The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (black female authors txt) 📗

This is what bothered Chick. He did not know how to adjust himself; life, place, sequence, were all out of order. Until he could gather exact data, he must trust to intuition as before.

The two pictures vanished simultaneously. Down came the black waves from the windows, gradually, and in a moment the room was once more flooded with that mellow radiance. The Rhamda Geos stepped forward as a murmur of awed approval arose from the assembly. There was no applause. One does not applaud the miraculous. The Geos took his hand.

“It is proven!” he declared. Then, to the Rhamdas: “Is there any question, my brothers?”

But no word came from the floor. Seemingly superstition had triumphed over all else. The men of learning turned none but reverent faces toward Watson.

He forebore to glance at the Bar Senestro. Despite the triumph he was apprehensive of the princes's keen genius. An agnostic is seldom converted by what could be explained away as mere coincidence. Moreover, as it ultimately appeared, the Bar now had more than one reason for antagonising the man who claimed to be the professor's prospective son-in-law.

“Is there any question?” repeated Rhamda Geos.

But to the surprise of Chick, it came from the queen. She was standing before her throne now. Around her waist a girdle of satin revealed the tender frailty of her figure. She gave Watson a close scrutiny, and then addressed the Geos:

“I want to put one question, Rhamda. The stranger seems to be a goodly young man. He has come from the Jarados. Tell me, is he truly of the chosen?”

But a clear, derisive laugh from the opposite throne interrupted the answer. The Bar stood up, his black eyes dancing with mocking laughter.

“The chosen, O Aradna? The chosen? Do not allow yourself to be tricked by a little thing! I myself have been chosen by the inherited law of the Thomahlia!” Then to Chick: “I see, Sir Phantom, that our futures are to be intertwined with interest!”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“No? Very good; if you are really come out of superstition, then I shall teach you the value of materiality. You are well made and handsome, likewise courageous. May the time soon come when you can put your mettle to the test in a fair conflict!”

“It is your own saying, O Senestro!” warned Geos. “You must abide by my Lord's reply.”

“True; and I shall abide. I know nothing of black magic, or any other. But I care not. I know only that I cannot accept this stranger as a spirit. I have felt his muscles, and I know his strength; they are a man's, and a Thomahlian's.”

“Then you do not abide?”

“Yes, I do. That is, I do not claim him. He has won his freedom. But as for endorsing him—no, not until he has given further proof. Let him come to the Spot of Life. Let him take the ordeal. Let him qualify on the Day of the Prophet.”

“My lord, do you accept?”

Watson had no idea what the “ordeal” might be, nor what might be the significance of the day. But he could not very well refuse. He spoke as lightly as he could.

“Of course. I accept anything.” Then, addressing the prince: “One word, O Senestro.”

“Speak up, Sir Phantom!”

“Bar Senestro—what have you done with the Jarados?”

An instant's stunned silence greeted this stab. It was broken by the prince.

“The Jarados!” His voice was unruffled. “What know I of the Jarados?”

“Take care! You have seen him—you know his power!”

“You have a courageous sort of impertinence!”

“I have determination and knowledge! Bar Senestro, I have come for the Jarados!” Chick paused for effect. “Now what think you? Am I of the chosen?”

He had meant it as a deliberate taunt, and so it was taken. The Bar shot to his feet. Not that he was angered; his straight, handsome form was kingly, and for all his impulsiveness there was a certain real majesty about his every pose.

“You are of the chosen. It is well; you have given spice to the taunt! I would not have it otherwise. Forget not your courage on the Day of the Prophet!”

With that he stepped gracefully, superbly from the dais beneath his throne. He bowed to the Aradna, to Geos, to Chick and to the assembly—and was gone. The blue guard followed in silence.

The rest of the ordeal was soon done. Nothing more was said about the Jarados, nor of what the Bar Senestro had brought up. There were a few questions about the world he had quit, questions which put no strain upon his imagination to answer. He was out of the deep water for the present.

When the assembly dissolved Chick was conducted back to the apartments upstairs. Not to his old room, however, but to an adjoining suite, a magnificent place—that would have done honour to a prince. But Chick scarcely noted the beauty of the place. His attention flew at once to something for which he longed—an immense globe.

Chick spun it around eagerly upon its axis. The first thing that he looked for was San Francisco—or, rather, North America. If he was on the earth he wanted to know it! Surely the oceans and continents would not change.

But he was doomed to disappointment. There was not a familiar detail. Outside of a network of curved lines indicating latitude and longitude, and the accustomed tilt of the polar axis, the globe was totally strange! So strange that Chick could not decide which was water and which land.

After a bit of puzzling Chick ran across a yellow patch marked with some strange characters which, upon examination, were translated in some unknown manner within his subconscious mind, to “D'Hartia.” Another was lettered “Kospia.”

Assuming that these were land—and there were a few other, smaller ones, of the same shade—then the land area covered approximately three-fifths of the globe. Inferentially the green remainder, or two-fifths, was the water or ocean covered area. Such a proportion was nearly the precise reverse of that obtaining on the earth. Chick puzzled over other strange names—H'Alara, Mal Somnal, Bloudou San, and the like. Not one name or outline that he could place!

How could he make his discovery fit with the words of Dr. Holcomb, and with what philosophy he knew? Somehow there was too much life, too much reality, to fit in with any spiritistic hypothesis. He was surrounded by real matter, atomic, molecular, cellular. He was certain that if he were put to it he could prove right here every law from those put forth by Newton to the present.

It was still the material universe; that was certain. Therefor it was equally certain that the doctor had made a