He watched dully as a Mumum scampered past and melted into the cliff. Maddening to know that the wall existed only in his own mind. He tried to concentrate, tried to nullify the terrible force that had invaded his brain. If he could do that, the cliff-illusion would vanish.
Veins stood out on his forehead with the effort; but the wall remained, seemingly solid as ever to his touch. The ray-force was too powerful.
Farr wanted to scream, wanted to hurl himself at the barrier and pound and tear at it with all the wild energy of a trapped animal. But he couldn't. His emotions were played out. He could only stand like a burnt-out robot, his apathetic eyes following the antics of the Mumums as they popped in and out of the wall-illusion, taunting him, trying to drive him mad with the realization that only he could not pass through it to freedom.
The Ancients had triumphed. The life secret would remain in this valley, eternally guarded by the ingenious ray that warped men's minds and made them see illusions that to them were insuperable actualities. Not until a Master Intellect claimed the heritage for the human race, would it ever leave here.
Farr was not that Master Intellect, and he knew what he must do now. His blaster came slowly from its holster. He brought the gun to his temple.
His finger tightened on the trigger. White fire exploded in his brain, cooking the cells, melting them. A last scream of defiance ripped from Farr's lips, then his form went suddenly limp and crumpled to the ground, to lay silent....
It was Londar's time to return the cylinder to the temple. Its contents were worthless, he knew, but it was the Ancients' command that the ritual be observed, so the pygmy-creature dutifully bent and retrieved the gleaming container and walked slowly with it toward the brooding edifice.
To carry out his mission, Londar would be forced to pass through the Great Lights, and Londar was afraid of the lights, much in the same way savages of Earth fear the magic of witch doctors. But the intelligence of the Mumums was slightly above that of savages, and Londar realized in a vague way that the lights could not harm him, could not do the things to him they had done to the black-haired man from the sky.
For, long ago, he had swallowed several of the mysterious crystals contained in the small silver tube swinging at his waist. The Ancients had commanded him to do that and Londar had complied, as had all his race, out of their great respect and love for the wise ones. The Ancients were gone now, had vanished into the sky many seasons since. But Londar and his people had lived on, ageless, undying, tirelessly performing the strange duties assigned them by the masters.