The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3)

by Adam Lance Garcia

  “Here, let me help you up,” Caraway said, bracing Vasili as he stumbled off his cot.

  His knees buckling, Vasili asked, “How did I get here?”

  Caraway’s face was unreadable. “Long story.”

  “I hear a voice…” Vasili mumbled. “It’s telling me to wait, that my time is almost at hand. It sounds like Alexei’s.”

  “Just bad dreams,” Caraway reassured him.

  Vasili looked toward Caraway like a scared child. “What about Sotiria? Where is she?”

  Caraway’s gaze fell to the floor. “I’ll explain later,” he said. He handed Rick the satchel containing the stone Jade Tablet, then put an arm under Vasili to help him carry his weight as they took a tentative step forward. “First things first, Armageddon.”

  “Armageddon?”

  “Yeah, real bad news, like a rash that won’t go away,” Caraway said briskly as they moved past Rick toward the exit.

  Vasili furrowed his brow at Rick. “Who are you?”

  “Rick Masters. Pilot, hero, supporting character,” Rick replied. Then, to Caraway, “This boy always asks so many questions?”

  “He’s usually the strong silent type, but he’s been through a lot recently.”

  “I can only imagine,” Rick grumbled to himself.

  • • •

  Ken splashed face first into the murky black pool, rolling end over end, losing all sense of direction. His lungs burning, he swam furiously until his head broke through the surface. Gasping, he wiped the opaque liquid from his eyes only to find himself in darkness. Seconds later, he heard Jean tumble down the pipeline, screaming several choice expletives before hitting the water. Turning toward the sound, he hollered, “Jean! Jean? Where are you?”

  “Ken!” she coughed. “Ken, get clear!”

  “What?”

  “Get clear!” she shouted as the avalanche fell upon them.

  “Jesus H. Christ, this place is a goddamn maze,” Rick grumbled as he and Caraway carried the semiconscious Vasili through the curving streets. They had been moving through the city for the better part of a half hour and were no closer to finding Jean and Ken. “How the hell are we supposed to know where to go?”

  Caraway shook his head. “Jean said to listen for gunfire. Not that we could hear it if we tried.”

  “Go to the center, to the temple,” Vasili mumbled. “Follow the path, left, right, right, left, straight, right, right, left…”

  Rick grimaced in befuddlement as Vasili rambled on. “What the hell is he sayin’?”

  Caraway listened intently, trying to remember the order of the words the best he could. “He’s tellin’ us where to go.”

  • • •

  A boot hit him in the face, cracking a tooth.

  “Wake up, Dumont,” Heydrich shouted. He kicked again, breaking Jethro’s nose. “Wake up, you damn Amerikanisch!”

  “Calm down, Heydrich,” Nyarlathotep said. “He’s coming around.”

  Jethro’s swollen eyes peeled open. He was in a small domed room, curled in a fetal position in a narrow pillar of sunlight. The cylindrical walls were covered in algae and barnacles. Heydrich and Nyarlathotep stood above him. The former was dressed in a black ceremonial robe, a dark shadow of Jethro’s own. The latter was adorned with vestments similar to those seen in the ancient hieroglyphics of Egypt, the Necronomicon in his hands. Both men—if they could be called that anymore—appeared to be in an advance state of decay.

  “Where are the others?” he weakly asked as he painfully pushed himself up onto his knees.

  Heydrich raised a torn eyebrow. “Your friends in the airplane? They are, I believe the expression is, ‘in Davey Jones’ Locker.’”

  Jethro struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “I do not believe you.”

  “Believe it or not, I could care less, Dumont,” Heydrich said with a shrug. He began to circle around Jethro. “The fact of the matter is you and I have reached the point where our paths finally diverge. And whereas you once left me to rot in the snows of Tibet, I will leave you to bleed at Cthulhu’s feet.”

  “Do not get ahead of yourself, Heydrich,” Nyarlathotep scolded. “There is still the matter of the ring.”

  Jethro stole a glance at the Jade Tablet around his finger; the skin around the ring was raw but healing, flecks of blood covering the rainbow fiber. A rueful smile curled his lips. “Tried to take it off did you?” He looked at Nyarlathotep. “I figured you would have learned better.”

  With a vacant expression, Nyarlathotep backhanded Jethro. Blood spurted out of his mouth. Wiping the blood away with his sleeve, Jethro chuckled. “Are you going to beat me until I tell you how to remove the Tablet? I would have thought gods would have much more powerful means of persuasion.”

  “I’ve seen you take it off, Dumont!” Heydrich shrieked, grabbing Jethro’s right arm and twisting it until the shoulder snapped free. Jethro grunted, but refused to give Heydrich the satisfaction of a scream. He felt something weigh down the edge of his sleeve, hitting against his arm, rattling quietly like a saltshaker.

  “There are rules, Heydrich,” Jethro said through gritted teeth. “Laws by which we must abide. The Tablet has will all its own, revealing its truths only to those who have earned them!”

  Heydrich unsheathed the Shard and pressed its serrated point against the soft spot under Jethro’s chin. “Perhaps we kill you? We have read that is one way to free the Tablet from its perch.”

  Jethro chuckled. “That is true, but if that were ever your plan you would have already done so.”

  Heydrich hesitated, stealing a glance at Nyarlathotep. “Perhaps, I wanted the pleasure of—”

  Jethro started to laugh hysterically.

  “Stop laughing!” Heydrich hissed. “I will kill you!”

  “I have no doubt you will,” Jethro said through the laughter. “But you and I both know that you need me alive to raise Cthulhu. Save your phurba for the actual sacrifice and leave the theatrics for those with talent.”

  Heydrich let go of Jethro’s arm as Nyarlathotep snatched the crystalline blade away from him.

  “You called it phurba,” Nyarlathotep said, examining the blade. “I suppose you might consider it that; a ritualistic blade. And yes, in many ways, you’d be right. But it is so much more than that.”

  “It’s a piece of the Third Jade Tablet, the ‘Fire from Olympus, ’” Jethro said. “And it’s the same blade you used to kill that poor woman at Samothrace.”

  “You’ve been paying attention.” Nyarlathotep smiled. “Tell me, Jethro, have you ever wondered why you of all the people in the world were chosen to bear the Sacred Colors?” He cocked his head. “Never once asked your former Tulku, Tsarong, or any of the other lamas why you became the Green Lama? No, of course you did. You probably asked every day, but they never gave a real answer, did they? Do you know the secret Tsarong kept hidden from you? What they had been training you for since the day you took on the Jade Tablet?” Nyarlathotep leaned forward so his cracked lips almost touched Jethro’s ear. “Well, then, let me tell you,” he whispered as he opened the Necronomicon, showing Jethro an image of a man dressed in green robes being brutally sacrificed before a squid-faced dragon “You are the Promised One, the Scion, heralded millennia ago for one single purpose: You were born to raise Cthulhu.”

  CHAPTER 19

  CTHULHU RISES

  Dumont paced the cabin like a caged tiger, his hands firmly placed in his pockets, every so often glancing out the porthole as Bombay disappeared over the horizon. The ship’s horns sounded. He was heading home. He chewed his lower lip, unable to quell the war within his mind. He had convinced himself he wasn’t running away; he was simply taking the next step in his path. He had discovered all he could in Tibet, he had become a Bodhisattva, one who dedicated his life to the wellbeing of others, and now he would bring the Dharma to America and help all those who were lost.

  And the ring on his finger, glowing subtly in the sunlight? It was nothing more than a t
rinket given by the natives. It was better to think of it that way. Safer.

  He risked a glance at the ancient Tibetan man meditating on the cabin floor, now looking older more than ever. “I never asked you to come with me.”

  “No, you did not,” Tsarong replied without opening his eyes.

  Dumont nodded silently and returned to gazing out the window.

  An hour passed before Tsarong spoke again. “We are but pebbles on the shore.”

  “Hm?” Dumont sounded, puzzled.

  Tsarong smiled. “Oh, it is just that you and I have been sitting here in silence for so long I thought it best that I should say something that sounded profound.”

  Dumont laughed. “Pebbles on the shore. Yes, I remember…” He paused for a moment and then said quietly: “You belong at the Temple of the Clouds.”

  Tsarong tilted his head and gave Dumont a small smile. “Do I? You are my Tulku and my friend. I could not let you leave alone.”

  “You were my Tulku first,” Dumont reminded him.

  Tsarong’s smile broadened. “Then ever more the reason I stay with you.”

  “New York is no place for men like you. It is a dangerous city, full of arrogance and greed.”

  “Is that why you so wish to return?”

  Dumont placed his hands behind his back. “It is a city I understand,” he said reluctantly. “I speak its language, know its rhythms. I can navigate its canyons, its rivers. It is my home.”

  “Truly? And so sure are you that you know it so well after ten years abroad?” Tsarong retorted. Opening his eyes, he gazed at Dumont who looked so much like the young boy who had once walked through the mountains in search of his destiny. “We shall both be strangers in a strange land, Tulku. Would it not be preferable to take this new journey in tandem? Though if you feel otherwise,” he said with slight bow of his head,” hen our paths shall diverge once we make the port of New York City.”

  Dumont chuckled at that. “Fair enough, Tsarong. But don’t say I never warned you.”

  • • •

  Jean hacked out water as she brought her head above the surface, finding only darkness. “Ken!” she coughed, treading water. “Ken, you still with me?”

  “Yeah,” he said weakly nearby. “Yeah, I’m still here… If I knew where ‘here’ was…”

  She tried to peer through the darkness when she noticed a faint green light emanating from the water. “Hold on a second.” She reached into her satchel, brought out the Third Jade Tablet and raised it above her head, the room instantly filling with green light, revealing Ken wading inches in front of her.

  “Look at that,” Ken marveled. “It’s also a night light.”

  “The wonders never cease,” she said sardonically.

  “Where the hell are we?” Ken asked, looking up at the black expanse above them, echoes of images hidden within the shadows of the ceiling.

  “You got me,” Jean voiced as she glanced around, noticing a long spiral stone staircase across the pool. “Looks like we can climb out over there.”

  “Do you think the Lama will ever get tired of this stuff?” Ken asked as they swam over.

  “How do you mean?”

  “This adventuring stuff, being a costumed vigilante, running around saving the day all the time. Do you think he’ll, I dunno, retire?”

  “Y’know, Ken,” she said as pulled herself out of the water,” never really thought about it.”

  “But if you two ever get hitched, how would that work?” he asked as Jean helped him on to the platform.

  “Little soon for marrying us off don’t you think?”

  “Maybe I’m just traditional,” he said with a shrug.

  Jean screwed her face. “And I completely believe that.”

  “All right,” he conceded. “But, even if you two just go steady, what sorta life would that be?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, her expression unreadable.

  They began climbing the stones stairs, running two steps at a time until their legs became sore. The stairwell gradually became more and more illuminated as they made their way, enough so that they could begin to see shapes form around them.

  “Hey, look at that,” Ken said after several minutes, indicating the massive shadowed figure suspended high overhead. “What do you suppose that is?”

  Jean risked a glance. A pit formed in her stomach as the green light shone off the thousands of man-sized scales. “To tell ya the truth, Ken, I’m not sure I wanna know.”

  • • •

  “Okay, was it ‘left, right, right’ or ‘right, left, left?’” Caraway asked as they reach a fork in the road.

  Rick glanced back in the direction they came. “I thought we just did ‘left, right, right.”

  “No, we just did ‘left, left, right.’” Caraway looked at Vasili hoping he would have an answer, but the other man had slipped back into unconsciousness. “Come on, Vasili,” he said under his breath. “Help us out here…”

  “Who builds a city like this?” Rick grumbled. “No straight lines, everything made outta coral. Doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

  “Aliens,” Caraway replied. “Really ancient aliens.”

  • • •

  “Oh,” Rick blinked with bewilderment. “Well, of course.”

  Jethro’s whole body shook, sweat poured down his face. Could it be true? Was he really destined to bring about the end of the world? Everything he had done, all the injustice he had fought, was it all leading to this? Was his only true purpose in this realm to resurrect its greatest evil?

  No, he refused to believe that. No matter prophecy or the words of demons, he would not succumb.

  “Terrifying, isn’t it?” Heydrich smiled. It was just the two of them now, alone in the small coral cell. “Being at death’s door, knowing that in moments you will face the abyss and there is nothing you can do to stop it?”

  Jethro glared at him. “I have no fear of death and no fear of you or your masters; the Führer or your false god. No matter what that creature says, I know the Dharma and my destiny.”

  “Buddhist fool!” Heydrich said. “So focused on your Dharma, you are blind to what is right in front you…You took away all that I was, for what? To save some native child? Look at what I’ve become!” he screamed, tearing a loose chunk of flesh from his face and holding it before Jethro. Black ooze spilled from the wound, down his neck, soaking his robes. “No more human than a vacant shell. This is on your head. Just as every single death that will come out of Cthulhu’s rise. Every screaming child, every tormented woman, every crucified man. All the pain and agony that will be born into the world will all share one father: Jethro Dumont.”

  “This is all about vengeance?” Jethro gasped. He forced himself to his feet and grabbed Heydrich by the collar. “You’ve been conspiring with the greatest evils in existence, murdering innocents, bringing about the end of the world… all to punish me?”

  “They say revenge is a dish best served cold, no?” Heydrich said, brushing Jethro’s hands aside. “For me, it shall be a banquet.”

  Jethro stumbled back, lost for words.

  “Make peace with your gods, Buddhist,” Heydrich said as he exited the cell, “because in a few moments, you shall meet mine.”

  As the sphincter-like door sealed shut, Jethro fell down to his hands and knees, lost. Something in his right cuff clinked against the ground.

  Curious, he pulled at the torn seam and a small glass vial fell into his hand.

  He chuckled softly as a smile broke his lips.

  “Thank you, Tulku.”

  • • •

  They found themselves on a large balcony overlooking an enormous hollowed out cavern, one side completely bathed in shadow. There was no singular source of light; it was the walls themselves that were glowing. A wide plateau of coral sat a hundred feet below them, the sharp cliff edge cut by the darkness. A narrow peninsula extended out from the center, like a dagger in the night; a small mound sat at the precipice. J
ean could just make out the human handprint pressed into the coral. Two small terraces could be seen on either end of the horseshoe balcony, both in line with the mound at the center below. Intricate carvings lined every surface, done with such impossible detail that they seemed to move.

  “What is this?” Ken asked Jean.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “The Temple of Cthulhu.”

  Ken shot her a panicked expression. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Jean shook her head. “No, this is it. This is where it all ends. Win or lose, the fate of the world gets decided here.”

  “Well. No pressure.”

  “Believe me, Ken, we don’t wanna mess this up.” She walked to the parapet and looked over the Temple. She pressed her tongue against her cheek in thought. “That’s where the Tablets go,” she said, pointing at the two terraces and the mound below. “We put ’em in place, we can stop Cthulhu. One to rise, three to—”

  “Do you hear that?” Ken asked.

  Jean cocked her head and listened for a moment when she heard the sound of hundreds of footsteps approaching, marching in time.

  • • •

  Caraway pressed his hand against the circular membrane, the spongy material holding his handprint for several seconds before retracting. “What in baby Jesus is this?”

  “It’s a door,” Vasili said as he freed himself from Caraway’s grip and stumbled forward.

  “Well,” Caraway grumbled, “How the hell do you open it?”

  Vasili ran his hands across the door’s gooey, spongy surface, stroking it like a pet. “You have to ask it,” he said. Seconds later the membrane pulled open, revealing a long stairway leading upward.

  “Oh, great,” Rick groaned. “Stairs.”

  • • •

  The door membrane contracted open as Heydrich and Nyarlathotep returned with Gan and Gottschalk. They found Dumont standing calmly in the center of the cell, his hands placed behind his back.

  “Guten Tag, Meine Herren,” Dumont said warmly. “Schade, dass wir uns treffen müssen unter solchen Umständen.”

  “Herr Dumont,” Gan said with a slight bow of his head, his tone mournful. His friend Caraway was dead, as were Farrell and Clayton, killed during their approach to R’lyeh. Now only minutes remained for Dumont. Years of planning, of fighting the enemy from within, all of it was for nothing. “Indeed, it is a pity.”