by Anthology
But there were other things: the myriad tintinnabulations of these microscopic bells, never ceasing, musically throbbing; and now, the exotic delight of the softest of perfumes, an air barely tinted with violet and rose, and the breath of woodland wild flowers. He could not comprehend it. He looked at the purple clouds above the lotus sun, hardly believing, and deeply in doubt.
A great white bird dived suddenly out of the heavens and flew into the focus of his vision. In all the tales of his boyhood, of large and beautiful rocs and other birds, he had come across nothing like this. From the perspective it must have measured a full three hundred feet from tip to tip; it was shaped like a swan and flew like an eagle, with magnificent, lazy sweeps of the wings; while its plumage was as white as the snow, new fallen on the mountains. And right behind it, in pursuit, hurtled a huge black thing, fully as large and just as swift; a tremendous black crow, so black that its sides gave off a greenish shimmer.
Just then the woman closed the window. It was as well; Watson was only human, and he could hide his curiosity just so long and no longer. He turned to the Rhamda.
The man nodded. "I thought so," said he with satisfaction, as one might who has proven a pet and previous theory.
Watson tried from another angle.
"Just who do you think I am, sir?"
The other smiled as before. "It is not what I may think," he replied: "but what I know. You are the proof that was promised us by the great Rhamda Avec. You are—THE FACT AND THE SUBSTANCE!"
He waited for Watson's answer. Stupefaction delayed it. After a moment the Rhamda continued:
"Is it not so? Am I not right? You are surely out of the occult, my dear sir. You are a spirit!"
It took Chick wholly by surprise. He had been ready to deal with anything—but this. It was unreal, weird, impossible. And yet, why not? The professor had set out to remove forever the screen that had hitherto shrouded the shadow: but what had he revealed? What had the Spot disclosed? Unreality or REALITY? Which is which?
In the inspiration of the moment, Chick saw that he had reached the crossroads of the occult. There was no time to think; there was time only for a plunge. And, like all strong men, Watson chose the deeper water.
He turned to the Rhamda Geos.
"Yes," said he quietly. "I—am a spirit."
XXXI
UP FOR BREATH
Rhamda Geos, instead of showing the concern and uneasiness that most men would show in the presence of an avowed ghost, evinced nothing but a deep and reverent happiness. He took Watson's hand almost shyly. And while his manner was not effusive, it had the warmth that comes from the heart of a scholar.
"As a Rhamda," he declared, "I must commend myself for being the first to speak to you. And I must congratulate you, my dear sir, on having fallen, not into the hands of Bar Senestro, but into those of my own kind. It is a proof of the prophecy, and a vindication of the wisdom of the Ten Thousand.
"I bid you welcome to the Thomahlia, and I offer you my services, as guide and sponsor."
Chick did not reply at once. The chance he had taken was one of those rare decisions that come to genius; the whole balance of his fate might swing upon his sudden impulse. Not that he had any compunction; but he felt that it tied him down. It restricted him. Certainly almost any role would be easier than that of a spirit.
He didn't feel like a ghost. He wondered just how a ghost would act, anyhow. What was more, he could not understand such a queer assumption on the Rhamda's part. Why had he seemed to WANT Chick a ghost? Watson was natural, human, embodied, just like the Rhamda. This was scarcely his idea of a phantom's life. Most certainly, the two of them were men, nothing else; if one was a wraith, so was the other. But—how to account for it?
Again he thought of Rhamda Avec. The words of Geos, "The Fact and the Substance," had been exactly synonymous with what had been said of Avec by Dr. Holcomb, "The proof of the occult."
Was it indeed possible that these two great ones, from opposite poles, had actually torn away the veil of the shadow? And was this the place where he, Watson, must pose as a spirit, if he were to be accepted as genuine?
The thought was a shock. He must play the same part here that the Rhamda had played on the other side of the Spot; but he would have to do it without the guiding wisdom of Avec. Besides, there was something sinister in the unknown force that had engulfed so strong a mind as the professor's; for while Watson's fate had been of his own seeking, that of the doctor smacked too much of treachery.
He turned to the Rhamda Geos with a new question:
"This Rhamda Avec—was he a man like yourself?"
The other brightened again, and asked in return:
"Then you have seen him!"
"I—I do not know," answered Watson, caught off his guard. "But the name is familiar. I don't remember well. My mind is vague and confused. I recall a world, a wonderful world it was from which I came, and a great many people. But I can't place myself; I hardly- -let me see—"
The other nodded sympathetic approval.
"I understand. Don't exert yourself. It is hardly to be expected that one forced out of the occult could come among us with his faculties unimpaired. We have had many communications with your world, and have always been frustrated by this one gulf which may not be crossed. When real thought gets across the border, it is often indefinite, sometimes mere drivel. Such answers as come from the void are usually disappointing, no matter how expert our mediums may be in communicating with the dead."
"The dead! Did you say—the dead?"
"Certainly; the dead. Are you not of the dead?"
Watson shook his head emphatically.
"Absolutely not! Not where I came from. We are all very much alive!"
The other watched him curiously, his great eyes glowing with enthusiasm; the enthusiasm of the born seeker of the truth.
"You don't mean," he asked, "that you have the same passions that we have here in life?"
"I mean," said Watson, "that we hate, love, swear; we are good and we are evil; and we play games and go fishing."
Geos rubbed his hands in a dignified sort of glee. What had been said coincided, apparently, with another of his pet theories.
"It is splendid," he exulted, "splendid! And just in line with my thesis. You shall tell it before the Council of the Rhamdas. It will be the greatest day since the speaking of the Jarados!"
Watson wondered just who this Jarados might be; but for the moment he went back to the previous question.
"This Rhamda Avec: you were about to tell me about him. Let me have as much as I can understand, sir."
"Ah, yes! The great Rhamda Avec. Perhaps you may recall him when your mind clears a little more. My dear sir, he is, or was, the chief of the Rhamdas of all the Thomahlia." "What is the 'Thomahlia'?"
"The Thomahlia! Why, it is called the world; our name for the world. It comprises, physically, land, water and air; politically, it embraces D'Hartia, Kospia and a few minor nations."
"Who are the Rhamdas?"
"They are the heads of—of the Thomahlia; not the nominal nor political nor religious heads—they are neither judicial, executive nor legislative; but the real heads, still above. They might be called the supreme college of wisdom, of science and of research. Also, they are the keepers of the bell and its temple, and the interpreters of the Prophecy of the Jarados."
"I see. You are a sort of priesthood."
"No. The priesthood is below us. The priests take what orders we choose to give, and are purely—"
"Superstitious?"
The Rhamda's eyes snapped, just a trifle.
"Not at all, my dear sir! They are good, sincere men. Only, not being intellectually adept enough to be admitted to the real secrets, the real knowledge, they give to all things a provisional explanation based upon a settled policy. Not being Rhamdas, they are simply not aware that everything has an exact and absolute explanation."
"In other words," put in Watson, "they are scientists; they have
not lifted themselves up to the plane of inquisitive doubt."
Still the Rhamda shook his head.
"Not quite that, either, my dear sir. Those below us are not ignorant; they are merely nearer to the level of the masses than we are. In fact, they are the people's rulers; these priests and other similar classes. But we, the Rhamdas, are the rulers of the rulers. We differ from them in that we have no material ends to subserve. Being at the top, with no motive save justice and advancement, our judgments are never questioned, and for the same reason, seldom passed.
"But we are far above the plane of doubt that you speak of; we passed out of it long ago. That is the first stage of true science; afterwards comes the higher levels where all things have a reason; ethics, inspiration, thought, emotion—"
"And—the judgment of the Jarados?"
Watson could not have told why he said it. It was impulse, and the impromptu suggestion of a half-thought. But the effect of his words upon the Rhamda and the nurse told him that, inadvertently, he had struck a keynote. Both started, especially the woman. Watson took note of this in particular, because of the ingrained acceptance of the feminine in matter of belief.
"What do you know?" was her eager interruption. "You have seen the Jarados?"
As for the Rhamda, he looked at Watson with shrewd, calculating eyes. But they were still filled with wonder.
"Can you tell us?" he asked. "Try and think!"
Chick knew that he had gained a point. He had been dealt a trump card; but he was too clever to play it at once. He was on his own responsibility and was carrying a load that required the finest equilibrium.
"I really do not know," he said. "I—I must have time to think. Coming across the border that way you must give me time. You were telling me about the Rhamdas in general; now tell me about Avec in particular."
Geos nodded as though he could understand the fog that beclouded Watson's mind.
"The Rhamda Avec is, or was, the wisest of them all; the head and the chief, and by far the most able. Few beside his own fellows knew it, however; another than he was the nominal head, and officiated for him whenever necessary. Avec had little social intercourse; he was a prodigious student.
"We are a body of learned men, you understand, and we stand at the peak of all that has been discovered through hundreds upon hundreds of centuries, so that at the present day we are the culmination of the combined effort and thought of man since the beginning of time. Each generation of Rhamdas must be greater than the one preceding. When I die and pass on to your world I must leave something new and worth-while to my successor; some thought, wisdom, or deed that may be of use to mankind. I cannot be a Rhamda else. We are a set of supreme priests, who serve man at the shrine of intelligence, not of dogma.
"Of course, we are not to be judged too highly. All research, when it steps forward must go haltingly; there are many paths into the unknown that look like the real one. Hence, we have among us various schools of thought, and each following a different trail.
"I myself am a spiritist. I believe that we can, and often have, communicated with your world at various times. There are others who do not grant it; there are Rhamdas who are inclined to lean more to the materialist's side of things, who rely entirely, when it comes to questions of this kind, upon their faith in the teachings of the Jarados. There are some, too, who believe in the value of speculation, and who contend that only through contemplation can man lift himself to the full fruits of realisation. At the head of us all—the Rhamda Avec!"
"What was his belief?"
"Let us say he believed ALL. He was eclectic. He held that we were all of us a bit right, and each of us a whole lot wrong. It was his contention, however, that there was not one thing that could not be proven; that the secret of life, while undoubtedly a secret in every sense of the word, is still very concrete, it could be proven!"
Watson nodded. He remembered hearing another man make just such a statement—Dr. Holcomb.
"For years he worked in private," went on Geos. "We never knew just what he was doing; until, one day, he called us together and delivered his lecture."
"His lecture?"
"Rather, his prophecy. For it was all that. Not that he spoke at great length; it was but a talk. He announced that he believed the time had come to prove the occult. That it could be done, and done only through concrete, material means; and that whatever existed, certainly could be demonstrated. He was going to pull aside the curtain that had hitherto cut off the shadow.
"'I am going to prove the occult,' he said. 'In three days I shall return with the fact and the substance. And then I propose to deliver my greatest lecture, my final thesis, in which my whole life shall come to a focus. I shall bring the proof for your eyes and ears, for your fingers to explore and be satisfied. You shall behold the living truth"
"'And the subject of my lecture—the subject of my lecture will be The Spot of Life.'"
XXXII
THROUGH UNKNOWN WATERS
The SPOT of Life! And the subject of Dr. Holcomb's lecture, promised but never delivered, had been announced as—The Blind SPOT!
To Watson it was fairly astounding to discover that the two— Holcomb and Avec—had reached simultaneously for the curtain of the shadow. The professor had said that it would be "the greatest day since Columbus." And so it had proven, did the world but know it.
"And—the Rhamda Avec never returned?" asked Chick.
"No."
"But he sent back something within three days?" Watson was thinking, of course, of the doctor who had disappeared on the day which, Jerome overheard the Rhamda to say, was the last of his stay.
But Geos did not reply. Why, Chick could not guess. He thought it best not to press the question; in good time, if he went at it carefully, he could gain his end with safety. At the moment he must not arouse suspicion. He chose another query.
"Did Avec go alone?"
"No. The Nervina went with him. Rather, she followed within a few hours."
"Ah!"
It was out before Watson could think. The Rhamda looked up suddenly.
"Then you have seen the Nervina! You know her?"
Chick lied. It was not his intention, just at present, to tie himself down to anything that might prove compromising or restraining.
"The name is—familiar. Who is this Nervina?"
"She is one of the queens. I thought—My dear sir, she is one of the queens of Thomahlia, half Kospian, half D'Hartian; of the first royal line running through from the day of the Jarados."
Chick cogitated for a moment. Then, taking an entirely new tack:
"You say the Rhamda and this Nervina, independently, solved the mystery of the Spot of Life, I believe you call it. And that Spot leads, apparently, into the occult?"
"Apparently, if not positively. It was the wisdom of Avec, mostly. He had been in communication with your world by means of his own discovery and application. It was all in line with the prophecy.
"Since he and the Nervina left, the people of the world have been in a state of ferment. For it was foretold that in the last days we would get in communication with the other side; that some would come and some would go. For example, your own coming was foretold by the Jarados, almost to the hour and minute."
"Then it was fortuitous," spoke Watson. "It was NOT the wisdom and science of Avec, in my case."
"Quite so. However, it is proof that the Rhamdas have fulfilled their duty. We knew of the Spot of Life, all the while; it was to be closed until we, through the effort of our intellect and virtues, could lift ourselves up to the plane of the world beyond us—your world. It could not be opened by ourselves alone, however. The Rhamda Avec had first to get in touch with your side, before he could apply the laws he had discovered."
Somehow, Chick admired this Rhamda. Men of his type could form but one kind of priesthood: exalted, and devoted to the advance of intelligence. If Rhamda Avec were of the same sort, then he was a man to be looked up to, not to hate. As for the Jarados�
��Watson could not make out who he had been; a prophet or teacher, seemingly, looming out of the past and reverenced from antiquity.
The Blind Spot became a shade less sinister. Already Watson had the Temple of the Leaf, or Bell, the Rhamdas and their philosophy, the great amber sun, the huge birds, the musical cadence of the perfumed air, and the counter-announcement of Rhamda Avec to weigh against the work and words of Dr. Holcomb.
The world of the Blind Spot!
As if in reaction from the unaccustomed train of thought, Watson suddenly became conscious of extreme hunger. He gave an uneasy glance round, a glance which the Rhamda Geos smilingly interpreted. At a word the woman left the room and returned with a crimson garment, like a bath-robe. When Chick had donned it and a pair of silken slippers, Geos bade him follow.
They stepped out into the corridor.
This was formed and coloured much as the room they had quitted; and it led to another apartment, much larger—about fifty feet across—coloured a deep, cool green. Its ceiling, coved like the other, seemed made of some self-radiating substance from which came both light and heat. Four or five tables, looking like ebony work, were arranged along the side walls. When they were seated at one of these, the Rhamda placed his fingers on some round alna- white buttons ranged along the edge of the table.
"In your world," he apologised, "our clumsy service would doubtless amuse you; but it is the best we have been able to devise so far."
He pressed the button. Instantly, without the slightest sound or anything else to betray just how the thing had been accomplished, the table was covered with golden dishes, heaped with food, and two flagon-like goblets, full to the brim with a dark, greenish liquid that gave off an aroma almost exhilarating; not alcoholic, but something just above that. The Rhamda, disregarding or not noticing Watson's gasp of wonder, lifted his goblet in the manner of the host in health and welcome.
"You may drink it," he offered, "without fear. It is not liquor— if I may use a word which I believe to be current in your world. I may add that it is one of the best things that we shall be able to offer you while you are with us."