Mad Moon of Dreams

by Brian Lumley

  “Marked men, yes,” he gibbered. “Both of you, Eldin the Wanderer and Hero of Dreams. The Dukes of Isharra have put a price on your heads—the Eidolon Lathi likewise, aye, and Zura of Zura too, though I fancy they would prefer you living to dead! Doomed you are, for how may you prevail against Zura and her zombies, Lathi and her termen, the Isharran Dukes and the entire nation of Leng?”

  “How indeed?” growled Eldin. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions.” He paused for a moment before asking, “These Dukes of Isharra: I take it they’re against us personally? Because we stole their intended brides away, eh?”

  “Of course,” the Lengite chuckled obscenely, “that’s part of it—though by now they’ve stolen ’em back again. But mainly—”

  “Hold it right there!” said Hero sharply as he moved up quickly beside Eldin. He gripped the rail, leaned over it and frowned down at the netted horned one, his gaze fixing the almost-human Captain like a pin through a butterfly. “What do you mean, they’ve stolen them back again?”

  “They’ve taken ’em,” Hrill repeated. “Snatched ’em off to—” and he stopped abruptly, as if biting his tongue.

  “Say on, greaseball,” Eldin demanded in his most fearsome growl, knife poised over the rope. “Where have the girls been abducted to?”

  “Sarkomand!” the almost-human gasped, his terrified yellow eyes on Eldin’s knife.

  “Sarkomand?” Hero repeated. “That ill-reputed place? Why there?”

  “I … I don’t know. I—” and his voice quavered up to a shriek as Eldin sliced a thread of rope and watched it rapidly unravel.

  “The truth!” Eldin roared.

  “It … it is the Place of the Priest,” Hrill sobbed. “The Place of Propitiation. The Place of the Pit. There, beneath Sarkomand, at the bottom of a great pit—” He stopped and gave a piteous wail. “If I say any more my life will not be worth a pebble.”

  “And if you don’t you’ll fall like a pebble,” Eldin grinned mirthlessly. “A big, fat, juicy pebble.” His knife parted another strand of rope.

  The horned one gave another shriek. “Don’t, don’t!” he screamed. “I’ll talk—I’ll talk!”

  “Talk, then,” commanded Hero.

  “At the bottom of the pit in Sarkomand, there is—madness! Madness—and magic! It is a place where the forces of nightmare are strong, where Mnomquah’s mate Oorn awaits His fond embrace, as She has waited since the dawn of time. But She need wait no longer.”

  “Explain,” said Eldin, parting yet another strand.

  “I will, I will!” Hrill sobbed, a mad gleam beginning to creep into his eyes. “Only please … the rope!”

  “Talk,” Eldin remorselessly rumbled.

  “When the moon draws closer there will be great waterspouts in all the seas of the dreamlands. Volcanoes will erupt as mighty earthquakes rend the land. Also, there will be madness amongst all of dreamland’s peoples. A great madness, brought about through the will of Mnomquah. And then the people will return to His worship. But too late!

  “Finally the moon will break up, and in that breaking Mnomquah will be freed! As the moon’s pieces rain down and shatter the dreamlands, He will race in a fireball from crumbling moon’s heart to Sarkomand and plunge into the pit. Finally, when darkness and terror reign supreme, He and Oorn shall rise up, together, free, to be worshipped in all the lands of Earth’s dreams!” And as Hrill finished speaking he broke into a prolonged, nerve-racking cackle of insane glee.

  “Stop that!” Eldin commanded, viciously slicing at the now badly frayed rope. When Hrill had calmed down a little, the Wanderer asked: “And why would the Dukes of Isharra abduct a pair of lovely girls to that awful place?”

  “What?” Hrill burst out hysterically. “Would you deny Mnomquah’s mate Her sacrifice?” And again there came that hideous cackling. Hero and the rest looked at each other, their faces drawn, nerves all atingle. Finally, in what was little more than a whisper, Eldin asked:

  “What of you Lengites? What do you get out of all this?”

  “We?” the horned one madly chortled. “We are Mnomquah’s chosen ones. We serve the moonbeasts, who in turn serve Him. We shall be saved.”

  “And Zura?”

  “Is it not obvious? Her army of zombies shall swell, her demesnes increase. She will be Queen of the Dead! As for Lathi: her hives shall spread across all the ravished land—Mnomquah permitting—and all of us, all the chosen ones shall live in wonder and glory forever!”

  “The Isharrans, too?”

  In his net, Hrill contrived to shrug and his eyes fixed on those of his tormentor. His wide mouth gave a mad grin, and when his voice came it was like stirred mud. “The Isharrans are human,” he gurgled. “They served a purpose, at present, but in the end—”

  “Yes?” said Hero.

  “Fodder! All of you—all the dreams of Man—fodder for the moonbeasts, for Zura and Lathi, for Mnomquah and Oorn—and for their myriad nestlings!”

  Gritting his teeth, Eldin gave a great slash with his knife. The rope parted and Hrill went cackling away down a funnel of air, finally disappearing in fluffy clouds. There was silence, disturbed only by the moan of the wind in the rigging …

  Long moments later Hero said: “Gytherik, I’ve just now counted your gaunts again. There are eight of them.”

  “I know,” the gaunt-master nodded, his face deathly pale. “The two came back a moment ago, silently, over the other side of the ship—too late for me to send them after the Lengite Captain.” He spoke to his creatures. Two of them shuffled a little, which seemed to suffice for an answer. Gytherik turned back to his friends. “The crewman’s rope was round his neck. When the gaunts caught it—” He paused. “At least, that’s what they tell me.”

  “And Hrill?” Eldin asked, his normally bull-voice barely audible. “Not that he didn’t deserve to die—but are you saying that I’ve just murdered him?” Gytherik turned away. “Fool I may be,” the youth muttered, shaking his head. “Faint-hearted, compassionate fools all of us. But not my gaunts. No sir, not them …”

  CHAPTER X

  Destination Sarkomand

  They spent the rest of the afternoon cruising to and fro above the wrecked ship searching for more horned-one survivors, without success. Even Sniffer was unable to locate the rest of the runaways; though when Gytherik ordered the gaunt back to the ship, he seemed loath to give up the search. Then, toward evening, sails were sighted in the east and six men-o’-war came sweeping in to rendezvous. All seven ships made moorings against the fall of night in the desert some miles westward of the wreck, following which the six subordinate Captains were called aboard Gnorri II for Limnar’s briefing.

  The outcome was that the flotilla would remain here for the night and in the morning sail for Sarkomand, there to attempt the rescue of Ula and Una (the abducted girls) and do whatever else was feasible toward thwarting the enemy’s plans. With the talking done the six sky-Captains returned to their vessels, leaving the four friends to sit at their ease in Limnar’s cabin and sip wine by the light of a ship’s lantern.

  The afternoon had been awkward, with very little conversation and a sort of moving apart taking place between the friends; but now that night was upon them and the moon all set to put in its hideous appearance, they were drawn together again. Yet even now there were barriers, however tenuous.

  “Those gaunts of yours,” said Eldin to Gytherik after a while. “I wasn’t aware that they had minds of their own—if you know what I mean.”

  “In the wild,” the gaunt-master answered, “they do appear to be pretty mindless, I’ll agree. But once they have a purpose—” He shrugged. “Perhaps something rubs off on them. You see, they don’t just obey me, they care for me—for you too, now. Take my word for it: they will protect you with their own lives.”

  “And the way they dealt with Hrill and his underling,” said Hero, joining the conversation, “that was them protecting us, eh?”

  “In their way, yes. From oursel
ves.”

  “Against your instructions?”

  “Perhaps they thought my orders invalid. Maybe they were invalid! I mean, our purpose is to kill horned ones, surely?”

  “Um,” Eldin thoughtfully rumbled. “See, I like to think that when you tell ’em to do something, they’ll do it. Not go taking matters into their own hands—or paws. I mean, two of those little pets of yours carried me into Ilek-Vad last night—over some very high rooftops!”

  “They also carried you over Serannian!” Gytherik hotly retorted. “Over the sky-city itself! They snatched you from thin air when you were blown out through the sky-island’s flotation vent; and when Zura made you walk the plank—all three of you—who was it saved you but my gaunts? They also flew you to the roof of the Museum, and they waited to rescue you if the Curator made you jump from that miles-high place! How can you doubt my gaunts?”

  “How indeed,” said Limnar, but quietly. And Eldin was plainly unconvinced.

  “Listen,” said Gytherik, exasperated. “King Carter has warned about the horned ones. They’ve been a source of trouble in the dreamlands since time immemorial. They’ve brought the dreamlands close to ruin more than once. They serve the moonbeasts who serve Mnomquah. Closer to home: they brought that terrible statue to Ilek-Vad. They sent saboteurs into the city. But for our intervention, Ilek-Vad’s peoples—ourselves included—would all now be dead or worse somewhere in the moon, and all through the activities of Lengites. They have sided with Lathi, whom you tried to burn, and Zura, whose zombie fleet we destroyed, and the Isharrans, who have taken captive your ex-girlfriends to sacrifice to Oorn! Need I go on listing their crimes?” His voice had gradually risen to a ringing shout and now he sprang to his feet.

  “Yes, do,” Hero grinned in his most disarming way. “Why, I was really working up a hate for them then!”

  Gytherik sank back into his chair. “My gaunts,” he finally said, “were right. It was bad of them to disobey me, but their motives were good.” He turned angrily to Limnar Dass. “And how can you complain? You wrecked their ship and killed a score of them at least!”

  “I never said a word,” Limnar evenly answered. “In fact, I think you’re right. Frankly, I don’t know what has got into us, bickering like this.”

  Eldin shrugged. “It’s just that I would have liked to get more out of old Hrill. We learned a lot, but there’s a lot more we still don’t know.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Hero tut-tutted. “It was you cut the rope, after all.”

  “Because I thought the damned gaunts would catch him!” Eldin exploded.

  “Did you?” Hero snarled. “I saw the look on your face as the rope parted. You wanted Hrill to die—and so did I!” He frowned and paused, as if some new idea had come to him. “We all did …”

  “Right!” Gytherik exclaimed. “We did—and my gaunts knew it. They can’t smell, can’t see, can’t hear—not as we do. And so they work on instinct. And I repeat: they were right.”

  “So if we’re all agreed,” Limnar quietly asked, “what are we all growling about?”

  A crewman of the watch appeared at the open cabin door. He nodded respectfully. “Moon’s up, Cap’n. Just cleared the horizon. And bigger and fatter than ever!” He nodded again and returned to his duties.

  “There’s your answer, Limnar,” said Hero. “Didn’t Hrill tell us that the closer the mad moon gets, the madder we’ll all become? It strikes me that from now on we’ll all do well to hold ourselves rigidly in check.”

  They went but onto the bridge. The sky was indigo all around—with stars like jewels pinned on deep blue velvet—except for that region where the demon moon now floated free of the distant horizon. And gazing at the monstrous orb, which looked as if it might fall from the sky at any moment, Hero and his three colleagues knew beyond any further doubt that he was right. A tingling madness was in the air, radiating from the heart of the glaring yellow nightmare in the sky, and it set nerves ajangle and filled the blood with alien impulses and desires.

  “Damn me!” Eldin irreverently muttered after a moment, his bearded, scarred face reflecting a sickly saffron glow. “Madness, is it? Well, only a madman would stay out in this in the first place. I’ve already had enough of it. If no one minds, I’ll retire.”

  “Eldin’s right,” Hero agreed. “We should all get some sleep. And Limnar,” he turned to the sky-Captain, “it might be a good idea if you got word to the other ships. Tell the Captains to keep their crews out of this mad moonshine. Too much exposure could become a real problem. One thing, though: I think we should all be given a shake if the moon starts acting up again. Oh, and one more thing: anyone who is wearing Leng gold must get rid of it right now!”

  Limnar nodded, sent messengers down the rope ladders and across the stony desert to the other ships, issued instructions that he and his friends were to be awakened at first sight of any abnormal lunar activity; and without more ado the four sought their sleeping quarters.

  It seemed that they were no sooner asleep than members of the night watch were shaking them into wakefulness. The moon was high now, filling a third of the sky, and the desert itself looked a moonscape of yellow gleam and stark black shadow. The tingle in the night air had become a physical thing, as of alien energies that played upon the skin and nerve-ends, causing a heightening of awareness which in turn inspired a terror of the fiendish forces now in play.

  Meeting on the bridge, the friends were in time to see the magnetic moonbeam (as they now termed it) strike, but its target was too far away, somewhere in the east, for them to experience any of its associated phenomena. It struck, retired … and then there came an even stranger, yet more ominous occurrence; if that were at all possible.

  It was simply this: that before the beam shot down in a solid shaft of shimmering gold, the “face” of the moon had seemed to wear a frown; as well it might considering last night’s abortive attack upon Ilek-Vad. But now, with the drawing back of the beam, it appeared that the “mouth” had turned up in a horrific grin, and that the “eyes” had narrowed to lustful slits. And in another moment, with the hurrying of clouds across the great golden disk, it seemed to the breathless watchers that the moon licked its lips!

  As if in response, however involuntarily, Eldin used his tongue to dampen his own suddenly dry lips. “Another hamlet,” he croaked, “perhaps an entire town—drawn up into the maw of the mad moon!”

  And so yet again their sleep was destroyed, when for the remainder of the night they could merely toss and turn, sweating in the ship’s stifling confines and feeling through the thick planking of her hull the mysterious madness blown on dreamland’s winds. And slowly the night passed and the dim light of dawn began to glow in the east …

  And in that first dim half-light, as the crews of the seven ships stretched, yawned and scratched, the lookout in Gnorri’s crow’s-nest gave a cry of alert that brought Limnar to the bridge and Hero and Eldin, in their nightclothes, to the ship’s rail. There, fleeing east to west, the weirdest craft any of them had ever seen scudded before a high, strong wind whose eddies could be felt even down here; and Limnar gave a gasp of surprise as he put his glass to his eye.

  “Why, it’s little more than a mainmast and sail!” he informed. “With a basket lashed below and the whole thing suspended from a couple of flotation bags. Oh, yes, and a flap of canvas on a knocked-together frame, acting as a rudder. There are a couple of horned ones in the basket, working like the devil to keep the thing stabilized. An ingenious affair—but hardly maneuverable. And look at it go!”

  The strange craft passed high overhead, rushed northwest-ward, dwindled down rapidly to a speck and vanished in the dawny distance. Gytherik, last to arrive, had seen only the glow of the rising sun on the distant sail before the makeshift craft disappeared, and he had heard only part of what Limnar said. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he asked:

  “What was that? A gaunt fleeing the rising sun? Surely not, for it was moving too fast.”

  �
��No gaunt,” Limnar answered, “but a couple of clever Lengites flying a bit of wreckage.”

  “What?” Gytherik cried. “I’ll get my grim aloft at once! Maybe they can catch them.”

  “Doubtful,” said Hero, laying a restraining hand on the youth’s arm. “They were really moving. By the time your gaunts give chase they’ll be miles away. Also, we have to get on. There can be no more diversions. Send a couple of your rubbery chums out by all means, if you think it will do some good. But they’ll be on their own in the heat of the day, and they’ll have to find their own way back to us. Also, we might just need ’em here, with the flotilla.”

  “But surely the horned ones are heading for Sarkomand,” Gytherik protested. “They’ll warn of our coming!”

  “They don’t know for sure that we are coming,” said Limnar. “Also, they’ll be damned lucky to land that thing without killing themselves. Also—”

  “Also,” grunted Eldin, “maybe this way we get a chance to clear our collective conscience, eh? I mean, we cruelly killed two of the squat little devils—in error, if you like—and so now we can even up the score by letting a couple go.”

  Gytherik relaxed and Hero released his arm. “Maybe,” the youth said at last, “but I’m still not sure I like it.”

  “Like it or not,” said Limnar, “it’s done.” And with that he set about readying his ship for the quest …

  PART 2

  Sarkomand

  CHAPTER I

  Voices in the Night

  Limnar made running repairs to Gnorri II, whose damage was only superficial. She had been holed but her flotation engine was undamaged; one of her bags had exploded but had now been replaced; and as a safety measure, a temporary rail had been rigged in the stern. Now the seven ships sped north and somewhat west, as they had for ten days and nine nights, on that same high-blown current which had driven the crudely constructed Leng craft.