Best Fantasy Stories

Chapter 9 THE CAVERN OF THE DEAD

Chapter 9

THE CAVERN OF THE DEADOn going forth into the outer grotto I saw the table spread with

a sumptuous repast, and the apartment in a blaze of light. Almah

was not here; and though some servants made signs for me to eat,

yet I could not until I should see whether she was coming or not. I

had to wait for a long time, however; and while I was waiting the

chief entered, shading his eyes with his hand from the painful

light. He bowed low with the most profound courtesy, saying,

"Salonla," to which I responded in the same way. He seemed much

pleased at this, and made a few remarks, which I did not

understand; whereupon, anxious to lose no time in learning the

language, I repeated to him all the words I knew, and asked after

others. I pointed to him and asked his name. He said, "Kohen."

This, however, I afterward found was not a name, but a title. The

"Kohen" did not remain long, for the light was painful. After his

departure I was alone for some time, and at length Almah made her

appearance. I sprang to meet her, full of joy, and took her hand in

both of mine and pressed it warmly. She smiled, and appeared quite

free from the melancholy of the previous day.

We ate our breakfast together, after which we went out into the

world of light, groping our way along through the dark passages

amid the busy crowd. Almah could see better than I in the darkness;

but she was far from seeing well, and did not move with that easy

step and perfect certainty which all the others showed. Like me,

she was a child of light, and the darkness was distressing to her.

As we went on we were seen by all, but were apparently not

considered prisoners. On the contrary, all looked at us with the

deepest respect, and bowed low or moved aside, and occasionally

made little offerings of fruit or flowers to one or the other of

us. It seemed to me that we were treated with equal distinction;

and if Almah was their queen, I, their guest, was regarded with

equal honor. Whatever her rank might be, however, she was to all

appearance the most absolute mistress of her own actions, and moved

about among all these people with the independence and dignity of

some person of exalted rank.

At length we emerged into the open air. Here the contrast to the

cavern gloom inside gave to the outer world unusual brightness and

splendor, so that even under the heavy overarching tree-ferns,

which had seemed so dark when I was here before, it now appeared

light and cheerful. Almah turned to the right, and we walked along

the terrace. But few people were visible. They shrank from the

light, and kept themselves in the caverns. Then after a few steps

we came to the base of a tall half-pyramid, the summit of which was

above the tops of the trees. I pointed to this, as though I wished

to go up. Almah hesitated for a moment, and seemed to shrink back,

but at length, overcoming her reluctance, began the ascent. A

flight of stony steps led up. On reaching the top, I found it about

thirty feet long by fifteen wide, with a high stone table in the

middle. At that moment, however, I scarce noticed the pyramid

summit, and I only describe it now because I was fated before long

to see it with different feelings. What I then noticed was the vast

and wondrous display of all the glories of nature that burst at

once upon my view. There was that same boundless sea, rising up

high toward the horizon, as I had seen it before, and suggesting

infinite extent. There were the blue waters breaking into foam, the

ships traversing the deep, the far-encircling shores green in

vegetation, the high rampart of ice-bound mountains that shut in

the land, making it a world by itself. There was the sun, low on

the horizon, which it traversed on its long orbit, lighting up all

these scenes till the six-months day should end and the six-months

night begin.

For a long time I stood feasting my eyes upon all this splendor,

and at length turned to see whether Almah shared my feelings. One

look was enough. She stood absorbed in the scene, as though she

were drinking in deep draughts of all this matchless beauty. I felt

amazed at this; I saw how different she seemed from the others, and

could not account for it. But as yet I knew too little of the

language to question her, and could only hope for a future

explanation when I had learned more.

We descended at length and walked about the terrace and up and

down the side streets. All were the same as I had noticed

before—terraced streets, with caverns on one side and massive stone

structures on the other. I saw deep channels, which were used as

drains to carry down mountain torrents. I did not see all at this

first walk, but I inspected the whole city in many subsequent walks

until its outlines were all familiar. I found it about a mile long

and about half a mile wide, constructed in a series of terraces,

which rose one above another in a hollow of the mountains round a

harbor of the sea. On my walks I met with but few people on the

streets, and they all seemed troubled with the light. I saw also

occasionally some more of those great birds, the name of which I

learned from Almah; it was "opkuk."

For some time my life went on most delightfully. I found myself

surrounded with every comfort and luxury. Almah was my constant

associate, and all around regarded us with the profoundest respect.

The people were the mildest, most gentle, and most generous that I

had ever seen. The Kohen seemed to pass most of his time in making

new contrivances for my happiness. This strange people, in their

dealings with me and with one another, seemed animated by a

universal desire to do kindly acts; and the only possible objection

against them was their singular love of darkness.

My freedom was absolute. No one watched me. Almah and I could go

where we chose. So far as I could perceive, we were quite at

liberty, if we wished, to take a boat and escape over the sea. It

seemed also quite likely that if we had ordered out a galley and a

gang of oarsmen, we should have been supplied with all that we

might want in the most cheerful manner. Such a thought, however,

was absurd. Flight! Why should I think of flying?

I had long ago lost all idea of time; and here, where it was for

the present perpetual day, I was more at a loss than ever. I

supposed that it was somewhere in the month of March, but whether

at the beginning or the end I could not tell. The people had a

regular system of wake-time and sleep-time, by which they ordered

their lives; but whether these respective times were longer or

shorter than the days and nights at home I could not tell at that

time, though I afterward learned all about it. On the whole, I was

perfectly content—nay, more, perfectly happy; more so, indeed, than

ever in my life, and quite willing to forget home and friends and

everything in the society of Almah. While in her company there was

always one purpose upon which I was most intent, and that was to

master the language. I made rapid progress, and while she was

absent I sought out others, especially the Kohen, with whom to

practice. The Kohen was always most eager to aid me in every

conceivable way or to any conceivable thing; and he had such a

gentle manner and showed such generous qualities that I soon

learned to regard him with positive affection.

Almah was always absent for several hours after I rose in the

morning, and when she made her appearance it was with the face and

manner of one who had returned from some unpleasant task. It always

took some time for her to regain that cheerfulness which she

usually showed. I soon felt a deep curiosity to learn the nature of

her employment and office here, and as my knowledge of the language

increased I began to question her. My first attempts were vain. She

looked at me with indescribable mournfulness and shook her head.

This, however, only confirmed me in my suspicions that her duties,

whatever they might be, were of a painful nature; so I urged her to

tell me, and asked her as well as I could if I might not share them

or help her in some way. To all this, however, she only returned

sighs and mournful looks for an answer. It seemed to me, from her

manner and from the general behavior of the people, that there was

no express prohibition on my learning anything, doing anything, or

going anywhere; and so, after this, I besought her to let me

accompany her some time. But this too she refused. My requests were

often made, and as I learned more and more of the language I was

able to make them with more earnestness and effect, until at length

I succeeded in overcoming her objections.

"It is for your own sake," said she, "that I have refused,

Atam-or. I do not wish to lessen your happiness. But you must know

all soon; and so, if you wish to come with me and see what I have

to do, why, you may come the next jom."

This meant the next day, jom being the division of time

corresponding with our day. At this promise I was so full of

gratitude that I forgot all about the dark suggestiveness of her

words. The next jom I arose sooner than usual and went forth. I

found Almah waiting for me. She looked troubled, and greeted me

with a mournful smile.

"You will find pain in this," said she; "but you wish it, and if

you still wish it, why, I will take you with me."

At this I only persisted the more, and so we set forth. We went

through the cavern passages. Few people were there; all seemed

asleep. Then we went out-of-doors and came into the full blaze of

that day which here knew no night, but prolonged itself into

months. For a while Almah stood looking forth between the trees to

where the bright sunlight sparkled on the sea, and then with a sigh

she turned to the left. I followed. On coming to the next portal

she went in. I followed, and found myself in a rough cavern, dark

and forbidding. Traversing this we came to an inner doorway, closed

with a heavy mat. This she raised, and passed through, while I went

in after her.

I found myself in a vast cavern, full of dim, sparkling lights,

which served not to illuminate it, but merely to indicate its

enormous extent. Far above rose the vaulted roof, to a height of

apparently a hundred feet. Under this there was a lofty

half-pyramid with stone steps. All around, as far as I could see in

the obscure light, there were niches in the walls, each one

containing a figure with a light burning at its feet. I took them

for statues. Almah pointed in silence to one of these which was

nearest, and I went up close so as to see it.

The first glance that I took made me recoil with horror. It was

no statue that I saw in that niche, but a shrivelled human form—a

hideous sight. It was dark and dried; it was fixed in a sitting

posture, with its hands resting on its knees, and its hollow eyes

looking forward. On its head was the mockery of a wreath of

flowers, while from its heart there projected the handle and half

of the blade of a knife which had been thrust there. What was the

meaning of this knife? It seemed to tell of a violent death. Yet

the flowers must surely be a mark of honor. A violent death with

honor, and the embalmed remains—these things suggested nothing else

than the horrid thought of a human sacrifice. I looked away with

eager and terrible curiosity. I saw all the niches, hundreds upon

hundreds, all filled with these fearful occupants. I turned again

with a sinking heart to Almah. Her face was full of anguish.

"This is my duty," said she. "Every jom I must come here and

crown these victims with fresh flowers."

A feeling of sickening horror overwhelmed me. Almah had spoken

these words and stood looking at me with a face of woe. This, then,

was that daily task from which she was wont to return in such

sadness—an abhorrent task to her, and one to which familiarity had

never reconciled her. What was she doing here? What dark fate was

it that thus bound this child of light to these children of

darkness? or why was she thus compelled to perform a service from

which all her nature revolted? I read in her face at this moment a

horror equal to my own; and at the sight of her distress my own was

lessened, and there arose within me a profound sympathy and a

strong desire to do something to alleviate her misery.

"This is no place for you," continued Almah. "Go, and I will

soon join you."

"No," said I, using her language after my own broken

fashion—"no, I will not go—I will stay, I will help, if you will

permit."

She looked at me earnestly, and seemed to see that my resolution

was firmly fixed, and that I was not to be dissuaded from it.

"Very well," said she; "if you do stay and help me, it will be a

great relief."

With these simple words she proceeded to carry out her work. At

the foot of the pyramid there was a heap of wreaths made out of

fresh flowers, and these were to be placed by her on the heads of

the embalmed corpses.

"This work," said she, "is considered here the highest and most

honorable that can be performed. It is given to me out of kindness,

and they cannot understand that I can have any other feelings in

the performance than those of joy and exultation—here among the

dead and in the dark."

I said nothing, but followed and watched her, carrying the

wreaths and supplying her. She went to each niche in succession,

and after taking the wreath off each corpse she placed a fresh one

on, saying a brief formula at each act. By keeping her supplied

with wreaths I was able to lighten her task, so much so that,

whereas it usually occupied her more than two hours, on the present

occasion it was finished in less than half an hour. She informed me

that those which she crowned were the corpses of men who had been

sacrificed during the present season—by season meaning the six

months of light; and that though many more were here, yet they wore

crowns of gold. At the end of ten years they were removed to public

sepulchres. The number of those which had to be crowned by her was

about a hundred. Her work was only to crown them, the labor of

collecting the flowers and weaving the wreaths and attending to the

lamps being performed by others.

I left this place with Almah, sad and depressed. She had not

told me why these victims had been sacrificed, nor did I feel

inclined to ask. A dark suspicion had come to me that these people,

underneath all their amiable ways, concealed thoughts, habits, and

motives of a frightful kind; and that beyond all my present

brightness and happiness there might be a fate awaiting me too

horrible for thought. Yet I did not wish to borrow trouble. What I

had seen and heard was quite enough for one occasion. I was

anxious, rather, to forget it all. Nor did Almah's words or manner

in any way reassure me. She was silent and sad and preoccupied. It

was as though she knew the worst, and knowing it, dared not speak;

as though there was something more horrible which she dared not

reveal. For my part, I feared it so that I dared not ask. It was

enough for me just then to know that my mild and self-denying and

generous entertainers were addicted to the abhorrent custom of

human sacrifices.