Page:Weird Tales Volume 12 Issue 05 (1928-11).djvu/88

you shall go unharmed by me; but at your death, should you leave heirs then shall they be my prey. One from each generation and perhaps more shall I take, until your line is stamped from the earth and is exterminated. This I promise and will fulfil! Say, girl, if from your offspring, if such there be, I may have one to do my will! Choose! It is yourself or the unknown, the unborn!"

"You may," said the girl, aloud, in the flat, dull tone of a sleeper.

"It is well!" He chuckled and then in a persuasive manner he sprang his trap.

"Of each generation?" was all that he said, but the three words spelled sorrow, misery and terror to countless souls yet unborn, for she had the power by a word to decide the future of many, as they were yet uncreate and upon her decision their very existence depended. This being true, she had likewise the power to use them, these unborn descendants, as she would.

"Yes," she said, in her bodily voice, and by the word she slew hundreds of unborn souls as surely as though she had laid a knife to their throats. By that word, a chain of helpless victims was established even to the present day, each victim dragging others with him like link after link of an anchor chain plunging into the sea, one pulling the next till many are beneath.

A look of devilish joy swept across the Master's distorted face and an accompanying look of sorrow lay upon the countenance of the Babylonian as he vanished.

"It is well," said the Master. "Your body will forget these words now. But later you will remember again. One is coming even now to free you."

And with the words, he also disappeared forever from her sight.

It was a nervous bird that hopped into the cottage by the wood, and cocking its head upon one side as it looked at the motionless figure upon the floor it listened fearfully and perhaps reasoned as follows:

"He did not move. Apparently he is dead, but then one can never tell, these humans are so cunning! It may be a trap! Truly these were hard times when a self-respecting bird must enter the very den of the ogre for food. But what would you? One must live!"

So he sidled closer and administered a sharp experimental peck on the man's neck.

He was a large but timid bird, so that when a groan issued from the prostrate form, he squawked raucously and pelted out of the cottage in a scurrying whir of wings, coming to rest in a near-by tree, and talked to himself at some length, concerning his bravery, while he watched for further developments.

These were not long in coming. The man moved his fingers slightly as though they clenched on something, and groaned again; after which he began to mumble broken words, face in the dust.

"Oh God!" he muttered; "if there is a God, help me now! Give me back my strength just for a little while! She is a pretty little girl and she always loved You. She is so dear and sweet and lovable. Are You going to let her die?"

His voice sank to a confidential murmur. "You see, God, I've got to go. I can't stay here while they hurt her. I promised I would always guard and keep her. Must I break my given word? It's a wicked, cruel joke to play this trick with me. I know I've been wicked in many ways and I deserve no pity, but don't You see; God, it isn't for me I ask? You aren't punishing me, but my little girl, and what did she ever do? I