Pulp Fiction, 1949 · page 54 of 132
A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, December 1949 — page 54: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1949. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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¥ ‘a SOT eee ale PY a eee ee ats iele ON be ee u SPIE Letra oe ry mi Bt ts os Y +eaeRe rs &° Pe aw e . : . : sPat. Pe SON oh ¢ attee ¢ Pir aA aa Wii lt Oa Sew. : ‘ yey? t AP shes SINT »* 7 f - £ 1 . ‘ 2 | i M4 7 > Pi , : : : —- i ey ‘ \* wy * ) ag F| * i : ie) fate. ey | a Me i ‘ _» NRPS Ge Te oe ae age Jrce ’ Ay att: rv ys 2 Buh. tt oan *" £2 05% SP. ee Ne Nt gy iF ; 24% $ a ’ 4 ‘ «54 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY The whispering continued; grew more urgent. I looked about the room. It was thronged with shadowy shapes that swayed and shifted like shadows in the waves. Upon the floor where I had thrown them lay the keys of Ys, the black pebble glimmering. I slipped from the bed and threw my cloak over my shoulders. I picked up the keys. The whispering grew fiercer; it threat- .ened; it urged me on, implacably. I felt the shadows go along with me, wavering before and around and after me. I knew the way to the sea-gates. It led through the palace, thence underground to the vault at the end of the prow of stone against which the waves were thun- dering. I could not think clearly—my thoughts were shadows—I was walking with shad- OWS . «.. ~The shadows were hurrying me, whis- pering . what were they whispering? That nothing could harm me. . . nothing stop me... but I must hurry .. . hurry. The shadows were like a cloak, covering me. ; I came upon a guard. He stood beside the passage I must take from the palace into the underground way. He stood there, as in dream, staring vacantly, staring through me, as though I, too, were but a shadow. The shadows whispered—‘ Kill.” I thrust a dagger through him, and went on. I came out of that passage into the ante- room of the vault of the gates. There was a man there, coming out, of the vault. It was the white-robed priest with the yellow eyes. To him, at least, I was no shadow. He stared at me and at the keys I held as though I were a demon. Then he ‘rushed toward me, maul upraised, lifting a golden whistle to his lips to summon aid. The shadows swept me forward, and be- fore it could touch his lips I had thrust my dagger through his heart. And now the gate of the vault was be- fore. I took the smallest key, and at its” touch in the slot that gate drew open. And agdin the shadows crowded before and around, and pushed me on. There were two guards there. One I killed before he could draw weapon. I threw myself on the other, throttling him before he could cry alarm to bring aid. I thought that as we writhed the shadows wound themselves around him, smotheringly. At any rate, he soon lay dead. as I went on to the sea-gates. They were of the same metal as the keys; immense; ten times my height at the least, twice again as wide; so massive that it did not seem that they could have been forged by the hands of men—that they were indeed the gift of the sea-god as the people of Ys had told us. I found the slits. The shadows were whispering .. . first I must thrust in the larger key and turn . . . now the smaller and turn . . . and now I must cry out the name upon the pebble . . . once and twice and thrice. I cried that name. The massive vales shuddered: they be- gan to open—inward. A thin sheet of wa- ter hissed through the opening, striking the opposite side of the vault like a sword. And now the shadows were whispering to me to flee... quickly ... quickly... Before I could reach the doorway of the vault the split between the opening valves was a roaring cataract. Before I could reach the passage a wave struck me. On its crest was the body of the priest, arms . stretched out to me as though in death he was trying to drag me down . . . down under the smother... And now I was on a horse, racing over the wide road to Caranac through the howling tempest. In my arms was a,child, — a girl whose violet eyes were open wide, and blank with terror. And on and on J saced, with the waves reaching out for me, clamoring behind me. Above the tumult of wind and waves, another tumult from Ys—the crashing of its temples and palaces, the rape of its sea- walls and the death-cry of its people blended into one sustained note of despair. CHAPTER 10 And Out of Dahut’s Tower LAY, eyes shut, but wide awake. I _ had battled back into this awakening, — wrestling for mastery over another — self that had stubbornly asserted its right — to be. I had won, and the other self had — retreated into my memories of Ys. But — ‘ 4 .. .. ‘ : J