Best Fantasy Stories

Chapter 29 THE CEREMONY OF SEPARATION

Chapter 29

THE CEREMONY OF SEPARATIONSeparated from Almah, surrounded by foul fiends, in darkness and

the shadow of death, with the baleful prospect of the Mista Kosek,

it was mine to endure the bitterest anguish and despair; and in me

these feelings were all the worse from the thought that Almah was

in a similar state, and was enduring equal woes. All that I

suffered in my present condition she too was suffering—and from

this there was no possibility of escape. Perhaps her surroundings

were even worse, and her sufferings keener; for who could tell what

these people might inflict in their strange and perverted

impulses?

Many joms passed, and there was only one thing that sustained

me—the hope of seeing Almah yet again, though it were but for a

moment. That hope, however, was but faint. There was no escape. The

gate was barred without and within. I was surrounded by miscreants,

who formed the chief class in the state and the ruling order. The

Chief Pauper was the highest magistrate in the land, from whose

opinion there was no appeal, and the other paupers here formed the

Kosekin senate. Here, in imprisonment and darkness, they formed a

secret tribunal and controlled everything. They were objects of

envy to all. All looked forward to this position as the highest

object of human ambition, and the friends and relatives of those

here rejoiced in their honor. Their powers were not executive, but

deliberative. To the Meleks and Athons was left the exercise of

authority, but their acts were always in subordination to the will

of the paupers.

"I have everything that heart can wish," said the Chief Pauper

to me once. "Look at me, Atam-or, and see me as I stand here: I

have poverty, squalor, cold, perpetual darkness, the privilege of

killing others, the near prospect of death, and the certainty of

the Mista Kosek—all these I have, and yet, Atam-or, after all, I am

not happy."

To this strange speech I had nothing to say.

"Yes," continued the Chief Pauper, in a pensive tone, "for

twenty seasons I have reigned as chief of the Kosekin in this

place. My cavern is the coldest, squalidest, and darkest in the

land. My raiment is the coarsest rags. I have separated from all my

friends. I have had much sickness. I have the closest captivity.

Death, darkness, poverty, want, all that men most live and long

for, are mine to satiety; and yet, as I look back and count the

joms of my life to see in how many I have known happiness, I find

that in all they amount to just seven! Oh, Atam-or, what a comment

is this on the vanity of human life!"

To this I had no answer ready; but by way of saying something, I

offered to kill him on the spot.

"Nay, nay, Atam-or," said he, with a melancholy smile, "do not

tempt me. Leave me to struggle with temptations by myself, and do

not seek to make me falter in my duty. Yes, Atam-or, you behold in

me a melancholy example of the folly of ambition; for I often

think, as I look down from my lofty eminence, that after all it is

as well to remain content in the humble sphere in which we are

placed at birth; for perhaps, if the truth were known, there is

quite as much real happiness among the rich and splendid—among the

Athons and Meleks."

On this occasion I took advantage of the Chief Pauper's softer

mood to pour forth an earnest entreaty for him to save Almah's

life, or at least to mitigate her miseries. Alas! he was

inexorable. It was like an appeal of some mad prisoner to some

gentle-hearted governor in Christendom, entreating him to put some

fellow-prisoner to death, or at least to make his confinement more

severe.

The Chief Pauper stared at me in horror.

"You are a strange being, Atam-or," said he, gently. "Sometimes

I think you mad. I can only say that such a request is horrible to

me beyond all words. Such degradation and cruelty to the gentle and

virtuous Almah is outrageous and forever impossible; no, we will

not deprive her of a single one of those blessings which she now

enjoys."

I turned away in despair.

At length one jom the Chief Pauper came to me with a smile and

said,

"Atam-or, let me congratulate you on this joyous occasion."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You are to have your ceremony of separation."

"Separation!" I repeated.

"Yes," said he. "Almah has given notice to us. She has announced

her intention of giving you up, and separating from you. With us

the woman always gives the announcement in such cases. We have

fixed the ceremony for the third jom from this, and I hope you will

not think it too soon."

This strange intelligence moved me greatly. I did not like the

idea of a ceremony of separation; but behind this there rose the

prospect of seeing Almah, and I felt convinced that she had devised

this as a mode of holding communication with me, or at least of

seeing me again. The thought of Layelah was the only thing that

interfered with this belief, for it might be her doings after all;

yet the fact remained that I was to see Almah, and in this I

rejoiced with exceeding great joy.

The appointed jom came. A procession was formed of the paupers.

The chief did not go, as he never left the cavern except on the

great sacrifices and Mista Koseks. The door was opened, and I

accompanied the procession. On our way all was dark, and after

traversing many passages we came at length to the door of a cavern

as gloomy as the one I had left. On entering this I found all dark

and drear; and a little distance before me there was a light

burning, around which was gathered a group of hags hideous beyond

all expression. But these I scarcely noticed; for there amid them,

all pale and wan, with her face now lighted up with joyous and

eager expectation, I saw my darling—my Almah! I caught her in my

arms, and for a few moments neither of us spoke a word. She sobbed

upon my breast, but I knew that the tears which she shed were tears

of joy. Nor was our joy checked by the thought that it was to be so

short-lived. It was enough at that moment that we saw one

another—enough that we were in one another's arms; and so we

mingled our tears, and shared one common rapture. And sweet it

was—sweet beyond all expression—the sweetest moment in all my life;

for it had come in the midst of the drear desolation of my heart

and the black despair. It was like a flash of lightning in the

intense darkness, short and sudden indeed, yet still intense while

it lasted, and in an instant filling all with its glow.

"I did this," murmured Almah, "to see you and to save you."

"Save me!" I repeated.

"Yes," said she. "I have seen Layelah. She told me that there is

this chance and this one only to save you. I determined to try it.

I cannot bear to think of you at the sacrifice—and for love of me

meeting your death—for I would die to save you, Atam-or."

I pressed her closer in my arms.

"Oh, Almah," said I, "I would die to save you! and if this

ceremony will save you I will go through with it, and accept my

fate whatever it may be."

We were now interrupted.

The women—the hags of horror—the shriek-like ones, as I may call

them, or the fiend-like, the female fiends, the foul ones—they were

all around us; and one there was who looked so exactly like the

nightmare hag of the outer sea that I felt sure she must be the

same, who by some strange chance had come here. Such, indeed, is

quite likely, for there may have been a pass over the mountains to

the land of the Kosekin; and those savage cannibals may all have

been honored Kosekin exiles, dwelling in poverty, want, woe, and

darkness, all of which may have been allotted to them as a reward

for eminent virtues. And so here she was, the nightmare hag, and I

saw that she recognized me.

A circle was now formed around us, and the light stood in the

middle. The nightmare hag also stood within the circle on the other

side of the light opposite us. The beams of the lamp flickered

through the darkness, faintly illuminating the faces of the

horrible creatures around, who, foul and repulsive as harpies,

seemed like unclean beasts, ready to make us their prey. Their

glances seemed to menace death; their blear eyes rested upon us

with a horrid eager hunger. My worst fears at that moment seemed

realized; for I saw that Almah's associates were worse than mine,

and her fate had been more bitter. And I wondered how it had been

possible for her to live among such associates; or, even though she

had lived thus far, whether it would be possible for her to endure

it longer.

And now there arose a melancholy chant from the old hags

around—a dreadful strain, that sounded like a funeral dirge, sung

in shrill, discordant voices, led by the nightmare hag, who as she

sang waved in her hand a kind of club. All the time I held Almah in

my arms, regardless of those around us, thinking only of her from

whom I must soon again be separated, and whom I must leave in this

drear abode to meet her fearful fate alone. The chant continued for

some time, and as long as it continued it was sweet to me; for it

prolonged the meeting with Almah, and postponed by so much our

separation.

At length the chant ceased. The nightmare hag looked fixedly at

us, and spoke these words:

"You have embraced for the last time. Henceforth there is no

more sorrow in your love. You may be happy now in being forever

disunited, and in knowing the bliss of eternal separation. As

darkness is better than light, as death is better than life, so may

you find separation better than union."

She now gave a blow with her club at the lamp, which broke it to

atoms and extinguished the flame. She continued:

"As the baleful light is succeeded by the blessed darkness, so

may you find the light of union followed by the blessed darkness of

separation."

And now in the deep darkness we stood clasped in one another's

arms; while around us, from the horrible circle of hags, there

arose another chant as harsh and discordant as the previous one,

but which, nevertheless, like that, served at least to keep us

together a little longer. For this reason it sounded sweeter than

the sweetest music; and therefore, when at last the hideous noise

ended, I felt a pang of grief, for I knew that I must now give up

Almah forever.

I was right. The ceremony was over. We had to part, and we

parted with tears of despair. I was led away, and as I went I heard

Almah's sobs. I broke away, and tried to return for one more

embrace; but in the darkness I could not find her, and could only

hear her sobs at a greater distance, which showed that she too was

being led away. I called after her,

"Farewell, Almah!"

Her reply came back broken with sobs.

"Farewell forever, Atam-or!"

I was once more led away, and again traversed the dark passages,

and again came back to my den, which now seemed dark with the

blackness of despair.

On my return I was formally and solemnly congratulated by all

the paupers. I should not have received their congratulations had I

not expected that there would be something more. I expected that

something would be said about the result of this act of separation;

for Almah had believed that it would be the means of saving my

life, and I believed that it would be the means of saving her life,

and for this reason each of us had performed our part; although, of

course, the joy of meeting with one another would of itself have

been sufficient, and more than sufficient, to make that ceremony an

object of desire. I thought, therefore, that some statement might

now be made to the effect that by means of this ceremony my status

among the Kosekin would be changed, and that both I and Almah,

being no longer lovers, would be no longer fit for the sacrifice.

To my intense disappointment, however, nothing whatever was said

that had the remotest reference to this.

On the following jom I determined to ask the Chief Pauper

himself directly; and accordingly, after a brief preamble, I put

the question point-blank:

"Will our ceremony of separation make any difference as to our

sacrifice?"

"What?" he asked, with a puzzled expression.

I repeated the question.

"I don't understand," said he, still looking puzzled.

Upon this I once more repeated it.

"How can that be?" said he at length; "how can the ceremony of

separation have any effect upon your sacrifice? The ceremony of

separation stands by itself as the sign and symbol of an additional

blessing. This new happiness of separation is a great favor, and

will make you the object of new envy and admiration; for few have

been so fortunate as you in all the history of the Kosekin. But you

are the favorite of the Kosekin now, and there is nothing that they

will not do for you."

"But we were separate before," said I, indignantly.

"That is true," said he, "in point of fact; but this ceremony

makes your separation a legal thing, and gives it the solemn

sanction of law and of religion. Among the Kosekin one cannot be

considered as a separate man until the ceremony of separation has

been publicly performed."

"I understood," said I, "that we were chosen to suffer the

sacrifice together because we were lovers, and now since you do not

any longer regard us as lovers, why do you sacrifice us?"

At this question the Chief Pauper looked at me with one of those

hungry glances of his, which showed how he thirsted for my blood,

and he smiled the smile of an evil fiend.

"Why do we sacrifice you, Atam-or?" he replied. "Why, because we

honor you both, and love you both so dearly that we are eager to

give you the greatest of all blessings, and to deny you nothing

that is in our power to bestow."

"Do you mean to sacrifice both of us?" I gasped.

"Of course."

"What! Almah too?"

"Certainly. Why should we be so cruel to the dear child as to

deprive her of so great a boon?"

At this I groaned aloud and turned away in despair.

Many joms now passed away. I grew more and more melancholy and

desperate. I thought sometimes of fighting my way out. My fire-arms

were now my chief consolation; for I had fully made up my mind not

to die quietly like a slaughtered calf, but to strike a blow for

life, and meet my death amid slain enemies. In this prospect I

found some satisfaction, and death was robbed of some of its

terrors.