Back Aa

Ardath

<h2 id="id01652" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> <h5 id="id01653">THE CUP OF WRATH AND TREMBLING.</h5> A flash of time, . . an instant of black, horrid eclipse, too brief for the utterance of even a word or cry, … and then,—with an appalling roar, as of the splitting of huge rocks and the tearing asunder of mighty mountains, the murky gloom was lifted, rent, devoured, and swept away on all sides by a sudden bursting forth of Fire! … Fire leaped up alive in twenty different parts of the building, springing aloft in spiral coils from the marble pavement that yawned crashingly open to give the impetuous flames their rapid egress, . . fire climbed lithely round and round the immense carven columns, and ran, nimbly dancing and crackling its way among the painted and begemmed decorations of the dome, … fire enwrapped the side-altars, and shrivelled the jewelled idols at a breath, . . fire unfastened and shook down the swinging-lamps, the garlands, the splendid draperies of silk and cloth-of-gold…fire—fire everywhere! … and the madly affrighted multitude, stunned by the abrupt shock of terror, stood for a moment paralyzed and inert, . . then, with one desperate yell of wild brute fear and ferocity, they rushed headlong in a struggling, shrieking, cursing, sweltering swarm toward the great closed portals of the central aisle. As they did so, a tremendous weight of thunder seemed to descend solidly on the roof with a thudding burst as though a thousand walls had been battered down at one blow, . . the whole edifice rocked and trembled in the terrific reverberation, and almost simultaneously, the doors were violently jerked open, wrenched from their hinges, and hurled, all burning and split with flame, against the forward-fighting crowds! Several hundred fell under the fiery mass, a charred heap of corpses,—the raging remainder pressed on in frenzied haste, clambering over piles of burning dead,—trampling on scorched, disfigured faces that perhaps but a moment since had been dear to them,—each and all bent on forcing a way out to the open air. In the midst of the overwhelming awfulness of the scene, Theos still retained sufficient presence of mind to remember that, whatever happened, his first care must be for Sah-luma, . . always for Sah-luma, no matter who else perished! … and he now held that beloved comrade closely clasped by the arm, while he eagerly glanced about him on every side for some outlet through which to make a good and swift escape. The most immediate place of safety seemed to be the Inner Sanctuary of Nagaya, . . it was untouched by the flames, and its Titanic pillars of brass and bronze suggested, in their very massiveness, a nearly impregnable harbor of refuge. The King had fled thither, and now stood, like a statue of undaunted gloomy amazement, beside Lysia, who on her part appeared literally frozen with terror. Her large, startled eyes, roving here and there in helpless anxiety, alone gave any animation to the deathly, rigid whiteness of her face, and she still mechanically supported the Sacred Ebony Staff, without apparently being aware of the fact that the Snake Deity, convulsed through all his coils with fright, had begun to make there-from his rapid DESCENT. The priests, the virgins,—the poor, unhappy little singing children,—flocked hurriedly together, and darted to the back of the great Shrine, in the manifest intention of reaching some private way of egress known only to themselves,—but their attempts were evidently frustrated, for no sooner had they gone than they sped back again, their faces scorched and blackened, and uttering cries and woeful lamentations they flung themselves wildly among the struggling crowds in the main body of the Temple, and fought for life in the jaws of death, every one for Self, and no one for another! Volumes of smoke rolled up from the ground, in thick and suffocating clouds, accompanied by incessant sharp reports like the close firing of guns, . . jets of flame and showers of cinders broke forth fountain-like, scattering hot destruction on every hand, . . while a few flying sparks caught the end of the "Silver Veil"—and withered it into nothingness with one bright resolute flare! Half maddened by the shrieks and dying groans that resounded everywhere about him, and yet all the time feeling as though he were some spectator set apart, and condemned to watch the progress of a ghastly phantasmagoria in Hell, Theos was just revolving in his mind whether it would or would not be possible to make a determined climb for escape through one of the tall painted windows, some of which were not yet reached by the fire, when, with a sudden passionate exclamation, Sah-luma broke from his hold and rushed to the Sanctuary. Quick as lightning, Theos followed him, . . followed him close, as he sprang up the steps and confronted Lysia with eager, outstretched arms. The dead Niphrita lay near him, . . fair as a sculptured saint, with the cruel wound of sacrifice in her breast,—but he seemed not to see that piteous corpse of Faithfulness! His grief for her death had been a mere transient emotion, . . his stronger earthly passions re-asserted their tempestuous sway,—and for sweet things perished and gone to heaven he had no further care. On Lysia, and on Lysia's living beauty alone, his eyes flamed their ardent glory. "Come! … Come!" he cried.. "Come, my love—my life! … Let me save thee! … Or if I cannot save thee, let us die together!" Scarcely had the words left his lips, when the King, with a swift forward movement like the pounce of some desert-panther, turned fiercely upon him, . . amazement, jealousy, distrust, revenge, all gathering stormily in the black frown of his bent vindictive brows. His great chest heaved pantingly—his teeth glittered wolfishly through his jetty beard, . . and in the terrible nerve-tension of the moment, the fury of the spreading conflagration was forgotten, at any rate, by Theos, who, stricken numb and rigid by a shock of alarm too poignant for expression, stared aghast at the three figures before him…Sah-luma, Lysia, Zephoranim, . . especially Zephoranim, whose bursting wrath threatened to choke his utterance. "What sayest thou, Sah-luma?" he demanded in a sort of ferocious gasping whisper … "Repeat thy words! … Repeat them!" … and his hand clutched at his dagger-hilt, while his restless, lowering glance flashed from Lysia to the Laureate and from the Laureate back to Lysia again.. "Death encompasses us, . . this is no time for trifling! … Speak!".. and his voice suddenly rose to a frantic shout of rage, "Speak! What is this woman to thee?" "Everything!".. returned Sah-luma with prompt and passionate fearlessness, his glorious eyes blazing a proud defiance as he spoke.. "Everything that woman can be, or ever shall be, unto man! Call her by whatsoever name a foolish creed enjoins, . . Virgin-Daughter of the Sun, or High-Priestess of Nagaya,—she is nevertheless MINE!—and mine only! I am her lover!" "THOU!" and with a hoarse cry, Zephoranim sprang upon, and seized him by the throat.. "Thou liest! I,—I, crowned King of Al-Kyris, I am her lover!—chosen by her out of all men! … and dost thou dare to pretend that she hath preferred THEE, a mere singer of mad songs, to ME? … Thou unscrupulous knave! … I tell thee she is MINE! .. Dost hear me?—Mine.. mine.. MINE!" and he shrieked the last word out in a perfect hurricane of passion,—"My Queen.. my mistress!—heart of my heart!—soul of my soul! … Let the city burn to ashes, and the whole land be utterly consumed, in death as in life Lysia is mine! … and the gods themselves shall never part her from me!" And suddenly releasing his grasp he hurled Sah-luma away as he might have hurled aside a toy figure,—and a peal of reckless musical laughter echoed mockingly through the vaulted shrine. It was Lysia's laughter! … and Theos's blood grew cold as he heard its cruel, silvery ring … even so had she laughed when Nir-jalis died! Sah-luma reeled backward from the King's thrust, but did not fall,—white and trembling, with his sad and splendid features, frozen as it were into a sculptured mask of agonized beauty, he turned upon the treacherous woman he loved the silent challenge of his eloquent eyes. Oh, that look of piteous pain and wonder! a whole lifetime's wasted opportunities seemed concentrated in its unspeakable reproach! She met it with a sort of triumphant, tranquil indifference, . . an uncontrollable wicked smile curved the corners of her red lips, . . the sacred Ebony Staff had somehow slipped from her hands, and it now lay on the ground, the half-uncoiled Serpent still clinging to it, in glittering lengths that appeared to be quite motionless. "Ah, Lysia, hast thou played me false?".. cried the unhappy Laureate at last, as with a quick, impulsive movement, he caught her round jewelled arm in a resolute grip.. "After all thy vows, thy endearments, thy embraces, hast thou betrayed me? Speak truly! … Art thou not all in all to me? … hast thou not given thyself body and soul into my keeping? To this braggart King I deign no answer—one word of thine will suffice! … Be brave.. be faithful! … Declare thy love for me, even as thou hast oft declared it a thousand remembered times!" Over the face of the beautiful Priestess swept a strange expression of mingled fear, antagonism, loathing, and exultation. Her eyes wandered to the red tongued leaping flames that tossed in eddying rings round the Temple, running every second nearer to the place where she stood, and in that one glance she seemed to recognize the hopelessness of rescue and certainty of death. A careless, haughty acceptance of her fate manifested itself in the pallid resolve of her drawn features, . . but as she allowed her gaze to return and dwell on Sah-luma, the old, malicious mirth flushed and gave lustre to her loveliness, and she laughed again…a laugh of uttermost bitter scorn. "Declare my love for thee!" she said in thrilling accents.. "Thou boaster! Let the gods, who have kindled this fiery end for us, bear witness to my hatred! I hate thee! … Aye, even THEE!".. and she pointed at him jeeringly, as he recoiled from her in wide eyed anguish and amazement:—"No man have I ever loved, but thee have I hated most of all! All men have I despised for their folly, greed and vain-glory,—I have fought them with their own weapons of avarice, cunning, cruelty, and falsehood,—but THOU hast been even beneath MY contempt! 'Twas scarcely worth my while to fool thee, thou wert so easily fooled! … 'Twas idle sport to rouse thy passions, they were so easily roused! Poet and Perjurer, . . Singer and Sophist! Thou to whom the Genius of Poesy was as a pearl set in a swine's snout! … thou wert not worthy to be my dupe, seeing that thou camest to me already in bonds, the dupe of thine own Self! Niphrata loved thee,—and thou didst play with and torture her more unmercifully than wild beasts play with and torture their prey; . . but thou couldst never trifle with ME! O thou who hast taken so much pride in the breaking of many women's hearts, learn that thou hast never stirred one throb of passion in MINE! … that I have loathed thy beauty while caressing thee, and longed to slay thee while embracing thee! … and that even now I would I saw thee dead before me, ere I myself am forced to die!" Pausing in the swift torrent of her words, her white breast heaved violently with the rise and fall of her panting breath,—her dark, brilliant eyes dilated, while the symbolic Jewel she wore, and the crown of serpents' heads in her streaming hair, seemed to glitter about her like so many points of lightning. At that instant one side of the Sanctuary split asunder, giving way to a bursting wreath of flames. Seeing this, she uttered a piercing cry, and stretched out her arms. "Zephoranim! … Save me!" In a second, the King sprang toward her, but not before Sah-luma, wild with wrath, had interposed himself between them. "Back!" he exclaimed passionately, addressing the infuriated monarch.. "While I live, Lysia is mine!—let her hate and deny me as she will!—and sooner than see her in thine arms, O King, I will slay her where she stands!" His bold attitude was magnificent,—his countenance more than beautiful in its love betrayed despair, . . and for a moment the savage Zephoranim paused irresolute, his scowling brows bent on his erstwhile favorite Minstrel with an expression that hovered curiously between bitterest enmity and reluctant reverence. There seemed to be a struggling consciousness in his mind of the immortality of a Poet as compared with the evanescent power of a King,—and also a quick realization of the truth that, let his anger be what it would, they twain were partakers in the same evil, and were mutually deceived by the same false woman! But ere his saving sense of justice could prevail, a ripple of discordant, delirious laughter broke once more from Lysia's lips,—her eye shone vindictively,—her whole face became animated with a sudden glow of fiendish triumph. "Zephoranim!" she cried, "Hero! … Warrior! … King! … Thou who hast risked thy crown and throne and life for my sake and the love of me! … Wilt lose me now? … Wilt let me perish in these raging flames, to satisfy this wanton liar and unbeliever in the gods, to whose disturbance of the Holy Ritual we surely owe this present fiery disaster! Save me, O strong and noble Zephoranim! … Save me, and with me save the city and the people! KILL SAH-LUMA!" O barbarous, inexorable words!—they rang like a desolating knell in the ears of the bewildered, fear-stricken Theos, and startled him from his rigid trance of speechless misery. Uttering an inarticulate dull groan, he made a violent effort to rush forward—to serve as a living shield of defence to his adored friend, . . to ward off the imminent blow! Too late! too late! … Zephoranim's dagger glittered in the air, and rapidly descended … One gasping cry! … and Sah-luma lay prone,—beautiful as a slain Adonis, . . the rich red blood pouring from his heart, and a faint, stern smile frozen on the proud lips whose dulcet singing-speech was now struck dumb forever! With a shriek of agony, Theos threw himself beside his murdered comrade, . . heedless of King, Priestess, flames, and all the out-breaking fury of earth and heaven, he bent above that motionless form, and gazed yearningly into the fair colorless face. "Sah-luma! … Sah-luma!" No sign! … No tremulous stir of breath! Dead—dead,—dead in his prime of years—dead in the zenith of his glory!—all the delicate, dreaming genius turned to dust and ashes! … all the ardent light of inspiration quenched in the never-lifting darkness of the grave! … and in the first delirious paroxysm of his grief Theos felt as though life, time, and the world were ended for him also, with this one suddenly destroyed existence! "O thou mad King!" he cried fiercely, "Thou hast slain the chief wonder of thy realm and reign! Die now when thou wilt, thou shalt only he remembered as the murderer of Sah-luma! … Sah-luma, whose name shall live when thine is covered in shameful oblivion!" Zephoranim frowned,—and threw the blood-stained dagger from him. "Peace, clamorous fool!" he said, "Sah-luma hath gone but a moment before me, . . as Poet he hath received precedence even in death! When the last hour comes for all of us, it matters not how we die, . . and whether I am hereafter remembered or forgotten I care not! I have lived as a man should live,—fearing nothing and conquered by none,—except perchance by Love, that hath brought many kings ere now to untimely ruin!" Here his moody eyes lighted on Lysia. "How many lovers hast thou had, fair soul?".. he demanded in a stern yet tremulous voice … "A thousand? … I would swear this dead Minstrel of mine was one,—for though I slew him at thy bidding I saw the truth in his dying eyes! … No matter!—We shall meet in Hades,—and there we shall have ample time to urge our rival claims upon thy favor! Ah!".. and he suddenly laid his two strong hands on her white uncovered shoulders, and gazed at her reproachfully as she shrank a little beneath his close scrutiny, . . "Thou divine Traitress! Have I not challenged the very heavens for thy sake? … and lo! the prophecy is fulfilled and Al-Kyris must fall! How many men would have loved thee as I have loved? … None! not even this dead Sah-luma, slain like a dog to give thee pleasure! Come! … Let me kiss thee once again ere death makes cold our lips! False or true, thou art nevertheless fair!—and the wrathful gods know best how I worship thy fairness!" And folding his arms about her, he kissed her passionately. She clung to him like a lithe serpentine thing,—her eyes ablaze, her mouth quivering with suppressed hysterical laughter. Pointing to Sah-luma's body, she said in a strange excited whisper: "Nay, hast thou slain him in very truth, Zephoranim! … slain him utterly? For I have heard that poets cannot die,—they live when the whole world deems them dead,—they rise from their shut graves and re-invest the earth with all the secrets of past time, . . Oh! my brain reels! … I talk mere madness! … there is no afterwards of death!—No, no! No gods, no anything but blankness.. forgetfulness.. and silence! … for us, and for all men! … How good it is!—how excellently devised a jest! … that the whole wide Universe should be but a cheat of time! … a bubble blown into Space, to float, break, and perish,—all for the idle sport of some unknown and shapeless Devil-Mystery!" Shuddering, half-laughing, half-weeping, she clasped her hands round the monarch's throat, and hid her wild eyes in his breast, while he, unnerved by her distraction and his own inward torture, glared about him on all sides for some glimmering chance of rescue, but could see none. The flames were now attacking the Shrine on every side like a besieging army,—their leaping darts of blue and crimson gleaming here and there with indescribable velocity, . . and still Theos knelt by Sah-luma's corpse in dry-eyed despair, endeavoring with feverish zeal to stanch the oozing blood with a strip torn from his own garments, and listening anxiously for the feeblest heart-throb, or smaller pulsation of smouldering life in the senseless stiffening clay. All at once a hideous scream assailed his ears,—another, and yet another rang above the crackling roar of the gradually conquering fire, . . and half-lifting Sah-luma's body in his arms, he looked up…O horror, horror! his nerves contracted,—his blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins, . . his head swam giddily, . . and he thought the moment of his own death had come, for surely no man could behold the sight he saw and yet continue to live on! Lysia the captor was made captive at last! ..bound, helpless, imprisoned, and hopelessly doomed, ..Nagaya had claimed his own! The huge Snake, terrified beyond all control at the bursting breadth of fire environing the shrine, had turned in its brute fear to the mistress it had for years been accustomed to obey, and had now, with one stealthy noiseless spring, twisted its uppermost coil close about her waist, where its restless head, alarmed eyes, and darting fangs all glistened together like a blazing cluster of gems! the more she struggled to release herself from its deathful embrace, the tighter its body contracted and the more maddened with fright it became. Shriek upon shriek broke from her lips and pierced the suffocating air, . . while with all his great muscular force Zephoranim the King strove in desperate agony to tear her from the awful clutch of the monster he had but lately knelt to as divine! In vain, ..in vain! … the strongest efforts were useless, … the cruel, beautiful, pitiless Priestess of Nagaya was condemned to suffer the same frightful death she had so often mercilessly decreed for others! Closer and closer grew the fearful Python's constricting clasp, . . nearer and nearer swept the dancing battalion of destroying flames! … For one fleeting breath of time Theos stared aghast at the horrid scene, . . then making a superhuman effort he raised Sah-luma's corpse entirely from the ground and staggered with his burden away, . . away from the burning Shrine, . . the funeral pyre, as it vaguely seemed to him, of a wasted Love and a dead passion! * * * * * * * Whither should he go! … Down into the blazing area of the fast-perishing Temple? Surely no safety could be found there, where the fire was raging at its utmost height! … yet he went on mechanically, as though urged forward by some force superior to his own, . . always clinging to the idea that his friend still lived and that if he could only reach some place of temporary shelter he might yet be able to restore him. It was possible the wound was not fatal, . . far more possible to his mind than that so gloriously famed a Poet should be dead! So he dimly thought, while he stumbled dizzily along, . . his forehead wet with clammy dews, . . his limbs trembling under the weight he bore, . . his eyes half-blinded by the hot flying sparks and drifting smoke, . . and his soul shaken and appalled by the ghastly sights that met his view wheresoever he turned. Crushed and writhing bodies of men, women, and children, half-living, half-dead, . . heaps of corpses, fast blazing to ashes,—broken and falling columns, . . yawning gaps in the ground, from which were cast forth volleys of red cinders and streams of lava, … all these multitudinous horrors surrounded him, as with uncertain, faltering steps he moved on like a sick man walking in sleep, carrying his precious burden! He knew nothing of where he was bound,—he saw no outlet anywhere—no corner wherein the Fire-fiend had not set up devouring dominion, . . but nevertheless he steadily continued his difficult progress, clasping Sah-luma's corpse with a strange tenacity, and concentrating all his attention on protecting it from the withering touch of the ravenous flames. All at once,—as he strove to force his way over a fallen altar from which the hideous presiding stone idol had toppled headlong, killing in its descent some twenty or thirty people whose bodies lay crushed beneath it,—a face horribly disfigured and tortured into a mere burnt sketch of its former likeness twisted itself up and peered at him, the face of Zabastes, the Critic. His protruding eyes glistened with something of their old malign expression as he perceived whose helpless form it was that was being carried by. "What! … is the famous Sah-luma gone?" he gasped, his words half choking him in their utterance as he stretched out a skinny hand and caught at Theos's garments … "Good youth, stay! … Stay! … Why burden thyself with a corpse when thou mightest rescue a living man? Save ME! … Save ME! … I was the Poet's adverse Critic, and who but I should write his Eulogy now that he is no more! … Pity! … Pity, most courteous, gentle sir! … Save me if only for the sake of Sah-luma's future honor! Thou knowest not how warmly, how generously, how nobly, I can praise the dead!" Theos gazed down upon him in unspeakable, melancholy scorn, . . was it only through time-serving creatures such as this miserable Zabastes, that the after-glory of perished poets was proclaimed to the world? … What then was the actual worth of Fame? Shuddering, he wrenched himself away, and passed on silently, heedless of the savage curses the despairing scribe yelled after him as he went, and he involuntarily pressed the dead corpse of his beloved friend closer to his heart, as though he thought he could re-animate it by this mute expression of tenderness! Meanwhile the fire raged continuously,—the Temple was fast becoming a pillared mass of flames, . . and presently,—choked and giddy with the sulphurous vapors—he stopped abruptly, struggling for breath. His time had come at last, he thought, . . he with Sah-luma must die! Just then a loud muttering and rolling of thunder swept in eddying vibrations round him, followed by a sharp, splitting noise, . . raising his aching eyes, he saw straight before him, a yawning gloomy archway, like the solemn portal of a funeral vault.. dark, yet with a white glimmer of steps leading outward, and a dim sparkle as of stars in heaven. A rush of new vigor inspired him at this sight, and he resumed his way, stumbling over countless corpses strewn among fallen blocks of marble,—and every now and then looking back in awful fascination to the fiery furnace of the body of the Temple, where of all the vast numbers that had lately crowded it from end to end, there were only a hundred or so remaining alive,—and these were fast perishing in frightful agony. The Shrine of Nagaya was enveloped in thick black smoke, crossed here and there by flashes of flame,—the bare outline of its Titanic architecture was scarcely discernible! Yet the thought of the dreadful end of Lysia, the loveliest woman he had ever seen, moved him now to no emotion whatever—save..gladness! Some deadly evil seemed burnt out of his life, . . moreover her command had slain Sah-luma! … Enough! … no fate however horrible, could be more so than she in her wanton wickedness deserved! … But alas! her beauty! … He dared not think of its subtle, slumberous charm! … and stung to a new sense of desperation, he plunged recklessly toward the dusky aperture he had seen, which appeared to enlarge itself mysteriously as he approached, like the opening gateway of some magic cavern. Suddenly a faint groan at his feet startled him,—and, looking down hastily, he perceived an unfortunate man lying half crushed under the ponderous fragment of a split column, which had fallen across his body in such manner that any attempt to extricate him would have been worse than useless. By the bright light of the leaping flames, Theos had no difficulty in recognizing the pallid countenance of his late acquaintance, the learned Professor of Positivism, Mira-Khabur, who was evidently very near his woeful and most positive end! Struck by an impulse of compassion he paused, . . yet what could he say? ..In such a case, where rescue was impossible, all comfort seemed mockery,—and while he stood silent and irresolute, he fancied the Professor smiled! It was a very ghastly smile,—nevertheless it hid in it a curious touch of bland and scrupulous inquiry. "Is not this…a very.. remarkable occurrence?" … asked a voice so feeble and far away that it was difficult to believe it came from the lips of the suffering sage. "Of course…it arises from…a volcanic eruption! … and the mystery of the red river.. is.. solved!" Here an irrepressible moan of anguish broke through his heroic effort at equanimity;—"It is NOT a phenomenon!".. and a gleam of obstinate self-assertion lit up his poor glazing eyes, "Nothing is phenonmenal! … only I am not able…to explain…. I have no time…no time…to analyze.. my very … singular…sensations!" A rush of blood choked his utterance—his throat rattled, … he was dead! … and the dreary speculative smile froze on his mouth in the likeness of a solemn sneer. At that moment, a terrific swirling, surging noise, like the furious boiling of an underground whirlpool, rumbled heavily through the air, . . and lo! with a sudden, swift shock that sent Theos reeling forward and almost falling, under the burdensome weight he carried, the earth opened, . . disclosing a huge pit of black nothingness,—an enormous chasm,—into which, with an appalling clamor as of a hundred incessant peals of thunder, the whole main area of the Temple, together with its mass of dead and dying human beings, sank in less than five seconds!—the ground closing instantaneously over its prey with a sullen roar, as though it were some gigantic beast devouring food too long denied. And instead of the vanished fane arose a mighty Pillar of Fire! … a vast increasing volume of scarlet and gold flame that spread outward and upward,—higher and higher, in tapering lines and dome-like curves of living light, . . while Theos, being hurled along resistlessly by the force of the convulsion, had reached, though he knew not how, the dark and quiet cell-like portal with its out-leading steps, . . the only visible last hope and chance of safety, . . and he now leaned against its cold stone arch, trembling in every limb, clasping the dead Sah-luma close, and looking back in affrighted awe at the tossing vortex of fury from which he had miraculously escaped. And,—as he looked,—a host of spectral faces seemed to rise whitely out of the flames and wonder at him! … faces that were solemn, wistful, warning, and beseeching by turns! … they drifted through the fire and smiled, and wept, and vanished, to reappear again and yet again! … and as, with painfully beating heart, he strove to combat the terror that seized him at this strange spectacular delusion, all suddenly the heavy wreaths of smoke that had till now hung over the Inner Shrine of Nagaya parted like drapery drawn aside from a picture.. and for a brief breathing space of direst agony he saw Lysia once more,—Lysia, in a torture as horrible as any ever depicted in a bigot's idea of his enemy's Hell! Round and round her writhing form the sacred Serpent was twined in all his many coils,—with both hands she had grasped the creature's throat in her frenzy, striving to thrust back its quivering fangs from her breast, whereon the evil "Eye of Raphon" still gleamed distinctly with its adamantine chilly stare, . . at her feet lay the body of the King her lover, dead and wrapped in a ring of flames! … Alone—all, all alone, she confronted Death in its most appalling shape.. her countenance was distorted, yet beautiful still with the beauty of a maddened Medusa, . . white and glittering as a fair ghost invoked from some deadly gulf of pain, she stood, a phantom-figure of mingled loveliness and horror, circled on every side by fire! With wild, straining eyes Theos gazed upon her thus, … for the last time! … For with a crash that seemed to rend the very heavens, the great bronze columns surrounding her, which had, up to the present, resisted the repeated onslaughts of the flames, bent together all at once and fell in a melting ruin.. and the victorious fire roared loudly above them, enveloping the whole Shrine anew in dense clouds of smoke and jets of flame,—Lysia had perished! All that proud loveliness, that dazzling supremacy, that superb voluptuousness, that triumphant dominion, . . swept away into a heap of undiscoverable ashes! And Zephoranim's haughty spirit too had fled,—fled, stained with guilt and most unroyal dishonor, all for the sake of one woman's fairness—the fairness of body only—the brilliant mask of flesh that too often hides the hideousness of a devil's nature! For one moment Theos remained stupefied by the sheer horror of the catastrophe,—then, recalling his bewildered wits to his aid, he peered anxiously through the archway where he rested, . . there seemed to be a dim red glow at the end of the downward-leading steps, as well as a dusky azure tint, like a patch of midnight sky. The Temple was now nothing but a hissing shrieking pyramid of flames,—the hot and blinding glare was almost too intense for his eyes to endure,—yet so fascinated was he by the sublime terror and grandeur of the spectacle, that he could scarcely make up his mind to turn away from it! The thought of Sah-luma, however, gave the needful spur to his flagging energies, and without pausing to consider where he might be going, he slowly and hesitatingly descended the steps before him, and presently reached a sort of small open court paved with black marble. Here he tenderly laid his burden down,—a burden grown weightier with each moment of its bearing,—and letting his aching arms drop listlessly at his sides, he looked up dreamily,—not all at once comprehending the cause of the vast lurid light that crimsoned the air like a wide aurora borealis everywhere about him, . . then,—as the truth suddenly flashed on his mind, he uttered a loud, irrepressible cry of amazement and awe! Far as his gaze could see,—east, west, north, south, the whole city of Al-Kyris was in flames!—and the burning Temple of Nagaya was but a mere spark in the enormous breadth of the general conflagration! Palaces, domes, towers, and spires were tottering to red destruction, . . fire…fire everywhere! … nothing but fire,—save when a furious gust of scorching wind blew aside the masses of cindery smoke, and showed glimpses of sky and the changeless shining of a few cold quiet stars. He cast one desperate glance from earth to heaven, . . how was it possible to escape from this kindling furnace of utter annihilation! … Where all were manifestly doomed, how could HE expect to be saved! And moreover, if Sah-luma was indeed dead, what remained for him but to die also! * * * * * * * Calming the frenzy of his thoughts by a strong effort, he began to vaguely wonder why and how it happened that the place where he now was, . . this small and insignificant court,—had so far escaped the fire, and was as cool and sombre as a sacred tomb set apart for some hero, … or Poet? Poet!—The word acted as a stimulant to his tired struggling brain, and he all at once remembered what Sah-luma had said to him at their first meeting: "There is but one Poet in Al-Kyris, and I am he!" O true, true! Only one Poet! … Only one glory of the great city, that now served him as funeral pyre!—only one name worth remembering in all its perishing history.. the name of SAH-LUMA! Sah-luma, the beautiful, the gifted, the famous, the beloved, . . he was dead! This thought, in its absorbing painfulness, straightway drove out all others,—and Theos, who had carried his comrade's corpse bravely and unshrinkingly through a fiery vortex of imminent peril, now sank on his knees all desolate and unnerved, his hot tears dropping fast on that fair, still, white face that he knew would never flush to the warmth of life again! "Sah-luma! Sah-luma!" he whispered, "My friend … My more than brother! Would I could have died for thee! … Would thou couldst have lived to fulfil the nobler promise of thy genius! … Better far thou hadst been spared to the world than I! … for I am Nothing, . . but thou wert Everything!" And taking the clay-cold hands in his own, he kissed them reverently, and, with an unconscious memory not born of his recent adventures, folded them on the dead Laureate's breast in the fashion of a Cross. As he did this an icy spasm seemed to contract his heart, . . seized by a sudden insufferable anxiety, he stared like one spell-bound into Sah-luma's wide-open, fixed, and glassy eyes. Dead eyes! … yet how full of mysterious significance! … What—WHAT was their weird secret, their imminent meaning! … Why did their dark and frozen depths appear to retain a strange, living undergleam of melting, sorrowful, beseeching sweetness? … like the eyes of one who prays to be remembered, though changed after long absence! What hot and terrible delirium was this that snatched at his whirling brain as he bent closer and closer over the marble quiet countenance, and studied with a sort of fierce intentness every line of those delicate, classic features, on which high thought had left so marked an impress of dignity and power! What a marvellous, half-reproachful, half-appealing smile lingered on the finely-curved set lips! … How wonderful, how beautiful, how beloved beyond all words was this fair dead god of poesy on whom he gazed with such a passion of yearning! Stooping more and more, he threw his arms round the senseless form, and partly lifting it from the ground, brought the wax-pallid face nearer to his own.. so near that the cold mouth almost touched his, . . then filled with an awful, unnamable misgiving, he scanned his murdered comrade's perished beauty in puzzled, vague bewilderment, much as an ignorant dullard might perplexedly scan the incomprehensible characters of some hieroglyphic scroll. And, as he looked, a sharp pang shot through him like a whizzing ball of fire, . . a convulsion of mental agony shook his limbs,—he could have shrieked aloud in the extremity of his torture, but the struggling cry died gasping in his throat. Still as stone he kept his strained, steadfast gaze fixed on Sah-luma's corpse, slowly absorbing the full horror of a tremendous Suggestion, that like a scorching lava-flood swept into every subtle channel of his brain. For the dead Sah-luma's eyes grew into the semblance of his own eyes! … the dead Sah-luma's face smiled spectrally back at him in the image of his own face! … it was as though he beheld the Picture of himself, slain and reflected in a magician's mirror! Round him the very heavens seemed given up to fire,—but he heeded it not,—the world might be at an end and the day of Judgment, proclaimed,—nothing would have stirred him from where he knelt, in that dreadful stillness of mystic martyrdom, drinking in the gradual, glimmering consciousness of a terrific Truth, . . the amazing, yet scarcely graspable solution of a supernatural Enigma, … an enigma through which, like a man lost in the depths of a dark forest, he had wandered up and down, seeking light, yet finding none! "O God!" he dumbly prayed. "Thou, with whom all things are possible, give eyes to this blind trouble of my heart! I am but as a grain of dust before thee, . . a poor perishable atom, devoid of simplest comprehension! … Do Thou of Thy supernal pity teach me what I must know!" As he thought out this unuttered petition, a tense cord seemed to snap suddenly in his brain, . . a rush of tears came to his relief, and through their salt and bitter haze the face of Sah-luma appeared to melt into a thin and spiritual brightness,—a mere aerial outline of what it had once been, . . the glazed dark eyes seemed to flash living lightning into his, . . the whole lost Personality of the dead Poet seemed to environ him with a mysterious, potent, incorporeal influence.. an influence that he felt he must now or never repel, reject, and utterly RESIST! … With a shuddering cry, he tore his reluctant arms away from the beloved corpse, . . with trembling, tender fingers he closed and pressed down the white eyelids of those love-expressive eyes, and kissed the broad poetic brow! "Whatever thou WERT or ART to me, Sah-luma," he murmured in sobbing haste,—"thou knowest that I loved thee, though now I leave thee! Farewell!"—and his voice broke in its strong agony—"O how much easier to divide body from soul than part myself from thee! Sah-luma, beloved Sah-luma! God give thee rest! … God pardon thy sins,—and mine!" And he pressed his lips once more on the folded rigid hands; . . as he did so, he inadvertently touched the writing-tablet that hung from the dead Laureate's girdle. The red glow of the fire around him enabled him to see distinctly what was written on it, . . there were about twenty lines of verse, in exquisitely clear and fine caligraphy, … and, as he read, he knew them well, . . they were the last lines of the poem "Nourhalma"! He dared trust his own strength no longer, . . one wild, adoring, lingering, parting look at his dead rival in song, whom he had loved better than himself,—and then,—full of a nameless fear, he fled! … fled recklessly, and with swift, mad fury as though demons followed in pursuit, . . fled through the burning city, as a lost and frenzied spirit might speed through the deserts of Hell! Everywhere about him resounded the crackling hiss of the flames, and the crash of falling buildings, . . mighty pinnacles and lofty domes melted and vanished before is eyes in a blaze of brilliant destruction! … on—on he went, meeting confused, scattered crowds of people, whose rushing, white-garmented figures looked like ghosts flying before a storm, . . the cries and shrieks of women and children, and the groans of men were mingled with the restless roaring of lions and other wild beasts burnt out of their dens in the Royal Arena, the distant circle of which could be dimly seen, surrounded by fountain-like jets of fire. Some of these maddened animals ran against him, as he sped along the blazing thoroughfares,—but he made no attempt to avoid them, nor was he sensible of any other terror than that which was WITHIN HIMSELF and was purely mental. On! … On!—Still on he went,—a desperate, lonely man, lost in a hideous nightmare of flame and fury, . . seeing nothing but one vast flying rout of molten red and gold, . . speaking to none, . . utterly reckless as to his own fate, . . only impelled on and on, but whither he knew not, nor cared to know! All at once his, strength gave way…his nerves seemed to break asunder like so many over-wound harp-strings, . . a sudden silvery clanging of bells rang in his ears, and with them came a sound of multitudinous soft, small voices: "Kyrie Eleison! Kyrie Eleison!" Hush! … What was that? … What did it mean? … Halting abruptly, he gave a wild glance round him,—up to the sky, where the flaring flames spread in tangled lengths and webs of light, . . then, straight before him to the City of Al-Kyris, now a wondrous vision of redly luminous columns and cupolas, with the wet gleam of the river enfolding its blazing streets and towers: . . and while he yet beheld it, lo! IT RECEDED FROM HIS VIEW! Further, . . further!—further away, till it seemed nothing but the toppling and smoldering of heavy clouds after the conflagration of the sunset! Hark, hark again! … "Kyrie, Eleison! … Kyrie, Eleison!" With a sense of reeling rapture and awe he listened, . . he understood! … he found the NAME he had so long forgotten! "CHRIST, have mercy upon me!"…he cried, and in that one urgent supplication he uttered all the pent-up anguish of his soul! Blind and dizzy with the fevered whirl of his own emotions, he stumbled forward and fell! … fell heavily over a block of stone, . . stunned by the shock, he lost consciousness, but only for a moment; . . a dull aching in his temples roused him,—and making a faint effort to rise, he turned slowly and languidly on his arm, . . and with a long, deep, shuddering sigh…AWOKE! He was on the Field of Ardath. Dawn had just broken. The east was one wide, shimmering stretch of warm gold, and over it lay strips of blue and gray, like fragments of torn battle-banners. Above him sparkled the morning star, white and glittering as a silver lamp, among the delicate spreading tints of saffron and green, . . and beside him,—her clear, pure features flushed by the roseate splendor of the sky, her hands clasped on her breast, and her sweet eyes full of an infinite tenderness and yearning, knelt EDRIS!—Edris, his flower-crowned Angel, whom last he had seen drifting upward and away like a dove through the glory of the Cross in Heaven! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.