CHAPTER XIV

THE HALL OF SORROWS

The air struck cold and Alan was glad of the heavy cloaks that the Rorka insisted on his taking for the journey. They had passed through glorious scenery, but now it was changing. No longer was the air sweet and balmy; no longer were the fields below covered with beautiful flowers. Great stretches of bare and rocky country took the place of the fields, and snow-topped hills looked down on the desolation.

Then Fyjipo hove in sight. One great building dominated the scene. Of a dark grey stone it looked gloomy and forbidding. Kulmervan, still in the state of serquor, had been brought in a coffin of glass, and Alan felt the awful loneliness of the place, when he saw the coffin being unshipped, preparatory to being placed in the Hall of that dreadful abode. The Waz, who was in command of the journey held the only key to the heavy gates, and as he unfastened them, a drear wailing rose from within.

Arrack was dragged along, pushed inside the gate, and then left—to learn how to fend for himself in that gloomy place. Carefully was Kulmervan placed upon a huge pedestal in the hall. His face had lost its youthful candour, its beauty of outline and its peace. The visage seen through the glass, was the face of an old man worn with sin; evil and sinister. Alan shuddered as he turned away from the coarsened form. The state of serquor as known by the Keemarnians was a very dreadful thing. Struck down in life, the victims assumed a trance-like form from which they never recovered. Real death the Jovians knew not; a far happier parting was permitted them. As in a dream a voice told the sleeper that his time had come—that so many more Kymos would pass before he would have to bid his world good-bye. Then in the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata his body and soul were rendered astral, and in a cloud of smoke the favoured one disappeared from sight, and entered into dwelling with his God. It was a wonderful end; there could be no great sadness at such a departure; no corruption was to be the lot of the departing Jovian—he was just carried into glory. But those poor souls that suffered serquor remained in their comatose condition. Alive yet dead! Dead yet alive! Useless to themselves, and of use to no one! No wonder it was the one dreaded thing in this land of all good.

There were but fifty bodies in the condition of serquor on the whole of Keemar, and most of them had been there for many ages. None could remember some of them as creatures full of life; their names were written on tablets and placed above them—their only connection with the generation of the present. In a small, underground chapel in the Temple at Hoormoori were these poor ones kept. Niches, cushion-lined were made in the walls, and in these the victims were laid. There they would remain until Jupiter itself returned to its first void, and emptied its population into the lap of Heaven.

“I beg you stay not long here, my Lord,” said the Waz to Alan. “’Tis an evil place, and I would fain hurry and leave it far behind me”.

“Nay, my Waz. Stay until the Kymo rises full in the Heavens—’tis but a short time now, and then I shall be ready to accompany you”.

There were no separate degrees of punishment in the Hall of Sorrows. The real punishment lay in its awful loneliness. The Keemarnians who were there were paying dearly for their faults. Utter loneliness—comfortless—cheerless—it was desolation personified. Those were the first impressions that Alan received. Food was let down from the air at certain intervals. There was no division, and only just sufficient to go round. It was a question of first come, first served, and the man who appeared last received little if any of his portion. No lighting was arranged in the place, and as it was near the Pole, half their time was spent in total blackness. There was no warmth; it was cold and draughty; no privacy; no comfort.

The Keemarnians who offended purged themselves clean in this dread place of sorrow. Once they were free of it, they never put themselves into the position to be sent there again. Their terms of incarceration varied. For some it might be for only six Kymos; for others sixty or even six hundred! The worst sinner there had nothing on his conscience one quarter as bad as Arrack the Miserable; but he was sent there too, to consort with them.

Alan could not bear to stay in the place. The atmosphere stifled him—the sight depressed him. His last view of Arrack, was of a lonely figure in a gown of black, sitting drearily in a corner of the big Hall, watching intently the still form of his late master. His hands were clasped, his expression hopeless—his whole attitude one of despair.

“It’s very terrible,” said Alan to the Waz as they sailed away from Fyjipo.

“What is, my Lord?”

“Your Hall of Sorrows.”

“But why, my Lord?”

“Surely it must do more harm than good?” The Waz looked amazed. “I know if I were sent to such a place, I should come out hardened and defiant.”

The Jovian smiled. “That is where we differ, my Alan. The Keemarnian hates evil of every kind. This dread is born in him. He offends—ever so slightly. The Priest remonstrates with him. He makes promises to atone, but offends again. No second chance is given him. Straight to the Hall of Sorrows he is sent, there to live in discomfort, cold and solitude. He is too ashamed to mix with his fellow creatures; so his sin is purged and he comes out a better man.”

Alan laughed slightly at the Keemarnian’s earnestness. “I am afraid, my friend, that the world I came from was more material than yours. A life in such a place would have led to worse sin—it would not have cured it.”

“Then I am glad I belong to Keemar,” said the Waz simply.

They made the return journey in record time, and Desmond and Mavis were waiting for Alan on the roof station when the air bird sailed in.

“Welcome home,” said Mavis. “We have missed you badly. However everything is ready for you, and in three more Kymos we will have you safely married.”

“Are you so anxious to get rid of me?” laughed Alan.

“No,” answered Mavis with a happy smile, “but I’ve tasted the joys myself, and I want you to find your happiness also, my brother.”

“That’s very nicely put, Mavis,” said Alan tenderly. “I could wish for no one but you for Desmond. At first I was a little jealous when I thought his affection for me would be halved.”

“Not halved, Alan.”

“No, that’s not the right word. But Desmond and I had been everything to each other from our childhood, and then you came—”

“Well?”

“Now I understand what it means, and am glad I am going to partake of the same kind of happiness that Desmond enjoys.”

“I’m sure you’ll be happy, Alan. Chlorie is so sweet—so human, so understanding. But—” there came a perplexed note into her voice. “I’m afraid of only one thing, Alan. You are sure you are not too—too material—for these Jovians. You are going to mate with a girl almost—spiritual, if I may so put it. Now—the time is drawing near, I’m so afraid—”

“Don’t be afraid, little woman. I’ve learnt a great deal since I came here. The past is growing dim. My love for Chlorie is so great that I think it is cancelling all my earthly senses. I have only one fear for the future.”

“And that is?”

“My inborn dread of death. Not that I fear death for myself, but dread its coming and separating me from my love. She will not have that fear. Until I can comfort myself in the belief of Schlerik-itata, I shall have that fear always with me.”

“Death!” Mavis looked dreamily into the distance where her son and his father were romping together. “I think I, too, have a tiny bit of fear left,” said she, “but I am trying to put it away. We have left the old world behind us. I was wrong to put doubts in your heart, Alan. You’ve chosen wisely, I am sure. Good luck and good fortune be yours!”