Necronomicon: The Wanderings of Alhazred (29 page)

The tending of the fires upon the lesser ziggurats continues even to our time, though the ignorance of those who gather wood for the fires is so great, only the priests know what purpose they serve. The rays are still sent through time into the ancient world where dwell the Yithians in their primordial bodies, and offerings of cakes and wine are passed through the portals above the flames, but for many ages nothing has emerged out of those portals. The Great Race is ever patient, and it may be that they are merely awaiting conditions suited to their purposes before once again sending their souls ahead in time, for the sending of souls requires no portal. How long they will wait, no man can tell.

t is not safe to walk amid the ruins of Babylon at night where the ghosts of the city howl their outrage upon the wind, which remembers as by an echo their cries when the city was destroyed and made a wilderness for beasts, and how they were put to the swords of the conquerors, even the women and infants. The foundation stones are almost as old as those of the ziggurats on the plain; to touch them is to feel their years, which make the stones of Egypt seem newly quarried, save for the stone of the Sphinx. No common habitations stand where Babylon once flourished; few venture there under the sun, and fewer still have the courage to enter the fallen bones of its gates beneath the moon. The land is given over wholly to death, and the past, and creatures of evil purpose.

When Babylon was overthrown, its walls and temples were pulled down even to the final course of brick or stone, and its wells were filled with sand, but the sewers that lie beneath the city were not destroyed, and in part remain as they were, though they are dry. These channels are a work of wondrous skill comparable to the ingenuity of the Romans, for the slops and wastes of the city did not flow in gutters down the center of the streets as they do in most of our modern cities, but in large tunnels beneath the earth that shielded the inhabitants from their stenches and caused the removal of the rats to the underground where they were of little trouble. These tunnels are arched and high enough for a tall man to walk upright; in places they are so wide that they cannot be spanned by the outstretched arms. Places where the roofing has fallen in provide a feeble and intermittent glow during the day, and by moonlight, but the slanting rays serve more as a guide than as an illumination.

Beneath the center of the city is a deep and wide cistern or catch pit that captured the heavier wastes and prevented them from clogging the smaller tunnels that carried the outflow away from the city walls. No doubt when Babylon was inhabited it was periodically dredged and emptied. Presently it serves as the living place of a strange creature who may be said to be the monarch of Babylon, since no other foul thing of the night dares to contest its preeminence. It is one of the offspring of Shub-Niggurath, and is older than the city itself. Its scaled body glows with the redness of dying embers. In size it is equal to the largest horse, and in form it somewhat resembles the griffin, save that its tail is barbed and all four of its legs are taloned. Great black wings without feathers, but leathern like the wings of a bat, it keeps folded along its hunched back, and since its food is not to be found in the tunnels or the ruins of the city, it uses these wings to fly abroad across the night sky seeking prey.

Truly it is a fearsome monster, and to be avoided except by the boldest of travelers seeking arcane wisdom not to be learned in more placid circumstances. To those possessing the secret to hold it at bay it is a fountain of knowledge, and for this reason, that it has not one head but seven, and these heads extend on elongated necks from its hulking shoulders and change their forms constantly; always the number of the heads is seven, but they are never the same seven heads. Their faces and shapes transform one into another as they are watched, becoming now the head of an old man and now the head of a soldier, now the head of a child and now the head of a harlot, or maiden, or priest, or slave, for this beast is an eater of human flesh and seeks no other food.

It is the nature of this beast that it captures the souls and minds of those it consumes and retains them within itself. Each soul expresses itself by projecting its head, and when that head is formulated, it is capable of responding to any question that may be put to it, for it remembers all its knowledge acquired during life. The strongest souls of those consumed by this creature project their heads most often, but they cannot sustain their projection for any longer than the weakest soul, which is no more than the tenth part of an hour, so that the heads are constantly melting into the scaly flesh of the beast and changing into other heads. The souls speak independent of the beast but cannot act of their own wills.

It is frustrating to seek a complex answer to a question of necromancy from the head of a wizard, only to have it sink away and be replaced by the head of a weeping child. The number of heads within the beast is beyond counting, so great is its age. It cannot prevent the heads from speaking, but it attempts to slay and consume the traveler who questions them. Its weapons are its sharp black talons, longer than the outstretched fingers of a man, and a curved gray beak that is set in the base of the necks below the changing heads. It sees through the eyes of those it has made a part of itself, and hears with their ears, but it eats with its own mouth that is incapable of speech, yet can emit piercing shrieks of rage like those of a hawk, but many times louder. Whether it possesses a mind of its own, wholly independent of the minds of those it has consumed, is not evident from its actions, which are those of an unthinking beast; even so, it is cunning and will wait for the traveler to relax his vigilance, then attempt to strike.

The Elder Seal engraved upon a disk of gold and worn about the neck holds it at bay. It respects the Elder Seal because it is a thing associated with the Old Ones, and though the seal cannot cause it hurt or even restrain it in any material manner, it fears it as the wolf fears the very sight of the campfire, even when it has suffered no burn. The traveler who is not fortunate to possess the talisman of the seal risks dismemberment all the while he remains within the sewers unless he knows the making of the Elder Seal with the hand, for the Elder Seal made with the hand quells the rage of the beast almost as well as the graven mark of the seal.

The true making of the sign is to cross the longest finger of the right hand on top of the third finger, and to touch the tip of the first finger against the tip of the thumb. The conjoined thumb and first finger are projected forward while holding the smallest finger upright and the crossed middle fingers at an intermediate angle. With practice this sign may be formed in an instant whenever the creature exhibits aggression, and held for as long as is required.

The protection offered by the exhibition of the sign is effective even in total darkness; in some way that cannot be fathomed the beast senses its presence when it cannot be seen by the eyes. Perhaps the lines and joinings of the fingers of the sign change the very shape and texture of space itself so that the beast can feel its form, even as do the graven marks of the seal; this is a matter of conjecture, but what is certain is that the sign safeguards the life of one who ventures into the sewers beneath Babylon, and must not be omitted, for to enter these tunnels in ignorance of its making is certain death.

Enter the sewers near the remains of the east gate through the pit that lies between two fallen pillars, one of which has broken into three parts. Make your way westward toward the center of the city, where is situated the dry cistern in which the creature dwells. You will know that you are near when you hear the cries and babbling of its heads, for they never cease to lament their fate, and many of them are mad, and they argue amongst themselves and berate and insult each other as their only recreation. The stench of the thing is strong, and that also will guide you. The rats in the tunnels provide adequate nourishment, but their blood is uncommonly thick and salty, so it is wise to carry skins of water if you intend to stay more than a single night.

The time to question the heads is not long. During the daylight hours the beast sleeps or rests in torpor, and the heads are listless and unresponsive to questions. Perhaps they dream? Who can know, but it is certain that they are of no use in this state for the gathering of knowledge. The beast will stir itself into wakefulness if approached, in order to defend itself, but once it perceives that it faces no threat it will descend back into sleep. Once full dark has fallen, it does not tarry in the tunnels but rushes away and emerges through the pit at the east gate, which is the widest entrance to the sewers, and spreads its wings and flies aloft in search of nourishment. At dawn it returns and immediately sleeps, whether it has fed or not. Only at the hour of dusk is it fully awake and aware, and at this time it may be questioned on any topic, and will provide such answers as the heads that are projected care to give.

The heads cannot be forced to make answer by physical means, since they are indestructible. If struck off to the great rage of the beast, they merely grow anew from its shoulders at some later time. However, it is possible for the wise traveler to use his knowledge to compel the heads to speak in various ways, by playing on the weakness and vanity of the souls they express, or by pitting one head against another. Each of the more potent heads, who emerge from the monster’s flesh most frequently, believes itself to be the wisest, and delights to contradict or correct the answers of the others. In this way knowledge may be gained, if the traveler is patient.

The wisest of the heads is a wizard named Belaka, who long ago dwelt in the mountains of the east. His skull is bald, and the skin of his cheeks and his teeth alike are the yellow of old parchment, but his dark eyes hold keen awareness and glitter with amusement, as though savoring some wry jest. He is the oldest of the heads that remains sane, and the most frequent to emerge from the beast. He readily speaks with those who visit the sewers and will share his arcane arts, but for diversion he sometimes lapses into forgotten tongues to vex his listener. A blazing torch thrust into his face in the left hand, while the Elder Sign is made with the right to hold the beast at bay, will remind him of his place and cause him to return to our common language, which he has learned from the babbling of other heads.

He likes to relate the tale of his death, how one evening while walking on a mountain trail, after making sacrifice of a goat beneath the stars, he was startled by the soft beat of wings. Before he could raise his head, shadows enveloped his body, and the talons of the beast pierced his back between the shoulders and severed his spine, rendering him unable to move his arms or legs. Cursing imprecations at the monster that held him captive, he felt himself swept into the air and carried to a high mountain ledge, where he endured the ignominy of watching his body painlessly torn apart, to the laughter and mockeries of the monster’s seven heads; for having endured this indignity, they take delight to see others suffer through an equal horror.