ONRAI VISITS THE PRIEST.
Onrai hurried on to the city. At frequent intervals on his journey he
met couriers from the city, all hurrying to give him the details of new
discoveries of the storm’s devastation. The track of the tempest, as he
now followed it, so shortly after its fearful advent, showed ruin and
death everywhere. But so far no loss of human life had been reported and
the King felt more than thankful for this. As the inhabitants would meet
the King, they would look at him in the same wondering way as they had
at the storm the night before, they were evidently seeking an
explanation from their King, of the phenomenon. When they did ask him
why such ruin had overtaken them, he would invariably answer by saying
that there was sin among them. Then they would look one at the other as
if wondering, if it were he or she who was guilty.
Arriving at the city, he found the populace awaiting him. On all
previous occasions when Onrai had been away from the city for a season,
upon his return the people had been glad to see him and had met him at
the city limits with harps and glad songs. But now they stood and looked
with no joy in their faces; but this was easy to account for. The people
had never before in their lives had one little thing to occur to disturb
the even tenor of their existence. Their lives were simply one long,
happy or perfectly contented existence, they knowing no pains or
sorrows.
The seasons came and went, each occupying just so many months, never
varying greatly one from the other, for it was perpetual spring in this
delightful country. But at one season more rain fell than at another,
and for several months of each year rain never fell. Severe storms were
very infrequent and such storms as the one of the night previous had
never been known before. And this had happened right in the middle of
the dry season. It was not so much this latter fact probably which made
the people wonder, as it was the death and ruin which it left in its
wake. This the people could not understand, for life to them was a
sacred thing, even those animals of a meat-serving kind, never being
allowed to be killed wantonly, or where there was no use in the
slaughter. Why had the poor dumb beasts been killed in this way? There
was a world of inquiry in their looks as they stood perfectly still, and
saw the King pass.
But Onrai heeded them not. He hurried on past the great square and up
the broad avenue to the Temple, where the head priest was awaiting him,
and as the King drew up, the priest approached him, saying, “You have
come, oh King. Throughout the night I have prayed for you and those with
you. You are safe, God be praised,” and taking Onrai by the hand he led
him into the Temple.
“It was your prayers then which brought us to shelter before the storm
overtook us,” said the King. “But tell me, you who know all of the
sacred writings, what has caused this death-dealing and destroying
storm. I can only believe that our people are sinning. Tell me, do you
not think this so?”
“I have made research, knowing that both you, King, and the people would
want to know the cause of the storm, and I too have wished to learn the
reason. I find among the sacred writings words admonishing us to do
right at all times and if laws were broken and the inhabitants of this
great Land of On treated lightly, the commands laid down for their good
and prosperity, they would be made to suffer in such ways as God would
devise. I also find that God will give warning to the good of coming
events. I do not know what to think, but I hardly believe that our good
people are sinning.”
“Are there any motives which might make us break the laws?” asked the
King.
“I think not,” answered the priest, and as he said this, he looked at
the King and was surprised to see his face so pale. “No, it must be a
warning,” he continued.
“But what unusual event can come to our country?” asked Onrai.
“Was not the storm of last night an unusual event?” asked the priest,
“and should this not be a sufficient warning to us to guard against all
such? I believe that naught else can come to the Land of On but the wars
of the elements, and if these visit us, it is God’s will and they
purpose some good.”
“If it be God’s will, he must have some object in it,” said Onrai. “But
tell me, priest, did the Kings of On ever marry?”
The question almost staggered the priest and he started back for the
moment unable to answer. But controlling himself he came forward and
looked Onrai straight in the eye, asking sternly, “Why do you ask? Do
you not know that it means death to the King who even contemplates
marriage? Were not the sacred teachings imparted to you when you were
yet young, and have these not been told you many times since and
expanded on, and explained? And does not the law say that the King shall
not marry? I cannot understand you, King.”
Onrai’s face was puzzled as he looked at the priest as he spoke.
“I hardly understand myself,” said the King. “I have indeed read the
great laws and have heard them read since my earliest childhood, and I
know that the King cannot marry and that there are great and good
reasons given for his not marrying. But God forgive me if I have thought
for one moment that this law was unjust. I am King, chosen by the people
because of my physical attainments and stature. I am strong, powerful;
through my veins courses the blood of endless generations of perfect
manhood; every nerve, every tissue, every muscle tingles with life; I
have been trained until my naturally healthy sinews are as hard as the
black metal which we dig out of the foothill of the cliffs; my whole
being vibrates with health and vitality and for these reasons I am
chosen King and denied a wife; I of all men who should be granted a
mate,” and as he ceased speaking he strode up and down the Temple, his
powerful form shaking like an aspen; his breath came quick and short;
his hands opened and shut nervously.
The priest looked at him in wonderment and seemed at a loss to know how
to answer him. But he must say something to this rash man, this ruler of
the people, who was supposed to be pure, to be sinless. If others should
hear him talk in this mad way the consequences might be fearful. He
stepped in front of the King as he came near him and said, “Onrai, are
you not mad? Do you not realize the consequences of such ravings? Do you
not know that death awaits you if you give up to such sinful thoughts?
Oh, Onrai, King, brother, great and good, strong and beautiful, drive
these fearful thoughts from your mind; smother these emotions, which can
only lead you to destruction. Remember that endless line of ancestors of
whom you speak, and let not an act of yours disgrace their memory or
make sorrowful the people who chose you for their King. Tell me, oh my
brother, what it is which has wrought this great change in you,” and
then, seeming to remember the strangers, he clutched Onrai’s arm
nervously and said, “Tell me, is it they?”
“Of whom do you speak,” asked the King.
“Of the strangers,” answered the priest.
“Why should you suspicion our guests,” asked Onrai. “Is it just to them,
who for the time may expect only the kindest treatment from us? I do not
like this,” but as he spoke, his heart smote him for being the first to
suspicion the good motives of the strangers.
“Forgive me, King,” said the priest. “I had but your interest at heart
and thought only of you when I spoke; but I could not suspicion you of
fostering such thoughts unless encouraged by some one. And I could not
suspicion any of our people, for they have too great a reverence for our
holy laws to ever speak on such subjects. Then, who could I think of but
they of the fair skin? But I was wrong, forgive me.”
“No, it has been nature itself, this strong vital power which permeates
my being, which has prompted the thoughts. I cannot be held responsible
for these thoughts, but only for nurturing them, and allowing them to
influence me in doing wrong. It has not reached this point yet and it
never shall. If I am weak in the body I am strong here,” and Onrai
tapped his forehead.
“Now, you are the Onrai I have known since a boy,” said the priest. “But
Onrai be careful; guard against temptation, as our sacred writing
commands us to do. Come to me and tell me if you are again tempted; I
have never had such thoughts as yours and I can better counsel and
advise you. And if others should hear you vent such thoughts, the whole
populace would soon know it and the end would be death. Let me again
admonish you, my King, to fortify your mind against such temptations. If
certain ones create such thoughts, go not near them,” and the priest,
with this advice, left him.
Onrai walked down the main hall of the Temple, his mind trying to throw
from it the gloomy thoughts which the priest’s negative assertion had
raised. So the hope, which sprung into being when he saw Enola’s
innocence, could not be cherished; the fulfilment of it could never be
realized. The thought was maddening and Onrai groaned aloud in his
fearful agony.
“God help me in this struggle,” he cried, “is it sin, can it be sin,
this longing to be like other men, be allowed to take unto myself a
wife? I cannot believe that it is, but the law says “No,” and I, with
every impulse fighting against it, must comply.”
He now left the Temple and walked down the broad avenue. Word had gone
forth that the King would speak at the large open square, and crowds who
had seen the King come to the city had now, with their friends gathered
and were waiting with those same wonder-depicting countenances, for the
King to come and tell them why the strange storm had come and ruined the
Land of On. Walking straight to the fountain, Onrai mounted the dais and
glancing about him for a moment at the hushed, bewildered Onians, said:
“It has pleased our great God to give us a warning; this warning
admonishes us to be careful, watchful and diligent. If any among you
have sinned or are sinning, this fearful storm tells you to turn from
the evil of your ways; if you have intentions of sinning, it speaks to
you a warning, but I cannot believe that my people are sinning. I look
among you to-day and see not one guilty face. You are bewildered, in
wonderment, but this is not guilt. It can be a warning to us of some
disastrous event which may visit our fair land. It may be that it will
all be revealed to us later, but let us not be worried, but obeying the
laws, go on in our happy way. The fearful storm has caused no loss of
life of our people, and we may believe from this that God was not angry
with us. Let us be watchful of coming harm, but let us not live in
dread, for such will destroy happiness. The storm has left a vast track
of ruin behind it, but ruin easily righted. We must, for the time, give
up all other occupations and repair the damage done by the storm. Only
let the food be furnished and the city kept clean. All traces of the
devastation will soon be gone and we will forget, or it will only be a
memory to us after a short time. Our guests from the far-away planet
escaped injury, all but one and that one was the fair and sweet Enola,
who is so much loved by you all. But I left her better and she will
recover, for God would not take one of our guests, and leave our people
unharmed.”
As if in denial of Onrai’s words, a messenger stepped to the edge of the
crowd and waved a piece of papyrus over his head. Onrai saw him at once
and raising his hand, said:
“A courier has just arrived from the villa in which lies the fair Enola.
I must hasten to this villa as these people are our guests, and I should
be with them. Again I pray of you, be watchful, and keeping from sin, be
happy and contented as in the past.”
Onrai ceased speaking and descending to the pavement took the message
from the courier. It read as follows:
“Enola lives, but her reason is dead.” His face turned ashen and he
jumped on to the zebra held for him by an attendant, and dashed off
madly down the avenue. The populace watched his retreating figure in
still greater wonderment, and the attendants who followed him were soon
left far in the rear, as the zebra which he rode was fleeter than any
other in the land. On the King rode, each moment urging the zebra to
greater efforts, each moment shortening the distance between Enola and
himself. The avenue had been almost cleared of fallen trees by the large
body of men who had immediately gone to work after the storm, and Onrai
hardly met with any obstructions in his mad rush. It was growing dark
now and Onrai had ridden nearly fifty miles that day, but he showed no
fatigue as he bent well over the zebra’s shoulders and urged it on. He
had but one thought, an excruciating one: “Enola was mad.” The agony of
that thought. She would no longer look at him with those beautiful eyes
or speak to him in those charming accents, or smile on him with those
lips which seemed only made to kiss. Mad, mad, mad; the word rang in his
ears, the zebra’s hoofs seemed to pound it out of the flinty pavement,
the birds in the air were screeching it; everything seemed to be telling
him the fearful story. On, on he rushed with unabated speed, the zebra
reeking with sweat and panting as if it would drop each moment, its eyes
bulged and glaring, until, pulling up in front of the villa, and Onrai
jumping from its back, the beast falls dead.