The world below
only mean that they have exchanged to other duties. I have never seen
one that showed signs of age, nor that was less than full-grown. The
eight which we saw last night I had not seen previously.”
I answered, “But, even in the absence of more direct evidence, the works
which we have seen suggest that they are a numerous race.
“The protective belt which surrounds the continent cannot be less than
five thousand miles in length, and it was twelve miles in breadth at the
point at which we crossed it. Even for giants such as they, it would be
an impossible task for a small community. Then we see that they patrol
the coast, which must be the work of many.”
She replied, “That is also probable, though not certain. We do not know
that they patrol the whole coast. This region may be their headquarters,
as I believe it to be. The work you mention is great, but so are their
skill and knowledge. Their methods may be beyond our imagination. Or
they may have worked through the agency of subject creatures.
“It seems that we have little certainty. Our safety must be in assuming
nothing, so that we may understand the true significance of the facts
that meet us.
“But our first purpose must be to gain the entrance of the tunnel by
which we propose to descend. To do this we may retrace the path we came.
But is this necessary?
“Our Leaders wished to recover the body which we are now seeking, and
for that reason they had to go as far north as the second tunnel.
“They may have had other reasons, but, if so, I do not know them. If we
choose to explore the one by which you descended, the distance must be
much shorter across the wide valley which lies beneath us, and the way
does not appear impracticable. The crossing of the further hills, and
the descent of the cliffs, may be difficult, and in this strange world
there may be dangers in a new way of which we can have no foresight. It
is certainly shorter. It will avoid the long transit of the opal path
which is perilous if they be watching to take us. But I do not pretend
that I think it the safer way. It is the doubt that calls me.”
I answered, “I do not think it the safer way either. I have lost the axe
on which you have seen that I relied for any defence I could make
against the creatures which threatened me. I have also lost my knapsack,
and with it all the necessities I carried, except such small things as
my pockets held. I have a damaged arm, and a lame foot. I think that I
shall be unable to move more than slowly, however urgent the call. But
if you are not afraid to venture with one so useless beside you, it is
the doubt of the unknown way that calls me also.”
She answered generously, “You are too good for the body in which you
live. I have the javelin still, and, as I said before, we will pass in
peace, or there will be one that will sorrow.”
CHAPTER II
THE UNKNOWN WAY
I did not ask, for I remembered our compact, and I closed my mind
securely against her doubt of my welfare, but there are times, with
thought as with the spoken word, when silence is of an equal
significance.
“It is in my mind,” she told me, “that the intention which we have
formed to feed your body when next we may, will give it no strength
beforehand. It is in my mind, also, that the food of the Killers would
hardly please you, if we could find it amid the ashes.
“Beyond this, I think that the Dwellers may return very early to resume
their investigation of events which (I hope) are still of some mystery
to them, and that it is well that we should be clear of this place
before the darkness leaves us.”
Again I felt the silk-soft palm in mine, and the slim webbed fingers
closing, and again the current of her finer life possessed and thrilled
me.
It was a reluctant pleasure, since I had realised the concealed
repugnance with which she touched me, but my need was too great, and the
wisdom of her action, in our common interest, too evident for me to
refuse.
“I am stronger now,” I replied, after a time, “shall we start?” and side
by side we let ourselves down into the darkness.
Clear of the shelter which had protected us, I was conscious of a thin
cold rain, and of a chilling wind from the north, which penetrated the
leather rags that I had no longer the means of stitching together, and
made me glad to move my stiffened limbs as rapidly as I could, while we
crossed the enclosure, to where the still-smouldering ruins gave a dim,
unearthly light from both before and behind us.
I drank again at the pool-side, while my companion dived for a moment in
the cool darkness. We passed near enough to the great tank for her to
see that there was no longer any water within it. To this end, the
Dwellers must have taken some action while the fire still burned, for
our vice of curiosity led us backward to view it, and she showed me that
the bodies which it contained were charred beyond recognition.
Then we made for the gap in the barrier of the burning ashes where the
gate had been, and left that desolation behind us for ever.
As we passed out, our steps were lighted for some distance by the glow
from the line of smouldering ashes beside us, but the darkness became
denser at every yard as we turned from it to cross the plateau. Yet she
went on swiftly, and, in the confidence that her hand supplied, I found
no difficulty while the level ground continued. When the path fell
roughly I held back to a slower pace, and even then I stumbled
frequently. “Can you not see at all?” she asked, “for if we can do no
better than this our plan must be altered. We have eighty miles to cover
before the dawn, if we are to reach the valley woods while the
night-time cloaks us.”
I answered, “I cannot see when the darkness is absolute, and you go
forward as though the day were round you. I suppose that other creatures
are like me in this, or how would the darkness aid us? Can your eyes see
when there is no light whatever?”
She replied, “When there is no light whatever, I can see nothing that is
more than a few yards away, but within that space it is not my eyes
only, it is my whole body that perceives what is around it. I do not
see, but I know. My body is too much alive to walk into any tree that
confronts it. But we must do something. If you would keep your mind
blank and ready, I think I could show you always for a few steps before
us.”
This we tried, and for many hours we went forward with the way visible
to me for about three yards ahead, and, beyond that, blackness. It was
difficult, and very tiring, for neither of us could think at all, but we
made good progress. Steadily she kept me aware of things before me, but
more than once my own mind wavered, and in a moment I was stumbling in
the darkness. And the darkness did not lift at all. There came a cold
and steady rain, without wind, which descended straightly upon us. My
rags were quickly drenched, and for the most part of the remaining night
this rain continued pitilessly.
Our way was often very rough, and in the darkness we could not choose
it. We could only go forward directly, and take what came. For the most
part we descended, but not regularly. The ground we crossed was not
cultivated in any evident way, nor was it enclosed or protected--or not
till we had crossed the lake, and that was later.
At times we walked on a prickly growth of some kind that was too close
and stiff for our feet to break it. Often we walked, or, I might say,
waded, through herbage such as we had encountered on the previous day,
making our progress slow and heavy, but always her buoyant vitality
sustained me.
Once we found the ground falling precipitously before us, and discovered
that we were on the bank of a river. We could not tell its width, and my
companion’s suggestion that we should swim it found me unwilling.
Bearing leftward, we continued beside it for some miles, and then found
it had left us. It was about here that we began to feel touches as of
light hands on the face, in a place where trees were frequent. I was
frightened at first, till I realised that they were only trailing
leaves,--creepers, I thought, but they were really of the trees
themselves, as we saw when the daylight came.
But the real horror of the night was at the last. For some time the
ground had been flat and bare, soft from the rain, which had now ceased,
but easy to traverse, so that we increased our pace, and were making
good progress, when we found our feet sinking in a shaking bog, from
which we pulled them with difficulty. Then it was firmer again, and then
softer at times, till we were in a swamp which became worse as we went
forward. For a moment we stopped, and I found myself in darkness, as my
companion’s mind asked me, “Shall we not go back, if we can? If we sink
deeply in such slime we cannot swim or live. Nor can either of us think
clearly while I show you the way. If we move from the straight line
ahead we should remember our turns. Shall I lead you only?”
I agreed, and we turned back, as we thought, with exactness. Indeed, it
must have been so at first, for she saw the marks we had left, but it
was unexpectedly difficult. I was in darkness now, following the
guidance of her hand, and content to think that her own sight and
thought were concentrated on getting us clear of the swamp, when I
suddenly felt her sinking beside me.
Cool, but urgent, her mind called me, “I have no footing: pull.” I was
up to my ankles in the slime, and found my left foot slipping from
beneath me as I leant away from her. (For I had been at her left hand
previously, but when we turned back we had changed hands, not positions,
and I was now on her right). A step ahead, it was firmer ground. A
struggle to the right, and she had footing once more. Then I went in
deeply. After that we moved as best we might. One only at a time, and
feeling each step carefully. I lost sense of direction entirely. And it
was there--or nearly there--that the dawn found us.
But that was after,--well, I cannot hope to describe it, but I must tell
it as best I can.
It was fortunate that our minds were in closest touch at the moment, or
the second’s interchange of thought might have been a half-second later,
and there my life would, I suppose, have ended.
Her own mind was alert to give me the indications that her sight
supplied, when it suddenly changed to a great doubt, paused on the brink
of consternation, recovered to the high gaiety with which it was
accustomed to encounter peril, shot me a thought-swift warning, reverted
to its poised serenity, and closed from me entirely; and, in the slow
process of words the warning that she gave was this,--
“We come here of good right, fearing none, and we mean no harm to any.
Therefore we move in security. Our minds are serene and friendly, and we
walk at peace with all things. If you doubt or fear we are both lost
entirely. As your body fought the Killers with the axe for both of us,
so my mind fights for both now. You must help now, as I helped then. I
have passed you the javelin, for there is no use for weapons here, and I
must not hold it. All is well. Be quite sure to believe it. Step as I
guide you. Jump when I call on you, I will tell you just how far.
Separate now.”
The whole thought was instant, and in the same moment I knew that that
on which we walked was swaying beneath us. Her hand pulled me quickly to
the left, and we ran up something that moved from under us like a
treadmill,--if we had been on the outside of the wheel,--jumped at last,
landed on something smooth and slippery, like that which we had left,
and having--the thought crossed me--a living softness. Then I caught my
foot, stumbled, recovered, jumped again, clambered a few yards of rising