YERMAH THE DORADO
                        The Story of a Lost Race


                                   BY

                       FRONA EUNICE WAIT COLBURN

    “It requires a great many shovelfuls of earth to buy truth”
                                                    —_Swiss Proverb_

                                NEW YORK
                       THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY




                            Copyrighted 1897
                          By FRONA EUNICE WAIT

                         _All rights reserved_


                    Revised and Re-copyrighted 1913
                      By FRONA EUNICE WAIT COLBURN

                         _All rights reserved_




                         THIS VOLUME
                     IS DEDICATED TO THE
                        WHITE KNIGHTS
              OF ALL LANDS AND OF ALL THE AGES
                     IN LOVING MEMORY OF
                          MY FATHER
                    JAMES LAFAYETTE SMITH
                              —_Frona Eunice Wait Colburn_




                                FOREWORD


This book “Yermah the Dorado,” was first published at The Sign of the
Lark, San Francisco, in 1897. The issue was limited to five hundred
copies, mostly subscribed for by personal friends of mine. The notes,
manuscript and plates were all lost in the fire of 1906.

The date of publication is of the utmost importance because the Llama
City, Tlamco, the scene of this romance, was located in Golden Gate
Park, where it was destroyed by earthquake, in the long ago.

Since the actual occurrence of 1906, the original story has been
slightly revised, but not a line of the description of the earthquake
has been changed, nor an incident added. Whoever lived through those
days, as I did, will not need to be told why. The use of aeroplanes and
wireless telegraphy, with the recent visit of a huge comet are
additional reasons impelling me to reprint what is very like a
pre-vision of things to be.

To me Golden Gate Park is a hallowed spot. As a place of refuge I saw an
ephemeral city reared in a night of stress and misery. The beauty of a
rebuilt modern metropolis will but serve to recall the vanished glory of
the dream city ruled by the man who was the real El Dorado.

                                              FRONA EUNICE WAIT COLBURN.




                          TO GOLDEN GATE PARK


          Where once the Wisdom-City’s temples rose
            Within her “Gates of Gold,” our latter day
          This noble pleasure ground but loves, and knows,
            Nor guesses where the fanes of Tlamco lay;
          Yet who shall say what spell that vanished race
            Bequeathed forever to this mystic place?

          For through this realm enchanted, wanderers stroll—
            Or from the Seven Seas, or dwellers near—
          And cares forget, while from each weary soul
            Life’s heavy burden slips—till peace reigns here
          Where blue sky arches over flower and palm,
            And west winds whispering, breathe a healing balm.

          Here creep the old and sad, so long denied
            The welcoming smile these sunny spaces hold;
          Fond lovers weave their golden dreams beside
            Gay, laughing children counting poppy gold;
          To all the Park brings rest, and sweet relief
            From work or pain, or haunting wraiths of grief.
                                            —_Ella M. Sexton._




                           YERMAH, THE DORADO
                        THE STORY OF A LOST RACE




                              CHAPTER ONE


Yermah, the Dorado, was refreshed and invigorated by his early morning
ride. It had been a voluntary gallop, and it would have been hard to say
which found the keenest enjoyment in it; he, his horse Cibolo, or Oghi
the ocelot, which ran beside them in long, slow leaps, covering much
ground yet always alighting noiselessly and as softly as a cat.

It was a beautiful morning, one that would correspond to the first of
June now—but this was in the long ago, when days and months were
reckoned differently.

The tall grass and wild oats left ample proof of close proximity along
the roadside by the fragments secreted in the clothing of Yermah and in
the trappings of Cibolo. Oghi, too, could have been convicted on the
evidence his formidable toes presented. Added to this was the
indescribable scent of dew, of the first hours of day and the springtime
of nature.

It was the first time since his arrival from Atlantis that Yermah had
ventured alone outside the city limits. When once the temples, and
marketplaces of Tlamco were left behind him, he had given Cibolo the
rein and abandoned himself to the exhilaration of going like the wind.

Tlamco, the Llama city, the name of which was unknown to the men who
sought the mythical Kingdom of Quivera—that will-o’-the wisp
land—supposed to be the center of the Amazon inhabited island of
California of the very remote past. Tlamco vanished so completely that
there were no traces perceptible to the men who founded Yerba Buena on
the same peninsula ages after. Its existence would be laughed at by
present day inhabitants of San Francisco were it not true that the hills
in and around Golden Gate Park are living witnesses of great
mathematical skill.

The first denizens built some of these hills and shaped others to give
the diameters and distances of all the planets. Who of to-day will
believe that Las Papas, or Twin Peaks, show the eccentricities of the
earth’s orbit to one fifty-millionths of its full size?

At present early morning milk-trains, and trucks loaded with vegetables
from the outlying gardens intercept and mingle with the heavy wagons
laden with meat from South City. In short, the modern city’s food supply
comes from the same direction in which Yermah rode. Conditions and
people have changed since then, and so have many of the features of the
locality itself.

South of what is known as the Potrero was a bay. Now it is a swamp, and
the north and south points there are the remains of forts, although they
appear to be nothing more than hillocks blown into shape by merest
chance. To the west is a hill on which dwelt Hanabusa, the captain of
the three-decked war-galleys, or balsas. Nearby was the signal tower
which could be seen from every eminence in the city. It guarded the
western side of the sanded causeway leading from the marketplace in the
center of Tlamco to the water’s edge. Hanabusa’s house afforded
protection to the north side.

Yermah skirted the range of hills on the land side, where the granaries
of his people were located and which accounted for the presence of the
war-galleys and the defenses in that neighborhood. He rode down what is
known as the old San Bruno Road, where he was kept busy returning the
salutes of the workmen whose duty it was to produce, conserve and
prepare food for their fellows.

Meeting Hanabusa near his house, Yermah dismounted to consult with him.
While the men talked, Oghi lay in wait for a flock of birds, which had
been frightened into rising from the ground. Oghi was more like the
South American jaguar than any of the ocelots of Central America. In
olden times these animals were plentiful on the Rio Grande, and were
used by the sportsmen of the day for hunting, much as dogs are now
employed.

This morning once fairly in the country, the quick eye of Oghi detected
a fine buck deer surreptitiously grazing in a field of oats by the
roadside. Instantly the ocelot crouched low and hugging the ground crept
stealthily forward. The black-tail, soon conscious of danger, elevated
its head adorned with a splendid set of antlers still in the velvet. Its
nostrils were distended, and it sniffed the air suspiciously. Like a
bolt from a gun the deer made a tremendous leap, and was off at top
speed. Oghi continued to trail in a crouching position, which made him
look like a long, black streak against the horizon. He gained on the
deer from the first, and when near enough made a furious spring.

The leap fell short, but Oghi lighted on the rump of the buck and nearly
bore it to its haunches. The wounded animal shook off its assailant and
plunged ahead desperately, but it was plain to be seen that it was badly
hurt where Oghi’s claws had torn out great pieces of flesh and hide.

The ocelot now changed tactics. All his cruel leonine nature was aroused
by the exertion and the taste of warm blood. Instead of hugging the
heels of his victim, he endeavored to run alongside near the shoulder
where he could fix his sharp teeth in the throbbing throat. For a few
moments they ran side by side, straight and even as a pair of coach
horses.

Then, with a mighty cat-like spring, Oghi’s long, slender body stretched
out and up into the air. When he descended, his claws had closed on the
jugular vein of the deer. For an instant there was no break in speed.
The deer made two more leaps, then staggered, whirled once around, and
victor and vanquished went heels over head together in the long grass.

Yermah kept close behind, putting Cibolo to his best paces in an
endeavor to save the life of the deer. He called repeatedly to Oghi to
let go his hold. Finally the creature reluctantly obeyed with a sullen
growl. Not only were the main arteries and veins in the deer’s throat
severed, but the heavy blows had broken the shoulder-blade.

Yermah hastily fastened the chain he carried to the bull’s-hide band on
Oghi’s foreleg, which was held in place by two smaller chains fastened
to the animal’s collar. As the captor licked the blood off his chops,
the death-struggles of his prey grew fainter, and finally ceased
altogether.

Oghi was quite a character in his way, and enjoyed an unique reputation
among the inhabitants of Tlamco. He came as a gift to Yermah from the
Atlantian colonists of the Rio Grande. He seemed so disconsolate and
lonely when first brought to his new home, that Yermah sent to his
former region to secure the ocelot a mate. In the meantime, the young
man told all his friends about it and promised his favorites the first
litters which should follow this happy venture. Oghi’s reputation for
intelligence, docility and courage made every one feel fortunate in the
prospect of owning some of the stock.

Pika, the mate, was an ocelot beauty and carried herself with all the
haughty disdain a full knowledge of that fact might have inspired. When
turned loose in the yard with Oghi, she flew at him instantly and
whipped him unmercifully. In no circumstance would she allow him near
her. Oghi submitted like a sheep. He even crawled flat on his belly and
howled for mercy. In these encounters he kept close to the wall on the
opposite side, and whenever possible scaled it with remarkable agility.

This unexpected outcome gave rise to great hilarity, although the
consensus of opinion was that Oghi had behaved like a gentleman. There
were men in those days capable of facing a hostile regiment,
single-handed, but who capitulated unconditionally at sight of an irate
female—so this idea is not entirely modern.

It may have been that an easy victory over Oghi caused Pika to
over-estimate her fighting abilities, for she did not hesitate to attack
a grizzly bear and in so doing came to an untimely end. It was a
rough-and-tumble fight, but a duel to the death from the beginning.

Had Pika been more wary, she would have kept well to the rear; but she
foolishly got in the way of Bruin’s right paw and the result was a skull
split from nose to ear.

When Yermah’s irreverent friends came to condole with him, he invited
them to witness his endowment of Oghi with a badge of mourning. This was
the bull’s-hide band, worn on the left foreleg by means of which Oghi
was always manageable. Suspended from the hook which fastened the
leading chain was a leaden heart with the inscription—

                      SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF PIKA

which was indeed a sign manual of submission and servitude. If at any
time during the rest of his life, Oghi showed signs of rebellion, Yermah
had but to pull the chain and the left foreleg was doubled up close to
the body, while the collar around the neck became uncomfortably tight.

Iaqua, Yermah’s official residence, was surrounded by an immense
octagonal enclosure, and was approached by two beautiful gates. The one
due north closed a roadway composed of tiny sea-shells, extending to the
bay and overlooking the Golden Gate. The other was a terminus of a
foot-path of flagging which led to the Observatory. Here the adobe was
laid in irregular forms and covered with stucco.

Iaqua’s eight towers were circular in form and had battlements and
winding stairways. Each was furnished with deep-set octagon loopholes
for observation, and comfortably accommodated twenty men. The entrance
was a door opening into the courtyard and connecting with a passageway
under the terrace. It was this opening fitted with loopholes which
really made the building a fortification.

The whole structure was flat-roofed, having battlements of hard wood
plated with lead. The lower floor of each tower was used as a guardroom,
being furnished with huge tables and benches which followed the outline
of the room. There were stools of terra-cotta, porcelain and hard woods
elaborately carved where the body-guard suite of the Dorado lived. In
each tower, one above the other, were two sleeping apartments of equal
size with mess-rooms attached.

As Yermah galloped up through the wide southern gate, the courtyard
filled with members of his staff. As he swung lightly from the saddle,
it was noticed that Cibolo showed signs of the morning work. Yermah led
his charger to the stable door, and, as he was being rubbed down, gave
him some salt and patted him affectionately.

Oghi took offense at this show of partiality, and leaping over the back
of the horse, stood uncomfortably near Yermah, the hair along his spinal
column on end and his tail straight and threatening. Yermah spoke
sharply to the ocelot.

Disturbed by the commotion, a flock of parrots having the freedom of
Cibolo’s crib began to screech and to chatter, as if they not only
comprehended but sympathized with Oghi’s jealousy. In less than a minute
they were vigorously fighting among themselves, and Yermah, unable to
make himself heard above the noise and din, fled incontinently.

Cibolo came from Poseidon’s stud, whence his ancestry was traced back
many generations. He had all the qualities which conduced to endurance
and speed. Cibolo’s bright eyes gave evidence of energy and splendid
nerve, and he carried himself like a king. His straight neck and perfect
joints were connecting links of a muscular system of great power. In the
center of a wide, flat forehead was a star, and the glossy coat of hair
distinctly outlined a delicate tracery of veins. The nostrils were wide
and open, while the mobile ears, set well apart were small and straight.
Never in his life had the horse been struck a blow. He was docile,
obedient, affectionate and intelligent.

With fine-cut horn brushes, the groom set to work removing every
particle of dust and sweat from his skin, smoothing every hair into its
proper place, until it shone like fine satin. The mane and tail were
combed like human hair and plaited into tight strands, which would be
loosened only when he was harnessed to the chariot, later in the day. As
became the station of his master, the head ornaments, saddles, coronas
and trappings worn when hitched to the chariot were masses of jewels,
feathers, silver bells and embroidery.

Yermah went directly to his private apartments in the eastern quadrangle
of Iaqua. The approaches to this part of the house were screened by
trellises covered with flowering creepers. After a plunge and a shower
of both salt and fresh water, followed by a liberal use of lavender
spray, of which the Dorado was extremely fond, he emerged from the hands
of his dresser with a glow of health and happiness on his face. He
lingered but a moment in the hallway, then crossed over to the extreme
eastern triangle, which was a private sanctuary where he often went to
consult the oracle Orion on personal matters.

The statue was of carved alabaster exquisitely proportioned. It
represented the figure of a man, with diamond eyes, whose head supported
a jeweled miter terminating in a point. The belt which confined the
loose robe at the waist line had three solitaires of purest water which
were supposed to grow dim if the petitioner were not in good health or
was in danger. If these stones became opaque or colorless, the
phenomenon gave rise to most dismal forebodings.

Orion was placed in a square niche exactly facing the rising sun,
holding a fan and a sickle in the hand. A window of jeweled glass let in
the first rays of the morning, lighting up the gold and silver
ornamentation back of the figure. The right side was of gold, the left
of silver—one typifying the sun, the other the moon. Back of the head,
suspended from the ceiling, was a splendid panache of green feathers
dusted with jewels, and above this was a crystal ball, whose knobby
surface reflected rainbow colors in circles and zones. At the feet was a
bas-relief representing a golden humming bird flying over water which
was a symbol of Atlantis.

The prayer-rug in front of the statue was of ivory, woven in strips. It
was as flexible as cloth and beautifully fine. The double-key pattern,
characteristic of pre-historic America, formed the border; but this was
much broken and most effective with its shadings of black, skillfully
intermingled with filigree carvings. Pastils of incense burned on the
altar—peace and quiet reigned supreme.

The Dorado was a child of promise; that is to say, he had been set apart
as the future ruler of the island of Atlantis and her outlying colonies.
By the Brotherhood of the White Star he had been consecrated, before he
was born, to a life of service. Yermah was a veritable sun-god, and as
the subdued light fell over his long, wavy blond hair and beard, while
kneeling before the oracle, he was a specimen of manhood fair to look
upon.

Tall, broad-shouldered and athletic, with not a pound of flesh too much,
his countenance was as open and frank as that of a child. His large,
round, clear-seeing blue eyes were placed exactly on a normal line—eyes
whose truthfulness could not be questioned; and the slightly arched
heavy brows indicated physical strength and mental power. Yermah had a
large hand evenly balanced and well formed. The joints of the fingers
were of equal length, ending in round pink nails, denoting liberal
sentiments as well as love of detail. The small, clean-cut ear helped to
bear out other testimony of his having been born during the morning
hours. Ever mindful of the little courtesies of life, both in bestowing
and receiving, he was a model of propriety and dignity even as a youth.

Yermah possessed a nature which aroused others to the highest degree of
activity. Unfortunately this activity was as liable to be against as for
his interests. He was high-spirited and resolute, but generous and
sympathetic. As a friend he was considerate and faithful. As an orator
he was magnetic, and irresistible; and as the shoulders are the
thermometer of feeling he made many gestures with them.

On the spur of the moment, under the dominating influence of emotion,
the Dorado sometimes acted without thinking, but he was incapable of
harboring malice. In later life this qualified him for arbitration, when
the necessities of the people demanded its exercise.

“The peace of a perfect day be with thee, Yermah,” said Akaza, the
hierophant.

He kissed the Dorado on the right cheek, the forehead, and then on the
left cheek, as he stood clasping the young man’s arms, murmuring the
names of the three attributes of Divinity. Only an initiate of the
highest order ever gripped an arm in precisely the same manner as Akaza
had done, and Yermah was gratified by the distinction and favor shown.

“The same sweet grace be with thee now and always,” was Yermah’s
greeting in return as he carried the long, thin, white beard of the old
man to his lips.

Then adroitly drawing Akaza’s arm through his own, he led the way to a
nook in the private sitting-room facing the sanctuary, on the threshold
of which he had encountered his visitor.

“Forgive my keeping thee waiting,” he continued. “I yielded to the
seductions of the balmy air and Cibolo’s easy gait, riding farther out
than I at first intended.”

“It were easier to make excuse hadst thou not unnecessarily cast
insinuations on Cibolo,” answered Akaza, smiling. “It is not fair to the
horse, since he is not here to make known how he was encouraged and
abetted in his labor of love. I have but arrived from Ingharep, having
completed calculations of the planets concerning our journey to
Yo-Semite.[1] Walking in slowly, I was glad of the few moments’
breathing time.”

He helped himself to some salted melon and dried anise seeds on the
platter which his host pushed toward him, but he refused the cigarette
the latter had rolled of corn-husks and filled with fine tobacco. Yermah
picked at the anise seeds after ordering a pot of chocolate and some
corn wafers.

“Wouldst thou advise me to go at once, to offer this young priestess
asylum here while negotiations are pending between Eko Tanga, the
emissary of the land of the Ian of which she is a native, and the
Monbas, holding her as hostage?”

The hierophant hesitated and looked sharply at his auditor before
replying.

“Thou hast still to overcome that which bars the entrance before thou
hast completed the labors of initiation, and I am not unmindful of thy
real destiny. Yes,” he continued deliberately, and as if the fate of an
immortal soul hung on his words, “yes. I am prepared to go with thee
into the Yo-Semite. Whatever the result of the expedition, I will help
thee to endure.”

As he ceased speaking Yermah noticed that he held both thumbs tightly
and sat motionless, save that his lips moved silently. His piercing dark
eyes focused in empty space, and he seemed for a moment far away from
his surroundings.

“And the gold which I came here to find—does it lie in that direction?
Will my initiation into the Sacred Mysteries be completed upon its
discovery?”

Yermah was carefully noting Akaza’s abstraction.

“The gold thou art to find lies in that direction, and when found the
Brotherhood of the White Star will welcome thee.”

“Then thy long journey from Atlantis will be crowned with success, and
we can return like a pair of conquerors—thou to preside over the temple
whose foundations were laid the day I was born, I to tip its spires with
virgin gold. Then the initiation, and I am ready to assume my duties as
Grand Servitor. There is but one short year in which to accomplish
this.”

“True child of the sun, full of hope and impatient of delay! Youth is
thy eternal heritage.”

“Youth, indeed!” said Yermah, with mock severity. “Thirty times will the
earth have encircled the sun when the next day of my nativity arrives. I
hope soon after that to be a family man, staid and sober.”

“What is this about a family?” queried a newcomer, a swarthy son of
Mars, who stood in the doorway. His head was without covering other than
a band of red leather, having a bull’s head and horns of agate, and a
solitaire for Aldebaran in the center with a gold boss on each side. He
wore the quilted cotton tunic of a soldier and his feet were protected
by leather sandals tipped with gold.

On the lower arm near the elbow, were several long strips of leather,
cut like a fringe, with different devices at the ends to show his
occupation as well as his prowess at arms and in games; also, the temple
or priesthood to which he belonged. Those on the right arm indicated
strength and skill; those on the left his aspirations, social and
spiritual.

Over this arm was thrown a cloak of perfumed leather, ornamented with
lustrous dyes in soft colors, which found a congenial background in the
pliant, velvety surface of the ooze finish. Around his neck was a
gorget, from which depended seven rows of beads each of a different
color.

He was a younger man than Yermah, and quite as handsome, but in a
different way. He came in with a brisk step, without hesitation, and it
was evident from his manner that he belonged to the place. He greeted
Akaza as Yermah had done, and stood waiting to be asked to join the
conclave.

Yermah handed him a curiously wrought gold cup filled with chocolate,
made as only the Aztecs, of all later races, knew how to do. It was
thick like custard, with a layer of whipped cream on top, served ice
cold and eaten with a spoon. Its nutritive qualities made it a household
confection, and it was used much as bouillon is to-day. With it was
eaten thin corn-meal wafers, rolled into fanciful shapes and browned
until crisp and dry.

“Thou art come in time to add thy counsel to mine, Orondo,” said Akaza,
kindly. “Yermah stands in need of thy assistance in a state matter of
importance, one which is certain to be fraught with momentous
consequences to all concerned.”

“I thank thee for thy courtesy. But I thought thou wert discussing
marriage when I came in. That, I believe, is my next duty, and I have
unwonted interest. As Yermah is vowed to celibacy, I fail to comprehend
the import of his words.”

Again Akaza fortified himself against conflicting emotions, and was
silent.

“Our spiritual leader bids us offer aid to the high priestess, Kerœcia,
at present with her followers worshiping in the Yo-Semite. I am expected
to visit her there and thou must bear me company.”

“Thou hast but to command me. It were best to go in state, as this may
incline them to peaceful disposition toward our future. In the valley of
the Mississippi[2] they already have strong position, and could harm me
infinitely when once I begin operations there. It were impolitic to
expose the copper deposits in that region as the metal is growing scarce
in the land of Mexi, and we would perish without it.”

“Thou wilt not see me again until we are ready for our journey; I have
need to be alone,” said Akaza, as he held up his hands in benediction,
forming an outline of the sacred fire on the altar.

Both men arose and saluted respectfully, and, without further words,
Akaza passed from the room.




                              CHAPTER TWO
            THE CITY OF TLAMCO—ITS TEMPLES AND MARKETPLACES


The favorite breathing-place of the San Francisco of to-day is the site
of what was once the Llama city, Tlamco, stretching from the Panhandle
entrance at Golden Gate Park to the beach at the Cliff House rocks. It
was a city of seven hills, marking the orbits and the diameters of the
planets, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, as
well as forming a map of the Pleiades.

This ancient abode of the Atlantian colonists in California was laid out
in circles, with a large temple in the center, near the east end of
Golden Gate Park at the inter-section of Haight and Shrader Streets.
From this point were twelve radiating streets, intersected by four
principal avenues, constructed on the cardinal points of the compass.

The one to the east led to Park Hill, which was terraced up to Mount
Olympus on the south, and continued on to the East Temple fortress.

The western avenue led through the center of the park proper to Round
Top, or Strawberry Hill, now ornamented with an artificial waterfall and
an encircling lake. This hill is a natural rock, upon which was
constructed the Temple of Neptune.

The corresponding thoroughfare on the north led to the Observatory and
main fortress on Lone Mountain. These roadways were crowned with fine
sand, still found in abundance in the dunes in the immediate vicinity.

There were tall three-faced obelisks of dark-red sandstone at the
outside limits of the streets, while the inner terminals were marked by
corresponding pillars of marble, similarly decorated. Single and double
cross-bars at the top of each of these were hung with huge beaten-brass
lanterns.

It was these statue obelisks, twelve in number, representing Mercury in
the twelve hours, which gave the name of Tlamco to the city. The
cognomen signified Wisdom.

These columns had three faces which literally pointed the way. The
countenance on the right was that of a bearded old man; the middle face
a laughing, sinister one, while that on the left was of a youth looking
dreamily out into the distance. The shafts were placed so that the young
sun-god faced the orb rising in the east, symbolical of the future; the
center denoted the present, and reflected the sun at mid-day, while the
old man fronted the west. Sunset typified Saturn, the Father Time of
to-day.

The figures were armless, and their legs and feet were incased in iron
coffins set on square bases of black basalt. The obelisks proper were
tapering, and at the points were covered with white enamel. The lamps
hanging from the cross-bars were furnished with opalescent glass globes,
and on the apex of the obelisks were balls of the same material
radiating the light in myriad rainbow colorings. Cut deep in the
basaltic base was the inscription:—

                 I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE

which is a Gnostic interpretation of redemption, and at that time had
reference to the course of the sun. The Way was Horus, the ray of wisdom
shining through the darkness; the old man was Truth, or experience;
while the center was Life, or the Light-Giver. The iron coffin was the
belt of Orion and had reference to the death of the material world.

Esoterically, the belt of Orion is the band of causation, to loosen
which, and to free ourselves from its influence, solves the riddle of
life itself.

In the center of the city was the Temple of the Sun with twelve sides
and four main entrances which overlooked the avenues. Its minarets and
domes were tipped with gold. There was a dome over each doorway, and a
larger one in the center, which terminated in a truncated spire. Under
this was a circular hall surmounting twelve arches, resting on an equal
number of pillars which represented the astral giants holding up and
guarding the Cosmos.

The capital of each pillar was carved into the semblance of the face of
a young virgin with an inscrutably mystic expression. On her head was a
monster serpent biting the tail of another on the right. The bodies of
the serpents ran in wavy lines around the recesses at the back of the
arches, where the head in turn held in its mouth the tail of the
preceding one, forming a long meander around the hall. On them, and
commencing at the northeast corner, was inscribed a hymn to the Cosmic
Virgin:—

                         EAST.
 O thou who in thine incomparable beauty risest from the deep!
 Thou who dwellest in all form, and givest life to all emanations!
 Thou, Everta, who ridest on the whirlwind!
 Gird thy children with the armor of justice.

                         SOUTH.
 Thou who at thy rising doth manifest the splendor of truth,
 And at thy meridian causest the fruit of the earth to ripen in its
    season,
 Give, O Horo! at thy setting, peace to all thy children.

                         WEST.
 Thou who dwellest in the manifest and the invisible,
 And makest one the astral deep and the mountain of substance,
 Grant, O Dama! union to the souls of thy people.

                         NORTH.
 Thou whose sandals crush the head of malice and discord
 And who dost establish on the rock of eternity thy seal of power,
 Make, O Gharep! on thy right hand a dwelling for the brethren of Tlamco.

The recesses facing the cardinal points led to the four entrances; the
remaining eight were curtained off, and used as civil courts. In each
corner was a pair of winged mastodons, facing each other. Their
outstretched wings touched and formed a sharp angle. On the breast of
each mastodon was a jeweled lamp of sacred fire.

Directly under the central dome was a concave counterpart, brilliant
with jeweled crystals, from the pinnacle of which was suspended a gilt
ball held in place by four golden chains. The globe was a sunburst with
horizontal rays. The serpent meander on the outer wall back of the
recesses gave the orbit of the inter-mercurial planet Vulcan, to the
same scale as the gilt ball did of the sun. Underneath the radiating
globe was a porphyry disk of equal diameter, symbolic of the fire on the
altar.

This central temple, typical of active life, was the scene of great
public ceremonies, such as the reception of ambassadors, and there the
awards for all civic honors were bestowed. The floor was a circle of
radiating tiles, twelve red, alternating with an equal number of yellow.
Around the center palladium were twenty-four seats for the Council of
State, with the one at the south raised for the Chief.

The populace were allowed access to the building and to assent to or to
disagree with the proceedings of the Council. These men, in a material
sense, represented the twelve labors of Hercules. They pictured this
personality of the sun as old and eloquent; and a councilor failing in
proper persuasion and ability to reason was driven out. It was necessary
for him to be an experienced and ready debater, because his colleagues,
in groups of six, challenged his statements—one set pathetically, one in
ridicule, one in denunciation and another in denial.

If the members of the Council quarreled, the sitting was adjourned at
once, and no further meeting was lawful until the disputants took a
solemn oath that they were reconciled. News of such an occurrence spread
over the city like a flash. It was considered a great breach of decorum
for a man to speak without consideration for another’s feelings, or in a
loud, angry voice while in the Council Chambers.

Yermah had four advisers, who in turn sat as Chief Councilors. These
were Akaza, Orondo, Setos and Alcamayn.

There were also one hundred and sixty warrior priests in his personal
suite, quartered in the fortifications around Iaqua. Some of these were
descendants of the pioneers who founded the city; others were there by
honorable promotion for service rendered the state.

Yermah, alone, was accountable to the Grand Council of Atlantis, while
Akaza was the only representative of the hierarchy. He led the white
magicians out of Atlantis when black magic gained supremacy, twenty
years prior, and had only returned in time to accompany Yermah on his
tour of inspection through the outlying colonies.

Conforming to the general outline of the temple enclosure, but on a
lower eminence, was a twelve-sided plaza which was the marketplace of
Tlamco. Every street and avenue converged upon it, and it was always
alive with men, women and children on traffic bent. In deep porticos
facing the outer circle, were booths and bazaars where everything
required by the population was for barter and exchange. Like the Temple
of the Sun in the center, this beehive of industry had an outside circle
describing the orbit of Mars, typical of the curious warfare which trade
was to wage in later times, between man’s temporal and spiritual
welfare.

Long lines of white and black horsehair reatas were carried to the top
of the truncated spire on the temple, and made fast to the base of a
colossal figure of Hercules, which was of madrono wood—indigenous to
this locality. The wood is as hard as metal, and the statue was
completely covered with fish-scales and feathered plates of solid silver
so neatly put together as to appear like a casting. The face and other
fleshy parts were treated to a liberal coating of oil and copal, giving
them a smooth and metallic appearance.

The other end of the hair rope was fastened to one of the inner
obelisks. These were novel bulletin boards; for each day’s transaction
in the market was heralded by the appearance of many small colored flags
flying above the particular section in active trade, or to announce the
arrival of fresh supplies.

Akaza lived on Round Top, in the Temple of Neptune. The monastery, which
was occupied by the highest order of initiates, was surrounded by high
white walls. The temple itself was square, four stories high, and had
entrances facing the cardinal points. Here were tall trees and deep
solitude, away from the bustle and turmoil of traffic.

Akaza stepped into the Council Chamber on his way to the monastery after
his visit to Yermah. Alcamayn, the jeweler, was presiding, and Setos,
the heap of flesh, was urging the necessity for sending a deputation of
merchants into the territory of the Mazamas, which extends from the
Sierra Nevada and Coast Ranges of mountains on the southeast, to the
confines of Behring Sea on the north and west. Mazamas signified
mountain climbers and was not the name of a nation, race or tribe.

Traveling merchants in those days were not a set of pack-saddle
peddlers, as they became in later times. They were a distinct guild and
were allowed to carry manufactured articles which they were free to
exchange for anything made or grown by another people. They went about
with many attendants and were always treated with consideration,
sometimes performing diplomatic service connected with trade relations
and in exceptional cases acting as spies.

“The Mazamas are not of our faith. They are nature-worshipers, and must
fail to achieve a high place in the affairs of this continent. They have
been in rebellion against our cousins of Ian, and it is the part of
prudence to look upon them with suspicion.”

“Will Setos be kind enough to state definitely what he expects to
accomplish by dispatching a delegation from the guilds in his group to a
friendly territory?” asked Alcamayn. “If war is the purpose, Orondo must
decide; if for religious propaganda, then the hierophant, Akaza, should
be here to speak.”

“I am here to speak,” declared Akaza, coming forward. “My voice is for a
visit to the Mazamas, but not in the manner proposed by Setos.”

Setos flushed—hot and uncomfortable. He was not intentionally
untruthful, but he could not let an opportunity pass unimproved when a
keen, sharp transaction would materially benefit his section of the
industrial guild.

Akaza looked straight at him and said quietly, “I will not have spies
sent into the house of a friend.”

“Will the hierophant enlighten us as to his wishes?” asked Alcamayn,
respectfully.

“Yermah, Orondo, Setos, Rahula, and Ildiko, with proper following, will
accompany me on a friendly mission to the high-priestess, Kerœcia.”

“Are we to know the nature of this mission?” queried Setos.

“It is my wish that the high-priestess visit Tlamco. We offer our
services as arbiters between her tribesmen and the government of Ian.”

“Has the time for this undertaking been decided?”

“The hour of departure has not been named, but it will be accomplished
while the guild of arts is in the seat of judgment. The Dorado desires
that Alcamayn serve in his stead. He will not be long absent.”

Alcamayn arose, folded his hands across his breast with the open palm
turned inward, and inclined his head profoundly. There was a burst of
applause, and an expression of acquiescence from the audience, which
pleased Alcamayn mightily. He was a young Atlantian, not quite
acclimated to Tlamco, and just beginning to exercise his prerogative as
a favorite of Yermah’s foster-father, Poseidon.

Noting that it was near the noon hour, Akaza said, making the hierarchal
sign of benediction:

“Have done! If Alcamayn will go with me to the Observatory, I will fix
the time of our journey, also its duration, that he may be better able
to devote his energy to the cause of his fellow-servants. May the sun
preserve and keep us free from malice and disease—two mortal enemies of
the soul.”

As one man they responded: “Haille, Akaza! Haille!”

Setos was primarily a man of stomach. With his reddish-brown cloak of
coarse cloth swinging loosely from his shoulders, and shining
neck-ornaments aggressively in evidence, he elbowed his way out of the
building, hastening into the stalls where fresh vegetables and fruits
were laid out in tempting array. Setos’s barter was for cucumbers and
squashes, giving in exchange taos of tin, which he redeemed later, with
bags of chalk, kalsomine and staff. He was careful to see that the
custom of pelon was strictly enforced.

For each regular customer a tiny tin cylinder was hung up in the stalls,
in full view, marked with the name and number. For every purchase made a
bean was dropped into the cylinder, and at stated times these were
removed and counted. Sixteen beans entitled the customers to a rebate in
commodities.

Setos’s square jaws relaxed and his thin lips smacked with satisfaction
on seeing some luscious melons. He had already selected one, bespeaking
his good digestion and critical eye, when his daughter, Ildiko, the
Albino, called to him:

“Thou by whom I live, Setos, the wise father, come with me to Rahula in
the bazaar of sweet odors. She awaits us there.”

“What mischief hast thou been planning this fair day? Is it new raiment
or a bit of candied sweets?” questioned Setos, as he followed Ildiko
from the food section past piles of cotton in bales, wool, flax, and
silk in the raw state, to where the manufactured articles were
displayed.

She did not pause in the section devoted to dress or ornament, giving
only a passing glance to the tapestries, pottery, enameled and jeweled
vessels, baskets and rugs lying about in confused heaps.

“It is neither of these,” she explained as they went along. “I crave thy
judgment on a new sweet coffer fashioned by Alcamayn. He ornamented it
according to my direction.”

“Because that foolish man has humored an idle whim of thine, must I come
to barter? Out upon both of ye!”

“Rahula is already bargaining for one of the leather pockets held in a
filigree of gold. Even widows may carry these. Thou knowest that she is
very strict in decorum and temple service. She says that perfumes are
acceptable to the Brotherhood, and even a vestal may use them in her
hair.”

Ildiko, daughter of the moon, knew how to play upon the weakness of her
fellows and was well aware of her father’s predilections. “Thou hast no
words of condemnation for Rahula,” she pouted.

They turned into the portico where the perfumers’ bazaars were located
before Setos could answer. The young woman waited for the effect of
mingled odors on a nature whose whole bent and inclinations were toward
the appetites. By the time his senses were fully alive to the seductive
fragrance, Rahula was speaking to him. She was past-mistress of the art
of flattery.

“There is no need to commend thee to the keeping of the gods of magic,
Setos. Every lineament of thy noble face bespeaks exalted favor.”

Setos was fatally weak with women. He knew it, and alternately made love
to, or abused, them.

“The finger of Time has failed to touch thee,” he replied, removing his
conical hat, and holding it across his stomach with both hands, “nor
hast thou forgotten the offices of speech.”

Rahula, who had risen, made the usual sign of submission with her long,
thin fingers. As she looked intently from father to child, she quickly
discerned that Ildiko’s pink countenance was puckered into a frown.

“Has the little weaver, Ildiko, told thee of her latest success at the
loom?” she asked with fine tact.

Ildiko made a motion of dissent, and laid her forefinger across her
upper lip. None knew better than she that silence was impossible. It
suited her evasive disposition to make mystery of the most trivial
circumstance; she was in reality delighted with the sensation she was
making. Many of the shop-keepers and some of the passers-by gathered to
examine the roll of fine, gossamer-silk tissue, which Rahula adroitly
drew out of the perfumed pocket held in her hand. Setos may be forgiven
the glow of pride and satisfaction with which he surveyed the product.

At this moment Ildiko reached over and picked up the identical jeweled
coffer which she had in mind when she went in search of her father. To
the feminine eye her coveting was entirely justified, and when she
managed to bring the dainty bauble between the silken veil and Setos’s
focus of vision, he was still smiling in a pleased manner. She leaned on
him affectionately, and said in a coaxing tone:

“The water-lily design set with brilliants was my idea. I got the
suggestion from the pond in our garden, when the fountain left a fine
spray like dewdrops in the heart of the lilies growing there. Dost thou
see thy favorite rushes in the twisted lines on the mouth and handles?”

Setos could hold out no longer.

“Must I find thee a golden chain for support?” he queried, half
petulantly.

History fails to record why a certain type of man always finds fault
with what he knows in his soul he must do for his women-folk. Setos was
troubled with that “little nearness” which has rendered the Scotch of
later times famous.

“If the chief of the merchants’ guild will send some of his excellent
wine of maguey in exchange, we vendors of sweet odors will be content. A
chain, which we can procure from our neighbors, the artificers in gold,
will be included in the purchase price.”

Setos was about to conclude the transaction, when Rahula said:

“Alcamayn has confided to me his intention of making a chain of special
design, which he will present to Ildiko, with consent of Setos.”

Without further parley Setos led the way out of the stalls. When he
halted, it was in front of a booth where his beloved wine of maguey was
kept in abundance. There was a private entrance to the enclosure through
which Setos passed, followed by the two women.

With a show of special interest, accompanied by an insinuating smile,
Rahula said: “Hast thou a secret in the fabrication of this drink
unknown to other makers?”

Setos shook his head in vigorous negation and continued giving his order
for refreshing drinks. Ildiko preferred pulque. Rahula ordered
metheglin, a spiced drink made by boiling fragments of beeswax and honey
together, allowing it to ferment after it has been skimmed and
clarified.

“Wilt thou hold it impertinent in me to ask thee,” continued Rahula, as
soon as she could attract the attention of Setos, “to what process thou
art indebted for the superior quality of thy wine of maguey?”

“It is made from the guava plant cut in the dark of the moon, but
roasted and matured in the light of that orb. Care in manipulation does
the rest.” Then lowering his voice and making a grimace as he winked,
knowingly, he continued:

“No one suspects that my bottles are made of pliant glass and that only
the covering is of goats’ skin.”

Standing with faces toward the east, they bowed their heads reverently;
without a word they drank, not heartily, but in moderate sips. When they
had swallowed the third mouthful, they resumed their seats. The women
nibbled at honey-cakes and salted nuts, while Setos rolled a cigarette.
Before lighting it, he said:

“Akaza, the hierophant, announced in the Council Chamber at meridian
that a visit of state is soon to be made to the high-priestess, Kerœcia.
Thou art to be my companions to the Yo-Semite, where the Monbas tribes
are at the festival of renewal.”

“Must we countenance the rites of these childish worshipers of the four
elements?” demanded Rahula. Intolerance was one of the bonds of sympathy
between them.

“I raised that question in Council, but Akaza vouchsafed no decided
answer.”

Both were silent for a moment, busy with the same train of thought.

“Oh, that we had some of the flying vehicles of thy invention in
Atlantis! We could then make the journey without hardship or fatigue,”
said Ildiko. Setos and Rahula quickly exchanged a meaning look, then
cast furtive glances about to see if Ildiko had been overheard.

“Let us go hence,” said Setos, irritably. “Speech is the pale, silvery
reflection of the moon, my daughter, while silence is the golden rays of
the sun and the wisdom of the gods. I charge thee keep a closer watch
over thy tongue. It is an unruly member and performs the same office as
a two-edged sword.”

When it came time to separate, Setos said: “Akaza leads us. Yermah and
Orondo go also; while Alcamayn remains and serves in our stead. I do not
doubt the loyalty of our new subjects; but Yermah seems to find it
prudent to leave some of his own countrymen at the helm.”

He spoke in a dissatisfied way—the reflex of his own mind. It is
impossible for the best of us to see beyond the reflection of ourselves;
so, Setos attributed to Yermah motives which would have actuated himself
in a similar situation.

Rahula, the fish-goddess, speculated on her way home as to how much
Ildiko really knew of the reasons which impelled her father to leave
Atlantis. She shrewdly guessed that his presence in the camp of the
white magicians was a matter of expediency rather than conviction, but
valued her position as companion and confidante of Ildiko too highly to
jeopardize it by an injudicious question.

Rahula was content to let matters shape themselves. Her ambitions found
satisfaction in the encouragement Ildiko gave Alcamayn. She was a born
matchmaker and intrigante and knew that Ildiko was the apple of her
father’s eye despite his petulancy and parsimony. Setos was a man of
ardent love-nature whose affections had not all been buried with his
wife. Rahula’s gray hair and parchment skin did not let all hope die
within her.




                             CHAPTER THREE
             THE VIRGINS OF THE SUN AND THE VOICE OF TLAMCO


Alcamayn, the fop, and Akaza, “the old man of the band,” as he was
familiarly spoken of by all classes, presented a striking contrast as
they walked toward the Observatory, which was enclosed in a circular
wall and dedicated to Jupiter.

Akaza, tall, spare and sinewy wore a cloak of brocade in varying shades
of green shot with silver discs. It was fastened to a shoulder
collarette, set with pearls imbedded in hollow glass beads containing
mercury. His breastplate of bronze had a gold and silver inlay, while
his long, thin white hair fell over his shoulders and the crown of his
head was tonsured in honor of the sun. Fastened by the cord at his waist
was a cluster of narcissus and lilies. He carried a green jade tao,
surmounted by an eagle, in his right hand, showing that he commanded in
the name of science instead of war.

Alcamayn was small, round-shouldered, hooknosed and bushy of eye-brow.
His small beady eyes had a shifty downward glance as if he were intent
on examining the ground at his companion’s side. He had been a sufferer
from small-pox and he was extremely sensitive concerning his facial
disfigurement.

Unable to submit to the control of others, he was a swaggerer, a
braggart, and very resentful. Every little slight irritated him and he
was given to brooding over his wrongs. When he had magnified the
promptings of wounded vanity and selfishness into a veritable mountain,
he struck back and at the most unexpected time.

As an off-set to these disabilities, he had sterling honesty, unswerving
loyalty to Akaza and Yermah, and he was the most skillful artificer in
metals and precious stones in all Tlamco. He was inventive and original,
having added many fine pieces to the collection of beautiful vessels in
the temples and at Iaqua. He had all the instincts of a gambler and on
more than one occasion came dangerously near indulging in the forbidden
prank of drinking too much.

His expert knowledge of precious stones enabled him to display
magnificent jewels and he often discoursed learnedly on their speed,
refraction and temper, much as lovers of gems have done in every age
since.

Alcamayn wore amethysts for luck, and usually a tunic of ochre yellow
richly trimmed with peacock feathers and silk fringes. His head-piece
was a high cap of white lambskin. On his feet were jeweled sandals and
chamois leggins were met at the knee by a full short cotton skirt,
having the figures of the zodiac embroidered around the hem in a
bewildering mixture of brilliant hues.

On the sides of Lone Mountain, which the men were rapidly approaching,
were several small mounds, still plainly indicated. Deep tanks were
hollowed out on the top of each of these, having the circular bottom and
sides lined with cement and filled with filtered water. In addition to
serving as observation pools for the sidereal system, these tanks
furnished drinking water for the cavalry and infantry camps situated on
the right and left hand side of the main buildings.

A circular tower of red sandstone and brick rose in the center of the
mountain itself. On the inside was a stone stairway, having landings at
the various windows, where there was room enough for such lenses and
apparatus as was necessary to fully observe the moon and stars imaged in
the pools below.

The reflection of the sun in these pools marked the hours of the day and
time was very sensibly measured by studying the sidereal system. By a
nice adjustment, the lenses revolved with the earth’s real motion. The
Atlantians and all of their descendants studied the reflection of the
planets and stars in a pool of filtered water sunk below the earth’s
surface.

The tower tapered toward the top, and under an eight-sided pyramidal
roof hung a massive copper bell, which was struck to proclaim the hours.
Around the circle were chime bells, one for each of the five-note scale;
and these were so grouped that by hearing them one knew which temple
service was indicated. When it was time to go to a temple, these bells
were rung continuously twelve strokes; then a full interval of rest when
the process was repeated three times.

The “Voice of Tlamco” as the huge central bell was called, rang at dusk,
warning all pedestrians to go to their dwellings. Licensed healers of
the priestcraft and patrols were the only persons allowed on the street
at night, except on extraordinary occasions, and then, the “Voice of
Tlamco” tolled with wonderful effect.

Lower down, covering much of the ground now occupied by San Francisco
proper were the ambulance sheds, battering-rams and other paraphernalia
used in warfare. These were enclosed by a wall which skirted the water’s
edge, not where the sea-wall now is, but as the water-front was known to
the founders of Yerba Buena.

As Akaza and Alcamayn neared the entrance of the Observatory they met a
procession of Virgins of the Sun, coming from the Temple of Venus. It
was the duty of these virgins to replenish the sacred fires kept burning
continuously on the towers and in the temples throughout the city. A
crystal lens and a bit of cotton was used to focus the sun’s direct rays
and imprison its fires. Once ignited the flame was held sacred and
constantly fed, lest disaster should befall the entire tribe. On the
apex of the octagonal belfry was a twelve-sided urn filled with
charcoal, upon which, with proper ceremonies, four times in twenty-four
hours were placed sticks of copal and cedar. At midnight and at sunrise
this function was performed by a selected order of priesthood. At
mid-day and at sunset it was done by the vestals.

As the women advanced, Akaza and Alcamayn saluted—Akaza, by carrying his
open palms even with his forehead on each side; Alcamayn, by the sign of
submission. To emphasize his symbol of equality Akaza said:

“Thou shalt make me thy servant.”

“Thou shalt make us to go through fire and water for thee,” they
responded in unison, making the same obeisance as Alcamayn had done,
bending the knee and with a downward gesture of the right hand.

The jeweler was included in the comprehensive bow given in passing but
no further words were spoken. He did not attempt to conceal his respect
and admiration; the vestals were equally frank in their curiosity. They
had seen but few men so fastidious in dress, and there was a difference
between his general appearance and that of the men of Tlamco.

Passing through the gateway a confusing scene greeted the visitors. Here
two bands of warriors had been going through a quaint manual of arms in
a competitive drill and were about returning to quarters. Carrying
snake-headed batons, at the head of the column were the superior
officers who acted as judges. Behind them came the two ensign bearers,
one flaunting a triangular-shaped banner of embroidered satin, depicting
a white heron on a rock. It was suspended from a gold bar, supported by
a burnished bronze standard, finished with a cluster of
brilliant-colored plumes.

The other emblem was a white satin square, showing a golden eagle with
outstretched wings ornamented with silver-set emeralds. The pole was
gilded, and tufted at the top with curled white horsehair, out of which
protruded a flaring crest of peacock feathers.

Back of each standard bearer marched the trumpeter and drummer of the
regiment. A blast from the trumpet, and a movement of the banners guided
the companies, while general orders were signaled by the gold-knobbed
baton.

The modern drum-major is not the only man knowing how to twirl an
ornamental baton, as he casts side-long glances at his own moving
shadow, nor is his high-stepping more admired to-day than it was of old.
Vanity often changes the details, but seldom the actual methods of
self-gratification.

The leaders wore quilted cotton tunics fitted closely to the body. Over
this was a cuirass of thin gold and silver plates, in imitation of
feathers. Leggins of ooze leather were attached to breech-clouts of dark
blue cotton, while the feet were covered with sandals or bull’s-hide
moccasins ornamented with bead-work. Wound around the shoulders was a
gayly striped mantle of fine wool, so light and soft in texture that in
actual combat it served as a sash for the waist.

The helmets were of wood fiber, light but durable, from the crests of
which floated a panache of feathers. The form of head covering, the
color and arrangement of the plumes, indicated the family and rank of
the wearer. Every warrior carried a shield, either of metal, or leather,
or a light frame of reeds covered with quilted cotton.

A perfect sea of spears and darts tipped with transparent obsidian or
fiery copper, sparkled in the noonday sun. The gay head coverings, the
ribbons floating in the air, and the ornate shields wove in and out in
serpentine undulations, finally disappearing in one of the Long Houses
used for mess.

There was a clash and a rattle of arms as a company of expert archers of
the White Heron drew bow and discharged three arrows at a time. But
there was quite as much spirit and dash in the hurling of javelins by
the men fighting under the eagle blazonry. To this weapon, thongs were
attached, by means of which the knife was shot through the air revolving
so rapidly that it seemed like a ball of glittering steel. Presently,
the blade returned and fell near the hand that gave it its forward
impulse. Seldom, if ever, was there an accident in the performance of
this extremely difficult feat, despite the anxiety and solicitude the
undertaking always inspired.

On constant duty was a group of fighting men who served as lookouts at
the various points of vantage in the tower. It was from this source that
the men on parade learned that Akaza, the spiritual head, and Alcamayn,
the representative of civil government, were inside the fortification.
The intelligence was flashed from a set of mirrors and the impromptu
display of prowess followed.

That there was keen rivalry in the competition, not unmixed with envy
was shown very quickly, when a partisan of the White Heron, threw dirt
into the face of an adherent of the Eagle Banner.

The parade ground was cleared at the time, but it was only a moment
before a crowd collected around the angry disputants. They were dragged
apart and hurried in opposite directions by friendly hands, whose good
offices did not cease until the men were brought back and made to sing
the national chant. First one man sang, then the other, while their
auditors clapped their hands in accompaniment, and passed judgment on
their efforts.

The insulted man took the initiative. While singing, he offered his hand
to the offender. The face of the latter clouded, but the eyes of the
camp were upon him. He sullenly took the outstretched hand, and finally
the two voices blended in unison. Their comrades swelled the chorus to a
mighty shout and the whole difficulty was over.

This was in the Golden Age, in Pre-historic America, when the man who
served was a great soul, and he who refused to resent an insult, the
brave one.

Blood surged through the veins of Alcamayn, caused by accelerated
heart-action as he kept a firm hold of Akaza’s waist, to assist the
hierophant in following the sinuosities of the winding stairway in the
tower. Finally they stood alone on the roof, and as soon as the elder
man’s breathing became normal, he faced the east, and, with outstretched
arms, cried:

“I adore Him who enables me to endure.”

Alcamayn bowed his head, and, making the same genuflection, murmured:

“I give thanks to Him whose strength hath supported me thus far.”

Slowly and impressively the twain faced the other cardinal points and
repeated the same words. Then Alcamayn gave hand, and Akaza soon
retraced his steps to where the mechanical apparatus for astronomical
calculations and observations were in position. While thus occupied,
Alcamayn surveyed the whole city, going from one lookout to another.

It was a perfect day, and his surroundings resembled an enormous
ant-hill, with throngs of workers going in and coming out of the houses,
or hastening along the thoroughfares. He turned to the bay, where a
vision of surpassing beauty rewarded him.

Not a wisp of fleecy cloud dimmed the blue vault overhead; the only
flecks of color being the pinks and lavenders blended into the sky-line
above the horizon.

The soft, limpid atmosphere revealed the outlines of the shore
indentations, whose lights and shadows added their quota to the
indescribable charm. The water was smooth and clear as a sheet of
crystal, with big and little crafts moving here and there instinct with
life and industry.

Off what is now Black Point, Alcamayn saw a party of fishermen with
their dogs and skiffs making for the shore. There were two groups of men
and dogs already on the beach at stations about two hundred yards apart.

At a given signal the dogs started from their given points and swam
straight out seaward, single file in two columns. At a sharp cry from
one of the men on the beach, the right column wheeled to the left, and
the left column wheeled to the right, until the head of each line met.

Then another signal was given, at which they all turned and swam abreast
to the shore. As the dogs neared the beach, increasing numbers of fish
appeared in the shallow water. When their feet touched bottom, the
animals pounced upon their finny captives and carried them to their
masters. Each dog was given the head of the fish he had secured, as his
share of the catch. The dog who caught nothing received nothing.

For a long time Alcamayn was unable to distinguish any member of the
party now coming cityward, but he could see that it was of unusual
importance. Soon he caught sight of Yermah seated in a palanquin, which
was borne on the shoulders of four black men, and then he saw Oghi
streaking along ahead of the pack of dogs which were in full cry at his
heels. The ocelot often sprang to one side and played with his canine
pursuers, while anon he scaled a wall for their special delection. He
was a magnificent swimmer, and a good fisher, despite the fact that he
occasionally put his sharp teeth through the fish, rendering it unfit
for other than his own use.

“It is near the third marking past meridian-time,” said Akaza; “and when
the circle is once more completed there will be but ten days remaining
before we shall begin our mission of amity.”

“Have fitting preparations been made?” asked Alcamayn.

“Hanabusa must take cognizance that a compliment of balsas do escort
duty at commencement. A signal from Iaqua will apprise him.”

“Yermah is but returning from a fishing expedition beachward. I have
visioned him from an upper lookout.”

“Then let him have speech with thee at once. Take freely the counsel he
imparts, and let me have assurance of his assent when the windows of thy
soul greet and speed our parting hence. Peace abide with thee.”

He lightly kissed the forehead bared and inclined toward him.

Alcamayn paused a moment on the threshold and gazed lingeringly into a
kindly countenance flushed by close mental application.

“May the preservative principle of the Trinity have thee entirely in its
keeping,” he responded, as he passed from view down the same spiral
which had given him so much labor to ascend earlier in the day.




                              CHAPTER FOUR
                  DISPATCHING RUNNERS TO THE YO-SEMITE


The Servitors of Tlamco were held strictly responsible for the conduct
of their respective offices. Promotion and preference did not depend
upon birth but on deeds.

“What has he done?” was the question propounded when a candidate
presented himself for an office of public trust, and the same query met
his lifeless body when it was offered for burial. Socially, and in the
temples the same rule followed; so that distinctive service was the
mainspring of their civilization.

Next to the priestly office, agriculture ranked highest in the choice of
occupations. Men profoundly learned in every branch of it were
continually in attendance at Iaqua. There were stations devoted to
observation of climatic conditions; to the reclamation of wild fruits
and cereals, or the propagation of new ones for food; to the surveying
and proper distribution of lands; to the building of aqueducts, canals,
bridges, granaries and public highways—to say nothing of the research in
the extraction of dye stuffs from both vegetable and mineral substances.

Nearly all of the cereals and fruits known to man were reclaimed from a
wild state by the contemporaneous inspiration of these times.

The surrounding country was divided into four sections or provinces,
while the populace was grouped into tens, having an official who
attended to minor details. Every thousand of the population had a
magistrate. Each ten thousand, or fraction thereof, had a governor, who
was one of the Counselors of State.

Orondo was at the head of the Civil Counselors, and it was to him, as
first judge, that all questions of moment were submitted. Monthly
reports were made to him by inspectors sent out for this purpose—men who
served a lifetime without any other remuneration than the medals and
prestige their positions insured. The priests owned nothing for
themselves or their temples, nor did the advocates or healers receive
recompense for service.

The community was superior to the individual, and the government
provided for the needs of all its people. The land was divided into
three parts; that belonging to the sun supported the priesthood, and
built and maintained its temples.

Education was in the hands of the warrior-priests and the Virgins of the
Sun; so the universities and schools drew their support from the same
source. The next third belonged to the government and was cultivated for
its benefit.

The unit of value was a day’s labor, and all the taxes were paid in this
way. When the people had planted the remaining third of the land for
their own use, they worked alternately for the government (constructing
public roads) and on the sun lands.

Hospitals for the aged, for orphans, and for the sick were a part of the
government expense, institutions universally copied from, but seldom
accredited to the Aztecs and Peruvians by modern civilization.

No man was allowed to take advantage in a barter. Disputes arose every
day among the guilds in the bazaars, but there was the same clannish
feeling among them that has since made and maintained the family. Each
trade was loyal to its own. They were ashamed to have a neighboring
guild know that they quarreled, and it was a very aggravated case which
invoked the law.

When planting-time came, Orondo turned the first furrow of sod, and the
Virgins of the Sun dropped the seeds, while Akaza commended the
undertaking to the four elements.

There were songs of rejoicing, and much exhibition of skill in
cultivation, which at the close of the season, was rewarded by prizes
and medals from Yermah’s own hand. There were no idle men and women, and
no paupers in these communities, while to be accused of laziness was a
great disgrace.

The private houses in Tlamco were of sun-dried bricks, covered with
stucco, elaborately ornamented and delicately tinted. They were seldom
more than one story high, with ceilings of ornamental woods, while the
walls were tinted or hung with simple cotton tapestries. The flat-roofs
were often bright with potted plants, and these dwellings were
invariably surrounded by flowers and a stretch of greensward.

The hospitals, the barracks, the Brotherhood houses and those occupied
by the priestesses faced the cardinal points and were the squares within
the circular streets. They were uniformly four stories high, with
truncated sloping roofs, and terraced grounds, forming ornamental bits
of landscape among the trees, and commanding a fine view of bay and
harbor.

Clusters of sunflowers grew here and there in out-of-the-way places.
Free use was made of cherry, laurel, clove and lavender plants along the
highways, because they were known to produce ozone; and the gardens
contained their favorite flowers—narcissus, hyacinth and mignonette in
abundance.

Orondo was giving an audience to the mathematicians who were employed in
the Hall of Quippos, at Iaqua, where the government accounts were kept.
And when it was known that Alcamayn had arrived Orondo sent and begged
his presence. When the jeweler stepped into the hall, he found the place
littered with quippos of all kinds. They were scattered about on chairs,
on the tables, and some were hanging upon the walls, while clerks called
the numbers and tallied the curiously knotted cords in a monotonous
drone.

There were intricate estimates for the warriors shown by the red cords
and fringes; yellow denoted the gold used in the mechanical arts and
industries and in the temples; but these were few and simple in
combination compared with the white ones, indicating the enormous amount
of civil transactions for the current month.

Silver was used for state accounts, and its knots were curious little
buttons, full of meaning for the men who mastered the art of the
quippos. The largest bundle of all was the green, which, by its varying
shades and fanciful combinations recorded the amount of wheat, corn and
all agricultural produce owned or used by the pueblo city of Tlamco.

“One knot! Red signal corps,” called the teller.

“Signal corps, ten,” answered the tally.

“Two single knots, and one knot doubly intertwined, silver, Alcamayn.”

“Two knots, twenty; one doubly intertwined, one hundred,” repeated the
tally.

“One knot, triply intertwined, yellow, Alcamayn.”

“Hold!” cried Orondo. “Alcamayn, hast thou made requisition for a
thousand grains of gold? Thy parchment is not properly stamped, and we
cannot give thee so much treasure on irregular demand.”

“Wilt thou grant me to see it?” said Alcamayn, reaching out for the
document. “I must have both gold and silver quickly. There will scarce
be time enough to prepare the gifts needed because of thy going to the
Monbas.”

“It grieves me that I cannot aid thee; but thou must have recourse to
the Dorado.”

“A foolish blunder leaves it without number, also,” said Alcamayn, with
a frown, handing the order to a tamane. “Yermah is engrossed with the
priestesses caring for the fatherless. Dost thou know that he has issued
an edict that all guilds and communes must sup together once in each
lunation?”

“The Azes are grown lax in hospitality, and we must give them an
example,” responded Orondo.

The tamane returned with the parchment properly numbered and viséed.

“He whom we delight to serve bids thee follow me. He would fain have
counsel with thee.”

In obedience to the message, Orondo crossed the hall, and passed to the
right, avoiding the audience chambers.

Yermah had risen and was dismissing the priestesses, after issuing
orders on the state granaries for their requirements.

“Spare no efforts to make these flowers of humanity happy as birds of
air,” he said. “I charge thee to give them plenty of sweets, music and
games for their amusement.”

“Wilt thou not lend us thy presence?”

“Affairs of urgency prevent indulgence of personal desires, but I shall
not forget to send best thoughts.”

“May Jupiter the beneficent be in the ascendant throughout thy journey.”

He made the sign of submission and bent the knee in courtly fashion.

“May his jovial and benign rays descend on all thy efforts. Success be
with thee and thy wards,” was Yermah’s reply.


“The secret of happiness,” said Setos, sententiously, “is in having
constant employment for both body and mind. I shall advise—”

“What wilt thou advise, Setos?” asked Yermah, as he seated himself at
the council table in his private office, where Alcamayn and Orondo had
been waiting for him.

“Duty compels me to suggest severe measures for women neglecting their
households and allowing their children to be seen in filthy rags. Near
the Temple of Neptune I complain of three houses unlawfully dirty. It
surprised me that Akaza made no mention of this in conference to-day.”

“It were possible that he saw them not. He would be for mercy; and so am
I.”

Yermah was in a genial mood as his voice and manner indicated.

“What hast thou done with the offenders?” asked Orondo, quietly.

“The first family was warned; the second are now being paraded up and
down the street. They have been admonished once before, and if it were
in my discretion, they would be soundly whipped. Humiliation may serve
with some natures, but corporal punishment is better for others.”

“Thou sayest _they_. Whom dost thou mean?”

“The father and mother, and two young girls. The law is no respecter of
persons.”

“And, in addition, thou wouldst have me order them whipped?”

“N-o-o; I only wish thy consent to propose the measure at the next
council meeting.”

Yermah made a gesture of dissent, and asked pointedly:

“What punishment hast thou meted out to the third offense?”

“I have application here, awaiting thy signet, that I may take the
children away from the shiftless sloven who gave them ingress to light.”

“Is she widowed?”

“Yes; but she has been found guilty the third time.”

“The application is denied for the present. Alcamayn will be guardian of
streets in our absence. Upon returning, I shall lend mine ear to
domestic affairs. Of late disturbances and complaints have been frequent
from that quarter.”

Touchy, vain-glorious Setos nettled at this.

“Do my fellows think me unmindful of duty?”

“No; only over-zealous. It is not in the province of good government to
meddle with private affairs. The best interests of posterity and the
economic use of sustenance, with care of the person, are all that can be
demanded.”

“Akaza is competent to advise thee,” interposed Orondo. “These matters
properly come under his dominion.”

“Akaza will undoubtedly agree with me,” said Setos, catching at a straw
for justification. “The first evidence of initiation is a sensitive
condition of the organs of smell. The novitiate is required to discover
the deadly effects of putrescent gases, and even children are taught
that whatever offends the nostrils injures the body.”

They rose simultaneously, and Orondo opened the door leading into the
public reception hall.

“The runners are here, waiting to carry our greetings to the Monbas and
their high priestess.”

“Go and dispatch them, Orondo. I trust thee to lay the lash on them
lightly. Go, thou, also, Setos, to see that they get the regulation
stripes before setting forth.”

The Dorado picked up the parchments signed and sealed earlier in the
day, and locking them in a strong box of curious design, dismissed the
two courtiers with a nod and a smile.

“I pray thee return quickly. Alcamayn needs advice from thee respecting
thy special departments of service.”




                              CHAPTER FIVE
                 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE IN THE LAND OF FIRE


The watchers on the top of Mount Diablo looked anxiously for sunrise the
morning Yermah and his followers rowed slowly across San Francisco Bay,
hugging the shorelines until the mouth of the Sacramento River was
reached.

Four times in the year the early visitor to Mount Diablo sees the
“Shadow of the Devil” cast a triangular outline against its grizzled
peak. The contacts last but a second and fade like a breath of mist from
a looking-glass.

All of the cluster of piny hills which surrounds Diablo like brilliants
around a stone of the first water are still in darkness, and the two
large valleys at either side seem an indistinct blur, when the heavy,
phantom-like shadow is thrown on the scene, slantingly, clear, and
sudden.

On the right side of the mountain, the light nearest the black line that
accentuates the shadow is palest yellow, shading gradually into green,
until it is lost in the yellow-brown of the hills. To the left the line
is reddish, and the shadow blue-black.

That the triangle shaped itself perfectly, and gave good omen of the
enterprise in hand, was evident from the excitement among the men whose
duty it was to signal the good news to the Observatory tower in Tlamco,
and also to the fleet in the bay and river.

Without mishap or deterrent incident the expedition found its way up the
river past the bog-rushes, or tules, which gossip among themselves
throughout the year. Occasionally the cry of a lone bittern or loon
warned the invaders of a priority of claim upon the sustenance hidden by
the murky waters or along the grassy banks.

The wild things were startled and much distressed by such unaccustomed
tumult, but their feeble protests failed to disturb the serenity of the
human contingent secure in a might-made right to be the over-lords of
all less gifted creatures. When they arrived at the point which is now
occupied by the city of Stockton, the entire party disembarked, and,
taking to the saddle, pushed on with as little delay as possible.

Who can describe springtime in California? From Yuma to the Klamath what
waving of leafy banners, what marvelous music of bird-song, what
conquest of grass-blades, what routing of first usurpers!

Mystical California! Where the Ice Age never came, and where the
magnetism of pre-historic times still lingers to attract race skandhas
which shall begin the upward spiral of a new sub-race great in
psychological possibilities!

The days of peonage have passed forever. The cavaliers and the padres
were oppressed by the Aztec; he, in turn, suffered at the hands of the
Argonaut.

Over the surface of placer and quartz mines, vines, fig-trees and olives
hide the scars made by sturdy miners, and dispute prestige with the
golden grains which have been the staff of life to many alien born, and
the end is not yet.

The California of Cabrillo’s day was a continuous flower-garden from
north to south. It must have been fair to view before mission sheep and
horses tramped down the hills, where once only the grizzly bear and deer
roamed unafraid long after the memory of Atlantis itself had been lost
in accumulating centuries.

The early mariners of our dispensation called the southern hills the
“Land of Fire,” because of the blaze at poppy-time—the copo del oro of
the padre and cavalier, the Yankee gold-cup, the Russian eschscholtzia.
Then as now the yellow lupines, loved by the rag-tag-and-bobtail of the
insect world, flourished beside the blue and purple blossoms of more
pretentious claims, flirting with daintier bees and butterflies.

The mints are a family of pedigree, and with all their kith and kindred
they camped in clans about field and wood. Sage, thyme, and savory have
always been well spoken of for yeoman service, while rosemary and
lavender are beloved of the poets.

California has both white and purple sweet wild mint, and her
sage-bushes yield to the bees honey next to that made from clover for
richness and whiteness. Everywhere on the trail Yermah’s companions
found the Yerba Buena, which name in later years was applied to their
beloved Tlamco.

There were no quartz or gravel mines in those days. The battea of the
Mexican and the horn-spoon of the “forty-niner” had no place in the
pack-train—for the auriferous gravel had not been thrown to the surface
in great ridges, and the blue veins which are the natural beds for gold
were in some instances thousands of feet below the surface.

The combined action of air, water, sunshine, frost and earthquake were
yet to disintegrate the matrix of quartz and set the precious metals
free, or else to ingulf them in tons of molten lava after vaporizing
them in the bowels of the earth.

Time has wrought many of these changes since, and the heavy rains have
washed the light silica into the water courses, and thence to the
valleys, thus forming the soil and gravel which has yielded gold in this
sun-down land.

It was here that the early prospector found his reward, and it is here
also that the battle over the disposal of the débris left by hydraulic
process has been fought out by miner and husbandman.

Then the cactus family, those outcasts of the desert which are said to
have survived the last glacial period, flourished in all their quaint
ugliness. By long centuries of adaptation of scanty means to the ends of
growth, the cactus has discarded its leaves and developed a fleshy stem,
cylindrical, rectangular, triangular, flat, or round, but always armed
with long needles. As a compensation, it bears exquisite blossoms of
dainty tissue pistils and yellow ravelings of stamens, while its fruits
might have been the golden apples of Hesperides.

Akaza directed his party to take a trail leading to the south side of
the Merced River, nearly two thousand feet lower than the route followed
by tourists of later times. Suddenly from out one of the gray-green
clusters of cacti darted a coarse-plumaged bird, marked with brown and
white specks on the upper part, while the lower portion of its body was
a dingy white.

Oghi gave chase immediately, but it distanced him, with insolent
flinging of sand and dust which quite surprised this intrepid hunter. He
did not know whether to be frightened or ashamed of himself. At an
encouraging word from Yermah, he laid his ears back close to his head
and again tried the chase. The bird manifested no disposition to fly or
to leave the trail.

The trumpeter blared a command to halt, and the entire expedition came
to a standstill.

“Dismount for refreshment and rest, first giving attention to the
horses,” was the word passed along the line.

Soon the tamanes were bustling about and making necessary arrangements
for Yermah’s comfort, while he and Akaza were intent upon examining the
covert from which the road-runner started. A shout brought Setos and
Orondo to his side, and after them, one by one, the whole party.

“I am of opinion,” said Setos, “that this strange bird, or beast,
intended to eat the rattlesnake it had killed.”

“Not so,” returned Akaza. “The body has been pecked full of holes and
the bird was evidently about to abandon it when disturbed by Oghi.”

“See how well the creature has outlined a circle in laying these pieces
of cactus leaves around the snake,” remarked Orondo, intently examining
the crude architectural plan.

“Dost thou know anything about its habits?” inquired Yermah, turning to
one of the piloting tamanes.

“Yes, my master. This bird is the natural enemy of rattlesnakes. It
remains concealed until the reptile is fast asleep in the warm sand.
With its sharp bill it is easy to take off part of a cactus leaf, as
thou seest. Instinct teaches how to place them in a circle. This done,
it throws caution to the wind and rouses the snake. Then there is a
battle royal. The snake can not crawl over the cactus needles and
finally dies of its own bite.”

“Does the bird eat any portion of its victim?” asked Setos.

“Nothing except the eyes. The remainder of the body is scattered about
in the sand, as thou seest.”

“Oghi will bring him back captive, but, I fear me, badly mutilated.”

“The ocelot will never catch him. These birds outfoot a thoroughbred.
They are quicker, shyer, more alert even than Oghi. Besides, the smell
of them is quite enough for a fastidious animal.”

It was long after, and when the column was once more on the move, that
Oghi came back—with his tongue hanging out; his tail between his legs;
evidently disgusted and thoroughly fagged.

Arriving at what is now called Cold Springs, the party began the ascent
of the Chowchilla Mountains. Trees begin here—Sequoia gigantea,—of
world-wide fame, but their habits were not new to the men of this
expedition.

Long before there were written words to express the ideas of man, the
forest has furnished symbols of the various stages of human existence.
The pliancy of youth, the exuberant strength of maturity, the decay of
age, have suggested eloquent parallels between man and the tree.

In contemplating the monarchs of the woods the greatest poets and the
denizens of the untracked forests have risen together to the same
heights of imagery and the same tokens of emotion and sentiment.

Who can resist the silence, the whispering, the soughing, the writhing,
the twisting and groaning of a pine tree, from the first flicker of a
needle until the whole growth is in a Titanic struggle with the vagrant
wind. The onset tests the strength of root, bole, branch and tendril to
their utmost, then suddenly departs, leaving each needle erect and still
as if listening to the music of the stars.

In all ages, and among all people, certain groves have been held sacred.
The tree-alphabet of the Chinese, the curling roofs of the truncated
pagodas, the numerous legends of the tree and vine, symbolizing life,
are universal testimonials of this ancient veneration.

The trees giving shelter to Yermah defied the Ice Age and escaped
destruction in the flood. There are giants in Mariposa Grove to-day
contemporaneous with the Star of Bethlehem and the departing grandeur of
Egypt. The green spires of this living forest, three hundred feet high,
filter the air through innumerable branches, making one shiver at their
mysterious whistle, like the rustling silk robes of an unseen company.

The mystic and appalling are there as well. How often in active life the
specter stands among men and trees!

The very strength gained by such close lifting of fibers during decades
of existence will not permit these giants to seek rest prone upon the
welcoming breast of Mother Earth. Still must they stand, bleached by
sun, beaten by rain, and buffeted by winds, leading a spectral existence
when remains of other members of the forest have silently sunk to rest,
and are no longer distinguishable in substance from the very soil from
which they sprung.

For a century or so there is a struggle among the children of the fallen
monarch. At last but few remain, to become giants in their turn—set on
the rim of the pit formed by the decaying roots of their ancient
ancestor. Rings of this kind can still be found, showing the broken
roots projecting like the staves of a barrel, overgrown with ferns and
wild oxalis, or filled to the brim with fresh spicy redwood sprouts.

No one who visits the Yo-Semite to-day, can imagine the abundance in
early times of wild flowers and luxuriant grasses reaching up to the
saddle-girths, or the almost total absence of undergrowth and brush in
the groves, thus affording clear, open views from either side. The
valley lies nearly in the center of the State, north and south, midway
between the east and west bases of the Sierras.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Not a sound broke the impressive stillness as Yermah caught his first
grand view from Inspiration Point, save occasional chirps and songs of
birds, or the low, distant sigh of waterfalls in the vertical-walled
chasm below. Here and there was a dark yellow pine rooted in the
crevice, and clinging tenaciously to its dizzy elevation. The wind swept
these trees to and fro, and there was a faint, plaintive murmur in their
leaves as of pain.

Yermah did not notice that coveys of grouse beat the air with their
wings in clumsy and obstinate flight, nor did he see that deer sprang up
here and there, making for the undergrowth, lying in an opposite
direction. He reined his horse sharply out of the green forest and stood
upon a high jutting rock overlooking a rolling, uplifting sea of granite
mountains of a beautiful pearl-gray. The colors were cold in effect—all
the character being given by the vertical parallel lines of gray, brown,
and black which stripe a portion of the walls.

The sun winked at them from behind the pine-trees on the top of the
hills, and threw shimmering lances among the cliffs and crags,
burnishing up their edges. Its rosy tints etched furrows on the
mountain’s face, seeming to take pride in bringing out strongly the
wrinkles which the master of the hourglass and scythe had been busily
engaged upon for so many thousand years.[3]

The first impressive thought was that the granite ledges were standing
pale and dumb before their Creator! The towers, the domes, the spires,
the battlements, the arches, the white columns of solid granite surging
up into the air came to everlasting anchor! The silence seemed to quiver
with sound, just as the warm air shimmered without stir all along the
rocky outlines. The scene conveys to the soul of man through the eye
what might the orchestra of heaven through the ear, were peals of
thunder compassed into harmonious notes of music. As the king of day
rode farther out, he gently touched the falls of Upper Yo-Semite,
transforming a downpour of crystals into tears of liquid silver, which
the winds whirled into fantastic wraiths against the frowning cliffs.

All that was mortal in the visitor swept back; all that was immortal
surged to the front, and bowed down in awe.

“Here speaks the voice of God; and here His power is manifest.”

It was Akaza’s voice that broke the silence.

“Hail! smiling morn that tips these hilltops with alchemic gold! Teach
us the secret of thy magic.”

Again it was Akaza’s words.

“Here we have visual evidence of the power and glory of the Supreme
Ruler. The majesty of His handiwork is in that testimony of rocks.”

A softening haze hung over the valley, and the clouds partly dimmed the
higher cliffs and mountains. Obscurity of vision increased the
reverential mood of the party. A peculiarly exalted sensation seemed to
fill their minds, and their eyes swam with fellowly drops of emotion,
though their tongues refused their office. By common impulse they pushed
forward, and coming down back of Cathedral Rocks, found themselves at
nightfall near the valley’s mouth, with El Capitan on the left and
Bridal Veil Falls on the right.

On the plains of the San Joaquin, sixty miles below, El Capitan had been
first sighted, and now they gazed curiously at its bare, smooth sides,
entirely destitute of vegetation, towering above their heads fully three
thousand feet—a solid mass of granite, set squarely out into the valley,
as if meaning to bar their passage.

Here they were met by a delegation of Monbas accompanied by their own
runners. After listening to an address of welcome, they were invited to
meet the high-priestess, Kerœcia, at Mirror Lake, higher up the valley.

“This glorious sun gives light to the ceremony of purification by fire,
demanding the presence of all our people, else had they been here to
give welcome to our friends. We are bidden to serve thee in the name of
the high-priestess, and make familiar the grandeur of this noble
temple,” said Ben Hu Barabe, the Civil Chief.

“Accept our humble thanks and faithful obedience,” responded Yermah.

“May the warmth and light flooding us genially be an augury of
felicitous days to come,” said Orondo.

“May our inmost thoughts be in harmony with Divine Will,” added Akaza,
while Setos called attention to a chucah, a curious basket-like
structure, suspended from a tree near where he stood. Upon examination,
it was found to contain a parchment scroll filled with a detailed report
of the runners’ journey and reception.

“The Monbas will remain only long enough to ascertain and comply with
the wishes of the Azes, after the ceremonies now in progress cease,”
continued Ben Hu Barabe. “The emissary, Eko Tanga, comes on mischief
bent, and we must be ready to meet him.”

The determined tone and angry scowl indicated the sentiments of the
speaker.

“When once outside these sacred precincts, we have matters of moment to
discuss with thy leaders,” said Yermah.

“We are pledged to the leadership of the high-priestess, and humbly
await her pleasure. She will hear thee fully,” was the response made by
the young warrior.

There was something in his loyal speech which impressed Yermah greatly.
He looked at him with an eye of favor, and asked him to show the way up
the valley.

Rahula and Ildiko, refreshed by a night’s rest, accompanied by Orondo
and Setos, recrossed the valley to view Bridal Veil Falls. The women
were in raptures at the sight of the great falls, and insisted that
their palanquins should be lowered frequently, to enable them to examine
the graceful undulating sheets of spray. It fell in gauze-like folds,
expanding, contracting and glittering in the sunlight like a veil of
diamonds. Then changing into one vast and many-colored cloud, it threw
its mystic drapery over the falling torrent, as if to shroud its
unspeakable beauty.

Down the water leaps in one unbroken chain to an immense bowlder-formed
cauldron below, where it boils and surges furiously, throwing up volumes
of spray, while the sun haloes the abyss with two or more gorgeous
rainbows. The swaying from side to side under the varying pressure of
the wind, and the jarring roar of the water, thrilled and hushed the
beholders into silent, spellbound admiration.

Yermah followed the north wall on past the Three Brothers which rise in
steps, one behind the other, with their heads turned in the same
direction.

The lofty columnar rock called Washington Tower has diamond-like
cascades, which tumble down the sides of the Royal Arches more than two
thousand feet. These wing-like spans form a sort of lion’s head, not
unlike the winged lions of Nineveh.

With the column which forms an angle to Teneya Cañon, they seem intended
for a base of adequate magnitude to support the North Dome.

The mighty powers of Nature, which have wrought such wonders in this
region, cleft this tower in twain, and disposed of the fragments in a
manner as mysterious as it must have been awful.

On the opposite side of Teneya Cañon is Half Dome—a perfectly
inaccessible crest. From a distance one might fancy that the
stone-cutter’s art had been brought to bear upon its perfectly rounded
summit. Upon closer inspection it is found that Time has been the
sculptor. The ages have cut out huge concentric layers of granite, and
scattered them about in picturesque confusion.

Yermah rode on up the cañon until his ears caught the notes of a
folk-song; then he dismounted and, fastening Cibolo to a live-oak, made
his way toward the music. Astonishment and delight transfixed his gaze.

At his feet lay the “Sleeping Waters,”[4] embowered by trees, and
environed on high by the dome already described. This water course leaps
from crag to pool, until it reaches equilibrium, and the surface of the
lake is as motionless and smooth as a mirror. The reflected domes, peaks
and trees are seen on its glassy bosom in perfect outline, seemingly
five hundred fathoms down, in exact representation of the beauties that
reach one mile into the air!

Yermah stood spellbound, not so much by this stupendous grandeur as by
the scene being enacted before him. He was so intently regarding it that
he scarcely saw or felt the shower of flint-headed arrows which fell in
profusion and ruffled the surface of the lake.

His eyes were riveted on a young woman who was in the act of speeding a
golden arrow over the heads of three other girls of nearly her own age,
and who were putting off from shore in a crescent-shaped boat, which
they propelled with long silvery oars. They were chanting softly, and
the air was redolent with the perfume of flowers, which completely
filled the boat, hanging in graceful profusion from prow and stern, in
wreaths of all sizes and colors.

The boat moved like a thing instinct with life, and as it disappeared on
the opposite side, Yermah’s tense gaze made itself felt on its object.
Kerœcia moved uneasily, and then looked fixedly into the water stretched
out before her. She first saw her own image, then beside it the ideal of
her dreams—a helmeted figure, reflected full-length in the limpid
stream.

His tunic was of purple cloth, confined at the waist by a wide striped
silk sash, which tied over the left hip and hung in long, heavy, fringed
ends. The short, full skirt was of orange silk, with a wide band of
embroidery around the bottom, and underneath were long, closely-woven
woolen leggins of purple. The feet were protected by sandals with
jeweled sides and straps across the instep. From his shoulders hung a
leopard-skin cloak, double-faced, so that it was alike on both sides.

He wore a square breastplate of stones, containing twelve jewels,
proclaiming that he was Master of the twelve councilmen, and ruled
continuously while the sun traveled through the twelve signs of the
zodiac. At his side hung a burnished bronze sword, with a beautifully
engraved scabbard, delineating a lion hunt from meet to finish.

At first Kerœcia was fascinated, then a feeling of fear stole over her.
She made a movement as if to fly, but in turning stood face to face with
Yermah. An inarticulate sound died on her lips as she started back
amazed and fearful. Her wide-eyed vision and strained attention searched
the countenance of the pale and agitated man, who stood so near her that
she felt the radiating warmth of his body. He remained motionless, but
she shrank back, and was momentarily rooted to the spot.

With a regal sweep of the arm, he bared his head, and with his right
hand made the hierophant sign of command. He opened the hand, palm
outward, the first two fingers pointing upward. He bowed profoundly, and
carried the helmet hand to his heart lightly.

Kerœcia quickly comprehending his intent as well as his rank and
station, courteously made the Atlantian sign of submission.

Yermah recognized it by a downward movement of his open right hand.

“Pleasing in my sight, and welcome to all the Monbas, is the Servitor of
Aztlan,” she said. “He who created the four elements forbid that fatigue
or discomfort should be thy portion.”

“It were an earthy spirit which could be mindful of the physical in this
magnificent temple,” replied Yermah.

His calm, even tones quieted and reassured her completely.

“Have none of my fellows shown thee courtesy? Thy exalted station and
goodness of heart demand much.”

“Ample consideration met us at the newel-post of this wondrous
structure. It were a puny effort indeed that would fail to convey such
welcome as the season and occasion warrant. In harmony with this spirit,
I have stolen away from my companions and have sought audience direct
with thee. If ill-considered abruptness gives rise to inharmonious
thought, forgive me. The head, and not the heart, is at fault.”

“Offense were not possible with this intent. And I were an unworthy
handmaiden should I harbor ill will on this day, holiest of all the year
to the Monbas.”

“I stand athirst for knowledge of the sacred rite already partially
witnessed. Is it lawful for an alien to know its import?”

“We who find divinity in the flowers, the birds, the sunshine, the
trees, the rocks, the streams, and the hills, have no secrets apart from
any living thing. But before thy special question, tell me of thy
comrades. Shall I face them here?”

“In this place, and soon. They skirted the southern wall. The women came
in chairs, lest fatigue should render them unfit to give heed to thy
many accomplishments. Tell me the office of the three graces in the
flower-laden boat.”

“All the ills of my people are consigned to those flowers. The ark in
the center contains a symbol of the all-pervading essence of creation,
and when the sun comes high enough to send a vertical ray into this ark,
the flowers which have been collected for the past three days will be
sacrificed by fire; and then we can go hence happy and content, free
from evil tendency within and without. Our faith is simple. We try to
live in harmony with the laws of Life and Love.”

“An artist who revels in the beauties of creation receives direct the
thoughts of the Eternal Father,” returned Yermah, reverently.

“A child inhaling the fragrance of a flower receives in the process of
transmutation the thoughts of the Creator.”

“Without the intervention of planetary influence?”

“The open flower, with its sun-rayed form, is to vegetation what the sun
is to the planets, and as man is to animal life. Flowers crown Nature’s
dominions.”

“The soul of man crowns all animate things,” persisted Yermah.

“When he crushes a beetle he destroys the life of what may some day be
his brother,” she answered, with a smile.

“Dost thou believe in transmigration? I am agreed with thee that life is
a vibration of Divine Will, moving in a spiral, but physical man is the
lowest rung contacted by the ego.”

“Oh, say not so! Is not the ego a ray of the creative energy itself?
Thinkest thou the human family the only emanation of Divinity worthy to
contact its Creator?”

“Yes,” he answered; “and only then by aspiring to a spiritual plane.”

“How many planes dost thou allot to man?”

“Three—the physical, the mental and the spiritual. A novice must perform
the nine labors in order to achieve perfection. Each plane is threefold,
like the alchemical sun, whose prototype blesses us with its preserving
rays. Unfold to me the principles of thy system.”

“The first degree is that of the crystallized mineral, typifying death.
The rocks and stones are of both sexes. Their sympathies and antipathies
constitute their laws of natural selection determined by the vegetation
produced from their soil. The second degree pertains to the subjective
spaces of the mineral world—the tiny races within the higher round of
that zone. Each life-atom is busy at its own appointed task, happy
beyond conception in its lowly spiritual state. The third degree is the
vegetable kingdom. The leaves are so placed that a line wound around the
stem of a plant, and touching the petiole of each leaf would be a
spiral. Where the leaves are in two rows, it is one-third the
circumference, and so on in successive trines.”

“No one could be more loyal than I to the great family of endogens,”
said Yermah. “They all go by threes, and are correlated to the Trinity.
We make the lily the type of purity; the palm, the type of perfect life,
which is service. The grains give the staff of life; the grasses cover
the earth, and feed our animals. The onion not only contains the
immortal elixir, but in its circles represents the growth of the
universe, and the orbits of the planetary system.”

“The exogens,” said Kerœcia, “are closer to our own lives. The rose
gains in beauty as it loses its power of reproduction, and the flower
which carpets our hillsides with patches of gold drops the calyx when it
arrives at perfection. It lives with the sun—opening and closing with
his coming and going, and is so delicate that we make it the symbol of
the soul.

“In the fourth degree are the flower nymphs, disporting themselves like
butterflies in the luminous ether of their round. Some bear resemblance
to beautiful girls, but are bright green, with large heads and small
bodies. In the full scale they show all the colors of the rainbow. The
fifth degree is the animal kingdom; the sixth is semi-human; the seventh
is man. Love is the only condition of creation—that love which is
perfect equilibrium between thyself and the universe.”

Neither spoke for several moments; then Yermah said, with a sigh of
contentment: “This is a veritable Temple of Love.”

“In very truth it is,” she returned; “and this is the season of renewal.
It is the breeding-time of flowers and of the feathered tribes. Look
here!”

She drew back a branch of eglantine, heavy with bloom, and nestled
cozily in the fork of the parent stem was a tiny grayish-white mass of
hair, fashioned into a nest by a gold-throated humming-bird. The mate
industriously sipped honey from blossom to blossom, while the watcher on
the nest put up its long, tube-like bill, waiting to be fed.

The birds twittered conjugal confidences unmindful of prying eyes.
Disturbed at last by the voices, both balanced in air, leaving exposed
to view two little spotted eggs, not larger than fine shot. They darted
about in evident distress, keeping up a constant humming with their
gauzy wings.

The man and woman paused but a second, and then passed on.

The Monbas believed in five sub-human kingdoms, peopled by entities. The
mineral kingdom was represented by gnomes; the vegetable kingdom, by
sylphs; the reptile, by fire or salamanders; water, by undines and
fishes. Kerœcia’s followers were the forerunners of the ancient Druids
and the modern gypsies.

The aim of all religions is to harmonize man with the laws which govern
the universe. The Monbas did this by metempsychosis of the sub-human
elements. They solved the great problem of absorbing into the astral
system the pure psychic elements about them, and reached divinity by
this process. It is for this reason that the gypsies never mingle with
other civilizations. They go to nature direct for their wisdom, and keep
away from cities for fear of losing their psychic powers.

On Good Friday, the gypsies still have their patriarch carry an ark or
basket, in the bottom of which has been placed a Saint Andrews cross.
Each member of the tribe lays a flower on the cross to abjure and
protect him against evil influences—thus perpetuating the idea of the
immaculate conception. The gypsies believe that the flowers give off
metempsychosis and absorb disease.

Orondo, Setos, Rahula and Ildiko with a retinue of tamanes, a Monbas
escort, and some burros laden with stout willow baskets and bags,
skirted the southern side of the valley in passing Cathedral Rock and
Spires.

There were splendid pitch-pine trees massed in the foreground, which
being duplicated on the top of the cliffs, looked like a mere fringe of
green thrown into relief against fleecy white clouds hurrying across the
turquoise sky in pursuit of some fleeting phantom of that eerie region.

The travelers found it warm work to cross the Merced River, near by; but
the cool sea-breezes began to blow up from the Golden Gate—for they were
almost opposite, in a direct line from Tlamco. In pushing on to Mirror
Lake, they followed the same path taken by Yermah. As they passed Indian
Cañon, they looked up the deep gorge to the eastward and saw that here
was the entrance and exit used by the Monbas.

As they neared the lake, they looked off in the distance to where
Cloud’s Rest connects with the High Sierra this chain of matchless
pearls from the mouth of Nature. Around the top of this extremely
elevated, steep, barren ridge hover continuously a bevy of cottony
clouds, while a lace-like scarf of fog softens the hard, unyielding
lines, and makes them tempt the soul of man to feats of the greatest
daring.

Presently was seen a thin, vapory line of smoke issuing from the
direction in which the boat had disappeared. Instantly the roads seemed
alive with people, coming from all directions, and making the welkin
ring with melodious sound. There were men, women and children, gay in
holiday attire, singing and gesticulating in the very ecstasy of joy.
They crowded the banks of the lake and waited expectantly.

At length a slender silver arrow flew up from the smoke clouds; then,
another; and again, a third. This was followed by a deafening blast of
trumpets, drums, cymbals, tambourines, pipes, and ear-splitting
whistles, as the priestesses re-embarked and slowly approached. The
first splash of the silvery oars was answered by a shout of triumph from
the opposite shore, followed by a song, in which three voices joined
with equal zest.

Then the crowd fell back, making room for Kerœcia and the tall, fair
stranger. He was intent and alert; she, smilingly gracious. As the boat
anchored, she raised her hand in blessing, for which Yermah reverently
uncovered.

The priestess stepped forward to receive an urn delicate and fragile as
the ashes of roses it contained, when a treacherous pebble turned her
ankle, and she would have fallen had not Yermah caught her by the arm in
time to prevent a painful strain upon the supporting muscles and
tendons. It was the unstudied act of a man of ready tact and faultless
breeding.

The hillsides and rock walls rumbled and echoed the burst of cheering
which greeted this feat. Again he uncovered and stood in a respectful
attitude until the three nimble-footed young women were on shore. They,
catching the infection, shared in the general excitement. By a common
impulse they arranged themselves in line, and stood with Yermah and
Kerœcia, bowing acknowledgments and participating in dumb show with the
spontaneous outpouring of good will.

“Alcyesta, Suravia, Mineola, accept the homage offered by Yermah, the
Dorado, of Aztlan, lately arrived from Tlamco,” said Kerœcia. “These are
my trusted hand-maidens. Receive service from them as from mine own
hands.”

“Such grace and fair fellowship bankrupts the offices of speech. Alone,
I am powerless to make adequate return; but here I have allies who will
amply requite thee,” saying which he turned to make room for his
companions, who had approached in the general confusion unobserved by
the company. Setos and Orondo uncovered and waited back of their
countrymen.

The gnomes, salamanders, sylphs, and undines of fairyland, peeping out
from each leaf and fragrant bloom, never beheld a lovelier vision than
that of Kerœcia and Ildiko, as they stood facing each other.

Kerœcia’s long, wavy bronze-red hair was confined by a jeweled band,
with three white ostrich tips in the center. She was gowned in simple
white, long and flowing. Around her neck were seven strands of pearls
fastened to a medallion composed of ruby, topaz, emerald, sapphire,
amber, amethyst and turquoise. Encircling her slender waist was an
enameled and jeweled girdle. The loose sleeves fell back from
exquisitely shaped arms, ornamented with bracelets, while numerous rings
adorned her taper fingers.

In her big Oriental eyes, shaded with long lashes, was a glint of the
bronze which the sun brought out in her hair. A ripened peach is the
only fitting comparison for her cheeks, and her tiny, even teeth
glistened white between the perfectly formed and curved lips which in
parting revealed them.

Ildiko, taller, and more slight, was a sharp contrast, her fuzzy white
hair, eye-brows, and lashes contrasting with her shell-pink skin. The
pale blue of her dress strengthened the color of her eyes, which were so
well set back that a full interpretation of their language baffled the
observer. There were embroideries and jeweled passementeries, the rich
arrangement of which showed the detail of her toilet. A gauze head-dress
supporting a thin veil, which fell well down over her back, helped the
illusion. She skillfully tried to get full benefit of the roseate rays
reflected by an umbrella held over her head by an attendant.

Yermah took her hand and placed it in Kerœcia’s outstretched palm, and
then put both his own over them protectingly.

“May such love as sisters bear each other bind thee.”

Then bringing Rahula forward, he presented her. A dark-red head-band,
glistening with jetted embroidery and drooping ear ornaments enhanced
the luster of her iron-gray hair, and somewhat softened the expression
of her wrinkled face. Not a facet of the jet sparkled brighter than her
beady, black eyes, which were never quite in accord with her thin
smiling lips.

Simple gold bands without ornament confined the locks of Alcyesta,
Suravia, and Mineola, that of the first and last being dark and
abundant, while Suravia’s hair was like spun gold in texture and color.
These bands did not go all the way around the head, but terminated over
each ear in medallions, jeweled and enameled in quaint design. Alcyesta
wore pale yellow; Suravia, lavender; and Mineola, pink. A bright plaid
sash was tied about each waist, and fell to the hem in the back. Sandals
with pointed toes, reaching well over the instep, protected the feet.

The other women wore dresses of cotton cloth made like chemises. These
were of four colors, and worn one over the other. The edges were
variously ornamented, some with figures, others again with embroidery or
saw-teeth appliqués of a different shade. Necklaces of beads, jeweled
belts, earrings, bracelets and sandals were common to them all. Some
wore crowns or other fanciful head-covering with bright feather
ornaments, while others braided their hair in two loose plaits, and
covered their heads with an indescribably fine-woven basket, highly
ornate, which came to a point at the top.

The Highlander of to-day would appreciate and admire the markings of the
cloth worn by these sturdy mountaineers. For the leaders, there were
plaids of seven colors; for the next in rank, five colors; for governors
of fortresses, four colors; for captains, three colors; for warriors,
two colors; for the common people, one color.

The warriors carried shields of flexible bamboo canes bound firmly
together, and covered with rawhide. These were ornamented with porcupine
quills, tortoise-shell, mother-of-pearl, and ivory, inlaid and
skillfully etched with mineral dyes, the rank of the wearer being
cleverly revealed in this manner. The shields were invariably circular
and convex in form. Worn next to the body, were plain white garments of
coarse texture, and on their heads were high conical hats, very like the
Astrakhan caps of to-day. Leggins much wrinkled and heavy sole-leather
sandals completed their costume.

In the solemn hush, four stalwart warriors of the Monbas stepped forward
and knelt upon the shore, grasping each other by the inner fore-arm,
near the elbow. Kerœcia and the three priestesses carefully lifted the
ark from the boat and placed it in the receptacle made by the
interlocked arms.

Taking a few of the ashes left in the urn, Kerœcia mixed them with salt,
which she stirred with an aspergillus made of medical herbs tied to a
hazel stick on which the four spirits were carved. The salt and incense
ashes were consecrated separately before using. She then took the four
alchemical elements, salt, mercury, sulphur and nitrogen, and sprinkled
them over the man holding a chalice representing water; an eagle, with a
nimbus around its head representing air; a tree of life, representing
fire; and the sword of Mithra, who annually immolates the sacred bull.
These correspond to mind, matter, motion and rest.

The special kingdom of the gnomes is in the north; that of the
salamanders, in the south; that of the sylphs, in the east; and that of
the undines, in the west. They influence the four temperaments of man.
The gnomes, the melancholic; the salamanders, the sanguine; the undines,
the phlegmatic; the sylphs, the bilious. The Monbas abjured them by
breathing, sprinkling, burning of perfumes, and by tracing a pentagram
on the ground.

Kerœcia holding a pentacle in one hand, and taking in turn a sword, a
rod, and a cup, faced the lake and said:

“Angel with the blind eyes, obey me, or pass away from the holy water!
Work, winged bull, or return to earth, if thou wouldst not be pricked by
this sword! Fettered eagle, obey this sign, or retire before my wrath!
Writhing serpent, crawl at my feet, or be tortured by the sacred fire,
and evaporate with the perfumes I am burning! Water, return to water;
fire, burn; air, circulate; earth, return to earth—by the power of the
pentagram, which is the morning star, and in the name of the tetragram,
which is written in the center of the cross of light. Auma!”

In the Egyptian and Jewish religions, three vestal virgins guard the
ark, typical of the Immaculate conception—in that the ark contains an
aerolite, or Heaven-born stone. In Greek mythology, the three graces
guard the sacred urn. The name Suravia signified the sun-way, or river
of light; Alcyesta, the ark, chest, or urn floating on the celestial
river; while Mineola, personated the divine soul-mind liberated in the
ark.

The flint-headed arrow is a phallic symbol of thought, and when the
Monbas shot arrows over water it was to destroy their unseen enemies;
the lake, to them, representing mind. The passage of the sun out of the
watery sign in the Spring equinox was the festival Kerœcia and her
people were celebrating.




                              CHAPTER SIX
          THE AGREEMENT TO ARBITRATE THEIR SEVERAL DIFFERENCES


It was Jupiter’s Day (Thursday), and Akaza wore a scarlet robe of silk,
with embroidered bands, having the twelve signs of the zodiac worked out
in neutral tones of brown and green. On his head was a scarlet
liberty-cap with the sign of Jupiter on the forehead and his long hair
and beard had been curled into nine parts, typical of the nine phases of
initiation which he had passed. He wore a sapphire ring on the middle
finger of his right hand, and his breastplate was of emeralds, set in
silver.

With a single tamane and a guide, Akaza followed the course of the
Merced River and reveled in the luxuriant vegetation which changes in
character and development according to locality.

Near the falls were dense growths of alder, willow and spruce, and in
the upper valley were sugar-pine and yellow and bastard cedar in
abundance.

The Balm of Gilead, poplar and black oak haunted the swampy places where
snowy pond-lilies rode in imperious fashion over the moisture. There was
a wilderness of sparkling mosses thriving in the spray of waterfall and
cascade.

Back in cool, shady greeneries, were an infinite variety of ferns,
ranging from tall bracken to feathery maidenhair clinging to the eerie
crevices high up on the sky line.

Maple, laurel, and manzanita with dainty bell-shaped blossoms colored
like a baby’s palm, had as companion another member of the buck-thorn
family, the white lilac. And these seemed intent upon concealing the
basis of the different falls. Here, also, was the madrono, “the
harlequin of the woods,” in buff and red bark, in a chronic state of
dishabille. But who would find fault with the toilet process which
changes the older, darker bark for the delicate cream-colored covering
which lies underneath?

A noisy, chattering bluejay, the scandal-monger of the bird family,
protested vigorously against the incursion of this venerable old man.
Vociferous and argumentative, the feathered opponent grew tired of
useless opposition, and, as a practical joke, concealed itself in the
clump of leaves and screamed like a hawk near where a flock of small
birds were enjoying themselves in their own fashion.

The songsters recovered from their fright while the rascal was giving
vent to a cackle which sounded like a derisive laugh, and then they
combined forces to drive the intruder out of the neighborhood. The
bluejay proved to be as full of fight as of mischief, but a severe
conflict produced an appreciable amendment of manners.

Even the red-headed wood-pecker ceased hammering holes in the trees and
stopped long enough to inspect the stranger. It may have been only a
trick of the bluejay’s to entice the worker away from the tree to allow
a raid on the store-house of acorns. It did the pilferer no good,
however; for the carpenter-bird never makes a mistake in selecting
acorns to fit the holes made for them. From the beginning of time the
bluejay has never been able to appreciate this fact.

The chip-munks, the grasshoppers and the squirrels peeped and wondered
from different points of vantage, while a mother partridge by fluttering
and scurrying along the ground, sought to divert attention from her tiny
striped-back brood huddled up on one foot under a friendly bunch of
wild-strawberry leaves.

A pair of quail established themselves in the screen of a honey-suckle
vine, and the little crested head of the family was feeding his small
mate a dainty tidbit, having coaxed her up into that leafy retreat to
discuss the viand. Ring-doves cooed lovingly to each other, while the
now extinct wild turkey sunned itself and preened its bronze feathers,
perched high on the top of the bare rock above.

Up near the snow-line were red patches of snow-plants, looking like huge
semi-transparent globules of crystallized sugar, having stem, bells and
leaves all of one color, curiously mingled and intertwined.

Every inch of Akaza’s advance was contested by some flowering plant.
Sometimes it was the drooping boughs of the white blossoming dog-wood.
Again, it was a rhododendron bush stubbornly blocking the way. Or,
perhaps, it was a shower of azalea blooms that fairly smothered him. The
spice-bush, with its long, slender green leaves, and odd-shape
wine-colored flowers, locked horns with the tall shapely Shasta Lily.

The gossamer, glass-like mountain mahogany disputed honors with a
flaring brown-and-orange tiger-lily, while the pentstemon, distinctly
blue at the base and pink at the rim of its cup, coquetted with a dainty
butterfly-lily. “Like a bubble borne on air, floats the shy Mariposa
Bell,” with its purplish white, its faint tint of pink or pale gold,
each petal brocaded in soft shades of bronze-brown or patched with
plush, as if fairy finger-tips had smutched them before the paints were
dry.

Who does not know the yellow buttercup which faces the world everywhere,
the red columbine, whose chandelier of scarlet tongues makes light in
dark places, or the well-beloved larkspur?

Then purple thistle, goldenrods and dandelions shook their heads
vigorously in the refreshing breeze, and argued it out with the grasses
and ice-plants lying flat on the ground, where only a muchly debased
cactus bristled and threatened everything that ventured even to look at
its forbidden fruit.

The day was well nigh spent when Akaza approached the camp near the
mouth of the Indian Canyon. Yermah and Kerœcia advanced to meet him,
hand in hand, like happy children. Kerœcia did not wait for a formal
presentation but came forward graciously.

“Patriarch and hierophant,” she said, “this temple awaits thy
ministration. The love and obedience of my people and myself are thine
to command.”

“Fair daughter of the gods, thou hast already a place in my heart, as I
perceive thou hast in the affections of my comrades. Mayst thou ever be
surrounded by a nimbus of joy and gladness.”

As Akaza’s lips lightly brushed her glowing cheek, Yermah perceived that
his vision was turned inward and that he prayed silently.

Kerœcia turned toward her attendants, but with her own hands served
Akaza curds and a gourd of goat’s milk. She also broke the thin corn
cakes and arranged some fruit temptingly near him. Akaza opened an
oblong comb of wild honey and laid the ripe figs around it. As he poured
thick, yellow cream over them, he murmured:

“As it was written! As it was written!”

Concerned for him, Yermah touched him on the shoulder.

“Is it not well?” he asked eagerly.

When the elder man saw the glow of happiness on the questioning face, he
involuntarily groaned; but he answered steadily:

“From the beginning all things are ordered well.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

The evening shadows grew apace; but before darkness came on, Kerœcia
prepared the pipes, which were to be lighted as an offering to fire.

Igniting the first one, a fragile porcelain bowl with an amber
mouthpiece, she first drew three puffs out of the pipe, and then emptied
the ashes on a platter of beaten silver. Dexterously replenishing the
tobacco and substituting an ivory mouthpiece, she passed it to Yermah.
He followed her example, and replacing the ivory with tortoise-shell,
handed the pipe to Akaza.

The priestesses and the remainder of the company did likewise, always
substituting one stick for another until all had smoked and each had a
souvenir which was believed to bring good luck. The ashes were placed in
the urn with the rose ashes collected from the ark—and the great Monbas
festival was over.

Kerœcia was not a Monbas. Her people were known to the Atlantians as
Ians; to the Persians, they were Scythians; to the Medes, they were
known as Suani; to the early Europeans, they were Visigoths, alternately
feared and admired; while by later generations, they were called
Circassians.

Theirs was the Vinland of the Norsemen and their empire extended over a
large part of ancient Persia. They were old in civilization, before
Nineveh and Babylon. Theirs was the land of Phrasus, where the Argonauts
sailed after the siege of Troy. At that time, they had outlying colonies
along the Siberian and extreme northwestern coast of America. The
Aleutian group of islands was then an unbroken chain, with a climate as
mild as any portion of the temperate zone.

Kerœcia, a pure-blooded Aryan, was the crown princess of the reigning
house of Ian, and it was after her abduction that the famous
fortification named by the Greeks, “Gates of Caucasus,” was built in the
Darien Pass of the Caucasus Mountains leading out from Tiflis.

From the beginning of history, patriotism and beauty have been
accredited these people. Mithridates and Schamyl are the heroes of later
times. There is a tragic pathos in the self-immolation this remnant of
half a million souls voluntarily underwent when they were conquered by
Russia. After this event, they emigrated in a body and became Turkish
exiles.

“Speak freely, as thou wouldst to a father,” said Akaza to Kerœcia,
privately, the next morning, while the whole company were on their way
to Bridal Veil Falls. “If our offer to arbitrate between thy people and
Eko Tanga is displeasing to thee, consider all things unsaid.”

“It is a question my followers must decide for themselves. They need
have no fear. I will never leave them. They stole me away when a child
but I love them as my own.”

“Rumor has it that thy visit was compulsory—that the Monbas brought thee
here intending to fortify the place and then refuse to receive Eko
Tanga.”

“This is not true. I came to perform the rite of renewal and
purification, and shall tell the representatives from my father that I
do not desire my so-called freedom. He should long ago have given the
Monbas all that he has promised them in hope of having me returned to
him.”

“Then thou art not retained against thy wish?” asked Yermah, who in
company with Orondo joined them in time to hear the last remark.

“No, truly. The Monbas are as dependent as children and in no
circumstances will I fail in my duty to them.”

“Wilt thou visit Tlamco while Eko Tanga is here?”

It would have been hard to determine which of the men felt the greatest
interest in her answer. Yermah, Akaza and Orondo were each a study at
this moment.

“My followers shall answer thy question. If consistent with their
wishes, it will greatly please me to go.”

“Then we shall be honored with thy presence soon,” said Orondo. “A
feeling of delicacy represses an expression of opinion. But I have
knowledge that they will feel more secure if thou wilt accept our
protection.”

“And the same feeling would prompt me to ask their permission,” she
answered with a smile.

“So be it. To serve loyally is the office we desire.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

“This bright reflected glory pictures life,” exclaimed Yermah, as the
warm afternoon sun spanned the long flowing veil of the falls with a
succession of rainbows.

“Tell us why,” asked Kerœcia, and with a gesture of silence awaited an
answer.

The pink and pride of Tlamco was before them, but he was still too young
a man to teach philosophy. He looked appealingly at Akaza.

“Tell them why this rainbow is like the upward spiral compared with
humanity,” directed Akaza. Then he turned to the multitude and said:

“Hear my pupil with patience. It is not lawful for youth to speak
esoterically.”

Yermah flushed with pleasure and answered readily:

“Love, as the negative, or feminine, ray of Biune Deity is content and
ever seeks to enfold. Wisdom, as the positive, or masculine, ray, is
restless, and always in pursuit. The feminine forces in nature strive to
encircle the atom, while the masculine attempt to propel it in a
straight line. From this dual action of spiritual potentialities is born
the spiral—the symbol of eternal progression. Man’s will is electric,
penetrating and disruptive. The will of woman is magnetic, attractive
and formative. The two express the polar opposites of nature’s creative
powers.”

“The sun is the center,” continued the speaker, “and around him, like a
group of obedient children, are the seven planets of the mystical chain.
Each orb produces innumerable types of fauna and flora, corresponding to
the action of its own peculiar grades of spiritual force. Each comprises
a miniature world of its own. But each planet contains all the
attributes of the other six.”

“We will engrave these sayings on plates of copper, write them on skins
of animals, mold them on cylinders of clay, that they may instruct our
tribesmen,” said the Monbas to each other in undertones.

“From the spinal column and the base of the brain issue streams of
vitalizing power, causing individuals to attract or repel one another.
These radiating magnets finally assume the form of spirals, which
encircle the earth and penetrate to its very center, and then expand
themselves, mist-like, into beautiful rainbows, such as we see here.”

“In which direction do they go?” asked Kerœcia.

“They flow backward in their orbit, and gradually ascend spirally. The
first round corresponds to the earth’s annual orbit around the sun, and
is red. Each convolution doubles in size as it ascends. The second round
is orange; the third, yellow; the fourth, green; the fifth, blue; the
sixth, indigo; and the last is violet.”

“Haille! Haille!” they cried. And the outburst was as spontaneous from
one side as from the other.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Kerœcia held up her hand to command attention.

“Comrades, thou knowest the mission of our brothers from Tlamco. What
are thy wishes?”

“We desire the little mother to follow her own inclination. We feel that
she would be safe and free from annoyance in Tlamco,” they answered.

Kerœcia smiled broadly. Turning to Yermah, she asked:

“When will thy city receive me?”

“Whenever it pleases thee to come. We will gladly do escort duty now.”

“That were not possible. But in a fortnight expect me.”

“Haille! Haille!” echoed again and again.

It was fully an hour before the presents were all exchanged. There were
exquisite articles of ivory, carved and chased in colors, and inlaid
with metals and stones. Baskets of incredible fineness and blankets such
as the Navajo Indians used to make were given by the Monbas.

Cunningly wrought cups of pottery were offered to Kerœcia by Ildiko, one
being of her own make. It was round, and had for a handle a female head,
which was an excellent likeness of herself. Taking a finely woven
horsehair rope, which terminated in oblong onyx balls—Kerœcia swung one
end high over her head, while retaining the other in her left hand.
Facing Yermah, she entangled him completely by a dexterous turn of her
wrists, despite his playful protest. The two balls swinging in opposite
directions rapidly encircled and held him as if in a grip of steel.

“That, also, is a spiral movement,” she exclaimed, mischievously.

“And one which I have neither the desire nor the power to control or
escape,” he replied, meaningly.

“The laws of hospitality declare the property confiscate to thee. The
cord should be condemned to a life of hard service.”

“On the contrary, it shall have a high place in my affections, and shall
receive state honors.”

There was that in his look and voice which sent the warm blood mantling
to her cheek and brow.

Akaza came forward and with a blessing slipped a ring on her little
finger. It was set with a garnet, having a lion intaglio.

“This will guard thee on thy journey, and prevent evil machinations from
having control over the matters in hand.”

What she said in return was drowned in the blare of trumpets and the
general preparations for departure.

“May Ambra plant flowers and make thy life a garden spot. May the Good
Spirit protect and bless thee and thine,” was shouted after the moving
column.

“May the spirits of darkness never cast a shadow on thy pathway,” came
in answering echoes, as the trees and rocks finally hid the departing
embassy.




                             CHAPTER SEVEN
                  KEŒCIA VISITS THE ENCHANTED GARDENS


It was called the “Lifting of Banners” the day that the high-priestess,
Kerœcia, arrived in Tlamco and the anniversary was for centuries after,
celebrated with much pomp and ceremony.

Stout ropes of similar fiber to that in use to-day were stretched from
the inner to the outer circle of obelisks. At regular intervals along
these lines were strung bits of cotton cloth in octavos of coloring,
alternating square and triangular shapes with innumerable devices
painted upon them.

Pennants of the priesthood, of the civic federation, and of the
innumerable clans, were everywhere afloat on the breeze, while Iaqua was
a mass of Monbas streamers, banners and flags. All of the balsas flew
the colors of the high-priestess, and there was a splendid escort
pageant along the canal.

When Kerœcia approached the landing, long lines of citizens extended
from Iaqua to the water’s edge. As Yermah led the way in a state
chariot, a deafening shout arose. The wheels fairly flew over the
causeway as the thoroughbred horses galloped in even step under Yermah’s
steady hand. Kerœcia stood beside him happy and smiling graciously.

The chariot was of ivory and gold, resplendent with jewels. The hub of
each wheel was a golden sunburst, while the twelve spokes representing
the signs of the zodiac, were outlined with appropriate gems and colors.
This gorgeous state vehicle was drawn by three white horses caparisoned
in creamy white and gold with rows of jewels and crests of tropic
plumage held in place with long twisted ropes of yellow silk. A canopy
of the same flaming yellow fabric intricately brocaded, protected the
occupants from the sun.

Yermah wore a white chamois tunic, rich with gold embroideries, his head
being covered with a helmet of the same metal. His mantle was a gorgeous
feather mosaic of bronze green. In addition to a sword, he carried a
circular shield of bronze, in the center of which was a dragon and in
the outer edge were seven rings. The four seasons were also shown. The
scenes represented plowing, seed-time, harvest, and winter surrounded by
a meander symbolizing the ocean.

Kerœcia was enveloped in a mantle of ermine, lined with the soft gray
breast of sea-gulls. On her head was a rainbow band of silk fastened in
front by a jeweled aigrette. Both Kerœcia and Yermah wore the full
decoration and insignia of their rank. The out-riders and attendants
were mounted and equipped as befitted their station. Even Oghi, chained
to the back of the chariot, seemed to enjoy the pageant.

The main entrance to Iaqua was on the south side, where the massive
double-doors of the vestibule led to a terrace which was approached by
broad, low steps. There were eight of these flights, and it required
three more steps to reach the threshold which was of pink-veined marble.
On each side of the rows of steps were slightly raised flat pedestals
surmounted by groups of statuary of well-known Atlantian heroes. These
burnished figures were made of that peculiar bronze amalgam, known only
to the ancients, which never lost its original brilliancy, and being
exceptionally hard was also of fine color.

There was a colonnade of massive marble pillars supporting a frieze and
entablature. Above this was a flat roof surrounded by a parapet
breast-high. The outside walls were of marble veneer unpolished and laid
like rubble over the thick adobe bricks.

Once inside the vestibule, a scene of splendor greeted the eye. On the
right, or eastern side of the entrance, was the rising sun-god driving
his four horses out of the sea, the group being of flawless marble and
of heroic size. The sunburst around the head of the figure, the
trappings of the horses, and the trimmings of the chariot were of virgin
gold.

On the left, or western side, the moon-goddess was represented as
driving her horses into the sea. She was seated on the back of one and
guiding the other six. This group was cut in black marble and profusely
ornamented with silver.

The square vestibule was finished in hard woods, richly carved and
polished. Rare and choice skins were stretched upon the inlaid floor,
and there was a rose-jar of fine pottery at each side of the door.
Richly carved chairs outlined the walls, while perfumed lamps hung above
the mantel, beneath which glowed a bed of live coals. Placed over the
blaze, on a thin glass rod, was a small ball of spongy platinum. The
lamp was lighted and allowed to burn until the ball became a lurid red,
after which the flame was extinguished, leaving the ball incandescent
for a long time, gently heating the perfumed oil and sending a delicious
fragrance throughout the room.

The vestibule opened into an interior court where a fountain played and
birds of gay plumage kept up an incessant noise. Pet animals roamed at
will. Seats were provided in the shady nooks and cushions for the
tessellated floors. There was a colonnade in the inner court, similar in
style to the outer one. The balcony overhead was of carved onyx
surmounted by a veritable garden of rare plants in handsome pots,
trellised and interlaced across the open space. A pyramidal fountain in
an octagonal basin, placed in the center, was supported by eight huge
bronze lions.

On the north, adjoining Yermah’s private apartments, were the reception
rooms and banquet-halls. It was into the former that Kerœcia and her
women were conducted while the men were made comfortable in the Hall of
Ambassadors, to the west.

Here was a wainscoting of odoriferous cedar, carved as intricately as a
sandal-wood fan, above which hung richly dyed tapestries of historical
import, strips of silk embroidery and feather-work of indescribable
beauty.

On the floor of pine, scrubbed to immaculate whiteness, lay a wonderful
white carpet, bordered with gold and silver, in which were incrusted
precious stones, representing many kinds of choice flowers. The leaves
were formed of emerald, jade, aqua marine, and Amazon stones, while the
buds and blossoms were composed of pearls, rubies and sapphires in the
rough. The only cut and polished stones in the entire carpet were the
diamonds, sparkling in the center of the blossoms, like dewdrops.

Curtains as fine as cobwebs hung over the tiny square-paned windows, and
there were many terra cotta stools, ornamented in low-tone outline work,
detailing the mythology and folk-lore of Atlantis.

Exquisite screens closed all entrances except the outside, where thick
bronze slabs were fastened by heavy bolts and chains. Admission was
sought by striking these plates with a mallet of inlaid bronze.

A cloudless, moonlight sky added much to the fairy-like effect of the
night scene. Between the banners were silken lanterns gay in coloring,
shade and decoration, and these twinkled like spheres of many-colored
fire. The brilliant blaze of light on the signal-towers, the innumerable
rockets, showering gold, silver or rainbow balls in profusion, or long,
forked arrows, made the night a memorable one.

Setos, the inventor of pyrotechnics, outdid himself, and the whole
population were in attendance to witness and enjoy the display. Not a
housetop in Tlamco but answered the pretty code of greetings arranged
from the battlements of Iaqua. By these means Kerœcia was enabled to
thank each regiment, guild, clan and family taking part in her
triumphant entry early in the day.

When the high-priestess opened her door the next morning, she found the
passage barred by big-faced velvet pansies, crisp, fresh and still moist
with dew.

“To whose thoughtfulness am I debtor?” she asked of one of the armed
guardians pacing the hallway before the door.

“To Orondo. And he begs that thou wilt accept his escort for a visit to
the gardens, at such hour as best suits thy pleasure and comfort.”

“It will please me to see him at once,” she answered.

Alcyesta, Suravia and Mineola were examining the rare basket filled with
flowers which Yermah had sent with a kindly message.

“The daffodils show his regard; the ferns, his sincerity; and the
violets, his extreme modesty,” they said, with giggling laughter,
betraying the tension of nerves still animating them. They were agog
with expectation, and when told of the projected visit to the peerless
gardens they entered into the arrangement with all the zest and abandon
of curious girlhood.

“From the roses on thy cheeks, I am justified in the inference that
troops of good entities have guarded thy slumbers,” said Orondo, when
the women came into the vestibule where he was awaiting them.

“I can only hope that the same blessed oblivion has been thy portion,”
responded Kerœcia.

“Rahula, Ildiko and Alcamayn join us at the sun-dial, presently. They
are intent upon a natal observance which, by thy leave we shall
witness.”

Palanquins were their mode of conveyance.

“Alcyesta, Suravia and Mineola, look at the answer to our signals of
last night,” exclaimed Kerœcia. “Oh! see the rose garlands on the
obelisks, and the beautiful flowers everywhere!”

As she said this, a delegation of school children strewed her pathway
with wall-flowers.

“Fidelity in adversity! How considerate and kind thou art!”

She begged to be set down and stood with her hands full of the blossoms,
which she repeatedly carried to her lips, tossing them to the children
about her. It was an indiscriminate mass of little ones, augmented by a
bevy of older girls, laden with myrrh, wheat, oats and sprigs of
heliotrope. Before Kerœcia realized it, her vacant chair was filled with
flowering sage and Sweet William in bloom.

This language of esteem and gallantry was a tribute from some warrior
priests sent to keep order and to assist in escort duty. Kerœcia and her
companions wound the flower-wreaths in their hair, placed clusters of
the same at their throats, and in their girdles, and carried as many
more as their hands could hold.

“Haille! Haille!” spearsmen and school children shouted in chorus, only
desisting when the garden gates were reached, and the party halted for a
final exchange of courtesies. Kerœcia turned to Orondo.

“I love these kind, good-hearted people,” she said.

“Small wonder that they should love thee in return. The Monbas are not
the only men willing to die for thee.” The flush on his face, his
earnestness of manner and speech, should have warned Kerœcia; but at
that moment, she was intently examining the sculpture on the stone
aqueduct, here emptying into an artificial lake. Realizing the
situation, Orondo was quick to turn it to advantage.

“I have a feeling of kinship with this body of water, since it is mine
by right of plan and construction. The gardens are my special charge. We
of Aztlan have choice of occupation, and I have sole command over this
spot.”

“Thou art generously endowed with the sense of the beautiful,” she
returned, in appreciation. “I am curious to know why this curbing is not
in straight, but in wavy lines.”

“Because it is a meander imitating a river of spiritual force. The
carving, also, conveys the same idea.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

The party had crossed the avenue leading from the market walls to the
Temple of Neptune. The aqueduct surrounded the outside enclosure, and
was built of solid sandstone and masonry, supported by arches of the
same. The water in the canal came from Lake La Honda and skirted Blue
Mountain. Where it emptied into Ohaba Lake, in the gardens, it made a
pretty cascade over a profusion of rocks and water-plants.

To the right of the market was a sun-dial, which was a colossal bronze
figure of a full-armored warrior thrusting furiously at his own shadow.
This statue, of perfect model and workmanship, was placed on a pivot
which revolved once in every twenty-four hours. At the feet was a glass
dial, whose grains of gold slipped out at stated intervals, one at a
time, sticking fast on the quicksilver bed prepared for them. The
warrior could only scowl at, and threaten the shining hours.

When the sun at rising darted a direct shadow by the gnomon, or machete,
in the hand of a soldier, and at its height, or mid-day, the figure made
no shade, the populace adorned it with leaves and odoriferous herbs.
Then they placed a chair made of choice cut-flowers on top of the
helmet, saying that the sun appeared on his most glittering throne.
After this, with great ostentation and rejoicings, they made offerings
of gold, silver and precious stones.

Among the spectators of the ceremony, were Kerœcia and Orondo. His
interest centered wholly in her—hers, in the novel rites and the people,
who seemed to feel honored by her presence.

On an eminence beyond the sun-dial was the House of Piety, a structure
having many apartments, filled with priests devoted to the healing art.
The grounds between were laid out in regular squares and the
intersecting paths were bordered with trellises supporting creepers and
aromatic shrubs. These swayed in the breeze, partially screening the
view by a quaint tracery of floral net-work.

Setos had been paying a visit to the House of Piety. On his way to the
salt-water fish-ponds, located near Temple Avenue, but further up, he
was startled by a low, sullen growl, and a quick leap into a clump of
bushes near him. He was unarmed, save for a serpentine knife in his
leather belt, and this he instantly unsheathed and was prepared for
attack. He had not long to wait before the blood-shot eyes of Oghi
peered through the greenery, and he could hear its tail lashing on the
ground as the animal prepared for a spring.

At this juncture, there was an ominous rattle of the chain, and, in an
instant, Oghi had turned a complete somersault in the air. Akaza jerked
the chain hard enough to snap the self-clasping catch planned for such
an emergency, and the ocelot came down on three legs.

“Down, Oghi! Down, sir!” sternly commanded Akaza. This was answered by a
howl of mingled rage and surprise, as Oghi crouched with each hair on
back and tail erect with hostility.

“Remain motionless, Setos! Shouldst thou move I would not be responsible
for the consequences,” commanded Akaza, as he hastily twisted the chain
around a good-sized flowering shrub. He managed to get the eye of the
infuriated animal, and in a few moments the danger was over. None but a
man absolutely master of self and conditions, could have quelled this
beast as Akaza did.

“Oghi, lie down! Lie down, sir!”

Without the least show of resistance, the ocelot obeyed him.

“What thievish mischief has that brute been doing?” asked Setos,
allowing anger to supplant a sickening sense of fear.

“Let us ascertain. He has broken away from his keeper, else he would not
be here,” replied Akaza.

“Dost thou see footprints in the soft mud at the bottom of the tank? I
am persuaded that Oghi made a meal of the rarest fish in the pond.”
Setos was at his favorite occupation—he did so dearly love to exaggerate
misdeeds of any kind.

“There are feathers, too, all about here,” he called as he ran from one
rookery to another. “There are but four of the quetzal left in the
silver fir. Yermah cannot be permitted to give away any of them. All he
can do is to present these feathers to the high-priestess.”

Setos came back with a handful of brilliant green plumes, about three
feet long showing rainbow tints in their metallic luster. There was also
a portion of scarlet breast still dripping with blood, but that was all.

“I find this luminous tree badly broken,” said Akaza. “Oghi must have
attempted to jump over it. He has broken the whole top off, and split
the bole down to the roots. Disappointment awaits Orondo because he
planned to bring our visitors here and show them how this tree lights up
its surroundings at night. It were best to find out whether the
torch-fish has been injured.”

Setos poked and raked among the pools and eddies of the pond, but
reported the torch-fish uninjured. This member of the finny tribe does
not use the torch for purposes of illumination. When mealtime comes, it
lights up to attract smaller fish. They, mistaking the lantern for a
phosphorescent insect, dart at it only to find their way into a pair of
capacious jaws.

The evidence was wholly circumstantial; but, it was decided to make an
example of Oghi, so the ocelot was led up the main thoroughfare hobbling
on three legs.

As a matter of fact, Oghi had spent the entire morning chasing his own
shadow, going into a veritable spasm of excitement when he saw his image
reflected in the water. It took him long to decide that it was not some
other animal when the image moved. Oghi tired himself out trying to
discover the reason why the reflection undulated and rippled, when he,
himself, was motionless. He flounced in and out of the pond so often,
that he could not possibly have caught a fish. They were securely hidden
through it all, and a huge rat did the damage found in the aviary.

Poor Oghi! His greatest fault was an abiding dislike to Setos, and his
antipathies seemed to center around that one idea. This was why he
snarled and snapped every time he came near the sun-dial. By some
process of reasoning, the ocelot decided that the sun-dial was modeled
after Setos.

These repeated plunges disturbed the glass-bottomed wooden box, used to
produce a beautiful optical illusion in the salt water. The box was
without cover, and so placed that the glass bottom was slightly below
the surface. This arrangement enabled the observer to look steadily
downward to the sea-floor itself. The first impression was that the
glass possessed magical powers. Not a tree, nor a flower actually on the
land above, but was here reflected in colors and forms of airiest grace.

Orondo piloted his party to where there was a sheltered cocoa-palm tree.
This was a very unusual tree, for on more than one occasion a vegetable
pearl had been found among its branches. Such an one was given to
Kerœcia, and she was also allowed the choice of opals taken from the
joints of bamboo reeds.

“If thou art willing,” said Alcamayn, “I will cut the seven pointed star
of Jupiter in this gem at the polishing, and then thou wilt have an
amulet against disease.”

“By so doing, thou wilt give great pleasure, and, if agreeable I desire
a bracelet made of this vegetable ivory,” she answered.

“Why not put the pearl in the center and an opal on each side?”
suggested Ildiko. “Here is a perfect match for the one thou hast chosen.
Why not have the sign of Jupiter cut on one and his star on the other?
This will surely bring good fortune.”

While they were selecting the ivory and discussing the details of
ornament, Orondo busied himself with a tiny filigree silver cage
containing a couple of giant fire-flies.

“Am I in an enchanted garden?” laughingly inquired Kerœcia when she was
tolled off to a shady nook to inspect these wonderful insects. Orondo
covered the cage with a black cloth, and instantly a ruddy glow
proceeded from two glandular spots between the eyes and under each wing
of the fire-flies. Soon the rays changed to a golden yellow, equal to a
candle in brightness.

“To protect thee from genii,” said Orondo, “are a pair of racket-tailed
humming-birds. These little fellows are booted and spurred like regular
warriors, and are competent to fight any size or condition of
feather-wearer.”

The cage, rich in carving, was made of sandal-wood. From the pagoda-like
roof hung four small triangular-shaped banners.

“It were a gentle soul which planned these kind remembrances,” murmured
Kerœcia, softly.

“These come from one who has been deeply moved by the simplicity of thy
ministrations,” gallantly responded Orondo.

Kerœcia unwittingly led the way toward a swampy-looking inclosure fenced
by poison-ivy and climbing sumac which she did not dare touch.

“Thou art wandering into forbidden domains,” remonstrated Orondo,
hastening to her side. “Nature broods her deadliest poisons in this
company. Here the carrot, parsnip, and celery families are undergoing
regeneration. In time, I shall have them suitable for food. That pretty
lily thou art admiring is the deadly hemlock; and here are the foxglove,
the henbane, and the jimson-weed——”

“Surely I need no reminder of murderous quality here,” rejoined Kerœcia.
She was gazing at a cluster of aconite. “My people have used this with
terrible effect on themselves and on their enemies.”

She had reference to the poisoned arrows employed by the Monbas in their
expeditions against the Ians.

A swift-footed runner, wearing state livery, approached, and prostrating
himself before Kerœcia, said:

“Yermah, the Dorado, presents his compliments, and begs that the
high-priestess, Kerœcia, will grace the Hall of Embassadors with her
presence. Ben Hu Barabe, Eko Tanga, and the Dorado await her there.”

“Immediate compliance is the only form grateful obedience takes,” she
answered, while a swift pallor overspread her countenance. “Let us go at
once!”

A shade of disappointment came over Orondo’s face. He had hoped to show
Kerœcia more of the beauties of this royal garden. There was something
of the impatience of the lover and the selfishness of a rival in his
feeling. They were passing through the landscape set with night-blooming
plants.

As they neared Lake Ohaba, a long, narrow body of water, formed
artificially, there were masses of water-lilies anchored on the surface.
Tiny air-bubbles and tinier mouths indicated the presence of gold and
silver fish, darting about unmindful of the waterfowl feeding on the
banks, or sunning themselves on the floating gardens which dotted the
miniature lake.

Bridges, ponds, waterfalls and temples covered the landscape of the
floating gardens, but everything was constructed on the smallest scale
possible. The trees were old and gnarled, and the moss-covered masonry
was no larger than a doll’s house and grounds. Even the dahlias and the
chrysanthemums were dwarfed into pigmy sizes.

Kerœcia must have felt something of Orondo’s disappointment; for, she
halted in front of the fanciful pavilion facing these movable wonders
and ordered the palanquin which was to convey her back to Iaqua.

“I am loathe to leave the spot where Nature and man have wrought so well
together,” she said, with simplicity and appreciation.

“Such pretty reluctance reconciles one to that obedience which sometimes
tries the souls of men,” responded Orondo, satisfied with the admiration
so plainly reflected in her open countenance.

As the tamanes knelt to receive their human freight, one of them
presented Kerœcia with a basket ornamented with beads and feathers in
quaint combination, and filled with ripe pomelos. The fruit was
partially concealed by grape leaves, and was a simple offering to quench
thirst.

                  *       *       *       *       *

In laying out the city of Tlamco, the four points of the compass were
designated by different colors. The east, from whence come revivified
nature and springtime, was marked by green. This symbolizes fulfillment
and perfection. It holds out the hope of immortality and victory, in the
laurel and in the palm. For this reason was the emerald considered the
happiness-bringing stone. The Aztecs, Chinese, and Persians attach great
significance to green as all their uniforms and ceremonies demonstrate.

The west was designated by white, the emblem indicating integrity in the
judge, humility in the sick, and chastity in women. In a spiritual sense
it is the acme of all—divinity. When worn as mourning white expresses
negation of self.

The south was red, signifying fire, and all phases of life on the
physical plane. The red color of the blood has its origin in the action
of the heart, which from time immemorial has been associated with love.

The north was black, ever the symbol of death and despair. These people
knew of the recurring Ice Age, and to them the north was typical of
death, since all former civilization had perished from extreme cold.

The center of the city was marked yellow, in honor of the sun, the
symbol of light and wisdom.

The Grand Servitor was expected to wear a yellow or red head-covering
with gold ornaments, and he must at all times use yellow for a parasol
or canopy. The highest dignitaries carried green umbrellas and there was
always a bit of green showing in the head-coverings. The lower officials
carried red parasols or wore red; while the citizens wore black, or
carried black overhead.

Akaza was always provided with a white umbrella.




                             CHAPTER EIGHT
                A COVETED SPOT AND A PRICELESS TREASURE


The Hall of Ambassadors at Iaqua was still the scene of an animated
discussion.

There were groups of scribes, runners and astrologers excitedly
examining maps and charts, while knots of citizens gathered around the
old men and heard from their lips the particulars. Some were priests,
others were treasure keepers, judges and councilors; but one and all
were disposed to stand by the records.

Patient, respectful tamanes glided noiselessly here and there, opening
and placing some of the books on the tables ready for inspection, while
they closed and carried others back to the vaulted recesses where they
had been under lock and key since the foundation of Tlamco. Some of the
manuscripts were on cotton cloth, others were of carefully prepared
skins, tanned and dressed until soft as silk.

For ages the Indians have known how to prepare superior chamois. When
they tan a skin it looks like soft, pliant yellow velvet and has an odor
peculiar to itself. These qualities are imparted by smoking it
thoroughly over a fire composed of certain herbs. Rain has no effect
upon well-tanned Indian buckskin. This is why an Indian moccasin is
always as yielding as cloth, while as thick and soft as felt.

A composition of gum and silk tissue made by a process known to-day by
the Japanese and Chinese was invariably used by the Monbas for the
transcription of public documents. Their books were bound with blocks of
polished wood, and folded together, like a fan. These surfaces were
inscribed on both sides so that the writing was continuous, ending where
it began, but on the opposite side of the same square.

Around Ben Hu Barabe, the Civil Chief of the Monbas, were a number of
Monbas warriors in full coats of mail and side arms. Setos mingled
freely with them and appeared to espouse their side of the controversy,
while Akaza conversed in subdued tones with Eko Tanga, the tall,
fierce-looking, but well-mannered emissary from the Ians. Yermah had
that freedom and grace of movement born in natural leaders, and there
was an unconscious recognition of this quality wherever he went among
the disputants.

A young Monbas warrior stood near him and leaned intently over the
neatly inscribed parchment rolls bearing the official seal of Atlantis.
The leaves of maguey and agave had been used in the fabrication of this
beautiful paper.

“These measurements and observations were taken shortly after the
shaping of Hotara (Lone Mountain), and before the surrounding tumuli had
been finished,” said Yermah.

He was seated at a round table in the center of the room in an entirely
characteristic pose. One foot was drawn well back and poised on the
toes, while the other was thrust forward but little in advance of the
knee and leg. On his head a single band of filigree gold was relieved by
a carbuncle of rare brilliancy which sparkled warm and glowing in the
medallion center.

The Dorado’s cloth-of-gold cloak, lined with scarlet and black brocade,
was thrown carelessly back from his shoulders, and his thumb, which
grasped the edge of the table to balance his body, as he leaned forward
eagerly, was banded by a curiously wrought signet ring. There was
masculinity and strength in the jewel which was the only ornament on the
virile hand.

“Our ancestors knew these things well,” answered the warrior after a
minute examination.

“The city was young then. But I see no reason why the accuracy of this
work should be questioned. I hope that Ben Hu Barabe may be induced to
see it so.”

“The scale is one one-hundred-millionths, and shows the diameter of all
the planets from Hotara. There has been but little variation in
eccentricity of orbits since,” declared Yermah, now busy with
computations, which he made by using an abacus, as the Chinese have
always done.

Ben Hu Barabe still studied his maps and charts. He was industriously
making deductions from the highly colored picture-writing, though the
cloth on which they were painted was yellow and musty with age. His
calculations were from Las Papas as a center. In present day reckoning
the radius extended from Clarendon Heights along the coast to Pescadero
Point; then to Santa Cruz and Point Reyes. From these observations the
first surveys were made, and it was from these markings that the
treaties had been negotiated between the Monbas and the Atlantians when
the latter colonists first came.

“It is not easy to ascertain the date of our computations and
measurements,” said Ben Hu Barabe. “But the land in dispute is not much,
at any rate. If Eko Tanga insists that his government has some unsettled
claim against the Monbas, I am willing that thou shouldst decide it,” he
said to Yermah.

“The difference is considerable between the calculation of one
one-hundred millionths and one of one-fifty millionths. And there is a
variance between The Twins and Hotara as central points,” Yermah
replied. “In my time the place of the sun in the center of Tlamco has
been the point of vantage. Computations of the diameters of the heavenly
hosts are here accurately given.”

“From the beginning until now, the Monbas have reckoned all their
happenings by this picture,” said Ben Hu Barabe, his voice again showing
signs of irritation. “It is held in our inner hearts with profound
reverence, and it is a vexation of spirit to have it questioned. Eko
Tanga has little respect for the traditions and pride of the mountain
people.”

“The high-priestess Kerœcia, will then lend us her counsel,” said
Yermah, soothingly. “She is of the blood of Ian, but she loves the
Monbas well. Her serene countenance confronts us,” he added hastily, as
the crowd separated to make room for the high-priestess and the entire
party from the gardens.

Every woman knows that it was not the fresh air, only, which gave the
color to Kerœcia’s cheek, and made her eyes sparkle like tiny stars as
she permitted Yermah to conduct her to a seat beside him under the grand
canopy. All Tlamco had a feeling of satisfaction in the manner and the
method of his escort. Some time elapsed before either could sufficiently
acknowledge the applause spontaneously given; but when the Dorado held
up his hand commanding silence, the stillness was absolute.

“Comrades and friends, a difference of opinion exists between the
emissary of Ian, Eko Tanga, and Ben Hu Barabe, Chief of the Monbas, as
to the hereditary rights of each to the lands now held by the Azes.
Before our beloved Tlamco rested among the seven hills, there were wise
men who noted the ways of the sun, and his attendants, and decreed that
thus far, and no farther should the limits extend. No one disputed the
rights of the Monbas. They made The Twins their own, and no one
murmured. Then appeared the hordes of Ian. They came through the
trackless forest of the Aleuts, following the warm tide southward. The
snow-peaks of Elias, Tacoma, and Shasta[5] pointed the way and after
many days they came to the end of the Monbas possessions.”

Among the Monbas there was a tempestuous wave of displeasure against the
revival of old scores and the ill-will was as heartily returned by Eko
Tanga’s attendants. As for principles, their faces effectually masked
the feelings while they gave Yermah their undivided attention.

“Here they found an amicable agreement between these brave men and the
children of Atlantis,” continued Yermah, conscious of the under-current
of feeling. “It makes my heart glad to tell how the Azes and the Monbas
have always been friends.”

“Haille! Haille!” shouted his hearers, with one voice. “Haille! Haille!”

Satisfied that the ebullition of temper had safely spent itself, the
Dorado boldly stated the point in dispute.

“It pleased the leaders of the Azes to erect a new city on the ruins of
an old abandoned temple site, and they re-surveyed the vicinity from
Mount Hotara. Like the Monbas sages, they had counsel of the heavenly
bodies, and found the degree of prophecy fulfilled in the markings. It
were a wearisome task to hear all of the things done at that time, but
the Monbas and the Azes feel that they were well done.”

Again the unspoken words reached his ears and the upturned faces before
him beamed with satisfaction.

“The Monbas reckoned from The Twins to a smaller scale, but they took
cognizance of the stars. Time has altered the bearings; but truth was in
the beginning and must prevail in the end. Due allowance was then made
for the failure of agreement between the new and the old reckonings, and
for the difference in the point of view. The treaty following, whereby
the Monbas gave eternal consent to the designs of the Azes, has been a
source of joy to the Azes always.”

“And to us,” assented the Monbas, with a clamorous noise.

“Our friend and brother, Eko Tanga,” continued Yermah, bowing to the
Ians as he spoke, “comes with a claim against the decision of our
ancestors. He denies the right of the Monbas to cede land to the Azes,
since the Monbas came under allegiance to Ian, after the treaty was
promulgated, and before the solemn covenant had record. The patient
skill and industry of Atlantis has made this a garden spot, and the Ians
desire recognition of their pretentions.

“The murmurings of the Monbas have softened the hearts of the Ians, and
their king decrees that the Monbas shall be free from tribute and have
dominion over the land claimed by them, provided they will release the
princess and the high-priestess Kerœcia from bondage.”

Here the Monbas laughed derisively. Even Kerœcia smiled.

“It were unseemly of the Azes to interrupt their Servitor,” said Orondo,
sternly, as he sprang to his feet and faced his people determinedly. The
rebuke did not fail of effect.

The undulating walls in different portions of Tlamco represented the
gyrations of the cosmic serpent, which is matter, and quaintly sets
forth man’s incomings to, and out-goings from, material life. On a grand
scale, the three points symbolized man’s redemption by harmonizing the
three planes of existence. Religious sentiment, as well as race
prejudice, had something to do with the hostile feeling prevalent in the
factions.

“Sufficient purses have been exchanged to make trade even, but the
boundaries still lie in dispute,” continued Yermah.

“Will the Dorado and these people hear me?” asked Eko Tanga, moved to
speech.

“The safeguards of courtesy may be trusted thus far,” quickly responded
Yermah. “Apply thine ear faithfully that thou mayst comprehend the
truth,” he added, as he sat on a level with Kerœcia.

“A matter deserving close attention is the correction of the hazy,
indistinct records by which certain lands are ceded,” declared Eko
Tanga. “The increase in learning makes the measurements legitimately
subject to inquiry, and I crave assistance from the wise men here
assembled. All Tlamco reckons from its center, and observes the present
houses of the firmament for confirmation. By careful estimate, there is
yet some favor due my master from the Monbas. A covenant to remain south
of Elias’s cone is all that the king desires. He is content to forego
tribute or war service below this mountain.”

It was plain that there were voices in the multitude which favored the
Ians. It was known that the Monbas originally came from Ian, and loyalty
to fatherland was a sterling virtue of the Azes.

Setos, quick to turn an advantage to himself, came forward and claimed a
hearing.

“The sacred traditions of past times,” he said, “lie deep in the hearts
of the faithful, but justice demands much for posterity. The future is
best served by full recognition of Monbas independence; they, in turn,
must acquit themselves with honor. No man among the Azes desires to keep
that which is not fairly won.”

“Dost thou dare to accuse us of unfairness?” cried Ben Hu Barabe, rising
hastily.

“The Ians have long discoursed against the award of land made by us to
the Azes. Much travail of spirit has befallen us because of our pledges
to thy ancestry. Fie upon thee, for an ingrate!” he continued, hotly.

Yermah and Akaza were on their feet in an instant.

“Setos had spoken without consideration,” said Akaza, mildly. “No
possible import of unfairness is due to either party here. The
measurements are the only questions to consider. Now, as of old, the
digit, the palm of the hand, the face, and the cubit are the only means
of reckoning. The first joint of the finger is no longer; the middle of
the palm no wider; the cubit from finger to elbow is the same. But the
stars have changed their courses; even the zodiac has slipped its
leashes. Man may profit by such example. Have done with this useless
turmoil. Let the Ian have his due, and let the high-priestess Kerœcia,
loose her own bonds.”

When he ceased speaking, the silence was intense.

“For this did I beseech thy presence,” said Yermah, aside to the
agitated princess.

“We love the priestess Kerœcia, and we will obey her,” said Ben Hu
Barabe, simply.

“The royal father and mother of the princess mourn continually. They beg
and implore that she may be the light of their declining years. All Ian
awaits an answer; and for that country I agree to abide by thy
decision.” Eko Tanga bowed toward Kerœcia, appealingly.

Striving to govern her emotion, Kerœcia put out a trembling hand to
Yermah, and suffered herself to be led forward where she could be both
seen and heard. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, then
lifted it pale and stricken, but resolute.

“My comrades and my countrymen, duty oppresses my heart profoundly. That
I do love and honor these who gave me life need not be affirmed. All
that my father demands, I hereby pledge the Monbas to render. For myself
there is no peace apart from the duty I owe these children of the
forest. They look to me for spiritual guidance, and I will not leave
them.” Her voice faltered, and she seemed ready to faint.

In the interim of silence, Eko Tanga said: “So be it! So be it!”

“Tell my beloved father that I can best serve him here; and that as
proof of my devotion, I pledge my people to lasting peace. Hast thou the
treaty in readiness?”

She made no pretense of reading its provisions, but turned to Ben Hu
Barabe, and said authoritatively: “Sign!”

He readily affixed his signature. Eko Tanga followed, and then Yermah
made use of the high-set signet on his thumb.

And this was the beginning of the end.




                              CHAPTER NINE
                  THE WOMEN’S DAY IN BOOTH AND BAZAAR


It was fully ten o’clock before Kerœcia, attended entirely by women,
finally made her appearance. She drove a splendid team of woodland
caribou, harnessed to her traveling cart now made gay with bunting and
flowers. There were tiny nosegays tied to the palmated antlers sweeping
back over the long, shaggy bodies. The ribbons were threaded from one
wide expanse to its fellow on the opposite side, and even to the
bez-tynes coming down between the eyes and spreading protectingly over
the elongated beak-like nose.

The snap and click of the spreading false hoofs of the caribou announced
the advent of the party. Rahula and Ildiko stood on each side of
Kerœcia, while Alcyesta, Suravia and Mineola balanced themselves by
placing their hands on the shoulders in front of them.

Matu, Saphis and Phoda, the three caribou, were a perfect match in
color, size and gait. The animals stood over three feet high with very
wide and many tyned, spreading antlers. Matu, who was driven in the lead
had a short shaggy mane of grayish white which lightened his
reddish-brown coat, his four feet being evenly marked by the same white
band. The strong necks, knee-joints and short muscular legs were built
for strength and these roadsters handily trotted past the barking dogs
in the streets and on the highways. Their big eyes had nothing of the
gazelle quality in them, but were alert, and the short lily-cup ear
heard acutely, while the sense of smell was their finest quality.

If it were possible to imagine hilarity in a countenance so long drawn
out and preternaturally grave, it may be said that these sagacious
animals enjoyed showing their heels too, and dusting everything
encountered on the road. Or, it may have been that they were envious of
the burros with their bulging sides, dodging out of their way as they
flew by.

A word and a sudden checking of the reins fastened to the nose, brought
the team to a standstill in front of a basketry. Here the party alighted
and Kerœcia caressed her roadsters, giving each one a cake of salt, and
scratching its nose affectionately. They manifested pleasure in their
own special fashion, and suffered themselves to be coaxed away by a
bundle of dry moss.

Inside the building were girls assorting thick packages of willow wands,
and long stemmed, wiry grasses as well as splits of palms.

Kerœcia’s eyes lit up as she recognized some of her favorite weaves.
Bending over a young girl she took the work from her hands and began
explaining an intricate decoration.

“Fifteen stitches to the digit is not fine enough for this acorn
pattern, twenty-eight will serve thee better. Where the point of the
acorn cuts off here, a bottom must be put in to give it standing power.”

When the coil was properly started in stitch and pattern, she picked up
a handful of grass soaking in a shallow basket basin near by, and
dexterously fashioned a tiny acorn, perfect in color and shape.

“Use this for a handle on the acorn cup suitable to cover this basket,”
she said.

To the delighted exclamations of thanks, she replied:

“May a good husband and sweet children grace thy home and bless thee
with loving kindness.”

The shamaness of the basket guild withdrew from a coil she
had been weaving a priceless heirloom, inherited from her
great-great-grandmother. This proved to be a long needle made from the
wing-bone of a hawk and was believed to be an amulet of good luck.

“Will the high-priestess honor and make me happy by accepting this
little token? She who uses it will have the blessing of the whole
guild.”

Kerœcia took the polished implement, and motioned one of her tamanes to
approach. From his hands she received a parcel so delicate and precious
that it was protected by a basket-covering of unique design. When she
disclosed the contents there was an involuntary exclamation of “A—h—!”
from all the curious weavers cognizant of it.

“Will the shamaness make me happy by accepting this example of my
handicraft? I have worked on it three years,” she said.

The gift was a fancy basket covered entirely with red-headed
woodpeckers’ scalps, among which were placed at intervals many hanging
loops of tiny iridescent shells. Around the rim was an upright row of
black quails’ top-knots, nodding gayly.

Presently, a representative of the guild brought forward a dice-table
top made in anticipation of this visit. It was a round, flat tray,
ornamented with dark-brown water lines on a cream-white ground. With it
were eight acorn-shaped dice, inlaid with abalone shell and some richly
carved ivory sticks with which to keep tally. The acorn shells had first
been filled with pitch, and when hardened cleverly inlaid with abalone.
Cradle and burden baskets used for storing grain differed in no wise
from the weaves of the Monbas.

Row after row of every imaginable stitch and material filled the roomy
building. Kerœcia was respectful in her attention to the workers but she
forbore a longer interruption of the general trend of the work.

Into the pueblo, set apart for the pottery, one might with profit
follow, or linger over the looms of the rug and blanket weavers, as
Kerœcia did. But it is fair to suppose that modern eyes are familiar
with the striking peculiarities of the Daghestan rugs and Navajo
blankets, the stitches of one being familiar to the descendants of
Kerœcia’s forebears, while the Navajo Indians have preserved the secret
of the other. One is characteristic of native Oriental invention, the
other of native American.

“There is need of haste in returning,” admonished Rahula, as the women
climbed back into the car and started cityward. “We are due at the
marketplace now.”

“Content thyself. The caribou is an excellent traveler,” was Kerœcia’s
assurance, as she gathered up the reins and shook the many stranded whip
over the horns of her team. They started forward with the easy stride
common to the elk family, and were not long in clearing a passage way
through the tamanes, trotting along the road carrying huge, well-filled
baskets, one on each end of a pole slung across the shoulder. Mingling
with them were burros so well burdened that nothing but their noses,
tails and forefeet were visible.

The social corner-stone of Tlamco was not the family but the clan.
Husband and wife must belong to different gentes, and the children
claimed descent from the mother. The spheres of the sexes were clearly
defined but manfully, the wife being the complete owner of the house and
all it contained. If a mother, she was not required to perform other
than household duties. Slovenliness was severely punished in both sexes,
and so was idleness.

At no time was the life of the ordinary woman of greater hardship than
is that of the wife of a poor man in any enlightened or so-called
Christian country to-day. Should her husband ill-treat her, a woman of
this civilization could permanently evict him from the home. The husband
owned the crops until they were housed, and then the wife had an equal
voice in their distribution. The live stock was his; but there was an
unwritten code which forbade his disposing of it without consulting his
wife.

For these reasons, certain of the afternoon hours of each day were set
apart, in the market, by the guilds, for the reception of the women.
They came in two sections, and took turns, so that each guild received a
weekly visit. It was to head a procession of this kind, visiting the
bazaars devoted to Monbas handiwork, that Kerœcia and her attendants
hurried through the streets.

“See the crowds of children, the priestesses and the women,” said
Kerœcia, as they whirled through a circular gateway leading to the
bazaar.

“They are waiting for us,” exclaimed Ildiko, with a glow of satisfaction
and self-importance. “Setos, the wise and kind father, forgive our being
tardy,” she continued; “we were detained on such loving pretexts as
befits the exalted regard felt for our guests.” She gave her hand to
Alcamayn and bounded lightly to the ground.

“Shame oppresses me sorely for having kept thee waiting,” said Kerœcia,
as she suffered Orondo to assist her.

“Thy dalliance was slight,” he answered gallantly, “and our first
concern is for thy pleasure.”

“Let us go at once,” they all said.

Each one picked up a basket of flowers and followed Kerœcia and Orondo.

It was a pretty sight. The women and children filled every nook and
corner of the booths with flowers while the priestesses swung incense up
and down the aisles and over the commodities. The men paid their guests
compliments, plied them with sweet-meats and were as courteous and
considerate as the occasion demanded.

Fathers took occasion to have a little visit with their children;
husbands and wives consulted their mutual interests; while lovers
contrived to exchange much of the small coin of affection, openly,
innocently and with obvious encouragement.

Mingling freely with the crowd, were the vestal virgins, themselves
trained by Priestesses of the Sun, in charge of the boys and girls under
the age of twelve. These eager little bodies were allowed to satisfy
their curiosity. The vestals tried to explain everything coming under
their observation, so that the visit was an object lesson as well as a
half-holiday.

Groups of older boys came attended by warrior-priests, who trained them
in the art of warfare, after which they were apprenticed to the various
guilds, and taught to be skilled in some branch of industry. In many
cases, an elder brother or other relative was serving an apprenticeship
while a younger boy was still studying warfare. Then, there was a
pardonable display of skill and knowledge by the elder, which did not
fail to spur the ambition of the younger.

Both sexes were allowed to study picture writing, music or oratory, and
there was much friendly rivalry among them.

The guild awards were always those most hotly contested. In this
category were prizes for cooking, weaving, basketry, pottery and the
care of the sick, which was the prerogative of the women, while all the
industries gave encouragement to the apprentice boys in their charge.




                              CHAPTER TEN
               THE FORTUNE THAT WAS TOLD WITH TAROT CARDS


Setos, the Dogberry of Tlamco, lived in a pretentious square house where
the disused Laurel Hill Cemetery is now located. The house was gay in
stucco ornament and artistic coloring. The surrounding grounds were
extensive, and the rambling enclosure was altogether the most elaborate
private establishment in the city.

Quick, active, energetic and scientific, Setos had, also, the cunning of
a schemer and the ambition of a dictator. In stature, he was short and
pudgy, with a round, fat body and with disproportionately small
extremities. He made many gestures with his arms and carried his
straight stiff thumbs downward. His finger-nails were narrow, indicating
obstinacy and conceit, while his thick and stubby fingers showed that he
was cruel and selfish. Setos’s eyes were small and gray.

In addition to long ham-like ears was a nose which was a cross between a
hook and a beak. The thin lips and square jaws completed a countenance
which reflected a bold and uncertain temper. The man had a nervous habit
of clasping his coarse, fat hands, especially when excited or
over-anxious. Withal, he was inordinately vain, not of his good looks
certainly, but of his achievements—and, his godliness.

Akaza had a way of looking straight through Setos’s mean, shabby nature
which mightily irritated this entirely self-satisfied man. Setos always
imagined that he was being put upon in the civic councils, and he was
determined that the visitors should imbibe something of his greatness at
the fountain-head.

It did not require much diplomacy nor persuasion to induce Kerœcia to
pay Ildiko a visit before leaving Tlamco.

“When Eko Tanga says farewell, to-morrow,” Setos said to her, “it will
save thee embarrassment to spend the remaining days with Ildiko. It
would not be politic to take thy leave at the same time, because of the
ill-concealed distrust between the Monbas and Eko Tanga. Shouldst thou
go immediately after, it would be discourteous to the government of Ian.
Let me urge thee strongly to continue here for a time.”

“Give me leave to add my prayer to thine, father,” said Ildiko, quick to
see the importance of the move to herself. With Kerœcia as her guest,
she would have the eyes of the whole city on her for a time. “Rahula do
persuade our friends to make us happy,” she concluded with a pretty,
affected lisp.

“I am wholly in thy hands,” responded Kerœcia. “Thy request lines with
my desires. I am weary of public function. Besides, I am enslaved by
curiosity concerning thy mode of living. Thou art not of the Azes.”

“Rightly spoken,” said Ildiko. “Thou art justified in seeking to know
the domestic habits of Tlamco. It is not granted me to read signs like
Rahula, but I can see the drift already.”

There was nothing malicious in Ildiko. Kerœcia colored quickly, but made
no reply.

“Who knows but that I had ulterior motives in asking the fair lady to
remain with us?” said Setos, pompously. “I hope for a son-in-law, some
day, and Ben Hu Barabe is entirely to my liking.”

Ildiko, frivolous and vain, never doubted that she had made an
impression in that quarter. A keen eye would have detected the sudden
pallor of Alcyesta and the protective movement of Kerœcia. Self-centered
Setos did not look at Rahula; therefore, he did not see the swift,
half-fearful glance she gave Alcamayn, nor did he note the suppressed
excitement of Orondo.

Kerœcia understood that the official character of her visit was at an
end, and she experienced a feeling of relief. Setos anticipated this. He
knew that the commercial benefits to be derived from a closer
association of the two people were yet unrealized, and he did not intend
to lose an opportunity to profit by the situation.

Will it jar on the sensibilities to discover that Setos took advantage
of, and swindled the Monbas in every transaction following? He did this
in order to make a reputation for zeal and shrewdness among his fellow
councilmen.

It was Friday, the day of the bath, and not long before the time
appointed for the departure of the high-priestess. Ildiko, Alcyesta,
Mineola and Kerœcia were taking a siesta while deft-fingered maids
brushed the hair spread out over their shoulders to dry after hammam and
massage. They were seated on cushions piled on the still heated
flagging, near the play of a perfumed spray. Their finger tips, nails
and palms had been beautified, and the flat-iron shaped pumice-stone
rubber had been industriously applied to the bottom of the feet, until
each one was as soft and pliant as a baby’s untried sole. Long
loose-fitting robes tied at the waist with striped silk, were the only
garments worn.

The bathers regaled themselves with an ice-cream water-melon, which had
been buried in an artificial snow-bank since early morning. Setos knew
how to manufacture ice, but he preferred to follow the custom, long
prevalent in Tlamco, of packing the snow in winter and bringing it down
from the mountains as needed for daily use. A water jar made of porous
clay, and completely covered by a fine growth of timothy grass had been
filled with mead and hung in a window where a draught of air played upon
it. The Azes believed that a turquoise prevented contagion, and that an
emerald had the quality to purify water; so, the patera drinking-cups of
silver provided were ornamented with them.

“It nears the fourth hour since we commenced our bath,” commented
Kerœcia, helping herself to a drink from the ewer. “We have talked about
everything I know. Now, what shall we do?”

The daintily carved orange-wood spoon in the hand of each listener was
hastily returned to the yellow flesh of the melon, freckled with black
seeds, and three pairs of eager eyes focused on the speaker.

“I will tell thee what I should like to do,” cried Ildiko. “I should
like to talk about love. I intend to marry within a year.”

“O—h, dost thou?” they all exclaimed, in a breath. “Hast thou decreed
who shall be party to this resolve?”

“Yes—and no. In Atlantis, the parents often select a husband or wife for
their children. But one is not compelled to accept their choice,” she
answered.

“Has a selection been made for thee?” queried Alcyesta.

“Yes. My father and Rahula have partly agreed that I am to marry
Alcamayn.”

“Oh! Ho!” was all that could be distinguished, as the wooden plates were
quickly set aside, and a general readjustment of cushions closed in
around Ildiko.

“I am not sure that I am pleased,” that young lady went on to say. “I
would rather select my husband myself.”

“No one of our tribe can do that, except our high-priestess,” rejoined
Alcyesta. “Does thy religion allow thy priestess such liberty?”

“Truly not. Our priestesses may marry if someone asks them, but they
cannot help themselves. Oh, that I were a Monbas high-priestess!”

“What wouldst thou do?” asked Kerœcia, with a smile, while Alcyesta did
not seem to breathe.

“I would propose to thy Chancellor, Ben Hu Barabe,” she averred.

“Ben Hu Barabe is already betrothed,” replied Kerœcia. “He will espouse
my beloved Alcyesta, when we return home.”

“How fortunate thou art!” said Ildiko to Alcyesta, but slightly abashed.
“I can always marry Alcamayn. I should be puzzled to know what to do in
thy case,” she continued, addressing Kerœcia.

“I fail to see why,” answered the priestess.

“There is more than one among the Azes and Atlantians who would speak if
he dared.”

Kerœcia blushed and looked confused. Alcyesta and Mineola asked in a
breath:

“Who are they?”

“Use thine eyes and find out,” replied Ildiko. “We have only one marking
of the sun-dial for beauty sleep. Then we must array ourselves
becomingly for the sake of Orondo, Alcamayn, Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe
who arrive at the dinner hour.”

The high-priestess had arisen in the meantime.

“Not a wink of sleep to put a little rose in thy cheeks and add diamond
sparkles to thine eyes?” chattered Ildiko.

“Not this time,” declared Kerœcia. “I must away at once as I have
promised early audience to one of our friends.”

“May the assurances he brings thee be good and comforting,” murmured
Ildiko, already half-asleep.

“May the Lord of the Lapse of Time enfold thee completely,” answered
Kerœcia, with a careless nod, as she passed out of the chamber.


Orondo usually stood with his right foot forward, as if on guard, his
broad, powerful shoulders thrown back, and his chest well out. In
civilian’s dress, he wore an agate-headed serpent of scarlet leather
around his head. On his neck was a gorget of leather set with gold
bosses, from which hung a long, black cloak, bordered with fur. He had
on a short apron-like skirt of leather, with a triple row of gold bosses
around the bottom, and edged with a heavy leather fringe.

Wrinkled leather buckskins and gold-bossed sandals completed his
costume.

Wearing no beard, his straight black hair fell well down over his
shoulders. He was a patient, faithful worker, self-reliant, reserved,
proud, firm in friendship, but an unrelenting foe. Slow to anger, he was
like a bull when aroused.

Orondo’s voice in speech and song was mellow and agreeable. A
countenance that glowed with animation, added much to his dauntless
appearance. It was not like him to parley or waste time in useless
subterfuge; but whatever he attempted he went straight about. So,
desiring to consult Yermah, he marched into his presence without any
preliminaries.

Noting his perturbed manner, the Dorado laid down a brush-pen he was
using, and said:

“Something has interrupted the even tenor of thy well-ordered life,
Orondo. Can I serve thee?”

There were curious white and red lines on the swarthy face, and the
features looked pinched and drawn. He was exceedingly quiet, but there
was an unusual brilliancy in the piercing black eyes.

“I have come to ask thy advice and blessing in a matter of great import
to me,” he finally answered. “The point of superior years counts but
little between us; but thou art my chief, and I love thee well.”

“Of that I am fully assured. My blessing and good wishes thou hast only
to command. Give me to see the matter lying deep in thy heart, that I
may judge for thee,” replied Yermah, fully aware that a crisis of some
kind was at hand.

“Duty demands that I render strict obedience to my superiors, of whom
thou art one, and the command is that I shall take a wife from the
native women of this country.”

“I had feared from the ominous import of thy manner that some dark deed
touching the honor of the state oppressed thy knowledge,” quickly
responded Yermah, a feeling of relief giving place to his uncomfortable
apprehension. “This is a more simple matter.”

“Not without thy consent. My heart rebels at the thought of a wife among
the Azes,” answered Orondo, gravely.

“Then why mis-use desire? There is time enough. Thou hast fewer years
than I. Let thy better parts speak, then come to me,” said Yermah,
rising.

“This situation confronts me,” said Orondo, with agitation.

“Unmask thy feeling. I am not fully in confidence. Thou bemoanest the
mandate to wed a native, yet affirm thy inner soul bespeaks its mate,”
replied Yermah, shaking his head and looking perplexed.

“She whom I adore is the high-priestess of the Monbas,” said Orondo,
scarcely above a whisper.

Yermah dropped into his seat as if he had been shot, and put his hands
before his face as if to ward off a blow. Orondo, too much wrought up to
detect feeling in another, asked eagerly:

“Thou wilt grant me permission to woo her, and if I win, wilt bless our
union?”

“My vow to the Brotherhood forbids any other course. Go, go now, with my
blessing, Orondo,” Yermah managed to say.

“May the Master of the Radiance shower thee richly,” murmured his
auditor, as he stumblingly found his way out.

Yermah sat like a man stunned. For the first time in his life he drank
deeply and long at the fountain of pain.

Orondo walked like one in a dream. He was in an exalted frame of mind,
and seemed to be carried on the wings of the wind toward the house
occupied by Rahula. He had won his first victory. He had permission from
his civil chief. Now he would consult the unseen forces; then, he would
learn his fate from the lips of his beloved. Hope was holding high
carnival, and singing a merry tune in his ear, as he approached the door
of the “Divination Room,” in the center of the square building.

“An humble applicant stands at thy door, Rahula,” called Orondo; “one
who begs that thou wilt open to him the secrets of his destiny.”

“Upon what pretext dost thou invoke aid of the unseen powers?” demanded
Rahula, the reader of the tarot cards, from behind a heavy tapestry
curtain. “If of trivial import, begone at once! I will not hear thee.”

“Life and love are the subjects of my longing,” he answered. “And so
urgent is my mission, I would fain discharge any obligation imposed upon
me.”

Suddenly the heavy bronze bolts in the door flew apart. There was a
sliding, grinding sound as the entrance was cleared, and he was across
the threshold of the most noted and able professional fortune and story
teller of that day.

“Welcome, Orondo. Neither pitch nor accent betrayed thee. The triplicity
of mind, heart, and bodily function are wholly at thy service,” said
Rahula, coming forward and placing both hands on the upper arms of her
visitor, while she lightly brushed his forehead with her lips. He in
turn kissed the back and palm of her left hand, thus appealing directly
to her intuitional powers.

A pair of bull-headed and eagle-winged sphinxes guarded the north and
south side of the square-topped golden tripod, which was supported by
twigs of madroña wood, tipped with gold. This consecrated table occupied
the middle of the room; and in the mouths of the sphinxes were hooks
from which were hung perfumed, jeweled lamps.

In the center of the tripod was a round disk composed of various metals
radiating in stripes. On the outer edge of the rim were twenty-four
hieroglyphs of magic, at equal distances from each other. A tiled floor
liberally spread with rugs and skins, completed the furnishings, save a
duplicate stool of black under-glaze with a meander in white around it,
which served as a seat for Rahula on the opposite side. The ceiling
showed twelve radiations in the folds of colored silk, which started
from the central canopy and ended in a frieze of twenty-four enlarged
hieroglyphs, interlaced in a dragonesque meander. Pompeiian-red
tapestries hung on the walls, relieved by wise sayings painted on
banners of silk tissue, which were placed at intervals in perpendicular
strips.

Rahula’s ample, flowing robes were of purple silk, with a circlet of jet
on her head, and a girdle of the same at her waist. Around her neck was
a filigree gold and silver collarette fitting close to the skin. From a
recess in the wall opposite the door Rahula brought forth the figure of
a youth, a young calf, a lion, an eagle, a dragon, and a dove. These
were of Atlantian workmanship, in pure gold and silver, curiously
blended, the feathers, hair, clothes and scales being of silver, while
the bodies were of gold.

She placed these on the floor on either side of her seat, saying:

“Should thy quest of knowledge pertain to a wife, we must consult the
dove,” holding the figure in her hand as she spoke.

Orondo bowed. She placed the dove in between the sphinxes, and
continued:

“If children crown thy life, the youth must be their champion. Shall we
consult him?”

Again Orondo nodded, and the statuette was ranged beside the dove.

“The lion has power and authority in his keeping. This emblem I shall
choose for thee.” Saying which she stood it in the same row.

“By the dragon thou shalt know thy length of days. Does the outlook
satisfy thy desire?”

“Proceed, Rahula, and mayst thou be led by the guardian of the circuit.”

The sibyl stood facing Orondo, while balancing a plain gold ring tied
with a thread of flax over the ball of her left thumb. As soon as the
string was straight, she exclaimed:

“I cry unto Thee who makest time run, and liest in all the mysteries.
Hear thy servant!”

Slowly the ring began to describe a tiny circle. Then it swung farther
and farther toward Orondo, until it was opposite.

“Propound thy question, but silently,” said Rahula, watching the ring,
intently.

As if moved by some hidden power, the undulating ring answered his
thoughts. The same increase in vibration as before, finally brought the
ring in contact with the raised rim sufficiently to make it tinkle like
a fairy bell.

“Aila Kar!” chanted Rahula. “Affirm it a third time. One-two-three!” and
the ring once more hung motionless over the center of the magic plate.

“Thou standest faint-hearted at the Temple of Love newly erected in thy
heart, Orondo,” declared Rahula, with a searching glance.

“Yes. And I fain would know if I may enter,” said he simply.

“The tarot gives us wisdom here,” was her reply, as she returned to the
recess, and brought a sandal-wood box filled with small ivory cards.
When she drew off the sliding lid, there were three packages, two of
which she placed in a flattened disk-shaped basket of fine weave, which
divided in two. Each side was furnished with a ring for a handle, and
when she had unwound the linen coverings of the cards, she closed it.

“Hold the two rings firmly and shake the basket well,” she directed her
visitor.

The third package contained the twenty-two keys of Divine Wisdom, and
these Rahula shuffled thoroughly, keeping a square of fine linen over
her hands in the process.

At the four cardinal points outside the metal disk in the center of the
table were: on the north, a square of inlaid topazes; on the east, a
similar setting of emeralds; on the south, a duplicate of sapphires;
while on the west was a square of rubies. From each of these was a
trine—numbered for the yellow, on the yellow disks, 2, 7, 12; on the
green, on disks of green, 3, 8, 9; for the blue, on blue circles, 5, 4,
10; for the red, on red disks, 1, 6, 11. These trines were so interlaced
that the rows of numerals made an outside circle, corresponding to the
signs of the zodiac.


“Lay the basket on the metal disk,” commanded Rahula. “Then I will open
the book of fate for thee.” Orondo did as he was bidden. Rahula emptied
the ivories into her lap, and quickly arranged the cards in order, face
upward, without changing their relative positions. When she had taken
out the four aces (one representing a blossoming rod—the modern clubs;
the second, a royal chalice—the modern diamonds; the third, a sword
piercing a crown—ace of swords; and a circle inclosing a
lotus-flower—the ace of cups), she handed them to Orondo, and told him
to shuffle them well.

“The astral key to arcane knowledge is in thy hands. As thou valuest
happiness, let no unclean thought steal in and pollute the
fountain-head,” solemnly warned the reader of magic, as she invoked the
genii of the day and hour.

The signs by which Orondo sought to divine the future, are found to-day
in the scepter of Osiris, long the prerogative of kings and emperors.
The pontifical staff, the eucharistic chalice, the cross and Divine
Host, the patera cup containing the manna, and the dish of offerings
were borrowed from the four aces of the ancient tarot and its central
disk. These cards were never used for games of chance or for amusement
but always for purposes of divination, and they were held sacred.

“Now place the ace of diamonds—the royal chalice of life—on the ruby
square, which corresponds to the principle of motion, action, and will,”
directed Rahula. “The blossoming rod of the ace of clubs place on the
topaz square, which is the trine of power, influence and right. Then
cover the emerald square with the ace of cups, the trine of love,
service and favor. Lastly, cover the sapphires with the ace of swords,
which pierces the crown of physical being, the trine of evil, malice and
death.”

When the four squares were covered, she continued:

“This forms the quaternary of Life, Power, Love and Affection. Before I
place the cards on these trines, tell me what color best pleases thee.”

“I am fond of red—and blue, also,” returned Orondo.

“Then thou art materialistic and passionate on the one hand, and an
idealist on the other. This will keep thee warring with self; and if the
former predominates, will tend to weaken the heart-action. What flower
dost thou hold sacred?”

“The delicate flax-blossom is a symbol of my love.”

“And by this token thy ideal woman must be constant in conjugal
fidelity. Excess in this direction leads to jealousy, the very epitome
of selfishness. But what flower dost thou love for its own sake?”

“Myrtle, sprig and blossom, are always endeared to me.”

“Then thou hast the redeeming grace of brotherly love. Of the three
animals—the horse, the dog, the cat—which dost thou like the best?”

“The horse first, and then the dog.”

“Which tells me that thou art capable of a noble, affectionate, and
faithful friendship. Trial lies along this line. Give me leave to judge
thy antipathies.”

“Rats and mice offend me much.”

“Upright and fastidious,” she murmured. “Nor does thy frank and open
nature warm to spiders, nor thy proud spirit willingly tolerate
serpents.”

“How well thou readest my inner thoughts!” exclaimed Orondo,
wonderingly. “Never have these sentiments lent action to my tongue.”

“In dreamland what rich spoils assail thy vagrant will?”

“Happiness and joy attend my sleeping ventures.”

“A sanguine temperament, normally exercised—a personality which will die
hard in the living man, and one which is liable to wreck the body.”

She examined both of his hands, minutely—fingers, palms and wrists.
Finally she said:

“To three separate warnings must I give voice. The heart is threatened
seriously as to feeling and action. Sudden and tempestuous jealousy
assail thy future, and the divine spark will not be generous as to
years. So much for thine own self. As to outside entities which may
mingle and interweave, the tarot must be oracle.”

The king of cups represented him who cultivated affection; the king of
diamonds, the custodian of wealth, and the proper distribution of it;
the king of swords, the inventions and skill of the inquirer; the king
of clubs was the significator of all manual labor. The queens were the
wives, actual or prospective, in a question concerning men. They were
the personalities of the woman herself in a feminine inquiry. The
heralds and knaves represented religious and civic power respectively,
while the numbers from two to ten pertained to the personalities.

Orondo watched her eagerly while she placed the cards, face downward on
the four trines. When they were all in position she turned over the ace
of diamonds, on the western cardinal point of rubies, and then quickly
laid those on numbers 1, 6, 11—in a row. Beginning with number 1, she
said:

“This pertains to the present state of time—thy life as it is at this
moment. All is well from this point. Number 6 is exalted and grand, as
the individual contacts Deity. But in number 11, there are adverse
conditions—I can see neither posterity nor extended continuation here.”

“Posterity holds nothing for me?” questioned Orondo, concern dominating
manner and voice.

“Not as the matter lies. But all the cards are involved in the final
reading. Have patience.”

She next placed the ace of clubs on the northern point, face upward, and
arranged the cards on numbers 2, 7, 12—as before. Beginning with number
2, directly above the ace, she said:

“This is the place of power, majesty and honor. In such conditions thou
standest well. Thou wilt govern Tlamco in future days. A change of place
is shown by the covering of number 7. Supreme rule, however, attends it;
while in the place of 12, merit and acquired skill stand worthy sponsors
to thy desires.”

On the eastern point, directly in front of Orondo, she uncovered the
emerald, hidden by the ace of clubs, and proceeded to read from number
3—the place of love, felicity, agreement and delight. What she saw there
was so adverse that she quickly turned over the cards, marking the place
of love in service, reception and bounty in which she found some
encouragement. Number 9, the place of favor, help and succor were in
exceeding doubt.

“What is it?” queried Orondo, impressed by her manner.

“The trine of love is much assailed by disquieting import. So, I pray
thee, give me leave to consult the throne of affliction at once, that
the whole matter may stand revealed.”

“Thou hast my full consent,” said Orondo, now intent and eager.

“Swords fall on this trine of opposition, persecution and punishment,”
exclaimed Rahula. “This portent quickens fear. Number 4, the place of
mighty retribution, is not free from evil aspects. Treachery is thy
portion in number 5, with malice attendant, while number 10 gives speedy
death. Be not wholly convinced by this,” she entreated. “Suffer me to
assail the doors of Divine Wisdom, substituting the twenty-two keys for
the cards.”

She scarcely waited for Orondo’s nod of assent before she had swept the
ivories into their basket, and was busy shuffling and placing the keys
around the aces, still face upward. There was an intense silence as she
hastily placed the keys on the numbers—first face downward in trines,
and then the reverse, with the outward circle completed first. She read
from the outward ring toward the center.

“Love and marriage come as thy portion, but not without delay and much
suffering. After this, the body sleeps,” she said in conclusion.

The cool brisk wind felt refreshing to Orondo’s fevered cheeks as he
hurried along the streets flooded with afternoon sunlight. The every-day
commonplaces of active life about him passed unnoticed in the rapid
whirl of his conflicting emotions.

“Fancy claims me for her own,” he thought. “Surely there can be no harm
in obeying such sweet service as links me to my loved one.”

Orondo smiled softly, and as he turned into the broad avenue leading to
Iaqua, his serenity was fully reëstablished. He went to his own
apartments, and spent much time and labor over his toilet. Finally, when
extract and oil, brush and comb had done full justice, he found his way
into the smoking-room, where he sought quiet for his nerves in the
narcotic effect of a chibouk. Under its soothing influence he indulged
in the airiest of day-dreams. As the appointed hour drew near, he
repaired to the sanctuary, where he knelt and humbly petitioned Divine
Grace to attend his venture.

                  *       *       *       *       *

“Father,” said Ildiko, as she stood with Setos in the twilight awaiting
their dinner-guests, “make no demand for light early to-night. Some
unseemly circumstance oppresses the spirit of Kerœcia. She has been
weeping.”

“Yearning for her own may weigh her down. If so, we have failed to make
our welcome speak to her heart. In this we must be more vigilant. H-s-h!
Here she is, attended!”

Scarcely had the women found seats when the voices of Hanabusa, Ben Hu
Barabe and Alcamayn were heard responding to Setos’s greetings in the
broad entrance hall.

“Where is Orondo?” asked Alcamayn, as he came toward Kerœcia. “In the
street at the last marking of the sun I had speech with him, intent then
upon immediate attendance here.”

Kerœcia paled visibly, and replied with difficulty:

“Orondo’s presence has lately honored me. He begs to absent himself at
dinner,” she said, turning appealingly to Setos.

“Affairs of urgent moment must have decided him. His convenience and
wish dictated the day and hour of our assemblage,” rejoined Setos. “May
there be no evil import behind this sudden change.”

“Has the Dorado been seen to-day?” asked Alcamayn. “Twice I sought him
on matters of state, but he was not at Iaqua.”

“He rowed out on the bay at an early gnomon, unattended,” responded
Hanabusa. “Many times I hailed him, but he was unmindful of my
presence.”

“The cares of his office sat heavily on my shoulders in consequence,”
said Setos, with a show of assumed irritation.

By judicious complaint many a vain soul betrays its self-importance.
Glancing around the room, to see if he had created the desired
impression, Setos suddenly bethought him of Ildiko’s words. He bustled
about for a few moments, and then gave escort to Kerœcia who was glad to
escape to the dining-room.




                             CHAPTER ELEVEN
             A REALIZATION OF LOVE WHICH BEGGARED LANGUAGE


Orondo returned not to Iaqua during the night. He went to a favorite
nook in the gardens, the same he had taken such pride in showing to
Kerœcia. Here he went over the ground again step by step, and that same
pride lay in the dust at his feet grievously wounded. Trifles to which
he had attached peculiar significance now seemed to him commonplace
politeness.

Orondo could not accuse Kerœcia of playing with him. She had been openly
and candidly indifferent. Her effort to shield him, her kindness, were
eloquent of her disinterested friendship. He groaned under her sympathy,
but he was not without capacity to plan a course of action.

The first watches of the night witnessed his wrestle with overwhelming
grief, but as the cool morning hours came on, his thoughts turned to the
future. He looked forward eagerly to his departure from Tlamco, which he
knew from the beginning he must take. Hope led him to believe that he
would have a companion for the exile, which now he gratefully remembered
would be a lonely one. He sat motionless upon the curbing which bordered
the artificial lake near the perfume-beds, utterly oblivious to their
refreshing odors. His thoughts were so painfully centered that he noted
neither the passing hours nor his own bodily discomfort.

Finally, habit warned him that dawn was approaching, and he mechanically
roused himself. He knew, without conscious effort, that he must greet
the rising sun with composure; therefore he tried to rally his drooping
spirits. Still like one in a dream, he removed his cloak and helmet,
then washed his hands and face in the clear, cool water of the lake. His
benumbed and stiffened nether limbs protested painfully against his
essay at walking. He heeded them not. Instinct led him in the direction
of Iaqua.

Yermah, too, had passed a sleepless night. He spent the day on the
water, floating and drifting with the ebb and flow of the tide,
struggling to reconcile himself with the conditions confronting him. At
night he came back to Iaqua, but purposely avoided meeting Orondo. Love
made him humble, and he did not for a moment doubt the result of
Orondo’s wooing. He knew that his countryman was a lovable man, and he
could not find it in his heart to blame Kerœcia for accepting him.
No—Orondo had asked his consent and blessing; he must be willing to give
it with all his heart.

How stern and forbidding seemed the face of duty! How hateful the
precepts of honor! Yermah censured himself unsparingly. Many times as he
paced the apartments, still clad as he came from the bay, he spoke his
thoughts aloud. He argued with himself long and earnestly.

“How beautiful, how lovely she is!” Yermah exclaimed for the hundredth
time. But he was sick with the thought that she belonged to another. He
told himself that he would rather give her to Orondo than to any one
else. But why should she not have loved him? If such affection had
blessed his life, he would hasten his appointed task, and then claim his
choice for a wife according to law and custom. It would be only a few
months to wait. Now what difference did it make? Orondo stood in his
place.

How unsatisfactory, how paltry seemed his life work and aims! How
completely helpless and discouraged he felt! But he must face the
situation like a man. With the rising sun Orondo would come with a
beaming countenance to recount his happiness. It would require all his
fortitude to do and to say what was expected of him.

Thinking thus, he drew aside the curtains and peered at the sky. The
first mingling of pink and gray heralded the coming day. Performing the
necessary ablutions, he wrapped his cloak about him and left the house.
He did not notice particularly the direction he took, walking rapidly
forward, with his head bent in strained attention. Once inside the main
entrance to the gardens, he halted, listening for footsteps ahead of
him.

For the first time he observed the dew lying on the bent grass in drops
separate and distinct from each other, but thickly studding each blade
and leaf. Suddenly on the curving pavement a few feet in front of him,
stood Orondo, irresolute, stricken and old. He had not yet caught sight
of Yermah, but had merely paused in his erratic course, without definite
idea whether to proceed or to retreat.

“May truth and love be with thee, Orondo,” said the Dorado, in an
unsteady tone of voice. “Mayst thou live by them, and by such means
triumph over all hindrances.”

“The goodness of this place and hour be upon thee,” responded Orondo,
still not recognizing Yermah.

As the men looked at each other, a family of deer roused themselves
under the shelter of a friendly live-oak tree standing in the sward to
the right of the pavement. The buck stood up and shook his graceful,
spreading horns, until the leaves overhead quivered in the current of
air set in motion. The doe licked the side of one fawn, while the other
spotted creature wrinkled up its little nose, took a sniff of fresh air,
and clicked its hoofs together in the very exuberance and joy of living.

The two heavy-hearted men gazed at one another in an embarrassed
silence. Finally, Orondo said:

“I have seen the priestess Kerœcia.”

“And—she?” Yermah finished the sentence with a supplicating movement and
braced himself for the shock.

“She—she is not for me,” responded Orondo, brokenly.

Not to have saved his immortal soul, could Yermah control the wave of
emotion which swept over him, making him stagger like a drunken man. The
revulsion of feeling was so strong that he put out his hand to steady
himself, while his senses fairly reeled.

Like a flash the truth dawned on Orondo; but he would have suffered his
tongue cut out rather than acknowledge even to himself what he had seen.
Profound pity moved him, and under its influence he threw himself on his
knees before the Dorado.

“Give me leave,” he cried, “to take men and flocks and go into the
valley of the Mississippi, to begin mound-building. My mission in Tlamco
is finished.”

“Stand equally with me,” exclaimed Yermah, assisting Orondo to rise and
embracing him. “A solemn covenant binds thee to that task. Consult only
thine own pleasure and convenience.” Then, after a pause, “I shall miss
thy strong, right hand, thy faithful heart and welcome presence here.”

The dawn, bright from the Orient couch, had chased away the stars, and
as Yermah spoke a golden ring came slowly above the horizon. The bells
in the temples and Observatory chimed inspiringly. Nature was astir all
about them, while the entire city was at devotion. With bared heads both
men turned their pale faces toward the east. Yermah’s arm lay
affectionately on Orondo’s shoulder.

“Homage to Thee who risest above the horizon,” said the Dorado,
reverently. “I come near to Thee. Thou openest the gates of another
day.”

“Om-ah!” responded Orondo, who continued: “Great Illuminator out of the
golden, place thyself as a protector behind me. I open to thee.”

“Om-ah!” said Yermah, as they both stretched out their arms and bowed
three times to the now fully risen sun.

                  *       *       *       *       *

It was the day following Orondo’s visit, and Kerœcia was disturbed,
downcast and depressed. For the first time since her entrance to Tlamco
she longed for the mountain fastnesses of the Monbas. She felt stifled.
She wanted air, breath, room. A sense of utter loneliness was upon her.
Again she could have cried bitter tears for Orondo. It was agony to her
soul to know that she had hurt him. The surprise of it—the pity of it!
The reflex action of her hours of unalloyed pleasure was full upon her.

So she stood under the moonless sky, while the clouds scurried overhead
in a pell-mell race with the incoming fog. She was chilled at heart, and
instinctively sought a sheltered nook, where she felt she could be
absolutely alone.

Kerœcia remained for some time motionless, frowning into vacancy, so
preoccupied that she did not notice a tiny moon-shaped boat of paper
zigzagging its way down the narrow waterway at her feet. It might have
passed her had not the splash of a pebble thrown a spray of water on her
skirts. Glancing quickly about her, she advanced toward the wavering
craft in time to rescue a red velvet rose floating loosely in a cluster
of feathery ferns.

She tucked the flower and its greenery into her corsage and made them
fast, but not before she had inhaled their fragrance and noticed their
beauty. Then she examined the neatly folded parchment. Across the prow
was the word “Yermah.” At the sight of his name, happiness surged
through every avenue of sensibility like rare old wine. Kerœcia’s face
was all tenderness as she pressed her lips to the writing.

It was a lingering, cooing movement, such as women who love employ.

Yermah had been watching her through a tapestry of vines, leaves and
blossoms. In the interim his hopes ran as high as her spirits had been
somber and low. He shook the branches of the hedge and stamped with his
foot; but she was too much absorbed to hear him.

At last he contrived to make her know that he was near.

He had left home with the mere desire of seeing her, and with no
intention of speaking. But when he saw her kiss his name, it was the
eager impulse and bound of impassioned love which brought him to her
side. His hungry eyes drove him there for sight of her. Now his hungrier
heart demanded more. The same impulse impelling him forward controlled
his further action.

Kerœcia made no resistance when he caught her in his arms, nor did she
deny him when his lips sought hers, insistent and clinging. Each soul
claimed its own. Each organism responded to its counter exhilaration....
Love beggared language.... It was well.

Neither had voice nor speech, as by common impulse they drew apart and
hurried away in opposite directions. Yermah dared not trust himself to
look back, while Kerœcia groped her way into the house and hid in her
own room, safe from human eye.

“Men kiss like women,” she murmured naïvely, and in a surprised tone.
“Their lips are the same, but—” Then she buried her face in her hands
while a hot blush burned its way to the roots of her hair. Her cheeks
still tingled with the light sweep of mustache and beard, and she fell
to wondering if she could see the kiss as plainly as she still felt it.
Those dear arms! How strong and masterful their protecting
enfoldment!... The perfume of the crushed and broken rose brought her
back to reality. She unfastened it, and buried her mouth in its petals,
so close that a drop of blood spread itself over her white teeth.
Presently she wiped her lips with a dainty bit of linen.

“Sealed in blood!” she exclaimed, as she examined it. “And nothing but
heart’s blood can ever sever the bond. Oh, Yermah, my hero, my king! I
love thee!”

The Dorado hurried through the streets with his senses in a whirl, and
then entered Iaqua by a private gate. He did not pause until he threw
himself on his knees before the statue of Orion. The soft light of
incense-tapers and jeweled lamps revealed the pallor of his countenance.
Too agitated to attempt prayer, he nervously held his hands to his head,
and tried to collect his thoughts—to control his emotions.

“Oh, truant and coward that I am!” he exclaimed. “Why could I not speak
the words my heart is bursting to tell? Will she know how sincerely, how
devotedly I love her?”

He threw off his cloak, pushed his helmet on the floor, and wiped the
perspiration from his brow.

“What a lovely creature a woman is! I can feel her soft, yielding body
yet—her warm breath and sweet lips. No wonder I could not speak! Will
her thought accuse me? And her dear, little hands!—I could crush them
easily.”

Then, as if suspicion crossed his mind, he upbraided himself for
ungentleness.

“Did my roughness hurt her? Did I frighten her by my suddenness?... So
this is love!... And I not know how to express what I feel! Why has not
Akaza taught me?... I see—I see—no one can teach another! I must learn
for myself.... This is why the sages say it is like subtle poison. My
blood is on fire! I do not know myself—my ugly self!” he added, as he
arose and peered at his reflection in the mirrored wall.

Never before had he been dissatisfied with what he saw. It was his first
realization of self-consciousness, and he was full of the humility of a
master passion.

“Her hair fell here over my arm,” he continued, smiling tenderly. “I
sense it yet. The perfume of it is sweet to my nostrils. Why did I not
beg a lock for remembrance?”

He paced the floor restlessly.

“How unmanned and undone I am! Oh, my Kerœcia! Thy first kiss has
enslaved me! I could not see the luster of thine eyes, but I could feel
thy love. I can look into thy heart. Surely thou canst see that mine is
filled with thy dear image.... I loved my mother, and Akaza, too ... but
this is love of another kind!... If my mate should deny herself to me!
No, no, no! I cannot live without her!... Poor Orondo! Poor soul!” he
cried, in accents which revealed his great sympathy.

It was not until long after, that Yermah quit the chamber and finally
sought rest.




                             CHAPTER TWELVE
                  “A BROTHERHOOD VOW BINDS THE SOUL!”


“Hold the burning feathers close under his nose,” directed the chief
shaman, who had been hastily summoned to Iaqua, when Orondo was found in
an unconscious condition early the following morning after his adventure
with Yermah in the public gardens. “We will soon determine whether it is
merely a fainting fit or of more serious import.”

The pungent and penetrating odors produced no effect except to cause the
sufferer to turn his head and moan.

“Delirium chains his physical senses,” said the shaman, when Orondo
opened his eyes without recognizing any one.

In their own peculiar fashion, the chief and his two assistants examined
the seven principal organs of the body—the same that are symbolized by
the curls of Medusa, and whose appetites must be controlled before there
can be health either on the physical or the mental planes.

“Extreme heat, and a labored and painful drawing in of the breath is
here,” said the chief, while one assistant carefully wrote down his
words.

It was compulsory upon healers to post in a conspicuous place on the
temple walls to which they were attached the number of cures made, and
by what processes. Orondo being a civic leader, the law required that
his malady should be written on the tablet back of the Chief Councilor’s
chair in the Temple of the Sun.

“Pains in all the bones, and in the cords which give them motion,” he
continued. “The air-bellows rise and fall one-half, and the hammer in
the left breast moves slowly and is very weak. Lend a hand.”

The scribe hastily put down his parchment and assisted in placing Orondo
in a hammock, hung in the full glare of the sun, in a circular,
glass-sided room. The sick man was quickly stripped to the waist, and
the shamans took turns in holding first a large red convex lens over the
region of the heart and lungs; then an orange-colored one; and finally a
yellow-green ray of light was concentrated over the heart, to stimulate
its retarded action. This process will be recognized as the forerunner
of the modern X-Ray.

Then by what is now known as the Swedish movement, they went over the
entire body, keeping the lenses focused on the parts being kneaded and
rubbed. When this treatment ceased, they carried him back to his
wall-pallet, taking care to lay his head to the north, thus taking
advantage of the magnetic currents.

A small oblong bit of copper was placed in an olla of snow-water. It was
fastened by a silken-cord to a copper anklet clasped above the patient’s
left foot. Over the main artery was a small disk of copper with Orondo’s
seal on the outside.

“Squeeze the sponge gently, and slip it under the signet,” directed the
head physician.

Believing that the topaz exercised a powerful influence over an
afflicted mind, the shaman rubbed a necklace of these stones briskly
between his hands, and put it around Orondo’s neck. For the first
half-hour the fever increased, and then Orondo raved incessantly:

“Love denies dominion in my heart!... Not for thee, Orondo! She makes no
return!... A Brotherhood vow binds the soul!... No, no, no, poor man!...
Help him, All-Powerful One!”

The chief shaman put some water into hollow glass vessels formed like
double convex chromo-lenses, and hung them in the sunlight. These were
labeled according as they were yellow, blue, red, or violet-colored.

Later an attendant poured a few drops of aconite tincture into a blue
glass bowl, and, mixing it with some water from the blue chromo-lens,
gave Orondo some of it to drink. It was known that pure water under the
chemical action of the blue rays of sunlight was a cooling, soothing
nervine, and that it would greatly assist the bluish herb in reducing
inflammation and temperature.

While Orondo slept a silver chafing-dish was brought into the room, and
a decoction of dandelion was slowly simmered in water from the ambero,
or yellow lens. The remainder of the water was mixed with equal parts of
maguey spirits.

Induction belongs to the dominion of inanimate nature, to the magnetic,
or cold; while deduction is the ruling force of animation or heat. To
assist in producing reaction, the magnet already referred to, was
fastened to the body, or hot pole, and immersed in snow for a cold pole,
in order to oxygenize the blood.

During the sleeping hours this force worked steadily in conjunction with
other remedies, and when Orondo awoke in the afternoon, he was rational
and without fever. Noting his condition, the magnet was removed, and the
patient lifted once more into the hammock, where he was thoroughly
sponged with alcohol and water. After this, his throat, chest, and
shoulders were vigorously rubbed with warm olive oil, perfumed with
lavender. The odors of plants are antiseptic, and were much employed in
sick rooms by the ancients.

While the physicians were busy, the tamanes in attendance changed the
pallet and linen completely. Placing Orondo in it again and setting a
lavender spray in motion near the window, they retired to bring in a
lacquered tray of food. Freshly baked tortillas, young leeks, and
pickled olives, with salted almonds and dried figs formed the principal
part of the meal, while a dish of fresh cocoanut and oranges, sliced
together, served for dessert.

The tray and dishes had scarcely been removed before Setos came bustling
in. Sanitation was his hobby, and he was always urging the necessity for
legislation against disease, which he considered was the result of
criminal carelessness.

In Tlamco every bit of refuse was carefully collected and burned each
day. A large section of the water-front, where the prevailing winds
carried the smoke and odor well out to sea, was reserved for this
purpose. The flood-gates of the entire water system were opened during
certain hours of the night and all the waste canals cleansed thoroughly.

“By Him who is the breath of every living thing, tell me how affliction
befell thee?” asked Setos, sitting down on the bed near the foot and
searching Orondo’s face anxiously.

“By the only method possible,” answered Orondo. “Because I have violated
the laws of harmony.”

“This is bad, very bad! It gives less favored men an excuse to neglect
their bodies in an unwarrantable manner,” said Setos, warming up to his
favorite theme. “If we could only send out an army to teach the people
the possibilities of water, the difference between good and bad food,
the necessity for proper rest, the inexorableness of natural laws,
disease would become what it was intended to be—a brief, infrequent,
reparative process.”

He pursed up his lips and sniffed loudly in self-satisfaction. It was so
seldom that he had an opportunity to fittingly repeat this homily.

“I think that our laws are strictly and justly administered in this
respect,” ventured Orondo. “The advocates and healers are supported by
the state. Self-interest prompts the latter to report disease as they
find it. They know enough of law to name the penalty attached to
hereditary and contagious diseases. The advocates know enough of healing
to detect symptoms of forbidden maladies. It is a capital offense for
either party to conceal conditions of this kind. I do not see what more
can be done.”

Utter weariness closed Orondo’s eyes for a moment, and Setos refrained
from further speech.

“Let kindness of heart prompt thee to fill a pipe for me,” said the
patient, presently.

When it was handed to him, he said with a wan smile:

“Let us indulge our nerves with a harmless sedative as a step in the
right direction. I shall wait until thy bowl is filled.”

Setos hastened to comply, and after the first three whiffs, which were
always silent fire-offerings, said:

“Ildiko refuses to be comforted because of thy continued absence from
our house. She grieves for thy affliction, and sends her best thoughts.”

“Beauty and goodness are the crown of fair Ildiko. It is not possible
for me to do more than receive such flattering unction. I am indeed
undone,” he made answer, catching his breath painfully.

“The priestess Kerœcia, and her sweet maids are much concerned for thy
misfortune. Hanabusa has already been twice to hear if reason came back
to thee.”

“I pray thee leave me,” cried Orondo, piteously. “My heart!” he gasped,
as the chief shaman bent over him hurriedly, in response to Setos’s
call.

“All matters of importance must rest while this man regains control of
his better physique,” said the shaman, authoritatively. “It were cruel
to tax him at this time.”

“Nothing except friendly greeting passed between us,” declared Setos,
much exercised at the sudden bad turn apparent in Orondo.

“I will come again at nightfall,” he said.

“Be thou content with inquiry, only,” returned the shaman, still
frowning over the complete undoing of all his labor.

“The sun must be on the earth’s magnetic meridian before quiet will come
again to our patient,” said the chief shaman, as he prepared to go out
for an airing, after working over Orondo for one hour.

“The sun will not be below the horizon until the seventh marking of the
gnomon, and until that time we can only wait and watch,” he said, in
answer to Yermah’s anxious question. “Setos has injured his rest
greatly, but he has asked for thee more than once. If thou wilt exercise
caution, thou mayst go to him.”

“I understand Orondo,” replied Yermah. “I have stayed away because I
feared to excite him. I am glad that I may see him.”

Yermah came quietly and put his hand on Orondo’s head. He knew how to
still the throbbing, uncontrolled emotion dividing the sick man’s mental
and physical self. Without a word, he willed him peace, and after a time
Orondo opened his eyes and seemed to breathe easier.

“The Master of the Hidden Spheres, who causes the principles to arise,
give thee peace, Orondo.”

Orondo made no reply; his lips quivered and his eyes filled. Yermah took
both his hands, and, looking at him steadily, said:

“Part of thy burden falls upon me. I will share physical pain with
thee.”

Soon the veins in Yermah’s hands, and then those in his forehead, stood
out like whipcords. He experienced the same difficulty in breathing, the
same spasmodic action of the heart, as had Orondo. He sighed deeply, and
it was soon apparent that Orondo’s nervous tension was relieved. In the
silence which followed both were busy with the same thoughts.

“When does she go?” Orondo asked, finally.

“The day following to-morrow.”

“Hast thou seen her since?”

“Once only. I have not had speech with her.”

“Twice has she sent to ask after me.”

“Which newly affirms the gentleness of her nature.”

The situation was trying for Yermah, but he humored his companion, as he
saw that speech was a relief to him. He did not suspect Orondo of
knowing that he, too, loved Kerœcia.

“When strength comes again, I must consider the work before me,” said
Orondo, after an eloquent silence. “Duty lays a stern hand on both of
us.”

“The shamans will cause public complaint if I indulge thee in that
direction,” said Yermah. “A sharp reprimand rewarded Setos for his
effort in that line.”

“Setos said nothing to me of that matter,” said Orondo, in surprise.

“But he said that to thee which taxed thy powers of control, and for
this reason he is forbidden to see thee again, to-day. Dost thou wish me
to have a similar experience?”

“The shamans will see that thou hast greatly aided me,” said Orondo, as
the chief shaman came to his bedside accompanied by Akaza.

“The twilight hour approaches, and I have come to worship with thee,”
said the hierophant, making the sign of benediction over Orondo. Turning
to Yermah, he said:

“The Father of the Beginnings have thee in safe keeping.”

“The same rich blessing follow thee,” responded Yermah, as he took
leave.


The principle of Life is alchemical. The chemical elements must be
absorbed in order to give health. As making alchemical gold was really
finding the Perfect Way, so the elixir of life is the proper use of the
astral light composing the photosphere surrounding our physical bodies.

When the astral body is charged with oil, and the physical body is well
supplied with electricity, the secret of magnetism is revealed. The
gypsies are the only people who have preserved the knowledge necessary
to produce this peculiar chemicalization.

The arrow shot by Orion, William Tell and others, is Thought, the
Sagitur; the same as Heracles shot at Helios. The ability of the
individual to project thought determines the possession of occult power.
This force is gained by harmonizing the physical, mental and spiritual
attributes, so that thought may function from any one of these planes.
In other words, it is to have complete possession of all these
faculties.

To project thought, is literally hitting the bull’s eye, as Orion did
when he killed Taurus—the astronomical aspect of the world-old battle
between the higher and the lower self.

The liberty which the original William Tell sought to achieve was not
political, but a victory over his own lower nature—a battle which the
men and women of Tlamco fought out in every phase.


“The water-holding capacity of the nerve-cells is much impaired,” said
the chief shaman to his assistants, when giving directions for the
night. “Nervous irritability follows. Sleep will be light and
infrequent. Watch beside him. At every third marking let him sip
liberally from the ambero lens. Between times, give him drink from the
purpuro flagon.”

In company with Akaza, he left Iaqua.

It was as the chief shaman had predicted. Orondo failed to find
refreshment in troubled sleep, so that the gray, foggy morning found him
correspondingly wearied and depressed. Symptoms of pleuro-pneumonia were
clearly established, and for three days he had a hard fight for life.

Finally, when well enough to dress himself, he resolutely put on the
same clothes he had used such care in selecting for his memorable visit
to Kerœcia. It tried him severely to reinvest himself with them, but
this was in keeping with his stern resolution to crush out useless
regret. He wisely concluded that the easiest way out of it was to
accustom himself to the same routine as before. He must not yield to
such weakness as to shrink from inanimate things which were associated
with her memory.

Some carefully pressed blossoms of flax, fragile, delicate, little
blue-cups, dedicated in thought to his love, were the only mementos he
kept. These he hid away in an ivory dice-box given him by Ben Hu Barabe
on taking leave.

Orondo had managed to listen to the words of greeting and farewell from
Kerœcia, and had responded thereto manfully. What the effort cost him
may be inferred from the fact that he kept his room closely for the week
following, refusing to see any one save the tamanes who served him.

When he came again among his fellows, there was a stern, set look on his
face, which was accentuated by the sunken eyes and sharpened
cheek-bones, but there was no alteration in his manner of life. He began
preparation for immediate departure.

Yermah lived in a rose-colored world of his own creation. He made pretty
speeches to imaginary women, and never even in sleep lost the
consciousness of Kerœcia’s presence. In his audience chamber during the
day, he granted requests for her. His decisions were all for her
benefit, and the directions for various public works were delivered as
he fondly imagined he would do if she were present. Several times in
affixing his signature to documents he came near to writing her name.

Yermah was singularly absent-minded, with all his amiability and
politeness. He went among his pets with the air of a lover, and was
entirely oblivious to the screech of the parrots and monkeys in and
around the stables. He got on famously with Cibolo; and if the horse had
understood him, he would have made a clean breast of the situation.

It would have been such a relief to talk about her.

The Dorado usually had dressed well, as became a man of his station; but
now he was fussy and particular to a noticeable degree. He taxed
Alcamayn’s ingenuity to the utmost in devising suitable gifts for
Kerœcia and her attendants, and insisted upon superintending the
enameling of the medallion-shaped mirror which he was to present to the
priestess. The bits of blue, green, and black enamel must be as shiny
and lustrous as the gems they surrounded, and the burnished gold rim and
handle must be as fine as the skill of his workmen could make it.

This exchange of mirrors was a pretty compliment among the rulers of
olden times—for by this flattering method each was assured of the
faithful remembrance of the other. They had but to look into the mirror
to discover the subject of the other’s thought—at least in theory.

An oval of burnished bronze, framed in silver filigree, enameled with
black and white, and set with turquoise, coral, moonstones, and
amethysts was the regulation gift from Kerœcia. It was mannish enough to
suit the requirements, but it was too formal to express her feelings.

She made a strawberry of red cloth, and with fine brown floss
dexterously worked in the seed specks. It was filled with fine sand and
grains of musk. The little cup was cleverly imitated by green cloth, and
the berry was fastened by a tiny eyelet to a piece of narrow red cord.

Consideration for Orondo, constrained Yermah’s impatience to seek
Kerœcia immediately, and the preparations for her departure were of such
public character that he had no further opportunity of seeing her alone,
until his chariot stood before the door of Setos’s house, waiting for
her.

Cibolo and his three companions tugged hard at their bridles, as a
consequence of ten days’ idleness. They would have enjoyed kicking up
their heels and running like the wind, especially when music, noise and
confusion gave such warrant; but Yermah kept a vise-like grip on them,
quieting them by a word now and then.

Kerœcia’s pride found complete satisfaction in his excellent
horsemanship. There were no gloves on his strong, white hands, wound up
in the reins, but the wrists were as firm and hard as steel. It was a
master-hand that held the lines, and she was not in the least distressed
or alarmed when the horses reared and plunged and stood on their hind
feet.

The couple were nearing the round-house on the upper limit of the canal,
and Yermah’s face was set and pale. He had suddenly forgotten all the
pretty speeches he had intended to make. Finally, when there was not a
minute to spare, he turned to Kerœcia with an agonized expression and
tried to speak. His lips moved, but no sound escaped them, as they
fashioned the words: “I love thee!”

That was all he could remember to say, and he was dismayed when he
realized that his voice had failed him.

His eyes swam, and he instinctively clutched at his heart as he swayed
from side to side.

Kerœcia moved nearer to him helpfully, and with a smile of infinite
tenderness slipped her hand into his. For a moment he did not return its
pressure; then it seemed to nestle close to his palm, and, with a
caressing touch, left something in his grasp when it was withdrawn. When
he opened his hand he found the little strawberry.

“With all my heart,” she said in a whisper. He kissed the keepsake
rapturously, and slipped it into a fold of his tunic in time to assist
her to alight from the chariot. Etiquette forbade his accompanying her
farther.

With straining eyes he stood watching and waving his hand to her, until
the balsas put into the bay.




                            CHAPTER THIRTEEN

                      “When from the shores
            And forest-nestling mountains came a voice
            That, solemn sounding, bids the world prepare!”


The sphinx, one of the first symbols known to man, demands that we solve
its riddle—which is Life, not Death. The Egyptian sphinxes with their
human heads face the West. The mastodon-headed sphinxes of Mexico face
the East. Will future research unearth the evidence necessary to locate
the sunken Atlantis lying between these two avenues of sphinxes, and
thus reveal the origin of man? Did the primitive races evolve similar
civilization separately, or were they all from one source? Perhaps the
answer to this, is the solution of the enigma.

Akaza, meaning “God within thee” was the hierophant, prophet and
high-priest of the Brotherhood of the White Star, which had its origin
in Atlantis. His was an equilibrated, evenly balanced mind and nature.
As an initiate he knew all that transpired on the subjective as well as
on the positive planes of consciousness. He was always a disturbing
element on the shallow, false and artificial side of life. He cared
nothing for consequences. A natural wanderer on the face of the earth,
Akaza was in his element when it came time for him to lead Yermah’s band
away from the doomed island.

Akaza was waiting for Yermah this Monday morning, or Moon’s day. He
stood at the entrance of a cave extending well back under Sutro Heights.
It was called Ingharep at that time, and marked the orbit of Uranus—from
the center of Tlamco—the planet which was correlated to Akaza’s life.

In the time of our story the water’s edge did not extend inside Seal
Rocks. A careful inspection at low tide to-day will lead to the
discovery of the cave still tunneled back under the Cliff House
foundation.

The Indians never fail to locate a cavern. Where one is suspected, they
wait until after sunset on a windy day. Then they lie down over the
supposed cave, and with an ear pressed close to the ground, listen
attentively for the roar, such as is heard in a sea-shell. If once this
roar is heard, they refuse to search further, experience teaching them
that they have found the right spot. Such was the method employed in
discovering Ingharep.

Akaza, the hierophant, was an interesting part of the picture as he
stood at the mouth of this cavern. The white robe which he wore was made
of paca wool, stiff and lustrous as silk, but thick and warm. It was
embroidered with five-pointed and six-pointed silver stars, having
diamonds in the center. On his thumb was a silver signet-ring. He wore
bracelets of the same metal. At his waist was a sash of yellow silk,
with double-key pattern outlined in silver. Over his shoulders was a
purple cloth mantle, trimmed with a coarse blue tracery in lace pattern.

The mouth of the cave faced due west, thus enabling Akaza to see the
last glimmerings of daylight go out as the sun dropped, apparently, into
the ocean or was swallowed up in the vaporous clouds or fog-banks each
day. For many months Akaza had watched this process, and, since his
return from the Yo-Semite, he had busied himself incessantly with
astronomical calculations.

“Pause here a moment,” he said to Yermah, after a hearty greeting. “One
of the grandest symbols in nature stretches out before thee. Primordial
substance is always represented by water flowing out of naught, or
nothing.”

He pointed toward the wide Pacific and looked at Yermah with a rapt
expression. “As it flows, it gradually solidifies into mind, just as the
earth was molten and then became solid.”

Yermah stood inhaling the stiffening sea-breeze, and watching the waves
cresting shoreward in ceaseless motion.

“These waves scudding before the wind are exactly like our thoughts
driven to a given point by force of will. It is to give further
instruction on this matter of a fully controlled will that I have asked
thee to give me attention to-day,” continued the old man, as he led the
way into the cavern.

There were swinging lamps, and a wide, open fireplace, so constructed
that the smoke was emitted through a pointed-arch opening. With the
charcoal fire and the swinging lamps, the interior was made quite
comfortable. The stalactites, white and frosted, or discolored here and
there from natural causes, made the walls and ceilings beautiful. Where
an opening suggested partition, blankets, rugs and tapestries had been
hung, and over the sanded floor were rush and grass mats in profusion.

Around to the north, where the rocks still stand, the seals barked and
roared as they do now, while the same species of birds came and went.

An ingeniously arranged partial closing of heavy boards screened the
occupants from the wind, but did not exclude the sunlight and fresh air.

“This eight-spoked wheel represents the life of an initiate,” said
Akaza.

A round inlaid ivory wheel, supported by a porcelain tripod, was
indicated. On its outer edge were the signs of the zodiac, chased in
black, with a mother-of-pearl inlaying to indicate the spokes. A
rough-edged parchment lay in the center, and Yermah’s quick eye saw that
it was an orrery question, pertaining to Atlantis, drawn in colors.

“We are not to examine the horoscope at present,” explained Akaza,
following Yermah’s gaze. “I brought thee in here to make sure of fire
and the needs of the inner man. Now that they are secure, we shall
devote the morning to the beach.”

He occupied himself for a few moments with the baskets of food, done up
with paper napery, ready for the ever-present chafing-dish and samovar.
He banked the fire so that it would smolder without dying out, and then
the two men went slowly toward the beach where old ocean came in
uproariously, and sullenly ground its white teeth on the sands.

Yermah considerately took the ocean side, so as to protect Akaza as much
as possible from the cool wind. He drew a thin, bony hand up under his
cloak and clasped it close to his side with the upper arm.

They were an interesting study—these two men. One the perfect embodiment
of physical health and strength; the other, feeble in body, but a
veritable giant of spiritual force.

The one man stood absolutely apart from temporal things; the other was
just beginning to live on the sensuous, or material plane. As they
walked they left odd-looking wet tracks behind them.

“Thou knowest already,” said Akaza, “that thou hast successfully
performed seven of the great labors in the self-development of Osiris.
Now thou standest face to face with that which hinders; and it is
necessary that I should explain to thee the purport of this eighth
labor.”

“Is there something about it which I do not understand?” asked Yermah,
in a surprised tone. “I have but to find the treasure hidden in the
rocks, and then I am ready to return home. I have learned to fashion the
gold which is to tip the spires of my temple, and when this is done I
shall demand release from my vow. As soon as the Brotherhood receives
me, I am free.” Then, with a slight hesitation in manner and speech—“I
have already decided what I shall do with my freedom.”

While he was speaking, Akaza moved and breathed like a person in pain.

“What I must explain to thee is the duality of thine own nature,” he
went on, turning sadly toward Yermah, “the dual aspect of the labor thou
hast already performed, and what thou must do in the future. First,
then, Osiris is thyself—the I-am-I principle within thee, which is the
same first, last, and all the time. Thy labor is the finding of the
Perfect Way. Love is the consummation, and Wisdom is the way.”

“What wouldst thou have me do?” asked Yermah, eagerly.

“First, I would have thee realize the transitory nature of life, and its
desires, not on the intellectual plane, but as a fact in nature. The
body, scientifically considered, is not the same through the whole life.
Neither does the mind remain the same. Man’s ability to look at his own
desires and feelings impersonally is the beginning of Wisdom. No man can
extricate himself from the result of his own deeds.”

“Give me to know this mystery.”

“To bind the sweet influence of the Pleiades is the opposite of loosing
the belt of Orion,” answered Akaza.

“It has not been granted me to know the significance of either,”
responded Yermah, humbly.

“Alcyone, the central sun around which the spiral galaxy of the
firmament encompassed in the Milky Way, and all the stars, suns and
planets included in that circle, are revolving in the only one of the
seven sisters whose love is mortal. From out that center issues evermore
a ray of the divine creative spirit, coalescing into the life of animate
nature here.

“The adept gathers the component parts of that incomprehensible
being—man—to his divine center,” Akaza continued. “He wills them into
the being of another, and that other becomes the mother of a son, given
from the depths of space. Such a son art thou, Yermah.”

“And thou art in very truth my father?” asked Yermah, wonderingly.

“Yes. For this cause am I in the flesh, and for this, also, must I
remain in the body, until thou art restored to the Brotherhood. I am the
hierophant, the second in power in our order. So it was granted to me to
create an entity which should rule the future as Atlantis rules the
present.”

“Tell me all of my beginning. How and why this should be. Thou wert an
old man when I was born; and thou art a vowed celibate?”

“Swear by Him who made us that thou wilt not reveal what I am about to
unfold.”

He held up a six-pointed diamond star which blazed on his bosom for the
Dorado to kiss, as they stood facing each other. As Yermah’s lips
touched the center, he turned to the east, and, with both hands clasped
over his head, said solemnly:

“I swear.”

“A priest of our order, under the same tutelage as Orondo, was thy
literal father, while thy mother was a vestal selected from the Temple
of Venus. Thy great-grandfather, grandfather and father were of the
priesthood, and their wives were selected vestals. To the prophet,
hierophant and high-priest was the divine self confided, and we were
pledged to produce a ruler for this generation. We willed the conditions
which gave thee birth and I must share thy joys and sorrows until such
time as the Brotherhood releases me.”

“Then I am not of royal lineage—am not the son of Poseidon, Servitor of
Atlantis?” There was pain and disappointment in Yermah’s voice.

“Thou art royal in the highest and best sense. Thou art immaculately
conceived, as is the sun by the cosmic virgin, when he has been standing
still in Capricornus. It is said everywhere that a dewdrop fell on thy
virgin mother’s bosom, as she lay asleep in a sacred grove. Such was thy
beginning.”

“Then he to whom I have rendered obedience is not in any sense my
father?”

“No. Thou art a veritable sun-god, destined to be thrice born in this
life.”

“Oh! Akaza, why speakest thou in riddles? Thrice born, indeed! How is it
possible without death and rebirth?”

Akaza smiled at his impatience.

“I charged thee in the beginning to remember that there is a dual
meaning to all labors that a candidate for the initiation must perform.
Thou hast already had two births in this body, and art facing the
third.”

Yermah could not conceal his astonishment.

“The first birth was at twelve years and six months, when the sex
principle began to assert itself. This acme of sensuous existence
culminates at twenty-five years, when intellect has its birth and the
mind becomes capable of reasoning. Before that time sensation and
instinct have served for individual thought. The new rate of vibration
set in motion at the birth of desire is the beginning of discord in the
personality. Many times before intellect can assert itself the impetus
for a plunge to the downward spiral is overwhelmingly strong.”

“What, then, befalls the divine self?”

“On the material plane it is the brutalizing process which prevents the
divine self from contacting the physical. When this happens the man has
really lost his soul. Saturn is the planet correlated to the finding of
the Perfect Way. It is the mill of the gods, which grinds out the
imperfections of human nature. The three phases of immaculate conception
are closely allied to the three re-births which take place in the
physical man.”

“Eagerness to master this hidden knowledge proves the quality of
fellowship,” said Yermah, anxious that Akaza should go fully into
details.

“The twelve markings of the zodiac contain the arcane wisdom of our
order.”

Before Yermah could frame a suitable answer to fit in the pause, Akaza
continued:

“The Ineffable One is a trinity of Necessity, Freedom and Love. An ideal
is the result of necessity, and all our ideal conceptions are the
outcome of our absolute need. It is in the achievement of freedom that
the divine within us labors, and on this is based love. Life is the
great vineyard of the father, and all his children must toil in it until
the end. When in the process of regeneration man is so far perfected as
to see the mysterious beauty of his being, he knows that the trials and
labors imposed upon him by the laws of cause and effect are at once a
necessity and a blessing, and he will no longer seek to escape them.

“There is constant warfare between Desire and Intelligence,” the
hierophant continued. “Why must thou struggle to overcome? Because the
only difference between an imbecile and a genius is the ability of the
spirit or divine self to function on the physical plane of the genius
and its utter inability to influence the fool. Thine own conduct in this
life determines which of these extremes thou wilt become in the next.
Atavism and heredity intensify these tendencies; so does the influence
of the planets. But neither the one nor the other can produce them. Thou
must do this by the exercise of will power. The union of desire and mind
forms the personality. Each attribute is triple—active, passive and
equilibrated.”

After a slight pause, Akaza went on:

“Thou must wield each triad into a unity. This is real initiation—the
consummation of perfect harmony. Thou hast long since gone beyond the
reach of impure thoughts emanating from the five sub-human orders of
creation. When impure characteristics are removed the first labor is
performed. Thy studies and all knowledge received is the second labor,
because it prepared thee for esoteric science.

“The power of thought,” continued Akaza, “if rightly used, enables a man
to transcend creation. Misused, it will cause him to retrograde into the
condition where self is the great object of existence, and the appetites
of the body are the only deities to whom he sacrifices. For such beings
the uprisings of knowledge (the wiles of Circe) glitter with fascinating
light, because further knowledge will enable them to minister to their
desires. This, my son, is a dangerous situation for an immortal soul.
What was intended as a blessing becomes a curse.”

“Have I transgressed in this respect?”

“No. Thou art safe on that point.”

Knowledge is Circe in Greek—Serket in Egyptian. It is the enchantress,
whose realm may be enjoyed by those who know the herb “Moly.” This word
comes from the same root as the Latin Molo, and the Swedish Mjoll, to
grind, indicating the process of grinding out human passions. It gives
the Norse Mjolner, the hammer of Thor, or Will.

The same meaning is implied in the weapon used by Kanza in killing the
infants of Desire.

“The abuse of this quality is what brings trouble to our countrymen,”
said Akaza. “Atlantis is a hotbed of black magic; that is, inverted
wisdom. And they must suffer for it. Setos and Rahula are the only
devotees of this school we have with us.”

“Why didst thou bring them?”

“It was necessary—for thy sake—my beloved. In the performance of the
third labor the first hour of the day begins; the two preceding labors
being only the dawn of partial wisdom. As knowledge is the fruition of
Will—the principle of the second hour of dawn—so Love is the purpose of
the Divine Creator. This purpose must subdue its antithesis—the lust for
material power and gain.”

“If the material body is not kept in a healthy condition, the spirit and
the soul cannot be perfected,” continued Akaza.

“This is not a fault of mine,” returned Yermah, with a touch of pride.

“Thou hast guarded the temple well. The sun never shone on a more
perfect physical type. The fifth labor,” the hierophant went on, “is
equilibrated Will—the caduceus which our order carries and uses as a
wand. It is a spear in the hands of an adept, who compels all secrets
and who knows all things. It can be developed only by temperance and
moderation. It is an unlimited power for good or evil which thou holdest
in thy possession. In thy body it is the solar plexus or brain of the
stomach. The twelve plexi around it are the full gamut of physical and
spiritual desire. Here thou couldst use thy knowledge with great harm to
thy fellows, and more to thyself.”

“But why should I?”

“For no reason, unless it be to gratify some wish lying near thy heart.
We neither act nor speak, much less decide a question concerning
ourselves, except we have a motive.”

“My motive is simple enough. Thou hast told me that love is the first
triad. I love with all my heart.”

“No need of words to assure me of this. I have foreseen it from the
first.”

“And thou hast not opposed me? Then thou wilt favor it?” The Dorado was
as impulsive as a boy.

“I will not oppose it. The great secret of initiation lies in the
magnetic warmth of love. It is a threefold principle, the lowest phase
of which is sex love. This is the poetry of sensation. It pertains to
the material nature, and is therefore impermanent.”

“Oh, Akaza! How canst thou say that my love for Kerœcia will pass away.
I feel that it never can.”

“In the sense of feeling, it certainly will not endure. But this phase
of love has three parts. We reach divinity on its upper plane, because
it becomes transmuted from animal desire to a soul influx. This will
come as a benediction to sweeten the very fountain-head of thy
individuality.”

“Then I was right in claiming mine own. I have not broken my vow, even
in thought,” responded Yermah hopefully.

“But thou wilt. In so much as thou wilt imperil immortality thou must
suffer. Be of good cheer. Whatever pain may come will soon pass. Nothing
of the real love and union between thee will ever cease to be.”

“The seventh labor,” Akaza continued, after a thoughtful pause, “is the
slaying of the vampire of procrastination—the temptation to halt in the
path of duty. Thou wilt naturally think thy work completed when thou art
allowed to return to Atlantis.”

“Why not?”

“Thou wilt not return to Poseidon’s kingdom for many days. Atlantis is
doomed.”

“Akaza, what art thou saying?” In his excitement Yermah shook the
hierophant’s arm vigorously.

“Thou art forbidden to give to others what thou hast learned. The world
needs thee more than thou canst imagine. Thou art now facing the eighth
labor of initiation.”

“I know this. But is it not true that I shall tip the spires of the
temple building? Must I not do this with mine own hands?”

“Thou must subjugate all internal and external hindrances first.”

“What is that, if not what I have already mentioned? Was it not so from
the beginning? In each colony visited have I not obeyed the laws? This
year finishes my sojourn away from Atlantis. Thou wilt remember that I
am to have my wish when the last labor has been completed.”

“So thou shalt.”

“Then I shall have Kerœcia for my wife, and live in peace.”

“Thou wilt neither espouse Kerœcia nor live in peace. Marriage to thee
is forbidden. Only the commonplace mortal is content to vegetate,
procreate and perish.” Then after a pause, he added: “Thine is not only
race condition, Yermah, but before thou wert born, the Brotherhood
decreed it for thee.”

“Thou—thou durst tell this to me, the future Servitor of Atlantis and
all her dependencies! Out upon thee and thy Brotherhood! I will not
submit to thy decrees! Thou—thou hast made me believe in thy love. Is
this the language of consideration? The Brotherhood demands all that I
value in life! Thou sayest that I have not failed so far. Be assured
that I shall succeed finally.”

“Thou hast already developed the feminine principle within thee and hast
assumed the flowing locks and robe, so that thy fellows may know thou
art fit to lead them. My personal tutorship goes no farther. Thy future
is distinctly in thine own hands, Yermah.” Akaza gave a soft reply, and
his rash hot-headed companion was mollified.

“Give thy tongue full license, Akaza. What does the Brotherhood require
of its fellows?” Yermah was still the master of Tlamco. His tone and
manner betrayed it.

“Absolute freedom must be achieved before the candidate can enter the
Gates of Light.” Akaza was quiet, but firm.

“Freedom from what?”

“From the enslavement of Desire. Man’s perverted love nature is the
great stumbling block.”

Yermah’s face was aflame in an instant. He was furiously angry. He
turned toward Akaza with a threatening gesture, while his resentment was
at flood tide. Then his arm fell aimlessly to his side. He realized that
it was shocking to quarrel with his preceptor—his spiritual father—the
man who had unselfishly followed him from one colony to another for the
past seven years.

The Dorado held his tongue, but with an impetuous fling of the cloak
over his shoulder, he abruptly left the hierophant.

They were on the beach opposite the present lifesaving station, and were
coming back to the cave. With swift, swinging strides Yermah turned
toward Tlamco, and was soon headed for the western gate of its walled
enclosure.

“I am not to make my love self-identifying,” he muttered savagely. “Am
I, then, to love my ideal without desire for possession? He asks what I
can not do. I should be no part of a man if I could submit like this!
No! A thousand times—no!—I have tasted the wine of life on her sweet
lips!—She shall claim a king’s ransom in return!—And this, he says, will
imperil my soul!—So be it!—This is what love means to me!”

There was that in Yermah which would brook no interference. Docility and
obedience, both his habit and inclination, were routed completely by the
whirlwind of resentment having control of him. Self made a strong rally,
and, for a time, he was intoxicated with the idea of defying Akaza. He
gloried in his ability to think and to act for himself. It was _his_
happiness, _his_ love, and in the future he would do as he pleased. This
was instinct deeper than reason; not conscious lust nor sensuality—for
he mentally idealized Kerœcia.

This quality was the same which arouses an animal similarly thwarted to
the highest pitch of ferocity. Passion, heretofore a latent force
strengthening and sweetening his whole nature, now suddenly flared into
tempestuous activity on its own account. Opposition at this juncture
would have rendered Yermah capable of murder.

The line of demarcation between the virgin mind and partial realization
was forever obliterated. Yermah knew desire. And its demands were all
the more urgent because of long-delayed expression.




                            CHAPTER FOURTEEN
          THE VIRGIN EARTH WILL NOT SUBMIT TO MAN’S DEFILEMENT


Akaza tottered along the shore, shaken and agonized by Yermah’s anger.
The wind tangled his thin locks, and played sad pranks with the mantle
enveloping his body. Sometimes it seemed bent on snapping him in two,
and then it almost whipped the life out of him—that life tenure which
was feeble and old even when Yermah’s generation began.

The tears streamed down his withered cheeks and dripped unheeded from
the snow-white beard. His breathing was labored and hard when he arrived
at the entrance to the cave, and his slight frame shook with emotion as
he turned toward the broad Pacific, seeking to calm his agitation.

He stretched out his hands imploringly to the vast deep spread out
before him, as the waves, with a sullen roar, dashed their spray over
the rocks at his feet.

“Great God!” he cried in a stricken voice, “My heart bleeds for Yermah.
The rays of the sun should make a halo around his dear head.—How hard
that there is no real strength except that born of suffering—no enduring
experience except it be seared into the heart’s core!—I have tried not
to attach myself to results; but how can I help it?—Oh, Amrah! I shall
not fail thee! Amenti, thou canst trust me! My oath binds me for all
time. This body may succumb in the trial, but I will deliver this trust
back to thee as thou art expecting to receive it!—Give me strength to
stand by helplessly while Yermah suffers! Oh, Brotherhood, give me the
strength to endure!”

He sank down upon a rock from sheer exhaustion and was silent.

For a time there was no sign of life in the bent motionless figure
peering far out into space, as if he were seeing the visioned future.

“Oh, woman!” he cried, “Divine part of creative wisdom!—Incarnation of
man’s ideal of spiritual perfection! When will man recognize in thee the
means of reorganizing the world, and place thee on the pedestal of his
intellectual greatness! When will he cease to crucify thee on the
diverse and conflicting polarity of his passional will? Woman lies a
crushed and soiled lily; while man, the victim of vengeance to the
powers of nature, wanders a fugitive on the earth, chained to the hell
of his depraved imagination—The Great Spirit of Light and Wisdom is to
him a tormenting fiend!”

After a time, Akaza went into the cave. The fire had warmed the
interior, and the lamps shed a softened glow, which was comforting to
the weary old man.

He was hungry, but the food seemed almost to choke him. It had pleased
his fancy to have Yermah break bread and eat salt with him in this
hidden retreat. In his weakness, he was sorely disappointed, and it cost
him an effort to refrain from whimpering childishly.

Akaza awoke with a sudden start from a troubled sleep. It was with
difficulty that he made his way to the mouth of the cavern and saw that
the sun was hopelessly obscured by what appeared to be a heavy fog. He
went back and threw himself down on the cushions and rugs where he had
been sleeping, and there he would wait patiently until the time of
sunset. If it were possible to get a glimpse of the Lord of Day at that
hour, he would go back to the Temple of Neptune, where he lived.

Later, when Akaza was removing the temporary shutters at the entrance to
the cave, a gust of wind blew the raindrops into his face. He knew at a
glance that it would be a stormy night. The wind was rising, and the
lowering, black clouds gave promise of a heavy downpour.

The sun crosses the earth’s magnetic meridian twice every twenty-four
hours—once at sunrise, and again at sunset.

Akaza made three obeisances toward the west and stood motionless,
drinking in the sweet influences of the sunset hour. His lips moved in
silent prayer. For several minutes he communed with the subjective
world, just coming into its waking activity. The physical world was
falling asleep, and with it went the agitating thoughts of the day.

He was renewing his spiritual vigor, listening to the Voice of the
Silence, holding converse with his own soul. As he took counsel of his
higher self, the bells of the Observatory tower in Tlamco sounded like a
silvery-tinkling sea-shell, faint but distinct to his clairaudient ear.

“Peace! peace! peace!” they seemed to say, while the lines of care
slowly relaxed, and the face of the devotee was as serene and calm as a
May morning.

The fireplace and entrance to the cave were so arranged that it was easy
to produce a draught; so, when Akaza renewed by meditation and prayer,
returned to the fire, the atmosphere surrounding him was fresh and pure.
He made the door fast and prepared to remain for the night, for it would
tax his physical strength too much to walk back to Tlamco in the storm.
As familiar objects outside seemed to be swallowed up in a black pit, he
drew a stool up beside the zodiacal wheel in the center of the
living-room, and by the light of a lowered lamp began to carefully
compare and compute the bearings of the planets and houses of the
horoscope before him. Presently he looked up and listened intently.
Could it be that he heard some one calling him? Was it an unseen entity,
or was it the wind shrieking through the crevices about the entrance?
Regaining his feet, he groped his way toward the sound. There could be
no mistake—it was near the door.

“Akaza! Akaza! Hear me! Open—open the door, I beseech thee!”

It was a human voice in dynamic utterance, which the roar of the ocean
nearly drowned, despite the efforts of the wind to hurl it through the
doorway.

Akaza hastened to comply with the request. Suddenly he stood face to
face with Yermah, shivering, wet and mud-stained.

“Oh, Akaza!” he cried, kneeling before the old man and kissing the hem
of his garment, “say that thou wilt forgive me! I can have no peace
until I am restored to thy favor.”

Akaza laid his hands upon the head that had been bared to the storm.

“Thou standest always in the shelter of my love, Yermah,” he said,
gently. “Offense were not possible from thy lips. Be no longer humble in
my presence.” He helped the Dorado to arise, and leading him toward the
fire, continued:

“Let genial warmth restore thy peace of mind. The elements have undone
thee.”

“Distemper vanished with reflection,” returned Yermah, anxiously, as he
drew off his wet mantle and threw it to one side, “but remorse tortured
me and drove me to thy feet, sad and repentant.”

Akaza patted him affectionately on the shoulder, and occupied himself
with the change of clothing he was improvising from his own garments. He
substituted a purple robe for the water-soaked tunic, gave Yermah
sandals, and finally wrapped his own cloak around him.

“Thy attendants, Yermah? It were not well to leave them to the mercies
of air and water lashed to fury.”

“None saw me leave Iaqua. Neither man nor beast shall suffer because of
my misdeeds,” said the Dorado. “It has taken all this time to find my
way. The dying day left me resolved.”

“Thy spirit called to mine at that hour,” said Akaza with a glad smile.
“I felt it then.”

“And wilt thou have me for thy companion for the night?” questioned
Yermah, happy in the restoration of harmony between them.

“That were the wish nearest my heart,” said Akaza, pouring hot water
into a silver cup, into which he had already measured some spirits of
maguey, some spices, and a bit of lemon.

“Sweeten as thy appetite dictates,” he continued, as he handed the cup
to his visitor. “And may the Father of All Mysteries attend thy ventures
in the future.”

Yermah arranged his disordered locks, and then nestled down beside Akaza
in a caressing boyish fashion. It was plain that he had something on his
mind. Finally, with considerable hesitation, he broke the silence by
asking:

“Will the unbridled license of my tongue to-day count against me with
the Brotherhood?”

His open countenance clearly showed what he feared.

“Only emotional natures make acceptable bearers of the Light,” responded
Akaza. “A mean, starved love nature is never an acceptable sacrifice,
nor can such an one be an ideal for other men.”

A troubled, hunted look overspread Akaza’s face, but Yermah’s gaze was
bent on the horoscope, under the full glare of the lamp, and he did not
notice it. He sighed contentedly when Akaza finished speaking, and for
several minutes he tried to discern the meaning of the map.

“The portent of thy words concerning our fatherland lingers with me. Was
it thy purpose to share thy knowledge with me?”

He looked up with a winning smile, and caught Akaza’s eyes fixed upon
him in undisguised admiration. The lamplight brought out the sheen of
his yellow hair, lying damp and wavy upon his shoulders, and the pointed
beard was short enough to show his muscular white throat where the
purple robe fell away, minus its jeweled gorget. A strawberry cleverly
imitated in enamel, suspended from a gold chain around his neck had
slipped out from the folds of his robe and dangled toward the table at
which both were seated. Akaza pointed to it with a smile. He
instinctively refrained from touching it, thinking it might be a
cherished memento. As it lay on the palm of Yermah’s hand, he took note
of the inscription: _With all my heart._

Yermah saw it too, and pressing the words to his lips, slipped the
trinket into his bosom.

“Now,” said Akaza, mindful of the movement, “lend thy attention, and I
shall tell thee what the stars indicate is in store for our beloved
country. First, let me make plain the signification of these figures,”
he continued, using the ivory caduceus as a pointer.

“The great band, or circle, of the zodiac represents the circumference
of the universe, which contains the essence of creation. It is the
cosmic egg, holding the germ within itself. The center of the zodiacal
ring is the sun, the former representing the casket, the latter the
jewel.

“So is it with the physical form,” continued the hierophant. “It is not
the mind, but that which contains it. Suppose we consider the motion of
this dot within the circle when Desire has energized its movement. First
a ray will shoot out in one direction, and another in an opposite
direction, forming four angles constituting the four elements—hydrogen,
oxygen, carbon, nitrogen.”

As Akaza spoke he rapidly sketched a swastika, the revolving cross, and
then he drew a small circle, a crescent, or half-circle and a Maltese
cross.

“These three factors represent spirit, soul and body,—or sun, moon and
earth. In the circle we have spirit active; in the cross, latent. This
is involution and evolution, pure and simple. The circle is the builder
of new forms, the half-circle is the preserver, and the cross is the
destroyer.”

Memphis, in Egypt, was the builder of a new civilization, receiving its
impetus from the immigration and settlement of a band of white magicians
from Atlantis, under the leadership of Amrah, the prophet of the
hierarchy to which Akaza was attached.

The Llama City on the banks of the Brahmaputra River, in the fastnesses
of the Himalaya Mountains, in Thibet, where none of the modern races
have penetrated, was the preserver of arcane wisdom; while Tlamco under
Akaza, represented the section of the earth which was to be destroyed.
Akaza was the hierophant of the triad, and Kadmon was the patriarch
whose faithful followers were to carry the light to India.

“We shall represent Desire, Force and Energy by placing the cross over
the circle,” said Akaza still illustrating with a fragment of burned
camphor and the pointed caduceus.

What he drew was the present symbol of the planet Mars.

“Here we have spirit pushing on toward manifestation, producing
Experience—the supreme teacher. The negative is over the positive, and
this gives us both construction and destruction. Let us destroy it—place
the cross under the circle—and we have a true symbol of Love. Spirit has
forced its way through matter, and it has become one with itself.”

He turned to Yermah and took both his hands in his own. Looking at him
earnestly, Akaza said:

“Never forget what I am saying to thee now. _Until love has entered our
hearts_, we are not in touch with anything in nature. Love is the soul;
and until we feel its sweet influences in our lives, we go on seeking
fresh experiences on the cross of discord. Love produces harmony. Desire
produces discord. The sun represents the planet which sheds these
influences, and therefore stands for Power. This is the golden bowl, the
essence of Life itself. The cross and the circle are the hieroglyphs of
our spiritual nature.”

Akaza’s look became abstracted and intense, and he mechanically pushed
his hair up from his forehead.

“I see by a glance into the future that these symbols will become the
phallic emblems of sex-worship, which will touch the lowest rung of the
downward spiral. Woman is destined to suffer much on this account, and
from another event which is close at hand.”

“Thou hast made plain the creative phase,” said Yermah, after a pause,
wishing to bring Akaza back to the subject in hand.

“Let us concern ourselves with the mind, whose dual phases are shown by
the half-circle. If we place the cross over the half-circle we have the
Tempter of humanity, because this exalts matter over mind. It is the
great centralizing of self.

“Every one must pass these limitations and meet the Great Judge,” the
hierophant continued, “and He, in the heavens, guards Himself with
triple rings. No spirit goes through the Gates of Light into His
presence except he be well weighed in the balance of the seventh sign.”

“This is the same as initiation into the Brotherhood,” returned Yermah,
involuntarily.

“It is the planetary aspect of the labor thou art soon to perform.”

Akaza did not wish to go more into detail; so he hastened to say:

“If we place the half-circle over the cross, we have mind risen over
matter, and compassion is the result. Then we have learned the value of
mercy. The true spirit of devotion comes from the belted planet. It
abuses none who are struggling upward, but lends a helping hand to all.”

Seeing that Akaza laid down the caduceus and drew the horoscope closer
to him, Yermah said:

“Thou hast given the symbol of only six planets. Hast thou forgotten the
seventh?”

“No. That planet is made up of three factors combined; the circle is in
the center; the cross, below; and the half-circle, above. This is the
essence of wisdom. It is perfected manhood, and it flies through the
cosmos in search of the Infinite, whose messenger it is.”

Uranus and Neptune are octaves of Mercury and Venus, and belong to the
spiritual triad, Saturn being the first.

“Tell me of the duality of the spirit, soul and body?” asked Yermah, for
the first time making it plain that he was thinking over what had been
told him during the day.

“Spirit pure and simple is the Word which was in the Beginning. This has
three phases, motion and breath being the other two. The Ineffable
moved, breathed and spoke and the created universe, with all it
contains, was the result.”

He spoke with caution, lest he should usurp divine power.

“In mankind, it is quite impossible to define or describe that subtle
thing which is denoted by the word ‘spirituality,’” he continued, “the
goal toward which so many efforts, such fervent aspirations are
directed. Spirituality is something which differs from all these, an
essence strange and deep, not expressible in other terms than
itself—beyond mind, beyond thought, and, consequently, beyond speech. In
the ardor of our present pursuit, we forget the fact that the spiritual
can be used for evil no less than for good purposes. By failure to
discriminate between the spiritual in the service of the divine and the
same quality in the service of the dark powers, we may find ourselves at
a point where, to regain the true path, we must with pain and agony
retrace our steps and begin again.”

“And the soul?”

“Is mind in all its attributes. The animal soul, or vehicle of desire,
is dominated by the phases and aspects of the moon, Mars and Venus. This
is the psychic world. In the body we have the physical (or material) man
and the astral prototype. The material man lives as long as the spirit
functions through the psychic world into the astral body, which is a
part of the physical man.”

“In what way dost thou mean to say creative energy contacts the body?”

“The astral body is the medium; the psychic, the positive; and the
material, the negative polarity which attracts the magnetic current, or
spirit. When the astral and physical bodies separate, death, or the
loosing of the bands of Orion, in a physical sense, takes place.

“The life essence in the body,” the hierophant went on to explain, “is a
lateral pulsation, which grows shorter and shorter as the impetus giving
it motion in the beginning, is stilled. Its center is the solar plexus;
but the divine spark is released through the cardiac plexus, the
spiritual prototype of the solar.”

“What then becomes of the deathless spirit?”

“It returns to its native habitat in space, to assimilate the
experiences through which it has just passed. This act has its fitting
counterpart on the material plane. As the stomach digests the food it
receives, and as the mind assimilates the ideas it conceives, so the
divine self utilizes the experiences it gains. As the result of the
physical function is bodily health, and that of the mental process is
knowledge, so, also, the fruit of the spiritual operation is wisdom. To
acquire wisdom, then, is manifestly the prime purpose of human
existence.”

“Through what labyrinths we have to walk in order to find the Gates of
Light!” said Yermah, deeply interested. “Existence is like chaos at
first; and I begin to see that this is true on the three planes.”

“Certainly. Man has gone too far out in the life of the senses. It is
only in his sleep that he perceives the manifestations of spirit. The
true student must reëstablish the equilibrium of spirit and matter.
Thereby he will obtain the ability to discern which are physical
phenomena. He will perceive in the waking state such forms and
apparitions as he saw before in dreams, and rise to the viewpoint where
he realizes that physical forms are only the coarse and imperfect copies
of those higher spiritual pictures presenting themselves to his interior
senses.”

“Then our dreams are not without significance?”

“Their significance lies in the fact that they are the lowest state of
spiritual life. In them a man is obliged to tolerate in himself the
action of good and bad spiritual forces.”

Akaza arose, and picking up a small copper nut-oil lamp from a
shelf-like projection of stalactite near at hand, he lighted it and led
the way to a dim, shadowy cranny of the room.

Pausing before what appeared to be a pile of rush matting he handed the
lamp to Yermah and began removing the outer layers. As soon as the
rough-textured exterior was taken off, Yermah saw by the cloth wrappings
that it was a figure of some kind. It proved to be a colossal head of
diorite, a very hard variety of serpentine, or greenstone.

“This,” said Akaza, “is the head of Atlantis. It was contained in the
ark which we have carried with us so long in our journeyings.”

“But the eyes are closed, the nostrils plugged, the mouth covered with a
gag, and the ears padlocked. This is death!” cried Yermah, unable to
control his emotion, shocked and awed by the spectacle. “She can neither
tell her piteous story nor hear the supplications addressed to her.”

He examined the head closely, and saw that the countenance before him
was that of a dead person. There was the relaxation of the upper eyelids
which most forcefully expressed this idea. The head was covered with a
skull-cap of shells and lines representing water. On the crown of the
head was a rosette-like cap, with a button in the center.

There were four rows of these scallops. The skull-cap terminated at the
sides in ear padlocks, finished with triangular appendages like that
over the mouth. In each ear there was a massive bar of rounded metal
inclosed within a broad, strong clasp.[6]

“Look closely at the three plates on the cheeks. They are precisely
alike in form and lie over one another in the same way; so it is only
necessary to examine one side.”

“On the first disk,” said Yermah, “is a cross, with four dots within the
arms. The second one is blank, and the third has a peculiar vertical
slit, which looks as if it had some connection with the arrow-head
appendage—as if being slipped on to one of these, it could turn, and
thus open the padlock.”

Yermah tried to do what he said, but the cold, immovable stone soon
disabused his mind.

“Our prophet, now at Memphis, has the key to this mystery. But I know
its interpretation. Come and be comforted by warmth and light, and I
shall tell thee,” said Akaza, noting the shiver that involuntarily
followed Yermah’s ineffectual effort, and who was still much shaken when
he resumed his seat beside the table containing the zodiac and
horoscope.

“The earth’s photosphere is really the seven cosmic serpents which
enfold the planet in seven bands of race conditions. They have seven
eyes, or windows, of occult perception. One of these windows closes
every time there is a new race developed. Thou knowest that death in any
form is but a new birth. Therefore, when a new race is born its
predecessor dies, and the section of our globe inhabited by the dying
race is purified by water and fire.”

This is what prompts the Aryan race to arise periodically and go from
one part of the earth to the other. This impulse cast them out of
Central Asia and Africa, where the great deserts of Sahara and Gobi now
stretch their waste sands, where Assyrian plains are given over to
desolation, and also left the Colorado, Arizona, and Alta California
lying bleak and barren in company with the continent of Australia. This
is the purification by fire, while tidal waves and the ice ages purify
by water.

“The earth is a virgin,” continued Akaza, “and will not submit to the
defilement of man. The first eye was in the south; the second was
Lemuria, in the west; the third is Hyperboria, in the north, which is
still open. This will close when the white magicians come out of
Atlantis. Then its purification by water commences. The fourth window
Atlantis herself will close, when the fifth race is born. The races will
always reproduce themselves in a triad of ten each, divided into root,
sub, and family branches. This unfolding will cause much sorrow and
misery in the future. There will be for ages strong hatred between the
black, red, yellow and white men. They will wage war upon each other
unceasingly.”

“Since this is race destiny and cannot be avoided, of what use is the
sacrifice and effort of the Brotherhood? It does not seem to make
humanity either wiser or better.”

“Many an inquiring mind has thought the same, and many a time in future
must this question be answered. Know, then, that individual man is the
microcosm. He has within himself all the possibilities accorded to his
race, and his own life must move in the same cycle. Initiation teaches
him how to harmonize himself with these laws. The ten planets of the
solar system correspond to the labors decreed for finding the Way.
Astrology is simply the metaphysical aspect of astronomy. Before man
becomes an adept, he must undergo the ten trials. When he has done this
through three successive incarnations, he is allowed to personate the
attributes of divinity, and becomes a real savior of the world.”

“Is he permitted to check the course of race condition itself?”

“He does not check it. He crystallizes the idea dominating the race, and
transmutes it to higher planes. Under such conditions, what appears to
be defeat is really victory. But thou art to remember that these heroes
descend to the earth according to orderly periods of time. Frequently
through one man countless multitudes are affected. Think, then, how
important it is that a chosen one shall lead to the higher walks.
Remember also the duality of everything.”

Tradition preserves the widespread results of this teaching. It is found
first in the ten phases of the self-development of Ra, in the ten
avatars of Vishnu, in the ten labors of Hercules, the ten Sephiroth, the
ten Norse worlds, in the ten laws on the tablets of stone, wherever
given, in the knighthoods of the Holy Grail and Golden Fleece. It was
lost sight of when the age of chivalry passed. In geometry, it was
encircling the square; in chemistry, it was the making of alchemical
gold.

“The wise man rules his stars, the fool obeys them,” resumed Akaza, as
he lifted the horoscope, and displayed the Grand Man of the Cosmos,
figured in the center of the table by incised black lines on the ivory
surface. The numbers and signs of the ten planets were marked on the
left side. The numbers ran from top to bottom in succession, while the
signs began at the bottom and ran upward.

A wide, round crown, like the rings of Saturn, surrounded the head. It
emitted seven triangular rays, in the center of which was number one and
the signet of the Brotherhood.

“We are all here,” said Yermah, smiling, but showing surprise in finding
that the numbers and signs of the planets were marked in different parts
of the body, accompanied by his own and his comrades’ names. It was a
full-faced figure, and in the center of the forehead where the flowing
hair parted, was Akaza’s name, a figure two, and the sign of Uranus.

“This is a Karmic chart,” said Akaza. “I aim by it to supply
discriminative knowledge.”

“Over the heart thou hast the sign of Saturn, and the figure three with
Kerœcia’s name. What does this signify?”

“Kerœcia typifies the occult mysteries. Her mission is to guide the
world to love through chastening sorrows.”

“I am the crosier in the right hand,” exclaimed the Dorado, finding his
name, the sign of Jupiter, and a figure four in the right hand of the
drawing.

“Thou art Valor, and thy duty is to subdue the earth.”

“Orondo is the sword in the left hand. He has the sign of Mars and a
figure five beneath his name.”

“Yes. Orondo is destructive force. His fate decrees that he shall
disappear like illusory imagination.”

“Over the stomach is Ildiko’s name, the moon, and a figure six. Does
that mean that she has designs on Mars?” asked Yermah, jokingly.

“Whatever glamour she casts will be in vain. It will avail her nothing,”
responded Akaza, smiling, also. “Setos, thou seest, is the right knee.
His number is seven, and his planet the earth itself. Desire for pomp
and glory is his weakness.” Both men laughed heartily.

“Poor Setos,” said Yermah; “his vanity is prodigious.”

“Alcamayn is the left knee, marked number eight, and the planet Venus.
Saturn will exterminate him, as the desire for sensuous beauty is
destroyed by initiation. Over the generative organs is the sign Mercury
and a figure nine, with Rahula’s name, as thou seest. She is my
antipode,” said Akaza. “She is knowledge inverted, and what she
bequeaths to men will prove fatal to them.”

“Atlantis is under the feet, marked number ten, with our beloved
trident, and the cross and circle of love,” exclaimed the younger man
with enthusiasm.

As Akaza replaced the horoscope, he said:

“We have been studying three triads, represented by our fellows. The
upper one is thyself, Kerœcia and myself; the second, is Orondo, Ildiko
and Setos; while the third is Rahula, Alcamayn and Atlantis. Dost thou
understand the meaning of Azoth?”

“I fear to affirm knowledge of this, lest it have a hidden significance
which is unknown to me.”

“Azoth is the space between the luminaries and the earth. Heat and light
vibrate from the sun, but it must function through the photosphere of
the earth before it is visible to us. Dost thou know that between the
earth’s photosphere and the sun it is dark?”

“It appears to our eyesight as dark,” was the cautious answer. Akaza
smiled.

“Well then, know that this nonluminous medium (astral light) preserves
the imprint of things visible, and the aspect of the daily heavens is
reflected there. It is in this substance that the mother’s fancy or
cravings are transmitted and impressed upon the unborn child.

“The various atmospheric influences are conveyed through the same
medium. By the fact of birth a child enters into universal harmony of
the sidereal system. A net-work of light extends from sphere to sphere
and there is no point on any planet or star to which one of these
indestructible threads is not attached.[7]

“Men bear the seal of their planets on their foreheads, and especially
on their hands; animals, in their entire shape and characteristics;
plants, in their leaves and in their seeds; minerals, in their veins and
peculiarities of fractures.

“Infancy is dedicated to the sun; childhood, to the moon; the age of
puberty, to Mercury; youth, to Mars and Venus; mature years, to Jupiter;
and old age, to Saturn.”

The head of man is shaped on the model of the starry spheres. It
attracts and repels. It is this which is first formed, and appears in
the gestation of the infant. The head is affected in an absolute manner
by astral influences, and its diverse protuberances bear witness to the
variety of these attractions.

“‘All the misery of the world is written in the northern sky,’” quoted
Yermah, from a familiar saying. “But how fascinating is Nature’s book,
with its golden letters! It was a poetic mind truly which gave us the
science of astrology by tracing the lines from one star to another with
his mind’s eye.”

“Shooting-stars are like the soul of desire and the Divine-self
separated from our bodies. They always seek the center to recover
equilibrium and motion. The soul, corresponding to the folds of Azoth
(astral light) which surrounds and imprisons these meteors, must be
disentangled, in order that the spirit may escape from the impurities
still clinging to it. This is the _magnum opus_, or completed labor.”

Yermah moved a little nearer, to enable him to follow the direction of
the caduceus in Akaza’s hand. He saw that the horoscope was for Atlantis
in the near future.

“At the last vernal equinox the Lord of Day was about to leave the abode
of the Lion. He now stands between this house and that of the Virgin in
the celestial zodiac. In such aspect, he is approaching the fiery house
of the Scorpion. When he has gone twenty-five times in the first
lunation of cold and is still within two markings of the meridian,
Poseidon’s reign will terminate.”

“Dost thou mean that I am then to become an actual ruler?” was the first
question which came involuntarily to Yermah’s lips.

“Yes. The new moon at that time opens the way for the dispensation so
long foretold by our prophets. We are about to see the literal
interpretation of this revelation: ‘I will cause the sun to go down at
noon, and I will darken the earth in the clear day. The moon shall
change its laws, and not be seen at its proper period. Many chiefs among
the stars of authority shall err, perverting their ways and works.’

“The comet, now faint above the horizon, comes forward with terrific
force, and will cast its blight on Venus and Mars. Soon this portent
will be discerned in the heavens and then the people must prepare for
change.

“At the time of the full moon, Saturn rises in the first house, in
conjunction with the visitor—presaging a national calamity. The path of
the vagrant is such as to form conjunction with Venus, and, finally, to
reach the vicinity of Mars—the fiery planet which rules Poseidon’s land.

“This configuration shows that the rulers have prostituted their
authority, instead of leading men righteously by precept and example.

“The minds of all the people have become intensely evil, and they have
been given to all forms of wickedness.

“The cohesive strength of Mars which binds the land, is broken and
dispersed.

“At the new moon, seismic disturbances will be of continual occurrence;
and as Mars is in the watery sign, so there is war in the earth’s
interior between uncontrolled water and fire.”

“So,” said Yermah, “the elementals of earth, air, fire and water, that
have been in sore bondage under black masters, are to gather and blend
their forces to overthrow their former oppressors. So be it! Long hast
thou waited for this.”

“At the full moon, when she meets the opposition of the sun, these
forces culminate. Then the crest of angry waters, which the elements
have lashed into fury, sweeps grandly and majestically onward. The new
moon is formed while the luminaries are in opposition to Jupiter and
Neptune. This is but another indication of trouble in the country,
because Jupiter and Neptune are in the fourth house.”

Akaza indicated the places on the horoscope.

“Already this influence is beginning to be felt by Poseidon. He is
encouraging our people to perform imposing magical incantations
publicly. The first and second warnings were given when Ruta and Daitya
sank beneath the ocean ages ago, one after another, with a long
dispensation between. He should have known better than to trust the
temporary defeat of our Brotherhood. It was an unfortunate day for
Poseidon and Atlantis when the last remnant, led by the prophet, left
there.”

“The mid-heavens show Uranus and Mercury in conjunction—or they will be
so at the time midway between the new and the full moon,” said Yermah,
as he hastily calculated the positions in the tenth house.

“This is a further token of the strained mental attitude of the rulers,
who will make a frantic effort to retain their power. The exact
conjunction marks the complete overthrow of the magicians, and frees the
elemental slaves. The activity displayed by the physical world draws
each one back to its own particular element, and a righteous judgment
ensues.”

Akaza clasped his hands in front of him on the table, as Yermah shifted
his position, and said:

“Thou art in truth fortunate, because the last decade has developed
extreme luxury and selfishness in Atlantis.”

“The conjunction of Venus and Mars, afflicted by the comet, would
indicate that,” responded Yermah, referring to the map.

“Mercury in sextile aspect to Venus, in the ninth house, implies a
mental religion colored by the nature of Venus. The aspect of Mars adds
to this a warlike element, and that which appeals to the passions.”

He paused for a moment in intense thought, then continued:

“As the conjunction of Mercury with Uranus is made, all religion is
lost. The moon signifies the people—the sun, their rulers. Thou seest
that both are opposed to justice and right (Jupiter) and true wisdom
(Neptune). The power to remedy this situation is refused, and
retribution advances unopposed.”

Seeing that Akaza had finished, Yermah ventured to ask:

“Does my future stand revealed in this calculation?”

“Jupiter speaks for thee in the fourth house. Thy physical body is
linked with the land of thy birth, and thy return thereto denoted.”

“Thou hast my gratitude, Akaza. Grant that I may cross over the dark
way; that I may enter and go out of the Hall of Truth with thee for a
guide.”

“The Ineffable One, Maker of all things, be thy protection,” responded
Akaza, as both men arose.

“Thou wilt smoke and so will I, while I make ready for our repose,” said
Yermah, moving about. “I have husks and tobacco in my discarded mantle,”
he continued, trying to find its pockets.

“I can please my fancy better,” said Akaza, going back to a plain
cupboard, and producing from its shelves two bronze water-pipes,
identical with those used by the Chinese to-day. He found also, a
chamois pouch of fine-cut tobacco. Filling the bowl with water, he put a
tiny pinch of tobacco in the top of the tube, and lighted it by the lamp
sitting near. He puffed three times, emptied the pipe, and repeated the
process.

Yermah denied himself until he had spread out the rugs, and had placed
the cushions so that he and Akaza could sleep side by side.

When he sat down to smoke, the young man realized how tired he was. The
excitement of the day, his exertion, and the rain, caused him to yawn
frequently. It was a sign of healthy reaction which pleased the
hierophant.

Finally, unable to fight drowsiness longer, Yermah threw himself down,
and was soon in deep slumber. He stretched out with the abandon and
relaxation of a contented mind, throwing one arm up above his head,
while his hair spread over the cushions.

Akaza watched beside him for a long time. He slept like a child, and the
old man looked at him with as much tenderness as ever a mother displayed
over the cradle of her first-born.

Fondness for Yermah was his one weakness. Alone in the cave at midnight,
he indulged it. Without balance and discrimination, this might be mere
sentimentality or mawkish sweetness. In the spiritual man, however,
balance and discrimination must of necessity be present.

Therefore, in Akaza love was strong and firm, as well as tender, wise
and far-sighted. Seeing clearly amid the illusions around him, his love
welcomed even pain for its object, when by suffering Yermah could gain
treasures, and powers and gifts everlasting. He would lift no finger to
frustrate the needful work, yet was rent by greater anguish than Yermah
himself.

Seeing farther and more clearly, he had strength to await the end,
giving meanwhile all the sympathy and help of the truest affection.

Akaza was sitting with his eyes closed—really dozing when he became
suddenly aware of a presence. He looked toward the entrance of the cave,
and encountered a pair of yellow eyes glaring at him in the
semi-darkness.

He was so startled that he gained his feet in an attitude of defense.
The eyes gradually lowered, and in a moment Akaza heard a sniffing
noise. Before he could cry out the long, tawny body of Oghi came into
full view.

The animal had its head down and was tracking its master. Akaza watched
Oghi approach the sleeping man with unerring instinct.

“What is it, Akaza? Dear master, why hast thou not slept?” Yermah asked,
sitting bolt upright, not more than half-awake. Oghi beat the ground
with his tail, and made a peculiar sneezing sound to attract attention.
It was his way of showing pleasure.

“He loves thee, also,” said Akaza, as Yermah patted the animal on the
head. He was on his feet in a moment.

“Oghi! Here, sir!” called the Dorado, recovering the chain which had
been dragged through the mud. “How could he get in here?”

“We will tie him to one of the brass staples leaded into the wall at the
entrance,” returned Akaza, “and then we can find out.”

Oghi made no resistance as he was led to the spot indicated.

“He has dug in under these shutters,” said Yermah, as he held the light
so that his companion could see. “How could he have known I was here?”

As he spoke the ocelot shook himself, and was about to lie down.

“Let me fix him a bed,” said his master; “he is a good fellow. There
sir!”

Hastily gathering up some rush mats, Yermah threw them down in a pile.
Oghi could not say “Thank you,” but he signified it the best way that he
could. With a final affectionate pat on the head, Yermah turned and
followed Akaza.

“Come to bed with me,” he urged. “Conscience forbids my sleeping while
thou art denied rest.”

Akaza yielded to persuasion; and when Yermah had deftly tucked the rugs
about him, and placed the cushions, after shaking them up thoroughly, so
that Akaza declared himself comfortable, he extinguished all lights but
one, and cuddled up close beside the elder man, with his right arm
thrown protectingly over him.

A few moments afterward, both were fast asleep.




                            CHAPTER FIFTEEN
                   A TRIUMPH—AND A WORDLESS COVENANT


On leaving Tlamco, Kerœcia was carried up the Sacramento River by the
fleet of the Azes, until nearly opposite the mouth of Antelope Creek,
where she was met by a company of Monbas warriors and given escort to
Anokia, their capital city, situated south of Lassen Peak.

At a distance of from five to eight miles from the false base of the
Sierras, is a range of isolated hills which form an irregular belt of
elevation, separated from the main chain by an intervening plain.

It was here that Anokia was built, in a rocky amphitheater at the head
of a stream which flows back directly northeast from its source toward
the axis of the principal mountain chain.

The kettle-like form at the head of the valley opened on the north, and
extended in a huge semi-circle to the river below. Opposite the opening
stood Lassen Peak, either as a grim protector, or in frowning distrust,
according to the interpretation given to the mountain’s inscrutable
mood.

There were several small domes and pinnacles on the east side of the
peak, and, in some places, the granite rim formed a beautifully striped
parapet of bedded rock. Portions of the stone were thin enough for the
sunlight to penetrate the crevices, and to throw faint but effective
shadows on the layers of brilliant colors.

The more solid sections of the wall afforded a magnificent view of the
surrounding crest of the Sierras which here spread out like a giant
harrow overturned against the vast horizon.

Evergreen trees and undergrowth fringed the tooth-shaped outlines which
the blue haze softened and blended perfectly with the lighter tones
overhead, and blurred deep and heavy in the interesting glades and
canyons.

The whole region presented a complicated system of sharp ridges, with
immense circular cavities between, as if the entire country had suddenly
cooled while boiling violently.

From out this mass, rose bold rivers which trickled along for some
distance; then, gaining in volume and velocity, rushed madly across the
intervening plains to mingle their clear icy waters with the turbid,
débris-laden Sacramento.

Much of the land surface was reddened and discolored by the oxidization
contained in the subsoil; and over it all was the brown and yellow
color-scheme of the long, rainless summer months.

There were live oaks in the foothills, white oaks in the valleys, with
pale, yellowish-green moss festooning the gnarled limbs, and swaying in
the breeze.

The long acorns had been gathered and stored for future use. Tules
covering the swampy shallows this side of the narrow timber belt on the
river, were brown and seared. The wild grape vines were loaded with ripe
fruit and each patch of wild oats had long since shed its grain.

Here and there a white swan glided by in stately dignity on waters so
clear that the fish could be seen; while the sycamores, oaks, and
willows afforded shelter to a chattering family of magpies, bluejays,
blackbirds, crows and turkey buzzards. A hawk poised itself in mid-air
watching a chance to seize a meadow lark; while the sandhill-cranes,
ducks, and geese disported themselves in the sloughs.

In the less frequented parts of the valley, lumbering mastodons and
hippopotami mingled with grizzly bears, elk, antelope, deer and
diminutive wild horses. They were screened from view by scrub oak and
pine whose northern exposure was rich in yellow moss. Here was found
plenty of bur-clover and bunch-grass, both of which were withered by the
hot summer wind and sun. Shocks of corn and piles of fodder, still
cluttered the parched ground, bearing mute, but eloquent testimony of
the recent invasion of an army of painstaking reapers.

California in her brown coat is a promise fulfilled—a matured and
sobered land, somewhat stern and forbidding of aspect, and set in her
ways, but rich beyond compare in the abundance and variety of her
harvest yield.

Despite the shimmering, blistering heat, schools of salmon had been
shooting the rapids and whirlpools of the Sacramento, hastening to the
shallows. It was their spawning time. They fearlessly deserted the deep
pools and were piled in an indiscriminate mass in the ripples.

Animated by a kind of fury the fish were beating the sands with their
tails. Sometimes, the female would wear her fins off entirely in this
occupation. Then she deposited her eggs in the coarse gravel; but the
greedy trout pounced upon and ate them as fast as laid if not prevented
by the male salmon.

                  *       *       *       *       *

When Yermah returned to Iaqua after spending the night in the cave with
Akaza, he found a messenger from Kerœcia, inviting him to attend her
birthday fête.

In addition to the autographed letter was an elaborately decorated
flower-pot filled with a bunch of white, strawlike blossoms, on slender,
cottony stems, with little or no foliage. To-day the French call this
modest flower the “Immortelle”; the Spanish, in their soft language, say
“Siempre Viva”; while in English, it is the “Everlasting.”

“Never ceasing to remember,” murmured the Dorado, as he examined the
flowers and recognized their significance.

Yermah understood that Kerœcia had wished to send him a perfect plant,
and had selected this, not only for its sentiment, but also because of
its ability to stand the rough usage of a journey.

He undid the tiny roll of parchment tied to one of the stems.

It said: “Though I have not the loveliness of the rose, am I not grass
from the garden where it grows?”

He kissed the written words and with his own hands carried the
flower-pot into his private apartments. Never afterward, as long as he
remained at Iaqua, was he without a sprig of this plant.

The first of August was Kerœcia’s birthday, and this particular
celebration of the event was to be of unusual brilliancy. It was also
the great harvest festival of the year which always brought forth
elaborate preparations by the mountaineers.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The peculiar kettle-shape at the head of the Valley where Anokia was
built, formed three sides of the amphitheater where the games were to be
held.

It had a ragged, uneven surface, like the lips of a crater, which the
Monbas stone-cutters had skillfully turned to account in constructing a
pavilion on the south side, canopied and gay with flags, banners and
silk lanterns. Rubble walls, provided with seats cut into the stone,
closed the north side. Here a wide entrance was left.

Seats rose in a continuous circle, tier upon tier, until thousands could
have found accommodation. The goals for the racers, the pole in the
center, and each spire and battlement on the walls displayed flags. The
sanded floor had been wet and packed down smooth and hard.

For an hour or more the crowds had been coming in, quietly and
decorously as became men, women and children in holiday dress.

Without warning, eight forerunners dashed through the entrance and sped
around the ring, shouting at the top of their voices.

“Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah!” cried the first pair.

“Hye! Hye! Hye! Hye!” said the second.

“Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” called the third.

“O-h! O-h!” sharply piped the fourth pair, moving the forefinger rapidly
over the lips, and prolonging the piercing sound.

They were naked save a white linen band girding the loins and tied
tightly in front. Their long, loose hair quivered with motion as they
sped around the ring nerved to the highest tension by the shouts of the
multitude.

Suddenly the whole city seemed to wake into noisy, turbulent expectancy.
A heavy br-r-r of kettle-drums, a sharp click of castanets, a blare of
trumpets, and the higher notes of flutes and fifes announced the
approach of Kerœcia and her guests.

With heads bent, the runners pulled themselves together for a final
effort. It was a point of honor to reach the entrance as Kerœcia arrived
there. The multitude understood this, and cheered lustily as the men
ranged themselves in even rows, four on each side, at the exact instant
that Kerœcia reached the threshold. She had time to throw a badge to
each one, before they sank into the arms of attendants breathless and
completely exhausted.

The “Hymn of Triumph” was caught up by the crowd and carried high above
the combined efforts of the musicians, as the populace worked their
forefingers over their lips, and followed the melody with all of the
lung-power possible.

Kerœcia was attended by Ben Hu Barabe and his bride, Alcyesta, on one
side, with Suravia and Mineola on the other, followed by Yermah,
attended by Setos and Alcamayn on the right; Rahula and Ildiko on the
left.

Arriving at the pavilion, Kerœcia was received by the priesthood of
Anokia, who crowned her Queen of the Harvest, by placing a wreath of
heads of ripe grain upon her brow. They gave her a cornstalk, also,
which supported two ripe ears, the whole gayly decorated with ribbons.

As soon as Kerœcia received this emblem of plenty she waved it high over
her head, and the whole multitude uncovered, tossing their round,
pointed, conical hats high into the air and shouted: “Ho-ra! Ho-ra!
Ho-ra!”

The day was yet young, but the tamanes took advantage of the confusion
while seating the procession in the pavilion to unfurl the canopies
overhead, and the people made themselves comfortable under thick
tapa-cloth awnings.

On the ground directly in front of the pavilion, were squares of black
and white marble. Upon these the Monbas priests prepared to play the
game of “Stone-Warrior,” a quaint, allegorical Pilgrim’s Progress,
typical of the journey of life, one mile-post of which Kerœcia was
passing.

Bringing up the rear of the procession were four horsemen dressed in
green, with green trappings on their mounts; four tapirs caparisoned in
red; four war-chariots in yellow; and twelve foot-soldiers in black.

There were two Priests of the Bow, dressed in white. This company
divided—one half taking one end of the board, and the other half, the
other end. Six foot-soldiers stood on the black squares, three on each
side of the Priests of the Bow.

The two tapirs, horsemen and chariots, lined up evenly on the ground
back of the men in black. The object of the game was to cross the board
diagonally from end to end—capturing as many men as possible on the way.
The first side to place three foot-soldiers in a row was the winner. In
no circumstance was a man in black to touch a white square. He must
always keep on the black square.

A throw of dice determined the movements of the participants. Five moved
the Priest of the Bow, and he could go forward and backward as he
pleased, but he was liable to be caught around the waist and flung off
the board the same as the men in black.

A four-spot moved the tapir. This meant that one man moved forward four
blocks, while the tapirs headed for the four cardinal points, to denote
the number of times they had been moved.

Three spots moved the horsemen; two, the chariots; and one, the men in
black.

The musicians played a lively air. Then the game began.

Groups of priests stood on each side shouting instructions, warnings and
words of encouragement to the players, who were obliged to follow the
lead of their Priest of the Bow. Only the first two moves depended on
the dice; after that is was every player for himself, counting in
succession, five, four, three, two, one.

It was a strange sight for the spectator. Apparently, without any good
reason, the horsemen, the tapirs and the chariots were wheeling north,
south, east and west, while the black men pushed forward rapidly,
seizing and flinging one another off the board, until, finally, a mighty
shout went up, and three men in black stood in a row facing Kerœcia.

The tapirs, chariots and all but one horseman of the vanquished side had
gone over to the victors, while on the board there were but two black
men and the Priest of the Bow to oppose the winners.

“Beaten by a headless band! Bah! Bah! Bah!” vociferated the adherents of
the victors.

“Score five against them!” was the imperious demand of the vanquished.
The cazique hammered vigorously on the big copper gong, while the
trumpeters blew three sharp blasts as a signal to clear the grounds, and
as if by magic every block of marble went with the crowd.

From the judges’ stand, opposite the pavilion, ran up a banner, with
figures in black on a white ground. It awarded the game by two points,
giving red ribbons to the three foot-soldiers who had gained the coveted
goal.

“We are obliged to count five against the victors, since they lost their
Priest of the Bow after their first move. Had they protected him, they
would have won all possible points.”

Mingled cries of “Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” and “Bah! Bah! Bah!” greeted this
announcement.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The Baggataway players next appeared, led by Setos, Alcamayn, Hanabusa,
and ten gamy Azes, followed by Ben Hu Barabe with twelve
athletic-looking Monbas. This was their national game, and Ben Hu Barabe
felt a pardonable pride in his men as he led them into position.

At each end of the field were the goals, indicated by two poles twelve
feet high and half as far apart. There was also a center pole of equal
height mid-distant between the end goals. All were surmounted by flags.

Each of the players was armed with a stick flattened at the end, and the
intention was to drive the rubber ball into goal between the enemy’s
posts.

The Monbas defended, while the Azes attacked. A noisy, chattering,
bantering, betting crowd surged up and down on each side of the players,
piling up articles of every description as their respective sides seemed
on the point of either winning or losing.

The attack and defense strained every nerve, keeping the twenty-four
players constantly on the move. Here, a man races with another; there,
he makes a prodigious throw up field; and, before any one knows what has
happened the battle has been transferred, and the Azes stand fair to
lose.

Alcamayn runs full against his antagonist, and both come to the ground
together; while Setos fells his opponent by a sharp blow over the head.
The fallen player is carried bleeding and unconscious from the field
just as the Monbas rescue the ball, and send it with a triumphant shout
through the goal which wins them the game.

“Foul! foul!” screamed the on-lookers. “The Azes shall not have a point.
They play unfairly.”

A shouting, gesticulating, seething mass of men and women surged around
the judges’ stand.

“Give us justice!” they demanded. The cazique pounded the gong madly.
Finally, he could make himself heard above the din and noise.

“Hear thy priestess!” he called. “She begs that thou wilt remember thy
duty and the occasion. There are many reasons why we feel grateful to
the Azes. Judgment is suspended. All bets are invalid. Go back to thy
seats and be quiet. The Monbas won their game with honor. Be content
with that.”

It was well for Setos and Alcamayn that Yermah was preparing for an
archery contest with Ben Hu Barabe and Hanabusa and was therefore
ignorant of the cause of the offense. The officers of the balsas, the
warriors, and the other players among the Azes, instinctively huddled
together, humiliated and ashamed, but silent.

A plaited disk of straw having a central circle of yellow nine inches in
diameter, surrounded by rings of red, blue, black and white, was hung up
on the center pole.

The Monbas served Yermah and Hanabusa with arrows, while the Azes
performed a similar office for Ben Hu Barabe.

During the years spent in the Atlantian colonies, the Dorado had been
the actual head of the fighting men; but this was the first time he had
been called upon to show his skill in bow-craft to the Azes.

The fame of Ben Hu Barabe was spread far and wide, and the Monbas waited
with smiling concern as to the outcome. Hanabusa had won his position
with the bowstring, but Yermah’s capabilities were unknown.

The stubborn pride of three races was in the struggle, and bitter defeat
awaited some one. It was strictly a war function. There were precision,
rigid enforcement of rules, and exactness in the attitude in which the
warriors stood—motionless and impassive, while the three contestants
marched in step to warlike music through the entrance and halted at the
first vantage-ground.

The three men bowed and smiled in recognition of the plaudits showered
upon them right and left, as they watched for the signal. A refreshing
breeze fanned their faces and set all the flags in motion.

Yermah was in full regimentals as commander-in-chief. Scarlet, purple,
gold, and green were his colors; but they were blended with all the
skill of the ancients, so that they fitly set his personality.

Ben Hu Barabe showed his insignia as Civil Chief and defender of Anokia,
while Hanabusa was resplendent in feathers and jewels.

Yermah felt that he was the doubtful one. His glance rested for a moment
on the anxious faces of his followers, but he was cool, confident and
collected. There was something magnetically infectious in his
encouraging smile, and before he had touched a bow, he had the undivided
attention of the assemblage.

Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe seemed dwarfed beside him. His easy,
nonchalant bearing, his unconscious grace were never more conspicuous.
Still, Yermah was an alien. He stood in their midst a stranger, and
fully comprehended that the loyalty of his own men would be severely
tried if he failed to acquit himself with credit.

Over in the pavilion were a pair of luminous, mastic brown eyes, with
glints of bronze in their depths, which were bent upon him eagerly. He
could feel them drawing him in that direction, but he did not trust
himself to return their questioning gaze.

There were neither knots, gnarls, nor cracks in the waxy brown six-foot
hunting bow of continuous straight-grained mulberry used in the first
trial. Its tips were of polished elk-horn, and there was a green chamois
handhold in the center of the elaborate carving. The well-seasoned
hickory arrows, forty inches long and as smooth as glass, carried
flint-heads three and a half inches wide, and two inches broad, with
sharp saw-teeth edges. There was a trinity of peacock feather vanes
outlined in parabola above the notch end.

Courtesy gave Yermah the first shot. As he pulled a stout buckskin
shield over his right hand, he looked full into Kerœcia’s face. His eyes
said: “Trust me. I shall not fail.”

Under the inspiration of her answering nod, he quickly raised the bow
from the ground and placed it against his knee-cap, thereby securing a
good purchase. With an upward body movement, he drew the long bow to its
fullest capacity, faced the target and let fly.

Like the arrow of Acestes, which caught fire as it flew, or the dart of
Abaris, which is the wisdom of concentrated thought, this winged thing
sang through the air, and imbedded itself in the blue ring above the
center, where it rocked violently from the shock of impact.

“Yermah of Tlamco, scores five at elevation of forty-five degrees;
drawing force, one hundred and thirty pounds.”

The tally-keeper in the judges’ stand droned the words after the
official scorer. Then the people seemed to catch their breath.

“What skill!” said one, pointing to the still quivering arrow. “What
strength!” cried another, while the men of Tlamco, but lately humbled,
lifted their heads proudly and looked with admiration at their leader.

The exertion flushed Yermah’s face, but there was that in his expression
which seemed to augur better things. He had yet to prove himself; so he
renewed his efforts with energy and determination.

The second shot sent the arrow into the red ring below goal, and nearly
opposite the blue, scoring seven points.

“Here is fine aiming!” said the judges to one another, while the
spectators leaned forward in strained positions and watched intently.

There was just the shadow of a smile around Yermah’s mouth, as he bent
for the final shot.

“Ping!” murmured the third arrow as it hit exact center.

“Haille! Haille!” shouted the Azes. “Haille! Haille!” responded the
Monbas, catching the enthusiasm, and complimenting their visitors by
adopting their cry.

The whole crowd were on their feet, all talking at once, not paying the
slightest attention to the tellers and scorers, who rushed about bawling
the result.

“Five—seven—nine are the points; twenty-one for final score,” they said.

Yermah flung down his bow and stepped aside to make room for his
competitors. He stood helmet in hand, wiping his brow, pleased with the
warming sentiment manifested toward him.

“Hanabusa, the Azes, scores three, five and seven. Fifteen for final
count.”

“Ben Hu Barabe can do better,” was said on all sides, as Hanabusa made
way for him.

“Now the Azes will learn how to shoot!”

“He will never equal the first score,” said other archers. “The
Atlantian is a fine bowman.”

Ben Hu Barabe bent to his task. He sent his first arrow with a vim and
energy which bespoke long familiarity and constant practice. He, too,
made a center shot, but it was the upper edge of the gold disk which
received the barb; next time, the red ring suffered; but the final shot
sped feebly, and barely indented the black ring.

“The first fort yields to the Azes,” announced the judges. “Move on to
the next coign of vantage.”

Now came the real test of skill. Here every man was interested, because
they all made use of the bow and arrow themselves. The first trial was
of strength, but this would require finesse and nicety of calculation.
Hundreds of the spectators left their seats and crowded around the
contestants.

Extremely light, highly elastic but tough yew from the forests of Oregon
was substituted for the heavier bow of the chase; and the arrows had
finely pointed obsidian heads, notched and smooth, but sharp as a
needle.

Yermah looked well to the sweetness of his clear, clean, lemon-colored
bow. When satisfied that it had the requisite softness of flexure and
recoil, and that the arrows were properly seasoned, he placed one on the
left side of the bow, above, and resting on the forefinger knuckle of
the clenched left hand, with its notch set on the string.

The first three fingers of the right hand hooked around the string,
keeping the arrow-notch between the first and second. Extending the left
arm vigorously but steadily, Yermah drew the string back with his right
hand to just below the chin—and loosed.

He stood with his left shoulder toward the target, looking straight in
that direction, having the heels well apart, and toes turned out,
leaving his legs straight, but not stiff. Raising his bow gracefully
with the left hand, he drew the arrow four-fifths of its length, aimed
over the arrow-tip, drew again, and let fly!

The spectators were quick to see that he made the four points perfectly.
Each element of the draw, aim, finish, and loose required the greatest
nicety of execution; yet, he sped the arrows with almost incredible
swiftness.

When shooting three at once, Yermah used the three sights—center, above
and below aim-points. His control of the loose was so accurate, he
understood the variation of vision between the right and left eye so
well, that he drove all three arrows into the gold within a quarter of
an inch of each other!

By the rules, he must aim above center at one hundred yards, and there
was not one of the seventy-two arrows, whether sped singly or in threes,
that hit below the mark. At eighty yards he was obliged to aim blankly
with the four dozen arrows loosed at this distance. He chose the outer
circle of white, and planted his darts at equidistance around the entire
circle.

“But one more fort remains to be captured, and the Atlantian still
leads,” announced the judges. “Clear the enclosure! Warriors, do your
duty!”

With this, the men made a rush for their seats, not waiting for the
spear-points the warriors were preparing to level at them.

In the noise, confusion and excitement no one paid attention to the
birds, perched on top of the pole supporting the target. There was a
bluejay, a raven, a white dove, and a green parrot, with strong cords
attached to one leg of each, sitting on a crossbar or else on the gilt
ball at the apex. Now every one suddenly remembered, and interest
redoubled in the final score at the sixty-yard limit.

“Yermah of Tlamco fails with two points out of twenty-four shots, below
aim-point. Two are above the center line. Hanabusa looses six, and Ben
Hu Barabe, four. Shall the victor take the citadel?”

“Merit wins him a shot at the birds,” came from all sides.

“Yermah of Tlamco, wilt thou capture the citadel of our hearts by a
final test of skill before being crowned with the yew wreath?”

When he could make himself heard, Yermah signified his willingness to
comply with this request. For the first time in an hour Kerœcia caught
sight of his face. It was pale, set and resolute, and she saw that the
strain was telling on him.

“The parrot shall cry thee aim, and must remain unharmed. Thou mayst
kill the blue or the black bird, but thou must only release the peaceful
dove. Wilt thou remember the conditions?”

Satisfying this demand from the judges, Yermah came within range, and
waited a favorable opportunity. By a sudden jerk of a cord extending
down the side of the pole, the ball and crossbar began to revolve, and
the birds were on the wing.

“Chay! chay! chay!” shrieked the mocking, insolent bluejay.

“Caw! caw! caw!” croaked the raven; while the parrot screamed
banteringly;

“Boy what ails thee? Come on! Ha! ha! ha! Oh, dear! Ah! ha! ha!—Sit
still! Who will catch thy barb? I’ll catch it? Thou fool, never!” Then
changing tone entirely to one of biting sarcasm:

“Here’s a pretty mess—a pretty mess!” There was silence for a time. Then
in a thin, piping voice and ludicrous intonation:

“I shall faint! I shall expire! Help! help!” screeched the bird. Then,
she became sympathetic: “That’s bad, very bad! What a poor shot! Dear
me! Ha! ha! ha! ha-ha-ha-ha! Aim high! aim low! don’t aim at all! Ah!
ha! ha! ha—ha! ha! ha! ha!”

The parrot was chained to the top of the pole, so that it could not fly.
To make the aim more difficult the other birds were fastened by cords of
unequal length. Each one must be freed by the arrow, and then the
marksman must wing it before it escaped.

The first liberated was the bluejay. Yermah cut the cord neatly, and
then hit the bird while it was still rising. The arrow fell near the
base of the pole, bringing the right wing with it.

The Dorado had won the yew wreath, and he now turned to the women’s side
of the pavilion for a signal. They could demand the last three shots.
Would they do it?

He waited for Kerœcia to say. She was surrounded by a perfect rabble,
gesticulating, shouting and leaning eagerly toward her.

Finally, she arose, and threw up her hand to command silence. In the
lull, she turned to Yermah, who removed his helmet and inclined his head
toward her, while she picked up a black flag and waved it.

There was an answering shout and a cheer and Yermah prepared to shoot
again. This time he aimed at the raven. He cut the cord near the pole,
and its weight caused the bird to fly downward in an oblique line. Quick
as a flash the second arrow sped, and the raven came down pierced
through the heart.

Once more the ball at the top was set whirling. The dove, seemingly more
accustomed to this motion, rose slowly, so that the final arrow took off
a toe, in severing the cord. The bird soared up in concentric circles,
but long before the plaudits ceased, it was perched in exactly the same
place from which it had risen.

The Monbas and Azes fought and struggled with each other for the
privilege of carrying the hero off the ground on their shoulders, while
the musicians played the folk songs of the Azes.

At this juncture, Setos, Alcamayn and Cezardis galloped into the ring,
and began putting arrows into the target as they rode by. Round and
round they went, sometimes shooting forward, more often backward, first
on a leisurely gallop, then on a dead run. Suddenly they wheeled and
headed for the entrance where they were met by Yermah, Hanabusa and Ben
Hu Barabe, mounted on thoroughbreds, armed with shields, horn-bows and
quivers full of murderous-looking arrows.

“Hih! hih! hih!” chorused the multitude, as the horsemen made for the
target, which was moving up and down while revolving.

“Click-ety! click-ety! click-ety! click!” pattered the horses’ hoofs in
a fine burst of speed.

“Wheel and fire!” shouted the Dorado, suiting the action to the word
when nearly opposite the disk.

“P—sh!” whistled the arrows as they hit the target almost
simultaneously.

“Three arrows full tilt!” was the next command, which was no sooner
given than obeyed.

“Backward shot—three arrows! Send them into the pole; then circle it and
pull them out.”

The horsemen were crisscrossing each other in every direction, flinging
sand into one another’s faces. The spirited animals were rearing and
careering, standing on their hind-legs or sitting back on their haunches
while this maneuver was being executed.

“A souvenir for the women before we go! Let every man of us put a dart
into the post on a level with our heads. Then race out of here
together.”

The horses bent themselves nearly double. With mouths open and nostrils
distended, they responded to the impulse of bit and spur. While the
spent arrows were vibrating like whipcords, they plunged forward and
raced for the entrance neck and neck, urged to their utmost capacity by
the fire-crackers and bombs exploding at their heels.

The people rose _en masse_, and shouted themselves hoarse, drowning the
kettle-drums and gongs in the general uproar. In the midst of it the
horsemen whirled and dashed back into the arena, in hot pursuit of
Yermah, whose head was almost level with Cibolo’s neck, as this splendid
racer stretched himself over the ground.

All the men had on wadded cotton tunics, covered with bull’s-hide armor,
put together in strips and riveted with brass bosses. They wore visored
helmets, and carried circular shields of burnished bronze. Before they
had encircled the ring, it was evident that it was a sham attack on
Yermah. They tried to ride him down, but Cibolo foiled them with an
instinct almost human. They often fired at the rider, but were never
able to hit him.

Yermah returned arrow for arrow, sometimes from behind his shield,
sometimes forward, more often backward, single arrows, and three at a
time. Throwing up his shield to protect himself, or dropping over on the
side of his horse so there was but one leg over the saddle, on and on he
went.

At an unexpected moment, Yermah wheeled and charged furiously, lassoing
the horse ridden by Setos, and then, by a skillful maneuver and a daring
leap, broke through the circle which had formed around him.

He escaped into the tower of refuge—a low semi-circle in front of the
pavilion—taking his captive with him.

When Yermah rode out to receive the yew wreath and red ribbon of valor,
there was not an arrow in his armor nor a dent in his shield. He had
escaped without a single scratch.

While his name was on every one’s lips, he modestly sought Kerœcia.
There were tears in her eyes, which welled over on the two bright red
spots on either cheek, as she turned to greet him. Her lips trembled,
but she smiled while giving him her hand. He sat down beside her almost
equally overcome. Close to her ear he said earnestly, and but little
above a whisper:

“I love thee. It is thine opinion I value. All else is naught.”

He read his triumph in her eyes; she heard the one declaration in the
world for her. They were alone in the crowd, whose unheeded plaudits
came to them in an impersonal sort of way.

They had a few minutes’ respite from the duties of the hour, a little
season of quiet communion, while a feeling of adoration welled up from
their hearts and submerged all the other senses. It created a halo about
them and moistened the shining eyes gazing steadfastly at one another.
Overpowering emotion rendered them speechless, while the soul union, the
mating of their real selves, was consummated in a wordless covenant.

During the eloquent silence each had knowledge that the other had set up
a shrine in the holy of holies of their being which none of the trials
of after-life would desecrate, nor would either ever be capable of
violating its sanctity.

In this expression of love was that perfect blending of ideality and
desire which is the very essence of marriage. It is the molding and
cementing influences which, in fortunate cases, so dominates such
intimate and close association that in old age they look, speak and act
alike. Nor does death finally take one and leave the other.

The skill and dexterity of the bowmen, the wild, fearless riding, the
daring onslaughts, the imminent risk of life and limb smacked strongly
enough of actual warfare to arouse the tiger which at our best moments
only sleeps within us.

Like true children of nature, these people entered with much zest into
the ridiculous performances of a monkey and clown perched upon the backs
of swift-paced burros.

In the midst of this race, jugglers with balls, javelins, disks and
parasols, gave exhibitions of their skill, while heavy copper bars and
hammers were tossed and flung about with apparent ease. It was a busy
time with the gamblers and fortune-tellers, as well as with the vendors
of all kinds of trinkets.

“Clang! clang! clang! clang!” sounded the big gong.

“Clear the ring for the caribou race!” shouted the cazique, as he
clattered by on horseback. “Clear the ring, everybody! This is the
women’s race!”

While the performers were scurrying about, obeying this order by getting
their belongings out of the way as rapidly as possible, three chariots
were driven in, containing Kerœcia, Ildiko and Alcyesta.

“Yermah, the victorious, challenges for the high-priestess, Kerœcia,”
announced the judges, as Yermah advanced to the head of the priestess’s
team.

In the deafening outburst following on all sides, the caribou became
unmanageable, and it was several minutes before the entanglement could
be straightened out sufficiently to warrant further procedure.

“Alcamayn of Tlamco, challenges for fair Ildiko.”

The little jeweler stepped out proudly and took a position in front of
the state carriage of the Azes, the same ivory and gold vehicle which
Yermah had driven when Kerœcia visited the Llama city.

“Ben Hu Barabe, of Anokia, challenges for Alcyesta. The contest is for a
gold cup, given by this city. Partisans of each team must lay wagers
lively. Stand back, men, and give the women a chance! Once and a half
around the ring! Now for the cup!”


The three chariots went over the chalk-line in a fairly even start, and
the sharp click of running hoofs and the buzzing of the wheels told of
the speed being made.

It was easy to distinguish the racers. The wide palmated horns made each
runner instinctively pull apart, so that bunching was impossible.
Besides this, the colors were very distinct.

Kerœcia wore yellow, with a jeweled agraffe and girdle, while on her
head was still the ingenious crown of golden grains. Her chariot was of
pale green, elaborate in decorations of dull gold on raised patterns.
Streamers of the same color fluttered here and there, and were threaded
in a net-work over the heads of the caribou.

Ildiko was in light blue, with an embroidered Zouave jacket of black. A
jeweled band confined her long, crinkly white hair, while red and white
cords interlaced the wide-spreading horns of her racers.

Alcyesta’s chariot was black, but rich in traceries of silver and
painted flower ornaments. She wore a pink robe, with a silver agraffe
and girdle, set with pearls and turquoise. Pink and white cords trimmed
her whip and tied the horns of the caribou.

For an instant the chariots moved side by side, the women giving free
rein, but withholding the whips. At the first quarter, Ildiko led
slightly; but in attempting to round the curve of the half-goal,
Alcyesta caught a wheel in the post, snapping it in two, like so much
straw.

With such momentum, it was not possible to check the speed, and before
either could prevent it the horns of Ildiko’s and Alcyesta’s teams were
tightly interlocked. Instantly there was a terrific hubbub. Men from all
sides ran to their assistance.

“Let us race it out!” cried Ildiko.

“Agreed!” answered Alcyesta; and both women laid on the lash forcibly,
scorching the ground with their flying wheels.

“Keep clear! Give them leeway!” shouted the cazique, charging the crowd
with his horse. The caribou had shaken themselves loose.

“It is a splendid race!” cried the judges, as the last quarter stake was
passed.

“Run, Ildiko!”

“Use thy whip, Kerœcia! Thou must not let them beat thee after all!”

“Give them their heads, Alcyesta! Thy reins are too tight!”

The women were leaning forward talking to the nervy roadsters, with hair
flying over their shoulders, ribbons fluttering, and the wheels fairly
singing as they flew past the chalk-line.

“It is an open race for the cup. Kerœcia took no advantage. Now she must
run for it!”

And she did. Saphis and Phoda knew her voice. They caught her impulse as
she loosed the rein, and they went like the wind.

“Crack! crack!” snapped her tiny whiplash.

It seemed as if the caribou would jump out of their skins. Not being
accustomed to the whip, they were much more frightened by its noise than
by the sting of its lash. Theirs was simply a mad headlong plunge
forward, taken in time to clear the first goal.

Ildiko and Alcyesta had enough to do in preventing a break as their
knowing animals neared the scene of their former mishap. They were
fearless runners, and responded gamely to the lash; but there was an
imperceptible hesitation, a disposition to shy, and Kerœcia whipped in a
full neck ahead.

On she went around the ring, unable to control her terror-stricken team.
It was the whip laid on their tender backs for the second time which
rendered them unmanageable.

“Hold them steady until they calm down,” advised the cazique, galloping
beside her.

Setos and Alcamayn hastened to Ildiko, assisting her to alight, while
Ben Hu Barabe carried his wife through the crowd and set her down in
safety before turning his attention to Kerœcia.

“Ho, Saphis! Ho, Phoda! Fear not, little ones! Thou hast done nobly!
Steady! Steady now! Ho! Ho!”

She had braced herself against the front of the chariot and was pulling
back with all her might. With a quick, sharp turn, the cazique reined up
in front of the vehicle just as Yermah caught the bit of one of the
caribou.

The sudden stop threw Kerœcia across the dashboard. She quickly
recovered her footing, bruised and shaken, but much more concerned for
the steaming, panting, high-strung winners than for herself. She spoke
soothingly to the animals, as she stroked their ugly proboscis-like
snouts, while they champed their foam-flecked bits and gazed at her with
still a gleam of terror in their eyes.


As soon as the ring was cleared, the people settled themselves back and
looked expectant. Familiar as they were with a mammoth elephant there
was always something fascinating in its unwieldly bulk.

The crowd had waited all day with characteristic patience to see the
tricks of some performing elephants, brought down by the Mazamas from
the far north, especially to honor Kerœcia.

Zoyara, Cezardis and Zombra came through the entrance dressed in black
skin-tight garments ablaze with mica spangles and barbaric jewels. They
wore gayly striped sashes around their waists, and ostrich feathers in
the silver headbands, while their arms and ankles jingled with bracelets
and bells.

Back of them came two keepers leading a pair of tremendously large
rusty-black, shaggy-coated elephants, with long, ivory tusks, which
curved out and curled up viciously. Zombra and Zoyara stepped to one
side. Cezardis called:

“Hear ye all! These young and tender creatures are in love. Sven here is
about to offer himself to the shapely Loke, whom he loves to
distraction. Bashful young men, please take notice! This exhibition is
for thy especial benefit.”

He gave both elephants a sharp prod with a bronze-tipped goad which he
carried. Sven began to tremble all over. His huge loose skin, much too
big for his ponderous body, moved forth and back mechanically, in
well-simulated emotion, and the hair raised in every direction as he
approached Loke.

“Down on your knees, sir! Down, sir,” shouted Cezardis, hitting him a
heavy whack across his forelegs. The elephant fairly shook the ground
beneath him as he came to a kneeling posture.

“Bow your head respectfully, sir!” commanded Cezardis.

Sven laid his ears close to his head, and drew his trunk well under,
giving himself a ludicrously shamefaced expression.

“Give Sven his answer, Loke. Answer, I say!”

Loke stuck her trunk up in the air, and with a disdainful toss of her
head, waddled off in an opposite direction, to the delight of the
audience. Their shouts of laughter were a signal to Sven.

He fell over on his side, and stiffened himself out as if he were dead.

“Oh, poor fellow! P-o-o-r fellow!” cried Cezardis, with mock pathos. “I
know how it is myself, sir.”

The elephant raised its head and looked at him.

“Think better of it, old man. Thou mayst have had a lucky escape. Here
comes her sister and husband. Let us stand to one side and observe how
they get on. Brace up, sir!”

Sven and Loke were on the outside when the keepers brought in the other
pair of elephants—Loke keeping her head in an opposite direction.

Cezardis gravely introduced the newcomers, and then turned to the
putative husband and asked:

“Didst thou have a good breakfast this morning, sir?”

The elephant shook his head and trumpeted dolefully. His mate stamped
the ground indignantly, then rushed at him, butting him in the side. He
whirled around and kicked at her. Then they locked trunks and seemed
bent upon annihilating each other with their sawed-off stumpy tusks.

“How is this for married life, sir?” inquired Cezardis.

Sven turned to his audience and winked prodigiously, while his sides
shook as if he were convulsed with laughter.

At this moment Loke picked up a saw-tooth palm-leaf with her trunk, and
hid her face.

Cezardis allowed the putative benedict to toss him up in the air several
times, and finally, by a dexterous leap, landed between the mammoth’s
ears.

“The long-looked-for elephant race is about to begin. To give some idea
of the individual gait, we shall first walk the animals, and then they
will trot side by side for points. Do not let the disgraceful conduct of
the wedded pair weigh against them. A bad breakfast tries the best of
us.”

There was a loud blare of trumpets and a vigorous beating of
kettle-drums, while the spectators cheered heartily, as Cezardis turned
somersaults, stood on his head, and played all sorts of pranks on the
back and above the ears of the elephant.

The animals walked first leisurely and then more hurriedly around the
ring. When the second round was completed, Cezardis boldly slid down the
trunk of the leader, and with a graceful bow ran out of the way.

The keepers adroitly arranged the elephants in pairs, throwing a
gourdful of capsicum into each mouth, in order to increase their pace.

“The race begins! Close thy bets!” shouted Cezardis.

The trainers of the animals used the goad unsparingly, and soon the huge
mountains of flesh were stretching their tree-like legs to the utmost.

They trotted ponderously side by side for a few moments amid the clangor
of bells, the deafening shouts of the multitude, and an ever-increasing
tempo of music.

“Sven and Loke lead the first quarter!” yelled the judges.

“Their pace increases!” cried everybody, and the excitement was at fever
heat when the elephants began to trumpet.

Before they reached the half-stake they were all galloping wildly, and
the spectators were beginning to look at each other with blanched faces.

On the racing animals came round the turning-point, trumpeting and
bellowing furiously. Every jump shook the ground under them like an
earthquake, until the pavilion itself rocked like a ship at sea.

Fortunately, the race started near the entrance, and the panic-stricken
people were now scrambling recklessly, some through the wide-open gates,
while others clambered up for the highest seats where they huddled
together and clung to one another frantically.

On the maddened animals came, with their mouths wide open and their
swinging trunks sprinkling capsicum, copiously mixed with saliva, over
everything.

They were in a compact mass, moving with all the irresistible velocity
of an avalanche, and growing more and more terrified at their own
freedom.

Great rivers of brine poured from their bulging eyes, while their mouths
drooled as if they were on fire.

The unerring instinct which distinguishes their descendants caused these
forest monsters to fall into line one behind the other, as they made for
the open air.

Men and animals fled before them in every direction as they thundered
down the valley, stampeding everything for miles around. Their
trumpetings could be heard long after they were out of sight, and it was
easy to track them—for they beat down a solid pathway fully a foot below
the surface.

Cezardis and the keepers mounted and hastened after them. After an
hour’s hard riding, they were found, standing in the river industriously
spouting water over their unsubmerged backs.

“The heat and excitement has been too much for them,” Cezardis said,
making an ineffectual attempt to stay the panic. “There is nothing to
fear. It is only their idea of a frolic.”

To the keepers he said, “What under the sun didst thou give the brutes?”

“A gourdful of capsicum,” answered one of them. “We knew thou wert in
the habit of slipping a pepper-pod in their mouths when thou wouldst
have them appear lively. And,” he naïvely continued, “we knew they would
be thirsty in the heat and crowd.”

“It will not be safe to take them back to the pavilion. An elephant
never forgets an injury, and they would probably demolish the whole
place if they saw it again. Thou art sufficiently punished by being
obliged to remain here on guard, while the feasting, music and dancing
goes on, to-night. I shall send thee covering and food,” he promised, as
he swung into the saddle and started back.

The massive feet of the mammoths threw up clouds of dusty sand,
thickening the air like fog, while the floor of the amphitheater looked
as if it had been newly plowed.

With their exodus the still terrified people rushed out of the enclosure
pell-mell. They pushed and crowded through the gateways as if danger
assailed them from behind.

Those in the lead made great haste after they had passed out, dragging
their children by the hands, while the little ones looked back over
their shoulders and cried as they ran along.




                            CHAPTER SIXTEEN
             THE FEASTING—THE DANCING AND THE BETROTHAL CUP


The sun was inclining well toward the west, and there was a savory smell
of roasted meats, steaming vegetables and ripe fruits assailing the
olfactory nerves, and appealing strongly to the inner man—the unchained
tiger of the stomach.

The children set up an impatient clamor for something to eat, as they
caught sight of the long, low tables spread under the trees; but, there
was a decorum to be observed, which the elders rigidly enforced.

Whole animals had been roasting through the previous night in trenches
twelve feet long, two feet wide, and two feet deep. Fires were built in
them, and when thoroughly dried out, great spits were put in half-way to
the top, and over a bed of red-hot charcoal the meat was cooked. During
this process it was moistened frequently with spiced vinegar, and a
_sauce piquante_ of chili, with which salt had been freely mixed.

Beef, venison and bear-meat were prepared in this way, while rabbits,
wild turkeys, geese, ducks, quail and small birds were roasted and
stewed by separate methods. Near the trenches, pots of curry, rice and
mutton were simmering over slow fires. Deep brass cylinders, with
glowing charcoal in the bottom, kept steaming tamales ready for instant
service.

There were great ash-heaps filled with sweet potatoes roasted to a turn.
Huge chafing-dishes contained beans, tomatoes, stuffed cucumbers and
stews of all kinds, while lettuce, cresses, red peppers, radishes, leeks
and onions were heaped upon the tables in profusion.

Nasturtium seeds, capers and olives were among the relishes. Great brick
ovens hid many a fruit confection and pastry, and there were stacks of
tortillas fresh from the hands of the baker. Fresh curds and honey were
in liberal allowance on each table, while large wicker baskets groaned
with their burden of ripe peaches, pears, apples, guavas, bananas, tunas
and pineapples.

On clean grass mats were water-melons, cantaloupes and grapes while
oranges, lemons, pomegranates and quinces were among the candied and
preserved fruits.

Walnuts, peanuts, filberts and pine-nuts by the bushel, were at hand for
service, while immense jars were filled with pulque, metheglin, tequila
and koumiss. These drinks were called “zadar” meaning to spin, as the
head feels after indulging in them. For the more soberly inclined there
was chocolate flavored with vanilla, and piled high with whipped cream,
served either hot or cold.

Cotton napkins and pottery ewers filled with water were beside each
earthenware plate. Despite their impatience, the children were compelled
to perform ablutions the same as their elders, before sitting to eat.
For their use, lacquerware dishes were provided.

Gay-colored silk lanterns hung from the trees, which were also garlanded
overhead with ropes of flowers, filling all gaps for the nonce and
excluding the too-searching sunlight. All made haste to sit, while lips
moved in silent thank-offerings.

The musicians played softly as Kerœcia passed rapidly along the lines,
hospitably sprinkling ashes of aloes and rosewater over the people. Many
kissed the hem of her garments, or murmured blessings or good wishes for
her health and happiness.

With a bound she was up the steps of the canopied dais upon which the
tables were laid for herself and special guests. Civil and military
officers filled the outer seats, while the priests and healers faced
them.

At the inner table, Yermah sat on the right of Kerœcia, and Cezardis on
the left. Facing them at the opposite end was Alcyesta, with Zoyara and
Ben Hu Barabe. The intervening spaces were occupied by Setos, Rahula,
Alcamayn, Ildiko, Zombra, Suravia, Hanabusa and Mineola.

Fragrant blossoms in the form of globes, stars and crescents hung from
the blue domelike canopy, while fern brakes and loose bracken wound
around the supporting columns. Vases of silver, gold and onyx, set with
jewels, supported the daintier blooms that adorned the table, and plates
and spoons of tortoise-shells, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, contrasted
sharply with the white cloth.

Drinking-cups of polished horn, ewers of gold and silver inlaid
together, and hand basins of bright enamel, made the table both elegant
and luxurious.

As Kerœcia approached, her guests arose and joined in the shout “Ho-ra!
Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” which went up from the multitude. With a simple gesture,
Kerœcia bade them be seated. Then, with a sign of benediction to the
four cardinal points, during which time all joined in her prayer, she
seated herself, and the feast began.

For three hours they ate, drank and made merry, passing compliments and
toasts along the lines of tables, calling pretty sentiments across to
one another, until the verge of temperate indulgence was fully reached.
Long before this, the children had been released from the table
refreshed and ready for a romp under the shade-trees. With a sigh of
satisfaction, their elders waited for a signal to rise.

“A libation to the Ineffable One, the Indivisible, I-am-I,” called Ben
Hu Barabe, standing back of his wife, holding a patera cup of ivory,
having a gold tracery over its surface, and filled to the brim with
pulque.

“Om-ah! Om-ah! Om-ah!” was the reverential response.

Ben Hu Barabe faced west, and with a graceful sweep of the arm, poured
the liquid on the ground.

“A libation to the Trinity, whose creative, destructive and preservative
aspects are everywhere manifest,” said Yermah, as he stood behind
Kerœcia, and held up a jeweled cup evenly full of metheglin.

“Om-ah! Om-ah! Om-ah!” responded the assemblage, as Yermah made a low
obeisance to the east, and poured out the offering with a wide splash.

“A libation to the four elements of the All Powerful—to earth, air, fire
and water—to the four parts of the heavens where His kingdoms are,” said
Cezardis, rising, followed immediately by Zoyara, Setos and Hanabusa,
each holding an onyx and silver cup brimming over with koumiss.

Each faced a cardinal point and quickly emptied his cup.

A crash of music mingled with the “Om-ahs!” and every eye turned
expectantly toward Kerœcia.

At this anniversary each year since Kerœcia had been among them, a
betrothal cup had been set in the center of her table. It was the one
day in the year when she was privileged to choose a husband. The
marriageable men loyally showed themselves, but stood with averted faces
lest their intent gaze should embarrass and disconcert her. Every one
withdrew from the table and left her free to act.

Would she merely bow her head and follow her maidens, as she had done
before, or would she return the confidence of her people in full? She
was still standing as they left her, amid a feeling, impressive, and
intense silence.

Quickly she called:

“Alcyesta, Suravia, Mineola, intercede for me!”

Then she hastily signed to the musicians, and, soft as a breath of
Æolian harps, came the answering notes. The three priestesses intoned in
low, sweet voices, stretching out their arms in supplication to the
north, west and south. Their bodies swayed forth and back as they
brought their open hands even with their foreheads, palms downward, and
then opened their arms as wide as possible again, repeating the process
continually. Many of the women were moved to tears as they heard the
familiar strains, while some of them mechanically joined in the chant.

Since freedom and unconsciousness are the only expressions of modesty,
why, in the name of all that is simple, sincere, and natural, is it
considered wrong for a woman to give expression to affection. As well
might it be held a shame to live and breathe because uninvited to be
born. It may be that it is for the harmony, delicacy, joy, mystery and
beauty of love that the differences of sex should be recognized in the
right of initiative. Or the notion may lie in the atavism of human
nature which stands trembling between the glory of its destiny and the
meanness of its achievement.

Kerœcia had a naïve, tender, shrinking, sensitive nature, but one in
which love clothed itself with many charms and graces. There was no
sense of original sin hanging over her head to suppress, intimidate and
pervert her love nature. She knew no reason why she should not select a
mate. With the confidence of this assurance, she picked up the betrothal
cup.

The act combined the strength of the sea, the firmness of the mountains,
the freedom of the winds, with all the shy grace of the violet hidden by
tall grasses and veiled with dew.

The cup, a pale violet stone which had been blocked out and ground down,
was supported by a slender golden stem, twisted and set with pearls and
emeralds.

Something of the import of Kerœcia’s action dawned upon Yermah as he
stood transfixed, pale and agitated, while his very life seemed to hang
upon her every movement.

It was a woman’s courage, born of love—the love of giving herself wholly
to the object of her choice. Nerved by this feeling, she came toward him
confidently, but with a timid smile and rising color, and gave the cup
into his trembling hands.

For a moment, he shrank back from her.

“O God! My oath!” was wrung from his lips. It was for an instant only.

“But I love her with all my soul!” he cried, as he knelt and kissed the
proferred hand.

Ignorant and innocent alike of the cause of his emotion, Kerœcia sought
to reassure him.

“The Monbas will love thee, too,” she said. “Hear their assenting
shouts.”

“Atlantis and her dependencies shall worship and adore thee, as I do.
Kerœcia, my love, I shall be a loyal husband to thee.”

“As I shall be a dutiful and loving wife to thee!”

The betrothed couple were nearly swept off their feet by the crowds
which surged around them. The Monbas and Azes embraced each other,
called one another brother, and pledged fealty to the new alliance.

Thus was the compact ratified.

Every one was anxious to talk the matter over with his neighbor. So,
they all sought their homes in animated groups, leaving behind a scene
of disorder. Napkins were scattered wherever the last ablutions were
performed. Ewers and cups with their contents had been frequently
overturned. Fragments of food, cooked and uncooked, some untouched and
others partly eaten, were abandoned by the sated appetite, and left
without further thought, until hunger should recall their excellence.

In a short time the streets were silent and deserted, the remaining
hours of the day being devoted to a siesta indoors. No one issued from
his house again until night unpinned a black curtain and rolled it down
over the earth.

When God had hung His lanterns in the sky, the people came together
again. They went back to the pavilion which was now a blaze of light
from the many flambeaux stuck into brass urns around the high walls,
augmented by hundreds of silk lanterns festooned on wires stretching
across to the center pole. There was breeze enough to keep the flags in
motion, and to cause the lights to flicker fitfully, adding to the
fairy-like beauty of the scene.

The character of the music had entirely changed. The kettle-drums were
muffled and beaten with the fingers only. Instead of the blare of
trumpets, there were harps such as the Yaqui Indians use, and differing
but little from the modern instruments.

Slabs of black and white marble covered the ring floor, save where a
wide passageway had been left on all sides for use of the people in
seating themselves. The pavilion had been transformed into a bower of
roses and artificial trees.

Under a floral canopy, Kerœcia, dressed in white and silver gauze, sat
with one of the judges on either side of her. She was waiting to crown
the victors. The musicians made victory, love and triumph their theme,
as Yermah, escorted by Ben Hu Barabe, approached and knelt to receive a
crown of lilies and a palm.

“Rise in thy majesty, bearer of the victorious palm! Go forth and renew
thy triumphs, until the sun comes again to strengthen thy lion heart.
Peace be with thee!”

“Hear me, O Priestess! Grant thy servant leave to encircle thy slender
fingers with a set of rings made for thee, having the virtues of the
planets and sent with the blessings of the people of Tlamco,” entreated
Yermah, kneeling.

“Thy wishes and those of thy people are law unto me,” responded Kerœcia,
giving him her hand.

Alcamayn presented him with a cushion of purple silk on which lay the
seven rings.

“A sapphire set in gold, worn on the first finger, brings the blessing
of the sun,” said the Dorado, slipping the ring on her finger. “Beside
it I place a bloodstone set in tin, to enlist Jupiter in thy welfare;
the cautious guardianship of Saturn is in the turquoise and lead, with
which I encircle thy middle finger; Venus, the goddess of love, governs
the third finger, and for an amulet demands an amethyst set in copper;
the moon inclines the heart of thy people toward thee, and will bless
thee with children, if a diamond in silver setting is also placed on
this finger.”

Yermah lingered a moment over his task, and looked up at Kerœcia for
approval.

“This curiously wrought band contains a magnet, and is intended for the
little finger, the throne of Mercury, the wise one, who stands as an
outer sentinel to guard and strengthen love,” he continued.

“The seat of will-power is in the thumb. Let this serpent of iron with
an emerald eye bring to thee the warrior spirit of the planet Mars,
subdued and sweetened by the quality of Venus. May the All-Seeing Eye
supply thy inner vision, and may every craving of thy heart be
satisfied.”

“Then must thou express the gratitude oppressing me, when next thy voice
is heard in the Llama city,” replied Kerœcia, as she motioned Yermah to
rise.

Wreaths of bay-tree, of laurel in berry (whence the term baccalaureate
comes when it is given to young physicians), olive, myrtle, and
nasturtium vines were bestowed and proudly worn by men who had contested
for them earlier in the day. To the less successful, were given ribbons
of red, blue, and green.

The whole scene was animated and brilliant. The gayly dressed throng
pushed and elbowed one another, paying little or no attention to the
award of prizes, in their desire to see and to be seen.

The dances were about to begin, and there was a bevy of pretty girls
ready to do their share. Up the steps of the pavilion, dancing on their
way, came boys dressed as birds and butterflies, in garments of blue,
green, and yellow plumes. They ascended into the artificial trees,
moving from branch to branch, pretending to sip dew from the flowers.
Then came the special guests, who were garbed like gods, having
blow-guns in their hands, with which they feigned to shoot the birds.

Kerœcia invited the visitors into her bower, and gave them a mixture of
rose-leaves and tobacco to smoke.

Immediately the familiar strains of the harvest dances were heard, and
the people began to clap their hands in accompaniment. From the four
cardinal points a line of dancers was forming, composed of young girls
dressed as fairies. The sylphs came from the east, dressed in sheer
white, made short and very full, with graduated spangles of gold coming
out like a sunburst from the gold band at the waist. Orange and jasmine
blossoms wreathed their heads. They danced quickly up to the pole in the
center, and took the yellow streamer hanging from the immense flower
parasol suspended over the top. Joining hands, they waited for their
companions.

Next came the salamanders, in parti-colored dresses of flame-red and
black, so thickly spangled with mica that in the flaring light they
looked as if sparks had been showered over them. Their long black hair
was full of diamond powder, and they had red roses and carnations on
their heads. The same dainty steps, with the hems of their stiff skirts
in their fingers, brought them to the center where they secured a red
streamer.

Then came the undines, the water-sprites, dressed in Nile-green gauze
liberally trimmed with silver, while their girdles were of silver
filigree, shaped like serpents. Their fluffy white hair was crowned with
lemon and citron blooms, and agraffes of silver were also worn. They
came from the west, and selected a white streamer.

From the north came queer little hunchbacked creatures, wearing conical
caps which terminated in sharp points. These gnomes sparkled with
mineral wealth, in jeweled bodices and caps, while their skirts were
earth-colored gauze, brightened by iridescent sequins and embroideries.
These dancers picked up the remaining black streamer.

Slowly the columns began to circle around the pole, going faster and
faster until the streamers were wound around it, and as often reversing
the process. Forming a square, they began a basket weave, during which
time little children ran forth and back to represent the shuttle.

With a grand apotheosis of the seasons, during which each group danced
separately, and, finally, all together, they bowed, threw kisses to
Kerœcia, and ran off the platform.

A few minutes afterward, each square of marble was occupied by a young
woman dressed as a priestess, in long, voluminous robes of pale pink,
lavender, blue, and white, with double and single key patterns marked
out in black. The necks, the bottoms of the skirts, and the edges of the
sleeves were so ornamented. Gold bands coiled around the back part of
the head and held the long hair in place. Sandals, having pointed toes
curling well up over the foot, and laced together with gold cords,
completed their costumes.

The dancers were placed so as to form a representation like the maze of
Dædalus, and each whirled separately and at such a rate as to confuse
the beholder.

Ildiko took a parti-colored handkerchief and challenged Alcamayn to
follow her. The dancers kept up the whirling wherever she was, while the
others held their interlaced hands high over their heads and danced in
an indescribable labyrinth.

In and out darted Ildiko, with a tantalizing fling of the handkerchief,
taxing all Alcamayn’s ingenuity to follow, especially when the
spectators sought to mislead him by an incessant clamor of gratuitous
advice over and above the hand-clapping. Finally, he succeeded in
securing a corner of the square, which he retained, dancing with Ildiko
up in front of the pavilion.

As soon as Kerœcia recognized them, the whole group prostrated
themselves before her, and then rising simultaneously, executed a
serpentine dance, in which all the colors were beautifully blended.

As the music ceased, the crowd began moving toward the gates, and soon
after, quiet reigned supreme.


Yermah gained courage from the unfailing kindness shown him everywhere.
It loosed his tongue, and he longed to talk of his hopes and plans.
Lover-like, he was tormented with curiosity concerning the minutiæ of
Kerœcia’s life; so he lingered the greater portion of the next day at
her house.

These two indulged in the dearest, sweetest possible exchange of
confidences. The revelations they made amounted to nothing in
themselves, yet were priceless treasures to the recipients.

Halting sentences, eloquent silences, phrases broken by kisses sweeter
than honey of Hybla, explanations emphasized by a caressing touch of the
hand, tones and accents whose inner meaning was made plain by a love-lit
eye, all the sweet nothings talked heart-to-heart by lovers gave them
several hours of unalloyed happiness.

“I am of the same descent as thou art, my beloved,” said Kerœcia, as
Yermah drew her head toward him, and kissed the hair where it parted on
her forehead.

“How art thou related to me except by the silken cords of affection?” he
asked, ready to indulge her for the sake of hearing her talk.

“Because years ago, my ancestry came from Atlantis.”

“Very true, the Ians were originally from Atlantis, but they have long
made war on Nimrod’s descendants.”

“Oppression and ill-use drove them to rebellion. They were forbidden to
worship as I do, and for this reason they set themselves free.”

“I went directly to Nineveh, a callow youth, ungainly, beardless and
without discretion—”

“Wouldst thou have me quarrel with thee?” demanded Kerœcia, as she held
her hand tightly over Yermah’s mouth. He shook his head, and with his
hands imprisoned the audacious member.

“Then thou must not abuse my property,” she continued, with an engaging
pout.

“Wouldst thou have loved me then?” he asked. Being satisfied with her
reply, he added: “There I performed the first labor of initiation.”

“What meanest thou, by initiation? Is it something Akaza teaches thee?”

“Initiation is a task imposed upon me by the Brotherhood of the White
Star in my father’s court. When I have finished the labors I shall be of
the Brotherhood myself. This is necessary for a Grand Servitor.”

“Tell me of thy journeyings,” she said, nestling close beside him, yet
with a coyness and reserve all her own. “Thou hast traveled very far.”

“The second year was spent at[8]Memphis, Egypt, where I performed the
second labor. Then I went among our colonists in [8]Phœnicia; thence to
the [8]Etruscans, where I learned to work in metals; then among the
[8]Kelts, where I learned bow-craft; thence to the [8]Vikings and the
land of the [8]Basques. Returning to Poseidon’s kingdom, I set sail for
the land of the [8]Incas; and from there I came to Tlamco, the last
outlying colony of the [8]Toltecs, one of the three main tributaries to
the Grand Servitor Poseidon. Art thou satisfied?” he asked.

“Not quite. Hast thou loved no one all these years?”

“Yes; and very much,” confidently assented Yermah.

Kerœcia shrank back as if a blow had been dealt her. Everything swam
before her, and she was faint and wan.

“Whom?” she gasped.

“Myself,” said Yermah, holding her tightly. “Art thou jealous?”

“Not now,” she replied, with a look that enchanted her admirer.

“Wilt thou hear other confessions? I can accuse myself of much more.”

“And compel me to love thee the more for them all. Thou shalt leave me
sufficient mind for besetting affairs,” answered Kerœcia.

“Wouldst thou have me for thy slave?”

“No. But I would be thine.”

“Lend thy confidence fully, that I may worship where thou art pleased,
and abhor that which offends thee.”

“That which I value most of all my possessions is this distaff given me
by my mother,” said Kerœcia, bringing forward a slender strip of bamboo,
not much larger than a darning-needle, lightly weighted with pellets of
clay.

It had a jeweled handle and a wheel of hardwood, polished and set with
mother-of-pearl. A tiny shell served for a socket, should the weight of
the spindle prove too heavy for the gossamer threads used.

“Wilt thou spin?” asked her companion, placing a seat for her.

With girlish eagerness and gratified pride, Kerœcia sat down so intent
upon a display of dexterity and skill that she was unconscious of the
fact that her soft clinging skirts were tightly drawn over one leg the
entire length, and high enough to reveal the ankle and instep to good
advantage. With the other foot she set the treadle going, and soon her
shapely arms were following the flying shuttle. The well-poised head,
the long, slender throat, and the regular rise and fall of a perfect
bosom helped to complete the poetry of her motions, and Yermah feasted
his eyes while she worked.

Glancing upward by chance, Kerœcia caught the expression of his face,
but was by no means displeased because she saw desire mirrored there.

Who can resist the intoxication of the senses?—especially their
instinctive pledge, which does not rise to the mental plane, but is
merely a matter of exquisite feeling on both sides.

In his agitation, Yermah busied himself clumsily with the spider-web
threads, and soon had them hopelessly entangled. He was so genuinely
distressed when they broke that his companion hastily put the wheel away
and substituted an instrument like the zither, only much larger, played
with thimbles of tortoise-shell fastened to the fingers.

Kerœcia sang a plaintive love-song to her own accompaniment. When she
had finished, Yermah sat down beside her and slipped his arm around her
waist.

“Something in thy song makes me sad. Tell me again that thou wilt be
happy as my wife.”

She patted his cheek tenderly and gave the assurance.

“And wilt thou pray that children may bless and sweeten our lives
together?”

Kneeling beside him, she promised. Seeing that he was still in a serious
mood, she said soothingly:

“Let not ungentle doubt knit thy brow. For all time, and for all
eternity, I give myself to thee absolutely and without reserve.”

“And I bind my soul to cherish and love thee always. Thou art a jewel
imbedded in my very heart’s core. Hast thou a wish in my power to
grant?”

She stroked his temples gently for a moment, and then said:

“Thou art both skilled and learned, and I delight in thy achievements.
Hast thou shown all thy quality? Thou art as modest as a violet, but
thou hast said that thou wilt do much to please me. Make me to know thy
handiwork, and it shall be to me above rubies.”

It was such artless flattery that Yermah promised with swelling pride
and an inward conviction that his every thought and wish would find a
quick response and ready sympathy in her companionship.

After this they talked but little, much of their time being spent in the
strange silent awe of perfect love.

With a pretty show of confidence which thrilled Yermah, Kerœcia lifted
his disengaged hand and carried it to its fellow, which was yet about
her waist, and of her own accord added slightly to the pressure. Baffled
by the subtle change of expression which accompanied this movement,
Yermah asked quickly:

“What is it, loved one?”

“I feel securely sheltered from all the world,” she said, “when thy
strong arms enfold me. I wonder if thou canst realize what a complete
haven I feel that I have in thee?”

“Not more than I find in thy sweet mind, thy pure soul, and thy warm
heart,” he answered, as he kissed her forehead, eyes and lips.

He had taken her fully into his protecting care. She leaned on him
without restraint and suffered her eyelids to droop for a moment.
Gradually both of them yielded to a sense of weariness—a reaction
inevitable from the tension of the previous days.

Drowsiness came on apace, but sleep claimed Yermah an instant only. With
a tenderness akin to holiness, he occupied himself with Kerœcia’s
comfort. He was completely subdued by her helplessness, and she was in
every sense sacred to him.

“She trusts me,” he whispered softly, as he observed the relaxation of
her pose.

In his gentleness and solicitude, there was that incipient quality
indicated which would make him a kind and indulgent father.

She was to him still such a wonderful being that he was intensely
interested in her personality. Curious as a boy with a new toy, he
longed to arouse her, yet hesitated to do so. He felt diffident about
touching her. Before he could decide what to do, she had opened her eyes
with a start.

“Beloved, I thought thou hadst left me,” she murmured, only half-awake.

“No. I am still beside thee. We have both been in dreamland, but thou
art more laggard than I.”

“I am much refreshed,” she said, apologetically. “Thou wilt pardon my
neglect?”

“I, too, am renewed,” he answered, stroking her hair affectionately.

                  *       *       *       *       *

“Thou wilt not forget me when thou art engrossed with affairs of state?”
she asked wistfully, as they stood together in the twilight taking leave
of each other.

He was to go away at daybreak the following morning, and she clung to
him in longing farewell.

“Remember this,” he answered, taking her face in his hands, and looking
deep into her eyes: “Nothing can for one moment blot out thy dear image.
The first thought of the day, the last thought of the night is of thee.”

“Thou art my whole desire and inspiration. Memory serves thee
faithfully. May the energy of the cosmos conserve thy strength of
purpose, thy health and happiness,” was Kerœcia’s reply.

“To Him who was in the beginning, and shall endure to the end without
mutation or change, I commend my sweet love. May angels of content hover
over thee, Kerœcia, my treasure!”

A tender, lingering embrace, a shower of kisses on eyelids and lips, and
then the princess stood alone, straining her eyes into the dark, trying
to retain a glimpse of her departing lover.




                           CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
                   THE JEWEL BOOK AND WHAT CAME OF IT


On the way home, and for days after his arrival at Tlamco, Yermah
thought of what he should do to please Kerœcia. She had said that she
wanted to know of all his handiwork and achievements, so he studied out
a plan to fulfill her wishes.

Being a master in metallurgy, a skillful artificer, and an expert
diamond lapidary, he decided to make her a tablet of stones, which
should be a book of his life, confident that she understood the language
of the genii, since her father’s court copied the letters used in their
cuneiform writing from the arrow-head crystals imprisoned in sapphires.

Yermah’s belief was that gold, silver and the precious stones had but
one foundation in nature. They were simply augmentative thought,
purified and perfected through the operation of magnetic life. This
power was invisible and unattainable under ordinary circumstances, and
unknown to all except the alchemist.

With him all yellow gems and gold were appropriate to wear for Sunday,
either to draw down propitious influences or to avert antagonistic
effects.

On Monday, pearls and white stones (not diamonds) were worn, because
this is the day of the moon, the second power in nature.

Tuesday, the day of Mars, claimed rubies and all crystallization of a
fiery luster.

Wednesday was the day of the turquoise, sapphire and all species of
stones which seem to reflect the blue vault of heaven, and to imply the
lucent azure of the spiritual atmosphere where the sylphs dwell—those
elementals who are always striving to communicate with mortals, because
they desire immortality.

Thursday demanded amethysts, and richly colored stones of sanguine tint,
because the day is correlated to the male divine sacrifice.

Friday, Venus’s day, had emeralds and reigned over all green stones.

On Saturday, diamonds, signifying the great deep, were worn, because
Saturn’s rule is death to the physical, but birth to the spiritual
nature.

“The first effect abides as long as the thing remains,” said the Dorado
to Alcamayn, as they examined and assorted some uncut turquoises brought
from the mines in the Cerrillos Mountains, in New Mexico, then a
flourishing Toltec settlement.

Opals came from Zinapan, pearls from La Paz, emeralds from Peru, and
diamonds from Brazil, while the rubies had been lately sent from Montana
by Orondo. There were beautiful sapphires from the Caucasus, secured by
barter with Kerœcia’s people.

“All things material have a proper form,” answered Alcamayn, “and are
subject to certain conditions. Gems, being material, derive virtue from
a specific shape, and are likewise subject to the influence of the
planets.”

“I require four stones for my purpose, and will see to it that the
symbol engraved has the same quality as the stone itself, in order that
its strength may be doubled,” continued Yermah.

“To be efficacious, this book must be made by election,” rejoined
Alcamayn. “Each stone must be worked at the hour its particular planet’s
position is strongest. This will prolong the good aspect forever, unless
the stone is broken.”

“The sapphire reflects the blue of heaven, and belongs to the Bull,”
explained Yermah, critically examining some polished gems, having
arrow-head crystals standing out in startling distinctness in the
prismatic colors. Sometimes they appeared in clouds, again in fields,
shifting their scenes as often as he changed the focus. “This shall be
placed in a square of gold.”

“The house of the Twins requires an agate, which is the natal stone of
the priestess Kerœcia,” observed Alcamayn, handing the Dorado a
beautifully marked moss-agate.

“Let that be placed in the gold below the sapphire. The emerald pictures
the depth of the sea, and is the delight of its parent, the Light
Bringer. It shall be in the third place.”

“The first gem for the blue square is a topaz,” said Alcamayn, “which
rules the Lion, thy house of nativity.”

“This pale pink coral, with its delicate leaf-work, shall be its
companion. It is of our common country, and will out-tongue my feeble
words in its own behalf,” the Dorado continued.

“Here is a dewdrop laden with sunbeams,” said the little jeweler
enthusiastically, as he opened a square of maguey fiber, and disclosed a
first-water brilliant.

“Equilibrated love could have no better exponent,” assented Yermah,
sharing his enthusiasm. “The bow and dart are here at rest in the sign
Libra, where the Lord of Day begins his journey through the nether
world. This sparkling thing shall find rest beside the coral branch
fresh from the brine of Atlantis.”

“The scarlet block must have a fiery opal, and I have here an exquisite
finding, recently brought from the Toltec kingdom,” exclaimed the
jeweler.

“This shall typify the sting of the scorpion, which is the separation
forced upon us. Its changing hues shall be to her a sign that three
lunations more complete my exile, and then comes joyous union. Put this
in the first place, and with it a turquoise for the present time, when
all my thought is of thee,” he continued, unmindful of Alcamayn’s
presence. “The ruby mirrors my imprisoned soul, which awaits release
into the sunshine of thy love.”

Alcamayn was looking over a handful of garnets. Finally he found a
suitable one, and laid it at the top of the purple square.

“This shall be the opening page,” said Yermah; “and I will so cunningly
fashion it that Kerœcia shall go with renewed zest from one chapter to
another. When she has my whole life spread out before her, I shall
conceal the spring, so that she may not close it again. It will be to
her a pledge of constancy.”

“I like not this amethyst,” commented Alcamayn, “but we have no other
stone large enough.”

“The sign of the fishes is well represented by a pearl,” rejoined
Yermah. “Hast thou black and white gems sufficient in size?”

“Here is one of each, ovum-shaped and perfect. Thou canst fashion the
fishes of the amethyst and set the two pearls between.”

“A square of jasper gives promise of fulfillment. As the verdant earth
responds to the warming rays of the sun newly come out of the region of
cold and darkness, so man’s heart is warmed into life by love. Canst
thou make room for me among the lapidaries?” he asked, turning to
Alcamayn in direct appeal. “I desire to work with these materials
myself.”

“Wilt thou grant me leave to make thee comfortable here? Thou mayst
command me in all things,” said Alcamayn, proud of his knowledge of the
craft, and flattered because he had been consulted in a matter so
personal and delicate.

They were in the treasure-room of Iaqua, and it was not long before
Yermah had a temporary work-shop improvised in a corner where he had a
good light, but was screened from observation.

In addition to a copper wheel and the necessary tools, there was a
vessel filled with a carbonate of a brownish-green, opaque color, porous
like pumice, and as hard as a diamond, which he used for polishing and
cutting. An emery-wheel and a ewer of olive oil were also at hand.

The Dorado spent a portion of each day in this work-shop, and while
employed at his labors of love, he either hummed or whistled the
plaintive melody Kerœcia had sung for him.

The gold plates which Yermah had so dexterously contrived were put
together on the principle of a screen, in four sections, containing
three stones each, set solid. The first strip was of purple enamel, the
second gold, the third blue, the fourth red. At the four cardinal points
were squares of gold, with stone intaglios.

When folded, the east and west formed a clasp, which had a spring
concealed on the reverse side.


As soon as Kerœcia received the tablet of stones, she dispatched Ben Hu
Barabe and Alcyesta to Tlamco with a pair of golden eagles for Yermah.
These birds were carefully trained in falconry, and were highly prized
because of their sagacity, courage and skill. She also sent him the
filmy muslin square with its broken and tangled threads, just as he had
left it. With it went a diamond ring set with brilliants all the way
around. She obeyed the request accompanying the tablet, and did not open
it until the three days specified had elapsed, being careful, also, to
observe the exact time named.

It was Yermah’s first attempt at telepathy; but as Kerœcia turned the
key in the elaborately carved ivory box, she felt his thought
distinctly. She spoke and acted as if he were actually present.

A delicate odor of jasmine filled the room, and Kerœcia was so eager and
nervous that she fumbled clumsily with the neatly rolled maguey fiber,
thin and soft as a spider’s web, on which the accompanying message was
written.

“The book has two parts,” said Suravia, when Kerœcia uncovered a thick
gold wheel having depressed spokes and a hub which acted as an upright
standard. The representation was perfect, and on what corresponded to
the felloes were the blossom and leaf of the _siempra viva_ in an
elaborately chased design.

“How thoughtful and delicate!” exclaimed Kerœcia, as she recognized the
flower, and recalled the occasion of its choice.

“Press the spring in the clasp, and then my life is before thee as an
open book,” she read, looking at the three uppermost stones in the
closed tablet.

“This is the language of the genii!” she cried, “and has a pearl, an
amethyst, and a garnet.”

“Which means modesty, sincerity and constancy,” declared Mineola, who
was of the party.

“Sincerity of speech and freedom from slanderous thoughts,” continued
Kerœcia. “Wisdom, courage, patience, and the power to keep those who
serve loyal. Fidelity in every engagement—”

“Where seest thou this?” asked Suravia, looking intently, but unable to
distinguish so much.

“I know not,” answered Kerœcia. “The divine gift of song is also here,
with a low sweet voice and love of home for my portion.”

“Seest thou this flying eagle with an arrow in its claws?” asked
Mineola, pointing to the green jade intaglio, on a square at the top.

“His thought is always of me,” murmured Kerœcia. “See how perfect the
polish and how exquisite the cutting.”

“The bottom has a black onyx square with an altar and fire,” said
Suravia, gazing curiously at the opposite end.

“This will keep the heart cheerful and merry, because it foretells
deathless union—”

“Be merciful to our curiosity, by touching the spring which conceals the
other chapters,” cried both girls in a breath.

“I cannot tell why—but I feel as if something were going to happen. How
strange the light is!”

The priestess still held the tablet in her hand, but went to the window
and looked out. “Dost thou not think a storm is approaching?”

“Let us put back the curtains which keep out the light,” said Suravia,
suiting the action to the word.

“Low-hanging clouds oppress the upper air. But this is nothing.”

“Thou hast no cause for apprehension,” said Mineola, kindly. “Thou hast
all the world to make thee content.”

Thus gently urged, Kerœcia came back to the table, accidentally setting
the gold wheel in motion as she approached.

“Dost thou notice that the square indentations in the inner circle of
the wheel are the same size as the top and bottom?” asked Suravia,
intent on her discovery.

“And dost thou see that the clasps are the same size?” asked Alcyesta,
whose quick eye had already noted the resemblance.

Kerœcia was still pale and unaccountably agitated. Finally she said,
with her thumb on the spring:

“I am face to face with Fate! But—Yermah loves me, so why should I
fear?”

She pressed the spring and the screen spread out instantly. In the
center was a slip of parchment, on which was written: “_When once my
heart opens unto thy loving touch, never again canst thou close it._”

Woman-like, they all exclaimed at once, and were in a flutter of
excitement over the beauty of workmanship, the flight of fancy, and the
loving sentiments expressed in this novel fashion.

“Did I not tell thee the squares would fit into the wheel?” demanded
Suravia, when she finally managed to make herself heard.

“Let us try it,” said Kerœcia. “Thou art right. It fits perfectly. The
tablet is square, but the wheel is circular, which is in itself a great
mystery with the Azes.”

The priestess blushed scarlet as she realized that she had betrayed her
study of Yermah’s religion.

“Tell us about it,” demanded both auditors, eagerly.

“To circle the square, means to find the perfect way of living,” she
answered.

“And he means to say that his life with thee will be perfect? He is the
square, thou art the circle?”

“It were more worthily put the other way,” answered Kerœcia, touched by
his tenderness and devotion.

“See the clasps,” said Mineola. “At the eastern point is a man’s figure
with a bull’s head, holding a spear over his left shoulder, from which
hangs a hare.”

“What a quaint, odd symbol of himself!” said Kerœcia, smiling.

“Placed opposite the balances, it will keep his beloved in health and
preserve her from despair,” said Suravia.

“Why sayest thou balances?” asked Kerœcia.

“Dost thou not see that the stones corresponded to the zodiac? The
diamond blazes like the sun in a clear sky,” answered Suravia, pointing
to the blue square.

“I have only eyes for this beautiful hyacinth in the opposite clasp. It
looks as if smoke were rising from it. Now it glows like a burning
coal,” cried Mineola.

“Cut deep in its smooth surface is a woman with her arms asunder, like a
cross, and having a triangle on her head,” commented Kerœcia.

“The stone is in the house of the Lamb, the beginning and renewal time
of Nature. Therefore, art thou given refreshing sleep and quick recovery
from fatigue,” returned Mineola.

“The desire and thought of both is centered on the altar.”

Kerœcia was speaking to herself, and lightly touching the blocks with
their intaglios marking the four cardinal points.

“Thou art right in adoring him,” declared Suravia, enthusiastically. “In
the first block of gold is a sapphire, meaning that the language of this
book is the same as that thy childhood knew; and the agate below it is
thy birth-stone.”

“The emerald underneath both has a perfectly straight and smooth
surface; so there shall be no darkening shadows thrown over thee,” said
Mineola.

“The topaz and coral in the next block pertain to thy future home; and
the diamond placed under them symbolizes the water which surrounds it,”
read Suravia.

“It will also be thy home—and thine too, Mineola. I cannot be happy
parted from thee.”

Each one of the girls affectionately embraced and kissed her in turn.

“The ruby contains an imprisoned soul,” said Mineola, looking again at
the tablet. “There is a perfect asterisk in the center. How tender! How
beautiful! How sweet is the language of love! He intends to say that his
heart awaits the freeing touch of thy devotion to release it from
apathy, and warm it into life. Thou art indeed blest and fortunate.”

“Thou shalt not read backward,” declared Suravia. “The first stone in
the red ground is an opal. It must bring a precious message, since it is
the only gem which man cannot imitate.”

“It has a changeable character, and is in a moving sign—”

A piercing scream from Kerœcia startled them, and before either
companion could prevent it, she fell to the floor in a deathlike swoon.
Mineola ran to the courtyard, where a water jar, overgrown with green
timothy, swung from the portico, and brought back a gourdful of ice-cold
water. Suravia knelt beside Kerœcia and sprinkled her face liberally.

“Speak to thy handmaiden,” she cried. “Speak, I beseech thee!”

In their excitement they did not notice that the room was suddenly
growing dark, and that the cool, moist air had become close and
stifling.

“Use the fan gently,” said Suravia, with a sharp, peremptory ring in her
voice. Mineola made no answer. She was praying.

Kerœcia recovered her senses with a start. She seemed dazed for a
moment; then she sat bolt upright, gasping for breath pitifully.

“What has distressed and hurt thee so?” asked Mineola with quivering
lips, kneeling beside her and offering support.

The sound of a voice seemed to recall Kerœcia’s wandering senses.

“O God! Give me courage!” was her agonized cry. “My beloved is vowed to
celibacy, and I must die!”

“What sayest thou?”

“Kerœcia, what dost thou mean?”

“Tell us fully,” they both said at once.

“Didst thou not see? In the opal—It was so from the beginning! O Thou
Merciful One, take thy wretched servant! What have I done? Shame
everlasting is my portion!”

“Why did he not tell thee of his vow?” asked Suravia, a note of rising
indignation in her voice.

“How could he? I am to blame. He would not humiliate and degrade me
before my people.”

She gave way to a paroxysm of heart-breaking grief, while Mineola,
weeping in sympathy, sought to console her.

Suravia went back to the tablet. The opal was entirely opaque; not a
particle of its fire and sparkle was visible.

“I will see what the other stones have to reveal. The sensitive
turquoise, the forget-me-not of gems, lives and suffers as we do. It has
the power of reproduction, and by its employment the Dorado intended to
express a hope for the future. But this symbol of youth, love and
tenderness seems to have shriveled in size, and has turned to a sickly
green. Beside it is the sympathetic ruby faded to a pale coral.
Misfortune—”

A sharp, swaying, rocking movement, sending the windowpanes to the
ground with a crash, and throwing the women against each other
violently, blanched their faces and caused them to cling together for
support. A deafening explosion followed, and then the cry of her
panic-stricken people aroused Kerœcia.

“Run for thy lives!” shouted a voice in the street. “The mountains are
smoking and spitting fire! Quick! quick! quick! Run!”

They barely escaped in time to miss the falling walls. In the streets an
indescribable scene was being enacted.

What is now known as Lassen Peak sent up a long fiery column, and the
earth heaved and groaned under the exertion.

Ashes, smoke and lava began pouring down the sides of the peak, and
there was a mad rush of wild animals, coming to man in their mute
helplessness from the rocking mountains hemming in the little valley.

Suddenly the gloom was lighted by a meteoric shower, which for an hour
made the heavens blaze in a magnificent electrical display. A terrific
crash of thunder followed, then an ominous rumble, ending in a long
groan which seemed to rend the bosom of the trembling earth.

Red-hot stones and burning cinders fell like a storm of fire upon the
whole surrounding country. Land surfaces subsided and rose again like
immense chests in regular and lusty breathing. The rubble walls and
battlements of the pavilion fell as a pack of cards.

A second shock leveled every house, and brought trees and rocks crashing
down the mountain sides, dealing death and destruction everywhere. The
whole artillery of the heavens was in action, drowning the feeble cries
of man, dying terror-stricken in the heaps of ruins.

Lizards, snakes, rats, mice, and moles raced madly in every direction,
while timid owls and other birds flew close to the ground and screeched
in their fright and bewilderment. The larger animals huddled close
together, while the dogs howled dismally.

A little handful of men and women, surviving the first terrific shocks,
attempted to escape over the lower range of hills, but, to their horror,
a yawning gulf opened at their feet.

Moving in sinister majesty and strangeness, was a bottomless abyss,
impassable in width and several miles long. Before their very eyes, it
swallowed up human beings, houses and forests, grinding and crushing
them between its gigantic jaws. With another terrific wrench, it belched
them up again, followed by a deluge of steam, mud and hot water.

The river lying below Anokia had deserted its natural bed, driven before
the avalanche of lava, and the sea of mud, vapor, gas, black smoke and
effluvia showed where it had forever disappeared through a crevice.

A thick shower of ashes filled the air. The earth undulated and quivered
for a few seconds, and then a tempest of lightning and hail cleared the
suffocating atmosphere.

In the lurid flashes could be seen the oscillation forth and back as if
the very heart of Mount Lassen were being torn out. Its black vomit,
streaked with red, trailed like a snake over the floor of the valley,
setting fire to the combustible wreckage, and stealing up the base of
the peak as well.

Kerœcia led her little band of devoted followers up the high mountain
walling in the western side of the valley. The subterranean rumblings
sounded in her ears like the drum-beating on stumps of trees or logs
done by the wings of male pheasants when they are calling to their
females.

“I hear not the call of a mate. It is death—and thou art welcome!” she
said, turning a pale but composed face to the burning heights.

“Thou hast heard my prayer!” she continued, stretching out her arms in
supplication. “Thou hast granted me the purification by fire! Thy spirit
laughs and licks out long tongues of flame straight from thy fiery
throat! Thy countenance is wreathed with smiles, for me, O Death! But if
consistent with thy will, spare these children of the forest. They share
not my humiliation, degradation and despair.”

A hissing, howling hurricane stormed and raged around them. With a
convulsive lurch the ground underneath shivered, and finally the
elevation on which they stood was rent in twain from top to bottom.

One half collapsed and fell in, while through the kettle-shaped opening
in the valley swept a flood of mud, scoria and molten lava, which
completely submerged the burning ruins. The rain fell in a solid sheet,
but now the hot air and steam rising from below tortured them with heat.

Suddenly a dog, maddened with terror, leaped into the seething cauldron,
and its cry was stifled by a sizzling, crackling sound, as the poor
creature was crisped to a cinder.

Those who clung to life made frantic leaps over the frightful precipice
to the other side, only to be dashed to pieces in the valleys below. The
whole district was overwhelmed with lava and hot water pouring out from
the lesser peaks around the center of activity. Despite the gales of
wind and the heavy downpour, sulphur and other noxious gases permeated
the upper air, so that long before the lava crept up and ingulfed them,
death by suffocation overtook the wretched remnant.

In their extremity the people obeyed Kerœcia implicitly, and many
touching exhibitions of heroism marked their last moments. They huddled
together at the root of a sequoia gigantea, newly wrenched out of the
ground. Nor did they refuse shelter to a grizzly bear, a mountain lion,
some wolves, some wild sheep, a colony of snakes, nor the birds hovering
in the air, screeching in abject terror or stupefied beyond resistance.

The twisting, crackling swish of the trees, the thundering clatter of
the rocks shaken loose, and bounding downward with prodigious velocity,
passed unnoticed by the martyrs looking at death, calmed and awed by the
terribly destructive fury of animated nature.

Kerœcia gathered Suravia and Mineola in her arms protectingly, and
waited for the end. Up to the very last she sought to comfort and
console her companions, so worn with fatigue and excitement that they
made no further effort.

Some had already crossed the dark waters; others were gasping their
last, when death touched her—and she slept.

With the passing of her spirit, Kerœcia groaned as she remembered how
she sat at the spindle, and of the answering look she then gave Yermah.

To the everlasting honor and glory of womankind be it said, that she
never sinks so low in the moral scale as to be indifferent to the
opinion of the man she loves. Loss of his respect crushes and kills—not
the physical, but all that is essentially woman in her nature.

Showered with affectionate appreciation, she reaches her highest
development; for love is as necessary to her growth as is sunshine to a
plant. Denied it, woman can at best but droop and die.

Since learning that Yermah was not free to espouse her, Kerœcia was
appalled and overwhelmed with the knowledge that she had allowed him to
surprise her secret thoughts—to guess accurately at future
possibilities.

“It is not true,” she murmured. “Yermah, my beloved, think not that I
have the heart of a wanton! Forgive—”

But there was no answering voice to cry out in return—no one to assure
the breaking heart that her love was a priceless treasure—no one to make
her see that every emotion was fully appreciated and understood. So the
sunshine went out of another life when the breath left Kerœcia’s body.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Yermah had named the day and hour when Kerœcia should examine the tablet
of stones, to enable him to put himself in communication with her
mentally. For three days he kept the door of his private sanctuary
closed; but at the hour named he knelt before the shrine and fixed his
mind intently upon Kerœcia.

He smiled softly to himself as he realized that she had opened the ivory
casket, that she was examining the workmanship, that she comprehended
the significance of the square within the circular wheel.

Now she has touched the clasp, and her eyes are greedily drinking in the
beauty of the groupings while her senses are thrilled with their
message. In his rapture he goes with her, step by step.

“She is pleased with the coral-bound island of my birth,” he murmured,
“and she gets some idea of her future home.—Thou art right, Mineola, my
soul is in the ruby. I have laid my heart bare. Look long and earnestly,
Kerœcia; thou art welcome to know its secret places. The opal will tell
thee how soon release comes. Thou must not be frightened at its
suddenness. Three more lunations separate us. Then to Atlantis, where—”

He was wrenched violently and pitched face downward to the floor by the
sudden impact of Kerœcia’s agonized thought.

“Thou art mistaken!” he cried aloud. “The changing character of the opal
must speak to thee. Thy thought dishonors me, for I love thee truly! The
vow binds me not for all time. Look again, beloved!”

To his finely attuned senses came the knowledge of her anguish and
sorrow. He choked and smothered under it. Mentally, he heard her
piercing shriek.

“O Unseen Divinity! Hear and be gracious to thy distressed servants!” he
supplicated, rising to a kneeling position. “O Powers of Air! Convey my
thoughts clearly! Make her to see!” Something of the horror of the
situation flashed over him. “O Earth yield now thy hidden treasure! Give
gold in abundance, that I may fly to her side. Release me, O
Brotherhood! I will not be longer bound—”

Without sensing it, Yermah had broken the spirit of his vow!

The door of the sanctuary stood open, but his ordinary faculties were
dormant, while his subjective consciousness sought to penetrate the
gloom ingulfing Kerœcia. He did not hear approaching footsteps, nor did
his wandering senses respond when a light tap sounded on the door, nor
did he see the face peering in at him.

“He kneels before Orion,” said Alcamayn hurriedly, as Akaza approached.
“Thou wilt find him distraught already.”

“Hasten back to the Observatory and have the bells tolled to quiet the
alarm showing itself among the people,” said Akaza in dismissal. “Soon
the dread visitation will be upon us, and it were gentle to forewarn
them.”

Akaza had been making observations night and day since Yermah’s return
from Anokia. He had said little, but his face was set and stern, like
one in deep trouble. He made a peculiar rat-tat! on the lentils of the
sanctuary with his fingers, which brought Yermah to the doorway.

“A sign of great portent is in the heavens,” began Akaza, after a mute
salutation. “When the sun is passing from Libra to Capricorn is a season
prolific in visitations from outer space. The fiery messengers come near
the sun at that time. Dost thou remember the night in the cave?”

“Memory serves me well,” answered Yermah, unable to concentrate his
attention. “Is the visitant of the usual complexion and order?”

“It is a burning coal, red and glowing. Its face is like a double
crescent, and it is a formidable rival to the sun in size. It comes
retrograde with the constellation Orion rising. Its illuminated hair
floats over one half of the zenith, and is not quite on a straight line
opposite the sun. It pulsates as though it had been agitated by the
wind, and is curved like a threatening saber.

“To-day, it will pass through the plane of the earth’s orbit, and when
it meets the influence of the new moon, it will be in sore affliction
with Venus. In this condition it comes under the influence of Mars. It
will then disperse that planet’s cohesive strength and there will be war
in the earth’s interior between uncontrolled water and fire.

“All the planets in our system afflict and oppose each other so that the
waters of the sea and the winds of heaven will be lashed into furious
activity.”

“What means this sudden clangor of bells?” asked Yermah, now fully
aroused to the commotion in the courtyard outside.

“It is a solemn convocation to call the affrighted people together to
watch and pray, while the sign hangs suspended behind the dying sun,”
answered Akaza, hurrying after him. “Many times of late the orb of day
has gone to rest in a bed of blood, but to-night the red glow comes from
another quarter. The scourge is upon us, Yermah, and the hour of thy
trial is at hand.”




                            CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
            YERMAH BECOMES ONE OF THE WHITE STAR BROTHERHOOD


Yermah did not hear him. He had caught a glimpse of the comet hanging
low over the Golden Gate—a double crescent of fire joined together. Its
tail bent out over Tlamco, and curved downward like a great broad-sword.
It throbbed and panted like a living thing, sinister and awful, as Venus
twinkled between its two horns, an evening star of horrible aspect.

A tremor, ominous and indefinable, seized the populace, hushed and awed
by the dreadful apparition. It was a premonition, followed instantly by
a low, rumbling sound, an angry roar of waters, and then the earth shook
under them like a leaf in the wind. A mad rush for the streets, an
instinctive huddling together, a breathless wait for a second impact!

A heavy, long boom, like a roll of distant artillery, and a wave
mountain high, but crested in the center like a spine, rose up between
them and the Golden Gate, and, for a moment, shut out from view the
grinning, mocking comet.

The ground surged up and down under their feet in simultaneous waves.
Trees bent over and touched their tops together, houses rocked and
swayed, and all that was breakable in them went down with a crash.

Living close to the heart of Nature, her moods were not mysterious to
these people; so, they waited for the third, and what they supposed
would be the final shock. It came with such terrible force that the
Observatory tower fell in a cloud of blinding dust, and all the other
buildings were rent or cracked grievously, but were not overthrown
simultaneously.

A thievish wave stole in silently, and embraced the whole city.

The stricken people looked into each other’s faces with dismay, as they
stood waist-deep in water, a nameless fear chilling their hearts. The
water retreated precipitously, while lurid streaks and tongues of flame
lit up the whole eastern heavens. Shock after shock succeeded each
other, while the clouds lowered heavy and sullen close overhead.
Brokenly, but in unison, thousands of throats lent voice to prayerful
entreaty:

“Wilt thou blot us out forever, O Lord? Is this punishment intended not
for our reformation, but for our total destruction?”

One impulse seemed to move the entire concourse; and as if Nature heard,
she answered by a gust of wind and a downpour of rain.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Ben Hu Barabe, Alcyesta and their attendants had a mad gallop for life.
They were within an hour’s ride of Sacramento River when they saw thin,
blue flames suddenly shoot up from the earth, followed by heavy
cannonading of the internal elements.

In the cosmic mêlée they were tossed forth and back like a shuttle in a
loom—so violently at first that the horses fell to their knees and were
whirled in opposite directions. In terror the animals tried to lie down
and roll over with their burdens; but their riders whipped and spurred
vigorously, and the maddened creatures ran until they dropped exhausted
on the river bank. A thick shower of ashes fell over them, and the air
was like a blast from a furnace. Behind them came smoking streaks of
lava, poured into the plain by a row of flame-mantled hills.

Flocks were scampering wildly in every direction, and the scattered
herdsmen were taking to the boats and skiffs tied along the river bank.

Ben Hu Barabe and Alcyesta climbed into the balsa awaiting them, and
their attendants hastened with them. They had scarcely pushed out into
midstream, when the very bed of the river seemed to rise and hurl its
waters forward. Waves rose in an undulating wall of water, breaking the
banks of both sides, sending death and destruction broadcast over the
valley. The boats were carried along by an irresistible impulse and with
incredible swiftness, straight across sinuous windings of the stream
onward toward the sea.

Lightning played over their heads; but the crash of thunder, the
explosions of the volcanoes, the mighty heaves and groans tearing the
breast of the trembling earth were lost in an angry roar of waters.

A canon-shot would not have sent them forward with greater impetus; and
this prevented their boats from swamping, despite their shipping water
frightfully.

The shock which leveled the Observatory tower shattered all the windows
and cracked every building in Tlamco, letting the accumulated waters
through what is now Carquinez Straits, and widened an arm of the sea
into an open inlet.

The impounded water inundated the surrounding country, swept over the
intervening islands, and spent itself in a series of waves mountain
high, whose impact disturbed the ocean’s surface for thousands of miles,
after severing Lime Point from the peninsula and plowing out the famous
Golden Gate entrance to the bay.[9]

One of the most violent tremors caught the little colony of boats, which
by a miraculous coincidence, were thrown together in the trough of the
sea, and tossed them ashore, high and dry, on the Berkeley hills.

The water receded so rapidly that the boats stuck fast in the débris and
mud. All except the strongest one, containing Ben Hu Barabe and
Alcyesta, were crushed like egg-shells.

With broken arms and legs, bruised and battered bodies, scarred almost
beyond recognition, the little band huddled together, reviving each
other when pain brought unconsciousness, while the elements overhead and
below them rioted with unabated fury.

The morrow brought no surcease, except that the waters subsided and took
on something of their normal aspect. The earth still trembled and
groaned, and the sun was so completely obscured for days after, that it
seemed always twilight.

So soon does the mind become accustomed to danger—so familiar does it
grow with death, that Ben Hu Barabe was able to direct his men how to
reach the back waters of the bay, where the motion was less violent and
marked.

They helped each other, with tears and gratitude, to some of the fruit
and nuts which had been spared to them. Alcyesta’s left arm was broken,
and she could scarcely move without intolerable pain; but she made no
complaint to the half-crazed men about her. None of them could ever tell
afterward how they contrived to reach Tlamco.

Heart-rending scenes greeted them everywhere, and many of the frenzied
inhabitants rolled convulsively upon the ground. Others accused
themselves with frantic insistence of all kinds of crime. Others could
not speak. Some were helpless paralytics, and numbers could not retain
food, so terrible was the reflex action on the nervous system.

The mind that has passed through such a calamity has lost its tone.
Instead of being braced up, as by war, the earth’s epilepsy makes the
mental fabric flabby, and paralyzes by a hopeless fear from which there
is no known refuge. The fluttering soul, tying itself to matter as
something solid and enduring, finds that the globe itself is but a poor
shivering thing, liable to be taken in some monster demon’s clutch and
shaken back into its component parts. No language can adequately express
the stupendous feeling of instability conveyed by the idea of the
earth’s possible dissolution and dispersion.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Yermah sat in a stupor, and it was with difficulty that he could be
aroused when Ben Hu Barabe came to speak to him. He was completely worn
out with anxiety and exertion on behalf of his people. At first the
Dorado did not recognize his visitor in the semi-darkness. When he
finally caught sight of the ravaged and altered face before him, he went
almost insane with grief. He had hoped against hope to the very last.
Now he knew without a word that his worst fears were realized.

Six weeks later, when brain-fever loosed its grip upon him, Akaza found
Yermah lying face downward at the door of the Temple of Neptune. He was
moaning and sobbing piteously. In a half-crazed condition, he had eluded
observation, and started out to find his foster-father, but had fallen
by the wayside, overcome by sheer bodily weakness. Akaza lifted him up,
and hushed him as he would a child.

“Thou art wrong to grieve like this,” he said gently and soothingly.
“The Father in the Trinity is the Universal Creator; the Son is man
himself. Therefore, thou art in essence—God, since thou art in
possession of this higher principle and must live.”

Yermah was like a maimed lion—a pathetic and pitiable object—as he lay
with his head on Akaza’s shoulder, while his pent-up feelings found vent
in choking sobs.

“Thou art weakening thy sacred manhood in yielding thus to despair. Thou
art intrusted with a mission for all peoples, for all tongues, and for
all time. Think, my son, of being the world’s ideal lover through all
the eons to follow! It is a blessed privilege! Thou hast witnessed a
demonstration of the destructive majesty of cosmic force. Now thou art
called upon to obey thine individual destiny. THOU HAST PERFORMED THE
EIGHTH LABOR!”

“And the gold for the temple?” questioned Yermah, in a stricken voice.

“It was alchemical gold thou wert sent to find. Thy body is the temple,
and the Perfect Way of Life is the magic which produces alchemical gold.
Dost thou comprehend the occult significance of Osiris, with a crook in
one hand and a flail in the other?”

“No,” answered the Dorado, more calmly. “Come into the temple and I
shall tell thee.”

When Yermah followed him, he continued:

“The crook is the attraction to the earth, and the flail is the
repulsion from it. Man oscillates continually between the masculine and
the feminine qualities of his nature. When Osiris says, ‘Let the heart
be given back to the deceased’[10] after it has been put into an urn and
weighed in the balance against the image of Truth, we are to understand
that the candidate is no longer swayed by his emotions and appetites. He
is self-centered. Sorrow will lift her pall, and thou wilt stand face to
face with Truth.”

Akaza drew from his bosom a heavy serpent ring of silver with a rare
green jade setting. It had a turquoise with diamond eyes cut intaglio.

“This means Silence,” said the old man, as he took Yermah’s right hand,
and slipped the ring on the little finger. “It is the signet of the
Brotherhood, and thou must sacredly guard the divine wisdom imparted to
thee.

“Thou wilt be sorely tried in the future; but I, who am responsible for
thy soul’s welfare, give thee this sign manual of the King Initiate.”

Yermah knelt before him, and was anointed on crown, forehead and breast
with perfumed oil.

“Rise and receive the Sacred Word. It is ‘Aision,’ which is Truth. Seen
in the distance, this quality is personated as stern, harsh, forbidding;
but, when we approach near enough to distinguish the lineaments of its
countenance, it contains all that is gracious, benignant and inspiring.
The Spirit of Truth dwells within the sanctuary of the heart.”

Akaza then put his hands together, with the fingers closed and bent so
as to form an acute angle. With the tip of his fingers pointed, he
touched Yermah’s forehead, and said:

“Let there be no complaint.”

The joining of the right and left hand signified the union of the
masculine and the feminine principles, and of spirit and matter.

It represented the pyramid, the cone, the center, the heart, the ten
Sephiroth proceeding from the One; the naught of the ten numerals in the
tenfold ratio.

“And I am commanded to get rid of the my-ness, as a giant weed whose
roots lie deep in the human heart?” said Yermah, slowly.

“Remember always,” responded Akaza, glad to see that Yermah’s mind was
for the moment normal, “that the true self of man is God. Look for it in
thy fellows; find it and hold fast to it in thyself. Thou must ponder
these things well. I can tell thee what I have experienced and known;
but thou wouldst only have my word for it.

“A river cannot rise higher than its source; so, therefore no man ever
sees beyond the reflection of himself. First, sense the truth
intuitively; then mayst thou examine it at leisure with thine intellect.

“To break the law is identical with breaking the God within thee. Now
that thou art one of us, bear in mind that our Brotherhood can only
instruct. We cannot give real knowledge. Experience must do that for
thee.”

“Experience! thou art a cruel monster! Because of thee am I deprived of
my sweet love,” said Yermah, giving way to an outburst of grief.

“What sayest thou? Look!”

Yermah raised his head and gazed with streaming eyes at an apparition of
Kerœcia, as he had last seen her in life, standing in the eastern
entrance.

“She smiles and beckons me!” he said, in an awe-struck whisper. “Oh! my
soul, why hast thou forsaken me? Why should death touch thee, if I must
live?”

“Death claimed nothing but the physical body,” said Akaza, softly. “She
feels not its loss. Look at her serene countenance. Wouldst thou spare
her pain?”

Yermah cast a reproachful glance at Akaza.

“Canst thou ask the question?”

“Then master and control thy feeling. She can only manifest by absorbing
thy magnetism. If thou wouldst see her at will, thou must give of thy
strength freely.”

“And she does not know that she is out of the body?” asked Yermah,
eagerly.

“No. She never will, unless thy indulgence in grief plunges her into the
vortex of pain, which is now thy portion.”

“By all that I hold sacred—by all I love, hope and fear, she never
shall!” exclaimed Yermah, rising.

On his face was the uplifting and exaltation of a saint.

“O Kerœcia! Core of my heart! I am ready for thy spirit to flutter over
me! Never can I be sad with the knowledge of thy sweet presence.”

He stood in rapt attention, communing long and silently with the
beatific vision. There was not a trace of care in her benign expression.
She had solved the mystery and knew the truth.

For such love there is neither time nor death nor space.

Akaza stole away in the dim light, murmuring softly:

“Although a separate entity, she personates the feminine principle
dormant in himself. This is what the ideal always does. Through this he
will learn to harmonize desire and knowledge, and in time he will see
that the grinding out of animal propensities, represented by the ringed
planet, has come to him in a form more beautiful than a poet’s dream.
Kerœcia is the disillusionizer, the dweller on the threshold, the
chastening rod. But the hand that smites will also bless him.”[11]




                            CHAPTER NINETEEN
                AKAZA KEEPS HIS VOW AND IS FINALLY FREE


As he passed out of the temple, Akaza turned again to look at Yermah
whose face was illumined, serene and calm. With his hands clasped before
him, the Dorado stood as if in a dream, taking into the inner recesses
of his heart the comforting assurance of immortality and of final union
with the Divine, in which Kerœcia was a part.

“Farewell, beloved!” said the old man, as his eyes filled. “Thou hast
passed the Gates of Light, and art come into thine own. Amenti, thou
unknown, receive thy son! Amrah, King of the Brotherhood, give back my
vow! I have kept the faith!”

He stood with bowed figure, and seemed to be communing with the Unseen.
Presently he lifted his head, and the crowning white hair haloed a
dazzling countenance. His lips were parted in a pleased expectancy.

“I am free to go hence,” he said, as he turned and walked out with
renewed vigor.

Akaza bent his steps toward Ingharep, and when he reached the cave, he
went in and made ready for a journey. The blurred, reddened and obscure
sun shed but fitful light over the still agitated waters of the Pacific.

The hierophant went out on the rocks jutting into the sea, remnants of
which are still visible below the Cliff House of to-day, where he sat
gazing long into space. When his strength was fully regained, he hailed
the officer on watch in the tower-house of the hill overlooking the
point, and was soon swallowed up in the night.

Crossing the bay, he came upon a few refugees from the far north, led by
Cezardis, who cried childishly when he encountered for the first time in
many days this evidence of any living thing. Running toward Akaza, he
kissed and fondled him in his excitement, while the others gave every
evidence of thankfulness and joy.

“Tell me all that has befallen thee,” said Akaza, holding him at arm’s
length.

“It would need more than man’s allotted time to convey all,” answered
Cezardis. “Death and destruction are everywhere. A puny chain stands
between the main land of the Ians and my country. The peak next the
shore opposite, and over which the priestess Kerœcia passed, has fallen
into the sea,[12] and all the high mountains are putting forth smoke,
ashes and melted rocks. In some places the earth heaves and groans
continuously; in other spots, water pours all the time; while hot air
makes man and beast labor for breath.”

“Ben Hu Barabe and Alcyesta are in Tlamco,” said Akaza. “They alone of
all the Monbas survived the visitation of the fire-spirits.”

“We knew as much from the terrible rocking still going on in their
country. The water has deserted the rivers everywhere, and is making new
places where it has not sunk into the earth. Didst thou see the dread
messenger in the heavens near the place of Venus?”

“Yes; and it will soon make the house of Mars, and then there will be
contention in Tlamco.”

“How fares Yermah, the beloved of Kerœcia?”

“Thy heart will be wrung by sight of him. Reason fled for many days. But
it is decreed otherwise, and he will soon find peace. Farewell! I go to
fulfill an obligation,” said Akaza, embracing the weary travelers.
“Commiseration and surcease of care be thy portion.”

“May the Divine bring thee speedily on thy journey!” they said with one
accord. “We will pray the Azes to afford us shelter.”

“Thy petition will be quickly answered. Thou wilt find them altered and
distraught, but in bodily health.”

They crowded into the boats kept on the Oakland shores for such
emergencies, but in their half-famished condition they made poor headway
against the choppy sea.

Akaza went back over much of the same ground traversed in visiting the
Yo-Semite Valley. Where possible, he went due east, facing the rising
place of the sun. A less stout heart would have been appalled by the
devastation and ruin all around him.

The rivers in many places had been lifted out of their courses, and
changed about in an almost incomprehensible manner. Mountains and
forests no longer afforded shelter to the huge animals of that time.

On his way into Calaveras County, Akaza saw herds of mastodons with
their tongues lolled out, in company with elephants and elk huddled
together around a spring of fresh water.

He encountered many a fierce grizzly bear so nearly famished as to be
unable to harm him. Wolves and panthers were dead and dying by the
hundreds, and the rhinoceros and hippopotami had great raw cracks in
their backs because of the extreme heat and the dryness of the
atmosphere.

No tongue can picture the thrilling and inspiring condition of the
heavens. The mountain peaks continued to send up streams of hot air,
which mingling with the cool breezes from the sea, brought about gales
and storms of incalculable velocity, with all the drying capacity of a
furnace blast. The upper air was an amphitheater of gorgeous electric
effects. Streaks of lightning as big as the body of a tree licked out
their long tongues, or darted with deadly effect among the ashes and
smoke, which rolled in and out over the crest of the Sierras, scattering
a sediment broadcast for miles. The heavy cannonading of the upper
strata of air could never be compared to the weak peals and crashes of a
thunderstorm, and yet not a drop of water fell to ease the sufferings of
the creatures who still lived.

“Yermah’s prayers have been answered literally,” said the old man, as he
trudged along, upheld by some hidden force—carried forward by an
indomitable purpose. “The gold is being vaporized and brought to the
surface in the upheaved quartz and gravel. It has tried to come south
toward him, but it cannot escape the rigors of the ice, soon to overtop
this region.”

He passed close to the great “mother lode,” and not far from the
mysterious “blue lead,” the wonder and admiration of our pioneer days.
But there was no detritus then, no decomposed quartz, no auriferous
gravel-beds.

“There will be no faults in these veins,” he said, “because the
uplifting is simultaneous. And in aftertime the deposits will be
accessible to another race of men. They will find our copper mines, but
will lose the secret of amalgamation. The first overflow of mud and
water has hardened into cement,” he continued, examining the deposit
critically.

“It is indeed time I were here. Rivers of basaltic lava will follow
this, and I must be prepared. Four successive strata will pour over me,
and still my grinning skull will be preserved to confound and astonish.
The very name of the monastery, Guatavita, the Gate of Life, will incite
men to deeds of blood. But thy will be done! I thank Thee that Thou hast
given me the power to endure.”

Akaza turned to the east, and made a low salaam, and then went into the
entrance, now covered over and known as the Natural Bridges of Calaveras
County. He performed ablutions in the two rock basins still sitting
under the stalactites and arches of the upper bridge and then passed to
the lower entrance, a few yards away.

On the east is a high mountain which for a quarter of a mile is supposed
to contain innumerable caves. In reality, it is a natural rock temple,
very like the Elephantine Caves, and it was here that the American lodge
of the Brotherhood kept a record of the entire time man had existed on
the earth.

“Twice already has the face of the globe changed by fire, and twice by
water,” said Akaza; “and each time has a new race been born. The Aryan
comes into leadership by the joint action of both elements.”

The hierophant carried a little copper hammer, which he used to tap the
various squares of solid masonry closing the entrance, listening each
time a stone was struck. Finally a peculiar singing noise reached him,
and he reversed the hammer, springing from its side a sharp, dagger-like
point of hardened copper. With this he began patiently to pick the glaze
which held the blocks of granite in place.

He worked all day taking out the exact squares marked on a curious
diagram held in his hand. As night fell, he found himself through the
entrance, and inside the temple and monastery.

The incomparable odor of jasmine greeted him, and a light flickered in
the distance.

Akaza’s heart stood still.

Here for a hundred years no intruding footsteps had entered! The man who
lighted the perfumed lamp was long since in spirit life. The hierophant
never doubted his ability to accomplish the task imposed upon him, but
he trembled with the knowledge that it was so nearly finished.

“_Refreshment awaits thee on the right_,” he read from an inscription on
the wall.

Following the direction given, he found an abundance of hulled corn,
rice, dried fruits and nuts securely sealed in earthen jars, and there
was also one containing garments and other things.

He took the edibles and came back to the arched entrance, where he
lighted a fire, and prepared a meal.

“The elements have made my bath ready,” he said, dipping his hand into
one of the larger basins. “The water is warm, and I am not insensible to
its charms.”

When he came out of it he clothed himself in spotless linen, embroidered
with orange-colored silk. Around his neck was a collarette of diamonds
and black onyx set in gold, from which hung a leaden medal cast in the
sign of Saturn, and about his waist was a yellow silk girdle. After he
had anointed his hair with an unguent, he gathered some cypress and
crowned himself with it.

He was careful to perform every rite before and after eating, and as a
sacrifice to fire piled up copal in one of the small basins, and ignited
it by the friction of two hardwood sticks. While it burned he smoked;
after which he allowed tired nature to drift into a short but deep
sleep.

Roused by an extra heavy shock of earthquake, he gathered up the
remnants of food, his discarded garments and prayer-rug, and threw them
into the burning basin piece by piece, until all were in ashes.

Wherever possible, the firelight cast weird shadows against the
beautiful stalactites still hanging.

These novel instruments responded in sweetest melodies to Akaza’s
magical touch.

The hierophant used a rod made from a perfectly straight almond branch,
just before the tree was in blossom. It was hollowed and filled with a
needle of iron, which was magnetized. A many-sided prism cut into a
triangle was fastened to one end, with a black resin figure of the same
at the other. In the middle of the rod, which was the length of the arm,
and wrapped in silk, were two rings—one of red copper, the other of
zinc.

On the extremity which ended in the resin triangle, the rod was gilded;
the other end was silvered to the central rings. On the copper ring was
a mystical word, and another also on the one made of zinc. This rod had
been consecrated by the last initiate at Guatavita, and had not been
seen by any one since.

The sounds evoked grew more and more weird and peculiar, and Akaza’s
exertions became more and more violent, until he dropped exhausted near
the basin, where only a few sparks smoldered.

From a chamois wallet he took bits of assafœtida, alum, and sulphur, and
threw them on the heated coals. As their combined fumes permeated the
air, he touched a spring in the side of one of the marble basins, and a
thin, smooth slab slipped out.

Hastily covering it with a chamois skin, he produced writing materials
from the jar which had contained the robe he wore, and prepared to
write. He had scarcely seated himself on an overturned stone before he
was entranced.

“Thy Brother in Lassa, on the Brahmaputra, sends thee greeting!

“All save the high regions of the Himalayas, where our monastery is
situated, are sorely pressed by raging flood.

“The heavens have opened. The plains with their chains of mountains,
rivers, lakes and inland seas, have been suddenly heaved up.

“Fire lurks in the hidden depths, and the beds of the sea vibrate and
tremble. Its waves hide islands and continents in its abysses.

“The sun’s rays drink up the scattered waters, and pour them down again,
mingling with the rivers and the ocean.

“They cover the plains, filling the valleys, roaring around the fire
mountains, hollowing out the slopes, and surging up to their summits. In
it are swallowed flocks and pasturage, forests and wild beasts, fields
and crops, towns and hamlets, with myriads of mortals.”

Akaza held the rod to his forehead, and sent an answering message,
detailing fully all that had happened here.

  “Sign and seal thy parchment, and restore to its hidden place. The
  spirit of fire hovers near thee. Prepare to go out in peace. Thy
  pilgrimage is at an end.

  “Thou art in the place of destruction, and Truth will hide her face
  there until thou art again incarnate. May thy birth into light be
  speedy and joyful.

  “Accept the love of thy brother and servant,

                                                 “Kadmon the Patriarch.”

Akaza put the manuscript into a jar and sealed it, and with infinite
pains closed the steplike opening through which he had entered
Gautavita. Then, realizing that he had received his last summons, he
laid him down peacefully to sleep.[13]




                             CHAPTER TWENTY
                THE DORADO FACED UTTER NEGATION OF SELF


In returning to Iaqua from the temple, Yermah stopped to inspect the
work being done by a company of warrior-priests on the cracked and
broken wall surrounding the public gardens. These men had already
restored the aqueducts, so that danger of a water famine no longer
threatened Tlamco.

The still terrified populace were totally incapable of consecutive
action. Not one of them doubted that the destructive agencies at work
would blot them out. All of the secular temples were crowded constantly,
and the voice of prayer and supplication rose above the low rumblings
still going on in the earth.

Death played sad havoc with women burdened with motherhood, and the
priestesses and vestals were overworked in their efforts to take care of
the motherless, whose pinched and frightened faces peered from
everywhere.

The people were too stupefied to formulate any definite plans for
themselves, and lived in hourly expectation of a final summons.

Military discipline, instituted by Akaza, prevented frenzied acts of
self-destruction, while the fleet of balsas found it necessary to
protect the granaries and stores.

The first upheavals produced some curious phenomena in the honeycombed
hillsides containing the jars and baskets. After being buried for a
quarter century, many of the former were thrown up on the surface with
such force as to break and scatter their contents hopelessly. The
baskets were also tossed and rolled about in a surprising manner.

By right of seniority, Setos assumed command of the land forces, while
Hanabusa coöperated heartily from the sea.

The Observatory tower was a complete wreck, and there was no way of
predicting changes of weather, the knowledge of which added much to the
horror of the situation. It was a nameless, undefined dread—a something
they could not determine, which appalled and overwhelmed even the
stout-hearted.


For the first time since his bereavement, Yermah showed an interest in
his surroundings. His heart was wrung by the scenes about him, but it
was no longer a self-centered grief.

“Our Dorado is beginning to share the woes of his fellows,” said one of
the bystanders as he approached. “He no longer walks apart speechless
with sorrow. Let us greet him as of old.”

The crowd uncovered and shouted: “Haille! Haille! Haille!” so weak and
feebly that the sound seemed to die in their throats. Yermah was too
much moved for words, but he made a pitiful effort to smile, as he
raised his hands in benediction in return.

“Peace be with thee!” they answered, trying manfully to conceal their
anxieties and fears.

“Yermah!” called a familiar voice. “Give thy servant greeting.”

“Orondo! Brother in all save blood—”

The Dorado staggered and would have fallen had not Orondo caught and
embraced him.

“Thy hollow, wasted cheeks and thy shrunken frame pierce my heart like a
dagger!” cried Orondo, while the tears ran unrestrained down his
weather-beaten face. “Anxiety and fear for thee urged me here.
Speak!—Surely thou wilt not snap the slender thread!” he continued,
alarmed at Yermah’s silence. He held the Dorado up, searching his
haggard countenance anxiously.

“Long have I stood within the shadow,” murmured Yermah feebly,
struggling to overcome great weakness. “The body refuses to support the
spirit in manifesting joy in seeing thee—Thy pardon—”

“No need of words ’twixt thee and me,” answered Orondo.

“Thy heart is like a crystal spring, and I know its full depths.”

Orondo’s strong right arm upheld the Dorado, but his prompt,
soldier-like habit stood him in good stead. By a nod he beckoned to the
warrior-priests waiting, to bring forward a palanquin, which they had
gone into the temple to procure. Gently as a woman could have done, he
seated the Dorado and motioned the attendants to go on.

Yermah’s look of gratitude made his strong chin tremble, and brought the
old haunted expression back to his face. A cold, clammy perspiration
stood out on Yermah’s lips and brow as he sank back utterly exhausted.
When he closed his eyes, Orondo said to himself: “He will never be paler
in death. Poor heart-broken soul!”

Orondo had a good profile view as he trudged beside the chair. He
observed the ravages that illness of body and mind had wrought, and
wondered in a vague sort of way if he could not share some of his own
vitality.

Loyalty forbade direct speech, but he had learned from others enough to
understand the situation. His owns wounds bled anew, but they were rated
second in comparison.

“Thy master has need of sleep,” he said to the attendants as Yermah was
carried into the private apartments. “Should solicitude find utterance,
tell him that I am waiting his pleasure in my old quarters.”

Wandering through familiar rooms, he was able to estimate the effect of
constant shaking on walls and ceilings. He saw many evidences of their
being out of plumb.

Despite everything Orondo had a comfortable sense of being at home
again. He busied himself unpacking his surveying instruments, and looked
over a pile of hieratic picture-writings, containing reports on the
mounds, earthworks, and temples he had been inspecting.

Two hours later, while Orondo was still absorbed in the work a tamane
came and asked if he would receive the Dorado.

“Rather entreat thy master to summon me,” replied Orondo. “Care sits
heavily upon him, and it were better to encourage health and strength.”

Still intent upon additions to, and corrections of, the documents in
hand, Orondo did not look up when he heard the door open and close.

“Thou art always unselfish,” declared Yermah, coming close to him; “but
thou art prohibited from inciting me to shirk duty. Not a word hast thou
spoken of thine own case. Acquaint me with all which hath befallen
thee.”

There was a touch of his old self in tone and gesture, but he seated
himself like an old man.

“Wilt thou insist on a detailed account of my journey hence and sojourn
in the great valley?”

“Leave dry circumstance to the custodian of archives. But tell me if
success full and complete crowned thy efforts.”

“The mounds and the earthworks are perfect in location and design, and
where finished are of enduring workmanship. Only a few temples have been
erected; but when the flood subsides, work will go on again—slowly now,
because of depleted numbers.”

“Has the dread scourge touched that fair land, too?”

“Yes; and with much violence. For days a great double-headed dragon hung
directly over the sun, as if it would fall down over and obscure the
light. Its long body flickered with every current of air and the
mountain divide, running north and south from ocean to ocean, heaved and
shook responsive to it. This went on for many days; then the dragon was
seen to back away into space; but it went very slowly, as if the sun
held it transfixed. Clouds and darkness followed, and the waters lay
over the tops of the trees, by the last accounts.”

“Thou wert not eye-witness?”

“Not in all the district. My labor was in the south. The waters did not
oppress me.”

“Thou art newly come from our brethren in Zuni? Is it well with them?”

“The hotah has blown steadily one whole lunation, parching the surface
dry as a desert. Years of patient artifice made water plentiful, but the
sources have hidden in the earth, and every green thing is withered and
dead. Windows fall out of the houses, doors refuse to hang, and are much
too small for the openings. Man and beast suffer frightfully. An ashy
hue overspreads the countenance. The eyes, lips and throats become
parched and painful; then the only hope was to smear themselves with
grease.”

“And wert thou obliged to treat thy body so?” asked Yermah, mindful of
Orondo’s habit of exquisite cleanliness.

“Yes; and to a liberal coating of olive oil do I owe my life doubly. The
evil omen overhead warned me of impending danger to us all, and my
fealty to thee made me hasten homeward.”

In answer to Yermah’s grateful look, he continued:

“Coming through the narrow pass in the mountains lying south, I went
always ahead of the tamanes to spy out the best places. One morning I
found myself in close proximity to a grizzly, ravenously hungry. I had
neither time to retreat nor to defend myself before the bear was upon
me. I fell flat on my face, and lay motionless while he smelt me all
over. The oil both puzzled and disturbed him, for he made off into the
woods and left me to win back courage as best I could.”

“This animal eats no flesh he hath not killed,” said Yermah, “but thou
art fortunate to escape a blow from its powerful paw, or a crushing
squeeze.”

“He was very hungry; and I was glad to be thoroughly saturated with oil,
even if I did imagine it was rancid,” observed Orondo, naïvely.

For the first time in many days, Yermah laughed.

“Nevertheless, thou art justly called the fearless one,” he said.

“The same heat and distress lies everywhere in the south, and there is a
faint, luminous mist, dry as the hotah itself, which makes the sun look
like blood. It deposits whitish particles upon everything, very like a
cottony wood fiber. Near the sea it disappears although the dry wind
prevails. All of the testimony confirms the report that a brilliant
rainbow surrounded the moon at the time the mist came.”

Both men lapsed into silence, and profound depression came back to
Yermah.

“The gardens have suffered comparatively little,” said Orondo. “Not
finding thee here, I went to see them immediately after ablution and
prayers.”

“Tlamco has been spared much which hath befallen other sections,”
responded Yermah. “The Monbas—Thou hast heard?”

“I have heard,” said Orondo in a low voice. “My heart is still tender
toward the high-priestess, Kerœcia. So long as I live, memory will hold
her first among women.”

Before Yermah could reply, he hastened to ask:

“Hast thou news from Poseidon’s kingdom?”

“My summons hence is hourly expected. I am already of the Brotherhood.
Seest thou the sign manual given by Akaza?”

He held up his hand while Orondo inspected the ring.

“Runners were dispatched down the coast to communicate with the balsas
coming in from Atlantis, but no answer was possible before my
departure.”

“Alcamayn desires speech with the Servitor Yermah,” announced a tamane,
answering a command to enter.

“Direct him here,” said Yermah. “Thou hast not seen him since coming?”
he asked Orondo.

When the two men had exchanged greetings, Alcamayn refused to disturb
the conference.

“My only office was to bring tidings from the far north. Cezardis of the
Mazamas is here, more dead than alive from hardships unparalleled, and
begs thou wilt give him leave to remain in Tlamco.”

“Willingly. But how fares his countrymen?”

“They are sore oppressed by the elements, especially by ice and snow,
and there is only a handful of them left. The land of Ian is forever
separated from this continent. An arm of the sea lies between them.”

“Setos, come in! Thou art most welcome,” said Orondo, catching a glimpse
of him through the open doorway.

“Knowledge of thy presence hath but newly found me, and I came direct in
quest of thee,” said Setos, embracing Orondo. “This dread calamity is
lessened, since thou art preserved.”

“If unalloyed happiness were possible, thy speech would give it me,”
responded Orondo.

Yermah was about to dismiss Alcamayn, when Setos saluted him pompously,
as became the head of the military.

There was the shadow of a smile on Orondo’s face as he noted the new air
of dignity, and he reflected that it was quite like the man to think of
self in the midst of such appalling disaster.

It was evident, from Setos’s punctilious, ceremonious manner, that he
was the bearer of important news. His face and voice bespoke gratified
vanity as he said:

“Hast thou had audience with the emissaries from Poseidon’s kingdom?”

“No,” answered Yermah, trying to read the masked countenance before him.
“Art thou advised of the import?”

“Yes. It is most terrible. Through the agencies of earthquake and tidal
wave, the whole island of Atlantis, with every living thing, is on the
bed of the ocean.”

A sharp, agonized cry from Yermah, who swooned and fell face downward at
the feet of Setos, prevented further remark.

“His proud warrior spirit quails under him,” said that individual
peering at him curiously, but offering no assistance. “His courage
kisses the ground before disappointed ambition. For the first time he
knows fear.” Setos’s words were between a sneer and a hiss.

“Thou art destitute of humanity,” exclaimed Orondo, springing forward
and supporting the fallen head on his knee. “Thy brutal abruptness is
wanting in loyalty,” he continued, as long, white streaks mingled with
the ruddy bronze about his sternly set mouth and chin.

“When thou art in Tlamco longer thou wilt find that discontent is
rampant—that Yermah no longer has a united following,” returned Setos,
surprised at the outburst into saying more than he had intended.

“If so, thou art at fault. Speak not thus to me, Setos! I know that thou
wert called a black magician in Poseidon’s kingdom, and that none of the
White Brotherhood except Akaza would suffer thy presence among the
chosen.”

Orondo’s face was ablaze with indignation, while Setos and Alcamayn
exchanged significant glances.

“Thou art unduly exercised, Orondo,” mildly interposed the jeweler.
“Setos meant no offense. Stress of the times and Yermah’s long
affliction have caused people to babble idly. When once he is among
them, and when the earth is stable again, it will all pass like mere
vaporings.”

“I had sought thee for private conference on this very subject,” said
Setos, apologetically.

“And thou hast my answer,” repeated Orondo, his eyes still sparkling
angrily.

Alcamayn assisted in the restoration, and Setos was constrained to pull
up a reclining chair, as the prostrate figure was being assisted to
rise.

“Thou wilt not repeat?” whispered Setos, guiltily.

“Not until thou hast forgotten to be loyal,” assented Orondo, looking
him squarely in the face.

“Am I going mad, or am I dying?” wailed Yermah, pushing his fingers up
through his tangled hair. “Did I hear aright? Tell me, Setos—didst thou
say that our native land and all our people are blotted out?”

“Such is the word from Mayax. They also report that the land of the Mexi
is split from east to west with a great rent in the earth, from which
seven great volcanoes have sent fire and smoke ever since the crevice
closed. In that section the disturbance came from the east, and went far
out into the surviving islands of the lost Lemuria on the west.”

Alcamayn and Orondo shared Yermah’s consternation; but, like Setos, they
never expected to return to Atlantis, and therefore their interest was
not so personal and keen.

Yermah still seemed stupefied, but he roused himself by a mighty effort
of will.

“Call all the people together in the Temple of Saturn, on the proper
day, and let the four intervening suns rise on a fasting and contrite
nation. Let every house and roadway be swept for purification. Let the
anointing and ablution be thorough, and let them come to the temple
laden with flowers; because where flowers grow, love has been. This is
the end of a divine cycle; and it is befitting that we come together in
chastened spirit to mourn its myriad dead.”

Seeing that they stood uncertain as to how to proceed, he added:

“I will make proclamation. See to it, Setos, and thou, Alcamayn, that
the edict is posted on all the temple doors and all the obelisks, and
make it known to the fleet and to the warriors. None shall be exempt
from this Festival of Humiliation, and it shall be an anniversary for
ages to come.”

“Before thou art engrossed with quill and parchment, accept another
service of wine of maguey,” said Orondo, while the tamane was arranging
writing materials. “Thy physical strength is indeed at low ebb.”

“But my agonized spirit hears the shrieks of despair of our dying
brothers. May they find comfort in the bosom of the Ineffable One!”

“Amenti! hear and grant, we beseech thee!” they all said in heartfelt
sympathy.

“Wilt thou give us leave to smoke?” asked Setos, as Yermah prepared to
write.

“With both assent and blessing. Thou art kind to remember what my poor
confused brain is unable to recall at this moment.”

He wrote:

  _Brethren of Tlamco—Greeting_:

  He whose face is always inscrutable and hidden begins another eon of
  time. Countless thousands of our fellows heard the dread voice and are
  silent.

  Alcyone, the great central sun, has once more suffered eclipse, and a
  fiery sign hangs in the heavens.

  The north is ingulfed, the south is on fire, the sacred east frowns
  and threatens in gray obscurity, and blood drowns the fading light in
  the west.

  Desolation mocks the eye on all sides.

  Thou art each and all commanded to prepare for a solemn commemoration
  of humiliation and despair. Go ye all to the Temple of Saturn, and
  there do honor to our beloved dead.

  Bear thy burdens helpfully and with courage; for in the innumerable
  wanderings, upheavals, and cataclysms of our earth’s stupendous career
  each creature has some time been summoned under penalty of death to
  make good use of its wits.

  How many courtiers go into the presence of a king a hundred times, not
  to have speech with him, not to hear him, but merely to be seen, that
  he may know they are willing to serve.

  When thou art in the house of death, speak if thou canst. If not, show
  thyself, and let thy heart be content.

  Done by the hand of thy humble servitor,

                                                                 YERMAH.

In dismissing Alcamayn and Setos, he said:

“Send the couriers from the lands of the Mayax and of Mexi to me in the
early morning. I will have all their sayings engrossed on parchment and
read in the temple.

“Let our brethren know this.”

After a deep sleep of exhaustion, Yermah arose at early dawn and went
into the private sanctuary. Before he crossed its portals his attention
was attracted by a ray of light near his feet. Looking closely, he saw
it was a pentagram graven on mica. It had two points on the side toward
him, and placed so—it was a charm to repel evil.

Picking it up, he noticed that the reverse side had a circle for the
sun, a crescent for the moon, a winged caduceus for Mercury, a sword for
Mars, a hieroglyph for Venus, and a scythe for Saturn. The glyph was in
the center, and interlaced with it was the word “Azoth.”

A scrap of paper catching the Dorado’s eye, he stooped and picked up
Akaza’s will. After giving minute directions about finding the
manuscript and sacred relics hidden in the cave at Ingharep, it said:

  I who am old and weary of the world sink into its dust. But I swear by
  him who sleeps at Aision that never did I not exist, nor will any one
  of us hereafter cease to be—though in this body thou wilt never see me
  again.

  Farewell, my beloved! When thou hast mastered the pentagram, that
  sublime figure whose geometrical form connects the five senses of man
  with the throne of creative power, thou wilt fully realize that that
  which we hold as evil is in reality the greatest good.

  Farewell, beloved! Treasure the five-pointed star, and meditate
  continually upon its teachings. Fear not. The promise to return to thy
  native land shall be made good to thee when the times and seasons are
  propitious. When the inner spirit prompts thee, go. Thou wilt find a
  pentagram of similar make in the right spot. Let the seal of silence
  be on thy lips. May thy courage wax and grow strong as a lion. Though
  absent from the body, yet I am with thee always. Thou art my successor
  in all things. Wear the mantle of authority as if the All-seeing Eye
  were bent upon thee continually.

  Farewell, my best beloved! May that formless entity whose presence is
  everywhere felt, yet never comprehended, guide and bless thee always.

                                            AKAZA THE HERMAPHRODITE.[14]

Trying to fully realize that Akaza had crossed the boundary line between
the two worlds, Yermah passed into the sanctuary.

But before he knelt he saw a tiny white square lying on the altar. He
had only to glance at it to recognize the broken threads and entangled
mesh of Kerœcia’s weave. Some thoughtful hand had placed it there. He
carried it to his lips reverently and examined it curiously. It was
water-stained and wrinkled from compression in a pocket, but he divined
that she had sent it to him by Ben Hu Barabe. Some time, when he could
bear to speak of it, he would make inquiry—but not now! “O God!—not
now!”

He sank down before the statue.

“All, all is lost!” he cried in agony of soul—“Kerœcia, Akaza, and my
fatherland! It is more than I can endure! Grant release to this tortured
spirit—Thou whose whole essence is love and wisdom!”

Hoarse moans and sobs choked his utterance, while everything in the room
seemed to vibrate with overwhelming sorrow.

He was crying man’s tears—those that leave the eyelids dry, but drip
inwardly and fall scalding hot on the heart. His poor routed will power
interposed no opposition, while grief hurricaned through his
non-resisting body. He was fighting the battle alone—facing the utter
negation of self—the complete overthrow of desire.

Finally, overcome by physical exhaustion, he lay with his head at the
feet of Orion, too weary to make an effort of any kind. After a while a
sort of stupor came over him, and then he heard voices, while a cool
breath of air fanned his heated cheek, and he felt the presence of his
loved ones.

“Behold in tribulation the key which unlocks the mystery of the soul!
The initiate cannot speak to the heart of man until he has himself
drained to the dregs the bitter cup of life’s miseries.”

Yermah lifted a startled face, and peered intently about him in the vain
hope of locating the speaker.

“Fear not, my beloved! Man is only what he thinks. He mingles his aura
with that of his fellows, and the Redeemer becomes the fellow-sufferer,
because the twain are made one in sorrow. Rise and go forth comforted.
Thou hast loosed the belt of Orion. Thou hast crossed the bridge of
Kinevat.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, and with implicit faith, Yermah obeyed.
He had touched and rebounded from the lowest rung of personal grief and
despair, and he would never again sink so deeply in the Slough of
Despond.




                           CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
               A COMMEMORATION OF HUMILIATION AND DESPAIR


The Temple of Saturn, where the Festival of Humiliation was held, was
situated on Park Hill, southeast of the center of the city, near Mount
Olympus. It represented one of the rings of Saturn, while a hill now
occupied by an iron water-tank gave the outer ring.

The temple itself marked the orbit of Saturn, the reaper who gathers the
harvest of the dead. It was a square edifice, and had towers which were
of the same form at the base, but became round as the tall spires rose
skyward. A high arched entrance of elaborately carved sandstone led to a
long quadrangular hall. The ceiling was of heavy paneled redwood,
polished and treated with copal, while the walls were an elaborate mural
broken, double and single key patterns, interspersed with squares,
circles and triangles in porphyry bas-relief. The floor was a succession
of interlaced hoops and balls of blue enamel on squares of white marble.

Unlike the other temples, there was but one entrance, which faced west,
signifying that all who entered the Hall of Death came by the same road;
and, also, that the sun going down in the west was typical of physical
life departing from the body.

An intricately carved ebony arch, relieved by pieces of crystal and tiny
panels of isinglass, enclosed the eastern altar, containing a gold
sunburst and throne of the same, on which was seated a green jasper
statue of Maia—the Virgin Mother of all.

The elevated platform of black marble had incense vessels, urns, and
vases of gold, set with black onyx and diamonds, in a delicate tracery
of black enamel.

Emblematic brocades of pale blue silk hung between the square windows,
whose innumerable small panes were of frosted glass set in a circular
frame.

A circle inscribed within a square is the geometrical emblem of death,
and the veiled light conveyed the same idea.

In the center of the southern wall, under a richly canopied entablature
of arms of Atlantis, emblazoned on a heavily fringed and corded brocade
of shaded blue, was a high granite slab, back of which was a square ark
containing an aerolite stone.

The Immaculate Conception also pertains to the mystery of death, since
it is a new birth, and the heaven-born stone signifies that the newly
released spirit is immaculate. In other words, that its birth into the
body and contact with material life have left no stain upon its
intrinsic purity.

Before this shrine Yermah ordered a purple veil of Akaza to be placed.
Skulls and crossbones in white were painted upon this, to show that he
was master of the living as well as of the dead.

The queen of odors, jasmine, which corresponds to G in alt, or
equilibrium, filled the perfumed lamp suspended in the center of the
shrine; while ewers of oil, containing citron, lemon, orange-peel,
verbena, and rose sat on either side.

The Azes recognized the octaves of odor, and offered the higher grade to
age; while the lower, consisting of almond, heliotrope, vanilla,
clematis and neroli, were placed in ewers on the altar opposite, as a
sacrifice to youth.

Musically, these correspond to the lower bass and upper treble clefs.

On a square base of onyx rose a pyramid and obelisk of prismatic glass
at each side of the northern niche. The pyramid was composed of glass
squares, ingeniously piled up, and the obelisk was of round balls of
glass, beginning with twelve, and ending with one. Several lighted lamps
placed behind them gave a bewildering effect of color through the
crystal.

The niche itself ended in a sharp triangle, and contained a blue enamel
swastika, familiarly known to-day as the Keys of Saint Peter.

Astronomically, it is the sign Aquarius, which is Janus, or Saint Peter,
while Pisces is the swastika in his hand. It is correlated to the spiral
movements in nature everywhere, and its hieroglyph is a dragon, serpent
meander, or two rivers of fire.

Three marble steps led to this altar, and there was a constant stream of
people praying before it. They entered barefooted, and silently threw
themselves on the floor before the altars. The swastika not only
indicated the time, but also the unsettled condition, and they implored
continually:

“O Thou who art master of all motion, hold Thou the earth fast in the
hollow of Thy hand! Grant that it may no longer be swayed in its orbit,
but may go in peace, freed from evil influence. Hear and answer, we
beseech Thee!”

Rising at daybreak, the whole populace made their ablutions with
scrupulous care, and dressed themselves in spotless white.

They waited in vain for a glimpse of the rising sun, and then betook
themselves to the housetops.

Turning with infinite yearning to the north, they cried out:

“Spirits of the lost ones, come quickly, since thou art expected!”

This curious practice was kept up at this yearly festival until the time
of the conquest of Mexico. All the native races of America believed with
the Norsemen that hell was situated in the north doubtless in memory of
the overwhelming destruction of the great Ice Age.

Esoterically, ice is spiritual fire.

Reëntering their houses, the populace took their canapas[15] which were
the same as the Roman titular deities, and hastened to a great funeral
pyre already smoking in front of the Temple of Saturn.

Since fire was the substance of the sun, and since the sun’s ray was the
medium through which Deity contacted the earth, the devotees did not
venture near it without prostrating themselves, kissing the earth, and
making manifestations of abasement.

The worshipers made low obeisance to the four cardinal points, and threw
cassia, cinnamon, sweet calamus and myrrh into the flames. Braving the
heat, they held the canapas in the smoke until the figures warmed
perceptibly, then wrapped them in linen scorched by the fire, and ran
back to their houses.

It was no longer possible to summon them to the temples by ringing the
big bell on top of the Observatory, as the tower still lay in ruins; so
they waited for the trumpet-call.

Incense was burned on the sacrificial altars, and a pot-pourri of
resinous gums was carried in the hand, in alabaster or jeweled boxes,
along with palm branches, which indicated a new period of manifestation
of matter.

A procession issued from the western gate of the Temple of the Sun, in
the center of Tlamco. First came a troop of warrior-priests with spears
held upright and garlanded with roses.

The next was Yermah, robed in cloth of gold, with a white linen mantle
over his shoulder. His head was bared, and he had submitted to tonsure
as a sacred observance.

The Azes considered the human head a magnet, having a natural
electrical, irregular circle, moving in the path of the sun.

The os-frontis, sinciput, and os-sublime are the positive pole, while
the occiput is the negative.

In the right hand of the Dorado was a lotus-headed scepter, an emblem of
religious dominion; while in his left hand was a sword constructed in
the form of a cross, with three pommels, or two crescents for guards. It
had been newly consecrated by being thrust into a fire made of laurel
and cypress woods, after which it was wiped and polished with the ashes
and wrapped in a linen cloth.

Behind the Dorado were one hundred youths, dressed to represent the four
seasons; and after them came Imos, the high-priest, in green robes and
tiara, borne on a litter by twelve priests, representing the sun in one
of its zodiacal houses.

Following, walked the Virgin of the Sun, Oahspe, who was to be offered
up in sacrifice, as a solemn atonement for the people.

This observance did not involve the horrible rites of later
superstition, because she did not represent death to the physical, but
death of transgression and new birth into righteousness.

Back of her were one hundred vestals, dressed in white and crowned with
myrtle. After them came boys and girls to the number of three hundred
and sixty-five, each representing the sun and moon in their daily
journey.

Last were five hundred warrior-priests clad in black, with white crosses
on their backs and breasts.

The procession wound slowly around the serpentine avenue, and up the
winding path to the temple, the priests chanting a hymn as they walked.
Filing in, they stood ranged in rows on each side of the hall, and in
the gray morning light their voices mingled with melodious strains of
harps, flutes and lyres. The music rose grandly, floating through the
dim aisles and out into the crowded spaces before the entrance. There
were no lights on the altars, and the congregation moved like specters
in the semi-darkness.

Imos knelt in the center before the veil which enclosed the figure of
the ever-youthful Virgin. On his right side knelt Yermah, and on his
left was Oahspe.

A hush fell over the people, the music ceased and all waited with bated
breath to see if Divine help would be vouchsafed them.

Suddenly, through a rift in the clouds, shone a resplendent sun-ray,
which flooded the figures and the statue with a golden light.

The tense, strained, fearful looks relaxed, and a long sigh of relief
escaped their lips, while an electric thrill ran through the crowd, and
many of them wept unrestrainedly.

The gates of the enclosure swung open, and Imos stood within, facing the
sun. Then Yermah took Oahspe by the hand, and led her to Imos, who made
a sign of hierarchal blessing and poured a few drops of olive oil over
her hair. The high-priest stepped back, and, placing his right hand over
his heart, held his left up to the figure of Maia, the Cosmic Virgin,
and proclaimed in a loud voice:

“It is consummated!”

There was a moment’s silence.

The sunshine faded from the golden hair of Oahspe, and a light, made by
no mortal hands, flickered around the statue, illuminating the whole
niche.

“In thy strength and wisdom, O Father-Mother, join Thou the heavens
above with the earth below!” cried the people in response.

Again the music swelled through the temple and the warrior-priests made
use of their long spears to light the lamps.

Yermah received the three-handled silver cup of humiliation from the
high-priest Imos, and partook of its bitter contents. From him it passed
to Oahspe, then to Orondo, Setos, Alcamayn, Ildiko, Rahula, Cezardis,
Ben Hu Barabe, and Alcyesta and then on to every man and woman in the
temple.

The priests composed and arranged the music used in the temples; and now
a choir chanted a funeral text from their sacred books, referring to the
sinking in earlier cataclysms of the continents of Ruta and Daitya,
which extended into the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea.

These continents included the Azores, the Cape Verde and Grand Canary
Islands, while the peaks of Teneriffe are all that is left of Poseidon’s
kingdom. The latter, an island three hundred and fifty miles long and
two hundred miles wide, contained the crystallization of ancient
civilization, and had colonies in the four quarters of the globe.

The history of this race is written in the public works of the ancient
kingdoms; in their bridges crossing great rivers and swamps; in the
highways leveling mighty mountains and uplifting plains; in the
matchless gardens and aqueducts; in the beauty and splendor of the
cities; in fabulous treasures of gold and silver; and, more than all, in
the grandeur of the mighty pyramids, temples and obelisks erected and
dedicated to the glorification of a Supreme Being.

It was also written in the provident laws of the nation—in its
progressive civic life, its happiness and its calm, delightful view of
the world.

The priests chanted:

“The end of the Etherean column that extended to Kinevat, on the borders
of the vortex of the earth, was made fast by the pressure of Thy wide
heavens.

“And the vertex closed in from the extreme end, and, lo, the earth was
broken!”

The people looked at each other and shuddered.

They understood the significance of Orion’s Belt, and they knew, also,
that the three hills overlooking the Golden Gate, where the waters had
lately rushed through, typified one end of the Bridge of Kinevat.

Some among them knew that this referred to initiation, but it was
generally supposed that the mystery had reference to death.

One variant of this allegory was personated in the heavens by the
constellation of Orion. The three bright stars in his belt represented
Will, Aspiration and Harmony.

For this reason the Dorado was required to pray before a figure of Orion
which was the official lares and penates of Iaqua. In the abstract, the
statue symbolized the god-hood in man.

As an image of his own higher self, it was a something on which Yermah
could concentrate all of his thought-forces.

                  *       *       *       *       *

A low, plaintive wail from the instruments, and a chill seized the
audience.

“A mighty continent was cut loose from its fastenings,” sang the bass
voices. “The fires of the earth came forth in flames and clouds and loud
roarings.”

“And the land rocked to and fro like a ship at sea,” chimed the tenors.

“Again the vortex of the earth closed in on all sides,” they all sang
together.

“By great pressure the land sank beneath the waters to rise no more,”
they repeated three times. Then, after an impressive pause:

“The corporeans all went down to death!”

The wails and cries of the mourners drowned the music.

In the midst of the exercise, Yermah was invested with a purple robe and
the pointed hat of a hierophant, while Imos took position in the
northern niche, in front of the swastika. When quiet was restored the
high-priest knelt with the entire congregation, and after a long and
fervent supplication rose and hung a broken heart of rubies on a little
gold hook in the center of the revolving cross.

            “Sacred to thy memory, O Atlantis!
            Fit semblance of our grief for thee, O Poseidon!
            Reminder of our transition hence to Kinevat—
            The bridge between us and eternity!”

chanted the entire assemblage, making genuflections continuously.

Yermah found his way to the platform, and as Imos gave the hierarchal
blessing he handed the Dorado a parchment scroll, which the latter
slowly unrolled and read:

  BUNDLE OF WONDERFUL THINGS[16]

  The Great King of the Dazzling Face, the chief of all the Yellow
  Faces, was sad, seeing the sins of the Black Faces. He sent his
  air-vehicles to all his brother chiefs with highest men within,
  saying:

  “Prepare! Arise, ye men of the Good Law, and cross the land while dry!
  The Lords of the Storm are approaching.

  “Their chariots are nearing the land.

  “She is doomed, and they have to descend with her.

  “The nether Lords of the Fires (gnomes and fire elementals) are
  preparing their magic-worked weapons.

  “But the Lords of the Dark Eye are stronger than these elementals, and
  they are the slaves of the mighty ones.

  “They are versed in Astra. Come and use yours.

  “Let every Lord of the Dazzling Face cause the vehicles of every Lord
  of the Dark Face to come into his hands, lest any should by this means
  escape from the waters; avoid the rod of the four elements, and save
  the wicked people.

  “May every Yellow Face send sleep from himself to every Black Face.

  “May even they be free from pain. May every man who is true to the
  Solar Gods bind every man under the Lunar Gods, lest he should suffer
  or escape his destiny.

  “And may every Yellow Face offer his life-water to the speaking animal
  watching beside the Black Face.

  “Let him not awaken his master—The hour has struck—the black night is
  ready—Let their destiny be accomplished. We are the servants of the
  Great Four—May the King of Light return.”


  “The Great King fell upon his dazzling face and wept.

  ... “When the kings assembled, the waters had already moved.... The
  natives had now crossed the dry lands. They were beyond the
  water-mark. Their kings reached them in their vehicles, and led them
  on to the lands of fire and metal (east and north)....

  “Stars and meteors showered on the lands of the Black Faces, but they
  slept....

  “The waters rose and covered the valleys from one end of the earth to
  the other. High lands remained dry.... There dwelt those who
  escaped—the men of the Yellow Faces and of the Straight Eye.

  “When the Lords of the Dark Faces awoke, they bethought them of the
  vehicles, in order to escape from the rising waters, but they were
  gone. Some of the most powerful of the Dark Faces awoke first, and
  pursued those who had spoiled them. Many of the faint-hearted perished
  on their way.

  “The pursuers, whose heads and chests soared high above the water,
  chased them. Finally the rising waves reached them, and they perished
  to the last man. The soil sank under their feet, and the earth
  engulfed those who had desecrated her....”

                  *       *       *       *       *

When Yermah ceased speaking, he crossed over to the southern altar, and
laid a small wreath of jasmine on Akaza’s veil, saying:

“Thou hast quashed the will-o’-the-wisp of doubtful spirits. Thou hast
crossed the Bridge of Kinevat[17] and art come into bliss.”

The congregation followed the example of the Dorado, and for the
remainder of the day made offerings upon the different altars. They
deposited palms in the eastern niche; on the north, cypress and aloes;
on the south, quantities of white flowers; while about the entrance they
strewed branches of weeping-willow.

The sun went down on absolute silence.

Every animal was either muzzled or shut up in a dark place.

There was not a light in the city, nor did a human being speak above a
whisper.

Just before midnight the people retired, without breaking fast during
the whole twenty-four hours.

In the dead watches of the night they communed silently with hordes of
disembodied entities who had crossed the bridge which connects one phase
of mind with desire, and the other with spirit. By this means the upward
surging forces of the animal kingdom, are united with the downward
cycling emanation of the Divine—the most profound myth associated with
the Bridge of Kinevat.




                           CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
           THE ARROW-HEAD MEMORIAL TO THE LOST MONBAS TRIBES


The legend of Humoo, or the Lost Arrow, associated with the Giant’s
Thumb, one of the wonders of the Yo-Semite Valley, had its origin in the
building of the enormous arrow-head in a triangular plateau two thousand
feet above the level of the sea, in the ribbon-like convolutions of the
San Bernardino Mountains, about six miles from the little village
bearing the same name.

The Mexican hero, Santa Anna, is immortalized in the name of the valley
stretching southward to the peaks of Temescal, where tin and other ore
of value was being formed in nature’s laboratory, as Yermah and his men
fashioned the arrow-head[18] which would serve as a memorial stone, an
arrow-head burial for the lost Monbas tribes.

A circle intersecting Twin Peaks, in Tlamco, and including the North
Dome, in the Yo-Semite, and the arrow-head, is exactly one fifth the
diameter of the moon. The dual reference to the mind and to people,
always ascribed to the influence of the moon, here found adequate
expression in this giant monument. It commemorated the loss of a
continent, the extinction of a race, and also pictured the mental
anguish of the surviving nations.

The arrow, typical of thought, was composed of disintegrated white
quartz on light gray granite, and it stands out bold and white against a
dark background of entirely different soil. Short white grass and weeds
cover the arrow-head proper, while dark shrubbery and trees mark the
surrounding country. So perfect is its contour, so elevated its
situation, it can be descried from every part of the valley, and is
plainly visible at a distance of thirty miles.

So cunningly was the soil mixed for the molding of the arrow, that the
ages since have not caused it to diminish, nor can it be made to support
vegetation of a larger growth, or of species common to its surroundings.

The flint points downward, and at its base is a cluster of twenty
medicinal springs, famous for their curative powers.

Westward Santa Catalina Island had but recently appeared, and although
eighty miles away, it still smoked and rocked, animated by the hidden
forces which called it into being.

The blue coast line rises out of the purple mists in the distance like
spectral silhouettes. And there are deep cañons in the rugged mountains
in the immediate vicinity, carrying ice-cold streams in close proximity
to the steam and sulphurous vapors issuing from the boiling springs
dotting the narrow pass below.

Yermah did wisely to bring his men south—for the northern mountains were
still shaking and spitting black vomit over the valleys at their base.

The heat was too fierce for rain, although the moisture-laden breezes
were sucked in from the ocean in perfect hurricanes.

Lying well south, inland, and sheltered by a mountain range, the San
Bernardino Valley afforded shelter for distressed man and beast. It was
here, and while waiting for seed-time, that the arrow-head was outlined
so strangely on the mountain side.

Much that is curious in Indian lore clings to this spot. Like a pillar
of fire, the arrow is said to have guided their forefathers to this
place, where it finally rested. Evil has been put to flight here more
than once.

The Azes’ judges drew the death-circle and square over the breast of the
condemned with an arrow, and this is why the arrow-head burial was given
Kerœcia and her followers.

The Festival of Humiliation began a period of mourning which was
continuous and fervid until this curious monument was completed and
dedicated.

While Yermah was away from Tlamco, Orondo served in his stead much to
the annoyance of Setos, who was as busy as a mole in the dark, stirring
up sedition, and adding to the general unrest and suspicion everywhere
manifest.

The high-priest, Imos, at the suggestion of Setos, openly charged that
the Brotherhood of the White Star were to blame for the destruction of
Atlantis. Some solemn vow had been broken, and Deity was mortally
offended.

This assertion gave pestiferous, meddlesome Setos the desired
opportunity, and he instituted a severe and rigorous investigation into
the conduct of all public affairs; also, into the lives of every man and
woman in Tlamco.

No one escaped; nor was any situation sacred to the inquisitors, who in
the name of morality did not hesitate to go to any length.

Setos did not dare to openly accuse Yermah of breaking a vow made to the
Ineffable One.

He refrained from fixing this unpardonable sin on any other person, and
by innuendo and insinuation contrived to strengthen every breath of
discontent inherent in the unusual conditions arising from a mixture of
races, habits and modes of thought.

He urged Yermah to give all refugees asylum in Tlamco, knowing that
enforced idleness and nameless dread opened the mind for seditious
propaganda. Both he and Imos insisted strenuously that some one had
sinned against Divinity.

This accusation made each one distrustful and suspicious, and in their
anxiety to clear themselves many an overt act or word was let loose to
strengthen the intangible something which hovered in the air. None
pretended to name it; nor was there anything but the most circumspect
language used.[19]

Setos knew better than to show his hand. He was content, at present, to
merely discredit the Dorado. As to his future plans—time would prove
them.

Yermah felt, rather than saw, the change, but he was above indulging a
personal grief. He had already consecrated his life to his fellows, so
that work was the one thing which absorbed and interested him.

He saw that planting must be confined to the southern part of the
country, since steady downpours marked the spring and early summer
months.

He also knew it would require his best endeavors to procure food for the
ensuing year.

Reports from the Valley of the Mississippi stated that heavy floods had
prevailed for months, caused by preponderance of hot air blown over the
Rocky Mountains and condensed into rainfall early in the season. The
winter months set in with unparalleled rigor, and the spring found that
whole country under one solid sheet of ice.

Many of the inhabitants had fled to the south. The exodus to Mexico was
in full tide. This migration caused the mysterious race, the Toltecs or
the Mayas, to leave their mounds and earthworks, their canals and busy
centers, their cities and civilization, to puzzle the antiquarian in
later ages.

The earth still moaned and sighed under the impulse of subterranean
fire, while the surface froze stiff in the accumulation of waters and
low temperature. Man, ever the creature of circumstance, was still
panic-stricken, oppressed by dismal forebodings, all his settled faiths
rudely shaken, and he an easy prey to cunning and unscrupulous design.

Setos flattered himself that he managed the situation very cleverly when
he said to every one whom he met:

“It is rumored that our Grand Servitor intends to marry. Traditional law
and custom forbid his remaining in supreme control more than a year
without giving promise of succession.”

To which his auditor invariably gave tongue with speculation as upon
whom his choice could fall.

“Property and descent are traced through the female side; therefore, he
should espouse Ildiko,” said the high-priest Imos. “It is better that
pure Atlantian blood should be continued in power.”

Flattering things were said to, and of, Ildiko, until her silly head was
in a whirl, and she began to take on grand airs of importance. She
snubbed Alcamayn unmercifully, not because she really disliked him,
but—to be perverse, especially when her woman’s wit discovered that
Rahula cherished hopes of supplanting her in her father’s affection.

Like many a child since, she had no intention of cheering her father’s
declining years; nor was she unselfish enough to allow any one else to
do so.

She would marry, of course, and would place herself to the best possible
advantage, thanks to her father’s influence and position; but gratitude
to him or to any one else was entirely foreign to her thoughts. She
secretly hated Rahula, because the latter had been like a mother to her;
and it gave her keen delight to thwart Rahula’s scheme to marry her to
Alcamayn. She was not only dazzled by the prospect of occupying Iaqua,
but she knew that this would disappoint and hurt a woman who had
unwittingly aroused an unwarranted but common phase of jealousy.

As is often the case, Yermah, the most interested man of them all, was
the last to hear the gossip. At first he took no notice. But one day
Imos asked him pointedly:

“Wilt thou comply with the demands of the people?”

“If thou wilt name thy wish, I shall answer thee truly,” responded
Yermah.

It was in the Temple of the Sun, near the noon hour, and the audience
chamber was crowded, Yermah presiding.

“If thou art to be the head of this commonwealth, a helpmeet becomes thy
station. Ildiko, daughter of Setos, thy councilor, is of pure blood and
comely. Her heirs would be acceptable as future rulers.”

Yermah seemed to shrivel and grow small as the words reached him. He
unconsciously assumed an attitude of defense, mechanically passed his
hand over his ashen face, and said in a low voice:

“Let this honor in service pass me by!”

Instantly there was tremendous excitement, and Setos’s small pig-eyes
emitted a dangerous gleam.

“So he refuses the only chance he has to reign in peace. So be it!
I—Setos—will make it cost him his position.”

In the hubbub and confusion, Yermah beckoned to Orondo, and the two
stood in earnest converse for a few moments. Finally, the Dorado held up
his hand for silence.

“By the will of our beloved Akaza, I am made his successor as hierophant
in the exalted Brotherhood. The vow of my boyhood still binds me, and my
heart lies buried in the lava-flow of the north. My fellows and
brothers, will ye not release me from civic service? The dead have laid
imperative commands upon me.”

“It is our duty to obey the ‘Voice of the Silence,’” quickly responded
Imos, knowing that reverence for the dead, and for their commands and
wishes, was an article of faith with the Azes, and one which Atlantian
rulers had always respected.

“He will be hierophant only,” muttered Setos. “Good! His order forbids
resort to force, and in case of necessity he can be expelled. It is well
to resign what thou art in imminent danger of losing.”

There was an angry scowl on Setos’s red face, and his lips curled
scornfully.

Yermah stood with bowed head, and when he attempted to speak his voice
was shaken with emotion.

“A sense of gratitude unmans me! I have no wish but to serve ye well. In
resigning civic honors I desire to name Orondo as my successor.”

The Dorado turned to Orondo, and giving him his hand, drew him forward,
as his astonished auditors recovered their presence of mind and began to
cheer. Both men, deadly pale, faced about side by side and bowed
gravely.

“The fair and gentle Ildiko will find a good husband in Orondo, and the
Azes a Servitor worthy of their fullest confidence. Will ye have it so?”

“Haille! Haille! Haille!” The well-known shout of triumph had something
of the heartiness of the olden times.

“Does this arrangement please thee, Setos?” asked Yermah, kindly, taking
the hand of Setos in both his own, and reading his countenance closely.

“Since thou wilt no longer serve—Orondo is my second choice,” stammered
Setos, politely, if not sincerely.

“And wilt thou have me for thy son?” asked Orondo, simply, but without a
shade of animation.

The substitution of men was not so rapid as to prevent Setos from
realizing the advantage to himself; so he answered readily and with
heartiness:

“No man could desire a better or a more worthy son. Come with me to
Ildiko.”

There were several degrees of dignity added to Setos as he linked his
arm in Orondo’s and passed out of the building.

The crowd manifested some curiosity, which Setos noted out of the corner
of his eye as they went by. If he had failed to win all he had played
for, he had at least accomplished something.

Gratified ambition sent a glow of satisfaction through Setos which made
him feel quite amiable toward Yermah, despite his fixed determination to
either rule or ruin the Dorado—beloved of the people.




                          CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
              FOR REASONS OF STATE—ORONDO ESPOUSES ILDIKO


Three months intervened between the betrothal announcement, immediately
after Ildiko’s consent was obtained, and the beginning of the wedding
festival, which lasted thirty days. This brought the actual consummation
down to the time in October when the sun and moon were in conjunction.

Those were happy days for Ildiko, who was in a flutter of excitement
from morning until night over the preparation of her trousseau.
Everything necessary for her comfort was furnished in sets of twelve.

There were exquisitely ornamented terra-cotta jars provided for each of
her dresses, which were placed in a row around the walls of her room,
much more suggestive of tea than of a wardrobe.

For the ceremony in the Temple of Venus there was a creation of vivid
yellow, wrought in heavy bands of silk embroidery and tawny gold. The
veil to match was of the finest yellow gauze, worked with floss and
glitter until it was like a cobweb with the sun shining through it. The
material of the gown was that of rare, fine texture which writers are
always drawing through a finger-ring.

In the voluminous skirt, at least twenty yards of gossamer silk had been
used, but the effect was soft, clinging and graceful in the extreme. The
waist was like an Eton jacket, too short to reach the skirt, and had
half-length sleeves. The substitute for material at the waist line was a
broad girdle of jewels.

Orondo himself superintended the making of this article. It would be his
privilege to unclasp it on the nuptial night and hang it outside the
bridal chamber, as a pledge of his wife’s honor. It was not a straight
band, but broadened over the hips, and was sacred to Venus, the love
planet.

The second of the bridal robes was of scarlet silk, almost covered with
gold-thread embroidery, in which precious stones were skillfully
imbedded. With it was provided a red gauze veil edged with gold fringe.
Both gowns were fashioned alike, except that the red skirt was narrower,
and finished in a long train edged with peacock feathers, which hung as
a mantle from the shoulders.

As soon as the city was decorated, and during the entire thirty days’
preliminary festivities, Ildiko wore simple white, destitute of
ornament.

She did not appear in public, except in going to and from the Temple of
Venus, where she greeted the rising sun every morning and offered
special prayers on behalf of her new duties.

Orondo made similar supplication at the same hour in the Temple of Mars.
Though not a demonstrative man, he was careful to observe all the
niceties of his position.

When with Ildiko, his countenance bespoke contentment; and at some of
her witty sallies his face would light up with a rare smile. She was all
bustle and excitement, and made heavy demands upon her bridesman,
Yermah.

Ildiko was neither resentful nor sensitive. When the Dorado took her
hand, and begged forgiveness because of his seeming disloyalty, her
sympathies went out to him, and she impulsively told him that she
honored his choice. She loved Kerœcia too, she said, and hoped that this
mutual affection would prove a strong bond between them.

Setos was in his glory. He strutted about the city officiously, and
assumed a dictatorial manner, in the Council Chambers, which was
tolerated in a good-natured way. Setos was also allowed to indulge
himself in several flights of fancy not strictly in accordance with
facts.

With his thumbs in his arm-holes and his conical hat set well back on
his head, he unbosomed himself to Rahula, whose adroit flattery now fell
upon very willing ears.

He was paternal and patronizing to Alcamayn, who was galled almost
beyond endurance by what he fancied were the pitying glances of his
fellows.

Alcamayn angrily told himself that he was not in love with Ildiko; but
he was keenly sensible of the fact that a bachelor was not only taxed—he
was looked down upon.

The jeweler knew that there was no chance for promotion so long as he
remained single; but his own vanity and Rahula’s insidious teaching made
him hold himself entirely aloof from alliance with any but a
pure-blooded Atlantian.

His share in the preparations was wholly perfunctory, a situation not
lost upon Orondo, whose delicacy deterred him from seeking advice on the
nuptial ring and girdle.

Alcamayn himself was keenly alert on these very points. When he
purposely wandered in where the workmen were putting on the finishing
touches, he was so exasperated that he could with difficulty restrain
himself.

Day by day his irritation grew, fanned by injudicious remarks,
insinuations and exaggerated reports of Orondo’s devotion.

Divining something of this, Ildiko often inquired concerning him, and
sent many messages by Rahula. Now that she was having her own way, she
was very amiable to the other woman. Rahula’s sad face, and what Ildiko
imagined Alcamayn must suffer, added to her own high spirits. So it was
that shallow-brained, selfish Ildiko enjoyed being the center of
attraction, and accepted as justly her due the thousand and one
courtesies the time and situation showered upon her.

Not even a vague suspicion of her lover’s former attachment crossed her
mind.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Northeast from the center of Tlamco was the Temple of Venus, set apart
for marriage and all domestic affairs. It was here that the vestal
virgins lived, and taught the young children. It was an oval-shaped
structure, with rows of pillars inside, supporting a convex-domed roof
of colored glass. The pillars were ornamented elaborately with stucco,
rainbow-tinted, each one showing a solid color. The interstices between
had mirrors with beaten copper frames placed over the glass itself. The
tessellated floor was of black marble, the vessels of exquisitely
hammered silver, while the altars were of onyx on copper bases.
Passion-flowers, gillyflowers and hollyhocks, emblems of fecundity, were
employed in the decorations of the temple for the wedding. Ivy, meaning
fidelity; grasses, showing submission; heliotrope, for devotion; syringa
and roses, for love, were freely intertwined about the pillars and
altars.

On Friday, the day of love and marriage, no blood was allowed to be shed
for food.

At the wedding, the vestments of Imos and his assistants were of azure,
their ornaments of polished copper, their head garlands of white and red
roses, and they carried myrtle and olive branches.

Apple-green and pale rose were the colors of the canopy placed in the
southern niche, under which the ceremony took place. It was an open,
flaring triangle with a lamp in the apex, having the pedestal of iron,
the joint of brass, the bowl of silver, and the center of gold. It had
two arms, composed of three metals interlaced in such a manner as to
leave a triple conduit for oil.

There were nine wicks; three in the middle, and three in each arm. The
lower rim of the pedestal represented a serpent, while the globe was
large and double, having compartments filled with colored waters and
perfumed so that the air was cool and fragrant.

The lamp was on a revolving standard of polished wood, and at its base
were three smoking incense-jars of burnished bronze.

Early on the morning of the wedding, a brilliant pageant formed in front
of Setos’s house and marched through the principal streets. It consisted
of beasts of burden, and tamanes, loaded with presents for the bride,
and also carrying her belongings to Iaqua.

First came the jewel bearers, armed to the teeth, escorted by
cavalrymen, brandishing broadswords and performing many feats of
horsemanship and skill.

This was followed by a cavalcade of burros, laden with scented jars and
baskets containing the trousseau, which had kept half of Tlamco
industriously occupied for three months.

The presents came from military, naval and civil guilds; from the
priesthood, from the vestals, and from the children and the aged.

Poets walked in front of them reciting odes, and the musicians performed
special compositions in honor of the occasion.

As soon as the procession turned into the beautifully decorated avenue
leading to Iaqua, the populace hastened to the Temple of Venus.

It was also the signal for Orondo, with Setos on one side and Hanabusa
on the other, to issue from the eastern entrance of the official
residence. His warrior dress of white kid was rich in golden bosses,
bands and fringes. Over his shoulders hung the green feather mantle of
his rank, held in place by shoulder medallions of brilliants.

On his head was a tall liberty cap of white kid, ornamented with gold
filigree, and having three quetzal feathers in the apex. He doffed his
head-covering at the temple door, exposing a simple gold band over his
hair.

Setos and Hanabusa wore a silver and green combination, ornate with
eagle’s feathers and embroidery. They carried large bouquets of roses,
and supported the sword and shield of the bridegroom.

Behind them, in single file, carrying a jeweled lantern in each hand,
came Alcamayn, Ben Hu Barabe, Cezardis, and twenty-two young officers of
the highest rank, in full regimentals, followed by the representative
men of Tlamco, with the priesthood and councilors of state in the lead.

Their wives stood in line in front of Setos’s house, waiting to perform
the same service for Ildiko.

“Blessed be he that cometh!” shouted the people in the streets.

“Blessed indeed is he!” responded Orondo’s escort.

“Haille! Haille! Haille!” they shouted together.

Then the same formula was repeated.

The first greeting and exchange brought Ildiko to the door. She glanced
about her half-fearfully, and seemed in need of Yermah’s supporting arm.

In addition to the yellow robe already described, she wore a mantle of
yellow brocaded with silver and gold, which swept the ground far behind
her.

For the last time in her life would she be permitted to wear her hair
flowing, and its gold band, an exact duplicate of the one Orondo wore,
was the only ornament, save a crown of white lilies, attesting her
purity of heart. Strand after strand of pearls wound around her neck;
bangles and bracelets dangled at her slender wrists; but her small white
hands were uncovered, and her fingers were unadorned.

Yermah wore pale blue cloth embroidered with silver stars and bands, and
a blue cap, with silver ornaments and white plumes. His mantle was of
plain white silk. From his left arm swung a large reticule of silver
cloth crusted with turquoise, containing the yellow gauze wedding-veil.

Supporting the train of the bride’s mantle came Rahula, in a purple
robe, elaborately worked with a pattern of leaves in pale metallic
green, outlined in delicately frosted silver. The jacket was lined with
green, and the undervest was a mass of silver and jewels.

Beside her was Alcyesta, in a lavender robe. Iridescent bead
embroideries set with amethysts, and copper ornaments in quaint symbolic
design, such as the Monbas were wont to employ, made a pleasing contrast
to the rows of vestals and priestesses in pure white.

Two fierce-looking fencers led the way, followed by hundreds of
children, who scattered roses along the pathway, or accepted some of the
nuts and small cakes given out by the bride’s orders on all the
thoroughfares.

A delegation of priests barred the entrance and stopped Orondo on the
threshold. As soon as Ildiko joined him, he purchased an ear of corn of
Setos, handing him an eagle-quill of gold. Turning to Ildiko he asked:

“Dost thou wish to be mother of my household?”

“Yes,” she answered, and proceeded to buy a similar ear of corn from
Yermah, paying the same price for it. Then she turned to Orondo and
asked:

“Hast thou the wish to be father of my household?”

“Yes,” he asseverated, solemnly. Taking the ear of corn he had
purchased, he handed it to her, saying:

“Where love and harmony dwell, I am master.”

Ildiko gave Orondo her purchase as she replied:

“Where thou art master, I am mistress.”

They both began to twist roses and myrtle and olive branches into a
garland wrapped with gold and silver wires, as a symbol of their
blending lives. Still weaving, they advanced slowly down the aisle, and
paused before the canopy, while harps and voices blended in a bridal
hymn.

Setos stood beside Orondo, while Yermah supported Ildiko.

When the music ceased the priests and vestals chanted in unison:

“We give thee myriads of years. Like the moon advancing to the full;
like the sun ascending to the heavens; like the everlasting southern
hills; like the luxuriance of the fir and cypress—never waning, never
failing!—may such be thy succeeding lines.”

“Om—ah! Om—ah! Om—ah!” murmured the four at the altar.

“Orondo, servant of the Most High,” said Imos impressively, “art thou in
any way related to this maiden by ties of blood, intimate or remote?”

“The silken cords of affection are all that bind me here.”

“Dost thou swear this by the sacred fire on the altar before thee?”

“I do.” Orondo spoke firmly.

When the high-priest had asked the same questions and received the same
responses from Ildiko, he continued:

“Orondo, on thy honor as a man, is the solemn covenant thou art about to
make voluntary on thy part?”

“It is.”

Ildiko gave the same assurance.

Imos handed Orondo the marriage-band, which was so large he could slip
it over his right hand and then clasp Ildiko’s easily. It was a broad
circlet of silver set with turquoise, lapis lazuli, and beryl.

“In the name of the Trinity, I command thee, Orondo, and thee, Ildiko,
to join right hands and seal thy promise of fidelity with a kiss.”

As they obeyed, Yermah, Setos, and Imos covered them with the gauze
veil, murmuring blessings in the name of the three divine attributes.
Yermah knelt before the twain and said:

“Orondo, my beloved, I give unto thee this damsel adorned with jewels
and protected by the Lord of Creatures.”

“So be it.”

Setos knelt beside Yermah and said in a tremulous voice:

“Orondo, beloved, I give to thee my only begotten, to be thine honor and
thy wife; to keep thy keys and share with thee thy joys and sorrows.”

“Let them be trampled upon and confounded who maliciously endeavor to
create ill-will between us,” answered Orondo, loud enough to be heard
throughout the temple.

Rahula involuntarily gave Alcamayn an apprehensive glance.

That young man stared straight ahead of him with blood-shot eyes and a
dull, half-foolish expression. He did not seem to hear Imos, when he
said:

“By the power vested in me, I unite and bind thee, Orondo, and thee,
Ildiko, one to the other. Live ye in peace.”

Lifting their veil he anointed their foreheads and wrists with unguent.
Then he carefully drew a gold thread from the bride’s mantle and another
from the groom’s, and tied them together. He handed the knot to Ildiko,
saying:

“Be this always a sign of indissoluble union.”

Picking up a sprig of ivy, Setos bound it across Orondo’s forehead,
adding:

“Be this a similar token unto thee.”

Receiving a cup of mead from the hands of an assistant, he blessed it,
drank of it, and passed the libation to the newly married couple.

After Ildiko took a sip, she threw the cup on the floor, and as she did
so every unmarried man in the temple followed her example by dashing
into pieces a porcelain, glass or pottery vessel, as a signal of
renunciation.

The bridal party filed out of the temple to the music of harps and
flutes. There was an eager wish to witness the leave-taking of the bride
and bridegroom, who formally separated at the door and returned to their
respective homes until nightfall. Then the bride would enter Iaqua in
state, and the matrimonial coronation would take place.

                  *       *       *       *       *

“Impatience lends wings to my desire, Ildiko,” whispered Orondo. “I long
for thee incessantly. Come quickly.”

“Only this poor body is absent from thy side, Orondo. Thy wish is but an
echo of my thought.”

“From meridian to sunset is a lifetime in the history of love,” said
Orondo, as he glanced at the unclouded sky overhead. “Oh, misery! that I
must leave thee!”

“Thou art a flattering and indulgent husband,” responded Ildiko, smiling
up into his face affectionately.

He stood uncovered, and waited for her to pass on; then he turned ever
and anon on his way back to Iaqua, waving his hand to her, until Ildiko
reached her father’s house.

The lanterns, banners and flags flapped lazily in the breeze or sunned
themselves listlessly. There was a grand naval demonstration on the bay,
an exchange of shots by the mangonels in the forts, and a review of
warriors on parade.

The citizens young and old made various senseless noises in their
exuberance of spirits, while the Chief Councilmen went into session
immediately to await the announcement of the formal resignation of
Yermah and the taking of the oath of office by Orondo.

It was not without a sinking heart that Yermah had given up his old
habits of life. It cost him many pangs to abandon his quarters; and for
days he had that houseless, homeless feeling inseparable from removal to
new surroundings.

Orondo pleaded long and earnestly that he would still reside at Iaqua.
The Dorado steadily refused. He would content himself with the
unpretentious quarters of Akaza in the Temple of Neptune.

With his own hands, he took an inventory of all things pertaining to his
office, the jewels, the horses, trappings and chariots.

He removed nothing except his personal effects, and, as a wedding
present, he gave Orondo his last state mantle—the one he had worn on
Kerœcia’s birthday.

Orondo still had the garment on his shoulders, and would wear it in the
Hall of Embassadors, when he solemnly pledged his life and sacred honor
to the service of the Azes.

Later in the day, there was feasting and rejoicing in all the community
houses, the institutions and barracks, as well as in the homes.

Enthroned under a canopy of scarlet, Ildiko sat out the afternoon,
surrounded by her family and friends. It was her formal leave-taking of
girlhood days, and her eyes filled with tears as she slowly passed from
one room to another.

She yielded to a fit of weeping when she reached the door of her own
room, and saw that in her absence it had been denuded of all her
possessions.

“Oh, my father!” she cried, “is it possible that thou wilt turn me out
of thy heart as well as out of thy house?”

She threw herself across the foot of her bed, and sobbed convulsively.

Rahula brought her father, and by a sign motioned the others to leave
them. Setos gave her a grateful look as she closed the door, but it was
a long time before he could speak. He sat motionless and helpless until
Ildiko could get command of her overwrought nerves, and then he soothed
and quieted her as best he could.

Rahula returned presently with a sleeping potion, but the bride refused
to drink it.

“Let me remember every hour of this day,” she pleaded, and so had her
way.

As the sun went down the bride arose, and performed anew her ablutions,
and prayed with fervor and abandon. Then she arrayed herself in scarlet,
and wound herself up in the voluminous red veil with as much skill and
ingenuity as possible, so that her husband might find it difficult to
see her face, since it was his task to unwind it, as soon as she crossed
the threshold of Iaqua.

With the appearance of the evening star, came the state chariot drawn by
four spirited bays, ready to carry her to her new home. The whole city
seemed to be alive with torches and lanterns, which rivaled the
brilliant illumination overhead, as Ildiko, accompanied by Yermah and
her father, stepped into the vehicle.

The populace ran alongside, singing bridal songs and shouting good
wishes into her ears. Little cakes, nuts, and bouquets were thrown from
the chariot as souvenirs, while the blare of trumpets added to the
general noise and confusion.

All the notables of Tlamco were assembled at Iaqua to welcome the bride.
A very timid, frightened little morsel of humanity she was, as Orondo
carried her into the house.

She had intended to make a great show of resistance when he attempted to
remove her veil; but she was so dazed that she lost all presence of
mind, and actually helped him.

With grave sweet tenderness, Orondo freed her from entanglement, and led
her in triumph to the dais prepared for them, where for the next two
hours they received congratulations.

When divested of their mantles, the bride and groom led the dancing, and
with it Ildiko’s spirits rose. It was her privilege to challenge any
swain in the company, and he was obliged to follow her through the maze
of whirling dancers until he should succeed in capturing the illusive
veil she occasionally tossed at him.

As soon as the formal change was danced with Orondo, she threw the veil
over Alcamayn’s shoulder. He was a splendid dancer, and she knew that he
would give her ample opportunity to display her own skill.

Round and round they went—he in hot pursuit, she alert to provoke and
yet escape him.

At last, panting with exertion, she suffered him to touch the gauze, and
then the dancers rushed away to get something to drink and to recover
their breath.

No precaution was taken to prevent over-indulgence in the use of the
liquids, because it was considered a crime punishable with death if any
one came to harm through excess of this kind.

The high-priest, Imos, first proposed and drank the health of the bride
and groom. Then came Hanabusa, who did the same for the navy; Setos
performed a similar office for the civil authorities; Ben Hu Barabe, for
the lost and loved ones; Cezardis, for the stranger within the gates;
after which friends of each saluted and offered a libation to their
future.

Abstemious by nature, Orondo did little more than touch the various
liquors with his lips, but Ildiko quenched thirst freely, and soon the
heat and excitement began to tell on her.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Nothing escaped the eagle eye of Alcamayn.

Ildiko had sought to appease him by a show of preference in selecting
him to dance, but he resented it as a mean attempt on her part to parade
his humiliation. Before coming into the ballroom, he had taken a copious
drink of hemp and opium, and had purposely selected the wine of maguey
(mescal) for his toast.

Now this fiery liquid mounted to his infuriated brain, and he was
positive that every one in the room was thinking how badly he had been
treated, and secretly deriding him for not seeking revenge.—Revenge!
That was it! But he had come prepared.

Red and white lines mingled with the pockmarks, and his misshapen body
seemed to writhe like a snake under the goad of his malicious thoughts.

He was growing noisy and boisterous; so much so that his companions
tried to prevent him from approaching the bride, but he angrily refused
to heed them.

“Come on!” he loudly proclaimed. “She is a discarded love of mine, who
still adores me. Come on, and I will prove her! She shall give _me_ her
wedding ring—the one Orondo made with his own hands!”

Ben Hu Barabe, Hanabusa, Yermah and Cezardis closed in around him, but
he broke away from their restraint and boldly bantered Ildiko for an
exchange of rings. He had the face of a fiend, as he said:

“Wilt thou not, for old times’ sake, give me one of thy little rings in
return for one of mine? Choose among these,” he continued, holding up a
hand loaded with beautiful gems, quaintly set.

She looked at him unsteadily, simpered foolishly and was about to make
some maudlin reply, when Orondo, white with anger, whispered to her:

“Make the exchange quickly. Thou art under observation.”

Startled by his tone, and only half-comprehending the situation, Ildiko
slipped off her wedding ring, a flat silver band covered with an
intricate gold interlaced filigree. Without looking at it, she handed it
to Alcamayn, receiving from him a diamond marquise for her little
finger.

“What did I tell thee!” cried the hunchback triumphantly. “Thou knowest
the pledge that goes with this? Poor Orondo! I envy thee not!”

Alcamayn turned with a sneer on his ugly face, just as Orondo, who had
risen, made a pass at him with his sword. The weapon went wide of its
mark, but the outraged husband lurched forward, and fell heavily to the
floor, before the horrified spectators could offer assistance.

Yermah raised the fallen head, and as he did so blood spurted from the
half-open mouth. Orondo groaned and shivered. His breath came in one
stertorous gasp, and all was still.

“It is death!” cried Yermah, in alarm, “death, sudden and terrible! My
poor friend!” he repeated, as Setos leaned over and peered into the
ashen countenance. Hanabusa hustled Alcamayn roughly, but held him in a
vise-like grip.

“Thou art a murderer,” he exclaimed, “and must answer well for this!
Thou art my prisoner!”

The high-priest, Imos, assisted Yermah to lift the dead man, and Setos
stood near Ildiko.

The bride was still toying with Alcamayn’s ring, and giggling hideously
to herself, utterly unconscious of the tragedy being enacted before her.

Rahula fluttered between the two principals. She could not comprehend
what had happened, and began to shriek hysterically when iron bands were
placed on Alcamayn’s neck and wrists.

The panic-stricken guests departed hurriedly, while warriors surrounded
the house, and no one was allowed to enter under any pretext whatever.

All eye-witnesses were put under oath, and an armed guard soon filled
the room.

Ildiko was kept under surveillance, and Setos found his movements
closely watched.

The news went through the city like wild-fire, and the excitement kept
the streets alive all night, while the death-watchers sat with the
linen-swathed body of Orondo.




                          CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
                THE TRIBUNALS OF GOD DEAL WITH ALCAMAYN


The “Tribunals of God,” as the courts of justice were called, convened
in the Temple of Mars, situated northwest from the center of the city.

It was here that the highest courts assembled four times a year to hear
and to judge the most important criminal cases.

There were twelve judges and eighty jurors, who were seated in a
semi-circle facing the south, where sapphire tablets in gold plates set
forth the ten great laws of the land. In front of them were two blocks
of stone, on which the accuser and the accused stood. Outside this were
seats for the jurisconsults, hedged in by a wall of solid masonry,
always guarded.

The building itself was square, with each corner exactly on a cardinal
point, and finished with square towers, from the tops of which the
decisions were announced at sunset.

The size of the temple was one three-hundred-thousandths of the diameter
of Mars.

Outside the walled enclosure were quarters for the jurisconsults and
their families, also for the students and the instructors. A long
subterranean passage, dimly lighted, led to the chambers for solitary
confinement, and it was from the arches overhead that criminals under
death-sentence were executed, by being hung by the heels.

Dull gray walls, ceilings and floors greeted the eye everywhere, while
leather and iron fittings added to the gloom and depression. Over the
door of the main entrance was the inscription:

  “THE WISE EMPLOYMENT OF PUNISHMENT IS THE BEST MEANS OF TEACHING THE
  LOWER ANIMALS: MAN LEARNS ONLY BY EXPERIENCE, WHICH IS A VARIED FORM
  OF PUNISHMENT.”

The awning over the head of the presiding judge was a splendid woolen
tapestry, representing the “Judgment of Hirach,” and underneath was the
inscription:

  “THE MISFORTUNE OF THE CRIMINAL IS THAT HE MAKES A BAD BARGAIN: HE
  GIVES SO MUCH FOR SO LITTLE.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

As hierophant and Past Grand Servitor, it was Yermah’s duty to preside
at Alcamayn’s trial. His official robe for this occasion was
flame-colored, with belt, bracelet, and thumb-ring of iron set with
amethysts, while on his head was a skeletonized iron crown.

The extreme gravity of the case hastened the proceedings, which were
concluded on the following Tuesday—Mars’ day. In ordinary circumstances
it would have been considered a monstrous thing to appeal with such
haste to an extraordinary tribunal; but the diversity of frictional
causes underlying the main issue made it expedient to act with vigor and
promptitude.

The people themselves claimed the right to punish crimes of peculiar
gravity or of exalted personages. Since the action pertained to their
Servitor, they were the ones most grievously wronged, and they clamored
loudly for the life-blood of the jeweler.

Alcamayn’s life should be forfeited to the state because of high
treason, inasmuch as he had made it impossible to maintain traditional
relations with other nations, by removing the only man of consecrated
blood capable of carrying out the solemn covenants.

It was Hanabusa’s duty, as accuser, to present the findings of this
tribunal to Yermah for final consideration.

The high-priest, Imos, received similar instruction later in the day,
when the warrior-priests, without a dissenting voice, found Alcamayn
guilty of sin against the Holy Pneuma,[20] because by curtailing
Orondo’s physical life, he had cut the ego’s earth experience short,
thus dooming his victim to early reincarnation. Death, incurring a
similar fate, was but just retribution.

Setos must stand as an accuser when the final trial began. In his own
selfish way, he was attached to Ildiko; but he could have killed her
with his own hands for having placed him in such a difficult position.
He had no pity for her blighted prospects.

The father was enraged against the daughter, because he knew that no man
would offer her marriage again—that she must live in perpetual disgrace.

Pity her? Not he! Had she not dashed his ambitions at the very moment of
fulfillment? Was his incipient greatness always to be subservient to
inferiors? Was he never to have the opportunity to show what was in his
heart?

                  *       *       *       *       *

Poor Ildiko! Frivolous feather-brain that she was, many a sympathizing
glance fell upon the closed windows of her bridal chamber. She was not
allowed to return home again. So in hideous mockery she paced the floor
of this room, sick to death of its luxury, and hating the sight of her
wedding finery.

Yermah found her lying prostrate, twisting her hands in and out of her
disheveled hair; and when he gently raised her and spoke kindly to her,
she broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, infinitely sadder than
tears. She had the curses of her father still ringing in her ears, and
remorse held such carnival that blows would have been easier to bear.

“Beat, curse and abuse me, Yermah, or I shall go raving mad! Don’t even
look at me kindly! I cannot endure it!”

Yermah feigned not to hear her.

“Where is Rahula?” he asked in an ordinary tone. “Hast thou seen her?”

“No. She must be with Alcamayn.”

“That were not possible. He is in solitary confinement, and is allowed
to see no one. She is probably occupied with his defense.”

“Dost thou think there is any hope for him? I have loved him from early
childhood—more than I did Orondo,” she said simply. “Canst thou not
plead for him?”

Even with tear-stained, grief-distorted face, Ildiko was attractive and
winning.

“All that is possible will I gladly do, for both thy sakes.”

The Dorado talked long and earnestly with her, knowing that words would
be a harmless safety-valve for her tortured mind, and when he left her
she was comparatively calm.

Yermah was as good as his word. In the Temple of the Sun, on the
following day, he made an eloquent plea for compensation for Ildiko,
since Alcamayn had stolen away her senses by drugging the wine she drank
in honor of the state. The councilors by vote exculpated her from all
blame in Orondo’s death, and allowed her the living usually given the
widow of a Grand Servitor. It was a foregone conclusion that they would
fix the death penalty on Alcamayn for depriving the Azes of their
rightful ruler.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The unit of ancient society was the community or gens; of modern
society, the individual. Since the first ten great laws were compiled
and graven on tablets of stone, there have been but two forms of
civilization. One exemplifies the principles of brotherhood; the other,
crystallizes around individualism. Both ideals have had many variations
and degrees of success in racial and national expression.

The Egyptians thought their laws were given them by Menes, the Greek
Hermes; the Hindus believed that Menes received his laws direct from
Krishna.

The Lacedæmonians claimed that Apollyon inspired Lycurgus to write them
wise and just laws for their guidance.

Many branches of the Aryan race look to Zoroaster as the man to whom the
Good Spirit communicates the first rules of government.

The Toltecs say it was Mexi; the Quiches ascribe it to Votan; while,
through the Jews, we claim Moses as the great law-giver.

But from whatever source, the principal rules are the same. In none is
property held to be of greater value than human life. The precepts of
Christianity do not contradict this teaching, but actual practice is
often quite another matter.

The legislation known as labor laws would be difficult to explain were
precept and practical Christian civilization the same thing.

The first step inspired by selfishness was to substitute the family for
the tribe, making it a corporation sole, so that co-ownership was the
original law of property.[21]

In Yermah’s day, no one could forfeit or transfer his rights, and all
holdings went back to the community at death. Personal property was
interred with the body, in order to destroy the magnetic attraction
which would still hold the astral man to the earth, especially to his
familiar haunts.

There was no law of crimes, no criminal jurisprudence such as we have
to-day. But the community had the right to compel the wrong-doer to
compound for injuries inflicted. The state undertook to mete out
punishment the same as an individual would do in similar circumstances.

When speedily caught, a criminal was sure to suffer severely. If
apprehended a year later, the penalty was much lighter as the fictitious
anger of the state was supposed to be cooler.

Towers of Refuge were not only common to Asia, but were found all over
the Americas and the accused was immune when once inside its sacred
walls.

The trial of Alcamayn was a proceeding wholly extraordinary, irregular
and independent of set rules and fixed conditions. Yermah sat with the
Council of State, and was deputed by them to represent the civic
interests in the final judgment.

Equity was supposed to flow from the conscience of the Servitor. He,
alone, could pronounce the death sentence, after the judges and jurors
had passed upon the case.

Yermah asked Ben Hu Barabe, the civil chief and law-giver of the Monbas,
to personate him in the commonwealth. The four preliminary trials were
before the assembly of the tribes, represented by Ben Hu Barabe; the
tribunal of God, represented by Imos; the assembly of one hundred,
represented by Setos; and the laws of nations, represented by Hanabusa.

These men were the four accusers, who appeared before Yermah and
demanded the forfeit of Alcamayn’s life, when, at sunrise, the final
sitting began.

In addition to the twelve judges and eighty jurors, there were as many
more students, who stood behind their elders, and in this way learned to
practice in the courts.

                  *       *       *       *       *

With a thin iron collar around his neck, to which three chains were
attached, held by a soldier on each side and one behind, Alcamayn was
led before the Tribunal.

He was dressed in black, with a light weight iron crown on his head
shaped like an inverted pentagram.

The high-priest, Imos, preceded Alcamayn, carrying a rod of iron in his
hand. Stationing himself at the left of the prisoner, the high-priest
waited Yermah’s question:

“Why comest thou here, Imos?”

“To claim the life of this man,” touching Alcamayn with the rod, then
laying hold of him.

The prisoner made a show of resistance, until Yermah bade them relax
their hold.

“Alcamayn, what means thy interference?”

“I crave the right to establish and prove my innocence,” answered the
accused in an unsteady voice.

“May the life within me be forfeited, if there be no justice in my
cause.” Imos spoke with decisive emphasis.

“If this man merit not death, take thou vengeance on me,” said Ben Hu
Barabe, standing beside Imos.

“The same dread fate await me too, if there be reason for merciful
judgment here.” Hanabusa spoke with deliberation, as he joined the other
accusers.

“Woe is me!” wailed Setos, unsteadily. “Yet I and all my posterity would
be forever accursed if we hindered justice. I am here to claim the life
of Alcamayn, and to stake my own on the demand.”

He did not look at the jeweler, and it seemed difficult for him to
stand, while the accused said in a low voice:

“May I be early deprived of physical life in four succeeding
incarnations, if I be not innocent of this charge.”

“Thou standest in a perilous position, Alcamayn,” cautioned Yermah.
“Weigh thy words well!”

“Had my days four times their natural span, I should risk them without
fear.”

There was no bravado in Alcamayn’s tone or manner.

He feared the worst, and there was a hungry, desperate expectancy in
every glance. The days had gone over his head like years.

Stripped of all finery and with close cropped hair, his bat-wing ears
stood out from his head. The hawk face, clean-shaven, showed the cunning
and courage of a cornered rat. The hunchback’s supreme egotism stood him
in good stead, but the inner man had no compunction for what he had
done. He was appalled at the unexpected death of Orondo, never having
counted on such an outcome.

But what criminal ever does look forward to being caught and overwhelmed
with his own guilt?

Alcamayn had succeeded in getting even with his tormentors, and he was
secretly glad of it. If it had only been Ildiko who had died instead of
Orondo, he would have been entirely satisfied; and, as it was, persuaded
himself that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.

He hated Orondo, and the jilted man deemed that justifiable since his
rival’s success had been a prime cause of humiliation.

The prisoner was seated on a revolving stool, and made to face each
judge and juror while the questions and responses were being given.

One of the most damaging circumstances against Alcamayn was his own
soberness compared with Ildiko’s sudden intoxication. He reluctantly
admitted that he had deliberately gone to the wedding meditating
revenge, and had carefully carried it out at the first opportunity.

The accused did not deny that he was actuated by a petty, mean jealousy,
although he scorned the insinuation of loving Ildiko. His deformity told
against him greatly, because of the belief that the body was but an
outward expression of the inner man.

Each of the four accusers took turn in examining the testimony,
analyzing the motives, inquiring minutely into extenuating
circumstances; and the judges and jurors were equally divided for and
against.

The arguments continued all day, but at sun-down the decision had been
reached.

There was no prerogative of pardon. The commonwealth had the right to
interfere directly and by isolated acts, to avenge itself on the author
of the evil which it had suffered.

“Alcamayn, hast thou aught to say which can delay judgment about to be
meted out to thee?”

Yermah spoke perfunctorily.

The strain was telling on them all; and Alcamayn, more dead than alive,
answered mechanically:

“I have none.”

“Alcamayn, face thy accusers.”

The condemned man dragged himself to his feet, and stared doggedly ahead
of him.

“Alcamayn, never more canst thou be heard in thine own behalf. I charge
thee, as death must soon be thy portion, speak the truth. Art thou
guilty?”

The stillness was intense.

Every man waited to see if the convicted man would imperil his immortal
soul by withholding the truth.

The prisoner felt this. He knew what a shock he could give them, and the
leading passion being strong upon him, he answered defiantly:

“I am innocent!”

Trouble had not softened him. On the contrary, he had grown bitter and
vindictive as he realized his desperate straits.

Yermah picked up an iron-headed arrow, as the guard brought the prisoner
forward. Leaning toward him, he drew a circle over Alcamayn’s heart, and
then made a square around it with the arrow.

This was the death sentence.

“May the Father of Justice and Mercy claim the divine within thee,
Alcamayn!”

The doomed man merely bowed his head.

“Let Saturn’s day witness the carrying out of this decree. Away with
him!”

Yermah felt the words more keenly than the man to whom he had spoken
them. Alcamayn’s thin upper lip curled in a sardonic smile, which did
not leave his face while the badge of death, a square of sheet iron with
a white enamel circle in the center, was being fastened to his breast.

The condemned man was kept in solitary confinement. Once the door of his
cell closed upon him, he gave way to a frenzy of despair, butting his
head against the wall with so much violence that the guards were obliged
to tie him down to the floor.

Frantic hysteria closed his throat, and threatened strangulation, and
when his teeth were pried open, he shut them on his tongue with such
force as to nearly sever the end.

Shamans worked with him all night, but nothing save physical exhaustion
quieted him. Under sentence of death, the miserable man was allowed to
receive any consolation possible.

There were no restrictions placed upon the visit of friends, the only
regulation being a complete and thorough search before and after the
visit of both prisoner and caller.

Long before light, came Rahula. She was nearly distracted by Alcamayn’s
shrieks and groans, but tried to show a brave face. The prisoner was
sinking into a drowse, and Rahula did not know whether he recognized her
or not. She had brought him some ripe persimmons, and occupied herself
trying to make him comfortable.

To her surprise he awoke hungry, and did full justice to the appetizing
meal prepared for him. There was no objection to her providing the food,
but the authorities insisted that she should partake of it freely. So it
happened that she furnished and ate all meals with him.

Many and long were the confidential talks these two had together, and on
more than one occasion Rahula committed to picture-writing things that
were told her.

Nothing escaped her tightly closed lips, nor did she utter one word of
complaint. She was surly and defiant when questioned, but made no
resistance at the last moment.

On Friday morning, Ildiko, pale and agitated, knocked timidly at the
outer gate, and begged to see Alcamayn. He received her quietly, but
there was not a shade of pity for her broken fortunes.

The widow’s face was drawn and pinched, and she looked utterly forlorn
and helpless while the search went on.

Once in the cell, she tried to speak cheerfully to her childhood friend,
but she could not prevent a revulsion of feeling when she saw the
perfumed dandy shorn of all his splendor; his long, thin neck and large
ears grated upon her senses unpleasantly.

How was it ever possible that she had loved him?

Ildiko began to suspect that it was remorse and not affection which had
prompted her feelings. She had never practiced self-restraint, but had
always given voice to every passing emotion. What she said was true at
the time it was spoken, or, at least, she thought it was.

Alcamayn huddled over in a corner opposite, unable to control his
repugnance, and instinctively sharing something of the aversion apparent
in Ildiko.

Wholly surprised and half-frightened at herself, Ildiko arose to take
leave. She tried to feel very sad, but instead of the passionate tears,
and protest of undying love, she gulped down a dry sob, extended a cold
clammy hand, and in a queer little voice, said with painful
articulation:

“May Infinity hover over and guard thee!”

“May Justice find and abide with thee!” he answered, ignoring her
proffered hand.

Alcamayn held her eyes unflinchingly until she reached the door, to
which she made a halting journey, hoping that he would say some kind
word in farewell.

This was balm to his revolted feelings, and he had a grim sort of
satisfaction in knowing that she had sued for his good will, and had
been repulsed.

It was one way to revenge himself upon her choice of another for a
husband. The homicide really cherished no ill will toward Orondo. Ildiko
was the one he despised, and he would leave her his dying curses.

The last hour of his life was spent with Yermah, who did all that could
be done to sustain the wretched man through the anticipation of the
coming ordeal.

Imos prepared the spiced and tinctured wine, which Alcamayn was obliged
to sip through a straw. This was done to produce drowsiness; when the
victim was fully under its influence, a white powder having the quality
of cocaine was sprinkled upon his face to deaden pain.

Alcamayn’s under-garments were of chamois-skin, over which was a loose
robe of coarse cloth made from the beaten fiber of nettle. A hideous
mask was put over his face, to show that his lower self would be
disguised in animal form in its next incarnation.

Ben Hu Barabe and Hanabusa placed Alcamayn gently on the floor, giving
directions to the priests and warriors as to the number of cords which
should bind his body.

When securely pinioned they sewed him up in another layer of coarse
cloth, and then placed him on a litter. This they carried up to the
second floor, where by stout cords they tied Alcamayn’s feet to the arch
in front of his cell. The body was held upright on a trap-door, and
allowed to fall full length, striking the head upon the floor.

“May all who thus invert good be compelled to die head downward!” said
Imos, solemnly, as the trap-door closed, and the executioners stood,
blankly facing each other.

Great care was taken to preserve a semblance of lifelike proportions in
the outlines of the funeral basket, to enable the spirit to manifest
easily at some future time.

Four lusty tamanes shouldered the basket-covered remains and the little
procession filed out of the temple inclosure.

Men, women and children turned their backs as it passed, and there was
no one to receive the body when it was delivered to the priest at the
judgment hall of Hirach.

Early next morning Imos announced in the Temple of the Sun that
Alcamayn’s body had been refused burial.

Then the citizens went to the hall, and carried the remains down to
Land’s End, opposite Point Lobos. When the strongest ebb tide was at its
full, they cast it into the sea. At this point the current runs at the
rate of from three to four knots an hour, and the people knew that when
once washed out to the north, the body could never, in time or eternity,
return again to Golden Gate Bay.

The continuous barkings and roarings of the now extinct sea-cows which
congregated on the rocks in that vicinity were supposed by the populace
to be wails and lamentations from the unfortunate dead whose bodies had
been literally condemned as food for the fishes.




                          CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
        RAHULA’S DENUNCIATION OF YERMAH—AT THE FUNERAL OF ORONDO


The Azes believed that every part of a man’s body had a counterpart in
the world of matter. At the moment of dissolution, the individual ego
was thought to be reunited to the Absolute, if Will, which is the real
body of the individualized spirit, is free from Desire. If bound by
these ties, it must reincarnate again, and it was thought possible to
sink so low in the scale that the life principle would contact the
animal kingdom.

These people did not practice cremation of the dead, because they did
not think it right to skip all the intervening purgations, or
reincarnations, by projecting the ego back into the Absolute at once.

They embalmed their honored dead and mummified their bodies in order
that the individuality might be preserved, so that in the next
incarnation memory might function on the physical plane.

There are excellent examples of this practice found in the catacombs in
Mexico and Peru as well as in Egypt where the descendants of Atlantis
employed the same rites. The Egyptian “Book of the Dead” pertains
entirely to initiation, or the finding of the Perfect Way in this life;
and the well-known portions of it found with mummies are simply
certificates of initiation.

It is a curious fact in psychology that, so long as the physical body is
preserved, the astral counterpart cannot disintegrate; and as memory is
a function of the astral man, the Egyptian adepts expect to take up
their life work again with a full knowledge of the past.

The negative magnetic laws govern the astral and psychic qualities of
man, while the positive electric currents control the physical. Time and
space have no influence over the former conditions—facts which were well
known to primitive civilizations.

The papakoo, or cemetery of Tlamco, was a terraced range of hills, south
of Mountain Lake, then called the River of Mystery, which still lies
between Golden Gate Park and the ocean on the north. It is much shrunken
in proportions and depth, though retaining the same oblong outline. The
hills form a natural divide between the Park and Sutro Heights, and then
as now jutted into the ocean at their northern extremity.

For six weeks the embalmers were engaged with the body of Orondo, and
when they had finished, it was completely mummified. They put salt on
his breast, as an emblem of immortality, and a gold gorget around his
neck, with the inscription:

“O Hidden Being! Turn thy face toward the body of thy son!”

The corpse was wrapped in fine linen bandelettes, and a Saint Andrew’s
cross of copper was laid over the region of the heart outside the
enveloping swathes.

In the northwestern portion of the city, at the upper end of the lake,
was the Temple of Uranus, where dwelt the priesthood who had charge of
the dead.

This mound had a circular earth vallum seven hundred feet in diameter,
which is one three-hundred-thousandths of the diameter of the planet
Uranus.

It was here that Orondo’s body was prepared for burial, and it was from
this place that the funeral cortége embarked. While it was being rowed
across the lake, the mourners scattered rushes on its smooth surface as
a sacrifice and peace-offering.

Yermah, Setos, Imos and Hanabusa rowed the funeral barge; and when it
landed at the opposite end, they lifted the mummy onto the catafalque
standing ready to receive it.

All that was mortal of Orondo was laid in a bed of aloe, yew, cypress,
weeping-willow, rosemary and yellow marigolds, while over him was spread
the fated mantle given to him by Yermah. On top of this was the sword,
helmet and shield of the deceased.

A long line of warriors, with reversed spears, whose pennants trailed in
the dust, marched up a long line of mastodon-headed sphinxes, to the
judgment hall of Hirach, where the deceased would be tried for the deeds
done in the body.

“O Maker of the material world! Thou Holy One! Whither shall we bring,
where shall we lay, the bodies of our dead?”

After the body came Yermah, Setos, Imos and Hanabusa, followed by civic
deputations, priests and priestesses, and a great concourse of people.

The judgment hall stood on the south side of Mountain Lake, near the
plowed out Golden Gate, and had a rock foundation which the Azes called
Gharepo. The building was erected in the exact center of a huge
pentagram, the apex of which was on the rock Gharepo, the east foot on
the north peak of Las Papas, and the west in the ocean, near the Cliff
House shore. The feet of Hirach were correlated to those of the
pentagram. He was stepping from the ocean to the mountain, signifying
the involution of the ego from the astral universe into the material
world. Hirach was a counterpart of the Amen of Revelation, who had “one
foot on the sea and one on solid land,” etc.

The circle surrounding Hirach described the orbit of Mars, which
corresponds to the body of Desire. The sixth labor crushes this
principle, but in so doing opens the path for the initiate to measure
the proportions of the cosmos; and properly adjust them one to the
other.

Mars is the planetary phase of the Red Dragon, the eating of whose heart
forms the means by which Sigierd, the Norse hero, attained Wisdom. The
heart is triple, emblematic of the three cardinal virtues, Will,
Aspiration and Harmony, and their common center—the spirit, was the
altar in the middle of the judgment hall.

From the center of the holy of holies were struck the distances of the
four inner planets; hence it not only showed the three radii of the
earth, but the three phases of Hermes, or Wisdom, and the ego in the
three worlds, which in this instance was the higher personality sitting
in judgment on the deeds done in the body.

The relative size of the earth was represented by the tip of the
devotee’s forefinger as he entered the western door and held up his hand
in adoration and salutation to Deity.

The structure was shaped like a cross, and was surmounted by tall
spires. Over the entrance was an entablature propped by two square
capitals. Above this was a frieze with the hieroglyphs of Truth, Fire
and Light surrounded by twelve symbolical groups.

Between the sixth and seventh, a figure knelt and stretched out its arms
above the two sacred eyes, symbolizing the north and south. This alluded
to the diurnal motion of the sun, which is an implicit promise of
resurrection, from the sky above us.

At the ends of the emblematic row was another figure, poising a pair of
balances.

In the western arm of the cross was a throne, surmounted by a canopy
representing the Tree of Life. The golden fleece hung in its branches,
and in the center was the lamb immeshed in a nimbus.

Seated on the throne was Hirach, a priest from the Temple of Neptune,
whose face was hidden by a green mask. On his head was a tall conical
hat made of alternating stripes of red and green, and the same
combination of color was observable in his costume.

The mantle was green; the tunic, red; while the arms and legs were
covered with striped cloth, as he sat with arms crossed over his breast.
In his right hand was a crook, while in his left was a flail.

Hirach, or Conscious Life, personated the higher self of the dead man,
and it was his office to weigh the thoughts, words and deeds of Orondo,
against the image of Truth. On each side of him stood a priestess,
representing the two phases of truth. One held a lily in her hand, to
show that she stood for Truth in Action; while the other held the quill
of an eagle, signifying that she was Truth in Thought, itself.

The two attendants were clothed in trailing white draperies, and their
hands were crossed over their breasts. The sleeves came only to the
elbow, but were long and wide, like those worn by Japanese women. Only
the throat was revealed at the neck, and there was a peculiar
allegorical girdle around the waist. These figures were known as Ma.

When we call our mothers “Ma,” we are addressing them as the Principle
of Truth—a singularly fitting name; since the mother is the literal
image of Truth to the child, until he is old enough to discover it by
reasoning processes.

Osiris, the spirit within the earth, draws every soul to him with a
crook, and repulses it with a flail.

The ceremony about to be enacted quaintly set forth the trials by the
law of causation, or experience, undergone by the individual in the
process of being drawn into and thrown out of earth life. It was an
enactment of the tragedy within each human heart.

On a square lectern in front of Hirach was a huge parchment scroll, tied
with seven seals. By an ingenious arrangement, the lectern was also a
support for a pair of balances. On the left side was a gold vase
containing the heart of Orondo, which was soon to be weighed against a
small image of Truth, on the right scale.

Between Hirach and the altar of offerings sat four intercessors, or
Associate Judges, representing the material body, the astral body, soul
and spirit. They were dressed in black, gray, purple and green.

The official mourners, selected from each of the guilds, and from the
priesthood, made offerings to the four elements in nature corresponding
to the four attributes of man. That to earth was a bunch of bearded
wheat; that to water, a pond-lily; that to air, a white dove; while that
to fire was a chalice of bergamot oil. After being consecrated and
blessed, the offerings were brought forward by men dressed in blue, and
laid upon the altar in their proper succession. The fires in the sacred
urns in the burial service were used, in order that the life-principle
present in fire might find the individual body it once inhabited.

Along the outer wall, in a semi-circle, were seated the forty-two
assessors who were to try this novel case. They wore cloth-of-gold
robes, and had a golden feather of Truth in the headbands over their
closely curled hair, to show that they represented mental traits, and
corresponded to the forty-two phrenological organs of the brain.

These assessors were divided into three groups, distinguishable by the
color of their mantles. The first typified the psychic attributes, and
pertained to the front of the cerebrum; the mental to the middle part of
the head; while the material stood for the cerebellum.

The problem of the perfect life is solved by the even balance of these
parts of the brain with the corresponding worlds of cosmic essence.

When the remains were placed between the altar of offerings and the
lectern, the priestesses knelt on each side, followed by the official
mourners.

Every eye was turned anxiously toward the Left-Hand Path, as the second
entrance was called. Any citizen who had been wronged by the deceased in
his lifetime, had a right to come into the temple and accuse him.

There had been mutterings and ominous shakings of the head, but no one
seemed to be able to make definite statements.

Suddenly the door was flung open, and Rahula came in with an angry scowl
on her face. She had on the mantle and red cap of the accuser of souls,
and back of her was a numerous following; they, also, were dressed in
red.

Each face whitened, and there was a tense, apprehensive feeling
everywhere.

Yermah and Setos supported Ildiko, who rushed forward and threw herself
at the foot of the bier. She was completely shrouded in black. On her
head was a round wreath of black ivy, having a crown and long pennants
of white gauze in the back. Her close-cropped hair was still better
concealed by a broad band of the gauze which fastened to the wreath and
came down under the chin, hiding the ears.

Ben Hu Barabe and Alcyesta stood near Ildiko, ready to offer assistance
and sympathy, while Hanabusa supported Setos.

Oahspe, the Sun Virgin, enveloped in black, and wearing a gold mask for
unknowable Deity, broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. As she did
so, Imos prepared to record the verdict. Flinging his arms out on either
side, he exclaimed:

“I give glory to Hirach, lord of the essences, living in truth! I have
come to thee, bringing to thee truth. Where art thy attendant gods?
Grant that I may be with them in thy company.”

A deep guttural voice behind the mask responded:

“Peace will not abide with thee until thou hast overthrown thine
enemies.”

From out the phalanx on the right, Yermah stepped forward and lifted a
determined face, pale as the linen robes he wore. Bringing his hands
together high over his head, he said:

“Homage to thee, O Master of Truth! I come toward thee! I am here to
contemplate thy splendor!”

“Give thy tongue truthful license, but speak no evil of the dead,” was
the admonition of the Hirach.

Repeating the sign of asseveration, the Dorado began:

“Great and mighty Hirach, thou knowest that the gloom of the tomb is but
the cradle of the sun. Before thee lies a pure, unsullied soul.

“Orondo had the three cardinal virtues of piety, because he loved his
Creator, loved virtue, and loved man. He gave bread to the hungry, water
to the thirsty, garments to the naked. He who perceives him says he
comes in peace.

“May he enter into rest, praised; may he go out, beloved—for there is no
more fault or evil in him. Save him; protect him; for his mouth is clean
and his hands are pure. He was free from the oppression of the widow and
the fatherless.

“There was not by his fault either a fearful, or poor, or suffering or
wretched one. He did not cause any one to weep.[22] He—”

Rahula who had been growing more and more excited, rushed to Yermah’s
side, and throwing her hands up wildly, cried out:

“Hirach, thou who art mirrored in truth, palsy the tongue departing from
thy formula! Orondo merits not an honored place in the Vale of Peace.
The fishes yearn for his body. He lived not in truth, nor walked in the
ways acceptable to the gods of magic mystery.”

What more she would have said was drowned in a chorus of protest from
the warrior-priests. The mourners added their supplications, and the
priestesses murmured:

“Om—ah! Om—ah! Om—ah!”

Without noticing the interruption, Yermah completed his sentence.

“Orondo did no evil. Nothing can be produced against him. He committed
no violence, nor did he torment any heart. No one was by him
treacherously slain.”

“Hear him, O just powers! This man stands here and claims to be a
vehicle for truth! How darest thou say that Orondo caused no man to be
treacherously killed?

“On both thy heads lie the curse of Alcamayn’s death. Robbed of his own
by Orondo, and done to death by thee!

“Thou art a mighty representative in the Hall of the Two Truths. Hear
me, Yermah!—A mother’s curse is on thee! Thou art a doomed man!”

“A mother’s curse!” exclaimed Yermah, in a whisper, sharing the
consternation around him.

A curse in the time of the Dorado was a thing of fearful import.

The intemperance of her speech showed the uncontrollable rage of Rahula.

“Yes,” she screamed,—“a mother’s curse! Alcamayn was my first and only
born. Oh, there is no need of thy horrid looks! He never knew the
relationship. Because of thy spiritual father, Akaza, thou hast a
heritage of my hate. But for him I should have claimed my son.”

Seeming to realize that temper had carried her too far, Rahula tried to
repair what she had already said. Setos made a threatening gesture
toward her, while every one looked at his neighbor, and said in an
undertone:

“She is a black magician. Akaza was obliged to take her child away from
her.”

Her attendants hissed angrily and stamped with their feet to prevent
Yermah from being heard. He realized that the demonstration was against
himself personally, and was appalled at the virulence of the attack, but
went bravely on.

“Orondo afflicted no one; neither did he commit perfidy. He was never an
accuser, and was only angry when there was just cause—”

“Thou art a monstrous liar! He had just cause to be angry with thee, who
enticed his first love away, and repaid him with another man’s choice.”

Crossing over to him and shaking her finger in his face, defiantly,
Rahula fairly shrieked:

“Thou hast imperiled thy immortal soul! Dearly shalt thou pay for thine
own perfidy! I dare tell thee to thy face, thou art guilty of the
unpardonable sin! Thou who wert coward enough to compel thy dead friend
to marry this poor misguided creature lying at thy feet! For this cause
my Alcamayn died in dishonor!”

The warrior-priests clanked their swords angrily, and the smoldering
disloyalty was like a tinderbox to the furious gestures and acts of the
factions.

Setos grabbed Rahula by the arm and shook her violently before she would
heed him.

“Hast thou no sense of decency, Rahula? Cease thy upbraidings, else wilt
thou ruin all!”

She quailed before his determined look and was silent.

Shaking like a leaf and wounded to the death in his tenderest parts,
Yermah once more essayed to speak.

Finding that he could not command his voice, he turned appealingly to
the musicians, who responded with a funeral air. When they had finished,
Yermah, with tears coursing down his cheeks—which he made no effort to
conceal, said:

“Hirach, as I expect to stand face to face with thee finally, hear me!
In that I love Orondo well, conscience doth acquit me of evil intent
toward him. Whatever service he rendered me was a pleasure to him, and
was of his own choosing. That he preferred duty to success, is one more
reason why his bones should be interred with the blessed. There was no
guile in him.

“He was as tender as a woman, as simple as a child, and faithful unto
death. The heart weighing even in the scales of Truth was burst in twain
by the sorrows which oppressed his high courage. Struck down in the
flower of manhood, hurled through the Gates of Light by unseemly
circumstance, Orondo, the soul of honor, merits the rite of
consecration. Hear, Hirach, as thou wouldst in turn be heard, and grant
as thine own hope of future reward may prompt thee!”

The non-resistance and manliness of Yermah did not fail to appeal to a
people equable in temper and given to just decision. The waves of
feeling which surged through the temple made him aware of this, though
the sounds were almost inaudible.

Every one waited in dread suspense for Rahula’s final plea. She was
still laboring under ill-suppressed excitement, and resentment blazed
anew as she spoke.

“Hirach, thou who art unshaken by emotion or desire, hear and give heed!
Orondo was ever the craven tool of him who stands here in his defense.
He sought more to obey the will of his master than the will of the gods.
Once again I beseech thee, give his body to the fishes!”

“No! no! no!” burst from the lips of the mourners, the priestesses, and
the warrior-priests, augmented by the intercessors, too.

Yermah stood with his hands clasped and head bowed low. His dejection
and silence angered Rahula still more, because she instinctively felt
that he was right, and that she could not provoke him into a show of
resistance. She hated him for the sympathy he had unconsciously aroused.

“Finally, I demand this body of thee, Hirach!

“Bloody deeds shall follow thy refusal. Never canst thou make it right
to bless this man, while Alcamayn’s shade is doomed to wander through
myriad years because of him. I charge thee to weigh and consider thy
decision!”

Hirach, using the flail for a baton, waved for silence.

Then the two intercessors, earth and water, arose and pointed to the
left. Thus far the decision was against Orondo.

The kneeling figures arose and joined the warrior-priests in
supplication. The remaining intercessors, air and fire, stood and
pointed to the right.

With bated breath they waited for Hirach’s action. In an impressive
silence he arose and pointed to the right.

“Haille! Haille! Haille!” cried the people, in a spontaneous outburst,
which a sense of decorum quickly quelled.

“Let the heart of Orondo be given back to him. Let him go into the Hall
of Mystery by the Right-Hand Path,” read Imos in a sonorous voice.

As soon as the verdict was announced, the funeral cortége formed as it
came, and filed out of the temple. Rahula and her followers departed to
the left, with their arms crossed before their faces, and their heads
drooping under the knowledge of defeat.

                  *       *       *       *       *

A granite sarcophagus was placed at the entrance of the long tunnel-like
tomb, cut deep into the side of the mountain. Here was deposited all of
the personal belongings of Orondo, sealed up in curious-shaped jars and
baskets. After the body was placed in the tomb, these were laid around
it, and the whole securely sealed.

A never-dying perfume-lamp of wrought bronze was suspended over the
head, which was laid to the west. The granite doors were hermetically
closed, and Orondo was finally left to sleep with the justified.




                           CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
           “DOWN WITH THE APOSTATE, YERMAH”—STRIFE IN TLAMCO


“Thou knowest, Imos, how I execrate the memory of Akaza,” said Setos, as
the two sat in conference, at the high-priest’s house, shortly after
Orondo’s burial.

“So do I. How often has he come between the sacred hierarchy and their
rights. He was always intent upon the spirit rather than on the ritual
practice of our faith. By his will Yermah is made hierophant, and I, who
have served a lifetime, am cast aside with scant courtesy.”

Imos was a man advanced in years, having a broad high forehead, aquiline
nose, square-cut eye-brows, and thin, finely compressed lips. His bald
head, protruding like the knob of a knee, revealed a combative and
tyrannical disposition.

Setos had much ado to conceal a grin of satisfaction, as the high-priest
bared his secret ambition. He was unusually affable as he answered:

“Thou art shamefully ill-used, but I am thy brother in misfortune. When
war devastated Atlantis, Akaza stood continually before the rabble,
out-tonguing them in demands. The powers of right were on our side; but
in the third day’s battle he turned the tide of victory by his infernal
enchantments. Our gallant spearsmen were advancing two deep, when he
charged them with three bodies of horsemen.

“‘It is Akaza!’” cried our leader, Poseidon. “‘The traitor comes to
certain death.’ Some say that bolts from a mangonel struck through our
ranks; others, that he cut off the spear-heads. Of this I know not.
Poseidon rode at him in mortal combat, but fell uninjured at Akaza’s
feet. Failing to kill him, he was obliged to give the Dorado as hostage.
Ichanor, the war-chief of Poseidon, was compelled to surrender his son
Orondo. By this means the schemer contrived to gain supremacy in
Atlantis and all her dependencies. So long as he lived oppression hung
over me. Thou mayst judge what love I bear his successor.”

The two men gave each other a searching glance, which said as plainly as
words, “How shall we be rid of him?”

“We must be masters of caution,” said the wily priest.

“Suspicion abides not with Yermah and he knows nothing of black art.”

A loud rapping at the front door and hurrying feet along the passageway
caused both to rise and listen intently. Simultaneously with the permit
to enter, came Cezardis, flushed and in breathless haste.

“Exigency compels the waiving of ceremony,” said he. “A great concourse
are in the theater listening to Rahula’s arraignment of Yermah. By a
cunningly contrived tragedy, called ‘The Lost Soul’ she scores him
without mercy, and has given utterance to all that Alcamayn confided to
her concerning the Dorado having concealed his divinity in a ruby which
he sent to the high-priestess, Kerœcia.

“Yermah broke his vow, and was blaspheming violently when the swift and
terrible punishment came. Alcamayn heard his awful words, but feared
even to repeat them, lest we be doomed to suffer again. Rahula has
inflamed the populace against him, and they are running through the
streets shouting: ‘Down with the apostate, Yermah! He has committed
unpardonable sin against the Ineffable! He shall no longer rule Tlamco!’
Dost thou not hear the bugle calls? Signals are flashing from the forts,
and the whole city is in uproar.”

Many extraneous sounds bore out this testimony; but neither auditor
evinced surprise, though both showed concern.

“So,” said Setos presently, “the prophecy concerning the lost planet has
come true. A great and momentous change is upon us.”

“Hast thou not heard the Blessed Books read in the temples?”

“Thou shouldst remember that I have been in the house of enemies. It
would have been unsafe for me. Wilt thou refresh early recollections now
and hurriedly?”

As far as he was capable, Setos was devout, and was always comforted by
the rumble of long words.

Imos had a voice which fitted him for such an occasion, and he was much
pleased to have the opportunity to use it. With the proper degree of
solemnity, he crossed to the east side of the room, where the books lay,
and then making three profound genuflections, he began reading promptly:

  _In the beginning the Great Spirit, surnamed Cohesion, breathed into
  chaotic disorder the fire of life. Verily, it grew to mighty
  proportions. It had two arms dividing the Supernal from the light of
  this world, which is darkness to the ones reposing in the sunshine of
  eternal peace. So vast was the chasm yawning between Spirit and
  Matter, that no mortal crossed the void for a million years. Then the
  twilight changed into morning, and there arose from the Celestial
  Shore an Archangel strong and mighty._

  _Hirach was his name. May it ever more be blessed! And a great voice
  was heard in the expanse like unto the sound of a trumpet, saying_:

  “_Who is able to cross the chasm, to give to souls unborn the Key? To
  open the book to them that therein they may read the Way of life?_”

  _And the bodiless and formless ones sounded the Æolian harps, and
  sang_:

  “_Hirach is his name! Thrice blessed is he—Hirach of two threefold
  wings, encircling heaven, earth and the vast ocean! He alone is great;
  he is able to cross the vast abyss._”

  _Then Hirach called unto himself a great Red Dragon, whose name was
  Marah—for he shall deceive the nations, and they shall war with one
  another. He who sat on the dragon was calm and silent. His lofty,
  godlike brow was wrapped in the golden splendor of the morning sun.
  Over the deep chasm which divides mortals from the highest thrones
  swirled the Red Dragon, and the worlds trembled and feared. And the
  mountains from before whose eyes the clouds had vanished said to the
  stars shining in the majesty of their being: “Who is the terrible Red
  Dragon, and whose splendor anointeth the brow of him sitting
  thereon?”_

  _The stars answered: “From infinity to infinity we roll in our
  courses; ages on ages have spent themselves in our existence, yet we
  remember not when the Red Dragon rose into life; neither can we
  comprehend the splendor on the brow of him who sitteth thereon.”_

  _Now as the Dragon gyrated in his course, his fiery breath caused new
  suns to spring into existence, and new planets rolled in their orbits
  around them, peopled with living beings. Then the Dragon exalted
  himself in pride, and puffed out his cheeks, saying_:

  “_Behold the glorious suns which I have created, to give light and
  life to all creatures, that they may praise me and give glory for that
  which I have done._”

  _Then he who sat on the head of the Dragon, clothed in splendor, rose
  and smote the ugly beast, whose death-agony dashed into pieces the
  beautiful planet circling between Mars and Jupiter, thus forever
  destroying the equilibrium between War and Justice. The souls thereon
  were drawn into the vortex of the earth. With his two tails he laid
  hold of Mars and Venus, seeking to destroy them also; but Hirach
  raised the great two-edged sword in his hands and cleft asunder the
  tails of the Dragon. He cut the body into five pieces, which fell to
  the earth, and the Dragon was no more._

“Such,” said Imos, “is the account of the Red Dragon. It is said that
the chain of hills which encircle Tlamco are the remains of his body.
Yonder hill to the east, is his skull, and is called Calvu. It is
furthermore stated that Hirach shall at the end of the cycle come from a
cavern beneath it. Akaza—curses be his portion! says that the Blessed
Story is an allegory. He, a viler apostate than his pupil, claimed that
he would come again, as Hirach incarnate, to break the power of the
black brotherhood.”

“Rather let us exterminate the last remnant of them, and give their
bodies to the fishes!” was his companion’s intemperate rejoinder.

“Face thy duty resolutely, and may victory be on thy side!” said Imos,
piously, as Setos hurried out of the house.

“He who holds our destiny, plans all things well. May thy hopes find
fruition also!”

Setos knew that his seditious work among the warriors was ready to bear
fruit, but he was gratified that Rahula had provoked the outburst. She
had been in a frenzy of rage since her defeat in the judgment hall, and
this was her revenge. Setos was determined to take advantage of it and
be made Grand Servitor of the Azes.

                  *       *       *       *       *

The theater stood on a sloping hill southeast of Lone Mountain. It faced
the south, shielding the spectators from the north wind. They had a
commanding view of the bay and islands in the foreground and the tawny
leonine hills in the distance.

The edifice was a semi-circle, provided with tiers of seats, and would
accommodate many thousand people. It was an earth embankment fitted with
stone seats and a sanded floor, with an open roof, supported by stout
poles. An arch under the right wing marked the entrance to the stage,
and led to subterranean dressing-rooms. There was small provision for
artificial setting, the beauty of natural scenery being deemed
sufficient.

“Haille! Haille! Haille! Setos sent to deliver us from peril!” cried a
company of warriors who were escorting Rahula home from the theater.

“Haille, Setos! Chief of the Turghati—men loyal to the true faith of
Atlantis!” exclaimed Rahula, whose disordered dress, sparkling eyes, and
flushed cheeks, bespoke her excitement. When she approached Setos, she
was trembling violently, but every sense was on the alert.

“Thou who art the man of destiny, come with me,” she continued. “I will
tell thee all that has happened.”

“Rahula, the silver-tongued, is thy worthy forerunner, as Mercury is of
the sun. Go with her and then come to the Observatory. Thy presence will
put heart into the wavering ones, who are in consultation. Thou mayst
depend upon us.”

The crowd was noisy and unruly, but Setos understood that the warriors
would hold them in check. He followed Rahula indoors. Acting on the
impulse of the moment, Setos drew Rahula to him and kissed her
passionately.

If he had been blind before, he certainly knew now, and he suddenly
realized that she was necessary to his success.

“Thou art worthy of my best love,” he said, “and thou shalt command it.
Open thy heart to me.”

“Thou hast surprised its secret, and made me forget our danger. Death
were not unwelcome in this guise,” she murmured, nestling down closer in
his arms.

“Thy lips must pay forfeit for speech once more, and then thy sweet
voice must quell this inward tumult. I could drowse like a sleepy god in
thy embrace.”

“Duty stern and uncompromising faces us, and we must yield to other
influences,” said Rahula, slipping out of his arms. “The die is cast,
and thou must not falter or linger in sweet dalliance.”

“Pearls of wisdom ever fall from thy lips, Rahula. Thy well-chosen words
sober me again. What dost thou know?”

She held both his hands to her breast, and looked at him steadfastly.

“I am aware that discontent has been flourishing like a poisonous weed
in Tlamco. It needed but a spark to fan it to a blaze and I have
produced that spark. It is in the suspicion that Yermah is an accursed
and lost soul. Thou knowest the tradition concerning other calamities in
the dim ages. Fan this flame judiciously, and thou wilt sit in the seat
of power.”

He would have strained her to his breast again, but she eluded him. She
was certain of her hold upon him, and was anxious to strengthen it.

“Thou canst not be sure of unqualified support,” she went on. “If thou
canst not silence Yermah’s adherents in argument, then thou must resort
to arms.”

“Thou art my love, and a wise counselor,” he answered, still actuated by
gratitude and what he called love. “Go thou to the Camp of Mars, and I
will be guided by thee,” he added, aiding her in the readjustment of her
mantle.




                          CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
              THE SHOCK OF CONFLICT AND YERMAH’S OVERTHROW


War was undertaken for religious purposes—never for conquest—which
accounted for the methods used in stirring up sedition in Tlamco.

The object in conquering an outside power was to civilize it; and if
captives refused to accept hospitable treatment, they were scattered
throughout the country, man for man, and kept under surveillance until
reconciled to their positions. No confiscation of property was allowed,
and after taking the oath of allegiance, the rebels were returned to
their homes.

Setos found Imos laboring with Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe, who remained
loyal to Yermah. These faithful adherents made earnest and eloquent
pleas in his behalf; but, finding themselves powerless, withdrew and
prepared to defend the city against inevitable attack.

It was a semicircular bay, five thousand feet across, which brought the
water to Montgomery Street up to the days of ’forty-nine. From a line
parallel with what is now Market Street, but a little to the north, was
a grand canal, deep and wide enough to accommodate all the commerce of
Tlamco. These waters terminated in a basin near the junction of
present-day Van Ness Avenue and Market Street, where a circular port of
entry was strongly fortified.

Leading from this was a broad avenue, which ended in another circular
building, half a mile nearer the Observatory, and in a direct line with
it. This was, in modern parlance, a bonded warehouse, and was amply
protected.

The port of entry was in the center of a circle which included Telegraph
Hill, Lone Mountain and the Potrero hills, all of which were formidable
fortifications. Rincon Hill, south and directly opposite Telegraph Hill,
guarded the entrance to the canal, while Yerba Buena Island, on the
east, lined with its center.

A hostile fleet sailing around Telegraph Hill would be under fire from
these forts, and as they came into the canal an assault could be made on
them from the ramparts and battlements of Nob Hill.

Should enemies approach the port of entry, they would be in range of the
mangonel batteries at East Temple, Alamo Hill, and the Temple of Venus,
which also shielded the bonded warehouse and the main, or eastern,
avenue to the city. On the top of the hill, was another fortification,
guarding the approaches to the Observatory, which had a complete system
of defense in itself.

South of the Potrero Hill fort was a harbor for the balsas. It is now a
broad marsh intersected by Islais Creek. A curved canal separated two
fortified hills and turned west to within the radius of the Camp of
Mars. The waterway skirted the closely guarded fortification on Bernal
Heights.

From time immemorial Mars was not only considered the god of war but the
guardian of sailors as well.

On the west side of the camp, a road ran south, parallel with what is
now Valencia Street direct to the port of entry. This was the only
approach from the south, and was well protected by the armored hills,
where the granaries and storehouses were located.

Much of the food supply came by this route.

Due west of Bernal Heights is a companion hill, which was garrisoned and
used as a signal station, being on a line with Mount Olympus, and from
the high Observatory tower news could be flashed to all the outlying
stations.

The center of the port of entry lined exactly with Telegraph Hill. By
this means a message could be sent from Hanabusa’s quarters to Mount
Olympus and Lone Mountain direct, and thence to the port of entry and
Telegraph Hill, thus making it easy to command the entire situation.

The horsemen’s camp lay close to Iaqua, west of the Observatory, while
the spearsmen’s grounds were east. From these points were trained
catapults, loaded with highly explosive lead cylinders filled with sharp
spikes. Mixed with the spikes were balls containing a stifling,
overpowering, deadly smell, which were exploded in the air, to shower
the inhabitants, barracks and forts.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Setos saw with the eye of a military genius the advantage to himself of
a sudden attack, and as a politician he felt the danger of remaining
inactive in such treacherous times. With a long, hissing screech, four
rockets shot into the sky from the signal-stations, electrifying some,
but prostrating the spirits of those who loved law and order.

Instantly, the warriors rushed pell-mell into the streets and confusion
seized the populace, who ran about aimlessly, and looked into each
other’s faces with half-averted eyes, like members of a family who are
determined to punish one another, but not too severely.

Around what is now known as Potrero Point came a fleet of thirty balsas,
with the blades of the rowers flashing in the sunlight as they rocked
and glided over the choppy waves of the bay.

Rowing swiftly to the Rincon Hill fort, they embarked a strong force of
spearsmen who were still loyal to Yermah.

Ponderous mangonels capable of throwing darts twenty feet long, shod
with bronze points and securely lashed to the shaft with strips of
bull’s-hide, surmounted each fort. This formidable weapon carried a
distance of several hundred feet with sufficient force to penetrate the
side of a stoutly built balsa.

On the poop of the foremost galley stood Hanabusa, in full armor, with a
black plume in his helmet, while beside him was Ben Hu Barabe. They were
both tall and powerful men, and the grim, determined expression on their
faces augured ill for the insurgents. Soon their balsas were gliding
over the smooth waters of the semicircular entrance to the canal and
making directly for it.

“Beware of the bolt!” shouted Ben Hu Barabe, and every man threw himself
under the stout oaken seats of the oarsmen, as a murderous missile rose
high in the air and fell with a crash on the stone coping of the canal,
sending a shower of splinters over the men.

“There is little danger to fear here,” said Hanabusa, “as the east fort
is still in our possession. It stands midway between the gangway and
basin at the end of the canal, and forms the strategic key to the
operations to-day. Yermah will lead a force between that fortress and
the granaries, as if ready to fall upon the city, whilst we, with our
noisy drums and trumpets, draw the rebels north of the canal, to repulse
our feigned attack.”

“Wilt thou forgive me for asking if this is thine own or Yermah’s plan?”

“It is the Dorado’s instruction. He is proving to be a worthy disciple
of the great tactician, Akaza, who never failed to gain a victory. See!
They are warned of our approach.”

As Yermah had predicted, the revolted troops, not being commanded by a
leader skilled in strategy, had signaled to the forts around the city
for reenforcements, and then turned toward the canal to repulse the
invaders.

A rocket was sent up from East Temple, signaling the defenders to
disembark south of the canal. Seeing this, the insurgents swept around
the basin to engage in a close-range combat and overwhelm Hanabusa and
Ben Hu Barabe by superior numbers.

Before they could execute this maneuver, the glittering ranks of
Yermah’s own household guards marched through the pass between Las Papas
and the Mission Hills, south of East Temple, with a company of horsemen
bringing up the rear.

The two columns marched side by side, but separate, that on the right
charging the insurgents on the right flank. There were about three
thousand men hemmed in between their own ranks and Hanabusa’s command.

Finding they were cut off from the main body, the rebels made a
desperate and gallant defense, but were obliged to surrender, with half
their force either killed, wounded, or made captive.

Simultaneously, the main column under Yermah wheeled toward the
Observatory, driving their enemies before them with great slaughter. The
Dorado’s guard swept over the rising ground between the center of the
city and the Observatory in a solid phalanx nine deep. Behind them came
detachments from the fleet at the head of the canal, who harassed the
stragglers and completed the general rout.

Archers and swordsmen, cutlass and javelin wielders excelled each other
in feats of generous daring, while shield clanked against shield, and
spearsmen tilted against spearsmen, in the shock and clamor of
fratricidal warfare.

Underneath all their apparent fury was a fraternal, conciliatory spirit,
causing the insurgents to make only a half-hearted fight against their
hereditary leader.

The revolted troops were oppressed by a secret fear that Yermah’s soul
was perjured; but this did not overcome their inherent sense of loyalty
to him.

“Down with the Mazaleels!” urged Setos, now in the thick of the fight.
“Spare not a single apostate! If thou art true-hearted Turghatis, stand
by the old beliefs.”

He spurred his horse into the fray, shouting:

“Mazaleel! Mazaleel! Mazaleel! Who loves a Mazaleel?”

“Kill! Slay! Burn! Fire every building! Do duty with torch and sword!”
hoarsely commanded Imos, seeing that the lines about the Observatory
trenches were wavering. “Who will help me cut a way through to the
canal?”

Urged forward by his example and words, a body of warrior-priests threw
themselves against Hanabusa’s flank, and succeeded in driving him to the
water’s edge. Many of the oarsmen tried to re-embark, but the fleet was
on fire and a swift and terrible conflict ensued.

In the meantime, Yermah had stormed the eastern entrance to the
Observatory, which finally yielded, and he rode in under the mocking
inscription:

“_Peace and Good Will Abide With Thee._”

“The victory is ours!” he cried, sheathing his sword, and surveying the
Temple of Venus on his left, apparently deserted.

“Take a dozen horsemen,” said he to an aide, “and ascertain if the
vestals are safe. If so, we will send a strong guard to prevent further
disorder and then retreat; for it is not seemly to fight our brethren.”

As rapidly as possible, reconnoitering parties were dispatched to
discover the damage done and to provide suitable care for the killed and
wounded. To this day the native American races make strenuous efforts to
prevent their dead from falling into the hands of an enemy.

The defeated troops were ordered back to quarters and Setos was seized
and brought before Yermah.

“Back into thy houses under penalty of arrest!” shouted the mounted
patrol, as they galloped through the streets, and rode down the
turbulent mob. Soon the cry went up:

“Setos is in chains! Run for thy life!” This startling news sent the
crowd flying in every direction, until even the stout-hearted seemed
paralyzed by the result, and the defeated ones slunk away to their
homes, like children caught in an act of disobedience.

The men were secretly humiliated and ashamed, none of that generation
having ever been guilty of insurrection, and they stood aghast at sight
of the carnage and slaughter.

The shamans and priestesses ministered to the wounded and dying, and
many heart-rending scenes were enacted on the spot where some turbulent
spirit had received its quietus.

The marketplace and temple walls were gallantly defended and by
nightfall comparative order reigned in the city itself, though heavy
firing from the forts told of the strife along the banks of the canal.

Imos, aided by a band of fanatical warrior-priests, was doing all in his
power to destroy the fleet. Hanabusa was retreating slowly with his
shattered forces, but every inch of the ground was being stubbornly
contested. As darkness came on, the balsas slipped by unobserved, and
Hanabusa steered for the Camp of Mars with less than half of his
original numbers.

The battering-rams and catapults had done deadly work on the feebly
defended Camp of Mars. Here the flood-gates of the canal had been opened
by a band of marauding insurgents, under cover of the darkness, and the
rising tide inundated the whole plain.

Imos marched rapidly across the peninsula, keeping well out of range of
the mangonels, and was in possession of the camp when Hanabusa arrived.

Ben Hu Barabe engaged the warrior-priests in a hand-to-hand struggle,
while Hanabusa hastened to the signal tower only to find it dismantled.
There being no way to inform Yermah of his desperate straits, he rushed
back to his house, and hurriedly securing things necessary for flight,
joined in the unequal contest Ben Hu Barabe and a handful of men kept up
at the water’s edge.

In the uncertain light, the commander could discern only three seaworthy
balsas, and into these his followers scrambled, and, pulling Ben Hu
Barabe aboard, put to sea, closely pursued by the leaky, disabled or
badly manned balsas which had already been captured by the enemy.

On the heels of Hanabusa’s flight came a company of horsemen, sent by
Yermah, who dashed into camp with drawn sabers and boldly demanded the
surrender of Imos. Realizing that he was completely surrounded and that
resistance was useless, the high-priest suffered himself to be put on
horseback and carried back to Iaqua. Upon arriving there he was brought
before Yermah, in company with Setos.

“Why hast thou made war upon me, Setos?”

“Because the Azes deem thee unfit to rule them,” was the blunt answer.

“I have no desire for temporal power. Hadst thou confided thy ambition
to me, I would have aided thee.”

“Thou hast mistaken me. I am only an instrument in the hands of
Providence for the deliverance of Tlamco,” answered Setos, in his best
temple-service manner.

“Thou art incapable of delivering thyself, much less Tlamco. But I
desire thee to become Grand Servitor. Art thou willing to accept its
full import?”

Setos could scarcely believe his ears. Was the Dorado speaking from
choice, or was he sore beset, and capitulating on the best possible
terms?

“What dost thou mean by the full import?”

“The law dost require thee to marry. Thou mayst not demand the oath of
allegiance without a consort. Atlantis no longer exists and thou must be
responsible for the succession.”

Setos opened his eyes wide in astonishment when the real nature of the
situation dawned upon him and he realized that fear had nothing to do
with Yermah’s abdication. As soon as he could recover himself, he
answered:

“I am willing to fulfill thy conditions.”

“Not my conditions, but the law of the ages,” corrected the Dorado, with
a frown. “Rahula has long been thy willing handmaid. Wilt thou espouse
her?”

“Yes.”

“And to-night?”

“Yes; but canst thou say as much for her?”

“She shall answer for herself, as she is already under this roof. And
while the tamanes conduct her here, wilt thou tell me, Imos, why thou,
too, art in bloody array against me?”

Encouraged by Setos’s success, Imos answered boldly:

“Because thou art a lost soul, and art unworthy to succeed Akaza.”

“For his sake must I endure persecution. But thou art rash in attempting
to defy the Brotherhood. Thou art enslaved by forbidden ambition.”
Yermah’s voice quivered with suppressed anger, and his eyes blazed
scornfully, but he kept himself under control. Catching Rahula’s eye as
she entered, he said with cutting emphasis:

“Every soul is lost on the downward spiral, and can only regain its
original position by a long and painful succession of incarnations.
Desire is the prison-house of the ego.”

Rahula stood abashed, uncertain how much Yermah knew, and just what his
speech implied. An uncomfortable and awkward silence followed, which
Setos finally broke by stepping forward and taking her by the hand. Then
he asked with gentleness:

“Art thou willing to share the perils of office with me? Yermah wishes
to make me Servitor of the Azes.”

“My heart acknowledges no other master, and my happiness is indissolubly
linked with thy fortunes. I am willing to serve thee.” She spoke in a
low voice, while a flush of triumph overspread her countenance. She was
almost as much surprised as Setos had been.

“Name thy witnesses, and let Imos hear thy marriage vows at once.
Matters of state compel haste.”

All three hated him, but they obeyed with alacrity, nevertheless.

“I will administer the oath of office at sunrise, and at meridian thou
must be ready to receive the allegiance of Tlamco,” said Yermah later,
before leaving for the Temple of Neptune.

He had not lived at Iaqua since Orondo’s death.




                          CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
               THE OATH OF ALLEGIANCE TO SETOS AND RAHULA


Setos could not refuse the Dorado an armed escort. But there was
treachery in the very air, and Yermah did not retire when he found
himself alone and safe inside the temple walls.

He could hear Oghi howling dismally in the stable inclosure and in the
intense stillness he heard Cibolo pawing the ground and snorting as if
some one were prowling on the outside.

Opening the door cautiously, the hierophant peeped into the long, empty
aisles, dim and shadowy in the faint light flickering from the lamps
overhead. None of his senses relaxed vigilance, as he pressed his ear
close to the floor and listened intently.

Yermah had not long to wait before he heard a grating sound, as if some
heavy body were being pushed through the north gate. Returning to his
room he hastily tied the leathern pouches around his waist containing
the relics of Kerœcia and Akaza. He grasped his sword and came back to
the door, and was horrified to find a catapult being dragged into
position almost against it.

Recognizing Imos, it flashed over him that the high-priest had seized
upon Setos’s nuptial night to make himself hierophant; but his blood ran
cold when he thought of the helplessness of the recluses around him.

Fear and distrust counseled against apprising Setos of the situation,
and his own loyal guards were fast asleep, believing him safe at Iaqua.

His heart almost stopped its beating when he comprehended that his
enemies were attempting to slip the bolts and chains of the door.

Something caused him to turn his head in an opposite direction, and
there he saw an apparition of Kerœcia, luminous and perfect in outline.
He could only hold the image a moment; but she smiled and beckoned to
him as she flitted through the doorway. Instinct bade him follow her.

It was _his_ blood for which the rebels thirsted, and none of the other
inmates would be disturbed—Yermah thought, as he ran along the aisle.

While Yermah was unbolting the door, a projectile from the catapult
shivered the northern entrance with a crash that rocked and shook the
whole structure. The aisles filled immediately with half-awakened monks,
but their voices were silenced by an explosion against the opposite
wall, which sent the spikes flying in every direction and felled them
with stifling and deadly odors.

Yermah could never remember how he succeeded in reaching Cibolo’s stall.
The sagacious animal seemed to help in getting into his trappings, and
Oghi had already buried his teeth in the back of a miscreant slipping up
to the half-opened door through which Yermah had passed. The ocelot
darted out of the inclosure ahead of Yermah—all the tiger instincts in
him aroused and ready to attack the first thing in sight.

Oghi rolled over and over with a victim, marking and maiming him for
life. The man’s cries brought assistance; but neither arrows nor sword
thrusts dispatched the assailant until several persons had been wounded.

The Dorado found all the wall entrances locked from the outside, which
accounted for the absence of guards at the doors. Escape was only
possible through the north-gate, and there more than a dozen
warrior-priests were waiting for him.

Man and beast knew there was desperate work before them, but they were
nerved for the encounter. As he dashed past Oghi, Yermah saw with a
sinking heart that the poor creature was writhing in its death agony.

Cibolo laid back his ears, and tried to take a piece out of the arm put
forward to seize the bridle. When the animal found that he could not
break the ranks at the open gate, he wheeled and kicked at the
assailants viciously.

Yermah reined him back, and charged again, using his sword arm
constantly. A spear-point pierced the upper part of Cibolo’s neck,
causing him to squeal shrilly, while an arrow went through the flesh of
Yermah’s left arm near the shoulder, breaking the point on his armor. A
well-directed blow felled his antagonist, and horse and rider cleared
the open space at a bound.

The Dorado rode straight to the west into a redwood forest, long since
submerged. Covered with dust and faint from exhaustion and loss of
blood, with broken armor and disordered dress, he struggled on toward
Tlamco’s Tower of Refuge, situated on an artificial hill south of the
present Alms House.

Upon arrival there, he found the citadel filled with women and children,
who had fled from Tlamco during the day, and among them were Ildiko and
Alcyesta.

Yermah only took time to bind up his own and Cibolo’s wound before
making his way through Visitacon Valley to the bay, where Alcyesta told
him Hanabusa and Ben Hu Barabe were expecting him.

“The Turghati have sworn to kill thee,” confided Alcyesta, “and it were
not safe for thee nor for thy followers to remain even here in this
tower.”

“Before daylight, this place will be surrounded,” added the keeper.
“They will suspect thy hiding place. Shouldst thou surrender and stand
trial, thou knowest beforehand what the verdict would be.”

“Be advised by me,” pleaded Alcyesta. “For this purpose am I come.”

“Ample provision has been made,” urged the keeper. “Go thou quickly. I
fear for thy safety.”

Seeing that Ildiko prepared to accompany them, Yermah turned to her,
saying:

“Why art thou here? Thy father is married to Rahula, and will be
proclaimed Grand Servitor in a few hours.”

“I know all that thou sayest. But dost thou think I should be allowed to
live at Iaqua? If so, thou knowest neither Setos nor Rahula.”

“What is thy purpose?”

“To go with thee and thy followers. Do not, I beseech thee, turn me
away, since I should be left to perish miserably.”

“That is thy probable fate with me.”

“So be it.”

Seeing that she was not to be dissuaded, Yermah offered no further
objection.

The bay extended down to Monterey at that time—Monterey, the quaint old
Spanish town, where the first American flag was unfurled on this coast.

Hanabusa had managed to pick up six other balsas loaded with provisions
and manned by stout rowers whose fealty was unquestioned.

When this little remnant of Atlantians and Monbas reached the seas
through Monterey Bay, they were the last of the Mazaleels—a term of
derision applied to them by conservative Azes. Mazaleel was simply
another name for half-breed, and for ages after was a despised epithet.

Steadily and in secret, before there was light enough to betray their
movements, the conspirators wheeled the catapult back to the
parade-grounds near the Observatory. Thinking that Yermah would return
to the temple, they securely closed every door and window.

None of the monks ever awoke from their first insensibility.

Imos ordered the stable-doors to be left open and the north-gate ajar,
so that Yermah’s absence might be discovered by some passer-by, but he
took good care to be at home when the news flew over Tlamco.

He was the first to suggest that the Dorado’s flight was to conceal a
crime, and was properly shocked and horrified when the facts were made
known.

With a preternaturally long face and proper unction, Imos went to Setos,
and offered to officiate in Yermah’s stead.

Setos was genuinely surprised, yet not displeased over the turn of
affairs, and readily agreed with Imos that the temple should be razed
and never rebuilt. He had always opposed the White Brotherhood, and
could see them exterminated without regret.

                  *       *       *       *       *

It was rather an imposing procession that filed out of Iaqua at noon,
and marched over the rising ground, lately a scene of bloodshed, to the
Temple of the Sun, where Setos and Rahula were to receive the fealty of
the populace.

Each male adult in Tlamco, brought earth in a square jar and water in a
deep disk for an oath-offering. Unclasping a pair of interlaced
bracelets, the citizen placed his right hand flat upon one band, and,
detaching the other, carried it to his forehead, saying:

“Name I thee to witness, I make loyal oath by two rings. So help me, All
Powerful One.”

This formula was repeated thousands of times in the next three days, and
then, in response to a general proclamation, the warriors and citizens
assembled to give burial to the slain. These were interred in a large
circle at the base of Mount Olympus, with their heads turned toward the
center.

Setos’s first public work as Servitor was to erect a tall shaft with
four fire-altars at the base, on the cardinal points, on which sacrifice
was offered to the “Martyrs of the Lost Soul,” as the dead in this
conflict were subsequently termed.

Beginning at the northern side of East Avenue, and circling in a radius
of three thousand and ninety feet to the same side of West Avenue, was a
set of pillars supporting a low crenellated wall along which was a
sentry-path, used for public observation in the residence part of the
city.

This crescent gave the distance of the lost planet from the center of
Tlamco, Mount Olympus being in the same radiation. It was indicated
again from Las Papas to Lime Point, and also from Lone Mountain to the
artificial sugar-loaf surmounted by the Tower of Refuge, south of Blue
Mountain, and between Las Papas and Strawberry Hill.

The gilded domes on the Temple of the Sun were the five-pointed star in
the center of the crescent, a device which anciently figured as the lost
planet[23]—the present star and crescent of the Turkish Empire.




                          CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
           THE MEMENTO FOR GENERATIONS—BUILT BY SERPENT KINGS


“Alcyesta, hast thou the silver casket safe?” asked Ben Hu Barabe, as
soon as they were comfortably afloat.

“Yes.”

“Give it me.”

He leaned forward eager to take it, but she held back, saying:

“Dost thou remember the injunction to loosen the eagles in time of peril
and to follow their lead?”

“Yes. I have freed both birds. Dost thou not hear the cowardly gulls
screeching with fright because of the eagles’ presence?”

“Then thou hadst best confide thy secret.”

“Yermah, wilt thou hear me?”

“If it is to accuse thyself, no!”

“It is to give into thy hands a message from Akaza, and to impart to
thee the manner of its coming.”

“Speak,” returned Yermah, in a whisper.

“Before the awful time of wrath, a pair of golden eagles trained in
falconry were intrusted to me by our beloved high-priestess, who
intended them to be thy companions in the chase. She gave me, also, a
ring set with diamonds, which I carried safely until I met Akaza after
we left our battered balsa. I should never have known how, or when, the
ring and the birds left me, had I not received this from the
hierophant.”

He handed over a tiny, silver locket taken from the casket in Alcyesta’s
hand.

Yermah pressed the spring and revealed a ring, large enough for his
thumb, and having a fine silk tissue evenly fitting its broad band.

“Before removing the contents of this locket, hear me fully,” pleaded
Ben Hu Barabe. “This treasure was made fast in a leather pouch, which
was securely tied to the wing, next the body, of one eagle. Here is the
parchment slipped in beside it.”

Yermah reached out his hand, but Ben Hu Barabe retained it.

“Thou canst not read without more light. Hold a lantern close by,” he
ordered.

When the tamane obeyed, Ben Hu Barabe gave Yermah the writing.

  BELOVED:

  _The eagle shall lead thee into strange lands. Never again wilt thou
  be separated from Yermah. Withhold from him all knowledge of the birds
  until such time as thou shalt find him in great danger._

  _Then loosen and follow thy guides._

                                                                _Akaza._

The Dorado was so astonished that he held the parchment on his knee and
made no further effort to examine the tissue message for himself.

“Well do I remember how anxious Kerœcia was about this ring. She went
every day to superintend its making.”

Alcyesta’s words aroused Yermah.

Unrolling the tissue, he saw a finely traced map, with a few lines
written on the margin:

  _Yermah, Beloved of the Brotherhood_:

  _Follow the way marked out before thee._

  _When one bird hovers in the air while the other sits on a rock with
  cactus flowering at its base, halt thou and receive thy future task
  from him who was appointed to aid thee._

  _Go willingly. Thou hast no further mission in Tlamco. Fear not._

  _I have been before thee—and am with thee even unto the end of time._

                                                                _Akaza._

The eagles led them southward by sea for many days after leaving
Monterey Bay, but on coming ashore they traveled inland until they
reached the pueblos of the Colorado.

Here they were evidently expected by the Brotherhood, who reprovisioned
and sent them forward.

“Thou art the forerunners of an exodus which will strip this fair land
of the white race for ages to come. Ice imprisons every vestige of life
to the north, and the seeds of total destruction are already planted in
the Llama city. Whither thou goest, we, too, will follow. Peace be thy
portion!” solemnly spoke the high-priest in adieu.

It would not have been a very difficult journey down the singularly even
plateau stretching beyond the Colorado to far Anahuac, had it not been
for the dread scourge of waters flooding the plains and settling in the
deep cup now known as Tezcuco Lake.

Nature’s tropic prodigality had done much to hide the ugly scars earned
in a life and death struggle between the raging water courses and the
still smoking mountain peaks muttering curses to the clouds.

It looked as if the earth in trembling fright had shaken everything
down, ready for the receding waves to wash into the sea.

Forty long, weary days, the little party pushed ahead.

Cibolo, the gallant, was as resolute and brave as any man among them;
but even the eagles seemed to lose their bearings occasionally, and then
Yermah called aloud to Akaza:

“Make me to know thy wishes. Humbly and obediently will I follow them.”

Instantly, Cibolo’s ears would go forward, and with a start he would shy
at a dim, hazy outline directly in front of him. First it took the form
of Akaza; then, gradually it changed into the beatific countenance of
Kerœcia.

In the beginning only Yermah could discern them, but before the journey
was completed every member of the party saw and recognized them.

“Thou art under Divine guidance,” they said to Yermah, and held him in
higher esteem than ever.

On the last day, the eagles circled in the air, screaming uneasily, and
refusing to go forward.

“We must be near the place,” the wanderers said to each other, in
awe-stricken whispers.

“Dost thou not see the rock and the flowering cactus?”

“One eagle sits and the other circles—”

“O Thou seen and unseen powers! Search our hearts, that thou mayst know
all our gratitude,” cried the Dorado, falling to his knees, and
prostrating himself on the ground, an act which was quickly imitated by
his comrades.

“I am Gautama,” said a voice.

When Yermah looked up, a man old as Akaza, stood making the hierophant
sign of blessing over him.

“Rise and receive from me word from thy beloved teacher.

“Fear me not.

“These hands have guided thy puny baby footsteps, and now thou must lend
thy strength to me. We have some days yet before thou art at rest.”

The survivors were near the ancient site of Tenochtitlan,[24] then a
dreary waste of water, with its first city ingulfed, but to have rebirth
again and again until the present time.

Gautama was accompanied by two of the Brotherhood and some tamanes,
amply provided with food and fresh raiment, which they gave to the
travelers.

“Thou art the last admitted, and art the youngest initiate,” said
Gautama to Yermah, later. “But thine is a special mission. When once in
Cholula, I shall tell thee all. Thou art anxiously awaited.”

The augmented company went into camp for the rest of the day but they
resumed travel shortly after sunrise, the next morning.

The holy city of Cholula[25] did not exist in those days.

There was nothing on the plain but the splendid “Memento for
Generations,” built by the men of Atlantis, whose descendants were
gathered into the hungry maw of the sea.

This massive pile is twice the length of the Pyramid of Cheops, but not
nearly so high. A long circular stairway led to its top, which measured
an acre in its area, and supported a teocalli—the last temple of the
Brotherhood of the White Star which was built in America.

Nothing could be more sublime and beautiful than the view from the top
of this pyramid. Toward the west stretches the bold barrier of
porphyritic rock which nature has reared around the valley of Mexico,
with huge Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl standing like two colossal
sentinels guarding the entrance to this incomparable region.

The word pyramid means a place of fire, while Palai, or Pele, of the
Hawaiians, is the spirit of the volcano center, or precipice of fire, as
a pyramid was often called. The Arabic word Alcyone means the center, or
cone, the spiritual apex around which the sun and all the sidereal
galaxy are circling.

The two mountains represented the masculine potency and the feminine
passivity of all which is generated in nature giving all things their
proportion. Acting on this principle, the ancient sculptors down to and
including Phidias, fixed the respective heights of man and woman as
twenty and nineteen palms of one-third of a foot each, up to the organs
of casualty and comparison, at the roots of the hair on the forehead.

Comparison with casualty on each side is the psychometric eye—the
Cyclopean third eye, scouted by the would-be wise. Comparison is
feminine; casualty is masculine.

The union of these forms the true vision of the soul, which, developed
to its fullest capacity, gives that mysterious faculty of psychic
perception, comparison and deduction beyond the intellectual
comprehension of ordinary man, and marks the adept.

It was this transcendent power which the Pyramid of Cholula, built to
the east of these two volcanoes, symbolized.

Farther in the same direction, towers Orizaba, correlated to the
macrocosm, of which the Pyramid of Cholula was the microcosm.

Orizaba equals the height of Popocatepetl, signifying that the adept
manifesting energy on the subjective plane is equal _in function_ to the
cosmic mind.

In this capacity the initiate is Quetzalcoatl, who, like Osiris,
Krishna, etc., was black—that is, the unknowable and mysterious in
Deity. This is why Quetzalcoatl is always shown with a black face,
although he was called the Fair God. He belonged to the white race, and
was the Aztec Yermah.

The antediluvians—the men who invented architecture—used the human form,
the pyramid, the pentagram, and the interlaced triangles as a basis of
measure and form.

The pyramid and pentagram denote the cone, or center, of sacred fire;
the interlaced triangles were the balance of spirit and matter; while
the obelisk was intended to show the purified nature of man.

The pillar of fire of Jacob was an obelisk. So were Stonehenge, Ellora,
the Babel towers of Central America, Babylon and Judea, the gigantic
ruins over all Tartary and India, and the totem-pole of the Eskimo—even
the tombstones have the same grand origin.

That the obelisk everywhere outside of Egypt became a sign of the
phallus does not alter its primal significance nor militate against it.

The pyramid was often called the Pillar of the Cosmos because it is the
ideal form of the principle of stability, and cannot be assailed by any
of the four elements.

Its tapering form guards it from destruction by earthquake; nor can it
be overturned; and it is probably the only fireproof structure in the
world.

The immense base and weight render it secure from floods; nor can the
wind get sufficient purchase to do any damage.

Even the insidious encroachments of Time itself are baffled and
outwitted by this cunningly constructed pile. It is, also, a perfect
instrument for estimating the weight of the earth; and, it is an
excellent astronomical observatory.

In its central chamber the temperature never varies.

Does any one believe this is the result of chance?

Will any part of to-day’s civilization survive the same flight of years?

Posterity has no claim on us which individualism—the god of the
age—respects; nor will it require a cataclysm to destroy any of the
works of to-day on any plane.

Science and invention make many discoveries, but our mental flights fall
far short of the ancients in the discernment of the basic principles of
philosophy.

In religion we have lost the meaning of the simplest symbols, and,
apparently, we do not understand where to place the credit for the
principles and precepts we profess to believe and practice.

Gautama led the travelers on by the west, while far away to the east was
seen the conical head of Orizaba, soaring high into the clouds.

Near by was the barren, though beautifully shaped, Malinche Sierras,
casting broad shadows over the plains of Tlaxcala. At their feet lay the
Pyramid of Cholula, reposing in denuded gardens in the once fairest
portion of the plateau of Puebla.

“Thou seest but a remnant of former glory,” said Gautama. “We, too, have
bowed to the chastening rod. Only such as climbed the long flight of
steps to the top of the pillar escaped destruction. Thou, too, art able
to bear witness?”

It was like probing an old wound, but Yermah answered bravely:

“The lash found my tender parts, but I am learning to be content.”

“It is to assist thee in this endeavor that I am come. When once thou
art ascended to the teocalli heights, thou mayst not return again until
thou art fully prepared. Thy next labor is to quash doubtful
inspiration. Thou art still leaning on thy earth loves, when thou art
commanded to have but one ideal—”

“I stand face to face with inner consciousness, and hear the still small
voice.”

“He hears the bells, but he does not know where they hang,” commented
the priests of the Brotherhood, smiling at each other.

“Seclusion in rarefied atmosphere, where the whole basin of the earth
has been purified, will give peace beyond thy present capacity for
understanding,” returned Gautama.

“Thy will be done!” responded Yermah.

“Thou art a doer of penance, and must be able to say literally, ‘Thy
will be done!’”

The devotees were nearing the pyramid, when they were met by a
delegation of priests, who crowned them with garlands, and conducted
them up the first flight of steps. On the truncated face of the terrace
was the inscription:

                     BEFORE THE LIGHT WAS OBSCURED
                      THIS MEMENTO FOR GENERATIONS
                       WAS BUILT BY SERPENT KINGS
                   THEY WERE SCATTERED OVER THE EARTH
                       TO CARRY TRUTH AND WISDOM
                          THEY WILL COME AGAIN
                        TO RECEIVE THE TREASURES
                          HIDDEN IN THY BOWELS
                    ALL MEN WILL SPEAK AND HEAR THE
                                 I AM I

The thoughtful band was allowed to rest at this juncture of their
pilgrimage after partaking of some refreshment; but they ascended to the
top of the pile in time to see the sunset.

Next morning, Yermah called his small aggregation of faithful adherents
together, and told them that he had received Akaza’s final commands.

“It imposes upon me seclusion in this spot. There is work for me here,”
he said with an odd smile. “The temple requires a central spire, and I
shall build and cover it with pure gold. Go thou all to the valley, and
make thy life apart from me. I love thee well and need thee sadly, but
even this love must be merged into the universal.”

“What wilt thou have me do?” asked Hanabusa.

“Go thou and build a balsa capable of riding the storm and stress of an
angry sea. In twenty lunations more thou must be prepared to go voyaging
with me.”

“To what task dost thou appoint me?” It was Ben Hu Barabe who spoke.

“Go thou amongst thy fellows and teach them the arts of peace. Show them
how to coax back fertility to the denuded soil, and build up civil
power, until I call thee.”

“Hast thou no thought for me?” asked Ildiko.

“The Brotherhood will guard thee until such time as a new Temple of
Venus shall arise on this fair plain. Seek thou knowledge diligently,
that thou mayst be able to teach the virgins committed to thy care. When
thou art separated from thy beloved Alcyesta, thou wilt be conducted to
a refuge in this teocalli, where other women are waiting to return to
their homes.”

Seeing that she made a brave effort to keep back tears, he added gently:

“Be not downcast. The first days of loneliness will find me near thee.
Shouldst thou need, call, and I shall come straightway.”

To Alcyesta, he said, covering her hand with both his own, and holding
it close to his breast:

“Promise if thine unborn shall be of thy sex, thou wilt name her,
Kerœcia?”

“I promise,” she returned, “and if it should be a son, wilt thou give
him thy name?”

“I shall be to thy son what Akaza was to me, but thou must call him
Gautamozin. In after years, he will understand the significance of this
command.”[26]




                             CHAPTER THIRTY
            YERMAH RETURNS TO THE MOUNTAIN PEAKS OF ATLANTIS


The remnant of the survivors obeyed the will of Yermah, the leader, and
for one year he was a recluse, giving himself up to solitary meditation,
save when Gautama came to converse with him.

In that time Yermah developed rectitude of judgment, correct
appreciation, breadth of view, and an all-roundness of perception,
habitually associated with a well-balanced and perfectly poised mind and
character.

As an initiate, he had marvelous sensibility vibrating to, and stirred
by the faintest touch, yet remaining steadfast in purpose, because he
saw all things in their proper proportion and estimated them at their
real value.

Possessed of discrimination, Yermah perceived the relative permanency of
all that had befallen him. Measuring all by the standard of the Eternal,
he was not swept out of equilibrium by any temporary or illusive
appearance.

Exaggeration, over-coloring, all that savored of unreality or falsehood,
was absolutely foreign to his nature. Yermah, the hierophant, was no
cold abstraction, too self-absorbed to think and to feel deeply—but he
was _strong in the love that gives_, equally joyful though he who
received knew not the source. He never repaid injury or scorn. This
quality showed itself in many ways.

In quick and ready sympathy; in alertness to see; in watchfulness to
note the needs of the hour; in the constant, instinctive attitude of
mind which spontaneously saw and felt every opportunity to give—whether
it were service or sympathy, silence or speech, presence or absence—in
short every attribute of character defining utter selflessness, rounded
and molded the strong individuality of YERMAH, THE DORADO.

When the recluse began to mingle freely with the Brotherhood, he was
quickly made aware of all that was transpiring, not only in the pueblo
of Cholula, but also among outside colonies.

There was never a day when some pilgrim did not climb the zigzag
stairways to see, and to receive advice from him. No attention was paid
to their comings and goings, and it was not thought unusual when a
stranger approached and asked for Yermah.

“Cezardis, why hast thou left Tlamco?” asked Yermah, as he embraced his
visitor.

“I am come to request thee to return. Thou hast many devoted friends
there to mourn thy absence.”

“Is not Setos master of the councilmen?”

“Yes; and he has most grievously taxed and outraged the Azes.”

“I am not surprised,” said Yermah, calmly. “He is by nature fiery and
imperious, combative and bloodthirsty. The restraining influence of
Saturn held him in check for a time, but now it will add malefic
tendencies.”

“Of late, he has been trying to bring about chemical affinities,
investigating secret laws, and dabbling in the knowledge forbidden an
earthy mortal. He overeats, and sends in haste for a shaman and priest
while all Tlamco waits. He will allow no business transacted when he is
sick. Fully half our time is spent in the temples praying for him. We
have no choice, as he is the self-appointed guardian of our morals and
compels attendance.”

Cezardis’s words, looks and actions betrayed his feelings.

“How is it with Imos?”

“He is given unlimited power, because he allowed Setos to espouse
Oahspe, the vestal. This power he uses to advance his own interests.”

“Dost thou say Setos hath another wife? I gave him Rahula.”

“So thou didst. But she bore him no heir; and on this pretext, Setos has
two wives, instead of one; and, he makes it lawful for any man to do the
same.”

“Poor hot-tempered Rahula! How doth she bear the new affliction?”

“She hath obliterated her own individuality until she is an echo whom
Setos values no more than the mats under his feet.”

Yermah sent Cezardis away for rest and refreshment before giving an
answer, when he was again urged to return to Tlamco.

As soon as he was alone Yermah’s mind reverted to its normal condition,
and he was entirely dispassionate in his reply.

“I cannot comply with thy wishes, Cezardis,” he said. “Not that I dread
the conflict inevitable with the overthrow of Setos. I have another and
more difficult battle to fight.”

“I have made oath not to return without thee, and I will not. The whole
country is preparing to follow thee south, and thou art the only one
capable of holding them back.”

“Nothing can stay the exodus. It is the breaking up of old lines. A new
dispensation is beginning, and the present order must pass forever.”

“Wilt thou let me serve thee? I would have come with thee in the
beginning, had I known.”

Cezardis was aware that Yermah could not refuse to accept his offer. It
was an old-time custom for one man to serve another, voluntarily, and
the servant’s was the honored position. To serve sweetly in any capacity
was the aspiration animating this entire dispensation.

The Dorado smiled as he said:

“Thou wilt be the last to make such an offer. The generations following
will reverse our beliefs and practices. Go thou to Ben Hu Barabe, and
tell him to give Hanabusa leave to stock his balsa with food and raiment
for five men. See to it that there is plenty, for thou art of the
company.”

Yermah worked incessantly for several days making a llama of silver, as
an emblem of suffering innocence. Its belly was a golden sunburst, and
it was seated upon the back of an eagle, rescuing a rabbit from the
fangs of a serpent. This represented the unequal conflict between good
and evil; but the serpent being obliged to give up its prey, manifested
the final triumph of goodness.

There were eight altars in the temple; and, at sunset on the last day of
his stay, Yermah placed the llama on the altar facing the east.
Simultaneously with this act, Gautama headed a procession at the base of
the pyramid, which slowly climbed to the top.

The worshipers performed a sacrifice on each of the four terraces, and
did not reach the temple until midnight.

They found Yermah in the great, dark structure, intently watching the
constellation of the Pleiades. As Alcyone approached the zenith he
sprang forward with a glad cry, and vigorously swinging a copper hammer,
made the sparks fly from a granite rock.

The venerable Gautama held the cotton, and carefully nursed the sparks
into a blaze. As the light streamed up toward the heavens, shouts of joy
and triumph burst forth—for once more the children of men received a
direct ray from the spiritual sun.

Carriers with torches lighted at the blazing beacon ran in every
direction, carrying the cheering element to every part of the country.
Long before sunrise it was brightening the altars and hearthstones
everywhere.

Yermah sent up orisons from the eastern altar, and then took an
affectionate farewell of the priests in attendance, but before beginning
to descend he gazed long at the matchless scenery below.

Soft spring verdure lay everywhere, and he drew courage and inspiration
from the fact that the lower forms of creation neither sulked nor held
back because the elements had been remorselessly cruel to them.

Wherever there was enough soil to support plantlife, flowers and grasses
put forth, and all nature was making a brave effort to swing back into
harmony.

Gautama walked with him, and so did an unseen host led by Akaza and
Kerœcia.

The Dorado wore all the insignia of his office. He had a cloth-of-gold
robe, and a pale violet mantle. On his head was a high cap of the same
color crested with jewels. There were jeweled sandals on his feet, and
he carried a caduceus of silver running through a circle, which was a
gold serpent with its tail in its mouth.

At the foot of the pyramid Yermah found Alcyesta and her infant son
waiting for his blessing. Beside her was Ildiko, in the white robes of a
high-priestess, surrounded by the few vestals possible to the depleted
numbers.

Ben Hu Barabe, Hanabusa and Cezardis were ready to accompany him.

Taking a handful of salt and holding the baby up to the sun with the
left hand, Yermah spake:

“By right of initiation, I name thee Gautamozin, and by the power of
adeptship endow thee with Brotherhood inheritance. Thou shalt have a
long line; but the last of thy name shall be as I am, a sacrifice to
another order of being.”

As Yermah ceased speaking, he sprinkled salt over the child’s face, and
at this juncture a tamane approached leading Cibolo. With his disengaged
arm Yermah drew the horse’s head down until its nose touched the baby’s
soft cheek, and when Cibolo had tasted a morsel of the salt his master
laid his face close to the horse’s jaw, and said softly:

“Thou wilt be a good and faithful friend to Gautamozin, as thou hast
been to me? Thine shalt be a name to conjure with—as thy love and
obedience hath been worthy of example. Farewell, my comrade! Thy days
shall be as the sunny hours.”

From his breast Yermah drew the locket containing Kerœcia’s ring. Taking
Alcyesta’s hand, he silently slipped it on her finger, while unchecked
tears coursed down her cheeks.

Turning to Ildiko, he handed her the locket. Facing them all, he said:

“Be of good cheer! A long era of peace and prosperity is for thee and
thine. Thou art saved from the floods for a divine purpose. Let this
knowledge be thy secret refuge, lest thou be tempted to depart from the
way.”

At the water’s edge he embraced and blessed each one.

“Grieve not for me. In the fullness of time I shall come again.”

The young men went out on flower-laden rafts with him, and cast gold and
emeralds into the sea in his honor.

The stone of promise signified renewal after the cataclysm, and Yermah
was El Dorado,—“_He of the golden heart_.”

The men on the raft strained their vision to catch a last glimpse of the
balsa, as it was known that he was going away for purification, and they
believed implicitly that he would come again.

It was not long before the people on shore began the weary watch for his
return, which makes Cortez’s conquest of later days so pathetic and
pitiful.

The heart aches with the memory of the treachery and cruelty of the
Conquistadors at Cholula, after its inhabitants had sent Cortez a helmet
filled with gold nuggets, because they saw with surprise that he whom
they mistook for their Fair God, valued this metal.

The gold, itself, thrown up in the days of the earth agony, lay
untouched for centuries, but every precept of the “golden one”[27] was
cherished as priceless gifts over all the Americas.

The tribes had different local versions of him, where they built
pyramids and teocallis in his honor, sculptured his sayings in enduring
granite, repeated his exploits in poetry and song, until finally his
name and fame excited the cupidity of the European adventurers who
sought the Golden Fleece in crusades and voyages of discovery.

The American version of the Argonauts’ expedition for the golden apples,
under Columbus, began in violence and ended in crime.

But the search for the fabled El Dorado did not end here.

Like a veritable will-o’-the-wisp, it led some into the fever-infested
swamps of the Orinoco, in South America,[28] and finally induced
Coronado to push northward into Kansas, after he had nearly perished in
the desert sands of the Colorado. He pounced down upon the Zuni pueblo,
and tried hard to persuade himself that he had found the land of
Quivira, though he vainly tried to locate the seven cities of Cibolo.

The magic words “El Dorado” attracted another bond of gold-seekers, who
have made the name and the country their very own.

In their wake are the forerunners of the men and women who will make
California[29] a great center of occult knowledge—the alchemical gold,
corresponding to her mineral wealth.

                  *       *       *       *       *

“The land! The land! O my beloved country! How art thou humbled by
misfortune! I know not thy desolate bosom!” cried Yermah, springing
ashore upon the island of Teneriffe, the mountain peak of Poseidon’s
kingdom, his lost Atlantis.

“I kiss thy blackened and charred face! Thou mother of the white race!
Thou source of all learning! Grant that thy dependencies may not forget
and deny thee!”

Gautama, too, had prostrated himself, while a stifled, smothered feeling
kept him silent. For a time, Yermah forgot that the three bronzed men
who stood looking at the shepherds gathered about the shore were not
Atlantians.

It seemed doubtful what kind of a reception they were to receive, until
Yermah called to the natives in their own tongue.

“Our Dorado! Come to us out of the sea!” they shouted almost beside
themselves with joy.

“O thou blessed one! Dost thou see the scourge laid upon us?

“Thy father, Poseidon, and all thy countrymen, save us, poor Guanches,
are perished. Evil days have fallen on Majorata. Dost thou not see the
new mountain choking and filling her wide-open mouth? Tell us how thou
art come.”

“Thy servant brother, Hanabusa, skilled in sailcraft, is my deliverer.”

“The sun and stars lent countenance to our venture,” said he, “save when
obscured by a passing shadow. Then the corposant ran in balls and
spirals from sheet to sheet, and we could not fail.”

“I am of the Monbas,” said Ben Hu Barabe, “far to the west, and I am
brother to thee in sorrow. The destructive power of the Divine took all
my people.”

“And I am of the Mazamas,” said Cezardis, coming forward. “My country
lies under sheets of ice mountains high, and no living thing is there.”

“Misfortune is known in the land of Mexi, whence I come,” said Gautama.
“Flood and fire hidden in the earth made us tremble for days lest we all
should perish.”

“The Azes, too—” Hanabusa was not allowed to finish his sentence.

“Thou art of our blood!” exclaimed the Guanches, in a breath.

“Never again shalt thou depart from us. Thou wert with the Dorado?”

“From the beginning,” he answered.




                           CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
                  FINAL PEACE IS MADE WITH COSMIC LAW


These Guanches were splendid specimens of manhood, the remote
forefathers of the warriors who, five hundred years ago, held their
European conquerors at bay for more than a hundred years—never more than
a handful of men at any time.

First the fierce and ruthless Normans, then the Portuguese, and lastly
the Spanish, laid a destroying hand on the brave Guanches. Now, there is
but little more than their goats left of the surviving Atlantians. These
goats are of a Vandyke brown, with long twisted horns, venerable beards,
and hair lengthening almost to a lion’s mane.

Teneriffe was the Island of the Blessed of the Hindus, the Elysian
Fields of the Greeks, and the Tlapallapan of the Aztecs.

The Greeks had their Hermes; the Norsemen, Ymer; the Egyptians, Kema;
all words correlated to, and having the same significance as Yermah,[30]
which means the Divine Germ incarnate.

As El Dorado, his love nature was typified, but he transmuted passion,
and became a god among men. He was Votan to the Quiches; to the Mayas,
he was Kukulcan; and to the Peruvians he was Manco-capac—all types of
the same character, and emanations from the same civilizing source.

The next morning the Guanches made a part of the company which gave
escort to Yermah, as he essayed climbing the still smoking peak. After
they had passed the line of vegetation there was naught to be seen save
a sea of red rocks, and thirsty yellow pumice.

The scorching sun and blue, unvaried sky condemned everything far and
near to barrenness and desolation forever.

Climbing higher, there was no solid rock, no soft earth—nothing but
black stones, piled one upon the other so loosely that under the
crenellated edge of the sky-line were frequent glimpses of daylight.

It was not necessary for the Guanches to explain that a marvelous
bombardment of the heavens had but recently taken place. The wrenching
and heaving, when the crater of eruption was active, had cracked the
cooling and hardening surface repeatedly, sending masses of cinders and
stones rattling down only to be caught and piled one over another
fathoms deep.

The granular lava had crystals of white felspar mixed in it, liked
chopped straw, which were formed into spherical shells, veined, curved
and frothy. Under the varying effects of pressure, the still pasty mass
was rolling, falling and crystallizing in grotesque cascades.

In some places the trade-winds had hardened them into wild, dreamlike
faces, while some were pictures of contending beasts. Yermah could hear
them grinding and crushing in low snarls and growls as they rolled
heavily downward.

Many times these writhing and twisting forms threatened to remain
forever suspended in mid-air.

The Dorado imagined that he recognized some of the effigies, and was
made dizzy and seasick by their ceaseless progression in a community of
pain.

How inexpressibly varied were the colors, bathed in the brilliant light
of a vertical tropical sun, undimmed by impurities of the lower
atmosphere!

The tired and thirsty party halted at the Guajara Springs near the
spectral Lunar Rocks of the Cañadas, standing like white teeth newly
cast from a granite mouth opened wide enough to admit a tongue of lava
thousands of feet higher in air.

These grayish white spikes line the “Road of the Guanche Kings” where
the crater of elevation sticks out its ragged and torn lips, eternal
witnesses to one of nature’s most stupendous debauches.

Yermah groaned in spirit as he looked across the dreary waste, and he
mourned unfeignedly for his lost people. It seemed to need this grand,
harmonious outburst of unseen forces to give voice to the wild and
passionate utterances seeking vent in his heart. Nature speaks to each
soul alone, and no mortal may interfere with the communion.

In taking a tender farewell of his comrades, Yermah appointed the life
work of each loyal heart; nor had he the least doubt of their faithful
obedience.

“Go thou to Egypt, Gautama, and tell them the task is finished.”

“Mayst thou be eternally at one with the Divine.”

“And thou, Cezardis, journey on beyond Egypt, until thou art come to
Lassa. Find Kadmon, and tell him all is well.”

“And thou, Yermah, wilt thou come with me?” asked Ben Hu Barabe.

“No. Thou must teach Gautamozin in my stead. He will learn from the
Brotherhood. Farewell, beloved! I shall return, but not now.”

“Thou art come to thine own, Hanabusa,” he continued. “Stay thou here
with the despoiled.”

He kissed each one on brow and cheeks, murmuring affectionate words of
encouragement and farewell.

“Go now to the sea level. I am come to the end of my journey, and would
fain be alone.”

It was difficult for him to persuade the Guanches to leave him.

“Thou wilt see me again,” he promised; “but at another time.”

The shepherds turned again and again, kissing their hands to him as long
as he was in sight.

Weary and exhausted, Yermah slept soundly until the first streak of dawn
appeared in the lowest place on the horizon, while the long glade of
zodiacal light shot up amongst the stars of Orion and Taurus.

Yermah knew how to interpret this heavenly sign. Gradually a reddish hue
appeared, and as soon as the lonely watcher comprehended its meaning the
zodiacal light faded, and golden yellow gradually overcame and drove out
the red tinge, grown to vermilion.

The cold region of gray at its upper limit blushed a rosy pink as the
first point of the solar disk leaped from behind a horizon of ocean and
clouds.[31]

The Dorado performed ablutions with marked care, dressed himself in
fresh, white linen, and before the sun was an hour old was picking his
way to the higher regions.

Finally, a bright spot of fire appeared in the malpais, then a
lengthening red and smoking line, widening and growing deeper as it
flowed down the mountain side.

Nothing but the extreme high altitude made the heat bearable.
Occasionally a fresh tongue of fire shot up from the fountain head, and
the whole mass of fluid lava and scoria felt the impulse. Alternate
cascades of fire and dross thundered precipitately against the lower
slopes.

The tense and elastic vapors in their struggles for freedom here made
one collective heave to gain the light of day, as the Island of Atlantis
slowly settled down on the bed of the ocean, and the crater of eruption
came up like a huge lava bubble.

During this process the cold atmosphere did effective work on the
outside.

The mass was hidebound with hardening stone; but the violence of the
heated gases made a grievous rent in the wrinkled coating, thus causing
the mountain to shake as with the ague.

Finally, the internal pressure being too great, the massive shell was
shattered into a thousand pieces. Not once, but many times, has this
battle between heated gases and cold air taken place in the years since
then, as the extinct craters amply testify, before the pent-up, unruly
spirits of the mountain finally escaped.

Prior to reaching his destination, Yermah discovered a lava figure
resembling Kerœcia, kneeling with her hands joined in prayer, and
appearing to have a heavy mantle thrown over her shoulders.

This effigy is still one of the many fantastic shapes pointing the way
to the Ice Cavern—that wondrous sepulcher of the Dorado.

It was not then an ice-cold spring banked with snow, in the midst of
desolation, but was a vent where three conical mouths of the volcano
flared open from different quarters, and hardened there in a dome-shaped
elevation.

Lying to the south is a particularly large mass of scoria turned upside
down, which has been used from time immemorial by the Guanches as a
place to pack and make up their parcels of cavern snow before venturing
to carry it under a vertical sun, thirty miles to the capital below.

It was nightfall when Yermah reached this spot, where he found the
pentagram mentioned in Akaza’s will.

Nature had made it for him of whitish felspar on the western side of the
scoria table. Certain that he had been guided aright, he sat down to
await the appearance of Venus in the eastern horizon.

Astronomers call it lateral refraction when a star oscillates and makes
images in the heated atmosphere; but to Yermah it had a different
significance. He first saw Venus seven degrees high, apparently
motionless. The planet oscillated up and down, then horizontally,
outlining a Maltese cross—the primordial sign of matter.[32]

Finally, it rose perpendicularly, descended sideways at an angle, and
returned to the spot whence it started, completing a triangle—the
universal emblem of spirit.

While Yermah sat on the rock lost in reverie, the sub-conscious man made
its final peace with cosmic law. His entire life passed before him in
successive events when he knew that here was the end; but with this
realization he leaned confidently upon the Divine.

Under the impulse of utter helplessness, he arose and kissed his hand
reverently to the evening star—a practice taught him in the nursery.

As a child it was his first act of adoration before his tongue learned
to fashion appropriate speech or his mind to comprehend veneration. In
this supreme moment, he turned back to that time insistently.

Finally, he knelt—and lifting up his arms as if to embrace a heavenly
ray, Yermah kissed the air as if it were the raiment of God. Turning his
face up to the sky, he closed his eyes in silent prayer.

Rising, he approached the mouth of the crater which faces north. He
could hear the angry, hissing roar of the subterranean fires, and the
scorching flames licked out at him as he fed them his belongings one by
one.

But a short time previous, Yermah had passed his thirty-third birthday,
and, as he now stood ready for self-immolation, he was in the prime and
glory of vigorous manhood.

He had the illumined face of a saint, and was uplifted by that spirit
which sustained martyrs in the after years. Even his fair young body
seemed to be spiritualized.

“O Thou Ineffable One! Thou Spirit of Fire! Take that which is thine!
Lap thy purifying tongue about me, and leave no dross!”

The desolation about him was the veritable home of black despair. Of
what use was it to cry out to the deadly calm of the rarefied air,
amidst the crushing, strangling and appalling stillness?

Coming nearer, Yermah looked down into the white heat of the
pink-throated cavern.

“O Thou Sacred Fire! Thy kiss was welcome to her sweet lips. Feast Thou
on mine!”

With the fervor of an enthusiast he rushed forward to fling himself
headlong into the yawning chasm, but a dazzling effulgence obscured the
way, and a voice from the land of shadows said:

“Yermah, son of light, no further sacrifice is required of thee!”

It was the gentle, unseen hand of Akaza which halted the action * * *
then a Higher Power suffered Yermah’s lifeless body to be at rest.

“Kerœcia, beloved, receive thy twin spirit!” he cried, in passing.

In the transcendent radiance of the Presence enveloping all, the twain
appeared—transfigured and glorified.

Being thus reunited, Kerœcia realized for the first time that she was
out of the body.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Yermah was neither Krishna, nor the Christ, but the Ideal Man of all
time, and of all people.

He was LOVE, the eternal mystery; that love which Madame de Staël has
said confounds all notion of time, effaces all memory of a beginning and
all fear of an end.


                                 FINIS

-----

Footnote 1:

  The modern name is preferably employed.

Footnote 2:

  Modern name preferably employed.

Footnote 3:

  J. M. Hutchings in “The High Sierras.”

Footnote 4:

  Indian name for Mirror Lake.

Footnote 5:

  Modern names are preferably employed.

Footnote 6:

  This head is in the Museum in the City of Mexico. It was found in 1830
  in the streets of Santa Teresa by some workmen while excavating for
  the foundation of a new house.

Footnote 7:

  The giant Gulliver bound in a net-work of threads by the Lilliputians
  is a familiar mythical form of the same belief—Gulliver representing
  the whole human family with its net-work of desires and illusions.

Footnote 8:

  Modern names preferably used.

Footnote 9:

  Indian Legend.

Footnote 10:

  From the Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Footnote 11:

  Later, in all the distorted legends of Adam Kadmon, the cosmic
  man,—Woman was accused of causing his fall through lustful desire; and
  what was originally an allegory of initiation, or of being able to
  distinguish between the true and the false in the battle-ground of our
  own hearts, has been perverted into a literal interpretation of dread
  consequence.

  This false idea has degraded millions of men and women.

Footnote 12:

  Aleutian Island chain.

Footnote 13:

  In the year 1866, a miner found Akaza’s skull, while sinking a shaft
  in a strata of gravel one hundred and thirty-seven feet below the
  surface. It was in a beautiful flat, about fifteen miles north of
  Table Mountain, a mass of basaltic lava, six hundred feet thick, which
  was not erupted until after Akaza’s death.

  The skull no longer surmounted that last nudity of man which instinct
  bids us conceal in the Earth. It was coated with a deposit of gravel
  and sand, that told of its lying in a river bed while mountains were
  worn to plains, and the decomposed quartz and loose gravel were plowed
  up by glacial erosion, and scattered over the hillsides. The skull was
  broken in its strongest part, an evidence of the force with which some
  torrent had dashed it against bowlders in the lapsing centuries.

  Some time during its wanderings in the river beds, or while resting on
  the banks, a snail had crawled under the malar bone and died. Its
  shell was found there, and no such species of snail has been known
  since the volcanoes ceased pouring lava over California.

  The skull[33] and the snail-shell have been the cause of great
  discussion among the scientists of our epoch: Its age is too great to
  agree with the preconceived idea of man’s existence.

Footnote 14:

  Initiates were always considered hermaphrodites, but not in a sex
  sense. The name itself implies this, being a compound of Hermes
  (wisdom) and Aphrodite (love). When sex takes precedence over humanity
  it is hard to explain a divine mystery, because organs are mistaken
  attributes, and the whole world is sex mad. Nevertheless, activity and
  repose, positive and negative, equilibrium and discord, cause and
  effect, involution and evolution, differentiation and polarization of
  atoms, and the laws governing them are united in the one word—SEX.

Footnote 15:

  Lares and penates—household gods.

Footnote 16:

  H. P. Blavatsky in The Secret Doctrine.

Footnote 17:

  It is a mistake to suppose that the personality originates thought.
  The sphere called mind reflects thought, as the earth reflects the
  light of the sun. It is quite as mis-leading to assert that the spirit
  leaves the body at death as it would be to assume that the sun is
  actually in the earth, because this planet lives by its rays. The
  spirit never is in the body—therefore it has neither birth nor death.
  It contacts and vivifies the body in the same manner as does the sun
  and the earth. The photosphere of the earth, and the aura of man are
  universal exemplifications of the mysterious Bridge of Kinevat.

Footnote 18:

  Sixteen hundred (Egyptian) feet long by five hundred feet wide.

Footnote 19:

  Profane and blasphemous words were unknown to the native races in the
  Americas. These people believed that speech was given man to enable
  him to praise his Maker.

  To this day the Indian is chary of words—and in all the relations of
  life his language is circumspect, and dignified. He only speaks when
  it is necessary, and rightly has profound contempt for the human who
  talks too much.

Footnote 20:

  The Breath of Life.

Footnote 21:

  Co-ownership of property necessitated the institution of civil
  marriage, in order to define inheritance.

Footnote 22:

  Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Footnote 23:

  A planet runs through its grand period of life from a formless nebula
  to a globe, which solidifies into a planet with or without satellites.
  It is involution as long as the planet is in process of formation; but
  when matter begins to manifest, the first step in evolution is taken,
  which goes on from protoplasm to man. Then comes the blooming-time,
  when this flower of space will scatter its seeds, as did the huge
  planet once revolving between Jupiter and Mars.

  Where once was unity, light and power, we have now a confused mass of
  asteroids moving in eccentric orbits. This was not merely the
  experience of a planet, but was a tragedy of the solar system; and in
  it the extremity of individualism finds exemplification. The mind of
  humanity is broken and divided in a corresponding manner. Both
  represent the fluid side of nature, and are correlated to the soul on
  the downward spiral.

  No one claims that the ego contacts through the animal kingdom, but
  the soul of desire may.

  When the latter does so, it is lost—until brought back on the upward
  spiral by aspiration and harmony, where it becomes one with Divinity.

Footnote 24:

  City of Mexico.

Footnote 25:

  Cholula was to the primitive Americas, what Jerusalem is to the
  Christian; Mecca, to the Mohammedan; Benares, to the Brahman.

Footnote 26:

  Gautamozin—meaning son of Guatama—was the nephew of Montezuma, and the
  spiritual leader of the Aztecs at the time of the conquest. He was the
  last hierophant of the Brotherhood of Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec Messiah.
  He defended Mexico City and was tortured and slain by Cortez. The
  statue erected in his honor in the Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City,
  is one of the finest monuments on the North American continent.

Footnote 27:

  All the heroes and ideal men of primitive times were sun-gods. Buddha
  was the shining one. Zoroaster (zoe, light; aster, star); was called
  the glittering one. The Son of Man came clothed in the glory of the
  sun. When the padres attempted to teach the natives of America the
  story of Jesus, they exclaimed: “El Dorado!” Such at least is the
  Spanish translation of what they called their own spiritual leader.

Footnote 28:

  History of the Conquest of Mexico.

Footnote 29:

  Esoteric students everywhere understand that California is one of the
  occult eyes of the world, because it still retains the magnetism of
  pre-historic times, never having been visited by the ice ages nor the
  flood, and only in recent geologic reckoning being partially purified
  by fire. Its Sanscrit name is Kali (time) and purna (fulfillment).

Footnote 30:

  Yermo and Yermina are diminutives and corruptions of Guillermo, the
  Spanish for William, and are in common use among the natives of Mexico
  and the neighboring states.

Footnote 31:

  Chas. Piazzi Smyth, at Teneriffe.

Footnote 32:

  Von Humboldt at Teneriffe.

Footnote 33:

  Calaveras skull, Smithsonian Institution.

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                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
      spelling.
 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.