Deepest, Darkest Eden: New Tales of Hyperborea

by John Shirley

  The Executioner’s Square.

  Where the eighon-wood block lay affixed to the flagstones, long weathered, aged, and stained with the blood of countless dead.

  Where the horror that was Knygathin Zhaum waited. But not Zhaum as Athammaus remembered when he had fled the city so long ago.

  They turned into the square and stopped.

  The headless dead gathered behind the former Headsman.

  The moon shown above.

  An eerie incandescent yellow glow issued from the mottled flesh that glistened wet and churned like ocean waves under the light of the moon. Knygathin Zhaum had changed yet again. No semblance of humanity remained.

  Here was a huge bloated black and yellow protoplasmic mass that had wrapped itself around the square, blanketing nearly everything but for the eighon-wood block and a narrow exposed line of flagstones upon which Athammaus stood.

  The pulsing and hissing mass clung to the sides of buildings, slithered into cracks in walls. Black hair-like filaments danced along its rippling edges while tentacles writhed across the square, then retreated to disappear into the churning mass of flesh. A thousand yellowed eyes without pupils floated in the mass, turning their gaze upon the newly arrived former Headsman and the headless dead that gathered behind him.

  Athammaus caught his breath. The scent was terrible, worse than the decaying flesh of a thousand fresh corpses.

  “Why have you called me back to Commoriom?” Athammaus said, his eyes narrowed, voice angered.

  “I have not,” Zhaum hissed. The words echoed through the night air.

  “I called you back to Commoriom,” came a strange, familiar voice.

  A hush fell over the square. The liches, victims of the Headsman’s ax, crowded in. Across the square something dark moved in the Temple of Zhothaqquah.

  In the silence, Athammaus turned a half turn.

  And saw himself, Athammaus, the former Headsman, clutching the ancient copper colored and blood stained executioner’s ax.

  “What manner of sorcery is this?”he said. “I do not believe such things!”

  “Our own thoughts and conscious brought us here,” his double replied, ignoring the question.

  “Our…?”

  “You and I; yes, we are the same. Athammaus, Headsman of Commoriom. You and I. The same.” He stepped forward and held out the ax. “Take it and execute me. Only in this way…”

  “…can the city be saved and the people return,” he completed his own thought while reaching for the ax.

  A brief pause, and he smiled. They smiled.

  “We know this to be true.”

  Athammaus watched as he saw himself lean over the eighon-wood block.

  One last task, he thought, and smiled.

  There was a flash of copper. The blade arced, an instant of time, and the severed head, his own head, rolled.

  So strange, this feeling of death…

  “So strange, this feeling of death,” Athammaus echoed the thought. His voice was torn, the words forced, strained. He opened his eyes. Morning had come, a gray overcast dawn.

  Athammaus found himself in the public square.

  He turned, and peered about through clear eyes.

  The dead were gone, and the shadows, and the pulsing mass that Zhaum had become. All were gone.

  The square was empty. Just the crumbling ruins and creeping vines and towering trees and shattered flagstones remained.

  And the Executioner’s ax embedded in the eighon-wood block, the blade and block awash in fresh blood.

  The former Headsman’s fingers wrapped tightly around the ax handle and pulled it free of the block. He slung it over a shoulder and started across the square, back from whence he had come. His severed head, tied by his long silver hair to his belt, bounced against his thigh.

  Blood trickled. Athammaus grinned.

  Something dark moved in the shadows of the Zhothaqquah Temple.

  The Beauties of

  Polarion

  By Don Webb

  In the century before the coming of the glacier, the wise folk of Iqqua sought to stop the coming of the ice through sorcery and sacrifice. Kard Gha Vin, a wizard of great standing, counseled the Queen of Iqqua that the ice hungered for beauty. One need but watch the Northern Lights play over the ice at night to see the need the Ice had for things of beauty.

  “Perhaps Queen Voorla, if we find the most beautiful woman in your kingdom, we can sacrifice her to the approaching ice and stay its advancement for years, perhaps decades.”

  “But surely Ri Kard Gha Vin, you jest, for I am the most lovely woman in Iqqua, perhaps in all of Polarion.”

  It had never occurred to Gha Vin that the queen might still consider herself beautiful. In fact her wrinkles upon wrinkles would surely have made her hate younger, more beautiful women. He pondered her well-known policy of retiring government officials to the foul smelling torture pits beneath her ancient castle as he sought for a politic answer.

  “Of course, my liege, we would need to hide your loveliness for a season, so that we could fool the ice demons into thinking they had found the loveliest woman. We could not expect to buy time with any second-rate beauty.”

  “It would pain my subjects not to see their queen in her lovely form.”

  “Well, we shall do it thus: you will disappear the night of the contest, and the second loveliest women shall be proclaimed the winner and we shall sacrifice her and return you to your throne a fortnight later. The kingdom will be doubly happy. Its beautiful queen restored and the danger of the ice adverted at the same time. It will be a source of bardic empowerment for years to come.”

  So the word went forth to the towns and villages of Polarion, even to the huts of the auroch hunters, that a beauty contest was to be held in Iqqua, and the winner given a spray of ice diamonds, and crowned Queen of Winter. The duties of the Queen were not made clear, but certainly such a role in a land that had been marked by colder and more fierce winters for the last three hundred years, it must be a powerful position as well. Besides, the ice diamonds could buy many things.Many women sought the role, but three were early on seen as the most likely contestants. One was Rentha, daughter of the mayor of Iqqua, a blonde beauty with grace and charm. The mayor had been hoping to marry off to one of the richer households and the winning of the contest seemed a sure way to increase his daughter’s market worthiness. Another contestant was Leetha, a raven-haired beauty whose father was a poor but honest hunter of mammoths. Leetha’s slanted purple eyes gave rise to a rumor that her mother had been some sort of nymph or sprite, and her wild and uncouth ivory jewelry was much remarked upon. The third seemed the least of a threat, yet the red haired Zinoë, whose father dealt in rubies, had her champions as well. The names of three beauties were on all lips, and gold and orichalcum were wagered.

  Queen Voorla was unhappy at the attention the three girls were receiving, so Gha Vin sagely suggested the Queen enter the contest. He knew that her entry would bring fear to the other contestants. In truth, everyone would assume she would win, and speculation as to whether the dark-haired girl of the wild or the blonde daughter of city life would come in second. The Queen was gratified. Gha Vin suggested that because of the Queen’s beauty, she could be kidnapped the night of the contest. It would add great fame to the proceedings. Then her return, ostensibly back from another kingdom, would stay with her legend for years. Voorla was delighted.

  “How will we manage the kidnap?”Various stratagems were suggested. Black robed monks from the south, red toga-wearing pirates from across the Hyperborean Sea and a doorway to another world were suggested and dismissed. Finally, the Queen’s son Prince Haalor made the most interesting suggestion. The Queen could be made to disappear into a glowing mist. It would seem that the Northern Lights had formed a small cloud and sent it to earth to seize her majesty.

  “That would make a delightful saga,” said Voorla, “but how to arrange such a thing?”

  “I know a sorcerer, a familiar of the toad
god Tsathoggua, who is quiet adept at summoning various mists. He is well known at calling up the purple mist that is kind to dreamers and carries them off to the dreamworlds. He could easily summon something that shimmers with rainbows of beauty, mother. But do not mention this to Gha Vin, whose is a vain man.”

  “Who is this sorcerer?”

  “Ommum Vog… someday he will no doubt be as renowned as the flying man of Mhu Thulan.”

  Prince Haalor desired the throne, and had been cultivating the friendship of the ruthless Ommun Vog for six years. Ommun Vog assured him that such a mist could be called. It is a sort of vampiric being that haunts the ruins of the world past Mars. It is easy to call it into the human world. One need only have the victim to drink a rather sweet tasting wine made of certain dark herbs. As the wine makes the eyes flutter and the brain grow numb, the vampire mist is called from the sky. It carries the drinker away from this world to serve at the altar of the Black Pharaoh for a thousand years. In many ways, they would be doing the elderly queen a great service. Her years on earth were destined to be few – though far too many for ambitious Haalor. Ommun Vog assured him that the iridescent vampire mists brought a great and wonderful intoxication, and by the time they had transformed the body of his mother into a temple servant that needed no air, Voorla would actually know greater happiness than any human being. Indeed, Ommun Vog assured him, he hoped to summon such a mist to carry his own body away from its deathbed.

  So it was arranged that a yellow-skinned servant of Ommun Vog would visit the amphitheater where the contestants were to show themselves in various costumes and portrayed their talents. The servant would present Voorla with a bouquet of roses that concealed the vial of the vampire-summoning drug.

  A few days before the event, Rasul Menthag, the mammoth hunter, visited his lovely daughter.

  “He had made a great sale of mammoth ivories to a wizard of Oggon-Zhai, Miluw Gupmire, who specialized in potions and philters. Rasul Menthag had traded a season’s worth of ivory for an aging potion. If Leetha could induce her rival to consume the drink, Rentha would age some sixty years in the course of as many minutes. The wrinkled beldame would be awarded boos and cat calls, while second place would be awarded to the lovely Leetha.

  Leetha, who shared her father’s craftiness, immediately hired a one-eyed hunchback Zever Bepas to offer a magic potion to the charming Reentha. The toadlike Zever visited the Mayor’s home. Because of his resemblance to Tsathoggua, the Mayor quickly believed that the short one must deal in true potions. Certainly his ugliness was proof of the paranormal. If the god could make one of his followers so ugly, great beauty must likewise be in his power. So the Mayor filled the hunchback’s hands with gold, and bought the aging potion for his lovely daughter.Gha Vin had begun to distrust the Queen. She insisted that she had taken care of her dramatic disappearance the hour before the crowning of the Queen of Winter. He know that her vain nature would keep her in the contest until the end. She truly believed that the portraits she had painted over the mirrors of her palace were her true appearance. Of course, the judges would find in her favor, and the pronouncement of her as the loveliest woman of Polarion would invalidate the sacrifice of the second-place winner. Naming had a great effect in magical exchanges. The ice demons would never accept a second-rate sacrifice. As he pondered his dilemma, he was approached by the exotic Leetha.

  “Oh wise man that reads the cold stars,” she purred, “can you tell me who is the loveliest of all the women?”

  “It is not my part to judge such things,” said Gha Vin. “Judges far more perceptive than I say that her majesty is the loveliest woman in the kingdom.”

  “But you, my lord, who are not so intelligent, must see that the loveliest women of the contest are the Mayor’s stunning daughter Reentha, the red-headed Zinoë… and some would say I -- if I may be so immodest as to speak plainly.”

  “Indeed, I think you speak truthfully. If unintelligent I were a judge, you would win.”

  “Sadly, I have heard that judges have been bought by the ruby merchant. Zinoë shall be our Queen of Winter.”

  “But she is not as lovely as you!”

  “If only I could be the most lovely woman in the world that night! Then the judges would vote for me.”

  “What would you give to be the most lovely woman in the world that night?”

  “Anything, oh wise magician.”

  Surely the ice demons had no need of a virgin sacrifice, thought Gha Vin. So his worries over the Queen’s actions were driven away by the clacking sounds of heavy ivory necklaces for at least a few minutes.

  “I will send a potion to you just before the judging. Drink it quickly––it will only last for two hours at most, but you will be the loveliest woman in the world. Zinoë will have no chance, despite her father’s gems.”

  The last night of the contest came round, and the stage blazed with light spells and gentle warm breezes blew at the command of Gha Vin. The lesser beauties were pressed into a songfest, while the four most beautiful women in Polarion prepared backstage. Each trusted in their beauty, and the evils wrought in their name. Zinoë thought of the handful of rubies that would buy the crown for her. Reentha greedily drank the bitter potion that her father had bought from the toadlike hunchback. The yellow skinned servant waited in the wings to hand the bouquet to Queen Voolra just before she was to step on stage. Gha Vin called his slave.

  “You must deliver this to the lovely Leetha.”

  “How will I know her?”

  “She is of brown skin and her eyes are violet. I think she is the loveliest woman in the contest, and after she drinks my potion she will be the loveliest woman in the world.”

  The slave headed to the amphitheater, but as fate would have it, he arrived at the same time one of Queen Vorla’s serving woman had arrived. The serving woman would have been the winner of tonight’s contest, if the poor could be thought pretty, but Iqqua had no such egalitarian notions. Gha Vin’s slave looked upon the beautiful serving woman and thought only of her.

  “Radiant one! I surely have a potion for thee! My Master told me to give it to the loveliest woman in the world, and that must be you.” He held out the vial.

  The serving woman snatched from his hand. “Then it is for my Mistress. Indeed, it would be foolish to speak of any woman as lovely as she.” But her smile showed that she bought the slave’s compliment. “Let me take it to her straightaway, and perhaps we can sit and enjoy the contest.”

  “Go then, my sweet, but truly. I say to you that should be the Queen of Winter.”

  So the beautiful serving woman ran to her wrinkled queen.

  “A man brought this potion for you.”

  “A yellow-skinned man?”

  Truth to be told Gha Vin’s slave had a touch of jaundice. “Yes, my lady, he was of yellow skin.”

  The Queen said, “Tell no one that you gave this to me.” “Yes, my lady,” and off she ran to join Gha Vin’s slave to steal away from their masters an hour’s pleasure.

  Queen Voolra drank the potion that Gha Vin had compounded. His knowledge of the art was great, for the potion removed the hard years and cruel winters from her face, softened her curves and brought a sparkle to her eyes that rivaled the Northern Lights themselves. She admired herself in a real mirror – one not painted with her face from long ago. She thought her loveliness must be what would call the iridescent mist. She proudly walked to the stage.

  Behind her came Reentha, aging with each step. A yellow-skinned servant thrust a bouquet of roses toward her. “Drink the potion quickly.”

  Reentha asked, “Another potion?”

  “I know not what you speak of, but the sorcerer said you must have this.” So Reentha drank the second potion.

  Behind her came Leetha, furious that Gha Vin had not provided the magic drug. She would have her father hunt him like a mammoth. She was already picturing one of her father’s long spears thrust through him like a spit. Lastly came Zinoë, confident that her red hair
would remind the judges of the rubies in their pockets.

  Prince Haalor and Ommun Vog sat in the audience. There was something odd about Haalor’s wrinkled mother. Haalor did not recognize the jewels or the dress.

  “Be at peace, young prince,” said Ommun Vog, “She has bought new things for tonight; you can’t mistake those wrinkles. Look, the mist draws nigh.”

  Indeed, a shimmering eddy began to form in the air above her. Queen Voorla ran toward the mist, but it swirled down around an old woman, certainly not someone fair enough for a beauty contest.

  As the mist began to lift Reentha into the air, she moaned in ecstasy. Queen Voolra leaped up toward the fog of dazzling colors, but fell back on the stage. Some of the judges ran forward to catch her,. Astounded by her beauty, they raised her up on their shoulders.Queen Voorla knew that she had been wrong to try and cheat the ice demons. Beauty such as hers belongs to the gods. She accepted the crown of ice diamonds. Gha Vin came forward. “I have given you what you wanted. Forgive me.”

  The Queen replied, “It is the fitting end.”

  Soldiers came onstage as an escort and carried Voorla away. She was placed in the back of a chariot and rushed toward the glacier. Of course, the two days’ journey removed the dweomer of enchantment and she arrived as a plain and ugly old woman. The soldiers, who know nothing of magic, carried her out on the ice and staked her there. She called the Ice Demon to her.

  As the soldiers left, one remarked that ice demons must not be very picky. The others agreed -- such creatures must be rather terrible, for look at the world they chose to inhabit. That year, the ice moved further into the kingdom than ever before, and King Haalor and his wizard Ommun Vog prepared to make their own magical assault.

  Second place went to Zinoë , who not only gained the title but became the wife of Haalor within a year. Leetha’s father did seek to kill Gha Vin, but a battle between a mammoth hunter and a wizard is rather one-sided affair. Within a hundred years, all was ice, and only Reentha dwelling in ecstasy on an airless asteroid remembered the night of the Beauties at all.