The Coming of Yolara
"Never was there such a girl!" Thus Larry, dreamily, in hand on one of the wide of the where Lakla had left us, service to the Silent Ones.
"An', by the and the of the O'Keefes, an' by my mother's may God do with me as I do by her!" he fervently.
He into open-eyed dreaming.
I walked about the room, it—the opportunity I had to any of the rooms in the of the Three. It was octagonal, with the thick that almost as though of soft wool, shimmering, blue. I its diagonal; it was fifty yards; the was arched, and either of rose metal or covering; it the light from the high, windows, and it, diffused, through the room.
Around the ran a low not two from the floor, with pillars, close set; at opposite over which thick, dull-gold the same of or as the rugs. Set each of the eight sides, above the balcony, were of lazuli, with but designs in and blue.
There was the great on which Larry; two smaller ones, a dozen low seats and chairs of and of soft gold.
Most were tripods, strong, of metal four high, small circles of the with of one symbol the of the Chinese.
There was no dust—nowhere in these had I this of ours in the world overhead. My a from a corner. Pursuing it I upon one of the low seats a flat, clear oval, like a lens. I took it and up on the balcony. Standing on I I from the of a window a view of the approach. Scanning it I see no of the there, of the green flashes. I the to my eyes—and with a the mouth me, not a hundred away; the was a very excellent lens—but where were the guards?
I closely. Nothing! But now against the I saw a score or more of tiny, dancing sparks. An illusion, I thought, and the in another direction. There were no there. I it again—and there they were. And what were they like? Realization came to me—they were like the little, dancing, that had played for a time about the where had Sorgar of the Lower Waters he had been into the nothingness! And that green light I had noticed—the Keth!
A on my lips, I to Larry—and the died as the at the entrance on my right undulated, as though a had through, and again and again—with the of things!
"Larry!" I cried. "Here! Quick!"
He to his feet, about wildly—and disappeared! Yes—vanished from my like the of a or as though something moving with the speed of light itself had him away!
Then from the came the of struggle, the of breaths, the noise of Larry cursing. I over the balustrade, my own pistol—was in a pair of arms, my to my sides, until my pressed close to a broad, breast—and through that obstacle—formless, shadowless, as air itself—I still see the on the divan!
Now there were two reports; the ceased. From a point not a over the great couch, as though from the air itself, blood to drop, and faster, out of nothingness.
And out of that same air, now a dozen away, the of Larry—bodyless, six above the floor, with rage—floating weirdly, to a degree, in vacancy.
His hands out—armless; they wavered, appearing, disappearing—swiftly something from him. Then there, hidden, on that at the ankles, out into with all the with which he had been from was the O'Keefe, a pistol in hand.
And that red out of and spread over the couch, to the floor.
I a movement to escape; was more firmly—and then close to the of Larry, out with that as had his, was the of Yolara, as as I had it, the through it like white from hell—and beautiful!
"Stir not! Strike not—until I command!" She the her, to the ones who had her; I the chamber. The floating, head, high with corn-silk hair, toward the Irishman. He took a step backward. The of the toward purple; with malice.
"So," she said. "So, Larree—you you go from me so easily!" She laughed softly. "In my hand I the Keth cone," she murmured. "Before you can the death I can you—and will. And consider, Larree, if the handmaiden, the comes, I can vanish—so"—the disappeared, again—"and her with the Keth—or my people her and her to the Shining One!"
Tiny of out on O'Keefe's forehead, and I he was not of himself, but of Lakla.
"What do you want with me, Yolara?" he asked hoarsely.
"Nay," came the voice. "Not Yolara to you, Larree—call me by those sweet names you me—Honey of the Wild Bee-e-s, Net of Hearts—" Again her tinkled.
"What do you want with me?" his voice was strained, the rigid.
"Ah, you are afraid, Larree." There was in the words. "What should I want but that you return with me? Why else did I through the of the and pass the path of but to ask you that? And the you not well." Again she laughed. "We came to the cavern's end and, there were her Akka. And the Akka can see us—as shadows. But it was my to you with my coming, Larree," the voice was silken. "And I that they would to be to you that message to in your joy. And so, Larree, I the Keth upon them—and gave them peace and the nothingness. And the portal was open—almost in welcome!"
Once more the malignant, of her laughter.
"What do you want with me?" There was in his eyes, and he for control.
"Want!" the voice hissed, calm. "Do not Siya and Siyana that the I them is but done—and do they not it finished? And am I not beautiful? More than your choya?"
The died from the eyes; they blue, wondrous; the of from the neck, the shoulders, the breasts. And weird, all telling was that and there in air—and beautiful, all telling, too. So might Lilith, the woman, have herself Adam!
"And perhaps," she said, "perhaps I want you I you; I love you—or for Lugur or for the Shining One."
"And if I go with you?" He said it quietly.
"Then shall I the handmaiden—and—who knows?—take my that now at the portal and let the Silent Ones in peace in their abode—from which they had no power to keep me," she added venomously.
"You will that, Yolara; to go without the handmaiden?" he asked eagerly. The little in her eyes. I my from the contact.
"Don't trust her, Larry!" I cried—and again the me.
"Is that in of you or you, old man?" he asked quietly, the priestess. "If he's in I'll take a and him—and then you and Lakla."
But I not answer; nor, Yolara's threat, would I, had I been able.
"Decide quickly!" There was cold threat in her voice.
The toward which O'Keefe had slowly, step by step, close, opened. They the handmaiden! The of Yolara to that that had it once at of the Golden Girl. In her she to the veil. Her hand like a out of the folds; itself with the little at Lakla.
But it was poised, the its force, the was upon her. Swift as the white she leaped, and one hand Yolara's throat, the other the that the death; white about the ones, I saw the bend, the hand that the Keth up with a jerk; saw Lakla's teeth into the wrist—the blood and the shriek. The fell, toward me; with all my I free the hand that my pistol, it against the pressing and fired.
The upon me relaxed; a red rain me; at my a little of blood jetted; a hand itself from nothingness, clawed—and was still.
Now Yolara was down, Lakla in her and like some wild mother are menaced. Over the two of them, astride, the O'Keefe, a from one of the high in his hand—thrusting, parrying, on every as with a against poniard-clutching hands that themselves out of to him; here and there, always covering, protecting Lakla with his own as a of old who with his for their lives.
The sword-club struck—and on the the of a dwarf, with and of and arms. Beside him was the from which Larry had his weapon. I myself upon it, it to one of the supports, in one of the as his toward me! The seat splintered, in my a bar. I jumped to Larry's side, his back, it like a staff; it once—twice—through and muscle.
At the door was a booming. Into the a dozen of the frog-men. While some the entrances, others to us, and a circle about us to with and at that and to escape. Now here and there about the great of blood appeared; of dwarfs, arms and bodies, occulted, revealed. And at last the silent, vanquished, white with that uncanny—fragmentariness—from her robes. Then O'Keefe down, Lakla from her. Shakily, Yolara rose to her feet. The handmaiden, still with wrath, her; with she her voice.
"Yolara," she said, "you have the Silent Ones, you have their abode, you came to these men who are the guests of the Silent Ones and me, who am their handmaiden—why did you do these things?"
"I came for him!" the priestess; she pointed to O'Keefe.
"Why?" asked Lakla.
"Because he is to me," Yolara, all the that were hers in her face. "Because he me! Because he is mine!"
"That is a lie!" The handmaiden's voice with rage. "It is a lie! But here and now he shall choose, Yolara. And if you he choose, you and he shall go from here unmolested—for Yolara, it is his that I most desire, and if you are that happiness—you shall go together. And now, Larry, choose!"
Swiftly she the priestess; the last of the from her.
There they stood—Yolara with but the of about her body; through it; woman—-and wonderful, too, the of Phidias—and hell-fire from the eyes.
And Lakla, like a girl of the Vikings, like one of those who and for and at the of those old of Larry's own green isle; through the rents of her draperies, and in the wide, wrath, indeed—not the of the but the of some that looking out of sees in the doing.
"Lakla," the O'Keefe's voice was subdued, hurt, "there is no choice. I love you and only you—and have from the moment I saw you. It's not easy—this. God, Goodwin, I like an cad," he at me. "There is no choice, Lakla," he ended, upon hers.
The priestess's still.
"What will you do with me?" she asked.
"Keep you," I said, "as hostage."
O'Keefe was silent; the Golden Girl her head.
"Well would I like to," her dreaming; "but the Silent Ones say—no; they me let you go, Yolara—"
"The Silent Ones," the laughed. "You, Lakla! You fear, perhaps, to let me here too close!"
Storm again in the handmaiden's eyes; she it back.
"No," she answered, "the Silent Ones so command—and for their own purposes. Yet do I think, Yolara, that you will have little time to your wickedness—tell that to Lugur—and to your Shining One!" she added slowly.
Mockery and high in the priestess's pose. "Am I to return alone—like this?" she asked.
"Nay, Yolara, nay; you shall be accompanied," said Lakla; "and by those who will guard—and watch—you well. They are here now."
The parted, and into the came Olaf and Rador.
The met the and in the of the Norseman—and for the time her bravado.
"Let not him go with me," she gasped—her the frantically.
"He goes with you," said Lakla, and about Yolara a that the exquisite, body. "And you shall pass through the Portal, not along the path of the worm!"
She to Rador, to him; he nodded; she had told him, I supposed, the of its opening.
"Come," he said, and with the ice-eyed her, Yolara, bent, passed out of those through which, but a little before, unseen, in her grasp, she had slipped.
Then Lakla came to the O'Keefe, rested her hands on his shoulders, looked into his eyes.
"Did you her, as she said?" she asked.
The Irishman miserably.
"I did not," he said. "I was to her, of course, I it would me to you, darlin'."
She looked at him doubtfully; then—
"I think you must have been very—pleasant!" was all she said—and leaning, him on the lips. An direct was Lakla, with a for anything she might non-essentials; and at this moment I she was than I had her.
He stumbled, vanishing; and up something that in the his hand to air.
"One of the cloaks," he said to me. "There must be a of them about—I Yolara her full staff of murderers. They're a shopworn, probably—but we're off with 'em in our hands than in hers. And they may come in handy—who knows?"
There was a at my feet; the of a out of vacancy; twice upon the in death throes; back. Lakla shivered; gave a command. The frog-men moved about; here and there; in after of the priestess's men.
Lakla had been right—her Akka were fighters!
She called, and to her came the frog-woman who was her attendant. To her the spoke, pointing to the who stood, and melted the they had gathered. She took them and passed out—more than ever, into of vacancies, with of and yellow as the of about her.
The frog-men down, each a in his arms, and filed, away.
And then I the of the Keth which had from Yolara's hand; it had been that for which her wild searched. But look as closely as we might, search in every and as we did, we not it. Had the hand of one of her men it and had it been away with them? With the Larry and I after the warriors, every they carried. It was not there. Perhaps the had it, it without our seeing.
Whatever was true—the was gone. And what a that one little of the death would have been for us!
