Collected Tales (Jerry eBooks)

by Leslie F Stone

  “People of Dada,” he began, “it is true, the stranger speaks truthfully, but inexplicable is the will of the Pattern, inexplicable to even its priests.”

  A murmur went through the chamber, a disquieting murmur that it was difficult for Ti Sem to quiet, but he raised his voice and forced them to listen.

  “Yea,” cried he in answer to the frenzied mutterings of the mass, “a mistake has been made, a mistake that has been discovered in time to avert its tragedy. Listen then, and learn how it came about. Know you all that it is the age-old custom of the priests of Dada to read the Pattern on the Eve of the Day so that with the Day’s dawning they are already acquainted with the nation’s fortune, ready to carry on without halt the program of the Day as rapidly as possible. Know you this?” Assent went up from the gathering and now with their attention full upon him the priest continued; “So it was with yesterday’s twilight with prayers and adorations we, the priests of the Pattern, came and read our future. Here we saw what we believed to be the will of the Loom, saw that the marriage of Tel Tel, our virgin Queen and of Atun Wei, High Priest of the Temple had received the god’s sanction. And so were we content, for the god had spoken, demanding that the two houses of Dada be joined in their issue forever more! “How then are we to explain this change, for lo, during the night the threads had been woven anew! The god had seen fit to reweave them. That is all, my friends!” Ti Sem started to retire, turning to face Atun Wei, still a broken thing on the fibrous matting of the Temple floor. But the crowd would not have it so. They wanted more, and they demanded to have the name of the selected bridegroom, the name that Ti Sem had purposely omitted. Impatiently he turned about again, and seeing there was no way out, he spoke again.

  “Ah, you are impatient, my people,” he said. “I thought first to summon him before you, since he dwells not in our city of Tel. If you but wait . . .”

  It was now Tel Tel’s moment for action, and she took her cue from Moura standing quietly at her side. She stepped forward so that she was seen in only her snow-white beauty by the multitude.

  “You are wrong, Ti Sem,” she said softly. “He is here, awaiting word from you. But turn about and motion to the far-side of the Pattern and he will come, even as the god has directed.” She raised her voice.

  “Come forth, Wei Tel, son of the brother of mine father and of the princess, Sem Wei, sister of Atun Wei, equal in rank as even Atun Wei himself. Too long have your wardens kept you in secret behind closed doors, hiding from you and the world the tale of your birth! Come, I say, and welcome your bride who, with open arms, is ready to lead you to the Palace Royal. Come.”

  Now again a great cry went up in the Temple, resounding so loudly against the roof that the fireflies on the ceiling stirred, their lights blinkling crazily until it seemed as if the chamber would be doused in darkness. And in that confusion, Urto propelled the butterfly prince from his hiding place so that he stood before them all, his white body a foil for the beauty of his multicolored wings that proclaimed him offspring of the two races.

  Atun Wei heard and saw all, from the place where he squatted and dropped his head even lower, understanding now the heavy silence that had followed his own announcement, and Moura found it in his heart to pity him. But he flung pity aside quickly as a bird flings aside water from its wings. In his own downfall Moura-weit had deserved no pity and there could be no pity here for his prototype. He turned to Tel Tel, who stood waiting for her betrothed, and saw how her eyes glistened with their joy.

  Cries were now going up from the assembly, and the names of Tel Tel and Wei Tel were joined in one great paean of joy.

  MOURA was glad that he had taken the precaution to hide Wei Tel behind the Pattern, for in the dark minds of the priests he read what wouid have befallen the prince had he been left to their mercy.

  Tel Tel approached her prince and side by side the two stood quietly while again the populace sent up their great cry of acclaim with the priests standing by, powerless now to intervene. By this time Atun Wei had regained the power of his limbs, and stood up, his face as devoid of emotion as ever, but Moura felt the bombast of his ugly thoughts that were directed upon him, for Atun Wei had guessed by now who was the author of his ruin.

  There was naught left but for Tel Tel to make her exit immediately with her newly created consort. She was happy beyond words, saved from mating with the creature she detested most, and with the knowledge that again she was truly a Queen with none to say nay, with the power to demand her daily ration of Yada in magic food, and the right to guard her own hatchings against the looting of the despised Wei. All this she owed to her benefactor from another world, a world she did not know. As she passed him on her way down the middle aisle opened for her, she motioned that he was to follow in her wake.

  Atun Wei made a move as though to halt her passage. Only a small part of the day’s procedure had been carried through, but he desisted from calling her back. He was a broken man, and he cared nothing for the usual rites. It was only when the hated figure of the silvery man of Abrui came into his vision that he was seen to come to life.

  Urto watching from his hiding place saw the High Priest call his followers together and speak with them. And so guarded were Atun Wei’s thoughts that the golden man, thirty feet away did not catch their purport immediately. When he did he was too late to avert the tragedy. Neither was Moura aware of what was happening behind him. Forgotten was Atun Wei and his machinations; already instead, his mind had swung onward to the future, a happy future when the Yodverl would dock on Abrui, perhaps never to leave again under his captaincy. So he did not see four of the priests detach themselves from the group around Atun Wei, and race hurriedly down the side aisles, and through the doorways on either side of the black pit of the prayer room. Urto saw, but did not understand their purpose until he saw Moura follow the Royal Couple into that forbidding chamber.

  So quickly did it all happen that none knew of it, until they were startled by the sudden apparition of the golden man of Abrui, as he plunged into the darkness of the prayer room and they heard the sounds of a scuffle from within.

  Not even the eyes of the Abruian were strong enough to master that blackness, and how the Dadan priests found their mark is to be questioned, but Urto using his light torch saw in its first gleam that Moura was down with a slender reed dart piercing his body just above the heart!

  CHAPTER XXI

  Revenge

  IT was then that Urto went berserk, and forgetting he carried his deadly radium ray torch, he went for the nearest butterfly man, reaching out into the darkness for him, tearing him into pieces before the creature was aware he was upon him. A second creature fell into his groping hands and quickly followed the fate of the other, the third was wounded horribly, but the fourth, using his wings climbed upward into the shadows above and so escaped.

  The multitude in the Temple room came crowding forward, and before they realized that death lurked there in the exit, several of them went down to the fury of the madman, then screaming and fighting those that were being pushed toward the dark room, they told their fellows to stand back from that flaying fury within.

  Outside Tel Tel and her prince continued all unaware toward the Palace, having neither eyes nor ears for anyone but themselves. Only their attendants heard the unholy noise from within the temple, and several of them turned to learn what was happening, and one more curious than the other crept in through the low doorway, only to fall victim to the madman within.

  Gradually, however, the blindness went out of Urto’s brain, and still remembering that Moura lay wounded, even dead perhaps, he groped his way out of the dark and into the bright Temple chamber, intent now upon reaching the real murderer, Atun Wei.

  He was a terrible sight with the greenish sticky blood of the butterfly creatures upon him, and to the Dadan huddled closely together he was Death come to them in visual form. But his mind was clear at last and he sought but one creature in that mass. He saw him still at the head of the cham
ber before the Pattern, paralyzed with fright at what was happening. Roaring like a bull Urto plunged across the intervening space, tossing aside all that came in his way like straws.

  And Atun Wei saw him coming, frozen where he stood, unable to move. Almost too late he regained possession of his limbs and looked about for escape. There was none now but in flight, and though the use of wings was forbidden to any but the necessary fireflies in the precincts of the Temple, Atun Wei forget all else but to save his own skin and climbed into the air, shrieking for his priests to apprehend the madman. They, in turn, were too frightened to comply and took to the air as Urto plunged among them.

  Seeing his prey rising into the air just out of reach of his clawing fingers, the golden man did not halt his plunge, and without stopping, he leaped for the Pattern, and finding hand and foot holes in its fibers went up it like a cat until he reached the ceiling. But Atun Wei was now away, darting toward the opposite end of the room as swiftly as his fear stiffened wings could take him.

  Again Urto scarcely paused as he swung himself toward the nearest bracket upon which dozens of the fireflies clung. They scattered as he alighted and soon the Temple Room was in a greater uproar than ever as the flies entered into the melee swarming in every direction, while the chamber was almost thrown into darkness with only the fitful glimmerings of the flies, as they moved wildly about, escaping from the brackets as Urto hand over hand drew himself along the ceiling.

  With eyes only for Atun Wei, the Abruian came on, changing his direction as often as the high priest changed his on the brackets fitted into all parts of the ceiling. Many times the high priest could have escaped, but he was too thoroughly frightened to use the exits hidden in the walls, losing his head entirely. It was now a question of who would tire first, the butterfly or the man. But Urto seemed to have superhuman strength as he swung on and on, forgetting everything but his lust to revenge his beloved master, dead there in the anteroom.

  It was Atun Wei who ended the flight, when in losing all sense of direction, he turned and flew directly under the bracket where Urto had just taken a handhold, and before he could escape again, the golden man had plunged downward, turning his body in the air so that he caught the butterfly priest with his outstretched arms. Together they fell to the floor thirty feet below, there to lie without moving in a death embrace.

  Only Urto was not dead yet, though sorely hurt, having fractured his skull on the cloth-covered hard-packed ground of the Temple floor, and he had caved in most of his ribs besides. After a few moments he was seen to struggle to his wabbly feet, and with but one thought in mind, stumbled across the chamber to the chamber of darkness in which his dead lay. Way was made for him, and those standing around the prayer room saw him fall in a huddle as he reached that darkness.

  CHAPTER XXII

  On to Abrui!

  THE first sun was setting before Ubca had righted the trouble on his machine, and now, sweating and cursing, he had headed it back to the city of Tel, anxious to learn what had happened there. As he took to the sky, he sent forth a message to Moura, informing him that he was on his way. Twice he sent his telepathic message, but neither time did he receive his answer, and it was unlike Moura not to answer.

  A third time he sent his mind out searching for that of his Sa Dak, but again he could not pick up the vibrations of the other. Puzzled, he accelerated his flyer to its highest degree of speed, and as he flew, his anxiety grew and it was with relief that he saw the city come to meet him. Quickly he maneuvered the machine and dropped to the grass close to the doorway of the Temple.

  Here were the three or four loiterers from Tel Tel’s train, but they drew aside as he approached, and he sensed something of the trouble that had befallen in the Temple. Not hesitating, he hurried to the low circular doorway, and so it was that he stumbled over the bodies tossed about there.

  Puzzled, not knowing the ways of these creatures now, he was at a loss as to what to do, but as his foot came in contact with something else on the floor, something warm and wet, he threw caution to the wind and drew out his light torch.

  What he saw froze his blood. With a cry he fell upon his knees beside the grisly thing that was Urto. Large eyes watched him through the doorway, eyes filled with terror, but he did not see them as he turned the golden man over tenderly to find if he still lived.

  Urto breathed and through the film that covered his eyes he made out the welcome face of Ubca-tor. He tried to smile but only succeeded with a grimace, but through broken lips he muttered, “I have revenged Moura-weit upon his murderer, tor . . .” and then he doubled up, as a spasm of pain swept him.

  At his terrible words, so full of purport, Ubca drew back, and now frantically he turned his light torch, so that it caught the silvery gleam of Moura’s body. Inarticulate, he crept over to the remains of his dear friend, stiffening at what he saw. Then he realized that the eyes were open, that Moura was looking at him!

  Through tears he listened to the words that came through the stiff lips. “Take me to Elsie, my friend,” whispered the dying man, with the words coming slowly and with difficulty. “Only . . . till . . . I see her . . . sweet face again . . . can I die.”

  Crying now as a boy, the tor leaned over and picked Moura up in his arms. He saw that every movement gave the dying man terrific pain, but by gritting his teeth he was able to sustain it. Crawling through the low doorway, he carried his precious burden and deposited it on the floor of the flyer. He was about to draw the deathly dart from its ugly wound above the heart, when Moura shook his head, insisting it be left there lest he die sooner, and commanding Ubca to hurry, to bear him to where Elsie waited.

  Now, as they flew swiftly toward the Yodverl, Ubca had the chance to try it out to its full power, and then they were landing in the clearing. Sounding its siren as their prearranged signal to announce their return to Elsie, Ubca jumped from the plane to run and prepare the woman for the worst before she faced her husband.

  But Elsie already knew, her intuition warned her as she waited for her husband’s return, and with the swinging open of the door she plunged through it, whitefaced and fearful, refusing to be halted by Ubca, and went to where her stricken lover lay, holding life within himself until he could give her his farewell.

  With the tears still streaming down his face, Ubca turned toward the water without a backward glance to the flyer and its sad content. There, by the water he said goodbye to his one friend and leader, his heart broken by the fate that had carried him away from Moura at the moment he had been needed the most, and envying, almost hating the dead Urto for being the one who had given his life in Moura’s behalf.

  For over an hour he paced beside the water, then he turned back to the flyer to find Elsie in a dead faint with the body of Moura clasped tight in her arms. He had difficulty in wrenching her free, then reverently he bore her to the Yodverl and placed her in charge of Nancy.

  For long days Elsie lay as dead and it took the combined efforts of Ubca and Nancy to lure her back to life. Only the fact that she had Ezra to care for gave her reason to live, for Moura had wrung a promise from her never to desert their son, knowing that she would not have hesitated to join him in death, but for that tie.

  It was during the time of her sickness that Ubca learned what had happened in the Temple room on that fateful day, for Moura had managed to tell her all.

  When Elsie at last was ready to rise from her bed again, she found that they were already in space, bound for the home that Moura would never reach. She knew nothing of what had followed back on Kal, of Ubca’s return to the city for Urto’s body, of Tel Tel’s visits to the Yodverl to express her grief of what had happened, and to thank her benefactors for all they had done for her and her world in releasing them from the dreaded power of Atun Wei who was also dead. Neither did she know anything of that double funeral aboard the Yodverl when there was only Ubca, Ezra and Nancy to attend the last rites for their dead, making them one with the Void.

  It was a sorrowful voy
age back to Abrui, and there was only the child Ezra to keep joy in their hearts, and to make the trip less long. Abrui received them with open arms, but it was at that moment that their loss lay heaviest upon them, the loss of Moura, who was not here to receive the plaudits of his people. And would he be remembered on Kal, Kal to whom he had given his life so that they might know the meaning of Peace and Contentment?

  THE END.

  [*] Aro—of Abrui—two and a half hours of earthly time.

  The Hell Planet

  MANY amateur authors, with little knowledge of the complexities of the problem, ham pictured men going from one world to another and quite facilely adapting themselves to entirely new conditions. These authors blithely feel that men could live anywhere; if there be only food of a kind and some breathable air.

  Miss Stone takes quite a different view of that. She believes we should look on the problem of interplanetary travel realistically, and realize that the attempt to gain a foothold on a new world may be fraught with the most terrific of dangers and difficulties.

  And then she asks in this story, “Why should we go to another world?” Is it, as she says, “Man’s damnable desire to conquer, to nose in where he doesn’t belong . . .” Our readers can answer this question for themselves; but this stirring tale gives in no uncertain terms our author’s feelings on the matter.

  “THERE he is. Lord! what a hot little place. Can’t say I look forward to landing there particularly. Rather well named, what? Vulcan, master of the forge, maker of the armor of the mighty gods from the white heat of the flame!