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.”