by C. L. Moore
that never rose above a whisper. What tragedies must liebehind that gradual degeneration!
All about him the whispers still ran. He was beginning to suspect thatthrough countless ages of hiding and murmuring those voices must havelost the ability to speak aloud. And he wondered with a little inwardchill what terror it was which had transformed a free and fearlesspeople into these tiny wild things whispering in the underbrush.
The little anxious voices had shrilled into vehemence now, all of themchattering together in their queer, soft, rustling whispers. Lookingback later upon that timeless space he had passed in the hollow, Smithremembered it as some curious nightmare--dimness and tapestriedblurring, and a hush like death over the whole twilight land, and thetimid voices whispering, whispering, eloquent with terror and warning.
He groped back among his memories and brought forth a phrase or tworemembered from long ago, an archaic rendering of the immemorial tonguethey spoke. It was the simplest version he could remember of the complexspeech now used, but he knew that to them it must sound fantasticallystrange. Instinctively he whispered as he spoke it, feeling like anactor in a play as he mouthed the ancient idiom,
"I--I cannot understand. Speak--more slowly----"
A torrent of words greeted this rendering of their tongue. Then therewas a great deal of hushing and hissing, and presently two or threebetween them began laboriously to recite an involved speech, onesyllable at a time. Always two or more shared the task. Never in hisconverse with them did he address anyone directly. Ages of terror hadbred all directness out of them.
"Thag," they said. "Thag, the terrible--Thag, the omnipotent--Thag, theunescapable. Beware of Thag."
For a moment Smith stood quiet, grinning down at them despite himself.There must not be too much of intelligence left among this branch of therace, either, for surely such a warning was superfluous. Yet they hadmastered their agonies of timidity to give it. All virtue could not yethave been bred out of them, then. They still had kindness and a sort ofdesperate courage rooted deep in fear.
"What is Thag?" he managed to inquire, voicing the archaic syllablesuncertainly. And they must have understood the meaning if not thephraseology, for another spate of whispered tumult burst from theclustering tribe. Then, as before, several took up the task ofanswering.
"Thag--Thag, the end and the beginning, the center of creation. WhenThag breathes the world trembles. The earth was made for Thag'sdwelling-place. All things are Thag's. Oh, beware! Beware!"
This much he pieced together out of their diffuse whisperings, catchingup the fragments of words he knew and fitting them into the pattern.
"What--what is the danger?" he managed to ask.
"Thag--hungers. Thag must be fed. It is we who--feed--him, but there aretimes when he desires other food than us. It is then he sends hispriestess forth to lure--food--in. Oh, beware of Thag!"
"You mean then, that she--the priestess--brought me in for--food?"
A chorus of grave, murmuring affirmatives.
"Then why did she leave me?"
"There is no escape from Thag. Thag is the center of creation. Allthings are Thag's. When he calls, you must answer. When he hungers, hewill have you. Beware of Thag!"
Smith considered that for a moment in silence. In the main he feltconfident that he had understood their warning correctly, and he hadlittle reason to doubt that they knew whereof they spoke. Thag might notbe the center of the universe, but if they said he could call a victimfrom anywhere in the land, Smith was not disposed to doubt it. Thepriestess' willingness to let him leave her unhindered, yes, even herscornful laughter as he looked back, told the same story. Whatever Thagmight be, his power in this land could not be doubted. He made up hismind suddenly what he must do, and turned to the breathlessly waitinglittle folk.
"Which way--lies Thag?" he asked.
A score of dark, thin arms pointed. Smith turned his head speculativelytoward the spot they indicated. In this changeless twilight all sense ofdirection had long since left him, but he marked the line as well as hecould by the formation of the trees, then turned to the little peoplewith a ceremonious farewell rising to his lips.
"My thanks for----" he began, to be interrupted by a chorus ofwhispering cries of protest. They seemed to sense his intention, andtheir pleadings were frantic. A panic anxiety for him glowed upon everylittle terrified face turned up to his, and their eyes were wide withprotest and terror. Helplessly he looked down.
"I--I must go," he tried stumblingly to say. "My only chance is to takeThag unawares, before he sends for me."
He could not know if they understood. Their chattering went onundiminished, and they even went so far as to lay tiny hands on him, asif they would prevent him by force from seeking out the terror of theirlives.
"No, no, no!" they wailed murmurously. "You do not know what it is youseek! You do not know Thag! Stay here! Beware of Thag!"
* * * * *
A little prickling of unease went down Smith's back as he listened. Thagmust be very terrible indeed if even half this alarm had foundation. Andto be quite frank with himself, he would greatly have preferred toremain here in the hidden quiet of the hollow, with its illusion ofshelter, for as long as he was allowed to stay. But he was not of thestuff that yields very easily to its own terrors, and hope burnedstrongly in him still. So he squared his broad shoulders and turnedresolutely in the direction the tree-folk had indicated.
When they saw that he meant to go, their protests sank to a wail ofbitter grieving. With that sound moaning behind him he went up out ofthe hollow, like a man setting forth to the music of his own dirge. Afew of the bravest went with him a little way, flitting through theunderbrush and darting from tree to tree in a timidity so deeplyingrained that even when no immediate peril threatened they dared not goopenly through the twilight.
Their presence was comforting to Smith as he went on. A futile desire tohelp the little terror-ridden tribe was rising in him, a uselessgratitude for their warning and their friendliness, their genuinegrieving at his departure and their odd, paradoxical bravery even in themidst of hereditary terror. But he knew that he could do nothing forthem, when he was not at all sure he could even save himself. Somethingof their panic had communicated itself to him, and he advanced with asinking at the pit of his stomach. Fear of the unknown is so poignant athing, feeding on its own terror, that he found his hands beginning toshake a little and his throat going dry as he went on.
* * * * *
The rustling and whispering among the bushes dwindled as his followersone by one dropped away, the bravest staying the longest, but even theyfailing in courage as Smith advanced steadily in that direction fromwhich all their lives they had been taught to turn their faces.Presently he realized that he was alone once more. He went on morequickly, anxious to come face to face with this horror of the twilightand dispel at least the fearfulness of its mystery.
* * * * *
The silence was like death. Not a breeze stirred the leaves, and theonly sound was his own breathing, the heavy thud of his own heart.Somehow he felt sure that he was coming nearer to his goal. The hushseemed to confirm it. He loosened the force-gun at his thigh.
In that changeless twilight the ground was sloping down once more into abroader hollow. He descended slowly, every sense alert for danger, notknowing if Thag was beast or human or elemental, visible or invisible.The trees were beginning to thin. He knew that he had almost reached hisgoal.
He paused at the edge of the last line of trees. A clearing spread outbefore him at the bottom of the hollow, quiet in the dim, translucentair. He could focus directly upon no outlines anywhere, for thetapestried blurring of the place. But when he saw what stood in the verycenter of the clearing he stopped dead-still, like one turned to stone,and a shock of utter cold went chilling through him. Yet he could nothave said why.
For in the clearing's center stood the Tree of Life. He had met thesymbol too of
ten in patterns and designs not to recognize it, but herethat fabulous thing was living, growing, actually springing up from arooted firmness in the spangled grass as any tree might spring. Yet itcould not be real. Its thin brown trunk, of no recognizable substance,smooth and gleaming, mounted in the traditional spiral; its twelvefantastically curving branches arched delicately outward from thecentral stem. It was bare of leaves. No foliage masked the serpentinebrown spiral of the trunk. But at the tip of each symbolic branchflowered a blossom of bloody rose so vivid he could scarcely focus hisdazzled eyes upon them.
This tree alone of all objects in the dim land was sharply distinct tothe eye--terribly distinct, remorselessly clear. No words can describethe amazing menace that dwelt among its branches. Smith's flesh crept ashe stared, yet he could not for all his staring make out why peril wasso eloquent there. To all appearances here stood only a fabulous symbolmiraculously come
