years ago."
He said: "And in those few words he has told all our story!"
"Even so, Ricori. It is all there-the dolls-the unguent-the torture-death-and the cleansing flame."
He mused: "It is strange, that. Three thousand years ago-and even then they knew the evil and its
remedy…'effigies similar to my form…who have taken away my breath…an ointment of harmful herbs…to
my death they have led me…O God of Fire-destroy them!' It is all our story, Dr. Lowell."
I said: "The death-dolls are far, far older than Ur of the Chaldees. Older than history. I have followed
their trail down the ages since the night Braile was killed. And it is a long, long trail, Ricori. They have
been found buried deep in the hearths of the Cro-Magnons, hearths whose fires died twenty thousand
years ago. And they have been found under still colder hearths of still more ancient peoples. Dolls of flint,