The valley of eyes unseen
real this time--waiting for me on the other side. It was then that I
learned her name was indeed Helene, and that she was twin sister of the
Princess Euphrosune. We met at the same place on the following night,
and every night since, and she has told me many things known to hardly
a soul in this valley but the Nine Shadows. My inquiries naturally
enough were mainly for the stranger who had come here before. Helene
had seen him, and remembered him. He was a man, she said, very like
me in face, though much older. He came into the valley alone, nearly
dead with exhaustion, and was tended and hospitably entertained; none
of the secrets of the valley, however, were explained to him. He knew
nothing of the Hall of Wandering Souls, or that languages of the outer
world are understood there--which is a fact, Mirlees, incredible as
it may seem--and as he could not speak the language of the valley,
communication with him was conducted mostly by signs. After a time the
stranger wanted to go back by the way he had come, but he was made to
understand that he must remain. He persisted, however; left his house
one night after dark and struck out for the mountains southward. His
body was discovered on the foothills next day.'
'How did he die?'
'Helene says that was never known. According to her view, no action had
been decreed by the Shadows, but one of them took the law into his own
hands and--_acted_.'
'Then--then it _can_ be done?'
'I solemnly believe, Mirlees--though I would never expect any man who
had not been here to believe it--that to prevent my father escaping
from this valley and betraying its secret to the world, he was
murdered, by some tremendous concentration of will power acting over a
distance. It may even be, by the way, that the Tibetan Sbrang Chikya
was similarly made away with, though I have gathered no information
about him. The killing of my father gave rise, apparently, to
considerable dissatisfaction, and the Nine decided to make amends--as
if amends could be made for a cold-blooded murder!--by burying the
stranger in state. Who the murderer was, too, I cannot find out from
Helene. But I have my own suspicion.'
'Who?'
'Kalliboas.'
If this was so it would explain much. Admitting the amazing manner
of the murder as a fact, if Kalliboas had indeed committed it he
might well wish to hide the crime from the son of the murdered man,
particularly as his action had been repudiated by the dread Nine. He
might even have prevailed upon the rest to sanction shrouding the body
in that opaque plaster case, taking advantage of the dangerous state of
the hillside as a pretext for delaying our visit to the tomb until the
work was complete.
'Well,' I said at last, 'we've thrown down the gauntlet to Kalliboas
now. What do you propose to do?'
'Nothing,' said Poyning. 'At least for the present. I've ruined you,
Mirlees, and if I'm not careful I shall ruin Philipson too--without
bettering my own prospects one scrap. What he told us of his position
here is more than confirmed by what I have learned from Helene. Our
coming to the city has given rise to dissension and intrigues which
had never been known in its history before. The Kalliphanes faction,
who deny Philipson's claim to the throne, are desperately afraid our
discovery of the valley will eventually lead to its being invaded by
the outer world at large, and they will stick at nothing to prevent
this. They are using the fear of it as a lever to win over the Nine,
urging that if Philipson were the true Alexander he would not have
brought danger--meaning us two--into the state from without. It is no
pretended fear of theirs, either, nor confined to their faction. It was
strong enough, as I believe, to cause Kalliboas to murder my father on
the mere suspicion that he was trying to escape from the valley.'
'Pretty ghastly outlook for us if _we_ try to escape,' I said.
Poyning was staring straight ahead of him, as if into the far future.
'For me there will be no escape from this valley, Mirlees,' he said. 'I
shall not attempt it.'
'D'you mean you'll be content to stay here always?'
'Here, or anywhere else Helene may be. I never loved a woman before,
but I love one now. I love her more than my life, more than my honour.
I shall never go back to the world to clear my father's name now.
Even if it were possible for me to get out of the valley alive--which
I don't think it is--I would not go. I shall stay here and see the
business through. They may kill me for resisting the Nine, but till
they do I shall demand and continue to demand that my father's murderer
be punished. They may kill me on the score of Helene. She is looked
upon by these people as little short of divine. God knows what is to
happen to the stray foreigner who has dared to love her. And you,
Mirlees, what will you think of me? If you try to escape you will be
left to do it alone.'
'It won't be the first time in my life I've been in that situation,'
I said. 'As for you, and Philipson too for that matter, it seems to
me circumstances have been too strong for the both of you. Philipson
may have known more than he chose to tell me, but he can hardly have
guessed that if he brought me into this valley I should be unable to
get out. And you weren't to know you would meet your fate here.'
Poyning's face brightened immeasurably. 'Then you don't think the worse
of me for it?' he cried.
'There's one thing about me you seem to forget, Poyning,' I said, '--if
you ever knew it. I loved a woman myself once. That was my wife. When
she died, ten years ago, I prayed for death too. I've often prayed for
it since, and if there hadn't been my work still to live for, I think I
should have helped myself to an answer to the prayer before now. But
there was my work--the digging out of obscure facts about the East--and
that's what led me here. Just at present the chances seem to be against
my getting back to the outer world and publishing an account of this
valley, but if ever I'm able to do that, never fear but I shall let
it be known the late Major Poyning met his death trying to return to
his regiment like a good soldier. If I meet my own death here, it may
bring me nearer to the only woman I ever loved. So there appear to be
compensations either way.'
He took my hand in silence, and wrung it warmly.
'Come,' I said at length, 'if there are only a few days left to us we
shan't materially extend them by staying awake all night.'
With that I turned in and slept--not well, it is true, but soundly
enough to hear nothing of what happened during the night. That
something had happened was very plain. Poyning had vanished. His
bedchamber was empty and bare, and not a word could I extract from the
one solemn attendant left to me--the rest were gone--as to what had
become of him. Moreover, looking out through the tracery-windows of the
house, I observed several stalwart figures disposed about it. At first
I couldn't understand what these men were doing, but it soon broke upon
me. They were my guards. I was a prisoner, in solitary confinement.
I must confess that Poyning's disappearance affected me with a peculiar
sense of horror. There could have been hardly an hour between our
going to bed and daylight, yet in that time he had been spirited
away, without a cry, without a sound, and for all I knew he might
be dead at this moment. I had put up a bold face to him when he was
with me, perhaps as much for the purpose of encouraging myself as
him, but I now began to be attacked by a vague uneasiness of mind.
The attendant warned me not to attempt to go out, but that warning
struck me as superfluous. The main door of the house had been shut
and locked, and although I could hear no sound from without I knew
well enough that the cordon of sentries was still surrounding the
building. There, all day, I sat still or strode up and down in that
lonely twilit house, sinking steadily lower in spirits, until by real
twilight of the outer day I was in such a terrible depression as I
had never known before. I couldn't account for it. My situation was
perilous enough in all conscience; I might be led out to execution at
any moment; but I had often faced death before--I had faced it many
times on this adventure--with a light heart. Now abject terror, quaking
cowardice--all the torturing emotions with which a craven spirit views
danger--seemed to be rushing over me in waves.
Then, with a sudden thrill of horror that well nigh made me scream
aloud, I realised the truth. Somewhere, I knew not where, the dark
powers possessed by these people were being set in motion against me.
I cannot hope to adequately portray my feelings--there are no words
in our language equal to that terrible anguish of mind. At times I
seemed to be undergoing agonies of alarm like those I had felt on
the first occasion I was hypnotised in the Hall of Wandering Souls:
the blackness of darkness that surrounded and penetrated my brain,
and a ghastly _physical_ impression of falling miles through space;
but what I had experienced then was mere play to what I felt now. I
could not have believed it possible for human personality to plumb
such abysses of anguish, for the sensations I underwent were deeper,
intenser by far than anything I had ever dreamed; and beyond that,
there was a terrifying distinctiveness about this awful obsession. It
was a feeling of fear, yet it was not fear; it was like an epitome of
all the stabbing sorrows of a lifetime, yet it was more than any human
sorrow; and over all, that frightful sense of mental strangulation, as
though it were my _soul_ that was writhing in the grip of some soul far
mightier, which must soon crush it to nothingness and death.
What I did during this time I do not know, but afterwards, from the
fact that both my legs were black and blue, I concluded I must have
been from time to time beaten to my knees by the anguish of horror
that surged over me, and that time after time I struggled again to my
feet. Suddenly, after how long I cannot determine, the clouds lifted:
my brain became clear and untroubled, and to my amazement I found
myself in an excellent cheerfulness. The house was now quite dark, but
the darkness did not distress me, nor had any shadow of fear remained
on my mind. To my even greater astonishment I noticed I was healthily
tired; and without more ado I went to my bedchamber, threw myself on to
my couch, and slept a sound untroubled sleep till broad daylight. On
awaking I was still in such buoyant spirits that I almost fancied the
experience of yesterday must have been some elaborate delusion: that my
sudden imprisonment and Poyning's uncanny disappearance had so preyed
upon my mind that I had unconsciously magnified a mere ordinary fit of
the blues into those horrors I have so feebly described.
As the day advanced, this impression deepened: I felt comparatively
happy, and rambled round the now tiresome apartments, whistling to
myself, and wondering what I should do in the event of my escaping from
this beautiful but terrible valley. I fell to speculating upon what
would be the end of Stephen Poyning--supposing he still lived. Would he
remain in this city for the rest of his life, counting the outer world
well lost for the boon of being near the woman he loved; and could
it by any conceivable chance be possible that the dread Nine would
pardon him and consent to his marriage with a woman who was to them,
apparently, little less sacred than the goddesses of old Greece? What
was Philipson doing? Was he aware of my captivity--was there any help
to be expected from him? Could it be that he _was_ helping me--that
he had set his powers of mind, which I knew to be tremendous, working
against the forces that willed to destroy me, and that _that_ was the