(Annals of the Jinns--8)
by R. H. Barlow
Far to the south of Phoor and bordering upon Yondath extends the vast
jungle land. The River Oolae enters it at several points, making
travel by boat difficult between Phargo on the desert its outlet in
the unnamed land. Where the jungle ceases it gives way abruptly to a
vast and mighty plain. This open country is now desolate and entirely
uninhabited. Nothing but the six-legged and grotesque monster-things
called _rogii_ roam its interminable fields of waving grass. Yet once
this lower south-land was a populous and fertile plateau, from the
swampy morasses of Yondath even unto the mountains and Zath, where
dwell the fungii-masters. How it came to be so barren is told in
antique myth, and when people hear the fate of the land beyond the
jungle they shudder and make prayers in the air with the small finger.
This then is the tale of the fall of the cities of the plain--they that
were called by men Naazim, Zo, and Perenthines.
Naazim lies now a waste, nor is there any trace of Perenthines. But
one can yet find ancient ruins of Zo, and the vandals of Time have not
entirely effaced the elaborate carvings of amber which lie half-buried
in the concealing grass near where the vast pool was once constructed
in the center of the city.
The whole thing started when the magician Volnar refused to leave
Perenthines. He had been a most successful and prosperous sorceror
until the deplorable case of the fishwife whose hair all fell out and
took root in the ground before her house. This the people took to be
an evil omen, and it was really quite difficult for them to break into
his low, strange house after his refusal to depart. They were all
disappointed he had gone. They did not know of the black tunnel beneath
where he kept his magical supplies. So after searching hopefully around
the house some one set it afire, and they made merry by the embers,
diverting themselves lustily during the pale night while he fled with
only his vengeful thoughts for company. The curious manner of his
attire together with the black-edged mantle of crimson caused him to
resemble a great moth flapping across the wasteland between the cities.
By the time the last flagon of wine lay untidily upon the paving
before where his house once was, and while yet his pet mondal moaned
inconsolably about the ashes, for his persecutors had been unable to
capture the highly edible pet, Volnar arrived at the gates of Zo.
The brilliance had begun in the northern sky, and the three suns were
nearly risen. Soon would the far mountains be illuminated in yellow
light, and Zath shine its metal towers like the armor of a weary knight
sprawled upon the hills. The black stone of the precipice directly
under the fasthold served only to set it off. Soon too would the rich
rice fields of cultivated vegetation gleam pleasingly and the jungle
come to animated life. But not yet were the gates open, for it had been
the rule in Zo to keep fast-closed, till full dawn, ever since the
Night of The Monster in neighboring Droom, close unto the mountains.
There was a smell of spice hanging in the air, for the breeze was
small, but this loveliness was wholly wasted upon the angry little
sorceror as he chaffed before the giant gate. His robe was bedraggled
from the mud and he was wearied of no sleep.
"Ho, guard!" he shouted irritably, "can you not let an honest traveler
within your cursed village before high noon?"
This was on the whole a misrepresentation for his traveling was
unintentional and he was by no means honest but he did not consider the
moral aspect of the matter.
After a time sounds of distant shuffling reached his ears, and after
prodigious squeakings and bangings a sleepy-faced man gave him
entrance. Volnar entered the handsome city and made his way along the
vast paving-stones of yellow and brown, and at length arrived at a
lodging-house, the lighted lantern yet glimmering in the shadow of the
sleeping town.
For a long time none saw the bearded little sorceror upon the streets
of Zo. He purchased an old house with curious artificial gold of
his own contriving--a secret of wizardry he held to be pleasingly
unique--and busied himself most industriously in the dank, ill-lit
cellar. Twice he ventured forth, after nightfall, to obtain certain odd
ingredients from a man to whom he was known, and the man (who had no
ears, but patches of fur that he concealed beneath his head-gear) saw
what was up, and left the city straightaway. Volnar worked on with his
charms and spells, occasionally sighing for his abandoned mondal, and
frequently pondering upon his revenge.
He pottered amidst his instruments. The thin cold light streaming
through a crack in the rocky ceiling was aided by that of the small
fire beneath the pot of bulging iron. Yet though with even these the
gloom was little disspelled, Volnar did not care, for his eyes were
familiar with darkness, in which his long apprenticeship had been
spent. That students of the dark lore were not appreciated had become
increasingly clear to him, ever since the night of his departure
from Perenthines. Consequent discretion called for subterranean
quarters. These he had obtained, and thus did he work upon the Doom
for Perenthines. And before he had completed the strange substance
that bubbled so obscenely and which cast off the odour of fresh blood
mingled with some nauseating aroma, Volnar sent a messenger to Sarall,
the Lord of Worms, to obtain a certain ingredient most accessible
to maggots. Frequently did he consult the parchments that were said
to have been copied from the Hsothian manuscripts by a slave of the
Lord Krang very long ago, and elaborate care was exercised upon the
concoction.
Then, at last, it was completed, and Volnar gazed speculatively about
the cellar, thinking for some time. He arose from his lengthy vigil,
and poured the contents of the pot into a cylinder of unglazed pottery,
deftly sealing it with enchanted gummy material of moist black. While
the stuff was inside it continued to seethe audibly, although it had
been off the fire for some time. And this jar he bore with extreme
caution as he turned the immense iron key in the cellar door.
The sky was a starless void when he entered into the street, intent
upon his mission. As he hurried through the silent city, accompanied
only by his shadow, a successive lifting of vapor-mists revealed the
moon of ashen blue, but it was quickly obscured again. The air was
chill and in ceaseless motion, faintly disturbing his crimson robe. His
footsteps echoed hollowly upon the paving, and he felt that everyone
must surely hear him, but he was not accosted. A lone pedestrian abroad
for no good purpose emerged from the mist abruptly, but passed Volnar
unseeing and soon was lost in the fast-gathering dimness. It was very
late now, and he was relieved when he approached the central part of
the city with the cylinder beneath his arm, for it was increasingly
heavy and the contents unruly with new animation.
Soon he reached the handsome marble pool that was the center of Zo and
the marvel of the three towns, but which is now but a faint indentation
in the waving grass. The water was very still, and he let the thing in
the urn slide noiselessly into the pool. It sank unhurryingly to the
bottom, expanding, more solid now, and drifted away in the dimly-hidden
water. Whether it had moved of its own volition or was borne by a
current, none but the inscrutable little man could have told. Volnar
gazed after it, and apparently satisfied, departed.
He did not return to his lodging, but made directly for the mountains
upon a stolen _rogii_ which attained a remarkable speed for its bulk.
And while the fate of the three cities moved slowly about the pool, the
magician traveled ceaselessly towards Mt. Boriau. After the man and
his steed had approximated the nearer peaks, they stopped, and Volnar
knew he was within safety. Therefore he watched searchingly the far
dim mass that was the grouped cities. Nothing could be discerned, but
the watcher knew evil forces were at work, forces none could halt or
evade save by direct flight, and who was to wake the sleeping towns?
He chuckled grimly, and hoped his pet mondal was not within the doomed
area. Then he made his way more slowly toward the crags of Boriau.
During this while the strange substance grew and distended in size and
weight until it restlessly filled the large pool. It had assumed no
definite shape, but life was unquestionably within the vast prehensile
tissue that groped at the edge of its confines. It was as yet unable
to release itself and venture in search of food, but the time was not
distant. A chance pedestrian, with his moth-like cloak that was of the
type common in those days went slowly by and did not fully realize what
was happening when he saw the thing droolingly emerge from the pool.
The hundred evil eyes peered loathesomely as it extended an awful limb
and seized him, intent upon the process of absorbing nutrition.
Nor was that the end, for it roved the streets unsated, growing,
devouring throughout the night, and in a few horrible hours had
depopulated the cities that were so hostile to sorcerors....
Volnar, it is told, went unto the black crags near Zath, though
discreetly distant from the inhabitants of that fearful place, and with
occult aid constructed for himself a castle of black stone in a very
short period, wherein he dwelt the remainder of his existence. This was
not long because of his ungrateful creation's abnormal longevity and
appetite.
* * * * *