T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (13) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XIII. The Chance Passes

Martin did not hesitate a second. He made a rush down the broad staircase.

Out shot Akon’s great hand to stop him, but, long as his arm was, it failed to reach the boy. His one idea was to reach the boat house and save his beloved plane before it fell into the clutches of Odan and his crew.

He heard Hymer the priest growl out a curt order, and was conscious in a vague sort of way that Prince Akon was at his heels. He even heard Akon shout to him to stop, yet paid no attention. There was no room in his mind for anything but the peril which threatened the Bat.

Next moment he was on the wharf, and, taking the steps in two jumps reached the float beside which lay the Bat. As he stooped to cast off the ropes which moored her bow and stern he heard Odan’s great roaring voice bellowing out orders. Though he could not understand what was said he had little doubt of its meaning. He worked with feverish haste, but, quick as he was, before he had the second rope unfastened a boat bumped hard against the outer end of the float, and men came leaping off her on to the King’s barge which lay alongside the plane.

Martin realized that his chance had passed. Straightening himself swiftly, he sprang back against the wall and drew his automatic.

“Come on, the lot of you!” he shouted.

Four men were almost on him. But they were not Norse; these were smaller men, with brown faces and dark eyes. They wore no armor, and carried spears, not swords. They had not the pluck of the Norsemen either, or perhaps it was superstition on their part that kept them from coming to close quarters. Anyhow, they stopped short, and stood in a semi-circle around Martin.

Again came Odan’s bellow, then he himself leaped upon the float, making it surge beneath his ponderous weight. His chill blue eyes blazed with anger, and his short, straight sword was raised high above Martin’s head.

Quick as a flash Martin flung up his pistol. For an instant he was minded to shoot the dangerous brute through the head, and finish the business then and there. Yet somehow he could not bring himself to do so. Instead, he aimed straight at the wide shining blade.

Martin was a good shot, and of late had had plenty of practice. Even so it was luck as much as skill which caused his first bullet to strike the blade plumb in the center and not three inches above the hilt.

The result was instantaneous. The weapon was knocked out of Odan’s grasp as though it had been struck with a mallet. At the same time the impact numbed the giant’s right arm, and it dropped useless to his side.

For a moment the great Norseman stood as if struck to stone, while his men, paralyzed by what seemed to them a miracle, shrank away. Then, pulling himself together, Odan leaped forward again, fairly bellowing with rage.

Before he could take a single step, a spear came whizzing past Martin’s head, and struck full upon the big man’s breastplate. The spear glanced on the polished plate without penetrating, yet so great was the force of the blow that it staggered the giant. He lost his balance, stepped backwards over the edge of the float, and disappeared into the harbor with a resounding splash.

Akon’s hand fell on Martin’s shoulder.

“Come! Come quickly!” he cried; and in a moment Martin and the prince were racing back towards the temple.

At the top of the temple steps Martin turned angrily on Akon.

“What did you do that for? Why did you drag me away?”

“To save your life,” replied Akon dryly. “Mine, too, for the matter of that.”

“Those brown men would never have dared to touch us,” retorted Martin indignantly.

“Perhaps not. But did you not see? Odan’s own bodyguard was close behind him. And they are of our own breed. See! They have pulled Odan out of the water.”

“Come into the temple.” It was Hymer, the priest, who spoke, and, drawing them inside, he pulled over the lever which closed the vast stone doors.

For a moment the three looked at one another in silence.

“What’s to be done now?” demanded Martin resentfully. He was desperately sore at losing the Bat.

“The next move is with Odan,” said Hymer.

“Can’t we attack them before they all get ashore?” asked Martin. “Surely that is our only chance.”

Hymer shrugged his vast shoulders. “We have not two score men all told, while Odan has as many hundreds. Boy, you should have killed Odan with your fire-shooter instead of striking the sword from his hand. But you are young, and I do not blame you. Wait here while I go to the look-out post above, and discover what Odan is about.”

Akon and Martin were left alone in the priest’s room. The walls were much too thick for them to hear anything of what was going on outside, and the only window was the skylight.

“Our chances look pretty slim,” said Martin, in English, then, seeing Akon’s puzzled look, explained as best he could.

“Matters have been working up to this point for years,” Akon told him. “As Hymer has told you, the brown men cling to their ancient rites, which are brutal and terrible. My father was always against them, and when he became king endeavored to put an end to them.”

“We Northern men are split into two branches. Odan is the head of the other branch, and has always desired to make himself king. He hates my father and myself, and Hymer too, who has been my father’s friend from the beginning.”

“We Northmen are very few in number compared with the ancient people, who were here from the beginning; and Odan, aware of this, has curried favor with the brown men and has married one of their women. It was he who led the attacks upon the Island of Fire. My father and I had no wish to take part in them, although on the last occasion I was forced to accompany Odan.”

Martin was listening eagerly. All this was new to him.

Akon paused a moment, and went on:

“My father’s illness and my absence have given Odan his chance. Without doubt he meant to kill me, then to return here to murder my father and make himself king.”

“But why didn’t he do it before?” asked Martin. “You say he has all the brown men behind him.”

“Yes; but we have Hymer, and he has been worth an army to us. The brown men, as he has told you, are soaked in superstition. They are afraid of Hymer, yet they hate him because he has abolished many of the old rites. Odan has worked upon this feeling. He has even drawn many of our own men away from us. Now they are ripe for revolt; and I fear that the fact of your plane having fallen into their hands will prove the turning point.”

He rose suddenly to his feet. His quiet face was suddenly aglow.

“But we will fight them,” he cried. “We will not submit tamely to the tyranny of Odan!”

Martin sprang up too.

“I am with you, Akon,” he answered. “I am with you. Between us we’ll get ahead of that old ruffian.”

The door opened, and Hymer came in.

“Odan is holding a meeting in the great square,” he said. “He has told the people that the king is in league with the wizards from the East. He vows he is no longer fit to rule, and has asked them to proclaim him regent.”

“Then it is war—war to the knife,” said Akon gravely. “Let us tell my father.”

The party within the palace had not long to wait for Odan’s next move. Two messengers appeared carrying green boughs, which were the Lemurian equivalent for the white flag. These men were brought into the room where the king himself awaited them, with Akon, Hymer, and Martin seated behind him.

They made obeisance, then stood before the king. They were both Norsemen; and Martin noticed that neither of them looked quite comfortable.

The king sat looking at them in contemptuous silence.

The elder of the two, a hard-looking man of fifty, with a narrow forehead and heavy, stubborn jaw, took a step forward.

“King, we bear a message from the chief Odan. He bids us say that the people are angry because you and the Prince Akon have given friendship to the wizards from the East. He wishes no harm to you or the prince, but to warn you that he, as commander of the army, cannot hold his men longer unless you renounce the wizard and give back to the people their old rites. I have spoken.”

The king raised his silvered head, and fixed his piercing eyes on the envoy.

“Since when has Odan dared to dictate to his king?” he asked sternly.

The envoy was silent, and the king went on.

“In what way does Odan desire that I should renounce the wizard?” he asked sarcastically. “May the king not hear the orders of his subject?”

A dull red flush rose to the cheeks of the envoy, and his voice was thick with badly suppressed rage.

“O King,” he said, “the will of the people is that the flying wizard should undergo the ordeal by fire, according to the ancient customs of the island.”

Dead silence in the great room. Every eye was upon Martin. As for Martin himself, a chill crept down his spine.

The ordeal by fire! The words drummed through his brain, and though no one had told him the exact nature of the ordeal, he had little real doubt about it. Quite clearly it was closely connected with the spouting flame of the gas well.

The king sat as if turned to stone, his eyes fixed upon the envoys. As for Akon, anger and grief struggled upon his fine face. Martin knew that they were both longing to help him, yet for some reason unable to do so.

The pause seemed to Martin to last an age. Really it was only a matter of a few seconds. Then Hymer stepped forward.

“Hear me, O men of Odan!” he said, in his deep voice. “On behalf of the white man from the East, whom ye term wizard, I accept the challenge. Tomorrow at the hour of noon he shall tread the path of fire. I have spoken.”