The daughter of the dawn

by William Reginald Hodder

“It may have been; it was vast and it was tropical. In my dream I found myself standing among the ruined pillars of what must once have been a colossal temple. Now, it usually happens in a dream that one sees things vaguely, but in my dream it was different. I saw every detail. The scale-like feathers on the huge stone snakes that were coiled up the pillars, the glittering eyes of the vampire bats that clung about them, the huge green lizard that basked in a patch of moonlight on the stone floor—all these were clear and distinct, and on the heavy, broken stonework overhead, supported by the pillars, were shadowy masses of creeping plants, with here and there a glistening aloe or clump of white flowers catching the moonlight through the crevices.

“As I was looking at these things in my dream a murmur of voices came from within. I advanced between the treble row of pillars and saw a large inner space where there were a number of figures moving about a tall column. They were men of different nationalities, and they chanted a strange song while they looked up at the full moon which poured its rays down into the open space. These men had strong, evil faces, with eyes that flashed red in the moonlight; I can remember each one perfectly, and have drawn them as I saw them.”

She paused as if she were recalling the vivid scene, and, in the few moments’ silence, my mind flew back to the Vile Tohungas of the Pit gazing up at the full moon, nursing their stomachs and curling their granite lips disdainfully as they worshipped. Ngaraki, no doubt, would have read in this dream a word from his Great Tohungas of the Earth to the effect that the Vile Brotherhood of Huo still existed, striving to work out the age-long degradation of Woman, and, above all, to destroy his ancient goddess, when, as the Daughter of the Dawn, she should return. Just as the sacred fire of Hinauri had been nursed in the breasts of her guardians through pre-Maori races up to the present, so the baleful red fire of the Vile Tohungas, taken into the north by their servant fleeing from the wrath of Zun, may have been kept burning through pre-Toltec civilisations even unto this day. In spite of myself, this idea was growing upon my mind, when Crystal continued.

“While I watched, their chant to the moon ended; and, as the last notes fell, I fancied I could hear them rolling back into the distance like the close of a song sung by a great multitude in the open air. Then a large black mirror was brought out of the darkness and fixed in position so that the moonray was reflected high up on to a dark part of the smooth stone wall of the ruin. They began a wild orgy round the pillar. It came to a sudden silence, and all stood still, gazing at the moonlight on the wall. I looked also and saw, not on the rock, but in the distance through the rock, what looked like the central thoroughfare of some great city. By the glare of many lamps, high and low, I saw carriages crossing and re-crossing, while omnibuses for ever stopped and moved on again. I saw people moving to and fro upon the broad pavements; all about were women—many of them proud-looking and beautiful—who appeared to be waiting for someone. I did not understand what they were doing there, but when the men in the open space of the temple cried ‘It is well! It is well!’ I knew that the vision had shown them the working out of some great wrong.

“The picture vanished, and they returned to their orgy, which grew more terrible and furious, then stopped suddenly as before, while they remained gazing fixedly at the moonlight on the wall. A second time there came a scene—not the same place, though the people acted in just the same way—and this also was greeted with the cry, ‘It is well! It is well!’

“It vanished, and a third time the wild orgy was carried on. It reached a pitch of fury which horrified me, and, when it stopped suddenly, and they stood gazing at the wall, the vision came again. But this time it was the white figure of a woman standing among the trees of a garden far away. The place was bathed in peaceful sunlight. It was a sun-picture reflected by the moon from a distant spot. I could not see the features of the woman, but her arms were raised to the sky, and she seemed to be praying. Then, as if in answer to her prayer, there came, out of the blue, beings that seemed more like gods and goddesses than men and women. They came thronging down towards the world—men with noble looks and perfect forms, and women with serene, heavenly faces full of all the tender goodness that should belong to a woman. They appeared to separate to the four quarters of space, and I thought that here was a race of more perfect beings coming to people this earth in answer to the cry of the woman.

“At a sound of murmuring and confusion, I turned to the other watchers in the open space, and, as I did so, one among them, who seemed to be chief, stood out from the rest and held up a threatening hand towards the far-off vision. He laughed, and his voice was more animal than human. Then he roared out the words you saw beneath my picture: ‘Degrade the pure one! Whose is the task? Mine! Mine!’ and with these words ringing in my ears I woke. That was the dream; was it not strange?”

“Very strange,” I said; “but your father called me as I was glancing at the picture, and I had not time to examine it very clearly. I should like to have a good look at it if I may.”

“Yes, I’ll run and get it now.”

“Let me go,” I volunteered. But she was before me, and ran up to the house. While she was gone I cast my memory over the extraordinary dream she had related. Matter of fact as I was, I could not but see that if ever there was a meaning in a dream there was a meaning in this. The Destroyers of Woman exulting at the slow undermining of mankind in the mass, their threat hurled at Woman as the Mother of a nobler and more godlike race, their resolve to degrade her as such, so that this world should be peopled with dull, coarse forms, informed by vile minds, such as their own evil faces portrayed—all this, I reflected with astonishment, was indeed the tale of Ngaraki the savage, retold from the heart of an innocent girl.