Yaquud spent years after the death of his mentor studying his chosen field with fervor. He eventually obtained a position at the University of Riyadh, where he would be reasonably close, geographically, to his main goal. It was Yaquud’s ambition to one day uncover the ruins of Irem, the City of Pillars, and this he actually accomplished. Before that, however, he confided to certain colleagues, including one Hassan Ze’ez, that he had gleaned clues to various half-mythical sites from the yellowed pages of the more dubious volumes stored in the Cairo Museum. Yaquud claimed to have spent months on leave from his academic duties searching the most desolate regions for lost relics of the past. Some suggested that these delvings were far from fruitless, but that Dr. Yaquud dared not display—or even disclose—what he found.
That Yaquud was not quite sane was widely whispered, but the man was indisputably a genius. He was tolerated as Abdalmajid had been by his colleagues; he was Saudi Arabia’s greatest savant, a reputation won early in a precocious career and invulnerable to later suspicions. Irem had been a fascination of his that quickly grew into a fanatical obsession. He claimed to have owned photostats of rare, hitherto- unknown passages from moldering scrolls and codices concerning the many-columned city. Based on the findings of an earlier American expedition which had employed infrared satellite photography to trace ancient caravan routes, Yaquud knew the general vicinity where Irem must be, if it still existed, but he did not wish to lead a team of diggers there until he was fully “prepared.” Or so he told Hassan Ze’ez, who was not certain of what he meant.
For the span of seven years, Yaquud voraciously studied everything he could find that concerned Irem, including ancient maps of Arabia and eldritch astrological/astronomical charts. He also consulted so-called sages and wise men in Riyadh and other cities, asking for information and guidance, all of which served to fuel his desire to find the city. With great excitement Yaquud spoke of some coming event of tremendous import. The pending expedition was highly anticipated, for Yaquud had long since chosen his team of experts and promising doctoral students.
Using certain vague connections with highly placed individuals in the Saudi oil industry, he obtained permission to dig in the Rub al-Khali, the little-explored and rarely crossed body of sand, one of the most desolate regions in the world. The desert is generally restricted from public exploration, though to little point, since few have any desire to venture into the region. Plans for the official expedition were rapidly finalized. A dozen team members were present, most of whom were former students of Yaquud’s, with one notable exception, Professor Kashan, a contemporary of the esteemed professor who had on more than one occasion expressed doubts concerning his rival’s wilder theories.
The team members had a fortnight to prepare; then, on the first of May, they left Riyadh. They were equipped with three outdated trucks of government issue, their gear piled haphazardly in the long beds. The men were cramped but relatively comfortable. Their fist objective was to reach Laila, roughly two hundred and fifty miles south of Riyadh, where they would pick up more supplies. The expedition proper began after this stop. Heavily laden with equipment, they left early in the morning, before the worst of the heat. Within four days they had entered the Empty Quarter. According to Yaquud’s calculations, Irem lay somewhere in the southwest portion of the trackless waste. He had more specific coordinates, but these he refused to divulge, even to Kashan.
The caravan slowly wormed its way into the burning land. The monotony of the trek grew evermore apparent; during the day all that could be seen was the endless ocean of sand, and during the night, a black star-filled expanse overhead. Nothing seemed to change. For a week the expedition crawled deeper into the uncharted void.
On the first day of the third week a sudden sandstorm ravaged the party as soon as they had set camp. In the morning it was found that one of the trucks had been partially buried—sand had seeped into its motor, rendering it inoperable. Although the caravan was crippled, Yaquud refused to return to Riyadh empty-handed. They salvaged what they could and continued. For the next few weeks mysterious things happened at night when the caravan stopped to make camp. Several men complained of seeing fleeting shadows and other strange hallucinations. Yaquud carefully listened to their words, plainly worried. It almost seemed as if they were being followed—but by whom, or what? Small objects were invariably found missing in the mornings, like pots and pans, electric torches, and, in one instance, a hand pistol. With each successive night the thefts became more numerous.
It was on the second night of the fourth week that Dr. Kashan awoke to see a shambling, emaciated figure kneeling over his knapsack, rifling through its contents. Kashan let out a yelp of alarm and the thing loped off into the sandy wilderness, lurching with a peculiar gait. Kashan immediately informed Yaquud, who muttered something about “ghouls." Ignoring his nonplused colleague’s stammered protests, Yaquud produced a khaki-veiled glass container that he had ordered from a glazier in Riyadh just for this purpose, it seemed. He set out into the night carrying the curiously shaped container, almost manshaped, like a hollow glass doll, and came back five hours later, empty-handed and depleted of strength. “I have paid the price; we shall have safe passage from here on,” he announced. True to his word, the thefts stopped after that.
For another two weeks the caravan straggled onward, fatigued by this time. A depression had settled over the party, numbing each member to the rigors of the journey. The bleak surroundings seemed to drain them of vitality; the desert waste is empty. It erases. It is rightly said that no man may dwell for too long in the Empty Spaces and not be changed.
Throughout the journey, Hassan Ze’ez silently wondered about the real objective of Yaquud. Surely it was not merely archaeological, he reasoned. Ze’ez rode in the back of the second truck, shaded from the brutal sun by a canvas top. The only thing for him to do was to constantly think.
On the third night of the sixth week, Ze’ez finally approached the enigmatic team leader as he sat to one side of the camp fire. Yaquud was wont to brood alone, as far away from the others as possible. Ze’ez bluntly demanded to know the source of Yaquud’s information concerning the location of Irem. For a minute it seemed as if Yaquud would not respond, then he muttered something about an ancient manuscript owned by a private collector in Baghdad. When asked what manuscript this might be, Yaquud again waited, then shrugged his bony shoulders and said, "The Kitab Al-Azif, the author of which spent much time in the many-columned city.” Of the matter he would speak no more. Confused more than before, Ze’ez made his way to the tent that he shared with three others. Silently he shook his head at his colleague’s apparent gullibility at an imposture which had now implicated the whole party in a fool’s errand.
The next day was when the momentous event occurred: The ruins of Irem were discovered. In the false dawn the expedition broke camp with a keen feeling of expectancy in the air. They had traversed little more than two miles when Yaquud, who rode in the cab of the first truck, sighted the ruins from afar. The sky by then blazed with dazzling brilliance.
At first glance the City of Pillars seemed like a shimmering mirage —skeletal ruins half buried under the shifting sands. Immediately Ze’ez was struck with a wave of emotion, a strange mixture of elation and menace. An eerie quiet settled over the party, intensifying as they drew closer.
At close range the brooding ruins proved to be faded red in color, webbed with cracks from centuries of weathering. Crumbled piles of titanic masonry, baked clay blocks weighing many tons each, comprised the inner foundation of the eroded city. Encircling these were massive broken walls and battlements. The empty gates were flooded with sand.
Yaquud bleated with insane exhilaration; the rest of the party was still gripped by the strange hush. The leader hopped out of the truck before it had come to a full stop, fifty yards from the nearest tumbled wall. He scurried away toward the city, notebook in hand. Without hesitation he ran unerringly through the maze of debris to a colossal mount of stone,
a building that had not completely crumbled.
The rest of the men shortly followed, stunned by the dark atmosphere of age that radiated from the fallen city. Sand choked the ancient streets and huge, fantastic, half-hidden columns lay scattered about. As the men wove their way through the debris, it seemed as if something sinister lurked nearby, unseen.
Yaquud was within the vast central edifice—the only structure still standing—scouring the walls, searching for minute inscriptions. Once aware of other presences in the chamber, he feigned minimal interest.
The remainder of the day was spent on surveying the site, with two teams dashing about recording their findings. According to certain elder texts, Irem was a square of ten parsangs—or leagues—on each side, i.e., thirty miles; the walls were of red Cyclopean bricks, 500 cubits high and 20 broad—approximately 11,000 feet tall, 440 wide; with four gates of breathtakingly ornate grandeur. It was further said that Irem contained 300,000 kasr—palaces—each with a thousand pillars of gold-bound jasper. The old tales had been exaggerated with each translation, of course; the palaces were considerably fewer in number than supposed and showed no signs of precious metals. The measurements for the walls, however, were fairly accurate.
Before long a rough map of the site was sketched out, although much of the southern section was blanketed with sand. Much work had been accomplished by the time night fell; despite the oppressive silence of the ruins a celebration was held in honor of Yaquud and the discovery. Ze’ez was torn; he was frightened by a nameless dread and elated— what they had done was secure proof of a myth, the existence of which would insure the team’s fame and prosperity for the rest of their days.
The night passed slowly, abnormally cold. Yaquud had erected his tent next to the central structure while the others had made camp beside the broken walls. Ze’ez stayed awake, conscious of the nearly suffocating mental miasma of age that emanated from the city.
The morning came quickly. The aura of dread lingered on the dry air, though not as strong as the previous day. Ze’ez’s duties included digging for relics and listing the visible remnants.
The first finds were prosaic enough—initially. Nine immense broken pillars were uncovered, ringed about the central edifice. They appeared to be composed of stones not native to the region; indeed, Professor Yarib, a geologist/mineralogist, could not identify the stone. Further digging revealed grotesque baked clay images that had squatted on the tops of the columns while they stood. Yarib and Sabi, one of the diggers, brushed sand from the statuettes. As they did, the other team members gathered around, fascinated.
The images represented non-human figures with bizarre symmetry and configurations. Ze’ez, standing on the outside of the rough circle, felt an immense surge of undiluted apprehension. The carven images were evil. Of this Ze’ez did not doubt, though never before would such an emotional reaction to an ancient artifact have even occurred to the archaeologist. From the reactions of those around him, this impression was not his alone. Yaquud, however, excitedly shoved his way through the small crowd to examine the finds. Eyes wide and gleaming, Yaquud gathered the fragments of the statuary and carried them away to the research area he had marked out by the central structure, where he remained for the rest of the work day.
Later more pillars and statuettes were found. Apparently Irem had been home to a vast forest of stone monoliths, each with its own hideous guardian. Ancient lore had made of Irem a center of idolatrous pilgrimage foreshadowing Mecca. From all points of the Arabian peninsula (and, some hinted, farther), the faithful and the superstitious would converge on the many-columned metropolis seeking out any and every debased idol and blood-stained effigy known to Semitic demonology —and no doubt many that were not. Had not the Prophet warned Mecca that it, too, stood to reap the fate of Irem, destroyed for its blasphemies by the vengeful hand of Allah?
When informed of the new discoveries, Yaquud hastily ordered each to be sent to his quarters. Yaquud was trembling with obvious anticipation, affecting the team members. He was absent from the evening meal. He was absorbed in cataloguing his finds when Professor Kashan consulted him about the morrow’s activities. Kashan came away from Yaquud’s tent ashen-faced. When asked the source of his trouble, Kashan fearfully whispered, “Yaquud merely stared at the statuary and said ‘It is even as the mad Arab wrote.’” Kashan retired early, leaving the others bewildered.
Ze’ez remembered what Yaquud had told him in private about his information and wondered if this "mad Arab” was the one who wrote the Kitab Al-Azif. The name—or title, rather—struck a chord in the murky depths of his memory, but the information stubbornly refused to be recalled. With all the legends and folklore that Ze’ez had studied, it was easy to forget names.
A quick glance in Yaquud’s general direction showed that he was still awake; his silhouette as he sat at his small table could faintly be seen against the canvas wall of his tent. He seemed to be studying the pieces of statuary.
Ze’ez wearily responded to the wake-up call. It seemed as if something—perhaps the bleakness of the region—had been draining him of vigor. Ze’ez groggily assisted with the excavation of more monoliths and fallen buildings, carefully photographing each one for documentation.
Yaquud and Achmed, his assistant, were working in the colossal central edifice, leaving no stone unturned in their search for useful specimens. Toward midday an amplified howl of triumph tore from the interior of the structure, bringing the scattered men running to investigate. Inside, Yaquud was lying on his side, his face pressed against the rubble-strewn ground.
“See? There!” he exclaimed, pointing to a long, thin crack in the stone floor. “I did not notice it before—a concealed trapdoor!”
Working with renewed fervor, Yaquud and three others cleared the area, brushing sand away with their hands. An irregular flat stone soon lay uncovered.
“What can it lead to? A tomb?” Achmed asked.
“No, I think not,” Yaquud absently murmured. After a moment’s pause in which he seemed to eye his companions suspiciously as if regretting he were not alone at the moment of revelation, Yaquud called for a spade. With the tool firmly in hand, he wedged its blade into the crack. Achmed joined him with a spade of his own. With assistance from the others, they succeeded in prying the lid from the ground, releasing a rush of stale air. After giving the edifice several minutes to air out, they returned to the edge of the aperture. With the dim light cast from an electric torch they saw crude steps leading downward.
The find caused a great deal of excitement among the workers, but Ze’ez, watching Yaquud’s countenance flash with ulterior triumph, felt chills travel up his spine.
Yaquud stood and announced that he would descend the stairs, followed by any volunteers. Despite the general excitement, no one offered to accompany him. At this he appeared not disappointed but, rather, relieved. Yaquud found a heavy coil of rope and tied one end around his waist, securing the other end under a large chunk of masonry. He selected a fresh flashlight and entered the opening, stepping cautiously to determine if each eon-untrodden step would bear his weight. A moment later he disappeared. Only the uncoiling rope indicated that he was still moving.
Twenty minutes slowly passed. During the last five of these, the rope ceased to feed out. Worried, Achmed called out to Yaquud, who answered a minute later, his voice distant. “I am fine,” his voice trailed up. “The stairway is fifty yards deep. I am presently before a large— bronze?—door adorned with curious inscriptions. I am transcribing these into my notebook.”
The group erupted with fanciful discussion. Young Achmed said, “It is a tomb!”
Kashan differed. “No, in the Arabian Nights this city was likened to Paradise—it is a treasure room!”
The speculation continued until Yaquud climbed out of the tunnel, covered with dust. “Here it is,” he wheezed, producing his worn notebook. Several sheets were decorated with elaborate sketchings of bizarre characters. The origin of the writing was unknown, yet str
angely familiar to Ze’ez. The hooked glyphs were arranged in narrow rows and bore a slight resemblance to Sanskrit, but this was only an analogy; he could think of no language, ancient or modern, to which such gibberish might be akin.
After taking a long draught from his canteen, which he had thoughtlessly left behind, Yaquud said: “I have just the book to translate the writing.” He retrieved his notebook and rushed to his tent, where he shuffled through a box. He at length pulled out a battered copy of Professor Gordon Walmsley’s Notes on Deciphering Codes, Cryptograms, and Ancient Inscriptions.
“I must have silence,” Yaquud instructed the jubilant men who had followed him into his quarters. The various discussions trailed off. A few of the men left. The rest watched as Yaquud flipped through the smudged pages of the book until he had found a chart. Then the long process of translation began.
An hour later all the men had drifted away, as if feeling themselves intruders upon an intimate moment, waiting patiently outside in the shade. All thoughts of work were far from their minds. Only Achmed stayed by Yaquud’s side. That evening, after dinner, a haggard-looking Yaquud made his way to the workers, holding the notebook once again. It was plain that he had succeeded in his task; his gloating features said as much.
Pyrate Cthulhu: Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos, Volume 1 (4.0) Page 16