Chapter 7: H'Nir

The terrain became more mountainous as Peter and Phineas approached their destination. The suns were now directly overhead although Peter only caught rare glimpses of them through the thick foliage. His shirt was drenched with sweat.

Phineas wasn't even breathing heavily. He maintained a pace that tested Peter's endurance.

The rainforest was reminiscent of the New Guinea highlands. He'd made several field trips there for his doctorate. New Guinea was home to some of the earliest indicators of human settlement. And now he was on the outskirts of H'nir—what was once Merope's largest city. For a brief moment, his inner archaeologist took precedence, demanding he take notes as if he had anything to write on.

The monkey calls and bird songs gradually ceased when they approached the ruins. A pregnant stillness hung thick in the moisture-laden atmosphere.

Phineas paused, listening to a low roar rumbling in the distance. "Sornoth's grown restless."

Peter mopped his brow with his already ruined necktie. "You came here to rescue Thaddeus. How were you able to creep inside without the ghasts spotting you?"

"I had help," Phineas said, clipping his words. "This time will be no different."

He'd noticed that during the morning trek Phineas's mannerisms gradually underwent a transformation. Gone was the mocking sarcasm. He'd become grave and taciturn. The dark timbre to his voice reminded him of someone he knew. The identity stayed on the fringe of his memory, refusing to reveal itself.

"Peter . . . Stay away."

He staggered backward, shocked. "Neal? Is that you?" He tripped on a tree root and would have fallen if Phineas hadn't grabbed him.

"What did you hear?" Phineas demanded.

Breathing heavily, Peter ignored his guide and concentrated his thoughts. Neal! Can you hear me? He waited anxiously for a long moment. There was no response.

Phineas seized his arm. "Tell me what you saw."

"Neal was inside my head. It was just for an instant. I heard his voice calling out to me. But it wasn't him I saw. It was the head of a massive cat—grizzled fur with a massive saber-toothed jaw. Neal told me to stay away. He was trying to warn me."

"Sornoth." Phineas's face grew even more somber. "Neal must have projected his thoughts to you. Has he ever done that before?"

"Never. He's able to do that?"

A scurrying in the fern undergrowth interrupted them before Phineas could reply. A tiny animal with golden-brown fur peered out from behind a frond and darted up Phineas's leg onto his jacket. It nuzzled his neck and gave a brief squeak.

Phineas spoke not a word but his eyes bored into the creature's face. The body was only about four inches long, with a tail longer than its body. He was familiar with lemurs from Madagascar and this resembled a mouse lemur.

"Ghasts are active close to the entrance," Phineas said, breaking the silence. "We must wait till they've left the area."

"Neal needs us now! We can't afford to wait."

Phineas turned to face him. "Our capture won't help him. Don't worry, our chance will come. Neal is strong in ways you don't yet comprehend. He wouldn't have been able to reach out to you otherwise. This shilka is one of many. They'll be our guides and will alert us when it's safe to enter."

Phineas sat down on a bed of ferns and urged Peter to do the same. "Rest while you can. The most dangerous part of the journey lies ahead." He opened his knapsack to pull out flasks of water and more blue apples. The shilka appeared quite content to remain on his shoulder.

Peter reluctantly sat down beside him. On a rational level, he understood Phineas was right, but he continued to be haunted by the image of Sornoth in his head. With an effort, he focused on the new animal they'd just encountered. He wrapped his tongue around the unfamiliar word to retain it in his memory. "Do shilkas dwell in the ruins?"

Phineas nodded. "And this entire region. There are large colonies within the city. They're so small that Sornoth ignores them. The Ymar have never taken the trouble to learn about them and that works to our advantage."

"You can read their thoughts?"

"And they mine. Many of the species on our planet are telepaths."

"You were the one inside my head in the crypt!" Peter exclaimed as awareness dawned. "You told me to use Neal's amulet on the disk in the crypt, knowing it would seal the wormhole."

He nodded. "I'd planned to tell you. Lavinia and I were going to take advantage of my visit to Arkham to let you know about us and Merope."

"And you're reading my thoughts now." Had Phineas been eavesdropping on him all along?

"No," Phineas said quickly. "Our directive prevents us from entering minds uninvited unless the circumstances are sufficiently urgent to warrant it. During periods of high stress, you're able to send me your thoughts. It's one of the benefits of algolnium. That's what happened on the night you were in the mausoleum."

"I don't understand," Peter said. "My stress then can't compare to what Neal is feeling now. Why can't you sense him?"

"I didn't say I couldn't sense him at all," Phineas said mildly. "But Neal's situation is different."

"Can you see into his mind?"

He hesitated for a moment. "I used to, but no longer. Algolnium is a tricky substance. It enables us to establish a connection, but if it's sufficiently strong it acts as a barricade. Neal would have to consciously allow me to read his thoughts. It's a technique that requires training."

"Was Lavinia the one who gave me algolnium? Was it in the emerald wine?"

He smiled. "Now you're catching on." For a moment he sounded like the Phineas of old.

Before Peter could respond, another shilka darted out from behind a tree. Phineas held out a hand and it scrabbled up to nestle in the crook of his elbow. Peter could tell by Phineas's eye movements that he was communicating with one or both of the shilkas. After a minute, he turned to Peter. "The ghasts have left. We must leave now."

They quickly packed away the water. Peter broke the remaining slice of his apple into two and offered the pieces to the shilkas. They accepted them eagerly and devoured them with surprising speed for animals so small.

"Is Sornoth a telepath too?" he asked as he stood up.

"He has many abilities. I suspect that's one of them. When I questioned Thaddeus about it, his thoughts were too muddled to give me a coherent answer. I fear his mind was indeed probed."

Would algolnium protect Neal from a similar fate or was Sornoth too powerful to resist? He knew Phineas must be haunted by the same question.

The shilkas guided them up a steep slope to a stone wall a few yards away. To his eyes, it looked solid, but Phineas felt along the surface, muttering strange words in an unknown tongue. He pressed around the edges of the blocks until apparently he found what he was looking for. Nodding with satisfaction, he tapped a complex pattern with his fingers as if he were typing on a keyboard. Slowly part of the wall slid aside to reveal a small entrance. Was this magic or yet another Meropian ability?

Phineas put a finger to his lips. "Within the fortress, be as silent as possible." He retrieved from his knapsack the small light orb he'd used at camp. Attaching it to a cord, he slipped it around his neck. "This is for emergency use only. You'll need to tread carefully but darkness is our ally. Now, quickly!"

Taking the lead, Phineas plunged into the darkness of the ruined fortress.

The air was cooler inside but thick with a pervasive smell he associated with mushrooms and decay. It evoked memories of ancient Mayan ruins. From all directions, he heard the soft drip of water. He hoped the faint rustles which accompanied his steps were the shilkas. It was too dark to see them.

He crept cautiously forward, feeling his way around broken pieces of masonry lying on the ground. Phineas was more surefooted or perhaps his night vision was better. He never appeared to trip. He could have probably gone much faster if Peter hadn't been present.

Their route was a maze of corridors with twists and turns beyond his ability to remember. He would have quickly become hopelessly lost without his guides. As they made their way deeper into the ruins, the ground became littered with bones. Some of them resembled pelvic bones and femurs. When he stumbled over one, Phineas steadied him, whispering, "Ghast. They prey on each other."

An occasional painfully low rumble signaled Sornoth's presence somewhere in the ruins. The shilkas had communicated that he was no longer with Neal. No one could predict how long the respite would last.

The stone walls were covered in faintly iridescent slime. As his eyes adjusted to the dim conditions, he was gradually able to make out more details, but it was a shadow world in shades of gunmetal gray. Occasionally they passed openings into chambers or side passages, but in the low light, Peter he couldn't distinguish what lay beyond their dark openings.

They cautiously descended crumbling staircases as they worked their way into underground passageways. Stealth was their only protection.

In a narrow corridor, Phineas stopped him with a hand on his arm. He gestured toward a dark opening in the wall. The shilkas scampered inside, disappearing into the blackness.

Phineas followed and Peter groped his way after him, keeping a cautious hand on the wall.

After a few paces, Phineas turned on his light orb at a low setting. Even in the dim conditions, he recognized the shape crumpled on the ground.

They'd found Neal. But was he still alive?

The shilkas appeared to think so. He counted six of them, all industriously licking his wounds. Neal was unresponsive to their actions.

"Don't interfere!" Phineas whispered in an urgent undertone. "Shilka saliva contains healing properties. It also acts as an anesthetic."

Peter pressed his fingers onto Neal's neck for a pulse. Faint but steady. They still had a chance. He whipped out his knife and cut the ropes binding Neal's wrists and ankles while Phineas opened his knapsack. Those medical supplies he'd brought along would be essential.

The wound on Neal's head had crusted over and was no longer bleeding. He had four deep puncture wounds to his left side. The image of Sornoth's fangs flashed in front of him. By the extent of blood on the floor of the cell, the attack had occurred a while ago. A ghast hoof had probably struck him in the upper stomach. The skin wasn't broken but was swollen and hard to the touch—a sign of internal bleeding.

Phineas applied pressure packs to the wounds on Neal's side. He then placed the fingers of his right hand onto Neal's temple and closed his eyes. Peter had seen that technique before. Lavinia used it on Neal after his ordeal on the Plateau of Leng. At the time Peter suspected she was probing his mind to discover what the priest had done to him. Phineas could be attempting the same technique.

After several moments Phineas withdrew his fingers and admitted failure. "I thought because of his weakened condition, I might be able to read his thoughts, but he continues to block my attempts."

"He's bleeding internally. Is there anything you can do to help?"

"I can only alleviate the pain."

Peter was reminded of battlefield triage except that here emergency care was being provided by an alien ornithologist and the nurses were lemur-like shilkas. Neal remained unconscious. His forehead was hot to the touch. The shilkas might be deadening the pain, but he needed a hospital and that was light-years away.

Phineas reached inside his knapsack for a pouch and extracted a pinch of a rose-colored herb. "This will revive him. Once he's conscious, I can give him a painkiller. We'll make faster progress if we don't have to carry him."

More unknown meds. He could hear El protesting angrily at the damage they could cause. "Is this the same medication you gave me?"

"No. Yours wasn't strong enough for his injuries."

"If he attempts to walk, it could cause even greater damage. Shouldn't we make a litter instead?"

"With what? Do you see any materials we could use?"

Phineas was right, but he still didn't like it.

"For Neal to recover, we must reach the wormhole," Phineas continued. "It's already afternoon. Come twilight, the ghasts will be upon us. Neal will be back with Sornoth, wishing for death as an escape. We must not allow that to happen. For his sake, for your sake, we must move with all speed." He pried Neal's mouth open and slipped the herb inside.

"Are there any side effects to the drugs you're using?"

"Probably, but I don't know what they are for a human. The medications I brought were prepared by Lavinia who has the greatest knowledge of your species. But the drugs were intended for Meropians. They will erect a wall preventing him from sensing pain. Among our people, some experience dizziness or a euphoria you might associate with being drunk." He gave a half-smile. "Isn't that better than to be rendered incapable of movement because the pain is too severe?"

Peter waited anxiously for it to take effect. He realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to calm down. He thought of the long trek through the forest they'd just made. They'd have to carry him once they'd left the ruins. If they could get that far . . . "Is the wormhole close by?"

"Don't worry, we won't have to walk to get there."

Notes: When Mozzie first dubbed an unknown cybercriminal Azathoth, he linked him to the Outer Gods of Cthulhu Mythos mythology—amorphous, omnipotent beings. The Arkham Round Table decided it was time for a demotion. No longer gods, the Ymar are a hostile race of aliens. They're the subject of my blog post: "Messages to Azathoth: Gods No Longer."