Читать книгу The Perfect World - Ella M. Scrymsour - Страница 8

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The ever present sense of “self-preservation” beats within the breasts of men most strongly at some period or other of their lives. It showed itself to Alan now. A fear of the supernatural came over him, and very quietly he stepped into the shelter of a jutting piece of rock, from which, all unseen, he could take a view of his surroundings.

He realized at once that it was to no mine that he had come, for strange, fantastic figures flitted about in the distance, figures that did not belong to the upper world.

Suddenly several of these figures leapt into the water and with a peculiar roll came swimming towards him at a terrific pace, and with a graceful movement vaulted out of the water and sat on the edge of the bank. He counted five of them, and saw that they were quite naked, and their skins were of a most peculiar purple shade, an almost exact match to the purple that lighted the place. They were talking volubly in an unknown tongue, and Alan leant forward from his hiding place to catch a better view of these strange, underworld people he had come among in such an extraordinary way. Short—he would judge them to be no more than three feet six, at the most, but with muscles that stood out like iron bands across their bodies. Their hair, in contrast to their skins, was of an almost flaxen hue, and in the females hung perfectly straight to their waists. The men wore theirs cropped close, except on the very top of their heads, where it was allowed to grow long, and was plaited and braided, and fixed with ornaments.

Their features were extremely pointed, and their eyes were small, but of a piercing brilliance. From the middle of the forehead, grew a tusk or horn, about ten inches long. For some time Alan puzzled over the strange horn, but its use was demonstrated to him only too soon. It was a weapon of offence. One of the women suddenly rose, and began an unintelligible tirade against her companion. The man did his best to pacify her, but it was useless, and suddenly she bent down, and with a viciousness Alan could hardly realize, thrust her tusk into the man’s face, and with a wild shriek dived into the water and swam away. The man was left with a gaping wound on his cheek, from which flowed a sickly, purply-white fluid. With hoarse chuckles, the remaining three swam off, leaving the man alone. Alan watched him intently. Diving to the bottom of the river, the creature stayed there an incredibly long time, and then reappeared with a bunch of purple water weeds in his hand. He laid a handful of these weeds on his wound, to which they adhered by a secretion of their own, and the man swam away also, leaving Alan more alone than before.

His faintness grew still more unbearable and he came out of his hiding place, caring for nothing but to get food; but his limbs were weak, and he fell, and found that he could hardly drag himself along. As he lay on the ground, a sweet smell assailed his nostrils, and looking round he realized that on little low bushes all about him, hung a luscious-looking, purple fruit.

He picked one and examined it. It was like a grape in size and appearance, but was velvet to the touch, like a peach. He tasted it—it was sweet and wonderfully refreshing, so he ate his fill, with his last ounce of strength pulled himself once more into the friendly arms of the overhanging rocks, and fell asleep. When he awoke he made another meal off the fruit that grew everywhere in such abundance—it was filling and seemed nutritious, and the juice appeased his thirst. He looked carefully around him. There was no one about, and keeping within the shadow of the walls, he made his way down the path. It was not an easy road, for the stones were sharp and the way rough, and the constant effort to keep himself hidden tired him. At last he came to the end of the passage, and saw that the river widened out into a large lake, about two hundred yards across. Peculiar craft lay moored at either side, and in the centre was an island on which grew purple vegetation—short, stunted, purple trees, and a peculiar, purple moss, that covered the ground like grass.

It was a weirdly picturesque scene. Purple light shone from purple trees that were planted at regular intervals everywhere. The light seemed to evolve from nothing, as it showed under the large purple leaves that acted as shades—yet Alan believed it was partly natural, and partly controlled by the power of the purple people he had seen.

A wide passage went to the right, and in front of him Alan saw a large chamber, bounded on one side by the lake. Branching off in all directions were other passages which seemed to open out into other chambers and roadways, in fact the whole place seemed like a veritable warren.

Suddenly an awful crash sounded, followed by the beating of drums and the clashing of cymbals and away in the distance he saw a procession of purple folk passing rapidly, all in the same direction. Cloaks of the same purple hue fell from their shoulders, and the women wore veils on their heads. He watched them with interest. The figures passed in quick succession, then they became less and less frequent, until only one or two stragglers came hurrying up. The sound of singing rose on the air, and Alan conjectured that it must be some religious service to which they all were bent. After the last one had disappeared Alan waited some minutes to see if any more would pass, but as no one else came he walked slowly in the direction from which the multitude had appeared.

In a very short space of time he found himself in a street. Peculiar huts lined either side of it, huts with their doors open wide and no sign of life. He looked about him carefully, and ventured inside one. He found it was divided into three rooms—all on the ground floor. There was a sleeping room, for mattresses of that same purple moss, dried, were on the floor; there was also a living room and a kitchen. Warily he looked about him, and then went out into the street. The main street merged into smaller ones and at last, at the very end, a large building rose upon the scene—larger and more impressive than any of the others he had passed on his way. All this time he had seen no sign of life—the inhabitants were content to rest secure in their belief of inviolability.

Cautiously Alan crept toward the building and as he came close to it, he saw that a sentry had been left on guard—a sentry with an evil-looking knife slung across his shoulders, and a scimitar-like instrument in his hand. The man was looking away into the distance and did not hear Alan’s approach. “Hullo,” said Alan pleasantly. The effect was magical. The undersized creature swung round and faced the strange, white man. For an instant he remained quite still, and then, with a sudden movement that Alan was unprepared for, sprang at him, and commenced to beat his horn in Alan’s face. In vain the white man tried to free himself from the savage grip; he was no match for this strange creature of the underworld. His adversary made no sound as he gradually weakened Alan, and at length he swung him over his shoulder as if he had been a child, and marched with him at a quick pace down the street.

The shock, the strenuous time Alan had been through, took his senses away, and when he came to, he found he was lying on a soft mattress and there was a stabbing pain in his arm. A fantastic figure was bending over him, a figure that licked its lips cruelly as it surveyed its victim, and Alan realized at once that he was in an enemy’s hand.

The figure spoke to him, but Alan was unable to understand the jargon it uttered. Suddenly it issued a command, and four men, clad in a kind of armour, came up to Alan, and lifting him up carried him once more out of the place into the street. Outside they placed him on a litter, drawn by four men, and at a fast trot dragged him through the streets. The air grew hotter and hotter, until Alan felt choked; at last, however, they came to their journey’s end, and Alan was rudely hauled out of the litter, and found himself standing outside high gates. They were very massive, of a gold colour, and heavily barred on the inner side. One of his captors struck a gong affixed to the wall, and in answer to its strident tones, two women, heavily veiled, came running toward them and unfastened the locks. Alan was almost too weak to walk, but was pushed along a passage until he found himself in a place so vast, so wonderful, so awful, that it left him breathless and trembling.

It was a huge temple into which he had been brought—so vast that he was unable to see the further end of it. An enormous high altar stood near him, and at intervals were smaller ones all round the walls. Statues and images, both grotesque and beautiful, ornamented the place, and the atmosphere reeked with a pungent incense that was sickly and overpowering. But it was not only the vastness and weirdness that left Alan breathless—it was a wonder more terrible, more awe-inspiring than his mind had ever conceived.

The whole of the centre of the temple was composed of a fire—a fire that ran down the length of the elliptically shaped building, and disappeared in the distance in a red glow. A glass-like wall rose to perhaps three feet above the level of the flames, and through it Alan could see into the heart of a bottomless pit of fire, whose flames of all hues danced and swerved and shimmered in a wild ecstasy. The substance of the fire he could not guess—but the fire possessed a terrifying appearance that alone was enough to break the spirit of any mortal man.

The heat was intense, yet the natives did not seem to notice it, and they led Alan to a pillar that rose near the high altar, bound him to it by a heavy chain, and then left him there, alone. He watched his captors disappear one by one. His brain was reeling. He wondered whether all he had seen was but the result of fever, and he would wake up presently to find himself in Mrs. Slater’s pretty little cottage at Marshfielden. But no, he knew he was awake and not dreaming,—and looked about him in bewilderment. That there were people living in the centre of the earth he would never have believed—yet here was the proof—for was he not a captive in their clutches?

He looked at the fire. Never before had he seen anything like it. It seemed to go deep into fathomless depths, and its flames danced and sang and crackled maliciously. He wondered whether he would be thrown into its fiery bosom by the purple folk, and shivered to think of it, but then a feeling of relief came over him. After all it would be a quick death, for nothing could live long in those hungry flames.

Immediately opposite him was the high altar. Six steps led up to it, and he looked with interest at them and at the red stains they bore; and with an uncanny laugh, asked himself whether these were blood. If so, whose? Round the walls on pedestals were huge, grotesque figures; and interposed here and there, an image of almost seraphic beauty, that contrasted strangely with the insidious cruelty and hideousness of the place.

To the right of Alan was a still more grotesque figure. About twenty feet high it stood, with cruel eyes looking out across the fire. Its jaws were open wide, and attached to the under jaw was a peculiar slide made of the same transparent glass-like substance that encircled the flames. This slide reached from the idol’s mouth to the edge of the furnace, and suddenly drops of perspiration stood out thick on Alan’s brow. The meaning of the slide was only too clear. The victims of these underground savages were forced inside the idol, disgorged by it on to the slide, and thrown into the fire—a living sacrifice. Time passed, and Alan wondered dimly whether he would ever be able to reckon it again.

Suddenly upon his ear came wild yells and fanatical shrieks, the banging of drums, the clashing of cymbals followed by discordant singing. Then the din quieted a little, only to reassert itself once more as the natives reached the door of their temple. Alan gasped in horror as a horde of grinning purple men swarmed into the place, two of whom left their places in the procession, and coming to him caught hold of him roughly.

Priests and acolytes took their place in the procession, which was brought to an end by a high priest, who wore the most wonderful purple robes and purple gems; slowly he walked to the high altar, his richly embroidered vestments hanging to the ground, and two acolytes carried the ends of his cloak, which they kissed reverently as they ascended the bloody steps. When he reached the top step he turned his back on the altar itself, and prostrated himself before the fire, the whole company of worshippers following his example. Boys arrayed in vestments almost the facsimile of the ones worn by the high priest, swung censers aloft, which exuded their sickly perfume, and sent the faint, blue smoke mingling with the smokeless flames of the big fire.

Then they rose and the ceremony began, priests intoned; an invisible choir sang; and the congregation chanted, while live pigs, oxen, horses and goats were thrown alive into the flames. There was a wild shriek from each animal as it felt the heat, a crackling—and it was reduced to ashes. Alan wondered when his turn would come, and longed vainly for the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

Suddenly his captors lifted him high above their heads, and strapped him to the altar. And then in front of him was placed a goat, and two priests, disengaging themselves from the crowd, disembowelled the animal alive, flung the still living and tortured creature to the flames, and stood over Alan with their ugly knives, still dripping with blood, suspended above him. Then the steel came flashing down and he wondered that he felt no pain, but he realized that his clothes had been deftly cut away from him, and he was left on the altar slab, naked. Incense was wafted over him, and he was bathed from head to foot in sweet smelling oils. Then he was released from the altar and had to submit to being robed from head to foot in purple garments. Sandals were placed upon his feet, and for a moment he wondered whether these people really meant him well—but even as the thought passed through his mind, the back of the great idol swung open on hinges, revealing a flight of steps within; and Alan knew the hour of his torture had come.

With incense rising to his nostrils and the noisy clangour of bells in his ears, Alan was led, powerless, although resisting, to the open doorway. The steps inside were heated until they blistered his feet, and the pain caused him to mount higher where he hoped to get relief. When he reached the topmost step, and stood in comfort, realizing that it was cool, the door below swung to. He was alone, and saw that he was standing in the head of the idol, looking through its gaping jaws into the heart of the fire. Then suddenly he felt a jolt beneath him, and realized that his ankles were encased in iron bands. Again the idol’s body shook, and he was thrown on his belly. Slowly the slide was coming into position; another convulsive move of the idol, and he was half way down it, and smiled as he saw in imagination a tank of water below him in place of the fire, and himself in a bathing suit, ready to descend the water chute!

Slowly, slowly he began to slip, and wondered why he did not go faster. He tried to kick his feet and so enable himself to get over with death—but the iron anklets were holding him fast, and he knew he would reach the flames only when his torturers desired it. The heat was now unbearable; the flames were leaping up toward him; he already felt upon his cheek their fiery breath. His arms were stretched out before him, and he was at too great an angle to draw them up. Then came a feeling of excruciating agony, an agony almost unbearable. His fingers had reached the fire! powerless to take them out, he writhed round and round in a vain endeavour to obtain relief. No sound came from between his clenched teeth to express the pain he was enduring.

Suddenly above the uproar he heard a woman’s voice, commanding and imperious. There was a sudden silence, and then, with a terrible jolting of the idol, Alan once again found the slide rising and he was safe inside the belly of the image. Tears trickled down his face, tears of pain. Of course the mechanism had gone wrong. All that excruciating torture would have to be borne again. He held his mutilated hands out in front of him. Numbness had set in and intense cold.

The door in the idol opened and a beautiful girl mounted the steps and came toward him. She was small, like her companions around her, and of the same colour, and the horn in her forehead, painted gold and hung with gems, seemed in some weird way to enhance her beauty. Almost of English mould, her features were small and pretty, and her wonderful hair hung like a mantle of gold far past her knees. Upon her head she wore a crown of gold, and Alan thought she must be queen of the underworld people, for evidently her power was paramount. She placed her cool, firm hands on Alan’s shoulder, and led him down the now cool stairs; and once more he found himself in the temple. He was dazed, and could hardly realize that this woman had saved him. From a basket an attendant carried she took ointments and healing lotions, and bathed and bound up his poor, maimed hands. The effect was almost magical. The burning ceased, and a feeling of relief came over him. She then offered him her arm, and led him to the outer gates of the temple. There a small chariot was awaiting her, pulled by a hideous beast that was the beast of burden in the underworld. Small, with an ungainly body and short legs—its head small in proportion, it had immense tusks and a beard covered the lower portions of its face. Indeed, the “Schloun” was a mixture of rhinoceros and goat, and had the bulldog’s squareness of build. It was a hideous animal, and Alan shuddered as he took his place in the chariot. The equipage was extremely comfortable, the floor, upon which they sat was laden with rugs and cushions, and side by side, the man and his protector rode through the strange streets of this underground world.

At last they stopped in front of an imposing building, even larger than the one where Alan had originally been captured. The woman led Alan into it, and took him into an apartment that was evidently reserved for her private use. A soft, purple carpet lined the floor, while purple curtains hung across the door. The woman pointed to a cushion and sat down, and Alan, understanding her meaning, sat down near her. She spoke to him slowly and repeatedly, but he was unable to understand her tongue.

“Kaweeka” she repeated over and over again, and at last he understood. It was her name!

Then he rose and went to the door and called “Kaweeka” and the woman smiled and nodded and tapped her heel on the ground to signify her delight.

Suddenly she rose and stood beside him, and putting her arms about him, planted a very English kiss full upon his mouth. Alan who had never flirted, never cared for any girl, when he was in England, felt his pulses leap and a wild thrill pass through him at the touch of her lips. Then a sense of shame came over him. What was she? Why, hardly human. If he succeeded in getting to the upper world again, and took her with him, scientists would want to cage her as a newly discovered animal! Could he wed her?—marriage?—love?—passion?—he knew too well which sense she had aroused when her lips touched his.

He drew away from her in loathing, and a hard light came into her eyes as she imperiously put her lips up to his. Her fascination was undeniable, but there was something unholy, almost unclean, about her; and although passion shook him from head to foot, he turned away and walked to the other side of the apartment.

But Kaweeka followed him. She twined her arms about his neck and drew his head against her breast, and he felt the wild throbbing of a heart next to his. “Kaweeka,” he cried, “Kaweeka.” And he drew her to him still closer, forgetting all else but that a warm living thing was lying in his arms, and that thing a woman.

Suddenly Kaweeka disengaged herself, and with a low laugh intimated to Alan that she wished him to follow her. She led the way through a long corridor, up a flight of wide and softly carpeted stairs to a room on the second floor. It was a wonderful apartment, unlike anything he had ever seen, and even as he looked about him, he heard a low chuckle, and Kaweeka disappeared through the door, fastening it behind her.

Alan drew a breath of relief. The air seemed purer for her absence, and he looked round him curiously. Low divans furnished the room, and on a wonderful table of crystal was food and wine. He was hungry and faint from his experience in the temple, and he fell to on the repast that had been provided and felt the better for it.

In one corner of the room stood a large jar of bright yellow porcelain, and it was filled with blue, green, yellow and purple fungi—flowers they could not be called—but as fungi they were almost beautiful. Their stems were long and bare of leaf, and the flower bloomed at the very top. Some of the “flowers” were almost like poppy heads, others like variegated mushrooms—while one or two blooms at least reminded Alan most forcibly of the pretty pink seaweed he had admired when on a holiday at Rozel in Jersey. The vividness of colouring made a wonderful effect against the purple background and if his position had not been so hopeless, he would have thoroughly enjoyed his strange adventure.

There were no windows in the room—at least not what the world above would understand by the word—but there was an opening overlooking the narrow causeway that served to let in light and air. There was no shutter to it, only heavy purple draperies hung at either side, which could be drawn across if privacy was desired.

In two corners of the room were tall braziers, and Alan touched the large switch that protruded from them. Instantly the room was flooded with the soft, purple light that seemed to exude from the trees; and Alan felt that his first conjecture was right—the trees possessed some natural light which the natives had learnt to control, and which they ran along the branches much in the same way that we run electricity along cables. At any rate the result was very pleasing, and the light possessed none of the glare that is characteristic of electricity.

His investigations being finished he inspected a heavy curtain that was draped across the wall nearest the “window” opening. He pulled it aside, and behind it was revealed a door. It was made on the sliding principle, and as it moved slightly he saw revealed before him a room that seemed almost an exact replica of the apartment he was in. Carefully he stepped inside—and there in the further corner, he saw a low mattress, and in the semi darkness he thought he saw it move ever so slightly. He drew back startled, but on his ears came the sound of deep breathing: some one or something was sleeping there. He moved cautiously toward it, and saw the figure of a man lying on the couch. Suddenly the sleeper turned over, leaving his face exposed to view. Alan uttered an exclamation that awoke the sleeping man. For a moment there was silence and then a great cry rang on the air—“My God—it’s Alan.”

“Dez, old boy!” cried his cousin, his sobs coming thick and fast. “Dez! Thank God I’ve found you. Steady, boy, steady—it’s two against those purple devils now,” and the strong man bent low and sobbed as if his heart would break.