CHAPTER VIII

THE TOMB OF KORAH

The Tomb of Korah! They had reached their goal at last! The boys stood back awed at the thought of what might have passed in that selfsame cavern thousands of years before.

“You go first, Jez-Riah,” said Alan at last, and slowly, reverently the two boys followed her in. The natural light had grown stronger and allowed them to see quite plainly the mysteries the cave was to unfold. They discovered it to be a cavern perhaps forty yards square. The roof rose above them perhaps a hundred feet, and was marked by a deep, zigzagged line running across it from one side to the other. It was like a scar!

“Dez,” said Alan suddenly, “is that where the earth originally opened, when it deposited Korah and the other Israelites within its bowels?”

“If so we ought to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Palestine,” replied Desmond.

The cave had no outlet, and on the floor lay precious stones of every kind and colour;—diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds, sapphires—as large as Barcelona nuts—lay strewn about in fabulous quantities. In one corner of the cave were the remains of furniture and household goods, mostly rotted away and eaten by worms; and mingled with the precious stones were human bones—human bones in such quantities that it was impossible to avoid treading on them. Here was a thigh bone, there a skeleton hand or a skull. Everywhere the bones of men and beasts mingled together in a heterogeneous mass.

Quietly, slowly they made a round of the place, There were skeletons of horses, asses and camels lying together in a corner, and piled on top of each other in such a way as proved it had been done by the human agency, were the remains of little children.

Skeletons of females with the remnants of clothing on their whitened bones, adorned with anklets of gold and bracelets set with gems, were everywhere, and the whole scene was like a ghastly wonder story of the East. They picked their way through a bed of grinning skulls to where they saw something shining.

Alan picked it up. “A censer,” said he, “one of the most beautiful I have ever seen,” And indeed it was of wonderful workmanship. Even their little knowledge told them it was of pure gold; it was most wonderfully fashioned to represent on the one side a cherub—a cherub so perfect that even the finger nails were represented, and on the other, bunches of grapes and vine leaves—symbols of the promised land.

Precious stones gleamed cunningly everywhere, and the chains from which the censer swung were studded with diamonds. They could scarcely bear to put it down, but gazed at it entranced with its beauty. Every moment they found in it some greater glory.

“I have seen nothing modern even resembling this,” said Alan at last. “Why, it is exquisite—think of its value!”

“Its history alone would render it priceless,” said Desmond, “apart from its precious metal and workmanship.”

“Yes, but of what use is it to us down here?” questioned Alan. “And even if we ever do get out, who will believe our story?”

“I wonder where we shall find ourselves if we do discover a way out,” said Desmond. “We have lost all sense of direction down here—of distance and of time. Why, we haven’t even any idea of how far we have walked since we left the purple people—how far do you think, Alan?”

Alan shook his head. “It’s impossible to say, Dez. How many times have we slept? We counted three hundred times and then forgot—three hundred times is a long while, old boy. We must have walked at least fifteen miles each ‘day’ we have been on the march—perhaps even more—so we have done a considerable distance.”

“Then where shall we find ourselves? Africa? America? Asia?”

“Well, we shall not be penniless when we do get to the world again,” and Alan pointed at the wealth of jewels at their feet.

“It is those that make me feel we shall never get out,” said Desmond despondently.

“Why?”

“Because it is only in books of romance that such an adventure as ours would culminate successfully, and it would only be in a Romance of Romances that adventurers would come back from the very centre of the earth, laden with such untold wealth!”

“Don’t be so depressing, Dez,” laughed Alan.

“But it’s true, Lanny. With wealth like this in our hands we could command the trades of the entire world. Why, with this we could corner wheat—corner cotton—corner millionaires themselves—if we were permitted to use it.”

“Why permitted?”

“Well, it depends on the government of the country we eventually land in; they will want their share. If it’s France we may get one half—if it’s Spain perhaps an eighth—Russia?—well, nothing at all and the salt mines into the bargain.”

“You are very cheerful,” laughed Alan, “but as a matter of fact, I’ve been planning what I mean to do with my share if we do get out.”

Jez-Riah had been listening to the two boys speaking and sighed deeply. They were talking in their own language and had forgotten all about their strange companion.

“What will happen to her if we ever do reach the upper world?” said Desmond suddenly.

Alan looked soberly at the quaint little purple creature who had so grown into their lives, who had been so useful to them, who had become almost a friend. They treated her as they would some great, faithful hound who was devoted to them alone. She was like a dumb animal in her unwavering loyalty to them, and indeed would have laid down her very life for her friends.

“She’ll have no easy time, poor thing,” said Alan, “but I’ll use every scrap of my energy to prevent an Earl’s Court Exhibition for her.”

Again Jez-Riah sighed and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“What ails thee?” asked Alan in her own language.

“I am sad and sorrowful, O Ar-lane,” she replied. “The memory of a prophecy has come to me. I shall see the stars of Heaven—the Sun in the Sky—but with pain alone will such sights come to me.”

“We’ll keep pain from you,” said Alan kindly. “If you are to see the stars, then that means we shall all find a way out from here.”

The boys set to work to try and find Korah’s remains and an outlet to the world above. Many times they slept, and their last waking thought was—“Shall we find a way out to-morrow?” They counted the skeletons and piled them reverently in one corner. They counted the remains of twenty-two women, forty-nine men and about thirty children, some of whom appeared to be but newly born.

They gathered the precious stones, and placed perhaps a gallon measureful in a basket Jez-Riah had plaited out of the roots of the mautzer—her fingers were busy the whole time they were exploring the cavern and its contents.

She had made a covering for the censer, and that had been put carefully aside. The furniture and tenting was all valueless. It fell to pieces at a touch and only small scraps of tinder-like material remained to prove the glories of the silken coverings that had been buried with the Israelites of old. Harness made of leather, and trappings bound with gold lay on the ground mixed up with the bones of the animals they had adorned; chariot wheels lay among the wreckage, and the whole scene was one of utter desolation and carnage.

“Do you know of a way out?” asked Alan of Jez-Riah over and over again, and always she answered “I have brought you in safety to the tomb of Korah, O my friends. Further the way is hidden from me. Now I trust to you.”

There was no apparent outlet from the cavern, and the boys hunted for any written record that might have been left behind by Korah or his company. “I want a proof of our statements,” said Alan. “When we get to the upper world we shall be looked upon as madmen if we are unable to substantiate our story.”

But Jez-Riah would say, “Give up hunting for records of my forefathers, I beg you, and turn your energies to find a way to the sun—”

Alan was thinking deeply on the situation they were in, when his eyes were caught by the scar on the roof. “I wonder,” said he suddenly, “I wonder if there is a way out—there.”

“Where?” asked Desmond.

Alan jerked his head in the direction of the scar. “It would be madness to try and find out,” said he. “The ledges of rock are not strong enough to bear one—don’t think of risking your life in such a foolish adventure.”

And indeed it seemed almost impossible. The walls of the cavern were jagged and rough, and in many places overhung in a dangerous manner. To climb to the roof would have made even an experienced Alpine climber think twice before he attempted it, and to one inexperienced in such feats it seemed like courting death.

“You wouldn’t try,” Desmond urged. He knew Alan of old, and feared for him.

Alan laughed. “Is it likely?” was all he said. But all the same the thought remained in his mind, and his brain was working.

It was time to go to sleep. They had supped off the roots of mautzer, and had drunk the liquid from the stems of the elers, and felt refreshed. Jez-Riah was already breathing softly, and Desmond was talking in fitful gusts with drowsy interludes between. Of the three, Alan alone was wide awake. He answered Desmond quietly, and he at last dropped off to sleep too. For some time Alan remained quite quiet, afraid lest a tiny movement of his might awaken either of his companions. Then Jez-Riah’s breath came in deep, indrawn sighs, and Desmond lay with one hand over his head and his lips slightly apart. Alan looked at them both closely—they were fast asleep.

Stealthily he rose and stepped past the sleepers through the low way into the Tomb of Korah. He moved with purpose, for his plans were all carefully thought out. High up in the roof, at the farthest right hand corner, the scar seemed its widest. Quickly he walked toward it, and without a backward glance began a long, dangerous and arduous climb. The rocks were slippery, and the foothold almost nothing, yet with tenacious pluck he kept on until his fingers were lacerated and his limbs ached. Pulling himself up by the jagged pieces of rock, he came closer to the roof. Once only he looked below, and his heart pumped and his head swam as he saw the depths beneath. After that he kept his eyes bent upward, and he did not stop until he could touch the roof itself. There was a little ledge, three feet from the top, which was big enough for him to sit on fairly comfortably, and his breath came in hard gasps as he rested.

Then, as his strength came back to him, he carefully put his hand inside the fissure. A stone moved, and as he withdrew his hand, it dropped into the cave beneath, and the sickening thud made him tremble. He heard the sound of rushing waters. Gradually he wormed his way until he was seated in the fissure itself, and looked down on a swiftly flowing river twenty feet below him. It was very swift—he could not tell its depth, neither could he get down to it—for the water had neither bank nor ledge to stand upon. High walls reared on either side of the water as it raced on its mad journey. He watched the swirling depths. The spray at times reached his face, and cooled him. The water was of a different colour from the rivers in Kalvar—it looked cleaner, fresher. “I wonder whither it leads,” he muttered, and then he examined his position.

He was inside the fissure on a ledge perhaps three feet wide. There was a sheer drop into the waters below of twenty feet. There was no other outlet at all. If they were to escape it would have to be by the water. It was impossible to go back. Then a daring plan came to him. “If we had the pluck,” said he to himself, “Well, it will be do or die.” and slowly he turned his attention to the descent.