Ardath by Marie Corelli (reading in the dark .txt) 📖

poesy,—when wondrous creatures habited in light and wreathed with stars have floated round and round me in rosy circles of fire,—and once, methought … ‘twas long ago now—I heard a Voice distinct and sweet that called me upward, onward and away, I know not where,—save that a hidden Love awaited me!” He broke off with a rapt almost angelic expression in his eyes, then sighing a little he resumed: “All dreams of course! … vague phantoms,—

creations of my own imaginative brain,—yet fair enough to fill my heart with speechless longings for ethereal raptures unseen, unknown! Thou hast, methinks, a certain faith in the unsolved mysteries,—but I have none,—for sweet as the promise of a future life may seem, there is no proof that it shall ever be. If one died and rose again from the dead, then might we all believe and hope.. but otherwise …”

 

Oh, miserable Theos!—What would he not have given to utter aloud the burning knowledge that ate into his mind like slow-devouring fire! Again mute! … again oppressed by that strange swelling at the heart that threatened to break forth in stormy sobs of penitence and prayer! Instinctively he drew Sahluma closer to his side—his breath came thick and fast.. he struggled with all his might to speak the words … “One HAS died and risen from the dead!”—but not a syllable could he form of the desired sentence!

 

“Thou shalt live again, Sahluma!” was all he could say in low, half-smothered accents—“Thou hast within thee a flame that cannot perish!”

 

Again Sahluma’s eyes dwelt upon him with a curious, appealing tenderness.

 

“Thy words savor of sweet consolation! …” he said half gayly, half sadly. “May they be fulfilled! And if indeed there is a brighter world than this beyond the skies, I fancy thou and I will know each other, there as here, and be somewhat close companions!

See!”—and he pointed to a small green hillock that rose up like a shining emerald from the darker foliage of the surrounding trees—

“Yonder is my point of vantage whence we shall behold the sun go down like a warrior sinking on the red field of battle, the chimes are ringing even now for his departure,—listen!”

 

They stood still for a space, while the measured, swinging cadence of bells came pealing through the stillness,—bells of every tone, that smote the air with soft or loud resonance as the faint wind wafted the sounds toward them,—and then they began to climb the little hill, Sahluma walking somewhat in advance, with a tread as light and elastic as that of a young fawn.

 

Theos, following, watched his movements with a strange affection, —every turn of his head, every gesture of his hand seemed fraught with meanings as yet inexplicable. The grass beneath their feet was soft as velvet and dotted with a myriad wild flowers,—the ascent was gradual and easy, and in a few minutes they had reached the summit, where Sahluma, throwing himself indolently on the smooth turf, pulled Theos gently down by his side. There they rested in silence, gazing at the magnificent panorama laid out before them,—a panorama as lovely as a delicately pictured scene of fairyland. Above, the sky was of a dense yet misty rose-color,—the sun, low on the western horizon appeared to rest in a vast, deep, purple hollow, rifted here and there with broad gashes of gold,—long shafts of light streamed upwards in order like the waving pennons of an angel-army marching,—and beyond, far away from this blaze of splendid color, the wide ethereal expanse paled into tender blue, whereon light clouds of pink and white drifted like the fluttering blossoms that fall from apple-trees in spring.

 

Below, and seen through a haze of rose and amber, lay the city of Al-Kyris,—its white domes, towers and pinnacled palaces rising out of the mist like a glorious mirage afloat on the borders of a burning desert. Al-Kyris the Magnificent!—it deserves its name, Theos thought, as shading his eyes from the red glare he took a wondering and gradually comprehensive view of the enormous extent of the place. He soon perceived that it was defended by six strongly fortified walls, each placed within the other at long equal distances apart, so that it might have been justly described as six cities all merged together in one,—and from where he sat he could plainly discern the great square where he had rested in the morning, by reason of the white granite obelisk that lifted itself sheer up against the sky, undwarfed by any of the surrounding buildings.

 

This gigantic monument was the most prominent object in sight, with the exception of the sacred temple, which Sahluma presently pointed out,—a round, fortress-like piece of architecture ornamented with twelve gilded towers from which bells were now clashing and jangling in a storm of melodious persistency. The hum of the city’s traffic and pleasure surged on the air like the noise made by swarming bees, while every now and then the sweet, shrill tones of some more than usually clear girl’s voice, crying out the sale of fruit or flowers, soared up song-wise through the luminous, semi-transparent vapor that half-veiled the clustering house-tops, tapering spires and cupolas in a delicate, nebulous film.

 

Completely fascinated by the wizard-like beauty of the scene, Theos felt as though he could never look upon it long enough to master all its charms, but his eyes ached with the radiance in which everything seemed drenched as with flame, and turning his gaze once more toward the sun, he saw that it had nearly disappeared. Only a blood-red rim peered spectrally above the gold and green horizon-and immediately overhead, a silver rift in the sky had widened slowly in the centre and narrowed at its end, thus taking the shape of a great outstretched sword that pointed directly downward at the busy, murmuring, glittering city beneath.

It was a strange effect, and made on the mind of Theos a strange impression,—he was about to call Sahluma’s attention to it, when an uncomfortable consciousness that they were no longer alone came over him,—instinctively he turned round, uttered a hasty exclamation, and springing erect, found himself face to face with a huge black,—a man of some six feet in height and muscular in proportion, who, clad, in a vest and tunic of the most vivid scarlet hue, leered confidentially upon him as their eyes met.

Sahluma rising also, but with less precipitation, surveyed the intruder languidly and with a certain haughtiness.

 

“What now, Gazra? Always art thou like a worm in the grass, crawling on thine errand with less noise than the wind makes in summer, . . I would thy mistress kept a fairer messenger!”

 

The black smiled,—if so hideous a contortion of his repulsive countenance might be called a smile, and slowly raising his jetty arms hung all over with strings of coral and amber, made a curious gesture, half of salutation, half of command. As he did this, the clear, olive cheek of Sahluma flushed darkly red,—his chest heaved, and linking his arm through that of Theos, he bent his head slightly and stood like one in an enforced attitude of attention. Then Gazra spoke, his harsh, strong voice seeming to come from some devil in the ground rather than from a human throat.

 

“The Virgin Priestess of the Sun and the Divine Nagaya hath need of thee tonight, Sahluma!” he said, with a sort of suppressed derision underlying his words,—and taking from his breast a ring that glittered like a star, he held it out in the palm of one hand—“And also”—he added—“of thy friend the stranger, to whom she desires to accord a welcome. Behold her signet!”

 

Theos, impelled by curiosity, would have taken the ring up to examine it, had not Sahluma restrained him by a warning pressure of his arm,—he was only just able to see that it was in the shape of a coiled-up serpent with ruby eyes, and a darting tongue tipped with small diamonds. What chiefly concerned him however was the peculiar change in Sahluma’s demeanor,—something in the aspect or speech of Gazra had surely exercised a remarkable influence upon him. His frame trembled through and through with scarcely controlled excitement, . . his eyes shot forth an almost evil fire, . .

and a cold, calm, somewhat cruel smile played on the perfect outline of his delicate month. Taking the signet from Gazra’s palm, he kissed it with a kind of angry tenderness, . . then replied..

 

“Tell thy mistress we shall obey her behest! Doubtless she knows, as she knows all things, that tonight. I am summoned by express command, to the Palace of our sovereign lord the King.. I am bound thither first as is my duty, but afterwards …” He broke off as if he found it impossible to say more, and waved his hand in a light sign of dismissal. But Gazra did not at once depart. He again smiled that lowering smile of his which resembled nothing so much as a hung criminal’s death-grin, and returned the jewelled signet to his breast.

 

“Afterwards! … yes.. afterwards!” he said in emphatic yet mock solemn tones.. “Even so!” Advancing a little he laid his heavy, muscular hand on Theos’s chest, and appeared mentally to measure his height and breadth—“Strong nerves! … iron sinews! …

goodly flesh and blood! ..‘twill serve!”—and his great, protruding eyes gleamed maliciously as he spoke,—then bowing profoundly he added, addressing both Sahluma and Theos.. “Noble sirs, tonight out of all men in Al-Kyris shall you be the most envied! Farewell!”—and once more making that curious salutation which had in it so much imperiousness and so little obeisance, he walked backward a few paces in the full lustre of the set sun’s afterglow, which intensified the vivid red of his costume and lit up all the ornaments of clear-cut amber that glittered against his swarthy skin,—then turning, he descended the hillock so swiftly that he seemed to have melted out of sight as utterly as a dark mist dissolving in air.

 

“By my word, a most sooty and repellent bearer of a lady’s greeting!” laughed Theos lightly, as he sauntered arm in arm with his host on the downward path leading to the garden and palace—

“And I have yet to learn the true meaning of his message!”

 

“‘Tis plain enough!” replied Sahluma somewhat sulkily, with the deep flush still coming and going on his face—“It means that we are summoned, . . thou as well as I, . . to one of Lysia’s midnight banquets,—an honor that falls to few,—a mandate none dare disobey! She must have spied thee out this morning—the only unkneeling soul in all the abject multitude-hence, perhaps, her present desire for thy company.”

 

There was a touch of vexation in his voice, but Theos heeded it not. His heart gave a great bound against his ribs as though pricked by a fire-tipped arrow,—something swift and ardent stirred in his blood like the flowing of quicksilver, . . the picture of the dusky-eyed, witchingly beautiful woman he had seen that morning in her gold-adorned ship, seemed to float between him and the light,—her face shone out like a growing glory-flower in the tangled wilderness of his thoughts, and his lips trembled a little as he replied:

 

“She must be gracious and forgiving then, even as she is fair! For in my neglect of reverence due, I merited her scorn, . . not her courtesy. But tell me, Sahluma, how could she know I was a guest of thine?”

 

Sahluma glanced at him half-pityingly, half disdainfully.

 

“How could she know? Easily!—inasmuch as she knows all things.

‘Twould have been strange indeed had she NOT known!” and he caught at a down-drooping rose and crushed its fragrant head in his hand with a sort