Story & Voices

Dialogue & Logbook

The voices of the expedition — 679 lines across 11 speakers, from the Narrator's chronicle to the crew you sail with — and every logbook journal you can recover.

Narrator

The expedition's chronicle

Have we fulfilled his commandment to love our enemies?
I cannot help but wonder whether they say the same about us.
I, Baltasar de Salvatierra, will claim the city of Tsath - not for the crown, but for myself! I shall carve my dominion from the bones of Tsath and crown myself in its gold; the earth shall shake, the jungle shall burn, and from the ashes my new kingdom shall arise.
Not truth, not belief, but a hollow imitation of the ecstasy of revelation, to distract them from the moral abyss at the decaying center of their civilization.
"To squander the rare privilege of learning on such trifles? You, who can read Latin and Greek and discourse freely on Aristotle, filling your journals with the gibberings of painted men who live in fear of ghosts! You dishonor your teachers." By which I meant: you dishonor me.
---
A terrible storm the kind of which I have never witnessed before, not even at Cape Horn, shattered the Comendador upon the shore, but even in the face of this omen we were not deterred.
After all, would it not have been better for the Mapuche if they had known of the wild and dangerous men that live in the strange and distant land of Spain?
Alas that Captain Baltasar cares not for mysteries, but only for gold and power.
All their great inventions had been created in the pursuit of liberty; but that strand of their culture, the strand of true Enlightenment, had been cut short.
And for industrial purposes, they created the Y’m-bhi, a slave-class made from the bodies of the dead. Those who were considered lesser, as well as those who spoke against the orthodoxy of their time, were consigned to this class.
And indeed it seemed that religion was a leading interest in K'n-yan, and our hosts spent many hours in conversation with the Father, asking him about the holy books and sacred rites of his faith.
And it is now, as our world struggles to claw itself out of the darkness of feudal superstition, to rid itself of monarchy and dogma, that the wisdom of the ancients is most sorely needed.
And it is now, as our world struggles to claw itself out of the darkness, that the wisdom of the ancients is most sorely needed.
And keep away from the Mound.
And of course, above them all, the monstrous, gigantic, omnipotent city of Tsath, whose vast shimmering spires rose so high that upon seeing it, most strangers mistook it for a mountain.
And so we descended like locusts upon this forsaken land, our minds already delirious with grief and desire.
And so we did.
And so, upon our arrival, we were treated with great curiosity, and questioned eagerly about the fabulous outer regions.
And what will happen to us, as in the Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen, when the true owner of the land returns?
And when it is done, I will carve a kingdom out of this accursed wilderness with fire and steel.
And yet it seems that our search for the Mound has frightened them enough to abandon their settlement, to leave behind hearth and home.
And yet we do not despair. Zamacona is alive, and that light he carried within him, the light of Reason, is not extinguished.
And yet what they had told us about their achievements was no lie.
And yet, though we came to this land in a fever of greed... in freeing Zamacona's soul from his eternal torment, our journey did serve a noble purpose in the end.
And yet, without risk there can be no understanding. And without understanding, there can be no true safety.
Another people lived here once, and they were not savages, as the priests say, but a people of great vision and achievement, who flourished in an age long before Memphis and Thebes were built, before Athens and Rome had even been dreamt of.
Anyone who knows the truth of K'n-yan will question whether there is a God or a Devil, and think that perhaps this world was born from nothing but chaos.
As for K'n-yan... it was by the deeds of a K'nyani woman that Zamacona was saved. Thus we may say with confidence that even in the lost city of Tsath, there is still hope.
As for K'n-yan... let it lie in the darkness.
At the bottom of the page, Zamacona has added:
At the end of the world, with barely any food, we have arrived to a densely forested region where no one lives through a day.
At the end they are all soft, softer even than Zamacona. Their blood is thin, like clever old Benjamín's - meant for counting coins, not holding a sword.
At the hour of Matins, one of the common sailors, an untrustworthy Biscayan by the name of Tomás Ruiz, was found absent from his watch at the fort.
But I do not think that this land belongs to us. Not even the Mapuche claim it. But if it is not theirs, and it is not ours, then who does it belong to?
But a dark apparition is said to haunt the caves by which we mean to escape - perhaps the spirit of Great Tulu himself. I fear there is nothing we can do now but be brave and do our best.
But do not do this if you seek treasure, for you will find death, and perhaps something worse than death.
But here, I have looked into their eyes, heard their tales, watched them go about their lives. They are neither demons nor angels - they are men, and as all men, they are both brave and foolish!
But in you I see the flicker of that fire which drives humankind to seek Enlightenment. Therefore I will tell you the true story of the Tempestad, as found in that peculiar manuscript, to which I have dedicated so many years of my life.
But it was I who was ignorant. And now we have paid the price for my ignorance.
But no matter how dark my dreams, I will not abandon my belief that the Creator blessed us with the light of Reason for a purpose, even if his creation is greater and more terrible than we had once imagined.
But not even the Mapuche claim this land. And if it is not theirs, then who does it belong to?
But she fears a dark apparition which is said to haunt the caves by which we mean to escape - perhaps the spirit of Great Tulu himself. I fear there is nothing we can do now but be brave, and look to the light of Reason.
But some of us are willing to venture into the forest, for we have family and brothers in Christ among those who went before.
But the Lord has decided that I must live in this age of transformation, and I must do my best to be a good man.
But the Mapuche had lived here for many years; surely to them this place was not a wilderness to wander through, but the place where they had been born, the place that all the sweet memories of childhood bound them to.
But the echoes do not end there. Countless are the legends of a subterranean kingdom, a heaven beneath the Earth built in times of old;
But the echoes do not end there. There is a visionary account by a mad poet, now seized by the Inquisition, which speaks of a subterranean kingdom ruled by princes of darkness.
But there is a curse here, a curse that enslaves our flesh as we sought to enslave the flesh of others.
But there is a curse here. A curse from the days of the Nephilim, that takes and twists the flesh.
But these were not enough to quench his thirst. "No more shall I rely on faith," he told me, "praying in vain to a God who remains silent. Here I shall discover gods who live within our world, not beyond it."
But these were not enough to quench his thirst. "There is something divine in that darkness," he told me. "Something of such great beauty and perfection that it can only have been made by the hands of the Lord. I must witness it with my own eyes."
But though we will pray for the lost, we will not return.
But though we will pray for the lost, we will not return. May God forgive us.
But were we sent here to tremble before this New World? Or were we sent to conquer it? Christ went down to Hell and returned with souls. I go down to take the throne itself.
But when our boots crush their temples and our hands take their gold, I ask myself: is this the path of the Lamb? By which name would the Christ who expelled the merchants and the money-changers from the Temple call our actions?
But when our boots crush their temples and our hands take their gold, I ask myself: is this the path of the Lamb? I have spent many hours in prayer over this question.
Captain Salvatierra dismissed the whole matter as the itinerancy of primitive tribes, and was infuriated by the suggestion of any other possibility.
Captain Salvatierra dismissed the whole matter as the itinerancy of primitive tribes, but the Mapuche had lived here for many years;
Could it be that this lost city truly exists?
Could we find them alive? Or at least give them Christian burial?
Despite whatever riches may lie in this land, the Mapuche did not claim it, and settled only on its borders; the rest, they said, belonged to the people of K'n-yan, who live deep under the Earth. They are the builders of the city of Tsath, and makers of many wonders.
Even in this darkness, there is still hope. A woman called T'la-yub has approached us.
Even in this darkness, there is still hope. We have learned of three spherical devices by means of which the K'nyani control the bodies of their slaves.
Even the Mapuche feared this place, but our captain insisted that we must continue, and we agreed.
Even this we thought we could overcome, but our faith was not strong enough. Night after night they took our friends; but we suffered more when they returned, in mockery of the Resurrection.
Even to them, that age is one of legends now; but they remember that they were brought to this world following the signs and omens of Great Tulu, and in ages long gone they populated the surface of the Earth, and built a great city at the South Pole, near the mountain Kadath.
Father Escalona's diary:
Father Melchor says that God gave these lands to our king, as He gave Canaan to Israel. I pray that he is right.
Father Melchor's journey was different. When we first met the K'n-yani, he would take every opportunity to try to convert them to the faith of the Cross.
Find them by seeking the lights in the sky, and take them from their altars; only in this manner may the pillar of light that guards the entrance to K'n-yan be broken.
For I must tell you the history of K-n'yan itself, as relayed to me by its remaining inhabitants.
For all that followed, I do not think that we were wrong to celebrate the beauty of these discoveries.
For even the deepest places of the abyss have no power over it.
For example, we learned that during the past few thousand years the phenomena of old age and death had been conquered; so that men no longer grew feeble or died except through violence or will.
For many years they have lived in their village near the Mound, that hill which is said to be the entrance to the underworld of K'n-yan.
For what am I, what is any soldier, but another Salvatierra, another Cain shedding the blood of his brothers?
Forgive me. My thoughts are unclear. I hear the voices coming closer. My end is upon me.
Formerly several races had inhabited the underground world. In the course of time, however, the men of Tsath had conquered and enslaved the rest, interbreeding them by their arts with certain horned and four-footed animals into the slave-beasts they called gyaa-yothn.
From the Yothic manuscripts, he learned of the forbidden cult of Tsathoggua, the monstrous toad-god after whom the capital was named, and the whispers of a black abyss deeper even than K'n-yan, and of the unspeakable things that dwelt in these gulfs of nether horror.
Furthermore, the people of K'n-yan had mastered a technique by which mind ruled over matter, and flesh could be transmuted into energy and back.
Go forward now only if you seek salvation; for I believe that anyone who finds Zamacona and frees him from his fate will be blessed by the Father above.
Go forward now only if you seek salvation; for I believe that anyone who finds Zamacona and saves him from his fate will be blessed by the Father above.
He claims to have seen there the form of a pale creature, which did not speak but passed between the trees without sound, to place a new treasure at the shrine.
He is to be flogged tomorrow before the crew for deserting his post, lest this foolishness spread among the younger hands.
He swears it was no living soul, but a spirit, and blasphemously insists that we should not have taken the treasure.
He was threating God himself, saying he would commit such atrocities upon this land that they would mar Creation itself.
Here follows the account which none before you have heard:
Here follows the final entry in Zamacona's journal.
Here follows the first entry in Zamacona's journal.
Here follows the fourth entry in Zamacona's journal.
Here follows the second entry in Zamacona's journal.
Here follows the third entry in Zamacona's journal.
Here follows the true account of the journey of the Tempestad, in the words of those who witnessed their descent into the netherworld.
Here the Tempestad has carried us poor souls.
His dreams are of maps unwritten, of sands where none have walked. He seeks the shape of the world itself, the mystery of God's vast design, in which we are but specks.
His mind possessed by an unceasing desire for revelation, he attempted to unseal that abyss - and for this crime, the people of K'n-yan punished him according their laws: his body horribly transformed, his mind enslaved.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, cover my soul with your mantle, that the corruption of my flesh may not penetrate my spirit. Amen.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, cover my soul with your mantle, that what is left of my soul may be saved. Amen.
I am no theologian. But every night I pray Our Lord sees in my heart a servant, not a thief in the night.
I am no theologian. I lack the knowledge to understand such difficult matters. But my unease persists.
I believe that I am not a man of the world as it is today. Sometimes I believe I belong to the past, to the age of philosophy; at others times I believe that I belong to a distant future, in which our world of the present appears foolish and old-fashioned.
I believe that the following words were written by Captain Zamacona himself:
I do not believe that they would make such a choice over mere superstition, no matter what Salvatierra thinks.
I do not believe that they would make such a choice over mere superstition.
I fear that I have seen the same emptiness in certain men of consequence in Spain.
I had heard many tales of the Mapuche before arriving in this land. Some painted them as fiends in human shape, as Captain Salvatierra sees them: primitives driven by bloodlust and ignorance, worshippers of idols and eaters of flesh.
I have always believed this, and I have knelt in prayer with men who once bowed to cruel pagan idols, and rejoiced in their salvation.
I have buried too many to let that be the end of our story.
I have finally come to understand what is going on. I feared for some time that I was insane, but it is not so.
I have long sought the fabled city of Tsath, and the realms that pertain to it; for in certain ancient documents it is remembered as a city of great learning, a capital of science and philosophy from a time long before the golden ages of Athens, Baghdad or Constantinople.
I have recorded the matter, though I judge it to be the fruit of fever, drink, or superstition, all three being common enough among men of his class.
I hope that this good deed will serve to cleanse our souls, and that one day we will meet Zamacona and Inés in the wide fields of Paradise, and embrace them as long-lost friends.
I know all too well where such panic may lead. Zamacona objects, too soft-hearted as usual, but I will not have discipline undone by phantoms, real or imagined.
I laughed at Inés for taking their foolishness seriously. "Is this what you abandoned your studies in Venice for?" I said to her.
I must not falter. No good captain may share his fear. Were I to waver, even once, the men would break like a rotted hull in a storm.
I therefore believe that we are being guided by Divine Providence to seize these treasures from the hands of the idolaters, and to put them to better use in the service of God and Spain.
I therefore believe that we are being guided by Divine Providence to seize these treasures from the hands of the idolaters, to cleanse this land by casting down these golden calves, as Moses did upon Sinai.
I was enraptured by the tales of the K'n-yani, and the majestic achievements that we were allowed to glimpse. If I could convince the people of this realm to share their discoveries with us, we could transform the world above.
I will not say that Father Melchor's faith was weak, for that would be a lie. I will say instead that he saw all those things in our world which others attribute to the Fall, and asked himself whether they too were the work of God.
I will not waste my time telling the story of how I discovered rumors of the Mound in ancient manuscripts dismissed by most scholars, save for Inés; nor will I tell of the many journeys that led us to this forgotten stretch of land.
I, Baltasar de Salvatierra, will claim the city of Tsath - not for the crown, but for myself!
If I show grief, if I show weakness like Zamacona, it will spread. If I allow mercy to soften the rod, it will become a contagion, and all discipline shall fail.
If only we had listened to the Mapuche! I thought them savages, their stories of impossible beasts in the jungle mere superstition.
If that man existed, he is gone now, consumed by hubris. The night before we fled, I heard him speaking Latin, but his words were not prayers.
If the Lord made the whirlwind, and the tiger, did he not also make the beings that inhabit the caverns of the Earth?
If they call me harsh, let them do so. I will be obeyed. For in obedience, there is life; in doubt, there is only death.
If they fear the Mound enough to abandon their village solely because of our expedition, it must be for good cause.
If we are humble and do not think ourselves above all others, there is much that we may learn here.
If we cast these into the abyss, their power over the dead will be undone, and perhaps in that act all of us will find some measure of freedom.
If we cast these into the abyss, their power over the dead will be undone, and perhaps in that act all of us will find some measure of peace.
If you follow in my footsteps, heed my words carefully. There are eight cylinders of the metal they call Tulu.
In K'n-yan, there are many temples. The most richly constructed are those to Great Tulu, the spirit of universal harmony; while the cryptic shrines of Yig, the Father of Serpents, are almost as lavish and remarkable.
In all the years of this short life, I have sought understanding of God's creation.
In our days, as in the days of this tale, there are powers of an imperial and ecclesiastical nature which shape our lives and our telling of the truth, pushing us to betray our conscience in the name of obedience.
In our fever-dream, we were convinced that we knew what would happen. We would find Zamacona, and the gold, and the city, and we would finally get what we deserved.
In the course of my inquiries into the ancient history of the world, I have encountered persistent echoes of a city called Tsath, whose name appears only in oblique forms:
In the course of my inquiries into the pagan geography of this land, I have encountered persistent echoes of a city called Tsath, whose name appears only in oblique forms:
In these places, Father Melchor was initiated into the mysteries of the underworld, learning much of the sacred rites and mysterious techniques of K'n-yan.
In this time their ancestors came to believe that no man from the outer world who yet lived was anything but a spy of these foreign devils; and accordingly, traffic with the lands of sun and starlight abruptly ceased.
In truth, the world of K'n-yan was built upon conquest and slavery.
Insects writhe in the ground, the water is poison, and sick, inhuman things move in the shadows. But were we sent here to tremble before this New World? Or were we sent to conquer it?
Inés too was spellbound, in her own way, by the great complexity of artistic forms produced by the K'n-yani, which to me seemed almost incomprehensible.
Inés, having learned much of the literature and philosophy of K'n-yan, tells me it is abstruse and insincere, a hall of mirrors, in which meaningless aesthetic contortions replace the pursuit of revelation.
Inés. Zamacona. The Mound! Forgive me. My thoughts are unclear. I hear the voices coming closer. My end is upon me.
Is there a buried realm, older than Babel, known to scattered peoples who share no language or blood?
It has happened again.
It is an annotated compilation of journals, fragments of correspondence, and speculative notes in the manner of natural philosophy, written by the crew of the Tempestad, a galleon long thought lost in the distant south.
It is later than I thought; I must go.
It is near us now, that unholy place where Zamacona disappeared, taking Inés and Father Melchor with him. But I do not need to see its terrible blue light to know where we are.
It was blasphemous to think that we could overcome this curse, for it is the judgement of God.
It was the Year of Our Lord 1653, and it seemed that all of His teachings had been forgotten. Greed ruled the hearts of kings, and men lived and died by the sword.
It would seem that she is an apostate, a brave citizen opposed to the path that K'n-yan has taken. She has offered to help Inés and myself escape, at great risk to her own life.
Just a few souls on board the Tempestad.
Let no man call this plunder; for our actions are sanctified by purpose and baptized in the name of the true faith.
Let the Lord judge me when all is done. I ask only that He count the lives I have preserved, not only the ones I have lost.
Let them flee! I will remain. I will find Zamacona. I will dig up the ground with my bare hands if I must.
Moreover, we have come to understand that the medallions we found have certain properties of attraction, which may be employed to discover further shrines.
Most of this journal was written by Zamacona in his typical shorthand, in small cramped letters that would take even the greatest scholar some time to decipher. But on the first page, Inés had left a note. This is what it said.
Much of K'n-yan is deserted now. I discovered that, though immortal, many of the people of K'n-yan chose long ago to die, tiring of a world where stagnation reigns.
My experimentations have revealed that the medallions have certain properties of attraction which may be employed to discover further shrines.
My name is Diego, son of Hernán. I was a sailor upon the ship called the Comendador, sailing with the Lazarillo under the command of Captain Zamacona.
My revelation began as we fled deeper into this chaos of trees and mud, trying in desperation to escape Captain Salvatierra. They say he was a great man once, a man with the soul of a warrior who served the Crown with pride.
Night after night they took our friends; but we suffered more when they returned. Everything we see here is a reflection of our sins.
No soldier amongst them. No true son of Spain. Just frightened children lost in the trees. They know nothing of loyalty, and flee at the first whisper of danger. I should have killed them when I had the chance.
No soldier amongst them. No true son of Spain. Just frightened children lost in the trees. They know nothing of loyalty, and flee at the first whisper of danger. They should have stayed in Seville with their mothers.
Nothing was as it should be. Inés. Zamacona. The Mound!
On some dark nights, I wondered whether the Lord disapproved of my studies; whether I should turn away from the darkness rather than face it. But now I am filled with joy, for He has blessed our expedition, and I am now certain that the rumors hinted at in the forbidden documents are true, and the city of Tsath is more than mere myth.
Only one man returned, but in such a state that we had to lock him in the brig.
Only one man returned, but in such a state, we had to lock him in the lower deck.
Others spoke of them as Inés does, with a kind of reverence, calling them pure-hearted, unspoiled by greed - as though this jungle were Eden, and they had been spared the Fall.
Our days of obedience end here. We bow our head before no man; neither the Church nor the Crown nor the Captain shall rule us now;
Our hosts spoke poetically of the great cities of K'n-yan: B'graa, a marvel of finely wrought gold, with its narrow curving streets and its roofs bursting into a multitude of pinnacles.
Perhaps it is merely an allegory - but if it is more, should we not discover the truth?
Perhaps that is mere coincidence; or perhaps it is the hand of Grace.
Perhaps we are not here to plunder the city of Tsath, but to claim it.
Pray that this is our fate.
Saint Christopher, guide my hand as you guide sailors to safe harbor, that my words may protect those who come after me.
Saint Christopher, guide the hand of this poor sinner as you guide sailors to safe harbor, that my words may protect those who come after me, and that in death some measure of my sins may be forgiven.
Salvatierra has lost his mind, but he still has followers willing to shed blood for his madness. We cannot risk staying here any longer. May God forgive us.
Scattered throughout the jungle we have discovered pagan shrines filled with treasures made of dark metal.
Scattered throughout the jungle we have discovered pagan shrines filled with treasures made of dark metal. These treasures, though wrought with skill, have been used in service of abominations, in rites of blood and darkness.
She says there are three spherical devices by means of which the K'nyani control the bodies of their slaves.
So I will bear it in silence. I will speak with strength, though my voice is hollow. I will command with certainty, though my heart grows heavier with each passing day.
So they run. The cowards turn their backs on me, stealing my ship, their sails as full and their hearts are empty.
Some of us are willing to venture into the forest, for we have family and brothers in Christ among those who went before.
Some would dismiss this as the inconsistency of barbaric myth, but I believe there is a more tangible reality here, centuries of history condensed into legend.
Such idols offend the true majesty of the Lord, and therefore it is righteous for us to take them and repurpose them for holy ends.
The Captain believes that there are ancient treasures to be found, wrought of dark gold, which will buy us all that we deserve.
The Father did not perceive this, and became drawn more deeply into these discussions, and from there into religious matters of a much darker nature.
The Father says that God gave these lands to our king, as He gave Canaan to Israel. Perhaps he is right.
The Lord has blessed our expedition! I am now certain that the rumors hinted at in the ancient documents are true, and the city of Tsath is more than mere myth.
The Mapuche are not thoughtless animals, but children of the same God as we, gifted with the power of Reason.
The Mapuche do not worship these gods, and for all the wonders they attribute to the K'n-yani, they also deeply fear them.
The Mapuche whisper many stories about this region, and there is a curious mix of wonder and terror in these folk-tales.
The Narrative of Pánfilo de Zamacona y Nuñez, Concerning the Subterranean World of K'n-yan.
The darker tales, which I believe to be of later origin, say that the K'n-yani must not be disturbed; that they are a fallen people, consumed by an inner evil.
The earth was still warm where embers had smoldered. Cooking pots sat half full, children's toys lay heaped in careful piles. They had not been driven away, but chosen to go.
The following journal entry was written by one of the sailors of the Comendador. It grieves me to say that his name is lost to history.
The following pages come from the journal that was found near the Mound itself.
The following passage is quoted from a journal that contained the words of the learned lady Inés de la Cueva, whose story was intertwined with that of Zamacona:
The following transcription - rendered, I hope, with reasonable fidelity - derives from a singular and most perplexing manuscript discovered amongst the effects of a deceased Jesuit in Santiago, which I stumbled upon in the course of my antiquarian inquiries.
The following transcription derives from a singular and most perplexing manuscript discovered amongst the effects of a deceased Jesuit in Santiago, which I stumbled upon in the course of my antiquarian inquiries.
The great explorer Zamacona had come to these shores looking for the lost city of Tsath, and we dreamed that its treasures would grant us liberty.
The great machinery of Nith is in ruins; the silver-steel transportation machines exist only in museums. What remains of daily life consists of games, intoxication, torture of slaves, day-dreaming, orgies, rituals, and experiments, all increasingly cruel and abnormal.
The hour of my death is upon me. I escaped from the abominations of the underworld only to meet my fate at the hands of human madness:
The hour of my death is upon me. I have escaped, but my wounds are too grave. I will not live much longer.
The last entry in the manuscript reads as follows:
The lie was that these things yet persisted, for in truth theirs was a world of ignorance and decay.
The mass of the people forgot, except through distorted memories and myths and some very singular dreams, that an outer world existed; though educated folk never ceased to recall the essential facts.
The men look to me for answers I cannot give. I see the fear in their eyes. The jungle eats away at them - not only their flesh, but their faith.
The name is older than any tongue still spoken, and perhaps older than man himself.
The old tradition of rationalism degenerates more and more into fanatical and orgiastic superstition, centering in adoration of Great Tulu, all the more manic for its lack of true faith,
The only promise in this hellish continent, what brought the captain here in the first place, are ancient treasures made of dark gold.
The people of K’n-yan are almost infinitely ancient. They came here from a distant star where physical conditions are much like those of our humble Earth.
The people of K’n-yan are almost infinitely ancient; for the world itself is more ancient than we know. They came here from a distant star where physical conditions are much like those of our humble Earth.
The proud machine-cities on the gorse-grown plain of Nith, where silver-steel transportation machines threaded land, water, and air, and the miraculous devices of the valley of Do-Hna.
The purpose of life was to feel rather than to think; so that men were now more highly esteemed for inventing new diversions than for preserving old facts or pushing back the frontier of cosmic mystery.
The shrines we have discovered prove that there must be some truth to the ancient stories, veiled in myth though they are.
The signs are all around us, and we should have known from the first omen.
The trees are suffused with hatred. Filthy insects writhe in the ground, the water is poison, the air is foul, and the things that move in the shadows are blasphemy itself.
The truth was far worse than the wildest superstition. We have disturbed a power far greater than we could have imagined. Again and again, its foul armies fell upon us from the dark, and none of our defenses were enough.
Then came the beasts, the demons of the underworld, and dragged the survivors away to the Mound.
Then came the final blow: Zamacona, Inés, Father Melchor... all of them taken, lost, vanished into the Mound.
Then, the legends said, came a terrible war against the devils of the sky, in which much of the outer world was sunk beneath the ocean.
There is a sacred book that tells of a cavernous paradise beneath the earth; and a proscribed narrative of a land called Xinaian, where masters of transformation dwell.
There were legends of gold in these forests, whispered stories of the lost city of Tsath. Two ships under the command of the great explorer Zamacona had vanished on this dark shore.
There were many mechanical inventions of great ingenuity which made the business of life easier, leaving time for pleasure and philosophy; indeed, even the bodies of the dead could be galvanized into a new effectiveness with the right mechanisms.
Therefore it is righteous for us to take them and repurpose them for holy ends.
These are the notes taken by Captain Zamacona regarding the Mapuche village:
These are the words of Father Melchor de la Peña, as recorded within the journal discovered at the first fort.
These treasures have been wrought with remarkable skill! It is true that they have been used in service of abominations, in rites of blood and darkness, but the skill with which they were made must be a gift from the Lord.
These were the final words in the journal of Benjamín de Castro, Inés' tutor.
These words were found on a page of the journal that the sailors recovered that day. I believe the journal belonged to Inés.
These words were written by Captain Salvatierra in a private notebook:
These words were written in Father Escalona's diary:
These words were written in a blood-drenched journal without a name:
They had long ago dismissed all values and principles as illusions; history was neglected, and science was at best a parlor trick.
They must believe I do not doubt, that I do not mourn, that I have not asked the Lord why He has led us into a land so far from Eden.
They tell stories of whispering trees, of the ground moving beneath them. And the ghosts - always following us, always watching us. Are they the ghosts of our dead?
They were not wrong when they said that this place is Hell, and what lies beneath it is Tartarus itself. There are devils in the jungle, abominations in the eyes of the Lord.
They worship Yig, the Father of Serpents, and Great Tulu, which I believe to be another name for Cthulhu, the being mentioned in the Pnakotic Manuscripts that I translated in the Libreria pubblica di san Marco.
They would not approach the Mound, and spoke of it only in hushed tones. It would be easy to dismiss this as superstition, but the Mapuche know this land better than we do.
This is a land that God created in anger, where the birds do not sing, but screech in pain. Where good men lose their souls and sinners like myself are tortured for eternity by demons and apparitions born of their own transgressions.
This is land that God created in anger, to imprison men like Salvatierra; men like myself.
This is our duty to God and Spain.
This is the letter they found upon the sailor they rescued on that fateful day. It is written in an unsteady hand.
This is what Father Melchor had failed to understand: what was desired from religion was the aesthetic and emotional exaltation bred by the mystical moods and sensuous rites which attended the faith.
This is where I perceived something strange, beyond the unsettling forms of our hosts and their servants: for their interest in religion seemed not philosophical or theological, but purely aesthetic.
This journal was written in the careful, studied hand of Inés:
This journal was written in the fevered hand of Baltasar de Salvatierra, the captain of the Lazarillo:
Though I understood that his crime was severe, I recoiled at the horror that was inflicted upon him, and the joy his captors seemed to take in this punishment. And then, gradually, I began to understand.
To our dismay, the village had been abandoned. There had clearly not been a battle, but an orderly if hasty evacuation.
To the end of the world, with barely any food, to a land lost under tall trees, where few survive a single night.
To understand this mystery is to understand God; it is Enlightenment.
Today we came upon the village our guides had told us about, the last settlement before the forbidden lands of the K'n-yani, where the Mound is said to lie.
Tonight, as I look out at the strange, frightening beauty of this jungle, I find my thoughts troubled.
Two previous expeditions, the Lazarillo and the Comendador, we fear might be completely lost.
Two previous ships, the Lazarillo and the Comendador, are feared lost.
Upon inquiry and with some reluctance, he confessed that he had left his post without leave, drawn by a ghostly light he saw flickering among the trees.
We are far from home, and we are not many. Every soul must hold, or we are lost.
We are in hell, and we deserve it.
We are in hell.
We are told that we sail to bring the faith to new lands, to carry Christ where His name and His grace is not yet known.
We began to claim the land, building many forts to protect us and stake our claim.
We do not know the people who made these artifacts, but they must have left a curse behind them.
We have escaped the Mound and its terrible caverns, but the horrors we have witnessed will haunt us for as long as we live.
We have seen things that would plunge any man into madness and despair.
We knew our captain was a greedy fool. We knew that the Mapuche feared this place. But we persisted, because we knew that we deserved better.
We know little of the people who made these artifacts, but it is whispered that they left a curse behind them.
We must draw a bold conclusion: there exists a buried realm, older than Babel, known to scattered peoples who share no language or blood.
We must escape.
We should be brave, should confront the darkness and rescue them. But as I write, the anchor is about to be raised.
We were sick - sick of the war, sick of the smell of burning cities, sick of being told what to do. But another fever burned within us: the desire to be free. Free of the crown, free of the Church. We told ourselves that gold was the answer.
We were sick - sick of the war, sick of the smell of burning cities, sick of being told what to do. But sick also with the desire for gold, for enough riches to live free of the crown.
We were told many wondrous things in our first days in K'n-yan.
We would find Zamacona, and the gold, and the city, and we would finally be free.
What they had told us about their achievements was no lie.
What we discovered in the depths of K'n-yan has shaken my beliefs about the history of our world, so that I fear that even in the slumber of death I will dream of Tsath and Yoth and dread N'kai.
When I board the ship, I will have finally failed in my duty. I will have left Inés to die, or worse, to be transformed.
When he hears of the lost city of Tsath and all the strange stories of this region, he does not imagine riches to plunder. He has little interest in slaves or gold, and he does not believe in spreading the word of Christ by the sword, as so many do.
When he hears of the lost city of Tsath and all the strange stories of this region, he does not imagine riches to plunder. He has little interest in slaves or gold, and he does not believe in spreading the word of Christ by the sword.
When they tell the tales of war, they do not speak of the counting of the dead. I know each name. I have recited them in prayer more times than I can say. We have left the war behind us, but still they haunt me.
When we arrived at this fort, we witnessed an unholy sorcery which filled us with terror. We saw with our own eyes the Lazarillo appear as if out of thin air, accompanied only by the screams of the crew as she fell to the ground.
When we first met the K'n-yani, he would attempt to speak to them of the faith of the Cross.
Why does Zamacona fail to see this? Is it Christian virtue, or is it blindness to evil?
With the passing of ages fewer and fewer ever dared to come to K'n-yan, and eventually the entrances were no longer guarded.
Within the journal they found at the fort were the following words, written by the captain of the Lazarillo, Baltasar de Salvatierra.
Yes, there are monsters in the jungle, abominations in the eyes of the Lord. Yes, this miserable forest hates us, and it has claimed many of our best.
Yes. They have sent the dead to guide me. There is a deeper design, not yet fully revealed, but I feel it in the earth, in the hush between the trees.
Yet I will confess that I begin to see another possibility. Perhaps these ghosts are an omen. Perhaps the hand of Heaven has not only led us to this land, but entrusted it to our stewardship, as recompense for all the souls we lost in the war.
Yig is said to be the principle of life; Great Tulu is a spirit of universal harmony.
Yig is said to be the principle of life; Great Tulu is a spirit of universal harmony. That is what they say - but then, what is said and what is true is not always the same.
Zamacona agrees with me, and yet he pushes on. If there is a darkness here, he says, then it must be confronted by the light of Reason.
Zamacona agrees with me, and yet he pushes on. If there is a darkness here, he says, then it must be confronted by the light of that same Reason which we share with the Mapuche.
Zamacona is alive. Like us, he is scarred. None of us can ever return to the lives we once lived.
Zamacona is dead, and we have failed to find the riches that we dreamed of.
Zamacona is not like the others, and this alone is why I have followed him to this distant shore.
a single syllable in an ancient funerary chant; a glyph that appears in certain scrolls held in Rome; a word in the fevered tale told by a shipwrecked Portuguese soldier.
and likewise countless are the stories of a darker land inhabited by shape-shifters who steal children from the surface.
and what little tolerance there once was is steadily dissolving into a series of frenzied hatreds, especially toward the outer world, populated as it is by devils.
for in the days to come, we will take what we are owed, and we shall not fight for gold, but for liberty.
sd
surely to them this place was not a wilderness to wander through, but the place where they had been born, the place that all the sweet memories of childhood bound them to.
when I emerged from the depths, Captain Salvatierra fell upon me with a knife, and though he has since fled, the wound is too grave. I will not live much longer.

The Logbook

27 journals

Scattered journals recovered on expeditions, each a fragment of the story behind the city beneath the forest.

0Document added to the reading room

0Father Escalona's journal

0Found documents:

0Read found documents

0Select narration

0Steer boat

0Stop narration

1Letter found upon a sailor

2Melchor's journal

3Baltasar, captain of the Lazarillo

4Unnamed sailor of the Comendador

5Inés’s journal

6Benjamin's journal

7Baltasar, captain of the Lazarillo II

8Blood-drenched journal

9Inés’s journal II

10Captain Zamacona

11Baltasar, captain of the Lazarillo III

12Inés’s journal III

13Captain Zamacona - the Mapuche village

14Journal found at the mound - Note from Inés

15Pages found in a metal cylinder - Zamacona's journal

16Pages found in a metal cylinder - Zamacona's journal II

17Pages found in a metal cylinder - Zamacona's journal III

18Pages found in a metal cylinder - Zamacona's journal IV

19Pages found in a metal cylinder - Zamacona's journal V

20Last entry in the manuscript