DEATH IN JUPITER
They walked a to the gates. It was grass-covered, soft and and cool. Birds with the among the of the trees, and came up to the strangers. One bird, as big as an English bullfinch, of many and with a fan-shaped tail, on Mavis’ shoulder, and to her.
“How wonderful!” said she.
“Did not your, do that?” asked Waz-Y-Kjesta.
“No, they were too nervous.”
“Nervous?”
“Yes—frightened—terrified,” she explained.
“I the meaning of the word you utter,” said he, “but you will not the of on Keemar. We live in with our birds, our animals, and our fish. They are all our friends.”
At the end of the they themselves on a road. Hills rose up at the side, in some places, while in others the was more gradual, and in view. Houses were at along the roads, all of wonderful, marbles, but they were all by grounds, and added to the scene.
“Oh,” said Mavis suddenly. “There’s a shop.”
Waz-Y-Kjesta looked puzzled, and her gaze. “Oh yes, you our Omdurlis. How else should we food to eat and to wear?”
224“How then do you manage about your coinage? Do you have money?” asked Alan curiously.
“I know not the word.”
“How do you things—what do you give in exchange?”
“Oh, we have laika—royla, and minta,” said he; and he from his that satchel-wise across his shoulders, some coins. The was square, as large as a five piece, and green in colour.
“This will purchase the most,” he said. “Five make a laika.” The was the same, but no than a florin. “Then there are ten to a laika, and twenty mintas.” The last two were of a and as big as a and a sixpence.
“I those five are equal to a fiver, a sovereign, a two piece and a sixpence,” said Mavis thoughtfully.
“How do you your money?” asked Sir John.
“Oh, from the Rorka,” the Waz. “I am a Waz—I one thousand or two hundred a murvin. The Jkak will a thousand laikas, while little Morkaba, who is of the workers, but ten and her food.”
“I the make a of money,” said Desmond.
“Oh no. All members of the Omdurlis one hundred laikas. All that they make above that they are to send to the Rorka. He places all the in the fund which is in for all Keemarnians. As each male Keemarnian the age when he has the Kymo three thousand and thirty times, he to Hoormoori, makes his to the Rorka, and from him his manhood. According to the station in life in which he has been born, and from which he has sprung, so he to take his part in life.”
“It is a in theory,” said Sir John. “But how it work in practice?”
“It is our custom,” was all the reply the Waz made.
“But don’t you sometimes you spirits? Don’t they against this formality? 225Don’t they want to make more money than is allowed by custom? Don’t you sometimes have trouble from these spirits?”
Waz-Y-Kjesta smiled. “In our books of science we have read that in other places than ours—there were like those you name. That man man—brother brother—women sorrowed, and children were homeless. We, in Keemar, know not the meaning of such things. We are happy; we are with our life; why should we complain?”
There were no and lines of shops in this city; but the Omdurlis were to be here and there at the of the paths, while the houses back. Everywhere were to be happy-faced men and women, and laughing children. Bhors by colis, and by the power that was used for and purposes, the streets, and the whole was and beautiful.
Although the sky was a blue, and all the were of white and marbles, the whole had none of the or of the of the East, in the world; but the whole was and to the nerves of the earth folks. They a and themselves in a road in a cul-de-sac by high gates and marble pillars.
“This is one of the houses,” said Waz-Y-Kjesta. “Come, and see it.” The garden Mavis she saw the house. It was like a picture out of the she had of as a child—the she had of as a woman! For are not all true at heart? Is not the of life itself a gift to a pure woman’s mind? Mavis had her life among the fairies. As a child she had played with them in and glades; and when she her own in her baby, she through him her with the fairies.
Trees the path which was on a slope. Burns ran on either side—rushing, laughing, burns. Tiny flowers 226peeped out among the grass; lichen-covered up from the centre of still pools. Gnarled trees the way, and their steps up the hillside. The top spread out plateau-wise, and a marble house was in the very centre. It was not very large; a ran all it on floors, and the and plants added to its beauty. The door was open wide, and the in the entrance looked and cool. Apart from the and servants’ quarters, there were on the ground only two rooms and the entrance hall. Each of the six on the upper had leading from them. They were like baths, at one end, to six feet, and the water was and cold in the pipes. The whole house was in a of blue, and was for use. Mavis was entranced. “May we here?” she asked.
“I will the Jkak with your decision,” answered the Waz. “Now,” to Sir John, “through the garden yonder, and a path is a garden house. Would you to see it? It might you, and you would be all near to one another.”
“It most attractive,” said Alan.
They walked through the garden and the hill on the other of it, and saw, among the trees, the house they had so on Jupiter. It was an perfect establishment, and the three men at once that it was an spot to live in.
“The Jkak is to see your air bird,” Waz-Y-Kjesta. “When may he go?”
“Why I’d all about the Argenta,” said Alan. “Can’t we go now?”
Mavis looked from one to the other. “Do you want Dez?” she asked pathetically. “I to have so little of him lately. Dez come—come home, and Baby, you and I will have a long, happy day together.”
So it was that Sir John, Alan and Masters should go to the Jkak’s with the Waz, and 227about the to the Argenta. “Waiting men and have already been to your houses,” the majordomo, Marlinok by name.
“Is the Jkak at liberty?” asked the Waz.
“He is, my Waz.”
“Tell him, if it is his desire, the will him their air bird now.”
A minutes passed and Marlinok returned. “The are and waiting, my Waz. The Jkak has already started.”
Outside they two ready, and Sir John and his Masters in one, while Alan and Waz-Y-Kjesta the other. Alan was now able to the through which he passed. The path by which they ran by the of an lake, with tall on the of the water. The nature of the with the paths and Alan of the bank of Loch Lomond Tarbet and Ardlui; yet the almost of the flora—the of the birds’ plumage, the palm-like trees that were here and there, were anything he had beheld. This place to to make it perfect—mountain—moorland—water—and woodlands. Nothing was missing from this of glory.
At last the Argenta in sight, and somehow its to have in this land of glory. The of its looked in the sunlight; the torpedo-shaped and in with the and of the Keemarnian air birds. The Jkak waited for the to alight, and the Waz his instructions. “Welcome the Jkak, my friend,” said he. “It is our custom. Ask him to you by your craft. Let him peace and to your house by across the of your boat.”
“My Jkak,” said Alan, going to the of the bhor, “will you us all by our Argenta, and us and peace?”
228“You have learnt your lesson and well, my son,” said the Jkak in reply. “I will come with pleasure.” He walked and was in the vessel. “But how do you move it?” he asked. “How it into the of the heavens?”
“This is the spirit,” said Alan, “but alas, it will not work in your atmosphere. There no power in it. Perhaps later on, we might with your current?”
The Jkak and his were with the of the Argenta—the electricity, the furniture, the hangings. As they their way toward the sleeping cabins, Masters spoke.
“Poor old Murdoch—he’s in there,” said he. “I am I all about him.”
“Poor chap,” said Alan, “so did I,” and he the way. “May I suggest, my Jkak, that you do not go in there,” said he. “A very dear of ours his life for us all. He is in there—dead.”
“Dead?” asked the Jkak.
Sir John his sadly. “Dead,” he repeated, “and one of the that man had.”
“But if he is in there,” said the Jkak with a puzzled frown, “why he not come out?” He looked at the others in turn. “Why he not life with you? Ah! He thinks the Argenta would not be safe without him? That is foolish. I will enter—I will him he has nothing to fear.”
“But he is dead,” Alan.
“Dead?”
“Yes, he died we Keemar.”
“I know not the meaning of the word. The ‘gift of tongues’ fails me here. Explain—dead.”
Alan looked at him in amazement. Death was such a common word in the world; one met with it at every turn; it was that it should unknown to the Jovians with their “gift of tongues.”
“His life has gone,” said Alan simply.
“But life is eternal, my son.”
229“Surely you do not live for on Keemar?” asked Alan incredulously.
“Ah, no. We do not live for on Keemar it is true—but our life is eternal.”
It was to explain—they had no knowledge of death—yet they, on their own showing, to to Keemar at some time or other. Surely death alone remove them?
“I of you, do not go in there,” Alan, and he the door of the death chamber.
“My son,” said the Jkak. “I must know all in my country. If what you call ‘death’ has entered—then I you, me with it.”
“But it is horrible—”
“Let me meet it to face—”
“It is loathsome,” Alan. “I pray you, do not go inside.”
The Jkak no reply, but his right hand high above his head—palm outwards, and as he did so, Waz-Y-Kjesta and his low on one knee.
“The of the Jkak,” said the Waz. “His must be honoured, his obeyed.”
Alan moved away from the door, his in acquiescence, and Marlinok the of the door, and to allow the Jkak to enter. There was a for a moment, then from the came a cry, a full of horror, and with an the Jkak appeared at the door.
“I have Death,” said he. “I have the of sin. Death, until now, has entered Keemar. Death its own punishment. Death and adversity. Death! Oh Great, White Glory, Tower of Help, Mitzor of our Fathers—I have Death in its hideousness. Mitzor the Mighty, to people—grant help to faithful.” Persoph the Jkak was trembling. His was white, his hand was as he pointed to the door.
“What will you do with—with—that?” he asked, almost inaudibly.
230Alan answered him. “Bury him, chap.”
“Bury?”
“Yes. Do you not for your dead?”
“We have no dead, my son. I pray Mitzor, that the entrance of this—soul—may not on our land. But how do you bury?”
Alan explained, and as he the Jkak’s was more horror-stricken than before. “Nay, my son, you cannot. That would be here.” He to the Waz. “Does not the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata take place eight Kymos?”
“Yes, my Jkak,” answered Y-Kjesta. “Ak-Marn sent cards for all to it. It will be the biggest I have known. His is mighty, his is great. Five thousand and ten cards have been issued, and yet five thousand and more still for admittance.”
“Good,” answered Persoph. “This,” pointing about him, “all this must go. Summon me Misrath, the High Priest. Bid him his ‘waters of purity’ and his of sweet odours. Bid him his of voices, and all prepare. A will be offered to Mitzor; the Great White Glory must be appeased.”
Alan and Sir John were very over the whole scene. These Jovians did not to Death—yet they spoke of sacrifice!
“I am sorry, my son,” said the Jkak. “I can save nothing for you. All must be and offered to Mitzor. Come now, I will a ring around the spot, and we will the from without.”
Sir John and Alan were to have the Argenta burnt—but being on the Jovians for their entire future, they were unable to demur. With a prayer for the friend who had his life for them, they left the ship and some way off. After an time of waiting, a blast of music on their ears, and they saw a of them. The stopped, and Misrath the High Priest alighted, by and in of cut.
231A formed—two with the way, and the perfume from to side. Then one of the most and it was possible to imagine. Almost of Mosaic grandeur, it the watchers. They were unable to what was being said—all was in the language of the Keemarnians—but the meaning was plain. The High Priest offered the Argenta and its to Mitzor, the Great White Glory. He offered it, with its workmanship, its metals—and its of sin. He asked that through the of the sacrifice, any might be averted, that the entrance of Death might bring. He the Argenta to Mitzor—he the ground it contaminated. He the “waters of purity” across its bow, and named it “Meeka,” the Bringer of Knowledge.
Then the Argenta was from to with a milky that like little all over the vessel. A was and to the ship. Little ran along meeting each other until they into one great whole; there was a and a noise like thunder, and the Argenta, the hobby of a life time, the fruit of patient labour, was no more!
Sir John with a set face, but as the fire died out, and he saw that the whole had been up, had itself entirely,—he up, and upon the ground.
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