talien
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Cold War: Part 4 – The Ceremony
“This is no ordinary snow globe,” said Archive, pointing to drawings of the snow globe, among other sketches.
According to the specifications, it was a simple glass sphere about four inches in diameter.
“The inside of the globe has a small representation of this rest stop, and tiny flakes flurry downward without every settling. You don’t even have to shake it.”
“The Eye of Ithaqua,” whispered Stride, who had followed Hammer over. “It is a powerful focal point for cult rituals, and serves as a conduit between Ithaqua worshipers and their cold god.”
“Where is it?”
Archive pointed to Jim-Bean, who was stumbling over to them. “I gave it to him.”
“Great,” said Hammer.
A blast of freezing cold wind shrieked through the front doors, nearly blowing the glass doors off their hinges.
Jim-Bean tried to grab the donut counter. He was barely audible in the shrieking storm.
“I know…who the murderer…is…” he slumped to the floor.
Hammer’s Glocks were out again. The blowing snow inside the donut shop made it impossible to see. “You lost the Eye, didn’t you?”
Jim-Bean didn’t respond, shivering.
Outside, the other cultists were all running through the snow, chanting something at the top of their lungs, shedding their clothes as they did so.
Hammer could just barely make it out.
“Ia! Ia!--Ithaqua! Ithaqua!
Ai! Ai! Ai!--Ithaqua!
Ce-fyak vulg-t'uhm--
Ithaqua fhtagn!
Ugh!--Ia! Ia!--Ai! Ai! Ai!”
“Fools!” Stride shook her head. “Zelazny said he needed five sacrifices to perform the ritual!”
Hammer, Archive, and Stride jogged to the front of the rest stop.
The gnoph-keh had built a great snow mound in the center of the parking lot. An older man was there, standing naked with the snow globe lifted high overhead.
“Hodges,” said Stride. “That’s our murderer.”
“Ithaqua, my lord!” shouted Hodges. “Bestow your blessing upon your faithful servant!”
At first there was only the horrible howl of something carrying on the icy wind. Soon a pair of red stars were spotted in the sky – as they watched, the stars appeared to get larger and larger. It became apparent that the stars were getting closer, and quickly the monstrous form of Ithaqua could be made out, the red stars its glaring eyes.
The howling reached a terrible crescendo, deafening, before the wind lifts, rising upward as if from the earth into the sky, drawing leaves and dead brown pine straws and flakes of ice with it; then, after a moment, with absolute abruptness, all five of the Cult of the Windwalker lurched into the sky in an impossible gust of wind. Their screams faded slowly and were gone.
Hammer took careful aim. With a squeeze of the trigger, Hodges’ extended wrist holding the Eye of Ithaqua exploded in a geyser of blood and flesh. He shrieked, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist.
The summoning had not gone as Hodges had planned. Ithaqua’s terrible gaze fell upon him.
Hodges screamed again, but this time it was an agonized wail. He doubled over. A terrible transformation took place as Hodges’ skin sank into his bones and his hair turned white. His eyes lost their pupils, all to the litany of Hodges’ screaming. A moment later and he too spiraled upwards in the grip of his god.
Then the giant turned skyward, too, lifting its talons high, growing into the sky until, distended, it bent its inhuman legs and leaped into the ether and ran on great webbed feet along the shimmering Auroran light into nothingness.
“The Eye!” shouted Stride. “Is it still here?”
The snow globe rolled down the huge hill of snow to land at his feet. “Yes,” said Hammer. “It’s over.”
Stride shook her head. “You don’t understand. Hodges received the blessing of Ithaqua. I don’t know if he fully understood what that meant. It transformed him, warped him. We have to destroy—“
Before she could finish her sentence, a white moving blur swept Stride up in mid-sentence. Her screams disappeared into the wind high above.
And then her screams returned all at once as her flash-frozen body smashed into one of the cars, shattering into a million bloody chunks.
“This is no ordinary snow globe,” said Archive, pointing to drawings of the snow globe, among other sketches.
According to the specifications, it was a simple glass sphere about four inches in diameter.
“The inside of the globe has a small representation of this rest stop, and tiny flakes flurry downward without every settling. You don’t even have to shake it.”
“The Eye of Ithaqua,” whispered Stride, who had followed Hammer over. “It is a powerful focal point for cult rituals, and serves as a conduit between Ithaqua worshipers and their cold god.”
“Where is it?”
Archive pointed to Jim-Bean, who was stumbling over to them. “I gave it to him.”
“Great,” said Hammer.
A blast of freezing cold wind shrieked through the front doors, nearly blowing the glass doors off their hinges.
Jim-Bean tried to grab the donut counter. He was barely audible in the shrieking storm.
“I know…who the murderer…is…” he slumped to the floor.
Hammer’s Glocks were out again. The blowing snow inside the donut shop made it impossible to see. “You lost the Eye, didn’t you?”
Jim-Bean didn’t respond, shivering.
Outside, the other cultists were all running through the snow, chanting something at the top of their lungs, shedding their clothes as they did so.
Hammer could just barely make it out.
“Ia! Ia!--Ithaqua! Ithaqua!
Ai! Ai! Ai!--Ithaqua!
Ce-fyak vulg-t'uhm--
Ithaqua fhtagn!
Ugh!--Ia! Ia!--Ai! Ai! Ai!”
“Fools!” Stride shook her head. “Zelazny said he needed five sacrifices to perform the ritual!”
Hammer, Archive, and Stride jogged to the front of the rest stop.
The gnoph-keh had built a great snow mound in the center of the parking lot. An older man was there, standing naked with the snow globe lifted high overhead.
“Hodges,” said Stride. “That’s our murderer.”
“Ithaqua, my lord!” shouted Hodges. “Bestow your blessing upon your faithful servant!”
At first there was only the horrible howl of something carrying on the icy wind. Soon a pair of red stars were spotted in the sky – as they watched, the stars appeared to get larger and larger. It became apparent that the stars were getting closer, and quickly the monstrous form of Ithaqua could be made out, the red stars its glaring eyes.
The howling reached a terrible crescendo, deafening, before the wind lifts, rising upward as if from the earth into the sky, drawing leaves and dead brown pine straws and flakes of ice with it; then, after a moment, with absolute abruptness, all five of the Cult of the Windwalker lurched into the sky in an impossible gust of wind. Their screams faded slowly and were gone.
Hammer took careful aim. With a squeeze of the trigger, Hodges’ extended wrist holding the Eye of Ithaqua exploded in a geyser of blood and flesh. He shrieked, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist.
The summoning had not gone as Hodges had planned. Ithaqua’s terrible gaze fell upon him.
Hodges screamed again, but this time it was an agonized wail. He doubled over. A terrible transformation took place as Hodges’ skin sank into his bones and his hair turned white. His eyes lost their pupils, all to the litany of Hodges’ screaming. A moment later and he too spiraled upwards in the grip of his god.
Then the giant turned skyward, too, lifting its talons high, growing into the sky until, distended, it bent its inhuman legs and leaped into the ether and ran on great webbed feet along the shimmering Auroran light into nothingness.
“The Eye!” shouted Stride. “Is it still here?”
The snow globe rolled down the huge hill of snow to land at his feet. “Yes,” said Hammer. “It’s over.”
Stride shook her head. “You don’t understand. Hodges received the blessing of Ithaqua. I don’t know if he fully understood what that meant. It transformed him, warped him. We have to destroy—“
Before she could finish her sentence, a white moving blur swept Stride up in mid-sentence. Her screams disappeared into the wind high above.
And then her screams returned all at once as her flash-frozen body smashed into one of the cars, shattering into a million bloody chunks.