Dreams of Hell

An extract from the diaries of Mark Spector, Timepriest of Chronos

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To whomever reads this, I am Mark Spector of the City of Drakenberg and a priestwarden of the Great Pact. Here in the town of Trebizond, (or Trabzon in Trollish), I set down my experiences so that should I fail, others may folow after and complete the task.

It so happened that some twelvemonth earlier I had been in Brittania; in the company of Centurion Bertram upon his quest to find Centurion Kurtz and terminate his command. That trek led us into dark places, both inland and within ourselves, so that none of us were left unscarred. The High Command in Brittania deemed our quest successful when Bertram reported the death and cremation of Kurtz, but something about the manner of his passing had always troubled myself and the others. Kurtz’ staging of the duel with Bertram, his fatalistic refusal to defend himself and the rites and rituals surrounding his death all made me feel that he had planned the whole thing. There was a purpose behind it other than an elaborate suicide by a world-weary, apostate runelord of Mithras.

It was this concern then that first drove me to request divine guidance from Chronos as to the fate befallen by Kurtz’ soul. I informed my companions that I would be incommunicado for between one quarter and one full hour. I then retired to my room in the inn and prepared myself for a revelatory dream such as I had experienced some few times before.

I found myself walking a cobbled road in a bleak, desert landscape under a clear, moonless night sky. I remember feeling slightly thirsty and thinking this was unusual in a dream - even a divinatory dream. Walking, I soon found my path blocked by a gate wrought of iron between two small towers. The gate had many whorls and strange symbols all about a central Death rune. Through the gate, I could see only swirling, grey mists. As I placed my hand upon the gate to open it, from the mists upon the far side there stepped a tall, grizzled man. He was bareheaded, the coif of his rusty iron mail thrown back upon his shoulders.

Halt stranger and state your business! He barked, rather harshly. I replied that I had come in the name of the Great Pact and demanded he open the gate. He nodded surlily and set about his task with poor grace. As I passed through, I heard him draw breath as if to speak and turned to find he now sported three heads that spoke in chorus. Enter then mortal, but do not think to leave so easily! Somewhat taken aback, I asked him the way to Kurtz’ allotted place in Hell. Even as I watched, the Gatewarden’s heads turned canine, each of a different breed. They replied again in chorus. Follow the road. Turn left at the Cross-roads, down the stairs till you come to the river. Pay the Ferryman and he’ll take you the rest of the way. As I thanked him, he completed his metamorphosis into a triple-headed dog with a rust coloured coat and the fearsome wolfhound head nosed the gate shut. Feeling thirsty, I asked for some water but the somewhat friendlier looking labrador head said - You don’t want to go drinking the water in this place my friend.

I passed on through terrain as before, under clear starlight. At length I came to a cross-roads, which I presumed was that mentioned by the Gatewarden. I stood for a moment to make sure of my bearings. To the right, the road wound up into hills where shone the first light of dawn. Ahead in the distance, I could just discern in the starlight a pair of golden gates bearing a five pointed star. To my left, the road headed downhill and, (as I discovered upon following my instructions), soon plunged into the ground to become a dark stairway. I trod that stair in utter darkness for what seemed like hours. Built seemingly for someone with longer legs than mine, I found the way hard and wearying, my thirst continuing to build.

At last! I thought as I finally stumbled from a narrow opening. I found myself upon a jetty of smooth black rock jutting from an anthracite cliff face into a calm, mirror-smooth water with no obvious far shore. Thin whisps of mist drifted across the mere’s black surface, occasionally obscuring the stars reflected in its depths. The sight of the water was agony to my soul. I knew I could not drink it and expect to return to the mortal world.

Presently there came a boat from out of the mist, poled by a grey, cowled figure in the stern. The boat drew alongside the jetty and the Ferryman stood motionless. I could not tell if he were watching me for the cowl hid his face. He beckoned! A single, understated gesture that seemed an irresistible command, though I found the pilot and his boat repellent in the extreme and was loath to enter it. As I made to do so however, he held out a gauntletted hand and spoke in a dry, quiet voice - like a whisper, but more deep and forceful.

Pay the toll!

What is the toll?

Where are you going?

I seek the final resting place of Kurtz, apostate Centurion of Mithras.

To go there costs tuppence! I gave the Ferryman two specially forged coins, (though where they came from I know not). I sat down in the boat in the prow, as far from him as I could get. Close to the water, I really felt as if I needed a drink but I remembered the Gatekeeper’s warning and kept my hands to myself.

Long the Ferryman poled, though not as long did it seem as did my descent of the Dark Stair. The air warmed and the mist gathered until the boat was passing through a hot, steamy fog, such as might be found in a bathhouse hotroom. As the fog grew, I heard a distant roaring grow slowly nearer. Looking behind me, I could see an immense, fiery glow ahead. As the boat turned, the air thickened and my throat rasped with the stench of burning brimstone. I fell at the Ferryman’s feet, retching and coughing. The heat seemed all about me. Desperate for water, I leant over the side to find my eyes within inches of a river of molten lava! I sat back, clutching at my throat and stared about, amazed. Phlegetthon! It is impossible to describe its impact when floating in its midstream. The boat was the one sanctuary in an inferno of death! Yet in its flames I could see forms and faces of grinning demons and their victims. They clutched at the boat’s side with limbs and faces charred beyond function or even recognition.

Presently the air cleared enough for me to see a jetty much like the last loom out of the flames and sulphurous fumes. The ferry pulled alongside without so much as a bump.

Get out of the boat! Thinking the Ferryman spoke only in imperatives; I leapt onto the quay. I was glad to be ashore. Though it must still have been hotter than a farrier’s smithy, it felt wonderfully cool. The Ferryman poled his boat away from the quay and vanished in the fumes. With nowhere else to go, I strode down the jetty, (which was of black marble), and found it continued on the bank as a marbled road, leaving the river and the fumes behind.

Walking uphill, again under a clear, starlit sky. I topped the rise to see a wide, shallow vale of darkness strewn with a thousand burning lights, like the camp fires of a vast army. As I walked into the Vale of Darkness, gradually I came to hear with some fear what I realised was deep, trollish laughter and shrill, (non-trollish), screams of pain. Bad pain! The agony of souls in torment! Doubtless the sufferers in the river Phlegetthon had tried to scream also, but even had they been able to, I would have heard nothing over the noise of the river itself. In that vale, the laments of the damned never relented. Even now, it returns to haunt my nightmares.

The road went on but shortly I came to feel uncertain of my way. There were so many fires. Which one could be Kurtz’? Perhaps he was not being burned! Perhaps he was doing the burning! Certainly the smell of roasting flesh brought back memories of the day of Kurtz’ death and the burning of the sacrifices in the wicker cage.

You know friend; it’s fine nights like this, a flagon of dark beer and a full belly that make you feel glad to be dead.

I started to find myself addressed so familiarly and turning, found myself looking at a mistress-race troll. She clacked her mandibles and beamed at me over the naked body of a small girl she held by a roasting spit. The spit impaled the girl’s body from her fundament to her face, two leaden prongs protruding from beneath blond hair. Her lower body and legs seemed very badly burned. I watched in horror as the troll took a bite out of the maid’s buttocks, the victim’s eyes met mine and I saw she was crying.

Well friend, you look lost! Can I help you? The contrast between the amiability of the troll’s manner and the savagery of her cannibalism of a living child, shattered my senses and left me feeling numbed.

I seek Centurion Kurtz. I understand he’s about here somewhere. The troll chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

Mmm. Still a bit underdone. Another ten minutes I think. She lifted the lid of a small fire-pit and placed the little girl in the flames. The child writhed on the spit and opened her mouth wide but could not scream. I felt so thankful when the lead cover concealed her agonies. Come with me! I think I know who you mean.

She led me straight down the road through a landscape of fires suffused by happy gangs of trolls laughing, drinking and toasting wretches on spits or broiling them in pots. She brought me to a slab overhanging a large firepit placed so that the flames just licked at the body hanging in chains. I knew it was Kurtz from the tattoos. Although headless, it still writhed in pain. And well it might, for the atrocities being heaped upon it! Two trolls were pulling the intestines from the body, roasting them in the flames and eating them without even cutting them away. A smaller troll was holding some mantis-like creature to the genitals and a large great troll was cutting open the chest with a fire-bladed pole-axe. He was talking to my guide over his shoulder.

I’ll 'ave 'is 'eart out in a minute! I like lightbringer 'earts, vey’re juicy! You wanna bite? I turned away in disgust. At my shoulder, a lead pike bore a gory, tattooed head. Kurtz! Spasms of pain crossed his face as he watched the butchery of his severed body without crying out. His blue eyes gazed into mine with implacable hatred. When he spoke, I felt terror in my soul.

Don’t think I can’t take it - it’s not forever. Soon I’ll be a god, and then I’ll make sure you’re sorry! His croaking voice conveyed an almost palpable malevolence. I stepped back away from him and into my guide.

Seems he got too keen on burning and eating people, so we’re giving him the full treatment now.

Ugh! I can’t eat viss! The great troll held a small black thing disgustedly. It’s all ash or sumfink. He tossed it into the pit where it did not burn but pulsated and convulsed like a living thing that lives in the muds.

The horror! I heard Kurtz whisper hoarsely. He was grinning!

Revolted and nearly vomiting, I told my guide I had seen enough. She led me a few steps down the road behind the slab and pointed.

Just follow the road and it will take you home.

I’m very thirsty; could you give me a drink?

Sure, here! She offered me a leather flask. Keep it! I can always bleed another.

Um, perhaps maybe I’ll wait till I get home.

Suit yourself! Do you have the time? I told her. Oh - two hundred years, she'll be done by now. She wandered off, back to her cooking.

I left the burning firepits behind and shortly found myself walking across barren rock that quickly gave way to a nightmare landscape of tall rock spires and columns. Above the icy wind that howled around the spires, I heard voices wailing and moaning in desolation. They seemed to come from above. Looking up, I saw each column had what seemed to be a skeleton struggling in chains, high off the ground. The closest still had scraps of flesh on his bones and one eye that that met mine as the head nodded forward in dejection. There it was again! Eye contact! A black bird wheeled out of the night to alight upon the wretch’s shoulder. Eye contact! I dropped my gaze and hurried on.

As I remember my Timelore, there is no Moon in Hell for it is not real and does not exist somewhere else. (I know this makes little sense but it is true nonetheless.) So you can imagine my surprise when, as the rock spires gave way to a simple ravine, the Moon rose. I pondered this theological problem as I trudged along the road for some hours, eventually deciding that somehow I had left Hell and entered some adjoining spiritual locale where the Moon’s influence was strong.

As I walked, the ravine deepened to become a gorge. Then the walls of the gorge slowly descended until they opened to reveal a wide, flat plain. Some miles distant, an artificial looking, conical hill dominated the scene. On top of the hill were some buildings, impossible to make out without farsee. The road led on towards the hill through fields tended by peasants growing purple crops. It was an hour before I realised the peasants were living dead, bones without flesh. I was still in Hell!

After some hours, the hill seemed no nearer, though the gorge had vanished behind me. I spied a horseman galloping from the hill toward me. His cloak flapped in the wind of his passing. He was dark haired and pale skinned, (no, not that pale). Dressed as if noble born and he rode as if noble also. When he came near, he reined in his horse and shouted a challenge.

Who are you to come, still living, to trespass in the realm of the Lord of the Dead?

I am a weary traveller, who merely follows this road home from Hell. He laughed dryly.

There are many hells and you will not find your way home through here. To trespass in my realm without leave is punishable by imprisonment for Eternity. So, by whose leave do you wander? My heart fell. I was lost, though I could not see where I had strayed from my allotted path.

In the name of the Great Pact of Time do I travel wheresoever my God wills it. No man may hold me on pain of the Curse of Chronos!

Time! He snorted irreverently. I do believe a codicil applies here. He pulled me up onto his horse with a hand that was all of silver metal and we galloped back to the hill. As we rode, I came to see the hill was a mound the size of a mountain. It was many miles distant yet its size made it seem near. My host’s black steed came to the hill with amazing swiftness. He pulled-up his mount before a dark tunnel reaching deep inside the mound, and set me to my feet.

Farewell Timepriest! This is the best I can do. Yonder passage shall take you near to your world and then you are on your own. As he spoke, I observed upon his left hand a ring in the design of two entwined dragons; remarkably like the tattoos placed on my back by the woman in Kurtz’ village. Before I could voice a question, my saviour wheeled his horse and was gone.

There was no path, but the Moon illuminated the portal and I entered the darkness. It was as black as a shade’s arse but I had not gone far when I stumbled into a torchlit cavern, strewn with the bodies of Keltic warriors. They all appeared to be sleeping amidst the remains of a drunken feast but the meat was dry and mouldy and the goblets full of dust. I did not try to wake them. I took a torch and left the cavern to find the way became danker. Upon either side I passed many dark chambers. Curious, I examined one. Covering the floor, many skulls rested upon tidy piles of leg bones and whole skeletons lay in alcoves, all damp and mouldy. A burial chamber then! I muttered before moving on; resolving to look in no more side-rooms.

At last I came to the end of the passage and exited onto a moonlit plain; much like the one I had left. The torch guttered in the wind and went out as I heard a heavy door slam shut. Behind me, I found the passage blocked by a man sized rock that seemed not to have been moved in centuries. Still there was no path. The Moon shone down from the top of a conical mound, (like before but smaller, only some hundreds of feet high). I could see buildings and light and started climbing.

Cursing my raging thirst, I crested the hill to find what I at first took to be a temple to Typhon. I passed between the trilithons to find a large crowd of Kelts, several hundreds in all, women and men. They knelt facing to my left. Looking that way, the moonlight revealed a priestess beyond the altar-stone facing the congregation. As I walked toward her, it came to me that the people could not see me. It was as if to them I were a ghost!

Coming abreast the altar, upon it I saw an object covered in a dark cloth, perhaps a foot in height. The altar was covered in dried blood! I now saw the priestess to be the very same woman from Kurtz’ village that had drawn our tattoos. Upon her face was a design in woad of a screaming skull like that she had painted upon the face of the marine in our party. He had said it had given him the power to see the world as do spirits. She rose from her knees, raised her arms high above her head and shouted a litany in Keltic. The congregation chanted back. Then she took the cloth from the altar to reveal that beneath. Wearing a pristine helm of iron, sat the charred skull of Kurtz! The congregation bowed down in worship.

Terrified, I could not move, transfixed by the horrible sight before me. The priestess then appeared to see me. I turned to go but she screamed a word of command and held me. She turned away and performed a ritual before the trilithon behind the altar-stone, painting symbols upon the uprights, which presently began to glow with a silvery radiance. The space between the uprights shimmered and became misty. When she seemed satisfied, she turned to me and beckoned. I felt compelled to approach her though I tried to stop myself. When I had come before the trilithon, she stopped me. She stood for a time examining my person closely, fingering the hourglass and its image upon my chest with woad-stained hands. Strikingly handsome, her woad and ochred hair rendered her fiercely intimidating.

Curiosity satisfied, she stepped back and made a pushing gesture with her hands. She did not touch me, yet I was cast back through the trilithon, away from her world and into a grey mist. I fell for hours until I lost my senses in a swoon.

I awoke in a hospital of Lucifer. My throat felt parched and they told me I had been deeply unconscious for three days. Though exhausted, I recovered quickly with sustenance. When I came to check my belongings, I found the blue imprints of fingers upon my hourglass and around the time rune on my chest. And the tattoo on my back itched abominably!

I thought long about my revelation. Different from any other divinatory dream I had ever experienced, it was somehow involved with the dragon-tattoo upon my back. I took counsel with such friends I could trust and we all agreed it seemed someone would be journeying through Hell! Getting to Hell is simple. Returning is the tricky bit! I decided to ask Chronos How might Erebus be best returned from?; so that the minds of my comrades, (and myself), be put at rest as to the risk.

Since Chronos is the God of Time, I was not surprised to see many scenes flash past at great speed. As if time itself flowed faster for them.

I saw a woman in white and gold bending over the dismembered body of a soldier in black and red; arranging the parts. She stepped back and a flash of light left her hand and hit the corpse. In the afterglow, his eyelids flickered.

I saw a bearded man enter a house made of mud bricks in a dry, parched land while outside a man wept. Inside, the bearded man approached a little girl on her deathbed being arranged for burial by two old women. The bearded man put his arm under the girl’s shoulders, lifting her into a sitting position. He kissed her forehead and she called for her mother.

I saw a woman dressed in Necropolitan fashion but with blue about the eyes. She knelt next to the dismembered parts of a man I knew to be her son, in a stone chamber with no windows. She arranged the body and then read from an old scroll she took from a jar, casting incense into a brazier. The man stirred, clutched her arm with one hand and his groin with the other.

I saw a man dressed strangely approach the tomb of a close friend through a garden. He seemed dismayed to find the tomb open. He rushed into it as a bearded man walked through the garden smiling kindly at his concern.

I saw a fiendishly grinning hunchback offer a body under a dirty, white sheet to a lightning storm. As lightning struck the metal spike above the table, the body jumped convulsively. The hunchback began capering and clapping his hands as the body sat up and drew the sheet from a hideously scarred face of bestial brutality.

The action then slowed down somewhat and I viewed the last two scenes at normal speed.

I saw a dark chamber filled with thirty to forty people. Some had horns and visible chaos features! I saw by an eerie, violet glow that the room was walled by human skulls. In the centre of the chamber, a man with silver ram’s horns and wearing a skull mask invoked a spirit to appear at the altar, upon which rested the naked body of a nobly proportioned man. The spirit appeared as a dark, cloaked form topped by a horned, silver skull. It asked a question, the priest replied and the spirit vanished only to return a moment later. It descended to the body on the altar. The priest gestured violently and abjured the body to rise. It did so, clearly undead as the spirit vanished for good.

I saw a dark hilltop under a full Moon. A Typhon temple I thought at first, until I saw the Kelts! The scene seemed familiar. I looked to the altar and saw the charred head of Kurtz under its helmet, surrounded by pieces of burnished iron armour. The priestess was exhorting the tribe to chant. She spoke and they replied. Then she turned, picked up the head from the altar and hurled it into the black portal framed in the trilithon behind her. The crowd shouted one word three times as she brandished her staff. The portal flashed and belched a cloud of yellow smoke as from it emerged a naked man, tattooed in blue from head to foot and carrying his head under his arm. He strode purposefully to the altar as the priestess and the congregation fell to the ground. He stopped and donned his head as a warrior dons his helmet. He then stood to attention as the priestess rose, brought him his weapons and harness and began to arm the new god!

I awoke with a scream. I felt breathless and very cold. It took me two days of rest and good food to recover my health. When I thought about it, I realised the first of the two major scenes was some sort of Thanatari ritual. Why had my god shown me such a thing? Then I realised that in my question, I had not stated who was to return from Hell. I had been shown the best ways to return for a Thanatari and for Kurtz. Troubled, I consulted with my peers and we sought advice as to methods of traversing Hell. An Azraeli sage who had long studied the shamanic arts and knew much death-lore told us that there are spells rituals that would convey us through Hell. Such rituals demand much Power but they can provide us with an entry, an exit and a path that takes us past our goal. However it will also take us past other places. Places that the Spirits of Hell deem it profitable for us to see. Our advisor indicated that it is best if one person make the sacrifice and the rest follow. None must stray from the path or they will be lost in Hell forever. The best rituals would demand a place on Earth where there is a Hellgate. Apparently there are several. One such we found in central Anatolia, the Labyrinthine Gate, which is in the form of a maze. We will have little control over our route through Hell of the place of our exit into the mundane world. You never come out where you go in!

Realising the immense difficulty and danger that would face us on our journey, I let myself be talked into doing a confirmatory divination to ascertain if in fact we should be entering Hell at all. Pondering over what I knew of the Lore of Time, I chose What threats to Time exist in Hell? as my question. I prepared myself in my rooms in Trebizond, instructing my comrades to await me in a hostelry across the way. Imagine my consternation when after meditating, praying and casting my spell to Chronos, nothing happened! Never had I heard of this happening before to anyone of any religion! Even assuming I had transgressed against my god, still he would have spoken to me! How else would I know I had done wrong? I considered the idea that the room lay somehow outside Time where Chronos could not hear me, yet I felt my prayer and spell be taken up.

After meditating for the better part of an hour, I finally decided that Chronos had nothing to say on the matter and gathered myself to report back to my friends. I felt depressed to be so ignored by my god and to have to reveal the fact to others. No-one would follow me to Hell now!

Why have you forsaken me? I cried to the heavens as I stepped off the boardwalk into the sun. A bright shaft of light seemed to lance down from the sky and blinded me. I had just time to think that Chronos had chosen a strange vengeance; to call upon Helios to cast his Spear at me! Amidst dazzling brightness, I heard the sounds of the busy street fade away. I became aware of a sensation of Total Light completely surrounding me! A feeling of warmth ebbed away until I became aware of a cold stone floor beneath me and a cold, dispassionate Voice intoning in authority.

Item 2743: That you did wilfully obstruct a guardian of the Great Pact in the performance of his duty. Three counts. How do you plead? I heard, a distant mumble in reply.

Item 2744: That you did deliberately assault the person of a guardian of the Great Pact. One count. How do you plead? Again a mumble. Still blind, I started to crawl toward the sound of the voices.

Item 2745: That while dying, you did purposefully and with malice aforethought direct a runemagic pertaining to Helios at the person of a guardian of the Great Pact. One count. How do you plead? This time I barely heard the tremulous whisper of Guilty! before I came upon a stone wall. As I felt my way along the wall to the left, the Voice spoke again.

Let it be recorded that the supplicant has pleaded guilty to all charges and throws himself upon the mercy of the Court. So closes the hearing!

Let the Court give sentence! This was a much lighter, younger voice. Suddenly the wall turned a corner away from me and I fell forward with an oath. Completely disoriented in my blindness, I lay on my back and listened to the Voice.

Silence in Court! Sunmarshal Edgar Wheeler, you have been found guilty upon twenty-seven hundred and forty-five charges of transgressions against the Lightbringer Code, Rhadamanthite Law, your cult’s strictures, the Great Pact and common decency. Having heard the evidence, it is the determination of this Court that you be immediately taken from here to a place of punishment in Erebus and there suffer gross torments until all your sins be atoned for, starting with the Great Pact for they are the most heinous. This verdict given by myself on this day in the Court of the Starchamber. I heard the bang of a gavel and immediately came the noise of a man weeping and struggling. Pleading mercy and please let me go back and so forth, I heard him being dragged past, close to me! Then came the sound of a door opening and the struggling became more violent. The man was screaming now. No! Not there! Please! I don’t deserve this. I was only obey… And he was cut off by the sound of a vast door slamming. Thinking it was the only way out, I crawled towards the sound of the door as the Voice spoke again.

Next supplicant! You are Prendergast the Black, Wizard of Ishtar, Loremaster of Demosthenes, Initiate of the Church of Azrael and Master of the Necromantic Arts?

I am! I touched a smooth, cold, stone door.

The charges against you are as follows. Item 1: That you did wilfully spit at your mother in rage, use profane language in her presence and by diverse other means fail to do her honour. Eight hundred and sixty-two counts. How do you plead? Slowly I felt up the side of the door.

Ah! Erm! I didn’t think that was… I touched a handle of some kind.

How do you plead? I turned the handle.

Well not guilty of course… The door opened. Dimly I could see a dark shadow in the overwhelming light.

Let it be on record that the supplicant lied! I took a step.

Now hold here! I can understand accusations of necromancy but I was just a child then! I took another step.

Silence in Court! Let one count of a charge of contempt of the Court of the Starchamber be added to the charges against the supplicant. In my mind I could still the screaming of Sunmarshal Wheeler. I halted, trying to raise my courage.

Item 2: That you did wilfully disobey your father, used profane language toward him, bore false witness against him, struck him and by diverse other means failed to do him honour. Three hundred and fifty-five counts. How do you plead?

Struck him? I don’t recall… But that was when I was four! Surely that’s not…

Add another count to the charge of contempt. The supplicant will answer the question! How do you plead? I took a deep breath and strode forward into the darkness.

Guilty! I tripped over some heavy object and fell sprawling. Behind me the door slammed shut upon the Voice saying Item 3. For some minutes I lay relishing the dark as the pain in my eyes slowly subsided.

After a while, I heard sounds of some movement in the darkness. I realised that I was still blind having exchanged Total Light for Total Dark. I heard a shuffling noise, then the sound of something heavy being dragged. Again I recalled the screams of the Sunmarshal and I tasted fear in my mouth. Where was I? I squinted into the darkness but I could see nothing. Then the noise stopped and there came the sound of something, (a body?), being dropped. The sharp, staccato noise of booted feet on a cold, stone floor approached quickly. Feeling a sense of urgency, I tried to scramble to my feet but something much stronger than me grabbed my shoulders and held me down. I screamed and writhed but still I felt strong, hard hands feel their way all over me. Whoever it was seemed to see with his hands! Both hands then found their way to my head where they exerted a terrible pressure and seemed about to tear my head from my shoulders. Suddenly there was a metallic chink and the hands were gone. I heard someone or something crawling away. Then there was a ruffling noise followed by a loud crack immersed in the sound of ripping and tearing. A squelching crunch seemed to come from higher off the floor and two points of purple light sprang into being, like eyes! By their light, I beheld a dark, man-like form for some moments before it bent down and snapped something off a shapeless lump on the floor. The figure approached, fiddling with something in hands surprisingly large. I tried to crawl backwards, away from him but those outsized hands seized me roughly, slipped a thong over my head and thrust something down the front of my tunic. And I could see!

Instantly the chamber seemed filled with a dark, purple radiance. By its light, I could see my benefactor was a large man in dark clothing with blond hair and noble features.

There! Better? He said, looking me up and down. He picked up my hourglass and thrust it into my hands.

Good job I discovered this! Eh, Timepriest? His grin made me nervous. Come to ask questions, have you? I nodded. Well, ask away then!

Wah - What threats exist to Time in Hell? He threw back his head and laughed derisively.

You don’t ask much, do you! Well, well! It’s a grand tour then. But first you better understand a few things. He moved aside to reveal a nearby door. It occurred to me it must be the door I had come through. You heard through there? He said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. I heard a loud click and his face went slack. His jaw dropped and his eyes became wild and searching. Those large hands rose up, seized his head and twisted it sideways with another audible crunch, as of bones grinding together. Instantly his features came back to life. I hate it when that happens! Well! Did you or didn’t you? I nodded. Then you heard a trial? I nodded again. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? There’s a lot of them - the little ones. Stupid and ignorant, the lot of them! They’re threats, but they’ll get their deserts and may even be rehabilitated. He savoured the word and then threw me an unpleasant grin. Like me, eh? Come along now!

Effortlessly, he hauled me to my feet and turned to the rear of the chamber. As I moved to follow, I saw the dark heap was the headless body of a nobleman. Just as I left the chamber behind my guide’s purple-black shadow, the body’s hands were exploring the vacant shoulders with fearful, trembling fingers.

He led me through long, maze-like passages, all lit by the same eerie purple light. As we walked, my guide indulged in a bitter monologue against the hypocrisy of my sort.

You people! You persecute and hound those tied to chaos, often through no choice of their own. But as soon as there’s a crisis it’s We need you to fly, Phoenix!; or Please slay this bad man. Oh, Mother of Terror. And when the deed is done and the World saved, then it’s back to the Outer Darkness, or the Chaos Zones or even, He gestured about him. Hell with Please don’t come near me with your chaos-features, they might be catching! He chuckled and threw me a sly glance. And of course, Chaos is catching. And so many of you want to catch it! What’s it like - to crave something you fear so much?

He stared at me as we marched for a few seconds, as if I were something despicable. And here you are now with your questions. Oh, tell us this, tell us that! How do we do what we need to, must, want to do? But of course you don’t say please to me. You ask In the Name of the Great Pact and say I have no choice but to answer. My guide seemed most bitter on the subject. Yes! I signed your precious Pact! I towed the line! I earned my place in Hell! It would be nice to be given some recognition, some respect for the work I do here. For the services I provide. We came abruptly to a heavy, oaken door barring our path. For here is all the knowledge you could wish for on the subject of your question.

He threw open the doors and swept into a hideous room. A library, it seemed but very disordered. Books and scrolls were stacked on shelves, on other books, thrown on the floor, left open on tables. People worked, with and without heads; reading, writing, drawing, translating, transcribing, copying. There were heads on tables, chairs, the floor; some were reading or dictating. Many were rolling around the floor. My guide kicked a couple of the out of the way. One long wall was filled with heads, stacked like the books on shelves; drooling, screaming, staring. My foot scuffed something and I bent down to pick up a heavy tome. A Guide to Time: Multidimensional Geography applied to Sequence Causality with Special Reference to Three Spheres of Actuality; Realwhen, Hellwhen and Godwhen and their Wherewhens of Interphase.

That looks up your street! Said my guide, over my shoulder. Why not flick through it? I opened the book to find its pages blank. He howled maniacally with mirth at the joke, but the laughter died as soon as it started. Behind you! He snapped, venomously. I half turned in time to parry, (with the book), a garrotte wielded by a small, evil individual wracked by many painful chaos-features.

No! He’s with me! Shouted my host, sepulchrally as he belted my assailant with the back of his hand, knocking the man’s head from his shoulders and across the room. The book was plucked from my hands and given to the headless body which dropped its garrotte. Put this back on the shelves! My guide picked up the garrotte and handed it to me. Here, you’ll be needing this! I hurriedly stuffed the unclean thing in a pocket and followed him.

He lead me through the nightmare library toward an archway in the far wall. Now I’ll show you a few of the larger threats. The arch was filled with a dark purple fog. I felt a large hand grasp my arm painfully and I lead me into the haze.

Presently, the fog thinned enough to reveal a bright, sunlit meadow, covered with flowers. Nearby, a young boy played on a patch of bare ground. He threw small skull high into the air and tried to snatch up nine marbles, all of different colours, while it was airborne. He was very quick; always getting at least six, often seven and occasionally eight. Never nine. Close by sat a woman, (perhaps his mother), watching him. She was dressed like myself with an hourglass at her side and a sickle in her lap. It was quite clear that she loved the boy, but I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed afraid. Whenever he looked close to getting all nine marbles, she held her breath and her face turned ashen as she clenched the sickle. When he dropped the marbles and reached for the skull, she let out her breath with an audible sigh and let go of the sickle.

So much for Elysia! Now this way! Said my host, leading me back into the arch and the purple fog. This time the fog cleared to reveal an underground cavern in which a lone dwarf was building an intricate machine of many parts. The cavern was equipped as a workshop for all crafts and the dwarf was making each component individually out of many runemetals, crystals, gems, exotic woods, ivory and other materials. He worked diligently with quick fingers. However he was plagued by trollkin that stole his tools, materials and finished components. He had to keep chasing them to retrieve his work. As he beat one trollkin for stealing a file, so another sneaked up to take some cut gem or other piece of the machine. The dwarf looked tired and the trollkin tormented him in other, more mundane ways but he refused to be beaten and worked away at his construction without rest. It seemed to me he was slowly making progress as I felt myself again pulled into the purple fog.

Now this way! And the fog cleared to leave us standing in a purple cloud, some yards from a column of rock, miles high. I felt a wave of vertigo but my host’s iron grasp kept me from falling. We were near the top of the rough-hewn column where it widened from a few yards in diameter to form a flat platform a dozen yards across. On the platform stood an arch much like the one I had been dragged through. This arch boiled with seething grey mists that settled and condensed into an oily liquid, poured over the edge of the platform and greased the overhang beneath. As I watched, our viewpoint drifted down to the start of the overhang where I saw a naked woman, a girl perhaps, clinging to the rock. Her skin was gashed and covered with open wounds from the knife-like needles protruding from the rock face. She must have climbed the entire height of the column and was just starting the greasy undercut. Grimacing with fear and fatigue, she fumbled with bloody hands lacking all but the first joint of the fingers. Her breasts and feet were bloody pulp! From her neck hung a black, shiny key from a thong. She gasped as she reached for another handhold. Suddenly her feet slipped from the rock. She hung for some seconds from her hands, squealing and jerking her legs as she tried to find another foothold. Then she plummeted down with a shriek that seemed to last forever but I counted just thirty seconds. As she fell, our viewpoint fell too, only not so fast. I saw her finally dashed upon the rocks below. I observed some creature emerge and cast about the remains but it was gone by the time we got close enough to see it clearly. For some time, we watched her shattered body pull itself together again. At last she rose, now very pretty! She felt her neck and then looked about for the key. She found the thong some yards away, but no key! She squatted on her haunches and I thought she would cry but shortly she rose and made her way fearfully to a cave in the shadow of the column. There she was met by a hideously pustuled broo, who waved her key as if expecting her. Her nostrils flared in disgust at its massive, yard long erection dribbling some yellow fluid. I thought she would vomit but she turned and offered herself to the creature which leapt upon her and entered her violently, upto the roots! As she arched her back and screamed in agony, something long and slimy with many insectoid legs oozed from her mouth and crawled away. As the fogs closed once more, even as the broo climaxed and coil after coil of that thing emerged from her mouth, I saw her hand close upon the key and grasp it tight!

I expect you’re wondering what she did? It was very bad! And this way! The fogs parted to reveal a river of fire. I’d seen it before but could feel no heat this time. The far shore appeared to be an enormous cliff of smooth iron. Chained to this cliff were many figures. Some were skeletons, others desiccated corpses; all writhing, trying to keep the bodies away from the glowing metal. Our viewpoint drifted downstream past this cliff as it neared our bank. Then the cliff turned away and the river started widening again. Suddenly our viewpoint moved upwards rather than sideways and it rose over the top of the cliff to reveal it was in fact part of an enormous, iron coffin. Upon the coffin I could see fiery letters, difficult to read.

If you want a translation, roughly it reads…

I will smash the door, I will crack the gate,
I will brake the bar, I will shatter the post,
I will raise-up the dead to devour the living.
I will make the Earth a frozen wasteland
fit only for the living-dead to dwell therein.
I will show no mercy for I hate you all.

Not all his worshippers wind up here, many suffer spiritual destruction, judicial or otherwise. A few are even judged worthy of reward. They aren’t many and they aren’t here. Now! He in the coffin signed the pact but under force and he didn’t use his name of course. Some people seem to think that makes him something special. Every once in a while, he and his followers behave in a quite anti-temporal fashion. He has to be watched! The fogs closed in again.

Now I have one more thing to show you. We found ourselves completely wrapped in a dense, purple mist. I was shocked to find my guide’s face had rotted to little more than a skull with eyes, blond hair still clinging to a desiccated pate. The head talked…

Of course, I signed the Great Pact. Had to, didn’t I? Only not all of me was there at the time and that bit now goes by another name. Suddenly he became deeply earnest. You shouldn’t trust it! It’s evil, not like me! He drifted off into hoarse, cackling laughter as the mists thinned and gave way to a dark, brooding landscape lit by a purple Moon, low on the horizon. We stood next to a long barrow. It looked out of place! Then it occurred to me that any form of grave is misplaced in Hell! My guide’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

This is another sort of threat. At the edges of reality, things are soft! Other places, other whens can intrude. Both in Hell and where you come from. There is a danger that things may cross! I think… I… uh! I looked up at him in alarm as his voice trailed off. He seemed to be having some trouble. His hands kneaded his brow, then slid down to his throat. He gurgled, gasped and rattled and then abruptly his head rolled-off his shoulders and fell to the ground. Headless, he reeled about for some moments then turned and lunged at me, arms flailing. His enormous hands seized me by the throat and immediately I felt my neck begin to crack. Somewhere behind me through a roaring noise in my ears, I heard a door open and shut and then something silvery flashed across my blurred vision. The grip on my head broke and I fell gasping to the ground. Waiting for disaster with my eyes shut, I heard footsteps retreat and a door open again.

I opened my eyes to see my guide’s headless body feeling around on its hands and knees as if looking for something. As I watched, it slowly faded amidst wreathes of purple smoke. When the smoke had vanished, all that was left was the erstwhile head on the ground. The skull still had living eyes that stared at me for a minute. A tear rolled down the bone of its cheek. I felt compelled to mercy.

In the name of the Great Pact, I declare your penance discharged! As if blown by a fierce wind, the head rolled away and vanished into the darkness.

I felt a draught at my back. Turning, I found an open stone door into the barrow. Though I had never seen it before, yet still it looked familiar. Passing within, the door shut behind me with a heavy rumble and a very final thud. It was completely dark! I stumbled ahead, groping my way down a twisting passage. Eventually I passed into a richly ornamented cavern where uncut gems and gold glittered in the walls. At the far end were three wooden thrones upon each of which lounged a noble man in Keltic dress. The one in the middle was old and bearded with an eye-patch. Upon his shoulder was a raven and at his feet there lay a wolf. The other two were younger and beardless. He on the left was lithe, dark haired and pale-skinned, possibly vampiric, dressed in black! The other was similar, possibly a brother. One of his hands was missing and replaced by a beautifully crafted silver claw. He spoke!

Hello again! He seemed familiar, his accent peculiar. It seems we’re doomed to meet - often. Perhaps you should be careful about the questions you ask. Remember, curiosity killed the cat! I’m getting rather tired of saving your life all the time. Still, one of those things! I believe your business is with my brother here. Mind you treat him with respect now, he’s a great lord! I turned to his brother and fell on one knee.

My lord! I desire to know the answer to a simple question that I might pursue my god’s purpose for me in the scheme of things.

Ask your question! His voice was light, barely a whisper yet perfectly clear.

What threats to Time exist in Hell? He smiled shyly, thought for a moment and then spoke.

There are no threats to Time here in my domain. We all must observe the rules laid down by the Outer Ones and our world parallels yours, sometimes touching; to hurt one, hurts the other. But when things cross-over, well! Rules change from place to place and strange things happen when a power from your world enters into ours and vice-versa. Strange, dangerous things! Then the old man spoke and his voice was deep and commanding, laden with all the wisdom of the world.

You ask the wrong question! Always you people ask the wrong questions. Think you that time is so easily knocked askew as all that? The question you should have asked concerns yourself. I tell you this because my son of the Silver Hand has saved your soul twice now, so we bear some responsibility in the matter. Shortly I shall send you home by a route whereby your questions may be answered. But first I shall give you three warnings. The first is Nothing may be known until it is spoken! The second is A question always begets another question! And the third is Unless you understand your question, you cannot hope to understand the answer! Now go! He pointed behind me. I turned to follow his direction but could see no exit from the cavern. I turned back to find the thrones and their occupants gone. In their place was a dark passage.

I took a nearby torch and entered the passage. It started rough-hewn with many Keltic cup and spiral markings, drawings of heads and strange animals painted upon its surface. Presently the working became smoother and the pictures disappeared. The walls became smooth-worked and well masoned. My foot struck some light object. Looking down, I found a scroll-case. Opening it revealed a parchment entitled Speculations on Causality Sequences in the Ultra-Godwhen with Particular Reference to the Dark-Age, Green-Age and the Dragon-Age by the Archsage Temporalis Major. But the writing was too small to be read by torchlight. I put it back in the case and tucked it into my tunic. Shortly after, the walls began to be lined with shelves stacked with neatly ordered scrolls in cases, each labelled with a complex system of letters and numbers. I looked at my scroll-case to find it lacked such embellishment.

Passing on, I found myself at the threshold of a huge library. Like the corridors behind me and unlike the other library; although busy, everything was neat and every book had its place. Order and Chaos! I thought. In the main atrium, thousands of people were working at desks in a silence broken only by the scratching of quills. I found a wizened woman at a desk and showed her the scroll-case but she said It’s not one of ours.

In the centre of the atrium were a ring of stone arches, each of a different colour. Between each arch stood someone dressed in grey. Inside the ring were rows of tiered seats like an amphitheatre. Every few seconds, someone would stand and a man in gown and beard of grey on a podium in the centre swivelled to face them. They seemed to exchange question and answer. It was impossible to enter the amphitheatre without passing one of the people in grey. I circled it at a distance before approaching between the Black Arch and the White. An earnestly helpful young man addressed me quietly, as if confiding a deep, intimate secret.

Question or answer?

Question.

Very good! Here’s your ticket, you’ll know when to stand. Just write the return question on the reverse and leave by the indicated arch. He gave me a piece of beige parchment with the number 669152269 on it. I entered and took a seat and a quill from the inkwell and watched the proceedings. A fat merchant-type was on his feet, I just caught the answer to his question.

Forty-two! Said the man on the podium.

But I don’t understand.

Then you should have considered your question more carefully! Mmm - How many oaks grow in Dogtooth’s Patch? Leave by the Green Arch! Next! He swung to face a tall woman wearing a Sun-rune on a scarf about her brow.

Where is the Egg of the Phoenix?

There is more than one egg and they are scattered! Where is the Centre of the World? Leave by the Yellow Arch. Next! He turned to face me and I stood.

What threats to Time exist in Hell?

Hell currently contains no material threats to Time though there are some fifteen thousand, two hundred and eighty-six lesser threats as of dawn today. List three spheres of actuality with wherewhens of temporal interphase? Leave by the White Arch! Next! As he swung away, I suddenly remembered an empty book.

Erm? Excuse me! He swung back to face me again. On eyebrow raised. Realwhen, Hellwhen and Godwhen. I think? I said tentatively.

That’s right! He seemed mildly surprised. Well you seemed to have earned yourself a follow-up question. His voice lost its brusqueness and he leant forward, squinting as if studying me.

Ah! Right! Well - um!

Quickly now or your right is forfeited!

OK! I said, counting words on my fingers. Should I stop Kurtz from attaining Godhood? - There! Still leaning on the balustrade, he nodded and smiled knowingly, steepling his fingers before his face. He did not snap out his answer and move on, as previously. Instead he took his time, as if savouring a complex problem.

Centurion Kurtz has already ascended to the next stage in his development and that is not in your world or this but lies beyond a transitory temporal interphase. Something should indeed be done about him and soon, before the interphase to Keltica shuts. If not dealt with, by the time that the Keltica interphase becomes active again, Kurtz religion will have fatally warped that world and will pose a real threat to this. The island of Necrojudice is still interdicted from the last time this happened. The journey will be far more interesting than a mere trek through Erebus. The means of getting there is much the same, however. You can walk the path of the shaman, travel the Moon’s Road or open a Temporal Gate such as these around us. Though I’d counsel you to find some friends and prepare yourself first. You must tell me what it’s like upon your return! He stopped and stood straight, hands falling to the rail. Now I come to look at you, I think it better you go through the Purple Arch. I nodded and moved aside to an aisle. He looked around.

Now where were we? Mmm - An answer, I think. You there! Across the aisle from me, a man with a bloody wound where once he had had a head rose up and waved a piece of parchment at the dais. The man in the middle squinted as if reading, though the distance was a dozen yards or more. In Freiburg! Yes, that’s quite correct! The Purple Arch! Next!

As I entered the arch, I was coccooned in boiling purple vapours. I had a sensation of moving in dark, quiet places as the purple got darker and colder. Far away, I heard a bird cawing repeatedly in echo. I felt naked and bitterly cold. Icy winds played on my naked flesh. Then I felt mossy rocks beneath my feet. I heard distant waves and the screaming of seabirds. I opened my eyes to find myself by the side of the coast-road a few miles east of Trebizond. It was a moonless night and I had my hourglass, sickle and scythe. A leather pouch on a thong about my neck, a scroll-case, and a silver garrotte with metal handles. All that remained of my clothes were light ashes upon my skin. Later in daylight, I found my cult symbol had been burnt into my chest in a silvery, ashen colour.

At sunrise I accosted a caravan, claiming to have been robbed in camp; the robbers having overlooked my remaining valuables in the dark. Back in Trebizond, I discovered I had been absent for three days and my friends were planning to hold a service to put my shade to rest. Where my experience had begun, the wooden boardwalk was missing in a half circle, charred at the edges. The mud in the street was still baked hard.

I now realise what I must do. I shall gather unto myself such friends as are doughty, able and willing and travel by some means to Keltica. There we shall oppose Kurtz and save both that world and this.