Kaweeka bent over the stricken sheep and unwound the Light from its body, leaving exposed the singed wool and burnt flesh, and as if it had been a child gathered it up in her arms and still holding to the end of the Light danced back into the empty temple. Without an effort she tossed the dead sheep into the Fire, and the flames devoured it savagely. Then she began again her wild dance and gradually wound the Light up into its original coils until it lay in a heap by the side of the Fire. “According to the prophecy of Zurishadele I speak. Behold, he writes ‘Whosoever shall cause the seed of Korah to die shall be hunted by the people of Kalvar—yea until their blood gushes forth through their eyes and they are blind—until their limbs crumple up beneath them and they fall—so shall they be hunted that the people of Kalvar may deliver them up to the Fire.’” “Well?” asked Alan. Kaweeka smiled evilly. “It is true I am of the seed of Korah, and you, my Alan, have scorned me. I have given you my love—I would give you all—but you have laughed at me and mocked me. I would have given you my body—but now I give you more—I will give you my life. The Fire is burning low—more fuel is needed to keep it alive. I will give myself for fuel—but in giving my life, I offer two more to the God of our Fathers. For as you are the instrument of my destruction—so will the people fall upon you, and through the mouth of Mzata the Great, will you be offered a sacrifice to the Fire.” Lightly, gracefully, she stepped onto the transparent wall that surrounded the Fire, and then with a piercing cry tore off her jewels and her raiment and flung them into the flames, that were waiting eagerly for the food that was offered them. Then, naked, her hair falling about her, her dark skin shimmering in the light, she flung herself into the centre of the Fire. Alan rushed forward, but it was too late—the cruel tongues of fire had wrapped round her, and all that was left of the seed of Korah was a skull, stripped of its flesh, grinning at them for an instant through the flames, before it disappeared. It was all so unexpected, so sudden, that the boys had not realized what she purposed doing, and now, speechless and bewildered, they stared at each other in horror. Suddenly a hoarse whisper broke through the silence. “Flee, flee,” it said, and they recognized the voice of Har-Barim. “I cannot save you,” he continued. “My people will fall upon you and slay you—for although they loved not Kaweeka, yet the prophecy will have to be fulfilled. To-day is the vigil of the feast of Meherut—to-morrow the great feast itself. Till then and then only can I hide the manner of Kaweeka’s death. As you saved my Myruum, so will I try to save you. This much can I tell you. Make for the waters that are turbulent and wild, where they narrow to the space of a foot and dash against a rocky wall. Look for the stones that are red.—Now—go.” “But where shall we go?” cried Alan.