“One more question, and I’m ready for yours. None of you thoroughly believed me until I told you of the Face, and what I told you frightened you. Why?”
Now it was Regor who was troubled; his face darkened, then paled, the scars standing out like livid welts.
“And again you are frightened,” Graydon said, curiously. “Why?”
“At a Shadow,” answered Regor, and with effort. “At an evil Shadow which you have turned to substance. At an ancient tale—which you have turned to truth. Let be—I say no more.”
A shadow…the Serpent-woman had spoken of a shadow…linking it with this enemy they called the Dark One…there had been a name…The Shadow of…ah, yes—he had it now.
“You speak,” he said, “in riddles. As though I were a child. Do you fear to name this Shadow? Well, I do not—it is the Shadow of Nimir.”
Roger’s jaw dropped; closed with a snap. He took a menacing step toward Graydon, face hard, eyes bleak, with suspicion.
“You know too much, I think! And knowing, fear too little—”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Graydon, sharply. “If I knew why you feared, would I ask? I know the name, and that is all—except that he is foe of the Mother. How I came to know it, I will tell you later—after you have answered my question. And with no more riddles.”
For a full minute the great man glared at him, then shrugged his shoulders, and sat facing him.
“You shook me,” he said, quietly enough. “Of all the Fellowship, I alone, or so I think, know the name of Nimir. It has been forgotten. The Lord of Evil—that name all know. But not the name he bore before—”
He leaned over toward Graydon, laid his hand on his shoulder, and his stern mouth quivered.
“By the Power above us all, I want to believe you, lad!”
“I would not have this hope die!”
Graydon reached up, and pressed the clutching hand. “And by the Power above us all—you can believe, Regor.”
Regor nodded, face tranquil once more.
“Thus then it is,” he began. “This is the ancient story. That long, long ago Yu-Adanchi was ruled by the Seven Lords and Adana, the Snake Mother. They were not as other men, these Lords. Masters of knowledge, holders of strange secrets, wielders of strange powers. Both death and life they had conquered, holding back death at will, doing as they willed with life. They came to this land with the Mother and her people, age upon age long gone. Through their wisdom, they had ceased to be entirely human—these Lords. Or at least—we would not think them so; though men like us they must once have been.
“There came a time when one of them plotted secretly against the others, scheming to wrest their power from them. Himself, to rule supreme. And not alone in Yu-Atlanchi, but over all earth, all living things his slaves. Himself enthroned. All powerful. God on earth. Slowly, steadily, he armed himself with dread powers unknown to the others.
“When he felt his strength had ripened—he struck. And almost won. And would have won—had it not been for the guile and wisdom of the Mother.
“That Lord was—Nimir.
“They conquered him—but they could not destroy him. Yet by their arts they could fetter him. And this they did, so the ancient story ran, preparing a certain place, and by their arts prisoning him within the rock there.
“Out of that rock they carved a great Face, in the likeness of Nimir’s own. It was not in mockery…they had some purpose…but what that purpose might have been…none knows. And by their arts they set in action within that place forces which would keep him bound fast as long as the land—or Nimir—endured. Of fruit of jewels or flowing gold, such as you described, the tale said nothing.
“All this being done, the Six Lords and Adana, the Mother, returned to Yu-Atlanchi. And for long the old peace reigned.
“Time upon time passed. One by one those whose eyes had beheld the Lord of Evil grew weary, and opened the Door of Death. Or opened the Door of Life, brought babes through it, and then passed through the dark portal, that being the price of children in Yu-Atlanchi! So there came a day when in all this hidden land there was none of its people left who knew the whole truth except a handful among the Dream Makers, and who would believe a Dream Maker?
“That war whose stakes had been a world, faded into a legend, a parable.
“Then, not so long ago as time is measured in Yu-Atlanchi, there came the rumor that this evil Lord had reappeared. A Shadow of him rather; a Darkness that whispered; bodiless but seeking a body; promising all things to those who would obey him; whispering, whispering that he was the Lord of Evil. And that the Urd, the lizard-people, were his slaves.
“When first we heard this rumor of the Shadow and its whisperings, we laughed. A Dream Maker has awakened, we said, and some one has believed him. But as the Shadow’s following increased, we laughed not so loudly. For cruelty and wickedness grew swiftly, and we realized that whether Lord of Evil or another, there was poison at the roots of the ancient tree of Yu-Atlanchi.
“Of all the six Lords there remained only one, and the Mother and he had long withdrawn from us. We sought audience with the Mother, and she was indifferent. Then Lantlu seized power, and life in the ancient city became intolerable to many of us. Following Huon, we found refuge in these caverns. And ever darker through the years grew the Shadow over Yu-Atlanchi. But still we said—He is not that ancient Lord of Evil!
“And then—you come. And you tell us—‘I have seen that secret place! I have looked into the eyes of the Face!’”
Regor arose and paced the room; there were little drops of sweat on his forehead.
“And now we know that the Shadow has not lied, and that it and the Lord of Evil are one. That he has found means of partial escape, and that once again embodied, as he seeks to be, will have power to break all his bonds, find full release, and rule here and in time over earth, as ages ago he was balked from doing.”
Again he took up his restless pacing, and again halted, facing Graydon.
“We fear, but it is not death we fear,” he said, and it was like an echo of Suarra. “It is something infinitely worse than any death could ever be. We fear to live—in such shapes and ways as this Lord of Evil and Lantlu could devise. And would devise for us, be sure of that.”
He covered his face with his cloak. When he uncovered it he had himself in hand once more.
“Well, lad, courage,” he rumbled. “Neither Lantlu nor the Dark Master has us yet! Your turn now. What was it the Mother promised you?”
And Graydon, with a dull horror knocking at his own heart, told him fully all that he had heard and seen in that vision of his. Regor listened, silent. But, steadily, hope grew in his eyes; and when Graydon had repeated the Serpent-woman’s threat against Lantlu, he leaped to his feet with an oath of joy.
“Win to her you must and shall!” he said. “I am not saying it will be easy. Yet there are ways—yes, there are ways. And you shall bear a message to the Mother from us—that we stand ready to join her and fight as best we can beside her. And that there are perhaps more in Yu-Atlanchi worth the saving than she thinks,” he added a little bitterly. “Say to her that we, at least, each and all of us, will gladly lay down our lives if by doing so, we can help her conquer.”
From somewhere far away came the mellow golden note of a bell.
“The Fellowship has gathered,” said Regor. “It is the signal. When you come before them say nothing of what you have just told me. Repeat only your story of last night.”
“Dorina will be there. And I have told you nothing. You understand, lad?”
“Right,” answered Graydon.
“And if you’re a good lad,” said Regor, pausing at the curtained door and poking his bar into Graydon’s ribs, “if you’re a really good lad. I’ll tell you something else.”
“Yes, what?” said Graydon, intent.
“I’ll tell you how old Suarra really is!” answered Regor, and, laughing, marched through the doorway.
CHAPTER XII
Graydon decided that he would have to revise his estimate of Black Regor. He had laughed inwardly at his boasts of subtlety, considering him as transparent as air. He knew now that he had been wrong. The sly reference to Suarra’s years showed how accurately Regor had read him. That, however, was only one egg of the omelette. More significant had been his perception that Graydon had held back the most vital part of his story.
There was, besides, his independence of thought, manifest both in word and action; Huon’s man he might be, but he was master of his own judgment. His distrust of Dorina was proof of that. And certainly the way in which last night he had infected Huon with that sinister doubt of her had been subtle enough. Also he had a sense of humor, and somehow Graydon was quite sure Huon had none.
The corridor along which they were passing was not long. It ended against a huge door of the black metal, guarded by the yellow-kilted Indians.
“Remember!” warned Regor. The door slid aside, revealing webs of curtains. He parted them, and Graydon followed him through.
He stood at the threshold of an immense chamber from whose high ceiling poured light, golden and dazzling as though from full sun. His vision clearing, he saw curving across the wide floor a double semicircle of seats that appeared cut from rose coral. Occupying them were a hundred or more of Huon’s people, the men in yellow, the women dressed in vivid color; and each and all of them, his swift glance told him, possessed of that disturbing beauty which was the heritage of this unknown race.
Graydon, studying them, trembled again at the touch of the strange loneliness.
There was a low dais facing the semicircle, on it a wide and cushioned bench of the rose coral, and in front of it a pedestal, like a speaker’s rostrum. Dorina sat there, and rising from her side was Huon. He came swiftly down, greeted Graydon most courteously, and taking him by hand led him up to the dais where Dorina acknowledged his bow by a negligent lifting of black lashes and a careless word. Regor dropped down beside her; then Huon turned him toward the others, raising the wrist that held the bracelet, at sight of which there was another murmuring and hands lifted in salutation.
“This,” began Huon, “is the Fellowship, outlaws of Yu-Atlanchi, haters of and hated by Lantlu and the Dark Master, loyal children of the Mother, and ready to serve her if she will so allow. Something I have told them of your story, and that we three believe you. Yet, though they call me leader, still am I only one of them. It is their right to judge you. Speak—they listen.”
Graydon mustered his words; then launched his tale. Ever more tensely they listened as that tale progressed, and it came to him that, so far as judgment of him was concerned, this hearing was only a formality; that they had been convinced of his genuineness by Huon before he had entered. With that thought came a greater assurance, and as he sensed their growing sympathy and approval, a greater ease, so that his speech flowed more readily.
And when at last he had led them to the cavern of the Face, all doubt of this was ended, for now they leaned forward in rigid attention, pallid, with whitened lips and in their eyes was horror—they were like seraphs, Graydon thought, hearing suddenly that Satan and his legions had broken through a gate of Heaven. But if there was horror, there was no sign of panic, nor of despair, and no weakening of spirit apparent upon those masks of beauty that stared at him so raptly. When he had ended, a long sigh went up, and a silence fell.
“You have heard,” Huon broke that silence. “Now let any who doubts this man rise and question him.”
A murmuring ran through the Fellowship as one turned to the other; little groups formed and whispered. Then came a voice from among them.
“Huon, we believe. And quickly must he reach the Mother. Remains now to decide how to do it.”
“Graydon,” Huon turned to him, “last night I promised you that if we believed, you should go your own way, as your own wit might guide you—or you could throw in your lot with us, and call upon our wits to help you. And now you must decide. Stay—” he said, as Graydon was about to speak, “we cozen none with fair promises which we know are doubtful of performance. And it may well be that our help would be more harmful to you than otherwise. Before you decide, see the board upon which the game must be played.”
He strode down from the dais and over to the farther end of the chamber. He thrust aside the thick hangings which covered its wall. Behind them was a gleaming black stone. Huon rested his hand upon it, and slowly a circular aperture opened. A little gust of fragrant air came dancing in.
Graydon looked out upon hidden Yu-Atlanchi. Far beneath him sparkled the blue waters of a long lake. Huon’s lair was at one narrowed end of it. Beaches of golden sand and flowering marshes bordered it. Beyond the marshes was thick forest, marching mile upon mile away, to be thrust back at last like a green wave by cliffs, sheer and gray and thousands of feet high. He looked down the lake, following its ever-widening southward course. There was a faint haze over the landscape, but far away he saw a splotch of color, as though a gigantic jewel box had been spilled there. Opposite it, the cliffs marched forward and out into the water, narrowing the lake once more. And set in these cliffs was a row of huge black ovals, like windows opening into darkness. Beside each of them was a gigantic figure.
Of course! That splotch of spilled jewels was the secret ancient city. The oval shadows were those caverns he had glimpsed when summoned by the Serpent-woman; the guarding shapes were the colossi—and there at the left where a precipice made a mighty buttress, leaning against its green and ebon breast, was a rod of shining silver. It was the cataract of his vision.
Huon handed him a mask of crystal, and he set it over his eyes. The splotch of color leaped forward, swam in front of him and resolved itself into a towered and turreted city, a city built by Djinns with blocks and scales of red glowing gold and gleaming silver, and roofed with tiles of turquoise and sapphire, smoldering ruby and flashing diamond. He could see the spume of the cataract waving like signaling veils. He saw that no two of the colossi were alike, that some were shaped like women, and that some, like the gods of ancient Egypt, bore the heads of animals and birds. A hundred feet in height he judged them. His eyes lingered on one, a naked woman’s body, heroically proportioned, yet exquisite. Her face was that of a grinning frog.
Behind the city was a long low hill. Crowning it was a building whose proportions dwarfed even the columned immensity of ancient Karnak. It was of white marble, and it brooded over the jeweled city like a white-robed vestal. Its front was pillared, but the enormous columns were without ornament. It was of Cyclopean simplicity, aloof; and, like the colossi, it seemed to watch.
He saw no streets; there were leafy lanes on which was sparse movement. West, south and east, his gaze was checked by the sky-reaching ramparts of the mountains. The hidden land was a vast circular bowl some thirty miles in diameter, he estimated.
“There,” Huon was pointing at the temple, “is your goal. There dwells the Mother—and Suarra.”
The aperture closed; Huon let the curtains drop, and led Graydon back to the dais.
“You have seen,” he said. “What you could not see were the obstacles that lie between you and that temple, the way to which seems so near and open. The city is well guarded, Graydon, and all its guards are Lantlu’s men. You could not get to the Temple without being caught a score of times. Therefore, dismiss all hope that you can reach the Mother by stealth, unaided. Inevitably you would be taken before Lantlu. By the ancient law, your life would be forfeit.
“But it might be that if you went boldly into the city, showing your bracelet as passport, and demanding in its name audience with the Mother—it might be that thus simply you could gain your end. It might be that Lantlu, mazed by the mystery of how you passed the Messengers, of how you were guided to Yu-Atlanchi, would not dare slay you nor hold you back from the Mother.”
“The best he would do,” growled Regor, “since whatever Lantlu may be he is no fool, would be to g
reet you fairly, find out all he could from you, put you off on the pretext that the Mother must be prepared for your visit, probably slip some drug into your drink, and while you slept take counsel with the Dark Master as to what was to be done with you. I do not think you would ever reach the Mother by that route.”
There was a murmur of assent from the Fellowship, and Huon himself nodded agreement.
“Still, he should weigh the chance,” he said. “Now, if you reject that plan, there is the matter of our aid. Frankly, Graydon, it can be none too great. Those of the Old Race who still live are not many. There are in all perhaps two thousand of us. Of these, we account for a scant hundred. Of those within the city, some three hundred more are with us, and serve us better by being there than here. Of those remaining, the Dream Makers number half a thousand. They are not concerned with anything of earth. The others are with Lantlu, one with him in his amusements and aims, followers, more or less, of the Dark Master.
“We are in no position to take issue in the open with Lantlu. He controls the Xinli, both the hunting packs, and those which are ridden—and these latter are as formidable as the hunters. Through the Dark Master he controls the Urd, the lizard-men. Against all these we have for weapons swords and lance, bow and arrow and battle mace. Once we had weapons of a different kind—sounds that went forth like swift sparks, flaming, and slew all upon whom they fell; shadows that flitted where they were willed to go, and turned to ice all upon which they rested; shapes of flame that consumed all living things upon which they rested; and other strange devices of death. But, so our legends run, after a certain war, these were taken and hidden away in one of the caverns, so that never might we use them upon each other. Or it may be they were destroyed. At any rate, we have them not. I tell you this, Graydon,” added Huon a trifle bitterly, “to show you why it is we do not take you by the hand and go marching up to the white Temple with you. If we had but one of those weapons of the old ones—”
The A. Merritt Megapack Page 120