A Dreamer\'s Tales

L >> Lord Dunsany [Edward J. M. D. Plunkett] >> A Dreamer\'s Tales

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

When he said this the captain prostrated himself and prayed to his gods
that they might yet sweeten this merchant's bitter heart--to his little
lesser gods, to the gods that bless Belzoond.

At last the merchant offered yet five piffeks more. Then the captain wept,
for he said that he was deserted of his gods; and the merchant also wept,
for he said that he was thinking of his aged father, and of how he soon
would starve, and he hid his weeping face with both his hands, and eyed
the tollub again between his fingers. And so the bargain was concluded,
and the merchant took the toomarund and tollub, paying for them out of a
great clinking purse. And these were packed up into bales again, and three
of the merchant's slaves carried them upon their heads into the city. And
all the while the sailors had sat silent, cross-legged in a crescent upon
the deck, eagerly watching the bargain, and now a murmur of satisfaction
arose among them, and they began to compare it among themselves with other
bargains that they had known. And I found out from them that there are
seven merchants in Perdondaris, and that they had all come to the captain
one by one before the bargaining began, and each had warned him privately
against the others. And to all the merchants the captain had offered the
wine of his own country, that they make in fair Belzoond, but could in no
wise persuade them to it. But now that the bargain was over, and the
sailors were seated at the first meal of the day, the captain appeared
among them with a cask of that wine, and we broached it with care and all
made merry together. And the captain was glad in his heart because he knew
that he had much honour in the eyes of his men because of the bargain that
he had made. So the sailors drank the wine of their native land, and soon
their thoughts were back in fair Belzoond and the little neighbouring
cities of Durl and Duz.

But for me the captain poured into a little jar some heavy yellow wine
from a small jar which he kept apart among his sacred things. Thick and
sweet it was, even like honey, yet there was in its heart a mighty, ardent
fire which had authority over souls of men. It was made, the captain told
me, with great subtlety by the secret craft of a family of six who lived
in a hut on the mountains of Hian Min. Once in these mountains, he said,
he followed the spoor of a bear, and he came suddenly on a man of that
family who had hunted the same bear, and he was at the end of a narrow way
with precipice all about him, and his spear was sticking in the bear, and
the wound was not fatal, and he had no other weapon. And the bear was
walking towards the man, very slowly because his wound irked him--yet he
was now very close. And what he captain did he would not say, but every
year as soon as the snows are hard, and travelling is easy on the Hian
Min, that man comes down to the market in the plains, and always leaves
for the captain in the gate of fair Belzoond a vessel of that priceless
secret wine.

And as I sipped the wine and the captain talked, I remembered me of
stalwart noble things that I had long since resolutely planned, and my
soul seemed to grow mightier within me and to dominate the whole tide of
the Yann. It may be that I then slept. Or, if I did not, I do not now
minutely recollect every detail of that morning's occupations. Towards
evening, I awoke and wishing to see Perdondaris before we left in the
morning, and being unable to wake the captain, I went ashore alone.
Certainly Perdondaris was a powerful city; it was encompassed by a wall of
great strength and altitude, having in it hollow ways for troops to walk
in, and battlements along it all the way, and fifteen strong towers on it
in every mile, and copper plaques low down where men could read them,
telling in all the languages of those parts of the earth--one language on
each plaque--the tale of how an army once attacked Perdondaris and what
befell that army. Then I entered Perdondaris and found all the people
dancing, clad in brilliant silks, and playing on the tambang as they
danced. For a fearful thunderstorm had terrified them while I slept, and
the fires of death, they said, had danced over Perdondaris, and now the
thunder had gone leaping away large and black and hideous, they said, over
the distant hills, and had turned round snarling at them, shoving his
gleaming teeth, and had stamped, as he went, upon the hilltops until they
rang as though they had been bronze. And often and again they stopped in
their merry dances and prayed to the God they knew not, saying, "O, God
that we know not, we thank Thee for sending the thunder back to his
hills." And I went on and came to the market-place, and lying there upon
the marble pavement I saw the merchant fast asleep and breathing heavily,
with his face and the palms of his hands towards the sky, and slaves were
fanning him to keep away the flies. And from the market-place I came to a
silver temple and then to a palace of onyx, and there were many wonders in
Perdondaris, and I would have stayed and seen them all, but as I came to
the outer wall of the city I suddenly saw in it a huge ivory gate. For a
while I paused and admired it, then I came nearer and perceived the
dreadful truth. The gate was carved out of one solid piece!

I fled at once through the gateway and down to the ship, and even as I ran
I thought that I heard far off on the hills behind me the tramp of the
fearful beast by whom that mass of ivory was shed, who was perhaps even
then looking for his other tusk. When I was on the ship again I felt
safer, and I said nothing to the sailors of what I had seen.

And now the captain was gradually awakening. Now night was rolling up from
the East and North, and only the pinnacles of the towers of Perdondaris
still took the fallen sunlight. Then I went to the captain and told him
quietly of the thing I had seen. And he questioned me at once about the
gate, in a low voice, that the sailors might not know; and I told him how
the weight of the thing was such that it could not have been brought from
afar, and the captain knew that it had not been there a year ago. We
agreed that such a beast could never have been killed by any assault of
man, and that the gate must have been a fallen tusk, and one fallen near
and recently. Therefore he decided that it were better to flee at once; so
he commanded, and the sailors went to the sails, and others raised the
anchor to the deck, and just as the highest pinnacle of marble lost the
last rays of the sun we left Perdondaris, that famous city. And night came
down and cloaked Perdondaris and hid it from our eyes, which as things
have happened will never see it again; for I have heard since that
something swift and wonderful has suddenly wrecked Perdondaris in a
day--towers, walls and people.

And the night deepened over the River Yann, a night all white with stars.
And with the night there rose the helmsman's song. As soon as he had
prayed he began to sing to cheer himself all through the lonely night. But
first he prayed, praying the helmsman's prayer. And this is what I
remember of it, rendered into English with a very feeble equivalent of the
rhythm that seemed so resonant in those tropic nights.

To whatever god may hear.

Wherever there be sailors whether of river or sea: whether their way be
dark or whether through storm: whether their peril be of beast or of rock:
or from enemy lurking on land or pursuing on sea: wherever the tiller is
cold or the helmsman stiff: wherever sailors sleep or helmsmen watch:
guard, guide and return us to the old land, that has known us: to the far
homes that we know.

To all the gods that are.

To whatever god may hear.

So he prayed, and there was silence. And the sailors laid them down to
rest for the night. The silence deepened, and was only broken by the
ripples of Yann that lightly touched our prow. Sometimes some monster of
the river coughed.

Silence and ripples, ripples and silence again.

And then his loneliness came upon the helmsman, and he began to sing. And
he sang the market songs of Durl and Duz, and the old dragon-legends of
Belzoond.

Many a song he sang, telling to spacious and exotic Yann the little tales
and trifles of his city of Durl. And the songs welled up over the black
jungle and came into the clear cold air above, and the great bands of
stars that look on Yann began to know the affairs of Durl and Duz, and of
the shepherds that dwelt in the fields between, and the flocks that they
had, and the loves that they had loved, and all the little things that
they had hoped to do. And as I lay wrapped up in skins and blankets,
listening to those songs, and watching the fantastic shapes of the great
trees like to black giants stalking through the night, I suddenly fell
asleep.

When I awoke great mists were trailing away from the Yann. And the flow of
the river was tumbling now tumultuously, and little waves appeared; for
Yann had scented from afar the ancient crags of Glorm, and knew that their
ravines lay cool before him wherein he should meet the merry wild Irillion
rejoicing from fields of snow. So he shook off from him the torpid sleep
that had come upon him in the hot and scented jungle, and forgot its
orchids and its butterflies, and swept on turbulent, expectant, strong;
and soon the snowy peaks of the Hills of Glorm came glittering into view.
And now the sailors were waking up from sleep. Soon we all ate, and then
the helmsman laid him down to sleep while a comrade took his place, and
they all spread over him their choicest furs.

And in a while we heard the sound that the Irillion made as she came down
dancing from the fields of snow.

And then we saw the ravine in the Hills of Glorm lying precipitous and
smooth before us, into which we were carried by the leaps of Yann. And now
we left the steamy jungle and breathed the mountain air; the sailors stood
up and took deep breaths of it, and thought of their own far off Acroctian
hills on which were Durl and Duz--below them in the plains stands fair
Belzoond.

A great shadow brooded between the cliffs of Glorm, but the crags were
shining above us like gnarled moons, and almost lit the gloom. Louder and
louder came the Irillion's song, and the sound of her dancing down from
the fields of snow. And soon we saw her white and full of mists, and
wreathed with rainbows delicate and small that she had plucked up near the
mountain's summit from some celestial garden of the Sun. Then she went
away seawards with the huge grey Yann and the ravine widened, and opened
upon the world, and our rocking ship came through to the light of the day.

And all that morning and all the afternoon we passed through the marshes
of Pondoovery; and Yann widened there, and flowed solemnly and slowly, and
the captain bade the sailors beat on bells to overcome the dreariness of
the marshes.

At last the Irusian mountains came in sight, nursing the villages of
Pen-Kai and Blut, and the wandering streets of Mlo, where priests
propitiate the avalanche with wine and maize. Then night came down over
the plains of Tlun, and we saw the lights of Cappadarnia. We heard the
Pathnites beating upon drums as we passed Imaut and Golzunda, then all but
the helmsman slept. And villages scattered along the banks of the Yann
heard all that night in the helmsman's unknown tongue the little songs of
cities that they knew not.

I awoke before dawn with a feeling that I was unhappy before I remembered
why. Then I recalled that by the evening of the approaching day, according
to all foreseen probabilities, we should come to Bar-Wul-Yann, and I
should part from the captain and his sailors. And I had liked the man
because he had given me of his yellow wine that was set apart among his
sacred things, and many a story he had told me about his fair Belzoond
between the Acroctian hills and the Hian Min. And I had liked the ways
that his sailors had, and the prayers that they prayed at evening side by
side, grudging not one another their alien gods. And I had a liking too
for the tender way in which they often spoke of Durl and Duz, for it is
good that men should love their native cities and the little hills that
hold those cities up.

And I had come to know who would meet them when they returned to their
homes, and where they thought the meetings would take place, some in a
valley of the Acroctian hills where the road comes up from Yann, others in
the gateway of one or another of the three cities, and others by the
fireside in the home. And I thought of the danger that had menaced us all
alike outside Perdondaris, a danger that, as things have happened, was
very real.

And I thought too of the helmsman's cheery song in the cold and lonely
night, and how he had held our lives in his careful hands. And as I
thought of this the helmsman ceased to sing, and I looked up and saw a
pale light had appeared in the sky, and the lonely night had passed; and
the dawn widened, and the sailors awoke.

And soon we saw the tide of the Sea himself advancing resolute between
Yann's borders, and Yann sprang lithely at him and they struggled awhile;
then Yann and all that was his were pushed back northward, so that the
sailors had to hoist the sails and, the wind being favorable, we still
held onwards.

And we passed Gondara and Narl and Haz. And we saw memorable, holy Golnuz,
and heard the pilgrims praying.

When we awoke after the midday rest we were coming near to Nen, the last
of the cities on the River Yann. And the jungle was all about us once
again, and about Nen; but the great Mloon ranges stood up over all things,
and watched the city from beyond the jungle.

Here we anchored, and the captain and I went up into the city and found
that the Wanderers had come into Nen.

And the Wanderers were a weird, dark, tribe, that once in every seven
years came down from the peaks of Mloon, having crossed by a pass that is
known to them from some fantastic land that lies beyond. And the people of
Nen were all outside their houses, and all stood wondering at their own
streets. For the men and women of the Wanderers had crowded all the ways,
and every one was doing some strange thing. Some danced astounding dances
that they had learned from the desert wind, rapidly curving and swirling
till the eye could follow no longer. Others played upon instruments
beautiful wailing tunes that were full of horror, which souls had taught
them lost by night in the desert, that strange far desert from which the
Wanderers came.

None of their instruments were such as were known in Nen nor in any part
of the region of the Yann; even the horns out of which some were made were
of beasts that none had seen along the river, for they were barbed at the
tips. And they sang, in the language of none, songs that seemed to be akin
to the mysteries of night and to the unreasoned fear that haunts dark
places.

Bitterly all the dogs of Nen distrusted them. And the Wanderers told one
another fearful tales, for though no one in Nen knew ought of their
language yet they could see the fear on the listeners' faces, and as the
tale wound on the whites of their eyes showed vividly in terror as the
eyes of some little beast whom the hawk has seized. Then the teller of the
tale would smile and stop, and another would tell his story, and the
teller of the first tale's lips would chatter with fear. And if some
deadly snake chanced to appear the Wanderers would greet him as a brother,
and the snake would seem to give his greetings to them before he passed on
again. Once that most fierce and lethal of tropic snakes, the giant
lythra, came out of the jungle and all down the street, the central street
of Nen, and none of the Wanderers moved away from him, but they all played
sonorously on drums, as though he had been a person of much honour; and
the snake moved through the midst of them and smote none.

Even the Wanderers' children could do strange things, for if any one of
them met with a child of Nen the two would stare at each other in silence
with large grave eyes; then the Wanderers' child would slowly draw from
his turban a live fish or snake. And the children of Nen could do nothing
of that kind at all.

Much I should have wished to stay and hear the hymn with which they greet
the night, that is answered by the wolves on the heights of Mloon, but it
was now time to raise the anchor again that the captain might return from
Bar-Wul-Yann upon the landward tide. So we went on board and continued
down the Yann. And the captain and I spoke little, for we were thinking of
our parting, which should be for long, and we watched instead the
splendour of the westerning sun. For the sun was a ruddy gold, but a faint
mist cloaked the jungle, lying low, and into it poured the smoke of the
little jungle cities, and the smoke of them met together in the mist and
joined into one haze, which became purple, and was lit by the sun, as the
thoughts of men become hallowed by some great and sacred thing. Some times
one column from a lonely house would rise up higher than the cities'
smoke, and gleam by itself in the sun.

And now as the sun's last rays were nearly level, we saw the sight that I
had come to see, for from two mountains that stood on either shore two
cliffs of pink marble came out into the river, all glowing in the light of
the low sun, and they were quite smooth and of mountainous altitude, and
they nearly met, and Yann went tumbling between them and found the sea.

And this was Bar-Wul-Yann, the Gate of Yann, and in the distance through
that barrier's gap I saw the azure indescribable sea, where little
fishing-boats went gleaming by.

And the sun set, and the brief twilight came, and the exultation of the
glory of Bar-Wul-Yann was gone, yet still the pink cliffs glowed, the
fairest marvel that the eye beheld--and this in a land of wonders. And
soon the twilight gave place to the coming out of stars, and the colours
of Bar-Wul-Yann went dwindling away. And the sight of those cliffs was to
me as some chord of music that a master's hand had launched from the
violin, and which carries to Heaven or Faery the tremulous spirits of men.

And now by the shore they anchored and went no further, for they were
sailors of the river and not of the sea, and knew the Yann but not the
tides beyond.

And the time was come when the captain and I must part, he to go back to
his fair Belzoond in sight of the distant peaks of the Hian Min, and I to
find my way by strange means back to those hazy fields that all poets
know, wherein stand small mysterious cottages through whose windows,
looking westwards, you may see the fields of men, and looking eastwards
see glittering elfin mountains, tipped with snow, going range on range
into the region of Myth, and beyond it into the kingdom of Fantasy, which
pertain to the Lands of Dream. Long we regarded one another, knowing that
we should meet no more, for my fancy is weakening as the years slip by,
and I go ever more seldom into the Lands of Dream. Then we clasped hands,
uncouthly on his part, for it is not the method of greeting in his
country, and he commended my soul to the care of his own gods, to his
little lesser gods, the humble ones, to the gods that bless Belzoond.

THE SWORD AND THE IDOL

It was a cold winter's evening late in the Stone Age; the sun had gone
down blazing over the plains of Thold; there were no clouds, only the
chill blue sky and the imminence of stars; and the surface of the sleeping
Earth began to harden against the cold of the night. Presently from their
lairs arose, and shook themselves and went stealthily forth, those of
Earth's children to whom it is the law to prowl abroad as soon as the dusk
has fallen. And they went pattering softly over the plain, and their eyes
shone in the dark, and crossed and recrossed one another in their courses.
Suddenly there became manifest in the midst of the plain that fearful
portent of the presence of Man--a little flickering fire. And the children
of Earth who prowl abroad by night looked sideways at it and snarled and
edged away; all but the wolves, who came a little nearer, for it was
winter and the wolves were hungry, and they had come in thousands from the
mountains, and they said in their hearts, "We are strong." Around the fire
a little tribe was encamped. They, too, had come from the mountains, and
from lands beyond them, but it was in the mountains that the wolves first
winded them; they picked up bones at first that the tribe had dropped, but
they were closer now and on all sides. It was Loz who had lit the fire. He
had killed a small furry beast, hurling his stone axe at it, and had
gathered a quantity of reddish-brown stones, and had laid them in a long
row, and placed bits of the small beast all along it; then he lit a fire
on each side, and the stones heated, and the bits began to cook. It was at
this time that the tribe noticed that the wolves who had followed them so
far were no longer content with the scraps of deserted encampments. A line
of yellow eyes surrounded them, and when it moved it was to come nearer.
So the men of the tribe hastily tore up brushwood, and felled a small tree
with their flint axes, and heaped it all over the fire that Loz had made,
and for a while the great heap hid the flame, and the wolves came trotting
in and sat down again on their haunches much closer than before; and the
fierce and valiant dogs that belonged to the tribe believed that their end
was about to come while fighting, as they had long since prophesied it
would. Then the flame caught the lofty stack of brushwood, and rushed out
of it, and ran up the side of it, and stood up haughtily far over the top,
and the wolves seeing this terrible ally of Man reveling there in his
strength, and knowing nothing of this frequent treachery to his masters,
went slowly away as though they had other purposes. And for the rest of
that night the dogs of the encampment cried out to them and besought them
to come back. But the tribe lay down all round the fire under thick furs
and slept. And a great wind arose and blew into the roaring heart of the
fire till it was red no longer, but all pallid with heat. With the dawn
the tribe awoke.

Loz might have known that after such a mighty conflagration nothing could
remain of his small furry beast, but there was hunger in him and little
reason as he searched among the ashes. What he found there amazed him
beyond measure; there was no meat, there was not even his row of
reddish-brown stones, but something longer than a man's leg and narrower
than his hand, was lying there like a great flattened snake. When Loz
looked at its thin edges and saw that it ran to a point, he picked up
stones to chip it and make it sharp. It was the instinct of Loz to sharpen
things. When he found that it could not be chipped his wonderment
increased. It was many hours before he discovered that he could sharpen
the edges by rubbing them with a stone; but at last the point was sharp,
and all one side of it except near the end, where Loz held it in his hand.
And Loz lifted it and brandished it, and the Stone Age was over. That
afternoon in the little encampment, just as the tribe moved on, the Stone
Age passed away, which, for perhaps thirty or forty thousand years, had
slowly lifted Man from among the beasts and left him with his supremacy
beyond all hope of reconquest.

It was not for many days that any other man tried to make for himself an
iron sword by cooking the same kind of small furry beast that Loz had
tried to cook. It was not for many years that any thought to lay the meat
along stones as Loz had done; and when they did, being no longer on the
plains of Thold, they used flints or chalk. It was not for many
generations that another piece of iron ore was melted and the secret
slowly guessed. Nevertheless one of Earth's many veils was torn aside by
Loz to give us ultimately the steel sword and the plough, machinery and
factories; let us not blame Loz if we think that he did wrong, for he did
all in ignorance. The tribe moved on until it came to water, and there it
settled down under a hill, and they built their huts there. Very soon they
had to fight with another tribe, a tribe that was stronger than they; but
the sword of Loz was terrible and his tribe slew their foes. You might
make one blow at Loz, but then would come one thrust from that iron sword,
and there was no way of surviving it. No one could fight with Loz. And he
became ruler of the tribe in the place of Iz, who hitherto had ruled it
with his sharp axe, as his father had before him.

Now Loz begat Lo, and in his old age gave his sword to him, and Lo ruled
the tribe with it. And Lo called the name of the sword Death, because it
was so swift and terrible.

And Iz begat Ird, who was of no account. And Ird hated Lo because he was
of no account by reason of the iron sword of Lo.

One night Ird stole down to the hut of Lo, carrying his sharp axe, and he
went very softly, but Lo's dog, Warner, heard him coming, and he growled
softly by his master's door. When Ird came to the hut he heard Lo talking
gently to his sword. And Lo was saying, "Lie still, Death. Rest, rest, old
sword," and then, "What, again, Death? Be still. Be still."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8