Part 5

He was there! He was home! In a few moments he would be clasping his Lilla close in his arms. Oh, how he loved her, who had made this planet a home for him, instead of a mere dreary exile in the skies. In a few moments he would see for the first time his tiny son.

Forgotten were his enemies. Forgotten was Prince Yuri, the traitor. Forgotten was the thousand-stad journey. For as Myles clambered up the path, his sole idea was: “Lilla and home and little Kew.”

But the civil war was abruptly recalled to his memory when he reached the summit and found Luno Castle in total darkness! The massive door was standing idly open. There was not a sound of occupancy within.

With an intense pang of anxiety, he rushed across the threshold. He switched on the hall light. At least there was some comfort, for the electricity was still in working order. But scarcely had the light gone on, when a bullet whistled through the doorway from outside.

Doubtless the best sharpshooters of the enemy had been waiting on the opposite bank for just such an opportunity as this! Several more bullets followed in rapid succession, but a hasty slamming of the great door put a stop to any further incursions of this sort. And Myles found and lighted a pocket flash lamp, before proceeding to the upper floors. The flash would not throw enough light to furnish a target for the Formians.

Upstairs there was evidence of considerable confusion; furniture overturned, draperies torn and so forth; but no signs of his family, of the doctors and nurses, or of the servants. His heart was filled with an agony of suspense, his mind with a growing realization that he had arrived too late. Each room he penetrated in turn, searching, ever searching, until at last he reached the great banquet hall on the highest story.

And there a sad sight met his eyes! A square altar had been erected in the center of the room. Around it, in a Pythagorian triangle, stood three candlesticks, holding the burned-out stubs of candles. And on the altar, wrapped in the imperial robes of the Kew dynasty, lay the body of a baby Cupian, only a few sangths old!

With a cry of anguish Cabot clasped the tiny form to his breast and covered it with kisses. But it gave back no response; it was cold and stiff.

For a long time he stayed with his dead. He examined the little toes, with which, but for this cruel civil war, he might have played, “This little pig went to market.” He chafed one tiny hand, and wrapped all its little fingers around a finger of his own, fondly picturing himself as strolling in the castle garden with a little toddler at his side. He knelt by the altar and talked baby talk to the little dead darling. Then wept bitterly and cursed the pride which had kept him from his child in its hour of need.

And what of Lilla, more precious to him than this infant whom he had never known? Very evidently she had been taken prisoner rather than killed. Perhaps Yuri would hold her as a hostage, as the price of Cupian surrender. Or more likely he would force her to marry him, as soon as he could dispose of her husband. Whichever was his plan, it behooved Myles to remain alive for Lilla’s sake.

If Myles’ own grief could be so sharp at the death of a baby whom he had never known, how much more bitter must have been the grief of her who had held this child warm and gurgling to her breast! And in addition, she was now the captive of the murderer of her father, of her babe, and—for all that she knew—of her husband.

Poor dear girl! Cabot roused himself and, clasping the little form close to his breast, carried it outside, and by the light of his flash, dug for it a shallow grave in the castle courtyard. Over the grave he said a Christian prayer, the mound he covered with flowers, and at the head he placed a rude cross.

The problem remained to reach the troops to the northward, and now for the first time he realized his own predicament. Undoubtedly the shore of Lake Luno was already thickly lined with ants, whose airplanes would certainly start dropping bombs on the island as soon as it was daylight. They might even attack by boat, but he rather thought that they respected his rifle too much for this. At all events, what possible chance was there for him ever to escape this trap?

But trap or no trap, northward again he must go, for it was only by reaching his army that he could learn the fate of his princess.

Nothward again! After he had thought he had reached his journey’s end. The word “northward” had already seared itself into his very soul during his interminable quest for Luno Castle, and yet now he must travel north once more.

If only he could travel east, or in some other direction than north!

VI

TRAPPED AGAIN

With a heavy heart, almost despairing, Myles Cabot quit the courtyard and returned to the banquet hall, where he noticed a letter pinned to the side of the altar with a dagger. The dagger was encrusted with blood, and bore the insignia of the family to which belonged Prince Yuri and Prince Toron.

The note read: “This is what did the deed. I came too late.—Toron, King of Cupia.”

“He might have had the delicacy to have left off his title,” thought Cabot. “Why remind me that the baby’s death has made Toron the contender for the throne?”

And yet Myles was glad to be reminded of it. If Toron had succeeded in reaching the army alive, the Cupians still had time for a rallying point.

Then a horrible suspicion began to insinuate itself into Cabot’s brain. Yuri had assassinated Kew XII, to make himself king. Was this a family trait? Had Toron killed the infant Kew XIII, to the same end? This seemed more and more likely, as Cabot’s fevered brain dwelt upon the possibility. But, if so, then what had become of Lilla?

Dismissing these speculations, Myles prepared to journey on again. Luckily his belongings in the castle had been but little disturbed; and so he was able to eat, shave, cut his hair—after a fashion—and fit himself out with a fresh toga. Also he found a radio set, antennae, false wings, a revolver and ammunition. These he wrapped in waterproof cloth, along with the toga and some food; and, strapping the bundle to his back, swam stealthily to the north shore of the lake, it still being pitch black night.

Upon landing, he donned his apparatus, and crept up the bank and through the bushes at its top. Now at last he had the advantage of being able to hear both the movement and the radiated speech of his enemies, whereas they could hear only radiated sounds, of which he was not making any.

Thus he easily eluded the noisy sentinels who were patrolling the lake, and soon was far into the depths of the woods. But there he stopped. To go on would undoubtedly mean traveling in a circle. It was safer where he was. So crawling into the heart of a tartan bush, he gave himself up to much needed sleep.

* * * * *

A crash and a roar awakened him. It was broad daylight. How long he had slept could not be known, for all hours of the day are the same on Poros, save only early morning and late evening.

Again the crash and the roar. Airships must be bombing the castle, in which event all attention of the ant men was probably centered on the island in the lake, and now was the psychological time for an escape. Furthermore, by keeping the noise of the explosions always behind him, Cabot could be sure of traveling ever northward without danger of circling. So northward he pressed on, through the dense woods.

But his certainty that the Formians’ attention was directed to the lake, proved to be his undoing, for he had scarcely gone half a stad, before he stumbled almost into the arms of an ant man. It is hard to say which of them was the more surprised. Cabot fired first, but missed. Then the Formian fired and missed. Then both of them retreated precipitately.

Soon Myles heard his enemy radiating loudly for help. Other ants must have been much nearer to him than the lake, for the S.O.S. was promptly answered.

And now there was impressed upon the earth-man one serious difference between his artificial radio-organs and the natural ones of the natives of this planet. Formians and Cupians can not only vary the capacity of their antennae—for tuning purposes—by waving them around, but also by the same method can, to a certain extent, determine the direction from which the incoming waves are arriving. But Cabot’s antennae, although looking just like those of his people, were stationary. Being artificial, they were without control-muscles at their base. He did his tuning in by means of a variable condenser and a variocoupler on his belt, and had no means for direction-finding. So now he was unable to sense from which quarter came the radiations of the approaching enemy reenforcements.

Taking a chance, however, he turned sharp to the right, and struck out through the forest, in an easterly direction. Overhead the sky was beginning to darken, and there was every sign of impending rain. But Cabot did not mind this. What was a wetting compared with meeting the ant men?

He heard no further calls from his enemies, and began to wonder if they had not given up the pursuit. Accordingly he turned northward again, or at least what he believed to be northward, for the bombing of Luno Castle had stopped, and there was no longer anything to guide him.

Time and again he halted at the sight of some gnarled tree trunk which more or less resembled a Formian. He went slowly and cautiously, frequently stopping to listen and look about him, but not a sound nor a radiation did he hear, not a sign of life did he see.

Reassured somewhat now, he was beginning to push on a little more boldly, when he was startled as he saw an ant man standing motionless beside a tree not far ahead. There could be no mistake about it this time. This was no stump, nor was it a twisted branch; and, as if to convince him, just then the Formian changed its position slightly. It was holding a rifle, and was very evidently on guard, keeping a careful watch of the woods about it.

Cabot had stopped short just as soon as he had caught a glimpse of the ant man, and a moment’s observation convinced him that he himself had not yet been seen. So with great caution he began to back away. If only he could gain the shelter of a tartan bush close at hand, he would be safe.

Cabot could not remove his gaze from the Formian before him; and, though he kept moving away, every moment he was in an agony of fear lest the other should turn and look in his direction. Of course Myles was armed. A shot from his revolver would not be perceived by the antennae-sense which takes the place of hearing among the native inhabitants of Poros. But what he feared was that his enemy would radiate for help before the fatal bullet could do its work. Accordingly it would pay to try to get away by stealth.

He had taken several backward steps, and the Formian had not yet seen him. He was beginning to hope that he could withdraw in safety now. He could feel, rather than see, that he had almost gained the shelter he was seeking, when suddenly the ant man turned about and looked straight at him. The Formian was not more than two parastads away, and for a moment his surprise was as great as that of Cabot had been.

But it lasted only for an instant, and then he raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Quick as he was, however, Myles had been quicker, and the moment he saw the movement on the part of the Formian, he discharged his own revolver, and then turned and bounded into the forest.

He heard the other’s bullet as it exploded in a tree near him, and also the loud radiations of the ant man, mingled with the explosion of his own bullet.

* * * * *

Cabot ran now at full speed, caring little in which direction he went, intent on escape from the immediate danger which had confronted him. Running swiftly though he was, he was able to hear the call of the Formian answered. A radiation that seemed to be far away, replied; and Cabot could not determine from which direction it came. He had no time, however to stop and wait. His very life, and the destinies of a planet, might depend upon his speed. So he ran swiftly on.

He was satisfied that he could outrun the ant man whom he had just encountered, if in truth that one was in any condition to run, after Cabot’s pot-shot at him; but the answer which had come to the S.O.S. raised a new danger. Undoubtedly his enemies had not abandoned the pursuit, and as one of them had been stationed in the woods, others probably were likewise.

Cabot ran for about five paraparths before he stopped. Satisfied by now that the Formian behind him could not overtake him, if indeed that Formian were still alive, it was time for Myles to note where he was, and in what direction he was running. Fortunately at that moment he heard another explosion in the far distance to the right, presumably one more bomb dropped on Luno Castle. Accordingly he turned sharp to the left and started on again.

He had gone but a short distance, however, when his heart almost stood still. Right before him was a Formian. The woods seemed to Cabot to be full of Formians.

The other had seen him, too, but before the ant man could shoot, Myles had dodged back among the trees and was fleeing in another direction. He could hear the calls and responses of many of his enemies. They were nearer now, and seemed to be on every side of him.

It was evident that they were stationed at intervals throughout the forest, and were waiting patiently for him to appear. They must be familiar with the region, and know just what they were doing.

Cabot was afraid. His fear was not a physical fear for his own safety as such, but was born of a sober realization of what his life might mean to the safety and happiness of the Princess Lilla, and to the cause of King Toron. Cabot wanted to live to reach King Toron, and satisfy himself who had killed baby Kew.

These thoughts were in the mind of the desperate man, as he dodged in and out among the trees, and ran with all the speed which his sorely tried body could command.

He did not know where to turn. The calls and replies of the ant men seemed to rise on every side of him. But anything was better than standing still and waiting for them to approach, and so in sheer desperation he ran on and on.

The shouts ceased presently, and the silence of the woods returned. Cabot was too well convinced that they had not abandoned the pursuit to trust to that, however. But suddenly he stopped. What was that? A puff of smoke was borne in on his face. Another and another followed, and as he looked back into the forest, he could see that clouds of smoke were beginning to appear. There was also an odor in the air, as of burning leaves.

He knew the meaning of it at once, and his face became set. The ants had set fire to the woods, and were trying to smoke or burn him out. So he turned quickly, and ran like a hunted animal. Indeed, Cabot could recall how he himself, in his boyhood days on earth, had considered it great sport to “smoke out” some helpless woodchuck or fox. He had even done the same thing with wild mathlabs on Poros. Now he realized how these little creatures felt. But he did not waste any sympathy on himself in his present predicament. He was thinking more of his country than of himself.

Meanwhile he could see the smoke begin to pour in from other directions. Plainly the Formians had set fire to the woods in many different spots, and doubtless were lying in wait for him to rush out between these places. They were planning either to force him out or burn him alive.

The frantic man ran desperately now, starting one way and now another, only to be driven back each time by a cloud of smoke that would blow full in his face and convince him that escape was not to be found in that direction. Oh, if only the impending rain would come!

Soon he could see the flames as well as the smoke. There was a roar which he could hear rising among the trees, for which the wind could not account. The air was becoming warmer, and broken burning branches began to fly over the treetops. The smoke was blinding and choking him now, and met him full in the face in whatever direction he turned. He must do something quickly, if he would cheat the enemy of their triumph.

VII

A WAY OUT

Just at that moment, through a rift in the smoke, he fancied that he saw the sparkle of water, and toward it he bent his steps. If there really was a stream there, it might block the course of the conflagration, and afford safety on its farther bank.

So on and on, amidst the smoke, he sped, with the roar of the fire behind him. His one hope lay in finding the stream and in managing to cross it.

He did not heed the choking sensation in his throat. His own life and the fate of a nation depended on his success. He must find the water.

He had run but a few paraparths when he again caught sight of the water between the trees, for he had been nearer than he had thought. In another moment he gained the bank, but he groaned at the sight. For the opposite shore was also in flames. Evidently the ant men had anticipated his move.

What could he do now? Great volumes of smoke were pouring in on him from behind. The air was full of flying embers, and the heat was becoming almost unendurable. The hunted man had gained the bank of the stream, only to find his escape cut off there by the flames on the other side.

Cabot was facing a double peril, as he fully realized. The Formians who were pursuing him, and who had set these fires, would prove as merciless as the flames in their dealings with him, whom they rightly regarded as the cause of the misfortunes of their nation. Thus either way out of this dilemma appeared to be worse than the other. And still the rain held off.

At this moment a slight shift in the wind drove back the heat behind him. The smoke which now came from across the little river was cool and thin enough to be bearable, and accordingly he quickly determined to stick close to the bank, and to proceed cautiously northward, the direction in which the stream appeared to be flowing.

Perhaps no one was on guard at the place where the stream emerged from the burning area, and he could there make his escape.

But, alas, no such luck! His flight was interrupted by the sight of an ant man, who, as seen through the smoke, loomed twice his natural size.

Cabot took careful aim and fired two shots, at which his enemy crumpled up, but not without first radiating a warning to his fellows. This made it too late to get through at this point, so Cabot turned and retraced his steps upstream.

Finally he came to a place where the fire appeared to be burning only on his own side of the river. Although the current was swift he determined to chance it and swim across, so he waded out into the stream. The cool of the water felt soothing to his dry body, and near the surface the air was clear and free from smoke. Cabot filled his lungs again and again with this blessed air, then stopped to lave his parched lips in the cool stream.

When he raised his head to resume the crossing, what should he see on the opposite shore but two of his black enemies! Firing rapidly at them, he backed up the bank again and lay down under cover of a log.

The Formians now promptly withdrew, and soon were lost in the smoke of several new fires which they had started.

He heard a boom in the distance. What! Were they bombing Luno Castle again? Another boom in a slightly different direction! Where else could they be dropping bombs? And then he realized this must be thunder.

Now the wind shifted again, driving the flames up to Cabot’s side of the river and forcing him back into the water. Burning brands came scudding across the surface, so that even the water proved but little protection. However, by making his way upstream, he finally came to a place where the bank overhung, and the brook was about five feet deep. Here the bank protected him from the flying embers, and he was able to breathe the clear air near the surface of the stream. Now the fire could not touch him, even if it should sweep to the very edge of the brook.

The sky got darker and darker. The rain began to descend. The storm, which had been so long threatening, had broken at last, and the rain was falling torrentially. Indeed, it soon was coming down in sheets, and Cabot knew that if he could only maintain his position a little longer, he would be saved from the fire, and would then have only the Formians to cope with. The flames in the forest had not been under such headway that they could long withstand such a deluge as was now coming down.

But the rain, by quenching the fire, greatly increased the volume of the smoke, which now came billowing thickly out over the surface of the water. Also the river began to rise. The swollen stream was quickly responding to the addition of the heavy downpour of rain, and Cabot realized that he would soon be driven from his hiding place. Yet if he went ashore in that thick smoke, he would not be able to breathe. He was between the devil and the deep river.

And, to make matters worse, the smoke was settling closer and closer over the water, so that Myles was finally forced to bring his nostrils to within a fraction of an inch of the surface, in order to get any fresh air at all.

As he stood thus, with his nostrils just above the surface of the water, and his eyes smarting with the acrid smoke, the smoke suddenly lifted sufficiently to disclose a large log which the current was carrying swiftly, end-on, directly toward his head. Then, with a crash, it struck.

* * * * *

How long or how far the swift current carried him he knew not, but it must have been many stads, for when his eyes finally opened again, the brook had become a river.

He found himself now clinging instinctively to the very log which had dislodged him, and doubtless it was this instinctive act which had saved his life.

After resting a moment, and recovering his wits, he investigated his surroundings. The river was roaring along the bottom of a deep gorge, and right before him rose the face of a steep rocky cliff, against which the river seemed to rush and end, turning neither to the right nor to the left. In a flash it dawned on Cabot where he was. This was “the lost river,” a natural phenomenon which had long perplexed the scientists of Poros, and had long been revered by the proletariat as a symbol and emblem of eternity.

“It will undoubtedly mean eternity to me,” thought Cabot, “for in a moment I shall strike the face of that cliff, and all will be over.”

But, just before he reached the cliff, the log and he were sucked down, down, by some irresistible undertow. He strangled and struggled upward, but the pressure held him down. His lungs were bursting with excruciating pain. His ears hurt. His mouth was filled with blood. Oh, how he longed for the crash against the cliff, which would end it all!

But the crash never came.

He could bear it no longer, yet there was no alternative except to bear it. And then, as suddenly as it had sucked him beneath the surface, the river released its grip on his legs, and he shot upward, clear of the watery grave. With what joy did he fill his straining lungs with God’s fresh air! Again and again he breathed, as he clung to the friendly log, until at last the pain in his throat departed, and he was somewhat his normal self once more.

He was drifting quietly along on the surface of a placid stream. A few moments ago all had been broad daylight, but now all was dark as a Porovian night. Every ripple of the water echoed above and to both sides, thus leading Cabot to infer that he was in some subterranean grotto. So he struck out for the shore.