Yolara Of Muria Vs The O'keefe

: The Moon Pool

I awakened with all the familiar, homely sensation of a shade having

been pulled up in a darkened room. I thrilled with a wonderful sense

of deep rest and restored resiliency. The ebon shadow had vanished

from above and down into the room was pouring the silvery light. From

the fountain pool came a mighty splashing and shouts of laughter. I

jumped and drew the curtain. O'Keefe and Rador were swimming a wild

race; the d
arf like an otter, out-distancing and playing around the

Irishman at will.



Had that overpowering sleep--and now I confess that my struggle

against it had been largely inspired by fear that it was the abnormal

slumber which Throckmartin had described as having heralded the

approach of the Dweller before it had carried away Thora and

Stanton--had that sleep been after all nothing but natural reaction of

tired nerves and brains?



And that last vision of the golden-eyed girl bending over Larry? Had

that also been a delusion of an overstressed mind? Well, it might have

been, I could not tell. At any rate, I decided, I would speak about it

to O'Keefe once we were alone again--and then giving myself up to the

urge of buoyant well-being I shouted like a boy, stripped and joined

the two in the pool. The water was warm and I felt the unwonted

tingling of life in every vein increase; something from it seemed to

pulse through the skin, carrying a clean vigorous vitality that toned

every fibre. Tiring at last, we swam to the edge and drew ourselves

out. The green dwarf quickly clothed himself and Larry rather

carefully donned his uniform.



"The Afyo Maie has summoned us, Doc," he said. "We're to--well--I

suppose you'd call it breakfast with her. After that, Rador tells me,

we're to have a session with the Council of Nine. I suppose Yolara is

as curious as any lady of--the upper world, as you might put it--and

just naturally can't wait," he added.



He gave himself a last shake, patted the automatic hidden under his

left arm, whistled cheerfully.



"After you, my dear Alphonse," he said to Rador, with a low bow. The

dwarf laughed, bent in an absurd imitation of Larry's mocking courtesy

and started ahead of us to the house of the priestess. When he had

gone a little way on the orchid-walled path I whispered to O'Keefe:



"Larry, when you were falling off to sleep--did you think you saw

anything?"



"See anything!" he grinned. "Doc, sleep hit me like a Hun shell. I

thought they were pulling the gas on us. I--I had some intention of

bidding you tender farewells," he continued, half sheepishly. "I think

I did start 'em, didn't I?"



I nodded.



"But wait a minute--" he hesitated. "I had a queer sort of dream--"



"'What was it?" I asked eagerly,



"Well," he answered slowly, "I suppose it was because I'd been

thinking of--Golden Eyes. Anyway, I thought she came through the wall

and leaned over me--yes, and put one of those long white hands of hers

on my head--I couldn't raise my lids--but in some queer way I could

see her. Then it got real dreamish. Why do you ask?"



Rador turned back toward us,



"Later," I answered, "Not now. When we're alone."



But through me went a little glow of reassurance. Whatever the maze

through which we were moving; whatever of menacing evil lurking

there--the Golden Girl was clearly watching over us; watching with

whatever unknown powers she could muster.



We passed the pillared entrance; went through a long bowered corridor

and stopped before a door that seemed to be sliced from a monolith of

pale jade--high, narrow, set in a wall of opal.



Rador stamped twice and the same supernally sweet, silver bell tones

of--yesterday, I must call it, although in that place of eternal day

the term is meaningless--bade us enter. The door slipped aside. The

chamber was small, the opal walls screening it on three sides, the

black opacity covering it, the fourth side opening out into a

delicious little walled garden--a mass of the fragrant, luminous

blooms and delicately colored fruit. Facing it was a small table of

reddish wood and from the omnipresent cushions heaped around it arose

to greet us--Yolara.



Larry drew in his breath with an involuntary gasp of admiration and

bowed low. My own admiration was as frank--and the priestess was well

pleased with our homage.



She was swathed in the filmy, half-revelant webs, now of palest blue.

The corn-silk hair was caught within a wide-meshed golden net in which

sparkled tiny brilliants, like blended sapphires and diamonds. Her own

azure eyes sparkled as brightly as they, and I noted again in their

clear depths the half-eager approval as they rested upon O'Keefe's

lithe, well-knit figure and his keen, clean-cut face. The high-arched,

slender feet rested upon soft sandals whose gauzy withes laced the

exquisitely formed leg to just below the dimpled knee.



"Some giddy wonder!" exclaimed Larry, looking at me and placing a hand

over his heart. "Put her on a New York roof and she'd empty Broadway.

Take the cue from me, Doc."



He turned to Yolara, whose face was somewhat puzzled.



"I said, O lady whose shining hair is a web for hearts, that in our

world your beauty would dazzle the sight of men as would a little

woman sun!" he said, in the florid imagery to which the tongue lends

itself so well.



A flush stole up through the translucent skin. The blue eyes softened

and she waved us toward the cushions. Black-haired maids stole in,

placing before us the fruits, the little loaves and a steaming drink

somewhat the colour and odor of chocolate. I was conscious of

outrageous hunger.



"What are you named, strangers?" she asked.



"This man is named Goodwin," said O'Keefe. "As for me, call me

Larry."



"Nothing like getting acquainted quick," he said to me--but kept his

eyes upon Yolara as though he were voicing another honeyed phrase. And

so she took it, for: "You must teach me your tongue," she murmured.



"Then shall I have two words where now I have one to tell you of your

loveliness," he answered.



"And also that'll take time," he spoke to me. "Essential occupation

out of which we can't be drafted to make these fun-loving folk any

Roman holiday. Get me!"



"Larree," mused Yolara. "I like the sound. It is sweet--" and indeed

it was as she spoke it.



"And what is your land named, Larree?" she continued. "And Goodwin's?"

She caught the sound perfectly.



"My land, O lady of loveliness, is two--Ireland and America; his but

one--America."



She repeated the two names--slowly, over and over. We seized the

opportunity to attack the food; halting half guiltily as she spoke

again.



"Oh, but you are hungry!" she cried. "Eat then." She leaned her chin

upon her hands and regarded us, whole fountains of questions brimming

up in her eyes.



"How is it, Larree, that you have two countries and Goodwin but one?"

she asked, at last unable to keep silent longer.



"I was born in Ireland; he in America. But I have dwelt long in his

land and my heart loves each," he said.



She nodded, understandingly.



"Are all the men of Ireland like you, Larree? As all the men here are

like Lugur or Rador? I like to look at you," she went on, with naive

frankness. "I am tired of men like Lugur and Rador. But they are

strong," she added, swiftly. "Lugur can hold up ten in his two arms

and raise six with but one hand."



We could not understand her numerals and she raised white fingers to

illustrate.



"That is little, O lady, to the men of Ireland," replied O'Keefe.

"Lo, I have seen one of my race hold up ten times ten of our--what

call you that swift thing in which Rador brought us here?"



"Corial," said she.



"Hold up ten times twenty of our corials with but two fingers--and

these corials of ours--"



"Coria," said she.



"And these coria of ours are each greater in weight than ten of yours.

Yes, and I have seen another with but one blow of his hand raise hell!



"And so I have," he murmured to me. "And both at Forty-second and

Fifth Avenue, N. Y.--U. S. A."



Yolara considered all this with manifest doubt.



"Hell?" she inquired at last. "I know not the word."



"Well," answered O'Keefe. "Say Muria then. In many ways they are, I

gather, O heart's delight, one and the same."



Now the doubt in the blue eyes was strong indeed. She shook her head.



"None of our men can do that!" she answered, at length. "Nor do I

think you could, Larree."



"Oh, no," said Larry easily. "I never tried to be that strong. I

fly," he added, casually.



The priestess rose to her feet, gazing at him with startled eyes.



"Fly!" she repeated incredulously. "Like a Zitia? A bird?"



Larry nodded--and then seeing the dawning command in her eyes, went on

hastily.



"Not with my own wings, Yolara. In a--a corial that moves

through--what's the word for air, Doc--well, through this--" He made a

wide gesture up toward the nebulous haze above us. He took a pencil

and on a white cloth made a hasty sketch of an airplane. "In a--a

corial like this--" She regarded the sketch gravely, thrust a hand

down into her girdle and brought forth a keen-bladed poniard; cut

Larry's markings out and placed the fragment carefully aside.



"That I can understand," she said.



"Remarkably intelligent young woman," muttered O'Keefe. "Hope I'm not

giving anything away--but she had me."



"But what are your women like, Larree? Are they like me? And how

many have loved you?" she whispered.



"In all Ireland and America there is none like you, Yolara," he

answered. "And take that any way you please," he muttered in English.

She took it, it was evident, as it most pleased her.



"Do you have goddesses?" she asked.



"Every woman in Ireland and America, is a goddess"; thus Larry.



"Now that I do not believe." There was both anger and mockery in her

eyes. "I know women, Larree--and if that were so there would be no

peace for men."



"There isn't!" replied he. The anger died out and she laughed,

sweetly, understandingly.



"And which goddess do you worship, Larree?"



"You!" said Larry O'Keefe boldly.



"Larry! Larry!" I whispered. "Be careful. It's high explosive."



But the priestess was laughing--little trills of sweet bell notes; and

pleasure was in each note.



"You are indeed bold, Larree," she said, "to offer me your worship.

Yet am I pleased by your boldness. Still--Lugur is strong; and you are

not of those who--what did you say--have tried. And your wings are

not here--Larree!"



Again her laughter rang out. The Irishman flushed; it was touche

for Yolara!



"Fear not for me with Lugur," he said, grimly. "Rather fear for him!"



The laughter died; she looked at him searchingly; a little enigmatic

smile about her mouth--so sweet and so cruel.



"Well--we shall see," she murmured. "You say you battle in your

world. With what?"



"Oh, with this and with that," answered Larry, airily. "We manage--"



"Have you the Keth--I mean that with which I sent Songar into the

nothingness?" she asked swiftly.



"See what she's driving at?" O'Keefe spoke to me, swiftly. "Well I do!

But here's where the O'Keefe lands.



"I said," he turned to her, "O voice of silver fire, that your spirit

is high even as your beauty--and searches out men's souls as does your

loveliness their hearts. And now listen, Yolara, for what I speak is

truth"--into his eyes came the far-away gaze; into his voice the Irish

softness--"Lo, in my land of Ireland, this many of your life's length

agone--see"--he raised his ten fingers, clenched and unclenched them

times twenty--"the mighty men of my race, the Taitha-da-Dainn, could

send men out into the nothingness even as do you with the Keth. And

this they did by their harpings, and by words spoken--words of power,

O Yolara, that have their power still--and by pipings and by slaying

sounds.



"There was Cravetheen who played swift flames from his harp, flying

flames that ate those they were sent against. And there was Dalua, of

Hy Brasil, whose pipes played away from man and beast and all living

things their shadows--and at last played them to shadows too, so that

wherever Dalua went his shadows that had been men and beast followed

like a storm of little rustling leaves; yea, and Bel the Harper, who

could make women's hearts run like wax and men's hearts flame to ashes

and whose harpings could shatter strong cliffs and bow great trees to

the sod--"



His eyes were bright, dream-filled; she shrank a little from him,

faint pallor under the perfect skin.



"I say to you, Yolara, that these things were and are--in Ireland."

His voice rang strong. "And I have seen men as many as those that are

in your great chamber this many times over"--he clenched his hands

once more, perhaps a dozen times--"blasted into nothingness before

your Keth could even have touched them. Yea--and rocks as mighty as

those through which we came lifted up and shattered before the lids

could fall over your blue eyes. And this is truth, Yolara--all truth!

Stay--have you that little cone of the Keth with which you destroyed

Songar?"



She nodded, gazing at him, fascinated, fear and puzzlement contending.



"Then use it." He took a vase of crystal from the table, placed it on

the threshold that led into the garden. "Use it on this--and I will

show you."



"I will use it upon one of the ladala--" she began eagerly.



The exaltation dropped from him; there was a touch of horror in the

eyes he turned to her; her own dropped before it.



"It shall be as you say," she said hurriedly. She drew the shining

cone from her breast; levelled it at the vase. The green ray leaped

forth, spread over the crystal, but before its action could even be

begun, a flash of light shot from O'Keefe's hand, his automatic spat

and the trembling vase flew into fragments. As quickly as he had drawn

it, he thrust the pistol back into place and stood there empty handed,

looking at her sternly. From the anteroom came shouting, a rush of

feet.



Yolara's face was white, her eyes strained--but her voice was unshaken

as she called to the clamouring guards:



"It is nothing--go to your places!"



But when the sound of their return had ceased she stared tensely at

the Irishman--then looked again at the shattered vase.



"It is true!" she cried, "but see, the Keth is--alive!"



I followed her pointing finger. Each broken bit of the crystal was

vibrating, shaking its particles out into space. Broken it the bullet

of Larry's had--but not released it from the grip of the

disintegrating force. The priestess's face was triumphant.



"But what matters it, O shining urn of beauty--what matters it to the

vase that is broken what happens to its fragments?" asked Larry,

gravely--and pointedly.



The triumph died from her face and for a space she was silent;

brooding.



"Next," whispered O'Keefe to me. "Lots of surprises in the little

box; keep your eye on the opening and see what comes out."



We had not long to wait. There was a sparkle of anger about Yolara,

something too of injured pride. She clapped her hands; whispered to

the maid who answered her summons, and then sat back regarding us,

maliciously.



"You have answered me as to your strength--but you have not proved it;

but the Keth you have answered. Now answer this!" she said.



She pointed out into the garden. I saw a flowering branch bend and

snap as though a hand had broken it--but no hand was there! Saw then

another and another bend and break, a little tree sway and fall--and

closer and closer to us came the trail of snapping boughs while down

into the garden poured the silvery light revealing--nothing! Now a

great ewer beside a pillar rose swiftly in air and hurled itself

crashing at my feet. Cushions close to us swirled about as though in

the vortex of a whirlwind.



And unseen hands held my arms in a mighty clutch fast to my sides,

another gripped my throat and I felt a needle-sharp poniard point

pierce my shirt, touch the skin just over my heart!



"Larry!" I cried, despairingly. I twisted my head; saw that he too

was caught in this grip of the invisible. But his face was calm, even

amused.



"Keep cool, Doc!" he said. "Remember--she wants to learn the

language!"



Now from Yolara burst chime upon chime of mocking laughter. She gave

a command--the hands loosened, the poniard withdrew from my heart;

suddenly as I had been caught I was free--and unpleasantly weak and

shaky.



"Have you that in Ireland, Larree!" cried the priestess--and once

more trembled with laughter.



"A good play, Yolara." His voice was as calm as his face. "But they

did that in Ireland even before Dalua piped away his first man's

shadow. And in Goodwin's land they make ships--coria that go on

water--so you can pass by them and see only sea and sky; and those

water coria are each of them many times greater than this whole palace

of yours."



But the priestess laughed on.



"It did get me a little," whispered Larry. "That wasn't quite up to

my mark. But God! If we could find that trick out and take it back

with us!"



"Not so, Larree!" Yolara gasped, through her laughter. "Not so!

Goodwin's cry betrayed you!"



Her good humour had entirely returned; she was like a mischievous

child pleased over some successful trick; and like a child she

cried--"I'll show you!"--signalled again; whispered to the maid who,

quickly returning, laid before her a long metal case. Yolara took from

her girdle something that looked like a small pencil, pressed it and

shot a thin stream of light for all the world like an electric flash,

upon its hasp. The lid flew open. Out of it she drew three flat, oval

crystals, faint rose in hue. She handed one to O'Keefe and one to me.



"Look!" she commanded, placing the third before her own eyes. I

peered through the stone and instantly there leaped into sight, out of

thin air--six grinning dwarfs! Each was covered from top of head to

soles of feet in a web so tenuous that through it their bodies were

plain. The gauzy stuff seemed to vibrate--its strands to run together

like quick-silver. I snatched the crystal from my eyes and--the

chamber was empty! Put it back--and there were the grinning six!



Yolara gave another sign and they disappeared, even from the crystals.



"It is what they wear, Larree," explained Yolara, graciously. "It is

something that came to us from--the Ancient Ones. But we have so

few"--she sighed.



"Such treasures must be two-edged swords, Yolara," commented O'Keefe.

"For how know you that one within them creeps not to you with hand

eager to strike?"



"There is no danger," she said indifferently. "I am the keeper of

them."



She mused for a space, then abruptly:



"And now no more. You two are to appear before the Council at a

certain time--but fear nothing. You, Goodwin, go with Rador about our

city and increase your wisdom. But you, Larree, await me here in my

garden--" she smiled at him, provocatively--maliciously, too. "For

shall not one who has resisted a world of goddesses be given all

chance to worship when at last he finds his own?"



She laughed--whole-heartedly and was gone. And at that moment I liked

Yolara better than ever I had before and--alas--better than ever I

was to in the future.



I noted Rador standing outside the open jade door and started to go,

but O'Keefe caught me by the arm.



"Wait a minute," he urged. "About Golden Eyes--you were going to tell

me something--it's been on my mind all through that little sparring

match."



I told him of the vision that had passed through my closing lids. He

listened gravely and then laughed.



"Hell of a lot of privacy in this place!" he grinned. "Ladies who can

walk through walls and others with regular invisible cloaks to let 'em

flit wherever they please. Oh, well, don't let it get on your nerves,

Doc. Remember--everything's natural! That robe stuff is just

camouflage of course. But Lord, if we could only get a piece of it!"



"The material simply admits all light-vibrations, or perhaps curves

them, just as the opacities cut them off," I answered. "A man under

the X-ray is partly invisible; this makes him wholly so. He doesn't

register, as the people of the motion-picture profession say."



"Camouflage," repeated Larry. "And as for the Shining One--Say!" he

snorted. "I'd like to set the O'Keefe banshee up against it. I'll bet

that old resourceful Irish body would give it the first three bites

and a strangle hold and wallop it before it knew it had 'em. Oh! Wow!

Boy Howdy!"



I heard him still chuckling gleefully over this vision as I passed

along the opal wall with the green dwarf.



A shell was awaiting us. I paused before entering it to examine the

polished surface of runway and great road. It was obsidian--volcanic

glass of pale emerald, unflawed, translucent, with no sign of block or

juncture. I examined the shell.



"What makes it go?" I asked Rador. At a word from him the driver

touched a concealed spring and an aperture appeared beneath the

control-lever, of which I have spoken in a preceding chapter. Within

was a small cube of black crystal, through whose sides I saw, dimly, a

rapidly revolving, glowing ball, not more than two inches in diameter.

Beneath the cube was a curiously shaped, slender cylinder winding down

into the lower body of the Nautilus whorl.



"Watch!" said Rador. He motioned me into the vehicle and took a place

beside me. The driver touched the lever; a stream of coruscations flew

from the ball down into the cylinder. The shell started smoothly, and

as the tiny torrent of shining particles increased it gathered speed.



"The corial does not touch the road," explained Rador. "It is lifted

so far"--he held his forefinger and thumb less than a sixteenth of an

inch apart--"above it."



And perhaps here is the best place to explain the activation of the

shells or coria. The force utilized was atomic energy. Passing from

the whirling ball the ions darted through the cylinder to two bands of

a peculiar metal affixed to the base of the vehicles somewhat like

skids of a sled. Impinging upon these they produced a partial negation

of gravity, lifting the shell slightly, and at the same time creating

a powerful repulsive force or thrust that could be directed backward,

forward, or sidewise at the will of the driver. The creation of this

energy and the mechanism of its utilization were, briefly, as follows:





[Dr. Goodwin's lucid and exceedingly comprehensive description of this

extraordinary mechanism has been deleted by the Executive Council of

the International Association of Science as too dangerously suggestive

to scientists of the Central European Powers with which we were so

recently at war. It is allowable, however, to state that his

observations are in the possession of experts in this country, who

are, unfortunately, hampered in their research not only by the

scarcity of the radioactive elements that we know, but also by the

lack of the element or elements unknown to us that entered into the

formation of the fiery ball within the cube of black crystal.

Nevertheless, as the principle is so clear, it is believed that these

difficulties will ultimately be overcome.--J. B. K., President, I. A.

of S.]





The wide, glistening road was gay with the coria. They darted in and

out of the gardens; within them the fair-haired, extraordinarily

beautiful women on their cushions were like princesses of Elfland,

caught in gorgeous fairy webs, resting within the hearts of flowers.

In some shells were flaxen-haired dwarfish men of Lugur's type;

sometimes black-polled brother officers of Rador; often raven-tressed

girls, plainly hand-maidens of the women; and now and then beauties of

the lower folk went by with one of the blond dwarfs.



We swept around the turn that made of the jewel-like roadway an

enormous horseshoe and, speedily, upon our right the cliffs through

which we had come in our journey from the Moon Pool began to march

forward beneath their mantles of moss. They formed a gigantic

abutment, a titanic salient. It had been from the very front of this

salient's invading angle that we had emerged; on each side of it the

precipices, faintly glowing, drew back and vanished into distance.



The slender, graceful bridges under which we skimmed ended at openings

in the upflung, far walls of verdure. Each had its little garrison of

soldiers. Through some of the openings a rivulet of the green obsidian

river passed. These were roadways to the farther country, to the land

of the ladala, Rador told me; adding that none of the lesser folk

could cross into the pavilioned city unless summoned or with pass.



We turned the bend of the road and flew down that farther emerald

ribbon we had seen from the great oval. Before us rose the shining

cliffs and the lake. A half-mile, perhaps, from these the last of the

bridges flung itself. It was more massive and about it hovered a

spirit of ancientness lacking in the other spans; also its garrison

was larger and at its base the tangent way was guarded by two massive

structures, somewhat like blockhouses, between which it ran. Something

about it aroused in me an intense curiosity.



"Where does that road lead, Rador?" I asked.



"To the one place above all of which I may not tell you, Goodwin," he

answered. And again I wondered.



We skimmed slowly out upon the great pier. Far to the left was the

prismatic, rainbow curtain between the Cyclopean pillars. On the white

waters graceful shells--lacustrian replicas of the Elf chariots--swam,

but none was near that distant web of wonder.



"Rador--what is that?" I asked.



"It is the Veil of the Shining One!" he answered slowly.



Was the Shining One that which we named the Dweller?



"What is the Shining One?" I cried, eagerly. Again he was silent.

Nor did he speak until we had turned on our homeward way.



And lively as my interest, my scientific curiosity, were--I was

conscious suddenly of acute depression. Beautiful, wondrously

beautiful this place was--and yet in its wonder dwelt a keen edge of

menace, of unease--of inexplicable, inhuman woe; as though in a secret

garden of God a soul should sense upon it the gaze of some lurking

spirit of evil which some way, somehow, had crept into the sanctuary

and only bided its time to spring.



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