Now Loz begat Lo, and in his old age gave his sword to him, and Lo ruled the tribe with it. And Lo called the name of the sword Death, because it was so swift and terrible.
And Iz begat Ird, who was of no account. And Ird hated Lo because he was of no account by reason of the iron sword of Lo.
One night Ird stole down to the hut of Lo, carrying his sharp axe, and he went very softly, but Lo’s dog, Warner, heard him coming, and he growled softly by his master’s door. When Ird came to the hut he heard Lo talking gently to his sword. And Lo was saying, “Lie still, Death. Rest, rest, old sword,” and then, “What, again, Death? Be still. Be still.”
And then again: “What, art thou hungry, Death? Or thirsty, poor old sword? Soon, Death, soon. Be still only a little.”
But Ird fled, for he did not like the gentle tone of Lo as he spoke to his sword.
And Lo begat Lod. And when Lo died Lod took the iron sword and ruled the tribe.
And Ird begat Ith, who was of no account, like his father.
Now when Lod had smitten a man or killed a terrible beast, Ith would go away for a while into the forest rather than hear the praises that would be given to Lod.
And once, as Ith sat in the forest waiting for the day to pass, he suddenly thought he saw a tree trunk looking at him as with a face. And Ith was afraid, for trees should not look at men. But soon Ith saw that it was only a tree and not a man, though it was like a man. Ith used to speak to this tree, and tell it about Lod, for he dared not speak to any one else about him. And Ith found comfort in speaking about Lod.
One day Ith went with his stone axe into the forest, and stayed there many days.
He came back by night, and the next morning when the tribe awoke they saw something that was like a man and yet was not a man. And it sat on the hill with its elbows pointing outwards and was quite still. And Ith was crouching before it, and hurriedly placing before it fruits and flesh, and then leaping away from it and looking frightened. Presently all the tribe came out to see, but dared not come quite close because of the fear that they saw on the face of Ith. And Ith went to his hut, and came back again with a hunting spear-head and valuable small stone knives, and reached out and laid them before the thing that was like a man, and then sprang away from it.
And some of the tribe questioned Ith about the still thing that was like a man, and Ith said, “This is Ged.” Then they asked, “Who is Ged?” and Ith said, “Ged sends the crops and the rain; and the sun and the moon are Ged’s.”
Then the tribe went back to their huts, but later in the day some came again, and they said to Ith, “Ged is only as we are, having hands and feet.” And Ith pointed to the right hand of Ged, which was not as his left, but was shaped like the paw of a beast, and Ith said, “By this ye may know that he is not as any man.”
Then they said, “He is indeed Ged.” But Lod said, “He speaketh not, nor doth he eat,” and Ith answered, “The thunder is his voice and the famine is his eating.”
After this the tribe copied Ith, and brought little gifts of meat to Ged; and Ith cooked them before him that Ged might smell the cooking.
One day a great thunderstorm came trampling up from the distance and raged among the hills, and the tribe all hid away from it in their huts. And Ith appeared among the huts looking unafraid. And Ith said little, but the tribe thought that he had expected the terrible storm because the meat that they had laid before Ged had been tough meat, and not the best parts of the beasts they slew.
And Ged grew to have more honour among the tribe than Lod. And Lod was vexed.
One night Lod arose when all were asleep, and quieted his dog, and took his iron sword and went away to the hill. And he came on Ged in the starlight, sitting still, with his elbows pointing outwards, and his beast’s paw, and the mark of the fire on the ground where his food had been cooked.
And Lod stood there for a while in great fear, trying to keep to his purpose. Suddenly he stepped up close to Ged and lifted his iron sword, and Ged neither hit nor shrank. Then the thought came into Lod’s mind, “Ged does not hit. What will Ged do instead?”
And Lod lowered his sword and struck not, and his imagination began to work on that “What will Ged do instead?”
And the more Lod thought, the worse was his fear of Ged.
And Lod ran away and left him.
Lod still ruled the tribe in battle or in the hunt, but the chiefest spoils of battle were given to Ged, and the beasts that they slew were Ged’s; and all questions that concerned war or peace, and questions of law and disputes, were always brought to him, and Ith gave the answers after speaking to Ged by night.
At last Ith said, the day after an eclipse, that the gifts which they brought to Ged were not enough, that some far greater sacrifice was needed, that Ged was very angry even now, and not to be appeased by any ordinary sacrifice.
And Ith said that to save the tribe from the anger of Ged he would speak to Ged that night, and ask him what new sacrifice he needed.
Deep in his heart Lod shuddered, for his instinct told him that Ged wanted Lod’s only son, who should hold the iron sword when Lod was gone.
No one would dare touch Lod because of the iron sword, but his instinct said in his slow mind again and again, “Ged loves Ith. Ith has said so. Ith hates the sword-holders.”
“Ith hates the sword-holders. Ged loves Ith.”
Evening fell and the night came when Ith should speak with Ged, and Lod became ever surer of the doom of his race.
He lay down but could not sleep.
Midnight had barely come when Lod arose and went with his iron sword again to the hill.
And there sat Ged. Had Ith been to him yet? Ith whom Ged loved, who hated the sword-holders.
And Lod looked long at the old sword of iron that had come to his grandfather on the plains of Thold.
Good-bye, old sword! And Lod laid it on the knees of Ged, then went away.
And when Ith came, a little before dawn, the sacrifice was found acceptable unto Ged.
THE IDLE CITY
There was once a city which was an idle city, wherein men told vain tales.
And it was that city’s custom to tax all men that would enter in, with the toll of some idle story in the gate.
So all men paid to the watchers in the gate the toll of an idle story, and passed into the city unhindered and unhurt. And in a certain hour of the night when the king of that city arose and went pacing swiftly up and down the chamber of his sleeping, and called upon the name of the dead queen, then would the watchers fasten up the gate and go into that chamber to the king, and, sitting on the floor, would tell him all the tales that they had gathered. And listening to them some calmer mood would come upon the king, and listening still he would lie down again and at last fall asleep, and all the watchers silently would arise and steal away from the chamber.
A while ago wandering, I came to the gate of that city. And even as I came a man stood up to pay his toll to the watchers. They were seated cross-legged on the ground between him and the gate, and each one held a spear. Near him two other travellers sat on the warm sand waiting. And the man said:
“Now the city of Nombros forsook the worship of the gods and turned towards God. So the gods threw their cloaks over their faces and strode away from the city, and going into the haze among the hills passed through the trunks of the olive groves into the sunset. But when they had already left the Earth, they turned and looked through the gleaming folds of the twilight for the last time at their city; and they looked half in anger and half in regret, then turned and went away for ever. But they sent back a Death, who bore a scythe, saying to it: ’Slay half in the city that forsook us, but half of them spare alive that they may yet remember their old forsaken gods.’