by Harold Lamb
"Peace be with you," the man murmured, not ceasing to look at her. Edith had often heard Donovan employ this salutation and its reply, but as she fumbled for the Turki words in quick alarm, she heard the shrill voice of the child.
"And upon you, also, be peace!"
With that, woman and child passed by the sentry of the steps and entered the outer court where Edith was surprised to see a multitude of slippers of all sizes and colors. While she wondered at this she saw the boy remove his small footgear and go forward barefoot. She did likewise, trusting to the gloom of the inner chambers to conceal her stockings.
The murmur of a sonorous voice reached her. Edith advanced timidly between great pillars and stood within the mosque itself. She saw a lofty space, half in darkness, into which light descended from a single aperture in the roof at the end opposite her. Slender, ornamented pillars supported a balcony with a carved wooden rail. Gold and silver ornaments lined the walls. The light reflected dully from broad gold plates inscribed in a manner strange to Edith.
She had not known that the mosque, which must have been built actually into a cleft in the face of the cliff, was so huge.
Directly in front of the ray of light that fell from the round opening in the dome a turbaned priest in clean robes was reading from a heavy volume, bound in iridescent silk, a gold chain running from the clasp of the book to the neck of the reader. It was the voice of the priest she had heard.
Facing the reader was a silent multitude. Each Sayak, man and woman and child, knelt upon a small prayer rug. Edith had seen them carrying these rolled strips of carpet to the mosque and wondered what they might be. For a moment she feared they might notice that she carried no rug.
But the eyes of the worshipers were fixed on the hadji. The girl drew aside softly, walking forward along the side of the nave. Here she was behind the Sayak ranks, and sheltered somewhat by the row of pillars that supported the round balcony. The gloom was deeper in this spot. No one saw the standing girl. While she listened to the sonorous voice, quavering a trifle with age, she had the sensation of being present in one of the old cathedrals of Europe.
Then she noticed for the first time the vapor. So lofty was the opening in the dome and of such small extent that the ray of sunlight moved steadily. When she entered, it had rested on the pages of the book; then it passed over the priest. Now, while still resting upon him, it touched a rising cloud that Edith had supposed to be incense.
Where the altar of a cathedral would have been placed there was a raised latticework of metal—bronze, brightly polished, or gold. It resembled the delicate marble kiosk of the garden of the stone house. Through the apertures of the fretwork a cloud of heavy vapor swirled up.
So heavy was the vapor, it might have been steam. The mosque, in fact, was warmed by it. Edith had fancied for a brief moment that it was incense, rising from a gigantic censer. Then she recalled the hot springs of the lower lake.
Evidently the mosque itself had been erected over one of the sources, and the vapor welled from the hot depths of the water.
The sunlight had just reached the vapor when the priest ceased his reading and lifted both lean arms. A high chant rose from his lips, and he turned to face what Edith still fancied the white incense. And this man, she felt, was the hadji of whom Donovan had spoken.
"Nuri Muhammed s'all Allah!"
And the multitude responded:
"La il'oha ill Allah!"
As one, the heads bent downward toward the breasts of the worshipers. Long folds of the white turbans were detached and laid over the left shoulder. As if performing a well-learned ritual, certain lines of Sayaks rose, with extended arms. Others remained kneeling.
The sight of the concentric rings of multicolored garments, the intent faces, and the lifted hands made Edith draw back, fearful of observation. Utter silence had fallen on the mosque.
In the silence, the worshipers appeared to be awaiting something. She saw that they were gazing at the vapor. By now Edith realized that this was no ordinary Mohammedan mosque.
And then she saw John Donovan.
In the intervals between the Sayak lines he was walking, looking closely at the figures of the kneeling women.
No one molested Donovan. Apparently he was entitled to enter the mosque. Edith felt that he had missed her, and had come to seek her.
Then the lines of standing men began to move from side to side. One voice, then another, took up a refrain :
"Hai—hai! Allah, hai!"
They placed their lifted hands on the shoulders of their comrades and swayed their bodies in cadence.
They seemed to be moving toward her.
"Hai—hai! Allah, hai!"
It was a low chant that rose and echoed against the lofty dome. It grew into a rush of sound, in which the echoes were lost. Edith felt the beat of the passionate cry grip her senses.
Donovan did not halt. He pushed through the moving men toward her position. The chant changed, as the men formed into long, sinuous lines that circled before the priest and the ray of sunlight.
"Yah hai yah Allah. Allah Akbar!"
At this the white man quickened his steps. He almost ran down the side of the nave, looking sharply into the shadows. Edith wanted to call to him, but did not dare. A few moments before she would have wished to keep her disguise a secret. Clothed as she was, how was Donovan to know her?
Yet she wanted him to recognize her. She felt the need of his protection, understanding how reckless she had been in coming. And when he halted to peer at her, she drew a deep breath.
For a long moment John Donovan was a man of stone, so keenly he scrutinized every detail of her clothing and figure. The girl trembled in the effort to keep from speaking. Then he stepped casually nearer to one of the pillars and leaned against it with folded arms.
"Edith, why in the world did you come here?"
"I came—to see the priest, to try to end this war with the Vulture," she whispered.
At that Donovan turned away, so that she could not make out whether he was angered or not.
"Wait," she caught his answering whisper, "until the Sayaks have passed out. The women would see through you."
His face was expressionless as he watched the actions of the priest. Edith saw that the sun's ray had fallen full on the swirling vapor. Color, limitless, impalpable, iridescent, flooded the vapor. A haze of shimmering green and purple and red hung from dome to well. It was as if a veil of supernatural softness and beauty had been dropped from the sky.
And in the heart of the steaming vapor the hadji had taken his stand. He had ascended the gold fret-work by some hidden steps and now stood on the top of the grille, with clouds of steam rising on all sides of him.
CHAPTER XXI
A VEIL IS DRAWN
Edith gazed at the apparition in bewildered surprise. The splendor of the flooding color had taken away her breath. She did not understand how the old priest, motionless in the stream of light, could survive the heat. But his aged face was tranquil.
A murmur rose from the throng; dark eyes shone. Then the vapor and the temple itself were plunged in semidarkness. The aperture in the dome had been closed. Edith could no longer see the priest
Following an interval of quiet, came the rustle of many bare feet as the Sayaks began to pass out of the mosque. Now that her eyes were more accustomed to the dim light Edith could see them gathering up their prayer rugs.
Her quick mind had caught the explanation of the radiant color of the vapor clouds. It could have been nothing less than a rainbow. Light, from the opening in the dome, had fallen upon the steam and gathered strength until the clouds of moisture reflected the prismatic coloring of the rainbow.
But the performance of the hadji was still beyond her understanding.
"It is a ritual," whispered Donovan, who had drawn nearer in the shadow, "that occurs only two or three times in a summer. Then the priest of Yakka Arik steps into that confounded steam. It does not harm him."
"Why?"
He hesitated, unwilling to explain further, but anxious not to reveal to her his growing anxiety.
"You chose a bad time to come here, Edith. It is what the Sayaks call 'the miracle of life.' This mosque is their holy spot. The spring underneath has a good deal of sanctity attached to it. Some old legend, you know. Just at noon the sun pierces the hole in the roof."
"It was beautiful," she murmured. "But to see the hadji—it gave me the creeps."
Within, the gloom of the vast mosque weighed upon the two. Edith found herself gazing from shadow to shadow fearfully and listening for footsteps that she fancied were moving toward them. Impulsively she stepped to his side and took his hand, surprised to find it so chill.
"Are we in such danger?" she whispered. Then: "You came to find me."
This thought filled the woman with mute delight. She wanted him to understand that she, also, had been thinking of him. "I believed the hadji would help us if I told him everything——
The dome opened again, letting the ray of sunlight stream into the depths of the temple. They had heard no movement, nor had they seen the hands that worked the aperture. Donovan's hand closed on hers protectingly as her eyes sought him shyly, seeing in his clean-cut profile the gentleness and honesty of his race.
"Dear Edith, you must understand. The Sayaks are not ordinary Mohammedans, but are outlawed by the orthodox followers of the Prophet. They are preyed upon by Turk, Alaman, and Buddhist——"
"Why?"
"They worship the sun."
Edith was silent, thinking of the ray of light that had descended upon the priest, and the praying throngs that had raised their eyes to it.
"The hadji is their saint, Edith. And they have carefully concealed the location of his temple from their enemies——"
She saw that while he spoke he was watching the folds of the heavy curtain that hung behind the vapor. Seeing this, she felt an impulse to turn and flee from the mosque that seemed to be closing in upon them.
"We know—both of us, now," he went on quietly, "the secret of Yakka Arik. And every fanatical mullah from Constantinople to Kashgar would willingly lose his fingers and eyes if he could help tear down this temple of the sun—older than San Sophia, and a thorn in the side of Moslem political power——"
The curtain folds swayed, as if a breath of air had stirred them. The voices outside the entrance quickened and Edith had the fleeting sensation of being encompassed in a trap. She pressed dose to the man, who smiled down at her.
"We'll make it, yet. Come, Edith."
The voices of the worshipers in the court were no longer to be heard. Edith could not help glancing behind her as they started from the shelter of the pillars. She had fancied that the curtains had parted, drawn back by a hand from within.
"How did you follow me?" she asked gently, wishing to hear from his own lips why he had sought her.
"Aravang. Don't fear that he will give you away. He lost track of you and became worried. He hunted me up. I knew if that beggar couldn't find you something must be wrong. Then we learned from an Usbek peasant that he had seen a Sayak woman come from the house "
Abruptly he thrust her back.
"Iskander and two others have come in," he whispered sharply. "Edith, go back to the wall. Hide."
The girl, her heart beating tumultuously, lost no time in slipping back into the shadow of the wall. A slight projection of the granite blocks offered a shallow nook for her slender body.
John Donovan waited, while Iskander, Mahmoud, and another—the Sayak chief—approached. They had seen him and advanced to where he stood. Iskander fronted him with folded arms. To the white man's greeting he returned no answer.
"Where is Mees Rand?" he asked slowly.
Donovan eyed him steadily, trying to guess how the Arab had come to look for the girl and how much he knew of her actions. The presence of Mahmoud and the chieftain was ominous. Still, he was reasonably sure that Edith's disguise had not been penetrated. For a space the two measured each other silently.
Behind them the folds of the great curtain parted.
"Where is the white woman?" said Iskander again.
Donovan shrugged. "Does not Aravang know?"
"He knows nothing." The Arab tugged at his beard, as was his habit when aroused. "Speak, Dono-van Khan. I know that she is here. The guards at the door brought me a pair of woman's slippers, left behind when all had gone. I have seen the slippers before. They belong to Mees Rand."
Listening in her nook a dozen feet away, Edith thought of the pair she had discarded at the gate. Why had she not kept them on ? She had instinctively followed the example set by the Sayak boy.
"The door is guarded," observed the manaps softly. "And there is but one door. If you do not summon the woman, we will find her."
Donovan weighed the alternatives swiftly and made up his mind. "Edith!" he called, from set lips.
It was hard for Edith to step from her place of concealment to face the three Sayaks. But she trusted John Donovan.
When she neared the Arab, he tore the veil from her face with his free hand, and scrutinized the native garb of the girl, and his eyes narrowed.
"You came secretly," he said slowly. "You were here during the festival of the sun."
"I was here," she said boldly.
The admission seemed to surprise the two others when it was translated to them. For a moment they stared at her. Then they conferred among themselves. John Donovan stood a little apart, waiting. To Edith the situation seemed not so very serious because the four men were so calm. She now heartily regretted her foolishness in disobeying Donovan. She wondered why he was so silent. Surely he could speak, assure the Sayaks that she had not meant to spy upon their secrets!
Iskander addressed Donovan in the native tongue:
"O Dono-van Khan, this is a woman of your people. You know the law. Perhaps you will think it wise to leave the mosque rather than remain."
Donovan stiffened; but he answered quietly:
"I shall remain."
"So be it. Yet, it is not wise. She is very fair. Why should you see her die?"
At this a short sigh escaped Donovan, the only sign that he had had his gravest fear confirmed.
"Is this the will of Mahmoud?"
"Aye." The hakim answered for himself. "Iskander would have let the woman go safely from the mosque, under a pledge of silence. But I have read the hearts of many women, I know that their tongues cannot be silenced."
"Yet I am free to go."
"That is the truth. But you we need. Likewise, it is written that a strong man is faithful to his word. We have no fear that you will voice the secrets of others."
Edith glanced from one to the other, trying to read their faces. All four were speaking quietly, as if discussing some small matter of common interest. Donovan knew that only in persuading the Sayaks to change their minds was there hope for Edith.
It was the Sayak chief who spoke harshly.
"The task of the woman is finished now that she has healed Dono-van Khan. Nay, it was Mahmoud, the all-wise, who lifted the shadow of sickness from your body. The woman did her share, as we intended. Now, she is useless and we will slay her, because she entered where it is forbidden."
"Aye," agreed Iskander moodily. "She is young, and her hair is like the light of the sun as was that of my child. We will not set her upon the caravan. Besides, she is a white woman, and it is best her body should not be seen—without."
Edith touched Donovan timidly on the arm.
"What are they saying, Donovan Khan? I want to know. They seem to be—angry."
By way of answer he patted her hand gently. His alert blue eyes searched the faces of the Sayaks, as a condemned criminal might endeavor to read the faces of a jury, assembling to announce a verdict.
"A spy from without must die," added Mahmoud. He placed a withered hand on the chest of the white man. "Do not grieve: a grave is dug for each of us, and we must lie therein. The woman will feel no pain."
CHAPTER XXII
A PLEDGE
It was Mahmoud who signed for Edith to follow him toward the rear of the mosque. As John Donovan was silent, she obeyed hesitatingly.
Here was the bronze grating, raised some few feet from the tiled floor, and behind it the damask curtain that hung in dark folds from the edge of the dome to the floor. Glancing up, the girl saw that the sun's ray had vanished; overhead, through the dome's opening, a long cleft, dividing solid rock was visible. Only for an hour at midday did the sun strike down this natural shaft in the rock.
Edith heard a dull, purring sound from beneath. Underfoot there was a slight, continuous vibration as the hidden springs seethed and boiled. The heat rose from the vapor and touched her face.
"What is it?" she asked Donovan, her low voice trembling in spite of her effort at control.
"Wait. Do not be afraid."
She tried to smile in answer, as Mahmoud took the veil from Iskander, who still held it, and wound it tightly about her arms and body. Then he looked up and spoke to the manaps, who slowly removed his own shawl girdle and handed it to the physician. Mahmoud turned to Donovan, who was watching from smoldering eyes.
"In this way there will be no pain, Dono-van Khan. We will bind the white woman and lay her upon the raised place. Then the hot vapor will creep into her throat Soon she will be dead."
Donovan was smiling—a habit of the man when his thoughts were racing and there was danger to be met.
"Mahmoud," he began slowly, almost painfully, "you must listen to what I have to say. Miss Rand is not a woman of your people. She is innocent of evil. You will not slay her——"
"A woman. No more. What is she but a beautiful slave? Aye, one made for the pleasure of men?"
"I love Miss Rand," said Donovan.
Mahmoud stroked the girdle in his hand gently. "It does not avail. Others you will perhaps love. It is written that a strong man shall have many wives."