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Updated: June 2, 2025
But clearly Lugur had kept his information even from Yolara; and as clearly she had spoken to none of that episode when O'Keefe's automatic had shattered the Keth-smitten vase. Again I felt that sense of deep bewilderment of helpless search for clue to all the tangle. For two hours we were questioned and then the priestess called Rador and let us go. Larry was sombre as we returned.
At our right, a few feet away, the passage ended abruptly in a square of polished stone, from which came faint rose radiance. The roof of the place was less than two feet over O'Keefe's head.
"If you'll tell us how the sparkling devil came it will help us all when we get to where it is, Huldricksson," I said. On O'Keefe's face there was an expression of well-nigh ludicrous doubt and amazement. He glanced from one to the other. The giant shifted his own tense look from me to the Irishman. A gleam of approval lighted in his eyes. He loosed me, and gripped O'Keefe's arm.
"Lakla," the O'Keefe's voice was subdued, hurt, "there is no choice. I love you and only you and have from the moment I saw you. It's not easy this. God, Goodwin, I feel like an utter cad," he flashed at me. "There is no choice, Lakla," he ended, eyes steady upon hers. The priestess's face grew deadlier still. "What will you do with me?" she asked. "Keep you," I said, "as hostage."
O'Keefe's articles had many paragraphs scored out; in fact we put in no article of his without a great deal of what is technically called 'cutting down. Now, that letter of his to me was simply a private document.
It was curiously vivifying, and in it the diamonded atoms of light shook and danced. I stepped out of the car, the Russian following, and began to ascend the curved steps toward the opening, at the top of which O'Keefe and Olaf already stood. As they looked out I saw both their faces change Olaf's with awe, O'Keefe's with incredulous amaze. I hurried to their side.
And over the moon flame pinnacles rose higher! Yolara lifted her arms; within her hands were clasped O'Keefe's. She raised them above their two heads and slowly, slowly drew him with her into a circling, graceful step, tendrillings delicate as the slow spirallings of twilight mist upon some still stream.
You must pay. They did, and on the Sunday week following, a band of marauders, headed by fife and drum, went to the houses of these men, and shot them in the presence of their families. All the flesh on the lower part of O'Keefe's legs was shot away, one of the Cronins was shot in the knee, but the other in the body.
And there was so fierce a fire in the eyes of Lugur as he swung back upon us that O'Keefe's hand slipped stealthily down toward his pistol. "Best it is to speak truth to Yolara, priestess of the Shining One, and to Lugur, the Voice," he cried menacingly. "It is the truth," I interposed. "We came down the passage.
He knelt, took from his girdle-pouch a silk-wrapped something, unwound it and, still kneeling, drew out a slender poniard of gleaming white metal, hilted with the blue stones; he thrust it into O'Keefe's girdle; then gave him again the rare salute. "Come," he ordered and took us to the head of the pathway. "Now," he said grimly, "let the Silent Ones show their power if they still have it!"
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