Cezardis and the keepers mounted and hastened after them. After an

hour’s hard riding, they were found, standing in the river industriously

spouting water over their unsubmerged backs.

“The heat and excitement has been too much for them,” Cezardis said,

making an ineffectual attempt to stay the panic. “There is nothing to

fear. It is only their idea of a frolic.”

To the keepers he said, “What under the sun didst thou give the brutes?”

“A gourdful of capsicum,” answered one of them. “We knew thou wert in

the habit of slipping a pepper-pod in their mouths when thou wouldst

have them appear lively. And,” he naïvely continued, “we knew they would

be thirsty in the heat and crowd.”

“It will not be safe to take them back to the pavilion. An elephant

never forgets an injury, and they would probably demolish the whole

place if they saw it again. Thou art sufficiently punished by being

obliged to remain here on guard, while the feasting, music and dancing

goes on, to-night. I shall send thee covering and food,” he promised, as

he swung into the saddle and started back.

The massive feet of the mammoths threw up clouds of dusty sand,

thickening the air like fog, while the floor of the amphitheater looked

as if it had been newly plowed.

With their exodus the still terrified people rushed out of the enclosure

pell-mell. They pushed and crowded through the gateways as if danger

assailed them from behind.

Those in the lead made great haste after they had passed out, dragging

their children by the hands, while the little ones looked back over

their shoulders and cried as they ran along.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE FEASTING—THE DANCING AND THE BETROTHAL CUP

The sun was inclining well toward the west, and there was a savory smell

of roasted meats, steaming vegetables and ripe fruits assailing the

olfactory nerves, and appealing strongly to the inner man—the unchained

tiger of the stomach.

The children set up an impatient clamor for something to eat, as they

caught sight of the long, low tables spread under the trees; but, there

was a decorum to be observed, which the elders rigidly enforced.

Whole animals had been roasting through the previous night in trenches

twelve feet long, two feet wide, and two feet deep. Fires were built in

them, and when thoroughly dried out, great spits were put in half-way to

the top, and over a bed of red-hot charcoal the meat was cooked. During

this process it was moistened frequently with spiced vinegar, and a

_sauce piquante_ of chili, with which salt had been freely mixed.

Beef, venison and bear-meat were prepared in this way, while rabbits,

wild turkeys, geese, ducks, quail and small birds were roasted and

stewed by separate methods. Near the trenches, pots of curry, rice and

mutton were simmering over slow fires. Deep brass cylinders, with

glowing charcoal in the bottom, kept steaming tamales ready for instant

service.

There were great ash-heaps filled with sweet potatoes roasted to a turn.

Huge chafing-dishes contained beans, tomatoes, stuffed cucumbers and

stews of all kinds, while lettuce, cresses, red peppers, radishes, leeks

and onions were heaped upon the tables in profusion.

Nasturtium seeds, capers and olives were among the relishes. Great brick

ovens hid many a fruit confection and pastry, and there were stacks of

tortillas fresh from the hands of the baker. Fresh curds and honey were

in liberal allowance on each table, while large wicker baskets groaned

with their burden of ripe peaches, pears, apples, guavas, bananas, tunas

and pineapples.

On clean grass mats were water-melons, cantaloupes and grapes while

oranges, lemons, pomegranates and quinces were among the candied and

preserved fruits.

Walnuts, peanuts, filberts and pine-nuts by the bushel, were at hand for

service, while immense jars were filled with pulque, metheglin, tequila

and koumiss. These drinks were called “zadar” meaning to spin, as the

head feels after indulging in them. For the more soberly inclined there

was chocolate flavored with vanilla, and piled high with whipped cream,

served either hot or cold.

Cotton napkins and pottery ewers filled with water were beside each

earthenware plate. Despite their impatience, the children were compelled

to perform ablutions the same as their elders, before sitting to eat.

For their use, lacquerware dishes were provided.

Gay-colored silk lanterns hung from the trees, which were also garlanded

overhead with ropes of flowers, filling all gaps for the nonce and

excluding the too-searching sunlight. All made haste to sit, while lips

moved in silent thank-offerings.

The musicians played softly as Kerœcia passed rapidly along the lines,

hospitably sprinkling ashes of aloes and rosewater over the people. Many

kissed the hem of her garments, or murmured blessings or good wishes for

her health and happiness.

With a bound she was up the steps of the canopied dais upon which the

tables were laid for herself and special guests. Civil and military

officers filled the outer seats, while the priests and healers faced

them.

At the inner table, Yermah sat on the right of Kerœcia, and Cezardis on

the left. Facing them at the opposite end was Alcyesta, with Zoyara and

Ben Hu Barabe. The intervening spaces were occupied by Setos, Rahula,

Alcamayn, Ildiko, Zombra, Suravia, Hanabusa and Mineola.

Fragrant blossoms in the form of globes, stars and crescents hung from

the blue domelike canopy, while fern brakes and loose bracken wound

around the supporting columns. Vases of silver, gold and onyx, set with

jewels, supported the daintier blooms that adorned the table, and plates

and spoons of tortoise-shells, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, contrasted

sharply with the white cloth.

Drinking-cups of polished horn, ewers of gold and silver inlaid

together, and hand basins of bright enamel, made the table both elegant

and luxurious.

As Kerœcia approached, her guests arose and joined in the shout “Ho-ra!

Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” which went up from the multitude. With a simple gesture,

Kerœcia bade them be seated. Then, with a sign of benediction to the

four cardinal points, during which time all joined in her prayer, she

seated herself, and the feast began.

For three hours they ate, drank and made merry, passing compliments and

toasts along the lines of tables, calling pretty sentiments across to

one another, until the verge of temperate indulgence was fully reached.

Long before this, the children had been released from the table

refreshed and ready for a romp under the shade-trees. With a sigh of

satisfaction, their elders waited for a signal to rise.

“A libation to the Ineffable One, the Indivisible, I-am-I,” called Ben

Hu Barabe, standing back of his wife, holding a patera cup of ivory,

having a gold tracery over its surface, and filled to the brim with

pulque.

“Om-ah! Om-ah! Om-ah!” was the reverential response.

Ben Hu Barabe faced west, and with a graceful sweep of the arm, poured

the liquid on the ground.

“A libation to the Trinity, whose creative, destructive and preservative

aspects are everywhere manifest,” said Yermah, as he stood behind

Kerœcia, and held up a jeweled cup evenly full of metheglin.

“Om-ah! Om-ah! Om-ah!” responded the assemblage, as Yermah made a low

obeisance to the east, and poured out the offering with a wide splash.

“A libation to the four elements of the All Powerful—to earth, air, fire

and water—to the four parts of the heavens where His kingdoms are,” said

Cezardis, rising, followed immediately by Zoyara, Setos and Hanabusa,

each holding an onyx and silver cup brimming over with koumiss.

Each faced a cardinal point and quickly emptied his cup.

A crash of music mingled with the “Om-ahs!” and every eye turned

expectantly toward Kerœcia.

At this anniversary each year since Kerœcia had been among them, a

betrothal cup had been set in the center of her table. It was the one

day in the year when she was privileged to choose a husband. The

marriageable men loyally showed themselves, but stood with averted faces

lest their intent gaze should embarrass and disconcert her. Every one

withdrew from the table and left her free to act.

Would she merely bow her head and follow her maidens, as she had done

before, or would she return the confidence of her people in full? She

was still standing as they left her, amid a feeling, impressive, and

intense silence.

Quickly she called:

“Alcyesta, Suravia, Mineola, intercede for me!”

Then she hastily signed to the musicians, and, soft as a breath of

Æolian harps, came the answering notes. The three priestesses intoned in

low, sweet voices, stretching out their arms in supplication to the

north, west and south. Their bodies swayed forth and back as they

brought their open hands even with their foreheads, palms downward, and

then opened their arms as wide as possible again, repeating the process

continually. Many of the women were moved to tears as they heard the

familiar strains, while some of them mechanically joined in the chant.

Since freedom and unconsciousness are the only expressions of modesty,

why, in the name of all that is simple, sincere, and natural, is it

considered wrong for a woman to give expression to affection. As well

might it be held a shame to live and breathe because uninvited to be

born. It may be that it is for the harmony, delicacy, joy, mystery and

beauty of love that the differences of sex should be recognized in the

right of initiative. Or the notion may lie in the atavism of human

nature which stands trembling between the glory of its destiny and the

meanness of its achievement.

Kerœcia had a naïve, tender, shrinking, sensitive nature, but one in

which love clothed itself with many charms and graces. There was no

sense of original sin hanging over her head to suppress, intimidate and

pervert her love nature. She knew no reason why she should not select a

mate. With the confidence of this assurance, she picked up the betrothal

cup.

The act combined the strength of the sea, the firmness of the mountains,

the freedom of the winds, with all the shy grace of the violet hidden by

tall grasses and veiled with dew.

The cup, a pale violet stone which had been blocked out and ground down,

was supported by a slender golden stem, twisted and set with pearls and

emeralds.

Something of the import of Kerœcia’s action dawned upon Yermah as he

stood transfixed, pale and agitated, while his very life seemed to hang

upon her every movement.

It was a woman’s courage, born of love—the love of giving herself wholly

to the object of her choice. Nerved by this feeling, she came toward him

confidently, but with a timid smile and rising color, and gave the cup

into his trembling hands.

For a moment, he shrank back from her.

“O God! My oath!” was wrung from his lips. It was for an instant only.

“But I love her with all my soul!” he cried, as he knelt and kissed the

proferred hand.

Ignorant and innocent alike of the cause of his emotion, Kerœcia sought

to reassure him.

“The Monbas will love thee, too,” she said. “Hear their assenting

shouts.”

“Atlantis and her dependencies shall worship and adore thee, as I do.

Kerœcia, my love, I shall be a loyal husband to thee.”

“As I shall be a dutiful and loving wife to thee!”

The betrothed couple were nearly swept off their feet by the crowds

which surged around them. The Monbas and Azes embraced each other,

called one another brother, and pledged fealty to the new alliance.

Thus was the compact ratified.

Every one was anxious to talk the matter over with his neighbor. So,

they all sought their homes in animated groups, leaving behind a scene

of disorder. Napkins were scattered wherever the last ablutions were

performed. Ewers and cups with their contents had been frequently

overturned. Fragments of food, cooked and uncooked, some untouched and

others partly eaten, were abandoned by the sated appetite, and left

without further thought, until hunger should recall their excellence.

In a short time the streets were silent and deserted, the remaining

hours of the day being devoted to a siesta indoors. No one issued from

his house again until night unpinned a black curtain and rolled it down

over the earth.

When God had hung His lanterns in the sky, the people came together

again. They went back to the pavilion which was now a blaze of light

from the many flambeaux stuck into brass urns around the high walls,

augmented by hundreds of silk lanterns festooned on wires stretching

across to the center pole. There was breeze enough to keep the flags in

motion, and to cause the lights to flicker fitfully, adding to the

fairy-like beauty of the scene.

The character of the music had entirely changed. The kettle-drums were

muffled and beaten with the fingers only. Instead of the blare of

trumpets, there were harps such as the Yaqui Indians use, and differing

but little from the modern instruments.

Slabs of black and white marble covered the ring floor, save where a

wide passageway had been left on all sides for use of the people in

seating themselves. The pavilion had been transformed into a bower of

roses and artificial trees.

Under a floral canopy, Kerœcia, dressed in white and silver gauze, sat

with one of the judges on either side of her. She was waiting to crown

the victors. The musicians made victory, love and triumph their theme,

as Yermah, escorted by Ben Hu Barabe, approached and knelt to receive a

crown of lilies and a palm.

“Rise in thy majesty, bearer of the victorious palm! Go forth and renew

thy triumphs, until the sun comes again to strengthen thy lion heart.

Peace be with thee!”

“Hear me, O Priestess! Grant thy servant leave to encircle thy slender

fingers with a set of rings made for thee, having the virtues of the

planets and sent with the blessings of the people of Tlamco,” entreated

Yermah, kneeling.

“Thy wishes and those of thy people are law unto me,” responded Kerœcia,

giving him her hand.

Alcamayn presented him with a cushion of purple silk on which lay the

seven rings.

“A sapphire set in gold, worn on the first finger, brings the blessing

of the sun,” said the Dorado, slipping the ring on her finger. “Beside

it I place a bloodstone set in tin, to enlist Jupiter in thy welfare;

the cautious guardianship of Saturn is in the turquoise and lead, with

which I encircle thy middle finger; Venus, the goddess of love, governs

the third finger, and for an amulet demands an amethyst set in copper;

the moon inclines the heart of thy people toward thee, and will bless

thee with children, if a diamond in silver setting is also placed on

this finger.”

Yermah lingered a moment over his task, and looked up at Kerœcia for

approval.

“This curiously wrought band contains a magnet, and is intended for the

little finger, the throne of Mercury, the wise one, who stands as an

outer sentinel to guard and strengthen love,” he continued.

“The seat of will-power is in the thumb. Let this serpent of iron with

an emerald eye bring to thee the warrior spirit of the planet Mars,

subdued and sweetened by the quality of Venus. May the All-Seeing Eye

supply thy inner vision, and may every craving of thy heart be

satisfied.”

“Then must thou express the gratitude oppressing me, when next thy voice

is heard in the Llama city,” replied Kerœcia, as she motioned Yermah to

rise.

Wreaths of bay-tree, of laurel in berry (whence the term baccalaureate

comes when it is given to young physicians), olive, myrtle, and

nasturtium vines were bestowed and proudly worn by men who had contested

for them earlier in the day. To the less successful, were given ribbons

of red, blue, and green.

The whole scene was animated and brilliant. The gayly dressed throng

pushed and elbowed one another, paying little or no attention to the

award of prizes, in their desire to see and to be seen.

The dances were about to begin, and there was a bevy of pretty girls

ready to do their share. Up the steps of the pavilion, dancing on their

way, came boys dressed as birds and butterflies, in garments of blue,

green, and yellow plumes. They ascended into the artificial trees,

moving from branch to branch, pretending to sip dew from the flowers.

Then came the special guests, who were garbed like gods, having

blow-guns in their hands, with which they feigned to shoot the birds.

Kerœcia invited the visitors into her bower, and gave them a mixture of

rose-leaves and tobacco to smoke.

Immediately the familiar strains of the harvest dances were heard, and

the people began to clap their hands in accompaniment. From the four

cardinal points a line of dancers was forming, composed of young girls

dressed as fairies. The sylphs came from the east, dressed in sheer

white, made short and very full, with graduated spangles of gold coming

out like a sunburst from the gold band at the waist. Orange and jasmine

blossoms wreathed their heads. They danced quickly up to the pole in the

center, and took the yellow streamer hanging from the immense flower

parasol suspended over the top. Joining hands, they waited for their

companions.

Next came the salamanders, in parti-colored dresses of flame-red and

black, so thickly spangled with mica that in the flaring light they

looked as if sparks had been showered over them. Their long black hair

was full of diamond powder, and they had red roses and carnations on

their heads. The same dainty steps, with the hems of their stiff skirts

in their fingers, brought them to the center where they secured a red

streamer.

Then came the undines, the water-sprites, dressed in Nile-green gauze

liberally trimmed with silver, while their girdles were of silver

filigree, shaped like serpents. Their fluffy white hair was crowned with

lemon and citron blooms, and agraffes of silver were also worn. They

came from the west, and selected a white streamer.

From the north came queer little hunchbacked creatures, wearing conical

caps which terminated in sharp points. These gnomes sparkled with

mineral wealth, in jeweled bodices and caps, while their skirts were

earth-colored gauze, brightened by iridescent sequins and embroideries.

These dancers picked up the remaining black streamer.

Slowly the columns began to circle around the pole, going faster and

faster until the streamers were wound around it, and as often reversing

the process. Forming a square, they began a basket weave, during which

time little children ran forth and back to represent the shuttle.

With a grand apotheosis of the seasons, during which each group danced

separately, and, finally, all together, they bowed, threw kisses to

Kerœcia, and ran off the platform.

A few minutes afterward, each square of marble was occupied by a young

woman dressed as a priestess, in long, voluminous robes of pale pink,

lavender, blue, and white, with double and single key patterns marked

out in black. The necks, the bottoms of the skirts, and the edges of the

sleeves were so ornamented. Gold bands coiled around the back part of

the head and held the long hair in place. Sandals, having pointed toes

curling well up over the foot, and laced together with gold cords,

completed their costumes.

The dancers were placed so as to form a representation like the maze of

Dædalus, and each whirled separately and at such a rate as to confuse

the beholder.

Ildiko took a parti-colored handkerchief and challenged Alcamayn to

follow her. The dancers kept up the whirling wherever she was, while the

others held their interlaced hands high over their heads and danced in

an indescribable labyrinth.

In and out darted Ildiko, with a tantalizing fling of the handkerchief,

taxing all Alcamayn’s ingenuity to follow, especially when the

spectators sought to mislead him by an incessant clamor of gratuitous

advice over and above the hand-clapping. Finally, he succeeded in

securing a corner of the square, which he retained, dancing with Ildiko

up in front of the pavilion.

As soon as Kerœcia recognized them, the whole group prostrated

themselves before her, and then rising simultaneously, executed a

serpentine dance, in which all the colors were beautifully blended.

As the music ceased, the crowd began moving toward the gates, and soon

after, quiet reigned supreme.

Yermah gained courage from the unfailing kindness shown him everywhere.

It loosed his tongue, and he longed to talk of his hopes and plans.

Lover-like, he was tormented with curiosity concerning the minutiæ of

Kerœcia’s life; so he lingered the greater portion of the next day at

her house.

These two indulged in the dearest, sweetest possible exchange of

confidences. The revelations they made amounted to nothing in

themselves, yet were priceless treasures to the recipients.

Halting sentences, eloquent silences, phrases broken by kisses sweeter

than honey of Hybla, explanations emphasized by a caressing touch of the

hand, tones and accents whose inner meaning was made plain by a love-lit

eye, all the sweet nothings talked heart-to-heart by lovers gave them

several hours of unalloyed happiness.

“I am of the same descent as thou art, my beloved,” said Kerœcia, as

Yermah drew her head toward him, and kissed the hair where it parted on

her forehead.

“How art thou related to me except by the silken cords of affection?” he

asked, ready to indulge her for the sake of hearing her talk.

“Because years ago, my ancestry came from Atlantis.”

“Very true, the Ians were originally from Atlantis, but they have long

made war on Nimrod’s descendants.”

“Oppression and ill-use drove them to rebellion. They were forbidden to

worship as I do, and for this reason they set themselves free.”

“I went directly to Nineveh, a callow youth, ungainly, beardless and

without discretion—”

“Wouldst thou have me quarrel with thee?” demanded Kerœcia, as she held

her hand tightly over Yermah’s mouth. He shook his head, and with his

hands imprisoned the audacious member.

“Then thou must not abuse my property,” she continued, with an engaging

pout.

“Wouldst thou have loved me then?” he asked. Being satisfied with her

reply, he added: “There I performed the first labor of initiation.”

“What meanest thou, by initiation? Is it something Akaza teaches thee?”

“Initiation is a task imposed upon me by the Brotherhood of the White

Star in my father’s court. When I have finished the labors I shall be of

the Brotherhood myself. This is necessary for a Grand Servitor.”

“Tell me of thy journeyings,” she said, nestling close beside him, yet

with a coyness and reserve all her own. “Thou hast traveled very far.”

“The second year was spent at[8]Memphis, Egypt, where I performed the

second labor. Then I went among our colonists in [8]Phœnicia; thence to

the [8]Etruscans, where I learned to work in metals; then among the

[8]Kelts, where I learned bow-craft; thence to the [8]Vikings and the

land of the [8]Basques. Returning to Poseidon’s kingdom, I set sail for

the land of the [8]Incas; and from there I came to Tlamco, the last

outlying colony of the [8]Toltecs, one of the three main tributaries to

the Grand Servitor Poseidon. Art thou satisfied?” he asked.

“Not quite. Hast thou loved no one all these years?”

“Yes; and very much,” confidently assented Yermah.

Kerœcia shrank back as if a blow had been dealt her. Everything swam

before her, and she was faint and wan.

“Whom?” she gasped.

“Myself,” said Yermah, holding her tightly. “Art thou jealous?”

“Not now,” she replied, with a look that enchanted her admirer.

“Wilt thou hear other confessions? I can accuse myself of much more.”

“And compel me to love thee the more for them all. Thou shalt leave me

sufficient mind for besetting affairs,” answered Kerœcia.

“Wouldst thou have me for thy slave?”

“No. But I would be thine.”

“Lend thy confidence fully, that I may worship where thou art pleased,

and abhor that which offends thee.”

“That which I value most of all my possessions is this distaff given me

by my mother,” said Kerœcia, bringing forward a slender strip of bamboo,

not much larger than a darning-needle, lightly weighted with pellets of

clay.

It had a jeweled handle and a wheel of hardwood, polished and set with

mother-of-pearl. A tiny shell served for a socket, should the weight of

the spindle prove too heavy for the gossamer threads used.

“Wilt thou spin?” asked her companion, placing a seat for her.

With girlish eagerness and gratified pride, Kerœcia sat down so intent

upon a display of dexterity and skill that she was unconscious of the

fact that her soft clinging skirts were tightly drawn over one leg the

entire length, and high enough to reveal the ankle and instep to good

advantage. With the other foot she set the treadle going, and soon her

shapely arms were following the flying shuttle. The well-poised head,

the long, slender throat, and the regular rise and fall of a perfect

bosom helped to complete the poetry of her motions, and Yermah feasted

his eyes while she worked.

Glancing upward by chance, Kerœcia caught the expression of his face,

but was by no means displeased because she saw desire mirrored there.

Who can resist the intoxication of the senses?—especially their

instinctive pledge, which does not rise to the mental plane, but is

merely a matter of exquisite feeling on both sides.

In his agitation, Yermah busied himself clumsily with the spider-web

threads, and soon had them hopelessly entangled. He was so genuinely

distressed when they broke that his companion hastily put the wheel away

and substituted an instrument like the zither, only much larger, played

with thimbles of tortoise-shell fastened to the fingers.

Kerœcia sang a plaintive love-song to her own accompaniment. When she

had finished, Yermah sat down beside her and slipped his arm around her

waist.

“Something in thy song makes me sad. Tell me again that thou wilt be

happy as my wife.”

She patted his cheek tenderly and gave the assurance.

“And wilt thou pray that children may bless and sweeten our lives

together?”

Kneeling beside him, she promised. Seeing that he was still in a serious

mood, she said soothingly:

“Let not ungentle doubt knit thy brow. For all time, and for all

eternity, I give myself to thee absolutely and without reserve.”

“And I bind my soul to cherish and love thee always. Thou art a jewel

imbedded in my very heart’s core. Hast thou a wish in my power to

grant?”

She stroked his temples gently for a moment, and then said:

“Thou art both skilled and learned, and I delight in thy achievements.

Hast thou shown all thy quality? Thou art as modest as a violet, but

thou hast said that thou wilt do much to please me. Make me to know thy

handiwork, and it shall be to me above rubies.”

It was such artless flattery that Yermah promised with swelling pride

and an inward conviction that his every thought and wish would find a

quick response and ready sympathy in her companionship.

After this they talked but little, much of their time being spent in the

strange silent awe of perfect love.

With a pretty show of confidence which thrilled Yermah, Kerœcia lifted

his disengaged hand and carried it to its fellow, which was yet about

her waist, and of her own accord added slightly to the pressure. Baffled

by the subtle change of expression which accompanied this movement,

Yermah asked quickly:

“What is it, loved one?”

“I feel securely sheltered from all the world,” she said, “when thy

strong arms enfold me. I wonder if thou canst realize what a complete

haven I feel that I have in thee?”

“Not more than I find in thy sweet mind, thy pure soul, and thy warm

heart,” he answered, as he kissed her forehead, eyes and lips.

He had taken her fully into his protecting care. She leaned on him

without restraint and suffered her eyelids to droop for a moment.

Gradually both of them yielded to a sense of weariness—a reaction

inevitable from the tension of the previous days.

Drowsiness came on apace, but sleep claimed Yermah an instant only. With

a tenderness akin to holiness, he occupied himself with Kerœcia’s

comfort. He was completely subdued by her helplessness, and she was in

every sense sacred to him.

“She trusts me,” he whispered softly, as he observed the relaxation of

her pose.

In his gentleness and solicitude, there was that incipient quality

indicated which would make him a kind and indulgent father.

She was to him still such a wonderful being that he was intensely

interested in her personality. Curious as a boy with a new toy, he

longed to arouse her, yet hesitated to do so. He felt diffident about

touching her. Before he could decide what to do, she had opened her eyes

with a start.

“Beloved, I thought thou hadst left me,” she murmured, only half-awake.

“No. I am still beside thee. We have both been in dreamland, but thou

art more laggard than I.”

“I am much refreshed,” she said, apologetically. “Thou wilt pardon my

neglect?”

“I, too, am renewed,” he answered, stroking her hair affectionately.

* * * * *

“Thou wilt not forget me when thou art engrossed with affairs of state?”

she asked wistfully, as they stood together in the twilight taking leave

of each other.

He was to go away at daybreak the following morning, and she clung to

him in longing farewell.

“Remember this,” he answered, taking her face in his hands, and looking

deep into her eyes: “Nothing can for one moment blot out thy dear image.

The first thought of the day, the last thought of the night is of thee.”

“Thou art my whole desire and inspiration. Memory serves thee

faithfully. May the energy of the cosmos conserve thy strength of

purpose, thy health and happiness,” was Kerœcia’s reply.

“To Him who was in the beginning, and shall endure to the end without

mutation or change, I commend my sweet love. May angels of content hover

over thee, Kerœcia, my treasure!”

A tender, lingering embrace, a shower of kisses on eyelids and lips, and

then the princess stood alone, straining her eyes into the dark, trying

to retain a glimpse of her departing lover.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE JEWEL BOOK AND WHAT CAME OF IT

On the way home, and for days after his arrival at Tlamco, Yermah

thought of what he should do to please Kerœcia. She had said that she

wanted to know of all his handiwork and achievements, so he studied out

a plan to fulfill her wishes.

Being a master in metallurgy, a skillful artificer, and an expert

diamond lapidary, he decided to make her a tablet of stones, which

should be a book of his life, confident that she understood the language

of the genii, since her father’s court copied the letters used in their

cuneiform writing from the arrow-head crystals imprisoned in sapphires.

Yermah’s belief was that gold, silver and the precious stones had but

one foundation in nature. They were simply augmentative thought,

purified and perfected through the operation of magnetic life. This

power was invisible and unattainable under ordinary circumstances, and

unknown to all except the alchemist.

With him all yellow gems and gold were appropriate to wear for Sunday,

either to draw down propitious influences or to avert antagonistic

effects.

On Monday, pearls and white stones (not diamonds) were worn, because

this is the day of the moon, the second power in nature.

Tuesday, the day of Mars, claimed rubies and all crystallization of a

fiery luster.

Wednesday was the day of the turquoise, sapphire and all species of

stones which seem to reflect the blue vault of heaven, and to imply the

lucent azure of the spiritual atmosphere where the sylphs dwell—those

elementals who are always striving to communicate with mortals, because

they desire immortality.

Thursday demanded amethysts, and richly colored stones of sanguine tint,

because the day is correlated to the male divine sacrifice.

Friday, Venus’s day, had emeralds and reigned over all green stones.

On Saturday, diamonds, signifying the great deep, were worn, because

Saturn’s rule is death to the physical, but birth to the spiritual

nature.

“The first effect abides as long as the thing remains,” said the Dorado

to Alcamayn, as they examined and assorted some uncut turquoises brought

from the mines in the Cerrillos Mountains, in New Mexico, then a

flourishing Toltec settlement.

Opals came from Zinapan, pearls from La Paz, emeralds from Peru, and

diamonds from Brazil, while the rubies had been lately sent from Montana

by Orondo. There were beautiful sapphires from the Caucasus, secured by

barter with Kerœcia’s people.

“All things material have a proper form,” answered Alcamayn, “and are

subject to certain conditions. Gems, being material, derive virtue from

a specific shape, and are likewise subject to the influence of the

planets.”

“I require four stones for my purpose, and will see to it that the

symbol engraved has the same quality as the stone itself, in order that

its strength may be doubled,” continued Yermah.

“To be efficacious, this book must be made by election,” rejoined

Alcamayn. “Each stone must be worked at the hour its particular planet’s

position is strongest. This will prolong the good aspect forever, unless

the stone is broken.”

“The sapphire reflects the blue of heaven, and belongs to the Bull,”

explained Yermah, critically examining some polished gems, having

arrow-head crystals standing out in startling distinctness in the

prismatic colors. Sometimes they appeared in clouds, again in fields,

shifting their scenes as often as he changed the focus. “This shall be

placed in a square of gold.”

“The house of the Twins requires an agate, which is the natal stone of

the priestess Kerœcia,” observed Alcamayn, handing the Dorado a

beautifully marked moss-agate.

“Let that be placed in the gold below the sapphire. The emerald pictures

the depth of the sea, and is the delight of its parent, the Light

Bringer. It shall be in the third place.”

“The first gem for the blue square is a topaz,” said Alcamayn, “which

rules the Lion, thy house of nativity.”

“This pale pink coral, with its delicate leaf-work, shall be its

companion. It is of our common country, and will out-tongue my feeble

words in its own behalf,” the Dorado continued.

“Here is a dewdrop laden with sunbeams,” said the little jeweler

enthusiastically, as he opened a square of maguey fiber, and disclosed a

first-water brilliant.

“Equilibrated love could have no better exponent,” assented Yermah,

sharing his enthusiasm. “The bow and dart are here at rest in the sign

Libra, where the Lord of Day begins his journey through the nether

world. This sparkling thing shall find rest beside the coral branch

fresh from the brine of Atlantis.”

“The scarlet block must have a fiery opal, and I have here an exquisite

finding, recently brought from the Toltec kingdom,” exclaimed the

jeweler.

“This shall typify the sting of the scorpion, which is the separation

forced upon us. Its changing hues shall be to her a sign that three

lunations more complete my exile, and then comes joyous union. Put this

in the first place, and with it a turquoise for the present time, when

all my thought is of thee,” he continued, unmindful of Alcamayn’s

presence. “The ruby mirrors my imprisoned soul, which awaits release

into the sunshine of thy love.”

Alcamayn was looking over a handful of garnets. Finally he found a

suitable one, and laid it at the top of the purple square.

“This shall be the opening page,” said Yermah; “and I will so cunningly

fashion it that Kerœcia shall go with renewed zest from one chapter to

another. When she has my whole life spread out before her, I shall

conceal the spring, so that she may not close it again. It will be to

her a pledge of constancy.”

“I like not this amethyst,” commented Alcamayn, “but we have no other

stone large enough.”

“The sign of the fishes is well represented by a pearl,” rejoined

Yermah. “Hast thou black and white gems sufficient in size?”

“Here is one of each, ovum-shaped and perfect. Thou canst fashion the

fishes of the amethyst and set the two pearls between.”

“A square of jasper gives promise of fulfillment. As the verdant earth

responds to the warming rays of the sun newly come out of the region of

cold and darkness, so man’s heart is warmed into life by love. Canst

thou make room for me among the lapidaries?” he asked, turning to

Alcamayn in direct appeal. “I desire to work with these materials

myself.”

“Wilt thou grant me leave to make thee comfortable here? Thou mayst

command me in all things,” said Alcamayn, proud of his knowledge of the

craft, and flattered because he had been consulted in a matter so

personal and delicate.

They were in the treasure-room of Iaqua, and it was not long before

Yermah had a temporary work-shop improvised in a corner where he had a

good light, but was screened from observation.

In addition to a copper wheel and the necessary tools, there was a

vessel filled with a carbonate of a brownish-green, opaque color, porous

like pumice, and as hard as a diamond, which he used for polishing and

cutting. An emery-wheel and a ewer of olive oil were also at hand.

The Dorado spent a portion of each day in this work-shop, and while

employed at his labors of love, he either hummed or whistled the

plaintive melody Kerœcia had sung for him.

The gold plates which Yermah had so dexterously contrived were put

together on the principle of a screen, in four sections, containing

three stones each, set solid. The first strip was of purple enamel, the

second gold, the third blue, the fourth red. At the four cardinal points

were squares of gold, with stone intaglios.

When folded, the east and west formed a clasp, which had a spring

concealed on the reverse side.

As soon as Kerœcia received the tablet of stones, she dispatched Ben Hu

Barabe and Alcyesta to Tlamco with a pair of golden eagles for Yermah.

These birds were carefully trained in falconry, and were highly prized

because of their sagacity, courage and skill. She also sent him the

filmy muslin square with its broken and tangled threads, just as he had

left it. With it went a diamond ring set with brilliants all the way

around. She obeyed the request accompanying the tablet, and did not open

it until the three days specified had elapsed, being careful, also, to

observe the exact time named.

It was Yermah’s first attempt at telepathy; but as Kerœcia turned the

key in the elaborately carved ivory box, she felt his thought

distinctly. She spoke and acted as if he were actually present.

A delicate odor of jasmine filled the room, and Kerœcia was so eager and

nervous that she fumbled clumsily with the neatly rolled maguey fiber,

thin and soft as a spider’s web, on which the accompanying message was

written.

“The book has two parts,” said Suravia, when Kerœcia uncovered a thick

gold wheel having depressed spokes and a hub which acted as an upright

standard. The representation was perfect, and on what corresponded to

the felloes were the blossom and leaf of the _siempra viva_ in an

elaborately chased design.

“How thoughtful and delicate!” exclaimed Kerœcia, as she recognized the

flower, and recalled the occasion of its choice.

“Press the spring in the clasp, and then my life is before thee as an

open book,” she read, looking at the three uppermost stones in the

closed tablet.

“This is the language of the genii!” she cried, “and has a pearl, an

amethyst, and a garnet.”

“Which means modesty, sincerity and constancy,” declared Mineola, who

was of the party.

“Sincerity of speech and freedom from slanderous thoughts,” continued

Kerœcia. “Wisdom, courage, patience, and the power to keep those who

serve loyal. Fidelity in every engagement—”

“Where seest thou this?” asked Suravia, looking intently, but unable to

distinguish so much.

“I know not,” answered Kerœcia. “The divine gift of song is also here,

with a low sweet voice and love of home for my portion.”

“Seest thou this flying eagle with an arrow in its claws?” asked

Mineola, pointing to the green jade intaglio, on a square at the top.

“His thought is always of me,” murmured Kerœcia. “See how perfect the

polish and how exquisite the cutting.”

“The bottom has a black onyx square with an altar and fire,” said

Suravia, gazing curiously at the opposite end.

“This will keep the heart cheerful and merry, because it foretells

deathless union—”

“Be merciful to our curiosity, by touching the spring which conceals the

other chapters,” cried both girls in a breath.

“I cannot tell why—but I feel as if something were going to happen. How

strange the light is!”

The priestess still held the tablet in her hand, but went to the window

and looked out. “Dost thou not think a storm is approaching?”

“Let us put back the curtains which keep out the light,” said Suravia,

suiting the action to the word.

“Low-hanging clouds oppress the upper air. But this is nothing.”

“Thou hast no cause for apprehension,” said Mineola, kindly. “Thou hast

all the world to make thee content.”

Thus gently urged, Kerœcia came back to the table, accidentally setting

the gold wheel in motion as she approached.

“Dost thou notice that the square indentations in the inner circle of

the wheel are the same size as the top and bottom?” asked Suravia,

intent on her discovery.

“And dost thou see that the clasps are the same size?” asked Alcyesta,

whose quick eye had already noted the resemblance.

Kerœcia was still pale and unaccountably agitated. Finally she said,

with her thumb on the spring:

“I am face to face with Fate! But—Yermah loves me, so why should I

fear?”

She pressed the spring and the screen spread out instantly. In the

center was a slip of parchment, on which was written: “_When once my

heart opens unto thy loving touch, never again canst thou close it._”

Woman-like, they all exclaimed at once, and were in a flutter of

excitement over the beauty of workmanship, the flight of fancy, and the

loving sentiments expressed in this novel fashion.

“Did I not tell thee the squares would fit into the wheel?” demanded

Suravia, when she finally managed to make herself heard.

“Let us try it,” said Kerœcia. “Thou art right. It fits perfectly. The

tablet is square, but the wheel is circular, which is in itself a great

mystery with the Azes.”

The priestess blushed scarlet as she realized that she had betrayed her

study of Yermah’s religion.

“Tell us about it,” demanded both auditors, eagerly.

“To circle the square, means to find the perfect way of living,” she

answered.

“And he means to say that his life with thee will be perfect? He is the

square, thou art the circle?”

“It were more worthily put the other way,” answered Kerœcia, touched by

his tenderness and devotion.

“See the clasps,” said Mineola. “At the eastern point is a man’s figure

with a bull’s head, holding a spear over his left shoulder, from which

hangs a hare.”

“What a quaint, odd symbol of himself!” said Kerœcia, smiling.

“Placed opposite the balances, it will keep his beloved in health and

preserve her from despair,” said Suravia.

“Why sayest thou balances?” asked Kerœcia.

“Dost thou not see that the stones corresponded to the zodiac? The

diamond blazes like the sun in a clear sky,” answered Suravia, pointing

to the blue square.

“I have only eyes for this beautiful hyacinth in the opposite clasp. It

looks as if smoke were rising from it. Now it glows like a burning

coal,” cried Mineola.

“Cut deep in its smooth surface is a woman with her arms asunder, like a

cross, and having a triangle on her head,” commented Kerœcia.

“The stone is in the house of the Lamb, the beginning and renewal time

of Nature. Therefore, art thou given refreshing sleep and quick recovery

from fatigue,” returned Mineola.

“The desire and thought of both is centered on the altar.”

Kerœcia was speaking to herself, and lightly touching the blocks with

their intaglios marking the four cardinal points.

“Thou art right in adoring him,” declared Suravia, enthusiastically. “In

the first block of gold is a sapphire, meaning that the language of this

book is the same as that thy childhood knew; and the agate below it is

thy birth-stone.”

“The emerald underneath both has a perfectly straight and smooth

surface; so there shall be no darkening shadows thrown over thee,” said

Mineola.

“The topaz and coral in the next block pertain to thy future home; and

the diamond placed under them symbolizes the water which surrounds it,”

read Suravia.

“It will also be thy home—and thine too, Mineola. I cannot be happy

parted from thee.”

Each one of the girls affectionately embraced and kissed her in turn.

“The ruby contains an imprisoned soul,” said Mineola, looking again at

the tablet. “There is a perfect asterisk in the center. How tender! How

beautiful! How sweet is the language of love! He intends to say that his

heart awaits the freeing touch of thy devotion to release it from

apathy, and warm it into life. Thou art indeed blest and fortunate.”

“Thou shalt not read backward,” declared Suravia. “The first stone in

the red ground is an opal. It must bring a precious message, since it is

the only gem which man cannot imitate.”

“It has a changeable character, and is in a moving sign—”

A piercing scream from Kerœcia startled them, and before either

companion could prevent it, she fell to the floor in a deathlike swoon.

Mineola ran to the courtyard, where a water jar, overgrown with green

timothy, swung from the portico, and brought back a gourdful of ice-cold

water. Suravia knelt beside Kerœcia and sprinkled her face liberally.

“Speak to thy handmaiden,” she cried. “Speak, I beseech thee!”

In their excitement they did not notice that the room was suddenly

growing dark, and that the cool, moist air had become close and

stifling.

“Use the fan gently,” said Suravia, with a sharp, peremptory ring in her

voice. Mineola made no answer. She was praying.

Kerœcia recovered her senses with a start. She seemed dazed for a

moment; then she sat bolt upright, gasping for breath pitifully.

“What has distressed and hurt thee so?” asked Mineola with quivering

lips, kneeling beside her and offering support.

The sound of a voice seemed to recall Kerœcia’s wandering senses.

“O God! Give me courage!” was her agonized cry. “My beloved is vowed to

celibacy, and I must die!”

“What sayest thou?”

“Kerœcia, what dost thou mean?”

“Tell us fully,” they both said at once.

“Didst thou not see? In the opal—It was so from the beginning! O Thou

Merciful One, take thy wretched servant! What have I done? Shame

everlasting is my portion!”

“Why did he not tell thee of his vow?” asked Suravia, a note of rising

indignation in her voice.

“How could he? I am to blame. He would not humiliate and degrade me

before my people.”

She gave way to a paroxysm of heart-breaking grief, while Mineola,

weeping in sympathy, sought to console her.

Suravia went back to the tablet. The opal was entirely opaque; not a

particle of its fire and sparkle was visible.

“I will see what the other stones have to reveal. The sensitive

turquoise, the forget-me-not of gems, lives and suffers as we do. It has

the power of reproduction, and by its employment the Dorado intended to

express a hope for the future. But this symbol of youth, love and

tenderness seems to have shriveled in size, and has turned to a sickly

green. Beside it is the sympathetic ruby faded to a pale coral.

Misfortune—”

A sharp, swaying, rocking movement, sending the windowpanes to the

ground with a crash, and throwing the women against each other

violently, blanched their faces and caused them to cling together for

support. A deafening explosion followed, and then the cry of her

panic-stricken people aroused Kerœcia.

“Run for thy lives!” shouted a voice in the street. “The mountains are

smoking and spitting fire! Quick! quick! quick! Run!”

They barely escaped in time to miss the falling walls. In the streets an

indescribable scene was being enacted.

What is now known as Lassen Peak sent up a long fiery column, and the

earth heaved and groaned under the exertion.

Ashes, smoke and lava began pouring down the sides of the peak, and

there was a mad rush of wild animals, coming to man in their mute

helplessness from the rocking mountains hemming in the little valley.

Suddenly the gloom was lighted by a meteoric shower, which for an hour

made the heavens blaze in a magnificent electrical display. A terrific

crash of thunder followed, then an ominous rumble, ending in a long

groan which seemed to rend the bosom of the trembling earth.

Red-hot stones and burning cinders fell like a storm of fire upon the

whole surrounding country. Land surfaces subsided and rose again like

immense chests in regular and lusty breathing. The rubble walls and

battlements of the pavilion fell as a pack of cards.

A second shock leveled every house, and brought trees and rocks crashing

down the mountain sides, dealing death and destruction everywhere. The

whole artillery of the heavens was in action, drowning the feeble cries

of man, dying terror-stricken in the heaps of ruins.

Lizards, snakes, rats, mice, and moles raced madly in every direction,

while timid owls and other birds flew close to the ground and screeched

in their fright and bewilderment. The larger animals huddled close

together, while the dogs howled dismally.

A little handful of men and women, surviving the first terrific shocks,

attempted to escape over the lower range of hills, but, to their horror,

a yawning gulf opened at their feet.

Moving in sinister majesty and strangeness, was a bottomless abyss,

impassable in width and several miles long. Before their very eyes, it

swallowed up human beings, houses and forests, grinding and crushing

them between its gigantic jaws. With another terrific wrench, it belched

them up again, followed by a deluge of steam, mud and hot water.

The river lying below Anokia had deserted its natural bed, driven before

the avalanche of lava, and the sea of mud, vapor, gas, black smoke and

effluvia showed where it had forever disappeared through a crevice.

A thick shower of ashes filled the air. The earth undulated and quivered

for a few seconds, and then a tempest of lightning and hail cleared the

suffocating atmosphere.

In the lurid flashes could be seen the oscillation forth and back as if

the very heart of Mount Lassen were being torn out. Its black vomit,

streaked with red, trailed like a snake over the floor of the valley,

setting fire to the combustible wreckage, and stealing up the base of

the peak as well.

Kerœcia led her little band of devoted followers up the high mountain

walling in the western side of the valley. The subterranean rumblings

sounded in her ears like the drum-beating on stumps of trees or logs

done by the wings of male pheasants when they are calling to their

females.

“I hear not the call of a mate. It is death—and thou art welcome!” she

said, turning a pale but composed face to the burning heights.

“Thou hast heard my prayer!” she continued, stretching out her arms in

supplication. “Thou hast granted me the purification by fire! Thy spirit

laughs and licks out long tongues of flame straight from thy fiery

throat! Thy countenance is wreathed with smiles, for me, O Death! But if

consistent with thy will, spare these children of the forest. They share

not my humiliation, degradation and despair.”

A hissing, howling hurricane stormed and raged around them. With a

convulsive lurch the ground underneath shivered, and finally the

elevation on which they stood was rent in twain from top to bottom.

One half collapsed and fell in, while through the kettle-shaped opening

in the valley swept a flood of mud, scoria and molten lava, which

completely submerged the burning ruins. The rain fell in a solid sheet,

but now the hot air and steam rising from below tortured them with heat.

Suddenly a dog, maddened with terror, leaped into the seething cauldron,

and its cry was stifled by a sizzling, crackling sound, as the poor

creature was crisped to a cinder.

Those who clung to life made frantic leaps over the frightful precipice

to the other side, only to be dashed to pieces in the valleys below. The

whole district was overwhelmed with lava and hot water pouring out from

the lesser peaks around the center of activity. Despite the gales of

wind and the heavy downpour, sulphur and other noxious gases permeated

the upper air, so that long before the lava crept up and ingulfed them,

death by suffocation overtook the wretched remnant.

In their extremity the people obeyed Kerœcia implicitly, and many

touching exhibitions of heroism marked their last moments. They huddled

together at the root of a sequoia gigantea, newly wrenched out of the

ground. Nor did they refuse shelter to a grizzly bear, a mountain lion,

some wolves, some wild sheep, a colony of snakes, nor the birds hovering

in the air, screeching in abject terror or stupefied beyond resistance.

The twisting, crackling swish of the trees, the thundering clatter of

the rocks shaken loose, and bounding downward with prodigious velocity,

passed unnoticed by the martyrs looking at death, calmed and awed by the

terribly destructive fury of animated nature.

Kerœcia gathered Suravia and Mineola in her arms protectingly, and

waited for the end. Up to the very last she sought to comfort and

console her companions, so worn with fatigue and excitement that they

made no further effort.

Some had already crossed the dark waters; others were gasping their

last, when death touched her—and she slept.

With the passing of her spirit, Kerœcia groaned as she remembered how

she sat at the spindle, and of the answering look she then gave Yermah.

To the everlasting honor and glory of womankind be it said, that she

never sinks so low in the moral scale as to be indifferent to the

opinion of the man she loves. Loss of his respect crushes and kills—not

the physical, but all that is essentially woman in her nature.

Showered with affectionate appreciation, she reaches her highest

development; for love is as necessary to her growth as is sunshine to a

plant. Denied it, woman can at best but droop and die.

Since learning that Yermah was not free to espouse her, Kerœcia was

appalled and overwhelmed with the knowledge that she had allowed him to

surprise her secret thoughts—to guess accurately at future

possibilities.

“It is not true,” she murmured. “Yermah, my beloved, think not that I

have the heart of a wanton! Forgive—”

But there was no answering voice to cry out in return—no one to assure

the breaking heart that her love was a priceless treasure—no one to make

her see that every emotion was fully appreciated and understood. So the

sunshine went out of another life when the breath left Kerœcia’s body.

* * * * *

Yermah had named the day and hour when Kerœcia should examine the tablet

of stones, to enable him to put himself in communication with her

mentally. For three days he kept the door of his private sanctuary

closed; but at the hour named he knelt before the shrine and fixed his

mind intently upon Kerœcia.

He smiled softly to himself as he realized that she had opened the ivory

casket, that she was examining the workmanship, that she comprehended

the significance of the square within the circular wheel.

Now she has touched the clasp, and her eyes are greedily drinking in the

beauty of the groupings while her senses are thrilled with their

message. In his rapture he goes with her, step by step.

“She is pleased with the coral-bound island of my birth,” he murmured,

“and she gets some idea of her future home.—Thou art right, Mineola, my

soul is in the ruby. I have laid my heart bare. Look long and earnestly,

Kerœcia; thou art welcome to know its secret places. The opal will tell

thee how soon release comes. Thou must not be frightened at its

suddenness. Three more lunations separate us. Then to Atlantis, where—”

He was wrenched violently and pitched face downward to the floor by the

sudden impact of Kerœcia’s agonized thought.

“Thou art mistaken!” he cried aloud. “The changing character of the opal

must speak to thee. Thy thought dishonors me, for I love thee truly! The

vow binds me not for all time. Look again, beloved!”

To his finely attuned senses came the knowledge of her anguish and

sorrow. He choked and smothered under it. Mentally, he heard her

piercing shriek.

“O Unseen Divinity! Hear and be gracious to thy distressed servants!” he

supplicated, rising to a kneeling position. “O Powers of Air! Convey my

thoughts clearly! Make her to see!” Something of the horror of the

situation flashed over him. “O Earth yield now thy hidden treasure! Give

gold in abundance, that I may fly to her side. Release me, O

Brotherhood! I will not be longer bound—”

Without sensing it, Yermah had broken the spirit of his vow!

The door of the sanctuary stood open, but his ordinary faculties were

dormant, while his subjective consciousness sought to penetrate the

gloom ingulfing Kerœcia. He did not hear approaching footsteps, nor did

his wandering senses respond when a light tap sounded on the door, nor

did he see the face peering in at him.

“He kneels before Orion,” said Alcamayn hurriedly, as Akaza approached.

“Thou wilt find him distraught already.”

“Hasten back to the Observatory and have the bells tolled to quiet the

alarm showing itself among the people,” said Akaza in dismissal. “Soon

the dread visitation will be upon us, and it were gentle to forewarn

them.”

Akaza had been making observations night and day since Yermah’s return

from Anokia. He had said little, but his face was set and stern, like

one in deep trouble. He made a peculiar rat-tat! on the lentils of the

sanctuary with his fingers, which brought Yermah to the doorway.

“A sign of great portent is in the heavens,” began Akaza, after a mute

salutation. “When the sun is passing from Libra to Capricorn is a season

prolific in visitations from outer space. The fiery messengers come near

the sun at that time. Dost thou remember the night in the cave?”

“Memory serves me well,” answered Yermah, unable to concentrate his

attention. “Is the visitant of the usual complexion and order?”

“It is a burning coal, red and glowing. Its face is like a double

crescent, and it is a formidable rival to the sun in size. It comes

retrograde with the constellation Orion rising. Its illuminated hair

floats over one half of the zenith, and is not quite on a straight line

opposite the sun. It pulsates as though it had been agitated by the

wind, and is curved like a threatening saber.

“To-day, it will pass through the plane of the earth’s orbit, and when

it meets the influence of the new moon, it will be in sore affliction

with Venus. In this condition it comes under the influence of Mars. It

will then disperse that planet’s cohesive strength and there will be war

in the earth’s interior between uncontrolled water and fire.

“All the planets in our system afflict and oppose each other so that the

waters of the sea and the winds of heaven will be lashed into furious

activity.”

“What means this sudden clangor of bells?” asked Yermah, now fully

aroused to the commotion in the courtyard outside.

“It is a solemn convocation to call the affrighted people together to

watch and pray, while the sign hangs suspended behind the dying sun,”

answered Akaza, hurrying after him. “Many times of late the orb of day

has gone to rest in a bed of blood, but to-night the red glow comes from

another quarter. The scourge is upon us, Yermah, and the hour of thy

trial is at hand.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

YERMAH BECOMES ONE OF THE WHITE STAR BROTHERHOOD

Yermah did not hear him. He had caught a glimpse of the comet hanging

low over the Golden Gate—a double crescent of fire joined together. Its

tail bent out over Tlamco, and curved downward like a great broad-sword.

It throbbed and panted like a living thing, sinister and awful, as Venus

twinkled between its two horns, an evening star of horrible aspect.

A tremor, ominous and indefinable, seized the populace, hushed and awed

by the dreadful apparition. It was a premonition, followed instantly by

a low, rumbling sound, an angry roar of waters, and then the earth shook

under them like a leaf in the wind. A mad rush for the streets, an

instinctive huddling together, a breathless wait for a second impact!

A heavy, long boom, like a roll of distant artillery, and a wave

mountain high, but crested in the center like a spine, rose up between

them and the Golden Gate, and, for a moment, shut out from view the

grinning, mocking comet.

The ground surged up and down under their feet in simultaneous waves.

Trees bent over and touched their tops together, houses rocked and

swayed, and all that was breakable in them went down with a crash.

Living close to the heart of Nature, her moods were not mysterious to

these people; so, they waited for the third, and what they supposed

would be the final shock. It came with such terrible force that the

Observatory tower fell in a cloud of blinding dust, and all the other

buildings were rent or cracked grievously, but were not overthrown

simultaneously.

A thievish wave stole in silently, and embraced the whole city.

The stricken people looked into each other’s faces with dismay, as they

stood waist-deep in water, a nameless fear chilling their hearts. The

water retreated precipitously, while lurid streaks and tongues of flame

lit up the whole eastern heavens. Shock after shock succeeded each

other, while the clouds lowered heavy and sullen close overhead.

Brokenly, but in unison, thousands of throats lent voice to prayerful

entreaty:

“Wilt thou blot us out forever, O Lord? Is this punishment intended not

for our reformation, but for our total destruction?”

One impulse seemed to move the entire concourse; and as if Nature heard,

she answered by a gust of wind and a downpour of rain.

* * * * *

Ben Hu Barabe, Alcyesta and their attendants had a mad gallop for life.

They were within an hour’s ride of Sacramento River when they saw thin,

blue flames suddenly shoot up from the earth, followed by heavy

cannonading of the internal elements.

In the cosmic mêlée they were tossed forth and back like a shuttle in a

loom—so violently at first that the horses fell to their knees and were

whirled in opposite directions. In terror the animals tried to lie down

and roll over with their burdens; but their riders whipped and spurred

vigorously, and the maddened creatures ran until they dropped exhausted

on the river bank. A thick shower of ashes fell over them, and the air

was like a blast from a furnace. Behind them came smoking streaks of

lava, poured into the plain by a row of flame-mantled hills.

Flocks were scampering wildly in every direction, and the scattered

herdsmen were taking to the boats and skiffs tied along the river bank.

Ben Hu Barabe and Alcyesta climbed into the balsa awaiting them, and

their attendants hastened with them. They had scarcely pushed out into

midstream, when the very bed of the river seemed to rise and hurl its

waters forward. Waves rose in an undulating wall of water, breaking the

banks of both sides, sending death and destruction broadcast over the

valley. The boats were carried along by an irresistible impulse and with

incredible swiftness, straight across sinuous windings of the stream

onward toward the sea.

Lightning played over their heads; but the crash of thunder, the

explosions of the volcanoes, the mighty heaves and groans tearing the

breast of the trembling earth were lost in an angry roar of waters.

A canon-shot would not have sent them forward with greater impetus; and

this prevented their boats from swamping, despite their shipping water

frightfully.

The shock which leveled the Observatory tower shattered all the windows

and cracked every building in Tlamco, letting the accumulated waters

through what is now Carquinez Straits, and widened an arm of the sea

into an open inlet.

The impounded water inundated the surrounding country, swept over the

intervening islands, and spent itself in a series of waves mountain

high, whose impact disturbed the ocean’s surface for thousands of miles,

after severing Lime Point from the peninsula and plowing out the famous

Golden Gate entrance to the bay.[9]

One of the most violent tremors caught the little colony of boats, which

by a miraculous coincidence, were thrown together in the trough of the

sea, and tossed them ashore, high and dry, on the Berkeley hills.

The water receded so rapidly that the boats stuck fast in the débris and

mud. All except the strongest one, containing Ben Hu Barabe and

Alcyesta, were crushed like egg-shells.

With broken arms and legs, bruised and battered bodies, scarred almost

beyond recognition, the little band huddled together, reviving each

other when pain brought unconsciousness, while the elements overhead and

below them rioted with unabated fury.

The morrow brought no surcease, except that the waters subsided and took

on something of their normal aspect. The earth still trembled and

groaned, and the sun was so completely obscured for days after, that it

seemed always twilight.

So soon does the mind become accustomed to danger—so familiar does it

grow with death, that Ben Hu Barabe was able to direct his men how to

reach the back waters of the bay, where the motion was less violent and

marked.

They helped each other, with tears and gratitude, to some of the fruit

and nuts which had been spared to them. Alcyesta’s left arm was broken,

and she could scarcely move without intolerable pain; but she made no

complaint to the half-crazed men about her. None of them could ever tell

afterward how they contrived to reach Tlamco.

Heart-rending scenes greeted them everywhere, and many of the frenzied

inhabitants rolled convulsively upon the ground. Others accused

themselves with frantic insistence of all kinds of crime. Others could

not speak. Some were helpless paralytics, and numbers could not retain

food, so terrible was the reflex action on the nervous system.

The mind that has passed through such a calamity has lost its tone.

Instead of being braced up, as by war, the earth’s epilepsy makes the

mental fabric flabby, and paralyzes by a hopeless fear from which there

is no known refuge. The fluttering soul, tying itself to matter as

something solid and enduring, finds that the globe itself is but a poor

shivering thing, liable to be taken in some monster demon’s clutch and

shaken back into its component parts. No language can adequately express

the stupendous feeling of instability conveyed by the idea of the

earth’s possible dissolution and dispersion.

* * * * *

Yermah sat in a stupor, and it was with difficulty that he could be

aroused when Ben Hu Barabe came to speak to him. He was completely worn

out with anxiety and exertion on behalf of his people. At first the

Dorado did not recognize his visitor in the semi-darkness. When he

finally caught sight of the ravaged and altered face before him, he went

almost insane with grief. He had hoped against hope to the very last.

Now he knew without a word that his worst fears were realized.

Six weeks later, when brain-fever loosed its grip upon him, Akaza found

Yermah lying face downward at the door of the Temple of Neptune. He was

moaning and sobbing piteously. In a half-crazed condition, he had eluded

observation, and started out to find his foster-father, but had fallen

by the wayside, overcome by sheer bodily weakness. Akaza lifted him up,

and hushed him as he would a child.

“Thou art wrong to grieve like this,” he said gently and soothingly.

“The Father in the Trinity is the Universal Creator; the Son is man

himself. Therefore, thou art in essence—God, since thou art in

possession of this higher principle and must live.”

Yermah was like a maimed lion—a pathetic and pitiable object—as he lay

with his head on Akaza’s shoulder, while his pent-up feelings found vent

in choking sobs.

“Thou art weakening thy sacred manhood in yielding thus to despair. Thou

art intrusted with a mission for all peoples, for all tongues, and for

all time. Think, my son, of being the world’s ideal lover through all

the eons to follow! It is a blessed privilege! Thou hast witnessed a

demonstration of the destructive majesty of cosmic force. Now thou art

called upon to obey thine individual destiny. THOU HAST PERFORMED THE

EIGHTH LABOR!”

“And the gold for the temple?” questioned Yermah, in a stricken voice.

“It was alchemical gold thou wert sent to find. Thy body is the temple,

and the Perfect Way of Life is the magic which produces alchemical gold.

Dost thou comprehend the occult significance of Osiris, with a crook in

one hand and a flail in the other?”

“No,” answered the Dorado, more calmly. “Come into the temple and I

shall tell thee.”

When Yermah followed him, he continued:

“The crook is the attraction to the earth, and the flail is the

repulsion from it. Man oscillates continually between the masculine and

the feminine qualities of his nature. When Osiris says, ‘Let the heart

be given back to the deceased’[10] after it has been put into an urn and

weighed in the balance against the image of Truth, we are to understand

that the candidate is no longer swayed by his emotions and appetites. He

is self-centered. Sorrow will lift her pall, and thou wilt stand face to

face with Truth.”

Akaza drew from his bosom a heavy serpent ring of silver with a rare

green jade setting. It had a turquoise with diamond eyes cut intaglio.

“This means Silence,” said the old man, as he took Yermah’s right hand,

and slipped the ring on the little finger. “It is the signet of the

Brotherhood, and thou must sacredly guard the divine wisdom imparted to

thee.

“Thou wilt be sorely tried in the future; but I, who am responsible for

thy soul’s welfare, give thee this sign manual of the King Initiate.”

Yermah knelt before him, and was anointed on crown, forehead and breast

with perfumed oil.

“Rise and receive the Sacred Word. It is ‘Aision,’ which is Truth. Seen

in the distance, this quality is personated as stern, harsh, forbidding;

but, when we approach near enough to distinguish the lineaments of its

countenance, it contains all that is gracious, benignant and inspiring.

The Spirit of Truth dwells within the sanctuary of the heart.”

Akaza then put his hands together, with the fingers closed and bent so

as to form an acute angle. With the tip of his fingers pointed, he

touched Yermah’s forehead, and said:

“Let there be no complaint.”

The joining of the right and left hand signified the union of the

masculine and the feminine principles, and of spirit and matter.

It represented the pyramid, the cone, the center, the heart, the ten

Sephiroth proceeding from the One; the naught of the ten numerals in the

tenfold ratio.

“And I am commanded to get rid of the my-ness, as a giant weed whose

roots lie deep in the human heart?” said Yermah, slowly.

“Remember always,” responded Akaza, glad to see that Yermah’s mind was

for the moment normal, “that the true self of man is God. Look for it in

thy fellows; find it and hold fast to it in thyself. Thou must ponder

these things well. I can tell thee what I have experienced and known;

but thou wouldst only have my word for it.

“A river cannot rise higher than its source; so, therefore no man ever

sees beyond the reflection of himself. First, sense the truth

intuitively; then mayst thou examine it at leisure with thine intellect.

“To break the law is identical with breaking the God within thee. Now

that thou art one of us, bear in mind that our Brotherhood can only

instruct. We cannot give real knowledge. Experience must do that for

thee.”

“Experience! thou art a cruel monster! Because of thee am I deprived of

my sweet love,” said Yermah, giving way to an outburst of grief.

“What sayest thou? Look!”

Yermah raised his head and gazed with streaming eyes at an apparition of

Kerœcia, as he had last seen her in life, standing in the eastern

entrance.

“She smiles and beckons me!” he said, in an awe-struck whisper. “Oh! my

soul, why hast thou forsaken me? Why should death touch thee, if I must

live?”

“Death claimed nothing but the physical body,” said Akaza, softly. “She

feels not its loss. Look at her serene countenance. Wouldst thou spare

her pain?”

Yermah cast a reproachful glance at Akaza.

“Canst thou ask the question?”

“Then master and control thy feeling. She can only manifest by absorbing

thy magnetism. If thou wouldst see her at will, thou must give of thy

strength freely.”

“And she does not know that she is out of the body?” asked Yermah,

eagerly.

“No. She never will, unless thy indulgence in grief plunges her into the

vortex of pain, which is now thy portion.”

“By all that I hold sacred—by all I love, hope and fear, she never

shall!” exclaimed Yermah, rising.

On his face was the uplifting and exaltation of a saint.

“O Kerœcia! Core of my heart! I am ready for thy spirit to flutter over

me! Never can I be sad with the knowledge of thy sweet presence.”

He stood in rapt attention, communing long and silently with the

beatific vision. There was not a trace of care in her benign expression.

She had solved the mystery and knew the truth.

For such love there is neither time nor death nor space.

Akaza stole away in the dim light, murmuring softly:

“Although a separate entity, she personates the feminine principle

dormant in himself. This is what the ideal always does. Through this he

will learn to harmonize desire and knowledge, and in time he will see

that the grinding out of animal propensities, represented by the ringed

planet, has come to him in a form more beautiful than a poet’s dream.

Kerœcia is the disillusionizer, the dweller on the threshold, the

chastening rod. But the hand that smites will also bless him.”[11]

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AKAZA KEEPS HIS VOW AND IS FINALLY FREE

As he passed out of the temple, Akaza turned again to look at Yermah

whose face was illumined, serene and calm. With his hands clasped before

him, the Dorado stood as if in a dream, taking into the inner recesses

of his heart the comforting assurance of immortality and of final union

with the Divine, in which Kerœcia was a part.

“Farewell, beloved!” said the old man, as his eyes filled. “Thou hast

passed the Gates of Light, and art come into thine own. Amenti, thou

unknown, receive thy son! Amrah, King of the Brotherhood, give back my

vow! I have kept the faith!”

He stood with bowed figure, and seemed to be communing with the Unseen.

Presently he lifted his head, and the crowning white hair haloed a

dazzling countenance. His lips were parted in a pleased expectancy.

“I am free to go hence,” he said, as he turned and walked out with

renewed vigor.

Akaza bent his steps toward Ingharep, and when he reached the cave, he

went in and made ready for a journey. The blurred, reddened and obscure

sun shed but fitful light over the still agitated waters of the Pacific.

The hierophant went out on the rocks jutting into the sea, remnants of

which are still visible below the Cliff House of to-day, where he sat

gazing long into space. When his strength was fully regained, he hailed

the officer on watch in the tower-house of the hill overlooking the

point, and was soon swallowed up in the night.

Crossing the bay, he came upon a few refugees from the far north, led by

Cezardis, who cried childishly when he encountered for the first time in

many days this evidence of any living thing. Running toward Akaza, he

kissed and fondled him in his excitement, while the others gave every

evidence of thankfulness and joy.

“Tell me all that has befallen thee,” said Akaza, holding him at arm’s

length.

“It would need more than man’s allotted time to convey all,” answered

Cezardis. “Death and destruction are everywhere. A puny chain stands

between the main land of the Ians and my country. The peak next the

shore opposite, and over which the priestess Kerœcia passed, has fallen

into the sea,[12] and all the high mountains are putting forth smoke,

ashes and melted rocks. In some places the earth heaves and groans

continuously; in other spots, water pours all the time; while hot air

makes man and beast labor for breath.”

“Ben Hu Barabe and Alcyesta are in Tlamco,” said Akaza. “They alone of

all the Monbas survived the visitation of the fire-spirits.”

“We knew as much from the terrible rocking still going on in their

country. The water has deserted the rivers everywhere, and is making new

places where it has not sunk into the earth. Didst thou see the dread

messenger in the heavens near the place of Venus?”

“Yes; and it will soon make the house of Mars, and then there will be

contention in Tlamco.”

“How fares Yermah, the beloved of Kerœcia?”

“Thy heart will be wrung by sight of him. Reason fled for many days. But

it is decreed otherwise, and he will soon find peace. Farewell! I go to

fulfill an obligation,” said Akaza, embracing the weary travelers.

“Commiseration and surcease of care be thy portion.”

“May the Divine bring thee speedily on thy journey!” they said with one

accord. “We will pray the Azes to afford us shelter.”

“Thy petition will be quickly answered. Thou wilt find them altered and

distraught, but in bodily health.”

They crowded into the boats kept on the Oakland shores for such

emergencies, but in their half-famished condition they made poor headway

against the choppy sea.

Akaza went back over much of the same ground traversed in visiting the

Yo-Semite Valley. Where possible, he went due east, facing the rising

place of the sun. A less stout heart would have been appalled by the

devastation and ruin all around him.

The rivers in many places had been lifted out of their courses, and

changed about in an almost incomprehensible manner. Mountains and

forests no longer afforded shelter to the huge animals of that time.

On his way into Calaveras County, Akaza saw herds of mastodons with

their tongues lolled out, in company with elephants and elk huddled

together around a spring of fresh water.

He encountered many a fierce grizzly bear so nearly famished as to be

unable to harm him. Wolves and panthers were dead and dying by the

hundreds, and the rhinoceros and hippopotami had great raw cracks in

their backs because of the extreme heat and the dryness of the

atmosphere.

No tongue can picture the thrilling and inspiring condition of the

heavens. The mountain peaks continued to send up streams of hot air,

which mingling with the cool breezes from the sea, brought about gales

and storms of incalculable velocity, with all the drying capacity of a

furnace blast. The upper air was an amphitheater of gorgeous electric

effects. Streaks of lightning as big as the body of a tree licked out

their long tongues, or darted with deadly effect among the ashes and

smoke, which rolled in and out over the crest of the Sierras, scattering

a sediment broadcast for miles. The heavy cannonading of the upper

strata of air could never be compared to the weak peals and crashes of a

thunderstorm, and yet not a drop of water fell to ease the sufferings of

the creatures who still lived.

“Yermah’s prayers have been answered literally,” said the old man, as he

trudged along, upheld by some hidden force—carried forward by an

indomitable purpose. “The gold is being vaporized and brought to the

surface in the upheaved quartz and gravel. It has tried to come south

toward him, but it cannot escape the rigors of the ice, soon to overtop

this region.”

He passed close to the great “mother lode,” and not far from the

mysterious “blue lead,” the wonder and admiration of our pioneer days.

But there was no detritus then, no decomposed quartz, no auriferous

gravel-beds.

“There will be no faults in these veins,” he said, “because the

uplifting is simultaneous. And in aftertime the deposits will be

accessible to another race of men. They will find our copper mines, but

will lose the secret of amalgamation. The first overflow of mud and

water has hardened into cement,” he continued, examining the deposit

critically.

“It is indeed time I were here. Rivers of basaltic lava will follow

this, and I must be prepared. Four successive strata will pour over me,

and still my grinning skull will be preserved to confound and astonish.

The very name of the monastery, Guatavita, the Gate of Life, will incite

men to deeds of blood. But thy will be done! I thank Thee that Thou hast

given me the power to endure.”

Akaza turned to the east, and made a low salaam, and then went into the

entrance, now covered over and known as the Natural Bridges of Calaveras

County. He performed ablutions in the two rock basins still sitting

under the stalactites and arches of the upper bridge and then passed to

the lower entrance, a few yards away.

On the east is a high mountain which for a quarter of a mile is supposed

to contain innumerable caves. In reality, it is a natural rock temple,

very like the Elephantine Caves, and it was here that the American lodge

of the Brotherhood kept a record of the entire time man had existed on

the earth.

“Twice already has the face of the globe changed by fire, and twice by

water,” said Akaza; “and each time has a new race been born. The Aryan

comes into leadership by the joint action of both elements.”

The hierophant carried a little copper hammer, which he used to tap the

various squares of solid masonry closing the entrance, listening each

time a stone was struck. Finally a peculiar singing noise reached him,

and he reversed the hammer, springing from its side a sharp, dagger-like

point of hardened copper. With this he began patiently to pick the glaze

which held the blocks of granite in place.

He worked all day taking out the exact squares marked on a curious

diagram held in his hand. As night fell, he found himself through the

entrance, and inside the temple and monastery.

The incomparable odor of jasmine greeted him, and a light flickered in

the distance.

Akaza’s heart stood still.

Here for a hundred years no intruding footsteps had entered! The man who

lighted the perfumed lamp was long since in spirit life. The hierophant

never doubted his ability to accomplish the task imposed upon him, but

he trembled with the knowledge that it was so nearly finished.

“_Refreshment awaits thee on the right_,” he read from an inscription on

the wall.

Following the direction given, he found an abundance of hulled corn,

rice, dried fruits and nuts securely sealed in earthen jars, and there

was also one containing garments and other things.

He took the edibles and came back to the arched entrance, where he

lighted a fire, and prepared a meal.

“The elements have made my bath ready,” he said, dipping his hand into

one of the larger basins. “The water is warm, and I am not insensible to

its charms.”

When he came out of it he clothed himself in spotless linen, embroidered

with orange-colored silk. Around his neck was a collarette of diamonds

and black onyx set in gold, from which hung a leaden medal cast in the

sign of Saturn, and about his waist was a yellow silk girdle. After he

had anointed his hair with an unguent, he gathered some cypress and

crowned himself with it.

He was careful to perform every rite before and after eating, and as a

sacrifice to fire piled up copal in one of the small basins, and ignited

it by the friction of two hardwood sticks. While it burned he smoked;

after which he allowed tired nature to drift into a short but deep

sleep.

Roused by an extra heavy shock of earthquake, he gathered up the

remnants of food, his discarded garments and prayer-rug, and threw them

into the burning basin piece by piece, until all were in ashes.

Wherever possible, the firelight cast weird shadows against the

beautiful stalactites still hanging.

These novel instruments responded in sweetest melodies to Akaza’s

magical touch.

The hierophant used a rod made from a perfectly straight almond branch,

just before the tree was in blossom. It was hollowed and filled with a

needle of iron, which was magnetized. A many-sided prism cut into a

triangle was fastened to one end, with a black resin figure of the same

at the other. In the middle of the rod, which was the length of the arm,

and wrapped in silk, were two rings—one of red copper, the other of

zinc.

On the extremity which ended in the resin triangle, the rod was gilded;

the other end was silvered to the central rings. On the copper ring was

a mystical word, and another also on the one made of zinc. This rod had

been consecrated by the last initiate at Guatavita, and had not been

seen by any one since.

The sounds evoked grew more and more weird and peculiar, and Akaza’s

exertions became more and more violent, until he dropped exhausted near

the basin, where only a few sparks smoldered.

From a chamois wallet he took bits of assafœtida, alum, and sulphur, and

threw them on the heated coals. As their combined fumes permeated the

air, he touched a spring in the side of one of the marble basins, and a

thin, smooth slab slipped out.

Hastily covering it with a chamois skin, he produced writing materials

from the jar which had contained the robe he wore, and prepared to

write. He had scarcely seated himself on an overturned stone before he

was entranced.

“Thy Brother in Lassa, on the Brahmaputra, sends thee greeting!

“All save the high regions of the Himalayas, where our monastery is

situated, are sorely pressed by raging flood.

“The heavens have opened. The plains with their chains of mountains,

rivers, lakes and inland seas, have been suddenly heaved up.

“Fire lurks in the hidden depths, and the beds of the sea vibrate and

tremble. Its waves hide islands and continents in its abysses.

“The sun’s rays drink up the scattered waters, and pour them down again,

mingling with the rivers and the ocean.

“They cover the plains, filling the valleys, roaring around the fire

mountains, hollowing out the slopes, and surging up to their summits. In

it are swallowed flocks and pasturage, forests and wild beasts, fields

and crops, towns and hamlets, with myriads of mortals.”

Akaza held the rod to his forehead, and sent an answering message,

detailing fully all that had happened here.

“Sign and seal thy parchment, and restore to its hidden place. The

spirit of fire hovers near thee. Prepare to go out in peace. Thy

pilgrimage is at an end.

“Thou art in the place of destruction, and Truth will hide her face

there until thou art again incarnate. May thy birth into light be

speedy and joyful.

“Accept the love of thy brother and servant,

“Kadmon the Patriarch.”

Akaza put the manuscript into a jar and sealed it, and with infinite

pains closed the steplike opening through which he had entered

Gautavita. Then, realizing that he had received his last summons, he

laid him down peacefully to sleep.[13]

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE DORADO FACED UTTER NEGATION OF SELF

In returning to Iaqua from the temple, Yermah stopped to inspect the

work being done by a company of warrior-priests on the cracked and

broken wall surrounding the public gardens. These men had already

restored the aqueducts, so that danger of a water famine no longer

threatened Tlamco.

The still terrified populace were totally incapable of consecutive

action. Not one of them doubted that the destructive agencies at work

would blot them out. All of the secular temples were crowded constantly,

and the voice of prayer and supplication rose above the low rumblings

still going on in the earth.

Death played sad havoc with women burdened with motherhood, and the

priestesses and vestals were overworked in their efforts to take care of

the motherless, whose pinched and frightened faces peered from

everywhere.

The people were too stupefied to formulate any definite plans for

themselves, and lived in hourly expectation of a final summons.

Military discipline, instituted by Akaza, prevented frenzied acts of

self-destruction, while the fleet of balsas found it necessary to

protect the granaries and stores.

The first upheavals produced some curious phenomena in the honeycombed

hillsides containing the jars and baskets. After being buried for a

quarter century, many of the former were thrown up on the surface with

such force as to break and scatter their contents hopelessly. The

baskets were also tossed and rolled about in a surprising manner.

By right of seniority, Setos assumed command of the land forces, while

Hanabusa coöperated heartily from the sea.

The Observatory tower was a complete wreck, and there was no way of

predicting changes of weather, the knowledge of which added much to the

horror of the situation. It was a nameless, undefined dread—a something

they could not determine, which appalled and overwhelmed even the

stout-hearted.

For the first time since his bereavement, Yermah showed an interest in

his surroundings. His heart was wrung by the scenes about him, but it

was no longer a self-centered grief.

“Our Dorado is beginning to share the woes of his fellows,” said one of

the bystanders as he approached. “He no longer walks apart speechless

with sorrow. Let us greet him as of old.”

The crowd uncovered and shouted: “Haille! Haille! Haille!” so weak and

feebly that the sound seemed to die in their throats. Yermah was too

much moved for words, but he made a pitiful effort to smile, as he

raised his hands in benediction in return.

“Peace be with thee!” they answered, trying manfully to conceal their

anxieties and fears.

“Yermah!” called a familiar voice. “Give thy servant greeting.”

“Orondo! Brother in all save blood—”

The Dorado staggered and would have fallen had not Orondo caught and

embraced him.

“Thy hollow, wasted cheeks and thy shrunken frame pierce my heart like a

dagger!” cried Orondo, while the tears ran unrestrained down his

weather-beaten face. “Anxiety and fear for thee urged me here.

Speak!—Surely thou wilt not snap the slender thread!” he continued,

alarmed at Yermah’s silence. He held the Dorado up, searching his

haggard countenance anxiously.

“Long have I stood within the shadow,” murmured Yermah feebly,

struggling to overcome great weakness. “The body refuses to support the

spirit in manifesting joy in seeing thee—Thy pardon—”

“No need of words ’twixt thee and me,” answered Orondo.

“Thy heart is like a crystal spring, and I know its full depths.”

Orondo’s strong right arm upheld the Dorado, but his prompt,

soldier-like habit stood him in good stead. By a nod he beckoned to the

warrior-priests waiting, to bring forward a palanquin, which they had

gone into the temple to procure. Gently as a woman could have done, he

seated the Dorado and motioned the attendants to go on.

Yermah’s look of gratitude made his strong chin tremble, and brought the

old haunted expression back to his face. A cold, clammy perspiration

stood out on Yermah’s lips and brow as he sank back utterly exhausted.

When he closed his eyes, Orondo said to himself: “He will never be paler

in death. Poor heart-broken soul!”

Orondo had a good profile view as he trudged beside the chair. He

observed the ravages that illness of body and mind had wrought, and

wondered in a vague sort of way if he could not share some of his own

vitality.

Loyalty forbade direct speech, but he had learned from others enough to

understand the situation. His owns wounds bled anew, but they were rated

second in comparison.

“Thy master has need of sleep,” he said to the attendants as Yermah was

carried into the private apartments. “Should solicitude find utterance,

tell him that I am waiting his pleasure in my old quarters.”

Wandering through familiar rooms, he was able to estimate the effect of

constant shaking on walls and ceilings. He saw many evidences of their

being out of plumb.

Despite everything Orondo had a comfortable sense of being at home

again. He busied himself unpacking his surveying instruments, and looked

over a pile of hieratic picture-writings, containing reports on the

mounds, earthworks, and temples he had been inspecting.

Two hours later, while Orondo was still absorbed in the work a tamane

came and asked if he would receive the Dorado.

“Rather entreat thy master to summon me,” replied Orondo. “Care sits

heavily upon him, and it were better to encourage health and strength.”

Still intent upon additions to, and corrections of, the documents in

hand, Orondo did not look up when he heard the door open and close.

“Thou art always unselfish,” declared Yermah, coming close to him; “but

thou art prohibited from inciting me to shirk duty. Not a word hast thou

spoken of thine own case. Acquaint me with all which hath befallen

thee.”

There was a touch of his old self in tone and gesture, but he seated

himself like an old man.

“Wilt thou insist on a detailed account of my journey hence and sojourn

in the great valley?”

“Leave dry circumstance to the custodian of archives. But tell me if

success full and complete crowned thy efforts.”

“The mounds and the earthworks are perfect in location and design, and

where finished are of enduring workmanship. Only a few temples have been

erected; but when the flood subsides, work will go on again—slowly now,

because of depleted numbers.”

“Has the dread scourge touched that fair land, too?”

“Yes; and with much violence. For days a great double-headed dragon hung

directly over the sun, as if it would fall down over and obscure the

light. Its long body flickered with every current of air and the

mountain divide, running north and south from ocean to ocean, heaved and

shook responsive to it. This went on for many days; then the dragon was

seen to back away into space; but it went very slowly, as if the sun

held it transfixed. Clouds and darkness followed, and the waters lay

over the tops of the trees, by the last accounts.”

“Thou wert not eye-witness?”

“Not in all the district. My labor was in the south. The waters did not

oppress me.”

“Thou art newly come from our brethren in Zuni? Is it well with them?”

“The hotah has blown steadily one whole lunation, parching the surface

dry as a desert. Years of patient artifice made water plentiful, but the

sources have hidden in the earth, and every green thing is withered and

dead. Windows fall out of the houses, doors refuse to hang, and are much

too small for the openings. Man and beast suffer frightfully. An ashy

hue overspreads the countenance. The eyes, lips and throats become

parched and painful; then the only hope was to smear themselves with

grease.”

“And wert thou obliged to treat thy body so?” asked Yermah, mindful of

Orondo’s habit of exquisite cleanliness.

“Yes; and to a liberal coating of olive oil do I owe my life doubly. The

evil omen overhead warned me of impending danger to us all, and my

fealty to thee made me hasten homeward.”

In answer to Yermah’s grateful look, he continued:

“Coming through the narrow pass in the mountains lying south, I went

always ahead of the tamanes to spy out the best places. One morning I

found myself in close proximity to a grizzly, ravenously hungry. I had

neither time to retreat nor to defend myself before the bear was upon

me. I fell flat on my face, and lay motionless while he smelt me all

over. The oil both puzzled and disturbed him, for he made off into the

woods and left me to win back courage as best I could.”

“This animal eats no flesh he hath not killed,” said Yermah, “but thou

art fortunate to escape a blow from its powerful paw, or a crushing

squeeze.”

“He was very hungry; and I was glad to be thoroughly saturated with oil,

even if I did imagine it was rancid,” observed Orondo, naïvely.

For the first time in many days, Yermah laughed.

“Nevertheless, thou art justly called the fearless one,” he said.

“The same heat and distress lies everywhere in the south, and there is a

faint, luminous mist, dry as the hotah itself, which makes the sun look

like blood. It deposits whitish particles upon everything, very like a

cottony wood fiber. Near the sea it disappears although the dry wind

prevails. All of the testimony confirms the report that a brilliant

rainbow surrounded the moon at the time the mist came.”

Both men lapsed into silence, and profound depression came back to

Yermah.

“The gardens have suffered comparatively little,” said Orondo. “Not

finding thee here, I went to see them immediately after ablution and

prayers.”

“Tlamco has been spared much which hath befallen other sections,”

responded Yermah. “The Monbas—Thou hast heard?”

“I have heard,” said Orondo in a low voice. “My heart is still tender

toward the high-priestess, Kerœcia. So long as I live, memory will hold

her first among women.”

Before Yermah could reply, he hastened to ask:

“Hast thou news from Poseidon’s kingdom?”

“My summons hence is hourly expected. I am already of the Brotherhood.

Seest thou the sign manual given by Akaza?”

He held up his hand while Orondo inspected the ring.

“Runners were dispatched down the coast to communicate with the balsas

coming in from Atlantis, but no answer was possible before my

departure.”

“Alcamayn desires speech with the Servitor Yermah,” announced a tamane,

answering a command to enter.

“Direct him here,” said Yermah. “Thou hast not seen him since coming?”

he asked Orondo.

When the two men had exchanged greetings, Alcamayn refused to disturb

the conference.

“My only office was to bring tidings from the far north. Cezardis of the

Mazamas is here, more dead than alive from hardships unparalleled, and

begs thou wilt give him leave to remain in Tlamco.”

“Willingly. But how fares his countrymen?”

“They are sore oppressed by the elements, especially by ice and snow,

and there is only a handful of them left. The land of Ian is forever

separated from this continent. An arm of the sea lies between them.”

“Setos, come in! Thou art most welcome,” said Orondo, catching a glimpse

of him through the open doorway.

“Knowledge of thy presence hath but newly found me, and I came direct in

quest of thee,” said Setos, embracing Orondo. “This dread calamity is

lessened, since thou art preserved.”

“If unalloyed happiness were possible, thy speech would give it me,”

responded Orondo.

Yermah was about to dismiss Alcamayn, when Setos saluted him pompously,

as became the head of the military.

There was the shadow of a smile on Orondo’s face as he noted the new air

of dignity, and he reflected that it was quite like the man to think of

self in the midst of such appalling disaster.

It was evident, from Setos’s punctilious, ceremonious manner, that he

was the bearer of important news. His face and voice bespoke gratified

vanity as he said:

“Hast thou had audience with the emissaries from Poseidon’s kingdom?”

“No,” answered Yermah, trying to read the masked countenance before him.

“Art thou advised of the import?”

“Yes. It is most terrible. Through the agencies of earthquake and tidal

wave, the whole island of Atlantis, with every living thing, is on the

bed of the ocean.”

A sharp, agonized cry from Yermah, who swooned and fell face downward at

the feet of Setos, prevented further remark.

“His proud warrior spirit quails under him,” said that individual

peering at him curiously, but offering no assistance. “His courage

kisses the ground before disappointed ambition. For the first time he

knows fear.” Setos’s words were between a sneer and a hiss.

“Thou art destitute of humanity,” exclaimed Orondo, springing forward

and supporting the fallen head on his knee. “Thy brutal abruptness is

wanting in loyalty,” he continued, as long, white streaks mingled with

the ruddy bronze about his sternly set mouth and chin.

“When thou art in Tlamco longer thou wilt find that discontent is

rampant—that Yermah no longer has a united following,” returned Setos,

surprised at the outburst into saying more than he had intended.

“If so, thou art at fault. Speak not thus to me, Setos! I know that thou

wert called a black magician in Poseidon’s kingdom, and that none of the

White Brotherhood except Akaza would suffer thy presence among the

chosen.”

Orondo’s face was ablaze with indignation, while Setos and Alcamayn

exchanged significant glances.

“Thou art unduly exercised, Orondo,” mildly interposed the jeweler.

“Setos meant no offense. Stress of the times and Yermah’s long

affliction have caused people to babble idly. When once he is among

them, and when the earth is stable again, it will all pass like mere

vaporings.”

“I had sought thee for private conference on this very subject,” said

Setos, apologetically.

“And thou hast my answer,” repeated Orondo, his eyes still sparkling

angrily.

Alcamayn assisted in the restoration, and Setos was constrained to pull

up a reclining chair, as the prostrate figure was being assisted to

rise.

“Thou wilt not repeat?” whispered Setos, guiltily.

“Not until thou hast forgotten to be loyal,” assented Orondo, looking

him squarely in the face.

“Am I going mad, or am I dying?” wailed Yermah, pushing his fingers up

through his tangled hair. “Did I hear aright? Tell me, Setos—didst thou

say that our native land and all our people are blotted out?”

“Such is the word from Mayax. They also report that the land of the Mexi

is split from east to west with a great rent in the earth, from which

seven great volcanoes have sent fire and smoke ever since the crevice

closed. In that section the disturbance came from the east, and went far

out into the surviving islands of the lost Lemuria on the west.”

Alcamayn and Orondo shared Yermah’s consternation; but, like Setos, they

never expected to return to Atlantis, and therefore their interest was

not so personal and keen.

Yermah still seemed stupefied, but he roused himself by a mighty effort

of will.

“Call all the people together in the Temple of Saturn, on the proper

day, and let the four intervening suns rise on a fasting and contrite

nation. Let every house and roadway be swept for purification. Let the

anointing and ablution be thorough, and let them come to the temple

laden with flowers; because where flowers grow, love has been. This is

the end of a divine cycle; and it is befitting that we come together in

chastened spirit to mourn its myriad dead.”

Seeing that they stood uncertain as to how to proceed, he added:

“I will make proclamation. See to it, Setos, and thou, Alcamayn, that

the edict is posted on all the temple doors and all the obelisks, and

make it known to the fleet and to the warriors. None shall be exempt

from this Festival of Humiliation, and it shall be an anniversary for

ages to come.”

“Before thou art engrossed with quill and parchment, accept another

service of wine of maguey,” said Orondo, while the tamane was arranging

writing materials. “Thy physical strength is indeed at low ebb.”

“But my agonized spirit hears the shrieks of despair of our dying

brothers. May they find comfort in the bosom of the Ineffable One!”

“Amenti! hear and grant, we beseech thee!” they all said in heartfelt

sympathy.

“Wilt thou give us leave to smoke?” asked Setos, as Yermah prepared to

write.

“With both assent and blessing. Thou art kind to remember what my poor

confused brain is unable to recall at this moment.”

He wrote:

_Brethren of Tlamco—Greeting_:

He whose face is always inscrutable and hidden begins another eon of

time. Countless thousands of our fellows heard the dread voice and are

silent.

Alcyone, the great central sun, has once more suffered eclipse, and a

fiery sign hangs in the heavens.

The north is ingulfed, the south is on fire, the sacred east frowns

and threatens in gray obscurity, and blood drowns the fading light in

the west.

Desolation mocks the eye on all sides.

Thou art each and all commanded to prepare for a solemn commemoration

of humiliation and despair. Go ye all to the Temple of Saturn, and

there do honor to our beloved dead.

Bear thy burdens helpfully and with courage; for in the innumerable

wanderings, upheavals, and cataclysms of our earth’s stupendous career

each creature has some time been summoned under penalty of death to

make good use of its wits.

How many courtiers go into the presence of a king a hundred times, not

to have speech with him, not to hear him, but merely to be seen, that

he may know they are willing to serve.

When thou art in the house of death, speak if thou canst. If not, show

thyself, and let thy heart be content.

Done by the hand of thy humble servitor,