Coyote did not want death in The World. He said, "I'm going to throw a stick in the river. If it sinks, people will begin to die. If it floats, it will be all right." He threw in the stick and it floated.

Then Raven said, "No, I have the say here." I don't know where he got that authority; I guess he just had it. He said, "I'm going to throw a rock in the river. If it floats, there will be no death, but if it sinks, people will begin to die." He threw in the rock and it sank right there.

That is how death got started in The World. Now, when the ravens come around, we don't like it at all.
-- Story told by Yellow Bear to his daughter.

Sitting back in my chair, I toasted the feathered head of my victorious jeddak with upraised snifter of brandy. His frozen expression remained the same. Whether greeted by glorious triumph or bitter defeat, no man could know the emotions that churned beneath that chiseled brow.

My glance chanced upward to the stone arch that led to the east veranda, and paused there for a moment as I studied for the thousandth time the "X" scratched into the concrete by the sword of my uncle.

It was past midnight on a warm summer night. The stillness was almost tangible, broken only by the ticking of a grandfather clock in the next room. My mind wandered to Barsoom, as it often did at such times, and I picked out the Red Planet through the large bay window. It seemed to glow even more brightly than usual.

I thought about John Carter and his princess, the incomparable Dejah Thoris; their son Carthoris, and daughter Tara, whose adventures among the Chessmen of Mars had provided me with a means to lord it over my smug secretary. I admit that Shea played a passable game of chess; but with the intricacies of jetan he could not cope. Like Gahan of Gathol, however, I was a master of the game.

I picked up my jeddak and strolled toward the veranda, sipping brandy and examining the detail of the carving. A reader of mine had made the set. Who can fathom the devotion of fans, or the lengths they'll go to in appreciation of a simple chronicler's work? That this fan happened to be in Leavenworth made the gesture no less touching.

A contentment washed over me that was satisfying beyond words. Looking up from the jeddak to the red orb in the sky, I felt a strong attraction. My research for a recent novel revealed that the Apaches called the planet "Gora-ban-Hinsu" -- The Weeping Lover. Its hue reminded them of sorrowful eyes.

The pull was greater than I'd ever known before, and as I leaned against the rail of the veranda, I wondered if this might be the night that I, too, would be drawn across the trackless void — home.

The clank of metal shattered my reverie, and the attraction faded as suddenly as it had come upon me. Turning, I saw two warriors in the garb of my uncle's adopted world. One of them, in fact, was John Carter himself.

"Kaor, nephew!" the Warlord said by way of greeting, and I replied enthusiastically in kind, rushing to clasp his hand. He had not changed in the years since I had seen him last.

His companion, a red man of regal bearing, looked on silently. He devoured my humble home with his depthless blue eyes, which glowed with an intense interest, if somewhat detached. This was a fighting man, a warrior of Barsoom, straight as the blade that swung easily at his hip and just as deadly. There was a majesty about him that demanded near-reverence.

John Carter was an imposing presence, it's true. But with him, Warlord though he'd become, I'd always felt more than at ease. He would forever be the "Uncle Jack" who bandied me about on his knee during my babyhood, each of us laughing heartily.

I felt small before this other. There was something about him that suggested the weight of a world upon his shoulders, a fearful burden that would crush lesser mortals. And yet, despite the menace that flitted just below his surface, I felt also that no harm could ever befall me while near him.

John Carter laid one hand upon the shoulder of his companion, and with the other drew me closer.

"I would introduce you, nephew, to one who needs no introduction anywhere upon Barsoom," John Carter said solemnly. "My Jeddak, I present the sole living member of my family upon Jasoom: Edgar Rice Burroughs, a scribe of no mean talent. Nephew, this is Tardos Mors, Emperor of Helium."

Those icily distant eyes softened almost imperceptably as the Jeddak of Helium touched my shoulder.

"Thy name is known well among my people," Tardos Mors said in a voice that resonated against the thickness of the night, heavy with a strange accent. "But more importantly, it is writ with honor upon The Wall of Family in the Hall of Jeddaks."

Shea often remarks that I am never at a loss for words. Would that he had been there that night as I stammered before the most powerful ruler of Mars.

Sensing my discomfort, John Carter led us back into my study, a word of explanation upon his lips.

"It has long been my hope to one day bring Dejah Thoris to visit the planet of my birth," he said. "Recently, Kar Komak and I discovered a way to impart the secret to any I choose."

"John Carter sought to bring my granddaughter hither, across the void," said the Jeddak. "But I intervened."

"No Barsoomian had ever made the crossing," continued John Carter.

"It was a risk I would not permit," finished Tardos Mors. There was something in the way he said it that convinced me that no man, not even John Carter, could have persuaded the Jeddak otherwise. "And, I had reasons of my own for wishing to visit ... The World."

At that last comment, John Carter glanced quizically for a moment toward the great Jeddak.

Perhaps it was the brandy. Or perhaps it was my exhilaration at seeing John Carter again. But I was feeling more at ease, even giddy, at this unexpected visit. My tongue had returned.

"I am honored, my lord, that you saw fit to take the place of the Princess on this first journey to Earth," I said.

Raising my glass to those that John Carter had filled for the Jeddak and himself, I added: "May many such visits be possible."

The gaze of Tardos Mors moved from one object to another in my sanctuary. I hoped it would take in the lion's head on the wall, a trophy from my most recent visit to Greystoke's estate in Africa. The Band-lu spear from Caprona was another prized possession.

But the Jeddak's eyes scarcely paused on either of those trifles, coming to rest, instead, on the jetan board.

Depositing his snifter upon my desk, the Jeddak walked to the set and lightly retrieved the white princess that Shea had so recently given up. He stared at it a long moment.

"An incredible likeness," Tardos Mors finally murmured. A faraway sadness tinged those somber tones.

"I'm told that it is modeled upon my feeble descriptions of your granddaughter," I explained.

That peeked the interest of my uncle, who joined the Jeddak at the table.

"There is something familar about the features," admitted John Carter.

"Shis-Inday," breathed the Jeddak. "My princess."

John Carter and I waited for more, but it wasn't forthcoming. After several moments of silence, the Warlord touched the shoulder of Helium's Jeddak, who turned and sank heavily into the plush couch near my desk. I suspected Earth's gravity was an enormous strain on the Martian, but he said nothing of it and so neither did I.

"She is beautiful," I said, watching as the great Jeddak gently held the carving. "The picture of youth and vitality."

"Youth!" cried Tardos Mors, flashing anger in my direction. "What can that word mean to you, a Jasoomian, whose life is over in the barest fraction of an instant? I have ruled Helium for more than four centuries — and for twice that span my own noble sire sat with furrowed brow upon the throne of our mighty Empire. Youth! On this planet, the word is a mockery."

John Carter and I were startled by the bitterness in the voice of Tardos Mors.

"Your entire lives are lived in infancy," the Jeddak continued, more subdued. He set the ivory figure softly on a table at his side. "How do you stand it? I have been told the ways of your Usen are mysterious; and with that explanation I have learned to be satisfied. It took me many lonely years to accept the truth of it, though."

Tardos Mors went to the window, gazing into the night sky.

"Would you like to hear the tale of Shis-Inday?" he asked, without turning.

John Carter and I said that we would, so he told us the story that I have set down here in his own words, as nearly as I can recall them.