Chapter III: Two Terror-stricken Families

For a moment the announcement that the children had certainly gone to the temple paralyzed the senses of the terror-stricken parents; then, with keenest apprehension, they hastened towards the nearby residence of the High Priest. As they ran no word was spoken, but when they came into his presence the mother breathlessly, tearfully cried, "O Sacredness, knowest thou where are our dear ones, our Inva̤loû, and Frona̤? They were seen hastening towards the temple, but we saw them not in the service, and on our return home we found them not."

For a little Zeydon did not reply, but his sternly set face and lowering brow drove the hot blood from their faces back to their wildly beating hearts. Then Lûvon and Damma̤, approaching him more nearly, humbly knelt at his feet and in tones of immeasurable anguish besought him to speak lest their breaking hearts should hasten them and their dear consorts into the Silence.

Then Zeydon, in whom neither love, sympathy nor other tender emotion seemed to have ever found expression, coldly and sternly uttered words so appalling that his suppliants cowered prone at his feet.

"Lûvon, Damma̤, Tillēne, and Avanna̤," he said, "lately I have observed that the members of your household, including your son and daughter, have grown careless and unobservant of your duties towards our Holy Religion; and, what is quite as censurable, your offerings to Andûmana̤, the Supreme One, and to the Deific Ones of Astranola̤ have so decreased in value and frequency that no longer may such offenses pass unnoticed or the offenders go unpunished."

"Recently, in the inner sanctuary, I, Zeydon, communed with the god Soima̤, whom ye know of as the messenger between Andûmana̤ and those of his children whom he hath given into my charge, and for whose good or evil conduct I, to a degree, am responsible. To me, Zeydon, the sacred messenger hath declared that for those who transgress the laws of the Holy Writings adequate reparation must be made, else life, the chiefest possession, may be withdrawn from offenders.

"Since you have shown yourselves unfitted to rear Andûmana̤'s (Supreme One) children it is my duty to take them under my especial care, that they may be taught the holy mysteries of the temple service and as priest and priestess learn that Andûmana̤ and the dwellers in Astranola̤ are not to be lightly regarded or worshipped merely with the lips."

As Zeydon ceased speaking he folded his arms, inclined his haughty head, and for the first time since their entrance into his presence closely regarded the stricken ones, whose pitiful moans and shuddering forms might have touched even the vengeful gods. In the depths of his dark eyes was an expression inscrutable and startling. It was as though they were very abysses in which smouldering fires luridly burned; lighting up the dark face of a still youthful and exceedingly handsome man.

After some moments he again spoke: "Arise," he said, in a low peremptory tone, "Go,—the children will remain with me,—and remember that Andûmana̤'s mercy may not be strained. Adore him ceaselessly, else he may demand a greater sacrifice than your yielding to his holy service Inva̤loû and Frona̤."

Then he turned away and, drawing aside the heavy silken door drapery, disappeared.

For a time only the sobbing moans of the bereft parents broke the profound stillness of the great, sumptuous apartment; then Lûvon and Damma̤ arose, staggering like drunken men, so overcome were they by the immeasurable disaster which had so suddenly, so unexpectedly overtaken them and their dearest ones. Raising from the floor their almost swooning consorts they sustained their trembling steps into the outer air, which suddenly had grown damp and chill, and through the night half blindly found their way to their desolated home.

During the period in which these events occurred, to observant persons it became apparent that among the most highly educated and cultured peoples of Ento there was a rapidly growing tendency towards an apathetic interest in the observances of our Holy Religion and, what was still more deplorable, a positive protest, approaching rebellion, against a certain rite which ever since the establishment of our Holy Religion had never been questioned. Its observance was a commandment of the Sacred Writings; and clearly there was occasion for this commandment, else Andûmana̤, the Supreme One, the Just One, would not have uttered it; and only one wholly impious or bereft of reason would have dared to oppose himself, or herself, against a decree of the creator, who is the destroyer of all things existing contrary to his divine will.

Being a commandment of the Sacred Writings, this rite had ever been the most forceful of all religious observances; and thus for the transgressions of the people, or to appease the vengeful anger of the mighty ones who dwell in Astranola̤, the dearest and loveliest of Ento's youths and maidens went into the Silence, whence returns no sound of loving voices, no word of gentle speech.

I, Decimon Hûyda̤s, who write this story of a bygone time, desire that I may do so in a reverent manner: and may Andûmana̤ forgive if, unwittingly, I may write aught that shall mar its truthfulness. Had it pleased Him to have created me then rather than on a more recent day, I can not say but that I might have been no wiser than were those of His children who, through their constant dread of the possibility of losing through the sacrificial rite that which they valued more than all else, passed naturally from a state of incessant anxiety to one of fierce despair; and then, rather than longer endure the ceaseless strain and agony of apprehension lest Andûmana̤, through His messengers, demand the lives of their cherished ones, went unbidden with them into the Silence.

So prevalent became this protest against the sacred sacrificial rite that indignation and alarm seized upon the minds of the priesthood, who appealed to the government to prohibit the monstrous crime. Very positive decrees were forthwith issued, forbidding the people to further engage in such reprehensible conduct. Strange to say, this interference of the government appeared to afford an added impulse to the mania.

The argument offered was, that as existence was not continuous, was not it preferable to at once go with their dear ones into the Silence than for a life-time to endure the agonizing dread of having them torn from their embraces to suffer the torture of the sacrificial rite.

Who, in these happier years when our dear ones are permitted to live out days assigned them by the Supreme One, can find it in their hearts to censure those unhappy ones whose minds gave way under their intolerable burden of well founded apprehension; for during the period of which I write the priesthood had grown so pious and so zealous that the altar fires of Ento's numerous temples were continuously kept ablaze, that thus they might express their adoration for Andûmana̤ and the Deific Ones, as also their reverence for the rites of our holy religion, established by the Creator, who, when He so wills, may cause to be destroyed the work of His hands.

It was during the early inception of the lamentable suicidal and homicidal mania which impelled so many loving ones to hasten with their children into the Silence that Inva̤loû and Frona̤ were separated from their parents, who well knew that years must elapse ere they might hope to once more gaze upon the forms of their adored children. During the years of their noviciate only the priesthood would be aware of the place of their abode; and in their bitter sorrow these loving parents lamented ceaselessly that they too had not for themselves and their dearest ones chosen the oblivion of death.

I would not have the readers of this story imagine that I write as my fancy dictates. Not so: through the courtesy of a descendant of the Nyassa̤s I have at my disposal certain records relating to the occurrences of which I write; but of much that they contain which would add to the interest of the narrative I hesitate to make free use, for the reason that I do not feel that I have a right to reveal to the living that which the dead once held sacred. Thus I shrink a little from alluding to the distress of Inva̤loû and Frona̤ when they realized that they were not free to return to their home and parents. Their cries for succor, their frantic struggles to escape, were indeed pitiful. Filled with terror they clung to each other until attendants of the High Priest, not ungently, removed them from the apartment and hastened them away from the temple,—away from the scenes of their care-free and happy childhood, away from home and beloved parents, away to a not far distant institution devoted to the special education of those of Ento's youths and maidens who in time would minister as priests and priestesses in temples dedicated to the Supreme Creator, the Holy One, Who gazes from the portals of His shining abode upon the children of His love, whom He rewards or chastises in accordance with His will.

As we may not for the present follow the unhappy children into their new surroundings and experiences, we will turn our compassionate gaze towards Koidassa̤, where four stricken beings, crushed by the weight of an immeasurable disaster, ceaselessly moaned out the agony which well-nigh tore their hearts assunder. The great house which for never-to-be-forgotten years had echoed and re-echoed with the joyous songs and laughter of the lost ones had suddenly grown as silent as the footfalls of the dread god Phra̤ (death), whose all-embracing arms bear into the Silence the infant which like a sweet Roina̤ bud clings to its mother's breast, the youth and maiden who like full blown rodels exhale the fragrance of their innocence and beauty, and the aged who on His breast close their bedimmed and weary eyes in endless sleep. Like restless shadows weeping and sighing, the parents stole through the spacious apartments. Everywhere were reminders of their children. Upon a pedestal was a sculptured statue of Inva̤loû, no purer in its whiteness than the life animating the smiling lips of their beloved boy. In a draped niche was also a snowy representation of Frona̤, so admirable in form and expression as to have left nothing to be added to its perfection. In the apartments devoted to the instruction and amusement of their darlings the two mothers wandered to and fro. There, was a book, over whose pictured illustrations their dusky and golden-haired children had side by side spent many happy moments; and it was now lifted reverently to tremulous, loving lips. Here, was some childish treasure, carefully laid away by Inva̤loû or Frona̤; this was gazed upon through blinding tears and pressed close to wounded hearts which nevermore might pillow the dusky or golden-haired head of the owner.

Only Yodis va̤hûa̤ (eleven days) had yet elapsed since, with the suddenness and unexpectedness of a lightning flash in a clear sky, their children had been torn from them; but as their tearful eyes wandered from one object to another they reckoned the days as lingering years. So appalling, so overwhelming, was the calamitous occurrence which had come into their lives that it presented a certain grotesque unreality. They existed as though in a dreadful dreaming state, from which they thought they must awaken to find their dear ones in their arms. The days that held for them no Inva̤loû, no Frona̤, were as naught but haunting hallucinations; and the nights were filled with darkness and despair. Thus, days and nights merged into each other, bearing mute witness to the unspeakable anguish of the two mothers, Tillēne and Avanna̤. For Lûvon and Damma̤ there was no future: only wearisome days and nights of an objectless existence; then some time would come the Silence, beyond which there was nothing. Indeed, for the grief-stricken parents only the memories of the past presented a semblance of happiness or of reality. Certainly in the past there had been the ever present fear of the sacrificial rite; but they and their household had strictly fulfilled the Sacred Commandments: their offerings, contrary to Zeydon's statements, had ever been such of their possessions as they had prized most highly; so they said to themselves and to each other, "Surely the just and mighty gods will not demand from us an atonement for the transgressions of others." To Andûmana̤, the Supreme One, they constantly had offered their profoundest adoration because He had given into their keeping two of His children, who to them were as priceless jewels for whose welfare and safety they gladly would have yielded all their possessions,—aye, even life itself! Thus, through the years, they had so reassured themselves and each other that their fears for their children's safety had never assumed sufficient tangibility to more than cast a faint shadow athwart their tranquility. Of the possibility of the calamity which now encompassed them and their dearest ones they never had entertained a thought. In all past time seldom had Andûmana̤, through His messengers, expressed a command that a certain youth or maiden should enter the temple service; indeed, always more candidates for the sacred office had offered themselves than were accepted; thus, to these parents the taking away of their children was inexplicable. True, the High Priest Zeydon had accused them of remissness in their religious duties; but of any observance unfulfilled they were unconscious.

In their distress and perplexity they resolved to appeal, through the then Supreme Ruler, Iton Tsûma̤, to the Most High Priest Moûkara, of the Most Sacred Temple Zim. Commending to the care of the Deific Ones their unhappy consorts, they hastened to the capital city Da̤o, where, through the Supreme Ruler, they offered to the Most High Priest, for the uses of the Temple Zim, all their vast wealth if thus they might secure the release of their children; but Moûkara refused to interfere between them and their guardian High Priest, who was accounted a most pious and wise man who must know better than they what was best for those under his charge. In other temples they made rich offerings, imploring the messengers of Andûmana̤ to bear to Him their supplications that Inva̤loû and Frona̤ might be returned to them, not so much for their own happiness as for that of the broken-hearted mothers.

All in vain were their offerings and supplications. With aching hearts and bowed heads they returned to their blighted home and woeful consorts, with whom they strove to patiently endure the passing days and years which for them held naught but incessant anxious longing for the beloved ones who could come to them no more. Not even the loving sympathy of relatives and friends lifted from their hearts the burthen of their hopeless grief, which would cease only when death should bear them into the Silence, whither so many with their dear ones were rushing unbidden and whither they, too, would have gone had it not been that they cherished a faint hope of sometime, somehow, beholding again the dear faces of their children.

At that time so appalling had grown the strange death mania, that it seemed to be in the thought of almost every one. In its earlier stage it was confined to those possessing children; but so pernicious is unrighteous example that later many whose conditions were not to their liking became fatally impressed with the idea of self-destruction, and apparently without hesitation they gave back to their Creator that which to them had grown to be a burthen.

Andûmana̤, perceiving the unreasoning despair of His children, who were as the blind leading the blind, resolved to reveal to them His boundless love and pity for their distraught condition. At His command the mighty god Tymonas sped to the Most Sacred Temple Zim and in the inner sanctuary, to the Most High Priest Moûkara, the inexpressibly beneficent message was delivered, that 'henceforth only voluntary human sacrifice would find acceptance with the Creator of Ento's children; that on His altars only animals, grains, fruits, and red and golden-hued tsonia̤ blooms, typical of His abode, should ever again be offered; that as temple offerings His children should, as heretofore, give according to their possessions; and 'that at once self-destruction and destruction of the lives of others must at once cease.

As no one dared, or even desired to disobey a command of the Supreme One, the mania came to an end.

Only the peoples of that woeful time could have realized the full significance of this revelation of Andûmana̤'s 'love and pity for His children. Suddenly, from the very depths of despair which through Ryzo-enteva̤h (a century) had grown unendurable, the people found themselves lifted to a condition of happiness they had never dreamed of, much less hoped for; and so supreme and overwhelming was their joy that for a time it was akin to delirium. We of this happier time can scarcely realize the state of their minds. No longer were their children regarded as a blessing which they must hold in loose hands, as on the morrow they might be torn from their embraces to be laid upon the sacrificial altar. Now, their children were their own,—aye, their very own! No more would their minds and hearts be filled with awful dread, their thoughts with ceaseless terror; and, for a time, the consciousness that all living things must at last go into the Silence was forgotten. The greater joy submerged the lesser sorrow.