They ran in all haste towards the entrance to the cave. The two guides
led the way. If the boys were alarmed, the men were even more so.
The brothers had proved that they did not mind danger in the ordinary
acceptation of the term, but, in their thinking, in this place they
trespassed upon the precincts of the other world.
Cortes was about to make his escape to the terrace outside the entrance,
when Harry called him back.
"Here!" cried the boy. "This way!"
In the semi-darkness he had caught sight of a narrow flight of stone
steps which led to the gallery above. He was not so frightened that he
had not a natural curiosity to see who approached on the other side of
the door.
All this time a noise continued that echoed ceaselessly in the vastness
of the cave. It was a noise of bolts withdrawn, chains jangling, locks
unfastened, whilst a voice that was hardly human was continuously
uplifted in a long, plaintive moan.
In the semi-darkness of the gallery the four trespassers knelt down,
hiding behind the pillars in such position that they could see into the
central aisle below. Their eyes were fixed upon the door whence issued
these strange, uncanny sounds.
Presently the door opened, and there came forth into the light of the
lamp the most extraordinary apparition it had ever been the lot of any
one of them to see.
It was a madman. Moreover, one who was terrible in his madness. He was
of a great age, for the hair of his beard and of his head was white as
snow. And yet he was very tall of stature, and had the appearance of a
man of colossal strength.
He was clothed in rags—rags which hung together by mere threads, so
that his dark skin was visible upon his arms and back. The hair of his
head was so long that it reached to his waist, a great beard spread over
his chest. At his side he carried an enormous sword—a two-handed sword
such as was used by warriors in ancient days. In one hand he held a
staff.
He came forward, singing a wild song that somehow was reminiscent of the
desert and the East. He approached the altar where burned the lamp, and
there flung himself upon the ground, tearing his hair, gnashing his
teeth, and actually foaming at the mouth.
From time to time he lifted his voice in a howl, dismal and prolonged,
breaking off in his singing to beat himself upon the chest. It was all
terrible to behold. It was like a scene in some majestic Bedlam. This
white madman, the semi-darkness of the cave, the flickering light, the
enormous pillars—all seemed not of the world we know, but to belong
rather to one of the worlds of which we sometimes dream.
Harry, turning to Fernando, whispered in his ear.
"Who is this man?" said he.
"He is Guardian of the Cave. He is said to be a hundred years of age.
He has lived here all his life."
The old man rose to his feet and stretched forth his arms. Then,
lifting his voice, he uttered an endless string of words that were
incomprehensible to both boys. As far as Harry could make out, the man
either uttered some fearful curse or else he prayed in anguish.
"What is he saying?" asked the boy.
"I am not sure," answered Fernando; "I know little of the Maziri
language. I think he says that the Sunstone has been stolen these many
years, but this very day it will return. He says the vault will be
opened before nightfall. He says that he himself is about to die."
"How does he pretend to know these things?"
"I cannot say," said the guide. "These men have the wisdom of the
ancients, who could read the stars and knew of many things long since
forgotten. It is supposed by the Maziris themselves that by means of
fasting and penance and self-inflicted torture he has gained such
holiness that he can see into the future, that he can read from the Book
of Fate."
They could not move their eyes from the Guardian of the Cave. He now
stood erect and motionless before the altar like one transfigured into a
kind of deity. There was little about him that suggested what we know
as human.
He was straight of back, his bare arms folded upon his chest, his head a
little lowered. And the shafts of daylight from either side of the cave
converged upon the whiteness of his head, so that he was like a saint,
solemn and magnificent, surrounded by the all-pervading gloom.
Suddenly he let out a shout that was half a shriek—louder than before;
and then they saw that his madness was not feigned. Like a wild beast
he hurled himself upon the wheels and set them all in motion, some
revolving one way, some the other. And even as the wheels were turning
he shook his fist at the entrance to the vault—the red granite rock at
the extremity of the cave.
"Open!" he cried, in the strange Maziri language. "Open in the name of
Zoroaster!"
Again and again, he cried to the vault to open, as though that which was
inanimate would heed his infuriated words. The spokes of the great
bronze wheels reflected the light from the lamp, but there came no
answer to the man’s cries but the echoes of his own voice in the dimness
of the cavern.
Once again he flung himself upon the ground, and prayed in a loud voice
that the spirit of Zoroaster might descend and show him how to open the
vault. According to Fernando, he asked the gods to grant him one of two
favours—either that the secret of the Sunstone might be conveyed to him
then and there, or that the Sunstone itself might be returned to the
cave.
And suddenly he stopped in the midst of his prayer, springing sharply to
his feet. For some seconds he stood quite motionless, in the attitude
of one who listens.
Then he spoke slowly and distinctly and less loudly than before.
"My prayer has been heard," said he. "Glory to Zoroaster!"
At that he lifted a hand to an ear and turned his head towards the
entrance to the cave.
Those in the gallery listened, too. Sure enough, footsteps were
approaching.
A little after, the daylight at the entrance was obscured by a
figure—the figure of a tall and slender man dressed in the clothes of a
European. For a moment he stood quite motionless, shading his eyes with
a hand.
It was apparent that, newly come from the daylight, the new-comer was
unable to see in the half-light of the cavern. Neither could he himself
be recognized by those in the gallery.
Presently he came forward until he stood before the Guardian of the
Cave, and the light from the burning lamp fell full upon his face.
Harry Urquhart caught his breath, and his hand went quickly to the
handle of his revolver, when he recognized von Hardenberg, who had come
to his journey’s end.