THE RED WITCH

Originally published in Weird Tales, April 1932.

Is there a past, a present, and a future; or are they in reality all the same state, being merely differing phases of the same eternal “Now”?

Are our lives and deaths and the interludes between them naught but illusion; and are we ever the same beings, yet capable, even though we do not recognize the fact, of experiencing two or more states of consciousness of personal identity—I mean, under certain exceptional conditions?

Times there are when my recent terrific experience impels me to adopt that hypothesis. How else may I explain the events wherein I played so strange a part—together with another who is far dearer to me than aught else in the universe?

Am I Randall Crone, a scientist connected with a great public museum, or am I Ran Kron, a youthful warrior of a savage tribe in the eon-old Ice Age? Is my wife, Rhoda—the gently nurtured, highly cultured Rhoda Day—the modern product of this Twentieth Century; or is she Red Dawn, the flaming-haired daughter of a red-headed witch-priestess of a devil-worshipping tribe of skin-clad Anthropophagi in that same remote Ice Age?

What is true, and what false? By what strange laws are we governed, we mortals, that we can see neither ahead nor backward, and are only aware of a limited “Here”?

My brain reels as I seek to solve the mystery—and to what account? Truly has a great poet said:

Of all my seeking, this is all my gain—

No agony of any mortal brain

Shall wrest the secret of the life of man,

The search has taught me that the search is vain!

* * * *

I first saw her in the museum where I was on duty, and hard-headed scientist that I prided myself on being, I admit that my heart did a flip-flop, and I knew I beheld the one woman for whom I’d ever truly care. But that is a mild word for the love I felt. Love, I say; and I mean just that. In the holy emotion that possessed me there was no faintest throb of passion, no taint of desire. Beautiful? Yes, the most superbly beautiful woman on earth, I thought then, and still do think, and will continue so to think long after wrinkles and gray hair and decrepitude shall cause others to say “Old Hag”, should that ever come to pass.

For soul has spoken to soul, and we twain know that we belong to each other; and though menaced as we were by the frightful ghost of the implacable savage chieftain, Athak the Terrible, yet we have overcome his menace, and no longer has he the power to afflict and harass our love and happiness through his eon-old malicious hatred.

Yet while he still had the power, he surely availed himself of it, measure full and running over; as my beloved knew from her early childhood up to the time we were married; and as I myself had several samples of, after that event; although, thanks to some benignant power, Athak’s final attack was his undoing. But I am in danger of anticipating and must set down my account in a more logical sequence.

As I have said: I loved Rhoda Day from the first; and later I learned from her own lips that her feelings toward me were identical. At the time we neither of us knew why, but eventually we found out. Yet when I asked her to be my wife she burst into tears, sobbing: “Oh, Randall, if only I could say ’Yes’; but—but—I—dare not!”

“Don’t you care for me?”

“More than for life itself…”

“Then why not—surely there must be some reason?”

“Oh, Randall, a terrible one…

“Tell me,” I urged. But I coaxed for over an hour, holding her close in my arms, her head with its coronal of red-gold hair resting on my shoulder, her soft cheek against mine, before she finally gasped out her fears in broken phrases.

I’ll not attempt to render her exact words. It simply can not be done. We both were in the grip of one of life’s greatest emotions, or to be precise, a whole storm of emotions; and at such times I do not think that memory reproduces exactly. But in substance, thus the matter stood:

From a child, she’d been cognizant that, no matter where she was, or what she did, always there seemed to be another present, invisible, but very real nevertheless. A very terrible presence, too, inspiring her with loathing and dread, although it did not seem antagonistic to her welfare or her life. Rather it seemed to gloat over her with an air of proprietorship which she found indescribably horrifying.

Times there were when the presence exercised a very real power to protect her; as for example—when in her eleventh year she had a nerve-shaking experience with an ill-natured brute of a dog that snarled and menaced her with bared fangs. She knew, irrefutably, that the beast would have sprung in another moment, and stood paralyzed with terror, unable to cry out for help.

She sensed a storm of ferocious wrath sweep past her, enveloping the dog; and—unbelievable as it appears—that dog died! Yet on its body was evident no mark of violence. Apparently the brute died in a paroxysm of terror. But even after that episode, for a long while she had no idea as to what the Presence was.

As she grew older, she noted more frequently that that same power, or force, or influence, was exerting itself in her behalf to guard her—sometimes too zealously—a something too fiercely possessive, and capable of emitting a wave of such malignant hostility that she was for the most part devoid of the friends such as a young girl usually has.

And as she ripened into the first flush of young womanhood, drawn by her beauty there was no lack of young men who sought to do her homage and court her with their attentions—but none of them ever sought long. Doubtless, the air of hostility they felt about her, enshrouding her like a garment, they attributed to her; believing her to be of a disagreeable, if not an actually repellent personality; instead of realizing that it was an alien nature, emanating from a source outside herself, and certainly quite apart from her desires.

At that same period she became aware that the Presence was even more strongly possessive in its attitude; and, worse, again and again it made her sense its proximity even in the sanctum of her own room. But up until the day we were assured of each other’s feelings she had not seen the thing—whatever it was. That night, however, after retiring, she awoke with the hideous feeling of being not alone—awoke to see the two eyes staring down at her; eyes aflame with wrath; eyes set in a vague, nebulous blur that might or might not have borne the semblance of a human face.

Of course she was frightened. Any one would be, under the same circumstances. She was so frightened that, try as she would to call out and arouse the household, she could emit no sound louder than a moan, barely audible to herself. She could not even move a muscle; could only lie still in an agony of apprehension, staring wildly up into the blazing orbs not a yard above her face.

* * * *

Oddly enough, the apparition contented itself with glaring at her, striving to impress something on her mind, indelibly. All the impression conveyed, however, was that in some manner she had angered the “Thing”, although how, or why, she could not comprehend.

But as we met more frequently, and our minds as well as our hearts became more filled with each other, the unholy visitant, appearing nightly, became more and more enraged. It was easier to see, assuming density of form and features with its rapidly growing wrath. After such visits she felt as if she had been beaten, physically, with a thick stick, wielded by a strong hand and arm.

Always it strove to impress upon her consciousness a very definite command, but always it failed to make its will register. Yet with each visit it became more visible until it was easily seen to be a huge man, long-armed and thick-legged, inclining more to the blond type than to the swarthy; skin-clad, carrying a huge knotted club, and a great stone-bladed knife stuck through a narrow leather thong tied about his middle.

“He—he—looks so—savage,” she shuddered.

I stared down at the lovely, tear-bedewed face, my mind in a queer jumble of commingled amazement and fear. Those wondrous blue eyes looked straight back into mine, reading my unspoken thought.

“Randall, my beloved,” she said gravely, mastering her emotions with a superb manifestation of will-power, “it all sounds crazy enough, I know; but please do not think your Rhoda is crazy. She isn’t! I know what I’ve been subjected to ever since I was old enough to remember anything.”

Ashamed of my momentary suspicion, I hastened to make the only amends within my power.

“If you’re crazy, then I’ll go crazy, too,” I stated seriously. “How soon will you marry me? You love me, and I love you. That being the case, to whom but me should you turn for sympathy, understanding, and protection; insofar as lies within my power to give them…why, Rhoda, what’s a husband good for, if not to stand between his woman and the whole world, and the Powers of Hell, too, for that matter, if she needs his aid? Once married, we can be together at the very times when your danger is the greatest. I don’t know what I can do, if anything; but I’ll guarantee that whatever this skin-clad giant is up to, he’ll have me to dispose of before he harms you. I want you, and you need me, and that brings us back where we were—how soon do we get married?” “Randall! Randall! Stop urging me, or you’ll sweep me off my feet! I can not and will not let you become involved—’’

“Try keeping me out,” I defied, my whole being aflame with loving sympathy and pity. Suddenly over me swept an unalterable certitude—that I was already involved, fully as much as was she. Nay, more: I felt that I always had been; only until then I had not known it. But in that one moment I knew that my fate and Rhoda’s were one and the same; and that whatever this being was which menaced, it was likewise a menace to me, and would be so forevermore, unless in some manner as yet unguessed by me I could put an end to its unholy machinations. So I told her of my sudden conviction, and when I’d concluded, I saw stark worship replace the fear-haunted expression in her eyes.

“Randall”—her voice was vibrant with all the love a good woman feels in her soul and can not express with mere words—“you’d dare that awful being, risk your life, perhaps your very soul for—me?”

“Risk my life, perhaps my soul, for you, Rhoda? Mine would be but a pitifully weak love if I hesitated to do so. I most certainly am going to do that very thing, if need be. Your troubles henceforth are my troubles too, so that’s that! Now let’s drop all this cross-purpose talk and talk sense for a while. I’ve already asked you to marry me, and now I’m saying it differently—we two are going to get married right now, at once, immediately, today! Get me? You’ve got absolutely nothing to say about it. I’m Boss, with a big ‘B’! And how do you like that?”

“Oh, I—I—give up,” she faltered. “Only you will simply have to wait at least a week. We’ve simply got to conform somewhat to the standard conventions and tell a few people; otherwise tongues are sure to wag, unfavorably.”

I was too well pleased to argue. After all, that day or a week later, mattered but little. The monster had not slain her up till then, and had had plenty of time in which to have done so, had such been his purpose. So I let it go as she stipulated, with one amendment.

“If that ‘What-you-may-call-it’ reappears in your room, you tell him my name and address; try and make him comprehend me, then tell him to come and annoy me for a change and let you take a rest. I’ve an idea that I can cope with him…”

* * * *

That night things did happen! Rhoda told me later what her experience was that night. Unpleasant, very, but fortunately brief; and in a way it was merely the preliminary to what I went through immediately afterward.

She had no sooner retired than the Thing appeared, seemingly more tangible than ever before. It made no attempt to actually molest her, but was obviously in a towering rage. It did everything but rave aloud. It stamped about the room, gnashing its teeth in a perfect frenzy; frowning and grimacing intimidatingly; shaking a huge fist in her face; pantomiming strangling her with its enormous hands; and plainly conveying through sheer force of wrath, that she’d gone to the ultimate limit of its patience. Above all, it made her understand that it was jealous! Which gave her her cue. It speaks well for her brave spirit that she faced the ugly apparition with a smile of contempt, jeered at it, and demanded in a whisper:

“If you’re jealous of Randall Crone, why don’t you go and try to bully him, instead of acting like a coward by tormenting me all the time?”

To make a good job of it, she exerted all her will to picture me and my abode so clearly that he could catch her thought-images. And after a bit she succeeded; for a look of comprehension and hatred came over the savage features, and a second afterward the apparition vanished from her room.

I’d been reading and at the same time hoping that the Thing would pay me a visit that night. I had no idea as to how to cope with it. I do not claim to be a great hero, but had the Devil himself threatened Rhoda’s peace of mind, though he came to me with horns, barbed tail, talons all sharpened, cloven hoofs, flaming eyes, breathing sulfur fumes, and with his white-hot pitchfork raised to strike, still I would have fought him to the best of my ability and trusted to luck to defeat him somehow. But I didn’t intend to be caught asleep and off guard if I could help myself. Hence I sat and read.

And it came!

The same huge, savage Warrior that Rhoda had so graphically described. And the instant it assumed visibility, I knew that I was in for a most unpleasant time. The utter malignity of its expression proclaimed that here was a being to whom the very ideas of mercy, reason, or even caution, were completely unknown.

It had the power of rendering itself visible, but could not make itself audible, although had it spoken, I’d been none the wiser, for I could not have understood whatever uncouth language might have been its native tribal tongue. But it certainly could and did make its thoughts register on my brain. He—for there’s no need to longer call the Thing “it”—warned me very emphatically that he owned that red-headed woman; had owned her since the world was young, and always would own her till long after the world died of old age; and that if I wanted to remain all in one piece I’d best never go near her again. All this was punctuated by flourishing an enormous knotted—spectral—club which he wielded in one huge fist.

I never did like being bullied!

And the more that infernal savage phantom raved, the less I liked it. A slow anger began to burn within me. I had my own ideas about his asserted ownership of Rhoda. I wasn’t conceited enough to think that I owned her, but I was quite sure that he didn’t! While as to me staying away from her simply because he bade me do so—

I came to my feet, “seeing red” literally, and hurled myself at him with all my inhibitions inherited from my civilized ancestry wholly in abeyance. I was fully as much a savage as ever he had been! My entire being was filled with but one desire—to get my hands, aye, my teeth even, to working on him; to batter, to rend, to tear, kick, bite, gouge, and strangle until he was—

Something seemed to burst within my skull; a terrific blaze of scarlet light which blinded me for a bit—in my ears was a roaring like to the four winds of the world colliding simultaneously—a queer rushing sensation as if I were hurtling through the boundless abyss of space—

I regained consciousness…

* * * *

I was in a village of some fifty-odd stone huts. Low round buildings they were, wherefrom smoke rose lazily into the air through holes in the high-pitched peak-roofs. It was late in the day, for the long shadows stretched almost eastward. Skin-clad men and women moved about the huts. White of skin they were, the majority light-haired, with blue or gray eyes. The women for the most part were short, broad, stocky of build; none of them really bad-looking, yet none really comely, let alone any of them having even a remote approach to beauty. Their faces were too stolid, and their voices were too harsh to render any of them attractive.

The men were proportionately taller, equally as broad, their faces more savage in expression; and all, even in the comparative safety of their own village, were armed with various weapons—a stone knife in a skin girdle, or a short stoneheaded spear carried in one brawny hand; or a stone ax; or a knotted club; but I saw no missile weapons such as bows and arrows or slings; nor did any of the warriors bear shields.

I saw myself as one of their number; knew myself as Ran Kron, a savage youth, a mere stripling not as yet a warrior; still untried, longing, yearning, looking eagerly forward to that time when I might stand with these hard-faced warriors in the whirl and tumult of a battle, that I might prove myself a man.

Wherefore I exercised at all the warlike pastimes and practices and in my spare time haunted the abode of old Juhor the Snake, the tribe’s most highly skilled weapon-maker.

* * * *

To return to this present time in which I now write—I realize how difficult it is to make plain just how I knew all this which I’ve just described. All that I can say is—I did know. The same difficulty is confronting me in regard to what now follows. I can only write it as I knew it to be occurring while I was living in that phase of my existence. I knew my own experiences. But I knew, too, the experiences of others, insofar as those were intertwined with my own. So from here on, for a while at least, I must write in the third person instead of the first person, singular…

* * * *

Juhor the snake, old, bent, crippled, and incredibly wrinkled, looked up from his work of chipping and polishing at the head of a green-stone war-ax he was making. A crafty gleam shone, transient, in his one good eye, as he beheld the tribe’s mightiest fighting-man passing some few yards from where he, Juhor, sat at the door of his stone hut.

“Ho, Athak, Great Warrior! Athak the Swift! Athak the Strong! Athak the Terrible! Come and see!”

The gigantic, frowning war-chief turned shortly and strode to where sat the tribal weapon-maker.

“Well?” he snarled.

Juhor the Snake indicated the well-nigh completed jade ax-head.

“What of that, O mighty one?” he asked with the pride of a master craftsman.

Athak inspected it critically, with the shrewd scrutiny of another master craftsman, which he was, albeit no weapon-maker but a user of them instead.

“Put a handle to it,” he commanded.

“Not yet,” Juhor objected. “It is too heavy for its size. No warrior could wield it for very long. In steady fighting it would soon tire the strongest arm.”

“A lie,” snarled the surly giant. “It could not tire my arm to use it through a whole day’s steady fighting!”

“Not all men are as Athak,” flattered the old man.

“That is true,” nodded Athak. “Put a handle to it, and we will see how heavy it is. Soon shall I return. Have it waiting.” And with that he strode off.

Juhor the Snake smiled slyly to himself. Things were going well for him, very well indeed. So, carefully and skillfully and patiently too, he tugged and strained at the wet rawhide lashings which, drying, would shrink and bind helve and head till both were as rigid as if but one piece.

Some two hours later the shadow of Athak fell again athwart old Juhor’s gnarled and twisted body. The old weapon-maker looked up in feigned surprise.

“The ax,” Athak demanded, shortly.

Juhor indicated it where it leaned against his door-post. Athak closed his huge fist about the thick, tough oaken handle. A smile of ferocious pleasure came over his usually stolid features the instant he lifted the weapon, while into his eyes came a covetous light such as nothing in all his life had ever aroused before.

“Truly, a weapon worthy of even me,” he rumbled. “Its price, O Juhor?”

“Canst thou pay it, O Athak?”

“Whatever be the price, I will pay it. That ax shall be mine!”

“Thine after it be paid for,” nodded the cripple. “Neither thou, O Athak, nor any other in this tribe shall own that war-ax till it be paid for.”

“No?” Athak sneered. “Look now, Juhor the Snake. In my grasp is thy handiwork. Since the price be so great, what shall hinder me, Athak the Terrible, from testing it on that old skull of thine? So shalt thou lose ax, price, and life all together!”

Juhor gazed calmly up at him.

“What shall hinder, O Athak the Fool? Only this! With every stroke, as I worked I breathed a charm, a curse, on the head of him who should possess that ax unearned. Strike if thou wilt. Juhor is old and crippled, and can not prevent thee!” Athak hurriedly stood the ax against the wall and squatted down by Juhor.

“Nay,” he rumbled, “I did but jest, old man! Name me the price I must pay for that wonder-ax. It will go hard with me if I earn it not.”

“It is a long tale, Athak the Chief,” said Juhor. “I must tell it in mine own way. Hast time and patience to listen?”

“Aye,” grunted Athak. “Time enow, patience too, so be it ends in my ownership of that ax.”

“Harken, then!” Juhor settled himself more comfortably, relaxing perceptibly indeed, for up till that moment he had not been sure if Athak would prove to be the man he, Juhor, had hoped for; or if it would be necessary to tempt some other mighty warrior with the bait of that great jade-headed war-ax. For a long moment the gnarled old cripple sat silent; then:

“As a little boy, O Athak, dost recall that in those days Juhor was tall and straight and a warrior even as thou art now?”

“War-chief thyself, for a while,” Athak nodded, “if I recall aright.”

“True, O Athak! And now—Juhor the Snake, as thou seest! Broken, twisted, old and ugly. Maker of weapons and—dealer in magic, among other things. But in those days whereof I now speak, I was young, strong and restive. In war, Juhor was the foremost; in peace, unable to sit day by day while the women worked. Nay, I hunted big animals, and was a crafty hunter, too. Also I traveled much, visited other tribes, and strange sights did I see.

* * * * “One soft summer I journeyed far to the northward. Into a country of hills came I finally. Snow-crowned were those hills, robed in forests of pine and spruce and hemlock; and the lakes of water, which were many, were very beautiful to behold. So pure were the waters that they seemed black to one looking down into them from a height. Oh, a very fair country, Athak, but inhabited by a race of devils in the semblance of men.

“For as I slept one night on the banks of a small lake, all unaware that foes were nigh, the light of my fire was observed by watchful eyes. And I awoke at the dawning with two strong warriors atop of me! Of course I struggled, but to what avail? Two had leapt on me, but a dozen more stood ready to aid them, were there need. So they bound Juhor, and bore him, trussed like a wild beast, to their tribal village.

“A hundred houses of stone were in that village. A high stone wall enclosed them safely. Only one gateway pierced that wall, and it was so narrow that two men with spears might easily hold it against a strong war-party.

“Into the largest building they bore me and threw me into a stone-floored room. Afterward I learned that the building was their temple, where, with horrible rites, they worshipped their devil-god.

“For a day and a night I lay there, bound hand and foot; hungry, too, although I was filled full with rage; but to tell truth, fearsome also, for I knew not what fate lay before me; albeit I could guess, to some extent; and my guesses were not of enjoyable matters—to me, at least.

“When on the second morning there entered one bearing food and drink, I believed for a moment that I was dreaming, or had gone mad and was seeing that which was not.

“But then she spoke…

“And to my enchanted ears the sound of her voice was as the song of birds in the golden springtime of the world. The sight of her was like to the glory of the sun in the first bright hour of the day. Tall she was—not squatty as are our women—full-breasted, strong, yet shapely in body and limbs. Blue were her eyes—blue as were the waters of the I mountain lake where I was captured. Pink were her cheeks as are the blooms of the wild roses. Scarlet were her lips, even as the blood from a fresh-dealt wound; no snow shine in the light of the full moon ever gleamed so brightly as did her strong white teeth; and her head was crowned with a great mass of hair red as the flames from a burning pitch-pine log—hair that fell almost to her feet.

“Forgotten were food, drink, hunger, captivity, apprehension; and I knew but one desire…

“Her I wanted, and her I would have; aye, though afterward I died ten deaths of torture before I were finally slain.

“With one powerful surge I burst the rawhide bonds against which I’d struggled in vain all through a day and a night! And she did not flinch, nor did she manifest aught of fear as I rose to my feet. Her blue eyes lit with a flame matching my own fire! Her scarlet lips smiled approval and she laid one finger, cautioningly, on her lip, in token of silence. Setting down the vessels of food and drink, she came, unfalteringly, straight into my opened arms.

“‘O Man of Might,’ she whispered—for their language is very like to ours, and I could understand her fairly well—‘you have taken my heart in your keeping. Yet how shall it profit us? I am the Red Witch of Ugdarr, the ‘God-Who-Eats-Human-Hearts!’ I am sworn, virgin, to his service; and you, O Strong One, are destined to provide his next meal!’

“For a bit I stood afraid. To die in battle was one thing, but to die helpless, a sacrifice to some devil-god named ‘Ugdarr’, who ate human hearts… Then I caught fast hold on my waning courage.

“‘When and how do I?’

“‘Three moons hence,’ she said sadly. ‘Four times in the year—and the last time was but a few days before you came. You will be fettered by one ankle atop of the great stone altar at the feet of the image of Ugdarr. You will be given any weapon you may select—ax, club, spear or knife. Three young warriors, desirous of proving themselves before the assembled tribe, will attack you, one at a time, armed with a similar weapon to your choice, but their ankles will not be bound! If you wound one so that he falls to the ground, his heart will be torn at once from his breast and given to the village dogs as something unfit for Ugdarr. But even should you slay all three, still are you doomed. You have but one advantage. They may wound you till you can not stand longer, but slay you outright they dare not. To be acceptable to Ugdarr, your heart must come from your yet living breast while you still breathe, however feebly. And—the tribe will eat your flesh!’

“‘No hope of escape,’ I whispered through dry lips.

“‘None,’ she replied drearily.

“In my heart I swore that if I might not escape Ugdarr’s hungry maw, at least I would make a mock of him… And I did, Athak!

“Each day thereafter she came bringing food and drink, for part of her service to Ugdarr lay in feeding Ugdarr’s victim. And the devil-god wanted his sacrifice well nourished, that his heart might be more of a dainty morsel.

“Not long dared she tarry at any one time during the daylight hours, but again and again in the dead of night, when none suspected, she crept to my side and we lay in each other’s arms till the first gray hint of dawn…and I knew, finally, that I had made a mockery of the devil-god Ugdarr…

“Young was I in those days, Athak! I had no thought for the woman, whether or not her tribe would mete out vengeance upon her for daring to give herself to me—me, the captive destined for Ugdarr’s gullet; her, the virgin priestess who had violated her office; but later I was to think—oh, many, many times!

“For one night we were discovered, despite all her imagined caution. An old, old man, servant also of the devil-god, whose office it was to cut out the hearts of the sacrifices, became suspicious. Nay, he came not alone, but with a dozen ugly-faced warriors at his back…

“Surprised as we were, in store for me was another surprise when, before all the tribe at the following noon, that old man pronounced our dooms.

“‘The man-captive is no more fit for Ugdarr’s sacrifice,’ he said sternly. ‘He shall be tortured thus—he shall be tied to a post and each member of the tribe, from the youngest child to the oldest man or woman, shall throw at him one stone each. If still he lives, maimed as he will be, let him be borne to that place where first he was found and there left with the curse of Ugdarr upon him. Should he die, there’s an end. If he lives, then he is free to go whither he will, save to return to this village. But should he crawl back here, then he shall be burned, slowly, to ashes.

“‘For the woman who was a maid—this! Witch of Ugdarr she was, and Witch of Ugdarr she shall remain till the child reach adolescence. Then shall she rear it to serve the god. If a boy, he shall become a priest. If a girl, she shall take her mother’s place as Witch; and then this evil-doer who preferred the caresses of a captive to the favor of the great Ugdarr shall be bound at Ugdarr’s feet and there she shall be stoned to death by the tribe—and the village dogs shall devour her body. I have spoken.’

“So, O Athak, you behold Juhor the Broken One! ‘Snake’ they name me, partly because I have wisdom and magic of a sort. But at first they so called me because I crawled one day into this my native village—how I made that long, terrible journey, broken, shattered, maimed, warped and twisted as I am, I know not. It was all a horrible torment like a dreadful dream of the night. Yet I did it, my brain aflame with but one idea—vengeance!

“Now, O Athak, Great War-Chief, thou knowest the price of the ax—the beautiful green-stone war-ax! Not with that ugly wooden handle, either, but with this—’’ and Juhor held up a long, finely carved handle of pure ivory! Athak’s eyes fairly blazed at the sight. He could hardly speak.

“Ax and handle, mine, if—’’

“If thou wilt make war upon the tribe of Ugdarr, slaying man, woman and child, save only the Red Witch and her—my—our—child: bringing her and the child, if both still live, here to me…

Athak nodded briefly.

“I am War-Chief,” he said quietly. “The warriors and the young men will follow where I lead. I take the ax with me. Wielding that, not even this ‘Eater-of-hearts’ Ugdarr himself shall withstand the war-frenzy of Athak the Strong!”

“I said,” old Juhor pointed out, “that the ax must be earned ere it be possessed. Otherwise a curse—”

“Athak has never lied yet! He does not begin now, even to gain that wonder-ax! It will be earned! Thy price will be paid as soon as I can rouse the warriors and reach that devil-god’s village. But I use that ax in the fighting, or I stir not a single step on thine errand!”

For a long while Juhor stared at Athak. Then he nodded as if fully satisfied at what he read in the eyes of the great war-chief.

“The ivory handle from a mammoth’s, tusk shall be fitted ere morning,” he promised. “In Athak’s grasp shall the magic war-ax earn its own purchase price, Juhor has said it!”

The exultant yell pealing from Athak’s throat startled the entire village, And Ran Kron, the untried stripling who aspired to the status of a warrior; sitting anigh and hanging breathless upon every word falling from the lips of Juhor the Snake, saw his opportunity and promptly grasped at it.

“Ho, Athak the Great Chief,” he cried boldly. “Here is one for thy war-party!”

Athak stared contemptuously at the slight figure.

“Girl with the semblance of a boy,” he jeered. “Thy mother made a mistake…”

And a lightning-swift lunge with a slender white flint knife in the hands of the infuriated youth well-nigh despoiled old Juhor of his long-plotted vengeance, then and there.

“Thou fool ten times accursed,” shrilled the old weapon-maker. But Athak laughed, a hearty, roaring bellow wherein was no trace of anger.

“Nay,” he told Juhor. “Let be! None are born full-grown and proven! The boy has the heart of a warrior. Even thus would I have replied to a like insult. He marches with the other fighting-men!”

* * * *

The next night the old men sat in a circle, thumping on the snakeskin-headed war-drums, and the old women in a still larger outer circle banged and clattered cymbals of flat bone plates from the shoulder-blades of the larger animals.

The old men chanted and the old women shrilled at intervals, while every male of fighting size and age danced and leapt and pranced and shouted boastfully, waving and brandishing their weapons. Finally, as the fire in the center of the circles died down, each man tossed his weapon on to a pile in the dancing-space in token that even as the weapons were all together, so would each man be at one with all the others of the war-party. Athak, as leader, tossed his newly acquired jade-headed war-ax atop of all of the rest, so that when the weapons were lifted, his would be first, even as he was first in command. As his wonder-weapon—the tale of which had already been bruited about the village—fell atop of the rest, the warriors broke into their deep-voiced battle-cry:

“A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”

Athak was a good leader. Never once did the war-party see any one, nor were they seen by any wandering hunter from the morning they left their native village until they sighted the walls of Ugdarr’s people. It called for craft and strategy to achieve this, but Athak’s brain was equal to the task.

The first intimation in the gray dawning that the people of Ugdarr had of enemy proximity was the deep-toned:

“A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”

Into the undefended gate surged the men of Athak’s band—for two skilled spear-throwers, at Athak’s command, had crawled close an hour previously, while yet it was dark, and had made sure that the two men guarding the gateway slept the last long sleep.

Counter-yells arose of:

“Hah-Yah! Yah-Yah!”

And out from their huts like a swarm of angry hornets poured the men of Ugdarr. After all, it was not an all-day battle. At most, there were some hundred or a hundred and fifty savages locked together in one wild whirl of clubs, knives, spears and axes—a struggle in which quarter was neither asked nor proffered.

One savage fight is very much the same as another, the only thing which distinguished that one being that for the first time in his life Athak the Strong One was laid prostrate on his back. A fallen enemy had stabbed him in the calf of his leg at the same moment that another man of Ugdarr had hit him on the head with a club.

Ran Kron, fighting madly at the left side of his gigantic chief, promptly repaid the clubman by practically eviscerating him with the sixteen-inch stone knife which formed the young warrior’s sole weapon, and then bestriding Athak’s body, swinging in both hands the club he’d wrested from his victim as he fell. It was but a moment in which Athak lay dazed; then he was on his feet again, bellowing “A-Houk” as lustily as ever, and smiting even more furiously with the great jade ax. But he found breath between blows to shout to Ran Kron:

“No longer art thou an untried youth, but a warrior! Shalt be made Athak’s blood-brother when this fighting ends!”

If the stripling had fought madly before, after that promise of Athak’s he became like a youthful demon unleashed. And, in consequence, he was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds by the time the affray ended.

And its ending was complete. The huge war-chief had made a definite pledge to Juhor, and as he himself had declared, it was no habit of his to deal in lies. Wounded or whole, those of Ugdarr’s people who survived the fighting were dragged before their own devil-god and knocked on the heads; all save a few strong-bodied women who were kept to act as beasts of burden and carry loot for their captors on their homeward journey; and even those would be slain as soon as the trip was ended.

From these women, questioned by Athak, it was learned that Juhor’s Red Witch of Ugdarr had been slain a few years previously. But she had left a daughter, Red Dawn…

“Where—”

Nobody knew…

Athak picked up one woman and flung her, bodily, into a fire blazing near at hand. By the time the shrieking wretch crawled out, the other women recalled that in the Temple of Ugdarr there were a number of hidden rooms…

It was Ran Kron who found her. What magical words he used, none knew, but she listened to him without fear, and came forth from the building hand in hand with the youth. Nor did she relinquish her hold when he brought her before Athak.

“Which is the captive?” shouted the chief, in high good humor. Made bold by Athak’s friendliness, Ran Kron grinned and replied:

“I am, O Athak!”

The chief stared a second, then grinned back.

“Had I the right, I’d say ’Take her, lad!’ But she goes to old Juhor. It is for him to say what disposal shall be made of her.”

* * * *

Juhor the Snake heard the welcoming tumult heralding the returned war-party, and smiled his wry smile. When the gigantic form of Athak stood before him, the old weapon-maker looked up calmly, although deep within himself he was in a storm of emotion. Athak’s right hand grasped the great war-ax, while his left he held fast-clamped on the shoulder of a slim, beautiful girl whose hair was a flaming red-golden glory.

“Ax and purchase-price, O Juhor the Snake. Athak keeps his word!”

“The ax is paid for, and is all thine, O Athak the Mighty! Upon the ax is no curse. Nay, so long as thou shalt hold it in battle, none may overcome thee. Dost want the maid, too, O Athak? None better could I give her to. As my son—with thy might, and my wisdom—”

“Not I, Juhor! The ax fills my one desire. Rather, I would that thou give her to my blood-brother, Ran Kron. He wants her, and I think he has her favor.”

“Give her—to—that—cub! Athak, dost jest?”

“Cub?” roared the chief. ’’My blood-brother, I said! None braver than he ever went forth to war from this village. Swift of foot, great of heart, fearless, and a deadly killer with that long knife of his, I myself saw him account for five in the fighting at Ugdarr’s village. Saved my life, too, mine, Athak the Chief! Young he is yet, it is true. Had he greater war-wisdom, and more years, I’d make him second in command under me. And you call him—cub!”

“Girl,” said Juhor, hastily veering away from the subject which had aroused Athak’s wrath, “thou art my daughter. Hath thy mother—”

“I heard him”—she indicated Athak—“name thee Juhor the Snake. My mother, before they stoned her to death in Ugdarr’s village, told me a tale of a captive, Juhor the Strong One, who was stoned by the tribe because of her, who was borne into the wilderness, and there left to live or die even as Ugdarr chose. Art thou in truth that same Juhor?”

The old cripple could only nod, for words failed him. The girl looked too, too like another and elder Red Dawn,… The girl flung herself impulsively on her knees beside him, drew his old head to her young breast, smoothing his sparse white locks with her slim soft hands, crooning over him… The warriors turned away at a grunt from Athak.

“This is no time to forward thy suit, my brother,” the chief told the young Ran Kron. And the youth nodded, understandingly. He could wait.

* * * *

Red Dawn was the most beautiful woman the tribe had ever beheld, and many were the young men who sought her from old Juhor. But to one and all he gave the same reply:

“Her heart and her desire are all for Ran Kron. She is my daughter and shall please herself.”

So in due time the day came when before the whole people Juhor tied Red Dawn and Ran Kron together with a strong cord, calling down curses many and horrible upon the head of whoso should attempt to sever that bond. And the tribe, with feasting, and mirth, and jest, celebrated the wedding. Yet some there were who reasoned that as the girl was the most lovely, and Athak was the most mighty, she should have been mated with the great chief rather than with the youthful warrior.

But when some, made bold by drunkenness, ventured to hint thus to Athak, he roared with laughter. Then, for he had imbibed largely of strong drink himself, he became inspired with a most wondrous idea.

“Juhor,” he shouted, “in thy hands lies the power to bind the cord of wedlock, where thine own offspring are concerned. Thou hast wed Ran Kron to Red Dawn. Now, haste thee and wed me to thine other child!”

“My—other—child,” Juhor stared in wonderment. “Nay, O Athak! I have no child other than Red Dawn.”

Athak held up his jade war-ax.

“This,” he shouted, so that all heard. “The child that thou didst create. Wed me to her, for I love her more than I ever could love my woman of flesh and Mood.”

The grim fancy caught the imaginations of the people, and they clamored for the ceremony. Juhor, knowing Athak’s disposition, and seeing that he was at that pitch of drunkenness wherein good humor abruptly changes to fury when crossed, took a fresh cord and performed the rite with all the needful words and curses.

Again Athak tossed the weapon high in air above his head.

“Athak’s wife!” he bellowed. “A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”

Catching fire from his fire, the warriors responded in savage chorus: “A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”

Yet one old hag there was—own sister to Athak’s mother who had died giving a man-child to the world—who dwelt in Athak’s hut and cooked his food for him, who sat and glowered while all others made merry. She was getting old and lazy, and had long urged the giant chief to bring a younger woman into the hut as his wife. All through the feasting, the old woman said naught about what was in her mind, but next morning, well knowing that Athak’s head was aching fit to burst, she queried with her tongue laden with venom:

“Was your stone bride kind to you in the night, O Athak, and were her caresses sweet?” Then, with a cackle of derision, as he glared at her: “She can never give you a son to boast that Athak the Mighty was his father. She can not cook for you. She can deal wounds, but she can not heal wounds with the poultices of soothing leaves…better had you taken Juhor’s other daughter—” And with that, dodging a chunk of wood hurled at her by the exasperated chief, she fled the hut, still cackling evilly.

And thenceforward she lost no chance to prod Athak about his folly in “choosing the wrong daughter of Juhor” until in time her evil hints and slurs bore fruit. She was helped in her work by the fact that since Ran Kron had had one taste of war, he’d found it so greatly to his liking that twice afterward he’d gone out with small parties of young and ambitious men; and in both cases had easily proved himself the foremost. And the hag hinted to Athak that his prestige as chief was seriously threatened by this young upstart—as she termed the youth.

Came a day when Athak harkened and took her gibing seriously; so that thereafter he began casting meaning glances at Red Dawn whenever they met. Worse still occurred when, in one of his drunken spells, he sought to drag her into his hut against her will.

His girl-wife’s shrieks reached Ran Kron’s ears where he sat in converse with a group of other young warriors. With a cat-like rush he hurled himself at the would-be ravisher. Twice and thrice his long flint knife stabbed, lightning-quick, drawing blood and eliciting a yell of pain each time he struck.

Completely lost to all thoughts of blood-brotherhood, and driven by a twofold lust—to have Ran Kron’s wife and Ran Kron’s life, Athak let go his hold on the shrieking, struggling Red Dawn and drew his great jade ax from his belt. Ran Kron, seeing, leaped back, snatching a spear from the hand of a bystander, and promptly lunged with it at the face of the giant chief.

For a while it was either man’s fight. Mighty as Athak was, enraged, too, so that flecks of foam dripped from his lips, still Ran Kron kept him busy; dodging, leaping, parrying, or evading the sweep of the great green-flashing ax; from time to time getting in a thrust with his spear that drew blood each time, but never deep enough to reach a vital spot and end matters.

Yet despite all his efforts, step by step the lighter man was forced to retreat—suddenly a yell arose from the onlookers, partly in triumph, partly in warning, according to their sympathies. With a feeling that the end was nigh, Ran Kron realized that he’d reached the brink of the river, and that back of him lay a fifty foot drop to the swift, swollen, muddy waters below. In sheer desperation h« hurled his spear straight at the face of his giant opponent.

Athak saw it coming, too swift for him to dodge it. He threw up both arms in front of his face. The stone spearhead drove deep into his right forearm, and a spurt of blood followed, staining the ivory helve of his battle-ax a bright crimson.

In despair, Ran Kron whipped out his long stone knife, prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible. Athak bellowed his rage, and moved a step closer. The great ax swung up above his tousled head and swept down again on its death-dealing arc. Ran Kron, summoning up his fast-waning strength, dodged again, bending his torso far back. Athak’s hands were too blood-smeared from the wound in his forearm. The ivory ax-handle slipped in his grasp. Flying through the air, it struck Ran Kron a glancing blow on the side of his head, stunning him. The young warrior, his balance overborne, went backward over the edge of the low bluff; and, with a sullen double splash, Ran Kron and the great jade ax that had overthrown him to his death disappeared together beneath the surface of the swollen stream…

* * * *

Now, how I, Randall Crone, know this latter part which ensued after Ran Kron fell into the river, I can not tell; for I do not understand. But know it I do, however.

Athak sank to the ground, gasping from his last terrific exertion. Red Dawn would have thrown herself into the river, there to join her man, Ran Kron, but was seized and held by certain ones who sought to curry favor with Athak.

Juhor the Snake hobbled up, stood in front of Athak, and shook his gnarled old fist in the giant’s face. The old man was fairly a-quiver with the rage consuming him. Twice he opened his mouth and twice he closed it again before he could find words to express himself.

“Was it for this, thou fool, that I made for thee that magic ax? Did I not wed thee to the ax at thine express command, by thine own choice? Did I not lay curses many and deep upon the head of whoso should part ye twain who were one in wedlock? And now, it is thine own hands which have flung the magic ax into the deep, deep river!

“Now I, Juhor the Snake, prophesy to thee, O Athak the Fool! Thou shalt go accursed for all thy remaining days upon the earth. Evil shall befall thee ever, and when thou shalt die, in outer darkness shalt thou wander till once again the magic ax which thou thyself didst name ‘Athak’s Wife’ shall return to thine embrace! Athak the Accursed, I, Juhor, have spoken thy doom!’’

Athak staggered to his feet and clutched one great hand upon the old man’s shoulder.

“Aye,” he snarled, “thou hast spoken—thine own doom, Juhor the Snake!” One shove he gave the old cripple, and Juhor, with a single quavering cry, vanished over the edge of the all-devouring river…

* * * *

One might say that I’d been dreaming; or that I’d been in a trance state and had left my body and gone into the astral plane—but neither hypothesis would account fully for the facts.

For I learned, upon my return to my Twentieth Century personality, that I’d been gone for a considerable time, body and all! My room had been found vacant and my bed unslept in, the morning after I’d been visited by the phantom of Athak.

Then as totally unproclaimed as my absence had been, I reappeared. And I had considerable difficulty in explaining matters to those most interested in my movements—business associates, and others. Of course I hastened to Rhoda as quickly as possible, and from her lips I had full confirmation of my strange experience. For she, too, had “vanished” insofar as her everyday environment was concerned, and she, too, had just reappeared. I did not have to make any explanations to her. She knew! She’d been through the same sort of adventures as had I. In other words, she had suddenly awakened from a sound sleep to find herself Red Dawn, the young Witch of Ugdarr! In fact, she was able to tell me the part I did not know, and describe the episode after Athak threw old Juhor over the bluff. Yet what she told was but little after all.

Athak had dragged her to his hut, where she naturally anticipated just about the worst fate that could happen. In a frenzy of fear, she had tried to stab herself, but Athak prevented that by hitting her with his fist the instant she caught up a knife.

But he had struck too hard, and thereby cheated himself of the woman he coveted so greatly that he’d slain his own chosen blood-brother in order to get her for himself. She recalled the terrific concussion of his fist against the side of her face. Ensued a brief period of unconsciousness, naturally, and when her consciousness returned, she was again Rhoda Day, in her own room, and her mother was bending over her, demanding a trifle crossly:

“Rhoda, where in the world have you been for the last few days, and why did you go away without saying anything about it to me, before you started?”

As to what happened to Athak, we neither of us knew; but could easily imagine, knowing him as well and unfavorably as we did. To use Rhoda’s words:

“He probably went from bad to worse, just as Juhor predicted, until some one did the world a service by ridding it of his presence; and he has since, to use Juhor’s very words, ‘dwelt in outer darkness’. But in some manner he—or his spirit, rather—located my whereabouts, and he seems determined to assert his imagined ownership. Probably he doesn’t even know that he is dead and hasn’t a body in which to function any more.”

Wherein she was wrong. Later again, we learned that Athak knew quite well that he was devoid of a body. All he was waiting for was a good chance to acquire one, in order to resume his age-old devilment just where he’d been compelled to leave off by reason of hitting Red Dawn too hard and thus cheating himself of her possession.

Apparently old Juhor’s curse had taken effect, and Athak had, in truth, dwelt in outer darkness instead of coming back to earth via a rebirth, as we two had done. But the more we speculated, the more intricate and involved the problems became; so that finally we quit all speculating and preserved a policy of watchful waiting instead.

Meantime, at my urgency, Rhoda capitulated and we were married. For a brief while we managed to fool the savage phantom. Travelling on our honeymoon trip, we kept to the crowded cities, knowing that for us to isolate ourselves would best please the vindictive ghost who so hated us. In modern hotels and amongst throngs of people, he’d be out of his element.

But honeymoons end eventually, in this workaday world, and dollar-chasing is a very necessary pursuit if one would continue to enjoy life in its modern phase.

So, regretfully, we returned home, not, of course, to Rhoda’s parents, but to a little place of our own.

And Athak turned up the first night we were there!

His fury, when he grasped the situation, was something to tremble at. His futile attempts to wreak either or both of us bodily injury, had they not been so frightful, would have been ludicrous. For over half the night he carried on his antics. It was of no avail to turn off the light, so I left it burning. Rhoda was so unstrung that I feared a permanent shock to her nervous system would result.

I was angry, not with the ordinary type of wrath common to every one at times, but that same savage ugliness I’d experienced once before. Much more of it, and I’d again become Ran Kron, the young savage warrior… But Rhoda sensed the change taking place in me, and begged so earnestly that I control myself, that somehow, to please her, I succeeded in fighting back my rage. At that, I could not have done it, had she not whispered: “Randall, my husband, for my sake be very careful! Can not you see that you are rapidly getting into a state such as will best please him, and render us accessible by translating us again to his plane, where he can function?”

It was a hard task, even then, but I did it. Then I had what I considered a happy thought, and carried it out; and it did win for us a modicum of rest from Athak’s rage, if only for a short time. Deliberately I kissed Rhoda, then grinned triumphantly at the frenzied savage ghost; and for a second, I thought that Athak the Terrible would disintegrate from the hell-storm of wrath and jealous hate that simple act aroused on his part. But then he turned sulky, withdrew until he seemed to merge with the wall itself, and there remained, glowering. And finally we fell asleep and left him to sulk all he would.

But the next night he was back again, twice as ugly as before. And for many a night after that.

Then I thought up another bright idea, or deemed it one until—

* * * *

It was summer, and the nights were warm, so we took to sleeping in a rose arbor in the garden. For the first night there was absolutely no sign of Athak. But on the second night, Rhoda wakened me from a sound slumber with the startled exclamation:

“Randall, what is that repulsive odor?’’

One sniff told me instantly that it was the acrid, decayed-cucumber scent of a copperhead snake! Very cautiously, holding my breath in stark fear, I pressed the switch of a flashlight and swept the near-by ground with its bright rays. Luckily I managed to reach a stick with which I broke the reptile’s back before it could—ugh! I shuddered at thought of what might have happened. And, somehow, in my mind, I associated that snake’s arrival into our garden of peace with Athak’s hatred. And instantly, although I heard no sound, I was aware of a burst of unholy glee that fully confirmed my conviction.

Next day I bought an automatic pistol equipped with a silencer, and a box of cartridges. Then I did that which would cause any alienist to suspect my mental condition; for I had every bullet extracted from the loaded shells and replaced by silver ones. I’d read somewhere that silver bullets are efficacious against such as Athak; and I was open to conviction. But when I laid in that equipment I unwittingly played into Athak’s hands, completely.

Nightly thereafter I kept the loaded pistol within reach, and for several nights we were undisturbed. Yet always we had an uncomfortable sense of Athak’s presence, albeit he kept himself invisible. Actually, I began to think that in some manner he’d sensed that I was organized for him with a potent weapon, and that he was correspondingly cautious about bringing matters to a definite showdown; which proves how little I know about the unseen world and still less about the abilities of those who dwell therein.

We had gotten so that we could fall asleep almost immediately after retiring in our rose arbor. It was around midnight one night that I awoke with the certitude that we had been outwitted and that even then we were exposed to some unutterably ghastly horror. Instinctively I grasped the pistol and threw off the safety catch. Rhoda had awakened at the same time, and we sat up simultaneously. She screamed, once, and I felt the cold sweat of fear break out all over me.

Not ten yards away was the phantom form of Athak. A leer of cruel, anticipatory triumph was on his ugly face, and he had reason for it, too; for although he himself was but a phantom, there was nothing intangible about the monstrous dog he had somehow introduced into our garden. It was just a dog; yes; but such a dog! It loomed as big as a calf! I learned, later, that the brute was a Tibetan mastiff belonging to a dog-fancier dwelling some twenty miles distant. And that breed of dog is one of the most ferocious of the entire canine species.

Its eyes were aflame with fury, and as they were fixed unwaveringly upon me, it was not difficult to imagine what was coming next. Its jaws dripped slaver, and its lips were drawn back in a soundless snarl. Its whole body was a-quiver with pent-up energy.

And even as I noted all this in one horrified glance, the phantom chief waved an arm in a gesture of command, and the huge beast launched itself straight at me!

One bound brought it half-way, but then I brought the pistol into action. I’d had a gunsmith do a little juggling with the inner works of that automatic; so that in a way, it was more a miniature machine-gun than a pistol. Once the trigger was pulled, provided it was held back, the shots were continuous till the magazine was empty. I intended, when I had it fixed like that, to put sufficient of those silver bullets into, or through, Athak, to make a thorough job of it, or him. But as things turned out, it was the dog that got the entire load; and it needed them all, too, squarely in its big skull, to stop its ferocious rush.

Even at that, the brute didn’t die instantly, but fell on the ground almost at the entrance to the arbor, writhing and twitching in a fast-spreading pool of blood.

Athak’s opportunity had arrived! That infernal savage had waited for just such a chance for ages! The blood furnished him with the medium for materialization, and he promptly utilized it. Before I could reload the pistol by inserting a fresh-charged magazine clip into the butt, the metamorphosis was achieved. It was, to all intents and purposes, a flesh and blood Savage from out the distant Ice Age who hurled his huge bulk at us, whirling a heavy bludgeon in one knotted fist!

Rhoda gasped, moaned feebly, and slumped to the floor of the rose arbor in a limp heap. And I, feeling that this was the end for us, and the consummation of Athak’s triumph, nevertheless flung myself off the bed in one wild leap, to meet him and have it over with.

I had naught save that empty pistol still in my hand wherewith to put up a battle, and that was but a poor and futile thing beside the club Athak flourished. Yet in some manner I dodged his first stroke, retaliating by throwing my empty pistol into his face as hard as I could slam it. Luckily for me, it landed just where eyebrows and nose meet. For a second it dazed him, and he paused, even in his frenzy, to shake his head to clear his sight, I suppose. And, in that one second of reprieve, a miracle and naught else came to my aid, or I should not be here now to tell this tale…

Out of nowhere, apparently, appeared the gnarled, twisted, crippled form of old Juhor the Snake! Into my hands he thrust the ivory handle of a green-stone war-ax!

“Heh-heh-heh!” laughed the incredible apparition. “Once he stole your wife! It is only fitting that now you should have his!”

What strange power lay in that ancient war-ax? I know not, even now. But this I do know: No sooner had my hands closed in a firm grip on the handle than a terrific surge of commingled hate and strength suffused my entire body! I felt that my muscles had doubled—nay! infinitely multiplied in power to smite. I heaved the heavy ax aloft and moved toward my enemy. He saw the weapon, and hell flamed in his face and eyes. In a low, dreadful tone he spoke:

“Now! Long have I waited for this day! Red Dawn, and the green ax! Once again are both within my reach! O Fool, who thinks to stand against Athak the Mighty with his own war-ax; now shall I slay thee, and take both weapon and woman! Then shall she and I together eat your heart, raw, torn from out your yet warm body…”

He had no time for further boasting. With all the new strength that had flowed into me, I struck out at him. Skilled warrior that he was, he parried the ax-sweep with his club. Very craftily he struck just back of the stone head, turning the stroke aside thereby. The shock of his blow jarred my arms clear to my shoulder-sockets. And swiftly following came his counterstroke. He delivered it horizontally at my head, but I bent my knees quickly, and the club barely grazed my hair. The momentum of his blow turned him a trifle, and I swiped back again with the ax, and that time, despite his backward leap, the ax drew blood from his side; not a deep cut, but still enough to madden him.

With a snarl of pure fiendishness he drove in a blow I could not evade, so lightning-swift it came. Fairly on my left arm it landed, and my whole side went numb as if suddenly paralyzed. I had only my right arm then with which to wield that ponderous stone war-ax, while my eon-old enemy still had two arms with which to swing his no less ponderous club.

The derisive sneer on his hateful face drove me beyond all semblance of caution. As if it had been naught but a light throwing-hatchet, I whirled up that great stone-headed ax in one hand and hurled it! So quickly did I move that he had no chance to raise his club in order to ward off that hurtling weapon.

Edge first it struck him in his barrel-like chest, driving deep in through flesh and bone. With a bubbling grunt the breath went out of his lungs, followed by a gush of bloody froth. He threw both arms across his torso, hugging the ax-handle in his agony…

The cracked voice of old Juhor rang out: “When Athak’s wife returns to Athak’s embrace, then shall the age-old curse lift; and Athak shall cease to dwell in outer darkness! Athak the Mighty, get thee hence to the place appointed for all such as thou!”

The giant stood swaying, his arms still clasping the handle of the ax. But as Juhor spoke his doom, he tottered and fell!

Unheeding aught else, I staggered wearily—for my strength left me even as Athak fell—over to where Rhoda lay, lifted her to the bed and turned—to see only a faint haze where a moment before had lain the gigantic materialized form of Athak the Terrible! As I looked, the haze vanished, too. Of old Juhor the Snake there was no sign. There remained only the carcass of an enormous, dead dog; an empty automatic pistol; and a great, ivory-handled war-ax lying where I had dropped it. Oh, yes! And a great bruise on my left arm…

What is real, and what illusion, in this universe? Nobody knows, I least of all.

Juhor handed me that ax. I used it. Next day I hung it on the wall in my study. And that same evening I read in the newspaper that a jade-headed, ivory-handled battle-ax had been mysteriously abstracted some time in the night hours from a glass case in a scientific museum located over eight hundred miles from where I dwell, and had been missed the same morning I hung it on my wall! And the glass case had not been broken into, nor unlocked.

The news article went on to state that the weapon owed its remarkable condition of preservation to the fact that it had been found fast-frozen in a huge fragment of ice that had “calved” from a glacier up under the Arctic Circle…

Oh, my very soul faints when I try to make coherence of my jumbled data! Yet out of it all, dimly I get this for my comfort: Time, and Space, both are as naught to the Self of man. Justice endures and Love is eternal; nor shall all the Powers of Darkness ever prevail against them!