go get it.'
'Hold it, Ralf. He's gonna lead us into trouble. His boys are probably in lurch back there.'
Ralf opened his attache and took out the forty-five and the thirty-eight. He checked to see if they were loaded, then he took the knives and hand-grip out and threw them into the bushes. He shoved the attache to Pantucci. 'You carry Satan.' He put the Walther in its holster and the thiry-eight under his belt. The fortyfive he pressed against the back of Autway's head. 'Drop your rattle here and march.'
Autway undid his calabash and started up the trail. As they climbed higher, a stillness settled around them like a fog. Even the grass and the leaves were still as if lost in thought. The trees became larger, thick-boled old trees. After a while they became so dense that only a few threads of light came through. In that calm undersea light, dolmens and giant wheels hewn out of rock and carved with curious oghams began to appear among the trees, most of them half-buried or peering through luxuriant growths.
Soon Pantucci started getting restless again. He looked back over his shoulder. 'Ralf, we're being watched.'
'Is that right? Well, try to look your best.'
A kilometre later, the trail narrowed to a trace so tight they had to lean forward to pass. But there was a plangent breeze sifting through the forest.'How much farther?'
Autway waved his hand, a gesture like wind in a sapling. 'You go through dat brake up ahead and you dere. But go slow, man. Go slow.'
Pantucci pushed through a tangle of hedge growth, and Ralf shoved Autway after him. On the other side, they stopped and looked out across an expanse of pools with water green as fire. There were half a dozen of them, ellipsoid, mirror flat, separated by huge mamo mocked trees and grasslands swaying in a fumy and spiritous mist. Beyond them, the horizon jazed into jungle. A green glow hung in the sky, waving over the rim of the world.
Pantucci was gazing into the water, ensorcelled by pale sketches of coral shaped like ladders. There was a nutant look on his face. This is a dream,' he said.
It is eerie, Ralf thought, focusing on a drowsy sound - the whittled-down thunder of waves shogging to shore faraway. He looked hard at the glades of blue trees, some growing out of the water, bent like witches. He had to shake his head to snap out of it.
With the barrel of his gun, he turned Autway around. The gangan's face was calm and dark as amber.
'Where is it, pop?'
'With dat which came from it.' The seamed face grinned cretinously.
On the opposite side of the nearest pool, from behind a massive shaggy tree trunk, the long man with black skin emerged. He was naked, elongated, unreal, and there was a sheen on his shoulders that made them look like glass. It was a peculiar body light that addled the air around him. He glided through the grass like an apparition, his arms writhing, unjointed, undulant. Even as far off as he was, rounding the turn of the pool, it was obvious that he was not human. The flesh was crumbling off his bones like soaked bread, and the bones themselves were long and rubbery.
Ralf fired without thinking. The bullet stopped him. Or seemed to. But the wrinkled air around him kept coming. It was like a sheet of rain - static, warped air, transparent but vibrantly distorted. As it approached, a whistle, very high, far, faraway, twined in their ears. Before anyone could move, it became a shrill-pitched wail, a projectile nose-diving through the atmosphere. Then the trembling sheet of air swept over them, and the intensity jumped to a spinning siren. The whine became a needle skewed between their eyes, crashing them to the ground, fluttering rags. The ringing agony drilled into the bones of their teeth, shook vision to splinters, exploded louder with each heartbeat.
The shriek was white hot, and they knew it would kill them. Nyarlathotep was screaming.
Then, like a slamming door, the wailing stepped. But their ears kept roaring. They were deaf as sod
'Hold it, Ralf. He's gonna lead us into trouble. His boys are probably in lurch back there.'
Ralf opened his attache and took out the forty-five and the thirty-eight. He checked to see if they were loaded, then he took the knives and hand-grip out and threw them into the bushes. He shoved the attache to Pantucci. 'You carry Satan.' He put the Walther in its holster and the thiry-eight under his belt. The fortyfive he pressed against the back of Autway's head. 'Drop your rattle here and march.'
Autway undid his calabash and started up the trail. As they climbed higher, a stillness settled around them like a fog. Even the grass and the leaves were still as if lost in thought. The trees became larger, thick-boled old trees. After a while they became so dense that only a few threads of light came through. In that calm undersea light, dolmens and giant wheels hewn out of rock and carved with curious oghams began to appear among the trees, most of them half-buried or peering through luxuriant growths.
Soon Pantucci started getting restless again. He looked back over his shoulder. 'Ralf, we're being watched.'
'Is that right? Well, try to look your best.'
A kilometre later, the trail narrowed to a trace so tight they had to lean forward to pass. But there was a plangent breeze sifting through the forest.'How much farther?'
Autway waved his hand, a gesture like wind in a sapling. 'You go through dat brake up ahead and you dere. But go slow, man. Go slow.'
Pantucci pushed through a tangle of hedge growth, and Ralf shoved Autway after him. On the other side, they stopped and looked out across an expanse of pools with water green as fire. There were half a dozen of them, ellipsoid, mirror flat, separated by huge mamo mocked trees and grasslands swaying in a fumy and spiritous mist. Beyond them, the horizon jazed into jungle. A green glow hung in the sky, waving over the rim of the world.
Pantucci was gazing into the water, ensorcelled by pale sketches of coral shaped like ladders. There was a nutant look on his face. This is a dream,' he said.
It is eerie, Ralf thought, focusing on a drowsy sound - the whittled-down thunder of waves shogging to shore faraway. He looked hard at the glades of blue trees, some growing out of the water, bent like witches. He had to shake his head to snap out of it.
With the barrel of his gun, he turned Autway around. The gangan's face was calm and dark as amber.
'Where is it, pop?'
'With dat which came from it.' The seamed face grinned cretinously.
On the opposite side of the nearest pool, from behind a massive shaggy tree trunk, the long man with black skin emerged. He was naked, elongated, unreal, and there was a sheen on his shoulders that made them look like glass. It was a peculiar body light that addled the air around him. He glided through the grass like an apparition, his arms writhing, unjointed, undulant. Even as far off as he was, rounding the turn of the pool, it was obvious that he was not human. The flesh was crumbling off his bones like soaked bread, and the bones themselves were long and rubbery.
Ralf fired without thinking. The bullet stopped him. Or seemed to. But the wrinkled air around him kept coming. It was like a sheet of rain - static, warped air, transparent but vibrantly distorted. As it approached, a whistle, very high, far, faraway, twined in their ears. Before anyone could move, it became a shrill-pitched wail, a projectile nose-diving through the atmosphere. Then the trembling sheet of air swept over them, and the intensity jumped to a spinning siren. The whine became a needle skewed between their eyes, crashing them to the ground, fluttering rags. The ringing agony drilled into the bones of their teeth, shook vision to splinters, exploded louder with each heartbeat.
The shriek was white hot, and they knew it would kill them. Nyarlathotep was screaming.
Then, like a slamming door, the wailing stepped. But their ears kept roaring. They were deaf as sod
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