Kitabı oku: «The Harlequin Opal: A Romance. Volume 2 of 3», sayfa 4
"Dream!" interrupted Jack, faintly, for the pain of his wound was telling on his frame. "It is a dream! a dream!"
"It is no dream! Or, if a dream, it will soon turn out a reality. And you – you low-born Englishman, would dare to bar my way to this fame. Lie there, Señor, and wait my commands. You will die, and by a death which will break even your spirit. You will die and be forgotten, while I, Hypolito Xuarez, will reconstruct on this continent the Empire of Montezuma!"
He spoke to deaf ears, for, overcome by fatigue and pain, Duval had fainted. Xuarez bent over him, and held the lantern to his face. It was deadly pale, and the eyes were closed.
"I do not want him to die," muttered the remorseless Mestizo, going towards the door. "I shall send a doctor to look after his wound. He shall be made whole again, but only to perish in tortures. Not for you, Don Juan, is Dolores; not for you the opal, but death and dishonour. You fall! I rise! My star quenches yours in its burning splendour."
In another moment he had quitted the prison, leaving his rival stretched out in the darkness, to all appearances lifeless and lost.
CHAPTER V
IN SHADOWLAND
Weary body, aching brain,
Tortured mind, and heavy soul,
Fourfold being, one existence!
Life with troublous insistence,
To ye brings but constant dole,
Ceaseless weeping, endless pain;
Yet is all this sorrow vain
When the waves of slumber roll
Over body, over soul.
In such slumber should ye list, hence
Flies the spirit to attain
That far land of dreams and stories,
Misty realms of airy glories,
Where the body hath no being,
Nor the eyes an earthly seeing
And the mind makes no resistance
To events which overleap
Nature's laws, which bind existence;
From our sphere the spirit fleeing
Dwells but in the realm of sleep.
After that extraordinary interview with Don Hypolito in the prison, Jack ceased to take any interest in earthly matters, and went for a space into shadow-land. He was not dead, but delirious. As a captive balloon is anchored to earth, so Jack's soul had flown into the realms of dream, yet was held to his body by a small amount of life.
Yet curiously enough he retained a dull impression of earthly events. All things actually done to his body coloured his dreams and decided his visions. As the fancies of the sleepers are determined by external actions, so as through a veil the wounded man faintly perceived the every-day life going on around his inert body. Through the chain extending from body to soul which held the latter captive to earth passed the thrills hinting at corporeal-existence, and these dominating his spirituality whirled him hither and thither, according as they happened. We in health feel in slumber the power of the unseen world guiding our every action; this man, in sickness dwelt, spiritually speaking, in the world of shadows, whereof we have no knowledge, and therefrom felt rather than saw the happening of earthly events which coloured his ghostly being.
Oh those dreams, those visions apocalyptical, what agonies, what ecstacies, what feelings did they not beget? Now of earth, now of heaven, frequently of hell. Years afterwards, Jack remembering portions of these fantasies, would shudder and turn pale at the mere thought of having endured them. Wild as the visions of Ezekiel, gorgeous as the Arabian Nights, hideous as De Quincey's dreamings, delicate and spiritual as the songs of Aeriel, those chimeras, at once terrible and fascinating, racked his spiritual being with the pangs of pleasure and pain. As thus: —
… Darkness! the infinite darkness of chaos, before the light-creating word was spoken by the Deity. Ages and ages and ages of gloom, of horror, of thick opacity. No light, no glimmer, no glow to break this all-pervading blackness. No earth beneath, no sky above, nothing but clinging gloom on all sides. So chill, so freezing – surely hell were not more terrible…
Ha! a burst of light penetrating the gloom. The word is spoken, the light is here… Day divides itself from night … from the womb of the darkness springs the faint radiance of dawn. Then the sun, the glorious sun, rises like a god to conquer the foul fiends of shadow. See how his arrows fly, golden and swift, from his never-empty bow … east, west, north, south … and the glory of light spreads over all creation… I am borne along on the wings of a mighty wind blown from the gates of the dawn … faster and faster and faster… I swim through the crystalline air… I poise myself like a bird in the opaline glories of a whirling sphere… In the heart of the rainbow … still no earth … but air and the coruscation of infinite colours – red and yellow and green and blue… They swirl in circles, they shoot on all sides from a spot of brilliance as the spokes of a wheel… They range themselves in lines of ever-changing hues … and now I am blown resistlessly onward by that mighty wind…
The sea! gloom once more! I can see nothing but darkness, yet penetrated by faint gleams of light… The wash of many waves break on my ears… Overhead a sky veiled in clouds, beneath the black breast of ocean, heaving restlessly in white lines of foam… I smell the salt brine of the ocean… The keen wind lashes my face as with a whip… Ho! yeo, ho!.. the sailors are at work… Hark! the throb of a heart. Beat! beat! beat! beat! It is the beating of the propeller blades now striking the water … I am in the engine-room … the pistons slide silently in and out of the cylinders… Now the giant cranks rise and fall with monotonous motion … and yon gleaming steel shaft, revolving rapidly, turns the screw in the dark waters without … the hiss of escaping steam … the whirling of wheels … the sudden burst of red flame from the furnace … I am carried across the ocean … whither?
Earth! at last the land… Mother of all things, I salute thee … this bleak beach on which dash the waves … the soft odour of the wind sways the trees on yonder promontory… I hear the measured dip of oars … the grating of the boat's keel on the stones… Ha! I am in the hands of demons … their eyes glare as they lift me from boat to litter… The curtains are dropped, and I feel the swing and sway of the litter being carried up steep heights…
This is a primeval forest … green as the sea … scarcely so restless … the warm wind stirs the giant branches … what crowded hues … and lo! the flash of brilliant flowers … the odour of spices… Brilliant birds flit from branch to branch like flying gems… I hear the singing of choirs invisible … the birds!.. Yes, birds only… Garlands of flowers trail from the trees … beneath their shadow the grass is crowded with blossoms … wherever I step a flower springs to being … those pools of still water blue as turquoise … the Indian conjurer!.. I see him hiding amid the frondage … look!.. the saurian!.. Oh, the frightful monster… Preadamite!.. begotten in chaos slime… Trees! trees! trees without end… The earth is one vast forest, and I alone wander therein…
Snow!.. a vast expanse of snow … for miles and leagues… No! it is salt lying in thin flakes on the brown earth … the surface glitters in the moonlight as if it were ice… Far and wide whirl thin white pillars of salt in the grip of the wind… Lot's wife! Ha! Ha! Nay, no woman do I see, but salt on all hands … like snow … and moon freezing crystals…
The forest again … more trees … birds … odours… Hark! a song … 'tis the dancing-girls who sing … I heard them call … I see them shake their anklets of gold … the cymbals crash … the trinkets shine. Can you not hear the roll of the serpent-skin drums?..
Oh, this interminable avenue of stone gods … on either side the faces of solemn sphinxes… I am in Egypt … I go up to offer sacrifice to the god Thoth … lines of sphinxes … statues of kings with their hands placed on their knees … then this great flight of steps… Up, and up and up… Are we going to heaven?.. I will bow down to my God… Horror! Huitzilopochtli… This is not my God… I sacrifice to Thoth… To Isis… Ah, you would make of me the victim… Oh, foul priest, knife in hand … the stone of the sacrifice … you raise the obsidian knife … Again the chant of the priests … the light clash of the dancing-girls' anklets … drums … cymbals and death…
I am in the tomb … yes; fold my hands on my breast, for I have done with life … straight and white I lie, with cerements swathing my form … this is a king's tomb … these walls are painted with many colours … yonder are gods and kings and heroes walking in long files … here they sacrifice to their god … there they lead captive trains of prisoners… A splendid tomb, but the roof crushes me down … oh, Heaven! can those pillars, those caryatides support the cyclopean architecture?.. It will fall and crush me, like Samson… Yes, I thirst! I am dead, but I thirst… Dives in hell … give me…
… What! a woman's face?.. I have seen that face before … those dark eyes, that smiling mouth … it is thou! Dolores! Oh, my heart's best love, I again find you, – in the tomb?.. we have done with life … then we were divided; but Death, more merciful, has joined us again… Place your cool white hand on my brow … it burns … it burns… No, no! do not leave me … oh, I see you fade in the darkness like a vision … and this phantom which rises between us?.. Oh, Xuarez! liar! thief! murderer!.. thus do I slay thee!.. So weak; so weary; I know nothing … where am I?.. what am I?.. whither have my visions fled?.. I am dead! not in hell, nor heaven … but where? I know not … I am dead … you, Dolores … you, Xuarez … you all, dreams… I lie here dead and still … in my ear the chant of a slave… Could I only turn my head … ah! the slave rises … he bends over me… Cocom!..
"Yes, Señor, it is Cocom," said a well-known voice, as a gentle hand skilfully adjusted the bandages.
"Cocom!" repeated Jack, in a weak voice. "Am I dead? Do I dream? Am I dead?"
"No, Señor Juan. You were nearly dead, and for days you have dreamed of many things. Now you are better, and will live."
"Still on earth?"
"Yes, Don Juan. Still do you live, thanks be to the gods. Teoyamiqui has not yet brought you to her kingdom. Now, lie you still, Señor. So! Drink this, and speak not; you are so weak."
Jack raised his head from the pillow, and greedily drank the contents of the cup held to his lips by Cocom. Then he closed his eyes, and fell into a refreshing sleep, while the old Indian sat quietly by the side of the couch, muttering some strange old song of a forgotten civilisation. Now and then a form would glide into the room and look at Jack sleeping in the bed, so still, so deathlike. Sometimes a man, more often a woman, and ever beside the couch sat the stolid Cocom, watching the face of his patient with intense interest.
How long he slept thus Jack did not know, but when he woke from a refreshing slumber all his delirium had departed. He felt weak, truly, but clear-headed and calm in his mind. Opening his eyes, he listened vaguely to the murmuring song of his attendant, and thought over the events which had preceded his illness. The entry into Acauhtzin; the dismissal of the deputation at the Palacio Nacional; the fight at the sea-gate; the interview in prison with Don Hypolito; and then utter blankness. He remembered fainting in the cell at Acauhtzin, and now he had wakened – where? With an effort he raised his head and looked round him.
In his delirium he had thought he was in a tomb, and truly the room wherein he now found himself was not unlike one of those strange Egyptian sepulchres, houses of the dead, wherein the highest art of that sombre civilisation was displayed. This low roof, formed of Titanic masses of stone; these heavy walls, gaudy with mural paintings, representing gods, kings, heroes strange sacrifices, and mystical ceremonies; all were redolent of the land of the Nile. Through a narrow slit in the wall filtered a pale light; skins of jaguar and puma carpeted the stone floor; rich coverlets of featherwork lay over the couch, and the entrance was draped with gaudy tapestries, dyed with confused tints, hinting at barbaric art. Jack, for the moment, thought he was indeed in Egypt, when, suddenly, at the side of the room he saw the hideous image of Huitzilopochtli, and heard the monotonous chant of his Watcher. Then, his true situation came vividly to his mind; this was a room in some Indian dwelling, yonder was the fierce god of the Aztecs, and by his bedside knelt Cocom.
"Where am I?" asked the young man, raising himself on his elbow, and looking at the Indian with a puzzled expression of countenance.
"In good hands, Señor," was the evasive answer.
"Yes, yes! I know that. But am I still in Acauhtzin?"
"No. You are many miles from Acauhtzin."
"But I was there last night."
Cocom shook his head, and, producing a cigarette, lighted it carefully, blew some smoke through his nostrils, and looked steadily at Jack with his melancholy eyes.
"You were there five days ago, Señor."
"What do you mean, Cocom?"
"Ah! the Señor forgets that he has been ill. For five days he has been in the land of everlasting darkness. Cocom has watched many hours by this couch and listened to the crying of the Señor. You have seen visions and heard voices, Don Juan. On the borders of Teoyamiqui's land have you been, yet not within her kingdom. But Cocom knows many things, and by his art has cheated the goddess of one Americano. You are out of danger now, Señor, and I, Cocom, have cured you."
"Mucha gracias!" murmured Jack, patting the Indian on the shoulder with a weak hand; "but tell me where I am now."
"Where does your memory fail, Don Juan?"
Jack passed his hand across his brow. The confusion of his brain had departed. His senses were clear now, and he could recall everything up to a certain point.
"I remember the embassy from Tlatonac to Acauhtzin – the fight at the sea-gate. There I was struck down, and recovered my senses in prison. With Don Hypolito I held a long conversation, and, I suppose, fainted with his voice still in my ears. I wake here at a place you tell me is far from Acauhtzin, and find you by my side – you, Cocom, whom I supposed to be at Tlatonac!"
"Listen, Don Juan," said Cocom, with great deliberation. "I will tell you many things that have taken place since your soul was in the realm of shadows. When you became insensible at Acauhtzin, a doctor was sent to attend to you by Don Hypolito. That doctor did what he could for you, but thought you would die as your soul was not within your body. Wildly did you cry, Don Juan, and many strange things did you say. Then, by the order of Don Hypolito, you were carried away on board a war-ship down the coast. At a certain point your body was taken ashore in a boat, and there delivered to certain people, who expected your coming. Having been placed on a litter, you were carried through the forest, across the salt desert, and again through the forest till you were placed on that bed. For two days have you tossed and turned, and cried, and fought. But now you are well, Don Juan – you will live; thanks be to the gods."
Jack listened to all this as in a dream. The explanation fitted in with those vague visions which had haunted his delirious brain. The darkness – that was the cell at Acauhtzin; the light came when he was carried on board the war-ship. Then the sea-vision, the landing on the coast – that mirage of a tropical forest – the snowy plains of salt, and the climbing of many steps up to an antique temple. A sudden thrill shot through his enfeebled frame as he recalled the vision of the sacrifice, he recollected Cocom's last words referring to the gods, he glanced terrified at the frightful image of Huitzilopochtli, and turning slowly towards the Indian, repeated his often-asked question, the answer to which he already guessed.
"What is this place?"
Cocom arose to his feet, drew himself up to his full height, and pointed majestically towards the idol.
"The temple of Huitzilopochtli! The shrine of the Chalchuih Tlatonac."
"God!" cried Jack, in despair, as he recognised his position. "I am lost!"
He saw his peril at a glance. The threats of Don Hypolito regarding a frightful death were not mere words. With devilish ingenuity he had secured the death of his rival, with no possible chance of the truth becoming known. Jack saw that Xuarez had preserved his life, had delivered him to the Indians, to the end that he might be offered up on the altar of the war-god, as a sacrifice to the opal. No wonder his usually brave heart quailed at the prospect of such horrors. Captive to remorseless savages, in the heart of an impenetrable forest, there was no chance of a rescue by his friends. He was weak, unarmed, unfriended, in the power of a fanatic race; there was no help for it – he must die.
"Cocom," whispered Jack, clutching the Indian's arm, "why have I been brought here – why did Don Hypolito deliver me to the Indians? Is it for – for – "
His dry lips refused to form the horrible word; but Cocom, without the least emotion, supplied it.
"For sacrifice! Yes, Don Juan; you are to be offered to the god."
"Horrible! When?"
"In three weeks. At the termination of the great cycle."
"What do you mean?" asked Jack, with a shudder.
"Our time," explained Cocom, with stolid apathy, "is divided into cycles of fifty-two years. This have we received from our Aztec ancestors. At the end of a cycle the sun will die out in the heavens, and the earth end, if the new fire is not lighted on the altars of the gods. When the last day of the cycle comes, you, Don Juan, will be bound on the stone of sacrifice, your heart will be taken out as an offering to the great gods, and on your breast will the new fire be lighted. Then will the sun rise again, and a new cycle begin for the earth. The gods will be appeased, and mankind will be saved."
Jack had read of this terrible superstition in the fascinating pages of Prescott, but he never expected that he would one day take an active part in such a ceremony. With the hope of despair he endeavoured to evade his doom.
"But the body of a white man will not please the gods. Why not sacrifice as your ancestors did, on the Hill of the Star?"
"Hitherto, Señor, that has been done. Now, however, the gods have spoken through the opal, and it is willed that a white man alone can avert the end of time. A white man must be sacrificed, and you are chosen."
Jack shuddered, and hid his face in his hands.
"Surely, Señor, you are not afraid!"
"Afraid!" echoed Jack, uncovering his face, with a frown. "No, Cocom; an Englishman is never afraid of death. But to come in such a form as this – oh, horrible! horrible!"
Cocom could not understand this alarm. Like all Indians, he regarded death with stoical resignation, and would have been perfectly willing himself to have been offered on the altar of sacrifice, seeing such a death would admit him at once into the Paradise of the sun. But he was very old, and therefore useless. The gods demanded a man, handsome, young, in the flower of his age, and therefore was it certain that Jack would be acceptable to the bloodthirsty Huitzilopochtli.
"Did Don Hypolito know this when he delivered me to your friends?"
"It was for that purpose he delivered you, Señor."
"Oh, fiend! devil!" cried Jack, trying to rise in his bed. "I wish I had my fingers round his throat!"
"Lie quiet, Señor," said Cocom, forcing him back. "You will make yourself ill again."
"Why should I not, seeing I am only reserved for this frightful death?"
"That is as it may be, Señor," observed Cocom, significantly.
"What do you mean?" asked Duval, with sudden hope.
"Hush!" replied the old man, laying his finger on his lips, and glancing apprehensively around. "In this temple the very walls have ears."
"You can save me?"
"Perhaps. I know not."
"But – "
Cocom bent over Jack on the pretence of arranging the bed-clothes, and brought his lips close to the young man's ear.
"Say not a word, Señor. If the priests suspect me, you are lost. I come hither as my fathers came before me, but I worship not the devil-stone. I am a true Catholic, Señor. The priests wanted a victim, and asked me to betray to them Don Pedro, when he was with me beyond the walls. Then I refused, and said I could not do so. The end of the cycle approaches, and the priests were alarmed, so they sent to Don Hypolito, and promised to make all the Indians help him in his war, if he procured them a white man for a victim to the gods. Don Hypolito promised, and two days ago sent you."
"The fiends!"
"Hush! I am a medicine-man, placed here by the priests to cure you; but they think I wish to see you sacrificed. I do not. I will save you."
"Oh, Cocom, I thank you."
"Are you mad, Señor?" whispered the Indian, thrusting him hurriedly back; "eyes may be on us now. The walls of this room are pierced with secret eye-places."
Jack recognised the wisdom of this reasoning, and sank back on his couch. It was just as well he did so, for at that very moment the drapery of the door was swept aside, and a man entered the room.
He was a majestic-looking personage, much taller than the average Indian. Indeed, he was as huge as Tim himself, but not so bulky. He wore a long white robe, falling to his feet, over this a mantle of gaudy leather-work. On his head was set a fresh chaplet of flowers, on his breast burned the red glimmer of a small opal. Advancing into the middle of the room, he swung a small incense-burner before Jack, throwing therein some odoriferous gum, which made a thick, perfumed smoke. After this, he cast some flowers on the couch, and muttered a few words with uplifted hands, finally ending the ceremony by falling on his knees.
"What does this mean?" asked Jack of Cocom, who stood reverently on one side, observing all this mummery.
"Hush, Señor! He adores you as a god."
"Devil take him and his worship," muttered Jack, crossly, in English. Then the priest spoke in the Indian tongue, and Cocom translated his speech to Jack.
"Is my lord better in health?" asked the priest.
"Tell him I am; but I don't care about being preserved for sacrifice."
"Speak not so, Don Juan," said Cocom, in Spanish, with a look of alarm; "you are not supposed to know anything of that. I told you on the peril of my life."
"Then tell him whatever lies you please!" said Duval, viciously, and, rolling over, turned his back on the priest.
"A bad sign!" murmured the priest, looking anxiously at Cocom. "Is my lord angered?"
"Nay," replied Cocom, in the Indian tongue; "my lord is much improved in health, oh, Ixtlilxochitl; but as with all who are ill at ease, he is fretful and wanting in courtesy."
"It is true," replied Ixtlilxochitl, reverently. "The sick are ever foolish. See that thou make him strong, Cocom, for the gods accept naught but blooming health."
"Oh, my sacred lord; he will be cured in two days from now. Cocom knows of magic herbs whereby the favourite of Huitzilopochtli can be made whole. Let Ixtlilxochitl be content, my lord will be pure and strong for the sacrifice."
"It is well," said the priest, rising from his knees. "I will leave my lord to his sleep; but will he not vouchsafe one glance at his servant?"
Instructed by Cocom, Jack was forced to turn round and smile at the priest, who knelt down to receive this mark of favour. Then he adored Jack with more incense and flowers, after which he withdrew with reverent genuflections.
"The old fiend!" muttered Jack, when the drapery had again veiled the door. "I should like to have sent a boot at his head."
"Hush, my lord Juan."
"Carrai! why should I? That devil-monkey does not understand Spanish."
"No, Señor. Still, it is wiser to risk nothing."
"You are quite right, Cocom. I place myself entirely in your hands. Save me, and I promise you I shall not forget you."
"Cocom will save you, for the sake of Don Miguel," said the old man, proudly; "and for the sake of the lady Dolores."
"Dolores!" repeated Jack, eagerly. "Do you know where she is?"
"I know nothing at present," replied Cocom, with a meaning glance. "Possess your soul in patience, Don Juan; all will yet be well. Don Hypolito desires to kill you, and wed Doña Dolores. He shall do neither. Santissima Virgen, I swear it. Be silent! No words, my lord. Rest now, and sleep. You will need all your strength."
"For the sacrifice?"
"Nay, Señor, for escape!"
