The Feaster From The Stars (Blackwood and Harrington) (23 page)

‘And how are we to do that, when so many must have tried and failed in the past?’ asked Blackwood.

‘The gateway between Carcosa and Earth is actually a tunnel extending through a higher form of space,’ Oberon replied. ‘The Planetary Angels told me that the King in Yellow has kept a hoard of Carcosan souls with which he will power the Anti-Prism in his castle in the Lake of Hali…’

‘While Charles Exeter uses the spirits which have been consumed by the Servitor to power the Anti-Prism here on Earth,’ said Blackwood.

Oberon nodded. ‘Precisely. When the two devices have been activated, they will resonate with each other through the higher space, and the tunnel between worlds will be opened. But if they are both destroyed while the King in Yellow is in transit within the tunnel, it will be severed from the universe, and he will be trapped within it. Our universe will be free of him forever.’

The humans glanced at each other in silence.

‘Oberon,’ said Blackwood after a moment. ‘You say that
both
Anti-Prisms must be destroyed.’

‘At precisely the same moment, yes,’ the Faerie King replied.

‘And that would involve our travelling to Carcosa…
physically
rather than mentally.’

‘It would.’

‘How are we to do that? You said yourself that Carcosa is too far away to be reached by our Æther zeppelins.’

‘Allow me to worry about that,’ Oberon replied with a smile. ‘In the meantime, I suggest that you equip yourselves with all that is necessary to survive in an alien environment.’

‘I’m sure the chaps at Station X will be able to help out on that score,’ said Blackwood.

‘Good. Go and speak to them. Titania will go with you and will advise your scientists on the exact nature of the equipment required. I will make the preparations for your voyage. We will require two groups: one to make the journey to Carcosa and the other to descend into the Void Chamber here in London. Each will have but one task: to destroy the Anti-Prism and banish the King in Yellow from this universe forever!’

The Tunnel Between Worlds

It had roamed for aeons amongst the drifting stars of the island universe known by humans as the Milky Way. Unseen and unsuspected by the beings inhabiting the planets rolling eternally through the galactic night, it wandered and watched and searched… and listened.

It had been created by a great race which had perished in ages long past, on the far side of the vast, glittering disc whose myriad stars sang to each other through the black firmament. It did not know its name, nor even if it had been given a name by those who had created it. It knew only that they were gone forever from the universe, that they had been a noble people, and that their world had been among the first to be visited by the thing that drank minds and sucked the life force from all that lived and breathed.

When the blight first became apparent, their scientists had struggled to find ways to combat it, and perhaps send it back to the ultra-dimensional hell from which it had emerged. But it was impervious to every weapon brought to bear against it. It settled parasitically into the depths of their defenceless world, and then it began to feed.

And the trees withered and died, and animal carcasses littered the land in their millions, and the seas grew thick with noisome darkness and then dried up altogether, and the people… the people went insane as their minds were consumed, and they screamed things that made their friends and loved ones cover their ears and turn away in anguish, and then they too withered away, and when they died, their bodies melted into the cracked earth and disappeared.

In their madness, the people raved about a symbol which burned brightly in their minds: a geometrical form which they could not describe, but which some of them drew, sometimes on paper, but more often on the walls of their homes in their own blood:

And while they drew this sign, the people spoke of a thing made of yellow rags which seethed within them, and which they could see in the waking dreams that haunted their collapsing minds.

While their world was being consumed, those scientists who remained alive and sane continued their struggle to comprehend the calamity which had befallen them. The last of their most brilliant minds strove ceaselessly to understand the blasphemous nature of the interloper from beyond space, and to search for a possible weakness.

They studied the weirdly contorted figure, which came to be known as the Yellow Sign; they sent volunteers into the planet’s depths to gather whatever information they could, while theoreticians pondered the nature of this and other universes, and the possible forms which intelligence might take in those infinitely distant realms.

But the volunteers never returned, and the theoreticians despaired of ever finding a means to rid their world of the thing which the people had come to call ‘the yellow feaster from the stars’.

And then a breakthrough occurred. Through the application of newly-discovered scientific principles combined with Magickal incantations designed to reverse the reality-warping mathematics embodied in the hideous geometry of the Yellow Sign, the theoreticians created an entity of their own.

It was partly organic, partly thinking machine, partly of planetary matter and partly of the Luminiferous Æther. They gave it the power to invert the mathematical blasphemy of the Yellow Sign and thus to undermine the existence of the yellow feaster from the stars.

But it was too late for their world: too much damage had been done; too many people had been lost. All that remained of a once thriving civilisation was a few thousand survivors clinging to the barren, lifeless surface of a withered, sterile globe. The survivors knew what awaited them: extinction through starvation.

When they brought their creation to life, its first act was to communicate to them the fact that the yellow feaster from the stars had departed from their world. The agent of their doom had fled through a doorway in space and time to an unknown destination.

And so the last survivors of that great race gave their creation the means to travel between the stars; they equipped it with vast, membranous wings which would catch the starlight and propel it out into the universe. The instructions they gave it were simple: find the horror and destroy it; prevent it from doing to any other world what it had done to theirs.

They bid it farewell, sent it out into the eternal night, and turned away from the stars for the last time, to await their final destiny.

For millions of years, the entity roamed through the island universe of the Milky Way, searching for the obscene ripples in space and time that would signal the presence of the horror. There were times when it came close, but never close enough, for the yellow feaster possessed a means of instantaneous travel from world to world, a way to open doorways through space. And so the entity had no choice but to continue its search, while the stars watched its passing and sang songs to each other, calling it the Wanderer, for it had no other name.

As the aeons passed, the quest of the Wanderer came to be known by millions of stars, and when the blight appeared on a world, its parent star would begin to sing a song of distress and torment, and the song would be taken up by other stars in its vicinity, and passed on until it was detected by the Wanderer.

And then the Wanderer would come…

But always too late.

And so the Wanderer would turn away from the doomed world, spread its great wings to catch the light from a mourning star, and set off once again, into the endless night, on its eternal quest.

Thus had it been for millennium upon millennium… until a song reached the Wanderer from a lonely star which it was passing. The star had no planetary family of its own, but throughout its long life it had listened to the stories told by others of the Wanderer’s quest.

The star sang to the Wanderer of a great calamity which had befallen a distant world and begged the entity to make haste towards that region of the infinite sky.

That world was called by its inhabitants… Carcosa.

Blackwood, Sophia and Castaigne stood on the landing field at Biggin Hill Cosmodrome beneath a heavily overcast sky, like three tourists waiting for transportation to an exotic destination. Beside each of them stood a stout and sturdy suitcase of steel-reinforced leather, courtesy of the people at Station X.

Away in the distance, work was nearing completion on the reconstruction of the cosmodrome’s reception centre and support buildings, which had been destroyed three weeks earlier by Indrid Cold, the Venusian
agent provocateur
who had tried to ignite a war between Earth and Mars. Soon the cosmodrome would open again, allowing the arrival and departure of the Martian interplanetary cylinders, but for now the vast concrete launch platform was empty and deserted, its surface still blackened in places from the wreckage of the cylinder which Cold had destroyed.

‘I wonder why Oberon asked us to wait for him here,’ said Castaigne.

‘I wonder how the blazes he’s going to get us across trillions of miles of space to Carcosa,’ Blackwood rejoined.

‘I have a feeling we’re about to find out,’ Sophia said, pointing into the sky towards the west, where the clouds had begun to billow and churn strangely, like thick cigar smoke disturbed by the slow waving of some vast, unseen fan.

Presently, the clouds parted to reveal a sight which left the three companions speechless and open-mouthed in astonishment. From out of the grey swirl, a ship had appeared: a gigantic galleon, far larger than any that had ever sailed the oceans of Earth. Blackwood estimated it to be more than a mile in length, and he searched in vain for the tops of its masts, which were lost in the clouds above. The main topsail could easily have enveloped the entire Palace of Westminster, and was emblazoned with a vast and intricate design which Blackwood and Sophia instantly recognised as the colossal tree known as the Fortress of Apples, where Oberon and Titania had their home. The great sweeping flanks of the vessel, oak-hued and polished to a lustrous sheen, were decorated with fantastic curlicues of filigreed gold and silver which would have made Beardsley weep with envy, and which were studded with cabochons of luminous gemstones, the smallest of which would have been impossible for a man to lift.

Its vast size was not the only surprising thing about the vessel, however; for at its stern, behind the captain’s cabin and officers’ quarters common to galleons of Earth, there was a gigantic paddle-wheel similar to those which powered the great riverboats of the Mississippi. To Blackwood’s eye, this bizarre concatenation of designs was even more arresting than the ship’s colossal scale.

‘A floating ship,’ said Castaigne, his voice a whisper of awe. ‘Gods, what a marvel!’

‘Our transportation to Carcosa?’ said Blackwood, peering up at the apparition. He shook his head. ‘I fail to see how such a vessel – however magnificent – will get us across all those countless leagues of space…’

‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ Castaigne chuckled.

The great ship loomed above them as it slowly settled upon the landing field. As its vast keel – more than a hundred feet in height – gently touched the grass, the blades barely stirred, as if nothing more substantial than a feather had fallen upon them. The three humans gazed up at the elegantly curved lapstraking of the mountainous hull, like minnows contemplating a whale, and Sophia shook her head and sighed, ‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!’

‘Nor I, your Ladyship,’ rejoined Castaigne.

‘I wonder how we’re going to get onboard,’ said Blackwood.

As if in answer to his comment, a large panel in the upper reaches of the hull slid aside and a wide platform emerged, connected to the vessel by means of a complex arrangement of beams and pulleys. The platform quickly descended to the ground, suspended by copper-coloured chains, and alighted upon the grass a few yards from them.

Castaigne picked up his suitcase. ‘Our means of boarding, I should say.’

Blackwood picked up both his and Sophia’s cases, and together they stepped onto the platform, which immediately began to rise again into the air. The ground fell away rapidly, and in moments they had a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside, an irregular patchwork of fields and villages stretching to the horizon.

As Sophia gazed across the landscape of southern England, she felt her heart tremble with excitement and trepidation: soon, they would be leaving all this beauty and tranquillity far behind, heading into the depths of space towards a world which might once have looked a little like this, but which was now a blighted sphere, drifting lonely amongst mourning stars, its life almost completely drained by the trans-dimensional monstrosity that dwelled there.

A monstrosity which she had already encountered, and which she would soon encounter again.

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. Blackwood glanced at her, intuited her apprehension, and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.

The platform came to a halt, and they turned to see Oberon standing in the hatchway. He was dressed in a tunic of shimmering emerald, black breeches and high boots, much in the manner of a sea captain of centuries past. His great dragonfly wings spread out behind him, and his eyes blazed with the light of Faerie as he smiled at them.

‘Sophia, Thomas, Dr Castaigne,’ he said, ‘welcome aboard my Æther galleon, the
Aurelius
.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ replied Castaigne. ‘It’s quite magnificent… very, er, big.’

The Faerie King’s smile grew broader as he beckoned to them. ‘Come. You may wish to observe our departure from the main deck, and then I will show you to your quarters.’ As he said this, three of the vessel’s crew stepped onto the platform and took the suitcases. Oberon indicated them. ‘Your equipment?’

‘Yes,’ replied Blackwood. ‘Queen Titania gave very detailed instructions to the chaps at Station X on what to provide.’

They stepped through the hatchway into what was evidently a large reception chamber. The room was furnished with ornate tables and chairs, which gave the impression of having been fashioned from living wood. Large cabinets lined the walls, and on their shelves were arranged numerous objects which might have been ornaments, or perhaps instruments of some kind: it was difficult to tell, so strange were their forms. There was a curious scent on the air, rather pleasing but difficult to identify. Blackwood detected a briny tinge, but in fact it was like no sea-scent he had ever encountered.

Oberon noticed his frown. ‘Is something wrong, Thomas?’

‘No, not at all – it’s just… that smell…’

‘Does it displease you?’

‘No, it’s quite pleasant – I just can’t identify it.’

‘It is the scent of the Luminiferous Æther, the very atmosphere of Space. This vessel has spent many thousands of years plying the gulfs between the planets and stars.’

‘For what reason?’

‘For the same reason humans are building Æther zeppelins: exploration. We are as curious about the cosmos as you.’

‘If you’ve been exploring for thousands of years,’ said Sophia, ‘you must know much more about the universe than we.’

Oberon’s smile faded. ‘Yes… we do. But come: the ship is ready to depart.’

They followed him from the reception room into a long, wide corridor which led to a vast staircase of the kind one might find on an ocean liner – albeit one that was at least five times larger than any conceived on Earth.

When they emerged on the main deck, they were stunned anew by the vessel’s enormous scale. Blackwood estimated the breadth of the
Aurelius
to be more than two thousand feet. The four masts rose from the forecastle, main deck and aftcastle like gigantic trees in a gently sloping field, and he felt himself grow dizzy as he peered up at the crow’s nest, which must have been a quarter of an acre in area, sitting atop the mainmast nearly a mile above his head.

‘How big a crew is required to operate this vessel?’ asked Blackwood, as Oberon led them towards a balustrade of intricately-carved oak running along the length of the main deck.

‘On long voyages, the
Aurelius
may carry many thousands,’ came the reply, ‘but in truth the ship could sail quite easily by herself, for well she knows the ways of the Æther.’

Nonplussed by this rather cryptic response, Blackwood nodded and said nothing.

‘And the ship’s name?’ said Castaigne.

‘She is named after one of your greatest philosophers,’ said Oberon. ‘A man whose genius allowed him a small glimpse of the true nature of the universe.’

A crewman approached and said, ‘Your Majesty, we are ready to make way.’

Oberon nodded, and the faerie withdrew.

Immediately, they felt the deck surge beneath them, and the ground, already a thousand feet below, grew more distant as the
Aurelius
rose into the air.

Sophia drew closer to Blackwood, and again he offered her a comforting arm. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ he said.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she replied quietly. ‘It’s just that this sensation reminds me of…’

When she hesitated, Castaigne glanced at her. ‘Of your previous journey?’

She nodded.

‘I fear that there’s nothing I can say to comfort you, your Ladyship.’

‘There’s nothing I require you to say, Dr Castaigne,’ she replied. ‘It was my choice… and I must live with the consequences.’

‘Consequences?’ said Blackwood. ‘What do you mean, Sophia?’

‘There will be consequences, Thomas. I can say no more than that.’

‘Why not?’ he persisted. ‘Is there something you’re not telling us? Something that happened to you while your mind was on Carcosa?’

Her only response was to draw away from him, to walk a little way along the balustrade and stand alone, watching the rapidly diminishing landscape below.

Blackwood was about to go to her, but he felt a powerful hand on his shoulder and glanced back to see Oberon shaking his head. And then Blackwood heard the Faerie King’s voice echoing subtly through his mind.
Did you really think she could be in the presence of a being such as the King in Yellow and remain unscathed?

How could I know?
he replied.
I have no idea what kind of being the King in Yellow is. But what are the ‘consequences’ of which she speaks?

I am uncertain
, came the reply.
But I believe we will find out before this is over
.

The
Aurelius
continued its ascent, until the ground was lost beneath the thick, grey clouds, and the sky above, at first bright and blue, gradually darkened into the obsidian blackness of space. As the concept of altitude lost its meaning and became, instead, distance from the planet, the three humans looked out at the unthinkable profusion of stars, which no longer twinkled as they did when viewed from the surface of the Earth; instead, they were diamond-hard pinpoints of crystalline light which shone with a brightness and constancy which was both delightful and unsettling to behold.

Castaigne took hold of Blackwood’s arm and pointed to the Moon, which was emerging from behind the Earth’s limb. Divested of the atmosphere’s impeding effects, the satellite shone with astonishing clarity, as if painted by some ultimate master of depiction on a sheet of glass separating the observers from the infinite gulfs beyond.

‘I didn’t realise,’ Blackwood said to Oberon, ‘that the Luminiferous Æther was breathable by humans, for we must be far beyond the Earth’s atmosphere by now.’

‘We are,’ the Faerie King replied, ‘and it is not. For your protection, we have cast a shield around the
Aurelius
, maintaining the atmosphere of Earth in close proximity to the ship.’

Sophia, still standing a little way off, caught the exchange and moved to rejoin them. ‘What form of propulsion does the
Aurelius
employ?’ she asked. ‘How are we to cross the trillions of miles of space to Carcosa?’

‘We could not do so,’ Oberon replied, ‘at least, not in
normal
space, for although our Æther galleons can catch the breath of stars in their sails and ride it between worlds, for voyages between the stars themselves, another method is required.’

And then the Faerie King pointed out from the balustrade across the fathomless depths of space, and said, ‘Behold the Pneuma.’

As the humans watched, the crystalline stars became warped and twisted, as if a distorting lens had been placed in front of them, smearing them into long, curving threads of light. At the centre of the distortion, something like a hole appeared – if a hole could be said to exist in space – and then it seemed to the observers that it was not so much a hole as the entrance to a great shaft, perhaps fifty miles across, which was lined with mottled silver, and extended not through space, but through something on the other side of space.

Blackwood tried in vain to comprehend this bizarre affront to the laws of geometry and physics, and felt his mind rebelling against the impossibility of what he was seeing. ‘What
is
that?’ he murmured.

‘It is the entrance to the Pneuma: a hypertube extending through non-quotidian space,’ replied Oberon. ‘It is the means by which we travel between the stars.’