Ayesha, the Return of She by H. Rider Haggard (red scrolls of magic .txt) 📗

“Let him rest on,” he said, as he undid the wrappings on my arm, “for he has suffered much, and,” he continued significantly, “may still have more to suffer.”

“What do you mean, friend Oros?” I asked sharply. “I thought you told us that we were safe upon this Mountain.”

“I told you, friend——” and he looked at me.

“Holly is my name——”

“—friend Holly, that your bodies are safe. I said nothing of all the rest of you. Man is more than flesh and blood. He is mind and spirit as well, and these can be injured also.”

“Who is there that would injure them?” I asked.

“Friend,” he answered, gravely, “you and your companion have come to a haunted land, not as mere wanderers, for then you would be dead ere now, but of set purpose, seeking to lift the veil from mysteries which have been hid for ages. Well, your aim is known and it may chance that it will be achieved. But if this veil is lifted, it may chance also that you will find what shall send your souls shivering to despair and madness. Say, are you not afraid?”

“Somewhat,” I answered. “Yet my foster-son and I have seen strange things and lived. We have seen the very Light of Life roll by in majesty; we have been the guests of an Immortal, and watched Death seem to conquer her and leave us untouched. Think you then that we will turn cowards now? Nay, we march on to fulfil our destinies.”

At these words Oros showed neither curiosity nor surprise; it was as though I told him only what he knew.

“Good,” he replied, smiling, and with a courteous bow of his shaven head, “within an hour you shall march on—to fulfil your destinies. If I have warned you, forgive me, for I was bidden so to do, perhaps to try your mettle. Is it needful that I should repeat this warning to the lord——” and again he looked at me.

“Leo Vincey,” I said.

“Leo Vincey, yes, Leo Vincey,” he repeated, as though the name were familiar to him but had slipped his mind. “But you have not answered my question. Is it needful that I should repeat the warning?”

“Not in the least; but you can do so if you wish when he awakes.”

“Nay, I think with you, that it would be but waste of words, for—forgive the comparison;—what the wolf dares”—and he looked at me—“the tiger does not flee from,” and he nodded towards Leo. “There, see how much better are the wounds upon your arm, which is no longer swollen. Now I will bandage it, and within some few weeks the bone will be as sound again as it was before you met the Khan Rassen hunting in the Plains. By the way, you will see him again soon, and his fair wife with him.”

“See him again? Do the dead, then, come to life upon this Mountain?”

“Nay, but certain of them are brought hither for burial. It is the privilege of the rulers of Kaloon; also, I think, that the Khania has questions to ask of its Oracle.”

“Who is its Oracle?” I asked with eagerness.

“The Oracle,” he replied darkly, “is a Voice. It was ever so, was it not?”

“Yes; I have heard that from Atene, but a voice implies a speaker. Is this speaker she whom you name Mother?”

“Perhaps, friend Holly.”

“And is this Mother a spirit?”

“It is a point that has been much debated. They told you so in the Plains, did they not? Also the Tribes think it on the Mountain. Indeed, the thing seems reasonable, seeing that all of us who live are flesh and spirit. But you will form your own judgment and then we can discuss the matter. There, your arm is finished. Be careful now not to strike it or to fall, and look, your companion awakes.”

Something over an hour later we started upon our upward journey. I was again mounted on the Khan’s horse, which having been groomed and fed was somewhat rested, while to Leo a litter had been offered. This he declined, however, saying that he had now recovered and would not be carried like a woman. So he walked by the side of my horse, using his spear as a staff. We passed the fire-pit—now full of dead, white ashes, among which were mixed those of the witch-finder and his horrible cat—preceded by our dumb guide, at the sight of whom, in her pale wrappings, the people of the tribe who had returned to their village prostrated themselves, and so remained until she was gone by.

One of them, however, rose again and, breaking through our escort of priests, ran to Leo, knelt before him and kissed his hand. It was that young woman whose life he had saved, a noble-looking girl, with masses of red hair, and by her was her husband, the marks of his bonds still showing on his arms. Our guide seemed to see this incident, though how she did so I do not know. At any rate she turned and made some sign which the priest interpreted.

Calling the woman to him he asked her sternly how she dared to touch the person of this stranger with her vile lips. She answered that it was because her heart was grateful. Oros said that for this reason she was forgiven; moreover, that in reward for what they had suffered he was commanded to lift up her husband to be the ruler of that tribe during the pleasure of the Mother. He gave notice, moreover, that all should obey the new chief in his place, according to their customs, and if he did any evil, make report that he might suffer punishment. Then waving the pair aside, without listening to their thanks or the acclamations of the crowd, he passed on.

As we went down the ravine by which we had approached the village on the previous night, a sound of chanting struck our ears. Presently the path turned, and we saw a solemn procession advancing up that dismal, sunless gorge. At the head of it rode none other than the beautiful Khania, followed by her great-uncle, the old Shaman, and after these came a company of shaven priests in their white robes, bearing between them a bier, upon which, its face uncovered, lay the body of the Khan, draped in a black garment. Yet he looked better thus than he had ever done, for now death had touched this insane and dissolute man with something of the dignity which he lacked in life.

Thus then we met. At the sight of our guide’s white form, the horse which the Khania rode reared up so violently that I thought it would have thrown her. But she mastered the animal with her whip and voice, and called out—“Who is this draped hag of the Mountain that stops the path of the Khania Atene and her dead lord? My guests, I find you in ill company, for it seems that you are conducted by an evil spirit to meet an evil fate. That guide of yours must surely be something hateful and hideous, for were she a wholesome woman she would not fear to show her face.”

Now the Shaman plucked his mistress by the sleeve, and the priest Oros,