The Mystery of the Green Sphere
THERE was one man in Mictolan who had not been fooled by my involuntary
rôle as a priest of Kukulcan. Old Nohul Voh chuckled over it when I
next saw him.
“I know not what words you spoke, Itzimin Chac,” he declared, “but that
it was not the ritual of Kukulcan, I knew well. Neither did my lord
carry out the ceremonies of the setting sun as provided by my religion.
Mayhap no man or woman of Mictolan knows how it should be done. Of a
surety, Kinchi Haman does not know all. It is many Katuns since a true
priest of the Itzaes held sway at the temple of Mictolan, and still
longer since one of the Tutul Xius prayed at the altar of Kukulcan. But
I, Nohul Voh, have looked upon the ceremony of the setting sun in the
holy city of the Plumed Serpents, in the temples of Chichen Itza, and I
know the secret ritual as well as did Kachiquel Xius himself. But also
I know my lord is not the son of Kukulcan and that the symbol of the
Titul Xius upon his breast was placed there by my own hands. So between
us two it will remain a secret, and it matters not, for it was foretold
in the Book of the Future.”
To relate all my conversations with the old sorcerer, to tell in detail
all my moves, all my experiences, all my adventures and to describe all
of my discoveries during the weeks that followed my triumph over Kinchi
Haman, would be monotonous. Moreover, many were of little importance
and finally, to tell the truth, I cannot for the life of me feel sure
of the chronological order of the innumerable incidents nor the reasons
and causes that led up to them.
The old priest seemed to have been completely squelched. I saw little
of him and he was most servile and conciliatory when we met. But there
was a fly in my ointment nevertheless. Once having taken the part,
there was no way of getting out of it, and each night and each morning
I was obliged to ascend to the temple and go through the ceremonies
before the image of my supposed ancestor. Naturally, the ceremonies I
inaugurated were most revolutionary, but as I found I was compelled
to do something that savored of religion, I decided to do my best to
carry out--as far as my limited knowledge permitted--the ritual of the
Christian Church.
Perhaps, in fact undoubtedly, any priest or minister of any sect
would have been most properly scandalized had he seen and heard me. I
fear even good, jolly Padre José would have frowned upon me, for the
services I conducted were a most hopeless hodge-podge of the Roman
Catholic, the Episcopalian, the Congregational and half a dozen other
denominations. From each I selected the most impressive and spectacular
features I could remember, and if the good features of each did not
bear fruit and win converts to the Christian faith, it was not the
fault of my devotions, for I was very much in earnest, very serious
and had no thought of sacrilege nor of burlesquing any church. And
that the new form of religion appealed to the people was obvious, for
the temple of Kukulcan became the favorite, and the attendance at the
other temples fell off appreciably. But though this might previously
have caused Kinchi Haman to writhe in anger, and to plan most horrible
reprisals upon me, I now had little fear of him. In due time, and when
Nohul Voh had approved of it, I had, quite as if by accident, managed
to let the old rascal catch a glimpse of my chest, and by the manner
in which he started and his eyes widened, I knew he had recognized the
clan mark of the Tutul Xius, and that no longer did any doubt of my
identity exist in his crafty old brain.
Much of my time I spent with the old sorcerer. He aroused not only my
wonder and my curiosity, but my scientific interests as well, for I
very soon discovered that Nohul Voh was a scientist in his way, a sage
versed in lore unknown to the rest of the world and possessing secrets
of nature that no other man had ever unlocked. If, as he claimed, he
was actually centuries old, it is not surprising that he should have
acquired vast knowledge, but, strangest of all, was the fact that his
knowledge had been developed along entirely untouched and undreamed
of lines. I must, however, qualify that statement somewhat. Rather, I
should say, along lines that had been lost and forgotten in the dim
past, for he assured me that, in the days of his youth, all the wise
men or sorcerers of the Mayas had been familiar with principles and
forces which he, the last of his clan of the sorcerers’ cult, had
perfected and developed. All, according to him, had been able to read
the past and the future. And, so he told me, it was largely their
reading of the future that had led to the fall of the Mayan Empire
and the vanishing of their civilization. Being told that they were
destined to be wiped out, that their empire would fall, they had become
hopeless, bowed to destiny, and made no effort to struggle against fate.
“But how?” I asked him, “could they struggle against fate or the future
if the future was to be? If they had struggled, if they had continued,
then the reading of the future would have proved false.”
He shook his head. No, he argued. In the first place the Book of the
Future gave no time. It might have been ten or one thousand years they
had to exist. And, in the second place, man, he said, speaking as he
always did in parables--man struggled daily to live, to go on, though
he knew ultimately he must die.
“Still, if your Book of the Future be true, then must it provide that
the Kitche Maya were fated to give up the struggle,” I argued.
“That is as it may be,” he declared. “Even I do not know all there is
to know of these matters.”
Also, he confirmed my suspicion that the Mayas had been decimated by
using the radioactive clay for etching their sculptures. Nearly all of
those who handled the stuff, or the monuments, became afflicted with
a terrible malady. They withered away, their teeth fell out, their
bones dissolved and they died in agony. Some few survived for years;
some, still fewer, recovered, mutilated and deformed but physically
sound. Such, he declared, was Kinchi Haman. And, he added, all those
who recovered possessed most warped, cruel, vindictive and ruthless
natures. This, too had led to the downfall of the Mayas. Men, who had
been humane, wise, benign rulers, seemed to go mad. They oppressed
the people, ordered wholesale human sacrifices, made war upon one
another. Fathers fought sons and brothers fought brothers. “But that,”
he sighed, “was foretold in the Book of Kukulcan, as was the City of
Mictolan.”
And, as I have said, the presence of the clay in the valley nearly
resulted in the extermination of the people here. But though the
radioactive mineral had brought death and destruction to the race, it
had also brought great blessings in the end. They had learned that,
combined with certain other substances, it was not only harmless, it
was even beneficial. In the form in which it occurred in the rocks,
it illuminated the caverns and the interiors of the temples, and even
cast a soft half-light over the entire valley. And he, Nohul Voh, he
declared, had learned to harness it, to make use of its power.
* * * * *
I WAS amazed, yet I had half-suspected this. I could not account for
his sphere of gleaming light that illuminated his chambers except by
the theory of radium. Yet it seemed incredible that these people, who
had not even discovered the principle of the wheel, who knew nothing
of iron, who had not even availed themselves of water power, and who
possessed no machinery, no mechanical devices, could have mastered
that powerful, elusive, terrible element--radium. Very painstakingly
Nohul Voh tried to explain it to me. The harmless ore that occurred in
the rocks and which, as nearly as I could determine, was a form of a
uranium mineral, when placed near a rare green rock, would cause the
latter to remain poised in air. He pointed to the mysterious green
sphere as an example. “But,” he continued, “no power could move the
green mineral either closer to or farther from the material.”
But he had discovered that, by placing rods of various metals near the
green mineral the latter would move towards them and upon touching them
would move to the next. Moreover--and this was so astounding I could
scarcely believe his words--the green stone revolved at the same time,
and made one complete revolution between sunrise and sunset and another
between sunset and sunrise! To him, who studied the stars and the
heavens and computed the eclipses and was responsible for the keeping
of the calendars, this instantly presented possibilities. He had made
a sphere of the green rock, had arranged it above a polished surface
on which astronomical computations and figures could be engraved, and
had arranged rods at definite distances about the circumference. He had
thus divided the day and night into fractions, and--by some remarkable
coincidence--he had provided _twelve_ of these rods so that the sphere,
rotating at twice the speed of the earth touched the twelve rods in
succession during each revolution or in other words made twenty-four
contacts during the complete period from sunrise to sunrise.
But he had gone even farther. He had made calculations and
measurements, had checked up accurately on his observations, and by
patient experimenting and testing had converted his apparatus into a
miniature solar system from which, at any time, he could determine
the solstices, the eclipses, the positions of the planets and the
constellations. All this was astonishing, almost incredible, but he
demonstrated it before my eyes. Moreover, he knew that the earth was
round! Reasoning backward from his model he had become convinced that
the earth was a sphere, that the other celestial bodies were also
spheres, and he was keen on learning from me what lay on the other
surfaces of our earth.
But the most astounding, the most amazing feature of it was, that his
device was, to all intents and purposes, perpetual motion. I tried to
explain this to him, to make him understand the wonder of it, but he
seemed to think it a matter of course. “Do not the sun, the moon, the
stars move on forever? It is the law of the gods. Why then should not
the green ball move on forever, ruled by the laws of the gods?”
I confess I could not find an adequate or satisfactory answer to this.
Why not, to be sure?
Nevertheless, to me, who had always regarded perpetual motion, or
to put it better, motion without loss of energy, as an impossible
visionary thing, his endlessly rotating sphere was marvelous,
fascinating. I examined it, studied it from every angle, but could make
neither head nor tail of it. All I knew was that it was so. Why did it
remain there, a definite distance above the radioactive mineral in the
stone column? What was the invisible force that permitted the sphere
to revolve and rotate freely and yet held it as firmly in position
as though fixed by iron bars? And why, by what law of nature was the
rotation of the sphere timed to precisely twice the speed of the earth?
It was inexplicable. But whatever the answer, here, in this force
was a power that, properly applied, put to useful purposes, would
revolutionize the mechanical world. But unless the principle could be
learned, unless it could be understood and harnessed it was no more
than an interesting toy. For hours, night after night, I lay awake,
cudgelling my brains, formulating theories, striving to recall all
I had ever learned of physics, electricity, chemistry and the other
sciences; hoping somehow, by some means, to hit upon a principle or an
hypothesis that would fit the conditions. And no sooner had I worked
out some theory than I found it inadequate or faulty.
Eventually, however, I evolved an explanation that, I feel sure, was
very nearly correct. This was that the principle involved was an atomic
or rather electronic flow between the radium ore and the green stone!
In a way, perhaps, akin to the flow of electrons between the filament
and the plate of a radio tube. That the sphere of green was held in
place by this stream of invisible electrons that formed a solid band of
waves--something like magnetic waves--and that the green material being
polarized was forced to rotate. Each time it touched a rod, a current
or wave of electrons rushed back to the active mineral in the column
and allowed the sphere to move forward towards the next rod. It was in
fact on the principle of an electric motor, the radioactive material
representing the electricity, the sphere the rotating armature, the
upright rods the brushes. What a power this would be to put at the
disposal of civilized man! No power needed to generate the primary
force. No appreciable loss of the basic energy. No frictional loss of
power or wear and tear. In my imagination I could picture the world’s
industries increased thousands of times, completely revolutionized by
such a source of inexhaustible power.
* * * * *
I COULD visualize motor cars, ships, aircraft, trains speeding over
land and sea and through the air without carrying fuel, with never
a need of replenishing their power. I could see factories, mills,
machinery of every kind operating without smoke, without waste. Grime,
dust, ashes, coal and oil would be things of the past. It would be the
greatest boon to mankind in the history of the world. And yet, unless I
were vastly mistaken, it was an impossibility, a mere dream. Nohul Voh
had told me that the green rock was extremely rare, that his sphere and
a few small fragments were all of the mineral that existed as far as he
knew, that these pieces had been handed down from father to son of his
family for countless ages, and that their original source was unknown.
Legend had it, however, that they were bits of a most sacred image
that, in the very dawn of their history, had been worshipped by the
first of the Kitche Mayas. Always, he declared, it had been credited
with magical powers. Always, each sorcerer of his clan had prized it,
guarded it; but only he had discovered its amazing properties. And
probably, I thought, nowhere else but in this valley of Mictolan was
there the peculiar radioactive mineral that was needed to produce the
results.
But even if it were visionary, it was fascinating to speculate upon its
possibilities, and, with my mind filled with it, constantly dwelling
upon it, I began to wonder if the Bridge of Light was not also a
variation of the same force. I questioned Nohul Voh, but he could give
me little information.
Always, from the very beginning, he repeated, the Bridge of Light had
been there--had not the Mayas crossed it when they had first entered
the valley? And that it had some connection with the flames from the
temple summit he felt sure, for always these rose, like banners against
the sky, when the bridge spanned the chasm and vanished as the bridge
vanished. Also, he felt sure, the high-priest knew the secret of the
bridge--might even control it--but no one other than the Kinchi Haman
himself was permitted within the innermost sacred precincts of the
temple where dwelt the “Monster of Sacrifices,” and so no one had ever
learned the secret of the marvelous bridge. Even the sorcerer’s ability
to read the past and future, even his almost miraculous uncanny powers,
had not enabled him to learn this secret of the high-priest.
“And what?” I asked him, “is this Monster of Sacrifices? Is he beast or
man? I have vowed to destroy the thing and I would know more of it.”
“That, my son, Itzimin, I cannot say,” replied the old sorcerer. “Even
when our fathers’ fathers’ fathers came unto Mictolan, a temple stood
above the place and, so our legends say and so I heard from the priests
who came hither and entered the temple, the monster dwelt therein and
was tended by an ancient priest of another race more ancient than the
Kitche Maya. It was his people who had made the great statue at the
door of the Cave of the Bats; the mummies of his kings were those
within that cave; his people had erected the temple, but he alone of
all his race remained. To the high priest of Kinich Ahau he revealed
all he knew--to him he delegated the care of the sacred Monster--and to
him, no doubt, he imparted the secret of the Bridge of Light. That,
my son, is all I know. Even my knowledge, my powers, cannot pierce the
walls and unmask the secrets hidden in the inner temple of the Kinich
Ahau, God of Light and Life. To attempt to do so would be sacrilege,
would bring down the wrath of the gods.”
I smiled inwardly at the old fellow’s psychology as related to his
religion. “And yet,” I reminded him, “you have no love for Kinchi
Haman, you would humiliate him, destroy him. You deceive him by making
him believe me a son of Kukulcan. Is that not also sacrilege?”
Nohul Voh shook his great white mane. “Nay, my son, the Kinchi Haman
is but a man like ourselves. Outside his office he is an ordinary
mortal--a most vindictive, cruel, undesirable mortal--and it is as a
mortal I hate and despise him. But within the sacred precincts of his
temple I would not raise my hand to do him harm.”
“And,” I persisted, “if Kinchi Haman should die--as die he must--or
should be destroyed, who, O, Nohul Voh, would take his place?”
The sorcerer showed surprise at my question. “Why, you, my son!” he
exclaimed. “Though the Kinich Ahau, Lord of Day, rules above all other
gods in the heavens, yet Mictolan is a city of Kukulcan and herein the
Plumed Ahau may not--rightly--become priest of Kukulcan--even though
Kinchi Haman in his conceit and power did so contrary to law--yet the
priest-head of the Tutul Zius may become high priest of Kinich Ahau.
Aye, should Kinchi Haman pass on, you Itzimin Chac, would be supreme in
all things in Mictolan.”
“But I am no priest, I am not of the Tutul Zius clan, I am not even of
the Kitche Maya,” I reminded him.
“That matters not,” he assured me. “Does not our history say that
Kukulcan himself was of another race? Was not the first of the Tutul
Zius house a warrior and not a priest? Is not my son the bearer of the
Book of Kukulcan? And has not my son proved that he is inspired by
the gods and gives a new ritual that is pleasing to the great Plumed
Serpent?”
I laughed. “Still, O, Nohul Voh, I would be but a sorry priest of
Kinich Ahau if Kinchi Haman died and left me not the secrets of the
inner temple.”
“To him who has much knowledge more will be given,” declared the
sorcerer with conviction. “Fear not, when the time comes the gods will
impart to you the necessary wisdom.”
* * * * *
HOWEVER, I had no intention of remaining in Mictolan even if I were
fated to become its ruler, its high priest, the supreme head of the
city and its people. At the first opportunity presenting itself, the
moment the Bridge of Light spanned the chasm, I would flee with Itza
and leave Mictolan forever, even if we were not married--that formality
could be attended to when--if ever--we reached civilization. And, after
our departure, the people could settle their religious and temporal
affairs to suit themselves, though I hoped that the prince Azcopil
would be restored to his throne.
That I had not already married Itza was not my fault or hers. I had
discovered that only the high-priest could perform the ceremony, and
Kinchi Haman refused to do so. She, he declared, had broken her vows as
a Virgin of the Sun. She was to his mind, and in the eyes of the gods,
an outcast, as far as religion was concerned, and as a priest of Kinchi
Ahau he could not marry an excommunicant. To do so would be to insult
his god. I threatened, argued, commanded, but though he trembled with
fear, though he acknowledged my power, though he cowered and cringed,
he was adamant.
Perhaps the old villain was sincere in his stand; possibly in his
innermost soul he really believed he was true to his faith. I am
willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But I felt that it was
only a pose, that he was taking this means of revenging himself upon
me, and I would willingly have killed him on the spot, if doing so
would have helped matters any. But I knew--as he did also--that killing
him would merely make matters worse. I would be his successor. I
could not marry Itza to myself, for in the eyes of the law and of the
people’s faith, she was a Virgin of the Sun and could not wed a priest
of the Sun, and unless I married her before I stepped into Kinchi
Haman’s shoes, she could never, legally, be my wife. She could, of
course, become my concubine at any time, for as the priest of Kukulcan,
I was entitled to acquire any and as many unmarried women as I desired
without question or interference. But I had no desire or intention
of availing myself of this opportunity, although Itza, accustomed
all her life to the religion and the social laws of her people, was
quite willing to sacrifice herself on the altar of our love. Hence the
hideous old priest felt that, in this one matter, he could defy me
in safety. But had I known what he was planning and plotting in his
crafty, cruel brain; had I realized what was in store for us, and had I
been more familiar with the laws and the religion, I would have put an
end to him then and there, even though my act prevented my beloved Itza
from ever being more than my mistress.
But even Nohul Voh could not read the thoughts of the priest--or if he
could foresee the future in this instance, he refused to divulge it to
me. So, telling Itza and Azcopil of my plans, I waited and watched for
the reappearance of the Bridge of Light.
Repeatedly, too, I made my way to the chasm and spent hours examining
the spot where the amazing bridge had spanned the abyss, hoping thereby
to obtain some clue or inkling of the phenomenon, perhaps even to
solve its secret. At risk of my life, I lay upon the very brink of the
precipice, and leaning far over, examined the surface of the rock.
But I could see no device, no apparatus that hinted at the origin or
the operation of the miraculous thing. There was, however, a cavity
or rather a group of small cavities a few feet below the verge of the
cliff, and by listening intently, I could detect a peculiar hissing
sound like escaping steam from within the holes. Also, I discovered
that a draught or stream of air issued from them, for when I lowered
a bit of rag attached to a cord, it was blown outward as though an
immense fan was operating within the apertures in the rock.
That these holes and this jet of air had some connection with the
bridge I felt sure, but rack my brains and puzzle my mind as I might,
I could not see what the connection was or how a stream of light--even
if it issued from the holes--could provide a firm span over which human
beings could walk in safety.
Indeed, it seemed so utterly preposterous, so contrary to all laws of
physics and of common sense, that at times I almost believed it was a
figment of my imagination, that I had dreamed of it and actually had
entered the valley by some other route. Yet Itza, the prince, Nohul Voh
and everyone else knew of the Bridge of Light; with the exception of
the sorcerer all regarded it as quite to be expected, as a supernatural
manifestation, and no one, not even Nohul Voh, seemed to think it so
very remarkable. In fact he and the others looked upon things that were
everyday matters to me as far greater marvels than the Bridge of Light.
Indeed, my own amazement, my own wonder that such an inexplicable thing
as that span of light could exist was far less than their astonishment
at such a simple matter as the wheel.