Part 18

And now the outlines of the distant mountain top began to assume a greater definiteness than before. Objects just below this furthest summit loomed up spectrally out of the shadows that had enveloped them; for the first time Una realized that they were facing, not a wall of unbroken rock, such as had overwhelmed her at every side since leaving her companions in Narva's dwelling, but an assemblage of majestic forms suggesting, in their coherence and symmetrical arrangement, the towers, arches, and ramparts of some ancient citadel. This building, or collection of buildings, from their position and commanding aspect, might well be taken as the center of the region it so fitly dominated. Upon it converged all the lines, furrows and intricate masses of walls composing, so far as they could be included in one comprehensive view, the architecture of the cave. Immediately above it, crowning the very summit, arose a single tower, broad at the base, and tapering until it reached a sharp point just below the cave's jagged, overhanging roof. Behind this tower the light flashed and glowed so brilliantly the shaft of stone itself seemed to sparkle and transmit a radiance as if it were composed of some crystalline substance.

Moved by this fairy-like spectacle Una again implored Narva to tell her something of where they were going. What was this cave of wonders, that no man had ever heard of before, and into which they had stumbled by chance? What bygone secret of the earth was it connected with, what people were these who lived in it as in a world apart from all other worlds? Who was she, buried out of sight of all men, and yet talking to Una in her native tongue, and seemingly so familiar with all that concerned her? Why had she been waiting for them, where was she taking them? But to all Una's questions Narva vouchsafed no word of reply. Smiling to herself, she pointed in the direction of the light-crowned summit before them and hastened on, descending now into a valley where they soon lost sight of the vision that had offered so delightful a goal to their wanderings. Narva's gesture, however, and the tendency of the path they were taking assured Una that the distant palace--its situation and noble architecture suggested nothing less than a palace, the regal abode of the ruler of all this realm of marvels--was their real destination, and it was left to her to imagine why Narva was guiding her thither. But the physical difficulties of the path they followed gave her scant opportunity for speculation. Chasms they had to cross whose depths Una would have shunned had it not been for the promise of some great achievement that would free them all from the dangers by which they were surrounded. In other places the path narrowed to a mere fissure between great walls of rock, and again it skirted the edge of a precipice that, in normal times, would have filled Una with horror. Moreover, there were moments when she fancied she heard, from the darkness beneath them, the shouts of a hurrying throng of people--an impression that might well be true since she had abundant evidence already that the cave was inhabited by a race whose number she had no means of knowing.

But this reminder of the presence of others in the cave besides her own party was more disturbing to Una than the physical obstacles and dangers immediately facing her. These could at least be met and overcome--but about an invisible multitude, their attitude toward them, their purpose in apparently following them, there was an indefiniteness that was altogether disheartening. As a matter of fact, she had no doubt these hidden cavemen were hostile; her previous experiences had filled her with a vague dread in that respect. This dread, also, was sharpened by the reflection that, in all probability, Raoul was among them; of his active enmity, linked in some mysterious manner with David's disappearance, she now felt certain. Una tried to gain some light on the subject from Narva; but the latter either failed to hear the ominous sounds to which her attention was called, or she was too intent on her present mission to admit the consideration of other matters. This indifference, whether real or feigned, had a reassuring effect on Una. She perceived that if these invisible people, friendly or unfriendly, were connected with them, they would attract Narva's attention, while, if there was no connection--a conclusion suggested by the sibyl's unruffled bearing--there was nothing to fear from them.

Having reached the end of the abrupt downward slope of the path they were following, Una rejoiced to find herself on the level floor of a valley that, in the upper world, would be admired for its charm and restfulness. There were neither flower-decked meadows, it is true, nor brook-fed woodland to diversify the scene. Subterranean botany, however, has its compensations for losses due to the perpetual absence of sun and rain. Evidently the light from the luminous mountain had in it some life-giving, sustaining quality, for on every hand in this valley there were luxuriant growths of delicately tinted flowers--or so they appeared--whose scent, one imagined, filled the motionless atmosphere. Tall, graceful forms, resembling willows, clustered along the banks of a little stream flowing with the gentlest of murmurs through their midst. The flinty ground was carpeted with a pale lancet-leaved herbage that might have been taken for grass were it not for the profusion of sparkling crystals with which it was sprinkled. These crystals glowed in varying and sometimes iridescent colors, showing a depth and solidity of substance decidedly out of keeping with a purely vegetable origin.

It was this gem-like appearance of what might have been taken elsewhere for richly flowering grasses that led Una to suspect the reality--judged by the standards of the world with which she was familiar--of this subterranean garden. A white flower, heavily streaked with crimson, from the heart of which long golden stamens were thrust in a drooping cluster, hung on its stalk conveniently near. Except for its coloring, and a square rather than spherical modeling of the calyx, it might easily pass for one of the lily family. To make sure Una plucked it. From the broken stem a tiny stream of water bubbled out, and the flower in Una's hands seemed to lose at once the soft shimmer of light that had played upon its petals only a moment before. Most extraordinary of all was the weight of the flower. Suspended from its stalk, it seemed the frailest, daintiest of objects; a blossom that the merest breeze could have tossed about at will. But Una found it as heavy as so much metal, or stone; and this, with the clinking together of its leaves as they were moved by her touch, revealed the startling character of subterranean botany. She was disappointed at first to find that this was not, in the ordinary sense of the word, a flower at all; but regret was quickly followed by curiosity as to the actual nature of the strange growth she held in her hands. Its unusual weight belied the delicacy of its outward appearance; the fires that had clothed its leaves with living tints, in dying seemed to have left behind the pallor of ashes. Nevertheless, it retained a strange, subtle beauty, odorless, undefinable. It might be a rare kind of stalactite--except that a stalactite had not its soft brilliancy--or a sheaf of gems, one of the many that strewed this subterranean valley. Whatever it was, it reminded Una, however faintly, of the glories of the outer world--and she cherished it for this more than for its own beauty. Narva, roused for the first time from the spell of her own thoughts, shook her head in disapproval of what Una had done. Evidently she questioned her right to pluck the flower, for she motioned to her to throw it away.

"The Queen's garden!" she exclaimed in tones of rebuke.

As this was the first definite intimation of their whereabouts, Una was quick to seize upon it. This mysterious queen, then, of whom Narva had vaguely spoken before, was really mixed up in their present expedition. She recalled Narva's hint that, in some way, Una was to be of assistance to her, and she wondered whether this meant that they were bringing rescue of some sort to the queen, a possibility of high adventure she was far too young not to relish. A queen, moreover, who cultivated jewels--or something very like them--in her garden was worthy the best flowers of romance. At any rate, Una felt a new zest in the enterprise she was on and began to chafe at Narva's leisurely dignity.

"It is plenty of time," said the old Indian sternly, noting her impatience. "Have care."

As she spoke she pointed straight ahead where the first direct rays from the mountain peaks flashed downward illuminating the massive building, just below the tower-crowned summit that, at a distance, had so completely won Una's admiration. Seen close at hand, this building gained in beauty. Most of the cave dwellings, like the one inhabited by Narva, were hollowed out of the walls composing this underground world. The palace, however, stood alone, surrounding a spacious court in the center of which played a fountain whose jets of water reflected, in a sheaf of myriad diamonds, the light glancing athwart it. The dazzling effect emphasized the architectural majesty of the building thus illuminated. This building was, for the most part, two stories in height, ornamented by innumerable turrets, with a square central tower rising above an arched entrance, the iron-bound doors of which seemed stout enough to withstand a siege. It was built throughout of stone, of a deep yellow tint, vivid, glistening, unlike anything Una had seen in the cave. So radiant it seemed, so full of light, adorned with such delicate tracery wherever the design of the architect admitted the play of ornament, it might have been a fairy palace, each stone of which had come into place over night with the waving of a wand. Narva pointed to a heart-shaped tablet just above the arched entrance, upon which was carved, in dark red stone, the figure of a condor, similar in design to the one that graced the main gateway to the inhabited portion of the cave.

"It is very old," she said. "It is the palace of my people many hundred years--ah! perhaps thousands--before the Spaniards drove them off the earth. Long ago, in those days, our kingdom was not in a cave. But here, always, was the secret palace of the zipa. Yes, we lived among the mountains then, and this was our place of refuge when other Indians from far off came to plunder us. It was here that our first zipa was brought for safety. He was only a few weeks old then. Hunters, lost on a high mountain, had found him in the nest of a condor. How he came there no one has ever known. But his skin was perfectly white, not like ours; so that he could not have been born from one of our race. Perhaps a god had left him for the condors to take care of--or perhaps it was a condor, flying far out of sight of the earth, who found him in some hidden place in the sky, and brought him down here to be the ruler of the earth. But here he was guarded, here he grew up. And when he became a man, and conquered the people who used to fight with us and destroy our cities, and rob us of our wealth, and make slaves of us, he founded this Empire of the Chibchas. And it was after that, when he was old and had not much longer to live, that he built this great palace, to be the secret home of his children whenever their enemies became too strong for them. And over the gate of the palace, where you see, he placed his birth-sign, the Sign of the Condor--the secret sign of this under-world and of all his kingdom. But all of this was hundreds--ah! thousands--of years ago. And all those years this palace has stood and given protection to the children of that first zipa, he who was carried from the skies to be reared in the nest of a condor."

The fanciful story, the fabulous antiquity claimed for the palace before her, increased the sense of unreality and mystery filling Una's mind as she listened to Narva. The story itself was not unlike others of the kind, handed down from one generation to another, explaining the origin of some ancient South American race. In the telling of it Narva, for the first time, forgot her reserve, and her simple eloquence, her apparent belief in the quaint old fable she was telling, added greatly to its impressiveness. And there stood the great palace before her, with its flying condor guarding forever the descendants of that mythical old zipa! Una was unable to go back in imagination to that primeval past, especially as it had to do with a country and a people of which she knew nothing. But the tale itself, and the grace and beauty of the palace about which it had been woven, reminded her of much that she had heard and read in other than Indian mythology and literature. Pageants from medieval legend, with their phantom castles in haunted forests, engaged her fancy as she listened. For the moment she half expected to see a troop of Arthurian knights, intent upon some mystic quest, issue forth from the stately portal, bringing with them a flash of vivid light and movement that as yet the picture lacked. A zipa she had never seen, had never heard of before--and even a condor filled a place in her imagination that was not much more real than that occupied by the roc, the giant bird of the Arabian tales. But neither Christian knight nor pagan zipa was here. The silence, now that Narva had finished her tale, was profound. The murmur of voices, distinctly heard a short time before, was lost in the distance. The apparent isolation of a building so rich in possibilities of usefulness, so well preserved architecturally, was its most inexplicable feature. Una was almost persuaded that the palace before her was uninhabited, abandoned. If it belonged, as Narva said, to the dim past of a vanished race, it stood now merely as a monument to forgotten greatness. Or--did it still serve as a refuge, a protection, to the descendants of that condor-born zipa of Narva's legend?

Then, suddenly, as Una was thinking of these ancient, far-off things, from one of the wings of the palace there rose the clear, high notes of a woman's voice in a melody not unlike the one Anitoo and his band had used for a marching song. But Anitoo's song had something of martial swing and vigor in it; this, although wild in spirit, permeated by the chanting, wailing quality characteristic of primitive music, thrilled with strains of passionate tenderness unlike anything Una had heard. The words of the song were not distinguishable, nor were they needed to convey the theme inspiring the invisible singer. The latter seemed to pass from joy to despair, rising again to a solemn pitch of intensity that partook of the dignity and earnestness of religious rhapsody. A pagan priest, presiding over ancient rites from which the faithful expect a miracle, might thus have modulated the notes of his incantation. As in all music of the kind, the emotion portrayed was simple, unmixed with the shadings and intellectual complexities that play so important a part in modern song. The voice interpreting this emotion showed no great degree of cultivation. Unskilled in the nicer subtleties of the vocal art, it depended upon a natural, unrestrained sincerity, enriched by a birdlike clearness and resonance, for its effects. Its plaintiveness, from the very first strains of the ringing melody, appealed deeply to Una.

Narva, alive to the sympathetic response aroused in her companion by the song, laid her hand gently upon Una's arm and drew her in the direction of the distant portion of the palace from whence, apparently, the notes came.

"Have care, say nothing!" she repeated impressively.

Una, still absorbed by the weird beauty of the scene and the strange legends with which it was connected, scarcely noted the reiterated warning. Her own spirit kindled with friendly warmth for the singer whose mingled joys and sorrows were so eloquently expressed. She followed Narva almost unconsciously, eager, and yet half afraid to reach the climax of their adventure; fearful, likewise, lest by some misstep or imprudence of theirs the spell of music should be broken.

No sign of life was visible in the great rambling palace that loomed high above them. The rows of lanceolated openings, that in the distance appeared to be ordinary windows, upon a nearer view proved to be unglazed--or, if they were fitted with glass it was too thick to reveal to an outsider the interior of the palace. That some kind of vitreous substance filled these openings was evident from the flashes of light reflected on their surface. Considering the antiquity of the building, however, and the unknown methods and materials employed by its architect, it was more likely that the substance used for windows was a crystal gathered, perhaps, from the queen's garden--the flower from those alluring bushes that had first caught Una's attention--rather than manufactured glass that must have been unknown to these Andean cavemen. Even though the first zipa was the reputed offspring of stars or condors, it was not likely that in building his palace thousands of years ago--to quote Narva's estimate--he had been able to fit it with modern improvements.

Owing to the thickness of these windows, therefore, it was impossible to make out anything of the interior of the apartments of the palace for which they were, apparently, intended to serve for light. A close approach, right under the palace walls, revealed nothing more than could be seen at a distance; and as Narva avoided the great central entrance, it appeared to Una that the mystery which so fascinated her was to remain unsolved. An abrupt angle in the building, however, brought them suddenly within a little portico, extending between two massive towers jutting out from the main structure, the existence of which came as a complete surprise. On the side of this portico away from the palace clung a vine of pale green foliage, starred with white and crimson flowers similar to those in the Queen's Garden, forming with its delicate festoons a cloistered way that had a subtle attractiveness amidst the imposing lines and columns of the huge edifice rising above it.

Here Narva and her companion paused, listening to the wild melody coming to them in a clear rush of sound. At the other end of the portico, leaning against the side of a long latticed window standing partly open, they could see the singer, her face turned to the apartment within, one arm encircling a lyre-shaped instrument the strings of which were lightly touched by the fingers of her right hand. The long white drapery in which she was clothed scarcely stirred with the movement from her playing, while the upward poise of her head, with its masses of dark hair flowing downward over her shoulders, indicated the rapt intensity with which she voiced the passion of her song. Apparently she was alone. The semi-obscurity of the apartment, however, at the entrance to which she stood, might have screened effectively from an outsider any one who was within.

For the first few moments the appearance of Una and Narva at the far end of the portico was unnoticed. Then, as the music died away, the singer turned and slowly approached them, her manner showing neither surprise nor displeasure at their presence. As her glance fell upon them Narva made a low obeisance with a gesture evincing the most profound self-abasement. In grace and majesty of bearing the being whom she thus saluted was worthy her homage. Tall and nobly proportioned, serene of countenance and of a faultless beauty, the deference of those about her seemed a natural tribute to her queenliness. That high rank belonged to her by right was suggested by a gold coronet encircling her head. In the center of this coronet gleamed an emerald of a size and purity rare even to Bogota, the land of emeralds. An engaging womanliness, however, softened the dignity of her carriage, the luster of this emblem of her royalty. To Narva, prostrate before her, she stretched out a hand with affectionate eagerness, speaking to her, at the same time, in a tongue unintelligible to Una.

Saluting her again with the utmost reverence, the aged sibyl apparently answered her questions. She then continued a voluble relation, the main purpose of which, as Una surmised, had to do with the finding of strangers in the cave. During this recital the being whom Narva addressed regarded Una intently, her gaze manifesting an interest she was at no pains to conceal. Having heard Narva to the end she slowly approached Una and, to the latter's amazement, spoke to her in English.

"I am Sajipona," she said. "Some call me Queen of the Indians; I am a queen; but, of my kingdom, this last home of my fathers is all that your people have left me. Deep underground, hidden from all men, few there are who know of its existence--and we guard the secret, if need be, with our lives. Against our law you have ventured here. Why have you come?"

To the abrupt inquiry Una had no answer ready. She hesitated; then, recalling her mission, she returned the gaze of her questioner with an awakened courage that went well with her maidenly beauty.

"I seek one who is dear to me," she replied.

"Why do you think he is here?" demanded Sajipona.

"Once, years ago, he was lost. It is said he was in this cave. Now he has disappeared again--and we look for him here. I know nothing of your law. You are good--I am sure of it--I beg of you to help me."

The appeal was impulsively made. A smile of sympathy lighted the features of the queen, followed by a look of pain. Her cheeks paled, the hand, still clasping the lyre upon which she had been playing, trembled. Averting her gaze, she turned towards the window where she had first been standing.

"Why should I help you?" she said. "You have broken our law."

"We didn't know of your law. All we want is to find him."

"If the man you seek is here of his own will, why should I help you find him? He may wish to remain unknown."

"You do not know," said Una eagerly. "A strange thing happened before. It may be--how can I explain? It all sounds so improbable!--it may be he is not himself."

Sajipona laughed ironically.

"Strange indeed! And it will be hard for you to explain. How can he be not himself?"

"If he has forgotten--if he has lost his memory--"

"His memory? What riddles you talk! How does one lose one's memory? And if he has lost his memory, can you bring it back to him then?" asked Sajipona impatiently.

"I think he would remember me," said Una simply.

Sajipona's face showed her skepticism. "We shall see," she said.

"Then you know where he is? He is here?" cried Una.

But her question brought no direct response. Instead, Sajipona turned to the old Indian who, during this brief colloquy, had shown signs of uneasiness. She now placed her fingers to her lips and pointed with her other hand to the apartment in the palace whence Sajipona had just made her appearance.

"Yes," repeated the queen, "we shall see."