Goat Mother and Others: The Collected Mythos Fiction of Pierre Comtois (68 page)

Gradually, as he focused his concentration, bits and pieces of it began to surface, and with them, fear as well. He was finding that his subconscious resisted the idea of recollection and it took some little effort to overcome that resistance. It was as if an echo of the haunted place he had visited in his dream remained with him, warning him to stay away. But by then it was too late; the pieces were falling into place too swiftly to ignore and suddenly, he remembered it all: he remembered blackness, utter and unrelenting darkness, and an overwhelming sense of being watched by entities vast and cool and that regarded him as he would a spider found in the kitchen sink. Then, though his eyes could not penetrate the darkness, his other senses told him that he was in the wide outdoors: he could smell ashes and the dust of soil that had long since lost its life-giving qualities and, in nauseating waves, the air smelled of sulfur and burning things. His ears registered a dull, heavy throb that filled the air with its pulsations that threatened to crush him under its invisible weight. Also, his skin could feel oppressive warmth borne not of a healthy sun, but of subterranean fires or of a black, dead star. It was that last feeling that prompted him to concentrate the harder and gradually, he detected a dull glow or a place of lesser darkness somewhere in the distance. The glow permitted the outlining of other things that occupied the black, burnt over plain upon which he found himself; vague things, big things, whose misshapen masses bulked over the landscape in familiar yet disquieting shapes. But above them all, far away though he sensed it was, there stood an impossible structure, a miles-high pyramid whose sloped sides gleamed dully as of burnished metal. So colossal was the thing that its apex vanished in the heavy, upper atmosphere and to his relief, tiny lights blinked here and there against its black bulk. It being the only object at all recognizable on that vast, empty plain, he instinctively associated it with those of his own kind. But it was a refuge, a great Redoubt, more than a home. Perhaps the last stronghold of a mankind put to rout by the spawn of the Elder Gods. But he had no more time to contemplate the riddle of the pyramid as the baneful shapes he had detected earlier assumed a whole new dimension of terror: they seemed to move, a characteristic all the more horrible as it was not something immediately associated with a house say, or a fence. Returning in full measure, the feeling of malevolence he had connected earlier with those incongruous shapes became a rolling tide of physicality that threatened to overwhelm him. Panicking, he began to scrabble among the radioactive ashes that composed the ground beneath him. Stumbling, falling, rising, and falling again in a desperate effort to escape the living mountain that bore down upon him, he felt the rise of deadly madness welling up inside him. He cried out for Nodens, and realized suddenly that his master was displeased with him; that the loss of the warding-stones had removed his protecting arm and left him open to the same fate that the rest of mankind would soon face.

“Don’t abandon us, master!” he heard himself cry out, images of the horrid dream-scape still vivid in his mind. “I promise to heal the injury to your dignity! Only do not forsake the most loyal of your servants!”

Nervously, he looked about the kitchen to reassure himself that he was still in the rooms he rented over Jim’s Feed Store and, for just a moment, even such common items as the electric toaster and oven seemed alien and threatening. But somehow, the refrigerator was worst of all; something about its shape or dimensions stirred an unreasoning fear in his brain, one that ultimately forced him to dress and leave the apartment.

Outside it was still dark, but he found his car and began driving east out of Dean’s Corners as fast as he could, heading to the highway and ultimately to Miskatonic University. It was there that he had learned the day before that the warding-stones had been taken by school archeologists. It had been only the latest setback in a string of bad luck that had earned him the enmity of Nodens, something he had devoutly hoped to avoid. When he and the others had arrived at Fitch’s field to perform the final rite of Passage, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Chosen as the nexus in a complicated pattern of key points throughout the Miskatonic Valley, the site on the Fitch Farm was vibrant with extra-sensory impulses made all the more apparent by the warding-stones that the group had buried there weeks before. But as they soon discovered, the impulses were not being received, no matter how many times or how carefully the ritual of Passage was repeated. He recalled the desperation he felt as he ordered his followers to find the warding-stones to make sure they had been placed correctly and buried at the required depth. It was then that the full enormity of the situation had impressed itself upon him: one of the stones was missing! With no clue as to what happened to it, he was forced to plead for understanding from Nodens, and to beg his aid in finding the missing ward. Even now, as he took the on-ramp to Interstate 128, he breathed a sigh of relief when he recalled how Nodens had granted him his request. That same night, a group of his servitors appeared but, because the evening had grown so late, failed to retrieve the stone. By then he had truly begun to despair. Nodens would not be forgiving of his failures, and his chance to live under his protection would be lost forever. Guessing that the stone had likely been found by Fitch, plans were laid to search the farmhouse and take back the object. The operation should have been simplicity itself, until it was learned that the farmer had already taken the stone to the Historical Society. Then, before any further plans could be made, the stone was sent off to Miskatonic University. He cursed the efficiency of the school’s archeology department, which moved so quickly that all the other warding-stones were found before anything could be done about it. Now, he was forced to confront this Prof. Walter Lilly himself, and somehow convince him to release the stones or put them back where he found them. If only Nodens’ servitors were still available to him, they would surely frighten Lilly into cooperating…but as it was, he was doubtful that mere threats could influence the unbelieving scientist.

Winding his way through the empty streets of Arkham, he slowed as he approached the campus of Miskatonic University. There was plenty of parking available at a time well before the first classes were due to begin, so he picked a quiet spot away from the faculty offices. Now, it was only a matter of waiting until Lilly came to work.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, the sun was well risen in the sky and the campus around him was alive with students. Leaving the car, he entered the faculty building, pausing only long enough to consult a directory in the lobby before heading straight up to Lilly’s office in the Archeology Department.

In Lilly’s anteroom, a young woman intercepted him before he could enter the professor’s office. He told her his name was Eli-a-Pintoch and that he had important business with the professor. Asking him to wait, the girl popped her head into the inner room and he heard her telling Lilly that there was someone who wanted to see him.

“My name is Eli-a-Pintoch,” he said upon entering the office.

“Very impressive,” said Lilly. “That means Seeker of Dreams in the Wampanoag language, I believe.”

“Never mind that, I’m not here to impress you or anyone else,” said Eli-a-Pintoch.

“Then why bother changing your name from Montrose…Normand Montrose, isn’t it? You were in one of my basic anthropology classes weren’t you?”

“A few years ago, yes,” admitted Eli-a-Pintoch,
nee
Montrose. “That was before I became a high priest in the worship of great Nodens.”

“Is that so? And for what reason am I honored to have the high priest himself pay me a personal visit?”

“Don’t patronize me, Lilly. I’ve come to demand that you return the warding-stones you took from Ebnezer Fitch’s field.”

“And what right do you have in making such a demand?”

“By right of ownership. Those stones have been in the possession of worshipers of Nodens for 142 years…”

“Can you prove that?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to see the kind of proof I can bring to bear.”

“You’ll have to do better than that to convince me to just hand over the stones. You say you’re a high priest in the worship of Nodens?”

“Don’t change the subject, professor. I’m not unaware of your position at the university. You specialize in Amerindian lore and beliefs, so you know full well who Nodens is. He is the Prison Keeper, appointed by the Elder Gods to guard the places where the Old Gods have been imprisoned since before mankind was a group of cells swimming in Earth’s primordial oceans.”

“And on what basis do you believe that?”

“On the word of Nodens himself. I’m honored to be the instrument by which he communicates with his followers in this world.”

“See here, Montrose,” said Lilly, leaning forward on his desk. “How in the world can an ordinary human being such as yourself understand anything of the thoughts and desires of a being like Nodens, if he even exists?” He held up his hand forestalling the high priest’s protest. “But assuming that he does, the literature, including original sources such as the
Necronomicon
, the
Pnakotic Manuscripts
, and the
Kraulshavn Fragments
all indicate that the beings in the Cthulhu Myth Cycle are nothing more than alien creatures from distant planets who have, by one way or another, become trapped on Earth. How can such totally alien creatures, who have evolved in completely different ways than human beings, who have had totally different experiences in galaxies and even dimensions completely strange and inexplicable to us, even have the first basis upon which to establish coherent communication with beings who have nothing in common whatsoever with them? Their thought processes, beliefs, even feelings, if they had any, would be such that human beings such as yourself could never hope to understand them. In fact, there is no direct evidence anywhere in the literature to suggest that the creatures of the Myth Cycle have ever communicated directly with humans. Everything is written second hand…”

“Enough! You dare mock great Nodens? Don’t you know that he could snuff out your puny life like a candle flame?”

“If anything happens to me, it will not be due to Nodens but by the hands of humans,” said Lilly, leaning back in his chair. “Now about that proof of ownership I asked you about…”

“Those stones belong to the followers of Nodens!” insisted Montrose. “They are ours!”

“You can say that until you’re blue in the face, but that doesn’t comprise proof,” said Lilly. “And the reason you can’t prove ownership is that you haven’t any. On the other hand, need I point out that the stones were found on private property owned by Ebnezer Fitch? They rightfully belong to him, and he has given the university permission to hold them for a time to study. If you trespassed and buried them on his land, you were in violation of the law.”

“Great Nodens is not bound by any Earthly rules and regulations, least of all the bylaws of Dunwich,” insisted Montrose. “And the stones actually belong to the Great Nodens, Keeper of Prisons and Lord of the Dreamlands. However, his followers are duly appointed custodians of…”

“So your cult is the legal representative of Nodens, then?”

“We’re not a cult!” insisted Montrose, his face growing red. “The Elder Gods are real! They rule the known universe. All reality is theirs to command, and they have given unto Nodens a terrible responsibility…”

“Yes, to make sure the Old Gods, including Cthulhu, remain in their prisons,” completed Lilly.

“Then I don’t need to tell you about the forces you’re trifling with if you refuse to hand over the stones…”

“What makes them so important?” interrupted Lilly. “Why are you so anxious for their return?”

“I don’t have to explain anything to an unbeliever,” said Montrose, “but I will tell you this: they’re needed in order for us to complete the ritual of Selection. When completed, the ritual will open a passage to the Dreamlands allowing those loyal to Nodens to cross over, thus sparing them against the inevitable moment when the Old Gods’ sentence will be completed, and the world once more becomes their domain.”

“Balderdash!” exclaimed Lilly, finally losing patience with the whole conversation. “Montrose, you are either a fool or a lunatic. One of those people who are unable to cope with modern society, and so must lose themselves in some imagined superstition be it witchcraft, vampirism, or belief in Old Gods. Miss Farnum!”

“Yes, professor?” said the girl, appearing at the door.

“Please show Mr. Montrose here to the door,” said Lilly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s wasting my time.”

“Then you refuse to give me the stones?” asked a somewhat incredulous Montrose.

“Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? Of course I do! Now please leave.”

“You’ll regret this, Lilly,” said Montrose as the girl plucked at his sleeve by way of urging him out of the office. “Great Nodens will have his way. You’ll see!”

“He thought I didn’t notice them there on a table in his office, but I did,” said Montrose to a small group that had assembled in his rooms over the Feed Store. “I purposely overacted, trying to intimidate him but it didn’t work. Now we have to take matters into our own hands.”

“But what about great Nodens, Normand, can’t the great one help us again the way he did at Fitch’s…”

“No. Calling the Nightgaunts was a one-time proposition. If we ask Nodens for any more help, he’ll know we failed the first time and don’t have the stones. But if we can get them back ourselves, he need never find out…and don’t call me Normand.”

Montrose had called the other members of the group together to give them the bad news, and to solicit their help in getting the stones back. He knew as soon as Lilly refused to cooperate that more drastic action would be necessary.

“We need those stones by Wednesday night, because if the ritual of Selection is not completed then, not only will we lose our chance for protection when the Old Gods wake, but we’ll incur the displeasure of great Nodens as well,” said Montrose. “For that reason, we’ll have to break into Lilly’s office and take them back ourselves.”