by Cave, Hugh
An hour passed. They had traveled far, climbing a mountain and descending deep into a black valley. Ahead, windows glowed in the rambling shadow of an ancient farmhouse, but whether the house stood alone or was one of a community, Grayson could not know.
The wagon stopped. A door opened and light spilled out. A man stood there, waiting. He spoke to the withered woman, then strode forward, black-bearded and grotesquely tall, to lift the whipped girl from the wagon. Grayson warily followed the withered woman inside.
A strange room, that! Oil lamps of a forgotten era burned on a massive table. A great stone fireplace yawned darkly. Room and occupants were mellow with time!
There was the withered woman, muttering in a strange tongue as she knelt before the fire. There was the tall, bearded man, grimly dropping his limp burden to the floor. And the girl, conscious now, her dark eyes aglow in a pale mist of face; her small hands clasped over soft, trembling breasts, her lovely shoulders red with the welts of the whip.
Who were these people? Not Kentuckians, surely! Why in damnation hadn't Ted Jeffery supplied him with more information concerning them? How was he to talk to them, make them understand him, without knowing their background?
Grayson wet his lips. "You—you have been very kind. I'm sure I can reach the Jules place without troubling you further, if—"
The man stared, scowling. The woman turned. Awkwardly, Grayson hurried on: "If you will just tell me where the Jules live—"
The woman said gravely, "This is where the Jules live. Here." Then she added, "I'm Sarah. This is my husband, Fletcher. What you want of us, Grayson?"
Grayson recovered slowly from his amazement, and was instantly on the defensive. Talk to these people of a weekly radio hour known as "This America"? Explain to them, or try to, that he, as advance man, wished to make friends with them so that Ted Jeffery might interview them on a nation-wide hookup? Ali, no!
"Why, I—there's nothing I want of you," he said desperately. "You see—ah Carlton Clough asked me to come here. What he meant, I don't know. Nor will I until he gets here!"
The huge bearded man and his wife exchanged glances, and Grayson sensed with sinking heart that they were not pleased. Had he blundered?
"Very well," the woman said. "You are welcome to remain until he comes." She drew open a door to the left of the fireplace. "This will be your room, Grayson. Goodnight." She thrust a thick stump of candle into Grayson's hand, and shut the door behind him.
Grayson stared around him. The room was no larger than a cell. He tried the window; it was not locked. After a moment of indecision he shrugged, kicked his shoes off and threw himself on the bed. His eyes closed. He thought dreamily of the beautiful girl in the next room. He slept.
Voices waked him, and he reared on his elbows, listening. But it was not English he heard, nor was it any of the half dozen tongues of which he possessed a trifling knowledge. There was an old-world formality in it, and presently he realized that a sizeable group must be assembled in the adjoining room.
He crouched with an eye to the crack between door and frame, and what he saw amazed him.
Men and women of dark, swarthy complexion, occupied rough-hewn benches forming an unbroken circle. In the center stood the slender, white-faced girl whose beauty had thrilled him. Like a prisoner she stood, her dark eyes wide and wet, pale hands clasped to her ivory breasts.
One man sat apart, matted hair looped low on his brow, shading greenish eyes that never blinked in their cold scrutiny of the girl. The girl shrank from that gaze, as though it were an icy hand pawing the pale beauty of her body, twisting and squeezing her sensitive flesh.
Presently the formal discussion ended. As one, the group stared at the green-eyed man. He slowly stood up.
"You," he said, speaking in English to the girl, "are not one of us and never have been, though that can be changed. I shall forgive you for running away. I may later forgive your other faults. But before pity enters my heart, you must be punished." His thin lips flattened in what might have been a smile of anticipation.
The others nodded, murmuring their approval. The withered woman knelt, kissing the man's hands as though in gratitude. The girl shuddered, fighting back a sob of terror, and Grayson saw her tremble as though touched by something repulsive.
The withered woman said, "We thank you, Nicholas. We thank you for Judie's sake, too, though she has lost her tongue." Then Grayson heard his own name spoken, and saw them look toward his door. He retreated in haste.
A moment later Fletcher Jules entered and stood over him. "Rise, Grayson, and prepare to leave."
Feigning a reluctance to wake, Grayson rubbed his eyes. "Leave? But it's the middle of the night!"
"That cannot be helped. Dress yourself for the cold, and come."
The great room was empty except for Sarah Jules and her husband when Grayson emerged from his bedroom. They were waiting for him. The woman said tonelessly, "Whatever you may see or hear from this time on, Grayson, remember that our people will not tolerate interference from an outsider." With that she drew the door wide and motioned him out.
It was bitter cold. Ghosts of houses loomed and passed in the dark, but Grayson saw no lights anywhere. Perhaps the light of day shunned this place and left it always dark.
A larger building loomed apart from the others. Into it, through an empty meeting-room and down a dim flight of stairs, they went. At the base of the stairs extended a low-roofed tunnel. Along this in silent wonder Grayson walked for what he judged to be an eighth of a mile. Then he heard music and laughter, and was plunged suddenly into a scene of old-world gaiety that left him breathless!
Men and women alike were dressed in glittering finery, dancing to wild gypsy music in a vast room that smelled richly of wine. The gaunt Nicholas was there, and others who had sat in judgment of Judie at the Jules house.
Grayson was swept into the abandon of merrymaking. Despite his reluctance he was whirled from one group to another as the music leaped to swifter tempo. He looked for Judie in vain. Around and around the room he danced, deafened by the din, winded by the exertion.
But now to his ears came a sound that stiffened him. Others heard it, too, and for an instant the heart of the festival seemed to cease beating—but only for an instant. Led by Nicholas, the dancers quickly resumed their abandon. But Grayson stood motionless.
Again it came, the sound of a girl screaming. What had Nicholas said? She must be punished...!
Grayson retreated stealthily around a huge platform at the rear of the room, toward a door there. No one challenged him. An instant later he was prowling along a narrow tunnel, his way lit by a lamp he had seized.
Guiding him now were the girl's screams, brilliant with agony.
On he went. A lamplit cavern broadened before him. He stopped short, staring. His search was ended.
Naked, or nearly so except for a thin girdle of black that clung loosely about her, the girl Judie knelt in an attitude of supplication in the center of the chamber, her wrists held high by ropes reaching from the ceiling. Her head drooped. Her dark mass of hair flowed like black water about her shoulders, curling down to veil, but not hide, the flawless ivory of her breasts, the soft, sweet lines of her body.
Flanking her, armed each with a whip, stood two grim females garbed in somber black robes. The whips rose and fell with mechanical, monotonous rhythm across the girl's arched back. At each vicious caress, she screamed in agony.
Breath hissed from Grayson's mouth as he leaped. Blind with rage, he scattered the women, seized a whip from one of them and drove them back. The whip cracked about them as they fled.
He turned then to the kneeling girl. In a moment her wrists were freed and she lay in his arms, so soft and warm and thrillingly lovely that he could not believe she was real. He gazed tenderly into her ashen face and clumsily wiped her tears. "They'll never whip you again!" he muttered. "Never!"
Her arms crept about his neck and he thought that she smiled. At the same time, knowing the
danger of this place, he looked for a way of escape and saw an opening in the far wall. With the girl in his arms, he strode toward it.
She stirred a little in his embrace, her white body warm and soft as a kitten. "I—I can walk, Grayson," she whispered, "with some help from you. Together, perhaps we can escape. There is a way out from this place; that I know for sure!"
But Grayson did not hear. He was staring at the opening, at the grim shapes crowding it. He put the girl down and turned. Other silent shapes moved slowly from the tunnel by which he had entered. He was trapped.
It was a good fight, and a surprisingly long one. He did his best. His heart and soul were in it, and the nearness of the terrified girl—her courage as she fought beside him—gave him the strength of ten men. When at last he staggered to his knees under the onslaught, he was too weak to rise again.
One of the men, Fletcher Jules, stood over him and spoke angrily in the tongue Grayson did not understand. The others nodded, muttering their agreement. But the gaunt Nicholas, gazing at the girl, spoke in English.
"My people ask that you be dealt the final punishment, and the stranger with you," he said. "But we have another law that they forget. No man may knowingly lay his hands upon one of our women except he take her unto himself for always!" A smile crookedly touched his mouth, and the green eyes glittered. "It is my hope that you will enjoy being this man's bride, for his bride you shall be, if only for one brief heartbeat of time!"
Surrounded by the swarthy men of the valley, Grayson was marched back to the great meeting hail. Gaiety was dead there. Those who had not joined in the hunt for him were seated now in silence.
Grayson was marched to the platform, Judie with him. Nicholas stood before them. "Kneel!"
"I kneel to no man!" Grayson muttered. But heavy hands forced him down, held him there.
Judie knelt beside him. Then began a ceremony so strange that Grayson wondered if he were dreaming.
Nicholas began a chant, and the valley people joined with him. About their dolorous singing was something mystic, less of flesh than of soul. Grayson glanced at the girl, wondering if she too would join with them, and she did, but her eyes, unlike those of the others, were not tight shut, her hands not crossed upon her breast.
She leaned closer to him, and he felt her slim, warm body against his as her hand covertly sought his own. Though her lips scarce moved, a whispered message reached him.
"I am to be your bride, Grayson, through no choice of either of us. But know this: If choice were mine, I would kneel with you gladly. Remember that, when I am taken from you as is their custom. I shall not want to go, Grayson! My heart will die within me. Save me from it, if you can!"
Grayson squeezed her fingers. God, she was lovely! In this dim light her kneeling body was a thing of wonder, molded from dreams. His gaze caressed the proud beauty of her youthful breasts, the flow of her ivory thighs. He could feel the warmth of her like a drug. Give him half a chance, and he would have this girl for his bride in the manner of his own people, not hers!
The chanting ceased. Grayson stared at what appeared to be a giant pair of manacles in the hands of Nicholas. Advancing, the gaunt man looped a golden ring about Grayson's neck, then did the same to Judie, linking them like slaves. Words flowed like molten metal from his lips.
Now the valley, people shed their silence. A mighty shout rose. Gay music set them to dancing!
With a look of wonder, Grayson turned to the girl beside him and rose, lifting her up. "By their quaint custom we're evidently man and wife," he said. "Well, their custom will do until another comes along!" He smiled into her eyes. "Is it also their custom for the lucky fellow to kiss his bride?" he mused.
His arms went about her, and the delicious, trembling warmth of her yielding' body made him oblivious to all else. Here was beauty! Here was the lure of all womankind rapt in one slim, quivering girl. His girl! His to caress, to possess. His bride!
Cupping her chin, he tilted her face to his and sought her parted lips. But at that instant, with a bellowed roar, the giant Nicholas thrust between them.
"Blasphemer!" thundered Nicholas. "Know you not it is forbidden to touch the bride! But no . . ." and his voice softened with mockery . . . "our ways are strange to you. You have much to learn. Drink, Grayson. Drink to your bride, to your future!"
From the rear of the platform came a young and lovely girl, near naked, holding a golden cup on a golden tray. Grayson took it and glanced questioningly at his bride. He saw her face averted, a tear on her cheek. "Thanks, but I'm not thirsty," he said.
"Drink! Or it will be forced upon you!"
He was surrounded by swarthy shapes awaiting their leader's signal. Rage blazed within him. Then a hand trembled on his arm and his bride whispered brokenly, "Drink, or they will kill you."
"Is it poisoned?"
"No, Grayson."
"You ask me to drink it?"
Her lip quivered. The white, shimmering pearl of a tear fell from her cheek and ran slowly between her exquisite breasts. "Yes," she sighed.
Grayson drank, defiantly. The face of Nicholas blurred before him. Suspecting treachery, he sought within himself for pain but discovered only a pleasant languor. Faint were the festive shouts of the celebrants, dimmer still the tawny glow of the lanterns. From a distance he seemed to hear a woman sobbing—his woman, his bride, weeping in the tortured depths of her heart.
How much of what followed was reality, how much dream, Grayson could not know. He walked in a shadow-world of wonder. In and out of this alluring world weaved beautiful but disturbing phantasms.
Lovely young women, veiled only in pools of shimmering mist, paraded provocatively before him, their gestures an invitation for him to join them. Moon white of no form known on earth caressed their enticing bodies; stardust knitted diaphanous robes for their nude beauty. With them he walked through pleasure-paths of dream, their nearness arousing in him sensual hungers he had not known he possessed.
Time meant nothing in this mystic world. Yet there were moments when some part of him rebelled at the delights of the moment. In these moments a face more beautiful than those of his tempting companions, a girlish figure even more alluring than theirs, struggled to intrude.
In time, he remembered her name. Judie, his bride! He heard voices, one the thin voice of the withered woman, Sarah Jules, the other her husband's.
"He dreams," the woman said. "They all dream, after drinking the wedding wine! Ah, what I would give to know of what he dreams!"
"Every woman would give her all to know the secret of the wine," Fletcher Jules mocked. "It is forbidden to ask."
"Aye, I know it. Nor do I ask. Nor would I answer, my love, if you were to ask of what I dreamed that night, while entertained by the Master; or of what other brides dream. More than most, I know what goes on in the Master's house, since to me is entrusted the privilege of keeping it in order."
Through the mists, Grayson heard them. They spoke not English, yet he understood. What powerful potion, what mighty lifter of barriers, had he consumed?
But now the woman spoke in English, mocking him. "Dream, fool! If you knew the truth, your joy would rot! We have strange customs here, Outsider. The one that now enslaves you is strangest of all. Shall I tell him of it, Fletcher?"
"He is asleep."
"Ah, but he should be told. Be happy with your dreams, Outsider, whatever they are. While you dream, your lovely bride belongs to another. When two are wed among our people, the bridegroom spends his wedding night dreaming—but the bride spends it in the arms of the Master! Do you hear, Outsider? Look, Fletcher. He scowls!"
"You imagine it."
The woman's voice faded, derisively taunting Grayson until silence took it. A door closed. Grayson's eyes opened. He recognized his surroundings and was mildly surprised. They had returned him to his bed in the home of the Jules.
Rising, he moved soundlessly to the door. Anger fought with prudence, and anger won. He flung the door wide. Sarah Jules an
d her husband whirled to face him.
"He is awake!" Sarah gasped. "But it is too soon!
Grayson ploughed forward. His fist caught the big man flush on the jaw and felled him, and he caught the woman as she turned to flee. Holding her by the throat, he shook her.
"My wife. Where is she?"
More than rage widened her eyes as she squirmed. Fear was in them, and unless he were mistaken, a wondering respect for his courage. "Are you mad?" she whispered. "Nicholas would kill you!"
"I'll risk it! Lead on!"
She obeyed because she had to.
Trembling in his grasp, she opened the door and stumbled into the night.
The night was cold and black, but the woman knew her way. Soon, out of the darkness ahead, loomed the shape of a house larger than any Grayson had seen since entering the valley. Its great hand-wrought door was shut against intrusion. "I can take you no further," Sarah Jules said. "The Master's door is locked."
"You have a key for it. You talk too much, woman!"
She plucked a key from her bosom. "I-I cannot take you to the Master himself, Grayson!" she muttered. "I know not where he is!"
"You came here on your wedding night, old one. Lead on!"
She crept forward. Grimly he followed through a series of well furnished rooms. "He—he is below," she sobbed, "in his chamber in the earth. May the Master have mercy on us both!"
They entered a small but rich room in which candles burned dimly, and now an uncomfortable sensation seized Grayson that he was being watched. He hesitated, while Sarah Jules stooped over a low table and her fingers groped for something Grayson could not see.
The creaking of a counterbalance startled him. Abruptly he stepped back from a section of the floor that swung swiftly open, revealing a dark chasm in which a descending flight of stairs was visible.
"Follow me," Sarah Jules whispered.
Down she went, into a darkness that lay in wait like some slumbering beast. With a sixth sense warning him, Grayson warily followed. One glimpse he had of the tunnel below, leading into abysmal gloom. Then a voice shrilled behind him.