T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (11) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XI. Akon’s Decision

Five—ten—fifteen—there were no fewer than eighteen of the long-ships in the Lemurian fleet, and since each carried sixty to eighty men, here was a most formidable force.

The enemy must be stopped—stopped at any cost, and as far as Martin could see there was only one way to do it. Round he swung, banking steeply, and went tearing back towards Lost Island.

Less than half an hour after starting, the Bat dropped again toward the sea lake, and lit smoothly on its mirror-like surface.

The launch was alongside almost as soon as it had alighted, and Professor Distin was anxiously asking what had brought him back so quickly.

As Martin explained a look of dismay crossed the Professor’s face.

“Eighteen ships!” he repeated. “But, Martin, this is an army. What are we to do?”

“There is only one thing to do,” Martin answered firmly. “Akon must come back with me, meet his people, and tell them exactly how things stand. They will listen to him.”

Akon was in the launch with the Professor. The fair-haired giant was listening eagerly, but, of course, without understanding what was said. Yet it was plain from his face that he realized something to be seriously wrong.

The Professor rapidly explained the situation; and Martin, watching, saw a curious expression cross the big man’s face, but he listened without speaking until the Professor had finished, then answered in a few blunt words.

The Professor gave a sigh of relief.

“He will go with you, Martin,” he said. “But he is not quite happy. There is something he does not like about the business, but what he does not say.”

“He’s too modest,” Martin answered with a laugh. “Come, Akon.”

Akon rose and stepped cautiously into the hull of the Bat. His lips were set very tight, and there was a curious glint in his pale-blue eyes. Akon had always a sort of superstitious dread of the flying boat, and this was the first time he had ever been aboard her.

But the fine old Viking strain in him forbade him to show the slightest sign of fear, and he took his seat as calmly as if he had been flying all his life.

“Good luck to you both!” cried the Professor, then his voice was drowned in the roar of the twin engines as Martin switched on, and, gliding swiftly across the water, rose for the second time.

For the moment he was too busy with the controls to look back, but when he had got his height and was able to turn, Akon was sitting like a chunk of marble and with just about as much expression on his big, handsome face.

“Cheer up,” cried Martin, speaking in Norse, of which he had now learnt nearly as much as the Professor himself. “We are quite safe. There are the ships.”

Akon did not answer. The fierce rush through the air seemed to have taken his breath. But he saw the ships and his eyes brightened.

To Martin it seemed that the fleet had hardly moved since he had first sighted it. As a matter of fact, it was coming up steadily before a light westerly breeze. But as Martin stooped towards it he noticed that the smoke from the volcano, which twenty minutes earlier had been rising straight into the sky, was now trailing out in a sou-westerly direction. The upper current of air had changed right round; and short as had been his stay on Lost Island, Martin had a pretty good idea what that meant.

But there was no time to say anything now. Every instant the long-ships grew nearer, and in a few moments the Bat was above them.

Looking down, Martin thought they looked exactly like those water beetles that go paddling around on a pond. Their long oars sprawled out on either side like the legs of those insects. The Lemurians saw him, too, for many stopped rowing, and the fleet fell out of line and became confused.

Martin cut out his engines and began to glide downwards.

“Akon,” he said, “when we get down, you talk.”

Akon nodded grimly. The Bat planed steeply, and within a few seconds swept over the masthead of the leading ship, and came to rest sweetly as a dropping gull on the silken swells, close to the long, low hull of the Lemurian flag-ship.

With one accord, every man in the long-ship stopped rowing, and from behind the golden shields that lined the bulwarks scores of heads rose and stared in silent, breathless amazement at the graceful fabric which had descended upon them out of the blue.

Akon rose to his full height. His great voice thundered out!

He was not speaking Norse now. This was the true Lemurian language. But if Martin could not understand the words, there could be no doubt what Akon was saying. He was taunting his people for cowards for bringing hundreds of men against three, and ordering them to return. Next he pointed with his right hand to his own side, then to Martin, and Martin grew red as he guessed that Akon was telling them of his rescue from the eagles.

He stopped and the next moment a figure rose on the foredeck of the long-ship—a man as tall as Akon himself and even broader. In a flash Martin recognized the fierce face, steely eyes, and tusklike teeth of Odan, the great savage who had captured him in the first invasion.

Odan was furiously angry as he addressed Akon. When he stopped, Akon stooped and spoke briefly to Martin.

“He says you are a wizard, and that I am a friend of wizards,” he explained. “But wait. I am their prince—son of their king. They shall obey me, not Odan.”

He lifted his voice again, and it rang out clear and strong, reaching every one of the hundreds in the fleet. When Akon paused, a hoarse roar of cheering broke out. Martin glowed. He felt that Akon had won the day.

But Odan was not done yet. Up he sprang again, and began to urge something fiercely on his hearers.

“He says that you have prevented them from using the holy place,” explained Akon briefly; “that you must leave the island. But wait! I will return to Lemuria and explain all to my father, the king.”

He paused a moment.

“Will you take me there?” he asked suddenly.

Martin did not hesitate a moment.

“I will,” he answered.

As the Bat rose swiftly from the sea Martin, glancing downwards, saw hundreds of faces raised towards her, hundreds of pairs of eyes watching the great flying machine with awe which was almost terror.

But discipline was strong. Next moment the oars lashed the water. Each ship turned and made back towards Lemuria.

Martin heaved a sigh of relief. Then, turning, he glanced back. It was as he had expected. Up in the north-east the blue sky was smudged with purple-black cloud—a cloud that grew fast and was edged with a rim of snow-white vapor rolling over and over like foam at the edge of a stormy sea.

He pointed it out to Akon.

“Bad for your ships,” he said; and Akon nodded gravely.

Martin opened his throttle wide and sent the Bat skirling through the air. Within ten minutes the Lemurian fleet had dwindled to dots in the distance, while Lemuria’s sandy beaches stretched wide across the western sea. Martin tingled with excitement. In a few moments he would set foot in the land of mystery.

“Where can we come down?” he asked of his companion.

Akon pointed, and Martin saw blue water lying inland. It was a harbor connected by a long inlet with the sea.

The sun still shone brilliantly, though in the east the great cloud was blotting out the blue. Martin grew anxious. At all costs he must get the Bat under cover of some sort before the storm broke.

A few moments later and they were over the land.

He cut out, and came sweeping soundlessly downwards towards the lake. Now he could see that there was a town alongside the harbor. The houses were the strangest he had ever dreamed of. They were one-storied buildings with great domed roofs, and built of enormous stones. On a hill in the center rose one building much higher than the rest, the roof of which shone with a dazzling yellow splendor. Martin’s eyes widened as he saw it was covered all over with gold.

There was little time to look about. The Bat took the water close to a solid-looking stone quay that fronted the harbor.

Martin turned to Akon.

“Storm coming,” he said. “Where can we put her?”

Akon pointed to a building facing the harbor. Martin taxied across towards it, and found it to be a large boathouse. A great barge, gorgeously painted and gilded, lay there, blocking the way; but Akon, stepping out of the Bat’s hull on to the barge’s stern, pushed her to one side, leaving just room for the flying boat.

Martin tied the Bat up firmly. He was only too grateful to have her under cover. Then Akon beckoned, and Martin followed up a flight of broad stone steps on to the quay.

Not a soul was in sight. Everyone had bolted into their houses. The broad quay lay silent and deserted in the glaring sunlight. But though the sun still blazed down, the velvet pall was rising steadily in the east, and the sultry air tingled with the threat of the coming storm.

Akon led the way towards the tall building, which stood by itself on rising ground. He walked with long strides, and held his head proudly. Martin, staring about him, saw that the houses were built of a curious dark-red stone, and that the door-posts, each made of one huge slab, were carved with figures reminding him of the Egyptian room in the British Museum. All these buildings seemed to be of immense age. Indeed, they were so massive and solid that nothing short of an earthquake could have destroyed them.

The strangest thing about the place was the silence. There must have been scores of people within earshot, yet not a face showed from a doorway or window; there was no sound or sign of life.

“What’s up?” asked Martin; but Akon walked straight on, straight up a broad flight of shallow steps leading to the gold-roofed temple. Huge statues with the bodies of men and heads of beasts lined the steps. They seemed to glare sternly at Martin. The steps led right up to the face of the monstrous building which towered above them; and as they climbed Martin saw, to his astonishment, that there was no door. Sheer blank wall faced them inhospitably.

Martin’s heart began to beat uncomfortably. There was something uncanny about the whole place.

Akon, however, strode on undismayed, and, reaching the wide landing at the top, stamped twice with his heavy foot, then stood silent.

Martin stood close behind him, wondering what was going to happen. He had not long to wait. A dark slit appeared in the wall; two vast slabs slid silently back, and in the opening appeared as strange a figure as mortal eyes had ever rested upon.