I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim—
Where they roll in their horror unheeded,
Without knowledge or lustre or name.
—H.P. Lovecraft, Nemesis.
Nequaquam nobis divinitus esse paratam
Naturam rerum; tanta stat praedita culpa
-Lucretius as quoted by angsty teenaged C.S. Lewis
Eraha Maleldil
Ahe hnau-erim therhu
Huru-tet hamen arbol.
-Elwin Ransom, attributed to an alien civilization on "Malacandra"
Dr. Henry Armitage stumbled off the train and stood on the platform as it roared away, hugging his burden to his chest. He had stolen a book. He was in a daze of horror: he felt certain that his guilt would be obvious, and the book was priceless. But as he looked at it, displayed proudly on a pedestal, and listened to the endearingly naïve discussions of ongoing study of its contents, he knew with a growing and panicked conviction that he had to steal it. None of these poor fools could understand their own danger, and if he tried to tell them, they would naturally think he was mad. So he'd become a thief. He walked down the platform and stood on a country road. The city was behind him, and before him was a lonely heath. He began walking, down the road instead of into the village, clutching the large book to his chest. He'd go back to the city in the morning, he told himself, no point wandering the streets at this hour. He stumbled over some stones in the road and barely caught himself. Sooner or later, he thought with a wry grin which went unseen in the dark, I'll be too old for this. He had survived two world wars of men, and what had touched him deeper, in the years between he had pitted his intelligence against a half-human destined to strip the world of all life and hand it over to the Outer Gods. He had won that battle, through some luck and some force of will, and banished the creature known as the Dunwich Horror. All he had wanted after that was peace, a quiet old age spent with his books and his academic friends, but the world so recently saved had gone to war of itself, and over the years of slaughter Armitage had slipped into a dark depression. His people didn't need the help of the Outer Gods to destroy their world, they were doing it themselves. But it had ended. The world rejoiced, and Armitage sat at the high window in the topmost floor of the Miskatonic University Library—the occult Restricted Section, which had had so much to do with the Horror—and watched students and professors running to and fro and embracing in the square. Someone set off firecrackers around the fountain, and at night as he walked home there was a faint and constant sound of singing. He didn't know if there could be any healing for such a world. But the sun rose in the morning on a free land, and classes continued at the university, and his niece and grand-niece visited from Rhode Island. He was alive. Then one day a friend from England had contacted him. A bizarre and ancient book had been discovered in an underground study belonging to an old family. The young man who had recently come into possession of the property knew very little about his family's history, but he felt that his findings might be important and had contacted Oxford University. Armitage's friend had contacted him as soon as he heard of it, because "it sounds like something you'd enjoy. I know how you love strange old books. It appears to be occult, too!" he'd added, as if promising him a week of sunshine. "It's right up your alley. Perhaps they'd even invite you to join the team of investigators if you contacted my—" Armitage was not interested, but thanked his friend for calling. He threw the phone down and began pacing up and down his room. "Idiots… no, it's probably nothing. Probably nothing. Not my business anyway… it's across the sea, I can't be expected to deal with it… what is it? It doesn't matter, it's not my business…. but if it is something truly arcane, they can't possibly be prepared…. it'll drive them mad. But it's not my business, I can't possibly…" half an hour later, when his wife, Jillian, called him down for supper, he announced abruptly that he was leaving in the morning for England. She looked oddly at him. He suspected she knew more than he'd admitted to her, though thankfully less than would put her in the same position of psychological anguish, and worried about him. Morgan and Rice, whom he explained everything to, were more understanding. They repeated what he had told himself, that it was certainly no more than an interesting historical discovery, an antique grimoire that had survived forgotten by long years. It signified nothing. But he sensed that they were as alarmed as he. His friend's description, vague as it had been, was enough for that. He had promised to keep in touch with them, though they couldn't be expected to help him now. As a matter of fact, perhaps it would be better if he didn't contact them. What would he do with the book? He imagined it was burning his chest as he clung to it, walking through the darkness. From what he'd heard discussed about it his first impulse was to burn it, but he couldn't until he had examined it. He didn't know if it would be more of a curse to the world with its knowledge accessible or annihilated, but he was certain that he couldn't leave it to those who didn't understand the power it might hold. He didn't want another Horror. Armitage stumbled again, and became aware that for some time he had been reeling as he walked from fatigue. He checked his watch. It was around three in the morning. He was standing on a narrow road in the woods, with an abandoned house looming on his right. He walked towards it and found a window open. It appeared to be empty. He was distracted by a high-pitched cry from around the corner of the house. Following the repeated cries, he found a tiny three-colored kitten curled up inside a rusted coffee can, shivering and crying. It didn't want to come out, but he gently pried it loose and tucked it inside his jacket. It cried loudly a few more times, then curled up and went to sleep. Armitage had a hard time climbing through a window with a sleeping kitten under one arm and a delicate antique book under the other, but somehow managed it, and slumped down in a relatively draft-free corner to wait until morning. He lifted his jacket and looked at the sleeping kitten on his chest. "Lost like me, are you?" It opened its mouth soundlessly. He stroked the silky head with one finger and a faint purr rose from it.
Armitage fell into a light, dazed sleep somewhere in the early hours of the morning, a sleep in which he remained conscious of the cold and the bare boards underneath him. He awoke to the sound of a human voice speaking in Latin. "Bibe, amice mi. Perditane?" He opened his eyes. The kitten had its nose buried in a saucer of milk and was lapping it down at top speed, purring loudly. A young man was kneeling on the floor with his hand cupped over the small body. A long trench coat trailed from his shoulders onto the floor. His neatly trimmed hair was golden. It and the coat were both encrusted with dew and mist droplets and shone in the morning light. Armitage felt a moment of panic as he looked for the book, then realized it was lying on his chest, tucked under his arm, exactly where it had been when he fell asleep. The young man was still addressing the kitten in perfect Latin. Armitage sat up and spoke, also in Latin. "Hello, what are you doing here?" the young man looked up. His face was plain but there was something attractive about him. He couldn't be more than twenty, though there was an air of calmness and intelligence which surprised Armitage in someone so young. "A friend heard this kitten last night, but he couldn't find it. I came out to look for it this morning and found you asleep here. By the way," he said, suddenly switching to English, "Why are we speaking in Latin?" "I have no idea," said Armitage. "I was half-asleep when I spoke to you." The young man smiled. "I'm Dr. Elwin Ransom, a philologist. It's always nice to meet another lover of dead languages." He was too young to be a professor, he probably meant he was studying philology. Odd. Armitage, coasting on the unreality of it all, introduced himself briefly. "Miskatonic University, Head Librarian and Cryptologist," said Ransom. Armitage blinked. "What—" "You're still wearing your nametag." Armitage only now noticed the fluttering white thing attached to his lapel. He removed it and stuffed it into a pocket, marveling at his own stupidity. Steal a book, run away holding the book and looking extremely suspicious, while wearing a nametag in plain sight. This is why you're a glorified librarian instead of a burglar. "Pleased to meet you, and I'd shake your hand but I can't easily reach it from here," said Ransom. Can't easily reach it from here. It occurred to Armitage that he was kneeling or crouching in a strange position, with all his weight on the left, and that a wooden crutch lay on the floor near him. The kitten had stopped purring and was polishing the corners of the saucer. When it had finished it turned and pressed itself sleepily against Ransom, who scooped it into a pocket of his trench coat. Armitage was momentarily jealous. The kitten had abandoned him without a backward glance. But there was a magnetic quality about Ransom that he expected animals would recognize, and he forgave it. Ransom picked up his crutch, used it to raise himself from the floor and stood with his right foot well off the floor. This foot was covered only in a sock while the other wore a hiking boot. "Have you hurt your foot?" said Armitage. "Yes. It's got a cut that doesn't seem to be healing." "Oh, that doesn't sound nice. Have you had a doctor look at it?" "Yes. It's alright." "It doesn't sound alright." Ransom gave a faint, oddly transcendent smile. He appeared utterly at peace with the world. Is it just a mask, or is he a bit mad? Or naïve? Armitage decided it was naiveté. "It really is alright. Would you join me for breakfast? I have a couple of friends staying at my house, they should be up by now." "Well—yes, thank you." Armitage struggled to his feet. Ransom offered his hand, but Armitage didn't want to upset his balance. "Do you live near here?" "Yes, just behind those elms." Ransom nodded towards the front of the house. "Not too far for me to limp and you to walk. You look a bit stiff." "I may have underestimated the extent to which my age has caught up to me," said Armitage with a laugh. He was stiff. He was stiff, cold, hungry and felt that he would be grouchy as well if it weren't for this friendly kid who said he was a philologist. Why was he being so friendly, anyway? Armitage didn't question any of it because he felt that he'd fallen into a dream. Armitage soon realized that even with his one bad foot Ransom was much more agile that he after a night of sleeping on boards. He vaulted easily through the window and waited outside as Armitage eased himself through, then set off down the road at a brisk hop, supporting one of the pockets of his coat with his free hand to keep it from swinging. A pair of pointed ears and perfectly round blue eyes peered at Armitage over his thumb. Armitage followed behind Ransom as he turned aside down a dirt drive leading into the woods. He still felt a bit dazed and bedraggled but oddly after a night of paranoia he was prepared to trust this young man implicitly. Ransom hopped up in front of him and he found himself in front of a sweep of narrow stone steps laid down in a mossy bank. Lifting his head he saw that they led to a medium-sized house half covered in ivy. A squirrel was cleaning itself in one of the windows. Armitage closed his eyes, shook his head, and looked again. Yes, the squirrel was inside the house. "Ransom—" "That's Cordelia. She's a bit flighty but she doesn't bite." the functionally one-legged man was already two-thirds of the way up the steps. Armitage started climbing, wincing at the vehement protestations of his knees. "These steps don't bother you?" he asked. "It depends on the day. Some are better than others." "Yeah, for me too." Ransom shouldered open a heavy oaken door and knocked over a dusty umbrella stand. He paused to set it upright and replace the canes, umbrellas, and old broadsword that stood in it, then limped down a short hall and peered into a living room scattered with books. The squirrel had moved to a desk and flicked its tail pleasantly when it saw him. The room was otherwise empty, but voices came from a door to their right. "You can put your book down," said Ransom, beginning to hop towards the closed door. Armitage's arms were cramping. Carefully, reluctantly, he settled the book onto the desk and followed Ransom, after noticing with some humor that a beautiful copy of the Iliad was open to a page on which a child had scrawled a loving message to Uncl Ransom in orange crayon. He joined Ransom. "Lewis, you misunderstand me. I believe it may be the best children's book written in the English language—" "Now that is certainly untrue." "But you're speaking as if it it's also a book for adults, and while I'll agree that it's enjoyable, it's… well, better for children." "It was written for a child, but aren't we all?" Ransom tried the door behind which the voices were. It didn't open. There was a sound—and, more than that, a heavenly smell—of sausages frying in a pan. Armitage suddenly realized how long it had been since he'd had a decent meal. "It's simple, I suppose is what I mean. Yes. Adults aren't as willing to believe in fairy tales." "Yes, I've noticed that. We're also less willing to believe the truth. No-one is too old for fairy tales if the tales are true. The trouble is that we're not old enough." Armitage half agreed with the speaker, though he had an idea that he didn't mean any of the true fables that Armitage had encountered. They were generally unpleasant to mankind. "Hullo friends?" said Ransom. "I can't seem to get in." "Ransom! Hold on, we've shoved the table over to make room." There was a sound of moving and scraping. "The one trouble with this house is that the kitchen is nowhere near large enough," said Ransom. The door opened and he hopped in, pulling Armitage with him. "Lewis, Humphrey, this is Dr. Armitage. He seemed to be lost as well. And this is the one I went looking for," pulling the kitten out of his pocket. It snuggled up against his neck and looked around the kitchen with interest. It was strange, Armitage thought, how entirely without fear it was. Since Ransom had picked it up it hadn't cried once. "Armitage, these are my friends, Lewis, a doctor of English literature at Magdalen College, and Humphrey, a doctor of No-I-don't-know-what-is-wrong-with-your-foot. You can trust them with your life as I've trusted them with mine." That was an odd introduction, but perhaps Ransom could tell that he was on edge. Humphrey, a smallish greying man, shook Armitage's hand. "Ransom, that is the most accurate description of my profession I have ever heard. Speaking of the foot, how is it today? I notice you're up and walking again." "It's much better, as long as I don't bump it." Lewis, who had been trapped between the table and the outside door, now appeared behind Armitage, having circled around the house, and greeted him as well. He was a kindly, scholarly fellow with minimal and dark hair. Armitage had always been a careful dabbler in the occult, but especially so and with increasing abandon after the Horror. He had developed a skill in detecting otherworldly power, sometimes catching the barest whiffs of it from fellow dabblers around Arkham, and had known instantly upon meeting Wilbur Whately that he'd been at least visited by a Thing. It was because of this that he'd been able to stop the Horror. Clasping Lewis' hand, Armitage caught the faintest and faded tinkle of magic, eclipsed by some alien light to which he had turned. This man has stories, thought Armitage. His interest was forgotten completely a moment later when Lewis turned to Ransom and said "By the way, Tolkien rang while you were out. They've misplaced the book somehow." "What book?" "The old grimoire they were supposed to be deciphering. Someone's lost it. He came into his office just now and nearly stepped on that historian fellow, burrowing about under his desk, thinking he might have had it. He explained that he hadn't seen it after the conclusion of the presentation, so now they're all a bit lost. Someone has it." Armitage quietly looked for a convenient place to curl up and die. However, he realized, this was good. He'd thought that they would know immediately who had stolen it, but perhaps he didn't look as suspicious as he'd been afraid he did. Much of his terror was replaced with embarrassment, leaving him no less uncomfortable.
"I don't think your kitchen is too small, I think the table is too big," said Armitage to Ransom. Ransom frowned at the table occupying half of the room. "Maybe so, but I'm fond of that table." It was a beautiful table, thick, solid oak with years of wear on its top and a trace of oak leaves carved around the sides. He placed the kitten on it and it began playing with a dishrag. By the time they had moved to the garden, where there was more room to stretch out, bringing a more or less sufficient supply of sausages (a heaping platter full) and a pot of tea the size of a man's head, it had fallen asleep. Ransom didn't touch the sausages, but slowly picked apart a loaf of bread, listening to his friends' continued argument with his head cocked to one side. He accepted a cup of tea which Lewis handed to him. "You underestimate the power of grace," said Lewis. Humphrey shook a sausage on a fork at him. "I was only pointing out the unrealism in your story. Not that it suffers from that at all, it's a wonderful story. But the world is complicated. Now, let's finish our breakfast and forget this argument." "You're both right," said Ransom. "We can't both be right," said Humphrey, "We're arguing!" "And this is why there's more than one church in the world," said Ransom. "I meant that you were both partially wrong but primarily right. The world is complicated from a certain point of view, and from another it's as simple as a fairy tale. The point is to look at it from the right direction." "Want a sausage?" "No, thank you." "You're still not eating meat? Have you become a vegetarian?" "I don't know. I don't get as hungry as I used to. At least, not for the usual things." Lewis asked Armitage what he did, Armitage told him briefly and hoped that he hadn't heard of "Miskatonic!" …Rats. He had. Of course. "Yes." "You're in Arkham, Massachusetts, aren't you?" Armitage sighed humorously. "What have you heard?" "Oh, you're a bit of a running gag among your fellow academics. I wasn't sure if you really existed. I haven't heard anything specific, just silly things." "Like the student who resurrected a corpse as part of a research project! See, I read the Apoplectic Penguin," said Humphrey with a grin. "Now, that surely didn't happen... are you alright, Armitage?" "That happened." "What?" "Half of the faculty and student body laughed it off and the other half brought shotguns to class until they could verify that the corpse wasn't animated. See, it had gone missing… Yes, yes, I know. We're a running gag at home as well." "There was also a story that a student used voodoo magic on the opposing football team." "He tried. They still won." "…What about the giant rat on the cafeteria roof then?" "No. No that one's completely false." "Ah." "Although, considering all the unholy concocting going on in that cafeteria, it could very well be true. The real horror of Miskatonic is the food." That got a laugh, and to Armitage's relief the conversation moved on to other subjects. The meal was mostly over and they were drinking tea. The conversation had died down and Armitage noticed that Ransom had fixed him in a strangely lucid stare that somehow invaded his whole being without making him feel invaded. "What were you doing when I found you?" That was a completely rational question and he accepted it as a matter of course. He was only surprised it hadn't come up sooner, and with less grace. "Transporting a book," said Armitage, staring back. Ransom was lying back in his chair, his right leg crossed over his left to keep his hurt foot off the ground. He'd thrown off the trench coat and was wearing a soft blue shirt and oatmeal-colored sweater vest. There was not the slightest tremor of magic in him. He was pure. Yet there were untapped wells of some quiet power, and an aura of trust seemed to surround him. Had there been in him the faintest trace of magic, Armitage would have considered it all deception and fled without trying to puzzle it out. But there wasn't. There was only this strange magnetic force which seemed purely a part of his personality, yet still unlike anything he had encountered. Armitage was tired. He decided to trust this odd young man and see what came of it. Ransom nodded. "Through the woods in the middle of the night." "Yes." "Why, exactly?" "I stole it." "I thought so." he said it without any change in his attitude of utter repose. The other two were looking at him with surprise, but Armitage ignored them. "It's the grimoire from Oxford." "Yes." "You stole it because you thought it was dangerous." "Yes." "What are you going to do with it?" "I….don't know. But I can't just leave it lying around." "Hmm." Thoughtfully Ransom leaned forwards and pushed the teapot towards him. "Are you going to call the police?" asked Armitage and found himself held in that calm, lucid gaze again. "No. Should I?" "Well, I stole a book from your friends." "They don't own it. Naturally you'll want to speak to its rightful owner about where it came from next?" "My God I didn't think of that. Yes." "Then you haven't stolen it, you're returning it under guard." Ransom cocked his head with a smile. "Though I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave my house until we've discussed this further." "Alright," said Armitage. Ransom looked at Lewis. "How's the allegory coming?" Armitage absorbed nothing of Lewis' reply. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or more worried than ever. He poured himself another cup of tea. He didn't like tea as a rule, but this was as black as the night and so strong it reminded him of an aromatic coffee instead of the weak tea he was used to. Humphrey disappeared into the house and came back with gauzes. "Mind if I look at that foot, Ransom?" "No, please do. But be careful." Armitage leaned over to watch Humphrey unwrapping a bloodied bandage around Ransom's heel. The innermost layers were still wet with blood, though it didn't look like a particularly fresh bandage. When Humphrey pulled the bandage away a steady drip of blood began. Armitage looked away, sickened. Ransom's heel appeared to have been worried by an animal, and not a particularly sharp-toothed animal either. "Still bleeding freely," said Humphrey, examining the wound without touching it. "I've never seen anything like it." "I hope not!" said Ransom. Humphrey quickly applied a fresh bandage. Ransom, Armitage noticed, flinched at the gentlest handling of his foot, but kept the calm look he'd had when questioning Armitage. As Humphrey was securing the bandage a sparrow swooped down from the eaves into Ransom's lap and began picking breadcrumbs from his clothes, now and then turning its head sideways to look up at him without fear. Ransom regarded it likewise, seemingly glad for the distraction. "Well," said Humphrey, looking up at his friend, "I don't know what to say. Continue to keep it clean, and wait. Don't try to use it." "That's a given I think." Ransom scraped a few breadcrumbs from the table into his hand and offered them to the bird, which perched on his little finger to reach them.
It was late afternoon when Armitage was woken by a hand on his shoulder. Lewis and Humphrey had both gone after breakfast, having things to do, and Armitage had taken a shower and fallen asleep in a chair, after turning down Ransom's offer of a change of clothes. Humphrey had taken the kitten with him. Armitage had seen Ransom poring over the stolen book at his desk as he fell asleep and wondered if he should warn him of possible impending sanity loss, but guessed that he wouldn't be able to crack the debased Latin cypher anyway and would be safe. But seeing Ransom's expression now he reconsidered. "I see why you stole that book." "What… You can't have read it?" Ransom smiled. "Not nearly. I got a start on a cypher and did some skimming with it." he dropped a scribbled-on paper into Armitage's lap. "As for the second language used in most of the spells I'm completely lost. I don't believe it's a language from this planet." He's taking this unbelievably well, thought Armitage. "Aklo. It isn't, at least I hope not." "Aklo?" "R'lyehian. Great whacks of the Necronomicon are written in it, so I should be able to help you there." he looked at the cypher. "You got this far in a few hours?" "It's a start. I'm good with languages." Armitage shook his head in amazement. "You're going to go far, young man." "I'm older than I look. But we have more important things to discuss. Um—" he hesitated. "This is going to sound strange to you, but please believe me. It's a long story which I'll tell you later. A friend tells me that something not from this world is approaching the house. We need to move." "What?" "A winged predator. It seems to have been sent after you. Did you think that you were followed here?" "No… but someone was watching me at the presentation." someone with noticeably occultish tendencies, even from across the room. It had made him nervous. He'd had an idea that this person meant to steal the book himself, though he'd shaken it off as definite paranoia. Now he wasn't so sure. "Alright. I've got the book in my backpack, unless you'd like to keep it on your person?" "I would, actually." "I thought you might." Ransom pulled the book out of his backpack and handed it to Armitage along with a satchel. "I packed a few things for you in there. There's a train leaving in three-quarters of an hour, we should just be able to make it, and hopefully we'll miss this thing, whatever it is." Armitage looked up from adjusting the satchel over his shoulder. "Byakhee?" "What?" "Is it a byakhee?" "I don't know, but it isn't inclined to be friendly, and it's been sent by someone." "How are you getting this?" "A friend tells me. I can tell you on the road." So he's hearing voices? Or is he psychic? Maybe both? Ransom picked up Cordelia and set her on his shoulder. "I think it's time for you to go, friend. There won't be anyone here." Before he left Ransom appeared to notice the broadsword in the umbrella stand and pulled it out with his free hand. "Might as well have backup," he said, trying to slide it under his belt as they walked outside. He was interrupted by Cordelia, who leapt from his shoulder and dashed down the stone steps and away into the woods at top speed. Ransom turned around and shouted, and at the same time a gurgle came from somewhere over Armitage's head. He spun and found a creature leaping at him from the roof of Ransom's house. Insofar as the limp, flapping, membranous thing bearing down on him looked like anything at all, it looked like a zombie-insect-bat with sharp beak and talons at the end of its webbed feet. So that's what they look like, thought Armitage. Glad I didn't try summoning one. He had his pistol in his hand, thanks to his apparently very realistic paranoia, and without thinking he threw up his arm and fired. The thing missed him and crumpled into the ground, gouging up strips of earth with its talons. "Eraha Maleldil!" shouted Ransom, and Armitage fired blindly at the thing now dragging itself towards him, wings flapping. After a few moments he became aware that it had stopped advancing and that he was clicking a spent gun. He let his hand fall, trembling. Then he remembered that he'd been firing blindly and might have hit Ransom, now standing opposite him with the thing between them. He looked up quickly but found Ransom apparently unhurt and holding a dripping sword. "Whatever it was, you can kill it." he knelt and wiped his sword with a handful of moss. Armitage made the connection between the sword and several deep gashes now visible in the creature's back. "That's a handy thing. Where did you get it? Family heirloom?" "No. Lewis came to check on the house once while I was gone and found it on the steps along with the post." he slid the again bright blade under his belt. "I guess we've found a use for it." he nudged the now especially limp form with his crutch. It was very dead. Ransom started down the steps. "Let's go." Armitage watched him walking into the gold-green light of the woods. He didn't know what to think about him. He was intelligent, and he seemed to know something. He was starting to think that he'd encountered something that had broken his mind and hearing voices was his way of coping. But Lewis and Humphrey appeared to consider him sane. He walked in some alien light which Armitage couldn't fathom.
He followed into the gold of the woods.