Necronomicon: The Wanderings of Alhazred Page 11

  The visitor to the nameless city fortunate enough to possess flint and tinder, and able to find wood to burn, should prepare torches from the fat of rats, to light the dry riverbed nearest to the city; for it is close to their ancestral home that the degenerated descendents of the reptilian race scurry and dart about on their four clawed feet, their heads lowered near to the ground smelling out their prey, which consists of rats, snakes, and an abundant kind of white spider not found elsewhere. These spiders are the size of a man’s hand with the fingers outspread; they cling in thick masses to the walls and ceilings of the passage, and dart across the gravel bed seeking their own food in the form of worms and beetles. Difficult to avoid without the illumination of a flame, they run about everywhere, and make the sound of a dry stick cracking when stepped upon; their fangs are not venomous, but their bites are painful due to their largeness.

  A man without a torch who has consumed his dried store of the white fungus-dwelling spiders of second sight will have scant signs to guide him along the riverway, only the slight general descent of the bed, for it both rises and falls, but falls more often than rises, and the faint breath of salt air that enters the channel from its mouth near the sea; the stirring of the air is only perceptible in the final part of the journey along the river. He will find himself mired in darkness, crawling on all his limbs as do the reptilian beings, forever annoyed by the furry bodies and intermittent bites of the spiders, which however serve as a convenient source of food and moisture, for their bodies are fat with water.

  The reptilian beings go naked, and most have lost the ability to speak, either in their own language or in the dialect of ancient Irem. They fear to enter their city, but remain near the bronze doors that open on the passage leading to the river, and worship or adore the doors themselves as gods. A few who are older than the rest are able to converse in the strange accent of Irem, having learned it by observation; for this race resembled the crocodiles of the Nile in being long in years, and among those dwelling in the darkness of A’zani are a small number who remember the tongue of man. Little is to be learned by conversing with these elders, who have suffered the dulling of the mind common to extreme age, but they can speak the name of the river, and will describe with relish how our race was tricked into building Irem above their hidden city.

  Near the bronze gates are arrayed in family groups the wooden caskets of their honored dead. Some few are still to be found in the chambers of the city itself, but most have been moved beyond the gates. The deep dwellers say that it was the custom of this race to preserve the bodies of their dead as do the Egyptians, dress them in finest adornments and clothes, and place them within sepulchers that have lids of glass through which the corpses might be viewed by successive generations of blood relations. When the race in its final decadence fled the city and went to dwell in the dry river channel, they could not bear to part with their ancestors and carried their caskets beyond the doors. Only the bodies of the dead who possessed no living family were left behind.

  Many of these tombs will be found to be broken, their contents stolen for nourishment. The reptilian beings have fallen to the practice of consuming the dried flesh of the dead of other bloodlines, though they will not defile their own direct ancestors in this way. The social life of the race consists in attempts by family groups to despoil the tombs of other families, who guard them with their very lives, for when all the tombs of a family are broken and the corpses stolen, it is the stated belief of the elders that the unfortunate family will inevitably perish. Even though this can be no more than a fable, belief makes it so, and in this way the numbers of this race ever diminish.

  A recent traveler passing along the riverbed happened to witness by torchlight a battle between two rival clans, each a score or more in number. One great family had taken a defensive position before their honored dead, but because of the constant need to hunt for food, their numbers were weakened. The other clan overwhelmed the defenders in a rush of dry scrabbling limbs and snapping jaws, and managed to bear off several of the caskets of their rivals while the battle raged, but before they could despoil their contents, the hunters returned and their fresh strength enabled the defenders to recover their precious desiccated corpses. An observer would think it was a victory of nations, so clamorous were the guttural ululations of the victors, who seemed to lose the power of articulate speech in their excitement. Such is the pathetic existence of this once-magnificent race of builders and scholars.

  In the greater caverns the batlike creatures, forever unseen, may be heard to swoop down from the heights on softly brushing wings and snatch up squealing their prey to carry it beyond the torchlight to the ceilings where it is consumed. The sounds of their chewing are plainly heard, enhanced by the echoing rocks, and so too the sounds of the bones and skulls of their prey striking the gravel and boulders below. They are not large enough to carry up a member of the reptilian race or a human being, but in their attempts their claws leave deep gashes, for they are sharp as daggers and cut through the tough hides of the reptiles as easily as through unprotected skin. When they attack they may be killed, having thin bones and frail wings, but their blood is poisonous and causes sickness, making them useless for food. Enough are killed that they only attack in numbers of two or three at a time, never singly, and their attacks are infrequent.

  The reptilian creatures will also attempt to slay the traveler for nourishment, as there is never sufficient food in the caverns and passageway for all that dwell there; the utterance of the cry Ië! Nyarlathotep! will keep them at bay. All quake in terror at the name in the way a dog will flinch when a man makes a gesture of throwing a stone, even though no stone is in his hand; and so it may be concluded that it was the lord of the Old Ones known as the Chaos That Creeps who drove them from the chambers of their underground city and into the river caverns.

  After a day of progress the reptilian race is left behind, and after many more the breeze of the sea is felt on the cheeks and the scent of salt is detected. It is an easier matter to progress by following this breeze, which leads to a pit in the stones on the desolate shore of the Red Sea. Follow the shore north, and you will come upon a small sea port, where rough passage may be had for a reasonable sum or a few traveler’s tales to the ancient canal cut by the Egyptians at the head of the Red Sea, and from thence journey may be undertaken overland to Memphis.

  here are those knowing nothing of the races that inhabited this world before the creation of man who write that Memphis is the first city, older than all others, even more ancient than Irem of the thousand pillars. A traveler who views its ruins rising up amid its streets and fields would be persuaded of the truth of this assertion in the absence of other knowledge, for so great are the carven stones that it scarcely seems possible that they were cut by the hand of man. In the earliest history of the Black Land, as it was called due to the blackness of its soil, Memphis was the chief city of the people, but this honor in after times was conferred on Thebes, and though its grandeur has diminished, the most primal secrets continue to lie hidden among its catacombs and tombs.

  Before the coming of the Christians to Egypt, the god Ptah was worshipped in this city. His name signifies the craftsman, or engraver on stones, and evidence of his worship is scattered everywhere around the buildings of the place, for no people in the world so loved to cut images and words into stone. He is benign in disposition, yet not to be used with contempt, for his power has lingered in his homeland, and terrible misfortunes fall upon the heads of those who mock the gods. The Egyptians believed the heavens to be supported on a great iron plate beaten into shape by the hammer of this workman, whom they praised with the titles Father of Beginnings and Lord of Truth.

  No other human race takes such care in the handling of its corpses. By their arts they sought to preserve the body of the newly dead for eternity, and by constant effort and study over countless generations they so well succeeded that tombs may be discovered containing the bodies of nobles and honored scrib
es that are many centuries old, yet have faces that when unwrapped appear to be sleeping, so well are they fortified against worms.

  The chief substance used in the process of preservation is mumia, from which the wrapped bodies derive their common name. Idb Betar testifies that it is very like the bitumen of Judea that is taken from the Asphaltites Lake, where it is found accumulating beneath the water. Other ingredients commonly used are a salt called natrum, honey, oil of cedar, and spices such as powdered myrrh, cassia, and frankincense. These preservatives would not prevail in the absence of careful preparation of the corpse, which has all its organs extracted, including the brain, which the embalmers draw from the skull through the nose with iron hooks. The main viscera are placed in jars sacred to the four corners of the world, and set within the tomb near the corpse, which is carefully wrapped in all its parts with strips of linen or silk. The older mummies are always linen-wrapped, but those made under the rule of the Ptolemies are often wound in silk imported from the east.

  In the present era the practice of mummification has almost been abandoned. Old men who saw it thrive in their boyhood have watched it dwindle to only two workshops where it is still actively done, for the sons and daughters of wealthy houses still prefer to preserve their dead in this traditional manner, in spite of the condemnation of the Christians, who put their corpses untreated in the ground to rot. Those without wealth can no longer afford to preserve their dead, but will often place the corpse swathed in its winding sheet in the ancient catacombs where the mummies of countless generations of their ancestors are stacked in niches carved in the stone walls.

  Under Christian rule the reverence for the dead has given way to indifference. Jewish traders hire men to plunder the catacombs and break open the bodies for their mumia, which is sold as a potent medicine in many lands. It is taken from the skulls and stomachs, and sold locally in the market at a low price, for so abundant are the ancient corpses that no end of this resource can be foreseen. The renowned physician El-Magar wrote of its many virtues, particularly of its power to heal wounds, in which it excels all other remedies. It is applied directly to the injured part of the body or powdered and consumed, depending on the disease. Common bitumen does not possess its healing virtues, for certain salts and juices of the corpse over time leech their way into the mumia and fortify it.

  Nor should it be thought that all mumia is equally potent. The older is more powerful, and that taken from the corpse of a great warrior or king has greater virtues both for healing and for other uses than that extracted from an ordinary man. It was for this mumia that the tombs of the pharaohs were plundered by necromancers in past ages. That the tombs contained great wealth of gold and precious gems was only an added inducement, but the mumia of the king was the principle prize to those aware of its many virtues.

  An amusing story may be related here that shall act as a caution to travelers. It is said that once the traffickers in mumia, having exhausted the usual places where it is found, plundered a catacomb that had been used to entomb the bodies of a leper colony many centuries ago. It was traded far and wide, but also sold in the market square to the healers and common citizens of Memphis. Less than a year later it was noticed that many of those who had bought this tainted remedy had contracted the dread disease, and the Jewish merchant responsible for its distribution was torn apart by women enraged at the fate of their husbands and sons at the base of the common well that may be seen in the square to this day. So the poet was moved to write, Avoid physicians as though they were the plague itself, for the plague is less pernicious, and exacts no fee for its services.

  ll the land of Egypt, from the Delta to the Cataracts, is infested with sorcerers and necromancers. This should not be cause for wonder when it is considered that the religion of the ancients of this place was composed of magical arts for intercourse with the gods, and their coercion in the service of men. The gods of Egypt were not merely worshipped and adored but were manipulated, and even created, by the arts of the priests, whose skill in magic has never been equaled by any of our race since their time. Greater even than the magic of the priests was that of the wizards, who dwelt alone and apart in the desert, at some distance from the river and the green places that are the habitations of men, their only servants an apprentice and the familiar spirits bound in obedience to them.

  The tombs of wizards are deep, for it was their constant fear that after death men, and other creatures of the wastes, would meddle with their bones; the art of necromancy is dependent on the use of the bodies of the dead, and on things joined to those bodies, and no corpse is more potent in magic than that of a wizard, for which reason they are highly prized. Great is the power of the mummy of a pharaoh, but greater still is the might of the mummy of a wizard, which was not made as were the mummies of the nobles and commoners of Egypt, but from different substances that preserved not the flesh but the soul and spirit. For this reason they caused their bodies to be placed in the deepest openings of the earth, below the catacombs, below even the mines.

  The nethermost caves are not fit places for eyes that see; their marvels are bizarre and terrifying. Cursed is the ground where dead thoughts quicken anew and become oddly bodied, and evil is the mind that no skull imprisons. Wisely did Ibn Schacabao write that Happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and happy the town at night whose wizards are all ashes. For it is anciently reputed that the soul in compact with a devil fleets not from his mortal husk, but nourishes and instructs the very worms as they gnaw, until out of decay springs abominable life, and the dull scavengers of the depths wax crafty and swell monstrous to plague the earth. Great wounds are opened where the natural pores of the ground should suffice, and things have learned to walk that should have crawled.

  The body of a wizard is rendered impotent by only one means: it must be burned to ashes in the open air in daylight, even to the bones and teeth, and its ashes collected with care and scattered widely upon the wind before the setting of the sun. It is to avoid this fate that causes wizards to select their tombs in readiness for their deaths; for though their life may be prolonged by their arts beyond the reckoning of men, they are mortal and in the end must die. In the common unfolding of events they become aware of the time of their death before it occurs, and are able to select among men a living vessel into which they transfer their essence, and this is usually their apprentice, who prepares himself for this surrender of his flesh by years of study; for the wizard that has passed into a living human vessel loses part or all of his memories, and must relearn his wisdom in the arcane arts.

  In the event of a sudden violent misfortune that claims the life of such a sage without due preparation, his restless spirit will not sleep but forever seeks to reanimate itself, and will use whatever living host it can reshape to its purposes, which it does by a kind of instinct since the blow of unexpected death shatters the higher reason that remains bound to the corpse, leaving only hunger and a fiery will that can never be quenched. When a host of right kind cannot be found, a host is made from some lesser form of life conveniently near, for decaying flesh is never alone since verminous things cannot resist its savor. To eat of a wizard is to acquire in part his virtues, but to eat too much is to be taken over by his restless spirit and shaped by his burning will. His spirit waits for the appropriate host it can turn to its purposes; if none can be secured, it uses what is at hand, even though it entails a loss of higher awareness for many generations of transmigrations. Things so made, misshapen and monstrous beyond description, are ever hungry and are to be avoided.

  West of Memphis lies hid the tomb of a great wizard who in life bore the name of Nectanebus, who was the last king of pure Egyptian blood in this land. Though it is less than a day beyond the outskirts of the city by horseback, it is so well concealed that an army seeking its entrance could not find it in a year of searching. Only one who knows its place can find it, and only one who has visited the tomb can know its place, unless he is first led there by a guide. The wizard chose
this tomb because it is not the usual place for the burial of kings, and so would pass the ages unviolated; or such was his intent, but who can foresee the vagaries of time, and the changes of fortune, over the span of centuries? The tomb was found, and is known to a few who have partaken of its rare feast and gained wisdom thereby; and all who have visited its depths until this time were wise in the ways of necromancy, for it yet contains but a single corpse.

  There are few guides to the tomb among the living, but the sands of Egypt crawl with the shades of the dead who see all that happens beneath the moon with their pale and lusterless eyes. They fear to enter the tomb, which in truth holds nothing of value for them, but can be induced to lead the traveler to the entrance with the proper persuasion, for pain in its intensity ever overpowers fear, a truth known to every man who has suffered upon his flesh the insults of the torturer. The way down is steep, and cut with shallow holes more like the notches of a ladder than the steps of a stair; the blackness is absolute, a fall fatal. Having reached the bottom of the artificial shaft, progress continues down the more gradual incline of a natural cave, at the end of which is a chamber high enough in which to stand upright.