XIX: In the Shadow of the CitadelAsk me not to speak of that terrible, half-mad race as both pursuer and pursued for much of what I recall is hardly believable, even to the credulous reader. What details are fit to be related are atmospheric and mundane when considered individually. However, approached with a holistic view, and one already shaken by certain monstrous sights and the death of a much beloved comrade, these otherwise simple details formed an unequalled landscape of madness which our aimless flight and chase crossed. The unwholesomely damp night-winds rolled in from the coast unseen before us, carrying a foetor laden with terrible portent. The gibbous moon leered overhead, a malignant eye watching the terror of the earth below uncaringly, its idiot scrutiny broken by the dark cumulonimbus billows driven by the gale in the upper air. Swamp lights flickered all around us, confusing our bewildered sense of direction. These greenish will o’ wisps flickered with such devilish intent that it was difficult not to ascribe an evil volition to what surely could only have been natural ignitions of marsh-gas. Eerie cries sounded on all sides, and though we hardly lacked for explanations, given the nature of what hunted on our trail, I could not help but recall the dark whispers of the Greenmarsh folk about what might lurk among the standing stones of the bog.
At times it seemed we were nigh to apprehend M. Arterius, at others we dashed in stark terror of being overhauled by the howling mass of Cossacks, yet somehow both outcomes failed to be realized. Instead, we continued the stumbling dash though the swamp, slopping through disgustingly stagnant and brackish pools and turning ankles joltingly on the occasional stone or other strangely solid patch of earth. Miss Zorah may have lead the way, loping easily over the loathsome, moist ground, torso bent forward at a queerly predatory angle. She, younger than I, had perhaps discovered a better way to traverse this wasteland of muck and slime despite her hereditary illness, for she seemed less troubled by the terrain. However, the sure-footed Inspector Vakarian also made good speed, obviously accustomed to the rigors of pursuit.
Tormenting me as we ran were the revelations of the night, the awful knowledge that human civilization hung by the most tenuous of threads over a seething abyss of madness and blasphemy from which it could never be recovered. What point was there, to continue our hunt for M. Arterius, if we could hope only to deny him whatever self-inflicted servitude to gibbering powers beyond human comprehension he was bent upon? Would not the Elder Machines rise from their slumber of eons with nightmarish purpose no matter the outcome of the relatively pathetic mortal drama already taxing us to our limits? Foolishly, my mind struggled to find a way from this cruel trap the cosmos had set for life on our benighted planet. Despair choked my breath as I falteringly ran, for how was I to devise a plan that might disrupt an infallible cycle of insanity and obliteration older than the very continents upon which life had the temerity to tread?
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Discussing the themes in them that would resonate with her, and with other ME characters. But granted, should move on to more Tali-related goodness. Like CotEM. ~_^
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