The Sea Witch – Three Stories by Nictzin Dyalhis

Book Details

The vengeance of Vikings, centuries delayed. Finding love after the destruction of Atlantis. And the lowliest bug dooms the mightiest wizard to hell. The Sea Witch – three stories of reincarnation, transmigration of souls, fate and vengeance by Nictzin Dyalhis.

The Sapphire Goddess (1934) – A wholly unusual and thrilling weird story of terrific adventures and another dimension of space—

The Sea-Witch (1937) – Out of the sea she came, this gloriously beautiful woman, to compass a weird revenge that had been too long delayed—a saga of Heldra the lovely, Heldra the wicked

Heart of Atlantan (1940) – The Voice of Destiny is above all gods—even above the Sun and Moon

Nictzin Dyalhis (1873-1942) was an intensely private man. He worked as a chemist and only published fifteen stories, eight of which were published in Weird Tales. Despite, or perhaps because of his paucity of output in an era of prolific writers, Dyalhis was regarded as something of a celebrity among his fans. He was erroneously thought to possess unusual abilities and an exotic history as an adventurer and world traveler.

Files:

1. SeaWitch.epub

Excerpt: The Sea-Witch

HELDRA HELSTROM entered my life in a manner peculiarly her own. And while she was the most utterly damnable woman in all the world, at the same time, in my opinion, she was the sweetest and the most superbly lovely woman who ever lived.

A three-day northeast gale was hammering at the coast. It was late in the fall of the year, and cold as only our North Atlantic coast can very well be, but in the very midst of the tempest I became afflicted with a mild form of claustrophobia. So I donned sea-boots, oilskins and sou’wester hat, and sallied forth for a walk along the shore.

My little cottage stood at the top of a high cliff. There was a broad, safe path running down to the beach, and down it I hurried. The short winter day was even then drawing to a close, and after I’d trudged a quarter of a mile along the shore, I decided I’d best return to my comfortable fireside. The walk had at least given me a good appetite.

There was none of the usual lingering twilight of a clear winter evening. Darkness fell so abruptly I was glad I’d brought along a powerful flashlight. I’d almost reached the foot of my path up the cliff when I halted, incredulous, yet desiring to make sure.

I turned the ray of the flashlight on the great comber just curling to break on the shore, and held the light steady, my breath gasping in my throat. Such a thing as I thought I’d seen couldn’t be—yet it was!

I started to run to the rescue, and could not move a foot. A power stronger than my own will held me immovable. I could only watch, spellbound. And even as I stared, that gigantic comber gently subsided, depositing its precious living burden on the sands as softly as any nurse laying a babe into a cradle.

Waist-deep in a smother of foam she stood for a brief second, then calmly waded ashore and walked with free swinging stride straight up the beam of my flashlight to where I stood.

Regardless of the hellish din and turmoil of the tempest, I thrilled, old as I am, at the superb loveliness of this most amazing specimen of flotsam ever a raging sea cast ashore within memory of man.

Never a shred of clothing masked her matchless body, yet her flesh glowed rosy-white, when by all natural laws it should have been blue-white from the icy chill of wintry seas.

“Well!” I exclaimed. “Where did you come from? Are you real—or am I seeing that which is not?”

“I am real,” replied a clear, silvery voice. “And I came from out there.” An exquisitely molded arm flung a gesture toward the raging ocean. “The ship I was on was sinking, so I stripped off my garb, flung myself on Ran’s bosom, and Ran’s horses gave me a most magnificent ride! But well for you that you stood still as I bade you, while I walked ashore. Ran is an angry god, and seldom well-disposed toward mortals.”

“Ran?” The sea-god of the old Norse vikings! What strange woman was this, who talked of “Ran” and his “horses,” the white-maned waves of old ocean? But then I bethought me of her naked state in that unholy tempest.

“Surely you must be Ran’s daughter,” I said. “That reef is ten miles off land! Come—I have a house near by, and comforts—you cannot stand here.”

“Lead, and I will follow,” she replied simply.”

SHE went up that path with greater ease than I, and walked companionably beside me from path-top to house, although she made no talk. Oddly, I felt that she was reading me, and that what she read gave her comfort.

When I opened the door, it seemed as if she held back for a merest moment.

“Enter,” I bade her, a bit testily. “I should think you’d had enough of this weather by now!”

She bowed her head with a natural stateliness which convinced me that she was no common person, and murmured something too low for me to catch, but the accents had a distinct Scandinavian trend.

“What did you say?” I queried, for I supposed she’d spoken to me.

“I invoked the favor of the old gods on the hospitable of heart, and on the sheltering rooftree,” she replied. Then she crossed my threshold, but she reached out her arm and rested her shapely white hand lightly yet firmly on my left forearm as she stepped within.

She went direct to the big stove, which was glowing dull-red, and stood there, smiling slightly, calm, serene, wholly ignoring her nakedness, obviously enjoying the warmth, and not by a single shiver betraying that she had any chill as result of exposure.

“I think you need this,” I said, proffering a glass of brandy. “There’s time enough for exchanging names and giving explanations, later,” I added. “But right now, I’ll try and find something for you to put on. I have no women’s things in the house, as I live alone, but will do the best I can.”

I passed into my bedroom, laid out a suit of pajamas and a heavily quilted bathrobe, and returned to the living-room where she stood.

“You are a most disconcertingly beautiful young woman,” I stated bluntly; “which you know quite well without being told. But doubtless you will feel more at ease if you go in there and don some things I’ve laid out for you. When you come out. I’ll get some supper ready.”

She was back instantly, still unclad. I stared, wonderingly.

“Those things did not fit,” she shrugged. “And that heavy robe—in this warm house?”

“But—” I began.

“But—this,” she smiled, catching up a crimson silk spread embroidered in gold, which covered a sandalwood table I’d brought from the orient many years before. A couple of swift motions and the gorgeous thing became a wondrous robe adorning her lovely figure, clinging, and in some subtle manner hinting at the flawless splendor of her incomparable body. A long narrow scarf of black silk whereon twisted a silver dragon was whipped from its place on a shelf and transposed into a sash from her swelling breasts to her sloping hips, bringing out more fully every exquisite curve of her slender waist and torso—and she smiled again.

Excerpt From: Nictzin Dyalhis. “The Sea Witch.”