Chapter 22: The Red-Flowering Vine

“Rotan,” said Gor slowly, sadly, “was wrong. His vision was not the truth. The Red Ones have come. And now--we die.”

“Without a fight?” Rawson demanded incredulously.

“We are not a fighting people. We have no weapons. We can only die.”

Rawson turned to Loah. They were inside the mountain, and the servants of the mountain, with terror and dismay written plainly on their faces, were gathered about. “At the Lake of Fire,” said Rawson, “when you saved me, there was an explosion and clouds of white fumes. What was it?”

“It was like water,” Loah said. “We found it deep inside the earth in a place where it is very cold. When warmed it turns to white clouds. We threw a flask of it on the hot rocks, hoping to reach you while they could not see.”--she paused and shook her head slowly--”but we can get no more. The Pathway of Light is closed to us, now that the Red Ones are there.”

“Liquefied gas of some sort,” said Rawson briefly, “caught in enormous rock pressure. But that’s out! Now what about this Place of Death? There’s an idea there.”

The White Ones were numbed with fear, but Loah and Gor accompanied him when Rawson returned to the red field. The flowers were still in bloom; they waved gently in the breeze that blew always from the mountain across the fields and out toward the point, where even now dark figures could be seen near the mouth of the shaft.

“It will be many of your days,” said Loah, “before the flowers die. If you thought to trap the Red Ones in the Place of Death, there will not be time...” But Rawson had left them; he had advanced into the scarlet field and dropped to his knees.

He was crushing the vines in his hands, grinding them into the white, salty earth underneath. Then he passed his hands guardedly before his face as if to detect an odor.

Loah and Gor saw him shake his head slowly while he spoke aloud words that they could not understand. “Cyanide,” Dean Rawson was saying. “It’s a cyanide of some sort--releases hydrocyanic acid gas. I could have rigged a generator, though I’ve forgotten about all of my chemistry--and now there isn’t time.” Off in the distance the dark figures still moved near the end of the point.

He made no effort to conceal his dejection as he returned. The edge of the Place of Death made a winding line across the scant half mile of valley where the green fields ended abruptly.

Dean stepped high over the stone trough a half mile long that marked that dividing line. There was water in it; it was part of their irrigation system. A little beyond, in the midst of the green, stood a tiny flat-topped knoll on which he knew was a pool that supplied the crude system. Beyond it Loah and Gor were waiting.

Gor read the look on Rawson’s face. “It is useless,” Gor said. “And now I have decided. The People of the Light must die--but not in the fires of the Reds. With my people I shall walk into the sea.”

And Rawson could not protest. He could only follow as Gor turned back toward the village and the mountain beyond.

From a spur on the mountainside Rawson could see the full length of the island. One way lay the village; beyond it the green fields; then the wide scarlet band of the Place of Death. And beyond that the little crystal hills and the valley between that led out to the point. It was now dark with massed clusters of bodies, red even at that distance. He could even see the glint of metal from time to time.

And behind the mountain were the People of Light, where Gor was only waiting for the attack to lead them out to the island’s farther end and then on to a kindlier death in the emerald sea. Only Loah was with Dean, although there were others of the White Ones not far away, watching, ready to warn Gor when the attack began.

Not an hour before, Rawson had stood in the inner chamber and had listened to the mountain as it repeated the words of a far-distant man: “Attack of the mole-men growing increasingly ferocious ... heat-ray projectors--almost invincible ... our forces have entered the Tonah Basin--they are descending into the crater. But whether warfare can be carried on advantageously under ground is problematical...” Rawson unconsciously gritted his teeth behind his set lips as he watched the Reds.

He knew why they had been so slow in attacking. They must have a carrier of some sort, a shell like that of Loah’s, and they were bringing their fighters one shell-load at a time. When the entire force was ready they would attack. And Rawson was convinced that this force would be limited in number.

“They’ll have plenty to keep them busy up there,” he argued. “If only we could wipe out this one lot we could prepare to defend ourselves.” And now, standing on the side of the mountain, he startled Loah with the fury of his sudden ejaculation.

“Fool! Quitter! Waiting here for them to come and get you! There’s one chance in a million--” Then he was rushing at full speed along the roadway that circled the mountain toward Gor and the terrified throng.

The waiting savages must have laughed, if indeed laughter was possible for such a race, at sight of the White Ones creeping timidly down. Off a mile and more they could see them harvesting their strange crop--harvesting!--storing up supplies of food, no doubt, when the mole-men with their flame-throwers would reap the harvest so soon!

But in a crimson field Dean and Gor and Loah led the others where they swarmed across the Place of Death, gathering huge armfuls of the red-flowering vine, carrying them to the village and returning for more. Where they trod it was as if peach pits were crushed beneath their feet. And there was a curious fragrance which Rawson told them not to breathe, but to keep their faces always into the wind.