In the Hall of the Mountain King
By Asso
Chapter Eight
(The eighth, after the Prologue - The ninth, counting the Prologue)
The story goes on, my friends, but the coil does not unfold.
Know this before you start reading.
And - remember - we're entering into unknown lands, the lands of the devil.
Yes, the devil. One more time with him.
Thank you, my dear Linda, who wanted to support once again with your help my journey in these lands of darkness.
In the Hall of the Mountain King
Chapter Eight
It is a strange feeling, elusive, nebulous. It was such an endless time that He no longer felt any sensation that it is impossible for Him to define what it is. But, and this sharpens the sensation even more, it is a feeling he doesn't like.
He feels disquiet.
Exactly, disquiet. The sensation is inquietude.
It seems incredible, but it is so.
He - the King - feels disconcertment.
Why that absurd inferior creature, who has found - incredibly - the courage and strength - the way - to reach His recondite dwelling, to oppose His will, sat in that way on the simulacrum of burning sand that the technological devices controlled by His mind - His power - have created?
Of all the things that that being, that Human, could do to respond to the first ordeal, this was the most preposterous, the most unexpected.
Of course, the King was aware that the creature would have done something special and, on the other hand, it was just what he, the King, wanted.
And hoped.
It is ... yes ... it is hoped, it is desirable, it is ...needed, in some way, that Human to know how to deal with the ordeals, and that - just so - he may be able to go harmless through them.
Something, a sort of pensive scowl, crinkles the conscience of the King.
Although, at the bottom and without wanting to admit with full consciousness, He is aware that the creature, the Human, had managed to delay his end and to drawn out from Him, the King, some kind of an unspoken promise of possible salvation not so much for himself, but rather for the woman, by tickling His vanity and His disdain by virtue of the crazy challenge he had dared to do, it is true that the overcoming of the three tests would be the perfect proof that the creature is really the creature the King has waited for, in the infinite unconsciousness of time, so as to be back, fully and really, the King.
There would have been no need to prolong the wait, to accept the absurd challenge. But... yes, apart from the malignant fun of playing with life and feelings of that creature stupidly brave and proud, after all it wouldn't have been a bad thing having the tangible proof that this one was indeed the man, the one He has waited for, in the fogs of time and of His dormant consciousness, even if, obviously, the King knows that He is not deceiving Himself, and, even less, deluding Himself: He is the King, He doesn't suppose, He just knows. His design, conceived back in time immemorially, has come to fruition.
An indefinable shiver of evil pleasure pervades the Essence that is again and that is one step from living really again.
Nothing and no one could ever save the creature, neither him nor his woman, and it would be incomparable being able to taste her – in addition so similar to His Lil that He has to force Himself not to believe she could be her - not only by the force of His power, but also through the flesh itself of her man.
And if, for all that, while enjoying in the meantime the malicious fun of relishing the futile struggle of the man and the suffering of his woman and maybe even getting an even clearer demonstration that the man is definitely the right one, He would have to postpone a little the time of His complete triumph, of His full return, well ... this was worth it to be done.
But in any case, now the games are done, how the King, in His immense sagacity, in His superior wisdom and knowledge, had forecast and in some way planned. The hunger, with no limits and no glimmer of reason that has dominated Him for all the infinite time that He had to lead His non-existence, this hunger is now subject to His will; His power - His strength - are back and are now such to allow Him to hold out until He reaches His goal: the predation of the mind and body of the man arrived to him - unconsciously pushed by the force of his indomitable feeling for that woman, his… yes… his love - to give Him life, true life, made of mind but of body too, yes of this too; because without a body that lives, there is no real life.
Sure, the games are done, and... they cannot be done ever again.
Or now or never.
But if He is wrong...
The Thing without being, that is back to living without truly living - not yet - The One whom eras and people passed from such long a time that this cannot even be conceived, seems to shiver, inside the nothing by which it is made.
By anger, by shame, by the impotence He must bear, unable to fully being what He is, if He doesn't grasp the tenuous hope that that Human means.
And even… and even by fear. All the fear that accompanied Him all this time and that He had been not even able to feel, so immersed in the way He was into this trap of larval non-existence in which His opponents - His opponent, the Great Monarch - had been capable of locking up Him.
Now this fear rises to the surface of the Innominable Being, from deep within Him.
He can not, must not go wrong: that man, that Human, must be the man!
If it were not so, and if He were taking possession of the wrong man...
A thrill of genuine dread shakes the silty substance, the unfathomable core of the Timeless Being, who was the King and that wants to be back to be the King.
Awful, horrible, ghastly, they return in full to Him the memories of what happened, of that body, bestial, who became, perforce, His body; that He was forced to use; that was not - could not! - be able to withstand the supernal force of His essence.
And that - therefore, inevitably - became corrupted, while corrupting Him at the same time.
Making him...
"The devil!"
Malcolm's voice breaks into my ears. I know - I perceive - that his was only a whisper, but it is as if it were a thunder.
I turn towards him; I stare at him with eyes wide open. He is motionless.
With eyes wide open.
He is not Malcolm, the Malcolm I know - whom I love.
He is the Malcolm who mirrors my own incredulity; my astonishment.
My anguish.
My fear.
My ancestral fear of evil.
Of the Devil!
He had had to do it, He had had no choice, He could not do anything else.
The despair that had gripped the King in that distant time, the impotent rage, the pressing need to do something - anything - that would avoid His unimaginable falling into the void of the non-existence, His being shipwrecked into the incompleteness of nowhere, the disappearance - so unexpectedly, so absurdly, so stupidly - of all His dreams of power and domination, of the fate of almightiness that it was his - his, his! …
And all by the trembling hand of the insane father of Lil, of an unworthy member of the race which was His nemesis, and that after having given Him the only spark of warmth that He had ever had, had horribly deprived Him of that spark.
Of His Lil...
Everything suddenly resurfaces in the mind of the redivivus King.
With incredible strength, tearing.
"The devil?"
Malcolm and I turn to His Excellency.
He is watching us with keen eyes and curious.
He repeats. "The devil?"
I shake. Sluggishly. Almost painfully. "Excellency, I apologize ..." - I look at Malcolm, who seems almost incredulous of his exclamation, of that name that has come from his lips, then I turn back to Bannerda. – "We ... we apologize. Thinking of such things right now ..."
But I am unable to go on. And I can't not think of that demonic face that hovers behind us.
His Excellency's eyes continue to stare at us, curious, inquisitive; as if, as if...
I do not know, I do not understand, but I can not stop myself.
I speak, almost against my will. But I speak. In a very low voice.
"That face, Your Excellency ... that face looks ..." - I sigh, forcibly – "...that face is the face of the devil."
What had he become? What had he become?
He! The great, the mighty, the shining, the gleaming, the most beautiful...
What had he become? WHAT HAD HE BECOME!
"The devil is evil, Your Excellency."
I jump at the voice of Malcolm. It resounds grim and unexpected.
And gloomy.
And... scared.
"As the King of whom you are telling us."
Malcolm's voice lowers. Becomes a whisper.
"And has that face. The face of the King."
A monster. Mad and horrible.
A monster.
Disgusting and unhealthy.
That Lil could never love...
"The evil."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"As the King."
"Yes."
"And. .. with his horrible face."
"Yes, Your Excellency. Not everyone believes in his existence, even though for many he is a dogma of faith. But ..."
"But evil exists, does not it, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, it exists, Your Excellency. And, if it has a face, surely that's its face. As hideous as it was once beautiful."
His Excellency boggles. Yes, just so, he boggles! He opens wide those eyes he has, which seem being gaped into the abyss of time.
And now I know that this is true, I understand the discomfort that I have always felt in front of him, in front of the members of this race that has seen ... that has seen the dawn of creation.
But his Excellency, so far as old and lived he can be, boggles at the words of my Malcolm.
I ... I hug my Mal. I'm afraid. I'm afraid! And I want to feel his protective body against mine! I do not care a fig for the label and duty!
I want the reassuring warmth of my Mal!
Because ... because ... I ... I do not know ... but ... I do not like those alien eyes open wide in surprise! I do not like them!
One moment, just a moment. There had been no more time. He could not disappear in that way, into the nothing.
And under the powerful pressure of the ubiquitous and hidden biomechanical servo-systems just created by Him in order to preserve His essence in any way, at any cost, under any circumstances...
He had acted.
"What does it mean 'As hideous as it was once beautiful.' ? What do you want to mean with these words, Lieutenant?
I see the surprise painted on Mal's face; he is dumbfounded. Like me, on the other hand. Why this strange question from His Excellency? Why this urgency in his tone? Right now? And why that expression... that look on his visage, almost… – yes, that's the word – almost appalled? The visage of a Being able to control every facial muscle, like and more than the Vulcans, able to maintain control of himself and situations as not even T'Pol would know how to do, not even ... not even Soval.
With uncertain making, unsure of what I'm doing and with in the heart the fear that we are wasting time behind vain things, but at the same time feeling that perhaps we are not at all talking about vain things, I take the floor. Let's come down to it, dammit! Let's stop playing with the facts and the words!
"He was once one of those Superior Beings we call angels, marvellous and supernal creatures of light, the first Thinking Beings got out from the hand of The Creator. He was the greatest, the most beautiful of angels. Then ... he became corrupted. In mind and in appearance. And he became the devil."
His Excellency stares at us, he doesn't stop watching us with eyes full of ... I do not think you can define what is in his eyes than with 'astonishment'.
Finally he speaks. And he seems to be in difficulty in expressing himself.
"You have a myth ..."
"Your Excellency, many of us would find blasphemous your words. For many - really many - the devil is not a myth."
His Excellency does not seem to give the slightest weight to the words of Mal, far from being covertly rebuking. Also does look not even annoyed, rather he appears impatient.
"Lieutenant, please, not even the King, it seems, is a myth." - His hand snaps forward, indicating the malignant and horrendous face that seems to mock us, as if it were not a mere three-dimensional image, as if it were animated by an unknown kind of malevolent life, of sardonic and baleful consciousness. - "And it wasn't surely that unclean being, the one the hapless Lil fell in love with."
The old, vigorous Bannerda rises in all his tall stature. He ... he inspires awe. I cling even more to Malcolm. It seems that the depths themselves of time speak with the voice of the Lord of Bannerdas.
"The one whom Lil met in the room where she lay in chains in a painful waiting for her fate, the one who silenced her woeful father, the one against whom our people fought since time immemorial, it was a marvellous and powerful creature, a majestic King Warrior, reverberating with a feral, tenebrous light."
Those timeless eyes alight upon us.
They seem to dig into you.
"And, as in your myth" - his voice lowers until a pensive whisper - "or as in your truth, if you prefer, so in our myth, which is no longer a myth, on that fateful night in which it was decided the fate of our - and your - world, the corruption of the body and mind took possession of the King."
The Bannerda stops for a brief moment, lowering his eyes, open into a past without time. And, most likely, also in the future itself of the universe.
Then he raises them. He gazes at us, scrutinizes us.
"And the King became..."
It is my voice the one who gets up in the air, tremulous and disbelieving, completing the sentence of His Excellency, giving body to the inexpressible that stirs deep within us all.
"The devil."
… And He had become…
He had seen Himself in the mind of that Being, of that human.
He had seen His own infamous appearance, His own horrendous visage. He had smelled His own stinking breath, His bestial stench.
He had felt the fear of Himself in the mind and soul of the man; soothed, diluted in the patina of his civilization, but still very present, palpable.
The King had seen Himself in the mind of the man.
He had seen what He had become.
What Humans call...
A laugh, satanic, without substance. Sombrely and forcedly self-derisive.
A word, without sound.
A name.
The devil.
"It is clear that behind all this, behind all that is happening, there are lots of things that we are unable to understand; most likely, from what I can infer and on the basis of some facts I have yet to tell you, there must be something, or rather someone, who is knowing, who is acting or has acted or will act, with a definite intention, someone who knows the past and, we have to think, even the future, as far as this can resound hardly believable and somewhat scary. The enigma itself, concealed behind the double way of reading of the planet's coordinates, the enigma of its double language, of the impossibility per se of this fact, are the clearer proof of what I am stating."
His Excellency stops speaking for an instant. I know, I feel, what he is about to say.
He resumes, in a deep voice. "May be it a mere coincidence that you, just you Humans, be those whom we wanted to use to explore the causes and origins of the signal originated on that planet, from the bowels of that mountain?"
His tone becomes even deeper. "May be it a mere coincidence that, irrespective of the fact he may be true or a myth, your tradition talks of a Being, what you call the devil, that has the form, perhaps the very essence of what the King became in that fateful night? And that, both for us and for you, this creature was once great and beautiful and that he became what he is because he became corrupted in mind and body, regardless of the issue that for us he was the evil's essence even before his transformation, whereas for you, as far as I can understand, he was not wicked at that time? And, if I have to follow my ideas and suspicions until the bottom, there can be solid reasons for such a fact."
His eyes become two chinks. He crosses his arms on his chest. He talks again, almost without looking at us, as if he were speaking to himself, if he were seeking the truth within the things, the hidden meaning of everything. "And, may it be a mere coincidence that it has been the Vulcan woman the one who has set everything in motion, your First Officer, T'Pol? She was sucked into the vortex as first, and she has inevitably carried with her your Engineer, that Charles Tucker, whose relationship with her clearly can not be denied by anyone, even if none of you has mentioned it at all."
The words of His Excellency bring ruthlessly to light all what, more or less unconsciously, stirs within me, and I am sure, even within Malcolm.
The Devil ... the devil of us Humans ... where ... where it came from? True or invented he may be, can his origin be so ancient as to be more ancient than ourselves?
But how is this possible?
How is it ...
And all of a sudden ... I ... I ...
The... the devil is much more ancient than us! He comes from far away! From a past that was long before us! He ..
I do not dare ... I do not dare give accomplished substance to the misty thought that penetrates, suddenly, my mind.
But this thought, it exists!
The devil is the big loser, but never really cut down and always resurgent, of an eons-long war, fought between the two opposing armies of the angels, faithful to the ideal of the good, and the angels who betrayed this ideal ...
A war that took place long, very long before we - all of us - saw the light ...
As ... As the war between the Bannerdas... and the King!
Oshi! Stop it! Stop it! This is ... it is illogical, absurd!
O. .. or maybe not? Those who believe the existence of the devil, could they really feel betrayed in their beliefs, or offended, if someone had told them - had shown them! - that they are right? That - objectively, historically! - the devil ... is true?
And T'Pol? The Bannerda is saying it can not be a mere coincidence that she was kidnapped, or rather, that only she was kidnapped, just as, indeed, I myself had supposed, albeit at the limit of clear awareness.
But what sort of explanation could such a fact have? May it be possible that T'Pol is somehow connected with that Lil, who, apparently, was the fuse that ignited the fire, the engine of everything?
But this is really absurd, pathetically absurd, even more than all that is happening. Or, once again, not? To tell truth, it is as if we were getting used to the absurd, as if we were losing the perception of reality, to the point not to find absurd what His Excellency is telling us and the fact itself that he is telling us that there could be someone pulling the strings of all, someone aware of the past and of the future, even. And in this case, if the absurd is now become our life meter, so why should we find this absurd, more than everything that is happening to us, the fact that T'Pol is linked to that woman, Lil, who lived and died for love in a time infinitely far away?
Perhaps this could be the only light of logic, as T'Pol herself would say, in the absurdity of this whole story; perhaps, despite all the senselessness that such an idea can have inside, it could explain many things the fact that T'Pol can be...
"Why just your Vulcan colleague and friend, why T'Pol? Who is she, really?"
I start at this question in unison with Malcolm, a question that gives loud voice to our thoughts. His Excellency goes on, ignoring our patent discomfort.
"A Human Man and a Vulcan Female. No, this can not be coincidence."
I find myself watching the Bannerda, who now is staring fixedly at us, with such intensity that my eyes water. The echo of his last words resounds in my head. It didn't get unnoticed by me the way he emphasized that Human and that Vulcan. I feel Mal's hand hold mine.
"A man, member of the race that has this… devil in its traditions or its beliefs or whatever you want they have to be called, tied – in love with and EVIDENTLY loved in return – to a woman, member of a race whose appearance is…"
A pause. Brief, meaningful, tense.
"A woman whose appearance is…"
The Bannerda stops again, as if gathering his thoughts. Then he takes a long breath and finally… "We are old, my friends, incredibly ancient. By now I believe that you have assimilated - digested, as you would say in the colourful way you are in the habit of expressing yourself - this fact. So, I think that you can also understand that such an ancient breed can not ... not have children."
Our heads snap. Our attention to what the His Excellency is saying sharpens at the higher degree.
Mal and I look sideways at each other for a moment.
We're to the point.
"We now live virtually in isolation, certainly, but it was not always so and, in any case, in the infinite time that has passed since we saw the light, it was not possible, was unthinkable that our seed didn't spread."
The Bannerda stops one more time, very briefly, looking at us. He wants to be absolutely certain that what he is about to tell us will be well understood and interiorized.
"Look at me, Lieutenant, look at me, Ensign. Now, that you know really who I am, don't you seem to find in me something of yourself? And maybe also something of many of the breeds that populate this universe?"
It's true. It's true for God's sake! How come no one noticed it before? That colour azure, almost blue, of the skin ... like the skin of the Andorians. Those facial features so similar to ours, so human, except that for that mouth so wide and mobile, reminiscent of Denobulans...
I almost have difficulty breathing. Yes, the Bannerda speaks rightly. His words have the sound of truth. Sharply, he pivots on his heels, by turning his back to us and folding his hands behind it, as would a Vulcan. He speaks to us, without turning, as if he would avoid direct eye contact, how would a Vulcan wanting to avoid showing his embarrassment. Who knows if he is raising an eyebrow, at this time?
"Not even we know what races that now populate the universe should be considered a little our children and what not, but certainly in many of them there are our genes. And our characters."
He turns. He looks at us. Intensely. His eyebrow - thin, well-arched, like that of T'Pol - is really relieved.
"And our memories."
His gaze becomes even more intense.
"Our ancestral memories, imprinted in our genes, as in those of our children."
He looks at us, stares at us, scans us, studies us.
"As the memory of a powerful Being who degenerated in body and mind and who became...
I interrupt once again the Bannerda.
Once again it emerges that name on my lips. In a faint whisper.
"The devil."
The devil.
He had seen this devil, in the man's mind.
He had seen… Himself.
It was just Him. The King. Or rather, what He had become on that night that had affected Him forever.
And that man, that ... Trip ... this was clearly imprinted in his mind, timeless memory that came from a timeless past.
The man belongs to a race which has kept inside the memory of what had happened, albeit distorted in the mist of aeons.
And all this couldn't not have any meaning.
It couldn't not mean that this man was special.
That he was the man.
But... angrily, He could not deny it ... He had been afraid. What would have happened if, once again, He had seized the wrong body?
And so ... yes ... so He had taken advantage of the crazy challenge thrown to Him by the man, and had delayed the final taking. He had opted for a further test, more reassuring, and the mad audacity of the man, His own desire to trim down the defiant bravado of the Human, were nothing more than a pretext.
He knew He had no more choice by now. At the heart of His born-again subconscious, He knew it.
He would take this man, whatever was the outcome of the ordeals.
But, after all, if the ordeals had been overcome, He would take the man with more confidence to do the right thing.
And - the sardonic satanic smile without makes again its own road into the essence without a substance – the King, in so doing, would also shown to the Human that, after all, he was quite right: it would be the latest satisfaction of the man the full awareness, acquired on the field, that, for real, one can not trust the devil.
I release my Hoshi. Enough, once again enough. It's time to stop. I do some step forwards, frowning. I want to know everything and want to act, at last.
"Excellence ..."
It is as if I had not spoken.
The Bannerda watches me, almost as if he isn't seeing me, and talks about picking up the thread of what he was saying, regardless of my eager impatience.
"And, as the memories, the genes can also keep track of disappeared physical characters. Disappeared in us, because we can not escape, neither we want to, the constant work of evolution, but reappeared and present in some of our children. Maybe not too much important physical characteristics, but someway significant."
The Bannerda makes a sweeping gesture with his hand.
The diabolic image disappears.
His Excellency looks at us, almost smiling.
"We are conscious of many of the transformations we have suffered over time, at least of ... Well, yes ... the most recent. We also have many images depicting Lil. Pictures of how she would have been."
Another gesture. A picture starts being sketched. Slowly.
"We knew all of you just by reputation, we had ever seen none of you in person, only your captain was known in his features. You know" - a smile, strained – "we fear that we may be defined by you what you call rather unsociable persons. We have known you in your appearance only now and before we hadn't had any need to make any comparison."
The Bannerda goes silent a moment, almost scowling.
Then…
"But now ..."
A nod. The image takes a definite shape.
"I introduce to you... Lil."
T'Pol, splendid and regal, is watching us.
End of Chapter height.
TBC
Well for Bacchus! Or, rather, for the devil! I did warn you, my friends.
However, fear not. I will try to guide you with a sure hand, I will bring you out from the lands of the devil.
At least I hope so!
And if you still want to read what follows, I will tell you what the devil happened to the King that night of devil.
Yes, I will do! For the horns of the devil!