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FICTION |
The Incubus of Atlantis (The History of Klarkash-Ton the Hierophant) By Robert M. Price It
is said that the great arch-wizard Eibon, heretical proponent of the
interdicted ancient faith of Zhothaqquah, had so faithfully served his
slothlike master that the deity feared he should never find another so zealous
for his divine dignity. Hence did the Lord Zhothaqquah take steps to ensure he
should never lack the services of his favorite, though death gobble his mortal
flesh. As all men know, Eibon was at the last assumed bodily into the heavenly
sphere of Cykranosh whence his Lord himself had descended in ages past, so that
Eibon should not succumb to death upon this earth. But at length death found
him, restricting not his travels to any one world. And yet Zhothaqquah's plans
for his son Eibon had but commenced, for the portly divinity had arranged that
Eibon's soul should continue in his service by dint of metempsychosis, so that
he should find himself again and again bearing a new mortal sheath when the old
one had become threadbare. In this manner, owing to the
beneficence of his Master, did the one who had borne the name of Eibon pass the
ages, sometimes recalling more of his previous existences, sometimes rather
less. For if a man's memory begin to fade within the span of a single lifetime,
how much the more over a succession of them? Much must be learned again and
again as life passeth in succession after life, if it be relearned at all. Now the seventh incarnation of Eibon
the mage was as one Klarkash-Ton, he who served as high priest and sole devotee
of Zhothaqquah in Atlantis during the ultimate generation ere her foundering.
Shrewdly had the god foreseen his need for the services of the transmigratory
spirit of Eibon, for had it not been for the admittedly somewhat lax devotion
of the priest Klarkash-Ton, Zhothaqquah should have lacked any worship at all,
and lacking worship, even the very gods may perish from neglect. It is the lot of priests to take
their living from the offerings rendered the deities they serve, and
Zhothaqquah's cult having fallen into universal neglect, Klarkash-Ton found
himself obliged to take other work unto himself to maintain a viable living.
And in this endeavor his not inconsiderable scholarly gifts served him well. It
was his sacerdotal duty to maintain the sacred lore of the myth-cycle of
ancient Commoriom, which most had long since come to disbelieve save as merest
myth, and of its literal truth not even Klarkash-Ton might any longer attest.
Few would pay a silver coin even at festival season to hear him spin the tales
of ancient Hyperborea. Thus it was that Klarkash-Ton expanded his repertoire to
encompass droll and ribald anecdotes of
sunken Mu far across the globe, great Mu which legend made the mother
civilization of High Atlantis herself. Of Mu, to be sure, little positive
evidence survived, but then the more rousing tales might therefore be told of
her with no one being the wiser. From here did Klarkash-Ton yet further expand
his canon of recitals as far as the prodigies of the distant star Antares and
its circumambient worlds. At length did the spellbinding
talents of Klarkash-Ton bring him to the attention of the Tyrant of Atlantis,
grim Pharnabazus, who summoned him to an official audience. Now this news was
not pleasing to Klarkash-Ton, for the severity of the Philosopher King was
well-known, to wit, that he frowned upon many even of the traditional sacred
myths for that they portrayed the gods and heroes in a questionable light as
the veriest rogues and voluptuaries. He
had even been known to imprison or exile certain of the greatest of the
Muse-inspired poets. So Klarkash-Ton much feared that, by reason of his
extravagant tale-telling, King Pharnabazus might have devised unpleasant plans
for him. But the truth was quite different,
and exceedingly palatable. During the royal audience did the Tyrant show his
guest every deference and did invite him, on account of his great learning, to
become official archivist of the capital. Knowing that his penurious worries should
abruptly vanish should he accept his sovereign's offer, Klarkash-Ton wasted
nary a moment in, as he said, acceding to the King's most generous command.
With a deep and obsequious bow did the once-impoverished priest begin his
career in the King's service. In truth, everything about his new
station delighted him, from the spacious apartments provided him to the scribal
labors awaiting him in the Great Library of the King. Klarkash-Ton gloried in
both the rich fare of the King's board and in the rare manuscripts which it was
his happy chore to study and catalogue. Here were true records of the ancient
days and of lost kingdoms, even a priceless collection of Naacal Tablets from
the court of ancient Ra Mu himself! The Pnakotic Manuscripts were not
unrepresented, and there was a curious set of inscribed plates from ancient
Uzuldaroum called The Book of Eibon, a strange name that Klarkash-Ton
somehow felt ought to mean more to him than it did. In these rare parchments
and codices the priest delved tirelessly, his sateless curiosity growing
jointly with his erudition. As his command of the antique
alphabets and cyphers grew, he discovered much concerning the methods of Elder
Magick, and of the great boons a man might gain by their use. Of these the
technique that intrigued him by far the most was the preternatural exercise of
soul-projection whereby the mage might set his soul-substance soaring to other
worlds of cosmic revelation, or simply undertake secret errands here on earth.
And Klarkash-Ton thought how he might have use for such a skill and set out in
all seriousness to master it. Under kingly patronage, Klarkash-Ton
lacked for no necessity and, in truth, for nary a luxury. But this left what
little fruit that remained forbidden unto him seeming all the sweeter. And one
night, having recently completed his studies of soul-projection (and emboldened
somewhat, perhaps, by the great quantities of wine he had come to consume of
late, it being freely available unto him) he resolved upon an experiment. For
he had decided he could no longer resist the alluring charms of the fairest in
all Atlantis, for all that these were no common courtesans, nor even peasant
girls, but the noble wives of the King himself and of his nobles. It was instant death, all knew, for
any man so much as to speak unto them without being first spoken to. And
besides, Klarkash-Ton knew well enough that none of these fair ones would
likely look fondly upon his spindle-shanked, scholarly mien. But another thing
he knew was the art of astral travel. So upon that night he betook himself out
of his fleshly body and glided upon the spring breezes into the most forbidden
of inner adyta, even the royal bedchamber, where his majesty lay all naked with
his fair queen, similarly arrayed. It looked to their invisible observer that
their loveplay had barely commenced, and seeing them thus, he could restrain
himself no longer. The old scrolls had spoken truly!
Klarkash-Ton now found himself behind the eyes of his lord the King and lost no
time placing himself inside his lady the Queen as well. And all courtesy of the
cooperative body of the King, the which he had borrowed. While after a few
attempts Klarkash-Ton found he could not after all guide the movements of the
body in which he sojourned, he could and did feel every sensation of that body,
and this was more than satisfactory for now. Perhaps later he could perfect the
method and come to control any form he might usurp. After a night of fervid lovemaking,
the priestly archivist returned to his apartments to find his accustomed form
ready and waiting for him. Rising a bit light-headedly, Klarkash-Ton stepped up
to his polished looking-glass and surveyed himself. He was in truth rather
pleased with himself, for had he not managed to commit adultery with the Queen
herself and all without displacing her royal husband or infringing upon his own
vows of priestly celibacy? For his true bodily form had been resting quietly at
home all the night. Things continued in much the same
manner for some months to come, as Klarkash-Ton showered his affections
vicariously but no less passionately upon all the loveliest women of the realm.
And it is to be feared that, complacent in his scheme, he overstepped himself
in the end. For he ought to have taken note one evening, at the King's table,
of a jaundiced eye cast steadily in his direction by one of the most powerful
of the royal counselors, even the chief mage Mozillan, a man on whom little was
lost and who had close familiarity with every magickal manuscript housed in the
Great Library. And, too, he had a concubine of great comeliness. Nor had she escaped Klarkash-Ton's
epicurean scrutiny. Indeed, he had oftimes sampled her charms in his sorcerous
manner, and soon he would come round to her again when he tired of the charms
of certain others in his secret harem. One day as Klarkash-Ton went about his
curatorial duties, he was accosted by none other than the Lord Mozillan, who
required his assistance in locating a familiar manuscript. He had not yet grown
used to the new storage system instituted by the archivist, who was glad to
show him to the text he desired. Thanking the librarian, the mage caught him
with a peculiar twinkle in his eye. "I'll wager you have familiarized
yourself with much of the lore these scrolls contain." "Verily, my Lord, the better to
serve you!" So he bowed and spoke, but secretly Klarkash-Ton despised the
proud sorcerer whom he, a mere stripling in the esoteric arts, had so easily
outwitted. Yes, this very night he would betake himself to the bedchamber of
Mozillan, and if he were not in an amorous mood already, Klarkash-Ton had honed
his skills sufficiently to suggest and, if need be, impel, the first move
loveward. The golden moon was high over the
breezy streets of Atlantis that night when Klarkash-Ton sent his wandering
spirit forth on its latest erotic errand. He hovered a moment outside the
window of the high tower of Mozillan's palace. Things were already well
underway, the wizard's concubine moaning pleasurably, with the great broad back
of her master, draped with the bedsheet, visible between her arched legs.
Delighted at the sensuous spectacle, the floating soul of Klarkash-Ton dropped
at once into the form before him. And found his essence afloat in
wine! Through the heavy crockery he could barely hear the triumphant shout of
the cuckolded Mozillan, who had of course been wise to his devices. The wizard
swiftly lifted the weight of the tall amphora from where his mystified but
obedient concubine had been balancing it with some difficulty on her thighs.
Rapping on the glazed exterior of the man-sized jar, the mage Mozillan mocked
the errant spirit he had confined within it. "I shall see to it, O
Klarkash-Ton, that your vacant body is suitably disposed of, for, the gods
know, you shall be having no further need of it! You shall bide the ages in the
confines of this ensorcelled wine pot, a besotted genie in a bottle, till some
poor fool of future days may chance to dredge your prison up from the wine-dark
depths where I shall shortly drop you!" And not long thereafter, as he felt
himself falling over the rim of a boat and into the sea, Klarkash-Ton had cause
to reflect that there surely were worse ways to spend the centuries than
pickled in fine Atlantean wine. |
CopyrightŠ2004 by
Robert M Price
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