|
|
|
Prev
| Next
| Contents
HOW THE ENEMY CAME TO THLUNRANA
It had been prophesied of old and foreseen from the ancient days that
its enemy would come upon Thlunrana. And the date of its doom was
known and the gate by which it would enter, yet none had prophesied
of the enemy who he was save that he was of the gods though he dwelt
with men. Meanwhile Thlunrana, that secret lamaserai, that chief
cathedral of wizardry, was the terror of the valley in which it stood
and of all lands round about it. So narrow and high were the windows
and so strange when lighted at night that they seemed to regard men
with the demoniac leer of something that had a secret in the dark. Who
were the magicians and the deputy-magicians and the great arch-wizard
of that furtive place nobody knew, for they went veiled and hooded and
cloaked completely in black.
Though her doom was close upon her and the enemy of prophecy
should come that very night through the open, southward door that
was named the Gate of the Doom, yet that rocky edifice Thlunrana
remained mysterious still, venerable, terrible, dark, and dreadfully
crowned with her doom. It was not often that anyone dared wander
near to Thlunrana by night when the moan of the magicians invoking
we know not Whom rose faintly from inner chambers, scaring the
drifting bats: but on the last night of all the man from the black-thatched
cottage by the five pine-trees came, because he would see Thlunrana
once again before the enemy that was divine, but that dwelt with men,
should come against it and it should be no more. Up the dark valley he
went like a bold man, but his fears were thick upon him; his bravery
bore their weight but stooped a little beneath them. He went in at the
southward gate that is named the Gate of the Doom. He came into a
dark hall, and up a marble stairway passed to see the last of Thlunrana.
At the top a curtain of black velvet hung and he passed into a chamber
heavily hung with curtains, with a gloom in it that was blacker than
anything they could account for. In a sombre chamber beyond, seen
through a vacant archway, magicians with lighted tapers plied their
wizardry and whispered incantations. All the rats in the place were
passing away, going whimpering down the stairway. The man from
the black-thatched cottage passed through that second chamber: the
magicians did not look at him and did not cease to whisper. He passed
from them through heavy curtains still of black velvet and came into a
chamber of black marble where nothing stirred. Only one taper burned
in the third chamber; there were no windows. On the smooth floor and
under the smooth wall a silk pavilion stood with its curtains drawn close
together: this was the holy of holies of that ominous place, its inner
mystery. One on each side of it dark figures crouched, either of men
or women or cloaked stone, or of beasts trained to be silent. When
the awful stillness of the mystery was more than he could bear the
man from the black-thatched cottage by the five pine-trees went up
to the silk pavilion, and with a bold and nervous clutch of the hand
drew one of the curtains aside, and saw the inner mystery, and laughed.
And the prophecy was fulfilled, and Thlunrana was never more a terror
to the valley, but the magicians passed away from their terrific halls and
fled through the open fields wailing and beating their breasts, for
laughter was the enemy that was doomed to come against Thlunrana
through her southward gate (that was named the Gate of the Doom),
and it is of the gods but dwells with man.
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|
|
|