The Ghost Kings: Chapter 21

Chapter 21

THE CITY OF THE DEAD

Nya led the way down the cave, followed by Rachel and Noie. Squatted in
its entrance, so as to be out of reach of the rays of the sun, sat Eddo,
looking like a malevolent toad, and with him were Hana and some other
priests. As Rachel approached they all rose and saluted, but to Nya and
Noie they gave no salute. Only to Nya Eddo said:

"Why art thou not within the Fence, old woman?" and he pointed with his
chin towards the place of death above. "Thy tree is down, and all last
night we were hacking off its branches that it may dry up the sooner. It
is time for thee to die."

"I die when my tree dies, not before, Priest," answered Nya. "I have still
some work to do before I die, also I have planted my tree again in good
soil, and it may grow."

"I saw," said Eddo; "it is without the wall there, but many a generation
must go by before a new Mother sits beneath its shade. Well, die when it
pleases you, it does not matter when, since thou art no more our Mother.
Moreover, learn that all have deserted thee, save a very few, most of whom
have just now passed within the Fence above that they may attend thee
amongst the ghosts."

"I thank them," said Nya simply, "and in that world we will rule
together."

"The rest," went on Eddo, "have turned against thee, having heard how thou
didst bring one of us to the Red Death yesterday by thy evil magic, him
upon whom the bough fell."

"Who was it that strove to bring me to the Red Death before I reached the
sanctuary? Who shot the poisoned arrow, Priest?"

"I do not know," answered Eddo, "but it seems that he shot badly for thou
art still here. Now enough of thee, old woman. For many years we bore thy
rule, which was always foolish, and sometimes bad, because we could not
help it, for the tree of her who went before thee fell at thy feet, as thy
tree has fallen at the feet of the White Virgin there. For long thou and I
have struggled for the mastery, and now thou art dead and I have won, so
be silent, old woman, and since that arrow missed thee, go hence in peace,
for none need thee any more, who hast neither youth, nor comeliness, nor
power."

"Aye," answered Nya, stung to fury by these insults, "I shall go hence in
peace, but thou shalt not abide in peace, thou traitor, nor those who
follow thee. When youth and comeliness fade then wisdom grows, and wisdom
is power, Eddo, true power. I tell thee that last night I looked in my
bowl and saw things concerning thee--aye, and all of our people, that are
hid from thy eyes, terrible things, things that have not befallen since
the Tree of the Tribe was a seed, and the Spirit of the Tribe came to
dwell within it."

"Speak them, then," said Eddo, striving to hide the fear which showed
through his round eyes.

"Nay, Priest, I speak them not. Live on and thou shalt discover them, thou
and thy traitors. Well have I served you all for many years, mercy have I
given to all, white magic have I practised and not black, none have died
that I could save, none have suffered whom I could protect, no, not even
the slave-peoples beneath our rule. All this have I done, knowing that ye
plotted against me, knowing that ye strove to kill my tree by spells,
knowing what the end must be. It has come at last, as come it must, and I
do not grieve. Fool, I knew that it would come, and I knew the manner of
its coming. It was I who sent for this virgin queen whom ye would set up
to rule over you, foreseeing that at her feet my tree would fall. The
ghost of Seyapi, who is of my blood, Seyapi whom years ago ye drove away
for no offence, to dwell in a strange land, told me of her and of this
Noie, his daughter, and of the end of it all. So she came; thou didst not
bring her as thou thoughtest, _I_ brought her, and my tree fell at her
feet as it was doomed to fall, and she saved me from the Red Death as she
was doomed to do, giving me love, not hate, as I gave her love not hate.
For the rest ye shall see--all of you. I am finished--I am dead--but I
live on elsewhere, and ye shall see."

Now Eddo would have answered, but the priest Hana, who appeared to be much
frightened by Nya's words, plucked at his sleeve, whispering in his ear,
and he was silent. Presently he spoke again, but to Rachel, bidding Noie
translate:

"Thou White Maid," he said, "who wast called Princess of the Zulus, pay no
heed to this old dotard, but listen to me. When thy Spirit wandered
yonder, even then I saw the seeds of greatness in thee, and begged thee
from the savage Dingaan. Also I and Pani, who is dead, and Hana, who
lives, read by our magic that at thy feet the tree of Nya would fall, and
that after her thou wast appointed to rule over us. All the Ghost-people
read it also, and now they have named thee their Mother, and chosen thee a
tree, a great tree, but young and strong, that shall stand for ages. Come
forth, then, and take thy seat beneath that tree, and be our queen."

"Why should I come?" asked Rachel. "It seems that you dwarfs bring your
queens to ill ends. Choose you another Mother."

"Inkosazana, we cannot if we would," answered Eddo, "for these matters are
not in our hands, but in those of our Spirit. Hearken, we will deal well
with thee; we will make thee great, and grow in thy greatness, for thou
shall give us of thy wisdom, that although thou knowest it not, thou hast
above all other women. We weary of little things, we would rule the world.
All the nations from sea to sea shall bow down before thee, and seek thine
oracle. Thou shall take their wealth, thou shalt drive them hither and
thither as the wind drives clouds. Thou shalt make war, thou shalt ordain
peace. At thy pleasure they shall rise up in life and lie down in death.
Their kings shall cower before thee, their princes shall bring thee
tribute, thou shalt reign a god."

"Until it shall please Eddo to bring thee to thine end, Lady, as it
pleases him to bring me to mine," muttered Nya behind her. "Be not
beguiled, Maiden; remain a woman and uncrowned, for so thou shalt find
most joy."

"Thou meanest, Eddo," said Rachel, "that thou wilt rule and I do thy
bidding. Noie, tell him that I will have none of it. When I came here a
great sorrow had made me mad, and I knew nothing. Now I have found my
Spirit again, and presently I go hence."

At this answer Eddo grew very angry.

"One thing I promise thee, Zoola," he said; "in the name of all the
Ghost-people I promise it, that thou shalt not go hence alive. In this
sanctuary thou art safe indeed, seated in the shadow of the Death-tree
that is the Tree of Life, but soon or late a way will be found to draw
thee hence, and then thou shalt learn who is the stronger--thou or
Eddo--as the old woman behind thee has learned. Fare thee well for a
while. I will tell the people that thou art weary and restest, and
meanwhile I rule in thy name. Fare thee well, Inkosazana, till we meet
without the wall," and he rose and went, accompanied by Hana and the other
priests.

When he had gone a little way he turned, and pointing up the hill,
screamed back to Nya:

"Go and look within the Fence, old hag. There thou wilt see the best of
those that clung to thee, seeking for peace. Art thou a coward that thou
lingerest behind them?"

"Nay, Eddo," she answered, "thou art the coward that hast driven them to
death, because they are good and thou art evil. When my hour is ripe I
join them, not before. Nor shalt thou abide here long behind me. One short
day of triumph for thee, Eddo, and then night, black night for ever."

Eddo heard, and his yellow face grew white with rage, or fear. He stamped
upon the ground, he shook his small fat fists, and spat out curses as a
toad spits venom. Nya did not stay to listen to them, but walked up the
cave and sat herself down upon her mat.

"Why does he hate thee so, Mother?" asked Rachel.

"Because those that are bad hate those that are good, Maiden. For many a
year Eddo has sought to rule through me, and to work evil in the world,
but I have not suffered it. He would abandon our secret, ancient faith,
and reign a king, as Dingaan the Zulu reigns. He would send the
slave-tribes out to war and conquer the nations, and build him a great
house, and have many wives. But I held him fast, so that he could do few
of these things. Therefore he plotted against me, but my magic was greater
than his, and while my tree stood he could not prevail. At length it fell
at thy feet, as he knew that it was doomed to fall, for all these things
are fore-ordained, and at once he would have slain me by the Red Death,
but thou didst protect me, and for that blessed be thou for ever."

"And why does he wish to make me Mother in thy place, Nya?"

"Because my tree fell at thy feet, and all the people demand it. Because
he thinks that once the bond of the priesthood is tied between you, and
his blood runs in thee, thy pure spirit will protect his spirit from its
sins, and that thy wisdom, which he sees in thee, will make him greater
than any of the Ghost-people that ever lived. Yet consent not, for
afterwards if thou dost thwart him, he will find a way to bring down thy
tree, and with it thy life, and set another to rule in thy place. Consent
not, for know that here thou art safe from him."

"It may be so, Mother, but how can I dwell on in this dismal place?
Already my heart is broken with its sorrows, and soon, like those poor
folk, I should seek peace within the Fence."

"Tell me of those sorrows," said Nya gently. "Perhaps I do not know them
all, and perhaps I could help thee."

So Rachel sat herself down also, and Noie, interpreting for her, told all
her tale up to that point when she saw the body of Richard borne away, for
after this she remembered nothing until she found herself standing upon
the fallen tree in the land of the Ghost Kings. It was a long tale, and
before ever she finished it night fell, but throughout its telling the old
dwarf-woman said never a word, only watched Rachel's face with her kind,
soft eyes. At last it was done, and she said:

"A sad story. Truly there is much evil in the world beyond the country of
the Trees, for here at least we shed little blood. Now, Maiden, what is
thy desire?"

"This is my desire," said Rachel, "to be joined again to him I love, whom
Ishmael slew; yes, and to my father and mother also, whom the Zulus slew
at the command of Ishmael."

"If they are all dead, how can that be, Maiden, unless thou seekest them
in death? Pass within the Fence yonder, and let the poison of the Tree of
the Tribe fall upon thee, and soon thou wilt find them."

"Nay, Mother, I may not, for it would be self-murder, and my faith knows
few greater crimes."

"Then thou must wait till death finds thee, and that road may be very
long."

"Already it is long, Mother, so long that I know not how to travel it, who
am alone in the world without a friend save Noie here," and she began to
weep.

"Not so. Thou hast another friend," and she laid her hand upon Rachel's
heart, "though it is true that I may bide with thee but a little while."

After this they were all silent for a space, until Nya looked up at Rachel
and asked suddenly:

"Art thou brave?"

"The Zulus and others thought so, Mother; but what can courage avail me
now?"

"Courage of the body, nothing, Maiden; courage of the spirit much,
perhaps. If thou sawest this lover of thine, and knew for certain that he
lives on beneath the world awaiting thee, would it bring thee comfort?"

Rachel's breast heaved and her eyes sparkled with joy, as she answered:

"Comfort! What is there that could bring so much? But how can it be,
Mother, seeing that the last gulf divides us, a gulf which mortals may not
pass and live?"

"Thou sayest it; still I have great power, and thy spirit is white and
clean. Perhaps I could despatch it across that gulf and call it back to
earth again. Yet there are dangers, dangers to me of which I reck little,
and dangers to thee. Whither I sent thee, there thou mightest bide."

"I care not if I bide there, Mother, if only it be with him! Oh! send me
on this journey to his side, and living or dead I will bless thee."

Now Nya thought a while and answered:

"For thy sake I will try what I would try for none other who has breathed,
or breathes, for thou didst save me from the Red Death at the hands of
Eddo. Yes, I will try, but not yet--first thou must eat and rest. Obey, or
I do nothing."

So Rachel ate, and afterwards, feeling drowsy, even slept a while, perhaps
because she was still weary with her journeying and her new-found mind
needed repose, or perhaps because some drug had been mingled with her
drink. When she awoke Nya led her to the mouth of the cave. There they
stood awhile studying the stars. No breath of air stirred, and the silence
was intense, only from time to time the sound of trees falling in the
forest reached their ears. Sometimes it was quite soft, as though a fleece
of wool had been dropped to the earth, that was when the tree that died
had grown miles and miles away from them; and sometimes the crash was as
that of sudden thunder, that was when the tree which died had grown near
to them.

A sense of the mystery and wonder of the place and hour sank into Rachel's
heart. The stars above, the mighty entombing forest, in which the trees
fell unceasingly after their long centuries of life, the encircling wall,
built perhaps by hands that had ceased from their labours hundreds of
thousands of years before those trees began to grow; the huge moss-clad
cedar upon the mound beneath the shadow of whose branches day by day its
worshippers gave up their breath, that immemorial cedar whereof, as they
believed, the life was the life of the nation; the wizened little
witch-woman at her side with the seal of doom already set upon her brow
and the stare of farewell in her eyes; the sad, spiritual face of Noie,
who held her hand, the loving, faithful Noie, who in that light seemed
half a thing of air; the grey little dwarf-mutes who squatted on their
mats staring at the ground, or now and again passed down the hill from the
Fence of Death above, bearing between them a body to its burial; all were
mysterious, all were wonderful.

As she looked and listened, a new strength stirred in Rachel's heart. At
first she had felt afraid, but now courage flowed into her, and it seemed
to come from the old, old woman at her side, the mistress of mysteries,
the mother of magic, in whom was gathered the wisdom of a hundred
generations of this half human race.

"Look at the stars, and the night," she was saying in her soft voice, "for
soon thou shalt be beyond them all, and perchance thou shall never see
them more. Art thou fearful? If so, speak, and we will not try this
journey in search of one whom we may not find."

"No," answered Rachel; "but, Mother, whither go we?"

"We go to the Land, of Death. Come, then, the moment is at hand. It is
hard on midnight. See, yonder star stands above the holy Tree," and she
pointed to a bright orb that hung almost over the topmost bough of the
cedar, "it marks thy road, and if thou wouldst pass it, now is the hour."

"Mother," asked Noie, "may I come with her? I also have my dead, and where
my Sister goes I follow."

"Aye, if thou wilt, daughter of Seyapi, the path is wide enough for three,
and if I stay on high, perchance thou that art of my blood mayest find
strength to guide her earthwards through the wandering worlds."

Then Nya walked up the cave and sat herself down within the circle of the
lamps with her back to the stalactite that was shaped like a tree, bidding
Rachel and Noie be seated in front of her. Two of the dwarf-mutes
appeared, women both of them, and squatted to right and left, each gazing
into a bowl of limpid dew. Nya made a sign, and still gazing into their
bowls, these dwarfs began to beat upon little drums that gave out a
curious, rolling noise, while Nya sang to the sound of the drums a wild,
low song. With her thin little hands she grasped the right hand of Rachel
and of Noie and gazed into their eyes.

Things changed to Rachel. The dwarfs to right and left vanished away, but
the low murmuring of their drums grew to a mighty music, and the stars
danced to it. The song of Nya swelled and swelled till it filled all the
space between earth and heaven; it was the rush of the gale among the
forests, it was the beating of the sea upon an illimitable coast, it was
the shout of all the armies of the world, it was the weeping of all the
women of the world. It lessened again, she seemed to be passing away from
it, she heard it far beneath her, it grew tiny in its volume--tiny as if
it were an infinite speck or point of sound which she could still discern
for millions and millions of miles, till at length distance and vastness
overcame it, and it ceased. It ceased, this song of the earth, but a new
song began, the song of the rushing worlds. Far away she could hear it,
that ineffable music, far in the utter depths of space. Nearer it would
come and nearer, a ringing, glorious sound, a sound and yet a voice, one
mighty voice that sang and was answered by other voices as sun crossed the
path of sun, and caught up and re-echoed by the innumerable choir of the
constellations.

They were falling past her, those vast, glowing suns, those rounded
planets that were now vivid with light, and now steeped in gloom, those
infinite showers of distant stars. They were gone, they and their music
together; she was far beyond them in a region where all life was
forgotten, beyond the rush of the uttermost comet, beyond the last glimmer
of the spies and outposts of the universe. One shape of light she sped
into the black bosom of fathomless space, and its solitude shrivelled up
her soul. She could not endure, she longed for some shore on which to set
her mortal feet.

Behold! far away a shore appeared, a towering, cliff-bound shore, upon
whose iron coasts all the black waves of space beat vainly and were
eternally rolled back. Here there was light, but no such light as she had
ever known; it did not fall from sun or star, but, changeful and radiant,
welled upward from that land in a thousand hues, as light might well from
a world of opal. In its dazzling, beautiful rays she saw fantastic palaces
and pyramids, she saw seas and pure white mountains, she saw plains and
new-hued flowers, she saw gulfs and precipices, and pale lakes pregnant
with wavering flame. All that she had ever conceived of as lovely or as
fearful, she beheld, far lovelier or a thousandfold more fearful.

Like a great rose of glory that world bloomed and changed beneath her.
Petal by petal its splendours fell away and were swallowed in the sea of
space, whilst from the deep heart of the immortal rose new splendours took
their birth, and fresh-fashioned, mysterious, wonderful, reappeared the
measureless city with its columns, its towers, and its glittering gates.
It endured a moment, or a million years, she knew not which, and lo! where
it had been, stood another city, different, utterly different, only a
hundred times more glorious. Out of the prodigal heart of the world-rose
were they created, into the black bosom of nothingness were they gathered;
whilst others, ever more perfect, pressed into their place. So, too,
changed the mountains, and so the trees, while the gulfs became a garden
and the fiery lakes a pleasant stream, and from the seed of the strange
flowers grew immemorial forests wreathed about with rosy mists and
bedecked in glimmering dew. With music they were born, on the wings of
music they fled away, and after them that sweet music wailed like
memories.

A hand took hers and drew her downwards, and up to meet her leapt myriads
of points of light, in every point a tiny face. They gazed at her with
their golden eyes; they whispered together concerning her, and the sound
of their whispering was the sound of a sea at peace. They accompanied her
to the very heart of the opal rose of life whence all these wonders
welled, they set her in a great grey hall roofed in with leaning cliffs,
and there they left her desolate.

Fear came upon her, the loneliness choked her, it held her by the throat
like a thing alive. She seemed about to die of it, when she became aware
that once more she was companioned. Shapes stood about her. She could not
see the shapes, save dimly now and again as they moved, but their eyes she
could see, their great calm, pitiful eyes, which looked down on her, as
the eye of a giant might look down upon a babe. They were terrible, but
she did not fear them so much as the loneliness, for at least they lived.

One of the shapes bent over her, for its holy eyes drew near to her, and
she heard a voice in her heart asking her for what great cause she had
dared to journey hither before the time. She answered, in her heart, not
with her lips, that she was bereaved of all she loved and came to seek
them. Then; still in her heart, she heard that voice command:

"Let all this Rachel's dead be brought before her."

Instantly doors swung open at the end of that grey hall, and through them
with noiseless steps, with shadowy wings, floated a being that bore in its
arms a child. Before her it stayed, and the light of its starry head
illumined the face of the child. She knew it at once--it was that baby
brother whose bones lay by the shore of the African sea. It awoke from its
sleep, it opened its eyes, it stretched out its arms and smiled at her.
Then it was gone.

Other Shapes appeared, each of them bearing its burden--a companion who
had died at school, friends of her youth and childhood whom she had
thought yet living, a young man who once had wished to marry her and who
was drowned, the soldier whom she had killed to save the life of Noie. At
the sight of him she shrank, for his blood was on her hands, but he only
smiled like the rest, and was borne away, to be followed by that
witch-doctoress whom the Zulus had slain because of her, who neither
smiled nor frowned but passed like one who wonders.

Then another shadow swept down the hall, and in its arms her mother--her
mother with joyful eyes, who held thin hands above her as though in
blessing, and to whom she strove to speak but strove in vain. She was
borne on still blessing her, and where she had been was her father, who
blessed her also, and whose presence seemed to shed peace upon her soul.
He pointed upwards and was gone, gazing at her earnestly, and lo! a form
of darkness cast something at her feet. It was Ishmael who knelt before
her, Ishmael whose tormented face gazed up at her as though imploring
pardon.

A struggle rent her heart. Could she forgive? Oh! could she forgive him
who had slain them all? Now she was aware that the place was filled with
the points of light that were Spirits, and that every one of them looked
at her awaiting the free verdict of her heart. Rank upon rank, also, the
mighty Shapes gathered about her, and in their arms her dead, and all of
them looked and looked, awaiting the free verdict of her heart. Then it
arose within her, drawn how she knew not from every fibre of her infinite
being, it arose within her, that spirit of pity and of pardon. As the dead
had stretched out their arms above her, so she stretched out her arms over
the head of that tortured soul, and for the first time her lips were given
power to speak.

"As I hope for pardon, so I pardon," she said. "Go in peace!"

Voices and trumpets caught up the words, and through the grey hall they
rang and echoed, proclaimed for ever and as they died away he too was
gone, and with him went the myriad points of flame, in each of which
gleamed a tiny face. She looked about her seeking another Spirit, that
Spirit she had, travelled so far and dared so much to find. But there came
only a little dwarf that shambled alone down the great hall. She knew him
at once for Pani, the priest, he who had been crushed in the tempest,
Pani, the brother of Eddo. No Shape bore him, for he who on earth had been
half a ghost, could walk this ghost-world on his mortal feet, or so her
mind conceived. Past her he shuffled shamefaced, and was gone.

Now the great doors at the end of the hall closed; from far away she could
see them roll together like lightning-severed clouds, and once more that
awful loneliness overcame her. Her knees gave way beneath her, she sank
down upon the floor, one little spot of white in its expanse, wishing that
the roof of rock would fall and hide her. She covered her face with her
golden hair, and wept behind its veil. She looked up and saw two great
eyes gazing at her--no face, only two great, steady eyes. Then a voice
speaking in her heart asked her why she wept, whose desire had been
fulfilled, and she answered that it was because she could not find him
whom she sought, Richard Darrien. Instantly the tongues and trumpets took
up the name.

"Richard Darrien!" they cried, "Richard Darrien!"

But no Shape swept in bearing the spirit of Richard in its arms.

"He is not here," said the voice in her heart. "Go, seek him in some other
world."

She grew angry.

"Thou mockest me," she answered, "He is dead, and this is the home of the
dead; therefore he must be here. Shadow, thou mockest me."

"I mock not," came the swift answer. "Mortal, look now and learn."

Again the doors burst open, and through them poured the infinite rout of
the dead. That hall would not hold them all, therefore it grew and grew
till her sight could scarcely reach from wall to wall. Shapes headed and
marshalled them by races and by generations, perhaps because thus only
could her human heart imagine them, but now none were borne in their arms.
They came in myriads and in millions, in billions and tens of billions,
men and women and children, kings and priests and beggars, all wearing the
garments of their age and country. They came like an ocean-tide, and their
floating hair was the foam on the tide, and their eyes gleamed like the
first shimmer of dawn above the snows. They came for hours and days and
years and centuries, they came eternally, and as they came every finger of
that host, compared to which all the sands of all the seas were but as a
handful, was pointed at her, and every mouth shaped the words:

"Is it I whom thou seekest?"

Million by million she scanned them all, but the face of Richard Darrien
was not there.

Now the dead Zulus were marching by. Down the stream of Time they marched
in their marshalled regiments. Chaka stood over her--she knew him by his
likeness to Dingaan--and threatened her with a little, red-handled spear,
asking her how she dared to sit upon the throne of the Spirit of his
nation. She began to tell him her story, but as she spoke the wide
receding walls of that grey hall fell apart and crumbled, and amidst a
mighty laughter the great-eyed Shapes rebuilt them to the fashion of the
cave in the mound beneath the tree of the dwarf-folk. The sound of the
trumpets died away, the shrill, sweet music of the spheres grew far and
faint.

Rachel opened her eyes. There in front of her sat Nya, crooning her low
song, and there, on either side crouched the mutes tapping upon their
little drums and gazing into their bowls of water, while against her
leaned Noie, who stirred like one awaking from sleep. Ages and ages ago
when she started on that dread journey, the dwarf to her left was
stretching out her hand to steady the bowl at her feet, and now it had but
just reached the bowl. A great moth had singed its wings in the lamp, and
was fluttering to the ground--it was still in mid-air. Noie was placing
her arm about her neck, and it had but begun to fall upon her shoulder!

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