30. CHAPTER XXX.
It was yet moonlight when we pushed from the islet.
But soon, the sky grew dun; the moon went into a cavern
among the clouds; and by that secret sympathy between
our hearts and the elements, the thoughts of all but Media
became overcast.
Again discourse was had of that dark intelligence from
Mondoldo,—the fell murder of Taji's follower.
Said Mohi, “Those specter sons of Aleema must have
been the assassins.”
“They harbored deadly malice,” said Babbalanja.
“Which poor Jarl's death must now have sated,” sighed
Yoomy.
“Then all the happier for Taji,” said Media. “But
away with gloom! because the sky is clouded, why cloud
your brows? Babbalanja, I grieve the moon is gone. Yet
start some paradox, that we may laugh. Say a woman is
a man, or you yourself a stork.”
At this they smiled. When hurtling came an arrow,
which struck our stern, and quivered. Another! and
another! Grazing the canopy, they darted by, and hissing,
dived like red-hot bars beneath the waves.
Starting, we beheld a corruscating wake, tracking the
course of a low canoe, far flying for a neighboring mountain.
The next moment it was lost within the mountain's shadow
and pursuit was useless.
“Let us fly!” cried Yoomy
“Peace! What murderers these? said Media, calmly;
“whom can they seek?—you, Taji?”
“The three avengers fly three bolts,” said Babbalanja.
“See if the arrow yet remain astern,” cried Media.
They brought it to him.
“By Oro! Taji on the barb!”
“Then it missed its aim. But I will not mine. And
whatever arrows follow, still will I hunt on. Nor does the
ghost, that these pale specters would avenge, at all disquiet
me. The priest I slew, but to gain her, now lost; and I
would slay again, to bring her back. Ah, Yillah! Yillah.”
All started.
Then said Babbalanja, “Aleema's sons raved not; 'tis
true, then, Taji, that an evil deed gained you your Yillah:
no wonder she is lost.”
Said Media, unconcernedly, “Perhaps better, Taji, to have
kept your secret; but tell no more; I care not to be your foe.”
“Ah, Taji! I had shrank from you,” cried Yoomy, “but
for the mark upon your brow. That undoes the tenor of your
words. But look, the stars come forth, and who are these?
A waving Iris! ay, again they come:—Hautia's heralds!”
They brought a black thorn, buried in withered rosebalm
blossoms, red and blue.
Said Yoomy, “For that which stings, there is no cure,”
“Who, who is Hautia, that she stabs me thus?”
“And this wild sardony mocks your misery.”
“Away! ye fiends.”
“Again a Venus car; and lo! a wreath of strawberries!
—Yet fly to me, and be garlanded with joys.”
“Let the wild witch laugh. She moves me not. Neither
hurtling arrows nor Circe flowers appall.”
Said Yoomy, “They wait reply.”
“Tell your Hautia, that I know her not; nor care to
know. I defy her incantations; she lures in vain. Yillah!
Yillah! still I hope!”
Slowly they departed; heeding not my cries no more to
follow.
Silence, and darkness fell.
