Ardath: The Story of a Dead Self Part 21

His words were spoken in a low voice, and yet they were distinct enough for all present to hear. A glance of absolute dismay went round the table, and a breathless silence followed like the ominous hush of a heated atmosphere before a thunder-clap. Nir-jalis, apparently struck by the sudden stillness, looked lazily round from among the tumbled cushions where he reclined,--a vacant, tipsy smile on his lips.

"What a company of mutes ye are!" he said thickly..

"Did ye not hear me? I bade ye ask Lysia, . ." and all at once he sat bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of pa.s.sion.. "Ask Lysia!" he repeated loudly.. "Ask her why the mighty Zephoranim creeps in and out the Sacred Temple at midnight like a skulking slave instead of a King! ... at midnight, when he should be shut within his palace walls, playing the fool among his women! I warrant 'tis not piety that persuades him to wander through the underground Pa.s.sage of the Tombs alone and in disguise! Sah-luma! ... pretty pampered hound as thou art!

... thou art near enough to Our Lady of Witcheries,--ask her, ... ask her! ... she knows, . . "and his voice sank into an incoherent murmur, . . "she knows more than she cares to confess!"

Another deep and death like pause ensued, ... and then Lysia's silvery cold tones smote the profound silence with calm, clear resonance.

"Friend Nir-jalis," she said, . . how tuneful were her accents, . . how chilly sweet her smile! ... "Methinks thou art grown altogether too wise for this world! ... 'tis pity thou shouldest continue to linger in so narrow and incomplete a sphere! ... Depart hence therefore! ... I shall frely excuse thine absence, since THY HOUR HAS COME! ..."

And, taking from the table at her side a tall crystal chalice fashioned in the form of a lily set on a golden stem, she held it up toward him.

Starting wildly from his couch he looked at her, as though doubting whether he had heard her words aright, . . a strong shudder shook him from head to foot, . . his hands clenched themselves convulsively together,--and then slowly, slowly, he staggered to his feet and stood upright. He was suddenly but effectually sobered--the flush of intoxication died off his cheeks--and his eyes grew strained and piteous. Theos, watching him in wonder and fear, saw his broad chest heave with the rapid-drawn gasping of his breath, ..he advanced a step or two--then all at once stretched out his hands in imploring agony.

"Lysia!" he murmured huskily. "Lysia! ... pardon! ... spare me! ... For the sake of past love have pity!"

At this Sah-luma sprang up from his lounging posture on the dais, his hand on the hilt of his dagger, his whole face flaming with wrath.

"By my soul!" he cried, "what doth this fellow prate of? ... Past love?

... Thou profane boaster! ... how darest thou speak of love to the Priestess of the Faith?"

Nir-jalis heeded him not. His eyes were fixed on Lysia, like the eyes of a tortured animal who vainly seeks for mercy at the hand of its destroyer. Step by step he came hesitatingly to the foot of her throne, . . and it was then that Theos perceived rear at hand a personage he immediately recognized,--the black scarlet-clad slave Gazia, who had brought Lysia's message to Sah-luma that same afternoon. He had made his appearance now so swiftly and silently, that it was impossible to tell where he had come from,--and he stood close to Nir-jalis, his muscular firms folded tightly across his chest, and his hideous mouth contorted into a grin of cruel amus.e.m.e.nt and expectancy. Absolute quiet reigned within the magnificent banquet hall, . . the music had ceased,--and not a sound could be heard, save the delicate murmur of the wind outside swaying the water-lilies on the moonlit lake. Every one's attention was centred on the unhappy young man, who with lifted head and rigidly clasped hands, faced Lysia as a criminal faces a judge, . . Lysia, whose dazzling smile beamed upon him with the brightness of summer sunbeams,--Lysia, whose exquisite voice lost none of its richness as she spoke his doom.

"By the vow which thou hast vowed to me, Nir-jalis--" she said slowly..

"and by thine oath sworn on the Symbolic Eye of Raphon".. here she touched the dreadful Jewel on her breast--"which bound thy life to my keeping, and thy death to my day of choice, I herewith bestow on thee the Chalice of Oblivion--the Silver Nectar of Peace! Sleep, and wake no more!--drink and die! The gateways of the Kingdom of Silence stand open to receive thee! ... thy service is finished! ...... fare-thee-well!"

With the utterance of the last word, she gave him the glittering cup she held. He took it mechanically,--and for one instant glared about him on all sides, scanning the faces of the attentive guests as though in the faint hope of some pity, some attempt at rescue. But not a single look of compa.s.sion was bestowed upon him save by Theos, who, full of struggling amazement and horror, would have broken out into indignant remonstrance, had not an imperative glance from Sah-luma warned him that any interference on his part would only make matters worse. He therefore, sorely against his will, and only for Sah-luma's sake, kept silence, watching Nir-jalis meanwhile in a sort of horrible fascination.

There was something truly awful in the radiant unquenchable laughter that lurked in Lysia's lovely eyes, . . something positively devilish in the grace of her manner, as with a negligent movement, she reseated herself in her crystal throne, and taking a knot of magnolia-flowers that lay beside her, idly toyed with their creamy buds, all the while keeping her basilisk gaze fixed immovably and relentlessly on her sentenced victim. He, grasping the lily-shaped chalice convulsively in his right hand, looked up despairingly to the polished dome of malachite, with its revolving globe of fire that shed a solemn blood-red glow upon his agonized young face, . . a smile was on his lips,--the dreadful smile of desperate, maddened misery.

"Oh, ye malignant G.o.ds!" he cried fiercely--"ye immortal Furies that made Woman for Man's torture, ... Bear witness to my death! ... bear witness to my parting spirit's malediction! Cursed be they who love unwisely and too well! ... cursed be all the wiles of desire and the haunts of dear pa.s.sion!--cursed he all fair faces whose fairness lures men to destruction! ... cursed be the warmth of caresses, the beating of heart against heart, the kisses that color midnight with fire!

Cursed be Love from birth unto death!--may its sweetness be brief, and its bitterness endless!--its delight a snare, and its promise treachery! O ye mad lovers!--fools all!" ... and he turned his splendid wild eyes round on the hushed a.s.semblage,--"Despise me and my words as ye will, throughout ages to come, the curse of the dead Nir-jalis shall cling!"

He lifted the goblet to his lips, and just then his delirious glanced lighted on Sah-luma.

"I drink to thee, Sir Laureate!" he said hoa.r.s.ely, and with a ghastly attempt at levity--"Sing as sweetly as thou wilt, thou must drain the same cup ere long!"

And without another second's hesitation he drank off the entire contents of the chalice at a draught. Scarcely had he done so, when with a savage scream he fell p.r.o.ne on the ground, his limbs twisted in acute agony,--his features hideously contorted,--his hands beating the air wildly, as though in contention with some invisible foe, ..while in strange and terrible dissonance with his tortured cries, Lysia's laughter, musically mellow, broke out in little quick peals, like the laughter of a very young child.

"Ah, ah, Nir-jalis!" she exclaimed. "Thou dost suffer! That is well!

... I do rejoice to see thee fighting for life in the very jaws of death! Fain would I have all men thus tortured out of their proud and tyrannous existence! ... their strength made strengthless, their arrogance brought to naught, their egotism and vain-glory beaten to the dust! Ah, ah! thou that wert the complacent braggart of love,--the self-sufficient proclaimer of thine own prowess, where is thy boasted vigor now? ... Writhe on, good fool! ... thy little day is done! ...

All honor to the Silver Nectar whose venom never fails!"

Leaning forward eagerly, she clapped her hands in a sort of fierce ecstasy--and apparently startled by the sound, the tigress rose up from its couchant posture, and shaking itself with a snarling yawn, glared watchfully at the convulsed human wretch whose struggles became with each moment more and more frightful to witness. The impa.s.sive, cold-blooded calmness with which all the men present, even Sah-luma, looked on at the revolting spectacle of their late comrade's torture, filled Theos with shuddering abhorrence, ... sick at heart, he strove to turn away his eyes from the straining throat and upturned face of the miserable Nir-jalis,--a face that had a moment or two before been beautiful, but was now so disfigured as to be almost beyond recognition. Presently as the anguish of the poisoned victim increased, shriek after shriek broke from his pallid lips, . . rolling himself on the ground like a wild beast, he bit his hands and arms in his frenzy till he was covered with blood, ... and again and yet again the dulcet laughter of the High Priestess echoed through the length and breadth of the splendid hall,--and even Sah-luma, the poet Sah-luma, condescended to smile! That smile, so cold, so cruel, so unpitying, made Theos for a moment hate him, . . of what use, he thought, was it, to be a writer of soft and delicate verse, if the inner nature of the man was merciless, selfish, and utterly regardless of the woes of others? ... The rest of the guests were profoundly indifferent,--they kept silence, it is true, ... but they went on drinking their wine with perfectly unabated enjoyment.. they were evidently accustomed to such scenes. The attendant slaves stood all mute and motionless, with the exception of Gazra, who surveyed the torments of Nir-jalis with an air of professional interest, and appeared to be waiting till they should have reached that pitch of excruciating agony when Nature, exhausted, gives up the conflict and welcomes death as a release from pain.

But this desirable end was not yet. Suddenly springing to his feet, Nir-jalis tore open his richly jewelled vest, and pressed his two hands hard upon his heart, ... the veins in his flesh were swollen and blue,--his labored breath seemed as though it must break his ribs in its terrible, panting struggle,--his face, livid and lined with purple marks like heavy bruises, bore not a single trace of its former fairness, ... and his eyes, rolled up and fixed gla.s.sily in their quivering sockets, seemed to be dreadfully filled with the speechless memory of his lately spoken curse. He staggered toward Theos, and dropped heavily on his knees, . .

"Kill me!" he moaned piteously, feebly pointing to the sheathed dagger in the other's belt. "In mercy! ... Kill me! ... One thrust! ...

release me! ... this agony is more than I can bear, ... Kill ... Kill.

His voice died away in an inarticulate, gasping cry,--and Theos stared down upon him in dizzy fear and horror! For...HE HAD SEEN THIS SAME NIR-JALIS DYING THUS CRUELLY BEFORE! Oh G.o.d! ... where,--where had this tragedy been previously enacted? Bewildered and overcome with unspeakable dread, he drew his dagger--he would at least, he thought, put the tortured sufferer out of his misery, ... but scarcely had his weapon left the sheath, when Lysia's clear, cold voice exclaimed:

"Disarm him!" and with the silent rapidity of a lightning-flash, Gazra glided to his side, and the steel was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand. Full of outraged pride and wrath, he sprang up, a torrent of words rushing to his lips, but before he could utter one, two slaves pounced upon him, and holding his arms, dexterously wound a silk scarf tight about his mouth.

"Be silent!" whispered some one in his ear,--"As you value your life and the life of Sah-luma,--be silent!"

But he cared nothing for this warning, . . reckless of consequences, he tore the scarf away and breaking loose from the hands that held him, made a bound toward Lysia ... here he paused. Her eyes met his languidly, shedding a sombre, mysterious light upon him through the black shower of her abundant hair, ... the evil glitter of the great Symbolic Gem she wore fixed him with its stony yet mesmeric l.u.s.ter ...

a delicious smile parted her roseate lips,--and breaking off a magnolia-bud from the cl.u.s.ter she held, she kissed and gave it to him...

"Be at peace, good Theos!" she said in a low, tender tone, . . "Beware of taking up arms in the defence of the unworthy, . . rather reserve thy courage for those who know how best to reward thy service!"

As one in a trance he took the flower she offered,--its fragrance, subtle and sweet, seemed to steal into his veins, and rob his manhood of all strength, ... sinking submissively at her feet he gazed up at her in wondering wistfulness and ardent admiration, . . never was there a woman so bewilderingly beautiful as she! What were the sufferings of Nir-jalis now? ... what was anything compared to the strangely enervating ecstasy he felt in letting his eyes dwell fondly on the fairness of her face, the whiteness of her half-veiled bosom, the delicate, sheeny dazzle of her polished skin, the soft and supple curves of her whole exquisite form, . . and spell-bound by the witchery of her loveliness, he almost forgot the very presence of her dying victim. Occasionally indeed, he glanced at the agonized creature where he lay huddled on the ground in the convulsive throes of his dreadful death-struggle,--but it was now with precisely the same quiet and disdainful smile as that for which he had momentarily hated Sah-luma!

There was a sound of singing somewhere,--singing that had a mirthful under-throbbing in it, as though a thousand light-footed fairies were dancing to its sweet refrain! And Nir-jalis heard it! ... dying inch by inch as he was, he heard it, and with a last superhuman effort forced himself up once more to his feet, ... his arms stiffly outstretched, .

. his anguished eyes full of a softened, strangely piteous glory.

"To die!" he whispered in awed accents that penetrated the air with singular clearness--"To die! ... nay...not so! ... There is no death!

... I see it all! ... I know! ... .To die is to live! ... to live again.. and to remember...to remember,--and repent, . . the past!"

And with the last word he fell heavily, face forward, a corpse. At the same moment a terrific roar resounded through the dome, and the tigress Aizif sprang stealthily down from the dais, and pounced upon the warm, lifeless body, mounting guard over it in an ominously significant att.i.tude, with glistening eyes, lashing tail and nervously quivering claws. A slight thrill of horror ran through the company, but not a man moved.

"Aizif!--Aizif!" called Lysia imperiously.

The animal looked round with an angry snarl, and seemed for once disposed to disobey the summons of its mistress. She therefore rose from her throne, and stepping forward with a swift, agile grace, caught the savage beast by the neck, and dragged it from its desired prey.

Then, with the point of her little, silver-sandaled foot, she turned the fallen face of the dead man slightly round, so that she might observe it more attentively, and noting its livid disfigurement, smiled.

"So much for the beauty and dignity of manhood!" she said with a contemptuous shrug of her snowy shoulders,--"All perished in the s.p.a.ce of a few brief moments! Look you, ye fair sirs that take pride in your strength and muscular attainments! ... Ye shall not find in all Al-Kyris a fairer face or more n.o.bly knit frame than was possessed by this dead fool, Nir-jalis, and yet, lo!--how the Silver Nectar doth make havoc on the sinews of adamant, the nerves of steel, the stalwart limbs! Tried by the touchstone of Death, ye are, with all your vaunted intelligence, your domineering audacity and self-love, no better than the slain dogs that serve vultures for carrion! ...--moreover, ye are less than dogs in honesty, and vastly shamed by them in fidelity!"

She laughed scornfully as she spoke, still grasping the tigress by the neck in one slight hand,--and her glorious eyes flashed a mocking defiance on all the men a.s.sembled. Their countenances exhibited various expressions of uneasiness amounting to fear, . . some few smiled forcedly, others feigned a careless indifference, . . Sah-luma flushed an angry red, and Theos, though he knew not why, felt a sudden p.r.i.c.king sense of shame. She marked all these signs of disquietude with apparently increasing amus.e.m.e.nt, for her lovely face grew warm and radiant with suppressed, malicious mirth. She made a slight imperative gesture of command to Gazra, who at once approached, and, bending over the dead Nir-jalis, proceeded to strip off all the gold clasps and valuable jewels that had so lavishly adorned the ill-fated young man's attire,--then beckoning another slave nearly as tall and muscular as himself, they attached to the neck and feet of the corpse round, leaden, bullet-shaped weights, fastened by means of heavy iron chains.

This done, they raised the body from the floor and carried it between them to the central and largest cas.e.m.e.nt of all that stood open to the midnight air, and with a dexterous movement flung it out into the waters of the lake beneath. It fell with a sullen splash, the pale lilies on the surface rocking stormily to and fro as though blown by a gust of wind, while great circling ripples shone softly in the yellow gleam of the moonlight, as the dead man sank down, down, down like a stone into his crystal-quiet grave.

Lysia returned to her throne with a serene step and unruffled brow, followed by the sulky and disappointed Aizif, . . smiling gently on Theos and Sah-luma she reseated herself, and touched a small bell at her side. It gave a sharp kling-klang like a suddenly struck cymbal--and lo! ... the marble floor yawned asunder, and the banquet-table with all its costly fruits and flowers vanished underground with the swiftness of lightning! The floor closed again, .

. the broad, circular centre-s.p.a.ce of the hall was now clear from all obstruction,--and the company of revellers roused themselves a little from their drowsy postures of half-inebriated languor. The singing voices that had stirred Nir-jalis to sudden animation even in his dying agony, sounded nearer and nearer, and the globe of fire overhead changed its hue from that of crimson to a delicate pink. At the extreme end of the glittering vista of pale-green, transparent columns, a door suddenly opened, and a flock of doves came speeding forth, their white, spread wings colored softly in the clear rose-radiance,--they circled round and round the dome three times, then fluttered in a palpitating arch over Lysia's head, and finally sped straight across the hall to the other end, where they streamed snowily through another aperture and disappeared. Still nearer rippled the sound of singing, . . and all at once a troop of girls came dancing noiselessly as fire-flies into the full, quivering pinkness of the jewel-like light that floated about them, . . girls as lovely, as delicate, as dainty as cyclamens that wave in the woods in the early days of an Italian spring. Their garments were so white, so transparent, so filmy and clinging, that they looked like elves robed in mountain-vapor rather than human creatures, . . there were fifty of them in all, and as they tripped forward, they, like the doves that had heralded their approach, surrounded Lysia flutteringly, saluting her with gestures of exquisite grace and devout humility, while she, enthroned in supreme fairness, with her tigress crouched beside her, looked down on them like a G.o.ddess calmly surveying a crowd of vestal worshippers. Their salutations done, they rushed pell-mell, like a shower of white rose-leaves drifting before a gale, into the exact centre of the hall, and there poising bird-like, with their snowy arms upraised as though about to fly, they waited, . . their lovely faces radiant with laughter, their eyes flashing dangerous allurement, their limbs glistening like polished alabaster through the gauzy attire that betrayed rather than concealed their exquisite forms. Then came the soft pizzicato of pulled strings, ... and a tinkling jangle of silver bells beating out a measured, languorous rhythm,--and with one accord, they all merged together in the voluptuous grace of a dance more ravishing, more wild and wondrous than ever poet pictured in his word-fantasies of fairy-land! Theos drank in the intoxicating delight of the scene with eager, dazzled eyes and heavily beating heart, ..the mysterious pa.s.sion of mingled love and hatred he felt for Lysia stole over him more strongly than ever in the sultry air of this strange night, . . this night of sweet delirium, in which all that was most dangerous and erring in his nature woke into life and mastered his better will! A curious, instinctive knowledge swept across his mind,--namely THAT SAH-LUMA'S EMOTIONS WERE THE FAITHFUL REFLEX OF HIS OWN,--but as he had felt no anger against his rival in fame, so now he had no jealousy of his possible rival in love. Their sympathies were too closely united for distrust to mar the friendship so ardently begun, ... nevertheless, as he fell resistlessly deeper and deeper into the glittering snares that were spread for his destruction, he was CONSCIOUS OF EVIL THOUGH HE LACKED FORCE TO OVERCOME IT. At any rate, he would save Sah-luma from harm, he resolved, if he could not save himself! Meantime he watched the bewildering evolutions and witching entanglements of the gliding maze of fair faces, snowy bosoms and twining limbs, that palpitated to and fro under the soft rose-light of the dome like white flowers colored by the sunset, and, glancing ever and again at Lysia's imperial sorceress-beauty, he thought dreamily ...

"Better the love that kills than no love at all!" And he thereupon gave himself up a voluntary captive to the sway of his own pa.s.sions, determining to enjoy the immediate present, no matter what the future might have in store. Outside, the water-lilies nodded themselves to sleep in their shrouding, dark leaves, . . and the unbroken smoothness of the lake spread itself out in the moon like a sheet of molten gold over the spot where Nir-jalis had found his chilly rest. "THE CURSE OF THE DEAD NIR-JALIS SHALL CLING!" Yes,--possibly!--in the hereafter! ...

but now his parting malison seemed but a foolish clamor against destiny, ... he was gone! ... none of his late companions missed him, ... none regretted him--like all dead men, once dead he was soon forgotten!

CHAPTER XIX.

A STRANGE TEMPTATION.

On went the dance, ... faster, faster, and ever faster! Only the pen of some mirth-loving, rose-crowned Greek bard could adequately describe the dazzling, wild beauty and fantastic grace of those whirling fairy forms, that now inspired to a bacchante-like ardor, urged one another to fresh speed with brief soft cries of musical rapture! Now advancing,--now retreating ... now intermingling all together in an undulating garland of living loveliness, ... now parting asunder with an air of sweet coquettishness and caprice, ...--anon meeting again, and winding arm within arm,--till bending forward in att.i.tudes of the tenderest entreaty, they seemed, with their languid, praying eyes and clasped hands, to be waiting for Love to soothe the breathless sweetness of their parted lips with kisses! The light in the dome again changed its hue,--from pale rose-pink it flickered to delicate amber-green, flooding the floor with a radiance as of watery moonbeams, and softening the daintily draped outlines of that exquisite group of human blossoms, till they looked like the dimly imagined shapes of Nereids floating on the glistening width of the sea.

And now the extreme end of the vast hall began to waver to and fro as though shaken at its foundation by subterranean forces,--a flaring shaft of flame struck through it like the sweeping blade of a t.i.tan's sword,--and presently with a thunderous noise the whole wall split asunder, and recoiling backwards on either side, disclosed a garden, golden with the sleepy glory of the late moon, and peacefully fair in all the dreamy attractiveness of drooping foliage, soft turf, and star-sprinkled, violet sky. In full view, and lit up by the reflected radiance flung out from the dome, a rushing waterfall made sonorous surgy music of its own as it tumbled headlong into a rocky recess overgrown with lotus-lilies and plumy fern,--here and there, small, white and gold tents or pavilions glimmered invitingly through the shadows cast by the great magnolia trees, from whose lovely half-shut buds balmy odors crept deliciously through the warm air. The sound of sweet pipes and faintly tinkling cymbals echoed from distant shady nooks, as though elfin shepherds were guarding their fairy flocks in some hidden corner of this ambrosial pasturage, and ever by degrees the light grew warmer and more mellow in tint, till it resembled the deep hue of an autumn, yellow sunset, flecked through with emerald haze.

Another clash of cymbals! ... this time stormily persistent and convincing! ... another! ... yet another! ... and then, a chime of bells,--a steady ringing, persuasive chime, such as brings tears to the eyes of many a wanderer, who, hearing a similar sound when far away from home, straightway thinks of the village church of his earlier years, . . those years of the best happiness we ever know on earth, because we enjoy in them the bliss of ignorance, the glory of youth! A curious stifling sensation began to oppress Theos's heart as he listened to those bells, . . they reminded him of such strange things, ... things to which he could not give a name,--things foolish, yet sweet, . . odd suggestions of fair women who were wont to pray for those they loved, and who believed, . . alas, the pity of it!--that their prayers would be heard ... and granted! What was it that these dear, loving, credulous ones said, when in the silence of the night they offered up their patient supplications to an irresponsive Heaven?