Moon of Skulls (26 page)

“‘Weep not for me, my lover,’ she said, as her voice weakened to a whisper. ‘Thou hast been mine aforetime, as thou shalt be again. In the mud huts of the Old River, before Sumer was, when we tended the flocks, we were as one. In the palaces of Old Eridu, before the barbarians came out of the East, we loved each other. Aye, on this very lake have we floated in past ages, living and loving, thou and I. So weep not, my lover, for what is one little life when we have known so many and shall know so many more? And in each of them, thou art mine and I am thine.

“‘But thou must not linger. Hark! They clamor for thy blood below. But since the ladder is destroyed there is but one other way by which they may come upon the cliffs — the place by which they brought thee into the valley. Haste! They will return across the lake, scale the cliffs there and pursue thee, but thou may’st escape them if thou be’st swift. And when thou hearest the Voice of El-lil, remember, living or dead, Naluna loves thee with a love greater than any god.

“‘But one boon I beg of thee,’ she whispered, her heavy lids drooping like a sleepy child’s. ‘Press, I beg thee, thy lips on mine, my master, before the shadows utterly enfold me; then leave me here and go, and weep not, oh my lover, for what is — one — little — life — to — us — who — have — loved — in — so — many —’

“Conrad wept like a blithering baby, and so did I, by Judas, and I’II stamp the lousy brains out of the jackass who twits me for it! We left her with her arms folded on her bosom and a smile on her lovely face, and if there’s a heaven for Christian folk, she’s there with the best of them, on my oath.

“Well, we reeled away in the moonlight and my wounds were still bleeding and I was about done in. All that kept me going was a sort of wild beast instinct to live, I fancy, for if I was ever near to lying down and dying, it was then. We’d gone perhaps a mile when the Sumerians played their last ace. I think they’d realized we’d slipped out of their grasp and had too much start to be caught.

“At any rate, all at once that damnable gong began booming. I felt like howling like a dog with rabies. This time it was a different sound. I never saw or heard of a gong before or since whose notes could convey so many different meanings. This was an insidious call — a luring urge, yet a peremptory command for us to return. It threatened and promised; if its attraction had been great before we stood on the tower of El-lil and felt its full power, now it was almost irresistible. It was hypnotic. I know now how a bird feels when charmed by a snake and how the snake himself feels when the fakirs play on their pipes. I can’t begin to make you understand the overpowering magnetism of that call. It made you want to writhe and tear at the air and run back, blind and screaming, as a hare runs into a python’s jaws. I had to fight it as a man fights for his soul.

“As for Conrad, it had him in its grip. He halted and rocked like a drunken man.

“‘It’s no use,’ he mumbled thickly. ‘It drags at my heart-strings; it’s fettered my brain and my soul; it embraces all the evil lure of all the universes. I must go back.’

“And he started staggering back the way we had come — toward that golden lie floating to us over the jungle. But I thought of the girl Naluna that had given up her life to save us from that abomination, and a strange fury gripped me.

“‘See here!’ I shouted. ‘This won’t do, you bloody fool! You’re off your bally bean! I won’t have it, d’you hear?’

“But he paid no heed, shoving by me with eyes like a man in a trance, so I let him have it — an honest right hook to the jaw that stretched him out dead to the world. I slung him over my shoulder and reeled on my way, and it was nearly an hour before he came to, quite sane and grateful to me.

“Well, we saw no more of the people of Eridu. Whether they trailed us at all or not, I haven’t an idea. We could have fled no faster than we did, for we were fleeing the haunting, horrible mellow whisper that dogged us from the south. We finally made it back to the spot where we’d cached our dunnage, and then, armed and scantily equipped, we started the long trek for the coast. Maybe you read or heard something about two emaciated wanderers being picked up by an elephant-hunting expedition in the Somaliland back country, dazed and incoherent from suffering. Well, we were about done for, I’ll admit, but we were perfectly sane. The incoherent part was when we tried to tell our tale and the blasted idiots wouldn’t believe it. They patted our backs and talked in a soothing tone and poured whisky-and-sodas down us. We soon shut up, seeing we’d only be branded as liars or lunatics. They got us back to Jibuti, and both of us had had enough of Africa for a spell. I took ship for India and Conrad went the other way — couldn’t get back to New England quick enough, where I hope he married that little American girl and is living happily. A wonderful chap, for all his damnable bugs.

“As for me, I can’t hear any sort of a gong today without starting. On that long, grueling trek I never breathed easily until we were beyond the sound of that ghastly Voice. You can’t tell what a thing like that may do to your mind. It plays the very deuce with all rational ideas.

“I still hear that hellish gong in my dreams, sometimes, and see that silent, hideously ancient city in that nightmare valley. Sometimes I wonder if it’s still calling to me across the years. But that’s nonsense. Anyway, there’s the yarn as it stands and if you don’t believe me, I won’t blame you at all.”

But I prefer to believe Bill Kirby, for I know his breed from Hengist down, and know him to be like all the rest — truthful, aggressive, profane, restless, sentimental and straightforward, a true brother of the roving, fighting, adventuring Sons of Aryan.