“Hath no man ever been able to penetrate into the mysterious abode?” I asked.
“Many lives have, it is said, been lost in foolhardy attempts by the curious,” he answered, slowly. “None has, however, successfully braved the wrath of the One of Evil, who dealeth death with aim unerring. Our wise men have said that when, generations ago, the Evil Spirit conquered his rival, entrance was gained to his kingdom by a remarkable cave in the rock, and that in the cave there lived a hideous wild beast with eight legs, whose tusks were each the length of a spear, whose claws were each an arrow’s length, whose eyes were like flaming brands, and whose breath was as the smoke of a camp fire. The god’s attendant spirits were forbidden to pass beyond the zealously-guarded portal, but one day a spirit, more adventurous than the rest, managed to escape into the abode of men. His spiritual form enabled him to cross the poisoned waters without a canoe, but as he was passing rapidly over the plain his absence was detected by the god of Darkness, who, in his wrath, suddenly turned him into a human being, and doomed him to wander the earth as an outcast forever. He is wandering now, for aught we know. Truly, the wrath of the King of the Land of the Myriad Mysteries is to be feared, and death cometh swiftly to those who offer him not offerings of flesh, and arouse his anger by expressing disbelief that he ruleth the earth.”
“Then, according to thy belief, the Good Spirit is powerless?” I said.
“Yea, he hath, alas! been vanquished, and the god of Darkness holdeth supreme sway over men,” he answered. “Among mine own people I have witnessed more than one case where a man expressed disbelief in the One of Evil at dawn, and ere darkness hath fallen he has come to a violent and unexpected end. The punishment of the sceptical is always death.”
“And the dwelling-place of the Ruler of the World is that high land, towards which, at sunrise, we shall be pushing forward to discover?” I said.
“Yea. But have a care of thy life, O friend,” he urged, in a tone of consternation. “Thou mayest gaze upon it from afar, but to approach it will be to encompass thine own end.”
“When we reach within sight of it I shall decide how to act,” I laughed, amused at the pagan’s apprehensions. “Strangely enough we have, in our land, a legend very similar to thine, which telleth how one adventurous man escaped from the mysterious region, after which the cave became closed and all entrance and egress barred. The mystery fascinateth me, and I am determined at all hazards to seek its solution.”
“Dost thou think thou wilt succeed where valiant men for ages past have failed?” he asked, in a tone of reproach.
“I may fail also,” I said. “If thou wilt lead me thither, I will make at least an effort.”
The black chief did not reply, but sat silent and motionless, still hugging his knees, and gazing with thoughtful, heavy expression into the fire. Perhaps he was trying to devise some scheme whereby I might be deterred from committing an act which he considered sheer folly. But I was determined to keep the promise I had made to Azala, and seek some explanation of the mystic marks upon our breasts. It was strange that every tribe—followers of the Prophet and pagans alike—possessed some curious legend regarding the unapproachable country; strange, also, that so many of the quaint beliefs coincided in two facts; namely, the escape of an adventurous spirit and the subsequent disappearance of the cavern. These legends had apparently been handed down through so many ages that they had now become bound up in the quaint and simple religious belief of the pagans, proving the great antiquity of the original incident or story upon which they were founded.