warmth of welcome to her wearied companions. The singular dwelling into
which the latter were ushered recalled, at first glance, the gloomy
abode of some medieval anchorite to whose theory of existence anything
approaching luxury was to be shunned, rooted out, as an obstruction to
the soul's growth. Whether or not Narva's mode of living was actually
based on these mystical considerations, her home, at least, in its
lack of visible comforts, seemed the typical hermit's cell. Here was
neither superfluous ornament nor evidence of the slightest touch of
feminine grace or care. The blackened walls of granite rose with
uncompromising abruptness, unbroken by niche or shelf, to a ceiling
whose vague outlines were lost in darkness. A truss of straw was thrown
in one corner of the apartment, and upon it was spread a rough woolen
counterpane. Three flattened blocks of stone, placed at intervals along
the walls, served as benches; in the center a rock-table, carefully
smoothed and large enough for a banquet fairly regal in its dimensions,
rose four feet from the floor. Upon this table, with its suggested
possibilities of entertainment, stood a large jug, curiously fashioned
of a single crystal, within which faintly gleamed an opalescent liquid.
There were also two stone platters, one containing heaped-up cubes
of a white substance resembling bread, and the other certain broiled
fish--they looked like fish--whose globular bodies and reddish-blue
flesh aroused misgivings, if not a more decided feeling of repugnance,
among those unfamiliar with subterranean bills of fare.
But the explorers were famished enough to attack anything. The dangers
they had escaped, the fatigue arising from prolonged exposure and
unwonted exercise, the bracing air of the cave, would have corrected
the most fastidious taste and made even boot-leather palatable. But
Narva's fish, notwithstanding their sickly hue, were not to be classed,
by any means, with boot-leather. After the first wave of disgust, even
the suspicious Miranda scented a welcome repast in the dishes spread
before him, while the others were in this only too eager to follow his
lead. Their hostess, aware of their hunger, gave a reassuring gesture of
invitation.
"Eat!" she said solemnly; "it is for you."
They needed no second bidding. Scorning the absence of chairs and
the ordinary dishes and utensils that go with a meal, they fell to
and, with the first mouthful, expressed approval by varying grunts
and exclamations. Even the fish was voted a delicacy of superlative
excellence. In flavor it recalled the sweet succulence of rare tropical
fruit, like the cirimoya, with a soupçon of spice that gave it the
fillip of a genuine culinary masterpiece. As for the bread, it was not
bread at all, but some mysterious compound of flesh and vegetable, the
nutritive qualities of which were eagerly explained and extolled by the
ravenous doctor.
Una, however, was denied participation in this unexpected and singular
feast. From the first Narva had shown a special interest in the girl;
caused, doubtless, by the latter's early expression of confidence in her
offer to protect them. This interest, it now appeared, had a distinct
purpose in view, which Narva lost no time in carrying out. Satisfied
that the others were provided with the entertainment they desired, she
took Una by the hand and led her to a distant corner of the apartment.
"Will you go with me?" she asked her in a whisper.
Una hesitated. To leave her uncle and the others, trusting herself
entirely to this mysterious being, was more than she had bargained for.
Divining the cause of her irresolution, Narva spoke reassuringly.
"They are safe," she said. "We will come back to them."
Something in the older woman's manner won Una's confidence. She felt
that a way out of their difficulties was being offered her. Hope of a
still greater result silenced her fears.
"Yes," she said.
Then, behind one of the stone benches, yielding to Narva's touch, a door
slowly opened, revealing a narrow passage upon which they entered.
Glancing hastily back, Una noticed that the door, a great block of stone
revolving with the utmost nicety in grooves made for the purpose, had
closed behind them. She was thus separated from her companions and alone
with a singular being whose purpose in all this she was at a loss to
fathom. Narva's trustworthiness had appealed to her, it is true, and she
had followed her leading when the others held back. But there was an air
about Narva, suggesting the occasional freaks of one whose wits are not
of the steadiest, that might well cause anxiety among those temporarily
in her power. Just now, however, there was no sign of trouble, and Una
repressed any outward evidence of alarm she might feel. Narva, indeed,
seemed to have lost the solemn dignity she had assumed hitherto, and
became every moment more ingratiating, reassuring. Gently stroking Una's
hand, she stopped in her hurried walk down the corridor and, throwing
back the heavy veil obscuring her features, showed a face marked by the
nobility and calm of age. Its serenity and kindliness strengthened Una's
confidence.
"We will go back to them," said Narva; "but first we must see," she
added enigmatically.
"Why have you brought me here?" asked Una.
"Something you will see. You will help us, and then I will help you. I
knew you were coming."
The explanation, if it could be called one, increased Una's
mystification.
"You could know nothing of me. How could you know?" she persisted. "How
can I help you?"
"Ah, Narva is very old," she replied, her long bony fingers passing
through the masses of snow-white hair that fell to her shoulders, "and
with the old there is knowledge. Long time I lived with your people,
far from here. All the years I keep the secret of this Kingdom of the
Condor. No one knows--if they know they do not dare to come. Only
one--he knows, he has come. And now, you have come. Why?"
The abrupt question was confusing. Una wondered how much she knew, how
much she dared tell her. The inscrutable eyes fixed upon her revealed
nothing. Was it to learn her secret Narva had lured her away from the
others? The narrow gloomy passage where they stood was remote from the
inhabited portion of the cave; the door to Narva's dwelling, now that
it was closed, was not distinguishable from the rest of the wall into
which it fitted so admirably. Had Una tried, she could not have found
her way back. She was completely at Narva's mercy--but the old Indian
had shown only friendliness hitherto, it was reasonable to suppose that
her proffer of assistance was genuine, since motive for treachery was
lacking. Impulsively reaching this conclusion, Una answered Narva's
question without reserve.
"I have come," she said, "because I am looking for one who is dear to
me. I think he is lost in this cave."
"Why?" asked Narva, showing neither surprise nor incredulity.
"Once before he disappeared, and then he was lost here."
"When?"
"Three years ago. A man who was with him told me. But--he is not his
friend. Perhaps it is not true."
"It is true."
"How do you know that?" asked Una eagerly.
"I know," she replied quietly, but with convincing emphasis.
"Then he is here! I am right. You know where he is. You will take me to
him!"
"Ah! Perhaps you will not go. You are a white woman; you will be afraid
to leave your friends and go with me."
"I am not afraid."
"Perhaps this man you look for has changed. Perhaps he will not know
you. And this other, his enemy, perhaps he is here. There will be
trouble, danger."
"Take me to him!" demanded Una passionately. "If there is danger, I
should be with him. I am not afraid. I trust you."
"That is good," said Narva. "Come!"
Una now became aware that the corridor down which they were slowly
walking widened out into a respectable thoroughfare at its further
end, whence it abruptly turned and was merged in the main trail that
had brought them to Narva's dwelling. Thus, the latter, through
some labyrinthine arrangement of passages, was entered at one place
and offered an exit in an entirely opposite direction, whence,
by devious twists and turns, it came back to the first point of
approach. To Una, at least, bewildered by the intricacies of cave
topography, this seemed the explanation of the course they were
pursuing, although the mysterious doubling of their tracks brought
little consolation--especially when she realized that her uncle and
his companions were lost in the center of a maze the clew to which
completely eluded her. Anxiety for their safety overrode, for the
moment, every other consideration; she grasped Narva's arm with a
detaining gesture, a half uttered question on her lips. Her appeal,
however, was not answered. Like some ancient oracle, from which has
proceeded the final Pythian message, no further revelation was to be
granted. In true sibylline fashion, with finger on lip and eyes set on
some object in the distance hidden from Una, Narva indicated that the
time for speech had passed and now it remained for them to carry out
as expeditiously as possible, the design upon which they were setting
forth. From her gesture and the stealthy caution with which she
advanced, Una gathered that there were urgent reasons for maintaining
a strict silence. They might be surrounded by hostile forces, their
destination might be a secret one, or at least a knowledge of it might
involve danger to the man for whose preservation she firmly believed
they were engaged. Narva, in warning her of this danger, hinted that
whatever they had to fear was in some way due to the presence of Raoul
Arthur in the cave. The enmity of the latter to David, moreover, was
full of sinister possibilities, and the conviction that they were about
to foil the evil thus threatened nerved Una to face anything.
Una would have felt a stronger confidence in their mission, a keener
enthusiasm, had Narva been more definite as to the identity of the man
to whose rescue she believed they were hastening, or had she given
some hint of the kind of danger to which he was actually exposed. But
it was all so vague, she feared that some mistake had been made, a
mistake easily growing out of the fervid imagination that, any one
could see, quite controlled Narva's mind. While there was no shaking
the old sibyl's reticence, however, the calm determination with which
she set about her task proved, in a measure, inspiring. Una might feel
an occasional doubt as to the outcome of their venture, but this doubt
finally disappeared altogether before the faith, growing stronger with
the changing aspect of the scene through which they were passing, that
in some unlooked-for way she was about to attain the main object that
had brought them into this ancient home of a vanished race.
They had now entered a portion of the cave where the dim half-light to
which Una was accustomed turned, by comparison, almost to the light of
day. This light appeared to come from a fixed point directly in front of
them. No central globe, or body of fire, to which this appearance might
be traced was visible; but, in the far distance, where the light reached
its greatest intensity, over the top of a dark ridge of rock rising
before them like the summit of a mountain, thin streamers of white
radiance shot upward, rising and falling in the unequal flashes and
subsidences generated by an electric battery. This luminous appearance,
however, was too stupendous in its effects to be attributable to a
mere electric battery. To Una's dazzled vision it rather resembled the
first onrush of the morning sun, when the presence of that luminary
just below the horizon is proclaimed by advancing rays of light. Here,
however, an effect of greater motion was produced than in the steady and
gradual illumination of the heavens heralding the coming of the sun.
The sparkles and flashes neither grew nor shrank in intensity. If they
were produced by a central body corresponding to the sun that shone upon
the outside world, it was a stationary sun, fixed in some mysterious,
invisible recess of the cave.
And now the outlines of the distant mountain top began to assume a
greater definiteness than before. Objects just below this furthest
summit loomed up spectrally out of the shadows that had enveloped them;
for the first time Una realized that they were facing, not a wall of
unbroken rock, such as had overwhelmed her at every side since leaving
her companions in Narva's dwelling, but an assemblage of majestic
forms suggesting, in their coherence and symmetrical arrangement, the
towers, arches, and ramparts of some ancient citadel. This building,
or collection of buildings, from their position and commanding aspect,
might well be taken as the center of the region it so fitly dominated.
Upon it converged all the lines, furrows and intricate masses of walls
composing, so far as they could be included in one comprehensive view,
the architecture of the cave. Immediately above it, crowning the very
summit, arose a single tower, broad at the base, and tapering until it
reached a sharp point just below the cave's jagged, overhanging roof.
Behind this tower the light flashed and glowed so brilliantly the shaft
of stone itself seemed to sparkle and transmit a radiance as if it were
composed of some crystalline substance.
Moved by this fairy-like spectacle Una again implored Narva to tell
her something of where they were going. What was this cave of wonders,
that no man had ever heard of before, and into which they had stumbled
by chance? What bygone secret of the earth was it connected with, what
people were these who lived in it as in a world apart from all other
worlds? Who was she, buried out of sight of all men, and yet talking
to Una in her native tongue, and seemingly so familiar with all that
concerned her? Why had she been waiting for them, where was she taking
them? But to all Una's questions Narva vouchsafed no word of reply.
Smiling to herself, she pointed in the direction of the light-crowned
summit before them and hastened on, descending now into a valley where
they soon lost sight of the vision that had offered so delightful a
goal to their wanderings. Narva's gesture, however, and the tendency
of the path they were taking assured Una that the distant palace--its
situation and noble architecture suggested nothing less than a palace,
the regal abode of the ruler of all this realm of marvels--was their
real destination, and it was left to her to imagine why Narva was
guiding her thither. But the physical difficulties of the path they
followed gave her scant opportunity for speculation. Chasms they had
to cross whose depths Una would have shunned had it not been for the
promise of some great achievement that would free them all from the
dangers by which they were surrounded. In other places the path narrowed
to a mere fissure between great walls of rock, and again it skirted the
edge of a precipice that, in normal times, would have filled Una with
horror. Moreover, there were moments when she fancied she heard, from
the darkness beneath them, the shouts of a hurrying throng of people--an
impression that might well be true since she had abundant evidence
already that the cave was inhabited by a race whose number she had no
means of knowing.
But this reminder of the presence of others in the cave besides her own
party was more disturbing to Una than the physical obstacles and dangers
immediately facing her. These could at least be met and overcome--but
about an invisible multitude, their attitude toward them, their purpose
in apparently following them, there was an indefiniteness that was
altogether disheartening. As a matter of fact, she had no doubt these
hidden cavemen were hostile; her previous experiences had filled her
with a vague dread in that respect. This dread, also, was sharpened
by the reflection that, in all probability, Raoul was among them;
of his active enmity, linked in some mysterious manner with David's
disappearance, she now felt certain. Una tried to gain some light on
the subject from Narva; but the latter either failed to hear the ominous
sounds to which her attention was called, or she was too intent on
her present mission to admit the consideration of other matters. This
indifference, whether real or feigned, had a reassuring effect on Una.
She perceived that if these invisible people, friendly or unfriendly,
were connected with them, they would attract Narva's attention, while,
if there was no connection--a conclusion suggested by the sibyl's
unruffled bearing--there was nothing to fear from them.
Having reached the end of the abrupt downward slope of the path they
were following, Una rejoiced to find herself on the level floor of a
valley that, in the upper world, would be admired for its charm and
restfulness. There were neither flower-decked meadows, it is true, nor
brook-fed woodland to diversify the scene. Subterranean botany, however,
has its compensations for losses due to the perpetual absence of sun
and rain. Evidently the light from the luminous mountain had in it
some life-giving, sustaining quality, for on every hand in this valley
there were luxuriant growths of delicately tinted flowers--or so they
appeared--whose scent, one imagined, filled the motionless atmosphere.
Tall, graceful forms, resembling willows, clustered along the banks
of a little stream flowing with the gentlest of murmurs through their
midst. The flinty ground was carpeted with a pale lancet-leaved herbage
that might have been taken for grass were it not for the profusion of
sparkling crystals with which it was sprinkled. These crystals glowed in
varying and sometimes iridescent colors, showing a depth and solidity of
substance decidedly out of keeping with a purely vegetable origin.
It was this gem-like appearance of what might have been taken elsewhere
for richly flowering grasses that led Una to suspect the reality--judged
by the standards of the world with which she was familiar--of this
subterranean garden. A white flower, heavily streaked with crimson,
from the heart of which long golden stamens were thrust in a drooping
cluster, hung on its stalk conveniently near. Except for its coloring,
and a square rather than spherical modeling of the calyx, it might
easily pass for one of the lily family. To make sure Una plucked it.
From the broken stem a tiny stream of water bubbled out, and the flower
in Una's hands seemed to lose at once the soft shimmer of light that
had played upon its petals only a moment before. Most extraordinary of
all was the weight of the flower. Suspended from its stalk, it seemed
the frailest, daintiest of objects; a blossom that the merest breeze
could have tossed about at will. But Una found it as heavy as so much
metal, or stone; and this, with the clinking together of its leaves
as they were moved by her touch, revealed the startling character
of subterranean botany. She was disappointed at first to find that
this was not, in the ordinary sense of the word, a flower at all; but
regret was quickly followed by curiosity as to the actual nature of
the strange growth she held in her hands. Its unusual weight belied
the delicacy of its outward appearance; the fires that had clothed
its leaves with living tints, in dying seemed to have left behind the
pallor of ashes. Nevertheless, it retained a strange, subtle beauty,
odorless, undefinable. It might be a rare kind of stalactite--except
that a stalactite had not its soft brilliancy--or a sheaf of gems, one
of the many that strewed this subterranean valley. Whatever it was, it
reminded Una, however faintly, of the glories of the outer world--and
she cherished it for this more than for its own beauty. Narva, roused
for the first time from the spell of her own thoughts, shook her head in
disapproval of what Una had done. Evidently she questioned her right to
pluck the flower, for she motioned to her to throw it away.
"The Queen's garden!" she exclaimed in tones of rebuke.
As this was the first definite intimation of their whereabouts, Una was
quick to seize upon it. This mysterious queen, then, of whom Narva had
vaguely spoken before, was really mixed up in their present expedition.
She recalled Narva's hint that, in some way, Una was to be of assistance
to her, and she wondered whether this meant that they were bringing
rescue of some sort to the queen, a possibility of high adventure she
was far too young not to relish. A queen, moreover, who cultivated
jewels--or something very like them--in her garden was worthy the best
flowers of romance. At any rate, Una felt a new zest in the enterprise
she was on and began to chafe at Narva's leisurely dignity.
"It is plenty of time," said the old Indian sternly, noting her
impatience. "Have care."
As she spoke she pointed straight ahead where the first direct rays
from the mountain peaks flashed downward illuminating the massive
building, just below the tower-crowned summit that, at a distance, had
so completely won Una's admiration. Seen close at hand, this building
gained in beauty. Most of the cave dwellings, like the one inhabited
by Narva, were hollowed out of the walls composing this underground
world. The palace, however, stood alone, surrounding a spacious court
in the center of which played a fountain whose jets of water reflected,
in a sheaf of myriad diamonds, the light glancing athwart it. The
dazzling effect emphasized the architectural majesty of the building
thus illuminated. This building was, for the most part, two stories in
height, ornamented by innumerable turrets, with a square central tower
rising above an arched entrance, the iron-bound doors of which seemed
stout enough to withstand a siege. It was built throughout of stone,
of a deep yellow tint, vivid, glistening, unlike anything Una had seen
in the cave. So radiant it seemed, so full of light, adorned with such
delicate tracery wherever the design of the architect admitted the play
of ornament, it might have been a fairy palace, each stone of which had
come into place over night with the waving of a wand. Narva pointed to
a heart-shaped tablet just above the arched entrance, upon which was
carved, in dark red stone, the figure of a condor, similar in design to
the one that graced the main gateway to the inhabited portion of the
cave.
"It is very old," she said. "It is the palace of my people many hundred
years--ah! perhaps thousands--before the Spaniards drove them off the
earth. Long ago, in those days, our kingdom was not in a cave. But here,
always, was the secret palace of the zipa. Yes, we lived among the
mountains then, and this was our place of refuge when other Indians from
far off came to plunder us. It was here that our first zipa was brought
for safety. He was only a few weeks old then. Hunters, lost on a high
mountain, had found him in the nest of a condor. How he came there no
one has ever known. But his skin was perfectly white, not like ours; so
that he could not have been born from one of our race. Perhaps a god had
left him for the condors to take care of--or perhaps it was a condor,
flying far out of sight of the earth, who found him in some hidden place
in the sky, and brought him down here to be the ruler of the earth. But
here he was guarded, here he grew up. And when he became a man, and
conquered the people who used to fight with us and destroy our cities,
and rob us of our wealth, and make slaves of us, he founded this Empire
of the Chibchas. And it was after that, when he was old and had not much
longer to live, that he built this great palace, to be the secret home
of his children whenever their enemies became too strong for them. And
over the gate of the palace, where you see, he placed his birth-sign,
the Sign of the Condor--the secret sign of this under-world and of all
his kingdom. But all of this was hundreds--ah! thousands--of years ago.
And all those years this palace has stood and given protection to the
children of that first zipa, he who was carried from the skies to be
reared in the nest of a condor."