# Weird Tales/Volume 9/Issue 5/Drome

Drome
By John Martin Leahy
The Story So Far
Milton Rhodes and Bill Carter penetrate the caverns beneath Mount Rainier and rescue Drorathusa, Sibylline priestess of the Dromans, from being dragged to death by an ape-bat. In company with Drorathusa and her companions, they go down into the bowels of the Earth toward the strange underground land of Drome, anti penetrate a veritable Dante's Inferno of terrible monsters—tree-octopi, loopmukes and gogrugrons.
Chapter 37
As We Were Passing Underneath
Something was following us. And we were not dependent solely upon that mysterious sixth, sense of mine for knowledge of that sinister fact, either. Sounds were heard. Sometimes it would be a low rustling, as though made by some body gliding through the foliage. Sometimes it would be the snapping of a twig—behind us, off to the right, perhaps, or to the left; never in front of us. Alas, it grieves me to do so, but I am constrained by the love of truth, and by nothing else, to inform the admirers of that great scientist Mark Twain that twigs do snap when they are stepped upon. Yes, I wish that we could have had some of those obstreperous applauders of Mark's absurd essay on Fenimore Cooper with us there in that Droman wood! There were other sounds, too, one of them a thing that I could never describe—a faint humming, throbbing sound that seemed to chill the blood in our veins, so weird and frightful a thing that neither Rhodes nor I could even dream of an explanation. And it was in vain that we looked to our Dromans for one. They tried to explain, but their explanation was as mysterious as the fact itself.
Onward we pressed through that terrible place—that abode of bald-headed cats, tree-octopi and unknown monsters.
At last, and for the first time since we had entered the forest, a current of air touched our cheeks, stirred the foliage and the lovely tresses of the ladies. Soon the breeze, soft and gentle, was whispering and sighing among the tree-tops. A gloom pervaded the place; the wood became dark and awful—though through it the light-mist was still drifting, drifting in streams that swayed and. shook and quivered. Rhodes and I thought we were going to have another eclipse. But we were wrong. It began to rain—if I may so call that subtile drizzle that came drifting down and, indeed, at times seemed to form in the air before our eyes. I thought that this would stop us, for soon everything was wet and dripping—dripping, dripping. But the Dromans pressed on steadily, grimly. Soon every one of us was wet to the skin.
An hour or so passed, and then the drizzle ceased and the gloom lifted.
Rhodes and I were discussing this strange phenomenon when abruptly he cried out and pointed.
"There!" said he, reaching for his revolver. "At last we have ocular proof that we are being followed!"
​Even as he spoke, that faint humming, throbbing sound filled the air.
"Look there! See it, Bill?"
"I see it."
What I saw was an agitation, slight but unmistakable, in the thicket from which we had emerged but a few moments before. Something was moving there—gliding through the dense undergrowth.
I jerked out my revolver. Rhodes had already drawn his.
"Might as well try a shot," said he, "for it won't show itself."
We fired almost simultaneously. There was a smothered crash in the thicket, as though some heavy body had given a powerful lurch sideways. The throbbing of that mysterious, dreadful sound grew faster, louder; the agitated foliage began to shake and quiver violently; and then of a sudden sound and agitation were stilled.
"We got it, Bill!" cried Milton, starting toward the spot.
"For God's sake," I called after him, "don't go over there! Let's get out of this. It may not be dead, and—and we have no idea what the thing is."
"We'll find that out."
I suppose that I should have been going along after him the next moment, but Drorathusa sprang forward with a cry of horror, began tugging at his sleeve and begging him to come back. So earnest was her manner, so great the horror shown by this woman usually so self-contained and emotionless, Rhodes gave in, though with great apparent reluctance. A few moments, and we were moving away from the spot.
This Rhodes has always regretted, for to this day we do not know for certain what that thing was which followed us for so long. I have regretted it more than once myself; but I confess that I had no regrets at the time.
I say we do not know for certain; we do know what Drorathusa and the others thought that it was; but that is a creature so horrible that it must (at any rate, such is the belief of Rhodes and myself) be placed amongst Chimeras, Hydras and such fabled monsters.
At length, after a long and fatiguing march, we reached the spot where the river goes plunging over a tremendous precipice. The falls are perpendicular, their height at least half a thousand feet. It was necessary to move off to the right for a considerable distance to find a way of descent. The bottom reached, we headed for the stream. There we found the boat which the Dromans had left in their outward journey, and beside it was a second and smaller one.
This strange craft was something of a mystery to our Hypogeans; but Drorathusa found a message, traced on the inner surface of a piece of bark, and that seemed to clarify the matter somewhat. Drorathusa held up three fingers; three men had come in that boat. And one of them, she told us, must have been the man whose body we had found hanging in the tentacle of the octopus. What had become of the victim's companions? Why had the trio come into a place so dreadful? Well, why had we?
Our journey for this day was already a long one, but we did not halt in that spot. We got into the boat and went floating down the stream, to get away from the thunder of the falling waters.
One thing, by the way, that from the very beginning had intrigued Rhodes and me not a little was the relationship subsisting amongst our Dromans. It had at first been my belief (though never that of Rhodes) that Drorathusa was the wife of Narkus. Ere long, however, it had become clear to me that wife she was ​not. But what was she? His daughter, Rhodes had said. And daughter I had at length decided, and still believed, that she was. In short, we put the relationship as follows, and I may as well say at once that the future was to place its O. K. upon this bit of Sherlock-Holmesing of ours: Narkus was the father of all our Dromans except one, Siris, and to her he was father-in-law.
This little mystery cleared up—at any rate, to our satisfaction—we tackled another, which was this: what was Drorathusa? I think it has been made sufficiently obvious that she was no ordinary woman. But what was she? The only answer that Rhodes and I had been able to find was that Drorathusa was indeed a Sibyl, a priestess or something of the kind. And again I may as well say at once that we were right.
But why had they set out on a journey so strange, so hazardous and so fearful—through the land of the tree-octopi and snakelike cats, through that horrible, unearthly fungoid forest, and up and up, up into the caves of utter blackness, across that frightful chasm, up to Tamahnowis Rocks, into the blaze of the sunshine, out onto the snow and ice on Rainier?
It was as though we suddenly had entered a fairyland, so wonderful was this gliding along on the placid bosom of the river when contrasted with the fatigues, dangers and horrors through which we had passed. There was nothing to do but steer the boat, keep her out in the stream; and so hours, the whole day long was passed in the languorous luxury of resting, in watching the strange tropical trees glide past and in making such progress as we were able in acquiring a knowledge of the Droman language. We found the ladies much better teachers than Thumbra and Narkus. In fact, there was simply no comparison. Why they should have proven so immeasurably superior in this respect to the representatives of the brainy sex, I do not presume to explain. I merely record a fact; its explanation I leave to those who know more about science than I do.
For two days we glided through that lovely land, whose loveliness was a mask, so to speak, and but made the place the more terrible.
Late in the afternoon of this second day—how strange these words seem! But what others can I use? Late in the afternoon of this second day, we entered a swamp. The current became sluggish, our drift even more so, and right glad were we to put out the oars—of which, though, there were only two pairs—and send her along, for that was not a place in which any sane man would want to linger. Besides the oars, however, there were several paddles, and we sent the boat at a good clip through the dark and sullen waters.
Weird masses of moss and weirder filaments hung from the great branches, which at times met over the stream.
We were passing underneath one of these gnarled and bearded arches when there came a piercing shriek from Delphis, accompanied rather than followed by a cry from Drorathusa of "Loopmuke!"
I dropped the oars and reached for my revolver, turned and saw Narkus, standing in the bow, whip out his sword and slash savagely at the winged monster as it came driving down upon him.
Chapter 38
Something Besides Madness
There was a shock. The boat, I thought, was surely going over. Came a heavy plunge, and she righted, though sluggishly, for water had come pouring over the side in ​gallons. Narkus had vanished. The demon was struggling madly on the surface, one of its great wings almost shorn clean from the body. An instant, and the head of Narkus was seen emerging. Almost at that very second, Rhodes fired at the ape-bat; a convulsive shudder passed through the hideous body, which slowly sank and disappeared. Narkus showed the most admirable coolness. He did not dash at the side of the boat, as nine men out of ten would have done, but swam quietly to the stern, where he was drawn inboard without shipping a spoonful of water—unhurt but minus his sword.
Two hours afterward, we reached firm ground, which soon became high and rocky. The vegetation there was sparse and dwarfish, and the place had a look indescribably wild and forbidding. Then at last we came to the end of the cavern itself. Yes, there before us, beetling up for hundreds of feet, up to the very roof, rose the rocky wall—into a cleft in which the river slowly and silently went gliding, like some monstrous serpent.
We passed the night in that spot and in the morning entered the cleft, which, in my troubled imagination, seemed to open wider to receive us.
Oh, what a strange, dreadful place was that in which we now found ourselves! One thought of lost souls and nameless things. Ere long there was no perceptible current, and so out came the oars again. The place was a perfect labyrinth—a place of gloom and at times of absolute darkness. We were no less than three whole days in that awful maze of rock and water; but it was to emerge into a landscape beautiful beyond all description.
The region was a wilderness, but soon—the day after that in which we issued from the labyrinth, in fact—we sighted our first habitation of man in this world of Drome. The next day we reached a village, where we passed the night. We were much struck by the deep respect with which Drorathusa was received. As for our own reception—well, that gave us something to think about.
Not that there was any sign of menace. It was the looks, the very mien of those Hypogeans that puzzled and worried Rhodes and myself. That Drorathusa endeavored to allay the suspicion or dread (or whatever it was) in the minds of the people was as clear to us as if we had understood every word spoken. The manner, however, in which they received her address but enhanced our uneasiness. No voice was raised in dissent to what she said; but there was no blinking the fact that there was no acquiescence whatever in what she urged so earnestly.
"What on earth, Milton," I asked, "does it mean?"
"Ask me something I can tell you, Bill," was Rhodes' consoling answer. "You know, when we came in sight of that first Droman habitation, I thought, that now our troubles were over."
"So did I."
"But we were wrong, Bill; we were wrong. It is a queer business, and goodness only knows what it means."
"It means trouble," I told him.
And the very next day showed that I was right.
We embarked at an early hour the following morning and in another and larger boat. It had a high ornamented prow and was indeed a lovely little craft. This day's voyage brought us to the City of Lellolando. It has a population of about fifteen thousand, and there Rhodes and I had our first sight of the beautiful Droman architecture—as displayed, that is, in the public buildings, for the dwellings are in no wise remarkable. These public buildings are net many, of course, in a place so small, ​but their beauty filled us with amazement.
Incomparably the most wonderful is the temple, builded upon the summit of a great rounded rock in almost the very center of the city. It was as though we had been transported back to "the glory that was Greece." Yes, it is my belief, and the belief of Rhodes also, that this temple would not have suffered could it by some miracle have been placed beside the celebrated temple of Diana at Ephesus. Buildings more wonderful than this we were to see, the grandest of all the great temple in Nornawnla Prendella, the Golden City, which is the capital of Drome; but I do not think that anything we saw afterward struck us with greater wonder and amazement.
"Some Chersiphron," said Rhodes, "must have wandered from Drome and finally made his way up into ancient Greece and taught the secrets of his art there. It is indeed a marvel that the art of the ancient Hellenes and this of Drome are so very similar. And yet they must have been autochthonous.
"But," he added, "I wonder what they worship in that Splendid place. Some horrible pantheon, perhaps."
"Let us," said I, "give them the benefit of the doubt. For all we know to the contrary, these Dromans may be true monotheists."
And this, I rejoice to say, the Dromans are—though, I regret to subjoin, there are some very absurd things in their religion, things dark and even things terrible.
But I anticipate in this, for it was just after we landed that it happened.
We had started up one of the principal streets, on our way to the house of a high functionary—though, of course, Rhodes and I had no idea whither we were bound. On each side the street was a solid mass of humanity—many of the young people, by the way, having hair as white as snow, like that of our Delphis. Of a sudden a man, lean of visage and with eyes that glowed like red coals, broke through the guards (a half-dozen or so were marching along on either side of our little procession) and slashed savagely at the face of Rhodes with a great curved dagger. Rhodes sprang aside, almost thrusting me onto my knees, and the next instant he dealt the man a blow with his alpenstock. The blow, however, was a slanting one, ineffectual. With a scream, the fellow sprang again, his terrible knife upraised; but the guards threw themselves upon him, and he was dragged off, struggling and screaming like a maniac.
Of a truth, Rhodes had had a narrow escape. And what did it mean?
"It must have been the act of a madman," I said.
"It might have been," was Milton's answer. "But unless I am greatly mistaken, there was something besides madness back of it."
Chapter 39
The Golden City
Our stay in that place was marred by no other untoward incident; but right glad was I when, on the following morning, we were in our boat and going down the stream once more.
"We ought to be safe out here," I remarked at last.
"I don't know about that, Bill," smiled Milton. "The stream is not a wide one, certainly, and those bushes and trees that line the bank offer—look at that!"
But a hundred feet or so before us, a boat was gliding out from the concealment of a mass of foliage. There were three men in it, and the looks which they fixed upon us were lowering and sinister.
​"Look at that fellow!" said Rhodes, drawing his revolver. "If that isn't the chap who broke through with the amicable intention of carving me, all I have to say is that it is his twin brother."
This man was thin almost to emaciation, but his companions were burly fellows, every lineament of them bespeaking the ruffian.
They held their craft stationary or nearly so. In a few moments, therefore, we were drawing near to them. Drorathusa had arisen, and she spoke to the occupants of the strange boat in a rather sharp, imperious manner. Her presence, or her words, seemed to awe them; and I was thanking our lucky stars that, after all, there was not going to be any trouble, when of a sudden, just as the drift of our boat brought Rhodes and me alongside, their bridled passions burst forth in a storm of snarls, cries and fierce gestures of menace. There was a moment when I thought that they were actually going to attempt to board us. But they then drew off, though there was no diminution in that storm of abuse, execrations and threats that was hurled upon us. All three were armed, but no motion toward their weapons was made. The. reason for that, I suppose, was the sight of Narkus and Thumbra standing there each with an arrow to the string. Certainly the fellows did not in any way fear our weapons.
Some minutes passed, during which the two boats continued to drift side by side and that hideous clamor filled the air. At last, in an attempt to put an end to it, Rhodes raised his revolver and took careful aim. Drorathusa gave a cry and then addressed some fierce words to the trio. In all likelihood, she did not know what Rhodes was going to do. He fired. As he was standing and as but a few yards separated the boats, the bullet, which struck just above the water-line, went out through the bottom. The change was magical. You should have seen those fellows! Whether it was the report of the weapon or whether it was that hole through which the water came spouting in, I do not know; but the taming of those wild men was swift and complete. As soon as they had recovered their wits, round flew the bow of their boat and away they went toward the shore. Our Dromans burst into laughter, even Drorathusa. And that was the last that we saw of those three fanatics.
But why had they done it? Wherefore were Rhodes and I the objects of a hatred so fierce and insensate?
Nor were we permitted to forget that fact. Intelligence of our arrival had spread almost as quickly as though it had been broadcast by radio, and along the banks the people were waiting, in twos and threes, in scores and in hundreds, to see the men from the mysterious and fearful World above—harbingers, in their minds, of calamities and nameless things. Goodness only knows how many fists were shaken at Rhodes and me during the day, how many were the maledictions that they hurled upon us. Happily, however, there was no act of hostility.
"You know, Bill," Milton smiled, "I am beginning to wish that we were back there among those gogrugrons and tree-octopuses."
This day's voyage brought us to the City of Dranocrad. There a change was made that certainly did not displease me—from our little craft to none other than one of the queen's own, a long beautiful vessel with oarsmen and guards.
The next day we passed a large tributary flowing in from our left from out a yawning cavern there. This was by no means, however, the first eave we had seen entering the main one. As one moves through some valley in the mountains, smaller ​ones are seen coming in on either hand; and so it was in this great cavern of Drome, save that the valleys were caves. In that place, the great cavern itself has a width of two miles or more, and it is four or five thousand feet up to the vaulted roof.
"One wonders," said I, "why the roof doesn't cave in."
"Pooh, Bill!" said Rhodes. "One doesn't marvel that natural bridges don't collapse or that the roof of the Mammoth Cave doesn't come crashing down."
The two days succeeding this brought us into the very heart of Drome, and on the third we reached the Golden City itself.
This, the capital of the Droman nation, is situated at the lower end of a lake, a most picturesque sheet of water some fifteen miles in length. Where the river flows into it and for a distance of about a league down, the lake extends from one wall of the great cavern clean to the other. The walls go straight down and to what depth no man knows.
It was about midafternoon when our boat, followed by a fleet of smaller craft, glided out onto this lovely expanse of water. At a point about half-way down the lake, we had our first view of the Golden City. I say view, but it was in reality little more than a glimpse that we obtained. For, almost at that very moment, a dense gloom fell upon water and landscape. Fierce and dreadful were the flickerings along the roof a mile or more above us. So sudden and awful was the change that even the Dromans seemed astonished. There was a blinding flash overhead, and then utter blackness everywhere.
Rhodes and I flashed on our lights. For a time the Dromans waited, as though expecting the light to come at any moment; but it did not come. Along the shore on either side and in the distant city, lights were gleaming out. A sudden voice came, mystic and wonderful; Rhodes and I turned, and there was Drorathusa standing with arms extended upward in invocation, as we had seen her in that first eclipse. Minutes passed. But the light did not come. At last the oars were put in motion again. Dark and agitated, however, were the looks of the Dromans, and more than one pair of eyes fixed themselves on Rhodes and me in a manner that plainly marked us as objects of some superstitious dread—if, indeed, it was not something worse.
Steadily, however, our boat glided forward through the black and awful scene.
"What is that?" I at length asked. "Can it be a floating palace?"
"A palace it must be," Rhodes answered, "but not a floating one. See that low black mass under it; that is an island."
At this moment Drorathusa moved to our side, and, indicating the great building in question, the windows of which were a perfect blaze of light, she said: "Lathendra Lepraylya."
Her eyes lingered on Rhodes' face, and her look, I saw, was somber and troubled.
So that was the queen's palace? Soon we would be in the presence of this Lathendra (Queen) Lepraylya. What manner of woman was this sovereign of the Dromans? What awaited us there?
I remembered that look of Drorathusa's, and I confess that my thoughts were soon troubled and somber.
Chapter 40
Before Lepraylya
One by one, in twos and threes and then in a body, the small craft had dropped behind, and now we were alone on the black waters.
​"It must have been the eclipse," said Rhodes. "It is plain, Bill, that there is something about this darkness that is mysterious and awful to the Dromans. It must be in some way a most extraordinary eclipse."
There was something awful—something more awful than we thought. And what troubled me the most was this: they seemed to think that we men from the world above had something to do with this dread darkness—already one of far longer duration than any eclipse any living Droman had ever known. Indeed, none such had been recorded for what we would call centuries, and the last had been the harbinger of the most fearful calamities.
We knew full well that some superstition was pointing a fell finger in our direction; but through the mind of neither flickered the thought that this eclipse might, so to speak, be metamorphosed into a death-charge against us.
As we were drawing in to the palace, a heavy voice came across the water. On the instant the rowers rested on their oars. Our commander answered the hail, the heavy voice came again, whereupon the oars were dipped and our craft glided in toward the landing place.
Like a great lovely water-bird, our boat swung in to the landing place, where she was at once made fast.
And then a strange thing happened.
Rhodes and I stepped from the boat together. Since the light had gone out in that fierce and terrible flash, not the faintest glimmer had shone overhead—anywhere. But, at that very instant in which we set foot on the island, there came a flash wrathful and awful.
For a few seconds the palace, the water, the city, the distant walls of rock stood out in bold relief, as though in the glare of leprous fire. Then utter darkness again. It was like (and yet very unlike, too) a lightning flash; but no thunder roared, not the faintest sound was heard. Again that leprous light, and this time cries broke out—cries that fear and horror wrung from the Dromans. It was, indeed, an awful moment and an awful scene.
"It looks," said Rhodes, "as though the world is coming to an end."
"Certainly," I told him, "it seems as though the Dromans think so. Look at Drorathusa!"
Again she was standing with arms extended upward, and once more that strange, eery voice of hers came sounding. Everyone there, save Rhodes and myself, was kneeling. Little wonder that, as I looked upon that fearful scene, with the leprous light flashing and quivering through the darkness, I thought it must all be a dream.
The flashes became more frequent. The light began to turn opalescent and to shoot and quiver and shake along the roof. Then of a sudden the eclipse—what other word is there to use?—had passed and all was bright once more.
We at once quitted the landing place, ascended a short flight of steps, passed through a most beautiful court and then, having ascended more steps, entered the palace itself.
Our little party was conducted straight to the throne-room. And straight down the great central aisle we went and stood at last before the queen herself.
There is nothing, as we then saw, servile, debasing in Droman court ceremonial. The meanest Droman, indeed, would never dream of kneeling before his queen. A Droman kneels to no man or woman, but to ​God only. The sovereign does not owe her queendom to birth; but to merit, or to that which the Dromans deem as such. She is chosen, and she is chosen queen for life. I say she, and I mean she. The Salic law excluded a woman from the throne of France; the Salic law of Drome excludes the man—or, as the Dromans are wont to put it, "no man may be queen"—a proposition that even the most Socratical Droman philosopher has never been known to dispute!
As to the choosing of the Droman sovereign, I should perhaps explain that not everyone has a voice in this. Beggars, prodigals, sociophagites, dunces, nincompoops, fuddle-caps, half-wits, no-wit-at-alls, sharpers, crooks, bunko-men, paupers, thieves, robbers, highwaymen, burglars, madmen and murderers, and some others, are all (I know that this is perfectly incredible and awful, but I solemnly assure you that it is a fact) interdicted the ballot.
Alas, it grieves me more than I could ever express to record so sad an instance of benightment in a people in so many ways so truly enlightened and broad-minded. But I take pride in saying that (when I had attained to something like a real knowledge of the Droman tongue) I described to Lepraylya herself, at the very first opportunity and in the most glowing and eulogistical language at my command, how beautifully we did these things in the world above.
I had (yes, I confess it) flattered myself that I would thus be instrumental in bringing about a great reform, in righting a cruel injustice. Vain vision—vain, alluring dream! As I went on with my panegyric, I saw wonder and amazement gathering in the beautiful eyes of Lepraylya. When I had finished, she sat for some moments like one dumfound-ed. And, when at last she spoke, it was, as old Rabelais has it, as though her tongue was walking on crutches. What she said was: "My Lord Bill Carter!"
And again after a pause: "My Lord Bill Carter!
"But, then," she added, "it must be an allegory. I confess, however, that the meaning, to my poor intellect at any rate, is involved in the deepest obscurity. Yes, allegory it must be. Surely this world you have described to me exists only in the imagination—is an imaginary world inhabited by imaginary sane people that are in reality lunatics."
But this is anticipating.
There we stood before the Queen of Drome.
And what a vision of loveliness was that upon which we stood gazing! Strange, too, was the beauty of Lathendra Lepraylya, what with her snow-white hair. (Her age I put at about thirty.) The eyes, large and lustrous, were of the lighest gray, the pallid color enhancing the weird loveliness of her. Her dress was of the palest blue; on her brow, in a bejeweled golden diadem, was a large brilliant of pale green, flashing when she moved her look with prismatic hues and fires.
But this woman before whom we stood was no mere beauty. That one saw at the first glance. Wonderful, splendid, one felt, was the mind of her, the soul of Lathendra Lepraylya. And not only that, but it was as though there was something uncanny in those pale gray eyes when she turned them to mine. That look of Lepraylya seemed to go right into my very brain, search out its thoughts and its secret places.
At the time it seemed long, but I suppose that no more than a couple of seconds had passed before she had turned her eyes to Milton Rhodes, upon whom they seemed to linger.
​Her snowy face was cold, impassive. Even when she slightly raised her right hand to us in salutation, not the slightest change was perceptible upon it.
The next moment, however, there was a change—when she addressed Drorathusa. For each of the others Lepraylya had a kind word, and then we all moved back a few steps to the seats which had been reserved for us—all save Drorathusa. She, we at once perceived, was about to give an account of the journey up to the mysterious, the awful world above. There was not a vacant seat in all that great room, save one—that for Drorathusa. This was to the left of the throne, as one faces it, together with a dozen or so others, all occupied by persons whom I at once, and rightly, set down as priests and priestesses.
Of this small group (small but most powerful) every member save one was dressed in a robe of snowy white. As for the individual in question, his robe was of the deepest purple, and he had round his head a deep-blue fillet, in which was set a large gem, a diamond, as we afterward learned, of a red so strange and somber that one could not help thinking of blood and weird, dreadful things. We thought that this personage was the high priest, and in this we were not mistaken. He was about sixty years of age, lean to emaciation and with the cold, hard look of the fanatic in his eyes and, indeed, in his every lineament. His face, smooth-shaven, as is the Droman custom, was like that of some cruel bird of prey. Coldly had he received, and returned, the salutation of Drorathusa, and dark with malevolence had been the look which he had fixed upon Rhodes and me.
There could not be the slightest doubt that this human raptor purposed to rend us beak and talon.
Chapter 41
He Strikes
Drorathusa began her story. Lepraylya leaned forward, rested her chin on her left hand and listened with the most careful attention. So still were the listeners that, as the saying has it, you could, anywhere in that great hall, have heard a pin drop.
At times, so expressive were her gestures, Rhodes and I had no difficulty whatever in following Drorathusa; but only at times. I have, however, had access to a transcript of the stenographic record of her story (the Dromans, despite the remarkable polysyllabic character of their language, have most excellent tachygraphers) and wish that space would permit inclusion of it here.
When Drorathusa had finished, the queen (who had several times interrupted with some interrogation) put a number of questions. With two or three exceptions, the answers given by our Sibyl seemed to be satisfactory. But those exceptions gave us something to think about. It was obvious that the queen was troubled not a little by those answers; and she was not, I believed, a woman who would lightly suffer the mask to reveal her thoughts or her feelings.
When the queen had done, came the turn of that high priest, whose name was Brendaldoombro. Up he rose and addressed a few words to Lathendra Lepraylya. Her answer was laconic, accompanied by an assenting motion of her right hand. For a few seconds her look rested upon Rhodes and me, and it was as though across those strange, wondrous pale eyes of hers a shadow had fallen.
As for the high priest, he had instantly, and with a fierceness that he could not bridle, turned to Drorathusa.
​How Rhodes and I, as we sat there, wished that we could understand the words being spoken!
"Always, O Drorathusa," said Brendaldoombro, "has your spirit been strange and wayward. Always have you been a seeker after that which is dark and mysterious. And, of a truth, dark and mysterious is the evil which you have now brought upon Drome.
"Never content with what it is given us to know! Always seeking the obscure! Sometimes, I fear, even that which is forbidden!"
At those words the eyes of Drorathusa flashed, but she made no answer.
"Cursed was that hour—cursed, I say, be that peeking and searching and peering that discovered it to your eyes, that record of those who, led on by the powers of the Evil One, ventured up into the caves of darkness and at last up into the world above itself—a world, as our holy writings tell us, of fearful and nameless things, of demons who, to achieve their purpose"—here he fixed his vulture eye upon Milton and me—"assume the shapes of men.
"But you must needs find that record, that writing which never should have been written. And you must needs turn a deaf ear to our words of counsel and admonition. You must needs beg and beseech and implore our permission to go yourself up into those fearful places and there see with your own eyes whether that in the writing was true or false. And we, alas, in an evil hour and one of weakness—yes, we did yield to your importunities and your wicked interpretation of our sacred writings and suffer you to go forth."
It seems, however, that just the opposite was the truth—that Brendaldoombro, fearing the growing popularity and power of this extraordinary woman, had been only too glad to see her start for the caverns of darkness, from the black mysteries of which he, of course, had hoped that neither she nor a single one of her companions would ever return.
"Yes, evil was the hour in which you went forth, O Drorathusa the Wayward One. And evil is this in which we see these demons in the shapes of men sitting in our very midst, before the very throne of our queen. Already has God shown His anger, shown it in this darkness which has sent fear to the stoutest heart—this darkness the like of which no living man has ever known in Drome.
"Nor," he went on, his voice rising, "will the divine wrath be softened so long as we, undutiful children that we are, suffer them to live—these devils that have come amongst us in the forms of men! Death!" His voice rose until the hall rang with the fierce tones. "Death to them, I say! Let death be swift and sure! And thus will Drome be spared sorrows, blood and miseries that, else, will wring the heart of the babe new-born and cause it to rise up and fearfully curse father and mother for bringing it into a world of such madness and wo!"
The effect of this impassioned and fiendish outburst was instantaneous and fearful. Something that was like a groan, a growl and a roar filled that great room. One who has never heard it could never believe that so fearful a sound could come from human throats. The Dromans sprang to their feet—not men and women now, but metamorphosed by the cunning and diablerie of Brendaldoombro into veritable fiends.
"We're in for it, Bill!" cried Milton, springing to his feet and whipping out his revolver.
I sprang to his side, and we faced them.
Drorathusa, with a fierce cry, threw herself between us and the crowd. ​We were moving slowly backward, back toward the throne. The voice of our Sibyl rang out clear and full. A moment or two, and it was evident that her words were quieting the mad passions of the mob—for mob, at that moment, it certainly was, though composed of the élite of the Droman world. Then of a sudden, full, clear, ringing and aquiver with wrath and suppressed passion, came the voice of Lathendra Lepraylya. Oh, what a vision of fierce loveliness was she as she stood there!
Brendaldoombro had come within a hair's-breadth of achieving his diabolical purpose. And a most fearful vision of thwarted evil was he at that moment. He knew his auditors, though, and he knew his power. Again he raised his impassioned voice. Lepraylya, however, turned upon him fiercely.
"Peace!" she cried. "I bid you, peace—yes, even you, O Brendaldoombro, High Priest of Drome though you are!
"What! You would still make of this room a shambles, stain the very throne of your queen with human blood?
"Ho, guard!" said she, turning. "Guard, ho!"
It is my belief that some cool-headed fellow had bethought himself of the guard before even the queen. For it was only a moment or two before a score or so of armed men had entered the room, and taken a position, in the form of a semicircle, before the throne.
There, above those grim men, rose the blue figure of the queen, her eyes blazing like that great jewel on her brow. Those eyes she. fixed upon Brendaldoombro, and I actually thought that the old raptor quailed a little under that look of outraged majesty. If this was indeed so, 'twas for an instant only. His look, one of baffled fury, then became fierce and defiant.
"So!" said Lathendra Lepraylya. "What madness is this that I see What blood-howl is this that I hear? No woman or man in Drome may be deprived of liberty or life without fair trial; and yet you, yes, even you, O Brendaldoombro, are here striving to make a shambles of the very throne itself!"
She raised a hand and pointed toward us.
"If these men are indeed——"
"They are not men!" the old villain shouted. "They are demons who have taken the human shape, to attain here in Drome some fell purpose. Death, I say! Let death be swift and——"
"Peace, I say!" exclaimed Lepraylya, stamping her sandaled foot. "And, if these men from the world above are indeed but devils counterfeit, could we kill them, O Brendaldoombro? Since when can mere man kill a devil?"
"When they are in human shape, he can! Death! Death to these——"
"One can kill their bodies only, even if he can do that."
"What more," demanded Brendaldoombro, "can one do to any woman or man? Death! Death to the demons!"
"Their spirits would be but loosed from the body to move unseen in the air about us, and they could then the more easily achieve their nefarious designs."
"They would be harmless then!" came the ready answer. "They are helpless save when in human form."
"Since when?" queried Lepraylya, her eyes widening in surprize. "Since when did the angels of the Evil One become helpless unless in human shape?"
"You misapprehend, O Lathendra Lepraylya. These belong to a most peculiar order, a most rare species of ​bad angel. And," cried Brendaldoombro, "they are the worst devils of all! Death to them before it is too late! Let us——"
"Have justice," said Lepraylya, "as we hope for mercy and justice in that dread day when every human soul—even yours, O Brendaldoombro—must stand and be judged for the sins it has done in the flesh. No human being may be condemned in Drome without trial; and I believe that Lord Milton and Lord Bill are true men, O Brendaldoombro, and no demons. And you would slay them, murder them, these the first men from the world above, as you would slay a gogrugron—if you did not fear it, 0 Brendaldoombro. Who knows what message they bring to us? Now they stand silent; but, when they will have learned our language, then we shall learn that which is now so dark and mysterious."
"Dark and mysterious indeed!" cried the high priest. "Signs and portents have been given us, warning us of what is to follow if we harbor these demons amongst us. And I tell you, O Lathendra Lepraylya, you and all Drome shall rue this day if you heed not the dread warnings of the wrath divine. Darkness I see! Yes, I see darkness! And earthshocks! Calamities that will overwhelm all Drome and——"
"Silence!" Lepraylya commanded. "Silence, croaker of evil. One would almost think, O Brendaldoombro. that you know more about the angels of the Evil One than you do about God's own. Hear now my word:
"When Lord Bill and Lord Milton can answer the charge that they are demons masquerading in the shapes of men, then, O Brendaldoombro, and not before, shall they be brought to trial—if, indeed, you will prefer that charge against them, then.
"Such is my word to you, O Brendaldoombro, and to you, ladies and lords all, and on the majesty of the Droman law and of the dread law of God it stands!"
Chapter 42
Drorathusa
And so it was that we reached, there in the palace of the Droman queen, our journey's end—certainly a stranger journey than any I ever have heard of and one that ought to prove of even greater interest to science than to the world in general. If, however, what they tell of the region is true, an expedition to the mysterious land that the Dromans call Grawngrograr would make our fearful journey to Drome look like a promenade to fairyland.
But there our journey ended, and now it is that my story rapidly draws to a close.
Probably you will think that, here under the egis of Lathendra Lepraylya, we found ourselves in clover. And, in a way, this was undoubtedly so. We were given each a splendid suite of rooms, in the palace itself, and our lives were as the lives of princes—save that the close guard always kept over us was a reminder that there was such a personage in the world as one Brendaldoombro. If it had not been for that vulture shadow, how wonderful those days would have been!
But that shadow was there, and it never lifted. And the worst of it was that everything was involved in the deepest mystery and gloom, what with our ignorance of the Droman language. Forsooth, however, had we been masters of that language, we could not have known the plots that were hatching in the dark skull of Brendaldoombro.
As for the language, we were studying it with diligence and really had. cause to be astonished at the rapidity of our progress. As to the high priest, crafty and consummate ​villain though he was, that worthy-found that Lathendra Lepraylya was quite his match and more than his match, as, indeed, was Drorathusa. Against the queen he was powerless to take any repressive measure; but the case was very different with regard to Drorathusa. He could act in this way, and he did.
She was sent to a distant, lonely, forsaken place on the very outskirts of the empire. According to all accounts, that spot is really a terrible one. Drorathusa was, in fact, in exile—though Brendaldoombro did not like to hear anyone call it that. But almost everybody did or regarded it as such, and there were murmurs, not only amongst the Droman people, but even amongst those priestesses, and priests whom the old villain had counted upon to applaud his every word and act.
Nor did time still those murmurs. On the contrary, they grew louder, more persistent. Brendaldoombro was learning that it is one thing to send a person into exile and quite another to banish that person from the popular esteem. Nor did he stop at banishment; he had recourse to the assassin's dagger and the arts of the poisoner. But, in all these attempts upon the life of Drorathusa, he was thwarted by the agents of the queen. Lepraylya knew her opponent, and she had at once taken measures to safeguard the life of the exiled priestess, who held as high a place in the esteem of her sovereign as she did in the hearts of the people.
How strange it seems to be writing of things like these in this the Twentieth Century, the Golden Age of Science. But, as I believe I have already remarked, Science hasn't discovered everything yet. This is a stranger, a more wonderful, a more mysterious old globe than even Science herself dreams it to be.
When our acquisition of the language became a real one, we began to learn something of the science of Drome and to impart a knowledge of the wonderful science of our own world. Never shall I forget the amazement of the queen and those learned men of Drome when Rhodes brought his mathematics into play. Problems that only a Droman Archimedes could solve, and that only after much labor (what with their awful notation) Rhodes solved, presto—just like that! So unwieldy was the system of notation employed by these Hypogeans that not even their greatest mathematicians had been able to do more than roughly approximate pi.
When Rhodes proceeded to the solution of trigonometrical problems, their amazement knew no bounds. And when he explained to them that all they had to do to become masters of such problems was to discard their cumbersome notation and adopt the simple numerals used by ourselves—well, I do actually believe that that was the straw that broke the back of Brendaldoombro's power! For (strange though it may seem to a world that is more interested in moonshine than it is in science) that brought over to our side every learned man in Drome and a majority of the people themselves. Nor should I forget the priests and priestesses. Your average Droman is much interested in all things of a scientific nature, and no one more so than the true priest or priestess—though there are, of course, some lamentable exceptions.
Yes, clearly we were men and not demons, else never would we have brought such wonders as these to offer them as gifts to the Dromans. But old Brendaldoombro had his answer ready.
"Instead," said he, "that proves they are not men; only devils could be such wizards!"
I have often wondered what dark thoughts would have passed through ​that dark brain of his had he been there the day that Rhodes showed Lepraylya, all those learned men and all those grand lords and ladies (ladies and lords, a Droman would say) the marvels of a steam-engine. Yes, there the little thing was, only two feet or so high but perfect in all its parts, puffing away merrily, and puffing and puffing, and all those Dromans looking on in wonder and delight.
Even as we sat there, came word that Brendaldoombro was dead. He had died suddenly and painlessly just after placing his hand in blessing on the head of a little child.
Well, they gave him a magnificent funeral. Peace to his soul!
On the death of the Droman high priest (or priestess) a successor is chosen, in the great temple in the Golden City, by a synod composed of exactly five hundred, the majority of whom are usually priestesses. On the very first ballot, Drorathusa (who was already on her way back from her lonely place of exile) was chosen.
Priests and priestesses, I should perhaps remark, are free to marry, unless they have taken the vow of celibacy. This (voluntarily, of course) many of them do. Drorathusa, by the way, had not done so.
We had now been in Drome a little over seven months. It was not very long afterward that Rhodes told me he was going to get married—to Lathendra Lepraylya herself! The news, however, was not wholly unexpected. Well, not every man of us can marry a queen—though of queens there are plenty.
I take the following from my journal for May the 10th:
"They were married today, about 10 o'clock, in the great temple; and a very grand wedding it was, too. Drorathusa herself spoke the words that made them man and wife, for the queen of Drome can be married by the high priestess or priest only.
"Now, as she proceeded with the ceremony, which was a very long one, I thought that that pale face of Drorathusa's grew paler still and that a distraught look was coming into her eyes. Then I told myself that 'twas only a fancy. But it was not fancy. For of a sudden her lip began to tremble, her voice faltered, the look in her eyes became wild and helpless—and she broke down.
"A moment or two, however, and that extraordinary woman had got control over herself again. She motioned the attendant priestesses and priests aside; a wan smile touched her lips as she pressed a hand to her side and said: 'It was my heart—but I am better now.'
"She at once proceeded with the ceremony, voice and features under absolute control. Again she was Drorathusa the Sibylline.
"And so they were married. And may they live happy and happily ever after!"
And then, after the great nuptial banquet in the palace, off went the happy pair in the queen's barge for Leila Nuramanistherom, a lovely royal suite some thirty miles down the river; whilst I betook myself to the solitude of my rooms, there to ponder on the glad-sad lot of man, to hear over and over, and over again, those low tragic words: "It was my heart—but I am better now."
Sibylline, noble, poor Drorathusa!
Chapter 43
We See the Stars
When facing the dangers, mysteries, horrors (and other things) of our descent to this strange and wonderful subterranean land, how often I said to myself: "If ever I get out of this, never again!" And I truly believed it at the time, though I ​should have known better. I should have known—I did know that adventure and mystery have inexplicable and most dreadful charms. Indeed, the more fearful the Unknown, the more eager a man (one who has heard the Siren song which adventure and mystery sing) is to penetrate to its secret places—unless, indeed, the charms of some Lepraylya or Drorathusa entwine themselves about the heart. In my case, that can never be. There is a grave in the valley of the Snoqualmie, under the shadow of old Mount Si—but tears dim the page, and I can not write of that. Even Milton Rhodes does not know.
Here was I in the Golden City; here was everything, it would seem, that could conduce to contentment, to that peace of mind which is dearer than all. Yet I was restless and really unhappy. And the Unknown was calling, calling and calling for me to come. To what? Perhaps to wonders the like of which Science never has dreamed. Perhaps to horrors and mysteries from which the imagination of even a Dante or a Doré would shrink and flee in mad terror—things nameless, worse than a thousand deaths.
But I wanted to go. Yes, I would go. I would go into that fearful Land of Grawngrograr—discover its mysteries or perish in the attempt.
And I am going, too. That journey has not been abandoned, only delayed. It was like this.
I was drawing up, in my mind, tentative plans (my purpose was yet a secret) when one day Rhodes came in, and, after smiling in somewhat enigmatic fashion for some moments, he suddenly asked: "I say, Bill, how would you like to see the stars, the sun again?"
"The sun? Milton, what do you mean?"
"That I am going back to the surface. I thought that you would want to go along."
"What in the world arc you going back for?"
"There are many things that we ought to have here—a book of logarithms, the best in the world, is one of them. We'll get those things, or as many as we can, for it would be impossible to bring them all. We'll wind up our sublunary affairs, and, hurrah, then back to Drome! What do you say to that, old tillicum?"
"What does Lepraylya say?"
"At first she wouldn't even hear of my going. But I have at last gained her consent. With our large party, there can not be any danger."
I was not sure of that, but I kept those thoughts to myself.
"Of course, I want to go," I told him. "But there is something that I don't understand."
"Which is what?"
"We can't keep our great discovery a secret. And, as soon as the world has it, adventurers, spoilers, crooks and parasites will come swarming down that passage. We'll loose upon our poor Dromans a horde of Pizarros."
"Did I think for one single moment that what you say, or anything like it, would follow, never one step Would I take toward the sun. You say that we can not keep the discovery of Drome a secret; we can, and we will—until such time as it will not matter. We will come out onto the glacier in the night-time. Our way of egress—I suppose we'll have to tunnel our way out through the ice, that there will not be any accommodating crevasse there—will be most carefully concealed. No one will sec us come out. No one will know of our journeys to and from the Tamahnowis Rocks, for they will be made under the cover of darkness. No one will know."
"Our long absence?" I queried. "This is the month of July—thanks ​to your chronometer-watch and your careful record, we know the very hour. Almost a whole year has gone by since that day we went forth upon the mountain. How are we going to explain that to the curious?"
"Tut, tut!" smiled Mil ton. "If all otir difficulties could be so easily solved as that!"
"I believe, however," he went on, "that we ought to leave the world, our world, a record of the discovery. I will set down to the extent that time permits those things which, in my opinion, will interest the scientific world. As for the discovery itself, the journey and our adventures, yours, Bill, is the hand to record that."
"A record?" I exclaimed. "Then why all this secrecy, this moving under cover of darkness, if you are going to broadcast the discovery of Drome to the whole world?" "Because we will then have left that world and the way to this will have been blasted up and otherwise closed."
"That," I told him, "will never keep them out."
"I think that it will. And, if any ever does find his way down, he'll never return to the surface; he'll spend the rest of his days here in Drome, even if he lives to be as old as Methuselah. Be sure you put that into the record! The Dromans are human, and so they are not quite saints. But their land is never going to be infested with plunderers, dope-peddlers and bootleggers if I can prevent it, and I feel confident that I can.
"This closing of the way will not mean complete isolation. At any rate, I hope that it will not. For I feel confident that ere very long the two worlds will communicate with each other by radio—yes, that each will even see, by means of television, the inhabitants and the marvels of the other."
One or two weird things befell us during our return journey, but time presses and I can not pause to record them here. The party was composed of picked men, one of whom was Narkus. We had one ape-bat. This going up was a more difficult business, I want to tell you, than our going down had been. There was one consolation: we did not get lost.
Onward and upward we toiled, and at last, on the 28th of July, we reached the Tamahnowis Rocks.
This was about 10 o'clock in the morning. The way out was completely blocked by the ice. Cool air, however, was flowing in through fissures and clefts in the walls and the roof of the tunnel. We waited until along toward midnight, for fear someone might be about—that some sound might reveal the secret of the rock.
It was about 11 o'clock when we began to dig our way out through the ice. The tunnel was not driven out into the glacier but up alongside the rock wall, through the edge of the ice-stream. Hurrah! At last our passage was through! And, as old Dante has it:
"Thence issuing we again beheld the stars."
[THE END]