A Dangerous Simulacrum of the Real

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Six: Storms

A Dangerous Simulacrum of the Real

* * *

Abram screamed.

No one heard, of course. The Mercurius was a silent passenger in his own body. The Erthe Woman’s trap was an excellent one.

As Drago shook ‘Alfred’s’ hand, the Hermetist paused to wonder that the former was still himself. Perhaps this cage could be broken out of, after all.

The look on the Watr Man’s face told Abram they both knew the situation and that Drago intended to do something about it. Meantime, he played along with the illusion while the witness was present. “Have you seen anyone?”

Abram heard his voice say, “No one new has come through here in a long time. Sorry, friend.” ‘Alfred’ sounded genuinely sad that he couldn’t help.

“Don’t worry about it, Alfred.” Turning to include the other native, “I’ll wander on up the river. Perhaps there will be some sign of him.”

“Down river would be better. There’s a larger town a half day’s walk in that direction. Your friend might well be headed there.”

Releasing his grip, Drago replied, “Thank you. I’ll do that.” The Hyborean immediately headed in that direction.

As Abram watched him go, the native asked, “So, how’s the fishing?”

Abram heard himself answering with inane familiarity.

The conversation continued with infuriating casualness long past the time where such deception served any purpose. Abram began to think these people might be real. He wondered if the former Rayne Hermit had made this reality or just found it. If the latter, it begged some fascinating questions about the NOTHING and the Reality it may have spawned.

Finally, finally the conversation meandered to a conclusion and the hick wandered off.

Drago emerged from the brush lining the river seconds after the other had disappeared.

Surprise tinged ‘Alfred’s’ voice, “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

The Watr Man strode quickly to him; an expression Abram would have called ‘murderous’ in his eyes. The personality in charge of Abram’s body recoiled in fear. Too late to avoid contact.

Drago gripped his head and the sensation of a thousand hot needles rippled along the Mercurius’s spine. He screamed.

Abram screamed.

When Drago let go moments later, the Hermetist was back in control again. “Thanks, Drago—I think.” he said. He managed to avoid collapsing only because the larger man held him up. The fit of weakness passed quickly. “Now what?”

“We get out of here.”

“Well, there must be a way.” Abram looked around, noting that his hair was long again and that he was now in his Hermetist garb. “Somehow.”

“Any ideas?”

“There’s an ‘Old Place’ I’ve heard villagers mention. It’s as good place to start as any.”

“Let’s go ask some questions, then.” Drago almost returned Abram’s smile.

They set off.

* * *

The ‘Old Place’ turned out to be a ruin two days’ march into the forest, if the stories were true. None of the villagers had ever been there; nor had their sires or grandsires. This place was an old legend among them. Abram was not encouraged, given this whole reality was likely created only hours ago.

Drago didn’t even shrug when he raised his concerns. Not surprising, given the former’s taciturnity.

They dickered for supplies with the local merchants, none of whom seemed to be excited at the prospect of someone visiting the ruin. The two strangers encountered no words of discouragement, but expressions, tone, and body language screamed their reluctance. Again, Drago didn’t even seem to notice.

The two were told, that the easiest way to get to the ruin was to leave on the high side of the village so as to get to the top of the ridge. Once there, they’d find a game trail. They’d need to turn left on it and, after two days march, the pair would have to veer off the trail to the right, descending to a dell that contained the ruin. There would be no problem spotting it from the ridge, apparently. To a one, they refused to describe what the ruin looked like.

The climb to the ridge was easier than Abram had feared. The game trail was quite wide and pleasant.

The woods were…’weird’ was the only word for it. There was nothing—not one thing—to point to that was out of the ordinary for a forest. The place seemed quaint, or maybe cute, like a child’s idea of a tame woodland. The plants were colourful, the wildlife when they caught glimpses, furry and harmless. Birds sang sweetly in the trees.

Abram distrusted it deeply.

When asked, Drago seemed not to know what the Hermetist was going on about. The latter thought the Watr Man little better than an automaton, now.

During the days of the march, minus the stops for sleep and food, they spoke little. Abram was left brooding, deep in his own worries and suspicions. He was becoming more convinced this whole thing was an elaborate trap. The illusion of reality seemed a weak, febrile thing, now. It was as if, now they were headed where they were wanted to go, there was no reason to keep up the pretense.

“This should be far enough,” Drago said, late into the second afternoon. The sun of this world was a cheery reddish thing, almost too wide to take in at a single glance.

“How can you tell?”

“Look,” Drago pointed off the trail to their right.

The slope down was gentle, to be sure. The foliage to that side had been thinning for a couple of hours, as well. It took a moment to see what had alerted the Watr Man that this was the best spot.

Two smaller ridges away was a faint glow of sorts. Whatever rested in that valley was giving off some sort of illumination.

“We may have a welcoming committee when we arrive,” Abram said.

Drago, eyes glued to the spot, nodded deeply and slowly.

“Another part of this trap of the Erthe Woman?”

“Likely.”

Abram sighed. “No point waiting. Let’s go spring it.”

It took them until well past sunset to top the second rise. They had pushed on because neither wanted to camp another night before getting back to the Thirty Aions. Even Drago, it seemed, was getting a bit uncomfortable with this kid friendly faux reality.

Abram forgot what he was thinking about when he saw the valley below.

The glow was coming from dragons. Not just any drakes, either. Ten of the dragon guardians of Azhure’en were chained in a broad circle to stone pillars. In the center was a pool of Silvergrey. Emerging from it shimmered the webbed form of the Sea God.

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, October 2026

© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved