They
were dark, vague, formless and indefinite, and they quivered--quivered
with a quivering that suggested mockery. Suddenly the shadows disappeared; the flickering of the flames ceased;
and in the place of the fire appeared a seething, writhing mass of
what looked like white luminous snakes. And in the midst of this mass
sprang up a cylindrical form, which grew and grew until it attained a
height of ten or twelve feet, when it remained stationary and threw
out branches. And the three men now saw it was a tree--a tree with a
sleek, pulpy, semi-transparent, perspiring trunk full of a thick,
white, vibrating, luminous fluid; and that it was laden with a fruit,
in shape resembling an apple, but of the same hue and material as the
trunk. Spread out on the ground around it, were its roots, twitching
and palpitating with repulsive life, and bare with a bareness that
shocked the senses. It was so utterly and inconceivably unlike what
Hamar, Curtis and Kelson had imagined the Unknown--and yet, withal, so
monstrous (not merely in its shape but in its suggestions), and so
vividly real and livid, that they were not merely terrified--they were
stricken with a terror that rendered them dumb and helpless. And as
they looked at it, from out the trunk, shot an enormous thing--white
and glistening, and fashioned like a human tongue. And after pointing
derisively at them, it withdrew; whereupon all the fruit shook, as if
convulsed with unseemly laughter. They then saw between the foremost
branches of the tree a big eye. The white of it was thick and pasty,
the iris spongy in texture, and the pupil bulging with a lurid light. It stared at them with a steady stare--insolent and quizzical. Hamar
and his friends stared back at it in fascinated horror, and would have
continued staring at it indefinitely, had not Hamar's mercenary
instincts come to their rescue. He recollected that time was pressing,
and that unless he got into communication with the strange thing at
once, according to the book, it would vanish--and he might never be
able to get in touch with it again. Thus egged on, he made a great
effort to regain his courage, and at length succeeded in forcing
himself to speak. Though his voice was weak and shaking he managed to
pronounce the prescribed mode of address, viz. :--"Bara phonen etek
mo," which being interpreted is, "Spirit from the Unknown, give ear to
me." He then explained their earnest desire to pay homage to the
Supernatural, and to be initiated into the mysteries of the Black Art. When Hamar had concluded his address, the anticipations of the three
as to how it would be answered, or whether it would be answered at
all--were such that they were forced to hold their breath almost to
the point of suffocation. If the Thing _could_ speak what would its
voice be like? The seconds passed, and they were beginning to prepare
themselves for disappointment, when suddenly across the intervening
space separating them from the Unknown, the reply came--came in soft,
silky, lisping tones--human and yet not human, novel and yet in some
way--a way that defied analysis--familiar. Strange to say, they all
three felt that this familiarity belonged to a far back period of
their existence, no less than to a more modern one--to a period, in
fact, to which they could affix no date. And, although a perfect unity
of expression suggested that the utterance of the Thing was the
utterance of one being only, a certain variation in its tones, a
rising and falling from syllable to syllable, led them to infer that
the voice was not the voice of one but of many. "You are anxious to acquire knowledge of the Secrets associated with
the Great Atlantean Magic?" the voice lisped. "We are!" Hamar stammered, "and we are willing to give our souls in
exchange for them." "Souls!" the voice lisped, whilst trunk and branches swayed lightly,
and the air was full of silent merriment. "Souls! you speak in terms
you do not understand. To acquire the secrets of Black Magic, all you
have to do is to agree that during a brief period--a period of a few
months, you will live together in harmony; that you will make use of
the powers you acquire to the detriment of all save yourselves; that
you will never allow your minds to revert to anything spiritual;
and--that you will abstain from--marrying." "And if we succeed in carrying out the conditions?" Hamar asked. [Illustration: THE INITIATION]

"Then," the voice replied, "you will retain free, untrammelled
possession of your knowledge." "For how long?" Curtis queried. "For the natural term of your lives--that is to say, for as long as
you would have lived had you never been initiated into the secrets of
magic." "And if we fail?" "You will pass into the permanent possession of the Unknown." "Does that mean we shall die the moment we fail?" Kelson inquired
timidly. "Die!" the voice lisped. "Again you speak in terms you do not
understand. You may be sent for." "You say--in perfect harmony." Hamar put in. "Does that mean without a
quarrel, however slight?" "It means without a quarrel that would lead to separation. The moment
you disunite the compact is broken." "What advantages will the secrets bring us?" Hamar inquired. "Can we
gain unlimited wealth?" "Yes!" the voice replied. "Unlimited wealth and influence." "And health?" "So long as you fulfil the conditions of the compact you will enjoy
perfect health. Will you, or will you not, pledge yourselves?" "I am ready if you fellows are," Hamar whispered. "I am!" Curtis cried. "Anything is better than the life we are living
at present." "And I, too," Kelson said. "I agree with Ed." "Very well then," the voice once more lisped. "Each of you take a
fruit and eat it, and the compact is irrevocably struck. You cannot
back out of it without incurring the consequences already named. Don't
be afraid, step up here and help yourselves--one apiece--mind, no
more." And again it seemed to Hamar, Curtis and Kelson as if the tree
and everything around it was convulsed with silent laughter. "Come on!" Hamar cried, somewhat imperatively. "Don't waste time. You've decided, and besides, remember this affair may turn out trumps. I'll go first," and walking up to the tree he plucked a fruit and
began to eat it. Curtis and Kelson slowly followed suit. "I believe I'm eating a live slug, or a toad," Curtis muttered, with a
retch. "And I, too," Kelson whispered. "It's filthy. I shall be sick. If I
am, will it make any difference to the compact, I wonder?" What the fruit really tasted like they could never decide. It reminded
them of many things and of nothing. It was sweet yet bitter; it
repelled but at the same time pleased them; it was as perplexing as
the voice--as enigmatical. When they had eaten it they resumed their
former positions on the ground, and the voice once again addressed
them. "The fruit you have consumed has created in you a fitness to make use
of the powers about to be conferred.