DWELLERS IN THE MIRAGE

BOOK OF KHALK'RU         

CHAPTER I

SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT

I RAISED my head, listening,-not only with my ears
but with every square inch of my skin, waiting for
recurrence of the sound that had awakened me. There
was silence, utter silence. No soughing in the boughs of
the spruces clustered around the little camp. No stirring 
of furtive life in the underbrush. Through the spires of
the spruces the stars shone wanly in the short sunset to
sunrise twilight of the early Alaskan summer.

A sudden wind bent the spruce tops, carrying again
the sound—the clangour of a beaten anvil.

I slipped out of my blanket, and round the dim
embers of the fire toward Jim. His voice halted me.

"All right, Leif. I hear it."

The wind sighed and died, and with it died the hum-
ming aftertones of the anvil stroke. Before we could 
speak, the wind arose. It bore the after-hum of the anvil
stroke—faint and far away. And again the wind died,
and with it the sound.

"An anvil, Leif!"

"Listen!"

A stronger gust swayed the spruces. It carried a
distant chanting; voices of many women and men sing-
ing a strange, minor theme. The chant ended on a
wailing chord, archaic, dissonant.                    

There was a long roll of drums, rising in a swift cres-
cendo, ending abruptly. After it a thin and clamorous
confusion.

It was smothered by a low, sustained rumbling, like
thunder, muted by miles. In it defiance, challenge.

We waited, listening. The spruces were motionless.
The wind did not return.

"Queer sort of sounds, Jim." I tried to speak casually,
He sat up. A stick flared up in the dying fire. Its
light etched his face against the darkness—thin, and
brown and hawk-profiled. He did not look at me.

"Every feathered forefather for the last twenty
centuries is awake and shouting! Better call me Tsan-
tawu, Leif. Tsi' Tsa'lagi—I am a Cherokee! Right
now—all Indian."

He smiled, but still he did not look at me, and I was
glad of that.

"It was an anvil," I said. "A hell of a big anvil.
And hundreds of people singing . . . and how could
that be in this wilderness . . , they didn't sound
like Indians. . . ."

"The drums weren't Indian." He squatted by the
fire, staring into it. "When they turned loose, something
played a pizzicato with icicles up and down my back."

"They got me, too—those drums!" I thought my
voice was steady, but he looked up at me sharply; and
now it was I who averted my eyes and stared at the
embers. "They reminded me of something I heard . . .
and thought I saw ... in Mongolia. So did the
singing. Damn it, Jim, why do you look at me like that ?"

I threw a stick on the fire. For the life of me I couldn't
help searching the shadows as the stick flamed. Then
I met his gaze squarely.

"Pretty bad place, was it, Leif ?" he asked, quietly.
I said nothing. Jim got up and walked over to the
packs. He came back with Some water and threw it over
the fire. He kicked earth on the hissing coals. If he saw
me wince as the shadows rushed in upon us, he did not
show it.  

"That wind came from the north," he said. "So that's
the way the sounds came. Therefore, whatever made
the sounds is north of us. That being so—which way do
we travel to-morrow ?"

"North," I said.

My throat dried as I said it.

Jim laughed. He dropped upon his blanket, and
rolled it around him. I propped myself against the bole
of one of the spruces, and sat staring toward thesnorth.

"The ancestors are vociferous, Leif.  Promising a
lodge of sorrow, I gather—if we go north. . . . 'Bad
Medicine!' say the ancestors. . . . 'Bad Medicine for
you, Tsantawu ! You go to Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-
land, Tsantawu! . . . Into Tsusgina'i, the ghost
country ! Beware ! Turn from the north, Tsantawu !' "

"Oh, go to sleep, you hag-ridden redskin !"

"All right, I'm just telling you."

Then a little later:

" 'And heard ancestral voices prophesying war'—
it's worse than war these ancestors of mine are prophesy-
ing, Leif."

"Damn it, will you shut up!"

A chuckle from the darkness; thereafter silence.

I leaned against the tree trunk. The sounds, or rather
the evil memory they had evoked, had shaken me more
than I was willing to admit, even to myself. The thing
I had carried for two years in the buckskin bag at the
end of the chain around my neck had seemed to stir;

turn cold. I wondered how much Jim had divined of
what I had tried to cover. . . .

Why had he put out the fire ? Because he had known
I was afraid ? To force me to face my fear. and conquer
it ? ... Or had it been the Indian instinct to seek
cover in darkness ? . . . By his own admission, chant
and drum-roll had played on his nerves as they had on
mine. . . 

Afraid ! Of course it had been fear that had wet the
palms of my hands, and had tightened my throat so my
heart had beaten in my ears like drums.

Like drums . . . yes!

But . . . not like those drums whose beat had been
borne to us by the north wind. They had been like the
cadence of the feet of men and women, youths and maids
and children, running ever more rapidly up the side of
a hollow world to dive swiftly into the void . . .
dissolving into the nothingness . . . fading as they
fell . .  dissolving . . . eaten up by the nothing-
ness ....

Like that accursed drum-roll I had heard in the
secret temple of the Gobi oasis two years ago !

Neither then nor now had it been fear alone. Fear
it was, in truth, but fear shot through with defiance . . .
defiance of life against its negation . . . up-surging,
roaring, vital rage . . . frantic revolt of the drowning
against the strangling water, rage of the candle-flame
against the hovering extinguisher. . . .

Was it as hopeless as that ?  If what I
suspected to be true was true, to think so was to be
beaten at the beginning !

But there was Jim ! How to keep him out of it ?
In my heart, I had never laughed at those subcon-
scious perceptions, whatever they were. that he called
the voices of his ancestors. When he had spoken of
Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-land, a chill had crept down
my spine. For had not the old Uighur priest spoken of
the Shadow-land? And it was as though I had heard
the echo of his words.

I looked over to where he lay. He had been more
akin to me than my own brothers. I smiled at that, for
they had never been akin to me. To all but my soft-
voiced, deep-bosomed, Norse mother I had been a stranger
in that severely conventional old house where I had

been born.  The youngest son, and an unwelcome
intruder; a changeling. It had been no fault of mine
that I had come into the world a throw-back to my
mother's yellow-haired, blue-eyed, strong-thewed Viking
forefathers. Not at all a Langdon. The Langdon men
were dark and slender, thin-lipped and saturnine.
stamped out by the same die for generations. They
looked down at me, the changeling, from the family
portraits with faintly amused, supercilious hostility.
Precisely as my father and my four brothers, true Lang-
dons each of them, looked at me when I awkwardly dis-
posed of my bulk at their table.

It had brought me unhappiness, but it had made my
mother wrap her heart around me. I wondered, as I had
wondered many times, how she had come to give herself
to that dark, self-centred man my father—with the blood
of the sea-rovers singing in her veins. It was she who
had named me Leif—as incongruous a name to tack on
a Langdon as was my birth among them.

Jim and I had entered Dartmouth on the same day.
I saw him as he was then—the tall, brown lad with his
hawk face and inscrutable black eyes. pure blood of the
Cherokees, of the clan from which had come the great
Sequoiah, a clan which had produced through many
centuries wisest councillors, warriors strong in cunning.

On the college roster his name was written James T.
Eagles, but on the rolls of the Cherokee Nation it was
written Two Eagles and his mother had called him
Tsantawu. From the first we had recognized spiritual
kinship. By the ancient rites of his people we had become
blood-brothers, and he had given me my secret name.
known only to the pair of us, Degataga—one who stands
so close to another that the two are one.

My one gift, besides my strength, is an aptness at
languages. Soon I spoke the Cherokee as though I had
been born in the Nation. Those years in college were

the happiest I had ever known. It was during the last
of them that America entered the World War. Together
we had left Dartmouth, gone into training camp, sailed
for France on the same transport.

Sitting there, under the slow-growing Alaskan dawn,
my mind leaped over the years between . . . my
mother's death on Armistice Day . . . my return to
New York to a frankly hostile home . . . Jim's recall
to his clan . . . the finishing of my course in mining
engineering . . . my wanderings in Asia . . . my
second return to America and my search for Jim . . .
this expedition of ours to Alaska, more for comradeship
and the wilderness peace than for the gold we were
supposed to be seeking-

A long trail since the War—the happiest for me these
last two months of it. It had led us from Nome over
the quaking tundras, and then to the Koyukuk, and at
last to this little camp among the spruces, somewhere
between the headwaters of the Koyukuk and the Chan-
dalar in the foothills of the unexplored Endicott Range.

A long trail ... I had the feeling that it was here
the real trail of my life began.

A ray of the rising sun struck through the trees. Jim
sat up, looked over at me, and grinned.

"Didn't get much sleep after the concert, did
you ?"

"What did you do to the ancestors ? They didn't
seem to keep you awake long."

He said, too carelessly : "Oh, they quieted down."
His face and eyes were expressionless. He was veiling
his mind from me. The ancestors had not quieted down.
He had lain awake while I had thought him sleeping. I
made a swift decision. We would go south as we had
planned. I would go with him as far as Circle. I would
find some pretext to leave him there.

I said: "We're not going north. I've changed my
mind."

"Yes. why ?"

"I'll tell you after we've had breakfast," I said—
I'm not so quick in thinking up lies. "Rustle up a fire,
Jim. I'll go down to the stream and get some water."

"Degataga !"

I started. It was only in moments of rare sympathy
or in time of peril that he used the secret name.

"Degataga, you go north ! You go if I have to march
ahead of you to make you follow . . ."he dropped into
the Cherokee. . . . "It is to save your spirit, Degataga.
Do we march together—blood-brothers ? Or ^o you
creep after me—like a shivering dog at the heels of the
hunter ?"

The blood pounded in my temples, my hand went
out toward him. He stepped back, and laughed.

"That's better, Leif."

The quick rage left me, my hand fell.

"All right, Tsantawu. We go—north. But it wasn't
—it wasn't because of myself that I told you I'd changed
my mind."

"I know damned well it wasn't!"

He busied himself with the fire. I went after the
water. We drank the strong black tea, and ate what was
left of the little brown storks they call Alaskan turkeys
which we had shot the day before. When we were
through I began to talk.

CHAPTER II

RING OF THE KRAKEN

THREE years ago, so I began my story, I went into
Mongolia with the Fairchild expedition. Part of
its work was a mineral survey for certain British interests,
part of it ethnographic and archeological research for the
British Museum and the University of Pennsylvania.

I never had a chance to prove my value as a mining
engineer. At once I became good-will representative,
camp entertainer, liaison agent between us and the tribes.
My height, my yellow hair, blue eyes and freakish strength,
and my facility in picking up languages were of never-
ending interest to them. Tartars, Mongols, Buriats,
Kirghiz—they would watch while I bent horseshoes,
twisted iron bars over my knees and performed what my
father used to call contemptuously my circus tricks.

Well, that's exactly what I was to them—a one-man
circus. And yet I was more than that—they liked me.
Old Fairchild would laugh when I complained that I had
no time for technical work. He would tell me that I was
worth a dozen mining engineers, that I was the expe-
dition's insurance, and that as long as I could keep up
my act they wouldn't be bothered by any trouble makers.
And it is a fact that they weren't. It was the only
expedition of its kind I ever knew where you could leave
your stuff unwatched and return to find it still there.
Also we were singularly free from graft and shake-downs.

In no time I had picked up half a dozen of the dialects
and could chatter and chaff with the tribesmen in their
own tongues. It made a prodigious bit with them. And
now and then a Mongol delegation would arrive with a
couple of their wrestlers, big fellows with chests like
barrels, to pit against me. I learned their tricks, and
taught them ours. We had pony lifting contests, and
some of my Manchu friends taught me how to fight with
the two broadswords—a sword in each hand.

Fairchild had planned on a year, but so smoothly
did the days go by that he decided to prolong our stay.
My act, he told me in his sardonic fashion, was undoubt-
edly of perennial vitality; never again would science
have such an opportunity in this region—unless I made
up my mind to remain and rule. He didn't know how
dose he came to prophecy.

In the early summer of the following year we shifted
our camp about a hundred miles north. This was Uighur
country. They are a strange people, the Uighurs. They
say of themselves that they are descendants of a great
race which ruled the Gobi when it was no desert but an
earthly Paradise, with flowing rivers and many lakes and
teeming cities. It is a fact that they are apart from all
the other tribes, and while those others cheerfully kill
them when they can, still they go in fear of them. Or
rather, of the sorcery of their priests.

Seldom had Uighurs appeared at the old camp. When
they did, they kept at a distance. We had been at the
new camp less than a week when a band of twenty rode
in. I was sitting in the shade of my tent. They dis-
mounted and came straight to me. They paid no atten-
tion to anyone else. They halted a dozen feet from me.
Three walked dose up and stood, studying me. The
eyes of these three were a peculiar grey-blue; those of
the one who seemed to be their captain singularly cold.
They were bigger, taller men than the others.

I did not know the Uighur. I gave them polite salu-
tations in the Kirghiz. They did not answer, maintaining
their dose scrutiny. Finally they spoke among them-
sdves, nodding as though they had come to some decision.

The leader then addressed me. As I stood up, I saw that
he was not many inches under my own six feet four. I
told him, again in the Kirghiz, that I did not know his
tongue. He gave an order to his men. They surrounded
my tent, standing like guards, spears at rest beside them,
their wicked long-swords drawn.

At this my temper began to rise, but before I could
protest the leader began to speak to me in the Kirghiz.
He assured me, with deference, that their visit was
entirely peaceful, only they did not wish their contact
with me to be disturbed by any of my companions. He
asked if I would show him my hands. I held them out.
He and his two comrades bent over the palms, examining
them minutely, pointing to a mark or a crossing of lines.
This inspection ended, the leader touched his forehead
with my right hand.

And then to my complete astonishment, he launched
without explanation into what was a highly intelligent
ksson in the Uighur tongue. He took the Kirghiz for
the comparative language. He did not seem to be sur-
prized at the ease with which I assimilated the tuition ;

indeed, I had a puzzled idea that he regarded it as some-
thing to be expected. I mean that his manner was less
that of teaching me a new language, than of recalling to
me one I had forgotten. The lesson lasted for a full
hour. He then touched his forehead again with my
hand, and gave a command to the ring of guards. The
whole party walked to their horses and galloped off.

There had been something disquieting about the
whole experience. Most disquieting was my own vague
feeling that my tutor, if I had read correctly his manner,
had been right—that I was not learning a new tongue
but one I had forgotten. Certainly I never picked up
any language with such rapidity and ease as I did the
Uighur.

The rest of my party had been perplexed and appre-
hensive, naturally. I went immediately to them, and
talked the matter over. Our ethnologist was the famous
Professor David Barr, of Oxford. Fairchild was inclined
to take it as a joke, but Barr was greatly disturbed. He
said that the Uighur tradition was that their forefathers
had been a fair race, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, big
men of great strength. In short, men like myself. A
few ancient Uighur wall paintings had been found which
had portrayed exactly this type, so there was evidence
of the correctness of the tradition. However, if the
Uighurs of the present were actually the descendants of
this race, the ancient blood must have been mixed and
diluted almost to the point of extinction.

I asked what this had to do with me, and he replied
that quite conceivably my visitors might regard me as
of the pure blood of the ancient race. In fact, he saw
no other explanation of their conduct. He was of the
opinion that their study of my palms, and their manifest
approval of what they had discovered there, clinched the
matter.

Old Fairchild asked him, satirically, if he was trying
to convert us to palmistry. Barr said, coldly, that he
was a scientist. As a scientist, he was aware that cer-
tain physical resemblances can be carried on by here-
ditary factors through many generations.   Certain
peculiarities in the arrangement of the lines of the palms
might persist through centuries. They could reappear
in cases of atavism, such as I clearly represented.

By this time, I was getting a bit dizzy. But Barr had
a few shots left that made me more so. By now his
temper was well up, and he went on to say that the
Uighurs might even be entirely correct in what he deduced
was their opinion of me. I was a throwback to the ancient
Norse. Very well. It was quite certain that the Aesir.
the old Norse gods and goddesses—Odin and Thor, Frigga
and Freya, Frey and Loki of the Fire and all the others—
had once been real people. Without question they had
been leaders in some long and perilous migration. After
they had died, they had been deified, as numerous other
similar heroes and heroines had been by other tribes and
races. Ethnologists were agreed that the original Norse
stock had come into North-eastern Europe from Asia,
like other Aryans. Their migration might have occurred
anywhere from 1000 B.C. to 5000 B.C. And there was no
scientific reason why they should not have come from
the region now called the Gobi, nor why they should not
have been the blond race these present-day Uighurs
called their forefathers.

No one, he went on to say, knew exactly when the
Gobi had become desert—nor what were the causes that
had changed it into desert. Parts of the Gobi and all the
Little Gobi might have been fertile as late as two thou-
sand years ago.   Whatever it had been, whatever its
causes, and whether operating slowly or quickly, the
change gave a perfect reason for the migration led by
Odin and the other .3Ssir which had ended in the colon-
ization of the Scandinavian Peninsula. Admittedly I
was a throwback to my mother's stock of a thousand years
ago. There was no reason why I should not also be a
throwback in other recognizable ways to the ancient
Uighurs—if they actually were the original Norse.

But the practical consideration was that I was headed
for trouble. So was every other member of our party.
He urgently advised going back to the old camp where
we would be among friendly tribes. In conclusion he
pointed out that, since we had come to this site, not a
single Mongol, Tartar or any other tribesman with whom
I had established such pleasant relations had come near
us. He sat down with a glare at Fairchild, observing
that this was no palmist's advice but that of a recognized
scientist.

Well, Fairchild apologized, of course, but he over-
ruled Barr on returning; we could safely wait a few days
longer and see what developed. Ban- remarked morosely
that as a prophet Fairchild was probably a total loss,
but it was also probable that we were being closely
watched and would not be allowed to retreat, and there-
fore it did not matter. .

That night we heard drums beating far away, drumming
between varying intervals of silence almost until dawn,
reporting and answering questions of drums still further off.

The next day, at the same hour, along came the same
troop. Their leader made straight for me, ignoring,
as before, the others in the camp. He saluted me almost
with humility. We walked back together to my tent.
Again the cordon was thrown round it, and my second
lesson abruptly began. It continued for two hours or
more. Thereafter, day after day, for three weeks, the
same performance was repeated. There was no desultory
conversation, no extraneous questioning, no explanations.
These men were there for one definite purpose : to teach
me their tongue. They stuck to that admirably. Filled
with curiosity, eager to reach the end and leam what it
all meant, I interposed no obstacles, stuck as rigorously
as they to the faatter in hand. This, too, they seemed to
take as something expected of me. In three weeks I
could carry on a conversation in the Uigher as well as
I can in English.

Barr's uneasiness kept growing. "They're grooming
you for something!" he would say. "I'd give five years
of my life to be in your shoes. But I don't like it. I'm
afraid for you. I'm damned afraid !"

One night at the end of this third week, the signalling
drums beat until dawn. The next day my instructors did
not appear, nor the next day, nor the day after. But our
men reported that there were Uighers all around us,
picketing the camp. They were in fear, and no work
could be got out of them.

On the afternoon of the fourth day we saw a cloud
of dust drifting rapidly down upon us from the north.
Soon we heard the sound of the Uigher drums. Then
out of the dust emerged a troop of horsemen. There were
two or three hundred of them, spears glinting, many of
them with good rifles. They drew up in a wide semi-
circle before the camp. The cold-eyed leader who had
been my chief instructor dismounted and came forward
leading a magnificent black stallion. A big horse, a
strong horse, unlike the rangy horses that carried them;
a horse that could bear my weight with ease.

The Uighur dropped on one knee, handing me the
stallion's reins, I took them, automatically. The horse
looked me over, sniffed at me, and rested its nose on my
shoulder. At once the troop raised their spears, shouting
some word I could not catch, then dropped from their
mounts and stood waiting.

The leader arose. He drew from his tunic a small
cube of ancient jade. He sank again upon his knee,
handed me the cube. It seemed solid, but as I pressed
it flew open. Within, was a ring. It was of heavy gold,
thick and wide. Set in it was a yellow, translucent stone
about an inch and a half square. And within this stone
was the shape of a black octopus.

Its tentacles spread out fan-wise from its body. They
had the effect of reaching forward through the yellow
stone. I could even see upon their nearer tips the suck-
ing discs. The body was not so clearly defined. It
was nebulous, seeming to reach into far distance. The
black octopus had not been cut upon the jewel. It was
within it.

I was aware of a curious mingling of feelings—repulsion
and a peculiar sense of familiarity, like the trick .of the
mind that causes what we call double memory, the
sensation of having experienced the same thing before.
Without thinking. I slipped the ring over my thumb

which it fitted perfectly, and held it up to the sun to
catch the light through the stone. Instantly every man
of the troop threw himself down upon his belly, pros-
trating himself before it.

The Uigher captain spoke to me. I had been sub-
consciously aware that from the moment of handing me
the jade he had been watching me closely. I thought
that now there was awe in his eyes.

"Your horse is ready—" again he used the unfamiliar
word with which the troop had saluted me. "Show me
what you wish to take with you, and your men shall
carry it."

"Where do we go—and for how long ?" I asked.

"To a holy man of your people," he answered. "For
how long—he alone can answer."

I felt a momentary irritation at the casualness with
which I was being disposed of. Also I wondered why he
spoke of his men and his people as mine.

"Why does he not come to me ?" I asked.

"He is old," he answered. "He could not make the
journey."

I looked at the troop, now standing up beside their
horses. If I refused to go, it would undoubtedly mean
the wiping out of the camp if my companions attempted,
as they would, to resist my taking. Besides, I was on
fire with curiosity.

"I must speak to my comrades before I go," I said.

"If it please Dwayanu"—this time I caught the
word—"to bid farewell to his dogs, let him." There
was a nicker of contempt in his eyes as he looked at old
Fairchild and the others.

Definitely I did not like what he had said, nor his
manner.                              ,

"Await me here," I told him curtly, and walked over
to Fairchild. I drew him into his tent, Barr and the
others of the expedition at our heels. I told them what
was happening. Barr took my hand, and scrutinized
the ring. He whistled softly.

"Don't you know what this is ?" he asked me. "It's
the Kraken—that super-wise, malignant and mythical
sea-monster of the old Norsemen. See, its tentacles are
not eight but twelve. Never was it pictured with less
than ten. It symbolized the principle that is inimical
to Life—not Death precisely, more accurately annihil-
ation. The Kraken—and here in Mongolia !"

"See here. Chief," I spoke to Fairchild. "There's
only one way you can help me—if I need help. And that's
to get back quick as you can to the old camp. Get hold
of the Mongols and send word to that chief who kept
-bringing in the big wrestlers—they'll know whom I
mean. Persuade or hire him to get as many able fighting
men at the camp as you can. I'll be back, but I'll prob-
ably come back running. Outside of that, you're all in
danger. Not at the moment, maybe, but things may
develop which will make these people think it better to
wipe you out. I know what I'm talking about. Chief.
I ask you to do this for my sake, if not for your own."

"But they watch the camp—" he began to object.

"They won't—after I've gone. Not for a little while
at least. Everyone of them will be streaking away with
me." I spoke with complete certainty, and Ban- nodded
acquiescence.

"The King returns to his Kingdom," he said. "All
his loyal subjects with him. He's in no danger—while
he's with them. But—God, if I could only go with you,
Leif! The Kraken 1 And the ancient legend of the
South Seas told of the Great Octopus, dozing on and
biding his time till he felt like destroying the world and
all its life. And three miles up in the air the Black
Octopus is cut into the cliffs of the Andes ! Norsemen—
and the South Sea Islanders—and the Andeans! And
the same symbol—here !"

"Please promise ?" I asked Fairchild. "My life may
depend on it."

"It's like abandoning you. I don't like it !"

"Chief, this crowd could wipe you out in a minute.
Go back, and get the Mongols. The Tartars will help.
They hate the Uighurs* I'll come back, don't fear. But
I'd bet everything that this whole crowd, and more,
will be at my heels. When I come, I want a wall to duck
behind."

"We'll go," he said.

I went out of that tent, and over to my own. The
odd-eyed Uighnr followed me. I took my rifle and an
automatic, stuffed a toothbrush and a shaving-kit in my
pocket, and turned to go.

"Is there nothing else ?" There was surprise in his
Question.

"If there is, I'll come back for it," I answered.

"Not after you have—remembered," he said, enig-
matically.

Side by side we walked to the black stallion. I lifted
myself to his back.

The troop wheeled in behind us. Their spears a
barrier between me and the camp, we galloped south.

CHAPTER III

RITUAL OF KHALK'RU

THE stallion settled down to a steady, swinging
lope. He carried my weight easily. About an hour
from dusk we were over the edge of the desert. At our
right loomed a low range of red sandstone hills Close
ahead was a defile. We rode into it, and picked our way
through it. In about half an hour we emerged into a
boulder-strewn region, upon what had once been a wide
road. The road stretched straight ahead of us to the
north-east, toward another and higher range of red sand-
stone, perhaps five miles away. This we reached just
as night began, and here my guide halted, saying that
we would encamp until dawn. Some twenty of the
troop dismounted; the rest rode on.

Those who remained waited, looking at me, plainly
expectant. I wondered what I was supposed to do;

then, noticing that the stallion had been sweating, I
called for something to rub him down, and for food and
water for him. This, apparently, was what had been
looked for. The captain himself brought me the cloths,
grain and water while the men whispered. After the
horse was cooled down, I fed him. I then asked for
blankets to put on him, for the nights were cold. When
I had finished I found that supper had been prepared.
I sat beside a fire with the leader. I was hungry, and,
as usual when it was possible, I ate voraciously. I asked
few questions, and most of these were answered so
evasively, with such obvious reluctance, that I soon
asked none. When the supper was over, I was sleepy.
I said so. I was given blankets, and walked over to the
stallion. I spread my blankets beside him, dropped,
and rolled myself up.

The stallion bent his head, nosed me gently, blew a
long breath down my neck, and lay down carefully beside
me. I shifted so that I could rest my head on his neck.
I heard excited whispering among the Uighurs. I went
to sleep.

At dawn I was awakened. Breakfast was ready. We
set out again on the ancient road. It ran along the hills,
skirting the bed of what had long ago been a large river.
For some time the eastern hills protected us from the
sun. When it began to strike directly down upon us, we
rested under the shadow of some immense rocks. By
mid-aftemoon we were once more on our way. Shortly
before sun-down »we crossed the dry river bed over what
had once been a massive bridge. We passed into another
defile through which the long-gone stream had flowed,
and just at dusk reached its end.

Each side of the end of the shallow gorge was com-
manded by stone forts. They were manned by dozens
of the Uighurs. They shouted as we drew near, and
again I heard the word "Dwayanu" repeated again and
again.

The heavy gates of the right-hand fort swung open.
We went through, into a passage under the thick wall.
We trotted across a wide enclosure. We passed out of it
through similar gates.

I looked upon an oasis hemmed in by the bare moun-
tains. It had once been the site of a fair-sized city, for
ruins dotted it everywhere. What had possibly been the
sources of the river had dwindled to a brook which sunk
into the sands not far from where I stood. At the right
of this brook there was vegetation and trees; to the
left of it was a desolation. The road passed through the
oasis and ran on across this barren. It stopped at, or
entered, a huge square-cut opening in the rock wall more
than a mile away, an opening that was like a door in that
mountain, or like the entrance to some gigantic Egyptian
tomb.

We rode straight down into the fertile side. There
were hundreds of the ancient stone buildings here, and
fair attempts had been made to keep some in repair.
Even so, their ancientness struck against my nerves.
There were tents among the trees also. And out of the
buildings and tents were pouring Uighurs, men, women
and children. There must have been a thousand of the
warriors alone. Unlike the men at the guardhouses,
these watched me in awed silence as I passed.

We halted in front of a time-bitten pile that might
have been a palace—five thousand years or twice that
ago. Or a temple. A colonnade of squat, square columns
ran across its front. Heavier ones stood at its entrance.
Here we dismounted. The stallion and my guide's horse
were taken by our escort. Bowing low at the threshold,
my guide invited me to enter.

I stepped into a wide corridor, lined with spearsmen
and lighted by torches of some resinous wood. The
Uighur leader walked beside me. The corridor led into
a huge room—high-ceilinged, so wide and long that the
flambeaux on the walls made its centre seem the darker.
At the fax end of this place was a low dais, and upon it
a stone table, and seated at this table were a number
of hooded men.

As I drew nearer, I felt the eyes of-these hooded men
intent upon me, and saw that they were thirteen—six
upon each side and one seated in a larger chair at the
table's end. High cressets of metal stood about them in
which burned some substance that gave out a steady,
dear white light. I came dose, and halted. My guide
did not speak. Nor did these others.

Suddenly, the light glinted upon the ring on my
thumb.

The hooded man at the table's end stood up, gripping
its edge with trembling hands that were like withered
claws. I heard him whisper—"Dwayanu !"

The hood slipped back from his head. I saw an old,
old face in which were eyes almost as blue as my own,
and they were filled with stark wonder and avid hope.
It touched me, for it was the look of a man long lost to
despair who sees a saviour appear.

Now the others arose, slipped back their hoods. They
were old men, all of them, but not so old as he who had
whispered. Their eyes of cold-blue-grey weighed me.
The high priest, for that I so guessed him and such he
turned out to be, spoke again :

"They told me—but I could not believe! Will you
come to me ?"

I jumped on the dais and walked to him. He drew his
old face close to mine, searching my eyes. He touched
my hair. He thrust his hand within my shirt and laid
it on my heart. He said :

"Let me see your hands."

I placed them, palms upward, on the table. He gave
them the same minute scrutiny as had the Uighur leader.
The twelve others clustered round, following his fingers
as be pointed to this marking and to that. He lifted from
his neck a chain of golden links, drawing from beneath
his robe a large, flat square of jade. He opened this.
Within it was a yellow stone, larger than that in my
ring, but otherwise precisely similar, the black octopus—
or the Kraken—writhing from its depths. Beside it was
a small phial of jade and a small, lancet-like jade knife.
He took my right hand, and brought the wrist over the
yellow stone. He looked at me and at the others with
eyes in which was agony.

"The last test." he whispered. "The blood!"

He nicked a vein of my wrist with the knife. Blood
fell, slow drop by drop upon the stone; I saw then that
it was slightly concave. As the blood dripped, it spread
like a thin film from bottom to lip. The old priest lifted
the phial of jade, unstoppered it, and by what was plainly
violent exercise of his will, held it steadily over the
yellow stone.  One drop of colourless fluid fell and
mingled with my blood.

The room was now utterly silent, high priest and his
ministers seemed not to breathe, staring at the stone.
I shot a glance at the Uighur leader, and he was glaring
at me, fanatic fires in his eyes.

There was an exclamation from the high priest,
echoed by the others. I looked down at the stone. The
pinkish film was changing colour. A curious sparkle ran
through it; it changed into a film of clear, luminous
green.

"Dwayanu!" gasped the high priest, and sank back
into his chair, covering his face with shaking hands.
The others stared at me and back at the stone and at me
again as though they beheld some miracle. I looked at
the Uighur leader. He lay flat upon his face at the base
of the dais.

The high priest uncovered bis face. It seemed to me
that he had become incredibly younger, transformed;
his eyes were no longer hopeless, agonized; they were
filled with eagerness. He arose from his chair, and sat
me in it.

"Dwayanu," he said, "what do you remember ?"

I shook my head, puzzled; it was an echo of the
Uighur's remark at the camp.

"What should I remember ?" I asked.

His gaze withdrew from me, sought the faces of the
others, questioningly; as though he had spoken to them,
they looked at one another, then nodded. He shut the
jade case and thrust it into his breast. He took my hand,
twisted the bezel of the ring behind my thumb and
closed my hand on it.

"Do you remember—" his voice sank to the faintest
of whispers—"Khalk'ru ?"

Again the stillness dropped upon the great chamber—
this time like a tangible thing. I sat, considering. There
was something familiar about that name. I had an
irritated feeling that I ought to know it; that if I tried
hard enough, I could remember it; that memory of it
was fust over the border of consciousness. Also I had
the feeling that it meant something rather dreadful.
Something better forgotten. I felt vague stirrings of
repulsion, coupled with sharp resentment.

"No," I answered.

I heard the sound of sharply exhaled breaths. The
old priest walked behind me and placed his hands over
my eyes.

"Do you remember—this?"

My mind seemed to blur, and then I saw a picture as
clearly as though I were looking at it with my open
eyes. I was galloping through the oasis straight to the
great doorway in the mountain. Only now it was no
oasis. It was a city with gardens, and a river ran spark-
ling through it. The ranges were not barren red sand-
stone, but green with trees. There were others with me,
galloping behind me—men and women like myself, fair
and strong. Now I was close to the doorway. There
were immense square stone columns flanking it ...
and now I had dismounted from my horse ... a
great black stallion ... I was entering . . .

I would not enter ! If I entered, I would remember—
Khalk'ru! I thrust myself back . . . and out . . .
I felt hands over my eyes ... I reached and tore
them away . . . the old priest's hands. I jumped
from the chair, quivering with anger. I faced him. His
face was benign, his voice gentle.

"Soon," he said, "you will remember more!"

I did not answer, struggling to control my inexplicable
rage. Of course, the old priest had tried to hypnotize
me ; what I had seen was what he had willed me to
see. Not without reason had the priests of the Uighurs
gained their reputation as sorcerers. But it was not that
which had stirred this wrath that took all my will to
keep from turning berserk. No, it had been something
about that name of Khalk'ru. Something that lay
behind the doorway in the mountain through which I
had almost been forced.

"Are you hungry ?" The abrupt transition to the
practical in the old priest's question brought me back
to normal. I laughed outright, and told him that I was,
indeed. And getting sleepy. I had feared that such an
important personage as I had apparently become would
have to dine with the high priest. I was relieved when
he gave me in charge of the Uighur captain. The Uighur
followed me out like a dog, he kept his eyes upon me like
a dog upon its master, and he waited on me like a servant
while I ate. I told him I would rather sleep in a tent
than in one of the stone houses. His eyes flashed at that,
and for the first time he spoke other than in respectful
monosyllables.

"Still a warrior!" he grunted approvingly. A tent
was set up for me. Before I went to sleep I peered
through the flap. The Uighur leader was squatting at
the opening, and a double ring of spearsmen stood
shoulder to shoulder on guard.

Early next morning, a delegation of the lesser priests
called for me. We went into the same building, but to
a much smaller room, bare of all furnishings. The high
priest and the rest of the lesser priests were awaiting me.
I had expected many questions. He asked me none;
he had, apparently, no curiosity as to my origin, where
I had come from, nor how I had happened to be in
Mongolia. It seemed to be enough that they had proved
me to be who they had hoped me to be—whoever that
was. Furthermore, I had the strongest impression that
they were anxious to hasten on to the consummation of
a plan that had begun with my lessons. The high priest
west straight to the point.

"Dwayanu," he said, "we would recall to your memory
a certain ritual.  Listen carefully, watch carefully,
repeat faithfully each inflection, each gesture."
  "To what purpose?" I asked.

"That you shall learn—" he began, then interrupted
himself fiercely. "No ! I will tell you now ! So that this
which is desert shall once more become fertile. That the
Uighurs shall recover their greatness. That the ancient
sacrilege against Khalk'ru, whose fruit was the desert,
shall be expiated !"

"What have I, a stranger, to do with all this ?" I
asked.

"We to whom you have come," he answered, "have
not enough of the ancient blood to bring this about. You
are no stranger. You are Dwayanu—the Releaser. You
are of the pure blood. Because of that, only you—
Dwayanu—can lift the doom."

I thought how delighted Barr would be to hear that
explanation; how he would crow over Fairchild. I
bowed to the old priest, and told him I was ready. He
took from my thumb the ring, lifted the chain and its
pendent jade from his neck, and told me to strip. While
I was doing so, he divested himself of his own robes, and
the others followed suit. A priest carried the things
away, quickly returning.  I looked at the shrunken
shapes of the old men standing mother-naked round me,
and suddenly lost all desire to laugh. The proceedings
were being touched by the sinister. The lesson began.

It was not a ritual; it was an invocation—rather, it
was an evocation of a Being, Power, Force, named
Khalk'ru. It was exceedingly curious, and so were the
gestures that accompanied it. It was dearly couched in
the archaic form of the Uighur. There were many words
I did not understand. Obviously, it had been passed
down from high priest to high priest from remote
antiquity. Even an indifferent churchman would have
considered it blasphemous to the point of damnation.
I was too much interested to think much of that phase
of it. I had the same odd sense of familiarity with it
that I had felt at the first naming of Khalk'ru. I fdt
none of the repulsion, however. I felt strongly in earnest.
How much this was due to the force of the united wills
of the twelve priests who never took their eyes off me,
I do not know.

I won't repeat it, except to give the gist of it. Khalk'ru
was the Beginning-without-Beginning, as he would be
the End-without-End. He was the Lightless Timeless
Void. The Destroyer.  The Eater-up of Life. The
Annihilator. The Dissolver. He was not Death—Death
was only a part of him. He was alive, very much so,
but his quality of living was the antithesis of Life as we
know it. Life was an invader, troubling Khalk'ru's age-
less calm. Gods and man, animals and birds and all
creatures, vegetation and water and air and fire, sun and
stars and moon—all were his to dissolve into Himself,
the Living Nothingness, if he so willed. But let them go
on a little longer. Why should Khalk'ru care when in
the end there would be only—Khalk'ru !  Let him
withdraw from the barren places so life could enter and
cause them to blossom again ; let him touch only those
who were the enemies of his worshippers, so that his
worshippers would be great and powerful, evidence that
Khalk'ru was the All in All. It was only for a breath
in the span of his eternity. Let Khalk'ru make himself
manifest in the form of his symbol and take what
was offered him as evidence he had listened and con-
sented.

There was more, much more, but that was the gist
of it. A dreadful prayer, but I felt no dread—then.

Three times, and I was letter-perfect. The high priest
gave me one more rehearsal and nodded to the priest who
had taken away the clothing. He went out and returned
with the robes—but not my clothes. Instead, he produced
a long white mantle and a pair of sandals. I asked for
my own clothes and was told by the old priest that I no
longer needed them, that hereafter I would be dressed
as befitted me. I agreed that this was desirable, but said
I would like to have them so I could look at them once
in a while. To this he acquiesced.

They took me to another room.  Faded, ragged
tapestries hung on its walls. They were threaded with
scenes of the hunt and of war. There were oddly shaped
stools and chairs of some metal that might have been
copper but also might have been gold. a wide and low
divan, in one corner spears, a bow and two swords, a
shield and a cap-shaped bronze helmet. Everything,
except the rugs spread over the stone floor, had the
appearance of great antiquity. Here I was washed and
carefully shaved and my long hair trimmed—a cere-
monial cleansing accompanied by rites of purification
which, at times, were somewhat startling.

These ended, I was given a cotton undergarment which
sheathed me from toes to neck. After this, a pair of
long, loose, girdled trousers that seemed spun of threads
of gold reduced by some process to the softness of silk.
I noticed with amusement that they had been carefully
repaired and patched. I wondered how many centuries
the man who had first worn them had been dead. There
was a long, blouse-like coat of the same material, and
my feet were slipped into cothurms, or high buskins, whose
elaborate embroidery was a bit ragged.

The old priest placed the ring on my thumb, and
stood back, staring at me raptly. Quite evidently he
saw nothing of the ravages of time upon my garments.

I was to him the splendid figure from the past that he
thought me.

"So did you appear when our race was great," he
said. "And soon, when it has recovered a little of its
greatness, we shall bring back those who still dwell in
the Shadow-land."

"The Shadow-land ?" I asked.

"It is far to the East, over the Great Water," he said.
"But we know they dwell there, those of Khalk'ru who
fled at the time of the great sacrilege which changed
fecund Uighuriand into desert. They will be of the pure
blood like yourself, Dwayanu, and you shall find mates
among the women. And in time, we of the thinned blood
shall pass away, and Uighuriand again be peopled by its
ancient race."

He walked abruptly away, the lesser priests following.
At the door he turned.

"Wait here," he said, "until the word comes from
me."

CHAPTER IV

TENTACLE OF KHALK'RU

I WAITED for an hour, examining the curious contents
of the room, and amusing myself with shadow-fencing
with the two swords. I swung round to find the Uighur
captain watching me from the doorway, pale eyes
glowing.

"By Zarda !" he said. "Whatever you have forgotten,
it is not your sword play! A warrior you left us, a
warrior you have returned !"

He dropped upon a knee, bent his head: "Pardon,
Dwayanu ! I have been sent for you. It is time to go."

A heady exaltation began to take me. I dropped the
swords, and clapped him on the shoulder. He took it
like an accolade. We passed through the corridor of
the spearsmen and over the threshold of the great door-
way. There was a thunderous shout.

"Dwayanu!"

And then a blaring of trumpets, a mighty roll of
drums and the clashing of cymbals.

Drawn up in front of the palace was a hollow square
of Uighur horsemen, a full five hundred of them, spears
glinting, pennons flying from their shafts. Within the
square, in ordered ranks, were as many more. But now
I saw that these were both men and women, clothed in
garments as ancient as those I wore, and shimmering
in the strong sunlight like a vast multicoloured rug of
metal threads. Banners and bannerets, torn and tattered
and bearing strange symbols, fluttered from them. At
the far edge of the square I recognized the old priest, his
lesser priests flanking him, mounted and clad in the
yellow. Above them streamed a yellow banner, and as
the wind whipped it straight, black upon it appeared the
shape of the Kraken. Beyond the square of horsemen,
hundreds of the Uighurs pressed for a glimpse of me.
As I stood there, blinking, another shout mingled with
the roll of the Uighur drums.

"The King returns to his people !" Barr had said.
Well, it was like that.

A soft nose nudged me. Beside me was the black
stallion. I mounted him. The Uighur captain at my
heels, we trotted down the open way between the ordered
ranks. I looked at them as I went by. All of them, men
and women, had the pale blue-grey eyes ; each of them
was larger than the run of the race. I thought that these
were the nobles, the pick of the ancient families, those in
whom the ancient blood was strongest. Their tattered
banners bore the markings of their clans. There was
exultation in the eyes of the men. Before I had reached
the priests. I had read terror in the eyes of many of the
women.

I reached the old priest. The line of horsemen ahead
of us parted. We two rode through the gap, side by side.
The lesser priests fell in behind us. The nobles followed
them. A long thin line upon each side of the cavalcade,
the Uighur horsemen trotted—with the Uighur trumpets
blaring, the Uighur kettle-drums and long-drums beat-
ing, the Uighur cymbals crashing, in wild triumphal
rhythms.

"The King returns——"

I would to that something had sent me then straight
upon the Uighur spears !

We trotted through the green of the oasis.   We
crossed a wide bridge which had spanned the little stream
when it had been a mighty river. We set our horses' feet
upon the ancient road that led straight to the mountain's
doorway a mile or more away. The heady exultation
grew within me. I looked back at my company. And
suddenly I remembered the repairs and patches on my
breeches and my blouse. And my following was touched
with the same shabbiness. It made me feel less a king,
but it also made me pitiful. I saw them as men and
women driven by hungry ghosts in their thinned blood,
ghosts of strong ancestors growing weak as the ancient
blood weakened, starving at it weakened, but still strong
enough to clamour against extinction, still strong enough
to command their brains and wills and drive them
toward something the ghosts believed would feed their
hunger, make them strong again.

Yes, I pitied them. It was nonsense to think I could
appease the hunger of their ghosts, but there was one
thing I could do for them. I could give them a damned
good show! I went over in my mind the ritual the old
priest had taught me, rehearsed each gesture.

I looked up to find we were at the threshold of the
mountain door. It was wide enough for twenty horse-
men to ride through abreast. The squat columns I had
seen, under the touch of the old priest's hands, lay
shattered beside it. I felt no repulsion, no revolt against
entering, as I then had. I was eager to be in and to be
done with it.

The spearsmen trotted up, and formed a guard beside
the opening. I dismounted, and handed one of them
the stallion's rein. The old priest beside me, the lesser
ones behind us, we passed over the threshold of the
mined doorway, and into the mountain. The passage,
or vestibule, was lighted by wall cressets in which burned
the dear, white flame.  A hundred paces from the
entrance, another passage opened, piercing inward at an
angle of about fifteen degrees to the wider one. Into
this the old priest turned. I glanced back. The nobles
bad not yet entered; I could see them dismounting at
the entrance. We went along this passage in silence for

perhaps a thousand feet. It opened into a small square
chamber, cut in the red sandstone, at whose side was
another door, covered with heavy tapestries. In this
chamber was nothing except a number of stone coffers
of various sizes ranged along its walls.

The old priest opened one of these. Within it was a
wooden box, grey with age. He lifted its lid, and took
from it two yellow garments. He slipped one of these
garments over my head. It was like a smock, falling to
my knees.  I glanced down; woven within it, its
tentacles encircling me, was the black octopus.

The other he drew over his own head. It, too, bore
the octopus, but only on the breast, the tentacles did not
embrace him. He bent and took from the coffer a golden
staff, across the end of which ran bars. From these fell
loops of small golden bells.

From the other coffers the lesser priests had taken
drums, queerly shaped oval instruments some three feet
long, with sides of sullen red metal. They sat, rolling
the drumheads under their thumbs, tightening them here
and there while the old priest gently shook his staff of
bells, testing their chiming. They were for all the world
like an orchestra tuning up. I again felt a desire to laugh;

I did not then know how the commonplace can intensify
the terrible.

There were sounds outside the tapestried doorway,
rustlings. There were three clangorous strokes like a
hammer upon an anvil. Then silence. The twelve
priests walked through the doorway with their drums
in their arms. The high priest beckoned me to follow
him, and we passed through after them.

I looked out upon an immense cavern, cut from the
living rock by the hands of men dust now for thousands
of years. It told its immemorial antiquity as clearly as
though the rocks had tongue. It was more than ancient;

it was primeval. It was dimly lighted, so dimly that

hardly could I see the Uighur nobles. They were stand-
ing, the banners of their dans above them, their faces
turned up to me, upon the stone floor, a hundred yards
Wso away, and ten feet below me. Beyond them and
behind them the cavern extended, vanishing hi dark-
ness. I saw that in front of them was a curving trough,

wide—like the trough between two long waves—and
"that like a wave it swept upward from the hither side
of the trough, curving, its lip crested, as though that
wave of sculptured stone were a gigantic comber rushing
back upon them. This lip formed the edge of the raised
place on which I stood.

 The high priest touched my arm. I turned my head
to him, and followed his eyes.

'' A hundred feet away from me stood a girl. She was
naked. She had not long entered womanhood and quite
plainly was soon to be a mother.
 Her eyes were as blue as those of the old priest, her
tear was reddish brown, touched with gold, her skin was
palest olive. The blood of the old fair race was strong
within her. For all she held herself so bravely, there was
terror in her eyes, and the rapid rise and fall of her
rounded breasts further revealed that terror.

She stood in a small hollow. Around her waist was a
golden ring, and from that ring dropped three golden
chaias fastened to the rock floor. I recognized their
purpose. She could not run, and if she dropped or fell,
she could not writhe away, out of the cup. But run, or
writhe away from what ? Certainly not from me ! I
'looked at her and smiled. Her eyes searched mine. The
terror suddenly fled from them. She smiled back at me,

trustingly.

God forgive me—I smiled at her and she trusted me !
I looked beyond her, from whence had come a glitter
of yellow like a flash from a huge topaz. Up from the
rock a hundred yards behind the girl jutted an immense

fragment of the same yellow translucent stone that
formed the jewel in my ring. It was like the fragment of a
gigantic shattered pane. Its shape was roughly triangular.

Black within it was a tentacle of the Kraken. The
tentacle swung down within the yellow stone, broken from
the monstrous body when the stone had been broken.
It was all of fifty feet long. Its inner side was turned
toward me, and plain upon all its length clustered the
hideous sucking discs.

Well, it was ugly enough—but nothing to be afraid
of, I thought. I smiled again at the chained girl, and
met once more her look of utter trust.

The old priest had been watching me dosely. We
walked forward until we were half-way between the edge
and the girl. At the lip squatted the twelve lesser priests,
their drums on their laps.

The old priest and I faced the girl and the broken
tentacle. He raised his staff of golden bells and shook
them. From the darkness of the cavern began a low
chanting, a chant upon three minor themes, repeated
and repeated, and intermingled.

It was as primeval as the cavern ; it was the voice of
the cavern itself.

The girl never took her eyes from me.

The chanting ended. I raised my hands and made
the curious gestures of salutation I had been taught.
I began the ritual to Khalk'ru. ...

With the first words, the odd feeling of recognition
swept over me—with something added. The words, the
gestures, were automatic. I did not have to exert any
effort of memory ; they remembered themselves. I no
longer saw the chained girl. All I saw was the black
tentacle in the shattered stone.

On swept the ritual and on ... was the yellow
stone dissolving from around the tentacle . . . was
the tentacle swaying ?

Desperately I tried to halt the words, the gesturing.
I could not !

Something stronger than myself possessed me, moving
my muscles, speaking from my throat. I had a sense
of inhuman power. On to the climax of the evil evo-
cation—and how I knew how utterly evil it was—the
ritual rushed, while I seemed to stand apart, helpless to
check it.

It ended.

And the tentacle quivered ... it writhed ... it
reached outward to the chained girl. . . .

There was a devil's roll of drums, rushing up fast and
ever faster to a thunderous crescendo. . . .

The girl was still looking at me ... but the trust
was gone from her eyes . . . her face reflected the
horror stamped upon my own.

The black tentacle swung up and out!

I had a swift vision of a vast cloudy body from which
other cloudy tentacles writhed. A breath that had in
it the cold of outer space touched me.

The black tentacle coiled round the girl. . . .

She screamed—inhumanly . . . she faded . . . she
dissolved . . . her screaming faded . . . her scream-
ing became a small shrill agonized piping ... a sigh.

I heard the dash of metal from where the girl had
stood. The clashing of the golden chains and girdle that
had held her, falling empty on the rock.

The girl was gone !

I stood, nightmare horror such as I had never known
in worst of nightmares paralysing me——

The child had trusted me ... I had smiled at her,
and she had trusted me ... and I had summoned the
Kraken to destroy her !

Searing remorse, white hot rage, broke the chains
that held me. I saw the fragment of yellow stone in its
place, the black tentacle inert within it. At my feet lay

the old priest, flat on his face, his withered body shaking,;

his withered hands clawing at the rock. Beside their
drums lay the lesser priests, and flat upon the floor of
the cavern were the nobles—prostrate, abased, blinds
and deaf in stunned worship of that dread Thing I had
summoned.                                        .1

I ran to the tapestried doorway. I had but one
desire—to get out of the temple of Khalk'ru. Out of the
lair of the Kraken. To get far and far away from it. To

get back . . . back to the camp—home. I ran through
the little room, through the passages and, still running,
reached the entrance to the temple. I stood there for
an instant, dazzled by the sunlight.

There was a roaring shout from hundreds of throats-
then silence. My sight cleared. They lay there, in the
dust, prostrate before me—the troops of the Uighur
spearsmen.

I looked for the black stallion. He was close beside
me. I sprang upon his back, gave him the reins. He shot
forward like a black thunderbolt through the prostrate
ranks, and down the road to the oasis. We raced through
the oasis. I bad vague glimpses of running crowds,
shouting. None tried to stop me. None could have
stayed the rush of that great horse.

And now I was close to the inner gates of the stone
fort through which we had passed on the yesterday.
They were open. Their guards stood gaping at me.
Drums began to beat, peremptorily, from the temple.
I looked back. There was a confusion at its entrance,
a chaotic milling. The Uighur spearsmen were streaming
down the wide road.

The gates began to close. I shot the stallion forward,
bowling over the guards, and was inside the fort. I
reached the further gates. They were closed. Louder
beat the drums, threatening, commanding.

Something of sanity returned to me. I ordered the

guards to open. They stood, trembling, staring at me.

But they did not obey. I leaped from the stallion and
ran to them. I raised my hand. The ring of Khalk'ru
flittered. They threw themselves on the ground before
me—but they did not open the gates.

 I saw upon the wall goatskins full of water. I snatched
one of these and a sack of grain. Upon the floor was a
huge slab of stone. I lifted it as though it had been a
pebble, and hurled it at the gates where the two halves
met. They burst asunder. I threw the skin of water
and sack of grain over the high saddle, and rode through
.the broken gates.

The great horse skimmed through the ravine like a

swallow. And now we were over the crumbling bridge
and thundering down the ancient road.

We came to the end of the far ravine. I knew it by
the fall of rock. I looked back. There was no sign of
pursuit But I could hear the faint throb of the drums.

It was now well past mid-afternoon. We picked our
way through the ravine and came out at the edge of the
sandstone range. It was cruel to force the stallion, but I
could not afford to spare him. By nightfall we had
readied semi-arid country. The stallion was reeking
with sweat, and tired. Never once had he slackened or
turned surly. He had a great heart, that horse. I made
up my mind that he should rest, come what might.

I found a sheltered place behind some high boulders.
Suddenly I realized that I was still wearing the yellow
ceremonial smock. I tore it off with sick loathing. I
rubbed the horse down with it. I watered him and gave
him some of the grain. I realized, too, that I was raven-
ously hungry and had eaten nothing since morning. I
chewed some of the grain and washed it down with the
tepid water. As yet, there were no signs of pursuit, and
the drums were silent. I wondered uneasily whether the
Uighurs knew of a shorter road and were outflanking

me. I threw the smock over the stallion and stretched
myself on the ground. I did not intend to sleep. But
I did go to sleep.

I awakened abruptly. Dawn was breaking. Looking
down upon me were the old priest and the cold-eyed
Uighur captain. My hiding place was ringed with spears-
men. The old priest spoke, gently.

"We mean you no harm, Dwayanu. If it is your will
to leave us, we cannot stay you. He whose call Khalk'ru
has answered has nothing to fear from us. His will is
our will."

I did not answer. Looking at him, I saw again—-
could only see—that which I had seen in the cavern. He
sighed.

"It is your will to leave us! So shall it be!"

The Uighur captain did not speak.

"We have brought your clothing, Dwayanu, thinking
that you might wish to go from us as you came," said
the old priest.

I stripped and dressed in my old clothes. The old
priest took my faded finery. He lifted the octopus robe
from the stallion. The captain spoke :

"Why do you leave us, Dwayanu ? You have made
our peace with Khalk'ru. You have unlocked the gates.
Soon the desert will blossom as of old. Why will you not
remain and lead us on our march to greatness ?"

I shook my head. The old priest sighed again.

"It is his will! So shall it be ! But remember,
Dwayanu—he whose call Khalk'ru has answered must
answer when Khalk'ru calls him. And soon or late—
Khalk'ru will call him !"

He touched my hair with his trembling old hands,
touched my heart, and turned. A troop of spearsmen
wheeled round him. They rode away.

The Uighur captain said :

"We wait to guard Dwayanu on his journey."

I mounted the stallion. We reached the expedition's
new camp. It was deserted. We rode on, toward the
old camp. Late that afternoon we saw ahead of us a
caravan. As we came nearer they halted, made hasty
preparations for defence. It was the expedition—still
on the march. I waved my hands to them and shouted.

I dropped off the black stallion, and handed the reins
to the Uighur.

"Take him," I said. His face lost its sombre sternness,
brightened.

"He shall be ready for you when you return to us,
Dwayanu. He or his sons," he said. He touched my
hand to his forehead, knelt. "So shall we all be, Dwayanu
—ready for you, we or our sons. When you return."

He mounted his horse. He faced me with his troop.
They raised their spears.  There was one crashing
shout—

"Dwayanu!"

They raced away.

I walked to where Fairchild and the others awaited
me.

As soon as I could arrange it, I was on my way back
to America. I wanted only one thing—to put as many
miles as possible between myself and Khalk'ru's temple.

I stopped. Involuntarily my hand sought the buck-
skin bag on my breast.

"But now," I said, "it appears that it is not so easy
to escape him. By anvil stroke, by chant and drums—
Khalk'ru calls me '"

CHAPTER V

THE MIRAGE

JIM had sat silent, watching me, but now and again
I had seen the Indian stoicism drop from his face.
He leaned over and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Leif," he said quietly, "how could I have known ?
For the first time, I saw you afraid—it hurt me. I did
not know. . . ."

From Tsantawu, the Cherokee, this was much.
"It's all right, Indian. Snap back," I said roughly.
He sat for a while not speaking, throwing little twigs
on the fire.

"What did you friend Barr say about it ?" he asked
abruptly.

"He gave me hell," I said. "He gave me hell with
the tears streaming down his cheeks. He said that never
had anyone betrayed science as I had since Judas kissed
Christ. He was keen on mixed metaphors that got under
your skin. That went deep under mine, for it was pre-
cisely what I was thinking of myself—not as to science
but as to the girl. I had given her the kiss of Judas all
right. Ban- said that I had been handed the finest
opportunity man ever had given him. I could have
solved the whole mystery of the Gobi and its lost civil-
ization. I had run away like a child from a bugaboo. I
was not only atavistic in body, I was atavistic in brain.
I was a blond savage cowering before my mumbo-jumbos.
He said that if he had been given my chance he would
have let himself be crucified to have learned the truth.
He would have, too. He was not lying."

"Admirably scientific," said Jim. "But what did he
say about what you saw ?"

"That is was nothing but hypnotic suggestion by the
old priest. I had seen what he had willed me to see—
just as before, under his will, I had seen myself riding
to the temple. The girl hadn't dissolved. She had
probably been standing in the wings laughing at me.
But if everything that my ignorant mind had accepted
as true had been true then my conduct was even more
unforgivable.  I should have remained, studied tht
phenomena and brought back the results for science to
examine. What I had told him of the ritual of Khalk'ru
was nothing but the second law of thermo-dynamics
expressed in terms of anthropomorphism. Life was an
intrusion upon Chaos, using that word to describe the
unformed, primal state of the universe. An invasion.
An accident. In time all energy would be changed to
static heat, impotent to give birth to any life what-
soever. The dead universes would float lifelessly in the
illimitable void. The void was eternal, life was not.
Therefore the void would absorb it. Suns, worlds, gods,
men, an things animate, would return to the void. Go
back to Chaos. Back to Nothingness. Back to Khalk'ru.
Or if my atavistic brain preferred the term—back to
the Kraken. He was bitter."

"But the others saw the girl taken, you say. How
did he explain that ?"

"Oh, easily. That was mass hypnotism—like the
Angels of Mons, the ghostly bowmen of Crecy and other
collective hallucinations of the War. I had been a—
catalyzer. My likeness to the traditional ancient race,
my completeness as a throwback, my mastery at
Khalk'ru's ritual, the faith the Uighurs had in me—all
this had been the necessary element in bringing about
the collective hallucination of the tentacle. Obviously
the priests had long been trying to make work a drug

in which an essential chemical was lacking. I, for some
reason, was the missing chemical—the catalyzer. That
was all."
; Again he sat thinking, breaking the little twigs.

"It's a reasonable explanation.  But you weren't
convinced ?"

 "No, I wasn't convinced—I saw the girl's face when
the tentacle touched her."
"He arose, stood staring toward the north.

"Leif," he asked suddenly, "what did you do with
the ring ?"

I drew out the little buckskin pouch, opened it and
handed the ring to him. He examined it closely, returned
it to me.

"Why did you keep it, Leif ?"

"I'don't know." I slipped the ring over my thumb.
"I Didn't give it back to the old priest; he didn't ask
for it. Oh, hell—I'll tell you why I kept it—for the
same reason Coleridge's Ancient Mariner had the alba-
tross tied round his neck. So I couldn't forget I'm a
murderer."

I put the ring back in the buckskin bag, and dropped
it down my neck. Faintly from the north came a roll
of drums. It did not seem to travel with the wind this
time. It seemed to travel underground, and died out
deep beneath us.

"Khalk'ru! " I said.

"Well. don't let's keep the old gentleman waiting,"

said Jim cheerfully.

He busied himself with the packs, whistling.
Suddenly he turned to me.

"Listen, Leif. Barr's theories sound good to me.
I'm not saying that if I'd been in your place I would
have accepted them. Maybe you're right. But I'm with

Barr- until events, if-when-and-how they occur, prove
him wrong.

"Fine !" I said heartily, and entirely without sarcasm.

"May your optimism endure until we get back to
New York—if-when-and-how."

We shouldered the packs, and took up our rifles and
started northward.

It was not hard going, but it was an almost constant
climb. The country sloped upward, sometimes at a
breath-taking pitch. The forest, unusually thick and
high for the latitude, began to thin. It grew steadily
cooler. After we had covered about fifteen miles we
entered a region of sparse and stunted trees. Five miles
ahead was a thousand-feet-high range of bare rocks.
Beyond this range was a jumble of mountains four to
five thousand feet higher, treeless, their peaks covered
with snow and ice, and cut by numerous ravines which
stood out glistening white like miniature glaciers. Between
us and the nearer range stretched a plain, all grown over
with dwarfed thickets of wild roses, blueberries and
squawbemes, and dressed in the brilliant reds and blues
and greens of the brief Alaskan summer.

"If we camp at the base of those hills, we'll be out
of that wind," said Jim. "It's five o'clock. We ought
to make it in an hour."

We set off. Bursts of willow ptarmigans shot up
around us from the berry thickets like brown rockets;

golden plovers and curlews were whistling on all sides;

within rifle shot a small herd of caribou was feeding,
and the little brown cranes were stalking everywhere.
No one could starve in that country, and after we had
set up camp we dined very well.

There were no sounds that night—or if there were we
slept too deeply to hear them.

The next morning we debated our trail. The low
range stood directly in our path north. It continued,
increasing in height, both east and west. It presented
no great difficulties from where we were, at least so far

as we could see. We determined to climb it, taking it
leisurely. It was more difficult than it had appeared;

it took us two hours to wind our way to the top.

We tramped across the top toward a line of huge
boulders that stretched like a wall before us.  We
squeezed between two of these, and drew hastily back.
We were standing at the edge of a precipice that dropped
hundreds of feet sheer to the floor of a singular valley.
The jumble of snow-and-ice-mantled mountains clustered
around it. At its far end, perhaps twenty miles away,
was a pyramidal-shaped peak.

Down its centre, from tip to the floor of the valley,
ran a glittering white streak, without question a glacier
filling a chasm which split the mountain as evenly as
though it had been made by a single sword stroke. The
valley was not wide, not more than five miles, I esti-
mated, at its widest point. A long and narrow valley,
its far end stoppered by the glacier-cleft giant, its sides
the walls of the other mountains, dropping, except here
and there where there had been falls of rock, as pre-
cipitously into it as the cliff under us.

But it was the floor of the valley itself that riveted
our attention. It seemed nothing but a tremendous level
field covered with rocky rubble. At the far end, the
glacier ran through this rubble for half the length of
the valley. There was no trace of vegetation among the
littered rocks. There was no hint of green upon the sur-
rounding mountains; only the bare black cliffs with
their ice and snow-filled gashes. It was a valley of
desolation.

"It's cold here, Leif." Jim shivered.

It was cold—a cold of a curious quality, a still and
breathless cold. It seemed to press out upon us from the
valley, as though to force us away.

"It's going to be a job getting down there," I said.

"And hard going when we do," said Jim. "Where

the hell did all those rocks come from, and what spread
them out so flat ?"

"Probably dropped by that glacier when it shrunk,"
I said. "It looks like a terminal moraine. In fact this
whole place looks as though it had been scooped out by
the ice."

"Hold on to my feet, Leif, I'll take a look." He lay
on his belly and wriggled his body over the edge. In a
minute or two I heard him call, and pulled him back.

"There's a slide about a quarter of a mile over there
to the left," he said. "I couldn't tell whether it goes all
the way to the top. We'll go see. Leif, how far down
do you think that valley is ?"

"Oh, a few hundred feet."

"It's all of a thousand if it's an inch. The cliff goes
down and down. I don't understand what makes the
bottom seem so much closer here. It's a queer place,
this."

We picked up the packs and marched off behind the
wall-like rim of boulders. In a little while we came
across a big gouge in the top, running far back. Here
frost and ice had bitten out the rock along some fault.
The shattered debris ran down the middle of the gouge
like giant stepping-stones clear to the floor of the valley.

"We'll have to take the packs off to negotiate that,"
said Jim. "What shall be do—leave them here while we
explore, or drop them along with us as we go ?"

"Take them with us. There must be an outlet off
there at the base of the big mountain."

We began the descent. I was scrambling over one of
the rocks about a third of the way when I heard his
sharp exclamation.

Gone was the glacier that had thrust its white tongue
in among the rubble. Gone was the rubble. Toward its
.far end, the valley's floor was covered with scores of
pyramidal black stones, each marked down its centre

with a streak of glistening white. They stood in ranks,
spaced regularly, like the dolmens of the Druids. They
marched half-down the valley. Here and there between
them arose wisps of white steam, like smokes of sacrifices.

Between them and us, lapping at the black cliffs, was
a blue and rippling lake ! It filled the lower valley from
side to side. It rippled over the edges of the shattered
rocks still far below us.

Then something about the marshalled ranks of black
stones struck me.

"Jim ! Those pyramid-shaped rocks. Each and every
one of them is a tiny duplicate of the mountain behind
them ! Even to the white streak !"

As I spoke, the blue lake quivered. It flowed among
the black pyramids, half-submerging them, quenching
the sacrificial smokes. It covered the pyramids. Again
it quivered. It was gone. Where the lake had been was
once more the rubble-covered floor of the valley.

There had been an odd touch of legerdemain about
the transformations, like the swift work of a master
magician. And it had been magic—of a kind. But I
had watched nature perform that magic before.

"Hell t" I said. "It's a mirage I"

Jim did not answer. He was staring at the valley
with a singular expression.

"What's the matter with you, Tsantawu ? Listening
to the ancestors again ? It's only a mirage."

"Yes ?" he said. "But which one ? The lake—or the
rocks ?"

I studied the valley's floor. It looked real enough.
The theory of a glacial moraine accounted for its oddly
level appearance—that and our height above it. When
we reached it we would find that distribution of boulders
uncomfortably uneven enough, I would swear.

"Why, the lake of coarse."

"No," he said, "I think the stones are the mirage."

"Nonsense. There's a layer of warm air down there.
The stones radiate the sun's heat. This cold air presses
on it. It's one of the conditions that produces mirages,
and it has just done it for us. That's all."

"No," he said, "it isn't all."

He leaned against the rock.

"Leif, the ancestors had a few things more to say last
night than I told you."

"I know damned well they did."

"They spoke of Ataga'hi. Does that mean anything
to you."

"Not a thing."

"It didn't to me—then. It does now. Ataga'hi was
an enchanted lake, in the wildest part of the Great
Smokies, westward from the headwaters of the Ocana-
luftee. It was the medicine lake of the animals and birds.
All the Cherokee knew it was there, though few had seen
it. If a stray hunter came close, all he saw was a stony
flat, without blade of grass, forbidding. But by prayer
and fasting and an all-night vigil, he could sharpen his
spiritual sight. He would then behold at daybreak a
wide shallow sheet of purple water, fed by springs,
spouting from the high cliffs around. And in the water
all kinds of fish and reptiles, flocks of ducks and geese
and other birds flying about, and around the lake the
tracks of animals. They came to Ataga'hi to be cured
of wounds or sickness. The Great Spirit had placed an
island in the middle of the lake. The wounded, the sick'
animals and birds swam to it. When they had reached
it—the waters of Ataga'hi had cured them. They came
up on its shores—whole once more.  Over Ataga'hi
ruled the peace of God. All creatures were friends."

"Listen, Indian, are you trying to tell me this is your
medicine lake ?"

"I didn't say that at all. I said the name of Ataga'hi
kept coming into my mind. It was a place that appeared

to be a stony flat, without blade of grass, forbidding.
So does this place. But under that illusion was—a lake.
We saw a lake. It's a queer coincidence, that's all.
Perhaps the stony flat of Ataga'hi was a mirage—"
He hesitated : "Well, if some other things the ancestors
mentioned turn up, I'll shift sides and take your version
of that Gobi affair."

"That lake was the mirage. I'm telling you."

He shook his head, stubbornly.

"Maybe. But maybe what we see down there now is
mirage, too. Maybe both are mirage. And if so, then,
how deep is the real floor, and can we make our way
over it ?"

He stood staring silently at the valley. He shivered,
and again I was aware of the curiously intense quality
of the cold. I stooped and caught hold of my pack. My
hands were numb.

"Well, whatever it is—let's find out."

A quiver ran through the valley floor. Abruptly it
became again the shimmering blue lake. And as abruptly
turned again to nibbled rock.

But not before I had seemed to see within that lake
of illusion—if illusion it were—a gigantic shadowy shape,
huge black tentacles stretching out from a vast and
nebulous body ... a body which seemed to vanish
back into immeasurable distances . . . vanishing into
the void ... as the Kraken of the Gobi cavern had
seemed to vanish into the void . . . into that void
which was—Khalk'ru !

We crept between, scrambled over and slid down the
huge broken fragments. The further down we went, the
more intense became the cold. It had a still and creep-
ing quality that seeped into the marrow. Sometimes we
dropped the packs ahead of us, sometimes dragged them
after us. And ever more savagely the cold bit into our bones.

By the frequent glimpses of the valley floor, I was
more and more assured of its reality. Every mirage I had
ever beheld—and in Mongolia I had seen many—had
retreated, changed form, or vanished as I drew near.
The valley floor did none of these things. It was true
that the stones seemed to be squatter as we came closer;

but I attributed that to the different angle of vision.

We were about a hundred feet above the end of the
slide when I began to be less sure. The travelling had
become peculiarly difficult. The slide had narrowed.
At our left the rock was clean swept, stretching down to
the valley as smoothly as though it had been brushed
by some titantic broom. Probably an immense frag-
ment had broken loose at this point, shattering into the
boulders that lay heaped at its termination. We veered
to the right, where there was a ridge of rocks, pushed to
the side by that same besom of stone. Down this ridge
we picked our way.

Because of my greater strength, I was carrying both
our rifles, swung by a thong over my left shoulder. Also
I was handling the heavier pack. We came upon an
extremely awkward place. The stone upon which I was
standing suddenly tipped beneath my weight. It threw
me sideways. The pack slipped from my hands, toppled,
and fell over on the smooth rock. Automatically I threw
myself forward, catching at it. The thong holding the
two rifles broke. They went slithering after the escaping
pack.

It was one of those combinations of circumstances
that makes one believe in a God of Mischance. The
thing might have happened anywhere else on our journey
without any result whatever. And even at that moment
I didn't think it mattered.

"Well," I said, cheerfully, "that saves me carrying
them. We can pick them up when we get to the bottom."

"That is." said Jim, "if there is a bottom."

I cocked my eye down the slide. The rifles had
caught up with the pack and the three were now moving
fast.

"There they stop," I said. They were almost on the
rubble at the end.

"The hell they do," said Jim. "There they go!"

I rubbed my eyes, and looked and looked again. The
pack and the pushing rifles should have been checked by
that barrier at the slide's end. But they had not been.
They had vanished.

CHAPTER VI

THE SHADOWED-LAND

THERE had been a queer quivering when rifles and
pack had touched the upthrust of rock. Then they
had seemed to melt into it.

"I'd say they dropped into the lake," said Jim.

"There's no lake. They dropped into some break in
the rock. Come in——"

He gripped my shoulder.

"Wait, Leif. Go slow."

I followed his pointing finger. The barrier of stones
had vanished. Where they had been, the slide ran, a
smooth tongue of stone, far out into the valley.

"Come on," I said.

We went down, testing every step. With each halt,
the nibbled plain became flatter and flatter, the boulders
squatted lower and lower. A cloud drifted over the sun.
There were no boulders. The valley floor stretched below
us, a level slate-grey waste !

The slide ended abruptly at the edge of this waste.
The rocks ended as abruptly, about fifty feet ahead.
They stood at the edge with the queer effect of stones
set in place when the edge had been viscous. Nor did
the waste appear solid; it, too, gave the impression of
viscosity; through it ran a slight but constant tremor,
like waves of heat over a sun-baked road—yet with
every step downward the bitter, still cold increased until
it was scarcely to be borne.

There was a narrow passage between the shattered
rocks and the cliff at our right. We crept through it.
We stood upon an immense flat stone at the very edge

of the strange plain. It was neither water nor rock;

more than anything, it had the appearance of a thin
opaque liquid glass, or a gas that had been turned semi-
liquid.

I stretched myself out on the slab, and reached out
to touch it. I did touch it—there was no resistance ;

I felt nothing. I let my hand sink slowly in. I saw my
hand for a moment as though reflected in a distorting
mirror, and then I could not see it at all. But it was
pleasantly warm down there where my hand had dis-
appeared. The chilled blood began to tingle in my
numbed fingers. I leaned far over the stone and plunged
both arms in almost to the shoulders. It felt damned
good.

Jim dropped beside me and thrust in his arms.

"It's air," he said.

"Feels like it—" I began, and then a sudden realization
came to me—"the rifles and the pack ! If we don't get
them we're out of luck !"

He said: "If Khalk'ru is—guns aren't going to get
us away from him."

"You think this—" I stopped, memory of the shadowy
shape in the lake of illusion coming back to me.

"Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-land. The Shadowed-land
your old priest called it, didn't he ? I'd say this fits
either description."

I lay quiet; no matter what the certainty of a coming
ordeal a man may carry in his soul, he can't help a cer-
tain shrinking when he knows his foot is at the threshold
of it. And now quite clearly and certainly I knew just
that. All the long trail between Khalk'ru's Gobi temple
and this place of mirage was wiped out. I was stepping
from that focus of Khalk'ru's power into this one—
where what had been begun in the Gobi must be ended.
The old haunting horror began to creep over me. I
fought it.

I would take up the challenge. Nothing on earth could
stop me now from going on. And with that determin-
ation, I felt the horror sullenly retreat, leave me. For
the first time in years I was wholly free of it.

"I'm going to see what's down there." Jim drew up
his arms. "Hold on to my feet, Leif, and I'll slip over
the edge of the stone. I felt along its edge and it seems
to go on a bit further."

"I'll go first." I said. "After all, it's my party."

"And a fine chance I'd have to pull you up if you
fell over, you human elephant.   Here goes—catch
hold."

I had just time to grip his ankles as he wriggled over
the stone, and his head and shoulders passed from sight.
On he went, slowly writhing along the slanting rock
until my hands and arms were hidden to the shoulders.
He paused—and then from the mysterious opacity in
which he had vanished came a roar of crazy laughter.

I felt him twist and try to jerk his feet away from me.
I pulled him, fighting against me every inch of the way,
out upon the stone. He came out roaring that same
mad laughter. His face was red, and his eyes were
shining drunkenly ; he had in fact all the symptoms of a
laughing drunk. But the rapidity of his respiration told
me what had happened.

"Breathe slowly," I shouted in his ear. "Breathe
slowly, I tell you."

And then, as his laughter continued and his struggles
to tear loose did not abate, I held him down with one
arm and dosed his nose and mouth with my hand. In
a moment or two he relaxed. I released him; and he
sat up groggily.

"Funniest things," he said, thickly. "Saw funniest
faces. . . ."

He shook his head, took a deep breath or two, and
lay back on the stone.

"What the hell happened to me, Leif ?"

"You had an oxygen bun, Indian," I said. "A nice
cheap jag on air loaded with carbon-dioxide. And that
explains a lot of things about this place. You came up
breathing three to the second, which is what carbon-
dioxide does to you. Works on the respiratory centres
of the brain and speeds up respiration. You took in more
oxygen than you could use, and you got drunk on it.
What did you see before the world became so funny ?"

"I saw you," he said. "And the sky. It was like
looking up out of water. I looked down and around. A
little below me was something like a floor of pale green
mist. I couldn't see through it. It's warm in there,
good and plenty warm, and it smells like trees and flowers.
That's all I managed to grasp before I went goofy. Oh,
yes, this rock fall keeps right on going down. Maybe we
can get to the bottom of it—if we don't laugh ourselves
off. I'm going right out and sit in that mirage up to my
neck—my God, Leif, I'm freezing !"

I looked at him with concern. His lips were blue, his
teeth chattering. The transition from the warmth to
the bitter cold was having its effect, and a dangerous
one.

"All right," I said, rising. "I'll go first. Breathe
slowly, take deep, long breaths as slowly as you can, and
breathe out just as slowly. You'll soon get used to it.
Come on."

I slung the remaining pack over my back, craw-fished
over the side of the stone, felt solid rock under my feet,
and drew myself down within the mirage.

It was warm enough ; almost as warm as the steam-
room of a Turkish bath. I looked up and saw the sky
above me like a circle of blue, misty at its edges. Then
I saw Jim's legs dropping down toward me, his body
bent back from them at an impossible angle. I was
seeing him, in fact, about as a fish does an angler wading

in its pool. His body seemed to telescope and he was
squatting beside me.

"God, but this feels good !"

"Don't talk," I told him. "Just sit here and practise
that slow breathing. Watch me."

We sat there, silently, for all of half an hour. No
sound broke the stillness around us. It smelled of the
jungle, of fast growing vigorous green life, and green life
falling as swiftly into decay; and there were elusive,
alien fragrances. All I could see was the circle of blue
sky above, and perhaps a hundred feet below us the pale
green mist of which Jim had spoken. It was like a level
floor of cloud, impenetrable to the vision. The rock-fall
entered it and was lost to sight. I felt no discomfort,
but both of us were dripping with sweat. I watched
with satisfaction Jim's deep, unhurried breathing.

"Having any trouble ?" I asked at last.

"Not much. Now and then I have to put the pedal
down. But I think I'm getting the trick."

"All right," I said. "Soon we'll be moving. I don't
believe it will get any worse as we go down."

"You talk like an old-timer. What's your idea of this
place anyway, Leif ?"

"Simple enough. Although the combination hasn't a
chance in millions to be duplicated. Here is a wide,
deep valley entirely hemmed in by precipitous clifis. It
is, in effect, a pit. The mountains enclosing it are seamed
with glaciers and ice streams and there is a constant flow
of cold air into this pit, even in summer. There is pro-
bably volcanic activity close beneath the valley's floor,
boiling springs and the like. It may be a miniature of
the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes over to the west
All this produces an excess of carbon-dioxide. There is
most probably a lush vegetation which adds to the pro-
duct. What we are going into is likely to be a little
left-over fragment of the Carboniferous Age—about ten

million years out of its time. The warm, heavy air fills
the pit until it reaches the layer of cold air we've just
come from. The mirage is produced where the two
meet, by approximately the same causes which produce
every mirage. How long it's been this way. God alone
knows. Parts of Alaska never had a Glacial Age—the
ice for some reason or another didn't cover them. When
what is New York was under a thousand feet of ice, the
Yukon Flats were an oasis filled with all sorts of animal
and plant life. If this valley existed then, we're due to
see some strange survivals. If it's comparatively recent,
we'll probably run across some equally interesting adapta-
tions. That's about all, except there must be an outlet
of some kind somewhere at about this level, otherwise
the warm air would fill the whole valley to the top, as
gas does a tank. Let's be going."

"I begin to hope we find the guns," said Jim, thought-
fully.

"As you pointed out, they'd be no good against
Khalk'ru—what, who, if and where he is," I said. "But
they'd be handy against his attendant devils. Keep an '
eye out for them—I mean the guns."

We started down the rock-fall, toward the floor of
green mist. The going was not very difficult. We
reached the mist without having seen anything of rifles
or packs. The mist looked like a heavy fog. We entered
it, and that was precisely what it was. It closed around
us, thick and warm. The rocks were reeking wet and
slippery, and we had to feel for every foot of the way.
Twice I thought our numbers were up. How deep that
mist was, I could not tell, perhaps two or three hundred
feet—a condensation brought about by the peculiar
atmospheric conditions that produced the mirage.

The mist began to lighten. It maintained its curious
green tint, but I had the idea that this was due to reflection
from below. Suddenly it thinned to nothing. We came

out of it upon a breast where the falling rocks had met
some obstruction and had piled up into a barrier about
thrice my height. We climbed that barrier.

We looked upon the valley beneath the mirage.

It lay a full thousand feet beneath us. It was filled
with pale green light like that in a deep forest glade.
That light was both lucent and vaporous, lucent where
we stood, but hiding the distance with misty curtains of
pallid emerald. To the north and on each side as far as
I could see, and melting into the vaporous emerald cur-
tains, was a vast carpet of trees. Their breath came
pulsing up to me, jungle-strong, laden with the unfamiliar
fragrances. At left and right, the black cliffs fell sheer
to the forest edge.

"Listen !" Jim caught my arm.

At first only a faint tapping, then louder and louder,
we heard from far away the beating of drums, scores of
drums, in a strange staccato rhythm—shrill, mocking,
jeering! But they were no drums of Khalk'ru! In
them was nothing of that dreadful trampling of racing
feet upon a hollow world.

They ceased. As though in answer, and from an
entirely different direction, there was a fanfarade of
trumpets, menacing, warlike. If brazen notes could

curse, these did.
Again the drums broke forth, still mocking, taunting,

defiant.

"Little drums," Jim was whispering. "Drums of——"
He dropped down from the rocks, and I followed.
The barrier led to the east, dipping steadily downward.
We followed its base. It stood like a great wall between
us and the valley, barring our vision. We heard the
drums no more. We descended five hundred feet at
least before the barrier ended. At its end was another
rock slide like that down which the rifles and pack had
fallen.

We stood studying it. It descended at an angle of
about forty-five degrees, and while not so smooth as the
other, it had few enough foot-holds.

The air had steadily grown warmer. I'; was not an
uncomfortable heat; there was a queer tingling life about
it, an exhalation of the crowding forest or of the valley
itself, I thought. It gave me a feeling of rampant, reck-
less life, a heady exaltation. The pack had grown tire-
some. If we were to negotiate the slide, and there
seemed nothing else to do, I couldn't very well carry it.
I unslung it.

"Letter of introduction" I said, and sent it slithering
down the rock.

"Breathe deep and slow, you poor ass," said Jim, and
laughed.

His eyes were bright; he looked happy, like a man
from whom some burden of fear and doubt has fallen.
He looked, in fact, as I had felt when I had taken up
that challenge of the unknown not so long before. And
I wondered.

The slithering pack gave a little leap, and dropped
completely out of sight. Evidently the slide did not go
all the way to the valley floor, or, if so, it continued at a
sharper angle at the point of the pack's disappearance.

I let myself over cautiously, and began to worm down
the slide flat on my belly, Jim following. We had
negotiated about three-quarters of it when I heard him
shout. Then bis falling body struck me. I caught him
with one hand, but it broke my own precarious hold.
We went rolling down the slide and dropped into space.
I felt a jarring shock, and abruptly went completely out.

CHAPTER VII

THE LITTLE PEOPLE

I CAME to myself to find Jim pumping the breath
back into me. I was lying on something soft. I
moved my legs gingerly, and sat up. I looked around.
We were on a bank of moss—in it, rather, for the tops
of the moss were a foot or more above my head. It was
an exceedingly overgrown moss, I thought, staring at it
stupidly. I had never seen moss as big as this. Had I
shrunk, or was it really so overgrown ? Above me was
a hundred feet of almost sheer cliff. Said Jim :

"Well, we're here."
"How did we get here ?" I asked, dazed. He pointed

to the cliff.

"We fell down that. We struck a ledge. You did,
rather. I was on top. It bumped us right out on this
nice big moss mattress. I was still on top. That's why
I've been pumping breath back into you for the last
five minutes. Sorry, Leif, but if it had been the other
way about, you'd certainly have had to proceed on your
pilgrimage alone. I haven't your resilience."

He laughed. I stood up, and looked about us. The
bed of giant moss on which we had landed formed a
mound between us and the forest. At the base of the difi
was piled the debris of the fall that had made the slide.
I looked at these rocks and shivered. If we had struck
them we would have been a jumble of broken bones and
mangled flesh. I felt myself over. I was intact.

"Everything, Indian," I said piously, "is always for
the best."

"God, Leif! You had me worried for awhile !" He
turned abruptly. "Look at the forest."

The mound of moss was a huge and high oval, hemmed
almost to the base of the cliffs by gigantic trees. They
were somewhat like the sequoias of California, and quite
as high. Their crowns towered ; their enormous boles
were columns carved by Titans. Beneath them grew
graceful ferns, tall as palm trees, and curious conifers
with trunks thin as bamboos, scaled red and yellow.
Over them, hanging from the boles and branches of the
trees, were vines and dusters of flowers of every shape
and colour; there were cressets of orchids, and chan-
deliers of lilies; strange symmetrical trees, the tips of
whose leafless branches held up flower cups as though
they were candelabra; chimes of flower bells swayed
from boughs and there were long ropes and garlands of
small starry flowers, white and crimson and in all the
blues of the tropic seas. Bees dipped into them. There
was a constant flashing of great dragon-fUes all in lac-
quered mail of green and scarlet. And mysterious shadows
drifted through the forest, like the shadows of the wings
of hovering unseen guardians.

It was no forest of the Carboniferous Age, at least none
such as I had ever seen reconstructed by science. It
was a forest of enchantment. Out of it came heady
fragrances. Nor was it, for all its strangeness, in the
least sinister, or forbidding. It was very beautiful.
. Jim said:

"The woods of the gods ! Anything might live in a
place like that. Anything that is lovely——"

Ah, Tsantawu, my brother—had that but been true !

All I said was :

"It's going to be damned hard to get through."

"I was thinking that," he answered.  "Maybe the
best thing is to skirt the cliffs. We may run across easier
going farther on. Which way—right or left ?"

We tossed a coin. The coin spun right. I saw the
pack not far away, and walked over to retrieve it. The
moss was as unsteady as a double spring-mattress. I
wondered how it came to be there ; thought that prob-
ably a few of the giant trees had been felled by the rock
fall and the moss had fed upon their decay. I slung the
pack over my shoulders, and we tramped, waist-deep in
the spongy growth, to the cliffs.

We skirted the cliffs for about a mile. Sometimes the
forest pressed so closely that we had trouble clinging
to the rock. Then it began to change. The giant trees
retreated. We entered a brake of the immense ferns.
Except for the bees and the lacquered dragon-flies, there
was no sign of life amid the riotous vegetation. We
passed out of the ferns and into a most singular small
meadow. It was almost like a clearing. At each side
were the ferns; the forest formed a palisade at one end;

at the other was a sheer cliff whose black face was
spangled with large cup-shaped white flowers which hung
from short, reddish, rather repellantly snake-like vines
whose roots I supposed were fixed in crevices in the

rock.

No trees or ferns of any kind grew in the meadow.
It was carpeted by a lacy grass upon whose tips were
minute blue flowerlets. From the base of the cliff arose
a thin veil of steam which streamed up softly high in
air, bathing the cup-shaped white blossoms.

A boiling spring, we decided. We drew closer to

examine it.

We heard a wailing—despairing, agonized. . . .
Like the wail of a heart-broken, tortured child, yet
neither quite human nor quite animal. It had come from
the cliff, from somewhere behind the veils of steam. We
stopped short, listening.  The wailing began again,
within it something that stirred the very depths of pity,
and it did not cease. We ran toward the cliff. The steam

curtain at its base was dense. We skirted it and reached
its farther end.

At the base of the cliff was a long and narrow pool,
like a small dosed stream. Its water was black and
bubbling, and from these bubbles came the steam. From
end to end of the boiling pool, across the face of the
black rock, ran a yard-wide ledge. Above it, spaced at
regular intervals, were niches cut within the cliff, small
as cradles.

In two of these niches, half-within them and half-
upon the ledge, lay what at first glance seemed two
children. They were . outstretched upon their backs,
their tiny hands and feet fastened to the stone by staples
of bronze. Their hair streamed down their sides ; their
bodies were stark naked.

And now I saw that they were not children. They
were mature—a little man and a little woman.   The
woman had twisted her head and was staring at the other
pygmy. It was she who was wailing. She did not see
us. Her eyes were intent upon him. He lay rigid, his
eyes dosed. Upon his breast, over his heart, was a black •
corrosion, as though acid had been dropped upon it.

There was a movement on the cliff above him. One
of the cup-shaped white flowers was there. Could it
have been that which had moved ? It hung a foot above
the little man's breast, and on its scarlet pistils was a
slowly gathering drop which I took for nectar.

It had been the flower whose movement had caught
my eye! As I looked the reddish vine trembled. It
writhed like a sluggish worm an inch down the rock.
The flower shook its cup as though it were a mouth
trying to shake loose the gathering drop. And the flower
mouth was directly over the little man's heart and the
black corrosion on his breast.

I stepped out upon the narrow path, reached up and
grasped the vine and tore it loose. It squirmed in my

hand like a snake. Its roots dung to my fingers, and
like a snake's head the flower raised itself as though to
strike. Its rim was thick and fleshy, like a round white
mouth. The drop of nectar fell upon my hand and a
fiery agony bit into it, running up my arm like a flame.
I hurled the squirming thing into the boiling pool.

Close above the little woman was another of the
crawling vines. I tore it loose as I had the other. It,
too, strove to strike me with its head of flower, but either
there was none of that dreadful nectar in its cup, or it
missed me. I threw it after the other.

I bent over the little man. His eyes were open; he
was glaring up at me. Like his skin, his eyes were yellow,
tilted, Mongolian. They seemed to have no pupils, and
they were not wholly human ; no more than had been
the wailing of his woman. There was agony in them,
and there was bitter hatred. His gaze wandered to my
hair, and I saw amazement banish the hatred.

The flaming torment of my hand and arm was almost
intolerable. By it, I knew what the pygmy must be
suffering. I tore away the staples that fettered him. I
lifted the little man, and passed him over to Jim. He
weighed no more than a baby.

I snapped the staples from the slab on which lay the
little woman. There was no fear nor hatred in her eyes.
They were filled with wonder and unmistakable grati-
tude. I carried her over and set her beside her man.

I looked back, up the face of the black cliff. There
was movement all over it; the reddish ropes of the
vines writhing, the white flowers swaying, raising and
lowering their cups.

It was rather hideous. ...

The little man lay quietly, yellow eyes turning front
me to Jim and back to me again. The woman spoke, in
trilling, bird-like syllables. She darted away across the
meadow, into the forest.

Jim was staring down upon the golden pygmy like a
man in a dream. I heard him whisper :

"The Yunwi Tsundi'! The Little People ! It was all
true then ! All true !"

The little woman came running out of the fern brake.
Her hands were full of thick, heavily veined leaves. She
darted a look at me, as of apology. She bent over her
man. She- squeezed some of the leaves over his breast.
A milky sap streamed through her fingers and dropped
upon the black, corroded spot. It spread over the spot
like a film. The little man stiffened and groaned, relaxed
and lay still.

The little woman took my hand. Where the nectar
had touched, the skin had turned black. She squeezed
the juice of the leaves upon it. A pang, to which all the
torment that had gone before was nothing, ran through
hand and arm. Then, almost instantly, there was no
pain.

I looked at the little man's breast. The black cor-
rosion had disappeared.  There was a wound like an
add burn, red and normal. I looked at my hand.
It was inflamed, but the blackness was no longer
there.

The little woman bowed before me. The little man
arose. He looked at my eyes and ran his gaze along my
bulk. I watched suspicion grow, and the return of bitter
hate. He spoke to his woman. She answered at some
length, pointing to the cliff, to my inflamed hand, and to
the ankles and wrists of both of them. The little man
"beckoned to me; by gesture asked me to bend down to
him. I did, and he touched my yellow hair; he ran it
through his tiny fingers. He laid his hand on my
heart . . . then laid his head on my heart, listening
to its beat.

He struck me with his small hand across my mouth.
It was no blow; I knew it for a caress.

The little man smiled at me, and trilled. I could not
understand, and shook my head helplessly. He looked
up at Jim and trilled another question. Jim tried him
in the Cherokee. This time it was the little man who
shook his head. He spoke again to his woman. Clearly
I caught the word ev-ah-lee in the bird-like sounds. She
nodded.

Motioning us to follow, they ran across the meadow,
toward the further brake of fern. How little they were—
hardly to my thighs. They were beautifully formed.
Their long hair was chestnut brown, fine and silky. Their
hair floated behind them like cobwebs.

They ran like small deer. We were hard put to keep
up with them. They entered the fern brake toward
which we had been heading, and here they slowed their
pace. On and on we went through the giant ferns. I
could see no path, but the golden pygmies knew their
way.

We came out of the ferns. Before us was a wide sward
covered with the flowerets whose blue carpet ran to the
banks of a wide river, to the banks of a strange river,
a river all milky white, over whose placid surface hovered
swirls of opalescent mist. Through the swirls I caught
glimpses of green, level plains upon the white river's
further side, and of green scarps.

The little man halted. He bent his ear to the ground.
He leaped back into the brake, motioning us to follow.
In a few minutes we came across a half-ruined watch
tower. Its entrance gaped open. The pygmies slipped
within it, beckoning.

Inside the tower was a crumbling flight of stones
leading to its top. The little man and woman danced
up them, with us close behind them. There was a small
chamber at the tower's top through the chinks of whose
stones the green light streamed. I peered through one
of the crevices, down upon the blue sward and the white

river. I heard the faint trampling of horses' feet and
the low chanting of women; closer they drew, and
closer.

A woman came riding down the blue sward. She was
astride a great black mare. She wore, like a hood, the
head of a white wolf. Its pelt covered her shoulders and
back. Over that silvery pelt her hair fell in two thick
braids of flaming red. Her high, round breasts were bare,
and beneath them the paws of the white wolf were
clasped like a girdle. Her eyes were blue as the corn-
flower and set wide apart under a broad, low forehead.
Her skin was milky-white flushed with soft rose. Her
mouth was full-lipped, crimson, and both amorous and
cruel.

. She was a strong woman, tall almost as I. She was
like a Valkyrie, and like those messengers of Odin she
carried on her saddle before her, held by one arm, a
body. But it was no soul of a slain warrior snatched up
for flight to Valhalla. It was a girl. A girl whose arms
were bound to her sides by stout thongs, with head bent
hopelessly on her breast. I could not see her face; it
was hidden under the veil of her hair. But the hair was
russet red and her skin as fair as that of the woman who
held her.

Over the Wolf-woman's head flew a snow-white
falcon, dipping and circling and keeping pace with her
as she rode.

Behind her rode a half-score other women, young and
strong-thewed, pink-skinned and blue-eyed, their hair
of copper-red, rust-red, bronzy-red, plaited around
their heads or hanging in long braids down their shoulders.
They were bare-breasted, kirtled and buskined. They
carried long, slender spears and small round targes. And
they, too, were like Valkyries, each of them a shield-
maiden of the Aesir. As they rode, they sang, softly,
muted, a strange chant.

The Wolf-woman and her captive passed around a
bend of the sward and out of sight. The chanting women
followed and were hidden.

There was a gleam of silver from the white falcon's
wing as it circled and dropped, circled and dropped.
Then it, too, was gone.

CHAPTER VIII

EVALIE

THE golden pygmies hissed; their yellow eyes
were molten with hatred.

The little man touched my hand, talking in the rapid
trilling syllables, and pointing over the white river.
Clearly he was telling me we must cross it. He stopped,
listening. The little woman ran down the broken stairs.
The little man twittered angrily, darted to Jim, beat at
his legs with his fists as though to arouse him, then shot
after the woman.

"Snap out of it, Indian !" I said, impatiently. "They
want us to hurry."

He shook his head, like a man shaking away the last
cobwebs of some dream.

We sped down the broken steps. The little man was
waiting for us; or at least he had not run away, for, if
waiting for us, he was doing so, in a most singular manner.
He was dancing in a small circle, waving his arms and
hands oddly, and trilling a weird melody upon four notes,
repeated over and over in varying progressions. The
woman was nowhere in sight.

A wolf howled. It was answered by other wolves
farther away in the flowered forest—like a hunting pack
whose leader has found the scent.

The little woman came racing through the fem brake ;

the little man stopped dancing. Her hands were filled
with small purplish fruits resembling fox-grapes. The
little man pointed toward the white river, and they set
off through the screening brake of ferns. We followed.

We came out of the brake, crossed the blue sward and
stood on the bank of the river.

The howl of the wolf sounded again, answered by the
others, and closer.

The little man leaped upon me, twittering frantically;

he twined his legs about my waist and strove to tear my
shirt from me. The woman was trilling at Jim, waving
in her hands the bunches of purple fruit.

"They want us to take off our clothes," said Jim.
"They want us to be quick about it."

We stripped, hastily. There was a crevice in the bank
into which I pushed the pack. Quickly we rolled up our
clothes and boots, and threw a strap around them and
slung them over our shoulders.

The little woman threw a handful of the purple fruit to
her man. She motioned Jim to bend, and as he did so
she squeezed the berries over his head and hands, his
breasts and thighs and feet. The little man was doing
the same for me. The fruit had an oddly pungent odour
that made my eyes water.

I straightened up and looked out over the-white river.

The head of a serpent broke through its milky surface;

then another and another. Their heads were as large as
those of the anaconda, and were scaled in vivid emerald.
They were crested by brilliant green spines which con-
tinued along their backs and were revealed as they
swirled and twisted in the white water. Quite definitely,
I did not like plunging into that water, but now I thought
I knew the purpose of our anointing, and that most cer-
tainly the golden pygmies intended us no harm. And
just as certainly, I assumed, they knew what they were
about.

The howling of the wolves came once more, not only
much nearer, but from the direction along which had
gone the troop of women.

The little man dived into the water, motioning me to

follow. I obeyed, and heard the small splash of the
woman and the louder one of Jim. The little man
glanced back at me, nodded, and began to swim across
like an eel, at a speed that I found difficult to emulate.

The crested serpents did not molest us. Once I felt
the slither of scales across my loins; once I shook the
water from my eyes to find one of them swimming beside

me, matching in play my speed, or so it seemed ; racing
me.

The water was warm, as warm as the milk it resembled,
and curiously buoyant. The river at this point was about
a thousand feet wide. I had covered half of it when I
heard a shrill shriek and felt the buffeting of wings about
my head. I rolled over, beating up with my hands to
drive off whatever it was that had attacked me.

It was the white falcon of the Wolf-woman, hover-
ing, dropping, rising again, threshing me with its
pinions!

I heard a cry from the bank, a bell-like contralto,
vibrant, imperious—in archaic Uighur:

"Come back ! Come back. Yellow-hair!"

I swung round to see. The falcon ceased its bufferings.
Upon the farther bank was the Wolf-woman upon her
great black mare, the captive girl still clasped in her
ann. The Wolf-woman's eyes were like sapphire stars,
her free hand was raised in summons.

And all around her, heads lowered, glaring at me with
eyes as green as hers were blue, was a pack of snow-white
wolves!

"Come back !" she cried again.

She was very beautiful—the Wolf-woman. It would
not have been hard to have obeyed. But no—she was
not a Wolf-woman! What was she ? Into my mind
came a Uighur word, an ancient word that I had not
blown I knew. She was the Salur'da—the Witch-
woman. And with it came angry resentment of her

summons. Who was she—the Salur'da—to command
me ! Me, Dwayanu, who in olden time long forgot
would have had her whipped with scorpions for such
insolence !

I raised myself high above the white water.

"Back to your den, Salur'da!" I shouted. "Does
Dwayanu come to your call ? When I summon you,
then see that you obey !"

She stared at me, stark amazement in her eyes; the
strong arm that held the girl relaxed so that the captive
almost dropped from the mare's high pommel. I struck
out across the water to the farther shore.

I heard the Witch-woman whistle. The falcon circling
round my head screamed, and flew. I heard the white
wolves snarling; I heard the thud of the black mare's
hoofs racing over the blue sward. I reached the bank
and climbed it. Only then did I turn. Witch-woman,
falcon and white wolves—all of them were gone.

Across my wake the emerald-headed, emerald-crested
serpents swam and swirled and dived.

The golden pygmies had climbed upon the bank.

Jim asked:

"What did you say to her ?"

"The Witch-woman comes to my call—not I to hers,"
I answered, and wondered as I did so what it was that
compelled the words.

"Still very much—Dwayanu, aren't you, Leif ? What
touched the trigger on you this time ?"

"I don't know." The inexplicable resentment against
the woman was still strong, and, because I could not
understand it, irritating to a degree. "She ordered me
to come back, and a little fire-cracker went off in my
brain. Then I—I seemed to know her for what she is,
and that her command was rank insolence. I told her
so. She was no more surprised by what I said than I
am. It was like someone else speaking. It was like—"

I hesitated—"well, it was like when I started that cursed
ritual and couldn't stop."

He nodded, then began to put on his clothes. I
followed suit. They were soaking wet. The pygmies
watched us wriggle into them with frank amazement. I
noticed that the angry red around the wound on the
little man's breast had paled, and that while the wound
itself was raw, it was not deep and had already begun to
heal. I looked at my own hand; the red had almost
disappeared, and only a slight tenderness betrayed where
the nectar had touched it.

When we had laced our boots, the golden pygmies
trotted off, away from the river toward a line of cliffs
about a mile ahead. The vaporous green light half hid
them, as it had wholly hidden our view to the north when
we had first looked over the valley. For half the distance
the ground was level and covered with the blue flowered
grass. Then ferns began, steadily growing higher. We
came upon a trail little wider than a deer path which
threaded into a greater brake. Into this we turned.

We had eaten nothing since early morning, and I
thought regretfully of the pack I had left behind. How-
ever, it is my training to eat heartily when I can, and
philosophically go without when I must. So I tightened
my belt and glanced back at Jim, close upon my heels.

"Hungry ?" I asked.

"No. Too busy thinking."

"Indian—what brought the red-headed beauty back ?"

"The wolves. Didn't you hear them howling after
her ? They found our track and gave her the signal."

"I thought so—but it's incredible ! Hell—then she is
a Witch-woman."

"Not because of that. You're forgetting your Mowgli
and the Grey Companions. Wolves aren't hard to train.
But she's a Witch-woman, nevertheless. Don't hold
back Dwayanu when you deal with her, Leif."

The little drums again began to beat. At first only a
few, then steadily more and more until there were scores
of them. This time the cadences were lilting, gay,
tapping out a dancing rhythm that lifted all weariness.
They did not seem far away. But now the ferns were
high over our heads and impenetrable to the sight, and
the narrow path wove in and out among them like a
meandering stream

The pygmies hastened their pace. Suddenly the trail
came out of the ferns, and the pair halted. In front of
us the ground sloped sharply upward for three or four
hundred feet. The slope, except where the path ran,
was covered from bottom to top with a tangle of thick
green vines studded along all their lengths with wicked
three-inch thorns; a living chaweux-de-frise which no
living creature would penetrate. At the end of the path
was a squat tower of stone, and from this came the glint
of spear-heads.

In the tower a shrill-voiced drum chattered an unmis-
takable alarm. Instantly the lilting drums were silent.
The same shrill chatter was taken up and repeated from
point to point, diminishing in the far distance ; and now
I saw that the slope was like an immense circular forti-
fication, curving far out toward the unbroken palisade of
the giant ferns, and retreating at our right toward the
sheer wall of black cliff, far away. Everywhere upon it
was the thicket of thorn.

The little man twittered to his woman, and walked up
the trail toward the tower. He was met by other pygmies
streaming out of it. The little woman stayed with us,
nodding and smiling and patting our knees reassur-
ingly.

Another drum, or a trio of them, began to beat from
the tower. I thought there were three because their
burden was on three different notes, soft, caressing, yet
far-carrying. They sang a word, a name, those drums,

as plainly as though they had lips, the name I had heard
in the trilling of the pygmies. . . .

Ev-ah-lee. . . Ev-ah-lee . . . Ev-ah-lee . . . Over and
over and over. The drums in the other towers were silent.

The little man beckoned us. We went forward, avoid-
ing with difficulty the thorns. We came to the top of
the path beside the small tower. A score of the little
men stepped out and barred our way. None was taller
than the one I had saved from the white flowers. All
had the same golden skin, the same half-animal yellow
eyes; like his, their hair was long and silky, floating
almost to their tiny feet, They wore twisted loin-cloths
of what appeared to be cotton ; around their waists were
broad girdles of silver, pierced like lace-work in intricate
designs. Their spears were wicked weapons for all their
apparent frailty, long-handled, hafted in some black
wood, and with foot-deep points of red metal, and barbed
like a muskalonge hook from tip to base. Swung on
their backs were black bows with long arrows barbed in
similar manner; and in their metal girdles were slender
sickle-shaped knives of the red metal, like scimitars of
gnomes.

They stood staring at us, like small children. They
made me feel as Gulliver must have felt among the Lili-
putians. Also, there was that about them which gave
me no desire to tempt them to use their weapons. They
looked at Jim with curiosity and interest and with no
trace of unfriendliness. They looked at me with little
faces that grew hard and fierce. Only when their eyes
roved to my yellow hair did I see wonder and doubt
lighten suspicion—but they never dropped the points of
the spears turned toward me.

Ev-ah-lee . . . Ev-ah-lee . . . Ev-ah-lee . . . sang
the drums.

There was an answering roll from beyond, and they
were silent.

I heard a sweet, low-pitched voice at the other side of
the tower trilling the bird-like syllables of the Little
People——

And then—I saw Evalie.

Have you watched a willow bough swaying in spring
above some clear sylvan pool, or a slender birch dancing
with the wind in a secret woodland and covert, or the
flitting green shadows in a deep forest glade which are
dryads half-tempted to reveal themselves ? I thought of
them as she came toward us.

She was a dark girl, and a tall girl. Her eyes were
brown under long black lashes, the clear brown of the
mountain brook in autumn; her hair was black, the
jetty hair that in a certain light has a sheen of darkest
blue. Her face was small, her features certainly neither
classic nor regular—the brows almost meeting in two
level lines above her small, straight nose ; her mouth was
large but finely cut, and sensitive. Over her broad, low
forehead the blue-black hair was braided like a coronal
Her skin was clear amber. Like polished fine amber it
shone under the loose, yet clinging, garment that clothed
her, knee-long, silvery, cobweb fine and transparent.
Around her hips was the white loin-cloth of the Little
People. Unlike them, her feet were sandalled.

But it was the grace of her that made the breath catch
in your throat as you looked at her, the long flowing line
from ankle to shoulder, delicate and mobile as the curve
of water flowing over some smooth breast of rock, a
liquid grace of line that changed with every move-
ment.

It was that—and the life that bumed in her like the
green flame of the virgin forest when the kisses of spring
are being changed for the warmer caresses of summer. I
knew now why the old Greeks had believed in the dryads,
the naiads, the nereids—the woman souls of trees, of
brooks and waterfalls and fountains, and of the waves.

I could not tell how old she was—hers was the pagan
beauty which knows no age.

She examined me, my clothes and boots, in manifest
perplexity; she glanced at Jim, nodded, as though to
say there was nothing in him to be disturbed about;

then turned back to me, studying me. The small soldiers
ringed her, their spears ready.

The little man and his woman had stepped forward.
They were both talking at once, pointing to his breast,
to my hand, to my yellow hair. The girl laughed, drew
the little woman to her and covered her lips with a hand.
The little man went on trilling and twittering.

Jim had been listening with a puzzled intensity when-
ever the girl had done the talking. He caught my arm.

"It's Cherokee they're speaking ! Or something like
it— Listen . . . there was a word ... it sounded
like 'Yun'-wini'giski' ... it means 'Man-eaters'. Liter-
ally, "They eat people' ... if that's what it was . . .
and look . . . he's showing how the vines crawled down
the cliffs. . . ."

The girl began speaking again. I listened intently.
The rapid enunciation and the trilling made understand-
ing difficult, but I caught sounds that seemed familiar—
and now I heard a combination that I certainly knew.

"It's some kind of Mongolian tongue, Jim. I got a
word just then that means 'serpent-water' in a dozen
different dialects."

"I know—she called the snake 'aha'nada' and the
Cherokees say 'inadu'—but it's Indian, not Mongolian."

"It might be both. The Indian dialects are Mon-
golian. Maybe it's the ancient mother-tongue. If we
could only get her to speak slower, and tune down on the
trills."

"It might be that. The Cherokees called themselves
'the oldest people' and their language 'the first speech'—
wait——"

He stepped forward, hand upraised; he spoke the
word which in the Cherokee means, equally, friend or one
who comes with good intentions. He said it several
times. Wonder and comprehension crept into the girl's
eyes. She repeated it as he had spoken it, then turned
to the pygmies, passing the word on to them—and
I could distinguish it now plainly within the trills
and pipings.   The pygmies came closer, staring up
at Jim.

He said, slowly : "We come from outside. We know
nothing of this place. We know none within it."

Several times he had to repeat this before she caught
it. She looked gravely at him, and at me doubtfully—
yet as one who would like to believe. She answered
haltingly.

"But Sri"—she pointed to the little man—"has said
that in the water he spoke the tongue of evil."

"He speaks many tongues," said Jim—then to me:

"Talk to her. Don't stand there like a dummy, admiring
her. This girl can think—and we're in a jam. Your
looks make no hit with the dwarfs, Leif, in spite of what
you did."

"Is it any stranger that I should have spoken that
tongue than that I now speak yours, Evalie ?" I said.
And asked the same question in two of the oldest dialects
of the Mongolian that I knew. She studied me, thought-
fully.

"No," she said at last—"no; for I, too, know some-
thing of it, yet that does not make me evil."

And suddenly she smiled, and trilled some command
to the guards. They lowered their spears, regarding me
with something of the friendly interest they had showed
toward Jim. Within the tower, the drums began to roll
a cheerful tattoo. As at a signal, the other unseen drums
which the shrill alarm had silenced, resumed their lilting
rhythm.

The girl beckoned us. We walked behind her, the
little soldiers ringing us, between a portcullis of thorn
and the tower.

We passed over the threshold of the Land of the Little
People and of Evalie.

CHAPTER IX

THE green light that filled the Shadowed-land was
darkening. As the green forest darkens at dusk.
The sun must long since have dipped beneath the peaks
circling that illusory floor which was the sky of the
Shadowed-land. Yet here the glow faded slowly, as
though it were not wholly dependent upon the sun, as
though the place had some luminosity of its own.

We sat beside the tent of Evalie. It was pitched on a
rounded knoll not far from the entrance of her lair within
the cliff. All along the base of the cliff were the lairs of
the Little People, tiny openings through which none
larger than they could creep into the caves that were
their homes, their laboratories, their workshops, their
storehouses and granaries, their impregnable fortresses.

It had been hours since we had followed her over the
plain between the watch-tower and her tent. The golden
pygmies had swarmed from every side, curious as chil-
dren, chattering and trilling, questioning Evalie, twitter-
ing her answers to those on the outskirts of the crowd.
Even now there was a ring of them around the base of
the knoll, dozens of little men and little women, staring
up at us with their yellow eyes, chirping and laughing.
In the arms of the women were babies like tiniest dolls,
and like larger dolls were the older children who clustered
at their knees.

Child-like, their curiosity was soon satisfied; they
went back to their occupations and their play. Others,
curiosity not yet quenched, took their places.

I watched them dancing upon the smooth grass. They
danced in circling measures to the lilting rhythm of their
drums. There were other knolls upon the plain, larger

and smaller than that on which we were, and all of them
as rounded and as symmetrical. Around and over them
the golden pygmies danced to the throbbing of the little
drums.

They had brought us little loaves of bread, and oddly
sweet but palatable milk and cheese, and unfamiliar
delicious fruits and melons. I was ashamed of the num-
ber of platters I had cleaned. The little people had only
watched, and laughed, and urged the women to bring me
more. Jim said, laughingly :

"It's the food of the Yunwi Tsundsi you're eating.
Fairy food, Leif!  You can never eat mortal food
again."

I looked at Evalie, and at the wine and amber beauty
of her. Well, I could believe Evalie had been brought
up on something more than mortal food.

I studied the plain for the hundredth time. The slope
on which stood the squat towers was an immense semi-
circle, the ends of whose arcs met the black cliffs. It
must enclose, I thought, some twenty square miles.
Beyond the tbomed vines were the brakes of the giant
fern; beyond them, on the other side of the river, I
could glimpse the great trees. If there were forests on
this side, I could not tell. Nor what else there might be
of living things. There was something to be guarded
against, certainly, else why the fortification, the defences ?

Whatever else it might be, this guarded land of the
golden pygmies was a small Paradise, with its stands of
grain, its orchards, its vines and berries and its green
fields.

I thought over what Evalie had told us of herself, care-
fully and slowly tuning down the trilling syllables of the
little people into vocables we could understand. It waa
an ancient tongue she spoke—one whose roots struck far
deeper down in the soil of Time than any I knew, unless
it were the archaic Uighur itself. Minute by minute I

found myself mastering it with ever greater ease, but not
so rapidly as Jim. He had even essayed a few trills, to
the pygmies' delight. More than that, however, they
had understood him. Each of us could follow Evalie's
thought better than she could ours.

Whence had the Little People come into the Shadowed-
land ? And where had they learned that ancient tongue ?
I asked myself that, and answered that as well ask how
it came that the Sumerians, whose great city the Bible
calls Ur of the Chaldees, spoke a Mongolian language.
They, too, were a dwarfish race, masters of strange
sorceries, students of the stars. And no man knows
whence they came into Mesopotamia with their science
full-blown. Asia is the Ancient Mother, and to how
many races she has given birth and watched blown away
in dust none can say.

The transformation of the tongue into the bird-like
speech of the Little People, I thought I understood.
Obviously, the smaller the throat, the higher are the
sounds produced. Unless by some freak, one never hears
a child with a bass voice. The tallest of the Little People
was no bigger than a six-year-old child. They could not,
perforce, sound the gutturals and deeper tones ; so they
had to substitute other sounds. The natural thing, when
you cannot strike a note in a lower octave, is to strike
that same note in a higher. And so they had, and in
time this had developed into the overlying pattern of
trills and pipings, beneath which, however, the essential
structure persisted.

She remembered, Evalie had told us, a great stone
house. She thought she remembered a great water.
She remembered a land of trees which had become "white
and cold". There had been a man and a woman . . .
then there was only the man ... and it was all like
mist. All she truly remembered was the Little People
. . . she had forgotten there had ever been anything else

. . . until we had come. She remembered when she had
been no bigger than the Little People . . . and how
frightened she was when she began to be bigger than they.
The Little People, the Rrrllya—it is the closest I can come
to the trill—loved her ; they did as she told them to do.
They had fed and clothed and taught her, especially the
mother of Sri, whose life I had saved from the Death
Flower. Taught her what ? She looked at us oddly,
and only repeated—"taught me". Sometimes she danced
with the Little People and sometimes she danced for them
—again the oddly secretive, half-amused glance. That
was all. How long ago had she been as small as the
Little People ? She did not know—long and long ago.
Who had named her Evalie ? She did not know.

I studied her, covertly. There was not one thing about
her to give a clue to her race. Foundling, I knew, she
must have been, the vague man and woman her father
and mother. But what had they been—of what country ?
No more than could her lips, did her eyes or hair, colour-
ing or body hint at answer.

She was more changeling than I. A changeling of the
mirage ! Nurtured on food from Goblin Market!

I wondered whether she would change back again into
everyday woman if I carried her out of the Shadowed-
land——

I felt the ring touch my breast with the touch of ice.

Carry her away ! There was Khalk'ru to meet first—
and the Witch-woman !

The green twilight deepened; great fire-flies began to
flash lanterns of pale topaz through the flowering trees;

a little breeze stole over the fern brakes, laden with the
fragrances of the far forest. Evalie sighed.

"You will not leave me, Tsantawu ?"

If he heard her, he did not answer. She turned to me.

"You will not leave me—Leif ?"

"No!" I said . . . and seemed to hear the drums of
Khalk'ru beating down the lilting tambours of the Little
People like far-away mocking laughter.

The green twilight had deepened into darkness, a lumi-
nous darkness, as though a full moon were shining behind
a cloud-veiled sky. The golden pygmies had stilled their
lilting drums; they were passing into their cliff lairs.
From the distant towers came the tap-tap-tap of the
drums of the guards, whispering to each other across the
thorn-covered slopes. The fire-flies' lights were like the
lanterns of a goblin watch; great moths floated by on
luminous silvery wings, like elfin planes.

"Evalie," Jim spoke. "The Yunwi Tsundsi—the
Little People—how long have they dwelt here ?"

"Always, Tsantawu—or so they say."

"And those others—the red-haired women ?"

We had asked her of those women before, and she had
not answered, had tranquilly ignored the matter, but now
she replied without hesitation.

"They are of the Ayjir—it was Lur the Sorceress who
wore the wolfskin. She rules the Ayjir with Yodin the
High Priest and Tibur—Tibur the Laugher, Tibur the
Smith. He is not so tall as you, Leif, but he is broader
of shoulder and girth, and he is strong—strong ! I will
tell you of the Ayjir. Before it was as though a hand
were clasped over my lips—or was it my heart ? But
now the hand is gone.

"The Little People say the Ayjir came riding here long
and long and long ago. Then the Rrrllya held the land
on each side of the river. There were many of the Ayjir

—and many. Far more than now, many men and women
where now are mainly women and few men. They came
as though in haste from far away, or so the little people
say their fathers told them. They were led by a—by a

—I have no word ! It has a name, but that name I will

not speak—no, not even within me ! Yet it has a shape
... I have seen it on the banners that float from the
towers of Karak . . . and it is on the breasts of Lur and
Tibur when they . . ."

She shivered and was silent. A silver-winged moth
dropped upon her hand, lifting and dropping its shining
wings ; gently she raised it to her lips, wafted it away.

"All this the Rrrllya—whom you call the Little People
—did not then know. The Ayjir rested. They began to
build Karak, and to cut within the cliff their temple to—
to what had led them here. They built quickly at first,
as though they feared pursuit; but when none came, they
built more slowly. They would have made my little
ones their servants, their slaves. The Rrrllya would not
have it so. There was war. The Little Ones lay in wait
around Karak, and when the Ayjir came forth, they
killed them ; for the Little Ones know all the—the life of
the plants, and so they know how to make their spears
and arrows slay at once those whom they only touch.
And so, many of the Ayjir died.

"At last a truce was made, and not because the Little
People were being beaten, for they were not. But for
another reason. The Ayjir were cunning; they laid
traps for the little ones, and caught a number. Then this
they did—they carried them to the temple and sacrificed
them to—to that which had led them here. By sevens
they took them to the temple, and one out of each seven
they made watch that sacrifice, then released him to
carry to the Rrrllya the tale of what he had seen.

"The first they would not believe, so dreadful was bffi
story of that sacrifice—but then came the second and
third and fourth with the same story. And a great dread
and loathing and horror fell upon the Little People.
They made a covenant. They would dwell upon this
side of the river ; the Ayjir should have the other. In
return the Ayjir swore by what had led them that never-


more should one of the Little People be given in sacrifice
to—it. If one were caught in Ayjirland, he would be
killed—but not by the Sacrifice. And if any of the Ayjir
should flee Karak, seek refuge among the Rrrllya, they
must kill that fugitive. To all of this, because of that
great horror, the Little People agreed. Nansur was
broken, so none could cross—Nansur, that spanned
Nanbu, the white river, was broken. All boats both of
the Ayjir and the Rrrllya were destroyed, and it was
agreed no more should be built. Then, as further guard,
the Little People took the dalan'usa and set them in
Nanbu, so none could cross by its waters. And so it has
been—for long and long and long."

"Dalan'usa, Evalie—you mean the serpents ?"

"Tlanu'se—the leech," said Jim.

"The serpents—-they are harmless. I think you would
not have stopped to talk to Lur had you seen one of the
dalan'usa, Leif," said Evalie, half-maliciously.

I filed that enigma for further reference.

"Those two we found beneath the death flowers. They
had broken the truce ?"

"Not broken it. They knew what to expect if found,
and were ready to pay. There are plants that grow on
the farther side of white Nanbu—and other things the
Little Ones need, and they are not to be found on this
side. And so they swim Nanbu to get them—the
dalan'usa are their friends—and not often are they caught
there. But this day Lur was hunting a runaway who
was trying to make her way to Sirk, and she crossed their
trail and ran them down, and laid them beneath the
Death Flowers."

"But what had the girl done—she was one of
them?"

"She had been set apart for the Sacrifice. Did you
not see—she was taluli . . . with child . . . ripening for
... for ..."

Her voice trailed into silence.   A chill touched
me.

"But, of course, you know nothing of that," she said.
"Nor will I speak of it—now. If Sri and Sra had found
the girl before they, themselves, had been discovered,
they would have guided her past the dalan'usa—as they
guided you; and here she would have dwelt until the
time came that she must pass—out of herself. She
would have passed in sleep, in peace, without pain . . .
and when she awakened it would have been far from
here . . . perhaps with no memory of it ... free. So
it is that the Little People who love life send forth those
who must—be sent."

She said it tranquilly, with clear eyes, untroubled.

"And are many—sent forth so ?"

"Not many, since few may pass the dalan'usa—yet
many try."

"Both men and women, Evalie ?"

"Can men bear children ?"

"What do you mean by that ?" I asked, roughly
enough ; there had been something in the question that
somehow touched me in the raw.

"Not now," she answered. "Besides, men are few in
Karak, as I told you. Of children born, not one in twenty
is a man child. Do not ask me why, for I do not know."

She arose, stood looking at us dreamily.

"Enough for to-night. You shall sleep in my tent.
On the morrow you shall have one of your own, and the
Little People will cut you a lair in the cliff next mine.
And you shall look on Karak, standing on broken Nansur
—and you shall see Tibur the Laugher, since he always
comes to Nansur's other side when I am there. You
shall see it all ... on the morrow ... or the morrow
after ... or on another morrow. What does it matter,
since every morrow shall be ours, together.   Is it not
so?"

And again Jim made no answer.

"It is so, Evalie," I said.

She smiled at us, sleepily. She turned from us and
floated toward the darker shadow on the cliff which was
the door to her cave. She merged into the shadow, and
was gone.

CHAPTER X

IF A MAN COULD USE ALL HIS BRAIN

THE drums of the sentinel dwarfs beat on softly,
talking to one another along the miles of circling
scarp. And suddenly I had a desperate longing for the
Gobi. I don't know why, but its barren and burning,
wind-swept and sand-swept body was more desirable than
any woman's. It was like strong homesickness. I found
it hard to shake it off. I spoke at last in sheer desperation.
"You've been acting damned queer, Indian."
"Tsi Tsa'lagi—I told you—I'm all Cherokee."
"Tsantawu—It is I, Degata, who speaks to you now."
I had dropped into the Cherokee; he answered:

"What is it my brother desires to know ?"

"What it was the voices of the dead whispered that
night we slept beneath the spruces ? What it was you
knew to be truth by the three signs they gave you. I
did not hear the voices, brother—yet by the blood rite
they are my ancestors as they are yours ; and I have
the right to know their words."

He said : "Is it not better to let the future unroll
itself without giving heed to the thin voices of the dead ?
Who can tell whether the voices of ghosts speak truth ?"

"Tsantawu points his arrow in one direction while his
eyes look the other. Once he called me dog slinking
behind the heels of the hunter. Since it is plain he still
thinks me that . . ."

"No, no, Lief," he broke in, dropping the tribal tongue.
"I only mean I don't know whether it's truth. I know
what Barr would call it—natural apprehensions put
subconsciously in terms of racial superstitions. The
voices—we'll call them that, anyway—said great danger

lay north. The Spirit that was north would destroy them
for ever and for ever if I fell in its hands. They and I
would be 'as though we never had been'. There was
some enormous difference between ordinary death and
this peculiar death that I couldn't understand. But the
voices did. I would know by three signs that they spoke
truth, by Ataga'hi, by Usunhi'yi and by the Yunwi
Tsundi. I could meet the first two and still go back.
But if I went on to the third—it would be too late. They
begged me not to—this was peculiarly interesting, Leif—
not to let them be—dissolved."

"Dissolved!" I exclaimed.  "But—that's the same
word I used. And it was hours after !"

"Yes, that's why I felt creepy when I heard you.
You can't blame me for being a little preoccupied when
we came across the stony flat that was like Ataga'hi,
and more so when we struck the coincidence of the
Shadowed-land, which is pretty much the same as
Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-land. It's why I said if we
ran across the third, the Yunwi Tsundi, I'd take your
interpretation rather than Barr's. We did strike it. And
if you think all those things aren't a good reason for
acting damned queer, as you put it, well—what would
you think a good one ?"

Jim in the golden chains . . . Jim with the tentacle
of that Dark Power creeping, creeping toward him . . .
my lips were dry and stiff . . .

"Why didn't you tell me all that! I'd never have
let you go on !"

"I know it. But you'd have come back, wouldn't
you, old-timer ?"

I did not answer; he laughed.

"How could I be sure until I saw all the signs ?"

"But they didn't say you would be—dissolved," I
clutched at the straw. "They only said there was the
danger."

"That's all."

"And what would I be doing ? Jim—I'd kill you with
my own hand before I'd let what I saw happen in the
Gobi happen to you."

"If you could," he said, and I saw he was sorry he
had said it.

"If I could ? What did they say about me—those
damned ancestors ?"

"Not a damned thing," he answered, cheerfully. "I
never said they did. I simply reasoned that if we went
on, and I was in danger, so would you be. That's all."

"Jim—it isn't all. What are you keeping back ?"

He arose, and stood over me.

"All right. They said that even if the Spirit didn't
get me, I'd never get out. Now you have the whole
works."

"Well," I said, a burden rolling off me, "that's not
so bad. And, as for getting out—that may be as may
be. One thing's sure—if you stay, so do I."

He nodded, absently. I went on to something else
that had been puzzling me.

"The Yunwi Tsundi, Jim, what were they ? You
never told me anything about them that I remember.
What's the legend ?"

"Oh—the Little People," he squatted beside me,
chuckling, wide awake from his abstraction.  "They
were in Cherokee-land when the Cherokees got there.
They were a pygmy race, like those in Africa and Aus-
tralia to-day. Only they weren't blacks. These small
folk fit their description. Of course, the tribes did some
embroidering. They had them copper-coloured and only
two feet high. These are golden-skinned and average
three feet. At that, they may have faded some here and
put on height. Otherwise they square with the accounts—
long hair, perfect shape, drums and all."

He went on to tell of the Little People. They had

lived in caves, mostly in the region now Tennessee and
Kentucky. They were earth-folk, worshippers of life ;

and as such at times outrageously Rabelaisian. They
were friendly toward the Cherokees, but kept rigorously
to themselves and seldom were seen. They frequently
aided those who had got lost in the mountains, especially
children. If they helped anyone, and took him into their
caves, they warned him he mustn't tell where the caves
were, or he would die. And, ran the legends, if he told,
he did die. If anyone ate their food he had to be very
careful when he returned to his tribe, and resume his old
diet slowly, or he would also die.

The Little People were touchy. If anyone followed
them in the woods, they cast a spell on him so that for
days he had no sense of location. They were expert wood
and metal workers, and if a hunter found in the forest
a knife or arrow-head or any kind of trinket, before he
picked it up he had to say: "Little People, I want to
take this". If he didn't ask, he never killed any more
game and another misfortune came upon him.  One
which distressed his wife.

They were gay, the Little People, and they spent
half their time in dancing and drumming. They had
every kind of drum—drums that would make trees fall,
drums that brought sleep, drums that drove to madness,
drums that talked and thunder drums. The thunder
drums sounded just like thunder, and when the Little
People beat on them soon there was a real thunderstorm,
because they sounded so much like the actuality that it
woke up the thunderstorms, and one or more storm was
sure to come poking around to gossip with what it
supposed a wandering member of the family . . .

I remembered the roll of thunder that followed the
chanting; I wondered whether that had been the Little
People's defiance to Khalk'ru. . . .

"I've a question or two for you, Leif."

"Go right ahead, Indian."

"Just how much do you remember of—Dwayanu ?"

I didn't answer at once; it was the question I had
been dreading ever since I had cried out to the Witch-
woman on the white river's bank.

"If you're thinking it over, all right. If you're think-
ing of a way to stall, all wrong. I'm asking for a straight
answer."

"Is it your idea that I'm that ancient Uighur, re-bom ?
If it is, maybe you have a theory as to where I've been
during the thousands of years between this time and
now."

"Oh, so the same idea has been worrying you, has
it ? No, reincarnation isn't what I had in mind. Although
at that, we know so damned little I wouldn't rule it out.
But there may be a more reasonable explanation. That's
why I ask—what do you remember of Dwayanu ?"

I determined to make a clean breast of it.

"All right, Jim," I said. "That same question has
been riding my mind right behind Khalk'ru for three
years. And if I can't find the answer here, I'll go back
to the Gobi for it—if I can get out. When I was in that
room of the oasis waiting the old priest's call, I remem-
bered perfectly well it had been Dwayanu's. I knew
the bed, and I knew the armour and the weapons. I
stood looking at one of the metal caps and I remembered
that Dwayanu—or I—had got a terrific clout with a
mace when wearing it. I took it down, and there was a
dent in it precisely where I remembered it had been
struck. I remembered the swords, and recalled that
Dwayanu—or I—had the habit of using a heavier one
in the left hand than in the right. Well, one of them was
much heavier than the other. Also, in a fight I use my
left hand better than I do my right. These memories,
or whatever they were, came in flashes. For a moment
I would be Dwayanu, plus myself, looking with amused

interest on old familiar things—and the next moment
I would be only myself and wondering, with no amuse-
ment, what it all meant."

"Yes, what else ?"

"Well, I wasn't entirely frank about the ritual matter,"
I said, miserably. "I told you it was as though another
person had taken charge of my mind and gone on with
it. That was true, in a way—but God help me, I knew
all the time that other person was—myself 1 It was
like being two people and one at the same time. It's
hard to make clear . . . you know how you can be
saying one thing and thinking another. Suppose you
could be saying one thing and thinking two things at
once. It was like that. One part of me was in revolt,
horror-stricken, terrified. The other part was none of
those things; it knew it had power and was enjoying
exercising that power—and it had control of my will.
But both were—I. Unequivocally, unmistakably—I.
Hell, man—if I'd really believed it was somebody, some-
thing, besides myself, do you suppose I'd feel the
remorse I do ? No, it's because I knew it was I—the
same part of me that knew the helm and the swords,
that I've gone hag-ridden ever since."

"Anything else ?"

"Yes. Dreams."

He leaned over, and spoke sharply.

"What dreams ?"

"Dreams of battles—dreams of feasts ... a dream
of war against yellow men, and of a battlefield beside a
river and of arrows flying overhead in clouds ... of
hand-to-hand fights in which I wield a weapon like a
huge hammer against big yellow-haired men I know are
like myself . . . dreams of towered cities through
which '*! pass and where white, blue-eyed women toss
garlands down for my horse to trample. . . . When I
wake the dreams are vague, soon lost. But always I

know that while I dreamed them, they were clear, sharp-
cut—real as life. . . ."

"Is that how you knew the Witch-woman was Witch-
woman—through those dreams ?"

"If so, I don't remember. I only knew that suddenly
I recognized her for what she was—or that other self
did."

He sat for a while in silence.

"Leif," he asked, "in those dreams do you ever take
any part in the service of Khalk'ru ? Have anything
at all to do with his worship ?"

"I'm sure I don't. I'd remember that, by God! I
don't even dream of the temple in the Gobi!"

He nodded, as though I had confirmed some thought
in his own mind; then was quiet for so long that I
became jumpy.

"Well, Old Medicine Man of the Tsalagi', what's the
diagnosis ? Reincarnation, demonic possession, or just
crazy ?"

"Leif, you never had any of those dreams before
the Gobi ?"

"I did not."

"Well—I've been trying to think as Barr would, and
squaring it with my own grey matter. Here's the result.
I think that everything you've told me is the doing of
your old priest. He had you under his control when you
saw yourself riding to the Temple of Khalk'ru—and
wouldn't go in. You don't know what else he might have
suggested at that time, and have commanded you to
forget consciously when you came to yourself. That's a
simple matter of hypnotism. But he had another chance
at you. When you were asleep that night. How do you
know he didn't come in and do some more suggesting ?
Obviously, he wanted to believe you were Dwayanu.
He. wanted you to 'remember'—but having had one
lesson, he didn't want you to remember what went on

with Khalk'ru. That would explain why you dreamed
about the pomp and glory and the pleasant things, but
not the unpleasant. He was a wise old gentleman—you
say that yourself. He knew enough of your psychology
to foresee you would balk at a stage of the ritual. So
you did—but he had tied you well up. Instantly the
post-hypnotic command to the subconscious operated.
You couldn't help going on. Although your conscious
self was wide-awake, fully aware, it had no control over
your will. I think that's what Barr would say. And
I'd agree with him. Hell, there are drugs that do all
that to you. You don't have to go into migrations of the
soul, or demons, or any medieval matter to account for it."

"Yes," I said, hopefully but doubtfully. "And how
about the Witch-woman ?"

"Somebody like her in your dreams, but forgotten.
I think the explanation is what I've said. If it is, Leif,
it worries me."

"I don't follow you there," I said.

"No ? Well, think this over. If all these things that
puzzle you come from suggestions the old priest made—
what else did he suggest ? Clearly, he knew something
of this place. Suppose he foresaw the possibility of your
finding it. What would he want you to do when you
did find it ? Whatever it was, you can bet your chances
of getting out that he planted it deep in your subcon-
scious. All right—that being a reasonable deduction,
what is it you will do when you come in closer contact
with those red-headed ladies we saw, and with the happy
few gentlemen who share their Paradise ? I haven't
the slightest idea—nor have you. And if that isn't some-
thing to worry about, tell me what is. Come on—let's
go to bed."

We went into the tent. We had been in it before with
Evalie. It had been empty then except for a pile of soft
pelts and silken stuffs at one side. Now there were two

such piles. We shed our clothes in the pale green dark-
ness and turned in. I looked at my watch.

"Ten o'clock," I said. "How many months since
morning ?"

"At least six. If you keep me awake I'll murder you.
I'm tired."

So was I; but I lay long, thinking. I was not so
convinced by Jim's argument, plausible as it was. Not
that I believed I had been lying dormant in some extra-
spatial limbo for centuries. Nor that I had ever been this
ancient Dwayanu.  There was a third explanation,
although I didn't like it a bit better than than of reincar-
nation ; and it had just as many unpleasant possibilities
as that of Jim's.

Not long ago an eminent American physician and
psychologist had said he bad discovered that the average
man used only about one-tenth of his brain; and
scientists generally agreed he was right. The ablest
thinkers, all-round geniuses, such as Leonardo da Vinci
and Michelangelo were, might use a tenth more. Any
man who could use all his brain could rule the world—
but probably wouldn't want to. In the human skull
was a world only one-fifth explored at the most.

What was in the terra incognita of the brain—the
unexplored eight-tenths ?

Well, for one thing there might be a storehouse of
ancestral memories, memories reaching back to those of
the hairy, ape-like ancestors who preceded man, reaching
beyond them even to those of the ffippered creatures
who crawled out of the ancient seas to begin their march
to men—and further back to their ancestors who had
battled and bred in the steaming oceans when the
continents were being bom.

Millions upon millions of years of memories! What
a reservoir of knowledge if man's consciousness could
but tap it!

There was nothing more unbelievable in this than
that the physical memory of the race could be contained
in the two single cells which start the cycle of birth.
In them are all the complexities of the human body—
brain and nerves, muscles, bone and blood. In them,
too, are those traits we call hereditary—family resem-
blances, resemblances not only of face and body but of
thought, habits, emotions, reactions to environment:

grandfather's nose, great-grandmother's eyes, great-great-
grandfather's irascibility, moodiness or what not. If all
this can be carried in those seven and forty, and eight and
forty, microscopic rods within the birth cells which biolo-
gists call the chromosomes, tiny mysterious gods of birth
who determine from the beginning what blend of ancestors
a boy or girl shall be, why could they not carry, too, the
accumulated experiences, the memories of those ancestors?

Somewhere in the human brain might be a section of
records, each neatly graven with lines of memories, wait-
ing only for the needle of consciousness to run over
them to make them articulate.

Maybe the consciousness did now and then touch and
read them. Maybe there were a few people who by some
freak had a limited power of tapping their contents.

If that were true, it would explain many mysteries.
Jim's ghostly voices, for example. My own uncanny
ability of picking up languages.

Suppose that I had come straight down from this
Dwayanu. And that in this unknown world of my brain,
, my consciousness, that which now was I, could and did
reach in and touch those memories that had been Dway-
anu. Or that those memories stirred and reached my
consciousness ? When that happened—Dwayanu would
awaken and live. And I would be both Dwayanu and
Leif Langdon!

Might it not be that the old priest had known some-
thing of this ? By words and rites and by suggestion,

even as Jim had said, had reached into that terra incognita
and wakened these memories that were—Dwayanu ?

They were strong—those memories. They had not
been wholly asleep; eke I would not have learned so
quickly the Uighur . . . nor experienced those strange,
reluctant flashes of recognition before ever I met the
old priest . . .

Yes, Dwayanu was strong. And in some way I knew
he was ruthless. I was afraid of Dwayanu—of those
memories that once had been Dwayanu. I had no power
to arouse them, and I had no power to control them.
Twice they had seized my will, had pushed me aside.

What if they grew stronger ?

What if they became—all of me ?

CHAPTER XI

DRUMS OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE

SIX times the green light of the Shadowed-land had
darkened into the pale dusk that was its night, and
I had heard nothing, seen nothing of the Witch-woman
or of any of those who dwelt on the far side of the white
river. They had been six days and nights of curious
interest. We had gone with Evalie among the golden
pygmies over all their guarded plain; and we had gone
at will among them, alone.

We had watched them at their work and at their play,
listened to their drumming and looked on in wonder at
their dances—dances so intricate, so extraordinary,
that they were more like complex choral harmonies than
steps and gestures. Sometimes the Little People danced
in small groups of a dozen or so, and then it was like some
simple song. But sometimes they were dancing by the
hundreds, interlaced, over a score of the smooth-turfed
dancing greens; and then it was like symphonies
translated into choreographic measures.

They danced always to the music of their drums;

they had no other music, nor did they need any. The
drums of the Little People were of many shapes and
sizes, in range covering all of ten octaves, and producing
not only the semitones of our own familiar scale, but
quarter and eighth-tones and even finer gradations that
oddly affect the listener—at least, they did me. They
ranged in pitch from the pipe organ's deepest bass to a
high staccato soprano. Some, the pygmies played with
thumbs and fingers, and some with palms of their hands,
and some with sticks. There were drums that whispered,

drums that hummed, drums that laughed, and drums
that sang.

Dances and drums, but especially the drums, were
evocative of strange thoughts, strange pictures; the
drums beat at the doors of another world—and now and
then opened them wide anough to give a glimpse of
fleeting, weirdly beautiful, weirdly disturbing, images.

There must have been between four and five thousand
of the Little People in the approximately twenty square
miles of cultivated, fertile plain enclosed by their wall;

how many outside of it, I had no means of knowing.
There were a score or more of small colonies, Evalie
told us. These were like hunting or mining posts from
which came the pelts, the metals and other things the
horde fashioned to their uses. At Nansur Bridge was a
strong warrior post. Some balance of nature, so far as
I could leam from her, kept them at about the same
constant; they grew quickly into maturity and their
lives were not long.

She told us of Sirk, the city of those who had fled
from the Sacrifice. From her description an impreg-
nable place, built against the cliffs; walled; boiling
springs welling up at the base of its battlements and
forming an impassable moat. There was constant war-
fare between the people of Sirk and the white wolves of
Lur, lurking in the encompassing forest, keeping watch
to intercept those fleeing to it from Karak. I had the
feeling that there was furtive intercourse between Sirk
and the golden pygmies, that perhaps the horror of the
Sacrifice which both shared, and the revolt of those in
Sirk against the worshippers of Khalk'ru was a bond.
And that when they could, the Little People helped
them, and would even join hands with them, were it
not for the deep ancient fear of what might follow should
they break the compact their forefathers had made with
the Ayjir.

It was a thing Evalie said that made me think that.

"If you had turned the other way, Leif—and if you
had escaped the wolves of Lur—you would have come
to Sirk. And a great change might have grown from that,
for Sirk would have welcomed you, and who knows what
might have followed, with you as their leader. Nor
would my Little People then . . ."

She stopped there, nor would she complete the sen-
tence, for all my urging. So I told her there were too
many ifs about the matter, and I was content that the
dice had fallen as they had. It pleased her.

I had one experience not shared by Jim. Its signifi-
cance I did not then recognize. The Little People were
as I have said—worshippers of life. That was their whole
creed and faith. Here and there about the plain were
small cairns, altars in fact, upon which, cut from wood
or stone or fossil ivory, were the ancient symbols of
fertility; sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, and some-
times in a form curiously like that same symbol of the
old Egyptians—the looped cross, the crux ansata which
Osiris, God of the Resurrection, carried in his hand and
touched, in the Hall of the Dead, those souls which had
passed all tests and had earned immortality.

It happened on the third day. Evalie bade me go
with her, and alone. We walked along the well-kept
path that ran along the base of the cliffs in which the
pygmies had their lairs. The tiny golden-eyed women
peeped out at us and trilled to their dolls of children as
we passed. Groups of elders, both men and women, came
dancing toward us and fell in behind us as we went on.
Each and all carried drums of a type I had not yet seen.
They did not beat them, nor did they talk; group by
group they dropped in behind us, silently.

After awhile I noticed that there were no more lairs.
At the end of half an hour we turned a bastion of the
dins. We were at the edge of a small meadow carpeted

with moss, fine and soft as the pile of a silken carpet.
The meadow was peihaps five hundred feet wide and
about as many feet deep. Opposite me was another
bastion. It was as though a rounded chisel had been
thrust down, cutting out a semicircle in the precipice.
At the far end of the meadow was what, at first glance,
I thought a huge domed building, and then saw was an
excrescence from the cliff itself.

In this rounded rock was an oval entrance, not much
larger than an average door. As I stood, wondering,
Evalie took my hand and led me toward it. We went
through it.

The domed rock was hollow.

It was a temple of the Little People—I knew that, of
course, as soon as I had crossed the threshold. Its walls
of some cool, green stone curved smoothly up. It was
not dark within the temple. The rocky dome had been
pierced as though by the needle of a lace-maker, and
through hundreds of the frets light streamed. The walls
caught it, and dispersed it from thousands of crystalline
angles within the stone. The floor was carpeted with
the thick, soft moss, and this was faintly luminous,
adding to the strange pellucid light; it must have
covered at least two acres.

Evalie drew me forward. In the exact centre of the
floor was a depression, like an immense bowl. Between
it and me stood one of the looped-cross symbols, thrice
the height of a tall man. It was polished, and glimmered
as though cut from some enormous amethystine crystal
I glanced behind me. The pygmies who had followed
us were pouring through the oval doorway.

They crowded close behind us as Evalie again took
my hand and led me toward the cross. She pointed, and
I peered down into the bowl.

I looked upon the Kraken !

There it lay, sprawled out within the bowl, black

tentacles spread fanwise from its bloated body, its huge
black eyes staring inscrutably up into mine !

Resurgence of the old horror swept me. I jumped
back with an oath.

The pygmies were crowding around my knees, staring
up at me intently. I knew that my horror was written
plain upon my face. They began an excited trilling,
nodding to one another, gesticulating. Evalie watched
them gravely, and then I saw her own face lighten as
though with relief.

She smiled at me, and pointed again to the bowl. I
forced myself to look. And now I saw that the shape
within it had been cunningly carved. The dreadful,
inscrutable eyes were of jet-like jewel. Through the
end of each of the fifty-foot-long tentacles had been
driven one of the crux ansatas, pinioning it like a spike ;

and through the monstrous body had been driven a
larger one.



I read the meaning: life fettering the enemy of life;

rendering it impotent; prisoning it with the secret,
ancient and holy symbol of that very thing it was bent
upon destroying. And the great looped-cross above—
watching and guarding like the god of life.

I heard a rippling and rustling and rushing from
the drums. On and on it went in quickly increasing
tempo. There was triumph in it—the triumph of onrush-
ing conquering waves, the triumph of the free rushing
wind; and there was peace and surety of peace in it—
like the rippling song of little waterfalls chanting their
faith that "they will go on and on for ever, the rippling of
little waves among the sedges of the river-bank, and the
rustling of the rain bringing life to all the green things
of earth.

Round the amethystine cross Evalie began to dance,
circling it slowly to the rippling, the rustling and the
rushing music of the drums. And she was the spirit of

that song they sang, and the spirit of all those things
of which they sang.

Three times she circled it. She came dancing to me,
took my hand once more and led me away, out through
the portal. From behind us, as we passed through, there
came a sustained rolling of the little drums, no longer
rippling, rustling, rushing—defiant now, triumphal.

But of that ceremony, or of its reasons, or of the
temple itself she would speak no work thereafter,
question her as I might.

And we still had to stand upon Nansur Bridge and
look on towered Karak.

"On the morrow," she would say; and when the
morrow came, again she would say—"on the morrow".
When she answered me, she would drop long lashes over
the clear brown eyes and glance at me from beneath
them, strangely; or touch my hair and say that there
were many morrows and what did it matter on which of
them we went, since Nansur would not run away. There
was some reluctance I could not fathom. And day by
day her sweetness and her beauty wound a web around
my heart until I began to wonder whether it might
become a shield against the touch of what I carried on
my breast.

But the Little People still had their doubts about me.
temple ceremony or none ; that was plain enough. Jim,
they had taken to their hearts ; they twittered and
trilled and laughed with him as though he were one of
them. They were polite and friendly enough to me, but
they watched me. Jim could take up the tiny doll-like
children and play with them. The mothers didn't like
me to do that and showed it very clearly. I received
direct confirmation of how they felt about me that
morning.

"I'm going to leave you for two or three days, Leif,"
he told me when we had finished breakfasting. Evalie

had floated away on some call from her small
folk.

"Going to leave me !" I gaped at him in astonishment.
"What do you mean ? Where are you going ?"

He laughed.

"Going to look at the tlanusi—what Evalie calls the
dalanusa—the big leeches. The river guards she told us
the pygmies put on the job when the bridge was broken."

She had not spoken about them again, and I had
forgotten all about them.

"What are they, Indian ?"

"That's what I'm going to find out. They sound like
the great leech of Tianusi'yi. The tribes said it was red
with white stripes and as big as a house. The Little
People don't go that far. They only say they're as big
as you are."

"Listen, Indian—I'm going along."

"Oh, no, you're not."

"I'd like to know why not."

"Because the Little People won't let you. Now listen .
to me, old-timer—the plain fact is that they're not
entirely satisfied about you. They're polite, and they
wouldn't hurt Evalie's feelings for the world, but—
they'd much rather be without you."

"You're telling me nothing new," I said.

"No, but here is something new. A party that's been
on a hunting trip down the other end of the valley came
in yesterday. One of them remembered his grandfather
had told him that when the Ayjir came riding into this
place they all had yellow hair like yours. Not the red
they have now. It's upset them."

"I thought they'd been watching me pretty damned
dose the last twenty-four hours," I said. "So that's
the reason, is it ?"

"That's the reason, Leif. It's upset them. It's also
the reason for this expedition to the tianusi. They're

going to increase the river guard. It involves some sort
of ceremony, I gather. They want me to go along. I
think it better that I do."

"Does Evalie know all this ?"

"Sure she does. And she wouldn't let you go, even
if the pygmies would."

Jim left with a party of about a hundred of the pygmies
about noon. I bade him a cheerful good-bye. If it
puzzled Evalie that I took his departure so calmly, and
asked her no questions she did not show it. But she was
very quiet that day, speaking mostly in monosyllables
abstractedly. Once or twice I caught her looking at me
with a curious wonder in her eyes. And once I had taken
her hand, and she had quivered and leaned toward me,
and then snatched it away, half-angrily. And once when
she had forgotten her moodiness and had rested against
my shoulder, I had fought hard against taking her in
my arms.

The worst of it was that I could find no cogent argu-
ment why I shouldn't take her. A voice within my
mind was whispering that if I so desired, why should I
not ? And there were other things besides that whisper
which sapped my resistance. It had been a queer day
even for this queer place. The air was heavy, as though
a storm brooded. The heady fragrances from the far
forest were stronger, clinging amorously, confusing. The
vaporous veils that hid the distances had thickened;

at the north they were almost smoke colour, and they
marched slowly but steadily nearer.

We sat, Evalie and I, beside her tent. She broke a
long silence.

"You are sorrowful, Leif—and why ?"

"Not sorrowful, Evalie—just wondering."

"I, too, am wondering. Is it what you wonder ?"

"How do I know—who know nothing of your mind ?"

She stood up, abruptly.

"You like to watch the smiths. Let us go to them."

I looked at her, struck by the anger in her voice. She
frowned down upon me, brows drawn to a straight line
over bright, half-contemptuous eyes.

"Why are you angry, Evalie ? What have I done ?"

"I am not angry. And you have done nothing." She
stamped her foot. "I say you have done—nothing!
Let us watch the smiths."

She walked away. I sprang up, and followed her.
What was the matter with her ? I had done something
to irritate her, that was certain. But what ? Well, I'd
know, sooner or later. And I did like to watch the
smiths. They stood beside their small anvils beating
out the sickled knives, the spear and arrowheads, shaping
the earrings and bracelets of gold for their tiny women.

Tink-a-tink, tink-a-clink, cling-clang, clink-atink—went
their little hammers.

They stood beside their anvils like gnomes, except
that there was no deformity about them. Miniature
men they were, perfectly shaped, gleaming golden in the
darkening light, long hair coiled about their heads,
yellow eyes intent upon their forgings. I forgot Evalie
and her wrath, watching them as ever, fascinated.

Tink-a-tink I Cling-clang ! Clink——

The little hammers hung suspended in air; the little
smiths stood frozen. Speeding from the north came the
horn of a great gong, a brazen stroke that seemed to
break overhead. It was followed by another and another
and another. A wind wailed over the plain; the air
grew darker, the vaporous smoky veils quivered and
marched closer.

The clangour of the gongs gave way to a strong chant-
ing, the singing of many people ; the chanting advanced
and retreated, rose and waned as the wind rose and fell,
rose and fell in rhythmic pulse. From all the walls the
drums of the guards roared warning.

The little smiths dropped their hammers and raced
to the lairs. Over all the plain there was turmoil, move-
ment of the golden pygmies racing to the cliffs and to
the circling slope to swell the garrisons there.

Through the strong chanting came the beat of other
drums. I knew them—the throb of the Uighur kettle-
drums, the war drums. And I knew the chant—it was
the war song, the battle song of the Uighurs.         

Not the Uighurs, no—not the patched and paltry
people I had led from the oasis !                     

War song of the ancient race ! The great race—the 
Ayjir!

The old race ! My people !                        ,
I knew the song—well did I know it! Often and
often had I heard it in the olden days . . . when I
had gone forth to battle . . . By Zarda of the Thirsty"
Spears . . . by Zarda God of Warriors, but it was like
drink to a parched throat to hear it again!             

My blood drummed in my ears ... I opened my 
throat to roar that song ...                      
"Leif ! Leif ! What is the matter ?"              
Evalie's hands were on my shoulders, shaking me|
I glared at her, uncomprehending for a moment. I felt
a strange, angry bafflement. Who was this dark girl

that checked me on my way to war ? And abruptly
the obsession left me. It left me trembling, shaken at
though by some brief wild tempest of the mind. I put
my own hands upon those on my shoulders, drew reality
from the touch. I saw that there was amazement in
Evalie's eyes, and something of fear. And around us
was a ring of the Little People, staring up at me.    
I shook my head, gasping for breath,             
"Leif ! What is the matter ?"                   ^|
Before I could answer, chanting and drums were
drowned in a bellow of thunder. Peal upon peal of
thunder roared and echoed over the plain, beating back.

beating down the sounds from the north—roaring over
them, rolling over them, sweeping them back.

I stared stupidly around me. All along the cliffs were
the golden pygmies, scores of them, beating upon great
drums high as their waists. From those drums came the
pealing of thunder, claps and shattering strokes of the
bolt's swift fall, and the shouting reverberations that
follow it.

The Thunder Drums of the Little People!

On and on roared the drums, yet through their rolling
diapason beat ever the battle chant and those other drums
... like thrusts of lances. . . like trampling of
horses and of marching men . . . by Zarda, but the
old race still was strong. . . .

A ring of the Little People was dancing around me.
Another ring joined them. Beyond them I saw Evalie,
watching me with. wide, astonished eyes. And around
her was another ring of the golden pygmies, arrows at
readiness, sickled knives in hand.

Why was she watching me ... why were the arms
of the Little People turned against me ... and why
were they dancing ? That was a strange dance . . .
it made you sleepy to look at it ... what was this
lethargy creeping over me . . . God, but I was sleepy !
So sleepy that my dull ears could hardly hear the Thunder
Drums ... so sleepy I could hear nothing else . . .
so sleepy . . .

I knew, dimly, that I had dropped to my knees,
then had fallen prone upon the soft turf . . . then
slept.

I awakened, every sense alert. The drums were throb-
bing all around me. Not the Thunder Drums, but drums
that sang, drums that throbbed and sang to some
strange lilting rhythm that set the blood racing through
me in tune and in time with its joyousness. The throb-

bing, singing notes were like tiny, warm, vital blows
that whipped my blood into ecstasy of life.

I leaped to my feet. I stood upon a high knoll, round
as a woman's breast. Over all the plain were lights, small
fires burning, ringing the little altars of the pygmies.
And around the fires the Little People were dancing to
the throbbing drums. Around the fires and the altars
they danced and leaped like little golden flames of life
made animate.

Circling the knoll on which I stood was a triple ring
of the dwarfs, women and men, weaving, twining,
swaying.

They and the burden of the drums were one.

A soft and scented wind was blowing over the knoll.
It hummed as it streamed by—and its humming was
akin to dance and drum.

In and out, and round about and out and in and back
again, the golden pygmies danced around the knoll.
And round and round and back again they circled the
fire-ringed altars.

I heard a sweet low voice singing—singing to the
cadence, singing the song of the drums, singing the
dancing of the Little People.

Close by was another knoll like that on which I was—
like a pair of woman's high breasts they stood above the
plain. It, too, was circled by the dancing dwarfs.

On it sang and danced Evalie.

Her singing was the soul of drum song and dance—
her dancing was the sublimation of both. She danced
upon the knoll—cobweb veils and girdle gone, clothed
only in the silken, rippling cloak of her blue-black hair.

She beckoned, and she called to me—a high-pitched,
sweet call.

The fragrant, rushing wind pushed me toward her
as I ran down the mound.

The dancing pygmies parted to let me through. The

throbbing of the drums grew swifter ; their song swept
into a higher octave.

Evalie came dancing down to meet me . . . she was
beside me, her arms round my neck, her lips pressed
to mine . . .

The drums beat faster. My pulses matched them.

The two rings of little yellow living flames of life
joined. They became one swirling circle that drove us
forward. Round and round and round us they swirled,
driving us on and on to the pulse of the drums. I ceased
to think—drum-throb, drum-song, dance-song were all
of me.

Yet still I knew that the fragrant wind thrust us on
and on, caressing, murmuring, laughing.

We were beside an oval doorway. The silken, scented
tresses of Evalie streamed in the wind and kissed me.
Beyond and behind us sang the drums. And ever the
wind pressed us on. ...

Drums and wind drove us through the portal of the
domed rock.

They drove us into the temple of the Little People. ...

The soft moss glimmered . . . the amethystine cross
gleamed. . . .

Evalie's arms were around my neck . . - I held her
close . . . the touch of her lips to mine was like the
sweet, secret fire of life. . . .

It was silent in the temple of the Little People. Their
drums were silent. The glow of the looped cross above
the pit of the Kraken was dim.

Evalie stirred, and cried out in her sleep. I touched
her lips and she awoke.

"What is the matter, Evalie ?"

"Leif, beloved—I dreamed a white falcon tried to
dip its beak into my heart!"

"It was but a dream, Evalie."

She shuddered; she raised her head and bent over
me so that her hair covered our faces.

"You drove the falcon away—but then a white wolf
came . . . and leaped upon me."

"It was only a dream, Evalie—bright flame of my
heart."

She bent closer to me under the tent of her hair, lips
close to mine.

"You drove the wolf away. And I would have kissed
you . . . but a face came between ours ..."

"A face, Evalie ?"

She whispered:

"The face of Lur! She laughed at me ... and
then you were gone . . . with her . . . and I was
alone. . . ."

"It was a lying dream, that! Sleep, beloved."

She sighed. There was a long silence ; then drowsily:

"What is it you carry round your neck, Leif ? Some-
thing from some woman that you treasure ?"

"Nothing of woman, Evalie. That is truth."

She kissed me—and slept.

Fool that I was not to have told her then, under the
shadow of the ancient symbol. . . . Fool that I was—
I did not!

CHAPTER XII

ON NANSUR BRIDGE

WHEN we went out of the temple into the morning
 there were half a hundred of the elders, men and
women, patiently awaiting our appearance. I thought
they were the same who had followed into the domed
rock when I had first entered it.

The little women clustered around Evalie. They had
brought wraps and swathed her from head to feet. She
walked off among them with never a glance nor a word
for me., There was something quite ceremonial about it
all; she looked for all the world like a bride being led
away by somewhat mature elfin bridesmaids.

The little men clustered around me. Sri was there.
I was glad of that, for, whatever the doubts of the 
others about me, I knew he had none. They bade me
go with them, and I obeyed without question.

It was raining, and it was both jungle-wet and jungle-
warm. The wind was blowing in the regular, rhythmic
gusts of the night before. The rain seemed less to fall
than to condense in great drops from the air about,
except when the wind blew and then the rain drove by
in almost level lines. The air was like fragrant wine.
I felt like singing and dancing. There was thunder all
around—not the drums, but real thunder.

I had been wearing only my shirt and my trousers.
I had discarded my knee-high boots for sandals. It was
only a minute or two before I was soaking wet. We
came to a steaming pool. and there we halted. Sri told
me to strip and plunge in.

The pool was hot and invigorating and as I splashed

around in it I kept feeling better and better. I reflected
that whatever had been in the minds of the Little People
when they had driven Evalie and me into the temple,
their fear of me had been exorcised—for the time at any
rate. But I thought I knew what had been in their minds.
They suspected that Khalk'ru had some hold on me, as
over the people I resembled. Not much of a hold maybe—
but still it was not to be ignored. Very well—the remedy,
since they couldn't kill me without breaking Evalie's
heart, was to spike me down as they had the Kraken
which was Khalk'ru's symbol. So they had spiked me
down with Evalie.

I climbed out of the pool, more thoughtful than I
had gone into it. They wrapped a loin cloth around me,
in curious folds and knots.  Then they trilled and
twittered and laughed, and danced.

Sri had my clothes and belt. I didn't want to lose
them, so when we started off I kept close behind him.
Soon we stopped—in front of Evalie's lair.

After a while there was a great commotion, singing
and beating of drums, and along came Evalie with a
crowd of the little women dancing around her. They
led her to where I was waiting. Then all of them danced

away.

That was all there was to it. The ceremony, if cere-
mony it was, was finished. But, somehow, I felt very
much married.

I looked down at Evalie. She looked up at me,
demurely. Her hair was no longer free, but braided
cunningly around head and ears and neck. The swath-
ings were gone. She wore the little apron of the pygmy
matrons and the silvery cobweb veils. She laughed, and
took my hand, and we went into the lair.

Next day, late in the afternoon, we heard a fanfare
of trumpets that sounded rather close. They blew long
and loudly, as though summoning someone. We stepped

out into the rain, to listen better. I noted that the wind
had changed from north to west, and was blowing steadily
and strongly. By this time I knew that the acoustics
of the land under the mirage were peculiar and that
there was no way of telling just how close the trumpets
were. They were on the far side of the river bank of
course, but how far away the pygmies' guarded slope
was from the river, I did not know. There was some
bustling on the wall, but no excitement.

There came a final trumpet blast, raucous and derisive.
It was followed by a roar of laughter more irritatingly
mocking because of its human quality. It brought me
out of my indifference with a jump. It made me see
red.

"That," said Evalie, "was Tibur. I suppose he has
been hunting with Lur. I think he was laughing at—
you, Leif."

Her delicate nose was turned up disdainfully, but
there was a smile at the corner of her lips as she watched
my quick anger flare up.

"See here, Evalie, just who is this Tibur ?"

"I told you. He is Tibur the Smith, and he rules the
Ayjir with Lur. Always does he come when I stand on
Nansur. We have talked together—often. He is very
strong—oh, strong."

"Yes ?" I said, still more irritated. "And why does
Tibur come when you are there ?"

"Why, because he desires me, of course," she said
tranquilly.

My dislike for Tilbur the Laugher increased.

"He'll not laugh if I ever get an opening at him," I
muttered.

"What did you say ?" she asked. I translated, as
best t could. She nodded and began to speak—and then
I saw her eyes open wide and stark terror fill them. I
heard a whirring over my head.

Out of the mists had flown a great bird. It hovered
fifty feet over us, glaring down with baleful yellow eyes.
A great bird—a white bird. . . .

The white falcon of the Witch-woman !

I thrust Evalie back into the lair, and watched it.
Thrice it circled over me, and then, screaming, hurtled
up into the mists and vanished.

I went in to Evalie. She was crouched on the couch
of skins. She had undone her hair and it streamed over
her head and shoulders, hiding her like a cloak. I bent
over her, and parted it. She was crying. She put her
arms around my neck, and held me close, close. I felt
her heart beating like a drum against mine.

"Evalie, beloved—there's nothing to be afraid of."

"The—white falcon, Leif !"

"It is only a bird."

"No—Lur sent it."

"Nonsense, dark sweetheart. A bird flies where it
wills. It was hunting—or it had lost its way in the
mists."

She shook her head.

"But, Leif, I—dreamed of a white falcon . . ."

I held her tight, and after a while she pushed me
away and smiled at me. But there was little of gaiety
the remainder of that day. And that night her dreams
were troubled, and she held me close to her, and cried
and murmured in her sleep.

The next day Jim came back. I had been feeling a
bit uncomfortable about his return. What would he
think of me ? I needn't have worried. He showed no
surprise at all when I laid the cards before him. And
then I realized that of course the pygmies must have
been talking to one another by their drums, and that
they would have gone over matters with him.

"Good enough," said Jim, when I had finished. "If
you don't get out, it's the best thing for both of you.

If you do get out, you'll take Evalie with you—or won't
you?"

That stung me.

"Listen, Indian—I don't like the way you're talking!
I love her."

"All right. I'll put it another way. Does Dwayanu
love her ?"

That question was like a slap on my mouth. While
I struggled for an answer, Evalie ran out. She went over
to Jim and kissed him. He patted her shoulder and
hugged her like a big brother. She glanced at me, and
came to me, and drew my head down to her and kissed
me too, but not exactly the way she had kissed him.

I glanced over her head at Jim. Suddenly I noticed
that he looked tired and haggard.

"You're, feeling all right, Jim?"

"Sure. Only a bit weary. I've—seen things."

"What do you mean ?"

"Well," he hesitated, "well—the tlanusi—the big
leeches—for one thing. I'd never have believed it if I
hadn't seen them, and if I had seen them before we
dived into the river, I'd have picked the wolves as cooing
doves in comparison."

He told me they had camped at the far end of the
plain that night.

"This place is bigger than we thought, Leif. It must
be, because I've gone more miles than would be possible
if it were only as large as it looked before we went
through the mirage. Probably the mirage foreshortened
it—confused us."

The next day they had gone through forest and jungle
and cane-brake and marsh. They had come at last to a
steaming swamp. A raised path ran across it. They had
taken that path, and eventually came to another tran-
secting it. Where the two causeways met, there was a
wide, circular and gently rounded mound rising from the

swamp. Here the pygmies had halted. They had made
fires of fagots and leaves. The fires sent up a dense and
scented smoke which spread slowly out from the mound
over the swamp. When the fires were going well, the
pygmies began drumming—a queerly syncopated beat.
In a few moments he had seen a movement in the swamp,
close by the mound.

"There was a ring of pygmies between me and the
edge," he said, "and when I saw the thing that crawled
out I was glad of it. First there was an upheaval of the
mud, and then up came the back of what I thought was
an enormous red slug. The slug raised itself, and crept
out on land. It was a leech all right, and that was all
it was—but it made me more than a bit sick. It was
its size that did that. It must have been seven feet long,
and it lay there, blind and palpitating, its mouth gaping,
listening to the drums and luxuriating in that scented
smoke. Then another and another came out. After a
awhile there were a hundred of the things grouped around
in a semicircle, eyeless heads all turned to us—sucking
in the smoke, palpitating to the drums.

"Some of the pygmies got up, took burning sticks
from the fire and started off on the intersecting causeway,
drumming as they went. The others quenched the fires.
The leeches writhed along after the torch-bearers. The
other pygmies fell in behind, herding them. I stuck in
the rear. We went along until we came to the bank of
the river. Those in the lead stopped drumming. They
threw their smoking, blazing sticks into the water, and
they cast into it handfuls of crushed berries—not the
ones Sri and Sra rubbed on us. Red berries. The big
leeches went writhing over the bank and into the river,
following, I suppose, the smoke and the scent of the
berries. Anyway, they went in—each and all of them.

"We went back, and out of the marsh. We camped
on its edge. All that night they talked with the drums.

They had talked the night before, and were uneasy ; but
I took it that it was the same worry they had when we
started. They must have known what was going on,
but they didn't tell me then. Yesterday morning, though,
they were happy and care-free. I knew something must
have happened—that they must have got good news in
the night. They were so good-natured that they told me
why they were. Not just as you have—but the sense
was the same——"

He chuckled.

"That morning we herded up a couple of hundred
more of the tianusi and put them where the Little People
think they'll do the post good. Then we started back—
and here I am."

"Yes," I asked suspiciously. "And is that all ?"

"All for to-night, anyway," he said. "I'm sleepy.
I'm going to turn in. You go with Evalie and leave me
strictly alone till to-morrow."

I left him to sleep, determined to find out in the morn-
ing what he was holding back; I didn't think it was
entirely the journey and the leeches that accounted for
his haggardness.

But in the morning I forgot all about it.

In the first place, when I awoke, Evalie was missing.
I went over to the tent, looking for Jim. He was not
there. The Little People had long since poured out of
the cliffs, and were at work; they always worked in the
morning—afternoons and nights they played and
drummed and danced. They said Evalie and Tsantawu
had gone into council with the elders. I went back to
the tent.

In a little while Evalie and Jim came up. Evalie's
face was white and her eyes were haunted. Also they
were ntisty with tears. Also, she was madder than hell.
Jim was doing his best to be cheerful.

"What's the matter ?" I asked.

"You're due for a little trip," said Jim. "You've
been wanting to see Nansur Bridge, haven't you ?"

"Yes." I said.

"Well," said Jim. "That's where we're going. Better
put on your travelling clothes and your boots. If the trail
is anything like what I've just gone over, you'll need
them. The Little People can slip through things—but
we're built different."

I studied them, puzzled. Of course I'd wanted to see
Nansur Bridge—but why should the fact we were to go
there make them behave so oddly ? I went to Evalie,
and turned her face up to mine.

"You've been crying, Evalie. What's wrong ?"

She shook her head, slipped out of my arms and into
the lair. I followed her. She was bending over a coffer,
taking yards and yards of veils out of it. I swung her
away from it and lifted her until her eyes were level
with mine.

"What's wrong, Evalie ?"

A thought struck me. I lowered her to her feet.

"Who suggested going to Nansur Bridge ?"

"The Little People . . . the elders ... I fought
against it ... I don't want you to go ... they
say you must. . . ."

"I must go ?" The thought grew clearer. "Then you
need not go—nor Tsantawu. Unless you choose ?"

"Let them try to keep me from going with you."
She stamped a foot furiously.

The thought was crystal clear, and I began to feel a
bit irritated by the Little People. They were thorough
to the point of annoyance. I now understood perfectly
why I was to go to Nansur Bridge. The pygmies were
not certain that their magic—including Evalie—had
thoroughly taken. Therefore I was to look upon the
home of the enemy—and be watched for my reactions.
Well, that was fair enough, at that. Maybe the Witch-


woman would be there.  Maybe Tibur—Tibur who
desired Evalie—Tibur who had laughed at me——
Suddenly I was keen for going to Nansur Bridge.
I began to put on my old clothes. As I was tying the
high shoes, I glanced over at Evalie. She had coiled
her hair and covered it with a cap ; she had swathed her
body from neck to knees in the veils and she was lacing
high sandals that covered her feet and legs as completely
as my boots did mine. She smiled faintly at my look of
wonder.

"I do not like Tibur to Iook on me—not now!" she
said.

I bent over her and took her in my arms. She set
her lips to mine in a kiss that bruised them. . . .

When we came out, Jim and about fifty of the pygmies
were waiting.

We struck diagonally across the plain away from the
cliffs, heading north toward the river. We went over the
slope, past one of the towers, and put feet on a narrow
path like that which we had trod when coming into the
land of the Little People. It wound through a precisely
similar fern-brake. We went along it single file, and,
perforce, in silence. We came out of it into a forest of
dose-growing, coniferous trees, through which the trail
wound tortuously. We went through this for an hour or
more, without once resting, the pygmies trotting along
tirelessly. I looked at my watch. We had been going
for four hours and had covered, I calculated, about
twelve miles. There was no sign of bird or animal
life.

Evalie seemed deep in thought and Jim had fallen
into one of his fits of Indian taciturnity. I didn't feel
much like talking. It was a silent journey ; not even the
golden pygmies chattered, as was their habit. We came
to a sparkling spring, and drank. One of the dwarfs
swung a small cylindrical drum in front of him and began

to tap out some message. It was answered at length
from far ahead by other tappings.

We swung into our way once more. The conifers
began to thin. At our left and far below us I began to
catch glimpses of the white river and of the dense forest
on its opposite bank. The conifers ceased and we came
out upon a rocky waste. Just ahead of us was an out-
thrust of cliff along whose base streamed the white river.
The out-thrust cut off our view of what lay beyond.
Here the pygmies halted and sent another drum message.
The answer was startlingly close. Then around the edge
of the cliff, half-way up, spear tips glinted. A group of
little warriors stood there, scrutinizing us. They sig-
nalled, and we marched forward, over the waste.

There was a broad road up the side of the cliff, wide
enough for six horses abreast. We climbed it. We came
to the top, and I looked on Nansur Bridge and towered
Karak.

Once, thousands or hundreds of thousands of years
ago, there had been a small mountain here, rising from
the valley floor. Nanbu, the white river, had eaten it
away—all except a vein of black adamantine rock.

Nanbu had fallen, fallen, steadily gnawing at the
softer stone until at last it was spanned by a bridge that
was like a rainbow of jet. That gigantic bow of black
rock winged over the abyss with the curved flight of an
arrow.

Its base, on each side, was a mesa—sculptured as
Nansur had been from the original mount.

The mesa, at whose threshold I stood, was flat-topped.
But on the opposite side of the river, thrusting up from
the mesa-top, was a huge, quadrangular pile of the same
black rock as the bow of Nansur. It looked less built
from than cut out of that rock. It covered I judged
about half a square mile. Towers and turrets both square
and round sprang up from it. It was walled.

There was something about that immense ebon citadel
that struck me with the same sense of fore-knowledge
that I had felt when I had ridden into the ruins of the
Gobi oasis. Also I thought it looked like that city of
Dis which Dante glimpsed in Hades. And its antiquity
hung over it like a sable garment.

Then I saw that Nansur was broken. Between the
arch that winged from the side on which we stood and
the arch that swept up and out from the side of the black
citadel, there was a gap. It was as though a gigantic
hammer had been swung down on the soaring bow,
shattering it at its centre. I thought of Bifrost Bridge
over which the Valkyries rode, bearing the souls of the
warriors to Valhalla ; and I thought it had been as great
a blasphemy to have broken Nansur Bridge as it would
have been to have broken Bifrost.

Around the citadel were other buildings, hundreds
of them outside its walls—buildings of grey and brown
stone, with gardens ; they stretched over acres. And on
each side of this city were fertile fields and flowering
groves. There was a wide road stretching far, far away
to cliffs shrouded in the green veils. I thought I saw
the black mouth of a cavern at its end.

"Karak !" whispered Evalie. "And Nansur Bridge !
And Oh, Leif, beloved . . . but my heart is heavy . . .
so heavy!"

I hardly heard her, looking at Karak.  Stealthy
memories had begun to stir. I trod on them, and put
my arm around Evalie. We went on, and now I saw
why Karak had been built where it was, for on the far
side the black citadel commanded both ends of the
valley, and when Nansur had been unbroken, it had
commanded this approach as well.

Suddenly I felt a feverish eagerness to run out upon
Nansur and look down on Karak from the broken end.
I was restive at the slowness of the pygmies. I started

forward.  The garrison came crowding around me,
staring up at me, whispering to one another, studying
me with their yellow eyes. Drums began to beat.

They were answered by trumpets from the citadel.

I walked ever more rapidly toward Nansur. The
fever of eagerness had become consuming. I wanted to
run. I pushed the golden pygmies aside impatiently.
Jim's voice came to me, warningly:

"Steady, Leif—steady!"

I paid no heed. I went out upon Nansur. Vaguely,
I realized that it was wide and that low parapets guarded
its edges, and that the stone was ramped for the tread
of horses and the tread of marching men. And that if
the white river had shaped it, the hands of men had
finished its carving.

I reached the broken end. A hundred feet below me
the white river raced smoothly. There were no serpents.
A dull red body, slug-like, monstrous, lifted above the
milky current; then another and another, round mouths
gaping—the leeches of the Little People, on guard.

There was a broad plaza between the walls of the dark
citadel and the end of the bridge. It was empty. Set
in the walls were massive gates of bronze. I felt a curious
quivering inside me, a choking in my throat. I forgot
Evalie; I forgot Jim; I forgot everything in watching
those gates.

There was a louder blaring of the trumpets, a clanging
of bars, and the gates swung open. Through them
galloped a company, led by two riders, one on a great
black horse, the other upon a white. They raced across
the plaza, dropped from their mounts and came walking
over the bridge. They stood facing me across the fifty-
foot gap.

The one who had ridden the black horse was the
Witch-woman, and the other I knew for Tibur the Smith
—Tibur the Laugher. I had no eyes just then for the

Witch-woman or her followers. I had eyes only for
Tibur.

He was a head shorter than I, but strength great or
greater than mine spoke from the immense shoulders,
the thick body. His red hair hung sleekly straight to
his shoulders. He was red-bearded. His eyes were violet-
blue and lines of laughter crinkled at their comers ; and
the wide, loose mouth was a laughing mouth. But the
laughter which had graven those lines on Tibur's face
was not the kind to make the bearer merry.

He wore a coat of mail. At his left side hung a huge
war hammer. He looked me over from head to foot and
back again with narrowed, mocking .eyes. If I had hated
Tibur before I had seen him, it was nothing to what I
felt now.

I looked from him to the Witch-woman. Her corn-
flower-blue eyes were drinking me in ; absorbed, wonder-
ing—amused. She, too, wore a coat of mail, over which
streamed her red braids. Those who were clustered
behind Tibur and the Witch-woman were only a blur
to me.

Tibur leaned forward.

"Welcome—Dwayanu !" he jeered. "What has brought
you out of your skulking place ? My challenge ?"

"Was it you I heard baying yesterday ?" I said.
"Hai—you picked a safe distance ere you began to
howl, red dog!"

There was a laugh from the group around the Witch-
woman, and I saw that they were women, fair and red-
haired like herself, and that there were two tall men
with Tibur. But the Witch-woman said nothing, still
drinking me in, a curious speculation in her eyes.

Tibur's face grew dark. One of the men leaned, and
whispered to him. Tibur nodded, and swaggered forward.
He called out to me :

"Have you grown soft during your wanderings,

Dwayanu ? By the ancient custom, by the ancient test,
we must learn that before we acknowledge you—great
Dwayanu. Stand fast——"

His hand dropped to the battle-hammer at his side.
He hurled it at me.

The hammer was hurtling through the air at me with
the speed of a bullet—yet it seemed to come slowly. I
could even see the thong that held it to Tibur's arm
slowly lengthening as it flew. . . .

Little doors were opening in my brain . . . the
ancient test. . . . Hai! but I knew that play . . .
I waited motionless as the ancient custom prescribed
. . . but they should have given me a shield ... no
matter . . . how slowly the great sledge seemed to
come . . . and it seemed to me that the hand I thrust
out to catch it moved as slowly. . . .

I caught it. Its weight was all of twenty pounds, yet
I caught it squarely, effortlessly, by its metal shaft.
Hai ! but did I not know the trick of that ? ... The
little doors were opening faster now . . . and I knew
another. With my other hand I gripped the thong that
held the battle-hammer to Tibur's arm and jerked him
toward me.

The laugh was frozen on Tibur's face. He tottered on
Nansur's broken edge. I heard behind me the piping
shout of the pygmies. . . .

The Witch-woman sliced down a knife and severed
the thong. She jerked Tibur back from the verge. Rage
swept me . . . that was not in the play ... by the
ancient test it was challenger and challenged alone. . . .

I swung the great hammer around my head and
around, and hurled it back at Tibur; it whistled as it
flew and the severed thong streamed rigid in its wake.
He threw himself aside, but not quickly enough. The
sledge struck him on a shoulder. A glancing bow, but
it dropped him.

And now I laughed across the gulf.

The Witch-woman leaned forward, incredulity flooding
the speculation in her eyes. She was no longer amused.
No! And Tibur jerked himself up on one knee, glaring
at me, his laughter lines twisted into nothing like mirth
of any kind.

Still other doors, tiny doors, opening in my brain. . . .
They wouldn't believe I was Dwayanu . . . Hai! I
would show them. I dipped into the pocket of my belt.
Ripped open the buckskin pouch. Drew out the ring of
Khalk'ru. I held it up. .The green light glinted on it.
The yellow stone seemed to expand. The black octopus
to grow. . . .

"Am I Dwayanu ? Look on this ! Am I Dwayanu ?"

I heard a woman scream—I knew that voice. And I
heard a man calling, shouting to me—and that voice I
knew too. The little doors clicked shut, the memories
that had slipped through them darted back before they
closed. . . .

Why, it was Evalie who was screaming ! And Jim
who was shouting at me ! What was the matter with
them ? Evalie was facing me, arms outstretched. And
there was stark unbelief and horror—and loathing—in
the brown eyes fastened on me. And rank upon rank,
the Little People were closing around the pair of them—
barring me from them. Their spears and arrows were
levelled at me. They were hissing like a horde of golden
snakes, their faces distorted with hatred, their eyes
fastened on the ring of Khalk'ru still held high above
my head.

And now I saw that hatred reflected upon the face
of Evalie—and the loathing deepen in her eyes.

"Evalie!" I cried, and would have leaped toward
her. . . . Back went the hands of the pygmies for the
throwing cast; the arrows trembled in their bows.

"Don't move, Leif! I'm coming!" Jim jumped

forward. Instantly the pygiriies swarmed round and
upon him. He swayed and went down under them.

"Evalie !" I cried again.

I saw the loathing fade, and heart-break come into
her face. She called some command.

A score of pygmies shot by her, on each side, casting
down their bows and spears as they raced toward me.
Stupidly, I watched them come ; among them I saw Sri.

They struck me like little living battering rams. I
was thrust backward. My foot struck air——

The pygmies clinging to my legs, harrying me like
terriers, I toppled over the edge of Nansur.

BOOK OF THE WITCH-WOMAN

CHAPTER XIII

KARAK

I HAD sense enough to throw my hands up over my
head, and so I went down feet first. The pygmies
hanging to my legs helped that, too. When I struck the
water I sank deep and deep. The old idea is that when a
man drowns his whole past life runs through his mind
in a few seconds, like a reversed cinema reel. I don't
know about that, but I do know that in my progress
into Nanbu's depths and up again I thought faster than
ever before in my life.

In the first place I realized that Evalie had ordered
me thrown off the bridge. That made me white-hot mad.
Why hadn't she waited and given me a chance to explain
the ring! Then I thought of how many chances I'd had
to explain—and hadn't taken one of them. Also that the
pygmies had been in no mood for waiting, and that
Evalie had held back their spears and arrows and given
me a run for my life, even though it might be a brief
one. Then I thought of my utter folly in flashing the
ring at that particular moment, and I couldn't blame
the Little People for thinking me an emissary of Khalk'ru.
And I saw again the heart-break in Evalie's eyes, and
my rage vanished in a touch of heart-break of my own.

After that, quite academically, the idea came to me
that Tibur's hammer-play explained old God Thor of
ibs Norse and his hammer Mjolnir, the Smasher, which
always returned to his hand after he had thrown it—
to make it more miraculous the skalds had left out that
practical detail of the thong ; here was still another link
between the Uighur or Ayjir and the Aesar—I'd talk to

Jim about it. And then I knew I couldn't get back to
Jim to talk to him about that or anything else because
the pygmies would certainly be waiting for me, and
would quite as certainly drive me back among the leeches,
even if I managed to get as far as their side of Nanbu.
At that thought, if a man entirely immersed in water can
break into a cold sweat I did it. I would much rather
pass out by way of the Little People's spears and darts
or even Tibur's smasher than be drained dry by those
sucking mouths.

Just then I broke through the surface of Nanbu, trod
water for a moment, clearing my eyes, and saw the
red-slug back of a leech gliding toward me not twenty
feet away. I cast a despairing glance around me. The
current was swift and had borne me several hundred
yards below the bridge. Also it had carried me toward
the Karak side, which seemed about five hundred feet
away. I turned to face the leech. It came slowly, as
though sure of me. I planned to dive under it and try to
make for the shore . . . if-only there were no others. ...

I heard a chattering shout. Sri shot past me. He
raised an arm and pointed at Karak. Clearly he was
telling me to get there as quickly as I could. I had
forgotten all about him, except for a momentary flash
of wrath that he had joined my assailants. Now I saw
what an injustice I had done him. He swam straight to
the big leech and slapped it alongside its mouth. The
creature bent toward him, actually it nuzzled him. I
waited to see no more, but struck out as fast as my boots
would let me for the river bank.

That was no pleasant swim, no ! The place was thick
with the gliding red backs. Without question it was only
Sri that saved me from them. He came scuttering back,
and he circled round and round me as I ploughed on;

he drove the leeches away.

I touched bottom, and scrambled over rocks to the

safety of the bank. The golden pygmy sent one last call
to me. What he said I could not hear. I stood there,
gasping for breath, and saw him shooting across the
white water like a yellow flying fish, a half-dozen of the
red slug-backs gliding in his wake.

I looked up at Nansur Bridge. The Little People's
end of it and the parapets were crowded with pygmies,
watching me. The other side was empty. I looked
around me. I was in the shadow of the walls of the
black citadeL They arose, smooth, impregnable, for a
hundred feet. Between me and them was a wide plaza,
similar to that over which Tibur and the Witch-woman
had ridden from the bronze gates. It was bordered with
squat, one-storied houses of stone; there were many
small flowering trees. Beyond the bordering houses
were others, larger, more pretentious, set farther apart.
Not so far away and covering part of the plaza was an
everyday, open-air market.

From the bordering houses and from the market,
scores of people were pouring down upon me. They came
swiftly, but they came silently, not calling to one another,
not signalling nor summoning—intent upon me. I felt
for my automatic and swore, remembering that I had not
worn it for days. Something flashed on my hand. . . .

The ring of Khalk'ru! I must have slipped it on my
thumb when the pygmies had rushed me. Well, the ring
had brought me here. Surely its effect would not be less
upon these people, than it had been upon those who had
faced me from the far side of the broken bridge. At any
rate, it was all I had. I turned it so that the stone was
hidden in my hand.

They were close now, and mostly women and girls
and girl children. They all wore much the same kind of
garment, a smock that came down to their knees and
which left the right breast bare. Without exception,
they were. red-haired and blue-eyed, their skins creamy-

white and delicate rose, and they were tall and strong
and beautifully formed. They might have been Viking
maids and mothers come to welcome home some dragon-
ship from its sea-faring. The children were little blue-
eyed angels. I took note of the men; there were not
many of them, a dozen perhaps. They, too, had the red
polls and blue eyes. The older wore short beards, the
younger were clean-shaven. They were not so tall by
several inches as the run of the women. None, men nor
women, came within half a head of my height.  They
bore no weapons.

They halted a few yards from me, looking at me in
silence. Their eyes ran over me and stopped at my
yellow hair, and rested there.

There was a bustle at the edge of the crowd. A dozen
women pushed through and walked toward me. They
wore short kirtles; there were short swords in their
girdles and they carried javelins in their hands; unlike
the others, their breasts were covered. They ringed me,
javelins raised, so dose that the tips almost touched
me.

The leader's bright blue eyes were bold, more
soldier's than woman's.

"The yellow-haired stranger! Luka has smiled on
us this day!"

The woman beside her leaned and whispered, but I
caught the words :

"Tibur would give us more for him than Lur."

The leader shook her head.

"Too dangerous. We'll enjoy Lur's reward longer."

She looked me over, quite frankly.

"It's a shame to waste him," she said.

"Lur won't," the other answered, cynically.

The leader gave me a prod of her javelin, and
motioned toward the citadel wall.

"Onward, Yellow Hair," she said. "It's a pity you

can't understand me. Or I'd tell you something for your
own good—at a price, of course."

She smiled at me, and prodded me again. I felt like
grinning back at her; she was so much like a hard-
boiled sergeant I'd known in the War. I spoke, instead,
sternly:

"Summon Lur to me with fitting escort, O! woman
whose tongue rivals the drum stick."

She gaped at me, her javelin dropping from her hand.
Quite evidently, although an alarm had been sounded
for me, the fact that I could speak the Uighur had not
been told.

"Summon Lur at once," I said. "Or, by Khalk'ru——"

I did not complete the sentence. I turned the ring
and held up my hand.

There was a gasp of terror from the crowd. They
went down on their knees, heads bent low. The soldier-
woman's face whitened, and she and the others dropped
before me. And then there was a grating of bars. An
immense block opened in the wall of the citadel not
far away.                     

Out of the opening, as though my words had sum-
moned them, rode the Witch-woman with Tibur beside
her, and at their heels the little troop who had watched
me from Nansur Bridge.

They baited, staring at the kneeling crowd. Then
Tibur spurred his horse; the Witch-woman thrust out
a hand and stayed-him, and they spoke together. The
soldier touched my foot.

"Let us rise. Lord," she said. I nodded, and she
jumped up with a word to her women. Again they
ringed me. I read the fear in the leader's eyes, and
appeal. I smiled at her.

"Don't fear. I heard nothing," I whispered.

"Then you have a friend in Dara," she muttered.
"By Luka—they would boil us for what we said !"

"I heard nothing," I repeated.

"A gift for a gift," she breathed. "Watch Tibur's
left hand should you fight him."

The little troop was in motion; they came riding
slowly toward me. As they drew near I could see that
Tibur's face was dark, and that he was holding in his
temper with an effort. He halted his horse at the edge
of the crowd. His rage fell upon them ; for a moment
I thought he was going to ride them down.

"Up, you swine !" he roared. "Since when has Karak
knelt to any but its rulers ?"

They arose, huddled together with frightened faces
as the troop rode through them. I looked up at the
Witch-woman and the Laugher.

Tibur glowered down on me, his hand fumbling at
his hammer; the two big men who had flanked him on
the bridge edged close to me, long swords in hand. The
Witch-woman said nothing, studying me intently yet
with a certain cynical impersonality I found disquieting;

evidently she still had not made up her mind about me
and was waiting for some word or move of mine to guide
her. I didn't like the situation very much. If it came
to a dog fight I would have little chance with three
mounted men, to say nothing of the women. I had the
feeling that the Witch-woman did not want me killed
out-of-hand, but then she might be a bit late in succour-
ing me—and beyond that I had no slightest wish to be
beaten up, trussed up, carried into Karak a prisoner.

Also I began to feel a hot and unreasoning resentment
against these people who dared bar my way, dared hold
me back from whatever way I chose to go, an awaken-
ing arrogance—a stirring of those mysterious memories
that had cursed me ever since I had carried the ring of
Khalk'ru. . . .

Well, those memories had served me on Nansur Bridge
when Tibur cast the hammer at me ... and what

was it Jim had said ? ... to let Dwayanu ride when
I faced the Witch-woman . . . well, let him ... it
was the only way . . . the bold way . . . the olden
way. . . .

It was as though I heard the words !

I threw my mind wide open to the memories, or to—
Dwayanu.

There was a tiny tingling shock in my brain, and then
something like the surging up of a wave toward that
consciousness which was Leif Langton. I managed to
thrust it back before it had entirely submerged that
consciousness.  It retreated, but sullenly—nor did it
retreat far. No matter, so long as it did not roll over
me ... I pushed the soldiers aside and walked to
Tibur. Something of what had occurred must have
stamped itself on my face, changed me. Doubt crept
into the Witch-woman's eyes ' Tibur's hand fell from
his hammer, and he backed his horse away. I spoke,
and my wrathful voice fell strangely on my own
ears.

"Where is my horse ? Where are my arms ? Where
are my standard and my spearsmen ? Why are the
drums and the trumpets silent ? Is it thus Dwayanu
is greeted when he comes to a city of the Ayjir ! By
Zarda, but this is not to be bome !"

Now the Witch-woman spoke, mockery in the clear,
deep bell-toned voice, and I felt that whatever hold I
had gained over her had in some way slipped.

"Hold your hand, Tibur ! I will speak to—Dwayanu.
And you—if you are Dwayanu—scarcely can hold us to
blame. It has been long and long since human eyes
rested on you—and never in this land. So how could we
know you ? And when first we saw you, the little yellow
dogs ran you away from us. And when next we saw you,
the little yellow dogs ran you to us. If we have not
received you as Dwayanu has a right to expect from a

city of the Ayjir, equally is it true that no city of the
Ayjir has ever before been so visited by Dwayanu."

Well, that was true enough, admirable reasoning,
lucid and all of that. The part of me that was Lief
Langdon, and engaged in rather desperate struggle to
retain control, recognized it. Yet the unreasoning anger
grew. I held up the ring of Khalk'ru.

"You may not know Dwayanu—but you know this."

"I know you have it," she said, levelly. "But I do
not know how you came by it. In itself it proves nothing."

Tibur leaned forward, grinning.

"Tell us where you did come from. Are you by-blow
of Sirk ?"

There was a murmur from the crowd. The Witch-
woman leaned forward, frowning. I heard her murmur,
half-contemptuously:

"Your strength was never in your head, Tibur!"

Nevertheless, I answered him.

"I come," I said bleakly, "from the Mother-land of
the Ayjir. From the land that vomited your shivering
forefathers, red toad !"

I shot a glance at the Witch-woman. That had jolted
her all right. I saw her body stiffen, her corn-flower
eyes distend and darken, her red lips part; and her
women bent to each other, whispering, while the murmur
of the crowd swelled.

"You lie !" roared Tibur. "There is no life in the
Mother-land.  There is no life elsewhere than here.
Khalk'ru has sucked earth dry of Life. Except here.
You lie !"

His hand dropped to his hammer.

And suddenly I saw red; all the world dissolved in
a red mist of red. The horse of the man closest to me was
a noble animal. I had been watching it—a roan stallion,
strong as the black stallion that had carried me from
the Gobi oasis. I reached up, caught at its jaw, and pulled

it down to its knees. Taken unaware, its rider toppled
forward, somersaulted over its head and fell at my feet.
He was up again like a cat, sword athrust at me. I
caught his arm before he could strike and swung up my
left fist. It cracked on his jaw ; his head snapped back,
and he dropped. I snatched up the sword, and swung
myself on the rising horse's back. Before Tibur could
move I had the point of the sword at his throat.

"Stop ! I grant you Dwayanu ! Hold your hand !"
It was the Witch-woman's voice, low, almost whispering.

I laughed. I pressed the point of the sword deeper
into Tiber's throat.

"Am I Dwayanu ? Or by-blow of Sirk ?"

"You are—Dwayanu !" he groaned.

I laughed again.

"I am Dwayanu ! Then guide me into Karak to make
amends for your insolence, Tibur !"

I drew the sword away from his throat.

Yes, I drew it back—and by all the mad mixed gods
of that mad mixed mind of mine at that moment I would
that I had thrust it through his throat!

But I did not', and so that chance passed. I spoke
to the Witch-woman:

"Ride at my right hand. let Tibur ride before."

The man I had struck down was on his feet, swaying
unsteadily. Lur spoke to one of her women. She slipped
from her horse, and with Tibur's other follower helped
him upon it.

We rode across the plaza, and through the walls of
the black citadel.

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE BLACK CITADEL

THE bars that held the gate crashed down behind
us. The passage through the walls was wide and
long and lined with soldiers, most of them women. They
stared at me; their discipline was good, for they were
silent, saluting us with upraised swords.

We came out of the walls into an immense square,
bounded by the towering black stone of the citadel. It
was stone-paved and. bare, and there must have been
half a thousand soldiers in it, again mostly women and
one and all of the strong-bodied, blue-eyed, red-haired
type. It was a full quarter-mile to the side—the square.
Opposite where we entered, there was a group of people
on horses, of the same class as those who rode with us,
or so I judged. They were clustered about a portal in
the farther walls, and toward these we trotted.

About a third of the way over, we passed a circular
pit a hundred feet wide in which water boiled and
bubbled and from which steam arose. A hot spring, I
supposed; I could feel its breath. Around it were
slender stone pillars from each of which an arm jutted
like that of a gallows, and from the ends of them dangled
thin chains.  It was, indefinably, an unpleasant and
ominous place. I didn't like the look of it at all. Some-
thing of this must have shown on my face, for Tibur
spoke, blandly.

"Our cooking pot."

"No easy one from which to ladle broth," I said.
I thought him jesting.

"Ah—but the meat we cook there is not the kind we

eat," he answered, still more blandly. And his laughter
roared out.

I felt a little sick as his meaning reached me. It was
tortured human flesh which those chains were designed
to hold, lowering it slowly inch by inch into that devil's
cauldron. But I only nodded indifferently, and rode on.

The Witch-woman had paid no attention to us; her
russet head bent, she went on deep in thought, though
now and then I caught her oblique glance at me. We
drew near the portal. She signalled those who awaited
there, a score of the red-haired maids and women and
a half-dozen men ; they dismounted. The Witch-woman
leaned to me and whispered:

"Turn the ring so its seal will be covered."

I obeyed her, asking no question.

We arrived at the portal. I looked at the group there.
The women wore the breast-revealing upper garment;

their legs were covered with loose baggy trousers tied
in at the ankles; they had wide girdles in which were
two swords, one long and one short. The men were
clothed in loose blouses, and the same baggy trousers;

in their girdles beside the swords—or rather, hanging
from their girdles—were hammers like that of the Smith,
but smaller. The women who had gathered around me
after I had climbed out of Nanbu had been fair enough,
but these were far more attractive, finer, with a stamp
of breeding the others had not had. They stared at me
as frankly, as appraisingly, as had the soldier woman
and her lieutenant; their eyes rested upon my yellow
hair and stopped there, as though fascinated. On all
their faces was that suggestion of cruelty latent in the
amorous mouth of Lur.

"We dismount here," said the Witch-woman, "to go
where we may become—better acquainted."

I nodded as before, indifferently. I had been thinking
that it was a foolhardy thing I had done, thus to thrust

myself alone among these people ; but I had been think-
ing, too, that I could have done nothing else except
have gone to Sirk, and where that was I did not know;

and that if I had tried I would have been a hunted
outlaw on this side of white Nanbu, as I would be on
the other. The part of me that was Leif Langdon was
thinking that—but the part of me that was Dwayanu
was not thinking like that at all. It was fanning the fire
of recklessness, the arrogance, that had carried me thus
far in safety; whispering that none among the Ayjir
had the right to question me or to bar my way, whisper-
ing with increasing insistence that I should have been
met by dipping standards and roll of drums and fanfare
of trumpets. The part that was Leif Langdon answered
that there was nothing else to do but continue as I had
been doing, that it was the game to play, the line to
take, the only way. And that other part, ancient mem-
ories, awakening of Dwayanu, post-hypnotic suggestion
of the old Gobi priest, impatiently asked why I should
question even myself, urging that it was no game—but
truth ! And that it would brook little more insolence
from these degenerate dogs of the Great Race—and little
more cowardice from me !

So I flung myself from my horse, and stood looking
arrogantly down upon the faces turned to me, literally
looking down, for I was four inches or more taller than
the tallest of them. Lur touched my arm. Between her
and Tibur I strode through the portal and into the black
citadel.

It was a vast vestibule through which we passed, and
dimly lighted by slits far up in the polished rock. We
went by groups of silently saluting soldier-women; we
went by many transverse passages. We came at last to
a great guarded door, and here Lur and Tibur dismissed
their escorts. The door rolled slowly open ; we entered
and it rolled shut behind us.

The first thing I saw was the Kraken.

It sprawled over one wall of the chamber into which
we had come. My heart leaped as I saw it, and for an
instant I had an almost ungovernable impulse to turn
and run. And now I saw that the figure of the Kraken
was a mosaic set in the black stone. Or rather, that
the yellow field in which it lay was a mosaic and that
the Black Octopus had been cut from the stone of the
wall itself. Its unfathomable eyes of jet regarded me
with that suggestion of lurking malignity the yellow
pygmies had managed to imitate so perfectly in their
fettered symbol inside the hollow rock.

Something stirred beneath the Kraken. A face looked
out on me from under a hood of black. At first I thought
it the old priest of the Gobi himself, and then I saw that
this man was not so old, and that his eyes were clear
deep blue and that his face was unwrinkled, and cold
and white and expressionless as though carved from
marble. Then I remembered what Evalie had told me,
and knew this must be Yodin the High Priest. He sat
upon a throne-like chair behind a long low table on
which were rolls like the papyrus rolls of the Egyptians,
and cylinders of red metal which were, I supposed, their
containers. On each side of him was another of the
thrones.

He lifted a thin white hand and beckoned me.

"Come to me—you who call yourself Dwayanu."

The voice was cold and passionless as the face, but
courteous. I seemed to hear again the old priest when
he had called me to him. I walked over, more as one
who humours another a little less than equal than as
though obeying a summons. And that was precisely the
way I felt. He must have read my thought, for I saw a
shadow of anger pass over his face. His eyes searched
me.

"You have a certain ring, I am told."

With the same feeling of humouring one slightly
inferior, I turned the bevel of the Kraken ring and held
my hand out toward him. He looked at the ring, and
the white face lost its immobility. He thrust a hand into
his girdle, and drew from it a box, and out of it another
ring, and placed it beside mine. I saw that it was not
so large, and that the setting was not precisely the same.
He studied the two rings, and then with a hissing intake
of breath he snatched my hands and turned them over,
scanning the palms. He dropped them and leaned back
in his chair.

"Why do you come to us ?" he asked.

A surge of irritation swept me.

"Does Dwayanu stand like a common messenger to
be questioned?" I said harshly.

I walked around the table and dropped into one of
the chairs beside him.

"Let drink be brought, for I am thirsty. Until my
thirst is quenched, I will not talk."

A faint flush stained the white face; there was a
growl from Tibur. He was glaring at me with reddened
face ; the Witch-woman stood, gaze intent upon me,
no mockery in it now; the speculative interest was
intensified. It came to me that the throne I had usurped
was Tibur's. I laughed.

"Beware, Tibur," I said. "This may be an omen!"

The High Priest intervened, smoothly.

"If he be indeed Dwayanu, Tibur, then no honour is
too great for him. See that wine is brought."

The look that the Smith shot at Yodin seemed to
me to hold a question.  Perhaps the Witch-woman
thought so too. She spoke quickly.

"I will see to it."

She walked to the door, opened it and gave an order
to a guard. She waited ; there was silence among us
while she waited. I thought many things. I thought,

for example, that I did not like the look that had passed
between Yodin and Tibur, and that while I might trust
Lur for the present—still she would drink first when the
wine came. And I thought that I would tell them little
of how I came to the Shadowed-land. And I thought
of Jim—and I thought of Evalie. It made my heart
ache so that I felt the loneliness of nightmare ; and then
I felt the fierce contempt of that other part of me, and
felt it strain against the fetters I had put on it. Then
the wine came.

The Witch-woman carried ewer and goblet over to
the table and set them before me. She poured yellow
wine into the goblet and handed it to me. I smiled at
her.

"The cup-bearer drinks first," I said. "So it was in
the olden days, Lur. And the olden customs are dear
to me."

Tibur gnawed his lip and tugged at his beard at that,
but Lur took up the goblet and drained it. I refilled it,
and raised it to Tibur. I had a malicious desire to bait
the Smith.

"Would you have done that had you been the cup-
bearer, Tibur ?" I asked him and drank.

That was good wine ! It tingled through me, and I
felt the heady recklessness leap up under it as though
lashed. I filled the goblet again and tossed it off.

"Come up, Lur, and sit with us," I said. "Tibur,
join us."

The Witch-woman quietly took the third throne.
Tibur was watching me, and I saw a new look in his
eyes, something of that furtive speculation I had sur-
prised in Lur's. The white-faced priest's gaze was far
away. It occurred to me that the three of them were
extremely busy with their own thoughts, and that Tibur
at least, was becoming a bit uneasy. When he answered
me his voice had lost all truculency.

"Well and good—Dwayanu!" he said, and, lifting a
bench, carried it to the table, and set it where he could
watch our faces.

"I answer your question," I turned to Yodin. "I
came here at the summons of Khalk'ru."

"It is strange," he said, "that I, who am High Priest
of Khalk'ru, knew nothing of any summons."

"The reasons for that I do not know," I said,
casually. "Ask them of him you serve."

He pondered over that.

"Dwayanu lived long and long and long ago," he
said. "Before——"

"Before the Sacrilege. True." I took another drink
of the wine. "Yet—I am here."

For the first time his voice lost its steadiness.

"You—you know of the Sacrilege!"  His fingers
clutched my wrist.  "Man—whoever you are—from
whence do you come ?"

"I come," I answered, "from the Mother-land."

His fingers tightened around my wrist. He echoed
Tibur.

"The Mother-land is a dead land. Khalk'ru in his
anger destroyed its life. There is no life save here, where
Khalk'ru hears his servants and lets life be."

He did not believe that; I could tell it by the
involuntary glance he had given the Witch-woman and
the Smith. Nor did they.

"The Mother-land," I said, "is bleached bones. Its
cities lie covered in shrouds of sand. Its rivers are water-
less, and all that runs within their banks is sand driven
by the arid winds. Yet still is there life in the Mother-
land, and although the ancient blood is thinned—still it
runs. And still is Khalk'ru worshipped and feared in the
place from whence I came—and still in other lands the
earth spawns life as always she has done."

I poured some more wine. It was good wine, that.

Under it I felt my recklessness increase . . . under it
Dwayanu was stronger . . . well, this was a tight box
I was in, so let him be ...

"Show me the place from whence you came," the
High Priest spoke swiftly. He gave me a tablet of wax
and a stylus. I traced the outline of Northern Asia upon
it and of Alaska. I indicated the Gobi and approxi-
mately the location of the oasis, and also the position of
the Shadowed-land.

Tibur got up to look at it; their three heads bent
over it. The priest fumbled among the rolls, picked one,
and they compared it with the tablet. It appeared like
a map, but if so the northern coast line was all wrong.
There was a line traced on it that seemed to be a route
of some sort. It was overscored and underscored with
symbols. I wondered whether it might not be the record
of the trek those of the Old Race had made when they
had fled from the Gobi.

They looked up at last; there was perturbation in
the priest's eyes, angry apprehension in Tibur's, but the
eyes of the Witch,-woman were clear and untroubled—
as though she had made up her mind about something
and knew precisely what she was going to do.

"It is the Mother-land !" the priest said. "Tell me
—did the black-haired stranger who fled with you across
the river and who watched you hurled from Nansur
come also from there ?"

There was sheer malice in that question. I began to
dislike Yodin.

"No," I answered. "He comes from an old land of
the Rrrllya."

That brought the priest up standing ; Tibur swore
incredulously; and even the Witch-woman was shaken
from her serenity.

"Another land—of the Rrrllya ! But that cannot be !"
whispered Yodin.

"Nevertheless it is so," I said.

He sank back, and thought for a while.

"He is your friend ?"

"My brother by the ancient blood rite of his people."

"He would join you here ?"

"He would if I sent for him. But that I will not do.
Not yet. He is well off where he is."

I was sorry I had said that the moment I had spoken.
Why—I did not know. But I would have given much
to have recalled the words.

Again the priest was silent.

"These are strange things you tell us," he said at last.
"And you have come to us strangely for—Dwayanu.
You will not mind if for a little we take counsel ?"

I looked in the ewer. It was still half-full. I liked
that wine—most of all because it dulled my sorrow over
Evalie.

"Speak as long as you please," I answered, graciously.
They went off to a comer of the room. I poured myself
another drink, and another. I forgot about Evalie. I
began to feel I was having a good time. I wished Jim
was with me, but I wished I hadn't said he would
come if I sent for him. And then I took another drink
and forgot about Jim. Yes, I was having a damned good
time . . . well, wait till I let Dwayanu loose a bit
more ! I'd have a better one ... I was sleepy . . .
I wondered what old Barr would say if he could be here
with me. . . .

I came to myself with a start. The High Priest was
standing at my side, talking. I had a vague idea he had
been talking to me for some time but I couldn't remem-
ber what about. I also had the idea that someone had
been fumbling with my thumb. It was clenched stub-
bornly in my palm, so tightly that the stone had bruised
the flesh. The effect of the wine had entirely worn off
I looked around the room. Tibur and the Witch-woman

were gone. Why hadn't I seen them go ? Had I been
asleep ? I studied Yodin's face. There was a look ol
strain about it, of bafflement; and yet I sensed some
deep satisfaction. It was a queer composite of expression.
And I didn't like it.

"The others have gone to prepare a fitting reception
for you," he said. "To make ready a place for you and
fitting apparel."

I arose and stood beside him.

"As Dwayanu ?" I asked.

"Not as yet," he answered urbanely.  "But as an
honoured guest. The other is too serious a matter to
decide without further proof."

"And that proof ?"

He looked at me a long moment before answering.

"That Khalk'ru will appear at your prayer!"

A little shudder went through me at that. He was
watching me so closely that he must have seen it.

"Curb your impatience," his voice was cold honey.
"You will not have long to wait. Until then I probably
shall not see you. In the meantime—I have a request
to make."

"What is it ?" I asked.

"That you will not wear the ring of Khalk'ru openly—
except, of course, at such times as may seem necessary
to you."

It was the same thing Lur had asked me. Yet scores
had seen me with the ring—more must know I had it.
He read my indecision.

"It is a holy thing," he said. "I did not know another
existed until word was brought me that you had shown
it on Nansur. It is not well to cheapen holy things.
I do not wear mine except when I think it—necessary."

I wondered under what circumstances he considered
it—necessary. And I wished fervently I knew under
what circumstances it would be helpful to me. His eyes

were searching me, and I hoped he had not read that
thought.

"I see no reason to deny that request," I said. I
slipped the ring off my thumb and into my belt pocket.

"I was sure you would not," he murmured.

A gong sounded lightly. He pressed the side of the
table, and the door opened. Three youths clothed in
the smocks of the people entered and stood humbly
waiting.

"They are your servants. They will take you to your
place," Yodin said. He bent his head. I went out with
the three young Ayjirs. At the door was a guard of a
dozen women with a bold-eyed young captain. They
saluted me smartly. We marched down the corridor
and at length turned into another. I looked back.

I was just in time to see the Witch-woman slipping
into the High Priest's chamber.

We came to another guarded door. It was thrown open
and into it I was ushered, followed by the three youths.

"We are also your servants. Lord," the bold-eyed
captain spoke. "If there is anything you wish, summon
me by this. We shall be at the door."

She handed me a small gong of jade, saluted again
and marched out.

The room had an odd aspect of familiarity. Then I
realized it was much like that to which I had been taken
in the oasis. There were the same oddly shaped stools,
and chairs of metal, the same wide, low divan bed, the
tapestried walls, the rugs upon the floor. Only here
there were no signs of decay. True, some of the tapestries
were time-faded, but exquisitely so ; there were no rags
or tatters in them. The others were beautifully woven
but fresh as though just from the loom. The ancient
hangings were threaded with the same scenes of the hunt
and war as the haggard drapings of the oasis ; the newer

ones bore scenes of the land under the mirage. Nansur
Bridge sprang unbroken over one, on another was a battle
with the pygmies, on another a scene of the fantastically
lovely forest—with the white wolves of Lur slinking
through the trees. Something struck me as wrong. I
looked and looked before I knew what it was. The
arms of its olden master had been in the chamber of the
oasis, his swords and spears, helmet and shield; in this
one there was not a weapon. I remembered that I had
carried the sword of Tibur's man into the chamber of
the High Priest. I did not have it now.

A disquietude began to creep over me. I turned to
the three young Ayjirs, and began to unbutton my shirt.
They came forward silently, and started to strip me.
And suddenly I felt a consuming thirst.

"Bring me water,;' I said to one of the youths. He
paid not the slightest attention to me.

"Bring me water," I said again, thinking he had not
heard. "I am thirsty."

He continued tranquilly taking off a boot. I touched
him on the shoulder.

"Bring me water to drink," I said, emphatically.

He smiled up at me, opened his mouth and pointed.
He had no tongue. He pointed to his ears. I understood
that he was telling me he was both dumb and deaf. I
pointed to his two comrades. He nodded.

My disquietude went up a point or two. Was this a
general custom of the rulers of Karak; had this trio
been especially adapted not only for silent service but
unhearing service on special guests ?   Guests or—
prisoners ?

I tapped the gong with a finger. At once the door
opened, and the young captain stood there, saluting.

"I am thirsty," I said. "Bring water."

For answer she crossed the room and pulled aside one
of the hangings. Behind it was a wide, deep alcove.

Within the floor was a shallow pool through which cleat
water was flowing, and close beside it was a basin of
porphyry from which sprang a jet like a tiny fountain,
She took a goblet from a niche, filled it under the jet
and handed it to me. It was cold and sparkling.

"Is there anything more. Lord ?" she asked. I shook
my head, and she marched out.

I went back to the ministrations of the three deaf-
mutes. They took off the rest of my clothes and began
to massage me, with some light, volatile oil. While they
were doing it, my mind began to function rather actively.
In the first place, the sore spot in my palm kept reminding
me of that impression someone had been trying to get
the ring off my thumb. In the second place, the harder
I thought the more I was sure that before I awakened or
had come out of my abstraction or drink or whatever it
was, the white-faced priest had been talking, talking,
talking to me, questioning me, probing into my dulled
mind. And in the third place, I had lost almost entirely
all the fine carelessness of consequences that had been
so successful in putting me where I was—in fact, I was
far too much Leif Langdon and too little Dwayanu.
What had the priest been at with his talking, talking,
questioning—and what had I said ?

I jumped out of the hands of my masseurs, ran over
to my trousers and dived into my belt. The ring was
there right enough. I searched for my old pouch. It
was gone. I rang the gong. The captain answered. I
was mother-naked, but I hadn't the slightest sense of
her being a woman.                               •

"Hear me," I said. "Bring me wine. And bring with
it a safe, strong case big enough to hold a ring. Bring
with that a strong chain with which I can hang the case
around my neck. Do you understand ?"

"Done at once. Lord," she said. She was not long in
returning. She set down the ewer she was carrying and

reached into her blouse.  She brought out a locket
suspended from a metal chain. She snapped it open.

"Will this do. Lord ?"

I turned from her, and put the ring of Khalk'ru into
the locket. It held it admirably.

"Most excellently," I told her, "but I have nothing
to give you in return."

She laughed.

"Reward enough to have beheld you. Lord," she said,
not at all ambiguously, and marched away. I hung the
locket round my neck. I poured a drink and then another.
I went back to my masseurs and began to feel better.
I drank while they were bathing me, and I drank while
they were trimming my,hair and shaving me. And the
more I drank the more Dwayanu came up, coldly wrathful
and resentful.

My dislike for Yodin grew. It did not lessen while
the trio were dressing me. They put on me a silken
under-vest. They covered it with a gorgeous tunic of
yellow shot through with metallic threads of blue ; they
covered my long legs with the baggy trousers of the
same stuff ; they buckled around my waist a broad, gem-
studded girdle, and they strapped upon my feet sandals
of soft golden leather. They had shaved me, and now
they brushed and dressed my hair which they had shorn
to the nape of my neck.

By the time they were through with me, the wine was
done. I was a little drunk, willing to be more so, and in
no mood to be played with. I rang the gong for the
captain. I wanted some more wine, and I wanted to
know when, where and how I was going to eat. The
door opened, but it was not the captain who came in.

It was the Witch-woman.

«

CHAPTER XV

THE LAKE OF THE GHOSTS

LUR paused, red lips parted, regarding me.  Plainly
she was startled by the difference the Ayjir trappings
and the ministrations of the mutes had made in the
dripping, bedraggled figure that had scrambled out of the
river not long before. Her eyes glowed, and a deeper
rose stained her cheeks. She came. close.

"Dwayanu—you will go with me ?"

I looked at her, and laughed.

"Why not, Lur—but also, why ?"

She whispered:

"You are in danger—whether you are Dwayanu or
whether you are not. I have persuaded Yodin to let you
remain with me until you go to the temple. With me
you shall be safe—until then."

"And why did you do this for me, Lur ?"

She made no answer—only set one hand upon my
shoulder and looked at me with blue eyes grown soft;

and though common sense told me there were other
reasons for her solicitude than any quick passion for me,
still at that touch and look the blood raced through my
veins, and it was hard to master my voice and speak.

"I will go with you, Lur."

She went to the door, opened it.

"Ouarda, the cloak and cap." She came back to me
with a black cloak which she threw over my shoulders
and fastened round my neck; she pulled down over my
yellow hair a close-fitting cap shaped like the Phyrgian
and she tucked my hair into it. Except for my height
it made me like any other Ayjir in Karak.           ''-

"There is need for haste, Dwayanu."

"I am ready. Wait——"

I went over to where my old clothes lay, and rolled
them up around my boots. After all—I might need
them. The Witch-woman made no comment, opened
the door and we went out. The captain and her guard
were in the corridor, also a half-dozen of Lur's women,
and handsome creatures they were. Then I noticed that
each of them wore the light coat of mail and, besides the
two swords, carried throwing hammers. So did Lur.
Evidently they were ready for trouble, whether with
me or with someone else; and whichever way it was, I
didn't like it.

"Give me your sword," I said abruptly to the captain.
She hesitated.

"Give it to him," said Lur.

I weighed the weapon in my hand; not so heavy as
I would have liked, but still a sword. I thrust it into
my girdle, and bunched the bundle of my old clothes
beneath my left arm, under the cloak. We set off down
the corridor, leaving the guard at the door.

We went only a hundred yards, and then into a small
bare chamber. We had met no one. Lur drew a breath
of relief, walked over to a side, and a slab of stone slid
open, revealing a passage. We went into that and the
slab closed, leaving us in pitch-darkness. There was a
spark, produced I don't know how, and the place sprang
into light from torches in the hands of two of the women.
They burned with a dear, steady and silvery flame. The
torch-bearers marched ahead of us. After a while we
came to the end of that passage, the torches were extin-
guished, another stone slid away and we stepped out. I
heard whispering, and after the glare of the flambeaux
had worn away, I saw that we were at the base of one
of the walls of the black citadel, and that close by were
half a dozen more of Lur's women, with horses. One of
them led forward a big grey stallion.

"Mount, and ride beside me," said Lur.

I fixed my bundle on the pommel of the high saddle,
and straddled the grey. We set off silently. It was never
wholly dark at night in the land under the mirage ; there
was always a faint green luminescence, but to-night it
was brighter than I had ever seen it. I wondered whether
there was a full moon shining down over the peaks of the
valley. I wondered if we had far to go. I was not as
drunk as I had been when Lur had come in on me, but
in a way I was drunker. I had a queer, light-headed
feeling that was decidedly pleasant, a carefree irre-
sponsibility. I wanted to keep on feeling that way. I
hoped that Lur had plenty of wine wherever she was
taking me. I wished I had a drink right now.

We were going through the city beyond the citadel,
and we went fast. The broad street we were on was well
paved. There were lights in the houses and in the gardens
and people singing and drums and pipes playing. Sinister
the black citadel might be, but it did not seem to cast
any shadow on the people of Karak. Or so I thought then.

We passed out of the city into a smooth road running
between thick vegetation. The luminous moths like
fairy planes were flitting about, and for a moment I felt
a pang of memory, and Evalie's face floated up before me.
It didn't last a second. The grey went sweetly and I
began to sing an old Kirghiz song about a lover who rode
in the moonlight to his maid and what he found when
he got there. Lur laughed, and put her hand over my

mouth.

"Quiet, Dwayanu ! There still is danger."
Then I realized that I hadn't been singing the Kirghiz
at all, but the Uighur, which was probably where the
Kirghiz got it from. And then it occurred to me that
I had never heard the song in the Uighur. It started
the old problem going in my mind—and that lasted no
longer than the memory of Evalie.

Now and then I caught a glimpse of the white river.
And then we went over a long stretch where the road
narrowed so that we rode single file between verdure-
covered cliffs. When we came out of them, the road
forked. One part of it ran right on, the other turned
sharply to the left. We rode along this for three or four
miles, apparently directly through the heart of the
strange forest. The great trees spread their arms out
far overhead ; the candelabras and cressets and swaying
ropes of blooms gleamed like ghosts of flowers in the
pallid light; the scaled trees were like men-at-arms on
watch. And the heady fragrances, the oddly stimulating
exhalations were strong—strong. They throbbed from
the forest, rhythmically, as though they were the pulse
of its life-drunken heart.

And as we came to the end of that road and I looked
down upon the Lake of the Ghosts.

Never, I think, in all the world was there such a place
of breath-taking, soul-piercing, unearthly beauty as that
lake beneath the mirage in which Lur the Witch-woman
had her home. And had she not been Witch-woman before
she dwelt there, it must have made her so.

It was shaped like an arrow-head, its longer shores
not more than a mile in, length. It was enclosed by low
hills whose sides were covered with the tree-ferns ; their
feathery fronds clothed them as though they were the
breasts of gigantic birds of Paradise ; threw themselves
up from them like fountains ; soared over them like vast
virescent wings. The colour of its water was pale emerald,
and like an emerald it gleamed, placid, untroubled. But
beneath that untroubled surface there was movement—
luminous circles of silvery green that spread swiftly and
vanished, rays that laced and interlaced in fantastic yet
ordered, geometric forms; luminous spirallings, none of
which ever came quite to the surface to disturb its serenity.
And here and there were clusters of soft lights, like vapor-

ous rubies, misted sapphires and opals and glimmering
pearls—witch-lights. The luminous lilies of the Lake
of the Ghosts.

Where the point of the arrow-head touched, there
were no ferns. A broad waterfall spread itself like a veil
over the face of the cliff, whispering as it fell. Mists rose
there, mingling with the falling water, dancing slowly
with the falling water, swaying toward it and reaching
up with ghostly hands as though to greet it. And from
the shores of the lake, other wraiths of mist would rise,
and glide swiftly over the emerald floor and join those
other dancing, welcoming wraiths of the waterfall. Thus
first I saw the Lake of the Ghosts under the night of the
mirage, and it was no less beautiful in the mirage day.

The road ran out into the lake like the shaft of an
arrow. At its end was what once, I supposed, had been
a small island. It lay two-thirds of the way across.
Over its trees were the turrets of a small castle.

We walked our horses down the steep to the narrowing
of the road where it became the shaft of the arrow. Here
there were no ferns to hide the approach; they had been
cleared away and the breast of the hill was covered with
the blue flowerets. As we reached the narrow part, I
saw that it was a causeway, built of stone. The place
to which we were going was still an island. We came to
the end of the causeway, and there was a forty-foot gap
between it and a pier on the opposite shore. Lur drew
from her girdle a small horn and sounded it. A draw-
bridge began to creak, and to drop down over the gap.
We rode across that and into a garrison of her women.
We cantered up a winding road, and I heard the creak
of the lifting bridge as we went. We drew up before the
house of the Witch-woman.

I looked at it with interest, not because it was
unfamiliar, for it was not, but I was thinking I had never
seen a castle of its sort built of that peculiar green stone

nor with so many turrets. Yes, I knew them well.
"Lady castles," we had called them ; lana'rada, bowers
for favourite women, a place to rest, a place to love after
war or when weary of statecraft.

Women came and took the horses. Wide doors of
polished wood swung open. Lur led me over the thres-
hold.

Girls came forward with wine. I drank thirstily.
The queer light-headedness, and the sense of detachment
were growing. I seemed to have awakened from a long,
long sleep, and was not thoroughly awake and troubled
by memories of dreams. But I was sure that they had
not all been dreams. That old priest who had awakened
me in the desert which once had been fertile Ayjirland—
he had been no dream. Yet the people among whom I
had awakened bad not been Ayjirs. This was not Ayjir-
land, yet the people were of the ancient breed! How
had I gotten here ? I must have fallen asleep again in
the temple after—after—by Zarda, but I must feel my way
a bit! Be cautious. Then would follow a surge of reck-
kssness that swept away all thought of caution, a roaring
relish of life, a wild freedom as of one who, long in prison,
sees suddenly the bars broken and before him the table
of life spread with all he has been denied, to take as he
wills. 'And on its heels a flash of recognition that I was
Leif Langdon and knew perfectly well how I came to be
in this place and must some way, somehow, get back to
Evalie and to Jim. Swift as the lightning were those
latter flashes, and as brief.

I became aware that I was no longer in the castle's
hall but in a smaller chamber, octagonal, casemented,
tapestried. There was a wide, low bed. There was a
table glistening with gold and crystal; tall candles
burned upon it. My blouse was gone, and in its place a
light silken tunic. The casements were open and the
fragrant air sighed through them. I leaned from one.

Below me were the lesser turrets and the roof of the
castle. Far below was the lake. I looked through
another. The waterfall with its beckoning wraiths
whispered and murmured not a thousand feet away.

I felt the touch of a hand on my head ; it slipped down
to my shoulder; I swung round. The Witch-woman
was beside me.

For the first time I seemed to be realizing her beauty,
seemed for the first time to be seeing her clearly. Her
russet hair was braided in a thick coronal; it shone like
reddest gold, and within it was twisted a strand of
sapphires. Her eyes outshone them. Her scanty robe
of gossamer blue revealed every lovely, sensuous line of
her. White shoulders and one of the exquisite breasts
were bare. Her full red lips promised—anything, and
even the subtle cruelty stamped upon them, lured.

There had been a dark girl ... who had she been . . .
Ev—Eval—the name eluded me ... no matter . . .
she was like a wraith beside this woman . . . like one of
the mist wraiths swaying at the feet of the waterfall. . . .

The Witch-woman read what was in my eyes. Her
hand slipped from my shoulder and rested on my heart.
She bent closer, blue eyes languorous—yet strangely
intent.

"And are you truly Dwayanu ?"

"I am he—none else, Lur."

"Who was Dwayanu—long and long and long ago ?"

"I cannot tell you that, Lur—I who have been long
asleep and in sleep forgotten much. Yet—I am he."

"Then look—and remember."

Her hand left my heart and rested on my head; she
pointed to the waterfall. Slowly its whispering changed.
It became the beat of drums, the trample of horses, the
tread of marching men. Louder and louder they grew.
The waterfall quivered, and spread across the black cliff
like a gigantic curtain. From every side the mist wraiths

were hurrying, melting into it. Clearer and nearer
sounded the drums. And suddenly the waterfall
vanished. In its place was a great walled city. Two
armies were fighting there and I knew that the forces
which were attacking the city were being borne back. I
heard the thunder of the hoofs of hundreds of horses.
Down upon the defenders raced a river of mounted men.
Their leader was clothed in shining mail. He was helmet-
less, and his yellow hair streamed behind him as he rode.
He turned his face. And that face was my own ! I
heard a roaring shout of . "Dwayanu !" The charge
struck like a river in spate, rolled over the defenders,
submerged them.

I saw an army in rout, and smashed by companies with
the throwing hammers.

I rode with the yellow-haired leader into the conquered
city. And I sat with him on a conquered throne while
ruthlessly, mercilessly, he dealt death to men and women
dragged before him, and smiled at the voices of rapine
and pillage rising from without. I rode and sat with
him, I say, for now it was no longer as though I were in
the Witch-woman's chamber but was with this yellow-
haired man who was my twin, seeing as he did, hearing
as he did—yes, and thinking as he thought.

Battle upon battle, tourneys and feasts and triumphs,
hunts with the falcons and hunts with great dogs in fair
Ayjirland, hammer-play and anvil-play—I saw them,
standing always beside Dwayanu like an unseen shadow.
I went with him to the temples when he served the gods.
I went with him to the Temple of the Dissolver—Black
Khalk'ru, the Greater-than-Gods—and he wore the ring
which rested on my breast. But when he passed within
Khalk'ru's temple, I held back. The same deep, stubborn
resistance which had halted me when I had visioned the
portal of the oasis temple halted me now. I listened to
two voices. One urged me to enter with Dwayanu.

The other whispered that I must not.  And that voice I
could not disobey.

And then, abruptly, Ayjirland was no more! I was
staring out at the waterfall and gliding mist wraiths.
But—I was Dwayanu !

I was all Dwayanu ! Leif Langdon had ceased to
exist!

Yet he had left memories—memories which were like
half-remembered dreams, memories whose source I could
not fathom but realized that, even if only dreams, were
true ones. They told me the Ayjirland I had ruled had
vanished as utterly as had the phantom Ayjirland of the
waterfall, that dusty century upon century had passed
since them, that other empires had risen and fallen, that
here was an alien land with only a dying fragment of the
ancient glory.

Warrior-king and warrior-priest I had been, holding in
my hands empire and the lives and destinies of a race.

And now—no more !

CHAPTER XVI

KISSES OF LUR

BLACK sorrow and the bitter ashes were in my heart
when I turned from the window. I looked at Lur.
From long slim feet to shining head I looked at her, and
the black sorrow lightened and the bitter ashes blew
away.

I put my hands on her shoulders and laughed. Luka
had spun her wheel and sent my empire flying off its
rim like dust from the potter's. But she had left me
something. In all old Ayjirland there had been few
women like this.

Praise Luka! A sacrifice to her next morning if this
woman proves what I think her !

My vanished empire ! What of it ? I would build
another. Enough that I was alive !

Again I laughed. I put my hand under Lur's chin,
raised her face to mine, set my lips against hers. She
thrust me from her. There was anger in her eyes—but
there was doubt under the anger.

"You bade me remember. Well, I have remembered.
Why did you open the gates of memory. Witch-woman,
unless you had made up your mind to abide by what came
forth ? Or did you know less of Dwayanu than you
pretended ?"

She took a step back ; she said, furiously :

"I give my kisses. None takes them."

I caught her in my arms, crushed her mouth to mine,
then released her.

"I take them."

I struck down at her right wrist. There was a dagger

in her hand. I was amused, wondering where she had
hidden it. I wrenched it from her grip and slipped it m
my girdle.

"And draw the stings from those I kiss. Thus did
Dwayanu in the days of old and thus he does to-day."

She stepped back and back, eyes dilated. Ai! but
I could read her ! She had thought me other than I was,
thought me hare-brain, imposter, trickster. And it had
been in her mind to trick me, to bend me to her will.
To beguile me. Me—Dwayanu, who knew women as I
knew war ! And yet——

She was very beautiful . . . and she was all I had in
this alien land to begin the building of my rule. I summed
her up as she stood staring at me. I spoke, and my
words were as cold as my thoughts.

"Play no more with daggers—nor with me. Call your
servants. I am hungry and I thirst. When I have
eaten and drunk we will talk."

She hesitated, then clapped her hands. Women came
in with steaming dishes, with ewers of wine, with fruits.
I ate ravenously. I drank deeply. I ate and drank,
thinking little of Lur—but thinking much of what her
sorcery had made me see, drawing together what I
remembered from desert oasis until now. It was little
enough. I ate and drank silently. I felt her eyes upon
me. I looked into them and smiled.
 "You thought to make me slave to your will, Lur.
Never think it again !"

She dropped her head between her hands and gazed at
me across the table.

"Dwayanu died long and long ago. Can the leaf that
has withered grow green ?"

"I am he, Lur."

She did not answer.

"What was in your thought when you brought me
here, Lur ?"

"I am weary of Tibur, weary of his laughter, weary of
his stupidity."

"What else ?"

"I tire of Yodin. You and I—alone—could rule
Karak, if——"

"That 'if is the heart of it. Witch-woman. What is
it?"

She arose, leaned toward me.

"If you can summon Khalk'ru !"

"And if I cannot ?"

She shrugged her white shoulders, dropped back into
her chair. I laughed.

"In which case Tibur will not be so wearisome, and
Yodin may be tolerated. Now listen to me, Lur. Was
it your voice I heard urging me to enter Khalk'ru's
temples ? Did you see as I was seeing ? You need not
answer. I read you, Lur. You would be rid of Tibur.
Well, perhaps I can kill him. You would be rid of Yodin.
Well, no matter who I am, if I can summon the Greater-
than-Gods, there is no need of Yodin. Tibur and Yodin
gone, there would be only you and me. You think you
could rule me. You could not, Lur."

She had listened quietly, and quietly now she answered.

"All that is true——"

She hesitated; her eyes glowed; a rosy flush swept
over bosom and cheeks.

"Yet—there might be another reason why I took
you——"

I did not ask her what that other reason might be;

women had tried to snare me with that ruse before. Her
gaze dropped from me, the cruelty on the red mouth
stood out for an instant, naked.

"What did you promise Yodin, Witch-woman ?"

She arose, held out her arms to me, her voice
trembled——

"Are you less than man—that you can speak to me

so ! Have I not offered you power, to share with me ?
Am I not beautiful—am I not desirable ?"

"Very beautiful, very desirable. But always I learned
the traps my city concealed before I took it."

Her eyes shot blue fires at that. She took a swift step
toward the door. I was swifter. I held her, caught the
hand she raised to strike me.

"What did you promise the High-priest, Lur ?"

I put the point of the dagger at her throat. Her eyes
blazed at me, unafraid. Luka—turn your wheel so I need
not slay this woman !

Her straining body relaxed ; she laughed.

"Put away the dagger, I will tell you."

I released her, and walked back to my chair. She
studied me from her place across the table; she said,
half incredulously:

"You would have killed me !"

"Yes," I told her.

"I believe you. Whoever you may be. Yellow-hair—
there is no man like you here."

"Whoever I may be—Witch ?"

She stirred impatiently.

"No further need for pretence between us." There
was anger in her voice. "I am done with lies—better
for both if you be done with them too. Whoever you
are—you are not Dwayanu. I say again that the withered
leaf cannot turn green nor the dead return."

"If I am not he, then whence came those memories
you watched with me not long ago ? Did they pass from
your mind to mine. Witch-woman—or from my mind to
yours ?"

She shook her head, and again I saw a furtive doubt
cloud her eyes.

"I saw nothing. I meant you to see—something. You
eluded me. Whatever it was you saw—I had no part in
it. Nor could I bend you to my will. I saw nothing."

"I saw the ancient land, Lur."

She said, sullenly:

"I could go no farther than its portal."

"What was it you sent me into Ayjirland to find for
Yodin, Witch-woman ?"

"Khalk'ru," she answered evenly.

"And why ?"

"Because then I would have known surely, beyond all
doubt, whether you could summon him. That was what
I promised Yodin to discover."

"And if I could summon him ?"

"Then you were to be slain before you had opportunity."

"And if I could not ?"

"Then you would be offered to him in the temple."

"By Zarda !" I swore. "Dwayanu's welcome is not
like what he had of old when he went visiting—or, if you
prefer it, the hospitality you offer a stranger is no thing
to encourage travellers. Now do I see eye to eye with
you in this matter of eliminating Tibur and the priest.
But why should I not begin with you. Witch ?"

She leaned back, smiling.

"First—because it would do you no good. Yellow-hair.
Look."

She beckoned me to one of the windows. From it I
could see the causeway and the smooth hill upon which
we had emerged from the forest. There were soldiers all
along the causeway and the top of the hill held a com-
pany of them. I felt that she was quite right—even I
could not get through them unscathed. The old cold
rage began to rise within me. She watched me, with
mockery in her eyes.

"And second—" she said. "And second—well, hear
me. Yellow-hair."

I poured wine, raised the goblet to her, and drank.
She said:

"Life is pleasant in this land. Pleasant at least for

those of us who role it. I have no desire to change it—
except in the matter of Tibur and Yodin. And another
matter of which we can talk later. I know the world has
altered since long and long ago our ancestors fled from
Ayjirland. I know there is life outside this sheltered
place to which Khalk'ru led those ancestors. Yodin and
Tibur know it, and some few more. Others guess it.
But none of us desires to leave this pleasant place—nor
do we desire it invaded. Particularly have we no desire
to have our people go from it. And this many would
attempt if they knew there were green fields and woods
and running water and a teeming world of men beyond
us. For through the uncounted years they have been
taught that in all the world there is no life save here.
That Khalk'ru, angered by the Great Sacrilege when
Ayjirland rose in revolt and destroyed his temples, then
destroyed all life except here, and that only by Khalk'ru's
sufferance does it here exist—and shall persist only so
long as he is offered the ancient Sacrifice. You follow
me. Yellow-hair."

I nodded.

"The prophecy of Dwayanu is an ancient one. He
was the greatest of the Ayjir kings. He lived a hundred
years or more before the Ayjirs began to turn their faces
from Khalk'ru, to resist the Sacrifice—and the desert in
punishment began to waste the land. And as the unrest
grew, and the great war which was to destroy the Ayjirs
brewed, the prophecy was born. That he would return
to restore the ancient glory. No new story. Yellow-hair.
Others have had their Dwayanus—the Redeemer, the
Liberator, the Loosener of Fate—or so I have read in
those rolls our ancestors carried with them when they
fled. I do not believe these stories ; new Dwayanus may
arise, but the old ones do not return. Yet the people
know the prophecy, and the people will believe anything
that promises them freedom from something they do not

like. And it is from the people that the sacrifices to
Khalk'ru are taken—and they do not like the Sacrifice.
But because they fear what might come if there were no
more sacrifices—they endure them.

"And now. Yellow-hair—we come to you. When first
I saw you, heard you shouting that you were Dwayanu,
I took council with Yodin and Tibur. I thought you
then from Sirk. Soon I knew that could not be. There
was another with you——"

"Another ?" I asked, in genuine surprise.

She looked at me, suspiciously.

"You have no memory of him ?"

"No. I remember seeing you. You had a white
falcon. There were other women with you. I saw you
from the river."

She leaned forward, gaze intent.

"You remember the Rrrllya—the Little People ? A
dark girl who calls herself Evalie ?"

Little People—a dark girl—Evalie ? Yes, I did
remember something of them—but vaguely. They had
been in those dreams I had forgotten, perhaps. No—
they had been real ... or had they ?

"Faintly, I seem to remember something of them, Lur.
Nothing clearly."

She stared at me, a curious exultation in her
eyes.

"No matter," she said. "Do not try to think of them.
You were not—awake. Later we will speak of them.
They are enemies. No matter—follow me now. If you
 were from Sirk, posing as Dwayanu, you might be a
rallying point for our discontented. Perhaps even the
leader they needed. If you were from outside—you were
still more dangerous, since you could prove us liars. Not
only the people, but the soldiers might rally to you.
And probably would. What was there for us to do but
to kill you?"

"Nothing," I answered. "I wonder now you did not
when you had the chance."

"You had complicated matters," she said. "You had
shown the ring. Many had seen it, many had heard you
call yourself Dwayanu——"

Ah, yes ! I remember now—I had come up from the
river. How had I gotten into the river ? The bridge—
Nansur—something had happened there ... it was all
misty, nothing clear-cut . . . the Little People . . . yes,
I remembered something of them ... they were afraid
of me ... but I had nothing against them . . . vainly
I tried to sort the vague visions into some pattern. Lur's
voice recalled my wandering thoughts.

"And so," she was saying, "I made Yodin see that it
was not well to slay you outright. It would have been
known, and caused too much unrest—strengthened Sirk
for one thing. Caused unrest among the soldiers. What
—Dwayanu had come and we had slain him !

" 'I will take him,' I told Yodin. 'I do not trust
Tibur who, in his stupidity and arrogance, might easily
destroy us all. There is a better way. Let Khalk'ru eat
him and so prove us right and him the liar and braggart.
Then not soon will another come shouting that he is
Dwayanu'!"

"So the High-priest does not think me Dwayanu,
either ?"

"Less even than I do. Yellow-hair," she said, smiling.
"Nor Tibur. But who you are, and whence you came,
and how and why—that puzzles them as it does me.
You look like the Ayjir—it means nothing. You have
the ancient marks upon your hands—well, granted you
are of the ancient blood. So has Tibur—and he is no
Redeemer," again her laughter rang like little bells,
"You have the ring. Where did you find it. Yellow-
hair ? For you know little of its use. Yodin found that
out. When you were in sleep. And Yodin saw you turn

colour and half turn to flee when first you saw Khalk'ru
in his chamber. Deny it not. Yellow-hair. I saw it
myself. Ah, no—Yodin has little fear of a rival with the
Dissolver. Yet—he is not wholly certain. There is the
faintest shadow of doubt. I played on that. And so—
you are here."

I looked at her with frankest admiration, again raised
the goblet and drank to her. I clapped my hands, and
the serving girls entered.

"Clear the table.' Bring wine."

They came with fresh ewers and goblets. When they
had gone out I went over to the door. There was a heavy
bar that closed it. I thrust it down. I picked up one of
the ewers and half emptied it.

"I can summon the Dissolver, Witch-woman."

She drew in her breath, sharply; her body trembled;

the blue fires of her eyes were bright—bright.

"Shall I show you ?"

I took the ring from the locket, slipped it on my
thumb, raised my hands in the beginning of the saluta-
tion——

A cold breath seemed to breathe through the room.
The Witch-woman sprang to me, dragged down my
hand. Her lips were white.

"No!--No! I believe—Dwayanu!"

I laughed. The strange cold withdrew, stealthily.

"And now. Witch, what will you tell the priest ?"

The blood was slowly coming back into her lips and
face. She lifted the ewer and drained it. Her hand
was steady. An admirable woman—this Lur !

She said:

"I will tell him that you are powerless."

I said:

"I will summon the Dissolver. I will kill Tibur. I
will kill Yodin—what else is there ?"

She came to me, stood with breast touching mine.

"Destroy Sirk. Sweep the dwarfs away. Then you
and I shall rule—alone."

I drank more wine.

"I will summon Khalk'ru ; I will eliminate Tibur and
the priest; I will sack Sirk and I will war against the
dwarfs—if——"

She looked into my eyes, long and long; her arm stole
round my shoulder . . .

I thrust out a hand and swept away the candles. The
green darkness of the mirage night seeped through the
casements. The whispering of the waterfall was soft
laughter.

"I take my pay in advance," I said. "Such was
Dwayanu's way of old—and am I not Dwayanu ?"

"Yes !" whispered the Witch-woman.

She took the strand of sapphires from her hair, she
unbraided her coronal and shook loose its russet-gold.
Her arms went round my neck. Her lips sought mine
and clung to them.

There was the beat of horses' hoofs on the causeway.
A distant challenge. A knocking at the door. The
Witch-woman awakened, sat sleepily up under the silken
tent of her hair.

"Is it you, Ouarda ?"

"Yes, mistress. A messenger from Tibur."

I laughed.

"Tell him you are busy with your gods, Lur."

She bent her head over mine so that the silken tent of
it covered us both.

"Tell him I am busy with the gods, Ouarda. He may
stay till morning—or return to Tibur with the message."

She sank back, pressed her lips to mine——

By Zarda ! But it was as it was of old—enemies to
slay, a city to sack, a nation to war with and a woman's
soft arms around me.

I was well content!

BOOK OF DWAYANU

CHAPTER XVII

ORDEAL BY KHALK'RU

TWICE the green night had filled the bowl of the
land beneath the mirage while I feasted and drank
with Lur and her women. Sword-play there had been,
and the hammer-play and wrestling. They were warriors
—these women ! Tempered steel under silken skins,
they pressed me hard now and again—strong as I was,
quick as I might be. If Sirk were soldiered by such as
these, it would be no easy conquest.

By the looks they gave me and by soft whispered
words I knew I need not be lonely if Lur rode off to
Karak. But she did not; she was ever at my side, and
no more messengers came from Tibur; or if they did I
did not know it. She had sent secret word to the High-
priest that he had been right—I had no power to summon
the Greater-than-Gods—that I was either imposter or
mad. Or so she told me. Whether she had lied to him
or, lied now to me I did not know and did not greatly care.
I was too busy—living.

Yet no more did she call me Yellow-hair. Always it
was Dwayanu. And every art of love of hers—and she
was no novice, the Witch-woman—she used to bind me
tighter to her.

It was early dawn of the third day; I was leaning
from the casement, watching the misty jewel-fires of the
luminous lilies fade, the mist wraiths that were the slaves
of the waterfall rise slowly and more slowly. I thought
Lur asleep. I heard her stir, and turned. She was
sitting up, peering at me through the red veils of her hair.
She looked all Witch-woman then. . . .

"A messenger came to me last night from Yodin.
To-day you pray to Khalk'ru."

A thrill went through me ; the blood sang in my ears.
Always had I felt so when I must evoke the Dissolver—
a feeling of power that surpassed even that of victory.
Different—a sense of inhuman power and pride. And
with it a deep anger, revolt against this Being which was
Life's enemy. This demon that fed on Ayjirland's flesh
and blood—and soul.
She was watching me.
"Are you afraid, Dwayanu ?"
I sat beside her, parted the veils of her hair.
"Was that why your kisses were doubled last night,
Lur ? Why they were so—tender ? Tenderness, Witch-
woman, becomes you—but it sits strangely on you.
Were you afraid ? For me ? You soften me, Lur !"
Her eyes flashed, her face flushed at my laughter.
"You do not believe I love you, Dwayanu ?"
"Not so much as you love power. Witch-woman."
"You love me ?"

"Not so much as I love power. Witch-woman," I
answered, and laughed again.

She studied me with narrowed eyes. She said :

"There is much talk in Karak of you. It grows
menacing. Yodin regrets that he did not kill you when
he could have—but knows full well the case might be
worse if he had. Tibur regrets he did not kill you when
you came up from the river—urges that no more time be
lost in doing so. Yodin has declared you a false prophet
and has promised that the Greater-than-Gods will prove
you so. He believes what I have told you—or perhaps
he has a hidden sword. You"—faint mockery crept into
her voice—"you, who can read me so easily, surely can
read him and guard against it! The people murmur;

there are nobles who demand you be brought forth ; and
the soldiers would follow Dwayanu eagerly—if they

believed you truly he. They are restless. Tales spread.
You have grown exceedingly—inconvenient. So you
face Khalk'ru to-day."

"If all that be true," I said, "it occurs to me that I
may not have to evoke the Dissolver to gain rule."

She smiled.

"It was not your old cunning which sent that thought.
You will be closely guarded. You would be slain before
you could rally a dozen round you. Why not—since
there would then be nothing to lose by killing you ?
And perhaps something to be gained. Besides—what of
your promises to me ?"

I thrust my arm around her shoulders, lifted and
kissed her.

"As for being slain—well, I would have a thing to say
to that. But I was jesting, Lur. I keep my promises."

There was the galloping of horses on the causeway, the
jangle of accoutrement, the rattle of kettle-drums. I
went over to the window. Lur sprang from the bed and
stood beside me. Over the causeway was coming a troop
of a hundred or more horsemen. From their spears
floated yellow pennons bearing the black symbol of
Khalk'ru. They paused at the open drawbridge. At
their head I recognized Tibur, his great shoulders covered
by a yellow cloak, and on his breast the Kraken.

"They come to take you to the temple. I must let
them pass."

"Why not ?" I asked, indifferently. "But I'll go to
no temple until I've broken my fast."

I looked again toward Tibur.

"And if I ride beside the Smith, I would you had a
coat of mail to fit me."

"You ride beside me," she said. "And as for weapons,
you shall have your pick. Yet there is nothing to fear
on the way to the temple—it is within it that danger
dwells."

"You speak too much of fear, Witch-woman," I said,
frowning. "Sound the horn. Tibur may think I am
loath to meet him. And that I would not have him
believe."

She sounded the signal to the garrison at the bridge.
I heard it creaking as I bathed. And soon the horses
were trampling before the door of the castle. Lur's tire-
woman entered, and with her she slipped away.

I dressed leisurely. On my way to the great hall I
stopped at the chamber of weapons. There was a sword
there I had seen and liked. It was of the weight to which
I was accustomed, and long and curved and of metal
excellent as any I had ever known in Ayjirland. I
weighed it in my left hand and took a lighter one for my
right. I recalled that someone had told me to beware
of Tibur's left hand ... ah, yes, the woman soldier. I
laughed—well, let Tibur beware of mine. I took a
hammer, not so heavy as the Smith's . . . that was his
vanity . . . there was more control to the lighter sledges
... I fastened to my forearm the strong strap that held
its thong. Then I went down to meet Tibur.

There were a dozen of the Ayjir nobles in the hall,
mostly men. Lur was with them. I noticed she had
posted her soldiers at various vantage points, and that
they were fully armed. I took that for evidence of her
good faith, although it somewhat belied her assurance to
me that I need fear no danger until I had reached the
temple. I had no fault to find in Tibur's greeting. Nor
with those of the others. Except one. There was a man
beside the Smith almost as tall as myself. He had cold
blue eyes and in them the singular expressionless stare
that marks the born killer of men. There was a scar
running from left temple to chin, and his nose had been
broken. The kind of man, I reflected, whom in the olden
days I would have set over some peculiarly rebellious
tribe. There was an arrogance about him that irritated

me, but I held it down. It was not in my thoughts to
provoke any conflict at this moment. I desired to raise
no suspicions in the mind of the Smith. My greetings to
him and to the others might be said to have had almost
a touch of apprehension, of conciliation.

I maintained that attitude while we broke fast and
drank. Once it was difficult. Tibur leaned toward the
scar-face, laughing.

"I told you he was taller than you, Rascha. The grey
stallion is mine !"

The blue eyes ran over me, and my gorge rose.

"The stallion is yours."

Tibur leaned toward me.

"Rascha the Back-breaker, he is named. Next to me,
the strongest in Karak. Too bad you must meet the
Greater-than-Gods so quickly. A match between you
two would be worth the seeing."

Now my rage swelled up at this, and my hand dropped
to my sword, but I managed to check it, and answered
with a touch of eagerness.

"True enough—perhaps that meeting may be
deferred ..."

Lur frowned and stared at me, but Tibur snapped at
the bait, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"No—there is one that may not be kept waiting. But
after—perhaps ..."

His laughter shook the table. The others joined in it.
The scar-face grinned. By Zarda, but this is not to be
borne ! Careful, Dwayanu, thus you tricked them in the
olden days—and thus you shall trick them now /

I drained my goblet, and another. I joined them in
their laughter—as though I wondered why they laughed.
But I sealed their faces in my memory.

We rode over the causeway with Lur at my right and
a close half-circle of her picked women covering us.

Ahead of us went Tibur and the Back-breaker with a
dozen of Tibur's strongest. Behind us came .the troop
with the yellow pennons, and behind them another" troop
of the Witch-woman's guards.        

I rode with just the proper touch of dejection. Now
and then the Smith and his familiars looked 'back at me.
And I would hear, their laughter. The Witch-woman
rode as silently as I. She glanced at me askance, and
when that happened I dropped my head a little lower.

The black citadel loomed ahead of us. We entered the
city. By that time the puzzlement in Lur's eyes had
changed almost to contempt, the laughter of the Smith
become derisive.

The streets were crowded with the people of Karak.
And now I sighed, and seemed to strive to arouse myself
from my dejection, but still rode listlessly. And Lur
bit her lip, and drew close to me, frowning.

"Have you tricked me. Yellow-hair ? You go like a
dog already beaten !"

I turned my head from her that she might not see my
face. By Luka, but it was hard to stifle my own
laughter !

There were whisperings, murmurings, among the
crowd. There were no shouts, no greetings. Everywhere
were the soldiers, sworded and armed with the hammers,
spears and pikes ready. There were archers. The High-
priest was taking no chances.

Nor was I.

It was no intention of mine to precipitate a massacre.
None to give Tibur slightest excuse to do away with me,
turn spears and arrow storm upon me. Lur had thought
my danger not on my way to the temple, but when within
it. I knew the truth was the exact opposite.

So it was no conquering hero, no redeemer, no splendid
warrior from the past who rode through Karak that day.
It was a man not sure of himself—or better, too sure of

what was in store for him. The people who had waited
and watched for Dwayanu felt that—and murmured, or
were silent. That well pleased the Smith. And it well
pleased me, who by now was as eager to meet Khalk'ru
as any bridegroom his bride. And was taking no risks
of being stopped by sword or hammer, spear or arrow
before I could.

And ever the' frown on the face of the Witch-woman
grew darker, and stronger the contempt and fury in her
eyes.

We skirted the citadel, and took a broad road leading
back to the cliffs. We galloped along this, pennons
flying, drums rolling. We came to a gigantic doorway
in the cliff—many times had I gone through such a door
as that! I dismounted, hesitatingly. Half-reluctantly,
I let myself be led through it by Tibur and Lur and into
a small rock-hewn chamber.

They left me, without a word. I glanced about.
Here were the chests that held the sacrificial garments,
the font of purification, the vessels for the anointing of
the evoker of Khalk'ru.

The door opened. I looked into the face of Yodin.

There was vindictive triumph in it, and I knew he had
met the Smith and Witch-woman, and that they had
told him how I had ridden. As a victim to the Sacrifice !
Well, Lur could tell him honestly what he hoped was the
truth. If she had the thought to betray me—had
betrayed me—she now believed me liar and braggart
with quite as good reason as Tibur and the others. If
she had not betrayed me, I had backed her lie to Yodin.

Twelve lesser priests filed in behind him, dressed in the
sacred robes. The High-priest wore the yellow smock
with the tentacles entwined round him. The ring of
Khalk'ru shone on his thumb.

"The Greater-than-Gods awaits your prayer, Dway-
anu," he said. "But first you must undergo purification."

I nodded. They busied themselves with the necessary
rites. I submitted to them awkwardly, like one not
familiar with them, but as one who plainly wished to be
thought so. The malice in Yodin;s eyes increased.

The rites were finished. Yodin took a smock like his
own from a chest and draped it on me. I waited.

"Your ring," he reminded me, sardonically. "Have
you forgotten you must wear the ring !"

I fumbled at the chain around my neck, opened the
locket and slipped the ring over my thumb. The lesser
priests passed from the chamber with their drums. I
followed, the High-priest beside me. I heard the clang
of a hammer striking a great anvil. And knew it for the
voice of Tubalka, the oldest god, who had taught man to
wed fire and metal. Tubalka's recognition of, his saluta-
tion and his homage to—Khalk'ru !

The olden exaltation, the ecstasy of dark power, was
pouring through me. Hard it was not to betray it. We
came out of the passage and into the temple.

Hail But they had done well by the Greater-than-
Gods in this far shrine ! Vaster temple I had never
beheld in Ayjirland. Cut from the mountain's heart, as
all Khalk'ru's abodes must be, the huge pillars which
bordered the amphitheatre struck up to a ceiling lost in
darkness. There were cressets of twisted metal and out
of them sprang smooth spirals of wan yellow flame.
They burned steadily and soundlessly; by their wan
light I could see the pillars marching, marching away as
though into the void itself.

Faces were staring up at me from the amphitheatre-
hundreds of them. Women's faces under pennons and
bannerets broidered with devices of clans whose men had
fought beside and behind me in many a bloody battle.
Gods—how few the men were here ! They stared up at
me, these women faces . . . women-nobles, women-
knights, women-soldiers. . . . They stared up at me by

the hundreds . . . blue eyes ruthless . . . nor was there
pity nor any softness of woman in their faces . . .
warriors they were. . . . Good! Then not as women
but as warriors would I treat them.

And now I saw that archers were posted on the borders
of the amphitheatre, bows in readiness, arrows at rest
but poised, and the bow-strings lined toward me.

Tibur's doings ? Or the priest's—watchful lest I
should attempt escape ? I had no liking for that, but
there was no help for it. Luka, Lovely Goddess—turn
your wheel so no arrow flies before I begin the ritual!

I turned and looked for the mystic screen which was
Khalk'ru's doorway from the Void. It was a full hundred
paces away from me, so broad and deep was the platform
of rock. Here the cavern had been shaped into a funnel.
The mystic screen was a gigantic disk, a score of times
the height of a tall man. Not the square of lucent yellow
through which, in the temples of the Motherland, Khalk'ru
had become corporeal. For the first time I felt a doubt
—was this Being the same ? Was there other reason for
the High-priest's malignant confidence than his disbelief
in me ?

But there in the yellow field floated the symbol of the
Greater-than-Gods; his vast black body lay as though
suspended in a bubble-ocean of yellow space ; his tentacles
spread like monstrous rays of black stars and his dread-
ful eyes brooded on the temple as though, as always,
they saw all and saw nothing.   The symbol was
unchanged. The tide of conscious, dark power in my
mind, checked for that instant, resumed its upward flow.

And now I saw between me and the screen a semi-
circle of women. Young they were, scarce blossomed out
of girlhood—but already in fruit. Twelve of them I
counted, each standing in the shallow hollowed cup of
sacrifice, the golden girdles of the sacrifice around their
waists. Over white shoulders, over young breasts, fell

the veils of their ruddy hair, and through those veils
they looked at me with blue eyes in which horror lurked.
Yet though they could not hide that horror in their eyes
from me who was so close, they hid it from those who
watched us from beyond. They stood within the cups,
erect, proudly, defiant. Ai! but they were brave—
those women of Karak ! I felt the olden pity for them;

stirring of the olden revolt.

In the centre of the semi-circle of women swung a
thirteenth ring, held by strong golden chains dropping
from the temple's roof. It was empty, the clasps of the
heavy girdle open——

The thirteenth ring! The ring of the Warrior's
Sacrifice ! Open for—me !

I looked at the High-priest. He stood beside his
priests squatting at their drums. His gaze was upon me.
Tibur stood at the edge of the platform beside the anvil
of Tubalka, in his hands the great sledge, on his face
reflection of the gloating on that of the High-priest. The
Witch-woman I could not see.

The High-priest stepped forward. He spoke into the
dark vastness of the temple where was the congregation
of the nobles.

"Here stands one who comes to us calling himself—
Dwayanu. If he be Dwayanu, then will the Greater-
than-Gods, mighty Khalk'ru, hear his prayer and accept
the Sacrifices. But if Khalk'ru be deaf to him—he is
proven cheat and liar. And Khalk'ru will not be deaf
to me who have served him faithfully. Then this cheat
and liar swings within the Warrior's Ring for Khalk'ru
to punish as he wills. Hear me ! Is it just ? Answer !"

From the depths of the temple came the voices of the
witnesses.

"We hear ! It is just!"

The High-priest turned to me as if to speak. But if
that had been his mind, he changed it. Thrice he raised

his staff of golden bells and shook them. Thrice Tibur
raised the hammer and smote the anvil of Tubalka.

Out of the depths of the temple came the ancient chant,
the ancient supplication which Khalk'ru had taught our
forefathers when he chose us from all the peoples of
earth, forgotten age upon forgotten age ago. I listened
to it as to a nursery song. And Tibur's eyes never left
me, his hand on hammer in readiness to hurl and cripple
if I tried to flee ; nor did Yodin's gaze leave me.

The chant ended.

Swiftly I raised my hands in the ancient sign, and I
did with the ring what the ancient ritual ordered—and
through the temple swept that first breath of cold that
was presage of the coming of Khalk'ru !

Hail The faces of Yodin and Tibur when they felt
that breath ! Would that I could look on them ! Laugh
now, Tibur ! Hai! but they could not stop me now !
Not even the Smith would dare hurl hammer nor raise
hand to loose arrow storm upon me ! Not even Yodin
would dare halt me——

I forgot all that. I forgot Yodin and Tibur. I forgot,
as ever I forgot, the Sacrifices in the dark exultation of
the ritual.

The yellow stone wavered, was shot through with
tremblings. It became thin as air. It vanished.

Where it had been, black tentacles quivering, black
body hovering, vanishing into immeasurable space, was
Khalk'ru!

Faster, louder, beat the drums.

The black tentacles writhed forward. The women did
not see them. Their eyes clung to me ... as though
... as though I held for them some hope that flamed
through their despair ! I ... who had summoned their
destroyer. . . .

The tentacles touched them. I saw the hope fade and
die. The tentacles coiled round their shoulders. They

slid across their breasts. Embraced them. Slipped
down their thighs and touched their feet. The drums
began their swift upward flight into the crescendo of the
Sacrifice's culmination.

The wailing of the women was shrill above the drums.
Their white bodies became grey mist. They became
shadows. They were gone—gone before the sound of
their wailing had died. The golden girdles fell clashing
to the rock——

What was wrong ? The ritual was ended. The
Sacrifice accepted. Yet Khalk'ru still hovered !

And the lifeless cold was creeping round me, was rising
round me ...

A tentacle swayed and writhed forward. Slowly,
slowly, it passed the Warrior's Ring—came closer-
closer——

It was reaching for me !

I heard a voice intoning. Intoning words more
ancient than I had ever known. Words ? They were
not words ! They were sounds whose roots struck back
and back into a time before ever man drew breath.

It was Yodin—Yodin speaking in a tongue that might
have been Khalk'ru's own before ever life was !

Drawing Khalk'ru upon me by it! Sending me along
the road the Sacrifices had travelled !

I leaped upon Yodin. I caught him in my arms and
thrust him between me and the questing tentacle. I
raised Yodin in my arms as though he had been a doll
and flung him to Khalk'ru. He went through the tentacle
as though it had been cloud. He struck the chains that
held the Warrior's Ring. He swung in them, entangled.
He slithered down upon the golden girdle.

Hands upraised, I heard myself crying to Khalk'ru
those same unhuman syllables. I did not know their
meaning then, and do not know them now—nor from
whence knowledge of them came to me. . . .

I know they were sounds the throats and lips of men
were never meant to utter !

But Khalk'ru heard—and heeded! He hesitated.
His eyes stared at me, unfathomably—stared at and
through me.

And then the tentacle curled back. It encircled Yodin.
A thin screeching—and Yodin was gone !

The living Khalk'ru was gone. Lucent yellow, the
bubble-ocean gleamed where he had been—the black
shape floated inert within it.

I heard a tinkle upon the rock, the ring of Yodin rolling
down the side of the cup. I leaped forward and picked
it up.

Tibur, hammer half raised, stood glaring at me beside
the anvil. I snatched the sledge from his hand, gave
him a blow that sent him reeling.

I raised the hammer and crushed the ring of Yodin on
the anvil!

From the temple came a thunderous shout——

"Dwayanu !"

CHAPTER XVIII

WOLVES OF LUR


I RODE through the forest with the Witch-woman.
The white falcon perched on her gauntleted wrist
and cursed me with unwinking golden eyes. It did not
like me—Lur's falcon. A score of her women rode behind
us. A picked dozen of my own were shield for my back.
They rode close. So it was of old. I liked my back
covered. It was my sensitive part, whether with friends
or foes.

The armourers had fashioned me a jacket of the light
chain-mail. I wore it; Lur and our little troop wore
them; and each was as fully armed as I with the two
swords, the long dagger and the thonged hammer. We
were on our way to reconnoitre Sirk.

For five days I had sat on the throne of the High-
priest, ruling Karak with the Witch-woman and Tibur.
Lur had come to me—penitent in her own fierce fashion.
Tibur, all arrogance and insolence evaporated, had bent
the knee, proffering me allegiance, protesting, reasonably
enough, that his doubts had been but natural. I accepted
his allegiance, with reservations. Sooner or later I
would have to kill Tibur—even if I had not promised
Lur his death. But why kill him before he ceased to be
useful ? He was a sharp-edged tool ? Well, if he cut
me in my handling of him, it would be only my fault.
Better a crooked sharp knife than a straight dull one.

As for Lur—she was sweet woman flesh, and subtle.
But did she greatly matter ? Not greatly—just then.
There was a lethargy upon me, a lassitude, as I rode
beside her through the fragrant forest.

Yet I had received from Karak homage and acclaim
more than enough to soothe any wounded pride. I was
the idol of the soldiers. I rode through the streets to the
shouts of the people, and mothers held their babes up to
look on me. But there were many who were silent when
I passed, averting their heads, or glancing at me askance
with eyes shadowed by furtive hatred and fear.

Dara, the bold-eyed captain who had warned me of
Tibur, and Naral, the swaggering girl who had given me
her locket, I had taken for my own and had made them
officers of my personal guard. They were devoted and
amusing. I had spoken to Dara only that morning of
those who looked askance at me, asking why.

"You want straight answer. Lord ?"

"Always that, Dara."

She said bluntly:

"They are the ones who looked for a Deliverer. One
who would break chains. Open doors. Bring freedom.
They say Dwayanu is only another feeder of Khalk'ru.
His butcher. Like Yodin. No worse, maybe. No
better certainly."

I thought of that strange hope I had seen strangled in
the eyes of the sacrifices. They too had hoped me
Deliverer, instead of ...

"What do you think, Dara ?"

"I think as you think. Lord," she answered. "Only
—it would not break my heart to see the golden girdles
broken."

And I was thinking of that as I rode along with Lur,
her falcon hating me with its unwinking glare. What
was—Khalk'ru ? Often and often, long and long and
long ago, I had wondered that. Could the illimitable
cast itself into such a shape as that which came to the
call of the wearer of the ring ? Or rather—would it ?
My empire had been widespread—under sun and moon
and stars. Yet it was a mote in the sun-ray compared

to the empire of the Spirit of the Void. Would one so
great be content to shrink himself within the mote ?

Ai! but there was no doubt that the Enemy of Life
was ! But was that which came to the summons of the
ring—the Enemy of Life ? And if not—then was this
dark worship worth its cost ?

A wolf howled. The Witch-woman threw back her
head and answered it. The falcon stretched its wings,
screaming. We rode from the forest into an open glade,
moss-carpeted. She halted, sent again from her throat
the wolf cry.

Suddenly around us was a ring of wolves. White
wolves whose glowing green eyes were fixed on Lur.
They ringed us, red tongues lolling, fangs glistening. A
patter of pads, and as suddenly the circle of wolves was
doubled. And others slipped through the trees until the
circle was three-fold, four-fold . . . until it was a wide
belt of living white flecked by scarlet flames of wolf-
tongues, studded with glinting emeralds of wolf-
eyes. . . .

My horse trembled ; I smelled its sweat.

Lur drove her knees into the sides of her mount and
rode forward. Slowly she paced it round the inner circle
of the white wolves. She raised her hand; something
she said. A great dog-wolf arose from its haunches and
came toward her. Like a dog, it put its paws upon her
saddle. She reached down, caught its jowls in her hands.
She whispered to it. The wolf seemed to listen. It
slipped back to the circle and squatted, watching her. I
laughed.

"Are you woman—or wolf, Lur ?"

She said:

"I, too, have my followers, Dwayanu. You could not
easily win these from me."

Something in her tone made me look at her sharply.
It was the first time that she had shown resentment, or

at least chagrin, at my popularity. She did not meet my
gaze.

The big dog-wolf lifted its throat and howled. The
circles broke. They spread out, padding swiftly ahead
of us like scouts. They melted into the green shadows.

The forest thinned. Giant ferns took the place of the
trees. I began to hear a curious hissing. Also it grew
steadily warmer, and the air filled with moisture, and
mist wreaths floated over the ferns. I could see no
tracks, yet Lur rode steadily as though upon a well-
marked road.

We came to a huge clump of ferns. Lur dropped
from her horse.

"We go on foot here, Dwayanu. It is but a little
way."

I joined her. The troop drew up but did not alight.
The Witch-woman and I slipped through the ferns for a
score of paces. The dog-wolf stalked just ahead of her.
She parted the fronds. Sirk lay before me.

At right arose a bastion of perpendicular cliff, dripping
with moisture, little of green upon it except small ferns
clinging to precarious root-holds. At left, perhaps four
arrow flights away, was a similar bastion, soaring into
the haze. Between these bastions was a level platform
of black rock. Its smooth and glistening foundations
dropped into a moat as wide as two strong throws of a
javelin. The platform curved outward, and from cliff to
cliff it was lipped with one unbroken line of fortress.

Hai ! But that was a moat ! Out from under the
right-hand cliff gushed a torrent. It hissed and bubbled
as it shot forth, and the steam from it wavered over the
cliff face like a great veil and fell upon us in a fine warm
spray. It raced boiling along the rock base of the
fortress, and jets of steam broke through it and immense
bubbles rose and burst, scattering showers of scalding
spray.

The fortress itself was not high. It was squat and
solidly built, its front unbroken except for arrow slits
close to the top. There was a parapet across the top.
Upon it I could see the glint of spears and the heads of
the guards. In only one part was there anything like
towers. These were close to the centre where the boiling
moat narrowed. Opposite them, on the farther bank,
was a pier for a drawbridge. I could see the bridge, a
narrow one, raised and protruding from between the two
towers like a tongue.

Behind the fortress, the cliffs swept inward. They did
not touch. Between them was a gap about a third as
wide as the platform of the fortress. In front of us, on
our side of the boiling stream, the sloping ground had
been cleared both of trees and ferns. It gave no cover.

They had picked their spot well, these outlaws of Sirk.
No besiegers could swim that moat with its hissing jets
of live steam and bursting bubbles rising continually
from the geysers at its bottom. No stones nor trees
could damn it, making a causeway over which to march
to batter at the fortress's walls. There was no taking of
Sirk from this side. That was clear. Yet there must be
more of Sirk than this.

Lur had been following my eyes, reading my thoughts.

"Sirk itself lies beyond those gates," she pointed to
the gap between the cliffs. "It is a valley wherein is the
city, the fields, the herds. And there is no way into it
except through those gates."

I nodded, absently. I was studying the cliffs behind
the fortress. I saw that these, unlike the bastions in
whose embrace the platform lay, were not smooth. There
had been falls of rock, and these rocks had formed rough
terraces. If one could get to those terraces—unseen . . .

"Can we get closer to the cliff from which the torrent
comes, Lur ?"

She caught my wrist, her eyes bright.

"What do you see, Dwayanu ?"

"I do not know as yet. Witch-woman. Perhaps
nothing. Can we get closer to the torrent ?"

"Come."

We slipped out of the ferns, skirted them, the dog-wolf
walking stiff-legged in the lead, eyes and ears alert. The
air grew hotter, vapour-filled, hard to breathe. The
hissing became louder. We crept through the ferns, wet
to the skins. Another step and I looked straight down
upon the boiling torrent. I saw now that it did not come
directly from the cliff. It shot up from beneath it, and
its heat and its exhalations made me giddy. I tore a
strip from my tunic and wrapped it around mouth and
nose. I studied the cliff above it, foot by foot. Long I
studied it and long—and then I turned.

"We can go back, Lur."

"What have you seen, Dwayanu ?"

What I had seen might be the end of Sirk—but I did
not tell her so. The thought was not yet fully born. It
had never been my way to admit others into half-formed
plans. It is too dangerous. The bud is more delicate
than the flower and should be left to develop free from
prying hands or treacherous or even well-meant meddling.
Mature your plan and test it; then you can weigh with
clear judgment any changes. Nor was I ever strong for
counsel; too many pebbles thrown into the spring muddy
it. That was one reason I was—Dwayanu. I said to
Lur:

"I do not know. I have a thought. But I must
weigh it."

She said, angrily :

"I am not stupid. I know war—as I know love. I
could help-you."-

I said, impatiently :

"Not yet. When I have made my plan I will tell it to
you."

She did not speak again until we were within sight of
the waiting women ; then she turned to me. Her voice
was low, and very sweet:

"Will you not tell me ? Are we not equal, Dwayanu ?"

"No," I answered, and left her to decide whether that
was answer to the first question or both.

She mounted her horse, and we rode back through the
forest.

I was thinking, thinking over what I had seen, and
what it might mean, when I heard again the howling of
the wolves. It was a steady, insistent howling. Sum-
moning. The Witch-woman raised her head, listened,
then spurred her horse forward. I shot my own after
her. The white falcon fluttered, and beat up into the
air, screeching.

We raced out of the forest and upon a flower-covered
meadow. In the meadow stood a little man. The
wolves surrounded him, weaving around and around one
another in a witch-ring. The instant they caught sight
of Lur, they ceased their cry—squatted on their haunches.
Lur checked her horse and rode slowly toward them. I
caught a glimpse of her face, and it was hard and fierce.

I looked at the little man. Little enough he was,
hardly above one of my knees, yet perfectly formed. A
little golden man with hair streaming down almost to
his feet. One of the Rrrllya—I had studied the woven
pictures of them on the tapestries, but this was the first
living one I had seen—or was it ? I had a vague idea
that once I had been in closer contact with them than the
tapestries.

The white falcon was circling round his head, darting
down upon him, striking at him with claws and beak.
The little man held an arm before his eyes, while the other
was trying to beat the bird away. The Witch-woman
sent a shrill call to the falcon. It flew to her, and the
little man dropped his arms. His eyes fell upon me.

He cried out to me, held his arms out to me, like a child.

There was appeal in cry and gesture. Hope, too, and
confidence. It was like a frightened child calling to one
whom it knew and trusted. In his eyes I saw again the
hope that I had watched die in the eyes of the Sacrifices.
Well, I would not watch it die in the eyes of the little
man!

I thrust my horse past Lur's, and lifted it over the
barrier of the wolves. Leaning from the saddle, I caught
the little man up in my arms. He clung to me, whisper-
ing in strange trilling sounds.

I looked back at Lur. 'She had halted her horse beyond
the wolves.

She cried:

"Bring him to me !"

The little man clutched me tight, and broke into a
rapid babble of the strange sounds. Quite evidently he
had understood, and quite as evidently he was imploring
me to do anything other than turn him over to the Witch-
woman.

I laughed, and shook my head at her. I saw her eyes
blaze with quick, uncontrollable fury. Let her rage !
The little man should go safe ! I put my heels to the
horse and leaped the far ring of wolves. I saw not far
away the gleam of the river, and turned my horse toward
it.

The Witch-woman gave one wild, fierce cry. And
then there was the whirr of wings around my head, and
the buffeting of wings about my ears. I threw up a
hand. I felt it strike the falcon, and I heard it shriek
with rage and pain. The little man shrank closer to me.

A white body shot up and clung for a moment to the
pommel of my saddle, green eyes glaring into mine, red
mouth' slavering. I took a quick glance back. The
wolf pack was rushing down upon me, Lur at their heels.
Again the wolf leaped. But by this time I had drawn

my sword. I thrust it through the white wolf's throat.
Another leaped, tearing a strip from my tunic. I held
the little man high up in one arm and thrust again.

Now the river was close. And now I was on its bank.
I lifted the little man in both hands and hurled him far
out into the water.

I turned, both swords in hand, to meet the charge of
the wolves.

I heard another cry from Lur. The wolves stopped in
their rush, so suddenly that the foremost of them slid and
rolled. I looked over the river. Far out on it was the
head of the little man, long hair floating behind him,
streaking for the opposite shore.

Lur rode up to me. Her face was white, and her eyes
were hard as blue jewels. She said in a strangled voice:

"Why did you save him ?"

I considered that, gravely. I said :

"Because not twice would I see hope die in the eyes of
one who trusts me."

She watched me, steadily; and the white-hot anger
did not abate.

"You have broken the wings of my falcon, Dwayanu."

"Which do you love best. Witch-woman—its wing or
my eyes ?"

"You have killed two of my wolves."

"Two wolves—or my throat, Lur ?"

She did not answer. She rode slowly back to her
women. But I had seen tears in her eyes before she
turned. They might have been of rage—or they might
not. But it was the first time I had ever seen Lur weep.

With never a word to each other we rode back to Karak
—she nursing the wounded falcon, I thinking over what
I had seen on the cliffs of Sirk.

We did not stop at Karak. I had a longing for the
quiet and beauty of the Lake of the Ghosts. I told Lur

that. She assented indifferently, so we went straight on
and came to it just as the twilight was thickening. With
the women, we dined together in the great hall. Lur
had shaken off her moodiness. If she still felt wrath
toward me, she hid it well. We were merry and I drank
much wine. The more I drank the clearer became my
plan for the taking of Sirk. It was a good plan. After
awhile, I went up with Lur to her tower and watched the
waterfall and the beckoning mist wraiths, and the plan
became clearer still.

Then my mind turned back to that matter of Khalk'ru.
And I thought over that a long while. I looked up and
found Lur's gaze intent upon me.

"What are you thinking, Dwayanu ?"

"I am thinking that never again will I summon
Khalk'ru."

She said, slowly, incredulously :

"You cannot mean that, Dwayanu !"

"I do mean it."

Her face whitened. She said :

"If Khalk'ru is not offered his Sacrifice, he will with-
draw life from this land. It will become desert, as did
the Motherland when the Sacrifices were ended."

I said :

, "Will it ? That is what I have ceased to believe. Nor
do I think you believe it, Lur. In the olden days there
was land upon land which did not acknowledge Khalk'ru,
whose people did not sacrifice to Khalk'ru—yet they
were not desert. And I know, even though I do not
know how I know, that there is land upon land to-day
where Khalk'ru is not worshipped—yet life teems in
them. Even here—the Rrrllya, the Little People, do
not worship him. They hate him—or so you have told
me—yet the land over Nanbu is no less fertile than here."

She said :

"That was the whisper that went through the Mother-

land, long and long and long ago. It became louder—
and the Motherland became desert."

"There might liave been other reasons than Khalk'ru's
wrath for that, Lur."

"What were they ?"

"I do not know," I said. "But you have never seen
the sun and moon and stars. I have seen them. And a
wise old man once told me that beyond sun and moon
were other suns with other earths circling them, and
upon them—life. The Spirit of the Void in which burn
these suns should be too vast to shrink itself to such
littleness as that which, in a little temple in this little
comer of all earth, makes itself manifest to us."

She answered:

"Khalk'ru is ! Khalk'ru is everywhere. He is in the
tree that withers, the spring that dries. Every heart is
open to him. He touches it—and there comes weariness
of life, hatred of life, desire for eternal death. He touches
earth and there is sterile sand where meadows grew;

the flocks grow barren. Khalk'ru is."

I thought over that, and I thought it was true enough.
But there was a flaw in her argument.

"Nor do I deny that, Lur," I answered. "The Enemy
of Life is. But is what comes to the ritual of the ring—
Khalk'ru ?"

"What else ? So it has been taught from ancient
days."

"I do not know what else. And many things have
been taught from ancient days which would not stand
the test. But I do not believe that which comes is
Khalk'ru, Soul of the Void, He-to-Whom-All-Life-Must-
Return and all the rest of his titles. Nor do I believe
that if we end the Sacrifices life will end here with them."

She said, very quietly :

"Hear me, Dwayanu. Whether that which comes to
the Sacrifices be Khalk'ru or another matters not at all

to me. All that matters is this : I do not want to leave
this land, and I would keep it unchanged. I have been
happy here. I have seen the sun and moon and stars.
I have seen the outer earth in my waterfall yonder. I
would not go into it. Where would I find a place so
lovely as this my Lake of»the Ghosts ? If the Sacrifices
end, they whom only fear keeps here will go. They will
be followed by more and more. The old life I love ends
with the Sacrifices—surely. For if desolation comes, we
shall be forced to go. And if it does not come, the people
will know that they have been taught lies, and will go
to see whether what is beyond be not fairer, happier,
than here. So it has always been. I say to you, Dway-
anu—it shall not be here !"

She waited for me to answer. I did not answer.

"If you do not wish to summon Khalk'ru, then why
not choose another in your place ?"

I looked at her sharply. I was not ready to go quite
that far as yet. Give up the ring, with all its power !

"There is another reason, Dwayanu, than those you
have given me. What is it ?"

I said, bluntly:

"There are many who call me feeder of Khalk'ru.
Butcher for him. I do not like that. Nor do I like to
see--what I see—in the eyes of the women I feed him."

"So that is it," she said, contemptuously. "Sleep has
made you soft, Dwayanu ! Better tell me your plan to
take Sirk and let me carry it out! You have grown too
tender-hearted for war, I think!"

That stung me, swept all my compunctions away. I
jumped up, knocking away the chair, half-raised my
hand to strike her. She faced me, boldly, no trace of
fear in her eyes. I dropped my hand.

"But not so soft that you can mould me to your will,
Witch," I said. "Nor do I go back on my bargains. I
have given you Yodin. I shall give you Sirk, and all

else I have promised. Till then—let this matter of the
Sacrifices rest When shall I give you Tibur ?"

She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled into
my angry eyes. She clasped her hands around my neck
and brought my lips down to her warm red ones.

"Now," she whispered, "you are Dwayanu ! Now the
one I love—ah, Dwayanu, if you but loved me as I love
you!"

Well, as for that, I loved her as much as I could any
woman. . . . After all, there was none like her. I
swung her up and held her tight, and the old recklessness,
the old love of life poured through me.

"You shall have Sirk! And Tibur when you will."

She seemed to consider.

"Not yet," she said. "He is strong, and he has his
followers. He will be useful at Sirk, Dwayanu. Not
before then—surely."

"It was precisely what I was thinking," I said. "On
one thing at least we agree."

"Let us have wine upon our peace," she said, and
called to her serving-women.

"But there is another thing also upon which we agree."
She looked at me strangely.

"What is it ?" I asked.

"You yourself have said it," she answered—and more
than that I could not get her to say. It was long before
I knew what she had meant, and then it was too late. . . .

It was good wine. I drank more than I should have.
But clearer and clearer grew my plan for the taking of
Sirk.

It was late next mqrning when I awoke. Lur was
gone. I had slept as though drugged. I had the vaguest
memory of what had occurred the night before, except
that Lur and I had violently disagreed about something.
I thought of Khalk'ru not at all. I asked Ouarda where

Lur had gone. She said that word had been brought
early that two women set apart for the next Sacrifice
had managed to escape. Lur thought they were making
their way to Sirk. She was hunting them with the wolves.
I felt irritated that she had not roused me and taken
me with her. I thought that I would like to see those
white brutes of hers in action. They were like the great
dogs we had used in Ayjirland to track similar fugitives.

I did not go into Karak. I spent the day at sword-
play and wrestling, and swimming in the Lake of the
Ghosts—after my headache had worn off.

Close toward nightfall Lur returned.

"Did you catch them ?" I asked.

"No," she said. "They got to Sirk safely. We were
just in time to see them half-across the drawbridge."

I thought she was rather indifferent about it, but
gave the matter no further thought. And that night she
was gay—and most tender toward me. Sometimes so
tender that I seemed to detect another emotion in her
kisses. It seemed to me that they were—regretful. And
I gave that no thought then either.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TAKING OF SIRK

 AGAIN I rode through the forest toward Sirk, with
Lur at my left hand and Tibur beside her. At my
back were my two captains, Dara and Naral. Close at
our heels came Ouarda, with twelve slim, strong girls,
fair skins stained strangely green and black, and naked
except for a narrow belt around their waists. Behind
these rode four score of the nobles with Tibur's friend
Rascha at their head. And behind them marched silently
a full thousand of Karak's finest fighting women.

It was night. It was essential to reach the edge of
the forest before the last third of the stretch between
midnight and dawn.  The hoofs of the horses were
muffled so that no sharp ears might hear their distant
tread, and the soldiers marched in open formation, noise-
lessly. Five days had passed since I had first looked on
the fortress.

They had been five days of secret, careful preparation.
Only the Witch-woman and the Smith knew what I
had in mind. Secret as we had been, the rumour had
spread that we were preparing for a sortie against the
Rrrllya. I was well content with that. Not until we had
gathered to start did even Rascha, or so I believed, know
that we were headed toward Sirk. This so no word might
be carried there to put them on guard, for I knew well
that those we menaced had many friends in Karak—
might have them among the ranks that slipped along
behind us. Surprise was the essence of my plan. There-
fore the muffling of the horses' hoofs. Therefore the
march by night. Therefore the silence as we passed

through the forest. And therefore it was that when we
heard the first howling of Lur's wolves the Witch-woman
slipped from her horse and disappeared in the luminous
green darkness.

We halted, awaiting her return. None spoke; the
howls were stilled; she came from the trees and
remounted. Like well-trained dogs the white wolves
spread ahead of us, nosing over the ground we still must
travel, ruthless scouts which no spy nor chance wanderer,
whether from or to Sirk, could escape.

I had desired to strike sooner than this, had chafed at
the delay, had been reluctant to lay bare my plan to
Tibur. But Lur had pointed out that if the Smith were
to be useful at Sirk's taking he would have to be trusted,
and that he would be less dangerous if informed and
eager than if uninformed and suspicious. Well, that was
true. And Tibur was a first-class fighting man with
strong friends.

So I had taken him into my confidence and told him
what I had observed when first I had stood with Lur
beside Sirk's boiling moat—the vigorously growing
clumps of ferns which extended in an almost unbroken,
irregular line high up and across the black cliff, from the
forest on the hither side and over the geyser-spring, and
over the parapets. It betrayed, I believed, a slipping
or cracking of the rock which had formed a ledge. Along
that ledge, steady-nerved, sure-footed climbers might
creep, and make their way unseen into the fortress—and
there do for us what I had in mind.

Tibur's eyes had sparkled, and he had laughed as I
had not heard him laugh since my ordeal by Khalk'ru.
He had made only one comment.

"The first link of your chain is the weakest,
Dwayanu."

"True enough. But it is forged where Sirk's chain
of defence is weakest."

"Nevertheless—I would not care to be the first to test that link."

For all my lack of trust, I had warmed to him for that touch of frankness.

"Thank the gods for your weight then, Anvil-smiter,"
I had said. "I cannot see those feet of yours competing
for toe-holds with ferns. Otherwise I might have picked you."

I had looked down at the sketch I had drawn to make the matter clearer.

"We must strike quickly.  How long before we can be in readiness, Lur ?"                    

I had raised my eyes in time to see a swift glance pass
between the two. Whatever suspicion I may have felt
had been fleeting. Lur had answered, quickly.

"So far as the soldiers are concerned, we could start
to-night. How long it will take to pick the climbers, I
cannot tell. Then I must test them. All that will take time."

"How long, Lur ? We must be swift."
"Three days—five days—I will be swift as may be.
Beyond that I will not promise."

With that I had been forced to be content.
And now, five nights later, we marched on Sirk. It
was neither dark nor light in the forest; a strange dim-
ness floated over us ; the glimmer of the flowers was our
torch. All the fragrances were of life. But it was death

whose errand we were on.

The weapons of the soldiers were covered so that there
could be no betraying glints; spear-heads darkened—
no shining of metal upon any of us. On the tunics of
the soldiers was the Wheel of Luka, so that friend would
not be mistaken for foe once we were behind the walls
of Sirk. Lur had wanted the Black Symbol of Khalk'ru.

I would not have it. We reached the spot where we had decided to leave

the horses. And here in silence our force separated.
Under leadership of Tibur and Rascha, the others crept
through wood and fern-brake to the edge of the clearing
opposite the drawbridge.

With the Witch-woman and myself went a scant dozen
of the nobles, Ouarda with the naked girls, a hundred of
the soldiers. Each of these had bow and quiver in well-
protected cases on their backs. They carried the short
battleaxe, long sword and dagger. They bore the long,
wide rope ladder I had caused to be made, like those I
had used long and long ago to meet problems similar
to this of Sirk—but none with its peculiarly forbidding
aspects. They carried another ladder, long and flexible
and of wood. I was armed only with battleaxe and long
sword, Lur and the nobles with the throwing hammers
and swords.

We stole toward the torrent whose hissing became
louder with each step.

Suddenly I halted, drew Lur to me.

"Witch-woman, can you truly talk to your wolves ?"

"Truly, Dwayanu."

"I am thinking it would be no bad plan to draw eyes
and ears from this end of the parapet. If some of your
wolves would fight and howl and dance a bit there at
the far bastion for the amusement of the guards, it might
help us here."

She sent a low call, like the whimper of a she-wolf.
Almost instantly the head of the great dog-wolf which
had greeted her on our first ride lifted beside her. Its
hackles bristled as it glared at me. But it made no
sound. The Witch-woman dropped to her knees beside
it, took its head in her arms, whispering. They seemed
to whisper together. And then as suddenly as it had
appeared, it was gone. Lur arose, in her eyes something
of the green fire of the wolf's.

"The guards shall have their amusement."

I felt a little shiver along my back, for this was true
witchcraft. But I said nothing and we went on. We
came to that place from which I had scanned the cliff.
We parted the ferns and peered out upon the fortress.

Thus it was. At our right, a score of paces away,
soared the sheer wall of the cliff which, continuing over
the boiling torrent, formed this nearer bastion. The
cover in which we lurked ran up to it, was thrown back
like a green wave from its base. Between our cover and
the moat was a space not more than a dozen paces across,
made barren by the hot spray that fell on it. Here, the
walls of the fortress were not more than a javelin cast
distant. The wall and the parapet touched the cliff,
but hardly could they be seen through the thick veils of
steam. And this was what I had meant when I had said
that our weakest link would be forged where Sirk's
defences were weakest. For no sentinels stood at this
corner. With the heat and steam and exhalations from
the geyser, there was no need—or so they thought. How,
here at its hottest source, could the torrent be crossed?
Who could scale that smooth and dripping cliff ? Of all
the defences, this spot was the impregnable one, unneces-
sary to guard—or so they thought. Therefore it was
the exact point to attack—if it could be done.

I studied it. Not for full two hundred paces was there
a single sentinel. From somewhere behind the fortress
came the glare of a fire. It cast nickering shadows on
the terraces of fallen rock beyond the bastioning cliffs;

and that was good, since if we gained their shelter, we,
too, would seem but flickering shadows. I beckoned
Ouarda, and pointed to the rocks which were to be the
goal of the naked girls. They were close to the clifi
where it curved inward beyond the parapet, and they
were about the height of twenty tall men above where we
hid. She drew the girls to her and instructed them.
They nodded, their eyes dropping swiftly to the cauldron

of the moat, then turning to the glistening precipice. I
saw some of them shudder. Well, I could not hold that
against them, no !

We crept back and found the base of the cliff. Here
were enough and to spare of rock holds for the grapnels
of the ladder. We unwound the rope ladder. We set the
wooden ladder against the cliff. I pointed out the ledge
that might be the key to Sirk, counselled the climbers
as best I could. I knew that the ledge could not be much
wider than the span of a hand. Yet above it and below
it were small crevices, pockets, where fingers and toes
could grip, for clumps of ferns sprouted there.

Hai! But they had courage, those slim girls. We
fastened to their belts long strong cords which would
slip through our hands as they crept along. And they
looked at one another's stained faces and bodies and
laughed. The first went up the ladder like a squirrel, got
foothold and handhold and began to edge across. In
an instant she had vanished, the green and black with
which her body was stained merging into the dim green
and black of the cliff. Slowly, slowly, the first cord
slipped through my fingers.

Another followed her, and another, until I held six
cords. And now the others climbed up and crept out
on the perilous path, their leashes held in the strong
hands of the Witch-woman.

Hai ! But that was queer fishing ! With will strained
toward keeping these girl-fish out of water! Slowly—
Gods, but how slowly—the cords crept through my
fingers ! Through the fingers of the Witch-woman . . .
slowly . . . slowly . . . but ever on and on.

Now that first slim girl must be over the cauldron . . .
I had swift vision of her clinging to the streaming rock,
the steam of the cauldron clothing her. . . .

That line slackened in my hand. It slackened, then
ran out so swiftly that it cut the skin . . . slackened

again ... a tug upon it as of a great fish racing
away ... I felt the line snap. The girl had fallen!
Was now dissolving flesh in the cauldron !

The second cord slackened and tugged and snapped
. . . and the third. . . .
Three of them gone !
I whispered to Lur :

"Three are gone !"

"And two!" she said. I saw that her eyes were
tightly closed, but the hands that clutched the cords
were steady.

Five of those slim girls! Only seven left! Luka—
spin your wheel!

On and on, slowly, with many a halt, the remaining
cords crept through my fingers. Now the fourth girl
must be over the moat . . . must be over the parapet
. . . must be well on her way to the rocks ... my
heart beat in my throat, half-strangling me. . . .
Gods—the sixth had fallen !
"Another!" I groaned to Lur.
"And another!" she whispered, and cast the end of
a cord from her hand.

Five left . . . only five now . . . Luka, a tempk
to you in Karak—all your own, sweet goddess !

What was that ? A pull upon a cord, and twice
repeated ! The signal! One had crossed ! Honour and
wealth to you, slim girl. . . .

"All gone but one, Dwayanu!" whispered the Witch-
woman.

I groaned again, and glared at her. . . .
Again the twitches—upon my fifth cord !
Another safe !
"My last is over!" whispered Lur.
Three safe ! Three hidden among the rocks. The
fishing was done. Sirk had stolen three-fourths of my
bait.

But Sirk was hooked!

Weakness like none I had known melted bones and
muscles. Lur's face was white as chalk, black shadows
under staring eyes.

Well, now it was our turn. The slim maids who had
fallen might soon have company!

I took the cord from Lur. Sent the signal. Felt it
answered.

We "cut the cords, and knotted their ends to heavier
strands. And when they had run out we knotted to
their ends a stronger, slender rope.

It crept away—and away—and away——

And now for the ladder--the bridge over which we
must go.

It was light but strong, that ladder. Woven cunningly
in a way thought out long and long ago. It had claws
at each end which, once they had gripped, were not easily
opened.

We fastened that ladder's end to the slender rope. It
slipped away from us ... over the fems . . . out
into the hot breath of the cauldron . . . through it.

Invisible within that breath . . . invisible against
the green dusk of the cliff ... on and on it crept. . . .

The three maids had it! They were making it fast.
Under my hands it straightened and stiffened. We drew
it taut from our end. We fastened our grapnels.

The road to Sirk was open !

I turned to the Witch-woman. She stood, her gaze
far and far away. In her eyes was the green fire of her
wolves. And suddenly over the hissing of the torrent, I
beard the howling of her wolves—far and far away.

She relaxed; her head dropped ; she smiled at me—
"Yes—truly can I talk to my wolves, Dwayanu !"

I walked to the ladder, tested it.  It was strong,
secure.

"I go first, Lur. Let none follow me until I have

crossed. Then do you, Dara and Naral, climb to guard
my back."

Lur's eyes blazed.

"I follow you. Your captains come after me."

I considered that. Well—let it be.

"As you say, Lur. But do not follow until I have
crossed. Then let Ouarda send the soldiers. Ouarda—
not more than ten may be on the ladder at a time. Bind
cloths over their mouths and nostrils before they start
Count thirty—slowly, like this—before each sets forth
behind the other. Fasten axe and sword between my
shoulders, Lur. See to it that all bear their weapons so.
Watch now, how I use my hands and feet."

I swung upon the ladder, arms and legs opened wide.
I began to climb it. Like a spider. Slowly, so they could
learn. The ladder swayed but little ; its angle was a

good one.

And now I was above the fern-brake. And now I was
at the edge of the torrent. Above it. The stream swirled
round me. It hid me. The hot breath of the geyser
shrivelled me. Nor could I see anything of the ladder
except the strands beneath me. . . .

Thank Luka for that ! If what was before me was
hidden—so was I hidden from what was before me!

I was through the steam. I had passed the clifi. I
was above the parapet. I dropped from the ladder,
among the rocks—unseen. I shook the ladder. There
was a quivering response. There was weight upon it . . .
more weight . . . and more. . . .

I unstrapped axe and sword——

' 'Dwayanu——''

I turned. There were the three maids. I began to
praise them—holding back laughter. Green and black
had run and combined under bath of steam into
grotesque pattern.

"Nobles you are, maids ! From this moment! Green

and black your colours. What you have done this night
will long be a tale in Karak."

I looked toward the battlements. Between us and
them was a smooth floor of rock and sand, less than half
a bow-shot wide. A score of soldiers stood around the
fire. There was a larger group on the parapet close to
the towers of the bridge. There were more at the farther
end of the parapet, looking at the wolves.

The towers of the drawbridge ran straight down to
the rocky floor. The tower at the left was blank wall.
The tower at the right had a wide gate. The gate was
open, unguarded, unless the soldiers about the fire were
its guards. Down from between the towers dropped a
wide ramp, the approach to the bridge-head.

There was a touch on my arm. Lur was beside me.
And close after her came my two captains. After them,
one by one, the soldiers. I bade them string bows, set
arrows. One by one they melted out of the green dark-
ness, slipped by me. They made ready in the shadow
of the rocks.

One score—two score ... a shriek cut like an arrow
through the hissing of the torrent ! The ladder trembled.
It shook—and twisted. . . . Again the despairing cry
... the ladder fell slack !

"Dwayanu—the ladder is broken ? At—Ouarda——"

"Quiet, Lur ! They may have heard that shrieking.
The ladder could not break. . . ."

"Draw it in, Dwayanu—draw it in !"

Together we pulled upon it. It was heavy. We drew
it in like a net, and swiftly. And suddenly it was of no
weight at all. It rushed into our hands——

Its ends were severed as though by knife slash or axe
blow.

"Treachery!" I said.

"But treachery . . . how . . . with Ouarda on
guard."

I crept, crouching, behind the shadow of the
rocks.

"Dara—spread out the soldiers. Tell Naral to slip
to the farther end. On the signal, let them loose their
arrows. Three flights only. The first at those around
the fire. The second and the thircPat those on the walls
closest to the towers. Then follow me. You understand
me?"

"It is understood. Lord."

The word went along the line; I heard the bow-
strings whisper.

"We are fewer than I like, Lur—yet nothing for us
but to go through with it. No way out of Sirk now but
the way of the sword."

"I know. It is of Ouarda I am thinking. . . ." Her
voice trembled.

"She is safe. If treachery had been wide-spread, we
would have heard sounds of fighting. No more talking,
Lur. We must move swiftly. After the third arrow
flight, we rush the tower gate."

I gave the signal. Up rose the archers. Straight upon
those around the fire flew their shafts. They left few
alive. Instantly upon those around the towers of the
bridge whistled a second arrow storm.

Hai ! But that was straight shooting! See them
fall! Once more——

Whistle of feathered shaft ! Song of the bow-string I
Gods—but this is to live again !

I dropped down the rocks, Lur beside me. The
soldier women poured after us. Straight to the tower
door we sped. We were half-way there before those upon
the long parapet awakened.

Shouts rang. Trumpets blared, and the air was filled
with the brazen clangour of a great gong bellowing the
alarm to Sirk asleep behind the gap. We sped on. Jave-
lins dropped among us, arrows whistled. From other

gates along the inner walls guards began to emerge,
racing to intercept us.

We were at the door of the bridge towers—and through
it!

But not all. A third had fallen under javelin and
arrow. We swung the stout door shut. We dropped
across it the massive bars that secured it. And not an
instant too soon. Upon the door began to beat the sledges
of the tricked guards.

The chamber was of stone, huge and bare. Except
for the door through which we had come, there was no
opening. I saw the reason for that—never had Sirk
expected to be attacked from within. There were arrow
slits high up, looking over the moat, and platforms for
archers. At one side were cogs and levers which raised
and lowered the bridge.

All this I took in at one swift glance. I leaped over
to the levers, began to manipulate them. The cogs
revolved.

The bridge was falling !

The Witch-woman ran up to the platform of the
archers; she peered out; set horn to lips ; she sent a
long call through the arrow slit—summoning signal for
Tibur and his host.

The hammering against the door had ceased. The
blows against it were stronger, more regular—timed.
The battering of a ram. The stout wood trembled under
them; the bars groaned, Lur called to me :

"The bridge is down, Dwayanu ! Tibur is rushing
upon it. It grows lighter. Dawn is breaking. They have
brought their horses !"

I cursed.

"Luka, sent him wit not to pound across that bridge
on horse!"

"He is doing it ... he and Rascha and a handful
of others only . . . the rest are dismounting. . . ,

Hai—they are shooting at them from the arrow slits
. . . the javelins rain among them . . . Sirk takes
toll. . . ."

There was a thunderous crash against the door. The
wood split. . . .

A roaring tumult. Shouts and battle cries. Ring of
sword upon sword and the swish of arrows. And over it
all the laughter of Tibur.

No longer was the ram battering at the door.

I threw up the bars, raised axe in readiness, opened
the great gate a finger's breadth and peered out.

The soldiers of Karak were pouring down the ramp
from the bridge-head.

I opened the door wider. The dead of the fortress
lay thick around tower base and bridge-head.

I stepped through the door. The soldiers saw me.

"Dwayanu !" rang their shout.

From the fortress still came the clamour of the great
gong—warning Sirk.

Sirk—no longer sleeping !

CHAPTER XX

"TSANTAWU—FAREWELL !"

THERE was a humming as of a disturbed gigantic
hive beyond Sirk's gap. Trumpet blasts and the
roll of drums. Clang of brazen gongs answering that
lonely one which beat from the secret heart of the raped
fortress. And ever Karak's women-warriors poured
over the bridge until the space behind the fortress filled
with them.

The Smith wheeled his steed—faced me.
"Gods—Tibur ! But that was well done !"
"Never done but for you, Dwayanu! You saw, you
knew—you did. Ours the least part."

Well, that was true. But I was close to liking Tibur
then. Life of my blood! It had been no play to lead
that charge against the bridge end. The Smith was a
soldier! Let him be only half loyal to me—and Khalk'ru
take the Witch-woman!

"Sweep the fortress clean, Anvil-smiter. We want
no arrows at our backs."

"It is being swept, Dwayanu."

By brooms of sword and spear, by javelin and arrow,
the fortress was swept dean.

The clamour of the brazen gong died on a part stroke.

My stallion rested his nose on my shoulder, blew
softly against my ear.

"You did not forget my horse! My hand to you,
Tibur!"

"You lead the charge, Dwayanu !"
I leaped upon the stallion. Battleaxe held high I
wheeled and galloped toward the gap. Like the point of

a spear I sped, Tibur at my left, the Witch-woman at
my right, the nobles behind us, the soldiers sweeping
after us.

We hurled ourselves through the cliffed portal of Sirk.

A living wave lifted itself to throw us back. Hammers
flew, axes hewed, javelins and spears and feathered shafts
sleeted us. My horse tottered and dropped, screaming,
his hinder hocks cut through. I felt a hand upon my
shoulder, dragging me to my feet. The Witch-woman
smiled at me. She sliced with her sword the arm drawing
me down among the dead. With axe and sword we
cleared a ring around us. I threw myself on the back of
a grey from which a noble had fallen, bristling with arrows.

We thrust forward against the living wave. It gave,
curling round us.

On and on ! Cut sword and hew axe ! Cut and slash
and batter through!

The curling wave that tore at us was beaten down.
We were through the gap. Sirk lay before us.

I reined in my horse. Sirk lay before us—but too
invitingly!

The city nestled in a hollow between sheer, unscalable
black walls. The lip of the gap was higher than the roof
of the houses. They began an arrow flight away. It
was a fair city. There was no citadel nor forts ; there
were no temples nor palaces. Only houses of stone, per-
haps a thousand of them, flat roofed, set wide apart,
gardens around them, a wide street straying among them,
tree-bordered. There were many lanes. Beyond the
city fertile field upon field, and flowering orchards.

And no battle ranks arrayed against us. The way
open.

Too open!

I caught the glint of arms on the housetops. There
was the noise of axes above the blaring of trumpets and
the roll of the kettle-drums.

Hail They were barricading the wide street with
their trees, preparing a hundred ambushes for us, expect-
ing us to roll down in force.

Spreading the net in the sight of Dwayanu!

Yet they were good tactics. The best defence. I had
met with it in many a war against the barbarians. It
meant we must fight for every step, with every house a
fort, with arrows searching for us from every window
and roof. They had a leader here in Sirk, to arrange
such reception on such brief notice! I had respect for
that leader, whoever he might be. He had picked the
only possible way to victory—unless those against whom
he fought knew the countermove.

And that, hard earned, I did know.

How long could this leader keep Sirk within its thou-
sand forts ?  There, always, lay the danger in this
defence. The overpowering impulse of a pierced city is
to swarm out upon its invaders as ants and bees do from
their hills and nests. Not often is there a leader strong
enough to hold them back. If each house of Sirk could
remain linked to the other, each ever an active part of
the whole—then Sirk might be unconquerable.  But
how, when they began to be cut off, one by one ? Isolated ?
The leader's will severed ?

Hail Then it is that despair creeps through every
chink! They are drawn out by fury and despair as
though by ropes. They pour out—to kill or to be killed.
The cliff crumbles, stone by stone. The cake is eaten by
the attackers, crumb by crumb.

I divided our soldiers, and sent the first part against
Sirk in small squads, with orders to spread and to take
advantage of all cover. They were to take the outer
fringe of houses, at all costs, shooting their arrows up in
the high curved flight against the defenders while others
hammered their way into those houses. Still others
were to attack farther on. but never getting too far from

their comrades nor from the broad way running through
the city.

I was casting a net over Sirk and did not want its
meshes broken.

By now it was broad daylight.

The soldiers moved forward. I saw the arrows stream
up and down, twisting among each other like serpents.
... I heard the axe-blows on the doors. . . .

By Luka! There floats a banner of Karak from one
of the roofs ! And another.

The hum of Sirk shot higher, became louder, in it a
note of madness. Hai! I knew they could not long
stand this nibbling ! And I knew that sound ! Soon it
would rise to frenzy. Drone from that into despair !

Hai!  Not long now before they came tumbling
out. . . .

Tibur was cursing at my elbow. I looked at Lur, and
she was trembling. The soldiers were murmuring, strain-
ing at the leash, mad to join battle. I looked at their
blue eyes, hard and cold ; their faces beneath the helmet-
caps were not those of women but of young warriors . . .
those who sought in them for woman's mercy would have
rude awakening !

"By Zarda ! But the fight will be done before we can
dip blade !"
I laughed.

"Patience, Tibur! Patience is our strong weapon.
Sirk's strongest—if they but knew it. Let them be first
to lose that weapon."

The turmoil grew louder. At the head of the street
appeared half a hundred of Karak's soldiers, struggling
against more than equal number which steadily, swiftly,
was swelled by others of Sirk pouring from side lanes
and dropping from roofs and windows of the beleaguered
houses.

It was the moment for which I had waited !

I gave the command. I raised the battle-cry. We
drove down upon them. Our skirmishers opened to let
us through, melting into the shouting ranks behind. We
ripped into the defenders of Sirk. Down they went, but
as they fell they fought, and many a saddle of the nobles
was empty, and many were the steeds lost before we
won to the first barricade.

Hai! But how they fought us there from behind the
hastily felled trees—women and men and children hardly
big enough to bend the bow or wield the knife !

Now the soldiers of Karak began to harry them from
the sides; the soldiers of Karak shot into them from
the tops of the houses they had abandoned ; we fought
Sirk as it had planned to fight us. And those who fought
against us soon broke and fled, and we were over the
barricade. Battling, we reached the heart of Sirk, a
great and lovely square in which fountains played and
flowers blossomed. The spray of the fountains was
crimson and there were no flowers when we left that
square.

We paid heavy toll there. Full half of the nobles
were slain. A spear had struck my helmet and well-nigh
dropped me. Bare-headed, blood-flecked I rode, shouting,
sword dripping red. Naral and Dara both bore wounds,
but still guarded my back. The Witch-woman, and the
Smith and his scarred familiar fought on, untouched.

There was a thunder of hoofs. Down upon us swept a
wave of horsemen. We raced toward them. We struck
like two combers. Surged up. Mingled. Flash swords !
Hammers smite ! Axes cleave ! Hai ! But now it was
hand-to-hand in the way I knew best and best loved!

We swirled in a mad whirlpool. I glanced at right and
saw the Witch-woman had been separated from me.
Tibur, too, was gone. Well, they were giving good
account of themselves no doubt—wherever they were.

I swung to right and to left with my sword. In the

front of those who fought us, over the caps of Karak
which had swirled between us, was a dark face ... a
dark face whose black eyes looked steadily into mine—
steadily . . . steadily. At the shoulder of that man
was a slighter figure whose clear, brown eyes stared at
me ... steadily . . . steadily.  In the black eyes
was understanding and sorrow. The brown eyes were
filled with hate.

Black eyes and brown eyes touched something deep
and deep within me. . . . They were rousing that some-
thing . . . calling to it ... something that had
been sleeping.

I heard my own voice shouting command to cease
fighting, and at that shout abruptly all sound of battle
close by was stilled. Sirk and Karak alike stood silent,
amazed, staring at me. I thrust my horse through the
press of bodies, looked deep into the black eyes.

And wondered why I had dropped my sword . . .
why I stood thus . . . and why the sorrow in those
eyes racked my heart. . . .

The dark-faced man spoke—two words——

"Leif! . . . Degataga!"

. . . Degataga ! . . .

That something which had been asleep was wide
awake, rushing up through me . . . rocking my brain
. . . tearing at it ... shaking every nerve. . . .

I heard a cry—the voice of the Witch-woman.

A horse burst through the ring of the soldiers. Upon
it was Rascha, lips drawn back over his teeth, cold eyes
glaring into mine. His arm came up. His dagger gleamed,
and was hidden in the back of the man who had called
me—Degataga !

Had called me——

God—but I knew him I

Tsantawu ! Jim!

The sleeping thing that had awakened was all awake

... it had my brain ... it was myself . . .
Dwayanu forgotten !

I threw my horse forward.

Rascha's arm was up for second stroke—the brown-
eyed rider was swinging at him with sword, and Jim was
falling, settling over his horse's mane.

I caught Rascha's arm before the dagger could descend
again. I caught his arm, bent it back, and heard the
bone snap. He howled—like a wolf.

A hammer hummed by my head, missing it by a hair.
I saw Tibur drawing it back by its thong.

I leaned and lifted Rascha from his saddle.  His
sound arm swept up, hand clutching at my throat. I
caught the wrist and twisted that arm back. I snapped
it as I had the other.

My horse swerved. With one hand at Rascha's throat,
the other arm holding him, I toppled from the saddle
bearing him down with me. I fell upon him. I twisted,
and threw him over the bar of my knee. My hand
slipped from his throat to his chest. My right leg locked
over his.

A swift downward thrust—a sound like the breaking
of a faggot. The Back-breaker would break no more
backs. His own was broken.

I leaped to my feet. Looked up into the face of the
brown-eyed rider. . . .

.... Evalie! . . .

I cried out to her—"Evalie I"

Abruptly, all about me the battle broke out afresh.
Evalie turned to meet the charge. I saw Tibur's great
shoulders rise behind her . . . saw him snatch her
from her horse . . . saw from his left hand a flash of
light. ... It sped toward me. . . .

I was hurled aside.   None too soon—not soon
enough——

Something caught me a glancing blow upon the side

of my head. I went down upon my knees and hands,
blind and dizzy. I heard Tibur laughing; I strove to
conquer blind dizziness and nausea, felt blood streaming
down my face.

And crouching, swaying on knees and hands, heard
the tide of battle sweep around and over and past me.

My head steadied. The blindness was passing. I
was still on my hands and knees. Under me was the
body of a man—a man whose black eyes were fixed on
mine with understanding—with love !

I felt a touch on my shoulder ; with difficulty I looked
up. It was Dara.

"A hair between life and death. Lord. Drink this."

She put a phial to my lips. The bitter, fiery liquid
coursed through me, brought steadiness, brought strength.
I could see there was a ring of soldier-women around me,
guarding me—beyond them a ring of others, on horses.

"Can you hear me, Leif ? . . . I haven't much
time. ..."

I lurched aside and knelt.

"Jim ! Jim ! Oh, God—why did you come here ?
Take this sword and kill me !"

He reached for my hand, held it tight.

"Don't be a damned fool, Leif ! You couldn't help
it ... but you've got to save Evalie !"

"I've got to save you, Tsantawu—get you out of
here——"

"Shut up and listen. I've got mine, Leif, and I know
it. That blade went through the mail right into the
lungs . . . I'm trickling out—inside . . . hell, Leif—
don't take it so hard. ... It might have been in the
war. ... It might have been any time. . . . It's
not your fault. . . ."

A sob shook me, tears mingled with the blood upon
my face.

"But I killed him, Jim—I killed him !"

"I know, Leif . . . a neat job. . . . I saw you . . .
but there's something I've got to tell you . . ." his
voice faltered.

I put the phial to his lips—it brought him back.

"Just now . . . Evalie . . . hates you ! You have
to save her . . . Leif . . . whether she does or not.
Listen. Word came to us from Sirk through the Little
People that you wanted us to meet you there. You were
pretending to be Dwayanu . . . pretending to remem-
ber nothing but Dwayanu ... to allay suspicion and
to gain power. You were going to slip away . . . come
to Sirk, and lead it against Karak. You needed me to
stand beside you . . . needed Evalie to persuade the
pygmies ..."

"I sent you no message, Jim 1" I groaned.

"I know you didn't—now. . . , But we believed
it. ... You saved Sri from the wolves and defied the
Witch-woman——''

"Jim—how long was it after Sri's escape that the
lying message came ?"

"Two days. . . . What does it matter? I'd told
Evalie what was—wrong—with you . . . gone over
your story again and again. She didn't understand . . .
but she took me on faith. . . . Some more of that stuff,
Leif. . . . I'm going. . . ."

Again the fiery draught revived him.

"We reached Sirk . . . two days ago . . . across
the river with Sri and twenty pygmies ... it was
easy . . . too easy . . . not a wolf howled, although
I knew the beasts were watching us ... stalking us
. . . and the others did, too. We waited . . . then
came the attack . . . and then I knew we had been
trapped. . . . How did you get over those geysers . . .
Big Fellow . . . never mind . . . but . . . Evalie
believes you sent the message . . . you . . . black
treachery . . ."

His eyes closed. Cold, cold were his hands.

"Tsantawu—brother—you do not believe ! Tsantawu
—come back . . . speak to me . . ."

His eyes opened, but hardly could I hear him speak——

"You're not Dwayanu—Leif ? Not now—or ever
again ?"

"No, Tsantawu . . . don't leave me !"

"Bend . . . your head . . . closer, Leif . . . keep
fighting . . . save Evalie."

Fainter grew his voice :

"Good-bye . . . Degataga . . . not your fault . . ."

A ghost of the old sardonic smile passed over the
white face.

"You didn't pick your . . . damned . . . ancestors!
. . . Worse luck. . . . We've had . . . hell of good
times . . . together. . . . Save . . . Evalie . . ."

There was a gush of blood from his mouth.

Jim was dead . . . was dead.

Tsantawu—no more I

BOOK OF LEIF

CHAPTER XXI

RETURN TO KARAK

I LEANED over Jim and kissed his forehead. I arose.
I was numb with sorrow. But under that numbness
seethed a tortured rage, a tortured horror. Deadly rage
against the Witch-woman and the Smith—horror of
myself, of what I had been . . . horror of—Dwayanu !

I must find Tibur and the Witch-woman—but first
there was something else to be done. They and Evalie
could wait.

"Dara—have them lift him. Carry him into one of
the houses."

I followed on foot as they bore Jim away. There was
fighting still going on, but far from us. Here were only
the dead. I guessed that Sirk was making its last stand
at the end of the valley.

Dara, Naral and I and half-dozen more passed through
the broken doors of what yesterday had been a pleasant
home. In its centre was a little columned hall. The
other soldiers clustered round the broken doors, guarding
entrance. I ordered chairs and beds and whatever else
would burn brought into the little hall and heaped into
a pyre. Dara said :

"Lord, let me bathe your wound."

I dropped upon a stool, sat thinking while she washed
the gash upon my head with stinging wine. Beyond the
strange numbness, my mind was very clear. I was Leif
Langdon. Dwayanu was no longer master of my mind—
nor ever again would be. Yet he lived. He lived within
as part of—myself. It was as though the shock of recog-
nition of Jim had dissolved Dwayanu within Leif Langdon.

As though two opposing currents had merged into
one ; as though two drops had melted into each other;

as though two antagonistic metals had fused.

Crystal clear was every memory of what I had heard
and seen, said and done and thought from the time I
had been hurled from Nansur Bridge. And crystal clear,
agonizingly clear, was all that had gone before. Dway-
anu was not dead, no ! But part of me, and I was by
far the stronger. I could use him, his strength, his wis-
dom—but he could not use mine. I was in control. I
was the master.

And I thought, sitting there, that if I were to save
Evalie—if I were to do another thing that now I knew
I would do or die in the doing, I must still outwardly be
all Dwayanu. There lay my power. Not easily could
such transmutation as I had undergone be explained to
my soldiers. They believed in me and followed me as
Dwayanu. If Evalie, who had known me as Leif, who
had loved me as Leif, who had listened to Jim, could
not understand—how much less could these ? No, they
must see no change.

I touched my head. The cut was deep and long;

apparently only the toughness of my skull had saved it
from being split.

"Dara—you saw who made this wound ?"

"It was Tibur, Lord."

"He tried to kill me. . . . Why did he not finish ?"

"Never yet has Tibur's left hand failed to deal death.
He thinks it cannot fail. He saw you fall—he thought
you dead."

"And death missed me by a hair's-breadth. And
would not, had not someone hurled me aside. Was that
you, Dara ?"

"It was I, Dwayanu. I saw his hand dip into his
girdle, knew what was coming. I threw myself at your
knees—so he could not see me."

"Why, because you fear Tibur ?"

"No—because I wanted him to believe he did not
miss."

"Why ?"

"So that you would have better chance to kill Tibur,
Lord. Your strength was ebbing with your friend's
life."

I looked sharply at this bold-eyed captain of mine.
How much did she know ? Well, time later to find that
out. I looked at the pyre. It was nearly complete.

"What was it he threw, Dara ?"

She drew from her girdle a curious weapon, one whose
like I had never seen. Its end was top-shaped, pointed
like a dagger and with four razor-edged ribs on its sides.
It had an eight-inch metal haft, round, like the haft of
a diminutive javelin. It weighed about five pounds. It
was of some metal I did not recognize—denser, harder
than the finest of tempered steel. It was, in effect, a
casting knife. But no mail could turn aside that adaman-
tine point when hurled with the strength of one like
the Smith. Dara took it from me, and pulled the short
shaft. Instantly the edged ribs flew open, like flanges.
The end of each was shaped like an inverted barb. A
devilish tool, if I ever saw one. Once embedded, there
was no way to get it out except cutting, and any pull
would release the flanges, hooking them at the same time
into the flesh. I took it back from Dara, and placed
it in my own girdle. If I had had any doubts about what
I was going to do to Tibur—I had none now.

The pyre was finished. I walked over to Jim, and laid
him on it. I kissed him on the eyes, and put a sword in
his dead hand. I stripped the room of its rich tapestries
and draped them over him. I struck flint and set flame
to the pyre. The wood was dry and resinous, and burned
swiftly. I watched the flames creep up and up until
smoke and fire made a canopy over him.

Then dry-eyed, but with death in my heart. I walked
out of that house and among my soldiers.

Sirk had fallen and its sack was on. Smoke was rising
everywhere from the looted homes. A detachment of
soldiers marched by, herding along some two-score
prisoners—women, all of them, and little children ; some
bore the marks of wounds. And then I saw that among
those whom I had taken for children were a handful of
the golden pygmies. At sight of me the soldiers halted,
stood rigid, staring at me unbelievingly.

Suddenly one cried out ... "Dwayanu ! Dwayanu
lives!" . . . They raised their swords in salute, and
from them came a shout . . . "Dwayanu!"

I beckoned their captain.

"Did you think Dwayanu dead then ?"

"So ran the tale among us, Lord."

"And did this tale also tell how I was slain ?"

She hesitated.

"There were some who said it was by the Lord Tibur
... by 'accident . . . that he had made cast at
Sirk's leader who was menacing you . . . and that you
were struck instead . . . and that your body had been
borne away by those of Sirk . . . I do not know. . . ."

"Enough, soldier. Go on to Karak with the captives.
Do not loiter, and do not speak of seeing me. It is a
command. For a while I let the tale stand."

They glanced at each other, oddly, saluted, and went
on. The yellow eyes of the pygmies, filled with a veno-
mous hatred, never left me until they had passed out of
range. I waited, thinking. So that was to be the story !
Hai ! But they had fear at their elbows or they would
not have troubled to spread that tale of accident!
Suddenly I made decision. No use to wander over Sirk
searching for Tibur. Folly to be seen, and have the
counter-tale that Dwayanu lived be borne to the ears of
Tibur and Lur ! They should come to me—unknowing.

There was only one way out of Sirk, and that by the
bridge. It was there I would await them. I turned to
Dara.

"We go to the bridge, but not by this road. We
take the lanes until we reach the cliffs."

They wheeled their horses, and for the first time I
realized that all this little troop of mine were mounted.
And for the first time I realized that all were of my own
guard, and that many of them had been foot-soldiers,
yet these, too, were riding, and that upon a score of
saddles were the colours of nobles who had followed me
and the Witch-woman and Tibur through the gap of Sirk.
It was Naral who, reading my perplexity, spoke, half-
impudently as always :

"These are your most faithful, Dwayanu ! The horses
were idle—or a few we made so. For your better shield
should Tibur—make mistake again."

I said nothing to that until we had gone around the
burning house and were under cover of one of the lanes.
Then I spoke to them:

"Naral—Dara—let us talk apart for a moment."

And when we had drawn a little away from the others,
I said:

"To you two I owe my life—most of all to you, Dara.
All that I can give you is yours for the asking. All I
ask of you is—truth."

"Dwayanu—you shall have it."

"Why did Tibur want to kill me ?"

Naral said, dryly:

"The Smith was not the only one who wanted you
killed, Dwayanu."

I knew that, but I wanted to hear it from them.

"Who else, Naral ?"

"Lur—and most of the nobles."

"But why ? Had I not opened Sirk for them ?"

"You were becoming too strong, Dwayanu. It is not

in Lur or Tibur to take second place—or third . . .
or maybe no place."

"But they had opportunity before——"

"But you had not taken Sirk for them," said Dara.

Naral said, resentfully:

"Dwayanu, you play with us. You know as well as
we—better—what the reason was. You came here with
that friend we have just left on his fire couch. All knew
it. If you were to die—so must he die. He must not
live, perhaps to escape and bring others into this place—
for I know, as some others do, that there is life beyond
here and that Khalk'ru does not reign supreme, as the
nobles tell us. Well—here together are you and this
friend of yours. And not only you two, but also the dark
girl of the Rrrllya, whose death or capture might break
the spirit of the little folk and put them under Karak's
yoke. The three of you—together ! Why, Dwayanu—it
was the one place and the one time to strike ! And Lur
and Tibur did—and killed your friend, and think they
have killed you, and have taken the dark girl."

"And if I kill Tibur, Naral ?"

"Then there will be fighting. And you must guard
yourself well, for the nobles hate you, Dwayanu. They
have been told you are against the old customs—mean
to debase them, and raise the people. Intend even to
end the Sacrifices ..."

She glanced at me, slyly.

"And if that were true ?"

"You have most of the soldiers with you now, Dwayanu.
If it were true you would also have most of the people.
But Tibur has his friends—even among the soldiers.
And Lur is no weakling."

She twitched up her horse's head, viciously.

"Better kill Lur, too, while you're in the mood,
Dwayanu!"

I made no answer to that. We trotted through the

lanes, not speaking again. Everywhere were dead, and
gutted houses. We came out of the city, and rode over
the narrow plain to the gap between the cliffs. There
happened to be none on the open road just then ; so we
entered the gap unnoticed. We passed through it out
into the square behind the fortress. There were soldiers
here, in plenty, and groups of captives. I rode in the
centre of my troop, bent over the neck of my horse.
Dara had roughly bandaged my head. The bandages
and cap-helmet I had picked up hid my yellow hair.
There was much confusion, and I passed through
unnoticed. I rode straight to the door of the tower
behind which we had lurked when Karak stormed the
bridge. I slipped in with my horse, half-closed the door.
My women grouped themselves outside. They were not
likely to be challenged. I settled down to wait for Tibur.

It was hard waiting, that! Jim's face over the camp-
fire. Jim's face grinning at me in the trenches. Jim's
face above mine when I lay on the moss bank of the
threshold of the mirage—Jim's face under mine on the
street of Sirk. . . .

Tsantawu! Aie—Tsantawul And you thought that
only beauty could come from the forest I

Evalie ? I cared nothing for Evalie then, caught in
that limbo which at once was ice and candent core of
rage.

"Save . . . Evalie!" Jim had bade. Well, I would
save Evalie! Beyond that she mattered no more than
did the Witch-woman . . . yes, a little more ... I had
a score to satisfy with the Witch-woman ... I had
none with Evalie. . . .

The face of Jim . . . always the face of Jim . . .
floating before me. . . .

I heard a whisper——

"Dwayanu—Tibur comes !"

"Is Lur with him, Dara ?"

"No—a group of the nobles. He is laughing. He
carries the dark girl on his saddle-bow."

"How far away is he, Dara ?"

"Perhaps a bow-shot. He rides slowly."

"When I ride out, close in behind me. The fight will
be between me and Tibur. I do not think those with
him will dare attack me. If they do . . ."

Naral laughed.

"If they do, we shall be at their throats, Dwayanu.
There are one or two of Tibur's friends I would like to
settle accounts with. We ask you only this : waste
neither words nor time on Tibur. Kill him quickly. For
by the gods, if he kills you, it will be the boiling pot and
the knives of the flayers for all of us he captures."

"I will kill him, Naral."

Slowly I opened the great door. Now I could see
Tibur, his horse pacing toward the bridge-end. Upon
the pommel of his saddle was Evalie. Her body drooped;

the hair of blue-black was loosened and covered her face
like a veil. Her hands were tied behind her back, and
gripped in one of Tibur's. There were a score of his
followers around and behind him, nobles—and the
majority of them men. I had noticed that although the
Witch-woman had few men among her guards and
garrisons, the Smith showed a preference for them among
his friends and personal escort. His head was turned
toward them, his voice, roaring with triumph, and his
laughter came plainly to me. By now the enclosure was
almost empty of soldiers and captives. There was none
between us. I wondered where the Witch-woman was.

Closer came Tibur, and closer.

"Ready Dara—Naral ?"

"Ready, Lord !"

I flung open the gate. I raced toward Tibur, head
bent low, my little troop behind me. I swung against
him with head uplifted, thrust my face close to his.

Tibur's whole body grew rigid, his eyes glared into
mine, his jaw dropped. I knew that those who followed
him were held in that same incredulous stupefaction.
Before the Smith could recover from his paralysis, I had
snatched Evalie up from his saddle, had passed her to
Dara.

I lifted my sword to slash at Tibur's throat. I gave
him no warning. It was no time for chivalry. Twice he
had tried treacherously to kill me. I would make quick
end.

Swift as had been my stroke, the Smith was swifter.
He threw himself back, slipped off his horse, and landed
like a cat at its heels. I was down from mine before his
great sledge was half-raised to hurl.  I thrust my blade
forward to pierce his throat. He parried it with the
sledge. Then berserk rage claimed him. The hammer
fell clanging on the rock. He threw himself on me,
howling. His arms circled me, fettering mine to my
sides, like living bands of steel.   His legs felt for
mine, striving to throw me.   His lips were drawn
back like a mad wolf's, and he bored his head into
the pit of my neck, trying to tear my throat with his
teeth.

My ribs cracked under the tightening vice of Tibur's
arms. My lungs were labouring, sight dimming. I
writhed and twisted in the effort to escape the muzzling
of that hot mouth and the searching fangs.

I heard shouting around me, heard and dimly saw
milling of the horses. The clutching fingers of my left
hand touched my girdle—closed on something there—
something like the shaft of a javelin——

Tibur's hell-forged dart!

Suddenly I went limp in Tibur's grip. His laughter
bellowed, hoarse with triumph. And for a split-second
his grip relaxed.

That split-second was enough. I summoned all my

strength and broke his grip. Before he could clench me
again, my hand had swept down into the girdle and
clutched the dart.

I brought it up and drove it into Tibur's throat just
beneath his jaw. I jerked the haft. The opened, razor-
edged flanges sliced through arteries and muscles. The
bellowing laughter of Tibur changed to a hideous gurg-
ling. His hands sought the haft, dragged at it—tore it
out——

And the blood spurted from Tibur's mangled throat";

Tibur's knees buckled beneath him, and he lurched and
fell at my feet . . . choking ... his hands still feebly
groping to clutch me. . . .

I stood there, dazed, gasping for breath, the pulse
roaring in my ears.

"Drink this. Lord!"

I looked up at Dara. She was holding a wine-skin to
me. I took it with trembling hands, and drank deep.
The good wine whipped through me. Suddenly I took
it from my lips.

"The dark girl of the Rrrllya—Evalie. She is not
with you."

"There she is. I set her on another horse. There was
fighting. Lord."

I stared into Evalie's face. She looked back at me,
brown eyes cold, implacable.

"Better use the rest of the wine to wash your face,
Lord. You are no sight for any tender maid."

I passed my hand over my face, drew it away wet with
blood.

"Tibur's blood, Dwayanu, thank the gods !"

She brought my horse forward. I felt better when I
was in its saddle. I glanced down at Tibur. His fingers
were still faintly twitching. I looked about me. There
was a shattered company of Karak's archers at the bridge-
end. They raised their bows in salute.

"Dwayanu ! Live Dwayanu !"

My troop seemed strangely shrunken. I called—
"Naral!"

"Dead, Dwayanu. I told you there had been fight-
ing."

"Who killed her ?"

"Never mind. I slew him. And those left of Tibur's
escort have fled. And now what. Lord ?"

"We wait for Lur."

"Not long shall we have to linger then, for here she
comes."

There was the blast of a horn. I turned to see the
Witch-woman come galloping over the square. Her red
braids were loose, her sword was red, and she was nigh as
battle-stained as I. With her rode a scant dozen of her
women, half as many of her nobles.

I awaited her. She reined up before me, searching me
with wild bright eyes.

I should have killed her as I had Tibur. I should have
been hating her. But I found I was not hating her at
all. All of hate I had held seemed to have poured out
upon Tibur.' No, I was not hating her.

She smiled faintly:

"You are hard to kill. Yellow-hair !"

"Dwayanu—Witch."

She glanced at me, half-contemptuously.

"You are no longer Dwayanu !"

"Try to convince these soldiers of that, Lur.'

"Oh, I know"—she said, and stared down at Tibur—
"So you killed the Smith. Well, at least you are still a-
man."

"Killed him for you, Lur!" I jeered. "Did I not
promise you ?"

She did not answer, only asked, as Dara had before
her:

"And now what ?"

"We wait here until Sirk is emptied. Then we ride to
Karak, you beside me. I do not like you at my back,
Witch-woman."

She spoke quietly to her women, then sat, head bent,
thinking, with never another word for me.

I whispered to Dara :

"Can we trust the archers ?"

She nodded.

"Bid them wait and march with us. Let them drag
the body of Tibur into some corner."

For half an hour the soldiers came by, with prisoners,
with horses, with cattle and other booty. Small troops
of the nobles and their supporters galloped up, halted,
and spoke, but, at my word and Lur's nod, passed on
over the bridge. Most of the nobles showed dismayed
astonishment at my resurrection ; the soldiers gave me
glad salute.

The last skeleton company came through the gap. I
had been watching for Sri, but he was not with them,
and I concluded that he had been taken to Karak with
the earliest prisoners or had been killed.

"Come," I said to the Witch-woman. "Let your
women go before us."

I rode over to Evalie, lifted her from her saddle and
set her on my pommel. She made no resistance, but I
felt her shrink from me. I knew she was thinking that
she had but exchanged Tibur for another master, that
to me she was only spoil of war. If my mind had not
been so weary I suppose that would have hurt. But my
mind was too weary to care.

We passed over the bridge, through the curling mists
of steam. We were halfway to the forest when the
Witch-woman threw back her head and sent forth a long,
wailing call. The white wolves burst from the ferns. I
gave command to the archers to set arrows. Lur shook
her head.

"No need to harm them. They go to Sirk. They
have earned their pay."

The white wolves coursed over the barren to the bridge-
end, streamed over it, vanished. I heard them howling
among the dead.

"I, too, keep my promises," said the Witch-woman.

We rode on, into the forest, back to Karak.

CHAPTER XXII

GATE OF KHALK'RU

WE were close to Karak when the drums of the
Little People began beating.

The leaden weariness pressed down upon me increas-
ingly. I struggled to keep awake. Tibur's stroke on
my head had something to do with that, but I had taken
other blows and eaten nothing since long before dawn.
I could not think, much less plan what I was going to do
after I had got back to Karak.

The drums of the Little People drove away my lethargy,
brought me up wide-awake. They crashed out at first
like a thunderburst across the white river. After that
they settled down into a slow, measured rhythm filled
with implacable menace. It was like Death standing on
hollow graves and stamping on them before he marched.

At the first crash Evalie straightened, then sat listening
with every nerve. I reined up my horse, and saw that
the Witch-woman had also halted and was listening with
all of Evalie's intentness. There was something inex-
plicably disturbing in that monotonous drumming.
Something that reached beyond and outside of human
experience—or reached before it. It was like thousands
of bared hearts beating in unison, in one unalterable
rhythm, not to be still till the hearts themselves stopped
. . . inexorable . . . and increasing in steadily widening
area . . . spreading, spreading . . . until they beat from
all the land across white Nanbu.

I spoke to Lur.

"I am thinking that here is the last of my promises,

Witch-woman. I killed Yodin, gave you Sirk, I slew
Tibur—and here is your war with the Rrrllya."

I had not thought of how that might sound to Evalie !
She turned and gave me one long level look of scom;

she said to the Witch-woman, coldly, in halting Uighur:

"It is war. Was that not what you expected when
you dared to take me ? It will be war until my people
have me again. Best be careful how you use me."

The Witch-woman's control broke at that, all the long
pent-up fires of her wrath bursting forth.

"Good ! Now we shall wipe out your yellow dogs for
once and all. And you shall be flayed, or bathed in the
cauldron—or given to Khalk'ru. Win or lose—there will
be little of you for your dogs to fight over. You shall
be used as I choose."

"No," I said, "as I choose, Lur."

The blue eyes flamed on me at that. And the brown
eyes met mine as scornfully as before.

"Give me a horse to ride. I do not like the touch of
you—Dwayanu.''

"Nevertheless, you ride with me, Evalie."

We passed into Karak. The drums beat now loud,
now low. But always with that unchanging, inexorable
rhythm. They swelled and fell, swelled and fell. Like
Death still stamping on the hollow graves—now fiercely
—and now lightly.

There were many people in the streets. They stared
at Evalie, and whispered. There were no shouts of
welcome, no cheering. They seemed sullen, frightened.
Then I knew they were listening so closely to the drums
that they hardly knew we were passing. The drums
were closer. I could hear them talking from point to
point along the far bank of the river. The tongues of
the talking drums rose plain above the others. And
through their talking, repeated and repeated :

"Ev—ah—lee ! Ev—ah—lee !"

We rode over the open square to the gate of the black
citadel. There I stopped.

"A truce, Lur."

She sent a mocking glance at Evalie.

"A truce ! What need of a truce between you and
me—Dwayanu ?"

I said, quietly:

"I am tired of bloodshed. Among the captives are
some of the Rrrllya. Let us bring them where they can
talk with Evalie and with us two. We will then release
a part of them, and send them across Nanbu with the
message that no harm is intended Evalie. That we ask
the Rrrllya to send us on the morrow an embassy
empowered to arrange a lasting peace. And that when
that peace is arranged they shall take Evalie back with
them unharmed."

She said, smiling:

"So—Dwayanu—fears the dwarfs !"

I repeated :

"I am tired of bloodshed."

"Ah, me," she sighed. "And did I not once hear
Dwayanu boast that he kept his promises—and was
thereby persuaded to give him payment for them in
advance ! Ah, me—but Dwayanu is changed !"

She stung me there, but I managed to master my
anger ; I said :

"If you will not agree to this, Lur, then I myself will
give the orders. But then we shall be a beleagured city
which is at its own throat. And easy prey for the enemy."

She considered this.

"So you want no war with the little yellow dogs?
And it is your thought that if the girl is returned to them,
there will be none ? Then why wait ? Why not send
her back at once with the captives ? Take them up to
Nansur, parley with the dwarfs there. Drum talk would
settle the matter in a little while—if you are right. Then

we can sleep this night without the drums disturbing
you."

That was true enough, but I read the malice in it. The
truth was that I did not want Evalie sent back just then.
If she were, then never, I knew, might I have a chance
to justify myself with her, break down her distrust—
have her again accept me as the Leif whom she had
loved. But given a little time—I might. And the
Witch-woman knew this.

"Not so quickly should it be done, Lur," I said, suavely.
"That would be to make them think we fear them—as
the proposal made you think I feared them. We need
more than hasty drum talk to seal such treaty. No, we
hold the girl as hostage until we make our terms."

She bent her head, thinking, then looked at me with
clear eyes, and smiled.

"You are right, Dwayanu. I will send for the captives
after I have rid myself of these stains of Sirk. They will
be brought to your chamber. And in the meantime I
will do more. I will order that word be sent the Rrrllya
on Nansur that soon their captured fellows will be among
them with a message. At the least it will give us time.
And we need time, Dwayanu—both of us."

I looked at her sharply. She laughed, and gave her
horse the spurs. I rode behind her through the gate and
into the great enclosed square. It was crowded with
soldiers and captives. Here the drumming was magni-
fied. The drums seemed to be within the place itself,
invisible and beaten by invisible drummers. The soldiers
were plainly uneasy, the prisoners excited, and curiously
defiant.

Passing into the citadel I called various officers who
had not taken part in the attack on Sirk and gave orders
that the garrison on the walls facing Nansur Bridge be
increased. Also that an alarm should be sounded which
would bring in the soldiers and people from the outer-

lying posts and farms. I ordered the guard upon the
river walls to be strengthened, and the people of the city
be told that those who wished to seek shelter in the
citadel could come, but must be in by dusk. It was a
scant hour before nightfall. There would be little
trouble in caring for them in that immense place. And
all this I did in event of the message failing. If it failed,
I had no desire to be part of a massacre in Karak, which
would stand a siege until I could convince the Little
People of my good faith. Or convince Evalie of it, and
have her bring about a peace.

This done, I took Evalie to my own chambers, not
those of the High-priest where the Black Octopus hovered
over the three thrones, but a chain of comfortable rooms
in another part of the citadel. The little troop, which
had stood by me through the sack of Sirk and after,
followed us. There I turned Evalie over to Dara. I was
bathed, my wound dressed and bandaged, and clothed.
Here the windows looked out over the river, and the
drums beat through them maddeningly. I ordered food
brought, and wine, and summoned Evalie. Dara brought
her. She had been well cared for, but she would not eat
with me. She said to me :

"I fear my people will have but scant faith in any
messages you send, Dwayanu."

"Later we will talk of that other message, Evalie. I
did not send it. And Tsantawu, dying in my arms,
believed me when I told him I had not."

"I heard you say to Lur that you had promised her
Sirk. You did not lie to her, Dwayanu—for Sirk is eaten.
How can I believe you ?"

I said :

"You shall have proof that I speak truth, Evalie,
Now, since you will not eat with me, go with Dara."

She had no fault to find with Dara. Dara was no
lying traitor, but a soldier, and fighting in Sirk or

elsewhere was part of her trade.   She went with
her.

I ate sparingly and drank heavily. The wine put new
life in me, drove away what was left of weariness. I
put sorrow for Jim resolutely aside for the moment,
thinking of what I intended to do, and how best to do
it. And then there was a challenge at the door, and the
Witch-woman entered.

Her red braids crowned her and in them shone the
sapphires. She bore not the slightest mark of the
struggles of the day, nor sign of fatigue. Her eyes were
bright and clear, her red lips smiling. Her low, sweet
voice, her touch upon my arm, brought back memories I
had thought gone with Dwayanu.

She called, and through the door came a file of soldiers,
and with them a score of the Little People, unbound,
hatred in their yellow eyes as they saw me, curiosity too.
I spoke to them, gently. I sent for Evalie. She came,
and the golden pygmies ran to her, threw themselves
upon her like a crowd of children, twittering and trilling,
stroking her hair, touching her feet and hands.

She laughed, called them one by one by name, then
spoke rapidly. I could get little of what she said; by
the shadow on Lur's face I knew she had understood
nothing at all. I repeated to Evalie precisely what I
had told Lur—and which, at least in part, she knew, for
she had betrayed that she understood the Uighur, or the
Ayjir, better than she had admitted. I translated from
the tongue of the dwarfs for Lur.

The pact was speedily made. Half of the pygmies
were to make their way at once over Nanbu to the
garrison on the far side of the bridge. By the talking
drums they would send our message to the stronghold of
the Little People. If they accepted it, the beating of the
war drums would cease. I said to Evalie :

"When they talk on their drums, let them say that

nothing will be asked of them that was not contained in
the old truce—and that death will no longer lie in wait
for them when they cross the river."

The Witch-woman said:

"Just what does that mean, Dwayanu ?"

"Now Sirk is done, there is no longer much need for
that penalty, Lur. Let them gather their herbs and
metals as they will; that is all."

"There is more in your mind than that—" Her
eyes narrowed.

"They understood me, Evalie—but do you also tell
them."

The Little People trilled among themselves ; then ten
of them stepped forward, those chosen to take the mes-
sage. As they were moving away, I stopped them.

"If Sri escaped, let him come with the embassy. Better
still—let him come before them. Send word through the
drums that he may come as soon as he can. He has my
safe-conduct, and shall stay with Evalie until all is
settled."

They chattered over that, assented. The Witch-
woman made no comment. For the first time I saw
Evalie's eyes soften as she looked at me.

When the pygmies were gone, Lur walked to the door,
and beckoned. Ouarda entered.

"Ouarda !"

I liked Ouarda. It was good to know she was alive.
I went to her with outstretched hands.   She took
them.

"It was two of the soldiers. Lord. They had sisters in
Sirk. They cut the ladder before we could stop them.
They were slain," she said.

Would to God they had cut it before any could, have
followed me I

Before I could speak, one of my captains knocked and
entered.

"It is long after dusk and the gates are closed. Lord.
All those who would come are behind them."

"Were there many, soldier ?"

"No, Lord—not more than a hundred or so. The
others refused."

"And did they say why they refused ?"

"Is the question an order. Lord ?"

"It is an order."

"They said they were safer where they were. That
the Rrrllya had no quarrel with them, who were but meat
for Khalk'ru."

"Enough, soldier!" The Witch-woman's voice was
harsh. "Go ! Take the Rrrllya with you."

The captain saluted, turned smartly and was gone
with the dwarfs. I laughed.

"Soldiers cut our ladder for sympathy of those who
fled Khalk'ru. The people fear the enemies of Khalk'ru
less than they do their own kind who are his butchers !
We do well to make peace with the Rrrllya, Lur."

I watched her face pale, then redden and saw the
knuckles of her hands whiten as she clenched them. She
smiled, poured herself wine, lifted it with a steady
hand.

"I drink to your wisdom—Dwayanu !"

A strong soul—the Witch-woman's! A warrior's
heart. Somewhat lacking in feminine softness, it was
true. But it was no wonder that Dwayanu had loved
her—in his way and as much as he could love a woman.

A silence dropped upon the chamber, intensified in
some odd fashion by the steady beating of the drums.
How long we sat in that silence I do not know. But
suddenly the beat of the drums became fainter.

And then all at once the drums ceased entirely. The
quiet brought a sense of unreality. I could feel the tense
nerves loosening like springs long held taut. The abrupt
silence made ears ache, slowed heart-beat.

"They have the message. They have accepted it,"
Evalie spoke.

The Witch-woman arose.

"You keep the girl beside you to-night, Dwayanu ?"

"She sleeps in one of these rooms, Lur. She will be
under guard. No one can reach her without passing
through my room here," I looked at her, significantly.
"And I sleep lightly. You need have no fear of her
escape."

"I am glad the drums will not disturb your sleep—
Dwayanu."

She gave me a mocking salute, and, with Ouarda, left
me.

And suddenly the weariness dropped upon me again.
I turned to Evalie, watching me with eyes in which I
thought doubt of her own deep doubt had crept. Cer-
tainly there was no scorn, nor loathing in them. Well,
now I had her where all this manoeuvring had been
meant to bring her. Alone with me. And looking at
her I felt that in the face of all she had seen of me, all she
had undergone because of me—words were useless things.
Nor could I muster them as I wanted. No, there would
be plenty of time ... in the morning, perhaps, when I
had slept ... or after I had done what I had to do ...
then she must believe. . . .

"Sleep, Evalie. Sleep without fear . . . and believe
that all that has been wrong is now becoming right. Go
with Dara. You shall be well guarded. None can come
to you except through this room, and here I will be.
Sleep and fear nothing."

I called Dara, gave her instructions, and Evalie went
with her. At the curtains masking the entrance to the
next room she hesitated, half turned as though to speak,
but did not. And not long after Dara returned. She
said :

"She is already asleep, Dwayanu."

"As you should be, friend," I told her. "And all those
others who stood by me this day. I think there is nothing
to fear to-night. Select those whom you can trust and
have them guard the corridor and my door. Where have
you put her ?"

"In the chamber next this, Lord."

"It would be better if you and the others slept here,
Dara. There are half a dozen rooms for you. Have
wine and food brought for you—plenty of it."

She laughed.

"Do you expect a siege, Dwayanu ?"

"One never knows."

"You do not greatly trust Lur, Lord ?"

"I trust her not at all, Dara."

She nodded, turned to go. Upon the impulse I said:

"Dara, would it make you sleep better to-night and
those with you, and would it help you in picking your
guard if I told you this : there will be no more sacrifices
to Khalk'ru while I live ?"

She started ; her face lightened, softened. She thrust
out her hand to me :

"Dwayanu—I had a sister who was given to Khalk'ru.
Do you mean this ?"

"By the life of my blood ! By all the living gods ! I
mean it!"

"Sleep well. Lord!" Her voice was choked. She
walked away, through the curtain, but not before I had
seen the tears on her cheeks.

Well, a woman had a right to weep—even if she was a
soldier. I myself had wept to-day.

I poured myself wine, sat thinking as I drank. Mainly
my thoughts revolved around the enigma of Khalk'ru.
And there was a good reason for that.

What was Khalk'ru ?

I slipped the chain from round my neck, opened the

locket and studied the ring. I closed it, and threw it on
the table. Somehow I felt that it was better there than
over my heart while I was doing this thinking.

Dwayanu had had his doubts about that dread Thing
being any Spirit of the Void, and I, who now was Leif
Langdon and a passive Dwayanu, had no doubts what-
ever that it was not. Yet I could not accept Barr's theory
of mass hypnotism—and trickery was out of the question.

Whatever Khalk'ru might be, Khalk'ru—as the Witch-
woman had said—was. Or at least that Shape which
became material through ritual, ring and screen—was.

I thought that I might have put the experience in the
temple of the oasis down as hallucination if it had not
been repeated here in the Shadowed-land. But there
could be no possible doubt about the reality of the
sacrifice I had conducted; no possible doubt as to the
destruction—absorption—dissolvement—of the twelve
girls. And none of Yodin's complete belief in the power
of the tentacle to remove me, and none of his complete
effacement. And I thought that if the sacrifices and
Yodin were standing in the wings laughing at me, as
Barr had put it—then it was in the wings of a theatre in
some other world than this. And there was the deep
horror of the Little People, the horror of so many of the
Ayjir—and there was the revolt in ancient Ayjirland
born of this same horror, which had destroyed Ayjirland

by civil war.

No, whatever the Thing was, no matter how repugnant
to science its recognition as a reality might be—still it
was Atavism, superstition—call it what Barr would—I
knew the Thing was real! Not of this earth—no, most
certainly not of this earth. Not even supernatural. Or
rather, supernatural only insofar as it might come from
another dimension or even another world which our five
senses could not encompass.

And I reflected, now, that science and religion are

really blood brothers, which is largely why they hate
each other so, that scientists and religionists are quite
alike in their dogmatism, their intolerance, and that
every bitter battle of religion over some interpretation of
creed or cult has its parallel in battles of science over a
bone or rock.

Yet just as there are men in the churches whose minds
have not become religiously fossilized, so there are men
in the laboratories whose minds have not become scientifi-
cally fossilized. . . . Einstein, who dared challenge all
conceptions of space and time with his four dimensional
space in which time itself was a dimension, and who
followed that with proof of five dimensional space instead
of the four which are all our senses can apprehend, and
which apprehends one of them wrongly . . . the possi-
bility of a dozen worlds spinning interlocked with this
one ... in the same space . . . the energy which we
call matter of each of them keyed to the different vibra-
tion, and each utterly unaware of the other . . . and
utterly overturning the old axiom that two bodies cannot
occupy the same place at the same time.

And I thought—what if far and far back in time, a
scientist of that day, one of the Ayjir people, had dis-
covered all that! Had discovered the fifth dimension
beyond length, breadth, thickness and time. Or had
discovered one of those interlocking worlds whose matter
streams through the interstices of the matter of ours.
And discovering dimension or world, had found the way
to make dwellers in that dimension or that other world
both aware of and manifest to those of this. By sound
and gesture, by ring and screen, had made a gateway
through which such dwellers could come—or at least,
appear! And then what a weapon this discoverer had
—what a weapon the inevitable priests of that Thing
would have ! And did have ages gone, just as they had
here in Karak.

If so, was it one dweller or many who lurked in those
gateways for its drink of life ? The memories bequeathed
me by Dwayanu told me there had been other temples in
Ayjirland besides that one of the oasis. Was it the same
Being that appeared in each ? Was the Shape that came
from the shattered stone of the oasis the same that had
fed in the temple of the mirage ? Or were there many
of them—dwellers in other dimension or other world—
avidly answering the summons ? Nor was it necessarily
true that in their own place these Things had the form of the
Kraken. That might be the shape, through purely natural
laws, which entrance into this world forced upon them.

I thought over that for quite awhile. It seemed to
me the best explanation of Khalk'ru. And if it was, then
the way to be rid of Khalk'ru was to destroy his means
of entrance. And that, I reflected, was precisely how
the ancient Ayjirs had argued.

But it did not explain why only those of the old blood
could summon——

I heard a low voice at the door. I walked softly over
to it, listened. I opened the door and there was Lur,
talking to the guards.

"What is it you are seeking, Lur ?"

"To speak with you. I will keep you only a little
time, Dwayanu."

I studied the Witch-woman. She stood, very quietly,
in her eyes nothing of defiance nor resentment nor subtle
calculation—only appeal. Her red braids fell over her
white shoulders ; she was without weapon or ornament.
She looked younger than ever I had seen her, and some-
what forlorn. I felt no desire to mock her nor to deny
her. I felt instead the stirrings of a deep pity.

"Enter, Lur—and say all that is in your mind."

I closed the door behind her. She walked over to the
window, looked out into the dim greenly glimmering
night. I went to her.

"Speak softly, Lur. The girl is asleep there in the next
chamber. Let her rest."

She said, tonelessly:

"I wish you had never come here. Yellow-hair."
I thought of Jim, and I answered :

"I wish that too. Witch-woman. But here I am."
She leaned towards me, put her hand over my heart.
"Why do you hate me so greatly ?"

"I do not hate you, Lur. I have no hate left in me—
except for one thing."

"And that——?"

Involuntarily I looked at the table. One candle shone
there and its light fell on the locket that held the ring.
Her glance followed mine. She said :

"What do you mean to do ? Throw Karak open to
the dwarfs ? Mend Nansur ? Rule here over Karak
and the Rrrllya with their dark girl at your side ? Is it
that . . . and if it is that—what is to become of Lur ?
Answer me. I have the right to know. There is a bond
between us ... I loved you when you were Dwayanu
. . . you know how well . . ."

"And would have killed me while I was still Dwayanu,"
I said, sombrely.

"Because I saw Dwayanu dying as you looked into the
eyes of the stranger," she answered. "You whom
Dwayanu had mastered was killing Dwayanu. I loved
Dwayanu. Why should I not avenge him ?"

"If you believe I am no longer Dwayanu, then I am
the man whose friend you trapped and murdered—the
man whose love you trapped and would have destroyed.
And if that be so—what claim have you upon me, Lur ?"

She did not answer for moments ; then she said :

"I have some justice on my side. I tell you I loved
Dwayanu. Something I knew of your case from the
first. Yellow-hair. But I saw Dwayanu awaken within
you. And I knew it was truly he ! I knew, too, that as

long as that friend of yours and the dark girl lived there
was danger for Dwayanu. That was why I plotted to
bring them into Sirk. I threw the dice upon the chance
of killing them before you had seen them. Then, I
thought, all would be well. There would be none left to
rouse that in you which Dwayanu had mastered. I lost.
I knew I had lost when by whim of Luka she threw you
three together. And rage and sorrow caught me—and I
did . . . what I did."

"Lur," I said, "answer me truly. That day you
returned to the Lake of the Ghosts after pursuit of the
two women—were they not your spies who bore that
lying message into Sirk ? And did you not wait until
you learned my friend and Evalie were in the trap before
you gave me word to march ? And was it not in your
thought that you would then—if I opened the way into
Sirk—rid yourself not only of those two but of Dwayanu ?
For remember—you may have loved Dwayanu, but as
he told you, you loved power better than he. And
Dwayanu threatened your power. Answer me truly."

For the second time I saw tears in the eyes of the
Witch-woman. She said, brokenly :

"I sent the spies, yes. I waited until the two were in
the trap. But I never meant harm to Dwayanu !"

I did not believe her. But still I felt no anger, no
hate. The pity grew.

"Lur, now I will tell you truth. It is not in my mind
to rule with Evalie over Karak and the Rrrllya. I have
no more desire for power. That went with Dwayanu.
In the peace I make with the dwarfs, you shall rule over
Karak—if that be your desire. The dark girl shall go
back with them. She will not desire to remain in Karak.
Nor do I. . . ."

"You cannot go with her," she interrupted me. "Never
would the yellow dogs trust you. Their arrows would be
ever pointed at you."

I nodded—that thought had occurred to me long
before.

"All-that must adjust itself," I said. "But there shall
be no more sacrifices. The gate of Khalk'ru shall be
closed against him for ever. And I will close it."

Her eyes dilated.

"You mean——"

"I mean that I will shut Khalk'ru for ever from Karak
—unless Khalk'ru proves stronger than I."

She wrung her hands, helplessly.

"What use rule over Karak to me then . . . how could
I hold the people?"

"Nevertheless—I will destroy the gate of Khalk'ru."

She whispered:

"Gods—if I had Yodin's ring ..."

I smiled at that.

"Witch-woman, you know as well as I that Khalk'ru
comes to no woman's call."

The witch-lights flickered in her eyes ; a flash of green
shone through them.

"There is an ancient prophecy. Yellow-hair, that
Dwayanu did not know—or had forgotten. It says that
when Khalk'ru comes to a woman's call, he—stays !
That was the reason no woman in ancient Ayjilrand
might be priestess at the sacrifice."

I laughed at that.

"A fine pet, Lur—to add to your wolves."

She walked toward the door, paused.

"What if I could love you—as I loved Dwayanu ?
Could make you love me as Dwayanu loved me ? And
more! Send the dark girl to join her people and take
the ban of death from them on this side of Nanbu.
Would you let things be as they are—rule with me over
Karak ?"

I opened the door for her.

"I told you I no longer care for power, Lur."

She walked away.

I went back to the window, drew a chair to it, and sat
thinking. Suddenly from somewhere close to the citadel
I heard a wolf cry. Thrice it howled, then thrice again.

"Leif!"

I jumped to my feet. Evalie was beside me. She
peered at me through the veils of her hair ; her clear eyes
shone upon me—no longer doubting, hating, fearing.
They were as they were of old.

"Evalie !"

My arms went round her ; my lips found hers.

"I listened, Leif!"

"You believe, Evalie !"

She kissed me, held me tight.

"But she was right—Leif. You could not go with
me again into the land of the Little People. Never,
never would they understand. And I would not dwell
in Karak."

"Will you go with me, Evalie—to my own land?
After I have done what I must do ... and if I am not
destroyed in its doing ?"

"I will go with you, Leif !"

And she wept awhile, and after another while she fell
asleep in my arms. And I lifted her, and carried her
into her chamber and covered her with the sleep silks.
Nor did she awaken.

I returned to my own room. As I passed the table I
picked up the locket, started to put it round my neck.
I threw it back. Never would I wear that chain again,
I dropped upon the bed, sword at hand. I slept.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN KHALK'RU'S TEMPLE

TWICE I awakened. The first time it was the
howling of the wolves that aroused me. It was as
though they were beneath my window. I listened
drowsily, and sank back to sleep.

The second time I came wide awake from a troubled
dream. Some sound in the chamber had roused me, of
that I was sure. My hand dropped to my sword lying
on the floor beside my bed. I had the feeling that there
was someone in the room. I could see nothing in the
green darkness that filled the chamber. I called, softly :

"Evalie ! Is that you ?"

There was no answer, no sound.

I sat up in the bed, even thrust a leg out to rise. And
then I remembered the guards at my door, and Dara and
her soldiers beyond, and I told myself that it had been
only my troubled dream that had awakened me. Yet
for a time I lay awake listening, sword in hand. And
then the silence lulled me back to sleep.

There was a knocking upon my door, and I struggled
out of that sleep. I saw that it was well after dawn. I
went to the door softly so that I might not awaken
Evalie. I opened it, and there with the guards was Sri.
The little man had come well armed, with spear and
sickle-sword and between his shoulders one of the small,
surprisingly resonant talking drums. He looked at me
in the friendliest fashion. I patted his hand and pointed
to the curtains.

"Evalie is there, Sri. Go waken her."

He trotted past me. I gave greeting to the guards,
and turned to follow Sri. He stood at the curtains, look-
ing at me with eyes in which was now no friendliness at
all. He said:

"Evalie is not there."

I stared at him, incredulously, brushed by him and
into that chamber. It was empty. I crossed to the
pile of silks and cushions on which Evalie had slept,
touched them. There was no warmth. I went, Sri at
my heels, into the next room. Dara and a half dozen of
the women lay there, asleep. Evalie was not among
them. I touched Dara on the shoulder. She sat up,
yawning.

"Dara—the girl is gone !"

"Gone !" she stared at me as incredulously as I had at
the golden pygmy. She leaped to her feet, ran to the
empty room, then with me through the other chambers.
There lay the soldier women, alseep, but not Evalie.

I ran back to my own room, and to its door. A bitter
rage began to possess me. Swiftly, harshly, I questioned
the guards. They had seen no one. None had entered;

none had gone forth. The golden pygmy listened, his
eyes never leaving me.

I turned toward Evalie's room. I passed the table on
which I had thrown the locket. My hand fell on it, lifted
it; it was curiously light ... I opened it. ...
The ring of Khalk'ru was not there !
I glared at the empty locket—and like a torturing
flame realization of what its emptiness and the vanish-
ment of Evalie might signify came to me. I groaned,
leaned against the table to keep from falling.

"Drum, Sri! Call your people! Bid them come
quickly ! There may yet be time !"

The golden pygmy hissed ; his eyes became little pools
of yellow fire. He could not have known all the horror
of my thoughts—but he read enough. He leaped to the

window, swung his drum and sent forth call upon call—
peremptory, raging, vicious. At once he was answered
—answered from Nansur, and then from all the river and
beyond it the drums of the Little People roared out.

Would Lur hear them ? She could not help but hear
them . . . but would she heed . . . would their threat
stop her ... it would tell her that I was awake and
that the Little People knew of their betrayal . . . and
Evalie's.

God!  If she did hear—was it in time to save
Evalie?

"Quick, Lord!" Dara called from the curtains. The
dwarf and I ran through. She pointed to the side of the
wall. There, where one of the carved stones jointed
another, hung a strip of silk.

"A door there, Dwayanu ! That is how they took her.
They went hurriedly. The cloth caught when the stone
closed."

I looked for something to batter at the stone. But
Dara was pressing here and there. The stone swung
open. Sri darted past and into the black passage it had
masked. I stumbled after him, Dara at my heels, the
others following. It was a narrow passage, and not long.
Its end was a solid wall of stone. And here Dara pressed
again until that wall opened.

We burst into the chamber of the High-priest. The
eyes of the Kraken stared at me and through me with
their inscrutable malignancy. Yet it seemed to me that
in them now was challenge.

All my senseless fury, all blind threshing of my rage,
fell from me. A cold deliberation, an ordered purpose
that had in it nothing of haste took its place. . . . Is it
too late to save Evalie ? ... It is not too late to destroy you,
my enemy. . . .

"Dara—get horses for us. Gather quickly as many as
you can trust. Take only the strongest. Have them

ready at the gate of the road to the temple. . . . We go
to end Khalk'ru. Tell them that."

I spoke to the golden pygmy.

"I do not know if I can help Evalie. But I go to put
an end to Khalk'ru. Do you wait for your people—or
do you go with me ?"

"I go with you."

I knew where the Witch-woman dwelt in the black
citadel, and it was not far away. I knew I would not
find her there, but I must be sure. And she might have
taken Evalie to the Lake of the Ghosts, I was thinking
as I went on, past groups of silent, uneasy, perplexed and
saluting soldiers. But deep in me I knew she had not.
Deep within me I knew that it had been Lur who had
awakened me in the night. Lur, who had stolen through
the curtains to take the ring of Khalk'ru. And there was
only one reason why she should have done that. No,
she would not be at the Lake of the Ghosts.

Yet, if she had come into my room—why had she not
slain me ? Or had she meant to do this, and had my
awakening and calling out to Evalie stayed her ? Had
she feared to go further ? Or had she deliberately
spared me ?

I reached her rooms. She was not there. None of
her women was there. The place was empty, not even
soldiers on guard.

I broke into a run. The golden pygmy followed me,
shrilling, javelins in left hand, sickle-sword in right. We
came to the gate to the temple road.

There were three or four hundred soldiers awaiting
me. Mounted—and every one a woman. I threw myself
on a horse Dara held for me, swung Sri up on the saddle.
We raced toward the temple.

We were half-way there when out from the trees that
bordered the temple road poured the white wolves.
They sprang from the sides like a white torrent, threw

themselves upon the riders. They checked our rush,
our horses stumbled, falling over those the fangs of the
wolves had dropped in that swift, unexpected ambuscade ;

soldiers falling with them, ripped and torn by the wolves
before they could struggle to their feet. We milled among
them—horses and men and wolves in a whirling,
crimson-flecked ring.

Straight at my throat leaped the great dog-wolf,
leader of Lur's pack, green eyes naming. I had no time
for sword thrust. I caught its throat in my left hand,
lifted it and flung it over my back. Even so, its fangs
had struck and gashed me.

We were through the wolves.  What was left of them
came coursing behind us. But they had taken toll of
my troop.

I heard the clang of an anvil . . . thrice stricken
. . . the anvil of Tubalka!

God! It was true . . . Lur in the temple . . . and
Evalie ... and Khalk'ru!

We swept up to the door of the temple. I heard voices
raised in the ancient chant. The entrance swarmed. . . .
It bristled with swords of the nobles, women and men.

"Ride through them, Dara ! Ride them down !"

We swept through them like a ram. Sword against
sword, hammers and battleaxes beating at them, horses
trampling them.

The shrill song of Sri never ceased. His javelin thrust,
his sickle-sword slashed.

We burst into Khalk'ru's temple.  The chanting
stopped. The chanters arose against us; they struck
with sword and axe and hammer at us; they stabbed
and hacked our horses ; pulled us down. The amphi-
theatre was a raging cauldron of death. . . .

The lip of the platform was before me. I spurred my
horse to it, stood upon its back and leaped upon the plat-
form. Close to my right was the anvil of Tubalka;

beside it, hammer raised to smite, was Ouarda. I heard
the roll of drums, the drums of Khalk'ru's evocation.
The backs of the priests were bent over them.

In front of the priests, the ring of Khalk'ru raised
high, stood Lur.

And between her and the bubble ocean of yellow
stone that was the gate of Khalk'ru, fettered dwarfs
swung two by two in the golden girdles. . . .

Within the warrior's ring—Evalie !

The Witch-woman never looked at me; she never
looked behind her at the roaring cauldron of the amphi-
theatre where the soldiers and nobles battled.

She launched into the ritual!

Shouting, I rushed on Ouarda. I wrested the great
sledge from her hands. I hurled it straight at the yellow
screen . . . straight at the head of Khalk'ru. With
every ounce of my strength I hurled that great hammer.

The screen cracked! The hammer was thrown back
from it ... fell.

The Witch-woman's voice went on ... and on ...
never faltering.

There was a wavering in the cracked screen. The
Kraken floating in the bubble ocean seemed to draw
back ... to thrust forward . . .

I ran toward it ... to the hammer.

An instant I halted beside Evalie. I thrust my hands
through the golden girdle, broke it as though it had been
wood. I dropped my sword at her feet.

"Guard yourself, Evalie !"

I picked up the hammer. I raised it. The eyes of
Khalk'ru moved . . . they glared at me, were aware
of me . . . the tentacles stirred ! And the paralysing
cold began to creep round me. ... I threw all my
will against it.

I smashed the sledge of Tubalka against the yellow
stone . . . again . . . and again——

The tentacles of Khalk'ru stretched toward me !

There was a crystalline crashing, like a lightning bolt
striking close. The yellow stone of the screen shattered.
It rained round me like sleet driven by an icy hurricane.
There was an earthquake trembling. The temple rocked.
My arms fell, paralysed.  The hammer of Tubalka
dropped from hands that could no longer feel it. The
icy cold swirled about me ... higher . . . higher
. . . there was a shrill and dreadful shrieking. . . .

For an instant the shape of the Kraken hovered where
the screen had been. Then it shrank. It seemed to be
sucked away into immeasurable distances. It vanished.

And life rushed back into me !

There were jagged streamers of the yellow stone upon
the rocky floor . . . black of the Kraken within
them ... I beat them into dust. . . .

"Leif!"

Evalie's voice, shrill, agonized. I swung round. Lur
was rushing upon me, sword raised. Before I could
move Evalie had darted between us, flung herself in
front of the Witch-woman, struck at her with my own
sword.

The blade of Lur parried the stroke, swept in ...
bit deep . . . and Evalie fell. . . .

Lur leaped toward me ... I watched her come, not
moving, not caring . . . there was blood upon her
sword . . . Evalie's blood. . . .

Something like a flash of light touched her breast.
She halted as though a hand had thrust her back.
Slowly, she dropped to her knees. She sank to the
rock.

Over the rim of the platform leaped the dog-wolf,
howling as it ran. It hurled itself straight at me. There
was another flash of light. The dog-wolf somersaulted
and fell—in mid-leap.

I saw Sri, crouching. One of his javelins was in Lur's
breast, the mate to it in the dog-wolf's throat. ... I saw the
golden pygmy running to Evalie . . . saw her rise, holding a
hand to a shoulder from which streamed blood. . . .

I walked toward Lur, stiffly, like an automaton. The white
wolf tried to stagger to its feet, then crawled to the Witch-
woman, dragging itself on its belly. It reached her before I did.
It dropped its head upon her breast. It turned its head, and lay
glaring at me, dying.

The Witch-woman looked up at me. Her eyes were soft and
her mouth had lost all cruelty. It was tender. She smiled at me.

"I wish you had never come here, Yellow-hair!"

And then—

"Ai—and—Ai! My Lake of the Ghosts!"

Her hand crept up, and dropped on the head of the dying
wolf, caressingly. She sighed—

The Witch-woman was dead.

Stiffly I walked to Evalie. I took her hands in mine. They
were cold . . . cold . . .

I had closed the gate to Khalk'ru ... I had beaten the
Kraken. . .

But the touch of Khalk'ru was on my heart. . . forever. . .

Dara said: "Dwayanu—it is finished! There are few of us
left. What is your command?"

I laughed.

"Shall I lead Karak against the Rrrllya? I hear the drums of
the Little People—and they are no longer on Nanbu's farther
side. They are close. Or say, Sri—shall I give myself to your
yellow manikins as a sacrifice? Answer . . . either of you . . .
for I do not care."

The golden pygmy looked away from me, to hide the pity in
his eyes; Dara looked at me, frank tears in hers. She said:

"What you have done has ended war between Karak and
the Little People. Stay and rule us."

Sri said: "After I have told my people they will cling to
you—though Evalie be dead."

I said: "I have closed Khalk'ru's Gate. Yet Khalk'ru has
touched my heart. I do not care whether I live or die. I will
fight with you, Dara, against the Rrrllya. I will fight with you,
Sri, against Karak. I do not care—except that I would choose
that side which holds for me the swifter death."

Dara said: "Stay—and rule us both, Dwayanu."

Sri trilled: "We will obey you."

I looked at dead Evalie. I looked at dead Lur, the white
wolf's head on her breast. I thought of Jim. I said:

"There would be too many ghosts here."

Sri bent my head down to him. He thrust his hand into my
breast, and dropped his head to listen to the beat of my heart.
He said to Dara:

"He is right. He must go."

Dara asked: "Will you come back to us, Dwayanu?"

"Never!"

She thought over that answer long. She said at last to Sri:

"How may he go?"

Sri answered: "There is a way ... at the head of Nanbu. I
will take him. . ."

I asked, "Is it past the Lake of the Ghosts, Little Man?"

"Yes."

"That is good. I go into a country where the clothes I wear
would be hardly fitting, Sri. Laugh with me at such a
thought—but after all, if my heart is dead my body has its
claims. And my feet need covering ..."

Ai. . . Evalie! Ai. . . Lur! Ai. . . Jim!. . . And my feet need
covering!

I rode from the Temple with the pygmy on my saddle, and
Dara riding beside me. By now, the drums of the Little People
were in Karak. They were calling:

"Ev—ah—lee! . . . Ev—ah—lee! . . . Evah—lee!"

THE END