The Conquest of the Moon Pool/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
"THE ladala ARE AWAKE"
NO WORD was spoken during the swift journey. The webs that clothed Yolara streamed out behind her like little filmy pennons. She stared ahead, strangely exalted, brows drawn in one delicate line above eyes now deepest blue. O'Keefe watched her, and from his beauty-loving soul one could see admiration creep up and stand at gaze. Upon Olaf's grim face a shade of greater grimness fell; his jaw hardened. Whatever Larry's change of heart might be I thought, it found no echo in the Norseman's breast.
The car came to rest; the portal opened; Yolara leaped out lightly, beckoned and flitted up the corridor. She paused before an ebon screen. At a touch it vanished, revealing an entrance to a small blue chamber, glowing as though cut from the heart of some gigantic sapphire; bare, save that in its center, upon a low pedestal, stood a great globe fashioned from milky rock-crystal. Upon its surface were faint tracings as of seas and continents, but, if so, either of some other world or of this world in immemorial past, for in no way did they resemble our earth.
Poised upon the globe, rising from it out into space, locked in each other's arms, lips to lips, were two figures, a woman and a man, so exquisite, so lifelike, that for the moment I failed to realize that they, too, were carved of the crystal. And before this shrine—for nothing else could it be, I knew—three slender cones raised themselves: one of purest white flame, one of opalescent water, and the third of—moonlight! There was no mistaking them, the height of a tall man each stood. But how water, flame, and light were held so evenly, so steadily in their spire-shapes, I could not tell.
Before this shrine Yolara bowed lowly—once, twice, thrice. She turned to O'Keefe. Nor by slightest look or gesture betrayed she knew others were there than he. The blue eyes wide, searching, unfathomable, she drew close; put white hands on his shoulders, looked down into his very soul—and I saw a shadow dim their azure brilliance.
"Not yet," she whispered. "Not yet is your heart mine!" She was silent again for a space, regarding him.
"My lord," at last she murmured. "Now listen well, for I, Yolara, offer you three things. Myself, and the Shining One, and the power that is the Shining One's. Yea, and still a fourth thing that is all three. Power over all upon that world from whence ye came! These, my lord, ye shall 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!"
She bent toward him once more, drew still closer.
"Not yet is that heart of yours mine!" she repeated softly. "Yet shall it be! And that, too, I swear by Siya and by Siyana, and by the flame, by the water, and by the light!"
Her eyes grew purple dark. "And let none dare to take you from me! Nor ye go from me unbidden!" she whispered fiercely.
And 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, face 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, and then through us, 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; in utter silence we passed through the anteroom, still deserted; found the head of the mosaicked path, and, still silent, made our way to the little pavilion.
But as we passed along 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!" He walked about the room restlessly. "What do you suppose she meant by offering me that shining devil they worship in this cross-section of beautiful hell?" he demanded, halting. "And what did she mean about 'power over all the world'?"
"Larry," I said, "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.
"But if it was a bad angel, a beautiful devil—djaevelsk—and she should come to you, and you know her a devil, and your soul the price of her kisses—would you kiss or slay her?" Thus Olaf, heavily, sadly. Larry glanced at him, troubled.
"Ja!" said Olaf. "I have heard. I have listened to that Trolde Lugur and to Von Hetzdorp. They did not know I could understand them—no! I crept about and listened. And I know, ja! Evil! All evil that woman, and Helvede snarling at these gates, made to be loosed on our world above!"
"We'd better just forget why I kissed the lady and hear what Olaf's got to say, Doc," said O'Keefe.
"It was when the woman, the wonder-witch, broke—adsprede—the oldster—" began Olaf. He stopped, peering down the path—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; his face all serious, 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 from faraway a swift quickening of the tumult.
"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.
"The Afyo Maie has sent me to watch over you till she summons you," he announced clearly. A vestige of raillery flitted over his face. "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 my my love for you, and by what you twain did before the Shining One, I swear it!" he answered. O'Keefe, satisfied, thrust him his hand.
Rador clasped 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!" whispered 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.
"What is the feast, Rador?" I asked. "The Shining One dances not again?" I added.
"No," he' said. "No"—he hesitated— "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!"
The curtains parted and 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. For in the gleaming silver garb the Irishman was truly splendid. Long, lithe, clean-limbed, his keen, dark face smiling, he shone in contrast with Rador, and would, I knew, be among those other dwarfish men as was Cuchullin, son of Lerg, beloved of the Dark Queen Scathach, among the Pictlsh trolls.
"Now," Rador said grimly, "Let the Silent Ones show their power, if they still have it!"
And with this strange benediction perplexing me, we passed on.
"For heaven's, sake, Larry," I urged as we approached the house of the priestess, "you'll be careful!"
As we ascended the serpent steps Von Hezdorp suddenly appeared. The blue robes were gone. He was clothed in gay green tunic and leg-swathings. And odd enough he looked in them, with his owl-rimmed spectacles and his pointed Teutonic beard. He gave a signal to our guards, and I wondered what influence the German had attained, for promptly, without question, they drew aside. At me he smiled amiably.
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 Von Hetzdorp, 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 German talked rapidly. Larry was all attention. Von Hetzdorp's earnestness became intense. O'Keefe interrupted—appeared to question.
Von Hetzdorp, without another look at me, turned and went quickly within. The guards took their places, and we passed on to face whatever it was that fate held for us.
I looked at Larry inquiringly.
"Don't ask a thing now, Doc!" he said tensely. "Wait till we get damned busy and quick—I'll tell you that now—"
WE PAUSED before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur of many voices. They parted; out came two ushers. I suppose they were that in cuirasses and kilts that reminded me somewhat, of chain-mail—the first armor of any kind here that I had seen. They held open the folds, bowed, and as we entered fell in behind us.
The chamber on whose threshold we stood was far larger than either anteroom or hall of audience. Not less than three hundred feet long and half that in depth, from end to end of it ran two huge semi-circular tables, paralleling each other, divided by a wide aisle, and heaped with flowers, with fruits, with viands unknown to me, and glittering with crystal flagons, beakers, goblets of as many hues as the blooms. And on the gay-cushioned couches that flanked the tables, lounging luxuriously, were scores of the members of the ruling class. Everywhere the light-giving globes sent their roseate radiance.
The cuirassed dwarfs led us through the aisle. Within the arc of the inner half- circle was another glittering board, an oval.
But of those seated there and facing us, I had eyes for only one—Yolara! She swayed up to greet O'Keefe, and she was like one of those white lily maids, whose beauty Hoang-Ku, the sage, says made the Gobi a paradise, and whose crimes later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out hands to Larry, and on her face was love—unashamed, unhiding.
She was Circe—but Circe conquered. Webs of filmiest white clung to the roseleaf body, like rosy morning mists about a nymph of Diana. Twisted through the cornsilk hair a threaded circlet of pale sapphires shone; but they were pale beside Yolara's eyes. O'Keefe bent, kissed her hands, something more than mere admiration flaming from him. She saw—and, laughing, drew him down beside her.
It came to me that of all, only these two, Yolara and O'Keefe, were in white—and I wondered. Then with a stiffening of nerves I ceased to wonder as there entered—Lugur! He was all in scarlet, and as he strode forward the voices were still; a silence fell—a tense, strained silence.
His gaze turned upon Yolara, rested upon O'Keefe, and instantly his face grew dreadful. There is no other word for it. Satan, losing heaven and finding an usurper on his throne in hell, could have held in his eyes no more of devilish malignity.
I had not noticed Von Hetzdorp, but now I saw him lean forward from the center of the table, near whose end I sat, touch Lugur, and whisper to him swiftly. With an appalling effort the dwarf controlled himself, took his place at the further end of the oval.
And now I noted that the figures between were the seven of that council of which the Shining One's priestess and Voice were the heads.
My gaze ran back. The end of the room was draped with the exquisitely colored, graceful curtains looped with gorgeous garlands. Between curtains and table, where sat Larry and the nine, a circular platform, perhaps ten yards in diameter, raised itself a few feet above the floor, its gleaming surface, half-covered with the luminous petals, fragrant, delicate.
On each side, below it, were low carven stools. The curtains parted and softly entered girls bearing their flutes, their harps, the curiously emotion-exciting, octaved drums. They sank into their places. They touched their instruments; a faint, languorous measure throbbed through the rosy air.
The stage was set! What was to be the play?
Now about the tables passed other dusky-haired maids, shoulders bare, their scanty kirtles looped high, pouring out the wines for the feasters. And gradually into the voices of these crept the olden recklessness, the gaiety. But Lugur sat silent, brooding; his face like that of some fallen god; and I sensed behind the prisoning bars of his calm a monstrous striving of evil, struggling to be free.
My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Von Hetzdorp had said, clearly it now filled his mind—even to the exclusion of the wondrous woman beside him. His eyes were stern, cold, and now and then, as he turned them toward the German, filled with a curious speculation. Yolara watched him, frowned, gave a low order to the Hebe behind her.
The girl disappeared, entered again with a ewer that seemed cut of amber. The priestess poured from it into Larry's glass a clear liquid that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the glass to her lips, handed it to him. Half-smiling, half-abstractedly, he took it, touched his own lips where hers had kissed; drained it. A nod from Yolara and the maid refilled his goblet.
At once there was a swift transformation in the Irishman. His abstraction vanished; the watchfulness, the sternness fled; his eyes sparkled. He looked upon Yolara with seemingly a new vision; leaned caressingly toward her; whispered. Her blue eyes flashed triumphantly; her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own glass. But within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's! And again he drained his own.
He arose, face all reckless gaiety, rollicking deviltry.
"A toast!" he cried in English, "to the Shining One, and may the hell where it belongs soon claim it!"
HE HAD used their own word for their god—all else had been in his own tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the intent of the contempt in his action they did recognize—and a dead, a fearful silence fell on them all. Lugur's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their green. Yolara reached up, caught at O'Keefe. He seized the soft hand; caressed it. His gaze grew far away, somber.
"Hear you, the council, and you, Lugur! And all who are here!" Yolara cried. "Now I, the priestess of the Shining One, take, as is my right, my mate. And this is he!" She rose, pointed down upon Larry.
"Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara," he muttered thickly. "But say anything you like. I love your voice!" He laughed, glanced at Lugur, now upon his feet, forced calmness gone, volcano-seething. "Don't be such a skeleton at the feast, old dear!" cried O'Keefe. "Everybody's merry and bright here."
I turned sick with dread. Yolara's hand stole softly upon the Irishman's curls caressingly. He drew it down; kissed it.
"You know the law, Yolara." Lugur's voice was flat, deadly. "You may not mate with other than your own kind. And this man is a stranger—a barbarian—food for the Shining One!" Literally, he spat the phrase.
"No, not of our kind, Lugur. Higher!" Yolara answered serenely. "Lo, higher even than the Ancient Ones. A son of Siya and of Siyana!"
"A lie!" roared the red dwarf. "A lie."
"The Shining One revealed it to me!" said Yolara sweetly. "And if ye believe not, Lugur, go ask the Shining One if it be not truth!"
There was bitter, nameless menace in those last words, and whatever their hidden message to Lugur, it was potent. He stood, choking, face, hell-shadowed. Von Hetzdorp leaned out again, whispered. The red dwarf bowed, now wholly ironically; resumed his place and his silence. And again I wondered, icy-hearted, what was the power the German had so to sway Lugur. What was it that he had said to O'Keefe? And what plots and counter-plots were hatching in that unscrupulous brain?
"What says the council?" Yolara demanded, turning to them.
Only for a moment they consulted among themselves. Then the woman, whose face was a ravaged shrine of beauty, spoke.
"The will of the priestess is the will of the council!" she answered.
Defiance died from Yolara's face; she looked down at Larry tenderly. He sat, swaying, crooning. She clapped her hands, and one of the cuirassed dwarfs strode to her.
"Bid the priests come," she commanded, then turned to the silent room. "By the rites of Siya and Siyana, Yolara takes their son for her mate," she said; and again her hand stole down possessingly, serpent soft, to the drunken head of the O'Keefe.
The curtains parted widely. Through them filed, two by two, twelve hooded figures clad in flowing robes of the green one sees in forest vistas of opening buds of dawning spring. Of each pair one bore clasped to breast, a globe of that milky crystal I had seen in the sapphire shrine-room, the other a harp, small, shaped like the ancient clarsach of the Druids. And then, crystal globe alternately before and harp alternately held by youth and maid, they began to sing.
What was that song, I do not know, nor ever I shall. Archaic, ancient beyond thought, it seemed, old with the ancientness of things that for uncounted ages have been but wind-driven dust. Rather was it the ancientness of the golden youth of the world, love lilts of earth younglings, with light of new-born suns drenching them. Chorals of young stars mating in space; murmurings of April gods and goddesses. A languor stole through me. The rosy lights upon the tripods' began to die away, and as they faded the milky globes gleamed forth brighter, ever brighter. Yolara rose, stretched a hand to Larry.
She lifted her arms; within her hands were clasped O'Keefe's. She raised them above their two heads and slowly, slowly drew him with her into a circling, graceful step, tendrilings, delicate as the slow spiralings of twilight mist upon some still stream.
As they swayed the rippling arpeggios grew louder, and suddenly the slender pinnacles of moon fire bent, dipped, flowed to the floor, crept in a shining ring around those two—and began to rise, a gleaming, glimmering, enchanted barrier—rising, ever rising, hiding them!
With one swift movement Yolara unbound her circlet of pale sapphires, shook loose the waves of her silken hair. It fell, a rippling, wondrous cascade, veiling both her and O'Keefe to their girdles. And now the shining coils of moon fire had crept to their knees, was circling higher—higher.
And ever despair grew deeper in my soul!
What was that! I started to my feet, and all around me in the blackness I heard startled motion. From without came a blaring of trumpets, the sound of running men, loud murmurings. The tumult drew closer. I heard cries of "Lakla! Lakla!" Now it was at the very threshold and within it, oddly, as though—punctuting—the clamor, a deep-toned, almost abyssmal, booming sound, thunderously bass and reverberant.
Abruptly the harpings ceased; the moon fires shuddered, fell, and began to sweep back into the crystal globes. Yolara's swaying form grew rigid, every atom of it seeming to be listening with intensity so great that it was itself like clamor. She threw aside the veiling cloud of hair, and in the gleam of the last retreating spirals I saw her face glare out like some old Greek mask of tragedy.
The sweet lips that, even at their sweetest could never lose their delicate cruelty, had no sweetness now. They were drawn into a square—inhuman as that of the Medusa. In her eyes were the fixes of the pit, and her hair seemed to writhe like the serpent locks of that Gorgon, whose mouth she had borrowed. All her beauty was transformed into a nameless thing. Hideous, inhuman, blasting! If this was the true soul of Yolara springing to her face, then, I thought, God help us in very deed!
I wrested my glance away to O'Keefe. All drunkenness gone, himself again, he was staring down at that hellish sight, and in his eyes were loathing and horror unutterable. So they stood—and the light fled.
Only for a moment did the darkness hold. With lightning swiftness the blackness that was the chamber's other wall vanished. Through a portal, open between gray screens, the silver sparkling light poured.
And through the portal marched, two by two, incredible, nightmare figures—frog men, giants, taller by nearly a yard than even tall O'Keefe! Their enormous saucer eyes were irised by wide bands of green-flicked red, in which the phosphorescence flickered like cold flames. Their long muzzles, lips half-open in monstrous grin, held rows of glistening, slender, lancet sharp fangs. Over the glaring eyes arose a horny helmet, a carapace of black and orange scales, studded with foot-long lance-head- ed horns.
They lined themselves like soldiers on each side of the wide table aisle, and now I could see that this horny armor covered shoulders and backs, ran across the chest in a knobbed cuirass, and at wrists and heels jutted out into curved, murderous spurs.
The webbed hands and feet ended in yellow, spade-shaped claws. A short kilt of the same pale amber stones that I had seen upon the apparition of the Moon Pool Chamber's wall hung about their swollen middles.
They carried spears, ten feet, at least, in length, the heads of which were pointed cones, glistening with that same covering, from whose touch of swift decay I had so narrowly saved Rador.
In all the chamber there was now no sound. Yolara's hellish face had changed no whit; nor had Larry O'Keefe's eyes left it.
And then, quietly, through the ranks of the frog men came—a girl! Behind her, enormous pouch at his throat swelling in and out menacingly, in one paw a tree-like spike-studded mace, a frog-man, huger than any of the others, guarding. But of him I caught but a fleeting, involuntary glance.
All my gaze was for the girl.
For it was she who had pointed out to us the way from the peril of the Dweller's lair on Nan-Tanach. And as I gazed at her, I marveled that ever could I have thought the priestess more beautiful. Turning, I saw Larry's own gaze leave Yolara for her. Saw him stiffen, and to his eyes rush joy incredible and an utter abasement of shame.
And from all about came murmurs—edged with anger, half-incredulous, tinged with fear.
"Lakla!"
"˜The handmaiden to the Silent Ones!"