The Madness of Olaf
Yolara her white arms high. From the came a sigh; a ran through them. And upon the moment, Yolara's arms fell, there issued, from the air around us, a of that might have been the of some god great through the of stars. It was like the notes of all the organs in the world in one; summoning, majestic, cosmic!
It it the of the through the infinite, the birth-song of in the of space; of creation's chord! It the like a from the of the universe—pulsed—and died away.
On its death came a as of all the of since the Pharaoh his swarms—triumphal, compelling! Alexander's hosts, brazen-throated wolf-horns of Caesar's legions, of of Genghis Khan and his horde, of the of Tamerlane, of Napoleon's armies—war-shout of all earth's conquerors! And it died!
Fast upon it, a throbbing, of sounds, of of horns, the sweet of of flutes, Pandean pipings—inviting, with them the calling of in the places, and winds—calling, calling, languorous, lulling, into the brain like the very of sound.
And after them a in which the memory of the music to beat, to more faintly, through every nerve.
From me all fear, all apprehension, had fled. In their place was nothing but anticipation, a from the of the of or sorrow; not now did anything matter—Olaf or his haunted, hate-filled eyes; Throckmartin or his fate—nothing of pain, nothing of agony, nothing of in that wide world that had to a dream.
Once more the great note out! Once more it died and from the a as though from the itself. The many-coloured across the white and the of the Veil. As they touched, it sparkled, flamed, wavered, and with of colour.
The light increased—and in its the air darkened. Faded into that white of flower-crowned set in the of jet, and upon the high-flung and them. But on the skirts of the the in which we sat with the fair-haired ones out, iridescent, like jewels.
I was of an of every pulse; a wild of every nerve. I myself being above the world—close to the of the high gods—soon their and their power would out into me! I at Larry. His were—wild—with life!
I looked at Olaf—and in his was none of this—only hate, and hate, and hate.
The out over the waters, the darkness, a path of glory. And the Veil as though all the that had were it. Again the pealed.
Into the centre of the Veil the light itself, into an brightness—and with a of tinklings, a of notes, a of chimings, through it sped—the Shining One!
Straight that path, its high-flung of shimmering, its whirling, its seven of seven above its core, it toward us. The of of diamond were jubilant, joyous. I O'Keefe my arm; Yolara her white arms out in a gesture; I from the a of rapture—and in it a poignant, under-tone of agony!
Over the waters, the light stream, to the end of the pier, the Shining One. Through its murmurings—deadly sweet, the and setting it madly.
For a moment it paused, itself, and then came the flower path to its priestess, slowly, more slowly. It for a moment the woman and the dwarf, as though them; to her with its of softened, its caressing. Bent toward it, Yolara to herself of power; she was terrifying; gloriously, evil; and as gloriously, heavenly! Aphrodite and the Virgin! Tanith of the Carthaginians and St. Bride of the Isles! A queen of and a of heaven—in one!
Only for a moment did that which we had called the Dweller and which these named the Shining One, pause. It up the to the dais, rested there, slowly turning, and and unlacing, throbbing, pulsing. Now its plainer, stronger—human in a fashion, and all inhuman; neither man woman; neither god devil; of all. Nor I that it was, that was something sentient; something that had will and energy, and in some awful, fashion—intelligence!
Another trumpeting—a of opening—a long, low of anguish—something moved in the river of light, and slowly at first, then more rapidly, through it. There were a score of them—girls and youths, and men. The Shining One itself, them. They closer, and in the of each and in their was the of that of emotions, of and sorrow, and terror, that I had in full on Throckmartin's.
The Thing again its murmurings—now caressing, coaxing—like the song of a from some star! And the bell-sounds out—compellingly, calling—calling—calling—
I saw Olaf out of his place; saw, half-consciously, at Lugur's signal, three of the in and take places, unnoticed, him.
Now the of the upon the dais—and paused. It was the girl who had been Yolara when the named Songar was into the nothingness! With all the of light a of the Shining One out and her.
At its touch there was an and, it seemed, a of herself into its radiance. As it its around her, her—the forth—tumultuously; through and through her the pulsed. Began then that dreadful, but glorious, they called the of the Shining One. And as the girl its another and another into its embrace, until, at last, the was an vision; a star's Witches' Sabbath; an of white and through flame; with and that was hellish—and ever, and expanding, the of the Shining One waxed—growing greater—as it consumed, as it into and through itself the life-force of these ones!
So they spun, interlaced—and there to from them life, vitality, as though the very of nature was us. Dimly I that what I was was inconceivable! The chanted. The forth!
It was a Saturnalia of demigods!
Then, whirling, bell-notes storming, the Shining One slowly from the the ramp, still embracing, still with those who had themselves into its spirals. They with it as though half-carried in dance; white sealed—forever—into that of those who God and devil—I my eyes!
I a from O'Keefe; opened my and his; saw the from them as he forward. Olaf had out, and as he did so the him him, and by design or through his own swift, movement, him into the Dweller's path. The Dweller paused in its gyrations—seemed to watch him. The Norseman's was crimson, his blazing. He himself and, with one shout, one of the about the middle and sent him through the air, at the Thing! A of and arms, the flew—then in stopped as though some hand had him, and—was upon the not a from the Shining One!
Like a he moved—feebly—once, twice. From the Dweller a tentacle—touched him—recoiled. Its into an angry chiming. From all about—jewelled and peak—came a of horror.
Lugur forward. On the Larry was over the low the pillars, to the Norseman's side. And as they ran there was another wild from Olaf, and he himself out, at the of the Dweller!
But he touch the Shining One, now motionless—and was the thing more than then, with the purely of plain in its poise—Larry had him aside.
I to follow—and was by Rador. He was trembling—but not with fear. In his was hope, eagerness.
"Wait!" he said. "Wait!"
The Shining One out a slow spiral, and as it did so I saw the thing man has witnessed. Instantly O'Keefe himself it and Olaf, pistol out. The touched him, and the of his out into blinding, light. From the in his hand came three quick of into the Thing. The Dweller back; the bell-sounds swelled.
Lugur paused, his hand up, and in it was one of the Keth cones. But he it upon the Norseman, Larry had his robe, its over Olaf, and, him with one hand away from the Shining One, with the other his pistol into the dwarf's stomach. His moved, but I not what he said. But Lugur understood, for his hand dropped.
Now Yolara was there—all this had taken more than five seconds. She herself the three men and the Dweller. She spoke to it—and the wild died down; the again. The Thing to her—began to whirl—faster, faster—passed the pier, out upon the waters, with it, in its light, the sacrifices—swept on more swiftly, and turning, turning, with its crew, through the Veil!
Abruptly the path out. The light in upon us. From all the a clamour, a shouting. Marakinoff, his staring, was out, listening. Unrestrained now by Rador, I the and forward. But not I had the green murmur:
"There is something than the Shining One! Two things—yea—a heart—and hate!"
Olaf, panting, glazed, trembling, my hand.
"The that took my Helma!" I him whisper. "The Shining Devil!"
"Both these men," Lugur was raging, "they shall with the Shining one. And this one, too." He pointed at me malignantly.
"This man is mine," said the priestess, and her voice was menacing. She rested her hand on Larry's shoulder. "He shall not dance. No—nor his friend. I have told you I not for this one!" She pointed to Olaf.
"Neither this man, this," said Larry, "shall be harmed. This is my word, Yolara!"
"Even so," she answered quietly, "my lord!"
I saw Marakinoff at O'Keefe with a new and interest. Lugur's hellish; he his arms as though to her. Larry's pistol him enough.
"No now, kid!" said O'Keefe in English. The red quivered, turned—caught a from a by, and it over himself. The ladala, shouting, gesticulating, with the soldiers, were from the of jet.
"Come!" Yolara—her rested upon Larry. "Your is great, indeed—my lord!" she murmured; and her voice was very sweet. "Come!"
"This man comes with us, Yolara," said O'Keefe pointing to Olaf.
"Bring him," she said. "Bring him—only tell him to look no more upon me as before!" she added fiercely.
Beside her the three of us passed along the stalls, where sat the fair-haired, now silent, at gaze, as though in the of some great doubt. Silently Olaf me. Rador had disappeared. Down the stairway, through the of mist, over the sea-stream we and the through which we had entered. The white-robed ones had gone.
Yolara pressed; the portal opened. We upon the car; she took the lever; we through the to the house of the priestess.
And one thing now I at and the truth had come to me—no more need to search for Throckmartin. Behind that Veil, in the of the Dweller, dead-alive like those we had just swim in its train was he, and Edith, Stanton and Thora and Olaf Huldricksson's wife!
The car came to rest; the portal opened; Yolara out lightly, and up the corridor. She paused an screen. At a touch it vanished, an entrance to a small chamber, as though cut from the of some sapphire; bare, save that in its centre, upon a low pedestal, a great from milky rock-crystal; upon its surface were as of and continents, but, if so, either of some other world or of this world in past, for in no way did they the of our earth.
Poised upon the globe, from it out into space, locked in each other's arms, to lips, were two figures, a woman and a man, so exquisite, so lifelike, that for the moment I failed to that they, too, were of the crystal. And this shrine—for nothing else it be, I knew—three themselves: one of purest white flame, one of water, and the third of—moonlight! There was no them, the of a tall man each stood—but how water, and light were so evenly, so in their spire-shapes, I not tell.
Yolara lowly—once, twice, thrice. She to O'Keefe, by look or she others were there than he. The wide, searching, unfathomable, she close; put white hands on his shoulders, looked into his very soul.
"My lord," she murmured. "Now well for I, Yolara, give 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 you came! These, my lord, ye shall have. I it"—she toward the altar—uplifted her arms—"by Siya and by Siyana, and by the flame, by the water, and by the light!"[1]
Her dark.
"Let none to take you from me! Nor ye go from me unbidden!" she fiercely.
Then swiftly, still us, she her arms about O'Keefe, pressed her white to his breast, raised, closed, his. O'Keefe's arms around her, his seeking, hers—passionately! From Olaf came a that was almost a groan. But not in my I for the Irishman!
The opened now all blue, him back, him. O'Keefe, dead-white, a hand to his face.
"And thus have I sealed my oath, O my lord!" she whispered. For the time she to our presence, at us a moment, then through us, and to O'Keefe.
"Go, now!" she said. "Soon Rador shall come for you. Then—well, after that let what will!"
She once more at him—so sweetly; toward the upon the great globe; upon her them. Quietly we away; still silent, our way to the little pavilion. But as we passed we a from the green roadway; of men, now and then a woman's scream. Through a in the garden I a on one of the bridges: green with the ladala—and all about a as of a disturbed!
Larry himself upon one of the divans, his with his hands, them to catch in Olaf's reproach, looked at me.
"I couldn't help it," he said, 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 at me—the old in his eye.
"Spoken like a scientist, Doc!" he exclaimed. "I if a you out of and itself about you, you would most 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 of beauty—what is she but of that they worship. I, Olaf Huldricksson, know what she meant when she out to you power over all the world, Ja!—as if the world had not in it now!"
"What?" The came from O'Keefe and myself at once.
Olaf a of caution, into silence. There were on the path, and into came Rador—but a Rador changed. Gone was every of his mockery; solemn, he O'Keefe and Olaf with that which, this, I had only to Yolara and to Lugur. There came a of the tumult—died away. He shoulders.
"The are awake!" he said. "So much for what two men can do!" He paused thoughtfully. "Bones and not each other for place against the wall!" he added oddly. "But if and have to them that they still—live—"
He stopped abruptly, the that and sent speech.[2]
"The Afyo Maie has sent me to watch over you till she you," he clearly. "There is to be a—feast. You, Larree, you Goodwin, are to come. I here with—Olaf."
"No to him!" in O'Keefe sharply. Rador touched his heart, his eyes.
"By the Ancient Ones, and by my love for you, and by what you did the Shining One—I it!" he whispered.
Rador palms; a soldier came the path, in his a long box of wood. The green took it, him, open the lid.
"Here is your for the feast, Larree," he said, pointing to the contents.
O'Keefe stared, and out a white, shimmering, metallic, long-sleeved tunic, a broad, girdle, leg of the same material, and sandals that to be cut out from silver. He a quick of angry dissent.
"Nay, Larree!" the dwarf. "Wear them—I it—I pray it—ask me not why," he on swiftly, looking again at the globe.
O'Keefe, as I, was by his earnestness. The a gesture. O'Keefe took the garments; passed into the room of the fountain.
"The Shining One not again?" I asked.
"No," he said. "No"—he hesitate—"it is the that the sacrament! Lugur—and Double Tongue, who came with you, will be there," he added slowly.
"Lugur—" I in astonishment. "After what happened—he will be there?"
"Perhaps of what happened, Goodwin, my friend," he answered—his again full of malice; "and there will be others—friends of Yolara—friends of Lugur—and another"—his voice was almost inaudible—"one they have not called—" He halted, half-fearfully, at the globe; put to and spread himself out upon one of the couches.
"Strike up the band"—came O'Keefe's voice—"here comes the hero!"
He into the room. I am to say that the in Rador's was in my own, and even, if involuntarily, in Olaf's.
"A son of Siyana!" Rador.
He knelt, took from his girdle-pouch a silk-wrapped something, it—and, still kneeling, out a of white metal, with the stones; he it into O'Keefe's girdle; then gave him again the salute.
"Come," he ordered and took us to the of the pathway.
"Now," he said grimly, "let the Silent Ones their power—if they still have it!"
And with this benediction, he back.
"For God's sake, Larry," I as we approached the house of the priestess, "you'll be careful!"
He nodded—but I saw with a little of in my a puzzled, his eyes.
As we the steps Marakinoff appeared. He gave a to our guards—and I what the Russian had attained, for promptly, without question, they aside. At me he amiably.
"Have you your friends yet?" he on—and now I something in him. "No! It is too bad! Well, don't give up hope." He to O'Keefe.
"Lieutenant, I would like to speak to you—alone!"
"I've no from Goodwin," answered O'Keefe.
"So?" Marakinoff, suavely. He bent, to Larry.
The Irishman started, him with a incredulity, then to me.
"Just a minute, Doc!" he said, and I the of a wink. They aside, out of ear-shot. The Russian talked rapidly. Larry was all attention. Marakinoff's intense; O'Keefe interrupted—appeared to question. Marakinoff at me and as his from O'Keefe, I saw a of and up in the latter's eyes. At last the Irishman appeared to gravely; as though he had at some decision, and Marakinoff his hand to him.
And only I have noticed Larry's shrinking, his he took it, and his movement, as though to shake off something unclean, when the had ended.
Marakinoff, without another look at me, and within. The took their places. I looked at Larry inquiringly.
"Don't ask a thing now, Doc!" he said tensely. "Wait till we home. But we've got to and quick—I'll tell you that now—"
[1] I have no space here to the of this people, to their pantheon. Siya and Siyana love. Their was, however, free from those in love-cults. Priests and of all in the seven-terraced structure, of which the was the water side. The symbol, icon, representation, of Siya and Siyana—the and the up-striving figures—typified love, to earth, but among the stars. Hell or I formulated, their equivalents; unless that in the Shining One's for either. Over all this was Thanaroa, remote; unheeding, but still maker and ruler of all—an First Cause personified! Thanaroa to be the one article of in the of the soldiers—Rador, with his for the Ancient Ones, was an exception. Whatever there was, indeed, of high, religious among the Murians, this far, High God had. I this interesting, it had long been my theory—to put the in the shape of a formula—that the of gods to man according to the square of their distance—W. T. G.
[2] I that I have neglected to the of these that were telephonic, dictaphonic, in one. I must assume that my readers are familiar with the of telegraphy, which must be "tuned" by the until its own quality is in exact with the vibrations—the impacts—of those electric we call Hertzian, and which the messages. I must assume also that they are familiar with the of that the of light and are interchangeable. The hearing-talking these principles, and with simplicity. The light with which they was produced by an "motor" their base, to that which the globes. The of the gave their an and resonance. In with its power, the metal set up what is called a "field of force," which it with every particle of its no how distant. When of speech upon the surface its light-vibrations were broken, just as a telephone an electric current. Simultaneously these light-vibrations were into sound—on the of all to that particular instrument. The "crawling" which themselves at these times were the voice of the in its equivalent. While the produced with the to be quickly, they could, on occasion, be loud and clear—as I was soon to realize—W. T. G.
