The church`s gas-lit... «Winter Tide»
RamingoWS31 марта 2018The church`s gas-lit interior was only a little warmer than the snow outside. The air within was still, held in place by stone and stained glass, broken only by a faint trail of cool wind as I passed the center aisle. No one else moved in the building. Any night in Innsmouth, a priest would have tended the temple: ensuring all was right with the altars and statues, waiting for congregants who might need a thoughtful ear. Dusk brings questions, and when darkness falls it`s a poor time to be alone with them. I was glad enough for the solitude, this time -- I would hardly have asked the archpriest for advice on the confusion he himself had raised. I settled in the god`s embrace, and lit the altar candle. It`s common to meditate on the gods and their functions -- though any pries would tell you those functions, the personalities claimed for them, the divisions among different species of deity, are simplified for the understanding of the young, with the priests themselves very much included in that category. There`s risk in defining the indefinable. Still, the stories serve purposes: guides for worship, mnemonics for virtues and fears, ways to consider the unknowable without being entirely overwhelmed. Iä, Dagon, guardian of waters, steadfast. And yet absent from Innsmouth when needed. Iä, Hydra, defender of waters, fierce. And absent too -- here I could imagine Her well enough to feel bitter about that, as I could not in the museum. It had been a while since I`d prayed to Innsmouth`s presumed patrons at any length. Iä, Cthulhu, bringer of life and death, ever patient. I`d always felt most comfortable with the Sleeping God, and more so now. Cthulhu listens, and never promises aid that cannot be forthcoming. Iä, Nyarlathotep, herald of knowledge. A favorite of the Yith. But I considered the psychopomp`s customary role: showing the path to what was hidden, ensuring that wisdom could never be fully censored or forbidden or lost. I imagined a black-robed figure treading the echoing floors of the library, entering the stacks that Miskatonic`s guardians thought theirs alone, and smiling. Of couse, it would as smilingly open those doors for Russian spies as for us. Nyarlathotep doesn`t play favorites, or try to protect anyone from the consequences of newfound knowledge. Iä, Yog-Sothoth, maker and keeper of gates. Iä, Azatoth, void and melody. Iä, Shub-Nigaroth, mother of fear. I had never understood that cognomen, had taken it as a joke when Mother simply said that children were terrifying. Have you not just told me of my daughter`s death? Now, thinking of Grandfather`s raw mourning, I believed her -- and feared further understanding. I thought on that fear a long time, and reached out to touch an encircling tentacle. A whisper of motion, a breath of ice, told me that someone else had entered the church. I froze, but didn`t blow out the candle.
35
