These grayish white spikes line the “Road of the Guanche Kings” where the crater of elevation sticks out its ragged and torn lips, eternal witnesses to one of nature’s most stupendous debauches.
Yermah groaned in spirit as he looked across the dreary waste, and he mourned unfeignedly for his lost people. It seemed to need this grand, harmonious outburst of unseen forces to give voice to the wild and passionate utterances seeking vent in his heart. Nature speaks to each soul alone, and no mortal may interfere with the communion.
In taking a tender farewell of his comrades, Yermah appointed the life work of each loyal heart; nor had he the least doubt of their faithful obedience.
“Go thou to Egypt, Gautama, and tell them the task is finished.”
“Mayst thou be eternally at one with the Divine.”
“And thou, Cezardis, journey on beyond Egypt, until thou art come to Lassa. Find Kadmon, and tell him all is well.”
“And thou, Yermah, wilt thou come with me?” asked Ben Hu Barabe.
“No. Thou must teach Gautamozin in my stead. He will learn from the Brotherhood. Farewell, beloved! I shall return, but not now.”
“Thou art come to thine own, Hanabusa,” he continued. “Stay thou here with the despoiled.”
He kissed each one on brow and cheeks, murmuring affectionate words of encouragement and farewell.