Richmond Hill High School - Archway / Dome Yearbook (Richmond Hill, NY)

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BASEBALL

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Page 10 riisinoivis people refused to come to Noone and the camel tracks were covered with desert-dust and the roads from the inner lands were overgrown with weedsg if the dwellers stole away one by one till naught was left but the hollow marble shell and no soul to the city at all, why, then it would be no matter what her doom. Gort ftugging at his grizzled beardj: Of a truth, Montrore, thy words puzzle me. But thou art very young and thou canst not understand how grievious a thing is an abandoned city. Montrore: But if the city has been for, ages doomed to a secret and terrible doom, what matter if she be deserted? Are not the people the city? ' Gort: Ah, no! Wouldst thou willingly leave the little green and golden garden by thy father's home to be despoiled by Time and the Winds? Thinkest thou the King would leave his jasper palace, ceiled with gold and lapisflazuli, or the jade and crystal grottoes by the sapphire lake? Thinkest thou the priests would abandon their great gods of chalcedony and rose quartz and emerald, or even the little onyx god, Kitsan, who sits by Yaguth's left foot and stares all day at the purple mountains? , Ivlontrore fthoughtfullyj: No, there is wisdom in your words. And yet-methinks -if they had only courage to tear up the old things, journey to the West, or even over the desert to the purple mountains and there build a new and undoomed city-why then- 4 Gott fsnorting at his arguments, : Why then, if the people make the city it is doomed yet. I tell thee, Montrore, no matter who may come to live within the city walls, all, all, are doomed with Noone. Montrore: Well, 'tis a right awesome thought. Gort fronclusivelyj :HA terrible thought. Montrore flocking over the city before lzimj : They know and yet they leave not. Gort: They know and they dare not leave. fSilence for some time until Montrore speaks., Montrore: It must be a fearful thing to wear the golden diadem of Noone, turquoise encrusted though it be, and believe that your poor city ..... tHe sighsj Gort: I would not sit on Agonidan's throne, if the great ivory idol, Elmuth Noy, should step down himself from his carved ebony dais and lead me to the chair of state. Montrore: It is a terrible thing to believe your city is doomed unalterablyf' Gort: It were not so awful were the pro- phecy a new one, made by some enthusiastic devotee. But to know that for ages, your city has been fated to an unspeakable secret doom, and to wait and wait for the doom to fall, with the knowledge growing stronger year by year ..... fWords fail the sturdy captainj Montrore: The belief. Gort furmoticingj: Nay, I would not be Agonidan. He grows daily paler and leaner and the silver and amethyst arm' bands jangle loosely when he tries to smooth his fretted brow. Even he is certain that the doom is soon to fall. Montrore: And yet he will not leave his city. Gort: If I were king, I should not abanf don my city. There is something that binds men to their cities. Montrore: It is useless to rail against the gods and yet .... Gort: There is no yet. The gods are harsh and cruel if aught offend them. And who can tell what was the crime of that far off first king of Noone for whose sake the prophecy of doom has been handed down since time almost legendary? Montrore: The gods are hard, it is true, but sometimes in the dawn hours, they are exceedingly gentle. Perhaps they regret the doom foretold and heap these joys and riches upon Noone in sorrow, and as a little compensation for the fate to come. All the beauty that is hers! Surely, if the gods hated Noone, they had not tinted the slender spires with the caressing opal dawnflight, nor sent the faintly perfumed breezes whisf pering over the gardens. They had rather deprived her of the flowers and the blue sky and the rosefflamed sunsets and the little playful winds of early morning and sent instead, a copper sun in a pall of grey and black starless nights and heavy breezeless mornings. But there is so much beauty sent to Noone. Gort: The gods are not for us to underf stand. Montrore: I often wonder what the gods have meant. I cannot fathom them and their words. Their ways are not the ways of mortals and their paths seem all bound up in inconsistencies. They are pe' culiar rulers, the gods. We pray to them daily and burn spices and bowls of dried flower petals before them and they send us pleasant breezes. Yet if one little man do

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