The Face in the Abyss by Abraham Merritt (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

“But surely not the Indians,” cried Graydon.

“No, not they,” Regor replied, patiently.

“Then they die,” Graydon was struggling desperately to find some flaw in what seemed to him a monstrous condition. “They die, like my people. Then why have they not taught Huon all that death can be? Why ask me?”

“There are two answers to that,” said Regor with quite

a professional air. “First, you—and therefore your race— are much closer to us than are the Emer, or as you call them, the Aymara. Therefore, Huon argues, he might learn from you what would probably come out of the Door of Death for us if it should be decided to reopen that door upon YuAtlanchi—all YuAtlanchi. It is, by the way, one of the matters that has made us outlaws. The second answer is, however, all-embracing. It is that, except in the rarest of cases, the Emer do not live long enough for any one to find out how they might possibly die except in the distressingly similar manner in which they do. I mean, they are killed before they have opportunity to die otherwise! It is another of the matters that has made us outlaws.” Graydon felt a nightmarish creep. Was Suarra too—deathless? And if so, then in the name of God how old was she? The thought was definitely unpleasant. They were unhuman, those hidden people; abnormal! Surely Suarra, with all her sweetness, was not one of these—monsters! He did not dare ask; approached the question obliquely.

“Dorina too, I suppose?” he asked.

“Naturally,” said Regor, placidly.

“She looks very like Suarra,” hazarded Graydon. “She

might be her sister.”

“Oh, no,” said Regor. “Let me see—she was, I believe, the sister of Suarra’s grandmother—yes, or her greatgrandmother. Something like that, at any rate.”

Graydon glared at him suspiciously. Was Regor after all

making game of him?

“A sort of an aunt,” he observed, sarcastically.

“You might say so,” agreed Regor.

“Hell!” shouted Graydon, in utter exasperation, and brought down his fist on the table with a crash. Regor looked startled, then chuckled.

“What does it matter?” he asked. “One of your day-old babes, if it had the brain to think, would probably consider. you an ancient as you do me. But it would accept it as natural. All these things are comparative. And if our ages offend you,” he added, unctuously, “be thankful that it is

Dorina who is Suarra’s greatgrandmother’s sister, and not the other way about”

Graydon laughed; this was comforting common sense after all. And yet—Suarra centuries old, perhaps! Not Primavera, not the fresh young Springtide maid he had thought her! Well, there was no use crying about it. It was so, or it wasn’t. And if it were so—still she was Suarra. He thrust the whole matter aside.

“One more question, and I’m ready for yours. None of you thoroughly believed me until I told you of the Face, and what I told you frightened you. Why?”

Now it was Regor who was troubled; his face darkened, then paled, the scars standing out like livid welts.

“And again you are frightened,” Graydon said, curiously. “Why?”

“At a Shadow,” answered Regor, and with effort. “At an evil Shadow which you have turned to substance. At an ancient tale—which you have turned to truth. Let be—I say no more.”

A shadow… the Serpentwoman had spoken of a shadow… linking it with this enemy they called the Dark One… there had been a name… The Shadow of… ah, yes—he had it now.

“You speak,” be said, “in riddles. As though I were a child. Do you fear to name this Shadow? Well, I do not— it is the Shadow of Nimir.”

Roger’s jaw dropped; closed with a snap. He took a menacing step toward Graydon, face hard, eyes bleak, with suspicion.

“You know too much, I think! And knowing, fear too little—”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Graydon, sharply. “If I knew why you feared, would I ask? I know the name, and that is all—except that he is foe of the Mother. How I came to know it, I will tell you later—after you have answered my question. And with no more riddles.”

For a full minute the great man glared at him, then shrugged his shoulders, and sat facing him.

“You shook me,” he said, quietly enough. “Of all the Fellowship, I alone, or so I think, know the name of

Nimir. It has been forgotten. The Lord of Evil—that name all know. But not the name he bore before—”

He leaned over toward Graydon, laid his hand on his shoulder, and his stern mouth quivered,

“By the Power above us all, I want to believe you, lad!

I would not have this hope die!”

Graydon reached up, and pressed the clutching hand. “And by the Power above us all—you can believe,

Regor.”

Regor nodded, face tranquil once more.

“Thus then it is,” he began. “This is the ancient story. That long, long ago Yu-Adanchi was ruled by the Seven Lords and Adana, the Snake Mother. They were not as other men, these Lords. Masters of knowledge, holders of strange secrets, wielders of strange powers. Both death and life they had conquered, holding back death at will, doing as they willed with life. They came to this land with the Mother and her people, age upon age long gone. Through their wisdom, they had ceased to be entirely human—these Lords. Or at least—we would not think them so; though men like us they must once have been.

“There came a time when one of them plotted secretly against the others, scheming to wrest their power from them. Himself, to rule supreme. And not alone in YuAtlanchi, but over all earth, all living things his slaves. Himself enthroned. All powerful. God on earth. Slowly, steadily, he armed himself with dread powers unknown to

the others.

“When he felt his strength had ripened—he struck. And

almost won. And would have won—had it not been for the guile and wisdom of the Mother.

“That Lord was—Nimir.

“They conquered him—but they could not destroy him. Yet by their arts they could fetter him. And this they did, so the ancient story ran, preparing a certain place, and by their arts prisoning him within the rock there.

“Out of that rock they carved a great Face, in the likeness of Nimir’s own. It was not in mockery.,. they had some purpose… but what that purpose might have been… none knows. And by their arts they set in action within

that place forces which would keep him bound fast as long as the land—or Nimir—endured. Of fruit of jewels or flowing gold, such as you described, the tale said nothing.

“All this being done, the Six Lords and Adana, the Mother, returned to YuAtlanchi. And for long the old peace reigned.

‘Time upon time passed. One by one those whose eyes had beheld the Lord of Evil grew weary, and opened the Door of Death. Or opened the Door of Life, brought babes through it, and then passed through the dark portal, that being the price of children in YuAtlanchi! So there came a day when in all this hidden land there was none of its people left who knew the whole truth except a handful among the Dream Makers, and who would believe a Dream Maker?

“That war whose stakes had been a world, faded into a legend, a parable.

“Then, not so long ago as time is measured in YuAtlanchi, there came the rumor that this evil Lord had reappeared. A Shadow of him rather; a Darkness that whispered; bodiless but seeking a body; promising all things to those who would obey him; whispering, whispering that he was the Lord of Evil. And that the Urd, the lizard-people, were his slaves.

“When first we heard this rumor of the Shadow and its whisperings, we laughed. A Dream Maker has awakened, we said, and some one has believed him. But as the Shadow’s following increased, we laughed not so loudly. For cruelty and wickedness grew swiftly, and we realized that whether Lord of Evil or another, there was poison at the roots of the ancient tree of YuAtlanchi.

“Of all the six Lords there remained only one, and the Mother and he had long withdrawn from us. We sought audience with the Mother, and she was indifferent. “Then Lantlu seized power, and life in the ancient city became intolerable to many of us. Following Huon, we found refuge in these caverns. And ever darker through the years grew the Shadow over YuAtlanchi. But still we said—‘He is not that ancient Lord of Evil!’

“And then—you come. And you tell us–‘I have seen that secret place! I have looked into the eyes of the Face!’”

Regor arose and paced the room; there were little drops of sweat on his forehead.

“And now we know that the Shadow has not lied, and that it and the Lord of Evil are one. That he has found means of partial escape, and that once again embodied, as he seeks to be, will have power to break all his bonds, find full release, and rule here and in time over earth, as ages ago he was balked from doing.”

Again he took up his restless pacing, and again halted, facing Graydon.

“We fear, but it is not death we fear,” he said, and it was like an echo of Suarra. “It is something infinitely worse than any death could ever be. We fear to live—in such shapes and ways as this Lord of Evil and Lantlu could devise. And would devise for us, be sure of that.”

He covered his face with his cloak. When he uncovered it he had himself in hand once more.

“Well, lad, courage,” he rumbled. “Neither Lantlu nor the Dark Master has us yet! Your turn now. What was it the Mother promised you?”

And Graydon, with a dull horror knocking at his own heart, told him fully all that he had heard and seen in that vision of his. Regor listened, silent. But, steadily, hope grew in his eyes; and when Graydon had repeated the Serpentwoman’s threat against Lantlu, he leaped to his feet with an oath of joy.

“Win to her you must and shall!” he said. “I am not saying it will be easy. Yet there are ways—yes, there are ways. And you shall bear a message to the Mother from us—that we stand ready to join her and fight as best we can beside her. And that there are perhaps more in YuAtlanchi worth the saving than she thinks,” he added a little bitterly. “Say to her that we, at least, each and all of us, will gladly lay down our lives if by doing so, we can help her conquer.”

From somewhere far away came the mellow golden note of a bell.

‘The Fellowship has gathered,” said Regor. “It is the

signal. When you come before them say nothing of what you have just told me. Repeat only your story of last night.

Dorina will be there. And I have told you nothing. You understand, lad?”

“Right,” answered Graydon.

“And if you’re a good lad,” said Regor, pausing at the curtained door and poking his bar into Graydon’s ribs, “if you’re a really good lad. I’ll tell you something else.”

“Yes, what?” said Graydon, intent.

“I’ll tell you how old Suarra really is!” answered Regor, and, laughing, marched through the doorway.

CHAPTER XII. The Secret Ancient City

GRAYDON DECIDED that he would have to revise his estimate of Black Regor. He had laughed inwardly at his boasts of subtlety, considering him as transparent as air. He knew now that he had been wrong. The sly reference to Suarra’s years showed how accurately Regor had read him. That, however, was only one egg of the omelette. More significant had been his perception that Graydon had held back the most vital