Tales of the Shadowmen 1: The Modern Babylon

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  “Somehow, from reading the Veda, I pictured a more pleasant setting,” said Green, looking at the bones.

  The howl of the Mi-Go behind them reminded them that, although they had reached their goal, their survival was still very much in doubt and their bones might be the next ones to join those that littered the valley floor.

  “We can’t stand here and gape,” said Dahoor. “Those–things–are still after us!”

  The men began running again. The ancient bones crumbled into dust beneath their feet. Green cleared the way before them, hacking away at the remains with a machete.

  Suddenly, they heard howls coming from the right. Then, from the left.

  Then, the Mi-Go stood front of them as well, blocking their path.

  Their bodies were stocky, apelike in shape, but with a distinctly human quality. They were six feet tall and covered with shaggy, coarse, snow-white hair, some with dark patches on their chests. Their faces were sturdy, with wide mouths featuring large teeth and prominent fangs. Their heads were conical, with a pointed crown. Their arms were long, reaching almost to the knees, and their hands sported fierce-looking claws.

  The five men formed a small circle, guns ready, prepared to defend their lives.

  “I regret that our short but eventful association had to come such a miserable end, Professor Whateley, Mr. Green,” said Dahoor, sounding almost apologetic.

  Whateley was almost hysterical. “I can’t die here! Not when I’m so close!”

  “You’re not the only one with a problem, Professor!” rebuffed Green.

  The Mi-Go slowly started moving towards them.

  Suddenly, flares of all colors erupted in the sunset skies. Thundering noises echoed throughout the valley, its circular structure magnifying the rumble into a near-apocalyptic din.

  The Mi-Go ran, terrified by this unprecedented display of man-made thunder and lightning.

  Robur, flare gun in hand, stood on top of a huge mastodon skull and gestured at them.

  “Quick! Follow me!”

  As the hidden valley of K’n-yan was wrapped ever more tightly in a mantle of darkness, a small campfire burned bright inside the temple, its magnificent sculpted entrance standing as the last remains of a once mighty culture. Statues of long-vanished gods came to life in the flickering light. Robur and the surviving members of the expedition finished a meal that had been hastily cooked by the two remaining sherpas.

  “Dahoor,” said Robur. “I should have known you’d find your way here sooner or later. You’re drawn to treasure like a fly to rotting meat.”

  “One is always pleased to see one’s skills recognized, My Prince.”

  “I’m not your Prince anymore. Just Robur.”

  “Yes, of course, My Prince.”

  “You know this man?” Green asked Dahoor.

  “We’ve met once or twice, yes,” the guide replied.

  “You haven’t yet told us what you are doing here, Mr. Robur,” Whateley interjected. Green noted that the Professor seemed rather ungracious towards the man whose sudden arrival from above had, after all, saved their lives.

  “There’s only one thing I want. You’re welcome to everything else, including fame. In fact, I’d rather that my presence wasn’t even mentioned...”

  “And that one thing is?”

  “It’s known as the Crown of Genghis.”

  Whateley sniffed contemptuously. “So, you’re a trafficker in antiques too, no different than your friend Dahoor here?”

  Robur smiled. “Oh no! I’ve come to destroy it.”

  Whateley reacted in shock, almost as if the newcomer had punched him. “What!? You can’t do that. It’s a priceless artifact. You can’t be serious!”

  “Deadly so, I’m afraid.”

  “But why?”

  “I could tell you that it’s none of your business, but I’ve heard of Miskatonic University, Professor Whateley, and I believe you deserve an honest answer. The cosmos is not unlike a tapestry. Scientists like you study its patterns, trying to fathom its meaning. But there are those who have peered behind the tapestry and know what lurks there. A long time ago, K’n-yan was home to a race of wise, civilized men...”

  “Yes, the Yian Ho.”

  “Well, they became those shaggy things that almost killed you. The Mi-go are what’s left of the Yian Ho. That’s what the Crown did to them, and why it must be destroyed.”

  The next day, they began their exploration of the Temple. From the outer hall where they had spent the night, a beautifully-decorated corridor, meant to represent a descent into the underworld, took them deeper within the mountain. Its walls were painted with images of the Djad and the forgotten gods of the Yian Ho.

  Lower down, they reached another hall, this one leading into a sacred chamber where mysterious ceremonies were conducted. It was a relatively large, rectangular room with four square pillars supporting the ceiling. Two side rooms and a small inner room were accessible from it. The entry walls were adorned with representations of the gods, while the pillars were mostly decorated with scenes from the Book of the Dead. The King of the Yian Ho was represented passing through nine gates guarded by statues representing the dreadful Rakashas, demons from the underworld.

  Whateley studied the inscriptions in the light of his torch. “Amazing. It’s all here. The entire history of the Yian Ho, and before them, the Dzyan...”

  “Interesting indeed, Professor,” said Dahoor, “but where is the gold?”

  Robur smiled. “You’re slipping, old friend. Those carvings are made of orichalcum.”

  The Hindu’s eyes burned bright and he developed a sudden interest in the wall decorations. Green could see him already totaling up figures in his mind.

  Whateley looked at the map. “It says the Crown was kept in the next chamber, the one guarded by the Rakashas...”

  They entered a smaller chamber, walking past a short corridor lined on both sides with giant statues representing demon-like creatures with claws, sharp beaks and bat-like wings.

  “There are your Rakashas,” said Green.

  “When I was a boy, the holy man told me demons would get me if I wasn’t good. Now I wish I had believed him,” remarked Dahoor.

  Inside the chamber was an altar and on it lay a simple gold band, just large enough to fit a human head.

  “The Crown of Genghis!” exclaimed Whateley. He ran towards the altar, grabbed the Crown and placed it on his head.

  “Mine, at last!”

  His face began changing, twisting, as if some powerful force was intent on remodeling his features. His eyes rolled back into their orbits, then returned to normal but the irises had gone white and the expression contained in them was distant. It was as if he was not gazing upon the room where they stood, but rather the unfathomable vision of another dimension.

  “Whateley, what’s happening to you?” asked Green.

  “You fool! Whateley is dead!” said the spectral voice which issued from the archeologist’s mouth.

  “The Hour of the Scythe is almost upon us and I, the Servant of the Crawling Chaos, will at last unleash His Hideous Strength upon the Earth!”

  Whatever force had taken possession of Whateley, Robur was ready. The Master of the Albatross reacted instantly by starting an incantation.

  “Nosmo Cobis... Holo Erasma Rabis...”

  Whateley raised his hand, eyes blazing with unholy energies.

  “That pathetic spell has been out of fashion since the Monks of Montsegur in 1244, and even they were better at it than you are.”

  Robur was thrown to the ground.

  “We the Kun Yin have served the Old Ones since Man, and those who came before, emerged from the primordial muck. We know you, Robur and your friend the Sâr Dubnotal, and all your other allies. Come the Hour of the Scythe, you will all die.”

  Whateley began to advance towards Robur, his hands extended forward. Dark tendrils of force seeped from his palms.

  “But you–the Dark can’t wait that long!”
>
  Green was skeptical by nature about what he usually called the “fakir tricks” of India, but was open-minded enough to not question what he saw. He had beheld the previous scene with the dawning realization that far more than the possession of an invaluable ancient treasure was at stake. He grabbed his gun and shot Whateley, twice, aiming for the legs.

  The archeologist staggered from the shots, halted, but did not fall. He turned towards Green, his face filled with so much pure hatred that the adventurer could not help but take a step back.

  “For that, your pain will be increased a thousand-fold, mortal!”

  Whateley gestured at the demon statues in the corridor.

  “You who have slumbered for millennia, now by the Crown I wear–awake!”

  Dahoor let out a bellowing scream of terror as the statues of the Rakashas–statues no longer–began to shake like a man waking up after a long slumber. Their stone eyes blazed open.

  Almost faster than the eyes could see, the Rakashas leapt on the two hapless sherpas who had thought it safer to stay behind, closer to the chamber entrance. The two men fell screaming beneath the monsters’ razor-sharp claws. Their eviscerated bodies collapsed to the floor like deflated balloons.

  Green blasted one of the Rakashas into rubble with his rifle. Dahoor also shot at the advancing creatures. But the rubble, including the claws and beaks, continued to live and crawled towards its human prey.

  “Sotheby’s would have paid a king’s ransom for that statue. Ah, Dahoor! Why does fortune always slip through your fingers?” bemoaned the guide.

  Whateley, seeing the two men’s powerlessness, gloated. “The Heart of Chaos awaits! The time has come for me to release the Guardian of the Gate. The Rakashas will soon feast upon your brains. I understand those are a delicacy. Ha! Ha!”

  Believing his three remaining adversaries to be almost as good as dead, the late archeologist left the chamber with a Rakasha in tow.

  Upon hearing the familiar clicking sound, Dahoor realized his gun was out of ammunition. If the Rakashas had been alive, they would have whetted their beaks in anticipation of the slaughter. As they were, they just continued their lumbering progression, stepping ever closer, claws extended, beaks hungry for the blood of their victims.

  “I’m sorry I won’t be able to get you that Chandela chess set we discussed last night, Mr. Green,” said the Hindu.

  “Where we’re going, I doubt I’ll have much opportunity to practice my game,” replied the adventurer, realizing that it was only a matter of seconds before he, too, ran out of bullets.

  Suddenly, Robur stood up and confronted the Rakashas, addressing them directly, barking orders as one would to a pack of wild dogs. Before Green and Dahoor’s unbelieving eyes, the creatures stopped and appeared to heed what the mysterious man was saying.

  Robur rubbed a sore muscle in his right shoulder, which had borne the brunt of his fall. Dahoor looked at him with effusive gratitude.

  “My Prince! You are a man of many wonders!”

  “That was authentic Yian Ho, wasn’t it?” asked Green.

  “Yes. Professor Whateley isn’t the only one to speak it.” He then pointed at the motionless Rakashas. “I told them that we were dead already. Lucky for us, their ability to tell the difference between life and death isn’t very good. I doubt we have much time before they realize I lied.”

  They ran out of the chamber and into the great corridor–and almost straight into a pack of hostile Mi-Go! The ape-men, having recovered from their terrors of the previous evening, had followed the scent of the explorers all the way to inside the temple.

  “Can these truly be what’s left of the Yian Ho?” whispered Green.

  “Yes,” said Robur. “That’s what Chaos will do to you, give or take a few centuries. But despite it, they’re still fulfilling their duty. They’re trying to protect the Crown. It’s in their blood.”

  However, instead of pouncing on the strangers, the ape-men remained still. Then, a younger and particularly fierce-looking Mi-Go stepped forward and began uttering a few words which Green recognized as the same Yian Ho tongue Robur had used with the Rakashas.

  “My Prince, I believe he’s speaking to you,” said Dahoor with a wan smile.

  Robur began a dialogue with the Mi-Go. Whatever was said must have been convincing for the Hindu noticed that the ape-men had begun to look if not more friendly, at least as if they weren’t planning to slaughter them all in the next few seconds.

  Meanwhile, Green had kept an eye in the direction from which they had come. His face grew concerned.

  “I hope you’ve convinced them that we’re the good guys,” he told Robur, “because it looks to me like the Rakashas have finally figured out that we’re not really dead yet are intent on remedying the situation.”

  As soon as the Mi-Go saw the Rakashas, it was as if a dam had erupted. Nothing could contain the unbridled fury of the ape-men. The guardians of the Crown had recognized their ancient enemies and plunged into battle. Though the Rakashas were made of stone, even that could be pulverized, ground into fine particles, with unrelenting fangs and claws. The Mi-Go seemed to feel no pain from the many injuries the revived demons inflicted upon them. Their bodies appeared to regenerate at amazing speed and nothing short of decapitation seemed able to stop them.

  During the combat, Robur grabbed Green and Dahoor. “We’ve got to stop Whateley from reaching the Heart of Chaos. He can’t....”

  “We, My Prince?” interrupted Dahoor. “With all due respect, I am very sorry but this humble tradesman has more than fulfilled his obligations...” The guide picked up bits of green orichalcum rocks that had broken loose during the battle and put them in his bag. “These scraps of orichalcum will be compensation enough. You two are great heroes but you must continue without me. These matters are beyond the powers of simple souls such as I...”

  “I expected better from you, Dahoor,” said Robur. “You stood by my side at Sinkuderam.”

  “That was long ago, My Prince. Besides it involved fighting the British. No, it’s time for Dahoor to move on.”

  Robur made a gesture, as if to grab Dahoor, but Green stopped him.

  “Let him go. He’s right. This is no business for someone like him. Now I understand why Meldrum Strange wanted me to accompany Whateley on this expedition. The man tricked us all, but I’ll see him and his damned Crown destroyed before I leave this god-forsaken place!”

  Having said his farewells, Dahoor left, vanishing into the darkness of the corridor leading to the upper hall and the hidden valley.

  As he stepped outside, he looked at the sky and the sculpted entrance behind him. For a minute, he stood still, undecided. Then he shrugged, muttered a short prayer and walked away, beginning the long and arduous trek that would lead him back to civilization.

  Inside the holy chamber, the Mi-Go had defeated the Rakashas. Chunks of broken statue littered the floor, where it was stomped into dust by the ape-men. The young Mi-Go who had spoken with Robur, looking bloodied but pleased with himself, stepped forward and again addressed the Master of the Albatross.

  “If we’re going to beat Whateley to the Heart of Chaos, we’re going to need a guide,” said Robur. “This one seems to have a good idea of why we’re here...”

  “Then, let’s follow him,” said Green.

  Robur answered the Mi-Go in Yian Ho, and all three continued their descent. The temple had been built over miles of natural tunnels and shafts, some as old as 40 million years. There were huge underground spaces, vast enough to house a cathedral, waterfalls, crystalline formations in hues of amber, white, blue and grey. Green thought they were now more than 500 feet below ground.

  Following their Mi-Go friend, they continued ever downward, climbing acrobatically through a series of perilous shafts, jumping from cliff to cliff, holding their bodies at impossible angles and positioning their weight before figuring out their way down the naked rock.

  At one point, the two men stopped to take a breather on
a ledge. “He says it’s a shortcut,” Robur said, pointing towards the Mi-Go, who was impatient to continue the descent.

  “For him, maybe,” said Green with a smile. Then, the explorer added: “Since you know so much, how about filling me in. Where are we going?”

  “K’n-yan was built around a natural phenomenon the Old Ones called the Heart of Chaos. The magnetic power of the Earth is concentrated into one tight beam to the Heavens. My friend Seaton thinks it’s like a beacon to other worlds. Me, I don’t have an opinion. When the stars align to form a configuration known as the Scythe, the beam appears to cut through the very fabric of space. With the power of the Crown, Whateley can manipulate the phenomenon to open a gateway that will release, whatever you call it, the Hideous Strength, the Creeping Chaos, the Guardian of the Gate, Yog-Sothoth... It’s not pretty and it’s usually hungry.”

  After an hour of arduous descent, they finally reached the bottom of the shaft. An opening allowed an odd greenish light to enter it.

  As they emerged, they stepped onto a jutting stone platform overlooking a vast subterranean realm, a savage land filled with a primeval forest of giant trees, inhabited by giant insects and strange flying reptiles, lit only by that eerie greenish light. At its center was a green beam reaching up towards the Heavens–the Heart of Chaos.

  Still led by their Mi-Go ally, Robur and Green ran briskly through the jungle towards the beam’s point of origin.

  Despite the urgency of their mission, neither man could stop themselves from occasionally taking a closer look at some extraordinary natural–or rather unnatural–wonder revealed by this amazing environment, like an oyster revealing the pearl inside.

  Robur was fascinated by a giant white mushroom with oddly shaped red spots on its top, which appeared to inflate like a balloon, then explode softly, spreading its spores in the wind. Green saw giant flowers which attracted giant butterflies, which in turn met their ends in the webs of giant spiders.

  But the Mi-Go waved them ever on, shouting at them in his strange language.

  “I don’t need you to tell me that he wants us to hurry,” said Green, who had been entranced by the sight of a black lotus.