Best Fantasy Stories

Chapter 18 A VOYAGE OVER THE POLE

Chapter 18 A

VOYAGE OVER THE POLEThe discovery of our love had brought a crisis in our fate for

me and Almah. The Kohen hailed it with joy, for now was the time

when he would be able to present us to the Kohen Gadol. Our doom

was certain and inevitable. We were to be taken to the amir; we

were to be kept until the end of the dark season, and then we were

both to be publicly sacrificed. After this our bodies were to be

set apart for the hideous rites of the Mista Kosek. Such was the

fate that lay before us.

The Kohen was now anxious to take us to the amir. I might

possibly have persuaded him to postpone our departure, but I saw no

use in that. It seemed better to go, for it was possible that amid

new scenes and among new people there might be hope. This, too,

seemed probable to Almah, who was quite anxious to go. The Kohen

pressed forward the preparations, and at length a galley was ready

for us.

This galley was about three hundred feet in length and fifty in

width, but not more than six feet in depth. It was like a long

raft. The rowers, two hundred in number, sat on a level with the

water, one hundred on each side. The oars were small, being not

more than twelve feet in length, but made of very light, tough

material, with very broad blades. The galley was steered with

broad-bladed paddles at both ends. There was no mast or sail.

Astern was a light poop, surrounded by a pavilion, and forward

there was another. At the bow there was a projecting platform, used

chiefly in fighting the thannin, or sea-monsters, and also in war.

There were no masts or flags or gay streamers; no brilliant colors;

all was intensely black, and the ornaments were of the same

hue.

We were now treated with greater reverence than ever, for we

were looked upon as the recipients of the highest honor that could

fall to any of the Kosekin—namely, the envied dignity of a public

death. As we embarked the whole city lined the public ways, and

watched us from the quays, from boats, and from other galleys.

Songs were sung by a chosen choir of paupers, and to the sound of

this plaintive strain we moved out to sea.

"This will be a great journey for me," said the Kohen, as we

left the port. "I hope to be made a pauper at least, and perhaps

gain the honor of a public death. I have known people who have

gained death for less. There was an Athon last year who attacked a

pehmet with forty men and one hundred and twenty rowers. All were

killed or drowned except himself. In reward for this he gained the

mudecheb, or death recompense. In addition to this he was set apart

for the Mista Kosek."

"Then, with you, when a man procures the death of others he is

honored?"

"Why, yes; how could it be otherwise?" said the Kohen. "Is it

not the same with you? Have you not told me incredible things about

your people, among which there were a few that seemed natural and

intelligible? Among these was your system of honoring above all men

those who procure the death of the largest number. You, with your

pretended fear of death, wish to meet it in battle as eagerly as we

do, and your most renowned men are those who have sent most to

death."

To this strange remark I had no answer to make.

The air out at sea now grew chillier. The Kohen noticed it also,

and offered me his cloak, which I refused. He seemed surprised, and

smiled.

"You are growing like one of us," said he. "You will soon learn

that the greatest happiness in life is to do good to others and

sacrifice yourself. You already show this in part. When you are

with Almah you act like one of the Kosekin. You watch her to see

and anticipate her slightest wish; you are eager to give her

everything. She, on the other hand, is equally eager to give up all

to you. Each one of you is willing to lay down life for the other.

You would gladly rush upon death to save her from harm, much as you

pretend to fear death; and so I see that with Almah you will soon

learn how sweet a thing death may be."

"To live without her," said I, "would be so bitter that death

with her would indeed be sweet. If I could save her life by laying

down my own, death would be sweeter still; and not one of you

Kosekin would meet it so gladly."

The Kosekin smiled joyously.

"Oh, almighty and wondrous power of Love!" he exclaimed, "how

thou hast transformed this foreigner! Oh, Atam-or! you will soon be

one of us altogether. For see, how is it now? You pretend to love

riches and life, and yet you are ready to give up everything for

Almah."

"Gladly, gladly!" I exclaimed.

"Yes," he said, "all that you have—you would gladly lavish on

her, and would rejoice to make yourself a pauper for her sweet

sake. You also would rejoice equally to give up life for her. Is it

not so?"

"It is," said I.

"Then I see by this that Almah has awakened within you your true

human nature. Thus far it has lain dormant; it has been concealed

under a thousand false and unnatural habits, arising from your

strange native customs. You have been brought up under some

frightful system, where nature is violated. Here among us your true

humanity is unfolded, and with Almah you are like the Kosekin. Soon

you will learn new lessons, and will find out that there is a new

and a final self-abnegation in perfect love; and your love will

never rest till you have separated yourself from Almah, so that

love can have its perfect work."

The sea now opened wide before us, rising up high as if half-way

to the zenith, giving the impression of a vast ascent to endless

distances. Around the shores spread themselves, with the shadowy

outlines of the mountains; above was the sky, all clear, with faint

aurora-flashes and gleaming stars. Hand-in-hand with Almah I stood

and pointed out the constellations as we marked them while she told

me of the different divisions known among the Kosekin as well as

her own people. There, high in the zenith, was the southern

polar-star, not exactly at the pole, nor yet of very great

brightness, but still sufficiently noticeable.

Looking back, we saw, low down, parts of the Phoenix and the

Crane; higher up, the Toucan, Hydrus, and Pavo. On our right, low

down, was the beautiful Altar; higher up, the Triangle; while on

the left were the Sword-fish and the Flying-fish. Turning to look

forward, we beheld a more splendid display. Then, over the bow of

the vessel, between the Centaur, which lay low, and Musca Indica,

which rose high, there blazed the bright stars of the Southern

Cross—a constellation, if not the brightest, at least the most

conspicuous and attractive in all the heavens. All around there

burned other stars, separated widely. Then, over the stern, gleamed

the splendid lustre of Achernar, on the left the brilliant glow of

Alpha Robur and Canopus, and low down before us the bright light of

Argo. It was a scene full of splendor and fascination. After a time

a change came over the sky: the aurora-flashes, at first faint,

gradually increased in brilliancy till the stars grew dim, and all

the sky, wherever the eye might turn from the horizon to the

zenith, seemed filled with lustrous flames of every conceivable

hue. Colossal beams radiated from the pole toward the horizon till

the central light was dissipated, and there remained encircling us

an infinite colonnade of flaming pillars that towered to the stars.

These were all in motion, running upon one another, incessantly

shifting and changing; new scenes forever succeeded to old; pillars

were transformed to pyramids, pyramids to fiery bars; these in

their turn were transformed to other shapes, and all the while one

tint of innumerable hues overspread the entire circle of the

sky.

Our voyage occupied several joms; but our progress was

continuous, for different sets of rowers relieved one another at

regular intervals. On the second jom a storm broke out. The sky had

been gathering clouds during sleeping-time, and when we awoke we

found the sea all lashed to fury, while all around the darkness was

intense. The storm grew steadily worse; the lightning flashed, the

thunder pealed, and at length the sea was so heavy that rowing was

impossible. Upon this the oars were all taken in, and the galley

lay tossing upon the furious sea, amid waves that continually beat

upon her.

And now a scene ensued that filled me with amazement, and took

away all my thoughts from the storm. It seemed impossible that so

frail a bark could stand the fury of the waves. Destruction was

inevitable, and I was expecting to see the usual signs of grief and

despair—wondering, too, how these rowers would preserve their

subordination. But I had forgotten in my excitement the strange

nature of the Kosekin. Instead of terror there was joy, instead of

wild despair there was peace and serene delight.

The lightning-flashes revealed a wonderful scene. There were all

the rowers, each one upon his seat, and from them all there came

forth a chant which was full of triumph, like a song of public

welcome to some great national hero, or a song of joy over victory.

The officers embraced one another and exchanged words of delight.

The Kohen, after embracing all the others, turned to me, and,

forgetting my foreign ways, exclaimed, in a tone of enthusiastic

delight,

"We are destroyed! Death is near! Rejoice!"

Accustomed as I was to the perils of the sea, I had learned to

face death without flinching. Almah, too, was calm, for to her this

death seemed preferable to that darker fate which awaited us; but

the words of the Kohen jarred upon my feelings.

"Do you not intend to do anything to save the ship?" I

asked.

He laughed joyously.

"There's no occasion," said he. "When the oars are taken in we

always begin to rejoice. And why not? Death is near—it is almost

certain. Why should we do anything to distract our minds and mar

our joy? For oh, dear friend, the glorious time has come when we

can give up life—life, with all its toils, its burdens, its endless

bitternesses, its perpetual evils. Now we shall have no more

suffering from vexatious and oppressive riches, from troublesome

honors, from a surplus of food, from luxuries and delicacies, and

all the ills of life."

"But what is the use of being born at all?" I asked, in a wonder

that never ceased to rise at every fresh display of Kosekin

feeling.

"The use?" said the Kohen. "Why, if we were not born, how could

we know the bliss of dying, or enjoy the sweetness of death? Death

is the end of being—the one sweet hope and crown and glory of life,

the one desire and hope of every living man. The blessing is denied

to none. Rejoice with me, oh Atam-or! you will soon know its

blessedness as well as I."

He turned away. I held Almah in my arms, and we watched the

storm by the lightning-flashes and waited for the end. But the end

came not. The galley was light, broad, and buoyant as a life-boat;

at the same time it was so strongly constructed that there was

scarcely any twist or contortion in the sinewy fabric. So we

floated buoyantly and safely upon the summit of vast waves, and a

storm that would have destroyed a ship of the European fashion

scarcely injured this in the slightest degree. It was an

indestructible as a raft and as buoyant as a bubble; so we rode out

the gale, and the death which the Kosekin invoked did not come at

all.

The storm was but short-lived; the clouds dispersed, and soon

went scudding over the sky; the sea went down. The rowers had to

take their oars once more, and the reaction that followed upon

their recent rejoicing was visible in universal gloom and

dejection. As the clouds dispersed the aurora lights came out more

splendid than ever, and showed nothing but melancholy faces. The

rowers pulled with no life or animation; the officers stood about

sighing and lamenting; Almah and I were the only ones that rejoiced

over this escape from death.

Joms passed. We saw other sights; we met with galleys and saw

many ships about the sea. Some were moved by sails only; these were

merchant ships, but they had only square sails, and could not sail

in any other way than before the wind. Once or twice I caught

glimpses of vast shadowy objects in the air. I was startled and

terrified; for, great as were the wonders of this strange region, I

had not yet suspected that the air itself might have denizens as

tremendous as the land or the sea. Yet so it was, and afterward

during the voyage I saw them often. One in particular was so near

that I observed it with ease. It came flying along in the same

course with us, at a height of about fifty feet from the water. It

was a frightful monster, with a long body and vast wings like those

a bat. Its progress was swift, and it soon passed out of sight. To

Almah the monster created no surprise; she was familiar with them,

and told me that they were very abundant here, but that they never

were known to attack ships. She informed me that they were capable

of being tamed if caught when young, though in her country they

were never made use of. The name given by the Kosekin to these

monsters is athaleb.

At length we drew near to our destination. We reached a large

harbor at the end of a vast bay: here the mountains extended

around, and before us there arose terrace after terrace of

twinkling lights running away to immense distances. It looked like

a city of a million inhabitants, though it may have contained far

less than that. By the brilliant aurora light I could see that it

was in general shape and form precisely like the city that we had

left, though far larger and more populous. The harbor was full of

ships and boats of all sorts, some lying at the stone quays, others

leaving port, others entering. Galleys passed and repassed, and

merchant ships with their clumsy sails, and small fishing-boats.

From afar arose the deep hum of a vast multitude and the low roar

that always ascends from a popular city.

The galley hauled alongside her wharf, and we found ourselves at

length in the mighty amir of the Kosekin. The Kohen alone landed;

the rest remained on board, and Almah and I with them.

Other galleys were here. On the wharf workmen were moving about.

Just beyond were caverns that looked like warehouses. Above these

was a terraced street, where a vast multitude moved to and fro—a

living tide as crowded and as busy as that in Cheapside.

After what seemed a long time the Kohen returned. This time he

came with a number of people, all of whom were in cars drawn by

opkuks. Half were men and half women. These came aboard, and it

seemed as though we were to be separated; for the women took Almah,

while the men took me. Upon this I entreated the Kohen not to

separate us. I informed him that we were both of a different race

from his, that we did not understand their ways; we should be

miserable if separated.

I spoke long and with all the entreaty possible to one with my

limited acquaintance with the language. My words evidently

impressed them: some of them even wept.

"You make us sad," said the Kohen. "Willingly would we do

everything that you bid, for we are your slaves; but the state law

prevents. Still, in your case, the law will be modified; for you

are in such honor here that you may be considered as beyond the

laws. For the present, at least, we cannot separate you."

These words brought much consolation. After this we landed, and

Almah and I were still together.