Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen (romantic novels in english .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Marjorie Bowen
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“I will work a spell tonight. You shall see.”
He took up the lantern and Theirry followed him; they traversed the
chamber and entered another; in the centre of that Dirk stopped, and
gave the light into the cold hand of his companion.
“Here we shall be secret,” he murmured, and raised, with some
difficulty, a trapdoor in the floor. Theirry peered into the
blackness revealed below.
“Have you done this before?” he asked fearfully.
“This spell? No.”
Dirk was descending the stairs into the dark.
“God will never forgive,” muttered Theirry, hanging back.
“Are you afraid?” asked Dirk wildly.
Theirry set his lips.
“No. No.”
He stepped on to the ladder, and holding the light above his head,
followed.
They found themselves in a large vault entirely below the surface of
the ground, so that air was attained only from the trapdoor that they
had left open behind them.
Floor and walls were paved with smooth stones, the air was thick and
intolerably hot; the roof only a few inches above Theirry’s head.
In one corner stood a tall dark mirror, resting against the wall;
beside it were a pile of books and an iron brazier full of ashes.
Dirk took the lantern from Theirry and hung it to a nail on the wall.
“I have been studying,” he whispered, “how to raise spirits and see
into the future—I think I begin to feel my way;” his great eyes
suddenly unclosed and flashed over his companion. “Have you the
courage?”
“Yes,” said Theirry hoarsely. “For what else have I left my home if
not for this?” “It is strange we should have met,” shuddered Dirk.
Their guilty eyes glanced away from each other; Dirk took a piece of
white chalk from his pocket and began drawing circles, one within the
other on the centre of the floor.
He marked them with strange signs and figures that he drew carefully
and exactly.
Theirry stayed by the lantern, his handsome face drawn and pale, his
eyes intent on the other’s movements.
The upper part of the vault was in darkness; shadows like a bat’s
wings swept either side of the lantern that cast a sickly yellow light
on the floor, and the slender figure of Dirk on one knee amid his
chalk circles.
When he had completed them he rose, took one of the books from the
corner and opened it. “Do you know this?” With a delicate forefinger
he beckoned Theirry, who came and read over his shoulder.
“I have tried it. It has never succeeded.”
“Tonight it may,” whispered Dirk.
He shook the ashes out of the brazier and filled it with charcoal that
he took from a pile near. This he lit and placed before the mirror.
“The future—we must know the future,” he said, as if to himself.
“They will not come,” said Theirry, wiping his damp forehead. “I—
heard them once—but they never came.”
“Did you tempt them enough?” breathed Dirk. “If you have Mandrake they
will do anything.” “I had none.”
“Nor I—still one can force them against their will—though it is—
terrible.”
The thin blue smoke from the charcoal was filling the vault; they felt
their heads throbbing, their nostrils dry.
Dirk stepped into the chalk circles holding the book.
In a slow, unsteady voice he commenced to read.
As Theirry caught the words of the blasphemous and horrible invocation
he shook and shuddered, biting his tongue to keep back the instinctive
prayer that rose to his lips.
But Dirk gained courage as he read; he drew himself erect; his eyes
flashed, his cheeks burnt crimson; the smoke had cleared from the
brazier, the charcoal glowed red and clear; the air grew hotter; it
seemed as if a cloak of lead had been flung over their heads.
At last Dirk stopped.
“Put out the lantern,” he muttered.
Theirry opened it and stifled the flame.
There was now only the light of the burning charcoal that threw a
ghastly hue over the dark surface of the mirror.
Theirry drew a long sighing breath; Dirk, swaying on his feet, began
speaking again in a strange and heavy tongue.
Then he was silent.
Faint muttering noises grew out of the darkness, indistinct sounds of
howling, sobbing. “They come,” breathed Theirry.
Dirk repeated the invocation.
The air shuddered with moanings.
“A—ah!” cried Dirk.
Into the dim glow of the brazier a creature was crawling, the size of
a dog, the shape of a man, of a hideous colour of mottled black; it
made a wretched crying noise, and moved slowly as if in pain.
Theirry gave a great sob, and pressed his face against the wall.
But Dirk snarled at it across the dark.
“So you have come. Show us the future. I have the power over you. You
know that.”
The thin flames leapt suddenly high, a sound of broken wailings came
through the air; something ran round the brazier; the surface of the
mirror was troubled as if dark water ran over it; then suddenly was
flashed on it a faint yet bright image of a woman, crowned, and with
yellow hair; as she faded, a semblance of one wearing a tiara appeared
but blurred and faint. “More,” cried Dirk passionately. “Show us
more—”
The mirror brightened, revealing depths of cloudy sky; against them
rose the dark line of a gallows tree.
Theirry stepped forward.
“Ah, God!” he shrieked, and crossed himself. With a sharp sound the
mirror cracked and fell asunder; a howl of terror arose, and dark
shapes leapt into the air to be absorbed in it and disappear.
Dirk staggered out of the circle and caught hold of Theirry.
“You have broken the spell!” he gibbered. “You have broken the spell!”
An icy stillness had suddenly fallen; the brazier flickered rapidly
out, and even the coals were soon black and dead; the two stood in
absolute darkness.
“They have gone!” whispered Theirry; he wrenched himself free from
Dirk’s clutch and fumbled his way to the ladder.
Finding this by reason of the faint patch of light overhead, he
climbed up through the trapdoor, his body heaving with long-drawn
breaths.
Dirk, light-footed and lithe, followed him, and dropped the flap.
“The charm was not strong enough,” he said through his teeth. “And
you—”
Theirry broke in.
“I could not help myself—I—I—saw them.”
He sank on a chair by the open window and dropped his brow into his
hand.
The room was full of a soft starlight, far away and infinitely sweet;
the vines and grasses made a quivering sound in the night wind and
tapped against the lattice.
Dirk moved into the workshop and came back with the candle and a great
green glass of wine. He held up the light so that he could see the
scholar’s beautiful agonised face, and with his other hand gave him
the goblet.
Theirry looked up and drank silently.
When he had finished, the colour was back in his cheeks.
Dirk took the glass from him and set it beside the candle on the
windowsill.
“What did you see—in the mirror?” he asked.
“I do not know,” answered Theirry wildly. “A woman’s face—”
“Ay,” broke in Dirk. “Now, what was she to us? And a figure like—the
Pope?”
He smiled derisively.
“I saw that,” said Theirry. “But what should they do with holy
things?—and then I saw—” Dirk swung round on him; each white despite
the candle-light.
“Nay—there, was no more after that!”
“There was,” insisted Theirry. “A stormy sky and a gallows tree—” His
voice fell hollowly. Dirk strode across the room into the trailing
shadows.
“The foul little imps!” he said passionately. “They deceived us!”
Theirry rose in his place.
“Will you continue these studies?” he questioned.
The other gave him a quick look over his shoulder.
“Do you think of turning aside?”
“Nay, nay,” answered Theirry. “But one may keep knowledge this side of
things blasphemous and unholy.”
Dirk laughed hoarsely.
“I have no fear of God!” he said in a thick voice. “But you—you are
afraid of Sathanas. Well, go your way. Each man to his master. Mine
will give me many things—look to it yours does the like by you—”
He opened the door, and was leaving, when Theirry came after him and
caught him by the robe.
“Listen to me. I am not afraid. Nay, why did I leave Courtrai?”
With resolute starry eyes Dirk gazed up at Theirry (who was near a
head taller), and his proud mouth curled a little.
“I may not disregard the fate that sent me here,” continued Theirry.
“Will you come with me? I can be loyal.”
His words were earnest, his face eager; still Dirk vas mute.
“I have hated men, not loved them, all my life—most wonderfully am I
drawn to thee—” “Oh!” cried Dirk, and gave a little quivering laugh.
“Together might we do much, and it is ill work studying alone.”
The younger man put out his hand.
“If I come, will you swear a pact with me of friendship?”
“We will be as brothers,” said Theirry gravely. “Sharing good and
ill.”
“Keeping our secret?” whispered Dirk—“allowing none to come between
us?”
“Yea.”
“You are a-tune to me,” said Dirk. “So be it. I will come with you to
Basle.”
He raised his strange face; in the hollowed eyes, in the full
colourless lips, were a resolution and a strength that held and
commanded the other.
“We may be great,” he said.
Theirry took his hand; the red candle-light was being subdued and
vanquished by a glimmering grey that overspread the stars; the dawn
was peering in at the window.
“Can you sleep?” asked Theirry.
Dirk withdrew his hand.
“At least I can feign it—Balthasar must not guess—get you to bed—
never forget tonight and what you swore.”
With a soft gliding step he gained the door, opened it noiselessly,
and departed.
Theirry stood for a while, listening to the slight sound of the
retreating footfall, then he pressed his hands to his forehead and
turned to the window.
A pale pure flush of saffron stained the sky above the roof-line;
there were no clouds, and the breeze had dropped again.
In the vast and awful stillness, Theirry, feeling marked, set apart
and defiled with blasphemy, yet elated also, in a wild and wicked
manner, tiptoed up to his chamber.
Each creaking board he stepped on, each shadow that seemed to change
as he passed it, caused his blood to tingle guiltily; when he had
gained his room he bolted the door and flung himself along his tumbled
couch, holding his fingers to his lips, and with strained eyes gazing
at the window. So he lay through long hours of sunshine in a half-swoon of sleep.
THE DEPARTURE
He was at length fully aroused by the sound of loud and cheerful
singing.
“My heart’s a nun within my breast So cold is she, so cloistered
cold”…
Theirry sat up, conscious of a burning, aching head and a room flooded
with sunshine.
“To her my sins are all confest—
So wise is she, so wise and old—
So I blow off my loves like the thistledown”
A burst of laughter interrupted the song; Theirry knew now that it was
Balthasar’s voice, and
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