Susan it was who persuaded Ramahadin to spend long hours with the Blythes. Here
WEIRD TALES
he held many discussions with her father about social progress through the ages, analyzed the history of many peoples who had risen and fallen during the long years since Ramahadin had lived upon the earth. "History has followed a pattern," the Egyptian expounded to them. "Peoples have succeeded or failed, as the gods willed, but also according to the might of their minds. This is a good world here in Atlantis."'
"Among themselves Ramahadin al-alluded to the country of his emergence from the past as Atlantis, although his miraculous mastering of English and his fantastic ability to absorb facts made it possible for him to talk glibly to others of "the Middle West" the "mental processes of the Deep South," etc. That his mind held just as detailed and intricate knowledge of world-shaping events of the past was apparent. How this vast wealth of learning was to be infiltrated into modern America was the problem before them. Ramahadin's own scholarly mind seemed to be winning the ascendant over his domineering spirit, and his interest in the news of the new world war was unceasing. He would compare Hitler with other dictators of eight hundred, a thousand years ago. He realized and comprehended the modern mechanical means of slaughter, but maintained that now, as always—it would be man's spirit that would win.
A certain slyness returned to his manner when he realized how keenly Susan was feeling the effect of the war. She became tense with anxiety when more and more of Europe was overcome, and the growing war spirit of America caused her many sleepless nights.
"You would have this stopped?" he asked. "I could conjure up spirits who would combat the essence of evil abroad on this planet," he said, "but"—and the tone of this voice stopped her eagerness— "my price is one only you can pay."
The conversation ended there with the entry of Professor Shepard, but Susan turned it over and over in her mind. Was it to be given to her to pay a price that would save humanity; was she, Susan Blythe, modern young America in person, to be a sacrifice to Ancient Egypt?
Her association with Eric Hanley had generated a feeling not only of mutual interests with the brilliant young scientist, but of a growing love, and her heart was his—yet both realized they must keep the High Priest on the side of humanity, not of the forces of evil.
Shepard they saw more rarely as time went on, and Ramahadin and he worked together less often. With this arrangement Shepard was keenly dissatisfied, and he and Professor Blythe had a violent disagreement over the custody of both the translation and original papyrus of the Book of the Dead.
"It is ours jointly, of course," said the older man, "but it shall remain in my safe until I am satisfied that spread of its knowledge is warranted."
"The formulae I need," said Shepard, "and I mean to have. You must allow me access to the safe."
"All in good time," said Professor Blythe, and stood his ground in spite of Shepard's threat of violence.
Their altercation was interrupted by the entrance of Susan, Eric and Ramahadin who had been on a visit to one of the great new industries manufacturing war implements.
"I cannot but grieve," said the Egyptian, "that the vast knowledge that man has achieved since I last was on earth is still turned to the art of waging war. It should not be."
"Conquest is power, and power is what we all crave," said Professor Shepard. "I want Professor Blythe to use the power given him by the knowledge contained in the Book of the Dead, but he refuses."
THE BOOK OF THE DEAD
11*7
"rriHE Book of the Dead no longer ex-
•*- ists save in my mmd," replied Rama-hadin calmly. "I destroyed it—its translation and its secret formulae."
"You what?" gasped Professor BIythe, and his eyes turned toward the safe.
"That was only too easy to open," said the Egyptian. "I felt that you men were not great enough, not worthy enough, if you will, to have such a secret in your possession."
"Other secrets of yours I have," shouted Professor Shepard whose anger had presented his speaking at the Egyptian's portentous announcement. "I shall use them as I will—to destroy or save mankind as I decide."
"One great secret of my knowledge you can never possess," announced Ramahadin, "because it is of the spirit, not of the intellect."
"I know the Law of Taxeticon," said Shepard. "That will neutralize the power of high explosive."
"You know only a part of it," replied Ramahadin.
"You instructed me in the theories of harnessing the pull of gravity," retorted Shepard. "That will govern all airship construction."
"Such knowledge must be shared, Shepard, such was our agreement," broke in Professor BIythe.
"It is mine, and mine alone now," cried Shepard. "I can use it as I will. Ramahadin has shared with me the hypnotic powers of his cult of High Priests; I can rule men's minds. He has given me the secret formula by which Gravitas and his medieval college of mind doctors changed human brains; I can mold men's very souls. He has shown me the secrets of the power of the stars over the movements of vessels upon the sea.
"From here in America I shall rule the world; I, Emory Shepard, shall be more powerful than Hitler, wiser than—"
"It is true," broke in Ramahadin, "I have told you much—too much, I realize —but from it all you have not learned the greatest lesson of all, that it is not wise to shout aloud your knowledge. We realize the danger of your power my friend, and that in itself reduces much of its value.
"Let me tell you that since I have gone about this country of yours, I have become convinced that in it is the spirit which will save the world of the future—and nothing as puny as you will stand between it and its purpose. I have spoken!"
Even as his voice faded out, Ramahadin seemed to take on the stature of the priest of old and his listeners were as awed and incapable of speech or action as were his satellites of untold centuries before.
When the spell was broken, Shepard lay on the sofa in a coma and his breathing was scarcely perceptible.
"When he wakes up," said Ramahadin, "his mind will be a blank. He should not have challenged the lore of all the ages. It is too bad I had to destroy all his present knowledge, but he was too weak a man to possess mine—which unfortunately I did not at first realize."
And with a shrug he dismissed the whole matter from his mind.
Ill
SUSAN was sitting on the hotel porch high on the mountain side. Opposite her was Eric Hanley and the man whose powers of wizardry had been demonstrated to them only a few days before. Susan herself could hardly believe that the swarthy gentleman in impeccable evening dress whose figure she could just make out in the gathering dusk, could be the same creature that her father and Professor Shepard had conjured from the past.
They had come to this mountain resort to escape the city's heat. And now in the clear air were sitting in front of the hotel watching the daylight fade. Far below
WEIRD TALES
them they could see the headlights of cars as they followed the winding road through the dense forests and along the cliffs where roadways had been cut. They would see a light at one point, watch it vanish, then reappear at the next bend or opening farther on.
"Like the souls of men," said Ramaha-din. "They pass through one existence, go out into infinity and return again where men may see them."
"Not quite," came the voice of Professor Blythe, who had slipped into a chair beside them. "For if we were to cut away the trees and level the intervening hills we should be able to see the lights continuously—men's naked souls would continue on unceasingly."
"And that," said the voice of Ramaha-din from the darkness, "is the power I can sway; and you two men and one woman— alone of all the world — will know the truth of the phenomenon which will soon shake the earth."
His voice seemed all pervading, yet must have reached their ears alone, for groups of people further along the hotel porch seemed oblivious of its portent.
Susan's hand
found Eric's in the darkness^—was her hour of decision at hand?
But reassurance came from the darkness.
"From you, Susan, I ask nothing further than you have given me," went on the High Priest. "You have shown me that a woman who is true and steadfast can be worthy of her place in this world of America. You I leave to Eric—and with you both the knowledge that faith in ideals such as yours will survive.
"Tonight I leave you; I go high into the mountains—and for me there will be no return, no second conjuring up by the Book of the Dead. I was brought back to show the world the way out of oppression; and after that I shall go out once more into darkness. For I, and I alone, can invoke the spirits of the dead to save the living.
Against the forces of evil rampant in the world I shall conjure up the spirits of the oppressed from all ages and generations. The shades of the martyrs, the ghosts of all men who died for freedom, the spirits of those who perished in every righteous cause since the dawn of time shall come trooping at my call to force back the power for evil that threatens the free men on the earth today.
"For I am Ramahadin, Ramahadin the great, Ramahadin the keeper of the secrets of all the ages and my will shall prevail— keep your faith, you men of science, for faith and knowledge alone will save the world."
Susan felt again the enormous power she had sensed the day that Professor Shepard had defied Ramahadin, and heard herself murmuring words she scarcely knew she remembered: "Keep ye the faith, the faith our fathers
sealed us, Whoring not with visions over-wise and
over stale. . . ."
IV
ERIC and Susan were listening to the radio—it was weeks, months later; sometimes it seemed as if time itself had ceased altogether. Over the air was coming a dramatic account of the final battle which settled the w-orld conflict; an eye witness, an intrepid correspondent for the powerful press of America was telling of what he had seen that climactic day w : hen right .it last triumphed.
"it seemed as if superhuman strength were given the defenders of our way of life," the voice proclaimed. "Nothing daunted them, nothing stopped them . . . it was as if the spirits of their fathers re-tinned again and led their sons to victory!"
Eric and Susan looked at each other, and remembered that the High Priest had said that they alone of all the world would recognize the truth.
/.
Happened to Me
pimniiyiu^ irai ucn amuiGmunntMcniitiERimtuuiHnnLf EmteRnn r rmnrp mm n mit n 11. in m mpmwmm
H t^EIRD TALES will pay ten dollars apiece for true psychic experiences. Have g"
g you ever slept in a haunted house, or been chased by a ghost? Have you ever S
H dreamed a dream that came true? Has your life been saved by a vision? Let the 8
g other readers of WEIRD TALES know about your weird experience. Your story g
g mast be briefly told, in not more than a thousand words; the shorter the better. I
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THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
By SIGMOND MILLER
IT'S a long stretch between Jackson City and Logan, every bit of three hundred miles. The fast trains that come through here, if they're behind time, can easily build up a good speed and make the schedule, for it's a straight run. No need to slow down; no difficult bends and very few cross roads.
On this spring night the fog was unusually heavy. Engineer Timson pulled out his big watch. "On time," he said laconically.
I wiped my brow; I'm the fireman. "Kinda heavy fog t'night."
Timson grunted and busied himself at the control.-:. The huge panting locomotive got under way. Soon the click-clack of the wheels beat rhythmically and the crack Western Limited moved along at high speed.
For an hour neither of us said anything, but attended to our duties. We were making good time despite the fog. Suddenly Timson shouted out in a strange voice. "My eyes must be goin' back on me. Do yuh see what I see?"
I looked out of the cab and saw directly ahead and above what seemed to be noth-
apparition rode the sky with the same speed as the train. "Almighty God!" I said in an awed whisper. "What is that!"
"Yuh see it too, don't yuh?"
I nodded.
"It looks like the Angel of Death," said Timson, his voice packed with fear.
"It's a warning!'' I shouted, quite frightened. "Put on the brakes!"
The engineer needed no urging. The locomotive came to a quick halt.
Both of us got off. The apparition remained stationary in the sky. It moved or seemed to beckon. "It's trying to warn us. Maybe something wrong with the engine," I said.
We walked around the huge boiler tube examining the eccentric crank, the reversing links, the connecting rods, but found nothing wrong.
The figure in the sky remained where it was.
"Well, I'll be hanged!" I said with great relief.
"What yuh find?" asked the engineer walking over to me.
"It's just a moth stuck on the headlight Just threw a shadow in the sky like a mov-in' picture." I handed Timson the fluttering moth.
WEIRD TALES
"Yuli certainly scared the daylights outa me," said Timson, looking fascinatedly at the insect.
"Sure is one on us. Wait'H the boys hear this one."
"Let's get goin'. We're losin' time," said Timson, himself again.
"Wait a minute. Hear sometbin?"
Timson listened. "That surely sounds I ike water. That must be Chapman's Creek."
"Kinda loud for a little creek. Let's cro sec what it is."
"Short ten minutes a'ready. But we can take a quick look."
We followed the tracks down a hundred feet or so and suddenly the tracks disappeared into an expanse of water. The trestle over Chapman's Creek was gone. What was once a small stream was now a raging, roaring river, flooded by the heavy spring rains.
For a long time we stared down at it unbelievingly, then turned and looked at each other's pale faces. Silently, we walked back to the panting engine.
mm i}V)W
{From the trench of Charles P. Baudelaire)
Translated by TIMEUS GAYLORD
IN shelter of the vaulted yews, Like alien gods who shun the world, The flown owls wait with feathers furled; Darting red eyes, they dream and muse.
In rows unmoving they remain Till the sad hour that they remember, When, treading down the sun's last ember, The towering night resumes its reign.
Their attitude will teach the seer How wise and needful is the fear Of movement and of travailment;
For shadow-drunken wanderers bear On all their ways the chastisement Of having wished to wend elsewhere.
Witchcraft and the Merry Monarch Most of us have had, at one time or another, a sneaking suspicion that history had dealt harshly with King Charles II of England. But is it possible that Black Magic and the Powers of Darkness, also, gave a raw deal to that pleasant gentleman who "never said a foolish thing, and never did a wise one"?
Read Mr. Wellman's interesting sidelight on his story, The Liers m Wait, and decide for yourself!
BRIEFLY and bluntly, I admit that The Liers in 'Wait might well have happened just as I have set it down.
We know, from standard history, that Charles II 6ed forlornly after his defeat at Worcester in 1651, and that even in the first hoots of his flight the rumor went up that witchcraft had been used against him. As my story asks rhetorically, where and when else have Scots troops refused to fight? And why should tain have fallen only on the wood when: Charles hid, and nowhere else? How about CromvdI's exact seven years of unrestrained fftnpnral power?
Charles II was a secret man. We are not sure of even his religious faith, if he had any. He neve
r nude pub-Ik bis own narrative of that wonderful escape in disguise, though some of his helpers and companions wrote fascinatingly about it. We do know that he was alone for a full day in Spring Coppice, and that anything might have happened there. Assuredly he acted in later life like a pieasure-loving but thoughtful man who had known a strange shock in his youth. And in those days England was full of witches—everywhere.
Many scholars, even modern scholars, believe that Cromwell's regime had the support of black magic. The erudite Father Montague Summers opines that "beyond any shadow of doubt, Oliver Cromwell was a Satanist, intimately leagued with the powers of darkness to whom he sold his soul for temporal success." James Grant, in his monumental work on demonology of all nations, quotes Cromwell's lieutenant, Colonel Lindsay, as saying that the commander of the Parliamentarians spoke with the devil in his presence, and made the aforesaid seven-year contract, I could cite others.
Much as I admire Summers and Grant, I take leave to differ with their view of Cromwell. He was fierce and harsh and greedy for dictatorial power—but he would not have parlied even with Satan. More reasonable, I argue, is the thought that among his followers (as everywhere in that time and place) were traffickers with wizards.
The spells and conjurations of ray three witches I quote almost exactly from a curious and probably dangerous volume of such things, attributed to Albertus Magnus and annotated here and there in a mordantly knowing longhand. For the style of the narrative I have studied again the Restoration writers— notably Bunyan, Evelyn, Pepys and Wycherly.
Back of it all is sympathy, if not admiration, for Charles II, who was most consistently well-meaning. Probably he was a practical liability to his age, and Cromwell a practical asset; yet how pleasant we find Charles, and how forbidding Old Noll! If this be Jacobi-tism, make the most of it!
Weird Tales volume 36 number 02 Page 19
