The A. Merritt Megapack

by Abraham Merritt

  “I’m going to leave you for two or three days, Leif,” he told me when we had finished breakfasting. Evalie had floated away on some call from her small folk.

  “Going to leave me!” I gaped at him in astonishment. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

  He laughed.

  “Going to look at the tlanusi—what Evalie calls the dalanusa—the big leeches. The river guards she told us the pygmies put on the job when the bridge was broken.”

  She had not spoken about them again, and I had forgotten all about them.

  “What are they, Indian?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. They sound like the great leech of Tianusi’yi. The tribes said it was red with white stripes and as big as a house. The Little People don’t go that far. They only say they’re as big as you are.”

  “Listen, Indian—I’m going along.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not.”

  “I’d like to know why not.”

  “Because the Little People won’t let you. Now listen to me, old-timer—the plain fact is that they’re not entirely satisfied about you. They’re polite, and they wouldn’t hurt Evalie’s feelings for the world, but—they’d much rather be without you.”

  “You’re telling me nothing new,” I said.

  “No, but here is something new. A party that’s been on a hunting trip down the other end of the valley came in yesterday. One of them remembered his grandfather had told him that when the Ayjir came riding into this place they all had yellow hair like yours. Not the red they have now. It’s upset them.”

  “I thought they’d been watching me pretty damned close the last twenty-four hours,” I said. “So that’s the reason, is it?”

  “That’s the reason, Leif. It’s upset them. It’s also the reason for this expedition to the tianusi. They’re going to increase the river guard. It involves some sort of ceremony, I gather. They want me to go along. I think it better that I do.”

  “Does Evalie know all this?”

  “Sure she does. And she wouldn’t let you go, even if the pygmies would.”

  Jim left with a party of about a hundred of the pygmies about noon. I bade him a cheerful good-bye. If it puzzled Evalie that I took his departure so calmly, and asked her no questions she did not show it. But she was very quiet that day, speaking mostly in monosyllables abstractedly. Once or twice I caught her looking at me with a curious wonder in her eyes. And once I had taken her hand, and she had quivered and leaned toward me, and then snatched it away, half-angrily. And once when she had forgotten her moodiness and had rested against my shoulder, I had fought hard against taking her in my arms.

  The worst of it was that I could find no cogent argument why I shouldn’t take her. A voice within my mind was whispering that if I so desired, why should I not? And there were other things besides that whisper which sapped my resistance. It had been a queer day even for this queer place. The air was heavy, as though a storm brooded. The heady fragrances from the far forest were stronger, clinging amorously, confusing. The vaporous veils that hid the distances had thickened; at the north they were almost smoke colour, and they marched slowly but steadily nearer.

  We sat, Evalie and I, beside her tent. She broke a long silence.

  “You are sorrowful, Leif—and why?”

  “Not sorrowful, Evalie—just wondering.”

  “I, too, am wondering. Is it what you wonder?”

  “How do I know—who know nothing of your mind?”

  She stood up, abruptly.

  “You like to watch the smiths. Let us go to them.”

  I looked at her, struck by the anger in her voice. She frowned down upon me, brows drawn to a straight line over bright, half-contemptuous eyes.

  “Why are you angry, Evalie? What have I done?”

  “I am not angry. And you have done nothing.” She stamped her foot. “I say you have done—nothing! Let us watch the smiths.”

  She walked away. I sprang up, and followed her. What was the matter with her? I had done something to irritate her, that was certain. But what? Well, I’d know, sooner or later. And I did like to watch the smiths. They stood beside their small anvils beating out the sickled knives, the spear and arrowheads, shaping the earrings and bracelets of gold for their tiny women.

  Tink-a-tink, tink-a-clink, cling-clang, clink-a-tink went their little hammers.

  They stood beside their anvils like gnomes, except that there was no deformity about them. Miniature men they were, perfectly shaped, gleaming golden in the darkening light, long hair coiled about their heads, yellow eyes intent upon their forgings. I forgot Evalie and her wrath, watching them as ever, fascinated.

  Tink-a-tink! Cling-clang! Clink—

  The little hammers hung suspended in air; the little smiths stood frozen. Speeding from the north came the horn of a great gong, a brazen stroke that seemed to break overhead. It was followed by another and another and another. A wind wailed over the plain; the air grew darker, the vaporous smoky veils quivered and marched closer.

  The clangour of the gongs gave way to a strong chanting, the singing of many people; the chanting advanced and retreated, rose and waned as the wind rose and fell, rose and fell in rhythmic pulse. From all the walls the drums of the guards roared warning.

  The little smiths dropped their hammers and raced to the lairs. Over all the plain there was turmoil, movement of the golden pygmies racing to the cliffs and to the circling slope to swell the garrisons there.

  Through the strong chanting came the beat of other drums. I knew them—the throb of the Uighur kettle-drums, the war drums. And I knew the chant—it was the war song, the battle song of the Uighurs. Not the Uighurs, no—not the patched and paltry people I had led from the oasis! War song of the ancient race! The great race—the Ayjir!

  The old race! My people! I knew the song—well did I know it! Often and often had I heard it in the olden days…when I had gone forth to battle…By Zarda of the Thirsty Spears…by Zarda God of Warriors, but it was like drink to a parched throat to hear it again!

  My blood drummed in my ears… I opened my throat to roar that song…

  “Leif! Leif! What is the matter?” Evalie’s hands were on my shoulders, shaking me!

  I glared at her, uncomprehending for a moment. I felt a strange, angry bafflement. Who was this dark girl that checked me on my way to war? And abruptly the obsession left me. It left me trembling, shaken at though by some brief wild tempest of the mind. I put my own hands upon those on my shoulders, drew reality from the touch. I saw that there was amazement in Evalie’s eyes, and something of fear. And around us was a ring of the Little People, staring up at me. I shook my head, gasping for breath.

  “Leif! What is the matter?”

  Before I could answer, chanting and drums were drowned in a bellow of thunder. Peal upon peal of thunder roared and echoed over the plain, beating back, beating down the sounds from the north—roaring over them, rolling over them, sweeping them back.

  I stared stupidly around me. All along the cliffs were the golden pygmies, scores of them, beating upon great drums high as their waists. From those drums came the pealing of thunder, claps and shattering strokes of the bolt’s swift fall, and the shouting reverberations that follow it.

  The Thunder Drums of the Little People!

  On and on roared the drums, yet through their rolling diapason beat ever the battle chant and those other drums…like thrusts of lances…like trampling of horses and of marching men…by Zarda, but the old race still was strong…

  A ring of the Little People was dancing around me. Another ring joined them. Beyond them I saw Evalie, watching me with wide, astonished eyes. And around her was another ring of the golden pygmies, arrows at readiness, sickled knives in hand.

  Why was she watching me…why were the arms of the Little People turned against me…and why were they dancing? That was a strange dance…it made you sleepy to look at it…what was this lethargy creeping over me…God, but I was sleepy! So sleep
y that my dull ears could hardly hear the Thunder Drums…so sleepy I could hear nothing else…so sleepy…I knew, dimly, that I had dropped to my knees, then had fallen prone upon the soft turf…then slept.

  I awakened, every sense alert. The drums were throbbing all around me. Not the Thunder Drums, but drums that sang, drums that throbbed and sang to some strange lilting rhythm that set the blood racing through me in tune and in time with its joyousness. The throbbing, singing notes were like tiny, warm, vital blows that whipped my blood into ecstasy of life.

  I leaped to my feet. I stood upon a high knoll, round as a woman’s breast. Over all the plain were lights, small fires burning, ringing the little altars of the pygmies. And around the fires the Little People were dancing to the throbbing drums. Around the fires and the altars they danced and leaped like little golden flames of life made animate.

  Circling the knoll on which I stood was a triple ring of the dwarfs, women and men, weaving, twining, swaying.

  They and the burden of the drums were one.

  A soft and scented wind was blowing over the knoll. It hummed as it streamed by—and its humming was akin to dance and drum.

  In and out, and round about and out and in and back again, the golden pygmies danced around the knoll. And round and round and back again they circled the fire-ringed altars.

  I heard a sweet low voice singing—singing to the cadence, singing the song of the drums, singing the dancing of the Little People.

  Close by was another knoll like that on which I was—like a pair of woman’s high breasts they stood above the plain. It, too, was circled by the dancing dwarfs.

  On it sang and danced Evalie.

  Her singing was the soul of drum song and dance—her dancing was the sublimation of both. She danced upon the knoll—cobweb veils and girdle gone, clothed only in the silken, rippling cloak of her blue-black hair.

  She beckoned, and she called to me—a high-pitched, sweet call.

  The fragrant, rushing wind pushed me toward her as I ran down the mound.

  The dancing pygmies parted to let me through. The throbbing of the drums grew swifter; their song swept into a higher octave.

  Evalie came dancing down to meet me…she was beside me, her arms round my neck, her lips pressed to mine…The drums beat faster. My pulses matched them.

  The two rings of little yellow living flames of life joined. They became one swirling circle that drove us forward. Round and round and round us they swirled, driving us on and on to the pulse of the drums. I ceased to think—drum-throb, drum-song, dance-song were all of me.

  Yet still I knew that the fragrant wind thrust us on and on, caressing, murmuring, laughing.

  We were beside an oval doorway. The silken, scented tresses of Evalie streamed in the wind and kissed me. Beyond and behind us sang the drums. And ever the wind pressed us on…

  Drums and wind drove us through the portal of the domed rock.

  They drove us into the temple of the Little People…

  The soft moss glimmered…the amethystine cross gleamed…

  Evalie’s arms were around my neck…I held her close…the touch of her lips to mine was like the sweet, secret fire of life…

  It was silent in the temple of the Little People. Their drums were silent. The glow of the looped cross above the pit of the Kraken was dim.

  Evalie stirred, and cried out in her sleep. I touched her lips and she awoke.

  “What is the matter, Evalie?”

  “Leif, beloved—I dreamed a white falcon tried to dip its beak into my heart!”

  “It was but a dream, Evalie.”

  She shuddered; she raised her head and bent over me so that her hair covered our faces.

  “You drove the falcon away—but then a white wolf came…and leaped upon me.”

  “It was only a dream, Evalie—bright flame of my heart.”

  She bent closer to me under the tent of her hair, lips close to mine.

  “You drove the wolf away. And I would have kissed you…but a face came between ours…”

  “A face, Evalie?”

  She whispered:

  “The face of Lur! She laughed at me…and then you were gone…with her…and I was alone…”

  “It was a lying dream, that! Sleep, beloved.”

  She sighed. There was a long silence; then drowsily:

  “What is it you carry round your neck, Leif? Something from some woman that you treasure?”

  “Nothing of woman, Evalie. That is truth.”

  She kissed me—and slept.

  Fool that I was not to have told her then, under the shadow of the ancient symbol…Fool that I was—I did not!

  CHAPTER XII.

  ON NANSUR BRIDGE

  When we went out of the temple into the morning there were half a hundred of the elders, men and women, patiently awaiting our appearance. I thought they were the same who had followed into the domed rock when I had first entered it.

  The little women clustered around Evalie. They had brought wraps and swathed her from head to feet. She walked off among them with never a glance nor a word for me. There was something quite ceremonial about it all; she looked for all the world like a bride being led away by somewhat mature elfin bridesmaids.

  The little men clustered around me. Sri was there. I was glad of that, for, whatever the doubts of the others about me, I knew he had none. They bade me go with them, and I obeyed without question.

  It was raining, and it was both jungle-wet and jungle-warm. The wind was blowing in the regular, rhythmic gusts of the night before. The rain seemed less to fall than to condense in great drops from the air about, except when the wind blew and then the rain drove by in almost level lines. The air was like fragrant wine. I felt like singing and dancing. There was thunder all around—not the drums, but real thunder.

  I had been wearing only my shirt and my trousers. I had discarded my knee-high boots for sandals. It was only a minute or two before I was soaking wet. We came to a steaming pool, and there we halted. Sri told me to strip and plunge in.

  The pool was hot and invigorating and as I splashed around in it I kept feeling better and better. I reflected that whatever had been in the minds of the Little People when they had driven Evalie and me into the temple, their fear of me had been exorcised—for the time at any rate. But I thought I knew what had been in their minds. They suspected that Khalk’ru had some hold on me, as over the people I resembled. Not much of a hold maybe—but still it was not to be ignored. Very well—the remedy, since they couldn’t kill me without breaking Evalie’s heart, was to spike me down as they had the Kraken which was Khalk’ru’s symbol. So they had spiked me down with Evalie.

  I climbed out of the pool, more thoughtful than I had gone into it. They wrapped a loin cloth around me, in curious folds and knots. Then they trilled and twittered and laughed, and danced.

  Sri had my clothes and belt. I didn’t want to lose them, so when we started off I kept close behind him. Soon we stopped—in front of Evalie’s lair.

  After a while there was a great commotion, singing and beating of drums, and along came Evalie with a crowd of the little women dancing around her. They led her to where I was waiting. Then all of them danced away.

  That was all there was to it. The ceremony, if ceremony it was, was finished. But, somehow, I felt very much married.

  I looked down at Evalie. She looked up at me, demurely. Her hair was no longer free, but braided cunningly around head and ears and neck. The swathings were gone. She wore the little apron of the pygmy matrons and the silvery cobweb veils. She laughed, and took my hand, and we went into the lair.

  Next day, late in the afternoon, we heard a fanfare of trumpets that sounded rather close. They blew long and loudly, as though summoning someone. We stepped out into the rain, to listen better. I noted that the wind had changed from north to west, and was blowing steadily and strongly. By this time I knew that the acoustics of the land under the mirage were peculiar and that there was no way of telli
ng just how close the trumpets were. They were on the far side of the river bank of course, but how far away the pygmies’ guarded slope was from the river, I did not know. There was some bustling on the wall, but no excitement.

  There came a final trumpet blast, raucous and derisive. It was followed by a roar of laughter more irritatingly mocking because of its human quality. It brought me out of my indifference with a jump. It made me see red.

  “That,” said Evalie, “was Tibur. I suppose he has been hunting with Lur. I think he was laughing at—you, Leif.”

  Her delicate nose was turned up disdainfully, but there was a smile at the corner of her lips as she watched my quick anger flare up.

  “See here, Evalie, just who is this Tibur?”

  “I told you. He is Tibur the Smith, and he rules the Ayjir with Lur. Always does he come when I stand on Nansur. We have talked together—often. He is very strong—oh, strong.”

  “Yes?” I said, still more irritated. “And why does Tibur come when you are there?”

  “Why, because he desires me, of course,” she said tranquilly.

  My dislike for Tilbur the Laugher increased.

  “He’ll not laugh if I ever get an opening at him,” I muttered.

  “What did you say?” she asked. I translated, as best t could. She nodded and began to speak—and then I saw her eyes open wide and stark terror fill them. I heard a whirring over my head.

  Out of the mists had flown a great bird. It hovered fifty feet over us, glaring down with baleful yellow eyes. A great bird—a white bird…

  The white falcon of the Witch-woman!

  I thrust Evalie back into the lair, and watched it. Thrice it circled over me, and then, screaming, hurtled up into the mists and vanished.