The Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK™, Vol. 4: Nictzin Dyalhis

by Nictzin Dyalhis

  One savage fight is very much the same as another, the only thing which distinguished that one being that for the first time in his life Athak the Strong One was laid prostrate on his back. A fallen enemy had stabbed him in the calf of his leg at the same moment that another man of Ugdarr had hit him on the head with a club.

  Ran Kron, fighting madly at the left side of his gigantic chief, promptly repaid the clubman by practically eviscerating him with the sixteen-inch stone knife which formed the young warrior’s sole weapon, and then bestriding Athak’s body, swinging in both hands the club he’d wrested from his victim as he fell. It was but a moment in which Athak lay dazed; then he was on his feet again, bellowing “A-Houk” as lustily as ever, and smiting even more furiously with the great jade ax. But he found breath between blows to shout to Ran Kron:

  “No longer art thou an untried youth, but a warrior! Shalt be made Athak’s blood-brother when this fighting ends!”

  If the stripling had fought madly before, after that promise of Athak’s he became like a youthful demon unleashed. And, in consequence, he was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds by the time the affray ended.

  And its ending was complete. The huge war-chief had made a definite pledge to Juhor, and as he himself had declared, it was no habit of his to deal in lies. Wounded or whole, those of Ugdarr’s people who survived the fighting were dragged before their own devil-god and knocked on the heads; all save a few strong-bodied women who were kept to act as beasts of burden and carry loot for their captors on their homeward journey; and even those would be slain as soon as the trip was ended.

  From these women, questioned by Athak, it was learned that Juhor’s Red Witch of Ugdarr had been slain a few years previously. But she had left a daughter, Red Dawn…

  “Where—”

  Nobody knew…

  Athak picked up one woman and flung her, bodily, into a fire blazing near at hand. By the time the shrieking wretch crawled out, the other women recalled that in the Temple of Ugdarr there were a number of hidden rooms…

  It was Ran Kron who found her. What magical words he used, none knew, but she listened to him without fear, and came forth from the building hand in hand with the youth. Nor did she relinquish her hold when he brought her before Athak.

  “Which is the captive?” shouted the chief, in high good humor. Made bold by Athak’s friendliness, Ran Kron grinned and replied:

  “I am, O Athak!”

  The chief stared a second, then grinned back.

  “Had I the right, I’d say ’Take her, lad!’ But she goes to old Juhor. It is for him to say what disposal shall be made of her.”

  * * * *

  Juhor the Snake heard the welcoming tumult heralding the returned war-party, and smiled his wry smile. When the gigantic form of Athak stood before him, the old weapon-maker looked up calmly, although deep within himself he was in a storm of emotion. Athak’s right hand grasped the great war-ax, while his left he held fast-clamped on the shoulder of a slim, beautiful girl whose hair was a flaming red-golden glory.

  “Ax and purchase-price, O Juhor the Snake. Athak keeps his word!”

  “The ax is paid for, and is all thine, O Athak the Mighty! Upon the ax is no curse. Nay, so long as thou shalt hold it in battle, none may overcome thee. Dost want the maid, too, O Athak? None better could I give her to. As my son—with thy might, and my wisdom—”

  “Not I, Juhor! The ax fills my one desire. Rather, I would that thou give her to my blood-brother, Ran Kron. He wants her, and I think he has her favor.”

  “Give her—to—that—cub! Athak, dost jest?”

  “Cub?” roared the chief. ’’My blood-brother, I said! None braver than he ever went forth to war from this village. Swift of foot, great of heart, fearless, and a deadly killer with that long knife of his, I myself saw him account for five in the fighting at Ugdarr’s village. Saved my life, too, mine, Athak the Chief! Young he is yet, it is true. Had he greater war-wisdom, and more years, I’d make him second in command under me. And you call him—cub!”

  “Girl,” said Juhor, hastily veering away from the subject which had aroused Athak’s wrath, “thou art my daughter. Hath thy mother—”

  “I heard him”—she indicated Athak—“name thee Juhor the Snake. My mother, before they stoned her to death in Ugdarr’s village, told me a tale of a captive, Juhor the Strong One, who was stoned by the tribe because of her, who was borne into the wilderness, and there left to live or die even as Ugdarr chose. Art thou in truth that same Juhor?”

  The old cripple could only nod, for words failed him. The girl looked too, too like another and elder Red Dawn,… The girl flung herself impulsively on her knees beside him, drew his old head to her young breast, smoothing his sparse white locks with her slim soft hands, crooning over him… The warriors turned away at a grunt from Athak.

  “This is no time to forward thy suit, my brother,” the chief told the young Ran Kron. And the youth nodded, understandingly. He could wait.

  * * * *

  Red Dawn was the most beautiful woman the tribe had ever beheld, and many were the young men who sought her from old Juhor. But to one and all he gave the same reply:

  “Her heart and her desire are all for Ran Kron. She is my daughter and shall please herself.”

  So in due time the day came when before the whole people Juhor tied Red Dawn and Ran Kron together with a strong cord, calling down curses many and horrible upon the head of whoso should attempt to sever that bond. And the tribe, with feasting, and mirth, and jest, celebrated the wedding. Yet some there were who reasoned that as the girl was the most lovely, and Athak was the most mighty, she should have been mated with the great chief rather than with the youthful warrior.

  But when some, made bold by drunkenness, ventured to hint thus to Athak, he roared with laughter. Then, for he had imbibed largely of strong drink himself, he became inspired with a most wondrous idea.

  “Juhor,” he shouted, “in thy hands lies the power to bind the cord of wedlock, where thine own offspring are concerned. Thou hast wed Ran Kron to Red Dawn. Now, haste thee and wed me to thine other child!”

  “My—other—child,” Juhor stared in wonderment. “Nay, O Athak! I have no child other than Red Dawn.”

  Athak held up his jade war-ax.

  “This,” he shouted, so that all heard. “The child that thou didst create. Wed me to her, for I love her more than I ever could love my woman of flesh and Mood.”

  The grim fancy caught the imaginations of the people, and they clamored for the ceremony. Juhor, knowing Athak’s disposition, and seeing that he was at that pitch of drunkenness wherein good humor abruptly changes to fury when crossed, took a fresh cord and performed the rite with all the needful words and curses.

  Again Athak tossed the weapon high in air above his head.

  “Athak’s wife!” he bellowed. “A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”

  Catching fire from his fire, the warriors responded in savage chorus: “A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”

  Yet one old hag there was—own sister to Athak’s mother who had died giving a man-child to the world—who dwelt in Athak’s hut and cooked his food for him, who sat and glowered while all others made merry. She was getting old and lazy, and had long urged the giant chief to bring a younger woman into the hut as his wife. All through the feasting, the old woman said naught about what was in her mind, but next morning, well knowing that Athak’s head was aching fit to burst, she queried with her tongue laden with venom:

  “Was your stone bride kind to you in the night, O Athak, and were her caresses sweet?” Then, with a cackle of derision, as he glared at her: “She can never give you a son to boast that Athak the Mighty was his father. She can not cook for you. She can deal wounds, but she can not heal wounds with the poultices of soothing leaves…better had you taken Juhor’s other daughter—” And with that, dodging a chunk of wood hurled at her by the exasperated chief, she fled the hut, still cackling evilly.

  And thenceforward she lost
no chance to prod Athak about his folly in “choosing the wrong daughter of Juhor” until in time her evil hints and slurs bore fruit. She was helped in her work by the fact that since Ran Kron had had one taste of war, he’d found it so greatly to his liking that twice afterward he’d gone out with small parties of young and ambitious men; and in both cases had easily proved himself the foremost. And the hag hinted to Athak that his prestige as chief was seriously threatened by this young upstart—as she termed the youth.

  Came a day when Athak harkened and took her gibing seriously; so that thereafter he began casting meaning glances at Red Dawn whenever they met. Worse still occurred when, in one of his drunken spells, he sought to drag her into his hut against her will.

  His girl-wife’s shrieks reached Ran Kron’s ears where he sat in converse with a group of other young warriors. With a cat-like rush he hurled himself at the would-be ravisher. Twice and thrice his long flint knife stabbed, lightning-quick, drawing blood and eliciting a yell of pain each time he struck.

  Completely lost to all thoughts of blood-brotherhood, and driven by a twofold lust—to have Ran Kron’s wife and Ran Kron’s life, Athak let go his hold on the shrieking, struggling Red Dawn and drew his great jade ax from his belt. Ran Kron, seeing, leaped back, snatching a spear from the hand of a bystander, and promptly lunged with it at the face of the giant chief.

  For a while it was either man’s fight. Mighty as Athak was, enraged, too, so that flecks of foam dripped from his lips, still Ran Kron kept him busy; dodging, leaping, parrying, or evading the sweep of the great green-flashing ax; from time to time getting in a thrust with his spear that drew blood each time, but never deep enough to reach a vital spot and end matters.

  Yet despite all his efforts, step by step the lighter man was forced to retreat—suddenly a yell arose from the onlookers, partly in triumph, partly in warning, according to their sympathies. With a feeling that the end was nigh, Ran Kron realized that he’d reached the brink of the river, and that back of him lay a fifty foot drop to the swift, swollen, muddy waters below. In sheer desperation h« hurled his spear straight at the face of his giant opponent.

  Athak saw it coming, too swift for him to dodge it. He threw up both arms in front of his face. The stone spearhead drove deep into his right forearm, and a spurt of blood followed, staining the ivory helve of his battle-ax a bright crimson.

  In despair, Ran Kron whipped out his long stone knife, prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible. Athak bellowed his rage, and moved a step closer. The great ax swung up above his tousled head and swept down again on its death-dealing arc. Ran Kron, summoning up his fast-waning strength, dodged again, bending his torso far back. Athak’s hands were too blood-smeared from the wound in his forearm. The ivory ax-handle slipped in his grasp. Flying through the air, it struck Ran Kron a glancing blow on the side of his head, stunning him. The young warrior, his balance overborne, went backward over the edge of the low bluff; and, with a sullen double splash, Ran Kron and the great jade ax that had overthrown him to his death disappeared together beneath the surface of the swollen stream…

  * * * *

  Now, how I, Randall Crone, know this latter part which ensued after Ran Kron fell into the river, I can not tell; for I do not understand. But know it I do, however.

  Athak sank to the ground, gasping from his last terrific exertion. Red Dawn would have thrown herself into the river, there to join her man, Ran Kron, but was seized and held by certain ones who sought to curry favor with Athak.

  Juhor the Snake hobbled up, stood in front of Athak, and shook his gnarled old fist in the giant’s face. The old man was fairly a-quiver with the rage consuming him. Twice he opened his mouth and twice he closed it again before he could find words to express himself.

  “Was it for this, thou fool, that I made for thee that magic ax? Did I not wed thee to the ax at thine express command, by thine own choice? Did I not lay curses many and deep upon the head of whoso should part ye twain who were one in wedlock? And now, it is thine own hands which have flung the magic ax into the deep, deep river!

  “Now I, Juhor the Snake, prophesy to thee, O Athak the Fool! Thou shalt go accursed for all thy remaining days upon the earth. Evil shall befall thee ever, and when thou shalt die, in outer darkness shalt thou wander till once again the magic ax which thou thyself didst name ‘Athak’s Wife’ shall return to thine embrace! Athak the Accursed, I, Juhor, have spoken thy doom!’’

  Athak staggered to his feet and clutched one great hand upon the old man’s shoulder.

  “Aye,” he snarled, “thou hast spoken—thine own doom, Juhor the Snake!” One shove he gave the old cripple, and Juhor, with a single quavering cry, vanished over the edge of the all-devouring river…

  * * * *

  One might say that I’d been dreaming; or that I’d been in a trance state and had left my body and gone into the astral plane—but neither hypothesis would account fully for the facts.

  For I learned, upon my return to my Twentieth Century personality, that I’d been gone for a considerable time, body and all! My room had been found vacant and my bed unslept in, the morning after I’d been visited by the phantom of Athak.

  Then as totally unproclaimed as my absence had been, I reappeared. And I had considerable difficulty in explaining matters to those most interested in my movements—business associates, and others. Of course I hastened to Rhoda as quickly as possible, and from her lips I had full confirmation of my strange experience. For she, too, had “vanished” insofar as her everyday environment was concerned, and she, too, had just reappeared. I did not have to make any explanations to her. She knew! She’d been through the same sort of adventures as had I. In other words, she had suddenly awakened from a sound sleep to find herself Red Dawn, the young Witch of Ugdarr! In fact, she was able to tell me the part I did not know, and describe the episode after Athak threw old Juhor over the bluff. Yet what she told was but little after all.

  Athak had dragged her to his hut, where she naturally anticipated just about the worst fate that could happen. In a frenzy of fear, she had tried to stab herself, but Athak prevented that by hitting her with his fist the instant she caught up a knife.

  But he had struck too hard, and thereby cheated himself of the woman he coveted so greatly that he’d slain his own chosen blood-brother in order to get her for himself. She recalled the terrific concussion of his fist against the side of her face. Ensued a brief period of unconsciousness, naturally, and when her consciousness returned, she was again Rhoda Day, in her own room, and her mother was bending over her, demanding a trifle crossly:

  “Rhoda, where in the world have you been for the last few days, and why did you go away without saying anything about it to me, before you started?”

  As to what happened to Athak, we neither of us knew; but could easily imagine, knowing him as well and unfavorably as we did. To use Rhoda’s words:

  “He probably went from bad to worse, just as Juhor predicted, until some one did the world a service by ridding it of his presence; and he has since, to use Juhor’s very words, ‘dwelt in outer darkness’. But in some manner he—or his spirit, rather—located my whereabouts, and he seems determined to assert his imagined ownership. Probably he doesn’t even know that he is dead and hasn’t a body in which to function any more.”

  Wherein she was wrong. Later again, we learned that Athak knew quite well that he was devoid of a body. All he was waiting for was a good chance to acquire one, in order to resume his age-old devilment just where he’d been compelled to leave off by reason of hitting Red Dawn too hard and thus cheating himself of her possession.

  Apparently old Juhor’s curse had taken effect, and Athak had, in truth, dwelt in outer darkness instead of coming back to earth via a rebirth, as we two had done. But the more we speculated, the more intricate and involved the problems became; so that finally we quit all speculating and preserved a policy of watchful waiting instead.

  Meantime, at my urgency, Rhoda capitulated
and we were married. For a brief while we managed to fool the savage phantom. Travelling on our honeymoon trip, we kept to the crowded cities, knowing that for us to isolate ourselves would best please the vindictive ghost who so hated us. In modern hotels and amongst throngs of people, he’d be out of his element.

  But honeymoons end eventually, in this workaday world, and dollar-chasing is a very necessary pursuit if one would continue to enjoy life in its modern phase.

  So, regretfully, we returned home, not, of course, to Rhoda’s parents, but to a little place of our own.

  And Athak turned up the first night we were there!

  His fury, when he grasped the situation, was something to tremble at. His futile attempts to wreak either or both of us bodily injury, had they not been so frightful, would have been ludicrous. For over half the night he carried on his antics. It was of no avail to turn off the light, so I left it burning. Rhoda was so unstrung that I feared a permanent shock to her nervous system would result.

  I was angry, not with the ordinary type of wrath common to every one at times, but that same savage ugliness I’d experienced once before. Much more of it, and I’d again become Ran Kron, the young savage warrior… But Rhoda sensed the change taking place in me, and begged so earnestly that I control myself, that somehow, to please her, I succeeded in fighting back my rage. At that, I could not have done it, had she not whispered: “Randall, my husband, for my sake be very careful! Can not you see that you are rapidly getting into a state such as will best please him, and render us accessible by translating us again to his plane, where he can function?”

  It was a hard task, even then, but I did it. Then I had what I considered a happy thought, and carried it out; and it did win for us a modicum of rest from Athak’s rage, if only for a short time. Deliberately I kissed Rhoda, then grinned triumphantly at the frenzied savage ghost; and for a second, I thought that Athak the Terrible would disintegrate from the hell-storm of wrath and jealous hate that simple act aroused on his part. But then he turned sulky, withdrew until he seemed to merge with the wall itself, and there remained, glowering. And finally we fell asleep and left him to sulk all he would.