"Crom and Mitra, and all the devils too, this place be damned!" cried Conan as, for the thousandth time that day, his long legs sank into the mud of the endless swamp through which he journeyed, towards a destination but dimly guessed at.
Many weeks had passed since his grim meeting with the foul priests of Kuthlan, and his witness to the fate of the witch who had passed as his wife and mother of his only daughter Huitzilipochtli - who was now far away in Xlantlantca, under the care of her lazy drunkard of an uncle and a retinue of servants, to face who knew what fate in his absence. But to her fate and with a hard heart he turned no further care, having renounced her as the spawn of a witch, just as his own kinfolk of the grim Cimmerian hills would have done with any child they suspected to be tainted with witch's blood.
Besides Conan had greater concerns, since not for first time the fate of the world itself hung on his broad shoulders, stooped as they were with advancing age. For more than three-score years and ten and had Conan trod the earth beneath his sandled feet, and yet never on a journey of greater import than this – all thanks to a foolish bargain made in throes of an ambition that was perhaps unseemly in a man of his many years, who had already reached the limit of earthly accomplishments.
He was alone, and had eaten up well over a thousand miles with his hillman's tread, always led steadily north and east by an inward longing or sense of direction which, he suspected, came from the Crystal Skull itself, which had never ceased to glow dimly, day and night, since he had left the temple of Kuthlan shaken to the core by what he had seen. Sere deserts he had crossed, finding springs of water and snaring the odd hare or game bird here and there; and then grim barren mountains, and broad grassy plains beyond, until at length he had arrived at the edge of vast swamplands, ancient and hoary and seemingly without limit.
Still led on by his inner promptings, he had waded through the murky foetid water of the swamps for days, the huge, twisted trees draped in moss which had been scattered here and there near their edges like grim fingers pointing in warning growing ever thicker the farther in he came. Now they were everywhere, their bark dank and rotten, crawling with snakes, bugs and other vermin while blocking out the light of the soon in a gloomy, perpetual twilight. Not a living man had Conan seen since he entered the swamps, as even the scattered tribes of naked savages who dwelt in the plains to the west, and who had fled in terror at Conan's approach with one glance at the dimly glowing Crystal Skull, did not seem to ever dare venture into the forsaken swamplands.
Evil shadows passed Conan by in the gloom, and vast ripples moved through the sluggish water now and again, as if some titan beast slithered just beneath the surface and ought of sight. Conan had no doubt this land was haunted and accursed, and with no clean water to drink other than from such rain as there was, nor any clean food to eat, so that his stores ran dangerously low and even his great strength and endurance began to flag, harried by the advancing shadow of old age.
And yet no evil thing dared show its ravening face to him, and he had no doubt why; the Crystal Skull, his blessing and curse for well nigh a dozen years now, harbored a power far greater than that of any of the horrors which dwelt in the swamplands, sensed and feared by all the evil creatures therein. They would no more have attacked Conan than great Kuthlan himself, were he to stride the world again beneath his writhing, tentacled feet.
At length, one day when the dull twilight began to fade towards ebon night, and Conan again prepared to rest his weary limbs on some such patch of drier ground as he might find, Conan saw a dark, solid bulk ahead of him, its form broken and unclear amid the shadows and the twisted trees. At first he thought some foul creature had marked him as its prey at last, and he prepared to stand his ground; but then he realized that his fears had betrayed his senses, for no living thing stood before him.
Rather he recognized the outline of some great ruin, its cyclopean blocks hoary and broken with age, and yet still taking the shape of what had once been a vast stone circle, built by unknown hands in who knew what antediluvian age. His superstitious heritage whispered to him that such massive blocks of stone – in the middle of vast swamplands with no stone to be seen in any direction for many days of marches – were not reared by the hand of man, and he felt an icy hand grip his spine in fear. At the same moment, he was certain that he had finally reached his destination; the cryptical temple in the northlands to which the foul Avatar of Kuthlan had led him.
Proceeding with caution, all thoughts of rest and sleep suddenly banished from his mind, Conan pushed forward into the gloom, which was soon relieved by the growing light from the Crystal Skull. After some four-score paces Conan found himself at the rim of the ancient structure, at least a quarter-mile in span as it seemed amid the gloom and the trees. Its vast, broken blocks of heavy basalt were hurled hither and yon as if they were the toys of a childish, angry god, although Conan had acquired enough lore over the course of his long years to know that more likely whatever structure had once stood here had been devastated by some cataclysmic event of nature in the distant past.
The gurgling sound of a trickle of water and a flash of light from somewhere amid the dark trees that filled the ruins caught Conan's attention, and he advanced toward it even more warily than before. At length, between the trunks of two huge, knotted, ancient trees that seemed hardly less old than the ruins themselves, he saw something quite out of keeping with the rest of the ruins; a block of purest crystal, some two paces square, craved with bizarre and fantastical designs at oblique angles which could never have been conceived by the mind of man. From its highest point a small jet of clear water poured forth ceaselessly, trickling down through the channels carved into the crystal into the foetid waters of the swamp. On one face of the block part of the surface was not carved at all, but plain and polished like a mirror, and Conan realized that the flash of light he had seen was merely the reflection of the light from the Crystal Skull in its smooth surface.
As her stared into the mirror, he saw a dim reflection of his own face, and his heart sank as he noted the greying beard and lines of care that marked it. Only the deep, volcanic blue eyes set into that leathern and haggard face bore any resemblance to the Conan of Cimmeria of old, when he had been in the prime of his youth and proudly trod the kingdoms of far-distant Hyboria beneath his sandled feet.
After some time had passed, Conan saw his reflection become dim and blurry, as if a fog had passed over the mirror – though there was no fog about at this hour of the day. His features shifted subtly, his volcanic blue eyes darkened to a light brown, and his long grey hair darkened and his beard faded away to reveal the smooth, youthful face beneath. Enthralled, he realized he had seen this face before, and knew none better - though when last he had seen it, it was younger and but the face of a boy. Now it was the face of a young man, and Conan called out to him by name.
"Conn!" he cried. "By Crom and Mitra, what strange sorcery is this?"
"Father!" cried the young man, his face now blank with shock, the voice echoing inside Conan's mind rather than in is ears. "Is it you? Nay, it cannot be. Surely this is but a dream!"
"It is no dream on my part, my son, but some dark magic at work. But where are you now? In the palace?"
"A better question is where are you?" replied Conn, a look of disbelief still showing on his youthful face. "I am in my tent in our camps. I had but cast my gaze at the small looking glass on my dressing table, when I saw you staring back at me – aged and strangely garbed as you are. Yet still I do not believe my eyes even now, for it is over a dozen years since you left this realm, in pursuit of the plague of the red shadows from beyond the Western Ocean. The plague stopped suddenly, and your success was clear. I had hoped to see you soon again! But you were gone for good it seemed and all those in our realm, not least me, now believe you long dead. And still I cannot believe myself you are truly speaking to me by means of some strange magic, unless you be but a shade from the netherworld?"
"I am no shade, at least not yet, but still a flesh and blood man as are you!" replied Conan gravely. "And on the farthest shores of the Western Ocean I have seen sights and marvels and many strange lands beyond your imagining!" he continued. "But I cannot believe it is mere coincidence that I speak to you now, as I stare into this strange stone in a place of ancient power. Nor do I know how long our bond shall last, before we fade from each other's sight and hearing. So tell me quickly, what are these camps you speak of? Is Aquilonia at war?"
"Aye, it is," replied Conn, his marvel fading at this strange speech with his father as the worries of his position weighed once again upon his troubled mind. "We are at war with Nemedia and Stygia both, in open alliance with each other against my rule and our realm of Aquilonia!"
"Alliance between Nemedia, a Hyborian realm, and Stygia?" gasped Conan, his blood running cold. "By Crom and Ymir, this is no coincidence at all. The scaly claws of Set are at work on both sides of the sundering seas!"
"I know not what you mean," replied Conn, "though all the realms are in shock at what has happened. And yet in spite of this, many faithless and accursed Brythunian and Corinthian mercenaries have sworn to fight for Nemedia, aye and many sellswords from wicked Zamora as well, and many eastern Shemetish mercenaries have likewise sold their swords to Stygia, along with many Kushites and allied tribes of the Black Kingdoms of the hazy South. Zingara and Argos send troops to our aid, and Ophir and Koth as well. Yet soon we shall be hard put to it as we face battle and invasion on both our southern and eastern fronts, even as we must maintain sufficient forces on our western and northern borders to hold off the Pictish savages and my wild Cimmerian kinsmen, lest we face invasion from all sides!"
"Aye," acknowledged Conan, "to take advantage of Aquilonia's weakness would be the first thought for hungry raiders from Cimmeria – well I know it, for I have done so myself when I was younger than you! And those Pictish dogs would do the same. I am sorry to hear you find yourself in such a sorry fix as king since my departure from the land."
"Do not blame yourself, father!" replied Conn, more calmly now. "You gave your crown to me and left this land to save our realm and all Hyborian lands from a strange doom, and in that you succeeded. It is not your fault that vengeful Nemedia now aligns with the evil Stygian realm against the mightiest power of the West."
"I wish that were true," replied Conan grimly, "though I fear I am more at fault than you know, although not by design. It would take a dozen years to tell you the tale itself in full, and yet it is by my own folly that you find yourself in this pass, and aye the whole world is in peril on my account. For foolishly and lead by my own blind ambition, unquenched even in the twilight of my years, I made a pact with Set. Now the world may pay the price for it!"
"A pact with Set?" cried Conn, his face twisted with dismay. "Nay, surely that cannot be true. I doubt now whether you are in truth my father, or an evil spirit sent to trouble me when already many troubles weigh upon my mind."
"I am your father in truth!" barked Conan angrily. "Must I prove it to you in this dark hour? Why I remember that time when you were ten summers old, and in front of the entire court your trousers came undone of a sudden when a loose button fell off, and…"
"Enough!" cried Conn, whose face flashed red even as his voice showed his relief. "I regret my hasty words. But if you are in truth my father and not at least a dream, by what folly could you have made a pact with Set?"
"It seemed not so foolish at the time," replied Conan. "But now I have set out to undo what I have done, while there is yet time. The hour is late, for the term of the bargain was a dozen years, and now that time is near upon us."
"Then perhaps that does explain the strange alliance against Aquilonia in some way, though still I know not how," replied Conn doubtfully. "But if you be flesh and blood as you say, then I will tell you what you must do – come home across the sea, if you can! For no one needs your aid and counsel more than I, and moreover it would bring me joy beyond measure to see you alive in the flesh again, when I had believed you long dead."
"That is a long and perilous journey, and I know not if or when I can make it," quoth Conan. "Though I have grown tired of these strange lands of the sunset and would gladly return to Hyboria, aye and to your side if I could! But till that day, if and when it arrives, you must hold on to your crown by your own strength and cunning, even as I gained that crown for myself by the same means. For I must learn how to undo the ill-fated bargain I have made, and cheat our foe Set out of his due, or it matters not whether you win a battle here and there with my aid and counsel or without…"
"Father!" cried Conn, as his own youthful visage began to twist and fade, and it was clear to Conan that this strange connection across thousands of leagues was fading as swiftly as it had begun. The mirror was dark now, and yet still something moved beneath its surface, like a dark cloud of smoke that writhed and twisted endlessly.
Then another form seemed to take shape in the mirror, but Conan could make no sense of it, for it seemed nothing but a writhing mass in which two glowing amber ovals vaguely took shape. There was a fluid shimmering in the background, as if the scene was below the surface of some great water.
Then, the mists were dispersed by an unseen wind, and Conan's spine was gripped by the icy hand of fear as he tried to cry out, only find his tongue frozen in his mouth. For the face before him in the mirror now was like nothing he had ever seen or imagined even in his darkest nightmares – a loathsome mass of writhing tentacles, flowing out of a squid-like skull in which were set two glowing amber slanted eyes, alive with vast intelligence and infinite evil. Conan felt rooted to the ground as if he were a hare under the gaze of an adder.
"Do you fear me, mortal?" asked the figure, its infinitely deep, harsh voice echoing through Conan's tortured mind and threatening to drive him to madness.
"I can see it is so," continued the hideous figure in response to Conan's silence. "Then you are wise, in spite of your puny brain."
"What do you want with me, demon?" Conan gasped out at last, though every superstitious impulse in his Cimmerian soul cried out for him to flee for his life, never to return.
"Is that any way to address one of the Great Old Ones?" asked the figure. "The Cult of Kuthlan grovels at the mention of my name, and yet do me none of the courtesies which are my due. But for your use to me I would blast your soul into a hell so terrible you would beg for oblivion!"
The Crystal Skull began to glow strongly at these menacing words, though Conan knew not if it was at Kuthlan's behest – for he had no doubt this hideous being was the dreaming god himself – or in response to its own unfathomable will. Neither god nor man spoke for some time, until Conan once again found some dim spark of courage in his heart, and found the words to speak reason to this dreadful creature.
"What do you want of me?" he asked at length. "Why did you send me here, when you spoke through the mouth of my self-slain wife? There is nothing here, save this mirror, and you could have said whatever needed saying to me through her shattered form!"
"I did not summon you here merely to talk," replied Kuthlan, "but to act! For as well you know, the time is short. My enemy seeks for himself yon Crystal Skull – aye, it stirs to life, and knows the truth itself – and should he gain it, he means to use it to imprison me in my undersea tomb forever! Then his victory over this planet, indeed over this whole plane of existence to which your world the key, shall be complete! For your puny world is my prison, and so the key to victory for my ancient foe."
"Perhaps I am wrong in opposing him," Conan replied daringly, "if he means to imprison one such as you forever.…"
Conan's blasphemous words were silenced at once by a rhythmic, roaring cacophony, which Conan realized at length was nothing less than the laughter of this vile being.
"So you wish for you and all mankind to be devoured now, rather than devoured later?" asked Kuthlan, as his laughter subsided. "For be devoured you must! You mortals are nothing more than cattle to gods and titans alike."
"Your followers told me you promise them eternal life for their unquestioning service," said Conan, "and yet it seems you have neither the will nor the means to…"
"Do not mock my power mortal!" exclaimed Kuthlan harshly. "Listen and learn! For Set's wrath is far nearer to you than mine. Long, long eons ago the Elder Gods imprisoned me here, on this wretched heap of rock, and many long ages shall I remain entombed, until the stars are right and I may work my own release at what you would call the end of time. But even in my deathless sleep, my power is great enough to ward off the dominion of Kukulkan, of Set as he is better known to you."
"Yet through my own folly – for even the Great Old Ones are not omniscient – I set a great part of my power into what became the Crystal Skull. But a moment ago it seems to me, though it was an age of the world ago to you. And if this talisman now falls into the scaly claws of my foe, he will use it to quash my power and imprison me forever. Nothing will stop him from manifesting forever on this material plane. Then he will devour all he wishes to devour, the universe itself if he chooses, beginning with your own puny race!"
"Indeed the end of man is nigh thanks to you, Conan of Cimmeria! But for your ill-starred bargain, no talisman imbued with my power could ever have been used by Set, save that he received it as a gift by an act of free will – even the free will of an insignificant ant like you!"
As Kuthlan finished his sermon, Conan began to feel wrath stir beneath his superstitious fear, for he was no man to turn the other cheek to an insult to his pride - even when it was offered by a god. But if old age had taught him nothing else, it had taught him patience, and he wisely kept his hot temper in check to gain what succor he could from this dubious ally.
"Far be it from me to call a god a liar," replied Conan with uncharacteristic diplomacy. "So then let us to the point. How can you help me to defeat Set and cheat him of his due? For I am at my wits' end, and it is beyond my power to see how by any deed or stratagem I can deny Set what I plainly promised to him, in payment for the bargain for which he made good to me – my twelve years on the Dragon Throne of Xlantlantaca."
"How indeed?" replied Kuthlan. "I could tell you that the Crystal Skull, which could be used to seal my doom, may also be used to break the power of my ancient foe, so that he many never again have any power over this material plane, even in the dreams of men! Then he will be worshipped only by fools who make obeisance to his black memory, rather than to a living god, until at length he will be forgotten, left to devour himself in the darkness of the uttermost void until the end of time."
"A well-deserved fate," replied Conan grudgingly. "By how am I to use the Crystal Skull to defeat my foe? He seems not in the least afraid I will do so, if only because he knows my ignorance of the dark arts."
"First," replied Kuthlan, "you must know this realm of Mayapan has been the especial domain of Set on your earth since time immemorial, even as the deeps beneath the Sea are my own especial domain as the seat of my imprisonment. The Thurian lands, wherein lie your Hyborian realms, are only in part under his influence, in Stygia and the dark kingdoms to it south. It would therefore seem wise for you to get you gone from these lands forthwith, and back to your own rightful place, the Hyborian lands. There at least the very land itself is not imbued with Set's power, as it is here save for rare sanctuaries such as this one. Even here my power extends not beyond the spot where you stand, and the swamp writhes with serpents and other evil beings in league with Set, kept in check only by the Crystal Skull - else you long since would have been devoured."
"You might as well ask well ask me to fly to the moon," replied Conan skeptically. "How am I to return to Hyboria without a ship, or a crew for it? Am I ask the Quechalnti as the only seafaring folk of Mayapan to journey across these lands to their eastern shore, where dwell only savages, build me a ship, and crew it on a sea they have never sailed before? It would be a task of many months for me just to…"
"Silence! That is the least of your troubles," replied Kuthlan. "For when our council is at an end, you will make your way to the nearest sandy beaches to this place, which lies not far inland, and there I shall see to your safe return to Hyboria. The greater question is what you shall do when you arrive at the Hyborian shore, for it is by the shore where you are still within sight of the sea, and so the realm of my own power, that you must make your stand on that neutral ground."
"Why should I not make a stand on the open ocean, if that is your own realm and your powers are strongest there?" enquired Conan.
"What, are you now one expert mage debating tradecraft with another?" sneered Kuthlan. "You sorely vex me, mortal! Suffice to say that he will not manifest at sea but only on land or in the air, and I need you to draw him out in the flesh so that he is situated within the material plane."
"You must wait until the hour appointed," continued Kuthlan, "when Set manifests himself in the flesh to take possession of the Crystal Skull. You will not mistake the moment, of that you can be sure! Then, within sight of Set in the flesh before you, you must freely offer up the power of the Skull to me!"
"To you?" asked Conan, unable to mask the doubt in his voice. "But you told me your own power flows through it now?"
"And yet not under my own control," claimed Kuthlan. "For you wield the Skull, and yet you neither control it, nor can you use its power to the maximum to defeat our mutual foe. Offer its power to me, in the open and before the manifested Set! Then I shall use my own power to blast him back into the void, and seal the portal so that he many never return!"
Conan's mind spun at these unexpected words, though he was mindful of the inmost promptings of his heart not to trust this dread being.
"You do not trust me?" asked Kuthlan as if he could read Conan's inmost thoughts, and Conan noted his glowing amber eyes narrowed slightly. "And yet I have told you, and swear by the Elder Sign, I cannot return until the stars are right. My power is no threat to you, Conan of Cimmeria, nor to your son, nor your children's children's children for uncounted ages to come. The Sun itself shall grow red and dim before my time is come. Who knows, perhaps the age of men shall come to an end of its own accord before my dominion is at hand."
"I would be a fool to trust you any more than I trust Set," replied Conan grimly. "And yet it seems I have no choice to accept your aid, whatever misgivings I may have. I have no better ideas of my own."
"Good, good!" bellowed Kuthlan, again with an ominous rumbling that Conan recognized as his dark laughter. "Soon my ancient nemesis shall receive his just reward!"
"Then our council is at an end," said Conan, "and I will make my way now to the shore, if you will but tell me the quickest route."
"There is one more thing," replied Kuthlan to his surprise. "Even though my sight is less than clear through this primitive lens, I can see that your mortal form is old and tired, and has not the vigour that it had in your fleeting youth. Though you mocked my power but some moments ago, it is the least I can do to prove to you both as a token of faith, and so you are of greater use to me at the fated time, that my promise to my followers is no lie! For if I cannot make them truly immortal in the flesh, as am I, yet I can extend their span of years far beyond their appointed time."
"And so shall I now do with you!" declared Kuthlan. "It is death to drink the waters of the fountain before you, but that my grace is extended to the one who drinks from it. Drink now, and find your vigour renewed, Conan of Cimmeria!"
His blue eyes narrowing with doubt, Conan stared at the crystal block before him, which he realized now was carved with the forms of boiling jets of water, boiling and furious, yet frozen forever and imbued with cryptical runes. Only from its peak did the meagre flow of crystal-clear water trickle forth from a small hole, gurgling its way down the carved channels and into the foul waters of the swamp.
Shrugging his shoulders in acceptance of his fate, Conan caught some of the water flowing down the side of the carved crystal in his cupped left hand, and took a single sip. It was cool, and tasted vaguely of salt with some strange tang that he could not identify. He looked into the mirror again, and saw that as fast as it had appeared, the dark vision of Kuthlan had faded from view. Once again the mirror was just a polished piece of crystal, in which Conan saw his aged, care-worn face staring back at him.
Then, of a sudden Conan cried aloud as a white-hot bolt of fiery agony shot through his veins. Cursing Kuthlan's seeming treachery and his own folly, he lost his grip on the Crystal Skull as its staff slipped from his palsied hands and he fell on his back into the vile waters of the swamp. A brilliant white bolt of agony surged past his eyes and exploded inside his fevered brain, and then he fell into darkness and knew no more.