The Weird Company Read online

  It was in this malaise that a heretical thought instilled itself in Zkauba, if Buo would not plead with the Mother for aid, then he would. Zkauba would arm himself as best he could, and then descend into the fearful depths of the Yaddithan underworld. There, following the signs of the ancient Zkahrnizzen, he who had ascended from the inner world eons ago, Zkauba would find his way to the cavern where dwelt Thaqquallah and plead with the cenobites for an audience with the Goddess in the hopes that she would intervene on behalf of the Nug Soth, and endow upon him the power to strike down the vile and despicable Dholes. As I have said, this was a heretical idea. Zkauba had sworn a pledge to obey Buo, and such oaths were serious matters amongst the Nug Soth. Were he to be caught violating his pledge he would most assuredly forfeit much of his prestige, wealth and rights. I have described Zkauba as a wizard, but if he were to do this thing, were he to violate his pledge he would forever be known as sdantlanws, an oath-breaker, though this is not the best of translations. In English there is a word for such people, though few will know its archaic meaning, though I, as a student of such things, find the title most appropriate: given what forces Zkauba could wield, and what he planned to do, I can think of no better appellation than warlock!

  The armourers of the Nug Soth, the Yshhr, are as much artisans as engineers and produced a strange style of battle garb, bejeweled, oblong helmets, baroque gloves, outlandishly fur-trimmed cloaks and seemingly impossible fusions of edged, energy and projectile weapons. Although much of the styling appeared purely decorative, no jewel, no bauble, no crest was without a secondary function. The gems that served as helmet lenses also allowed the wearer to see beyond the normal visual spectrum supplied by his seven eyes. The ceramic armor that covered his chest and limbs not only protected him from attack, but also preserved his body temperature, and rejuvenated the very air and water that he needed to survive. The gauntlets of the lower arms were not only protective, but also served to enhance the ability of the Nug Soth to manipulate energy and matter through simple hand gestures. The gauntlets worn on the upper hands varied in that they formed a kind of symbiotic bond between their wearer and the weapons wielded. Through simple thought the sinistral sword or dextral dagger could be commanded to become energized, or discharge small needle-like projectiles. Additionally the sword, which was not a single blade, but rather more saw-toothed in appearance, could be made to have its teeth whip around the blade like a chain saw. This chain sword was a vicious and most deadly melee weapon, feared for its savagery and deadly results. For the paired limbs he used for legs, there were boots that functioned to deny the very force of gravity, he could not fly, but he could leap farther than normal, walk up walls and even briefly hang from the ceiling. Even the ermine-fringed cape was not without its own secrets. Zkauba referred to the thing as translucent, and by this he meant that when engaged it would allow light to pass through it completely, rendering the wearer not quite invisible, but rather, difficult to notice.

  All these accoutrements did the wizard Zkauba don as he prepared for his sin of descending into the underworld. As I have said before, there is no night on Yaddith, and thus there is no period of darkness during which to commit clandestine acts. Thus armed and armored and sheltered by his translucent cloak he made his way through the streets of the city, moving from alleyway to alleyway, from shadow to shadow, slinking between the ductwork and machinery of the alien city until at last he came to the temple house that housed the gate that led down into the subterranean world that lay beneath his very feet. There was fear in his mind as he entered the hall and slid along the wall toward the ornately carved, massive slabs of ebon stone that served as doors to the gate itself. He was cautious, nervous, and his head darted back and forth searching for guardians that would prevent his passage, but there were none. So strong was the conviction to follow the oaths they had sworn, no guard was needed to prevent any from passing through the gate. The guilt and fear returned, perhaps even grew, as he pried one of the great stone panels open. But his mind was set, his course committed to, and as he slipped through and closed the gate behind him, all doubts about his actions faded forever. It may have been better if he had indeed turned back, but hindsight can be cruel, and then and there at the gate, Zkauba did what he felt needed to be done.

  The journey downward into the bowels of Yaddith, despite being lit by a species of luminescent fungi, was slow and treacherous. The way was marked with the Zkahrnizzen Sign, but that was no guaranty of safety. The ancient tunnels and crevices that carried him into stygian depths were replete with debris from landslides, rock falls and other signs of geological stress. Foul odors assaulted his senses, mostly sulfurous gas, but also pockets of methane and the occasional wind-borne blast of caustic hydrochloride gas. Such passive perils were not the only threats to challenge the passage of the wizard. Metsis, a kind of centipedal rodent the size of a small dog, haunted the caverns, lapping up sustenance from slime pools and fungi. The larger of these, their mouths full of vicious teeth, were not opposed to threatening Zkauba, and on more than one occasion did he leave the bolder of such creatures mewling as their green blood pumped from gaping wounds. More dangerous were the Eaav, spider-wasps that swarmed over unwary prey overwhelming them through sheer numbers. They coated their victims with strands of webbing that clumped together, making movement at first difficult, and then as the strands accumulated, impossible. The webbing and delicate wings of the Eaav were susceptible to fire, and this proved an effective defense. At least until one of the flame-engulfed swarms careened down into an invisible pocket of methane, sparking an explosion and fireball that threw the wizard across the cavern and into the wall. After this unfortunate event Zkauba grew more circumspect in his dealing with the denizens of the underworld, often waiting hours (and on one occasion nearly a whole day) before proceeding through a particular passageway.

  A week after he had left the surface Zkauba reached the gated entrance to the Temple of Thaqquallah. It was a horrid place, filled with vile stenches and heavy air of dubious quality. There were no guards on the gates and as he passed through them none of the attending cenobites rose to greet him. The priests were cloaked in tattered robes of a drab yellow color that hid the entirety of their bodies including their hands and heads. Despite his attempts to converse with them they refused to raise their cowls or even speak, they merely gestured toward the crystalline dome that dominated the great cavern and then scurried off, leaving in their wake the queerest of tracks. The dome was a Moon-Lens, built from the opalescent meteorites that occasionally fall from Sicstu, the fourth moon. Its entryway was decorated with symbols that were strange to me, but Zkauba noted some resemblance to the rune-letters used by the Q’Hrell. It was apparent to both of us that the great lens was the merest outcropping of the prison in which the Mother Goddess had been imprisoned by the Progenitors so many eons before.

  Within the interior there was a thin ledge running along the wall. Beneath this there was nothing, simply a vast seething pit of darkness that seemed to reach down to the very core of the world. From the worn rock ledge a single cantilever jutted out leading to a point near the center of the pit where a lone figure lay crucified against an ornate, basaltic gibbet. This individual Zkauba took to be the Seer of Thaqquallah, the Voice of the Mother, and as we approached we could see the thin ropey tendrils that climbed up out of the pit and wrapped themselves around the throat and head of the honored priest. Prepared by the Tablets of Nhing, Zkauba brought forth his dagger and in an act of sacrifice cut open one of his hands, letting the blood filter down through the fetid air until it reached the Divine Matriarch.

  The priest shuddered as the tendrils snapped him awake. He was blind, and his body was sickly bloated. There was movement beneath his skin, as if something large was shifting about. He opened his mouth to speak, but the voice did not originate from the Nug Soth equivalent of a voice box. The sound was like a hollow wind, and Zkauba fell to his knees as his god spoke to him. It was not a language he knew, but he needed
no translation, he knew what the words meant, for it was the language of the gods, the base language of the universe itself, and even the lowliest of species would recognize it. As he listened, one of his tympanum burst and began to bleed, Zkauba enraptured, ignored the pain.

  He performed the Rite of Supplication and once he was sure that the Mother was satisfied with him, he began his petition. “Great Thaqquallah, Mother of Us All, the Nug Soth are your most faithful of servants, and yet we are vexed, we are troubled, we are engaged in a most dire conflict. The Dholes, spawn of your womb, destroy our brood chambers, devour our young, imperil our very existence. We beseech you Mother, help us, help us protect our lives, our cities, our civilization, our species, help us and this war between your two children and we shall celebrate your glory forever.”

  There was a long pause after Zkauba finished speaking, and then the Seer shuddered, the tendrils withdrew and the Seer spoke once more, this time in a voice wracked with pain. “You speak of the war between the Nug Soth and the Dholes. The Goddess sees no such war, only the natural order of things. Many and multi-form are the children of her flesh, but of those she has created only blessed Zkahrnizzen, born gravid, had the potential for self-awareness, and to her the All-Mother gave the task of being fruitful and multiplying so that someday her descendants might free the Goddess from her prison. The Goddess does not seek your praise, or adoration, she wishes to be free! And one day her children will free her from her imprisonment within Yaddith, and she will spread her seed throughout the universe.”

  “But which of her children does she favor?” pleaded Zkauba.

  The priest laughed, “The Riddle of Thaqquallah. How can it be that she favors neither, and both?” He coughed. “You are a fool to ask. It would be best not to dwell on the answer; you will not find any comfort in it, none at all.” Then the priest went silent and Zkauba knew his audience was over.

  Zkauba left the Moon-Lens, and then the temple. He attempted to return to the surface, but the journey and his brief confrontation had left him weak and exhausted. Following the path back was not always easy and many were the times he deviated from it and found himself doubling back, searching for a missed sign. Days into his journey, his provisions nearly depleted he suddenly became dizzy, slipped and tumbled down a deep shaft or pit into a great dome of steaming, fetid pools. There was a horrendous smell and a great, snuffling noise, like that of a great beast searching. He pinned himself against the wall and cloaked himself in that translucent fabric, in hopes his presence would be concealed from whatever was coming from the other direction. It was the first time he had ever seen a Dhole alive and up close. The thing was massive; its worm-like bulk was twice his height in diameter, pale and segmented. Though it bore six limbs, they hung useless on the sides of its titanic body which humped along the ground like some sort of obscene grub. Although many report that the Dholes are blind, Zkauba could see a small cyclopean eye just above the obscenely probing snout, while six more nearly unnoticeable ocelli decorated the cranial ridges facing backwards. Though this monstrous thing could have easily crushed Zkauba he knew that despite its tremendous bulk it was only a juvenile example of the species, for it was not uncommon for Dholes to be as large, if not larger than small buildings or towering spires.

  Knowing that creatures like this one were responsible for the attacks on the brooding ziggurats Zkauba steeled himself, slowly and silently he drew his weapons and waited for the right moment to engage. Whether it was the sound of the sword being drawn, or the gauntlets energizing, or perhaps even a slight flutter in the translucent cloak, the Dhole suddenly started and reared up to strike at the crouching wizard, its rasping snout chewing through the air. Instinctively Zkauba powered on his sword and with a smooth, fluid arc sliced through the tentacular proboscis. The beast squealed in pain and drew back, while the now stunted snout reeled through the air, a spray of bloody droplets raining down.

  Still somewhat invisible, Zkauba launched himself into the air and plunged his dagger into the soft spot between segments of the behemoth. With his lower hands he grasped the armored ridges, while his upper sinistral arm once more swung the chain sword, this time at the beast’s head. It did not cut easy, great gouts of blood and gore sprayed out from the deadly mechanism, but the Dhole’s armored plates served to frustrate the blade and the thing quickly jammed, clogged by fibrous strands of cartilaginous tissue. Once more the Dhole screamed and reared up. The creature shook its mighty bulk, and though his grip was strong, Zkauba was no match for the physics of the situation, and he was flung from his perch leaving both his sword and dagger embedded in the flesh of the beast.

  Zkauba tumbled through the air, allowing the momentum to carry him away from the creature before engaging his boots and ricocheting off the wall and back toward the Dhole. The creature was turning to face him, and though he was lacking both sword and dagger, he was not without armaments. As he travelled through the air Zkauba’s gauntleted lower hands manipulated the very atmosphere around him and drew out much of the energy latent within, using it to form a kind of electric spike, a form of artificial lightning. As the Dhole raised its bloody snout and opened its mouth to attack him, Zkauba launched the spike down the thing’s massive throat. The Dhole gulped in surprise and then wavered a bit as smoke began to pour from the edges of the thing’s jaws. Taking advantage of the Dhole’s sudden weakness Zkauba landed just above the thing’s cyclopean eye and then swiftly drove one of his vestigial fighting claws into it. Viscous fluid exploded as he penetrated the stiff cornea and lens, and the Dhole squirmed trying once more to throw the unwanted rider, but this time the effort was lackluster. Zkauba’s grip on the internal structure of the eye was too strong. For a moment the alien wizard thought that the struggle might dislodge the eye itself, but as the orb seemed to break from its setting the chthonic worm suddenly shuddered and then collapsed from its wounds. The victorious warrior cautiously stalked along the beast’s body and reclaimed his sword and dagger. Then without a single ounce of pity or compassion he made his way back toward the head of the monster and then made sure that the beast was dead.

  He collapsed next to the creature; the struggle, the manipulation of energy, had taken its toll, and he needed to rest. He was hopeful that the battle had frightened off any other threats that might lurk within the nearby area, at least long enough for him to regain his strength. It was while he sat there, half drowsing in near slumber, that something odd caught his eye. As I have written before, this was the first time Zkauba had ever seen a live specimen, and the first time he had ever seen a juvenile at that. In this he noted the presence of six diminutive and rudimentary limbs, three on each side, that were normally not seen on larger exemplars. Scientific examination through vivisection had found suggestions of such structures hidden within the bodies themselves, but it had always been assumed that such limbs had been vestigial, and no longer served, or could serve any function. Their presence here on a juvenile suggested otherwise, and Zkauba was intrigued by a possible theory that crept into his head. Perhaps, he hypothesized, the Dholes were not always titanic grub-like monstrosities, perhaps their larval form was entirely different, one that had a slightly different physiology that used the six limbs for locomotion, which were then lost as the creature grew in size. Perhaps this larva was more vulnerable than the rampaging adults. Perhaps this was the weakness the Nug Soth had been looking for.

  He grabbed one of the vestigial arms, and with his dagger cut it off. Though shriveled, withered even, nearly desiccated, the limb bore a remarkable resemblance to those of his own species. It bore the same joints, the same vestigial fighting claw on the hand, the same arrangement and number of fingers. It was then that Zkauba began to understand, and his mind drifted back to the enigmatic words of the priest. He scraped the filth from the limb and looked for what he hoped would not, could not be there. But it was, it was there, and he could see it with his own eyes. He understood the answer now. The Riddle of Thaqquallah had been solved, and it drove Zkau
ba mad.