“Peace! What murderers these?” said Media, calmly; “whom can they seek?—you, Taji?”
“The three avengers fly three bolts,” said Babbalanja. “See if the arrow yet remain astern,” cried Media.
They brought it to him.
“By Oro! Taji on the barb!”
“Then it missed its aim. But I will not mine. And whatever arrows follow, still will I hunt on. Nor does the ghost, that these pale specters would avenge, at all disquiet me. The priest I slew, but to gain her, now lost; and I would slay again, to bring her back. Ah, Yillah! Yillah.”
All started.
Then said Babbalanja, “Aleema’s sons raved not; ’tis true, then, Taji, that an evil deed gained you your Yillah: no wonder she is lost.”
Said Media, unconcernedly, “Perhaps better, Taji, to have kept your secret; but tell no more; I care not to be your foe.”
“Ah, Taji! I had shrank from you,” cried Yoomy, “but for the mark upon your brow. That undoes the tenor of your words. But look, the stars come forth, and who are these? A waving Iris! ay, again they come:— Hautia’s heralds!”
They brought a black thorn, buried in withered rose-balm blossoms, red and blue.