Chapter IX: In the Inner Sanctuary

Early in the day following the events narrated Inva̤loû stole to his and Frona̤'s trysting place, and in the secret cleft of the rock found a communication from Frona̤, which for a time drove him well nigh frantic.

It informed him of her fortuitous meeting with her kinsman, Oûman Mitsa̤; of what she had learned of their parents; of Oûman Mitsa̤'s desire to make her his heiress; but of the result of his interview with Zeydon, she could say nothing; that when she had put into his hand her letter to him and to her parents, he had said: "Dear child, do not quite despair. All that can be done shall be done for your and Inva̤loû's rescue;" that immediately after Oûman Mitsa̤'s departure Zeydon also had left the Litzen Rinda̤, and that, ere going away, he had not recalled her to his presence: for which she returned thanks to the merciful gods.

In conclusion, she said: "My Inva̤loû, from very terror my heart dies within me. Surely, either the end of our days or some worse doom is near at hand. But I dare not wish for deliverance at the hand of death; for, oh, heart of my heart, love makes my life so sweet that I shrink from going into the Silence, where I no more shall see thy dear face or hear thy words of tenderness, which lift me above envy of even the blest ones of Astranola̤.

"As yet, Zeydon has placed no restraint upon the small degree of freedom permitted us. But Inva̤loû, my dearest, I fear lest these may be the last words that I may be able to convey to thee. Still, be assured that I shall spare no reasonable risk to keep thee informed of whatever may occur to thy loving Frona̤."

Leaving to their sorrows and perplexities the hapless youth and maiden, we will, for a little, turn our attention elsewhere.

Of the high priest's subsequent movements we possess certain information; for, strangely enough, for a reason sufficient to himself, he kept a record of some peculiar experiences, which, to a degree, seem to have influenced his conduct. After his death, this record addressed to a certain person was found among his effects, and I have been permiitted to make such use of it as, in my judgment, may seem appropriate and just to both the living and the dead: for, though the dead go into the Silence and can make no gracious return for words of praise or defense against calumny to those who love them, their memory ever is sacred and, as it should be, only the good deeds of those who may have erred are remembered.

Thus, it shall be my earnest endeavor to cast upon the memory of the High Priest Zeydon no reproach, but rather to find excuse for the uprighteous deeds of one possessed of fine traits, but whose strength of character was not equal in all its parts.

Upon leaving the Litzen Rinda̤, Zeydon returned directly to his residence, where he arrived at almost the same moment that ushered Oûman Mitsa̤ into the home of the Nyassa̤s. Without delay he repaired to the temple, and in evident agitation approached the sanctuary, at whose entrance he paused, apparently fearing to enter. Again and again he raised his hands to put aside the heavy silken drapery of the doorway, and as often they fell nerveless at his side. At length, as though some desperate occasion urged him on, he suddenly drew the drapery aside and entered the outer sanctuary. But once inside a very panic seized upon his senses. Staggering towards a column, he clasped his arms about it to save himself from falling to the floor. As he leaned against it, panting as though for the breath of life, he muttered:

"Fool! Fool and coward that I am! Have I not already counted the cost? And shall I now, after years of torture of heart and remorse of mind, weakly yield the prize for which I have risked all that I have and am? And if I win, what then? . . . What then?"

Throwing forward his hands as though to ward off some impending danger, he cried: "O ye Deific Ones of Astranola̤, whose sinless nature so exempts you from human frailty that you experience naught of its love or hatred, of its joys or sorrows, or of its many temptations and lack of strength to resist them, have pity I pray you for one who has desired to do right, but who, alas! has been too weak to resist temptation. In my extremity I entreat you to save me from my depraved self, who am near the brink of ruin and despair."

Then in tender pleading tones he murmured: "Soima̤! Soima̤! Thou god of this inner sanctuary, who hitherto hath been my guide and counselor, hast thou forsaken me that I no longer hear thy voice in chiding or approval? Have I so grievously sinned that thou carest not for my woeful state? In listening to the voice of my own evil nature rather than to thee, who sought to restrain my wayward course, I fear that I have offended thee beyond forgiveness. Oh that Andûmana̤ had not created me! Oh that the Messenger Death might call me into the Silence! Nay, nay, thou dread one, take me not at my word, for I am so distraught that my speech belies my thought!" Then in deepest anguish, he wailed: "In the Silence I should never, never more see her lovely face. O Frona̤, Frona̤, thou golden-haired one! Though thou art as pure as the Deific One, and the fairest of Andûmana̤'s children, through my adhering love for thee I am accursed. . . . Accursed!"

His overwhelming agitation culminated in such agonized weeping and trembling that he sank to his knees, clinging to the column for support until exhausted nature produced an apathetic calmness. But ere he reached this state darkness had succeeded twilight, and only obscured light of the Sacred Sun of the holy inner sanctuary rendered objects visible. Then, wearily, he arose from his kneeling posture, and, after some hesitation, approached the golden veil screening the inner sanctuary, drew it aside and entered within the radiance of the Sacred Sun, which pierced the darkness with such intensity that to shade his eyes he drew over them the loose drapery of his sleeve and, after a little, closed the altar screen, which left the sanctuary in partial darkness.

Assuming near the altar a reverential position, he stood as though intently listening for some accustomed sound, and, as the soothing quiet of the place stole over his senses, he felt as though he were drifting, drifting away into an unknown region,—a region so strangely unfamiliar as to fill his mind with extreme surprise. As his eyes searched the landscape, he perceived that many persons were passing in all directions, and that, although everywhere there was a soft radiant light, some appeared as though surrounded by varying degrees of darkness, while others had about them a more or less luminous atmosphere.

To him, his state appeared to be one of double consciousness; for, while realizing that he was gazing upon an unfamiliar scene, he also realized that he was in the inner sanctuary of the temple. What most amazed him was, that he saw himself as two distinct individuals. About one personality was a radiance so luminous, so beautiful, that he knew of naught with which to compare it; while about the other was a dark, cloud-like envelope, upon which was reflected from somewhere what appeared to be thoughts and emotions, which he recognized as his own; and, as in great trepidation, he gazed upon the strange illusion, these thoughts and emotions assumed monstrous and threatening shapes, from which he in vain strove to escape.

Ah! what amazement, what shuddering disgust filled his consciousness when in these shapes he recognized the passions of arrogant pride, of vengeful anger, of hatred, of cruelty, of unhallowed desires and other base traits of human nature! Oh the horror of it all! the horror of it all! And that hideous something was Zeydon a̤ Gamala̤?—he who had regarded himself as a holy man, a priest consecrated for the uses of the Deific Ones! And now—how he loathed and shrank away from the dreadful creature that was himself!

And then, how it came about he never could comprehend, he seemed to hear the radiant personality gently but urgently calling: "I am Zeydon a̤ Gamala̤: I am thy real self. Choose thou between the real man, the consecrated priest, and the true reflection of thy baser self! Choose, and choose quickly, lest the Deific Ones decree that during thy remaining days thou shalt abide within this monstrous shadow, and not within the radiance of thy better self!"

The voice ceased, but within the radiance of this personality Zeydon beheld reflections of all the nobler traits with which Andûmana̤ had endowed him, but which, through disuse, formed shapes as faint as mist wreaths floating upward towards Astranola̤. In deep shame and humility he cried: "I will abide with thee, I will abide with thee, thou radiant one." But even as he reached out after the luminous being, he felt himself so strongly drawn towards the darkly beclouded personality that in an agony of terror he cried: "I choose, I choose my better self!" As he reached out his arms, entreating the radiant one to save him from the monstrous being who sought to hold him fast, he staggered and fell prone before the altar, where, with haggard face and unseeing eyes, he lay until the sonorous chiming of the temple bell aroused him from the stupor into which he had fallen. As he passed from the sanctuary, the radiance of Andûmana̤'s shining abode was rising above the horizon, setting the sky aflame with crimson and golden banners of the Deific Ones, who thus herald the coming of the Infinite, the glorious Creator of all things.