Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 Canadian Read online

  A LL STORIES NEW JANUARY, 1946 NO REPRINTS

  NOVELETTES

  LOST ELYSIUM . Edmond Hamilton 4

  There is a world congruent with earth but existing on a different plane of vibration.

  a world of unearthly beauty — and horror!

  THE MURDEROUS STEAM SHOVEL . Allison V. Harding 44 A big steam shovel is stronger than any bull elephant, got a better memory — and more kilter in 'im!

  THE MAD DANCERS --*-- Roger S. Vreeland 58 .... Some were prone to delegate the new plague to one of the sub-sciences beneath the dignity of medicine.

  SHORT STORIES

  MRS, LANNISFREE ».**■«*,- August Derleth 26

  By and by you'll see a figure, white in the moonlight, walking rchndessly toward the sea.

  THE CRANBERRY GOBLET «--,-- Harold Lawlor 33

  There are all kinds of macabre secrets in this world' — goblins and goblets!

  THE FANGS OF TSAN-LO ----- Jim Kjelgaard 76

  The air tvas charged with hate and viciousnesa in its most primitive and elemental form.

  SOUL PROPRIETOR -_-...- Robert Bloch 87

  "One human soul, in reasonable condition, to highest bidder. . . . Owner must dispose of same at once!"

  THE MIRROR --.„„-„» Charles King 95

  See. it was quite evident! The mirror was actually defying him!

  RIDE THE EL TO DOOM -- * * - - Alice B. Harcraft 101

  They said the iron horse on stilts had to come down — but there are singular forces beyond our ken that mttst be reckoned with first!

  VERSE

  MIDNIGHT MOON - ~ * « * - Stanton A. Coblentz 43

  HOMECOMING m m » . » - « « « *■ H. P. Lovccraft 56

  WEIRD TALES—Issued bi-monthly by The American News Company. Limited, 474 Wellington Street West. Toronto. Ontario, by arrangement with Weird Tales. Inc., 9 Rockefeller Plaza, New York. New York. Copyrighted 1944, by Weird Tales. Inc. Authorized by the Postofflce Department, Ottawa, at second class matter. Manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by self-addressed stamped envelopes and are submitted at the author's risk. Names of all characters used In story and semi-fiction articles are fictitious. If the name of any real person or existing Institution Is used. It Is a coincidence. This magazine was produced In Canada, oa "anndlan paper, by Canadians, Vol. 38, No. S>

  The Shining Land Found Again

  ALTHOUGH "Lost Elysium" in this number is a sequel to "The Shining Land" (Weird Tales, July, 1945) author Edmond Hamilton writes us that he had no thought of a follow-up yarn when he wrote that first novelette.

  "But after it appeared," Hamilton says, "I began to realiae how many interesting possibilities there were for a second yarn."

  Herewith are some further notes on the story, forwarded by Edmond Hamilton:

  "Lost Elysium/' like "The Shining Land," had its source in my long interest in Celtic mythology. ' Years ago I stumbled on Roleston's "Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race," in my estimation still the best popular account, and ever since then have read everything I could find on this fascinating subject.

  It has always seemed to me that the Celtic talcs have more imaginative splendor than any other mythology. They do not have the graceful perfection of the Greek legends, nor the dark, grim power of the great Norse saga of the doomed Aesir, but in sheer, magic beauty they are incomparable.

  Terhaps the most remarkable and dis-

  tinctive feature of Celtic mythology is the predominance of their strange conception of an Otherworld or Elysium, distinct from the ordinary Earth. It was called Tir Sorcha, or the Shining Land, but was also called Tir nan Og, the I.and of Youth, or Tir n'Ailt, the Other World.

  It was not primarily, like the Greek Elysium, an ahode of the dead. Rather it was conceived as a realm of wondrous, golden beauty that existed somewhere in-the Western Ocean but could not be seen by ordinary eyes because it was detached magically from our Earth. It was persistently pictured as consisting of many islands, and the Celts believed that more than one adventurer had managed to enter it and wander through the enchanted archipelago. "The Voyage of Bran" and the ,f Voyage of Maledune" are accounts of such adventures, the latter having been turned into a fine poem by Tennyson.

  The great Cttdralain, hero of the later LTltonian myths, also entered this Elysium and there met and loved Fand, one of the great figures of the superhuman Tuatha race. But the Tuatha, more correctly the Tuatha de Dannan, had themselves previously invaded Earth in the fourth of the five great invasions listed by Celtic chronology, and had here fought and defeated the dark and evil Fomorians who were the most hated and dreaded of prehuman races.

  From all this dramatic material, which I must emphasize is here only briefly summarized and has many variant versions, I tried to select those incidents and characters which could be woven into a story that would illustrate the richness of the old Celtic lore without doing too much violence to its traditions.

  It may be of interest to note that one of the most famous of 20th Century (Continued on Page 32)

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  Lost Elysium

  STORM gathered orrinnusly over the mid-Atlantic. Black clouds were boiling up across the western sky, and already the screaming wind was piling up great waves that battered at the little auxiliary yawl.

  Brian Cullan, sole occupant of the little yawl, stood at its wheel and watched the gathering tempest in ax agony of indecision and dread. Not dread for his personal safety, but fear that the storm might end the wtird quest that had brought him to this ionely ocean waste.

  "This storm will sink me unless I run before it," he muttered. "But if I stay, it might open the way to the Shining Land as it did before!"

  Cullan's dark, lean young face was haggard as he looked down with tense hope at the ring on his finger. It was a strange ring, a worn, massive hoop of gold set with a curious prismatic crystal. But what he prayed for had not happened. The jewel was still dull, dead.
/>   The storm was coming on with giant strides Even under bare spars, the stout motor of the yawl could hardly keep it from swinging broadside to the climbing waves. He must flee at once if he were to escape the full fury of the tempest. But Cullan's agony of indecision suddenly ended in desperate resolve.

  "I'll take the gamble! It's my only chance of entering Tir Sorcha again.

  By EDMOND HAMILTON

  I've tried everything else and failed."

  And boldly he opened the Diesel's power and kept the little craft bucking directly into the storm, to maintain his position.

  Brian Cullan had been cruising around this position in the lonely mid-Atlantic for days. Vainly he had been trying to force entrance back into the strange, alien world that by chance he had entered two years before.

  The other time, just after the war ended, he had been flying back across the Atlantic to America and home. He had flown into a raging thunderstorm and a strange thing had happened. The

  crystal, of the old ring upon his finger hi.d begun to glow weirdly with sparkling force.

  The ring was an ancient heirloom in Brian Cullan's family. For his descent was supposed to be from the great Cuchu-lain, the legendary Celtic warrior-hero of two thousand years ago. And from Cuchulain had come down that strange ring which had always been called "The Unlocker."

  The ring was a key, that under certain circumstances could unlock the gateway into an alien world. A world congruent with Earth but existing on a different plane of vibration, a world of unearthly

  Somewhere tvas that lost, golden land and a love worth the hideous danger of returning

  LOST ELYSIUM

  beauty and horror that long ago Cuchulain and others had entered and had called Tir Serena, the Shining Land.

  Finns into that weirdly different world, Brian Cuilan had found that time in it was different. A year on Earth was but a da in the Shining Land. So that the twenty centuries since Cuchulain visited to those who dwelt on it. that other world seemed but a few years And the dwellers in Tir Sorcha were those whom the ancient Celts had worshiped as gods! The Tuatha De, the great race whose chieftains, Lugh and Dagda and others, had been deified long ago by men of Earth, and who still lived and reigned in that other world of far slower time.

  And among them — Cullan's heart yearned at the memory—was that Princess Fand, whom the great race had made guardian of the Gateway between worlds Long ago, Fand had loved Cuchulain but hiid let him return u> Earth. And when Brian Cuilan came, to her he was Cuchulain returned for a trick of inheritance had made him the double of his long-dead ancestor.

  Cullan's eyes filled with tears that the howling wind and spray of the storm whipped from his cheeks.

  "Fand, I swore to come back to you or die trying!" he cried into the roar of wind and waves. "And it's one or the other, now!"

  For he had loved Fand, as he had loved no woman of Earth. In her faery-beautiful city Ethne, he had fought for her against her estranged husband Mannanan when that traitorous lord of the great race had sought to seize the Gateway to Earth for his own evil purposes.

  He had fought and won, for Mannanan had died in the battle that wrecked

  his plot. But Cuilan had lost too, had been exiled from the Shining Land and thrust back to his own world by the great Tuatha rulers who had decreed that none should come and go between the worlds.

  He had come back to the drab, war-wearied Earth, but haunted by memory of that lost, golden elysium and the love he had left there. He had sworn to return to Fand despite the stern decree of the Tuatha lords.

  TVTOW, after two years of preparation, Brian Cuilan had come in the yawl to that spot in mid-ocean whence formerly his plane had been snatched into the other world. For days, he had vainly tried by the scientific means he had prepared to open that strange channel between the worlds of varying vibration. And all his attempts had failed.

  This, now, was his last gamble. The way had been opened that other time by the unleashed electric forces of storm. It might happen again. If it did, the subtle scientific powers of the ancient ring upon his finger would take him through.

  Cuilan, clinging to the wheel of the bucking yawl, peered tensely at the crystal on his finger. "It must happen again!"

  But the crystal of the Unlocker remained dead, mocking him. The jewel itself was not a door between worlds. It was only a talisman which could take him through if the door were opened.

  The sky was now night-black, the howling gale raising mountainous waves that tossed the struggling yawl like a toy on their raving crests. Lightning had begun to spear blindingly across the heavens.

  Blinded by flying spray, deafened by

  LOST ELYSIUM

  the roar of tempest, Brian Cullan fought fiercely to keep the yawl against the storm. Despair closed icy fingers around his heart, for now that the full power of ihe gale was unleashed, the little craft could not long survive.

  Each time it dropped dizzyingly into the trough of the great waves, he managed miraculously to keep it from swinging broadside and foundering. Eut miracles could not go on forever. Cullan's hair bristled as he saw huger waves piling blackly and leaning forward lo crush him.

  Colossal hands seemed to snatch the yawl skyward, and as it hung for a moment on the crest with screw racing wildly, he knew this was the end. The whole heavens flared in that moment with dazzling lightning—

  "The sign!" yelled Brian Cullan wildly. "The sign of the Gateway!"

  The lightnings had whirled into a flaming, blinding circle in the sky over his head. A circle that seemed whirling down upon him.

  And the crystal of the Unlocker on his finger was suddenly flaming! Scintillating with blazing rays of force that spun in a circle which was miniature match to the descending hoop of lightning above him.

  Storm-lightning had momentarily opened the Gateway between the worlds of varying vibration, and the Unlocker's subtle aura of force would take him and his craft through if—

  Crash! The yawl had dropped from the towering wave-crest to the surface of the sea, with a smashing shock that wenched its beams to shrieking proLesL, and that flung Brian Cullan hard against the rail.

  He was half stunned, but he struggled

  to his knees. Then he froze, looking around him with wild surmise on his haggard face.

  Golden, glowing mists were about him, a strange, sprawling haze. The yawl floated placidly on a smooth yellow sea, amid that unearthly radiance. Black sky, howling storm, raving waves, had all vanished.

  Wild joy, exultation in hope long-deferred but now at last fulfilled, hammered in Brian Cullan's heart.

  "Tir Sorclia! The Shining Land!"

  CHAPTER II i"* OLDEN, dreamy stretched the mists around him, stirred by the soft, warm wind into little twists of shining vapor that slowly swirled above the yellow sea. Forever hidden above the aureate haze was whatever sun lit this world. But through the sparkling, shrouding vapors there dimly bulked the outline of a distant island.

  Brian Cullan felt a singing joy that thrilled his every nerve. He had fought fate and death and storm to return to ihis world, and his wild attempt had succeeded.

  "Fand! Fand!" he whispered, and the name was like a jubilant prayer upon his lips.

  He steered the yawl, its motor throbbing, toward the dim shape of the distant island.

  This was a world of islands, he remembered. A strange, ocean world whose golden mists shrouded countless scattered isles that held wonders of beauty and terror unknown to Earth save in legend.

  Cullan soon perceived that over the island ahead vast-winged shadows hov-

  LOST ELYSIUM

  ered. Then he saw them more clearly as incredible, roc-like birds that were planing to a landing on the low green land.

  "The island of Great Birds!" he exclaimed, "I remember, now. And over there—"

  Over there farther in the shining haze showed another isle that seemed covered by tall trees. But the trees were flowers, colossal blooms nodding and waving gently in the breeze.

&n
bsp; The two remembered isles gave him his bearings. He turned the yawl and sent it throbbing away in a direction thai was north by his gyro-compass. It was the way to the isle of the Waterspout where was Fand's city, Ethne, whose beauty had haunted his memory these two years.

  "Two years?" thought Cullan. "But only two days have passed in this world, since Lugh forced me back to Earth."

  Bitter had been that memory of the hour when he had been exiled from this world and from Fand by stern decree of Lugh, lord of the Tuatha. But now the bitterness was dissolved in the joy of return.

  No: even his knowledge that he was returning into Tir Sorcha in direct defiance of the warning of mighty Lugh, not even the penalty of doom he risked, could temper his joy. Somewhere here he and Fand would find chance for happiness, however brief.

  Cullan could not measure the passage of time as the yawl sped north and north. It might be near nightfall but he had no means of guessing. Almost tremulously, his eyes strained into the mists ahead. Then at last the island of bis hopes took slow shape.

  It was the Isle of the Waterspout, a low green hill rising from the yellow sea.

  A deep bay indented its southern coast, and above that bay cli m bed the shimmering structures of the faery city, Ethne.

  Most wonderful was the giant geyser of water that gave this isle its name. It was a colossal waterspout that sprang perpetually from a pit on the north shore and curved obliquely across the whole island to thunder down in a ceaseless cataract into the bay below the city.

  "Ethne at last! And Father there, hoping and waiting for me—'*

  Brian Cullan's pulse hammered as he sent the yawl speeding into the bay. Loud in his ears now was the unending, booming thunder of the falling waterspout, whose maelstrom of currents he gave wide berth.

  The battered little yawl glided into the bay on throttled motor. Ahead lay the ancient yellow stone docks of Ethne, and from them climbed the streets and elfin buildings of Fand's City.

  Cullan saw that remembered beauty through blurred eyes. Poised beneath the rushing rainbow of water that arched the sky, Ethne was a city of dream. Its buildings were shimmering spheres like iridescent bubbles, rising in breathtaking loveliness to the highest cluster of bubble-domes that was Fand's palace.