Necronomicon: The Wanderings of Alhazred (12 page)

The destruction wrought by the crystal light cannons wielded on both sides of the conflict is beyond the power of the pen to convey; no such warfare has ever been waged in modern times, for the art of making weapons so powerful has been lost even to the Deep Ones themselves, who forgot in the ages since Atlantis sank the art by which the crystals are empowered. So great were the forces released that the very fabric of matter itself was made unstable, and the sea would no longer support the isles upon which the city was founded. A rift opened and the city sank, together with all its inhabitants of many races and those dwellers in the deep who were too slow to flee to safety in the turbulent waves.

A traveler to this fair city is constrained by the nature of the portal always to watch, never to act, for the vessel into which his soul is precipitated cannot be influenced by his will. The reptilian race that made the soul gateways so contrived this portal to prevent a traveler from attempting to influence the outcome of the conflict. Were it possible to control the hosts, a man might go back to the same moment in time repeatedly and in this way amass an army with a single purpose, to change the history of the battle so that Atlantis was not destroyed. What the consequences would be for later ages is a matter to ponder, but the reptilian race took care to ensure that no such tampering with the river of time might be attempted.

The library of Atlantis is located to the east of the central ring promenade, which surrounds the buildings of government. If you are fortunate, your soul vessel may proceed toward the center of the city, to which all roads that are straight lead, then turn into the morning sun to face a pillared structure with a shining roof of beaten copper, before which stands an immense statue of their god Dagon. Entrance is freely granted to all, for slaves are employed to carry books to their masters and to return them, and none of the librarians question their presence. The storehouse of wisdom is immense, gathered over centuries from all corners of the world, and translated by scribes, then inscribed onto plates that resemble gold, but are not gold, with the sharp point of a stylus, a form of writing that is almost as flowing and graceful as our own letters. The plates are bound together by rings to make books.

The frustration to the seeker of wisdom cannot be described. It is surely greater than the torment of Tantalus, who stood deep in water that receded each time he sought to drink. Only the book chosen by the visitor to the library will be seen, and then only if that person stays to read a portion of it. It is unfortunate that the favored texts of the Atlanteans were florid romances containing extended erotic descriptions and complex social conflicts that have little meaning for the traveler. Should you be fortunate enough to find a work of greater value opened before your eyes, it is sure to be shut before you have had your fill of its viands, and return as often as you may you will never see it again, for you cannot inhabit the same body twice at the same moment in time.

here are places in this world precious to the seeker after arcane arts, yet unnamed in the cities of men, that may be reached afoot, or on horseback, or by ship, though many are distant and difficult to find and even more difficult to attain. Other wondrous realms exist that may not be visited by common means, no matter the keenness of desire or the willfulness of striving. Some, such as the city of Atlantis, are in other times, either in years that have passed or years yet to come; others have presence in our own time, but not in this space in which we dwell, so that a man with unaltered mind might walk through them as through a shadow or a mist and have no awareness of their nature, unless at the nape of his neck there arose a prickling of unease.

Kadath in the cold wastes is such a place that is of our time but of another space. It is fabled to lie north of the plateau of Leng, beyond the snowy mountains; this is no more than a fable, but it has a mustard seed of truth at its heart, for Kadath is near the ruins of the ancient city of the Elder Ones, and the creeping of the land upon the ocean that supports all the ground of our world has carried both far to the south; whereas the ruins of the city of the Elder Ones are of stone, the great mountain known as Kadath is not material, and cannot be seen clearly with normal sight. Many men have dreamed of it, and have not known of what they dreamed, and always their reports are different, for each dreamer makes his own world in the endless lands of sleep, and no two visions of Kadath seen in dreams are the same.

The audacity of the reptilian race that built their city beneath the sands where stand the ruins of Irem was astonishing, for they dared to construct a soul portal to the mighty fortress that adorns the heights of Kadath, where out of unity with this material existence that we know as our world dwell in perpetual twilight the gods of this sphere. No king or sorcerer of men would have dared such an outrage. The crocodile beings cared nothing for the sanctity of human adoration; their curiosity knew no bounds of respect or prudence, and at the height of their wisdom they grew arrogant and indifferent to the wrath of the gods, who indeed had not the power to thwart them, even though they were aware of the portal and resented it.

Kadath rises beyond the barrier mountains in the southernmost land of this world. It is higher by far than any material peak of stone, but it is not wholly of this world and may only be seen by the unaided mortal gaze at certain times of the year when the heavens align, and under moonlight, for know you that the moon has power to reveal what the light of the sun hides. Atop Kadath was built by the gods a great fortress of vertical black battlements miles in extent from their bases to their towered crests. Within these protective walls and higher still in elevation is a palace of the richest metals and stones, so that it seems a single shining jewel. At the heart of the palace is a vast throne room with walls of onyx and floors of multicolored polished stones, a circular vault so lofty that its very ceiling is lost in mists. Here the thrones of the chief amongst the gods, each shining with gold and silver, stand in a ring facing inward, and in the center of the floor lies a great round mirror in which the gods look down upon the affairs of mankind as through a window that opens downward upon our world.

A traveler entering the portal to Kadath emerges within this throne room, not in the body of a god, for even the reptilian race that constructed it was not capable of such an outrage, but in the flesh of one of the numerous servants of these earthly deities, who are ever present to tend to their slightest whims and are constantly moving to and fro, in and out from the vaulted chamber. Many bear the features of our race, which are like to the features of the gods themselves, though less subtle. The gods take comfort in having servants that resemble them to tend to their more personal desires. Other creatures less human perform the drudgery of the palace. The humanlike servants are more numerous, and it is likely that the soul flyer will find himself within such flesh. They are easy to control with the will, and may be made to approach and regard any object of interest.

A secret must here be revealed to the wise, who will not repeat it save by whispering it into the ear of a trusted disciple of many years, for it has caused the deaths of many men. It is believed by the heathens and the barbarian races, and also by certain hidden sects in our own lands, that these gods who dwell at Kadath in the frozen wastes were the makers of mankind; the truth is opposite, for it was the dreams and visions of men, empowered by their desires and driven by their wills, that caused the gods to coalesce from the very fabric of space itself in the dim beginnings of humanity. Man was created along with the other benign animals of this earth by the Elder Things for their amusement; and when man first began to dream, the gods were formed.

This is the secret held by the Egyptian priests, who never forgot it even over the centuries their land suffered the subjugation of the Greeks, and after them the Romans. The priests teach that men have power over the gods through the art of magic, because humanity created them in dreams. Indeed, the dreams of our race sustain the gods still, and without those dreams they would fade to the nothingness from which they arose. A visitor to Kadath will observe that the gods vary in size, the smallest being no larger than their servants and the largest of gigantic proportion and towering above the rest; the thrones themselves are similarly various in their dimensions. Nor is the size of any god fixed, but changes over the passage of generations as many or fewer of our race remember and worship it; as the god increases or diminishes, so does its throne, for the throne is the seat of its power.

It might be thought that the gods, in the midst of their beautiful palace, surrounded by every luxury and diversion they desire, live an existence free from care in which they enjoy endless pleasure; not so, for a darkness hangs over them, making their voices hushed and their smiles pale. The gods do not rule Kadath unhindered, but endure an overseer who dwells in a small chamber located directly above the dome of the throne room. The chamber is of simple and rough stonework, unadorned by any hanging tapestry or carpet, having no furniture or illumination, lacking even windows or a door. Within its darkness resides the formless creature named Nyarlathotep, the faceless black god of distant space, he of a thousand forms, who is the messenger of the Old Ones.

It is whispered by the gods that Nyarlathotep dreams in his tomb, even as does great Cthulhu in R’lyeh, though where the tomb of Nyarlathotep is located upon the earth, or under the sea, they do not say. Within his dreams Nyarlathotep is present in Kadath, which he rules as a spider rules the shining strands of its web, sensitive to every movement and every presence. The gods have pledged their obedience to the purposes of the Old Ones, and in return the Old Ones aid the gods against their enemies and perform services for the gods that are beyond their power. No action is taken by any god of man without the knowledge and assent of Nyarlathotep, and those who defy his will, he destroys so completely that not even their memory is left to our race.

It is for this reason that the gods never laugh. They gaze down upon us through their mirror and aid those who worship them with prayers and offerings, for a gift given demands a gift in return, yet always with the sufferance of dreaming Nyarlathotep, whom no god has seen but who is ever present in the midst of their councils. When he withholds his favor, they are powerless to act, and must watch as their worshippers are destroyed by their enemies and their own vital force is diminished. The traveler feels relief in his heart when the time of his journey expires and his soul is drawn back through the portal of Kadath and into his own body of flesh, for flesh is warm to the touch and has a heart that beats, but the gods are only solemn shadows, fearful of the thing that watches from above.