A Mythos Grimmly

by Morgan Griffith

  Thankfully, Zkauba’s personality had retreated into a kind of catatonia, a response to his solving the Riddle of Thaqquallah, and learning the truth about the Nug Soth, the Dholes, and the Divinity that had spawned them both. I still had access to his memories, his skills and his encyclopedic knowledge of sorcery, enchantment and necromancy, and with them I had become a traitor to those around me. Where Zkauba had been a Wizard, I had become a Warlock, an oath-breaker in the old tongue, the Warlock of Yaddith.

  And I swore I would find a way home.

  No matter what the cost.

  The science of the Nug Soth was so advanced that it would look like magic to the men of Earth. Using it, I was able to begin my quest for a way to return to my former life. The Nug Soth were desperate for ways to fight the Dholes, and although I knew their battle to be futile, I joined their quest in order to further my own ends. Using a light envelope I journeyed to Shonhi, Mthura, Kath, and innumerable worlds throughout the twenty-eight galaxies that we could reach. Using the Silver Key and certain signs known to those of Yaddith I was even able to move forward and backward through time, at least to a limited extent. The Silver Key being a product of Hyperborean manufacture was attuned only to humans. Being trapped within Zkauba’s body and interlaced as our minds were, the power of the Key was limited, and any movement through the temporal dimension was unsustainable. For this reason and a host of others, not the least of which was the retinue of Tindalosian Hounds that seemed to follow me, I eventually ceased using the Key to move through time.

  Not long after, as the Nug Soth mark time, I found myself roaming through the stars of the Twentieth-Eighth Nebula moving from one inhabited world to another, when rumors reached me of an incredible artifact. The peoples of the world of Vhoorl had, through the combined forces of their science and artistry, travelled to the heart of the cosmos, the very nucleus of the universe and there captured a shard of the thing that dwelt there. It was a blasphemous and cacophonous thing of chaos and madness. It was an ancient aberration that had once stalked the stars, but had, through the passing of eons, finally retired from wandering and taken up residence near the very center of the twenty-eight galaxies. The installation of the thing had attracted lesser beings to its orbit and by the time the artists and engineers of Vhoorl arrived in their ships of sculpted order, there was a veritable court attending their daemon-king. There was gravity to the thing and with that came an atmosphere with which the sycophantic attendants could pipe and call upon thin alien flutes. It was to this place, to the very nucleus of the known universe, that the Vhoorl ship came and dipped its nets of light and force into the swirling mass of the thing that howled and roared in cosmic anguish. They stole just a tiny bit of the creature, a minuscule droplet, a shard so small it could not even have been said to exist, a fleeting, ephemeral thing, a tear and little more than that. In a prison of light and magnetic fields the amorphous thing resolved itself into a multifaceted gem of exquisite brilliance, a shining trapezohedron that they named after that which they had stolen it from, the Seed of Azathoth.

  The Vhoorl’kth and the Vhoorl’hst, for those that inhabited the planet were not of one species but rather two, having evolved from a common ancestor were pliant, boneless things reminiscent of polypus anemones from the abyssal plains of terrestrial oceans. Of the two, it was the Vhoorl’kth who had evolved furthest from their common ancestor, for they had achieved a greater level of cephalization, with a head, six eyes and a bundle of facial tentacles, but they still maintained a pair of great frond-like gills that spread out from their backs like the wings of some primitive dragon. In contrast, the Vhoorl’hst had clung to their trilateral symmetry and manipulated their artisanal creations with three ochre tentacles that were set about a ravenous mouth full of rasping, chitinous teeth. Both species had devoted themselves to orthometry, the practice of properly constructing verse, but they had pursued very different paths. The Vhoorl’hst had devoted itself to art, to poetry, to prose and the theater, and in some ways seemed obsessed with their own history and long dead dynasties. In contrast, the Vhoorl’kth were masters of the word-sciences and used them to create tools and ships and constructs all to aid their understanding of the physical universe and how it functioned. However, unlike the Vhoorl’hst the Vhoorl’kth lacked any sense of humility or self-understanding. They were in some ways soulless reflections of their semi-brothers.

  And those pursuits made both of these great races arrogant, and in their arrogance they were dangerous. Both races had a dream, a kind of queer racial goal, they both wanted to become more than what they were. They wanted to go beyond their absolutes or as they put it, their Hlu, and their uncertainties or as they put it, their Tru. They wanted to become something more, the distillation of their true nature, their Lon.

  The debate about what to do with the seed had lasted for weeks. The discussion was open to the public, and participation from the gallery of attendees was encouraged. Indeed those of Vhoorl had sent messengers to many of their nearest neighbors, including colonies of the Mi-Go, X’han, and t’Sathqq. Most strange was the presence of a small cluster of Rathk, an enigmatic race that had once established a small empire of worlds but then had suddenly become reclusive, to the point of xenophobia. Yet despite that they had shunned contact for more than five generations they had sent delegates, five of them in fact. They stood regal and aloof, towering over the others, their green, willowy bodies draped in diaphanous fabrics that concealed their six limbs, leaving only their faces full of tusks and compound eyes exposed.

  Only one species had failed to respond to the call. The Q’Hrell, the starfish headed carnivores had been invited, but the small outpost that they had established on a moon in a nearby system had refused the first overture with a kind of panic. Days later when more experienced envoys made a subsequent visit, the Q’Hrell were gone, their small colony abandoned. A search of local space found them; they were adrift on the solar winds, sailing at just below the speed of light, dreaming, waiting for the stars to be right once more.

  The debate proceeded without them. It delved into the science of what the seed was, and much was said of its potential for warping space-time. There was an analysis that suggested that the seed was a kind of exotic matter, it exhibited a kind of conscious energy, not sentience but a potentiality for sentience that itself was dense enough to cause a dimple in the very fabric of the universe. Even contained in a metamemic bottle, sealed off from any contact with the gravitic and magnetic forces of the cosmos, its presence could still be felt in the membranes that layered the universe. It was this property that the scientists and philosophical-artists of the Vhoorl were most intrigued by, and further exploration was what they suggested.

  The Vhoorl’kth proposed exposing the entire population of Vhoorl to the seed, transforming both races in unimaginable ways. In contrast, the Vhoorl’hst proposed exposing just one individual, and then seeing what happened. If the results were favorable, then the numbers of individuals could be expanded. The problem that the Vhoorl’kth argued was that exposure of just a single individual might not be enough to allow the Vhoorl consciousness to have an impact on the seed. They reasoned that because the seed was already composed of conscious energy, a single mind might not be enough to overwhelm the existing structure. A greater number of minds might be needed, only the collective consciousness of an entire species might be enough to establish control over the energy bound within the seed, or so the Vhoorl’kth reasoned.

  As this debate raged on, I found myself drawn into the fray, and while the position taken up by Vedic Ghat supporting the exposure of the entire population was well reasoned, the risks were high. Likewise, the caution expressed by the poet Scilda, seemed to me simply too cautious. That the two positions were so diametrically opposed seemed to me ludicrous, and a compromise seemed in order. Indeed, I was not the only one to have this thought and around me the other members of the gallery rose to express the idea. Sadly those words seemed to fall on deaf ears as both Ghat and Sc
ilda unreasonably rejected any such possibility.

  It was apparent to me that in this situation the direct approach was not going to work. They were like children, refusing to listen to even the most rational of ideas. My mind, my human mind hidden within Zkauba’s insectile body, raced. I had an idea, a germ of a thought and as I sat listening to the debate, my thoughts gelled into a coherent plan, a strategy. If they were acting like children, then perhaps they should be treated like children. When the opportunity came, I rose and waited to be recognized. I did not wait long, for even here on Vhoorl ,the knowledge and wisdom of the Nug Soth were well known.

  When I finally spoke, I tried to strike a balance between the serious and the sublime.

  “Esteemed colleagues, gracious hosts, I thank you for your hospitality and the opportunity to speak. This debate, this discussion reminds me of a story, a legend from a long forgotten culture, a story that I feel has a lesson relative to the issue. If you will indulge me, just for a few moments, I think my tale can be somewhat illuminating to the situation at hand.”

  There was a murmur that passed through the gallery, a wave of discussions that spiraled into the ears and out of the mouths of those in authority. They took a moment to let the opinions and desires of their peers slosh back and forth within their consciousness. Then with no more or no less fanfare than had marked any of the previous proceedings, I was given an almost imperceptible signal to begin, and so I did.

  Once, many years ago, so long ago that few remember the true time or place that these events took place, there lived a beautiful juvenile of the female gender of a two gendered species who went by the name of Amber Setae, or in short, Amber. She was, at least for her species, considered a relatively attractive thing, though rather small and frail, and truth be told, a somewhat ignorant and arrogant child. Her parents had in a way, spoiled her, and in doing so made it seem to her that the world, and perhaps the entire universe, existed only to fulfill her every whim and desire. As a result of her view of the world, a world of privilege and protection, Amber had no sense of fear, or responsibility, or reticence.

  It was Amber’s lack of such concepts, for she was completely devoid of any sense of self-preservation, that led her to wander from the path on which her parents had set her, and instead made her way through fungal rings, boughs of old trees, and fields of flowering plants. She reveled in the beauty of the natural world; she played with avians and watched insects dance from flower to flower. Her frolic took her deeper and deeper into the wild, and further and further from the road, until, at last, and inevitably young Amber was utterly and completely lost.

  In being lost she wandered further, and her wanderings took her further from the path she should have been on, and deeper into the forest. Somewhere along the way the woods turned from welcoming to dark and foreboding, which only became worse as the planet’s rotation caused the light from the primary star to fade, leaving only the glow from a small moon and an arc of stars, to allow her to sense her surroundings. In the gloom of the night, young Amber stumbled onto a well-worn game trail, one that led to a small cottage, a rural dwelling of primitive construction. It was not a place she was familiar with, but it offered comfort and security, and those were things she desperately wanted.

  Entering the cottage, she immediately caught the scent of prepared food. She called out, but no one answered. The home appeared to her, abandoned by its inhabitants, at least temporarily, and she followed the enticing odor from the entry way down the corridor and to the dining hall. There, set out on a great table, she found three bowls of food. Being hungry Amber sat down in front of the largest bowl and tasted it, but it was too spicy. Undeterred, Amber slid down the table and tried the contents of the mid-sized bowl, but it was too sweet. Finally, with no other options left to her, Amber sat down in front of the smallest bowl and found the contents a little sweet and somewhat spicy, and overall, just to her taste. Indeed, it was just right.

  Afterwards, Amber wished to warm herself and so made her way to the hearth room. There was a small fire and Amber sat down in the closest chair, but found that spot to be too warm. Moving to a smaller chair, one furthest away, but to her disappointment, the location was too cold. Finally, with no other options, she sat down in the smallest chair, which was situated between the other two and found that position to her liking, neither too hot nor too cold. Indeed, it was just right.

  As little Amber sat in that chair, she grew drowsy, and eventually nodded off, falling out of the chair. As she struggled to get back on her feet, she grabbed on to the chair and, unfortunately, once more lost her balance. While she was able to catch herself, her weight broke the back of the chair and tore the stuffing.

  Not feeling the least bit apologetic or remorseful, Amber made her way down the halls and, after a little exploring, found a large room with three beds. The largest bed was most attractive, but as she tried to lie down in it, Amber found the mattress too hard for her back. The lesser bed was prettier than the largest bed, but as she climbed into it, she discovered that it was simply too soft, and she sank into it so deeply that she felt like she was drowning. It was the third bed, the smallest of the three that Amber finally settled into and found to her liking. As she fell asleep, Amber thought to herself that this bed was just right.

  It was not long after Amber fell asleep that the owners of the cottage returned. The Faetch bore a superficial resemblance to the species to which Amber belonged; they were, after all, distantly related, but the differences were enough to drive the Faetch into hiding. They were so rare that Amber had only heard about them in stories. Indeed, in a generation or two, the Faetch would be extinct, and then forgotten, passed into legend; but in this age, they were still things to be feared, at least by juveniles lost in the forest.

  As soon as the Faetch came into their home, they knew something was amiss. The paternal Faetch looked at his bowl and said, “Somebody has been eating my food!”

  The maternal Faetch looked at her bowl and said, “Somebody has been eating my food!”

  Then the juvenile Faetch looked at its bowl and said. “Somebody has been eating my food, and they ate it all up!”

  Now the Faetch were rightfully upset about this, and began a search of their abode. They started in the hearth room and there, found more evidence of their intruder. The paternal Faetch stood over his chair and took a deep breath through his proboscis. He could smell Amber; tell that she wasn’t one of the family. “Somebody has been sitting in my chair!”

  The maternal Faetch, whose sense of smell was more sensitive than her mate’s, could smell Amber too, but also knew that whoever had invaded their home, was not of the Faetch. “Somebody has been sitting in my chair, and they don’t belong here.”

  Then the young Faetch whose sense of smell was not yet developed, and could not sense much, said, “Somebody has been sitting in my chair, and they broke it all up!”

  Following their noses, the Faetch made their way to the bedroom where, once more, the paternal Faetch looked and said, “Somebody has been sleeping in my bed!”

  The maternal Faetch agreed with him and announced, “Somebody has been sleeping in my bed!”

  And then the young Faetch roared, “Somebody has been sleeping in my bed, and they’re still in it!”

  With the sudden commotion, young Amber awoke with a start and began screaming. The Faetch screamed back, and their voices caused little Amber to flee from the house in terror. She ran through the woods, driven mad by the sound of the Faetch screaming. She ran and ran and ran until her legs gave out and her chest burned and her heart was near to burst. They found her, her parents and the villagers who had been searching for her. They found her, and in time they healed her bruises and her cuts and scrapes, but her mind, poor Amber’s mind was never the same, and she would never go in the woods again.

  When I finished my tale, I took my seat and listened to the crowd mumble. I heard comments of approval and an acknowledgement of my wisdom. I was pleased with myself, and when
Ghat and Scilda rose and adjourned the conference for the day, acknowledging that I had given them much to think about. I was more than pleased with myself, and reveling in my accomplishment, almost did not notice the most junior member of the Rathk delegation staring at me with those cold, compound eyes. His look was disturbing, unsettling even, and I made a move to confront him; but his fellows suddenly whisked him away, and I lost him in the crowd. I forgot the incident and let my self-satisfaction overwhelm me.

  I was a fool, and I should have known better. As I sat in my quarters of my light ship, the minds of the inhabitants of Vhoorl turned and churned and thought in odd and alien ways. I sat there, a man hiding in an alien body, pretending, assuming that I knew what I was doing. I dined on some local delicacies and a vintage of alien wine that was particularly enjoyable. It was not until I was disturbed by the presence of someone at my entry that I was roused from my smug attitude. Even still, I answered the call in a casual and even somewhat jovial manner. That state of elation was destroyed by what happened next.

  I will confess that the presence of a member of the Rathk standing in my entryway was unexpected. Further still, that it was the junior member of the delegation, the one who had stared at me so intently, was admittedly a surprise. That his finery was disheveled, even torn in places, and stained with bodily fluids from a small wound, aroused in me suspicions that dashed my mood. Yet all of this was nothing compared to the words that uttered forth from his tusked and rasping mouth, words that were, despite the inappropriateness of his anatomy, clearly spoken in the English language. “My name is Charles Meyer! I’m from Earth. Please, you must help me!” Then, as if he was a character in one of my own modest tales of terror, he collapsed in a heap at my feet.

  I knew nothing of his physiology or anatomy and so had little idea of what I could do for him. I made him comfortable, bound the wound, and waited. It took an hour or so for the thing that called itself Charles Meyer to revive, and when he did, it was with a start. One moment he was laying unconscious, and the next he was stumbling across the floor, his arm flailing about, and his legs looking as if they would buckle at any moment. I spoke calmly to the obviously agitated creature, but to no avail, he would not respond to anything I said, and seemed to grow more frantic by the second. Finally at my wit’s end, I twisted my mouth and throat with a supreme effort, and blurted out the name he had called himself. “Charles Meyer!”