“But,” she added sorrowfully, “the power of the Fire is waning. According to one of our prophecies, when the Fire shall die, then, also shall all the seed of Korah die too. In all the ages that have passed since the earth closed against us, no fuel was needed for the Fire—it burnt of itself and never grew less. Then one day noises were heard in the earth—our land shook and trembled, and men fell on their faces in fear. From that day we knew the Fire was growing less. Our priests knew it—all our people knew it and terror was in all our hearts. Then our high priest looked up all the old laws and in the fourth book of Rabez-ka, Queebenhah the Seer writes— ‘When the Fire shall shrink, then is the time ripe for the people of Kalvar to rise. Live sacrifices must be offered to appease the God of Anger. Send forth a Light to the world above, and let it bring back men and animals and birds to feed the furnace of Light. Live sacrifices alone will keep the fire quickened—live sacrifices alone will prevent calamities falling on the Children of Kalvar.’ “So our wise men gathered together,” she continued, “and by the wisdom of all, the Light was made. The wise men of the temple and Kaweeka alone could handle it—for they were possessed of Holiness, and the Light was made from the Fire itself. Chemicals were drawn from the recesses of the earth, and in secret the Light was made.” “How did they use it, Jez-Riah?” “When it was sent out into the earth above, it was sensitive only to life. When any warm living thing of the world was near, it swooped down, and coiled round and carried its prey back to us.” “I understand better,” said Alan to his cousin. “The Light is some magnetic electrical current with abnormal power. Ugh! It’s horrible.” “But why did they stop sending out the Light for fodder to feed the flames?” asked Desmond. “Because we realized that our time is short. Nothing will keep the Fire alive. The end is near.” So they travelled—and then depression overtook them as their journey seemed endless and they got no nearer to their goal. Even Jez-Riah herself seemed to lose hope, and with tears in her eyes she would say pathetically “O Ar-lane, my senses seem dimmed—the way is dark. Surely we must come there soon!” The monotony of the way drove the white men nearly mad. The monotony of the food sickened them. They felt half dazed; they forgot the reason of their march; they forgot, even, what the goal was toward which they were going. They knew only that some power within them urged them to go on and on and always on.