Fear lives with all men from their birth to their dying. There are many small fears, and sometimes terrors that are not small from which a man may cower in the dust or run shrieking to escape. Fear can be a prod to action, an enemy to battle, or a blanket that saps sane life. Ray thought he had known fear many times before he marched toward it on the harbor road of Atlantis. But such fear as this-never!
“Come!”
He was coming. There was no choice left him, no trick learned in his own world that he could call to his aid. He was mesmerized by that terrible aura of fear, drawn to it
They were only a few feet apart now, he and that Red Robe with the closed face upon which there was no triumph, no lust of battle. The priest’s will was all centered on one thing, to hold and then to draw, even as he was doing.
Ray stared into that lean face, with its beaked nose, its point of chin, finding it familiar. Then the priest raised his hand, and about his wrist was a shining band that caught Ray’s eyes for a moment. Watch band reported one small portion of his brain. Watch band-watch-here-His! His watch-which had been taken from him on the Atlantean ship at the beginning of this whole wild adventure. And this-this was the Red Robe from that ship.
The hand holding that watch gestured. Pain burst in Ray’s head, and he dropped under the blow aimed by the warrior who had moved in behind him.
Ray lay in the dark, and under him was a hard surface, so chill that its cold and damp made his bones ache. He moved his hand to the pulsing agony of his head and heard metal scrape, felt the jerk at his wrist preventing him from completing that movement.
“Do you wake at last, comrade?” Words out of the dark. It seemed to take a long time for them to register any meaning in his mind. “I had come to think but your empty husk lay there and that. you had escaped-”
“Who-who are you?” Ray looked in the direction of that voice, but the dark was too complete to see anything.
“One like yourself, a prisoner waiting the pleasure of Chronos! May his bones rot before his flesh and his spirit wail on the winds, homeless forever!”
“Are you Murian?” Ray tried to pull himself up a little, then fell back, for the pain in his head was worse.
The other made a sound that might have been laughter, except in this place there was no laughter. “No. I am Atlantean born, though no friend to Chronos and his liegemen. And you?”
Ray hesitated. What was he? A spy he might say. “I came from Mu.” That much he could answer, giving away no more than they already knew.
“What mean you?” the other demanded eagerly. “Is there a landing-war?”
“Not yet.”
“But perhaps soon? That is good hearing to one who has been here for five years-”
“Here?” Ray could not believe that. This hole-how could anyone measure time or even keep his sanity?
“No. In this cell only a short time. You do not count days in the dark when there is only the black of night. But they have brought food eight times. However, before they dragged me here, I was captive above where there is day in the cells and sometimes even sun. But of what passes outside these walls, I do not know.”
“Atlantis moves against Mu.”
“It took them long enough to nerve themselves to that. For a hundred years the priests of Ba-Al have wrought what manner of magic they could to this end. Five years ago when I tried to ship out, they were approaching some summit of their evil. Men whispered of that—”
“How is it that you still live?” Again that sound which was almost laughter. “Brave as Chronos would like to think himself, he dares not go against ancient prophecies. There is some blood he cannot shed until he is truly master of the world which will be a long time coming. And he will not kill the true holder of the Trident, since it was vowed long ago that that would bring the wrath of the sea in upon the land.”
“What do you mean?”
“The line of the true Poseidons was supposed to have ended a hundred years ago., but in truth it did not, for the last Poseidon’s daughter, rather than accept as her consort the man chosen by the priests of Ba-Al, fled into the mountains, letting it be thought she died. There she exchanged bracelets with the captain of her guard, a Sunborn true to her. And I am a direct descendant of that union, as Chronos knows. He has slain all the Sunborn he can lay hands on, destroyed the temple of the Flame, but he dares not yet put knife to me-for it is written in the stars, to be read even by the priests of the Shadow, that Atlantis will endure only as long as does the true blood. He keeps me safe under his hand, but he does not kill.”
“But you are loyal to Mu?”
“How could it be otherwise?” asked the other simply. “I am of the house of the Sun in Atlantis; the son may not turn against his mother. Chronos is not of the Sunborn; that is one reason his hate for them is so black and bitter. But now I say, comrade, may the Sun speed the ships of Mu, for I cannot believe they are waiting for the Shadow’s sons to attack first—”
“I hope that they come,” Ray answered. But, he thought, what was he doing in the middle of this quarrel which was none of his? He could hope for some miracle to save him from whatever fate those of Atlantis prepared for him, but to count much on such a hope was folly.
“Now, comrade, what of you? Just a short time ago they brought you here. You say you are from Mu, yet in
their torchlight you had not the look of the motherland-”
“My name is Ray and I am from the Barren Lands-”
“The Barren Lands? Have they then established a colony there?”
” I am not of Mu, save that the Re Mu has granted me that courtesy,” Ray said slowly. Granted him? No, lulled his suspicions that he might prove to be a weapon-or whatever he meant to the will that ruled him here. Will-Ray suddenly became conscious that that was gone from him. Either it had been banished by the force that Red Robe had used to draw him tamely into captivity, or else it had withdrawn because he was no longer of use.
“The Barren Lands,” the other repeated. “Waitthey come!”
A sharp click and an oblong of light appeared in the wall. Ray tried to shield his eyes as two soldiers bearing rods that gave off yellow light stepped within.
“Welcome, hounds of Chronos!” cried his cellmate. “How goes it with you? Have those of Mu come down upon you yet, or do you still brew some foul Shadow magic hoping thus to make yourselves new walls against Murian steel?”
Ray turned his head. Fastened to the wall near him was a young man, emaciated, the cheerfulness of his voice belied by deep lines about his well-cut mouth. And silver frosted his long black hair.
One of the warriors grunted as he set a gourd of water and some hunks of dark bread on the floor. His companions thrust one light rod through an iron ring in the wall before they left together.
“Now I wonder what is the meaning of that?” The Atlantean prisoner pointed to the light. “They plan some trickery. In this prison one comes in time to question the very stones of the walls. Chronos does ; nothing without purpose. He learned that much from _j Magos.”
He reached for the nearest hunk of bread and passed it to Ray. “Best eat while you may, comrade. Chronos has a fondness for experiments, and he might wish to see how long we can live without even crumbs. You have named yourself-let me do likewise. I am Uranos.”
“Eat but half,” Uranos advised as Ray chewed the tasteless stuff: “It is better to have less today than none tomorrow. Chronos hatches some plan beneath his misshapen skull that holds nothing but ill for us. Me he fears, not for what I, a prisoner, can do, but because I am who I am. And you must also threaten him in some fashion, or he would not hold us together. The promise made by the stars may not save me-”
“I met a man, the captain of a raider, who swore he could take this city if he led the proper men. In spite of all the walls and canals,” Ray said slowly, not knowing why that came into his mind now.