by Garret Smith
“Hunter is my name,” he explained wonderingly. “In the land I came from my people long ago hunted wild beasts, as your people do now. So the name of Hunter was given to us.”
A look of slow recollection and memory grew in the girl’s beautiful face.
“Oh, now I remember, remember just a little, as in a room where the torch has burned low and you can see only shadows. I have seen eyes before. There was a woman who took care of me and taught me this speech that is like yours. And there was a man who taught me to use the torches, and they both had eyes. And the woman called the man Hunter, and they both called me their little Hunter.”
We had all gathered about the dais by now, and every man of us heard these last words. I think, however, that I was the first to grasp their, import. My trade of chronicler kept me familiar with the events of our world. It had also trained my mind to the ready tracing of relationship between past and present happenings and to the drawing of quick inferences.
The last words of the queen completed a mosaic of facts and inferences that my mind had been constructing, both consciously and subconsciously around the mysterious character. On a sudden I saw the meaning of its weird pattern.
“Hunter!” I cried. “Don’t you see it? This lady is your kinswoman, daughter of your cousin who sailed away when you were a babe, and never returned.”
THE reader will recall that early in this tale I made brief mention of this lost cousin of Hunter’s who had returned from a voyage with a weird tale of adventure in the margin of the Land of Darkness. I remembered that there had been several women in the party making that remarkable voyage.
One of these women, a member of his clan, of course, that former Hunter had married shortly after their return. She had sailed with him on his second, ill-fated voyage from which none of their party had ever come back, and till this moment their fate had been an absolute mystery.
It was now suddenly made clear to me by the queen’s recollections, that their ship had entered that Land of Darkness again and there been wrecked. The wedded couple had evidently escaped with their lives, only to spend them among the blind savages, among whom this their daughter was born.
My impulsive statement seemed to mean little to the queen. She stared at me resentfully as though I were simply an annoying person who had interrupted her reverie. Plainly she was absorbed in trying to recall more of that dim, early memory of hers.
Hunter was for the moment dazed. Then the truth of what I. had said forced itself home. Even in the uncertain torchlight I could see that he had turned very pale.
A moment he glared at me almost angrily. Then he fastened his gaze on the face of his new found cousin and held it there till I thought he would never have done with the drinking in of her loveliness. It was as though he had noted for the first time that loveliness in the light of this suddenly revealed relationship.
Till this moment she had been to him a being apart, a strange, exotic, hardly human creature, to be feared and guarded against. No bridge of human feeling could cross between two so alien. Now she stood suddenly revealed as blood of his blood, one, like himself, lost from the Land of Light in this realm of darkness. Swift pity replaced fear and aversion.
I saw this emotion appear in his face and grow until I fancied I read there something more than pity. I suddenly remembered the Lady of the South, the only other woman I had ever seen who compared in beauty with this queen.
I remembered the strange doctrine of love before marriage which that lady had advanced, and the rare expression of tender regard in her face when she had mentioned Hunter. That same look, to my horror, I saw now copied on the face of our leader as he gazed on his new-found kinswoman.
I say I viewed it with horror, for even as I admired the fair face of this woman I did not trust her. I shuddered at the thought of what might befall us all if our leader fell under the spell of this fascinating creature.
Further, I had an uneasy suspicion that Hunter, who from our earliest boyhood together had been my ideal hero, was revealing a new side of his nature, a weak side he had kept sternly hidden from his best friends; in short, a weakness for the lure of women—a manifestation most unusual among the men of Venus.
But even as this suspicion took form within me, I had to admit in all charity a certain measure of excuse for my hero. Probably no man in Venus had ever so been assailed by such unusual allurements in two separate embodiments, very different superficially, yet fundamentally alike in their strange power to attract.
Had not I myself been forced to admit the fascination of the beautiful Lady of the South? And, now, much as I distrusted the charming barbarian before me, I realized that my pulse quickened a little in her presence.
Hunter had the reputation among his friends of being particularly indifferent to womankind. Indeed, it was an open secret that his father, the Chief Patriarch, was not a little disturbed that his eldest son had gone so long without choosing a mate.
At the time of our sailing on this voyage he had all but convinced me that this indifference had developed to the point where he had become a confirmed woman-hater.
When he had sent for me, on my return from my journey to the south, to enlist me in his undertaking, he had shown more interest in my recent interview with the Lady of the South than in the plans for his voyage. It was due to this that I learned so little of the details of his plans in the brief time he could give me.
I remember being a bit disturbed at the expression on his face as I had spoken of the lady. It had reminded me strongly of the emotion the lady herself had betrayed when I had spoken of him to her. Though he had hastened to express disgust at her declaration of love for him, a member of another clan, and to assure me he had no sympathy with any proposal to depart thus from the sacred customs of the land, I got the impression that the lady had in reality strongly appealed to him, and that he was going on his voyage as much to escape her overtures as for his avowed purpose of seeking new lands.
He had hastened, a little vehemently, I thought, to declare that women had no place in his life; that they were a disturbing element, and that he had accordingly refused to take any of them with him on this voyage.
At the same time, I felt convinced that the tale of this strange romance was not finished. Should Hunter ever return alive from his mad voyage, it would be, I feared, only to ruin his future career by an irregular entanglement with the daughter of the Patriarch of the South, a thing that might have a far-reaching effect on the future of our people.
But now I viewed the episode of the Lady of the South as but one horn of a serious dilemma. Here in the wilds of the Land of Darkness was another allurement equally disastrous. In this case, the charmer was a kinswoman, and thus he was not safeguarded from the union with her by the custom of Venus.
Would be become so obsessed as to remain with her here, forgetful of his home and his race and his high purpose? Or would he attempt to bring back this autocratic barbarian to the Land of Light as his wife? To my mind, either move meant his ruin.
SO YOU may well imagine that with all these possibilities in mind I watched with great uneasiness the drama before me.
Some of my perturbation, at least, was apparently shared by Weaver. He had not finished the sentence that had brought out this astonishing revelation. He seemed to have forgotten it. With a deep scowl on his face, he, stood in silence studying the faces of the pair on the dais.
The rest of our company stood about, frankly incredulous. By the way most of them eyed me I could see they suspected I had taken leave of my senses.
The queen broke the spell. With a reluctant sigh, she brought her absent gaze back to Hunter.
“I can remember no more of my past history,” she said.
Then, as though for the first time recalling that I had spoken, she darted a puzzled glance at me.
“But what does this man mean?” she asked. “Whose daughter am I? What does he mean by a kinswoman?”
Despite her general memory of the tongue taught her
as a child, these words designating family relationships had little meaning for her. The facts for which they stood had no place in her tragically lonely life.
“Little cousin,” Hunter began in significant contrast to the formal address he had employed toward her before, “a long time ago in the Land of Light from which I came a man of my name had many children. One of these became my father’s father. Another had a son who sailed the sea in ships. Once he sailed away, and a woman, his mate, sailed with him. Their ship was lost, and no one of its company were ever again heard from.
“But now you tell of two people who called themselves Hunter, as I call myself. No other Hunters were ever lost from the Land of Light. So those cousins of mine who were lost must have been those whom you remember. They must have been your father and mother, for they called you Hunter, too. And that is why you have two eyes like us and why you speak like us.”
For a long time the queen considered this in silence.
“I understand,” she said simply at last.
But she seemed neither glad nor sorry. She sat again, lost in thought. We all watched her compassionately. The rest of our company now seemed convinced that, after all, I had spoken with reason.
“From the Land of Light you came?” the queen questioned suddenly, turning again to Hunter.
“Yes,” he assented, “from far away, where the light shines forever and there are no torches needed, and everyone has eyes.”
“Once I saw it long ago. I remember now,” she remarked casually.
“What!” Hunter exclaimed, starting up. “You saw it! But I thought you said you had always lived in the Land of Darkness!”
“I always have,” she returned in surprise. “But I saw the light, once, a long way off. I was a little girl then, and I stood just outside here. A great wind blew, and I stood up and saw the light way up over my head like a little torch far off.”
“ ’Tis foolishness; a child’s fable!” grunted Weaver in my ear.
But it was evident that Hunter took it seriously. He was all interest, and at once fell to asking her a score of eager questions, to all of which she could give but little answer.
“By the Great Over Spirit!” swore Weaver disgustedly under his breath. “He believes it! He will be asking us next to try flying with him in search of lights in the upper air.
“And if he does,” he added after a moment with a rueful grin, “I’ll be fool enough to try it, though the Over Spirit knows I’m no great success as a bird.”
CHAPTER IV
A NEW DAWN
I HAD hoped, now we had been received into the good graces of the queen and were no longer held in the status of slaves, that we would be served with food more palatable to our vegetarian tastes. But in this we were disappointed. At the queen’s orders we were presently served again with the same greasy provender that Weaver had so pointedly railed against.
With the prospect of shortly returning to our ship, however, we consoled ourselves with the thought that this would be our last meal of this sort. Evidently there was no better food to be had, for the queen did us the honor to dine with us, and I must say amazed me with the daintiness with which she handled such undainty food despite the fact that she had no eating utensils save her slim, brown fingers.
Having eaten, the queen retired to her private chamber, first ordering some of her men to bring in a pile of soft rugs, and telling us we could have the use of the big room for our sleep.
Hunter established watches as on shipboard, roughly measuring the time by the state of the burning torches. Despite the queen’s assurances and show of friendliness, we by no means trusted her retainers. She had assured us we would be left alone, but no sooner had our company become quiet than we could hear faint movements about the passageways leading into the main room, and occasional low, guttural mutterings. It was plain that we were under guard, and we were spurred to the utmost vigilance.
The first watch set and the rest of the company sleeping, Hunter sought out Weaver and myself and took us to one side for a consultation.
“As soon as we have slept,” he announced, “the queen will take a company of her men and pilot us back to our vessel, and we will soon be on our way.”
“You still think you can rescue the vessel!” Weaver asked.
“I hope so, but if not, your proposal to drag our rafts and supplies back will be adopted.”
He hesitated for a moment as if uncertain whether to confide his next thought.
“I have something else in mind which you may not approve, but which I feel is my plain duty,” he declared finally.
My heart sank. I knew in advance what his proposal was to be. His next words confirmed my intuition.
“The queen of this race of savages is my kinswoman, a woman entitled to high standing in the Hunter clan. It is not right that she be left in this horrible place. I propose, if possible, to take her back with us to the Land of Light, the home of her ancestors.”
He paused and searched our faces with an air of determination, as if he surmised our disapproval but meant, nevertheless, to stick by his purpose.
“I feel it my duty to my family,” he insisted, as though we had already protested.
“Has the lady given her consent?” I asked for want of anything better to say.
“Not yet. I have not yet put the question to her pointblank. But I have been preparing her by picturing the delights of the Land of Light, and I think her curiosity will win her.”
This from the man who, a little time ago, had railed against the dullness of the Land of Never Change and fled from it to seek change even at the peril of his life. I reflected bitterly on the decaying effect on a man’s character that followed the lure of a pretty girl, but held my peace.
“But what if the lady objects?” insinuated Weaver.
He pondered this a moment.
“In that case,” he replied at last, “much as I disapprove of such measures, I think I shall use force.”
And this from the son of our Chief Patriarch, whose solemn warning against the dangerous doctrine of force had rung in our ears as we sailed! Character decay, indeed!
“I feel that you are not asking our advice,” Weaver blurted out, “but I for one can see no good from trusting this savage woman aboard our ship.”
Hunter chose to ignore his shipmaster’s rudeness, but pushed his argument from another point.
“I feel, too, that we owe her much for the help she Is giving us in restoring us to our ship, and that she can be of much further service with her knowledge of the Dark Land in case other delays keep us long in these unfamiliar regions.
“However, thanks to her memory of the light she saw in her childhood, I feel sure now that my theory of other regions of light beyond the Belt of Darkness was correct, and that we have not far to go to reach it.
“It probably seems so to her childish memory. My belief is, you will remember from my explanations, that only the upper portion of the great sea of air has the property of light. Our land, being a high, rounded hill, projects up into that light. There is, I believe, near us another high hill which extends even higher into the light.”
“I hope you are right,” sighed Weaver doubtfully. “Only let us get out of here, and I’ll consent to carrying a whole shipload of savages. I promise you, though I shall hold my nose for the most of the voyage.”
Hunter laughed good-naturedly and bade us seek some sleep while there was yet time.
WHEN I awoke the entire company was stirring. Indeed, I think Hunter had not slept at all. Despite his enthrallment he realized that in case any of the blind savages should undertake murder on their own account our only defense would lie in the little anesthetic sprayer which he kept in his tunic.
Presently the queen appeared in one of the passageways and announced that she and her company were ready for the start.
I shall never forget the hardships of that short trip back to the spot where we had last seen our vessel. True, our Journey from it to the ice city had pa
rtaken nothing of luxury. We had been assailed by the bitter cold, by the harsh physical strain of dragging our captors’ burdens and the string of our drivers’ whips, and the mental anguish of dread of approaching death in horrible form.
But the air, though stinging cold, had been quiet and clear save for an occasional puff of breeze or flurry of fine snow crystals. Moreover, our rigorous physical task, though painful, had served to keep a little warmth in our bodies.
Now as we crawled out of the low passage behind Hunter, carrying his powerful light, we were suddenly blinded by a smother of heavy snow crystals whipped by a gale that snatched the breath from our nostrils and smote our bodies with its icy blast as though we had gone forth stark naked.
Our escort seemed little discommoded by these astonishing weather conditions, which apparently were nothing unusual to them. Those blind creatures, muffled with extra furs until they looked like little more than shapeless bundles, stood about a row of flat frames, made or animals’ bones fastened together with thongs of hide. I have since learned to call them sleds. They were dragged over the ground by a team of the savages attached to each by thongs. I surmised that it was one of these contrivances I had myself recently helped to drag across country.
The queen bade us to dispose ourselves on these sleds. This time we were to be drawn, an exchange of status with our former captors which at first pleased me greatly, but which I later regretted when I felt my inactive limbs slowly congealing from the cold.
Hunter, Weaver, and myself occupied, the front sled with the queen. We three men were glad to bury ourselves, heads and all, under the pile of furs that were provided for us. But our hostess sat up in front, undaunted by the fury of the storm, and with merciless skill wielded a long whip-lash over the unfortunates who drew us.
How long we rode thus I have no means of knowing. How our blind guides made out the way will, to this day, remain a mystery. I can only surmise that these eyeless creatures had developed some sense of direction unknown to us, who depend on the power of sight.