CHAPTER III

RELATING 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 over three 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 realized that 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 the consummation 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 she began 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 of Har-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.