Necropolis: Book 3: Pharaoh Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Necropolis: PharaohAlso available by Michel Weatherall

  Chapter I: Mutiny & Betrayal

  Chapter II: Isolation

  Chapter III: Fear the Unknown

  Chapter IV: The Shores of Sanity

  Chapter V: What Lurks Below

  Chapter VI: The Sane Edge of R’lyeh

  Next, available now!

  Afterward

  NECROPOLIS: PHARAOH

  ..................

  Book 3

  by Michel Weatherall

  Necropolis Book 3: Pharaoh© Michel Weatherall 2016

  All rights reserved

  Title font (xxii Arabian Onenightstand) provided with permission and courtesy of Lecter Johnson

  www.dafont.com/doubletwo-studios.d1527

  Cover: Pharaoh artwork: Statuette of Osiris Sitting, circa 664-332 BCE, Artist unknown.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Published by Broken Keys Publishing

  [email protected]

  Published 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9948189-4-2 (print)

  ISBN 978-0-9948189-8-0 (digital)

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Dedicated to

  my son, Drew.

  You’re stronger than destiny.

  You can change the world.

  ALSO AVAILABLE BY MICHEL WEATHERALL

  A Dark Corner of My Soul

  Mother-Machine

  The Symbiot (I)

  The Hunt: Symbiosys (II)

  CHAPTER I: MUTINY & BETRAYAL

  The Eye of Osiris

  The Red Sea, Egypt,

  circa 1242 BCE

  Even for a Nubian, Pharaoh Nyarlathotep was dark skinned, near the colour of pitch - the whites of his eyes and his sharpened teeth shone forth like beacons of light! The gold he wore on his wrists, ankles, neck, and headpiece seemingly shone brighter still contrasted to his ebony skin. His hands held out by his sides, palms down – mimicking a pushing or holding motion.

  “You have sided with the slaves?” Pharaoh’s voice boomed in Egyptian, as he stood atop the hill.

  “I have sided with Life!” Moshe shouted back in Hebrew. He had the low ground. He stood in the dried bed of the sea, attempting to buy his fleeing people more time. He leaned upon his staff, slouched. His face and eyes concealed beneath his hood. They were nearly through the portal.

  “You speak the language of the slaves now?!” Pharaoh asked incredulously. “Is that your great ambition, to become one?” he spat the final words out, sardonically.

  “No more than you have father,” Moshe mumbled through clenched teeth. Then, out loud, “You will not, you cannot release Cthulhu!“

  “Do not tell me you have not heard the call. Do not tell me you have not dreamed of the priest Krulgh! Do not tell me He hasn’t whispered to you!” the Black Pharaoh shouted to his son! “You know it cannot be stopped! You know it is inevitable! You know it is unavoidable!”

  Moshe removed his hood. The sunlight caused the green and golden flecks in his hazel eyes to sparkle as he spoke in clear fluent Egyptian for the Pharaoh’s men to hear.

  “The Reign of Pharaoh Nyarlathotep has come to an end. The name of Nefren-Kha will be struck and erased from the pages of history. You will simply disappear!” Moshe stood straighter still. He raised his staff above his head with a upward pushing motion; his eyes glowing golden.

  The dried seabed turned to mud. Moshe’s feet were submerged in seconds.

  Pharaoh raged and screamed and shouted! His eyes flared with alien magic as he attempted to counter the Hebrew’s spell... but still the water rose!

  It gushed. It exploded. Across the horizon a tidal wave was visible racing towards them. Moshe levitated off the ground, his eyes blinding beacons of light now. He spoke in High Egyptian to the Pharaoh’s men and soldiers.

  “Now is your time! Reclaim your freedom! End the slaughter and debauchery!” Moshe’s voice became like thunder, “Crush Pharaoh Nyarlathotep!” The screaming crescendo coincided with the arrival of the tidal wave. The entire desert environment exploded with water!

  Strange alien energies coursed through Pharaoh Nyarlathotep’s body. It spilt out of his hands and glowed green in his eyes. Pushing his alien reserves to their limit, he attempted to hold back and push down the raging waters! But these weren’t natural waters! They were artificially driven and forced by the Symbiot-hybrid, Moshe.

  The waters cleaved, split by Pharaoh’s powers and roared and screamed past him, but he could not stop them!

  Pharaoh bellowed his denial and frustration as the last of his energy became depleted. The water engulfed him and carried him away.

  ..................

  Schäfer’s Expedition

  University of Heidelberg,

  Germany, 1924

  (3167 years later)

  “The Eye of Osiris has been known by many names throughout history,” began Dr. Schäfer, the German professor of archaeology, “as has its many legends and mythology that surrounds it.

  “Some legends claim that it finds its origins in Lost Atlantis, some from the prehistory of Man, while others still claim it isn’t of this Earth.

  “It is also reputed to be cursed. Some pre-Egyptian cultures claim its multifaceted surface are windows to other worlds, heavens and hells, the afterlife, and what-have-you. It had been attributed with bestowing blessed eternal life, and by others as cursed with eternal death...”

  Otto Zann sat in the audience of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand. He wasn’t overly interested in the history of the amulet or its gem, The Eye of Osiris. Otto had hoped this might be the fruition of his years of work and musical research.

  Legends spoke of an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh that was so brutal and evil to his people, that when he was overthrown, his own people attempted to remove him from history.

  “But the Eye of Osiris,” continued Dr. Schäfer, “all myth and legend aside, is known to be a gem of unusual cut, mounted in an amulet.”

  Otto’s emerald eyes sparkled with delight and excitement. This evil Pharaoh – assuming he really was more than just legend – was rumoured to wear the Eye of Osiris – cursed to live forever, or suffer eternal death. But - and this was where Otto’s interest lay – this Pharaoh they whispered of, had secrets written either on ancient scrolls or carved into the walls of his temple-tomb itself; music! Music of the Spheres!

  “I have reason to believe that this ancient Egyptian God-King, Nafren-Kha, was real, did have possession of this marvelous gem – The Eye of Osiris – and did actually exist.” The archaeology professor removed a drape off a display easel showing an image of the amulet.

  Yes, yes! Otto knew this story. This evil Pharaoh, Nafren-Kha was said to have collected and in possession of both these things! The cursed Eye of Osiris and the secret Music of the Spheres! Although no trace of him could be found throughout history, there were telltale signs. Often it wasn’t so much what history had to say, but of curious omissions and ‘blank pages’ so to speak!

  “There is historic evidence,” again the archaeology lecturer spoke, “to support a missing or curiously absent Pharaoh.

  “I believe I know where Pharaoh Nefren-Kha’s hidden tomb is located. The University has offered me a grant to pur
sue this endeavour.

  “What I need is a team.”

  This was Otto Zann’s cue.

  ..................

  Diary of a Madman

  I: Mutiny

  November 5th, 1994

  The Japanese naval destroyer, the Yamayuki, survived the Tsunami of November 4th, 1994. I know not how. The limit of my knowledge is that it put its bow into the tidal wave. I don’t remember being hit with any singular wave but only entering a vicious storm and extremely rough waters.

  By the first light of day we found ourselves in open waters.

  ~

  November 7th, 1994

  The following day found a great amount of commotion on the bridge, loud exchanges and heated arguments among the officers. I do not understand Japanese so cannot comment on the topic of these debates.

  ~

  November 8th, 1994

  When the madness began it spread like wildfire, with little warning and even less time to prepare.

  I believe the bouts of insanity were connected to the nightmares. I reference these only on hindsight. I don’t believe anybody immediately connected them with the events that quickly unfolded.

  A faction of officers mutinied and took the ship, executing the captain by disembowelment.

  Bouts of madness would grip individuals, sending them on violent, murderous sprees. The lunacy would seem to have been both contagious and organized, as the individual madman would soon grow into marauding bands.

  The days that followed on the Yamayuki seemed like a series of disjointed events. Running, fleeing and being hunted on one extreme with intermittent intervals of quiet dreadful hiding in dark and claustrophobic bulkheads on the other. Ultimately, most of these marauding bands of madmen ended in the same violent and bloody way; the group would turn on itself.

  But throughout the entire ordeal, the Yamayuki steadily headed south-east.

  ~

  November 14th, 1994

  I believe it was on the sixth night after the mutiny began that I and the Weapons Officer escaped the Yamayuki on a lifeboat. It was a strange still evening. Nobody was to be seen. The ship felt deserted. The two of us lowered the boat, detached it, and simply departed without incident.

  As we floated on the night-darkened ocean, we watched the Yamayuki sail off to the south-east and slowly slip over the horizon.

  I think the Japanese Weapons Officer’s name was Watanabe. I never found out for certain.

  The GPS on-board the lifeboat put us somewhere in the central-south Pacific Ocean, but I cannot be sure since the machine was either broken or its signal often suffered interference and produced false readings and locations.

  ~

  November 17th, 1994

  I woke on the third morning on the lifeboat alone.

  I don’t know what happened to my Japanese companion. Whether the madness took him too or he slipped and fell overboard during the night I’ll never know. I try not to dwell too much on it. Some mysteries are best kept hidden.

  CHAPTER II: ISOLATION

  The Eye of Osiris

  The Red Sea, Egypt,

  circa 1242 BCE

  (3167 years ago)

  Pharaoh’s body spun and cartwheeled through the water. The water played with his body like it was a rag doll. The amulet on his chest pulsed with its cursed magic! His body twisted and his back arched. His lungs burned as he breathed in the water. His throat constricted as he gagged and drowned... but he would not die.

  Other bodies, those of his soldiers, would swiftly pass through the bright waters, some occasionally bumping into him, struggled frantically, holding their necks as their bodies struggled to drown and die, but couldn’t.

  Eventually, Pharaoh found himself laying on what he thought might have been a sandy beach. When he found the strength to raise his head he saw otherwise.

  The tidal wave had passed. He lay atop a small sand island, surrounded by water. Everywhere he could see, the water slowly passed and lowered, there were countless small islands of sand. Scattered were the remnants of his army, glossy-eyed and bloated; undead. Drowned, yet clinging to these sandy beaches for safety.

  Pharaoh was too weak to stand. He watched the sand islands slowly connect and join one another as the deluge lowered. Some of his stronger soldiers were traversing these sandy bridges and rallying. Pharaoh couldn’t understand why. His undead soldiers seemed agitated, frantically searching and collecting their wooden shields and wicked khopesh sickle-swords.

  Then it became all too apparent! Egyptian cavalry charged through. An undead warrior was relieved of his head – decapitated as the horseman galloped by.

  It became a scene of carnage. Pharaoh could only assume his remaining army had turned on him and his fallen men. It was a rebellion, an insurrection, his men revolted and rose against him!

  His loyal undead soldiers were disorganized, confused, shocked, and scrambling for weapons and defences. They didn’t stand a chance. Their drowned undead bodies butchered in short order, the wet sands soaked with their blood, and lumpy with their guts.

  When the rebels came for him, Pharaoh held no fear. He knew they could not kill him. Even if they were clever enough to find a way, he would just reincarnate. The worst they could do was hurt him – and that didn’t bother him.

  He tried resisting but both his mind and his body were depleted of strength. They bound his hands and feet and blindfolded him as they carried him away.

  ..................

  Schäfer’s Expedition

  University of Heidelberg,

  Germany, 1924

  (3167 years later)

  Otto was 28 years old, dashingly good looking, charismatic and influential. He paid careful attention to grooming a charming boyish hairstyle. Where most men wore their hair slicked back or under a hat, Otto allowed his waves to make a statement. When he played the cello in the orchestra, he took pleasure in attracting the attention of the women in the audience. He secretly enjoyed standing out in a crowd of uniformity.

  He was not one to disappear in a crowd. That was just his carefully manicured appearance. Give him the opportunity to speak – well, there was little he couldn’t accomplish!

  He knew he couldn’t pass himself off as a university student. Professors and fellow students would remember someone with his good looks, he convinced himself. And as charismatic as he was, he didn’t believe he could pull off the con of holding a Ph.D. in archaeology. Not with at least another legitimate Doctor leading the dig.

  The archaeological team would basically be University students and a small handful of volunteers. Otto Zann presented himself as a volunteer. He had little other choice. But it was enough to get him to the tomb!

  ..................

  Diary of a Madman

  II: Diary of a Madman

  November 28th, 1994

  The first day I came across the island I wasn’t sure what I was initially seeing. The island looked like Canyonland’s Island in the Sky. A sheer cliff rising straight up like Dead Horse Point.

  ~

  November 30th, 1994

  This wasn’t an island. This was a rocky precipice with trees. Like a giant stone stalagmite jutting straight out of the ocean, 300 feet high.

  Sea Poison trees, Durian trees, and the strangest of all, Birch trees covered it. The only other life-forms were nocturnal giant moths and bats, which come from the island’s only cavern, like the stalagmite’s hollow throat; the island being little more than a giant hollow stone tube rising out of the ocean.

  ~

  December 1st, 1994

  It was during the shortest nights that the island took on its strangest and most sinister aspect. The ocean level would drop yet again. The stalagmite-like island growing three times its size and revealing yet another lower plateau-like ring beneath. Where the surface area of the upper island was large, this secret submerged level was massive!

  After risking the treacherous climb down, it initially seemed worth it. The amount of submarine li
fe stranded in tide pools were a blessing and plethora of food! What a wondrous reprieve from the sewer-waste feces-tasting Durian fruit.

  The occasional, but not rare find of various flotsam and jetsam proved invaluable equipment – ropes, bottles, containers and other bric-a-brac.

  You would think my spirits would be high during these times but they are not. At night often I am plagued with nightmares.

  It was also at these same times that – just over the horizon – I could see the pinnacle of a distant island.

  ~

  December 19th, 1994.

  I have been on this island for over a month now.

  The first time I saw him down on the lower island, it was dark and overcast. As unlikely as it was, I thought it might have been the Japanese Weapons Officer, but it was dark. I was frightened and I hid.

  By the light of the next morning the ocean had risen as it was ought to do. The lower island was gone. I spent the next three days wracked with guilt, scouring the forested island top searching for the man, the survivor. Clearly he didn’t make it when the ocean rose. But I know he died because I chose to hide. I convinced myself that it was due to my prolonged isolation. But I knew better.

  ~

  December 21st, 1994

  The ocean had dropped again two days later. It took me most of the day to climb down to the lower island. It was twilight as I debated whether to spend the night down below or climb, when I saw him again.

  He was scavenging out in the open by the tidal pools. It was a clear night and by the starlight I saw him clearly.

  I don’t understand how... but he was dead. Waterlogged and bloated, he had tiny crabs living in him, using his empty eye sockets and gaping mouth as homes.

  I don’t know what he was searching for. I quietly spent the remainder of the night climbing.

  ~

  January 6th, 1995

  I don’t venture to the lower island anymore. There are more than one dead thing that wanders the lower island. Day or night, it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure which is worse. Hearing them wander and stumble about in the dark and not knowing... or seeing them in the bright light of day, sun dried and baking. But there was worst still to come.