Shadows Out of Time

I saw the plateau waver and tremble like a mirage, as though it was shifting between dimensions. Its links with this world appeared to lie in the region east of Tibet, but nothing looked sure. As my vision of it steadied again, I saw tall olive-skinned people who, if the Chronicles were more than the fantasy I’d always thought them, would be Hyrkanians, forging through the gray granite mountain passes on ponies. They wore leather and furs. Their weapons were lances, swords and bows. Pressing upward past the cliffs and gorges that were the natural ramparts of Leng, they came at last to the windy plateau with its ancient, abandoned city, its curious towers and its windowless stone temple, or monastery, standing huge and apart. The new settlers left these alone, maybe after some nasty experiences, and built strong stone villages instead, for defense against the debased Tcho-Tcho. They regarded these as only questionably human. I shouldn’t wonder if there was more to that judgement than ethnocentric arrogance, because I had glimpses of the Tcho-Tcho’s rites and customs, and they were sickening. In the dream I saw one of their gatherings, lit by blue fires in the sky. They were like blazing nebulae such as were never seen in earthly skies. Then, over the feasting, chanting throng, I saw an unnatural thing like a huge winged hyena, or canine sphinx, swoop down and crouch with wings folded, as though presiding. It turned its head towards me and I looked into its face.

That was when I screamed and woke.

I was disoriented for the first few seconds. Then I recognized the faces of Connie and Raxton, the psychic researcher. Beyond them I saw Tindall, and his expression was avid.

“Are you all right?” Connie asked urgently.

“Yes. Yes, I’m all right. Listen, I’ve got to write down everything I can remember from that dream, right away, before I lose it. Let me get to that desk…”

“First let go that rock. Look at your hand.”

I was clutching it so tightly my bones hurt, and while I hadn’t been aware when I awoke, it was hot! Not enough to burn me, but hot enough to notice, and enough to sting. I cursed and opened a hand that felt cramped. The rock had left a pale outline in my palm. My blood didn’t start circulating again at once.

Tindall pounced on the rock, his eyes greedy. Although he tossed it from hand to hand because of its heat, he didn’t relinquish it. Just emerged from a long, intense and harrowing dream (or true vision of the past) I still noticed. Such loss of control on his part was out of character.

“It’s a link,” he muttered. “Contact with Yog-Sothoth.”

In that moment I didn’t pay much attention. Writing down every detail of my dream was more important. I paused long enough to catch Connie’s eye and apologize for my language.

“Roy, you are so nineteenth century sometimes,” she laughed. She tapped her breast-bone with an index finger. “It’s me, Connie, remember?”

Nineteenth century, eh? I wasn’t nearly as much that way as Tindall. The word he’d mentioned didn’t ring any bells with me then. I haven’t studied the Necronomicon and I’m not interested in cults. The way he’d gloated over the rock stayed in my mind, though, lodged like a piece of almond between front teeth. I’d recall that word later.

IV