The valley of eyes unseen
profoundly convinced I could. Then, remembering Philipson's injunction
I turned off the power; even so I was astonished to find how far my
wings had taken me from the spot where Philipson and Poyning stood
waiting.
I drew near, hovering in the way I had been taught, and swept my gaze
back over the lost city of Hellas where it rose calm and magnificent,
its white roofs gleaming in the moonlight. At that instant I saw
something that set my pulses tingling with more than the exhilaration
of flight. Away over the city, three or four black bat-like shapes had
appeared in the sky. In a second I had begun to rise again, wheeling
round short.
'Look towards the city!' I cried. 'Good-bye and good luck to you all!'
I heard a sharp answering cry from below--
'Fly for your life!'
That was the last word I was ever to hear from the lips of the man I
had known as Saunders Philipson.
My mind had been instantly made up. As in a lightning flash I saw my
escape, which by this time had become a mad, overwhelming desire in me,
suddenly threatened by those sinister shapes against the wan-gold sky
of the night. All the horrors of my captivity of the past week rose
again before me, and I determined I would make my dash for freedom
now, pursuers or none, and that I would never be taken alive. So, with
Philipson's last cry ringing in my ears, I pushed back the power-lever
of the wings to its fullest, and swept furiously away into the night.
I climbed fast, but long before I got into the cooler air above I was
perspiring from every pore; the material of that garment, I imagine,
must have been treated by some cunning chemical process, for it seemed
to envelop the whole body in a strong glow of heat. And then began a
chase which, like so much more I experienced on this adventure, would
need the pen of a Poe or a De Quincey to describe. For some time I
flew on in a downright delirium, unable to think this flight was not
another wild, fantastic dream. The wonderful thrill of hurtling through
the air at such speed; the uncanny power of these wings that bore me
so easily and so well; the contrast between this swift retreat and
our plodding, agonising tramp over the snows a month or two back--all
combined to destroy my belief in the reality of what was happening. I
had risen above the highest point of our route in what seemed a few
minutes--though it can hardly have been less than an hour--and was
whirling at a prodigious pace over the long gutter-like depressions
which, fortunately for me, preserve in this region a general
east-by-west trend. On either hand towered majestic peaks, wilder and
grander in this eerie light even than they had looked to our fevered
eyes when we came, and though my own altitude was far below their
summits I knew I must be little short of four miles above sea level.
Height-sickness I certainly felt: I could taste blood as it trickled
down over my lips, and my breath came in long, violent gasps; yet this
malady seemed to attack me far less dangerously than when moving on the
ground--which I attributed in some degree to the glow of warmth I felt
all over me from my clothing, and to the fact that I kept my arms for
the most part through the thong loops of the wings, thus producing a
violent exercise and augmented body-heat.
I had glanced back several times for any sign of pursuit, but there
was none. No doubt it was that that made me over confident. I must
certainly have relaxed my vigilance, for now, suddenly looking up, I
saw quite distinctly a figure flying ahead of me. How that form could
have got past without my having any suspicion, I was utterly at a loss
to imagine, yet there it was; and more uncanny still was the fact that
when I now looked behind I saw _three_ figures only a few hundred yards
from me. These were apparently the three pursuers I had seen over the
city.
I plunged furiously on. It seemed certain enough that if four enemies
could "bracket" me in this way both behind and in front, they would
have small difficulty in heading me off if I turned out of my course;
moreover, to do that would necessitate climbing over the enormous
ridges to north or south, at a height where the thin air might and
probably would cause me to collapse altogether. In any case, safety lay
to the east, safety and inhabited if uncivilised lands, and I knew that
every minute was bringing me a mile nearer to it.
The mysterious chase went on. I don't think my pursuers were any longer
gaining on me from behind, but I seemed to be steadily closing up
with the figure in front, and was at last so near that I could almost
distinguish the outlines of the body borne by those wings. It may be
the moonlight and the wild frenzy of the escape deluded me, but the
longer I looked the deeper grew my impression that what I saw was the
figure of a woman. Moreover, though I was now a good deal nearer to
this figure than to those behind, it seemed curiously less distinct,
and grew less and less distinct the nearer I came. At any other time
this would no doubt have amazed me, but amazement was a faculty of
which I was no longer capable.
Then the figures behind grew indistinct also. They seemed to be melting
into a veil of grey mist, which was approaching me a good deal faster
than they. Then all became dark, the moon was blotted out, and I
realised what that strange mistiness really meant.
With a blow that struck like something solid the tempest overtook me,
hurling me forward with a frightful access of speed. I summoned every
ounce of strength and nerve that was in me, and hung on. In an instant
I was whelmed in the blackness of the Pit, whirled literally like an
autumn leaf in a scurry of wind, conscious of nothing but the screaming
wrath of the elements all round me and blank despair within. This, it
seemed, was the end of all. I had lost control, was borne on and held
up by the strength of the storm alone; sooner or later some devilish
caprice of the wind must drop me, as a wanton child may break a
plaything it is tired of, and then it would only be a matter of moments
for me to be dashed against the cliffs and crags of the mountain side
and find a death mercifully instantaneous. To steer was utterly out
of the question, even to keep my equilibrium impossible; once I was
tossed high and flung over and over like a bounding ball, until my head
spun and my eyes were full of blood and I thought the straps of the
wings must tear out the shoulders from my body; yet even here the very
force of the tempest was my salvation, for though I fell, long before I
neared the face of the mountain I had been caught up in a fresh blast
of wind and hurled forward more furiously than before.
How long the storm lasted I would hesitate to guess within hours,
but this much I can be tolerably sure of: that of all the amazing
experiences I underwent during my quest of the lost land of Hellas,
nothing came so near the miraculous as my escape through that
tremendous tempest on a pair of artificial wings the use of which I
did not fully understand. That I escaped at all I can only ascribe to
the marvellous skill with which the wings had been constructed: they
resisted that frightful wind by yielding to it; so well-knit were they,
so cunningly blending rigidity with elasticity, so cleverly copying
the wings of the feathered creation, that I imagine I must have been
pretty much like a gull in a hurricane at sea, whirled along helpless
on the storm, but at last recovering wing-purchase and flying again on
its own power. Not least astonishing was the fact that through all that
terrific buffeting by the wind the mechanism of my wings had remained
unbroken and continued to work--to that also I no doubt owed in part
my deliverance from a ghastly death on the crags.
At last the wind suddenly fell, in the abrupt way these mountain
tempests will drop; the sky had cleared and the moon shone out again,
and by its light I could see the mountains below me white with great
drifts of snow. Of my three pursuers and the mysterious figure who
had preceded me there was no sign, and who they were or whether they
perished in the storm I was never to know; but I don't fancy the form
in front of me met with destruction, or could do so in the nature
of things. When I say I believe that form was no bodily presence at
all, but a vision sent to guide my escape, not to hinder it, I may be
charged with superstition. If so, it won't distress me, or even shake
my belief.
I came to a stretch of mountain that looked tolerably even, and decided
to make a landing, for I was not only exhausted but ravenously hungry.
I succeeded in alighting, and there, without even trying to loosen my
wings, I squatted under them in the snow and ate several handfuls of
food from the bundle strapped at my waist. The cold was terrific--far
more than I had felt it in the air; and a moment later when I struggled
to my feet and strove to ascend, I was within an ace of final disaster.
So stiff had I grown even in that brief interval of rest that I came
near crashing for want of a few sweeps of my wings to get me clear of
the earth. Luckily, I had just strength enough to reach up and touch
the power-lever. The broad wings answered faithfully to it, and within
a few moments I was hurtling towards safety again as fast as ever.
That was the last descent I was going to risk until I had done with
flying for good. I knew that while I might yet remain in the air a long
while, my strength was no longer to be trusted for purposes of rising
again. Moreover, barring the danger of absolute collapse, those wings
were the very best means of locomotion I could have wished, and might
save me many weariful weeks of tramping over the pitiless heights.
A wind rose with dawn, not like the tempest of the night, but the
steady day-wind of summer, and on this I made marvellously good
progress. I kept at barely a hundred feet from the mountain, and though
there was no descent appreciable to the eye in that enormous elevated
region, I knew by the rising temperature of the air that I was getting
down. Beyond that, I knew little of what happened to me during that
day. I flew on and on, in a sort of half coma. At times, I veritably
believe, I was asleep, and had there been any more demanded of me
than simply to rest on my wings, I must have assuredly come to grief.
It was hunger that drove me down at last. I was now past the limits
of weariness, but I was hungry as I had never known hunger before.
How long I had been in the air I couldn't even guess from my own
recollection of the day, but I remember being drowsily amazed to notice
that the sun was now beginning to dip behind the highest peaks westward
of me. Also, I had a hazy impression of having once or twice during
the last hour caught glimpses in the distance of what might have been
rude human habitations. The time was come to destroy my wings, and seek
shelter and rest.
I got to earth, loosened the straps and struggled out of them, and
looked around for fuel. There was a fair quantity of coarse withered
scrub sticking up through the snow here, and I soon had a pyre built
big enough for my purpose. On to this I dragged the wings and held
my flint ready to kindle the strange sacrifice. Up to the present,
be it noted, I had acted under a sort of blind impulse to perform a
duty, as required of me by my oath; I didn't think, I couldn't. The
long-deferred sleep was sweeping over me in waves; I was hard put to
it to stand, and I retained just sufficient consciousness to know that
if I fell I should lose it immediately. Then, however, as I stared
at those wings, sleep for a moment retreated again, pushed back by
an overwhelming curiosity. I could not bring myself to destroy that
marvellous mechanism without one last attempt to probe its secret. I