by Jack Conner
Some sort of hide ...
... and they worked their slaves mercilessly, didn’t they?—even pushing them on through the night. How many must die from their labors?
How many then became clothes?
It was an awful thought, but in that moment Avery knew it to be true. The taste of bile shot into the back of his throat. The chants grew louder and louder, coming from somewhere ahead, and he shivered, suddenly miserable and more frightened than he could ever remember being. The stinking fish-priests in their rotting human-hide robes, their grimy, unwashed scales glimmering only vaguely where they could be seen at all, showed the way.
“Just what sort of ceremony are we in for?” Avery asked Muirblaag (Layanna was up ahead), trying to keep the quaver out of his voice, but he could not help but think of the shadow-draped mounds at the monoliths’ bases.
“I don’t know, but ... the legends I was brought up with ... We worshipped the great gods of the sea when we inhabited the coast, and some of them were said to come with us into the mountains when we were driven out ... Their priests have strange powers, and we were terrified of them in the village I grew up in. But I never really believed ...”
Avery was shocked to see the big fellow almost trembling. Even Janx was looking at him in worry.
“They think she’s a god,” Muirblaag added. “To them, it’s a meeting of gods.”
Perhaps I should have accepted Layanna’s offer, Avery thought suddenly. This is a mistake. It’s all a mistake. These things are brainwashed monsters who kill and enslave human beings, and what’s worse—THEY MIGHT BE RIGHT. They worship some awful god or gods, but if Layanna believes in them they must be real—and we’re going to meet them. This is insane.
He swallowed the hysteria down, or tried to, but he was aware that his fingers had begun to shake, and his breath could not come fast enough.
The group passed out of the fortress proper and into the mountain, where it grew warmer but ranker, and the sound of chanting increased. The hall wound, forked, twisted and encountered numerous side-tunnels, giving Avery the impression of a honeycomb, or perhaps an ant nest, then finally widened to become a large cave, a natural feature of the mountain, and to Avery’s surprise a creek or river bubbled down its center, disappearing out of sight in both directions. Ngvandi lined the river’s banks, but they bowed to something forward, hidden.
Bowing to their gods.
The group followed the creek, which at last emptied into a vast chamber.
“This is it,” Layanna said. “The chamber of the Mnuthra.”
Before them stretched a huge grotto in what must be the very heart of the mountain. The lake—an actual, full sized lake—in its center frothed and bubbled, and odd mists whirled above it, seeming to move of their own accord. Ngvandi bowed along its shores, chanting and swaying. As Avery drew near, he saw that the lake was deep, deeper than he would have thought, almost as if this mountain had been a volcano at some point whose caldera had somehow been flooded—except that the water stank undeniably of salt. This was water from the sea, gushing and boiling and charged with otherworldly energies. Avery, without even thinking about it, dry-swallowed a pollution pill, then passed them out to the others.
The ngvandi’s chants rose up to the high, shadowy ceiling. Avery could just make out stalactites plunging down through the darkness above him—stalactites circled by bats that could only be seen due to their numbers, swaying and shifting currents of shadow—limned by the purplish light of the torches. The same otherworldly light glittered on the waters, but only the edges, as the lake was so broad darkness hid its center. With the mists, the currents of down-sweeping bats, and the frothing waters, the darkness seemed to move, smoky and ethereal.
Ngvandi bowed to the lake, raising their heads and arms, then lowering them, chanting all the while. Whatever they worshipped, it was in the water. Avery stared at the bubbling surface, fascinated and horrified. The hysteria rose in him again, worse than before, and he only just barely kept it in check. He sensed more than saw movement under the surface, far below, but, perhaps mercifully, he could not see what caused it. The lake was deep, perhaps infinitely so, if it truly did connect to lava tubes and fissures.
A ngvandi that must have been a high priest to judge by the relative cleanliness of his human-hide robe, which was somewhat less stained and filthy than the others, stood on a projection out over the water, a little peninsula, chanting and reading from a heavily-bound book. He stood over a man lying on a black, dripping block of stone. The prisoner was mutated, dying, and he appeared drugged, because he didn’t resist as a second priest carved into him, slicing his flesh and organs.
“I don’t believe this,” said Hildra.
The voices of the ngvandi pitched higher, for some reason making Avery feel unsteady, as if he’d had a few too many drinks. The chants came faster, and his head swam. He started to list to the side a bit, unable to balance himself for a moment, before he made himself straighten.
The chants came even faster, and Avery wanted to cry out, wanted to scream and tear his hair. This is more than wrong. Don’t you feel it? I’ve walked into a dream, a nightmare. This is utterly—
Something exploded from the water. The huge, dark, amorphous shape that emerged from the lake curled over the tip of the peninsula, almost leisurely, and when the man who would be sacrificed fell under its shadow his drugged state fell away, and he screamed.
The shape, which seemed to be the limb of some giant being in the water, slammed down with brutal force. Blood sprayed and bones cracked. Strangely, however, the sacrifice was not completely pulverized. His body passed into the limb, which was nearly opaque, but not quite, and Avery realized he could see into it. Though dark and smoky, it was gelatinous, and through its folds and ripples he saw the body of the prisoner—just a dim shape, but showing the unmistakable beginnings of acidic destruction. Flesh blistered away, and the slave, still alive, arched his back and screamed, though Avery heard no sound. The man thrashed as the juices ate away at him, and particles of his flesh swirled around him. Just like Layanna, Avery thought, remembering the ngvandi she’d fed on.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the great limb slipped back beneath the roiling waters and was gone, taking the remains of the slave with it. Waves lapped the shore.
“Gods below,” Janx muttered.
Layanna did not look at him as she said, in Ghenisan, “Quite.”
The ngvandi seemed to notice her. Led by their high priest, they wrapped up the ceremony and filed out of the great chamber, many bowing to her on their way. The high priest actually kissed her feet. She remained serene, upright, eyes on the water, and soon the members of her group were alone with the ones that had brought them, who must also be high-ranking priests, as well as a few junior ngvandi that might be guards, as they were all armed. Several held rifles and pistols, likely taken from prisoners over the years, and Avery wondered if they were to guard the members of Layanna’s group, or against them.
With Layanna between them, two priests bearing tridents strode out onto the projection of rock and into the semi-circle created by the half dozen altars at the projection’s edge. All looked slick with blood. Avery’s group had just come upon the last sacrifice, it seemed, not the only one. The ngvandi raised their tridents and shouted unfamiliar words to the beings in the water, and the roiling of the lake increased. The air shook, seeming to flex and snap and stretch, like a rubber band pulled apart by large hands, then twisted and wadded up, then pulled again in a different direction, then again, until the air buzzed with the strain and Avery felt a prickling on his skin, his hairs standing on end. He received the impression that all this was the byproduct of some communication he could not quite sense.
At last the ngvandi fell silent and bowed their heads, and the tension in the air faded, but did not go away.
Layanna seemed very alone out on the projection, very vulnerable, with priests to either side of her and gods-knew-what in the water before he
r. Summoning his courage, Avery stepped forward to join her, but the armed ngvandi blocked his way.
“I don’t think so,” said Janx.
He and Muirblaag moved beside Avery, and the guards, perhaps afraid to cause a scene during this most propitious moment, or perhaps thinking that friends of a goddess should be allowed to do what they would, stepped back.
Feeling adrenaline course through him, strangling the hysteria that once more reared its head, Avery walked onto the projection, and Janx and Muirblaag followed. With water on both sides, Avery felt more unnerved than ever, and he knew that any moment some amorphous limb could reach out and drag him under. As he approached the half-ring of altars, he saw littered bones and dripping blood. The stink of split intestines intensified. How many sacrifices did it take to commemorate a meeting of gods?
The filthy trident-bearing priests turned to Layanna and said something. She nodded, then spoke in Octunggen to the ones in the water. Avery wondered if she was only speaking so he could understand her. If so, he appreciated it. Likely she communicated on some other level to the beings themselves.
“Lords of the High Waters, I greet you,” she called, inclining her head. The waters frothed, and the air shook and snapped and bulged. “I’ve heard rumor of your existence here for long enough. Dark times have come to the world, and I’d hoped your time of isolation might come to an end. That is why I’ve sought you out.”
The waters roiled, bubbled, and the air trembled violently. A piercing whine filled Avery’s skull. He gasped and fell to his knees, pain overcoming him. Janx, Hildra, Muirblaag and Byron collapsed as well, shoving their hands over their ears.
The ngvandi bowed and drew back to the neck of the peninsula, as did Layanna. Making room for something, Avery realized. Hastily, he picked himself up and followed suit.
The water erupted.
Some dark Thing emerged. Gelatinous and huge, a mountain, it oozed out of the waters with a great stench of ammonia and sulfur and seaweed. Avery had to crane his neck to take it all in, and some part of his brain shut off. Another part, one that still thought rationally, recognized it as something distantly akin to Layanna’s amoeba form—only this one stretched ten times larger and higher, and was hideous to look upon. Massive ungainly limbs flailed all around, slowly, undulating, unconstrained by gravity, as if the being were underwater still. Avery gazed up at its massive black bulk and shuddered. His skin prickled, his scrotum contracted, and his mouth went dry. The thing rolled over the altar on which the slave had been sacrificed, then beyond. The air blurred around it, and strange lights could be seen glimmering through its folds and jellies, but they were no lights of this world, and they did not illuminate it.
Layanna gazed up at the great being and bowed. “Thank you for meeting me,” she said. “I’ve come to ask for your help. Octung hunts me. Our own kind hunts me. I need allies. During an attack by the Elders, my friends and I were scattered and separated. I seek news of them. I’d hoped, if any were in the region, that I might find them here. Please, my friend, tell me ... have you word?”
The air rippled. The great abomination quivered, then subsided.
Pain showed in Layanna’s face. “No ...” She sighed, blinked tears away, and seemed to forcibly gain control of herself. “All of them, are you sure?” A pause. “Very well. I ... I had feared as much.” A long moment passed. When she had herself together, she said, “This complicates things. I need to reach a functioning altar. Your own altars are probably not plugged into the nexus, but we could activate them, unless you fear reprisal. If so, you could direct me to another. Please, help me. You’ve been cut off for ages. Isolated. Made pariahs. Surely you’ve no loyalty to the Elders. I beg you ... join me. Join my attempt to end this war.”
Avery stared. She wanted to join forces with that thing? With the god-creature whose followers enslaved, killed and wore human beings?
The Mnuthra stayed silent for a long moment. The water boiled below, hinting at the movement of other similar entities.
When it moved, it moved almost too fast for Avery to see.
One moment the Mnuthra loomed amidst the blood-spattered altars, staring down at its visitors with unseen eyes. Then, in one sudden surge of movement, it shot forward. Dim, dripping limbs smashed down at Layanna, clearly meaning to crush her.
Before the limbs could reach her, she shifted. Her amoeba form grew from within her, superimposed over her, then blossomed outward, pink and white and fringed with flagella. Compared to the great, ugly bulk of the Mnuthra, she was beautiful.
She grew to a size Avery had not seen before, but she was still tiny against the vast squirming mass of the Mnuthra. The air shook and thundered as the limbs and pseudopods of the titans collided with each other. The ground quaked. A piercing shriek cleaved Avery’s mind. He cried out and fell to the ground again, clawing at his ears.
Even the ngvandi priests seemed pained and awestruck. They dropped to their knees and crept aside, to the edges of the promontory, giving the gods room.
Purplish limbs strove against murky black ones. Dark tentacles tore and ripped at soft pink-white flesh. Phantasmagoric blood filled the air, floating and majestic and flaming, purple and pink and red and black and yellow.
Layanna was strong. The Mnuthra, however, was of great size and power and age. It had surely gorged itself on sacrifices for hundreds of years. That was why the ngvandi deliberately mutated their slaves, Avery realized. They turned people into food for their gods. They only wore the ones that didn’t make it that far.
The Mnuthra’s huge bulk glommed forward, toward Layanna’s main mass.
“Don’t you touch her!”
This came, surprisingly, from Muirblaag. In some strange fit of chivalry, or perhaps in rebellion against the gods he had fled as a youth, he rushed forward. The ngvandi priests tried to stop him, but they were unprepared and he barreled them aside. Only when he neared the Mnuthra did the being seem to notice him, and then it was only to fling out a pseudopod and dash him to the ground.
Janx leapt toward him, but the two priests had picked themselves up. They blocked his path, stabbing their tridents at him. He cursed and jumped back. One sprang at him, and he dodged aside, clubbed it to the ground with a fist. The other leapt, its trident raking his ribs.
Avery, still overcome by the psychic cry of the Mnuthra, forced himself to his feet, meaning to help Janx if he could.
He saw that Byron and Hildra were fighting the guards on the mainland, slicing at them with knife and hook. Four had guns, though, and Hildra was using one of their brethren as a shield. Byron made a leap for one and wrestled the gun away. A shot rang out, and he stiffened. Just before he collapsed, he threw the gun to Hildra.
Avery turned his attention back to the Mnuthra. On the other side of Janx and the priests, the being began to surround Layanna, to engulf her. Avery felt a twist of fear as its dark mass enveloped her, its murky substance blocking her from sight. He could only see her dimly, here and there, through huge squirming limbs and bulwarks.
... see her ...
... her human body ...
A sudden thought chased the fear from him. Riding a wave of strength, he staggered over to one of the priests, the one that lay on the ground, felled by Janx’s blow. The ngvandi glanced up at him distractedly, even as it shook its head and tried to climb to its feet.
Avery kicked it in the face. The ngvandi screamed and pitched backward, into the bubbling waters. Before it disappeared, Avery grabbed the trident and wrenched it from its hands.
While Janx and the surviving priest circled each other, Avery slipped around them, toward Layanna and the Mnuthra. He knew Janx could take care of himself, and he had something to do that couldn’t wait.
His breath coming short and fast, unable to believe he was really doing this, he stepped forward, toward the titanic battle. The great mass of the Mnuthra loomed over him. It had all but eclipsed Layanna now. However, as Avery had imagined, it had left itself vulnerable in the doing. F
or, like Layanna, it had a human component.
It was a man, Avery saw—naked and wasting, a forgotten relic of itself. Likely it had existed for countless years in its other form. It hadn’t completely forgotten its human self, though. Even as it attacked Layanna, it had shifted its otherworldly bulk toward her, leaving its human part toward its rear, as far away from her striving tentacles and pseudopods as it could get. As Avery rounded its rear bulk, falling under the shadow of its glistening, rippling self, engulfed in its briny, ammonia-like reek, having to move around its immensity lest he slip into the waters—What am I DOING?—he saw that the human inside the Mnuthra was very close to the wall of otherworldly flesh that composed the being’s rear.
The man floated off the ground, head bowed, eyes closed, drifting.
“Got you,” Avery said. He raised the trident.
The man opened one eye. It fell on Avery.
A bulge in the being’s side stretched out toward him—
Avery plunged his trident deep into the Mnuthra, pushing it through the strange flesh and stabbing the man through the ribcage. With all his strength, Avery shoved—deep, deeper, feeling the crack and scrape of bone, then feeling the bone give—
The man’s face twisted in pain, and the bulge in the Mnuthra’s side faded.
The old man grabbed the shaft of the trident. Avery tried to push it deeper into him but the man was too strong. By then the acids had eaten away at the weapon enough to dissolve the portion of it inside the sac wall, and Avery staggered back and threw away the handle. Its truncated end smoked.
The entire substance of the Mnuthra boiled and shook. The air vibrated. The Mnuthra shrieked, both physically and psychically. The cry lanced Avery’s skull, driving him back. Hands pressed to his ears, he stumbled, hit one of the altars and nearly went over the other side. Blood and other bodily matter that adorned the altar pasted his shirt to the small of his back. Still warm.
The Mnuthra quivered and raged. Its flesh boiled. Droplets of it ripped free and drifted through the air, oily and dark, disappearing into nothingness. Some flamed. The whole massive bulk of the thing churned, and as it boiled away it grew smaller and smaller.