Bride of Osiris Read online

  “No. The High One is to be troubled with no more cases until after the Festival of Re, for which he is now preparing. Confine this murderer and desecrator in the fourth dungeon until such time as the mighty Osiris is ready to pass judgment on him.”

  “And the girl?”

  “For the present, five lashes will suffice.”

  Helpless rage gave way to dark despair as Dan, some twenty minutes later, was chained to the wall in the deepest, filthiest dungeon in Karneter, and left in its black solitude.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE FESTIVAL OF RE

  HALT dazed though he was by the sudden turn of events which had again separated him from Doris and placed him in the hands of the Amazonian guards of the Temple of Isis, Buell struggled desperately to escape. The fact that he could not bring himself to strike a woman, even though that woman was a giantess and a trained fighter, made his efforts futile, and he soon found himself spread-eagled on the ground with a heavy female seated on his legs and two others holding his arms.

  The sound of a familiar rumbling voice was followed by the appearance of the huge, masked face of its owner looming above him. Two livid welts showed on the exposed part of Odd’s forehead. His usual calm manner, however, had not changed.

  “Fool!” was all he said. Stooping, he made the heavy chain fast once more around Buell’s waist. Then, motioning for the giantesses to release him, he dragged him to his feet and led him away.

  Buell felt sure he would be punished for his attempted escape, but when! How! They reached the inner chamber of the Temple of Osiris which they had left that morning, without a word passing between them. Odd sat down behind the table with the two red lamps, motioned Buell to a chair, and took up a Troll of papyrus.

  “Your lessons will now commence,” he rumbled.

  Buell spent the rest of the day-learning rituals and incantations and practising certain maneuvers with which it was essential that the N should be familiar. In fact, all his time up to the night before the Festival of Re was taken up in this manner, with the exception of a short walk, morning and evening, in the garden, mealtime, and the six hours that were permitted him at night for sleep. All this time he was chained to Odd, not even being allowed to remove his clothing at night.

  It seemed to Buell that they retired much earlier than usual on the night before the festival, though he had no means of making certain. He noticed, too, that a feeling of extreme drowsiness crept over him as soon as he stretched himself on his cot—something that had not happened before. “Perhaps they have doped me,” he thought, but his eyes closed languorously, heavily, and deep sleep temporarily shut out further worries.

  His awakening was gradual and quite pleasant. He thought at first he was dreaming, as the sounds of soft, sweet music slowly penetrated his consciousness. As he lay there with eyes closed, his other senses gathered impressions. It seemed that the cot had been transformed to a downy bed with soft, silken coverlets. Instead of the damp smell of the inner chambers of the temple, he breathed sweet, pure air, laden with the delicate fragrance of jasmine, and tinged with a hint of musk and sandalwood.

  Presently the music grew louder and he opened his eyes. The sense of sight confirmed the evidence of his other senses and added to it. He was indeed lying in a soft bed, a most luxurious bed with a scarlet canopy and silken coverlets, in a large room that was gorgeously decorated and lavishly furnished. The scent of jasmine came through a latticed window at his left—the music and faint odors of musk and sandalwood from a bevy of Oriental dancing girls who swayed in rhythmic unity as they played their stringed instruments just beyond the foot of his bed. Seeing him awake, they quickly withdrew, the music dying out as the last girl tripped through the door.

  Then he noticed, for the first time, that he was attired in a soft, silken sleeping garment. The chain was no longer about his waist, nor was the giant, Odd, in sight.

  A soft-footed servant approached his bed, salaamed thrice, and said: “Your bath is prepared, mighty Osiris.”

  The title of Osiris meant that Buell’s day of doom had arrived. Somehow, sometime, during that day it was the intention of the powers of Karneter that he meet his death. As he had been taught certain rituals and incantations he might reasonably expect that the ceremonies in which they were to be used would all be enacted before the blow fell. On the other hand, it might be that they had taught him some things that he could not use in order that he might be thrown off his guard when the fatal moment arrived. If anything was to be done about saving Doris and himself it must be done quickly. He must be ever on his guard, yet seemingly resigned to his fate.

  Leaping out of bed with assumed cheerfulness, he bathed luxuriously. After a brisk rub-down he donned the garments brought by the servant, rich garments of white silk, similar in every respect to those which had been worn by Mezzar Hashin in the Hall of the Two Truths. The head-piece, however, had a black “N” inscribed on the burnished disk that blazed above the center of the forehead.

  Another servant, entering the doorway, salaamed thrice as had the first, and announced that breakfast was served. Following the man to a magnificent dining room, he breakfasted in state, served by beautiful slave girls who pressed all manner of dainties on him.

  After breakfast a servant brought him a black mask that completely covered his face, a short, heavy shepherd’s crook, and a three-lashed whip. Masked, and holding the crook and whip crossed over his breast after the manner of Osiris, he left the building and mounted to the cushioned seat of a golden litter with a scarlet canopy, borne by twelve of the scarlet-robed priests of Osiris. The giant temple guards salaamed respectfully as he was carried out the gate. A row of them fell in line on each side of the litter and over at the left he could see lines of priests, vestal virgins and more temple guards forming.

  Somewhere back in the procession a band of musicians struck up the strains of a marching song—a weird, shrieking blare of sound, rhythmic as the measured steps and chanting voices of the marchers, yet discordant if judged by modern standards.

  Lining the streets in multi-hued holiday attire, the populace did homage to the Osiris N, making obeisance as the litter passed them. As they progressed the crowds grew thicker until the giant guards were compelled to push them back to let the procession through.

  At the gate of the Temple of Re, where the crowd was thickest, the procession paused. The huge commander of the guards of Osiris was greeted by the commander of the guards of Re. The noise of the musicians ceased. Buell saw a fleet-footed messenger, dispatched by the latter commander, run to the portal of the temple. Scarcely had he entered it ere the distant beating of a giant drum sounded—throbbing, pulsating, thunderous in volume. The gates were flung wide and Buell was again carried forward by the scarlet-robed priests.

  GARBED in the bridal robes of Isis, Doris Lee sat beneath the pale blue canopy of her palanquin in the Temple of Re, surrounded by her vestal virgins, her priestesses and her giant Amazonian guards. After her attempted escape from the Temple of Isis and her subsequent recapture she had expected punishment of some sort, but the pale blue lines beneath her eyes—the unwonted whiteness of her cheeks, had not been due to this cause alone, but rather to the fear that some dire punishment would be visited on Buell—that he would not be permitted to live even to the day on which Mezzar Hashin had previously decreed that he should die.

  As no punishment had been visited on her she concluded that the person of Isis was held sacred, and fervently hoped that this might also be true in the case of the Osiris N. She had, however, prepared for emergency on the day before. While walking through the armory of her temple with her pudgy instructress she had managed to snatch unseen a slender dagger from a pile that lay on one of the tables. With the resolve that its keen blade should pierce her heart ere Mezzar Hashin could claim her for his own, she had concealed it beneath her garments and calmly entered the palanquin in which she was borne, at the head of her retinue, to the Temple of Re.

  The multicolored footlight
s of the colossal image of Isis at the left of the altar had flashed on as she was carried through the portal of the temple, the walls of which were lined with spectators, representing, for the most part, the wealth and nobility of Karneter. Past these she was borne, to a position directly in front of the brilliantly lighted image of the goddess she now represented. The equally huge image of Osiris at the other side of the altar remained dark, and a space in front of it as large as that occupied by her own retinue was empty of people.

  Directly in front of the altar crouched the yellow-robed priests of Re, their hands clasped in supplication, their faces toward the great blazing disk above it. Sethral, the High Priest, strode back and forth before the altar, muttering incantations as he walked and flinging a handful of incense from the jeweled vase he carried on the smoldering altar-fire each time he passed it.

  The drowsy mumbling of the High Priest was suddenly interrupted by the clear voice of a runner who dashed through the doorway at the far end of the room.

  “The Osiris N comes!” he shouted. “Prepare to greet the Osiris N.”

  The heart of Doris Lee leaped to her throat as she grasped the significance of his words. Alan was alive! He was coming to the temple! There was yet hope!

  Far above her head in the central dome of the temple she heard the sudden rumble of the huge drum as it roared the welcome of the mighty sun god to the Osiris N. There ensued a period of watching, during which no sound was heard save the throbbing of the great drum. Then she saw an erect, white-clad figure borne through the doorway on a golden litter carried by scarlet-robed priests. At the same moment the footlights illuminated the colossus of Osiris which stood at the right of the altar, and the spectators—even her own retinue, the yellow-clad priests of Re, and the High Priest himself—salaamed three times before the oncoming figure.

  Could it be that this was really Alan? Grave doubts assailed her. Would these nobles, even Sethral, second in command in Karneter, bow thus before a prisoner—a man condemned to death?

  The mask hid his features, but as he drew closer she plainly made out the black “N” on the disk that fronted his headpiece—the mark which her instructress had assured her would constitute the only difference between his costume and that of Mezzar Hashin. As he took up his position before the image of Osiris, Surrounded by his priests and vestal virgins and flanked by his gigantic guards, the beating of the great drum ceased, and was replaced by a burst of plaintive Oriental music.

  Then, from the doorway at the left of the altar, came a troupe of dancing girls, vestal virgins of Re. As they danced before the palanquin of the Osiris N, Doris noticed that the back of one girl, more beautiful and graceful than the others, was covered with red welts on which blood had dried and caked.

  The dance over, the girls withdrew and the music changed to a funeral dirge in which the voices of the yellow-robed priests joined.

  The palanquin of the Osiris N was lowered and he stepped majestically to the floor, then walked to a place directly in front of the blazing image of the sun god. There followed a long ritual in which he took an active part, and during which Sethral, the High Priest, disappeared through a door at the right of the altar. The priests departed, one by one, until the Osiris N was left alone. After a few incantations he walked to the left of the altar. Scarcely had he taken his position there, when the Osiris, wearing a black mask, appeared as if by magic directly opposite him. The Osiris made a series of mystic passes which were faithfully duplicated by the Osiris N as by a mirror. It was then that Doris noticed that the Osiris held his crook in his right hand and his whip in his left, while the Osiris N help the whip in the right hand and the crook in the left.

  Suddenly the High Priest reappeared, wearing a hideous crocodile mask. In this character he was no longer Sethral, High Priest of Re, but Set, the crocodile god, mortal enemy of Osiris. Snapping the teeth of his mask, he advanced threateningly toward the two men, who drew close together as if for mutual protection. Then, with teeth still clashing, he rushed up the steps at the right of the altar and disappeared.

  Still timing their movements in perfect unison, the Osiris and the Osiris N deposited their whips and crooks before the altar. A moment later, side by side, they mounted the steps up which the High Priest had gone and were also lost to view.

  Doris turned to her instructress. “Where have they gone, Thansor?” she asked.

  “Into the most holy place, there to kneel with their backs to the golden disk in order that they may receive the Sa, the divine blessing of Re.”

  “Then what will they do?”

  “Have patience, glorious Isis, and you shall soon see for yourself.”

  For several moments following, all was still as death. It seemed that the entire audience had stopped breathing, waiting for and expecting something to happen.

  Suddenly, from the hidden room, there came the sound of a muffled blow. Then there fluttered out from behind the disk a. curious thing—a hideous, unbelievable thing. Doris watched it, fascinated with horror—a huge bird with body, wings and claws like that of an owl, but with the head of a man! The features, pale and deathlike, were the features of Alan Buell, and they were twisted in a horrid grin as they looked down at the half-fainting girl. It hovered aimlessly for a moment above the altar, then circled, and flying directly upward, disappeared through one of the ventilators. As it disappeared, the image of Osiris was darkened.

  Eyes wide with terror, Doris seized the arm of her instructress.

  “Thansor, tell me quickly, what was that?”

  “That,” replied Thansor with a hint of exultation in her voice, “was the Ba—the soul of the Osiris N.”

  The startling denouement of this story will be related in the concluding chapters in next month’s WEIRD TALES.

  The Story So Far

  DORIS LEE is kidnaped and carried to the underground city of Karneter, under Chicago, there to become the bride of Mezzar Hashin, who, as Osiris, rules Karneter in true Egyptian fashion. Alan Buell and Dan Rafferty, trying to rescue Doris, are captured and led before Osiris for trial. Rafferty is assigned a post as electrician, and conspires with Alcibar, former High Priest but now a slave in the dungeons of Karneter, to slay Mezzar Hashin and the High Priest Sethral, and liberate Doris and Buell. Rafferty, trying to protect Delra, the vestal virgin (nee Mary Mooney), from one of the temple guards, is captured by Sethral’s men and chained in the deepest dungeon in Karneter. Buell is sentenced to impersonate the Osiris N at the Festival of Re, when he will be put to death. Doris sees him enter the inner temple: and as a huge bird with body, wings and claws like those of an owl and head of a man, with the features of Alan Buell, emerges from the inner temple and disappears, Thansor, the priestess, tells her; “That was the Ba—the soul of the Osiris N.”

  CHAPTER 15

  BEHIND THE SCENES

  IN THE inky solitude of the deepest dungeon, Dan Rafferty, his feet braced against the slimy wall, was trying, as he had tried times without end, to break the heavy chain that held him. As day and night were alike to him and sleep came only with utter exhaustion, he had no idea how long he had been confined there. A few days, a week perhaps, but it seemed an age. True, an attendant had brought him food from time to time, but whether one, two or three meals a day, he had no means of knowing, for he was always hungry.

  As he struggled grimly at his hopeless task the sound of a human voice, the first he had heard since his incarceration, came eerily to him from the darkness at his back. Someone was softly calling his name. Startled, he ceased his efforts and dropped, catlike, to his feet, turning as he dropped.

  Again the unseen presence addressed him.

  “Is that you, Dan Rafferty?”

  “Sure, it’s nobody else. And who the divvil may you be?”

  “Hush! Not so loud!” He heard the unseen owner of the voice move stealthily closer. “I am Alcibar, the prisoner you befriended three days ago. Ever since I slipped my metal collar, thanks to your sharp file, I have been searching for you
. Only today did I learn that you were confined here, so I have hastened to keep my promise.”

  “Did yez bring the file?”

  “I did. Here, let me cut your collar for you. I believe that practise has made me quite adept.”

  Crouching there in the darkness, Dan waited stoically while the hard tool, stroke by stroke, cut into the metal that held him, nor did he more than wince on those occasions when it slipped and mingled his blood with the bits of metal that were falling on his neck.

  After fully an hour of patient labor on the part of Alcibar and heroic endurance on the part of Rafferty, the stubborn metal yielded and Dan stood up. He shook himself like a beast of burden just freed from the yoke.

  “Begorry, it feels good to have that damned thing off,” he said, “even though most of me skin went with it. Where do we go from here?” “We must make haste,” replied

  Alcibar, “but we must also be cautious. First, remove your clothing. I have brought apparel more suitable than that you are wearing, for the work that lies before us.”

  Quickly slipping out of his slave garments, the Irishman donned the new clothing which Alcibar provided.

  “They are the robes of a priest of Re,” he explained. “I am similarly attired and have gone about the temple all day undetected, so they should prove an excellent disguise for you.”

  “Righto,” said Dan. “Let’s go. Do yez know where we can find me friend Buell?”

  “If I mistake not, he is now on his way to the temple, where he will shortly re-enact the story of the death of Osiris.”

  “Yez mane he’s going to be kilt?”

  “Precisely. We go now to save him. Re grant that we will be in time! Here, give me your hand.” Guided by Alcibar, Dan hurried through numerous passageways and corridors. The ex-priest, it seemed, had an almost uncanny knowledge of every twist and turn and a marvelous sense of direction. Presently they mounted a dark stairway, then another, faintly lighted, and still another in which they could see quite plainly.