using the Arrillian prefix of extreme respect.
The old man smiled. “Your friends were kind enough to lend me books and also the little grooved disks that make voice.” He gestured toward an old-fashioned wind-up type phonograph which Tyndall recognized at once as being standard aboard interstellar vessels, and for just such a purpose. The Rhal continued, “For teaching English very fine. How are you enjoying our hospitality, I ask again?”
Tyndall was stuck on Arrill and he knew it. There was no need to cook his own goose by being deliberately offensive. “I appreciate the hospitality of Arrill, I express my thanks for the consideration of my hosts but—if I may ask a question?”
“Yes?”
“What, in the wisdom of the Dheb Rhal, is the reason for my—er—detainment?”
“To answer that, Tyn-Dall, I must tell you something of the past of Ahhreel, and of her destiny.” At these words, the other Arrillians in the room drew closer, and the Rhal motioned them to a couch at his feet and nodded toward Tyndall, requesting that he join them. Tyndall noticed that the others were gazing up into the old man’s face with an expression of raptness, even of reverence. He knew that the Rhal did not possess an especially exalted position politically, even though he was head of the city. He guessed therefore that the Rhal must be the religious ruler of Arrill as well.
The Rhal began, intoning the words as though he were reciting a ritual, “There was a time, many thousands of Khreelas ago, when the kingdom of Ahhreel was not one small city, as you see it now, but a mighty empire, girdling the world in her vastness. But the people of Ahhreel had become evil in their ways, and her cities were black with sin. It was then that Xheev himself left his kingdom in paradise and appeared to the people of Ahhreel, and he told them that he was displeased, and that bad times would fall upon Ahhreel, and that her people would dwindle in number, and became exceedingly few, and the jungle would reclaim her emptied cities. One city, and only one, would survive and prosper, and the people of that city would be given the chance to redeem Ahhreel, and remove the heavy hand of Xheev’s terrible punishment.
“All this came to pass, and in the dark Khreelas that followed, all of Ahhreel vanished except this city. Now, for many, many thousands of Khreelas, the people of this city have striven to redeem Ahhreel by obeying the sacred laws of Xheev.
“Xheev had promised that when the punishment was ended, he would send a sign, and his sign would be that a great silver shell should fall from the heavens, and within would be Xheev’s own emissary, who must wed the ranking priestess of Xheev, establishing again the rapport between the kingdom of paradise and the world of Ahhreel.”
When the Rhal had finished, the other Arrillians in the room fastened the same look of reverence upon Tyndall which they had formerly reserved for the Rhal.
Tyndall chose his words carefully. “But there were many aboard my vessel. Why did you, Dheb Rhal, select me as the emissary of Xheev?”
“Xheev selected you, I recognized you, as of all your companions, you and you alone have the sun-colored hair, which is the sacred color of Xheev.”
Tyndall was able to question the Rhal almost coolly, the trap was already sprung, the ship was gone. Now, he only wanted to know the how, and the why. An accident of pigmentation, only that had brought him to this. Sun-colored hair!
“But, Dheb Rhal, did my friends and I not often tell you of ourselves, of the place from which we came? A world, a world like your own?”
The old man smiled. “Do not think me naive, Tyn-Dall. I am quite aware that you are but a man, a man from another world, although quite an incredible world it must be. I know also that you were, until this hour, unaware of your destiny. I knew that when my priest reported that you ignored the Ritual Of The Time, until literally forced to obey. That is why we had to use . . . devious means to make certain that your companions would not prevent the fulfillment of the prophesy. Now, of course, you understand.
“I do not think the priestess Lhyreesa will make you unhappy, Tyn-Dall.”
*
This was not Earth and these people were not Earthmen. The thought now did not bring the bitter pain it had at first, right after the ship left. Earth already was becoming hazy in Tyndall’s mind, a lovely globe of green somewhere . . . somewhere far, and home once, a long time ago.
No, the Arrillians were not Earthmen, but they were human, and an attractive, gracious race. Life would not be bad, among the Arrillians, especially as the espoused of the ranking priestess of Arrill. Tyndall fingered the rich material of his Arrillian robe; he thought of the food, the wine, the servants. No, he decided, not bad at all. One thing, though—this priestess Lhyreesa . . .
“I have, then, but one request to make, Dheb Rhal, I would like to see the priestess Lhyreesa.”
The old man almost chuckled, “That is understandable, Tyn-Dall, but it is not yet The Time.”
Tyndall, reveling in the strength of his position, grew bolder. “I would like very much, Dheb Rhal, to see her now.”
The Rhal’s face darkened. “Very well, Tyn-Dall, but I warn you, do not enter the Grove. There is death there, death that even I am powerless to prevent. The Guardians will not harm her, but any stranger . . . will not live many minutes in the Grove.”
“I will not enter, Dheb Rhal.”
“Tyn-Dall, The Time is very soon, possibly this very hour. Will you not wait?”
“I prefer not to wait, Dheb Rhal.”
The Rhal gestured to a young Arrillian. “Bheel, show Tyn-Dall to the Grove of the priestess Lhyreesa.”
The younger man protested, “But, Dheb Rhal, so near The Time, what if . . . ”
“Do as I command,” snapped the Rhal.
Bheel turned silently, motioning for Tyndall to follow. The young Arrillian led Tyndall the length of the corridor, back to the patio he had stepped onto by mistake earlier in the day. Bheel stepped respectfully aside. Tyndall looked out into the garden: the sun was beginning to set, the long shadows stretched across the dim recesses of tropic greenery. The huge insect-like thing was still there, stretched out in a narrow strip of sunlight, catching the last failing waves of warmth from the sinking sun.
Tyndall turned to the Arrillian. “Where might I find the priestess Lhyreesa?” he asked.
“There, Dheb Tyn-Dall.”
“I see no one. Where do you say?”
Bheel pointed. “There, Dheb Tyn-Dall, where I point, you see the priestess Lhyreesa taking the late afternoon sun . . . unless your eyesight is exceedingly bad, Dheb Tyn-Dall, you cannot fail to see . . . .”
Tyndall’s eyesight was exceedingly good. He followed that pointing finger, past the pillar that supported the roof of the patio, past the first row of alien green plants, past the second and third rows, to the clearing, to the little patch of sunlight, to the thing lying there. That monstrous, misshapen Bug . . . . The Bug . . . . The Priestess Lhyreesa!
Tyndall felt a pounding, skull-shattering madness closing in on him. This was a joke, of course. No, no joke. A dream then? No, not that either. In only a few split seconds it happened. Tyndall had leapt the rail around the patio, and was streaking through the Grove, heading for its outer
