by Pete Rawlik
The psyche of Zkauba retreated, fled reality, and I found myself forced to the surface, forced to take control of that alien body. It took me days to learn how, how to manipulate six limbs instead of four, how to eat things my human body would have rejected. It took days to learn how to wield the weapons, and artifices that made Zkauba what he was. Days turned into weeks, into months, and into years. By the time Zkauba had recovered from his breakdown, I was fully in control, and in possession of an elixir that was capable of keeping his psyche fully suppressed.
I had seen what Zkauba had seen inscribed there on the withered claw of the Dhole, and I knew what it meant. The Riddle of Thaqquallah: How can the Goddess favor neither of her children, and both? For there are no Nug Soth, and there are no Dholes, only the descendants of Zkahrnizzen. The proof was there, branded on the back of the Dhole’s claw: a simple oval with a slit through it, burned into the fleshy integument, the symbol of the Sleeping Eye, the brood house of Buo! The Dholes were simply another stage in the life cycle of the Nug Soth, one that fed on the very flesh of its own species. For eons the children of Zkahrnizzen would riddle the shell of Yaddith with their foul tunnels and warrens until they accomplished the task for which they had been created, and planet itself would implode. Then, and only then, would the crystal Moon-Lens be shattered, and Thaqquallah would be free to spawn amongst the stars.
This knowledge drove Zkauba mad, as it would have any Nug Soth. But I was a Man, a child of Earth, and such eldritch horrors did not shake me. Instead they empowered me, and where Buo and the amassed Nug Soth nations saw me as the Arch-Wizard Zkauba, I knew I was something more, something different, and something they could never understand. No matter what body I wore, I was a man. I was Randolph Carter, Warlock of Yaddith!
CHAPTER 12
From the Account of Robert Martin Olmstead
“Into the Ether”
I woke to a strange vibration, a deep melodic thrumming that makes the air electric, almost like a charged fluid. Oddly, while the sound permeated the air, the integral bench, the walls, and even the floor didn’t seem to be a conduit for the resonance. Like the exterior, the interior was a large oval, approximately one hundred feet long, comprised of the same latticework of a white material that that the exterior was. As I mentioned before, the interior was divided into three levels by two floors of the same strange material. Access between levels was accomplished by a centrally located, tightly curved ramp that reminded me of the central spiral of a conch. All of this meant that the ship was smooth and curving, completely devoid of any hard angles. One section of the curved wall was lined with dozens of cylinders, each larger than a full grown man. The other wall was lined with frosted, semi-transparent cabinets containing sundry items including bottles, jars, small idols, shelves of books, and even a stack of small gold ingots. At the far end, opposite the loading door, there was the control area. Like the rest of the ship it was smooth and white with an almost organic sense to it. The various raised panels present dozens of buttons, levers and actuators of all types. It was overwhelming to say the least.
Chandraputra was working furiously over the panels, and using his right hand, began orchestrating a series of esoteric symbols in the air above the equipment. In response a huge panel slid back along the wall and revealed a window. The window showed the village of Kingsport passing beneath us as we headed out over the ocean. “This ship,” announced Chandraputra, “is made almost entirely of solid light, a material created by the Nug Soth eons ago.”
I recognized that name from the book I had just read, I must have gasped or something because Asenath caught my eye and surreptitiously signaled me to be quiet.
“These ships can be thought of tkrt as being able to fold the very fabric of space and time around them into envelopes of the real tkrt that can then be shunted into the space in between. They are extremely fast, and tkrt can traverse the vast distances between stars in a matter of hours. However, within the boundaries of a planetary atmosphere such manipulations of tkrt the universal fabric are dangerously unstable. We will still be able to fold our way into the in-between, but we won’t tkrt be able to travel as fast as I would like. Still, we should be able to tkrt reach a velocity such that we shall be in Antarctica in a few tkrt hours with almost no problems.”
Waite chimed in a suspicious “Almost?”
Chandraputra bobbed his body up in a strange animal nod. “There are risks. Since we’ll be traveling tkrt near the speed of light in an arc, our instantaneous linear velocity at any given point may tkrt exceed the speed of light and generate some distortions in time. This could attract tkrt some unwanted attention.”
“Care to be more specific about what kind of attention?” pressed Hartwell.
“Time is like a huge, slow tkrt moving river. Objects moving with the river are tkrt virtually invisible, like fish tkrt hidden in the current, but a move sideways or against the current and the fish tkrt becomes obvious and easy prey.”
Hartwell’s eyes grew large. “Prey for what?”
Waite diverted the question. “Would you like to stay behind, Doctor Hartwell?”
Hartwell paused and studied the surrounding faces before focusing on Waite. “I’ll go. I just wanted to know what the risks were.”
Chandraputra raised his arms above his head. “If only it were that easy Doctor, I tkrt doubt any of us would have chosen the tkrt paths we now travel.”
The sense of motion was slight, but enhanced by the image provided through the window. There was an ethereal quality to our propulsion, and I was, as were most of the Weird Company, entranced by the things that suddenly appeared and surrounded the ship as we moved into what Chandraputra called the in-between. Only our strange captain, who seemed to be used to such things, was not enthralled by the scene. In contrast I, Elwood and Waite were held in rapt fascination at the vista beyond the ship.
In many ways, I thought, it was like the sea. There was a matrix, like water, but seemingly less dense and more varied in hue. Vast shoals of color with shades and dimensions filled my vision, like massive clouds roiling in the depths. Flumes of congregated lights darted about them not unlike schools of fish. Larger shapes, and that is all they were, for no details could be discerned, swam, flew and pulsated about, some in obvious pursuit, others seemingly unaware or at least unconcerned about the events about them. It was on Dr. Hartwell that the vista had the most obvious effect. It seemed the display of muted lights and the complete lack of sound from exterior to the ship had profoundly affected the Doctor. So much so, that it was he that was first to break the silence and ponder out loud, “What are they?”
Chandraputra’s dark eyes opened slowly and wide with an audible and strange click. He rose deftly and strode gracefully to Hartwell’s side. “Ahhhh, that is life Doctor. Not as you know it. Not organic life with water and cells and chemistry, but life nonetheless. This is the space between, where things only hinted at come to frolic and stalk. That multi-colored blur over there is a saturnine cat, and those groups of grey pulsing lights to the left are called shamblers.”
“What are those pale, thin lights over there?” asked Waite, pointing uselessly into the vista.
Chandraputra tilted his head and made a queer frightful sound. “Those are horrid things, predators who feast solely on things that have violated the flow of time. The Nug Soth call them the beasts of Quacchil Uattus, but men call them the Hounds of Tindalos.”
“Didn’t you say we were moving through time?” uttered Hartwell haltingly.
Chandraputra once more bounced his head in that strange animal semblance to a nod. “Indeed, but the hounds can only attack through a hard angle. The light-ships are designed around curves to prevent just that.”
“They are getting closer,” observed Hartwell.
Carter watched as the hounds wheeled toward the ship like hawks toward a rabbit. “Indeed they are. Not to worry, I’ve seen this before. They’ve caught our scent, but they can’t get in. The ship has no angles for them to
breach.”
Hartwell backed away as the hounds drew up toward the walls of the light-ship. The pack numbered six, and at close range their true nature became apparent. In my eyes they bore many traits that truly made them hound-like in appearance. They were quadrupeds with each foot bearing sharp claws that apparently helped grip the strange ether of the outside space. A bony tail whipped back and forth angrily. Their heads were long and muzzled but without cheeks, which exposed rows of sharp teeth along the front and the sides of powerfully muscled jaws. There were rudimentary ears that curved back and rejoined the skull at its base. The beasts were lean, like starving dogs, revealing strange ridges of rib, spine and hips beneath pale, glistening, hairless skins. Hartwell watched them, with growing anxiety, his eyes and head darting back and forth to keep the monstrous things in sight.
I eventually grew bored with the whole affair. I will admit that there was an unnatural beauty to be found out there in the in-between, there was something more interesting to me inside the ship. My opinion of Asenath Waite had changed since my strange encounter with her younger self. The animosity that I had felt for her, that I had transferred to her, was long gone. In its place there was something else, a spark of appreciation for who and what she was, what she had been through, and what she was trying to do. To be sure it was odd, knowing what I knew about Ephraim and Asenath, and how out of vengeance one had become the other. Yet I didn’t care. There was something about her, about the way she spoke and moved that was alluring. She was unlike any other woman I had ever met, and while there was an obvious reason for that, in my mind it only made her more attractive.
She was still wearing that strange outfit, with the slope hat by her side. She was sitting by herself making notes in a small book. She looked deep in thought, introspective. She looked like a woman who could handle anything this world or any other could throw at her. How long I stood there I can’t say, but it must have been a while for eventually she noticed that I was staring at her, closed her book and with a coy look motioned me to join her.
As I settled in beside her I caught a strong whiff of her scent. She smelled like hyacinth carried on a sea breeze, and I drank it in and let her fill my senses. She placed her hand on mine and smiled. “Mr. Olmstead, is there something you want to say to me? Because I am getting the distinct impression that you're becoming a lap dog, and that is something I don’t need.”
I hung my head, more in mock shame than anything else. “My apologies Miss Waite.”
“Actually, it’s Mrs. Derby. You should call me Asenath.”
I was a little surprised. “I hadn’t realized you were married. You don’t wear a ring.”
“My relationship with my husband is unconventional. We find traditional symbols and roles limiting.” A malicious smile crawled across her face.
“I’ve read your letters. I know what you are, who you are, I just have to ask why you’ve stayed where you are?”
There was a look of bewilderment on her face, one that was quickly replaced with something I read as respect. “What I do, the things I’ve studied, they were always as a man. I’ve always known that the things that I do, that you would call magic, were dependent on gender. There are things that men can do that women cannot, and vice versa. The universe it seems responds to the masculine and the feminine in different ways. Neither is better, they’re just different. Living as a woman was a necessity at first, it gave me power over certain factions in Innsmouth, and then later hid me from the forces that occupied my home.”
“And the magic?”
“I found ways to do what needed to be done, at least until recently. As I said, there are some things men can do that women cannot, and vice versa. Unfortunately what I needed to do required me to find a suitable male with whom I could make the rendition, but only on a temporary basis. I’ve grown too old and too wise to throw away a body that is perfectly healthy with many years in front of it. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve become very comfortable in this body, it has its advantages.”
The conversation went on like this for some time, and strayed into areas that were uncomfortable for both of us. She told me about how she learned to adapt to being a woman and how they saw the world differently than men, and I told her about how I watched the other members of my family succumb to the transformation. In both our cases there were societal institutions that didn’t know how to deal with our particular situations. In my case the only way my family could deal with Lawrence was to place him in an asylum. In hers, while the Hall School provided a refuge, it also was something of a prison. The rigid structure forced Asenath, who knew more about world history, science and literature than anyone short of a college professor, was forced to sit through classes on manners and needlework. It was all so laughable how the world dealt with things that didn’t fit into predictable categories. I couldn’t help thinking about round pegs and square holes.
Chandraputra interrupted with an announcement. “We’re coming up on the transmitter, I’m tkrt going to start banking toward the coordinates tkrt you’ve provided. We could be at our destination in tkrt under a half-an-hour.”
A look of satisfaction came across Asenath’s face. “Thank you Chandraputra. I trust . . .”
Whatever else Asenath was going to say was lost as Hartwell suddenly started screaming. “They're gone! They were right outside the ship, and now they’re gone! The Hounds of Tindalos, they're gone!” He backed away from the window and moved toward the center of the ship. Not watching where he was going he bumped up against the Packard, and swiftly crawled into the driver’s seat and slipped out of view.
We were all watching as the car door clicked shut, but it was Elwood who’s eyes grew suddenly wide and in a panic rushed forward. “Angles. The ship has no angles, but the car!” Chandraputra’s great bearded head swayed in puzzlement as Elwood screamed his name. “CHANDRAPUTRA THE CAR IS FULL OF ANGLES!”
Elwood’s warning came too late. Sick blue light had suddenly seeped out of the car as something from outside found its way to the interior of the Packard. Waite yelled, “Hartwell get out of there!”
The only response to her plea was a horrid, piercing scream, followed by a sickening wet gurgling noise. A red mist filled the interior. As something large and pale struggled within, the car door buckled outwards and all four tires exploded in concert. Another bulge ripped up through the hood, cracking the windshield and spraying glass into the air. The bulging steel of the hood cracked and then split open as a large pink fleshy tube burst through. The tube spewed a thick viscous fluid that glowed blue as it spread across the floor of the ship.
The ship lurched and Chandraputra yelled, “Hold onto something!” Waite searched for a firm grasp in vain, in a ship comprised of gentle slopes and curves there was little to grab onto. Elwood on the other hand seemed oddly relaxed; indeed he appeared to be entering into a deep meditative state. As I dove for the curve of the ramp and clamped on tight I briefly loss sight of the man. When I turned round again Frank Elwood was nowhere to be seen. Try as I might I could find no trace of the man, it was as if he had completely vanished. The ship lurched again, and then seemed to spin out of control. I looked to Chandraputra for direction, and what I saw was not what I expected.
Chandraputra was speaking in a strange, inhuman clicking language that issued forth from his unmoving mouth. As the mystic chanted, a circle of blue light formed on the floor beneath the car. It seemed to dilate into a center point and then slowly transitioned to yellow. A three-pronged claw tore through the side door shredding steel like cardboard. The glowing circle transitioned to orange as the hound stepped out onto the floor and roared. Behind the beast something else, something human, shuddered and convulsed, spraying gore across the vast interior of the ship. A hand flopped down between my feet, twitching violently as green viscous fluid drained out at the wrist. It flopped over and crawled behind me like a rat scurrying for a hole. I tried to follow its movements but lost it as the beast roared and the circle of light tu
rned red. As my eyes darted across the ship I noted that the mass of blood and gore that was once named Doctor Stuart Hartwell had inexplicably vanished. Like Frank Elwood, every trace of the doctor was gone.
My attention turned once more to the horror raging inside the ship. The red circle vanished and was replaced with a vast jagged opening to the exterior which served to turn the interior of the ship into a storm of wind and sound. The hound screamed in agony as it was suddenly blown out of the ship. Its claws grabbed onto an edge briefly, but that hold was tenuous, and it slipped away screaming. Waite clung to me as my preternatural strength seemed capable of holding all of us in place against the torrent. The Packard, and the shards of glass, fell out after the hound and vanished into the ether. Suddenly, the strange in-between spaces were gone and the gaping hole in the ship was full of racing blue and white sky and huge monolithic mountains covered with snow and strange twisted black peaks. The air was bitterly cold and the wind bit into my flesh as I pulled Waite in tight to my chest. As the ship with us inside plummeted uncontrollably downward, the landscape became a raging blur of color, and the air filled with the sound of wind screaming and whistling through the damaged ship. We were tumbling and spinning and through the hole and the window I could see the world go mad as grey sky and the frozen grey surface of Antarctica became indistinguishable from each other.