by Anthology
The bow began to move, to swirl, and to change in shape and colour. The three great rivers of light billowed and expanded and rounded into a new form. Then they burst—into a vast, three- leafed clover—blue and red and green!
And Watson caught the startled words of the Geos:
"The Sign of the Jarados!"
XXXVIII
THE VOICE FROM THE VOID
Even while that inexplicable heavenly pageant still burned against the heavens, something else took place, a thing of much greater importance to Chick. And, it happened right before his eyes.
In the front of the car was a dial, slightly raised above the level of the various controlling instruments. And all of a sudden this dial, a small affair about six inches across, broke into light and life.
First, there was a white blaze that covered the whole disc; then the whiteness abruptly gave way to a flood of colour, which resolved itself into a perfect miniature of the tri-coloured cloverleaf in the sky ahead. Chick saw, however that the positions of the red and green were just the obverse of what glowed in the distance; and then he heard the voice, strong and distinct, speaking with a slight metallic twang as from a microphone hidden in that little, blazing, coloured leaf:
"Listen, ye who have ears to listen!"
It was said in the Thomahlian tongue. The Geos breathed:
"The voice of the Prophet Jarados!"
But the next moment the unseen speaker began in another language— clear, silver, musical—in English, and in a voice that Chick recognised!
"Chick! You have done well, my boy. Your courage and your intuition may lead us out. Follow the prophecy to the letter, Chick; it MUST come to pass, exactly as it is written! Don't fail to read it, there on the walls of the Temple of the Bell, when you encounter the Bar Senestro on the Day of the Prophet!
"I have discovered many things, my boy, but I am not omnipotent. Your coming has made possible my last hope that I may return to my own kind, and take with me the secrets of life. You have done right to trust your instinct; have no fear, yet remember that if you—if we—make one false step we are lost.
"Finally, if you should succeed in your contest with the Senestro, I shall send for you; but if you fail, I know how to die.
"Return at once to the Mahovisal. Don't cross into the Region of Carbon. Take care how you go back; the Bars are waiting. But you can put full confidence in the Rhamdas."
Then the speaker dropped the language of the earth and used the Thomahlian tongue again: "It is I who speak—I, the Prophet; the Prophet Jarados!"
All in the voice of Dr. Holcomb.
The blazing leaf faded into blackness, and the talking ceased. Chick was glad of the darkness; the whole thing was like magic, and too good to believe. The first actual words from the missing professor! Each syllable was frozen into Watson's memory.
The Geos was clutching his arm.
"Did you understand, my lord? We heard the voice of the prophet! What did he say?"
"Yes, I understand. He used his own language—my language. And he said"—taking the reins firmly into his hands—"he said that we must return to the Thomahlia. And we must beware of the Bars."
There was no thought of questioning him. Without waiting the Geos' command, the Jan Lucar began putting the craft about. Watson glanced at the sky; the great spectacle was gone; and he demanded of the soldier:
"How can we get back? How do we find our way?"
For there was no visible light save the strange, fitful glow from that uncanny sky to guide them; no lights from the inky carpet of the Thomahlia, lights such as one would expect for the benefit of fliers. But the soldier touched a button, and instantly another and larger dial was illumined above the instruments.
It revealed a map or chart of a vast portion of the Thomahlia. On the farther edge there appeared an area coloured to represent water, and adjoining this area was a square spot labeled "The Mahovisal." And about midway from this point to the near edge of the dial a red dot hung, moving slowly over the chart.
"The red dot, my lord, indicates our position," explained the Jan. "In that manner we know at all times where we are located, and which way we are flying. We shall arrive in the Mahovisal shortly."
As he spoke the craft was gaining speed, and soon was travelling at an even greater rate than before. The red dot began to crawl at an astonishing speed. Of course, they had the benefit of the pull of gravity, now; apparently they would make the journey in a few minutes. But incredible though the speed might be, there was nothing but the red dot to show it.
The Geos felt like talking. "My lord, the sign is conclusive. It is a marvel, such as only the prophet could possibly have produced; with all our science we could not duplicate such splendour. Only once before has the Thomahlia seen it."
Already they were near enough to the surface to make out the clustered, blinking lights of the towns on the plain below. Ahead of them queer streamers of pale rays thrust through the darkness. Watson recognised them as the beams of the far-distant searchlights; and then and there he gave thanks for one thing, at least, in which the Thomahlians had seemingly progressed no further than the people of the earth.
Coming a little nearer, Chick made out a number of bright, glittering, insect-like objects, revealed by these searchlights. The Jan Lucar said:
"The Bars, my lord. They are waiting; and they will head us off if they can."
"The work of Senestro, I suppose. I thought he claimed to some honour."
"It is not the prince's work, my lord," replied the soldier. "His D'Hartian and Kospian followers, some of them, have no scruples as to how they might slay the 'false one', as they think you."
"Suppose," hazarded Watson, "suppose I WERE the false one?"
Both the Geos and the Jan smiled. But the Rhamda's voice was very sure as he replied:
"If you were false, my lord, I would slay you myself."
They were very near the Mahovisal now. Below was the unmistakable opalescence, somehow produced by powerful illumination, as intense as sunlight itself. The red dot was almost above the black square on the lighted chart. And directly ahead, the air was becoming alive with the beam-revealed aircraft. How could they get by in safety?
But Chick did not know the Jan Lucar. The soldier said:
"My lord is not uneasy?"
"Of course not," with unconcern. "Why?"
"Because I propose something daring. I am free to admit, my lord, that were the Geos and I alone, I should not attempt it. But not even the Bars," with magnificent confidence, "can stand before us now! We have had the proof of the Jarados, and we know that no matter what the odds, he will carry us through."
"What are you going to do?"
"I propose to shoot it, my lord." And without explaining the Jan asked the Geos: "Are you agreeable? The June Bug will hold; the prophet will protect us."
"Surely," returned the Rhamda. "There is nothing to fear, now, for those who are in the company of the chosen."
Watson wondering watched the Jan as he tilted the nose of the June Bug and began to climb at an all but perpendicular angle straight into the heavens. Mile after mile, in less than as many minutes, they hurtled towards the zenith, so that the lights of the city dimmed until only the searching shafts could be seen. Chick began to guess what they were going to do; that the Jan Lucar was nearly as reckless as he was handsome.
At last the soldier brought the craft to a level. They soared along horizontally for a while; the Jan kept his eye fixed on the red dot. And when it was directly above the black square he stated:
"It is considered a perilous feat, my lord. We are going to drop. If we make it from this height, not only will we break all records, but will have proved the June Bug the superior in this respect, as she is in speed. It is our only chance in any circumstances, but with the Jarados at our side, we need not fear that the craft will stand the strain. We shall go through them like stone; before they know it we shall be in the drome—in less than a minute."
"Fro
m this height?" Chick concealed a shudder behind a fair show of scepticism. "A minute is not much time."
"Does my lord fear the drop?"
"Why should I? I have in mind the June Bug; she might be set afire through friction, in dropping so quickly through the air." Watson had a vivid picture of a blazing meteorite, containing the charred bodies of three men, dropping out of—
"My lord need not be concerned with that," the Jan assured him. "The shell of the car is provided with a number of tiny pores, through which a heat-resisting fluid will be pumped during the manoeuvre. The temperature may be raised a little, but no more.
"You see this plug," touching a hitherto unused knob among the instruments. "By pulling that out, the mechanism of the craft is automatically adjusted to care for every phase of the descent. Nothing else remains to be done, after removing that plug, save to watch the red dot and prepare to step out upon the floor of our starting-place."
"Has the thing ever been done before?" Watson was sparring for time while he gathered his nerve.
"I myself have seen it, my lord. The June Bug has been sent up many times, weighted with ballast; the plug was abstracted by clockwork; and in fifty-eight seconds she returned through the open end of the drone, without a hitch. It was beautiful. I have always envied her that plunge. And now I shall have the chance, with the hand of the Jarados as my guide and protector!"
Chick had just time to reflect that, if by any chance he got through with this, he ought to be able to pass any test conceivable. He ought to be able to get away with anything. He started to murmur a prayer; but before he could finish, the Jan Lucar leaned over the dial-map for the last time, saw that the red dot was now exactly central over the square that represented the city, and unhesitatingly jerked out the plug.
Of what happened next Watson remembered but little. The bottom seemed to have dropped out of the universe. He was conscious of a crushing blur of immensity, of a silent thundering within him— then mental chaos and a stunned oblivion.
XXXIX
WHO IS THE JARADOS?
It was all over. Chick opened his eyes to see the Jan throwing open the plate on the side of the compartment. Neither the soldier nor the Rhamda seemed to have noted Chick's daze. As for the Jan, his blue eyes were dancing with dare-devilry.
"That's what I call living!" he grinned. "They can keep on looking for the June Bug all night!"
Chick looked out. They were inside the great room from which they had started; the trip was over; the plunge had been made in safety. Chick took a long breath, and held out a hand.
"A man after my own heart, Jan Lucar. I foresee that we may have great sport with the Senestro."
"Aye, my lord," cheerfully. "The presumptuous usurper! I only wish I could kill him, instead of you."
"You are not the only one," commented the Rhamda. "Half of the Rhamdas would cheerfully act as the chosen one's proxy."
And so ended the events of Chick Watson's first day beyond the Blind Spot, his first day on the Thomahlia; that is, disregarding the previous months of unconsciousness. He had good reason to pass a sleepless night in legitimate worry for the outcome of it all; but instead he slept the sound sleep of exhaustion, awakening the next morning much refreshed.
He reminded himself, first of all, that today was the one immediately preceding that of his test—the Day of the Prophet. He had only a little more than twenty-four hours to prepare. What was the best and wisest proceeding?
He called for the Geos. He told him what data he wanted. The Rhamda said that he could find everything in a library in that building, and inside a half-hour he returned with a pile of manuscripts.
Left to himself, Chick found that he now had data relating to all the sciences, to religion, to education and political history and the law. The chronology of the Thomahlians, Chick found, dates back no less than fifteen thousand years. An abiding civilisation of that antiquity, it need not be said, presented somewhat different aspects from what is known on the earth.
It seemed that the Jarados had come miraculously. That is, he had come out of the unknown, through a channel which he himself later termed the Spot of Life.
He had taught a religion of enlightenment, embracing intelligence, love, virtue, and the higher ethics such as are inherent in all great philosophies. But he did not call himself a religionist. That was the queer point. He said that he had come to teach an advanced philosophy of life; and he expressly stated that his teachings were absolute only to a limited extent.
"Man must seek and find," was one of his epigrams; "and if he find no more truths, then he will find lies." Which was merely a negative way of saying that some of his philosophy was only provisional.
But on some points he was adamant. He had arrived at a time when the unthinking, self-glorifying Thomahlians had all but exterminated the lower orders of creation. The Jarados sought to remove the handicap which the people had set upon themselves, and gave them, in the place of kindness which they had forgotten, how to use, a burning desire for a positive knowledge, where before had been only blind faith. Also, he taught good-fellowship, as a means to this end. He taught beauty, love, and laughter, the three great cleansers of humanity. And yet, through it all—
The Jarados was a mystic.
He studied life after a manner of his own. He was a stickler for getting down to the very heart of things, for prodding around among causes until he found the cause itself. And thus he learned the secret of the occult.
For so he taught. And presently the Jarados was recognized as an authority on what the Thomahlia called "the next world." Only he showed that death, instead of being an ushering into a void, was merely a translation onto another plane of life, a higher plane and a more glorious one. In short, a thing to be desired and attained, not to be avoided.
This put the Spot of Life on an entirely different basis. No longer was it a fearsome thing. The Jarados elevated death to the plane of motherhood—something to glory in. And Chick gathered that his famous prophecy—which he had yet to read, where it hung on the wall of the temple—gave every detail of the Jarados' profound convictions and teachings regarding the mystery of the next life.
And now comes a curious thing. As Chick read these details, he became more and more conscious of—what shall it be called?—the presence of someone or something beside him, above and all about him, watching his every movement. He could not get away from the feeling, although it was broad daylight, and he was seemingly quite alone in the room. Chick was not frightened; but he could have sworn that a very real personality was enveloping his own as he read.
Every word, somehow, reminded him of the miraculous sequence of facts as he knew them; the unerring accuracy with which he, quite unthinkingly and almost without volition, had solved problem after problem, although the chances were totally against him. He became more and more convinced that he himself had practically no control over his affairs; that he was in the hands of an irresistible Fate; and that—he could not help it—his good angel was none other than the prophet who, almost ninety centuries ago, had lived and taught upon the Thomahlia, and in the end had returned to the unknown.
But how could such a thing be? Watson did not even know where he was! Small wonder that, again and again, he felt the need of assurance. He asked for the Jan Lucar.
"In the first place," began Chick without preamble, "you accept me, Jan Lucar; do you not?"
"Absolutely, my lord."
"You conceive me to be out of the spiritual world, and yet flesh and blood like yourself?"
"Of course," with flat conviction.
That settled it. Watson decided to find out something he had not had time to locate in the library.
"The Rhamda may have told you, Jan Lucar, that I am here to seek the Jarados. Now, I suspect the Senestro. Can you imagine what he has done to the prophet?"
"My lord," remonstrated the other, "daring as the Bar might be, he could do nothing to the Jarados. He would not dare."
"Then he is afraid to
run counter to the prophecy?"
"Yes, my lord; that is, its literal interpretation. He is opposed only to the broader version as held by such liberals as the Rhamda Avec. The Bars are always warning the people against the false one."
"And the Senestro is at their head," mused Chick aloud. "This brother of his who died—usually there are two such princes and chiefs?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And the Senestro plans to marry both queens, according to the custom!"
"My lord"—and the Jan suddenly snapped erect—"the Bar will do exceedingly well if he succeeds in marrying one of them! Certainly he shall never have the Aradna—not while I live and can fight!"
"Good! How about the Nervina?"
"He'll do well to find her first!"
"True enough. What would you say was his code of honour?"
"My lord, the Senestro actually has no code. He believes in nothing. He is so constituted, mentally and morally, that he cares for and trusts in none but himself. He is a sceptic pure and simple; he cares nothing for the Jarados and his teachings. He is an opportunist seeking for power, wicked, lustful, cruel—"
"But a good sportsman!"
"In what way, my lord?"
"Didn't he allow me the choice of combat?"
The Jan laughed, but his handsome face could not hide his contempt.
"It is ever so with a champion, my lord. He has never been defeated in a matter of physical prowess. It would be far more to his glory to overcome you in combat of your own selection. It will be spectacular—he knows the value of dramatic climax—and he would kill you in a moment, before a million Thomahlians."
"It's a nice way to die," said Watson. "You must grant that much."
"I don't know of any nice way to die, my lord. But it is a good way of living—to kill the Bar Senestro. I would that I could have the honour."
"How does it come that the Rhamdas, superintellectual as they are, can consent to such a contest? Is it not degrading, to their way of thinking? It smacks of barbarism."