"Do! Why, there is only one thing to do. We must go to call on Heu– Heu, or his priests."
"Yes, Baas. But the Baas remembers the picture in the cave on the Berg. If it is a true picture, Heu–Heu knows how to twist off men's heads!"
"I don't believe there is a Heu–Heu," I said stoutly. "You will have noticed, Hans, that we have heard all sorts of stories about Heu–Heu, but that no one seems to have seen him clearly enough to give us an accurate description of what he is like or what he does—not even Zikali. He showed us a picture of the beast on his fire, but after all it was only what we had seen on the wall of the cave, and I think that he got it out of our own minds. At any rate, it is just as well to die quickly without a head, as slowly with an empty stomach, since I am sure those Walloos will never come back to look for us."
"Yes, Baas, I think so, too. Issicore used to have courage, but he seems to have changed, as though something had happened to him since he got back into his own country. And now, if the Baas is ready, I think we had better be trekking, unless, indeed, he would like to look at a few more stone men first. It is beginning to rain, Baas, and we have been much longer here than the Baas thinks, since it is a slow business crawling about these old houses. Therefore, if we are to get to the other side of the island before nightfall, it is time to go."
So off we went, keeping to the western side of the volcano, since there it did not seem to project so far into the flat lands. A while later we turned round and looked at the lake. There in the far distance our canoe appeared a mere speck, with two other specks, those of the pursuers, close upon its heels. As we watched, out of the mists on the Walloo shore came yet other specks, which were doubtless Walloo boats paddling to the rescue, for the priests' canoes gave up the chase and turned homewards.
"Issicore will have a very nice story to tell to the Lady Sabeela," said Hans; "but perhaps she will not kiss him after she has heard it."
"He was quite wise to go. What good could he have done by staying?" I answered, as we trudged on, adding, "Still, you are right, Hans, Issicore has changed."
It was a hard walk over rough ground, at least at first, for so soon as we got round the shoulder of the volcano the character of the country altered and we found ourselves in fertile, cultivated land that appeared to be irrigated.
"These fields must lie very low, Baas," said Hans, "since otherwise how do they get the lake water on to them?"
"I don't know," I replied crossly, for I was thinking of the sky water, which was beginning to descend in a steady drizzle upon ourselves. But all the same, the remark stuck in my mind and was useful afterwards. On we marched, till at length we entered a grove of palm trees that was traversed by a road.
Presently we came to the end of the road and found ourselves in a village of well–built stone houses, with one very large house in the middle of it, of which the back was set almost against the foot of the mountain. As there was nothing else to be done, we walked on into the village, at first without being observed, for everybody was under cover because of the rain. Soon, however, dogs began to bark, and a woman, looking out of the doorway of one of the houses, caught sight of us and screamed. A minute later men with shaven heads and wearing white, priestly–looking robes, appeared and ran towards us flourishing big spears.
"Hans," I said, "keep your rifle ready, but don't shoot unless you are obliged. In this case, words may serve us better than bullets."
"Yes, Baas, though I don't believe that either will serve us much."
Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree that lay by the roadside, and waited, and I followed his example, taking the opportunity to light my pipe.
Chapter IX
The Feast
When they were within a few paces of us the men halted, apparently astonished at our appearance, which certainly did not compare favourably with their own, for they were all of the splendid Walloo type. Evidently what astonished them still more was the match with which I was lighting my pipe, and indeed the pipe itself, for although these people grew tobacco, they only took it in the form of snuff.
That match went out and I struck another, and at the sight of the sudden appearance of fire they stepped back a pace or two. At length one of them, pointing to the burning match, asked in the same tongue that was used by the Walloos,
"What is that, O Stranger?"
"Magic fire," I answered, adding by an inspiration, "which I am bringing as a present to the great god Heu–Heu."
This information seemed to mollify them, for, lowering their spears, they turned to speak to another man who at this moment arrived upon the scene. He was a stout, fine–looking man of considerable presence, with a hooked nose and flashing black eyes. Also he wore a priestly cap upon his head and his white robes were broidered.
"Very big fellow, this, Baas," Hans whispered to me, and I nodded, observing as I did so that the other priests bowed as they addressed him.
"Dacha in person," thought I to myself, and sure enough Dacha it was.
He advanced and, looking at the wax match, said:
"Where does the magic fire of which you speak live, Stranger?"
"In this case covered with holy secret writing," I replied, holding before his eyes a box labelled "Wax Vestas, Made in England," and adding solemnly, "Woe be to him that touches it or him that bears it without understanding, for it will surely leap forth and consume that foolish man, O Dacha."
Now Dacha followed the example of his companions and stepped back a little way, remarking,
"How do you know my name, and who sends this present of self– conceiving fire to Heu–Heu?"
"Is not the name of Dacha known to the ends of the earth?" I asked—a remark which seemed to please him very much; "yes, as far as his spells can travel, which is the sky and back again. As to who sends the magic fire, it is a great one, a wizard of the best, if not quite so good as Dacha, who is named Zikali, who is named the 'Opener–of– Roads,' who is named 'the Thing–that–should–never–have–been–born.'"
"We have heard of him," said Dacha. "His messengers were here in our father's day. And what does Zikali want of us, O Stranger?"
"He wants leaves of a certain tree that grows in Heu–Heu's garden, that is called the Tree of Visions, that he may mix them with his medicines."
Dacha nodded and so did the other priests. Evidently they knew all about the Tree of Visions, as I, or rather Zikali, had named it.
"Then why did he not come for them himself?"
"Because he is old and infirm. Because he is detained by great affairs. Because it was easier for him to send me, who, being a lover of that which is holy, was anxious to do homage to Heu–Heu and to make the acquaintance of the great Dacha."
"I understand," the priest replied, highly gratified, as his face shewed. "But how are you named, O Messenger of Zikali?"
"I am named 'Blowing–Wind,' because I pass where I would, none seeing me come or go, and therefore am the best and swiftest of messengers. And this little one, this small but great–souled one with me"—here I pointed to the smirking Hans, who by now was quite alive to the humours of the situation and to its advantages from our point of view —"is named 'Lord–of–the–Fire' and 'Light–in–Darkness'" (this was true enough and worked in very well) "because it is he who is guardian of the magic fire" (also true, for he had half a dozen spare boxes in his pockets that he had stolen at one time or another) "of which, if he is offended, he can make enough to burn up all this island and everyone thereon; yes, more than is hidden in the womb of that mountain."