CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FATE OF THE KILLERS

The horny beak must have been softening in the boiling tank before my

mind could free itself from the fierce despairing cry, “The fools, the

fools!” with which the chief of the culprits had splashed down to his

allotted end. It confirmed my opinion that there would have been a

different choice of judge if his advice had been taken.

But we had no time for thought, where action was urgent. With a sense of

good work done, we passed out from a building on which the fire was

already falling. The wind had risen, and as the buildings burned, not

down but inwards--I mean that the outside of the walls was burnt off

evenly to a core of somewhat different quality--burning flakes, almost

as light as air, began to float on the wind, and sometimes would have

driven against us, so that we avoided them with difficulty.

It was to withdraw from these that we moved away from the boiling tank,

which my companion left with reluctance, so much did the sight of any

water allure her, and but for the fact that it was in the condition of a

thin soup from the many bodies which had been boiled within it, and

indescribably repulsive, I doubt whether the heat would have been

sufficient to deter her from the swim she needed. For myself, my thirst

was such that only this new danger was sufficient to force me from it.

But my cup was gone, with all my other possessions, excepting only what

my pockets held. So I had no means of cooling the water, if I could have

persuaded myself to drink it; and of boiling water I had just had a

sufficient experience. For the Chief Justice, as he plunged, had

contrived a kick which sent a swirl of water over the grating on which I

stood as I pulled at the last bar, and though I jumped very quickly I

had not escaped entirely, and to a stiff right arm I now added the

infirmity of a left foot that limped and blistered.

I scarcely grudged him his revenge,--he was a good fighter, and perhaps

fate had used him hardly,--but I felt an increased doubt of how we could

hope to escape from the surrounding Killers that grouped beneath the

crescent wall that enclosed us.

My companion was not troubled in that direction. “There is water near,”

she told me jubilantly, and the next moment we were standing beside a

large pool that sparkled clear and cool in the sunlight. A stream came

in at one end from the cliff-side, and was drained away through a sluice

at the other, so that it was fresh continually. Weeds grew in a clear

depth, but did not reach the surface.

She dropped the javelin, and dived.

I had seen seals swim, and many graceful forms to which the water is

native, but I had seen nothing like I saw then.

The legs did not move separately, but the appendages of which I have

told held them together as one limb. The double tail, which was carried

on land in such a way that it was barely visible, now came out, and with

the tiny monkey hands at each extremity, may have done much, both in

steering and propulsion. But the whole body seemed to move without

effort. A curve, a twist and it shot the pool’s length and back, without

evidence of any further directing motion.

I have always loved the water and (having drunk all I would) I was

already taking off my damaged rags to join her, when I noticed that she

was motionless above the weeds and looking intently at or through them.

I marvelled how she could maintain her position, and paused a moment to

watch her. The next, she had looked up, and must have recognised what I

was doing, for her thought was urgent against it. I was not instantly

willing to give up my intention, and while she still pressed me to

desist, there came a movement under the weeds that caused the whole

surface to tremble. The next second she had shot upward, and leapt out

beside me.

“Water-snakes,” she answered. “They do not know us here, as do those of

the ocean. Under the weeds, it is deep beyond seeing. I do not think I

could have saved you, if you had come in. But I have taught those snakes

that such as I am are not for a meal for their larder.”

I did not reply, for I had looked up, and seen that the living-wall was

ablaze for all its length from cliff to cliff.

She saw it also, but more coolly. “Did you not foresee that it must be?

I only thought that the Dwellers would be here sooner. It is a place of

hiding that we need; but the water drew me.”

“I do not see where we can hide on this plateau.”

“I think there is only one place, and that I have seen it already.”

She led me toward the southern corner, where the cliff was met by the

blazing wall. The Killers had left it at this point, for they were all

thronging wildly to the gateway, and pouring out through the narrow neck

between the burning of the open gates.

When we were about fifty yards from the wall, we turned to the

cliff-side, and looking up saw a fault in the rock, it could scarcely be

called a cave, but there was a shallow horizontal gap, about two feet

high at one end, and about ten feet wide, narrowing to a point at the

farther side, and about eight feet from the ground. I don’t think I

could easily have climbed even that height in the condition in which I

was, but she led the way, and wriggled easily, feet first, into the gap,

and helped me till I was lying there beside her.

In the shadow, with the sun already descending toward the hills behind

us, they would be good eyes indeed which would have detected us from any

distance, while we had a wide view of the whole plateau, of the cliff on

the left hand where it curved slightly forward, and of the whole stretch

of the lower country beneath us.

“It is to our left,” she told me, as we watched and waited, “that our

people will descend the cliff if they continue in that purpose. It is

only there that it is possible to climb it.”

It looked impossible to me, even there, but I did not question it.

“The Dwellers come,” she said, “we are none too soon. If you make your

mind blank and observe only, I do not think they will detect us.

Everything may depend on that. Avoid thought. Do not communicate with my

kind either, if they should appear.”

Then she closed her mind, and I was alone beside her.

* * * * *

When the Killers ran out from the blazing gateway, they had scattered

aimlessly about the plateau, as ants do when their nest is broken, and

for some time they remained in restless tumult, moving continually

without direction or purpose, but this was changed in a moment to the

frantic desperate rushes of rats when the dogs are among them, and they

can find no outlet.

The Dwellers came up the hillside in no appearance of haste, and what

they thought or knew of the events we had occasioned they gave no sign

to indicate.

There were three of them side by side, taking cliffs in their stride

round which our path had wound, and approaching from the only point at

which the sides were not too precipitous and deep, even for their

attempting.

Arriving on the level ground they consulted for a moment, and then one

of them came forward alone. The wall was still blazing in places, or I

think he would have stepped over it without change of pace, but, as it

was, he leapt easily, and then proceeded systematically to investigate

the smouldering ruins of the settlement. The killing-pens, which had

caught fire last, were still blazing, and he approached them with

caution, but I think that ivory-yellow skin, on which I had seen the

teeth of the Frog-mouths bite in vain, must have been insensitive to

fire also, so closely was he standing, as he looked down to observe the

victims that boiled beneath it.

He stood there for a long while, as though he found difficulty--as well

he might--in understanding all that had happened. I tried to avoid

thought, as I had been directed, but the idea crossed me that had the

Bat-wings lived, they would not have failed to disclose the whole tale

of the imprisoned Leader, and of my companion’s presence, if they had

thought that they could have gained anything by so doing. Had it been in

that Leader’s mind when she had directed us to destroy them? I thought

it likely; but at least the minds of my companion and myself had been

free from any such consideration, and the deed itself had been a good

one.

With a heavy thoughtfulness he went back to his companions.

Meanwhile, they had not been idle.

It is probable that it had not been the mere coming of the Dwellers, so

much as the sight of the things they carried, which had produced so

sudden a panic among the Killers who saw them. For they had now shaken

out a net, with which they were sweeping the ground from end to end till

the whole of the Killers were a kicking, whistling confusion within its

ample meshes. One of them then sat on the ground, and taking the basket

from his back, he abstracted from it a lidded vessel or cup, which he

set open before him.

One by one he pulled the frantic victims loose from the net that held

them, and after a glance of inspection, squeezed them in his hand over

the cup, so that their blood drained into it.

When he had squeezed sufficiently, he threw the empty carcase with a

careless aim, high into the air, to fall far off in the boiling tank,

from which its own meals had been so often taken.

This went on for about an hour, during which he dealt with some hundreds

in this way, and also selected about two dozen which he inspected more

carefully, and then passed to his companion, who also looked over them,

and either handed them back to take their turn at the squeezing, or

dropped them into his basket.

I supposed that they had decided to destroy this colony, and to found a

new one with the few which they had saved for that purpose, but I

reflected that this could not have been their intention when they handed

over the Bat-wings for destruction, at a feast which would never be

held, and if they had now come prepared to take that course, it implied

a foresight or knowledge of what was passing, which was sufficiently

disconcerting.

I could not resolve that problem, but it soon became evident that the

occasion was of some further importance, for one by one they were joined

by others, until I had counted fourteen of these giants that were

assembled on the plateau.

More than once their words came over to us as the wind helped them, but

to me they bore no meaning. Whether they conversed among themselves by

other means, as they were able to do with the Amphibians, I could not

tell, but they spoke little outwardly, and mainly monosyllables. They

seemed to be waiting for an event impending.

Thus they waited, till the twilight was nearing. As I saw them on the

plateau, their huge bulks dwarfed by the proportions of the scenery

around them, I thought of them again as Titans of an earlier world, and

of a size the most natural to the background against which they moved.

I was conscious not only of my own insignificance, but of a vulgarity

also, which was not personal to myself, but belonging to the race from

which I came.

I clothed them in imagination with the garments to which I was

accustomed, and their significance and their dignity at once departed.

But for what were they delaying? As the time passed I was increasingly

convinced that they were aware of the Amphibians, and were awaiting

their arrival; and as this conviction grew, there came with it an

increasing fear that I was watching the prelude of a tragedy, for which

the great sweep of the wooded valleys beneath us, and the amphitheatre

of mighty hills, were a setting of appropriate grandeur.

The thought impressed me with an awe which left no space for

consideration of my own relation to the shadow which I believed to be

falling, nor do I think the fear I had was influenced by the expectation

of any personal consequence.

But when this depression was at its worst, and the strain of uncertainty

was becoming unendurable, I was suddenly aware of the influence of a

bolder and more confident spirit, and into my mind there came a music,

such as I had felt when I first watched the Amphibians approach across

the seaward bridge:

From the force that withstands shall we falter or flee,

Who have bent in our hands the untamable sea?

From the cloud that is close ...

Surely the Amphibians were approaching over the cliffs behind us.

From the nights that have been, from the midnights to be,

There shall dawns intervene, there shall ...

My companion’s mind spoke once only, but very urgently. “It may be the

end of all, if you cannot isolate yourself from that which is near us.”

I closed my thoughts as best I could from everything but a passive

photography of that which was developing before me.

The Dwellers had risen, and were standing in a group of no regular

order, upon the side of the plateau from which descent was possible.

They were looking silently toward the cliffs above us.

Next, on my left hand, I saw the Amphibians descending. The six Leaders

came first. They climbed down as easily as a fly walks on a wall. I

think the long centre toe gripped the rock more firmly and easily than a

human foot could do, and the appendages of the legs helped also, the

little hands grasping and steadying, but there was an ease of balance,

and a certainty in every movement for which these differences were less

than explanation. After them came the whole regiment of the Amphibians.

They formed up below, with the six Leaders in the front. I think their

song was still continued, but I would not hear it. They took no notice

of the smoking ruins, or of the steaming tank, which was now covered

with the floating husks of the bodies which had designed it.

Straight forward went the Amphibians to the spot where the Dwellers

blocked their passage. They did not hesitate, nor did the Dwellers give

way before them.

What would have happened I can only guess, had there not come an

unexpected incident.

From I know not where, there appeared the group of yellow lizards that

had fled from the burning arsenal.

A small bright yellow patch they showed on the sandy soil, and the

Amphibians stopped, and the Dwellers grouped to look down upon them.

I have thought since that they must have timed their appearance,

intending to give such information to the Dwellers as would win favour

to themselves, and bring destruction on others.

Whether they knew of our hiding-place I could not tell, nor whether they

were aware of the confinement of the Leader who had escaped--but of what

use is conjecture?--all I know is what I saw from my hiding-place.

There were long seconds of silence, which seemed minutes as I watched,

and then one of the Dwellers stepped forward and put his foot firmly

down upon the spot of bright yellow malignity. When he lifted it the

colour was gone, and there was nothing left that showed at that

distance.

He stepped back, and the protagonists remained facing one another in a

continued silence.

Then, at last, the Dwellers stepped wide of the path on either hand, and

the Amphibians moved quietly forward between them, filing through till

the last had passed. I noticed that three of the Leaders had remained

aside, and supposed that they might be retained as hostages or culprits,

by surrendering whom the rest had won to safety, but as the last file

passed I saw them fall in behind it, and the Dwellers made no motion

till they had disappeared into the narrow trench which we had traversed

on the night before.

Then they also turned, and departed.

The dusk was already falling over the valley, as my companion’s mind

laughed its relief, and the tension ended.

“I think,” she said, “that this is the beginning of the next adventure.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Book II

THE WORLD BELOW

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CHAPTER I

COUNSEL

The night had fallen to blackness while we still lay in the rock-cleft.

The ashes of the central buildings glowed with a pale blue light, and an

occasional flame would rise up and lick across them like a ghostly

tongue.

The long curve of the living-wall had fallen in from end to end, but the

ashes were burning still, with a paler flame, so that it showed like a

white bow in the darkness.

There were no stars; the night had clouded while we slept,--for I lay

long in a sleep of utter weariness and exhaustion, both of mind and

body; and so, I think, in her own way, did my companion.

But I waked at length, with a dim sense of peril ended, and the short

pause of security which is so precious to those who walk in dangerous

ways, but conscious also of thirst and hunger, and of the shadow of

great events, of which the significance was beyond my knowing.

I lay for some time in silence, pondering the strange things I had seen;

reviewing--not without some mental discords--my judgment of the

Bat-wings, and the fate to which it had cast them, and wondering vainly

what new marvels or terrors might be before us, when we should penetrate

the subterranean world of which we were about equally ignorant.

As I lay I became aware that the night was chilly, though, being cloudy,

it was less so than we had experienced previously. But I was suffering

from a lowered vitality, and though my wounds were trivial I was

conscious of the throbbing of my scalded foot, and that my right

shoulder was both stiff and painful.

I then fell into a mood of depression, in which I saw very vividly the

folly of the adventure which we had undertaken. How could we hope to

penetrate undetected into the domain of the Dwellers? There was no

sanity in the supposition. If I wished to live till the year of my exile

were over, should I not endeavour to find some crevice in the

surface-world, of which I already knew something, where I might hope

that my insignificance would save me?

If those whom I had come to seek survived at all, was I not more likely

to discover them under such conditions, than among those whom I had seen

squeezing the juice from the living bodies of the Killers, as casually

as a cook stones raisins?

While I thought thus, my companion’s mind gave no sign, nor had I heard

any movement from her. With a sudden start of terror I imagined that she

were no longer beside me. It was in that panic fear that I realised how

greatly I had come to depend upon her: alike upon her body for its

vigour, and upon her mind for its counsel. And beyond this I knew that

there was a spiritual quality in our intimacy, through which I was able

to face the shadows of the unknown with something of her own serenity.

It was a simple action to reach out to feel where she lay beside me, and

yet my hand delayed it.

Partly I may have been deterred by the atmosphere of aloof virginity

which always made me diffident of any physical contact, partly it was

that I dreaded to test my fear, as a man with a coward’s mind may leave

a letter unopened, knowing that it may hold the news of his ruin.

At last, I felt across the narrow space which had divided us as we lay

and watched the concluding drama of our adventure, and with a sense of

measureless relief my hand touched lightly for a moment on the

smoothness of the soft warm fur.

Her mind opened instantly, realised the mood I showed her, and crossed

it with the dancing gaiety with which she ever faced the thought of

peril. Then,--with the subtle distinction which she always drew between

myself and the body in which I lived,--she asked me, “Is it more trouble

than usual? Has it no gratitude for the rest you have given it?”

I answered, “It is rested by sleep, but has gone without food long

beyond its accustomed time. It can do this while it shares your

vitality, but afterwards the need re-asserts itself with increased

urgency. It is cold also, and, as you know, it has suffered recent

damage, which it needs rest to repair.”

She replied, “I can give you strength, if you need it, and if you think

it wise; but consider.

“We have resolved on an adventure of which we do not know the length or

the end. Of myself, I should continue in the ordinary course without

food for about four months, after which I should require a time of rest

and nourishment, before I should be fit for another year. If necessary,

I could continue living, and in some measure of activity, for a much

longer period. But I have been giving you of my own energy so freely

that, if we continue in this way, I shall be exhausted in a much shorter

time. Then I must return to my own place and people, as the food on

which you rely--and the Dwellers also--is of no use to me. I ask

this,--is it better that we should continue to share the strength I

have, or should we find food for your body, and so regulate our

movements in future that we can make it self-supporting?”

I answered, though my body ached for the vitality on which it had learnt

to rely, “I think that it will be wiser for us to conserve the strength

you have, which we may need in days to come, when there may be no means

of renewal. But it will make important differences, for which there must

be allowance in the plans we form. I am used to sleeping at short

intervals, because my accustomed day is only about a quarter the length

of that which you now have; and even though I obtain regular and

suitable food, I shall still be incapable of the rapid and prolonged

exertions which I have endured with the stimulus of your hand to help

me.

“It appears to me that we must commence our enterprise by penetrating

one of the tunnels that open on to the opal pavement. It is true that

there must be other means of access inland, by which the Dwellers emerge

in the daytime, but there are two reasons against attempting to use

them. One is that we do not know their location, and though they may be

nearer, it is equally possible that they may be more distant. The other

is more serious. We are told that the Dwellers come up through the

inland passages, and descend by those which are on the lower level. By

choosing the latter, and following behind them when the night has

fallen, we may reasonably hope that we shall be able to enter their

abodes without encountering any who are coming in the opposite

direction. In addition to these reasons, it occurs to me that the

country inland is of an extremely forbidding and mountainous formation,

and though the Dwellers are able to traverse it, it might be absolutely

impossible for us to do so.”

My companion answered with her usual equanimity, “It is a choice which

must be made, and your decision contents me. But I notice a quality in

your reasoning which must, I suppose, introduce the adventure of your

life to many avoidable difficulties. I think the arguments which you

gave me were good, but they did not cover all the considerations which

might influence such a decision, and of which I feel sure you could have

thought, had you wished to do so.

“It appears to me that you first elect your own preference, and then

call upon your mind to furnish arguments to support it. It is not bound

to do this, and it knows that you rely upon it to suggest any serious

danger or difficulty which might impel you to alter your decision, but,

no less, it understands your wish, and that if there be any sufficient

arguments to justify your choice it is expected to find them. Like your

body, it is separate from yourself, and may even work without your own

awareness, but it is of a readier loyalty.

“I think, had you for any reason desired to adventure into the

mountains, that your mind would have been quick to suggest that you

could travel in greater security on the surface if you should avoid the

paths which you have traversed already, where the Dwellers would be most

likely to seek you. It would have used the argument of the unknown

distance in an exactly contrary way, and it would not have failed to

remind you that the tunnel which you have already explored contained no

possible hiding-place, so that an alternative passage could not be

worse, and might be better. It would have recalled that the whole length

of the opal pavement is without any possible cover: that the bridge

would be difficult for you to traverse in the darkness, while the

Frog-mouths would be dangerous in the day: and that you have already

been discovered once in the tunnel, so that it is at least possible that

a watch has been set to take you there, should you again invade it.

“I could give you many more arguments of the same kind, but I am not

resisting your plan. I am only interested in a method of decision which

has, at least, the merit that it can operate more speedily than mine is

easily able to do.”

I had not thought her to be slow of decision when the need was urgent,

but I felt that she had more to tell me, and I kept my mind open and

receptive.

“You slept very long,” her thought continued, “and I considered these

things, after my own method. I first collected in my mind all that I

have known of the Dwellers from the beginning, and of the things you

have told me. I added that which I know of your own character and

capacities. From these facts I endeavoured to deduce a method by which

we could succeed in our objects, if we be not already too late. I made

little progress, for the facts are few and insufficient. But I made

progress to this extent, that I realised that we are supposing some

things which we do not know.

“In particular, you have shown me your mind, and I have seen that you

visualise an end to these tunnels which opens into a hall, a chamber, or

a large passage, or at least some public space, populated by the

Dwellers, and where concealment for ourselves would be difficult, if not

impossible. Your imagination may be correct, and it is a possibility for

which we must be prepared. But in your mind it is less a possibility

than an expectation, for which there is no sufficient ground whatever.

Yet you had imagined it so confidently that I had difficulty in

separating it from the facts you had shown me.

“I thought of this very long, and I see that your life is so brief, and

so confusingly occupied, that you are obliged to proceed through a

labyrinth of assumptions by which you hope to reach the thing you wish

more rapidly than would otherwise be possible. But in this case, I

cannot see that the assumption has any basis of probability.

“I know, from what you have shown me already, that you come of a race

which has lived only on the earth’s surface, and any cave or tunnel by

which you enter it implies the approach to a confined and narrow space,

so that when you attempt to visualise the condition of a race which

lives under the surface, your imagination is of a cave, and not of a

country.

“Now if the interior of the earth be completely solid, or nearly so,

this imagination may be quite accurate. But is it? Neither of us knows.

We do know from your own experience that the tunnels go down for many

miles, though we do not know their ultimate depth. That suggests that

there must be some reason for so deep a penetration. To make such

tunnels must have been a great labour. To descend and ascend them

continually must be an unceasing toil. There must be some compensating

advantage in the depth which is reached. The hollowness of the interior

would supply it. But there might be quite different reasons. We know

that there are areas of great heat that lie closely under the surface.

There are parts of the ocean floor where this heat causes eruptions.

Such areas may be of great extent. They may render it difficult or

impossible to live under the surface till a greater depth is reached.

True, the tunnels must penetrate this region, on this supposition, and

it must therefore have been found possible to render them heat-proof.

“We have one other fact. The Dwellers reach the surface at very distant

points. But this has no certain significance.”

I answered, “I see the point you make, and I agree that I was inclined

to a too-hasty assumption. Also, it enters my mind that if the earth be

indeed hollow at a depth of a few hundred miles, and an inner surface be

land only, it must be of far greater extent, not merely than this

continent, but than the whole of the solid land of the earth’s surface

as I knew it, and as it appears to be to-day. It is also possible to

imagine tiers of hollowed space in which such areas might be many times

repeated, but the artificial creation of such tiers would require an

amount of labour which appears stupendous and the dumping on the earth’s

surface of excavated material to an incredible volume.”

She responded, “All that you think appears reasonable, and part is new

to my mind. It would help us greatly if we knew whether the Dwellers are

a numerous race, but of this I am able to tell you little.

“Before the time of the Great War, we believe that they dwelt on the

surface only, or, at least, until a comparatively short period before

it. Up to that time, for reasons into which I must not now enter, being

irrelevant, we knew little of them, or they of us. That was about eleven

thousand years ago.

“We know that they are bi-sexual, like the race from which you come. We

suspect that their bodies age and decay, and are replaced by others, but

of this we have no certain knowledge.

“In all the time I mention I cannot recall having seen more than two

hundred of their men and three of their women. We do not suppose that

they exist in these proportions. Our observation of the sea-creatures is

that they cannot dwell in peace together unless their females are at

least equally numerous, but we have seen those only who first negotiated

the treaty with our Leaders, of which you have been told, and such as

have been in attendance at the fish-tanks. Of these I mention, I cannot

recall that more than thirty have been seen at any one period. As the

centuries have passed, there has been a gradual change. But this might

only mean that they have exchanged to other duties. I have never seen

one that showed signs of age, nor that was less than full-grown. The

eight which we saw last night I had not seen previously.”

I answered, “But, even in the absence of more direct evidence, the works

which we have seen suggest that they are a numerous race.

“The protective belt which surrounds the continent cannot be less than

five thousand miles in length, and it was twelve miles in breadth at the

point at which we crossed it. Even for giants such as they, it would be

an impossible task for a small community. Then we see that they patrol

the coast, which must be the work of many.”

She replied, “That is also probable, though not certain. We do not know

that they patrol the whole coast. This region may be their headquarters,

as I believe it to be. The work you mention is great, but so are their

skill and knowledge. Their methods may be beyond our imagination. Or

they may have worked through the agency of subject creatures.

“It seems that we have little certainty. Our safety must be in assuming

nothing, so that we may understand the true significance of the facts

that meet us.

“But our first purpose must be to gain the entrance of the tunnel by

which we propose to descend. To do this we may retrace the path we came.

But is this necessary?

“Our Leaders wished to recover the body which we are now seeking, and

for that reason they had to go as far north as the second tunnel.

“They may have had other reasons, but, if so, I do not know them. If we

choose to explore the one by which you descended, the distance must be

much shorter across the wide valley which lies beneath us, and the way

does not appear impracticable. The crossing of the further hills, and

the descent of the cliffs, may be difficult, and in this strange world

there may be dangers in a new way of which we can have no foresight. It

is certainly shorter. It will avoid the long transit of the opal path

which is perilous if they be watching to take us. But I do not pretend

that I think it the safer way. It is the doubt that calls me.”

I answered, “I do not think it the safer way either. I have lost the axe

on which you have seen that I relied for any defence I could make

against the creatures which threatened me. I have also lost my knapsack,

and with it all the necessities I carried, except such small things as

my pockets held. I have a damaged arm, and a lame foot. I think that I

shall be unable to move more than slowly, however urgent the call. But

if you are not afraid to venture with one so useless beside you, it is

the doubt of the unknown way that calls me also.”

She answered generously, “You are too good for the body in which you

live. I have the javelin still, and, as I said before, we will pass in

peace, or there will be one that will sorrow.”

CHAPTER II

THE UNKNOWN WAY

I did not ask, for I remembered our compact, and I closed my mind

securely against her doubt of my welfare, but there are times, with

thought as with the spoken word, when silence is of an equal

significance.

“It is in my mind,” she told me, “that the intention which we have

formed to feed your body when next we may, will give it no strength

beforehand. It is in my mind, also, that the food of the Killers would

hardly please you, if we could find it amid the ashes.

“Beyond this, I think that the Dwellers may return very early to resume

their investigation of events which (I hope) are still of some mystery

to them, and that it is well that we should be clear of this place

before the darkness leaves us.”

Again I felt the silk-soft palm in mine, and the slim webbed fingers

closing, and again the current of her finer life possessed and thrilled

me.

It was a reluctant pleasure, since I had realised the concealed

repugnance with which she touched me, but my need was too great, and the

wisdom of her action, in our common interest, too evident for me to

refuse.

“I am stronger now,” I replied, after a time, “shall we start?” and side

by side we let ourselves down into the darkness.

Clear of the shelter which had protected us, I was conscious of a thin

cold rain, and of a chilling wind from the north, which penetrated the

leather rags that I had no longer the means of stitching together, and

made me glad to move my stiffened limbs as rapidly as I could, while we

crossed the enclosure, to where the still-smouldering ruins gave a dim,

unearthly light from both before and behind us.

I drank again at the pool-side, while my companion dived for a moment in

the cool darkness. We passed near enough to the great tank for her to

see that there was no longer any water within it. To this end, the

Dwellers must have taken some action while the fire still burned, for

our vice of curiosity led us backward to view it, and she showed me that

the bodies which it contained were charred beyond recognition.

Then we made for the gap in the barrier of the burning ashes where the

gate had been, and left that desolation behind us for ever.

As we passed out, our steps were lighted for some distance by the glow

from the line of smouldering ashes beside us, but the darkness became

denser at every yard as we turned from it to cross the plateau. Yet she

went on swiftly, and, in the confidence that her hand supplied, I found

no difficulty while the level ground continued. When the path fell

roughly I held back to a slower pace, and even then I stumbled

frequently. “Can you not see at all?” she asked, “for if we can do no

better than this our plan must be altered. We have eighty miles to cover

before the dawn, if we are to reach the valley woods while the

night-time cloaks us.”

I answered, “I cannot see when the darkness is absolute, and you go

forward as though the day were round you. I suppose that other creatures

are like me in this, or how would the darkness aid us? Can your eyes see

when there is no light whatever?”

She replied, “When there is no light whatever, I can see nothing that is

more than a few yards away, but within that space it is not my eyes

only, it is my whole body that perceives what is around it. I do not

see, but I know. My body is too much alive to walk into any tree that

confronts it. But we must do something. If you would keep your mind

blank and ready, I think I could show you always for a few steps before

us.”

This we tried, and for many hours we went forward with the way visible

to me for about three yards ahead, and, beyond that, blackness. It was

difficult, and very tiring, for neither of us could think at all, but we

made good progress. Steadily she kept me aware of things before me, but

more than once my own mind wavered, and in a moment I was stumbling in

the darkness. And the darkness did not lift at all. There came a cold

and steady rain, without wind, which descended straightly upon us. My

rags were quickly drenched, and for the most part of the remaining night

this rain continued pitilessly.

Our way was often very rough, and in the darkness we could not choose

it. We could only go forward directly, and take what came. For the most

part we descended, but not regularly. The ground we crossed was not

cultivated in any evident way, nor was it enclosed or protected--or not

till we had crossed the lake, and that was later.

At times we walked on a prickly growth of some kind that was too close

and stiff for our feet to break it. Often we walked, or, I might say,

waded, through herbage such as we had encountered on the previous day,

making our progress slow and heavy, but always her buoyant vitality

sustained me.

Once we found the ground falling precipitously before us, and discovered

that we were on the bank of a river. We could not tell its width, and my

companion’s suggestion that we should swim it found me unwilling.

Bearing leftward, we continued beside it for some miles, and then found

it had left us. It was about here that we began to feel touches as of

light hands on the face, in a place where trees were frequent. I was

frightened at first, till I realised that they were only trailing

leaves,--creepers, I thought, but they were really of the trees

themselves, as we saw when the daylight came.

But the real horror of the night was at the last. For some time the

ground had been flat and bare, soft from the rain, which had now ceased,

but easy to traverse, so that we increased our pace, and were making

good progress, when we found our feet sinking in a shaking bog, from

which we pulled them with difficulty. Then it was firmer again, and then

softer at times, till we were in a swamp which became worse as we went

forward. For a moment we stopped, and I found myself in darkness, as my

companion’s mind asked me, “Shall we not go back, if we can? If we sink

deeply in such slime we cannot swim or live. Nor can either of us think

clearly while I show you the way. If we move from the straight line

ahead we should remember our turns. Shall I lead you only?”

I agreed, and we turned back, as we thought, with exactness. Indeed, it

must have been so at first, for she saw the marks we had left, but it

was unexpectedly difficult. I was in darkness now, following the

guidance of her hand, and content to think that her own sight and

thought were concentrated on getting us clear of the swamp, when I

suddenly felt her sinking beside me.

Cool, but urgent, her mind called me, “I have no footing: pull.” I was

up to my ankles in the slime, and found my left foot slipping from

beneath me as I leant away from her. (For I had been at her left hand

previously, but when we turned back we had changed hands, not positions,

and I was now on her right). A step ahead, it was firmer ground. A

struggle to the right, and she had footing once more. Then I went in

deeply. After that we moved as best we might. One only at a time, and

feeling each step carefully. I lost sense of direction entirely. And it

was there--or nearly there--that the dawn found us.

But that was after,--well, I cannot hope to describe it, but I must tell

it as best I can.

It was fortunate that our minds were in closest touch at the moment, or

the second’s interchange of thought might have been a half-second later,

and there my life would, I suppose, have ended.

Her own mind was alert to give me the indications that her sight

supplied, when it suddenly changed to a great doubt, paused on the brink

of consternation, recovered to the high gaiety with which it was

accustomed to encounter peril, shot me a thought-swift warning, reverted

to its poised serenity, and closed from me entirely; and, in the slow

process of words the warning that she gave was this,--

“We come here of good right, fearing none, and we mean no harm to any.

Therefore we move in security. Our minds are serene and friendly, and we

walk at peace with all things. If you doubt or fear we are both lost

entirely. As your body fought the Killers with the axe for both of us,

so my mind fights for both now. You must help now, as I helped then. I

have passed you the javelin, for there is no use for weapons here, and I

must not hold it. All is well. Be quite sure to believe it. Step as I

guide you. Jump when I call on you, I will tell you just how far.

Separate now.”

The whole thought was instant, and in the same moment I knew that that

on which we walked was swaying beneath us. Her hand pulled me quickly to

the left, and we ran up something that moved from under us like a

treadmill,--if we had been on the outside of the wheel,--jumped at last,

landed on something smooth and slippery, like that which we had left,

and having--the thought crossed me--a living softness. Then I caught my

foot, stumbled, recovered, jumped again, clambered a few yards of rising

ground, slimy enough, but firm also, and felt the soft touch on my cheek

that I had felt before, and knew that trees were round us.

We went on for a hundred yards, while the ground sloped upward. Then it

commenced to fall away, and we stopped at once. There we stayed, and

there, at last, the dawn found us, still distant from the cover which we

had aimed to reach in the darkness.

We were on a narrow twisting tongue of land, perhaps fifty yards broad

by two-hundred long, the conformation of which had betrayed us to the

swamp in the darkness. On the left hand it merged into bog and water,

with occasional islands of verdure, and scattered trees. On the right

hand was the deep water of the great lake that we had seen from the

mountains two days before.

The sun had not yet appeared above the ridge of higher ground that ran

between us and the sea, but the faint light of dawn was sufficient to

show us a mile-width of still water, and beyond it a level woodland of

great trees, the extent of which, from the low ground on which we stood,

we could not determine.

The few trees that surrounded us were of a different character. Most of

them were of the kind that had touched us in the night so weirdly. They

had trunks of a livid white, not more than eight feet high, from the top

of which a cluster of rising boughs rayed outward. On the length of

these there were no leaves, but large flowers of a very brilliant

scarlet only, while at the end of every bough grew a cluster of long

ribbon-like leaves of a bright green, that hung downward, almost to the

ground in the still air, or fluttered very lightly when the wind stirred

them. I was not sure whether I thought them beautiful, or strange only.

I had an unreasonable feeling that they were unfriendly.

In the hollow of one of these tree-tops, where the branches rose, there

sat a duck-billed bird, of a halcyon blue colour, and of the size, and

somewhat of the shape of a partridge. As the dawn widened, it rose and

flew outward, not crossing the lake, but going up the mid-water, to the

right, where it extended for many miles, gradually widening as it did

so.

“It does not fear us at all,” I remarked to my companion, before it rose

to leave us.

“I made peace in the night with all things,” she answered, “come and

see. You will know that it was needful.”

I walked with her to the end of the tongue of land on which we stood,

and, where the lake and swamp were mingling, there were huge shapes that

wallowed in the mud like gigantic tadpoles, but with two forelimbs,

short and thick, and ending in a row of claws of great length. A

hippopotamus would have been small beside them. The most part of the

head was a large-toothed mouth, flat and shallow, with one down-curving

tusk, growing like a hook from the centre of the upper jaw. There were

two large circular eyes, on the top of the flat head.

“They were lying closely,” she told me, “in the deeper mud. We were

walking on, or slipping between them for some time before I knew they

were living.

“It was only as one of them waked to consciousness of us, and began to

roll over, that I became aware of that on which we were walking.

“I knew that he had already decided to spill us in the mud, so that he

should reach us the more easily, and that if the others should combine

against us we should be helpless. They are the Dwellers’ creatures, not

of the sea, and for a moment I almost had the doubt which would have

destroyed us. But I think I have not ruled the monsters that the oceans

hold for so long, to lose my body at last in such talons. Also, you did

well.

“A javelin, such as this, is a cunning weapon, and I had joy when I used

it, but I think that our ways of peace are greater than those which you

are designed to practise.

“You see the monster that still has his tusk hooked on to that

projecting root, to steady him while he slept in the shallow? It was in

the edge of his eye-socket that your foot caught when you stumbled.”

CHAPTER III

THE PERIL OF THE LAKE

We watched for some minutes while the giant leviathans lazily moved

themselves from the mud-shallows to the deeper water. They seemed

half-asleep, and very slow, and somewhat clumsy, as they did so, with no

life in the flat unlustred eyes, and a thought crossed me as to whether

they were really as formidable as my companion had supposed them, when I

noticed that one of them, who had moved out a short distance, had sunk

his head, and raised his tail, as a duck does when he feeds under water.

Suddenly his tail waggled in an uncontrolled excitement, and in an

instant a dozen of these huge creatures had flung themselves at the

spot.

Those that were already in the deeper water drove like huge torpedoes

toward it.

Those that were still in the shallows propelled themselves at almost

equal speed with huge claw-grips and flapping tails through mud and

water.

So great was the converging rush that the spot at which they aimed was

splashed bare for an instant, and we saw that tusks and claws were

tearing up the muddy bottom in chase of something that was burrowing

deeply to avoid them. The next moment something of a dirty-white colour,

and of the size of a small cow--but we could not see clearly--was

dragged out and torn to pieces.

Then with contented grunts, and a switching of great tails, they swam

out phalanx shape into the deep water, where they dived together, and

the still lake gave no sign of their presence.

It was after this that my companion closed her mind from me, as she

would do when a doubt came which she could not quickly answer.

At last she told me, “It is in my mind that we have done wrongly to come

this way. The morning is here, and we have not reached the forest which

should be our immediate safety. Between us and it the swamp is extending

far on the left, and the lake for many miles on the right. If we try to

go round on either hand, I have little doubt that we shall be observed

from the heights behind us, where the Dwellers will be patrolling.

“If we hide through the day, we shall have a long way to go over the low

land, which we have proved to be an evil path in the darkness, and to

cross the hills beyond may be still more difficult. Beside that, the

delay is misfortunate, for we should not arrive at the tunnel-entrance

at the beginning of the night, as we had planned to do.”

I replied, “Can we not swim the lake?” and surprised a thought of relief

and wonder in the mind that heard me.

She answered, “I could, of course, do so very easily. I should swim

under the water, and land beneath the cover of the trees upon the

farther bank. But I supposed that you could only swim on the surface, if

at all, and that in any case the distance would be beyond your power.”

The answer annoyed me, for her contempt of my physical capacity was

always hurtful, friendly and entirely reasonable though I knew it to be,

and I had always accounted myself an accomplished swimmer.

I said, “I have swum longer distances. I can swim under water for a

short time, if necessary; but one of us swimming on the surface will be

far less conspicuous than two walking on the bank, and we shall be out

of sight very much sooner. Beside that, if we are seen and chased, we

shall have a far better opportunity of escaping.”

I do not think my reply quite satisfied her. I saw that she thought I

was illustrating the habit of collecting all the available arguments for

a course that I had pre-chosen, of which she had already accused me, but

after a moment she answered equably, “It is far best, if you are sure

that you can do it; and for myself it is far pleasanter. If we are going

that way, it is foolish to stand here longer, where we may be observed

easily.

“But can you swim in those rags, or will you not at last discard them?”

I think that most people would have hesitated, as I did. I could not

swim such a distance encumbered by the clothes I was wearing. I could

make them into a bundle in such a way that they would not impede me too

greatly. All my instincts were against their abandonment. There were

still a few things in the pockets which I greatly valued--my

clasp-knife,--some matches--some cord--a note book (but I had made no

use of this, so far)--some small scissors--a razor, and a quantity of

spare blades. But I knew that the rags I wore in this new world exposed

me to the contempt of every eye that beheld them. To be modest is to be

inconspicuous. It is to follow the mode. By that test my present clothes

reached the last extreme of indecency.

I had no means of stitching them further, and the rough usage they had

received had already caused such damage that they would dispense with

me, if I did not dispense with them very promptly.

I considered temperature, but the sun was already gaining power, and I

knew how warm it became on the lower levels in the daytime.

Under the surface I knew that I had found the tunnel to be of a

comfortable warmth.

I took off my boots, and knew that the operation was final. A sole

already tied with string on the previous day, was now entirely loose.

The other was scarcely better. The uppers were leaving me by successive

details. My socks--what was left of them--were clotted with dirt and

blood.

My companion watched the gradual revelation with amused and lively eyes,

but she hid her thoughts from me as it proceeded.

In the end, public opinion was too strong for me. All my life I had made

myself grotesque in the ugliest garments by which the human form can be

hidden, because my fellow-men required it.

Here I was conscious of a different verdict, and the slave crouched

instinctively to the crack of a new whip. On a sudden impulse, I

resolved to leave them.

I wrapped my small possessions in my waistcoat, which was still a fairly

sound garment. I tied it securely. Then I threaded a piece of cord

through the button-holes, which I fastened round my waist, so that the

little parcel could be easily carried behind me.

I made of the boots and other garments a bundle which I resolved to sink

in the lake, so that there should be no sign left of our presence, and

we dived into the water together.

The lake was smooth, and the water was not too cold to be pleasant. It

became clear and very deep as we left the bank behind us. I swam

strongly at first, rejoicing in the morning freshness of sun and air and

water, and buoyed by the exhilaration of my companion’s mind. But a time

came when I looked with doubt at the distance of the wooded headland

which we had agreed to make our objective. The shore was far off, but

yet I seemed to have made no progress to the one before us.

My comrade swam beneath, but not closely. In the delight of her

recovered element she dived and rose, and swam beneath and round me,

with a speed and ease that did nothing to encourage me to satisfaction

with my clumsier efforts.

I had a strong desire to call on her for the vitality of which I was

learning to rely too absolutely, but against this I fought with a

stubborn wish to show her that I was not entirely incapable, even in an

unfamiliar element.

For a moment she stayed quietly beside me, sliding through the water at

the same pace as myself, but without apparent effort, while she rose

sufficiently to view the scene around her.

“Look back,” she suggested suddenly, and I changed a stroke which was

becoming wearier than I was willing to recognise, so that I might turn

my eyes to the distant heights behind us.

I searched them, but could see nothing of a new interest. Once I thought

that there was a flicker of flame on the hillside, but it was too minute

and far off for any certainty, and the next moment I had lost it

entirely.

“I’m afraid your sight is not much use, even in daylight,” she

considered, “but please swim as low as you are able, for the Dwellers

may not be equally deficient.

“There is one who has scraped together all the ash and litter of the

burning, and it has flamed up afresh.”

I changed to the breast-stroke, and she sank to three feet under the

surface, as I answered, “I suppose they will make an end of it entirely.

Is it because of the Forbidden Thing, and do they, I wonder, wrongly

blame the Killers for using it?

“I cannot understand why they should object to fire so strongly. In the

world from which I come there are so many inventions less useful and

with greater potentialities of mischief; and their own works show that

their engineering skill and practice is advanced beyond the knowledge of

my contemporaries.”

She answered, “Perhaps it is only that they do not wish the creatures

that they allow to live on the surface to develop knowledge. I can only

guess, as you can. But we are likely to learn many things before the

next dawn comes, though we shall not see it.”

I did not answer, for a trailing growth of water-weed had caught my left

leg, and I kicked free with difficulty. The next moment I was surrounded

by the floating growth, and I was some moments under water before I

could release myself sufficiently to continue.

My companion regarded me with the merriment which my bodily difficulties

always prompted, only now it was more irrepressible, because she was

intoxicated by the joyous freedom that the water gave her, after so long

an absence.

“Is it really so,” she asked, “that if you were below the surface for

more than a few moments your body would become useless beyond repair,

and you would die out of it entirely? and did you know this when you

offered to swim so far across the surface?”

“It is true enough,” I answered, “but I have no intention of drowning.

In my world, we live dangerously in many ways, and when there is

sufficient necessity we take such risks as we must, and we have contempt

for those who will not take them.”

“It is very well,” she replied, with a mocking gaiety of mind which

would not quieten, “but the contempt of your fellow-men is a somewhat

distant eventuality; and as I desire your company when we invade the

tunnel of the Dwellers, I hope you may decide that the risk will still

be sufficient if you swim in some other direction.”

I replied, “I am swimming to the nearest point at which we can land, and

at the best pace I can. I do not know what better I can do, unless I am

to sink to the bottom. But if you can give me any reason why I should

not swim in this direction I shall be glad to have it.”

She said, “I can give you two, and they are both rather good ones. Let

me show you them as I see them.”

She then gave me a most unwelcome vision of a mass of floating weed

through which to swim would be hopeless, and downward, through clear

water below it--for it was not rooted--to where our acquaintances of the

morning lay scattered on the lake-floor, with wide unwinking eyes

looking upward, doubtless for the capture of any prey which might be

caught in the green snare above them. I do not think it needs excuse

that the sight appalled me. We were in the very middle of the lake, and

I was tired already.

“How far do the weeds extend?” I asked.

“I cannot say. It is farther than I can see. If you will turn and rest

for a minute, I will find out which way we can best attempt to go round

them. But swim quietly backward, for you will not wish to rouse our

friends below while I am absent. I know that when you meet any strange

thing your first thought is to fear, and then to fight it, but as your

axe is gone, and you would not find it easy to reach your clasp-knife, I

suggest that you should not rouse them.”

I agreed very heartily, although I knew that she mocked me, and, indeed,

the idea of using an axe in the water to defend myself from such an

attack was sufficiently comic, as she visualised it to me.

The fact was that now she was in her natural element the idea of any

living thing within it provoking either fear or hostility had regained

its normal absurdity. Had she been alone, I knew that she would have

dived beneath the weeds at once, without a second glance or thought for

the creatures that lay below her.

She had left now, and I swam back for a short distance, and then turned

on my back, and floated on the sunny water, glad of the rest, but

becoming increasingly frightened as I reflected that at any moment I

might find myself in the grip of those wide flat jaws. I understood why

these beasts had their eyes so flatly placed, as I recalled that

unwelcome vision. How far could their sight extend to the surface of the

lake above them? Were they resting oblivious of such small things as I,

that might be swimming in the water, or did they watch there, as a

kestrel hovers, ready to rush upward at the first sight of their

expected prey?

I was somewhat reassured, as the moments lapsed, by a shoal of silvery

fish which passed me. They were as long as salmon, but much slimmer, and

they swam in a long line two or three broad, straight toward the place

of danger which I was avoiding. They, at least, had no cause for fear,

unless they were too stupid to know, or sufficiently agile to avoid it.

And then she was again beside me:

“It is not very far round on the left, and there is clear water for a

long way forward. There is a cold spring at the bottom when we have

rounded the weed. The water there is purer than the lake itself, and I

am desirous to bathe in it. If you swim on, I shall catch you up very

quickly. But we will stay together till we are clear of this place.”

We swam on, side by side, in silence. I was already aware that I must

conserve my strength to the utmost, if I were to reach the shore

unaided. After a short distance, the weed receded so that we were able

to approach the shore obliquely, and then it disappeared from before us,

and again we could head straight forward.

It was here that my companion left me. I know that she was in some doubt

as she did so, for she asked me whether I would not prefer to float

only, till she could rejoin me. But I was anxious to get forward while

my strength lasted, and I had caught a glimpse of her mind, from which I

knew how keenly she desired and needed her intended pleasure, so I

answered only, “I will go on. You will catch me easily. The farther I

leave the beasts behind us, the better pleased I am. But you will keep

your mind open, in case there should be anything to let you know.”

“Surely,” she answered, and the next instant had left me.

The headland was nearer now, and it was with the hope that the struggle

would soon be over that I settled down to swim the remaining distance.

Once I called to my companion, and she gave me a sight of herself as she

lay with lifted fur on the lake-floor, and let the cold stream go

through it. But, for the most part, I tried to think of distant or

abstract things, to turn my mind from the weariness which now made every

stroke an effort.

Then a swell came from the left hand, as though a large boat were

passing at no great distance.

I looked round in wonder, but for a moment I could see nothing to cause

it.

Then a huge black body rose from the water, like an enormous porpoise,

and turned a somersault which sent a heavier swell across the level

surface of the lake.

My stroke quickened without conscious effort as I beheld it. But at the

first moment I was not greatly frightened. It was evident that it did

not pursue me, and my course was not toward it. Fortunately, I called my

companion, and the answer, “I am coming now,” was unperturbed in its

promptness. I had an instant’s vision of her, as the loose fur

contracted, and the slim swift body shot forward.

But the next minute was rapid in thought and action.

My mind called urgently, “There is another one that has risen nearer.”

“They may not see you while they are on the surface. Their eyes look

upward only.”

“They may do so, as they roll in their gambols--I think they have done

so now. They are both coming.”

“I am coming quickly.”

“It is useless. What can you do against them?”

The two huge brutes were racing over the surface in their competition to

secure me, with a speed which would have left a motor-boat behind very

quickly. I could not doubt that in twenty seconds they would be

quarrelling over my divided body.

My terror warned her only to avoid the danger which must destroy me.

“Refuse fear,” she called back, “it is that which gives them power to

destroy you.”

But fear I must, and as she realised it, I think--though I am not

sure--that there was a second during which her own mind faltered. But if

so, it was for an instant only. Then she realised the full peril of the

moment, and her courage rose to meet it.

Cool and swift, and very urgent, she thrust forward the full force of

her mind to overcome the panic which had possessed me. “I shall be

first. Swim on. Listen. You are safe if you hear me. You must stop

thinking. Give your mind to mine, and I can save you. Do not think at

all, but believe it. It is everything that you do this.”

The rest is a dream only.

I was dimly conscious that the first of the rushing beasts was upon me,

and that it dived slightly as it came, so that it should snap at me from

below. I saw the wide flat shovel-jaws opened to take me, and then two

things happened. Almost into the mouth of the gaping jaws she came

between us--she had swum at least three times the distance that our

opponents had covered--and at the same instant the second monster

charged sideways into its rival in its eagerness to get a share of the

expected dainty.

They were afraid of her, clearly. They both recoiled for a moment.

But it was clear also that they regarded me as a prey of which she had

no right to deprive them.

On they came again from different sides, and into their very teeth she

swam to thwart them.

Even so, had they been capable of concerted action, I do not see how she

could have saved me. But she was cooler, swifter, more agile, with a

mind that mocked them and bewildered. Nor was she content with defensive

movements only, but as either would draw back for a moment, she followed

the retreated mouth as though she dared it to harm her, as no doubt she

did.

How it would have ended I cannot say, but at that moment fate interposed

to help us. We were still a hundred yards from the shore, when the

ground beneath us shallowed, and they pursued us no further.

We climbed out into a place of shade and of mossy softness, but I was

too exhausted to regard it. Where I sank I lay. Perhaps, she was

exhausted also. Anyway she gave me no thought, but remained in silence

beside me.

After a time I slept.

CHAPTER IV

THE SILENCE IN THE WOOD

When I waked, she was sitting looking into the water with brooding eyes

in which amusement flickered more than once as I watched them, but which

seemed, for the most part, to be puzzled by some thoughts for which she

could find no solving.

She looked at me at last, and saw that I was awake, and offered me her

mind in a moment.

“I am glad,” she thought, “that I saved you, and I think that the

Leaders will approve it; but of this I cannot be as certain as I gladly

would be.

“As we were made companions in this enterprise, it seemed that it was

right to do so. But it is a law of our kind that, as no creatures in all

the oceans will dare to harm us, so we do not interfere between them.

Were we to withhold their prey from them, I cannot say that our immunity

would continue. It is a thing so fundamental that from the beginning I

have never known it attempted. We cannot be as one of themselves, and

above them also. It comes to me again, as I have thought before, that

you are like a seed of death to the world I know, and the end is beyond

my dreaming.”

I answered, “I owe you the debt of my life, and I cannot tell at how

great a risk you have saved it. But I do not wish you to do things for

me of which the consequences may be beyond our understanding.

“I thought to show you that I could cross the lake unaided, and I have

only made my weakness more evident. I think it may be right that I

should go alone in future; for when you called upon me first not to

fear, I am aware that I failed you, and I suppose it was from that that

the danger became so imminent.”

She answered, “That is true; and by my code it may be right to say that

you failed me, where it was beyond the power of your body (which is

truly contemptible) to do otherwise. But I have thought, and see that by

your own code I failed you for my pleasure only, for which I have no

excuse of weakness to offer. I do not think another man would have left

you, as I did. You think I showed courage because I interposed to save

you, at some risk to myself.

“Whether there were risk I do not know; nor how great it may have been;

but I think you showed a greater courage, being what you are, to go

forward alone, and that, not to save my life, but to give me a needless

pleasure, against which you might have protested reasonably.

“But we have still a long way to go before evening, and we shall do well

to face the remainder of the journey, the difficulties of which we

cannot tell till we meet them.”

While we conversed in this way, I had been observing the scene around

me. We had landed upon the edge of a forest of a more varied luxuriance

than that in which we had rested upon the higher land two nights before.

Here, as elsewhere, I saw no sign of grass, nor of any similar

straight-bladed growth, but the ground was covered by mosses, very deep

and soft, and close-creeping herbage of other kinds in many shades of

green and yellow. The trees were of many beautiful and unfamiliar forms,

some of great size and height, but not too crowded to show their

contours, nor the sky between them. Their foliage was of shades that

varied from the palest yellow to the deepest gold, with infrequent hints

of red, and there was one broad-spreading bush which was entirely of a

beetroot crimson.

It was very still--for the coming storms of which I had been told might

bring rain in the night, but did not yet disturb the peace of the

daytime--and of a beauty at which my breath paused for a moment, and of

which I cannot hope to tell you.

But I was not looking for beauty. The need for beauty is continual, and

for food is intermittent only. Yet the last is the more urgent while it

remains unsatisfied.

It is true that man cannot live by bread alone, but it is equally so

that he cannot live long without it. I remembered our compact that I

should be self-supporting in future. I knew the swiftness with which my

companion considered it natural to travel. I was aware of the

importance, not merely of reaching the tunnel-entrance by nightfall, but

of doing so in such condition that we should be prepared at once to

explore it. I looked round in a natural anxiety to discover some means

of nourishment.

I saw nothing to encourage hope, except that there was a curious

fruit-like formation upon the hanging branches of a tree behind us.

The leaves of this tree were very long and narrow, and of so light a

yellow as to give an effect of whiteness, like the palest petals of the

Californian poppy. At the root of many of the leaves there was a

smooth-skinned tawny fruit, of the size of a loganberry. Opening it, I

found that it was a fruit very certainly, containing a juicy pulp, and

in the midst a single slender seed, of the size and shape of that of a

lettuce. I tasted it cautiously, and found it delicious. My companion

watched me with a friendly but unconcealed amusement.

After a time, she gave the glance by which I knew that she wished our

minds to communicate.

“You have really no means of knowing,” she asked, “whether they may

assist or kill you? Is this because you are in a world of strangeness,

or are you accustomed to this exciting uncertainty?”

I replied, “I have senses of taste and scent, which warn me that many

things are unfit for eating, but they are not entirely reliable. The

creatures of my kind depend largely upon tradition, as their own lives

are too short to acquire much knowledge--and as, even were it otherwise,

they would doubtless die in the experimental stages of obtaining it--and

we eat such things as our ancestors have eaten before us.

“Here, my only method is to choose such substances as appear most like

to those which I have known to be wholesome, and eat a small portion. If

the taste be good, and no ill consequence follow, in a few hours I can

eat more freely.”

“Your lives may be short,” she said, “but, at least, they lack dullness.

How shall you go bad, if it should chance to be a wrong thing that you

are now eating?”

I controlled an impulse of irritation before I answered, “I shall not go

bad, for I am testing the food very carefully. But I shall be the more

careful because of the thoughts you have, and I may keep you here in

consequence till you are tired of waiting. There are many ways of going

bad for those who eat the wrong things, and none of them is pleasant.”

“If your kind can avoid such poisons through their traditions, how do

you know of the effects of many?” she asked me.

It was ever so, when we commenced exchange of thought upon the world

which I had left, that the starting-point was quickly out of sight

behind us.

“There are a variety of very poisonous substances, either vegetable or

mineral abstracts, which can be mixed with food or drink without easy

detection. As our bodies frequently break down through defective

construction, or our own misuses, or from unavoidable hardships, before

their final dissolution, we employ men to repair them, and they make use

of these poisons in minute quantities, and in the honest belief that we

benefit from them.

“It follows that these poisons are prepared in great quantities, and are

readily procurable.

“There is a custom among us of mixing one or other of these poisons in

the food or drink of an acquaintance or relation whose life might be

terminated to our advantage. Probably this custom is not very general,

but that is difficult to judge, as it is practised very quietly, owing

to a law which provides that the neck of a successful poisoner shall be

broken, after an interval of some weeks, during which they are kept

alive in great mental agony.” (“Do you mean that an unsuccessful

poisoner would be treated with comparative leniency?” her mind

interpolated. “Yes,” I replied, “our laws always encourage

incompetence). However many of these cases may escape notice, it is

usual to detect a few every year.”

“The one who is considered to be the most likely to have committed the

crime is then arrested, and all the available evidence is so arranged as

(if possible) to prove his guilt. But strict proof is not necessary for

a conviction in such cases, the practice being that the degree of proof

required is in an inverse ratio to the repellent nature of the crime

committed.

“I suppose that the great majority of those who are convicted are

guilty, although, owing to the way in which these trials are conducted,

and the nature of the evidence which is accepted as conclusive, it would

be a very simple matter for anyone of average intelligence to poison

another in such a way that suspicion would fall upon some other member

of the household, and it is not reasonable to suppose that this is never

attempted successfully.

“But my mind wanders.

“At these trials it is usual to announce in public the nature of the

poison used, the quantities required, the methods by which they may be

procured, their effects, and the ease or difficulty with which they may

afterwards be detected, and these particulars are distributed throughout

the nation, so that anyone desiring to poison another need not be

hindered by ignorance of such essential details.

“There is also, every year, a large number of people who destroy their

own bodies, although we have (grotesquely enough) a law prohibiting this

practice,--and here, at least, we discourage incompetence, for we can

only punish those who fail, the rest being beyond the reach of our

cruelties,--and a proportion of these people use poisons to effect their

purpose, so that you will see that there is no difficulty in obtaining

knowledge of the effect of such substances.”

“I think” she replied, “that my Leader showed the accuracy of her

judgment when she classified you as of the Batwing Kind, though your

race is, at least collectively, of a stupidity which it must be hard to

rival throughout the ages.

“But tell me this. You have shown me already that there are many other

species of animals which dwell in your world, and which you consider to

be inferior, because you have the power to destroy them,--Surely no

conclusive reason!--Do they also suffer from the same disability, or are

they better able to select their appropriate foods?”

I answered, conscious of the derision which laughed within her, and not

entirely without a flicker of satisfaction, as I recognised that the

ellipses of my thought confused her.

“It is true that for one species to have the power of destruction over

another is a practical supremacy, and I may have impressed my thought

upon you in that way without careful differentiation. To admit it

absolutely would be to place the germ of a disease which we might be

unable to conquer as beside or above us.

“We do consider that we are supreme of earthly creatures, but we could

assert this supremacy on widely different grounds....

“As to your first question, the physical senses of the lower animals are

more acute than our own, because they depend entirely upon them.

“Those that are allowed to live wildly, through our indifference, or in

parts of the earth which we have not yet populated, appear to avoid

unwholesome food without difficulty. But if they cause us any annoyance

we are able to show our superiority by cunningly mixing poison with some

attractive substance, by eating which they die very miserably.”

“I am glad to think,” she answered, “that there are some parts of your

earth which are still clean,” and then she received my thought in

silence as it continued.

“But I must qualify my thought to this extent. There are numerous

species of animals which we have subdued to our own purposes, and that

we confine around us, either that they may do work on our behalf, or

that we may eat their bodies, or both, and there is a diminished ability

to avoid poisonous substances among these creatures, as their lives

approximate more nearly to the condition of those who keep them.--But

this touches on much which would be long to explain, and I see that you

do not understand fairly, if I give you the facts only.”

She answered, “It is a wonderful world, and a very hideous. But I have

much to ask concerning these creatures that dwell with you, and that you

eat when they die. For the time, let us leave it.”

While we had conversed in this way, I had been occupied in opening the

small parcel of my remaining possessions, and drying them as well as I

was able, their importance to me being too great for my mind to be

seriously affected by the knowledge that she regarded them as a humorous

evidence of my inferiority to every other created thing, though she

admitted very frankly that the Dwellers were not entirely exempt from a

corresponding necessity.

Now I made up my bundle again, and having eaten freely of the strange

fruit, I expressed my readiness to explore the golden lights and shadows

of the forest that lay before us.

We had agreed that I should now depend upon my own vitality, even though

our progress must necessarily be slower in consequence, but I rose and

went forward very buoyantly, and though I knew that she was restraining

her natural pace to keep beside me, I was well content to feel that I

was moving with a lightness and energy which she could not have expected

from any previous experience. There may have been some exhilarating

quality in the food which I had just eaten, but, apart from that

possibility, I had rested well, the air was pleasantly warm, and I had a

sense of unaccustomed freedom from the rags which I had discarded.

Had there been a hard surface beneath us, I might have regretted the

impulse on which I had left my boots,--though it would have been equally

correct to say they had left me,--but the moss was soft and deep, and

though it gave a curious tingling sensation (which I forgot

subsequently) it was otherwise a very soft and pleasant carpet on which

to tread.

The wood which we were now entering must have stretched (as I

calculated) for about forty miles along the great valley which lay

within the ridge of coast-wise hills which we had to reach and cross to

gain our objective. It was probably about ten miles wide at the point at

which we were attempting to pass it.

We had gone about half-a-mile at a very quick walk, the trees not being

sufficiently close to obstruct us seriously, when my companion asked me

if there were nothing that occurred to me as unusual in the scene around

us.

I had not thought of anything. I had been occupied by the beauty and

variety of the trees which we were passing, but as she asked I felt it,

and shuddered.

“Yes,” I said, “it is the silence.”

She answered, “Silence is good; but it is the cause of the silence. The

trees live, but they do not move. I think that wind is forbidden.

Besides the trees and the moss, it seems that we are the only creatures

that live.”

And I knew, as her thought reached me, that she was right. There was no

moving life in the trees, nor in the air, nor in the moss beneath us. I

searched, and if I could have found the smallest insect, I think it

would have broken the spell which oppressed me, as I realised the

isolation in which we moved.

I stood, and hesitated. I was ashamed of my thought, but at last I gave

it. “I do not want to go farther.”

“Do you feel it?” she answered, “I felt it sooner.”

“It is not that I fear,” I answered, “there seems no cause to fear in so

great a peace, but I find it hard to go forward.”

“Yes,” she said, “the Dwellers may not be here, but I think that they

have left their wills to protect it. It is a new thing to me. Shall we

yield, and turn, or resist it?”

I hesitated for a moment, for I felt a curious disinclination to go

farther, beneath which there was a stubborn unwillingness to turn back

with so little of reason to justify it.

“It must be a long way round,” I thought at last, “and it might be even

more perilous. You shall decide.”

She answered readily, “Then we will go forward. I will go first, if you

will, because I am the more sensitive to the power against which we

shall be contending, and I may also be more resolute to resist it.

“I know that you were trying to decide in this way, though you found it

hard to do so.

“My own decision is not because it is a long way round, which is of

little moment, nor because it may be more dangerous to take that way,

for it may be less so, which is more probable. But I think that these

were not your reasons. They were only those which your mind supplied, as

best it might, to support your preference.

“You know, as I do, that there may be great danger if we go forward,

though you cannot understand what it may be. Therefore you fear it. But

you have within you a spirit which has been trained to conflict by the

conditions of your life, and which is reluctant to turn aside from a

chosen path, and especially so when the danger is not immediately

evident, nor physically apparent.

“My own reason is different. I feel that these woods are held by a power

which will turn us back, if it be sufficient to do so. I suppose this

power to derive from the Dwellers, because I know them to be supreme in

these regions, and I cannot think that there could be any other whose

wills could contend against my own so stubbornly. But it is in my

thought that if we accept defeat here we may as well abandon our attempt

at once. It is your nature to depend upon weapons for your protection,

and you have none. It is mine to depend upon the assertion of my own

will, and if, at the first challenge, we confess defeat without effort,

in what confidence may we continue? We have this to think also. The

Dwellers have much knowledge which is not ours, and many powers, but of

the issue of such a conflict neither we nor they have had any

experience.