CHAPTER XXII
_The Red-Flowering Vine_
"Rotan," said Gor slowly, sadly, "was wrong. His vision was not thetruth. The Red Ones have come. And now--we die."
"Without a fight?" Rawson demanded incredulously.
"We are not a fighting people. We have no weapons. We can only die."
Rawson turned to Loah. They were inside the mountain, and the servantsof the mountain, with terror and dismay written plainly on theirfaces, were gathered about. "At the Lake of Fire," said Rawson, "whenyou saved me, there was an explosion and clouds of white fumes. Whatwas it?"
"It was like water," Loah said. "We found it deep inside the earth ina place where it is very cold. When warmed it turns to white clouds.We threw a flask of it on the hot rocks, hoping to reach you whilethey could not see."--she paused and shook her head slowly--"but wecan get no more. The Pathway of Light is closed to us, now that theRed Ones are there."
"Liquefied gas of some sort," said Rawson briefly, "caught in enormousrock pressure. But that's out! Now what about this Place of Death?There's an idea there."
The White Ones were numbed with fear, but Loah and Gor accompanied himwhen Rawson returned to the red field. The flowers were still inbloom; they waved gently in the breeze that blew always from themountain across the fields and out toward the point, where even nowdark figures could be seen near the mouth of the shaft.
"It will be many of your days," said Loah, "before the flowers die. Ifyou thought to trap the Red Ones in the Place of Death, there will notbe time...." But Rawson had left them; he had advanced into the scarletfield and dropped to his knees.
* * * * *
He was crushing the vines in his hands, grinding them into the white,salty earth underneath. Then he passed his hands guardedly before hisface as if to detect an odor.
Loah and Gor saw him shake his head slowly while he spoke aloud wordsthat they could not understand. "Cyanide," Dean Rawson was saying."It's a cyanide of some sort--releases hydrocyanic acid gas. I couldhave rigged a generator, though I've forgotten about all of mychemistry--and now there isn't time." Off in the distance the darkfigures still moved near the end of the point.
He made no effort to conceal his dejection as he returned. The edge ofthe Place of Death made a winding line across the scant half mile ofvalley where the green fields ended abruptly.
Dean stepped high over the stone trough a half mile long that markedthat dividing line. There was water in it; it was part of theirirrigation system. A little beyond, in the midst of the green, stood atiny flat-topped knoll on which he knew was a pool that supplied thecrude system. Beyond it Loah and Gor were waiting.
Gor read the look on Rawson's face. "It is useless," Gor said. "Andnow I have decided. The People of the Light must die--but not in thefires of the Reds. With my people I shall walk into the sea."
And Rawson could not protest. He could only follow as Gor turned backtoward the village and the mountain beyond.
From a spur on the mountainside Rawson could see the full length ofthe island. One way lay the village; beyond it the green fields; thenthe wide scarlet band of the Place of Death. And beyond that thelittle crystal hills and the valley between that led out to the point.It was now dark with massed clusters of bodies, red even at thatdistance. He could even see the glint of metal from time to time.
And behind the mountain were the People of Light, where Gor was onlywaiting for the attack to lead them out to the island's farther endand then on to a kindlier death in the emerald sea. Only Loah was withDean, although there were others of the White Ones not far away,watching, ready to warn Gor when the attack began.
Not an hour before, Rawson had stood in the inner chamber and hadlistened to the mountain as it repeated the words of a far-distantman: "Attack of the mole-men growing increasingly ferocious ...heat-ray projectors--almost invincible ... our forces have entered theTonah Basin--they are descending into the crater. But whether warfarecan be carried on advantageously under ground is problematical...."Rawson unconsciously gritted his teeth behind his set lips as hewatched the Reds.
He knew why they had been so slow in attacking. They must have acarrier of some sort, a shell like that of Loah's, and they werebringing their fighters one shell-load at a time. When the entireforce was ready they would attack. And Rawson was convinced that thisforce would be limited in number.
"They'll have plenty to keep them busy up there," he argued. "If onlywe could wipe out this one lot we could prepare to defend ourselves."And now, standing on the side of the mountain, he startled Loah withthe fury of his sudden ejaculation.
"Fool! Quitter! Waiting here for them to come and get you! There's onechance in a million--" Then he was rushing at full speed along theroadway that circled the mountain toward Gor and the terrified throng.
* * * * *
The waiting savages must have laughed, if indeed laughter was possiblefor such a race, at sight of the White Ones creeping timidly down. Offa mile and more they could see them harvesting their strangecrop--harvesting!--storing up supplies of food, no doubt, when themole-men with their flame-throwers would reap the harvest so soon!
But in a crimson field Dean and Gor and Loah led the others where theyswarmed across the Place of Death, gathering huge armfuls of thered-flowering vine, carrying them to the village and returning formore. Where they trod it was as if peach pits were crushed beneaththeir feet. And there was a curious fragrance which Rawson told themnot to breathe, but to keep their faces always into the wind.
Their hands and bodies were sore and burned by the strong juice of thevines. They stopped often to cast apprehensive glances at the distantgroup of red figures, and always Rawson drove them in a frenzy ofhaste. At last he made them move the long trough of stone beyond theedge of the green field and over into the Place of Death.
Rawson kept no track of the time. The voice of the mountain was hisonly measure of hours in a world of perpetual day. But morehours--another day, perhaps--had passed when the Red force at lastbegan to move.
* * * * *
They did not spread out wide across the valley, but formed astraggling line that was denser toward the center. They could not knowwhat opposition they would meet; for the present they would staytogether. Above them as they came were twinkling lights of pale-greenfire.
The radio had spoken of heat rays; Rawson wondered if that meant somenewer and more horrible instrument. But he saw nothing but theflame-throwers in the armament of this force.
He was waiting by the irrigation pool, hidden for the moment behindthe little knoll. Loah was with him; he had tried in vain to induceher to stay with Gor and the others who were waiting beyond themountain.
There were watchers, some of them within hearing, whose voices relayedthe news of the enemy's advance. Then they ran; panic was upon them.
"_Tur--gona!_" they cried, "_Nu--tur--gona!_ We die! Quickly we die!"Rawson heard the shout carried on toward the hidden throng.
Cautiously he peered from the little knoll. They were coming. Alreadythey were trampling the remaining red blooms on the farther edge ofthe field. But he waited till they were halfway across before heleaped to the top of the knoll, grasped a pole he had placed there inreadiness and rammed it down through the pool, turbid yellow with thejuice from the vines, and broke open the outlet he had plugged in thebase.
* * * * *
One green light slashed above his head. One flicked at the knoll nearhis feet, where green growing things burst into flame--then he threwhimself backward down the short rocky slope while the stones tore athis nearly nude body. He sprang to his feet and held Loah close. Oneither side of the knoll was a holocaust of flame where green lightsplayed. He waited breathlessly. The fires brought in a little backdraft of air, the scent of peach pits was strong--and then the greenlights ceased. The unripe grain of the fields smoldered slowly.
Then Rawson stepped from his hidi
ng and stared out at the Place ofDeath.
Nearby was a huddle of bodies. On either side, in a long, stragglingline, they lay now on the ground--a windrow where Death had reaped.The flames of their weapons still in action were all that moved. Thewhite earth turned molten wherever those flames struck.
Farther off there were red things that were running. The yellow liquidfrom the pool, charged with the acid of the vines, had been slow inflowing out through that long trough. The savages could only see thattheir fellows had fallen. Some mystery, something invisible and beyondtheir comprehension had struck them. They ran toward the center atfirst, then turned and fled--and by then the soft air blowing gentlyabout them had brought that strange fragrance of death. Then they,too, lay still.
From the distance came faintly a booming chant, two thousand voicesraised in unison. "_Tur--gona! Nu--tur--gona!_" The last of a oncemighty people were marching to their death.
Rawson and Loah turned with one accord. Victory was theirs, but therewas no time to taste the fruits of victory. They ran with strainingmuscles and gasping breath toward the distant mountain and themarching host beyond.
* * * * *
"My plans are made," Rawson spoke quietly. "I must go. I shall takethe shell--the jana--and go back to the mole-men's world. I shall goalone, and I shall die, but what of that?" His eyes lit up for amoment. "I'll try to find _Phee-e-al_ first. If I can get him beforethey get me, that will help."
They were standing on the mountain's lower slope, Gor and Leah and theservants of the mountain gathered near. Below, the White Ones weremassed in worshiping silence. Had not Dean-Rah-Sun saved them? And nowwhat else would come to pass?
The same question had been asked by the Wise Ones, and now Rawsonturned and spoke to them. "Rotan was right," he told them. "His visionwas true. There is work I must do here before I go. Your lands, orsome of them at least, will be restored. And you will be safe foreverfrom what we have seen to-day. Gor will lead you wisely, and Loah...."His voice faltered; he had kept his eyes resolutely away from the slimfigure of the girl, who had been wordless, scarcely breathing. Now shestepped swiftly before him.
"You must go, Dean-San," she said gently. He knew it was a term ofendearment. "You must go if you say you must. But you do not go alone,nor die alone. Long ago the voice of the mountain spoke beautifulwords. I know now it was one of your priests telling of a woman ofyour own race. Always have I remembered. 'Wheresoever thou goest, Ishall go; thy people....'"
But Dean Rawson had gathered the slender figure, starry-eyed andsobbing into his arms.
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