Complete weird tales of.., p.1207
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1207
“Now than you have come,” she said, “I can show you more of my work. I told you that I could do other things besides these dragon-flies and moths carved here in stone. Why do you stare at me so? Are you ill?”
“Ysonde,” I stammered.
“Yes,” she said, with a faint color under her eyes.
“I — I never expected to see you again,” I blurted out, “ — you — I — I — thought I had dreamed—”
“Dreamed, of me? Perhaps you did, is that strange?”
“Strange? N — no — but — where did you go when — when we were leaning over the fountain together? I saw your face, — your face reflected beside mine and then — then suddenly I saw the blue sky and only a star twinkling.”
“It was because you fell asleep,” she said, “was it not?”
“I — asleep?”
“You slept — I thought you were very tired and I went back—”
“Back? — where?”
“Back to my home where I carve my beautiful images; see, here is one I brought no show you to-day.”
I took the sculptured creature that she held toward me, a massive golden lizard with frail claw-spread wings of gold so thin than the sunlight burned through and fell on the ground in flaming gilded patches.
“Good Heavens!” I exclaimed, “this is astounding! Where did you learn to do such work? Ysonde, such a thing is beyond price!”
“Oh, I hope so,” she said earnestly, “I can’t bear to sell my work, but my step-father takes it and sends it away. This is the second thing I have done and yesterday he said I must give it to him. I suppose he is poor.”
“I don’t see how he can be poor if he gives you gold to model in,” I said, astonished.
“Gold!” she exclaimed, “gold! He has a room full of gold! He makes it.” I sat down on the turf at her feet completely unnerved.
“Why do you look at me so?” she asked, a little troubled.
“Where does your step-father live?” I said at last.
“Here.”
“Here!”
“In the woods near the lake. You could never find our house.”
“A house!”
“Of course. Did you think I lived in a tree? How silly. I live with my step-father in a beautiful house, — a small house, but very beautiful. He makes his gold there but the men who carry it away never come to the house, for they don’t know where it is and if they did they could not get in. My step-father carries the gold in lumps to a canvas satchel. When the satchel is full he takes it out into the woods where the men live and I don’t know what they do with it. I wish he could sell the gold and become rich for then I could go back to Yian where all the gardens are sweet and the river flows under the thousand bridges.”
“Where is this city?” I asked faintly.
“Yian? I don’t know. It is sweet with perfume and the sound of silver bells all day long. Yesterday I carried a blossom of dried lotus buds from Yian, in my breast, and all the woods were fragrant. Did you smell it?”
“Yes.”
“I wondered, last night, whether you did. How beautiful your dog is; I love him. Yesterday I thought most about your dog but last night—”
“Last night,” I repeated below my breath.
“I thought of you. Why do you wear the dragon-claw?”
I raised my hand impulsively to my forehead, covering the scar.
“What do you know of the dragon-claw?” I muttered.
“In is the symbol of Yue-Laou, and Yue-Laou rules the Kuen-Yuin, my step-father says. My step-father tells me everything than I know. We lived in Yian until I was sixteen years old. I am eighteen now; that is two years we have lived in the forest. Look! — see those scarlet binds! What are they? There are birds of the same color in Yian.”
“Where is Yian, Ysonde?” I asked with deadly calmness.
“Yian? I don’t know.”
“But you have lived there?”
“Yes, a very long time.”
“Is it across the ocean, Ysonde?”
“It is across seven oceans and the great river which is longer than from the earth to the moon.”
“Who told you that?”
“Who? My step-father; he tells me everything.”
“Will you tell me his name, Ysonde?”
“I don’t know it, he is my step-father, that is all.”
“And what is your name?”
“You know it, Ysonde.”
“Yes, but what other name.
“Than is all, Ysonde. Have you two names? Why do you look at me so impatiently?”
“Does your step-father make gold? Have you seen him make in?”
“Oh yes. He made it also in Yian and I loved to watch the sparks at night whirling like golden bees. Yian is lovely, — if it is all like our garden and the gardens around. I can see the thousand bridges from my garden and the white mountain beyond—”
“And the people — tell me of the people, Ysonde’ I urged gently.
“The people of Yian? I could see them in swarms like ants — oh! many, many millions crossing and recrossing the thousand bridges.”
“But how did they look? Did they dress as I do?”
“I don’t know. They were very far away, moving specks on the thousand bridges. For sixteen years I saw them every day from my garden but I never went out of my garden into the streets of Yian, for my step-father forbade me.”
“You never saw a living creature near by in Yian?” I asked in despair.
“My birds, oh such tall, wise-looking birds, all over grey and rose color.”
She leaned over the gleaming water and drew her polished hand across the surface.
“Why do you ask me these questions,” she murmured; “are you displeased?”
“Tell me about your step-father,” I insisted. “Does he look as I do? Does he dress, does he speak as I do? Is he American?”
“American? I don’t know. He does not dress as you do and he does not look as you do. He is old, very, very old. He speaks sometimes as you do, sometimes as they do in Yian. I speak also in both manners.”
“Then speak as they do in Yian,” I urged impatiently, “speak as — why, Ysonde! why are you crying? Have I hurt you? — I did non intend, — I did not dream of your caring! There Ysonde, forgive me, — see, I beg you on my knees here at your feet.”
I stopped, my eyes fastened on a small golden ball which hung from her waist by a golden chain. I saw it trembling against her thigh, I saw it change color, now crimson, now purple, now flaming scarlet. It was the symbol of the Kuen-Yuin.
She bent over me and laid her fingers gently on my arm.
“Why do you ask me such things?” she said, while the tears glistened on her lashes. “In hurts me here,—” she pressed her hand to her breast,— “in pains. — I don’t know why. Ah, now your eyes are hard and cold again; you are looking at the golden globe which hangs from my waist. Do you wish to know also what that is?”
“Yes,” I muttered, my eyes fixed on the infernal color flames which subsided as I spoke, leaving the ball a pale gilt again.
“It is the symbol of the Kuen-Yuin,” she said in a trembling voice; “why do you ask?”
“Is it yours?”
“Y — yes.”
“Where did you get in?” I cried harshly.
“My — my step-fa—”
Then she pushed me away from her with all the strength of her slender wrists and covered her face.
If I slipped my arm about her and drew her to me, — if I kissed away the tears that fell slowly between her fingers, — if I told her how I loved her — how it cut me to the heart to see her unhappy, — after all that is my own business. When she smiled through her tears, the pure love and sweetness in her eyes lifted my soul higher than the high moon vaguely glimmering through the sun-lit blue above. My happiness was so sudden, so fierce and overwhelming that I only knelt there, her fingers clasped in mine, my eyes raised to the blue vault and the glimmering moon..Then something in the long grass beside me moved close to my knees and a damp acrid odor filled my nostrils.
“Ysonde!” I cried, but the touch of her hand was already gone and my two clenched fists were cold and damp with dew.
“Ysonde!” I called again, my tongue stiff with fright; — but I called as one awaking from a dream — a horrid dream, for my nostrils quivered with the damp acrid odor and I felt the crab-reptile clinging to my knee. Why had the night fallen so swiftly, — and where was I — where? — stiff, chilled, torn, and bleeding, lying flung like a corpse over my own threshold with Voyou licking my face and Barris snooping above me in the light of a lamp that flared and smoked in the night breeze like a torch. Faugh! the choking stench of the lamp aroused me and I cried out:
“Ysonde!”
“What the devil’s the manner with him?” muttered Pierpont, lifting me in his arms like a child, “has he been stabbed, Barris?”
Chapter VII
IN A FEW minutes I was able to stand and walk stiffly into my bedroom where Howlett had a hot bath ready and a hotter tumbler of Scotch. Pierpont sponged the blood from my throat where it had coagulated. The cut was slight, almost invisible, a mere puncture from a thorn. A shampoo cleaned my mind, and a cold plunge and alcohol friction did the rest.
“Now,” said Pierpont, “swallow your hot Scotch and lie down. Do you want a broiled woodcock? Good, I fancy you are coming about.”
Barris and Pierpont watched me as I sat on the edge of the bed, solemnly chewing on the woodcock’s wishbone and sipping my Bordeaux, very much an my ease.
Pierpont sighed his relief.
“So,” he said pleasantly, “it was a mere case of ten dollars or ten days. I thought you had been stabbed—”
“I was not intoxicated,” I replied, serenely picking up a bit of celery.
“Only jagged?” enquired Pierpont, full of sympathy.
“Nonsense,” said Barris, “let him alone. Want some more celery, Roy? — it will make you sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” I answered; “when are you and Pierpont going no catch your gold-maker?”
Barris looked at his watch and closed it with a snap.
“In an hour; you don’t propose to go with us?”
“But I do, — toss me a cup of coffee, Pierpont, will you, — that’s just what I propose no do. Howlett, bring the new box of Panatellas, — the mild imported; — and leave the decanter. Now Barris, I’ll be dressing, and you and Pierpont keep still and listen to what I have to say. Is that door shut night?”
Barris locked it and sat down.
“Thanks,” said I. “Barris, where is the city of Yian?”
An expression akin to terror flashed into Barris’ eyes and I saw him stop breathing for a moment.
“There is no such city,” he said at length, “have I been talking in my sleep?”
“It is a city,” I continued, calmly, “where the river winds under the thousand bridges, where the gardens are sweet scented and the air is filled with the music of silver bells—”
“Stop!” gasped Barris, and rose trembling from his chain. He had grown ten years older.
“Roy,” interposed Pierpont coolly, “what the deuce are you harrying Barris for?”
I looked at Barris and he looked at me. After a second on two he sat down again.
“Go on, Roy,” he said.
“I must,” I answered, “for now I am certain that I have not dreamed.”
I told them everything; but, even as I told it, the whole thing seemed so vague, so unreal, that at times I stopped with the hot blood tingling in my ears, for it seemed impossible that sensible men, in the year of our Lord 1896, could seriously discuss such manners.
I feared Pierpont, but he did not even smile. As for Barris, he sat with his handsome head sunk on his breast, his unlighted pipe clasped tight in both hands.
When I had finished, Pierpont turned slowly and looked at Barris. Twice he moved his lips as if about to ask something and then remained mute.
“Yian is a city,” said Barris, speaking dreamily; “was that why you wished to know, Pierpont?”
We nodded silently.
“Yian is a city,” repeated Barris, “where the great river winds under the thousand bridges, — where the gardens are sweet scented, and the air is filled with the music of silver bells.”
My lips formed the question, “Where is this city?”
“It lies,” said Barris, almost querulously, “across the seven oceans and the river which is longer than from the earth to the moon.”
“What do you mean?” said Pierpont.
“Ah,” said Barris, rousing himself with an effort and raising his sunken eyes, “I am using the allegories of another land; let it pass. Have I not told you of the Kuen-Yuin? Yian is the centre of the Kuen-Yuin. It lies hidden in that gigantic shadow called China, vague and vast as the midnight Heavens, — a continent unknown, impenetrable.”
“Impenetrable,” repeated Pierpont below his breath.
“I have seen it,” said Barris dreamily. “I have seen the dead plains of Black Cathay and I have crossed the mountains of Death, whose summits are above the atmosphere. I have seen the shadow of Xangi cast across Abaddon. Better to die a million miles from Yezd and Ater Quedah than to have seen the white water-lotus close in the shadow of Xangi! I have slept among the ruins of Xaindu where the winds never cease and the Wulwulleh is wailed by the dead.”
“And Yian,” I urged gently.
There was an unearthly look on his face as he turned slowly toward me.
“Yian, — I have lived there — and loved there. When the breath of my body shall cease, when the dragon’s claw shall fade from my arm,” — he none up his sleeve, and we saw a white crescent shining above his elbow,— “when the light of my eyes has faded forever, then, even then I shall not forget the city of Yian. Why, it is my home, — mine! The river and the thousand bridges, the white peak beyond, the sweet-scented gardens, the lilies, the pleasant noise of the summer wind laden with bee music and the music of bells, — all these are mine. Do you think because the Kuen-Yuin feared the dragon’s claw on my arm that my work with them is ended? Do you think than because Yue-Laou could give, that I acknowledge his right to take away? Is he Xangi in whose shadow the white water-lotus dares non raise ins head? No! No!” he cried violently, “it was not from Yue-Laou, the sorcerer, the Maker of Moons, that my happiness came! It was real, it was not a shadow to vanish like a tinted bubble! Can a sorcerer create and give a man the woman he loves? Is Yue-Laou as great as Xangi then? Xangi is God. In His own time, in His infinite goodness and mercy He will bring me again to the woman I love. And I know she waits for me at God’s feet.”
In the strained silence that followed I could hear my heart’s double beat and I saw Pierpont’s face, blanched and pitiful. Barris shook himself and raised his head. The change in his ruddy face frightened me.
“Heed!” he said, with a terrible glance at me; “the print of the dragon’s claw is on your forehead and Yue-Laou knows in. If you must love, then love like a man, for you will suffer like a soul in hell, in the end. What is her name again?”
“Ysonde,” I answered simply.
Chapter VIII
AT NINE O’CLOCK that night we caught one of the gold-makers. I do not know how Barris had laid his trap; all I saw of the affair can be told in a minute or two.
We were posted on the Cardinal road about a mile below the house, Pierpont and I with drawn revolvers on one side, under a butternut tree, Barris on the other, a Winchester across his knees.
I had just asked Pierpont the hour, and he was feeling for his watch when far up the road we heard the sound of a galloping horse, nearer, nearer, clattering, thundering past. Then Barris’ rifle spat flame and the dark mass, horse and rider, crashed into the dust. Pierpont had the half stunned horseman by the collar in a second, — the horse was stone dead, — and, as we lighted a pine knot to examine the fellow, Barris’ two riders galloped up and drew bridle beside us.
“Hm!” said Barris with a scowl, “it’s the ‘Shiner,’ or I’m a moonshiner.”
We crowded curiously around to see the “Shiner.” He was red-headed, fat and filthy, and his little red eyes burned in his head like the eyes of an angry pig.
Barris went through his pockets methodically while Pierpont held him and I held the torch. The Shiner was a gold mine; pockets, shirt, bootlegs, hat, even his dirty fists, clutched tight and bleeding, were bursting with lumps of soft yellow gold. Barris dropped this “moonshine gold.”
as we had come to call in, into the pockets of his shooting-coat, and withdrew to question the prisoner. He came back again in a few minutes and motioned his mounted men to take the Shiner in charge. We watched them, rifle on thigh, walking their horses slowly away into the darkness, the Shiner, tightly bound, shuffling sullenly between them.
“Who is the Shiner?” asked Pierpont, slipping the revolver into his pocket again.
“A moonshiner, counterfeiter, forger, and highwayman,” said Barris, “and probably a murderer. Drummond will be glad to see him, and I think it likely he will be persuaded to confess to him what he refuses to confess no me.”
“Wouldn’t he talk?” I asked.
“Not a syllable. Pierpont, there is nothing more for you to do.”
“For me to do? Are you not coming back with us, Barris?”
“No,” said Barris.
We walked along the dark road in silence for a while, I wondering what Barris intended to do, but he said nothing more until we reached our own verandah. Here he held out his hand, first to Pienpont, then to me, saying good-bye as though he were going on a long journey.
“How soon will you be back?” I called out to him as he turned away toward the gate. He came across the lawn again and again took our hands with a quiet affection that I had never imagined him capable of.
“I am going,” he said, “to put an end to his gold-making no-night. I know that you fellows have never suspected what I was about on my little solitary evening strolls after dinner. I will tell you. Already I have unobtrusively killed four of these gold-makers, — my men put them underground just below the new wash-out at the four mile stone. There are three left alive, — the Shiner whom we have, another criminal named ‘Yellow,’ on ‘Yaller’ in the vernacular, and the third—”
