the morale — then smash. I’ve seen it happen a dozen times in Europe. While they’ve got their nerve there’s not a thing you can do; get their nerve — and not a thing can they do. And yet in both cases they’re the same men.”
Lakla had been listening again. She turned, thrust out hands to Larry, a wild hope in her eyes — and yet a hope half shamed.
“They say,” she cried, “that they give us choice. Remembering that your world doom hangs in the balance, we have choice — choice to stay and help fight Yolara’s armies — and they say they look not lightly on that help. Or choice to go — and if so be you choose the latter, then will they show another way that leads into your world!”
A flush had crept over the O’Keefe’s face as she was speaking. He took her hands and looked long into the golden eyes; glancing up I saw the Trinity were watching them intently — imperturbably.
“What do you say, mavourneen?” asked Larry gently. The handmaiden hung her head; trembled.
“Your words shall be mine, O one I love,” she whispered. “So going or staying, I am beside you.”
“And you, Goodwin?” he turned to me. I shrugged my shoulders — after all I had no one to care.
“It’s up to you, Larry,” I remarked, deliberately choosing his own phraseology.
The O’Keefe straightened, squared his shoulders, gazed straight into the flame-flickering eyes.
“We stick!” he said briefly.
Shamefacedly I recall now that at the time I thought this colloquialism not only irreverent, but in somewhat bad taste. I am glad to say I was alone in that bit of weakness. The face that Lakla turned to Larry was radiant with love, and although the shamed hope had vanished from the sweet eyes, they were shining with adoring pride. And the marble visages of the Three softened, and the little flames died down.
“Wait,” said Lakla, “there is one other thing they say we must answer before they will hold us to that promise — wait —”
She listened, and then her face grew white — white as those of the Three themselves; the glorious eyes widened, stark terror filling them; the whole lithe body of her shook like a reed in the wind.
“Not that!” she cried out to the Three. “Oh, not that! Not Larry — let me go even as you will — but not him!” She threw up frantic hands to the woman-being of the Trinity. “Let ME bear it alone,” she wailed. “Alone — mother! Mother!”
The Three bent their heads toward her, their faces pitiful, and from the eyes of the woman One rolled — tears! Larry leaped to Lakla’s side.
”Mavourneen!“ he cried. “Sweetheart, what have they said to you?”
He glared up at the Silent Ones, his hand twitching toward the high-hung pistol holster.
The handmaiden swung to him; threw white arms around his neck; held her head upon his heart until her sobbing ceased.
“This they — say — the Silent Ones,” she gasped and then all the courage of her came back. “O heart of mine!” she whispered to Larry, gazing deep into his eyes, his anxious face cupped between her white palms. “This they say — that should the Shining One come to succour Yolara and Lugur, should it conquer its fear — and — do this — then is there but one way left to destroy it — and to save your world.”
She swayed; he gripped her tightly.
“But one way — you and I must go — together — into its embrace! Yea, we must pass within it — loving each other, loving the world, realizing to the full all that we sacrifice and sacrificing all, our love, our lives, perhaps even that you call soul, O loved one; must give ourselves ALL to the Shining One — gladly, freely, our love for each other flaming high within us — that this curse shall pass away! For if we do this, pledge the Three, then shall that power of love we carry into it weaken for a time all that evil which the Shining One has become — and in that time the Three can strike and slay!”
The blood rushed from my heart; scientist that I am, essentially, my reason rejected any such solution as this of the activities of the Dweller. Was it not, the thought flashed, a propitiation by the Three out of their own weakness — and as it flashed I looked up to see their eyes, full of sorrow, on mine — and knew they read the thought. Then into the whirling vortex of my mind came steadying reflections — of history changed by the power of hate, of passion, of ambition, and most of all, by love. Was there not actual dynamic energy in these things — was there not a Son of Man who hung upon a cross on Calvary?
“Dear love o’ mine,” said the O’Keefe quietly, “is it in your heart to say YES to this?”
“Larry,” she spoke low, “what is in your heart is in mine; but I did so want to go with you, to live with you — to — to bear you children, Larry — and to see the sun.”
My eyes were wet; dimly through them I saw his gaze on me.
“If the world IS at stake,” he whispered, “why of course there’s only one thing to do. God knows I never was afraid when I was fighting up there — and many a better man than me has gone West with shell and bullet for the same idea; but these things aren’t shell and bullet — but I hadn’t Lakla then — and it’s the damned DOUBT I have behind it all.”
He turned to the Three — and did I in their poise sense a rigidity, an anxiety that sat upon them as alienly as would divinity upon men?
“Tell me this, Silent Ones,” he cried. “If we do this, Lakla and I, is it SURE you are that you can slay the — Thing, and save my world? Is it SURE you are?”
For the first and the last time, I heard the voice of the Silent Ones. It was the man-being at the right who spoke.
“We are sure,” the tones rolled out like deepest organ notes, shaking, vibrating, assailing the ears as strangely as their appearance struck the eyes. Another moment the O’Keefe stared at them. Once more he squared his shoulders; lifted Lakla’s chin and smiled into her eyes.
“We stick!” he said again, nodding to the Three.
Over the visages of the Trinity fell benignity that was — awesome; the tiny flames in the jet orbs vanished, leaving them wells in which brimmed serenity, hope — an extraordinary joyfulness. The woman sat upright, tender gaze fixed upon the man and girl. Her great shoulders raised as though she had lifted her arms and had drawn to her those others. The three faces pressed together for a fleeting moment; raised again. The woman bent forward — and as she did so, Lakla and Larry, as though drawn by some outer force, were swept upon the dais.
Out from the sparkling mist stretched two hands, enormously long, six-fingered, thumbless, a faint tracery of golden scales upon their white backs, utterly unhuman and still in some strange way beautiful, radiating power and — all womanly!
They stretched forth; they touched the bent heads of Lakla and the O’Keefe; caressed them, drew them together, softly stroked them — lovingly, with more than a touch of benediction. And withdrew!
The sparkling mists rolled up once more, hiding the Silent Ones. As silently as once before we had gone we passed out of the place of light, beyond the crimson stone, back to the handmaiden’s chamber.
Only
