The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (39 page)

“What is this?” Ken asked Jean.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “The Temple of Cthulhu.”

Ken shot her a panicked expression. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Jean shook her head. “No, this is it. This is where it all ends. Win or lose, the fate of the world gets decided here.”

“Well. No pressure.”

“Believe me, Ken, we don’t wanna mess this up.” She walked to the parapet and looked over the Temple. She pressed her tongue against her cheek in thought. “That’s where the Tablets go,” she said, pointing at the two terraces and the mound below. “We put ’em in place, we can stop Cthulhu. One to rise, three to—”

“Do you hear that?” Ken asked.

Jean cocked her head and listened for a moment when she heard the sound of hundreds of footsteps approaching, marching in time.

• • •

Caraway pressed his hand against the circular membrane, the spongy material holding his handprint for several seconds before retracting. “What in baby Jesus is this?”

“It’s a door,” Vasili said as he freed himself from Caraway’s grip and stumbled forward.

“Well,” Caraway grumbled, “How the hell do you open it?”

Vasili ran his hands across the door’s gooey, spongy surface, stroking it like a pet. “You have to ask it,” he said. Seconds later the membrane pulled open, revealing a long stairway leading upward.

“Oh, great,” Rick groaned. “Stairs.”

• • •

The door membrane contracted open as Heydrich and Nyarlathotep returned with Gan and Gottschalk. They found Dumont standing calmly in the center of the cell, his hands placed behind his back.

“
Guten Tag, Meine Herren
,” Dumont said warmly. “
Schade, dass wir uns treffen müssen unter solchen Umständen.”

“Herr Dumont,” Gan said with a slight bow of his head, his tone mournful. His friend Caraway was dead, as were Farrell and Clayton, killed during their approach to R’lyeh. Now only minutes remained for Dumont. Years of planning, of fighting the enemy from within, all of it was for nothing. “Indeed, it is a pity.”

“It is time, Dumont,” Heydrich said with a horrific grin.

“Yes,” Dumont nodded without emotion. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Nyarlathotep silently walked around Dumont and placed a hand on each wrist. Black ooze grew out from Nyarlathotep’s fingertips, binding Dumont’s arms together.

As they led Dumont out, only Gan noticed the small pile of shattered glass and flecks of salt. A hallow smile formed on his lips and hope sparked his eyes.

• • •

“Look down there,” Ken said as a steady stream of Nazi soldiers flowed in through a large doorway at the back of the Temple. They were soon joined by a medley of creatures, from Deep Ones to shoggoths, flying polyps to nightmarish dragons, marching in unison until they filled the plateau, leaving a narrow aisle leading toward the peninsula.

Jean’s face silently steeled over. Her knuckles turned white as the Third Tablet rattled in her hands.

“Another sacrifice?” Gan whispered to Gottschalk as they marched into the Temple. “Sir, what have we allied ourselves with?” Gottschalk glanced around nervously at the incalculable creatures surrounding them. “I no longer know.”

“We must not let these monsters go through with this horror,” Gan pleaded, gripping Gottschalk’s arm.

“We do as the Führer commands,” Gottschalk said, his voice cracking.

“Even at the cost of our souls?” Gan asked sharply.

Gottschalk sighed and looked to Gan with a glassy gaze. “Is it such a large price to pay for the safety of Germany?”

• • •

Caraway, Rick, and Vasili found themselves on a large horseshoe terrace overlooking the Temple floor as Jethro was being dragged before the mound. Glancing across the way Caraway caught sight of Jean, who waved silently and pointed toward the far end the horseshoe balcony.

“Well, looks like the gang’s all here,” Caraway whispered as he waved back in understanding; that was where they needed to place their Tablet.

“What’s going on?” Rick asked, looking down at the throng of Nazis and monsters.

Caraway risked a glance down and swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering those horrible moments before Sotiria was killed. He felt a familiar scratching at the base of his spine, the thousand whispers of demons echoed in the back of his skull. He pitched his eyes shut and pushed the sensation away. He was stronger than them, he told himself. They wouldn’t take him again. He pushed them away, down back into the depths of hell. He was immune to their touch, he realized, like chickenpox. Then he heard the laughter come from behind him. He forced open his eyes and glanced over at Vasili, whose eyes had suddenly gone black.

“Armageddon,” Vasili whispered. A lascivious grin spread across his face as he grabbed Rick and tossed him across the balcony. Rick’s head smacked hard against the wall and he dropped unconscious to the ground. Vasili then spun around to Caraway and laughed, “
Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn!
”

Silence fell over the temple as Jethro headed the small, final procession into the Temple, followed closely by Nyarlathotep and Heydrich. He could feel a thousand eyes follow him as he made his way toward the end of the coral peninsula. He gazed out into the darkness as a loud buzzing began to echo out from the back of his mind, a thousand mad, screaming voices. The shadows moved and broke open, forming two red, green, and yellow slits. Tentacles slithered out into the light, grasping for him. Reaching the mound, Nyarlathotep forced Jethro to his knees as the black bindings on his arms evaporated. Heydrich then grabbed his right arm and pressed his ringed hand into the imprint. Bright green light erupted from the Jade Tablet, throwing a deathly hue over the massive creature in the darkness. Jethro felt his graze drift away, unable to look at the monstrosity without feeling his mind begin to unhinge.

Nyarlathotep turned to the crowd on the plateau. He raised the
Necronomicon
and screamed. “Now begins the new dawn of Cthulhu!”

Ken braced himself against the parapet. “Oh, God. Jethro…”

Jean’s heart hammered against her chest as she watched helplessly, the crystalline egg glowing bright. Everything she had seen, everything she had learned, it was going to be all for naught. She was going to watch the man she loved murdered before her eyes.

And there was nothing she could do.

On the coral peninsula below, Heydrich gripped Jethro by the hair, pulled back his head, and turned his face to the ceiling. Heydrich’s eyes burned with madness. A wild grin stretched across his broken and deformed face, a living, breathing nightmare. He held the Shard’s glowing serrated edge against Jethro’s neck, drawing blood. He leaned in close, his breath like brimstone. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day, Dumont,” he whispered, black ooze dripping down his ruined face. “Truly, I feel as though my whole life has been leading to this day.”

“This isn’t over, Karl,” Jethro said through gritted teeth.

“Oh no, Dumont. I am afraid it is.” Heydrich thrust the Shard over his head. “To the end of an era! To the beginning of the next! In the name of the Führer! In the name of the Old Ones! I awaken the Sleeper!
Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn!
”

“
Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn! Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn!
” the Temple thundered in unison.

Jethro’s eyes rolled back in his head and he began to whisper: “Salutation to the Buddha. In the language of the gods and in that of the
lus
, in the language of the demons and that of the men, in all the languages that exist, I proclaim the Doctrine…”

“Cthulhu rises!” Heydrich shrieked as he plunged the Shard into Jethro’s throat, breaking off a piece of the blade’s tip against the spine. He sliced to the side and ripped open the jugular, taking pleasure in the distinct wet sound of shredding tissue. Blood poured down the Green Lama’s throat onto the altar, turning his robes a deep maroon. The Temple fell silent as a green beam of light shot out from the mound into the shadows. Then, from all around them, they heard the roar of Cthulhu. Heydrich’s heart raced, lusting in the sound. He had done it; he had killed the Green Lama. He raised the Shard over his head once more, the Green Lama’s blood dripping down the crystalline blade and onto his arm, staining his sleeve.

“
Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn!
” he screamed, feeling the great wizard’s hot, sulfurous breath flow over him.

“
Iä Iä Cthulhu fhtagn!
” Nyarlathotep repeated with satisfaction as they both fell to their knees in unison, bowing their heads before their master.

Gan fell a step back, his mind nearing the breaking point as he stared at the hideous god, his hand instinctively reaching for his Lüger. “
Hashem
, no,” he whispered.

Beside him, Gottschalk fell to his knees, his face twisted with madness as he screamed,”
ür das Vaterland! Für den Führer!
”

Above on the balcony, Jean covered her mouth and fought back a scream as she slid down the parapet and collapsed to the floor. She sobbed silently as tears streamed down her face. She had failed. It was all over, everything and everyone. This was the end.

Ken crumpled. “Oh, God no,” he whispered. “Oh, please God, no.”

In the shadows below two broad, leathery wings extended out, eliciting a sound like of breaking bones ripping through skin. The Temple rumbled as bits of stone and coral rained down, punctuated by screams of ecstasy and terror. An immense clawed reptilian hand struck out from the darkness and hooked onto the coral cliff, then the other, the fifteen foot long nails driving into the coral with a deafening crack. Elephantine muscles flexed as the beast pulled itself forward. A pulpy octopus head surmounting a grotesque scaly dragon-like body appeared out of the darkness and roared with a thousand voices. The Green Lama was dead. Cthulhu had risen.

C
HAPTER 20

THE GREEN LAMA, UNBOUND

“Well, Tsarong,” Dumont said as the
S. S. Heki
approached the Brooklyn Navy Yards, the sun shining brightly on Manhattan’s brick and glass mountains. He had forgotten how beautiful they could be, a reminder that people could still accomplish wonders. “We’ll soon be landing in New York! I confess I have waited ten years for this!”

Tsarong firmed his lips, unable to look Dumont in the eye. “Waiting and studying hard, Tulku!” he said without much emotion.

Dumont nodded. “But all that time I was studying, Tsarong, it was with the idea that
someday
I would return and teach America the peaceful ideas of the Dharma.”

Tsarong placed a cordial hand on Dumont’s shoulder. “A most worthy reason, my friend.”

Dumont smiled somberly. “A most humble reason,” he added softly.

The ship’s horn blared. They had docked. For the first time in a decade, Jethro Dumont was
home
. Collecting their meager possessions, they exited their cabin into the sea of disembarking passengers.

“Mommy!” a little blonde girl cried pleasantly as she walked past them with two other children, tugging at her mother’s skirt. “Mommy, look, a
real
live Oriental man!”

“Meredith!” the mother scolded. “That’s very rude!” She turned to Dumont and Tsarong, smiling bashfully. “Sorry, she didn’t mean anything by that. You know how children can be.”

“No offense taken, young miss.” Tsarong bowed his head warmly. “May your children always be filled with such wonder.”

The mother’s smile broadened with bewilderment. “Huh, yeah. Hopefully, right?” she said as she was pulled away.

“You’ll get a lot of that,” Dumont said as they made their way through the ship’s hallways toward the gangplank. “Though most of it won’t be so innocent. They like to say New York’s a melting pot, but discrimination and hatred still run rampant. It is worse in other parts of the country where men in white sheets slaughter their fellow man for the color of their skin.”

“Perhaps it is an injustice you can correct, Tulku.”

Dumont nodded. “I hope so, Tsarong, though I don’t think it will be an easy task. But, we will do our best to teach my countrymen, no matter how long it takes,” he said as they disembarked.

Ahead of them, the young mother struggled with her baggage as her three children continued to drag her forward, all three rattling off all the stories they were going to tell their friends once they returned to school. Dumont smiled faintly. The excitement of children; he had forgotten how intoxicating their laughter was, how much he missed it. Maybe, now that he was home, perhaps, one day—

“Outta the way!