Goat Mother and Others: The Collected Mythos Fiction of Pierre Comtois (24 page)

The hike to the valley floor was uneventful and I approached the edge of the darkened area with increasing curiosity. At last, I reached it and found that it was covered in a purplish, sickly-looking lichen that apparently kept all else from growing where it had established a foothold. I bent down to brush my hand over the unfamiliar plant, surmising the possible reason why the otherwise verdant valley had not been cultivated.

I stood, rolling a sample of the strange growth between my fingers and looking ahead, noticed that there was a formation farther out toward the center of the purplish growth. It was a small, rocky hillock covered in a tangle of gnarled and dwarfish trees. With no better object in sight, I decided to conclude my detour by having lunch in the cool shade of those trees. I began walking, feeling the ground begin to squish wetly beneath my feet. I looked down and saw that my footprints had begun to fill with water. Looking farther out, I noticed for the first time, a scattering of glistening puddles that had apparently gathered in depressions in the lichen. I hurried on, trying to keep the water from soaking into my shoes and stopped abruptly. A hundred yards from the hillock, the puddles had become so numerous that they had begun to join together eventually forming a large, shallow lake, no more than an inch deep, completely surrounding the rocky outcrop. I admit, I was growing increasingly puzzled. I paused to pass a hand through the water and found it warm, hot even. I was delighted at the curious discovery and determined more than ever to reach the hillock. Retracing my steps a bit, I took a running start and dashed across the band of water onto the outcrop.

My mad scramble had carried me part way up the hill, and climbing the short distance remaining to the top, I was able to survey my surroundings. The hill was indeed the center of a shallow lake whose temperature was such that it caused a mirage-like distortion of the land beyond, causing the encircling hills of the valley to shimmer in the early afternoon sunlight. Suddenly hungry, I took a sandwich from my pack and looked about for a place to sit down among the twisty trees of the hillock. It was then, I think, that the odd nature of the formation impinged itself upon my consciousness.

The surface features of the hill, far from being in any sense regular, were a jumble of angles, corners, nooks and crannies, mostly made of chunks of stone. There was soil to be sure, but only what little wind and time could squeeze between the interstices of the rock. I moved a few steps back downward, bending at the waist in order to study more closely the exact composition of the hill. Suddenly, like a revelation, the hill came into focus for me. It was not a hill at all, but a pile of rubble. Once my mind had become aware of that fact, my eyes could readily see that massive blocks of hand-carved stone was what made up the “hillock.” What I stood upon was actually a pile of ancient rubble, weathered and overgrown with the passing of centuries. Then the irony struck me: here I had been scouring the countryside in a methodical plan of gradual elimination, and when I had finally discovered what I was looking for, it was completely by accident. I felt a bit foolish, I don’t mind admitting, but my glee at the time far surpassed it.

My hunger forgotten, I began a closer inspection of my discovery. Although the blocks of stone and slabs of pillars that jutted out from the pile in every direction looked cursorily that of Roman design, it actually had a root element of Hellenic, even Phoenician architectural styles. Finding a stone that seemed to jut deep beneath a covering of humus, I kicked away the accumulated detritus and found that some figures that had been carved into the stone were still legible. Retrieving some paper and charcoal from my pack, I proceeded to make a rubbing of the face of the stone. A satisfactory image was duly created and upon examination, proved to be of Mesopotamian origin, as I was able to recognize some of the characters. Pocketing the rubbing, I began a slow circuit of the site, hopping from block to block along the circumference of the rubble. I soon noticed that the rubble did not quite lie on the surface of the earth, but in a kind of depression from which flowed here and there, the hot, faintly steaming water that bubbled up from somewhere beneath it to feed the shallow lake around the site.

And now, I reach that portion of my narrative that has since changed the course of my life; that eventually thrust me from the company of my fellow academics and into the world of popular print. I must beg the reader’s indulgence and patience over the next few paragraphs to bear with me and wait until the conclusion to form any permanent judgment on my veracity.

As I was saying, those strange waters had once again caught my eye and stooping, I scooped a handful of the liquid in my cupped hands and brought it to my nose. I could detect no odor. Tentatively, I touched the tip of my tongue to it. I remembered it tasted of salt before the wave of drowsiness overcame me. I say drowsiness for lack of a better word. As it was, I sought a tree for support and soon slid down to sit beside it. Whether I eventually slept or not, I don’t know, but what followed was more vivid than any dream and I have sworn more than once since that it was real. Sight, scent, touch, all were there. So convinced am I of its veracity, that I have spent the rest of my life dedicated to the exploration of the phenomenon to which it must be a part.

It had become night, and the sky was filled with stars. I was standing in a clearing among a group of moving figures. The woods about me were black in the moonless dark and before me stood a rude stone temple. A dome supported by eight carven pillars of indefinite design sheltered a circular base made up of a series of concentric steps that led downward below my angle of view. Open to the air, I could see more figures at work there and hear a bellowing, nervous voice calling out orders to them. Unnoticed, I moved among the figures, and I began to take note of their costume. The men nearest me were soldiers clad in the leather and metal armor of Rome, their short swords bare and glinting in the starlight, with some smeared in a dark fluid. Although there were only a dozen or so in sight, I was nevertheless aware that many more were scattered about the area.

As I drew closer to the men, I could study their faces. Fear lurked there. Their eyes were haunted and their mouths were set grimly with the determination of doing their duty despite their every instinct to run. Some lips trembled on the edge of a scream and some eyes had the darting look of outright fear. The scene became ever more clear to me and I began to see other figures sprawled about the ground. None of them were Roman, but none of them were human either. Naked, the figures seemed more gelid than solid, and with mounting revulsion, I guessed by their tentacular appendages and other, more vague locomotive limbs, that they were eventually to become more solid than they were. Their semi-transparent skin, now quickly clouding in death, revealed unidentifiable organs, whose purposes I could not even hazard a guess. A great gash in the creature’s body exuded a clear, viscous fluid that continued to pump feebly onto the ground, killing the surrounding grass with a disintegrating hiss.

Sudden movement from the direction of the temple caught my attention as a soldier stabbed downward with his sword at another of the creatures that sprawled at the apron of stone upon which rested the eight pillars. The thing seemed lifeless as its foul, steaming guts bloated outward from some inward pressure of its body, but it did not stop the soldier’s murderous thrusts. Again and again, the man hacked away at the object of his revulsion until what remained of the thing was splashed in oily ribbons upon the ground. The soldier staggered back in exhaustion, the sword loose in his hand, the other rubbing saliva from his mouth. He was breathing heavily as he leaned on a pillar for support, his greaves and leather skirt spattered in rapidly drying viscera. Then another soldier was hacking away at a second creature, and another. Looking back, I saw that the clearing was littered with the carcasses of the monsters. The sounds of the night now began to make themselves apparent to my senses mingled with the more strident noises of men, some cursing, some shouting out in the impatience of fear. Then a formation of newly arrived Legionaries marched passed me and up the stairs leading beneath the temple dome. I decided to follow them.

Hanging back beneath the pillars as the soldiers continued on, I beheld a scene of furious activity. All around the apron upon which I stood, legionaries held torches aloft, giving off light to others who were busily working at the stones of the pillars and support structure. Scraping at the joints, pulling and tugging, they seemed to be weakening the foundations of the temple. In the flickering light, my gaze followed the great, circular steps as they descended toward a recessed pool of clear, yet strangely viscous water where ten or twelve further soldiers stood knee deep, their swords held at the ready and sometimes thrusting them at something beneath the surface. My attention was soon taken by the commanding figure of a centurion standing near the center of the pool who seemed to be overseeing the weird operation. Shouting at the workers above to increase their efforts and pointing toward the water before him from time to time, apparently directing the action of the two soldiers nearest him as they periodically thrust their blades into the water, he exuded an air of haste and purpose. There was a dull splashing sound as I noticed that the group of soldiers I had followed into the temple reached the edge of the pool, hesitated slightly, then resolutely plunged ahead. They waded out, relieving the others I had been observing, and assumed the same positions of careful watching and waiting. Those replaced, hastened from the pool with obvious relief, wasting no time to vacate the temple area. As the two new men took their places alongside the centurion, the commander pointed quickly and one of them stabbed downward with his blade.

Now I began to notice that the water’s viscosity was apparently due to scores of corpses, like those I had seen on the ground outside the temple, that floated and bobbed about the pool, their gelid forms disintegrating in the water as they slowly gathered along its outer edges. I came down the steps as fragments of voices emerged from the strange state I found myself in. “…watch out…” “…Jupiter, but they stink…” “They’re not of this world…” “…saw something of them at the temple of Marduk…” “…with Trajan in Mesopotamia…” “…Where the Parthians worshipped strange gods…” “…Marduk, aye, but also the brood of Eihort…” “…the Goat of a Thousand Young…” “…a thousand? More like…” “…back to Gaul after this…” “I can’t get the stuff off! I can’t get the stuff off!” “Get that man out of here…” “…my last duty with the Sixth, thank Mars…”

There was blurred movement beneath the surface of the pool, and just as I recognized the shape of one of the creatures, one of the men stabbed down, skewering it on his sword. The carcass rolled to the surface as the other soldier nudged it away with his own blade. Somehow, with my gorge rising, I still could not help taking the last step into the water myself. Immediately, I felt the hot water upon my legs, saw the steam rising from its surface into the chill night air. My hand trailed in the water and when I brought it up and rubbed my fingers together, I felt the oily greasiness of it. Globs of gelid tissue floated about me near the edge of the pool and I fought to control a rising panic. I scrambled, clearing the mucous mass and stumbled out into the relatively open water near the center.

Slowly, trepidatiously, I made my way toward the centurion and his two men who were all still concentrating on some activity at their feet. As I drew closer, I noticed that the surface of the water there was in a constant state of disturbance. Gently, the floor of the pool tilted downward, but not radically, until, drawing abreast of the little group, the water was nearly to my waist. I looked downward, trying to peer beneath the water’s surface, which was roiled momentarily by another sword thrust. Another creature’s body floated to the surface and as one of the soldiers nudged it away, I saw at last what was in the center of the pool.

I think it must have been the utter uncertainty of just what I was gazing upon that ironically, allowed me to continue to look until the final revelation was revealed to me. How else to explain the fact that if I was in my right mind at all, I would have averted my eyes before seeing too much? As it turned out, I saw a great deal more than I ever wanted to. I was to receive a quick education in the hard realities of existence; that my comfortable notions of the way things appeared to be were all completely and horribly wrong. To this day, I wonder whether what I learned was a blessing or a curse; it would be so easy to have continued to live in ignorant bliss. But alas, my innocence was shattered and everything I have done since, I was compelled to do.

When the water’s surface had calmed from the soldier’s last thrust, I could see still another of the gelid, tentacular creatures wavering near the bottom of the pool. Suddenly it seemed to grow and I realized that I was only seeing a small part of it, with its hindquarters yet invisible, I actually felt the soldiers along side of me stiffen in anticipation of the next kill. Then there was a sudden pulse in the water and the new creature was free and being killed by the soldiers. When next I was able to see the bottom clearly, I looked past the newly emerging creature, (one seemed to fully enter the pool every few minutes), to its source. Suddenly, my stomach contracted and my throat grew thick as I saw that the creatures were being thrust upward, in a grotesque parody of the birth process, from a pulsing, throbbing object that was in turn, connected to something else, hidden from direct view by a veil of some kind; as if the object giving birth resided in another inaccessible chamber or dimension of time with only its “birth canal” existing in the present of the pool. Hypnotically, I found my gaze being pulled farther and farther down, in a kind of voyeuristic trance, as my eyes sought curiously the full shape of that reproductive organ. I was saved only by the sudden thrust of a sword as one of the soldiers killed another of the pool-spawn as it swam blindly into the amniotic waters of the pool. I staggered back, shaking my head to clear it somehow, knowing full well that I would never forget that monstrous sight.