The Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK™, Vol. 4: Nictzin Dyalhis

by Nictzin Dyalhis

  Everywhere I looked were slabs that were covered with petroglyphs. Whatever the race, they had had a written language, and moreover, they had been prone to embellishment. They must have been, like the old Egyptians, dominated by a priesthood, to judge by the character of the many pictures illustrating the graven text. But if those same pictures were aught to go by, their gods must have been born from a union of a nightmare and a homicidal maniac’s frenzy! It gave me the chill creeps just to look at those pictures, so foul and unholy were the rites and acts depicted.

  * * * *

  It was during my watch. My companions snored in a most inharmonious concert; and while I was in nowise asleep, I had drifted into a sort of reverie. Slowly I became aware of a pair of eyes gleaming with opalescent lights, staring across the fire at me. Thinking it might be Koto’s father, I spoke low-voiced in greeting. But as no reply came, I grew angry and asked who it was and what it wanted. Again no reply, so I snatched up my short bow and drove an arrow beneath those glowing orbs.

  A silvery laugh was my only reward. A hard-driven arrow is no laughing matter, but anything could happen in this accursed land, I decided.

  “The little death-wand has no power to harm me,” a voice asserted in those same silvery tones. Nay, O Stranger; how may you slay one who died ages agone—but who still lives—and rules?”

  So that little ‘death-wand’ may not slay you,” I snarled. “Well, we’ll see what this will do!” And my sword leaped in a whistling cut across the tiny fire. Had there been a head and body there, they must have parted company! But the blade encountered—air!

  Across the fire, smiling indulgently, as might one tolerantly amused by the tantrums of an otherwise interesting child, there sat a resplendently beautiful woman, a vivid, gorgeous brunette, with a slightly greenish tinge shimmering over her slender gold-bronze hued body. Her attire, a merest wisp of some pearly glimmering gossamer fabric, accentuated every personal charm of her exquisite form.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “A Princess of Hell I am, yet having dominance here on this region, likewise. Ages agone I ruled in this city when it was in its height and glory.

  But there arose among the priests a mighty magician whose power became greater than mine. Quakes and fire and flood he loosed upon me and my people—and we became that which no more is—yet destroy us wholly he could not.

  “So it is but a city of ruins you now behold, wherein, as ghosts, my people dwell; and I, a ghost, too, abide with them part of my time, and rule over a ghostly people and a wrecked city.”

  “If you are a ghost, you look like an extremely tangible one,” I stated bluntly.

  “Yes?” and she laughed in derision. “Was it an ‘extremely tangible’ ghost against which you tried two different death-wands? Still you are correct, in part. I am tangible enough now, as you may prove for yourself, should you care to do so. I build my body as I need it, or revert it to vapor when its use is over. Child’s play, to my magic, O Stranger… You disbelieve? See!”

  She arose, a vision of alluring loveliness, passed deliberately through the fire, and seated herself at my side so closely that I could sense the magnetic radiations of her.

  “You may touch me, take me in your arms if you will, kiss my lips till your blood is aflame, and cool your ardor in my embrace, nor shall you find me unresponsive!”

  Her rounded arms stole about my neck like soft, satiny serpents.

  “So,” she murmured. “Am I not tangible? Desirable, too? Take me, and I will be to you as no other, woman, or spirit, or ghost, fiend, devil, or angel in all the universe can ever be! Power and wisdom and rulership will I place at your command…love and passion undreamed hitherto—”

  I had sat immovable, silent up to that point—but suddenly I made up for lost time. A violent shove sent her asprawl, squarely into the fire; and from my lips came a word so descriptive that Earth’s vilest would have blushed in outraged modesty had that epithet been applied.

  But the seductively lovely Princess of Hell evidently took the word as a compliment. And if she were angry at being shoved into the fire, she showed no sign thereof. Out from the flames she glided, more alluring than ever; not a hair of her dusky tresses disturbed; with never a blemish on her gold-bronze skin; and with a provocative smile on her curving lips.

  “What you have called me—I would be even that, for you,” she sighed languorously. “You and I were meant for each other since ever Eternity began—”

  But at that, I exploded! Meant for that she-devil? I? My hand shot out, seizing her slender throat in a vise-like grip, mercilessly.

  “You—!” The word was even worse than the first epithet I had used.

  “Since arrow and sword fail, let’s see what choking will do!”

  I tightened my clutch, putting forth all my strength. For good measure, I drove my fist into her face—and nearly dislocated my arm! For the Princess of Hell, she-fiend—ghost—woman—or whatsoever she really was or had been, simply wasn’t there! In fact, I wondered if she’d ever been there, or had I dozed, and dreamed?…

  “It was no dream, King Karan!”

  The voice was full, sonorous, pleasant. Glancing up, I saw a tall, stately old man, bareheaded, smiling in amity.

  “Zarf! Koto! Up!” I shouted, leaping to my feet, sword in hand. The old man raised his hand in protest.

  “Nay, King Karan, they will sleep unless I release them from their slumber. That she-fiend put them into a trance from which only someone with power greater than hers can arouse them. Nor will I do so until after you and I confer on a matter of mutual benefit.”

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “And what devilment do you plan against me and my comrades?”

  “Yon sleeper—Zarf—told you of a magician; and you set forth to seek that one, did you not? Well, I am he whom you seek, and your journey is at an end, King Karan. Knowing of your coming, I was prepared to greet you as soon as you entered my domains—and this ruined city marks my borderline. So, I am here!

  “King Karan, you are naught to me, nor I to you. But we have a common enemy—Djl Grm! Between him and me there lies an ancient feud. You he has wronged. There is a service—I get that from your mind—which you hope I can and will render you.

  “Karan, King afar from your crown, throne, and kingdom, you are a bold and resourceful man, and your two companions are worth an army of ordinary folk. Render me one service, faithfully, without evasion or quibble, and I will release your locked memory! Well?”

  “Arouse Zarf and Koto,” I commanded. “If you be the one I seek, they will identify you, nor will they harm you. I, Karan, give you protection!”

  He actually laughed at that, although there was more of admiration than derision in his laugh.

  “Bold as ever, King Karan,” he complimented. “As you have said, so will I do.” He made a slight gesture, murmuring something I could not catch. “Now, speak, in a whisper if you will, and see if they be asleep.”

  As I complied, they came abruptly to their feet, fully alert…they took one look…on Koto’s ugly face came such an expression of ghastly fear that I hastened to assure him he was in no danger. Zarf bowed in respect, albeit he showed no fear. Our visitor spoke, in a courteous manner:

  “You know me, Zarf? You, too, Baron Koto?”

  “You are Agnor Halit, the mighty magician I persuaded my King to seek,” Zarf responded gravely.

  Koto nodded vehemently. “My father says you have more power than the devil himself, O Agnor Halit.”

  “Is King Karan satisfied?”

  ”I am,” I confirmed. ‘’But why do you meet me here, rather than making me journey all the way to your abode?”

  “For this reason—the service I ask, if I am to release your inhibited memory, will take you back on your path, even to the near shore of the Sea of the Dead. And so, I save you many long, weary days of travel, hardship and danger.”

  “And this service?”

  “Give heed, then, and I will explain
. There is a treasure I would fain possess. There be good reasons why I may not go after it myself, yet those reasons would not affect you. Truth to tell, it is hidden in the territory ruled by another magician who knows not it is there. The one who hid this treasure is another magician…long ago he hid the priceless thing for some dire reason of his own. It is the statue of a naked, beautiful female; yet it is an enormous jewel—a flawless sapphire, a trifle over half life-size—”

  “No sapphire in all the worlds was ever that big,’ I objected. But Agnor Hal it merely smiled as he assented:

  “True! But magic works wonders, King Karan. Your throne is made of a huge chrysolite, albeit not in all the worlds was a chrysolite ever that big! Still are you ‘King Karan of the Chrysolite Throne.’ Magic made your throne from certain substances, yet a trader in gems would tell you it is genuine chrysolite!…

  “This sapphire statue was made from flesh and blood by enchantment. It is the actual body of a witch who dared withstand a great magician, long ago, until he conquered her by treachery. For punishment he transmuted her to sapphire, reducing her size to that of a half-grown child, and so left her a beautiful image in which her soul is still imprisoned. But once I have that image in my possession, I will have a hold upon him…

  “He hated her so greatly that after turning her to crystal, he could in nowise abide to look upon her constantly; wherefore he hid her in a submerged cavern near this shore of the Sea of the Dead. But that cavern can be entered—at times.”

  “And if I bring to you this statue—”

  “Then will I release the bonds that hold your memory in abeyance. So be it that you release the Sapphire Image to me, without any reservation or quibble—your memories of all the past will be perfect. I, Agnor Halit, magician, do pledge you this, Karan of Octolan. And my pledges I do keep to the last atom. I have wrought every known sin, and many nameless evils—but of one thing is Agnor Halit thus far guiltless—a broken promise!”

  “It is well,” I answered. And not to be outdone by him, a dealer in all unholiness, I gave pledge in return: “I, Karan, will deliver to you that treasure if I succeed in carrying out my venture, nor will I claim part or parcel in it. For aught I care, you may shatter it to blue slivers the moment I deliver it to you.”

  A demoniacal light flickered momentarily in that dark sorcerer’s eyes as he said vindictively:

  “I may do an even stranger thing than that, once the thing is in my possession!”

  “I am not concerned with your mysteries,” I shrugged. “All I need to know about you is that you and I have an agreement which we both intend to keep. Now, tell me all you can, that I may surely find that place where the Sapphire Image is hidden.”

  So for the rest of the night we three sat listening while that gentle-seeming old man told us in detail all he knew about our course—while at the same time he warned us frankly that we were going direct into the worst antechamber of Hell when we reached the entrance to the cavern. And, as we later found out for ourselves, he understated…

  * * * *

  “Lord Karan,” Koto said, pointing—“unless Agnor Halit lied, yon place is the entrance to the cavern we seek.”

  We dismounted after one glance, for the marks were unmistakable. Five huge boulders indicated the angles of a pentagon; in the center, a pool, evidently filled with water from the Sea of the Dead through some underground channel. To substantiate this supposition, the surface of the pool heaved with the heaving of the surges along the beach some few hundred yards distant.

  Even as we watched, the surface became violently agitated; a vortex formed, became a miniature whirlpool, making queer sucking noises, strange gurglings and whistling moans. This lasted for upward of an hour. After that, the surface became level and still.

  Then abruptly came a change. In the very center a huge bubble rose and burst, polluting the atmosphere with a most unholy stench. More bubbles rose and the stench grew worse. Bubbles came continually, and the pool boiled like a cauldron, filling the air with horrible odor. Then again the surface stilled.

  Now my courage well-nigh forsook me, and without shame I admit it. For I knew I’d have to dive into that loathly pool while the vortex pulled downward; and come up—if ever I did come up—while the bubbles arose! And it was in nowise a pleasing prospect. After we’d been studying the pool for some time, Zarf evidently came to the same conclusion I had reached, for he said bluntly:

  “My King, that old devil, Agnor Halit laid a trap for you! It is well known that King Karan does not lightly break his word. But if I, Zarf, have aught to say about this matter, here is once Karan of Octolan breaks a pledge, nor gives it a second thought. To plunge into that pool is the act of a madman. If that damned sorcerer wants that image so badly, let him come and dive for it himself, he will only go to Hell a little sooner, through a most befitting gateway, and this region of space will be that much improved because of his absence!”

  “But my memory, Zarf?”

  “Once you’ve gone into that filthy hole, you’ll have no need for it, as you’ll not come up to use it! Nay, let us rather go back to Koto’s hut and plot to regain your kingdom. If successful, we can then force Djl Grm to undo his foul sorcery—”

  Not so fast, Zarf,” Koto interrupted. “My father warned our King to comply with Agnor Halit’s request, and said that if he did, all would go well with his plans. But my father said, too, that if our King refused, he’d regret it all his life long.”

  Now Zarf and I looked at each other blankly, for there was truth in what Koto had just said.

  “I wonder if there is any other way to regain that statue,” I suggested tentatively.

  “I know a good way,” Koto said simply. It is just this: Koto goes down, and comes up with the image, or stays down there with it. And if aught goes wrong, Koto can well be spared—”

  “Nay, my Koto,” I said huskily, for I was deeply moved by the faithful fellow’s loyal and courageous proffer—“I can ill spare—”

  A gurgling noise from the pool. Koto rose abruptly, said no word and gave no sign, but dived like a frog, head first, into the center of the rapidly forming whirlpool. Neither Zarf nor I had been alert enough to prevent him, for he had moved too quickly. We stared at each other, open-mouthed in amazement.

  “King Karan,” Zarfs voice rang like a clarion—“when you regain your kingdom remember that brave fool, Baron Koto of the Red Wilderness, and sometimes think of—Zarf!”

  Splash!

  I stood alone, gaping stupidly at the spot where two splendid, loyal noblemen had disappeared. The vortex was growing weaker—it would cease ere long—then an eternity of waiting, hoping—perhaps they would never come up—I d be alone—never sec them again—I, a King minus crown, throne, realm, memory, wife, subjects—why! the only subjects I knew or cared about…

  I took a deep full breath, and dived.

  That vile fluid that stank so abominably hurt worse than it smelt. It was actually corrosive. It bit! Raw potash lye is its nearest comparison… I was still head down and going deeper. I was spinning with the swirling until I grew dizzy. My eyeballs felt as if burning out of their sockets from that acrid solution—down, down, and down! A faint, dimly seen blue light struck horizontally through the whirlpool—two vague, shadowy figures barely seen as I whirled in that mad headlong dance—a powerful grip clamped fast on one of my ankles and I thought I was being rent apart—the vortex hated to let go—but that mighty pull at my leg would not be denied—I looked up into Koto’s ugly face—then Zarfs voice, heavy with reproach:

  “King Karan, is this well? Go back, I pray you, as soon as the bubbles rise!”

  But at that, I flatly refused, standing on my royal dignity; and I made them yield the point, maugre their stubborn insistence.

  A tunnel stretched away into the dim distance, and up that tunnel we started—toward what? Steadily the blue light became stronger, and in my mind arose the certitude that it emanated from the Blue Image. Demon faces peered at us from cr
acks and crevices, but none of the devils of the place found hardihood to attack us.

  The tunnel debouched into a great cavern. In the exact center, on a mound of bleached skulls stood the source of the blue radiance—the Sapphire Witch herself. I gasped in awed admiration at the flawless perfection of her beauty—and suddenly, how I did hate that sorcerer Agnor Halit, to whom I’d promised to deliver that exquisite Image of Incomparable Loveliness! Cheerfully would I have bartered the empires of the universe for its possession—did I but own those empires—nor would I have considered the price exorbitant. I wanted it—I wanted it! And I’d pledged—

  Around that mound, in a ring on the floor of the cavern, lay many stones. Half the size of human heads they were, round as balls, and no two were of the same color. Every one was aglow, softly, with inward lights, as if each were afire deep inside—dark reds there were; dull orange; dusky blues, garish greens and sinister purples. We knew they were sentient, malignant, resenting our intrusion! Koto responded by kicking one stone that was apparently sneering at him and radiating contempt. At the impact of Koto’s foot, the smoldering stone gave forth a metallic clang like a smitten gong, rose straight in the air to the level of Koto’s face—then hurtled straight at him with a speed that would have cracked his skull, had not Zarf struck at the Flying Stone with his sword and deflected its course.

  A dozen of them promptly left the floor and flew at Zarf—who as promptly turned and fled. But he was actuated by discretion rather than fear. I saw him race headlong into a crack in the tunnel wall—and shortly, the devil who dwelt therein came tumbling out, well-nigh sheared in two by Zarfs sword. Evidently Zarf preferred coping with devils, to the Flying Stones. Koto, having the same idea, hastily retreated to the tunnel mouth—and I went with Koto. In another moment Zarf rejoined us there, grinning sheepishly. The Flying Stones did not follow us that far from the Blue Statue…