Volume Two—Chapter Thirty Three.

The Necromancer, a Legend of Shoa.

In the lone recesses of a rocky cave reclined the youth Thavánan, lost in gloomy meditation. The hues of care and study were indelibly stamped upon his lofty forehead; and although the bent brow and the quivering lip betokened a stern mental conflict, still courage and high daring shone bright through the shroud of revenge which had settled over his dark features. The white robe of Abyssinia lay uneasy on his shoulder; and the blue silk cord which encircled his neck, the badge of Christianity, nearly burst in twain as the swollen sinews started from the throat, in this his hour of agony.

A fearful storm raged without. Thunder rolled in continued peals, crumbling in pieces the sparry roof over-head, and the hot lightning illumined every nook and corner of the retreat, whilst the waters of the broad lake, now raised in wrath, came dashing and foaming to its very mouth with all the violence of a winter sea. But the war of the elements was unheeded by the sufferer, and ever and anon, starting from his recumbent position, he paced in desperation the uneven floor of the slippery cavern.

“Years have rolled away since that withering moment,” he exclaimed; “but the wound is yet green in the mind, and the feeling is still fresh as when writhing under the searing iron of the tyrant. The star Medáboot proclaims the hour of the requisite sacrifice. I acknowledge thy power, great Genius of the Water. Wárobal Mama, I call for thy aid.”

Stripping the robe from his person, and tearing the bandage from his sightless eye, he roused a sleeping goat from the corner of the cave. A garland of yellow flowers was wreathed in fantastic folds among the long sharp horns, and a white collar twined its mystic threads around the throat. The animal had been a favourite of former days whilst browsing on the green meadows of Shoa, and knowing the voice of its master, it quietly followed his footsteps into the centre of the grotto.

The bright eyes were turned upwards in confiding innocence as it licked the hand which had so often fed and caressed it; but all pity and compassion were effaced in one fiery feeling of revenge. The words of the dread spell to the spirit of the deep were poured forth on the midnight blast; and the sharp knife gleaming for a moment in the air, was plunged into the heart of the unresisting victim.

Shrieks filled the cavern, and unearthly echoes were flung back from every side of the broken vault, whilst the life-stream gurgled on to mingle with the waters of the lake; and as the last faint groan was rendered from the expiring animal, the badge and symbol of Christianity was dipped in the crimson tide which had flowed to the honour of the genius and his satellites.

(The cord of blue silk styled “máteb,” which in Abyssinia is worn around the neck of the Christian to denote his faith, has usually a small silver cross appended.)

A sulphur-coloured fowl was next subjected to the necessary preparations for the sacrifice. One eye was deliberately scooped out amidst blasphemy and execration, and the bright blue cord which had hitherto graced the neck of the Christian, now gory with unhallowed blood, was bound in a mysterious knot on this the second victim to the powers of darkness. The holy cross was suspended to the desecrated thread; and having raised the flickering embers with sweet woods and subtle essences, Thavánan crushed the head of the fowl under his heel until the brains flowed, and then dashed the body into the fire.

The flame shot aloft in one fierce spire of light, blazing like the arrow of the infernal host, and, again, satiate with the pungent offering, sank amid a stifling cloud of fetid smoke. Casting himself upon the rocky floor in an attitude of prostration, the youth listened in awe to the moans of the wind which had succeeded to the hurricane. But his courage was firm as the foundations of Mamrat; and it was well for him that his heart quailed not during that hour of perilous endurance.

The effects of his diabolical incantation were soon manifest. Foul spirits mowed and chattered in his ear, and the cold rushing of pinions flapping lazily through the air wetted him with slimy spray. But revenge and desperation had steeled his nerves; and after a period of intense misery, which appeared without limit to the sufferer, the melancholy sound of a drum came faintly booming over the face of the waters—the welcome token that the hour of trial was past, and that the sacrifice had been accepted. Waxing louder and louder, the pealing of the music shook the rocks with its continuous reverberations. Unearthly voices, ceasing to torment, faded altogether away; and the renegade, casting one look on the ashes of things holy and once prized, stepped forth from the mouth of the cavern.

Wild and fearful was the scene which met his gaze. The moon was for the moment unobscured, but huge masses of pale cloud, like armed hosts, sped fiercely across the skies, whilst thunder and lightning seemed to warn the astounded beholder that spirits of another world were engaged in their unholy revels.

Unruffled by the breeze, the great lake spread like a sheet of molten silver at his feet; whilst every cliff and crag, revealed boldly to view, was fearfully lit up by the reflected glare of an unearthly lurid flame, which at short intervals spouted in jets from the centre of the expanse, amid streams of wild melancholy music and the clash of the magic drum.

Roused to daring deeds in this moment of frantic excitement, with one short prayer to the spirit he had invoked, Thavánan plunged headlong into the cold deep waters, which gurgled and bubbled over his descending form; but baffled in his design to reach the glittering white sand—now the only haven of his hope—he rose once more to the surface.

All was dark, dismal, and lonely. A thick fog covered the water, the earth, and the sky, whilst the voice of his better angel alone came moaning through the mist, bewailing the lost soul of a son of Adam. Again and again he struggled to reach the glowing bed of the lake, but mortal strength and energy were unavailing to pierce the fathomless abyss. The clear searching element rushed unresisted into his mouth and ears—the faintness of death spread over his exhausted limbs—and his senseless form, tossed to and fro, became the sport of the heaving billow.

But the sound of the spell had swept along the blast, and the savour of the sacrifice had penetrated into the halls of magic. A long sinewy arm raised the body high over the water. The drum again pealed through the boundless space; the bright fire threw one last triumphant stream above the surface, and a heavy plunge beneath the waves was succeeded by the utter silence of solitude.

The soft tinkling sound of harps first stole upon the slumbers of the neophyte. Bright, happy visions flitted over his awakening senses, and the sweet melody of voices ushered him again into existence. Starting from his trance, the bewildered Thavánan found ample scope for the indulgence of his wonder and astonishment. Far as the eye could scan, innumerable arcades stretched in endless vistas on every side, with alternating domes of the purest pearl. Pillars of variously coloured amber and crystal rose to sustain the glowing fabric, and cloths, such as emperors alone can boast, strewed the floors in unbounded profusion.

In the centre of each gallery stood an altar of virgin silver, from which a never-failing arrow of flame diffused a mellow light over the glittering pillars of the hall. Around their more searching sister, jets of sweet-scented water played high in the air; and dancing on the apex of each fountain, a sparkling emerald, the ransom of a monarch, gently regulated the rush of the stream, in token that the elements were here held under control.

Superb paintings, illuminated in transparency, shed a dreamy languor over the scene, and music lent her exhaustless charms to captivate the sense. Sweet strains of triumph, ringing in full chorus among the lofty domes, died gently away into the softness of repose; and at times the low murmur of the waves fell pleasingly upon the ear, as the lake poured forth her springs in homage to the master spirit, and imprinted the kiss of obedience on the magic abode of Wárobal Mama.

Colossal statues of Famine, War, and Pestilence, frowned from their lofty pedestals in all the sternness of brass above the glories of this rich and varied scene. Each giant arm grasped a knotted mace, whose awful blow on the iron drum of misfortune was well known to the dismayed inhabitants of the upper regions of earth as the sure harbinger of woe.

Arts and sciences had each their separate niche in the spacious apartment; and favoured votaries were deeply engaged in scanning subtle essences, or preparing potent spells. The hum of confused voices was borne on the fragrant atmosphere, whilst at intervals strange emblems and tokens were delivered by the elders to the attending pupils, who each sprang aloft upon gaudy pinions to execute the behest of his superior. But the smiling face of fair woman was wanting to complete the scene; for love was unknown to the dread spirit of the lake.

In the immediate vicinity of the wondering mortal, an elevated throne stood the most conspicuous object. Spiral steps of gold led to the shrine of power. Precious stones sparkling in rich wreaths of enamel, hung a brilliant balustrade in front—and forming the seat of high honour and place, a white ivory shell rested amid the shining leaves of the ever-flowering lotus. The sea-snake rose in glittering green folds to receive in his soft embrace the recumbent occupant; and ministering spirits of strange form, bearing harp and censer, were ranged in silence around.

Thundering peals of music, and a sudden prostration, proclaimed the presence of the genius of the place; and, amid the clash of lute and timbrel, a cloud of incense floating high over head, disclosed a dwarf crouching on the shell. His aspect was mild and beneficent, and a flowing white beard entirely covered his minute person; but the essence of ethereal intelligence shot from his piercing black eye, and a pale fire played among his long yellow locks. Again the harps rung out the silver notes of welcome, and a vocal chorus was wafted to the delighted ear of the intruder:—

    “Ask for riches, ask for wealth,
    For kingdom, strength, or iron sway,
    Paramount in lady’s bower,
    Revenge for wrongs, or length of day.”

Borne forward by an irresistible impulse, Thavánan found himself among the kneeling crowd in front of the throne, and a soft still voice proceeded from the high place:—“Mortal, what would’st thou with us? Answer without fear.”

“Revenge,” replied the petitioner, “revenge for injury unprovoked—a house rifled and burnt, a fair sister carried to the lawless harem, and the eyeball blasted for ever, of one who had heretofore looked upon the great monarch of Shoa as a perfect Deity upon earth.”

“Let the child of clay take the oath of allegiance, and be instructed to obtain his wish,” responded the being in whose tiny form was concentrated such power and grandeur; and as the words proceeded from his lips, the floor sank under the foot of the proselyte, and Thavánan stood with an attending spirit in the centre of a gloomy grotto.

A blood-red cross, which flashed amid the darkness, revealed sights horrible to behold, and conjured before the imagination thoughts upon which it was then madness to dwell. But daring to the last, the apostate, in presence of the symbol of Christianity, abjured all the high hopes of Heaven. Revenge upon earth filled his soul for the moment; and although the touch of that blessed sign struck through his young heart like the sharp stab of the searing-iron, the fearful oath was firmly and distinctly repeated.