Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 Canadian

by McIlwraith, Dorothy

  They danced with a fervor, a mania, while a million others throughout Europe stepped to the same measure, unaware that the disease of their minds was engendered from a secret grotto near Dresden.

  Now came the rite's climax, the god's moment. He was moving from his erstwhile fixed position, gliding sidewards. The helpless Christian saw him move, saw the black hand from in back that was pushing the statue aside. Black fingers, seemingly from out of the rock, grasped the panel, slid the whole contraption to the side exposing a wide opening. Now the jetty hand joined by its mate reached out and grabbed the feet of the bound youth—pulled him through the opening; then Mina. It was she who saw the living Zcerneboh first. She fainted.

  THE MAD DANCERS

  Then Christian sav,' the terrorizing features of the man, or creature, he had seen twice before—once in Aix-la-Chapelle and again outside the grotto. It was still cloaked and hooded in black, and its skin was like burnt paper. Zcerne-boh now slid the idol which he resembled back in its place, sealing off again the opening into the ritual room where the worshipers still were dancing. A recess in the back of the idol containing glowing embers which provided the reddened eyes and smoke from the mouth.

  The inner sanctum of the black God Zcemeboh, from what the bound and prone Christian could see, was but a cavernous recess in the rock. Light from an ill-burning lamp, and ventilation, were poor. The foul odor from the creature called a god, was moist and warm, like the freshly spilled blood of a beast. Zcernebch made some sounds, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak; his mouth had no lips.

  Despite the turmoil of his mind, Christian gathered his faculties to address him:

  "Zcerneboh, you are a great and powerful god; I, a weak and humble mortal. I beseech only that you free this damsel. For that I will serve you in any way—bargain my soul, if I must. Will Zcerneboh hear?"

  The god did not answer; only looked at him with his crimson globs and made a disgusting sucking noise through the hole that formed his mouth. His face was like a charred and withered mask.

  Suddenly Zcerneboh emitted a muffled welp, threw back his hood revealing the whole of his ugly skull. He tore open the top of his cloak, letting it fall to the waist. His ribbed and inky torso swelled as he inhaled. Then he turned toward Mina. Dropped to his knees. He grabbed the

  unconscious girl in his arms and held her for a moment as though contemplating her throat. The agonized Christian sensed in a flash what this god was— basically a vampire. The sacrifices to Zcernboh were for him to vampirize; the hideous mouth was to suck blood from the throats of humans!

  Holding Mina, Zcerneboh was trembling as though in profound ecstasy. Then with a madlike impulse he buried his face in the girl's throat. Christian, straining at his binding, felt himself on the brink of madness.

  As though dulled by a stupor, Zcerneboh stopped. But it was not a stupor. No one had ever dared move the statue of Zcerneboh but himself. However, the rear of the idol had been moved—and someone was entering. Zcerneboh was abashed and enraged. Never before had any one other than the god entered the inner sanctum of his own volition.

  It was Enoch.

  W/"ITH a terrible sound, Zcerneboh rose—fumbled under his garment for his sword—and drew it. But Enoch was the quicker. His sword already unsheathed, he lunged forward and drove it through the chest of the awed god, who trembled and fell. Enoch stared for a moment at his deed, then cast off his hood. Christian shouted with joy—for there stood Dr. Planquette! In a moment he had Christian and Mina unbound. The girl was coming to.

  "This Enoch was too slow," said the doctor. "He lies dead outside the grotto. What happened else you'll soon see."

  Carrying Mina, they returned to the ritual chamber. To Christian's amazement all the Wends were lying flat on their stomachs—all except one who was struggling in his bindings. Hynek Zerotin.

  THE MAD DANCERS

  "You see," said the doctor, "When I returned disguised in Enoch's robes, I kept m the shadows and no one discovered me. When they started their ritual I imitated them, still keeping in the back. Then when I saw you and Mina drawn behind the idol, I knew the time for action had come. But these Wends by then were in such a state of ecstasy that they never noticed me. I stabbed them, one by one, from the rear. It was like cutting the strings of puppets—they fell that neatly. When there were but two or three still standing, these became conscious that something was wrong. It was funny to see them try to gather their faculties; but were not quick enough for old Planquette. One of these last was our famous friend Hynek. Well, I decided not to kill him—not for any love of him, of course. So I gently butted his skull with the handle of my sword, then bound htm, I fear perhaps not too well for I was in haste to find you and Mina."

  "Not a moment, thankfully, too soon to save our lives," said Christian.

  Mina was rising and Christian embraced her.

  "But where is the frightful Zceme-boh?" asked the girL

  "It will be a pleasure to reply," said Planquette with calm humor. "I believe I can claim the unique distinction of having just murdered a god."

  A voice came from behind them. It was the stilt struggling Hynek. "No mortal can kill a god," he sneered.

  "Then perhaps you would like to join us, to see if he is really dead," replied the doctor. They bound Hynek's hands securely behind him, released the other bonds so he could walk, and escorted him to the inner sanctum.

  There the body of Zcerneboh, unmis-

  takably dead, lay with his blood still oozing.

  i"iNE look and Hynek swung his head ^-^ away, paling to whiteness. His voice trembled as he said: "But the Wends yet are strong. There are still other Wend gods eager and ready to avenge our people."

  "Then you will admit that Zcerneboh is dead?" asked Planquette.

  Hynek was stolid, stunned. Finally he answered: "Zcerneboh is not dead. There is the real Zcerneboh I" He pointed to the back of the statue. "There reposes the spirit of Zcerneboh—as he has for ages past, immortal, indomitable!"

  "I do not believe in your heathen worship," said Planquette. "Howbeit, should there be any truth to what you say, it will be a simple matter for us to destroy that antique carving.

  "That would doom you forever!" hissed Hynek.

  "Never!" returned Planquette. "But I have another question, in case you are inclined to answer. This Zcerneboh whom I have just stabbed, who and zvhat is he?"

  Hynek deliberated. "For an answer to that I will bargain with you," he replied cautiously.

  "How?"

  "I'll give you the information in return for your solemn pledge not to destroy the statue."

  "Since I do not believe in him anyhow, good enough. You have my pledge."

  "And your's, Christian?"

  "My pledge not to destroy the statue," said Christian.

  "Not to destroy it, nor remove it, nor mar it in the least?" Both of you?" persisted the Wend.

  They assented.

  "Very well, it is this. Zcerneboh, for

  THE MAD DANCERS

  all his black power, has served the Slavs from the dimmest ages of the past. His idol has been preserved faithfully and worshipped devoutly for countless generations. Even this very grotto has been guarded for several centuries. But the spirit of Zcerneboh, unlike that of our other gods, prefers to exist in the body of a living person. That is, if you would consider a vampire* a living person in the exact sense. It has been the tradition for as long as any Wend can remember £or a vampire to volunteer for the role, for contrary to belief, no vampire is immortal. How his skin is blackened, his eves reddened, his feautres altered to resemble the black marble statue, that is a secret kept between our priests and Zcerneboh. Now, you see, a new vampire will volunteer and the spirit of Zcerneboh will emerge from the statue to live ajjain in him. That is the sum and sub-siance of the matter, and answers your question.

  "In that case," said Planquette, "I have made a poor bargain. "It would have been better to destroy the statue and remained in ignorance."

&n
bsp; "Perhaps for you," said Hynek, "but I took your pledge on your honor."

  "What counts my honor against the lives and happiness of millions? But, no! I still do not believe that gods can live in stone. Your pledge is safe."

  Suddenly Hynek seemed inspired. The muscles of his face worked, his fists through tied behind him clenched, and his eyes glowed. "There are still other gods of the Wends! There are our military gods, eager to avenge the Wends. You stupid Teutons do not know enough lo be beaten! If Zcerneboh has failed, there are the others—Baba Yaga, the female hagfiend; Gore, the god of woe and destruction; Koshchei, of the Death-

  less Snake; Lyeshy, the Malicious who haunts the forests; Great Pcrun; Mora; Sventovit, the four-headed. Sky-god of the Elbe, and Triglav, the three-headed ruler of the Three Realms.

  "You Teutons," he raved on, "know not what potent powers you provoke when you cross the Wends. Our gods of war are waiting — waiting, and their patience wears. They are waiting to fill you with such craving for war and bloodshed that finally other nations shall arise mighty and with vengeance to destroy you. And then you . . ."

  Hynek did not finish. A sound came from the rear of the recess, where the corpse of the Vampire Zcerneboh lay still bleeding. "Wugh-g-h-gh-gh!" and a scraping sound against the stone. With horror, they saw Zcerneboh arising— staggering to feet—lunging toward them.

  "He isn't dead!" screamed Mina.

  Hynek voiced an exultant cry.

  "He has his sword!" cried Christian, gathering Mina into his arms. Realizing they lacked the vital moment to gird for defense, and uncertain as to Zcerneboh's strength they retreated out to the ritual chamber.

  Here, if necessary, they would have room to battle. Hynek followed. Stumbling over the Wend corpses they turned in time to face the monstrous deity as he staggered through the opening.

  Christian directed Mina up the steps to the chamber above, and returned quickly to Planquette's side to defend themselves and see if possible to the final ending of the vampirish god. Hynek might have capitalized on the opportunity were not his hands still bound.

  Zcerneboh straightened. His ghastly head and naked bleeding torso caused even Hynek to shudder. The crimson eyes swept the room, taking in the array

  THE MAD DANCERS

  of Wendish corpses. But when he moved instead of approaching Christian and Planquette, Zcerneboh went toward an opposite wall. He picked up a five-foot log, one of several used by the Wends to sit on. He thrust it over his shoulder and turned around.

  "He will try to kill us/' warned Plan-quette. "A move from you, Hynek, and you are dead. Draw your sword, Christian, we must beat him to the attack— I from in back—you from the front for you are more agile!"

  Zcerneboh, however, was not coming toward them, but was staggering toward the idol.

  The trio stood with amazement to behold an unexpected spectacle, for with a mighty heave Zcerneboh swung the log against the sacred statue. It tottered— crashed with an awesome noise and the chips skidded across the floor in all directions.

  With a terrified yell, Hynek Zerotin fell to his knees and dropped his head. Zcerneboh dropped the log, surveyed the fragments, and slumped to the floor. The grotto, all the rocks around them, seemed to tremble, and for a prolonged momejit weird cries came out from the walls. For awhile Christian and Planquette were as if transfixed. Then Planquette went to Zcerneboh and stooping, examined him.

  "Now," he pronounced, "Zcerneboh is really dead."

  * * *

  /^iNCE again the horizontal rays of ^ the sun were striking the cupola of the Octagonal Chapel at Aix-la-Chapelle, and once again Christian Nohl

  was standing beneath the Earbarossa chandelier. Though not many months had passed, he was a much older looking Christian. This time, however, he stood alone.

  But it was not long before someone else entered the chapel, the figure of an old man. It was, in fact, old Henri Planquette.

  "So sober at a time like this, my nephew?" he questioned cheerily as he came to Christian's side.

  "Ah, my good uncle, but Charlemagne was truly a great man."

  "Indeed. But listen to mc. I have most conclusive news. Reports have just come in from five other cities confirming unanimously that the Dancing Mania ceased all at once on the night of September 3."

  Christian looked up with keen interest. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, and grasped the old man's hand.

  A door to the chapel from another part of the cathedral opened, and they were interrupted as a woman's voice called out: "Christian, why didn't you tell us the Doctor had come? The Father and all of us are waiting!"

  "I am sory, Frau . . .**

  "Now! now! No more 'Frau.' From now on it's 'Mamma' to ine. But wait until you see Mina! Her gown, if I did make it myself, is beautiful—gorgeous! And Mina, if she is my own daughter, is the loveliest bride ever to take nuptial vows at Aix-la-Chapelle!"

  But suddenly she hushed, and they entered, for music from the Charlemagne organ was rising.

  Fangs of Tsan-Lo

  OF COURSE I do not know about the unknown. But I am sure that there is more to this world than any living man has even dreamed. Silly? Talking through my hat? Perhaps, but my Erst /ear of Tsan-Lo came to me the day I read the letter about him. And yet it was just an ordinary letter, like hundreds I've received. Dear Mr. Roberls:

  As per our previous agreement, I am tliis day shipping Tsan-Lo from Wind city. He should arrive the 27th

  of May. I am depending on you to see that he receives proper care.

  To be perfectly frank, I do not expect miracles from him. He is big, strong, and able, but obstinate, and" possibly you will have to undo the harm wrought by my amateurish efforts. I have experimented with Tsan-Lo myself.

  Please keep me informed of his progress.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Ibellius Grut. I stared across the desk. But sweat stood on my forehead and cold chills chased each other up and down my spin. I tried to shake the feeling off, and could not, and I read the letter again. There

  By JIM KJELGAARD

  was nothing even a little bit strange about it, unless you'd call Tsan-Lo a strange name for a Chesapeake retriever and wonder a little bit about anyone named Dr. Ibellius Grut. I tried to shrug it away.

  "Get hold of yourself, Clint," I said. "First thing you know you'll be crazy as a drunken pigeon."

  "Drunken pigeons don't talk to themselves," a voice said.

  I turned around and saw Sally standing in the open door. She's Sally Evers, daughter of John Evers, and I wouldn't do a darned tiling for her—except anything she asked me to. Yes, I'm in love with her. In fact to put it mildly, she's the sun, the moon, the stars, and the air I breath all rolled into one. But I'd never told her about it because, though you wouldn't call them exactly filthy rich, her folks have plenty of what it takes. And her mother made up Sally's mind that she's going to marry Harris H. Harris, who's social register, Harvard, and the Harris Company. Nobody knows why she wants to spend any of her time with an ordinary trainer of retrievers—but I'm awfully grateful for small favors as long as she's part of them.

  "'Smatter, Frank Buck?" she asked

  What possible connection could there be between a prehistoric lizard and a Chesapeake dog?

  THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO

  77

  me. "You look as though you'd seen a ghost."

  "Only a vision, sweetheart," I told her. "Come on in."

  That was spoken very lightly, but boy how it felt deep down inside! Sally's about five feet three, and beautiful from any angle. Her coppery hair frames a small face, and I think it's her eyes that get me most. They're big and brown, and half the time they're full of the devil. But the other half they're so serious that Sally could be a thousand years old. She

  has the darndest ideas, especially about animals and animal training, and she spouts them out on the slightest provocation.

  "What'd you have for breakfast?" she wanted to know.

  "A little girl about your size. Too bad
you weren't around. I could have eaten another one."

  "Clint Roberts, the great humorist!" she said scathingly. "But you do look terrible, and no wonder. Look at this house! The only things in place are the

  THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO

  pictures of your dogs! I declare! Men would still be savages if women hadn't been around to civilize 'em !"

  "Yes," I said drily, "the earth would probably be overrun with uncivilized men if there'd never been any women." But the little cold fingers were still plucking at my spine, and I didn't want her to notice it. I, a professional trainer of retrievers, was frightened because I had another one to train! "Why don't you come around once in a while? Buck's been lying on the ground with his head between his paws, moaning to himself since you left yesterday afternoon. And, if it's any satisfaction to you, he refused his dinner last night" "Oh, poor Buck 1"

  "She's like that, loves to pretend that she's tougher than a baby-killer most of the time. But the minute anything suffers, or she thinks it's suffering, she melts all over the place. She scooted out the back door, threaded her way among dog crates, and stopped in front of Buck's run. He had been lying under his kennel on the ground. But the minute she came in sight he jumped out, started leaping in the air and yelling his fool head off. I stayed on the porch a minute to enjoy the sight.

  T HAVE thirty-seven dogs. Five belong A to me, and Buck's one of them. He's a big, black Labrador with a sleek, shiny coat, and muscled like a Hon, arid is the best retriever I ever saw. I'm grooming him for the National field trials, and will win them as soon as I can correct a few minor faults. He, too, adores Sally, and when I got to the run he was pushing his nose through the wire so she would scratch it. Sally looked at me. "Clint Roberts I" she scolded. "Let

  this poor dog out of that dinky little pen!"

  It isn't a dinky little pen. it's twenty by twenty, but I let Buck out and made him stt. He obeyed, looking at Sally instead of me. It's she he loves best, and I guess he'd do anything in the world for her. Sally picked up a stick and threw it. "Fetch!" she said.