T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (12) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XII. The Priest’s Plan

The man who stood in the opening was not more than five feet six in height, but looked even less, owing to his enormous breadth. His chest and shoulders were those of a giant.

Of his face Martin could see nothing, for it was covered with a thin golden mask from which stood out all around curved rays of beaten gold. He was dressed in a sleeved robe of silken fabric of gorgeous purple. On the breast was embroidered a great golden sun, while sleeves and skirt were ornamented with patterns made of some yellow shining stone cut in thin disks. Martin knew at once that this was a priest of the sun.

Through holes in the mask a pair of keen blue eyes regarded Akon and Martin.

For a moment there was dead silence. Then, with a quickness startling in so massive a figure, the priest turned and beckoned them to follow. They stepped into a lofty passage floored and walled with massive slabs of smooth, reddish stone; and the moment they were inside their host pulled over a lever and the huge leaves of the stone door closed like the jaws of a trap.

The door had hardly shut before the priest had caught Akon by both hands, crying out a greeting in a voice that rumbled like thunder down the vaulted passage.

Akon returned the greeting most heartily, then, stretching out his great arm, drew Martin forward, and speaking in Norse, introduced him.

“He is my friend, Hymer,” he said. “He has saved my life. Harm must not come to him.”

Hymer, the priest, took Martin’s hand.

“Your friends, Prince Akon, are mine,” he said, and he, too, spoke in Norse, and spoke so clearly that Martin had no difficulty in understanding him. “But come into my room,” he said. “I have much to tell you.”

Opening a door he led them into a large room with painted walls. There was a rich carpet on the floor; but the only furniture was a low, round table and a number of large cushions scattered about. The place was lighted from above by a sort of skylight glazed with sheets of talc.

The first thing the priest did was to take off his golden mask and fling it aside.

“Bah!” he said impatiently. “I am sick of this mummery.” Then he dropped on a cushion and signed to the others to be seated.

“Now, Prince,” he said, “tell your story, for time presses, and there is much to do.”

Akon plunged at once into his story, and Hymer listened with keen interest. Martin, looking at him, saw that he was, like Akon, a Norseman. He appeared to be about sixty, but was still immensely fit and strong; also, he seemed to be miles ahead in brain power of any of the rest of the Lemurians. For one thing, he was not in the least surprised to hear of the flying machine or the “boat that goes without oars or sail,” as Akon described the launch.

When Akon had finished Hymer nodded gravely.

“You have returned in the nick of time,” he said. “Your father has been dangerously ill.”

Akon sprang up, but the priest raised his hand.

“There is no longer need for anxiety on that score, Prince. The King is out of danger, and you shall see him presently. The trouble is this. While he was ill and while I was engaged in tending him and preventing those fool doctors from poisoning him with their drugs, Odan has been at his old game. He has been raising the brown men against us.”

“The dog!” growled Akon, and there was a glare in his eyes that was new to Martin.

“Dog he was born: dog he will die,” said Hymer. “But if we, too, are not to die the death of dogs, we must act, and act quickly. The truth is, Prince, that Odan both hates and fears me. He knows that I have done away with the old rites—the burnings and the rest. He knows that the King, your father, is on my side, and that you are my pupil. Therefore he dares to pit himself against me.”

“What forces has he?” demanded Akon.

“More than we have,” was the grim reply. “The brown men are fools. They are filled with the old superstitions. They will follow him.”

“Then what do you advise?” asked Akon quickly.

The priest pointed to Martin.

“Our hope lies there,” he answered. “The boat that flies, the tubes that shoot lead, and the rest of the wonders from the East.”

Martin flushed.

“B-but there are only two of us,” he stammered—“myself and the Professor.”

“It is not numbers that count,” replied Hymer gravely. “These brown men, the descendants of the old people, are full of strange fears and superstitions. Already the sight of men flying has driven terror into their hearts, and they have hidden themselves in their houses. You will return to the Island of Fire and bring back the guns of which Akon speaks. With these you can strike terror from the sky. But you must go at once, or it will be too late.”

Martin sprang to his feet. There was an eager gleam in his eyes. At that very moment a blaze of white light illuminated the room, and there was a crash so tremendous that the whole massive building quivered. Then darkness fell like night, the heavens opened, and cataracts of rain roared upon the roof.

Martin gave a low whistle of dismay.

“That puts the hat on it!” he muttered. Then, seeing the puzzled look on the faces of the others, “I mean,” he explained, “that I cannot fly back until the storm is over.”

The priest shook his head. “That is bad,” he said. “Haste means everything in this case.”

“You forget,” put in Akon quickly. “The storm will also delay the return of the fleet.”

“For a little, perhaps,” replied Hymer gravely. “But there is no wind to hinder them. They will be in before nightfall.”

“How long do these storms last?” asked Martin.

“An hour—two perhaps,” answered the priest.

Martin’s face cleared. “Then do not worry. It is not yet mid-day, and I can go and return within three hours.”

Hymer raised his shaggy eyebrows. “That is great speed,” he said.

“The flying boat moves more quickly than the wind, priest,” Akon answered him. “No bird flies so swiftly.”

“And as my friend cannot return until the storm ceases,” he added, “I beg you to take me to my father.”

The priest rose. “That is well said. I know that the King wishes greatly to see you.”

He led the way to the door. Martin stood aside, but Akon took him gently by the arm. “My father will wish to thank you in person for your goodness to his son,” he told him.

It was a relief to leave the priest’s room. The roar of the tropical rain upon the roof window was deafening, the constant glare of the electric fire blinding in its intensity, while the crackle of thunder never ceased. Outside in the passage these sounds were deadened. But as they moved down the long stone-walled corridor, a new sound reached Martin’s ears—a strange whistling, a note resembling the escape of steam from the boiler of a railway engine, but infinitely deeper and more powerful.

This grew steadily louder and louder until the whole place seemed to vibrate with the tremendous note of it. Martin could not imagine what caused it, but even the sound did not prepare him for the amazing sight which presently burst upon his eyes.

Hymer opened a door, and suddenly they stood upon a broad gallery which ran all round a vast circular pit, or arena, the bottom of which was, perhaps, a hundred feet beneath them. And from the center of this pit rose a blue flame roaring upwards, exactly like one of those blow lamps used by plumbers, only with a force and fury that were almost incredible.

The pit was open to the outer air, and seemed to be roofed by the blue-black thunder cloud. Yet so tremendous was the force of the flame that the rain, falling though it in solid sheets, made no more difference to it than a summer shower would to a blast furnace.

Martin stopped short. “Natural gas!” he said.

“It is the fire fountain,” said Akon simply. “It has burnt always. It will burn for ever. The brown folk believe it to be the breath of God.”

He hurried on; and Martin, though he longed to stop, had to follow. The gallery was roofed, so they were safe from the rain. Right across they went to the far side, and through another door guarded by two gold-helmeted sentries.

“This is the house of the King,” said Akon; and indeed Martin could well believe it. The beauty of the place fairly took his breath. Wonderful furniture, carved in a jet-black wood like ebony, and set with ivory and gold; statues, lifesize, and molded apparently in solid gold; skins of strange beasts lay underfoot; the hangings of the walls were of the same rich purple as the priest’s robe.

Akon saw Martin staring at these beauties. He shrugged his great shoulders.

“Children’s toys,” he said scornfully; “but needful to impress these foolish folk over whom we rule.”

Martin thought to himself that one or two of these toys would make all the difference to the poor people who had been ruined by his father’s scoundrelly partner Willard, but, before he could speak, the priest struck with his hand upon a tall door. It opened, and a grave, elderly man beckoned them to enter.

The room was of great size and very high and airy. It was lighted by lamps burning a perfumed oil. But Martin had no eyes for anything or anyone except for the splendid old man who lay back in a great chair opposite. He was tall as Akon himself, but his thick hair was white as snow, his cheeks were wrinkled, and his hands gnarled. Only his eyes, blue as the sea, were still clear and keen.

At sight of Akon his face lit up. As for Akon, he was across the room in three strides, and father and son seized one another’s hands. It did Martin good to watch the delight they took in meeting again. There was nothing of king and prince about it. The two might have been just simple commoners instead of rulers over this wonderful island and its ancient people.

Then Akon beckoned Martin to come up, and again said such nice things about him that the boy’s ears burned.

“He is going to help us,” Akon told his father. “He will bring the wisdom of the East to defeat Odan.”

The king began to question Martin. He was as eager as Akon himself. Like Akon, he believed that the Bat was enough in itself to turn the scale against Odan and his rebels.

“But I must have guns, sir,” said Martin. “We have a machine-gun at the island and plenty of ammunition. And I will bring some bombs, too—fire-balls that will explode as they strike the earth,” he explained.

Hymer suddenly interrupted. “Pardon, King,” he said in his deep voice. “The storm is over. The youth should be returning.”

Martin turned quickly. “You are right. I must go at once if I am to be back before night.”

“Go, and fortune be with you,” said the King. “Akon, attend our friend to his flying ship.”

They hurried out. The storm had passed, roaring, to the west. The sun shone hotly on the steaming soil. Then, as they gained the open, Akon started, while an angry growl came from Hymer’s throat.

There was good reason for their dismay. The fleet was already in the harbor, and Odan’s great longship mooring opposite to the boat-house in which lay the Bat.