Абрахам Меррит - The Face In The Abyss

Graydon raised his rifle, took deliberate aim. Before he could press the trigger, Huon struck the gun from his hands.

"Mine to kill! Not yours!" he cried, and ran down the steps sword in hand to where the master of the dinosaurs waited him, lips drawn back over his teeth, his own red sword ready.

The crimson sky pulsed—once, twice, thrice—as though it were a giant heart. Down from it like enormous bats dropped black shadows. And bitter and ever more bitter grew the cold.

For a moment Graydon watched that dread rain. The shadows appeared to form directly beneath the canopy of crimson mist. They were shapeless, formless, yet densely black as though torn from the cloak of deepest night. They swirled down, spinning as they dropped. They fell with the swift dart of the swallow. They were falling over all the plain, on lizard–men and Emer and noble alike.

He heard the clash of sword on sword, saw Huon and Lantlu thrusting, beating at each other with their blades.

Between him and the pair swirled a knot of fighting Urd and Indians. A shadow dropped upon them, enveloped them, hid them, swirled upward again. He looked upon the little group it had covered. They were no longer fighting. They stood there, motionless, immobile. They swayed. They fell. He ran down the steps, stopped beside them. The grass was black as though burned. He touched them. They were stiff and icy cold. He touched the ground. It, too, was frozen.

He looked toward Huon. His sword was sweeping down upon Lantlu's right wrist. It struck and half severed it. The master of the dinosaurs howled, sprang back, catching his weapon in his left hand before it could fall. Heedless of his wound, he rushed upon Huon.

And Huon avoided the rush, stepped aside, and as Lantlu twisted toward him thrust him through the belly and with swift upward lift ripped him to the breast.

The master of the dinosaurs dropped his sword, glared at his killer, his hands at his navel, the blood spurting through his fingers. He sank to his knees. Fell forward—

A shadow came silently spinning down. It enveloped both quick and dead.

Graydon heard the shrieking of a voice he did not know; realized it was his own! raced forward.

The shadow lifted, recoiled from him as though he had thrust it away, swirled skyward. Huon stood rigid, glaring down upon his enemy.

"Huon!" cried Graydon, and touched him upon the shoulder. It was icy cold.

And at the touch, Huon toppled, fell prone over the body of Lantlu.

He stood up, staring around him stupidly.

What were those lights? Winged shapes of greenish flame with cores of incandescence…flitting out of the air, pulsing from it…grappling with the shadows. Shapes of flame that battled with slaying shadows…and Huon dead there at his feet beneath a crimson sky.

As Huon had foretold—when was it? Ages upon ages ago.

His brain was numb. And despair…black despair that slowed his heart and set him gasping for breath was overwhelming him. Whence came that black tide…he'd never felt anything like that before? Hatred, too…cold hatred, cold and implacable as those slaying shadows…it was woven with the despair. Who was it he hated so…and, why?…if he could shake that creeping numbness from his brain.

Those damned shapes of flame! They were everywhere. And look at them running…Emer and Urd and spawn of the Old Race. My men…running…conquered! My men…what did he mean…my men? What a hell of a light…what a hell of a night! Good rhyme that…it seemed to stop the spread of that cursed numbness. Try another—ashes to ashes and dust to dust, if the shadows don't get you the winged flames must. No…that didn't help any. What the hell was the matter with his head? Poor Huon…wonder if Suarra knew he was down here…wonder where Nimir was…ah, now he knew whom he hated so…the Snake– woman…damned monster…Yes, Dark Master, I am coming!

Hell—what had made him say that? Brace up Nick Graydon…Nick Graydon of Philadelphia, Harvard School of Mines, U.S.A…..brace up!…Yes, yes, Dark Master…I…am coming!

An arm encircled him. He drew back, snarling. Why—it was Regor.

Regor! Something of the creeping deadness lifted from his brain.

"Head—Regor! Something wrong!"

"Yes, lad. It's all right. Come now—with Regor. To the—to Suarra."

Suarra? Yes, sure he'd go with Regor to Suarra. Not to that Snake–woman though! No, no! Not to her…she wasn't human…No, not to her. Dark Master…

Why, here he was back in the Temple! How the devil had he gotten there? Something was pulling at that collar. Pulling him by it. He wouldn't go! That's where that numbness came from—up from the collar. Ah—but he would have to go! But not before he had told Suarra about it all. Ah, there she was! Not the Snake–woman though…No, Dark Master, I'll not…it was good to have Suarra's arms around you…your head on her breast…

"Hold him tight, Suarra," said the Mother, quietly. "Kiss him. Talk to him. Do anything—but keep him aware of you. Kon!"

The spider–man drew from the shadows, looked down upon the muttering Graydon sorrowfully.

"Watch him closely, Regor. Kon may have to help you hold him. When the full call comes to him, his strength will be out of all bounds. If you must—bind him. But I would rather not—for my own reasons. Yet Nimir shall not have him. Ah—I feared it! Stand ready, Tyddo!"

A green glare, bright as daylight, flooded all the Hidden Land. The slaying shadows had vanished, the crimson light had gone from the clouds. Up from the plain midway between Temple and lake arose an immense pillar of coruscant green flame. As it arose it roared. It pulsated with a slow, regular rhythm. Around its girth and above it and at its feet, lightnings flashed, and thunder crackled like torrents of shattering glass.

Beneath that terrifying glare the battling figures upon mead and plain stood motionless, then in shrieking panic raced for cover.

From every quarter the winged shapes of flame throbbed into being. They swept toward the pillar, merged with it, fed it.

"His last play, Tyddo," whispered the Serpent–woman. "Yet it may be his best."

The Lord of Folly nodded, and took his station at the mechanism of crystal rods. The two great disks of moonlight radiance and cobweb strands were whirling. The Serpent–woman glided first to one, then the other, manipulating levers at their bases. Slowly their speed decreased.

"Now my ancestors aid me!" murmured the Snake Mother.

More slowly spun the disks. Fewer and fewer became the shapes of flame that fed the column. And now no more appeared.

The pulsing column quivered, swayed, and with a bellowing of thunders leaped a hundred feet from the ground. It dropped upon the amphitheater of the Dream Makers. Bellowing, it leaped again—from where the amphitheater of the Dream Makers had been.

Higher it drove this time. It came down among the trees of the city. Again the thunderous bellow—

The disks were still. The pillar of flame came rushing toward the Temple.

"Now!" cried the Serpent–woman to the Lord of Folly. From the mechanism he was manipulating spread out a gigantic fan of violet radiance—straight toward the racing column. It met and held it. It mingled with it. The pillar bent, twisted,–struggled like a living thing to escape.

There was a vast screaming, a crash like mountains falling. Then darkness and an appalling silence.

"That was well done," breathed the Mother. "And thanks be to all my ancestors that done it is!"

Graydon raised his head from Suarra's breast. His face was white and drawn, the eyes turned upward so that the pupils were almost covered by the upper lids. He seemed to be listening.

The Serpent–woman drew to him, watched him closely. His lips moved.