Creatures of Light and Darkness

THE THING THAT IS THE HEART

Vramin walks through the House of the Dead. Had you eyes in that place, you couldn’t see a thing. It is far too dark for eyes to be of value. But Vramin can see.

He walks through an enormous room, and when he reaches a certain point within it there comes a light that is dim and orange and crowded into corners.

Then they come up out of the transparent rectangles which now appear in the floor, come up unbreathing, unblinking and horizontal, and they rest upon invisible catafalques at a height of two feet, and their garments and skins are of all colors and their bodies of all ages. Now some have wings and some have tails, and some have horns and some long talons. Some have all of these things, and some have pieces of machinery built into them and some do not.

There comes a moaning and a creaking of brittle bones, then movement.

Rustling, clicking, chafing, they sit up, they stand up.

Then all bow down before him, and one word fills the air:

“Master.”

He turns his green eyes upon the multitude, and from somewhere a sound of laughter comes to fall upon his ears.

Turning, turning, turning, he waves his cane.

Then there is a sudden movement and she stands by his side.

“Vramin, your new subjects pay you homage.”

“Lady, how did you get in here?”

But she laughs again and does not answer ma question.

“I, too, have come to honor thee: Hail Vramin! Lord of the House of the Dead!”

“You are kind, Lady.”

“I am more than kind. The end draws near, and that which I desire is almost at hand.”

“It was you who raised these dead?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know the whereabouts of Anubis?”

“No, but I can help you find him.”

“Then let us lay these dead to rest once more, and I may ask your assistance. I may also ask what it is that you desire.”

“And I may tell you.”

And the dead suddenly lie down and descend into their graves. The light departs.

“Do you know why Anubis fled?” he inquires.

“No, I am only just arrived here.”

“He departed, pursued by your son Typhon.”

And the Red Witch smiles within her veils.

“That Typhon lives pleases me beyond measure,” she says. “Where is he now?”

“Presently, he is seeking the life of Osiris. It may be that he has already disposed of both the dog and the bird.”

And she laughs, and her familiar leaps upon her shoulder and holds its stomach with both hands.

“How joyous a thing this would be-now! We must look upon this affair!”

“Very good,” and Vramin draws a green picture-frame upon the dark air.

Isis moves to his side and takes his hand in hers.

Suddenly there is a picture within the frame, and it moves.

It is the picture of a dark horse shadow, alone, moving upon a wall.

“This is of no help to us,” says Vramin.

“No, but it is good to look upon my son once again, my son who contains the Abyss of Skagganauk within him. Where may his brother be?”

“With his father, as they have gone to fight the Nameless once again.”

And Isis drops her eyes and the picture wavers.

“I would look upon this thing,” she finally says.

“Before this, I would locate Anubis and Osiris, if they still live-and Madrak.”

“Very well”

And within its emerald frame, the picture slowly takes form.

Standing there, he observes the Thing That Cried In The Night.

It cries no longer.

Freed, it leans toward him, a tower of smoke, a beard without a chin…

Raising the star wand, he traces a pattern of fires across its middle.

It continues to advance.

The fires run the gamut of the spectrum, vanish.

It begins to vibrate, and his hands adjust the wand.

It coils about him, then draws back.

Standing there, above the clouds and all, he unleashes lightnings upon it.

An humming sound occurs.

The star wand vibrates within his hand, emits a whining note, grows brighter.

The Thing falls back. Set strides across the sky, attacking it.

It drops, falls, retreats, toward the surface of the world.

Pursuing, Set stands upon a mountaintop. Somewhere, above the moon, the Prince and the General follow.

Set laughs, and the heat of an exploding sun plays along the creature’s length.

But then it turns and strikes, and Set retreats across the continent, mushrooms of smoke rising in his wake.

Storms shake their curly heads. Ball lightning rolls across the sky. The perpetual twilight is brightened by a tongue of flame which falls upon his pursuer.

It advances, however, and mountains fall where it passes. Far below, the ground trembles, and the shoes upon his feet track thunderprints where Set passes, turns, turns again.

The rains pour down, the clouds thicken. Flame-tipped funnels appear below.

The creature comes on, striking, and its path is incandescent, then gray, then incandescent.

The wand rings like a bell, and the seas outleap their bounds.

The creature is assailed by all the elements, yet still it advances.

Set snarls, and the rocks grind together and the winds tear the tent of the sky down the middle, flap it, rejoin its halves.

The creature cries once more, and Set, with one foot upon the sea, smiles within his glove and delivers whirlwinds and concussions. Yet it advances, and the air grows cold. The typhoon rises beneath Set’s hand, and the lightnings descend without letup. The ground is broken, sinks within itself.

Set and the creature strike simultaneously, and the continent is destroyed beneath them.

The oceans begin to boil, and an aurora borealis of all colors covers the entire sky.

Then three needles of white light pass through the creature, and it retreats toward the equator.

Set follows; chaos follows Set.

Thunders above the equator, and the lash, lash, lash of the star wand through the sky…

Smoke the color of grass fills the middle air. Destiny’s lackey, Time, repaints a backdrop behind it.

There is a cry, and again a chiming, as of a bell, as the chains of the sea are broken and the waters rise up, swaying like the pillars of Pompeii on that day, that day when they were broken, inundated; and the heat, the heat of the boiling oceans rises with them; and now the air is dense and unbreathable. Employing temporal fugue, Set crucifies the creature upon the smoldering sky, and still it cries out and lashes at him, draws back. The armor of Set is unbreached, mundane though it is, for the Thing That Cries has not touched upon him. Now Set unleashes beads of blaze that are like unto a Guy Fawkes display. The creature erupts at nineteen points, collapses upon itself. Then comes a mighty roaring, and the lightnings lance once more. The Thing That Cries In The Night becomes a bowling ball, an eight ball. It wails then to break the eardrum, and Set clutches at his head, but continues to bathe the creature in the light of his wand.

Then the screaming comes from the wand itself. A pink blade of fire descends upon the creature.

It becomes an old man with a long beard, miles high, suddenly.

It raises one hand, and there is light all about Set.

But he raises his wand and darkness devours the light, and a green trident forks forth to strike the creature upon its breast.

Falling, it becomes a sphinx, and he shatters its face with ultrasonics.

Collapsing, it becomes a satyr, and he castrates it with silver pliers.

Then it rears, wounded, to a three-mile height, cobra of black smoke, and Set knows that the moment is at hand.

He raises the star wand and makes an adjustment.