THE NECRONOMICON ~ The Cthulhu Revelations (12 page)

Of Black Tsathoggua, reveler of Shathak,

And of Him Who is the Unspeakable.

~

Ever we cry their praises,

Ever birth-blood we offer

Unto the Black Goat of the Wood.

Ia!  Shub-Niggurath!

The Goat with a Thousand Young!

For in this age it has to come to pass,

That She of the Woods,

Now made motherless to our kind,

Beareth no High Priestess of our kith.

For the fools of this world

Hath slaughtered those who receive her.

So doth she demand a feast of the Cabal

Of the worthy, of dreamers,

And so hath they descended unto the gate,

Seven and nine, descended the steps of onyx.

So shall the one, the harbinger and chosen

Be gathered by her maws,

And there be annihilated,

One with oblivion,

So made worthy.

~

Great too shall be the tributes

To the Daemon Sultan, Azathoth,

He of whom Cthulhu

Hath taught us the revelations,

And so we inscribe in souls

The names of the worthy

In the Blackest Codex

Where the essences of the chosen

Are to be kept as one,

And so exalted.

~

Azathoth!  His herald descends amongst us

On tides of night from beyond the Void,

From beyond the rinds of the limitless

And the fracturing of the spheres.

He descendeth

Through the scattering of stars,

Unto the thousand worlds,

Through the spheres

Of which Yuggoth is the child,

Coiling in the aether

Which whorls beyond Yuggoth’s rim.

~

He descendeth, beloved of the Beasts

To all the thousand worlds

Where the sages of the chosen races rise,

Culling his harvest of prophets,

Crushing to dust the worthless chaff.

~

And so this night,

We choose from the unbelievers

Those worthy of slaughter,

We choose from amongst our brethren

The wisest to crawl before him.

Our prophets hath journeyed

Out among the Kingdom of Men,

Hath mimicked the ways of Kings thereof,

So that He who revels in the Void

May knoweth of the deceivers.

~

To the treasure-laden herald, Nyarlathotep,

Must all such things be told,

So that he may know our frailties

And so overwhelm them in revelation.

For as with Nitocris, as with Nephren-Ka,

He shall clothe himself in the images of man,

The obsidian mask and the robe which veils,

And He shall descend

From the world of the Seven Fires,

Into the Otherness of Dream.

~

There, in the name of the fearless seekers,

He shall taunt and mock

The feeble gods who slumber

In their citadel of Kadath,

Their tomb of clouded onyx and brittle frost.

~

So are the false dreams to be silenced,

So are the minds lain open to receiveth

The cry of He Who Slumbereth

Beneath the Waves,

Ph’nglui mglw’nafh, Cthulhu R’lyeh,

Wgah’nagl fhtagn.

~

So cometh death, the silence!

Hear our pleadings to the Sleeper,

The Great Cthulhu,

O Nyarlathotep, herald of the Chaos,

Bearer of the triad of the scarlet eye,

Bequeather of adorations unto Yuggoth,

Lord and Father

Of the Million Who Are Chosen,

Stalker among the netherworlds,

Culler of the fractures, finder of ways!

So let our entreaties to Cthulhu be heard,

So let our sacrifice be not in vain!

~

For we have chosen from the deceivers,

So that ye may reap of them.

Take these, the unworthy, and be appeased,

So that in the hollows riven by their screams

Our prayers may be heard

By He Who Sleeps Within the Depths,

In his palace in R’lyeh!

Cthulhu, who lieth dreaming,

Be aided by our sacrifice,

Rise and feast, triumphant!

~

(The slaughter of the present victims then begins.)

GATHERING THE FIFTH

Into the Wasteland

SCROLL XXI

The Lure of the Sand

(The tale of Al-Azrad in his time of suffering, after Adaya’s death, continues.)

~

Of the time when I did learn that I could not be without my beloved, my Adaya, there is more that you must know.

I tell on, then, of the Place of the Seven Pearls, and there, my solitude.

Searching Aharon’s belongings that morning—for he had taken nothing, not even his water, ere his journey into the wasteland—I learned only that he had in life followed the caravans, the emporiums, the spice trade of Damascus and all the lands beyond.  Besides my own amber-pouch and the leavings of myrrh, I found many tiny purses filled with frankincense,
onycha
, galbanum and cassia, with balm of Gilead, and even a pinch of saffron worth more than its weight in gold.

Alas, of the violet frankincense, the fungal leavings of the Yuggothai whose burning brings nepenthe, I found nothing.

But the mundane spices were a treasure nevertheless.  These I did take and bundle into my own satchel, for they were the perfect lures to loose the tongues of any secret-sharers I might find.

But where then was I to go?

Searching further, I found nothing, only the echoes of mysteries.  Did the Cabal of the Ghul, crafters of the tattoos and of the amulet Aharon had given me, spread far and wide in the cities of this world?  Were the secrets of the Ghuls known then to thousands?

I needed to know, for I believed that among mortals, these men only would know the secrets of Adaya’s resurrection.  Surely not only they would know forbidden secrets, but they at least might count me amongst their own kind, should the amulet of Aharon be proven true.

Others would know darker things, and might well mark me in their turn.  My sharp eye had seen the vermilion-robed ones in the nights of Sana’a, the vile servitors of Cthulhu; and even two or three assassins skulking their paths of sin unto the palace-tents of sheikhs.  I had never seen such a symbol as on my amulet, or such tattoos as the scars borne by Aharon.  But then, if Aharon had been one with the Cabal for many years, and these few wandering souls did serve the Ghuls in order to earn the worthiness to feast and rise among them in eternity, where would such men dwell?

They would be wanderers.  Any who saw a Watcher, a Ghul in the likeness of Naram-gal, would be an exile or one who would bury a corpse off in the wasteland.

Such men would be hermits, untouchables, vagabonds of the desert.  They would revel alone and die within the desert, or be reborn there.  And so it was simple—my quarry, the keepers of my secrets would be not only wanderers, but men of the caravans.  How else could one wander every desert and endure?

And then I knew—if I desired to make use of my symbol of the Cabal and to learn more from the Ghuls and their servitors, if I longed to learn the forbidden secrets which could bring my Adaya back to life, I too would need to become one with the caravans and stride among them.

I would find these men.  Aharon, gone to his own destiny, had eluded me.  For answers, however few, there would be others.

I thought of returning to the Oasis of Zarzara, but I believed only one end awaited me there—the judgment of Naram-gal, the Watcher.  And would he come to watch over me in peace a second time?  Would such a creature care that I bore the symbol of his kind?  I did not know.  Something however, an instinct or compulsion, told me that it was too soon for one as ignorant as I to seek the Deathless Ones themselves.

I doubted Aharon would be there at Zarzara; for if he had been worthy of the Ghuls’ feast, he would be taken into the desert to dwell with them.  And so the only reason I might return to the oasis would be either to end my life, or to begin my own eternity as a Ghul.

I chose neither.  My twin obsessions, Adaya and her vengeance, these alone became my life.

~

The tracks of the caravan’s mules and camels, fading into sands and melting away with the wind, told me that they had journeyed north and east, toward the ravaged town of Marib and likely thence north and west to the spice city Yathrib, great Medina.  Even with water and stealing through the chill of night, I could never survive such a journey on foot alone.  And thus, I took the shade of Aharon’s abandoned tent, and looked to the east, waiting for the next caravan to journey near to me from accursed Sana’a itself.

It was near to sunset once more when I did see the dust plumes of a lesser caravan coming toward me.  Galloping far in front of them came the bold caravan master himself, a wind-cut and pot-bellied man riding upon a beautiful white Arabian steed.

He stopped, and let his horse paw the dust, as I cleared the mirages from my head with a shake and a stare of disbelief.  The man was still there.  He did not approach me, but rather held his reigns and even put one fist to his thigh as he waited for me to rise and come to him.

As I neared the caravan master he loudly named himself, Saheed.  Looking at me, my gaunt countenance and muscles taut with the endurance of all my fresh trials in the desert, he even called me “almost a man” and offered to let me serve as a grain-sack thrower in his train.

His caravan, yet far behind him, was coming nearer.  Putting my own hand to my hip and the other upon the pommel of my
jambiya
, I said to him if I was almost a man, then I would serve well not as thrower of grain, but rather as a guard to protect his riches from the bandits of the wasteland.

He threw back his head and laughed at me.  But it was a good laugh, one which marked his surprise to find himself beginning to respect me.  For I was barely out of boyhood, yes, but what boy had he ever seen standing in the desert alone and daring to barter proudly for his station?

“As you are neither boy nor man, yet full of fire, then,” said Saheed, “a bargain, yes?  One so gaunt and lithe as you would serve better as a lover for my guards, rather than be a guard yourself.  Can you drink spice wine and still keep a clear head for love and battle?  No?  Well.  Your voice is sweet and carries long, and you have no little measure of valor in you, almost-man.  Beside us, you will ride.  A frail mule, yes, but a quick one.  You will serve as a scout in the desert beside my caravan’s sunward flank, watching for your ‘bandits’ and racing back to us should you see them.  Neither a guard nor thrower, but a scout.  Yes?”

It was far better than I had hoped for.  I thought of a haughty reply, a further risk and barter.  But to my dismay, I was not offended by either Saheed or his generous offer.  I began to like him.

Reflecting his boldness still, I dared to lift the amulet which Aharon had given me.  I had corded it upon a piece of dried camel sinew, and I strung it around my neck and placed my hand of the blessed upon it.  “By this symbol,” I said, “I will go with you.”

If Saheed knew what the sigil of the Cabal of the Ghul could mean, he gave no sign.  But he did provide me the small honor of trotting his beautiful horse before me, leaning over, and spitting between my feet.

Water for the desert, in my name, a handshake of its kind and truer than any promise?  I bowed to him.  He laughed again, full heartily, and his caravan coming near caught the echo of his spirit.  Men cheered and welcomed me, waving, not even yet knowing who I was or what I was to become to them.

Before they came near, I whispered to Saheed, “And what if in scouting for you, I believe I see a Ghul?”

To my curiosity, he did not seem surprised to hear me say this.  Looking back, I now know that such “superstition” was not only common amongst the desert men, it was something of a secret religion of mannered fear.  Had I
not
believed in Ghuls, he may well have been suspicious of me and wondered if I had been born in a city instead of the wasteland.

Little did he know that I had reason to believe in the Ghuls themselves.  To me it was no superstition; it was the dawning of my understanding of a greater reality.

I said further to him, “If ever there is one you see who bears my symbol, you will befriend them, and in honor you will speak for my worth and you will bring them to me, yes?”

And he replied, “Why would I do such a brazen thing?”

In answer, I gave him the saffron.  He opened the pouch, tasted a grain upon his finger, and I had the pleasure of hearing him gasp.

He demanded to know where I had gotten such a treasure.  But I had timed my gambit well, and now all his smiling guards and laborers were sitting on their mounts all about us.

I said only, “Remember our deal, Saheed, for mayhap there is more saffron to be had.  I will be the finest guide you ever knew.”

And I spat before him.  The men all laughed and cheered.

What holiday was this, that the great Saheed had met his equal in an almost-man?

So did I become the scout of the sunward flank in service to the Caravan of the White Stallion.

SCROLL XXII

The Mysteries of the Spice

And so did I journey with the brazen Saheed of the White Stallion upon the spice road to Yathrib.  We passed through the serpent-bannered town of Thoma, touching upon the tribal Chalukyas and their nomadic moving villages without names; and on into Najran of the white walls and many peoples.  Najran, with its lithe black women and cinnamon-skinned children, was spellbinding to me.  I never had journeyed so far, and the city-edge market of tents and stalls upon the valley brim of Najran intrigued me even more than had the orderly emporiums of Sana’a.  There was danger there, and merriment beneath the setting sun.  Gold was not the law in such a place.  Barter was all.  Jewels changed hands for sensual favors, silk for spice, and rainbow-colored songbirds for encrypted papyrus scrolls.