- end_line
- 13113
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
- extracted_by
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- start_line
- 13048
- text
- Mardi’s reef; and now at Odo, that last threshold, waited to destroy;
or there, missing the revenge they sought, still swore to hunt me round
Eternity.
Behind the avengers, raged a stormy mob, invoking Media to renounce his
rule. But one hand waving like a pennant above the smoke of some
sea-fight, straight through that tumult Media sailed serene: the
rioters parting from before him, as wild waves before a prow
inflexible.
A haven gained, he turned to Mohi and the minstrel:—“Oh, friends! after
our long companionship, hard to part! But henceforth, for many moons,
Odo will prove no home for old age, or youth. In Serenia only, will ye
find the peace ye seek; and thither ye must carry Taji, who else must
soon be slain, or lost. Go: release him from the thrall of Hautia.
Outfly the avengers, and gain Serenia. Reek not of me. The state is
tossed in storms; and where I stand, the combing billows must break
over. But among all noble souls, in tempest-time, the headmost man last
flies the wreck. So, here in Odo will I abide, though every plank
breaks up beneath me. And then,—great Oro! let the king die clinging to
the keel! Farewell!”
Such Mohi’s tale.
In trumpet-blasts, the hoarse night-winds now blew; the Lagoon, black
with the still shadows of the mountains, and the driving shadows of the
clouds. Of all the stars, only red Arcturus shone. But through the
gloom, and on the circumvallating reef, the breakers dashed
ghost-white.
An outlet in that outer barrier was nigh.
“Ah! Yillah! Yillah!—the currents sweep thee ocean-ward; nor will I
tarry behind.—Mardi, farewell!—Give me the helm, old man!”
“Nay, madman! Serenia is our haven. Through yonder strait, for thee,
perdition lies. And from the deep beyond, no voyager e’er puts back.”
“And why put back? is a life of dying worth living o’er again?—Let
_me_, then, be the unreturning wanderer. The helm! By Oro, I will steer
my own fate, old man.—Mardi, farewell!”
“Nay, Taji: commit not the last, last crime!” cried Yoomy.
“He’s seized the helm! eternity is in his eye! Yoomy: for our lives we
must now swim.”
And plunging, they struck out for land: Yoomy buoying Mohi up, and the
salt waves dashing the tears from his pallid face, as through the scud,
he turned it on me mournfully.
“Now, I am my own soul’s emperor; and my first act is abdication! Hail!
realm of shades!”—and turning my prow into the racing tide, which
seized me like a hand omnipotent, I darted through.
Churned in foam, that outer ocean lashed the clouds; and straight in my
white wake, headlong dashed a shallop, three fixed specters leaning
o’er its prow: three arrows poising.
And thus, pursuers and pursued flew on, over an endless sea.
THE END.
- title
- Chunk 2