Og’s arms went up; he slid the infant through the little gateway. I heard its mother scream; but my eyes, fascinated, were on that black, tumbling void of water.
The baby’s body, caught by the current, floated out and downward—slowly at first, then more swiftly. Gradually it turned over. . . An infant face—big eyes full of staring surprise. . . a puny wail of protest as the water grew hotter. . .
Down it went, whirling now—a tiny white blob. . . white, then pink—then turning red. . .
I sank back, sick and faint. And Nona, who had not looked, whispered tremblingly to me the meaning of it all. There were too many male children being born to the Maagogs—too many useless mouths to feed. After each tenth time of sleep, male children were drawn by lot in the different community houses and sent up here to this death chamber for execution.
Og the Executioner! How efficiently, with a smile on his lips, he performed his grisly duty!
You read of this with a shudder perhaps? You marvel that in even so remote a hole of the Universe as this Water of Wild Things in the bowels of my little meteor, such ghastly, inhuman things should take place? You forget. Can you not recall that on your own fair Earth, not so very long ago, they cast infant girl-babies into the sacrificial waters of the Granges, to the hungry, eager jaws of the crocodiles?
I did not look again. Occasionally there was a sob—a scream; once, a brief, despairing scuffle as some mother found the ordeal beyond her strength. The little half-grown boy, as he passed me with Og’s hand in his, gazed at me with a dumb, terrified appeal . . . I hated myself as I looked away. . .
Then—it was all over. The little gateway was replaced. The mothers—empty-armed—swam silently out into the tunnel, through the parted ranks of those alert-eyed, guarding fishes.
Maaret, the girl, had disappeared. Og was again alone with us. His lips were leering triumphantly.
“You see how well I do my work? Quickly—without confusion.” The leer abruptly faded into grim menace; his eyes blazed at us.