Shadowfist fiction: TFT finale
And now, the first major piece of Shadowfist fiction I wrote: the finale to Two-Fisted Tales.
Fortunately, by the time I wrote it, we knew who had won. If I'd had to write it keeping all the factions viable, it would've sucked. (There's still at least four available.) I honestly don't know how I would've worked some of them in. The faction who were leading going into Gencon were doable, but I'm just as glad I didn't have to. The Jammers would've been really bloody hard.
This was easier for me to write than the other pulp stories would've been. The rest of them were in sub-generes I didn't have a good feel for (For the John Fenris/Golden Gunman story I was supposed to write, I had to download and read a bunch of Doc Savage novels), while this one was something I'd been reading for a couple of decades.
We were waiting for the rest of the story to be finished before releasing the lot, so it never actually got posted.
It is with great reluctance that I write this report, but the things I saw and experienced on that ill-fated expedition still haunt me, and I share them in the hope that some person may make sense of the knowledge contained herein, and take whatever actions should be necessary.
Perhaps I also seek expiation for the deaths of so many good men. No court would hold me responsible, yet still I blame myself.
Some years before, Mister John Fenris had retained my services in planning and heading an Antarctic expedition, to set up some massive radio towers on the continent. He explained his purpose as an experiment in radio-assisted navigation, though I must assume that little came of it.
When he contacted me again to arrange another expedition, this one to Ross Island, I was only too happy to oblige. Our prior dealings and his sterling reputation reassured me when his requirements seemed irrational.
Perhaps those who read this will consider me a fool to place such trust in a man's reputation, given the hazards involved. But you are no doubt as familiar with his deeds as I was at the time, and I am certain most of you would have done the same. Since my return, I have made extensive inquiries into his past, and have found myself with many more questions than I started with, and no more answers. Most strange is the complete lack of any information as to his activities before he walked out of the Egyptian desert some twenty years past.
His requirements seemed irrational indeed. I was to lay in supplies, hire two ships and their crews, as well as men and equipment as would be required for several weeks in the Antarctic. All were to remain in Boston, likely for many months, at vast expense. We were to be prepared to depart on two days' notice.
Most worryingly, I was instructed to procure armaments.
I made arrangements promptly. The Nautilus and the Seagull were duly contracted, along with their crews, and equipment and such provisions as would not spoil were laid in, though I did not expect to depart for a good eight months, for Mister Fenris was currently in Egypt, or perhaps Africa, and winter would soon be setting in in the Southern Hemisphere, and I thought him too wise to attempt the journey before summer.
When I received a telegram perhaps three months later, instructing me to make everything ready, I should have refused. It was madness, but I am a man of my word.
I met Mister Fenris and his associates at the harbor two days later. They were a most curious lot, most of whom I would have judged unsuitable for an expedition into the Antarctic wastes, but it was becoming apparent that common sense would be in short supply.
They were:
A Chinaman by the name of Zheng Yi Quan. Strangely, many of the others deferred to him, and even Mister Fenris treated him as an equal.
Doctor Amanda Snow, a renowned archaeologist despite her sex.
Mister David Maxwell I knew by reputation. I assumed he was funding the expedition in part or in whole, but that left its purpose no less obscure.
Doctor John Haynes, who claimed to be a historian, though his bearing and manner seemed decidedly out of place with his claimed profession.
A young lady who gave her name only as 'Athena'. Throughout the journey, she seemed mostly to avoid the others, save for Mister Fenris. One might speculate as to her purpose, but such speculations do not befit a gentleman.
Captain Jake Molloy, a pilot. His aeroplane was being loaded onto the Seagull even as we spoke. He was the only one whose presence I welcomed, for I had been unable to engage the services of any pilots on my own.
Another Chinese, this one a woman, whose name was Tricia Kwok.
A private investigator by the name of Thomas Donovan. Of all of them, he seemed the least comfortable with the idea of the expedition.
An Englishman who claimed the unlikely name of 'Silver Jet'.
There was another, a slim man of one of the Western Asiatic races. He said little, and we were not introduced.
They were all somber, even grim. Most of them appeared to be carrying firearms.
I made one last attempt to regain control of the expedition when I demanded that the women be left behind. The rigors of the Antarctic are too much for the weaker sex, and I did not feel that I could ensure their safety from the crew. My demands fell on deaf ears. I considered resigning then and there, but without my experience, I feared a repeat of the infamous Starkweather-Moore Expedition, in which all hands were lost.
The voyage passed without serious incident until we had rounded the Cape of Magellan. There were the expected injuries and illnesses, but nothing serious. My concerns for the safety of the women proved unfounded, as they all proved quite able to fend off unwelcome advances, though the generally violent nature of their refusals left me with even greater doubts as to the purpose of the expedition.
As the weather grew colder, a sense of nervousness grew among the men, and for good reason. Most of them had spent time in these waters, and knew them to be hazardous even in high summer, while we would be reaching the continent in the dead of winter. I believe they would have refused to continue had it not been for the presence of Mister Fenris, giving the entire thing something of the air of the fantastical adventures to be found in those dreadful dime novels.
As Antarctica grew closer, conditions became worse. The days rapidly grew shorter. We were beset by storms, and frequently had to change course to avoid floating ice. Tempers were fraying among both the men and Mister Fenris' companions.
On June 16th, we were enveloped in by far the worst storm to date. Visibility dropped to nearly zero, and brutal gusts of icy wind made it impossible for any man to remain on deck for more than a few minutes. It was feared that the two ships would collide, and it became necessary for Mister Fenris to devise and hastily assemble a most powerful lamp, far brighter than any I have seen before or since. With this lamp mounted upon the stern of the Seagull, it was possible for the Nautilus to follow at a safe distance, without the ships losing track of each other in the dark and storm.
When the storm abated somewhat the next day, he crossed to the Nautilus by means of the ship's boat, in order to construct another such lamp for them. However, the storm redoubled in ferocity soon afterward, and he was unable to return.
Early in the morning of the 18th, I was awakened from a fitful sleep by shouting and gunfire. Seizing my own weapon, I rushed toward the source of the disturbance, which proved to be the bridge. On my way there, I found myself stepping over the bodies of several men I knew, including Jack Paris, the captain of the Seagull.
Near to the door to the bridge, there lay the corpses of five men, all dead of gunshot wounds. Each was dressed in robes and featureless metal masks.
Inside the bridge was a scene of total chaos. There were a dozen more of the masked men, all armed with knives. Opposed to them were only two - Mister Donovan, and Miss Athena. She was unarmed, and dressed in a nightgown I can only describe as indecent. He was clothed and armed, but even as I entered, he loosed his last bullet. Perhaps due to his unsteady footing in the rough seas, it struck nothing. He dropped his pistol and his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and attempted to move between the woman and their assailants.
In the pause that followed his shot, it occurred to me that I had a weapon of my own. Much to my shame, even as I raised it, the ship lurched violently, and I lost both my footing and my firearm.
From my position on the floor, I saw only portions of the battle that followed. It was as brief and one-sided as I had feared, but the outcome was not what I had expected.
He charged into the crowd of men; she stepped lightly behind. He fought like a boxer, delivering punishing blows to their heads and torsos, while ducking and weaving as best he could, shrugging off the blows and cuts he could not avoid. She fought like nothing I have seen before, always calmly stepping aside, as if she knew where a man would strike even before he himself did. I only saw her strike back twice. Once, she caught hold a man's wrist, and twisted it until he first dropped his knife, then the bones in his arm snapped, and finally she bent his entire arm up behind his back, dislocating it at the shoulder. The other time, she simply grabbed a man's head in both her hands, and twisted it until his neck snapped.
Afterward, Donovan offered her his coat to cover herself, but she declined. He shrugged, and collapsed in the nearest chair. He was bruised and bloody, but seemed to have no immediately life-threatening injuries. She was uninjured. He pulled a flask from his hip pocket and took a long swig. When he offered that to Athena, she accepted graciously.
As others who had been further away from events arrived, we took stock of our situation. The diagnosis was grim. The ship's radios and much of its navigational equipment had been destroyed. The dead included not only Captain Paris, but also his first mate and the ship's navigator - indeed, every man qualified to pilot the ship was dead.
The assailants proved, upon their unmasking, to be members of the ship's crew. Those who still lived refused to explain themselves. Indeed, not one of them said another word for the rest of the hellish journey. As we dealt with them, I had the presence of mind to observe our passengers. It seemed to me that they found the mutineers' costumes not in the least bit surprising or unusual, as if they had expected opposition from men so garbed.
Once we had made some pretense at restoring order and at securing the vessel, Donovan told his tale. While he spoke, the woman, seemingly unconcerned by her near nakedness, attended to his injuries with the precision of a skilled doctor. Afterward, she claimed that she had nothing to add to his tale.
Donovan told us that he had been unable to sleep, and had left his cabin to stretch his legs. His wanderings took him to the bridge, where he interrupted the mutineers in their acts of sabotage. Other than those mutineers diverted from their mission of murder, Athena and myself were the only ones who were near enough to hear who had not yet been murdered, presumably due to our inability to pilot or navigate the ship.
After he finished his story, a long silence followed, in which I considered the gravity of our plight. Finally, our ruminations were interrupted when Mister Molloy asked, "What of the Nautilus?"
Several of us immediately removed ourselves to the stern, where we held the vain hope of learning something of the fate of our sister vessel by observation. Had there been a similar uprising? Were all aboard dead? Had they a navigator?
We huddled around the great lamp, and stared out into the darkness. After several minutes, Mister Fenris' unnamed Asiatic companion spoke, stating that he had seen the ship. At his direction several of us thought they saw her outline in the darkness. I myself could still see nothing.
After some more minutes, he withdrew a handgun from beneath his coat. It was most curious in appearance. It was of no model familiar to me, and since my return, I have consulted many gunsmiths, and none has been able to show me a weapon of similar design. They also assure me that a weapon composed of solid gold, as this one appeared to be, would be utterly impractical, unable to withstand the stresses involved in firing even a single bullet.
He raised this weapon into the air and fired it twice. I did not see how it could be heard through the storm, but it would seem that it was, for a great lamp, twin to our own, blazed to life on the bow of the Nautilus. The man with the golden gun smiled slightly, and said "That will be Fenris."
After a few moments, the lamp began to blink on and off, signaling in the manner of the Morse code. We were instructed to lower a line into the sea. Trusting in our mysterious leader, we did as instructed, then blinked our own lamp once to acknowledge.
A shadow passed in front of the lamp, as a man dived from the bow of the Nautilus into the churning, frigid waters. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, our line went taut, and we scrambled to assist John Fenris over the rail.
No other man could have survived that crossing, but even a man such as he has limits, and we hastened to get him inside, warm, and dry. As we did, he told us of the Nautilus' predicament.
There had been a similar betrayal, though by fewer men, only a half-dozen. Perhaps because of their fewer numbers, they completed their sabotage first, then embarked on their campaign of murder. One of them had attempted to assassinate John Fenris, and so their plans had been discovered and foiled, though there were several dead. The Nautilus could be piloted, but they had no means of navigation.
After we apprised Mister Fenris of our own situation, he proceeded to the bridge, where he perused those charts that still remained. After several minutes of contemplation, he sprang into action, taking the helm from the overwhelmed seaman who had been instructed to keep our course as steady as possible.
The Nautilus was instructed, by means of signaling with the great lamp, to follow closely in our wake. For the next five days, John Fenris stood at the helm of the Seagull. He did not sleep, and took only the briefest of breaks in order to refresh himself. The windows of the bridge were broken out, so that he might hear the changes in the wind made by the presence of nearby ice, and so that he might see what little there was to be seen, without it being obscured by ice upon the glass. He was like a statue at the helm, barely moving as he kept us to a course charted out only within his own mind.
On the fifth day, the Nautilus was signaled to cut its engines and drop anchor. After a pause to allow some distance between the two vessels, we did the same. At long last, the Iron Man slept. We were instructed to awaken him when the storm finally faded, which he estimated would be in another six hours.
When it did, we were cheered by our first sight of sunlight in many days. Of course, in winter, the Sun never rises above the horizon in those climes, but we were still far enough north that there is a dim glow, such as one gets at dawn or dusk.
Though it does not last particularly long, it allowed us to safely move the ships closer to the shores of Ross Island. We were located at the eastern tip of the island. To the east and south stretched the bleak expanse of the Ross Ice Shelf. To the west, the peak of Mount Terror loomed above us, concealing that of Mount Erebus beyond.
We made haste to unload equipment and to begin to set up an encampment. The great lamps devised by John Fenris made it possible to continue our labors even after the natural light had departed. Without them, our task would have been impossible. With them, it was merely difficult and dangerous. Three men fell into the water, and one broke his leg when he lost his balance on the ice.
When we attempted to ferry the sled dogs from their kennels on the Nautilus to their shelters upon the land, we encountered an unforeseen difficulty. Normally, the animals are only too willing to leave their cramped quarters after a lengthy voyage, and the problem is that of controlling them. This time, they huddled in the back, and refused to be moved. They were not aggressive or ill-tempered - they seemed more afraid than anything else.
At last, Mister Fenris was forced to return to the ship to address the problem. In his presence, the animals were docile and obedient. Their attitude toward him resembled nothing more than that of a challenger that has just been roundly beaten in its attempt to overcome the alpha dog. For the rest of the expedition, the animals would be skittish and difficult, save for when John Fenris was nearby.
With this last obstacle cleared away, we could at last rest from our labors. The next day, we would make Captain Molloy's aeroplane ready, and he would take advantage of the day's brief light to scout out the lay of the land.
After the day's exertions, we should have slept soundly, but I did not, nor did any man I thought to ask. When I did sleep, I was troubled by my dreams. They were not nightmares - I have by now become something of an expert on the subject of nightmares. They were merely ordinary dreams, but there seemed to be a pervasive feeling of dread overlaid upon them.
The next day, Captain Molloy performed his pre-flight tests and awaited the day's brief light. He was to observe the terrain around Mount Erebus as best he could in the time available and then return. We had no radios with which to communicate with him as he explored, but he seemed unconcerned, and confident in his ability to return safely.
As we waited, I noticed a certain amount of commotion in the camp. The men seemed to be slowly gathering at its eastern edge. Curious, I set off to investigate. Part-way there, I was intercepted by a messenger, sent to fetch me and those others who were assisting with the launch of the aeroplane. At long last, John Fenris would be explaining the reasons for this ill-conceived expedition.
As the last stragglers reached the assembly, we heard the whine of the aeroplane's motor, as Captain Molloy took off to begin his investigation. He rapidly vanished from sight, and the noise soon trailed away as well.
John Fenris stood facing us all, barely moving, his back to the sea. With the pale light behind him, he looked more a metal statue than a living man. At long last, he spoke. He never raised his voice, but spoke quietly and firmly. His words carried easily in the still, cold air.
His tale was fantastic, worthy of the most absurd of the pulp magazines. Still, perhaps due to the setting and to the strangeness we had already experienced, I do not believe a single one of the men doubted him for a second. Even I, suspicious as I was by then, found it difficult to do so.
We were told of a sinister organization known as the Cult of the Unnameable, worshippers of a strange god of madness. He had been investigating the cult's activities for some time, and had learned of their terrible plans. In only two days time, they were to perform a mystical ritual at Mount Erebus. He and his companions were determined to stop this ritual. We had not been informed of our purpose earlier because he had feared that we had been infiltrated - and indeed, the men who had betrayed us during our voyage had worn the robes and masks of these cultists, and he did not wish for the Cult to know how much he knew.
He warned us that our task would be dangerous, far more so than what we had already faced, and that he would think no less of any man who wished to remain behind with the ships.
Nearly every man there volunteered their aid without a second thought. Even the man whose leg was broken wished to help in any way he could.
As we prepared the dog sleds for the final portion of our journey, we awaited Captain Molloy's return. The light faded, and so we set up lights to guide him in. But it was to no avail. His plane did not return.
We set a watch and went to our beds uneasily. Once again, my dreams were strange and disturbed, and I slept poorly. During one period of half-wakefulness, I thought that I heard shouting from outside. Mindful of the events on the ship, I dressed as rapidly I could manage.
Our improvised airstrip was still lit, and by that light, I saw two figures moving slowly toward the camp, carrying some weighty object between them. Another man was rapidly approaching them from the direction of the camp. In the darkness, it seemed unlikely that they saw him.
However, I was not the only observer of this scene. From one of the nearby huts, I heard several gunshots ring out. The lone figure dropped suddenly to the ground as if hit, and soon I heard gunfire from his direction. The approaching men dropped like stones, and did not move.
By this point, there was considerable activity, at times verging on panic, within the camp. I heard the voice of John Fenris attempting to regain order. I found myself able to do naught but watch, wondering if what I was seeing was nothing more than a dream.
In the confusion, the first gunman might have escaped capture, but for what happened next. The man he had shot pulled himself to his feet, and began to limp toward the other fallen men. He had not gone very far when another shot rang out. I saw a spark as it impacted whatever object the two men had been carrying. A moment later, a second shot must have also struck it, for it exploded in a ball of flames, bowling over the limping man, and seemingly setting the snow and ice alight.
At last, I shook off my trance, and rushed toward him. Behind me, I heard yells and a struggle, as other men apprehended the gunman. As I approached, I realized that the fallen man was also afire, but even as I reached him, he lifted himself upon one arm, and rolled over several times, extinguishing the flames.
In the dying light of the nearby fire, I recognized the face of Doctor John Haynes. I did what little I could to aid him under the circumstances, and was soon joined by several other men. We carried him inside, where he could be treated properly. The other two were beyond any man's help.
His injuries were not as severe as they might have been - his heavy clothing had protected him from the worst of the flames. In addition to his burns, and cuts from flying shrapnel, he had been shot in the leg, and it seemed likely that several of his ribs were cracked. He was unconscious due to shock, but it was the opinion of our doctor that he would recover.
The events of that night were not hard to deduce. Once again, we had been betrayed from within - the gunman, another man found lying unconscious among the huts, and the two who were dead all wore the masks of the cultists. Our improvised armory had been broken into, and four pistols and a quantity of explosives had been stolen. Two tanks of fuel were missing from the airstrip. One tank was discovered among the sleds, prepared for detonation with approximately half of the missing explosives.
We concluded that the cultists had meant to set the other tank amidst the huts of the camp, then detonate both. One of the cultists had attempted to ambush Doctor Haynes as he patrolled the camp, and had been overcome, allowing the alarm to be sounded.
At this point, it was only an hour or two before the time we had planned to set out, and we were all reluctant to return to our beds, so it was decided to begin at once.
The journey was slow, even though it is not even twenty miles from our camp to the base of Mount Erebus. But the terrain is difficult at the best of times, and the cold and darkness only made it more so.
John Fenris set out ahead of the sleds on foot, bearing a light and flares with which to observe the terrain and mark any hazards. His pace would have done credit to many an athlete in far more favorable conditions. The sleds followed in single file, the dogs eagerly following in his footsteps.
The day's light came as we passed Mount Terror, revealing Mount Erebus to us for the first time. To me, it seemed somehow more sinister than it had on my previous journeys.
Above the mountain, an ugly mass of clouds was gathering, another storm in the making. Flickers of strange light reached from the peak to the clouds above. They did not have the look of lightning. They continued throughout our journey, increasing in both intensity and frequency as time went on.
The ground had begun to rise steadily, and a light snow was falling when we saw John Fenris' light being waved steadily, signaling for us to halt. Once we halted and approached his position, we saw why.
He had found Captain Molloy's aeroplane. It had carved a long furrow across the landscape, shedding pieces of itself over a distance of perhaps a quarter-mile. What had caused the crash was impossible to determine.
Of the pilot, there was no sign. We paused briefly to search the area, as well as to let the dogs rest, but we found nothing at all.
Reluctantly, we resumed our journey. None of us wanted to leave him there, but he was undoubtedly dead, and we had little time.
We covered several more miles before the steadily rising terrain became too steep for the sleds. Here we made camp, taking a few hours to sleep and eat before continuing on foot. We would leave two men to care for the dogs and await our return.
Our meal was consumed in silence, and it seemed to me that none of us truly wished to sleep, necessary though it might be. I know I did not.
I do not remember my dreams from that night, but I woke unrefreshed, with a growing sense of dread hanging over me. Time had begun to lose its meaning in the incessant darkness, but I made it to be early in the morning of June the 26th.
Whatever the date, that last sleep was better than I have had since. The things I saw that day still haunt my nightmares. Some nights, the faces of the dead, of the men who trusted me, surround me, saying nothing, simply watching me accusingly. And those are the better nights....
After we awoke, we ate the last meal of condemned men, and we began our climb. There were twenty of us - John Fenris and his eight remaining companions, myself, and ten of the men I had recruited in better days, for an expedition that bore no relation to what we ultimately endured.
Erebus is far from the most difficult of mountains, but it is still more than two miles in height, and I feared that we would find ourselves ascending by means of ropes and pitons before too long.
Here, we were aided by the remarkable abilities of John Fenris and several of his companions. They ranged around us widely, searching the terrain for the easiest route of ascent, often climbing up surfaces that seemed impossible.
After several hours of this, Doctor Snow called us to her location. She had uncovered a path that ascended the mountain. It was cleverly concealed - until you were actually upon it, it was nearly invisible. Its method of construction baffled me - had I been asked, I would have judged it a natural formation by its appearance, yet it could hardly be so.
Our feet upon this path, we proceeded at a much quicker pace, even as the mountain's sides grew steeper. The day's light came and went unnoticed, concealed by the gathering clouds.
At long last, the path terminated at a wide ledge, and a tunnel leading into the mountain's heart. Warm, sulfurous air flowed out of the opening, leaving the ledge clear of ice. It was difficult to tell how far we had ascended, but the sickly flickers of light emanating from the peak still seemed far above us.
Mister Fenris announced that he wished to leave four of us behind, to secure our route of escape and to reduce the risk of being assaulted from the rear.
I was entrusted with this task, and I will readily admit I was happy of it - I found myself with a great reluctance to enter that tunnel.
I selected the three others who were to remain with me: Sven Harstrom, an engineer, Samuel Ramsay, a geologist, and Thomas Arliss, a mechanic and one of our animal handlers.
I knew all three from previous expeditions, and knew them to be good men in a difficult situation. I considered them friends, and perhaps I had hoped to save them from the doom I was certain was waiting within the mountain.
We concealed ourself as best we could, and waited, hoping nothing would happen. The mountain's stone was warm enough that we were not overly concerned with the cold, but Samuel reassured me that, while Mount Erebus was an active volcano, it appeared to be relatively quiescent at the moment, and we had little to fear, at least on that front.
Some time passed - I cannot say how long, as my watch had failed at some point during that day's ascent. Nothing moved save the wind and the ominous clouds above us.
Inevitably, I felt the need to relieve myself. Given the conditions, it made the most sense for me to do so within the tunnel, out of the wind. Perhaps twenty feet within, there was a small alcove on the left that was suitable.
As I was finishing, I heard gunfire outside. I could see what was out there only by the flashes of light from above. Framed in the tunnel mouth was what can only be described as a mass of tendrils. They were as thick as a man's arm where they emerged from the writhing knot that passed for the thing's body, and they seemed to divide again and again until they were too small to see. It was bluish grey in color, and would have been difficult to see against the outside sky save for its unnatural, iridescent sheen.
My own gun fell from nerveless fingers, and I ran. I did not want to go deeper into the mountain, but there was nowhere else for me to go. As I fled, I heard my friends screaming. Mercifully, they did not scream for long.
The tunnel twisted and turned, but it led always upward. As it climbed, it grew steadily warmer. There was an occasional side passage or chamber, but all were dead ends. I had a light, so I was not stumbling in the dark, but I feared the attention it might draw to me.
I ran until I came to what appeared to be a true fork in the tunnel. I had no choice but to rest - my legs would barely carry me another step. It was difficult to draw breath in the sulfurous air.
I turned off my light while I rested. I could hear nothing from behind me, but that meant little - we had not heard the thing approach us. From the tunnel to my left, I heard the sound of many footsteps, and furtive flashes of light. I was still too exhausted to run.
To my great relief, those approaching proved to be the rest of our expedition. They looked tired and bedraggled. Those that were still there did not seem to be badly hurt, but there were only fifteen left. I cannot recall seeing Mister Maxwell among John Fenris' companions, nor Gunnar Halverson from my own, but I must have overlooked one of them.
When I described the thing I had seen, it was clear from their expressions that they had also encountered such horrors.
I went with them when they continued. A man in a long black coat, hat and mask set out several minutes before the rest of us, silently scouting the way. He must have been one of Fenris' companions, but I am not sure which one.
Due to the new threat of an attack from behind, John Fenris brought up the rear. With him walked Athena, and they occasionally conversed in low tones. I was close enough to overhear, but they spoke in a language I could not recognize. Mister Donovan slowly drifted backwards through the group without seeming to do so purposefully; perhaps he was also curious about what they discussed.
There were no side chambers or other diversions now; the tunnel led ever upward, and the air grew ever warmer and more foul.
The masked man stepped out of the shadows, signaling for us to stop. He worked through the group to Fenris, and brought Zheng Yi Quan with him. Clearly, he had discovered something of import. The three of them soon agreed upon a course of action.
The masked man again taking the lead, we moved forward with considerable haste. We rounded a bend, and the tunnel ahead opened out into a vast cavern, lit from below by an ugly red glow. There was a side passage to the left of the cavern mouth, but we were uninterested in that, and charged straight into the cavern's maw.
The cavern was a geological impossibility. In the central shaft of Mount Erebus, a massive stone platform was suspended by five short stone bridges connecting it to the walls. They could not have borne the weight, but they did. Each bridge led into a corresponding tunnel. Approximately thirty feet above, another, semicircular, stone platform created a sort of balcony affixed to the side of the shaft directly opposite to us. Everything was lit with a red glow from far below. The air was terribly hot, and reeked of sulfur.
On that balcony stood a strange sculpture - a spire composed of five thin columns twisting impossibly around each other, but never actually touching. It pulsed with the same light that I had previously seen above the volcano. I found it difficult to look at, but at the same time, nearly impossible to look away.
When I did, I saw a man standing near the lip of the balcony. He was dressed in a robe and a metallic face mask. He spoke then, and his words had the cold tinge of madness.
"Pathetic fools! You are too late! All the world's chi flows through this place, and soon, thanks to the artifacts you so helpfully retrieved, I shall be able to attune to all the feng shui in this juncture!"
Several of our party had out their weapons, and they were firing on the man above, but to no effect. It seemed almost as if each bullet veered away from him. A pale light began to grow about his hands as he raised them above his head.
"And now, I shall be rid of your interference once and for all!"
The light flared, then disappeared. Above his head, it seemed as if space itself was being distorted, pulled inward toward a single point. He gestured, and it ripped through the air toward us, the world contracting before it, then expanding again in its wake.
It struck the bridge upon which some of us still stood. The stone seemed to shrink, then it exploded violently. I was hurled backward into the tunnel, and everything went dark.
I was unconscious for only a minute or two. When I recovered my senses, it seemed that I had been lucky, for I had no severe injuries. Four others had been thrown backward with me. Zheng Yi Quan and Athena were unconscious still, and he had sustained a nasty gash upon his forehead. Tom Donovan was awake, but clutching his leg in agony. It seemed likely to me that it was broken. John Fenris stood, leaning heavily against the tunnel's wall, I might have thought him uninjured had I not been close enough to hear the ragged gasps of his breath, suggesting that some of his ribs were broken, and they might have punctured a lung.
Inside, our companions were beset by a veritable army of cultists. The masked man overhead was hurling sweeping arcs of light into the fray, striking down friend and foe alike. Even had we been in a condition to provide assistance, we would be unable to, for the bridge had been destroyed.
I crawled over to Donovan, and did what I could to help him splint his leg using the materials at hand. It was not a pretty job, but it would do.
It was at about this point that Miss Kwok stepped out from beneath the balcony, where our companions had sought refuge from the masked man's assaults. She hurled a small dark object at him, but it was swept aside just as the bullets had been. His retaliation hurled her across the platform and nearly over its edge.
Before he could strike again, the object she had thrown proved to be a grenade. He was blasted over the edge of the balcony and crashed to the ground. His mask skittered across the rock and dropped into the depths.
He staggered to his feet. With his mask gone, and the hood of his robe fallen, he was revealed to be an elderly man, his hair grey, and his face seemingly in a permanent scowl. I did not know him, but it seemed my companions did.
"Broome," muttered Donovan, "I shoulda known. He played us all for suckers."
The man called Broome began chanting, in a language I did not recognize, that seemed to me to be no human language. A column of darkness appeared before him, rapidly growing wider. He backed away from it, toward the edge of the platform. As his chant reached a crescendo, there was a sharp crack.
Doctor Snow had moved closer to him while he was distracted, and had lashed her bullwhip about his legs. She pulled upon the whip, and he toppled over the edge, still chanting as he fell.
The column of darkness collapsed in upon itself. At its center stood a thing, three times the height of a man. In form, it vaguely resembled a man. Instead of arms it had long tentacles, each tipped with a sharp spine. Its head was elongated, and separated at the front into more tentacles, similar but shorter. The head was otherwise featureless, save for the eyes.
Dear God, the eyes. Of all the things that awaken me in the night, screaming in horror, those eyes are the most terrible. They were unlike the eyes of any natural thing I have ever seen, smooth and featureless, of a color I am wholly unable to name. They seemed fixed straight upon me, and all I saw in them was utter hatred. I wanted to scream, to run, to leap into the volcano to get away, but I could do nothing but meet their gaze.
John Fenris stepped in front of me, occluding those terrible eyes. He bore Athena in his arms. She was stirring, but still unconscious. He said to us, "We need to find some other way around. Help Zheng."
Zheng Yi Quan was awake, but seemed dazed, probably severely concussed. With my assistance, he could walk. Donovan could manage on his own, leaning against the walls to take the weight off his leg.
What good we could do against that horror, I did not know, but I went anyway. The side tunnel circled around the shaft. It must have been rising steadily, but I did not notice this at the time.
It opened out onto the balcony. Donovan collapsed to the ground in agony, and I let Zheng slump to the ground. Before us stood the strange spire. It was no longer pulsing with light, but glowing steadily. At the base, each of the five strands grew from an object, perhaps the artifacts Broome had referred to. The light seemed to flow from each object, up the twisting strands, and into a single column, stretching out into the heavens above.
The strands were widely separated at the bottom, leaving a space in the center big enough for a man to stand. It seemed to be calling to me, whispering in my mind, telling me to enter, to become one with it. It took every ounce of will I had to remain where I was.
John Fenris was standing next to me, equally transfixed, Athena still in his arms.
Our reverie was broken by an explosion from below. It occurred to me that all this time, we had heard gunfire and yelling from our companions below, but it had not seemed important until then.
We looked over the edge. They were not faring well against that horror. Several had fallen, whether dead or merely injured, I cannot say. Gunfire seemed not to hurt it in the slightest, and even the grenade that had just exploded did little but stagger it.
John Fenris gazed down at the scene below, then at the spire, then back. It seemed to me I saw tears in his eyes. He kissed Athena upon the forehead, and whispered to her, "Tell him I'm sorry... I just can't do it."
He then set her gently down upon the floor, and hurled himself over the edge of the balcony. She managed to pull herself to the edge in time to see.
He had leapt directly at the horror, clutching its torso with his great arms. The force of his leap had pushed it backwards, right to the edge of the platform. There, they struggled for a moment, it trying to free itself, he trying to force it further backwards.
The moment ended, and they toppled over the edge, into the fire far below.
Everything was still for a moment, the silence broken only by Athena's cries of loss. Then, the light from behind me seemed to change, and we turned and beheld Zheng Yi Quan standing in the middle of the spire. The light had changed subtly in character, become somehow more pleasant to look at. It was also no longer flowing up into the sky, but down, out of the sky, and into the man. He cried out in his own tongue, then fell to his knees.
It was over. The light faded away. The spire seemed to shatter into an infinite number of fragments and disappear.
The mountain shook violently. The light from below grew brighter and more irregular. From below, someone shouted "Run!"
Athena was on her feet, unsteady but mobile. Zheng seemed dazed, but not in the same way as he had before. The signs of a concussion had disappeared, but he seemed somehow overwhelmed.
I tried to help Donovan to his feet, but he collapsed as soon as he put weight on his leg. It seemed we would have no choice but to leave him. Of the three of us, only Zheng might have been strong enough to carry him, and he did not seem to understand anything I said.
Athena stood over Donovan for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then she bent down and picked him up, seemingly as easily as a grown man lifts an infant.
I took Zheng's hand to guide him, and we ran. The mountain's quaking grew more and more violent, but somehow we all kept our footing, reaching the ledge outside without incident. Once outside, we did not even attempt the path, but simply scrambled down the mountain, often more falling than climbing. I do not understand how we made it down without further injury. I kept looking back, but I saw no one behind us.
By the time we reached our camp, the mountain was spitting burning rock into the air. To my great relief, the men and dogs we had left behind were still there and still alive. They would have already fled, but they had seen our descent. We scrambled on to two of the sleds, and were off. The dogs from the other sleds had been loosed from their harnesses, and they followed all around us, eager to be away from the mountain.
As we rode, I watched behind us, hoping to see some sign, but all I saw was the top of the volcano exploding in sudden fury, and molten rock pouring down its sides.
When we finally returned to our base camp, we found only further horror. The camp had been utterly destroyed. The huts were smashed flat, as if by a great wind. Of the people, the only sign of them we could find were a great many spatters of blood, now frozen into crystals of red ice.
The ships remained in the harbor, but they were silent, with no sign of life aboard. We left one man to tend the dogs, and left Zheng and Donovan with him as well. The rest of us climbed into a boat, and made our way to the Nautilus.
As we climbed aboard in the darkness, we were ambushed by a number of men. I cried out as they set upon us, and almost instantly they backed away. A small lamp was lit, and it revealed the face of Doctor Haynes.
Not long after our departure from the camp, he had regained consciousness. Concerned about the defensibility of the camp, and about the possible need for a rapid departure, he had prevailed upon the men to begin returning to the ships.
And it was well that he had. Not long after the day's light faded, a swarm of things had swept into camp from the west, destroying everything, and slaughtering every man still on land, which was nearly half of them. None on the ship had been able to see the attackers. Since then, they had been hiding on the Nautilus, preparing to depart once we returned, or once it seemed evident that we would not.
Those we had left ashore were retrieved without incident, and we sailed at first light. We had barely enough men to crew one ship, so the Seagull was left behind. We still had no means of navigation and no radio, but we sailed north until we encountered another vessel, and they guided us into harbor in New Zealand.
During that last voyage, I spent much of my time with my journals, preparing the first draft of the account you are reading now. The others who returned from Mount Erebus seemed to me to have been deeply changed by it. I have made attempts to keep track of their movements in the time since, in the vain hope of learning more about what was truly going on.
During our entire return voyage, Zheng Yi Quan spoke to no one. He spent his days seated at the bow of the ship, apparently lost in thought. From New Zealand, he took passage to his native China, where I have few contacts, and so lost track of him.
Tom Donovan was almost as uncommunicative during the voyage. He spoke on occasion with Athena, but little with anybody else. Upon our arrival in New Zealand, he received treatment on his leg, but the delay in having it set means that he will forever walk with a limp. After being confined to a bed for a week, he departed the next day. I do not know where he went, but it is only recently, more than a year later, that he has returned to New York. My attempt to make contact with him upon his return resulted in his threatening my representative with greivous bodily harm.
Unlike the others, Athena seemed more sociable on the return trip than she had been before. She would actively seek out the company of others, and engage them in conversation, though she had little to say about the events of our trip, and there was always a feeling that she was studying you, rather than simply talking. She remained in New Zealand for a week, and took passage on a ship to Brazil, but I can find no evidence that she ever disembarked from that ship.
Fortunately, by the time I wrote it, we knew who had won. If I'd had to write it keeping all the factions viable, it would've sucked. (There's still at least four available.) I honestly don't know how I would've worked some of them in. The faction who were leading going into Gencon were doable, but I'm just as glad I didn't have to. The Jammers would've been really bloody hard.
This was easier for me to write than the other pulp stories would've been. The rest of them were in sub-generes I didn't have a good feel for (For the John Fenris/Golden Gunman story I was supposed to write, I had to download and read a bunch of Doc Savage novels), while this one was something I'd been reading for a couple of decades.
We were waiting for the rest of the story to be finished before releasing the lot, so it never actually got posted.
It is with great reluctance that I write this report, but the things I saw and experienced on that ill-fated expedition still haunt me, and I share them in the hope that some person may make sense of the knowledge contained herein, and take whatever actions should be necessary.
Perhaps I also seek expiation for the deaths of so many good men. No court would hold me responsible, yet still I blame myself.
Some years before, Mister John Fenris had retained my services in planning and heading an Antarctic expedition, to set up some massive radio towers on the continent. He explained his purpose as an experiment in radio-assisted navigation, though I must assume that little came of it.
When he contacted me again to arrange another expedition, this one to Ross Island, I was only too happy to oblige. Our prior dealings and his sterling reputation reassured me when his requirements seemed irrational.
Perhaps those who read this will consider me a fool to place such trust in a man's reputation, given the hazards involved. But you are no doubt as familiar with his deeds as I was at the time, and I am certain most of you would have done the same. Since my return, I have made extensive inquiries into his past, and have found myself with many more questions than I started with, and no more answers. Most strange is the complete lack of any information as to his activities before he walked out of the Egyptian desert some twenty years past.
His requirements seemed irrational indeed. I was to lay in supplies, hire two ships and their crews, as well as men and equipment as would be required for several weeks in the Antarctic. All were to remain in Boston, likely for many months, at vast expense. We were to be prepared to depart on two days' notice.
Most worryingly, I was instructed to procure armaments.
I made arrangements promptly. The Nautilus and the Seagull were duly contracted, along with their crews, and equipment and such provisions as would not spoil were laid in, though I did not expect to depart for a good eight months, for Mister Fenris was currently in Egypt, or perhaps Africa, and winter would soon be setting in in the Southern Hemisphere, and I thought him too wise to attempt the journey before summer.
When I received a telegram perhaps three months later, instructing me to make everything ready, I should have refused. It was madness, but I am a man of my word.
I met Mister Fenris and his associates at the harbor two days later. They were a most curious lot, most of whom I would have judged unsuitable for an expedition into the Antarctic wastes, but it was becoming apparent that common sense would be in short supply.
They were:
A Chinaman by the name of Zheng Yi Quan. Strangely, many of the others deferred to him, and even Mister Fenris treated him as an equal.
Doctor Amanda Snow, a renowned archaeologist despite her sex.
Mister David Maxwell I knew by reputation. I assumed he was funding the expedition in part or in whole, but that left its purpose no less obscure.
Doctor John Haynes, who claimed to be a historian, though his bearing and manner seemed decidedly out of place with his claimed profession.
A young lady who gave her name only as 'Athena'. Throughout the journey, she seemed mostly to avoid the others, save for Mister Fenris. One might speculate as to her purpose, but such speculations do not befit a gentleman.
Captain Jake Molloy, a pilot. His aeroplane was being loaded onto the Seagull even as we spoke. He was the only one whose presence I welcomed, for I had been unable to engage the services of any pilots on my own.
Another Chinese, this one a woman, whose name was Tricia Kwok.
A private investigator by the name of Thomas Donovan. Of all of them, he seemed the least comfortable with the idea of the expedition.
An Englishman who claimed the unlikely name of 'Silver Jet'.
There was another, a slim man of one of the Western Asiatic races. He said little, and we were not introduced.
They were all somber, even grim. Most of them appeared to be carrying firearms.
I made one last attempt to regain control of the expedition when I demanded that the women be left behind. The rigors of the Antarctic are too much for the weaker sex, and I did not feel that I could ensure their safety from the crew. My demands fell on deaf ears. I considered resigning then and there, but without my experience, I feared a repeat of the infamous Starkweather-Moore Expedition, in which all hands were lost.
The voyage passed without serious incident until we had rounded the Cape of Magellan. There were the expected injuries and illnesses, but nothing serious. My concerns for the safety of the women proved unfounded, as they all proved quite able to fend off unwelcome advances, though the generally violent nature of their refusals left me with even greater doubts as to the purpose of the expedition.
As the weather grew colder, a sense of nervousness grew among the men, and for good reason. Most of them had spent time in these waters, and knew them to be hazardous even in high summer, while we would be reaching the continent in the dead of winter. I believe they would have refused to continue had it not been for the presence of Mister Fenris, giving the entire thing something of the air of the fantastical adventures to be found in those dreadful dime novels.
As Antarctica grew closer, conditions became worse. The days rapidly grew shorter. We were beset by storms, and frequently had to change course to avoid floating ice. Tempers were fraying among both the men and Mister Fenris' companions.
On June 16th, we were enveloped in by far the worst storm to date. Visibility dropped to nearly zero, and brutal gusts of icy wind made it impossible for any man to remain on deck for more than a few minutes. It was feared that the two ships would collide, and it became necessary for Mister Fenris to devise and hastily assemble a most powerful lamp, far brighter than any I have seen before or since. With this lamp mounted upon the stern of the Seagull, it was possible for the Nautilus to follow at a safe distance, without the ships losing track of each other in the dark and storm.
When the storm abated somewhat the next day, he crossed to the Nautilus by means of the ship's boat, in order to construct another such lamp for them. However, the storm redoubled in ferocity soon afterward, and he was unable to return.
Early in the morning of the 18th, I was awakened from a fitful sleep by shouting and gunfire. Seizing my own weapon, I rushed toward the source of the disturbance, which proved to be the bridge. On my way there, I found myself stepping over the bodies of several men I knew, including Jack Paris, the captain of the Seagull.
Near to the door to the bridge, there lay the corpses of five men, all dead of gunshot wounds. Each was dressed in robes and featureless metal masks.
Inside the bridge was a scene of total chaos. There were a dozen more of the masked men, all armed with knives. Opposed to them were only two - Mister Donovan, and Miss Athena. She was unarmed, and dressed in a nightgown I can only describe as indecent. He was clothed and armed, but even as I entered, he loosed his last bullet. Perhaps due to his unsteady footing in the rough seas, it struck nothing. He dropped his pistol and his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and attempted to move between the woman and their assailants.
In the pause that followed his shot, it occurred to me that I had a weapon of my own. Much to my shame, even as I raised it, the ship lurched violently, and I lost both my footing and my firearm.
From my position on the floor, I saw only portions of the battle that followed. It was as brief and one-sided as I had feared, but the outcome was not what I had expected.
He charged into the crowd of men; she stepped lightly behind. He fought like a boxer, delivering punishing blows to their heads and torsos, while ducking and weaving as best he could, shrugging off the blows and cuts he could not avoid. She fought like nothing I have seen before, always calmly stepping aside, as if she knew where a man would strike even before he himself did. I only saw her strike back twice. Once, she caught hold a man's wrist, and twisted it until he first dropped his knife, then the bones in his arm snapped, and finally she bent his entire arm up behind his back, dislocating it at the shoulder. The other time, she simply grabbed a man's head in both her hands, and twisted it until his neck snapped.
Afterward, Donovan offered her his coat to cover herself, but she declined. He shrugged, and collapsed in the nearest chair. He was bruised and bloody, but seemed to have no immediately life-threatening injuries. She was uninjured. He pulled a flask from his hip pocket and took a long swig. When he offered that to Athena, she accepted graciously.
As others who had been further away from events arrived, we took stock of our situation. The diagnosis was grim. The ship's radios and much of its navigational equipment had been destroyed. The dead included not only Captain Paris, but also his first mate and the ship's navigator - indeed, every man qualified to pilot the ship was dead.
The assailants proved, upon their unmasking, to be members of the ship's crew. Those who still lived refused to explain themselves. Indeed, not one of them said another word for the rest of the hellish journey. As we dealt with them, I had the presence of mind to observe our passengers. It seemed to me that they found the mutineers' costumes not in the least bit surprising or unusual, as if they had expected opposition from men so garbed.
Once we had made some pretense at restoring order and at securing the vessel, Donovan told his tale. While he spoke, the woman, seemingly unconcerned by her near nakedness, attended to his injuries with the precision of a skilled doctor. Afterward, she claimed that she had nothing to add to his tale.
Donovan told us that he had been unable to sleep, and had left his cabin to stretch his legs. His wanderings took him to the bridge, where he interrupted the mutineers in their acts of sabotage. Other than those mutineers diverted from their mission of murder, Athena and myself were the only ones who were near enough to hear who had not yet been murdered, presumably due to our inability to pilot or navigate the ship.
After he finished his story, a long silence followed, in which I considered the gravity of our plight. Finally, our ruminations were interrupted when Mister Molloy asked, "What of the Nautilus?"
Several of us immediately removed ourselves to the stern, where we held the vain hope of learning something of the fate of our sister vessel by observation. Had there been a similar uprising? Were all aboard dead? Had they a navigator?
We huddled around the great lamp, and stared out into the darkness. After several minutes, Mister Fenris' unnamed Asiatic companion spoke, stating that he had seen the ship. At his direction several of us thought they saw her outline in the darkness. I myself could still see nothing.
After some more minutes, he withdrew a handgun from beneath his coat. It was most curious in appearance. It was of no model familiar to me, and since my return, I have consulted many gunsmiths, and none has been able to show me a weapon of similar design. They also assure me that a weapon composed of solid gold, as this one appeared to be, would be utterly impractical, unable to withstand the stresses involved in firing even a single bullet.
He raised this weapon into the air and fired it twice. I did not see how it could be heard through the storm, but it would seem that it was, for a great lamp, twin to our own, blazed to life on the bow of the Nautilus. The man with the golden gun smiled slightly, and said "That will be Fenris."
After a few moments, the lamp began to blink on and off, signaling in the manner of the Morse code. We were instructed to lower a line into the sea. Trusting in our mysterious leader, we did as instructed, then blinked our own lamp once to acknowledge.
A shadow passed in front of the lamp, as a man dived from the bow of the Nautilus into the churning, frigid waters. Perhaps fifteen minutes later, our line went taut, and we scrambled to assist John Fenris over the rail.
No other man could have survived that crossing, but even a man such as he has limits, and we hastened to get him inside, warm, and dry. As we did, he told us of the Nautilus' predicament.
There had been a similar betrayal, though by fewer men, only a half-dozen. Perhaps because of their fewer numbers, they completed their sabotage first, then embarked on their campaign of murder. One of them had attempted to assassinate John Fenris, and so their plans had been discovered and foiled, though there were several dead. The Nautilus could be piloted, but they had no means of navigation.
After we apprised Mister Fenris of our own situation, he proceeded to the bridge, where he perused those charts that still remained. After several minutes of contemplation, he sprang into action, taking the helm from the overwhelmed seaman who had been instructed to keep our course as steady as possible.
The Nautilus was instructed, by means of signaling with the great lamp, to follow closely in our wake. For the next five days, John Fenris stood at the helm of the Seagull. He did not sleep, and took only the briefest of breaks in order to refresh himself. The windows of the bridge were broken out, so that he might hear the changes in the wind made by the presence of nearby ice, and so that he might see what little there was to be seen, without it being obscured by ice upon the glass. He was like a statue at the helm, barely moving as he kept us to a course charted out only within his own mind.
On the fifth day, the Nautilus was signaled to cut its engines and drop anchor. After a pause to allow some distance between the two vessels, we did the same. At long last, the Iron Man slept. We were instructed to awaken him when the storm finally faded, which he estimated would be in another six hours.
When it did, we were cheered by our first sight of sunlight in many days. Of course, in winter, the Sun never rises above the horizon in those climes, but we were still far enough north that there is a dim glow, such as one gets at dawn or dusk.
Though it does not last particularly long, it allowed us to safely move the ships closer to the shores of Ross Island. We were located at the eastern tip of the island. To the east and south stretched the bleak expanse of the Ross Ice Shelf. To the west, the peak of Mount Terror loomed above us, concealing that of Mount Erebus beyond.
We made haste to unload equipment and to begin to set up an encampment. The great lamps devised by John Fenris made it possible to continue our labors even after the natural light had departed. Without them, our task would have been impossible. With them, it was merely difficult and dangerous. Three men fell into the water, and one broke his leg when he lost his balance on the ice.
When we attempted to ferry the sled dogs from their kennels on the Nautilus to their shelters upon the land, we encountered an unforeseen difficulty. Normally, the animals are only too willing to leave their cramped quarters after a lengthy voyage, and the problem is that of controlling them. This time, they huddled in the back, and refused to be moved. They were not aggressive or ill-tempered - they seemed more afraid than anything else.
At last, Mister Fenris was forced to return to the ship to address the problem. In his presence, the animals were docile and obedient. Their attitude toward him resembled nothing more than that of a challenger that has just been roundly beaten in its attempt to overcome the alpha dog. For the rest of the expedition, the animals would be skittish and difficult, save for when John Fenris was nearby.
With this last obstacle cleared away, we could at last rest from our labors. The next day, we would make Captain Molloy's aeroplane ready, and he would take advantage of the day's brief light to scout out the lay of the land.
After the day's exertions, we should have slept soundly, but I did not, nor did any man I thought to ask. When I did sleep, I was troubled by my dreams. They were not nightmares - I have by now become something of an expert on the subject of nightmares. They were merely ordinary dreams, but there seemed to be a pervasive feeling of dread overlaid upon them.
The next day, Captain Molloy performed his pre-flight tests and awaited the day's brief light. He was to observe the terrain around Mount Erebus as best he could in the time available and then return. We had no radios with which to communicate with him as he explored, but he seemed unconcerned, and confident in his ability to return safely.
As we waited, I noticed a certain amount of commotion in the camp. The men seemed to be slowly gathering at its eastern edge. Curious, I set off to investigate. Part-way there, I was intercepted by a messenger, sent to fetch me and those others who were assisting with the launch of the aeroplane. At long last, John Fenris would be explaining the reasons for this ill-conceived expedition.
As the last stragglers reached the assembly, we heard the whine of the aeroplane's motor, as Captain Molloy took off to begin his investigation. He rapidly vanished from sight, and the noise soon trailed away as well.
John Fenris stood facing us all, barely moving, his back to the sea. With the pale light behind him, he looked more a metal statue than a living man. At long last, he spoke. He never raised his voice, but spoke quietly and firmly. His words carried easily in the still, cold air.
His tale was fantastic, worthy of the most absurd of the pulp magazines. Still, perhaps due to the setting and to the strangeness we had already experienced, I do not believe a single one of the men doubted him for a second. Even I, suspicious as I was by then, found it difficult to do so.
We were told of a sinister organization known as the Cult of the Unnameable, worshippers of a strange god of madness. He had been investigating the cult's activities for some time, and had learned of their terrible plans. In only two days time, they were to perform a mystical ritual at Mount Erebus. He and his companions were determined to stop this ritual. We had not been informed of our purpose earlier because he had feared that we had been infiltrated - and indeed, the men who had betrayed us during our voyage had worn the robes and masks of these cultists, and he did not wish for the Cult to know how much he knew.
He warned us that our task would be dangerous, far more so than what we had already faced, and that he would think no less of any man who wished to remain behind with the ships.
Nearly every man there volunteered their aid without a second thought. Even the man whose leg was broken wished to help in any way he could.
As we prepared the dog sleds for the final portion of our journey, we awaited Captain Molloy's return. The light faded, and so we set up lights to guide him in. But it was to no avail. His plane did not return.
We set a watch and went to our beds uneasily. Once again, my dreams were strange and disturbed, and I slept poorly. During one period of half-wakefulness, I thought that I heard shouting from outside. Mindful of the events on the ship, I dressed as rapidly I could manage.
Our improvised airstrip was still lit, and by that light, I saw two figures moving slowly toward the camp, carrying some weighty object between them. Another man was rapidly approaching them from the direction of the camp. In the darkness, it seemed unlikely that they saw him.
However, I was not the only observer of this scene. From one of the nearby huts, I heard several gunshots ring out. The lone figure dropped suddenly to the ground as if hit, and soon I heard gunfire from his direction. The approaching men dropped like stones, and did not move.
By this point, there was considerable activity, at times verging on panic, within the camp. I heard the voice of John Fenris attempting to regain order. I found myself able to do naught but watch, wondering if what I was seeing was nothing more than a dream.
In the confusion, the first gunman might have escaped capture, but for what happened next. The man he had shot pulled himself to his feet, and began to limp toward the other fallen men. He had not gone very far when another shot rang out. I saw a spark as it impacted whatever object the two men had been carrying. A moment later, a second shot must have also struck it, for it exploded in a ball of flames, bowling over the limping man, and seemingly setting the snow and ice alight.
At last, I shook off my trance, and rushed toward him. Behind me, I heard yells and a struggle, as other men apprehended the gunman. As I approached, I realized that the fallen man was also afire, but even as I reached him, he lifted himself upon one arm, and rolled over several times, extinguishing the flames.
In the dying light of the nearby fire, I recognized the face of Doctor John Haynes. I did what little I could to aid him under the circumstances, and was soon joined by several other men. We carried him inside, where he could be treated properly. The other two were beyond any man's help.
His injuries were not as severe as they might have been - his heavy clothing had protected him from the worst of the flames. In addition to his burns, and cuts from flying shrapnel, he had been shot in the leg, and it seemed likely that several of his ribs were cracked. He was unconscious due to shock, but it was the opinion of our doctor that he would recover.
The events of that night were not hard to deduce. Once again, we had been betrayed from within - the gunman, another man found lying unconscious among the huts, and the two who were dead all wore the masks of the cultists. Our improvised armory had been broken into, and four pistols and a quantity of explosives had been stolen. Two tanks of fuel were missing from the airstrip. One tank was discovered among the sleds, prepared for detonation with approximately half of the missing explosives.
We concluded that the cultists had meant to set the other tank amidst the huts of the camp, then detonate both. One of the cultists had attempted to ambush Doctor Haynes as he patrolled the camp, and had been overcome, allowing the alarm to be sounded.
At this point, it was only an hour or two before the time we had planned to set out, and we were all reluctant to return to our beds, so it was decided to begin at once.
The journey was slow, even though it is not even twenty miles from our camp to the base of Mount Erebus. But the terrain is difficult at the best of times, and the cold and darkness only made it more so.
John Fenris set out ahead of the sleds on foot, bearing a light and flares with which to observe the terrain and mark any hazards. His pace would have done credit to many an athlete in far more favorable conditions. The sleds followed in single file, the dogs eagerly following in his footsteps.
The day's light came as we passed Mount Terror, revealing Mount Erebus to us for the first time. To me, it seemed somehow more sinister than it had on my previous journeys.
Above the mountain, an ugly mass of clouds was gathering, another storm in the making. Flickers of strange light reached from the peak to the clouds above. They did not have the look of lightning. They continued throughout our journey, increasing in both intensity and frequency as time went on.
The ground had begun to rise steadily, and a light snow was falling when we saw John Fenris' light being waved steadily, signaling for us to halt. Once we halted and approached his position, we saw why.
He had found Captain Molloy's aeroplane. It had carved a long furrow across the landscape, shedding pieces of itself over a distance of perhaps a quarter-mile. What had caused the crash was impossible to determine.
Of the pilot, there was no sign. We paused briefly to search the area, as well as to let the dogs rest, but we found nothing at all.
Reluctantly, we resumed our journey. None of us wanted to leave him there, but he was undoubtedly dead, and we had little time.
We covered several more miles before the steadily rising terrain became too steep for the sleds. Here we made camp, taking a few hours to sleep and eat before continuing on foot. We would leave two men to care for the dogs and await our return.
Our meal was consumed in silence, and it seemed to me that none of us truly wished to sleep, necessary though it might be. I know I did not.
I do not remember my dreams from that night, but I woke unrefreshed, with a growing sense of dread hanging over me. Time had begun to lose its meaning in the incessant darkness, but I made it to be early in the morning of June the 26th.
Whatever the date, that last sleep was better than I have had since. The things I saw that day still haunt my nightmares. Some nights, the faces of the dead, of the men who trusted me, surround me, saying nothing, simply watching me accusingly. And those are the better nights....
After we awoke, we ate the last meal of condemned men, and we began our climb. There were twenty of us - John Fenris and his eight remaining companions, myself, and ten of the men I had recruited in better days, for an expedition that bore no relation to what we ultimately endured.
Erebus is far from the most difficult of mountains, but it is still more than two miles in height, and I feared that we would find ourselves ascending by means of ropes and pitons before too long.
Here, we were aided by the remarkable abilities of John Fenris and several of his companions. They ranged around us widely, searching the terrain for the easiest route of ascent, often climbing up surfaces that seemed impossible.
After several hours of this, Doctor Snow called us to her location. She had uncovered a path that ascended the mountain. It was cleverly concealed - until you were actually upon it, it was nearly invisible. Its method of construction baffled me - had I been asked, I would have judged it a natural formation by its appearance, yet it could hardly be so.
Our feet upon this path, we proceeded at a much quicker pace, even as the mountain's sides grew steeper. The day's light came and went unnoticed, concealed by the gathering clouds.
At long last, the path terminated at a wide ledge, and a tunnel leading into the mountain's heart. Warm, sulfurous air flowed out of the opening, leaving the ledge clear of ice. It was difficult to tell how far we had ascended, but the sickly flickers of light emanating from the peak still seemed far above us.
Mister Fenris announced that he wished to leave four of us behind, to secure our route of escape and to reduce the risk of being assaulted from the rear.
I was entrusted with this task, and I will readily admit I was happy of it - I found myself with a great reluctance to enter that tunnel.
I selected the three others who were to remain with me: Sven Harstrom, an engineer, Samuel Ramsay, a geologist, and Thomas Arliss, a mechanic and one of our animal handlers.
I knew all three from previous expeditions, and knew them to be good men in a difficult situation. I considered them friends, and perhaps I had hoped to save them from the doom I was certain was waiting within the mountain.
We concealed ourself as best we could, and waited, hoping nothing would happen. The mountain's stone was warm enough that we were not overly concerned with the cold, but Samuel reassured me that, while Mount Erebus was an active volcano, it appeared to be relatively quiescent at the moment, and we had little to fear, at least on that front.
Some time passed - I cannot say how long, as my watch had failed at some point during that day's ascent. Nothing moved save the wind and the ominous clouds above us.
Inevitably, I felt the need to relieve myself. Given the conditions, it made the most sense for me to do so within the tunnel, out of the wind. Perhaps twenty feet within, there was a small alcove on the left that was suitable.
As I was finishing, I heard gunfire outside. I could see what was out there only by the flashes of light from above. Framed in the tunnel mouth was what can only be described as a mass of tendrils. They were as thick as a man's arm where they emerged from the writhing knot that passed for the thing's body, and they seemed to divide again and again until they were too small to see. It was bluish grey in color, and would have been difficult to see against the outside sky save for its unnatural, iridescent sheen.
My own gun fell from nerveless fingers, and I ran. I did not want to go deeper into the mountain, but there was nowhere else for me to go. As I fled, I heard my friends screaming. Mercifully, they did not scream for long.
The tunnel twisted and turned, but it led always upward. As it climbed, it grew steadily warmer. There was an occasional side passage or chamber, but all were dead ends. I had a light, so I was not stumbling in the dark, but I feared the attention it might draw to me.
I ran until I came to what appeared to be a true fork in the tunnel. I had no choice but to rest - my legs would barely carry me another step. It was difficult to draw breath in the sulfurous air.
I turned off my light while I rested. I could hear nothing from behind me, but that meant little - we had not heard the thing approach us. From the tunnel to my left, I heard the sound of many footsteps, and furtive flashes of light. I was still too exhausted to run.
To my great relief, those approaching proved to be the rest of our expedition. They looked tired and bedraggled. Those that were still there did not seem to be badly hurt, but there were only fifteen left. I cannot recall seeing Mister Maxwell among John Fenris' companions, nor Gunnar Halverson from my own, but I must have overlooked one of them.
When I described the thing I had seen, it was clear from their expressions that they had also encountered such horrors.
I went with them when they continued. A man in a long black coat, hat and mask set out several minutes before the rest of us, silently scouting the way. He must have been one of Fenris' companions, but I am not sure which one.
Due to the new threat of an attack from behind, John Fenris brought up the rear. With him walked Athena, and they occasionally conversed in low tones. I was close enough to overhear, but they spoke in a language I could not recognize. Mister Donovan slowly drifted backwards through the group without seeming to do so purposefully; perhaps he was also curious about what they discussed.
There were no side chambers or other diversions now; the tunnel led ever upward, and the air grew ever warmer and more foul.
The masked man stepped out of the shadows, signaling for us to stop. He worked through the group to Fenris, and brought Zheng Yi Quan with him. Clearly, he had discovered something of import. The three of them soon agreed upon a course of action.
The masked man again taking the lead, we moved forward with considerable haste. We rounded a bend, and the tunnel ahead opened out into a vast cavern, lit from below by an ugly red glow. There was a side passage to the left of the cavern mouth, but we were uninterested in that, and charged straight into the cavern's maw.
The cavern was a geological impossibility. In the central shaft of Mount Erebus, a massive stone platform was suspended by five short stone bridges connecting it to the walls. They could not have borne the weight, but they did. Each bridge led into a corresponding tunnel. Approximately thirty feet above, another, semicircular, stone platform created a sort of balcony affixed to the side of the shaft directly opposite to us. Everything was lit with a red glow from far below. The air was terribly hot, and reeked of sulfur.
On that balcony stood a strange sculpture - a spire composed of five thin columns twisting impossibly around each other, but never actually touching. It pulsed with the same light that I had previously seen above the volcano. I found it difficult to look at, but at the same time, nearly impossible to look away.
When I did, I saw a man standing near the lip of the balcony. He was dressed in a robe and a metallic face mask. He spoke then, and his words had the cold tinge of madness.
"Pathetic fools! You are too late! All the world's chi flows through this place, and soon, thanks to the artifacts you so helpfully retrieved, I shall be able to attune to all the feng shui in this juncture!"
Several of our party had out their weapons, and they were firing on the man above, but to no effect. It seemed almost as if each bullet veered away from him. A pale light began to grow about his hands as he raised them above his head.
"And now, I shall be rid of your interference once and for all!"
The light flared, then disappeared. Above his head, it seemed as if space itself was being distorted, pulled inward toward a single point. He gestured, and it ripped through the air toward us, the world contracting before it, then expanding again in its wake.
It struck the bridge upon which some of us still stood. The stone seemed to shrink, then it exploded violently. I was hurled backward into the tunnel, and everything went dark.
I was unconscious for only a minute or two. When I recovered my senses, it seemed that I had been lucky, for I had no severe injuries. Four others had been thrown backward with me. Zheng Yi Quan and Athena were unconscious still, and he had sustained a nasty gash upon his forehead. Tom Donovan was awake, but clutching his leg in agony. It seemed likely to me that it was broken. John Fenris stood, leaning heavily against the tunnel's wall, I might have thought him uninjured had I not been close enough to hear the ragged gasps of his breath, suggesting that some of his ribs were broken, and they might have punctured a lung.
Inside, our companions were beset by a veritable army of cultists. The masked man overhead was hurling sweeping arcs of light into the fray, striking down friend and foe alike. Even had we been in a condition to provide assistance, we would be unable to, for the bridge had been destroyed.
I crawled over to Donovan, and did what I could to help him splint his leg using the materials at hand. It was not a pretty job, but it would do.
It was at about this point that Miss Kwok stepped out from beneath the balcony, where our companions had sought refuge from the masked man's assaults. She hurled a small dark object at him, but it was swept aside just as the bullets had been. His retaliation hurled her across the platform and nearly over its edge.
Before he could strike again, the object she had thrown proved to be a grenade. He was blasted over the edge of the balcony and crashed to the ground. His mask skittered across the rock and dropped into the depths.
He staggered to his feet. With his mask gone, and the hood of his robe fallen, he was revealed to be an elderly man, his hair grey, and his face seemingly in a permanent scowl. I did not know him, but it seemed my companions did.
"Broome," muttered Donovan, "I shoulda known. He played us all for suckers."
The man called Broome began chanting, in a language I did not recognize, that seemed to me to be no human language. A column of darkness appeared before him, rapidly growing wider. He backed away from it, toward the edge of the platform. As his chant reached a crescendo, there was a sharp crack.
Doctor Snow had moved closer to him while he was distracted, and had lashed her bullwhip about his legs. She pulled upon the whip, and he toppled over the edge, still chanting as he fell.
The column of darkness collapsed in upon itself. At its center stood a thing, three times the height of a man. In form, it vaguely resembled a man. Instead of arms it had long tentacles, each tipped with a sharp spine. Its head was elongated, and separated at the front into more tentacles, similar but shorter. The head was otherwise featureless, save for the eyes.
Dear God, the eyes. Of all the things that awaken me in the night, screaming in horror, those eyes are the most terrible. They were unlike the eyes of any natural thing I have ever seen, smooth and featureless, of a color I am wholly unable to name. They seemed fixed straight upon me, and all I saw in them was utter hatred. I wanted to scream, to run, to leap into the volcano to get away, but I could do nothing but meet their gaze.
John Fenris stepped in front of me, occluding those terrible eyes. He bore Athena in his arms. She was stirring, but still unconscious. He said to us, "We need to find some other way around. Help Zheng."
Zheng Yi Quan was awake, but seemed dazed, probably severely concussed. With my assistance, he could walk. Donovan could manage on his own, leaning against the walls to take the weight off his leg.
What good we could do against that horror, I did not know, but I went anyway. The side tunnel circled around the shaft. It must have been rising steadily, but I did not notice this at the time.
It opened out onto the balcony. Donovan collapsed to the ground in agony, and I let Zheng slump to the ground. Before us stood the strange spire. It was no longer pulsing with light, but glowing steadily. At the base, each of the five strands grew from an object, perhaps the artifacts Broome had referred to. The light seemed to flow from each object, up the twisting strands, and into a single column, stretching out into the heavens above.
The strands were widely separated at the bottom, leaving a space in the center big enough for a man to stand. It seemed to be calling to me, whispering in my mind, telling me to enter, to become one with it. It took every ounce of will I had to remain where I was.
John Fenris was standing next to me, equally transfixed, Athena still in his arms.
Our reverie was broken by an explosion from below. It occurred to me that all this time, we had heard gunfire and yelling from our companions below, but it had not seemed important until then.
We looked over the edge. They were not faring well against that horror. Several had fallen, whether dead or merely injured, I cannot say. Gunfire seemed not to hurt it in the slightest, and even the grenade that had just exploded did little but stagger it.
John Fenris gazed down at the scene below, then at the spire, then back. It seemed to me I saw tears in his eyes. He kissed Athena upon the forehead, and whispered to her, "Tell him I'm sorry... I just can't do it."
He then set her gently down upon the floor, and hurled himself over the edge of the balcony. She managed to pull herself to the edge in time to see.
He had leapt directly at the horror, clutching its torso with his great arms. The force of his leap had pushed it backwards, right to the edge of the platform. There, they struggled for a moment, it trying to free itself, he trying to force it further backwards.
The moment ended, and they toppled over the edge, into the fire far below.
Everything was still for a moment, the silence broken only by Athena's cries of loss. Then, the light from behind me seemed to change, and we turned and beheld Zheng Yi Quan standing in the middle of the spire. The light had changed subtly in character, become somehow more pleasant to look at. It was also no longer flowing up into the sky, but down, out of the sky, and into the man. He cried out in his own tongue, then fell to his knees.
It was over. The light faded away. The spire seemed to shatter into an infinite number of fragments and disappear.
The mountain shook violently. The light from below grew brighter and more irregular. From below, someone shouted "Run!"
Athena was on her feet, unsteady but mobile. Zheng seemed dazed, but not in the same way as he had before. The signs of a concussion had disappeared, but he seemed somehow overwhelmed.
I tried to help Donovan to his feet, but he collapsed as soon as he put weight on his leg. It seemed we would have no choice but to leave him. Of the three of us, only Zheng might have been strong enough to carry him, and he did not seem to understand anything I said.
Athena stood over Donovan for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then she bent down and picked him up, seemingly as easily as a grown man lifts an infant.
I took Zheng's hand to guide him, and we ran. The mountain's quaking grew more and more violent, but somehow we all kept our footing, reaching the ledge outside without incident. Once outside, we did not even attempt the path, but simply scrambled down the mountain, often more falling than climbing. I do not understand how we made it down without further injury. I kept looking back, but I saw no one behind us.
By the time we reached our camp, the mountain was spitting burning rock into the air. To my great relief, the men and dogs we had left behind were still there and still alive. They would have already fled, but they had seen our descent. We scrambled on to two of the sleds, and were off. The dogs from the other sleds had been loosed from their harnesses, and they followed all around us, eager to be away from the mountain.
As we rode, I watched behind us, hoping to see some sign, but all I saw was the top of the volcano exploding in sudden fury, and molten rock pouring down its sides.
When we finally returned to our base camp, we found only further horror. The camp had been utterly destroyed. The huts were smashed flat, as if by a great wind. Of the people, the only sign of them we could find were a great many spatters of blood, now frozen into crystals of red ice.
The ships remained in the harbor, but they were silent, with no sign of life aboard. We left one man to tend the dogs, and left Zheng and Donovan with him as well. The rest of us climbed into a boat, and made our way to the Nautilus.
As we climbed aboard in the darkness, we were ambushed by a number of men. I cried out as they set upon us, and almost instantly they backed away. A small lamp was lit, and it revealed the face of Doctor Haynes.
Not long after our departure from the camp, he had regained consciousness. Concerned about the defensibility of the camp, and about the possible need for a rapid departure, he had prevailed upon the men to begin returning to the ships.
And it was well that he had. Not long after the day's light faded, a swarm of things had swept into camp from the west, destroying everything, and slaughtering every man still on land, which was nearly half of them. None on the ship had been able to see the attackers. Since then, they had been hiding on the Nautilus, preparing to depart once we returned, or once it seemed evident that we would not.
Those we had left ashore were retrieved without incident, and we sailed at first light. We had barely enough men to crew one ship, so the Seagull was left behind. We still had no means of navigation and no radio, but we sailed north until we encountered another vessel, and they guided us into harbor in New Zealand.
During that last voyage, I spent much of my time with my journals, preparing the first draft of the account you are reading now. The others who returned from Mount Erebus seemed to me to have been deeply changed by it. I have made attempts to keep track of their movements in the time since, in the vain hope of learning more about what was truly going on.
During our entire return voyage, Zheng Yi Quan spoke to no one. He spent his days seated at the bow of the ship, apparently lost in thought. From New Zealand, he took passage to his native China, where I have few contacts, and so lost track of him.
Tom Donovan was almost as uncommunicative during the voyage. He spoke on occasion with Athena, but little with anybody else. Upon our arrival in New Zealand, he received treatment on his leg, but the delay in having it set means that he will forever walk with a limp. After being confined to a bed for a week, he departed the next day. I do not know where he went, but it is only recently, more than a year later, that he has returned to New York. My attempt to make contact with him upon his return resulted in his threatening my representative with greivous bodily harm.
Unlike the others, Athena seemed more sociable on the return trip than she had been before. She would actively seek out the company of others, and engage them in conversation, though she had little to say about the events of our trip, and there was always a feeling that she was studying you, rather than simply talking. She remained in New Zealand for a week, and took passage on a ship to Brazil, but I can find no evidence that she ever disembarked from that ship.