The Psychonaut: Book 1 in the Psychonaut Trilogy

by Adams, Tom

  “You?” Merrick released his hand from Karapetian’s. It fell to his side as if lifeless. “No, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Karapetian lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want to have to reveal the truth to you this way,” he said, “but events have made it inevitable.”

  A thousand questions rushed to the fountainhead of Merrick’s consciousness, but he asked the only one that mattered.

  “Why did you go?”

  Karapetian, Merrick’s father, emptied his wine cup again. “The hardest decision I ever had to make. Believe me, I would have cast aside my responsibilities, my power ... all of it, just to remain with the two people I loved most in the world.”

  Merrick brought his hands to his temples and shook his head. “You never returned. Abandoned us. Even when mother was dying ... you must have known.”

  Karapetian’s mouth remained impassive, but his eyes revealed sorrow. “Of course I knew. Every day I received reports back from my familiars, of how she declined with every breath. They told me how you nursed her, spent every waking hour with her during those last weeks. I was proud of you, but knowing your plight tore me up. I couldn’t even go to the funeral; I saw it through the eyes of the familiars.”

  “The crows? There were so many of them at the service. I remember everyone commenting on their number, lining the walls and the telegraph wires. It was like a farewell from beyond. But why didn’t you come? What can have been so precious that you would isolate yourself?”

  “I think you can answer that question yourself. Remember a time not so long ago when you had to choose between a loved one and your higher calling?”

  Merrick cast his mind back to Paraganet House so many months ago; the last time he had truly spoken to Lotus. He remembered the tortured conflict meted out in that moment, how his world was torn in two when he made the decision. A decision to throw his lot in with what he considered to be his destiny. How could he now criticise Karapetian, the man he now knew as his father, for making a similar choice?

  Karapetian moved across and sat beside his re-united son. “I watched you from afar, Merrick. Watched you grow up under the careful eye of my brother. I’ll be forever indebted to him.”

  “Did he and mother know of the order—I mean, its secrets, its magnitude, hell—its very nature?”

  “Martha knew much. She was gifted herself, but chose to stay on the fringes. Titus simply knew I was part of something cloaked from him. He didn’t ask too many questions—no doubt he thought I was part of MI6.”

  Merrick snorted. “He never knew the half of it, did he?”

  “And he chose for matters to remain that way—another thing I owe him for. As I rose through the ranks, and the possibility of leadership emerged, Martha withdrew more and more. Then you were born—and that changed everything. I revoked my allegiance and abandoned the Order.”

  Karapaetian reached across and poured them both another drink. “Only I learned that one doesn’t choose the Order; rather, it chooses you. In time, they found us, and entreated me to re-consider. They showed me what could happen if the Hierophants were to dissolve and be no more. We have acted as a restraining force against evil for so long.”

  “Don’t tell me. Shamon entered the scene.”

  “Yes. We should have divined his rise to power, but I became distracted. I questioned whether I had made a dreadful mistake leaving you and your mother, spent many long years brooding while I carried out my duty in the Order. You see, it was more than just choosing syncretic brethren over family; I saw it as a way of protecting you. Our enemies were many and if I had stayed, they would have found us just as the Hierophants did. Once Shamon’s rise was assured, I woke from my self-pitying stupor and galvanised the council of the Hierophants.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About a year before I reached out to you.”

  Thoughts and questions tumbled like shuffled cards in Merrick’s mind, then re-arranged themselves in a solitaire array of realisation.

  “So you laid your trail of breadcrumbs for me? The note left at my house and the text after my meeting with Garento and Harris-Billinger.”

  “I had to entice you with care. After all, you’re a perceptive man, and at the time—completely secularised. I knew I had to draw you into the Hierophant’s fold. It would only be a matter of time before Shamon came to know of you—and your power.”

  “A power that now lies beyond my reach.”

  “I understand your feelings of helplessness. I have had to carry a similar burden for over twenty years now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Psychonautics is a rare gift, but one that has surfaced in our family line sporadically for generations.”

  “You ... ?”

  “I first knew of my talents at an early age. I was brought up in a Hierophant enclave on the borders of Armenia. Unlike you, I was given expert tutelage, learned how to hone my power to the greatest of degrees.”

  Merrick rose from his seat and poured the last of the wine into their cups. “So, what happened?”

  “Another family trait. Impatience. At the time, we were in conflict with a group of adepts rising up from across the Caucasus mountains. In many ways they were a precursor of the Ukurum. A pre-earthquake tremor heralding a greater tectonic shift in the magickal realms. I was lieutenant in a squad of Hierophant warriors. I was also young and impetuous, ignored the teachings of my elders. During a desperate battle in the snows of that mountain range I unleashed the full force of my mind on the enemy—much as you did in Turkmenistan. We vanquished our foe but also took a heavy toll, many at my own hand.”

  “From that day I have never wielded my power in anger. Instead, I made use of psychonautic tributaries that trickled upstream from the main torrent of my potency. It’s them I have to thank ... or blame, for my ascendency in the Hierophants. It’s also why, up to now, I have never ventured forth in any combat operations.”

  Merrick stared solemnly at his father. “I see. So your presence here can only mean one thing.”

  Karapetian nodded. “It’s time to unleash the power one more time.”

  ~~~

  Jagur Shamon awoke from a night of deep slumber, refreshed and alert. His eyes settled on Lotus’ naked form and he recalled their night of animal abandon. His phallus stirred at the memory and Lotus felt the arousal. Presenting herself to him, they made love silently. It was the antithesis of their nocturnal rutting, but nonetheless potent.

  With him still inside her, they lay together for a while. He would remove their vital fluids afterward, but for now he was reveling in the moment. He filled up with the ancient energy of Ukurum and understood that he was on the cusp of elevation to a higher order. Once the Union of allies were destroyed he would seek an audience with It—a being even more powerful than the Leviathan. His credentials were more than sufficient for It to consider him worthy of an immortal’s rank.

  “Are you ready to witness the vanquishing of an enemy?” he said.

  She turned to him, still euphoric in the aftermath of their orgasm. “Remember ... you promised.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, my butterfly. Today we will both share in a conqueror’s glory.”

  A frown clouded her brow. “What if the Psychonaut unleashes his power again?”

  “He dare not. Theta herself saw how he reached the threshold of control on their last encounter. A further release will consume him, and all those for miles around.”

  “He may think the sacrifice worth it.”

  Shamon shook his head, his facial ornaments tinkling in the chilled atmosphere. “Whyte is a compromiser, emasculated by his own sense of ethics. For him, the means will never justify the end.”

  He rose from their bed, his action indicating that the discussion was closed. “We shall eat, then go out and meet our foe for the last time.”

  They had a light breakfast shared with Theta, Radice and the Ukurum Commander of operations. A sense of unbridled ambition and arrogance permeated
at the table, and Shamon rose at the end of it, ready to fulfil his destiny.

  “Theta, it is time to strike,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  His supreme general nodded. “I’ll take up position,” she said. Moments later they saw her rise to the skies on the back of an immense eagle, her silhouette that of a vengeful Valkyrie.

  Shamon looked at Lotus. “We shall conduct our practice in the mountain temple again. It will keep us secluded and far from the eyes of their far-seers.

  Lotus smiled as they mounted the steps of Shamon’s inner sanctum, and sat next to him in front of a Goat idol.

  “Take my hand,” he said to her, “and we will become destroyers of worlds.”

  In an instant they were flying as astral projections across the valley. Shamon could feel Lotus’ exhilaration, crescendoing as they saw the Behomoth loom before them. They entered its body, Shamon curious to notice how Lotus recoiled at the presence of such an ancient deity. Its consciousness was as old as that of the Ukurum, yet even deeper. Formed from the conjoining of great principalities at the dawn of time, it resisted their entry on the first attempt. But Shamon’s authority was greater and he forced the Behomoth to surrender its will as a growl of submission reverberated the hillsides.

  They could see through its eyes now and their joined will urged the Behomoth up the mountainside towards their foe. Shamon’s possession the previous day had drained him considerably. Now, with Lotus’ added strength the sense of impregnability, of absolute power, was intoxicating. He saw their body plant its feet on the kindred mountain rock and crush ravines, break glaciers or dam streams in its relentless drive upwards. It mattered not that the Behomoth suffered at being used, it was just another pawn, albeit a powerful one.

  Its head broke through a blanket of cloud and emerged into brilliant sunshine. There, in a natural corrie, he saw the Hierophant camp. The remaining, pitiful ragbag of warriors were arranged behind hastily erected barricades. An effective defence against an ascending, exhausted army, but a mere inconvenience for such an entity.

  But what was this? On a lip of the ice, there in front of him, were two, ant-like forms.

  It is Karapetian and Whyte. Lotus voice was inside his head. Crush them, my Lord. Let them be reduced to a memory, buried in the snow.

  The time for discussions and ultimatums was past. Shamon did not waste any words. He raised the Behomoth’s fist in the air like a monstrous hammer and let it descend on the two forms. Yet, even as it fell towards them, Shamon knew something was wrong. The way they stood, defiant, hand in hand. The sense of expectation on the upturned faces of the defendants. And then the resistance. Primal energy arced from them in a plume of cobalt blue, staying the igneous fist of the giant.

  A moment of panic, then Shamon received an upsurge of power from Lotus, conceived and enhanced by the wellspring of their Sex magick.

  The fist pushed downwards again with the weight of five thousand tonnes of granite.

  ~~~

  Chapter 43

  Killing the dragon

  Merrick held the physical and psychic hand of his father. He sensed Celestia and Destain’s mind-force augmenting and shaping their own. For the first time, Merrick experienced the three torrents of his psychonautics conflate. He read the thoughts of the possessed Behomoth, saw it as a geological feature impressed on his portal map and felt it recoil at the onslaught of their mind-bolt.

  He and Karapetian combined their tumultuous energies into one enormous Psychonautic burst, only this time, together, they could control the release.

  Nonetheless it was a stalemate. There was an ebb and flow of energy; in one moment the mountain-fist descended, in the next it was beaten back by psychonautic power. This stasis continued for minute after minute until, imperceptibly at first, then with increasing certainty, the Behomoth began a continuous thrust downward.

  Lazlo, we have to increase the power, Merrick sent.

  There’s something blocking its release, Karapetian replied. Our power is compartmentalised, conspiring against us. If we were one entity, there would be no barriers.

  What are you saying?

  You have to absorb my essence, Merrick.

  Wait, what will that do to you?

  It doesn’t matter, do it!

  There has to be another way.

  Another voice joined their mental union. It was Destain. Merrick, remember the second vision.

  Merrick searched the vaults of his memory. It came to him; the second scroll—’The dragon bites off three of the creature’s heads while a further head turns on another and devours it.’

  The three heads ... Merrick sent.

  We have lost three whole orders, together with their leaders. Karapetian again.

  Then the other head is ...

  You know what you have to do. Karapetian added his magickal powers of persuasion to the words, but Merrick didn’t need them. He heard their truth.

  He looked up at the Behomoth. It had raised its other fist, ready for the killing blow.

  Now, Merrick, now. They were Karapetian’s last words. He dropped his mental shield and immense energy funnelled into Merrick’s psyche, together with the invaluable gift of control. Celestia and Destain were cast from the meld as Merrick’s psychonautic bolt turned from blue to white.

  He screamed, his open mouth discharging the pent up anguish of the decision he had made as the Leviathan lifted both hands to its head.

  Even a mountain can feel pain.

  Still the energy increased. The bolt split into a delta of lightning forks enveloping the Behomoth’s head and upper torso. Merrick saw the granite flesh of the beast glowing, then melting to become a dripping torrent of molten rock. Its cries were as an earthquake, the mantle below the ground echoing the agony of its spawn. Underneath this ear-splitting roar, Merrick sensed the cries of two lesser beings.

  Shamon and Lotus.

  Merrick detected a new power added to his own. It was dark, malevolent and thrilling and he knew it was the magickal essence of Jagur Shamon. Next instant, the transferral was complete. Merrick saw the crumpled husk that Shamon had become. The Ukurum was vanquished.

  Uncreated.

  As Merrick’s power began to dissipate at last, he saw Lotus’ astral form take hold of Shamon’s and retreat to the other side of the valley.

  The Behomoth’s body had now become a molten stream of liquid rock, descending like some Hadean waterfall and terrible to behold. It toppled backwards, falling in slow motion onto the remaining Ukurum army. The impact began an avalanche; great slabs of rock shattered or rolled down the steep edifice, carrying Necrolytes, Amorphic and human Ukurum down to the foot of the mountain, their bodies broken and buried.

  Merrick returned to his corporeal self and staggered backwards to avoid being caught up in the rockfall. He scrabbled over the unstable ground and saw Karapetian’s lifeless form slide over the edge of a crevasse as the side of the mountain disappeared.

  After what seemed like an eternity of chaos, the mountain became still, all except for the dust that rose in dense clouds. Down below, the remaining Ukurum picked their way amongst the rocks or fled across the flood plain. Biff’s predators picked up many of them and doled out swift retribution.

  Celestia ran towards Merrick, crying out his name.

  “Celestia, stay back,” he shouted. “It’s not safe here.”

  She ignored the caution and took him in her arms. He was grateful for her support as she guided him back to the Hierophant defences. Loud cheers greeted them from the battered remnant of the Hierophants and Vril. Everywhere they looked, they saw weapons and fists raised to the sky and heard deafening roars of victory. As he passed through them, they reached out to touch him or slap him on the back. Everyone was eager to reach out to their saviour.

  “Let’s get you back to the tent,” Celestia said. Destain can give you a look over.”

  “I’ll be okay. I’ve some elixir left, it should do the trick.”

  “You need to
rest, Merrick. You can’t prop yourself up on chemicals forever. You’ve done your job. Leave it to the others to mop up.”

  With the mob still crowded round, he stopped at the tent entrance and looked at her. “Celestia. It’s far from over yet.”

  ~~~

  Johnny led his limping troop of mercenaries back up the mountainside. They picked their way over the Behomoth’s spoil heaps, helping any of the wounded they came across. For the most part, there was little left of the sacrificed humanity to rescue. The re-landscaped floodplain had become the graveyard of thousands. Here and there, they came across isolated Ukurum warriors, who either fled or knelt down in the universal posture of submission. He had no idea how to respond. While no stranger to the harsh realities of war, he saw no benefit in killing them, and taking them prisoner was a low priority seeing that the allies had their own to take care of.

  From a distance he had seen the Behomoth fall. Now, close up, he saw the effect of its passing. The mountainside had been completely re-shaped. The remains of the beast could be seen at the foot of a great defile, molten rock bubbling at the bottom. All around them, the slopes were littered with loose scree and dead bodies, making their ascent treacherous. The risk of further rockfalls was a constant threat, yet they managed to reach the encampment without further loss of life.

  He thanked the men under his command and arranged for those with more serious wounds to receive medical attention. Food and water was available from the mess tent. He snatched some, then headed for the Psychonaut’s quarters.

  “Merrick, you son of a gun,” he exclaimed upon arrival. “Glad to see you made it.” The Psychonaut, surrounded by Jason and the other companions, turned at the sound of his voice. His face was a gaunt, sombre mask, but cracked into a smile once he saw who had returned.”

  “Johnny. Likewise; we’d begun to think you’d bought it.”

  “Not me. I’m a cockroach. Bring the building down on me and I just crawl out of the rubble. Hey, isn’t Karapetian here to congratulate us?”

  Merrick’s smile faded. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”