The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 01

by Anthology

  Yolara bowed lowly--once, twice, thrice. She turned to O'Keefe, nor by slightest look or gesture betrayed she knew others were there than he. The blue eyes wide, searching, unfathomable, she drew close; put white hands on his shoulders, looked down into his very soul.

  "My lord," she murmured. "Now listen well for I, Yolara, give you three things--myself, and the Shining One, and the power that is the Shining One's--yea, and still a fourth thing that is all three--power over all upon that world from whence you came! These, my lord, ye shall have. I swear it"--she turned toward the altar--uplifted her arms--"by Siya and by Siyana, and by the flame, by the water, and by the light!" *1

  *1 I have no space here even to outline the eschatology of this people, nor to catalogue their pantheon. Siya and Siyana typified worldly love. Their ritual was, however, singularly free from those degrading elements usually found in love-cults. Priests and priestesses of all cults dwelt in the immense seven-terraced structure, of which the jet amphitheatre was the water side. The symbol, icon, representation, of Siya and Siyana--the globe and the up-striving figures--typified earthly love, feet bound to earth, but eyes among the stars. Hell or heaven I never heard formulated, nor their equivalents; unless that existence in the Shining One's domain could serve for either. Over all this was Thanaroa, remote; unheeding, but still maker and ruler of all--an absentee First Cause personified! Thanaroa seemed to be the one article of belief in the creed of the soldiers--Rador, with his reverence for the Ancient Ones, was an exception. Whatever there was, indeed, of high, truly religious impulse among the Murians, this far, High God had. I found this exceedingly interesting, because it had long been my theory--to put the matter in the shape of a geometrical formula--that the real attractiveness of gods to man increases uniformly according to the square of their distance--W. T. G.

  Her eyes grew purple dark.

  "Let none dare to take you from me! Nor ye go from me unbidden!" she whispered fiercely.

  Then swiftly, still ignoring us, she threw her arms about O'Keefe, pressed her white body to his breast, lips raised, eyes closed, seeking his. O'Keefe's arms tightened around her, his head dropped lips seeking, finding hers--passionately! From Olaf came a deep indrawn breath that was almost a groan. But not in my heart could I find blame for the Irishman!

  The priestess opened eyes now all misty blue, thrust him back, stood regarding him. O'Keefe, dead-white, raised a trembling hand to his face.

  "And thus have I sealed my oath, O my lord!" she whispered. For the first time she seemed to recognize our presence, stared at us a moment, then through us, and turned to O'Keefe.

  "Go, now!" she said. "Soon Rador shall come for you. Then--well, after that let happen what will!"

  She smiled once more at him--so sweetly; turned toward the figures upon the great globe; sank upon her knees before them. Quietly we crept away; still silent, made our way to the little pavilion. But as we passed we heard a tumult from the green roadway; shouts of men, now and then a woman's scream. Through a rift in the garden I glimpsed a jostling crowd on one of the bridges: green dwarfs struggling with the ladala--and all about droned a humming as of a giant hive disturbed!

  Larry threw himself down upon one of the divans, covered his face with his hands, dropped them to catch in Olaf's eyes troubled reproach, looked at me.

  "I couldn't help it," he said, half defiantly--half-miserably. "God, what a woman! I couldn't help it!"

  "Larry," I asked. "Why didn't you tell her you didn't love her--then?"

  He gazed at me--the old twinkle back in his eye.

  "Spoken like a scientist, Doc!" he exclaimed. "I suppose if a burning angel struck you out of nowhere and threw itself about you, you would most dignifiedly tell it you didn't want to be burned. For God's sake, don't talk nonsense, Goodwin!" he ended, almost peevishly.

  "Evil! Evil!" The Norseman's voice was deep, nearly a chant. "All here is of evil: Trolldom and Helvede it is, Ja! And that she djaevelsk of beauty--what is she but harlot of that shining devil they worship. I, Olaf Huldricksson, know what she meant when she held out to you power over all the world, Ja!--as if the world had not devils enough in it now!"

  "What?" The cry came from both O'Keefe and myself at once.

  Olaf made a gesture of caution, relapsed into sullen silence. There were footsteps on the path, and into sight came Rador--but a Rador changed. Gone was every vestige of his mockery; curiously solemn, he saluted O'Keefe and Olaf with that salute which, before this, I had seen given only to Yolara and to Lugur. There came a swift quickening of the tumult--died away. He shrugged mighty shoulders.

  "The ladala are awake!" he said. "So much for what two brave men can do!" He paused thoughtfully. "Bones and dust jostle not each other for place against the grave wall!" he added oddly. "But if bones and dust have revealed to them that they still--live--"

  He stopped abruptly, eyes seeking the globe that bore and sent forth speech. *1

  *1 I find that I have neglected to explain the working of these interesting mechanisms that were telephonic, dictaphonic, telegraphic in one. I must assume that my readers are familiar with the receiving apparatus of wireless telegraphy, which must be "tuned" by the operator until its own vibratory quality is in exact harmony with the vibrations--the extremely rapid impacts--of those short electric wavelengths we call Hertzian, and which carry the wireless messages. I must assume also that they are familiar with the elementary fact of physics that the vibrations of light and sound are interchangeable. The hearing-talking globes utilize both these principles, and with consummate simplicity. The light with which they shone was produced by an atomic "motor" within their base, similar to that which activated the merely illuminating globes. The composition of the phonic spheres gave their surfaces an acute sensitivity and resonance. In conjunction with its energizing power, the metal set up what is called a "field of force," which linked it with every particle of its kind no matter how distant. When vibrations of speech impinged upon the resonant surface its rhythmic light-vibrations were broken, just as a telephone transmitter breaks an electric current. Simultaneously these light-vibrations were changed into sound--on the surfaces of all spheres tuned to that particular instrument. The "crawling" colours which showed themselves at these times were literally the voice of the speaker in its spectrum equivalent. While usually the sounds produced required considerable familiarity with the apparatus to be understood quickly, they could, on occasion, be made startlingly loud and clear--as I was soon to realize--W. T. G.

  "The Afyo Maie has sent me to watch over you till she summons you," he announced clearly. "There is to be a--feast. You, Larree, you Goodwin, are to come. I remain here with--Olaf."

  "No harm to him!" broke in O'Keefe sharply. Rador touched his heart, his eyes.

  "By the Ancient Ones, and by my love for you, and by what you twain did before the Shining One--I swear it!" he whispered.

  Rador clapped palms; a soldier came round the path, in his grip a long flat box of polished wood. The green dwarf took it, dismissed him, threw open the lid.

  "Here is your apparel for the feast, Larree," he said, pointing to the contents.

  O'Keefe stared, reached down and drew out a white, shimmering, softly metallic, long-sleeved tunic, a broad, silvery girdle, leg swathings of the same argent material, and sandals that seemed to be cut out from silver. He made a quick gesture of angry dissent.

  "Nay, Larree!" muttered the dwarf. "Wear them--I counsel it--I pray it--ask me not why," he went on swiftly, looking again at the globe.

  O'Keefe, as I, was impressed by his earnestness. The dwarf made a curiously expressive pleading gesture. O'Keefe abruptly took the garments; passed into the room of the fountain.

  "The Shining One dances not again?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "No"--he hesitate--"it is the usual feast that follows the sacrament! Lugur--and Double Tongue, who came with you, will be there," he added slowly.

  "Lugur--" I gasped in astonishment. "After what happened--he will be there?"


  "Perhaps because of what happened, Goodwin, my friend," he answered--his eyes again full of malice; "and there will be others--friends of Yolara--friends of Lugur--and perhaps another"--his voice was almost inaudible--"one whom they have not called--" He halted, half-fearfully, glancing at the globe; put finger to lips and spread himself out upon one of the couches.

  "Strike up the band"--came O'Keefe's voice--"here comes the hero!"

  He strode into the room. I am bound to say that the admiration in Rador's eyes was reflected in my own, and even, if involuntarily, in Olaf's.

  "A son of Siyana!" whispered Rador.

  He knelt, took from his girdle-pouch a silk-wrapped something, unwound it--and, still kneeling, drew out a slender poniard of gleaming white metal, hilted with the blue stones; he thrust it into O'Keefe's girdle; then gave him again the rare salute.

  "Come," he ordered and took us to the head of the pathway.

  "Now," he said grimly, "let the Silent Ones show their power--if they still have it!"

  And with this strange benediction, he turned back.

  "For God's sake, Larry," I urged as we approached the house of the priestess, "you'll be careful!"

  He nodded--but I saw with a little deadly pang of apprehension in my heart a puzzled, lurking doubt within his eyes.

  As we ascended the serpent steps Marakinoff appeared. He gave a signal to our guards--and I wondered what influence the Russian had attained, for promptly, without question, they drew aside. At me he smiled amiably.

  "Have you found your friends yet?" he went on--and now I sensed something deeply sinister in him. "No! It is too bad! Well, don't give up hope." He turned to O'Keefe.

  "Lieutenant, I would like to speak to you--alone!"

  "I've no secrets from Goodwin," answered O'Keefe.

  "So?" queried Marakinoff, suavely. He bent, whispered to Larry.

  The Irishman started, eyed him with a certain shocked incredulity, then turned to me.

  "Just a minute, Doc!" he said, and I caught the suspicion of a wink. They drew aside, out of ear-shot. The Russian talked rapidly. Larry was all attention. Marakinoff's earnestness became intense; O'Keefe interrupted--appeared to question. Marakinoff glanced at me and as his gaze shifted from O'Keefe, I saw a flame of rage and horror blaze up in the latter's eyes. At last the Irishman appeared to consider gravely; nodded as though he had arrived at some decision, and Marakinoff thrust his hand to him.

  And only I could have noticed Larry's shrinking, his microscopic hesitation before he took it, and his involuntary movement, as though to shake off something unclean, when the clasp had ended.

  Marakinoff, without another look at me, turned and went quickly within. The guards took their places. I looked at Larry inquiringly.

  "Don't ask a thing now, Doc!" he said tensely. "Wait till we get home. But we've got to get damned busy and quick--I'll tell you that now--"

  CHAPTER XX

  The Tempting of Larry

  We paused before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur of many voices. They parted; out came two--ushers, I suppose, they were--in cuirasses and kilts that reminded me somewhat of chain-mail--the first armour of any kind here that I had seen. They held open the folds.

  The chamber, on whose threshold we stood, was far larger than either anteroom or hall of audience. Not less than three hundred feet long and half that in depth, from end to end of it ran two huge semi-circular tables, paralleling each other, divided by a wide aisle, and heaped with flowers, with fruits, with viands unknown to me, and glittering with crystal flagons, beakers, goblets of as many hues as the blooms. On the gay-cushioned couches that flanked the tables, lounging luxuriously, were scores of the fair-haired ruling class and there rose a little buzz of admiration, oddly mixed with a half-startled amaze, as their gaze fell upon O'Keefe in all his silvery magnificence. Everywhere the light-giving globes sent their roseate radiance.

  The cuirassed dwarfs led us through the aisle. Within the arc of the inner half--circle was another glittering board, an oval. But of those seated there, facing us--I had eyes for only one--Yolara! She swayed up to greet O'Keefe--and she was like one of those white lily maids, whose beauty Hoang-Ku, the sage, says made the Gobi first a paradise, and whose lusts later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out hands to Larry, and on her face was passion--unashamed, unhiding.

  She was Circe--but Circe conquered. Webs of filmiest white clung to the rose-leaf body. Twisted through the corn-silk hair a threaded circlet of pale sapphires shone; but they were pale beside Yolara's eyes. O'Keefe bent, kissed her hands, something more than mere admiration flaming from him. She saw--and, smiling, drew him down beside her.

  It came to me that of all, only these two, Yolara and O'Keefe, were in white--and I wondered; then with a tightening of nerves ceased to wonder as there entered--Lugur! He was all in scarlet, and as he strode forward a silence fell a tense, strained silence.

  His gaze turned upon Yolara, rested upon O'Keefe, and instantly his face grew--dreadful--there is no other word than that for it. Marakinoff leaned forward from the centre of the table, near whose end I sat, touched and whispered to him swiftly. With appalling effort the red dwarf controlled himself; he saluted the priestess ironically, I thought; took his place at the further end of the oval. And now I noted that the figures between were the seven of that Council of which the Shining One's priestess and Voice were the heads. The tension relaxed, but did not pass--as though a storm-cloud should turn away, but still lurk, threatening.

  My gaze ran back. This end of the room was draped with the exquisitely coloured, graceful curtains looped with gorgeous garlands. Between curtains and table, where sat Larry and the nine, a circular platform, perhaps ten yards in diameter, raised itself a few feet above the floor, its gleaming surface half-covered with the luminous petals, fragrant, delicate.

  On each side below it, were low carven stools. The curtains parted and softly entered girls bearing their flutes, their harps, the curiously emotion-exciting, octaved drums. They sank into their places. They touched their instruments; a faint, languorous measure throbbed through the rosy air.

  The stage was set! What was to be the play?

  Now about the tables passed other dusky-haired maids, fair bosoms bare, their scanty kirtles looped high, pouring out the wines for the feasters.

  My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Marakinoff had said, clearly it now filled his mind--even to the exclusion of the wondrous woman beside him. His eyes were stern, cold--and now and then, as he turned them toward the Russian, filled with a curious speculation. Yolara watched him, frowned, gave a low order to the Hebe behind her.

  The girl disappeared, entered again with a ewer that seemed cut of amber. The priestess poured from it into Larry's glass a clear liquid that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the glass to her lips, handed it to him. Half-smiling, half-abstractedly, he took it, touched his own lips where hers had kissed; drained it. A nod from Yolara and the maid refilled his goblet.

  At once there was a swift transformation in the Irishman. His abstraction vanished; the sternness fled; his eyes sparkled. He leaned caressingly toward Yolara; whispered. Her blue eyes flashed triumphantly; her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own glass--but within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's! And again he drained his own; and, lifting it, full once more, caught the baleful eyes of Lugur, and held it toward him mockingly. Yolara swayed close-- alluring, tempting. He arose, face all reckless gaiety; rollicking deviltry.

  "A toast!" he cried in English, "to the Shining One--and may the hell where it belongs soon claim it!"

  He had used their own word for their god--all else had been in his own tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the contempt in his action they did recognize--and a dead, a fearful silence fell upon them all. Lugur's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their green. The priestess reached up, caught at O'Keefe. He seized the soft hand; caressed it; his gaze grew far away, s
ombre.

  "The Shining One." He spoke low. "An' now again I see the faces of those who dance with it. It is the Fires of Mora--come, God alone knows how--from Erin--to this place. The Fires of Mora!" He contemplated the hushed folk before him; and then from his lips came that weirdest, most haunting of the lyric legends of Erin--the Curse of Mora:

  "The fretted fires of Mora blew o'er him in the night; He thrills no more to loving, nor weeps for past delight. For when those flames have bitten, both grief and joy take flight--"

  Again Yolara tried to draw him down beside her; and once more he gripped her hand. His eyes grew fixed--he crooned:

  "And through the sleeping silence his feet must track the tune, When the world is barred and speckled with silver of the moon--"

  He stood, swaying, for a moment, and then, laughing, let the priestess have her way; drained again the glass.

  And now my heart was cold, indeed--for what hope was there left with Larry mad, wild drunk!

  The silence was unbroken--elfin women and dwarfs glancing furtively at each other. But now Yolara arose, face set, eyes flashing grey.

  "Hear you, the Council, and you, Lugur--and all who are here!" she cried. "Now I, the priestess of the Shining One, take, as is my right, my mate. And this is he!" She pointed down upon Larry. He glanced up at her.

  "Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara," he muttered thickly. "But say anything--you like--I love your voice!"

  I turned sick with dread. Yolara's hand stole softly upon the Irishman's curls caressingly.

  "You know the law, Yolara." Lugur's voice was flat, deadly, "You may not mate with other than your own kind. And this man is a stranger--a barbarian--food for the Shining One!" Literally, he spat the phrase.