Passion sustained Ramiki the prophet. He was a strong man to-night, a dancer, a hunter, a chief with hawk wings bound upon his head. The red sunset passed into dusk, the dusk into night, bondmen lighted torches, the people slanted toward the god-stone. Ramiki sang the battles of Arzan and Izd—Arzan and his hosts and Izd and her hosts—Izd the monstrous serpent, Izd the ancient dragon! That was old story, but the river-country people did not easily tire of old stories. And Ramiki was singing with power, and there were new things that he was telling. In especial they learned feats of Izd that they had not known. They knew her slaying breath and the injuries she did to Arzan, and the keen knife with which Arzan slew her and made of her body the sky and the earth! But the prophet gave them new detail and incident—new and exciting—and all to them seemed clothed in beauty and terror, and all was true—sublimely true!
Then Ramiki sang how Izd, though she was cut into sky and earth, yet made evil, and Arzan made good—Izd and her helpers and Arzan and his helpers. He sang the making of great waters, and the beasts of wood and field, and the making of trees and of grain, and it was all well known to the river-country people and often recited. He came to the making of people—of the great father-man and mother-woman, ancestors of the river-plain—and here he had brought from the wood new wisdom.
The river country had not had it before, but, dimly or clearly, it had been aware of that vast unexplained. Why? And why—and why? It had put forward groping and tentative answers to its own questions, but those answers had not really explained. The air held the answer diffused. Now it was coming together like the rich cloud that on summer days rose behind the mountain where Arzan dwelt.
Why were men here, and women there? Why, when a man entered his house, did he stamp with his foot to show mastership?...
Ramiki had used a great strain, a wide-flowing, deep-rushing chant. Now he changed. This to come was a story within a story. He made a pause, he regarded the deep night above, he altered posture and manner. The village, marked with blue and marked with red, drew breath for new things. There was a company of youths who, when prophet or prophetess spoke, were wont to band themselves at one side of the god-stone. These repeated loudly word or line wanting that stress, or in silences came in with refrains of their own, or merely shouted approbation of the god in the singer. Now while Ramiki watched the dark, they shouted, “Arzan in the prophet!”
Halmis heard them where she leaned against the tree, decked to sing and not singing, here to prophesy from the god-stone and not prophesying, come from the river with a high heart and now knowing fear. It was like a spell upon her, a slow, cold poison in her veins. Ramiki—Ramiki—Ramiki only was singing to the people.... She heard him, and though she tried not to believe what he sang, at last in great part she believed. How could she else, being of the river-plain and so very like Ramiki who himself believed?... She was very capable of a sense of sin—and perhaps it all had come about that way. Arzan had his favourite—no doubt of that! There must be reasons for favour and disfavour.... Ramiki—Ramiki—Ramiki was singing. As she stood under the tree she seemed to herself, for one strange moment, to have a child in her arms.... Ramiki sang:—
“On the mountain-top stood the stone of Arzan,
Arzan-stone where Arzan dwelled.
Izd came and coiled around the mountain.
Izd said to her daughters, ‘Yet shall we win!’
Arzan had nothing to do that day.
He was ready for work he had dreamed about.
By the sacred river stood the sacred tree.
He broke a bough that was shaped to his mind.
Arzan sat on the stone and carved,
Arzan carved the bough of the tree.
Arzan cut from the bough a man!
Fair was the man, and tall and brave!
‘My man,’ said Arzan, and gave him blood,
Piercing the arm that shook the god-spear,
Pouring the drops in the veins of the man.
‘My man,’ said Arzan, and gave him warmth,
Held to his side within the god-robe.
‘My man,’ said Arzan, and gave him breath,
Putting his mouth to the first man’s mouth.
‘My man,’ said Arzan, and gave him speech:
‘Arja!’ said the god. Said Arja, ‘Arzan!’”
The river-plain that was descended from Arja clapped hands and rocked itself. The band of young men shouted to the sky:—
“‘Arja!’ said the god. Said Arja, ‘Arzan!’”
Ramiki pursued his story, and while he chanted he acted.