temporarily in sleep, but for ever in death.
Presently, the Zogo of Eroob sighed, his body sagged, his thick brown arms slid down beside him queerly reminiscent of dying snakes. His head settled upon his chest, he fought to control the stream of his consciousness going out, out – and C’Zarcke the receiver awaited with chest expanding and big eyes widening, intensely bright. When the Zogo of Eroob crouched limp as a man dead, C’Zarcke whimpered like a baby in gratification, for within his brain-cells he had stored the reasoning life of his lesser priest.
The Zogo of Ugar was the next to lend tribute of reasoning force. With him, visibly at least, the forcing out of his consciousness was painful. He moaned in sore distress while his legs and arms shot out with the jerky, stiffly-controlled movement of an automaton. His muscles bunched, his sinews stretched the skin like tautened bow-strings. Moaning horribly, he rolled back with open mouth, shrunken in body and with stiffened limbs all crooked.
Then, in quick and urgent succession, as C’Zarcke accumulated each man’s power of reasoning, so into trance slipped each one of the Zogo-le and the lesser far-scattered priests of the Bomai-Malu Cult.
C’Zarcke, though trained during many intense years and with the knowledge of others gone before to help him, could not have absorbed more vibratory energy, or else even his great mind would have burst under pressure of the force within. As the last priest surrendered his reason, C’Zarcke stood up, not of his volition, and raised knotted arms to the roof. The physical strength of the man, immense at any time, was now supernatural. Vitality electrified the muscles that appeared straining from the body. His face was radiant as at a vision of deified power. His hands snatched at a salvaged bar; with a smile of intense joy he bent that iron, tied it in knots, and twisted it until the hot metal snapped and clattered to his feet. He fastened his teeth in a hardened beam of Wongai wood, and the timber splintered like a match chewed by a child.
Then something unexplainable happened within C’Zarcke, for that portion of his mind which he had first purposely put to sleep, was endeavouring to control and combine the reasoning individualities which he had absorbed. We know how it is with a man dreaming, who is aware that he is dreaming and determines that he must remember his dream and impress it on his mind for reference in waking hours, and who, on awakening, remembers that he had a dream – remembers perfectly that he tried to impress the vision upon his conscious mind – but now remembers nothing of the dream itself. With C’Zarcke the reverse was the case. In years of study he had striven to impress his conscious mind to take control after he had fallen asleep; for then every physical motion released his surplus power back to the Zogo-le from whence it had come. They were starving for its return, as demagnetized iron might starve for that of which it had been robbed. C’Zarcke was like an engine under terrific pressure, whose dreamy driver hesitates which button to press in order to control its strength so that every atom will be utilized as directed, and this power was attached by invisible threads to those who craved its return. C’Zarcke was quivering to expend his borrowed energy on a mad excess of physical exertion. It had always been so, the fight of the physical to take command, the resolve of the mind to control the physical and also to impress the waking memory with the wondrous things which in these flights he saw.
For C’Zarcke sought to transplant his mind out into the world of space. Such has been a mind-dream of men in many ages.
With but a partly-trained reason directing him, he reached up and, like a child handling a toy, slid back a portion of the roof. Under this was a rude couch; C’Zarcke leaped up, lay flat on his back, settled his body to perfect ease, and then rolling back his tongue attempted to swallow it. As he lost consciousness the glorious star of Kaek smiled down and enveloped the priest in dazzling affinity with existences in space. At long last, after the Zogo-le were deep in exhausted sleep, C’Zarcke’s eyes opened vacantly to the risen sun. Long he lay, then covered his face with his arms. C’Zarcke the feared sobbed like a heart-broken child. He had glimpsed the vision splendid and could not remember it – only fantasies of an entrancing dream. And, as time sped on, the Zogo-le and the priests of Bomai would individually, like a flash, on some odd occasion, glimpse a something wonderful, which they would recognize was what C’Zarcke had really seen with a portion of their being when he was seeking among the stars.
As the writer of this story, I would like to explain what the remnants of the Zogo-le have assured me the great priest saw in these “mind” travels of his. Such, however, might only prove of interest to students of the occult. To other readers, such an attempted description might read as a fantasy. I. L. I.
CHAPTER IV
THE HEART OF THE PRETTY LAMAR
The sun smiled on Mer. Insects hummed while frail adventurers from overseas flitted in splashes of ethereal beauty among the crotons and hibiscus and flame-striped soos-soos grass. Birds trilled and squawked and squabbled. The wee sunbird with breast of purest gold built her swinging nest with labour and song and love. The waters sparkled. Flying-fish glistened over the waves; fish of wondrous colours played in coral gardens. The big, snake-like head of a turtle rose from the depths to glory in the sunlight. An ominous fin clove the surface. The air was sweet as the laughter that echoed among the groves of Mer and in her valleyed glades and along the sides of grass-grown hills. Old women chuckled under the village palms as they wove their mats and fibre petticoats. Men, practically naked, lazed on the beach making fishing-nets, or loafed under the palms with their zoobs (bamboo pipes); often the men did not wear the grass skirt unless on duty. Groups of them squatted among the houses, spinning the kolap (the stone top) and wagering keenly on the result. Some men could spin their kolap for thirty minutes, and were very jealous of their toys.
The shrill treble of children, the intriguing laughter of girls, and the boisterous greeting of the men carried something exciting in it, something more than the ordinary joy of life.
For Kebisu was coming, Kebisu of Tutu, Kebisu the Conqueror. C’Zarcke had foretold that he would arrive on the third day. And arrive he would, with a handful of his warriors and women, even Eyes of the Sea. Kebisu, invincible Mamoose of Warrior Island – Eyes of the Sea, Lamar of little drowned Sea Maid, prettiest and sauciest girl of all the Western Islands, the wonderful dancer with cornflower eyes.
So the Miriam-le made ready for the feast, and the gardens of Eroob sent tribute.
Down the village path strode Jakara, warmly excited. Eyes of the Sea! He would see her at last, this sea-waif of his own colour, the first he had seen since the ship went down! A countrywoman of his own, perhaps even an Australian! A white girl who would be proud of it and have all the ambitions of the whites, and white desires and hopes, and white love, and the white man’s God.
How much would she remember of her home and civilization?
Their mutual remembrances would bring a flood of happiness to both. He would console and sympathize with her, and protect – yes, why not? He was valuable to C’Zarcke. Could he prevail upon this chief demon to allow the girl to remain at Mer under his protection? Certainly he must think of a way, but curse C’Zarcke! Would she be good to look upon? Would she be as pretty as the natives said? Not the slightest difference whether or no; she was a white girl with a white girl’s heart and mind. Her companionship would be pure happiness to him.
Near a profusion of flowering creepers, where a track led in from a garden, a bevy of Mer girls passed him bearing baskets of yams and manioc and huge bunches of bananas. Shapely and attractive of face, they were all in merry mood. Geedee was there, and Miriam – the sauciest flirt in all Mer. She giggled among her comrades, then with the happiest smile, raced across Jakara’s path and challenged him to deny that she was in every way a more desirable sweetheart than his Lamar girl to come.
But their skin was dark, so he joked with them smilingly, and detested them, taking no thought at all that
