The square vestibule was finished in hard woods, richly carved and

polished. Rare and choice skins were stretched upon the inlaid floor,

and there was a rose-jar of fine pottery at each side of the door.

Richly carved chairs outlined the walls, while perfumed lamps hung above

the mantel, beneath which glowed a bed of live coals. Placed over the

blaze, on a thin glass rod, was a small ball of spongy platinum. The

lamp was lighted and allowed to burn until the ball became a lurid red,

after which the flame was extinguished, leaving the ball incandescent

for a long time, gently heating the perfumed oil and sending a delicious

fragrance throughout the room.

The vestibule opened into an interior court where a fountain played and

birds of gay plumage kept up an incessant noise. Pet animals roamed at

will. Seats were provided in the shady nooks and cushions for the

tessellated floors. There was a colonnade in the inner court, similar in

style to the outer one. The balcony overhead was of carved onyx

surmounted by a veritable garden of rare plants in handsome pots,

trellised and interlaced across the open space. A pyramidal fountain in

an octagonal basin, placed in the center, was supported by eight huge

bronze lions.

On the north, adjoining Yermah’s private apartments, were the reception

rooms and banquet-halls. It was into the former that Kerœcia and her

women were conducted while the men were made comfortable in the Hall of

Ambassadors, to the west.

Here was a wainscoting of odoriferous cedar, carved as intricately as a

sandal-wood fan, above which hung richly dyed tapestries of historical

import, strips of silk embroidery and feather-work of indescribable

beauty.

On the floor of pine, scrubbed to immaculate whiteness, lay a wonderful

white carpet, bordered with gold and silver, in which were incrusted

precious stones, representing many kinds of choice flowers. The leaves

were formed of emerald, jade, aqua marine, and Amazon stones, while the

buds and blossoms were composed of pearls, rubies and sapphires in the

rough. The only cut and polished stones in the entire carpet were the

diamonds, sparkling in the center of the blossoms, like dewdrops.

Curtains as fine as cobwebs hung over the tiny square-paned windows, and

there were many terra cotta stools, ornamented in low-tone outline work,

detailing the mythology and folk-lore of Atlantis.

Exquisite screens closed all entrances except the outside, where thick

bronze slabs were fastened by heavy bolts and chains. Admission was

sought by striking these plates with a mallet of inlaid bronze.

A cloudless, moonlight sky added much to the fairy-like effect of the

night scene. Between the banners were silken lanterns gay in coloring,

shade and decoration, and these twinkled like spheres of many-colored

fire. The brilliant blaze of light on the signal-towers, the innumerable

rockets, showering gold, silver or rainbow balls in profusion, or long,

forked arrows, made the night a memorable one.

Setos, the inventor of pyrotechnics, outdid himself, and the whole

population were in attendance to witness and enjoy the display. Not a

housetop in Tlamco but answered the pretty code of greetings arranged

from the battlements of Iaqua. By these means Kerœcia was enabled to

thank each regiment, guild, clan and family taking part in her

triumphant entry early in the day.

When the high-priestess opened her door the next morning, she found the

passage barred by big-faced velvet pansies, crisp, fresh and still moist

with dew.

“To whose thoughtfulness am I debtor?” she asked of one of the armed

guardians pacing the hallway before the door.

“To Orondo. And he begs that thou wilt accept his escort for a visit to

the gardens, at such hour as best suits thy pleasure and comfort.”

“It will please me to see him at once,” she answered.

Alcyesta, Suravia and Mineola were examining the rare basket filled with

flowers which Yermah had sent with a kindly message.

“The daffodils show his regard; the ferns, his sincerity; and the

violets, his extreme modesty,” they said, with giggling laughter,

betraying the tension of nerves still animating them. They were agog

with expectation, and when told of the projected visit to the peerless

gardens they entered into the arrangement with all the zest and abandon

of curious girlhood.

“From the roses on thy cheeks, I am justified in the inference that

troops of good entities have guarded thy slumbers,” said Orondo, when

the women came into the vestibule where he was awaiting them.

“I can only hope that the same blessed oblivion has been thy portion,”

responded Kerœcia.

“Rahula, Ildiko and Alcamayn join us at the sun-dial, presently. They

are intent upon a natal observance which, by thy leave we shall

witness.”

Palanquins were their mode of conveyance.

“Alcyesta, Suravia and Mineola, look at the answer to our signals of

last night,” exclaimed Kerœcia. “Oh! see the rose garlands on the

obelisks, and the beautiful flowers everywhere!”

As she said this, a delegation of school children strewed her pathway

with wall-flowers.

“Fidelity in adversity! How considerate and kind thou art!”

She begged to be set down and stood with her hands full of the blossoms,

which she repeatedly carried to her lips, tossing them to the children

about her. It was an indiscriminate mass of little ones, augmented by a

bevy of older girls, laden with myrrh, wheat, oats and sprigs of

heliotrope. Before Kerœcia realized it, her vacant chair was filled with

flowering sage and Sweet William in bloom.

This language of esteem and gallantry was a tribute from some warrior

priests sent to keep order and to assist in escort duty. Kerœcia and her

companions wound the flower-wreaths in their hair, placed clusters of

the same at their throats, and in their girdles, and carried as many

more as their hands could hold.

“Haille! Haille!” spearsmen and school children shouted in chorus, only

desisting when the garden gates were reached, and the party halted for a

final exchange of courtesies. Kerœcia turned to Orondo.

“I love these kind, good-hearted people,” she said.

“Small wonder that they should love thee in return. The Monbas are not

the only men willing to die for thee.” The flush on his face, his

earnestness of manner and speech, should have warned Kerœcia; but at

that moment, she was intently examining the sculpture on the stone

aqueduct, here emptying into an artificial lake. Realizing the

situation, Orondo was quick to turn it to advantage.

“I have a feeling of kinship with this body of water, since it is mine

by right of plan and construction. The gardens are my special charge. We

of Aztlan have choice of occupation, and I have sole command over this

spot.”

“Thou art generously endowed with the sense of the beautiful,” she

returned, in appreciation. “I am curious to know why this curbing is not

in straight, but in wavy lines.”

“Because it is a meander imitating a river of spiritual force. The

carving, also, conveys the same idea.”

* * * * *

The party had crossed the avenue leading from the market walls to the

Temple of Neptune. The aqueduct surrounded the outside enclosure, and

was built of solid sandstone and masonry, supported by arches of the

same. The water in the canal came from Lake La Honda and skirted Blue

Mountain. Where it emptied into Ohaba Lake, in the gardens, it made a

pretty cascade over a profusion of rocks and water-plants.

To the right of the market was a sun-dial, which was a colossal bronze

figure of a full-armored warrior thrusting furiously at his own shadow.

This statue, of perfect model and workmanship, was placed on a pivot

which revolved once in every twenty-four hours. At the feet was a glass

dial, whose grains of gold slipped out at stated intervals, one at a

time, sticking fast on the quicksilver bed prepared for them. The

warrior could only scowl at, and threaten the shining hours.

When the sun at rising darted a direct shadow by the gnomon, or machete,

in the hand of a soldier, and at its height, or mid-day, the figure made

no shade, the populace adorned it with leaves and odoriferous herbs.

Then they placed a chair made of choice cut-flowers on top of the

helmet, saying that the sun appeared on his most glittering throne.

After this, with great ostentation and rejoicings, they made offerings

of gold, silver and precious stones.

Among the spectators of the ceremony, were Kerœcia and Orondo. His

interest centered wholly in her—hers, in the novel rites and the people,

who seemed to feel honored by her presence.

On an eminence beyond the sun-dial was the House of Piety, a structure

having many apartments, filled with priests devoted to the healing art.

The grounds between were laid out in regular squares and the

intersecting paths were bordered with trellises supporting creepers and

aromatic shrubs. These swayed in the breeze, partially screening the

view by a quaint tracery of floral net-work.

Setos had been paying a visit to the House of Piety. On his way to the

salt-water fish-ponds, located near Temple Avenue, but further up, he

was startled by a low, sullen growl, and a quick leap into a clump of

bushes near him. He was unarmed, save for a serpentine knife in his

leather belt, and this he instantly unsheathed and was prepared for

attack. He had not long to wait before the blood-shot eyes of Oghi

peered through the greenery, and he could hear its tail lashing on the

ground as the animal prepared for a spring.

At this juncture, there was an ominous rattle of the chain, and, in an

instant, Oghi had turned a complete somersault in the air. Akaza jerked

the chain hard enough to snap the self-clasping catch planned for such

an emergency, and the ocelot came down on three legs.

“Down, Oghi! Down, sir!” sternly commanded Akaza. This was answered by a

howl of mingled rage and surprise, as Oghi crouched with each hair on

back and tail erect with hostility.

“Remain motionless, Setos! Shouldst thou move I would not be responsible

for the consequences,” commanded Akaza, as he hastily twisted the chain

around a good-sized flowering shrub. He managed to get the eye of the

infuriated animal, and in a few moments the danger was over. None but a

man absolutely master of self and conditions, could have quelled this

beast as Akaza did.

“Oghi, lie down! Lie down, sir!”

Without the least show of resistance, the ocelot obeyed him.

“What thievish mischief has that brute been doing?” asked Setos,

allowing anger to supplant a sickening sense of fear.

“Let us ascertain. He has broken away from his keeper, else he would not

be here,” replied Akaza.

“Dost thou see footprints in the soft mud at the bottom of the tank? I

am persuaded that Oghi made a meal of the rarest fish in the pond.”

Setos was at his favorite occupation—he did so dearly love to exaggerate

misdeeds of any kind.

“There are feathers, too, all about here,” he called as he ran from one

rookery to another. “There are but four of the quetzal left in the

silver fir. Yermah cannot be permitted to give away any of them. All he

can do is to present these feathers to the high-priestess.”

Setos came back with a handful of brilliant green plumes, about three

feet long showing rainbow tints in their metallic luster. There was also

a portion of scarlet breast still dripping with blood, but that was all.

“I find this luminous tree badly broken,” said Akaza. “Oghi must have

attempted to jump over it. He has broken the whole top off, and split

the bole down to the roots. Disappointment awaits Orondo because he

planned to bring our visitors here and show them how this tree lights up

its surroundings at night. It were best to find out whether the

torch-fish has been injured.”

Setos poked and raked among the pools and eddies of the pond, but

reported the torch-fish uninjured. This member of the finny tribe does

not use the torch for purposes of illumination. When mealtime comes, it

lights up to attract smaller fish. They, mistaking the lantern for a

phosphorescent insect, dart at it only to find their way into a pair of

capacious jaws.

The evidence was wholly circumstantial; but, it was decided to make an

example of Oghi, so the ocelot was led up the main thoroughfare hobbling

on three legs.

As a matter of fact, Oghi had spent the entire morning chasing his own

shadow, going into a veritable spasm of excitement when he saw his image

reflected in the water. It took him long to decide that it was not some

other animal when the image moved. Oghi tired himself out trying to

discover the reason why the reflection undulated and rippled, when he,

himself, was motionless. He flounced in and out of the pond so often,

that he could not possibly have caught a fish. They were securely hidden

through it all, and a huge rat did the damage found in the aviary.

Poor Oghi! His greatest fault was an abiding dislike to Setos, and his

antipathies seemed to center around that one idea. This was why he

snarled and snapped every time he came near the sun-dial. By some

process of reasoning, the ocelot decided that the sun-dial was modeled

after Setos.

These repeated plunges disturbed the glass-bottomed wooden box, used to

produce a beautiful optical illusion in the salt water. The box was

without cover, and so placed that the glass bottom was slightly below

the surface. This arrangement enabled the observer to look steadily

downward to the sea-floor itself. The first impression was that the

glass possessed magical powers. Not a tree, nor a flower actually on the

land above, but was here reflected in colors and forms of airiest grace.

Orondo piloted his party to where there was a sheltered cocoa-palm tree.

This was a very unusual tree, for on more than one occasion a vegetable

pearl had been found among its branches. Such an one was given to

Kerœcia, and she was also allowed the choice of opals taken from the

joints of bamboo reeds.

“If thou art willing,” said Alcamayn, “I will cut the seven pointed star

of Jupiter in this gem at the polishing, and then thou wilt have an

amulet against disease.”

“By so doing, thou wilt give great pleasure, and, if agreeable I desire

a bracelet made of this vegetable ivory,” she answered.

“Why not put the pearl in the center and an opal on each side?”

suggested Ildiko. “Here is a perfect match for the one thou hast chosen.

Why not have the sign of Jupiter cut on one and his star on the other?

This will surely bring good fortune.”

While they were selecting the ivory and discussing the details of

ornament, Orondo busied himself with a tiny filigree silver cage

containing a couple of giant fire-flies.

“Am I in an enchanted garden?” laughingly inquired Kerœcia when she was

tolled off to a shady nook to inspect these wonderful insects. Orondo

covered the cage with a black cloth, and instantly a ruddy glow

proceeded from two glandular spots between the eyes and under each wing

of the fire-flies. Soon the rays changed to a golden yellow, equal to a

candle in brightness.

“To protect thee from genii,” said Orondo, “are a pair of racket-tailed

humming-birds. These little fellows are booted and spurred like regular

warriors, and are competent to fight any size or condition of

feather-wearer.”

The cage, rich in carving, was made of sandal-wood. From the pagoda-like

roof hung four small triangular-shaped banners.

“It were a gentle soul which planned these kind remembrances,” murmured

Kerœcia, softly.

“These come from one who has been deeply moved by the simplicity of thy

ministrations,” gallantly responded Orondo.

Kerœcia unwittingly led the way toward a swampy-looking inclosure fenced

by poison-ivy and climbing sumac which she did not dare touch.

“Thou art wandering into forbidden domains,” remonstrated Orondo,

hastening to her side. “Nature broods her deadliest poisons in this

company. Here the carrot, parsnip, and celery families are undergoing

regeneration. In time, I shall have them suitable for food. That pretty

lily thou art admiring is the deadly hemlock; and here are the foxglove,

the henbane, and the jimson-weed——”

“Surely I need no reminder of murderous quality here,” rejoined Kerœcia.

She was gazing at a cluster of aconite. “My people have used this with

terrible effect on themselves and on their enemies.”

She had reference to the poisoned arrows employed by the Monbas in their

expeditions against the Ians.

A swift-footed runner, wearing state livery, approached, and prostrating

himself before Kerœcia, said:

“Yermah, the Dorado, presents his compliments, and begs that the

high-priestess, Kerœcia, will grace the Hall of Embassadors with her

presence. Ben Hu Barabe, Eko Tanga, and the Dorado await her there.”

“Immediate compliance is the only form grateful obedience takes,” she

answered, while a swift pallor overspread her countenance. “Let us go at

once!”

A shade of disappointment came over Orondo’s face. He had hoped to show

Kerœcia more of the beauties of this royal garden. There was something

of the impatience of the lover and the selfishness of a rival in his

feeling. They were passing through the landscape set with night-blooming

plants.

As they neared Lake Ohaba, a long, narrow body of water, formed

artificially, there were masses of water-lilies anchored on the surface.

Tiny air-bubbles and tinier mouths indicated the presence of gold and

silver fish, darting about unmindful of the waterfowl feeding on the

banks, or sunning themselves on the floating gardens which dotted the

miniature lake.

Bridges, ponds, waterfalls and temples covered the landscape of the

floating gardens, but everything was constructed on the smallest scale

possible. The trees were old and gnarled, and the moss-covered masonry

was no larger than a doll’s house and grounds. Even the dahlias and the

chrysanthemums were dwarfed into pigmy sizes.

Kerœcia must have felt something of Orondo’s disappointment; for, she

halted in front of the fanciful pavilion facing these movable wonders

and ordered the palanquin which was to convey her back to Iaqua.

“I am loathe to leave the spot where Nature and man have wrought so well

together,” she said, with simplicity and appreciation.

“Such pretty reluctance reconciles one to that obedience which sometimes

tries the souls of men,” responded Orondo, satisfied with the admiration

so plainly reflected in her open countenance.

As the tamanes knelt to receive their human freight, one of them

presented Kerœcia with a basket ornamented with beads and feathers in

quaint combination, and filled with ripe pomelos. The fruit was

partially concealed by grape leaves, and was a simple offering to quench

thirst.

* * * * *

In laying out the city of Tlamco, the four points of the compass were

designated by different colors. The east, from whence come revivified

nature and springtime, was marked by green. This symbolizes fulfillment

and perfection. It holds out the hope of immortality and victory, in the

laurel and in the palm. For this reason was the emerald considered the

happiness-bringing stone. The Aztecs, Chinese, and Persians attach great

significance to green as all their uniforms and ceremonies demonstrate.

The west was designated by white, the emblem indicating integrity in the

judge, humility in the sick, and chastity in women. In a spiritual sense

it is the acme of all—divinity. When worn as mourning white expresses

negation of self.

The south was red, signifying fire, and all phases of life on the

physical plane. The red color of the blood has its origin in the action

of the heart, which from time immemorial has been associated with love.

The north was black, ever the symbol of death and despair. These people

knew of the recurring Ice Age, and to them the north was typical of

death, since all former civilization had perished from extreme cold.

The center of the city was marked yellow, in honor of the sun, the

symbol of light and wisdom.

The Grand Servitor was expected to wear a yellow or red head-covering

with gold ornaments, and he must at all times use yellow for a parasol

or canopy. The highest dignitaries carried green umbrellas and there was

always a bit of green showing in the head-coverings. The lower officials

carried red parasols or wore red; while the citizens wore black, or

carried black overhead.

Akaza was always provided with a white umbrella.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A COVETED SPOT AND A PRICELESS TREASURE

The Hall of Ambassadors at Iaqua was still the scene of an animated

discussion.

There were groups of scribes, runners and astrologers excitedly

examining maps and charts, while knots of citizens gathered around the

old men and heard from their lips the particulars. Some were priests,

others were treasure keepers, judges and councilors; but one and all

were disposed to stand by the records.

Patient, respectful tamanes glided noiselessly here and there, opening

and placing some of the books on the tables ready for inspection, while

they closed and carried others back to the vaulted recesses where they

had been under lock and key since the foundation of Tlamco. Some of the

manuscripts were on cotton cloth, others were of carefully prepared

skins, tanned and dressed until soft as silk.

For ages the Indians have known how to prepare superior chamois. When

they tan a skin it looks like soft, pliant yellow velvet and has an odor

peculiar to itself. These qualities are imparted by smoking it

thoroughly over a fire composed of certain herbs. Rain has no effect

upon well-tanned Indian buckskin. This is why an Indian moccasin is

always as yielding as cloth, while as thick and soft as felt.

A composition of gum and silk tissue made by a process known to-day by

the Japanese and Chinese was invariably used by the Monbas for the

transcription of public documents. Their books were bound with blocks of

polished wood, and folded together, like a fan. These surfaces were

inscribed on both sides so that the writing was continuous, ending where

it began, but on the opposite side of the same square.

Around Ben Hu Barabe, the Civil Chief of the Monbas, were a number of

Monbas warriors in full coats of mail and side arms. Setos mingled

freely with them and appeared to espouse their side of the controversy,

while Akaza conversed in subdued tones with Eko Tanga, the tall,

fierce-looking, but well-mannered emissary from the Ians. Yermah had

that freedom and grace of movement born in natural leaders, and there

was an unconscious recognition of this quality wherever he went among

the disputants.

A young Monbas warrior stood near him and leaned intently over the

neatly inscribed parchment rolls bearing the official seal of Atlantis.

The leaves of maguey and agave had been used in the fabrication of this

beautiful paper.

“These measurements and observations were taken shortly after the

shaping of Hotara (Lone Mountain), and before the surrounding tumuli had

been finished,” said Yermah.

He was seated at a round table in the center of the room in an entirely

characteristic pose. One foot was drawn well back and poised on the

toes, while the other was thrust forward but little in advance of the

knee and leg. On his head a single band of filigree gold was relieved by

a carbuncle of rare brilliancy which sparkled warm and glowing in the

medallion center.

The Dorado’s cloth-of-gold cloak, lined with scarlet and black brocade,

was thrown carelessly back from his shoulders, and his thumb, which

grasped the edge of the table to balance his body, as he leaned forward

eagerly, was banded by a curiously wrought signet ring. There was

masculinity and strength in the jewel which was the only ornament on the

virile hand.

“Our ancestors knew these things well,” answered the warrior after a

minute examination.

“The city was young then. But I see no reason why the accuracy of this

work should be questioned. I hope that Ben Hu Barabe may be induced to

see it so.”

“The scale is one one-hundred-millionths, and shows the diameter of all

the planets from Hotara. There has been but little variation in

eccentricity of orbits since,” declared Yermah, now busy with

computations, which he made by using an abacus, as the Chinese have

always done.

Ben Hu Barabe still studied his maps and charts. He was industriously

making deductions from the highly colored picture-writing, though the

cloth on which they were painted was yellow and musty with age. His

calculations were from Las Papas as a center. In present day reckoning

the radius extended from Clarendon Heights along the coast to Pescadero

Point; then to Santa Cruz and Point Reyes. From these observations the

first surveys were made, and it was from these markings that the

treaties had been negotiated between the Monbas and the Atlantians when

the latter colonists first came.

“It is not easy to ascertain the date of our computations and

measurements,” said Ben Hu Barabe. “But the land in dispute is not much,

at any rate. If Eko Tanga insists that his government has some unsettled

claim against the Monbas, I am willing that thou shouldst decide it,” he

said to Yermah.

“The difference is considerable between the calculation of one

one-hundred millionths and one of one-fifty millionths. And there is a

variance between The Twins and Hotara as central points,” Yermah

replied. “In my time the place of the sun in the center of Tlamco has

been the point of vantage. Computations of the diameters of the heavenly

hosts are here accurately given.”

“From the beginning until now, the Monbas have reckoned all their

happenings by this picture,” said Ben Hu Barabe, his voice again showing

signs of irritation. “It is held in our inner hearts with profound

reverence, and it is a vexation of spirit to have it questioned. Eko

Tanga has little respect for the traditions and pride of the mountain

people.”

“The high-priestess Kerœcia, will then lend us her counsel,” said

Yermah, soothingly. “She is of the blood of Ian, but she loves the

Monbas well. Her serene countenance confronts us,” he added hastily, as

the crowd separated to make room for the high-priestess and the entire

party from the gardens.

Every woman knows that it was not the fresh air, only, which gave the

color to Kerœcia’s cheek, and made her eyes sparkle like tiny stars as

she permitted Yermah to conduct her to a seat beside him under the grand

canopy. All Tlamco had a feeling of satisfaction in the manner and the

method of his escort. Some time elapsed before either could sufficiently

acknowledge the applause spontaneously given; but when the Dorado held

up his hand commanding silence, the stillness was absolute.

“Comrades and friends, a difference of opinion exists between the

emissary of Ian, Eko Tanga, and Ben Hu Barabe, Chief of the Monbas, as

to the hereditary rights of each to the lands now held by the Azes.

Before our beloved Tlamco rested among the seven hills, there were wise

men who noted the ways of the sun, and his attendants, and decreed that

thus far, and no farther should the limits extend. No one disputed the

rights of the Monbas. They made The Twins their own, and no one

murmured. Then appeared the hordes of Ian. They came through the

trackless forest of the Aleuts, following the warm tide southward. The

snow-peaks of Elias, Tacoma, and Shasta[5] pointed the way and after

many days they came to the end of the Monbas possessions.”

Among the Monbas there was a tempestuous wave of displeasure against the

revival of old scores and the ill-will was as heartily returned by Eko

Tanga’s attendants. As for principles, their faces effectually masked

the feelings while they gave Yermah their undivided attention.

“Here they found an amicable agreement between these brave men and the

children of Atlantis,” continued Yermah, conscious of the under-current

of feeling. “It makes my heart glad to tell how the Azes and the Monbas

have always been friends.”

“Haille! Haille!” shouted his hearers, with one voice. “Haille! Haille!”

Satisfied that the ebullition of temper had safely spent itself, the

Dorado boldly stated the point in dispute.

“It pleased the leaders of the Azes to erect a new city on the ruins of

an old abandoned temple site, and they re-surveyed the vicinity from

Mount Hotara. Like the Monbas sages, they had counsel of the heavenly

bodies, and found the degree of prophecy fulfilled in the markings. It

were a wearisome task to hear all of the things done at that time, but

the Monbas and the Azes feel that they were well done.”

Again the unspoken words reached his ears and the upturned faces before

him beamed with satisfaction.

“The Monbas reckoned from The Twins to a smaller scale, but they took

cognizance of the stars. Time has altered the bearings; but truth was in

the beginning and must prevail in the end. Due allowance was then made

for the failure of agreement between the new and the old reckonings, and

for the difference in the point of view. The treaty following, whereby

the Monbas gave eternal consent to the designs of the Azes, has been a

source of joy to the Azes always.”

“And to us,” assented the Monbas, with a clamorous noise.

“Our friend and brother, Eko Tanga,” continued Yermah, bowing to the

Ians as he spoke, “comes with a claim against the decision of our

ancestors. He denies the right of the Monbas to cede land to the Azes,

since the Monbas came under allegiance to Ian, after the treaty was

promulgated, and before the solemn covenant had record. The patient

skill and industry of Atlantis has made this a garden spot, and the Ians

desire recognition of their pretentions.

“The murmurings of the Monbas have softened the hearts of the Ians, and

their king decrees that the Monbas shall be free from tribute and have

dominion over the land claimed by them, provided they will release the

princess and the high-priestess Kerœcia from bondage.”

Here the Monbas laughed derisively. Even Kerœcia smiled.

“It were unseemly of the Azes to interrupt their Servitor,” said Orondo,

sternly, as he sprang to his feet and faced his people determinedly. The

rebuke did not fail of effect.

The undulating walls in different portions of Tlamco represented the

gyrations of the cosmic serpent, which is matter, and quaintly sets

forth man’s incomings to, and out-goings from, material life. On a grand

scale, the three points symbolized man’s redemption by harmonizing the

three planes of existence. Religious sentiment, as well as race

prejudice, had something to do with the hostile feeling prevalent in the

factions.

“Sufficient purses have been exchanged to make trade even, but the

boundaries still lie in dispute,” continued Yermah.

“Will the Dorado and these people hear me?” asked Eko Tanga, moved to

speech.

“The safeguards of courtesy may be trusted thus far,” quickly responded

Yermah. “Apply thine ear faithfully that thou mayst comprehend the

truth,” he added, as he sat on a level with Kerœcia.

“A matter deserving close attention is the correction of the hazy,

indistinct records by which certain lands are ceded,” declared Eko

Tanga. “The increase in learning makes the measurements legitimately

subject to inquiry, and I crave assistance from the wise men here

assembled. All Tlamco reckons from its center, and observes the present

houses of the firmament for confirmation. By careful estimate, there is

yet some favor due my master from the Monbas. A covenant to remain south

of Elias’s cone is all that the king desires. He is content to forego

tribute or war service below this mountain.”

It was plain that there were voices in the multitude which favored the

Ians. It was known that the Monbas originally came from Ian, and loyalty

to fatherland was a sterling virtue of the Azes.

Setos, quick to turn an advantage to himself, came forward and claimed a

hearing.

“The sacred traditions of past times,” he said, “lie deep in the hearts

of the faithful, but justice demands much for posterity. The future is

best served by full recognition of Monbas independence; they, in turn,

must acquit themselves with honor. No man among the Azes desires to keep

that which is not fairly won.”

“Dost thou dare to accuse us of unfairness?” cried Ben Hu Barabe, rising

hastily.

“The Ians have long discoursed against the award of land made by us to

the Azes. Much travail of spirit has befallen us because of our pledges

to thy ancestry. Fie upon thee, for an ingrate!” he continued, hotly.

Yermah and Akaza were on their feet in an instant.

“Setos had spoken without consideration,” said Akaza, mildly. “No

possible import of unfairness is due to either party here. The

measurements are the only questions to consider. Now, as of old, the

digit, the palm of the hand, the face, and the cubit are the only means

of reckoning. The first joint of the finger is no longer; the middle of

the palm no wider; the cubit from finger to elbow is the same. But the

stars have changed their courses; even the zodiac has slipped its

leashes. Man may profit by such example. Have done with this useless

turmoil. Let the Ian have his due, and let the high-priestess Kerœcia,

loose her own bonds.”

When he ceased speaking, the silence was intense.

“For this did I beseech thy presence,” said Yermah, aside to the

agitated princess.

“We love the priestess Kerœcia, and we will obey her,” said Ben Hu

Barabe, simply.

“The royal father and mother of the princess mourn continually. They beg

and implore that she may be the light of their declining years. All Ian

awaits an answer; and for that country I agree to abide by thy

decision.” Eko Tanga bowed toward Kerœcia, appealingly.

Striving to govern her emotion, Kerœcia put out a trembling hand to

Yermah, and suffered herself to be led forward where she could be both

seen and heard. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, then

lifted it pale and stricken, but resolute.

“My comrades and my countrymen, duty oppresses my heart profoundly. That

I do love and honor these who gave me life need not be affirmed. All

that my father demands, I hereby pledge the Monbas to render. For myself

there is no peace apart from the duty I owe these children of the

forest. They look to me for spiritual guidance, and I will not leave

them.” Her voice faltered, and she seemed ready to faint.

In the interim of silence, Eko Tanga said: “So be it! So be it!”

“Tell my beloved father that I can best serve him here; and that as

proof of my devotion, I pledge my people to lasting peace. Hast thou the

treaty in readiness?”

She made no pretense of reading its provisions, but turned to Ben Hu

Barabe, and said authoritatively: “Sign!”

He readily affixed his signature. Eko Tanga followed, and then Yermah

made use of the high-set signet on his thumb.

And this was the beginning of the end.

CHAPTER NINE

THE WOMEN’S DAY IN BOOTH AND BAZAAR

It was fully ten o’clock before Kerœcia, attended entirely by women,

finally made her appearance. She drove a splendid team of woodland

caribou, harnessed to her traveling cart now made gay with bunting and

flowers. There were tiny nosegays tied to the palmated antlers sweeping

back over the long, shaggy bodies. The ribbons were threaded from one

wide expanse to its fellow on the opposite side, and even to the

bez-tynes coming down between the eyes and spreading protectingly over

the elongated beak-like nose.

The snap and click of the spreading false hoofs of the caribou announced

the advent of the party. Rahula and Ildiko stood on each side of

Kerœcia, while Alcyesta, Suravia and Mineola balanced themselves by

placing their hands on the shoulders in front of them.

Matu, Saphis and Phoda, the three caribou, were a perfect match in

color, size and gait. The animals stood over three feet high with very

wide and many tyned, spreading antlers. Matu, who was driven in the lead

had a short shaggy mane of grayish white which lightened his

reddish-brown coat, his four feet being evenly marked by the same white

band. The strong necks, knee-joints and short muscular legs were built

for strength and these roadsters handily trotted past the barking dogs

in the streets and on the highways. Their big eyes had nothing of the

gazelle quality in them, but were alert, and the short lily-cup ear

heard acutely, while the sense of smell was their finest quality.

If it were possible to imagine hilarity in a countenance so long drawn

out and preternaturally grave, it may be said that these sagacious

animals enjoyed showing their heels too, and dusting everything

encountered on the road. Or, it may have been that they were envious of

the burros with their bulging sides, dodging out of their way as they

flew by.

A word and a sudden checking of the reins fastened to the nose, brought

the team to a standstill in front of a basketry. Here the party alighted

and Kerœcia caressed her roadsters, giving each one a cake of salt, and

scratching its nose affectionately. They manifested pleasure in their

own special fashion, and suffered themselves to be coaxed away by a

bundle of dry moss.

Inside the building were girls assorting thick packages of willow wands,

and long stemmed, wiry grasses as well as splits of palms.

Kerœcia’s eyes lit up as she recognized some of her favorite weaves.

Bending over a young girl she took the work from her hands and began

explaining an intricate decoration.

“Fifteen stitches to the digit is not fine enough for this acorn

pattern, twenty-eight will serve thee better. Where the point of the

acorn cuts off here, a bottom must be put in to give it standing power.”

When the coil was properly started in stitch and pattern, she picked up

a handful of grass soaking in a shallow basket basin near by, and

dexterously fashioned a tiny acorn, perfect in color and shape.

“Use this for a handle on the acorn cup suitable to cover this basket,”

she said.

To the delighted exclamations of thanks, she replied:

“May a good husband and sweet children grace thy home and bless thee

with loving kindness.”

The shamaness of the basket guild withdrew from a coil she

had been weaving a priceless heirloom, inherited from her

great-great-grandmother. This proved to be a long needle made from the

wing-bone of a hawk and was believed to be an amulet of good luck.

“Will the high-priestess honor and make me happy by accepting this

little token? She who uses it will have the blessing of the whole

guild.”

Kerœcia took the polished implement, and motioned one of her tamanes to

approach. From his hands she received a parcel so delicate and precious

that it was protected by a basket-covering of unique design. When she

disclosed the contents there was an involuntary exclamation of “A—h—!”

from all the curious weavers cognizant of it.

“Will the shamaness make me happy by accepting this example of my

handicraft? I have worked on it three years,” she said.

The gift was a fancy basket covered entirely with red-headed

woodpeckers’ scalps, among which were placed at intervals many hanging

loops of tiny iridescent shells. Around the rim was an upright row of

black quails’ top-knots, nodding gayly.

Presently, a representative of the guild brought forward a dice-table

top made in anticipation of this visit. It was a round, flat tray,

ornamented with dark-brown water lines on a cream-white ground. With it

were eight acorn-shaped dice, inlaid with abalone shell and some richly

carved ivory sticks with which to keep tally. The acorn shells had first

been filled with pitch, and when hardened cleverly inlaid with abalone.

Cradle and burden baskets used for storing grain differed in no wise

from the weaves of the Monbas.

Row after row of every imaginable stitch and material filled the roomy

building. Kerœcia was respectful in her attention to the workers but she

forbore a longer interruption of the general trend of the work.

Into the pueblo, set apart for the pottery, one might with profit

follow, or linger over the looms of the rug and blanket weavers, as

Kerœcia did. But it is fair to suppose that modern eyes are familiar

with the striking peculiarities of the Daghestan rugs and Navajo

blankets, the stitches of one being familiar to the descendants of

Kerœcia’s forebears, while the Navajo Indians have preserved the secret

of the other. One is characteristic of native Oriental invention, the

other of native American.

“There is need of haste in returning,” admonished Rahula, as the women

climbed back into the car and started cityward. “We are due at the

marketplace now.”

“Content thyself. The caribou is an excellent traveler,” was Kerœcia’s

assurance, as she gathered up the reins and shook the many stranded whip

over the horns of her team. They started forward with the easy stride

common to the elk family, and were not long in clearing a passage way

through the tamanes, trotting along the road carrying huge, well-filled

baskets, one on each end of a pole slung across the shoulder. Mingling

with them were burros so well burdened that nothing but their noses,

tails and forefeet were visible.

The social corner-stone of Tlamco was not the family but the clan.

Husband and wife must belong to different gentes, and the children

claimed descent from the mother. The spheres of the sexes were clearly

defined but manfully, the wife being the complete owner of the house and

all it contained. If a mother, she was not required to perform other

than household duties. Slovenliness was severely punished in both sexes,

and so was idleness.

At no time was the life of the ordinary woman of greater hardship than

is that of the wife of a poor man in any enlightened or so-called

Christian country to-day. Should her husband ill-treat her, a woman of

this civilization could permanently evict him from the home. The husband

owned the crops until they were housed, and then the wife had an equal

voice in their distribution. The live stock was his; but there was an

unwritten code which forbade his disposing of it without consulting his

wife.

For these reasons, certain of the afternoon hours of each day were set

apart, in the market, by the guilds, for the reception of the women.

They came in two sections, and took turns, so that each guild received a

weekly visit. It was to head a procession of this kind, visiting the

bazaars devoted to Monbas handiwork, that Kerœcia and her attendants

hurried through the streets.

“See the crowds of children, the priestesses and the women,” said

Kerœcia, as they whirled through a circular gateway leading to the

bazaar.

“They are waiting for us,” exclaimed Ildiko, with a glow of satisfaction

and self-importance. “Setos, the wise and kind father, forgive our being

tardy,” she continued; “we were detained on such loving pretexts as

befits the exalted regard felt for our guests.” She gave her hand to

Alcamayn and bounded lightly to the ground.

“Shame oppresses me sorely for having kept thee waiting,” said Kerœcia,

as she suffered Orondo to assist her.

“Thy dalliance was slight,” he answered gallantly, “and our first

concern is for thy pleasure.”

“Let us go at once,” they all said.

Each one picked up a basket of flowers and followed Kerœcia and Orondo.

It was a pretty sight. The women and children filled every nook and

corner of the booths with flowers while the priestesses swung incense up

and down the aisles and over the commodities. The men paid their guests

compliments, plied them with sweet-meats and were as courteous and

considerate as the occasion demanded.

Fathers took occasion to have a little visit with their children;

husbands and wives consulted their mutual interests; while lovers

contrived to exchange much of the small coin of affection, openly,

innocently and with obvious encouragement.

Mingling freely with the crowd, were the vestal virgins, themselves

trained by Priestesses of the Sun, in charge of the boys and girls under

the age of twelve. These eager little bodies were allowed to satisfy

their curiosity. The vestals tried to explain everything coming under

their observation, so that the visit was an object lesson as well as a

half-holiday.

Groups of older boys came attended by warrior-priests, who trained them

in the art of warfare, after which they were apprenticed to the various

guilds, and taught to be skilled in some branch of industry. In many

cases, an elder brother or other relative was serving an apprenticeship

while a younger boy was still studying warfare. Then, there was a

pardonable display of skill and knowledge by the elder, which did not

fail to spur the ambition of the younger.

Both sexes were allowed to study picture writing, music or oratory, and

there was much friendly rivalry among them.

The guild awards were always those most hotly contested. In this

category were prizes for cooking, weaving, basketry, pottery and the

care of the sick, which was the prerogative of the women, while all the

industries gave encouragement to the apprentice boys in their charge.

CHAPTER TEN

THE FORTUNE THAT WAS TOLD WITH TAROT CARDS

Setos, the Dogberry of Tlamco, lived in a pretentious square house where

the disused Laurel Hill Cemetery is now located. The house was gay in

stucco ornament and artistic coloring. The surrounding grounds were

extensive, and the rambling enclosure was altogether the most elaborate

private establishment in the city.

Quick, active, energetic and scientific, Setos had, also, the cunning of

a schemer and the ambition of a dictator. In stature, he was short and

pudgy, with a round, fat body and with disproportionately small

extremities. He made many gestures with his arms and carried his

straight stiff thumbs downward. His finger-nails were narrow, indicating

obstinacy and conceit, while his thick and stubby fingers showed that he

was cruel and selfish. Setos’s eyes were small and gray.

In addition to long ham-like ears was a nose which was a cross between a

hook and a beak. The thin lips and square jaws completed a countenance

which reflected a bold and uncertain temper. The man had a nervous habit

of clasping his coarse, fat hands, especially when excited or

over-anxious. Withal, he was inordinately vain, not of his good looks

certainly, but of his achievements—and, his godliness.

Akaza had a way of looking straight through Setos’s mean, shabby nature

which mightily irritated this entirely self-satisfied man. Setos always

imagined that he was being put upon in the civic councils, and he was

determined that the visitors should imbibe something of his greatness at

the fountain-head.

It did not require much diplomacy nor persuasion to induce Kerœcia to

pay Ildiko a visit before leaving Tlamco.

“When Eko Tanga says farewell, to-morrow,” Setos said to her, “it will

save thee embarrassment to spend the remaining days with Ildiko. It

would not be politic to take thy leave at the same time, because of the

ill-concealed distrust between the Monbas and Eko Tanga. Shouldst thou

go immediately after, it would be discourteous to the government of Ian.

Let me urge thee strongly to continue here for a time.”

“Give me leave to add my prayer to thine, father,” said Ildiko, quick to

see the importance of the move to herself. With Kerœcia as her guest,

she would have the eyes of the whole city on her for a time. “Rahula do

persuade our friends to make us happy,” she concluded with a pretty,

affected lisp.

“I am wholly in thy hands,” responded Kerœcia. “Thy request lines with

my desires. I am weary of public function. Besides, I am enslaved by

curiosity concerning thy mode of living. Thou art not of the Azes.”

“Rightly spoken,” said Ildiko. “Thou art justified in seeking to know

the domestic habits of Tlamco. It is not granted me to read signs like

Rahula, but I can see the drift already.”

There was nothing malicious in Ildiko. Kerœcia colored quickly, but made

no reply.

“Who knows but that I had ulterior motives in asking the fair lady to

remain with us?” said Setos, pompously. “I hope for a son-in-law, some

day, and Ben Hu Barabe is entirely to my liking.”

Ildiko, frivolous and vain, never doubted that she had made an

impression in that quarter. A keen eye would have detected the sudden

pallor of Alcyesta and the protective movement of Kerœcia. Self-centered

Setos did not look at Rahula; therefore, he did not see the swift,

half-fearful glance she gave Alcamayn, nor did he note the suppressed

excitement of Orondo.

Kerœcia understood that the official character of her visit was at an

end, and she experienced a feeling of relief. Setos anticipated this. He

knew that the commercial benefits to be derived from a closer

association of the two people were yet unrealized, and he did not intend

to lose an opportunity to profit by the situation.

Will it jar on the sensibilities to discover that Setos took advantage

of, and swindled the Monbas in every transaction following? He did this

in order to make a reputation for zeal and shrewdness among his fellow

councilmen.

It was Friday, the day of the bath, and not long before the time

appointed for the departure of the high-priestess. Ildiko, Alcyesta,

Mineola and Kerœcia were taking a siesta while deft-fingered maids

brushed the hair spread out over their shoulders to dry after hammam and

massage. They were seated on cushions piled on the still heated

flagging, near the play of a perfumed spray. Their finger tips, nails

and palms had been beautified, and the flat-iron shaped pumice-stone

rubber had been industriously applied to the bottom of the feet, until

each one was as soft and pliant as a baby’s untried sole. Long

loose-fitting robes tied at the waist with striped silk, were the only

garments worn.

The bathers regaled themselves with an ice-cream water-melon, which had

been buried in an artificial snow-bank since early morning. Setos knew

how to manufacture ice, but he preferred to follow the custom, long

prevalent in Tlamco, of packing the snow in winter and bringing it down

from the mountains as needed for daily use. A water jar made of porous

clay, and completely covered by a fine growth of timothy grass had been

filled with mead and hung in a window where a draught of air played upon

it. The Azes believed that a turquoise prevented contagion, and that an

emerald had the quality to purify water; so, the patera drinking-cups of

silver provided were ornamented with them.

“It nears the fourth hour since we commenced our bath,” commented

Kerœcia, helping herself to a drink from the ewer. “We have talked about

everything I know. Now, what shall we do?”

The daintily carved orange-wood spoon in the hand of each listener was

hastily returned to the yellow flesh of the melon, freckled with black

seeds, and three pairs of eager eyes focused on the speaker.

“I will tell thee what I should like to do,” cried Ildiko. “I should

like to talk about love. I intend to marry within a year.”

“O—h, dost thou?” they all exclaimed, in a breath. “Hast thou decreed

who shall be party to this resolve?”

“Yes—and no. In Atlantis, the parents often select a husband or wife for

their children. But one is not compelled to accept their choice,” she

answered.

“Has a selection been made for thee?” queried Alcyesta.

“Yes. My father and Rahula have partly agreed that I am to marry

Alcamayn.”

“Oh! Ho!” was all that could be distinguished, as the wooden plates were

quickly set aside, and a general readjustment of cushions closed in

around Ildiko.

“I am not sure that I am pleased,” that young lady went on to say. “I

would rather select my husband myself.”

“No one of our tribe can do that, except our high-priestess,” rejoined

Alcyesta. “Does thy religion allow thy priestess such liberty?”

“Truly not. Our priestesses may marry if someone asks them, but they

cannot help themselves. Oh, that I were a Monbas high-priestess!”

“What wouldst thou do?” asked Kerœcia, with a smile, while Alcyesta did

not seem to breathe.

“I would propose to thy Chancellor, Ben Hu Barabe,” she averred.

“Ben Hu Barabe is already betrothed,” replied Kerœcia. “He will espouse

my beloved Alcyesta, when we return home.”

“How fortunate thou art!” said Ildiko to Alcyesta, but slightly abashed.

“I can always marry Alcamayn. I should be puzzled to know what to do in

thy case,” she continued, addressing Kerœcia.

“I fail to see why,” answered the priestess.

“There is more than one among the Azes and Atlantians who would speak if

he dared.”

Kerœcia blushed and looked confused. Alcyesta and Mineola asked in a

breath:

“Who are they?”

“Use thine eyes and find out,” replied Ildiko. “We have only one marking

of the sun-dial for beauty sleep. Then we must array ourselves

becomingly for the sake of Orondo, Alcamayn, Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe

who arrive at the dinner hour.”

The high-priestess had arisen in the meantime.

“Not a wink of sleep to put a little rose in thy cheeks and add diamond

sparkles to thine eyes?” chattered Ildiko.

“Not this time,” declared Kerœcia. “I must away at once as I have

promised early audience to one of our friends.”

“May the assurances he brings thee be good and comforting,” murmured

Ildiko, already half-asleep.

“May the Lord of the Lapse of Time enfold thee completely,” answered

Kerœcia, with a careless nod, as she passed out of the chamber.

Orondo usually stood with his right foot forward, as if on guard, his

broad, powerful shoulders thrown back, and his chest well out. In

civilian’s dress, he wore an agate-headed serpent of scarlet leather

around his head. On his neck was a gorget of leather set with gold

bosses, from which hung a long, black cloak, bordered with fur. He had

on a short apron-like skirt of leather, with a triple row of gold bosses

around the bottom, and edged with a heavy leather fringe.

Wrinkled leather buckskins and gold-bossed sandals completed his

costume.

Wearing no beard, his straight black hair fell well down over his

shoulders. He was a patient, faithful worker, self-reliant, reserved,

proud, firm in friendship, but an unrelenting foe. Slow to anger, he was

like a bull when aroused.

Orondo’s voice in speech and song was mellow and agreeable. A

countenance that glowed with animation, added much to his dauntless

appearance. It was not like him to parley or waste time in useless

subterfuge; but whatever he attempted he went straight about. So,

desiring to consult Yermah, he marched into his presence without any

preliminaries.

Noting his perturbed manner, the Dorado laid down a brush-pen he was

using, and said:

“Something has interrupted the even tenor of thy well-ordered life,

Orondo. Can I serve thee?”

There were curious white and red lines on the swarthy face, and the

features looked pinched and drawn. He was exceedingly quiet, but there

was an unusual brilliancy in the piercing black eyes.

“I have come to ask thy advice and blessing in a matter of great import

to me,” he finally answered. “The point of superior years counts but

little between us; but thou art my chief, and I love thee well.”

“Of that I am fully assured. My blessing and good wishes thou hast only

to command. Give me to see the matter lying deep in thy heart, that I

may judge for thee,” replied Yermah, fully aware that a crisis of some

kind was at hand.

“Duty demands that I render strict obedience to my superiors, of whom

thou art one, and the command is that I shall take a wife from the

native women of this country.”

“I had feared from the ominous import of thy manner that some dark deed

touching the honor of the state oppressed thy knowledge,” quickly

responded Yermah, a feeling of relief giving place to his uncomfortable

apprehension. “This is a more simple matter.”

“Not without thy consent. My heart rebels at the thought of a wife among

the Azes,” answered Orondo, gravely.

“Then why mis-use desire? There is time enough. Thou hast fewer years

than I. Let thy better parts speak, then come to me,” said Yermah,

rising.

“This situation confronts me,” said Orondo, with agitation.

“Unmask thy feeling. I am not fully in confidence. Thou bemoanest the

mandate to wed a native, yet affirm thy inner soul bespeaks its mate,”

replied Yermah, shaking his head and looking perplexed.

“She whom I adore is the high-priestess of the Monbas,” said Orondo,

scarcely above a whisper.

Yermah dropped into his seat as if he had been shot, and put his hands

before his face as if to ward off a blow. Orondo, too much wrought up to

detect feeling in another, asked eagerly:

“Thou wilt grant me permission to woo her, and if I win, wilt bless our

union?”

“My vow to the Brotherhood forbids any other course. Go, go now, with my

blessing, Orondo,” Yermah managed to say.

“May the Master of the Radiance shower thee richly,” murmured his

auditor, as he stumblingly found his way out.

Yermah sat like a man stunned. For the first time in his life he drank

deeply and long at the fountain of pain.

Orondo walked like one in a dream. He was in an exalted frame of mind,

and seemed to be carried on the wings of the wind toward the house

occupied by Rahula. He had won his first victory. He had permission from

his civil chief. Now he would consult the unseen forces; then, he would

learn his fate from the lips of his beloved. Hope was holding high

carnival, and singing a merry tune in his ear, as he approached the door

of the “Divination Room,” in the center of the square building.

“An humble applicant stands at thy door, Rahula,” called Orondo; “one

who begs that thou wilt open to him the secrets of his destiny.”

“Upon what pretext dost thou invoke aid of the unseen powers?” demanded

Rahula, the reader of the tarot cards, from behind a heavy tapestry

curtain. “If of trivial import, begone at once! I will not hear thee.”

“Life and love are the subjects of my longing,” he answered. “And so

urgent is my mission, I would fain discharge any obligation imposed upon

me.”

Suddenly the heavy bronze bolts in the door flew apart. There was a

sliding, grinding sound as the entrance was cleared, and he was across

the threshold of the most noted and able professional fortune and story

teller of that day.

“Welcome, Orondo. Neither pitch nor accent betrayed thee. The triplicity

of mind, heart, and bodily function are wholly at thy service,” said

Rahula, coming forward and placing both hands on the upper arms of her

visitor, while she lightly brushed his forehead with her lips. He in

turn kissed the back and palm of her left hand, thus appealing directly

to her intuitional powers.

A pair of bull-headed and eagle-winged sphinxes guarded the north and

south side of the square-topped golden tripod, which was supported by

twigs of madroña wood, tipped with gold. This consecrated table occupied

the middle of the room; and in the mouths of the sphinxes were hooks

from which were hung perfumed, jeweled lamps.

In the center of the tripod was a round disk composed of various metals

radiating in stripes. On the outer edge of the rim were twenty-four

hieroglyphs of magic, at equal distances from each other. A tiled floor

liberally spread with rugs and skins, completed the furnishings, save a

duplicate stool of black under-glaze with a meander in white around it,

which served as a seat for Rahula on the opposite side. The ceiling

showed twelve radiations in the folds of colored silk, which started

from the central canopy and ended in a frieze of twenty-four enlarged

hieroglyphs, interlaced in a dragonesque meander. Pompeiian-red

tapestries hung on the walls, relieved by wise sayings painted on

banners of silk tissue, which were placed at intervals in perpendicular

strips.

Rahula’s ample, flowing robes were of purple silk, with a circlet of jet

on her head, and a girdle of the same at her waist. Around her neck was

a filigree gold and silver collarette fitting close to the skin. From a

recess in the wall opposite the door Rahula brought forth the figure of

a youth, a young calf, a lion, an eagle, a dragon, and a dove. These

were of Atlantian workmanship, in pure gold and silver, curiously

blended, the feathers, hair, clothes and scales being of silver, while

the bodies were of gold.

She placed these on the floor on either side of her seat, saying:

“Should thy quest of knowledge pertain to a wife, we must consult the

dove,” holding the figure in her hand as she spoke.

Orondo bowed. She placed the dove in between the sphinxes, and

continued:

“If children crown thy life, the youth must be their champion. Shall we

consult him?”

Again Orondo nodded, and the statuette was ranged beside the dove.

“The lion has power and authority in his keeping. This emblem I shall

choose for thee.” Saying which she stood it in the same row.

“By the dragon thou shalt know thy length of days. Does the outlook

satisfy thy desire?”

“Proceed, Rahula, and mayst thou be led by the guardian of the circuit.”

The sibyl stood facing Orondo, while balancing a plain gold ring tied

with a thread of flax over the ball of her left thumb. As soon as the

string was straight, she exclaimed:

“I cry unto Thee who makest time run, and liest in all the mysteries.

Hear thy servant!”

Slowly the ring began to describe a tiny circle. Then it swung farther

and farther toward Orondo, until it was opposite.

“Propound thy question, but silently,” said Rahula, watching the ring,

intently.

As if moved by some hidden power, the undulating ring answered his

thoughts. The same increase in vibration as before, finally brought the

ring in contact with the raised rim sufficiently to make it tinkle like

a fairy bell.

“Aila Kar!” chanted Rahula. “Affirm it a third time. One-two-three!” and

the ring once more hung motionless over the center of the magic plate.

“Thou standest faint-hearted at the Temple of Love newly erected in thy

heart, Orondo,” declared Rahula, with a searching glance.

“Yes. And I fain would know if I may enter,” said he simply.

“The tarot gives us wisdom here,” was her reply, as she returned to the

recess, and brought a sandal-wood box filled with small ivory cards.

When she drew off the sliding lid, there were three packages, two of

which she placed in a flattened disk-shaped basket of fine weave, which

divided in two. Each side was furnished with a ring for a handle, and

when she had unwound the linen coverings of the cards, she closed it.

“Hold the two rings firmly and shake the basket well,” she directed her

visitor.

The third package contained the twenty-two keys of Divine Wisdom, and

these Rahula shuffled thoroughly, keeping a square of fine linen over

her hands in the process.

At the four cardinal points outside the metal disk in the center of the

table were: on the north, a square of inlaid topazes; on the east, a

similar setting of emeralds; on the south, a duplicate of sapphires;

while on the west was a square of rubies. From each of these was a

trine—numbered for the yellow, on the yellow disks, 2, 7, 12; on the

green, on disks of green, 3, 8, 9; for the blue, on blue circles, 5, 4,

10; for the red, on red disks, 1, 6, 11. These trines were so interlaced

that the rows of numerals made an outside circle, corresponding to the

signs of the zodiac.

“Lay the basket on the metal disk,” commanded Rahula. “Then I will open

the book of fate for thee.” Orondo did as he was bidden. Rahula emptied

the ivories into her lap, and quickly arranged the cards in order, face

upward, without changing their relative positions. When she had taken

out the four aces (one representing a blossoming rod—the modern clubs;

the second, a royal chalice—the modern diamonds; the third, a sword

piercing a crown—ace of swords; and a circle inclosing a

lotus-flower—the ace of cups), she handed them to Orondo, and told him

to shuffle them well.

“The astral key to arcane knowledge is in thy hands. As thou valuest

happiness, let no unclean thought steal in and pollute the

fountain-head,” solemnly warned the reader of magic, as she invoked the

genii of the day and hour.

The signs by which Orondo sought to divine the future, are found to-day

in the scepter of Osiris, long the prerogative of kings and emperors.

The pontifical staff, the eucharistic chalice, the cross and Divine

Host, the patera cup containing the manna, and the dish of offerings

were borrowed from the four aces of the ancient tarot and its central

disk. These cards were never used for games of chance or for amusement

but always for purposes of divination, and they were held sacred.

“Now place the ace of diamonds—the royal chalice of life—on the ruby

square, which corresponds to the principle of motion, action, and will,”

directed Rahula. “The blossoming rod of the ace of clubs place on the

topaz square, which is the trine of power, influence and right. Then

cover the emerald square with the ace of cups, the trine of love,

service and favor. Lastly, cover the sapphires with the ace of swords,

which pierces the crown of physical being, the trine of evil, malice and

death.”

When the four squares were covered, she continued:

“This forms the quaternary of Life, Power, Love and Affection. Before I

place the cards on these trines, tell me what color best pleases thee.”

“I am fond of red—and blue, also,” returned Orondo.

“Then thou art materialistic and passionate on the one hand, and an

idealist on the other. This will keep thee warring with self; and if the

former predominates, will tend to weaken the heart-action. What flower

dost thou hold sacred?”

“The delicate flax-blossom is a symbol of my love.”

“And by this token thy ideal woman must be constant in conjugal

fidelity. Excess in this direction leads to jealousy, the very epitome

of selfishness. But what flower dost thou love for its own sake?”

“Myrtle, sprig and blossom, are always endeared to me.”

“Then thou hast the redeeming grace of brotherly love. Of the three

animals—the horse, the dog, the cat—which dost thou like the best?”

“The horse first, and then the dog.”

“Which tells me that thou art capable of a noble, affectionate, and

faithful friendship. Trial lies along this line. Give me leave to judge

thy antipathies.”

“Rats and mice offend me much.”

“Upright and fastidious,” she murmured. “Nor does thy frank and open

nature warm to spiders, nor thy proud spirit willingly tolerate

serpents.”

“How well thou readest my inner thoughts!” exclaimed Orondo,

wonderingly. “Never have these sentiments lent action to my tongue.”

“In dreamland what rich spoils assail thy vagrant will?”

“Happiness and joy attend my sleeping ventures.”

“A sanguine temperament, normally exercised—a personality which will die

hard in the living man, and one which is liable to wreck the body.”

She examined both of his hands, minutely—fingers, palms and wrists.

Finally she said:

“To three separate warnings must I give voice. The heart is threatened

seriously as to feeling and action. Sudden and tempestuous jealousy

assail thy future, and the divine spark will not be generous as to

years. So much for thine own self. As to outside entities which may

mingle and interweave, the tarot must be oracle.”

The king of cups represented him who cultivated affection; the king of

diamonds, the custodian of wealth, and the proper distribution of it;

the king of swords, the inventions and skill of the inquirer; the king

of clubs was the significator of all manual labor. The queens were the

wives, actual or prospective, in a question concerning men. They were

the personalities of the woman herself in a feminine inquiry. The

heralds and knaves represented religious and civic power respectively,

while the numbers from two to ten pertained to the personalities.

Orondo watched her eagerly while she placed the cards, face downward on

the four trines. When they were all in position she turned over the ace

of diamonds, on the western cardinal point of rubies, and then quickly

laid those on numbers 1, 6, 11—in a row. Beginning with number 1, she

said:

“This pertains to the present state of time—thy life as it is at this

moment. All is well from this point. Number 6 is exalted and grand, as

the individual contacts Deity. But in number 11, there are adverse

conditions—I can see neither posterity nor extended continuation here.”

“Posterity holds nothing for me?” questioned Orondo, concern dominating

manner and voice.

“Not as the matter lies. But all the cards are involved in the final

reading. Have patience.”

She next placed the ace of clubs on the northern point, face upward, and

arranged the cards on numbers 2, 7, 12—as before. Beginning with number

2, directly above the ace, she said:

“This is the place of power, majesty and honor. In such conditions thou

standest well. Thou wilt govern Tlamco in future days. A change of place

is shown by the covering of number 7. Supreme rule, however, attends it;

while in the place of 12, merit and acquired skill stand worthy sponsors

to thy desires.”

On the eastern point, directly in front of Orondo, she uncovered the

emerald, hidden by the ace of clubs, and proceeded to read from number

3—the place of love, felicity, agreement and delight. What she saw there

was so adverse that she quickly turned over the cards, marking the place

of love in service, reception and bounty in which she found some

encouragement. Number 9, the place of favor, help and succor were in

exceeding doubt.

“What is it?” queried Orondo, impressed by her manner.

“The trine of love is much assailed by disquieting import. So, I pray

thee, give me leave to consult the throne of affliction at once, that

the whole matter may stand revealed.”

“Thou hast my full consent,” said Orondo, now intent and eager.

“Swords fall on this trine of opposition, persecution and punishment,”

exclaimed Rahula. “This portent quickens fear. Number 4, the place of

mighty retribution, is not free from evil aspects. Treachery is thy

portion in number 5, with malice attendant, while number 10 gives speedy

death. Be not wholly convinced by this,” she entreated. “Suffer me to

assail the doors of Divine Wisdom, substituting the twenty-two keys for

the cards.”

She scarcely waited for Orondo’s nod of assent before she had swept the

ivories into their basket, and was busy shuffling and placing the keys

around the aces, still face upward. There was an intense silence as she

hastily placed the keys on the numbers—first face downward in trines,

and then the reverse, with the outward circle completed first. She read

from the outward ring toward the center.

“Love and marriage come as thy portion, but not without delay and much

suffering. After this, the body sleeps,” she said in conclusion.

The cool brisk wind felt refreshing to Orondo’s fevered cheeks as he

hurried along the streets flooded with afternoon sunlight. The every-day

commonplaces of active life about him passed unnoticed in the rapid

whirl of his conflicting emotions.

“Fancy claims me for her own,” he thought. “Surely there can be no harm

in obeying such sweet service as links me to my loved one.”

Orondo smiled softly, and as he turned into the broad avenue leading to

Iaqua, his serenity was fully reëstablished. He went to his own

apartments, and spent much time and labor over his toilet. Finally, when

extract and oil, brush and comb had done full justice, he found his way

into the smoking-room, where he sought quiet for his nerves in the

narcotic effect of a chibouk. Under its soothing influence he indulged

in the airiest of day-dreams. As the appointed hour drew near, he

repaired to the sanctuary, where he knelt and humbly petitioned Divine

Grace to attend his venture.

* * * * *

“Father,” said Ildiko, as she stood with Setos in the twilight awaiting

their dinner-guests, “make no demand for light early to-night. Some

unseemly circumstance oppresses the spirit of Kerœcia. She has been

weeping.”

“Yearning for her own may weigh her down. If so, we have failed to make

our welcome speak to her heart. In this we must be more vigilant. H-s-h!

Here she is, attended!”

Scarcely had the women found seats when the voices of Hanabusa, Ben Hu

Barabe and Alcamayn were heard responding to Setos’s greetings in the

broad entrance hall.

“Where is Orondo?” asked Alcamayn, as he came toward Kerœcia. “In the

street at the last marking of the sun I had speech with him, intent then

upon immediate attendance here.”

Kerœcia paled visibly, and replied with difficulty:

“Orondo’s presence has lately honored me. He begs to absent himself at

dinner,” she said, turning appealingly to Setos.

“Affairs of urgent moment must have decided him. His convenience and

wish dictated the day and hour of our assemblage,” rejoined Setos. “May

there be no evil import behind this sudden change.”

“Has the Dorado been seen to-day?” asked Alcamayn. “Twice I sought him

on matters of state, but he was not at Iaqua.”

“He rowed out on the bay at an early gnomon, unattended,” responded

Hanabusa. “Many times I hailed him, but he was unmindful of my

presence.”

“The cares of his office sat heavily on my shoulders in consequence,”

said Setos, with a show of assumed irritation.

By judicious complaint many a vain soul betrays its self-importance.

Glancing around the room, to see if he had created the desired

impression, Setos suddenly bethought him of Ildiko’s words. He bustled

about for a few moments, and then gave escort to Kerœcia who was glad to

escape to the dining-room.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A REALIZATION OF LOVE WHICH BEGGARED LANGUAGE

Orondo returned not to Iaqua during the night. He went to a favorite

nook in the gardens, the same he had taken such pride in showing to

Kerœcia. Here he went over the ground again step by step, and that same

pride lay in the dust at his feet grievously wounded. Trifles to which

he had attached peculiar significance now seemed to him commonplace

politeness.

Orondo could not accuse Kerœcia of playing with him. She had been openly

and candidly indifferent. Her effort to shield him, her kindness, were

eloquent of her disinterested friendship. He groaned under her sympathy,

but he was not without capacity to plan a course of action.

The first watches of the night witnessed his wrestle with overwhelming

grief, but as the cool morning hours came on, his thoughts turned to the

future. He looked forward eagerly to his departure from Tlamco, which he

knew from the beginning he must take. Hope led him to believe that he

would have a companion for the exile, which now he gratefully remembered

would be a lonely one. He sat motionless upon the curbing which bordered

the artificial lake near the perfume-beds, utterly oblivious to their

refreshing odors. His thoughts were so painfully centered that he noted

neither the passing hours nor his own bodily discomfort.

Finally, habit warned him that dawn was approaching, and he mechanically

roused himself. He knew, without conscious effort, that he must greet

the rising sun with composure; therefore he tried to rally his drooping

spirits. Still like one in a dream, he removed his cloak and helmet,

then washed his hands and face in the clear, cool water of the lake. His

benumbed and stiffened nether limbs protested painfully against his

essay at walking. He heeded them not. Instinct led him in the direction

of Iaqua.

Yermah, too, had passed a sleepless night. He spent the day on the

water, floating and drifting with the ebb and flow of the tide,

struggling to reconcile himself with the conditions confronting him. At

night he came back to Iaqua, but purposely avoided meeting Orondo. Love

made him humble, and he did not for a moment doubt the result of

Orondo’s wooing. He knew that his countryman was a lovable man, and he

could not find it in his heart to blame Kerœcia for accepting him.

No—Orondo had asked his consent and blessing; he must be willing to give

it with all his heart.

How stern and forbidding seemed the face of duty! How hateful the

precepts of honor! Yermah censured himself unsparingly. Many times as he

paced the apartments, still clad as he came from the bay, he spoke his

thoughts aloud. He argued with himself long and earnestly.

“How beautiful, how lovely she is!” Yermah exclaimed for the hundredth

time. But he was sick with the thought that she belonged to another. He

told himself that he would rather give her to Orondo than to any one

else. But why should she not have loved him? If such affection had

blessed his life, he would hasten his appointed task, and then claim his

choice for a wife according to law and custom. It would be only a few

months to wait. Now what difference did it make? Orondo stood in his

place.

How unsatisfactory, how paltry seemed his life work and aims! How

completely helpless and discouraged he felt! But he must face the

situation like a man. With the rising sun Orondo would come with a

beaming countenance to recount his happiness. It would require all his

fortitude to do and to say what was expected of him.

Thinking thus, he drew aside the curtains and peered at the sky. The

first mingling of pink and gray heralded the coming day. Performing the

necessary ablutions, he wrapped his cloak about him and left the house.

He did not notice particularly the direction he took, walking rapidly

forward, with his head bent in strained attention. Once inside the main

entrance to the gardens, he halted, listening for footsteps ahead of

him.

For the first time he observed the dew lying on the bent grass in drops

separate and distinct from each other, but thickly studding each blade

and leaf. Suddenly on the curving pavement a few feet in front of him,

stood Orondo, irresolute, stricken and old. He had not yet caught sight

of Yermah, but had merely paused in his erratic course, without definite

idea whether to proceed or to retreat.

“May truth and love be with thee, Orondo,” said the Dorado, in an

unsteady tone of voice. “Mayst thou live by them, and by such means

triumph over all hindrances.”

“The goodness of this place and hour be upon thee,” responded Orondo,

still not recognizing Yermah.

As the men looked at each other, a family of deer roused themselves

under the shelter of a friendly live-oak tree standing in the sward to

the right of the pavement. The buck stood up and shook his graceful,

spreading horns, until the leaves overhead quivered in the current of

air set in motion. The doe licked the side of one fawn, while the other

spotted creature wrinkled up its little nose, took a sniff of fresh air,

and clicked its hoofs together in the very exuberance and joy of living.

The two heavy-hearted men gazed at one another in an embarrassed

silence. Finally, Orondo said:

“I have seen the priestess Kerœcia.”

“And—she?” Yermah finished the sentence with a supplicating movement and

braced himself for the shock.

“She—she is not for me,” responded Orondo, brokenly.

Not to have saved his immortal soul, could Yermah control the wave of

emotion which swept over him, making him stagger like a drunken man. The

revulsion of feeling was so strong that he put out his hand to steady

himself, while his senses fairly reeled.

Like a flash the truth dawned on Orondo; but he would have suffered his

tongue cut out rather than acknowledge even to himself what he had seen.

Profound pity moved him, and under its influence he threw himself on his

knees before the Dorado.

“Give me leave,” he cried, “to take men and flocks and go into the

valley of the Mississippi, to begin mound-building. My mission in Tlamco

is finished.”

“Stand equally with me,” exclaimed Yermah, assisting Orondo to rise and

embracing him. “A solemn covenant binds thee to that task. Consult only

thine own pleasure and convenience.” Then, after a pause, “I shall miss

thy strong, right hand, thy faithful heart and welcome presence here.”

The dawn, bright from the Orient couch, had chased away the stars, and

as Yermah spoke a golden ring came slowly above the horizon. The bells

in the temples and Observatory chimed inspiringly. Nature was astir all

about them, while the entire city was at devotion. With bared heads both

men turned their pale faces toward the east. Yermah’s arm lay

affectionately on Orondo’s shoulder.

“Homage to Thee who risest above the horizon,” said the Dorado,

reverently. “I come near to Thee. Thou openest the gates of another

day.”

“Om-ah!” responded Orondo, who continued: “Great Illuminator out of the

golden, place thyself as a protector behind me. I open to thee.”

“Om-ah!” said Yermah, as they both stretched out their arms and bowed

three times to the now fully risen sun.

* * * * *

It was the day following Orondo’s visit, and Kerœcia was disturbed,

downcast and depressed. For the first time since her entrance to Tlamco

she longed for the mountain fastnesses of the Monbas. She felt stifled.

She wanted air, breath, room. A sense of utter loneliness was upon her.

Again she could have cried bitter tears for Orondo. It was agony to her

soul to know that she had hurt him. The surprise of it—the pity of it!

The reflex action of her hours of unalloyed pleasure was full upon her.

So she stood under the moonless sky, while the clouds scurried overhead

in a pell-mell race with the incoming fog. She was chilled at heart, and

instinctively sought a sheltered nook, where she felt she could be

absolutely alone.

Kerœcia remained for some time motionless, frowning into vacancy, so

preoccupied that she did not notice a tiny moon-shaped boat of paper

zigzagging its way down the narrow waterway at her feet. It might have

passed her had not the splash of a pebble thrown a spray of water on her

skirts. Glancing quickly about her, she advanced toward the wavering

craft in time to rescue a red velvet rose floating loosely in a cluster

of feathery ferns.

She tucked the flower and its greenery into her corsage and made them

fast, but not before she had inhaled their fragrance and noticed their

beauty. Then she examined the neatly folded parchment. Across the prow

was the word “Yermah.” At the sight of his name, happiness surged

through every avenue of sensibility like rare old wine. Kerœcia’s face

was all tenderness as she pressed her lips to the writing.

It was a lingering, cooing movement, such as women who love employ.

Yermah had been watching her through a tapestry of vines, leaves and

blossoms. In the interim his hopes ran as high as her spirits had been

somber and low. He shook the branches of the hedge and stamped with his

foot; but she was too much absorbed to hear him.

At last he contrived to make her know that he was near.

He had left home with the mere desire of seeing her, and with no

intention of speaking. But when he saw her kiss his name, it was the

eager impulse and bound of impassioned love which brought him to her

side. His hungry eyes drove him there for sight of her. Now his hungrier

heart demanded more. The same impulse impelling him forward controlled

his further action.

Kerœcia made no resistance when he caught her in his arms, nor did she

deny him when his lips sought hers, insistent and clinging. Each soul

claimed its own. Each organism responded to its counter exhilaration....

Love beggared language.... It was well.

Neither had voice nor speech, as by common impulse they drew apart and

hurried away in opposite directions. Yermah dared not trust himself to

look back, while Kerœcia groped her way into the house and hid in her

own room, safe from human eye.

“Men kiss like women,” she murmured naïvely, and in a surprised tone.

“Their lips are the same, but—” Then she buried her face in her hands

while a hot blush burned its way to the roots of her hair. Her cheeks

still tingled with the light sweep of mustache and beard, and she fell

to wondering if she could see the kiss as plainly as she still felt it.

Those dear arms! How strong and masterful their protecting

enfoldment!... The perfume of the crushed and broken rose brought her

back to reality. She unfastened it, and buried her mouth in its petals,

so close that a drop of blood spread itself over her white teeth.

Presently she wiped her lips with a dainty bit of linen.

“Sealed in blood!” she exclaimed, as she examined it. “And nothing but

heart’s blood can ever sever the bond. Oh, Yermah, my hero, my king! I

love thee!”

The Dorado hurried through the streets with his senses in a whirl, and

then entered Iaqua by a private gate. He did not pause until he threw

himself on his knees before the statue of Orion. The soft light of

incense-tapers and jeweled lamps revealed the pallor of his countenance.

Too agitated to attempt prayer, he nervously held his hands to his head,

and tried to collect his thoughts—to control his emotions.

“Oh, truant and coward that I am!” he exclaimed. “Why could I not speak

the words my heart is bursting to tell? Will she know how sincerely, how

devotedly I love her?”

He threw off his cloak, pushed his helmet on the floor, and wiped the

perspiration from his brow.

“What a lovely creature a woman is! I can feel her soft, yielding body

yet—her warm breath and sweet lips. No wonder I could not speak! Will

her thought accuse me? And her dear, little hands!—I could crush them

easily.”

Then, as if suspicion crossed his mind, he upbraided himself for

ungentleness.

“Did my roughness hurt her? Did I frighten her by my suddenness?... So

this is love!... And I not know how to express what I feel! Why has not

Akaza taught me?... I see—I see—no one can teach another! I must learn

for myself.... This is why the sages say it is like subtle poison. My

blood is on fire! I do not know myself—my ugly self!” he added, as he

arose and peered at his reflection in the mirrored wall.

Never before had he been dissatisfied with what he saw. It was his first

realization of self-consciousness, and he was full of the humility of a

master passion.

“Her hair fell here over my arm,” he continued, smiling tenderly. “I

sense it yet. The perfume of it is sweet to my nostrils. Why did I not

beg a lock for remembrance?”

He paced the floor restlessly.

“How unmanned and undone I am! Oh, my Kerœcia! Thy first kiss has

enslaved me! I could not see the luster of thine eyes, but I could feel

thy love. I can look into thy heart. Surely thou canst see that mine is

filled with thy dear image.... I loved my mother, and Akaza, too ... but

this is love of another kind!... If my mate should deny herself to me!

No, no, no! I cannot live without her!... Poor Orondo! Poor soul!” he

cried, in accents which revealed his great sympathy.

It was not until long after, that Yermah quit the chamber and finally

sought rest.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“A BROTHERHOOD VOW BINDS THE SOUL!”

“Hold the burning feathers close under his nose,” directed the chief

shaman, who had been hastily summoned to Iaqua, when Orondo was found in

an unconscious condition early the following morning after his adventure

with Yermah in the public gardens. “We will soon determine whether it is

merely a fainting fit or of more serious import.”

The pungent and penetrating odors produced no effect except to cause the

sufferer to turn his head and moan.

“Delirium chains his physical senses,” said the shaman, when Orondo

opened his eyes without recognizing any one.

In their own peculiar fashion, the chief and his two assistants examined

the seven principal organs of the body—the same that are symbolized by

the curls of Medusa, and whose appetites must be controlled before there

can be health either on the physical or the mental planes.

“Extreme heat, and a labored and painful drawing in of the breath is

here,” said the chief, while one assistant carefully wrote down his

words.

It was compulsory upon healers to post in a conspicuous place on the

temple walls to which they were attached the number of cures made, and

by what processes. Orondo being a civic leader, the law required that

his malady should be written on the tablet back of the Chief Councilor’s

chair in the Temple of the Sun.

“Pains in all the bones, and in the cords which give them motion,” he

continued. “The air-bellows rise and fall one-half, and the hammer in

the left breast moves slowly and is very weak. Lend a hand.”

The scribe hastily put down his parchment and assisted in placing Orondo

in a hammock, hung in the full glare of the sun, in a circular,

glass-sided room. The sick man was quickly stripped to the waist, and

the shamans took turns in holding first a large red convex lens over the

region of the heart and lungs; then an orange-colored one; and finally a

yellow-green ray of light was concentrated over the heart, to stimulate

its retarded action. This process will be recognized as the forerunner

of the modern X-Ray.

Then by what is now known as the Swedish movement, they went over the

entire body, keeping the lenses focused on the parts being kneaded and

rubbed. When this treatment ceased, they carried him back to his

wall-pallet, taking care to lay his head to the north, thus taking

advantage of the magnetic currents.

A small oblong bit of copper was placed in an olla of snow-water. It was

fastened by a silken-cord to a copper anklet clasped above the patient’s

left foot. Over the main artery was a small disk of copper with Orondo’s

seal on the outside.

“Squeeze the sponge gently, and slip it under the signet,” directed the

head physician.

Believing that the topaz exercised a powerful influence over an

afflicted mind, the shaman rubbed a necklace of these stones briskly

between his hands, and put it around Orondo’s neck. For the first

half-hour the fever increased, and then Orondo raved incessantly:

“Love denies dominion in my heart!... Not for thee, Orondo! She makes no

return!... A Brotherhood vow binds the soul!... No, no, no, poor man!...

Help him, All-Powerful One!”

The chief shaman put some water into hollow glass vessels formed like

double convex chromo-lenses, and hung them in the sunlight. These were

labeled according as they were yellow, blue, red, or violet-colored.

Later an attendant poured a few drops of aconite tincture into a blue

glass bowl, and, mixing it with some water from the blue chromo-lens,

gave Orondo some of it to drink. It was known that pure water under the

chemical action of the blue rays of sunlight was a cooling, soothing

nervine, and that it would greatly assist the bluish herb in reducing

inflammation and temperature.

While Orondo slept a silver chafing-dish was brought into the room, and

a decoction of dandelion was slowly simmered in water from the ambero,

or yellow lens. The remainder of the water was mixed with equal parts of

maguey spirits.

Induction belongs to the dominion of inanimate nature, to the magnetic,

or cold; while deduction is the ruling force of animation or heat. To

assist in producing reaction, the magnet already referred to, was

fastened to the body, or hot pole, and immersed in snow for a cold pole,

in order to oxygenize the blood.

During the sleeping hours this force worked steadily in conjunction with

other remedies, and when Orondo awoke in the afternoon, he was rational

and without fever. Noting his condition, the magnet was removed, and the

patient lifted once more into the hammock, where he was thoroughly

sponged with alcohol and water. After this, his throat, chest, and

shoulders were vigorously rubbed with warm olive oil, perfumed with

lavender. The odors of plants are antiseptic, and were much employed in

sick rooms by the ancients.

While the physicians were busy, the tamanes in attendance changed the

pallet and linen completely. Placing Orondo in it again and setting a

lavender spray in motion near the window, they retired to bring in a

lacquered tray of food. Freshly baked tortillas, young leeks, and

pickled olives, with salted almonds and dried figs formed the principal

part of the meal, while a dish of fresh cocoanut and oranges, sliced

together, served for dessert.

The tray and dishes had scarcely been removed before Setos came bustling

in. Sanitation was his hobby, and he was always urging the necessity for

legislation against disease, which he considered was the result of

criminal carelessness.

In Tlamco every bit of refuse was carefully collected and burned each

day. A large section of the water-front, where the prevailing winds

carried the smoke and odor well out to sea, was reserved for this

purpose. The flood-gates of the entire water system were opened during

certain hours of the night and all the waste canals cleansed thoroughly.

“By Him who is the breath of every living thing, tell me how affliction

befell thee?” asked Setos, sitting down on the bed near the foot and

searching Orondo’s face anxiously.

“By the only method possible,” answered Orondo. “Because I have violated

the laws of harmony.”

“This is bad, very bad! It gives less favored men an excuse to neglect

their bodies in an unwarrantable manner,” said Setos, warming up to his

favorite theme. “If we could only send out an army to teach the people

the possibilities of water, the difference between good and bad food,

the necessity for proper rest, the inexorableness of natural laws,

disease would become what it was intended to be—a brief, infrequent,

reparative process.”

He pursed up his lips and sniffed loudly in self-satisfaction. It was so

seldom that he had an opportunity to fittingly repeat this homily.

“I think that our laws are strictly and justly administered in this

respect,” ventured Orondo. “The advocates and healers are supported by

the state. Self-interest prompts the latter to report disease as they

find it. They know enough of law to name the penalty attached to

hereditary and contagious diseases. The advocates know enough of healing

to detect symptoms of forbidden maladies. It is a capital offense for

either party to conceal conditions of this kind. I do not see what more

can be done.”

Utter weariness closed Orondo’s eyes for a moment, and Setos refrained

from further speech.

“Let kindness of heart prompt thee to fill a pipe for me,” said the

patient, presently.

When it was handed to him, he said with a wan smile:

“Let us indulge our nerves with a harmless sedative as a step in the

right direction. I shall wait until thy bowl is filled.”

Setos hastened to comply, and after the first three whiffs, which were

always silent fire-offerings, said:

“Ildiko refuses to be comforted because of thy continued absence from

our house. She grieves for thy affliction, and sends her best thoughts.”

“Beauty and goodness are the crown of fair Ildiko. It is not possible

for me to do more than receive such flattering unction. I am indeed

undone,” he made answer, catching his breath painfully.

“The priestess Kerœcia, and her sweet maids are much concerned for thy

misfortune. Hanabusa has already been twice to hear if reason came back

to thee.”

“I pray thee leave me,” cried Orondo, piteously. “My heart!” he gasped,

as the chief shaman bent over him hurriedly, in response to Setos’s

call.

“All matters of importance must rest while this man regains control of

his better physique,” said the shaman, authoritatively. “It were cruel

to tax him at this time.”

“Nothing except friendly greeting passed between us,” declared Setos,

much exercised at the sudden bad turn apparent in Orondo.

“I will come again at nightfall,” he said.

“Be thou content with inquiry, only,” returned the shaman, still

frowning over the complete undoing of all his labor.

“The sun must be on the earth’s magnetic meridian before quiet will come

again to our patient,” said the chief shaman, as he prepared to go out

for an airing, after working over Orondo for one hour.

“The sun will not be below the horizon until the seventh marking of the

gnomon, and until that time we can only wait and watch,” he said, in

answer to Yermah’s anxious question. “Setos has injured his rest

greatly, but he has asked for thee more than once. If thou wilt exercise

caution, thou mayst go to him.”

“I understand Orondo,” replied Yermah. “I have stayed away because I

feared to excite him. I am glad that I may see him.”

Yermah came quietly and put his hand on Orondo’s head. He knew how to

still the throbbing, uncontrolled emotion dividing the sick man’s mental

and physical self. Without a word, he willed him peace, and after a time

Orondo opened his eyes and seemed to breathe easier.

“The Master of the Hidden Spheres, who causes the principles to arise,

give thee peace, Orondo.”

Orondo made no reply; his lips quivered and his eyes filled. Yermah took

both his hands, and, looking at him steadily, said:

“Part of thy burden falls upon me. I will share physical pain with

thee.”

Soon the veins in Yermah’s hands, and then those in his forehead, stood

out like whipcords. He experienced the same difficulty in breathing, the

same spasmodic action of the heart, as had Orondo. He sighed deeply, and

it was soon apparent that Orondo’s nervous tension was relieved. In the

silence which followed both were busy with the same thoughts.

“When does she go?” Orondo asked, finally.

“The day following to-morrow.”

“Hast thou seen her since?”

“Once only. I have not had speech with her.”

“Twice has she sent to ask after me.”

“Which newly affirms the gentleness of her nature.”

The situation was trying for Yermah, but he humored his companion, as he

saw that speech was a relief to him. He did not suspect Orondo of

knowing that he, too, loved Kerœcia.

“When strength comes again, I must consider the work before me,” said

Orondo, after an eloquent silence. “Duty lays a stern hand on both of

us.”

“The shamans will cause public complaint if I indulge thee in that

direction,” said Yermah. “A sharp reprimand rewarded Setos for his

effort in that line.”

“Setos said nothing to me of that matter,” said Orondo, in surprise.

“But he said that to thee which taxed thy powers of control, and for

this reason he is forbidden to see thee again, to-day. Dost thou wish me

to have a similar experience?”

“The shamans will see that thou hast greatly aided me,” said Orondo, as

the chief shaman came to his bedside accompanied by Akaza.

“The twilight hour approaches, and I have come to worship with thee,”

said the hierophant, making the sign of benediction over Orondo. Turning

to Yermah, he said:

“The Father of the Beginnings have thee in safe keeping.”

“The same rich blessing follow thee,” responded Yermah, as he took

leave.

The principle of Life is alchemical. The chemical elements must be

absorbed in order to give health. As making alchemical gold was really

finding the Perfect Way, so the elixir of life is the proper use of the

astral light composing the photosphere surrounding our physical bodies.

When the astral body is charged with oil, and the physical body is well

supplied with electricity, the secret of magnetism is revealed. The

gypsies are the only people who have preserved the knowledge necessary

to produce this peculiar chemicalization.

The arrow shot by Orion, William Tell and others, is Thought, the

Sagitur; the same as Heracles shot at Helios. The ability of the

individual to project thought determines the possession of occult power.

This force is gained by harmonizing the physical, mental and spiritual

attributes, so that thought may function from any one of these planes.

In other words, it is to have complete possession of all these

faculties.

To project thought, is literally hitting the bull’s eye, as Orion did

when he killed Taurus—the astronomical aspect of the world-old battle

between the higher and the lower self.

The liberty which the original William Tell sought to achieve was not

political, but a victory over his own lower nature—a battle which the

men and women of Tlamco fought out in every phase.

“The water-holding capacity of the nerve-cells is much impaired,” said

the chief shaman to his assistants, when giving directions for the

night. “Nervous irritability follows. Sleep will be light and

infrequent. Watch beside him. At every third marking let him sip

liberally from the ambero lens. Between times, give him drink from the

purpuro flagon.”

In company with Akaza, he left Iaqua.

It was as the chief shaman had predicted. Orondo failed to find

refreshment in troubled sleep, so that the gray, foggy morning found him

correspondingly wearied and depressed. Symptoms of pleuro-pneumonia were

clearly established, and for three days he had a hard fight for life.

Finally, when well enough to dress himself, he resolutely put on the

same clothes he had used such care in selecting for his memorable visit

to Kerœcia. It tried him severely to reinvest himself with them, but

this was in keeping with his stern resolution to crush out useless

regret. He wisely concluded that the easiest way out of it was to

accustom himself to the same routine as before. He must not yield to

such weakness as to shrink from inanimate things which were associated

with her memory.

Some carefully pressed blossoms of flax, fragile, delicate, little

blue-cups, dedicated in thought to his love, were the only mementos he

kept. These he hid away in an ivory dice-box given him by Ben Hu Barabe

on taking leave.

Orondo had managed to listen to the words of greeting and farewell from

Kerœcia, and had responded thereto manfully. What the effort cost him

may be inferred from the fact that he kept his room closely for the week

following, refusing to see any one save the tamanes who served him.

When he came again among his fellows, there was a stern, set look on his

face, which was accentuated by the sunken eyes and sharpened

cheek-bones, but there was no alteration in his manner of life. He began

preparation for immediate departure.

Yermah lived in a rose-colored world of his own creation. He made pretty

speeches to imaginary women, and never even in sleep lost the

consciousness of Kerœcia’s presence. In his audience chamber during the

day, he granted requests for her. His decisions were all for her

benefit, and the directions for various public works were delivered as

he fondly imagined he would do if she were present. Several times in

affixing his signature to documents he came near to writing her name.

Yermah was singularly absent-minded, with all his amiability and

politeness. He went among his pets with the air of a lover, and was

entirely oblivious to the screech of the parrots and monkeys in and

around the stables. He got on famously with Cibolo; and if the horse had

understood him, he would have made a clean breast of the situation.

It would have been such a relief to talk about her.

The Dorado usually had dressed well, as became a man of his station; but

now he was fussy and particular to a noticeable degree. He taxed

Alcamayn’s ingenuity to the utmost in devising suitable gifts for

Kerœcia and her attendants, and insisted upon superintending the

enameling of the medallion-shaped mirror which he was to present to the

priestess. The bits of blue, green, and black enamel must be as shiny

and lustrous as the gems they surrounded, and the burnished gold rim and

handle must be as fine as the skill of his workmen could make it.

This exchange of mirrors was a pretty compliment among the rulers of

olden times—for by this flattering method each was assured of the

faithful remembrance of the other. They had but to look into the mirror

to discover the subject of the other’s thought—at least in theory.

An oval of burnished bronze, framed in silver filigree, enameled with

black and white, and set with turquoise, coral, moonstones, and

amethysts was the regulation gift from Kerœcia. It was mannish enough to

suit the requirements, but it was too formal to express her feelings.

She made a strawberry of red cloth, and with fine brown floss

dexterously worked in the seed specks. It was filled with fine sand and

grains of musk. The little cup was cleverly imitated by green cloth, and

the berry was fastened by a tiny eyelet to a piece of narrow red cord.

Consideration for Orondo, constrained Yermah’s impatience to seek

Kerœcia immediately, and the preparations for her departure were of such

public character that he had no further opportunity of seeing her alone,

until his chariot stood before the door of Setos’s house, waiting for

her.

Cibolo and his three companions tugged hard at their bridles, as a

consequence of ten days’ idleness. They would have enjoyed kicking up

their heels and running like the wind, especially when music, noise and

confusion gave such warrant; but Yermah kept a vise-like grip on them,

quieting them by a word now and then.

Kerœcia’s pride found complete satisfaction in his excellent

horsemanship. There were no gloves on his strong, white hands, wound up

in the reins, but the wrists were as firm and hard as steel. It was a

master-hand that held the lines, and she was not in the least distressed

or alarmed when the horses reared and plunged and stood on their hind

feet.

The couple were nearing the round-house on the upper limit of the canal,

and Yermah’s face was set and pale. He had suddenly forgotten all the

pretty speeches he had intended to make. Finally, when there was not a

minute to spare, he turned to Kerœcia with an agonized expression and

tried to speak. His lips moved, but no sound escaped them, as they

fashioned the words: “I love thee!”

That was all he could remember to say, and he was dismayed when he

realized that his voice had failed him.

His eyes swam, and he instinctively clutched at his heart as he swayed

from side to side.

Kerœcia moved nearer to him helpfully, and with a smile of infinite

tenderness slipped her hand into his. For a moment he did not return its

pressure; then it seemed to nestle close to his palm, and, with a

caressing touch, left something in his grasp when it was withdrawn. When

he opened his hand he found the little strawberry.

“With all my heart,” she said in a whisper. He kissed the keepsake

rapturously, and slipped it into a fold of his tunic in time to assist

her to alight from the chariot. Etiquette forbade his accompanying her

farther.

With straining eyes he stood watching and waving his hand to her, until

the balsas put into the bay.