The Face in the Abyss - Abraham Merritt (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📗

least the welcome was warm enough. It is forgotten.”

“Good!” There was a flash of approval in Huon’s eyes. “Whatever you may be,” he went on, “-we are hunted men. Those who would destroy us are strong and cunning, and we must ever be alert against their snares. If you come from them, there is no harm in telling you this, since you already know it. But if you seek the Snake Mother and— Suarra—and have happened upon us by chance, it is well

for you to know we are outlaws of YuAtlanchi, although we are no enemies of those two. Convince us of your

honesty, and you shall go from us unharmed, to follow

your fortune as you choose; or if you ask our aid, remembering that we are outlaws, we will give you aid to the limit of our means. If you fail to convince us, you shall die as all the baits sent to trap us have died. It will be no pleasant death; we do not delight in suffering, but it is wisdom to discourage others from following you.”

“Fair enough,” said Graydon.

“You are not of our race,” Huon said. “You may be a prisoner sent to betray us, your life and liberty the promised rewards. The bracelet you wear may have been given you to blind us. We do not really know that you passed the Messengers. You may have been guided through the lairs of the Urd, and set down where you met the men who brought you here. That you slew some of the Urd proves nothing. There are many, and their lives are less than nothing to Lantlu and the Dark One whose slaves they are. I tell you all this,” he added with a touch of apology, “that you may know the doubts you must dissipate to live.”

“And fair enough,” said Graydon again. Huon turned

to the woman, who had been studying Graydon with a wholly absorbed, puzzled intentness ever since he had

named Suarra.

“You will stay with us and help us judge?” he asked.

“As if,” drawled Dorina, and stretching herself upon the couch, “as if, Huon, I had the slightest intention of doing

anything else!”

Huon spoke to the spider-man; a red arm stretched out

and brought a stool to Graydon’s feet Regor lowered his bulk upon another; Huon dropped into his chair. The eyes of that strange quartet upon him, Graydon began his story.

A little he told them of the world from which he had come, and his place in it; as briefly as he could, of his trek into the Forbidden Land with the three adventurers; and of his meeting with Suarra. He heard Regor growl approval as he sketched his battle with Starrett, saw Huon’s eyes warm. He told of Suarra’s return next morning. And

as he spoke of the Lord of Folly, he saw conviction of his truth begin to steal into their faces, and deepen as he told of his glimpse of Lantlu among his hissing pack. But he was amazed to see it turn to such a horror of belief as it did when his story led them into the cavern of the great stone Face.

For as he described that visage of ultimate evil, and the seeming transmutation of the three men into globules of golden sweat, Dorina covered her face with shaking hands, and the blood was drained from Huon’s own, and Regor muttered; only Kon, the spider-man, stood unmoved, regarding him with his sorrowful, shining golden eyes.

And this could only mean that none of them had ever seen the Face—and that therefore there were in YuAtlanchi secrets hidden even from its dwellers. Some obscure impulse bade him be cautious. So he said nothing of his vision of the Temple, but told them of his awakening, of the Indian he had found beside him as guide, and of his impulsive return. He showed them the scar of the wound that had been its penalty.

“As for what it was that summoned me back,” he said, “I cannot tell you—at least not now. It was a summons I might not disobey—” and that was true enough, he thought, as the face of Suarra came before him, and her appeal echoed in his heart

“It is all I can say,” he repeated. “And all I have said is truth. How the summons came to me has no bearing upon the matter, since because of it I am here. Staythere is something else—”

He took from his pocket the packet that held Suarra’s caraquenque plume, opened it and held it toward them.

“Suarra’s,” breathed Dorina, and Huon nodded.

There was no question of their belief now. It might-be well to put a spur to their own self-interest

“And still there is one more thing,” he said slowly. “Regor has spoken of some purpose. Of that purpose, it may be I know as little as you. But this happened—”

He told them of the elfin bugles that had led him across the plain of the monoliths, and finally to the cleft in the ramparts. Huon drew a deep breath and stood erect, hope

blazing upon his face, and Regor leaped to his feet, swinging his clubbed arm in a whistling circle.

Huon clasped Graydon’s shoulders.. “I believe!” he said, voice shaking; he turned to Dorina;

“And you?” “Of course it is truth, Huon!” she answered; but some

swift calculation narrowed her lids and clouded her face, and Graydon thought for an instant she looked menacingly

at him. “You are our guest,” said Huon. “In the morning you

shall meet the Fellowship, and repeat to them what you have told us. And then you shall decide whether to call upon us for help, or go on alone. All that is ours is yours for the asking. And—Graydon—” he hesitated, and then with abrupt wistfulness—“by the Mother, I hope you throw your lot with ours! Regor, see to it that the little beast is cared for. Take this, Graydon,” he stooped and picked up the rifle. “To-morrow you shall show us what it is. I will take you to your quarters. Wait for me,

Dorina.”

He took Graydon by the arm, and led him toward the

wall of the room opposite that which he had entered. He parted the webs.

“Follow,” he bade.

Graydon looked back as he passed after him. Dorina was standing, watching him with that menacing speculation stronger upon her face.

Graydon passed through the webs, and followed Huon’s broad back into another faintly sparkling, black-walled corridor.

CHAPTER XI. The Deathless People

“UP, LAD, bathe and break your fast. The Fellowship will soon be gathering, and I am here to take you to them.”

Graydon blinked uncomprehendingly at his awakener. Regor stood at the foot of his couch, on his face a broad smile that his scars turned into the grin of a benevolent gargoyle. He had changed the chain armor for the closefitting garments that seemed to be the fashion of YuAtlanchi’s men. Black Regor he still was, however, for these were black, and black was the cloak that hung from his immense shoulders.

Graydon looked around that chamber to which Huon had led him, at the thick rugs which were like spun silk of silver, the walls covered by the webs of shadowy silver through which ran strange patterns of a deeper argent, webs which were drawn aside at one end of the room to reveal a wide alcove in which a sunken pool sparkled. He drew together the threads of memory.

Huon had watched and talked while two silent brown men had bathed and massaged away his weariness and the marks of Kon’s talons. And then had sat with him whilst he had eaten unfamiliar meats which two Indian girls, with wide wondering eyes, had set before him in dishes of crystal. Huon himself had poured his wine, asking many questions about the people who dwelt outside the Hidden Land. He had not seemed much interested in their arts or sciences or governments; but avidly so upon how death came to them, and what was done with the old, the customs of mating, whether there were many children and their upbringing. Ever and ever be had returned to the subject of

death and the forms in which it came, as though it held for him some overpowering fascination.

And, at last, he had sat silent, thinking; then, sighing,

had said:

“So it was in the old days—and which is the better

way?”

He had risen, abruptly, and passed out of the chamber;

the light had dimmed, and Graydon had thrown himself upon the couch to sink into deep slumber.

Why had Huon dwelt so persistently upon death? There was something about that which vaguely troubled Graydon. Suddenly he recalled that Suarra had said her people had closed the Door of Death. He realized that he had not taken her literally. But might it be truth—

He roused himself from his reverie, shook himself impatiently, and rising, walked over to the pool, splashed about and dried himself upon silken cloths. He returned to his chamber to find a table set with fruits, and with what seemed like wheaten cakes, and milk. He dressed quickly, and sat down to it Not till then did Regor speak.

“Lad,” he said, “I told you that I am a subtle one. Now my subtlety tells me that so are you, and that very subtly you held back much from your story last night. Notably— your command from the Mother.”

“Good Lord,” exclaimed Graydon, in the Aymara equivalent “There’s nothing subtle in that discovery. I warned you I couldn’t tell you how—”

He stopped, afraid that he had hurt the giant’s feelings. But Regor smiled broadly.

“I’m not referring to that,” he said. “What you were careful not to mention was the reward the Mother promised you if you obeyed her summons—and managed to reach her.”

Graydon jumped, in his astonishment, choking on a bite of the wheaten cake.

“Ho! ho!” roared Regor, and gave him a resounding whack upon the back. “Am I not a subtle one, eh?

“Dorina is not here now,” he muttered slyly, looking up at the ceiling, “nor am I bound to tell Huon all I hear.”

Graydon swung around on his stool and looked at him.

Regor looked back quizzically, yet with such real friendship in his eyes that Graydon felt his resolve waver. There was something about Huon, as there had been about Lantlu, that made him feel lonely; something alien, something unhuman. Whether it was their beauty, so far beyond any dream of classic, antique sculpture, or whether it lay deeper, he did not know. But he felt none of it concerning this man. Regor seemed of his own world. And certainly he had demonstrated his kindliness.

“You can trust me, lad,” Regor answered his thought. “You were wise last night, but what was wisdom then may not be so now. Would this help you to decide—that I know Suarra, and love her as my own child?”

It turned the scale in Graydon’s mind.

“A bargain, Regor,” he said. “Question for question. Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

“Done!” grunted Regor, “and if we keep them waiting let the Fellowship chew their thumbs.”

Graydon went straight to the matter that was troubling him.

“Huon asked me many questions last night. And the most of them were about death in my own land, its shapes, how it came to us; and how long men lived there. One would think he knew nothing of death except that which comes by killing. Why is Huon so curious about—death?”

“Because,” said Regor, tranquilly, “Huon is deathless!”

“Deathless!” echoed Graydon, incredulously.

“Deathless,” repeated Regor, “unless, of course, some one kills him, or he should choose to exercise a certain– choice which all of us have.”

“Which all of you have!” echoed Graydon again. “You, too, Regor?”

“Even I,” answered