CHAPTER XVI.
DIABLERIE.
“Shades of Paracelsus!” cried the Doctor. “If this ain’t the most amazing thing I ever saw?”
The Doctor stood on the opposite side of the altar looking at me. In spite of the vigor of his exclamation, he appeared to be calm and collected. I saw that he had pulled Maurice’s shirt open and was feeling about inside, trying to find the heart.
“Thank God you are yourself again,” I murmured. “It’s all over now, I suppose.”
“You mean with Maurice?”
“Of course! Who else?”
You forget, brother Wylde, that there still exists an individual of the name of Philpot—besides, there is the girl and yourself.”
“Waste no words now, for heaven sake! Only tell me if he is dead.”
“Just what I am trying to find out, my dear fellow. Be patient a moment and we shall see.”
For fully ten minutes he labored, displaying, as he had done in the case of Walla’s father, a method in his work which bore out his claim to some medical skill.
Anxiously absorbed, I watched, unable to turn my thoughts until at length he drew back and boldly pronounced his dictum.
“It’s no use, talking, Wylde; Maurice is dead.”
And the Doctor believed it—nor can I blame him. I often wonder how I had the hardihood to face him down as I did.
“It makes no difference what you or any one else say!” I cried passionately. “I will never leave that body until Nature sets her final seal upon it! Where’s the other one? Where is that scoundrel Mirrikh? What”
“Hush—sh!” he interposed. For God’s sake restrain yourself and remember that we are entirely at the mercy of these people. Look behind you—we are not alone.”
His words produced their effect, for they brought me to a realizing sense of the fact that if I meant to stay by Maurice I had to keep in the good graces of the powers which controlled the lamasery. There was Walla, too! Had I forgotten her?
Yes, Walla was there. When I looked around I saw her.
She lay crouched all in a heap at the foot of the altar where she had first flung herself.
In an instant I was at her side and strove to take her in my arms, but she repulsed me. Murmuring some broken words in an unknown tongue, she pushed me away.
I staggered back and stared around the place. Again that strange magnetic current went darting through my brain.
Behind her kneeled old Padma, turning a silver prayer wheel, its monotonous click ringing out sharply in the stillness. The body of the adept, however, had disappeared.
I passed my hand before my eyes as though that would banish the strange sensations which were oppressing me. “I must be calm,” I reflected. “I must restrain myself and act only for the best.”
“Oh Jerusalem! If I only had a smoke!” groaned the Doctor. “It might steady my nerves a bit. Would you think me a perfect ghoul if I felt in Maurice’s pocket for his tobacco bag, Wylde? There’s his flask, too.”
“There is no necessity. He gave both to me this morning to give to you,” I answered, producing the articles in question.
“Laus Deo. The country is safe! Give me just one moment to fire up and I’ll argue with you for the rest of the night.”
He filled the pipe with a hand which trembled visibly. He was badly shaken, no doubt of that, but he seemed to revive after a pull at the flask.
Meanwhile I stood stroking back the curls from Maurice’s brow, dreaming. Picture after picture presented itself before me with a vividness that made me almost wonder why I doubted the sincerity of those who claim clairvoyant sight.
I was back at Swatow. For an instant I even thought my wife stood before me, holding in her arms the babe we had buried on the other side of the globe. I was on the steamer—I saw Maurice, as I had first seen him; careless, gay and handsome. I was in the old consulate at Panompin—we were discussing metaphysics. I was again the negative, he the positive. It was all his effort that I should be aroused from my lethargy, lifted out of myself! Then before me rose in all their massive sublimity, the triple towers of the Nagkon Wat. I saw the big Buddha of Ballambong. We were in the old tower storm-bound. Mirrikh—that horrible Mirrikh—was forming as a whitish cloud at my feet; when suddenly—snap went the Doctor’s match; the flame flared up above the pipe bowl, and my visions vanished with the smoke.
“Now I can talk,” said the Doctor, satisfiedly. “Nothing like it when you are rattled. Wylde you have got us into a horrible mess.”
“I know it. I wish I might have died before I ever met Maurice.”
“Oh, bosh! To the dogs with your sickly sentiment. I want to review the situation that we may get out of this infernal scrape if we can.”
“I am listening.”
“First of all, do you know what was done with Mirrikh?”
“No.”
“Ah! Then I am ahead of you there. Thought I was able to throw off their infernal magnetism first. I either dreamed it, or I saw the lamas put it in the empty coffin in the niche—the one he said it belonged in—the one marked for Mars.”
“Oh this hypnotism!” I murmurmed. “Doctor, why could you not resist it? You, with all your boasted strength of will?”
“Wylde, you were hypnotized, too.”
“I don’t deny it. But with your will it might”
“The devil! The smallest of them seem to have power over me. Hope that old crow Padma don’t understand what I am saying. Say, Wylde, did you see it all?”
We compared notes for the space of at least ten minutes. Let me say briefly that all I saw, the Doctor saw, and more. He heard the voice, too, as it called that last farewell; and like myself, after that he seemed to lose consciousness completely. Next he knew he was standing by the altar looking down upon Maurice’s body just as I had done. In short, his experience was the exact duplicate of mine with the exception that he saw the adept’s body put in the coffin, and a few minor points.
I believe we might have kept on talking indefinitely, had not the sudden cessation of the clicking prayer wheel turned our attention to Padma, who was in the act of rising from his knees.
“Speak to him, Doctor!” I whispered. “Beg him to release that poor girl from the hypnotic influence. It breaks my heart to see her so.”
The Doctor tried it in Hindustanee, and if I may believe his assertion, got along splendidly.
“It’s no use to interfere with his plans, George,” he said, after a moment. “He says the girl is all right. He claims that she is a powerful sensitive, and more amazing than all; he swears—what do you suppose?”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, I beg of you, Doctor.”
“He says he is going to show us Maurice and Mr. Mirrikh in the astral body. We are to see them on their road to Mars.”
“In other words, he is going to hypnotize us again.”
“I’m afraid so, and by the living Cæsar! if he tries it I’ll smash him. Hold on, George! What in thunder is he about? This reminds one strangely of the Black Art!”
Pausing before Walla, Padma was tracing about her on the stone floor an imaginary circle, using for the purpose a slender brass rod, which he drew from beneath his cloak.
He made no effort to disturb us; not even by those now dreaded mesmeric passes, but kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the stones, as he slowly walked three times about the girl, chanting in a low voice.
Why did we not interfere?
Do not ask me. We could not. Put it down to cowardice if you wish, but I hold the occult influences which seemed to pervade the place, responsible for it. We did not—that is enough.
Now our whole attention seemed to concentrate itself on the old lama, with an intensity which banished all other thoughts.
He moved away to a distant part of the room, and though I tried to follow him with my eyes, I found I could not, for they were closed as though by a hand drawn suddenly down over my forehead. I want it distinctly understood that I felt the touch of this hand—that it was real and no way the outgrowth of my imagination. The Doctor had the same experience, only he swore afterward that the hand which closed his eyes was a child’s hand, and I know the one which touched me was big and rough—the hand of a full grown man.
Suddenly our eyes opened of their own accord, and there was Padma before us again. He now held a large, oval bowl of solid gold, chased in curious pattern and filled to the brim with a liquid of the most intense black. It’s surface, as he set it down at Walla’s feet, instantly became as smooth as glass, and I could see the face of the girl reflected in it. I thought of Doctor Dee and his wonderful stone, of the magic mirrors of the Arabian Nights, and I thought I understood.
“Say, Wylde,” whispered the Doctor; “I’ve been over this ground before in India. There’s something in it. You’ll see.”
Once the bowl was in place, our eyes closed again.
“Wonderful!”
This time I felt the child’s hand, and the Doctor swore by all good and holy, that the hand which touched him was a man’s. Indeed he clapped his own hand to his head and tried to grasp it, but failed, of course. When our eyes next opened, there stood old Padma again with a small brazier, a bronze dish and a basket of charcoal at his side. Now who could longer doubt the diablerie of the whole affair?
The old lama placed the brazier at some little distance from Walla, and stood the dish upon it, having previously lighted the coals beneath.
So much did the brazier resemble the tripod of such common occurrence upon ancient Greek coins, that I began wondering if it could by any possibility be a relic of the Bactrians. That it was from a Greek model there can be no doubt.
By this time the Doctor was growing cool again; so much so that he ventured to question Padma about his preparations.
The old lama muttered a few words in reply, to me, of course, wholly unintelligible, and after that paid no further attention to either of us, but went straight on with his work.
“By Jove, he’s a good one!” said the Doctor.
“What does he say?” I whispered.
“Well, it amounted to telling me to mind my own business, George. He says if we keep still we shall see Maurice. Of course you understand that this is the black magic of the East. It is simply a hallucination produced by the reflex action of a strong will upon a weaker one. All these preparations are mere clap-trap. I saw the same thing at Benares some years ago.”
“You mean white magic, do you not? Black magic is turned against a man, not for his benefit.”
“Bah! It’s all equally rubbish, black or white—but let us watch him. We may discover some part of the trick.”
Watch! There was no need to urge me. I could not have taken my eyes off Padma had I tried.
He had been blowing the coals while the Doctor was speaking, and now as they burst forth into flame he laid aside the little brass-backed bellows used for the purpose, and drew from beneath his loose robe a small box of beaten gold. This he opened and placed upon the altar in close proximity to Maurice’s head. It was a curious old affair, about four inches in length by three across, and an inch and a half deep, the top and sides were covered with cabalistic figures, beaten up in high relief.
From this he took a small vial not unlike a homœopathic medicine bottle, and removing the stopper flung its contents into the dish. Instantly a lambent flame shot up, resembling the flame of alcohol, which, for all I know, it may have been. Returning the bottle to the box the lama next took out a small packet, which proved to be a greyish powder wrapped up in Chinese rice paper. A little of this was also thrown into the dish, and immediately the flame changed from blue to an intense crimson. I thought then it was the strontium light, and but for the singular fact that during fully half an hour the flame continued to burn uninterruptedly without further addition either from the bottle or the packet, I might think so still.
“That’s it! That’s it!” whispered the Doctor. “Wait, Wylde! He’ll surprise you in a minute. Once you get your attention fixed on that flame he’ll make you believe you see your grandmother—you’ll see.” But not yet was I fascinated by the flame.
Now Padma moved toward us and with an imperious wave of the hand bade us follow him.
He took us across the room to the side where the corpses were stored, seized one of the handles and pulled.
Slowly the heavy box moved from its niche and we beheld the body of our adept lying within, swathed in white just as were the others shown us the morning before. Only his face was visible; that never to be forgotten face, yellow above, black beneath. I can see it before me now with terrible distinctness, wearing that same calm, peaceful expression which under all circumstances it ever wore. The eyes were closed, and when I placed my hands upon it the flesh was icy cold. In all respects it resembled the face of a corpse.
Closing the drawer, Padma now led us to the altar and pointed to Maurice.
“Touch the face,” he said quietly, “You will find it like the other—yet he lives! ”
We both touched it. Here was the same clammy coldness, and my heart, which was beginning to feel a ray of hope, again sank in despair.
Could I doubt that Maurice was dead ? Could I credit the aged lama’s claim?
Meanwhile the flame in the dish was blazing away as brightly as ever, shooting upward in slender tongues of crimson light.
Motioning for us to resume our places before the tripod, Padma stood over poor Walla and began making passes about her head.
Merciful God! How I inwardly cursed him! I was powerless to raise a finger to stop it or to speak a word, yet in all else I seemed entirely master of myself. Did my own curiosity as to what was to come, afford the lever by which my will was controlled?
A moment or two of this, and then Padma was at the tripod again, bowing reverently before the flame. I saw his face touch it—I saw him actually kiss it. The tongues of fire shot up all about him, played through the fringe of snow white hair surrounding his tonsure, shot about his eyes, covering his whole face in fact, and yet he was not burned.
For several moments this continued, the Doctor pressing my arm in silent awe.
Suddenly the lama straightened up again and moved back to Walla’s side. The girl, meanwhile, had never changed her position nor even raised her head. Taking her hands he placed them against the sides of the bowl which contained the black liquid and there they remained.
Again flitting back before the tripod, the aged lama raised his voice in. solemn chant, his eyes fixed upon a small scroll which he had taken from the box and unrolled.
Later we knew that this was written in the ancient Persian tongue, and as the Doctor was afterward permitted to copy it, I am fortunately able to give the translation here.
“The sun! the sun! Creator! Lord,
God, almighty! Show thy face
and let the earth rejoice.
The moon! the moon! Child
of the earth! Storehouse of
magnetic forces whose face
is forever hidden; bend
thy malevolent gaze not
upon us lest we, thy
brethren, wither and die.
Spirits of the heavens conjure!
Spirits of the earth conjure!
“The stars! the stars! Suns,
worlds, moons innumerable! Oh east,
where is thy beginning?
Oh west, where is thy
ending? North, thou art
not. South, thou never wast.
The comets! the comets!
the flaming swords! Mighty
messengers from the
Omnipotent! Renewers
of magnetic forces; from one
thou takest that thou mayest
give to another, equalizing all.
Spirits of the heavens conjure!
Spirits of the earth conjure!
“The earth! the earth! The
sea! The desert without
water! The rivers! The
mountains! the lofty
mountains! the mountains
of the east, the mountains
of the west! Stand
not between us, oh thou
mighty makers of many
waters, for we would pursue a fleeting soul.
Spirits of the heavens conjure!
Spirits of the earth conjure!
He paused. Seizing the brazen rod he pointed down to to the surface of the black liquid in the dish which Walla’s shapely hands still clasped, seeming to trace upon its surface certain mystic signs.
“It is finished!” he cried. “May Buddha grant the spell all potency! May the spirits of heaven and earth rest with us! Behold!”
He waved the rod aloft, its polished surface glittering as though studded with gems as it flashed before the crimson flame.
“Look! Look!” cried the Doctor. “For heaven’s sake! This is several pegs above anything I ever saw!”
But I had seen without his warning cry, for my eyes were following the end of the rod which old Padma was waving with a monotonous, rotary motion just above the flame.
Slowly about the point of the rod a whitish mist had begun to gather. So thin and shadowy was it at first, that I thought I must be mistaken, that something had come before my eyes; but presently it assumed consistency, taking an oval shape and seeming to bob up and down, always following the rotary movement of the rod.
If I had not seen the same thing before, on that night when the body of the adept was brought into the inn, I might have taken it for smoke, but I had seen and I watched it with an interest most intense, suspecting what would come to pass.
Suddenly out from this luminous cloud a hand shot forth—then another, and another. In a moment there were fully a dozen; some large, some small, some the puny hands of infancy, others the wrinkled, withered hands of old age. None were white; all having the yellowish tint of the Chinese or Thibetans. Certainly as far as human vision served me, the hands were real; and, stranger still, all were right hands. Call them the hands of spirits, and you will have to admit twelve individual forms behind them. Padma’s hands they could not have been. My attention seemed particularly drawn toward this point. I saw not a left hand among them—to that I stand ready to swear.
Only for a moment they remained visible, but in that moment the index finger of each hand was directed downward, pointing toward the dish. At last I saw them merge themselves seemingly with the cloud again—next, cloud and all had vanished, and the rod descended, until it, in turn, was pointed toward the dish.
Suddenly the flame shot higher, yet I am certain that Padma made no effort to replenish the agents which had produced it, and which ought to have been long ago consumed. Higher, and higher still it rose, growing broader at the same time, until the whole room was as bright as day; and the strange part of it was, the flame now had lost some of its crimson tint and become whiter, more like an electric light.
“The dish, Wylde! For God’s sake keep your eyes on the dish, man!” cried the Doctor.
My eyes fell to the surface of the black liquid; it was as smooth and motionless as glass, and, in spite of its opacity, I found, to my amazement, that I could look into it to what seemed unfathomable depths.
As I gazed no word was spoken; the Doctor’s eyes were as firmly riveted as my own.
I seemed to be looking off into immeasurable space, with the sun, as a huge fiery globe hanging above me, radiating its heat and light in mighty puffs, like some breathing monster, and yet I was shivering with the very intensity of cold.
Nor did the light of the molten orb seem to illuminate. It was as though I was in darkness looking at the light. I could see all the stars of heaven shining with surpassing brilliancy—all, did I say? No; not all. The planets were wanting among the others, they were with me. I seemed to be an atom floating helplessly among them. They were all whirling forward through space with incredible rapidity; it was like gazing at a huge orrery, for each planet was of proportions so prodigious that I felt they must be seen in their proper size.
Mercury—aye, and the disputed Vulcan within its orbit—Venus, Mars, the Earth, asteroids by hundreds, mighty Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and even far off Neptune, all were there. Beyond Neptune rolled three others, enormous in their proportions; two of them had rings like Saturn, nor was there one among all the number unattended by its moon or moons.
Now suddenly all vanished, and I saw nothing but the dish, the girl, old Padma and his rod, but yet the spell remained unbroken—my gaze was still transfixed.
Again Padma moved his rod, and once more I was uplifted among the spheres.
Precisely what I had seen before I saw now, but I seemed to have assumed a different point of observation—I was between the earth and Mars!
Now I saw them!
Of course I was hypnotized—of course it was but the action of old Padma’s will! Still I saw them—saw them with a distinctness fairly appaling. It was Maurice De Veber and the mysterious Mr. Mirrikh—they were floating through space, side by side.
Nor were their forms dim and shadowy as I had seen them last; on the contrary, they were clothed as black lamas, precisely as they had been clothed when they stood at the altar’s foot, and they were to my vision as real and substantial as myself. It was the same Maurice—the same Mirrikh, not altered one whit.
They did not appear to see me, or to be moving of their own volition, but just carried forward like specks of floss before the summer breeze; yet their movements were not erratic, but, on the contrary, seemed to be directed toward one particular point, and that a huge globe of reddish hue, except at the poles, where I could detect vast fields of snow and ice.
Now a singular change took place, for once my gaze was fastened upon those two moving figures no effort of my own will was sufficient to detach it. Whether I would, or whether I would not, still was I forced to follow on through realms of boundless space.
Vast æons of time seemed to have been accomplished. It was as though centuries had passed since we came to Psam-dagong, and still we traveled on.
But not in vain!
Oh no! We were approaching our destination. Mars was growing nearer now.
Long ago it had ceased to look the shining object it had at first; and I knew that huge as the planets had seemed in my previous vision, their proportions were as nothing compared with the reality, for now Mars appeared larger than all rolled into one.
Clouds began to form where previously I had not perceived them, and my vision was in a measure obscured, but only for a moment; before I knew it, I had penetrated the clouds, and the roundness of the earth beneath me was lost. Now it was as I fancy an aeronaut must feel when gazing down from a height a few thousand feet.
“Maurice!” I shouted. “Oh, Maurice, it is glorious!”
He did not seem to hear me, for he never turned his head, though I could perceive by the expression on his face that he was fully alive to the beauties of the mighty panorama which was unrolling itself to my gaze.
Mountains of vast height, stretches of dense forest, fertile plains through which rivers coursed; and then the seas, long land-locked gatherings of reddish water, extending as far as the eyes could reach; yet the prevailing color of the land was green, just as on our earth; but when wonderingly I glanced back at the clouds behind me, I saw that they, like the water, were of a dull, red color, and it flashed upon me that I had solved a mighty problem which has preplexed the astronomers of every age.
On, and still on! Nearer and nearer we approached the surface of the planet. We were descending upon a city beside which London is but an infant. I could see the people swarming through the streets. Here Mr. Mirrikh and his parti-colored face would be no novelty, for every face I saw was of the same mould, half black—half yellow; otherwise the people were like the dwellers on our earth except in the matter of dress, which was, with the men only a simple girdle of some dark cloth about the waist, while the women wore a loose gown of blue material, gathered in about the hips and thence dropping to the feet.
So intent was I in watching them that thus far I had scarcely comprehended the fact that I felt interest in other things.
Suddenly a voice seemed to speak in my ear, sounding like the voice of Mr. Mirrikh.
“Look at the city, friend Wylde! Never mind the people.”
Strange that I had not thought of this before!
Still I gazed, my eyes roaming here and there, each individual structure seeming to separate from the others and impress itself on my brain with incredible rapidity.
Houses like ours they were not. For the most part they were low, square structures, ranged along broad streets, not close together, but with gardens between. I saw no building of any elegance; no vehicles, no animals of any kind; no sign of market place, churches, shops or any sort of business, Suddenly in their roaming my eyes seemed to fix themselves upon one huge building which I can only compare with the Mormon tabernacle at Salt Lake City; it was of but one story, and covered an amazing extent of ground; just a vast, oval roof of snowy whiteness, supported on tastefully carved columns, ornamented with birds, flowers and intertwining leaves. Without exaggeration I should place the longest dimension of this enclosure at a mile.
Suddenly my gaze was drawn from it and I looked around for Maurice and his companion. To my horror I discovered that I had fallen behind.
Then I saw them settling down toward the roof of this mighty temple; for an instant they rested there, and seemed to me to vanish through it as though it were nothing, and were gone.
“Maurice! Maurice! Oh don’t leave me, my friend!” I shouted, when, as with the wave of an enchanter’s wand, all had vanished and I was back in the chamber, staring into the inky blackness of the bowl, with the Doctor beside me, Walla at my feet and old Padma starting up with every expression of terror overspreading his wrinkled face.
At the same instant a wild, piercing cry echoed through the enclosure, and following Padma’s gaze, I saw Ni-fan-lu come dashing down the stairs.
“Dshambi-nor!” he was shouting. “Dshambi-nor!”
“Great God!” gasped the Doctor, seizing my arm with trembling hand; “this is sorcery with a vengeance! I don’t know what you’ve been about, Wylde, but I have been to the planet Mars!”
I could not answer him. Old Padma had his ear before I was able to speak, and was uttering hurried words.
“Dshambi-nor! Dshambi-nor!” yelled Ni-fan-lu, as he came rushing up to us.
“For mercy sake, what is it?” I gasped; a vague sense of uneasiness creeping over me, for I could read something of the truth on the Doctor’s face.
“Brace up, old man! Pull yourself together!” he answered hastily. “As near as I can make out we are in danger of flood. A lake has broken loose somewhere in the mountains behind the lamasery, and a few million gallons of ice water are about to be dumped upon us—that’s all!”
By this time Ni-fan-lu was grovelling at Padma’s feet, repeating his cry. I flung myself toward the altar and had one arm about Maurice’s body as it came.
“Dshambi-nor! Dshambi-nor! Dshambi-nor!”