might never return.
Leif grinned.
Through a Mythos Darkly Page 14
