* * * * *
"I am Aynger."
For a heart-beat there was silence. Then Elak said, "I seek the throne
of Cyrena."
Laughter sprang into the gray eyes. Aynger of Amenalk reached out a huge
hand and gripped Elak's arm, squeezing it painfully. He said, "Dalan
sent you! Dalan!"
Elak nodded.
"But it is not me you seek. It is Mayana--the daughter of Poseidon. You
must seek her there." He pointed to the distant castle on the island.
"Her power alone can aid you. But first--come."
He led the way to the cliff's edge. A perilous, narrow path led down the
jagged face; Aynger started along it with surefooted ease, and Elak and
Lycon followed more gingerly. Far below, the breakers tore upon the
rocks; sea-birds called shrilly.
The path ended at a cave-mouth. Aynger entered, beckoning to the others.
The cavern widened into a high-arched chamber, obviously Aynger's home.
He gestured to a heap of furs, and gave each of his guests a great horn
of mead.
"So. Dalan sent you. I had wondered. Orander is dead. Once the Pallid
One has set his seal on a man, there is escape in death alone."
"Karkora," Elak said musingly. "What is he? Do you know, Aynger?"
"You must seek your answer from Mayana, on the isle. Only she knows.
Mayana--of the seas. Let me tell you." The gray eyes grew bright with
dream. A softness crept into the deep voice. "This land, on the western
shore, is Amenalk. Not Kiriath. Once, long ago, Amenalk stretched far to
the east. We were a great people then. But invaders came conquering, and
now only this bit of land is left to us. Yet it is Amenalk. And I dwell
here because in my veins runs the blood of kings."
Aynger flung back his gray, tousled head. "And for ages the castle on
the isle had existed. None dwelt there. There were legends that even
before the Amenalks held this land, an ancient sea-people made it their
home. Sorcerers they were, warlocks and magicians. But they died and
were forgotten. So, in time, my own people were scattered through
Kiriath, and I dwelt here alone.
"Sepher ruled, well and wisely. One night he walked alone on the cliffs
of Amenalk, and when he returned to his palace, he brought a bride with
him. The bride was Mayana. Some say he found her in the island castle.
Some say she rose from the waves. I think she is not human. She is one
of the old sea-race--
"A shadow fell on the land. Out of the dark, out of the unknown, came
Karkora. He took Sepher for his own. Mayana fled here, and dwells now in
the castle, protected by her sorcery. And Karkora rules."
* * * * *
Aynger's gray beard jutted; his eyes were lambent pools. He said, "My
people were a Druid race. We worshipped great Mider, as I do now. And I
tell you that Karkora is a foulness and a horror--an evil that will
spread through all the world if the Druids fail to destroy him. Mayana
holds his secret. Mayana knows. You must go to her on her isle. For
myself--" A mighty hand clenched. "I have king's blood, and my people
live, though in bondage. I shall go through Kiriath and gather men. I
think you will need armies, ere you sit on Cyrena's dragon throne. Well,
I have an army for you, and for Mider."
Aynger reached behind him, brought out a huge war-hammer, bound with
thongs. Laughter touched his grim face.
"We shall fight in the old way, woad-painted, without armor. And I think
Helm-Breaker will taste blood again. If you get aid from Mayana--well.
But with you or without you, man of Cyrena, Amenalk will go forth to
battle!"
The great gray man towered against the cave-mouth, a grim, archaic
figure, somehow strong with primeval menace. He stood aside, pointing.
"Your way lies there, to the isle. Mine lies inland. When we meet again,
if we do, I shall have an army to give you."
Silently Elak moved past Aynger and went up the cliff path. Lycon
trailed him. On the windy, treeless plateau he stood unmoving, while the
gray giant passed him without a word and strode away, his war-hammer
over one muscular shoulder, beard and hair flying in the wind.
Aynger grew small in the distance. Elak nodded to Lycon.
"I think we have a strong ally there. We'll need him. But now--this
Mayana. If she can solve the riddle of Karkora, I'll find her though I
have to swim."
"You won't have to," Lycon said, wiping his mouth. "Gods, that mead was
good! There's a bridge to the isle--see? A narrow one, but it will
serve. Unless she's set a dragon to guard it."
_6. Mayana_
By the tall obelisks, all seaweed-girt,
Drift the pale dead of long and long ago,
Lovers and kings who may not more be hurt,
Wounded by lips or by the dagger's blow.
--_The Sunken Towers._
From the cliff's edge a narrow bridge of rock jutted, a natural
formation worn by wind and rain. It ended on a jagged ledge, at the back
of which a black hole gaped. Elak said, "Lycon, wait here. I must take
this road alone."
The little man disagreed profanely. But Elak was firm.
"It will be safer. So we won't both fall into the same trap. If I'm not
back by sundown, come after me--you may be of aid then." Lycon could not
help but realize the truth of this. He shrugged fat shoulders.
"Very well. I'll wait in Aynger's cave. His mead was potent; I'm anxious
to sample more. Luck, Elak."
Nodding, the Atlantean started along the bridge. He found it safer not
to look down, but the surging roar of the breakers sounded disquietingly
from beneath. Sea-birds mewed and called. The wind tore at his swaying
body.
But at last he was across, and felt the firm stability of the rocky
ground under his sandals. Without a backward glance he entered the
cave-mouth. Almost immediately outside sounds dimmed and quieted.
The road led down--a natural passage, seemingly, that turned and twisted
in the rock. Sand was gritty underfoot, with bits of shell here and
there. For a time it was dark, and then a greenish, vague luminous glow
appeared, apparently emanated by the sand on which he trod.
It was utterly silent.
Still the tunnel led down, till Elak's feet felt moisture beneath him.
He hesitated, staring around. The rocky walls were dewed and sweating. A
dank, salty odor was strong in his nostrils. Loosening his rapier in its
scabbard, he went on.
The green glow brightened. The passage turned; Elak rounded the corner,
and stood motionless, staring. Before him a vast cavern opened.
It was huge and terrifyingly strange. Low-roofed, stalactites hung in
myriad shapes and colors over the broad expanse of an underground lake.
The green shining was everywhere. The weight of the island above seemed
to press down suffocatingly, but the air, despite a salt sea-smell, was
fresh enough.
At his feet a sandy half-moon of a beach reached down to the motionless
surface of the water. Further out, he could see far down vague shadows
that resembled sunken buildings--fallen peristyles and columns, and far
away, in the center of the lake, was an island.
Ruined marble crowned it. Only in the center a small temple seemed
unharmed; it rose from shattered ruins in cool, white perfection. All
around it the dead and broken city lay, to the water's edge and beyond.
A submerged, forgotten metropolis lay before Elak.
Silence, and the pale green expanse of the waveless lake.
Softly Elak called, "Mayana." There was no response.
Frowning, he considered the task before him. He felt an odd conviction
that what he sought lay in the temple on the islet, but there was no way
of reaching it save by swimming. And there was something ominous about
the motionless green of the waters.
Shrugging, Elak waded out. Icy chill touched his legs, crept higher
about his loins and waist. He struck out strongly. And at first there
was no difficulty; he made good progress.
But the water was very cold. It was salt, and this buoyed him up
somewhat; yet when he glanced at the islet it seemed no nearer.
Grunting, Elak buried his face in the waters and kicked vigorously.
His eyes opened. He looked down. He saw, beneath him, the sunken city.
Strange it was, and weird beyond imagination, to be floating above the
wavering outline of these marble ruins. Streets and buildings and fallen
towers were below, scarcely veiled by the luminous waters, but
possessing a vague, shadowy indistinctness that made them half-unreal. A
green haze clothed the city. A city of shadows--
And the shadows moved and drifted in the tideless sea. Slowly,
endlessly, they crept like a stain over the marble. They took shape
before Elak's eyes.
Not sea-shapes--no. The shadows of men walked in the sunken metropolis.
With queer, drifting motion the shadows went to and fro. They met and
touched and parted again in strange similitude of life.
Stinging, choking cold filled Elak's mouth and nostrils. He spluttered
and struck out, realizing that he was far beneath the surface, that,
unconsciously holding his breath, he had drifted into the depths. He
fought his way up.
It was oddly difficult. Soft, clinging arms seemed to touch him; the
water darkened. But his head broke the surface, and he drank deeply of
the chill air. Only by swimming with all his strength could he keep from
sinking. That inexplicable drag pulled him down.
He went under. His eyes were open, and he saw, far below, movement in
the sunken city. The shadow-shapes were swirling up, rising, spinning
like autumn leaves--rising to the surface. And shadows clustered about
Elak, binding him with gossamer fetters. They clung feathery and
tenacious as spider-webs.
The shadows drew him down into the shining depths.
He struck out frantically. His head broke water once more; he saw the
islet, closer now.
"Mayana!" he called. "_Mayana!_"
* * * * *
Rustling movement shook the shadows. A ripple of mocking laughter seemed
to go through them. They closed in again, dim, impalpable, unreal. Elak
went under once more, too exhausted to fight, letting the shadows have
their will with him. Only his mind cried out desperately to Mayana,
striving to summon her to his aid.
The waters brightened. The green glow flamed emerald-bright. The shadows
seemed to pause with odd hesitation, as though listening.
Then suddenly they closed in on Elak. They bore him through the waters;
he was conscious of swift movement amid whirling green fire.
The shadows carried him to the islet, bore him up as on a wave, and left
him upon the sands.
The green light faded to its former dimness. Choking, coughing, Elak
clambered to his feet. He stared around.
The shadows had vanished. Only the motionless lake stretched into the
distance. He stood amid the ruins of the islet.
Hastily he staggered away from the water's marge, clambering across
broken plinths and fallen pillars, making his way to the central temple.
It stood in a tiny plaza, unmarred by time, but stained and discolored
in every stone.
The brazen door gaped open. Unsteadily Elak climbed the steps and paused
at the threshold. He looked upon a bare room, lit with the familiar
emerald glow, featureless save for a curtain, on the further wall, made
of some metallic cloth and figured with the trident of the sea-god.
There was no sound but Elak's hastened breathing. Then, abruptly, a low
splashing came from beyond the curtain. It parted.
Beyond it was green light, so brilliant it was impossible to look upon.
Silhouetted against the brightness for a moment loomed a figure--a
figure of unearthly slimness and height. Only for a second did Elak see
it; then the curtain swung back into place and the visitant was gone.
Whispering through the temple came a voice, like the soft murmur of
tiny, rippling waves. And it said:
"I am Mayana. Why do you seek me?"
_7. Karkora_
And I saw a beast coming up out of the sea, having ten horns and
seven heads, and on his horns ten diadems, and upon his heads names
of blasphemy ... and the dragon gave him his power, and his throne,
and great authority.
--Revelations 13:1.
Elak's wet hand crept to his rapier. There had been no menace in the
whisper, but it was strangely--inhuman. And the silhouette he had seen
was not that of any earthly woman.
Yet he answered quietly enough, no tremor in his voice:
"I seek the dragon throne of Cyrena. And I come to you for aid against
Karkora."
There was silence. When the whisper came again, it had in it all the
sadness of waves and wind.
"Must I aid you? Against Karkora?"
"You know what manner of being he is?" Elak questioned.
"Aye--I know that well." The metallic curtain shook. "Seat yourself. You
are tired--how are you named?"
"Elak."
"Elak, then--listen. I will tell you of the coming of Karkora, and of
Erykion the sorcerer. And of Sepher, whom I loved." There was a pause;
then the low whisper resumed.
"Who I am, what I am, you need not know, but you should understand that
I am not entirely human. My ancestors dwelt in this sunken city. And
I--well, for ten years I took human shape and dwelt with Sepher as his
wife. I loved him. And always I hoped to give him a son who would some
day mount the throne. I hoped in vain, or so I thought.
"Now in the court dwelt Erykion, a wizard. His magic was not that of the
sea, soft and kindly as the waves, but of a darker sort. Erykion delved
in ruined temples and pored over forgotten manuscripts of strange lore.
His vision went back even before the sea-folk sprang from the loins of
Poseidon, and he opened the forbidden gates of Space and Time. He
offered to give me a child, and I listened to him, to my sorrow.
"I shall not tell you of the months I spent in strange temples, before
dreadful altars. I shall not tell you of Erykion's magic. I bore a
son--dead."
[Illustration: "I spent months in strange temples. His magic was not
that of the sea, soft and kindly as the waves, but of a darker sort."]
The silver curtain shook; it was long before the unseen speaker resumed.
"And this son was frightful. He was deformed in ways I cannot let myself
remember. Sorcery had made him inhuman. Yet he was my son, my husband's
son, and I loved him. When Erykion offered to give him life, I agreed to
the price he demanded--even though the price was the child himself."
"'I shall not harm him,' Erykion told me. 'Nay, I shall give him powers
beyond those of any god or man. Some day he shall rule this world and
others. Only give him to me, Mayana.' And I hearkened.
"Now of Erykion's sorcery I know little. Something had entered into the
body of my son while I bore him, and what this thing was I do not know.
It was dead, and it awoke. Erykion awoke it. He took this blind, dumb,
maimed man-child and bore it to his home in the depths of the
mountains. With his magic he deprived it of any vestige of the five
senses. Only life remained, and the unknown dweller within.
"I remembered something Erykion had once told me. 'We have in us a sixth
sense, primeval and submerged, which can be very powerful once it is
brought to light. I know how to do that. A blind man's hearing may
become acute; his power goes to the senses remaining. If a child, at
birth, be deprived of all five senses, his power will go to this sixth
sense. My magic can insure that.' So Erykion made of my man-child a
being blind and dumb and without consciousness, almost; for years he
worked his spells and opened the gates of Time and Space, letting alien
powers flood through. This sixth sense within the child grew stronger.
And the dweller in his mind waxed great, unbound by the earthly fetters
that bind humans. This is my son--my man-child--Karkora, the Pallid
One!"
* * * * *
And silence. And again the whisper resumed.
"Yet it is not strange that I do not entirely hate and loathe Karkora. I
know he is a burning horror and a thing that should not exist; yet I
gave him birth. And so, when he entered the mind of Sepher, his father,
I fled to this my castle. Here I dwell alone with my shadows. I strove
to forget that once I knew the fields and skies and hearths of earth.
Here, in my own place, I forgot.
"And you seek me to ask aid." There was anger in the soft murmur. "Aid
to destroy that which came from my flesh!"