Haggopian and Other Stories

horror of which certain dim myths hint most terribly. For that underworld is said to be a place litten only by pale death-fires, a place reeking of ghoulish exhalations and filled with the primal mists which swirl in the pits at Earth’s core. Who may say what form the inhabitants of such a place might take?”

At this point Atal’s eyes cleared of their far-away look and turned from the dark places of his tale to the present and to me. He placed his rheumy hands on my shoulders, peering at me earnestly: “Well, so says legend and the Fourth Book of D’harsis; and now, you say, the great ruby is come again into the known places of Earth’s dreamland. Now hear you, Grant Enderby, I know what must be done—but how may I ask any man to take such risks? For my plan involves not only the risk of destruction to the mortal body—but the possible eternal damnation of the immortal soul!”

“I have pledged myself,” I told him, “to avenge the peoples of Dylath-Leen. My pledge still stands, for though Dylath-Leen is lost, yet are there other towns and cities in dreams which I would dream again—but not to see them corrupted by horned horrors that trade in fever-cursed rubies! Atal—tell me what I must do.”

Atal then got to it, and there was much for him to do. I could not help him with the greater part of his work, tasks involving the translation into language I could understand of certain tracts from the Fourth Book of D’harsis, for, even though many things are simpler in dream, those passages were not meant to be read by any man—neither awake nor sleeping—who did not understand their importance.

Slowly but surely the hours passed and Atal laboured as I watched, putting down letter after letter in the creation of pronounceable syllables from the seemingly impossible mumbo-jumbo of the great book from which he drew. I began to recognise certain symbols I had seen in allegedly “forbidden” tomes in the waking world, and even began to mumble the first of them aloud— “Tetragrammaton Thabaite Sabaoth Tethiktos”—until Atal silenced me by jerking to his feet and favouring me with a gaze of pure horror.

“It is almost night,” he remonstrated, striking a flint to a wax candle, his hands shaking more than even his extreme age might reasonably explain, “and outside the shadows are lengthening. Would you call That forth without first having protection? For make no mistake, distance is no matter to this invocation, and if we wished we could call out the Fly-the-Light even from here. But first you must cast a spell over Dylath-Leen, to contain the thing when you release it from the ruby; for certainly unless it is contained it will ravish the whole of dreamland; and you, the caller, The Utterer of The Words, would be one of the first to die—horribly!”

I gulped my apologies and sat silently from then on, listening attentively to Atal’s instructions even as my eyes followed his scratching pen. “You must go to Dylath-Leen,” he told me, “taking with you the two incantations I now prepare. One of them, which you will keep at your left, is to build the Wall of Naach-Tith about the city. To work this spell you must journey around Dylath-Leen, returning to your starting point and crossing it, chanting the words as you go. This means, of course, that you will need to cross the bay; and I suggest that you do this by boat, for there are things in the night sea that do not take kindly to swimmers. When you have crossed your starting point the wall will be builded. Then you may use the other chant, spoken only once, to shatter the great gem. You should carry the second chant at your right. This way you will not confuse the two—a mistake which would prove disastrous! I have used inks which shine in the dark; there will be no difficulty in reading the chants: So, having done all I have told you your revenge will be complete and you will have served all the lands of dream greatly. No creature or thing will ever be able to enter Dylath-Leen again, nor leave the place, and the Fly-the-Light will be loosed amongst the horned ones. One warning though, Grant Enderby—do not watch the results of your work! It will be as was never meant for the eyes of men!”

IV

I came through the desert towards Dylath-Leen at dusk, when the desert grasses made spiky silhouettes atop the dunes and the last kites circled high, their shrill cries telling of night’s stealthy approach. Night was indeed coming, striding across dreamland in lengthening shadows which befriended and hid me as I tethered my yak and made for the western point of the bay. I would start there; making my way from shadow to shadow, with the wall-building chant of Naach-Tith on my lips, to the opposite side of the bay; and then I would see about crossing the water back to my starting point.