Then the speaker dropped the language of the earth and used the Thomahlian tongue again: “It is I who speak—I, the Prophet; the Prophet Jarados!”
All in the voice of Dr. Holcomb.
The blazing leaf faded into blackness, and the talking ceased. Chick was glad of the darkness; the whole thing was like magic, and too good to believe. The first actual words from the missing professor! Each syllable was frozen into Watson's memory.
The Geos was clutching his arm.
“Did you understand, my lord? We heard the voice of the prophet! What did he say?”
“Yes, I understand. He used his own language—my language. And he said”—taking the reins firmly into his hands—“he said that we must return to the Thomahlia. And we must beware of the Bars.”
There was no thought of questioning him. Without waiting the Geos' command, the Jan Lucar began putting the craft about. Watson glanced at the sky; the great spectacle was gone; and he demanded of the soldier:
“How can we get back? How do we find our way?”
For there was no visible light save the strange, fitful glow from that uncanny sky to guide them; no lights from the inky carpet of the Thomahlia, lights such as one would expect for the benefit of fliers. But the soldier touched a button, and instantly another and larger dial was illumined above the instruments.
It revealed a map or chart of a vast portion of the Thomahlia. On the farther edge there appeared an area coloured to represent water, and adjoining this area was a square spot labeled “The Mahovisal.” And about midway from this point to the near edge of the dial a red dot hung, moving slowly over the chart.