The Psychonaut_Book 1

by Tom G. H. Adams

  Upon appearing in their tent, he found it empty and reached out to her. She was lower down the mountain, guiding the remaining allied refugees to a place of safety.

  He materialised in front of her. She ran forwards, tears streaming from her face, clutching him to her.

  C’est un catastrophe. Our people ... they—

  It’s all right, Celestia, I’m here now.

  But he looked over her shoulder, saw the devastation on the flood plain, heard the cries of the dying, and knew that things were far from all right.

  ~~~

  Chapter 42

  Man on the silver mountain

  They had withdrawn further up the mountain; Hierophants, Outcasts, Vril, the predator host—all took to the heights, scattering themselves at Jason’s order, attempting to make themselves as difficult a target as possible.

  The Behomoth remained stationary, like a giant sentinel, waiting for its time of re-awakening, and yet to Merrick it seemed not so much expectant, more dreading the prospect of confrontation.

  As darkness fell, Merrick heard the Ukurum regrouping on the lower slopes. The confident hum of a anticipated victory rose from them, although there were no loud war cries as had filled the previous night. From the battlefield, the cries and moans of the dying reached every Hierophant ear. Merrick knew that none would survive the sub-zero temperatures of the Celebrain night. To leave them suffering was a travesty, yet there was no recourse. The Ukurum formed an impregnable wedge between the dying and the living.

  Jason met with him and the companions in his tent. His face was dirty, blood-caked and morose.

  “Is Karapetian joining us?” Merrick asked.

  “Later,” Jason said.

  Merrick swallowed his disdain for the leader and continued to ask questions. “Can we expect an attack during the night?”

  Jason slumped onto a chair. “It’s possible but unlikely. The Ukurum would have to fight us against the gradient, in the dark and the cold, without the aid of their giant. If I were them, I’d wait until dawn.”

  Merrick looked around at the weary expressions held by his friends. “What are our options?”

  “As far as I see it; retreat or die,” Jason said, without a flicker of emotion.

  “I could create a gateway. Make us disappear. We could rally our forces back on earth and build our reserves for another invasion.”

  “We could,” Jason replied, “but our people are dispersed across the black mountainside. We might get some back, but not everyone.”

  “So, you think we can stand our ground then?” Albany said. “You’re not saying you think we can beat that monster out there?”

  “Only if we could raise a second Behomoth,” Jason said, “and Celestia’s scanned the surrounding area. There are none left, and even if we summoned one, we couldn’t control it. Shamon has obviously prepared for the use of his giant for months.”

  Merrick now saw the defeat in Jason’s eyes. Never before had the man been without an idea or course of action. “Surely there’s something we can do?” he asked.

  “There are no further contingencies,” replied the Thaumaturgist. “The best we can hope for is to make a stand and wear them out. In daylight we might stand a chance of gathering the remnants of our forces and retreating through a gateway.”

  “Which would leave Shamon free to expand his rule in Celebrai,” Celestia said.

  “Worse than that,” Albany spoke up. “The conditions of the challenge dictate that he can commandeer all remaining syncretic orders. We’d only be buying time.”

  “Destain,” Merrick said, “Do you see anything new?”

  “No. Only that one of the visions will be fulfilled in the next few hours.”

  They tossed ideas and strategies around for another hour, but the most they could agree on was limiting the damage and retreating at the earliest opportunity. They might be deferring the inevitable, but at least it would give them time to think.

  Their gathering dissolved, as one by one, exhaustion and dejection overcame them. Celestia went with Destain to attend to the few wounded that had made it to the mountain encampments. Jason left to find Karapetian, visibly annoyed that he had not attended their meeting, while Merrick retired to his tent to think.

  He had a mind to revitalise himself with elixir and realm-jump to the floodplain in an attempt to take volunteers and rescue any further survivors. He downed a whole vial of elixir, but then became aware of a presence at his door. Karapetian walked in alone.

  “Now I know I ought to be shitting myself,” Merrick said. “If you’ve descended from your ivory tower, then our defence is truly on its last legs.”

  Karapetian’s lips pressed together in a grimace. “You’re right.” My appearance is indeed significant, but not in the way you think.”

  “How come?”

  “May I sit down?”

  “Sure, it’s only fair I offer you some hospitality after all you’ve given me. I’m sorry I don’t have any brandy or fine cigars, but this wine isn’t half bad.” He poured the red liquid into two cups and offered one to Karapetian, who drained the contents in one.

  “So, it’s even worse than I thought,” Merrick said, surprised at the head Hierophant’s rate of consumption. “More?”

  “Please.” Karapetian held out the cup for a refill. “You have every reason to despise me,” he said after taking another mouthful. “What you are about to hear however, will lower even that meagre opinion of me.”

  “Might as well tell all. It’s not like any of us are going to live long enough to hold any grudges.”

  “I have a lot to say, some of this will be difficult for you to accept, let alone bear. But time is short, and I believe you have a talent that will make our exchange more efficacious.” He took off a leather glove and held his hand out to Merrick. “Although you won’t consider me a friend, I hope that we can still be gentlemen and agree to be allies of necessity.”

  “You want to shake hands? Well, this really is a rare meeting,” Merrick said, sensing no guile in Karapetian’s gesture. He took his hand and a fire shot up his arm. Despite this, he was compelled to hold on to the man’s grip.

  He saw, through his third eye, a scene fade into view. A cinematic reel of memory long forgotten. He was young, very young; a toddler held in his mother’s arms on the doorstep of a house that didn’t feel like home. He was staring into his mother’s eyes, wondering why beads of water fell from them onto her cheek. He reached out to touch them. They were warm and wet to his fingers; when he licked them, they tasted salty. He had heard the familiar sound of her voice, but was too young to understand what she was saying. Her tone was unfamiliar, no longer comforting, and bereft of the usual joy. He responded to this with tears of his own, accompanied by a youngster’s loud cries.

  He heard another voice. Deep and throaty. Young Merrick heard it as the voice of a stranger, but the mature Merrick recognised it. As the infant Merrick followed his mother’s gaze outward, he saw a tall man, head shaved, receding along the garden path with a swift pace. At the gate, the man turned, and Merrick beheld the face of his father.

  “You?” Merrick released his hand from Karapetian’s. It fell to his side as if lifeless. “No, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Karapetian lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want to have to reveal the truth to you this way,” he said, “but events have made it inevitable.”

  A thousand questions rushed to the fountainhead of Merrick’s consciousness, but he asked the only one that mattered.

  “Why did you go?”

  Karapetian, Merrick’s father, emptied his wine cup again. “The hardest decision I ever had to make. Believe me, I would have cast aside my responsibilities, my power ... all of it, just to remain with the two people I loved most in the world.”

  Merrick brought his hands to his temples and shook his head. “You never returned. Abandoned us. Even when mother was dying ... you must have known.”

/>   Karapetian’s mouth remained impassive, but his eyes revealed sorrow. “Of course I knew. Every day I received reports back from my familiars, of how she declined with every breath. They told me how you nursed her, spent every waking hour with her during those last weeks. I was proud of you, but knowing your plight tore me up. I couldn’t even go to the funeral; I saw it through the eyes of the familiars.”

  “The crows? There were so many of them at the service. I remember everyone commenting on their number, lining the walls and the telegraph wires. It was like a farewell from beyond. But why didn’t you come? What can have been so precious that you would isolate yourself?”

  “I think you can answer that question yourself. Remember a time not so long ago when you had to choose between a loved one and your higher calling?”

  Merrick cast his mind back to Paraganet House so many months ago; the last time he had truly spoken to Lotus. He remembered the tortured conflict meted out in that moment, how his world was torn in two when he made the decision. A decision to throw his lot in with what he considered to be his destiny. How could he now criticise Karapetian, the man he now knew as his father, for making a similar choice?

  Karapetian moved across and sat beside his re-united son. “I watched you from afar, Merrick. Watched you grow up under the careful eye of my brother. I’ll be forever indebted to him.”

  “Did he and mother know of the order—I mean, its secrets, its magnitude, hell—its very nature?”

  “Martha knew much. She was gifted herself, but chose to stay on the fringes. Titus simply knew I was part of something cloaked from him. He didn’t ask too many questions—no doubt he thought I was part of MI6.”

  Merrick snorted. “He never knew the half of it, did he?”

  “And he chose for matters to remain that way—another thing I owe him for. As I rose through the ranks, and the possibility of leadership emerged, Martha withdrew more and more. Then you were born—and that changed everything. I revoked my allegiance and abandoned the Order.”

  Karapaetian reached across and poured them both another drink. “Only I learned that one doesn’t choose the Order; rather, it chooses you. In time, they found us, and entreated me to re-consider. They showed me what could happen if the Hierophants were to dissolve and be no more. We have acted as a restraining force against evil for so long.”

  “Don’t tell me. Shamon entered the scene.”

  “Yes. We should have divined his rise to power, but I became distracted. I questioned whether I had made a dreadful mistake leaving you and your mother, spent many long years brooding while I carried out my duty in the Order. You see, it was more than just choosing syncretic brethren over family; I saw it as a way of protecting you. Our enemies were many and if I had stayed, they would have found us just as the Hierophants did. Once Shamon’s rise was assured, I woke from my self-pitying stupor and galvanised the council of the Hierophants.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About a year before I reached out to you.”

  Thoughts and questions tumbled like shuffled cards in Merrick’s mind, then re-arranged themselves in a solitaire array of realisation.

  “So you laid your trail of breadcrumbs for me? The note left at my house and the text after my meeting with Garento and Harris-Billinger.”

  “I had to entice you with care. After all, you’re a perceptive man, and at the time—completely secularised. I knew I had to draw you into the Hierophant’s fold. It would only be a matter of time before Shamon came to know of you—and your power.”

  “A power that now lies beyond my reach.”

  “I understand your feelings of helplessness. I have had to carry a similar burden for over twenty years now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Psychonautics is a rare gift, but one that has surfaced in our family line sporadically for generations.”

  “You ... ?”

  “I first knew of my talents at an early age. I was brought up in a Hierophant enclave on the borders of Armenia. Unlike you, I was given expert tutelage, learned how to hone my power to the greatest of degrees.”

  Merrick rose from his seat and poured the last of the wine into their cups. “So, what happened?”

  “Another family trait. Impatience. At the time, we were in conflict with a group of adepts rising up from across the Caucasus mountains. In many ways they were a precursor of the Ukurum. A pre-earthquake tremor heralding a greater tectonic shift in the magickal realms. I was lieutenant in a squad of Hierophant warriors. I was also young and impetuous, ignored the teachings of my elders. During a desperate battle in the snows of that mountain range I unleashed the full force of my mind on the enemy—much as you did in Turkmenistan. We vanquished our foe but also took a heavy toll, many at my own hand.”

  “From that day I have never wielded my power in anger. Instead, I made use of psychonautic tributaries that trickled upstream from the main torrent of my potency. It’s them I have to thank ... or blame, for my ascendency in the Hierophants. It’s also why, up to now, I have never ventured forth in any combat operations.”

  Merrick stared solemnly at his father. “I see. So your presence here can only mean one thing.”

  Karapetian nodded. “It’s time to unleash the power one more time.”

  ~~~

  Jagur Shamon awoke from a night of deep slumber, refreshed and alert. His eyes settled on Lotus’ naked form and he recalled their night of animal abandon. His phallus stirred at the memory and Lotus felt the arousal. Presenting herself to him, they made love silently. It was the antithesis of their nocturnal rutting, but nonetheless potent.

  With him still inside her, they lay together for a while. He would remove their vital fluids afterward, but for now he was reveling in the moment. He filled up with the ancient energy of Ukurum and understood that he was on the cusp of elevation to a higher order. Once the Union of allies were destroyed he would seek an audience with It—a being even more powerful than the Leviathan. His credentials were more than sufficient for It to consider him worthy of an immortal’s rank.

  “Are you ready to witness the vanquishing of an enemy?” he said.

  She turned to him, still euphoric in the aftermath of their orgasm. “Remember ... you promised.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, my butterfly. Today we will both share in a conqueror’s glory.”

  A frown clouded her brow. “What if the Psychonaut unleashes his power again?”

  “He dare not. Theta herself saw how he reached the threshold of control on their last encounter. A further release will consume him, and all those for miles around.”

  “He may think the sacrifice worth it.”

  Shamon shook his head, his facial ornaments tinkling in the chilled atmosphere. “Whyte is a compromiser, emasculated by his own sense of ethics. For him, the means will never justify the end.”

  He rose from their bed, his action indicating that the discussion was closed. “We shall eat, then go out and meet our foe for the last time.”

  They had a light breakfast shared with Theta, Radice and the Ukurum Commander of operations. A sense of unbridled ambition and arrogance permeated at the table, and Shamon rose at the end of it, ready to fulfil his destiny.

  “Theta, it is time to strike,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  His supreme general nodded. “I’ll take up position,” she said. Moments later they saw her rise to the skies on the back of an immense eagle, her silhouette that of a vengeful Valkyrie.

  Shamon looked at Lotus. “We shall conduct our practice in the mountain temple again. It will keep us secluded and far from the eyes of their far-seers.

  Lotus smiled as they mounted the steps of Shamon’s inner sanctum, and sat next to him in front of a Goat idol.

  “Take my hand,” he said to her, “and we will become destroyers of worlds.”

  In an instant they were flying as astral projections across the valley. Shamon could feel Lotus
’ exhilaration, crescendoing as they saw the Behomoth loom before them. They entered its body, Shamon curious to notice how Lotus recoiled at the presence of such an ancient deity. Its consciousness was as old as that of the Ukurum, yet even deeper. Formed from the conjoining of great principalities at the dawn of time, it resisted their entry on the first attempt. But Shamon’s authority was greater and he forced the Behomoth to surrender its will as a growl of submission reverberated the hillsides.

  They could see through its eyes now and their joined will urged the Behomoth up the mountainside towards their foe. Shamon’s possession the previous day had drained him considerably. Now, with Lotus’ added strength the sense of impregnability, of absolute power, was intoxicating. He saw their body plant its feet on the kindred mountain rock and crush ravines, break glaciers or dam streams in its relentless drive upwards. It mattered not that the Behomoth suffered at being used, it was just another pawn, albeit a powerful one.

  Its head broke through a blanket of cloud and emerged into brilliant sunshine. There, in a natural corrie, he saw the Hierophant camp. The remaining, pitiful ragbag of warriors were arranged behind hastily erected barricades. An effective defence against an ascending, exhausted army, but a mere inconvenience for such an entity.

  But what was this? On a lip of the ice, there in front of him, were two, ant-like forms.

  It is Karapetian and Whyte. Lotus voice was inside his head. Crush them, my Lord. Let them be reduced to a memory, buried in the snow.

  The time for discussions and ultimatums was past. Shamon did not waste any words. He raised the Behomoth’s fist in the air like a monstrous hammer and let it descend on the two forms. Yet, even as it fell towards them, Shamon knew something was wrong. The way they stood, defiant, hand in hand. The sense of expectation on the upturned faces of the defendants. And then the resistance. Primal energy arced from them in a plume of cobalt blue, staying the igneous fist of the giant.