Tarrano the Conqueror, Ray Cummings [uplifting books for women .TXT] 📗

to breathe. As Maida leaned down in alarm, her beautiful white hair tumbled forward over her shoulders. A lock of it brushed Wolfgar. He could not lift his hands, but they groped for the tresses, found them and clung. Her white waves of hair, with his fingers, shriveled, burned black, entwined in them.

Again his eyelids came up. "You won't leave me—Princess Maida. Not for these—last few minutes?"

"No," she half whispered.

"You—cannot—if you would." His whimsical smile returned. "You see? I am—holding you."

For a moment he was silent. His eyes stayed open, staring dully at her. His face and lips were drained now of their blood.

"You're—still there?"

"Yes, Wolfgar."

"Yes—of course I know you are. But I—cannot see you very well—now. You look—so far away."

She put her face down quite close to him. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Oh—yes," he said. "That's better—much better. Now I can—see you—very plainly. I was thinking—I wanted to—tell you something. It—wouldn't be right to tell you—except that I'll soon—be gone where it won't make any difference."

He gathered all his last remaining strength. "I—love you—Princess Maida."

She forced a gentle smile through her tears. "Yes, Wolfgar."

"I mean," he persisted, "not as my Princess—just as—a woman. The—woman I've always loved. That's been my secret. You see? It would—always have been—my secret—the little Mars man Wolfgar—in love with his Princess Maida. You—don't think it too impertinent of me—do you? I mean—confessing it now—just at—the end?"

"No," she whispered. "No, Wolfgar."

"Thank you—very much." His breath exhaled with a faint sigh. "Thank you—very much. I wanted to tell you that—before I—go. And—if you wouldn't mind—I want to—call you—just Maida."

"Just Maida, Wolfgar. Yes, of course, I want you to call me that." Her voice was broken. She brushed away her tears that he might not notice them.

"Yes," he agreed. His staring eyes were trying to see her. "My Maida. You're—very beautiful—my Maida. I—wonder—you see, I'm taking advantage of you—I wonder if you'd say you—love me? I'd be so happy—just to hear you say it."

As I sat there behind them, I prayed then that she might say it.

"I love you, Wolfgar."

"Oh," he whispered. "You did say it! My Maida says that she loves me!" Happiness transfigured his livid face. But his smile was whimsical still. "You're—very kind to me. Please—say it again."

"I love you, Wolfgar."

"Yes—that's how I always dreamed it would sound. I—love—you—Wolfgar."

His voice trailed away; a film was settling over his staring eyes. Then again his lips moved. "Maida says—'I love you, Wolfgar' ... I'm—so happy...."

Quite suddenly she realized that he was gone. Her pent-up emotion came with a sob.

"Wolfgar! My friend—my wonderful, loyal friend—don't die, Wolfgar! Don't die!"

CHAPTER XIX Waters of Eternal Peace

Little Wolfgar was gone. It seemed at first very strange, unreal. It lay a shadow of grief upon our spirits, for many hours a deeper shadow than all those grave events impending upon which hung the fate of three worlds.

Tarrano ordered for Wolfgar a public burial of ceremony and honor in the waters of eternal peace—ordered it for that same evening. Once again Tarrano demonstrated the strangeness of his nature. His arrival to take possession of Venus had been made the occasion of a great festival. "The Water Festival," they called it, which was held only at times of universal public rejoicing. It was planned now to do honor to Tarrano—planned for this same evening. But he postponed it a night; tonight was for Wolfgar.

We were still captives in Tarrano's hands, as we had been on Earth in Venia. Yet here in the Great City of Venus a curious situation arose. Tarrano himself explained it to us that afternoon. An embarrassing situation for him, he termed it.

"Very embarrassing," he said, with eyes that smiled at us quizzically. "Just for your ears alone, you understand, I am willing to admit that I must handle these Great City people very carefully. You, Princess Maida—you are greatly beloved of your people."

"Yes," she said.

He nodded. "For that reason they would not like to know you are virtually a captive. And you, Georg Brende—really, they are beginning to look on you as a savior—to save them from disease and death. It is rather unflattering to me——"

He broke off, then with sudden decision added:

"Soon you two will realize that to join me will be your best course. And best for all the worlds, for it will bring to them all peace and health and happiness.... No, I ask no decision from you now. Nor from you, Lady Elza." His gaze softened as he regarded her—softened almost to a quantity of wistfulness. "You know, Lady Elza, for what I am striving. I may—indeed I shall—conquer the worlds. But you hold in the palm of your little white hand, my real reward.... Enough!"

And then he offered us a sort of pseudo-liberty. We might all come and go about the Great City at will. Apparently—to the public eye—allied to Tarrano. The Princess Maida—as before—hereditary honored ruler; with Tarrano guiding the business affairs of State, as on Earth our Presidents and their Councils rule the legendary Kings and Queens. The one ruling in fact; the other, an affair of pretty sentiment.

It was this condition which Tarrano now desired to bring about. With Georg already beloved for his medical knowledge; and flying rumors (started no doubt by Tarrano) that the handsome Earth man would some day marry their Princess.

Myself—the irony of it!—I was appointed a sort of bodyguard to the Lady Elza—the little Earth girl whose presence in the Great City would help conciliate the Earth and bring about universal peace—with Venus in control.

So ran the popular fancy, guided by Tarrano. We were given our pseudo-liberty, watched always by the unseen eyes of Tarrano's guards. And there was nothing we could do but accept our status. Tarrano was guiding his destiny cleverly. Yet underneath it all, unseen forces were at work. We sensed them. The slaans—submissive at their menial tasks, but everywhere with sullen, resentful glances. Perhaps Tarrano realized his danger; but I do not think that he, any more than the rest of us, realized what the Water Festival was to bring forth.

That night—our first night on Venus—midway between the darkness of sunset and the dawn—we buried Wolfgar. The air was soft and warm, with a gentle breeze that riffled the placid waters of the lake. Overhead, the sky gleamed with a myriad stars—reddish stars, all of them like Red Mars himself as seen through the heavy Venus atmosphere. Largest of them, the Earth. My birthplace! Save Elza here with me on Venus, that tiny red spot in the heavens, red like the tip of a lighted arrant-cylinder, held all that was dear to me!

The funeral cortege—a solemn line of panoplied boats, started from the palace. Boats hung with purple fabric. In single file they wended their way through the city streets. From every landing, balcony, window and roof-top, the people stared down at us. The street corners were hung with shaded tubes of light, shining down with spots of color to the water.

As we passed, the people bowed their heads, hands to their foreheads, palms outward. The gesture of grief. From one building came a low musical chant.

"Honor to Wolfgar! The man who gave his life for our Princess. Honor to Wolfgar!"

We came to the edge of the city. The lake here narrowed to a river—a length of winding river opening to the pond which was the burial place of Eternal Peace. On Tarrano's barge, with Elza and Georg, we led the way. Maida was not with us. I asked Tarrano where she was, but solemnly he denied me.

At the burial waters—on the sloping banks of which a silent throng had gathered—we landed. And following us, the other vessels of the cortege came along and stopped beside us. The pond was dotted with white markers for the graves. The whole scene unlighted, save for the stars, and the red and purple aural lights of the Venus heavens, which mounted the sky at this midnight hour. A great, glowing arc—the reflected glow from a myriad cluster of tiny moons and moon-dust, encircling Venus. The soft light from it flooded the water and the tombs with a flush of red and purple.

As we lay there against the bank, with that silent throng breathlessly watching, from down the river came the last vessel of our cortege. It made a scene I shall never forget. The bier. Draped in purple. A single, half-naked slaan propelling it with a sweep from its stern. The body of Wolfgar lying on its raised prow—his dead, white face, with peace upon it. Beside the body, the lone figure of Maida, kneeling at Wolfgar's head, with her white, braided hair falling down over her shoulders. Kneeling and staring, almost expressionless; but I knew that with her whole heart she was speeding the soul of Wolfgar to its eternal peace.

CHAPTER XX Unseen Menace

That day following the burial of Wolfgar, there was nothing of importance occurred. No news from the Earth could get in. I felt that the Earth might be planning an attack. Probably was, since war had been declared. Yet that of course was months away.

Tarrano apparently was engaged in the pleasurable triumph of the coming Water Festival. All day he seemed engaged in planning it. But I knew that he was engaged secretly with far sterner things concerning the Cold Country, which lay a day's journey from us. But what they were, I did not know.

The Water Festival was all we talked of. That afternoon, Tarrano describing it, said smilingly:

"They say it is for me. But, Lady Elza—it is I who plan it—for you. You have not seen the Red Woman." A gleam of amusement played upon his lips; but as he regarded Elza, I saw another look—of speculation, as though he were gauging her.

"The Red Woman, Lady Elza. She will preside tonight. You will find her—very interesting. We will watch her together, you and I."

I did not know then what he meant; but I remembered the words later, and understood only too well.

Just after sundown, when I chanced to be in a small boat alone, near the palace, the first of two significant incidents occurred. From the shadows beneath a house, the head of a swimming man emerged. A slaan, and he gripped the sides of my boat as I drifted.

"Wait, Earth man." He spoke in the quaint universal language, which I understood, though imperfectly.

I gazed at him. A bullet-like head, with sullen, blazing eyes. He added: "We do not blame you—or your woman, Elza—or the Princess Maida. Have no fear, but guard yourself well tonight."

Before I could speak he had sunk into the water, swimming beneath it. I could see the phosphorescence of his moving body as he swam away into the shadows beyond my line of vision.

The other incident came a moment later. As I was gazing down into the water I saw a moving metal shape. A triangular metal head, as of a diver's cap. More than that, it turned upward; and behind its pane was a man's face. Unfamiliar to me—yet the face of an Anglo-Saxon man of Earth! Unmistakable! It stared at me a moment—no more than three or four feet below my boat. And then it moved away and vanished.

I had no opportunity to speak alone with Elza, or Georg or Maida that entire evening. Always Tarrano was with us. We sat upon the palace balcony, we men smoking our arrant-cylinders. Tarrano talked and joked like a care-free youth. He was very courteous to Elza, with a holiday spirit upon him. But his eyes never relaxed; and often I could see him measuring her.

The aural lights mounted the sky. The holiday spirit which was on Tarrano was spreading everywhere throughout the city. Boats gayly bedecked—in such contrast to the funeral cortege of poor Wolfgar just the night before—began passing the palace on their way to the festival waters. Men and laughing girls thronged them. All with red masks covering their faces. The men in grey tight-fitting garments, with conical caps and flowing plumes; the girls in bright-colored, flowing robes, and tresses dangling with flowers entwined in them.

The balcony upon which we sat was close above the water level. The barges, of every size and kind, glided past. Sometimes the girls would shower us with flower petals. One small boat paused before us. A girl stood up to wave at me. Her hand, held up with the loose robe falling back from her slim white arm, offered me a huge scarlet blossom. The love offering. As I hesitated, her laughter rippled out. She tore the mask from her face. Her red mouth was smiling; her eyes, provocative, were dancing with mischief. She tossed the flower into my face as her escort, with a shout of mock anger, pulled her back to him.

Their boats glided on.

Other boats passed; some with girls gayly strumming instruments of music. One boat with a man strumming, and a girl