THE FASCINATION OF THE PRIEST.
FORWARD they came to the base of the steps, then paused a while, as
though awaiting some signal ere commencing the attack. It came at
length. From somewhere at the rear arose the voice of the high priest
of the wolf-men.
“Go forward, my children, and ye shall prevail. Ramouni has
spoken it.”
At the words a score or so of savages leapt up the steps towards
the Ayuti.
“Guard my back,” the latter cried to his three friends, and bent
forward to meet his oncoming foes. A grim smile played over his
features for an instant as the wolf-men hesitated a few feet from the
top of the steps.
“Are ye fearful,” he cried mockingly, “oh, children of the wolf?
Hath not Nordhu, your father, promised that ye shall prevail? Come,
then! Chenobi awaits you.”
His words lashed the savages to fury, and, with a roar of rage,
they hurled themselves upon him. Quick as thought his weapon flashed
upward, then came down in a terrific swoop, and the foremost wolf-man,
his head almost cloven from his shoulders, pitched backward down the
steps. To right and left the great axe whirled and smote, dancing and
gleaming above the heaving mass of brown bodies which surged furiously
upward. And from every fresh stroke it rose dyed crimson with the
life-blood of a new victim.
As yet the three behind were idle. At the stairhead they would
have been in the king’s way, preventing him from the free use of his
weapon, and so far not a savage had managed to break past and gain the
terrace. But there was work for them before the fight was over. At
present they had perforce to be content to look on, and the sight
aroused their keenest admiration, while satisfying the lust for
vengeance which burned within them.
Like ripened grain the wolf-men fell away before that terrible
axe, and still Chenobi was untouched. Every spear-thrust or stab of
knife fell harmless upon his great shield. His arm seemed tireless, as
he wielded the mighty weapon which a man of average strength could
barely lift. Still the carnage went on, still the pile of dead grew,
until but five of the attackers remained. Then these lost heart, and,
turning, bounded down the steps.
The first attack had failed.
“Cannot we help?” asked Mervyn, as Chenobi turned round, smiling
triumphantly.
“Nay,” returned the king; “spears are but puny weapons against a
host. Besides, ye have no shields.”
“But it becomes us ill to stand idle,” persisted the
scientist.
“If I should fall your turn will come,” replied Chenobi, and,
with that, he faced about to meet a fresh attack.
“God forbid!” cried Mervyn fervently, but his words were drowned
in the clamour of the savage horde that came charging up towards the
terrace. It was but a repetition of the previous scene, and the
scientist, knowing the devilish cunning of the priest, marvelled that
he should allow his followers to throw away their lives in such mad
fashion. Yet in his heart was a dread that these attacks were but the
prelude to some diabolical scheme, which, when complete, would land
them all in the power of the wolf-men. And his forebodings were only
too fully justified.
While Chenobi hacked and hewed, with his whole mind centred upon
the foe before him, a fur-clad figure advanced from the shadow of the
king’s palace and crossed the square to the foot of the steps.
It was Nordhu, and Mervyn shuddered as he saw the weird glitter
of the fellow’s eyes as he fixed them full upon those of the king.
Like twin stars they glowed through the twilight.
“Great Heaven!” the scientist ejaculated, grasping Haverly’s arm,
“he’s trying to hypnotise Chenobi!”
“The devil!” snarled Silas with a shiver of rage, and, lifting
his spear, he hurled it full at the priest. He missed his mark by a
few inches as Nordhu leapt aside.
“Ye shall pay for that, dog!” roared the latter, once more
riveting his gaze upon the form of the king.
“He’s overcoming our friend,” Mervyn gasped an instant later, as
Chenobi, ceasing his efforts, dropped his weapon, and stood as one
dazed. With a roar of delight the wolf-men gained the terrace, and
within two minutes their gigantic enemy was fast bound by a stout hide
rope, and the attackers were turning their attention to the three
comrades, who had retired a few paces. There, with their backs to the
altar, in the shadow of the great idol, they prepared for the final
struggle against their relentless foes.
But the fascinating stare of the priest followed them, and, ere
long, Wilson succumbed to its baleful power. Despite his comrades’
efforts to detain him, the lad strode calmly across the terrace,
passed through the horde of savages clustered at the head of the
stairs, and descended to the square, where he was immediately bound
securely by the wolf-men below. The power of the priest was truly
appalling.
Flushed by his double triumph, he again exerted himself to
complete the fell work he had begun, by subduing the minds of the
remaining two. But they were of sterner stuff. With all the strength
of their natures they fought against the uncanny force which bade them
surrender to their enemies. The eyes of the priest seemed to be
glaring right into their brains, yet they struggled on, knowing that
to submit meant their ultimate ruin. Their case they well knew was
hopeless, but far better to die fighting beneath the spears of the
savages than to be led captive into the caverns of the hills, there to
be sacrificed to the terrible Rahee.
Oh, for a rifle and a couple of cartridges! Haverly thought, that
he might at least send Nordhu to his last account ere he himself fell.
As well might he have wished for the moon.
Suddenly the influence of the priest was withdrawn; his eyes
ceased to glare, and from his lips came a low call. Instantly the
waiting savages dashed forward, overwhelming the two comrades by sheer
numbers, before either could strike more than a blow in
self-defence.
So it ended, the fight that had opened so well, that had promised
to finish so differently, its issue decided by the devilish arts of
the priest. But for the hypnotic power of Nordhu, they might have kept
the wolf-men at bay for an almost indefinite period. Haverly ground
his teeth with helpless rage as he and Mervyn were led down into the
square. Here the same humiliating fate befel them as had already
fallen to Wilson and the Ayuti.
They were bound securely, hand and foot, the raw hide ropes being
drawn so tightly that they almost cut into the flesh. Then, seized by
some of their hideous captors, the four men were carried swiftly
through the silent streets and out across the plain towards the haunts
of the wolf-men.
* * * * *
When Seymour felt himself gripped from behind, as he stood gazing
down into the abyss, his first sensation was one of deadly fear.
Overcoming this, however, he swung round quickly and grappled his
hideous opponent. To and fro they swayed upon the brink, each gripping
the other’s throat, each struggling to hurl his enemy over the edge of
the chasm.
With all his enormous strength Seymour could barely hold his own.
The wolf-man’s muscles seemed of iron, his fingers gripped like a
vice, and beneath their pressure the baronet’s life was slowly choked
out.
It was at this moment that he managed to gasp out the cry which
attracted the attention of his friends; but, as we know, they were too
late to aid him, and both he and the loathsome savage pitched over
into the abyss.
His mind was a complete blank during the few moments of his fall.
He did not swoon, yet his mental and physical powers were alike
suspended--paralysed, as it were. Then suddenly his faculties
were fully restored by a plunge into rushing water. He sank like a
stone, the water roaring madly in his ears, seeming to beat him
downward to a terrible depth. With all his strength he struck out for
the surface, fighting his way up through the surging waters that he
might empty his bursting lungs.
It was the agony of years concentrated into a few seconds of time
through which he passed in that upward struggle; but he gained the
surface at length, and, with the thunderous boom of a cataract in his
ears, was swept forward by the current. For a time he was content to
be carried along without attempting to swim, only paddling
sufficiently to keep himself afloat. The roar of the fall died away
behind him as he was swept on, and the speed of the current gradually
slackened.
Slower and slower his progress grew, and at last he was obliged
to strike out for himself. As to his whereabouts, he had no idea, but,
deeming one direction as good as another in the midnight darkness by
which he was surrounded, he swam boldly ahead.
Ere long he found that, strong as he was, to swim fully clothed
for any length of time would be an impossibility; so, floating there,
in the midst of a profound and awful silence, hedged about on either
side by a solid pall of darkness, the intrepid baronet removed his
boots and clothes. Then, naked as he was born, he struck out once more
with long, steady strokes that ate up the distance.
Where was his enemy, the wolf-man? he wondered. Had he, too,
escaped, and at the present moment was swimming somewhere in the
darkness? The thought sent a shiver through Seymour’s frame, and he
half expected to see a pair of fierce eyes glaring through the gloom
and to feel once more those bony fingers gripping his throat. But
there came no sign to show that the savage had escaped, and gradually
the baronet’s anxiety on that score died.
For hours, so it seemed to him, he was swimming before his
outstretched hand touched solid stone. Treading water, he reached
upward, striving to discover how high this barrier was; but the top
was beyond his reach.
Sheer and solid the masonry rose, without crack or crevice by
means of which one might climb. Somewhat disappointed, Seymour turned
and swam slowly along the base of the wall.
What this barrier meant he could not at first determine. The
touch of it told him that it was no work of Nature. No natural wall
had ever its smoothness and regularity. Yet for what purpose had it
been built? Like a flash into his brain swept the answer. This was the
ancient reservoir of the Ayutis, which fed the great tanks beneath the
temple. The thought gave him hope, for, if his idea were correct,
there must be some exit through which the water flowed into the
conduits.
Steadily he swam forward, feeling the wall as he went, till
suddenly, thrusting out his hand, he felt nothing. The wall had
ended!
Eagerly he felt about him. Yes, there was no doubt about it, the
masonry had ceased. Three cautious strokes, at right angles to his
first course, and his feet touched the lowest of a flight of steps
which here broke the regularity of the wall, running down some feet
into the water. Thankfully he drew himself up, and sat a while to
rest, ere ascending to the top of the flight.
His position was a most unenviable one. Naked, wet, and shivering
from his immersion, buried in some subterranean cavern far away from
even the ghostly light of the underworld, and, above all, entirely
defenceless, it was not remarkable that he felt somewhat depressed.
But summoning all his courage he rose after a few moments and mounted
the steps, moving carefully, lest he should lose his footing and fall
backward into the water again. Twelve of the steps he counted, then
found himself upon an apparently broad pavement, across which he
crept, hands outstretched before him.
The silence was intense. No sound but the gentle lapping of the
water against the stonework came to his ears, and even this ceased as
he increased his distance from the reservoir. Step by step he
advanced, gaining courage with every yard, until, with a suddenness
that sent his heart leaping into his mouth, a sound came out of the
darkness ahead--_the snarling yelp of some animal!_
The baronet pulled up on the instant and stood listening. Again
the yelp came to his ears, trembling away weirdly into the furthermost
recesses of the vast cavern. What creature could it be that dwelt here
in the darkness? he asked himself. Was it the wolf-man who had fallen
with him into these depths? Even as his mind framed the question he
knew that it was so. The savage had escaped from the reservoir, and
was now prowling somewhere in the gloom ahead of him.
The idea was by no means a pleasant one, yet better the wolf-man
for an enemy than some strange beast. Prepared for an attack at any
moment, Seymour moved forward again, his momentary fear giving place
to a revengeful passion against the brute who had caused his present
predicament. For perhaps a score of yards he advanced, at length
coming in touch with a wall, along which he felt his way to a low
archway. This, after some little hesitation, he entered, having to
bend somewhat to escape catching his head against the roof.
The floor was slimy with ooze, and there was a constant drip of
water from above, but, disdaining these minor difficulties, Seymour
held on. With his arms outstretched to their full extent, he could
just touch the walls of the passage, and in this fashion he managed to
steer himself. As nearly as he could judge, the tunnel was about two
hundred yards in length, giving at last upon a chamber, which appeared
to be one of considerable size. Across this he was proceeding when a
bright light flickered into view right ahead.
It was too distant to illuminate much of the chamber in which he
was, but, taking it as his guide, he increased his pace and moved
swiftly towards it. As he went on he observed that it proceeded from a
low-roofed tunnel similar to the one from which he had just
emerged.
Stooping, he was about to enter the passage, when, with a snarl
of rage, the form of the wolf-man rose before him. The next instant he
and the loathsome savage were locked in a death-grip.