The Greatest Works of Abraham Merritt. Abraham Merritt

have. I swear it”— she turned toward the altar — uplifted her arms —“by Siya and by Siyana, and by the flame, by the water, and by the light!” ¹

      Her eyes grew purple dark.

      “Let none dare to take you from me! Nor ye go from me unbidden!” she whispered fiercely.

      Then swiftly, still ignoring us, she threw her arms about O’Keefe, pressed her white body to his breast, lips raised, eyes closed, seeking his. O’Keefe’s arms tightened around her, his head dropped lips seeking, finding hers — passionately! From Olaf came a deep indrawn breath that was almost a groan. But not in my heart could I find blame for the Irishman!

      The priestess opened eyes now all misty blue, thrust him back, stood regarding him. O’Keefe, dead-white, raised a trembling hand to his face.

      “And thus have I sealed my oath, O my lord!” she whispered. For the first time she seemed to recognize our presence, stared at us a moment, then through us, and turned to O’Keefe.

      “Go, now!” she said. “Soon Rador shall come for you. Then — well, after that let happen what will!”

      She smiled once more at him — so sweetly; turned toward the figures upon the great globe; sank upon her knees before them. Quietly we crept away; still silent, made our way to the little pavilion. But as we passed we heard a tumult from the green roadway; shouts of men, now and then a woman’s scream. Through a rift in the garden I glimpsed a jostling crowd on one of the bridges: green dwarfs struggling with the ladala — and all about droned a humming as of a giant hive disturbed!

      Larry threw himself down upon one of the divans, covered his face with his hands, dropped them to catch in Olaf’s eyes troubled reproach, looked at me.

      “I couldn’t help it,” he said, half defiantly — half-miserably. “God, what a woman! I COULDN’T help it!”

      “Larry,” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t love her — then?”

      He gazed at me — the old twinkle back in his eye.

      “Spoken like a scientist, Doc!” he exclaimed. “I suppose if a burning angel struck you out of nowhere and threw itself about you, you would most dignifiedly tell it you didn’t want to be burned. For God’s sake, don’t talk nonsense, Goodwin!” he ended, almost peevishly.

      “Evil! Evil!” The Norseman’s voice was deep, nearly a chant. “All here is of evil: Trolldom and Helvede it is, Ja! And that she djaevelsk of beauty — what is she but harlot of that shining devil they worship. I, Olaf Huldricksson, know what she meant when she held out to you power over all the world, Ja! — as if the world had not devils enough in it now!”

      “What?” The cry came from both O’Keefe and myself at once.

      Olaf made a gesture of caution, relapsed into sullen silence. There were footsteps on the path, and into sight came Rador — but a Rador changed. Gone was every vestige of his mockery; curiously solemn, he saluted O’Keefe and Olaf with that salute which, before this, I had seen given only to Yolara and to Lugur. There came a swift quickening of the tumult — died away. He shrugged mighty shoulders.

      “The ladala are awake!” he said. “So much for what two brave men can do!” He paused thoughtfully. “Bones and dust jostle not each other for place against the grave wall!” he added oddly. “But if bones and dust have revealed to them that they still — live —”

      He stopped abruptly, eyes seeking the globe that bore and sent forth speech. ²

      “The Afyo Maie has sent me to watch over you till she summons you,” he announced clearly. “There is to be a — feast. You, Larree, you Goodwin, are to come. I remain here with — Olaf.”

      “No harm to him!” broke in O’Keefe sharply. Rador touched his heart, his eyes.

      “By the Ancient Ones, and by my love for you, and by what you twain did before the Shining One — I swear it!” he whispered.

      Rador clapped palms; a soldier came round the path, in his grip a long flat box of polished wood. The green dwarf took it, dismissed him, threw open the lid.

      “Here is your apparel for the feast, Larree,” he said, pointing to the contents.

      O’Keefe stared, reached down and drew out a white, shimmering, softly metallic, long-sleeved tunic, a broad, silvery girdle, leg swathings of the same argent material, and sandals that seemed to be cut out from silver. He made a quick gesture of angry dissent.

      “Nay, Larree!” muttered the dwarf. “Wear them — I counsel it — I pray it — ask me not why,” he went on swiftly, looking again at the globe.

      O’Keefe, as I, was impressed by his earnestness. The dwarf made a curiously expressive pleading gesture. O’Keefe abruptly took the garments; passed into the room of the fountain.

      “The Shining One dances not again?” I asked.

      “No,” he said. “No”— he hesitate —“it is the usual feast that follows the sacrament! Lugur — and Double Tongue, who came with you, will be there,” he added slowly.

      “Lugur —” I gasped in astonishment. “After what happened — he will be there?”

      “Perhaps because of what happened, Goodwin, my friend,” he answered — his eyes again full of malice; “and there will be others — friends of Yolara — friends of Lugur — and perhaps another”— his voice was almost inaudible —“one whom they have not called —” He halted, half-fearfully, glancing at the globe; put finger to lips and spread himself out upon one of the couches.

      “Strike up the band”— came O’Keefe’s voice —“here comes the hero!”

      He strode into the room. I am bound to say that the admiration in Rador’s eyes was reflected in my own, and even, if involuntarily, in Olaf’s.

      “A son of Siyana!” whispered Rador.

      He knelt, took from his girdle-pouch a silk-wrapped something, unwound it — and, still kneeling, drew out a slender poniard of gleaming white metal, hilted with the blue stones; he thrust it into O’Keefe’s girdle; then gave him again the rare salute.

      “Come,” he ordered and took us to the head of the pathway.

      “Now,” he said grimly, “let the Silent Ones show their power — if they still have it!”

      And with this strange benediction, be turned back.

      “For God’s sake, Larry,” I urged as we approached the house of the priestess, “you’ll be careful!”

      He nodded — but I saw with a little deadly pang of apprehension in my heart a puzzled, lurking doubt within his eyes.

      As we ascended the serpent steps Marakinoff appeared. He gave a signal to our guards — and I wondered what influence the Russian had attained, for promptly, without question, they drew aside. At me he smiled amiably.

      “Have you found your friends yet?” he went on — and now I sensed something deeply sinister in him. “No! It is too bad! Well, don’t give up hope.” He turned to O’Keefe.

      “Lieutenant, I would like to speak to you — alone!”

      “I’ve no secrets from Goodwin,” answered O’Keefe.

      “So?” queried Marakinoff, suavely. He bent, whispered to Larry.

      The Irishman started, eyed him with a certain shocked incredulity, then turned to me.

      “Just a minute, Doc!” he said, and I caught the suspicion of a wink. They drew aside, out of ear-shot. The Russian talked rapidly. Larry was all attention. Marakinoff’s earnestness became intense; O’Keefe interrupted — appeared to question. Marakinoff glanced at me and as his gaze shifted from O’Keefe, I saw a flame of rage and horror