The Perfect World: A romance of strange people and strange places

by Ella M. Scrymsour

To the right of Alan was a still more grotesque figure. About twenty feet high it stood, with cruel eyes looking out across the fire. Its jaws were open wide, and attached to the under jaw was a peculiar slide made of the same transparent glass-like substance that encircled the flames. This slide reached from the idol’s mouth to the edge of the furnace, and suddenly drops of perspiration stood out thick on Alan’s brow. The meaning of the slide was only too clear. The victims of these underground savages were forced inside the idol, disgorged by it on to the slide, and thrown into the fire—a living sacrifice. Time passed, and Alan wondered dimly whether he would ever be able to reckon it again.

Suddenly upon his ear came wild yells and fanatical shrieks, the banging of drums, the clashing of cymbals followed by discordant singing. Then the din quieted a little, only to reassert itself once more as the natives reached the door of their temple. Alan gasped in horror as a horde of grinning purple men swarmed into the place, two of whom left their places in the procession, and coming to him caught hold of him roughly.

Priests and acolytes took their place in the procession, which was brought to an end by a high priest, who wore the most wonderful purple robes and purple gems; slowly he walked to the high altar, his richly embroidered vestments hanging to the ground, and two acolytes carried the ends of his cloak, which they kissed reverently as they ascended the bloody steps. When he reached the top step he turned his back on the altar itself, and prostrated himself before the fire, the whole company of worshippers following his example. Boys arrayed in vestments almost the facsimile of the ones worn by the high priest, swung censers aloft, which exuded their sickly perfume, and sent the faint, blue smoke mingling with the smokeless flames of the big fire.

Then they rose and the ceremony began, priests intoned; an invisible choir sang; and the congregation chanted, while live pigs, oxen, horses and goats were thrown alive into the flames. There was a wild shriek from each animal as it felt the heat, a crackling—and it was reduced to ashes. Alan wondered when his turn would come, and longed vainly for the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

Suddenly his captors lifted him high above their heads, and strapped him to the altar. And then in front of him was placed a goat, and two priests, disengaging themselves from the crowd, disembowelled the animal alive, flung the still living and tortured creature to the flames, and stood over Alan with their ugly knives, still dripping with blood, suspended above him. Then the steel came flashing down and he wondered that he felt no pain, but he realized that his clothes had been deftly cut away from him, and he was left on the altar slab, naked. Incense was wafted over him, and he was bathed from head to foot in sweet smelling oils. Then he was released from the altar and had to submit to being robed from head to foot in purple garments. Sandals were placed upon his feet, and for a moment he wondered whether these people really meant him well—but even as the thought passed through his mind, the back of the great idol swung open on hinges, revealing a flight of steps within; and Alan knew the hour of his torture had come.

With incense rising to his nostrils and the noisy clangour of bells in his ears, Alan was led, powerless, although resisting, to the open doorway. The steps inside were heated until they blistered his feet, and the pain caused him to mount higher where he hoped to get relief. When he reached the topmost step, and stood in comfort, realizing that it was cool, the door below swung to. He was alone, and saw that he was standing in the head of the idol, looking through its gaping jaws into the heart of the fire. Then suddenly he felt a jolt beneath him, and realized that his ankles were encased in iron bands. Again the idol’s body shook, and he was thrown on his belly. Slowly the slide was coming into position; another convulsive move of the idol, and he was half way down it, and smiled as he saw in imagination a tank of water below him in place of the fire, and himself in a bathing suit, ready to descend the water chute!

Slowly, slowly he began to slip, and wondered why he did not go faster. He tried to kick his feet and so enable himself to get over with death—but the iron anklets were holding him fast, and he knew he would reach the flames only when his torturers desired it. The heat was now unbearable; the flames were leaping up toward him; he already felt upon his cheek their fiery breath. His arms were stretched out before him, and he was at too great an angle to draw them up. Then came a feeling of excruciating agony, an agony almost unbearable. His fingers had reached the fire! powerless to take them out, he writhed round and round in a vain endeavour to obtain relief. No sound came from between his clenched teeth to express the pain he was enduring.

Suddenly above the uproar he heard a woman’s voice, commanding and imperious. There was a sudden silence, and then, with a terrible jolting of the idol, Alan once again found the slide rising and he was safe inside the belly of the image. Tears trickled down his face, tears of pain. Of course the mechanism had gone wrong. All that excruciating torture would have to be borne again. He held his mutilated hands out in front of him. Numbness had set in and intense cold.

The door in the idol opened and a beautiful girl mounted the steps and came toward him. She was small, like her companions around her, and of the same colour, and the horn in her forehead, painted gold and hung with gems, seemed in some weird way to enhance her beauty. Almost of English mould, her features were small and pretty, and her wonderful hair hung like a mantle of gold far past her knees. Upon her head she wore a crown of gold, and Alan thought she must be queen of the underworld people, for evidently her power was paramount. She placed her cool, firm hands on Alan’s shoulder, and led him down the now cool stairs; and once more he found himself in the temple. He was dazed, and could hardly realize that this woman had saved him. From a basket an attendant carried she took ointments and healing lotions, and bathed and bound up his poor, maimed hands. The effect was almost magical. The burning ceased, and a feeling of relief came over him. She then offered him her arm, and led him to the outer gates of the temple. There a small chariot was awaiting her, pulled by a hideous beast that was the beast of burden in the underworld. Small, with an ungainly body and short legs—its head small in proportion, it had immense tusks and a beard covered the lower portions of its face. Indeed, the “Schloun” was a mixture of rhinoceros and goat, and had the bulldog’s squareness of build. It was a hideous animal, and Alan shuddered as he took his place in the chariot. The equipage was extremely comfortable, the floor, upon which they sat was laden with rugs and cushions, and side by side, the man and his protector rode through the strange streets of this underground world.

At last they stopped in front of an imposing building, even larger than the one where Alan had originally been captured. The woman led Alan into it, and took him into an apartment that was evidently reserved for her private use. A soft, purple carpet lined the floor, while purple curtains hung across the door. The woman pointed to a cushion and sat down, and Alan, understanding her meaning, sat down near her. She spoke to him slowly and repeatedly, but he was unable to understand her tongue.