Best Fantasy Stories

Chapter 28 IN PRISON

Chapter 28

IN PRISONIt was with hearts full of the gloomiest forebodings that we

returned to the amir, and these we soon found to be fully

justified. The athalebs descended at that point from which they had

risen—namely, on the terrace immediately in front of the cavern

where they had been confined. We then dismounted, and Layelah with

the Kosekin guards accompanied us to our former chambers. There she

left us, saying that a communication would be sent to us.

We were now left to our own conjectures.

"I wonder what they will do to us?" said I.

"It is impossible to tell," said Almah.

"I suppose," said I, "they will punish us in some way; but then

punishment among the Kosekin is what seems honor and reward to me.

Perhaps they will spare our lives, for that in their eyes ought to

be the severest punishment and the deepest disgrace

imaginable."

Almah sighed.

"The Kosekin do not always act in this matter as one would

suppose," said she. "It is quite likely that they may dread our

escaping, and may conclude to sacrifice us at once."

On the next jom I had a visit from the Kohen Gadol. He informed

me that the paupers had held a Council of State, in which they had

made a special examination of our late flight. He and Layelah had

both been examined, as well as the Kosekin who had gone after us;

but Layelah's testimony was by far the most important.

The Council of State gathered from Layelah's report that we had

fled to Magones for the especial purpose of gaining the most

blessed of deaths; that she pursued us in the interest of the

state; and that we on her arrival had generously surrendered our

own selfish desires, and had at once returned.

We learned that much gratification was felt by the council, and

also expressed, at Layelah's account and at our action.

First, at our eager love of death, which was so natural in their

eyes; secondly, at the skill which we had shown in selecting

Magones; and finally, at our generosity in giving up so readily the

blessed prospect of exile and want and death, so as to come back to

the amir. Had we been Kosekin our acts would have been natural

enough; but, being foreigners, it was considered more admirable in

us, and it seemed to show that we were equal to the Kosekin

themselves. It was felt, however, that in our eager rush after

death we had been somewhat selfish; but as this probably arose from

our ignorance of the law, it might be overlooked. On the whole it

was decided that we ought to be rewarded, and that, too, with the

greatest benefits that the Kosekin could bestow. What these

benefits were the Kohen Gadol could not say; and thus we were left,

as before, in the greatest possible anxiety. We still dreaded the

worst. The highest honors of these men might well awaken

apprehension; for they thought that the chief blessings were

poverty and darkness and death.

Layelah next came to see me. She was as amiable as ever, and

showed no resentment at all. She gave me an account of what had

happened at the Council of State, which was the same as what I had

heard from the Kohen Gadol.

I asked her why she had made such a report of us.

"To conciliate their good-will," said Layelah. "For if they

thought that you had really fled from death from a love of life,

they would have felt such contempt for you that serious harm might

have happened."

"Yes," said I; "but among the Kosekin what you call harm would

probably have been just what I want. I should like to be viewed

with contempt, and considered unworthy of death and the Mista

Kosek, and other such honors."

"Oh yes," said Layelah; "but that doesn't follow; for you see

the paupers love death so intensely that they long to bestow it on

all; and if they knew that you were afraid of it, they would be

tempted to bestow it upon you immediately, just to show you how

delightful a thing it is. And that was the very thing that I was

trying to guard against."

"Well," said I, "and what is the result? Do you know what their

decision is?"

"Yes," said Layelah.

"What is it?" I asked, eagerly.

Layelah hesitated.

"What is it?" I cried again, full of impatience.

"I'm afraid it will not sound very pleasant to you," said

Layelah, "but at any rate your life is spared for the present. They

have decided to give you what they call the greatest possible

honors and distinctions."

Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly. For my part these

words sounded ominous, and were full of the darkest meaning.

"Tell me all," I said; "don't keep me in suspense."

"Well," said Layelah, "I'm afraid you will think it hard; but I

must tell you. I will tell it, therefore, as briefly and formally

as possible.

"First, then, they have decreed the blessing of separation. You

and Almah must now be parted, since this is regarded as the highest

bliss of lovers.

"Secondly, they have decreed the blessing of poverty. All these

luxuries will be taken away, and you will be raised to an equality

in this respect with the great paupers.

"Thirdly, you are to have the blessing of darkness. You are to

be removed from this troublesome and vexatious light, which here is

regarded as a curse, and henceforth live without it.

"Fourthly, the next decree is the high reward of imprisonment.

You are to be delivered from the evils of liberty, and shut up in a

dark cavern, from which it will be impossible to escape or to

communicate with anyone outside.

"Fifthly, you are to associate with the greatest of the paupers,

the class that is the most honored and influential. You will be

present at all their highest councils, and will have the privilege

of perpetual i*********e with those reverend men. They will tell

you of the joys of poverty, the happiness of darkness, and the

bliss of death."

Layelah paused, and looked at me earnestly.

"Is there anything more?" I gasped.

"No," said she. "Is not that enough? Some were in favor of

bestowing immediate death, but they were outvoted by the others.

You surely cannot regret that."

Layelah's words sounded like the words of a mocking demon. Yet

she did not wish to distress me; she had merely stated my sentence

in formal language, without any attempt to soften its tremendous

import. As for me, I was overwhelmed with despair. There was but

one thought in my mind—it was not of myself, but of Almah.

"And Almah?" I cried.

"Almah," said Layelah—"she will have the same; you are both

included in the same sentence."

At this a groan burst from me. Horror overwhelmed me. I threw

myself down upon the floor and covered my face with my hands. All

was lost! Our fate—Almah's fate—was darkness, imprisonment, and

death. Could anything be imagined that might mitigate such woes as

these? Could anything be conceived of as more horrible? Yes; there

remained something more, and this was announced by Layelah.

"Finally," said she, "it has been decreed that you shall not

only have the blessing of death, but that you shall have the rare

honor of belonging to the chosen few who are reserved for the Mista

Kosek. Thus far this had not been granted. It was esteemed too high

an honor for strangers; but now, by an exercise of unparalleled

liberality, the Grand Council of Paupers have added this, as the

last and best, to the high honors and rewards which they have

decreed for you and Almah."

To this I had nothing to say; I was stupefied with horror. To

such words what answer could be made? At that moment I could think

of nothing but this tremendous sentence—this infliction of

appalling woes under the miserable name of blessings! I could not

think of Layelah; nor did I try to conjecture what her motives

might be in thus coming to me as the messenger of evil. I could not

find space amid my despair for speculations as to her own part in

this, or stop to consider whether she was acting the part of a mere

messenger, or was influenced by resentment or revenge. All this was

far away from my thoughts; for all my mind was filled with the

dread sentence of the Council of Paupers and the baleful prospect

of the woes that awaited us.

On the next jom I saw Almah. She had already learned the awful

tidings. She met me with a face of despair; for there was no longer

any hope, and all that remained for us was a last farewell. After

this we parted, and each of us was taken to our respective

prison.

I was taken along dark passages until I came to a cavern with a

low, dark portal. Upon entering I found the darkness deeper than

usual, and there was only one solitary lamp, which diffused but a

feeble ray through the gloom. The size of the place could not be

made out. I saw here a group of human beings, and by the feeble ray

of the lamp I perceived that they were wan and thin and emaciated,

with scant clothing, all in rags, squalor, misery, and dirt; with

coarse hair matted together, and long nails and shaggy beards. They

reminded me in their personal appearance of the cannibals of the

outer shore. These hideous beings all gathered around me, blinking

at me with their bleary eyes and grinning with their abominable

faces, and then each one embraced me. The filth, squalor, and

unutterable foulness of these wretches all combined to fill my soul

with loathing, and the inconceivable horror of that embrace

wellnigh overwhelmed me. Yet, after all, it was surpassed by the

horror of the thought that Almah might be at that very moment

undergoing the same experience; and for her such a thing must be

worse than for me.

I retreated as far as possible from them, deep into the thick

darkness, and sat down. No convicted felon at the last hour of

life, no prisoner in the dungeons of the Inquisition, ever could

have suffered more mental agony than I did at that moment. The

blessings, the awful blessings of the Kosekin were descending upon

my miserable head—separation from Almah, squalor and dirt,

imprisonment, the society of these filthy creatures, darkness, the

shadow of death, and beyond all the tremendous horrors of the Mista

Kosek!

I do not know how the time passed, for at first I was almost

stupefied with despair; nor could I ever grow reconciled to the

society of these wretches, scarce human, who were with me. Some

food was offered me—filthy stuff, which I refused. My refusal

excited warm commendation; but I was warned against starving

myself, as that was against the law. In my despair I thought of my

pistol and rifle, which I still kept with me—of using these against

my jailors, and bursting forth; but this wild impulse soon passed

away, for its utter hopelessness was manifest. My only hope, if

hope it was, lay in waiting, and it was not impossible that I might

see Almah again, if only once.

Joms passed away, I know not how. The Chief Pauper, who is the

greatest man in the land of the Kosekin, made several attempts to

converse with me, and was evidently very condescending and

magnanimous in his own eyes; but I did not meet his advances

graciously—he was too abhorrent. He was a hideous wretch, with eyes

nearly closed and bleary, thick, matted hair, and fiendish

expression—in short, a devil incarnate in rags and squalor.

But as the joms passed I found it difficult to repel my

associates. They were always inflicting their society upon me, and

thrusting on me nasty little acts of kindness. The Chief Pauper was

more persistent than all, with his chatter and his disgusting

civilities. He was evidently glad to get hold of a fresh subject

for his talkative genius; he was a very garrulous cannibal, and

perhaps my being a foreigner made me more interesting in his

eyes.

The chief topic of his discourse was death. He hated life, loved

death, longed for it in all its forms, whether arising from disease

or from violence. He was an amateur in corpses, and had a larger

experience in dead bodies than any other man in the nation.

I could not help asking him once why he did not kill himself,

and be done with it.

"That," said he, "is not allowed. The temptation to kill one's

self is one of the strongest that human nature can experience, but

it is one that we must struggle against, of course, for it is

against all law. The greatest blessing must not be seized. It must

be given by nature or man. Those who violate the blessed mystery of

death are infamous."

He assured me that he had all his life cultivated the loftiest

feelings of love to others. His greatest happiness consisted in

doing good to others, especially in killing them. The blessing of

death, being the greatest of all blessings, was the one which he

loved best to bestow upon others; and the more he loved his

fellow-creatures the more he wished to give them this blessing.

"You," said he, "are particularly dear to me, and I should rather

give to you the blessing of death than to any other human being. I

love you, Atam-or, and I long to kill you at this moment."

"You had better not try it," said I, grimly.

He shook his head despondingly.

"Oh no," said he; "it is against the law. I must not do it till

the time comes."

"Do you kill many?" I asked.

"It is my pleasing and glorious office," he replied, "to kill

more than any other; for, you must know, I am the Sar Tabakin"

(chief of the executioners).

The Chief Pauper's love of death had grown to be an

all-absorbing passion. He longed to give death to all. As with us

there are certain philanthropists who have a mania for doing good,

so here the pauper class had a mania for doing what they considered

good in this way. The Chief Pauper was a sort of Kosekin Howard or

Peabody, and was regarded by all with boundless reverence. To me,

however, he was an object of never-ending hate, abhorrence, and

loathing; and, added to this, was the thought that there might be

here some equally hideous female—someone like the nightmare hag of

the outer sea—a torment and a horror to Almah.