The Coming of the Voidal

by Adrian Cole

  Adrian Cole

  The Coming of the Voidal

  ***

  During the Xmas holiday in 1975, Adrian conceived the concept of his enigmatic and shadowy character, the Voidal, a warrior doomed to wander the limitless worlds of a bizarre omniverse in company with his unusual sidekick, Elfloq the familiar, in search of his past, his identity and his soul. Inspired by a combination of fantasy works, including Clark Ashton Smith, H. P. Lovecraft and the extraordinary French artist, Philipe Druillet, it was the beginning of a strange and tortured odyssey, a dark fantasy that was finally brought to a climax nearly 40 years later.

  Illustrated by Award winning British artist, Jim Pitts.

  Spectre Press, 1977. Softcover, 24 pp.

  ***

  "… The Voidal is a sort of destroying angel used by the Dark Gods to work their will and vengeance. Stripped of memory, in each story, he attempts to gain knowledge of who or what he is and regain his memory. To describe the stories, think of H. P. Lovecraft writing sword and sorcery, returning to the Dreamlands but written in his later, darker style. There is some Michael Moorcock influence present with the idea of the "omniverse" and the Voidal being sent to different dimensions. Cole uses words to create names in the manner of Tolkien. Names such as Tallyman, Nighteye, Windwrack appear. Cole combines simple Anglo-Saxon words to create new ones. He has a very unique style and good command of language. Fans of Clark Ashton Smith take note though I would not call Adrian Cole's writing style Smith-ish…"

  -Morgan Holmes, REHupa (The Robert E. Howard United Press Association)

  "…as inventive as Jack Vance, with much of Michael Moorcock's brooding gloom…"

  -Lin Carter

  ***

  Scanned by Cosmic Jukebox.

  OCR, proofing and formatting by P.

  ***

  DEDICATION

  To the memory of Clark Ashton Smith and to Philippe Druillet, both of whom inspired the Voidal's arrival.

  THE COMING OF THE VOIDAL

  Phaedrabile…

  Deep, deep in the remotest regions of that obscure dimension, where a billion worlds seeth like bubbles in the cauldron of time… beyond the farthest reaches of Mnurgh where the fire seas belch and bellow at the glowering moons… beyond the glowing embers of Ptornis where the winds of stone endlessly blast the ice catacombs… beyond the spiral clusters of Azadris, the Bloodworld, where a thousand shades of crimson taint the stars… beyond all these lie the decomposing clusters of Gnardril, Hlistro, Mandrax and the cursed realm of Sedooc: mythical home of the Banished Ones, spurned by the blaspheming tyrants of the Csarduct Dynasty, usurpers of the chaotic regions.

  Here, in the molten mountains of Sedooc, most vile and seditious of worlds, bathed in abysmal radiance from a hundred heavenly titans amongst which the ebb and flow of cosmic energy sucks and blows in eternal confusion; here, in the sluggish, fermenting slag of Sedooc, the seeds of godless life rooted and bloomed in blighted disorder. Here, the crawling things of madness writhed in the fire spume. As the heaving continents contorted under the claws of mindless entropy, thrusting up through the millennia to defy saner laws, the malefic spirits of antiquity lingered, boiled and evolved.

  While lunatic masters plied the astral skies, the bestial beings below gazed mockingly at the sporting of their nightmare divinities. Worlds span to cinders, suns burst and scattered anew their rotting debris, but gloating Sedooc burned on, the harbour of detritus, the sanctuary of filth, the clinging place of unreason. Sedooc, offal of the demigods, spawning place of all that was corrupt, thrust deep, deep into the very bowels of that maniacal dimension of Phaedrabile.

  As the conquering Csarduct Dynasty imposed upon the Dryunic worlds and on the clusters of Gnardril and Mandrax their malefic talons, it banished the lesser powers of disorder who refused to grovel to rapacious Csarduct whims. Not for these outcasts were the ultimate debasements of the sickly, prurient underlings of the Csarduct acolytes. The basest of the Banished Ones found a home far-flung from lesser madness on Sedooc the cursed. There, the avaricious and degenerate hordes fawned and licked at the gates of the newcomer's citadel in lascivious ecstasy. Deeper into the charnel labyrinths of sorcery and revulsion burrowed the Banished Ones, like bloated maggots, while about their cankered domains the gluttinous following wallowed.

  Thus flourished this kingdom of excrement, beyond the reaches of the mad gods, forgotten, neglected and shunned, even by night's uncleanest masters. There, did come, at last, to eminence the regnum of Rammazurk the Omnipotent, who sought secrets and mysteries and pleasures beyond the very extremes of Phaedrabile and who pushed deep in to the womb of knowledge, seeking thereby to rival and surpass the unholy energy that bound this diseased dimension. Rammazurk's lurid groping into the forbidden dark dredged up multifarious new horrors and about himself the obnoxious monarch wove a tapestry of spells and curses, a fortress of foul and crepuscule lore. Within its lunatic bounds he bathed in his sea of effluvium, ever seeking inroads into further unspeakable crypts. Around him flourished the retrogressive spawn of Sedooc, beings who clung to the very end of their warped evolutionary ladder, with no more than a glimmer, an echo of distant humanity about them.

  The black overlords of the unknown observed the dissidence of the monarch and vast was their anger.

  ***

  In the echoing halls of Windwrack, haunted castle of Rammazurk, far from the wailing turrets and the screams of the storm around them, far down in the Hall of a Thousand Joys, there reverberated the shrieks and howls of debauchery and of ecstatic pain. The obese monarch had decreed that for a month there would be a feast, a brazened orgy which would mock and revile the gods and demi-gods of the omniverse. Rammazurk, having breached a spidered sanctuary of prediluvian lore and having wrested therefrom nameless secrets of power hitherto unguessed at by even the most warped of minds, threw open his sacrosanct Hall and flooded it with sycophantic minions, all of whom vied for favour in the eye of the hideous ruler.

  There were strange and vile foodstuffs brought forth, for stranger quasi-human appetites, and many were the sub-human and night-spawned denizens that whispered and sussurated at the edges of the gruesome Festivity, hovering between light and darkness. Many were summoned and sported with obscenely under the bleary gaze of the swollen-limbed Rammazurk and, in that loathsome mass of shrieking forms, humanity had lost its identity. The king sprawled carelessly across a vast mound of silks and cushions, stained and spotted with rich wine and other more potent liquids. Each feature of the monarch's face ballooned outwards repulsively, his thick lips bloated like vampiric maggots, full and dark. His bloodshot eyes were set deep amidst the fatty folds of his sockets, but they missed nothing as he drank in the cacophonous excesses of his guests. His fingers were so thick that they had swollen into pulpy masses, hanging like huge hocks of meat at the ends of those grotesque arms.

  At his feet sprawled the naked houris of the court, some young, nubile and superbly fine of figure, others deformed and raddled, for the diversity of Rammazurk's tastes knew no bounds. Amongst the favoured of the court were grovelling servitors, all vying for one glance of affection from the thick-jowelled master, all ready to suck like pups at the swollen hands. They drank, they cavorted, they leaped to the demonic pipers that sprang from among the columns of burning tapers. They brought forth writhing victims, human and anthropomorphic, and tortured them most cruelly, tearing them apart and flinging them to the slavering stormhounds that were chained to the fluted pillars.

  Bones and skulls, bodies and corpses, rotting foodstuffs and rivulets of wine and blood-all spread around the focal point of the prolonged orgy. Rammazurk looked upon the ultimate debacle of his race and saw that it was good. The mindless, gibbering revel fed his
sated carcass more than the rich victuals that his genuflecting slaves heaped before him. He had bridged the gulfs to those forbidden realms of arcane lore and, while sopping up hungrily the awful knowledge, had feasted on visions and cryptic revelations that no other sorcerer before him had tasted.

  One such vile oracle pleased him more than others, for it unlocked a special herbal lore and gave him greater power over a principal wife whom he had long sought to destroy and fling into the abysses of limbo. He had favoured her years before, for she was only partially human and possessed of sorcerous power that he yearned to savour at the time. Her mother had been of human stock, but had mated, so the tales ran, with a slime-demon of the Mud wastes, a being who was said to serve the very devils of the astral realms of Sedooc. Thus Yssylzi was born, with her mother's seductive wiles, yet with her demon father's features and necromantic lore! It was a viperous relationship betwixt her and the cunning monarch, Rammazurk, but between them they plunged deeper into the catacombs of deviltry that furnished the halls of Windwrack with their now fabled, retainers.

  In all of Sedooc's hell-blasted history, no age compared to that of Rammazurk the Omnipotent, who dragged his adopted world into an unfathomable pool of blasphemy.

  Now, with his month-long feast waning about him, the obese one rose sluggishly to his feet, like some beast of the ocean dragged from its natural element, and gestured tiredly at the carousing odalisques and thralls. Slowly they turned, until all watched the towering mountain of flesh, relieved to notice the sickly smile, the hinted suggestion of pleasure on those quivering lips. It seemed that the king was pleased with them.

  "Where is Yssylzi, most beloved of my wives?" belched the monarch, extending his cynical smirk. Soon the silence was answered, for the queen strutted forward voluptuously, her painted breasts thrust out invitingly at the swaying repugnance that was her husband. She tossed her head coquettishly and faced him with open audacity.

  "Ah," sighed the monarch, looking down into the feral eyes. "My jewel! Unparalleled sorceress of my halls. Most wanton of my treasures."

  Yssylzi revelled in her strength over the huge monarch. She knew that he had become bored with her and that he now loathed her, but she knew also that he was powerless to destroy her. Yet, somehow, in his wicked eyes she saw a new flicker of mockery and within her a sliver of cold fear twisted like the snapped haft of a dagger. She smiled, but said nothing. Rammazurk gestured towards the inner rooms of the palace.

  "Let us momentarily leave our beloved people and find a private place. We have not indulged ourselves in intimacy for far too long, my jewel. There are untrammelled depths to our needs. Let the people feast on in our honour and in our absence."

  Yssylzi smiled again, yet she knew the trickery and deceit of which her spouse was capable. Of late he had delved privately into unguessable places of which she knew nothing. His secrets were no longer hers to borrow. She dared not rebuke him until she knew the reach of his new powers.

  "But first let us clean away the filth of the past weeks, my queen," said Rammazurk, bringing his pudgy hands together in a semblance of a clap. At once six primed men stepped forward, each bearing an ewer of beaten gold. Yssylzi's smile had evaporated, but it was too late to spin out a curse or weave a protective charm. She felt a growing sense of dread and apprehension as the golden ewers were raised.

  "Of course you do not mind cleansing yourself for your liege!" laughed Rammazurk, with a nod to his men. Immediately they cast the contents of the ewers over the queen. As the sparkling liquid cascaded over her, she began to scream, the pitch rising as the steaming liquid bit into her like acid. She stumbled to her knees, beating at herself, her palms then slamming into her already swolen eyes. The laughter of the king rose above her terrible wailing. The queen's skin was sloughing off like a reptilian coat, dripping to the floor in thick globules.

  "The slime-demons no longer hide their secrets from me, you whore! They tramp their stinking realm at my will now! Those foul, repellant devils of the astral worlds can no longer protect them or their spawn. They have vomited up to me their shibboleths. So you have lost your protection! See, I have mastered the manner of your dying. I have bathed you in a potion most deadly to your magical aura of protection. I have sought a way through it for years! And now…"

  If Yssylzi had still had possession of her eyes, she would have seen her spouse gesture again to other waiting retainers. These rushed in like gladiators, thrusting brutally with barbed javelins. What was left of the pale flesh of the queen was ripped and torn, tugged from her in bloody strips. The onlookers howled demonically, while the stormhounds leaped up, straining at their chain leashes, anxious to sink their fangs into that rich meat. From the screaming victim the crowd pulled her vitals, while Rammazurk tittered uncontrollably, knowing that again he had mocked and spurned the demigods, climbing higher in his bid to oust their monopoly of Phaedrabile.

  At last the cruel javelins were withdrawn, leaving the ripped remains of the queen writhing and twisting in the final spasms of death. The grinning, crackling shapes that pressed in from around the pillared hall smelled the blood, sensed the spirit of the queen dissipating. Rammazurk called upon the houndsmaster to loose the baying animals. The whole pack rushed forward and began snapping and tearing at the corpse, shredding it asunder and noisily feasting, their wild eyes daring anyone to interfere in their grisly work.

  A bevvy of court houris pressed themselves upon Rammazurk like feline playthings, all seductively anxious to fill the gap in their obese master's harem. Rammazurk stroked their naked bodies indifferently, his mind dwelling on the delicious thought that he had at last rid himself of Yssylzi, who had sought to share his every vestige of power. The vile herbal lore he had uncovered had done its work well. The stormhounds dragged away the last of the queen's dismembered bones, leaving only a steaming, pulpy mass, from which a widening pool of blood spread viscously. Rammazurk smiled contentedly.

  Yet still he watched as the torchlight played on that dark pool that had once been his queen. As his gloating eyes fed, other light seemed to shimmer there-strange light that was no reflection, but that seemed to have its source within the reeking pool. Rammazurk's features melted into a cold stare of foreboding. Mutters and murmurs rippled among the vassals. Something as coalescing, employing the blood as a sickly medium in which to sculpt a bizzare form, drawing upon the very air for substance. Rammazurk knew intuitively what amorphic mass it was that suddenly drew itself up like a column of mud and excrement; it was powered by the undead will of Yssylzi. From a black orifice where a mouth should have been issued a faint, but sombre voice. A limp, dripping limb flapped out and gestured at Rammazurk, who drew back into his cushions in terror, while his houris ran screaming from the foul apparition.

  "Rammazurk the Omnipotent! Foul murderer-slayer of children, killer of women, defiler of beasts! Hear me, most accursed of men. You have spat upon the demi-gods for too long. Now that you have so basely destroyed me, Yssylzi, know that I invoke my last curse, granted to me by the demons that already prepare to suck me into limbo. The masters of the unknown dark curse you and grant my invocation! Though I can never reach your realm again, I pass onto the place of the Soulless invoking this final excration. To bring you your bane, Rammazurk, I invoke the Voidal!"

  No sooner had the grim words been uttered than the terrible shape began to dissolve. It slopped down into the pool of blood from which it had odiously formed, so that nothing was left save the wide stain on the mosaic floor of the Hall of a Thousand Joys. And in all that vast throng was heard not a sound. Slowly, eyes began to swivel upon Rammazurk, as he stared from his silken seat. Even the feeding stormhounds were quiet, afraid to offend forces they could not see, but instinctively felt.

  Rammazurk hardly noticed the populace, nor their silence. He frowned to himself in puzzlement. The vile thing that had risen up to curse him was not outside the diabolic lores of necromancy known to him. On reflection, he should have expected no less from the departing queen wh
ose own powers were far from diminutive. Yet she had disturbed him deeply, for she had invoked something alien to his knowledge. The Voidal. Although Rammazurk searched his memory for a hint of the name, nothing came to light. He had no fears that Yssylzi could breach his defences, for he could cloak himself in dreadful ensorcelments. Yet he remained uneasy at hearing an unfamiliar name. He drew himself up slowly and waved at his silent watchers.

  "Why so solemn? Continue with the feast! Enjoy it-I command you! You think I fear a paltry curse? Yssylzi is no more-the demons have her spirit now. Enjoy the feast. Continue!"

  He left them as the sounds of renewed revelry began and made his ponderous way to remoter parts of Windwrack. Down to evil-smelling tunnels he went, to slime-walled pens where winged familiars skipped about his feet, pin-point eyes gleaming up at him, anxious to serve. The monarch held out his hand and aerial things alighted, cloaked in strands of web and sooty with the darkness. Their tiny claws dug into his doughy flesh, but had no ill effect. Through a maze of spell-hung corridors went the huge figure, careful not to disturb the mantle of his hell-forged conjurations. At length he reached a high grotto, hollowed out of the obsidian rock, and here he stopped at the shores of a loathsome expanse of phosphorescent mire.

  A cloud of the familiars thickened the air above his head like miniature imps, but his whispered words to the little beings made them subside, so that they settled on the rocks and fanged stone of the grotto. Rammazurk then began making cabalistic passes in the stagnant air, reciting a mournful and rhythmic chant that echoed back softly from the walls of the nocturnal cavern. As the very stone seemed to swell the arcane chant so that the vibrations increased in a throbbing cadence, the first ripples appeared on the nacreous surface of the mire.