Lankar of Callisto

We set out the next day on thaptor-back, skirting the borders of the Kumala, and rode for the jade slab amidst the scarlet sward. The expedition had returned in triumph and the adventure had come to a happy ending. There was no reason to prolong my return to Earth any further, and I was anxious to get home. I knew my wife would be worried about me and that my agent would be getting anxious, too. Business decisions would be piling up, contracts were waiting my signature, and there were books I wanted to write=this one in particular. I wanted to set down my memories of these people and my impressions of their strange and wonderful world while they were still fresh in my mind.

Zastro consulted the ephemeris, if I may call it that, whereby the old sage was able to predict when the golden ray of force would appear next and the Gate Between the Worlds would be open. Studying the complicated tables wherein the history of the phenomenon was recorded, he announced a date two days hence.

I suppose my departure from Shondakor may have seemed a bit precipitous―after all, the Armada had only arrived a few hours before I made my farewells―but sometimes it’s best to do it thus. But to postpone my return to Earth until a later date would not make the farewell any easier.

And so we rode through cheering crowds and out the gates of Shondakor and across the stone bridge which spanned the gliding waters of the Ajand, and west across the grassy plains under the golden skies. Glypto and Taran and Zantor rode with me, and Jandar and Zastro and many more, and we were escorted by a contingent of the Jungle Legion, led by the stalwart young captain, Barin, who had first escorted me to Shondakor so many days before. Bozo loped along at my side, his short legs pumping furiously, looking up into my face from time to time with an unreadable expression in his bulging eyes.

“It will be hard saying goodbye to you, Taran, after all the adventures we have shared together,” I said to the boy who rode silently at my side, his face glum and downcast. He nodded mutely.

Jandar, who rode on my right, smiled understandingly.

“Taran has a home in Shondakor now,” the Prince said warmly, “and we will take care of him. He is old enough to become a cadet in the legions, and Lukor has promised to tutor him in swordsmanship. In no time at all he will be a. brave and gallant young officer in command of many warriors. And we shall see to it that he has a man-sized sword from then on!”

The boy brightened at this exciting news. At his age it is almost impossible to stay sad or gloomy for very long life is too filled with excitements and surprises.

“Really, Jandar-jan?” he chirped, “A sword of my own―and a place among the warriors?” Jandar solemnly assured him the promise would be faithfully kept. Thereafter, the boy rode along more cheerfully.

“I think you have one more goodbye to make, sir, which will be even harder,” Jandar said to me quietly, nodding his head at the great beast who waddled along beside my mount. I acknowledged the truth of his words with a sigh. It was going to hurt, parting with Bozo. I knew the poor othode could not understand why I had to leave him behind; my departure would hurt him and he would mourn. It might even break his great, loyal heart, for the faithful fellow loved and trusted me completely. It wasn’t going to make my heart comfortable, either, for I had grown very attached to him over all this time. But I had to leave him behind; I had no choice in the matter.

We rode along at an easy pace, talking little between us, and then only on inconsequential small matters. I felt downcast and morose―adventures ought not to end like this, I thought to myself sadly. But then I always hate goodbyes; anyway. Partings depress me. I love making new friends, but I hate saying farewell to them.

I was in such a glum, downbeat mood that I didn’t really notice Bozo’s peculiar behavior until it was pointed out to me later. The beast had been waddling along beside me during the beginning of our journey, but before long he began hanging back, staring into the jungle with intent interest and snuffling the air as if he sensed the presence of something which alerted his attention. The warriors of the Jungle Legion who rode behind our party as an escort said that while the othode seemed disturbed, he did not react as he would have to the presence of a dangerous predator. Had his sharp senses detected a danger he would have growled deep in his broad chest and his hackles would have risen.

He would linger behind, goggling eyes fixed on something in the underbrush, and he evinced a peculiar reluctance to turn aside from whatever it was in the jungle that had caught his attention. Many times Barin’s men had to call back to him in order not to leave him behind.

We halted for a brief rest and a meal and it was during this rest stop that Bozo vanished entirely. He stood near me, staring fixedly into the thick bushes, ears at the alert, his whole body tense with strange excitement. I spoke to him absently and at the familiar sound of my voice he turned mournful, pleading eyes upon me, and uttered a curious, eager whine. The next moment and he had gone. One leap carried him from the perimeter of our temporary camp into the underbrush at the edge of the Grand Kumala. The jungle swallowed him up. I called, but there came no answer.