A red sky burned over Egypt,--red with deep intensity of spreading
fire. The slow-creeping waters of the Nile washed patches of dull
crimson against the oozy mud-banks, tipping palms and swaying reeds
with colour as though touched with vermilion, and here and there long
stretches of wet sand gleamed with a tawny gold. All Cairo was out,
inhabitants and strangers alike, strangers especially, conceiving it
part of their "money's worth" never to miss a sunset,--and beyond
Cairo, where the Pyramids lifted their summits aloft,--stern points of
warning or menace from the past to the present and the future,--a crowd
of tourists with their Arab guides were assembled, staring upward in,
amazement at a white wonder in the red sky, a great air-ship, which,
unlike other air-ships, was noiseless, and that moved vast wings up and
down with the steady, swift rhythm of a bird's flight, as though of its
own volition. It soared at an immense height so that it was quite
impossible to see any pilot or passenger. It hung over the Pyramids
almost motionless for three or four minutes as if about to descend, and
the watching groups below made the usual alarmist prognostications of
evil, taking care to look about for the safest place of shelter for
themselves should the huge piece of mechanism above them suddenly
escape control and take a downward dive. But apparently nothing was
further from the intention of its invisible guides. Its pause above the
Pyramids was brief--and almost before any of the observers had time to
realise its departure it had floated away with an easy grace, silence
and swiftness, miraculous to all who saw it vanish into space towards
the Libyan desert and beyond. The Pyramids, even the Sphinx--lost
interest for the time being, every eye being strained to watch the
strange aerial visitant till it disappeared. Then a babble of question
and comment began in all languages among the travellers from many
lands, who, though most of them were fairly well accustomed to
aeroplanes, air-ships and aerial navigation as having become part of
modern civilisation, found themselves nonplussed by the absolute
silence and lightning swiftness of this huge bird-shaped thing that had
appeared with extraordinary suddenness in the deep rose glow of the
Egyptian sunset sky. Meanwhile the object of their wonder and
admiration had sped many miles away, and was sailing above a desert
which, from the height it had attained, looked little more than a small
stretch of sand such as children play upon by the sea. Its speed
gradually slackened--and its occupants, Morgana, the Marchese Rivardi
and their expert mechanic, Gaspard, gazed down on the unfolding
panorama below them with close and eager interest. There was nothing
much to see. Every sign of humanity seemed blotted out. The red sky
burning on the little stretch of sand was all.
"How small the world looks from the air!" said Morgana--"It's not worth
half the fuss made about it! And yet--it's such a pretty little God's
toy!"
She smiled,--and in her smiling expressed a lovely sweetness. Rivardi
raised his eyes from his steering gear.
"You are not tired, Madama?" he asked.
"Tired? No, indeed! How can I be tired with so short a journey!"
"Yet we have travelled a thousand miles since we left Sicily this
morning"--said Rivardi--"We have kept up the pace, have we not,
Gaspard?--or rather, the 'White Eagle' has proved its speed?"
Gaspard looked up from his place at the end of the ship.
"About two hundred and fifty to three hundred miles an hour,"--he
said--"One does not realise it in the movement."
"But you realise that the flight is as safe as it is quick?" said
Morgana--"Do you not?"
"Madama, I confess my knowledge is outdistanced by yours,"--replied
Gaspard--"I am baffled by your secret--but I freely admit its power and
success."
"Good! Now let us dine!" said Morgana, opening a leather case such as
is used for provisions in motoring, set plates, glasses, wine and food
on the table--"A cold collation--but we'll have hot coffee to finish.
We could have dined in Cairo, but it would have been a bore! Marchese,
we'll stop here, suspended in mid-air, and the stars shall be our
festal lamps, vying with our own!" and she turned on a switch which
illumined the whole interior of the air-ship with a soft bright
radiance--"Whereabouts are we? Still over the Libyan desert?"
Rivardi consulted the chart which was spread open in his steering-cabin.
"No--I think not. We have passed beyond it. We are over the Sahara.
Just now we can take no observations--the sunset is dying rapidly and
in a few minutes it will be quite dark."
As he spoke he brought the ship to a standstill--it remained absolutely
motionless except for the slight swaying as though touched by wave-like
ripples of air. Morgana went to the window aperture of her silken-lined
"drawing-room" and looked out. All round the great air-ship were the
illimitable spaces of the sky, now of a dense dark violet hue with here
and there a streak of dull red remaining of the glow of the vanished
sun,--below there was only blackness. For the first time a nervous
thrill ran through her frame at the look of this dark chaos--and she
turned quickly back to the table where Rivardi and Gaspard awaited her
before sitting down to their meal. Something quite foreign to her
courageous spirit chilled her blood, but she fought against it, and
seating herself became the charming hostess to her two companions as
they ate and drank, though she took scarcely anything herself. For most
unquestionably there was something uncanny in a meal served under such
strange circumstances, and so far as the two men were concerned it was
only eaten to sustain strength.
"Well, now, have I not been very good?" she asked suddenly of
Rivardi--"Did I not say you should fly with me to the East, and are you
not here? I have not come alone--though that was my wish,--I have even
brought Gaspard who had no great taste for the trip!"
Gaspard moved uneasily.
"That is true, Madama,"--he said--"The art of flying is still in its
infancy, and though in my profession as an engineer I have studied and
worked out many problems, I dare not say I have fathomed all the
mysteries of the air or the influences of atmosphere. I am glad that we
have made this voyage safely so far--but I shall be still more glad
when we return to Sicily!"
Morgana laughed.
"We can do that to-morrow, I dare say!" she said; "If there is nothing
to see in the whole expanse of the desert but dark emptiness"--
"But--what do you expect to see, Madama?" enquired Gaspard, with lively
curiosity.
She laughed again as she met Rivardi's keen glance.
"Why, ruins of temples--columns--colossi--a new Sphinx-all sorts of
things!" she replied--"But at night, of course, we can see nothing--and
we must move onward slowly--I cannot rest swaying like this in
mid-air." She put aside the dinner things, and served them with hot
coffee from one of the convenient flasks that hold fluids hot or cold
for an interminable time, and when they had finished this, they went
back to their separate posts. The great ship began to move--and she was
relieved to feel it sailing steadily, though at almost a snail's pace
"on the bosom of the air." The oppressive nervousness which affected
her had not diminished; she could not account for it to herself,--and
to rally her forces she went to the window, so-called, of her luxurious
cabin. This was a wide aperture filled in with a transparent,
crystal-clear material, which looked like glass, but which was wholly
unbreakable, and through this she gazed, awe-smitten, at the
magnificence of the starry sky. The millions upon millions of worlds
which keep the mystery of their being veiled from humanity flashed upon
her eyes and moved her mind to a profound sadness.
"What is the use of it all!" she thought--"If one could only find the
purpose of this amazing creation! We learn a very little, only to see
how much more there is to know! We live our lives, all hoping,
searching, praying--and never an answer comes for all our prayers! From
the very beginning--not a word from the mysterious Poet who has written
the Poem! We are to breed and die--and there an end!--it seems strange
and cruel, because so purposeless! Or is it our fault? Do we fail to
discover the things we ought to know?"
So she mused, while her "White Eagle" ship sailed serenely on with a
leisurely, majestic motion through a seeming wilderness of stars.
Courageous as she was, with a veritable lion-heart beating in her
delicate little body, and firm as was her resolve to discover what no
woman had ever discovered before, to-night she was conscious of actual
fear. Something--she knew not what--crept with a compelling influence
through her blood,--she felt that some mysterious force she had never
reckoned with was insidiously surrounding her with an invisible ring.
She called to Rivardi--
"Are we not flying too high? Have you altered the course?"
"No, Madama," he replied at once--"We are on the same level."
She turned towards him. Her face was very pale.
"Well--be careful! To my mind we seem to be in a new atmosphere--there
is a sensation of greater tension in the air--or--it is my fancy. We
must not be too adventurous,--we must avoid the Great Nebula in Orion
for example!"
"Madama, you jest! We are trillions upon trillions of miles distant
from any great constellation--"
"Do I not know it? You are too literal, Marchese! Of course I jest--you
could not suppose me to be in earnest! But I am sure we are passing
through the waves of a new ether--not altogether suited to the average
human being. The average human being is not made to inhabit the higher
spaces of the upper air--hark!--What was that?"
She held up a warning hand, and listened. There was a distinct and
persistent chiming of bells. Bells loud and soft,--bells mellow and
deep, clear and silvery--clanging in bass and treble shocks of rising
and falling rhythm and tune! "Do you hear?"
Rivardi and Gaspard simultaneously rose to their feet, amazed.
Undoubtedly they heard! It was impossible NOT to hear such a clamour of
concordant sound! Startled beyond all expression, Morgana sprang to the
window of her cabin, and looking out uttered a cry of mingled terror
and rapture... for there below her, in the previously inky blackness
of the Great Desert, lay a great City, stretching out for miles, and
glittering from end to end with a peculiarly deep golden light which
seemed to bathe it in the lustre of a setting sun. Towers, cupolas,
bridges, streets, squares, parks and gardens could be plainly seen from
the air-ship, which had suddenly stopped, and now hung immovably in
mid-air; though for some moments Morgana was too excited to notice
this. Again she called to her companions--
"Look! Look!" she exclaimed--"We have found it! The Brazen City!"
But she called in vain. Turning for response, she saw, to her amazement
and alarm, both men stretched on the floor, senseless! She ran to them
and made every effort to rouse them,--they were breathing evenly and
quietly as in profound and comfortable sleep--but it was beyond her
skill to renew their consciousness. Then it flashed upon her that the
"White Eagle" was no longer moving,--that it was, in fact, quite
stationary,--and a quick rush of energy filled her as she realised that
now she was as she had wished to be, alone with her air-ship to do with
it as she would. All fear had left her,--her nerves were steady, and
her daring spirit was fired with resolution. Whatever the mischance
which had so swiftly overwhelmed Rivardi and Gaspard, she could not
stop now to question, or determine it,--she was satisfied that they
were not dead, or dying. She went to the steering-gear to take it in
hand--but though the mysterious mechanism of the air-ship was silently
and rapidly throbbing, the ship did not move. She grasped the
propeller--it resisted her touch with hard and absolute inflexibility.
All at once a low deep voice spoke close to her ear--
"Do not try to steer. You cannot proceed."
Her heart gave one wild bound,--then almost stood still from sheer
terror. She felt herself swaying into unconsciousness, and made a
violent effort to master the physical weakness that threatened her.
That voice--what voice? Surely one evoked from her own imagination! It
spoke again--this time with an intonation that was exquisitely soothing
and tender.
"Why are you afraid? For you there is nothing to fear!"
She raised her eyes and looked about nervously. The soft luminance
which lit the "White Eagle's" interior from end to end showed nothing
new or alarming,--her dainty, rose-lined cabin held no strange or
supernatural visitant,--all was as usual. After a pause she rallied
strength enough to question the audible but invisible intruder.
"Who is it that speaks to me?" she asked, faintly.
"One from the city below,"--was the instant reply given in full clear
accents--"I am speaking on the Sound Ray."
She held her breath in mute wonder, listening. The voice went on,
equably--
"You know the use of wireless telephony--we have it as you have it,
only your methods are imperfect. We speak on Sound Rays which are not
yet discovered in your country. We need neither transmitter nor
receiver. Wherever we send our messages, no matter how great the
distance, they are always heard."
Slowly Morgana began to regain courage. By degrees she realised that
she was attaining the wish of her heart--namely, to know what no woman
had ever known before. Again she questioned the voice--
"You tell me I cannot proceed,"--she said--"Why?"
"Because our city is guarded and fortified by the air,"--was the
answer--"We are surrounded by a belt of etheric force through which
nothing can pass. A million bombs could not break it,--everything
driven against it would be dashed to pieces. We saw you coming--we were
surprised, for no air-ship has ever ventured so far--we rang the bells
of the city to warn you, and stopped your flight."
The warm gentleness of the voice thrilled her with a sudden sympathy.
"That was kind!" she said, and smiled. Some one smiled in response--or
she thought so. Presently she spoke again--
"Then you hold me here a prisoner?"
"No. You can return the way you came, quite freely."
"May I not come down and see your city?" "No."
"Why?"
"Because you are not one of us." The Voice hesitated. "And because you
are not alone."
Morgana glanced at the prostrate and unconscious forms of Rivardi and
Gaspard with a touch of pity.
"My companions are half dead!" she said.
"But not wholly!" was the prompt reply.
"Is it that force you speak of--the force which guards your city--that
has struck them down?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then why was I not also struck down?"
"Because you are what you are!" Then--after a silence--"You are
Morgana!"
At this every nerve in her body started quivering like harp strings
pulled by testing fingers. The unseen speaker knew her name!--and
uttered it with a soft delicacy that made it sound more than musical.
She leaned forward, extending a hand as though to touch the invisible.
"How do you know me?" she asked.
"As we all know you,"--came the answer--"Even as YOU have known the
inside of a sun-ray!"
She listened, amazed--utterly mystified. Whoever or whatever it was
that spoke knew not only her name, but the trend of her earliest
studies and theories. The "inside of a sun-ray"! This was what she had
only the other day explained to Father Aloysius as being her first
experience of real happiness! She tried to set her thoughts in
order--to realise her position. Here she was, a fragile human thing, in
a flying ship of her own design, held fast by atmospheric force above
an unknown city situate somewhere in the Great Desert,--and some one in
that city was conversing with her by a method of "wireless" as yet
undiscovered by admitted science,--yet communication was perfect and
words distinct. Following up the suggestion presented to her she said--
"You are speaking to me in English. Are you all English folk in your
city?"
A faint quiver as of laughter vibrated through the "Sound Ray."
"No, indeed! We have no nationality."
"No nationality?"
"None. We are one people. But we speak every language that ever has
been spoken in the past, or is spoken in the present. I speak English
to you because it is your manner of talk, though not your manner of
life."
"How do you know it is not my manner of life?"
"Because you are not happy in it. Your manner of life is ours. It has
nothing to do with nations or peoples. You are Morgana."
"And you?" she cried with sudden eagerness--"Oh, who are you that speak
to me?--man, woman, or angel? What are the dwellers in your city, if it
is in truth a city, and not a dream!"
"Look again and see!" answered the Voice--"Convince yourself!--do not
be deceived! You are not dreaming--Look and make yourself sure!"
Impelled to movement, she went to the window which she had left to take
up the steering-gear,--and from there saw again the wonderful scene
spread out below, the towers, spires, cupolas and bridges, all lit with
that mysterious golden luminance like smouldering sunset fire.
"It is beautiful!" she said--"It seems true--it seems real--"
"It IS true-it IS real!"--the Voice replied--"It has been seen by many
travellers,--but because they can never approach it they call it a
desert 'mirage.' It is more real and more lasting than any other city
in the world."
"Can I never enter it?" she asked, appealingly--"Will you never let me
in?"
There was a silence, which seemed to her very long. Still standing at
the window of her cabin she looked down on the shining city, a broad
stretch of splendid gold luminance under the canopy of the dark sky
with its millions of stars. Then the Voice answered her--
"Yes--if you come alone!"
These words sounded so close to her ear that she felt sure the speaker
must be standing beside her.
"I will come!" she said, impulsively--"Somehow--some way!--no matter
how difficult or dangerous! I will come!"
As she spoke she was conscious of a curious vibration round her, as
though some other thing than the ceaseless, silent throbbing of the
air-ship's mechanism had disturbed the atmosphere.
"Wait!" said the Voice--"You say this without thought. You do not
realise the meaning of your words. For--if you come, you must stay!"
A thrill ran through her blood.
"I must stay!" she echoed--"Why?"
"Because you have learned the Life-Secret,"--answered the Voice--"And,
as you have learned it, so must you live. I will tell you more if you
care to hear--"
An inrush of energy came to her as she listened--she felt that the
unseen speaker acknowledged the power which she herself knew she
possessed.
"With all my soul I care to hear!" she said--"But where do you speak
from? And who are you that speak?"
"I speak from the central Watch-Tower,"--the Voice replied--"The City
is guarded from that point--and from there we can send messages all
over the world in every known language. Sometimes they are
understood--more often they are ignored,--but we, who have lived since
before the coming of Christ, have no concern with such as do not or
will not hear. Our business is to wait and watch while the ages go
by,--wait and watch till we are called forth to the new world.
Sometimes our messages cross the 'wireless' Marconi system--and some
confusion happens--but generally the 'Sound Ray' carries straight to
its mark. You must well understand all that is implied when you say you
will come to us,--it means that you leave the human race as you have
known it and unite yourself with another human race as yet unknown to
the world!"
Here was an overwhelming mystery--but, nothing daunted, Morgana pursued
her enquiry.
"You can talk to me on the Sound Ray"--she said--"And I understand its
possibility. You should equally be able to project your own portrait--a
true similitude of yourself--on a Light Ray. Let me see you!"
"You are something of a wilful spirit!" answered the Voice--"But you
know many secrets of our science and their results. So--as you wish
it--"
Another second, and the cabin was filled with a pearly lustre like the
vapour which sweeps across the hills in an early summer dawn--and in
the center of this as in an aureole stood a nobly proportioned figure,
clad in gold-coloured garments fashioned after the early Greek models.
Presumably this personage was human,--but never was a semblance of
humanity so transfigured. The face and form were those of a beautiful
youth,--the eyes were deep and brilliant,--and the expression of the
features was one of fine serenity and kindliness. Morgana gazed and
gazed, bending herself towards her wonderful visitor with all her soul
in her eyes,--when suddenly the vision, if so it might be called, paled
and vanished. She uttered a little cry.
"Oh, why have you gone so soon?" she exclaimed.
"It is not I who have gone,"--replied the Voice--"It is only the
reflection of me. We cannot project a light picture too far or too
long. And even now--when you come to us--if you ever do come!--do you
think you will remember me?"
"How could I forget anyone so beautiful!" she said, with passionate
enthusiasm.
This time the Sound Ray conveyed a vibration of musical laughter.
"Where every being has beauty for a birthright, how should you know me
more than another!" said the Voice--"Beauty is common to all in our
city--as common as health, because we obey the Divine laws of both."
She stretched out her hands appealingly.
"Oh, if I could only come to you now!" she murmured.
"Patience!" and the Voice grew softer--"There is something for you to
do in the world. You must lose a love before you find it!"
She drew a quick breath. What could these words mean?
"It is time for you now to turn homeward,"--went on the Voice--"You
must not be seen above this City at dawn. You would be attacked and
instantly destroyed, as having received a warning which you refused to
heed."
"Do you attack and destroy all strangers so?" she asked--"Is that your
rule?"
"It is our rule to keep away the mischief of the modern world"--replied
the Voice--"As well admit a pestilence as the men and women of to-day!"
"I am a woman of to-day,"--said Morgana.
"No, you are not,--you are a woman of the future!" and the Voice was
grave and insistent--"You are one of the new race. At the appointed
hour you will take your part with us in the new world?"
"When will be that hour?"
There was a pause. Then, with an exceeding sweetness and solemnity the
Voice replied--
"If He will that we tarry till He come, what is that to thee?"
A sense of great awe swept over her, oppressive and humiliating. She
looked once more through her cabin window at the city spread out below,
and saw that some of the lights were being extinguished in the taller
buildings and on the bridges which connected streets and avenues in a
network of architectural beauty.
The Voice spoke again--
"We are releasing you from the barrier. You are free to depart."
She sighed.
"I have no wish to go!" she said.
"You must!" The Voice became commanding. "If you stay now, you and your
companions are doomed to perish. There is no alternative. Be satisfied
that we know you--we watch you--we shall expect you sooner or later.
Meanwhile--guide your ship!--the way is open."
Quickly she sprang to the steering-gear--she felt the "White Eagle"
moving, and lifting its vast wings for flight.
"Farewell!" she cried, with a sense of tears in her throat--"Farewell!"
"Not farewell!" came the reply, spoken softly and with tenderness--"We
shall meet again soon! I will speak to you in Sicily!"
"In Sicily!" she exclaimed, joyfully--"You will speak to me there?"
"There and everywhere!" answered the Voice--"The Sound Ray knows no
distance. I shall speak--and you shall hear--whenever you will!"
The last syllables died away like faintly sung music--and in a few more
seconds the great air-ship was sailing steadily in a level line and at
a swift pace onward,--the last shining glimpse of the mysterious City
vanished, and the "White Eagle" soared over a sable blackness of empty
desert, through a dark space besprinkled with stars. Filled with a new
sense of power and gladness, Morgana held the vessel in the guidance of
her slight but strong hands, and it had flown many miles before the
Marchese Rivardi sprang up suddenly from where he had lain lost in
unconsciousness and stared around him amazed and confused.
"A thousand pardons, Madama!" he stammered--"I shall never forgive
myself! I have been asleep!"