CHAPTER EIGHT

On the gently undulating floor of a valley, surrounded by three mountains and with the sea rolling up on its beach to the north, lay the Aran city. From an altitude of some three thousand feet, the travelers gazed down upon a scene of extraordinary color and beauty: low, pure, white buildings with many balconies and patios; gardens of vivid flowers; white pergolas trellised with scarlet blossoms; sunken pools of limpid water, with huge date palms curving over them. A grove of royal palms grew close to the beach, near a huge, rectangular bathing pool and a marble-white pavilion. A white palace stood on a rise of ground with a balconied tower, five hundred feet high, beside it. On the top of the tower was a beautiful flower garden. And everywhere was the romantic green foliage of the tropics, the blue-red sky, the soft, red-white clouds, and the azure waters of the channel.

"Where do we land?" George asked.

"To the west a little, Father," Loto directed. "See the cavern entrance?"

He pointed for George, explaining: "We will not land directly in the city. I want the plane permanently guarded now, so we will leave it in the Cavern of Thunderbolts."

"The what?" George demanded.

"That's what the Bas picturesquely call it. You see the cavern mouth?"

Across the city, a yawning black hole gaped in the mountainside near its base; an opening of irregularly circular shape, some two hundred feet in diameter. A gentle slope led up to it from the city.

"We can fly directly in," Loto added. "It's the entrance to the subterranean chambers where the scientists work--and where they store their apparatus under guard. It's also a museum, where relics of the past are gathered."

George relapsed into an awed silence, staring down at the city. In the streets and on the housetops, people were standing, gazing up at the plane curiously.

The mouth of the cavern grew steadily larger as the plane swooped down upon it. The yawning hole seemed to have a level floor extending horizontally back into the mountain. Far back into the darkness, little blue lights twinkled.

"You'd better take the controls, Loto," Rogers said anxiously. "I don't like the idea of flying into that."

Loto slipped quietly into the seat. The Frazia motors stopped abruptly. Silently, with only the sound of the air rushing past, the plane glided swiftly downward.

Around the cavern mouth was a small platform with a roof over it, built on an overhanging ledge of rock. The figures of three men seated there were visible. Abruptly one of the men rose, and from his upflung hand a tiny flash of blue-white light shot into the clouds overhead. Even in the daylight it was a plainly visible flash.

"Lightning!" George exclaimed and, as though to confirm him, a little miniature crack of thunder sounded an instant later.

"They know I'm coming," Loto said.

It was a queer sensation, darting into that blackness. The cave mouth seemed to open and swallow them. The plane struck the ground with a bump, lifted, bumped again and rolled forward. Points of light swept past on either side; a blue-white glare lay ahead.

The plane slackened its speed and came to a stop.

"We're here," said Loto. "Take only what you will need at once. We can come back here later today or tomorrow."

Quickly, they descended from the plane.

The hum of dynamos sounded from far away in the mountain's depths. The roof high overhead was dimly visible, and great shadows, flickering blue-white lights, were everywhere. Near at hand, where the cave broadened, was a space more brightly lighted. Further along it narrowed again, forming a dozen branching passages. An incline fifty feet wide sloped down into blackness, with a faint pencil-point of blue light shining from far down within its recesses.

"Why, the whole mountain is honeycombed!" Rogers exclaimed.

"Yes, sir. Just stand here a minute and I'll be with you. Don't move about!"

Figures were approaching, robed in black rubber garments, gloved and hooded. Loto turned to greet them, and they drew back their hoods, disclosing their heads and faces. There was a brief conversation, then Loto turned back to his companions.

"Fahn is at home in the city," he said swiftly, and his tone was concerned. "We'll go there."

The black-robed figures gazed at them curiously a moment; then went back to their work. Led by Loto, the three started off toward the mouth of the cave.

"Is your plane in here, Loto?" Rogers asked.

"No, sir. I left it at Orleen. There's a cavern there similar to this, but smaller. It's there--in the other cavern."

"You're sure it's safe?"

"Of course."

"Where are we going?" George demanded after a moment.

"To Fahn's home," Loto answered. "He'll be there with Azeela and Dianne."

"Dianne?" George's voice took on a new note of interest. "Who is she?"

"Azeela's younger sister," Loto explained briefly. He smiled. "I meant to tell you about her, George. She's a little daredevil--you'll like her."

George just smiled, and for some time they walked on in silence. The ground was wet, like muddy clay. There were no lights ahead, but the daylight from the cave's mouth lighted their way.

They emerged from the cave and came out onto a road of white sand and clay that led down the mountain slope. Palms lined it thickly. Further down, at the bottom of the quarter-mile descent, houses began; the outskirts of the city. The road soon took on the aspect of a street. It was broad, with narrow pedestrian paths on both sides. Flower gardens, often with hedges of thick, bayonet-like plants, lined the walks. The houses were for the most part almost obscured by palms and trellised vines that were laden with scarlet blossoms. Private, outdoor bathing pools occasionally showed through the garden foliage.

It was obviously a residential section. As the party advanced, passers-by grew more numerous. The Bas men were distinguishable by their clipped, bullet-like heads, covered with broad, circular-brimmed hats of straw; their sun-tanned bodies naked above the waist, bare feet, and the wide trousers. The Bas women, also red-brown of skin, were usually clothed merely with a loin cloth and a white sash bound over the breasts, their hair twisted in plaits hanging down the back.

The Bas walked always in the road itself. On the pedestrian paths, a few Arans passed by; men with long hair to the base of the neck, and dressed somewhat as Loto had garbed his father and friend. Most of them saluted Loto--a queer, flowing gesture of the left hand--and all of them stared with frank curiosity at the strangers. Occasionally an Aran woman came along--white-swathed, mysterious figures; a twinkle of tiny, black-slippered feet, a flash from alluring eyes veiled by lashes heavily darkened.

An Aran man riding a dog went slowly down a side street. A dog pulling a small, three-wheeled cart piled high with merchandise passed in the opposite direction.

George edged toward Loto. "Those dogs," he whispered. "They're friendly? Not vicious?"

"Of course not," Loto laughed. "Just like regular dogs. Except...well, I'll tell you later."

George sighed with relief. "All right. But they're not like any dogs I ever saw at home--they're nearly as big as a horse. And there's something else wrong about them--they're too intelligent. You can see that just by looking at them walk."

Presently they turned into the gateway of a hedge solid with white and scarlet blossoms.

"Fahn's home," Loto said. "We'll go right in."

They passed through a garden, colorful with its mass of vivid flowers, and heavy with the languorous scent of magnolia and orange blossoms. The house stood well back from the road. It was a low, broad building, white in color, with, a low-hanging room--not thatched, but seemingly of blue tiling.

Then they were on the veranda. The walls of the house sloped inward at the top. There was a window nearby--no glass--with a blue-white, silky curtain shrouding it. The door stood open; inside was a hall, with another door open to the sunlight of a patio banked with flowers.

A girl came to the doorway. It was Azeela. George recognized her at once: a slight little creature of blue eyes, golden hair and milk-white skin; a pale blue sash wound wide about her hips and thighs, breastplates of metal, with the broad, circular collar above them, and her hair parted forward over her shoulders in plaits that ended with little tassels. George decided she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; Loto's description did not half do her justice.

She stood hesitantly in the doorway then, smiling, advanced to Loto and gave him both hands in a pretty gesture of welcome.

George's decision that Azeela was the prettiest girl he had ever seen was short lived, for behind Azeela now came another girl, her younger sister, Dianne. Azeela might have been eighteen or nineteen; Dianne obviously was no more than sixteen--a black-haired, dark-eyed girl, dressed like Azeela, except that her sash was a deep red.

"And this is Dianne," Loto was saying. "We call her Dee."

"So will I," George answered promptly. He met the girl's eyes--snapping, laughing eyes with the spirit of deviltry in them.

"Loto told me about you," she said demurely. Her intonation was that of a foreigner, but she spoke the ancient English with perfect ease and fluency. "Loto said he thought I would like you a lot."

"He didn't tell me about _you_," George responded. "Not till ten minutes ago. But, anyway, he was right. No, what I mean is--"

The rest of George's speech was lost, for they were inside the house and Fahn was advancing to meet them. The leader of the Scientists was a man of nearly seventy; a quiet, grave, dominating figure, tall and spare, but perfectly erect. His face was smooth-shaven, his iron-gray hair long to the base of the neck. He was dressed in a paneled robe of black, with a pleated white collar and cuffs.

"I am glad, indeed, to have you with us," he said cordially to Rogers. He spoke precisely, slowly and carefully, as one speaks a language newly mastered. "I feel very close to you, now that my daughter Azeela is to marry Loto. It makes me--"

Rogers stared blankly. "Loto engaged? Why, Loto, you--"

"There was so much else to tell you, Father." Loto was covered with confusion. "Besides, I wanted to have you meet Azeela first."

Azeela was trying to escape from the room, but Dee captured her and pushed her back.

George was vigorously congratulating Loto, and Rogers, rising to the occasion, kissed Azeela heartily.

* * * * *

It was an ominous crisis into which the visitors from a time world twenty-eight thousand years previous had fallen. They discussed it with Fahn and his daughters during the remainder of that morning, and at the light noon meal, served in a shaded corner of the patio formed by the enclosing wings of the house. Banks of vivid flowers surrounded them; the quiet, warm air was redolent with perfume. A small fountain splashed musically. The world was calm, languorous.

Fahn had little to add to what they already knew. Toroh and the Noths had not been expected to attack for a month or two at least, and the Anglese scientists were going forward with their own preparations for the war with utmost haste.

But now these emissaries Toroh had smuggled to the island injected a new and alarming factor into the situation. They had appeared only in Orleen, but the Bas there were listening to them, and all over the island the news was spreading among the Bas that Toroh was a friend, not an enemy. The Bas might be incited to open revolt.

"Morgruud is alarmed," Fahn said to Loto. He explained to the others that Mogruud was one of the most intelligent of the Bas in Anglese City, a leader of his people. Mogruud was not fooled by Toroh's emissaries, but he feared now that he could not prevent an uprising.

"And the most terrible part is the Bas are right," Fahn added. "I do not mean in regard to Toroh--he is a scoundrel, of course. But the Bas must have some relief. Their children--ten mothers and infants were ordered exiled yesterday."

"Why don't you fix it?" George asked.

The Scientist leader shrugged slightly. "I do not make the laws; I obey them. I have remonstrated with the king and the council many times." He paused, then added thoughtfully:

"The time may come when we of the League may be forced to act against the laws of our king. He is wrong, and we scientists all know it. But to take the law into our own hands--it is a very drastic thing...."

During the meal, George was far more interested in the two sisters than in the men's talk. He had opportunity now to study the girls, compare them. In feature they were much alike; in expression and demeanor, totally different. Azeela was calm, thoughtful--femininely wise and patient. Dee was impulsive, vivacious--alternately demure and devilish. Yet, in spite of the differences in temperament, there seemed a strange bond between the sisters. Their regard for each other, the love between them, was obvious. But it was more than that--a bond of mind and spirit. George puzzled over it. Often when Azeela was about to speak, Dee would impulsively speak for her, as though interpreting her sister's thoughts.

The afternoon was one of inactivity. A Toroh emissary appeared in Anglese City, but he was arrested before he had time to harangue the people.

"I had thought he was one of Toroh's brothers," Fahn remarked, "but it is not so. I think now they would not dare come back to the island."

He went on to explain that Toroh had two younger brothers, banished like himself.

"They might come--Toroh himself might come," Loto declared. "He will dare anything that seems worth the risk."

"If we take any one of them he will die," Fahn commented.

It was at this juncture, in the late afternoon when the whole world was bathed in the glorious colors of a sunset sky, that Azeela returned from a short trip across the city.

"The Aran Festival of the Flowers is tonight," she exclaimed excitedly. "It has not been postponed. The Arans say it is clever to hold it now, in spite of the news from Orleen. It will show the Bas how little they care--how secure is the Aran power!"

It seemed to presage evil events--the holding of this festival wherein all the wanton luxury of the Arans could be flaunted in the faces of those whom they ruled. And it was with foreboding in their hearts that Fahn, his daughters and their friends, prepared that evening to go and witness it. It was midnight when they started. Dee and Azeela were swathed to the eyes in soft white robes, and the men carried tiny black masks.

The city streets, even at midnight, bore a holiday aspect. The moon had risen but, in addition to its light, there were braziers strung above every street crossing and they cast a soft blue light downward.

Arans were hurrying along, alone and in groups--the women all shrouded in white; the men, in clothes of gaudy colors, wearing masks, or dangling them in their hands. Little phaetons drawn by dogs rolled by, filled with gay figures in fancy dress; women leaned from them, waving at the pedestrians and tossing out flowers as they swept past.

Loto and Azeela, with George and Dee close behind them, led the way swiftly in the direction that every one else was moving. Fahn and Rogers followed behind.

It was a fairy tale city of unreality: gaudy men and white robed women hastening forward under the blue street lights; silent white houses flushed with the reddish tinge of the moon; warm, moist air, almost without a breath, heavy with sensuous perfume.

And in the shadows of the streets, the brown skinned, half naked figure of a Bas, skulking here and there!

Azeela had, for some time, been walking in silence. She looked up at the moon and, with a touch upon Loto's arm, indicated it.

"You said the moon was blushing, my Loto--the blush of maiden modesty to look down upon such a city. But I do not see it so...to me it is stained with _blood_."

The sweeping gesture of her white arm flashing from under the robe indicated a garden beside them.

"_Blood--staining everything!_"

The street topped a rise of ground, ahead, down another short slope, lay the sea. And even there the silver path upon the water was tinged with red.