“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”
“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”
“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”
“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”
“Har-Ju-Jar! Har-Ju-Jar! Kar-Tharn.”
Alan pulled a scrap of paper triumphantly out of his pocket and showed it to his cousin. He had written down the exact phonetic spelling of the words Desmond had said.
“All the same, I don’t see what you are driving at,” he demurred, “you look confoundedly pleased over something.”
“I’ve been working out a theory, and I don’t think I am far wrong in the decision I have arrived at. Now look at that,” and he handed him another piece of paper on which were written the following signs:
Desmond looked at it quizzically for a moment, and then said, “Why, you’ve copied down the signs that are painted all around the walls of the temple—in the great Fire Hall.”
“Right. Now can you translate it?”
Desmond laughed. “Of course not. Can you?”
“I think so,” said Alan confidently.
“What?” almost shouted Desmond in amazement.
“Now,” went on Alan. “You got your first in Theology at Cambridge—translate this”—and he passed Desmond a third slip of paper with other signs on it:
Desmond looked at it carefully. “I’ve almost forgotten,” he commenced. Then—“why it’s Hebrew—Hebrew for Abiram and Dathan!”
“Now I want you to think carefully, Dez,” and Alan placed the two slips of paper on which were written the characters, before him. “Now would you not swear thatthis,” pointing to the characters copied from the temple, “is a corruption ofthat?”—pointing to the Hebrew.
“Well it certainly looks as if it might easily be so,” admitted Desmond.
“Now think of the few words we picked up of that hymn to-day. Isn’t it within the bounds of possibility that Har-ju-jar is a corruption of Hallelujah, or Alleluia?”
“Ye-e-es.”
“And Har-Barim and Kar-Tharn a corruption of Abiram and Dathan?”
“Ye-es.”
“Well,” concluded Alan triumphantly, “this is the conclusion I have come to. The language of these people is a corruption of Hebrew.”
“What?”
“I’m certain of it, and I am surprised we never thought of it before. Of course it was our first visit to the temple to-day since I came here, and I never noticed those signs before—but to-day as I looked at them they seemed oddly familiar, and it suddenly dawned on me in a flash. Now we ought to find it very easy to pick up the patois they speak—we both used to know something of Hebrew in the old days at college.”
They were almost too excited to say much more, when suddenly Alan brought his hand down on the table with a bang that made Desmond start.
“I’ve got it, Dez old boy,” said he.
“Got what?”
“Why think of your Bible. In the—let me see—oh never mind—somewhere in Numbers, I think, we get the story of Korah, Abiram and Dathan.”
“Oh my dear Alan, I am afraid I have forgotten it long ago.”
“Never mind,” went on Alan excitedly. “It’s the sixteenth chapter, if I remember rightly. I’ll remind you of it—Don’t you remember the Chosen People rose up against Moses—”
“Well?”
“I can’t remember the exact verses but somewhere in the chapter it tells you that the ‘earth was torn asunder, and swallowed up the three men with their houses and everything that appertained unto them, and they went downaliveinto the pit, and the earth closed over them.’”
Desmond looked bewildered and remained silent.
“Don’t you see the connection, Dez?”
“No! I do not.”
“Well, here are people living in the bowels of the earth, and in their temple they have inscribed in bad Hebrew, if I may so put it, the names of Abiram and Dathan. What more likely than that these people are the descendants of those poor unfortunates of the Old Testament who perished some fourteen hundred and ninety years before Christ?”
“Is it possible?” asked Desmond breathlessly.
“Why not?” answered his cousin. “The Bible story ends there. We’re simply told that they went into the pitalive—we are never told that they died! Now we are convinced that they speak a corrupt Hebrew, we ought to find it very easy to learn to speak to them, and then we will bid for freedom.”
“Alan,” said Desmond suddenly. “I wonder whether your theory is correct. We’ve got Abiram and Dathan right enough, but what about Korah? He was the chief offender and yet there is no trace of his name.”
“I expect his name has been lost during the transit of time,” said Alan. “At any rate I am tired now, and I shan’t bother any more about it for the present. Let’s go to sleep,” and the two boys went into their inner chamber and were soon fast asleep.
There was no night in this terrible underworld; the purple lights never went out; morning and evening were unknown. The place was never plunged into entire darkness—true, the inhabitants went to sleep, but they pleased themselves as to when they slept and for how long. The whole world was never at rest at the same time—truly, indeed, it was an unholy place of unrest!
The two men were fast asleep, the purple light shiningacross their, faces, and Alan moved restlessly, for his dreams were troubled ones.
Suddenly the door opened gently and a figure appeared—it was Kaweeka. Softly she crept across their room, and halted by the side of their couches. A fierce light came into her eyes as she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Alan’s chest as he breathed heavily. She bent over him, kissed his lips, and murmured savagely as she did so—
“So desired—so desirable—yet I so undesired!”
CHAPTER IIIRELATING TO HISTORY
“How long have we been down here, Lanny?”
“Together do you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Oh months and months—I can’t count time.”
“Neither can I. Days pass—we grow tired and we sleep, only to wake to another day like the last, like every day here.”
“How far have you got with the translation, Dez?”
“Nearly to the end.”
“Splendid. What do you make of it?”
“Just what we expected—It is a very corrupted version of part of the Pentateuch.”
“How much of it?”
“Nearly all Genesis—a minute portion of Exodus—and Leviticus.”
Alan gave a satisfied sigh. “That’s splendid,” he remarked. Many months had passed since they had made the discovery that the language of the underworld was a patois Hebrew, and quickly and diligently they set to work to learn it. They first spelt the sounds and wrote them down, and then tried to translate them into Hebrew where it was at all possible.
Very shortly after the rescue of the high priest’s daughter and only child, as the maid proved to be, a house was placed at the boys’ disposal, and they gladly left the protection of Kaweeka, and lived together with a couple of servants, who looked after them. They were free to go out among the people, and they began to feel almost happy. With the aid of a few words they picked up they asked the high priest for “reading”and he had given them copies of the “Kadetha” which proved to be the Bible of these strange people.
It was very difficult to read as it was written on parchment in a purple ink that had faded considerably through time. The characters, too, besides being different from the Hebrew they knew, were written from top to bottom of the page instead of from right to left, as are most Asiatic languages.
From what they could gather the “Kadetha” was divided into two parts—the Moiltee—which proved to be part of the first three books of Moses—and “Jarcobbi,” five books written by one of the first priests of the people after their descent into the bowels of the earth. That these strange people were really descendants of the rebels against Moses, the boys had not the slightest shadow of doubt—the proof in the “Kadetha” was only too conclusive. They were now able to converse fairly freely with the people, and were able to understand many of their strange beliefs.
The true meaning of the Light they were so far unable to fathom, but “Har-Barim” the high priest, told them there would be no more offerings to the Fire from “Above” as he called the world. The people began to take more kindly to them, but Kaweeka remained watchful and brooding, and they realized that she was indeed a bitter enemy, and the person most greatly to be feared in the underworld. Little Myruum, the high priest’s daughter, spent many hours with them, and they learnt much of the language from her baby prattle.
They were admitted to all the services and religious rites in the temple, and the boys noted with surprise that the fire seemed to be daily losing its power. Its flames grew smaller and smaller, and they noticed the difference in it when they had not seen it for several days.
“Jovah,” they said to Har-Barim one day. “Tell us your history, now we understand your language.”
The old man smiled at them. “There is little to tell,” he said. “It is true we were once of the earth above—once white people like yourselves; but for overthree thousand, three hundred and three years we have lived in the darkness of the earth. Our skins are changed—they have taken the hue of the land we are forced to dwell in. Our forefathers burrowed in the earth to make streets and houses and shelter for their families, and they left us the heritage of their labour.” He pointed as he spoke to the short horn that protruded from his forehead.
“What became of Korah?” they asked him.
“Coorer?” he pronounced the word differently. “Korah,” he told them, was their bad angel. It was Korah, with the devil in his soul who urged them to stand up against Moses, and it was Korah they shut away from their lives when the pit had closed in upon them, revealing to them no more the light of the sun.
“How do you mean?” asked Alan. “How did you shut him out of your lives, my Jovah?”
Jovah signified “Father” and was the term by which all the people addressed Har-Barim.
“Why, my sons, when the pit closed down upon our forefathers, all turned upon Korah as the father of all their woes. He was stoned and left half dead—then a wall was built up in front of him and all his family, together with all his possessions, and there he was left to perish. One of his daughters escaped, however, and her descendants have been Princesses of Kalvar, as we call our country, ever since.”
“Then Kaweeka—” began Alan.
“Yes, my son. In Kaweeka you see the Princess of Kalvar, and direct descendant in the female line of the unfortunate Korah himself.”
“Where is Korah’s burial place?” asked Desmond.
Har-Barim shook his head. “No one knows—in the generations of time that have passed the secret has been lost, and the exact position forgotten. No one knows—no one ever will know, until—but there, read from the fourteenth line of the sixth part of our prophet, Zurishadeel,” and taking a small parchment from his voluminous pocket he handed it to Alan and left them to translate it for themselves.
Laboriously they copied out the translation—
“For the body of Korah the devil is hidden with those of his household. Their flesh shall rot and their bones become powder, and in a generation their last resting place shall be forgotten. But on the day the secret is no more—for behold a virgin shall in a dream learn the way—the fire shall consume quickly, strange people shall enter the land of Kalvar, and desolation and destruction shall come to all those that inhabit the earth. Yea, the people that are in the belly of it, and they that have been disgorged from it—when the Fire grows less—when the Tomb of Korah is found then shall all in due time perish.”
“Cheery old chap, isn’t he?” laughed Desmond.
But Alan was thoughtful. “I wonder what the secret of the fire is. They seem to worship it, although they pray to the ‘Lord of their Fathers.’ It certainly is getting less—I can’t help feeling that something terrible will happen if it does ever go out entirely.”
For some time they gazed meditatively at the translations they had made when a shadow crossing Desmond’s paper made him look up. It was Kaweeka—Kaweeka who had not visited them for months it seemed, and whose presence now seemed to denote some evil. Quietly she watched them for a few minutes, and a curious light came into her eyes. They glittered and shone with an almost fanatical glow—and in fact her whole being was one of suppressed excitement and almost maniacal fervour.
“Come,” said she at last, and held out a hand to each. They felt impelled to obey her, and she led them straight to the temple which was curiously deserted. The great fire was burning in fits and starts. Suddenly a flaming tongue would leap out, blazing brightly as if refusing to be killed, and a moment later it would lie dead and dormant among the embers. Then suddenly the fire would emit a passion of sparks which flew upward in a fury, only to fall back within its folds, dull and lifeless.
It was still enormous of course, but the boys realizedthat its life was nearing the end, and that its power was nearly gone.
Kaweeka suddenly turned on Desmond and in a whirl of passion addressed him.
“Desmond,” she cried, “I loved you—I would have made you happy, but he”—pointing to Alan—“he came between us. He tore my heart from its resting place within my breast—he made me love him also, and then stamped on my love and spurned me.”
“That is hardly fair, Kaweeka. I never made overtures to you—”
“No,” said Desmond, doing his best to conciliate her.
“Enough,” she cried and then began a frenzied tirade to which the boys listened in horror, as they realized that almost a madness had come upon Kaweeka—the seed of Korah.
Falling to her knees she clung to Alan and begged him to marry her according to the custom of his world and hers. She offered to make him Prince of the land of Kalvar and possessor of a thousand fortunes if he would but love her—be it ever so little. And when he gently lifted her up and put her away from him, she looked him fully in the eyes, and for a full minute there was silence. Then with a queer gesture of finality, she outspread her hands and accepted the inevitable. Then in a monotonous voice and with carefully chosen words she began to speak again—
“In the world you came from, O Men of the Sun, you saw strange sights and heard strange things. A light appeared in the sky—a light that was the forerunner of tragedy. I propose to show you the Light, O Strangers. I will unfold the secret of its being before your wondering eyes. Know you now, that this Fire is next in honour to the God of our Fathers. It is the Fire that gives us air to breathe, and light by which we can see. From the Fire we obtain our strength, and when it dies out our power will be gone. But know you also, that when our Fire dies and we perish, so will your world die also. You above are dependent for your very existence on the Fire in the Earth’s belly—with our extinction will come also theconsummation of all mankind. See”—and she pointed to a coil of metal that looked like a silver rope—“See—this is the Light—the Light that brought sacrifices we could offer to our God of all, and that fed our Fire.”
Then she began a weird dance. Grovelling on the floor in apparent worship of the Fire, she drew nearer and nearer to the shimmering metal, and taking up one end of it, undid it until it lay in shimmering folds outspread upon the floor. Still, with rhythmic grace, she continued, now advancing, now retreating, until she had coiled part of the writhing mass about her body, and the boys realized that one end was firmly embedded in the heart of the Fire itself. And as they watched they realized that Kaweeka was dancing away from the Fire—away down the length of the great Fire Hall, to where a little door was half hidden behind cherubim of gold.
The boys felt impelled to follow the strange witch woman. Through the little door, they went, down a dark passage which ended suddenly in a small chamber that was bright with light. But the whole of the cave-like place vibrated and shook with a force that was terrifying in its magnitude. They looked around curiously and saw in one corner a large clock-like instrument from which the sound came.
With almost loving care Kaweeka freed herself from the shimmering metal and placed the end of it in the machine. Instantly they saw it gain in strength and brightness—it seemed to quicken and show signs of life.
The two boys gave a cry—“The Light! The Light!” they cried, for this indeed was the mysterious Light that had stricken Marshfielden, and now they were seeing its wondrous power from below.
Kaweeka leaned over the burning metal, and touched a lever on the clock-like instrument’s face. Suddenly with a roar and a flash, the Light soared upwards. Through the roof of the cave—onwards—onwards—forcing an outlet for itself by its own power, through rock and earth it tore,—until the watching eyes of the boys were rewarded by a speck of blue. “The sky!”cried Desmond in amazement. The Light had once more visited the outer world! This then was the horror of Marshfielden!
The boys watched the quivering metal in silence. In its deadly folds it had embraced Dan Murlock’s baby. Mr. Winthrop had suffered from its caress. Mrs. Skeet—Mrs. Slater—it was impossible to name all the victims of its diabolical power. Some element, mightier even than electricity, had been discovered by these purple savages, to be used by them only for the purpose of destruction.
Long the boys watched until their eyes ached from the intense brightness. Their hearts were heavy within them as they thought of the victim it might bring back. Kaweeka sat in one corner mumbling and muttering to herself, and the boys seemed powerless to leave the place.
Voices rose in song—cymbals clashed—drums rolled—the evening service was being held in the temple. Still they waited! The sounds died away and the temple emptied, yet the Light had not returned.
They were growing cramped, their limbs ached, and then the Light trembled more violently than before. The vision of the sky grew clearer for an instant; they knew the Light was returning—but it was not returning alone! Rigid in every muscle the boys waited as it travelled through the bowels of the Earth.
The heap of metal grew larger on the floor as it made its descent—then the end appeared in sight—a sheep, burnt and dead, was within its grasp. Silently Kaweeka came forward and touched a lever on the vibrating clock in the corner.
The noise ceased. The Light grew shadowed. The aperture leading to the world above closed, leaving only a scar to mark where it had been!
Kaweeka bent over the stricken sheep and unwound the Light from its body, leaving exposed the singed wool and burnt flesh, and as if it had been a child gathered it up in her arms and still holding to the end of the Light danced back into the empty temple.
Without an effort she tossed the dead sheep into the Fire, and the flames devoured it savagely. Then shebegan again her wild dance and gradually wound the Light up into its original coils until it lay in a heap by the side of the Fire. “According to the prophecy of Zurishadele I speak. Behold, he writes ‘Whosoever shall cause the seed of Korah to die shall be hunted by the people of Kalvar—yea until their blood gushes forth through their eyes and they are blind—until their limbs crumple up beneath them and they fall—so shall they be hunted that the people of Kalvar may deliver them up to the Fire.’”
“Well?” asked Alan.
Kaweeka smiled evilly. “It is true I am of the seed of Korah, and you, my Alan, have scorned me. I have given you my love—I would give you all—but you have laughed at me and mocked me. I would have given you my body—but now I give you more—I will give you my life. The Fire is burning low—more fuel is needed to keep it alive. I will give myself for fuel—but in giving my life, I offer two more to the God of our Fathers. For as you are the instrument of my destruction—so will the people fall upon you, and through the mouth of Mzata the Great, will you be offered a sacrifice to the Fire.”
Lightly, gracefully, she stepped onto the transparent wall that surrounded the Fire, and then with a piercing cry tore off her jewels and her raiment and flung them into the flames, that were waiting eagerly for the food that was offered them.
Then, naked, her hair falling about her, her dark skin shimmering in the light, she flung herself into the centre of the Fire.
Alan rushed forward, but it was too late—the cruel tongues of fire had wrapped round her, and all that was left of the seed of Korah was a skull, stripped of its flesh, grinning at them for an instant through the flames, before it disappeared.
It was all so unexpected, so sudden, that the boys had not realized what she purposed doing, and now, speechless and bewildered, they stared at each other in horror.
Suddenly a hoarse whisper broke through the silence. “Flee, flee,” it said, and they recognized the voice ofHar-Barim. “I cannot save you,” he continued. “My people will fall upon you and slay you—for although they loved not Kaweeka, yet the prophecy will have to be fulfilled. To-day is the vigil of the feast of Meherut—to-morrow the great feast itself. Till then and then only can I hide the manner of Kaweeka’s death. As you saved my Myruum, so will I try to save you. This much can I tell you. Make for the waters that are turbulent and wild, where they narrow to the space of a foot and dash against a rocky wall. Look for the stones that are red.—Now—go.”
“But where shall we go?” cried Alan.
“Take always the centre path, my son, and avoid the waters that are tranquil and smooth. The way is rough—thy path must of a surety be rough also, but with courage victory will come to you. Farewell!”
And Har-Barim left them alone in the temple.
Quickly they made their way to their house, there was no time to be lost. Plans had to be made and made quickly. Once more they were in a strange land, where through no fault of their own, hostility and enmity would meet them once more.
CHAPTER IVOUT INTO THE GREAT BEYOND
The boys had no packing to do. They possessed nothing but the clothes they stood in, and a sailor’s clasp knife that belonged to Alan; but they put together a store of dried elers, a fruit that was sustaining, and that, down below, took the place of the bread of the upper world.
There were very few of the purple people about; it was the vigil of Meherut,—the most solemn feast day of their strange religion, and all were shut up in their houses with their curtains drawn spending their time in fasting and prayer.
On, on the boys went, always choosing the middle path if a choice was offered them, if not, then taking the path to the right. Gradually they left all sign of habitation and entered a most desolate region where the purple moss grew only in patches, and the purple lights were only few and far between. They stumbled on blindly; they dared not wait for food; every moment was precious to them. Suddenly Desmond stumbled and fell. “I can’t go a step further,” he cried. “How long have we been walking, Lanny?”
“About ten hours I should think.”
“Then for Heaven’s sake let us rest! We have a fair start of them—let us rest and have some food.” The elers refreshed them, and they drank of the water that rolled treacherously at their feet. It was not very wide, perhaps three feet at the most, but the current was strong and the whirlpools more torrential than ever.
Stretching themselves out on the ground the boys slept, and woke some five or six hours later feelinggreatly refreshed. Then they continued their march, now leaving the river behind them, now coming upon it again and walking by its banks.
They had no idea of where they were going. They had only one goal in view—to put as big a distance as they could between themselves and the purple people whom they knew would already be following them. Suddenly the road ended. They had turned a sharp corner and the way had opened out into a small cave, which was bounded on one side by a narrow strip of bubbling, foaming water, that disappeared at either end in a dark tunnel. “What shall we do?” asked Desmond. “Shall we go back?”
“We can’t,” said Alan decisively. “The road that brought us here was at least five miles long, without a turn in it. By the time we retraced our steps, the purple devils would have caught up to us. No, old boy, I think this is a tight fix we are in, and at the moment I can’t quite see how we are to get out of it.”
They walked round the little cave examining it carefully. It had only the one exit—the path up which they had come. The tunnels at either end through which flowed the waters were too low to admit the passage of a body, and the walls on the other side of the little river rose sheer from the water itself. “It looks pretty hopeless,” said Alan at last, “but at all costs we must not go back.”
“How red the walls are,” said Desmond suddenly. Alan started, for in his mind he could hear a voice saying, “Look for the stones that are red.” It had been Har-Barim’s advice to them, and he had said—“make for the waters that are turbulent and wild—where in the space of a foot—” A foot! why the water couldn’t be wider than that here. He looked round hurriedly—was it his fancy or were the stones on the opposite side even redder than those about him?
To Alan’s strained nerves it seemed as if just opposite him a stone had been worn away by the constant passage of feet. Slowly a thought came into his mind—if that was a footprint then surely it must lead somewhere. His eyes travelled up the rock eagerly—again his quickened senses discovered another foothold a littlehigher up, and still another and another. Four in all, at perhaps a stretch of a little over two feet. Upward his glance wandered, and in the rugged rock he saw a flat piece of red stone that looked as if it had been inserted there at some time or other, for some specific purpose. He stretched across the raging torrent and with a mighty effort clung to the jagged rock. “Don’t touch me, Dez,” he commanded, “I think I can manage best alone.”
With an almost superhuman effort he placed his foot in the first little cleft, and gradually worked up to the little red stone that had so aroused his curiosity. Desmond watched him in breathless horror. Although the water was so narrow, Alan would stand little chance of saving himself if he fell in, for it was dashing wildly against the sides and sending its spray even higher than where Alan was clinging. He touched the stone—it moved ever so slightly. “God! A secret way!” he cried, and worked feverishly to open it. But although it trembled and shook, it would not disclose its secret.
Then, away in the distance, came the sound of fierce shouting and the beating of drums.
“The people know,” cried Desmond. “They are coming up the long passage.” Already they could hear the name of Kaweeka used as a battle cry, and they realized that they could expect little mercy if they were caught by the purple savages.
With beads of perspiration on his brow, Alan worked. His fingers were torn and bleeding from his exertions. Still nearer came the cries of the infuriated people, and Alan had not yet succeeded in moving the stone, which he was convinced hid a secret way of escape. Desmond ran down the passage a little way—in a second he was back. “I can see them,” he cried. “There are hundreds of them! Oh, what shall we do?”
“Ah!” Alan gave a cry of relief, for suddenly the stone had rolled back, revealing a small cavity beyond, just big enough for the passage of a man’s body.
“Follow me in, Dez,” he cried, “no matter where it leads—it can’t be worse than if we remain here.”
Their pursuers were now in full view, and if seemed that only a few yards separated them. QuicklyDesmond climbed the steps and reached the hole, and Alan drew him in, and even as he turned to make fast the opening, a head with an evil-looking horn appeared. Alan doubled his fist and gave a mighty blow, and like a log the man dropped into the water, was sucked under and carried out of sight.
They rolled the stone back into its place, and panting, leant against it. The execrations and cries of the natives came faintly on their ears; the great stone trembled, and they knew it was being forced from without. One hurried glance round revealed to them great boulders of rock lying on the ground. Feverishly they piled them up in front of the stone, and they were strong enough to resist the furious onslaught that the purple people kept up. After a time, the cries of the people grew fainter, gradually they died away altogether, and the underworld folk made their way back to the temple to pray that the white men might be handed over to them, and that they might be allowed to punish the slayers of the seed of Korah.
Spent and tired the two boys sank to the ground, for many hours had passed while they were defending their retreat from the underworld people. A faint, natural, ground light shone around. It was like the same purple light that lit the whole of the underworld, but here it was in its natural condition, and was so faint that it scarcely showed them each other’s face.
“Go to sleep, Dez,” said Alan. “I will keep watch.”
“But you are tired too,” demurred his cousin.
Alan smiled. “Sleep first, old man,” said he, and even as he spoke, Desmond dropped his head upon his breast, and his eyes closed in slumber.
It was a great strain for Alan to sit there in the darkness—in a weird and unknown place—soundless except for Desmond’s heavy, regular breathing. His own breath seemed to his quickened senses like the blast of heavy artillery, and the slightest sound was magnified a hundredfold. Nobly he fought against sleep—but he was worn out, and at last his eyes closed—and he too, slept.
Time meant nothing to these imprisoned men.Science they could laugh at, for, from a scientific point of view, their very life was impossible. How in the centre of the earth could mankind live? Yet it was true they had lived, fed, and breathed for months and months in the very belly of the earth. Science said the centre of the earth was impenetrable—that the intense heat of its inner fire would prevent man even seeing that fire. Yet they could prove that they had seen and they could tell the scientists that the fire was waning.
Still they slept.
Fantastic dreams came into their minds, yet there was not so much as the scuffling of a rat or the squeaking of a mouse to awaken them. All was silent and still, with a stillness that cannot be expressed by words.
Desmond woke first—the light did not seem so dim—or had they become used to it? His eyes rested on Alan sleeping soundly by his side, and a tear dropped on his cousin’s brow as he leant over him. It was a tear not to be laughed at, nor to be ashamed of, but the tear of a strong man shed in the bitterness of his oppression.
He rose to his feet, stretched his limbs, and wandered round the place where he found himself. It was a cavern, very similar to the numberless others he had passed through on the further side of the rapid river. Its floor was rugged, but was covered with the purple moss, and a few bushes which bore fruit were growing there. Round and round he walked, but the cave seemed to have no outlet at all. Alan woke and watched Desmond in silence for a short while, and then said, “Don’t worry, Dez, I’m sure we shall find a way out. This must lead somewhere.” But although he too, examined the cave very carefully, there seemed to be no outlet.
How long they stayed there they did not know—fortunately they found some roots which were edible, and whose long bulb-like ends were filled with a pleasant fluid which quenched their thirst. They played games with each other, did everything in fact to prevent the madness they were afraid would come over them.
Nearer and nearer it crept like a beast of prey waiting to spring and devour his victims. With theirforced inactivity their limbs became cramped and although the air was pure, their lips were dry and their throats parched. They began to give up speaking aloud; they would sit for hours in silence, only uttering occasionally a croaking whisper, one to the other, as if they were afraid of being overheard. Then the day—but no, it cannot be called that—the time came when Desmond lay quiet and still, and Alan awoke to the consciousness that something was radically wrong with his cousin. He bent over the inanimate figure, and touched him gently with his hand. The eyes were closed and the fists clenched and had he been able to see clearly, he would have noticed the purple lines round the cold mouth, and a pinched look upon the face, that boded nought but ill.
“I must do something,” he muttered wearily, and then he burst out into a paroxysm of weeping. That saved his life, for when he came to himself it was as a fresh man.
Plucking some of the purple foliage, he squeezed the stalks and let the cool liquid pour gently on Desmond’s brow, then tenderly chiding and imploring him, he managed to bring back a sign of life to his cousin’s face. Nor did he stop then, but continued, until Desmond woke to reason and called him by his name.
When Desmond had fallen into a refreshed and tranquil sleep, Alan wandered round and round the little cave, looking still for some weak spot.
Suddenly there came a sound in the distance—a thud that shook the very ground upon which he was standing. With every nerve wound up to concert pitch he waited—listening intently to see if he could hear again the sudden sound that had broken the stillness.
“It’s my fancy,” said he aloud, but even as he spoke the noise began again with greater fury. The cavern shook—pieces of rock came hurtling down, broken off from their parent wall by the vibrations. Then suddenly came a sound almost like an explosion, and a piece of rock, larger than the rest came tumbling down, and revealed behind it a small passage.
“Dez.” cried Alan. “Dez, a way of escape has come.”
Desmond opened his eyes and looked round vacantly, and indeed it was some time before he realized the wonderful thing that had happened.
The underworld folk had made one last mighty effort to reach them, and the boys could have gone down on their knees to thank the purple people, for their machinations had given them hope once more.
CHAPTER VA FRIEND FROM THE ENEMY
Desmond, still weak, raised himself up, and looked about him; and even as he did so, a huge boulder fell from the blocked secret entrance that led to the city of the underworld.
“They are bombarding the place,” said Alan looking startled, “let us go through there,” and he pointed to the little passage that had been revealed to them so strangely.
“We can blockade it from the other side,” said Desmond, “and at least it will give us more time.”
A close examination revealed to them a hinged slab of stone that swung easily to and fro, and the spring that fastened it in place was plain to see on the inner side. They crept into the passage, closed the stone after them, and piled rocks and stones in front of it as an extra protection. Again came a weary time of waiting—a time when the cave was filled with wild laughter and hideous ravings—when the furies of Hell itself seemed let loose on the other side. The purple fiends had forced an entrance, but too late. Their prey had escaped them.
Alan and Desmond lay and listened to the babel of their voices, for strangely enough the slightest sound from the other cave was magnified in this inner one. Then a silence fell, and they realized that the purple savages had once more gone. Hungrily they gathered roots and ate them greedily—when a woman’s cry, clear and distinct, startled them. Again and again it came—“Ar-lane! Jez-mun!”
Their names were called in the quaint pronunciation of the underworld folk.
“Who is it?” asked Desmond.
“I’ll see.”—
“No don’t go—don’t go—it’s some trick—” but Alan had already pulled down the stones in front of the hinged stone.
“Ar-lane. Jez-mun.” Again the cry came. “Open—open I beg. I come to aid you.”
“I am going to speak to her,” said Alan grimly, and he put his lips close against the stone.
“Who are you and what do you want of us?”
A glad cry was his answer, and then followed quickly—“Let me through, O Ar-lane—I have come to seek thee.”
“What do you want of us?”
“Listen, O Ar-lane, I have fled from my home in the temple of Fire, and have come to thee. Years ago when a tiny child, I found the cavern and knew it well. But Am-rab the Wise, my tutor and priest, forbade me with threats of torture to wander there again. Since then I have not set eyes upon the place. Let me in, O Ar-lane, for the spring is broken on this side, and I cannot find it.”
Desmond was listening suspiciously. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
And again came the pleading voice. “Let me in, O Ar-lane. Oh, let me in.”
Alan looked questioningly at Desmond and he gave his cousin a quick nod. “If it’s treachery we’re done,” he remarked, as he touched the spring and the stone moved.
As soon as it was wide open the woman entered. They did not know her, but her eyes were swollen from weeping and her face drawn with emotion, and they realized that she had suffered.
“Waste no time,” she commanded imperiously. “My flight is already spoken of in the temple. Should they seek me, it will need all our strength, all our cunning to hide from them. Close the door, O Ar-lane, and build up a wall of stones in front, that is strong, and then let us hasten on.” So once more the place was barricaded, and only when the barrier was complete did she deign to explain her presence.
“You know me not, O Men of the Upper World, for you have never set eyes upon me before; but I have seen you often. Behold, I am Jez-Riah, seed of the house of Bin-Nab, and hereditary Keeper of the Hall of Fire. It is the custom, know ye, in this land of ours, for the female seed of Bin-Nab to keep veiled after they have reached the age of ten. I cast aside my veil yester-eve, and immediately came to seek thee.”
“Why?” asked Alan curtly.
The woman was fair to look upon—her eyes were deep and luminous, and her tear-stained cheeks filled them with pity. Yet to be hampered with a woman seemed to take from them every chance of their ultimate escape.
Jez-Riah seemed to read their thoughts. “No, harden not your hearts against me, for I can help you,” said she earnestly.
“Why have you sought us?” asked Alan, this time less curtly.
“I know a road in here—a secret road, said to be a thousand and ten miles long; a stream of unknown depths, races along by the side of it—a stream that is swifter by far than the fastest of waters—there,” and she pointed in the direction from which she had come. “It leads to the tomb of Korah, so they say, but torture was threatened to all who would have ventured in search of it. O Ar-lane, you know not what our tortures are.”
“I have seen some,” said Alan grimly.
Jez-Riah laughed. “Nay, Ar-lane—you have never seen what I have seen. You have never witnessed the Curse of Fire.” As she spoke her eyes grew big and her expression distorted as she lived again the scenes she had so often witnessed. “I have seen men roasted alive. I have seen acid juices poured on the sufferers’ wounds. I have seen—” but Alan stopped her. “Enough!” he cried. “It’s horrible.”
She continued. “But tortures even worse were threatened for those who would seek the tomb of Korah. So none tried. I knew you would be safe for a while in these caves—but I knew too, that with some one to guide you, you might go farther even than youdared hope. I am weary of my life, I am an eighth child of a priestess of the direct line of Bin-Nab; but I have the blood of the living in my veins. I want to live the life of the People of the Sun—your people. That is the reason I cast my veil from me, O Men of the Outer World, and sought you. Oh cast not Jez-Riah from thee, but keep her as thy slave, for she will by of much use to thee.”
Jez-Riah had cast herself at the boys’ feet, and her tears and sobs were coming fast. Desmond and Alan felt strangely moved at the sight of this woman, so different from the women they were used to in the world above.
“I don’t think it’s trickery, Alan, do you?” said Desmond. In his heart Alan believed in the truth of the strange woman’s story, yet he knew from past experience that it was impossible to believe the inhabitants of the underworld.
He looked Jez-Riah up and down. “Any weapons?” he asked suddenly.
Jez-Riah held up her head proudly and her eyes flashed fire and she stamped her foot. “I come ‘feula-ri!’ Is it likely I am traitor, O Men who Doubt?”
Now the boys knew enough of the customs of the strange world in which they found themselves, that if the sacred word “feula-ri—” was spoken, no treachery was contemplated; for that word meant more to them than does the white man’s flag of truce. For in times of war, has not even the white flag been violated?
“I believe you, Jez-Riah,” said Alan suddenly. “Show us Korah’s tomb and perhaps we in turn may find a way to show you the sun and moon and stars. And green trees—and grass—and the sea—” He drew his breath sharply. His imagination had run away with him, and for the moment he could almost believe he heard the thunder of the waves as they came dashing in on some rocky shore; he saw the foam and the sun-decked beach. The birds seemed to be singing—and above it all came the unmusical cry of the gulls. He sighed.
“Don’t Lannie,” said Desmond affectionately. “I feel it too; shall we ever see those things again—shall we ever feel the breeze on our faces and the burning sun—”
Jez-Riah stood looking at them hungrily. “You speak your own tongue,” said she, “not mine. What say you each to the other that makes the lines of sadness on your faces grow so deep?”
“It’s nothing, Jez-Riah,” answered Alan.
“You are sorry I am here?”
“No, we are glad—and you must help us with your knowledge of the secret ways.”
“See, I will show you at once,” and she rose and crossed the cavern. She pressed a stone in the wall in front of them, and a boulder revolved on a hidden spring and showed a yawning cavity beyond. The noise of troubled waters came upon their ears—loud and thunderous.
“It is true,” she cried in triumph, “behold all I have said is true. The waters are calling—come,” and she went through into the blackness without a tremor of fear. And Alan and Desmond followed their strange companion without any misgivings for the future.
Providence had sent them an unlooked for guide. Hope, the star they had almost lost in the clouds of darkness that had overshadowed them, came back, shining in all the glory and radiance of renewed fervour. With a muttered “Thank God” the two boys stepped forward, lighter of step and gladder at heart than they had been for some time.
“Ar-lane—Jez-mun,” came a voice from the darkness. “I am Jez-Riah—Child of the future—Gate of Hope—Guide of Strangers. Fear nothing—the blackness will pass and we shall find the way easy to tread.”
And it was even as she had spoken. In a very little time they found themselves in a maze of natural lighted pathways similar to the ones from which they had come. The sound of the water grew louder. It thundered in their ears; it shrieked and roared as if some evil spirit was shaking the very earth itself. Jez-Riah was radiant.
“The stream of Korah is not far. I have heard ittold that whoever braves that stream and finds the tomb of Korah, will live to see the sun. The sun that our prophet Zurishadeel sings of, the sun that the God of our forefathers created. The thought puts new life into me—Come.”
On, on they went, the noise getting louder and louder every moment, until, upon turning a corner, a wondrous sight met their eyes. Belching forth from the rocks themselves, forcing itself out from regions unseen, falling like a waterfall from some high precipice, the torrent rushed, making a lake of considerable dimensions, which was overflowing its banks—a wild, mad, boiling liquid. The spray rose a hundred feet in height, and splashed all round and the whole place was fearsome and ghostly.
At one end of the turbulent lake was a tiny outlet, perhaps two feet wide, through which the waters ran at breakneck speed. The fearsome noise, the sight of the rushing waters, the intense weirdness of the scene, kept both boys speechless with awe at their surroundings, but Jez-Riah was on her knees, bathing her face in the water, letting it trickle over her hair, drinking it from cups made of her two hands. And above the din and clamour they heard her singing a weird hymn of praise to the accompaniment of the music of the waters. The boys listened eagerly, and again and again they heard the refrain—