The cadenced rumbling had become progressively louder, now having the intensity of distant thunder.
“What might that be, Francisco?”
“I don’t know, Señorita.”
“Perhaps the stream falling into an abyss.”
“Perhaps.”
Dominating the thunderous rumor, however, a prolonged crazed, shrill howl emerged from the invisible depths of the tunnel.
“Francisco!” Lolla exclaimed. She had stopped, with a sweat of anguish on her pale forehead, and she put a trembling hand on Francisco’s shoulder, while the other clutched at a ridge on the wall. “Did you hear that?” she stammered.
“Yes, Señorita,” the man replied, in a low voice.
They remained silent and still for a few moments, struggling against the nameless terror that was invading them.
The heart-rending scream rang out for a second time, like the desperate appeal of the siren of a ship in mortal danger in a nocturnal tempest.
“We need to go and see,” said Lola, in a voice that was tremulous and resolute at the same time. “We can’t stay here. Let’s go.”
“But Señorita...”
“Let’s go. My heart is telling me that Monsieur de Civrac is there, in the mystery. Come on!”
“I’ll follow you, Mistress!”
They had just resumed marching when they heard shrill noises behind them, still very distant.
“Listen!”
Pausing again, they pricked up their ears. There was no doubt about it: the shrill sounds were Mercurian whistles.
“You see,” said Lola. “They’re still chasing us. Behind us, there’s captivity and death. Ahead of us, there’s the mystery—but perhaps Paul too. Let’s go!”
The valiant young woman launched herself forwards, immediately followed by Francisco.
Suddenly, however, she uttered an exclamation and grabbed hold of a rock to stop her dead—and she remained suspended over a gulf that opened beneath her feet. Francisco had been able to stop sooner, and only had to reach out his arm to pull Lolla back from her dangerous suspension and reestablish her on the ledge.
The young woman allowed her emotion to calm down, and then, with Francisco, she looked down.
What an extraordinary and terrifying spectacle! At their feet, the ledge stopped dead, abruptly interrupted above an indescribable abyss, from which the cadences rumbling was rising, and, at intervals, the tragic howling. Beneath them, to their right, the stream was sliced at right angles and fell in a silent and unified mass, into the apocalyptic gulf. And finally, lower down and in front of them, falling on the other side of the abyss, they could also see a broad golden river. The two silent cascades of molten gold were emitting a faint yellow radiance, and when they looked into the gulf itself they could not see anything but an opaque cloud of that yellow light at a great depths, diffuse and incomprehensible, produced by the Mercurian “watercourses.”
Lolla and Francisco were considering the spectacle fearfully when louder whistles reminded them of all the danger they were running.
“They’re getting closer, Francisco,” said Lolla.
“I have an idea, Señorita.”
The Spaniard lay face down on the ledge, with his head protruding over the gulf. He examined the walls carefully.
When he got to his feet again, he said: “Señorita, you won’t be afraid?”
“No.”
“Well then, we’ll go down there. It’s obvious that these yellow liquid masses have an exit at the bottom of the gulf. Even if death awaits us down there, it’s even more certain that death is lying in wait for us here, and getting closer. Do you want to go down?”
“Let’s go down!” said Lolla, in a resolute tone.
“Climb on to my shoulders, horseback-fashion. Put your legs around my torso, and hang on to the ledges in the rock with your hands, as I’m doing. That way, we won’t be separated. Either I’ll save you, or I’ll perish with you...”
“Without replying, Lolla climbed on to Francisco’s shoulders as he crouched down. When her felt his young mistress’ legs and feet solidly braced against his sides, he stood up again and, kneeling on the edge of the abyss, began to descend backwards along the vertiginous wall. Fortunately, it had a great many ledges, holes and minuscule platforms. He only placed his feet with extreme caution; like Lolla, he clung on to rocky projections with both hands.
Suddenly, they heard furious whistles on the ledge up above. Lolla looked up. Gesticulating Mercurians were leaning over the abyss—but none of them dared take the perilous path that the fugitives had chosen.
“They won’t pursue us any further,” she said.
“No—that’s one peril less.”
While the whistling continued up above, the terrible cadenced rumbling and the incomprehensible intermittent howling rose from below.
Lolla and Francisco soon fund themselves in the luminous mist. Above and below, to the left and the right, they could not see anything except the vague infinity of that mist, similar to the luminosity of the sun rising in the light morning mists on Earth. In front of them was the rugged black rock...
They continued going down. Gradually the noise of whistling decreased and faded away, but the rumbling became increasingly loud and the howls of agony became unbearable in their stridency.
How much time did the perilous descent take? Neither Lolla nor Francisco could have said. Perhaps twenty minutes, perhaps hours...
Finally, Francisco spoke. “We’re on a broad plateau Señorita. Get down.”
The young woman jumped down from Francisco’s shoulders.
They were, indeed, on a plateau, the limits of which they could not see because of the luminous fog. Cautiously, they advanced, their backs turned to the wall they had descended. To their left, the waterfall of the stream fell into a pool, and then the liquid mass ran away rapidly in a channel. They followed the channel.
First, it led them to a kind of golden lake into which the water of the stream flowed. To their right, they saw the enormous mass of the golden river falling vertically, noiselessly, like oil running into oil. It was from the other shore of the lake, in front of them, that the rumbling and howling was coming.
“Let’s follow the edge,” said Lolla.
They started walking to the right. Soon, they found themselves underneath the cascade of the great reviver. In a single sheet, the liquid gold formed an immense arch above them, striped with brighter scintillations.
Abruptly, they stopped dead, with an enormous surge of emotion. A few paces in front of them, a human body was lying, with two monopods kneeling beside him.
“Paul!” cried Lolla, in heart-rending fashion.
Freeing herself from Francisco’s hand, she launched herself forward and fell upon Paul’s body.
“He’s dead!” she moaned. “He’s dead!” And she hugged the recumbent body, delirious with despair.
Overwhelmed herself by surprise, emotion and grief, she collapsed in a faint.
Francisco was already kneeling beside his mistress when he felt something touch his shoulder. He looked round and saw a standing monopod that was making signs with its claw. At first, he did not understand. Then, as his composure gradually returned, he realized that the monopod was pointing at Paul de Civrac and making gestures of negation.
“He’s not dead?” he said.
The gesture of negation became more insistent.
Francisco applied his ear to Paul’s chest. The heart was beating.
“Santiago be praised!” he exclaimed. “Señorita, he’s alive! He’s alive!”
He still had his flask in his belt, containing water scented with a residue of cognac. He uncorked it and poured a few drops between Lolla’s lips and then between Civrac’s.
Two minutes went by. Lolla remained immobile, as if dead, but Paul stirred, and soon opened his eyes.
“Where am I?” he murmured.
“Señor!” exclaimed Francisco. “Señor!
At the sound of that f
amiliar voice. Paul sat up, with a start. His wild eyes recognized Francisco, and saw Lolla lying full length, as if lifeless. The surge of emotion was so powerful that he fell back, with an immense sigh.
That new weakness was of short duration, however. The young man opened his eyes again, got up painfully, walked over to Lolla, gazed at the young woman for some time, and then placed his hand over her heart.
“She’s alive,” he said. “Found…finally…found...” A violent emotion strangled the words in his throat. He made an effort of will, though, and went on, more calmly: “She’ll come round of her own accord. How do you come to be here, Francisco?”
Swiftly, in a few words, Francisco recounted the fats. “But what about you, Señor?”
Turning to the two Mercurians that were standing a few paces away, Paul said, gravely: “Francisco, this is Dr. Ahmed Bey, who has come from Earth, and this is our friend Arthur Brad.”
“Señor!” stammered the Spaniard. He thought that Paul de Civrac had lost his mind.
The young man divined his thought. “You think I’m mad,” he said, with a smile. “You’re mistaken. Listen, Francisco!”
Meticulously, he told the Spaniard everything that had happened to him since they had been separated. He explained the disincarnation and reincarnation of souls as best he could.
Francisco was stupefied. He was about to reply when Dr. Ahmed Bey advanced and, before the eyes of the two men, began to trace characters on the ground with the diamond that he was still carrying in his claw.
It’s necessary for Francisco to allow himself to be disincarnated temporarily and take my place in this Mercurian body. Then I’ll be able to talk, and be better able to act in the interests of us all.
“By the Virgen del Pilar!” Francisco exclaimed. “All this is devilry!”
But Paul spoke. He demonstrated to Francisco that the mystical operation presented no danger. Endowed with Francisco’s body and human speech, Ahmed Bey would be more easily able to reach an understanding with him, Paul, as to what to do for the best.
“He’ll wake Lolla up,” Civrac concluded, “and he’ll save us.”
“So be it!” said Francisco. “What do I have to do?”
“Lie down on the ground and wait.”
“There!” And the Spaniard lay down.
But Ahmed Bey wrote on the rock, before Paul’s eyes:
Explain to him the transformation that will take place in his exterior being when he’s reincarnated in the body I’m occupying.
Immediately, Paul explained to Francisco that he would not be able to speak, but only to whistle. He would be just like Brad...
“Bueno!” said the brave Spaniard. “Then I’ll whistle...”
Ahmed Bey placed himself in front of the patient and commenced his magnetic passes. He whistled in a strange manner, doubtless because he was mentally pronouncing the formula of the incantation. Suddenly, Francisco’s body started, and a little foam emerged from his lips. Immediately, the Doctor lay down next to him, and at the same time, a spark emerged from Francisco’s mouth and another from the Doctor’s trunk. The two sparks danced momentarily, and then exchanged places with lightning rapidity; Francisco’s went into the Doctor’s trunk, while Ahmed Bey’s vanished into the Spaniard’s mouth.
Two minutes later, the former body of Francisco got up, vivified by the soul of Ahmed Bey, while the Mercurian body, which had previously enveloped the Doctor’s soul, now animated by Francisco’s, leapt into the air and went to take up a position beside Brad.
The transmission of the two souls was complete.
Chapter Four
Which clarifies a few mysteries and puts
Paul de Civrac in a terrible dilemma
Francisco’s soul was doubtless ill at ease to begin within the Mercurian body; the monopod that had become a Spaniard—or, rather, the Spaniard who was now a monopod—stated gesticulating with his leg, his arms and his trunk, whistling and rolling his unique eye in the most comical fashion. Brad’s impassive attitude made him understand, however, that an energetic soul ought not to be astonished by anything, and Francisco eventually became tranquil.
As for Ahmed Bey’s soul, it obviously thought itself better accommodated in Francisco’s body; it could speak in human language.
“How do you feel, Monsieur?” the Doctor immediately asked of Paul.
“Quite well!” said Civrac, shaking the hand that the Doctor offered him. “The fall stunned me, but thanks to my low specific weight and the elasticity of the liquid in this lake, I haven’t broken any bones.”
“Then let’s think about Mademoiselle, whose faint seems to me to have gone on too long.”
And the Doctor, in Francisco’s appearance, went over to Lolla. Paul had already preceded him. As for Brad and Francisco, they stood a short distance away. A little further away, the body of the Mercurian that had been dragged into the cataract of the golden river against its will was visible, presumably dead.
The rhythmic rumbling was still resounding in the vast cavern, dominated at intervals by the frightful howling. Their minds were entirely preoccupied, however, with Lolla’s condition and they scarcely paid any attention to those formidable noises, which were to be explained in singular fashion in due course.
Lying on the ground in the mysterious clarity produced by the cascades and the lake, Lolla Mendès presented a cadaverously pale face. At the sight of that paleness, Paul shivered.
“Doctor!” he exclaimed. “She isn’t dead?”
Ahmed Bey had knelt down beside the young woman. Parting the edges of her bodice, he applied his right ear to Lolla’s chaste breast. Without replying to Paul, he listened for some time.
When he raised his head again, he murmured: “That’s strange.” And his eyes expressed an immense surprise. He picked up the young woman’s hands one by one and examined them minutely. Then he scrutinized the immobile white face, the features of which were contracted like those of a corpse.
“That’s strange,” he repeated.
“Doctor, I implore you!” Paul begged.
Ahmed Bey lifted the head slightly and, gazing at Civrac, whose pallor and fearful eyes testified clearly enough to his state of mind, he murmured: “Monsieur, as I predicted in Calcutta, you love this young woman?”
“I’d give my life for her!” Paul exclaimed, with juvenile enthusiasm.
“That won’t save her, Monsieur,” the Doctor replied, coldly. “But I beg you to summon up all your courage and presence of mind.”
“She’s dead!” cried Paul, in a heart-rending tone.
“No!” said the Doctor, curtly. After a pause, he continued, more gravely: “We’re confronted by an extraordinary case, the like of which I’ve only seen once before in my terrestrial life, in India... The young woman is alive, although she presents all the symptoms of death except one. Her body will remain flexible and won’t decompose, but her heart is no longer beating, and her lungs are no longer functioning. She’s in one of the rarest states of catalepsy. When will she wake up? Will she ever wake up, in fact, before passing from the state of catalepsy into death? If we were in my laboratory in Paris, I could bring her round, with appropriate cordials and a magneto-electric treatment. But here…here, I don’t know...”
“Oh, Doctor, Doctor! Save her!” Paul fell to his knees beside the inert body of poor Lolla.
While the Doctor was speaking Brad and Francisco had moved closer. Now they too were begging Ahmed Bey, with gestures and whistles.
“Calm and silence, please!” the Doctor said. “Listen to me, Monsieur de Civrac. I’m going to try the only treatment that is within my scope here—which is to say, to disincarnate Mademoiselle’s soul.” He paused momentarily, and then added: “Have you thought about how we’re going to get back to Earth?”
“No, I confess that I haven’t?” Paul stammered.
“It will be quite simple. We’re five human beings, with various appearances, which aren’t our own—except for you, Monsieur de Civrac, who hav
e preserved your own body thus far. Well, it will only require an effort of will on my part for our five souls to be simultaneously disincarnated and fly to Earth. Personally, I’ll find my own body on arriving at my house on the edge of the Parc Monceau, but you four, Mademoiselle included, will have to incorporate yourselves in the available bodies, of which we’d choose the most adequate.”
The Doctor paused again, then resumed: “But above all, I have to make sure that Mademoiselle’s soul is in my power and understands me, in order for it to be possible for me to obtain its obedience and take it to Earth with ours. Now, in the cataleptic state that Mademoiselle is in, her soul, although present, is asleep, confused with her entire being. She can hear me vaguely, since she’s alive, but will she be able to understand me, in order to be able to obey me? That’s what we have to find out. Brad, bring the body of the Mercurian we killed over here.”
Brad went to fetch the monopod’s cadaver, and, in response to a gesture from Ahmed Bey, laid it down beside Lolla.
The Doctor stood up, and went to place himself, upright, directly in front of Lolla’s feet. He murmured magical incantations over her, making the ancient gestures in the air that operated the capture and disincarnation of souls.
Anxiously, with a cold sweat on his forehead and his eyes, blurred by tears, fixed on Lolla’s face, Paul de Civrac waited. Facing him, Brad and Francisco watched, silent and motionless.
Long minutes went by. Ahmed Bey’s voice became strangely sonorous and majestic, accompanied by the cadenced rumbling of the abyss, and punctuated from time to time by the howls of agony.
The Doctor’s voice rose in more highly-pitched modulations, and then fell silent after a trenchant screech.
But Lolla Mendès’ face remained as pale and motionless as that of a marble statue.
The Fiery Wheel Page 17