“Lord of Carnac, the dusk hides your lands. And have you not looked long enough on the sea, beloved? Her arms are cold—mine are warm.”
I turned from the window, and for a moment ancient Carnac and ancient Ys seemed fantastic dream. For I was still in that tower from which I had thought the dancing shadows had thrust me. It was the same room; rose-lighted, octagonal, hung with the same tapestries in which green shadows waxed and waned; and upon a low stool sat Dahut, lute in hand, draped in the same sea-green web, her braids falling between her breasts.
I said:
“You are true a witch, Dahut—to trap me like that again.” And turned to the window to look upon the familiar lights of New York.
But that was not what I said, nor did I turn. I found myself walking straight toward her, and instead of the words I had thought to speak, I heard myself saying:
“You are of the sea, Dahut…and if your arms are warmer, your heart is as merciless.”
And suddenly I knew that whether dream or illusion, this was Ys, and while the part of me that was Alan Caranac could see through the eyes, hear with the ears, and read the thought of this other part of me which was Lord of Carnac, I was powerless to control him and he was unaware of me. Yet I must abide by what he did. Something like an actor watching himself go through a play—but with the quite important difference that I knew neither the lines nor the situations. A most disturbing condition. I had a swift thought that Dahut ought either to have laced me under better hypnotic control or passed me up entirely. I felt a faint disappointment in her. That idea shot out of my mind like a rocket.
She looked up at me, and her eyes were wet. She loosed her braids and covered her face with her hair and she wept behind its curtain. I said, coldly:
“Many women have wept as you do…for men you have slain, Dahut.”
She said:
“Since you rode into Ys from Carnac a month ago, I have had no peace. There is a flame in my heart that eats it. What to me or to you are the lovers who have gone before, since until you came never did I know love? I kill no more—I have banished my shadows.”
I asked, grimly:
“What if they do not accept their banishment?”
She threw back her hair; looked at me, sharply:
“What do you mean by that?”
I answered:
“I make serfs. I train them to serve me well and to acknowledge no other master. I feed and house them. Suppose, then, I feed them no longer, deny them shelter. Banish them. What will my hungry, homeless serfs do, Dahut?”
She said, incredulously:
“You mean my shadows may rebel against me?” She laughed, then her eyes narrowed, calculatingly: “Still there is something in what you say. And what I have made, I can unmake.”
I thought that a sighing went round the room, and that for an instant the hues in the tapestries shifted more rapidly. If so, Dahut paid no heed, sat pensive. She said, musingly:
“After all, they do not love me—my shadows. They do my bidding—but they do not love me…who made them. No!”
I who was Alan Caranac smiled at this, but then I reflected that the I who was Lord of Carnac, quite evidently took these shadows seriously, disconcertingly, as matter-of-fact…as Dick had!
She stood up, threw white arms around my neck, and the fragrance of her that was like some secret flower of the sea rocked me, and at her touch desire flamed through me. She said, languorously:
“Beloved who have swept my heart clean of all other loves…who have awakened me to love…why will you not love me?”
I said, thickly:
“I do love you, Dahut—but I do not trust you. How can I know your love will last…or that the time may not come when I, too, become a shadow…as did those others who loved you?”
She answered, lips close to mine:
“I have told you. I loved none of them.”
I said: “There was one you loved.”
She swayed back, looked deep into my eyes, her own sparkling:
“You mean the child; you are jealous, Alain—and therefore I know you love me! I will send away the child. Nay—if you desire, she shall be slain.”
And now I felt cold fury stifle all desire for this woman who held life so lightly against passion that she would turn her hand even against the daughter she had borne. Ah, but that was no secret, even in Carnac. I had seen the little Dahut, violet-eyed, milk-white with the moonfire in her veins—no mistaking who had given her birth, even had her mother denied her. But I mastered the fury—after all, it was but what I had expected, and it steeled me in my determination.
“No,” I shook my head. “What would that mean but that you had tired of her—as you tired of her father—as you tired of all your lovers?”
She whispered, desperately, and if I ever saw true madness of love in a woman’s face it was there in hers: “What can I do! Alain—what can I do to gain your trust!”
I said: “When the moon wanes, then is the feast of the Alkar-Az. Then you will summon the Gatherer in the Cairn—and then will many of my people die under the mauls of the priests and many more be swallowed by the Blackness. Promise me you will not summon It. Then I will trust you.”
She shrank away, lips white; she whispered: “I cannot do that. It would mean the end of Ys. It would mean the end of me. The Gatherer would summon me…Ask anything else, beloved…but that I cannot do.”
Well, I had expected her refusal; had hoped for it. I said:
“Then give me the keys to the sea-gates.”
She stiffened; I read doubt, suspicion, in her eyes; and when she spoke, softness had gone from her voice. She said, slowly:
“Now why do you ask for them, Lord of Carnac? They are the very sign and symbol of Ys. They are Ys. They were forged by the sea-god who led my forefathers here long and long and long ago. Never have they been in any hands except those of the Kings of Ys. Never may they be in any hands except those of a King of Ys. Why do you ask for them?”
Ah—but this was the crisis. This was the moment toward which for long I had been working. I caught her up in my arms, tall woman that she was, and held her cupped in them. I pressed my lips to hers, and I felt her quiver and her arms lock round my neck and her teeth bruise my mouth. I threw back my head. I roared laughter. I said:
“You yourself have said it, Dahut. I ask because they are the symbol of Ys. Because they are—you. Perhaps because I would hold them against any change of heart of yours, White Witch. Perhaps as a shield against your shadows. Double your guards at the sea-gates, if you will, Dahut. But—” again I held her close and set my mouth against hers “—I kiss you never again until those keys are in my hands.”
She said, falteringly:
“Hold me so another moment, Alain…and you shall have the keys…Hold me…it is as though my soul were loosed from bondage…You shall have the keys…”
She bent her head and I felt her lips upon my breast, over my heart. And black hate of her and red lust for her fought within me.
She said: “Put me down.”
And when I had done this she looked at me long with soft and misty eyes; and she said again:
“You shall have the keys, beloved. But I must wait until my father is asleep. I shall see to it that he goes early to sleep. And the keys of Ys shall be in the hands of a King of Ys—for King of Ys you shall be, my own dear Lord. Now wait here for me—”
She was gone.
I walked to the window and looked out upon the sea. The storm had broken, was rising to tempest strength and the long combers were battering, battering at the stone prow of Ys, and I could feel the tower tremble in the blast. Blast and sea matched the exultation in my heart.
I knew that hours had passed, and that I had eaten and had drunk. There was confused memory of a great hall where I had sat among gay people close to a dais where was the old King of Ys, and at his right Dahut, and at his left a white-robed, yellow-eyed priest around whose forehead was a narrow band of gold and at whose girdle t
he sacred maul with which the breasts of my own people were beaten in before the Alkar-Az. He had watched me, malevolently. And the King had grown sleepy, nodding…nodding…
But now I was in Dahut’s tower. The storm was stronger and so were the surge and beat of waves on the stone prow of Ys. The rosy light was dim, and the shadows in the green hangings were motionless. Yet I thought that they were closer to the surface; were watching me.
In my hands were three slender bars of sea-green metal, strangely notched and serrated; upon each the symbol of the trident. The longest was three times the space between my index finger and wrist, the shortest the length of my hand.
They hung from a bracelet, a thin band of silver in which was set a black stone bearing in crimson the trident symbol that was the summoning name of the seagod. They were the keys of Ys, given by the sea-god to those who had built Ys.
The keys to the sea-gates!
And Dahut stood before me. She was like a girl in her robe of white, her slender feet bare, hair of silvery gold flowing over exquisite shoulders and the rosy light weaving a little aureole around her head. I who was Alan Caranac thought: She looks like a saint. But I who was Lord of Carnac knew nothing of saints, and only thought: How can I kill this woman, evil as I know her to be!
She said, simply: “Now can you trust, Lord of me?”
I dropped the keys and set my hands on her shoulders: “Yes.”
She raised her lips to me, like a child. I felt pity, against all my knowledge of what she truly was and I against my will I felt pity for her. So I lied. I said: “Let the keys stay where they are, white flower. In the morning, before your father awakens, you shall take them back to him. It was but a test, sweet white flame.”
She looked at me, gravely:
“If you wish it, so shall it be done. But there is no need. Tomorrow you shall be King of Ys.”
I felt a little shock go through me, and pity fled. If that promise meant anything it meant that she was going to kill her father as remorselessly as she had offered to kill her child. She said, dreamily:
“He grows old. And he is weary. He will be glad to go. And with these keys—I give you all of myself. With them—I lock behind me all life that I have lived. I come to you—virgin. Those I have slain I forget, as you will forget. And their shadows shall—cease to be.”
Again I heard that sighing whisper go round the room, but she did not—or if she did, she gave it no heed.
And suddenly she clasped me in her arms, and her lips clung to mine…nor were they virginal…and the desire of her swept like wild-fire through me…
I had not been asleep. Knowing what I must do, I had not dared to sleep though sleep pressed heavy on my eyes. I had lain, listening to the breathing of Dahut, waiting for her to sink into deepest slumber. Yet I must have dozed, for suddenly I became conscious of a whispering close to my ear, and I knew that the whisper had not just begun.
I lifted my head. The rosy light was dim. Beside me was Dahut, one white arm and breast uncovered, hair a silken net upon her pillow.
The whispering continued; grew more urgent. I looked about the room. It was thronged with shadowy shapes that swayed and shifted like shadows in the waves. Upon the floor where I had thrown them lay the keys of Ys, the black pebble glimmering.
I looked again at Dahut—and looked and looked again. For over her eyes was a shadow as though of a hand, and over her lips another such shadow, and upon her breast was a shadow like a hand upon her heart, and around knees and ankles were other shadowy hands, clasping them like fetters.
I slipped from the bed; dressed swiftly and threw my cloak over my shoulders. I picked up the keys.
One last look I took at Dahut—and almost my resolution broke. Witch or not—she was too fair to kill…
The whispering grew fiercer; it threatened; it urged me on, implacably. I looked at Dahut no more—I could not. I passed out of her chamber—and I felt the shadows go with me, wavering before and around and after me.
I knew the way to the sea-gates. It led through the palace, thence underground to the vault at the end of the prow of stone against which the waves were thundering.
I could not think clearly—my thoughts were shadows—I was a shadow walking with shadows…
The shadows were hurrying me, whispering…what were they whispering? That nothing could harm me…nothing stop me…but I must hurry…hurry.
The shadows were like a cloak, covering me.
I came upon a guard. He stood beside the passage I must take from the palace into the underground way. He stood there, as in dream, staring vacantly, staring through me, as though I, too, were but a shadow. The shadows whispered—“Kill.” I thrust dagger through him, and went on.
I came out of that passage into the ante-room of the vault of the gates. There was a man there, coming out of the vault. It was the white-robed priest with the yellow eyes. To him, at least, I was no shadow.
He stared at me and at the keys I held as though I were a demon. Then he rushed toward me, maul upraised, lifting a golden whistle to his lips to summon aid. The shadows swept me forward, and before it could touch his lips I had thrust my dagger through his heart.
And now the gate of the vault was before me. I took the smallest key, and at its touch in the slot that gate drew open. And again the shadows crowded before and around, and pushed me on.
There were two guards there. One I killed before he could draw weapon. I threw myself on the other, throttling him before he could cry alarm.
I thought that as we writhed the shadows wound themselves around him, smotheringly. At any rate, he soon lay dead.
I went on to the sea-gates. They were of the same metal as the keys; immense; ten times my height at the least, twice again as wide; so massive that it did not seem they could have been forged by the hands of men—that they were indeed the gift of the sea-god as the people of Ys had told us.
I found the slits. The shadows were whispering…first I must thrust in the larger key and turn…now the smaller and turn…and now I must cry out the name upon the pebble…once and twice and thrice…I cried that name…
The massive valves shuddered. They began to open inward. A thin sheet of water hissed through the opening striking the opposite side of the vault like a sword.
And now the shadows were whispering to me to flee…quickly…quickly…
Before I could reach the doorway of the vault the split between the opening valves was a roaring cataract. Before I could reach the passage a wave struck me. On its crest was the body of the priest, arms stretched out to me as though in death he was trying to drag me down…down under the smother…
And now I was on a horse, racing over the wide road to Carnac through the howling tempest. In my arms was a child, a girl whose violet eyes were open wide, and blank with terror. And on and on I raced, with the waves reaching out for me, clamoring behind me.
Above the tumult of wind and waves, another tumult from Ys—the crashing of its temples and palaces, the rape of its sea-walls and the death-cry of its people blended into one sustained note of despair…
CHAPTER X
AND OUT OF DAHUT’S TOWER
I lay, eyes shut, but wide awake. I had battled back into this awakening, wrestling for mastery over another self that had stubbornly asserted its right to be. I had won, and the other self had retreated into my memories of Ys. But the memories were vivid and he was as strong as they; he was entrenched among them and he would live as long as they lived; waiting his chance. I was as spent as though that fight had been physical; and in my mind the Lord of Carnac and Alan Caranac and Dahut of ancient Ys and the Demoiselle de Keradel danced a witches’ dance, passing in and out of each other, shifting from one to another—like the girls in the “House of the Heart’s Desire.”
Time had passed between the moment of awakening and the moment when the death cry of Ys had smitten me in my flight over the sands. I knew that. But whether it had been minutes or millenniums I did not know. And other things had
happened which I did not like remembering.
I opened my eyes. I had thought that I had been lying on a soft bed. I was not. I was standing fully dressed beside a window in a room of dim rosy light; a room like a turret…with octagonal walls covered by sea-green tapestries in which furtive shadows moved. And suddenly that other self became alert, and I heard a far off clamor of waves racing toward me…
I turned my head quickly and looked out of the window. There was no stormy sea, no spurning combers beating upon great walls. I looked down upon bridge-bound East River and the lights of New York; looked and fed upon them, drawing strength and sanity from them.
Slowly I turned from the window. Upon the bed was Dahut. She was asleep, one white arm and breast uncovered and her hair a silken net upon her pillow. She lay there, straight as a sword, and in her sleep she smiled.
No shadowy hands held her. Around her wrist was the bracelet, and the black stone was like an unwinking eye, watching me. I wondered whether her eyes under the long curling lashes were also watching me. Her breasts rose and fell, like the slow lift and fall of waves in a slumbering sea. Her mouth, with the kiss of the archaic upon her lips, was peaceful. She was like a soul of the sea over which tempest had passed, leaving it sleeping. She was very lovely…and there was desire for her in my heart, and there was fear of her. I took a step toward her…to kill her now while she lay asleep and helpless…to set my hands around her throat and choke the black life out of the white witch…to kill her, ruthlessly, as she had killed…
I could not do that. Nor could I awaken her. The fear of her stood like a barrier against awakening. The desire for her stood like another barrier against the urge to slay her. I drew back, through the window and out upon the terrace.
I waited there for a moment, considering, watching Dahut’s chamber for any movement. Witchcraft might be superstition—but what Dahut had twice done to me measured up fully to any definition of it. And I thought of what had happened to Dick—and of her calm confession about that. She had told the truth there, whether she had brought his death about by suggestion or by actual shadow. My own experiences had been too similar to doubt that. She had killed Dick Ralston, and those other three. And how many more only she knew.
The A. Merritt Megapack Page 186