THE great flags of the bridge felt almost red-hot to the feet of the adventurers, but they trudged bravely forward through the glare, Seymour supporting Haverly as they went. There was no parapet to the bridge, and the sight of the molten flood below, visible to right and left as far as the eye could see, sent a thrill through each of the trio.
The massive span, which had seemed so solid a structure viewed from the gorge, now appeared a very flimsy affair, dwarfed to nothingness by the stupendous dimensions of the great fire gulf. With their eyes fixed upon the giant form of their guide, the three comrades moved on as steadfastly as possible. Over the vast, vibrating sheet of metal that formed the drawbridge they tramped, and glad indeed were they when they had crossed the last span, and their feet touched solid ground.
Here the Ayuti dismounted and strode to where a great lever projected from the masonry of the bridge. This he pulled over, and instantly, with a clanging rattle, the drawbridge swung upward into place.
“Now that your foes are all destroyed,” he remarked, turning to the baronet, “Nordhu, the priest, will not know whether ye have escaped or no.”
But he was wrong; for, as the party once more moved on, a wolf-man crept from his hiding place amid the rocks on the opposite side of the gorge. A moment he stood there in the glare, shaking his spear menacingly towards the retreating figures of the fugitives, then turned and vanished into the gloom of the defile.
Forward went the adventurers, the glow from the fire gulf growing fainter as they advanced, until the towers and walls of a city loomed before them through the twilight. The sight aroused the interest of the scientist. Hitherto he had moved in an apathetic manner, very different from his usual brisk style. His nerves had received so rude a shock that he was as yet scarcely himself. Even the sight of Chenobi’s monstrous steed—rare though the creature was—had failed to arouse him. But now, with the walls of the mysterious subterranean city within sight, his scientific zeal revived.
Instinctively he felt for his note-book, forgetting for the moment that he had lost it in his adventure with the Triceratops.
“Don’t worry,” Seymour said, noting his look of disappointment; “I happen to have one on me that will suit you down to the ground.” Forthwith he produced a bulky pocket-book, at sight of which Mervyn’s eyes glistened.
“Many thanks!” he cried, taking it, and at once commenced to scribble down a graphic description of the giant elk.
Ere long the party passed through a great gateway, the stone gate of which had fallen from its hinges, and now lay crumbling in the dust. On either hand towered the palaces of the Ayutis, now, alas, tottering to decay. Built of some dazzling white stone, they gleamed through the twilight as though bathed in a flood of moonlight; the effect—accentuated by the silence of the whole place—being indescribably weird. The footsteps of the adventurers raised a volley of echoes from the deserted streets as they moved over the pavement, and from ahead at intervals came the muffled baying of hounds.
The Ayuti was strangely silent as he strode beside Muswani, the elk—he had not mounted since raising the drawbridge. Perhaps he was thinking of the time when the streets had rung with the voices of his people, when the palaces had throbbed with life.
Although he was burning to question their guide concerning the past history of the city, Mervyn forbore, fearing by some indiscreet query to offend him. But he need not have feared. The Ayuti’s grief for the desolation of his city had long since lost its acuteness, and he had resigned himself to a life of solitude, living for but one object, which, later on, he revealed to the baronet. What fearful fate had overtaken the inhabitants of the place, the explorers could not imagine. It could have been no ordinary catastrophe that wiped out the Ayutis. That they had become extinct, save for Chenobi, by natural means, none would believe.
So, while each puzzled his brain for a solution to the problem, they passed into a vast square, in the centre of which stood a great temple. Around this the Ayuti led them to the further side. The familiar style of the architecture struck Wilson at once. The building was almost a duplicate of the one he had discovered in the valley, save that it was many times larger, and that here a huge flight of steps led upward to a broad terrace which ran the whole length of the temple front. And upon this latter, looming gaunt and spectral through the twilight, towered a monstrous idol.
“Wait!” Chenobi commanded. He lifted the engineer from his mount, and led Muswani through a door in the temple wall at the base of the steps, his entry being greeted by a clamorous baying. In a few moments he reappeared and, picking up the engineer as one might a child, commenced to ascend the steps. Climbing close upon his heels, his new-found friends soon reached the terrace. Here they passed behind the colossal figure of the god and entered the temple.
A murmur of astonishment went up as they crossed the threshold. The whole vast hall was ablaze with a dazzling radiance, unearthly as it was brilliant. The origin of the light became apparent at once. In the centre of the temple floor was a huge basin, wherein bubbled a strange, phosphorescent liquid, like nothing the explorers had ever seen before. On one side it overflowed, and ran in a glistening stream across the floor, to disappear in a dark recess in the wall.
The scientist, his first surprise over, would have moved forward to examine this uncanny liquid more closely, but Chenobi restrained him.
“Nay,” he said gravely, “there is death in the stream of light! None can touch it and live. Sit ye here awhile, till I prepare food.”
With that the Ayuti passed out of the building, leaving his friend wondering wherein lay the deadly power of the extraordinary liquid.
“There seems no end to the marvels of this weird land,” Mervyn remarked. “If ever we return to the upper world, what a tale we shall have to tell.”
Haverly closed one eye.
“You’ve got considerable standing amongst science men, professor,” he said, “but I guess you’ll have a real stiff job to make ’em believe you. A yarn of this sort ain’t goin’ to be sucked down as gospel all at once.”
“You wouldn’t have me keep silent?” retorted the scientist, somewhat indignantly. “Knowing what we do it would be little short of a crime to suppress our knowledge.”
“That’s so,” returned the Yankee imperturbably, “but I’d sooner you face the music than me. If we ever manage to burrow our way back to daylight, I guess your yarn’ll kinder upset some of the accepted theories as to the way the inside of this yer planet’s built.”
“No doubt,” Mervyn answered, “yet that will not deter me. My first work will be to write a book on the underworld.”
“Bravo!” Seymour cried; “I like your pluck, Mervyn. When we have found Garth and the boat, we can consult Chenobi about getting back to the upper world. If there should be any way out of this gloomy hole the Ayuti is sure to know of it.”
“What if there is no exit?” the engineer asked anxiously.
“In that case I guess we’ll have to make ourselves at home down here,” the Yankee replied, “though I allow the prospect ain’t over cheerful. However, I calculate your humble has kept his end up in tighter situations than the present—darned tighter situations, sonny. Say, I hope our new pard won’t expect us to dress for dinner. I guess my portmanteau ain’t come along yet.”
“Oh, he’ll excuse your not turning up in evening dress,” Seymour replied laughing. “But seriously, Silas, what chance do you think we have of getting back to the upper world?”
“Wal, I guess that’s a question as ain’t to be answered all of a sudden,” the Yankee returned; “it kinder needs figurin’ out some. Hullo! here comes our pard with a hull heap of grub. I calculate we’ll postpone this yer confab till we’ve refreshed the inner man.”
As he spoke the king re-entered the temple, bearing on a metal tray some strips of dried venison. These, together with a number of small edible fungi, he placed before his guests, bidding them eat.
Strange though the food was to their taste, it was none the less welcome, and they felt greatly refreshed at the conclusion of the meal.
Hereafter for some hours they slept, Chenobi keeping guard the while upon the terrace.
When next they looked upon the Ayuti he wore a metal band about his forehead, and in the centre glowed a great stone, similar in form—as Mervyn took pains to inform them—to that which Nordhu, the priest, wore, but much larger. It was the symbol of Chenobi’s kingly rank.
“Would ye look upon the city?” he asked as they rose yawning. Mervyn answered at once in the affirmative.
“How about Wilson?” Seymour questioned.
“Oh, I can manage to hobble a bit,” replied the lad cheerfully; “my leg’s going on finely.”
“Don’t overdo it, lad,” the baronet warned. “If the wound breaks out afresh it will be the very deuce of a job to get it to heal. I’ll stay here with you if you’re not feeling fit.”
“I’m feeling fit enough,” replied Tom; “if one of you will help me down the steps, I can manage the rest.”
Seymour whispered a few words to the Ayuti, whereupon the giant advanced, smiling broadly, and took the engineer in his great arms.
“Here, I say, I can walk now, you know,” the latter remonstrated; but his friends laughingly told him to hold his tongue.
With the light from the king’s jewel flashing before them, they passed out on to the terrace and so down the steps. At the bottom Chenobi put the engineer down, and, detaching a massive key from his girdle, thrust it into the door through which he had taken the elk. It turned easily in the lock, and, flinging open the door, the king passed through.
An odour as of a stable greeted the nostrils of the explorers as they followed him, and once more the baying of hounds came to their ears. Down a steep incline they went, until they stood within a large chamber. At the further end of this four great hounds lay, chained to the wall. They were something like bloodhounds in build, but of tremendous size, being much larger than mastiffs. Seymour, who was somewhat of an authority on dogs, could not restrain his admiration.
“What splendid brutes!” he cried, and moved fearlessly forward to make their acquaintance. Within a few moments he was on excellent terms with the great creatures, they receiving his advances with pleasing friendliness.
The others could not at first bring themselves to approach the monstrous dogs. They were so fearsome in their strength; but at length, on Chenobi assuring them that they need not fear, they moved closer.
“I guess these ’ud take the shine out of some I’ve observed,” remarked the Yankee, patting one of the great heads, “and I’ve seen some fairish-sized ones, too.”
“They’re immense,” Seymour replied.
Stepping to a recess in the wall, the king dragged forth the carcase of some small animal—probably a fawn—and this he flung to the hounds; then, leaving them feeding, the party passed through the chamber into a second, much larger. This, they could see, had evidently once been used as a stable, for by the light from the Ayuti’s stone they observed that a row of stalls ran along each side. These, built throughout of stone—even the feeding troughs being of the same material—were empty save for one, wherein the great elk was chained. He greeted his master with a thunderous bellow, and Mervyn at once approached to get another view of the magnificent creature. Whilst the scientist stood lost in admiration Seymour questioned Chenobi concerning the purpose for which the stables had been built.
“My people kept elk,” the Ayuti replied. “Threescore there were, whereon rode the body-guard of the king. Muswani is the last, as I am the last of the Ayutis. But come, let us move forward again.”
Into a third chamber they went, and in this were great stone tanks, filled to the brim with clear, sparkling water.
“Marvellous!” Mervyn cried, as he examined the massive masonry of the tanks and the conduits which fed them. “What an intelligent race these people must have been! Whence comes the water?” he asked of Chenobi.
“I know not,” was the reply, “save that it comes underground.”
Out of the tank chamber the Ayuti led them, by a small doorway, into a narrow passage. This they followed for some distance, ever descending as they moved on, with the temperature steadily rising each moment. At length they emerged into another vault-like chamber, and a cry of astonishment burst from the four explorers.
Along one side of this hall a number of metal doors were set in the rough-hewn rock which formed the wall. The sight of these, together with the intense heat of the place, quickly revealed to the comrades the purpose for which the chamber had once been used. It was the ancient cooking-place of the city.
“The heat comes from the gulf of fire,” explained the Ayuti, as he flung open one of the oven doors that his friends might examine the interior.
“It’s a cute dodge,” the Yankee drawled admiringly. “I assume this rock forms the wall of the fire gulf, an’ they get their heat natural-like, without havin’ to stoke up.”
“I wondered where Chenobi managed to dry his meat,” the scientist mused; “the thing’s clear now. Truly these Ayutis had no lack of inventive genius!”
Retracing their steps to the outer door, the little band crossed the square and entered one of the surrounding buildings, which—so Chenobi informed them—had been the palace of the kings. Here, as elsewhere—save for the temple, which appeared well preserved—time had laid its destroying hand, but there still remained much of the former beauty of the place. The pillars of its bold front were covered with carving that would not have disgraced the exterior of a cathedral, and the broad flight of steps leading up to it, though cracked and broken in places, still added somewhat to the dignity of its appearance.
These steps Wilson managed to climb, refusing the Ayuti’s offer of assistance. Across an inlaid pavement they went, and through a great entrance hall, in which stood numerous cunningly-carved statues. Some of these stone effigies had fallen from their pedestals, and now lay crumbling amid the dirt which ages of neglect had deposited over the floor. Assuredly, if Professor Mervyn ever wrote his proposed work on the wonders of the underworld, he would have no lack of matter. A description of the palace alone would almost have filled a volume. The throne-room they saw, with its curiously canopied throne, whereon a long line of kings had sat in royal state; the musicians’ gallery, from which sweet music had beguiled kingly ears grown weary with the pleading of innumerable malcontents; the banquet hall also, with its great stone tables, around which many a merry company had gathered. But now all were silent as the grave! The gay crowds which once had thronged these halls had vanished, and, ere many years had passed, the Ayutis would have ceased to exist; with Chenobi, the king, their dynasty and race alike ended.
Such thoughts as these poured into the minds of the adventurers as they moved through the silent halls. There seemed something uncanny, unnatural, about the place. It was as though the spirits of the long since dead still hovered round, and it was with a feeling of relief that the party left the palace.
Mervyn, his scientific zeal unquenched, was for visiting other of the buildings, but the united voices of his comrades were against this.
“No,” Seymour said, “if you go at all you must go alone. I’ve had quite enough of these ghostly halls. What say you, Silas?”
“The same,” replied the American. “The place kinder gets on your nerves. I shouldn’t advise you to poke around by yourself, Mervyn. There don’t seem any danger, but I wouldn’t put my money on it. If that old priest ain’t on our trail again before long my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly!”
Seymour slipped his arm through that of Chenobi, and, with the others close behind, they recrossed the square and ascended to the terrace. Here for some time the party occupied themselves in examining the colossal figure of the great idol. High above the flat roof of the temple the monstrous image towered. Through the twilight they could make out little of its features, but this much they observed, that it had but one eye, of enormous size, and placed in the centre of its forehead.
The singularity of this coincidence struck Mervyn at once. How it came about that a people so obviously intelligent as the Ayutis should worship the same deity as the wolfish barbarians of Nordhu he could not imagine. But, further, not alone was it the same in form, the inscription on the base of the altar proclaimed that the name was the same. Translated, it ran thus: “To Ramouni, God of Light. Worship and honour.”
Turning, the scientist questioned the Ayuti concerning the ancient worship of the dead race. Ere the king could answer a startling cry broke from Seymour:
“Great Scott! Sunshine!”
A ray of light stabbed the darkness like a golden sword, striking full upon the monstrous eye of Ramouni, which flashed and scintillated with a dazzling lustre.
“Sunshine!” echoed the others in a breath, and then, somewhere in the interior of the image, a bell began to toll. Astounded, the explorers stood gazing at the wonderful beam of light.
“It comes through a passage in the dead fire-mountain,” Chenobi volunteered, “and lasts for but a few moments. See, it fades already.”
Even as he spoke the tolling of the bell ceased, and the sunlight vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving the twilight of the underworld the more gloomy for its brief visit.