Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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many fathers’ sons. Hotep h,as told me all he knows of the matter; he knew Anubis. You have slain him because of your private avarice. How much you must answer for. Let us lift him upon the saddle.” Slowly Sarenchis went to the prostrate figure, and bend¬ ing over him looked into Anubis’ face. The latter opened his eyes and scared at the older man. The quaking coward shrank away as from an apparition, but Anubis, springing to his feet, caught the sword from the old man’s belt, and plunged it deep into his breast. Slowly he drew it out, as with a relish, and heard the thud of the fallen body with a fiendish exhilaration He turned to the dazed figure beside him and held out the drip¬ ping sword with the air of one who has captured a prize. With a harsh, choked laugh he swung himself upon the riderless horse and rode away into the darkness. The soldier stood frozen with horror as he listened to the receding cl,ank and jingle of Anubis’ chains. “Oh, Holy Isis,” he cried, “my brother goes to seek his father whom he has not seen for fifteen years. How shall I tell him he has this night slain him with his own hands?”

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dead any more than lie belongs in the mines of Sinai! How much a private grudge can do! ’ ’ “ Who bore the grudge ?” “Why, Sarenchis! Nebfah Sech, Anubi’s betrothed wife, was desirable in the eyes of Sarenchis for his son, whom he lias not seen for fifteen years. He wishes his son to marry well.” “But how could he hope to save her for one whom she had not seen?” “Why simply by removing the object of her affection. He wished his son to make a good impression when he arrived, and how is that possible when she h,as eyes for but one? lie- moving that one, are not her eyes free to wander again?’’ “You are right,” he muttered. With a parting kick at the prostrate figure, the dismount¬ ed horseman climbed back into his saddle, and both the Egyp¬ tians fled into the night. Relieved of his ( awful tensity of strain, Anubis arose, and unable to asuage his pain sufficient to induce sleep to cover him with her soft dark mantle, he ruminated upon all that had occurred. The Nile seemed near in his excitement. He could reach it in two days, Hathor will¬ ing. He stretched his hands toward the heavens and called upon Isis to aid him in his flight, and to give him strength in allies to make good his revenge. Slowly he dropped his hands, for he heard the swish swish of approaching horses, and voices growing louder in the night ,air. He strained his eyes, hut could not make out the images as yet, so he again stretched him. The moments he awaited the approach were infinitesimal. It was cold and the chill air blew his hair about his face. He scarcely d,ared to breathe, and he held his body rigid lest he should shiver. He grew faint and his head swam, but he ra- mained in the same attitude of death. The voices grew louder, the grinding of the sand beneath the horses’ hoofs grew more harsh and more ominous. The breathing of the horses became audible. Anubis w,as conscious of the fact that the horsemen had stopped before him. He listened eagerly to their conversa¬ tion and grew strangely animated as the talking went on. “You may look upon his tomb in the City of the Dead and see your own handiwork. Your own selfishness — oh, do not look so — has made you a murderer, not only of Anubis, but 15

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The Ebony Box By ZELDA PITKIN (Third Award) O N a wet, muddy street in New York I found it. It was just a little ebony box; but such a box! Dainty,intri¬ cate designs were carved upon the dark surface. On the box sprawled a hideous little dragon with sparking rubies for eyes. Every minute scale of the dragon was carved by a master hand so cunning in workmanship that the beholder must pause and marvel at the wonder of it. I turned it over and over, gazing at its exquisite beauty ,and taking out my hand¬ kerchief I carefully wiped the mud and rain from it. As I did so a faint delicate odor was wafted to me. I raised my head, inhaling the perfume. “Spring must be coming,” I said, “I smell flowers.” I carried the little box home to my dingy apartments and set it on the table. Dropping to a chair in front of it I fell to wondering where it came from. I tried to open it, but the lid would not budge. My curiosity grew and grew. What was in that box? Again that faint sweet aroma came drifting to me. What yas it? Did it come from the box? I bent closer. It became stronger and sweeter. I closed my eyes with the joy of it. How strong it was! I opened niv eyes and my sight fell upon great clustered masses of cherry blossoms blooming above and around me, and the breeze showered them down to the green grass beneath my feet. I stood underneath a great flowering tree of them. The bees buzzed happily among the flowers and somewhere ,a songster poured forth his liquid notes of song. High up among the snowy flowers a bluebird flashed his brilliant plume. Where was this land where springtime was so joyous? Through the trees came the answer, a little brown Japanese m.aiden with sad almond eyes and troubled face. A playful breeze showered the white petals on her shining black hair and blue clad shoulders, but she gave no heed. Why should she be crying so, when spring was everywhere and the birds were singing stories about the houses they would build among the branches? I spoke to her and asked her the cause of her apparent grief. 17