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,
YERMAH.
In dismissing Alcamayn and Setos, he said:
“Send the couriers from the lands of the Mayax and of Mexi to me in the early morning. I will have all their sayings engrossed on parchment and read in the temple.
“Let our brethren know this.”
After a deep sleep of exhaustion, Yermah arose at early dawn and went into the private sanctuary. Before he crossed its portals his attention was attracted by a ray of light near his feet. Looking closely, he saw it was a pentagram graven on mica. It had two points on the side toward him, and placed so—it was a charm to repel evil.
Picking it up, he noticed that the reverse side had a circle for the sun, a crescent for the moon, a winged caduceus for Mercury, a sword for Mars, a hieroglyph for Venus, and a scythe for Saturn. The glyph was in the center, and interlaced with it was the word “Azoth.”
A scrap of paper catching the Dorado’s eye, he stooped and picked up Akaza’s will. After giving minute directions about finding the manuscript and sacred relics hidden in the cave at Ingharep, it said:
I who am old and weary of the world sink into its dust. But I swear by him who sleeps at Aision that never did I not exist, nor will any one of us hereafter cease to be—though in this body thou wilt never see me again.
Farewell, my beloved! When thou hast mastered the pentagram, that sublime figure whose geometrical form connects the five senses of man with the throne of creative power, thou wilt fully realize that that which we hold as evil is in reality the greatest good.
Farewell, beloved! Treasure the five-pointed star, and meditate continually upon its teachings. Fear not. The promise to return to thy native land shall be made good to thee when the times and seasons are propitious. When the inner spirit prompts thee, go. Thou wilt find a pentagram of similar make in the right spot. Let the seal of silence be on thy lips. May thy courage wax and grow strong as a lion. Though absent from the body, yet I am with thee always. Thou art my successor in all things. Wear the mantle of authority as if the All-seeing Eye were bent upon thee continually.
Farewell, my best beloved! May that formless entity whose presence is everywhere felt, yet never comprehended, guide and bless thee always.
AKAZA THE HERMAPHRODITE.[14]
Trying to fully realize that Akaza had crossed the boundary line between the two worlds, Yermah passed into the sanctuary.
But before he knelt he saw a tiny white square lying on the altar. He had only to glance at it to recognize the broken threads and entangled mesh of Kerœcia’s weave. Some thoughtful hand had placed it there. He carried it to his lips reverently and examined it curiously. It was water-stained and wrinkled from compression in a pocket, but he divined that she had sent it to him by Ben Hu Barabe. Some time, when he could bear to speak of it, he would make inquiry—but not now! “O God!—not now!”
He sank down before the statue.
“All, all is lost!” he cried in agony of soul—“Kerœcia, Akaza, and my fatherland! It is more than I can endure! Grant release to this tortured spirit—Thou whose whole essence is love and wisdom!”
Hoarse moans and sobs choked his utterance, while everything in the room seemed to vibrate with overwhelming sorrow.
He was crying man’s tears—those that leave the eyelids dry, but drip inwardly and fall scalding hot on the heart. His poor routed will power interposed no opposition, while grief hurricaned through his non-resisting body. He was fighting the battle alone—facing the utter negation of self—the complete overthrow of desire.
Finally, overcome by physical exhaustion, he lay with his head at the feet of Orion, too weary to make an effort of any kind. After a while a sort of stupor came over him, and then he heard voices, while a cool breath of air fanned his heated cheek, and he felt the presence of his loved ones.
“Behold in tribulation the key which unlocks the mystery of the soul! The initiate cannot speak to the heart of man until he has himself drained to the dregs the bitter cup of life’s miseries.”
Yermah lifted a startled face, and peered intently about him in the vain hope of locating the speaker.
“Fear not, my beloved! Man is only what he thinks. He mingles his aura with that of his fellows, and the Redeemer becomes the fellow-sufferer, because the twain are made one in sorrow. Rise and go forth comforted. Thou hast loosed the belt of Orion. Thou hast crossed the bridge of Kinevat.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, and with implicit faith, Yermah obeyed. He had touched and rebounded from the lowest rung of personal grief and despair, and he would never again sink so deeply in the Slough of Despond.