That Which Should Not Be (27 page)

The Captain listened intently throughout the man's speech.  Now, he bid him farewell, thanking him for his time and assuring him the white ship would not return.  When we had left the tavern behind, I asked him what it all meant. 

“It is as I thought,” the Captain answered as we hurried to supervise the men, now purchasing from some of the dock workers and store owners who had returned.  “No ship would willingly take on such a passenger, not for the journey he intends or for the pay which he lacks.  No, he has bewitched the ship and its men.  But men they remain, and supplies they need.  Our greatest stroke of luck is his wizardry has cost him his greatest advantage.  His ship may be faster than ours, but it is manned by mindless beasts.  We may catch him yet.  Come, young Weston.  The chase is on!”

As the Captain rowed back to the ship, the evil fog began to dissolve before the light of the sun.  And for the first time, I believed we might overtake that demon before he reached his appointed place and time with the Devil himself.

*   *   *

My hopes were short-lived.  The men drove themselves like Egyptian slaves, such was their devotion to Captain Gray.  Two weeks later, we crossed the Equator.  The night was black, but when I looked up to the sky, I found no comfort there.  The constellations I remembered, the ones that I had learned with my father during the short summer nights of my youth, were gone, replaced by alien stars and unknown worlds.  It only added to my foreboding, my sense that the world as I knew it was in danger of changing forever. 

Three weeks in, we spotted a white ship sailing hard against the wind.  Captain Gray sprang into action, and I felt the mix of exhilaration and fear that comes with imminent battle.  We would have caught them too; I do not doubt that.  But no sooner had we closed, so tight I could see the black figure of Thayerson lurking around the aft deck, than a thick fog began to rise from the sea. 

It was as dense as any London has ever seen and bitterly cold, despite our latitude and the summer months that held sway in the southern hemisphere.  It was as unnatural as it was unmercifully impenetrable, as evil as it was all-obscuring.  When it cleared, as quickly as it had risen, the white ship was gone. 

That night, Captain Gray called me into his cabin.  The map was once again spread out on his table.  On one corner sat a book with which I now was very familiar, though the primal fear it inspired in me had not lessened with exposure.  I could tell from the haggard look on the Captain's face he had spent many hours delving into the secrets of the
Necronomicon
.  He looked up at me and, with much effort, managed a smile.

“Carter, please, come in.  Have a seat.”  He gestured to a chair sitting in front of his desk.  “After the events of today, I thought we should have a talk.  It is evident to me now, as I am sure it is to you as well, we will not overtake Thayerson, not at sea at least.  His powers are limited, but powers they are, and we are incapable of thwarting them.  Therefore, I have instructed Drake that, other than a stop at a Royal Navy base near the Horn for supplies, we are to proceed to our final destination, as if there were no ship sailing before us.”

“And where is that destination, sir?”  I asked the question, even though I knew the answer. 

“R'lyeh,” he said, rising.  “The city of the dead, the greatest city this world has ever seen.  It is located here.”

He pointed to a spot in the center of a great open space of blue.  “This is our destination.  It is known as the pole of inaccessibility.  It is called that because the nearest land is fifteen hundred miles away at Easter Island.  A strange place, and if we did not know the truth, one might wonder why this place of all places is devoid of land.  But R'lyeh sits beneath those waves.  She did, at least.”

I looked from the map to Gray.  His eyes were hooded and dark from lack of sleep. 

“I have been studying the
Necronomicon
,” he said as he sat back down.  “The ritual Thayerson performed started the Rising.  For that ritual he required both this book and the
Incendium Maleficarum. 
He needs only the latter for the next step.  The great Citadel of Nazreel has risen, and within it lies ancient Cthulhu in repose.  Thayerson will enter the Citadel and perform the final ritual.  Then, the Lord of the Seas and Skies will rise.  The gate will open, and the Great Old Ones will return.  R'yleh will rise from the seas, the sun will melt, and darkness will cover us all.”

The Captain fell silent, and with every passing second it seemed as though he had lost hope. 

“But we can stop it, right?”

He sighed deeply.  “It is possible.  The ritual Thayerson must perform is complex and difficult, though I have no doubt the demon within him is well versed in its details.  If we can reach the island in time to stop him, there is a spell within the
Necronomicon
that can send the city back into the depths where it belongs.”

“And should he complete the ritual?”

The Captain did not respond for a moment.  Instead, he reached forward and opened a cabinet in his desk and pulled out a bottle of green liquid.  “The French,” he began, “believe absinthe either inspires genius or drives one to madness — depending on who you ask.  I would take either at this juncture, for when the world has gone mad, only the insane survive.” 

He poured two glasses and, after turning with a dash of water the orgiastic green into a clouded, milky white, handed me one.  We both drank deeply, and I felt pins of licorice dance across my tongue.  

“Your questions anticipate my reason for bringing you here.  Hopefully, it won't come to that.  Our primary objective is to stop Thayerson before he completes the ritual.”

“And how do we do that?”

“An interruption should suffice.  As I said, the ritual requires precision.  Once we stop it, we will use the incantation within the
Necronomicon
to banish the beast within him back to the realm from which he came.  It will kill Thayerson, of course, but he has chosen that path himself.  Then, it is an easy matter to send the city back to the mossy depths.”

“That sounds relatively simple.” 

Captain Gray frowned.  “It does, doesn't it?  And it will be . . .  if we arrive in time.”

“And if we don't?”

“If we don't, if Lord Cthulhu is risen, then it may be too late.  In that event, the banishing spell will not work on Thayerson.  He will have to be dealt with through other means.  There is still one avenue open to us, but a dark one it is.  There is one incantation that lies at the heart of the
Incendium Maleficarum
.  It is known as the Logos Creed.  It has been used only once before,” the Captain said, holding up one finger for emphasis.  “One time.  At the beginning of days, at least days as we reckon them, when the Great Old Ones were cast down and stripped of lordship, when they were banished to the spaces beyond space, to live only in the dreams and subconscious of man, until one day they might return.  One time.  The words were spoken by God Himself.”

I listened as Gray spoke, believing him only because of all that had come to pass.

“‘In the beginning was the Word,’ Carter,” the Captain quoted solemnly.  “‘And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  The same was in the beginning with God.  In Him was life; and the life was the light of men.  And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.’”

Gray poured another glass of absinthe for us both. 

“I have a theory,” he said, as he lifted the draught.  “That the Word was just that, a word.  But what a word it was.  God is all powerful, but He did not think the world into being, He did not think light into the darkness.  No, all that was made was spoken into being.  I believe it took only one word to make it so — His own name.”

“The name of God?”

Gray nodded.  Then his voice came as a whisper.  “And the
Necronomicon
seems to confirm it.  If Cthulhu rises, the only way to send him back to the depths is to recite the Logos Creed, the final word of which is the name of God Himself.  That name is lost to us, but it can be found at the heart of the Book.”

“So it’s just a matter of getting the
Incendium Maleficarum
back?”

The Captain chuckled, but there was no joy in that laugh. 

“No, it is more than that, though that might be too high a wall to climb as it is.  No, my young friend, the saying of the Logos Creed comes with a terrible price, for it is death to utter the true name of the Lord.  Whoever does so may save this world, but his life is forfeit.”

Gray leaned back in his chair.  I knew, then, he did not expect to see his home again.  This was to be his final voyage. 

“Are you sure?” I asked somewhat desperately.  Gray waved one hand dismissively.

“Oh, who can be sure of much when it comes to such things.  But, yes, Mr. Weston.  I am as sure of this as I have ever been of anything.  If we cannot stop Thayerson before he completes the ritual, then I will say the Logos Creed.  And, if I cannot, then the lot will fall to you.”

As his words washed over me, I rose and took my leave.  But when I reached the door, a question dawned upon me. 

“Captain,” I said.  “If God banished the Old Ones before, why would he not do it again?”

Gray smiled.  “A question for the ages, my young friend.  Perhaps, He will.  Perhaps, we are to be His instruments.  Or maybe these are the days men have envisioned since God deigned to give them His counsel.  Perhaps, these are the last days, and we are to witness the end of the world.”

My question answered, I received no succor from the reply.  Suddenly, our journey had never been so urgent. 

Chapter

38

What seemed like an eternity later, we rounded the Horn of South America and prepared to enter the Cape.  The tension in the air, and the way the men went about the work in silence without a word to us or their fellows, confirmed all we had heard about the danger we faced.  Even the Captain was tense. 

“It is strange, Carter.  This is the first time in thirty years I've gone into a crossing like this without the Book.  As bizarre as it might seem, I wish I had it with me now.”

And I wished it, too.  But there would be no help from the Devil on this day.  If we were to survive, it would be by God's grace.  Or our own luck.  I would take either.

It was luck that was with us.  The weather was calm that day, the thick gray clouds not offering the storm they might just as easily have.  That didn't make the passing easy, by any stretch.  The waves were like mountains of ice and our ship was the sled, such was the tossing of the sea.  I joined Henry in his illness, though in a strange way, my own occupation with my roiling stomach kept my mind from the danger of our situation.

A day and a half later, we had cleared the Cape.

“Easy passage this time, aye, Captain?  Perhaps our luck is turning,” Drake said with a laugh.  Given I hoped to make the passage again, I prayed this was sarcasm.  For all our sakes.

“Steady yourself, my friend,” Drake said, reading my thoughts.  “The true danger begins now.  Ships make the passing of the Horn every day.  But no man sails to our destination.  Should something go wrong . . .”  He held out an upturned hand.  There was no need to continue. 

So it began, the long voyage into an infinite sea.  The birds stayed with us for a few days. But soon, even the gulls were gone, no land close enough to call a home.  Then it was just us, with no sound but our own voices and the lapping of the waves against the ship to keep us company.  It would have been enough to drive a man mad, were it not for the mission that dominated our minds. 

Henry was buried in his books.  It seemed as though every time I saw the Captain he was grayer, his eyes heavier.  But our efforts were for naught.  There was no easy answer, no simple path. 

Six days later, we saw the impossible.  There, in the place where no foothold should be, Drake reported the unmistakable sign of land. 

“What do you see, Mr. Drake?”

“A city, Captain, as best I can tell.  A massive city.  But we are still at great distance.”

We approached cautiously.  Though time was of the essence, the Captain feared a trap, and we played our cards as close to the vest as we could.  But on the open sea, little can be hidden; Thayerson would be aware of our presence.  As we drew closer, Drake's descriptions became clearer. 

“It's unlike anything I have ever seen, Captain.  Impossible things.  Massive structures, great spheres of stone.  But it shines, shimmers in the light, glows even, like burnished bronze.  The roads run into the sea, and I dare say there are even more wonders that still lie beneath the waves.  But in her center, there is a mighty citadel.  What we seek is there, I would wager my life on it.”

It was then we came upon the ship.  It sat at anchor in an inlet where a broad thoroughfare ran down into the ocean. 

“She's empty, sir,” Drake reported.  “Nothing moves on her decks.”

“Could it be a trap?” Daniel asked.

Captain Gray stared out at the white ship through his telescope.  “It could be,” he answered finally, “but I fear we have no time to avoid it.  If a trap has been set, then we shall walk into its maw.  Mr. Drake, arm the men.  We go ashore post-haste.”

We left the ship in three longboats, each man armed with a Winchester rifle, our oars and the splashing of the waves the only sound to be heard.  No gulls called, and I doubted birds had made landfall on this island in some millennia.  We saw none of Thayerson's men, and as our boats clanked against the stone, I took a moment to hope some ill fate had already befallen them.  

We exited our boats carefully, for no man wanted to touch the water, lest some fell beast from the depths snatch him down into oblivion.  My eyes wandered over the slime-encrusted monuments that now reached towards the heavens.  Many were uncovered completely, while others simply poked their heads above water, mere hints of the grandeur the ocean still contained.  And what majesty they did possess.  Oh, how to describe their rune-covered faces, their hideous abomination and transcendent beauty, melded together like some Hell-borne offspring of a demonic coupling?  It cannot be described, only witnessed.  And God help you if you ever see it. 

But, in truth, you know the same thing I did, the same dark fact I saw shrouding the eyes of every man on that island.  I told myself it was a lie, but there was something undeniably familiar about this place.  As if I had been there before, though such a thing could not be.  A primordial memory perhaps.  Or a dream.  A dream of walking these streets, of striding them as the gods of old once did, or of wandering their paths while they yet lie beneath the waves.  A city sleeping, waiting to be awoken.  Ah, fear and mystery, the aphrodisiacs of a tired mind. 

We advanced forward up the boulevard, dividing our group in half, working our way through the ruins in hopes of preventing an ambush.  As we climbed, the massive citadel sitting at the acropolis of the city loomed above us, a tower of Babel reaching up to some dark heaven.  And then we saw them. 

We had crept up into the very shadow of the mausoleum, where some great obelisk or other monolith had collapsed into the midst of the boulevard.  Thayerson's men had spread themselves out behind the collapsed stone.  Their slack jaws and dead eyes belied the threat they posed, though the rifles in their hands were enough to remind of us of the mortal danger we were in.

Captain Gray looked at me and smiled. 

“Ready to make a run for it, Mr. Weston?”

I was not, but if there was ever a time for false bravado, this was it.

“Just tell me what to do.”

He nodded and turned to Drake. 

“Mr. Drake, I'm going to need you to lead a distraction.  Take your men back and around.  Join up with Daniel and Jack on the other side.  Flank Thayerson's men and attack.  Draw them to you and we will move around this left side here.  Understand?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Captain Gray stuck out his hand.  When Drake took it, I knew the two men were saying goodbye, just in case.  With a nod, Drake led the men back. 

Now, we waited.  Minutes seemed to stretch into hours, and with each one that passed we knew whatever foul ritual Thayerson was committing was closer to its completion.  Then, the shooting started.  Thayerson's men were taken by surprise, and no fewer than five fell before the first volley had ended.  Captain Gray and I watched as his plan came to fruition.  The men guarding our flank began to move to the right.  They lumbered forward, rifles limp in their dead arms.  But when they were in range, they snapped to attention, firing precise shots without emotion. 

We crept forward, advancing up the last few yards to the gaping jaws of the sepulcher.

“A throne room in life, a charnel house in death,” Gray whispered. 

Two great stone sentinels, not unlike the base reliefs we had witnessed in the cave beneath Miskatonic, stood guard on either side, kneeling as if approaching a king.  These were massive monuments, greater than the wildest dreams of the Pharaoh, an unholy mixture of man and beast. 

The mighty doors of the citadel stood open.  In this we were lucky.  Given their girth and height, we never would have been able to budge them alone.  We stepped inside, and despite the high-vaulted ceiling — the top of which I could not see — and lack of windows, the entire corridor was illuminated by some preternatural light that had no source.  And at the end of the corridor, standing in front of a sarcophagus in which the denizens of an entire city could be buried, was Thayerson. 

He was not a man, not anymore.  His skin hung from his body like a loose rag.  He was stretched and broken, with crude horns piercing his skull and claws where his hands once were.  Those hands were raised above his head; words which I did not know poured from what was left of his mouth. 

“It's over, Thayerson!” Captain Gray yelled, raising his rifle.  Thayerson froze.  Then, he turned.  His distorted face appeared to smile. 

“No, Captain.  But it is finished.”  His voice seemed to change, seemed to come from somewhere beyond this world as he said, “Ph'lna estraphar morte, Cth-ul-hu!”

The Captain fired a shot, but the explosion of his gun was drowned out by the laughter from that which had been Thayerson.  As the Earth began to shake, Thayerson's laughter seemed to surround us, bouncing off the walls and the far ceiling, covering us and pounding on our ears.  The Captain didn't hesitate. 

“So, that's what it is, then,” he yelled above Thayerson's cackle.  He removed the
Necronomicon
from the bag he had brought from the ship.  “You must get the
Incendium Maleficarum. 
It is the only thing that can save us now.”

Thayerson faced the great stone box, his arms raised, babbling manically about the return of his master.  Captain Gray was now reading from the
Necronomicon
, chanting yet more words I did not understand. 

“Thayerson!”  I yelled.  “Give us the Book!” 

He turned to me, and I watched the smile melt from his face as I pulled a large, golden cross from my coat.  “The Book!” I commanded, taking a tentative step towards him.  His grin returned. 

“The age of such icons is over.” 

He lifted a claw, and with a flick of his wrist, I felt the handle of the cross shatter in my hands, leaving nothing but a jagged rod.  The golden cross clattered against the floor, and with that sound I felt my heart sink.  But only for a moment.  I did the only thing I could imagine — I threw myself at Thayerson. 

I felt my body collide with his, felt his cold, clammy-wet skin rub against my face.  His balance was off, and we both tumbled to the ground.  But it was the Book that concerned me the most.  I saw it slam onto the stone floor beside me.  With one swift movement, I slid the Book towards Captain Gray, watching as it spun its way to his feet.  At that instant, I felt my body lifted into the air, felt a bizarre weightlessness for the split second before I was flung to the ground with as much violence as Thayerson could muster. 

“Insect!  Foolish beast!” Thayerson spat, lifting himself by some unknown force until his feet seemed to float above the ground.  “I would kill you now.  But your fate will be different.  You shall live to see his glory, and then you will die at his hands.”

Thayerson turned his attention from me, and I saw as he stretched out one arm, the palm of his hand upturned.  His mouth moved, and though I could not hear his words, I could see the ball of fire that began to grow in the middle of his claw.  I looked from it to Captain Gray.  The captain was so engrossed in whatever ritual was contained in the depths of the crimson-clad book in his hands he did not notice the swirling death about to envelope him.  It was then I felt the lump beneath me. 

I pulled myself up on my knees, grasping the broken cross in one hand.  I stood, though every fiber of my body screamed against it.  Thayerson didn't even notice me, didn't notice as I staggered towards him, didn't notice as I lifted the cross over my head.  With every remaining ounce of power I had, I thrust the jagged edge down and into the back of the beast before me.  I smelled burning flesh before I heard the scream, a horrible screech followed by the explosion of the swirling fire in Thayerson's hand, an explosion that once again lifted me into the air and slung what had been Thayerson against the far wall.

I fought against the blackness, knowing that succumbing now would be the end of me.  I looked at Thayerson's body lying lifeless on the ground, the shining cross still jammed between his shoulder blades.  Then my eyes went to the stone coffin.  The Earth still shook, and as I watched, the slab that covered the tomb began to move.  It slid, slowly but with purpose, across the top of that coffin, until it fell from its perch, slamming against the ground with such force I thought the whole building would collapse upon me.  It was then I looked to Captain Gray. 

“Run, you fool!” he commanded, his eyes burning with a holy fire.  Then he did something I didn't expect.  He smiled.  He winked.  I don't know why, but there was something in that gesture that gave me the strength to pull myself up and run to the door.  Yet even as I reached it, I couldn't help but turn around.  What I saw then, it haunts me even now, even after a lifetime of seeing things no man should see. 

I will describe it as best I can, though I doubt the words of any human tongue can properly give it form.  The slab had fallen, and the open coffin sat before us, the air empty above it.  But it was not empty for long.  A swarm of massive tentacles appeared from within, slapping and vibrating, undulating while searching for something to grasp.  Then, two arms, muscular, massive, thick as steel beams and just as strong, with two great claws at the end of each appeared.  These claws grasped the sides of the sarcophagus, lifting up the rest of that terrible beast.  His head cannot be described, a combination of skull and dragon and Leviathan, with evil red eyes that seemed to possess the power of the basilisk to kill on sight.