Kitabı oku: «The Induna's Wife», sayfa 4
Chapter Five.
Gasitye the Wizard
For long I stood there thinking. I looked at the ground, all red and splashed with blood. I looked at the distorted body of the dead slave and the great gaping wound which had let out the life – the sure and certain mark of the dreaded Red Death – always dealt as it was, in the same part of the body – and for all my thought I could think out no method of finding and slaying this evil thing. Then I thought of the múti– the amulet which Lalusini had hung around my neck. Should I look within it? Her words came back to me. “Seek not to look within until such time as thy wit and the wit of others fail thee.” Yet, had not that time come? I could think of no plan. The monster was not of this world. No weapon ever forged could slay it; still there must be a way. Ha! “the wit of others!” Old Masuka had departed to the land of spirits himself. He might have helped me. Who could those “others” be, of whom my sorceress-wife had spoken while her spirit was away among the spirits of those unseen?
“Remain here,” I said suddenly, to Jambúla and the other slave. “Remain here, and watch, and stir not from this spot until I return.”
They made no murmur against this – yet I could see they liked not the order. But I gave no thought to them as I moved forward with my eyes fixed upon the tracks of the retreating monster.
The bloody imprint of the huge hoofs was plain enough, and to follow these was a work of no difficulty. Soon, however, as the hoofs had become dry, it was not so easy. Remembering the crashing noise I had heard as the thing rushed on its course, I examined the bushes and trees. No leaves or twigs were broken off such as could not but have happened with such a heavy body plunging through them. Then the hoof-marks themselves suddenly ceased, and with that, Nkose, the blood once more seemed to tingle within me, for if the thing had come no further was it not lying close at hand – those fiery eyes perhaps at that very moment watching me – those awful horns even now advancing silent and stealthy to rip and tear through my being? Ha! It seemed to me that this hunting of a terrible ghost was a thing to turn the bravest man into a coward.
Then as I stood, my hearing strained to its uttermost, my hand gripping my broad spear ready at any rate to fight valiantly for life, and all that life involved, something happened which well-nigh completed the transformation into a coward of a man who had never known fear.
For now a voice fell upon my ears – a voice low and quavering, yet clear – a voice with a strange and distant sound as though spoken afar off.
“Ho! fearless one who art now afraid! Ho! valiant leader of armies! Ho! mighty induna of the Great King! Thou art as frightened as a little child. Ha, ha, ha!”
This last was very nearly true, Nkose– but hearing it said, and the hideous mocking laugh that followed, very nearly turned it into a lie.
“I know not who speaks,” I growled, “save that by the voice it is a very old man. Were it not so he should learn what it means to name me a coward.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” screamed the voice again. “Brave words, O holder of the King’s assegai. Why, thy voice shakes almost as much as mine. Come hither – if thou art not afraid.”
From where the bush grew darkest and thickest the voice seemed to come. I moved cautiously forward, prepared at every step to fall into some trap – to meet with some manifestation of abominable witchcraft. For long did I force my way through the thick growth, but cautiously ever, and at last stood once more in the open. Then astonishment was my lot. Right before me rose a great rock wall. I had reached the base of one of the heights which shut in the hollow.
“Welcome, Untúswa,” cackled the voice again. “Art thou still afraid?”
Now, Nkose, I could see nobody; but remembering the Song of the Shield, and how Lalusini had caused it to sound forth from the cliff to hearten us during the battle – she herself being some way off – I was not so much amazed as I might have been, for the voice came right out of the cliff.
“If thou art not afraid, Untúswa,” it went on, “advance straight, and touch the rock with thy right hand.”
I liked not this order, but, Nkose, I had ever had to do with magicians, and had dipped somewhat into their art, as I have already shown. Here, I thought, was more sorcery to be looked into, and how should I root out the sorcery of the Red Magic save by the aid of other sorcery? So I advanced boldly, yet warily. And then, indeed, amazement was my lot.
For, as my right hand touched it, the hard rock moved, shivered. Then a portion of this smooth, unbroken wall seemed to fall inward, leaving a black gaping hole like a doorway, through which a man might enter upright.
“Ho, ho! Untúswa!” cackled the voice again, now from within the hole. “Welcome, valiant fighter. Enter. Yet, wilt thou not leave thy weapons outside?”
“Not until I stand once more in the presence of him who sent me do I disarm, O Unknown One. And now, where art thou? for I like better to talk to a man with a voice than to a voice without the man.”
“And how knowest thou that I am a man, O Fearless One? Yet, enter, weapons and all. Ha! Knowest thou not this voice?”
Whau! It seemed to me then that my flesh crept indeed, for I did know that voice. Ah, yes, well indeed; and it was the voice of one who had long since sat down in the sleep of death – the voice of old Masuka, the mightiest magician our nation had ever seen.
Then, indeed, did I enter, for, even though dead, the voice was that of one who had done naught but well by me during life, and I feared not a change the other way now. I entered, and, as I did so, I stood in darkness once more. The rock wall had closed up behind me.
Now my misgivings returned, for, Nkose, no living man, be he never so brave, can find himself suddenly entombed within the heart of the earth alone, the voice of one who has long been dead talking with him in the black, moist darkness, and not feel some alarm. Again the voice spoke, and this time it was not that of Masuka, but the mocking cackle which had at first startled me.
“Ho, ho! Untúswa, the valiant, the fearless. Dost thou not tremble – thou who art even now within the portal of the Great Unknown? Did ever peril of spear, or of the wrath of kings, make thy face cold as it now is? Ha, ha!”
True indeed were the words, for the position was fearful; but then so was that which had been the means of driving me into it. But I answered:
“I have seen strange and mysterious and terrifying things before, my father, else would I fear greatly now. Yet let us talk face to face.”
For a moment there was no reply, then with startling suddenness a light flashed forth. On the floor just in front of me burned a small fore – throwing a ball of green misty light upon the tomb-like blackness. Within this I could make out the figure of a man – a very old man.
A man, did I say? Whau! It was more like that of a monkey, or a great crouching spider. The limbs were thin as the shaft of a spear – too withered and dried even to show the wrinkles of age; the face, too, was like a dry piece of skin spread over the skull; and on the head a wisp or two of white hair. If it was a man, in truth he must have lived nearly as long as the world itself. His hands, which were like the claws of a bird, were spread over the fire, which burned not upon the floor, but in a large clay bowl. Into this he seemed to be sprinkling some kind of powder which caused the green flame to leap and hiss.
But now another sound stopped my ears; an awesome and terrible sound – a sound full of fear and agony indescribable – for it was again the death-yell, such as I had heard in the darkness of the night when the slave, Suru, looked upon the Red Terror and parted with life. And now it was not night, but broad, clear, golden day – outside the cavern at least – and the other slave had parted with life by the same dread means; and I – while this thing of horror was abroad – this monster I had come to slay – here was I imprisoned within the heart of the earth – held there at the will of a being who seemed less a man than the ghost of one who had died while the world was yet young. I leaped to my feet.
“Ha, ha, ha! Sit again, induna of the King, who knows not fear,” cackled the shrivelled old monkey before me. “Ha, ha, ha! But now I think thou art afraid.”
“Afraid or not, thou evil scorpion – thou creeping wizard – if I stand not in the light of day before I strike the ground with my foot three times, this spear shall see if there be any blood to run from thy dried-up old heart.” And, raising the blade aloft, I struck the ground once with my foot.
“Ha, ha, ha!” cackled the wizard again, still scattering his magic powder into the fire. “Look again, Untúswa; look again.”
I did look again, I could not do otherwise, and then I stood as one turned into stone – with the spear still uplifted – unable to move hand or foot, as I glared in front of me. For the whole vault was filled with a vivid green flash, and in it the wizard seemed to dissolve.
His shrivelled limbs seemed to turn into black, horrible snakes, which glided away hissing into the darkness beyond; then the light sank somewhat, and before me there started up faces dim and shadowy, and their aspect turned my heart into water indeed, for I was gazing upon the faces of those I knew had long been dead.
Dim and shadowy as they were, I knew them all, knew them at first sight. There was Hlatusa, who had been sent to “feed the alligators” by reason of this very magic I was here to destroy. There was Tyuyumane, who had conspired with the Amabuna to overthrow our nation; and Notalwa, the chief of our izanusi, who had aided him, both faces wreathed with hate and torture as I had last beheld them, writhing on the stake of impalement. There were many others who had died for the conspiracy of Ncwelo’s Pool. There was the face of my brother, Sekweni – he who had been slain for sleeping at his post – and that of Gungana, the induna whom I myself slew, and to whose command I had succeeded. All these were glowering upon me with a very whirlwind of hate and vengeance, and I —whau! – I was as a man who had died ten deaths. Then I saw the face of Tauane, the chief of the People of the Blue Cattle, and – Ha! what was that? The face of Lalusini, beautiful, but sad and agonised? Yet no. But as a flash I had seen it, and lo! it became that of Nangeza, my erstwhile inkosikazi, even as when she had failed in her attempt upon the life of the song. And then indeed did I know what hate and vengeance could look like. For long it seemed I stood there face to face with that terrible countenance – with it alone – and my lungs now seemed to fill with choking fiery air. I beheld a vast array defiling before me – of warriors I had met in battle, of all races, but chiefly those of our parent nation. On, ever, they passed, silent grim spectres, with broad spear and tufted shield, even as in life. Others followed densely in rank, company upon company. Hau! Once more the battle! I heard the clash of shields, the shiver of assegai hafts, the flash and flame as of fire weapons. I saw the red blood spout and flow; I heard the roaring of an army of warriors in the full career of their victorious charge; my ears were dulled by the screams of the vanquished, for mercy, for pity; the wild hiss and whistle of the conquerors as they stabbed and stabbed; and lo! blood swirled around my feet in rivers, and still the screaming and wailing of those beneath the spear went on. Then I could no longer breathe. The earth itself seemed to be heaping on high to fall on me and crush me to dust. I sank down, as it seemed, in death.
Chapter Six.
The Ghost-Bull
I was not dead, Nkose; or, indeed, how should I be here telling you my story? Or, if I were – well, at any rate, the magic which had been powerful enough to draw me through the abode of those who had become ghosts was powerful enough to bring me back to life and to the world again – and yet I know not. It is a terrible thing to look upon the faces of those who have long been dead; and how shall a man – being a man – do this unless he join their number? Such faces, however, had I looked upon, for, as I opened my eyes once more to the light of the sun, no dim recollection of one who has slept and dreamed was mine. No; the mysterious cave, the magic fire, the fearsome sights I had beheld – all was real – as real as the trees and rocks upon which I now looked – as real as the sky above and the sun shining from it.
Yes; I was in the outer air once more. I rose and stood up. My limbs were firm and strong as before, my hand still grasped the broad spear – the white shield lay at my feet. Before me was the smooth rock wall, there the exact spot where it had opened to receive me. But there it might remain, closed for ever, for all I cared. I had no wish to look further into its dark and evil mysteries. But now, again, the voice came back to my ears, faint and far away this time, but without the mocking mirth which had lured me before to what might have been my doom.
“Ho, Untúswa!” it cried; “wouldst thou see more of the unseen? Wouldst thou look further into the future?”
“I think not, my father,” I answered. “To those who deal in magic be the ways of magic, to warriors the ways of war – and I am a warrior.”
“And thine inkosikazi, Untúswa, what of her?”
“Help me to slay the ghost-bull who deals forth the Red Death, my father!” I pleaded eagerly.
There was no answer to this for long. Then, weary of waiting, I was about to turn away, when once more the voice spake from within the rock – faint, as before.
“Great is the House of Matyobane; great is the House of Senzangakona; Umzilikazi is ruler of the world to-day – but Dingane is greater. Yet to-morrow, where now are the many nations they have stamped flat there shall they be. Dust – all dust! Gasitye sees it.”
“Ha! And shall I see it too, my father?”
“Thou shalt see it, Untúswa. Thou, too, shalt see it.”
Now, when I heard the name of Gasitye, I knew it as the name of a great seer and prophet who dwelt alone among the mountains, and who was held in wide repute among all tribes and peoples, near and far. His own tribe nobody knew exactly, but it was supposed that his age was three times that of the oldest man known. Even Umzilikazi himself had more than once sent secretly to consult him, with gifts; for the rest, nobody cared to interfere with him, for even the most powerful of kings does not desire the enmity of a great and dreaded sorcerer, whose magic, moreover, is real, and not as that of the tribal izanusi– a cheat to encompass the death of men. And now I had encountered this world-famed wizard; had beheld him alone in the heart of the rock, whose face he had the power to open and shut at will.
“Help me to slay the ghost-bull, my father,” I entreated again.
“And when thou hast slain it – what then?”
“Then it shall be well with me and mine.”
“Well with thee and thine? Will it then – with thee and thine! Ha, ha!” repeated the voice within the cliff, in the same tone of mockery as before. “Go now and slay it, Untúswa, thou valiant one. Go!”
I waited some little time, but no further answer could I obtain, though I spoke both loud and softly. Then I turned away.
As I did so a strange feeling came over me, a feeling as of the faintness caused by starvation. The fumes of the wizard fire had worn off in the clear open air, and I felt as though I could spend the rest of my life eating, so hungry was I. So, losing no time, I started back to where I had left Jambúla.
Then upon my mind came the recollection of the death-yell I had heard when within the vault. Ha! I must proceed with care. I glanced upward. The sun was well up when I entered the rock; now it was at its highest overhead. I had not been as long in that vault of fear as it seemed.
Now there struck upon my nostrils a most horrible stench as of death and putrefaction. What did it mean? I had passed this spot this very morning and the air was pure and clear. Death might have taken place – but putrefaction? —au, there was not time for that. Yet this was a place of witchcraft, where everything was possible. And, thus thinking, I came right upon a human body.
It was in a horrible state, Nkose, in the state of one who has been dead eight or ten days. Yet here such could not have been the case, for in the swollen, half-decayed features, as well as by articles of clothing, I recognised the second of the two slaves, whom I had left alive and well that same morning, but a very few hours before. Yet, there it lay, beneath a tree, with upturned face, and across the decaying ribs the rending gash left by the horn of the ghost-bull.
Now I heard a voice in salute, behind me – a voice I knew. Looking up, I beheld my slave, Jambúla.
He was looking strangely at me. Then he broke forth into extravagant words of welcome, and it seemed to me he had been badly frightened, and was glad enough to behold me once more. That was it, of course; so giving no further thought to the matter at all, I bade him find food. He had a number of speckled pigeons, which he had knocked over with his kerries; and having kindled a fire on the flat top of a high rock for safety’s sake —whau, Nkose! – there was soon nothing left of those birds. The while Jambúla eyed me strangely.
Now this Jambúla – although my slave – was a man I held in great favour. He was not of any of the races we had conquered, but came of a tribe further to the southward than even the Zulu arms had ever reached. Him I had captured while storming the fortress of a mountain tribe, and the King had allotted him to me: He was a tall, strong man, and knew not fear, and was faithful and devoted to me as any dog. Now he said:
“I think this night must this thing of tagati be slain, my father.”
“We think the same, Jambúla,” I answered. “But what I cannot quite think out is how. But that will come.”
“Nevertheless, let it be this night, father. I have a plan.”
This plan he then unfolded to me, and by the time we had talked it out and around it was nearly dark – nearly time to set it working.
Never had any spot struck upon my mind as more ghostly and even terrifying than that haunted valley when night drew fairly down; and, Nkose, what I had seen and gone through in the wizard cave that morning seemed to have sapped my former fearlessness. A low-lying mist wreathed around the tree-stems and bushes, thick to near the height of a man, then thinning out dimly just enough to show out the twinkle of a star or two. But there was light enough for our purpose.
Hard by the place where Suru, the first slave, had been killed was an open space, thickly studded with rocks embedded in the earth, and one side of this open was overhung with mimosas of a good height and strength. Clambering up one of these, I lay out upon the spreading branches. Jambúla remained below.
The night watch wore on – even the night side of life seemed hushed in this abode of wizardry and fear. Suddenly all the blood within me tingled and burned. Something was moving. And then above the ghostly wreathings of the white mist I could see the gigantic head – the huge horns curving upwards – of the ghost-beast.
Only the head was visible as, tilted upwards, nose in air, it moved above the sea of vapour, to and fro, as though seeking for something or somebody – for a fresh victim, perhaps – and I thought it might indeed soon find one. And as I looked the mist suddenly rolled away, revealing the dark form of Jambúla, standing upright against a small rock.
For the moment the beast did not see him. It continued to run hither and thither in the moonlight, and as I marked its gigantic proportions, my heart sank, for I knew that to kill such a thing as this single-handed was very nearly the hardest task ever entrusted to me.
It was huge in the dim light – black as night, and as large as an elephant almost. There was that in the very size of the thing no less than in the glaring ferocity of its eyes – which was enough to turn a man’s heart to water – for it could not be a thing of this earth. How, then, could it be slain?
Now it began to mutter, like the growlings of a heavy thunderstorm, as it ran to and fro, shaking its horrible head, and its dark, shaggy frontlet of hair. Whau! That was a fearful sight as the thing drew nearer. What of Jambúla! He had not moved, beyond half turning his head to get a better view of the horror. Would his heart fail him? I almost expected it would.
Ha! It had seen him. It dropped into a sort of stealthy crouch, more like that of a leopard or a lion than the movement of any horned animal; and thus it came up swiftly behind him.
But Jambúla was not asleep – oh no! There was no lack of wakefulness in him. In a moment he whirled behind a rock, as the ghost-bull, uttering a roar that shook the world, came at him with the swiftness of a lightning flash.
Then began a scene indeed. Jambúla, watching his opportunity, flitted from rock to rock, but not less swiftly did the monster come after him – seeming to fly through the air as it leaped over some of the lower rocks which were in its way. Hau! Could this last? Would not Jambúla, out of breath, falter for one instant? Would not his foot stumble in the tortuous rapidity of his flight? Au! Did that happen he were lost – we both were lost.
Hither and thither he sped, the horrible beast ever behind him, roaring in a fashion to turn a man’s heart to water – the foam flying from its mouth, the points of its huge horns tossing wildly, its savage eyes seeming indeed to flash flame. Would they never come beneath the tree where I – the great assegai gripped and ready – lay out along the bough waiting my chance?
This came. Jambúla, who had been drawing the thing nearer and nearer to my side of the ground, now broke from his shelter, and ran with all the swiftness of which he was capable beneath my place of ambush. After him came the ghost-beast, right under me.
This was my chance, Nkose, and my only one. Swift as the movements of the horror itself, I dropped down upon the thing’s back, and clinging fast with the one hand, with the other I drove the point of my great assegai into the joint of the spinal bone behind the skull.
Whau, Nkose! That was a moment. I know not quite what I expected to happen. I felt the point of the great horn, thrown backward, narrowly graze my side; then I was hurled through the air, as the huge body, arrested in mid course, turned right over, falling with its head twisted under its own enormous weight.
I was on my feet in a moment – not daring to think I had slain the monster – although I had felt the blade of my noble spear bite deep into the marrow. But there it lay, a huge black mass in the moonlight. While I stood contemplating it, still panting after my exertions and the fall, I heard the voice of Jambúla:
“That was well done, my father. Those horns will deal out the Red Death no more.”
“I know not whether a headless ghost may come to life again, Jambúla,” I said, “but anyhow we will cut off the head of this one. But, first of all, this” – and I buried the blade of my great spear in the thing’s heart.
We were both strong men, Jambúla and I, yet it was with a vast deal of labour we at last succeeded in cutting off the head, which was twisted under the huge body.
“Whau!” exclaimed Jambúla, gazing upon the great deluge of blood which poured forth upon the ground. “It is as though the blood of all those slain by the Red Death were flowing there. But now, father, suffer me to ran to Maqandi’s kraal and fetch slaves to carry this, and indeed, the skin and hoofs, to lay before the King, for we have no time to lose.”
“No time to lose!” I repeated. “What mean you?”
He pointed upward with his blood-smeared assegai.
“The moon,” he said.
Then, indeed, Nkose, amazement was my lot – amazement and dismay. And well it might be. For last night the moon had not quite passed its first quarter. To-night it was nearly full.
Like one in a dream I gazed. Anything might be possible in this abode of tagati, but that the moon should change in one day from half to nearly full —au! that was too much.
“What does it mean, Jambúla?” I said at length. “Last night the moon was less than half, and now – ?”
“Au!” muttered Jambúla, bringing his hand to his mouth with a strange sort of laugh. “Who am I that I should contradict you, my father? But last night the moon was nearly as it is now. But the night you left us it was but at half.”
“And was not that last night, O fool? In truth the wizardry of this place has eaten into thy brain. And yet – !”
There was the moon, Nkose, within a day or two of full. It could not lie, even though Jambúla could. Stupidly I gazed at it, then at him.
“And how long ago is it that I left you, Jambúla?”
“Six days, father.”
Ha! Now I saw. Now everything was clear. The wizard, and the múti fire – the green, choking vapour that had filled my lungs and brain, causing me to see strange and fearful things – had kept me in a state of slumber. For six days I had lain within the heart of the rock, and I had thought it but the short part of one day. My hunger on my recovery – the state of putrefaction of the body of the slave whom I had supposed to have been slain only that morning – the change of the moon – all, indeed, stood clear enough now.
But whatever Jambúla may have imagined, it was not in my mind to tell him, or anybody, what had really happened, for it is not good among us for a man to have a name for dealings with abatagati. So I sent him off there and then to Maqandi’s kraal, with orders to bring back a number of men immediately to flay the great ghost-bull and carry the hide, with the head and hoofs, before the King, without loss of time.
After he had gone, and while I sat alone in the haunted place, I watched by the great black mass lying so still and quiet; and, Nkose, I believe I should have felt little surprise had the thing come to life again, head and all, so great was the awe it had set up among us. I am not even sure that I did not once or twice hear the voice of old Gasitye, and behold his spidery old form shambling among the trees. The dawn came at last, however, but before it came Jambúla, with a number of the iron-working slaves. These were in great delight over the slain monster who had destroyed so many of them, yet no time did I allow them to give way to their joy over dancing and such. It behoved us to return to the Great Great One with all speed, for on the next night the moon would be at full.
