There was a glow beyond the oaks where were the standing stones. It was not the wan gleam of the corposants. It was a steady, ruddy glow as from still fires. I heard no chanting.
She did not go toward the oaks. She took a way that led upward to the ridge of rocks hiding the standing stones from the water. Soon the path topped the ridge, and the open sea lay before me. It was a sullen sea and dark, with long, slow swells breaking sluggishly on the ledges.
The path climbed steeply over a cliff which lifted above the waves a full two hundred feet. And suddenly Dahut was on its crest, poised on its verge, arms outstretched to the sea. From her lips came a call, low and inhumanly sweet; in it the plaintiveness of the gull’s cry, the singing of waves over unfathomable, unspoiled deeps, the chant of deep-sea winds. It was a voice of the sea transmuted goldenly in a woman’s throat, but losing no inhuman quality and taking on no human one.
It seemed to me that the surges stopped as though listening while that cry went forth.
Again she sent the call…and once again. And after that she cupped her hands to mouth and cried a word…a name.
From far out at sea there came a roaring answer. A long white line of foam sped from the darkness, a great comber whose top was the tossing manes of hundreds of white horses. It raced shouting against the ridge and broke.
A column of spume swept up and touched her outstretched hands. It seemed to me that something passed to it from her hands, and that as the spume fell something within it glittered silver with glint of scarlet.
I climbed up to her. There was no hint of tenderness now in her eyes or face. Only triumph…and her eyes were violet flames. She lifted a fold of her dress, veiling eyes and face from me.
The bracelet of Ys was gone from her arm!
She beckoned, and I followed her. We skirted the ridge, and ever the ruddy glow grew brighter. I saw that the surges were no longer sullen, but that great waves marched with us, clamoring, white banners of foam streaming, white manes of the sea-horses tossing.
The path ran now below the crest of the ridge. Ahead, on the landward side, was another upthrust of rock, and here again she waited for me. She stood with face averted, still covered by the fold. She pointed to the rock; she said:
“Climb—and see.” Once more the spray-cold fingers touched my eyes… “And hear”…they touched my ears.
She was gone.
I climbed the rock. I scrambled over its top.
Strong hands caught my arms, pinioning them behind me, forcing me to my knees. I twisted and looked into the face of McCann. He was bending, his face close to mine, peering as though he found it difficult to see me clearly.
I cried: “McCann!”
He swore, incredulously, released me. Someone else was on the rock—a lean and dark man with thin, ascetic face and snow-white hair. He, too, was leaning and peering at me as though he found it difficult to see me. That was odd, for I could see them both clearly. I knew him…he had been in the old room where my shadow search for Helen had ended…Ricori.
McCann was stammering: “Caranac—my God, boss, Caranac!”
I whispered, steeling myself against any blow:
“Helen?”
“She lives.” It was Ricori who answered.
My whole body went weak with reaction so that I would have fallen had he not caught me. A new fear took me: “But will she live?”
He said: “She has had a—strange experience. When we left her she was fully conscious. Steadily growing stronger. Her brother is with her. You are all she needs. We are here to take you back to her.”
I said: “No. Not until—”
Gale blast that closed my mouth as though a hand had struck it. Crash of wave against the ridge, shaking it. I felt the spray of it on my face, and it was like the whip of Dahut and it was like the cold fingers of her on my eyes…
And suddenly McCann and Ricori seemed unreal and shadowy. And suddenly I seemed to see the shining body of Dahut swaying onward upon the path between the sea and the ridge…and I heard a voice in my heart—the Lord of Carnac’s voice and mine: How can I kill her, evil as I know her to be?…
Ricori’s voice…how long had he been talking?… “And so when last night you did not appear, I used, as you had suggested—my judgment. After we were assured of her safety, we set out. We persuaded the guardians of the gates to let us enter. They will guard no more gates. We saw the lights, and we thought that where they were you would most likely be. We distributed our men, and McCann and I came by chance upon this excellent place for observation. We saw neither you nor the Demoiselle Dahut…”
…Dahut!…another wave broke upon the rock, and shook it, then surged back shouting shouting—Dahut! Another gust roared over the rock roaring—Dahut! Ricori was saying: “They are down there, awaiting our signal—”
I interrupted, attention abruptly centered: “Signal for what?”
He said: “To stop what is going on down there.”
He pointed toward the inward edge of the rock, and I saw that its edge was outlined black against depths of the ruddy light. I walked to the edge and looked down.
The Cairn was plain before me. I thought: How strangely close it seems…how stark the monoliths stand out!
It was as though the Cairn were but a few yards away…de Keradel so close that I could reach out my hand and touch him. I knew that there were many of the standing stones between me and the Cairn, and that it must be a full thousand feet away. Yet not only could I see the Cairn as though I were beside it, I could see within it as well.
Strange, too, although the wind was roaring overhead and whipping us on the rock, that the fires before the Cairn burned steadily; flickering only when those who fed them sprinkled them from the black ewers they carried…and that although the wind came from the sea, the smoke of the fires streamed straight against it.
And strange how silent it was down there among the monoliths when steadily grew the shouting and the clamor of the sea…nor did the flashing of the lightning marching ever higher dim the fires, nor did the rumbling thunder invade the silence of the plain more than did the clamor of the combers…
Those who fed the fires were not now in white but in red. And de Keradel was clothed in a robe of red instead of the white robe of the sacrifices. He wore the black belt and the cincture but the shifting symbols on them glittered not silver but scarlet…
There were ten of the fires, in a semi-circle between the three altars and the monoliths which faced the threshold of the Cairn. Each was a little more than a man’s height, and they burned with a cone-shaped, still flame. From the peak of each arose a column of smoke. They were as thick as the arm of a man, these columns, and having risen twice the height of the fires, they curved, and then streamed straight toward the threshold of the Cairn. They were like ten black arteries of which the ten fires were the hearts, and they were threaded with crimson filaments, like little fiery veins.
The blackened hollowed stone was hidden by a greater fire which burned not only red but black. Nor was this, like the others, a still flame. It pulsed with slow and rhythmic beat—as though in truth it were a heart. Between it and the great slab of granite upon which he had beaten in the breasts of the sacrifices stood de Keradel.
There was something lying upon the stone of sacrifice, covering it. At first I thought it a man, a giant, lying there. Then I saw that it was an immense vessel, strangely shaped, and hollow.
A vat.
I could look into this vat. It was half-filled with a clotted, reddish-black fluid over the surface of which ran tiny flames. Not pale and dead like the corposants, but crimson and filled with evil life. It was to this vat that the blank-eyed men who fed the fires came to have their ewers refilled. And it was from it that de Keradel took that which he sprinkled upon the pulsing fire and his hands and his arms were red with it.
On the threshold of the Cairn was another vessel, a huge bowl like a shallow baptismal font. It was filled, and over its surface ran the crimson flames.
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The smoke from the lesser fires, the ten crimson threaded arteries, met in the thicker column that arose from the throbbing fire, mingled with it, and streamed as one into the Cairn.
The silence of the plain was broken by a whispering, a faint wailing, and up from the bases of the monoliths shadows began to rise. They lifted, as I had first seen them, to their knees…and then they were wrenched from the earth, and whimpering, wailing, were sucked into the Cairn…beating about it…fighting to escape.
Within the Cairn was the Gatherer…the Blackness.
From the first I had known It was there. It was no longer shapeless, nebulous—part of an infinitely greater Something that dwelt in space and beyond space. The Gatherer was breaking loose…taking form. The small crimson flames were running through It…like corpuscles of evil blood. It was condensing, steadily becoming material.
That which filled the font on the threshold of the Cairn was empty.
De Keradel filled it from the vat…and again…and again.
The Gatherer drank from the font and fed upon the shadows, and upon the smoke of the fires which were fed by blood. And steadily It assumed shape.
I stepped back, covering my eyes.
Ricori said: “What do you see? All I see are men in red, far away, who feed fires—and another who stands before the house of stones…what do you see, Caranac?”
I whispered: “I see Hell opening.”
I forced myself to look again at that which was being spawned from the Cairn’s stone womb…and stood, unable now to look away…I heard a voice, my own voice, screaming—
“Dahut…Dahut…before it is too late!”
As though in answer, there was a lull in the clamor of the sea. Upon the ridge at our left appeared a point of brilliant green light…whether far away or near I could not tell with that strange witch-sight Dahut had given me. It became an oval of brilliant emerald…
It became—Dahut!
Dahut…clothed with pale green sea-fires, her eyes like violet sea-pools and wide so wide that they were ringed with white; her slim black brows a bar above them; her face white as foam and cruel and mocking; her hair like spin-drift of silver. Far away or not, she seemed as close to me as did de Keradel. It was as if she stood just above the Cairn…could reach out, as I, and touch de Keradel. To me that night, as in the shadowy land, there was no such thing as distance.
I caught Ricori’s wrist, pointed and whispered: “Dahut!”
He said: “I saw far away and dimly a shining figure. I thought it a woman. With your hand upon me, I seem to see her more plainly. What do you see, Caranac?”
I said: “I see Dahut. She is laughing. Her eyes are the eyes of no woman…nor is her face. She is laughing, I say…can’t you hear her, Ricori? She calls to de Keradel…how sweet her voice and how merciless…like the sea! She calls—‘My father, I am here!’ He sees her…the Thing in the Cairn is aware of her…de Keradel cries to her—‘Too late, my daughter!’ He is mocking, contemptuous…but the Thing in the Cairn is not. It strains…toward completion. Dahut calls again, ‘Is my bridegroom born? Is the labor done? Your midwifery successful? My bedfellow delivered?’ Can’t you hear, Ricori? It is as though she stood beside me…”
He said: “I hear nothing.”
I said: “I do not like this jesting, Ricori. It is—dreadful. The Thing in the Cairn does not like it…although de Keradel laughs…It reaches out from the Cairn…to the vat on the stone of sacrifice…It drinks…It grows…God!…Dahut…Dahut!”
The shining figure raised hand as though she heard…and bent toward me…and I felt the touch of her fingers on eyes and ears…her lips on mine…
She faced the sea and threw wide her arms. She cried the Name, softly—and the sea winds stilled…again, like one who summons as of right—and the shouting of the combers waned…a third time, jubilantly.
Shouting of the combers, thunder of the surges, roaring of the winds, all the clamor of sea and air, arose in a mighty diapason. It melted into chaotic uproar, elemental bellowing. And suddenly all the sea was covered with the tossing manes of the white sea-horses…armies of the white horses of the sea…the white horses of Poseidon…line upon endless line racing out of the darkness of ocean and charging against the shore.
Beyond the lower line of the ridge between that high rock on which stood Dahut and this high rock on which stood I, arose a mountain of water…lifting, lifting swiftly, yet deliberately. Changing shape as it lifted ever higher…gathering power as it lifted. Up it lifted and up; a hundred feet, two hundred feet above the edge. It paused, and its top flattened. Its top became a gigantic hammer…
And beyond it I seemed to see a vast and misty shape towering to the clouds, its head wreathed with the clouds and crowned with the lightnings…
The hammer swung down…down upon the Thing in the Cairn…down upon de Keradel and the red-clad, blank-eyed men…down upon the monoliths.
The Cairn and the monoliths were covered with waters, boiling, spouting, smashing at the standing stones. Uprooting, overturning them.
For an instant I saw the evil fires glare through the waters. Then they were gone.
For an instant I heard an unearthly shrilling from the stone womb of the Cairn, and saw a Blackness veined with crimson flames writhing under the hammer stroke of the waters. Struggling in the myriad arms of the waters. Then it, too, was gone.
The waters rushed back. They licked up at us as they passed and a wave swirled round us knee high. It dropped…chuckling.
Again the mountain arose, hammer topped. Again it swept over the ridge and smote the Cairn and the standing stones. And this time the waters rushed on so that the oaks fell before them…and once more they retreated…and once more they lifted and struck and swept on…and now I knew that the old house with all its ghosts was gone…
Through all, the sea-fire shape of Dahut had remained unmoved, untouched. I had heard her merciless laughter above the bellowing of the sea and the crashing of the hammer strokes.
Back rushed the last waters. Dahut held her arms out to me, calling:
“Alain…come to me, Alain!”
Clearly could I see the path between her and me. It was as though she were close…close. But I knew she was not and that it was the witch-sight she had given me that made it seem so. I said:
“Good luck, McCann. Good luck, Ricori—”
“Alan…come to me, Alan…”
My hand dropped on the hilt of the long knife. I shouted: “Coming—Dahut!”
McCann gripped me. Ricori struck down at his hands. He said: “Let him go.”
“…Alan…come to me…”
The waters were rushing back, over the ridge. A swirl swept out. It coiled around Dahut to the waist. It lifted her…high and high…
And instantly from over her and from every side of her a cloud of shadows swept upon her…striking at her with shadowy hands…thrusting at her, hurling themselves at her, pushing her back and down…into the sea.
I saw incredulity flood her face, then outraged revolt, then terror—and then despair.
The wave crashed back into the sea, and with it went Dahut, the shadows pouring after her…
I heard myself crying: Dahut…Dahut!
I rushed to the verge of the rock. There was a prolonged flaring of the lightning. By it I saw Dahut…face upturned, hair floating around her like a silver net, her eyes wide and horror-filled and…dying.
The shadows were all around her and over her…pushing her down…down…
The witch-sight was fading from my eyes. The witch-hearing stilling in my ears. Before that sight went, I saw de Keradel lying on the threshold of the Cairn, crushed beneath one of its great stones. The stone had pulped the breast and heart of de Keradel as he had pulped the breasts and hearts of the sacrifices. There were only his head and his arms…his face upturned, dead eyes wide and filled with hate, dead hands held high in imprecation and in—appeal…
The Cairn was flat, and of the standing stones not one w
as erect…
Witch-sight and witch-hearing were gone. The land was dark save for the glare of the lightning. The sea was dark save for the foaming tops of the waves. Their shouting was the voice of waves—and nothing more. The roaring of the wind was the voice of the wind—and nothing more.
Dahut was dead…
I asked Ricori: “What did you see?”
“Three waves. They destroyed all that was below. They killed my men!”
“I saw much more than that, Ricori. Dahut is dead. It is ended, Ricori. Dahut is dead and her witchcraft ended. We must wait here till morning. Then we can go back…back to Helen…”
Dahut was dead…
She was dead as of old, long and long and long ago in Ys…by her shadows and by her wickednesses…by the sea…and by me.
Would I have killed her with the long knife had I reached her before the wave?
The cycle had been reborn and it had ended as it had of old, long and long and long ago…in Ys.
The sea had cleansed this place of her sorceries as it had cleansed Ys of them in that long and long and long ago.
Had there been a Helen in Carnac when I set forth from Carnac to Ys to slay Dahut?
Had she cleansed me of the memories of Dahut when I returned to her?
Could—Helen?
THE DRONE (1934)
Four men sat at a table of the Explorers’ Club—Hewitt, just in from two years botanical research in Abyssinia; Caranac, the ethnologist; MacLeod, poet first, and second the learned curator of the Asiatic Museum; Winston, the archeologist, who, with Kosloff the Russian, had worked over the ruins of Khara-Kora, the City of the Black Stones in the northern Gobi, once capital of the Empire of Genghis Khan.
The talk had veered to werewolves, vampires, foxwomen, and similar superstitions. Directed thence by a cabled report of measures to be taken against the Leopard Society, the murderous fanatics who drew on the skins of leopards, crouched like them on the boughs of trees, then launched themselves down upon their victims tearing their throats with talons of steel. That, and another report of a “hex-murder” in Pennsylvania where a woman had been beaten to death because it was thought she could assume the shape of a cat and cast evil spells upon those into whose houses, as cat, she crept.
The A. Merritt Megapack Page 200