T’sais went unmolested, and presently reached the edge of the forest. The ground rose, the trees thinned, and T’sais came out on an illimitable dark expanse. This was Modavna Moor, a place of history, a tract which had borne the tread of many feet and absorbed much blood. At one famous slaughtering, Golickan Kodek the Conqueror had herded here the populations of two great cities, G’Vasan and Bautiku, constricted them in a circle three miles across, gradually pushed them tighter, tighter, tighter, panicked them toward the center within his flapping-armed sub-human cavalry, until at last he had achieved a gigantic squirming mound, half a thousand feet high, a pyramid of screaming flesh. It is said that Golickan Kodek mused ten minutes at his monument, then turned and rode his bounding mount back to the land of Laidenur from whence he had come.
The ghosts of the ancient populations had paled and dissolved and Modavna Moor was less stifling than the forest. Bushes grew like blots from the ground. A line of rocky crags at the horizon jutted sharp against a faint violet after-glow. T’sais picked her way across the turf, relieved that the sky was open above. A few minutes later she came to an ancient road of stone slab, cracked and broken, bordered by a ditch where luminous star-shaped flowers grew. A wind came sighing off the moor to dampen her face with mist. She went wearily down the road. No shelter was visible, and the wind whipped coldly at her cloak.
A rush of feet, a tumble of shapes, and T’sais was struggling against hard grasping hands. She fought for her rapier, but her arms were pinioned.
One struck a light, fired a torch, to examine his prize. T’sais saw three bearded, scarred rogues of the moor; they wore gray pandy-suits, stained and fouled by mud and filth.
“Why it’s a handsome maid!” said one, leering.
“I’ll seek about her for silver,” said another and slid his hands with evil intimacy over T’sais’ body. He found the sack of jewels, and turned them into his palm, a trickle of hundred-colored fire. “Mark these! The wealth of princes!”
“Or sorcerers!” said another. And in sudden doubt they relaxed their holds. But still she could not reach her rapier.
“Who are you, woman of the night?” asked one with some respect. “A witch, to have such jewels, and walk Modavna Moor alone?”
T’sais had neither wit nor experience to improvise falsehood.
“I am no witch! Release me, you stinking animals!”
“No witch? Then what manner of woman are you? Whence do you come?”
“I am T’sais, of Embelyon,” she cried angrily. “Pandelume created me, and I seek love and beauty on Earth. Now drop your hands, for I would go my way!”
The first rogue chortled. “Ho, ho! Seeking love and beauty! You have achieved something of your quest, girl — for while we lads are no beauties, to be sure, Tagman being covered with scab and Lasard lacking his teeth and ears — still we have much love, hey, lads? We will show you as much love as you desire! Hey, lads?”
And in spite of T’sais’ horrified outcries, they dragged her across the moor to a stone cabin.
They entered, and one kindled a roaring fire, while two stripped T’sais of her rapier and flung it in a corner. They locked the door with a great iron key, and released her. She sprang for her sword, but a buffet sent her to the foul floor.
“May that quiet you, fiend-cat!” panted Tagman. “You should be happy,” and they renewed their banter. “Admitted we are not beauties, yet we will show you all the love you may wish.”
T’sais crouched in a corner. “I know not what love is,” she panted. “In any event I want none of yours!”
“Is it possible?” they crowed. “You are yet innocent?” And T’sais listened with eyes glazing as they proceeded to describe in evil detail their concept of love.
T’sais sprang from her corner in a frenzy, kicking, beating her fists at the moor-men. And when she had been flung into her corner, bruised and half-dead, the men brought out a great cask of mead, to fortify themselves for their pleasure.
Now they cast lots as to who should be the first to enjoy the girl. The issue was declared, and here an altercation arose, two claiming that he who won had cheated. Angry words evolved, and as T’sais watched, dazed in horror beyond the concept of a normal mind, they fought like bulls in a rut, with great curses, mighty blows. T’sais crept to her rapier, and as it felt her touch, it lofted into the air like a bird. It lunged itself into the fight, dragging T’sais behind. The three shouted hoarsely, the steel flickered — in, out, faster than the eye. Cries, groans — and three sprawled on the earthen floor, gaping-mouthed corpses. T’sais found the key, unlocked the door, fled madly through the night.
She ran over the dark and windy moor, across the road, stumbled into the ditch, dragged herself up the cold muddy bank and sank on her knees … This was Earth! She remembered Embelyon, where the most evil things were flowers and butterflies. She remembered how these had aroused her hate.
Embelyon was lost, renounced. And T’sais wept.
A rustling in the heather aroused her. Aghast she lifted her head, listened. What new outrage to her mind? The sinister sounds again, as of cautious footfalls. She searched the darkness in terror.
A black figure stole into her sight, creeping along the ditch. In the light of the fireflies she saw him — a Deodand, wandered from the forest, a hairless man-thing with charcoal-black skin, a handsome face, marred and made demoniac by two fangs gleaming long, sharp and white down his lip. It was clad in a leather harness, and its long slit eyes were fastened hungrily on T’sais. He sprang at her with an exulting cry.
T’sais stumbled clear, fell, snatched herself up. Wailing, she fled across the moor, insensible to scratching furze, tearing thorn. The Deodand bounded after, venting eerie moans.
Over moor, turf, hummock, briar and brook, across the dark wastes went the chase, the girl fleeing with eyes starting and staring into nothing, the pursuer uttering his wistful moans.
A loom, a light ahead — a cottage. T’sais, breath coming in sobs, lurched to the threshold. The door mercifully gave. She fell in, slammed the door, dropped the bar. The weight of the Deodand thudded against the barrier.
The door was stout, the windows small and crossed by iron. She was safe. She sank to her knees, the breath rasping in her throat, and slowly lapsed into unconsciousness …
The man who dwelt in the cottage rose from his deep seat at the fire, tall, broad of shoulder, moving with a curiously slow step. He was perhaps a young man, but no one could know, for his face and head were draped in a black hood. Behind the eye-slits were steady blue eyes.
The man came to stand over T’sais, who lay flung like a doll on the red brick floor. He stooped, lifted the limp form, and carried her to a wide padded bench beside the fire. He removed her sandals, her quivering rapier, her sodden cloak. He brought unguent and applied it to her scratches and bruises. He wrapped her in soft flannel blanketing, pillowed her head, and assured that she was comfortable, once more sat himself by the fire.
The Deodand outside had lingered, and had been watching through the iron-barred window. Now it knocked at the door.
“Who’s there?” called the man in the black hood, twisting about.
“I desire the one who has entered. I hunger for her flesh,” said the soft voice of the Deodand.
The man in the hood spoke sharply.
“Go, before I speak a spell to burn you with fire. Never return!”
“I go,” said the Deodand, for he greatly feared magic, and departed into the night.
And the man turned and sat staring into the fire.
T’sais felt warm pungent liquid in her mouth and opened her eyes. Kneeling beside her was a tall man, hooded in black. One arm supported her shoulders and head, another held a silver spoon to her mouth.
T’sais shrank away. “Quietly,” said the man. “Nothing will harm you.” Slowly, doubtfully, she relaxed and lay still.
