In the Hall of the Mountain King
By Asso
Chapter Twelve
(The Twelfth, after the Prologue - The Thirteenth, counting the Prologue)
My friends, if I had to say something about this chapter, perhaps, what I should say is "The devil that is in us."
Trip doesn't know it yet.
But Malcolm Reed and Hoshi Sato, the two of them...
Well, my friends, do not make me say the least. Please, read.
It's a short chapter, perhaps too much.
But it has been impossible for me, at the time, to go further.
If you want to be so kind to read the chapter, I'm sure you'll understand what I mean to say.
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Mal and I have got it. Really there's no need much more for understanding, now, but I want it to be said. Clearly.
"Excellency, the eyes of the Ghoul that the Grand Monarch had seen..."
"Their colour? That's what you ask?"
I nod.
"Red, just as the eyes of all the Ghouls."
Am I deceiving myself? "Red?"
"But... they had a gleam of blue, inside."
I swallow. "Such as those of the King."
"Yes, Ensign."
"The King had cheated death."
"He did."
"But at a cost frighteningly high."
"For him. And for our people. And…" - His Excellency looks at us thoughtfully. – "For all those who came after. For us. For you all. For the two people disappeared down there."
The Bannerda nods, in a manner... almost as if wanting to nod to himself. "Now we know who you are, I mean… the distinguishing peculiarity of the race to which you belong. We have got it."
I nod in return. Grimly. But even testily. May he be damned, this Bannerda! He and his revealed truth! "Yeah, we know."
"And we also know who are your two friends."
"Yes, Your Excellency, we also know this." One can not say that the voice of Mal is not firm, but certainly not as cold and controlled as it usually resounds.
"Still missing some small tesseras to try to fully figure out what is happening over there, on that planet that is now the abode of the King."
"The abode of the King? How..."
"One moment, Ensign, an instant. One thing at a time."
The Bannerda takes a breath, just a moment, as if trying to put order in his thoughts.
"All that has happened and is happening, the perfect identity of appearance between Lil and the Vulcan woman, your colleague and friend T'Pol; the matching, much more than merely possible, that can be believed existing between the King's physical aspect, the aspect that the King had before his death, and that of your Chief Engineer; the racial memory that you, who have within you the King's blood, that of the race to which he belonged, carry inside you of the thing which he was turned into..."
His Excellency takes a brief pause. He knows he's throwing stones inside us. His hand moves to indicate the book.
"... and that book, which was legend and now is no longer such, all this tell us clearly that that transformation happened for real, and if we remove from it the fantasy patina that covers it, if we look within and beyond the aura of myth that envelops it, we realize that it is not an impossible thing."
His eyebrow gets up as he turns toward us. Somehow, as much as he can be different, he recalls to the mind a Vulcan. Eh, per force!
"The ability to make transmigrate your life-force, your own self, your mind, soul, Katra, or, if you prefer, your neuronal configuration, cerebral structure, synaptic layout, neural interconnection, call it what you want, in the body of another Being is not a trivial matter, but it is not unfeasible. I know for sure that you came across such facts in the course of your explorations."
Mal nods. "It's so, Your Excellency."
"So why not thinking that the King - we're talking about a Being belonging to a race of enormous knowledge - had planned that his own essence could be accepted, housed, into another living body, if death were been about to grip his? It is not difficult to think that he really knew well how to control the body and mind of his unwilling host."
"Yeah." Malcolm is sadly sardonic, in speaking. "Why not? Of course, His Greatness the King, or more simply the… yeah, sure… the infallible machines programmed by him or by his scientists to act and react in such an eventuality, had not been able to foresee that..."
"…In the urgency to find with indispensable, absolute necessity and speed a body..."
It's me who ends the statement of the Bannerda. I hardly recognize as mine, the voice that speaks. "…The body more easily available, due to its proximity, would have been that of..."
"Of a Ghoul, yes. Of that peculiar Ghoul, to be more precise, the biggest and strongest and wildest of them. The body, and mind, of a foul beast..." - The Bannerda pronounces distinctly the words one by one. - "…savage, and loathsome, abhorrent, abominable and fiercely insane."
Mal speaks again, lowering his face. He seems as if talking to himself. "Eh, certainly not the body that the King would have wanted, that's for sure. Never trust the machines, they are brainless." He raises his eyes suddenly. "Sure, the brain. I...I just do not think that the brain of the Ghoul, judging from what you say that these creatures were, could be so easy to control. Indeed... maybe..."
"What you're thinking is correct, Lieutenant."
The brain of the King…"
"Yes, Lieutenant. It plummeted into the blind furor of the brain of the Ghoul…"
"… And it got snapped."
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"The King became..."
"…Something much more than a Ghoul..."
"…And much less than..."
"… Less, yes. But above all different, very different from what he had been."
"A..."
I finish what Malcolm has left pending. "A demon. Savage, and loathsome, abhorrent, abominable and fiercely insane."
Malcolm takes my hand. "The demon."
I clench my Mal's hand. "Yes, Mal. The Demon. The Devil."
The Bannerda nods. Oh my! How appears he burdened! And we, I and Mal, which appearance do we have?
"The look that the Grand Monarch had seen in the eyes of the Ghoul was the look of the King. They were his, those eyes, bloodshot, in whose deep, a tenuous glint of blue flickered, the blue of the King's eyes. It was his, the powerless bewilderment that the Grand Monarch had read in them... the last glimmer of appalled understanding. The King, the nefarious Lord was gone. In his place, even if still with his strength and his brainpower, and possibly even heightened, there was another Being."
His Excellency takes a breath. "A foul beast by the savage mind, and loathsome, abhorrent, abominable and fiercely insane."
Again. He says it again. With even greater force.
"A new and different Ghoul. Metamorphosed."
The Bannerda nods again. The infinite time of the passed ages folds her shoulders. "Yes, Lieutenant."
Mal continues. "The Devil." He gazes meaningfully at the old man. "The Devil savage, loathsome, abhorrent, abominable and fiercely insane."
"And damned."
Our eyes alight, quizzical, on the Bannerda. But it's only a futile attempt to delay the painful and fully aware understanding which has already made its way into us.
Without needing to be asked, His Excellency gives body to our thoughts.
"Damned, yes. A Being who should not have been and who instead was, a Being… damned. So you would say, and so it actually was. Damned to be fiercely crazy and to be fiercely and helplessly aware of that, and of what he had been. Damned to know that, imprisoned inside him, there was the King, or rather, what still could there be of the King, namely of him himself, without being able to go back to be this himself. Nevermore. The most darkly shining of the night creatures…"
"Lucifer."
"Yes. Lucifer, Ensign. Now it was…"
"It was..."
I stare at Malcolm. He ends for me, while returning my afraid gaze. "The Devil. He who is damned. In aeternum."
The name, that name, comes out from me in a sigh of tormenting pain.
"Trip."
You are damned, Human.
For the first time the essence of the one who was the King, and, then, of what He was forced to be, speaks directly to the man who is feverishly fumbling to free his woman, that living image, that incarnation of Lil, from her chains, just as the first of the three ordeals requires him to do.
The man can not hear, nor feel those words. They are directed to him, but are words said by the King to Himself.
You are damned, Human. My damnation is yours.
What that man has managed to do, provides living proof that what He thought was true. The man is really Him, a Him reborn.
Doomed to His same damnation.
However, he is not Him; he is he who has in himself the Him that He was. He is Him and at the same time is not.
But he will fully be back Him. His damnation, the damnation of the man, will be His release.
And through him, He will again have His body, His real body, and the dominion. And the revenge.
And Lil.
It will be so.
But…
Disembodied, low. And sardonic. A laugh. The King, the Devil, laughs.
But not yet. There is still time for your damnation.
The thin and insubstantial laugh grows; it makes itself audible in the minds of the man and of the woman. Little by little gets to permeate everything. Turns into a frightening and deafening laughter.
He had said it. Three are the ordeals that the man must face.
The laughter becomes a thunderous rumble.
And three they be!
The Devil keeps his word.
If it comes in handy to him.
"No. Trip is not damned. The fate of the King will not be repeated in him."
Mal does not mince words, is not ambiguous. I admire him. Deeply. Nothing, more than everything that is happening, more than what our minds are forced to accept, to absorb – to digest - could be farther from his rational and well-controlled world, from his mind frame so rooted in the reality, and yet, and maybe just because of his exceptional ability to reduce everything to its essence, to keep his feet - and his head - well firmly on the ground, he has clearly told what I do not have nearly the courage to admit.
He is capable of giving substance and rationality to what has neither substance nor rationality.
Like… like the awareness that the damnation of the King is the damnation of Trip.
Because… Trip is the King. And he's damned. As the King. He's ... he's damned to be the Devil, reborn, for real, from the irrational and unsubstantial nightmares of our subconsciously acquainted racial memory!
Just like T'Pol is destined to meet the same fate as Lil. To be the prey of a new King. To...to die like this. Or... or perhaps, and even worse, to live like this! Prey… of the Devil!
But my Mal says no! It won't be like that.
He turns with cold determination to the Bannerda. "Continue. We need to understand. But, stop with horror stories, now. We now have clear in mind that we're talking about real things. I want to know, in short, what happened after the transformation of the King, how he ended up, how he did end up there in that mountain, on that world, and why; how and why he has awoken from his, as you say, sleep which is vigil. I need to find out if there is a weak point, a slit, where we can thread ourselves."
Then his gaze gets suddenly attentive, more than ever. "You think it is possible to find the slit we need on that book, don't you?"
I look at the book that Mal is pointing. Then at His Excellency.
He nods. "Yes."
Mal presses. "In the pages that are missing."
"It's so."
"This is my assignment, right? Finding where those pages have gone to end."
"Yes."
A malicious flash crosses the eyes of Mal. "Investigating - who knows, maybe... even secretly? - about who and how and why and when has stolen them; and retrieving them."
His Excellency knits his brows in disbelief. And patently uncomfortable. My leery Briton has hit the mark! I do not know how the hell he did to have such a suspicion, but it seems that things are as he said, judging by the uneasy silence of the Bannerda. He cashes without flinching, the significant silence of our… paternalistically bombastic host. "I see. Eh sure. You are aware of my past experiences of... secret detective work, I bet. And you do not have any experience in this field." Mal grins, almost with badness. "What can it know, a people as wise and good as yours, of thefts, robberies and others of such pleasant delights? It's us to have red blood."
"Well, Lieutenant…"
"And Hoshi should be able to find in those pages, if I manage to retrieve them, the slit."
"Oh, you know, she is a great… "
"Translator. Yes, I know. And she is not only that. She is able to unhinge doors locked, thanks to her ability to grasp what lies behind those that seem simple words."
No time to fully realize Mal's compliment, he doesn't allow me to have it. He gets lashing. "In haste, Your Excellency. It is time to act." His lips curl into a smile without humour. "My red blood is going to boil."
Hugging her, kissing her, feeling her. Consoling her! But it can't be done! Can't be done, damnit! Isn't this which is urgent!
The pain of the vice that clenches her brain - he knows it - no, it can't be removed. Not yet. But it will be. Oh, if it will be! But the pain of the chains that imprison her, of that damn collar... this, yes. This, yes! It has to cease! At any cost! Regardless of the fact that the first ordeal must be carried out in its entirety, that it was required she were to be freed. She must… she must!... be freed from those tormenting chains! From that collar of torture!
Freeing her! This! Yes, this!
But how? How, damn it!
Damn chains! Damn, damn, damn chains! They are real, they. Are true!
How? How, how!
*You broke the rock, man. You did it! So what? Is it possible that you can not break these chains?*
The rock? But... of course! The rock!
The stones.
*The stones.*
Where ... where? Where, damn it! Ah, yes! Here they are.
Over there.
"Trip! Where do you go?"
"One instant, my love! Just one moment. I will be right to you!"
*Perfect! Small, spiky, sharp. Strong.*
"Here I am, my joy."
"Trip, what …?"
"Do not worry, my love! Be quiet. Do not move. Let me do."
Okay, which ring? This one. Yes, this. It looks yielding.
Here, inside. Just this way.
The two stones are good. Come on, now! Come on!
*Press, man! Strongly! Widen the ring! Come on! Come on!*
Yes Yes! It cedes! Cedes!
Broken!
*Ah! The fingers!*
"Trip!"
"Quiet, my love, calm! Nothing serious."
Another ring, now. Of the chain that imprisons her other leg.
This. Yes, this. In this way. Again!
Come on! Come on!
Yes!
Broken! It too!
*Ow! Damn fingers!"
"TRIP!"
"T'Pol! Darling! Please! Don't worry! Everything okay."
The chains that hold her wrists now.
One...
*Yes!*
And two...!
Yes!
*Ow!*
"Trip! Trip!"
Damnit! Damn weak fingers! To hell! They must function anyway! Understood?
*Understood, my dear hands?*
"Trip! You're breaking your fingers!"
"Just the collar, my love! Just the collar yet!"
"TRIP!"
"The collar! Nothing else! I can make it!"
Sure. The collar. But how? It is not enough breaking its chain. Need to take it off from her. She cannot endure longer that damn collar.
How? How...
This ring! This! That one which is just attached to the collar. It fastens the collar, secures it. If one breaks the ring...
Come on! One more effort!
So.
It yields! Yes! The ring is yielding!
Come on! Come on!
Broken! Broken broken! BROKEN!
*Yes! So! Now…*
His aching hands grasp the two disunited ends of the collar.
*Push! Pull! Press! Come on! Come on, come on, come on! You do not feel any pain, man!*
They cede. The two ends cede!
*Yes. Yes!*
The iron collar widens. It opens. It can be removed.
It is removed.
It falls to the ground.
Alongside the two stones stained with the blood of his injured fingers.
And who cares? Almost, he does not even realize.
She is free.
His T'Pol is free!
She kneels. She crouches down next to him. She takes in hers, his wounded hands.
"Trip!"
His pain is even stronger than the vise that clenches her mind.
It is his pain. For her it's intolerable.
She kisses his hurt fingers.
"Trip."
She wets them with her tears.
"Trip."
He kisses her ruffled hair.
"Thank you, my love."
"Trip…."
It is a sob of pain and love.
"Thank you for giving me the strength I need."
"Oh, Trip!"
"You're free now."
She raises her face to his. Her eyes full with tears. Vulcan tears of love for him.
How beautiful she is! How beautiful she is!
"Ashayam…"
He knows what she wants to say.
"Ashayam, now ..."
She can't continue.
Low. Then louder. Louder and louder. And louder. AND LOUDER!
Deafening!
Lacerating!
A Crazy, wicked, malicious… lashing… laughter.
It fills the mind.
Destroys the flesh.
She gets buffeted by it.
"T'Pol! T'Pol!"
The laughter ceases. Its echo gets lost slowly in the distance, under the vaults of stone.
Silence falls.
Everything is unmoving. She, too, is motionless, now. Is no longer shaken.
She is waiting.
Like him.
In the silence, at last, words.
They resonate clear into the empty caves.
Words without body and without substance.
Yet so real.
"Second ordeal."
They ricochet against the rock.
They get lost far away, they too.
The silence comes back.
Then, a few other words.
Low.
And imperious.
An order.
With no appeal.
"Let it begin."
End of chapter.
TBC
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Now have you understood, my friends? Have you understood why I couldn't go further in the narrative?
I believe so.
And now? What will happen? What the devil will happen?