Worms of the Earth | Page 9

and gripped her arm in his
iron fingers. An involuntary shudder shook him at the feel of her sleek
skin. He nodded slowly and drawing her close to him, forced his head
down to meet her lifted lips.
Chapter Four
The cold gray mists of dawn wrapped King Bran like a clammy cloak.
He turned to the woman whose slanted eyes gleamed in the gray
gloom.
"Make good your part of the contract," he said roughly. "I sought a link
between worlds, and in you I found it. I seek the one thing sacred to
Them. It shall be the Key opening the Door that lies unseen between
me and Them. Tell me how I can reach it."
"I will," the red lips smiled terribly. "Go to the mound men call
Dagon's Barrow. Draw aside the stone that blocks the entrance and go
under the dome of the mound. The floor of the chamber is made of
seven great stones, six grouped about the seventh. Lift out the center
stone--and you will see!"
"Will I find the Black Stone?" he asked.
"Dagon's Barrow is the Door to the Black Stone," she answered, "if you
dare follow the Road."

"Will the symbol be well guarded?" He unconsciously loosened his
blade in its sheath. The red lips curled mockingly.
"If you meet any on the Road you will die as no mortal man has died
for long centuries. The Stone is not guarded, as men guard their
treasures. Why should They guard what man has never sought? Perhaps
They will be near, perhaps not. It is a chance you must take, if you wish
the Stone. Beware, king of Pictdom! Remember it was your folk who,
so long ago, cut the thread that bound Them to human life. They were
almost human then--they overspread the land and knew the sunlight.
Now they have drawn apart. They know not the sunlight and they shun
the light of the moon. Even the starlight they hate. Far, far apart have
they drawn, who might have been men in time, but for the spears of
your ancestors."
The sky was overcast with misty gray, through which the sun shone
coldly yellow when Bran came to Dagon's Barrow, a round hillock
overgrown with rank grass of a curious fungoid appearance. On the
eastern side of the mound showed the entrance of a crudely built stone
tunnel which evidently penetrated the barrow. One great stone blocked
the entrance to the tomb. Bran laid hold of the sharp edges and exerted
all his strength. It held fast. He drew his sword and worked the blade
between the blocking stone and the sill. Using the sword as a lever, he
worked carefully, and managed to loosen the great stone and wrench it
out. A foul charnel house scent flowed out of the aperture and the dim
sunlight seemed less to illuminate the cavern- like opening than to be
fouled by the rank darkness which clung there.
Sword in hand, ready for he knew not what, Bran groped his way into
the tunnel, which was long and narrow, built up of heavy joined stones,
and was too low for him to stand erect. Either his eyes became
somewhat accustomed to the gloom, or the darkness was, after all,
somewhat lightened by the sunlight filtering in through the entrance. At
any rate he came into a round low chamber and was able to make out
its general dome-like outline. Here, no doubt, in old times, had reposed
the bones of him for whom the stones of the tomb had been joined and
the earth heaped high above them; but now of those bones no vestige

remained on the stone floor. And bending close and straining his eyes,
Bran made out the strange, startlingly regular pattern of that floor: six
well-cut slabs clustered about a seventh, six-sided stone.
He drove his sword-point into a crack and pried carefully. The edge of
the central stone tilted slightly upward. A little work and he lifted it out
and leaned it against the curving wall. Straining his eyes downward he
saw only the gaping blackness of a dark well, with small, worn steps
that led downward and out of sight. He did not hesitate. Though the
skin between his shoulders crawled curiously, he swung himself into
the abyss and felt the clinging blackness swallow him.
Groping downward, he felt his feet slip and stumble on steps too small
for human feet. With one hand pressed hard against the side of the well
he steadied himself, fearing a fall into unknown and unlighted depths.
The steps were cut into solid rock, yet they were greatly worn away.
The farther he progressed, the less like steps they became, mere bumps
of worn stone. Then the direction of the shaft changed