“Yes, yes. Go on.” Once again, Mitchell felt that curious twinge of doubt about Walton, but let it pass in the sudden surge of excitement. At last, he thought with a savage exultation, he might discover something which would show Nordhurst who had been right from the very beginning.
“If I told you that the great statues moved themselves down from Rano Raraku to where you now find them—would you believe that?” There was a beat of sarcastic humor in the dry voice.
For a moment, Mitchell felt his hands tighten on the table in front of him, then he forced himself to relax. Somehow, at the back of his mind, he had always subconsciously known that it might have been something like this, incredible as it was.
“Go on,” he said tightly. “I’m not going to deny what you say.”
“That is good.” The other nodded his head slightly once more. “We have been here on Easter Island for many centuries, but as you will have guessed, we were not the first to come. Long before we arrived, there were others. They were not like us. Compared to them, we are as pygmies. They were the long ears whose stone faces you can see outside. Now they ring the island, watching for any who may try to escape to the sea.”
“And those others. The bird-men!”
“Yes. They were here, too. The struggle between those two mighty forces was long indeed. This was the primal struggle of good and evil between the Old Ones and the Gods.”
Ralph Mitchell nodded. Everything seemed to fit into place. The carvings and the manner in which those huge figures had been brought many miles from that quarry in the heart of Rano Raraku.
“So good finally triumphed,” he said finally. “At least Nordhurst will have to believe me now.”
He grew aware that the other was shaking his head and there was a curious smile on his lips.
“No,” said the reedy voice. “That is not so. The good were not triumphant.”
Mitchell stared at him, scarcely able to frame his thoughts and put them into words. He remembered the feeling which had all but overpowered him on the way there in the darkness. Suddenly, he knew what the other meant, but he wanted to hear him say it.
“No?” He forced his voice to remain steady.
“No. It was the forces of evil which triumphed over those of good. The Gods were defeated and that evil still exists here to this day. The struggle continues and will do so until the end of time.”
Mitchell turned his head to glance at Walton. The other, he saw, was not looking at him, but was staring straight ahead, his lips pursed into a hard, thin line, his face fixed into a strange expression.
“Do you believe what he’s saying?” he asked, switching to English. “It seems utterly fantastic.”
“I warned you it might be difficult to believe,” said the other quietly. “But I see no reason to disbelieve him. After all, why on earth should he lie to us? He isn’t making anything out of it; and he was the one who approached us with this story.”
“It’s possible,” admitted the other. “But somehow, I don’t think that’s the answer. I’m inclined to believe that he’s telling us the truth.”
“Do you realize what you’re saying? That there still exists on the island, if not actual remains of that lost race, people who can perpetrate this evil he speaks of?”
“I know. I find it incredible, difficult to believe, but I’ve studied enough of these people to get to know when they’re lying and when they’re telling the truth.”
Mitchell turned back to the old man. While they had been speaking, he had been staring into space, taking no interest in what they were saying. He scarcely seemed aware of their presence there.
Mitchell swallowed hard and forced down the sudden inexplicable rising of fear in his throat. The dark, empty eyes stared impassively into his and for a moment, the feeling was there that a black, intensely malignant aura lay around the other like some odd cocoon, spreading out from him in an evil wave. He blinked his eyes rapidly several times and forced himself to look away. It was more than likely that such men had mastered the art of some form of hypnotism, he thought tightly.
Finally, he forced himself to speak quietly. “There are writings of my people which tell of men who landed here from a ship many, many years ago. They were never seen again and the ship had to leave without them. Do you know what happened to them?”
The eyelids never flickered. “The Old Ones must have taken them,” was the simple reply.
“The Old Ones?” persisted Mitchell, “and are they still here?”
“They are all here. Those that the Old Ones take to themselves have immortality. They cannot die.”
Mitchell shrugged. What the other was saying was impossible, of course. This didn’t make sense at all. He had the feeling that this conversation was about two different things, that neither of them was on common ground. But he was damned if he was going to let this superstitious old fool beat him. He had come here for information and he intended to get it at any cost. These natives had fobbed him off once too often. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Walton, but the other had fallen strangely silent and seemed reluctant to take any further part in the proceedings.
“This immortality you speak of,” he went on, “just what does that mean? That they still live here, as you or I, and that they’ll go on living for all time?”
For the first time, the other smiled; a toothless grin that sent an involuntary shiver through him.
“They are here with the others and here they will remain,” was all that he could get out of the old fellow. Finally, in exasperation, he climbed sharply to his feet, and stood looking down at the other, his face angry.
“This is what I expected, of course,” he said tightly, deliberately speaking in Spanish so that the old man could understand every word. “A pack of lies and half forgotten superstitions which anyone could have told me. I don’t know why I listened to you, Walton. I thought I might learn something here which would be important. More and more, I’m getting the impression that perhaps, although I don’t like to admit it, Professor Nordhurst had been right all along the line. There is nothing here to bear out my ideas and theories. This expedition was nothing more than a complete waste of time. I’m going and this is the last time I agree to come and meet any of these—fools!” He spat the words out as he turned on his heel and moved towards the door. He had almost reached it when the old man called him back. There was a sharp, biting quality in his voice now, a note of warning.
“Just before you go, señor, there’s one thing I want to tell you. Don’t make the mistake of thinking as your friend thinks. He came here disbelieving everything and swears that nothing will change his mind. He is a very foolish man, because there are things here far beyond anything he can comprehend. I know them for what they are, the power of darkness and evil that were spawned thousands of years ago, between good and evil on this lonely island.
“Things which were born then and have not died over the centuries. They can never die so long as the island is alive. They’re out there now, in the darkness. Perhaps you felt their presence on your way here tonight. But your friend will soon discover these things for himself and when that happens, be sure that you are not of the same mind as he is. Be guided by your friend here,” he inclined his head slowly in Walton’s direction. “He can see these things, he has the mind of one who believes.”
“Is that a threat?” asked Mitchell thinly.
“Not a threat, but a warning. Believe me when I tell you that it is not a good thing to gain immortality—this way.”
Ralph Mitchell glared at him in silence for a long moment, then pushed aside the straw over the entrance of the hut, clambered swiftly down the shaking ladder to the ground and stood in the cold darkness. Above him, he could hear Walton saying something to the old man in his own tongue. Waiting for him to come, Mitchell smiled grimly. Probably the other was apologizing for what had happened. If so, he could save his words. His patience was finally almost exhausted.