CHAPTER III
THE BEACON LIGHT
A week later came our opportunity of making this ascent of the mountain,for now in mid-winter it ceased storming, and hard frost set in, whichmade it possible to walk upon the surface of the snow. Learning fromthe monks that at this season _ovis poli_ and other kinds of big-hornedsheep and game descended from the hills to take refuge in certainvalleys, where they scraped away the snow to find food, we announcedthat we were going out to hunt. The excuse we gave was that we weresuffering from confinement and needed exercise, having by the teachingof our religion no scruples about killing game.
Our hosts replied that the adventure was dangerous, as the weather mightchange at any moment. They told us, however, that on the slopes of thisvery mountain which we desired to climb, there was a large natural cavewhere, if need be, we could take shelter, and to this cave one of them,somewhat younger and more active than the rest, offered to guide us. So,having manufactured a rougri tent from skins, and laden our old yak, nowin the best of condition, with food and garments, on one still morningwe started as soon as it was light. Under the guidance of the monk, who,notwithstanding his years, walked very well, we reached the northernslope of the peak before mid-day. Here, as he had said, we found a greatcave of which the opening was protected by an over-hanging ledge ofrock. Evidently this cave was the favourite place of shelter for game atcertain seasons of the year, since in it were heaped vast accumulationsof their droppings, which removed any fear of a lack of fuel.
The rest of that short day we spent in setting up our tent in the cave,in front of which we lit a large fire, and in a survey of the slopes ofthe mountain, for we told the monk that we were searching for the tracksof wild sheep. Indeed, as it happened, on our way back to the cave wecame across a small herd of ewes feeding upon the mosses in a shelteredspot where in summer a streamlet ran. Of these we were so fortunate asto kill two, for no sportsman had ever come here, and they were tameenough, poor things. As meat would keep for ever in that temperature,we had now sufficient food to last us for a fortnight, and dragging theanimals down the snow slopes to the cave, we skinned them by the dyinglight.
That evening we supped upon fresh mutton, a great luxury, which themonk enjoyed as much as we did, since, whatever might be his views as totaking life, he liked mutton. Then we turned into the tent and huddledourselves together for warmth, as the temperature must have been somedegrees below zero. The old monk rested well enough, but neither Leo norI slept over much, for wonder as to what we might see from the top ofthat mountain banished sleep.
Next morning at the dawn, the weather being still favourable, ourcompanion returned to the monastery, whither we said we would follow himin a day or two.
Now at last we were alone, and without wasting an instant began ourascent of the peak. It was many thousand feet high and in certain placessteep enough, but the deep, frozen snow made climbing easy, so that bymidday we reached the top. Hence the view was magnificent. Beneathus stretched the desert, and beyond it a broad belt of fantasticallyshaped, snow-clad mountains, hundreds and hundreds of them; in front, tothe right, to the left, as far as the eye could reach.
"They are just as I saw them in my dream so many years ago," mutteredLeo; "the same, the very same."
"And where was the fiery light?" I asked.
"Yonder, I think;" and he pointed north by east.
"Well, it is not there now," I answered, "and this place is cold."
So, since it was dangerous to linger, lest the darkness should overtakeus on our return journey, we descended the peak again, reaching the caveabout sunset. The next four days we spent in the same way. Every morningwe crawled up those wearisome banks of snow, and every afternoon weslid and tobogganed down them again, till I grew heartily tired of theexercise.
On the fourth night, instead of coming to sleep in the tent Leo sathimself down at the entrance to the cave. I asked him why he did this,but he answered impatiently, because he wished it, so I left him alone.I could see, indeed, that he was in a strange and irritable mood, forthe failure of our search oppressed him. Moreover, we knew, both of us,that it could not be much prolonged, since the weather might break atany moment, when ascents of the mountain would become impossible.
In the middle of the night I was awakened by Leo shaking me andsaying--"Come here, Horace, I have something to show you."
Reluctantly enough I crept from between the rugs and out of the tent. Todress there was no need, for we slept in all our garments. He led meto the mouth of the cave and pointed northward. I looked. The night wasvery dark; but far, far away appeared a faint patch of light upon thesky, such as might be caused by the reflection of a distant fire.
"What do you make of it?" he asked anxiously.
"Nothing in particular," I answered, "it may be anything. The moon--no,there is none, dawn--no, it is too northerly, and it does not break forthree hours. Something burning, a house, or a funeral pyre, but how canthere be such things here? I give it up."
"I think it is a reflection, and that if we were on the peak we shouldsee the light which throws it," said Leo slowly.
"Yes, but we are not, and cannot get there in the dark."
"Then, Horace, we must spend a night there."
"It will be our last in this incarnation," I answered with a laugh,"that is if it comes on to snow."
"We must risk it, or I will risk it. Look, the light has faded;" andthere at least he was right, for undoubtedly it had. The night was asblack as pitch.
"Let's talk it over to-morrow," I said, and went back to the tent, for Iwas sleepy and incredulous, but Leo sat on by the mouth of the cave.
At dawn I awoke and found breakfast already cooked.
"I must start early," Leo explained.
"Are you mad?" I asked. "How can we camp on that place?"
"I don't know, but I am going. I must go, Horace."
"Which means that we both must go. But how about the yak?"
"Where we can climb, it can follow," he answered.
So we strapped the tent and other baggage, including a good supply ofcooked meat, upon the beast's back, and started. The tramp was longsince we were obliged to make some detours to avoid slopes of frozensnow in which, on our previous ascents, we had cut footholds with anaxe, for up these the laden animal could not clamber. Reaching thesummit at length, we dug a hole, and there pitched the tent, piling theexcavated snow about its sides. By this time it began to grow dark, andhaving descended into the tent, yak and all, we ate our food and waited.
Oh! what cold was that. The frost was fearful, and at this height a windblew whose icy breath passed through all our wrappings, and seemed toburn our flesh beneath as though with hot irons. It was fortunate thatwe had brought the yak, for without the warmth from its shaggy body Ibelieve that we should have perished, even in our tent. For some hourswe watched, as indeed we must, since to sleep might mean to die, yet sawnothing save the lonely stars, and heard nothing in that awful silence,for here even the wind made no noise as it slid across the snows.Accustomed as I was to such exposure, my faculties began to grow numband my eyes to shut, when suddenly Leo said--"Look, below the red star!"
I looked, and there high in the sky was the same curious glow which wehad seen upon the previous night. There was more than this indeed, forbeneath it, almost on a line with us and just above the crests of theintervening peaks, appeared a faint sheet of fire and revealed againstit, something black. Whilst we watched, the fire widened, spread upwardsand grew in power and intensity. Now against its flaming background theblack object became clearly visible, and lo! it was the top of a soaringpillar surmounted by a loop. Yes, we could see its every outline. It wasthe _crux ansata_, the Symbol of Life itself.
The symbol vanished, the fire sank. Again it blazed up more fiercelythan before and the loop appeared afresh, then once more disappeared.A third time the fire shone, and with such intensity, that no lightningcould surpass its brilliance. All around the heavens were lit up, and,through the black need
le-shaped eye of the symbol, as from the flare ofa beacon, or the search-light of a ship, one fierce ray shot across thesea of mountain tops and the spaces of the desert, straight as an arrowto the lofty peak on which we lay. Yes, it lit upon the snow, stainingit red, and upon the wild, white faces of us who watched, though to theright and left of us spread thick darkness. My compass lay before me onthe snow, and I could even see its needle; and beyond us the shape ofa white fox that had crept near, scenting food. Then it was gone asswiftly as it came. Gone too were the symbol and the veil of flamebehind it, only the glow lingered a little on the distant sky.
For awhile there was silence between us, then Leo said--"Do youremember, Horace, when we lay upon the Rocking Stone where _her_cloak fell upon me--" as he said the words the breath caught in histhroat--"how the ray of light was sent to us in farewell, and to show usa path of escape from the Place of Death? Now I think that it has beensent again in greeting to point out the path to the Place of Life whereAyesha dwells, whom we have lost awhile."
"It may be so," I answered shortly, for the matter was beyond speechor argument, beyond wonder even. But I knew then, as I know now thatwe were players in some mighty, predestined drama; that our parts werewritten and we must speak them, as our path was prepared and we musttread it to the end unknown. Fear and doubt were left behind, hope wassunk in certainty; the fore-shadowing visions of the night had found anactual fulfilment and the pitiful seed of the promise of her who died,growing unseen through all the cruel, empty years, had come to harvest.
No, we feared no more, not even when with the dawn rose the roaringwind, through which we struggled down the mountain slopes, as it wouldseem in peril of our lives at every step; not even as hour by hour wefought our way onwards through the whirling snow-storm, that made usdeaf and blind. For we knew that those lives were charmed. We could notsee or hear, yet we were led. Clinging to the yak, we struggled downwardand homewards, till at length out of the turmoil and the gloom itsinstinct brought us unharmed to the door of the monastery, where the oldabbot embraced us in his joy, and the monks put up prayers of thanks.For they were sure that we must be dead. Through such a storm, theysaid, no man had ever lived before.
It was still mid-winter, and oh! the awful weariness of those months ofwaiting. In our hands was the key, yonder amongst those mountains laythe door, but not yet might we set that key within its lock. For betweenus and these stretched the great desert, where the snow rolled likebillows, and until that snow melted we dared not attempt its passage. Sowe sat in the monastery, and schooled our hearts to patience.
Still even to these frozen wilds of Central Asia spring comes at last.One evening the air felt warm, and that night there were only a fewdegrees of frost. The next the clouds banked up, and in the morningnot snow was falling from them, but rain, and we found the old monkspreparing their instruments of husbandry, as they said that the seasonof sowing was at hand. For three days it rained, while the snows meltedbefore our eyes. On the fourth torrents of water were rushing down themountain and the desert was once more brown and bare, though not forlong, for within another week it was carpeted with flowers. Then we knewthat the time had come to start.
"But whither go you? Whither go you?" asked the old abbot in dismay."Are you not happy here? Do you not make great strides along the Path,as may be known by your pious conversation? Is not everything that wehave your own? Oh! why would you leave us?"
"We are wanderers," we answered, "and when we see mountains in front ofus we must cross them."
Kou-en looked at us shrewdly, then asked--"What do you seek beyond themountains? And, my brethren, what merit is gathered by hiding the truthfrom an old man, for such concealments are separated from falsehoods butby the length of a single barleycorn. Tell me, that at least my prayersmay accompany you."
"Holy abbot," I said, "awhile ago yonder in the library you made acertain confession to us."
"Oh! remind me not of it," he said, holding up his hands. "Why do youwish to torment me?"
"Far be the thought from us, most kind friend and virtuous man," Ianswered. "But, as it chances, your story is very much our own, and wethink that we have experience of this same priestess."
"Speak on," he said, much interested.
So I told him the outlines of our tale; for an hour or more I told itwhile he sat opposite to us swaying his head like a tortoise and sayingnothing. At length it was done.
"Now," I added, "let the lamp of your wisdom shine upon our darkness. Doyou not find this story wondrous, or do you perchance think that we areliars?"
"Brethren of the great monastery called the World," Kou-en answeredwith his customary chuckle, "why should I think you liars who, from themoment my eyes fell upon you, knew you to be true men? Moreover, whyshould I hold this tale so very wondrous? You have but stumbled uponthe fringe of a truth with which we have been acquainted for many, manyages.
"Because in a vision she showed you this monastery, and led you to aspot beyond the mountains where she vanished, you hope that this womanwhom you saw die is re-incarnated yonder. Why not? In this there isnothing impossible to those who are instructed in the truth, though thelengthening of her last life was strange and contrary to experience.Doubtless you will find her there as you expect, and doubtless her_khama_, or identity, is the same as that which in some earlier life ofhers once brought me to sin.
"Only be not mistaken, she is no immortal; nothing is immortal. She isbut a being held back by her own pride, her own greatness if you will,upon the path towards Nirvana. That pride will be humbled, as already ithas been humbled; that brow of majesty shall be sprinkled with the dustof change and death, that sinful spirit must be purified by sorrows andby separations. Brother Leo, if you win her, it will be but to lose, andthen the ladder must be reclimbed. Brother Holly, for you as for me lossis our only gain, since thereby we are spared much woe. Oh! bide hereand pray with me. Why dash yourselves against a rock? Why labour to pourwater into a broken jar whence it must sink into the sands of profitlessexperience, and there be wasted, whilst you remain athirst?"
"Water makes the sand fertile," I answered. "Where water falls, lifecomes, and sorrow is the seed of joy."
"Love is the law of life," broke in Leo; "without love there is nolife. I seek love that I may live. I believe that all these things areordained to an end which we do not know. Fate draws me on--I fulfil myfate----"
"And do but delay your freedom. Yet I will not argue with you, brother,who must follow your own road. See now, what has this woman, thispriestess of a false faith if she be so still, brought you in the past?Once in another life, or so I understand your story, you were sworn toa certain nature-goddess, who was named Isis, were you not, and to heralone? Then a woman tempted you, and you fled with her afar. And therewhat found you? The betrayed and avenging goddess who slew you, or ifnot the goddess, one who had drunk of her wisdom and was the ministerof her vengeance. Having that wisdom this minister--woman or evilspirit--refused to die because she had learned to love you, but waitedknowing that in your next life she would find you again, as indeed shewould have done more swiftly in Devachan had she died without living onalone in so much misery. And she found you, and she died, or seemed todie, and now she is re-born, as she must be, and doubtless you willmeet once more, and again there must come misery. Oh! my friends, go notacross the mountains; bide here with me and lament your sins."
"Nay," answered Leo, "we are sworn to a tryst, and we do not break ourword."
"Then, brethren, go keep your tryst, and when you have reaped itsharvest think upon my sayings, for I am sure that the wine you crushfrom the vintage of your desire will run red like blood, and that in itsdrinking you shall find neither forgetfulness nor peace. Made blind bya passion of which well I know the sting and power, you seek to add afair-faced evil to your lives, thinking that from this unity there shallbe born all knowledge and great joy.
"Rather should you desire to live alone in holiness until at length yourseparate lives are merged and lost in the Good
Unspeakable, the eternalbliss that lies in the last Nothingness. Ah! you do not believe me now;you shake your heads and smile; yet a day will dawn, it may be aftermany incarnations, when you shall bow them in the dust and weep, sayingto me, 'Brother Kou-en, yours were the words of wisdom, ours the deedsof foolishness;'" and with a deep sigh the old man turned and left us.
"A cheerful faith, truly," said Leo, looking after him, "to dwellthrough aeons in monotonous misery in order that consciousness may beswallowed up at last in some void and formless abstraction called the'Utter Peace.' I would rather take my share of a bad world and keep myhope of a better. Also I do not think that he knows anything of Ayeshaand her destiny."
"So would I," I answered, "though perhaps he is right after all. Who cantell? Moreover, what is the use of reasoning? Leo, we have no choice;we follow our fate. To what that fate may lead us we shall learn in dueseason."
Then we went to rest, for it was late, though I found little sleep thatnight. The warnings of the ancient abbot, good and learned man as hewas, full also of ripe experience and of the foresighted wisdom thatis given to such as he, oppressed me deeply. He promised us sorrow andbloodshed beyond the mountains, ending in death and rebirths full ofmisery. Well, it might be so, but no approaching sufferings could stayour feet. And even if they could, they should not, since to see her faceagain I was ready to brave them all. And if this was my case what mustbe that of Leo!
A strange theory that of Kou-en's, that Ayesha was the goddess inold Egypt to whom Kallikrates was priest, or at the least herrepresentative. That the royal Amenartas, with whom he fled, seduced himfrom the goddess to whom he was sworn. That this goddess incarnatein Ayesha--or using the woman Ayesha and her passions as herinstruments--was avenged upon them both at Kor, and that there in anafter age the bolt she shot fell back upon her own head.
Well, I had often thought as much myself. Only I was sure that _She_herself could be no actual divinity, though she might be a manifestationof one, a priestess, a messenger, charged to work its will, to avenge orto reward, and yet herself a human soul, with hopes and passions to besatisfied, and a destiny to fulfil. In truth, writing now, when all ispast and done with, I find much to confirm me in, and little to turn mefrom that theory, since life and powers of a quality which are more thanhuman do not alone suffice to make a soul divine. On the other hand,however, it must be borne in mind that on one occasion at any rate,Ayesha did undoubtedly suggest that in the beginning she was "a daughterof Heaven," and that there were others, notably the old Shaman Simbri,who seemed to take it for granted that her origin was supernatural. Butof all these things I hope to speak in their season.
Meanwhile what lay beyond the mountains? Should we find her there whoheld the sceptre and upon earth wielded the power of the outraged Isis,and with her, that other woman who wrought the wrong? And if so, wouldthe dread, inhuman struggle reach its climax around the person of thesinful priest? In a few months, a few days even, we might begin to know.
Thrilled by this thought at length I fell asleep.