Necropolis: Book 5: R'lyeh Read online

  The clear blue skies made the alien superstructure all the move disturbing; like some childhood game, pretending all was normal.

  Veronica crept to the edge of the sandy cliff and peered down. Nearly a thousand feet beneath her island, perched on the edge of sanity, was the larger plateau-like sub-island. And from it the ancient land-bridge strangely arched downwards, tumbling towards that Necropolis.

  Her eyes followed the bent horizon, or what must have been the outer edge of the oceanic crater's rim.

  Spaced intermittently were other islands like hers. Dozens and dozens of miles apart! None of which harboured any life or foliage or vegetation, being little more than blasted rocky stumps now. When the ocean was normal, they must have resided beneath the waves. Normally hidden behind the horizon they were peculiar things to behold. Although perpendicular to the Earth, seen without the concealing curvature of the earth, they all appeared to be queerly leaning back. Frozen in a state of falling.

  As her eyes slowly scanned the warped horizon, between the nearest neighbouring rocky stump and her island something caught her eye, just outside and beyond the artificial water crater's edge. Although faded in the distance and washed out in the early morning's misty air, there could be no mistaking them. Ships! Three ships!

  Frantically Veronica retrieved the flare gun. She held it straight up and pulled the trigger, the flare a bright beacon in the early morning sky!

  Hurriedly, Veronica raced off the beach and into the forest. She needed to get the children

  * * *

  He awoke to a quiet rushing sound; an elongated hush, a prolonged fluttering. As his surroundings groggily seeped in, the strange sound continued.

  Dante sat up. It was morning. Sharing Tamara's pain for her lost uncle, Hiromitsu, he had fallen asleep late last night, weeping. He was on the floor in Leaman's darkened hut. Alone apparently. He looked around and spotted Tamara outside the hut's A-frame entrance silhouetted against the harsh morning light. She stood still watching... something. The strange sound continued unabated. Like rustling dry autumn leaves... but fast... and many.

  As Dante climbed to his feet there was no reprieve from the sound. Like thousands of plastic bags caught in a distant wind.

  As he made his way outside the hut, he found Tamara standing on the embankment watching the deep cavern the hut sat at the edge of.

  In the bright early morning light the dark furry bodies of the bats poured out of the island's central cave. Thousands streamed into the sky, the noise of their wings blanketing out all other sounds.

  “I, I don't understand,” Dante stood beside Tamara confused, watching the constant flow in awe. “I thought – Don't bats sleep during the day?”

  “Yeah... They do,” Tamara answered half distracted by what they were witnessing.

  When they first heard it, it was muffled and difficult to discern under the sounds of the panicked bats. It came up the cavern's throat from deep below. “Tekeli-li, tekeli-li!”

  A giant mass of putrid flesh erupted from the cavern, vomited into the air like a missile. The panicked bats in its way were simply swept up, absorbed, digested into its bulk.

  Then another thing exploded from the cavern, its giant bulk smashing an overhanging dead tree to splinters as it thundered into the air.

  Another two Shoggoths battered into each other as they rocketed up the cavern's throat, their vile amoeboid bodies obliterating the rocky lip opposite the hut.

  Tamara lost count of the aberrations as the obscene monsters launched themselves into the air. Dante immediately saw the threat. He snatched Tamara's wrist and ran!

  The overhanging embankment Leaman's hut sat on cracked and splintered with a Shoggoth's exiting impact.

  The entire rocky ledge sagged and begun to slowly slip and tumble into the pit when the next Shoggoth crashed into it, its shattered stone debris thrown far and wide.

  Tamara and Dante desperately scrambled off the destroyed ledge as Leaman's hut slipped and collapsed into the outpouring of Shoggoths!

  Dante held Tamara's hand as they fled into the forest towards the beach. They ran for all they were worth, their fear and panic driving their exhausted legs until they crumpled on the sand of the beach. Their breath ragged, only then did they dare to look behind them.

  A swarm of Shoggoths somehow billowed into the sky. How the monstrosities flew was beyond logic or reason, but fly they did. And as the two shocked children watched in stunned fear Tamara noticed a bright flare in the sky.

  “Flare!” Tamara shouted, pointing.

  Dante was worried for his Mama Vir, and as he reached out his mind he was surprised by what he encountered. The psychic ether was alive and brimming with consciousness and energy. Something, The Whisperer, was in the entire Shoggoth swarm's minds. And he could sense the Amber-symbiot's presence as well. It was too busy, too cluttered to find his Mama. He immediately withdrew his mind and scanned the horizon around the beach's edge.

  “There!” he shouted, pointing. “Tamara! There are ships out there!”

  Tamara turned, watching the stream of aberrations pour out of the central cavern, chunks of stone and debris raining through the forest canopy behind them. “We need to get out of here!”

  Dante looked at her, an expression somewhere between concern and confusion. “But... where?” he asked hesitantly.

  Tamara took Dante's hand. “There,” she stared out to sea. “We jump to those ships.” And with a blink of light the two children teleported.

  * * *

  She was little more than a dot in the bright morning sky above R'lyeh.

  Levitating thousands of feet above the corpse-city's massive central spire, she stood in the sky, her levitation ever so slowly turning her, like a dangling ornament. Feet crossed, toes pointed down, arms outstretched, palms up, the naked blonde's eyes were half-shuttered, in a deep meditative state. The violent high winds tangled and whipped her hair about her calm face.

  Amber seemed to be unaware, oblivious, but it couldn't have been further from the truth. Her mind stretched, encompassing the entire Event, acutely aware of every minute detail across the Event's thousands of square miles.

  The Amber-symbiot's mind was quiet and placid, in commune with The Whisperer down below. Krulgh, the last Star-Spawn, High Priest of Great Cthulhu, watched through her willing eyes, as the alien monstrosity shambled through the drowned city below.

  Amber's blue eyes seemed dead, lifeless as her mind drank in all and viewed all that transpired below with a seemingly cold indifference.

  She had watched the arrival of the three American warships with disinterest. She had listened to their thoughts and plans and decisions through the night. She was even aware of the new breed of intelligence; a sentient machine in orbit in commune with the naval fleet. They were all inconsequential.

  At the peripheral edge of her awareness she took note of a flare from an outlying island. It drew one of the warship's attention, its two companions venturing into the Event and towards the corpse-city itself.

  The Whisperer became agitated. Amber could feel it inside her, shifting inside her mind. It reached out towards something beneath the poison city. Somethings. A great many somethings.

  Amber's eyes remained half-shuttered. It did not interest her. It wasn't what she was waiting for. It wasn't what she was -

  There!

  Amber's dead half-sleeping eyes opened wide, the sentience lighting them up! There! She sensed it. The girl! The girl teleported, arriving on one of the ships.

  There! The USS Curtis Wilbur!

  Amber's multimind ceased her levitation as she allowed her body to plunge toward the warship thousands of feet below!

  * * *

  Once on that crazy sloping bridge, it assumed the perspective of level and horizontal ground; Leaman's rocky-cliff stalagmite-like island leaning at such an angle as to appear to be falling backwards.

  To look across the immense gulf to the other curving horizon of the oceanic crater-rim, one could fai
ntly make out, washed out and faded gray through the distance, the other ringing towering islands. They were eerily unnerving to fixate upon. Perpendicular to the earth and no longer hidden behind a normal horizon, they seemed to lean back at awkward angles, perpetually tumbling away in a perverted slow-motion time-frozen fashion.

  It was best to keep your eyes fixed on the city ahead, for now on the bridge, the curving horizon tilted to a near forty-five degree angle.

  One's eyes constantly shifted perspective. At times you looked down upon the sea-soaked city as you would a village nestled in a valley. The next instant, it curled up before you, like the corpse-city would crush you in its titanic landslide.

  It was so tiny compared to the colossal city to have been easily lost in its overwhelming vastness, but Leaman's eye never lost sight of that gray and rusted derelict that was the Japanese destroyer, The Yamayuki.

  Chapter 3: Siad Abdullah

  Les Châteaux de Etienne-de-Lafontaine estate

  Saverne, France, 1930

  Otto remembered the day the book thief was discovered. It was a cool blustery day, unseasonably windy for Saverne, France.

  The first few books on his research list were either checked out, unavailable, or missing from the library. It was when he attempted to find the last on his list, entitled The Gulur Dögun, by Ása Davíðsdóttir, that Otto's patience gave out. It too was missing from the bibliothèque du Moubayed.

  These were rare and obscure books that doubtfully anybody would have used for research let alone having even read! To compound matters further, the librarian wasn't forthcoming, refusing to release any details of the current individual the books were on loan to, citing the library's privacy policies. He would have to gain an appointment with Donita's sister and curator of the Château d'automne, Alia Moubayed.

  Although her mother, the 66 year old Imani Moubayed was the technical matriarch of Les Châteaux de Etienne-de-Lafontaine estate, clearly her eldest daughter, Alia, filled in this roll and wielded considerable authority. Otto was corrected by her manservant, Siad Abdullah, that it wasn't an appointment but an audience he needed to schedule, and through him no less!

  That's where Otto found himself now, sitting opposite Alia Moubayed's manservant, Siad Abdullah, in his office. Rumours abounded amongst the students of both l'université de Etienne and l'institut de Musique that Siad Abdullah was the Muhammadan Imam of La Mosquée vide, la cinquième château ... it was doubtful. The Fifth Castle, “The Hollow Mosque,” was abandoned; empty. Abandoned in the sense that it was never finished; given up on. It was definitely not in use as it was off limits and forbidden. An Imam? An Imam of what?

  Otto sat patiently as he watched Siad ponder over his parchment notes in Arabic. Otto could speak and read Arabic, but not particularly well upsidedown. And besides, he didn't want to come off as rude nor be caught 'eavesdropping' on Siad's notes. He wondered if he was stalling or just wasting his time.

  Otto watched his face hoping to discern a glimmer of what might be transpiring behind those dark eyes. He could not easily attach an age to the man. His eyebrows, beard, and eyelashes were glossy black without a hind of gray. If Otto paid close attention to the sunlight reflecting off his eyelashes, he could see the oil on them. This made him think Siad was younger than he looked. Otto could determine nothing of the hair on his head as he wore it in a turban. But it was Siad's eyes that forced Otto to question his true age. He watched them as they placidly scan right to left, right to left. Calm with the serenity and wisdom of an elder.

  Otto broke the silence. “Why are your library records kept in Arabic?” he asked him, “We are in France.”

  Siad paused for a moment and slowly looked up over his hawk-like nose. He really was a striking man. Maybe even as good looking as Otto, if it weren't for his exotic appearance and foreign garb.

  “Oh, these are not our library records,” his accent barely noticeable. “This is Alia Moubayed's schedule.”

  “Oh.” Otto felt embarrassed. “So, how should I address you?” he asked. “Is it Imam Siad, or Imam Abdullah?”

  Siad Abdullah sat up straight, giving Otto his full attention. “First of all, the small number of Muslim students here at the university do not like being called Muhammadan. They follow Islam. They do not worship the Prophet Muhammad. Secondly, I am not an Imam nor am I Muslim. I'm Sikh. You would be wise to ignore much of the rumours you hear from the campus students.”

  “...oh...” Maybe I would do well to keep my mouth shut, Otto thought. “I do apologize,” he added with hesitancy. “I'm still new here and trying....”

  Siad Abdullah cut Otto off, “My dear sir, you are not new here. You have been here for nearly 5 years now as Donita's guest. My door is always open. You have had ample time to meet and acquaint yourself with me. You simply chose not to, preferring, I presume, to pursue your and Donita's rather obsessive research.”

  Yes, I would do well to keep my trap shut, thought Otto. “Siad, may I call you Said? Have I slighted you? Do you not like me?”

  “No, you may not call me Siad. And I have no opinion of you.”

  The two men sat on either side of the desk, their eyes locked in a tense silence. Otto pushed back his blond hair through his fingers and flashed his boyish smile. “I feel silly Mr. Abdullah,” he tried to lighten the atmosphere, “Like a student being reprimanded.”

  “Yes, I had wondered about that,” the turbaned Sikh leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs beneath his robes. “What exactly is your academic field of study again?”

  Otto's charming smile fell from his face. The one thing Otto had no tolerance for was being judged based on one's access to education. He answered slowly and callously. “Esoteric music. University of Heidelberg, G -”

  “-Germany.” Siad finished his sentence. “Yes, I can tell you're German from your demure,” the sarcasm dripping off the final word.

  Otto clenched his teeth for a moment and decided to bite his tongue and let the insult slide. “Fair enough.”

  “I will be honest with you, Mr. Zann,” Siad continued. “What my concern is, I see before me an arrogant German boy hiding behind the pretense of some sort of esoteric research facade when in fact you have simply gotten my mistress' younger sister pregnant.” The Sikh stood behind his desk as he finished his accusation. “And unmarried at that. You made her a whore.”

  Otto remained seated and allowed a moment for his anger to simmer. “Donita and the baby are none of your concern,” he answered flatly, “and neither is my research.” Otto stood as his temper began rising. “Sir, I think you overstep your position and authority.”

  “I answer to the protection and welfare of this family and -”

  “What are you, really? The eldest daughter's Arabic lapdog?”

  “You would do well to hold your tongue, Mr. Zann.”

  “Alia's beckoning bitch? Did you arrange this meeting under false pretenses?”

  The two men returned to silence, their eyes locked as they stood facing one another. The silence remained for what should have been an uncomfortable time, until it was broken by the office door opening.

  Donita de LaFontaine entered the room, her bosoms jiggling with her stride. The brunette playfully tossed her long flowing hair as she addressed the two men. “I hope you gentlemen are getting along?” her accent an odd but not unpleasant blend of Parisian French and Arabic.

  “Swimmingly,” answered Siad sarcastically, his eyes unflinching off of Otto.

  “Nein,” answered Otto in his native tongue, “we are not.”