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Authors: Brian Lumley

BOOK: Mad Moon of Dreams
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Through the Dome
From then on the winds were fair, filling
Gnorri II's
sails and blowing her on a course straight as the path of an arrow. All through the rest of that night they sailed, through the sunrise and morning and into the afternoon. Then, ahead, the Cerenerian Sea was sighted and the mighty promontory of volcanic glass where towered the splendid city of Ilek-Vad.
Approaching from the west, Limnar's ship began a gentle descent as her flotation chambers were vented and gravity began to exert its natural pull; and then, on the desert sands below, in the shade of a tiny oasis, a nomad encampment was sighted and the Captain took his crystal-lensed glasses to the rail. This was little more than curiosity on Limnar's part, but after peering for a moment through the long-barreled glasses he stiffened and turned to Hero and Eldin where they lay sunning themselves on the bridge.
“Hero,” he called. “Eldin, what do you make of this?”
Feeling inordinately weary after a night of muted discussion about the mad moon and its terrible beam, Hero sighed and stifled a yawn as he got to his feet. He moved to the rail where Limnar handed him the glasses, and yawning again he idly focused the instrument on the small encampment far below. Then he too stiffened. “Horned ones?” he grunted, surprise and sourness in his voice. “Camped here so close to Ilek-Vad? They're a long way from home.”
“Eh?” Eldin now stirred himself. “What's that you say? Lengites? Camped here? What are they up to?” He got to his feet.
“Nothing,” Hero grunted. “They're just camped—and there are too few of them to pose any sort of threat to Ilek-Vad.”
“Hero's right,” said Limnar with a nod. “Ever since the Bad Days people have shunned the horned ones as if they were rabid dogs, but they're not much without leaders. During the Bad Days they were working for Cthulhu's minions in dreams, and those were rough times for the gentle folk of the dreamlands. But that's just so much history now. The horned ones backed a loser, and they paid for it.”
“I've heard about that,” Eldin grunted. “It was a couple of waking-worlders stopped 'em, right?”
“That's right,” Limnar nodded again. “Titus Crow and Henri-Laurent de Marigny, but they didn't stay here very long …”
Hero became interested. He gave back the glasses to Limnar and said, “You mean they woke up?”
The sky-Captain shook his head. “No, not really. You see, they had a machine. A wonderful machine which enabled them to go … anywhere! To most men in the waking world the dreamlands are places which exist only in the deepest reaches of the subconscious mind; places a man might now and then visit when he sleeps and dreams, which are forgotten when he wakes up. But with their wonderful machine—which they called a ‘time-clock'—Crow and de Marigny could come here any time. Or go anywhere else for that matter. When their work was done here—” He shrugged. “They left.”
“Now why can't we do that?” Hero slapped his thigh. For all that he should know by now that he and the Wanderer no longer existed in the waking world, still he hungered for that part of himself which must remain forever lost.
“We are dead men,” Eldin answered with a sigh, “late of the waking world, which proved fatal to us. How many times do I have to explain? To anyone who ever knew us, we are long dead and gone and buried. Do you know what we are in
the waking world? A couple of markers over unvisited graves, that's what we are. But here in the dreamlands—we live on!”
For a moment there was agony in Hero's eyes, but then it passed. He relaxed and said, “You're right, old lad, and I'm a fool.” He managed a grin. “Damn me, but I'd rather be a quester in the land of Earth's dreams than a corpse in the waking world! It's just that … I wish I could remember more of how it was. But every day it slips farther away.”
“Better forgotten,” Eldin rumbled, but his face too showed that he had felt those same bitter pangs—if only for a moment …
“ … Ship
ahoy
!” came the sudden cry from the crow's nest, and all eyes followed the pointing arm of the lookout where he leaned from his station on high. There between
Gnorri II
and Ilek-Vad's fabulous towers and minarets, proudly riding the sky and flying the colors of King Carter himself, the Royal Yacht of Ilek-Vad sailed under billowing purple.
In a little while the two ships closed with each other and Limnar hailed his counterpart aboard the Royal Yacht. “Ahoy there, Captain E'tan. Is something wrong? We're expected, surely?”
“Aye, Captain Dass,” the other called back, “that you are. You and your passengers, David Hero and Eldin the Wanderer. I'm only here to lead you in—to ensure your safe arrival.”
Limnar immediately bristled. He was sensitive in the area of his aerial ability (though in fact he had no need to be, for he was a very fine Captain indeed). Perhaps it was because he had lost two of his ships in the war against Zura, though that had been through no fault of Limnar's. “You're what?” he yelled. “Now I know you captain the Royal Yacht of Randolph Carter, E'tan, but I really don't think I need anyone to see me safely berthed. I'm pretty well experienced myself, you know.”
“I'm sure you are,” the other hurriedly agreed, “but you
need me for all that. Since you've been gone from Ilek-Vad they've activated the force-dome. You won't get through without me. If you'll just follow on behind, however—”
Limnar reddened. “Captain E'tan, I—”
“I fully understand,” the other cut him off. “If I had stated my business with a little more diplomacy, you would not be embarrassed. My fault entirely. And certainly I did not mean to belittle your skill, of that you may rest assured.”
“My thanks,” said Limnar gratefully, “—but I still don't understand. Surely the dome is only effective against outside manifestations? That is to say, inimical forces or beings not truly of the dreamlands?”
“True in the case of the old dome, aye,” Captain E'tan agreed, “which was more magical than material. But this new dome is far more powerful. It admits nothing!”
Limnar nodded across the gap. “I'll follow you,” he said, and he shouted the necessary orders to his crew. A few minutes later, as they approached the city single-file at a height of some five hundred feet, the Royal Yacht's bow cannon roared and a single shot rocketed from its muzzle. It might seem to any observer that the ship fired on the city, but this was not so. In the next instant the shot fragmented against an invisible wall and released a scarlet stain which spattered here and there and ran in streamlets toward the earth below. It did not fall in droplets but
ran
, as down a solid surface; and in other places the stain remained, hanging (or so it seemed) upon a curtain of the very air itself.
Still sailing forward with no reduction of canvas, now the Royal Yacht fired off a pair of signal rockets which burst high on the dome in twin showers of crimson stars. For a few seconds these fireballs cascaded and jumped and sputtered down the curve of the dome—but in the next moment all the sky over Ilek-Vad seemed to shimmer and blur to the gaze, and the smoking firework fragments fell straight to earth. The dome had been momentarily switched off.
The ships passed through, and then behind them the air once more shimmered momentarily as the dome was reactivated
from somewhere within the city. Hero took Limnar's elbow and said: “Seems to me we really did need E'tan's help, eh?”
“Aye,” the other nodded, shrinking inwardly as he envisioned a wrecked
Gnorri II
sliding down the invisible wall to her doom.
Eldin, who had been looking thoughtful for some little time, now spoke up. “Captain E'tan said that this dome admits nothing?”
“True enough,” answered Limnar. “Look over there. Now that we know the dome is here, why, you can see how the clouds are piling up against it and sliding around it!”
“The Royal Yacht's marker-shot certainly shattered on something,” Hero added. “Surely you see that, Eldin?”
“Oh, I see all right,” the Wanderer answered, and he fell musingly silent.
Hero sighed. “Go on then,” he prompted after a little while. “Let's have it. Say what's on your mind.”
“I think,” said Eldin, squinting skyward, “—I think that for a wall which admits nothing—well, that there's an awful lot of sunlight shining down on Ilek-Vad! Also, the air is as fresh in here as it is out there … Also—”
“Also?” Hero and Limnar pressed together.
“If a ray of simple sunshine may pass through the dome,” Eldin continued, his voice falling to an uneven mutter as he vexedly chewed his lip, “why not a beam of mad moonlight?”
Which left the others with nothing to say in return. Nothing at all …
 
When
Gnorri II
was safely anchored and floating on air only a few feet above the gardens of the central palace, then the two sky-Captains disembarked, greeted each other properly and exchanged a few words. There was little enough time to spend, however, for the Royal Yacht was one of four of King Carter's ships at present on watch in the skies about Ilek-Vad, and she must be under sail and about her duties immediately.
Thus the sky-sailors wished each other luck, following which E'tan returned to his vessel. Shortly thereafter the Royal Yacht climbed toward heavens in which the first star was still to appear, her purple sails filling against the clear evening sky.
Now Hero and Eldin had been here in Ilek-Vad before, though admittedly in happier times and under more auspicious circumstances, and they were not total strangers to the palace and its customs. What did surprise them was that Randolph Carter himself, always the soul of hospitality, was not there to meet them; for after all they were here on the King's business and at his bidding.
Several of the King's ministers were available, however, to escort Limnar and his waking-worlder friends into the palace proper. One of these, an old and valued counsellor named Arra Coppos, explained to them King Carter's absence as he led them through marble halls and mirrored passages to a sumptuous inner sanctum.
“The King considers the present threat to the dreamlands of such a grave nature that he has gone personally in search of a solution,” said Arra. “As to when he went—” the old counsellor peered at the three through thick crystal spectacles. “Had you arrived three hours earlier you might have had time for a few words with him. But do not ask me
where
he has gone: that is something I may not presume even to guess.”
They had come to a room whose centerpiece was a huge divan or raised dais of marble, covered in rich silks and soft cushions. Candles burned at its four corners, emitting exotic scents. There reclined a pair of silk-robed, motionless forms, wan and breathless as corpses, seemingly frozen in death. Here Arra put a finger to his lips, signifying silence; and he led the visitors to stand at the foot of the huge couch, gazing upon the two where they lay. King Carter was one, the other was unknown to the three, though Limnar Dass suspected that he knew of him.
Then, after a little while, maintaining the silence and without more ado, the long-bearded counsellor led them from that
place and toward rooms of their own where food awaited them. As they went he said: “You know King Carter, of course, but de Marigny was probably strange to you.”
“De Marigny?” Eldin's ears pricked up. “I thought he had left the dreamlands long ago?”
“That was Henri-Laurent de Marigny,” Limnar explained. “This one's son.” He turned to Arra. “I take it that the other sleeper upon King Carter's couch is Etienne-Laurent de Marigny?”
“You are correct,” Arra answered. “He and Randolph Carter were friends in the waking world long before they renewed that friendship here in the dreamlands. The difference between them is this: that Randolph Carter found his destiny right here, as King of Ilek-Vad, which he loves above all other places. But Etienne—he was always a seeker after mysteries, a wanderer of strange ways, the eternal explorer. The dreamlands could not hope to contain such as him. There his shell lies upon that couch, as it has lain for many a year—but where is he, eh? Not here, I assure you, no! For he has dreams of his own, which have taken him out to the very limits of the cosmos.”
“And King Carter?” questioned Hero. “What of him?”
“Why! Is that not obvious? He has gone in search of his old friend, to see if perhaps he knows the answer to the mad moon's monstrous bloating.”
“Then King Carter himself did not have such an answer?” Eldin grunted. “But surely he must know something; why else would he send for us?”
Arra shrugged apologetically. “Be sure there was a reason,” he answered. “Perhaps his letter will explain. He wrote it in the hour before he sought the Great Sleep, and now it waits for you in your rooms …”
King Carter's Letter
When Arra showed them to their rooms they bade him enter with them, and stay while they read Randolph Carter's letter. The letter was sealed in an envelope bearing the royal insignia. It lay on a table which also bore plates of food and several large bottles of wine. Limnar saw the envelope first, picked it up and weighed it thoughtfully, then passed it to Eldin. The Wanderer tore it open, glanced briefly at several fine sheets of crested paper, handed them to Hero. The latter coughed, glanced once into the faces of his companions, and began to read out loud:
Hero, Eldin, and whoever else it may concern—
I have gone where few others could ever follow, to seek out an old friend of mine long departed from the lands of Earth dreams into the dreams of alien universes. I may find him, I may not. I may return, and … the guardians of the gates to alien worlds are strange and terrible and their moods are often unfathomable. If I do return, it may be that I shall have an answer to the encroachment of this demon-ridden moon upon the dreamlands. If I do not return … then at least you shall know what I know, and may the knowledge guide your actions accordingly and rightly to the common good
of all the lands of Earth's dreams and the peoples who dwell therein.
First, the threat as I see it:
1. An unholy alliance between the horned ones of Leng and certain
inhabitants
of the moon has been an established fact since my own younger days. Indeed, the toad-like, tentacled moonbeasts are the true masters of those horned almost-humans from Leng. Some of my contemporaries, however, have seen fit to believe that since the Bad Days the Lengites have mended their ways; that they are now honest traders in gold and jewels. This is not beyond the bounds of possibility since Leng is vast and largely unknown and may well harbor huge mineral deposits of precious stones and metals.
Personally I believe that the horned ones are inherently evil, that they do not belong in any corner of the sane dreams of Man, and that they have not given up their allegiance to the moonbeasts at all but, if anything, that they yet pursue their old and utterly despicable ways with more vigour than ever! And I further believe that the raw materials of their trade are not found on Leng's nighted plateau but brought to the dreamlands from the moon. If I am right, what, pray do the moonbeasts get in return? What nameless services do the horned ones perform for their polypous masters?
Nor are my attitudes and suspicions too harsh in this matter, I assure you: my own experiences with the almost-humans were such that I could not be mistaken; and I have always warned the sane inhabitants of dream against any dealings with them. Now I say this: that unless an end—a total end—is put to them, they will bring down a doom on the dreamlands quite beyond conjecture and certainly beyond my limited powers of description.
2. The twin Dukes of Isharra (Byharrid-Imon Isharra and his brother, Gathnod-Natz'ill Isharra, of whom I believe you may have heard?) are a pestilential pair whose record is a veritable register of greed, treachery and brutality and a mire of seamy criminal activities in general. Only their wealth has so far prevented punitive retaliation; they have purchased themselves an army of thugs (to protect their assumed “nobility”) and have always managed, through graft or intimidation, to buy off any suits or actions brought against them by those they have wronged.
I am given to believe that they were gangsters in the waking world, whose activities in the stews and gambling dens of a large and largely corrupt city earned them “concrete wellingtons”? And yet they were dreamers, too, though I can only imagine that their dreams were both vicious and avaricious as they themselves. However, I do not govern access to these dreamlands (nor could I desire that responsibility) and who am I to say who should or should not dwell here once he becomes defunct in the waking world? But I do know that we would all be far better off without them.
Now it is a known fact that the goldmine which supplied Isharra's wealth has recently become played out. The vein has dried up; there is no more gold in Isharran earth. The business of the Dukes might, therefore be expected to decline. This has not been the case; indeed their trading has expanded extensively until they have a foothold in the great majority of dreamland's regions. It has become noticeable, too, that the quality of their gold is not what it used to be. A metallurgist friend of mine informs me that it is quite indistinguishable from Leng's gold which, as I have said, I do not believe is mined in Leng at all.
3. Let me now go on to mention one or two
associated facts, or facts which I consider to have associations with the above, before we draw any final conclusions.
Firstly: it appears that the Dukes of Isharra and the horned ones of Leng trade with each other in gold, and then that they vie with each other in the sale of that precious metal at ridiculously low prices! Unscrupulous dealers in all corners of the dreamlands are snapping up vast amounts of so-called
“Leng”
gold as fast as they can. Now I can hardly blame them for that; it is
their business after all and they would be fools to miss such advantageous opportunities. But … How best may I make my point?
If the horned ones have a monopoly on gold, which I believe they have,
why do they bother to deal with Isharra at all?
Secondly: it is rumored that both Isharra and Leng have recently had dealings with Zura; Zura the land, and Zura the vile Princess of Zombies. To what end? Not to any end beneficial to the dreamlands, you may be sure. Similarly, galleys of the horned ones have been seen sailing into Thalarion, whose hive queendom is ruled over by the Eidolon Lathi. Now I know that you believed you had destroyed that monstrous Queen of termen hordes (and indeed I am sorry you have not!) but she lives still and her termen with her; aye, and they have started to build Thalarion all over again from the ashes you made of that execrable paper city. And the Lengite galleys that sail so readily into the stench of that place—why!—they sail
out
again, which could never have happened in the olden times. If Lathi does not destroy them, what, pray
does
she do with them? What hideous plots are brewing even now in dreamland's darker places, and how may we deal with them?
4. Finally, and in an attempt to tie all of these
foregone facts together (even though I am well aware that I could be wholly mistaken), I will draw my own conclusions. This is how I see it:
For some as yet unknown reason or reasons, the malignant side of dreamland is recruiting and massing its forces. We may count Leng, Isharra, Zura and Thalarion as being the enemy. Something sinister is in the wind in respect of the massive distribution of “Leng” gold. Worse than all of this, the moon draws closer every night, bringing a madness and a terror to the sane and civilized places of Earth's dreamland. When it comes (whatever the culmination of all this will be) I am sure that the push will be massive, its machinations monstrous, and its effects devastating!
Moreover, it may well be that the root of the problem—the enemy command post—lies within the moon itself. If I may be permitted to digress for a moment:
In olden Theem'hdra, the waking world's Primal Continent at the dawn of time, the moongod was known to some as Gleeth, to others as Mnomquah. It is interesting to note that there were no cults dedicated to Gleeth, for he was that smiling, serene god of the full moon whose round, yellow, changeless face was formed of craters and mountains. He was a blind god and deaf—blind to the revels of lovers, mercifully deaf to the death-screams of warriors—and he had no favorites. In short, he was an elemental god whose presence was reassuring to the primitives of a dawn world
He and Mnomquah, however, were not one and the same god. No, Mnomquah in no way corresponds to Gleeth; for where the latter was a half-imagined face espied on clear nights, the former was very real! He had his cults, his sacrifices, his dark worship … and he has them still. I suspect that the moon's jelly-like
toad-things worship him to this day, but of course I can't prove it …
In that time when Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones oozed down from alien stars and dimensions and built the throne-city of R'lyeh in the waking world, Mnomquah was one who fashioned himself a mighty crypt at moon's heart, there to rest from his billionyear's journey across strange universes. Aye, and when the Elder Gods came and sealed Cthulhu and his ilk in their immemorial prisons, Mnomquah too was sealed in the moon. His mate, Oorn, however, fled before the coming of the Elder Gods. They found her somewhere in the dreamlands—it is not known where—and prisoned her where she was found.
Now this last is lore; it is written in the
Pnakotic Manuscripts,
which I have read—though often I wish I had not—and it might explain many things which must otherwise remain mysteries. The influence of the moon at its full on dogs in the waking world and cats in the dreamlands—and men in both dimensions. The incidence of lycanthropy. The strange activities of gaunts and ghouls. Aye, and it is of old renown that dreamland's gugs and ghasts became the subterranean things which they now are because they could not bear the moon's glooming upon them.
Now, I have taken a few moments to read over all I have written here, and I find it jumbled and less than completely coherent. But … I am in haste, and it says most of what I desired to say. As to why I called upon you for aid: you have more than once proved yourselves true friends of the dreamlands, while yet you have retained certain instincts and talents of the waking world. If I had ten such as you, then I know the threat could be combatted, contained, conquered …
Kuranes has promised aid; three of his vessels are on their way from Serannian even now. Three more ships of my own fleet are standing by at your
command. Also, I have sent a letter to one Gytherik of Nir, of whom I have heard many good things. He is a friend of yours, I believe, who in some way controls a grim of night- gaunts? That is something I must see with my own eyes! And then again, perhaps not …
And now I must away. If I can find my old friend Etienne-Laurent de Marigny out there in the lands of alien dreams—or perhaps Titus Crow and the marvelous time-clock—I am sure that either one would make an ally of fantastic strength and amazing ability. As to the dreamlands, these beloved lands of Earth's dreams: I leave them in your care. They are yours to protect as best you can, and so I command it. How you will do so is your concern, but I am convinced that you, above all others, have the necessary skills.
Use those skills wisely and wish
me luck as I wish it for you—
Randolph Carter.
Hero finished reading and looked up. “He knew nothing of the moon's magnetic beam,” he said.
“Eh?” Arra's eyes peered through the thick lenses of his spectacles, moving from one face to the next. “Beam? Magnetic?”
“Well, perhaps not magnetic,” Limnar answered, and he quickly told what they had seen of that terrible attack from the moon and how close they had come to being trapped in the beam's golden, nightmare net. And as the sky-captain talked, Eldin caught Hero's arm and drew him to one side.
“What Limnar just said,” he grunted low in his throat. “About the moon's ‘golden net'—”
“Yes?” Hero pressed, frowning. “Go on.”
“Well, you know how a northstone always points north, or toward any massive concentration of iron?”
“Yes, of course. What are you getting at?”
“King Carter's letter went on about the horned ones and
the Isharrans selling vast amounts of gold at ridiculously low prices,” Eldin's voice was growing louder as it picked up momentum, his excitement plainly visible in the bristling of his beard.
“That's true,” Hero's frown deepened. “But iron is iron and gold—”
“Is gold!” Eldin cried. “Are you blind? How do you suppose the mad moonbeam finds its targets?”
Meanwhile Limnar and Arra had drawn close, listening to Eldin's reasoning. Now Limnar said: “And that party of horned ones we saw, so close to Ilek-Vad. Do you suppose …”
At that moment a palace attendant appeared at the door. He bowed nervously, and to Arra Coppos said: “Arra, Lord, a strange thing—”
The four turned toward the newcomer and Arra answered, “What's that? Something strange? Of what do you speak?”
“One of the King's patrol vessels has just now returned to the city,” said the man. “They found something in the desert to westward, and they brought it back with them.”
“Found something?” said Arra. “What did they find?”
“A statue, Lord. In the image of King Carter himself, and seated upon a great horse.”
Arra sighed. “And you disturbed us to tell me that? There are many statues of the King. Some sculptor has doubtless been at work in the seclusion and privacy of the desert. Is that so strange?”

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