by Anthology
"Who rules?" I asked.
"The fair-haired, under the Council of Nine, who are under Yolara, the Priestess and Lugur, the Voice," he answered, "who are in turn beneath the Shining One!" There was a ring of bitter satire in the last.
"And those three who were judged?"--this from Larry.
"They were of the mayia ladala," he replied, "like those two I gave you. But they grow restless. They do not like to dance with the Shining One--the blasphemers!" He raised his voice in a sudden great shout of mocking laughter.
In his words I caught a fleeting picture of the race--an ancient, luxurious, close-bred oligarchy clustered about some mysterious deity; a soldier class that supported them; and underneath all the toiling, oppressed hordes.
"And is that all?" asked Larry.
"No," he answered. "There is the Sea of Crimson where--"
Without warning the globe beside us sent out a vicious note, Rador turned toward it, his face paling. Its surface crawled with whisperings--angry, peremptory!
"I hear!" he croaked, gripping the table. "I obey!"
He turned to us a face devoid for once of its malice.
"Ask me no more questions, strangers," he said. "And now, if you are done, I will show you where you may sleep and bathe."
He arose abruptly. We followed him through the hangings, passed through a corridor and into another smaller chamber, roofless, the sides walled with screens of dark grey. Two cushioned couches were there and a curtained door leading into an open, outer enclosure in which a fountain played within a wide pool.
"Your bath," said Rador. He dropped the curtain and came back into the room. He touched a carved flower at one side. There was a tiny sighing from overhead and instantly across the top spread a veil of blackness, impenetrable to light but certainly not to air, for through it pulsed little breaths of the garden fragrances. The room filled with a cool twilight, refreshing, sleep-inducing. The green dwarf pointed to the couches.
"Sleep!" he said. "Sleep and fear nothing. My men are on guard outside." He came closer to us, the old mocking gaiety sparkling in his eyes.
"But I spoke too quickly," he whispered. "Whether it is because the Afyo Maie fears their tongues--or--" he laughed at Larry. "The maids are not yours!" Still laughing he vanished through the curtains of the room of the fountain before I could ask him the meaning of his curious gift, its withdrawal, and his most enigmatic closing remarks.
"Back in the great old days of Ireland," thus Larry breaking into my thoughts raptly, the brogue thick, "there was Cairill mac Cairill--Cairill Swiftspear. An' Cairill wronged Keevan of Emhain Abhlach, of the blood of Angus of the great people when he was sleeping in the likeness of a pale reed. Then Keevan put this penance on Cairill--that for a year Cairill should wear his body in Emhain Abhlach, which is the Land of Faery and for that year Keevan should wear the body of Cairill. And it was done.
"In that year Cairill met Emar of the Birds that are one white, one red, and one black--and they loved, and from that love sprang Ailill their son. And when Ailill was born he took a reed flute and first he played slumber on Cairill, and then he played old age so that Cairill grew white and withered; then Ailill played again and Cairill became a shadow--then a shadow of a shadow--then a breath; and the breath went out upon the wind!" He shivered. "Like the old gnome," he whispered, "that they called Songar of the Lower Waters!"
He shook his head as though he cast a dream from him. Then, all alert--
"But that was in Iceland ages agone. And there's nothing like that here, Doc!" He laughed. "It doesn't scare me one little bit, old boy. The pretty devil lady's got the wrong slant. When you've had a pal standing beside you one moment--full of life, and joy, and power, and potentialities, telling what he's going to do to make the world hum when he gets through the slaughter, just running over with zip and pep of life, Doc--and the next instant, right in the middle of a laugh--a piece of damned shell takes off half his head and with it joy and power and all the rest of it"--his face twitched--"well, old man, in the face of that mystery a disappearing act such as the devil lady treated us to doesn't make much of a dent. Not on me. But by the brogans of Brian Boru--if we could have had some of that stuff to turn on during the war--oh, boy!"
He was silent, evidently contemplating the idea with vast pleasure. And as for me, at that moment my last doubt of Larry O'Keefe vanished, I saw that he did believe, really believed, in his banshees, his leprechauns and all the old dreams of the Gael--but only within the limits of Ireland.
In one drawer of his mind was packed all his superstition, his mysticism, and what of weakness it might carry. But face him with any peril or problem and the drawer closed instantaneously leaving a mind that was utterly fearless, incredulous, and ingenious; swept clean of all cobwebs by as fine a skeptic broom as ever brushed a brain.
"Some stuff!" Deepest admiration was in his voice. "If we'd only had it when the war was on--imagine half a dozen of us scooting over the enemy batteries and the gunners underneath all at once beginning to shake themselves to pieces! Wow!" His tone was rapturous.
"It's easy enough to explain, Larry," I said. "The effect, that is--for what the green ray is made of I don't know, of course. But what it does, clearly, is stimulate atomic vibration to such a pitch that the cohesion between the particles of matter is broken and the body flies to bits--just as a fly-wheel does when its speed gets so great that the particles of which it is made can't hold together."
"Shake themselves to pieces is right, then!" he exclaimed.
"Absolutely right," I nodded. "Everything in Nature vibrates. And all matter--whether man or beast or stone or metal or vegetable--is made up of vibrating molecules, which are made up of vibrating atoms which are made up of truly infinitely small particles of electricity called electrons, and electrons, the base of all matter, are themselves perhaps only a vibration of the mysterious ether.
"If a magnifying glass of sufficient size and strength could be placed over us we could see ourselves as sieves--our space lattice, as it is called. And all that is necessary to break down the lattice, to shake us into nothingness, is some agent that will set our atoms vibrating at such a rate that at last they escape the unseen cords and fly off.
"The green ray of Yolara is such an agent. It set up in the dwarf that incredibly rapid rhythm that you saw and--shook him not to atoms--but to electrons!"
"They had a gun on the West Front--a seventy-five," said O'Keefe, "that broke the eardrums of everybody who fired it, no matter what protection they used. It looked like all the other seventy-fives--but there was something about its sound that did it. They had to recast it."
"It's practically the same thing," I replied. "By some freak its vibratory qualities had that effect. The deep whistle of the sunken Lusitania would, for instance, make the Singer Building shake to its foundations; while the Olympic did not affect the Singer at all but made the Woolworth shiver all through. In each case they stimulated the atomic vibration of the particular building--"
I paused, aware all at once of an intense drowsiness. O'Keefe, yawning, reached down to unfasten his puttees.
"Lord, I'm sleepy!" he exclaimed. "Can't understand it--what you say--most--interesting--Lord!" he yawned again; straightened. "What made Reddy take such a shine to the Russian?" he asked.
"Thanaroa," I answered, fighting to keep my eyes open.
"What?"
"When Lugur spoke that name I saw Marakinoff signal him. Thanaroa is, I suspect, the original form of the name of Tangaroa, the greatest god of the Polynesians. There's a secret cult to him in the islands. Marakinoff may belong to it--he knows it anyway. Lugur recognized the signal and despite his surprise answered it."
"So he gave him the high sign, eh?" mused Larry. "How could they both know it?"
"The cult is a very ancient one. Undoubtedly it had its origin in the dim beginnings before these people migrated here," I replied. "It's a link--one--of the few links between up there and the lost past--"
"Trouble then,
" mumbled Larry. "Hell brewing! I smell it--Say, Doc, is this sleepiness natural? Wonder where my--gas mask--is--" he added, half incoherently.
But I myself was struggling desperately against the drugged slumber pressing down upon me.
"Lakla!" I heard O'Keefe murmur. "Lakla of the golden eyes--no Eilidh--the Fair!" He made an immense effort, half raised himself, grinned faintly.
"Thought this was paradise when I first saw it, Doc," he sighed. "But I know now, if it is, No-Man's Land was the greatest place on earth for a honeymoon. They--they've got us, Doc--" He sank back. "Good luck, old boy, wherever you're going." His hand waved feebly. "Glad--knew--you. Hope--see--you--'gain--"
His voice trailed into silence. Fighting, fighting with every fibre of brain and nerve against the sleep, I felt myself being steadily overcome. Yet before oblivion rushed down upon me I seemed to see upon the grey-screened wall nearest the Irishman an oval of rosy light begin to glow; watched, as my falling lids inexorably fell, a flame-tipped shadow waver on it; thicken; condense--and there looking down upon Larry, her eyes great golden stars in which intensest curiosity and shy tenderness struggled, sweet mouth half smiling, was the girl of the Moon Pool's Chamber, the girl whom the green dwarf had named--Lakla: the vision Larry had invoked before that sleep which I could no longer deny had claimed him--
Closer she came--closer---the eyes were over us.
Then oblivion indeed!
CHAPTER XVI
Yolara of Muria vs. the O'Keefe
I awakened with all the familiar, homely sensation of a shade having been pulled up in a darkened room. I thrilled with a wonderful sense of deep rest and restored resiliency. The ebon shadow had vanished from above and down into the room was pouring the silvery light. From the fountain pool came a mighty splashing and shouts of laughter. I jumped and drew the curtain. O'Keefe and Rador were swimming a wild race; the dwarf like an otter, out-distancing and playing around the Irishman at will.
Had that overpowering sleep--and now I confess that my struggle against it had been largely inspired by fear that it was the abnormal slumber which Throckmartin had described as having heralded the approach of the Dweller before it had carried away Thora and Stanton--had that sleep been after all nothing but natural reaction of tired nerves and brains?
And that last vision of the golden-eyed girl bending over Larry? Had that also been a delusion of an overstressed mind? Well, it might have been, I could not tell. At any rate, I decided, I would speak about it to O'Keefe once we were alone again--and then giving myself up to the urge of buoyant well-being I shouted like a boy, stripped and joined the two in the pool. The water was warm and I felt the unwonted tingling of life in every vein increase; something from it seemed to pulse through the skin, carrying a clean vigorous vitality that toned every fibre. Tiring at last, we swam to the edge and drew ourselves out. The green dwarf quickly clothed himself and Larry rather carefully donned his uniform.
"The Afyo Maie has summoned us, Doc," he said. "We're to--well--I suppose you'd call it breakfast with her. After that, Rador tells me, we're to have a session with the Council of Nine. I suppose Yolara is as curious as any lady of--the upper world, as you might put it--and just naturally can't wait," he added.
He gave himself a last shake, patted the automatic hidden under his left arm, whistled cheerfully,
"After you, my dear Alphonse," he said to Rador, with a low bow. The dwarf laughed, bent in an absurd imitation of Larry's mocking courtesy and started ahead of us to the house of the priestess. When he had gone a little way on the orchid-walled path I whispered to O'Keefe:
"Larry, when you were falling off to sleep--did you think you saw anything?"
"See anything!" he grinned. "Doc, sleep hit me like a Hun shell. I thought they were pulling the gas on us. I--I had some intention of bidding you tender farewells," he continued, half sheepishly. "I think I did start 'em, didn't I?"
I nodded.
"But wait a minute--" he hesitated. "I had a queer sort of dream--"
"'What was it?" I asked eagerly,
"Well," he answered slowly, "I suppose it was because I'd been thinking of--Golden Eyes. Anyway, I thought she came through the wall and leaned over me--yes, and put one of those long white hands of hers on my head--I couldn't raise my lids--but in some queer way I could see her. Then it got real dreamish. Why do you ask?"
Rador turned back toward us,
"Later," I answered, "Not now. When we're alone."
But through me went a little glow of reassurance. Whatever the maze through which we were moving; whatever of menacing evil lurking there--the Golden Girl was clearly watching over us; watching with whatever unknown powers she could muster.
We passed the pillared entrance; went through a long bowered corridor and stopped before a door that seemed to be sliced from a monolith of pale jade--high, narrow, set in a wall of opal.
Rador stamped twice and the same supernally sweet, silver bell tones of--yesterday, I must call it, although in that place of eternal day the term is meaningless--bade us enter. The door slipped aside. The chamber was small, the opal walls screening it on three sides, the black opacity covering it, the fourth side opening out into a delicious little walled garden--a mass of the fragrant, luminous blooms and delicately colored fruit. Facing it was a small table of reddish wood and from the omnipresent cushions heaped around it arose to greet us--Yolara.
Larry drew in his breath with an involuntary gasp of admiration and bowed low. My own admiration was as frank--and the priestess was well pleased with our homage.
She was swathed in the filmy, half-revelant webs, now of palest blue. The corn-silk hair was caught within a wide-meshed golden net in which sparkled tiny brilliants, like blended sapphires and diamonds. Her own azure eyes sparkled as brightly as they, and I noted again in their clear depths the half-eager approval as they rested upon O'Keefe's lithe, well-knit figure and his keen, clean-cut face. The high-arched, slender feet rested upon soft sandals whose gauzy withes laced the exquisitely formed leg to just below the dimpled knee.
"Some giddy wonder!" exclaimed Larry, looking at me and placing a hand over his heart. "Put her on a New York roof and she'd empty Broadway. Take the cue from me, Doc."
He turned to Yolara, whose face was somewhat puzzled.
"I said, O lady whose shining hair is a web for hearts, that in our world your beauty would dazzle the sight of men as would a little woman sun!" he said, in the florid imagery to which the tongue lends itself so well.
A flush stole up through the translucent skin. The blue eyes softened and she waved us toward the cushions. Black-haired maids stole in, placing before us the fruits, the little loaves and a steaming drink somewhat the colour and odor of chocolate. I was conscious of outrageous hunger.
"What are you named, strangers?" she asked.
"This man is named Goodwin," said O'Keefe. "As for me, call me Larry."
"Nothing like getting acquainted quick," he said to me--but kept his eyes upon Yolara as though he were voicing another honeyed phrase. And so she took it, for: "You must teach me your tongue," she murmured.
"Then shall I have two words where now I have one to tell you of your loveliness," he answered.
"And also that'll take time," he spoke to me. "Essential occupation out of which we can't be drafted to make these fun-loving folk any Roman holiday. Get me!"
"Larree," mused Yolara. "I like the sound. It is sweet--" and indeed it was as she spoke it.
"And what is your land named, Larree?" she continued. "And Goodwin's?" She caught the sound perfectly.
"My land, O lady of loveliness, is two--Ireland and America; his but one--America."
She repeated the two names--slowly, over and over. We seized the opportunity to attack the food; halting half guiltily as she spoke again.
"Oh, but you are hungry!" she cried. "Eat then." She leaned her chin upon her hands and regarded us, whole fountains of questions brimming up in her eyes.
"How is it, Larree, that you
have two countries and Goodwin but one?" she asked, at last unable to keep silent longer.
"I was born in Ireland; he in America. But I have dwelt long in his land and my heart loves each," he said.
She nodded, understandingly.
"Are all the men of Ireland like you, Larree? As all the men here are like Lugur or Rador? I like to look at you," she went on, with naive frankness. "I am tired of men like Lugur and Rador. But they are strong," she added, swiftly. "Lugur can hold up ten in his two arms and raise six with but one hand."
We could not understand her numerals and she raised white fingers to illustrate.
"That is little, O lady, to the men of Ireland," replied O'Keefe. "Lo, I have seen one of my race hold up ten times ten of our--what call you that swift thing in which Rador brought us here?"
"Corial," said she.
"Hold up ten times twenty of our corials with but two fingers--and these corials of ours--"
"Coria," said she.
"And these coria of ours are each greater in weight than ten of yours. Yes, and I have seen another with but one blow of his hand raise hell!
"And so I have," he murmured to me. "And both at Forty-second and Fifth Avenue, N. Y.--U. S. A."
Yolara considered all this with manifest doubt.
"Hell?" she inquired at last. "I know not the word."
"Well," answered O'Keefe. "Say Muria then. In many ways they are, I gather, O heart's delight, one and the same."
Now the doubt in the blue eyes was strong indeed. She shook her head.
"None of our men can do that!" she answered, at length. "Nor do I think you could, Larree."
"Oh, no," said Larry easily. "I never tried to be that strong. I fly," he added, casually.
The priestess rose to her feet, gazing at him with startled eyes.
"Fly!" she repeated incredulously. "Like a Zitia? A bird?"
Larry nodded--and then seeing the dawning command in her eyes, went on hastily.
"Not with my own wings, Yolara. In a--a corial that moves through--what's the word for air, Doc--well, through this--" He made a wide gesture up toward the nebulous haze above us. He took a pencil and on a white cloth made a hasty sketch of an airplane. "In a--a corial like this--" She regarded the sketch gravely, thrust a hand down into her girdle and brought forth a keen-bladed poniard; cut Larry's markings out and placed the fragment carefully aside.