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[Illustration]


 The PEOPLE of the CRATER

  _A COMPLETE NOVELETTE_

     BY ANDREW NORTH


    _"Send the Black Throne to dust; conquer the Black Ones, and bring
    the Daughter from the Caves of Darkness." These were the tasks Garin
    must perform to fulfill the prophecy of the Ancient Ones--and
    establish his own destiny in this hidden land!_




_CHAPTER ONE_

_Through the Blue Haze_


Six months and three days after the Peace of Shanghai was signed and the
great War of 1965-1970 declared at an end by an exhausted world, a young
man huddled on a park bench in New York, staring miserably at the gravel
beneath his badly worn shoes. He had been trained to fill the pilot's
seat in the control cabin of a fighting plane and for nothing else. The
search for a niche in civilian life had cost him both health and
ambition.

A newcomer dropped down on the other end of the bench. The flyer studied
him bitterly. _He_ had decent shoes, a warm coat, and that air of
satisfaction with the world which is the result of economic security.
Although he was well into middle age, the man had a compact grace of
movement and an air of alertness.

"Aren't you Captain Garin Featherstone?"

Startled, the flyer nodded dumbly.

From a plump billfold the man drew a clipping and waved it toward his
seat mate. Two years before, Captain Garin Featherstone of the United
Democratic Forces had led a perilous bombing raid into the wilds of
Siberia to wipe out the vast expeditionary army secretly gathering
there. It had been a spectacular affair and had brought the survivors
some fleeting fame.

"You're the sort of chap I've been looking for," the stranger folded the
clipping again, "a flyer with courage, initiative and brains. The man
who led that raid is worth investing in."

"What's the proposition?" asked Featherstone wearily. He no longer
believed in luck.

"I'm Gregory Farson," the other returned as if that should answer the
question.

"The Antarctic man!"

"Just so. As you have probably heard, I was halted on the eve of my last
expedition by the sudden spread of war to this country. Now I am
preparing to sail south again."

"But I don't see--"

"How you can help me? Very simple, Captain Featherstone. I need pilots.
Unfortunately the war has disposed of most of them. I'm lucky to contact
one such as yourself--"

       *       *       *       *       *

And it was as simple as that. But Garin didn't really believe that it
was more than a dream until they touched the glacial shores of the polar
continent some months later. As they brought ashore the three large
planes, he began to wonder at the driving motive behind Farson's vague
plans.

When the supply ship sailed, not to return for a year, Farson called
them together. Three of the company were pilots, all war veterans, and
two were engineers who spent most of their waking hours engrossed in the
maps Farson produced.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Tomorrow," the leader glanced from face to face, "we start inland.
Here--" On a map spread before him he indicated a line marked in purple.

"Ten years ago I was a member of the Verdane expedition. Once, when
flying due south, our plane was caught by some freakish air current and
drawn off its course. When we were totally off our map, we saw in the
distance a thick bluish haze. It seemed to rise in a straight line from
the ice plain to the sky. Unfortunately our fuel was low and we dared
not risk a closer investigation. So we fought our way back to the base.

"Verdane, however, had little interest in our report and we did not
investigate it. Three years ago that Kattack expedition, hunting oil
deposits by the order of the Dictator, reported seeing the same haze.
This time we are going to explore it!"

"Why," Garin asked curiously, "are you so eager to penetrate this
haze?--I gather that's what we're to do--"

Farson hesitated before answering. "It has often been suggested that
beneath the ice sheeting of this continent may be hidden mineral wealth.
I believe that the haze is caused by some form of volcanic activity, and
perhaps a break in the crust."

Garin frowned at the map. He wasn't so sure about that explanation, but
Farson was paying the bills. The flyer shrugged away his uneasiness.
Much could be forgiven a man who allowed one to eat regularly again.

Four days later they set out. Helmly, one of the engineers, Rawlson, a
pilot, and Farson occupied the first plane. The other engineer and pilot
were in the second and Garin, with the extra supplies, was alone in the
third.

He was content to be alone as they took off across the blue-white waste.
His ship, because of its load, was loggy, so he did not attempt to
follow the other two into the higher lane. They were in communication by
radio and Garin, as he snapped on his earphones, remembered something
Farson had said that morning:

"The haze affects radio. On our trip near it the static was very bad.
Almost," with a laugh, "like speech in some foreign tongue."

As they roared over the ice Garin wondered if it might have been
speech--from, perhaps, a secret enemy expedition, such as the Kattack
one.

In his sealed cockpit he did not feel the bite of the frost and the ship
rode smoothly. With a little sigh of content he settled back against the
cushions, keeping to the course set by the planes ahead and above him.

Some five hours after they left the base, Garin caught sight of a dark
shadow far ahead. At the same time Farson's voice chattered in his
earphones.

"That's it. Set course straight ahead."

The shadow grew until it became a wall of purple-blue from earth to sky.
The first plane was quite close to it, diving down into the vapor.
Suddenly the ship rocked violently and swung earthward as if out of
control. Then it straightened and turned back. Garin could hear Farson
demanding to know what was the matter. But from the first plane there
was no reply.

As Farson's plane kept going Garin throttled down. The actions of the
first ship indicated trouble. What if that haze were a toxic gas?

"Close up, Featherstone!" barked Farson suddenly.

He obediently drew ahead until they flew wing to wing. The haze was just
before them and now Garin could see movement in it, oily, impenetrable
billows. The motors bit into it. There was clammy, foggy moisture on the
windows.

Abruptly Garin sensed that he was no longer alone. Somewhere in the
empty cabin behind him was another intelligence, a measuring power. He
fought furiously against it--against the very idea of it. But, after a
long, terrifying moment while it seemed to study him, it took control.
His hands and feet still manipulated the ship, but _it_ flew!

On the ship hurtled through the thickening mist. He lost sight of
Farson's plane. And, though he was still fighting against the will which
over-rode his, his struggles grew weaker. Then came the order to dive
into the dark heart of the purple mists.

       *       *       *       *       *

Down they whirled. Once, as the haze opened, Garin caught a glimpse of
tortured gray rock seamed with yellow. Farson had been right: here the
ice crust was broken.

Down and down. If his instruments were correct the plane was below sea
level now. The haze thinned and was gone. Below spread a plain cloaked
in vivid green. Here and there reared clumps of what might be trees. He
saw, too, the waters of a yellow stream.

But there was something terrifyingly alien about that landscape. Even as
he circled above it, Garin wrested to break the grip of the will that
had brought him there. There came a crackle of sound in his earphones
and at that moment the Presence withdrew.

The nose of the plane went up in obedience to his own desire.
Frantically he climbed away from the green land. Again the haze absorbed
him. He watched the moisture bead on the windows. Another hundred feet
or so and he would be free of it--and that unbelievable world beneath.

Then, with an ominous sputter, the port engine conked out. The plane
lurched and slipped into a dive. Down it whirled again into the steady
light of the green land.

Trees came out of the ground, huge fern-like plants with crimson scaled
trunks. Toward a clump of these the plane swooped.

Frantically Garin fought the controls. The ship steadied, the dive
became a fast glide. He looked for an open space to land. Then he felt
the landing gear scrape some surface. Directly ahead loomed one of the
fern trees. The plane sped toward the long fronds. There came a ripping
crash, the splintering of metal and wood. The scarlet cloud gathering
before Garin's eyes turned black.




_CHAPTER TWO_

_The Folk of Tav_


Garin returned to consciousness through a red mist of pain. He was
pinned in the crumpled mass of metal which had once been the cabin.
Through a rent in the wall close to his head thrust a long spike of
green, shredded leaves still clinging to it. He lay and watched it, not
daring to move lest the pain prove more than he could bear.

It was then that he heard the pattering sound outside. It seemed as if
soft hands were pushing and pulling at the wreck. The tree branch shook
and a portion of the cabin wall dropped away with a clang.

Garin turned his head slowly. Through the aperture was clambering a
goblin figure.

It stood about five feet tall, and it walked upon its hind legs in human
fashion, but the legs were short and stumpy, ending in feet with five
toes of equal length. Slender, shapely arms possessed small hands with
only four digits. The creature had a high, well-rounded forehead but no
chin, the face being distinctly lizard-like in contour. The skin was a
dull black, with a velvety surface. About its loins it wore a short kilt
of metallic cloth, the garment being supported by a jeweled belt of
exquisite workmanship.

For a long moment the apparition eyed Garin. And it was those golden
eyes, fixed unwinkingly on his, which banished the flyer's fear. There
was nothing but great pity in their depths.

The lizard-man stooped and brushed the sweat-dampened hair from Garin's
forehead. Then he fingered the bonds of metal which held the flyer, as
if estimating their strength. Having done so, he turned to the opening
and apparently gave an order, returning again to squat by Garin.

Two more of his kind appeared to tear away the ruins of the cockpit.
Though they were very careful, Garin fainted twice before they had freed
him. He was placed on a litter swung between two clumsy beasts which
might have been small elephants, except that they lacked trunks and
possessed four tusks each.

They crossed the plain to the towering mouth of a huge cavern where the
litter was taken up by four of the lizard-folk. The flyer lay staring up
at the roof of the cavern. In the black stone had been carved fronds and
flowers in bewildering profusion. Shining motes, giving off faint light,
sifted through the air. At times as they advanced, these gathered in
clusters and the light grew brighter.

Midway down a long corridor the bearers halted while their leader pulled
upon a knob on the wall. An oval door swung back and the party passed
through.

They came into a round room, the walls of which had been fashioned of
creamy quartz veined with violet. At the highest point in the ceiling a
large globe of the motes hung, furnishing soft light below.

Two lizard-men, clad in long robes, conferred with the leader of the
flyer's party before coming to stand over Garin. One of the robed ones
shook his head at the sight of the flyer's twisted body and waved the
litter on into an inner chamber.

Here the walls were dull blue and in the exact center was a long block
of quartz. By this the litter was put down and the bearers disappeared.
With sharp knives the robed men cut away furs and leather to expose
Garin's broken body.

They lifted him to the quartz table and there made him fast with metal
bonds. Then one of them went to the wall and pulled a gleaming rod. From
the dome of the roof shot an eerie blue light to beat upon Garin's
helpless body. There followed a tingling through every muscle and joint,
a prickling sensation in his skin, but soon his pain vanished as if it
had never been.

The light flashed off and the three lizard-men gathered around him. He
was wrapped in a soft robe and carried to another room. This, too, was
circular, shaped like the half of a giant bubble. The floor sloped
toward the center where there was a depression filled with cushions.
There they laid Garin. At the top of the bubble, a pinkish cloud formed.
He watched it drowsily until he fell asleep.

Something warm stirred against his bare shoulder. He opened his eyes,
for a moment unable to remember where he was. Then there was a plucking
at the robe twisted about him and he looked down.

[Illustration]

If the lizard-folk had been goblin in their grotesqueness this visitor
was elfin. It was about three feet high, its monkey-like body completely
covered with silky white hair. The tiny hands were human in shape and
hairless, but its feet were much like a cat's paws. From either side of
the small round head branched large fan-shaped ears. The face was furred
and boasted stiff cat whiskers on the upper lip. These _Anas_, as Garin
learned later, were happy little creatures, each one choosing some
mistress or master among the Folk, as this one had come to him. They
were content to follow their big protector, speechless with delight at
trifling gifts. Loyal and brave, they could do simple tasks or carry
written messages for their chosen friend, and they remained with him
until death. They were neither beast nor human, but rumored to be the
result of some experiment carried out eons ago by the Ancient Ones.

After patting Garin's shoulder the Ana touched the flyer's hair
wonderingly, comparing the bronze lengths with its own white fur. Since
the Folk were hairless, hair was a strange sight in the Caverns. With a
contented purr, it rubbed its head against his hand.

With a sudden click a door in the wall opened. The Ana got to its feet
and ran to greet the newcomers. The chieftain of the Folk, he who had
first discovered Garin, entered, followed by several of his fellows.

The flyer sat up. Not only was the pain gone but he felt stronger and
younger than he had for weary months. Exultingly, he stretched wide his
arms and grinned at the lizard-being who murmured happily in return.

Lizard-men busied themselves about Garin, girding on him the short kilt
and jewel-set belt which were the only clothing of the Caverns. When
they were finished, the chieftain took his hand and drew him to the
door.

They traversed a hallway whose walls were carved and inlaid with
glittering stones and metalwork, coming, at last, into a huge cavern,
the outer walls of which were hidden by shadows. On a dais stood three
tall thrones and Garin was conducted to the foot of these.

The highest throne was of rose crystal. On its right was one of green
jade, worn smooth by centuries of time. At the left was the third,
carved of a single block of jet. The rose throne and that of jet were
unoccupied, but in the seat of jade reposed one of the Folk. He was
taller than his fellows, and in his eyes, as he stared at Garin, was
wisdom--and a brooding sadness.

"It is well!" The words resounded in the flyer's head. "We have chosen
wisely. This youth is fit to mate with the Daughter. But he will be
tried, as fire tries metal. He must win the Daughter forth and strive
with Kepta--"

A hissing murmur echoed through the hall. Garin guessed that hundreds of
the Folk must be gathered there.

"Urg!" the being on the throne commanded.

The chieftain moved a step toward the dais.

"Do you take this youth and instruct him. And then will I speak with him
again. For--" sadness colored the words now--"we would have the rose
throne filled again and the black one blasted into dust. Time moves
swiftly."

The Chieftain led a wondering Garin away.




_CHAPTER THREE_

_Garin Hears of the Black Ones_


Urg brought the flyer into one of the bubble-shaped rooms which
contained a low, cushioned bench facing a metal screen--and here they
seated themselves.

What followed was a language lesson. On the screen appeared objects
which Urg would name, to have his sibilant uttering repeated by Garin.
As the American later learned, the ray treatment he had undergone had
quickened his mental powers, and in an incredibly short time he had a
working vocabulary.

Judging by the pictures the lizard folk were the rulers of the crater
world, although there were other forms of life there. The elephant-like
_Tand_ was a beast of burden, the squirrel-like _Eron_ lived underground
and carried on a crude agriculture in small clearings, coming shyly
twice a year to exchange grain for a liquid rubber produced by the Folk.

Then there was the _Gibi_, a monstrous bee, also friendly to the lizard
people. It supplied the cavern dwellers with wax, and in return the Folk
gave the Gibi colonies shelter during the unhealthful times of the Great
Mists.

Highly civilized were the Folk. They did no work by hand, except the
finer kinds of jewel setting and carving. Machines wove their metal
cloth, machines prepared their food, harvested their fields, hollowed
out new dwellings.

Freed from manual labor they had turned to acquiring knowledge. Urg
projected on the screen pictures of vast laboratories and great
libraries of scientific lore. But all they knew in the beginning, they
had learned from the Ancient Ones, a race unlike themselves, which had
preceded them in sovereignty over _Tav_. Even the Folk themselves were
the result of constant forced evolution and experimentation carried on
by these Ancient Ones.

All this wisdom was guarded most carefully, but against what or whom,
Urg could not tell, although he insisted that the danger was very real.
There was something within the blue wall of the crater which disputed
the Folk's rule.

As Garin tried to probe further a gong sounded. Urg arose.

"It is the hour of eating," he announced. "Let us go."

They came to a large room where a heavy table of white stone stretched
along three walls, benches before it. Urg seated himself and pressed a
knob on the table, motioning Garin to do likewise. The wall facing them
opened and two trays slid out. There was a platter of hot meat covered
with rich sauce, a stone bowl of grain porridge and a cluster of fruit,
still fastened to a leafy branch. This the Ana eyed so wistfully that
Garin gave it to the creature.

The Folk ate silently and arose quietly when they had finished, their
trays vanishing back through the wall. Garin noticed only males in the
room and recalled that he had, as yet, seen no females among the Folk.
He ventured a question.

Urg chuckled. "So, you think there are no women in the Caverns? Well, we
shall go to the Hall of Women that you may see."

To the Hall of Women they went. It was breath-taking in its richness,
stones worth a nation's ransom sparkling from its domed roof and painted
walls. Here were the matrons and maidens of the Folk, their black forms
veiled in robes of silver net, each cross strand of which was set with a
tiny gem, so that they appeared to be wrapped in glittering scales.

There were not many of them--a hundred perhaps. And a few led by the
hand smaller editions of themselves, who stared at Garin with round
yellow eyes and chewed black fingertips shyly.

The women were intrusted with the finest jewel work, and with pride they
showed the stranger their handiwork. At the far end of the hall was a
wonderous thing in the making. One of the silver nets, which were the
foundations of their robes, was fastened there and three of the women
were putting small rose jewels into each microscopic setting. Here and
there they had varied the pattern with tiny emeralds or flaming opals,
so that the finished portion was a rainbow.

One of the workers smoothed the robe and glanced up at Garin, a gentle
teasing in her voice as she explained:

"This is for the Daughter when she comes to her throne."

The Daughter! What had the Lord of the Folk said? "This youth is fit to
mate with the Daughter." But Urg had said that the Ancient Ones had gone
from Tav.

"Who is the Daughter?" he demanded.

"Thrala of the Light."

"Where is she?"

The woman shivered and there was fear in her eyes. "Thrala lies in the
Caves of Darkness."

"The Caves of Darkness!" Did she mean Thrala was dead? Was he, Garin
Featherstone, to be the victim of some rite of sacrifice which was
designed to unite him with the dead?

Urg touched his arm. "Not so. Thrala has not yet entered the Place of
Ancestors."

"You know my thoughts?"

Urg laughed. "Thoughts are easy to read. Thrala lives. Sera served the
Daughter as handmaiden while she was yet among us. Sera, do you show us
Thrala as she was."

The woman crossed to a wall where there was a mirror such as Urg had
used for his language lesson. She gazed into it and then beckoned the
flyer to stand beside her.

The mirror misted and then he was looking, as if through a window, into
a room with walls and ceiling of rose quartz. On the floor were thick
rugs of silver rose. And a great heap of cushions made a low couch in
the center.

"The inner chamber of the Daughter," Sera announced.

       *       *       *       *       *

A circular panel in the wall opened and a woman slipped through. She was
very young, little more than a girl. There were happy curves in her full
crimson lips, joyous lights in her violet eyes.

She was human of shape, but her beauty was unearthly. Her skin was pearl
white and other colors seemed to play faintly upon it, so that it
reminded Garin of mother-of-pearl with its lights and shadows. The hair,
which veiled her as a cloud, was blue-black and reached below her knees.
She was robed in the silver net of the Folk and there was a heavy girdle
of rose-shaded jewels about her slender waist.

"That was Thrala before the Black Ones took her," said Sera.

Garin uttered a cry of disappointment as the picture vanished. Urg
laughed.

"What care you for shadows when the Daughter herself waits for you? You
have but to bring her from the Caves of Darkness--"

"Where are these Caves--" Garin's question was interrupted by the
pealing of the Cavern gong. Sera cried out:

"The Black Ones!"

Urg shrugged. "When they spared not the Ancient Ones how could we hope
to escape? Come, we must go to the Hall of Thrones."

Before the jade throne of the Lord of the Folk stood a small group of
the lizard-men beside two litters. As Garin entered the Lord spoke.

"Let the outlander come hither that he may see the work of the Black
Ones."

Garin advanced unwillingly, coming to stand by those struggling things
which gasped their message between moans and screams of agony. They were
men of the Folk but their black skins were green with rot.

The Lord leaned forward on his throne. "It is well," he said. "You may
depart."

As if obeying his command, the tortured things let go of the life to
which they had clung and were still.

"Look upon the work of the Black Ones," the ruler said to Garin. "Jiv
and Betv were captured while on a mission to the Gibi of the Cliff. It
seems that the Black Ones needed material for their laboratories. They
seek even to give the Daughter to their workers of horror!"

A terrible cry of hatred arose from the hall, and Garin's jaw set. To
give that fair vision he had just seen to such a death as this--!

"Jiv and Betv were imprisoned close to the Daughter and they heard the
threats of Kepta. Our brothers, stricken with foul disease, were sent
forth to carry the plague to us, but they swam through the pool of
boiling mud. They have died, but the evil died with them. And I think
that while we breed such as they, the Black Ones shall not rest easy.
Listen now, outlander, to the story of the Black Ones and the Caves of
Darkness, of how the Ancient Ones brought the Folk up from the slime of
a long dried sea and made them great, and of how the Ancient Ones at
last went down to their destruction."




_CHAPTER FOUR_

_The Defeat of the Ancient Ones_


"In the days before the lands of the outer world were born of the sea,
before even the Land of the Sun (Mu) and the Land of the Sea (Atlantis)
arose from molten rock and sand, there was land here in the far south. A
sere land of rock plains, and swamps where slimy life mated, lived and
died.

"Then came the Ancient Ones from beyond the stars. Their race was
already older than this earth. Their wise men had watched its
birth-rending from the sun. And when their world perished, taking most
of their blood into nothingness, a handful fled hither.

"But when they climbed from their space ship it was into hell. For they
had gained, in place of their loved home, bare rock and stinking slime.

"They blasted out this Tav and entered into it with the treasures of
their flying ships and also certain living creatures captured in the
swamps. From these, they produced the Folk, the Gibi, the Tand, and the
land-tending Eron.

"Among these, the Folk were eager for wisdom and climbed high. But still
the learning of the Ancient Ones remained beyond their grasp.

"During the eons the Ancient Ones dwelt within their protecting wall of
haze the outer world changed. Cold came to the north and south; the Land
of Sun and the Land of Sea arose to bear the foot of true man. On their
mirrors of seeing the Ancient Ones watched man-life spread across the
world. They had the power of prolonging life, but still the race was
dying. From without must come new blood. So certain men were summoned
from the Land of the Sun. Then the race flourished for a space.

"The Ancient Ones decided to leave Tav for the outer world. But the sea
swallowed the Land of Sun. Again, in the time of the Land of Sea, the
stock within Tav was replenished and the Ancient Ones prepared for
exodus; again the sea cheated them.

"Those men left in the outer world reverted to savagery. Since the
Ancient Ones would not mingle their blood with that of almost beasts,
they built the haze wall stronger and remained. But a handful of them
were attracted by the forbidden, and secretly they summoned the beast
men. Of that monstrous mating came the Black Ones. They live but for the
evil they may do, and the power which they acquired is debased and used
to forward cruelty.

"At first their sin was not discovered. When it was, the others would
have slain the offspring but for the law which forbids them to kill.
They must use their power for good or it departs from them. So they
drove the Black Ones to the southern end of Tav and gave them the Caves
of Darkness. Never were the Black Ones to come north of the River of
Gold--nor were the Ancient Ones to go south of it.

"For perhaps two thousand years the Black Ones kept the law. But they
worked, building powers of destruction. While matters rested thus, the
Ancient Ones searched the world, seeking men by whom they could renew
the race. Once there came men from an island far to the north. Six lived
to penetrate the mists and take wives among the Daughters. Again, they
called the yellow-haired men of another breed, great sea rovers.

"But the Black Ones called too. As the Ancient Ones searched for the
best, the Black Ones brought in great workers of evil. And, at last,
they succeeded in shutting off the channels of sending thought so that
the Ancient Ones could call no more.

"Then did the Black Ones cross the River of Gold and enter the land of
the Ancient Ones. Thran, Dweller in the Light and Lord of the Caverns,
summoned the Folk to him.

"'There will come one to aid you,' he told us. 'Try the summoning again
after the Black Ones have seemed to win. Thrala, Daughter of the Light,
will not enter into the Room of Pleasant Death with the rest of the
women, but will give herself into the hands of the Black Ones, that they
may think themselves truly victorious. You of the Folk withdraw into the
Place of Reptiles until the Black Ones are gone. Nor will all the
Ancient Ones perish--more will be saved, but the manner of their
preservation I dare not tell. When the sun-haired youth comes from the
outer world, send him into the Caves of Darkness to rescue Thrala and
put an end to evil.'

"And then the Lady Thrala arose and said softly, 'As the Lord Thran has
said, so let it be. I shall deliver myself into the hands of the Black
Ones that their doom may come upon them.'

"Lord Thran smiled upon her as he said: 'So will happiness be your
portion. After the Great Mists, does not light come again?'

"The women of the Ancient Ones then took their leave and passed into the
place of Pleasant Death while the men made ready for battle with the
Black Ones. For three days they fought, but a new weapon of the Black
Ones won the day, and the chief of the Black Ones set up this throne of
jet as proof of his power. Since, however, the Black Ones were not happy
in the Caverns, longing for the darkness of their caves, they soon
withdrew and we, the Folk, came forth again.

"But now the time has come when the dark ones will sacrifice the
Daughter to their evil. If you can win her free, outlander, they shall
perish as if they had not been."

"What of the Ancient Ones?" asked Garin--"those others Thran said would
be saved?"

"Of those we know nothing save that when we bore the bodies of the
fallen to the Place of Ancestors there were some missing. That you may
see the truth of this story, Urg will take you to the gallery above the
Room of Pleasant Death and you may look upon those who sleep there."

Urg guiding, Garin climbed a steep ramp leading from the Hall of
Thrones. This led to a narrow balcony, one side of which was clear
crystal. Urg pointed down.

They were above a long room whose walls were tinted jade green. On the
polished floor were scattered piles of cushions. Each was occupied by a
sleeping woman and several of these clasped a child in their arms. Their
long hair rippled to the floor, their curved lashes made dark shadows on
pale faces.

"But they are sleeping!" protested Garin.

Urg shook his head. "It is the sleep of death. Twice each ten hours
vapors rise from the floor. Those breathing them do not wake again, and
if they are undisturbed they will lie thus for a thousand years. Look
there--"

He pointed to the closed double doors of the room. There lay the first
men of the Ancient Ones Garin had seen. They, too, seemed but asleep,
their handsome heads pillowed on their arms.

"Thran ordered those who remained after the last battle in the Hall of
Thrones to enter the Room of Pleasant Death that the Black Ones might
not torture them for their beastly pleasures. Thran himself remained
behind to close the door, and so died."

There were no aged among the sleepers. None of the men seemed to count
more than thirty years and many of them appeared younger. Garin remarked
upon this.

"The Ancient Ones appeared thus until the day of their death, though
many lived twice a hundred years. The light rays kept them so. Even we
of the Folk can hold back age. But come now, our Lord Trar would speak
with you again."




_CHAPTER FIVE_

_Into the Caves of Darkness_


Again Garin stood before the jade throne of Trar and heard the stirring
of the multitude of the Folk in the shadows. Trar was turning a small
rod of glittering, greenish metal around in his soft hands.

"Listen well, outlander," he began, "for little time remains to us.
Within seven days the Great Mists will be upon us. Then no living thing
may venture forth from shelter and escape death. And before that time
Thrala must be out of the Caves. This rod will be your weapon; the Black
Ones have not its secret. Watch."

Two of the Folk dragged an ingot of metal before him. He touched it with
the rod. Great flakes of rust appeared to spread across the entire
surface. It crumpled away and one of the Folk trod upon the pile of dust
where it had been.

"Thrala lies in the heart of the Caves but Kepta's men have grown
careless with the years. Enter boldly and trust to fortune. They know
nothing of your coming or of Thran's words concerning you."

Urg stood forward and held out his hands in appeal.

"What would you, Urg?"

"Lord, I would go with the outlander. He knows nothing of the Forest of
the Morgels or of the Pool of Mud. It is easy to go astray in the
woodland--"

Trar shook his head. "That may not be. He must go alone, even as Thran
said."

The Ana, which had followed in Garin's shadow all day, whistled shrilly
and stood on tiptoe to tug at his hand. Trar smiled. "That one may go,
its eyes may serve you well. Urg will guide you to the outer portal of
the Place of Ancestors and set you upon the road to the Caves. Farewell,
outlander, and may the spirits of the Ancient Ones be with you."

Garin bowed to the ruler of the Folk and turned to follow Urg. Near the
door stood a small group of women. Sera pressed forward from them,
holding out a small bag.

"Outlander," she said hurriedly, "when you look upon the Daughter speak
to her of Sera, for I have awaited her many years."

He smiled. "That I will."

"If you remember, outlander. I am a great lady among the Folk and have
my share of suitors, yet I think I could envy the Daughter. Nay, I shall
not explain that," she laughed mockingly. "You will understand in due
time. Here is a packet of food. Now go swiftly that we may have you
among us again before the Mists."

So a woman's farewell sped them on their way. Urg chose a ramp which led
downward. At its foot was a niche in the rock, above which a rose light
burned dimly. Urg reached within the hollow and drew out a pair of high
buskins which he aided Garin to lace on. They were a good fit, having
been fashioned for a man of the Ancient Ones.

The passage before them was narrow and crooked. There was a thick carpet
of dust underfoot, patterned by the prints of the Folk. They rounded a
corner and a tall door loomed out of the gloom. Urg pressed the surface,
there was a click and the stone rolled back.

[Illustration: _With the Ana perched on his shoulder and the green rod
of destruction in his hand, Garin strode into the gloom of Tav--pledged
to bring the Daughter out of the Caves of Darkness...._]

"This is the Place of Ancestors," he announced as he stepped within.

They were at the end of a colossal hall whose domed roof disappeared
into shadows. Thick pillars of gleaming crystal divided it into aisles,
all leading inward to a raised dais of oval shape. Filling the aisles
were couches and each soft nest held its sleeper. Near to the door lay
the men and women of the Folk, but closer to the dais were the Ancient
Ones. Here and there a couch bore a double burden, upon the shoulder of
a man was pillowed the drooping head of a woman. Urg stopped beside such
a one.

"See, outlander, here was one who was called from your world. Marena of
the House of Light looked with favor upon him and their days of
happiness were many."

The man on the couch had red-gold hair and on his upper arm was a heavy
band of gold whose mate Garin had once seen in a museum. A son of
pre-Norman Ireland. Urg traced with a crooked finger the archaic
lettering carved upon the stone base of the couch.

"Lovers in the Light sleep sweetly. The Light returns on the appointed
day."

"Who lies there?" Garin motioned to the dais.

"The first Ancient Ones. Come, look upon those who made this Tav."

On the dais the couches were arranged in two rows and between them, in
the center, was a single couch raised above the others. Fifty men and
women lay as if but resting for the hour, smiles on their peaceful faces
but weary shadows beneath their eyes. There was an un-human quality
about them which was lacking in their descendents.

Urg advanced to the high couch and beckoned Garin to join him. A man and
a woman lay there, the woman's head upon the man's breast. There was
that in their faces which made Garin turn away. He felt as if he had
intruded roughly where no man should go.

"Here lies Thran, Son of Light, first Lord of the Caverns, and his lady
Thrala, Dweller in the Light. So have they lain a thousand thousand
years, and so will they lie until this planet rots to dust beneath them.
They led the Folk out of the slime and made Tav. Such as they we shall
never see again."

They passed silently down the aisles of the dead. Once Garin caught
sight of another fair-haired man, perhaps another outlander, since the
Ancient Ones were all dark of hair. Urg paused once more before they
left the hall. He stood by the couch of a man, wrapped in a long robe,
whose face was ravaged with marks of agony.

Urg spoke a single name: "Thran."

So this was the last Lord of the Caverns. Garin leaned closer to study
the dead face but Urg seemed to have lost his patience. He hurried his
charge on to a panel door.

"This is the southern portal of the Caverns," he explained. "Trust to
the Ana to guide you and beware of the boiling mud. Should the morgels
scent you, kill quickly, they are the servants of the Black Ones. May
fortune favor you, outlander."

The door was open and Garin looked out upon Tav. The soft blue light was
as strong as it had been when he had first seen it. With the Ana perched
on his shoulder, the green rod and the bag of food in his hands, he
stepped out onto the moss sod.

Urg raised his hand in salute and the door clicked into place. Garin
stood alone, pledged to bring the Daughter out of the Caves of Darkness.

There is no night or day in Tav since the blue light is steady. But the
Folk divide their time by artificial means. However Garin, being newly
come from the rays of healing, felt no fatigue. As he hesitated, the Ana
chattered and pointed confidently ahead.

Before them was a dense wood of fern trees. It was quiet in the forest
as Garin made his way into its gloom and for the first time he noted a
peculiarity of Tav. There were no birds.

The portion of the woodland they had to traverse was but a spur of the
forest to the west. After an hour of travel they came out upon the bank
of a sluggish river. The turbid waters of the stream were a dull saffron
color. This, thought Garin, must be the River of Gold, the boundary of
the lands of the Black Ones.

He rounded a bend to come upon a bridge, so old that time itself had
worn its stone angles into curves. The bridge gave on a wide plain
where tall grass grew sere and yellow. To the left was a hissing and
bubbling, and a huge wave of boiling mud arose in the air. Garin choked
in a wind, thick with chemicals, which blew from it. He smelled and
tasted the sulphur-tainted air all across the plain.

And he was glad enough to plunge into a small fern grove which
half-concealed a spring. There he bathed his head and arms while the Ana
pulled open Sera's food bag.

Together they ate the cakes of grain and the dried fruit. When they were
done the Ana tugged at Garin's hand and pointed on.

Cautiously Garin wormed his way through the thick underbrush until, at
last, he looked out into a clearing and at its edge the entrance of the
Black Ones' Caves. Two tall pillars, carved into the likeness of foul
monsters, guarded a rough-edged hole. A fine greenish mist whirled and
danced in its mouth.

The flyer studied the entrance. There was no life to be seen. He gripped
the destroying rod and inched forward. Before the green mist he braced
himself and then stepped within.




_CHAPTER SIX_

_Kepta's Second Prisoner_


The green mist enveloped Garin. He drew into his lungs hot moist air
faintly tinged with a scent of sickly sweetness, as from some hidden
corruption. Green motes in the air gave forth little light and seemed to
cling to the intruder.

With the Ana pattering before him, the American started down a steep
ramp, the soft soles of his buskins making no sound. At regular
intervals along the wall, niches held small statues. And about each
perverted figure was a crown of green motes.

The Ana stopped, its large ears outspread as if to catch the faintest
murmur of sound. From somewhere under the earth came the howls of a
maddened dog. The Ana shivered, creeping closer to Garin.

Down led the ramp, growing narrower and steeper. And louder sounded the
insane, coughing howls of the dog. Then the passage was abruptly barred
by a grill of black stone. Garin peered through its bars at a flight of
stairs leading down into a pit. From the pit arose snarling laughter.

Padding back and forth were things which might have been conceived by
demons. They were sleek, rat-like creatures, hairless, and large as
ponies. Red saliva dripped from the corners of their sharp jaws. But in
the eyes, which they raised now and then toward the grill, there was
intelligence. These were the morgels, watchdogs and slaves of the Black
Ones.

From a second pair of stairs directly across the pit arose a moaning
call. A door opened and two men came down the steps. The morgels surged
forward, but fell back when whips were cracked over their heads.

The masters of the morgels were human in appearance. Black loin cloths
were twisted about them and long, wing-shaped cloaks hung from their
shoulders. On their heads, completely masking their hair, were cloth
caps which bore ragged crests not unlike cockscombs. As far as Garin
could see they were unarmed except for their whips.

A second party was coming down the steps. Between two of the Black Ones
struggled a prisoner. He made a desperate and hopeless fight of it, but
they dragged him to the edge of the pit before they halted. The morgels,
intent upon their promised prey, crouched before them.

Five steps above were two figures to whom the guards looked for
instructions. One was a man of their race, of slender, handsome body and
evil, beautiful face. His hand lay possessively upon the arm of his
companion.

It was Thrala who stood beside him, her head proudly erect. The laughter
curves were gone from her lips; there was only sorrow and resignation to
be read there now. But her spirit burned like a white flame in her eyes.

"Look!" her warder ordered. "Does not Kepta keep his promises? Shall we
give Dandtan into the jaws of our slaves, or will you unsay certain
words of yours, Lady Thrala?"

The prisoner answered for her. "Kepta, son of vileness, Thrala is not
for you. Remember, beloved one," he spoke to the Daughter, "the day of
deliverance is at hand--"

Garin felt a sudden emptiness. The prisoner had called Thrala "beloved"
with the ease of one who had the right.

"I await Thrala's answer," Kepta returned evenly. And her answer he got.

"Beast among beasts, you may send Dandtan to his death, you may heap all
manner of insult and evil upon me, but still I say the Daughter is not
for your touch. Rather will I cut the line of life with my own hands,
taking upon me the punishment of the Elder Ones. To Dandtan," she smiled
down upon the prisoner, "I say farewell. We shall meet again beyond the
Curtain of Time." She held out her hands to him.

"Thrala, dear one--!" One of his guards slapped a hand over the
prisoner's mouth putting an end to his words.

But now Thrala was looking beyond him, straight at the grill which
sheltered Garin. Kepta pulled at her arm to gain her attention. "Watch!
Thus do my enemies die. To the pit with him!"

The guards twisted their prisoner around and the morgels crept closer,
their eyes fixed upon that young, writhing body. Garin knew that he must
take a hand in the game. The Ana was tugging him to the right, and there
was an open archway leading to a balcony running around the side of the
pit.

Those below were too entranced by the coming sport to notice the
invader. But Thrala glanced up and Garin thought that she sighted him.
Something in her attitude attracted Kepta, he too looked up. For a
moment he stared in stark amazement, and then he thrust the Daughter
through the door behind him.

"Ho, outlander! Welcome to the Caves. So the Folk have meddled--"

"Greeting, Kepta." Garin hardly knew whence came the words which fell so
easily from his tongue. "I have come as was promised, to remain until
the Black Throne is no more."

"Not even the morgels boast before their prey lies limp in their jaws,"
flashed Kepta. "What manner of beast are you?"

"A clean beast, Kepta, which you are not. Bid your two-legged morgels
loose the youth, lest I grow impatient." The flyer swung the green rod
into view.

Kepta's eyes narrowed but his smile did not fade. "I have heard of old
that the Ancient Ones do not destroy--"

"As an outlander I am not bound by their limits," returned Garin, "as
you will learn if you do not call off your stinking pack."

The master of the Caves laughed. "You are as the Tand, a fool without a
brain. Never shall you see the Caverns again--"

"You shall own me master yet, Kepta."

The Black Chief seemed to consider. Then he waved to his men. "Release
him," he ordered. "Outlander, you are braver than I thought. We might
bargain--"

"Thrala goes forth from the Caves and the black throne is dust, those
are the terms of the Caverns."

"And if we do not accept?"

"Then Thrala goes forth, the throne is dust and Tav shall have a day of
judging such as it has never seen before."

"You challenge me?"

Again words, which seemed to Garin to have their origin elsewhere, came
to him. "As in Yu-Lac, I shall take--"

Before Kepta could reply there was trouble in the pit. Dandtan, freed by
his guards, was crossing the floor in running leaps. Garin threw himself
belly down on the balcony and dropped the jeweled strap of his belt over
the lip.

A moment later it snapped taut and he stiffened to an upward pull.
Already Dandtan's heels were above the snapping jaws of a morgel. The
flyer caught the youth around the shoulders and heaved. They rolled
together against the wall.

"They are gone! All of them!" Dandtan cried, as he regained his feet. He
was right; the morgels howled below, but Kepta and his men had vanished.

"Thrala!" Garin exclaimed.

Dandtan nodded. "They have taken her back to the cells. They believe her
safe there."

"Then they think wrong." Garin stooped to pick up the green rod. His
companion laughed.

"We'd best start before they get prepared for us."

Garin picked up the Ana. "Which way?"

Dandtan showed him a passage leading from behind the other door. Then he
dodged into a side chamber to return with two of the wing cloaks and
cloth hoods, so that they might pass as Black Ones.

They went by the mouths of three side tunnels, all deserted. None
disputed their going. All the Black Ones had withdrawn from this part of
the Caves.

Dandtan sniffed uneasily. "All is not well. I fear a trap."

"While we can pass, let us."

The passage curved to the right and they came into an oval room. Again
Dandtan shook his head but ventured no protest. Instead he flung open a
door and hurried down a short hall.

It seemed to Garin that there were strange rustlings and squeakings in
the dark corners. Then Dandtan stopped so short that the flyer ran into
him.

"Here is the guard room--and it is empty!"

Garin looked over his shoulder into a large room. Racks of strange
weapons hung on the walls and the sleeping pallets of the guards were
stacked evenly, but the men were nowhere to be seen.

They crossed the room and passed beneath an archway.

"Even the bars are not down," observed Dandtan. He pointed overhead.
There hung a portcullis of stone. Garin studied it apprehensively. But
Dandtan drew him on into a narrow corridor where were barred doors.

"The cells," he explained, and withdrew a bar across one door. The
portal swung back and they pushed within.




_CHAPTER SEVEN_

_Kepta's Trap_


Thrala arose to face them. Forgetting the disguise he wore, Garin drew
back, chilled by her icy demeanor. But Dandtan sprang forward and caught
her in his arms. She struggled madly until she saw the face beneath her
captor's hood, and then she gave a cry of delight and her arms were
about his neck.

"Dandtan!"

He smiled. "Even so. But it is the outlander's doing."

She came to the American, studying his face. "Outlander? So cold a name
is not for you, when you have served us so." She offered him her hands
and he raised them to his lips.

"And how are you named?"

Dandtan laughed. "Thus the eternal curiosity of women!"

"Garin."

"Garin," she repeated. "How like--" A faint rose glowed beneath her
pearl flesh.

Dandtan's hand fell lightly upon his rescuer's shoulder. "Indeed he is
like him. From this day let him bear that other's name. Garan, Son of
Light."

"Why not?" she returned calmly. "After all--"

"The reward which might have been Garan's may be his? Tell him the story
of his namesake when we are again in the Caverns--"

Dandtan was interrupted by a frightened squeak from the Ana. Then came a
mocking voice.

"So the prey has entered the trap of its own will. How many hunters may
boast the same?"

Kepta leaned against the door, the light of vicious mischief dancing in
his eyes. Garin dropped his cloak to the floor, but Dandtan must have
read what was in the flyer's mind, for he caught him by the arm.

"On your life, touch him not!"

"So you have learned that much wisdom while you have dwelt among us,
Dandtan? Would that Thrala had done the same. But fair women find me
weak." He eyed her proud body in a way that would have sent Garin at his
throat had Dandtan not held him. "So shall Thrala have a second chance.
How would you like to see these men in the Room of Instruments, Lady?"

"I do not fear you," she returned. "Thran once made a prophecy, and he
never spoke idly. We shall win free--"

"That will be as fate would have it. Meanwhile, I leave you to each
other." He whipped around the door and slammed it behind him. They heard
the grating of the bar he slid into place. Then his footsteps died away.

"There goes evil," murmured Thrala softly. "Perhaps it would have been
better if Garin had killed him as he thought to do. We must get
away...."

Garin drew the rod from his belt. The green light-motes gathered and
clung about its polished length.

"Touch not the door," Thrala advised; "only its hinges."

Beneath the tip of the rod the stone became spongy and flaked away.
Dandtan and the flyer caught the door and eased it to the floor. With
one quick movement Thrala caught up Garin's cloak and swirled it about
her, hiding the glitter of her gem-encrusted robe.

There was a curious cold lifelessness about the air of the corridor, the
light-bearing motes vanishing as if blown out.

"Hurry!" the Daughter urged. "Kepta is withdrawing the living light, so
that we will have to wander in the dark."

When they reached the end of the hall the light was quite gone, and
Garin bruised his hands against the stone portcullis which had been
lowered. From somewhere on the other side of the barrier came rippling
laughter.

"Oh, outlander," called Kepta mockingly, "you will get through easily
enough when you remember your weapon. But the dark you can not conquer
so easily, nor that which runs the halls."

Garin was already busy with the rod. Within five minutes their way was
clear again. But Thrala stopped them when they would have gone through.
"Kepta has loosed the hunters."

"The hunters?"

"The morgels and--others," explained Dandtan. "The Black Ones have
withdrawn and only death comes this way. And the morgels see in the
dark...."

"So does the Ana."

"Well thought of," agreed the son of the Ancient Ones.

"It will lead us out."

As if in answer, there came a tug at Garin's belt. Reaching back, he
caught Thrala's hand and knew that she had taken Dandtan's. So linked
they crossed the guard room. Then the Ana paused for a long time, as if
listening. There was nothing to see but the darkness which hung about
them like the smothering folds of a curtain.

"Something follows us," whispered Dandtan.

"Nothing to fear," stated Thrala. "It dare not attack. It is, I think,
of Kepta's fashioning. And that which has not true life dreads death
above all things. It is going--"

There came sounds of something crawling slowly away.

"Kepta will not try that again," continued the Daughter, disdainfully.
"He knew that his monstrosities would not attack. Only in the light are
they to be dreaded--and then only because of the horror of their forms."

Again the Ana tugged at its master's belt. They shuffled into the narrow
passage beyond. But there remained the sense of things about them in the
dark, things which Thrala continued to insist were harmless and yet
which filled Garin with loathing.

Then they entered the far corridor into which led the three halls and
which ended in the morgel pit. Here, Garin believed, was the greatest
danger from the morgels.

The Ana stopped short, dropping back against Garin's thigh. In the
blackness appeared two yellow disks, sparks of saffron in their depths.
Garin thrust the rod into Thrala's hands.

"What do you?" she demanded.

"I'm going to clear the way. It's too dark to use the rod against moving
creatures...." He flung the words over his shoulder as he moved toward
the unwinking eyes.




_CHAPTER EIGHT_

_Escape from the Caves_


Keeping his eyes upon those soulless yellow disks, Garin snatched off
his hood, wadding it into a ball. Then he sprang. His fingers slipped on
smooth hide, sharp fangs ripped his forearm, blunt nails scraped his
ribs. A foul breath puffed into his face and warm slaver trickled down
his neck and chest. But his plan succeeded.

The cap was wedged into the morgel's throat and the beast was slowly
choking. Blood dripped from the flyer's torn flesh, but he held on
grimly until he saw the light fade from those yellow eyes. The dying
morgel made a last mad plunge for freedom, dragging his attacker along
the rock floor. Then Garin felt the heaving body rest limply against his
own. He staggered against the wall, panting.

"Garin!" cried Thrala. Her questing hand touched his shoulder and crept
to his face. "It is well with you?"

"Yes," he panted, "let us go on."

Thrala's fingers had lingered on his arm and now she walked beside him,
her cloak making whispering sounds as it brushed against the wall and
floor.

"Wait," she cautioned suddenly. "The morgel pit...."

Dandtan slipped by them. "I will try the door."

In a moment he was back. "It is open," he whispered.

"Kepta believes," mused Thrala, "that we will keep to the safety of the
gallery. Therefore let us go through the pit. The morgels will be gone
to better hunting grounds."

Through the pit they went. A choking stench arose from underfoot and
they trod very carefully. They climbed the stairs on the far side
unchallenged, Dandtan leading.

"The rod here, Garin," he called; "this door is barred."

Garin pressed the weapon into the other's hand and leaned against the
rock. He was sick and dizzy. The long, deep wounds on his arm and
shoulder were stiffening and ached with a biting throb.

When they went on he panted with effort. They still moved in darkness
and his distress passed unnoticed.

"This is wrong," he muttered, half to himself. "We go too easily--"

And he was answered out of the blackness. "Well noted, outlander. But
you go free for the moment, as does Thrala and Dandtan. Our full
accounting is not yet. And now, farewell, until we meet again in the
Hall of Thrones. I could find it in me to applaud your courage,
outlander. Perhaps you will come to serve me yet."

Garin turned and threw himself toward the voice, bringing up with
bruising force against rock wall. Kepta laughed.

"Not with the skill of the bull Tand will you capture me."

His second laugh was cut cleanly off, as if a door had been closed. In
silence the three hurried up the ramp. Then, as through a curtain, they
came into the light of Tav.

Thrala let fall her drab cloak, stood with arms outstretched in the
crater land. Her sparkling robe sheathed her in glory and she sang
softly, rapt in her own delight. Then Dandtan put his arm about her; she
clung to him, staring about as might a beauty-bewildered child.

Garin wondered dully how he would be able to make the journey back to
the Caverns when his arm and shoulder were eaten with a consuming fire.
The Ana crept closer to him, peering into his white face.

They were aroused by a howl from the Caves. Thrala cried out and Dandtan
answered her unspoken question. "They have set the morgels on our
trail!"

The howl from the Caves was echoed from the forest. Morgels before and
behind them! Garin might set himself against one, Dandtan another, and
Thrala could defend herself with the rod, but in the end the pack would
kill them.

"We shall claim protection from the Gibi of the cliff. By the law they
must give us aid," said Thrala, as, turning up her long robe, she began
to run lightly. Garin picked up her cloak and drew it across his
shoulder to hide his welts. When he could no longer hold her pace she
must not guess the reason for his falling behind.

Of that flight through the forest the flyer afterward remembered little.
At last the gurgle of water broke upon his pounding ears, as he stumbled
along a good ten lengths behind his companions. They had come to the
edge of the wood along the banks of the river.

Without hesitation Thrala and Dandtan plunged into the oily flood,
swimming easily for the other side. Garin dropped the cloak, wondering
if, once he stepped into the yellow stream, he would ever be able to
struggle out again. Already the Ana was in, paddling in circles near the
shore and pleading with him to follow. Wearily Garin waded out.

The water, which washed the blood and sweat from his aching body, was
faintly brackish and stung his wounds to life. He could not fight the
sluggish current and it bore him downstream, well away from where the
others landed.

But at last he managed to win free, crawling out near where a smaller
stream joined the river. There he lay panting, face down upon the moss.
And there they found him, water dripping from his bedraggled finery, the
Ana stroking his muddied hair. Thrala cried out with concern and
pillowed his head on her knees while Dandtan examined his wounds.

"Why did you not tell us?" demanded Thrala.

He did not try to answer, content to lie there, her arms supporting him.
Dandtan disappeared into the forest, returning soon, his hands filled
with a mass of crushed leaves. With these he plastered Garin's wounds.

"You'd better go on," Garin warned.

Dandtan shook his head. "The morgels can not swim. If they cross, they
must go to the bridge, and that is half the crater away."

The Ana dropped into their midst, its small hands filled with clusters
of purple fruit. And so they feasted, Garin at ease on a fern couch,
accepting food from Thrala's hand.

There seemed to be some virtue in Dandtan's leaf plaster for, after a
short rest, Garin was able to get to his feet with no more than a twinge
or two in his wounds. But they started on at a more sober pace. Through
mossy glens and sunlit glades where strange flowers made perfume, the
trail led. The stream they followed branched twice before, on the edge
of meadow land, they struck away from the guiding water toward the
crater wall.

Suddenly Thrala threw back her head and gave a shrill, sweet whistle.
Out of the air dropped a yellow and black insect, as large as a hawk.
Twice it circled her head and then perched itself on her outstretched
wrist.

Its swollen body was jet black, its curving legs, three to a side,
chrome yellow. The round head ended in a sharp beak and it had large,
many-faceted eyes. The wings, which lazily tested the air, were black
and touched with gold.

Thrala rubbed the round head while the insect nuzzled affectionately at
her cheek. Then she held out her wrist again and it was gone.

"We shall be expected now and may pass unmolested."

Shortly they became aware of a murmuring sound. The crater wall loomed
ahead, dwarfing the trees at its base.

"There is the city of the Gibi," remarked Dandtan.

Clinging to the rock were the towers and turrets of many eight-sided
cells.

"They are preparing for the Mists," observed Thrala. "We shall have
company on our journey to the Caverns."

They passed the trees and reached the foot of the wax skyscrapers which
towered dizzily above their heads. A great cloud of the Gibi hovered
about them. Garin felt the soft brush of their wings against his body.
And they crowded each other jealously to be near Thrala.

The soft _hush-hush_ of their wings filled the clearing as one large
Gibi of outstanding beauty approached. The commoners fluttered off and
Thrala greeted the Queen of the cells as an equal. Then she turned to
her companions with the information the Gibi Queen had to offer.

"We are just in time. Tomorrow the Gibi leave. The morgels have crossed
the river and are out of control. Instead of hunting us they have gone
to ravage the forest lands. All Tav has been warned against them. But
they may be caught by the Mist and so destroyed. We are to rest in the
cliff hollows, and one shall come for us when it is time to leave."

The Gibi withdrew to the cell-combs after conducting their guests to the
rock-hollows.




_CHAPTER NINE_

_Days of Preparation_


Garin was awakened by a loud murmuring. Dandtan knelt beside him.

"We must go. Even now the Gibi seal the last of the cells."

They ate hurriedly of cakes of grain and honey, and, as they feasted,
the Queen again visited them. The first of the swarm were already
winging eastward.

With the Gibi nation hanging like a storm cloud above them, the three
started off across the meadow. The purple-blue haze was thickening and,
here and there, curious formations, like the dust devils of the desert,
arose and danced and disappeared again. The tropic heat of Tav
increased; it was as if the ground itself were steaming.

"The Mists draw close; we must hurry," panted Dandtan.

They traversed the tongue of forest which bordered the meadow and came
to the central plain of Tav. There was a brooding stillness there. The
Ana, perched on Garin's shoulder, shivered.

Their walk became a trot; the Gibi bunched together. Once Thrala caught
her breath in a half sob.

"They are flying slowly because of us. And it's so far--"

"Look!" Dandtan pointed at the plain. "The morgels!"

The morgel pack, driven by fear, ran in leaping bounds. They passed
within a hundred yards of the three, yet did not turn from their course,
though several snarled at them.

"They are already dead," observed Dandtan. "There is no time for them to
reach the shelter of the Caves."

Splashing through a shallow brook, the three began to run. For the first
time Thrala faltered and broke pace. Garin thrust the Ana into Dandtan's
arms and, before she could protest, swept the girl into his arms.

The haze was denser now, settling upon them as a curtain. Black hair,
finer than silk, whipped across Garin's throat. Thrala's head was on his
shoulder, her heaving breasts arched as she gasped the sultry air.

"They--keep--watch...!" shouted Dandtan.

Piercing the gloom were pin-points of light. A dark shape grazed Garin's
head--one of the Gibi Queen's guards.

Then abruptly they stumbled into a throng of the Folk, one of whom
reached for Thrala with a crooning cry. It was Sera welcoming her
mistress.

Thrala was borne away by the women, leaving Garin with a feeling of
desolation.

"The Mists, Outlander." It was Urg, pointing toward the Cavern mouth.
Two of the Folk swung their weight on a lever. Across the opening a
sheet of crystal clicked into place. The Caverns were sealed.

The haze was now inky black outside and billows of it beat against the
protecting barrier. It might have been midnight of the blackest,
starless night.

"So will it be for forty days. What is without--dies," said Urg.

"Then we have forty days in which to prepare," Garin spoke his thought
aloud. Dandtan's keen face lightened.

"Well said, Garin. Forty days before Kepta may seek us. And we have much
to do. But first, our respects to the Lord of the Folk."

Together they went to the Hall of Thrones where, when he saw Dandtan,
Trar arose and held out his jade-tipped rod of office. The son of the
Ancient Ones touched it.

"Hail! Dweller in the Light, and Outlander who has fulfilled the promise
of Thran. Thrala is once more within the Caverns. Now send you to dust
this black throne...."

Garin, nothing loath, drew the destroying rod from his belt, but Dandtan
shook his head. "The time is not yet, Trar. Kepta must finish the
pattern he began. Forty days have we and then the Black Ones come."

Trar considered thoughtfully. "So that be the way of it. Thran did not
see another war...."

"But he saw an end to Kepta!"

Trar straightened as if some burden had rolled from his thin shoulders.
"Well do you speak, Lord. When there is one to sit upon the Rose Throne,
what have we to fear? Listen, O ye Folk, the Light has returned to the
Caverns!"

His cry was echoed by the gathering of the Folk.

"And now, Lord--" he turned to Dandtan with deference--"what are your
commands?"

"For the space of one sleep I shall enter the Chamber of Renewing with
this outlander, who is no longer an outlander but one, Garin, accepted
by the Daughter according to the Law. And while we rest let all be made
ready...."

"The Dweller in the Light has spoken!" Trar himself escorted them from
the Hall.

They came, through many winding passages, to a deep pool of water, in
the depths of which lurked odd purple shadows. Dandtan stripped and
plunged in, Garin following his example. The water was tinglingly alive
and they did not linger in it long. From it they went to a bubble room
such as the one Garin had rested in after the bath of light rays, and on
the cushions in its center stretched their tired bodies.

When Garin awoke he experienced the same exultation he had felt before.
Dandtan regarded him with a smile. "Now to work," he said, as he reached
out to press a knob set in the wall.

Two of the Folk appeared, bringing with them clean trappings. After they
dressed and broke their fast, Dandtan started for the laboratories.
Garin would have gone with him, but Sera intercepted them.

"There is one would speak with Lord Garin...."

Dandtan laughed. "Go," he ordered the American. "Thrala's commands may
not be slighted."

The Hall of Women was deserted. And the corridor beyond, roofed and
walled with slabs of rose-shot crystal, was as empty. Sera drew aside a
golden curtain and they were in the audience chamber of the Daughter.

A semi-circular dais of the clearest crystal, heaped with rose and gold
cushions, faced them. Before it, a fountain, in the form of a flower
nodding on a curved stem, sent a spray of water into a shallow basin.
The walls of the room were divided into alcoves by marble pillars, each
one curved in semblance of a fern frond.

From the domed ceiling, on chains of twisted gold, seven lamps, each
wrought from a single yellow sapphire, gave soft light. The floor was a
mosaic of gold and crystal.

Two small Anas, who had been playing among the cushions, pattered up to
exchange greetings with Garin's. But of the mistress of the chamber
there was no sign. Garin turned to Sera, but before he could phrase his
question, she asked mockingly:

"Who is the Lord Garin that he can not wait with patience?" But she left
in search of the Daughter.

Garin glanced uneasily about the room. This jeweled chamber was no place
for him. He had started toward the door when Thrala stepped within.

"Greetings to the Daughter." His voice sounded formal and cold, even to
himself.

Her hands, which had been outheld in welcome, dropped to her sides. A
ghost of a frown dimmed her beauty.

"Greetings, Garin," she returned slowly.

"You sent for me--" he prompted, eager to escape from this jewel box and
the unattainable treasure it held.

"Yes," the coldness of her tone was an order of exile. "I would know how
you fared and whether your wounds yet troubled you."

He looked down at his own smooth flesh, cleanly healed by the wisdom of
the Folk. "I am myself again and eager to be at such work as Dandtan can
find for me...."

Her robe seemed to hiss across the floor as she turned upon him. "Then
go!" she ordered. "Go quickly!"

And blindly he obeyed. She had spoken as if to a servant, one whom she
could summon and dismiss by whim. Even if Dandtan held her love, she
might have extended him her friendship. But he knew within him that
friendship would be a poor crumb beside the feast his pulses pounded
for.

There was a pattering of feet behind him. So, she would call him back!
His pride sent him on. But it was Sera. Her head thrust forward until
she truly resembled a reptile.

"Fool! Morgel!" she spat. "Even the Black Ones did not treat her so. Get
you out of the Place of Women lest they divide your skin among them!"

Garin broke free, not heeding her torrent of reproach. Then he seized
upon one of the Folk as a guide and sought the laboratories. Far beneath
the surface of Tav, where the light-motes shone ghostly in the gloom,
they came into a place of ceaseless activity, where there were tables
crowded with instruments, coils of glass and metal tubing, and other
equipment and supplies. These were the focusing point for ceaseless
streams of the Folk. On a platform at the far end, Garin saw the tall
son of the Ancient Ones working on a framework of metal and shining
crystal.

He glanced up as Garin joined him. "You are late," he accused. "But your
excuse is a good one. Now get you to work. Hold this here--and
here--while I fasten these clamps."

So Garin became extra hands and feet for Dandtan, and they worked
feverishly to build against the lifting of the Mists. There was no day
or night in the laboratories. They worked steadily without rest, and
without feeling fatigue.

Twice they went to the Chamber of Renewing, but except for these trips
to the upper ways they were not out of the laboratories through all
those days. Of Thrala there was no sign, nor did any one speak of her.

The Cavern dwellers were depending upon two defenses: an evil green
liquid, to be thrown in frail glass globes, and a screen charged with
energy. Shortly before the lifting of the Mists, these arms were
transported to the entrance and installed there. Dandtan and Garin made
a last inspection.

"Kepta makes the mistake of under-rating his enemies," Dandtan
reflected, feeling the edge of the screen caressingly. "When I was
captured, on the day my people died, I was sent to the Black Ones'
laboratories so that their seekers after knowledge might learn the
secrets of the Ancient Ones. But I proved a better pupil than teacher
and I discovered the defense against the Black Fire. After I had learned
that, Kepta grew impatient with my supposed stupidity and tried to use
me to force Thrala to his will. For that, as for other things, shall he
pay--and the paying will not be in coin of his own striking. Let us
think of that...." He turned to greet Urg and Trar and the other leaders
of the Folk, who had approached unnoticed.

Among them stood Thrala, her gaze fixed upon the crystal wall between
them and the thinning Mist. She noticed Garin no more than she did the
Anas playing with her train and the women whispering behind her. But
Garin stepped back into the shadows--and what he saw was not weapons of
war, but cloudy black hair and graceful white limbs veiled in splendor.

Urg and one of the other chieftains bore down upon the door lever. With
a protesting squeak, the glass wall disappeared into the rock. The green
of Tav beckoned them out to walk in its freshness; it was renewed with
lusty life. But in all that expanse of meadow and forest there was a
strange stillness.

"Post sentries," ordered Dandtan. "The Black Ones will come soon."

He beckoned Garin forward as he spoke to Thrala:

"Let us go to the Hall of Thrones."

But the Daughter did not answer his smile. "It is not meet that we
should spend time in idle talk. Let us go instead to call upon the help
of those who have gone before us." So speaking, she darted a glance at
Garin as chill as the arctic lands beyond the lip of Tav, and then swept
away with Sera bearing her train.

Dandtan stared at Garin. "What has happened between you two?"

The flyer shook his head. "I don't know. No man is born with an
understanding of women--"

"But she is angered with you. What has happened?"

For a moment Garin was tempted to tell the truth: that he dared not
break any barrier she chose to raise, lest he seize what in honor was
none of his. But he shook his head mutely. Neither of them saw Thrala
again until Death entered the Caverns.




_CHAPTER TEN_

_Battle and Victory_


Garin stood with Dandtan looking out into the plain of Tav. Some
distance away were two slender, steel-tipped towers, which were, in
reality, but hollow tubes filled with the Black Fire. Before these
dark-clad figures were busy.

"They seem to believe us already defeated. Let them think so," commented
Dandtan, touching the screen they had erected before the Cavern
entrance.

As he spoke Kepta swaggered through the tall grass to call a greeting:

"Ho, rock dweller, I would speak with you--"

Dandtan edged around the screen, Garin a pace behind.

"I see you, Kepta."

"Good. I trust that your ears will serve you as well as your eyes. These
are my terms: Give Thrala to me to dwell in my chamber and the outlander
to provide sport for my captains. Make no resistance but throw open the
Caverns so that I may take my rightful place in the Hall of Thrones. Do
this and we shall be at peace...."

"And this is our reply:"--Dandtan stood unmovingly before the
screen--"Return to the Caves; break down the bridge between your land
and ours. Let no Black One come hither again, ever...."

Kepta laughed. "So, that be the way of it! Then this shall we do: take
Thrala, to be mine for a space, and then to go to my captains--"

Garin hurled himself forward, felt Kepta's lips mash beneath his fist;
his fingers were closing about the other's throat as Dandtan, who was
trying to pull him away from his prey, shouted a warning: "Watch out!"

A morgel had leaped from the grass, its teeth snapping about Garin's
wrist, forcing him to drop Kepta. Then Dandtan laid it senseless by a
sharp blow with his belt.

On hands and knees Kepta crawled back to his men. The lower part of his
face was a red and dripping smear. He screamed an order with savage
fury.

Dandtan drew the still raging flyer behind the screen. "Be a little
prudent," he panted. "Kepta can be dealt with in other ways than with
bare hands."

The towers were swinging their tips toward the entrance. Dandtan ordered
the screen wedged tightly into place.

Outside, the morgel Dandtan had stunned got groggily to its feet. When
it had limped half the distance back to its master, Kepta gave the order
to fire. The broad beam of black light from the tip of the nearest tower
caught the beast head on. There was a chilling scream of agony, and
where the morgel had stood gray ashes drifted on the wind.

A hideous crackling arose as the black beam struck the screen. Green
grass beneath seared away, leaving only parched earth and naked blue
soil. Those within the Cavern crouched behind their frail protection,
half blinded by the light from the seared grass, coughing from the
chemical-ridden fumes which curled about the cracks of the rock.

Then the beam faded out. Thin smoke plumed from the tips of the towers,
steam arose from the blackened ground. Dandtan drew a deep breath.

"It held!" he cried, betraying at last the fear which had ridden him.

Men of the Folk dragged engines of tubing before the screen, while
others brought forth the globes of green liquid. Dandtan stood aside, as
if this matter were the business of the Folk alone, and Garin recalled
that the Ancient Ones were opposed to the taking of life.

Trar was in command now. At his orders the globes were posed on
spoon-shaped holders. Loopholes in the screen clicked open. Trar brought
down his hand in signal. The globes arose lazily, sliding through the
loopholes and floating out toward the towers.

One, aimed short, struck the ground where the fire had burned it bare,
and broke. The liquid came forth, sluggishly, forming a gray-green gas
as the air struck it. Another spiral of gas arose almost at the foot of
one of the towers--and then another ... and another.

There quickly followed a tortured screaming, which soon dwindled to a
weak yammering. They could see shapes, no longer human or animal,
staggering about in the fog.

Dandtan turned away, his face white with horror. Garin's hands were over
his ears to shut out that crying.

At last it was quiet; there was no more movement by the towers. Urg
placed a sphere of rosy light upon the nearest machine and flipped it
out into the camp of the enemy. As if it were a magnet it drew the green
tendrils of gas, to leave the air clear. Here and there lay shrunken,
livid shapes, the towers brooding over them.

One of the Folk burst into their midst, a woman of Thrala's following.

"Haste!" She clawed at Garin. "Kepta takes Thrala!"

She ran wildly back the way she had come, with the American pounding at
her heels. They burst into the Hall of Thrones and saw a struggling
group before the dais.

Garin heard someone howl like an animal, became aware the sound came
from his own throat. For the second time his fist found its mark on
Kepta's face. With a shriek of rage the Black One threw Thrala from him
and sprang at Garin, his nails tearing gashes in the flyer's face. Twice
the American twisted free and sent bone-crushing blows into the other's
ribs. Then he got the grip he wanted, and his fingers closed around
Kepta's throat. In spite of the Black One's struggles he held on until a
limp body rolled beneath him.

Panting, the American pulled himself up from the blood-stained floor and
grabbed the arm of the Jade Throne for support.

"Garin!" Thrala's arms were about him, her pitying fingers on his
wounds. And in that moment he forgot Dandtan, forgot everything he had
steeled himself to remember. She was in his arms and his mouth sought
hers possessively. Nor was she unresponsive, but yielded, as a flower
yields to the wind.

"Garin!" she whispered softly. Then, almost shyly, she broke from his
hold.

Beyond her stood Dandtan, his face white, his mouth tight. Garin
remembered. And, a little mad with pain and longing, he dropped his
eyes, trying not to see the loveliness which was Thrala.

"So, Outlander, Thrala flies to your arms--"

Garin whirled about. Kepta was hunched on the broad seat of the jet
throne.

"No, I am not dead, Outlander--nor shall you kill me, as you think to
do. I go now, but I shall return. We have met and hated, fought and died
before--you and I. You were a certain Garan, Marshall of the air fleet
of Yu-Lac on a vanished world, and I was Lord of Koom. That was in the
days before the Ancient Ones pioneered space. You and I and Thrala, we
are bound together and even fate can not break those bonds. Farewell,
Garin. And do you, Thrala, remember the ending of that other Garan. It
was not an easy one."

With a last malicious chuckle, he leaned back in the throne. His
battered body slumped. Then the sharp lines of the throne blurred; it
shimmered in the light. Abruptly then both it and its occupant were
gone. They were staring at empty space, above which loomed the rose
throne of the Ancient Ones.

"He spoke true," murmured Thrala. "We have had other lives, other
meetings--so will we meet again. But for the present he returns to the
darkness which sent him forth. It is finished."

Without warning, a low rumbling filled the Cavern; the walls rocked and
swayed. Lizard and human, they huddled together until the swaying
stopped. Finally a runner appeared with news that one of the Gibi had
ventured forth and discovered that the Caves of Darkness had been sealed
by an underground quake. The menace of the Black Ones was definitely at
an end.




_CHAPTER ELEVEN_

_Thrala's Mate_


Although there were falls of rock within the Caverns and some of the
passages were closed, few of the Folk suffered injury. Gibi scouts
reported that the land about the entrance to the Caves had sunk, and
that the River of Gold, thrown out of its bed, was fast filling this
basin to form a lake.

As far as they could discover, none of the Black Ones had survived the
battle and the sealing of the Caves. But they could not be sure that
there was not a handful of outlaws somewhere within the confines of Tav.

The Crater itself was changed. A series of raw hills had appeared in the
central plain. The pool of boiling mud had vanished and trees in the
forest lay flat, as if cut by a giant scythe.

Upon their return to the cliff city, the Gibi found most of their wax
skyscrapers in ruins, but they set about rebuilding without complaint.
The squirrel farmers emerged from their burrows and were again busy in
the fields.

Garin felt out of place in all the activity that filled the Caverns.
More than ever he was the outlander with no true roots in Tav.
Restlessly, he explored the Caverns, spending many hours in the Place of
Ancestors, where he studied those men of the outer world who had
preceded him into this weird land.

One night when he came back to his chamber he found Dandtan and Trar
awaiting him there. There was a curious hardness in Dandtan's attitude,
a somber sobriety in Trar's carriage.

"Have you sought the Hall of Women since the battle?" demanded the son
of the Ancient Ones abruptly.

"No," retorted Garin shortly. Did Dandtan accuse him of double dealing?

"Have you sent a message to Thrala?"

Garin held back his rising temper. "I have not ventured where I can
not."

Dandtan nodded to Trar as if his suspicions had been confirmed. "You see
how it stands, Trar."

Trar shook his head slowly. "But never has the summoning been at
fault--"

"You forget," Dandtan reminded him sharply. "It was once--and the
penalty was exacted. So shall it be again."

Garin looked from one to the other, confused. Dandtan seemed possessed
of a certain ruthless anger, but Trar was manifestly unhappy.

"It must come after council, the Daughter willing," the Lord of the Folk
said.

Dandtan strode toward the door. "Thrala is not to know. Assemble the
Council tonight. Meanwhile, see that he," he jerked his thumb toward
Garin, "does not leave this room."

Thus Garin became a prisoner under the guard of the Folk, unable to
discover of what Dandtan accused him, or how he had aroused the hatred
of the Cavern ruler. Unless Dandtan's jealousy had been aroused and he
was determined to rid himself of a rival.

Believing this, the flyer went willingly to the chamber where the judges
waited. Dandtan sat at the head of a long table, Trar at his right hand
and lesser nobles of the Folk beyond.

"You know the charge," Dandtan's words were tipped with venom as Garin
came to stand before him. "Out of his own mouth has this outlander
condemned himself. Therefore I ask that you decree for him the fate of
that outlander of the second calling who rebelled against the
summoning."

"The outlander has admitted his fault?" questioned one of the Folk.

Trar inclined his head sadly. "He did."

As Garin opened his mouth to demand a stating of the charge against him,
Dandtan spoke again:

"What say you, Lords?"

For a long moment they sat in silence and then they bobbed their lizard
heads in assent. "Do as you desire, Dweller in the Light."

Dandtan smiled without mirth. "Look, outlander." He passed his hand over
the glass of the seeing mirror set in the table top. "This is the fate
of him who rebels--"

In the shining surface Garin saw pictured a break in Tav's wall. At its
foot stood a group of men of the Ancient Ones, and in their midst
struggled a prisoner. They were forcing him to climb the crater wall.
Garin watched him reach the lip and crawl over, to stagger across the
steaming rock, dodging the scalding vapor of hot springs, until he
pitched face down in the slimy mud.

"Such was his ending, and so will you end--"

The calm brutality of that statement aroused Garin's anger. "Rather
would I die that way than linger in this den," he cried hotly. "You, who
owe your life to me, would send me to such a death without even telling
me of what I am accused. Little is there to choose between you and
Kepta, after all--except that he was an open enemy!"

Dandtan sprang to his feet, but Trar caught his arm.

"He speaks fairly. Ask him why he will not fulfill the summoning."

While Dandtan hesitated, Garin leaned across the table, flinging his
words, weapon-like, straight into that cold face.

"I'll admit that I love Thrala--have loved her since that moment when I
saw her on the steps of the morgel pit in the caves. Since when has it
become a crime to love that which may not be yours--if you do not try to
take it?"

Trar released Dandtan, his golden eyes gleaming.

"If you love her, claim her. It is your right."

"Do I not know," Garin turned to him, "that she is Dandtan's. Thran had
no idea of Dandtan's survival when he laid his will upon her. Shall I
stoop to holding her to an unwelcome bargain? Let her go to the one she
loves...."

Dandtan's face was livid, and his hands, resting on the table, trembled.
One by one the lords of the Folk slipped away, leaving the two
face-to-face.

"And I thought to order you to your death." Dandtan's whisper was husky
as it emerged between dry lips. "Garin, we thought you knew--and,
knowing, had refused her."

"Knew what?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"That I am Thran's son--and Thrala's brother."

The floor swung beneath Garin's unsteady feet. Dandtan's hands were warm
on his shoulders.

"I am a fool," said the American slowly.

Dandtan smiled. "A very honorable fool! Now get you to Thrala, who
deserves to hear the full of this tangle."

So it was that, with Dandtan by his side, Garin walked for the second
time down that hallway, to pass the golden curtains and stand in the
presence of the Daughter. She came straight from her cushions into his
arms when she read what was in his face. They needed no words.

And in that hour began Garin's life in Tav.




Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from _Fantasy Book_ Vol. 1 number 1 (1947).
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
    typographical errors have been corrected without note.





End of Project Gutenberg's The People of the Crater, by Andrew North