A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, December 1949 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ae Beat. Sacdoce function, although every sense ae = can have experiences that seem a = for days and weeks, although the -=---actua al dream lasts but a second. See | SEnative yourself an amoraiiie of os War Se oy! ” ‘Give your enemy an immortality of eee ee __ torment!’ To be done by expert hypno- = tists, masters of suggestion, sitting at the bedside of the dying and whispering into Sr aa ear that which the brain was to dra- -_-matize, after hearing and every other Ae sense was dead—”’ ~The Demoiselle drew a sharp breath. “Soe Keradel was staring at me with a = __ strange intentness. oh en << ~ sy cm = — —- Pi eS = ufficient sum you could promise, and sanuily give, your client the immortality the. desired.. Any kind he wa anted—from SS the houri-haunted Paradise of Mahomet to the angel choirs of Paradise. And if the sum were sufficient, and you could gain me access, you could whisper into the ear of = your employer’s enemy the Hell he was going into for aeon alter aeon. And I'll _ bet. he'd go into it. That was my ‘Heaven ~~ and Hell, Inc.’” A sweet idea, darling,” _ ~ Helen. So “A sweet idea, yes,” I said, bitterly. — “Let me tell you what it did for me. It = “happens that it’s entirely feasible. Very os eee consider me, the inventor. If there As. a delectable life after death, will I enjoy jt? Not at all. I'll be thinking—this is just = ee vision in the dying cells of my_brain. It has no objective reality. ue aa Hi \; murmured could happen to me in that future exist- Se etice, assuming it to be real, could be real = to me. I would think—Oh, yes, very in- hak . genious of me to create such ideas, but, ss after all they re only tm the dying cells of ee my brain, Of course,” I said, grimly, _ “there is compensation. If I happened to land in one of the traditional hells. I Ste wouldn’t take it any more seriously. And SS all the miracles, or magic, or sorcery, I ~~ have. seen was no more real than those 7) ae dying visions would he. = The Demoiselle erisperes so. faintly “T could make a Saar real to you, Main de Caranac— = _ either Heaven or Heli.” = 1 said: “In life or in death, your 2 - theories cannot be proven, Dr. de Keradel. = a ts Lae » ; ~ es <= - . Ee ~ = aren ee a? — ll, - A. MERRITT’S FANTASY “Well, there it was,” I went on. “Fora Nothing that — malice ; read At least, not to me.” There was silence. He did not answer, staring at me, fin- gers tapping the table. WENT on: “Suppose, for example, you desired to know what it was that they worshipped among the stones of Caranac, You might reproduce every rite. Might have your descendant of priestess with the ancient ghost wide-awake in her brain. But how could you know that what. came to the great cairn within the circle of Monoliths—the Gatherer within the- Cairn, the Visitor to the Alkar-Az—was real ?” De Keradel asked, incredulously, in a curiously still voice, as though exercising some strong restraint: “What can you know of the Alkar-Az—or of the Gatherer within the Cairn?” I was wondering about that, too, I couldn’t remember ever having heard those names. Yet they had sprung to my lips as though long known. I looked at the Demoiselle. She dropped her eyes, but not before I had seen in them that same half-amused triumph as when, under the touch of her hand, I had beheld ancient Caranac. I answered de Keradel: “Ask your daughter.” His eyes were no longer blue; they had no color at all. spheres of pale fire. He did not speak— but his eyes demanded answer from her. . The Demoiselle met them indifferently. She shrugged a white shoulder. She said: “T did not tell him.” She added, with a distinct touch of Perhaps, my father—he remem- bered., I ae to her, and touched her glass with mune; I was feeling pretty good again. I said : “T remember—I remem- ber—’”’ : Helen said, tartly: “If you drink much more of that wine, you're going to re- member a headache, darling.” The Demoiselle murmured: “What do you remember, Alain de Caranac?”’ I sang the old Bretagne song—to the English ‘words : “Fisher! Fisher! Have you seen White Dahut the Shadows’ Queen? Riding on her stallion black, At her heels her shadow pack— — ™ oO - They were like little © » ~ - De ee ee Oe ae ry @ AAs ds , im eS ae - Ld nn ee ea? i. | re a ee See eee Se Fae