 CHAPTER 33 THE MEETING OF TITANS It is not my intention, nor is it possible, no matter how interesting to me, to set down, ad seriatim, the happenings of the next twelve hours. But a few will not be denied recital. O'Keefe regained cheerfulness. "'After all, doc,' he said to me, "'It's a beautiful scrap we're going to have. At the worst, the worst is no more than the leprechaun warned about. I would have told the tithe a day about the banshee raid he promised me, but I was a bit taken off my feet at the time. The old girl and all the clan'll be along,' said the little green man, and I bet the three will be damn glad of it, take it from me. Lakla, shining eyed, and half fearful too. I have other tidings that I'm afraid will please you little, Larry, darlin.' The silent ones say that you must not go into battle yourself. You must stay here with me, and with Goodwin, for, if—if the shining one does come, then must we be here to meet it. And you might not be, you know, Larry, if you fight,' she said, looking shyly up at him from under the long lashes. The O'Keefe's jaw dropped. "'That's about the hardest yet,' he answered slowly. Still, I see their point. The lamb corralled for the altar has no right to stray out among the lions.' He added grimly. "'Don't worry, sweet,' he told her. "'As long as I've sat in the game, I'll stick to the rules.' Olaf took fierce joy in the coming fray. The gnawn spin close to the end of this web,' he rumbled. "'Yeah, and the threads of Luger and the hex-woman are between their fingers for the breaking. Thor will be with me, and I have fashioned to me a hammer in glory of Thor.' In his hand was an enormous mace of black metal, fully five feet long, crowned with a massive head. I passed to the twelve hours' closing. At the end of the quarry a road where the giant fernland met the edge of the cavern's ruby floor, hundreds of the aqqa were stationed in ambush, armed with their spears, tipped with the rotting death, and their nails studded, metal-headed clubs. These were to attack when the myrians debauched from the quarrels. We had little hope of doing more here than effect some attrition of Yolara's hosts, or at this place the captains of the shining one could wield the kef and their other uncanny weapons freely. We had learned, too, that every forge and artisan had been put to work to make an armor Merakinov had devised to withstand the natural battle-equipment of the frog-people, and both Larry and I had a disquieting faith in the Russians' ingenuity. At any rate the numbers against us would be lessened. Next, under the direction of the frog-king, levies commanded by subsidiary chieftains had completed rows of rough walls along the probable route of the myrians through the cavern. These afforded the aqqa a fair protection behind which they could hurl their darts and spears. Curiously enough they had never developed the bow as a weapon. At the opening of the cavern a strong barricade stretched almost to the two ends of the crescent strand. Almost, I say, because there had not been time to build it entirely across the mouth. And from edge to edge of the titanic bridge, from where it sprang outward at the shore of the crimson sea to a hundred feet away from the golden door of the abode, barrier after barrier was piled. Behind the wall defending the mouth of the cavern waited other thousands of the aqa. At each end of the unfinished barricade they were mustered thickly, and at right and left of the crescent, where their forest began, more legions were assembled to make way up to the ledge as opportunity offered. Rank upon rank they manned the bridge barriers. They swarmed over the pinnacles and in the hollows of the island's ragged outer lip. The domed castle was a hive of them, if I may mix my metaphors, and the rocks and gardens that surrounded the abode glittered with them. "'Now,' said the handmaiden, "'there's nothing else we can do. Save weight!' She led us out through her bower and up the little path that ran to the embrasure. Through the quiet came a sound, a sighing, a half-mournful whispering that beat about us and fled away. "'They come,' cried La-Cla, the light of battle in her eyes. Larry drew her to him, raised her in his arms, kissed her. "'A woman,' acclaimed the O'Keeffe, "'a real woman and mind!' With the cry of the portal there was movement among the aca, the glint of moving spears, flash of metal-tipped clubs, rattle of horny spurs, rumblings of battle-cries. And we waited, waited, it seemed, interminably, gaze fastened upon the low wall across the cavern-mouth. Suddenly I remembered the crystal through which I had peered when the hidden assassins had crept upon us. Mentioning it to La-Cla, she gave a little cry of vexation, a command to her attendant, and not long that faithful, if unusual lady, had returned with a tray of the glasses. Raising mine I saw the lines furthest away leap into sudden activity. Spurred warrior after warrior leaped upon the barricade and over it. Flashes of intense green light mingled with gleams like lightning strokes of concentrated moon rays sprang from behind the wall, sprang and struck and burned upon the scales of the Batrakeans. "'They come,' whispered La-Cla. At the far ends of the Crescent a terrific milling had begun. Here it was plain the aqa were holding. Fately, for the distance was great, I could see fresh force upon force rush up and take the places of those who had fallen. Over each end of these, and along the whole line of the barricade, a mist of dancing, diamond-ed atoms began to rise. Sparking, coruscating points of diamond dust that darted and danced. What had once been La-Cla's guardians, dancing now in the nothingness. "'God, but it's hard to stay here like this,' groaned the O'Keefe. Olaf's teeth were bared. The lips drawn back in such a fighting grin as his ancestors berserk on their raven ships must have borne. Rador was livid with rage. The handmaid's nostrils flaring wide, all her wrathful soul in her eyes. Suddenly, while we looked, the rocky wall which the aqa had built at the cavern mouth, was not. It vanished, as though an unseen, unbelievably gigantic hand had with the lightning speed swept it away. And with it vanished two long lines of the great amphibians close behind it. Then down upon the ledge, dropping into the crimson sea, sending up geysers of ruby spray, dashing on the bridge, crushing the frogmen, fell a shower of stone, mingled with distorted shapes and fragments whose scales still flashed meteoric as they hurled from above. "'That which makes things fall upward,' hissed Olaf. "'That which I saw in the garden of Luger.' The fiendish agency of destruction which Marikinov had revealed to Larry, the force that cut off gravitation and sent all things within its range racing outward into space. And now over the debris upon the ledge, striking with longsword and daggers, here and there a captain flashing the green ray, moving on in ordered squares, came upon the soldiers of the shining one. Nearer and nearer the verge of the ledge they pushed Nock's warriors, leaping upon the dwarfs, smiting them with spear and club, with teeth and spur, the aqa fought like devils. Quivering under the ray they leaped and dragged down and slew. Now there was but one long line of the frogmen at the very edge of the cliff. And ever the clouds of dancing, diamond-ed atoms grew thicker over them all. That last thin line of the aqa was going, yet they fought to the last, and none toppled over the lip without at least one of the armoured merions in his arms. My gaze dropped to the foot of the cliffs. Stretched along their length was a wide ribbon of beauty, a shimmering multitude of gleaming, pulsing, prismatic moons, glowing, glowing ever brighter, ever more wondrous, the gigantic medusie globes feasting on dwarf and frogman alike. Across the waters, faintly, came a triumphant shouting from Luger's and Yolara's men. Was the ruddy light of the place lessening, growing paler, changing to a faint rose? There was an exclamation from Larry, something like hope relaxed the drawn muscles of his face. He pointed to the ariate dome, wherein sat the three, and then I saw. Out of it, through the long transverse slit through which the silent ones kept their watch on Cavern, Bridge and Abyss, a torrent of the opalescent light was pouring. It cascaded like a waterfall, and as it flowed it spread whirling out in columns and eddies, clouds and wisps of misty, curdled coruscations. It hung like a veil over all the islands, filtering everywhere, driving back the crimson light as though possessed of impenetrable substance, and still it cast not the faintest shadowing upon our vision. Good God! breathed Larry, look! The radiance was marching, marching, down the colossal bridge. It moved swiftly, in some unthinkable way, intelligently. It swat the aca, and closer, ever closer it swept toward the approach upon which Yolara's men had now gained foothold. From their ranks came flash after flash of the green ray, aimed at the abode, but as the light sped and struck the opalescence it was blotted out. The shimmering mist seemed to enfold, to dissipate it. Lakla drew a deep breath. The silent ones forgive me for doubting them, she whispered, and again hope blossomed on her face, even as it did on Larry's. The frogmen were gaining. Clothed in the armor of that mist, they pressed back from the bridgehead the invaders. There was another prodigious movement at the ends of the Crescent, and racing up, pressing against the dwarfs, came other legions of nax warriors. And reinforcing those out on the prodigious arch, the frogmen stationed in the gardens below us, poured back to the castle, and out through the open portal. There lecked, shouted Larry, there! So quickly I could not follow the movement his automatic leaped into his hand, spoke once and again and again. Rador leaped to the head of the little path, soared in hand. Olaf, shouting and whirling his mace, followed. I strove to get my own gun quickly. For up that path were running to score of Lugor's men, while from below Lugor's own voice roared. Quick, slay not the handmaiden or her lover! Carry them down! Quick, but slay the others! The handmaiden raced toward Larry, stopped, whistled shrilly, again and again. Larry's pistol was empty, but as the dwarfs rushed upon him I dropped two of them with mine. It jammed. I could not use it. I sprang to his side. Rador was down, struggling in a heap of Lugor's men. Olaf, a viking of old, was whirling his great hammer, and striking, striking through armor, flesh, and bone. Larry was down, Lakla flew to him, but the Norsemen, now streaming with blood from a dozen wounds, caught a glimpse of her coming, turned, thrust out a mighty hand, sent her reeling back, and then, with his hammer, cracked the skulls of those trying to drag the O'Keefe down the path. A cry from Lakla, the dwarfs had seized her, had lifted her, despite her struggles, were carrying her away. One I dropped with the butt of my useless pistol, and then went down myself under the rush of another. Through the clamor I heard a booming of the Aka, closer, closer. Then, through it, the bellow of Lugor. I made a mighty effort, swung a hand up, and sunk my fingers in the throat of the soldier striving to kill me. Riving over him, my fingers touched a poignard. I thrust it deep, staggered to my feet. The O'Keefe, shielding Lakla, was battling with a longsword against a half-dozen of the soldiers. I started toward him, was struck, and under the impact, hurled to the ground. Dizzily I raised myself, and leaning upon my elbow, stared, and moved no more. For the dwarfs lay dead, and Larry, holding Lakla tightly, was staring even as I, and ranged at the head of the path where the Aka, whose booming advance in obedience to the handmaid's call, I had heard. And, at what we all stared, was Olaf, crimson with wounds, and Lugor, in blood-red armor, locked in each other's grip, struggling, smiting, tearing, kicking, and swaying about the little space before the embrasure. I crawled over toward the O'Keefe. He raised his pistol, dropped it. Can't hit him without hitting Olaf, he whispered. Lakla signaled the frogmen. They advanced toward the two, but Olaf saw them, broke the red dwarf's hold, sent Lugor reeling a dozen feet away. No! shouted the Norsemen, the ice of his pale blue eyes glinting like frozen flames, blood streaming down his face and dripping from his hands. No! Lugor is mine! None but me slays him. Oh, you Lugor! And cursed him and Yolara and the Dweller hideously. I cannot set those curses down here. They spurred Lugor. Mad now as the Norsemen, the red dwarf sprang. Olaf struck a blow that would have killed an ordinary man, but Lugor only grunted, swept in, and seized him about the waist. One mighty arm began to creep up toward Haldrickson's throat. Aware, Olaf! cried O'Keefe, but Olaf did not answer. He waited until the red dwarf's hand was close to his shoulder, and then, with an incredibly rapid movement, once before had I seen something like it in a wrestling match between Papuans. He had twisted Lugor around, twisted him so that Olaf's right arm lay across the tremendous breast, the left behind the neck, and Olaf's left leg held the voice's armored thighs vice-like against his right knee, while over that knee lay the small of the red dwarf's back. For a second or two the Norsemen looked down upon his enemy, motionless in that paralyzing grip, and then, slowly, he began to break him. Lakla gave a little cry, made a motion toward the two, but Larry drew her head down against his breast, hiding her eyes. Then fastened his own upon the pair, white-faced, stern. Slowly, ever so slowly, proceeded Olaf. Twice Lugor moaned. At the end he screamed horribly. There was a cracking sound, as if a stout stick snapped. Haldrickson stooped silently. He picked up the limp body of the voice, not yet dead, for the eyes rolled, the lips strove to speak, lifted it, walked to the parapet, swung it twice over his head, and cast it down to the red waters. The Norsemen turned toward us. There was now no madness in his eyes, only a great weariness, and there was peace on the once tortured face. Helma, he whispered, I go a little before. Soon you will come to me, to me and the yinning who will await you, Helma, my nalib. Blood gushed from his mouth, he swayed, fell, and thus died Olaf Haldrickson. We looked down upon him. Nor did Lakla, nor Larry, nor I, try to hide our tears. And as we stood, the Acca brought to us that other mighty fighter, Rador. But in him there was life, and we attended to him there as best we could. Then Lakla spoke. We will bear him into the castle, where we may give him greater care, she said. For lo, the hosts of Yolara have been beaten back, and on the bridge comes knock with tidings. We looked over the parapet. It was even as she has said. Neither on ledge nor bridge was there trace of living men of Muria, only heaps of slain that lay everywhere, and thick against the cavern mouth still danced the flashing atoms of those the green ray had destroyed. Over! exclaimed Larry incredulously. We live then, heart of mine. The silent ones recall their veils, she said, pointing to the dome. Back through the slitted opening the radiance was streaming, withdrawing from sea and island, marching back over the bridge with that same ordered, intelligent motion. Behind it the red light pressed, like skirmishers on the heels of a retreating army. And yet, faltered the handmaiden as we passed into her chamber, and doubtful were the eyes she turned upon the O'Keefe. I don't believe, he said, there's a kick left in them. What was that sound beating into the chamber, faintly, so faintly? My heart gave a great throb and seemed to stop for an eternity. What was it, coming nearer, ever nearer? Now, Lakla and O'Keefe heard it, life ebbing from lips and cheeks. Nearer, nearer, a music as of myriads of tiny crystal bells, tinkling, tinkling, a storm of pizzicati upon violins of glass. Nearer, nearer, not sweetly now, nor luring, no, raging, wrathful, sinister beyond words, sweeping on, nearer. The dweller, the shining one. We leaped to the narrow window, peered out aghast. The bell note swept through and about us, a hurricane. The crescent strand was once more a ferment. Back, back were the aca being swept, as though by brooms, tottering on the edge of the ledge, falling into the waters. Swiftly they were finished, and where they had fought was an eddying throng clothed in tatters or naked, swaying, drifting, arms tossing, like marionettes of Satan. The dead alive. The slaves of the dweller. They swayed and tossed, and then, like water racing through an open dam, they swept upon the bridgehead. On and on they pushed, like the bore of a mighty tide. The frogmen strove against them, clubbing, spearing, tearing them. But even those worst smitten seemed not to fall. On they pushed, driving forward, irresistible, a battering ram of flesh and bone. They clove the masses of the aca, pressing them into the sides of the bridge and over. Through the open gates they forced them, for there was no room for the frogmen to stand against that implacable tide. Then those of the aca who were left turned their backs and ran. We heard the clang of the golden wings of the portal, and none too soon to keep out the first of the dweller's dreadful hordes. Now upon the cavern ledge, and over the whole length of the bridge, there were none but the dead alive. Men and women, black-polled ladala, slow-eyed malaise, slant-eyed Chinese, men of every race that sailed the seas, milling, turning, swaying, like leaves caught in a sluggish current. The bell-notes became sharper, more insistent. At the cavern mouth a radiance began to grow, a gleaming from which the atoms of diamond dust seemed to try to flee. As the radiance grew and the crystal-notes rang nearer, every head of that hideous multitude turned stiffly, slowly toward the right, looking toward the far bridge-end, their eyes fixed and glaring, every face an inhuman mask of rapture and of horror. A movement shook them. Those in the center began to stream back, faster and ever faster, leaving motionless deep ranks on each side. Back they flowed until from golden doors to cavern mouth a wide lane stretched, walled on each side by the dead alive. The far radiance became brighter. It gathered itself at the end of the dreadful lane. It was shot with sparklings and with pulsings of polychromatic light. The crystal storm was intolerable, piercing the ears with countless tiny lances, brighter still the radiance. From the cavern swirled the shining one. The dweller paused, seemed to scan the island of the silent ones half doubtfully. Then slowly, stately, it drifted out upon the bridge. Closer it drew, behind it glided Yolara at the head of a company of her dwarfs, and at her side was the hag of the council whose face was the withered, shattered echo of her own. Slower grew the dweller's pace as it drew nearer. Did I sense in it a doubt and uncertainty? The crystal-tongued, unseen choristers that accompanied it subtly seemed to reflect the doubt. Their notes were not sure, no longer insistent. Rather, was there in them an undertone of hesitancy, of warning. Yet on came the shining one, until it stood plain beneath us, searching with those eyes that thrust from and withdrew into unknown spheres, the golden gateway, the cliff face, the castle's rounded bulk, and more intently than any of these the dome wherein sat the three. Behind it each face of the dead alive turned toward it, and those beside it throbbed and gleamed with its luminescence. Yolara crept close, just beyond the reach of its spirals. She murmured, and the dweller bent toward her, its seven globes steady in their shining mists, as though listening. It drew erect once more, resumed its doubtful scrutiny. Yolara's face darkened. She turned abruptly, spoke to a captain of her guards. A dwarf raced back between the palisades of dead alive. Now the priestess cried out, her voice ringing like a silver clarion. Ye are done, ye three. The shining one stands at your door, demanding entrance. Your beasts are slain, and your power is gone. Who are ye, says the shining one, to deny it entrance to the place of its birth? Ye do not answer, she cried again. Yet no we that ye hear. The shining one offers these terms. Send forth your handmaiden, and that lying stranger she stole. Send them forth to us, and perhaps ye may live. But if ye send them not forth, then shall ye to die, and soon. We waited, silent, even as did Yolara, and again there was no answer from the three. The priestess laughed, the blue eyes flashed. It is ended, she cried. If you will not open, needs must we open for you. Over the bridge was marching a long double file of the dwarfs. They bore a smoothed and handled tree-trunk whose head was knobbed with a huge ball of metal. Past the priestess, past the shining one they carried it. Fifty of them to each side of the ram, and behind them stepped Marikinof. Larry awoke to life. Now, thank God, he rast, I can get that devil anyway. He drew his pistol, took careful aim. Even as he pressed the trigger, there rang through the abode a tremendous clanging. The ram was battering at the gates. O'Keefe's bullet went wild. The Russian must have heard the shot, perhaps the missile was closer than we knew. He made a swift leap behind the guards, was lost to sight. Once more the thunderous clanging rang through the castle. Lakla drew herself erect, down upon her dropped the glistening aloofness. Gravely she bowed her head. It is time, O love of mine, she turned to O'Keefe. The sign at once say that the way of fear is closed, but the way of love is open. They call upon us to redeem our promise. For a hundred heartbeats they clung to each other, breast to breast and lip to lip. Below the clanger was increasing, the great trunks swinging harder and faster upon the metal gates. Now Lakla gently loose the arms of the O'Keefe, and for another instant those two looked into each other's souls. The handmaiden smiled tremulously. I would it might have been otherwise, Larry Darling, she whispered. But at last we passed together, dearest of mine. She leaped to the window. Yolara, the golden voice rang out sweetly, the clanging ceased. Draw back your men. We open the portal and come forth to you and the shining one, Larry and I. The priestess's silver chimes of laughter rang out, cruel, mocking. Come then quickly, she jeered, for surely both the shining one and I yearn for you. Her malice-laden laughter chimed high once more. Keep us not lonely long, the priestess mocked. Larry drew a deep breath, stretched both hands out to me. It's good-bye, I guess, duck, his voice was strained. Good-bye and good luck, old boy. If you get out and you will, let the old dolphin know I'm gone. And carry on, pal, and always remember the O'Keeffe loved you like a brother. I squeezed his hands desperately. Then, out of my balance-shaking woe, a strange comfort was born. Maybe it's not good-bye, Larry, I cried. The banshee has not cried. A flash of hope passed over his face. The old reckless grin shone forth. It's so, he said, by the Lord, it's so. Then Lachla bent toward me and for the second time kissed me. Come, she said to Larry, hand in hand they moved away into the corridor that led to the door outside of which waited the shining one and its priestess. And unseen by them, wrapped as they were within their love and sacrifice, I crept softly behind. For I had determined that if enter the dwellers embrace they must, they should not go alone. They paused before the golden portals. The handmaiden pressed its opening lever. The massive leaves rolled back. Heads high, proudly, serenely, they passed through and out upon the hither span. I followed. On each side of us stood the dwellers' slaves. Faces turned rigidly toward their master. A hundred feet away the shining one pulsed and spiraled in its evilly glorious lambency of sparkling plumes. Unhesitating, always with that same high serenity, Lachla and the O'Keefe, hands clasped like little children, drew closer to that wondrous shape. I could not see their faces, but I saw awe fall upon those of the watching dwarfs, and into the burning eyes of Yolara crept a doubt. Closer they drew to the dweller, and closer, I following them step by step. The shining one's whirling lessened. Its tinklings were faint, almost stilled. It seemed to watch them apprehensively. A silence fell upon us all, a thick silence, brooding, ominous, palpable. Now the pair were face to face with the child of the three, so near that with one of its misty tentacles it could have unfolded them. And the shiny one drew back. Yes, drew back, and back with it stepped Yolara, the doubt in her eyes deepening. Onward paced the handmaiden and the O'Keefe, and step by step, as they advanced, the dweller withdrew, its bell-notes chiming out, puzzled questioningly, half fearful. And back it drew, and back, until it had reached the very center of that platform over the abyss in whose depths pulsed the green fires of earth-heart. And there Yolara gripped herself, the hell that seathed within her soul leaped out of her eyes, a cry, a shriek of rage, tore from her lips. As at a signal the shining one flamed high, its spirals and eddying mist swirled madly, the pulsing core of it blazed radiance. A score of coruscating tentacles swept straight upon the pair who stood intrepid, unresisting, awaiting its embrace, and upon me lurking behind them. Through me swept a mighty exaltation. It was the end, then, and I was to meet it with them. Something drew us back, back with an incredible swiftness, and yet as gently as a summer breeze sweeps a bit of thistle down, drew us back from those darting misty arms, even as they were a hair-breath from us. I heard the dweller's bell-notes burst out ragingly. I heard Yolara scream. What was that? Between the three of us and them was a ring of curdled moon-flames, swirling about the shining one and its priestess, pressing in upon them, enfolding them. And within it I glimpsed the faces of the three, implacable, sorrowful, filled with a supernal power. Sparks and flashes of white flame darted from the ring, penetrating the radiant swathings of the dweller, striking through its pulsing nucleus, piercing its seven crowning orbs. Now the shining one's radiance began to dim, the seven orbs to dull. The tiny sparkling filaments that ran from them down into the dweller's body snapped, vanished. Through the battling nebulosities Yolara's face swam forth, horror-filled, distorted, inhuman. The ranks of the dead alive quivered, moved, writhed, as though each felt the torment of the thing that had enslaved them. The radiance that the three wielded grew more intense, thicker, seemed to expand. Within it suddenly were scores of flaming triangles, scores of eyes like those of the silent ones. And the shining one's seven little moons of amber, of silver, of blue and amethyst and green, of rose and white, split, shattered, were gone. Abruptly the tortured crystal chimings ceased. Dulled, all its soul shaking beauty dead, blotched and shadowed squalidly, its gleaming plumes tarnished, its dancing spirals stripped from it, that which had been the shining one, wrapped itself about Yolara, wrapped and drew her into itself, writhed, swayed, and hurled itself over the edge of the bridge, down, down into the green fires of the unfathomable abyss, with its priestess still enfolded in its coils. From the dwarfs who had watched that terror came screams of panic fear. They turned and ran, racing frantically over the bridge toward the cavern mouth. The serried ranks of the dead alive trembled, shook. Then, from their faces, tied the horror of wedded ecstasy and anguish. Peace, utter peace, followed in its wake. And as fields of wheat are bent and fall beneath the wind, they fell. No longer dead alive, now all of the blessed dead freed from their dreadful slavery. Abruptly, from the sparkling mists, the cloud of eyes was gone. Faintly, revealed in them, were only the heads of the silent ones. And they drew before us, were before us. No flames now in their ebon eyes, for the flickering fires were quenched in great tears, streaming down the marble white faces. They bent toward us, over us. Their radiance enfolded us. My eyes darkened. I could not see. I felt a tender hand upon my head, and panic and frozen dread and nightmare web that held me fled. Then they too were gone. Upon Larry's breast the handmaiden was sobbing, sobbing out her heart, but this time with the joy of one who was swept up from the very threshold of hell into paradise. End of Chapter 34 Chapter 35 OF THE MOON POOL By Abraham Merritt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE MOON POOL Chapter 35 Larry Farewell My heart, Larry. It was the handmaiden's murmur. My heart feels like a bird that is flying from a nest of sorrow. We were pacing down the length of the bridge, guards of the aca beside us, others following with those companies of Ladala that had rushed to aid us. In front of us the bandaged rador swung gently within a litter. Beside him, in another, lay knack, the frog king. Much less of him than there had been before the battle began, but living. Ours had passed since the terror I have just related. My first task had been to search for Throckmarten and his wife among the fallen multitudes, strewn thick as autumn leaves along the flying arch of stone, over the cavern ledge and back, back as far as the eye could reach. At last, Lakla and Larry helping me, we found them. They lay close to the bridge end, not parted, locked tight in each other's arms, pallid, face to face, her hair streaming over his breast. As though when that unearthly life the dweller had set within them passed away, their own had come back for one fleeting instant, and they had known each other and clasped before kindly death had taken them. Love is stronger than all things. The handmaiden was weeping softly. Love never left them. Love was stronger than the shining one. And when its evil fled, love went with them wherever souls go. Of Stanton and Thora there was no trace, nor, after our discovery of those other two, did I care to look more. They were dead, and they were free. We buried Throckmarten and Edith beside Olaf in Lakla's Bower, but before the body of my old friend was placed within the grave I gave it a careful and sorrowful examination. The skin was firm and smooth, but cold. Not the cold of death, but with a chill that set my touching fingers tingling unpleasantly. The body was bloodless. The course of veins and arteries marked by faintly indented white furrows, as though their walls had long collapsed. Lips, mouth, even the tongue was paper white. There was no sign of dissolution as we know it. No shadow or stain upon the marble surface. Whatever the force that, streaming from the dweller, or impregnating its lair, had energized the dead alive, it was barrier against putrescence of any kind. That, at least, was certain. But it was not barrier against the poison of the Medusie. For, our sad task done, and looking down upon the waters, I saw the pale forms of the dweller's hordes dissolving, vanishing into the shifting glories of the gigantic moons sailing down upon them from every quarter of the Sea of Crimson. While the Frogmen, whose late levies from the farthest forests were clearing bridge and ledge of cavern of the litter of the dead, we listened to a leader of the Ladala. They had risen, even as the messenger had promised Rador. Fears had been the struggle in the garden-city by the silver waters, with those Lugor and Yolara had left behind to garrison it. Deadly had been the slaughter of the fair-haired, reaping the harvest of hatred they had been sowing so long. Not without a pang of regret did I think of the beautiful, gaily malicious elf and women destroyed, evil though they may have been. The ancient city of Lara was a charnel. Of all the rulers not too score had escaped, and these into regions of peril, which to describe as sanctuary, would be mockery. Nor had the Ladala fared so well. Of all the men and women, for women as well as men had taken part in the swift war, not more than a tenth remained alive. And the dancing motes of light in the silver air were thick. Thick! they whispered. They told us of the shining one, rushing through the veil, comet-like, its hosts streaming behind it, raging with it, in ranks that seemed interminable. Of the massacre of the priests and priestesses in the Cyclopean temple. Of the flashing forth of the summoning lights by unseen hands, followed by the tearing of the rainbow curtain, by colossal shatterings of the radiant cliffs, the vanishing behind their debris of all trace of entrance to the haunted place wherein the hordes of the shining one had slaved, the ceiling of the lair. Then, when the tempest of hate had ended in seething Lara, how, thrilled with victory, armed with the weapons of those they had slain, they had lifted the shadow, passed through the portal, met and slaughtered the fleeing remnants of Yolara's men, only to find the tempest still here too. But of Marikinov they had seen nothing, had the Russian escaped, I wondered, or was he lying out there among the dead? But now the Ladala were calling upon Lakla to come with them, to govern them. I don't want to go, Larry Darlin, she told him. I want to go out with you to Ireland, but for a time I think the three would have us remain and set that place in order. The O'Keefe was bothered about something else than the government of Muria. If they've caled off all the priests, who's to marry us hard to mine, he worried. None of those Sia and Siana writes, no matter what, he added hastily. Mary cried the handmaiden incredulously. Marry us? Why, Larry dear, we are married. The O'Keefe's astonishment was complete, his jaw dropped, collapse seemed imminent. We are, he gasped, when, he stammered fatuously. Why, when the mother drew us together before her, when she put her hands on our heads after we had made the promise, didn't you understand that? asked the handmaiden, wonderingly. He looked at her, into the purity of the clear golden eyes, into the purity of the soul that gazed out of them. All his own great love transfiguring his keen face. And is that enough for you, mavernine? he whispered humbly. Enough? The handmaiden's puzzlement was complete, profound. Enough? Larry darling, what more could we ask? He drew a deep breath, clasped her close. Cast the bride, doc, cried the O'Keefe. And for the third and soul's sorrow, the last time, Lakla dimpling and blushing, I thrilled to the touch of her soft, sweet lips. Quickly were our preparations for departure made. Rador, conscious, his immense vitality conquering fast his wounds, was to be born ahead of us. And when all was done, Lakla, Larry and I made our way up to the scarlet stone that was the doorway to the chamber of the three. We knew, of course, that they had gone, following, no doubt, those whose eyes I had seen in the curdled mists, and who, coming to the aid of the three at last from whatever mysterious place that was their home, had thrown their strength with them against the shining one. Nor were we wrong. When the great slab rolled away, no torrents of opalescence came rushing out upon us. The vast dome was dim, tenetless. Its curved walls that had cascaded light, shown now but faintly. The deus was empty. Its wall of moon-flame radiance gone. A little time we stood, heads bent, reverent, our hearts filled with gratitude and love, yes, and with pity for that strange trinity so alien to us, and yet so near. Children, even as we, though so unlike us, of our same Mother Earth. And what, I wondered, had been the secret of that promise they had wrung from their handmaiden and from Larry. And whence, if what the three had said had been all true, whence had come their power to avert the sacrifice at the very verge of its consummation? Love is stronger than all things, had said Lakla. Was it that they had needed, must have, the force which dwells within love, within willing sacrifice, to strengthen their own power, and to enable them to destroy the evil, glorious thing so long shielded by their own love? Did the thought of sacrifice, the will toward abnegation, have to be as strong as the Eternals, unshaken by faintest thrill of hope, before the three could make of it their key to unlock the Dweller's Guard and strike through at its life? Here was a mystery, a mystery indeed. Lakla softly closed the crimson stone, the mystery of the red Dwarf's appearance was explained when we discovered a half dozen of the water-choria moored in a small cove not far from where the secta flashed their heads of living bloom. The Dwarfs had borne the shallops with them, and from somewhere beyond the cavern ledge had launched them unperceived, stealing up to the farther side of the island and risking all in one bold stroke. While Lugor, no matter what he held of wickedness, held also high courage. The cavern was paved with the dead alive, the Acca carrying them out by the hundreds, casting them into the waters. Through the lane down which the Dweller had passed we went as quickly as we could, coming at last to the space where the quarry awaited. And not long after we swung past where the shadow had hung and hovered over the shining paths of the midnight pool. Upon Lakla's insistence we passed on to the palace of Lugor, not to Yolaura's. I do not know why, but go there then she would not. And within one of its columned rooms, maidens of the black-haired folks, the wistfulness, the fear, all gone from their sparkling eyes, served us. There came to me a huge desire to see the destruction they had told us of the Dweller's lair, to observe for myself whether it was not possible to make a way of entrance and to study its mysteries. I spoke of this, and to my surprise both the Handmaiden and the O'Keefe showed an almost embarrassed haste to acquiesce in my hesitant suggestion. Sure! cried Larry. There's lots of time before night. He caught himself sheepishly, cast a glance at Lakla. I keep forgetting, there's no night here, he mumbled. What did you say, Larry? asked she. I said, I wish we were sitting in our home in Ireland, watching the sun go down. He whispered to her. Vaguely I wondered why she blushed. But now I must hasten. We went to the temple, and here at least the ghastly litter of the dead had been cleaned away. We passed through the blue caverned space, crossed the narrow arch that spanned the rushing sea-stream, and, ascending, stood again upon the ivory pave at the foot of the frowning, towering amphitheater of Jett. Across the silver waters there was sign of neither web of rainbows nor colossal pillars, nor the templeed lips that I had seen curving out beneath the veil, when the shining one had swirled out to greet its priestess and its voice, and to dance with the sacrifices. There was but a broken and rent mass of the radiant cliffs against whose base the lake lapped. Long I looked and turned away saddened. Knowing even as I did what the iris curtain had hidden, still it was as though some thing of supernal beauty and wonder had been swept away, never to be replaced. A glamour gone for ever. A work of the high gods destroyed. Let's go back, said Larry abruptly. I dropped a little behind them to examine a bit of carving, and, after all, they did not want me. I watched them pacing slowly ahead, his arm around her, black hair close to bronze-gold ringlets. Then I followed. Half-worthy over the bridge, when through the roar of the imprisoned stream, I heard my name called softly. Goodwin, Dr. Goodwin. Amazed, I turned. From behind the pedestal of a carved group slunk, Marekinov. My premonition had been right. Someway he had escaped, slipped through to here. He held his hands high, came forward cautiously. I am finished, he whispered, done. I don't care what they'll do to me. He nodded toward the handmaiden and Larry, now at the end of the bridge and passing on, oblivious of all, save each other. He drew closer. His eyes were sunken, burning, mad. His face etched with deep lines, as though a graver's tool had cut down through it. I took a step backward. A grin, like the grimace of a fiend, blasted the Russian's visage. He threw himself upon me, his hands clenching at my throat. Larry, I yelled, and as I spun around under the shock of his onslaught, saw the two turn, stand paralyzed, then race toward me. But you're carrying nothing out of here, shrieked Marekinov. No! My foot, darting out behind me, touched a vacancy. The roaring of the racing stream deafened me. I felt its mists about me, threw myself forward. I was falling, falling, with the Russian's hand strangling me. I struck water, sank. The hands that gripped my throat relaxed for a moment their clutch. I strove to writhe loose. Felt that I was being hurled with dreadful speed on. Full realization came, on the breast of that racing torrent, dropping from some far ocean cleft, and rushing, where? A little time, a few breathless incidents, I struggled with the devil who clutched me, inflexibly, indominably. Then a shrieking, as of all the pent winds of the universe in my ears. Blackness. Consciousness returned slowly, agonizedly. Larry, I groaned. Lachla! A brilliant light was glowing through my closed lids. It hurt. I opened my eyes, closed them with swords and needles of dazzling pain shooting through them. Again I opened them cautiously. It was the sun. I staggered to my feet. Behind me was a shattered wall of basalt monoliths, hewn and squared. Before me was the Pacific, smooth and blue and smiling. And not far away, cast up on the strand even as I had been, was Marekinov. He lay there, broken and dead, indeed. Yet all the waters through which we had passed, not even the waters of death themselves, could wash from his face the grin of triumph. With the last of my strength I dragged the body from the strand and pushed it out into the waves. A little billow ran up, coiled about it, and carried it away, ducking and bending. Another seized it and another, playing with it. It floated from my sight, that which had been Marekinov, with all his schemes to turn our fair world into an undreamed of hell. My strength began to come back to me. I found a thicket and slept. Slept it must have been for many hours, for when I again awakened the dawn was rosing the east. I will not tell my sufferings. Suffice it to say that I found a spring and some fruit, and just before dusk had recovered enough to rive up to the top of the wall and discover where I was. The place was one of the farther islets of the non-Mataal. To the north I caught the shadows of the ruins of Nantauach, where was the moon-door, black against the sky. Where was the moon-door, which, some way, somehow, I must reach and quickly. At dawn of the next day I got together driftwood and bound it together in the shape of a rough raft with fallen creepers. Then, with a makeshift paddle, I set forth for Nantauach. Slowly, painfully, I crept up to it. It was late afternoon before I grounded my shaky craft on the little beach between the ruined seagates and creeping up the giant steps made my way to the inner enclosure. And at its opening I stopped, and the tears ran streaming down my cheeks while I wept aloud with sorrow and with disappointments and with weariness. For the great wall in which had been set the pale slab, whose threshold we had crossed to the land of the shining one, lay shattered and broken. The monoliths were heaped about, the wall had fallen, and about them shone a film of water, half covering them. There was no moon-door. Dazed and weeping, I drew closer, climbed upon their outlying fragments. I looked out only upon the sea. There had been a great subsidence, an earth-shock, perhaps, tilting downward all that side. The echo, little doubt of that cataclysm which had blasted the dweller's lair. The little squared islet called Tau, in which were hidden the seven globes, had entirely disappeared. Upon the waters there was no trace of it. The moon-door was gone. The passage to the moon-pool was closed to me, its chamber covered by the sea. There was no road to Larry nor to Lachla. And there, for me, the world ended.