Meg saw, then, that she was part of a group huddled in the center of that which had been the fortress of their Clan. They numbered more than three score; a mixed group of battle-grimed Warriors, Workers, breeding-mothers, even one or two pale-faced, weeping Men. The studs of the Jinnia Clan.
But there was another group at the far end of the court. These would never again either laugh or mourn. They were the dead. Workers and Warriors for the most part, although a few plump, bulbous bodies fed the mound. In still another place lay the bodies of the slain invaders; these had been accorded more dignity. All about the arena lay curiously shaped pebbles which—Meg knew, shivering clammily—were not pebbles. Two stunted yellow men, grinning callously, now busied themselves raking up these grisly objects.
Meg said, "The—the Mother?" and as if in answer to her thought, a gentle voice reached her ears.
"I am here, Meg, my daughter."
Meg turned swiftly. The Mother of the Clan lay behind her, motionless, head lifted upon a bolt of cloth someone had provided. There was an image of dreadful pain in the Mother's eyes. Meg sprang to her side, heart bursting with sorrow.
"Mother—you are hurt!"
"Nay, daughter, I am slain." The Mother sighed; a wan breath of regret. "They had no intent to kill me. But the rays were too potent for my aged body. I will linger yet a little while, then I must go. It is sad that I must leave my Clan captive to a race of beasts like these."
Meg said, "Rays, Mother?"
"Yes, my child. Those weapons which our Warriors could not comprehend are similar to those which, in the old legends, it is told the Ancient Ones used to destroy each other. Vibrations that cause, in one case horrible death; in the other case, stupefaction."