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Title: Wings in the Night
Author: Robert E. Howard
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Title: Wings in the Night
Author: Robert E. Howard




Contents



1 Chapter I. The Horror on the Stake

2 Chapter II. The Battle in the Sky

3 Chapter III. The People in the Shadow

4 Chapter IV. The Madness of Solomon

5 Chapter V. The Conqueror





Chapter I. The Horror on the Stake

Solomon Kane leaned on his strangely carved staff and gazed in
scowling perplexity at the mystery which spread silently before him.
Many a deserted village Kane had seen in the months that had passed
since he turned his face east from the Slave Coast and lost himself in
the mazes of jungle and river, but never one like this.

It was not famine that had driven away the inhabitants, for yonder the
wild rice still grew rank and unkempt in the untilled fields. There
were no Arab slave-raiders in this nameless land--it must have been a
tribal war that devastated the village, Kane decided, as he gazed
sombrely at the scattered bones and grinning skulls that littered the
space among the rank weeds and grasses. These bones were shattered and
splintered, and Kane saw jackals and a hyena furtively slinking among
the ruined huts. But why had the slayers left the spoils? There lay
war spears, their shafts crumbling before the attacks of the white
ants. There lay shields, mouldering in the rains and sun. There lay
the cooking pots, and about the neck-bones of a shattered skeleton
glistened a necklace of gaudily painted pebbles and shells--surely
rare loot for any savage conqueror.

He gazed at the huts, wondering why the thatch roofs of so many were
torn and rent, as if by taloned things seeking entrance. Then
something made his cold eyes narrow in startled unbelief. Just outside
the mouldering mound that was once the village wall towered a gigantic
baobab tree, branchless for sixty feet, its mighty bole too large to
be gripped and scaled. Yet in the topmost branches dangled a skeleton,
apparently impaled on a broken limb.

The cold hand of mystery touched the shoulder of Solomon Kane. How
came those pitiful remains in that tree? Had some monstrous ogre's
inhuman hand flung them there?

Kane shrugged his broad shoulders and his hand unconsciously touched
the black butts of his heavy pistols, the hilt of his long rapier, and
the dirk in his belt. Kane felt no fear as an ordinary man would feel,
confronted with the Unknown and Nameless. Years of wandering in
strange lands and warring with strange creatures had melted away from
brain, soul, and body all that was not steel and whalebone. He was
tall and spare, almost gaunt, built with the savage economy of the
wolf. Broad-shouldered, long-armed, with nerves of ice and thews of
spring steel, he was no less the natural killer than the born
swordsman.

The brambles and thorns of the jungle had dealt hardly with him; his
garments hung in tatters, his featherless slouch hat was torn and his
boots of Cordovan leather were scratched and worn. The sun had baked
his chest and limbs to a deep bronze, but his ascetically lean face
was impervious to its rays. His complexion was still of that strange,
dark pallor which gave him an almost corpse-like appearance, belied
only by his cold, light eyes.

And now Kane, sweeping the village once more with his searching gaze,
pulled his belt into a more comfortable position, shifted to his left
hand the cat-headed stave N'Longa had given him, and took up his way
again.

To the west lay a strip of thin forest, sloping downward to a broad
belt of savannas, a waving sea of grass waist-deep and deeper. Beyond
that rose another narrow strip of woodlands, deepening rapidly into
dense jungle. Out of that jungle Kane had fled like a hunted wolf with
pointed-toothed men hot on his trail. Even now a vagrant breeze
brought faintly the throb of a savage drum which whispered its obscene
tale of hate and blood-hunger and belly-lust across miles of jungle
and grassland.

The memory of his flight and narrow escape was vivid in Kane's mind,
for only the day before had he realized too late that he was in
cannibal country, and all that afternoon in the reeking stench of the
thick jungle, he had crept and run and hidden and doubled and twisted
on his track with the fierce hunters ever close behind him, until
night fell and he gained and crossed the grasslands under cover of
darkness.

Now in the late morning he had seen nothing, heard nothing of his
pursuers, yet he had no reason to believe that they had abandoned the
chase. They had been close on his heels when he took to the savannas.

So Kane surveyed the land in front of him. To the east, curving from
north to south ran a straggling range of hills, for the most part dry
and barren, rising in the south to a jagged black skyline that
reminded Kane of the black hills of Negari. Between him and these
hills stretched a broad expanse of gently rolling country, thickly
treed, but nowhere approaching the density of a jungle. Kane got the
impression of a vast upland plateau, bounded by the curving hills to
the east and by the savannas to the west.

Kane set out for the hills with his long, swinging, tireless stride.
Surely somewhere behind him the savage demons were stealing after him,
and he had no desire to be driven to bay. A shot might send them
flying in sudden terror, but on the other hand, so low they were in
the scale of humanity, it might transmit no supernatural fear to their
dull brains. And not even Solomon Kane, whom Sir Francis Drake had
called Devon's king of swords, could win in a pitched battle with a
whole tribe.

The silent village with its burden of death and mystery faded out
behind him. Utter silence reigned among these mysterious uplands where
no birds sang and only a silent macaw flitted among the great trees.
The only sounds were Kane's cat-like tread, and the whisper of the
drum-haunted breeze.

And then Kane caught a glimpse among the trees that made his heart
leap with a sudden, nameless horror, and a few moments later he stood
before Horror itself, stark and grisly. In a wide clearing, on a
rather bold incline stood a grim stake, and to this stake was bound a
thing that had once been a man. Kane had rowed, chained to the bench
of a Turkish galley, and he had toiled in Barbary vineyards; he had
battled red Indians in the New Lands and had languished in the dungeons
of Spain's Inquisition. He knew much of the fiendishness of man's
inhumanity, but now he shuddered and grew sick. Yet it was not so much
the ghastliness of the mutilations, horrible as they were, that shook
Kane's soul, but the knowledge that the wretch still lived.

For as he drew near, the gory head that lolled on the butchered breast
lifted and tossed from side to side, spattering blood from the stumps
of ears, while a bestial, rattling whimper drooled from the shredded
lips.

Kane spoke to the ghastly thing and it screamed unbearably, writhing
in incredible contortions, while its head jerked up and down with the
jerking of mangled nerves, and the empty, gaping eye-sockets seemed
striving to see from their emptiness. And moaning low and
brain-shatteringly it huddled its outraged self against the stake where it
was bound and lifted its head in a grisly attitude of listening, as if
it expected something out of the skies.

"Listen," said Kane, in the dialect of the river tribes. "Do not fear
me--I will not harm you and nothing else shall harm you any more. I am
going to loose you."

Even as he spoke Kane was bitterly aware of the emptiness of his
words. But his voice had filtered dimly into the crumbling, agony-shot
brain of the man before him. From between splintered teeth fell words,
faltering and uncertain, mixed and mingled with the slavering
droolings of imbecility. He spoke a language akin to the dialects Kane
had learned from friendly river folk on his wanderings, and Kane
gathered that he had been bound to the stake for a long time--many
moons, he whimpered in the delirium of approaching death; and all this
time, inhuman, evil things had worked their monstrous will upon him.
These things he mentioned by name, but Kane could make nothing of it
for he used an unfamiliar term that sounded like akaana. But these
things had not bound him to the stake, for the torn wretch slavered
the name of Goru, who was a priest and who had drawn a cord too tight
about his legs--and Kane wondered that the memory of this small pain
should linger through the red mazes of agony that the dying man should
whimper over it.

And to Kane's horror, the man spoke of his brother who had aided in
the binding of him, and he wept with infantile sobs. Moisture formed
in the empty sockets and made tears of blood. And he muttered of a
spear broken long ago in some dim hunt, and while he muttered in his
delirium, Kane gently cut his bonds and eased his broken body to the
grass. But even at the Englishman's careful touch, the poor wretch
writhed and howled like a dying dog, while blood started anew from a
score of ghastly gashes, which, Kane noted, were more like the wounds
made by fang and talon than by knife or spear. But at last it was done
and the bloody, torn thing lay on the soft grass with Kane's old
slouch hat beneath its death's-head, breathing in great, rattling
gasps.

Kane poured water from his canteen between the mangled lips, and
bending close, said: "Tell me more of these devils, for by the God of
my people, this deed shall not go unavenged, though Satan himself bar
my way."

It is doubtful if the dying man heard. But he heard something else.
The macaw, with the curiosity of its breed, swept from a near-by grove
and passed so close its great wings fanned Kane's hair. And at the
sound of those wings, the butchered man heaved upright and screamed in
a voice that haunted Kane's dreams to the day of his death: '"The
wings! the wings! They come again! Ahhh, mercy, the wings!"

And the blood burst in a torrent from his lips and so he died.

Kane rose and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. The upland
forest shimmered in the noonday heat. Silence lay over the land like
an enchantment of dreams. Kane's brooding eyes ranged to the black,
malevolent hills crouching in the distance and back to the far-away
savannas. An ancient curse lay over that mysterious land and the
shadow of it fell across the soul of Solomon Kane.

Tenderly he lifted the red ruin that had once pulsed with life and
youth and vitality, and carried it to the edge of the glade, where
arranging the cold limbs as best he might, and shuddering once again
at the unnameable mutilations, he piled stones above it till even a
prowling jackal would find it hard to get at the flesh below.

And he had scarcely finished when something jerked him back out of his
sombre broodings to a realization of his own position. A slight
sound--or his own wolf-like instinct--made him whirl.

On the other side of the glade he caught a movement among the tall
grasses--the glimpse of a hideous face, with an ivory ring in the flat
nose, thick lips parted to reveal teeth whose filed points were
apparent even at that distance, beady eyes and a low slanting forehead
topped by a mop of frizzly hair. Even as the face faded from view Kane
leaped back into the shelter of the ring of trees which circled the
glade, and ran like a deer-hound, flitting from tree to tree and
expecting at each moment to hear the exultant clamour of the warriors
and to see them break cover at his back.

But soon he decided that they were content to hunt him down as certain
beasts track their prey, slowly and inevitably. He hastened through
the up- land forest, taking advantage of every bit of cover, and he
saw no more of his pursuers; yet he knew, as a hunted wolf knows, that
they hovered close behind him, waiting their moment to strike him down
without risk to their own hides.

Kane smiled bleakly and without mirth. If it was to be a test of
endurance, he would see how savage thews compared with his own spring-
steel resilience. Let night come and he might yet give them the slip.
If not--Kane knew in his heart that the savage essence of his very
being which chafed at his flight, would make him soon turn at bay,
though his pursuers outnumbered him a hundred to one.

The sun sank westward. Kane was hungry, for he had not eaten since
early morning when he wolfed down the last of his dried meat. An
occasional spring had given him water, and once he thought he glimpsed
the roof of a large hut far away through the trees. But he gave it a
wide berth. It was hard to believe that this silent plateau was
inhabited, but if it were, the natives were doubtless as ferocious as
those hunting him.

Ahead of him the land grew rougher, with broken boulders and steep
slopes as he neared the lower reaches of the brooding hills. And still
no sight of his hunters except for faint glimpses caught by wary
backward glances--a drifting shadow, the bending of the grass, the
sudden straightening of a trodden twig, a rustle of leaves. Why should
they be so cautious? Why did they not close in and have it over?

Night fell and Kane reached the first long slopes which led upward to
the foot of the hills which now brooded black and menacing above him.
They were his goal, where he hoped to shake off his persistent foes at
last, yet a nameless aversion warned him away from them. They were
pregnant with hidden evil, repellent as the coil of a great sleeping
serpent, glimpsed in the tall grass.

Darkness fell heavily. The stars winked redly in the thick heat of the
tropic night. And Kane, halting for a moment in an unusually dense
grove, beyond which the trees thinned out on the slopes, heard a
stealthy movement that was not the night wind--for no breath of air
stirred the heavy leaves. And even as he turned, there was a rush in
the dark, under the trees.

A shadow that merged with the shadows flung itself on Kane with a
bestial mouthing and a rattle of iron, and the Englishman, parrying by
the gleam of the stars on the weapon, felt his assailant duck into
close quarters and meet him chest to chest. Lean wiry arms locked
about him, pointed teeth gnashed at him as Kane returned the fierce
grapple. His tattered shirt ripped beneath a jagged edge, and by blind
chance Kane found and pinioned the hand that held the iron knife, and
drew his own dirk, flesh crawling in anticipation of a spear in the
back.

But even as the Englishman wondered why the others did not come to
their comrade's aid, he threw all of his iron muscles into the single
combat. Close-clinched they swayed and writhed in the darkness, each
striving to drive his blade into the other's flesh, and as the
superior strength of the Puritan began to assert itself, the cannibal
howled like a rabid dog, tore and bit.

A convulsive spin-wheel of effort pivoted them out into the starlit
glade where Kane saw the ivory nose-ring and the pointed teeth that
snapped beast-like at his throat. And simultaneously he forced back
and down the hand that gripped his knife-wrist, and drove the dirk
deep into the savage wrists. The warrior screamed, and the raw acrid
scent of blood flooded the night air. And in that instant Kane was
stunned by a sudden savage rush and beat of mighty wings that dashed
him to earth, and the cannibal was torn from his grip and vanished
with a scream of mortal agony. Kane leaped to his feet, shaken to his
foundation. The dwindling scream of the wretched savage sounded
faintly and from above him.

Straining his eyes into the skies he thought he caught a glimpse of a
shapeless and horrific Thing crossing the dim stars--in which the
writhing limbs of a human mingled namelessly with great wings and a
shadowy shape--but so quickly it was gone, he could not be sure.

And now he wondered if it were not all a nightmare. But groping in the
grove he found the ju-ju stave with which he had parried the short
stabbing spear that lay beside it. And here, if more proof was needed,
was his long dirk, still stained with blood.

Wings! Wings in the night! The skeleton in the village of torn roofs--
the mutilated warrior whose wounds were not made with knife or spear
and who died shrieking of wings. Surely those hills were the haunt of
gigantic birds who made humanity their prey. Yet if birds, why had
they not wholly devoured the torn man on the stake? And Kane knew in
his heart that no true bird ever cast such a shadow as he had seen
flit across the stars.

He shrugged his shoulders, bewildered. The night was silent. Where
were the rest of the cannibals who had followed him from their distant
jungle? Had the fate of their comrade frightened them into flight?
Kane looked to his pistols. Cannibals or no, he went not up into those
dark hills that night.

Now he must sleep, if all the devils of the Elder World were on his
track. A deep roaring to the westward warned him that beasts of prey
were aroam, and he walked rapidly down the rolling slopes until he
came to a dense grove some distance from that in which he had fought
the cannibal. He climbed high among the great branches until he found
a thick crotch that would accommodate even his tall frame. The
branches above would guard him from a sudden swoop of any winged
thing, and if savages were lurking near, their clamber into the tree
would warn him, for he slept lightly as a cat. As for serpents and
leopards, they were chances he had taken a thousand times.

Solomon Kane slept and his dreams were vague, chaotic, haunted with a
suggestion of pre-human evil and which at last merged into a vision
vivid as a scene in waking life. Solomon dreamed he woke with a start,
drawing a pistol--for so long had his life been that of the wolf, that
reaching for a weapon was his natural reaction upon waking suddenly.

His dream was that a strange, shadowy thing had perched upon a great
branch close by and gazed at him with greedy, luminous yellow eyes
that seared into his brain. The dream-thing was tall and lean and
strangely misshapen, so blended with the shadows that it seemed a
shadow itself, tangible only in the narrow yellow eyes. And Kane
dreamed he waited, spellbound, while uncertainty came into those eyes
and then the creature walked out on the limb as a man would walk,
raised great shadowy wings, sprang into space and vanished.

Kane jerked upright, the mists of sleep fading. In the dim starlight,
under the arching Gothic-like branches, the tree was empty save for
himself. Then it had been a dream, after all--yet it had been so
vivid, so fraught with inhuman foulness--even now a faint scent like
that exuded by birds of prey seemed to linger in the air. Kane
strained his ears. He heard the sighing of the night wind, the whisper
of the leaves, the far-away roaring of a lion, but naught else. Again
Solomon slept--while high above him a shadow wheeled against the
stars, circling again and again as a vulture circles a dying wolf.



Chapter II. The Battle in the Sky

Dawn was spreading whitely over the eastern hills when Kane woke. The
thought of his nightmare came to him and he wondered again at its
vividness as he climbed down out of the tree. A nearby spring slaked
his thirst and some fruit, rare in these highlands, eased his hunger.

Then he turned his face again to the hills. A fiendish fighter was
Solomon Kane. Along that grim skyline dwelt some evil foe to the sons
of men, and that mere fact was as much a challenge to the Puritan as
had ever been a glove thrown in his face by some hot-headed gallant of
Devon.

Refreshed by his night's sleep, he set out with his long easy stride,
passing the grove that had witnessed the battle in the night, and
coming into the region where the trees thinned at the foot of the
slopes. Up these slopes he went, halting for a moment to gaze back
over the way he had come. Now that he was above the plateau, he could
easily make out a village in the distance--a cluster of mud-and-bamboo
huts with one unusually large hut a short distance from the rest on a
sort of low knoll.

And while he gazed, with a sudden rush of grisly wings the terror was
upon him! Kane whirled, galvanized. All signs had pointed to the
theory of a winged thing that hunted by night. He had not expected
attack in broad daylight--but here a bat-like monster was swooping at
him out of the very eye of the rising sun. Kane saw a spread of mighty
wings, from which glared a horribly human face; then he drew and fired
with unerring aim and the monster veered wildly in midair and came
whirling and tumbling out of the sky to crash at his feet.

Kane leaned forward, pistol smoking in his hand, and gazed wide-eyed.
Surely this thing was a demon out of the pits of hell, said the sombre
mind of the Puritan; yet a leaden ball had slain it. Kane shrugged his
shoulders, baffled; he had never seen aught to approach this, though
all his life had fallen in strange ways.

The thing was like a man, inhumanly tall and inhumanly thin; the head
was long, narrow, and hairless--the head of a predatory creature. The
ears were small, close-set and queerly pointed. The eyes, set in
death, were narrow, oblique and of a strange yellowish colour. The
nose was thin and hooked, like the beak of a bird of prey, the mouth a
wide cruel gash, whose thin lips, writhed in a death snarl and flecked
with foam, disclosed wolfish fangs.

The creature, which was naked and hairless, was not unlike a human
being in other ways. The shoulders were broad and powerful, the neck
long and lean. The arms were long and muscular, the thumb being set
beside the fingers after the manner of the great apes. Fingers and
thumbs were armed with heavy hooked talons. The chest was curiously
misshapen, the breast-bone jutting out like the keel of a ship, the
ribs curving back from it. The legs were long and wiry with huge,
hand-like, prehensile feet, the great toe set opposite the rest like a
man's thumb. The claws on the toes were merely long nails.

But the most curious feature of this curious creature was on its back.
A pair of great wings, shaped much like the wings of a moth but with a
bony frame and of leathery substance, grew from its shoulders,
beginning at a point just back and above where the arms joined the
shoulders, and extending half way to the narrow hips. These wings,
Kane reckoned, would measure some eighteen feet from tip to tip.

He laid hold on the creature, involuntarily shuddering at the slick,
hard leather-like feel of the skin, and half-lifted it. The weight was
little more than half as much as it would have been in a man the same
height--some six and a half feet. Evidently the bones were of a
peculiar bird-like structure and the flesh consisted almost entirely
of stringy muscles.

Kane stepped back, surveying the thing again. Then his dream had been
no dream after all--that foul thing or another like it had in grisly
reality lighted in the tree beside him--a whir of mighty wings! A
sudden rush through the sky! Even as Kane whirled he realized he had
committed the jungle-farer's unpardonable crime--he had allowed his
astonishment and curiosity to throw him off guard. Already a winged
fiend was at his throat and there was no time to draw and fire his
other pistol. Kane saw, in a maze of thrashing wings, a devilish,
semi-human face--he felt those wings battering at him--he felt cruel
talons sink deep into his breast; then he was dragged off his feet and
felt empty space beneath him.

The winged man had wrapped his limbs about the Englishman's legs, and
the talons he had driven into Kane's breast muscles held like fanged
vices. The wolf-like fangs drove at Kane's throat, but the Puritan
gripped the bony throat and thrust back the grisly head, while with
his right hand he strove to draw his dirk. The birdman was mounting
slowly and a fleeting glance showed Kane that they were already high
above the trees. The Englishman did not hope to survive this battle in
the sky, for even if he slew his foe, he would be dashed to death in
the fall. But with the innate ferocity of the fighting man he set
himself grimly to take his captor with him.

Holding those keen fangs at bay, Kane managed to draw his dirk, and
he plunged it deep into the body of the monster. The bat-man veered
wildly and a rasping, raucous screech burst from his half-throttled
throat. He floundered wildly, beating frantically with his great
wings, bowing his back and twisting his head fiercely in a vain effort
to free it and sink home his deadly fangs. He sank the talons of one
hand agonizingly deeper and deeper into Kane's breast muscles, while
with the other he tore at his foe's head and body. But the Englishman,
gashed and bleeding, with the silent and tenacious savagery of a
bulldog, sank his fingers deeper into the lean neck and drove his dirk
home again and again, while far below awed eyes watched the fiendish
battle that was raging at that dizzy height.

They had drifted out over the plateau, and the fast-weakening wings of
the bat-man barely supported their weight. They were sinking
earthward swiftly, but Kane, blinded with blood and battle fury, knew
nothing of this. With a great piece of his scalp hanging loose, his
chest and shoulders cut and ripped, the world had become a blind, red
thing in which he was aware of but one sensation--the bulldog urge to
kill his foe.

Now the feeble and spasmodic beating of the dying monster's wings held
them hovering for an instant above a thick grove of gigantic trees,
while Kane felt the grip of claws and twining limbs grow weaker and
the slashing of the talons become a futile flailing.

With a last burst of power he drove the reddened dirk straight through
the breastbone and felt a convulsive tremor run through the creature's
frame. The great wings fell limp--and victor and vanquished dropped
headlong and plummeted earthward.

Through a red wave Kane saw the waving branches rushing up to meet
them--he felt them flail his face and tear at his clothing, as still
locked in that death-clinch he rushed downward through leaves which
eluded his vainly grasping hand; then his head crashed against a great
limb, and an endless abyss of blackness engulfed him.



Chapter III. The People in the Shadow

Through colossal, black basaltic corridors of night, Solomon Kane fled
for a thousand years. Gigantic winged demons, horrific in the utter
darkness, swept over him with a rush of great bat-like pinions and in
the blackness he fought with them as a cornered rat fights a vampire
bat, while fleshless jaws drooled fearful blasphemies and horrid
secrets in his ears, and the skulls of men rolled under his groping
feet.

Solomon Kane came back suddenly from the land of delirium and his
first sight of sanity was that of a fat, kindly native face bending
over him. Kane saw he was in a roomy, clean and well-ventilated hut,
while from a cooking pot bubbling outside wafted savoury scents. Kane
realized he was ravenously hungry. And he was strangely weak. The hand
he lifted to his bandaged head shook, and its bronze was dimmed.

"The fat man and another, a tall, gaunt, grim-faced warrior, bent over
him, and the fat man said: "He is awake, Kuroba, and of sound mind."
The gaunt man nodded and called something which was answered from
without.

"What is this place?" asked Kane in a language he had learned that was
similar to the dialect just used. "How long have I lain here?"

"This is the last village of Bogonda."  The fat man pressed him back
with hands as gentle as a woman's. "We found you lying beneath the
trees on the slopes, badly wounded and senseless. You have raved in
delirium for many days. Now eat."

A lithe young warrior entered with a wooden bowl full of steaming food
and Kane ate ravenously. "He is like a leopard, Kuroba," said the fat
man admiringly. "Not one in a thousand would have lived with his
wounds."

"Aye," returned the other. "And he slew the akaana that rent him,
Goru."

Kane struggled to his elbows. "Goru?" he cried fiercely. "The priest
who binds men to stakes for devils to eat?"

And he strove to rise so that he could strangle the fat man, but his
weakness swept over him like a wave, the hut swam dizzily to his eyes
and he sank back panting, where he soon fell into a sound, natural
sleep.

Later he awoke and found a slim young girl, named Nayela, watching
him. She fed him, and feeling much stronger, Kane asked questions
which she answered shyly but intelligently.

This was Bogonda, ruled by Kuroba the chief and Goru the priest. None
in Bogonda had ever seen or heard of a white man before. She counted
the days Kane had lain helpless, and he was amazed. But such a battle
as he had been through was enough to kill an ordinary man. He wondered
that no bones had been broken, but the girl said the branches had
broken his fall and he had landed on the body of the akaana. He asked
for Goru, and the fat priest came to him, bringing Kane's weapons.

"Some we found with you where you lay."  said Goru, "some by the body
of the akaana you slew with the weapon which speaks in fire and smoke.
You must be a god--yet the gods bleed not and you have just all but
died. Who are you?"

"I am no god," Kane answered, "but a man like yourself. I come from a
far land amid the sea, which land, mind ye, is the fairest and noblest
of all lands. My name is Solomon Kane and I am a landless wanderer.
From the lips of a dying man I first heard your name. Yet your face
seemeth kindly."

A shadow crossed the eyes of the shaman and he hung his head.

"Rest and grow strong, oh man, or god or whatever you be," said he,
"and in time you will learn of the ancient curse that rests upon this
ancient land."

And in the days that followed, while Kane recovered and grew strong
with the wild beast vitality that was his, Goru and Kuroba sat and
spoke to him at length, telling him many curious things.

Their tribe was not aboriginal here, but had come upon the plateau a
hundred and fifty years before, giving it the name of their former
home. They had once been a powerful tribe in Old Bogonda, on a great
river far to the south. But tribal wars broke their power, and at last
before a concerted uprising, the whole tribe gave way, and Goru
repeated legends of that great flight of a thousand miles through
jungle and swampland, harried at every step by cruel foes.

At last, hacking their way through a country of ferocious cannibals,
they found themselves safe from man's attack--but prisoners in a trap
from which neither they nor their descendants could ever escape. They
were in the horror-country of Akaana, and Goru said his ancestors came
to understand the jeering laughter of the man eaters who had hounded
them to the very borders of the plateau.

The Bogondi found a fertile country with good water and plenty of
game. There were numbers of goats and a species of wild pig that
throve here in great abundance. At first the people ate these pigs,
but later they spared them for a good reason. The grasslands between
plateau and jungle swarmed with antelopes, buffaloes and the like, and
there were many lions. Lions also roamed the plateau, but Bogonda
meant "Lion-slayer" in their tongue and it was not many moons before
the remnants of the great cats took to the lower levels. But it was
not lions they had to fear, as Goru's ancestors soon learned.

Finding that the cannibals would not come past the savannas, they
rested from their long trek and built two villages--Upper and Lower
Bogonda. Kane was in Upper Bogonda; he had seen the ruins of the lower
village. But soon they found that they had strayed into a country of
nightmares with dripping fangs and talons. They heard the beat of
mighty wings at night, and saw horrific shadows cross the stars and
loom against the moon. Children began to disappear and at last a young
hunter strayed off into the hills, where night overtook him. And in
the grey light of dawn a mangled, half-devoured corpse fell from the
skies into the village street and a whisper of ogreish laughter from
high above froze the horrified onlookers. Then a little later the
full horror of their position burst upon the Bogondi.

At first the winged men were afraid of the newcomers. They hid
themselves and ventured from their caverns only at night. Then they
grew bolder. In the full daylight, a warrior shot one with an arrow,
but the fiends had learned they could slay a human, and its death
scream brought a score of the devils dropping from the skies, who tore
the slayer to pieces In full sight of the tribe.

The Bogondi then prepared to leave that devil's country and a hundred
warriors went up into the hills to find a pass. They found steep
walls, up which a man must climb laboriously, and they found the
cliffs honeycombed with caves where the winged men dwelt.

Then was fought the first pitched battle between men and bat-men, and
it resulted in a crushing victory for the monsters. The bows and
spears of the natives proved futile before the swoops of the taloned
fiends, and of all that hundred that went up into the hills, not one
survived; for the akaanas hunted down those that fled and dragged down
the last one within bowshot of the upper village.

Then it was that the Bogondi, seeing they could not hope to win
through the hills, sought to fight their way out again the way they
had come. But a great horde of cannibals met them in the grasslands,
and in a great battle that lasted nearly all day, hurled them back,
broken and defeated. And Goru said while the battle raged, the skies
were thronged with hideous shapes, circling above and laughing their
fearful mirth to see men die wholesale.

So the survivors of those two battles, licking their wounds, bowed to
the inevitable with the fatalistic philosophy of the savage. Some
fifteen hundred men, women and children remained, and they built their
huts, tilled the soil and lived stolidly in the shadow of the
nightmare.

In those days there were many of the bird-people, and they might have
wiped out the Bogondi utterly, had they wished. No one warrior could
cope with an akaana, for he was stronger than a human, he struck as a
hawk strikes, and if he missed, his wings carried him out of reach of
a counterblow.

Here Kane interrupted to ask why the Bogondi did not make war on the
demons with arrows. But Goru answered that it took a quick and
accurate archer to strike an akaana in midair at all, and so tough
were their hides that unless the arrow struck squarely it would not
penetrate. Kane knew that the natives were very indifferent bowmen and
that they pointed their shafts with chipped stone, bone, or hammered
iron almost as soft as copper; he thought of Poitiers and Agincourt
and wished grimly for a file of stout English archers--or a rank of
musketeers.

But Goru said the akaanas did not seem to wish to destroy the Bogondi
utterly. Their chief food consisted of the little pigs which then
swarmed the plateau, and young goats. Sometimes they went out on the
savannas for antelope, but they distrusted the open country and feared
the lions. Nor did they haunt the jungles beyond, for the trees grew
too close for the spread of their wings. They kept to the hills and
the plateau--and what lay beyond those hills none in Bogonda knew.

The akaanas allowed the Bogondi to inhabit the plateau much as men
allow wild animals to thrive, or stock lakes with fish--for their own
pleasure. The bat-people, said Goru, had a strange and grisly sense of
humour which was tickled by the sufferings of a howling human. Those
grim hills had echoed to cries that turned men's hearts to ice.

But for many years, Goru said, once the Bogondi learned not to resist
their masters, the akaanas were content to snatch up a baby from time
to time, or devour a young girl strayed from the village or a youth
whom night caught outside the walls. The bat-folk distrusted the
village; they circled high above it but did not venture within. There
the Bogondi were safe until late years.

Goru said that the akaanas were fast dying out; once there had been
hope that the remnants of his race would outlast them--in which event,
he said fatalistically, the cannibals would undoubtedly come up from
the jungle and put the survivors in their cooking pots. Now he doubted
if there were more than a hundred and fifty akaanas altogether. Kane
asked him why did not the warriors then sally forth on a great hunt
and destroy the devils utterly, and Goru smiled a bitter smile and
repeated his remarks about the prowess of the bat-people in battle.
Moreover, said he, the whole tribe of Bogonda numbered only about four
hundred souls now, and the bat-people were their only protection
against the cannibals to the west.

Goru said the tribe had thinned more in the past thirty years than in
all the years previous. As the numbers of the akaanas dwindled, their
hellish savagery increased. They seized more and more of the Bogondi
to torture and devour in their grim black caves high up in the hills,
and Goru spoke of sudden raids on hunting parties and toilers in the
plantain fields, and of the nights made ghastly by horrible screams
and gibberings from the dark hills, and blood-freezing laughter that
was half-human; of dismembered limbs and gory grinning heads flung
from the skies to fall in the shuddering village, and of grisly feasts
among the stars.

Then came drouth, Goru said, and a great famine. Many of the springs
dried up and the crops of rice and yams and plantains failed. The
gnus, deer, and buffaloes which had formed the main part of Bogonda's
meat diet withdrew to the jungle in quest of water, and the lions,
their hunger overcoming their fear of man, ranged into the uplands.
Many of the tribe died, and the rest were driven by hunger to eat the
pigs which were the natural prey of the bat-people. This angered the
akaanas and thinned the pigs. Famine, Bogondi, and the lions destroyed
all the goats and half the pigs.

At last the famine was past, but the damage was done. Of all the great
droves which once swarmed the plateau, only a remnant was left, and
these were hard to catch. The Bogondi had eaten the pigs, so the
akaanas ate the Bogondi. Life became a hell for the humans, and the
lower village, numbering now only some hundred and fifty souls, rose
in revolt. Driven to frenzy by repeated outrages, they turned on their
masters. An akaana lighting in the very streets to steal a child was
set on and shot to death with arrows. And the people of Lower Bogonda
drew into their huts and waited for their doom.

And in the night, said Goru, it came. The akaanas had overcome their
distrust of the huts. The full flock of them swarmed down from the
hills, and Upper Bogonda awoke to hear the fearful cataclysm of
screams and blasphemies that marked the end of the other village. All
night Goru's people had lain sweating in terror, not daring to move,
harkening to the howling and gibbering that rent the night. At last
these sounds ceased, Goru said, wiping the cold sweat from his brow,
but sounds of grisly and obscene feasting still haunted the night with
demon's mockery. In the early dawn Goru's people saw the hell-flock
winging back to their hills, like demons flying back to hell through
the dawn. They flew slowly and heavily, like gorged vultures. Later
the people dared to steal down to the accursed village, and what they
found there sent them shrieking away. And to that day, Goru said, no
man passed within three bowshots of that silent horror. And Kane
nodded in understanding, his cold eyes more sombre than ever.

For many days after that, Goru said the people waited in quaking fear.
Finally in desperation of fear, which breeds unspeakable cruelty, the
tribe cast lots and the loser was bound to a stake between the two
villages, in hopes that the akaanas would recognize this as a token of
submission so that the people of Bogonda might escape the fate of
their kinsmen. The custom, said Goru, had been borrowed from the
cannibals who in old times worshipped the akaanas and offered a human
sacrifice at each moon. But chance had shown them that the akaanas
could be killed, so they ceased to worship them--at least that was
Goru's deduction, and he explained at much length that no mortal thing
is worthy of real adoration, however evil or powerful it may be.

His own ancestors had made occasional sacrifices to placate the
winged devils, but until lately it had not been a regular custom. Now
It was necessary; the akaanas expected it, and each moon they chose
from their waning numbers a strong young man or a girl whom they bound
to the stake.

Kane watched Goru's face closely as he spoke of his sorrow for this
unspeakable necessity, and the Englishman realized that the priest was
sincere. Kane shuddered at the thought of a tribe of human beings
thus passing slowly but surely into the maws of a race of monsters.

Kane spoke of the wretch he had seen, and Goru nodded, pain in his
soft eyes. For a day and a night he had been hanging there, while the
akaanas glutted their vile torture-lust on his quivering, agonized
flesh. Thus far the sacrifices had kept doom from the village. The
remaining pigs furnished sustenance for the dwindling akaanas,
together with an occasional baby snatched up, and they were content to
have their nameless sport with the single victim each moon.

A thought came to Kane. "The cannibals never come up into the plateau?"
Goru shook his head; safe in their jungle, they never raided past the
savannas.

"But they hunted me to the very foot of the hills."

Again Goru shook his head. There was only one cannibal; they had found
his footprints. Evidently a single warrior, bolder than the rest, had
allowed his passion for the chase to overcome his fear of the grisly
plateau and had paid the penalty. Kane's teeth came together with a
vicious snap which ordinarily took the place of profanity with him. He
was stung by the thought of fleeing so long from a single enemy. No
wonder that enemy had followed so cautiously, waiting until dark to
attack. But, asked Kane, why had the akaana seized the cannibal
instead of himself--and why had he not been attacked by the bat-man
who alighted in his tree that night?

The cannibal was bleeding, Goru answered. The scent called the bat-
fiend to attack, for they scented raw blood as far as vultures. And
they were very wary. They had never seen a man like Kane, who showed
no fear. Surely they had decided to spy on him, take him off guard
before they struck.

Who were these creatures? Kane asked. Goru shrugged his shoulders.
They were there when his ancestors came, who had never heard of them
before they saw them. There was no intercourse with the cannibals, so
they could learn nothing from them. The akaanas lived in caves, naked
like beasts; they knew nothing of fire and ate only fresh, raw meat.
But they, had a language of a sort and acknowledged a king among them.
Many died in the great famine when the stronger ate the weaker. They
were vanishing swiftly; of late years no females or young had been
observed among them. When these males died at last, there would be no
more akaanas; but Bogonda, observed Goru, was doomed already, unless
--he looked strangely and wistfully at Kane. But the Puritan was deep
in thought.

Among the swarm of native legends he had heard on his wanderings, one
now stood out. Long, long ago, an old, old ju-ju man had told him,
winged devils came flying out of the north and passed over his
country, vanishing in the maze of the jungle-haunted south. And the
ju-ju man related an old, old legend concerning these creatures--that
once they had abode in myriad numbers far on a great lake of bitter
water many moons to the north, and ages and ages ago a chieftain and
his warriors fought them with bows and arrows and slew many, driving
the rest into the south. The name of the chief was N'Yasunna and he
owned a great war canoe with many oars driving it swiftly through the
bitter water.

And now a cold wind blew suddenly on Solomon Kane, as if from a door
opened suddenly on Outer gulfs of Time and Space. For now he realized
the truth of that garbled myth, and the truth of an older, grimmer
legend. For what was the great bitter lake but the Mediterranean Ocean
and who was the chief N'Yasunna but the hero Jason, who conquered the
harpies and drove them--not alone into the Strophades Isles but into
Africa as well?

The old pagan tale was true then, Kane thought dizzily, shrinking
aghast from the strange realm of grisly possibilities this opened up.
For if this myth of the harpies were a reality, what of the other
legends--the Hydra, the centaurs, the chimera. Medusa, Pan, and the
satyrs?

All those myths of antiquity--behind them did there lie and lurk
nightmare realities with slavering fangs and talons steeped in
shuddersome evil? Africa, the Dark Continent, land of shadows and
horror, of bewitchment and sorcery, into which all evil things had
been banished before the growing light of the western world!

Kane came out of his reveries with a start. Goru was tugging gently
and timidly at his sleeve.

"Save us from the akaanas!" said Goru. "If you be not a god, there is
the power of a god, in you! You bear in your hand the mighty ju-ju
stave which has in times gone by been the sceptre of fallen empires
and the staff of mighty priests. And you have weapons which speak
death in fire and smoke for our young men watched and saw you slay
two akaanas. We will make you king--god--what you will! More than a
moon has passed since you came into Bogonda and the time for the
sacrifice is gone by, but the bloody stake stands bare. The akaanas
shun the village where you lie; they steal no more babes from us. We
have thrown off their yoke because our trust is in you!"

Kane clasped his temples with his hands. "You know not what you ask!"
he cried. "God knoweth it is in my deepest heart to rid the land of
this evil, but I am no god. With my pistols I can slay a few of the
fiends, but I have but a little powder left. Had I great store of
powder and ball, and the musket I shattered in the vampire-haunted
Hills of the Dead, then indeed would there be a rare hunting. But even
if I slew all those fiends, what of the cannibals?"

"They too will fear you!" cried old Kuroba, while the girl Nayela and
the lad, Loga, who was to have been the next sacrifice, gazed at his
wife their souls in their eyes. Kane dropped his chin on his fist and
sighed.

"Yet will I stay here in Bogonda all the rest of my life if ye think I
be protection to the people."

So Solomon Kane stayed at the village of Bogonda of the Shadow. The
people were a kindly folk, whose natural sprightliness and fun-loving
spirits were subdued and saddened by long dwelling in the Shadow.
But now they had taken new heart by the Englishman's coming, and it
wrenched Kane's heart to note the pathetic trust they placed in him.
Now they sang in the plantain fields and danced about the fire, and
gazed at him with adoring faith in their eyes. But Kane, cursing his
own helplessness, knew how futile would be his fancied protection if
the winged fiends swept suddenly out of the skies.

But he stayed in Bogonda. In his dreams the gulls wheeled above the
cliffs of old Devon carved in the clean, blue, wind-whipped skies, and
in the day the call of the unknown lands beyond Bogonda clawed at his
heart with fierce yearning. But he abode in Bogonda and racked his
brains for a plan. He sat and gazed for hours at the ju-ju stave,
hoping in desperation that black magic would aid him, where his mind
failed. But N'Longa's ancient gift gave him no aid. Once he had
summoned the Slave Coast shaman to him across leagues of intervening
space--but it was only when confronted with supernatural
manifestations that N'Longa could come to him, and these harpies were
not supernatural.

The germ of an idea began to grow at the back of Kane's mind, but he
discarded it. It had to do with a great trap--and how could the
akaanas be trapped? The roaring of lions played a grim accompaniment
to his brooding meditations. As man dwindled on the plateau, the
hunting beasts who feared only the spears of the hunters were
beginning to gather. Kane laughed bitterly. It was not lions, that
might be hunted down and slain singly, that he had to deal with.

At some little distance from the village stood the great hut of Goru,
once a council hall. This hut was full of many strange fetishes, which
Goru said with a helpless wave of his fat hands, were strong magic
against evil spirits but scant protection against winged hellions of
gristle and bone and flesh.



Chapter IV. The Madness of Solomon

Kane woke suddenly from a dreamless sleep. A hideous medley of screams
burst horrific in his ears. Outside his hut, people were dying in the
night, horribly, as cattle die in the shambles. He had slept, as
always, with his weapons buckled on him. Now he bounded to the door,
and something fell mouthing and slavering at his feet to grasp his
knees in a convulsive grin and gibber incoherent pleas.

In the faint light of a smouldering fire near by, Kane in horror
recognized the face of the youth Loga, now frightfully torn and
drenched in blood, already freezing into a death mask. The night was
full of fearful sounds, inhuman howling mingled with the whisper of
mighty wings, the tearing of thatch and a ghastly demon-laughter. Kane
freed himself from the locked dead arms and sprang to the dying fire.
He could make out only a confused and vague maze of fleeing forms and
darting shapes, the shift and blur of dark wings against the stars.

He snatched up a brand and thrust it against the thatch of his hut--
and as the flame leaped up and showed him the scene he stood frozen
and aghast. Red, howling doom had fallen on Bogonda. Winged monsters
raced screaming through her streets, wheeled above the heads of the
fleeing people, or tore apart the hut thatches to get at the gibbering
victims within.

With a choked cry the Englishman woke from his trance of horror, drew
and fired at a darting flame-eyed shadow which fell at his feet with a
shattered skull. And Kane gave tongue to one deep, fierce roar and
bounded into the melee, all the berserk fury of his heathen Saxon
ancestors bursting into terrible being.

Dazed and bewildered by the sudden attack, cowed by long years of
submission, the Bogondi were incapable of combined resistance and for
the most part died like sheep. Some, maddened by desperation, fought
back, but their arrows went wild or glanced from the tough wings while
the devilish agility of the creatures made spear thrust and axe stroke
uncertain. Leaping from the ground they avoided the blows of their
victims and, sweeping down upon their shoulders, dashed them to earth
where fang and talon did their crimson work.

Kane saw old Kuroba, gaunt and bloodstained, at bay against a hut wall
with his foot on the neck of a monster who had not been quick enough.
The grim-faced old chief wielded a two-handed axe in great sweeping
blows that for the moment held back the screeching onset of half a
dozen of the devils. Kane was leaping to his aid when a low, pitiful
whimper checked him. The girl Nayela writhed weakly, prone in the
bloody dust, while on her back a vulture-like thing crouched and tore.
Her dulling eyes sought the face of the Englishman in anguished
appeal.

Kane ripped out a bitter oath and fired point blank. The winged devil
pitched backward with an abhorrent screeching and a wild flutter of
dying wings, and Kane bent to the dying girl. She whimpered and kissed
his hands with uncertain lips as he cradled her head in his arms. Her
eyes set.

Kane laid the body gently down, looking for Kuroba. He saw only a
huddled cluster of grisly shapes that sucked and tore at something
between them. And Kane went mad. With a scream that cut through the
inferno he bounded up, slaying even as he rose. Even in the act of
lunging up from bent knee he drew and thrust, transfixing a vulture-
like throat. Then whipping out his rapier as the thing floundered and
twitched in its death struggle, the raging Puritan charged forward
seeking new victims.

On all sides of him the people of Bogonda were dying hideously. They
fought futilely or they fled and the demons coursed them down as a
hawk courses a hare. They ran into the huts and the fiends rent the
thatch or burst the door, and what took place in those huts was
mercifully hidden from Kane's eyes.

And to the frantic Puritan's horror-distorted brain it seemed that he
alone was responsible. The Bogondi had trusted him to save them. They
had withheld the sacrifice and defied their grim masters. Now they
were paying the horrible penalty and he was unable to save them. In
the agony-dimmed eyes turned toward him, Kane quaffed the black dregs
of the bitter cup. It was not anger or the vindictiveness of fear. It
was hurt and a stunned reproach. He was their god and he had failed
them.

Now he ravened through the massacre and the fiends avoided him,
turning to the easy victims. But Kane was not to be denied. In a red
haze that was not of the burning hut, he saw a culminating horror; a
harpy gripped a writhing naked thing that had been a woman, and the
wolfish fangs gorged deep. As Kane sprang, thrusting, the bat-man
dropped his yammering, moving prey and soared aloft. But Kane dropped
his rapier and with the bound of a blood-mad panther caught the
demon's throat and locked his iron legs about its lower body.

Once again he found himself battling in mid-air, but this time close
above the hut roofs. Terror had entered the cold brain of the harpy.
He did not fight to hold and slay; he wished only to be rid of this
silent, clinging thing that stabbed so savagely for his life. He
floundered wildly, screaming abhorrently and thrashing with his wings,
then as Kane's dirk bit deeper, dipped suddenly sidewise and fell
headlong.

The thatch of a hut broke their fall, and Kane and the dying harpy
crashed through to land on a writhing mass on the hut floor. In the
lurid flickering of the burning hut outside that vaguely lighted the
hut into which he had fallen, Kane saw a deed of brain-shaking horror
being enacted--red-dripping fangs in a yawning gash of a mouth, and
a crimson travesty of a human form that still writhed with agonized
life. Then, in the maze of madness that held him, his steel fingers
closed on the fiend's throat in a grip that no tearing of talons or
hammering of wings could loosen, until he felt the horrid life flow
out from under his fingers and the bony neck hung broken.

Outside, the red madness of slaughter continued. Kane bounded up, his
hand closing blindly on the haft of some weapon, and as he leaped from
the hut a harpy soared from under his very feet. It was an axe that
Kane had snatched up, and he dealt a stroke that spattered the demon's
brains like water. He sprang forward, stumbling over bodies and parts
of bodies, blood streaming from a dozen wounds, and then halted
baffled and screaming with rage.

The bat-people were taking to the air. No longer would they face this
strange madman who in his insanity was more terrible than they. But
they went not alone into the upper regions. In their lustful talons
they bore writhing, screaming forms, and Kane, raging to and fro with
his dripping axe, found himself alone in a corpse-choked village.

He threw back his head to shriek his hate at the fiends above him and
he felt warm, thick drops fall into his face, while the shadowy skies
were filled with screams of agony and the laughter of monsters.

As the sounds of that ghastly feast in the skies filled the night and
the blood that rained from the stars fell into his face, Kane's last
vestige of reason snapped. He gibbered to and fro, screaming chaotic
blasphemies.

And was he not a symbol of Man, staggering among the tooth-marked
bones and severed grinning heads of humans, brandishing a futile axe,
and screaming incoherent hate at the grisly, winged shapes of Night
that make him their prey, chuckling in demoniac triumph above him
and dripping into his mad eyes the pitiful blood of their human
victims?



Chapter V. The Conqueror

A shuddering, white-faced dawn crept over the black hills to shiver
above the red shambles that had been the village of Bogonda. The huts
stood intact, except for the one which had sunk to smouldering coals,
but the thatches of many were torn. Dismembered bones, half or wholly
stripped of flesh, lay in the streets, and some were splintered as
though they had been dropped from a great height.

It was a realm of the dead where was but one sign of life. Solomon
Kane leaned on his blood-clotted axe and gazed upon the scene with
dull, mad eyes. He was grimed and clotted with half-dried blood from
long gashes on chest, face, and shoulders, but he paid no need to his
hurts.

The people of Bogonda had not died alone. Seventeen harpies lay among
the bones. Six of these Kane had slain. The rest had fallen before the
frantic dying desperation of the Bogondi. But it was poor toll to take
in return. Of the four hundred odd people of Upper Bogonda, not one
had lived to see the dawn. And the harpies were gone--back to their
caves in the black hills, gorged to repletion.

With slow, mechanical steps Kane went about gathering up his weapons.
He found his sword, dirk, pistols, and the ju-ju stave. He left the
main village and went up the slope to the great hut of Goru. And there
he halted, stung by a new horror. The ghastly humor of the harpies had
prompted a delicious jest. Above the hut door stared the severed head
of Goru. The fat cheeks were shrunken, the lips lolled in an aspect of
horrified idiocy, and the eyes stared like a hurt child. And in those
dead eyes Kane saw wonder and reproach.

Kane looked at the shambles that had been Bogonda, and he looked at
the death mask of Goru. And he lifted his clenched fists above his
head, and with glaring eyes raised and writhing lips flecked with
froth, he cursed the sky and the earth and the spheres above and
below. He cursed the cold stars, the blazing sun, the mocking moon,
and the whisper of the wind. He cursed all fates and destinies, all
that he had loved or hated, the silent cities beneath the seas, the
past ages and the future eons. In one soul-shaking burst of blasphemy
he cursed the gods and devils who make mankind their sport, and he
cursed Man who lives blindly on and blindly offers his back to the
iron-hoofed feet of his gods.

Then as breath failed he halted, panting. From the lower reaches
sounded the deep roaring of a lion and into the eyes of Solomon Kane
came a crafty gleam. He stood long, as one frozen, and out of his
madness grew a desperate plan. And he silently recanted his blasphemy,
for if the brazen-hoofed gods made Man for their sport and play-
thing, they also gave him a brain that holds craft and cruelty greater
than any other living thing.

"There you shall bide," said Solomon Kane to the head of Goru. "The
sun will wither you and the cold dews of night will shrivel you. But I
will keep the kites from you and your eyes shall see the fall of your
slayers. Aye, I could not save the people of Bogonda, but by the God
of my race, I can avenge them. Man is the sport and sustenance of
titanic beings of Night and Horror whose giant wings hover ever above
him. But even evil things may come to an end--and watch ye, Goru."

In the days that followed Kane laboured mightily, beginning with the
first grey light of dawn and toiling on past sunset, into the white
moonlight till he fell and slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. He
snatched food as he worked and he gave his wounds absolutely no heed,
scarcely being aware that they healed of themselves. He went down into
the lower levels and cut bamboo, great stacks of long, tough stalks.
He cut thick branches of trees, and tough vines to serve as ropes.

With this material he reinforced the walls and roof of Goru's hut. He
set the bamboos deep in the earth, hard against the wall, and
interwove and twined them, binding them fast with the vines that were
pliant and tough as cords. The long branches he made fast along the
thatch, binding them close together. When he had finished, an elephant
could scarcely have burst through the walls.

The lions had come into the plateau in great numbers and the herds of
little pigs dwindled fast. Those the lions spared, Kane slew, and
tossed to the jackals. This racked Kane's heart, for he was a kindly
man and this wholesale slaughter, even of pigs who would fall prey to
hunting beasts anyhow, grieved him. But it was part of his plan of
vengeance, and he steeled his heart.

The days stretched into weeks. Kane toiled by day and by night, and
between his stints he talked to the shrivelled, mummied head of Goru,
whose eyes, strangely enough, did not change in the blaze of the sun
or the haunt of the moon, but retained their life-like expression.
When the memory of those lunacy-haunted days had become only a vague
nightmare, Kane wondered if, as it had seemed to him, Goru's dried
lips had moved in answer, speaking strange and mysterious things.

Kane saw the akaanas wheeling against the sky at a distance, but they
did not come near, even when he slept in the great hut, pistols at
hand. They feared his power to deal death with smoke and thunder.

At first he noted that they flew sluggishly, gorged with the flesh
they had eaten on that red night, and the bodies they had borne to
their caves. But as the weeks passed they appeared leaner and leaner
and ranged far afield in search of food. And Kane laughed, deeply and
madly.

This plan of his would never have worked before, but now there were no
humans to fill the bellies of the harpy-folk. And there were no more
pigs. In all the plateau there were no creatures for the bat-people to
eat. Why they did not range east of the hills, Kane thought he knew.
That must be a region of thick jungle like the country to the west. He
saw them fly into the grassland for antelopes and he saw the lions
take toll of them. After all, the akaanas were weak beings among the
hunters, strong enough only to slay pigs and deer--and humans.

At last they began to soar close to him at night, and he saw their
greedy eyes glaring at him through the gloom. He judged the time was
ripe. Huge buffaloes, too big and ferocious for the bat-people to
slay, had strayed up into the plateau to ravage the deserted fields of
the dead Bogondi. Kane out one of these out of the herd and drove him,
with shouts and volleys of stones, to the hut of Goru. It was a
tedious, dangerous task, and time and again Kane barely escaped the
surly bull's sudden charges, but persevered and at last shot the beast
before the hut.

A strong west wind was blowing and Kane flung handfuls of blood into
the air for the scent to waft to the harpies in the hills. He cut the
bull to pieces and carried its quarters into the hut, then managed to
drag the huge trunk itself inside. Then he retired into the thick
trees nearby and waited.

He had not long to wait. The morning air filled suddenly with the beat
of many wings, and a hideous flock alighted before the hut of Goru.
All of the beasts--or men--seemed to be there, and Kane gazed in
wonder at the tall, strange creatures, so like to humanity and yet so
unlike--the veritable demons of priestly legend. They
folded their wings like cloaks about them as they walked upright, and
they talked to one another in a strident, crackling voice that had
nothing of the human in it.

No, Kane decided, these things were not men. They were the
materialization of some ghastly jest of Nature--some travesty of the
world's infancy when Creation was an experiment. Perhaps they were the
offspring of a forbidden and obscene mating of man and beast; more
likely they were a freakish offshoot on the branch of evolution--for
Kane had long ago dimly sensed a truth in the heretical theories of
the ancient philosophers, that Man is but a higher beast. And if
Nature made many strange beasts in the past ages, why should she not
have experimented with monstrous forms of mankind? Surely Man as Kane
knew him was not the first of his breed to walk the earth, nor yet to
be the last.

Now the harpies hesitated, with their natural distrust for a building,
and some soared to the roof and tore at the thatch. But Kane had
builded well. They returned to earth and at last, driven beyond
endurance by the smell of raw blood and the sight of the flesh within,
one of them ventured inside. In an instant all were crowded into the
great hut, tearing ravenously at the meat, and when the last one was
within, Kane reached out a hand and jerked a long vine which tripped
the catch that held the door he had built. It fell with a crash, and
the bar he had fashioned dropped into place. That door would hold
against the charge of a wild bull.

Kane came from his cover and scanned the sky. Some hundred and forty
harpies had entered the hut. He saw no more winging through the skies
and believed it safe to suppose he had the whole flock trapped. Then
with a cruel, brooding smile, Kane struck flint and steel to a pile of
dead leaves next the wall. Within sounded an uneasy mumbling as the
creatures realized that they were prisoners. A thin wisp of smoke
curled upward and a flicker of red followed it; the whole heap burst
into flame and the dry bamboo caught.

A few moments later the whole side of the wall was ablaze. The fiends
inside scented the smoke and grew restless. Kane heard them cackling
wildly and clawing at the walls. He grinned savagely, bleakly and
without mirth. Now a veer of the wind drove the flames around the wall
and up over the thatch--with a roar the whole hut caught and leaped
into flame.

From within sounded a fearful pandemonium. Kane heard bodies crash
against the walls, which shook to the impact but held. The horrid
screams were music to his soul, and brandishing his arms, he answered
them with screams of fearful, soul-shaking laughter. The cataclysm of
horror rose unbearably, paling the tumult of the flames. Then it
dwindled to a medley of strangled gibbering and gasps as the flames
ate in and the smoke thickened. An intolerable scent of burning
flesh pervaded the atmosphere, and had there been room in Kane's brain
for aught else than insane triumph, he would have shuddered to realize
that the scent was of that nauseating and indescribable odour that
only human flesh emits when burning.

From the thick cloud of smoke, Kane saw a moving, gibbering thing
emerge through the shredding roof and flap slowly and agonizingly
upward on fearfully burned wings. Calmly he aimed and fired, and the
scorched and blinded thing tumbled back into the flaming mass just as
the walls crashed in. To Kane it seemed that Goru's crumbling face,
vanishing in the smoke, split suddenly in a wide grin and a sudden
shout of exultant human laughter mingled eerily in the roar of the
flames. But the smoke and insane brain plays queer tricks.

Kane stood with tile ju-ju stave in one hand the smoking pistol in the
other, above the smouldering ruins that hid forever from the sight of
man the last of those terrible, semi-human monsters whom another hero
had banished from Europe in an unknown age. Kane stood, an
unconscious statue of triumph--the ancient empires fall, the
dark-skinned peoples fade and even the demons of antiquity gasp their
last, but over all stands the Aryan barbarian, white-skinned, cold-eyed,
dominant, the supreme fighting man of the earth, whether he be clad in
wolf-hide and horned helmet, or boots and doublet—whether he bear
in his hand battle-ax or rapier—whether he be called Dorian,
Saxon or Englishman—whether his name is Jason, Hengist or
Solomon Kane.

Smoke curled upward into the morning sky, and the roaring of foraging
lions shook the plateau. Slowly, like light breaking through mists,
sanity returned to him.

"The light of God's morning enters even into dark and lonesome lands,"
said Solomon Kane sombrely. "Evil rules in the waste lands of the
earth, but even evil may come to an end. Dawn follows midnight and
even in this lost land the shadows shrink. Strange are Thy ways, oh
God of my people, and who am I to question Thy wisdom? My feet have
fallen in evil ways but Thou hast brought me forth scatheless and hast
made me a scourge for the Powers of Evil. Over the souls of men spread
the condor wings of colossal monsters and all manner of evil things
prey upon the heart and soul and body of Man. Yet it may be in some
far day the shadows shall fade and the Prince of Darkness be chained
forever in his hell. And till then mankind can but stand up stoutly to
the monsters in his own heart and without, and with the aid of God he
may yet triumph."

And Solomon Kane looked up into the silent hills and felt the silent
call of the hills and the unguessed distances beyond; and Solomon Kane
shifted his belt, took his staff firmly in his hand and turned his
face eastward.



THE END



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