CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“When from the shores

And forest-nestling mountains came a voice

That, solemn sounding, bids the world prepare!”

The sphinx, one of the first symbols known to man, demands that we solve

its riddle—which is Life, not Death. The Egyptian sphinxes with their

human heads face the West. The mastodon-headed sphinxes of Mexico face

the East. Will future research unearth the evidence necessary to locate

the sunken Atlantis lying between these two avenues of sphinxes, and

thus reveal the origin of man? Did the primitive races evolve similar

civilization separately, or were they all from one source? Perhaps the

answer to this, is the solution of the enigma.

Akaza, meaning “God within thee” was the hierophant, prophet and

high-priest of the Brotherhood of the White Star, which had its origin

in Atlantis. His was an equilibrated, evenly balanced mind and nature.

As an initiate he knew all that transpired on the subjective as well as

on the positive planes of consciousness. He was always a disturbing

element on the shallow, false and artificial side of life. He cared

nothing for consequences. A natural wanderer on the face of the earth,

Akaza was in his element when it came time for him to lead Yermah’s band

away from the doomed island.

Akaza was waiting for Yermah this Monday morning, or Moon’s day. He

stood at the entrance of a cave extending well back under Sutro Heights.

It was called Ingharep at that time, and marked the orbit of Uranus—from

the center of Tlamco—the planet which was correlated to Akaza’s life.

In the time of our story the water’s edge did not extend inside Seal

Rocks. A careful inspection at low tide to-day will lead to the

discovery of the cave still tunneled back under the Cliff House

foundation.

The Indians never fail to locate a cavern. Where one is suspected, they

wait until after sunset on a windy day. Then they lie down over the

supposed cave, and with an ear pressed close to the ground, listen

attentively for the roar, such as is heard in a sea-shell. If once this

roar is heard, they refuse to search further, experience teaching them

that they have found the right spot. Such was the method employed in

discovering Ingharep.

Akaza, the hierophant, was an interesting part of the picture as he

stood at the mouth of this cavern. The white robe which he wore was made

of paca wool, stiff and lustrous as silk, but thick and warm. It was

embroidered with five-pointed and six-pointed silver stars, having

diamonds in the center. On his thumb was a silver signet-ring. He wore

bracelets of the same metal. At his waist was a sash of yellow silk,

with double-key pattern outlined in silver. Over his shoulders was a

purple cloth mantle, trimmed with a coarse blue tracery in lace pattern.

The mouth of the cave faced due west, thus enabling Akaza to see the

last glimmerings of daylight go out as the sun dropped, apparently, into

the ocean or was swallowed up in the vaporous clouds or fog-banks each

day. For many months Akaza had watched this process, and, since his

return from the Yo-Semite, he had busied himself incessantly with

astronomical calculations.

“Pause here a moment,” he said to Yermah, after a hearty greeting. “One

of the grandest symbols in nature stretches out before thee. Primordial

substance is always represented by water flowing out of naught, or

nothing.”

He pointed toward the wide Pacific and looked at Yermah with a rapt

expression. “As it flows, it gradually solidifies into mind, just as the

earth was molten and then became solid.”

Yermah stood inhaling the stiffening sea-breeze, and watching the waves

cresting shoreward in ceaseless motion.

“These waves scudding before the wind are exactly like our thoughts

driven to a given point by force of will. It is to give further

instruction on this matter of a fully controlled will that I have asked

thee to give me attention to-day,” continued the old man, as he led the

way into the cavern.

There were swinging lamps, and a wide, open fireplace, so constructed

that the smoke was emitted through a pointed-arch opening. With the

charcoal fire and the swinging lamps, the interior was made quite

comfortable. The stalactites, white and frosted, or discolored here and

there from natural causes, made the walls and ceilings beautiful. Where

an opening suggested partition, blankets, rugs and tapestries had been

hung, and over the sanded floor were rush and grass mats in profusion.

Around to the north, where the rocks still stand, the seals barked and

roared as they do now, while the same species of birds came and went.

An ingeniously arranged partial closing of heavy boards screened the

occupants from the wind, but did not exclude the sunlight and fresh air.

“This eight-spoked wheel represents the life of an initiate,” said

Akaza.

A round inlaid ivory wheel, supported by a porcelain tripod, was

indicated. On its outer edge were the signs of the zodiac, chased in

black, with a mother-of-pearl inlaying to indicate the spokes. A

rough-edged parchment lay in the center, and Yermah’s quick eye saw that

it was an orrery question, pertaining to Atlantis, drawn in colors.

“We are not to examine the horoscope at present,” explained Akaza,

following Yermah’s gaze. “I brought thee in here to make sure of fire

and the needs of the inner man. Now that they are secure, we shall

devote the morning to the beach.”

He occupied himself for a few moments with the baskets of food, done up

with paper napery, ready for the ever-present chafing-dish and samovar.

He banked the fire so that it would smolder without dying out, and then

the two men went slowly toward the beach where old ocean came in

uproariously, and sullenly ground its white teeth on the sands.

Yermah considerately took the ocean side, so as to protect Akaza as much

as possible from the cool wind. He drew a thin, bony hand up under his

cloak and clasped it close to his side with the upper arm.

They were an interesting study—these two men. One the perfect embodiment

of physical health and strength; the other, feeble in body, but a

veritable giant of spiritual force.

The one man stood absolutely apart from temporal things; the other was

just beginning to live on the sensuous, or material plane. As they

walked they left odd-looking wet tracks behind them.

“Thou knowest already,” said Akaza, “that thou hast successfully

performed seven of the great labors in the self-development of Osiris.

Now thou standest face to face with that which hinders; and it is

necessary that I should explain to thee the purport of this eighth

labor.”

“Is there something about it which I do not understand?” asked Yermah,

in a surprised tone. “I have but to find the treasure hidden in the

rocks, and then I am ready to return home. I have learned to fashion the

gold which is to tip the spires of my temple, and when this is done I

shall demand release from my vow. As soon as the Brotherhood receives

me, I am free.” Then, with a slight hesitation in manner and speech—“I

have already decided what I shall do with my freedom.”

While he was speaking, Akaza moved and breathed like a person in pain.

“What I must explain to thee is the duality of thine own nature,” he

went on, turning sadly toward Yermah, “the dual aspect of the labor thou

hast already performed, and what thou must do in the future. First,

then, Osiris is thyself—the I-am-I principle within thee, which is the

same first, last, and all the time. Thy labor is the finding of the

Perfect Way. Love is the consummation, and Wisdom is the way.”

“What wouldst thou have me do?” asked Yermah, eagerly.

“First, I would have thee realize the transitory nature of life, and its

desires, not on the intellectual plane, but as a fact in nature. The

body, scientifically considered, is not the same through the whole life.

Neither does the mind remain the same. Man’s ability to look at his own

desires and feelings impersonally is the beginning of Wisdom. No man can

extricate himself from the result of his own deeds.”

“Give me to know this mystery.”

“To bind the sweet influence of the Pleiades is the opposite of loosing

the belt of Orion,” answered Akaza.

“It has not been granted me to know the significance of either,”

responded Yermah, humbly.

“Alcyone, the central sun around which the spiral galaxy of the

firmament encompassed in the Milky Way, and all the stars, suns and

planets included in that circle, are revolving in the only one of the

seven sisters whose love is mortal. From out that center issues evermore

a ray of the divine creative spirit, coalescing into the life of animate

nature here.

“The adept gathers the component parts of that incomprehensible

being—man—to his divine center,” Akaza continued. “He wills them into

the being of another, and that other becomes the mother of a son, given

from the depths of space. Such a son art thou, Yermah.”

“And thou art in very truth my father?” asked Yermah, wonderingly.

“Yes. For this cause am I in the flesh, and for this, also, must I

remain in the body, until thou art restored to the Brotherhood. I am the

hierophant, the second in power in our order. So it was granted to me to

create an entity which should rule the future as Atlantis rules the

present.”

“Tell me all of my beginning. How and why this should be. Thou wert an

old man when I was born; and thou art a vowed celibate?”

“Swear by Him who made us that thou wilt not reveal what I am about to

unfold.”

He held up a six-pointed diamond star which blazed on his bosom for the

Dorado to kiss, as they stood facing each other. As Yermah’s lips

touched the center, he turned to the east, and, with both hands clasped

over his head, said solemnly:

“I swear.”

“A priest of our order, under the same tutelage as Orondo, was thy

literal father, while thy mother was a vestal selected from the Temple

of Venus. Thy great-grandfather, grandfather and father were of the

priesthood, and their wives were selected vestals. To the prophet,

hierophant and high-priest was the divine self confided, and we were

pledged to produce a ruler for this generation. We willed the conditions

which gave thee birth and I must share thy joys and sorrows until such

time as the Brotherhood releases me.”

“Then I am not of royal lineage—am not the son of Poseidon, Servitor of

Atlantis?” There was pain and disappointment in Yermah’s voice.

“Thou art royal in the highest and best sense. Thou art immaculately

conceived, as is the sun by the cosmic virgin, when he has been standing

still in Capricornus. It is said everywhere that a dewdrop fell on thy

virgin mother’s bosom, as she lay asleep in a sacred grove. Such was thy

beginning.”

“Then he to whom I have rendered obedience is not in any sense my

father?”

“No. Thou art a veritable sun-god, destined to be thrice born in this

life.”

“Oh! Akaza, why speakest thou in riddles? Thrice born, indeed! How is it

possible without death and rebirth?”

Akaza smiled at his impatience.

“I charged thee in the beginning to remember that there is a dual

meaning to all labors that a candidate for the initiation must perform.

Thou hast already had two births in this body, and art facing the

third.”

Yermah could not conceal his astonishment.

“The first birth was at twelve years and six months, when the sex

principle began to assert itself. This acme of sensuous existence

culminates at twenty-five years, when intellect has its birth and the

mind becomes capable of reasoning. Before that time sensation and

instinct have served for individual thought. The new rate of vibration

set in motion at the birth of desire is the beginning of discord in the

personality. Many times before intellect can assert itself the impetus

for a plunge to the downward spiral is overwhelmingly strong.”

“What, then, befalls the divine self?”

“On the material plane it is the brutalizing process which prevents the

divine self from contacting the physical. When this happens the man has

really lost his soul. Saturn is the planet correlated to the finding of

the Perfect Way. It is the mill of the gods, which grinds out the

imperfections of human nature. The three phases of immaculate conception

are closely allied to the three re-births which take place in the

physical man.”

“Eagerness to master this hidden knowledge proves the quality of

fellowship,” said Yermah, anxious that Akaza should go fully into

details.

“The twelve markings of the zodiac contain the arcane wisdom of our

order.”

Before Yermah could frame a suitable answer to fit in the pause, Akaza

continued:

“The Ineffable One is a trinity of Necessity, Freedom and Love. An ideal

is the result of necessity, and all our ideal conceptions are the

outcome of our absolute need. It is in the achievement of freedom that

the divine within us labors, and on this is based love. Life is the

great vineyard of the father, and all his children must toil in it until

the end. When in the process of regeneration man is so far perfected as

to see the mysterious beauty of his being, he knows that the trials and

labors imposed upon him by the laws of cause and effect are at once a

necessity and a blessing, and he will no longer seek to escape them.

“There is constant warfare between Desire and Intelligence,” the

hierophant continued. “Why must thou struggle to overcome? Because the

only difference between an imbecile and a genius is the ability of the

spirit or divine self to function on the physical plane of the genius

and its utter inability to influence the fool. Thine own conduct in this

life determines which of these extremes thou wilt become in the next.

Atavism and heredity intensify these tendencies; so does the influence

of the planets. But neither the one nor the other can produce them. Thou

must do this by the exercise of will power. The union of desire and mind

forms the personality. Each attribute is triple—active, passive and

equilibrated.”

After a slight pause, Akaza went on:

“Thou must wield each triad into a unity. This is real initiation—the

consummation of perfect harmony. Thou hast long since gone beyond the

reach of impure thoughts emanating from the five sub-human orders of

creation. When impure characteristics are removed the first labor is

performed. Thy studies and all knowledge received is the second labor,

because it prepared thee for esoteric science.

“The power of thought,” continued Akaza, “if rightly used, enables a man

to transcend creation. Misused, it will cause him to retrograde into the

condition where self is the great object of existence, and the appetites

of the body are the only deities to whom he sacrifices. For such beings

the uprisings of knowledge (the wiles of Circe) glitter with fascinating

light, because further knowledge will enable them to minister to their

desires. This, my son, is a dangerous situation for an immortal soul.

What was intended as a blessing becomes a curse.”

“Have I transgressed in this respect?”

“No. Thou art safe on that point.”

Knowledge is Circe in Greek—Serket in Egyptian. It is the enchantress,

whose realm may be enjoyed by those who know the herb “Moly.” This word

comes from the same root as the Latin Molo, and the Swedish Mjoll, to

grind, indicating the process of grinding out human passions. It gives

the Norse Mjolner, the hammer of Thor, or Will.

The same meaning is implied in the weapon used by Kanza in killing the

infants of Desire.

“The abuse of this quality is what brings trouble to our countrymen,”

said Akaza. “Atlantis is a hotbed of black magic; that is, inverted

wisdom. And they must suffer for it. Setos and Rahula are the only

devotees of this school we have with us.”

“Why didst thou bring them?”

“It was necessary—for thy sake—my beloved. In the performance of the

third labor the first hour of the day begins; the two preceding labors

being only the dawn of partial wisdom. As knowledge is the fruition of

Will—the principle of the second hour of dawn—so Love is the purpose of

the Divine Creator. This purpose must subdue its antithesis—the lust for

material power and gain.”

“If the material body is not kept in a healthy condition, the spirit and

the soul cannot be perfected,” continued Akaza.

“This is not a fault of mine,” returned Yermah, with a touch of pride.

“Thou hast guarded the temple well. The sun never shone on a more

perfect physical type. The fifth labor,” the hierophant went on, “is

equilibrated Will—the caduceus which our order carries and uses as a

wand. It is a spear in the hands of an adept, who compels all secrets

and who knows all things. It can be developed only by temperance and

moderation. It is an unlimited power for good or evil which thou holdest

in thy possession. In thy body it is the solar plexus or brain of the

stomach. The twelve plexi around it are the full gamut of physical and

spiritual desire. Here thou couldst use thy knowledge with great harm to

thy fellows, and more to thyself.”

“But why should I?”

“For no reason, unless it be to gratify some wish lying near thy heart.

We neither act nor speak, much less decide a question concerning

ourselves, except we have a motive.”

“My motive is simple enough. Thou hast told me that love is the first

triad. I love with all my heart.”

“No need of words to assure me of this. I have foreseen it from the

first.”

“And thou hast not opposed me? Then thou wilt favor it?” The Dorado was

as impulsive as a boy.

“I will not oppose it. The great secret of initiation lies in the

magnetic warmth of love. It is a threefold principle, the lowest phase

of which is sex love. This is the poetry of sensation. It pertains to

the material nature, and is therefore impermanent.”

“Oh, Akaza! How canst thou say that my love for Kerœcia will pass away.

I feel that it never can.”

“In the sense of feeling, it certainly will not endure. But this phase

of love has three parts. We reach divinity on its upper plane, because

it becomes transmuted from animal desire to a soul influx. This will

come as a benediction to sweeten the very fountain-head of thy

individuality.”

“Then I was right in claiming mine own. I have not broken my vow, even

in thought,” responded Yermah hopefully.

“But thou wilt. In so much as thou wilt imperil immortality thou must

suffer. Be of good cheer. Whatever pain may come will soon pass. Nothing

of the real love and union between thee will ever cease to be.”

“The seventh labor,” Akaza continued, after a thoughtful pause, “is the

slaying of the vampire of procrastination—the temptation to halt in the

path of duty. Thou wilt naturally think thy work completed when thou art

allowed to return to Atlantis.”

“Why not?”

“Thou wilt not return to Poseidon’s kingdom for many days. Atlantis is

doomed.”

“Akaza, what art thou saying?” In his excitement Yermah shook the

hierophant’s arm vigorously.

“Thou art forbidden to give to others what thou hast learned. The world

needs thee more than thou canst imagine. Thou art now facing the eighth

labor of initiation.”

“I know this. But is it not true that I shall tip the spires of the

temple building? Must I not do this with mine own hands?”

“Thou must subjugate all internal and external hindrances first.”

“What is that, if not what I have already mentioned? Was it not so from

the beginning? In each colony visited have I not obeyed the laws? This

year finishes my sojourn away from Atlantis. Thou wilt remember that I

am to have my wish when the last labor has been completed.”

“So thou shalt.”

“Then I shall have Kerœcia for my wife, and live in peace.”

“Thou wilt neither espouse Kerœcia nor live in peace. Marriage to thee

is forbidden. Only the commonplace mortal is content to vegetate,

procreate and perish.” Then after a pause, he added: “Thine is not only

race condition, Yermah, but before thou wert born, the Brotherhood

decreed it for thee.”

“Thou—thou durst tell this to me, the future Servitor of Atlantis and

all her dependencies! Out upon thee and thy Brotherhood! I will not

submit to thy decrees! Thou—thou hast made me believe in thy love. Is

this the language of consideration? The Brotherhood demands all that I

value in life! Thou sayest that I have not failed so far. Be assured

that I shall succeed finally.”

“Thou hast already developed the feminine principle within thee and hast

assumed the flowing locks and robe, so that thy fellows may know thou

art fit to lead them. My personal tutorship goes no farther. Thy future

is distinctly in thine own hands, Yermah.” Akaza gave a soft reply, and

his rash hot-headed companion was mollified.

“Give thy tongue full license, Akaza. What does the Brotherhood require

of its fellows?” Yermah was still the master of Tlamco. His tone and

manner betrayed it.

“Absolute freedom must be achieved before the candidate can enter the

Gates of Light.” Akaza was quiet, but firm.

“Freedom from what?”

“From the enslavement of Desire. Man’s perverted love nature is the

great stumbling block.”

Yermah’s face was aflame in an instant. He was furiously angry. He

turned toward Akaza with a threatening gesture, while his resentment was

at flood tide. Then his arm fell aimlessly to his side. He realized that

it was shocking to quarrel with his preceptor—his spiritual father—the

man who had unselfishly followed him from one colony to another for the

past seven years.

The Dorado held his tongue, but with an impetuous fling of the cloak

over his shoulder, he abruptly left the hierophant.

They were on the beach opposite the present lifesaving station, and were

coming back to the cave. With swift, swinging strides Yermah turned

toward Tlamco, and was soon headed for the western gate of its walled

enclosure.

“I am not to make my love self-identifying,” he muttered savagely. “Am

I, then, to love my ideal without desire for possession? He asks what I

can not do. I should be no part of a man if I could submit like this!

No! A thousand times—no!—I have tasted the wine of life on her sweet

lips!—She shall claim a king’s ransom in return!—And this, he says, will

imperil my soul!—So be it!—This is what love means to me!”

There was that in Yermah which would brook no interference. Docility and

obedience, both his habit and inclination, were routed completely by the

whirlwind of resentment having control of him. Self made a strong rally,

and, for a time, he was intoxicated with the idea of defying Akaza. He

gloried in his ability to think and to act for himself. It was _his_

happiness, _his_ love, and in the future he would do as he pleased. This

was instinct deeper than reason; not conscious lust nor sensuality—for

he mentally idealized Kerœcia.

This quality was the same which arouses an animal similarly thwarted to

the highest pitch of ferocity. Passion, heretofore a latent force

strengthening and sweetening his whole nature, now suddenly flared into

tempestuous activity on its own account. Opposition at this juncture

would have rendered Yermah capable of murder.

The line of demarcation between the virgin mind and partial realization

was forever obliterated. Yermah knew desire. And its demands were all

the more urgent because of long-delayed expression.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE VIRGIN EARTH WILL NOT SUBMIT TO MAN’S DEFILEMENT

Akaza tottered along the shore, shaken and agonized by Yermah’s anger.

The wind tangled his thin locks, and played sad pranks with the mantle

enveloping his body. Sometimes it seemed bent on snapping him in two,

and then it almost whipped the life out of him—that life tenure which

was feeble and old even when Yermah’s generation began.

The tears streamed down his withered cheeks and dripped unheeded from

the snow-white beard. His breathing was labored and hard when he arrived

at the entrance to the cave, and his slight frame shook with emotion as

he turned toward the broad Pacific, seeking to calm his agitation.

He stretched out his hands imploringly to the vast deep spread out

before him, as the waves, with a sullen roar, dashed their spray over

the rocks at his feet.

“Great God!” he cried in a stricken voice, “My heart bleeds for Yermah.

The rays of the sun should make a halo around his dear head.—How hard

that there is no real strength except that born of suffering—no enduring

experience except it be seared into the heart’s core!—I have tried not

to attach myself to results; but how can I help it?—Oh, Amrah! I shall

not fail thee! Amenti, thou canst trust me! My oath binds me for all

time. This body may succumb in the trial, but I will deliver this trust

back to thee as thou art expecting to receive it!—Give me strength to

stand by helplessly while Yermah suffers! Oh, Brotherhood, give me the

strength to endure!”

He sank down upon a rock from sheer exhaustion and was silent.

For a time there was no sign of life in the bent motionless figure

peering far out into space, as if he were seeing the visioned future.

“Oh, woman!” he cried, “Divine part of creative wisdom!—Incarnation of

man’s ideal of spiritual perfection! When will man recognize in thee the

means of reorganizing the world, and place thee on the pedestal of his

intellectual greatness! When will he cease to crucify thee on the

diverse and conflicting polarity of his passional will? Woman lies a

crushed and soiled lily; while man, the victim of vengeance to the

powers of nature, wanders a fugitive on the earth, chained to the hell

of his depraved imagination—The Great Spirit of Light and Wisdom is to

him a tormenting fiend!”

After a time, Akaza went into the cave. The fire had warmed the

interior, and the lamps shed a softened glow, which was comforting to

the weary old man.

He was hungry, but the food seemed almost to choke him. It had pleased

his fancy to have Yermah break bread and eat salt with him in this

hidden retreat. In his weakness, he was sorely disappointed, and it cost

him an effort to refrain from whimpering childishly.

Akaza awoke with a sudden start from a troubled sleep. It was with

difficulty that he made his way to the mouth of the cavern and saw that

the sun was hopelessly obscured by what appeared to be a heavy fog. He

went back and threw himself down on the cushions and rugs where he had

been sleeping, and there he would wait patiently until the time of

sunset. If it were possible to get a glimpse of the Lord of Day at that

hour, he would go back to the Temple of Neptune, where he lived.

Later, when Akaza was removing the temporary shutters at the entrance to

the cave, a gust of wind blew the raindrops into his face. He knew at a

glance that it would be a stormy night. The wind was rising, and the

lowering, black clouds gave promise of a heavy downpour.

The sun crosses the earth’s magnetic meridian twice every twenty-four

hours—once at sunrise, and again at sunset.

Akaza made three obeisances toward the west and stood motionless,

drinking in the sweet influences of the sunset hour. His lips moved in

silent prayer. For several minutes he communed with the subjective

world, just coming into its waking activity. The physical world was

falling asleep, and with it went the agitating thoughts of the day.

He was renewing his spiritual vigor, listening to the Voice of the

Silence, holding converse with his own soul. As he took counsel of his

higher self, the bells of the Observatory tower in Tlamco sounded like a

silvery-tinkling sea-shell, faint but distinct to his clairaudient ear.

“Peace! peace! peace!” they seemed to say, while the lines of care

slowly relaxed, and the face of the devotee was as serene and calm as a

May morning.

The fireplace and entrance to the cave were so arranged that it was easy

to produce a draught; so, when Akaza renewed by meditation and prayer,

returned to the fire, the atmosphere surrounding him was fresh and pure.

He made the door fast and prepared to remain for the night, for it would

tax his physical strength too much to walk back to Tlamco in the storm.

As familiar objects outside seemed to be swallowed up in a black pit, he

drew a stool up beside the zodiacal wheel in the center of the

living-room, and by the light of a lowered lamp began to carefully

compare and compute the bearings of the planets and houses of the

horoscope before him. Presently he looked up and listened intently.

Could it be that he heard some one calling him? Was it an unseen entity,

or was it the wind shrieking through the crevices about the entrance?

Regaining his feet, he groped his way toward the sound. There could be

no mistake—it was near the door.

“Akaza! Akaza! Hear me! Open—open the door, I beseech thee!”

It was a human voice in dynamic utterance, which the roar of the ocean

nearly drowned, despite the efforts of the wind to hurl it through the

doorway.

Akaza hastened to comply with the request. Suddenly he stood face to

face with Yermah, shivering, wet and mud-stained.

“Oh, Akaza!” he cried, kneeling before the old man and kissing the hem

of his garment, “say that thou wilt forgive me! I can have no peace

until I am restored to thy favor.”

Akaza laid his hands upon the head that had been bared to the storm.

“Thou standest always in the shelter of my love, Yermah,” he said,

gently. “Offense were not possible from thy lips. Be no longer humble in

my presence.” He helped the Dorado to arise, and leading him toward the

fire, continued:

“Let genial warmth restore thy peace of mind. The elements have undone

thee.”

“Distemper vanished with reflection,” returned Yermah, anxiously, as he

drew off his wet mantle and threw it to one side, “but remorse tortured

me and drove me to thy feet, sad and repentant.”

Akaza patted him affectionately on the shoulder, and occupied himself

with the change of clothing he was improvising from his own garments. He

substituted a purple robe for the water-soaked tunic, gave Yermah

sandals, and finally wrapped his own cloak around him.

“Thy attendants, Yermah? It were not well to leave them to the mercies

of air and water lashed to fury.”

“None saw me leave Iaqua. Neither man nor beast shall suffer because of

my misdeeds,” said the Dorado. “It has taken all this time to find my

way. The dying day left me resolved.”

“Thy spirit called to mine at that hour,” said Akaza with a glad smile.

“I felt it then.”

“And wilt thou have me for thy companion for the night?” questioned

Yermah, happy in the restoration of harmony between them.

“That were the wish nearest my heart,” said Akaza, pouring hot water

into a silver cup, into which he had already measured some spirits of

maguey, some spices, and a bit of lemon.

“Sweeten as thy appetite dictates,” he continued, as he handed the cup

to his visitor. “And may the Father of All Mysteries attend thy ventures

in the future.”

Yermah arranged his disordered locks, and then nestled down beside Akaza

in a caressing boyish fashion. It was plain that he had something on his

mind. Finally, with considerable hesitation, he broke the silence by

asking:

“Will the unbridled license of my tongue to-day count against me with

the Brotherhood?”

His open countenance clearly showed what he feared.

“Only emotional natures make acceptable bearers of the Light,” responded

Akaza. “A mean, starved love nature is never an acceptable sacrifice,

nor can such an one be an ideal for other men.”

A troubled, hunted look overspread Akaza’s face, but Yermah’s gaze was

bent on the horoscope, under the full glare of the lamp, and he did not

notice it. He sighed contentedly when Akaza finished speaking, and for

several minutes he tried to discern the meaning of the map.

“The portent of thy words concerning our fatherland lingers with me. Was

it thy purpose to share thy knowledge with me?”

He looked up with a winning smile, and caught Akaza’s eyes fixed upon

him in undisguised admiration. The lamplight brought out the sheen of

his yellow hair, lying damp and wavy upon his shoulders, and the pointed

beard was short enough to show his muscular white throat where the

purple robe fell away, minus its jeweled gorget. A strawberry cleverly

imitated in enamel, suspended from a gold chain around his neck had

slipped out from the folds of his robe and dangled toward the table at

which both were seated. Akaza pointed to it with a smile. He

instinctively refrained from touching it, thinking it might be a

cherished memento. As it lay on the palm of Yermah’s hand, he took note

of the inscription: _With all my heart._

Yermah saw it too, and pressing the words to his lips, slipped the

trinket into his bosom.

“Now,” said Akaza, mindful of the movement, “lend thy attention, and I

shall tell thee what the stars indicate is in store for our beloved

country. First, let me make plain the signification of these figures,”

he continued, using the ivory caduceus as a pointer.

“The great band, or circle, of the zodiac represents the circumference

of the universe, which contains the essence of creation. It is the

cosmic egg, holding the germ within itself. The center of the zodiacal

ring is the sun, the former representing the casket, the latter the

jewel.

“So is it with the physical form,” continued the hierophant. “It is not

the mind, but that which contains it. Suppose we consider the motion of

this dot within the circle when Desire has energized its movement. First

a ray will shoot out in one direction, and another in an opposite

direction, forming four angles constituting the four elements—hydrogen,

oxygen, carbon, nitrogen.”

As Akaza spoke he rapidly sketched a swastika, the revolving cross, and

then he drew a small circle, a crescent, or half-circle and a Maltese

cross.

“These three factors represent spirit, soul and body,—or sun, moon and

earth. In the circle we have spirit active; in the cross, latent. This

is involution and evolution, pure and simple. The circle is the builder

of new forms, the half-circle is the preserver, and the cross is the

destroyer.”

Memphis, in Egypt, was the builder of a new civilization, receiving its

impetus from the immigration and settlement of a band of white magicians

from Atlantis, under the leadership of Amrah, the prophet of the

hierarchy to which Akaza was attached.

The Llama City on the banks of the Brahmaputra River, in the fastnesses

of the Himalaya Mountains, in Thibet, where none of the modern races

have penetrated, was the preserver of arcane wisdom; while Tlamco under

Akaza, represented the section of the earth which was to be destroyed.

Akaza was the hierophant of the triad, and Kadmon was the patriarch

whose faithful followers were to carry the light to India.

“We shall represent Desire, Force and Energy by placing the cross over

the circle,” said Akaza still illustrating with a fragment of burned

camphor and the pointed caduceus.

What he drew was the present symbol of the planet Mars.

“Here we have spirit pushing on toward manifestation, producing

Experience—the supreme teacher. The negative is over the positive, and

this gives us both construction and destruction. Let us destroy it—place

the cross under the circle—and we have a true symbol of Love. Spirit has

forced its way through matter, and it has become one with itself.”

He turned to Yermah and took both his hands in his own. Looking at him

earnestly, Akaza said:

“Never forget what I am saying to thee now. _Until love has entered our

hearts_, we are not in touch with anything in nature. Love is the soul;

and until we feel its sweet influences in our lives, we go on seeking

fresh experiences on the cross of discord. Love produces harmony. Desire

produces discord. The sun represents the planet which sheds these

influences, and therefore stands for Power. This is the golden bowl, the

essence of Life itself. The cross and the circle are the hieroglyphs of

our spiritual nature.”

Akaza’s look became abstracted and intense, and he mechanically pushed

his hair up from his forehead.

“I see by a glance into the future that these symbols will become the

phallic emblems of sex-worship, which will touch the lowest rung of the

downward spiral. Woman is destined to suffer much on this account, and

from another event which is close at hand.”

“Thou hast made plain the creative phase,” said Yermah, after a pause,

wishing to bring Akaza back to the subject in hand.

“Let us concern ourselves with the mind, whose dual phases are shown by

the half-circle. If we place the cross over the half-circle we have the

Tempter of humanity, because this exalts matter over mind. It is the

great centralizing of self.

“Every one must pass these limitations and meet the Great Judge,” the

hierophant continued, “and He, in the heavens, guards Himself with

triple rings. No spirit goes through the Gates of Light into His

presence except he be well weighed in the balance of the seventh sign.”

“This is the same as initiation into the Brotherhood,” returned Yermah,

involuntarily.

“It is the planetary aspect of the labor thou art soon to perform.”

Akaza did not wish to go more into detail; so he hastened to say:

“If we place the half-circle over the cross, we have mind risen over

matter, and compassion is the result. Then we have learned the value of

mercy. The true spirit of devotion comes from the belted planet. It

abuses none who are struggling upward, but lends a helping hand to all.”

Seeing that Akaza laid down the caduceus and drew the horoscope closer

to him, Yermah said:

“Thou hast given the symbol of only six planets. Hast thou forgotten the

seventh?”

“No. That planet is made up of three factors combined; the circle is in

the center; the cross, below; and the half-circle, above. This is the

essence of wisdom. It is perfected manhood, and it flies through the

cosmos in search of the Infinite, whose messenger it is.”

Uranus and Neptune are octaves of Mercury and Venus, and belong to the

spiritual triad, Saturn being the first.

“Tell me of the duality of the spirit, soul and body?” asked Yermah, for

the first time making it plain that he was thinking over what had been

told him during the day.

“Spirit pure and simple is the Word which was in the Beginning. This has

three phases, motion and breath being the other two. The Ineffable

moved, breathed and spoke and the created universe, with all it

contains, was the result.”

He spoke with caution, lest he should usurp divine power.

“In mankind, it is quite impossible to define or describe that subtle

thing which is denoted by the word ‘spirituality,’” he continued, “the

goal toward which so many efforts, such fervent aspirations are

directed. Spirituality is something which differs from all these, an

essence strange and deep, not expressible in other terms than

itself—beyond mind, beyond thought, and, consequently, beyond speech. In

the ardor of our present pursuit, we forget the fact that the spiritual

can be used for evil no less than for good purposes. By failure to

discriminate between the spiritual in the service of the divine and the

same quality in the service of the dark powers, we may find ourselves at

a point where, to regain the true path, we must with pain and agony

retrace our steps and begin again.”

“And the soul?”

“Is mind in all its attributes. The animal soul, or vehicle of desire,

is dominated by the phases and aspects of the moon, Mars and Venus. This

is the psychic world. In the body we have the physical (or material) man

and the astral prototype. The material man lives as long as the spirit

functions through the psychic world into the astral body, which is a

part of the physical man.”

“In what way dost thou mean to say creative energy contacts the body?”

“The astral body is the medium; the psychic, the positive; and the

material, the negative polarity which attracts the magnetic current, or

spirit. When the astral and physical bodies separate, death, or the

loosing of the bands of Orion, in a physical sense, takes place.

“The life essence in the body,” the hierophant went on to explain, “is a

lateral pulsation, which grows shorter and shorter as the impetus giving

it motion in the beginning, is stilled. Its center is the solar plexus;

but the divine spark is released through the cardiac plexus, the

spiritual prototype of the solar.”

“What then becomes of the deathless spirit?”

“It returns to its native habitat in space, to assimilate the

experiences through which it has just passed. This act has its fitting

counterpart on the material plane. As the stomach digests the food it

receives, and as the mind assimilates the ideas it conceives, so the

divine self utilizes the experiences it gains. As the result of the

physical function is bodily health, and that of the mental process is

knowledge, so, also, the fruit of the spiritual operation is wisdom. To

acquire wisdom, then, is manifestly the prime purpose of human

existence.”

“Through what labyrinths we have to walk in order to find the Gates of

Light!” said Yermah, deeply interested. “Existence is like chaos at

first; and I begin to see that this is true on the three planes.”

“Certainly. Man has gone too far out in the life of the senses. It is

only in his sleep that he perceives the manifestations of spirit. The

true student must reëstablish the equilibrium of spirit and matter.

Thereby he will obtain the ability to discern which are physical

phenomena. He will perceive in the waking state such forms and

apparitions as he saw before in dreams, and rise to the viewpoint where

he realizes that physical forms are only the coarse and imperfect copies

of those higher spiritual pictures presenting themselves to his interior

senses.”

“Then our dreams are not without significance?”

“Their significance lies in the fact that they are the lowest state of

spiritual life. In them a man is obliged to tolerate in himself the

action of good and bad spiritual forces.”

Akaza arose, and picking up a small copper nut-oil lamp from a

shelf-like projection of stalactite near at hand, he lighted it and led

the way to a dim, shadowy cranny of the room.

Pausing before what appeared to be a pile of rush matting he handed the

lamp to Yermah and began removing the outer layers. As soon as the

rough-textured exterior was taken off, Yermah saw by the cloth wrappings

that it was a figure of some kind. It proved to be a colossal head of

diorite, a very hard variety of serpentine, or greenstone.

“This,” said Akaza, “is the head of Atlantis. It was contained in the

ark which we have carried with us so long in our journeyings.”

“But the eyes are closed, the nostrils plugged, the mouth covered with a

gag, and the ears padlocked. This is death!” cried Yermah, unable to

control his emotion, shocked and awed by the spectacle. “She can neither

tell her piteous story nor hear the supplications addressed to her.”

He examined the head closely, and saw that the countenance before him

was that of a dead person. There was the relaxation of the upper eyelids

which most forcefully expressed this idea. The head was covered with a

skull-cap of shells and lines representing water. On the crown of the

head was a rosette-like cap, with a button in the center.

There were four rows of these scallops. The skull-cap terminated at the

sides in ear padlocks, finished with triangular appendages like that

over the mouth. In each ear there was a massive bar of rounded metal

inclosed within a broad, strong clasp.[6]

“Look closely at the three plates on the cheeks. They are precisely

alike in form and lie over one another in the same way; so it is only

necessary to examine one side.”

“On the first disk,” said Yermah, “is a cross, with four dots within the

arms. The second one is blank, and the third has a peculiar vertical

slit, which looks as if it had some connection with the arrow-head

appendage—as if being slipped on to one of these, it could turn, and

thus open the padlock.”

Yermah tried to do what he said, but the cold, immovable stone soon

disabused his mind.

“Our prophet, now at Memphis, has the key to this mystery. But I know

its interpretation. Come and be comforted by warmth and light, and I

shall tell thee,” said Akaza, noting the shiver that involuntarily

followed Yermah’s ineffectual effort, and who was still much shaken when

he resumed his seat beside the table containing the zodiac and

horoscope.

“The earth’s photosphere is really the seven cosmic serpents which

enfold the planet in seven bands of race conditions. They have seven

eyes, or windows, of occult perception. One of these windows closes

every time there is a new race developed. Thou knowest that death in any

form is but a new birth. Therefore, when a new race is born its

predecessor dies, and the section of our globe inhabited by the dying

race is purified by water and fire.”

This is what prompts the Aryan race to arise periodically and go from

one part of the earth to the other. This impulse cast them out of

Central Asia and Africa, where the great deserts of Sahara and Gobi now

stretch their waste sands, where Assyrian plains are given over to

desolation, and also left the Colorado, Arizona, and Alta California

lying bleak and barren in company with the continent of Australia. This

is the purification by fire, while tidal waves and the ice ages purify

by water.

“The earth is a virgin,” continued Akaza, “and will not submit to the

defilement of man. The first eye was in the south; the second was

Lemuria, in the west; the third is Hyperboria, in the north, which is

still open. This will close when the white magicians come out of

Atlantis. Then its purification by water commences. The fourth window

Atlantis herself will close, when the fifth race is born. The races will

always reproduce themselves in a triad of ten each, divided into root,

sub, and family branches. This unfolding will cause much sorrow and

misery in the future. There will be for ages strong hatred between the

black, red, yellow and white men. They will wage war upon each other

unceasingly.”

“Since this is race destiny and cannot be avoided, of what use is the

sacrifice and effort of the Brotherhood? It does not seem to make

humanity either wiser or better.”

“Many an inquiring mind has thought the same, and many a time in future

must this question be answered. Know, then, that individual man is the

microcosm. He has within himself all the possibilities accorded to his

race, and his own life must move in the same cycle. Initiation teaches

him how to harmonize himself with these laws. The ten planets of the

solar system correspond to the labors decreed for finding the Way.

Astrology is simply the metaphysical aspect of astronomy. Before man

becomes an adept, he must undergo the ten trials. When he has done this

through three successive incarnations, he is allowed to personate the

attributes of divinity, and becomes a real savior of the world.”

“Is he permitted to check the course of race condition itself?”

“He does not check it. He crystallizes the idea dominating the race, and

transmutes it to higher planes. Under such conditions, what appears to

be defeat is really victory. But thou art to remember that these heroes

descend to the earth according to orderly periods of time. Frequently

through one man countless multitudes are affected. Think, then, how

important it is that a chosen one shall lead to the higher walks.

Remember also the duality of everything.”

Tradition preserves the widespread results of this teaching. It is found

first in the ten phases of the self-development of Ra, in the ten

avatars of Vishnu, in the ten labors of Hercules, the ten Sephiroth, the

ten Norse worlds, in the ten laws on the tablets of stone, wherever

given, in the knighthoods of the Holy Grail and Golden Fleece. It was

lost sight of when the age of chivalry passed. In geometry, it was

encircling the square; in chemistry, it was the making of alchemical

gold.

“The wise man rules his stars, the fool obeys them,” resumed Akaza, as

he lifted the horoscope, and displayed the Grand Man of the Cosmos,

figured in the center of the table by incised black lines on the ivory

surface. The numbers and signs of the ten planets were marked on the

left side. The numbers ran from top to bottom in succession, while the

signs began at the bottom and ran upward.

A wide, round crown, like the rings of Saturn, surrounded the head. It

emitted seven triangular rays, in the center of which was number one and

the signet of the Brotherhood.

“We are all here,” said Yermah, smiling, but showing surprise in finding

that the numbers and signs of the planets were marked in different parts

of the body, accompanied by his own and his comrades’ names. It was a

full-faced figure, and in the center of the forehead where the flowing

hair parted, was Akaza’s name, a figure two, and the sign of Uranus.

“This is a Karmic chart,” said Akaza. “I aim by it to supply

discriminative knowledge.”

“Over the heart thou hast the sign of Saturn, and the figure three with

Kerœcia’s name. What does this signify?”

“Kerœcia typifies the occult mysteries. Her mission is to guide the

world to love through chastening sorrows.”

“I am the crosier in the right hand,” exclaimed the Dorado, finding his

name, the sign of Jupiter, and a figure four in the right hand of the

drawing.

“Thou art Valor, and thy duty is to subdue the earth.”

“Orondo is the sword in the left hand. He has the sign of Mars and a

figure five beneath his name.”

“Yes. Orondo is destructive force. His fate decrees that he shall

disappear like illusory imagination.”

“Over the stomach is Ildiko’s name, the moon, and a figure six. Does

that mean that she has designs on Mars?” asked Yermah, jokingly.

“Whatever glamour she casts will be in vain. It will avail her nothing,”

responded Akaza, smiling, also. “Setos, thou seest, is the right knee.

His number is seven, and his planet the earth itself. Desire for pomp

and glory is his weakness.” Both men laughed heartily.

“Poor Setos,” said Yermah; “his vanity is prodigious.”

“Alcamayn is the left knee, marked number eight, and the planet Venus.

Saturn will exterminate him, as the desire for sensuous beauty is

destroyed by initiation. Over the generative organs is the sign Mercury

and a figure nine, with Rahula’s name, as thou seest. She is my

antipode,” said Akaza. “She is knowledge inverted, and what she

bequeaths to men will prove fatal to them.”

“Atlantis is under the feet, marked number ten, with our beloved

trident, and the cross and circle of love,” exclaimed the younger man

with enthusiasm.

As Akaza replaced the horoscope, he said:

“We have been studying three triads, represented by our fellows. The

upper one is thyself, Kerœcia and myself; the second, is Orondo, Ildiko

and Setos; while the third is Rahula, Alcamayn and Atlantis. Dost thou

understand the meaning of Azoth?”

“I fear to affirm knowledge of this, lest it have a hidden significance

which is unknown to me.”

“Azoth is the space between the luminaries and the earth. Heat and light

vibrate from the sun, but it must function through the photosphere of

the earth before it is visible to us. Dost thou know that between the

earth’s photosphere and the sun it is dark?”

“It appears to our eyesight as dark,” was the cautious answer. Akaza

smiled.

“Well then, know that this nonluminous medium (astral light) preserves

the imprint of things visible, and the aspect of the daily heavens is

reflected there. It is in this substance that the mother’s fancy or

cravings are transmitted and impressed upon the unborn child.

“The various atmospheric influences are conveyed through the same

medium. By the fact of birth a child enters into universal harmony of

the sidereal system. A net-work of light extends from sphere to sphere

and there is no point on any planet or star to which one of these

indestructible threads is not attached.[7]

“Men bear the seal of their planets on their foreheads, and especially

on their hands; animals, in their entire shape and characteristics;

plants, in their leaves and in their seeds; minerals, in their veins and

peculiarities of fractures.

“Infancy is dedicated to the sun; childhood, to the moon; the age of

puberty, to Mercury; youth, to Mars and Venus; mature years, to Jupiter;

and old age, to Saturn.”

The head of man is shaped on the model of the starry spheres. It

attracts and repels. It is this which is first formed, and appears in

the gestation of the infant. The head is affected in an absolute manner

by astral influences, and its diverse protuberances bear witness to the

variety of these attractions.

“‘All the misery of the world is written in the northern sky,’” quoted

Yermah, from a familiar saying. “But how fascinating is Nature’s book,

with its golden letters! It was a poetic mind truly which gave us the

science of astrology by tracing the lines from one star to another with

his mind’s eye.”

“Shooting-stars are like the soul of desire and the Divine-self

separated from our bodies. They always seek the center to recover

equilibrium and motion. The soul, corresponding to the folds of Azoth

(astral light) which surrounds and imprisons these meteors, must be

disentangled, in order that the spirit may escape from the impurities

still clinging to it. This is the _magnum opus_, or completed labor.”

Yermah moved a little nearer, to enable him to follow the direction of

the caduceus in Akaza’s hand. He saw that the horoscope was for Atlantis

in the near future.

“At the last vernal equinox the Lord of Day was about to leave the abode

of the Lion. He now stands between this house and that of the Virgin in

the celestial zodiac. In such aspect, he is approaching the fiery house

of the Scorpion. When he has gone twenty-five times in the first

lunation of cold and is still within two markings of the meridian,

Poseidon’s reign will terminate.”

“Dost thou mean that I am then to become an actual ruler?” was the first

question which came involuntarily to Yermah’s lips.

“Yes. The new moon at that time opens the way for the dispensation so

long foretold by our prophets. We are about to see the literal

interpretation of this revelation: ‘I will cause the sun to go down at

noon, and I will darken the earth in the clear day. The moon shall

change its laws, and not be seen at its proper period. Many chiefs among

the stars of authority shall err, perverting their ways and works.’

“The comet, now faint above the horizon, comes forward with terrific

force, and will cast its blight on Venus and Mars. Soon this portent

will be discerned in the heavens and then the people must prepare for

change.

“At the time of the full moon, Saturn rises in the first house, in

conjunction with the visitor—presaging a national calamity. The path of

the vagrant is such as to form conjunction with Venus, and, finally, to

reach the vicinity of Mars—the fiery planet which rules Poseidon’s land.

“This configuration shows that the rulers have prostituted their

authority, instead of leading men righteously by precept and example.

“The minds of all the people have become intensely evil, and they have

been given to all forms of wickedness.

“The cohesive strength of Mars which binds the land, is broken and

dispersed.

“At the new moon, seismic disturbances will be of continual occurrence;

and as Mars is in the watery sign, so there is war in the earth’s

interior between uncontrolled water and fire.”

“So,” said Yermah, “the elementals of earth, air, fire and water, that

have been in sore bondage under black masters, are to gather and blend

their forces to overthrow their former oppressors. So be it! Long hast

thou waited for this.”

“At the full moon, when she meets the opposition of the sun, these

forces culminate. Then the crest of angry waters, which the elements

have lashed into fury, sweeps grandly and majestically onward. The new

moon is formed while the luminaries are in opposition to Jupiter and

Neptune. This is but another indication of trouble in the country,

because Jupiter and Neptune are in the fourth house.”

Akaza indicated the places on the horoscope.

“Already this influence is beginning to be felt by Poseidon. He is

encouraging our people to perform imposing magical incantations

publicly. The first and second warnings were given when Ruta and Daitya

sank beneath the ocean ages ago, one after another, with a long

dispensation between. He should have known better than to trust the

temporary defeat of our Brotherhood. It was an unfortunate day for

Poseidon and Atlantis when the last remnant, led by the prophet, left

there.”

“The mid-heavens show Uranus and Mercury in conjunction—or they will be

so at the time midway between the new and the full moon,” said Yermah,

as he hastily calculated the positions in the tenth house.

“This is a further token of the strained mental attitude of the rulers,

who will make a frantic effort to retain their power. The exact

conjunction marks the complete overthrow of the magicians, and frees the

elemental slaves. The activity displayed by the physical world draws

each one back to its own particular element, and a righteous judgment

ensues.”

Akaza clasped his hands in front of him on the table, as Yermah shifted

his position, and said:

“Thou art in truth fortunate, because the last decade has developed

extreme luxury and selfishness in Atlantis.”

“The conjunction of Venus and Mars, afflicted by the comet, would

indicate that,” responded Yermah, referring to the map.

“Mercury in sextile aspect to Venus, in the ninth house, implies a

mental religion colored by the nature of Venus. The aspect of Mars adds

to this a warlike element, and that which appeals to the passions.”

He paused for a moment in intense thought, then continued:

“As the conjunction of Mercury with Uranus is made, all religion is

lost. The moon signifies the people—the sun, their rulers. Thou seest

that both are opposed to justice and right (Jupiter) and true wisdom

(Neptune). The power to remedy this situation is refused, and

retribution advances unopposed.”

Seeing that Akaza had finished, Yermah ventured to ask:

“Does my future stand revealed in this calculation?”

“Jupiter speaks for thee in the fourth house. Thy physical body is

linked with the land of thy birth, and thy return thereto denoted.”

“Thou hast my gratitude, Akaza. Grant that I may cross over the dark

way; that I may enter and go out of the Hall of Truth with thee for a

guide.”

“The Ineffable One, Maker of all things, be thy protection,” responded

Akaza, as both men arose.

“Thou wilt smoke and so will I, while I make ready for our repose,” said

Yermah, moving about. “I have husks and tobacco in my discarded mantle,”

he continued, trying to find its pockets.

“I can please my fancy better,” said Akaza, going back to a plain

cupboard, and producing from its shelves two bronze water-pipes,

identical with those used by the Chinese to-day. He found also, a

chamois pouch of fine-cut tobacco. Filling the bowl with water, he put a

tiny pinch of tobacco in the top of the tube, and lighted it by the lamp

sitting near. He puffed three times, emptied the pipe, and repeated the

process.

Yermah denied himself until he had spread out the rugs, and had placed

the cushions so that he and Akaza could sleep side by side.

When he sat down to smoke, the young man realized how tired he was. The

excitement of the day, his exertion, and the rain, caused him to yawn

frequently. It was a sign of healthy reaction which pleased the

hierophant.

Finally, unable to fight drowsiness longer, Yermah threw himself down,

and was soon in deep slumber. He stretched out with the abandon and

relaxation of a contented mind, throwing one arm up above his head,

while his hair spread over the cushions.

Akaza watched beside him for a long time. He slept like a child, and the

old man looked at him with as much tenderness as ever a mother displayed

over the cradle of her first-born.

Fondness for Yermah was his one weakness. Alone in the cave at midnight,

he indulged it. Without balance and discrimination, this might be mere

sentimentality or mawkish sweetness. In the spiritual man, however,

balance and discrimination must of necessity be present.

Therefore, in Akaza love was strong and firm, as well as tender, wise

and far-sighted. Seeing clearly amid the illusions around him, his love

welcomed even pain for its object, when by suffering Yermah could gain

treasures, and powers and gifts everlasting. He would lift no finger to

frustrate the needful work, yet was rent by greater anguish than Yermah

himself.

Seeing farther and more clearly, he had strength to await the end,

giving meanwhile all the sympathy and help of the truest affection.

Akaza was sitting with his eyes closed—really dozing when he became

suddenly aware of a presence. He looked toward the entrance of the cave,

and encountered a pair of yellow eyes glaring at him in the

semi-darkness.

He was so startled that he gained his feet in an attitude of defense.

The eyes gradually lowered, and in a moment Akaza heard a sniffing

noise. Before he could cry out the long, tawny body of Oghi came into

full view.

The animal had its head down and was tracking its master. Akaza watched

Oghi approach the sleeping man with unerring instinct.

“What is it, Akaza? Dear master, why hast thou not slept?” Yermah asked,

sitting bolt upright, not more than half-awake. Oghi beat the ground

with his tail, and made a peculiar sneezing sound to attract attention.

It was his way of showing pleasure.

“He loves thee, also,” said Akaza, as Yermah patted the animal on the

head. He was on his feet in a moment.

“Oghi! Here, sir!” called the Dorado, recovering the chain which had

been dragged through the mud. “How could he get in here?”

“We will tie him to one of the brass staples leaded into the wall at the

entrance,” returned Akaza, “and then we can find out.”

Oghi made no resistance as he was led to the spot indicated.

“He has dug in under these shutters,” said Yermah, as he held the light

so that his companion could see. “How could he have known I was here?”

As he spoke the ocelot shook himself, and was about to lie down.

“Let me fix him a bed,” said his master; “he is a good fellow. There

sir!”

Hastily gathering up some rush mats, Yermah threw them down in a pile.

Oghi could not say “Thank you,” but he signified it the best way that he

could. With a final affectionate pat on the head, Yermah turned and

followed Akaza.

“Come to bed with me,” he urged. “Conscience forbids my sleeping while

thou art denied rest.”

Akaza yielded to persuasion; and when Yermah had deftly tucked the rugs

about him, and placed the cushions, after shaking them up thoroughly, so

that Akaza declared himself comfortable, he extinguished all lights but

one, and cuddled up close beside the elder man, with his right arm

thrown protectingly over him.

A few moments afterward, both were fast asleep.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A TRIUMPH—AND A WORDLESS COVENANT

On leaving Tlamco, Kerœcia was carried up the Sacramento River by the

fleet of the Azes, until nearly opposite the mouth of Antelope Creek,

where she was met by a company of Monbas warriors and given escort to

Anokia, their capital city, situated south of Lassen Peak.

At a distance of from five to eight miles from the false base of the

Sierras, is a range of isolated hills which form an irregular belt of

elevation, separated from the main chain by an intervening plain.

It was here that Anokia was built, in a rocky amphitheater at the head

of a stream which flows back directly northeast from its source toward

the axis of the principal mountain chain.

The kettle-like form at the head of the valley opened on the north, and

extended in a huge semi-circle to the river below. Opposite the opening

stood Lassen Peak, either as a grim protector, or in frowning distrust,

according to the interpretation given to the mountain’s inscrutable

mood.

There were several small domes and pinnacles on the east side of the

peak, and, in some places, the granite rim formed a beautifully striped

parapet of bedded rock. Portions of the stone were thin enough for the

sunlight to penetrate the crevices, and to throw faint but effective

shadows on the layers of brilliant colors.

The more solid sections of the wall afforded a magnificent view of the

surrounding crest of the Sierras which here spread out like a giant

harrow overturned against the vast horizon.

Evergreen trees and undergrowth fringed the tooth-shaped outlines which

the blue haze softened and blended perfectly with the lighter tones

overhead, and blurred deep and heavy in the interesting glades and

canyons.

The whole region presented a complicated system of sharp ridges, with

immense circular cavities between, as if the entire country had suddenly

cooled while boiling violently.

From out this mass, rose bold rivers which trickled along for some

distance; then, gaining in volume and velocity, rushed madly across the

intervening plains to mingle their clear icy waters with the turbid,

débris-laden Sacramento.

Much of the land surface was reddened and discolored by the oxidization

contained in the subsoil; and over it all was the brown and yellow

color-scheme of the long, rainless summer months.

There were live oaks in the foothills, white oaks in the valleys, with

pale, yellowish-green moss festooning the gnarled limbs, and swaying in

the breeze.

The long acorns had been gathered and stored for future use. Tules

covering the swampy shallows this side of the narrow timber belt on the

river, were brown and seared. The wild grape vines were loaded with ripe

fruit and each patch of wild oats had long since shed its grain.

Here and there a white swan glided by in stately dignity on waters so

clear that the fish could be seen; while the sycamores, oaks, and

willows afforded shelter to a chattering family of magpies, bluejays,

blackbirds, crows and turkey buzzards. A hawk poised itself in mid-air

watching a chance to seize a meadow lark; while the sandhill-cranes,

ducks, and geese disported themselves in the sloughs.

In the less frequented parts of the valley, lumbering mastodons and

hippopotami mingled with grizzly bears, elk, antelope, deer and

diminutive wild horses. They were screened from view by scrub oak and

pine whose northern exposure was rich in yellow moss. Here was found

plenty of bur-clover and bunch-grass, both of which were withered by the

hot summer wind and sun. Shocks of corn and piles of fodder, still

cluttered the parched ground, bearing mute, but eloquent testimony of

the recent invasion of an army of painstaking reapers.

California in her brown coat is a promise fulfilled—a matured and

sobered land, somewhat stern and forbidding of aspect, and set in her

ways, but rich beyond compare in the abundance and variety of her

harvest yield.

Despite the shimmering, blistering heat, schools of salmon had been

shooting the rapids and whirlpools of the Sacramento, hastening to the

shallows. It was their spawning time. They fearlessly deserted the deep

pools and were piled in an indiscriminate mass in the ripples.

Animated by a kind of fury the fish were beating the sands with their

tails. Sometimes, the female would wear her fins off entirely in this

occupation. Then she deposited her eggs in the coarse gravel; but the

greedy trout pounced upon and ate them as fast as laid if not prevented

by the male salmon.

* * * * *

When Yermah returned to Iaqua after spending the night in the cave with

Akaza, he found a messenger from Kerœcia, inviting him to attend her

birthday fête.

In addition to the autographed letter was an elaborately decorated

flower-pot filled with a bunch of white, strawlike blossoms, on slender,

cottony stems, with little or no foliage. To-day the French call this

modest flower the “Immortelle”; the Spanish, in their soft language, say

“Siempre Viva”; while in English, it is the “Everlasting.”

“Never ceasing to remember,” murmured the Dorado, as he examined the

flowers and recognized their significance.

Yermah understood that Kerœcia had wished to send him a perfect plant,

and had selected this, not only for its sentiment, but also because of

its ability to stand the rough usage of a journey.

He undid the tiny roll of parchment tied to one of the stems.

It said: “Though I have not the loveliness of the rose, am I not grass

from the garden where it grows?”

He kissed the written words and with his own hands carried the

flower-pot into his private apartments. Never afterward, as long as he

remained at Iaqua, was he without a sprig of this plant.

The first of August was Kerœcia’s birthday, and this particular

celebration of the event was to be of unusual brilliancy. It was also

the great harvest festival of the year which always brought forth

elaborate preparations by the mountaineers.

* * * * *

The peculiar kettle-shape at the head of the Valley where Anokia was

built, formed three sides of the amphitheater where the games were to be

held.

It had a ragged, uneven surface, like the lips of a crater, which the

Monbas stone-cutters had skillfully turned to account in constructing a

pavilion on the south side, canopied and gay with flags, banners and

silk lanterns. Rubble walls, provided with seats cut into the stone,

closed the north side. Here a wide entrance was left.

Seats rose in a continuous circle, tier upon tier, until thousands could

have found accommodation. The goals for the racers, the pole in the

center, and each spire and battlement on the walls displayed flags. The

sanded floor had been wet and packed down smooth and hard.

For an hour or more the crowds had been coming in, quietly and

decorously as became men, women and children in holiday dress.

Without warning, eight forerunners dashed through the entrance and sped

around the ring, shouting at the top of their voices.

“Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah!” cried the first pair.

“Hye! Hye! Hye! Hye!” said the second.

“Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” called the third.

“O-h! O-h!” sharply piped the fourth pair, moving the forefinger rapidly

over the lips, and prolonging the piercing sound.

They were naked save a white linen band girding the loins and tied

tightly in front. Their long, loose hair quivered with motion as they

sped around the ring nerved to the highest tension by the shouts of the

multitude.

Suddenly the whole city seemed to wake into noisy, turbulent expectancy.

A heavy br-r-r of kettle-drums, a sharp click of castanets, a blare of

trumpets, and the higher notes of flutes and fifes announced the

approach of Kerœcia and her guests.

With heads bent, the runners pulled themselves together for a final

effort. It was a point of honor to reach the entrance as Kerœcia arrived

there. The multitude understood this, and cheered lustily as the men

ranged themselves in even rows, four on each side, at the exact instant

that Kerœcia reached the threshold. She had time to throw a badge to

each one, before they sank into the arms of attendants breathless and

completely exhausted.

The “Hymn of Triumph” was caught up by the crowd and carried high above

the combined efforts of the musicians, as the populace worked their

forefingers over their lips, and followed the melody with all of the

lung-power possible.

Kerœcia was attended by Ben Hu Barabe and his bride, Alcyesta, on one

side, with Suravia and Mineola on the other, followed by Yermah,

attended by Setos and Alcamayn on the right; Rahula and Ildiko on the

left.

Arriving at the pavilion, Kerœcia was received by the priesthood of

Anokia, who crowned her Queen of the Harvest, by placing a wreath of

heads of ripe grain upon her brow. They gave her a cornstalk, also,

which supported two ripe ears, the whole gayly decorated with ribbons.

As soon as Kerœcia received this emblem of plenty she waved it high over

her head, and the whole multitude uncovered, tossing their round,

pointed, conical hats high into the air and shouted: “Ho-ra! Ho-ra!

Ho-ra!”

The day was yet young, but the tamanes took advantage of the confusion

while seating the procession in the pavilion to unfurl the canopies

overhead, and the people made themselves comfortable under thick

tapa-cloth awnings.

On the ground directly in front of the pavilion, were squares of black

and white marble. Upon these the Monbas priests prepared to play the

game of “Stone-Warrior,” a quaint, allegorical Pilgrim’s Progress,

typical of the journey of life, one mile-post of which Kerœcia was

passing.

Bringing up the rear of the procession were four horsemen dressed in

green, with green trappings on their mounts; four tapirs caparisoned in

red; four war-chariots in yellow; and twelve foot-soldiers in black.

There were two Priests of the Bow, dressed in white. This company

divided—one half taking one end of the board, and the other half, the

other end. Six foot-soldiers stood on the black squares, three on each

side of the Priests of the Bow.

The two tapirs, horsemen and chariots, lined up evenly on the ground

back of the men in black. The object of the game was to cross the board

diagonally from end to end—capturing as many men as possible on the way.

The first side to place three foot-soldiers in a row was the winner. In

no circumstance was a man in black to touch a white square. He must

always keep on the black square.

A throw of dice determined the movements of the participants. Five moved

the Priest of the Bow, and he could go forward and backward as he

pleased, but he was liable to be caught around the waist and flung off

the board the same as the men in black.

A four-spot moved the tapir. This meant that one man moved forward four

blocks, while the tapirs headed for the four cardinal points, to denote

the number of times they had been moved.

Three spots moved the horsemen; two, the chariots; and one, the men in

black.

The musicians played a lively air. Then the game began.

Groups of priests stood on each side shouting instructions, warnings and

words of encouragement to the players, who were obliged to follow the

lead of their Priest of the Bow. Only the first two moves depended on

the dice; after that is was every player for himself, counting in

succession, five, four, three, two, one.

It was a strange sight for the spectator. Apparently, without any good

reason, the horsemen, the tapirs and the chariots were wheeling north,

south, east and west, while the black men pushed forward rapidly,

seizing and flinging one another off the board, until, finally, a mighty

shout went up, and three men in black stood in a row facing Kerœcia.

The tapirs, chariots and all but one horseman of the vanquished side had

gone over to the victors, while on the board there were but two black

men and the Priest of the Bow to oppose the winners.

“Beaten by a headless band! Bah! Bah! Bah!” vociferated the adherents of

the victors.

“Score five against them!” was the imperious demand of the vanquished.

The cazique hammered vigorously on the big copper gong, while the

trumpeters blew three sharp blasts as a signal to clear the grounds, and

as if by magic every block of marble went with the crowd.

From the judges’ stand, opposite the pavilion, ran up a banner, with

figures in black on a white ground. It awarded the game by two points,

giving red ribbons to the three foot-soldiers who had gained the coveted

goal.

“We are obliged to count five against the victors, since they lost their

Priest of the Bow after their first move. Had they protected him, they

would have won all possible points.”

Mingled cries of “Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” and “Bah! Bah! Bah!” greeted this

announcement.

* * * * *

The Baggataway players next appeared, led by Setos, Alcamayn, Hanabusa,

and ten gamy Azes, followed by Ben Hu Barabe with twelve

athletic-looking Monbas. This was their national game, and Ben Hu Barabe

felt a pardonable pride in his men as he led them into position.

At each end of the field were the goals, indicated by two poles twelve

feet high and half as far apart. There was also a center pole of equal

height mid-distant between the end goals. All were surmounted by flags.

Each of the players was armed with a stick flattened at the end, and the

intention was to drive the rubber ball into goal between the enemy’s

posts.

The Monbas defended, while the Azes attacked. A noisy, chattering,

bantering, betting crowd surged up and down on each side of the players,

piling up articles of every description as their respective sides seemed

on the point of either winning or losing.

The attack and defense strained every nerve, keeping the twenty-four

players constantly on the move. Here, a man races with another; there,

he makes a prodigious throw up field; and, before any one knows what has

happened the battle has been transferred, and the Azes stand fair to

lose.

Alcamayn runs full against his antagonist, and both come to the ground

together; while Setos fells his opponent by a sharp blow over the head.

The fallen player is carried bleeding and unconscious from the field

just as the Monbas rescue the ball, and send it with a triumphant shout

through the goal which wins them the game.

“Foul! foul!” screamed the on-lookers. “The Azes shall not have a point.

They play unfairly.”

A shouting, gesticulating, seething mass of men and women surged around

the judges’ stand.

“Give us justice!” they demanded. The cazique pounded the gong madly.

Finally, he could make himself heard above the din and noise.

“Hear thy priestess!” he called. “She begs that thou wilt remember thy

duty and the occasion. There are many reasons why we feel grateful to

the Azes. Judgment is suspended. All bets are invalid. Go back to thy

seats and be quiet. The Monbas won their game with honor. Be content

with that.”

It was well for Setos and Alcamayn that Yermah was preparing for an

archery contest with Ben Hu Barabe and Hanabusa and was therefore

ignorant of the cause of the offense. The officers of the balsas, the

warriors, and the other players among the Azes, instinctively huddled

together, humiliated and ashamed, but silent.

A plaited disk of straw having a central circle of yellow nine inches in

diameter, surrounded by rings of red, blue, black and white, was hung up

on the center pole.

The Monbas served Yermah and Hanabusa with arrows, while the Azes

performed a similar office for Ben Hu Barabe.

During the years spent in the Atlantian colonies, the Dorado had been

the actual head of the fighting men; but this was the first time he had

been called upon to show his skill in bow-craft to the Azes.

The fame of Ben Hu Barabe was spread far and wide, and the Monbas waited

with smiling concern as to the outcome. Hanabusa had won his position

with the bowstring, but Yermah’s capabilities were unknown.

The stubborn pride of three races was in the struggle, and bitter defeat

awaited some one. It was strictly a war function. There were precision,

rigid enforcement of rules, and exactness in the attitude in which the

warriors stood—motionless and impassive, while the three contestants

marched in step to warlike music through the entrance and halted at the

first vantage-ground.

The three men bowed and smiled in recognition of the plaudits showered

upon them right and left, as they watched for the signal. A refreshing

breeze fanned their faces and set all the flags in motion.

Yermah was in full regimentals as commander-in-chief. Scarlet, purple,

gold, and green were his colors; but they were blended with all the

skill of the ancients, so that they fitly set his personality.

Ben Hu Barabe showed his insignia as Civil Chief and defender of Anokia,

while Hanabusa was resplendent in feathers and jewels.

Yermah felt that he was the doubtful one. His glance rested for a moment

on the anxious faces of his followers, but he was cool, confident and

collected. There was something magnetically infectious in his

encouraging smile, and before he had touched a bow, he had the undivided

attention of the assemblage.

Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe seemed dwarfed beside him. His easy,

nonchalant bearing, his unconscious grace were never more conspicuous.

Still, Yermah was an alien. He stood in their midst a stranger, and

fully comprehended that the loyalty of his own men would be severely

tried if he failed to acquit himself with credit.

Over in the pavilion were a pair of luminous, mastic brown eyes, with

glints of bronze in their depths, which were bent upon him eagerly. He

could feel them drawing him in that direction, but he did not trust

himself to return their questioning gaze.

There were neither knots, gnarls, nor cracks in the waxy brown six-foot

hunting bow of continuous straight-grained mulberry used in the first

trial. Its tips were of polished elk-horn, and there was a green chamois

handhold in the center of the elaborate carving. The well-seasoned

hickory arrows, forty inches long and as smooth as glass, carried

flint-heads three and a half inches wide, and two inches broad, with

sharp saw-teeth edges. There was a trinity of peacock feather vanes

outlined in parabola above the notch end.

Courtesy gave Yermah the first shot. As he pulled a stout buckskin

shield over his right hand, he looked full into Kerœcia’s face. His eyes

said: “Trust me. I shall not fail.”

Under the inspiration of her answering nod, he quickly raised the bow

from the ground and placed it against his knee-cap, thereby securing a

good purchase. With an upward body movement, he drew the long bow to its

fullest capacity, faced the target and let fly.

Like the arrow of Acestes, which caught fire as it flew, or the dart of

Abaris, which is the wisdom of concentrated thought, this winged thing

sang through the air, and imbedded itself in the blue ring above the

center, where it rocked violently from the shock of impact.

“Yermah of Tlamco, scores five at elevation of forty-five degrees;

drawing force, one hundred and thirty pounds.”

The tally-keeper in the judges’ stand droned the words after the

official scorer. Then the people seemed to catch their breath.

“What skill!” said one, pointing to the still quivering arrow. “What

strength!” cried another, while the men of Tlamco, but lately humbled,

lifted their heads proudly and looked with admiration at their leader.

The exertion flushed Yermah’s face, but there was that in his expression

which seemed to augur better things. He had yet to prove himself; so he

renewed his efforts with energy and determination.

The second shot sent the arrow into the red ring below goal, and nearly

opposite the blue, scoring seven points.

“Here is fine aiming!” said the judges to one another, while the

spectators leaned forward in strained positions and watched intently.

There was just the shadow of a smile around Yermah’s mouth, as he bent

for the final shot.

“Ping!” murmured the third arrow as it hit exact center.

“Haille! Haille!” shouted the Azes. “Haille! Haille!” responded the

Monbas, catching the enthusiasm, and complimenting their visitors by

adopting their cry.

The whole crowd were on their feet, all talking at once, not paying the

slightest attention to the tellers and scorers, who rushed about bawling

the result.

“Five—seven—nine are the points; twenty-one for final score,” they said.

Yermah flung down his bow and stepped aside to make room for his

competitors. He stood helmet in hand, wiping his brow, pleased with the

warming sentiment manifested toward him.

“Hanabusa, the Azes, scores three, five and seven. Fifteen for final

count.”

“Ben Hu Barabe can do better,” was said on all sides, as Hanabusa made

way for him.

“Now the Azes will learn how to shoot!”

“He will never equal the first score,” said other archers. “The

Atlantian is a fine bowman.”

Ben Hu Barabe bent to his task. He sent his first arrow with a vim and

energy which bespoke long familiarity and constant practice. He, too,

made a center shot, but it was the upper edge of the gold disk which

received the barb; next time, the red ring suffered; but the final shot

sped feebly, and barely indented the black ring.

“The first fort yields to the Azes,” announced the judges. “Move on to

the next coign of vantage.”

Now came the real test of skill. Here every man was interested, because

they all made use of the bow and arrow themselves. The first trial was

of strength, but this would require finesse and nicety of calculation.

Hundreds of the spectators left their seats and crowded around the

contestants.

Extremely light, highly elastic but tough yew from the forests of Oregon

was substituted for the heavier bow of the chase; and the arrows had

finely pointed obsidian heads, notched and smooth, but sharp as a

needle.

Yermah looked well to the sweetness of his clear, clean, lemon-colored

bow. When satisfied that it had the requisite softness of flexure and

recoil, and that the arrows were properly seasoned, he placed one on the

left side of the bow, above, and resting on the forefinger knuckle of

the clenched left hand, with its notch set on the string.

The first three fingers of the right hand hooked around the string,

keeping the arrow-notch between the first and second. Extending the left

arm vigorously but steadily, Yermah drew the string back with his right

hand to just below the chin—and loosed.

He stood with his left shoulder toward the target, looking straight in

that direction, having the heels well apart, and toes turned out,

leaving his legs straight, but not stiff. Raising his bow gracefully

with the left hand, he drew the arrow four-fifths of its length, aimed

over the arrow-tip, drew again, and let fly!

The spectators were quick to see that he made the four points perfectly.

Each element of the draw, aim, finish, and loose required the greatest

nicety of execution; yet, he sped the arrows with almost incredible

swiftness.

When shooting three at once, Yermah used the three sights—center, above

and below aim-points. His control of the loose was so accurate, he

understood the variation of vision between the right and left eye so

well, that he drove all three arrows into the gold within a quarter of

an inch of each other!

By the rules, he must aim above center at one hundred yards, and there

was not one of the seventy-two arrows, whether sped singly or in threes,

that hit below the mark. At eighty yards he was obliged to aim blankly

with the four dozen arrows loosed at this distance. He chose the outer

circle of white, and planted his darts at equidistance around the entire

circle.

“But one more fort remains to be captured, and the Atlantian still

leads,” announced the judges. “Clear the enclosure! Warriors, do your

duty!”

With this, the men made a rush for their seats, not waiting for the

spear-points the warriors were preparing to level at them.

In the noise, confusion and excitement no one paid attention to the

birds, perched on top of the pole supporting the target. There was a

bluejay, a raven, a white dove, and a green parrot, with strong cords

attached to one leg of each, sitting on a crossbar or else on the gilt

ball at the apex. Now every one suddenly remembered, and interest

redoubled in the final score at the sixty-yard limit.

“Yermah of Tlamco fails with two points out of twenty-four shots, below

aim-point. Two are above the center line. Hanabusa looses six, and Ben

Hu Barabe, four. Shall the victor take the citadel?”

“Merit wins him a shot at the birds,” came from all sides.

“Yermah of Tlamco, wilt thou capture the citadel of our hearts by a

final test of skill before being crowned with the yew wreath?”

When he could make himself heard, Yermah signified his willingness to

comply with this request. For the first time in an hour Kerœcia caught

sight of his face. It was pale, set and resolute, and she saw that the

strain was telling on him.

“The parrot shall cry thee aim, and must remain unharmed. Thou mayst

kill the blue or the black bird, but thou must only release the peaceful

dove. Wilt thou remember the conditions?”

Satisfying this demand from the judges, Yermah came within range, and

waited a favorable opportunity. By a sudden jerk of a cord extending

down the side of the pole, the ball and crossbar began to revolve, and

the birds were on the wing.

“Chay! chay! chay!” shrieked the mocking, insolent bluejay.

“Caw! caw! caw!” croaked the raven; while the parrot screamed

banteringly;

“Boy what ails thee? Come on! Ha! ha! ha! Oh, dear! Ah! ha! ha!—Sit

still! Who will catch thy barb? I’ll catch it? Thou fool, never!” Then

changing tone entirely to one of biting sarcasm:

“Here’s a pretty mess—a pretty mess!” There was silence for a time. Then

in a thin, piping voice and ludicrous intonation:

“I shall faint! I shall expire! Help! help!” screeched the bird. Then,

she became sympathetic: “That’s bad, very bad! What a poor shot! Dear

me! Ha! ha! ha! ha-ha-ha-ha! Aim high! aim low! don’t aim at all! Ah!

ha! ha! ha—ha! ha! ha! ha!”

The parrot was chained to the top of the pole, so that it could not fly.

To make the aim more difficult the other birds were fastened by cords of

unequal length. Each one must be freed by the arrow, and then the

marksman must wing it before it escaped.

The first liberated was the bluejay. Yermah cut the cord neatly, and

then hit the bird while it was still rising. The arrow fell near the

base of the pole, bringing the right wing with it.

The Dorado had won the yew wreath, and he now turned to the women’s side

of the pavilion for a signal. They could demand the last three shots.

Would they do it?

He waited for Kerœcia to say. She was surrounded by a perfect rabble,

gesticulating, shouting and leaning eagerly toward her.

Finally, she arose, and threw up her hand to command silence. In the

lull, she turned to Yermah, who removed his helmet and inclined his head

toward her, while she picked up a black flag and waved it.

There was an answering shout and a cheer and Yermah prepared to shoot

again. This time he aimed at the raven. He cut the cord near the pole,

and its weight caused the bird to fly downward in an oblique line. Quick

as a flash the second arrow sped, and the raven came down pierced

through the heart.

Once more the ball at the top was set whirling. The dove, seemingly more

accustomed to this motion, rose slowly, so that the final arrow took off

a toe, in severing the cord. The bird soared up in concentric circles,

but long before the plaudits ceased, it was perched in exactly the same

place from which it had risen.

The Monbas and Azes fought and struggled with each other for the

privilege of carrying the hero off the ground on their shoulders, while

the musicians played the folk songs of the Azes.

At this juncture, Setos, Alcamayn and Cezardis galloped into the ring,

and began putting arrows into the target as they rode by. Round and

round they went, sometimes shooting forward, more often backward, first

on a leisurely gallop, then on a dead run. Suddenly they wheeled and

headed for the entrance where they were met by Yermah, Hanabusa and Ben

Hu Barabe, mounted on thoroughbreds, armed with shields, horn-bows and

quivers full of murderous-looking arrows.

“Hih! hih! hih!” chorused the multitude, as the horsemen made for the

target, which was moving up and down while revolving.

“Click-ety! click-ety! click-ety! click!” pattered the horses’ hoofs in

a fine burst of speed.

“Wheel and fire!” shouted the Dorado, suiting the action to the word

when nearly opposite the disk.

“P—sh!” whistled the arrows as they hit the target almost

simultaneously.

“Three arrows full tilt!” was the next command, which was no sooner

given than obeyed.

“Backward shot—three arrows! Send them into the pole; then circle it and

pull them out.”

The horsemen were crisscrossing each other in every direction, flinging

sand into one another’s faces. The spirited animals were rearing and

careering, standing on their hind-legs or sitting back on their haunches

while this maneuver was being executed.

“A souvenir for the women before we go! Let every man of us put a dart

into the post on a level with our heads. Then race out of here

together.”

The horses bent themselves nearly double. With mouths open and nostrils

distended, they responded to the impulse of bit and spur. While the

spent arrows were vibrating like whipcords, they plunged forward and

raced for the entrance neck and neck, urged to their utmost capacity by

the fire-crackers and bombs exploding at their heels.

The people rose _en masse_, and shouted themselves hoarse, drowning the

kettle-drums and gongs in the general uproar. In the midst of it the

horsemen whirled and dashed back into the arena, in hot pursuit of

Yermah, whose head was almost level with Cibolo’s neck, as this splendid

racer stretched himself over the ground.

All the men had on wadded cotton tunics, covered with bull’s-hide armor,

put together in strips and riveted with brass bosses. They wore visored

helmets, and carried circular shields of burnished bronze. Before they

had encircled the ring, it was evident that it was a sham attack on

Yermah. They tried to ride him down, but Cibolo foiled them with an

instinct almost human. They often fired at the rider, but were never

able to hit him.

Yermah returned arrow for arrow, sometimes from behind his shield,

sometimes forward, more often backward, single arrows, and three at a

time. Throwing up his shield to protect himself, or dropping over on the

side of his horse so there was but one leg over the saddle, on and on he

went.

At an unexpected moment, Yermah wheeled and charged furiously, lassoing

the horse ridden by Setos, and then, by a skillful maneuver and a daring

leap, broke through the circle which had formed around him.

He escaped into the tower of refuge—a low semi-circle in front of the

pavilion—taking his captive with him.

When Yermah rode out to receive the yew wreath and red ribbon of valor,

there was not an arrow in his armor nor a dent in his shield. He had

escaped without a single scratch.

While his name was on every one’s lips, he modestly sought Kerœcia.

There were tears in her eyes, which welled over on the two bright red

spots on either cheek, as she turned to greet him. Her lips trembled,

but she smiled while giving him her hand. He sat down beside her almost

equally overcome. Close to her ear he said earnestly, and but little

above a whisper:

“I love thee. It is thine opinion I value. All else is naught.”

He read his triumph in her eyes; she heard the one declaration in the

world for her. They were alone in the crowd, whose unheeded plaudits

came to them in an impersonal sort of way.

They had a few minutes’ respite from the duties of the hour, a little

season of quiet communion, while a feeling of adoration welled up from

their hearts and submerged all the other senses. It created a halo about

them and moistened the shining eyes gazing steadfastly at one another.

Overpowering emotion rendered them speechless, while the soul union, the

mating of their real selves, was consummated in a wordless covenant.

During the eloquent silence each had knowledge that the other had set up

a shrine in the holy of holies of their being which none of the trials

of after-life would desecrate, nor would either ever be capable of

violating its sanctity.

In this expression of love was that perfect blending of ideality and

desire which is the very essence of marriage. It is the molding and

cementing influences which, in fortunate cases, so dominates such

intimate and close association that in old age they look, speak and act

alike. Nor does death finally take one and leave the other.

The skill and dexterity of the bowmen, the wild, fearless riding, the

daring onslaughts, the imminent risk of life and limb smacked strongly

enough of actual warfare to arouse the tiger which at our best moments

only sleeps within us.

Like true children of nature, these people entered with much zest into

the ridiculous performances of a monkey and clown perched upon the backs

of swift-paced burros.

In the midst of this race, jugglers with balls, javelins, disks and

parasols, gave exhibitions of their skill, while heavy copper bars and

hammers were tossed and flung about with apparent ease. It was a busy

time with the gamblers and fortune-tellers, as well as with the vendors

of all kinds of trinkets.

“Clang! clang! clang! clang!” sounded the big gong.

“Clear the ring for the caribou race!” shouted the cazique, as he

clattered by on horseback. “Clear the ring, everybody! This is the

women’s race!”

While the performers were scurrying about, obeying this order by getting

their belongings out of the way as rapidly as possible, three chariots

were driven in, containing Kerœcia, Ildiko and Alcyesta.

“Yermah, the victorious, challenges for the high-priestess, Kerœcia,”

announced the judges, as Yermah advanced to the head of the priestess’s

team.

In the deafening outburst following on all sides, the caribou became

unmanageable, and it was several minutes before the entanglement could

be straightened out sufficiently to warrant further procedure.

“Alcamayn of Tlamco, challenges for fair Ildiko.”

The little jeweler stepped out proudly and took a position in front of

the state carriage of the Azes, the same ivory and gold vehicle which

Yermah had driven when Kerœcia visited the Llama city.

“Ben Hu Barabe, of Anokia, challenges for Alcyesta. The contest is for a

gold cup, given by this city. Partisans of each team must lay wagers

lively. Stand back, men, and give the women a chance! Once and a half

around the ring! Now for the cup!”

The three chariots went over the chalk-line in a fairly even start, and

the sharp click of running hoofs and the buzzing of the wheels told of

the speed being made.

It was easy to distinguish the racers. The wide palmated horns made each

runner instinctively pull apart, so that bunching was impossible.

Besides this, the colors were very distinct.

Kerœcia wore yellow, with a jeweled agraffe and girdle, while on her

head was still the ingenious crown of golden grains. Her chariot was of

pale green, elaborate in decorations of dull gold on raised patterns.

Streamers of the same color fluttered here and there, and were threaded

in a net-work over the heads of the caribou.

Ildiko was in light blue, with an embroidered Zouave jacket of black. A

jeweled band confined her long, crinkly white hair, while red and white

cords interlaced the wide-spreading horns of her racers.

Alcyesta’s chariot was black, but rich in traceries of silver and

painted flower ornaments. She wore a pink robe, with a silver agraffe

and girdle, set with pearls and turquoise. Pink and white cords trimmed

her whip and tied the horns of the caribou.

For an instant the chariots moved side by side, the women giving free

rein, but withholding the whips. At the first quarter, Ildiko led

slightly; but in attempting to round the curve of the half-goal,

Alcyesta caught a wheel in the post, snapping it in two, like so much

straw.

With such momentum, it was not possible to check the speed, and before

either could prevent it the horns of Ildiko’s and Alcyesta’s teams were

tightly interlocked. Instantly there was a terrific hubbub. Men from all

sides ran to their assistance.

“Let us race it out!” cried Ildiko.

“Agreed!” answered Alcyesta; and both women laid on the lash forcibly,

scorching the ground with their flying wheels.

“Keep clear! Give them leeway!” shouted the cazique, charging the crowd

with his horse. The caribou had shaken themselves loose.

“It is a splendid race!” cried the judges, as the last quarter stake was

passed.

“Run, Ildiko!”

“Use thy whip, Kerœcia! Thou must not let them beat thee after all!”

“Give them their heads, Alcyesta! Thy reins are too tight!”

The women were leaning forward talking to the nervy roadsters, with hair

flying over their shoulders, ribbons fluttering, and the wheels fairly

singing as they flew past the chalk-line.

“It is an open race for the cup. Kerœcia took no advantage. Now she must

run for it!”

And she did. Saphis and Phoda knew her voice. They caught her impulse as

she loosed the rein, and they went like the wind.

“Crack! crack!” snapped her tiny whiplash.

It seemed as if the caribou would jump out of their skins. Not being

accustomed to the whip, they were much more frightened by its noise than

by the sting of its lash. Theirs was simply a mad headlong plunge

forward, taken in time to clear the first goal.

Ildiko and Alcyesta had enough to do in preventing a break as their

knowing animals neared the scene of their former mishap. They were

fearless runners, and responded gamely to the lash; but there was an

imperceptible hesitation, a disposition to shy, and Kerœcia whipped in a

full neck ahead.

On she went around the ring, unable to control her terror-stricken team.

It was the whip laid on their tender backs for the second time which

rendered them unmanageable.

“Hold them steady until they calm down,” advised the cazique, galloping

beside her.

Setos and Alcamayn hastened to Ildiko, assisting her to alight, while

Ben Hu Barabe carried his wife through the crowd and set her down in

safety before turning his attention to Kerœcia.

“Ho, Saphis! Ho, Phoda! Fear not, little ones! Thou hast done nobly!

Steady! Steady now! Ho! Ho!”

She had braced herself against the front of the chariot and was pulling

back with all her might. With a quick, sharp turn, the cazique reined up

in front of the vehicle just as Yermah caught the bit of one of the

caribou.

The sudden stop threw Kerœcia across the dashboard. She quickly

recovered her footing, bruised and shaken, but much more concerned for

the steaming, panting, high-strung winners than for herself. She spoke

soothingly to the animals, as she stroked their ugly proboscis-like

snouts, while they champed their foam-flecked bits and gazed at her with

still a gleam of terror in their eyes.

As soon as the ring was cleared, the people settled themselves back and

looked expectant. Familiar as they were with a mammoth elephant there

was always something fascinating in its unwieldly bulk.

The crowd had waited all day with characteristic patience to see the

tricks of some performing elephants, brought down by the Mazamas from

the far north, especially to honor Kerœcia.

Zoyara, Cezardis and Zombra came through the entrance dressed in black

skin-tight garments ablaze with mica spangles and barbaric jewels. They

wore gayly striped sashes around their waists, and ostrich feathers in

the silver headbands, while their arms and ankles jingled with bracelets

and bells.

Back of them came two keepers leading a pair of tremendously large

rusty-black, shaggy-coated elephants, with long, ivory tusks, which

curved out and curled up viciously. Zombra and Zoyara stepped to one

side. Cezardis called:

“Hear ye all! These young and tender creatures are in love. Sven here is

about to offer himself to the shapely Loke, whom he loves to

distraction. Bashful young men, please take notice! This exhibition is

for thy especial benefit.”

He gave both elephants a sharp prod with a bronze-tipped goad which he

carried. Sven began to tremble all over. His huge loose skin, much too

big for his ponderous body, moved forth and back mechanically, in

well-simulated emotion, and the hair raised in every direction as he

approached Loke.

“Down on your knees, sir! Down, sir,” shouted Cezardis, hitting him a

heavy whack across his forelegs. The elephant fairly shook the ground

beneath him as he came to a kneeling posture.

“Bow your head respectfully, sir!” commanded Cezardis.

Sven laid his ears close to his head, and drew his trunk well under,

giving himself a ludicrously shamefaced expression.

“Give Sven his answer, Loke. Answer, I say!”

Loke stuck her trunk up in the air, and with a disdainful toss of her

head, waddled off in an opposite direction, to the delight of the

audience. Their shouts of laughter were a signal to Sven.

He fell over on his side, and stiffened himself out as if he were dead.

“Oh, poor fellow! P-o-o-r fellow!” cried Cezardis, with mock pathos. “I

know how it is myself, sir.”

The elephant raised its head and looked at him.

“Think better of it, old man. Thou mayst have had a lucky escape. Here

comes her sister and husband. Let us stand to one side and observe how

they get on. Brace up, sir!”

Sven and Loke were on the outside when the keepers brought in the other

pair of elephants—Loke keeping her head in an opposite direction.

Cezardis gravely introduced the newcomers, and then turned to the

putative husband and asked:

“Didst thou have a good breakfast this morning, sir?”

The elephant shook his head and trumpeted dolefully. His mate stamped

the ground indignantly, then rushed at him, butting him in the side. He

whirled around and kicked at her. Then they locked trunks and seemed

bent upon annihilating each other with their sawed-off stumpy tusks.

“How is this for married life, sir?” inquired Cezardis.

Sven turned to his audience and winked prodigiously, while his sides

shook as if he were convulsed with laughter.

At this moment Loke picked up a saw-tooth palm-leaf with her trunk, and

hid her face.

Cezardis allowed the putative benedict to toss him up in the air several

times, and finally, by a dexterous leap, landed between the mammoth’s

ears.

“The long-looked-for elephant race is about to begin. To give some idea

of the individual gait, we shall first walk the animals, and then they

will trot side by side for points. Do not let the disgraceful conduct of

the wedded pair weigh against them. A bad breakfast tries the best of

us.”

There was a loud blare of trumpets and a vigorous beating of

kettle-drums, while the spectators cheered heartily, as Cezardis turned

somersaults, stood on his head, and played all sorts of pranks on the

back and above the ears of the elephant.

The animals walked first leisurely and then more hurriedly around the

ring. When the second round was completed, Cezardis boldly slid down the

trunk of the leader, and with a graceful bow ran out of the way.

The keepers adroitly arranged the elephants in pairs, throwing a

gourdful of capsicum into each mouth, in order to increase their pace.

“The race begins! Close thy bets!” shouted Cezardis.

The trainers of the animals used the goad unsparingly, and soon the huge

mountains of flesh were stretching their tree-like legs to the utmost.

They trotted ponderously side by side for a few moments amid the clangor

of bells, the deafening shouts of the multitude, and an ever-increasing

tempo of music.

“Sven and Loke lead the first quarter!” yelled the judges.

“Their pace increases!” cried everybody, and the excitement was at fever

heat when the elephants began to trumpet.

Before they reached the half-stake they were all galloping wildly, and

the spectators were beginning to look at each other with blanched faces.

On the racing animals came round the turning-point, trumpeting and

bellowing furiously. Every jump shook the ground under them like an

earthquake, until the pavilion itself rocked like a ship at sea.

Fortunately, the race started near the entrance, and the panic-stricken

people were now scrambling recklessly, some through the wide-open gates,

while others clambered up for the highest seats where they huddled

together and clung to one another frantically.

On the maddened animals came, with their mouths wide open and their

swinging trunks sprinkling capsicum, copiously mixed with saliva, over

everything.

They were in a compact mass, moving with all the irresistible velocity

of an avalanche, and growing more and more terrified at their own

freedom.

Great rivers of brine poured from their bulging eyes, while their mouths

drooled as if they were on fire.

The unerring instinct which distinguishes their descendants caused these

forest monsters to fall into line one behind the other, as they made for

the open air.

Men and animals fled before them in every direction as they thundered

down the valley, stampeding everything for miles around. Their

trumpetings could be heard long after they were out of sight, and it was

easy to track them—for they beat down a solid pathway fully a foot below

the surface.