The Perfect World: A romance of strange people and strange places

Then Jez-Riah flung off her draperies and plunged into the boiling waters. The boys watched in breathless amazement as she battled with the whirlpools, but she proved stronger than they, and swam on until she reached the mighty waterfall. Round and round she was carried and whirled but she reached her goal at last—a tiny slab of rock protruding out of the waters and under the shadow of the mighty cascade itself. Standing upon it she began a weird dance—a fanatical dance of joy. The foaming waters almost hid her from their gaze, the spray rose in front of her like a filmy gauze. At moments, however, her lithe body was exposed to view, and the boys marvelled at her agility. She did not seem to tire, but danced on, her voice raised in a strange hymn of praise. Praise of the waters, praise of the light, praise to the God of the Sun. Then came a mighty prayer that the secret ways might be opened to her—and that she might lead the strangers to safety. And even as she sang and prayed, her limbs were moving fast in dance and the waters were dashing over her and chilling her.

When she had finished her prayer she sank to her knees in an abandonment of grief and asked pardon for her one great sin—the sin she committed in leaving the temple, where she was Watcher to the Fire.

There was a long silence—only broken by the voices of the torrent raised in its ceaseless dirge.

Alan moved. “Is she safe?” he asked “What will happen to her?”—but even as he spoke the lithe body had dived once more into the waters and was swimming almost with ease to the shore. Jez-Riah stood proudly before them, her dripping hair a mantle that covered her. “Go—rest,” she commanded. “I commune with Korah,” and fleet of foot, strong in purpose, she darted down one of the passages near by, and was soon lost to sight.

“Korah! Korah!” the words grew fainter and fainter, until at length, worn out with religious fervour, Jez-Riah flung herself on the ground and fell asleep. Alan and Desmond gazed after her for some time and then Alan said “Let’s lie down, Dez. We are both worn out, and it is useless to follow her. She will return to us only when the spirit moves her.”

“Then for Heaven’s sake let us get away from this infernal din.”

They walked down one of the widest passages until they came to a place where the moss was thick and soft and the noise of the water rose faint upon their ears.

“Ar-lane—Jez-mun.” The cry came low and clear and Alan rose quickly to his feet. He had been asleep and his limbs felt rested and his head was clearer.

“It is I, Jez-Riah,” came the soft tones again, and silhouetted against the wall he saw the shadowy figure of the strange woman.

“We must go on,” she urged “We have far to go and much to do.”

“Where have you been?” he asked her.

“I have been in communication with the Spirit of the Waters, O Ar-lane; soon the mysteries of Korah will be unfolded before thine eyes. Come! Come! Tarry not too long.” In a second Desmond was awake, and Jez-Riah showed all impatience to start.

“Have you been here before?” asked Desmond curiously of Jez-Riah.

“No, O Jez-mun, but the water of Korah has given me the gift of sight. Before I was blind—now I can see. Come bind up my eyes, O Ar-lane, that clearness of vision may be mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bind up my eyes,” she commanded again.

Alan tore a strip from his purple mantle, and tied it across her eyes.

She gave an exclamation of joy. “O Ar-lane,” she cried. “Before I trod in darkness; now my path is lighted brightly, and I can lead you to many strange sights, and strange things.” As she spoke, she stretched out her hands before her and started off at a quick pace. In silence the cousins followed her. In their position as prisoners in the earth, buried so far down that they had little hope of ever seeing the sun again, they had no choice but to follow the strange, half mad creature who had constituted herself their leader.

The aspect of the road they were now traversing changed. The sides of the passage were no longer smooth and earthy, but consisted of a hard, rocky substance—the floor, too, was jagged and rough. The passage narrowed until it left only room for them to walk in single file, and the air was musty and stifling; indeed there was a pressure in the atmosphere that made the boys from the upper, world stumble as they felt the noxious gases going to their heads.

They made brave efforts, however, and staggered blindly on, one after the other, following Jez-Riah who never hesitated a moment in the course she was taking. For perhaps five miles they walked until they entered a large cavern, the replica of the many others they had been through. They noticed the change in the air immediately. It was purer, fresher, even cooler and the boys revived under its effect.

Jez-Riah tore the bandage from her eyes. “The place of my dreams,” she cried.

“I feel faint,” said Desmond in a low tone, but not so low that Jez-Riah could not hear. “He needs food?” she questioned “Here is plenty,” and going to the furthermost corner of the cave she pulled up roots by the handful—roots like the ones they had had in the lower world itself.

All the time they had been walking they had been continually ascending—at times the passages were almost like mountain passes, they rose at such a gradient—at other times the ascent was not so noticeable, but all the same they realized that they were mounting upward, and the thought cheered the two white men.

They sat and ate the roots and felt refreshed, when suddenly Desmond rose with a cry. “My God—what’s that?” There on the opposite wall, high above their heads, a light shone down upon them, a light that gleamed baleful in the semi-darkness.

“It is the sacred serpent of the Tomb,” cried Jez-Riah. “I have heard of it often when I was a child. It has existed throughout the ages—it will always exist.”

“Nonsense,” said Alan.

“You cannot kill it,” she wailed “It is the Guardian of the Tomb.”

“What, are we there, at the Tomb of Korah, already?” asked Alan in amazement.

“No! No! But we must cross its path if we would reach the Tomb. In my conceit I thought I was all powerful. I was over-confident, O Ar-lane! I heeded not the snake that is large enough to slay an enormous army and yet retain its power.”

The gleaming eyes grew nearer, and already they could see the writhing body as it moved along a rocky ledge.

“How big is it?” asked Desmond.

“I cannot see its length,” whispered Alan “but it seems as thick round as a man’s body. Let us get out of this cursed place. Which is the way, Jez-Riah?”

“Through that narrow opening yonder,” said she.

Flattening themselves against the wall they crept the way she directed, and were but a few steps from it when there came the sound of a terrible hissing, and a long evil-looking shape dropped in front of them, and hung pendulum-wise blocking up the opening.

“We can’t go that way now,” said Alan “I am afraid it’s too large to tackle. Why it must be thirty feet long at least. We shall have to go back.” Then came the most horrible experience the cousins had ever had. The most awful. The most terrifying.

“Run,” cried Alan. “If we can get into the passage beyond we may be able to block up the way and prevent it coming through after us.”

They reached the narrow opening, and all around were huge blocks of rock and stone which they piled up one on top of the other.

“Only one more is needed,” cried Alan triumphantly. But he spoke too soon—a large, flat head, perhaps a foot and a half in length, with ugly eyes glowing like live fire, shot through the opening, and watched them. The mouth was open wide and the forked tongue shot rapidly in and out in venomous fury. The smell was terrible, whether from its breath or permeating through its skin from its body, they could not tell, but it made them feel giddy, sick and ill. For perhaps ten minutes (if time could be measured in that awful place) it remained there motionless, and then gradually the stones came tumbling down as it forced its way through the barricade.

The boys watched their horrible foe. They were powerless. Escape was impossible, for behind them was a narrow passage, perhaps a mile in length, that offered no shelter.

Would it never attack them? Why keep them in this awful suspense?

“Knife,” came suddenly from between Alan’s tightly compressed lips. Then after a moment, during which time he opened the well worn blade—“There are plenty of stones behind?”

“Plenty.”

Swiftly followed the instructions. “Pick up the largest you can handle—both of you—when I give the word dash them at the brute’s head. It is our only chance—then rush past the head.”

“But—” commenced Desmond.

“Don’t argue—it’s our only hope. The thing is too big to turn round in this small space. It must go on. Once we get past it we may stand a chance.”

Alan never relaxed his watchful gaze. Suddenly the reptile lowered its head and an ugly hiss came from its mouth.

“Now,” cried Alan, and as he hurled the knife, harpoon-like into the open mouth two heavy stones came crashing down on its skull.

The sudden onslaught dazed the creature, and its head dropped to the ground. Quickly they rushed past it, but they all realized that they were not yet out of danger. The passage they were in was very narrow and the serpent was so immense that it was impossible for them to stand without feeling the clammy skin next to them.

Jez-Riah shuddered. “What will become of us?” she moaned “It is too big to kill.” And indeed, it seemed to be, for Alan had not exaggerated. The length was quite thirty feet, and the girth of its middle was perhaps ten feet, narrowing to two at the tail.

“You can’t kill it,” cried Desmond. “Why we haven’t even the old clasp knife now.” A sudden convulsive movement passed along the serpent’s body, and it made them retch to see the tremor coming from its head in undulating movements to its tail. Then it raised itself up, and Alan was right—it was impossible for it to turn—it was far too big and cumbersome. For some time, with its head raised perhaps six feet from the ground, it writhed to and fro in growing anger that its prey should so elude it. As its anger grew greater, its body rolled and moved in convulsive heaps, and the trio sickened as the malodorous mass pressed itself against them and pinioned them to the wall.

“Lannie, what can we do?” asked Desmond. Jez-Riah was almost unconscious with the awful pressure, and the strain was telling on the two boys. The strength of the beast was enormous, and they realized that it had the power, even when at a disadvantage itself, to press the very life out of them against the wall.

Then came a sudden sense of relief, as the serpent contracted itself, but gave way to horror as they realized that it was backing through the opening, and its filthy head would soon be on a line with them.

“Stones,” urged Alan hoarsely. “Hurl them at the head. Jez-Riah, you must help too.”

Feverishly they worked throwing rocks and stones with force at the monster’s head. It withstood the onslaught valiantly for a time—its strength was enormous—but at last a well directed shot of Desmond’s caught it full between the eyes, and the head dropped like a stone.

“The serpent—it is dead?” asked Jez-Riah. “But alas, no. The body is twitching all over—it has life still.”

A sharp piece of stone jutted out above Alan’s head. “Help me,” he said feverishly to his cousin. “This is our last hope—this is as sharp as a knife. If we can but loosen it you must help me to imbed it in the brute’s head. It is stunned now—we must try and overpower it while it is in that condition.” All the time they were talking they were working hard to loosen the stone and at last it fell into Alan’s hands. It was not very large, but it had an edge like a bayonet, and was of intense hardness.

Cautiously they forced their way on either side of the twisting mass, until they were on a level with its head. “There,” whispered Desmond. “Just between the eyes.”

The stone was raised; the huge beast was motionless—then, with almost superhuman power, Alan brought the stone down and embedded it deeply in the flesh, while as Alan let go, Desmond hurled a heavy piece of stone hammer-wise on the top of the stone, and buried the sharp edge still deeper in the gaping wound. The great snake woke to consciousness, and the boys had only just time to get out of the way of its gaping jaws. “Press yourself close to the wall, Dez,” commanded Alan, and they reached Jez-Riah’s side in safety. Their eyes dilated with horror as they watched the great reptile die, for the boys between them had given it its death blow.

How long the death struggle lasted they never knew. Alan thought an hour, Desmond said two. Blood poured from the wound in its head and a sickly smell rose from the liquid. For some time the stone remained fixed in the flesh of the serpent, but its writhings at last loosened it, and it fell to the ground with a horrible thud, while the blood rushed out of the open wound like a miniature fountain.

Fascinated the three watched its last movements. The body rolled from side to side, dashing first against one then against the other of the unlucky prisoners, but by flattening themselves against the walls, they escaped any big injury—only bruises left their mark to show what they had been through.

The movements became more irregular. For a long time the mighty snake remained quite still, only to wake up again after a rest with renewed energy. At last its spasms became less frequent and less powerful. It was dying. Its breath came like huge sobs that travelled down its body. The stench was almost unendurable. “I think it’s safe now,” said Alan at last. Slowly they moved from their cramped positions. Their hearts throbbed and their limbs ached. Fearsomely they gave a last look at the head of the dying, if not already dead, monster. A shudder ran through them all. The strain through which they had passed had been terrible, but for Alan, who had engineered the defeat, it had been terrific. His limbs ached, his head swam, and he reeled as he walked on the free ground, unpolluted by the serpent. He laughed a wild unnatural laugh; it sounded strange even in his own ears, and he repeated it, as he wondered whether he was indeed going mad. He felt suddenly unaccountably frightened. Everything faded from him but the memory of the serpent behind. With another peal of almost senseless laughter, he ran madly away into the distance, until the darkness swallowed him up, and only the sound of his wild laughter broke the stillness. Jez-Riah clutched at her throat and spoke to Desmond. “Ar-lane—he is ill—come,” said she, and the two followed Alan away into the blackness as he sped on, laughing—laughing—laughing.

Time passed—time that had no measure—time that seemed an eternity. They had all recovered from their encounter with the Sacred Serpent, but the adventure had left them nervous and irritable. There was food in plenty, and the luscious roots gave them both meat and drink. Always upward they mounted—and as they saw the mountainous paths rise before them, hope held out her encouraging hand, and whispered that one day they might even see the stars. Jez-Riah still led them on, through untold paths and a labyrinthine maze. She always maintained that she knew the right path to take.

Sometimes they had to crawl on their hands and knees through narrow and low passages that seemed to have no end. At other times they found themselves in wide, airy byways with a height almost beyond computation, for far above their heads they could just catch the faintest glimmer of light on the purple growth that covered the roof. Now and again springs bubbled up from the earth and ran along beside them, burying themselves as suddenly as they had appeared. The atmosphere was very sultry and fetid—very different from the air on the other side of the underground river that separated the underworld people from the desolate region they were now in. “How long, Jez-Riah?” they asked her over and over again. “How long before we reach the Tomb of Korah?” And her answer was the same each time. “Oh Men of the World Above, I do not tarry, I am leading you to the Tomb as fast as I can. Be content with that.” So the days passed—so the nights came round again. Days which had no night, nights which had no day. Time was measured by sleep. When they were all weary they lay down to rest and sleep. This they called night—when they awoke they called it day. But they had lost count of the times they had slept since Jez-Riah had come to them, they had lost count of everything. They had only one object before them—to reach the Tomb of Korah. Their plans ended there; they had no idea what their next move would be after they reached it. They had grown accustomed to their strange, purple companion—in fact she had become almost a necessity to them both. It was she who passed many weary hours for them, by recounting stories of the life of her people since they had lived below. It was she who told them even more fully than Har-Barim had done, how her people’s forefathers had risen up against Musereah, and Har-Raeon, and how they had consequently suffered throughout the ages. And both the boys translated Musereah as Moses, and Har-Raeon as Aaron, and were more than ever convinced that strange as the story was, this new race was indeed descended from the Israelites of the Old Testament and could claim Korah, Abiram and Dathan as its progenitors.

It was Jez-Riah who told them that behind a barred gate was built a golden tomb wherein had been deposited the remains of their first priests—“Har-Barim and Kartharn.” It was at their shrine that the ceremonies attached to the feast of Meherut were performed. It was their Holy of Holies, and it was over the bones of Har-Barim and Kartharn that the priests made their vows.

They asked Jez-Riah about the fire and she grew solemn as she answered them—“Ah, Men from Above, Our Fire is sacred—it is Holy. It is the symbol of our Jovah.—It is almost our God. The God of our forefathers took on one occasion the form of fire, so fire is sacred to us.”

“The Burning Bush,” said Alan in an undertone.

“But,” she added sorrowfully, “the power of the Fire is waning. According to one of our prophecies, when the Fire shall die, then, also shall all the seed of Korah die too. In all the ages that have passed since the earth closed against us, no fuel was needed for the Fire—it burnt of itself and never grew less. Then one day noises were heard in the earth—our land shook and trembled, and men fell on their faces in fear. From that day we knew the Fire was growing less. Our priests knew it—all our people knew it and terror was in all our hearts. Then our high priest looked up all the old laws and in the fourth book of Rabez-ka, Queebenhah the Seer writes—

‘When the Fire shall shrink, then is the time ripe for the people of Kalvar to rise. Live sacrifices must be offered to appease the God of Anger. Send forth a Light to the world above, and let it bring back men and animals and birds to feed the furnace of Light. Live sacrifices alone will keep the fire quickened—live sacrifices alone will prevent calamities falling on the Children of Kalvar.’

“So our wise men gathered together,” she continued, “and by the wisdom of all, the Light was made. The wise men of the temple and Kaweeka alone could handle it—for they were possessed of Holiness, and the Light was made from the Fire itself. Chemicals were drawn from the recesses of the earth, and in secret the Light was made.”

“How did they use it, Jez-Riah?”

“When it was sent out into the earth above, it was sensitive only to life. When any warm living thing of the world was near, it swooped down, and coiled round and carried its prey back to us.”

“I understand better,” said Alan to his cousin. “The Light is some magnetic electrical current with abnormal power. Ugh! It’s horrible.”

“But why did they stop sending out the Light for fodder to feed the flames?” asked Desmond.

“Because we realized that our time is short. Nothing will keep the Fire alive. The end is near.”

So they travelled—and then depression overtook them as their journey seemed endless and they got no nearer to their goal. Even Jez-Riah herself seemed to lose hope, and with tears in her eyes she would say pathetically “O Ar-lane, my senses seem dimmed—the way is dark. Surely we must come there soon!”

The monotony of the way drove the white men nearly mad. The monotony of the food sickened them. They felt half dazed; they forgot the reason of their march; they forgot, even, what the goal was toward which they were going. They knew only that some power within them urged them to go on and on and always on.

At last Jez-Riah’s eyes grew bright and her step alert. “Don’t speak,” she urged, “don’t speak!” So they went, until all the passages merged into one long tunnel—darker than the others through which they had come. The natural light shed from the earth itself, grew still more feeble, and they found it difficult to walk for fear of hidden pitfalls. Suddenly the passage ended and Jez-Riah gave a glad cry. “Behold, O Men of the Sun, this is the entrance to the Tomb of Korah.”

“Are you sure?” asked Alan.

“Quite, O Ar-lane. The paths we have been traversing were made by our forefathers long æons ago. After they had fastened Korah and all that appertained to him fast within the bowels of the earth, they had to fight their way through to make a place of habitation. They cut paths as they marched along, and when they found the Fire—there they made their home. I knew that when all paths merged into one, the way was near to Korah’s tomb.”

The place in which they found themselves was very disappointing. Their way just ended—it did not widen out at all, and the end was piled with stones and earth that had fallen through the ages. Their quest was over at last, and they took their first untroubled rest. They slept long and quietly, and it was Jez-Riah who awakened them and placed before them the food they were so heartily sick of. “Nay, eat,” she commanded, “your strength is needed more than before,” and feeling the truth of her words, they ate until they were satisfied and felt all the better for the food.

“The earth has fallen,” said Jez-Riah. “If we are to find the entrance to the tomb we must clear away all that rubble.”

Feverishly they set to work tearing their hands to pieces on the jagged stones until the passage behind them was nearly closed with the mass of rock and earth that they had displaced. Twice they slept, and then success came to them, for a solid slab of rock appeared in the wall—a rock that had been made smooth and upon which were carven hieroglyphics.

“I cannot read it,” said Jez-Riah, but Alan was already translating, for it was the Hebrew he knew, and not the corruption that had come down through the ages to the purple people.

“Read it aloud,” said Desmond, and Alan spoke the words of the inscription reverently.

“Korah, son of Izhar, the son of Kohath, the son of Levi, and his wives and his children and all that appertains unto him and to them, lie buried in this cave. For the wrath of Jehovah fell on his people who sinned against the Lord, tempted by the Evil one—Korah. This is his Tomb—cursed be the ones who open it before the day appointed is at hand.

“Dathan and Abiram, sons of Eliab, the son of Peleth, son of Reuben; Shedur, son of Helon, son of Abira, the son of Simeon. Priests, chosen by the banished Children of Israel in their new land of Kalvar—in the bowels of the earth.”

The cousins did little else but talk about the discovery until the time came for them to rest. Their labours had been rewarded; the Tomb of Korah had been revealed to them.

They worked hard when they awoke to move the massive block of stone. There was no secret spring to assist them—the stone had been placed in position some three thousand years before, and now seemed to defy all the efforts they made to move it. With rocks and stones used lever-wise they worked until after many “days” they succeeded in forcing the solid block of stone to the ground, but behind it was a wall closely built of stones and earth bound together with a rude cement. Their fingers were torn and bleeding in their attempt to pull the stones apart. “At last,” cried Alan in delight. For as he worked his hand had gone into space—the tomb was laid open before him.

The Tomb of Korah! They had reached their goal at last! The boys stood back awed at the thought of what might have passed in that selfsame cavern thousands of years before.

“You go first, Jez-Riah,” said Alan at last, and slowly, reverently the two boys followed her in. The natural light had grown stronger and allowed them to see quite plainly the mysteries the cave was to unfold. They discovered it to be a cavern perhaps forty yards square. The roof rose above them perhaps a hundred feet, and was marked by a deep, zigzagged line running across it from one side to the other. It was like a scar!

“Dez,” said Alan suddenly, “is that where the earth originally opened, when it deposited Korah and the other Israelites within its bowels?”

“If so we ought to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Palestine,” replied Desmond.

The cave had no outlet, and on the floor lay precious stones of every kind and colour;—diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds, sapphires—as large as Barcelona nuts—lay strewn about in fabulous quantities. In one corner of the cave were the remains of furniture and household goods, mostly rotted away and eaten by worms; and mingled with the precious stones were human bones—human bones in such quantities that it was impossible to avoid treading on them. Here was a thigh bone, there a skeleton hand or a skull. Everywhere the bones of men and beasts mingled together in a heterogeneous mass.

Quietly, slowly they made a round of the place, There were skeletons of horses, asses and camels lying together in a corner, and piled on top of each other in such a way as proved it had been done by the human agency, were the remains of little children.

Skeletons of females with the remnants of clothing on their whitened bones, adorned with anklets of gold and bracelets set with gems, were everywhere, and the whole scene was like a ghastly wonder story of the East. They picked their way through a bed of grinning skulls to where they saw something shining.

Alan picked it up. “A censer,” said he, “one of the most beautiful I have ever seen,” And indeed it was of wonderful workmanship. Even their little knowledge told them it was of pure gold; it was most wonderfully fashioned to represent on the one side a cherub—a cherub so perfect that even the finger nails were represented, and on the other, bunches of grapes and vine leaves—symbols of the promised land.

Precious stones gleamed cunningly everywhere, and the chains from which the censer swung were studded with diamonds. They could scarcely bear to put it down, but gazed at it entranced with its beauty. Every moment they found in it some greater glory.

“I have seen nothing modern even resembling this,” said Alan at last. “Why, it is exquisite—think of its value!”

“Its history alone would render it priceless,” said Desmond, “apart from its precious metal and workmanship.”

“Yes, but of what use is it to us down here?” questioned Alan. “And even if we ever do get out, who will believe our story?”

“I wonder where we shall find ourselves if we do discover a way out,” said Desmond. “We have lost all sense of direction down here—of distance and of time. Why, we haven’t even any idea of how far we have walked since we left the purple people—how far do you think, Alan?”

Alan shook his head. “It’s impossible to say, Dez. How many times have we slept? We counted three hundred times and then forgot—three hundred times is a long while, old boy. We must have walked at least fifteen miles each ‘day’ we have been on the march—perhaps even more—so we have done a considerable distance.”

“Then where shall we find ourselves? Africa? America? Asia?”

“Well, we shall not be penniless when we do get to the world again,” and Alan pointed at the wealth of jewels at their feet.

“It is those that make me feel we shall never get out,” said Desmond despondently.

“Why?”

“Because it is only in books of romance that such an adventure as ours would culminate successfully, and it would only be in a Romance of Romances that adventurers would come back from the very centre of the earth, laden with such untold wealth!”

“Don’t be so depressing, Dez,” laughed Alan.

“But it’s true, Lanny. With wealth like this in our hands we could command the trades of the entire world. Why, with this we could corner wheat—corner cotton—corner millionaires themselves—if we were permitted to use it.”

“Why permitted?”

“Well, it depends on the government of the country we eventually land in; they will want their share. If it’s France we may get one half—if it’s Spain perhaps an eighth—Russia?—well, nothing at all and the salt mines into the bargain.”

“You are very cheerful,” laughed Alan, “but as a matter of fact, I’ve been planning what I mean to do with my share if we do get out.”

Jez-Riah had been listening to the two boys speaking and sighed deeply. They were talking in their own language and had forgotten all about their strange companion.

“What will happen to her if we ever do reach the upper world?” said Desmond suddenly.

Alan looked soberly at the quaint little purple creature who had so grown into their lives, who had been so useful to them, who had become almost a friend. They treated her as they would some great, faithful hound who was devoted to them alone. She was like a dumb animal in her unwavering loyalty to them, and indeed would have laid down her very life for her friends.

“She’ll have no easy time, poor thing,” said Alan, “but I’ll use every scrap of my energy to prevent an Earl’s Court Exhibition for her.”

Again Jez-Riah sighed and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“What ails thee?” asked Alan in her own language.

“I am sad and sorrowful, O Ar-lane,” she replied. “The memory of a prophecy has come to me. I shall see the stars of Heaven—the Sun in the Sky—but with pain alone will such sights come to me.”

“We’ll keep pain from you,” said Alan kindly. “If you are to see the stars, then that means we shall all find a way out from here.”

The boys set to work to try and find Korah’s remains and an outlet to the world above. Many times they slept, and their last waking thought was—“Shall we find a way out to-morrow?” They counted the skeletons and piled them reverently in one corner. They counted the remains of twenty-two women, forty-nine men and about thirty children, some of whom appeared to be but newly born.

They gathered the precious stones, and placed perhaps a gallon measureful in a basket Jez-Riah had plaited out of the roots of the mautzer—her fingers were busy the whole time they were exploring the cavern and its contents.

She had made a covering for the censer, and that had been put carefully aside. The furniture and tenting was all valueless. It fell to pieces at a touch and only small scraps of tinder-like material remained to prove the glories of the silken coverings that had been buried with the Israelites of old. Harness made of leather, and trappings bound with gold lay on the ground mixed up with the bones of the animals they had adorned; chariot wheels lay among the wreckage, and the whole scene was one of utter desolation and carnage.

“Do you know of a way out?” asked Alan of Jez-Riah over and over again, and always she answered “I have brought you in safety to the tomb of Korah, O my friends. Further the way is hidden from me. Now I trust to you.”

There was no apparent outlet from the cavern, and the boys hunted for any written record that might have been left behind by Korah or his company. “I want a proof of our statements,” said Alan. “When we get to the upper world we shall be looked upon as madmen if we are unable to substantiate our story.”

But Jez-Riah would say, “Give up hunting for records of my forefathers, I beg you, and turn your energies to find a way to the sun—”

Alan was thinking deeply on the situation they were in, when his eyes were caught by the scar on the roof. “I wonder,” said he suddenly, “I wonder if there is a way out—there.”

“Where?” asked Desmond.

Alan jerked his head in the direction of the scar. “It would be madness to try and find out,” said he. “The ledges of rock are not strong enough to bear one—don’t think of risking your life in such a foolish adventure.”

And indeed it seemed almost impossible. The walls of the cavern were jagged and rough, and in many places overhung in a dangerous manner. To climb to the roof would have made even an experienced Alpine climber think twice before he attempted it, and to one inexperienced in such feats it seemed like courting death.

“You wouldn’t try,” Desmond urged. He knew Alan of old, and feared for him.

Alan laughed. “Is it likely?” was all he said. But all the same the thought remained in his mind, and his brain was working.

It was time to go to sleep. They had supped off the roots of mautzer, and had drunk the liquid from the stems of the elers, and felt refreshed. Jez-Riah was already breathing softly, and Desmond was talking in fitful gusts with drowsy interludes between. Of the three, Alan alone was wide awake. He answered Desmond quietly, and he at last dropped off to sleep too. For some time Alan remained quite quiet, afraid lest a tiny movement of his might awaken either of his companions. Then Jez-Riah’s breath came in deep, indrawn sighs, and Desmond lay with one hand over his head and his lips slightly apart. Alan looked at them both closely—they were fast asleep.

Stealthily he rose and stepped past the sleepers through the low way into the Tomb of Korah. He moved with purpose, for his plans were all carefully thought out. High up in the roof, at the farthest right hand corner, the scar seemed its widest. Quickly he walked toward it, and without a backward glance began a long, dangerous and arduous climb. The rocks were slippery, and the foothold almost nothing, yet with tenacious pluck he kept on until his fingers were lacerated and his limbs ached. Pulling himself up by the jagged pieces of rock, he came closer to the roof. Once only he looked below, and his heart pumped and his head swam as he saw the depths beneath. After that he kept his eyes bent upward, and he did not stop until he could touch the roof itself. There was a little ledge, three feet from the top, which was big enough for him to sit on fairly comfortably, and his breath came in hard gasps as he rested.

Then, as his strength came back to him, he carefully put his hand inside the fissure. A stone moved, and as he withdrew his hand, it dropped into the cave beneath, and the sickening thud made him tremble. He heard the sound of rushing waters. Gradually he wormed his way until he was seated in the fissure itself, and looked down on a swiftly flowing river twenty feet below him. It was very swift—he could not tell its depth, neither could he get down to it—for the water had neither bank nor ledge to stand upon. High walls reared on either side of the water as it raced on its mad journey. He watched the swirling depths. The spray at times reached his face, and cooled him. The water was of a different colour from the rivers in Kalvar—it looked cleaner, fresher. “I wonder whither it leads,” he muttered, and then he examined his position.

He was inside the fissure on a ledge perhaps three feet wide. There was a sheer drop into the waters below of twenty feet. There was no other outlet at all. If they were to escape it would have to be by the water. It was impossible to go back. Then a daring plan came to him. “If we had the pluck,” said he to himself, “Well, it will be do or die.” and slowly he turned his attention to the descent.

Desmond had slept well; he woke lazily and looked round him. Alan had already gone. He turned sleepily over, but raised himself quickly as Alan hailed him from Korah’s tomb with an exultant shout. Even Jez-Riah realized that something of import had happened as she watched Alan enter, bubbling over with excitement, and his eyes bright and shining.

“What is it?” asked Desmond eagerly.

“I’ve found the remains of Korah.” Alan made the announcement quietly, but his cousin saw the undercurrent of excitement that lay beneath his words.

“You’ve found Korah?” he repeated stupidly.

“Listen,” went on Alan eagerly, and speaking in the quaint Hebraic dialect, so that Jez-Riah might share his news, he told them of his adventure to the roof of the cave, and of the river beyond. “Well,” he concluded, “as I neared the bottom my foot slipped and I clutched at a piece of jutting rock to save me, and I had to use all my strength to keep from falling. My foothold gone, I had to worm my way round the rock to find another place easy of descent. You know the wall is full of cracks and crevices. I came upon a crevice larger than the others. It was big enough to get through, and I wondered why we hadn’t noticed it before. I realized, however, the tricks the lighting of this place plays upon us, and I could see that the hole simply looked like a shadow on the wall, so cunningly is it hidden. I scrambled easily through, and found it to be a cave, quite small, in the middle of which is a deep pond of water, and fastened on the wall by the aid of rude nails was this—” and he held out a roll of parchment that crackled at his touch.

Desmond examined it curiously. “Why it’s a papyrus,” he exclaimed.

“Yes! and written by Korah himself, and placed there just before he died.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yes, it’s quite easy in parts. Listen,” and Alan translated from the old and faded Hebraic characters the following,

Know, then, these four months, as far as it is possible to judge time in this accursed spot, I and all my belongings have remained in this cavern. Abiram and Dathan have sealed the doors of stone against us. Escape is impossible. There is naught for us to do but die. Be it known—I—Korah the Accursed—am sore at heart for my sins of rebellion against Moses and Aaron. Jehovah has inflicted upon us all a grievous punishment. His name be praised. Food there is none except that which came down with us into this pit of terror. Lord of Hosts, I tremble at what I see. Mothers tearing their little ones, women in childbirth crying to the God in Heaven that they may die before they are delivered. I—Korah—alone have remained fasting. It is the only reparation I can make for my sins, and for the unworthiness I have shown as one of Jehovah’s chosen ones. I Korah—”

Then came a space that was unintelligible. Time had worked its will and the writing was indistinct, and in parts entirely erased. “How awful,” said Desmond, shuddering. “Think—half these skeletons here were perhaps murdered by their brothers for food. What agonies, what pangs they must have suffered!” “Wait—there is more,” said Alan, and he went on translating,

“Forty days and forty nights fasting is as nothing to the fasting here. It seems forty times forty since food passed my parched and cracked lips. My people turn not upon me and slay me. Oh that they would! Dead flesh is rotting all around me—the air is heavy with the stench. There are none now left alive but myself. I will fasten this to the wall of the inner cave, and then lay me down to die. Of what use are gold and riches to us here? Poorer am I than the most disease-laden beggar of the world above. O God of Hosts forgive Korah, the son of Izhar, the son of Kohath, the son of Levi.”

For some time after Alan had finished reading the boys remained in silence. The whole scene rose up in their minds like a picture, and the horror of it nauseated them. The terrible hunger and thirst of the captives-the scenes of cannibalism afterwards—the child murder—it was revolting. “Now,” said Alan. “Come to the real tomb of Korah. This is the tomb of his people—but he lies yonder.” So the three of them mounted the rough steps in the rock, and ten feet above their heads was the little opening. Just a little cleft through which they passed, and down a short but steep path into the cave below.

The centre of the cave was taken up by a deep pool of water, but a narrow path ran all round. A huge block of stone lay immersed in the water and round it the water bubbled and sang showing the place where the pond had its birth.

But Desmond saw no sign of the bones of Korah. He looked puzzled. “There is no skeleton here,” said he. “Where is Korah?” Silently Alan pointed to the grey rock over which the water was lapping. Desmond looked at it intently-and then understood. In the course of time a spring had bubbled up and the waters had covered the body of Korah. Some chemical property in the water had preserved the dead body and turned it to stone, and in the ages that had passed deposits of lime and other minerals had been secreted on the body, until it was now of gargantuan size. Still plain, however, were the features. A rather long nose, Semitic in shape, protruded from a face that had possessed prominent cheek-bones and deep, sunken eyes. The hair which had been long was now a mass of stone that mingled with the shapeless body. They could just trace the semblance of arms that were folded across the stone chest, and there was the suspicion of feet protruding from a kilted tunic of cold grey stone.

In all, just a shapeless boulder in which could be traced the likeness of what had once been a living man. The waters of the centuries had preserved Korah alone of the Israelites of old who had been imprisoned in the pit.

Jez-Riah had listened in silence. With one finger she had traced the outlines of the once handsome face—now she spoke.

“He killed himself—in the water?” she asked.

“No,” said Alan, “I think the cave was dry in those days. He just came here to die; and in the place where his dead body lay, before time could rot the flesh, a spring broke through the floor of the cave and preserved him—a memorial to all time of his sin.”

“Praise be to Jovah,” said Jez-Riah in a hushed tone.

“Requiescat in pace,” said Alan as they turned to leave the place. “Amen,” whispered his cousin—and Korah was once more left alone.

“Now,” said Alan some time later while they were having their meal, “now we must make some arrangements about leaving this place. The only way is by the river, yonder.”

“Can we make a raft strong enough to bear us?” asked Desmond. Alan shook his head. “I’ve already investigated,” he said. “There is absolutely nothing. The wood in there is rotten with age. I doubt whether it would even float. There is only one possible way,” and he looked at them intently. “We can all swim pretty well. Our only hope is to throw ourselves on the mercy of the waters. The knowledge we have of swimming will enable us to keep our heads out of the water—we must trust the current to do the rest. It may mean death—but are we not in a living death already? At any rate are you willing to try?” They walked into the big cave and Desmond looked fearfully at the terrible ascent which they would have to make in order to reach the river, for it flowed on a much higher level than that on which they were themselves.

“Yes, it’s pretty stiff,” said Alan grimly. “But it’s that or nothing. Are you ready to risk it?” For a moment only, Desmond hesitated, then his mind was made up and his hand gripped that of his cousin.

“Yes,” said he. “What about you, Jez-Riah?” And they were both surprised at the calm way in which she took the suggestion.

“It is very high,” said she. “How easy it would be to fall!”

They rested and slept and ate before they attempted the ascent. Also they had many preparations to make. There was certain of the jewels to be taken with them—the papyrus and the censer. Jez-Riah plaited a waterproof case for the parchment, and with a plaited rope fastened it to Alan’s shoulders. The jewels were divided out between them and placed in little bags that Jez-Riah wove from the root tendrils that grew outside the large cave. The censer proved the greatest difficulty. It was not only heavy, but exceedingly bulky and cumbersome. It was Alan again who decided to carry it. “But it will drag you down,” objected his cousin. “I’ll manage it,” he replied, and he had it fastened securely to his back with the strong rope that Jez-Riah could make so quickly.

So they began their arduous climb. Alan went first, followed by Jez-Riah, and Desmond brought up the rear. “On no account look down,” Alan kept urging. “It will be fatal if you do.” At last they reached the tiny platform. Alan looked at it doubtfully. Would it hold three grown persons? He shivered—it would be a tight squeeze. His hand went down and met Jez-Riah’s. He pulled her on to their resting place in safety, and then Desmond reached it, and for a while they sat in silence. The rushing of the waters could be plainly heard. Time was passing—Alan dared not move, for Jez-Riah, worn out with the climb, was leaning heavily against him, and he knew that the slightest movement from one or the other of them might send them to their death, for the seat was none too safe. “I think the time has come for action,” said he quietly at last. “It is useless to wait here any longer.”

Jez-Riah moved restlessly. “What your will is, O Ar-lane, that will I do,” said she.

“I am going to plunge in the water,” announced Alan. “If you see my body rise—follow me quickly. Do not struggle, let the current do its will with you. Safety lies in submission.”

“Why wait to see if you rise?” asked Desmond.

“Because I do not know what whirlpools may be hidden there. If you do not see me after I have plunged in, then you must do as you think best. But surely death is preferable to a lifetime here?”

“Then I shan’t—”

“Don’t argue, old man. Do as I bid you. God bless you.”

The cousins solemnly shook hands, lingering pathetically. It was like a good-bye to the dying.

“Ar-lane, O Ar-lane,” came from Jez-Riah.

“Have courage, little sister, be brave and follow me.” And before they could say another word, he had swung himself over the edge and had dropped into the foaming water.

The water hissed and roared with fury as it felt the presence of the foreign body—then it quieted a little. Alan’s head appeared, his face deathly pale, and before they realized it, he was out of sight, borne on the swift current.

Jez-Riah was trembling. “Be brave, little sister.” Almost unconsciously Desmond repeated his cousin’s words. She clung to him for a second, and then with a little frightened moan that went as soon as it was uttered, she too dropped into the water below, and was carried out of sight. Suddenly a great fear came over Desmond. He was alone. The cavern seemed to ring with laughter—the laughter of dead men. He hovered at the edge of the little cleft and looked deep into the boiling mass below, but he dared not drop in.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he moaned, and the awful loneliness came upon him and enveloped him in a cloak of terror.

He looked behind him at the yawning chasm below. If he lost his foothold—he shuddered. And then with a mighty spring and a muttered “God help me,” he followed in the wake of his cousin. The water closed over him—he held his breath until his lungs felt as if they would burst with the strain. Relief came at last, the waters had calmed a little, and he was floating gently on the current. He was conscious of intense inky blackness, of icy waters and a fetid air above; of a swiftly moving stream, that, although not rough, was running fast; of strange shapes that seemed to hover about him, and long, clammy hands that tried to pull him out of the water. He knew it was death himself he was fighting, and he fought to evade the fingers that were now so near, almost clasped round his throat. Then his senses forsook him and he was only an atom, tossed about on the bosom of the unknown river, a nothingness in a world of mystery and wonder.