THE NECRONOMICON ~ The Cthulhu Revelations (29 page)

It is now not a matter of years, but of moons.

SCROLL XLIV

(?)

~

(This scroll is missing.  From references to it made by Al-Azrad in the later codices of
Al Azif
, it appears that its text pertained to the spell of Adaya’s resurrection.  Specifically, how Al-Azrad came to fashion his own incantation from:  his lore; the words of Anata; the discs of Anar’kai; the visions of Nyarlathotep; dreams enjoined with Naram-gal’s black jewel; and the lesser discs he discovered within the tombs of the Tower of Babel.  Although of interest, this scroll is likely reiterative of much that is already known, and the spell-chant itself is preserved in full in the following scroll.  Should this text ever be rediscovered, I will translate it and replace this passage with its secrets. ~K.)

SCROLL XLV

Of the Dream, in Ecstasy

That night I did escape from the depths beneath the Tower of Babel.  I lived.

Exhausted, I climbed the aqueduct above the Hanging Gardens, so that the scorpions and worse could not feast upon me.  I salved my spider-stings with honey, and I did dream.  The poisons of the spider-beetles coursed through my body, and my mind was afflicted with a wild delirium.  And yet, the dream of that night was one of the most beautiful that I have ever known.

It was so:

~

I sat at the very top of a mighty temple, under the cooling summer-lilt of a dark blue midnight sky.  Fireflies danced around me and the sound of flutes drifted up from the fire-specked shores of an emerald-hued and tranquil lake far below.  A reflected moon, more ancient and pearlescent than our own, shone beneath the lake’s waters.  Clouds raced wildly both in the sky and in the deep’s reflections, although the breezes were light and slow, and filled with the breath of flowers.

Around the temple’s base rolled the gentle hills of a wondrous city, with streets paved of onyx and carven jewel; these roads led out to imperious gates cast all of bronze, which were each flanked by twin statues of leonine colossi.  The houses of the city were of glazed brick and chalcedon, and each demesne there was encircled by a walled garden, each poised about its own crystalline lakelet.  There, in the many waters of the lakelets, more of the moon’s reflections were at play.

I stood and looked behind me, into the open sanctuary carved out of the temple’s height.  Upon an altar carved from one enormous jewel of chrysolite, there stood the sea-green stone idol of a wizened water lizard.

Contemplating this in the silences which that night cast between the arias of the flutes, I could hear the shush of sandaled feet nearing in from behind me.  I turned once more, and saw that a beautiful naked man with jet-black skin, the Lord in Ebon, was ascending the temple to speak with me.

He came to me, and I held out my hands to welcome him.  He took them.  That enticing, icy chill coursed up through my fingertips and into my veins and into my very breath.  We embraced.  He released me, and stood beside me in gentle greeting.

Did I hate him?  No.  For nepenthe is a lovely lure, a shadow of death upon the mind, which destroys anguish and leaves only its ecstasy.  I do not know if I forgave the Lord in Ebon for my travails beneath the Nameless City, or if I simply could not remember what had transpired there.

We spoke to one another that night, I with my song-voice and he only with his mind.

~

I:  “Where are we?”

And he: 
Behold, the city of Sarnath.

“And this idol?  Who is this fell Beast who is worshipped here?”

This is the prison-flesh of Bokrug, the war-prize of Mnar and the slaughter-ground of Ib.  Bokrug will wake and destroy this city in its time.  But not tonight.  His time is nigh, and often in this, the last peaceful age of Sarnath, I come here to muse in reverie in consort with my chosen.  This night in particular, of the racing clouds.  It is a fitting place.

“Often?  How can you come to one night many times?”

I journey not only through space and worlds, my dear child.  I journey through Time, and the reflections of Times which never were.

“Is this the past?”

For you, it is.

“Are we in dream?”

The one true dream, yes:  the Empire of the Blackened Mind.  But think not long nor tarry upon this thought, lest you wake ere I can tell you all that I desire to.

“And what have you to say to me?”

It is time, worthy Abd Al-Azrad, whose soul is named Samir.  You have braved many a year of darkness, in turmoil and solitude.  You have slain, you have grown into a man, you have sung in the desert, you have walked upon the storm.  You have loved Fatimah as a mother, and been loved by Anata and Naram-gal as a son.

Your mind has scarred and healed despite the vision of that which you woke beneath the Nameless City.  You have braved not only the tomb of Anar’kai, but the tombs of the shadow priests themselves.  All of this is not for nothing, for you are now worthy and exalted.  You are a great man, and it is time for you to earn that which your obsession has purchased for you.

“I do not understand.”

Do you not?  You sleep, Samir.  You stir in your dreaming.  Rest easy, breathe deep.  Listen to my heart.  Do you hear it?

“I cannot ...”

Calm yourself.  Touch upon breast.  Do you hear?

“I feel it beating.”

Do you hear it?

“I do.”

It is well.  Now listen unto me.  It is time to reclaim the restless spirit of she, who will only wander your world’s deserts for three moons longer if you do not snare her into flesh.  If you fail to enslave her spirit, she will fade from you.

“Adaya?  I should release her to her heaven.  She is of the people of Judaea.  Her wandering, she may believe she is accursed, one with Gehinnom.  I love her.”

You do.  Would you be with her once again?

“O, yes.  But what if she wants—”

And so you shall.  Listen and do not speak.  It is time for you to be reunited with your Adaya.  The last shard of this gift I will give to you, but know:  this truly is happening only because you wish it, and because you have sacrificed so much for your beloved’s memory.

~

“Yes.  I have been so alone.  O, Adaya!  It is time!”

I knew the Lord had spoken true.  I cried out in ecstasy, I lifted my arms to embrace the wind.  Cloud-shadows raced over the moon as I encircled it within my lifted arms, and my laughter was flung out to the sky.

I turned, eager to overflow and share all my delight.  The Lord in Ebon marveled at me, his smile tinged with—what?  Was it longing?  Was it envy?  Was that even possible?  As I gazed upon him, he frowned and crossed his arms.

I turned from him once more.  Displeased however he might be, my joy was sacred and I did not desire it to fade from me.  I looked out over the beautiful city once again.  As I looked out, strange vaporous lights leapt off the green lake’s surface, wafting up in spirals around the rays of moonlight.

Looking outward, refusing the Lord in Ebon’s gaze, I did ask:

“What must I do?”

Think you of Babylon and its legacy.  What are the ruins now famous for?  Flesh.  You will find a whore, and purchase her as your slave.

“But why?”

Do you not know?  O, child Samir, think again.  You need a vessel, whose mind you will obliterate; whose soul you will draw forth, hollowing a reliquary in which the spirit of your Adaya shall reside.

“Carving the mind and soul out from the body?  Will this not kill the slave?”

It will destroy her mind and cast away her soul, but her body will breathe on.  Make certain that the mindless body of the vessel is beautiful, Samir, for its appearance will be that of your Adaya, returned to you.

“I still do not understand.”

The flesh of the whore, hollowed, will become the place where your beloved is imprisoned.  There is no resurrection.  There is reincarnation, the miracle of life, returned for the first time to the second flesh.

“But another woman’s soul must die, and Adaya must possess her?  Is there no other way?”

There is no other way.

“How can I do such a thing to an innocent woman?”

Have you heard nothing?  Make certain she is a whore, and if you know she is a thief or a murderess, all the better.  Justify what you must do by making certain that you choose the vilest and loveliest of women.  Are all women free of sin?  Seek the unworthy.  Can you not do this, Samir, for your love?  What makes you believe that the slave you choose will be an innocent?

“I do not ... there is good, my Lord.  In all people.  I do not believe that I can ...”

If you could not, I would not be here.  In your heart of hearts, you know you can.  You must, in the name of love.  Did you believe, after all of your years of suffering, that this art of the reincarnation would be simple?

“Then let us say that I might dare this.  How do I cast the spell?”

Speaketh the words of power.

“What are the words?”

The words?  What will you make of them, Samir?  Consider your readings:  scroll, tablet, inscription; remembereth the locust.  Remember all Anata and Naram-gal and I have told you.  Consider your dream-readings of the viper-striders, as told upon the discs of Anar’kai.  Consider your readings of the discs of the shadow priests of Nebuchadnezzar, the treasures which you have just brought forth from the Tower of Babel.  Consider this all, then wake and write your spell.

“Write my spell?  Is it not written elsewhere?”

O, Samir.  Who do you think writes spells, but the greatest of necromancers?  You are growing great among them.  Adaya shall be the first and the most beautiful of your works.  Here now is one truth, which you knew well in your waking hours but have now forgotten as you linger here in dream:  the great spells must be written by the caster himself; the nuances of facets of such must be true to Adaya and yourself alone.  Attenuate your desires into poetry.  Now, Samir?  Now do you understand?

“I am afraid.”

Then let your Adaya rise in the whore’s flesh, and let her comfort you.

“Will you give me strength?”

Come my son.  Kiss me.

Go forth!  Wake!  Rise!

SCROLL XLVI

The Whore of Babylon ~

The Purchase and the Claiming of the Slave

I woke, and it was morning.  My skin burned, where the many bites of the spider-beetles had turned to welts.  I took the black jewel of Naram-gal out from the palm of my hand, and held it between thumb and finger against the rising of the sun.

When had I grasped the jewel?  How long had I slept there atop the aqueduct within the Hanging Gardens?

Another mystery:  there was a mass of gold before me, and its shape was certain.  It was the mass which had been poured down the dead priest’s throat.  Had I not left that in the belly of the mummy within its tomb?  How could I not remember having carried it up the air-shaft?

No matter, now.

This was not a time for fear; this was a time for boldness.  Questions are for the weak, and answers are made only by the bold.

~

I left the ruins.  I strode north, as far away from the Mosque of the Undervaults and the soldiers as I could go while remaining within the precinct of settled Babylon.  There, it was true.  A great trade yet flourished where the caravans came out of the east.  With a sliver of the gold, cut from the mass with my
jambiya
, I purchased perfumes of myrrh and cosmetics of cinnamon, malachite and kohl.  I purchased a silver mirror.  I painted my eyes in the manner of the Khomites, I scented my chin.  I smoothed the powdered cinnamon into the welts of my cheeks.  I did make myself fragrant and beautiful, and I walked out where I knew that the whores would be standing and waiting for their pleasures to be sold.

I made one last purchase as I approached that street of crimson:  a dram of liquid sugar, in which was suspended one amber droplet of cobra venom.  This, I was promised, would make anyone who swallowed it swoon into a deathless and dreamless sleep.

I spoke with many women on that day; to some, I even sang and did win their hearts.  I bartered out confessions, and one even told me her true name.  From these women I chose the only temptress who confessed to me her greatest secret, that she was an exile because she had once killed a man ... her own father.

I did not ask why; I feared that she may have been proven justified in doing so.  She was a murderess, and beautiful, and she would become the vessel of the rising.

~

I left with her, and we passed through many doorways and into silence.  We went behind one last cedar door and into a hollowed domicile, whose floor and walls were hidden by many silks.  A trade of gold for pleasure did begin.  Little did this woman know that she had become my slave.

She was beautiful with emerald eyes; of fair skin, and her trade-name was Hadjara.

The full tale of that night, her seduction, I need not tell.

Was I evil, to have chosen this one temptress?  No, I do not believe this.  I was not evil, I was of two minds.

I had carefully selected the most wicked of the women I had spoken to; eleven others I did not choose.  I pray they went on and lived lives which brought them at least a little joy.

I found that as I came nearer to my destiny, I could set my mind into spheres:  one, the lesser sphere acting to do what must be done; second, the greater sphere forever remembering that I did this in the name of love to be, to be reunited with my Adaya.

~

I did eradicate the slave’s mind with visions, pressing the jewel of Naram-gal into her mouth.  Over it, I poured the sweet elixir of cobra-amber.