Kai Lung’s Golden Hours by Ernest Bramah (an ebook reader .TXT) 📕

most sacred recesses of the ruined temples. The strong and the wealthy had long since fled, and presently out of all the eleven villages of the valley but one man remained alive and Ten-teh lay upon the floor of his inner chamber, dying.

“There was a sign⁠—there was a sign in the past that more was yet to be accomplished,” ran the one thought of his mind as he lay there helpless, his last grain consumed and the ashes on his hearthstone black. “Can it be that so solemn an omen has fallen unfulfilled to the ground; or has this person long walked hand in hand with shadows in the Middle Air?”

“Dwellers of Yin; dwellers of Chung-yo; of Wei, Shan-ta, Feng, the Rock of the Bleak Pagoda and all the eleven villages of the valley!” cried a voice from without. “Ho, inhospitable sleeping ones, I have reached the last dwelling of the plain and no one has as yet bidden me enter, no voice invited me to unlace my sandals and partake of tea. Do they fear that this person is a robber in disguise, or is this the courtesy of the Upper Seng valley?”

“They sleep more deeply,” said Ten-teh, speaking back to the full extent of his failing power; “perchance your voice was not raised high enough, O estimable wayfarer. Nevertheless, whether you come in peace or armed with violence, enter here, for the one who lies within is past help and beyond injury.”

Upon this invitation the stranger entered and stood before Ten-teh. He was of a fierce and martial aspect, carrying a sword at his belt and a bow and arrows slung across his back, but privation had set a deep mark upon his features and his body bore unmistakable traces of a long and arduous march. His garments were ragged, his limbs torn by rocks and thorny undergrowth, while his ears had fallen away before the rigour of the ice-laden blasts. In his right hand he carried a staff upon which he leaned at every step, and glancing to the ground Ten-teh perceived that the lower part of his sandals were worn away so that he trod painfully upon his bruised and naked feet.

“Greeting,” said Ten-teh, when they had regarded each other for a moment; “yet, alas, no more substantial than of the lips, for the hospitality of the eleven villages is shrunk to what you see before you,” and he waved his arm feebly towards the empty bowl and the blackened hearth. “Whence come you?”

“From the outer land of Im-kau,” replied the other. “Over the Kang-ling mountains.”

“It is a moon-to-moon journey,” said Ten-teh. “Few travellers have ever reached the valley by that inaccessible track.”

“More may come before the snow has melted,” replied the stranger, with a stress of significance. “Less than seven days ago this person stood upon the northern plains.”

Ten-teh raised himself upon his arm. “There existed, many cycles ago, a path⁠—of a single foot’s width, it is said⁠—along the edge of the Pass called the Ram’s Horn, but it has been lost beyond the memory of man.”

“It has been found again,” said the stranger, “and Kha-hia and his horde of Kins, joined by the vengeance-breathing Fuh-chi, lie encamped less than a short march beyond the Pass.”

“It can matter little,” said Ten-teh, trembling but speaking to reassure himself. “The people are at peace among themselves, the Capital adequately defended, and an army sufficiently large to meet any invasion can march out and engage the enemy at a spot most convenient to ourselves.”

“A few days hence, when all preparation is made,” continued the stranger, “a cloud of armed men will suddenly appear openly, menacing the western boundaries. The Capital and the fortified places will be denuded, and all who are available will march out to meet them. They will be but as an empty shell designed to serve a crafty purpose, for in the meanwhile Kha-hia will creep unsuspected through the Kang-lings by the Ram’s Horn and before the army can be recalled he will swiftly fall upon the defenceless Capital and possess it.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, “why has the end tarried thus long if it be but for this person’s ears to carry to the grave so tormenting a message! Yet how comes it, O stranger, that having been admitted to Kha-hia’s innermost council you now betray his trust, or how can reliance be placed upon the word of one so treacherous?”

“Touching the reason,” replied the stranger, with no appearance of resentment, “that is a matter which must one day lie between Kha-hia, this person, and one long since Passed Beyond, and to this end have I uncomplainingly striven for the greater part of a lifetime. For the rest, men do not cross the King-langs in midwinter, wearing away their lives upon those stormy heights, to make a jest of empty words. Already sinking into the Under World, even as I am now powerless to raise myself above the ground, I, Nau-Kaou, swear and attest what I have spoken.”

“Yet, alas!” exclaimed Ten-teh, striking his breast bitterly in his dejection, “to what end is it that you have journeyed? Know that out of all the eleven villages by famine and pestilence not another man remains. Beyond the valley stretch the uninhabited sand plains, so that between here and the Capital not a solitary dweller could be found to bear the message.”

“The Silent One laughs!” replied Nau-Kaou dispassionately; and drawing his cloak more closely about him he would have composed himself into a reverent attitude to Pass Beyond.

“Not so!” cried Ten-teh, rising in his inspired purpose and standing upright despite the fever that possessed him; “the jewel is precious beyond comparison and the casket mean and falling to pieces, but there is none other. This person will bear the warning.”

The stranger looked up from the ground in an increasing wonder. “You do but dream, old man,” he said in a compassionate voice. “Before me stands one of trembling limbs and infirm appearance. His face is the colour of potter’s