Through a Mythos Darkly

by Glynn Owen Barrass

  Nemo ignored the smell but frowned as he made his way through the remains. The ground beneath his feet was hot. Smoke billowed up from the ruins. The heat in the air burned his skin, singed his eyebrows and beard.

  Then he saw it: a towering monstrosity, stalking among the ruins like a scavenger picking at the remnants of the dead. It tottered impossibly on three legs, but had numerous tentacle-like appendages.

  Could this thing be something to do with the old gods?

  Nemo shrank back behind the remains of a support wall. This thing was machine, not animal, though possibly was operated by someone or thing. Nemo took a pair of binoculars out of his pocket and peered through them from his vantage point. Up close he could see a huge eye-like window—blood red—but not what was behind it. The beast of machinery moved away from Nemo, unaware that prey lay in such close proximity, and only when it was several hundred feet away did Nemo dare to expel the breath he was holding. He quelled the tremor in his hands as he lowered the binoculars. André saw it.

  “What was that?” André said.

  “Something not of this Earth.”

  The towering machine moved farther away and then, as though it had seen some movement, a blazing surge of heat poured from the red eye. The weapon repeated firing and white-hot flame burst over one of the still standing structures. The building toppled.

  “Some kind of heat ray,” Nemo said. “I wonder how they have managed to create that?”

  Remaining unseen wasn’t too difficult for Nemo and his men as they followed the machine at a safe distance. About a half a mile away from the Thames Nemo saw the alien mechanism pause before the wreckage of an old tavern. Like lightning, one of the metallic tentacles weaved outwards and scooped something up. They were close enough that they could see the creature raise a prone figure. It was a woman. The eye moved, the red shield blinked like the second eyelid of a reptile, and then a long needle-thin implement, held by one of the tentacle limbs, pressed sharply into the arm of the woman.

  It was only then that she moved and Nemo realized she was still alive.

  André jumped beside him, “We have to do something…”

  “We cannot defeat this thing. Nothing can…” Nemo said.

  The woman woke then and screamed, squirming against the obvious invasion until her voice broke and her body lapsed into shock. When the alien had retracted all that it wanted, it callously tossed the body aside, throwing it roughly back into the debris.

  The woman now lay, eyes wide open, body broken. She was, Nemo surmised, dead before she had hit the ground.

  The machine moved in its peculiar jerky fashion and now, much to the horror of Nemo’s crewmen, it fed the blood from its victim back into its own body.

  “How horrible!” gasped André. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

  The Nautilus submerged, pulling out into open ocean and moving as fast as possible from the shore and the wasteland that was once London.

  No, there was nothing that could be done. England had fallen, now all that remained was the safe haven of open sea.

  Nemo gave a set of coordinates to his pilot and then retired to his private quarters. Once alone he lay on his bed considering the dilemma that now faced him. He, Nemo, had no need of land. He would happily never resurface if it wasn’t for the occasional luxury. They proved every day that the sea’s harvest was enough to live on. They needed nothing they couldn’t find under the ocean. What would happen when these creatures finished with their murder of man? Would they then go on to animal and sea life?

  He could see this as a likely scenario. It meant he had to act. His honor was at stake. A promise made, even to a queen that was probably dead, was still something he had to see through. Even if it meant his own demise.

  Nemo closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. To think.

  He felt the pull of open sea around the exterior of the Nautilus. He wondered if any of his men were aware of these subtle ripples. Now, he could even sense a change in the tide, an anti-flow to the water, as though it were pulling back from the shore in an attempt to avoid the monstrosities that now ruled the land.

  Curious about this sensation, and sure of what he would find, Nemo pressed a button on a panel beside his bed. The side of his cabin opened and he could see out into the ocean through a clear glass window. He sat up. Outside there was a swarm of fish, all shapes and sizes, swimming in the same direction as the submarine—away from shore—and the Nautilus was passing through them.

  “You know, don’t you?” he said as if the fish could hear him.

  The Nautilus was part of the shoal as it made its way at speed.

  Nemo had always believed that fish were intelligent. They had stronger survival instincts than would at first be obvious and their deliberate behavior now proved his theory. What else could explain this mass exodus? It was not the right season for migration, and anyway, not all of the sea life would migrate at the same time of year, would they?

  Nemo moved to the window and stood looking out. The fish swirled around the dense glass, flanking the vessel.

  “You know…” he said again. “And I believe you may even be trying to tell me something.”

  The idea formed then—perhaps the fish, behaving with such purpose, were communicating with him. He believed it, as certainly as he knew what he had to do next.

  Some years ago, too many to recall, he had made a deal with the gods of the sea: the Deep Ones did not bother Nemo, and he did not encroach on any of their sacred realms. Though to Nemo, the entire ocean was sacred. There were, however, some places that the Nautilus’s ever-circling route purposefully avoided.

  The deal he had made had meant sacrifice, any further deals would require such again. Nemo wasn’t sure that he could be so callous a second time, but then, what choice did he really have if it meant the salvation of the planet?

  Nemo left his cabin and returned to the helm. The coordinates he had given the pilot would not do after all, but the place to which the Nautilus now needed to go was nowhere near the planned direction.

  “Rest old friend,” Nemo said to the pilot. “For you will be needed later on.”

  The pilot nodded and left the bridge. Nemo took up the helm, but he did not program the new coordinates into the navigation system. This was a place that must only remain inside his head.

  Twelve hours later Nemo had fallen into his usual trance state as he watched the water part for the Nautilus. The fish shoal was left far behind and the pilot returned.

  “Captain, you need to trust me now and take rest yourself,” the pilot said.

  Nemo stepped back and he whispered the coordinates for the change of course to the man.

  “It’s an island just 40 miles hence,” he explained. “I’ll be in my cabin but call me when you have it in sight.”

  Sometime later Nemo woke to the whistling sound of his communicator. He leapt from his bed, agile and instantly awake. A few hours had passed and he was refreshed, despite the short time he had been able to sleep.

  “Captain?” said the pilot as Nemo lifted the long thin tube and pressed it against his ear. “We see the island. What would you like us to do?”

  Nemo moved the tube to his mouth.

  “Prepare the launch…”

  Once again the small craft launched into open water, this time a rowing boat was attached to the back and Nemo let André steer towards the island.

  The deck was full of baskets of wine, cheeses, whiskeys and liqueurs, cured, smoked hams and sides of salmon. Beside them lay rolls of fabric. Fine silks from Asia, cotton from the Americas, and rolls of colorful ribbon from England.

  “Take note,” Nemo said to the crew, and even those who were working to keep the boat moving gave the captain a measure of attention that assured him that they were listening. “When we land you must bring these baskets of luxuries on shore. We have a very solemn task to do. ”

  No one questioned him, but the crew went unnaturally quiet while they worked. Even though Nemo had n
ot expressed his motives, it was clear to them that he planned to buy something from the island natives. Since the Nautilus coffers were full to the brim with all manner of gold and jewels, the crew could only speculate on what that thing might be.

  They weighed anchor and the rowing boat was pulled clear from the back. Relays began from the small boat to the pebbly shore. The baskets and fabric, as well as the men to carry them, were slowly conveyed onto the island.

  By the time the final boatload reached the land, Nemo had prepared a convoy of men and they moved away from the shore, quickly subsumed into the tropical forest.

  Nemo knew exactly where he was going. As the newest crewmember André assumed that the men had been to this island before, but when Nemo paused to take stock of the landscape, the others floundered, often looking back over their shoulders in a vain attempt to see the shore. But Nemo’s pauses were never for long and as he glanced at his pocket compass for a final time, the captain led his men with confident strides into the heart of the island.

  They came out of the forest into a clearing. Ahead were primitive, ancient structures that spoke of a long-lived society. Old buildings carved into the rock face surrounded one central tower. It was a mass of stone steps that climbed to a high platform.

  “Whatever happens do not speak, or react,” Nemo said. “Place the baskets at the bottom of the temple.”

  André was the first to move towards the center tower, and he placed his load down at the foot of the steps. As he backed away he glanced upwards and there he saw a robed figure, wearing an ornate feathered headdress. He was holding some type of long staff and appeared to be looking down on them. Despite his curiosity André did not linger and he moved away and stood behind Nemo waiting for further instruction. The other crewmen followed suit.

  Warriors appeared as if from nowhere, and Nemo and his men were surrounded. The native arrivals carried spears, which they held ready to throw. The warriors wore their hair long, flowing over naked shoulders and one of them, who stepped forward as though he were their leader, had hair that reached almost to his ankles, which was pulled up and away from his face, but poured down his back. Each of them wore a loincloth but little else, but their faces and torsos were scarred and marked with intricate drawings.

  Nemo walked up to the temple steps and kneeled before them, his men did the same. They waited. Above their heads, the robed figure waved the staff as he drew invisible pictures in the air.

  As the sun went down the robed figure descended from his tower. Then at the bottom he spoke to Nemo in a language that only the captain could understand.

  “The day has come,” the priest said. “I saw the signs in the sky.”

  “Devils from another planet plague the world,” Nemo confirmed.

  “Mars,” The priest said. “They have always turned covetous eyes on Earth.

  The priest raised his staff and all of the warriors surrounding the sailors backed away, lowering their spears.

  “We need a sacrifice. But your loss must be rewarded,” Nemo said and he waved his hand at the offering beneath the temple.

  The priest was quiet for a moment as though he were weighing up the validity of the offering.

  “It must be someone of note for such a worthy task,” he said. Then he turned to the long haired warrior. “Bring me the Chief’s daughter.”

  The girl did not struggle or make any attempt to escape as they led her back to the shore, onto the rowing boat and then, finally onto the small craft. She remained silent. The very image of dignity, yet surely she knew that something unpleasant was to befall her? She was young, perhaps no more than eighteen. She had shoulder length hair, unlike the warriors of her race, and wore a modest dress that covered her completely. She kept her large brown eyes lowered, and sat on the seat she was offered with her hands resting in her lap. There was no sign of distress or fear in her but her delicate jaw was set with serious determination.

  “Take the lady to the guest cabin,” Nemo instructed André as they boarded the Nautilus.

  André nodded but he had always thought it strange that they had a spare, “guest” cabin, since there were never any guests, invited or otherwise, on the Nautilus. Nonetheless he took the girl to the room as instructed, and although she did not appear to be able to speak their language, she still understood that she must follow the young sailor, and did so without reservation.

  “You’ll be safe in here,” said André.

  The girl said nothing but went inside the big, plush room. André noted that clothing had been laid out for her on the bed, and a bathtub filled with hot water had been placed behind a modest screen. Also, there were two of the female crew waiting for the girl inside. These, André knew, were the Nautilus nursing staff, and he only ever saw them whenever a crewman became injured. He did not know where they even slept onboard, but suspected that they were on the top level near the medical facility. Few people actually had clearance to go up there and only when they were injured or sick were they ever permitted.

  The guest suite was in the middle of the vessel, on the same level as the bridge and the captain’s own quarters. André, like most of the other men, slept on the bottom level, just down from the engine room.

  “We’ll take it from here,” said one of the women. She was petite with dark brown hair and eyes the color of the ocean. André blushed as the woman looked at him. He remained by the door long after the nurse closed it. He wanted to ask questions but didn’t dare to. What were they planning for this poor girl? He hadn’t understood the conversation between Nemo and the priest, but he had recognized the solemn tone.

  Back on the bridge the captain was once again at the helm, the pilot dismissed. André took up his position by the echo locator and he watched the trajectory of the submarine as it negotiated through a rocky sub-sea cavern. He had been around the world’s oceans at least once during his service to Nemo and yet he did not recall this place at all. Nemo did not need André’s help, which made him aware that the captain had been this way before. He took in the terrain with curiosity, but remained silent, and Nemo had already fallen into his usual trance state.

  Then, through the huge window, André saw large metallic gates that filled the expanse between two bulky rocks.

  “Impossible,” André murmured, unable to help himself.

  “An underwater fortress. For an underwater civilization,” Nemo said. “This is the entrance to Y’ha-nthlei.”

  Nemo slowed the Nautilus down to a halt.

  “Now what happens?” asked André.

  “We wait. If our visit is welcome the gates will open.”

  “And if we are not welcome?”

  Nemo didn’t answer but his hands tightened on the wheel. Then the gates began to open.

  When the entrance was wide, the Nautilus edged forward, slower than earlier, as Nemo steered with great care between the gap. André helped to guide the captain using the echo locator to warn him when the sides of the vessel were too close to the rocks.

  When the tail of the Nautilus passed through the narrow tunnel, the water before them opened up into a new and exciting ocean.

  Nemo once again brought the Nautilus to a halt.

  “Come with me, André,” Nemo said.

  The young crewman leapt eagerly from his chair.

  Down in the bowels of the ship, a smaller submarine left the Nautilus. Inside was the princess taken from the mysterious island, André, two other crewmen and Nemo. Nemo turned the vessel into a narrow gully that looked like streets submerged under water. Soon they emerged into a clearing—if indeed open water could be likened to that of a space on land—but no other word fit in André’s vocabulary for this place. Instead of trees surrounding a space, there were rocks. The place resembled the temple that they had seen on the island, only it was all underwater. Then the Nautilus’s small submarine began to rise through the water, and they came up into a large pocket of air.

  The crewmen hurried to open the top of the submarine and then Nemo led
the five people out of the submarine and onto the rock face at the side. The air was breathable, but Nemo had known it would be.

  “The people of this realm live half in the sea, half on land,” Nemo explained. Then he repeated his explanation in the island language for the benefit of the princess.

  Though the girl did not reply, she nodded her understanding and she looked around the space with renewed curiosity. André mimicked her expression without realizing it. The air smelled salty, but clean and fresh.

  Nemo began to climb the rocks and the others followed: André and the princess were behind the captain, while the two crewmen brought up the rear.

  They reached a summit and found steps. The princess gasped when she noted the similarity between this temple and her own. She was relaxed, calm, and still showed no sign of fear.

  “Come,” Nemo said and she followed, eager now to see what was waiting for them on the top.

  The climb was slow, André felt his strength evaporate with every step, yet Nemo appeared to feel no ill effects from being so far below the ocean.

  “You’ll feel better at the top,” Nemo said and this spurred them all on to climb faster.

  At the top the air filled their lungs. It was forest fresh, and André noted the range of plant life that grew from the rocks inside, where an artificial light illuminated the trees and bushes. It was like a magical fairy glen.

  “How is this possible?” André asked.

  “How does any plant grow?” Nemo said. “Life adapts. Evolves. The will to survive is in all nature, especially man.”

  Sitting on a throne, wearing an ornate robe of dark green, was a foul sea creature.

  The princess immediately prostrated herself before the throne, unafraid, willing. André however, found the being so repulsive that he took a step back. At that moment, the crewmen caught hold of the young sailor; they dragged him forward, throwing him down at the foot of the throne.