THE JOURNEY OF THE KING
I
One day the King turned to the women that danced and said to them:
“Dance no more,” and those that bore the wine in jewelled cups he sent
away. The palace of King Ebalon was emptied of sound of song and there
rose the voices of heralds crying in the streets to find the prophets
of the land.
Then went the dancers, the cupbearer and the singers down into the hard
streets among the houses, Pattering Leaves, Silvern Fountain and Summer
Lightning, the dancers whose feet the gods had not devised for stony
ways, which had only danced for princes. And with them went the singer,
Soul of the South, and the sweet singer, Dream of the Sea, whose voices
the gods had attuned to the ears of kings, and old Istahn the cupbearer
left his life’s work in the palace to tread the common ways, he that
had stood at the elbows of three kings of Zarkandhu and had watched his
ancient vintage feeding their valour and mirth as the waters of
Tondaris feed the green plains to the south. Ever he had stood grave
among their jests, but his heart warmed itself solely by the fire of
the mirth of Kings. He too, with the singers and dancers, went out into
the dark.
And throughout the land the heralds sought out the prophets thereof.
Then one evening as King Ebalon sat alone within his palace there were
brought before him all who had repute for wisdom and who wrote the
histories of the times to be. Then the King spake, saying: “The King
goeth upon a journey with many horses, yet riding upon none, when the
pomp of travelling shall be heard in the streets and the sound of the
lute and the drum and the name of the King. And I would know what
princes and what people shall greet me on the other shore in the land
to which I travel.”
Then fell a hush upon the prophets for they murmured: “All knowledge is
with the King.”
Then said the King: “Thou first, Samahn, High Prophet of the Temple of
gold in Azinorn, answer or thou shalt write no more the history of the
times to be, but shalt toil with thy hand to make record of the little
happenings of the days that were, as do the common men.”
Then said Samahn: “All knowledge is with the King,” and when the pomp
of travelling shall be heard in the streets and the slow horses whereon
the King rideth not go behind lute and drum, then, as the King well
knoweth, thou shalt go down to the great white house of Kings and,
entering the portals where none are worthy to follow, shalt make
obeisance alone to all the elder Kings of Zarkandhu, whose bones are
seated upon golden thrones grasping their sceptres still. Therein thou
shalt go with robes and sceptre through the marble porch, but thou
shalt leave behind thee thy gleaming crown that others may wear it, and
as the times go by come in to swell the number of the thirty Kings that
sit in the great white house on golden thrones. There is one doorway in
the great white house, and it stands wide with marble portals yawning
for kings, but when it shall receive thee, and thine obeisance hath
been made because of thine obligation to the thirty Kings, thou shalt
find at the back of the house an unknown door through which the soul of
a King may just pass, and leaving thy bones upon a golden throne thou
shalt go unseen out of the great white house to tread the velvet spaces
that lie among the worlds. Then, O King, it were well to travel fast
and not to tarry about the houses of men as do the souls of some who
still bewail the sudden murder that sent them upon the journey before
their time, and who, being yet loth to go, linger in dark chambers all
the night. These, setting forth to travel in the dawn and travelling
all the day, see earth behind them gleaming when evening falls, and
again are loth to leave its pleasant haunts, and come back again
through dark woods and up into some old loved chamber, and ever tarry
between home and flight and find no rest.
Thou wilt set forth at once because the journey is far and lasts for
many hours; but the hours on the velvet spaces are the hours of the
gods, and we may not say what time such an hour may be if reckoned in
mortal years.
At last thou shalt come to a grey place filled with mist, with grey
shapes standing before it which are altars, and on the altars rise
small red flames from dying fires that scarce illumine the mist. And in
the mist it is dark and cold because the fires are low. These are the
altars of the people’s faiths, and the flames are the worship of men,
and through the mist the gods of Old go groping in the dark and in the
cold. There thou shalt hear a voice cry feebly: “Inyani, Inyani, lord
of the thunder, where art thou, for I cannot see?” And a voice shall
answer faintly in the cold: “O maker of many worlds, I am here.” And in
that place the gods of Old are nearly deaf for the prayers of men grow
few, they are nigh blind because the fires burn low upon the altars of
men’s faiths and they are very cold. And all about the place of mist
there lies a moaning sea which is called the Sea of Souls. And behind
the place of mist are the dim shapes of mountains, and on the peak of
one there glows a silvern light that shines in the moaning sea; and
ever as the flames on the altars die before the gods of Old the light
on the mountain increases, and the light shines over the mist and never
through it as the gods of Old grow blind. It is said that the light on
the mountain shall one day become a new god who is not of the gods of
Old.
There, O King, thou shalt enter the Sea of Souls by the shore where the
altars stand which are covered in mist. In that sea are the souls of
all that ever lived on the worlds and all that ever shall live, all
freed from earth and flesh. And all the souls in that sea are aware of
one another but more than with hearing or sight or by taste or touch or
smell, and they all speak to each other yet not with lips, with voices
which need no sound. And over the sea lies music as winds o’er an ocean
on earth, and there unfettered by language great thoughts set outward
through the souls as on earth the currents go.
Once did I dream that in a mist-built ship I sailed upon that sea and
heard the music that is not of instruments, and voices not from lips,
and woke and found that I was upon the earth and that the gods had lied
to me in the night. Into this sea from fields of battle and cities come
down the rivers of lives, and ever the gods have taken onyx cups and
far and wide into the worlds again have flung the souls out of the sea,
that each soul may find a prison in the body of a man with five small
windows closely barred, and each one shackled with forgetfulness.
But all the while the light on the mountain grows, and none may say
what work the god that shall be born of the silvern light shall work on
the Sea of Souls, when the gods of Old are dead and the Sea is living
still.
And answer made the King:
“Thou that art a prophet of the gods of Old, go back and see that those
red flames burn more brightly on the altars in the mist, for the gods
of Old are easy and pleasant gods, and thou canst not say what toil
shall vex our souls when the god of the light on the mountain shall
stride along the shore where bleach the huge bones of the gods of Old.”
And Samahn answered: “All knowledge is with the King.”
II
Then the King called to Ynath bidding him speak concerning the journey
of the King. Ynath was the prophet that sat at the Eastern gate of the
Temple of Gorandhu. There Ynath prayed his prayers to all the passers
by lest ever the gods should go abroad, and one should pass him dressed
in mortal guise. And men are pleased as they walk by that Eastern gate
that Ynath should pray to them for fear that they be gods, so men bring
gifts to Ynath in the Eastern gate.
And Ynath said: “All knowledge is with the King. When a strange ship
comes to anchor in the air outside thy chamber window, thou shalt leave
thy well-kept garden and it shall become a prey to the nights and days
and be covered again with grass. But going aboard thou shalt set sail
over the Sea of Time and well shall the ship steer through the many
worlds and still sail on. If other ships shall pass thee on the way and
hail thee saying: ‘From what port’ thou shalt answer them: ‘From
Earth.’ And if they ask thee ‘whither bound?’ then thou shalt answer:
‘The End.’ Or thou shalt hail them saying: ‘From what port?’ And they
shall answer: ‘From The End called also The Beginning, and bound to
Earth.’ And thou shalt sail away till like an old sorrow dimly felt by
happy men the worlds shall gleam in the distance like one star, and as
the star pales thou shalt come to the shore of space where aeons
rolling shorewards from Time’s sea shall lash up centuries to foam away
in years. There lies the Centre Garden of the gods, facing full
seawards. All around lie songs that on earth were never sung, fair
thoughts not heard among the worlds, dream pictures never seen that
drifted over Time without a home till at last the aeons swept them on
to the shore of space. And in the Centre Garden of the gods bloom many
fancies. Therein once some souls were playing where the gods walked up
and down and to and fro. And a dream came in more beauteous than the
rest on the crest of a wave of Time, and one soul going downward to the
shore clutched at the dream and caught it. Then over the dreams and
stories and old songs that lay on the shore of space the hours came
sweeping back, and the centuries caught that soul and swirled him with
his dream far out to the Sea of Time, and the aeons swept him
earthwards and cast him into a palace with all the might of the sea and
left him there with his dream. The child grew to a King and still
clutched at his dream till the people wondered and laughed. Then, O
King, Thou didst cast thy dream back into the Sea, and Time drowned it
and men laughed no more, but thou didst forget that a certain sea beat
on a distant shore and that there was a garden and therein souls. But
at the end of the journey that thou shalt take, when thou comest to the
shore of space again thou shalt go up the beach, and coming to a garden
gate that stands in a garden wall shalt remember these things again,
for it stands where the hours assail not above the beating of Time, far
up the shore, and nothing altereth there. So thou shalt go through the
garden gate and hear again the whispering of the souls when they talk
low where sing the voices of the gods. There with kindred souls thou
shalt speak as thou didst of yore and tell them what befell thee beyond
the tides of time and how they took thee and made of thee a King so
that thy soul found no rest. There in the Centre Garden thou shalt sit
at ease and watch the gods all rainbow-clad go up and down and to and
fro on the paths of dreams and songs, and shalt not venture down to the
cheerless sea. For that which a man loves most is not on this side of
Time, and all which drifts on its aeons is a lure.
“All knowledge is with the King.”
Then said the King: “Ay, there was a dream once but Time hath swept it
away.”
III
Then spake Monith, Prophet of the Temple of Azure that stands on the
snow-peak of Ahmoon and said: “All knowledge is with the King. Once
thou didst set out upon a one day’s journey riding thy horse and before
thee had gone a beggar down the road, and his name was Yeb. Him thou
didst overtake and when he heeded not thy coming thou didst ride over
him.
“Upon the journey that thou shalt one day take riding upon no horse,
this beggar has set out before thee and is labouring up the crystal
steps towards the moon as a man goeth up the steps of a high tower in
the dark. On the moon’s edge beneath the shadow of Mount Angises he
shall rest awhile and then shall climb the crystal steps again. Then a
great journey lies before him before he may rest again till he come to
that star that is called the left eye of Gundo. Then a journey of many
crystal steps lieth before him again with nought to guide him but the
light of Omrazu. On the edge of Omrazu shall Yeb tarry long, for the
most dreadful part of his journey lieth before him. Up the crystal
steps that lie beyond Omrazu he must go, and any that follow, though
the howling of all the meteors that ride the sky; for in that part of
the crystal space go many meteors up and down all squealing in the
dark, which greatly perplex all travellers. And, if he may see though
the gleaming of the meteors and in spite of their uproar come safely
through, he shall come to the star Omrund at the edge of the Track of
Stars. And from star to star along the Track of Stars the soul of a man
may travel with more ease, and there the journey lies no more straight
forward, but curves to the right.”
Then said King Ebalon:
“Of this beggar whom my horse smote down thou hast spoken much, but I
sought to know by what road a King should go when he taketh his last
royal journey, and what princes and what people should meet him upon
another shore.”
Then answered Monith:
“All knowledge is with the King. It hath been doomed by the gods, who
speak not in jest, that thou shalt follow the soul that thou didst send
alone upon its journey, that that soul go not unattended up the crystal
steps.
“Moreover, as this beggar went upon his lonely journey he dared to
curse the King, and his curses lie like a red mist along the valleys
and hollows wherever he uttered them. By these red mists, O King, thou
shalt track him as a man follows a river by night until thou shalt fare
at last to the land wherein he hath blessed thee (repenting of anger at
last), and thou shalt see his blessing lie over the land like a blaze
of golden sunshine illumining fields and gardens.”
Then said the King:
“The gods have spoken hard above the snowy peak of this mountain
Ahmoon.”
And Monith said:
“How a man may come to the shore of space beyond the tides of time I
know not, but it is doomed that thou shalt certainly first follow the
beggar past the moon, Omrund and Omrazu till thou comest to the Track
of Stars, and up the Track of Stars coming towards the right along the
edge of it till thou comest to Ingazi. There the soul of the beggar Yeb
sat long, then, breathing deep, set off on his great journey earthward
adown the crystal steps. Straight through the spaces where no stars are
found to rest at, following the dull gleam of earth and her fields till
he come at last where journeys end and start.”
Then said King Ebalon:
“If this hard tale be true, how shall I find the beggar that I must
follow when I come again to the earth?”
And the Prophet answered:
“Thou shalt know him by his name and find him in this place, for that
beggar shall be called King Ebalon and he shall be sitting upon the
throne of the Kings of Zarkandhu.”
And the King answered:
“If one sit upon this throne whom men call King Ebalon, who then shall
I be?”
And the Prophet answered:
“Thou shalt be a beggar and thy name shall be Yeb, and thou shalt ever
tread the road before the palace waiting for alms from the King whom
men shall call Ebalon.”
Then said the King:
“Hard gods indeed are those that tramp the snows of Ahmoon about the
temple of Azure, for if I sinned against this beggar called Yeb, they
too have sinned against him when they doomed him to travel on this
weary journey though he hath not offended.”
And Monith said:
“He too hath offended, for he was angry as thy horse struck him, and
the gods smite anger. And his anger and his curses doom him to journey
without rest as also they doom thee.”
Then said the King:
“Thou that sittest upon Ahmoon in the Temple of Azure, dreaming thy
dreams and making prophecies, foresee the ending of this weary quest
and tell me where it shall be?”
And Monith answered:
“As a man looks across great lakes I have gazed into the days to be,
and as the great flies come upon four wings of gauze to skim over blue
waters, so have my dreams come sailing two by two out of the days to
be. And I dreamed that King Ebalon, whose soul was not thy soul, stood
in his palace in a time far hence, and beggars thronged the street
outside, and among them was Yeb, a beggar, having thy soul. And it was
on the morning of a festival and the King came robed in white, with all
his prophets and his seers and magicians, all down the marble steps to
bless the land and all that stood therein as far as the purple hills,
because it was the morning of festival. And as the King raised up his
hand over the beggars’ heads to bless the fields and rivers and all
that stood therein, I dreamed that the quest was ended.
“All knowledge is with the King.”
IV
Evening darkened and above the palace domes gleamed out the stars
whereon haply others missed the secret too.
And outside the palace in the dark they that had borne the wine in
jewelled cups mocked in low voices at the King and at the wisdom of his
prophets.
Then spake Ynar, called the prophet of the Crystal Peak; for there
rises Amanath above all that land, a mountain whose peak is crystal,
and Ynar beneath its summit hath his Temple, and when day shines no
longer on the world Amanath takes the sunlight and gleams afar as a
beacon in a bleak land lit at night. And at the hour when all faces are
turned on Amanath, Ynar comes forth beneath the Crystal peak to weave
strange spells and to make signs that people say are surely for the
gods. Therefore it is said in all those lands that Ynar speaks at
evening to the gods when all the world is still.
And Ynar said:
“All knowledge is with the King, and without doubt it hath come to the
King’s ears how certain speech is held at evening on the Peak of
Amanath.
“They that speak to me at evening on the Peak are They that live in a
city through whose streets Death walketh not, and I have heard it from
Their Elders that the King shall take no journey; only from thee the
hills shall slip away, the dark woods, the sky and all the gleaming
worlds that fill the night, and the green fields shall go on untrodden
by thy feet and the blue sky ungazed at by thine eyes, and still the
rivers shall all run seaward but making no music in thine ears. And all
the old laments shall still be spoken, troubling thee not, and to the
earth shall fall the tears of the children of earth and never grieving
thee. Pestilence, heat and cold, ignorance, famine and anger, these
things shall grip their claws upon all men as heretofore in fields and
roads and cities but shall not hold thee. But from thy soul, sitting in
the old worn track of the worlds when all is gone away, shall fall off
the shackles of circumstance and thou shalt dream thy dreams alone.
“And thou shalt find that dreams are real where there is nought as far
as the Rim but only thy dreams and thee.
“With them thou shalt build palaces and cities resting upon nothing and
having no place in time, not to be assailed by the hours or harmed by
ivy or rust, not to be taken by conquerors, but destroyed by thy fancy
if thou dost wish it so or by thy fancy rebuilded. And nought shall
ever disturb these dreams of thine which here are troubled and lost by
all the happenings of earth, as the dreams of one who sleeps in a
tumultuous city. For these thy dreams shall sweep outward like a strong
river over a great waste plain wherein are neither rocks nor hills to
turn it, only in that place there shall be no boundaries nor sea,
neither hindrance nor end. And it were well for thee that thou shouldst
take few regrets into thy waste dominions from the world wherein thou
livest, for such regrets or any memory of deeds ill done must sit
beside thy soul forever in that waste, singing one song always of
forlorn remorse; and they too shall be only dreams but very real.
“There nought shall hinder thee among thy dreams, for even the gods may
harass thee no more when flesh and earth and events with which They
bound thee shall have slipped away.”
Then said the King:
“I like not this grey doom, for dreams are empty. I would see action
roaring through the world, and men and deeds.”
Then answered the Prophet:
“Victory, jewels and dancing but please thy fancy. What is the sparkle
of the gem to thee without thy fancy which it allures, and thy fancy is
all a dream. Action and deeds and men are nought without dreams and do
but fetter them, and only dreams are real, and where thou stayest when
the worlds shall drift away there shall be only dreams.”
And the King answered:
“A mad prophet.”
And Ynar said:
“A mad prophet, but believing that his soul possesseth all things of
which his soul may become aware and that he is master of that soul, and
thou a high-minded King believing only that thy soul possesseth such
few countries as are leaguered by thine armies and the sea, and that
thy soul is possessed by certain strange gods of whom thou knowest not,
who shall deal with it in a way whereof thou knowest not. Until a
knowledge come to us that either is wrong I have wider realms, I King,
than thee and hold them beneath no overlords.”
Then said the King:
“Thou hast said no overlords! To whom then dost thou speak by strange
signs at evening above the world?”
And Ynar went forward and whispered to the King. And the King shouted:
“Seize ye this prophet for he is a hypocrite and speaks to no gods at
evening above the world, but has deceived us with his signs.”
And Ynar said:
“Come not near me or I shall point towards you when I speak at evening
upon the mountain with Those that ye know of.”
Then Ynar went away and the guards touched him not.
V
Then spake the prophet Thun, who was clad in seaweed and had no Temple,
but lived apart from men. All his life he had lived on a lonely beach
and had heard for ever the wailing of the sea and the crying of the
wind in hollows among the cliffs. Some said that having lived so long
by the full beating of the sea, and where always the wind cries
loudest, he could not feel the joys of other men, but only felt the
sorrow of the sea crying in his soul for ever.
“Long ago on the path of stars, midmost between the worlds, there
strode the gods of Old. In the bleak middle of the worlds They sat and
the worlds went round and round, like dead leaves in the wind at
Autumn’s end, with never a life on one, while the gods went sighing for
the things that might not be. And the centuries went over the gods to
go where the centuries go, toward the End of Things, and with Them went
the sighs of all the gods as They longed for what might not be.
“One by one in the midst of the worlds, fell dead the gods of Old,
still sighing for the things that might not be, all slain by Their own
regrets. Only Shimono Kani, the youngest of the gods, made him a harp
out of the heart strings of all the elder gods, and, sitting upon the
Path of Stars in the Middle of Things, played upon the harp a dirge for
the gods of Old. And the song told of all vain regrets and of unhappy
loves of the gods in the olden time, and of Their great deeds that were
to adorn the future years. But into the dirge of Shimono Kani came
voices crying out of the heart strings of the gods, all sighing still
for the things that might not be. And the dirge and the voices crying,
go drifting away from the Path of Stars, away from the Midst of Things,
till they come twittering among the Worlds, like a great host of birds
that are lost by night. And every note is a life, and many notes become
caught up among the worlds to be entangled with flesh for a little
while before they pass again on their journey to the great Anthem that
roars at the End of Time. Shimono Kani hath given a voice to the wind
and added a sorrow to the sea. But when in lighted chambers after
feasting there arises the voice of the singer to please the King, then
is the soul of that singer crying aloud to his fellows from where he
stands chained to earth. And when at the sound of the singing the heart
of the King grows sad and his princes lament then they remember, though
knowing not that, they remember it, the sad face of Shimono Kani
sitting by his dead brethren, the elder gods, playing on the harp of
crying heart strings whereby he sent their souls among the worlds.
[Illustration: The Dirge of Shimono Kani]
“And when the music of one lute is lonely on the hills at night, then
one soul calleth to his brother souls—the notes of Shimono Kani’s dirge
which have not been caught among the worlds—and he knoweth not to whom
he calls or why, but knoweth only that minstrelsy is his only cry and
sendeth it out into the dark.
“But although in the prison houses of earth all memories must die, yet
as there sometimes clings to a prisoner’s feet some dust of the fields
wherein he was captured, so sometimes fragments of remembrance cling to
a man’s soul after it hath been taken to earth. Then a great minstrel
arises, and, weaving together the shreds of his memories, maketh some
melody such as the hand of Shimono Kani smites out of his harp; and
they that pass by say: ‘Hath there not been some such melody before?’
and pass on sad at heart for memories which are not.
“Therefore, O King, one day the great gates of thy palace shall lie
open for a procession wherein the King comes down to pass through a
people, lamenting with lute and drum; and on the same day a prison door
shall be opened by relenting hands, and one more lost note of Shimono
Kani’s dirge shall go back to swell his melody again.
“The dirge of Shimono Kani shall roll on till one day it shall come
with all its notes complete to overwhelm the Silence that sits at the
End of Things. Then shall Shimono Kani say to his brethren’s bones: The
things that might not be have at last become.’
“But very quiet shall be the bones of the gods of Old, and only Their
voices shall live which cried from the harp of heart strings, for the
things which might not be.”
VI
When the caravans, saying farewell to Zandara, set out across the waste
northwards towards Einandhu, they follow the desert track for seven
days before they come to water where Shubah Onath rises black out of
the waste, with a well at its foot and herbage on its summit. On this
rock a prophet hath his Temple and is called the Prophet of Journeys,
and hath carven in a southern window smiling along the camel track all
gods that are benignant to caravans.
There a traveller may learn by prophecy whether he shall accomplish the
ten days’ journey thence across the desert and so come to the white
city of Einandhu, or whether his bones shall lie with the bones of old
along the desert track.
No name hath the Prophet of Journeys, for none is needed in that desert
where no man calls nor ever a man answers.
Thus spake the Prophet of Journeys standing before the King:
“The journey of the King shall be an old journey pushed on apace.
“Many a year before the making of the moon thou camest down with dream
camels from the City without a name that stands beyond all the stars.
And then began thy journey over the Waste of Nought, and thy dream
camel bore thee well when those of certain of thy fellow travellers
fell down in the Waste and were covered over by the silence and were
turned again to nought; and those travellers when their dream camels
fell, having nothing to carry them further over the Waste, were lost
beyond and never found the earth. These are those men that might have
been but were not. And all about thee fluttered the myriad hours
travelling in great swarms across the Waste of Nought.
“How many centuries passed across the cities while thou wast making thy
journey none may reckon, for there is no time in the Waste of Nought,
but only the hours fluttering earthwards from beyond to do the work of
Time. At last the dream-borne travellers saw far off a green place
gleaming and made haste towards it and so came to Earth. And there, O
King, ye rest for a little while, thou and those that came with thee,
making an encampment upon earth before journeying on. There the
swarming hours alight, settling on every blade of grass and tree, and
spreading over your tents and devouring all things, and at last bending
your very tent poles with their weight and wearying you.
“Behind the encampment in the shadow of the tents lurks a dark figure
with a nimble sword, having the name of Time. This is he that hath
called the hours from beyond and he it is that is their master, and it
is his work that the hours do as they devour all green things upon the
earth and tatter the tents and weary all the travellers. As each of the
hours does the work of Time, Time smites him with his nimble sword as
soon as his work is done, and the hour falls severed to the dust with
his bright wings scattered, as a locust cut asunder by the scimitar of
a skillful swordsman.
“One by one, O King, with a stir in the camp, and the folding up of the
tents one by one, the travellers shall push on again on the journey
begun so long before out of the City without a name to the place where
dream camels go, striding free through the Waste. So into the Waste, O
King, thou shalt set forth ere long, perhaps to renew friendships begun
during thy short encampment upon earth.
“Other green places thou shalt meet in the Waste and thereon shalt
encamp again until driven thence by the hours. What prophet shall
relate how many journeys thou shalt make or how many encampments? But
at last thou shalt come to the place of The Resting of Camels, and
there shall gleaming cliffs that are named The Ending of Journeys lift
up out of the Waste of Nought, Nought at their feet, Nought laying wide
before them, with only the glint of worlds far off to illumine the
Waste. One by one, on tired dream camels, the travellers shall come in,
and going up the pathway through the cliff in that land of The Resting
of Camels shall come on The City of Ceasing. There, the dream-wrought
pinnacles and the spires that are builded of men’s hopes shall rise up
real before thee, seen only hitherto as a mirage in the Waste.
“So far the swarming hours may not come, and far away among the tents
shall stand the dark figure with the nimble sword. But in the
scintillant streets, under the song-built abodes of the last of cities,
thy journey, O King, shall end.”
VII
In the valley beyond Sidono there lies a garden of poppies, and where
the poppies’ heads are all a-swing with summer breezes that go up the
valley there lies a path well strewn with ocean shells. Over Sidono’s
summit the birds come streaming to the lake that lies in the valley of
the garden, and behind them rises the sun sending Sidono’s shadow as
far as the edge of the lake. And down the path of many ocean shells
when they begin to gleam in the sun, every morning walks an aged man
clad in a silken robe with strange devices woven. A little temple where
the old man lives stands at the edge of the path. None worship there,
for Zornadhu, the old prophet, hath forsaken men to walk among his
poppies.
For Zornadhu hath failed to understand the purport of Kings and cities
and the moving up and down of many people to the tune of the clinking
of gold. Therefore hath Zornadhu gone far away from the sound of cities
and from those that are ensnared thereby, and beyond Sidono’s mountain
hath come to rest where there are neither kings nor armies nor
bartering for gold, but only the heads of the poppies that sway in the
wind together and the birds that fly from Sidono to the lake, and then
the sunrise over Sidono’s summit; and afterwards the flight of birds
out of the lake and over Sidono again, and sunset behind the valley,
and high over lake and garden the stars that know not cities. There
Zornadhu lives in his garden of poppies with Sidono standing between
him and the whole world of men; and when the wind blowing athwart the
valley sways the heads of the tall poppies against the Temple wall, the
old prophet says: “The flowers are all praying, and lo! they be nearer
to the gods than men.”
But the heralds of the King coming after many days of travel to Sidono
perceived the garden valley. By the lake they saw the poppy garden
gleaming round and small like a sunrise over water on a misty morning
seen by some shepherd from the hills. And descending the bare mountain
for three days they came to the gaunt pines, and ever between the tall
trunks came the glare of the poppies that shone from the garden valley.
For a whole day they travelled through the pines. That night a cold
wind came up the garden valley crying against the poppies. Low in his
Temple, with a song of exceeding grief, Zornadhu in the morning made a
dirge for the passing of poppies, because in the night time there had
fallen petals that might not return or ever come again into the garden
valley. Outside the Temple on the path of ocean shells the heralds
halted, and read the names and honours of the King; and from the Temple
came the voice of Zornadhu still singing his lament. But they took him
from his garden because of the King’s command, and down his gleaming
path of ocean shells and away up Sidono, and left the Temple empty with
none to lament when silken poppies died. And the will of the wind of
the autumn was wrought upon the poppies, and the heads of the poppies
that rose from the earth went down to the earth again, as the plume of
a warrior smitten in a heathen fight far away, where there are none to
lament him. Thus out of his land of flowers went Zornadhu and came
perforce into the lands of men, and saw cities, and in the city’s midst
stood up before the King.
And the King said:
“Zornadhu, what of the journey of the King and of the princes and the
people that shall meet me?”
Zornadhu answered:
“I know nought of Kings, but in the night time the poppy made his
journey a little before dawn. Thereafter the wildfowl came as is their
wont over Sidono’s summit, and the sun rising behind them gleamed upon
Sidono, and all the flowers of the lake awoke. And the bee passing up
and down the garden went droning to other poppies, and the flowers of
the lake, they that had known the poppy, knew him no more. And the
sun’s rays slanting from Sidono’s crest lit still a garden valley where
one poppy waved his petals to the dawn no more. And I, O King, that
down a path of gleaming ocean shells walk in the morning, found not,
nor have since found, that poppy again, that hath gone on the journey
whence there is not returning, out of my garden valley. And I, O King,
made a dirge to cry beyond that valley and the poppies bowed their
heads; but there is no cry nor no lament that may adjure the life to
return again to a flower that grew in a garden once and hereafter is
not.
“Unto what place the lives of poppies have gone no man shall truly say.
Sure it is that to that place are only outward tracks. Only it may be
that when a man dreams at evening in a garden where heavily the scent
of poppies hangs in the air, when the winds have sunk, and far away the
sound of a lute is heard on lonely hills, as he dreams of
silken-scarlet poppies that once were a-swing together in the gardens
of his youth, the lives of those old lost poppies shall return, living
again in his dream. _So there may dream the gods._ And through the
dreams of some divinity reclining in tinted fields above the morning we
may haply pass again, although our bodies have long swirled up and down
the world with other dust. In these strange dreams our lives may be
again, all in the centre of our hopes, rejoicings and laments, until
above the morning the gods wake to go about their work, haply to
remember still Their idle dreams, haply to dream them all again in the
stillness when shines the starlight of the gods.”
VIII
Then said the King: “I like not these strange journeys nor this faint
wandering through the dreams of gods like the shadow of a weary camel
that may not rest when the sun is low. The gods that have made me to
love the earth’s cool woods and dancing streams do ill to send me into
the starry spaces that I love not, with my soul still peering earthward
through the eternal years, as a beggar who once was noble staring from
the street at lighted halls. For wherever the gods may send me I shall
be as the gods have made me, a creature loving the green fields of
earth.
“Now if there stand one prophet here that hath the ear of those too
splendid gods that stride above the glories of the orient sky, tell
them that there is on earth one King in the land called Zarkandhu to
the south of the opal mountains, who would fain tarry among the many
gardens of earth, and would leave to other men the splendours that the
gods shall give the dead above the twilight that surrounds the stars.”
Then spake Yamen, prophet of the Temple of Obin that stands on the
shores of a great lake, facing east. Yamen said: “I pray oft to the
gods who sit above the twilight behind the east. When the clouds are
heavy and red at sunset, or when there is boding of thunder or eclipse,
then I pray not, lest my prayers be scattered and beaten earthward. But
when the sun sets in a tranquil sky, pale green or azure, and the light
of his farewells stays long upon lonely hills, then I send forth my
prayers to flutter upward to gods that are surely smiling, and the gods
hear my prayers. But, O King, boons sought out of due time from the
gods are never wholly to be desired, and, if They should grant to thee
to tarry on the earth, old age would trouble thee with burdens more and
more till thou wouldst become the driven slave of the hours in fetters
that none may break.”
The King said: “They that have devised this burden of age may surely
stay it, pray therefore on the calmest evening of the year to the gods
above the twilight that I may tarry always on the earth and always
young, while over my head the scourges of the gods pass and alight
not.”
Then answered Yamen: “The King hath commanded, yet among the blessings
of the gods there always cries a curse. The great princes that make
merry with the King, who tell of the great deeds that the King wrought
in the former time, shall one by one grow old. And thou, O King, seated
at the feast crying, ‘make merry’ and extolling the former time shall
find about thee white heads nodding in sleep, and men that are
forgetting the former time. Then one by one the names of those that
sported with thee once called by the gods, one by one the names of the
singers that sing the songs thou lovest called by the gods, lastly of
those that chased the grey boar by night and took him in Orghoom
river—only the King. Then a new people that have not known the old
deeds of the King nor fought and chased with him, who dare not make
merry with the King as did his long dead princes. And all the while
those princes that are dead growing dearer and greater in thy memory,
and all the while the men that served thee then growing more small to
thee. And all the old things fading and new things arising which are
not as the old things were, the world changing yearly before thine eyes
and the gardens of thy childhood overgrown. Because thy childhood was
in the olden years thou shalt love the olden years, but ever the new
years shall overthrow them and their customs, and not the will of a
King may stay the changes that the gods have planned for all the
customs of old. Ever thou shalt say ‘This was not so,’ and ever the new
custom shall prevail even against a King. When thou hast made merry a
thousand times thou shalt grow tired of making merry. At last thou
shalt become weary of the chase, and still old age shall not come near
to thee to stifle desires that have been too oft fulfilled; then, O
King, thou shalt be a hunter yearning for the chase but with nought to
pursue that hath not been oft overcome. Old age shall come not to bury
thine ambitions in a time when there is nought for thee to aspire to
any more. Experience of many centuries shall make thee wise but hard
and very sad, and thou shalt be a mind apart from thy fellows and curse
them all for fools, and they shall not perceive thy wisdom because thy
thoughts are not their thoughts and the gods that they have made are
not the gods of the olden time. No solace shall thy wisdom bring thee
but only an increasing knowledge that thou knowest nought, and thou
shalt feel as a wise man in a world of fools, or else as a fool in a
world of wise men, when all men feel so sure and ever thy doubts
increase. When all that spake with thee of thine old deeds are dead,
those that saw them not shall speak of them again to thee; till one
speaking to thee of thy deeds of valour add more than even a man should
when speaking to a King, and thou shalt suddenly doubt whether these
great deeds were; and there shall be none to tell thee, only the echoes
of the voices of the gods still singing in thine ears when long ago
They called the princes that were thy friends. And thou shalt hear the
knowledge of the olden time most wrongly told and afterwards forgotten.
Then many prophets shall arise claiming discovery of that old
knowledge. Then thou shalt find that seeking knowledge is vain, as the
chase is vain, as making merry is vain, as all things are vain. One day
thou shalt find that it is vain to be a King. Greatly then will the
acclamations of the people weary thee, till the time when people grow
aweary of Kings. Then thou shalt know that thou hast been uprooted from
thine olden time and set to live in uncongenial years, and jests all
new to royal ears shall smite thee on the head like hailstones, when
thou hast lost thy crown, when those to whose grandsires thou hadst
granted to bring them as children to kiss the feet of the King shall
mock at thee because thou hast not learnt to barter with gold.
“Not all the marvels of the future time shall atone to thee for those
old memories that glow warmer and brighter every year as they recede
into the ages that the gods have gathered. And always dreaming of thy
long dead princes and of the great Kings of other kingdoms in the olden
time thou shalt fail to see the grandeur to which a hurrying jesting
people shall attain in that kingless age. Lastly, O King, thou shalt
perceive men changing in a way that thou shalt not comprehend, knowing
what thou canst not know, till thou shalt discover that these are men
no more and a new race holds dominion over the earth whose forefathers
were men. These shall speak to thee no more as they hurry upon a quest
that thou shalt never understand, and thou shalt know that thou canst
no longer take thy part in shaping destinies, but in a world of cities
only pine for air and the waving grass again and the sound of a wind in
trees. Then even this shall end with the shapes of the gods in the
darkness gathering all lives but thine, when the hills shall fling up
earth’s long stored heat back to the heavens again, when earth shall be
old and cold, with nothing alive upon it but one King.”
Then said the King: “Pray to those hard gods still, for those that have
loved the earth with all its gardens and woods and singing streams will
love earth still when it is old and cold and with all its gardens gone
and all the purport of its being failed and nought but memories.”
IX
Then spake Paharn, a prophet of the land of Hurn.
And Paharn said:
“There was one man that knew, but he stands not here.”
And the King said:
“Is he further than my heralds might travel in the night if they went
upon fleet horses?”
And the prophet answered:
“He is no further than thy heralds may well travel in the night, but
further than they may return from in all the years. Out of this city
there goes a valley wandering through all the world and opens out at
last on the green land of Hurn. On the one side in the distance gleams
the sea, and on the other side a forest, black and ancient, darkens the
fields of Hurn; beyond the forest and the sea there is no more, saving
the twilight and beyond that the gods. In the mouth of the valley
sleeps the village of Rhistaun.
“Here I was born, and heard the murmur of the flocks and herds, and saw
the tall smoke standing between the sky and the still roofs of
Rhistaun, and learned that men might not go into the dark forest, and
that beyond the forest and the sea was nought saving the twilight, and
beyond that the gods. Often there came travellers from the world all
down the winding valley, and spake with strange speech in Rhistaun and
returned again up the valley going back to the world. Sometimes with
bells and camels and men running on foot, Kings came down the valley
from the world, but always the travellers returned by the valley again
and none went further than the land of Hurn.
“And Kithneb also was born in the land of Hurn and tended the flocks
with me, but Kithneb would not care to listen to the murmur of the
flocks and herds and see the tall smoke standing between the roofs and
the sky, but needed to know how far from Hurn it was that the world met
the twilight, and how far across the twilight sat the gods.
“And often Kithneb dreamed as he tended the flocks and herds, and when
others slept he would wander near to the edge of the forest wherein men
might not go. And the elders of the land of Hurn reproved Kithneb when
he dreamed; yet Kithneb was still as other men and mingled with his
fellows until the day of which I will tell thee, O King. For Kithneb
was aged about a score of years, and he and I were sitting near the
flocks, and he gazed long at the point where the dark forest met the
sea at the end of the land of Hurn. But when night drove the twilight
down under the forest we brought the flocks together to Rhistaun, and I
went up the street between the houses to see four princes that had come
down the valley from the world, and they were clad in blue and scarlet
and wore plumes upon their heads, and they gave us in exchange for our
sheep some gleaming stones which they told us were of great value on
the word of princes. And I sold them three sheep, and Darniag sold them
eight.
“But Kithneb came not with the others to the market place where the
four princes stood, but went alone across the fields to the edge of the
forest.
“And it was upon the next morning that the strange thing befell
Kithneb; for I saw him in the morning coming from the fields, and I
hailed him with the shepherd’s cry wherewith we shepherds call to one
another, and he answered not. Then I stopped and spake to him, and
Kithneb said not a word till I became angry and left him.
“Then we spake together concerning Kithneb, and others had hailed him,
and he had not answered them, but to one he had said that he had heard
the voices of the gods speaking beyond the forest and so would never
listen more to the voices of men.
“Then we said: ‘Kithneb is mad,’ and none hindered him.
“Another took his place among the flocks, and Kithneb sat in the
evenings by the edge of the forest on the plain, alone.
“So Kithneb spake to none for many days, but when any forced him to
speak he said that every evening he heard the gods when they came to
sit in the forest from over the twilight and sea, and that he would
speak no more with men.
“But as the months went by, men in Rhistaun came to look on Kithneb as
a prophet, and we were wont to point to him when strangers came down
the valley from the world, saying:
“‘Here in the land of Hurn we have a prophet such as you have not among
your cities, for he speaks at evening with the gods.’
“A year had passed over the silence of Kithneb when he came to me and
spake. And I bowed before him because we believed that he spake among
the gods. And Kithneb said:
“‘I will speak to thee before the end because I am most lonely. For how
may I speak again with men and women in the little streets of Rhistaun
among the houses, when I have heard the voices of the gods singing
above the twilight? But I am more lonely than ever Rhistaun wots of,
for this I tell thee, _when I hear the gods I know not what They say_.
Well indeed I know the voice of each, for ever calling me away from
contentment; well I know Their voices as they call to my soul and
trouble it; I know by Their tone when They rejoice, and I know when
They are sad, for even the gods feel sadness. I know when over fallen
cities of the past, and the curved white bones of heroes They sing the
dirges of the gods’ lament. But alas! Their words I know not, and the
wonderful strains of the melody of Their speech beat on my soul and
pass away unknown.
“‘Therefore I travelled from the land of Hurn till I came to the house
of the prophet Arnin-Yo, and told him that I sought to find the meaning
of the gods; and Arnin-Yo told me to ask the shepherds concerning all
the gods, for what the shepherds knew it was meet for a man to know,
and, beyond that, knowledge turned into trouble.
“‘But I told Arnin-Yo that I had heard myself the voices of the gods
and knew that They were there beyond the twilight and so could never
more bow down to the gods that the shepherds made from the red clay
which they scooped with their hands out of the hillside.
“‘Then said Arnin-Yo to me:
“‘Natheless forget that thou hast heard the gods and bow down again to
the gods of the red clay that the shepherds make, and find thereby the
ease that the shepherds find, and at last die, remembering devoutly the
gods of the red clay that the shepherds scooped with their hands out of
the hill. For the gifts of the gods that sit beyond the twilight and
smile at the gods of clay, are neither ease nor contentment.”
“‘And I said:
“‘The god that my mother made out of the red clay that she had got
from the hill, fashioning it with many arms and eyes as she sang me
songs of its power, and told me stories of its mystic birth, this god
is lost and broken; and ever in my ears is ringing the melody of the
gods.”
“‘And Arnin-Yo said:
“‘If thou wouldst still seek knowledge know that only those that come
behind the gods may clearly know their meaning. And this thou canst
only do by taking ship and putting out to sea from the land of Hurn and
sailing up the coast towards the forest. There the sea cliffs turn to
the left or southward, and full upon them beats the twilight from over
the sea, and there thou mayest come round behind the forest. Here where
the world’s edge mingles with the twilight the gods come in the
evening, and if thou canst come behind Them thou shalt hear Their
voices clear, beating full seaward and filling all the twilight with
sound of song, and thou shalt know the meaning of the gods. But where
the cliffs turn southward there sits behind the gods Brimdono, the
oldest whirlpool in the sea, roaring to guard his masters. Him the gods
have chained for ever to the floor of the twilit sea to guard the door
of the forest that lieth above the cliffs. Here, then, if thou canst
hear the voices of the gods as thou hast said, thou wilt know their
meaning clear, but this will profit thee little when Brimdono drags
thee down and all thy ship.’”
“Thus spake Kithneb to me.
“But I said:
“‘O Kithneb, forget those whirlpool-guarded gods beyond the forest, and
if thy small god be lost thou shalt worship with me the small god that
my mother made. Thousands of years ago he conquered cities but is not
any longer an angry god. Pray to him, Kithneb, and he shall bring thee
comfort and increase to thy flocks and a mild spring, and at the last a
quiet ending for thy days.’
“But Kithneb heeded not, and only bade me find a fisher ship and men to
row it. So on the next day we put forth from the land of Hurn in a boat
that the fisher folk use. And with us came four of the fisher folk who
rowed the boat while I held the rudder, but Kithneb sat and spake not
in the prow. And we rowed westward up the coast till we came at evening
where the cliffs turned southward and the twilight gleamed upon them
and the sea.
“There we turned southwards and saw at once Brimdono. And as a man
tears the purple cloak of a king slain in battle to divide it with
other warriors,—Brimdono tore the sea. And ever around and around him
with a gnarled hand Brimdono whirled the sail of some adventurous ship,
the trophy of some calamity wrought in his greed for shipwreck long ago
where he sat to guard his masters from all who fare on the sea. And
ever one far-reaching empty hand swung up and down so that we durst go
no nearer.
“Only Kithneb neither saw Brimdono nor heard his roar, and when we
would go no further bade us lower a small boat with oars out of the
ship. Into this boat Kithneb descended, not heeding words from us, and
onward rowed alone. A cry of triumph over ships and men Brimdono
uttered before him, but Kithneb’s eyes were turned toward the forest as
he came behind the gods. Upon his face the twilight beat full from the
haunts of evening to illumine the smiles that grew about his eyes as he
came behind the gods. Him that had found the gods above Their twilit
cliffs, him that had heard Their voices close at last and knew Their
meaning clear, him, from the cheerless world with its doubtings and
prophets that lie, from all hidden meanings, where truth rang clear at
last, Brimdono took.”
But when Paharn ceased to speak, in the King’s ears the roar of
Brimdono exulting over ancient triumphs and the whelming of ships
seemed still to ring.
X
Then Mohontis spake, the hermit prophet, who lived in the deep
untravelled woods that seclude Lake Ilana.
“I dreamed that to the west of all the seas I saw by vision the mouth
of Munra-O, guarded by golden gates, and through the bars of the gates
that guard the mysterious river of Munra-O I saw the flashes of golden
barques, wherein the gods went up and down, and to and fro through the
evening dusk. And I saw that Munra-O was a river of dreams such as came
through remembered gardens in the night, to charm our infancy as we
slept beneath the sloping gables of the houses of long ago. And Munra-O
rolled down her dreams from the unknown inner land and slid them under
the golden gates and out into the waste, unheeding sea, till they beat
far off upon low-lying shores and murmured songs of long ago to the
islands of the south, or shouted tumultuous paeans to the Northern
crags; or cried forlornly against rocks where no one came, dreams that
might not be dreamed.
“Many gods there be, that through the dusk of an evening in the summer
go up and down this river. There I saw, in a high barque all of gold,
gods of the pomp of cities; there I saw gods of splendour, in boats
bejewelled to the keels; gods of magnificence and gods of power. I saw
the dark ships and the glint of steel of the gods whose trade was war,
and I heard the melody of the bells of silver arow in the rigging of
harpstrings as the gods of melody went sailing through the dusk on the
river of Munra-O. Wonderful river of Munra-O! I saw a grey ship with
sails of the spider’s web all lit with dewdrop lanterns, and on its
prow was a scarlet cock with its wings spread far and wide when the
gods of the dawn sailed also on Munra-O.
“Down this river it is the wont of the gods to carry the souls of men
eastward to where the world in the distance faces on Munra-O. Then I
knew that when the gods of the Pride of Power and gods of the Pomp of
Cities went down the river in their tall gold ships to take earthward
other souls, swiftly adown the river and between the ships had gone in
this boat of birch bark the god Tarn, the hunter, bearing my soul to
the world. And I know now that he came down the stream in the dusk
keeping well to the middle, and that he moved silently and swiftly
among the ships, wielding a twin-bladed oar. I remember, now, the
yellow gleaming of the great boats of the gods of the Pomp of Cities,
and the huge prow above me of the gods of the Pride of Power, when
Tarn, dipping his right blade into the river, lifted his left blade
high, and the drops gleamed and fell. Thus Tarn the hunter took me to
the world that faces across the sea of the west on the gate of Munra-O.
And so it was that there grew upon me the glamour of the hunt, though I
had forgotten Tarn, and took me into mossy places and into dark woods,
and I became the cousin of the wolf and looked into the lynx’s eyes and
knew the bear; and the birds called to me with half-remembered notes,
and there grew in me a deep love of great rivers and of all western
seas, and a distrust of cities, and all the while I had forgotten Tarn.
“I know not what high galleon shall come for thee, O King, nor what
rowers, clad with purple, shall row at the bidding of gods when thou
goest back with pomp to the river of Munra-O. But for me Tarn waits
where the Seas of the West break over the edge of the world, and, as
the years pass over me and the love of the chase sinks low, and as the
glamour of the dark woods and mossy places dies down in my soul, ever
louder and louder lap the ripples against the canoe of birch bark
where, holding his twin-bladed oar, Tarn waits.
“But when my soul hath no more knowledge of the woods nor kindred any
longer with the creatures of the dark, and when all that Tarn hath
given it shall be lost, then Tarn shall take me back over the western
seas, where all the remembered years lie floating idly aswing with the
ebb and flow, to bring me again to the river of Munra-O. Far up that
river we shall haply chase those creatures whose eyes are peering in
the night as they prowl around the world, for Tarn was ever a hunter.”
XI
Then Ulf spake, the prophet who in Sistrameides lives in a temple
anciently dedicated to the gods. Rumour hath guessed that there the
gods walked once some time towards evening. But Time whose hand is
against the temples of the gods hath dealt harshly with it and
overturned its pillars and set upon its ruins his sign and seal: now
Ulf dwells there alone. And Ulf said, “There sets, O King, a river
outward from earth which meets with a mighty sea whose waters roll
through space and fling their billows on the shores of every star.
These are the river and the sea of the Tears of Men.”
And the King said:
“Men have not written of this sea.”
And the prophet answered:
“Have not tears enough burst in the night time out of sleeping cities?
Have not the sorrows of 10,000 homes sent streams into this river when
twilight fell and it was still and there was none to hear? Have there
not been hopes, and were they all fulfilled? Have there not been
conquests and bitter defeats? And have not flowers when spring was over
died in the gardens of many children? Tears enough, O King, tears
enough have gone down out of earth to make such a sea; and deep it is
and wide and the gods know it and it flings its spray on the shores of
all the stars. Down this river and across this sea thou shalt fare in a
ship of sighs and all around thee over the sea shall fly the prayers of
men which rise on white wings higher than their sorrows. Sometimes
perched in the rigging, sometimes crying around thee, shall go the
prayers that availed not to stay thee in Zarkandhu. Far over the
waters, and on the wings of the prayers beats the light of an
inaccessible star. No hand hath touched it, none hath journeyed to it,
it hath no substance, it is only a light, it is the star of Hope, and
it shines far over the sea and brightens the world. It is nought but a
light, but the gods gave it.
“Led only by the light of this star the myriad prayers that thou shalt
see all around thee fly to the Hall of the gods.
“Sighs shall waft thy ship of sighs over the sea of Tears. Thou shalt
pass by islands of laughter and lands of song lying low in the sea, and
all of them drenched with tears flung over their rocks by the waves of
the sea all driven by the sighs.
“But at last thou shalt come with the prayers of men to the great Hall
of the gods where the chairs of the gods are carved of onyx grouped
round the golden throne of the eldest of the gods. And there, O King,
hope not to find the gods, but reclining upon the golden throne wearing
a cloak of his master’s thou shalt see the figure of Time with blood
upon his hands, and loosely dangling from his fingers a dripping sword,
and spattered with blood but empty shall stand the onyx chairs.
“There he sits on his master’s throne dangling idly his sword, or with
it flicking cruelly at the prayers of men that lie in a great heap
bleeding at his feet.
“For a while, O King, the gods had sought to solve the riddles of Time,
for a while They made him Their slave, and Time smiled and obeyed his
masters, for a while, O King, for a while. He that hath spared nothing
hath not spared the gods, nor yet shall he spare thee.”
Then the King spake dolefully in the Hall of Kings, and said:
“May I not find at last the gods, and must it be that I may not look in
Their faces at the last to see whether They be kindly? They that have
sent me on my earthward journey I would greet on my returning, if not
as a King coming again to his own city, yet as one who having been
ordered had obeyed, and obeying had merited something of those for whom
he toiled. I would look Them in Their faces, O prophet, and ask Them
concerning many things and would know the wherefore of much. I had
hoped, O prophet, that those gods that had smiled upon my childhood,
Whose voices stirred at evening in gardens when I was young, would hold
dominion still when at last I came to seek Them. O prophet, if this is
not to be, make you a great dirge for my childhood’s gods and fashion
silver bells and, setting them mostly a-swing amidst such trees as grew
in the garden of my childhood, sing you this dirge in the dusk: and
sing it when the low moth flies up and down and the bat first comes
peering from her home, sing it when white mists come rising from the
river, when smoke is pale and grey, while flowers are yet closing, ere
voices are yet hushed, sing it while all things yet lament the day, or
ever the great lights of heaven come blazing forth and night with her
splendours takes the place of day. For, if the old gods die, let us
lament Them or ever new knowledge comes, while all the world still
shudders at Their loss.
“For at the last, O prophet, what is left? Only the gods of my
childhood dead, and only Time striding large and lonely through the
spaces, chilling the moon and paling the light of stars and scattering
earthward out of both his hands the dust of forgetfulness over the
fields of heroes and smitten Temples of the older gods.”
But when the other prophets heard with what doleful words the King
spake in the Hall they all cried out:
“It is not as Ulf has said but as I have said—and I.”
Then the King pondered long, not speaking. But down in the city in a
street between the houses stood grouped together they that were wont to
dance before the King, and they that had borne his wine in jewelled
cups. Long they had tarried in the city hoping that the King might
relent, and once again regard them with kindly faces calling for wine
and song. The next morning they were all to set out in search of some
new Kingdom, and they were peering between the houses and up the long
grey street to see for the last time the palace of King Ebalon; and
Pattering Leaves, the dancer, cried:
“Not any more, not any more at all shall we drift up the carven hall to
dance before the King. He that now watches the magic of his prophets
will behold no more the wonder of the dance, and among ancient
parchments, strange and wise, he shall forget the swirl of drapery when
we swing together through the Dance of the Myriad Steps.”
And with her were Silvern Fountain and Summer Lightning and Dream of
the Sea, each lamenting that they should dance no more to please the
eyes of the King.
And Intahn who had carried at the banquet for fifty years the goblet of
the King set with its four sapphires each as large as an eye, said as
he spread his hands towards the palace making the sign of farewell:
“Not all the magic of prophecy nor yet foreseeing nor perceiving may
equal the power of wine. Through the small door in the King’s Hall one
goes by one hundred steps and many sloping corridors into the cool of
the earth where lies a cavern vaster than the Hall. Therein, curtained
by the spider, repose the casks of wine that are wont to gladden the
hearts of the Kings of Zarkandhu. In islands far to the eastward the
vine, from whose heart this wine was long since wrung, hath climbed
aloft with many a clutching finger and beheld the sea and ships of the
olden time and men since dead, and gone down into the earth again and
been covered over with weeds. And green with the damp of years there
lie three casks that a city gave not up until all her defenders were
slain and her houses fired; and ever to the soul of that wine is added
a more ardent fire as ever the years go by. Thither it was my pride to
go before a banquet in the olden years, and coming up to bear in the
sapphire goblet the fire of the elder Kings and to watch the King’s eye
flash and his face grow nobler and more like his sires as he drank the
gleaming wine.
“And now the King seeks wisdom from his prophets while all the glory of
the past and all the clattering splendour of today grows old, far down,
forgotten beneath his feet.”
And when he ceased the cupbearers and the women that danced looked long
in silence at the palace. Then one by one all made the farewell sign
before they turned to go, and as they did this a herald unseen in the
dark was speeding towards them.
After a long silence the King spake:
“Prophets of my Kingdom,” he said, “you have not prophesied alike, and
the words of each prophet condemn his fellows’ words so that wisdom may
not be discovered among prophets. But I command that none in my Kingdom
shall doubt that the earliest King of Zarkandhu stored wine beneath
this palace before the building of the city or ever the palace arose,
and I shall cause commands to be uttered for the making of a banquet at
once within this Hall, so that ye shall perceive that the power of my
wine is greater than all your spells, and dancing more wondrous than
prophecy.”
The dancers and the winebearers were summoned back, and as the night
wore on a banquet was spread and all the prophets bidden to be seated,
Samahn, Ynath, Monith, Ynar Thun, the prophet of Journeys, Zornadhu,
Yamen, Paharn, Ilana, Ulf, and one that had not spoken nor yet revealed
his name, and who wore his prophet’s cloak across his face.
And the prophets feasted as they were commanded and spake as other men
spake, save he whose face was hidden, who neither ate nor spake. Once
he put out his hand from under his cloak and touched a blossom among
the flowers upon the table and the blossom fell.
And Pattering Leaves came in and danced again, and the King smiled, and
Pattering Leaves was happy though she had not the wisdom of the
prophets. And in and out, in and out, in and out among the columns of
the Hall went Summer Lightning in the maze of the dance. And Silvern
Fountain bowed before the King and danced and danced and bowed again,
and old Intahn went to and fro from the cavern to the King gravely
through the midst of the dancers but with kindly eyes, and when the
King had often drunk of the old wine of the elder Kings he called for
Dream of the Sea and bade her sing. And Dream of the Sea came through
the arches and sang of an island builded by magic out of pearls, that
lay set in a ruby sea, and how it lay far off and under the south,
guarded by jagged reefs whereon the sorrows of the world were wrecked
and never came to the island. And how a low sunset always reddened the
sea and lit the magic isle and never turned to night, and how someone
sang always and endlessly to lure the soul of a King who might by
enchantment pass the guarding reefs to find rest on the pearl island
and not be troubled more, but only see sorrows on the outer reef
battered and broken. Then Soul of the South rose up and sang a song of
a fountain that ever sought to reach the sky and was ever doomed to
fall to the earth again until at last….
[Illustration: Pattering Leaves Danced]
Then whether it was the art of Pattering Leaves or the song of Dream of
the Sea, or whether it was the fire of the wine of the elder Kings,
Ebalon bade farewell kindly to the prophets when morning paled the
stars. Then along the torchlit corridors the King went to his chamber,
and having shut the door in the empty room, beheld suddenly a figure
wearing the cloak of a prophet; and the King perceived that it was he
whose face was hidden at the banquet, who had not revealed his name.
And the King said:
“Art thou, too, a prophet?”
And the figure answered:
“I am a prophet.”
And the King said: “Knowest _thou_ aught concerning the journey of the
King?” And the figure answered: “I know, but have never said.”
And the King said: “Who art thou that knowest so much and has not told
it?”
And he answered:
“I am _The End_.”
Then the cloaked figure strode away from the palace; and the King,
unseen by the guards, followed upon his journey.
THE END