Strange Ports of Call

by August Derleth (ed)

  “But I should think,” I demurred, “this would not be to his liking? After all, a companion is what he asked for.”

  The Yawa chuckled.

  “What he asked for, but not what he really wanted. You should study psychology, my friend, to realize that in nature, even as in the electrical art, it is opposites which attract. This second she is so unlike him that he is drawn to her as by a magnet. She baffles and confuses him—and brings him running. She commands, and he obeys; she demands and he fulfills. With a motion of a finger she exacts his most arduous labor. She is a bother to him, I fear, and a source of sore trouble—but for her rare words of praise he has done more actual work than ever since I placed him in this garden.”

  “Then,” I said, comprehending, “you followed the example of the insect? Made her larger than him, and stronger, that she might enforce her demands?”

  “On the contrary,” denied Eloem, “I made her—but see for yourself.” And he called, “My children!”

  The bower parted, and into the opening strode his twain creatures.

  In a glance I saw it was as he said. The male beast was subtly changed. There was a new assurance in his features, a confidence which might have been born of his newfound capabilities; but there was at the same time a—a something else I could not quite decipher. It was a reserve, a furtiveness which had not been present when first I saw him. But more than this at first glance I saw not, for my attention was drawn and riveted to the creature’s new companion. And strange as it may seem, coming from one uncorporeal as myself, I must confess that even I was fascinated by this, the Yawa Eloem’s later creation.

  For he had combined in her not only the sturdiness and the nobility of the male, but something subtler still; a grace, a charm, a winsomeness and allurement far out of proportion to the small physique with which he had endowed her.

  Shorter by half a head was she than her mate, slighter boned and more fragile, white of skin. But one could tell at a glance that here was strength built not of sinew but of purpose. She bore herself lightly, walking on the balls of her feet with lissom grace, and she seemed all sweet docility. Yet, curiously, she spoke for both.

  “You called, my lord?” she asked.

  “It is nothing,” said Eloem. “I wished but to see you and show yon to my friend. You are happy here, my children?”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the she. “Of course, there are a few things—”

  “Yes?” asked Eloem.

  The male spoke querulously.

  “She wants the stream-bed widened that we may swim therein. She thinks, too, that I should transplant berry bushes nearer to our glade, that we need not hunt so far for provender. And we have talked—” he cast a dubious glance at his mate—“that is, she has talked much of our building some sort of dwelling.”

  “She?” laughed Eloem. “Always she? What is your desire in these matters, my first-made?”

  “Well—” said the male hesitantly.

  “I have pointed out to him,” interrupted the she in sweet and lilting tones, “that only by doing these things can we prove to the lesser beasts that we are their superiors and their rightful masters. It is true, my lord, is it not, that we are their masters?” I asked impatiently, “And since when do beasts rule beasts?” But the Yawa silenced me with a gesture.

  “There is logic to that. It is right and proper that one animal should exercise dominion over its inferiors. If your mate wants these things, I see no harm in your providing them for her.”

  “Oh, very well,” said the male petulantly. “But it is wearisome work, and I like it not. When the other she was here, we roamed where we would for berries, swam at chance when we found a widening of the stream; we laughed and played and found no need of stifling shelter.”

  “Like,” laughed the second-made gayly and, I thought, perhaps a bit tauntingly, “like two happy and carefree children. All day they played, and in the cool of the night they curled apart, each to his own soft nest of ferns, and slumbered in cool companionship. Of course—” And she laughed again, flexing her muscles smoothly, languorously; until that moment I had not realized how strong was the animal within her. “Of course, if that is what you want, the master can no doubt bring back the other she—”

  But a swift light, warm and hungry, brightened in the male’s eyes, and he shook his head.

  “No,” he decided, “I shall do as she asks, my lord.”

  “Very well,” said Eloem, “it is your decision to make. And now farewell, my children. We must go.”

  But even as we turned, the she addressed us, humble as ever and sweetly supplicating, but with a cunning determination, nonetheless.

  “Master—”

  “Yes, my daughter?”

  “There is another thing—another small thing. We are humble creatures, ignorant and unworthy of your attentions. We would not trouble you for counsel and advice on every tiny tiling we wish to do. Is it not possible that when need arises we may be allowed to enter into the chamber wherein are stored the books of knowledge and learning? If we could but do this, we need not waste time and effort learning to do things wrongly, but may build and create in proper fashion.”

  “No!” cried the Yawa Eloem. “No, my daughter, that is one thing you may not do. All this wide garden is open unto you; its hills and its valleys, glades and rivulets. But there is one door through which you may not pass, that which leads to my private laboratory. This is the Law, and the only Law I have laid down unto you.”

  “But—” pouted the she enticingly.

  “Let us speak of it no more,” cried Eloem sternly. “You have heard my word. And now, goodbye.”

  And we left them standing there, he shrugging and resigned, she with head lowered. Yet as we left, I felt her eyes upon us, shrewd and bold beneath their lowered lashes.

  You may wonder, my brothers, why waste I so much wordage on the telling of this. Believe me, it is but to demonstrate that never did the Yawa Eloem—as he has been accused by his enemies—conspire against our own race for the overthrow of our empire. Who says that speaks untruth. The Yawa came near to bringing disaster upon us, true; but only because, being the soul of righteousness himself, he could not comprehend the cunning of the beasts he had created.

  From this point on, you are familiar with the facts of the case. You know how, on the Night of the Four Moons, it was strangely noted that the laboratory Dome of Eloem glowed with the reflection of a ruddy flame throughout the evening. It is unfortunate that no investigation was made of this at the time, but understandable. We of Kios are a recluse race, self-sufficient and solitary by nature. Few knew that the Yawa was not in his laboratory, but visiting afar in search of new equipment with which to stock his depleted stores.

  All those of us, including myself, who maintain residence within sight of our brothers laboratory, remember well the subsequent series of incidents emanating from that spot. Once the sound of explosion—still another time the clamorous pounding of metal upon metal as if a dozen of us, carrier-clad, vied in games of strength.

  But none knew, or guessed, the import of these sights and sounds.

  Knowledge of dawning peril came to us only when one morn we wakened to discover the Dome of our neighbor Lato smashed and in smouldering ruins. When startled friends braved the wreckage to learn Lato’s fate, they were grieved to find Lato’s carrier lying amidst the wreckage. When the headpiece was forced open, it was found Lato himself was ended. His volatile energy had been expended in a single gigantic burst of flames which fused the metal wherein he had maintained residence.

  Even after this disaster no suspicion attached to Eloem’s labors. And certainly none dreamed that his creations were in any way responsible. Not even when, a few nights later, the nearby Dome of the Councilor Palimon was found to be rudely split and flooded with poisonous oxide of hydrogen was it guessed that the animals could be responsible for such a brutal attack upon their overlords.

  Palimon was, of course, ended. His spirit seared and s
hriveled by the lethal liquid, he could tell us nothing. What dreadful tale of agony he might have related is better left unguessed.

  And then, at terrible last, came revelation as to the cause of these disasters. This occasion was, as you will remember, the destruction of the Dome of the Grand Council itself. Like the other events, it occurred in the dark of night, when no Kiosian dares venture forth, and horrible was its accomplishment.

  First came, as had before, a violent explosion. Then in its wake rose a fearful sea of flame, sweeping the council-hall and slaying all who dwelt beneath the Dome. And when blistering fire had gutted the ruined hemisphere came the dank night wind, bearing with it lethal rains to destroy such life as might remain within the halls.

  It is by sheer chance that on this night scarce half the Council was foregathered; else might a blow have been struck from which our empire might never have recovered. But as it was, great Kron and half his Councilors had been in my Dome inspecting my new and nearly completed spacecraft. Shedder-garbed against the night mists, they were returning to their dwelling when the explosion trembled the ground beneath their feet. As they spurred their carriers to top speed, they—or I should say we, for I was with them—reached the scene in time to see outlined against the flickering flames two bodies. These, like our own, were carrier-clad; and at the sight of them Kron burst forth with a terrible cry.

  “Traitors!” he roared. “Two of our own people—traitors! Now the gods forfend that I should have lived to see this awful day! Then the others explosions were not accidents; they were deliberate murder! Woe upon Kios that has spawned such vermin—”

  Then I stopped him with a shrill, excited cry. For upon sight of us, the two marauders had turned and raced away. And though the taller of these could not be told from one of our own brethren, by the pace and motion of the other—an awkward, gliding run—I instantly recognized and knew the nature of our attackers.

  “Nay, these are no children of Kios, O Kron,” I cried, “but the beasts—the beasts of the Yawa Eloem, turned like serpents against their masters!”

  Great Kron cried loud in his thunderous rage; then turned he to the royal messenger. “Gavril!” he ordered. “Sound now your trumpet all over the land. Bid Eloem here instantly. Mikel, rouse your troops!”

  And then I knew the fury of great Kron, for not in a score of centuries had the gleaming troops of Mikel been ordered into action. But without a word the commander of our armed forces turned and sped toward the armory wherein were carefully stored against the hour of need those dreadful weapons which our race holds ever in reserve.

  What happened next you know. The Yawa, being summoned, came immediately. Nor waited he even upon the slow movements of his mechanical carrier. Risking the night mists and the dark, with the speed of light he flashed from the other end of the land in his natural form. We saw him approach from afar, a pillar of flame in the darkness.

  When he learned what had befallen, a cry of pain and anguish broke from him. Like a patient parent he might have denied the evil intent of his children were not the proof of their mischief a smouldering wreckage before him.

  Then said Kron, “Now great is the evil your creations have wrought, O Yawa. But greater still shall be their punishment. For even now our warriors sweep forth to destroy them—”

  But the Yawa pleaded, “Wait, O Kron! Stay yet your hand till I have learned what lust inspired this evil. Let me go to my children and learn from their lips the reason—”

  And Kron nodded.

  “So be it. But mark you well—”

  Eloem turned to me beseechingly.

  “And you, my friend? Will you come with me?”

  So together for the last time went we two into the paradise which the Yawa had created within his Dome. Within, the paths were cool, the grottoes shadowed, and the soft brook purled through mossy silences. No songbird sang, but from the thicket came the soft and lazy cadences of restless insects. Together but alone, unspeaking, we trod the paths marked out by the he and she. And as we neared the glade wherein it was the creatures’ will to dwell, the Yawa Eloem raised his voice—in stern command, but in sadness, too, I thought.

  It is perhaps meaningful that in this hour of sorrow he should have called only to the first of his creations.

  “My son!” he called. “My son! Where art thou, O child of mine own making?”

  There came no answer but the rippling of the breeze through the boughs, and the rustling of a frightened thing in the high grass.

  “My son,” cried Eloem again. “Where art thou? Know you not the voice of your lord and maker?”

  And then suddenly, a dim whiteness in the shadows, rose the crouching figure of the he from the brush before us. And I saw with sick horror that he was not, as ever before, clad only in his own fleshly raiment, but that his body was shielded within the greaved and bucklered harness of a carrier such as we ourselves wear.

  He spoke, and his voice was meek.

  “You called, my lord?”

  The Yawa’s voice was stricken.

  “My son, my son!” he grieved. “Wherefore hast thou donned this raiment?”

  The male’s voice was a thick mumbling in the darkness. He spoke in half apology, half defiance.

  “It was the she, my lord. She told me I was naked and a weakling, and I was ashamed. Together we built these garments, that we might be strong and mighty.”

  “Built?” repeated Eloem. “Built those garments? But where, O creature of little knowledge, learned you the secret of such things?” Then in a tone of sudden understanding, “You learned this not in the garden, my son, but—elsewhere.”

  The beast bowed miserably. “It was the she, my lord,” he whined. “It was the she who—”

  Then cried the Yawa in a terrible voice:

  “Let the she stand forth!”

  And suddenly she was there, rising from the thicket beside her mate. She too was garbed in a metal carrier, but her headpiece was removed, and never thought I to see such boldness in the eyes of a creature bred to serfdom. On her features was scorn—pride, anger, and rebellion.

  And she cried defiantly, “Yea, even I, my lord; it was I who showed the he how to build the garments. I, too, who read the books and learned the secret of making the flame which explodes, the fire that destroys, of smashing the Masters’ Domes, that the night-waters might seep in and end them—”

  “These things,” said the Yawa in awful tones, “you could learn in but one place. In my library, the door of which was forbidden to you. But how entered you there? The door was locked and bolted.”

  The male creature shifted nervously.

  “There was a grill in the door, O Master,” he explained. “Through this the she sent our friend the serpent, with instructions to unlock the portal to us.”

  Then Eloem trembled with awful rage, and his voice was like the rolling of great thunders.

  “Now cursed be you!” he cried. “For you have defied my commands, and in opening the forbidden gate tasted the fruits of evil knowledge I forbade you! And cursed be the serpent who aided your rebellion. May he be eyed with endless loathing by all who spring from your loins in countless generations to come! For surely I say unto you, never shall it be forgotten what you have this night done. Neither by yourselves, nor by your children, nor by your children’s children’s children unto the end of time.

  “Here,” and his voice broke with the intensity of his passion—“here did I build for you a garden of wondrous beauty, a paradise wherein was all for which your hearts might hunger. But it was not enough. You would escape its walls and set yourselves up as masters, even over those who created you. Henceforth I wash my hands of you. You are a broken reed, an experiment which failed. I disclaim myself of you and your beast-born ambitions!

  “Mikel!” And he called to the warrior captain who now, with gleaming sword held high, had appeared at the gate of the garden. “Do what you must, Mikel!”

  But Mikel said quietly and with a great sorrow, “My order
s have been changed, O Yawa Eloem.”

  “Changed?”

  “Yes. Kron has decided that mere ending is not a fitting punishment for that which these creatures have done.”

  “But,” I gasped, “if not ending, then what—”

  It was Kron himself who answered.

  “According to our laws, O Yawa Eloem, it is forbidden that any living creature with a soul be brought by our hands to mortal ending. And in council sage have we decided that by their very rebellion have these creatures proven the existence of their souls.

  “Yet since we must rid ourselves of their evil presence, there is one alternative. They shall be placed in the spacecraft recently completed by our friend here, and transported across the everlasting darkness of space to such bourne as may be farthest removed from our own planet. Where this journey may end, I cannot say nor guess; but somewhere may be another planet where you and your ill-spawned experiments can exist beyond our ken and finding, until the gods, in the fullness of their mercy, see fit to rule otherwise.”

  The Yawa Eloem whispered shakily, “Not only they, but—myself?”

  And said great Kron sadly, “Even so. For was it not you, O Yawa, who brought them into being?”

  Thus ended the matter of the Yawa Eloem and those beasts which, through the greatness of his wisdom, he undertook to remold as fleshly servants in the image of himself. It is a sad and sickening story, and one I would not tell save that some critics have seen fit to cast aspersions upon the truly noble character of our exiled brother.

  So ended, too—so far as our knowledge extends—the existence of the Yawa and his creations. As had been commanded, they were placed within my spacecraft, therein forever banished from fair Kios. Where, when, and how their journey ended, or if ever, I know not. Perhaps they wander still, their craft a tiny mote in the vastness of all-swaddling space. Perhaps somewhere they met cruel ending in the flaming heart of a star. Perhaps—and this I hope—they found somewhere a planet and upon it made a new home.