Robert Adams - Castaways 5 - Of Myths and Monsters

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Of Myths and Monsters
by Robert Adams
PROLOGUE
In one of the larger cities of an Eastern Seaboard state of the United States of
America, in the first year of the last quarter of the twentieth century, a man sat at a
desk in a modest office which was located in a building that, though it once had
been the mansion of a well-to-do family, was now become one- and two-room
offices. The man resembled in his physical appearance, dress, and usual manner
only what he was supposed to resemble, a businessman of indeterminate age but
probable middle years, a run-of-the-mill, middle-class American who was
possessed of sufficient business acumen to afford to dress well, drive a midpriced
but new auto, pay his bills on time and in full. A bachelor who had been known to
make allusions to one or more former wives, he occasionally wined and dined and
otherwise entertained acquaintances of the female persuasion and later, in his
comfortable apartment, often shared sex with them. That he never allowed any
serious or lasting relationships with them to develop was usually ascribed to his
understandable fear of repeating the pain of his late marriage or marriages.
In fact, the man was nothing of the sort. In the strictest sense, he was not even a
man—male, but not human, not completely human, at least. Not that there had not
once been a truly human man just like this being, but he had died and his husk had
been used as the pattern for fashioning the body that this being now inhabited; his
brain and selected portions of several others had been skillfully merged to occupy
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the skull of this "man" by a technology so far beyond the "man's" present
contemporaries as to be unbelievable.
Although other beings considered this being to be almost young, still had the
being been in existence in one or another form for almost half a millennium, by
the standards of authentic men.
He sat at the desk, speaking in a conversational tone although he was alone in the
office. The language in which he spoke, however, was one incomprehensible to
any save two or three other beings like himself on all the earth. He spoke to a
dimly pulsing spot of light that hovered in the air before him, its glow all but
invisible in the shafts of sunlight spearing between the slats of the window blinds.
"I am certain that it is more well-meant idiocy on the parts of those cretins who
are mining the easternmost reaches of the largest northern-hemisphere continent
of the world we call 3-9-23-1. It is but more proof of what has been said by beings
before this: Their available technologies have far outstripped their intellect and
judgment and, are they not more strictly controlled and guided in the proper ways,
they will eventually be the innocent instigators of real difficulties for all of us.
"In an attempt to return certain humans to this world which is my current station
of duty, said humans having been plucked into the world of 3-9-23-1 by way of a
malfunctioning primitive projector out of the world that we call 3-9-18-20, they
managed to instead lose all of them somehow, on exactly which world and in
exactly which line of time I have yet to ascertain.
"I came upon all of this by way of purest accident. I was called upon in the line of
work that this creature I here am conducts to investigate disappearances of
valuable items from the properties of a firm that specializes in the sale and resale
of weapons of many varieties. Seated with the senior officer of the parent firm in
his office, I was able to sense the afterglow of one of the carriers used by the
miners of 3-9-23-1. This alerted me and I was caused to recall that close relatives
of this very man had but recently disappeared under most singular circumstances.
He had, indeed, asked me to investigate those disappearances, and I had so done,
my conclusions having been reported to you higher beings in my report
#11.523LSP12RF.
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"Had immediate remedial action been taken at that time, doubtless none of the
present threatened problems would be occurring; but the circumstances prevented
speedy action, I was informed, and so we now are faced with the result. I will be
unable to report on the degree of gravity of this result until I can discover just
where and when these subjects were projected, of course.
"The artifacts being apparently projected from this world are very oddly assorted,
and many of the varieties of foods and weapons have disappeared in quantities
much larger than the ten or twelve human projectees could use themselves, so I
must assume that they are giving them or selling them to humans indigenous to
that time and world, and all of us are unpleasantly aware of the certain outcome of
such interference if it is allowed to go on for any length of time. It was
interferences akin to this, allowed by the lesser ones who preceded us, that
brought about the sorry state of affairs now so bedeviling us.
"But worse than the projections of artifacts of this world to another is what I
noticed in a research laboratory of the firm on which I was calling. The carrier
afterglow was very strong in one room of that place, and certain traces remained
as to lead me to believe that the room and some of its equipment had been used to
reproduce technologically sophisticated devices of the miners' culture, world, and
time. If such knowledge as was necessary to do what was done there falls into the
hands of even so primitive a culture as this one the result could be chaos for us.
"It is for this reason that I send this report and why I most urgently request that my
other duties be either assigned to other beings or allowed to be suspended until I
can put this dangerous matter to rights. The only viable alternative will be to
assign an emergency team of beings to the situation, with all that attends to such
assignment and preparations of the beings for it.
My report is now concluded."
Immediately his last syllable was pronounced, the dimly pulsing light winked out
of existence.
—————CHAPTER
THE FIRST
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His name was Brian, the eighth man of that name to reign as Ard-Righ or High
King of Eireann or Ireland, but Brian VIII was only seen on documents or used
orally by a filid as he sang the long, rhymed, often rambling genealogical records
that had never been written in all the many centuries they had been compiled.
He was called Brian the Burly, and burly he was. Scion of a long line of warriors,
fighting monarchs and fighting chiefs, he was obviously their true get. Although
not truly a tall man, he nonetheless gave a first impression of size, of massivity;
though well formed and graceful, his hands were large, strong, hairy-backed, and
heavily scarred. His frame was all big bones and rolling muscles sheathing them,
the hips as wide as the shoulders that looked almost too broad and thick for his
body. His head rested on a neck nearly as thick as the head itself. His lower
extremities, though no less solid and strong than his arms, were clearly those of a
horseman, with flat thighs. Now, in his middle years, his waist was beginning to
thicken slightly and strands of grey were appearing in his hair and beard, but still
he looked as powerful, vital, and incipiently dangerous as ever he had in the past.
And Ard-Righ Brian the Burly was indeed dangerous in many a way. In his prime,
few men in all of Eireann had been his match with the fearsome Danish-style axe
he favored, ahorse or afoot; and even now, when he was in his fifties, many a
younger man would be inclined to think twice before meeting the monarch in lists
or on field of battle. But as deadly an opponent as he certainly was sitting his
spotted destrier in armor grasping his fearsome axe, this was not the only danger
he represented… or even the most significant.
For Brian was not only physically strong, he was possessed of wealth and power,
wealth, power, and an ambition that gnawed at him without cease, waking and
sleeping. Countless men had died, countless gallons of blood had been shed, in his
years-long attempts to assuage the pangs of his ambition, and, ruthless as he was,
he stood quite prepared and ready to see half the male population of the entire
island done to death if it would achieve his ends.
For years without number, Brian's paramount title, High King, had been mostly a
mockery, for the high kings had held no more land than any of the other kings in
Eireann, had had no hint of true sovereignty over these other kings, in fact, had
acted as little better than a referee in wars between kings and kings, kings and
would-be kings and the like. Brian's sire and predecessor had envisioned an
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Eireann over which the high kings would hold such sway as the kings of other
lands—England, Scotland, France, Norway, Denmark, and Aragon—did over
theirs, and he had inculcated his son with an equally driving ambition from his
very earliest years.
Of course, Brian did not, would not, could not admit to the fact that personal
ambition drove him, rather did he often cite his desire to bring to an end, once and
for all, the small wars between the kings that had, for year after year, century after
century, racked and impoverished what could have been a rich, fertile, productive
land and people. These citations, however, were only taken at face value by
foreigners who did not know him or know him well; his kingly opponents in
Eireann knew better. And foreigners of any intelligence or intuitiveness who
served him or had any depth of dealings with him for any length of time quickly
sensed a real difference between that in which Brian believed and that in which he
wished others to believe he believed.
Such men as these were three condottieri temporarily resident in widely separated
portions of Eireann. One was an Italian—Ser Timoteo, il Duce di Bolgia— who
had, along with his justly famous condotta, been hired by one Cardinal D'Este and
sent to the Irish Kingdom of Munster to help to modernize its existing army and
hold it against the incursions of the High King for the Church and the House of
Fitz Gerald, scions of which had been its kings for centuries—the second was also
an Italian, actually, the full brother of the first, Roberto, and he now reigned as an
Irish king over the kingdom called Ulaid, in the northeast of the island. Righ or
King Roberto, who had realized even as the ancient crown of Ulaid was lowered
upon his brow that his small, weak, impoverished little holding had had all the
chance of a wet snowball on a hot griddle against the power and the wealth of the
grasping High King, had sought about and then made the short sea journey to the
Hebrides Islands, where—after certain negotiations—he had given over the
Kingdom of Ulaid to Sir Aonghus, Regulus of the Isles, then received it back of
the powerful old man as a feoff.
In due time, the Regulus had sent formal notification to the Ard-Righ and all other
nearby rulers that, as in archaic times, Ulaid was once more a feoff of the Western
Isles of Scotland, its king his vassal and, therefore, henceforth under his fearsome
protection. At receipt of that letter, Ard-Righ Brian the Burly had, so said his
people who waited upon him, cursed and blasphemed most sulphurously, then set
about recalling the bulk of his large army from campaign in the Kingdom of
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