The Fall of the Three Cities
(Annals of the Jinns—8)
by R. H. Barlow
Far to the south of Phoor and bordering upon Yondath extends the vast jungle land. The River Oolae enters it at several points, making travel by boat difficult between Phargo on the desert its outlet in the unnamed land. Where the jungle ceases it gives way abruptly to a vast and mighty plain. This open country is now desolate and entirely uninhabited. Nothing but the six-legged and grotesque monster-things called rogii roam its interminable fields of waving grass. Yet once this lower south-land was a populous and fertile plateau, from the swampy morasses of Yondath even unto the mountains and Zath, where dwell the fungii-masters. How it came to be so barren is told in antique myth, and when people hear the fate of the land beyond the jungle they shudder and make prayers in the air with the small finger.
This then is the tale of the fall of the cities of the plain—they that were called by men Naazim, Zo, and Perenthines.
Naazim lies now a waste, nor is there any trace of Perenthines. But one can yet find ancient ruins of Zo, and the vandals of Time have not entirely effaced the elaborate carvings of amber which lie half-buried in the concealing grass near where the vast pool was once constructed in the center of the city.
The whole thing started when the magician Volnar refused to leave Perenthines. He had been a most successful and prosperous sorceror until the deplorable case of the fishwife whose hair all fell out and took root in the ground before her house. This the people took to be an evil omen, and it was really quite difficult for them to break into his low, strange house after his refusal to depart. They were all disappointed he had gone. They did not know of the black tunnel beneath where he kept his magical supplies. So after searching hopefully around the house some one set it afire, and they made merry by the embers, diverting themselves lustily during the pale night while he fled with only his vengeful thoughts for company. The curious manner of his attire together with the black-edged mantle of crimson caused him to resemble a great moth flapping across the wasteland between the cities. By the time the last flagon of wine lay untidily upon the paving before where his house once was, and while yet his pet mondal moaned inconsolably about the ashes, for his persecutors had been unable to capture the highly edible pet, Volnar arrived at the gates of Zo.
The brilliance had begun in the northern sky, and the three suns were nearly risen. Soon would the far mountains be illuminated in yellow light, and Zath shine its metal towers like the armor of a weary knight sprawled upon the hills. The black stone of the precipice directly under the fasthold served only to set it off. Soon too would the rich rice fields of cultivated vegetation gleam pleasingly and the jungle come to animated life. But not yet were the gates open, for it had been the rule in Zo to keep fast-closed, till full dawn, ever since the Night of The Monster in neighboring Droom, close unto the mountains. There was a smell of spice hanging in the air, for the breeze was small, but this loveliness was wholly wasted upon the angry little sorceror as he chaffed before the giant gate. His robe was bedraggled from the mud and he was wearied of no sleep.
"Ho, guard!" he shouted irritably, "can you not let an honest traveler within your cursed village before high noon?"