Then the harbor in turn vanished, and he was in another hall, but this time of a palace rather than a temple. Though the walls were still of red stone, here the hall was lined with other colors, and there were tapestries of fantastic design.
The man of the jeweled robe, whom he had last seen at the altar of the bull god, sat on a throne with courtiers gathered around him. And over all that assemblage the murky cloud hovered. Ray knew it for an effluvium of spirit, and he did not question his ability to see it. Before the Poseidon-for this man could be no other-was a group of prisoners, heavily chained Murians.
Faint and far away, as if from some great distance, Ray heard the words of the ruler. Sight was far sharper than sound for him.
“You stand alone. Your motherland has left you to us. Even tonight the blood of your captain has satisfied the thirst of Ba-Al. Mu is now as a pinch of dust upon the hem of our cloak, which we shall shake off, to be scattered by the wind. You would do well to see this-”
One of the captives flung back his head, trying to clear his face of his loose, tangled hair. “Evil worshiper, Mu lives forever! Her arms are about us always. If it be her will that we die for the good of others, than we die. You spawn out of the pit of the Dark. Do you believe any son of Mu would work wickedness at your command?”
The Poseidon smiled cruelly. “So”-his voice was now so soft and far away that Ray could hardly separate one word from the next-“you still speak stiff-necked and with arrogance in your mouth, defiance on
your tongues. Nay, I shall kill no more of you now. You shall I keep that your feet may sear as you are forced to run across the coals of what was once Mu.”
“The motherland does not fall so easily, not while one of our race yet breathes. If you reckon so, you are the greater fool!” was the captive’s prompt reply.
Now the fat, oily cheeks of the Poseidon darkened, seeming to swell with anger. “Out with them to the slime pits-out!”
The will summoned Ray again as he caught a last glimpse of the captives being dragged away. This time he found himself in the shop of a merchant, like unto those he had visited in the marketplace of the Murian city.
“Not much longer must we stand aside for the traders of Mu.” There was satisfaction in the voice of the man who lifted a tankard to his lips, drank, and touched a square of linen delicately to his lips thereafter.
“The motherland has great powers-” There was a tone of doubt in that answer from one of his companions.
“Bah!” The merchant drank again and licked his lips appreciatively. “Have not the priests of Ba-Al learning also?”
Then Ray was in the upper chamber of a tower, or high building, for from a window nearby there was a hazy glimpse of lights far below. For the first time since he had stepped through time’s gate, he was surrounded by objects that had kinship with his own world. Strange as some were, the tubing, and much else named it a laboratory. And at a table in the far corner were two redrobed Atlanteans.
“We must have a man to feed it again,” one declaimed. And once more, though Ray stood close to the pair, their voices were dim and far away.
“There is one waiting, a Murian prisoner. Let him welcome the embraces of the Loving One, as will his kin hereafter!” The priest’s vulpine face was alight _ with an eagerness that was like hunger, and the murk:
of evil was very dark over his head.
But his fellow looked down at his own hands, where they lay upon the table, and there was doubt plain in his dark face.
“Do we open gates we cannot close again? Sometimes I fear we leap too far, too soon-”
“Does not the Shadow lord stand to protect his own? The day of the Flame is now at sunset.”
What evil they, then wrought Ray did not remember. If the will watched it through his eyes, it was, mercifully, wiped from his mind before he stood again at the dark curtain. Once more he passed through an agony of fire as he felt its fabric balled within his fists. And then, weak and ill, he opened his eyes to the tower room in Mu, its opaque wall openings like great blind eyes.
The Re Mu faced him, but the former serenity was missing from his face. And the Naacals were also men looking upon an ultimate doom with naught to defend them. Ray’s fatigue was a heavy burden, a kind of sickness.
“So, that is what they do-unlock the gates that no human should lay hand to-“the Re Mu half whispered. “Do they not know that such as they have invoked always turns upon its would-be masters in the end? It can be brought forth, but to send it hence again is another matter. Peace be on those they have sent Sunward. And you”-he spoke now to Ray, reaching out to pull the robe closer about the American’s shoulders-“to your our debt is beyond measure, for not to have known what they do would be our disaster.”
“What happened in that laboratory?”
“Be thankful you cannot remember. We must go-to prepare our answer. But it shall rest heavily upon our minds until we lie at peace in our grave-niches. They have committed a sin for which there is no pardon, and payment shall be exacted in kind. U-Cha-bring the water of life-”
The elder Naacal handed the Emperor a cup of the sparkling water. Slipping his arm behind Ray’s shoulders, the Murian ruler supported him until he had
drunk all of the liquid. As it ran down his throat, Ray felt new life and energy come into him. “You must rest. And these shall watch so that your sleep shall be dreamless. Then we will send you home-” Already the weight of sleep pressed on Ray’s eyelids. He was hardly conscious of the fact that the Naacals had produced a mat they smoothed out on the floor, that the Re Mu, with his own hands, assisted them in lowering the American to it. Yet, in spite of his desire to sleep, he shivered when memories he did not sum-mon of what he had seen, or thought he had seen, in Atlantis returned unbidden. Then a hand touched his forehead, and words were spoken in a language he did . not understand. Memory vanished, and there was only sleep. When he awoke, there was a soft glow about him. Those ovals, which were not windows, held a light of their own, bathing the room, him-Someone stirred, and he turned his head slowly. Even that small movement required a vast amount of will and determination. The Lady Aiee smiled at him. “They have told me of what you have done, and I have come that you may be tended by one of your own courtyard.” Ray’s eyes closed despite his desire. “One of your own courtyard.” But what had any Murian courtyard to do with him? This was not his world, nor his time, and he was the alien-Trees, tall, tall as the towers of Mu, rising up from the soil. And between them flowed shadows that made a bewildering maze of the ground. Somewhere among them-farther-farther-he must go-farther- “Ray! Ray!” Faintly, like the voices of the Atlantean dreams, so came that call, but it was imperative, so demanding that he had to listen-to listen and then to stop running between the trees toward the unknown goal. “Ray! His hands were caught. He tried to break the grip E that held them and could not. ? “Return!” Not faint that call but as loud as a thunderclap heralding a storm, with such power in it that he cowered, fearing the coming of a lightning after stroke. “Return!” Again that command was delivered, as if there could be no question of disobedience. Ray opened his eyes. Beside him knelt the Lady Aiee. It was her hands that held his. And behind her stood the elder Naacal, his fingers upon the lady’s shoulders, as if they must be linked so. “Stay!” It was the Naacal who commanded that. Now he loosed his grip on the Lady Aiee to bend over Ray. Between his hands appeared, as if from thin air, the crystal globe. And light from the wall panels seemed to speed into it, to reissue as a luminous cloud, bathing the American. Once more he closed his eyes. But now there were no trees, no need to seek-nothing but healing sleep.
g
A LONG-LEGGED bird ran along the curving line in the sand that marked the high tide, searching for victims of the sea. It had already feasted on a small devilfish and was anticipating other rich finds. Rounding a rock, it squawked and flashed in retreat. Ray, disturbed by that screech of fright, raised his head from his arms and looked about the pocket-sized cove. A butterfly with wings of metallic blue danced above his head, only to flutter away. The beach was his alone. He wanted it so. In one sense he was always alone. In spite of the warm acceptance of the Murians, there was ever in his mind a barrier between them, the feeling that this was not real, at least for him. What had happened eventually to this land and people? Some world-wide catastrophe must have changed the whole face of the planet, to reshape it into the divisions of land and sea known in his time. Had remnants of the Murian nation escaped to more stable lands, been caught on islands that were mountain tops raised from Mu’s rolling plains? Civilization must have died quickly in such chaos. The survivors would descend into savagery, and all but legend would vanish. Her kings would be the half-remembered gods of de-generate races. Was this now the last days of Mu or her prime? The Barren Lands, they were his own-if anything here could be linked to him, or he to it. Some day-some day he would go back there. There was a pattering as the greedy bird, deceived and heartened by Ray’s silence, ventured back. After watching the American for a long moment, the bird scuttled on to round another rock on the other side of the cove. It shot back, again squawking wildly, and Ray heard splashing, as if someone or something moved through shallow wave wash. He hoped they would not come on, an