The Moon Pool Part 29

And only I could have noticed Larry's shrinking, his microscopic hesitation before he took it, and his involuntary movement, as though to shake off something unclean, when the clasp had ended.

Marakinoff, without another look at me, turned and went quickly within. The guards took their places. I looked at Larry inquiringly.

"Don't ask a thing now, Doc!" he said tensely. "Wait till we get home. But we've got to get d.a.m.ned busy and quick--I'll tell you that now--"

[1] I have no s.p.a.ce here even to outline the eschatology of this people, nor to catalogue their pantheon. Siya and Siyana typified worldly love. Their ritual was, however, singularly free from those degrading elements usually found in love-cults. Priests and priestesses of all cults dwelt in the immense seven-terraced structure, of which the jet amphitheatre was the water side. The symbol, icon, representation, of Siya and Siyana--the globe and the up-striving figures--typified earthly love, feet bound to earth, but eyes among the stars. h.e.l.l or heaven I never heard formulated, nor their equivalents; unless that existence in the s.h.i.+ning One's domain could serve for either. Over all this was Thanaroa, remote; unheeding, but still maker and ruler of all--an absentee First Cause personified!

Thanaroa seemed to be the one article of belief in the creed of the soldiers--Rador, with his reverence for the Ancient Ones, was an exception. Whatever there was, indeed, of high, truly religious impulse among the Murians, this far, High G.o.d had. I found this exceedingly interesting, because it had long been my theory--to put the matter in the shape of a geometrical formula--that the real attractiveness of G.o.ds to man increases uniformly according to the square of their distance--W. T. G.

[2] I find that I have neglected to explain the working of these interesting mechanisms that were telephonic, dictaphonic, telegraphic in one. I must a.s.sume that my readers are familiar with the receiving apparatus of wireless telegraphy, which must be "tuned" by the operator until its own vibratory quality is in exact harmony with the vibrations--the extremely rapid impacts--of those short electric wavelengths we call Hertzian, and which carry the wireless messages. I must a.s.sume also that they are familiar with the elementary fact of physics that the vibrations of light and sound are interchangeable.

The hearing-talking globes utilize both these principles, and with consummate simplicity. The light with which they shone was produced by an atomic "motor" within their base, similar to that which activated the merely illuminating globes. The composition of the phonic spheres gave their surfaces an acute sensitivity and resonance. In conjunction with its energizing power, the metal set up what is called a "field of force," which linked it with every particle of its kind no matter how distant. When vibrations of speech impinged upon the resonant surface its rhythmic light-vibrations were broken, just as a telephone transmitter breaks an electric current. Simultaneously these light-vibrations were changed into sound--on the surfaces of all spheres tuned to that particular instrument. The "crawling" colours which showed themselves at these times were literally the voice of the speaker in its spectrum equivalent. While usually the sounds produced required considerable familiarity with the apparatus to be understood quickly, they could, on occasion, be made startlingly loud and clear--as I was soon to realize--W. T. G.

CHAPTER XX

The Tempting of Larry

We paused before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur of many voices. They parted; out came two--ushers, I suppose, they were--in cuira.s.ses and kilts that reminded me somewhat of chain-mail--the first armour of any kind here that I had seen. They held open the folds.

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. On the gay-cus.h.i.+oned couches that flanked the tables, lounging luxuriously, were scores of the fair-haired ruling cla.s.s and there rose a little buzz of admiration, oddly mixed with a half-startled amaze, as their gaze fell upon O'Keefe in all his silvery magnificence. Everywhere the light-giving globes sent their roseate radiance.

The cuira.s.sed 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, 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 first a paradise, and whose l.u.s.ts later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out hands to Larry, and on her face was pa.s.sion--unashamed, unhiding.

She was Circe--but Circe conquered. Webs of filmiest white clung to the rose-leaf body. Twisted through the corn-silk 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, smiling, 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 tightening of nerves ceased to wonder as there entered--Lugur! He was all in scarlet, and as he strode forward 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 than that for it.

Marakinoff leaned forward from the centre of the table, near whose end I sat, touched and whispered to him swiftly. With appalling effort the red dwarf controlled himself; he saluted the priestess ironically, I thought; 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 s.h.i.+ning One's priestess and Voice were the heads. The tension relaxed, but did not pa.s.s--as though a storm-cloud should turn away, but still lurk, threatening.

My gaze ran back. This end of the room was draped with the exquisitely coloured, 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 pa.s.sed other dusky-haired maids, fair bosoms bare, their scanty kirtles looped high, pouring out the wines for the feasters.

My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Marakinoff 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 Russian, 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 gla.s.s a clear liquid that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the gla.s.s 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 sternness fled; his eyes sparkled. He leaned caressingly toward Yolara; whispered. Her blue eyes flashed triumphantly; her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own gla.s.s--but within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's! And again he drained his own; and, lifting it, full once more, caught the baleful eyes of Lugur, and held it toward him mockingly. Yolara swayed close--alluring, tempting. He arose, face all reckless gaiety; rollicking deviltry.

"A toast!" he cried in English, "to the s.h.i.+ning One--and may the h.e.l.l where it belongs soon claim it!"

He had used their own word for their G.o.d--all else had been in his own tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the contempt in his action they did recognize--and a dead, a fearful silence fell upon them all. Lugur's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their green. The priestess reached up, caught at O'Keefe. He seized the soft hand; caressed it; his gaze grew far away, sombre.

"The s.h.i.+ning One." He spoke low. "An' now again I see the faces of those who dance with it. It is the Fires of Mora--come, G.o.d alone knows how--from Erin--to this place. The Fires of Mora!" He contemplated the hushed folk before him; and then from his lips came that weirdest, most haunting of the lyric legends of Erin--the Curse of Mora:

"The fretted fires of Mora blew o'er him in the night; He thrills no more to loving, nor weeps for past delight.

For when those flames have bitten, both grief and joy take flight--"

Again Yolara tried to draw him down beside her; and once more he gripped her hand. His eyes grew fixed--he crooned:

"And through the sleeping silence his feet must track the tune, When the world is barred and speckled with silver of the moon--"

He stood, swaying, for a moment, and then, laughing, let the priestess have her way; drained again the gla.s.s.

And now my heart was cold, indeed--for what hope was there left with Larry mad, wild drunk!

The silence was unbroken--elfin women and dwarfs glancing furtively at each other. But now Yolara arose, face set, eyes flas.h.i.+ng grey.

"Hear you, the Council, and you, Lugur--and all who are here!" she cried. "Now I, the priestess of the s.h.i.+ning One, take, as is my right, my mate. And this is he!" She pointed down upon Larry. He glanced up at her.

"Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara," he muttered thickly.

"But say anything--you like--I love your voice!"

I turned sick with dread. Yolara's hand stole softly upon the Irishman's curls caressingly.

"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 s.h.i.+ning One!" Literally, he spat the phrase.

"No, not of our kind--Lugur--higher!" Yolara answered serenely. "Lo, a son of Siya and of Siyana!"

"A lie!" roared the red dwarf. "A lie!"

"The s.h.i.+ning One revealed it to me!" said Yolara sweetly. "And if ye believe not, Lugur--go ask of the s.h.i.+ning 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 h.e.l.l-shadowed--Marakinoff 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 Russian had so to sway Lugur.

"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.

"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!" 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 in the sapphire shrine-room; the other a harp, small, shaped somewhat like the ancient clarsach of the Druids.

Two by two they stepped upon the raised platform, placed gently upon it each their globe; and two by two crouched behind them. They formed now a star of six points about the petalled dais, and, simultaneously, they drew from their faces the covering cowls.

I half-rose--youths and maidens these of the fair-haired; and youths and maids more beautiful than any of those I had yet seen--for upon their faces was little of that disturbing mockery to which I have been forced so often, because of the deep impression it made upon me, to refer. The ashen-gold of the maiden priestesses' hair was wound about their brows in s.h.i.+ning coronals. The pale locks of the youths were cl.u.s.tered within circlets of translucent, glimmering gems like moonstones. And then, crystal globe alternately before and harp alternately held by youth and maid, they began to sing.