She stroked the needles protruding from her crotch with one
hand, those haloing her nipples with the other, and moaned. From
the juncture of her legs came the sound of steel blades snapping
together, then sliding along each other; and little, high pitched
whirring sounds... "Now you shall learn," she whispered,
"now I shall teach you what Leviathan taught me!" Always eager
for new knowledge, I started forward, as - a moment later - did Beane;
but Herms, grabbing us by the arms, stepped rapidly backwards, out of
the room. The light of the torches vanished, leaving the doorway
dark once again, and only silence within.
Herms released us. After a moment, the true import of the
situation became clear in my mind, and I shuddered. Herms smiled,
and knowing what was coming, I smiled back. "In a way," mused
Herms, "she reminds me of the lovely Shuna, a woman of penetrating wit,
though a bit sharp-tempered." "Yes," I replied, "She was indeed
been a bit prickly, but... inclined to stick to her man." We
laughed. Beane looked at us as though we had taken leave of our
senses. "Laughter," Herms explained to him, "is a great defense
against evil. We have just had a narrow escape.
Fortunately, that was only another acolyte: a being, as it were,
not yet fully transformed. We should not have gotten out so
easily if we had faced one of the true Cenobites."
"Cenobites!," I exclaimed incredulously, "monks? Is this a
monastery then?" "In a manner of speaking, yes. There is at
least one religious order devoted to Leviathan and composed of those he
has converted from humanity. This order comprises both communal
religious, or cenobites (from koinobiotes
, those who share a common life), and solitary ones, or anchorites.
Both the Servants of Leviathan and the Keepers of the Gates (and
also, I believe, a military order), are not as the monks and hermits
you know. Immortal, eternally dedicated, and possessed of
supernatural powers, they implement only their Master's purpose."
"And what is that purpose?," I queried, "is Leviathan indeed a
demon, then?" Herms shook his head. "We may be in more than
mortal danger, old friend. Leviathan is no mere Shape of
Darkness. I fear that he is one of the lost Archons - a shard of
the ancient protocosm itself." "Do you mean the Archai , Herms, beings of the seventh order? That would indeed be formidable." "I mean one of the archontes, Jekyll, but of what order I am uncertain. Hobbes thought Leviathan was of the Archai, the
particular flavor of Leviathanic corruption upon our Earth being
typical of the seventh order, but from what I have observed here, we
may well be confronting a sixth-order Power*, a planetary spirit of
crystalline form, involuted and corrupt."
* A sixth-order being has been commonly calculated to be ten thousand
million times as powerful as a tenth order being. Of course, as
Herms has pointed out, Human beings are vastly more powerful than fleas
or microbes... Are Cenobites perhaps the antibodies of Hell?
"An Exusiai!," I exclaimed, "Herms, that is... is simply
monstrous. Such beings are normally concerned with order,
mathematics, logic, natural law... Why would a Lord of the Vortex
concern itself with tenth order creatures such as ourselves?" "A
vital question, Jekyll! Would that we knew the answer." So
saying, he drew from an inner pocket a packet wrapped in silver-grey
silk, which, opened, proved to be the nameless trumps of the Deck of
Darkness. Tapping the cards thrice, he turned the top one over.
It depicted a hooded figure with a begging bowl, seated upon the
steps before a sinister pyramid wreathed by the seven lightnings.
"The Dweller on the Threshold," Herms declared, "Hazardous
Change. Hardly surprising. Well, we shall want some
protection." He tapped again, and turned three cards.
The first was a man with bronze-red skin on a throne of pale-veined
alabaster carved like many unfolding wings. Dark, blurry lines
moved about him, close to his body, forming a sparse, abstract pattern.
Second was a woman, lily-pale. Her onyx throne looked made of
serpents, or tentacles, ending in boneless, sinuous hands; and the
lines orbiting her flesh were of red fire.
Finally, seated upon a throne of red garnet was an ebon being of
lion-like countenance. The throne, painted so as to seem to
glow from within, was depicted carved all over in a design of enormous,
staring eyes. The dancing lines glowed white hot.
"The
V'shants!," I exclaimed, "Rulers of death, life, and change; of space,
time, and the unmanifest. Or, some say, Adam, Eve, and the
Serpent."
Herms picked up the third card. It now showed a crimson-pelted
hybrid of bull and man lounging upon a throne of jet shaped into a
pattern of whorling tounges. Moonstone-gleaming lines coiled
about him. The other two cards were changed as well.
"According to an ancient tradition," Herms replied, "the
beast was Eve's lover during the eons before Adam was created for her.
This is, of course, symbolic of a greater truth." He put
the cards down again. The figure was now ivory-fleeced, goat
hooved and horned, her jutting breasts and heavy thighs caressed by
streaks of smoke upon the vine-carved carnelian throne.
"Herms," I said "these are a most mischievous set of cards."
"Someone is being mischievous," he answered, putting them away,
"but I take it as a sign that a protection has been granted; a small
chance given us, involving things that are not as they seem."
"Well, Herms," I said, "Beane is, as you say tricky.
Among those items that the glowing creature was arranging were some I
recognized. As I suspect, you did also." "Indeed," Herms
replied, various parts removed from the bodies of Burke and Hare.
They were their usual uncautious selves with the box Beane sold
them. When we are out of this mess, we must properly dispose of
their inventory before unwitting persons are injured, and pernicious
forces set free.
Not that Beane is a too-careful man himself.
As you noticed from his history, he is one who loves to place
himself in danger, who craves ultimate excitement. That, not
arcane knowledge, is what he truly seeks. When he found the box
- doubtless upon one of his hazardous foreign forays - he could no more
reverse the sequence than I could, and so fell among the Cenobites.
But, being accustomed to bargaining shrewdly when imperiled, he
delayed his fate by promising to carry the box to other seekers like
himself.
"There is no telling how many times he sold and retrieved the box,
though that is probably the true source of his wealth. And after
the last sale; after replacing the box where he knew I could find it;
after taking Burke's personal watch-chain - such greed, Jekyll...
Ah, after that I expect he partook of certain substances that set
the nerves on edge, to enhance his masquerade; though he is a talented
actor in any case. And to fool me into being his next victim was
just the sort of danger he relishes. Ordinary life is too dull
for such as he: The people of Leviathan reject no sensation,
however intense, bizarre or unnatural. Pain is to them simply
part of the spectrum of feeling.
I had, of course, assumed that Beane was not telling us everything
(clients seldom did), but this explication of his full perfidy stunned
me. I glanced at him, as he wandered from window to window,
brandishing the box (he had put away the useless gun) and muttering
dire-toned gibberish. "Herms," I protested, "you knew all along.
You knew everything!" "No Jekyll," he answered, "despite
the various poses I assume for the purpose of eliciting information, I
am neither ignorant nor omniscient. Half of what I have told you
I knew from the first; the rest, I am still learning. But we are,
I think, near the end."
"Behold," Shouted Beane, "the owl in its mirror: The ape finds beauty
in the ape, the ugly duckling is a swan, the leper white as snow is
pure again! Life merges boundaryless with death, love with hate,
sighs with screams; the greatest horror holds a true perfection!"
At that point, a voice spoke, a voice like the sound of many
people whispering in unison: "The tragic fates we inflict upon our gods
- poor Leviathan!" And with this voice, a figure stepped from the
shadows. The mysterious figure wore a mask of silver, exquisitely
wrought, representing some doggish creature, but so stylized that I
could not be certain whether it was a jackal, wolf, or fox. A
plain robe of white samite flowed about it as though stirred by an
intangible wind. Black hair fell to its waist, its skin glowed
like polished bronze
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