CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PLOT
Springing forward, but too late to save him, the señor and I lifted Zibalbay from the ground and laid him on a couch. Peeping over our shoulders, Maya caught sight of his ghastly face and the foam upon his lips.
“Oh, he is dead,” she moaned; “my father is dead, and he died cursing me.”
“No,” said the señor, “he is not dead, for his heart stirs. Bring water, Maya.”
She obeyed, and for hard upon two hours we struggled to restore his sense, but in vain; life lingered indeed, but we could not stir him from his stupor. At length, as we were resting, wearied with our fruitless labour, the gates opened and Tikal came again.
“What now?” he asked, seeing the form of Zibalbay stretched upon the couch. “Does the old man sleep?”
“Yes, he sleeps,” answered the señor, “and I think that he will wake no more. The words he spoke to you to-day are coming true, and that which you took from him by force will soon be yours by right.”
“No,” answered Tikal, “by right it will be the Lady Maya’s yonder, though by force it may remain mine, unless, indeed, she gives it to me of her own free will. But say, how did this come about?”
Now I broke in hastily, fearing lest the señor should tell too much, and thus bring some swift and awful fate upon himself.
“He was worn out with the fatigue of our journey and the excitement of yesterday. After you had left he began to talk of your proposals, and suddenly was taken with this fit. These matters are not for me to speak of, who am but a prisoner in a strange land; still, lord, it will not look well if he who once was cacique of this city dies here and unattended, for then people may say that you have murdered him. Have you no doctors who can be summoned to minister to him, for, without drugs, or even a bleeding-knife, we have done all we can do.”
“Murdered him! That they will say in any case. Yes, there are doctors here, and the best and greatest of them is Mattai, my father-in-law. I will send him. But, Maya, before I go, have you no word for me?”
Maya, who was seated by the table, her face buried in her hands, looked up and said:
“Is your heart stone that you can trouble me in such an hour? When my father is recovered, or dead, I will answer you, and not before.”
“So be it, Lady,” he said, “till then I will wait. And now I must get hence, for there may be trouble in the city when this news reaches it.”
A while passed, and Mattai appeared before us, followed by one who carried his scales and medicines. Without speaking, he came to where Zibalbay lay, and examined him by the light of a lamp. Then he poured medicine down his throat, and waited as though he expected to see him rise, but he neither rose nor stirred.
“A bad case,” he said. “I fear that he will awake no more. How came he thus?”
“Do you wish to know?” asked Maya, speaking for the first time. “Then bid your attendant stand back, and I will tell you. My father yonder was smitten down while he cursed me in his rage.”
“And why did he curse you, Lady?”
“For this reason: While we wandered in the wilderness, Tikal, my cousin and my betrothed, took a wife, your daughter Nahua, who was crowned with him as Lady of the Heart. But it seems, Mattai, that though he gave your daughter place and power, he gave her no love, for to-day this son-in-law of yours came to my father, and in the presence of us all offered to set him in his lawful place again and to suffer him to carry out his schemes, whatever they might be, if I would but consent to become his wife.”
“To become his wife!” said Mattai, in amazement. “How could you become his wife when he is married? Can there then be two Ladies of the Heart?”
“No,” answered Maya quietly, “but the proposal of Tikal, my cousin, is, that he should either put away or kill your daughter—and you with her, Mattai—in order that he may set me in her place.”
Now when Mattai heard this his quick eyes flashed, and his very beard seemed to bristle with rage.
“He proposed that! He dared to propose that!” he gasped. “Oh! let him have a care. I set him up, and perchance I can pull him down again. Continue, Lady.”
“He proposed it, and my father agreed to the offer, for, knowing that you have plotted against him, he had little care for the honour and safety of you or of your house, Mattai. But if my father accepted, I refused, seeing that it is not my wish to have more to do with Tikal. Then my father cursed me, and while he cursed was stricken down.”
“You say it is not your wish to marry Tikal, Lady. Is it, then, your wish to marry any other man?”
“Yes,” she answered, letting her eyes fall, “I love this white lord here, whom you name Son of the Sea, and I would become his wife. I would become his wife,” she went on after a pause, “but, Mattai, Tikal is very strong, and it may be, unless I can find help elsewhere, that in order to save the life of the man I love, of his friend and mine, Ignatio, and my own, I shall be forced into the arms of Tikal. But now Tikal has asked me for my answer, and I have told him that I will give it when my father is recovered or dead. Perhaps it will be for you to say what that answer shall be, for alone and in prison I am not strong enough to stand against Tikal. Say, now, do the people love me well enough to depose Tikal and set me in my father’s place, should he die?”
“I cannot say, Lady,” he answered shortly, “but at the least you will scarcely ask me thus to bring about my own and my daughter’s ruin. I will be open with you. I gained over the Council of the Heart to Tikal’s cause, and my price was that he should marry my daughter, thereby satisfying her love and my ambition. Yes, I have plotted to set Nahua on high, both for her sake and for my own, seeing that after the cacique I sought to be the chief man in the city. Can I, then, turn round and depose him, and my daughter and myself with him? And if I did, what would be my fate at your hands in the days to come? No, I seek to be revenged on Tikal, indeed, who has offered so deadly an affront to me and mine, but it must be in some other way than this. Tell me now, lady, what is it that you desire most,—to be the cacique of this city by your right of birth, or to marry the man you love?”
“I desire to marry the man I love,” she answered, “and to escape from this place with him back to those lands where white men live. I desire also that my friend and my lord’s friend, Ignatio, should be given as much gold as he needs to enable him to carry out his purposes in the coast country yonder. If things can be brought about thus, Tikal and Nahua and their descendants, for aught I care, may rule in the City of the Heart till the world’s end.”
“You ask little enough, Lady,” said Mattai, “and it shall go hard if I cannot get it for you. Now I will leave you, for I must have time to think; but, if Tikal returns, say him neither yea nor nay till we have spoken again. And as for you, strangers, remember that your lives depend upon your caution. Farewell.”
Two more days passed, or so we reckoned by the number of meals that were brought to us, but neither Tikal nor Mattai returned to visit us. Other doctors came, indeed, and saw Zibalbay, who lay upon his bed like one plunged in a deep sleep, but though they tried many remedies they were of no avail. On the night of the second day we were gathered round his couch, watching him and talking together sadly enough, for the solitude, and the darkness, and the fear of impending death had broken our spirits, so that even the señor ceased to be merry, and the presence of her beloved to give comfort to Maya.
“Alas!” she said, “it was an evil day when we met yonder in the land of Yucatan, and, friend, no gift could have been more unlucky than that of my love to you, for which, being worth so little, you are doomed to pay so dear. Fortune has gone hardly with you also, Ignatio, who are fated thus for the second time to see a woman wreck your hopes. Say, now, friend,”—and she caught the señor by the arm,—“would it not be best that we should make an end of all this folly, and that I should give myself to Tikal? Then I could bargain for you both that before I pass to him I should, with my own eyes, see you safe across the mountains, taking that with you which would make you rich for life. Nor need you trouble for me, or think that you left me to dishonour, for, so soon as you were gone, I should seek the arms of another lord whose name is Death, and there take my rest, till in some day unborn you came to join me.”
“Cease to talk thus, Maya,” said the señor, drawing her to his breast; “whatever there is to bear we will undergo together, since, even if I could be so base as to buy safety at such a price, without you my life would be worth nothing to me, and, indeed, I had rather die at your side than live on alone. It is my fault that ever we came to this pass, seeing that, if I had taken your counsel, we should not have set foot within the City of the Heart. But curiosity conquered me, for I longed to see the place, as now I long to see the last of it; also, had we turned back, I must have left Ignatio to go on alone. Keep your courage, sweetheart, for though your father is dying and our danger is great, I am sure that we shall escape from these dungeons and be happy with each other beneath the sunlight.”
Then he kissed her upon the lips and comforted her, wiping away the tears that ran from her blue eyes.
It was at this moment that I looked up and saw Mattai standing in the doorway,—for we were gathered, not in the hall, but in Zibalbay’s chamber,—watching the scene curiously and with a softened face.
“Greeting,” he said, “and forgive me that I come so late, but my business is secret and such as is best done at night. How goes it with Zibalbay?”
“He lives,” I answered; “I can say no more, for he is senseless, and, without doubt, soon must die. But come, see for yourself.”
Mattai walked to the bed and examined the old man, lifting the eyelids and feeling his heart.
“He cannot live long,” he said. “Well, death is his best friend. Now to my business. There is trouble in the city, and strange rumours pass from mouth to mouth among the people, many of whom declare that Tikal has murdered Zibalbay, and demand that you, Lady, should be brought before them, that you may be named cacique in his place. Things being so, it has been urged upon Tikal by the chiefs of his party that as, do what he will, he can never clear himself of the death of Zibalbay, it would be well that he should make away with you also, Lady, and, of course, with these two strangers, your friends, seeing that then there will be none to dispute his rights. The matter was laid before him strongly at a secret council held this afternoon, and once he issued the order for your deaths, only to recall it before the messenger left the palace; for at the last I saw that his heart overcame his reason, and he could not bear thus to divorce himself from you, Lady, though what he said was that he would not stain his hands with the blood of one so innocent and fair. Still, I will not hide from you, Lady, or from you, strangers, that your danger is very great that you go, indeed, in jeopardy of your life from one hour to the next.”
Now he paused, and Maya asked in a low voice:
“Have you no plan to save us, Mattai?”
“Why should I have a plan, Lady, who with my house would benefit so greatly by your death?”
“I do not know why you should have a plan, old man,” broke in the señor; “but I tell you that you will do well to make one, else you do not leave this place alive,”—and as he spoke, with a sudden movement, he sprang between Mattai and the door.
“If we are to be murdered like birds in a cage,” he went on, “at least your neck shall be twisted first. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Son of the Sea,” answered Mattai, flinching a little before the señor’s fierce face and hand outstretched as though to grip him. “But I would have you understand something also; namely, that if I do not return presently, there are some without who will come to seek me, and then——”
“And then they will find your carcase,” broke in the señor, “and what will all your plots and schemes advantage you when you are a lump of senseless clay?”
“Little indeed, I confess,” he answered. “Still, my daughter, whom I love better than myself, will reap some profit, and with that, in this sad case, I must be content. But, do not be so hasty, white man. I asked why I should have a plan? I did not say that I had none.”
“Then if you have one, let us hear it without more ado,” said the señor.
Mattai bowed, as he answered:
“Your will is mine: but I know not how my plan will please the Lady Maya yonder, and therefore, before I unfold it, I will make it clear to you that there is but one alternative,—the death of all of you by to-morrow’s light. Your lives lie in my hand, and if I must do so to save my daughter and myself, I shall not hesitate to take them.”
“Any more than I shall hesitate to take yours, old man,” said the señor, grimly; “for remember always that if you do not make your plan such as we can accept, you will leave this chamber feet first with a broken neck.”
Again Mattai bowed, and continued:
“In one way only has Tikal been able to pacify the tumult among the people, by declaring that the Lady Maya shall be produced before the Council of the Heart, in the Sanctuary of the Nameless god, upon the night of the Rising of Waters, being the first day when it is lawful for the Council to sit in the Sanctuary, and afterwards at dawn in the eyes of the whole city. The words of Zibalbay have taken a strange hold of the people, although they cried him down as he spoke them; and they desire to know what will happen when the prophecy is fulfilled, and once more the severed halves of the symbol of the Heart are laid side by side in their place upon the altar. Zibalbay told them that he believed that then the god would reveal his purpose, and show what part each of you should play in the fate that is to be, and therefore the people—aye! and many among the nobles, and even the Council of the Heart—look to see some sign or wonder when Day and Night are come together, and that which was parted is made one, for they begin to hold that the madness of Zibalbay is from heaven, and that the voice of heaven sent him on his journey.”
Now Mattai thought for a while and went on:
“Lady, I am old, and for many years I have followed the worship of the gods, doing sacrifice to them, and importuning them with prayers, yet never have I known the gods to make answer to their votaries, or heard the voices of the immortals speaking into human ears. It seems that gods are many: thus, perchance these strangers have their own; and, Lady, thus it comes that in my age I ask myself if there are any gods other than those that the mind of man has shaped from nothingness, or fashioned in the likeness of its own passions. I cannot tell, but I think that were I in so sore a strait as you find yourselves to-night, I should not hesitate to give a voice to these dumb gods.”
“What is your meaning?” asked Maya.
“This: When the severed halves of the Heart are set in their place upon the altar, if there be any gods they should give a sign. Thus, as I who am the keeper of the Sanctuary know, the ancient symbol on the altar is hollow, and if it were to chance to open, it might be that a writing would be found within it,—an ancient writing of the gods, prepared against the present time,—that shall be to us as a lantern to one wandering in the dark; or it might be that nothing would be found. Now, as it happens, in searching through the earliest records of the temple, I have discovered a certain writing, and it seems to me that your fortune would be great if this writing should lie within the symbol on the night of the Rising of Waters. Here it is——”
And from his robe he produced a small plate of dull gold, covered over with hieroglyphics.
“Read it,” said Maya.
Then Mattai read:
“This is the voice of the Nameless god that his prophet heard in the year of the building of the Sanctuary, and graved upon a tablet of gold which he set in a secret place in the symbol of the Sanctuary, to be declared in that far-off hour when the lost is found and the signs of the Day and the Night are come together. To thee it speaks, unborn daughter of a chief to be, whose name is the name of a nation. When my people have grown old and their numbers are lessened, and their heart is faint, then, maiden, take to thyself as a husband a man of the race of the white god, a son of the sea-foam, whom thou shalt lead hither across the desert, for so my people shall once more prosper and grow strong, and the land shall be to thy child and the child of the god, east and west, and north and south, further than my eagles wing between sunrise and set.”
He finished reading, and there was silence as we looked on each other, amazed at the boldness and the cunning of this old priest and plotter. It was Maya who spoke first.
“You have forged this writing, Mattai,” she said coldly, “and now you desire that I should set it in the symbol, for you are mindful of that curse which is written in the ritual Opening of the Heart against him who shall profane its mysteries and token, or who should dare to tell a lie within the Sanctuary, or to swear falsely by the symbol. In short, if you do not fear the vengeance of the god, you fear the vengeance of the Order.”
“To speak truth, lady, I fear both, for, in offering insult to the Nameless god, who knows what he offends? Still, you must make your choice—and swiftly, seeing that if you refuse the deed, by to-morrow you will have learned, or, perhaps—remembering the words of the white lord—I should say we shall have learned what virtue there is in the religions.”
Now she turned to us, saying:
“Advise me, friends, for I know not what to answer. In the faith of my people I have lost faith, and it is to yours that I look for comfort; and yet the deed seems awful, for if we are not worshippers of the Nameless god, still we are all of us brethren of the ancient mysteries of the Heart, and to do this thing would be to break our solemn oaths. Come, let us put it to the vote, and do you who are the oldest and the wisest among us, vote first, Ignatio.”
“So be it,” I answered. “For my part I give my voice against the trick. Of the gods of your people I know nothing and think less, but I am the Master of our Order in my own land, and I will not offend against it. To do this thing would be to act the greatest of lies, and a lie is a sin in the face of heaven. All men must die, but I wish to pass to doom with my hands unstained by fraud. Still, in this matter your lives are at stake as well as mine; therefore, if, of the three of us, two are in favour of the act, I will be bound by their decision. But if only one is in favour, then he must be bound by ours.”
“Good, let it be so,” said Maya. “And now, beloved, speak and tell us whether you choose death and a clean conscience, or life and my love to gladden it,”—and she looked into his face with her beautiful eyes, and half stretched out her arms as though she would clasp him to her breast.
Now, although the señor did not answer at once, when I saw this and heard her words, I, Ignatio, knew that it was finished, since it could not be in the heart of a man in love to resist her pleadings and her witcheries. Presently he spoke, and as he did so his face grew red with a half shame.
“I have no choice,” he said. “I do not fear to die if need be, but I should be no man were I to choose death while it is your wish that I should live. Like Ignatio, I say that the gods of this city are to me nothing more than idols, and to deceive that which does not exist is impossible. For the rest, I became a Brother of the Heart not by my own wish, but by accident, therefore on this point my conscience pricks me little. Only, to be a partner in this plot, I must speak or act a lie, and this I have never done before. Still it seems to me that a man may choose life and his love in place of a cruel and secret death, and keep his hands clean, even though he must play a harmless trick as the price of them. Yet, Maya, in this as in every other matter, I will do your wish, and if you think it better that we should die, why let us die and make an end.”
“Nay,” she answered, with a flash of reckless passion, “I think it better that we should live, far from this unlucky city, and there be happy in each other’s love. For your sake my father’s curse has fallen on me, and after it all other maledictions of gods or men will be light as feathers. If this be a sin that we are about to work, I do it for the sake of you and of our love; also because I would live awhile in happiness before I go down to the grave. See my father lying there; throughout a long life he has served his god, and behold how his god has served him in the hour of his trouble. Let his prayers answer for us both, for I will have none of such false gods, unless it be to use them for my ends. If this be a sin that we are about to do, and vengeance should tread upon the heels of sin, let it fall upon the heads of my people, who would murder me for no crime; upon the head of Mattai, who tempted me for his own advantage; and, if that be not enough, upon my head also. Little do I care for vengeance to come, if for only one short year I may call you husband.”
“Ill-omened words,” muttered Mattai, shivering a little, “words that only a woman would utter; but so be it.”
As he spoke I thought that I heard a faint groan break from the man upon the couch. I glanced anxiously at Zibalbay, to find that I must have been mistaken, or, at least, that it had not proceeded from his lips, for he lay there rigid and senseless as a corpse.
“The vote is taken,” I said sadly. “What next, Mattai?”
“Follow me,” he answered, “and I will show you a secret path from this chamber to the Sanctuary beneath. Nay, you need not fear to leave him, for if his life still burns within him, it is fast asleep. But stay, where is the talisman? That will be necessary to us.”
“I have one half,” I answered, “the other is about Zibalbay’s neck.”
“Find it,” he said, sternly, to the Lady Maya. “Nay, you must!”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE SACRILEGE
Now Maya bent over the form of her father and took the talisman from his neck.
“I feel like one who robs the dead,” she said.
“Remember that it is to save the living, and be comforted,” answered Mattai. “Come, let us be going, for the night draws on.”
“Take a lamp, each of you,” he said presently, when we had reached the further end of the great hall, where he unlocked the copper gates with a key from the bunch that hung at his girdle. We passed through, and, turning, he almost closed the gate, but not quite.
“Why do you leave the gates ajar?” I asked.
“Because there are none to follow us,” he answered, “and who knows what may happen. Should we be forced to fly the Sanctuary, open doors are easier to pass than those that are shut.”
“Who or what could force us to fly the Sanctuary?” I asked.
Mattai shrugged his shoulders and went on without answering. Now we passed down many stairs, along passages, and through secret doors, each of which Mattai left open behind us, till at length we came to a blank wall of marble. On this wall Mattai felt with his thumb, till he found a spot that, being pressed, slid back, revealing a keyhole into which he inserted a small silver key. Then again he pressed upon the marble, and a panel moved that might have been two feet wide by six in height, and we saw that light streamed through the opening. Beckoning to us he walked through the gap in the wall, and one by one we followed him into the Sanctuary of the Nameless god, and stood on the further side of the wall, huddled together and clasping each other’s hands, for the place was awesome, and its utter silence and solemnity filled us with fear.
The first thing that caught our eyes, as was natural, for it was built into the wall opposite to us, and through it streamed the light that filled the chamber, was the most wonderful and mystic effigy in the City of the Heart. That effigy was a colossal mask of singular and fearful beauty, fashioned from polished jade, and similar in design to those which are to be found in the ruins of Palenque and other deserted Indian cities, whereof no man knows the age. This huge green mask was placed above the narrow door that gave entrance to the Sanctuary, and had been carved to represent the countenance of a being that, although its features were human, resembled neither man nor woman in its unearthly dignity and its stamp of cruel calm. The thick lips were curved with a contemptuous smile, and between them gleamed teeth made of white enamel; the nose was aquiline, with widespread nostrils that seemed to inhale the incense of worship; and the forehead, in whose centre appeared the impress of a woman’s hand soaked in some scarlet dye, was broad, low, and retreating. Beneath the solemn and contracted brows were jewelled eyes. Through these eyes, and, indeed, from the entire surface of the mask, streamed light, making the face visible as though it were limned in phosphorus, for the jade was transparent as the thinnest alabaster, and behind it burned two great lamps that were named after the Sun and Moon.
Such was the effigy of the Nameless spirit that we now beheld for the first time, who had face but no form; the spirit, Mouth of the Heart, to whom every lesser god was subject, Utterer of the thoughts of the Heart of Heaven, Lord of power, Dweller in the darkness behind the Sun, Searcher of the secrets of death. Without pity was this god of theirs, and without wrath, who, clothed in eternal calm, so these people fabled, rested in a home of darkness, watching the shadow of events celestial and terrestrial in his mirror of the moon, and telling of them to the Heart which was his soul. The seal of the woman’s blood-stained hand was set upon his brow because woman is a symbol of life renewed, the hand is the sign of purpose and the strength to do it, and by blood and anguish must every purpose be accomplished. But the Nameless one executed no purpose,—that was the work of lesser gods. In the beginning the Heart thought, and the Mouth blew with his breath, giving life to the earth, and causing it to roll forward among the spheres, and now the Eyes watched, ever smiling, while it and those upon it work out our doom, till at length its primal force grows faint and fails when, so said the priests, Heart and Mouth and Eyes will think and speak and search, and at their command a new world shall arise from the corpse of the old, and a new life from the lives of those who dwelt upon it.
Therefore it was, though now faith waned among them with their waning energies, that this people, knowing no better creed, worshipped the threefold Fate without a name, whom they held to be master of gods and men. Therefore, also, long generations since, in this spot which we came to violate,—to them the most holy on the earth,—they set up effigies of a Heart, a Mouth, and Eyes, as symbols of his attributes.
The roof of the Sanctuary, which was of no great size, was vault-shaped, in imitation of the arching sky, and in it appeared a golden sun, a silver crescent moon, and the stars of heaven. Its walls were lined throughout with polished blocks of the beautiful stone known as Mexican onyx, fretted over to the height of a man with a border of hieroglyphics and effigies of the lesser gods in attitudes of adoration, all of them cast in gold and set flush with the face of the wall. The furniture was very simple, consisting only of stools cut from rich woods heavily gilded in quaint designs, and a small table whereon lay sheets of paper made of bark, together with brushes of reed fibre and pots of pigment, such as were used in the picture-writing of this people. Lastly, at that end by which we had entered the chamber, stood an altar of black marble written around with letters shaped in gold, and upon this altar lay something covered with a silken cloth.
For a minute or more we remained silent, contemplating these wonders; then, with a gesture of impatience, Mattai spoke in a whisper, saying:
“Let that be done which we have come to do, for now the sacrilege is committed and it is too late for doubts.”
Speaking thus, he stepped to the altar and lifted the silken cloth that lay over the object which was upon it, revealing the image of a human heart fashioned in blood-stone and veined with arteries of gold. In the centre of this heart appeared a small and shallow hole that had been hollowed in its substance.
“This is the tradition,” said Mattai, still speaking in a whisper, “that when the two halves of a certain talisman are placed in this hollow, the symbol will open and reveal that which has been set within it since it was fashioned by Cucumatz thousands of years ago, and there is this in favour of the truth of the tale that golden hinges appear upon the sides of the symbol. Now one-half of the talisman has rested here for many generations, till Zibalbay took it with him indeed, when he went out to seek for the other half, and yet the symbol has never opened; still, I am sure that it will open when the whole talisman is set in its place. In this matter, however, there is something more to fear than the vengeance of the gods, for, as I can read well—it is written in those letters that encircle the altar—an ancient tradition tells us that if the symbol be stirred from the place where it has lain for so many ages, the flood-gate will roll back and the waters of the lake will pour in upon the city, destroying it and its inhabitants.”
“Yet the flood-gate cannot roll back when it is not shut, nor can the waters flow in during the dry season, when they are not on a level with the walls,” answered Maya.
“They cannot, Lady, and yet other things may happen. Why was the Heart set thus? Was it not that in the utmost need of its worshippers they might choose death rather than defeat and slavery? And was this choice given to them in the wet months only? Be sure that if at this moment any despairing or impious hand tore yonder symbol from its altar, either the waters would rush up through the bed of the city, or subterranean fires would break loose and burn it. Still, though there is something, I think that we have little to fear, seeing that the writing says that, in order to bring about so terrible a doom, the symbol must be torn from its altar with might. And now to our task. Stranger, give to the Lady Maya your half of the ancient talisman, that she may set it, together with the half she bears, in the place prepared in the symbol.”
Now with a sigh, seeing that it was too late to draw back, I undid the emerald from my neck and gave it to Maya, who laid it side by side with its counterpart upon the palm of her trembling hand, and stepped with it to the altar. Here she stood for a moment, then whispered in a faint voice:
“Terror has taken hold of me, and I fear to do this thing.”
“Yet it must be done, and not by me,” said Mattai, “or we shall have come on a fool’s errand, and go back, some of us, to a fool’s death,” and he looked towards me.
“I will not do it,” I said, answering his look, “not because I fear your gods, but my own conscience I do fear.”
“Then I will,” said the señor boldly, “for I fear neither. Give me that trinket, Maya.”
She obeyed, and presently he had caused the two halves of the talisman to fall into their ancient and appointed bed in the symbol. In the great silence I remember the sound they made, as they tinkled against the stone, struck my ear so sharply that I started.
For some seconds, perhaps twenty, we stood still, watching the altar with eager eyes, but the symbol never stirred. Then I said:
“It seems, Mattai, that you must hide your lying writing elsewhere, since yonder heart will not open, or, if it will, we have not found the key.”
“Wait a little,” broke in the señor, “perhaps the springs are rusted.” And before any of us could interfere to stop him, he placed his thumb upon the halves of the emerald and pressed so hard that the symbol trembled on its marble stand.
“Beware!” cried Mattai, and as the echoes of his voice died away all of us started in astonishment, for lo! the heart was opening like a flower.
Slowly it opened, till the severed talisman fell from it, and its two halves lay back on the marble of the altar, revealing something hidden in its centre that shone like an ember in the lamplight. We crept forward and looked, then stood silent and half afraid, for in the hollow of the heart, laid upon a square plate of gold which was covered with picture-writing, glared a red jewel shaped like a human eye, that seemed to answer stare with stare.
“If we stand like this we shall grow frightened,” said the señor roughly, glancing round him as he spoke, “there is nothing to fear in a red stone cut like an eye.”
“If you think so, White Man,” answered Mattai in a voice that shook a little, strive as he would to command it, “lift up the holy thing and give me the writing that is beneath it. Stay, first take this, set it in the symbol, replacing the eye upon it,” and he handed him the forged tablet.
The señor obeyed, nor did any wonder come to pass when he lifted that dreadful-looking jewel, and changed the true for the false.
“Read it,” said Maya, as the tablet was passed to Mattai, “you have knowledge of the ancient writings.”
“Perhaps it were best left unread,” he said, doubtfully.
“Nay,” she answered, “let us know the worst. Read it, I bid you.”
Then he read these strange words in a slow and solemn voice:
“The Eye that has slept and is awakened sees the heart and purpose of the wicked. I say that in the hour of the desolation of my city not all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away their sin.”
Now the faces of us who heard turned grey in the lamplight, for though the gods of this people were false, we felt that the voice of a true prophet spoke to us from that accusing tablet, and that we had called down upon our heads a vengeance which we could not measure.
“Did I not tell you that it were wiser to leave the writing unread,” gasped Mattai, letting the tablet fall from his hand as though it were a snake.
The clatter of it as it struck the marble floor seemed to wake us from our evil dream, for the señor turned on him, and said fiercely:
“What does it matter what the thing says, rogue, seeing that you forged it as you have forged the other.”
“Ah! would that I had,” answered Mattai; “but when doom overtakes you and all of us, then shall you learn whether I forged that ancient writing;” and he lifted it from the floor, and, hiding it in his robe, added, “Close the heart, White Man, and give back the severed jewel to those who wear it.”
The señor obeyed, replacing the silken cloth over the symbol, so that the altar seemed to be as it had been.
“Now let us be going,” said Mattai, “and rejoice, that if yonder eye has seen our wickedness, at least it is hidden from the sight of man. Doubtless the vengeance of the gods is sure, but that of men is swift.”
As he spoke we turned to leave the Sanctuary, and of a sudden Maya screamed, and would have fallen had not the señor caught her. Well might she scream, for there in the narrow niche of the secret door by which we had entered, framed in it as a corpse is framed in its coffin, stood a white figure which at first I took to be that of some avenging ghost, so ghostlike were the wrappings, the snowy beard and hair, and the thin, fierce face. Another instant, and I saw that indeed it was a ghost, the ghost of Zibalbay, or rather his body come back from the boundaries of death to spy upon our sacrilege before it crossed them for ever.
Yes, it was Zibalbay, for while he had seemed to be unconscious upon the bed in the chamber, his senses were awake, and oh! what must he have suffered when he, the high priest of the Nameless god, heard us plan our fraud upon his Sanctuary. Then, after we had left him, fury and despair unfettered the limbs that had been bound so fast and gave him strength to follow us, though they could not unlock his frozen tongue. He had followed; painfully he had crept down the stairs, along the passages, and through the open door, for the path was known to him even in the dark, till at length he came to the secret entrance of the Sanctuary. Here once more his force deserted him; here, unable to speak or stir, he had leaned against the wall and seen and heard all that was done and said.
Oh! never shall I forget the rage of his quivering face, or the agony and horror of his tormented eyes as they met our own. No curse could have been so awful as that look which he let fall upon his daughter, and no outraged deity or demon could have seemed more terrible to the human sight than was the tall figure of this dying man, striving even in death to protect the honour of his gods, which we had violated in their most ancient holy of holies. Never have I seen such a dreadful sight, and I pray that never again may I do so either in this world or the next.
The dying Zibalbay saw our fear, and with a last effort he staggered forward towards his daughter, his clenched hands held above his head. For a moment he stood before her as she lay upon her lover’s arm staring up at him like a bird at a snake, while he swayed to and fro above her like the snake about to strike. Then, of a sudden, foam mingled with blood burst from his lips, and he sank down at her feet dead, dying in a silence that was more awful than any sound.
Of all that followed I need not write. Indeed, I cannot do so, for so great was my horror at this scene, and so intense the strain which was put upon my vital force during these hours, that I have little memory of what chanced after Zibalbay’s death, till I found myself lying exhausted upon the bed in my prison cell.
Somehow we calmed and silenced Maya; somehow we escaped from that hateful Sanctuary, and by slow degrees brought her and the dead body of her father up the narrow stairs and passages to the hall above, where we laid the corpse upon its bed. Then Mattai left us, and I remember no more till the next morning when nobles and leeches came to watch by the body of the dead cacique, and to embalm it in readiness for the tomb.
The next two days went heavily for the three of us, oppressed as we were by the silent gloom of our prison and the memories of that dreadful night. The love between Maya and her father had never been deep, for they were out of tune with each other; still, now that he was dead she mourned him, the more perhaps because he had died hating and cursing her. By degrees she recovered from her superstitious fears, born of the writing in the symbol; but her father’s maledictions she never could forget, and though she was willing to earn and to bear these for the sake of her love for the señor, I think that their memory lay between them like a shadow.
“Oh! why did I ever love you?” she would say. “What have you to do with me, whom race and law and fate have set apart from me?” And yet she went on loving him even more dearly.
I, also, was unhappy, for though I put little faith in these omens, or in the vapourings of dead prophets and the tricks of living charlatans, I felt that the ill-luck which had clung to me in the past was with me still. Things had gone cross with me; Zibalbay was dead, and Woman, the inevitable, had drawn away the heart of my friend and dragged me and my plans into the whirlpool of her passion, whence, if at all, they must emerge ruined and shapeless. Still, summoning the patience of my race to my aid, I bore these secret troubles as I might, giving counsel and comfort to the lovers, who, lost in their own doubts and difficulties, thought, as was natural, little of me and my lost ambitions.
At length they carried away the corpse of Zibalbay to be wrapped in its winding-sheet of gold and set with all ancient pomp and ceremony by those of its forefathers in the Hall of the Dead. Maya wept indeed, but I for my part was glad to see the last of him, and so, I think, was the señor, whose spirits had begun to fail him in the presence of so much remorse and grief.
That day—it was the day previous to the night of the Rising of Waters, on which we were to appear before the Council of the Heart in the Sanctuary—Tikal came to visit us. To Maya he bowed low, but on the señor and myself he looked with an angry eye,—with the eye, indeed, of one who would have killed us if he dared. First, with many fine words and empty compliments, he offered her his sympathy upon the death of her father. For this she returned her thanks, quoting, however, with a flash of her old spirit, a certain proverb of her own people, of which the meaning is that the death of one man is the breath of another.
“My father was your foe, Tikal,” she added, “and now that he is gone you will be able to sleep and reign in peace.”
“Not altogether so, Lady,” he answered, “seeing that he has left behind him a more dangerous rival to my power, namely, yourself. I will not hide from you, Maya, what you soon must learn, that a large portion of the people, and with them many of the nobles, accusing me of your father’s murder, clamour that I should be deposed, and that you should be set in my place as cacique of the City of the Heart. Some few days ago I might have stilled their outcry by commanding you to be put to death, but now it is too late, for, since then, Time has fought for you, and doubtless your end would be followed by my own. When last we met, cousin, I asked you a certain question, to which you promised me an answer when your father was dead or recovered, and to-day I have come to hear that answer. While Zibalbay lived I had much to offer him and you in exchange for your hand, and I offered it freely. So high a value did I place upon it when it seemed lost to me, that I was prepared to lay down my power, to suffer your father to violate the laws, and to incur the eternal hate and active enmity of Mattai, his daughter, and his party. Now I must make you a lower bid: that of equal power for yourself; and for your friends here, whatever they may desire. Should you refuse me, this is the alternative: civil war in the city till one of us is destroyed, and instant death as the portion of these strangers.
“But, Maya, I pray you not to refuse me, for I have something more to offer you—my undying love. From a child I always loved you, Maya, although you have treated me coldly enough, and now day by day I love you more. Indeed I believed that you and your father were dead yonder in the wilderness, for then I had faith in Mattai, whom now I know to be a rogue, and Mattai swore that it was written in the stars. Even so I would not have wed another woman, for my heart bled at the loss of you, had not Mattai made this marriage the price of his support, without which I could not hope to be anointed cacique, seeing that I have many jealous enemies. It was ambition that led me to consent, and bitterly have I regretted my folly ever since; for if she who is called my wife loves me, I hate her, and by this means or by that I will be rid of her. Forgive me, then, my sin against you, remembering only that I have loved and served you in the past as I will love and serve you in the future, and that it was you who brought about these troubles because, though I prayed you to stay and did all in my power to prevent you, you determined to accompany your father upon his mad journey into the wilderness. Now I have spoken, and I thank you for the courtesy with which you have listened to me.”
“You have spoken, cousin,” she answered, “and your words have been gentle; yet, if I understand you right, some few days since you were in doubt as to whether it would not be better to murder me here in this darksome hole where you have placed us.”
“If policy put any such thought into my mind, Maya, love drove it out again,” he answered, with confusion.
“So you admit that this was so,” she said. “Well, a day may come when policy might breed the thought, and love, grown weary, prove not warm enough to wither it. Also it seems that even now you threaten these my companions with death, should I refuse you your desire.”
“If you should refuse me my desire, Maya, perhaps it will be for a secret reason of your own,”—and he scowled at the señor angrily,—“a reason that the death of these men, or of one of them, will remove.”
“Be sure of one thing, Tikal,” she broke in sharply, “that such a wicked deed would put an end for ever to your hopes of making me your wife. Now, listen. I have heard your words, and they have touched me somewhat, for I think that although you have broken your oath to my father, and your troth with me, at heart you are honest in your love. Still, I can give you no answer now, and for this reason, that the answer does not lie with me, but rather with the gods. To-morrow night we appear before the high Court of the Council of the Heart, and you yourself shall set the severed portions of the talisman that we have travelled so far to seek in the place prepared to receive it, in the symbol that is on the altar of the Sanctuary. Then, as my dead father believed,—and he was gifted with wisdom from above,—the god shall declare his purpose in this way or in that, showing his servants why all these things have come about, and what they must do to fulfil his will. By that will, cousin, and not by my own, I shall be guided in this and in all other things.”
Now, Tikal thought awhile, and answered:
“And if nothing follows this ceremony, and the oracles of the god are silent, what then?”
“Then, Tikal,” she said softly, “you may ask me again if I will become your wife, and perhaps, if the Council suffers it, I shall not say you nay. Now, farewell, for grief still shadows me, and I can talk no more.”
CHAPTER XX.
THE COUNCIL OF THE HEART
Now, when Tikal was gone I sat silent, for although it might be necessary to save our lives, and to bring about the fulfilment of Maya’s love, all this double-dealing did not please me, and I could not talk of it with a light heart. But the señor said:
“I hope that yonder rogue, Mattai, may not have repented or been over-bribed by Tikal, and set some other prophecy in the hollow of the symbol, for then, Maya, you will be taken at your word, and things will be worse than ever they have been.”
“I pray not, and it is not likely,” she answered, starting, then with a quick burst of passion she added:
“But why do you look at me with such reproach, Ignatio? No, do not answer, for I know why. It is because you think me a cheat and a liar, and are saying in your heart, ‘This is a woman’s honour. Thus would any woman act in the hour of temptation.’ Ignatio, with all your courtesy, you hate and despise us women, looking on us as lower than yourselves, as a snare to your strength and a pitfall for your feet. Well, if so, thus we were made, and can we quarrel with that which made us? Also, in some ways we are greater than you, though you may be pleased to call yourselves more honest. You would not have dared for your love what I have dared for mine; you would not have offered deadly outrage to the god of your people, to the instinct of your blood, and the teachings of your youth. No, you would have sat still and wrung your hands and seen your lover perish before your face, and then have turned your eyes to the sky and said: ‘It cannot be helped, it is well; at least, I am clean in the sight of heaven.’
“So be it: I, Maya, am of a different nature, I have dared all these things and I joy in them, even though you watch me ever with your melancholy eyes. Why should I not? Is not my love everything to me, and is it shameful that this should be so? I believe no more in this unknown god; why, then, should I fear to offend him? I will not see my betrothed given up to death, and myself to worse than death; and how can I harm my people by taking a man nobler than themselves to be my husband? Cease, then, to reproach me by your silence; or, rather, learn to pity me, for my strait is sore, and doubtless vengeance dogs my heels. Let it fall, if it will, on me, but not on you, beloved,—oh! not on you——” and suddenly her anger left her, and she sank into the señor’s arms and lay there weeping bitterly.
Then I went to the further end of the hall and sat there reading the ancient writings of this people, which we had found in the chamber. Indeed, this was my daily occupation, for now I found that these lovers liked to be alone, unless it happened that there were plans to be thought out or counsel to be given. A shadow grew between me and the señor in those days; for, though he said nothing of it, he also was angry because I did not approve of the dark plot to which we were parties, and Maya’s outburst spoke his mind with her own. Nor was this wonderful, for now, looking back, I do not blame her or him, or think that they did wrong, and I believe that what I really felt was not indignation at a trick which might well be pardoned, seeing how much hung to it, but superstitious fear lest some force, human or infernal, should visit that trick with vengeance; for, as we know, even the devils have power against us if we give it to them by fighting the world with their own weapons.
On the following day the attendants who set our meals brought with them clean robes for each of us, scented and wonderfully worked, and for Maya certain royal ornaments. In these we arrayed ourselves before evening, and waited. The hours passed, and at length the copper gates were opened, and a band of nobles and guards presented themselves before us, saying that they were commanded to lead us to the Sanctuary. We answered that nothing would please us better, who were heartily weary of living like rats in the dark, and in a few minutes we found ourselves walking up the stairs towards the crest of the pyramid.
We reached it, and saw the stars shining above us, and felt the breath of heaven blowing in our faces, and never have the sight of the stars or the taste of the night air seemed more sweet to me. Leaving the watch-house we walked to the great stair across the lonely summit of the pyramid and began to descend its side. At the foot of the stairway we turned to the right till we came to a double door of copper, beautifully worked, placed in the centre of the western face of the pyramid, and guarded by a small body of soldiers, who saluted and admitted us. Beyond the doors was a great hall not unlike that which had served as our prison, lit with lamps, lined with polished marble, and having on either side of its length doorways leading to the apartments that were used as sleeping-places for the officers on duty. At the threshold of this hall we were met by priests clothed in pure white, into whose custody we were given by the company of nobles and soldiers that had escorted us thus far.
Surrounded by the priests, who chanted as they walked, we passed down the hall till we reached another and a smaller door. Beyond this lay a labyrinth of steeply sloping passages, running in every direction deep into the bowels of the rock beneath the pyramid. So intricate and numerous were these tunnels, that, even with the assistance of the lights which the priests carried, it would have been almost impossible for any one not having their secret, to find a path through them, or even to keep his face in a given direction for more than a few paces.
Along these passages our guides went without faltering, turning now to the right, now to the left, and now seeming to retrace their footsteps, till at length they halted to open a third door, covered over with plates of beaten gold, on the further side of which lay the most sacred spot save one in the City of the Heart, the chamber that served the threefold purpose of a judgment-hall, a church wherein the nobles attended worship, and a burial-place of the departed caciques of the city. Here in this vast and awful vault, each of them set in his own niche and companioned by his consort, stood the bodies of every king-priest who had reigned in the holy city, enclosed in coffins of solid gold, fashioned to the shape and likeness of the corpse within, and having the name, age, date of death, and a brief account of the good or evil that the man had done cut in symbols on his breast. There they stood eternally, men and women made in gold, and beneath their brows gleamed false eyes of emeralds. Numerous as were the niches in the chamber, each had its tenants; and in the last recess—that nearest to the entrance—stood a new comer; for here in his gilded sheath was placed the corpse of Zibalbay, by the side of her who had been his wife and Maya’s mother.
For a moment Maya paused to look upon the bodies of her parents, then with a sigh and an obeisance she passed on, saying to me, “See, this Hall of the Dead is full, there is no place left for me or for my descendants, and surely that is an evil omen. Well,” she added, with a sigh, “what does it matter where they set us when we are dead? For my part I had sooner sleep in the earth, or beneath the waters, than stand for ever cased in gold and glaring with jewelled eyes upon the darkness. Yes, if I might, I should choose the earth that bore me, for it would turn my flesh to flowers.”
Then we went on defiling before the silent company of the golden dead, who seemed to watch us as we walked, till, passing round a judgment-seat that was set near the end of the hall, we stood in front of a little door over which burned great lamps. This door was guarded by two priests with drawn swords, which they pointed towards us as a sign that we should halt.
Then the priests who had escorted us so far fell back behind the judgment-seat, and we were left alone.
“Give the sign, keepers of the gate,” said Maya.
Thereupon one of the men with the drawn swords uttered a low and peculiar cry like to the wail of a child. When he had made this strange sound thrice at intervals of about half a minute, it was answered from within by another and a louder cry pitched upon the same note. Then of a sudden the door was flung wide, and a stern-looking man with a shaven head came through it.
“Who are you that seek entrance into the Sanctuary?” he asked; “are you gods or devils, men or women?”
“We are two men and a woman,” answered Maya, “priests and priestess of the Heart, and we come to take our trial before the Council of the Heart, as is our right.”
“Do you know the open signs of the Heart, the signs of Brotherhood, of Unity, and of Love, that you dare to stand upon the threshold of the Sanctuary, to cross which is death to the ignorant?”
“We know them,” answered Maya. And one by one we gave those signs.
“Do you know the secret signs of the Heart, that you dare to cross this threshold?” he asked again. “Otherwise get you back and take your trial in the common judgment-hall.”
“I know them,” answered Maya, “and I vouch for these men who accompany me. Suffer me, then, to enter, and these with me, for I am here by ancient right, and I have knowledge both of the outward signs and the inner mysteries.”
Now the man withdrew, and the door was closed behind him. Presently he appeared again and said:
“I have reported to the Council, and it is the will of the Council that you should enter.”
“Follow me,” said Maya to us, “and when you are spoken to make no answer till I have vouched for you. I will answer for you.”
The priests let their swords fall, and, passing through the doors,—for there were two of them connected by a short passage,—once more we found ourselves standing beneath the mask of the Unknown god in the Sanctuary of the City of the Heart. But now it was no longer empty.
Behind the little altar were three stools, and upon them, clad in wonderful apparel, and adorned with gold and gems, sat Tikal, Mattai, and Nahua, who was the only woman present. In front of the altar was an open space, and beyond its circle, each wearing the orders of his spiritual rank, sat the Brethren of the Heart according to their degree, to the number of thirty-six.
Led by Maya we advanced into the space before the altar, and stood there in silence. None of those present took note of us; indeed, they did not seem to see us, but sat with bent heads and with hands folded crosswise on their breasts. At length one of the Brethren—he who was nearest to the door, and had questioned us without—rose, and, addressing Tikal, said:
“Keeper of the Heart, one who claims to be of our company stands before you, and with her two for whom she vouches, who, although they be strangers, by your command I have proved to be Brethren of the Heart, though what more they may be I know not. Be pleased, then, to prove them also by the voice of their sponsor, that their mouths may be opened and their prayer come to the ears of the Council.”
At his words two of the brethren rose and blindfolded the señor and myself, lest we should see the sacred signs, with all of which, indeed, I was well acquainted, but Maya they did not blindfold. Then we heard Tikal asking:
“How are you named who are strange to our eyes?” We made no reply, for a voice in our ears cautioned us to be silent.
“We are named ‘the Son of the Sea’ and ‘Ignatio the Wanderer,’” answered the voice of Maya.
“Son of the Sea, and Ignatio the Wanderer, why come you here,” asked Tikal, “through the gate on which is written—‘Death to the Stranger and to the Uninstructed.’”
“Because we have a prayer to utter, an offering to make, and because, although we dwell in a far land, we are the servants of the Heart,” answered Maya.
“How come ye here?”
“The Heart led, the Mouth whispered, and we followed the light of the Eyes.”
“Show me the sign of the light of the Eyes, or die to this world.”
Now there was silence, and, though we could not see it, Maya showed the sign on our behalf.
“Show me the second sign, the sign of the Mouth, or be cursed by the Mouth, and die to this world and the next.”
Again there was silence.
“Show me the sign of the Heart, the third and greatest sign, lest the Heart think on you, and ye die to this world, to the next world, and all the worlds that are to be; lest ye be cast out between the Light and Darkness, and lost in the gulf of fire that joins Heaven to Hell.”
Now we heard a sound of rustling, as though all the company had risen and were prostrating themselves, and presently the bandages were lifted from our eyes.
“Strangers,” said Tikal, “your mouths are opened in the Sanctuary according to the ancient form, and it is lawful for the Council to listen to your prayer. Speak, then, without fear.”
Then I spoke, saying:
“Brethren,—for so I will dare to call you, seeing that I also, though a stranger, am of the Brotherhood of the Heart, as I can prove to you if need be,—ay! and higher in rank than any present here, unless it be you, O Keeper of the Heart: on my own behalf, on behalf of my brother who also is of our company, and on behalf of Maya, Lady of the Heart, daughter of him who ruled you, and heiress to his power, I speak and make my prayer to you. It would seem that we three, together with Zibalbay, who is dead and therefore beyond the execution of your judgment, have violated the laws of this city,—we by daring to enter its gates, and Zibalbay and the Lady Maya by leading us to those gates. For this crime we should have been put to death eight days ago upon the pyramid, had not the Lady Maya here claimed a right to have our cause laid before this high tribunal. In her case and in that of her father this was conceded, and I pray now that the same clemency may be extended to me and to my brother.”
“Upon what grounds do you claim this, stranger?” asked Tikal.
“Upon the ground that we are Brethren of the inmost circle of the Heart, and therefore have committed no crime in visiting this city, which is free to us by right of our rank and office.”
Now there was a murmur of “True” from the Council behind me, and Tikal also said “True,” but added, “If you are Brethren of the inmost circle of the Heart, you are free from offence; but first you must prove that this is so, which as yet you have not done. A brother of the inmost circle knows its mysteries and can answer the secret questions. Come, let us put you to the test, but first let the white man be removed from the Sanctuary, for in this matter each must vouch for himself.”
Accordingly the señor was led away, and, the doors having been closed and the lamps shaded, the oldest and most instructed of the councillors stood forward and put me to the test with many questions, all of which I answered readily. Then they commanded me to stand before the altar, and, as Keeper of the Heart, to open the Heart in the highest degree. This I did also, though afterwards they told me that my ritual differed in some particulars from their own. After that I took up my parable and questioned them till at length none there could answer me,—no, not even the high priest or Mattai; and they confessed humbly that I was more instructed than any one of them, and because of this knowledge from that day forward I was held in veneration in the City of the Heart.
Now I was given a seat among the Brethren,—the highest, indeed, after those of the chief priest and the great officers,—and the señor was summoned.
He entered with a downcast look, and while Maya and I watched him sadly, his examination began. It was not long. At the second question he became confused, used angry language in Spanish and English, and broke down.
“Brethren,” said Tikal,—and there was joy in his eye, as he spoke,—“it seems that we need not trouble further with this impostor. By daring to enter our city he has earned the penalty of death; moreover he has blackened his crime by claiming to be of our Brotherhood, whereas he scarcely knows the simplest pass-word. Is it your will that he should be taken to his fate? If so, speak the word of doom.”
Now Maya rose affrighted, but, motioning to her to be silent, I spoke, saying:
“Hear me before that fatal word is spoken which cannot be recalled! This man is of our inmost Brotherhood, though he has not been formally admitted to the inner circles, and has forgotten those of the mysteries which were taught to him at his initiation. Listen, and I will tell you how he came to join the Order of the Heart,”—and I told them that tale of my rescue by the señor, and told them also all the story of our meeting with Zibalbay and of our journey to the City of the Heart, speaking to them for an hour or more while they hearkened earnestly.
When I had done they debated as to the fate of the señor, and—though by only one vote—decided that if I had nothing more to urge on his behalf he must straightway die.
“I have something more to urge before you pass judgment,” I said in my need and despair (speaking and acting a lie to save the life of my beloved friend,—yes, I who had blamed Maya for this same deed), “though it has to do with the mysteries of your religion rather than with those of our Order. It was the belief of Zibalbay, who is dead, that when the two halves of the ancient talisman—the halves Night and Morning, that together make the perfect Day—are set in their place in the symbol which once they filled before the dividing of peoples, then it shall be made clear what part must be played by each of us wanderers in the fate that is to be. To this end did Zibalbay undertake his journey, and lo! here is that which he went to seek——” and I drew the talisman from my breast. “Take it, Tikal, for I resign it, and lay it with its fellow in the place that is prepared for them, so that we may learn, and all your people may learn, what truth there is in the visions of Zibalbay.”
“That is our desire,” answered Tikal, taking the severed emerald and its counterpart which Maya gave to him. “Let the white man, Son of the Sea, be placed without the Sanctuary and guarded there awhile, for so at least he will gain time to prepare himself for death. Fear not, lady,” he added, noting Maya’s anxious face, “no harm shall be done to him till this matter of the prophecy is made clear.”
Now for the second time the señor was removed, and when he had gone Tikal spoke, tracing the history of the prophecy so far as it was known, and reciting its substance,—that when once more the two halves of the symbol of the Heart were laid side by side in their place on the altar in the Sanctuary, then from that hour the people should grow great again.
“In all this,” he said, “I have little faith; still, Zibalbay, who in his way was wise, believed it, and, the story having gone abroad, the people clamour that it should be put to the test. Is this your will also?”
“It is our will,” answered the Councillors.
“Good. Then let it be done, and on your heads be it if harm should come of the deed. Mattai, the Council commands you to set these fragments in the hollow of the symbol.”
“If such is the order of the Council I have no choice but to obey,” said Mattai. “Yet, though none else have done so, I give my voice against it, for I hold that this is childishness, and never did I know any good to spring from prophecies,”—and he paused as though waiting for an answer.
“Obey! Obey!” said the Council, for curiosity had got a hold of them, and they craned their necks forward to see what might happen.
“Obey!” repeated Tikal. “But beware how you shake the Heart, lest the legend prove true and we should perish in the doom of waters.”
Then Mattai set the two halves of the talisman in their place; and as before, in the midst of an utter silence, lo! the symbol opened like a flower. Leaning forward I saw the eye within its hollow; but it seemed to me that the fire had faded from the heart of the jewel, for now it gleamed coldly, like the eye of a man who is two hours dead. I think that Mattai noted this also, for as the symbol opened he started and his hand shook.
Now, when they saw the marvel, a gasp of wonder rose from the Council, then Tikal spoke, saying:
“It seems that there was wisdom in Zibalbay’s madness, for the Heart has opened indeed, and within it is a stone eye resting upon a plate of gold that is covered with writing.”
“Read the writing!” they cried.
Displacing the eye, Tikal lifted the plate of gold and scanned it.
“I cannot,” he said, shaking his head. “It is written in a character more ancient than any I have learned. Take it, Mattai, for you are instructed in such signs.”
Now Mattai took the tablet and studied it long with an anxious face, upon which at length light broke that changed anon to wonder, or rather blank amaze, so that I, watching him, began to think, not knowing all the cleverness of Mattai, that the señor was right, and the tablet had been tampered with since we saw it.
“Read! Read!” cried the Council.
“Brethren,” he said, “the words seem clear, and yet so strange is this writing that I fear my learning is at fault, and that I had best give it to others to decipher.”
“No; read, read,” they cried again, almost angrily.
Then he read:
“This is the voice of the Nameless god that his prophet heard in the year of the building of the Sanctuary, and graved upon a tablet of gold which he set in a secret place in the symbol of the Sanctuary, to be declared in that far-off hour when the lost is found and the signs of the Day and the Night are come together. To thee it speaks, unborn daughter of a chief to be, whose name is the name of a nation. When my people have grown old and their numbers are lessened, and their heart is faint, then, maiden, take to thyself as a husband a man of the race of the white god, a son of the sea-foam, whom thou shalt lead hither across the desert, for so my people shall once more prosper and grow strong, and the land shall be to thy child and the child of the god, east and west, and north and south, further than my eagles wing between sunrise and set.”
Now, as Mattai read, the face of Tikal grew black with rage, and before ever the echoes of his voice had died away, he sprang from his seat crying:
“Whoever it was that wrote this lying prophecy, god or man, let him be accursed. Shall the Lady Maya—for her it must be whose name is the name of a nation—be given in marriage to the white dog who awaits his doom without that door, and shall his son rule over us? First will I see her dead and him with her!”
Then one of the oldest of the Council, a man named Dimas, who, as I learned afterwards, had been foster-brother to Zibalbay, rose and answered wrathily:
“It seems that these things must be so, Tikal, and beware how you utter threats of death lest they should fall upon your own head. We have called upon the god, and the god has spoken in no uncertain voice. The Lady Maya must become wife to the white man, Son of the Sea, and then things shall befall as they are fated.”
“What?” answered Tikal. “Is this wandering stranger to be set over me and all of us?”
“That I do not know,” said the Councillor, “the writing does not say so; the writing says that his son shall be set over us, and as yet he has no son. But this is certain, that the Lady Maya must be given to him as wife, and in her right he well may rule, seeing that she is the lawful heir to her father, and not you, Tikal, although you have usurped her place.”
Now many voices called upon Maya, and she stood forward and spoke, with downcast eyes.